This particular event involves Miss Headcase. It also involves Sergei. Again. I’m not speaking out of turn when I tell you that Sergei has not approved of one woman I’ve been with since I met him. I believe, however, that Miss Headcase was his least favorite. I’ve been treated to such comments as, “You know, that big WL on all those womens’ foreheads means they’re members of the Wicked Losers club.” Or how about this one: “I swear to God you’re a shit magnet.” That’s what I like about him. Direct and to the point. I can deal with people like that on any level. We’ve been friends for far too long for me to be insulted by him.

He had a lot of problems with The Headcase, not the least of which was the way she pilfered my hard-earned dollars. We’d be in the bathroom hanging out the window smoking ganja and he’d say to me, “Okay, Deb. Let’s look at this. You work sixty hours a week and get paid for forty. Granted it’s a shitload of money, but still. And here you are with a ten in your pocket while she spends the rest of what you make.” He’d just stare at me and say, “What’s wrong with that fuckin’ picture?” I had to admit he had a point.

And that whole hanging out the window smoking thing, that used to piss him off too. He’d say, “Who pays the rent? You. Who pays the electricity? You. Who pays the heat here? You. Yeah. So, what the fuck are we hanging out this teenie little window doing this for?” We were doing it because she had an issue with it being illegal, but really she was just doing it to make me miserable. She succeeded on most levels for nearly nine years.

The trip to Oz

Okay, so this particular flashback incident occurred during the time Miss Headcase was sleeping with her landlady out in Turners Falls (only I wasn’t quite sure of that at this stage). Remember that? Go here if you don’t (and keep in mind the Turners Falls posting is a multi-part posting). By the way, let me tell you that, although I was pretty upset at the time, I’m now eternally grateful to Barbara for taking Miss Headcase off my hands.

Sometime during this event, Miss Headcase decided to take a trip out to California to visit her mother and sister. Of course, I paid for it (in more ways than one, I might add). They’ve always had a tenuous relationship at best. I sometimes wonder if anybody but my sisters and I actually grew up in a family that wasn’t dysfunctional, and I often wonder why those who manage to extricate themselves from those dysfunctional families continue to put their freakin’ hands in the fire by going back for more. But that’s not for me to pass judgment on.

Several days after this visit began, I received the first box from Miss Headcase in California. She told me not to open it. It was full of Christmas gifts. Two days later, another huge package arrived. Same instructions. Don’t open it. Just put it in the back room. The back room was my office where I was, at the time, running a magazine called Counterpoint Publications. While I was at Millipore and in my twenties, I had decided to produce and publish a woman’s writing journal. I actually did pretty well with it. I had been a print buyer and had a lot of contacts in the industry, so it was easy for me to get my magazine put on a print run with other jobs and keep my costs down. I had a lot of contributors and subscribers for a while. I suspect if my personal life hadn’t been so messed up, it would have continued to be successful. But in the midst of my anguish, I gave it up and decided to focus on my Millipore career.

After the second box arrived, there was a lull in contact…until her mother called one day and asked if I’ve received any boxes. I told her yes and that Miss Headcase told me not to open them because they were Christmas gifts. Her mother had one response. “Open them.” Then she asked me to tell her what was in them. When we were done, I said, “Well, they can’t be Christmas gifts for me because I wouldn’t wear this stuff.” On the other hand, Barbara would. Apparently, Miss Headcase broke into her mother’s spare room and just basically stole a bunch of stuff, and her mother was pissed. She just plain wanted the stuff back and told me she’d take care of all the expenses. I had always gotten along with her mom and, in fact, would spend a week out in California after her daughter and I split. I had no problem taking care of returning her stuff.

I’m not even going to tell you what Sergei said when I told him the story, but the two of us were practically rolling on the floor laughing.

Fast forward…

It wasn’t long after that incident that Miss Headcase and I split. After that relationship, I was pretty much alone for four years. I spent the time hanging out with my friends at the bars and just enjoying life. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, not that I didn’t fall into one of sorts. My mom also passed away in that span of time and I started dating one of her nurses, a woman named Lisa. She was a perfectly wonderful person, but I wasn’t in love. It was as casual as you could get, but it was what I needed at the time. The next big relationship, however, was just around the corner, and this is where we get back into the Sergei Zone.

After I met Beth and had been seeing her for a while, I decided it was time for her to meet Maria and Sergei. He told me that he was going to have to make sure she wasn’t a Wicked Loser. I told him that I had expected no less, since I’d done such a piss poor job choosing women for most of my adult life. I can remember this like it was yesterday because it was so damned funny. He was already concerned for the match because I told him the day Beth and I first met, she had just come from her bankruptcy hearing. Sergei didn’t like the sound of that from the get-go and, trust me, his fears were not unfounded.

I decided the best thing was for me to make dinner in Melrose, so that’s what I did. The night was fairly pleasant and things were going well. Maria and I were out in the kitchen when we heard Sergei morph into his role as lesbian protector. We’re out there in the kitchen and all of a sudden he asks Beth, “Do you ever have the desire to steal from your own mother and sent it to women you might be sleeping with?” No shit. Maria and I were rolling out there, and we were trying so hard to not laugh out loud it was pathetic. Beth had no fucking idea what he was talking about. Of course, we explained the harebrained question out of nowhere to her and she laughed, assuring us that she had no such affliction. She didn’t. There was nothing to worry about where that was concerned. And the bankruptcy didn’t bother me either. I’m here to tell you that shit happens.

However, I probably should have worried a bit when she up and quit her job two weeks after we moved in together.