That night, the girls and I decided that the "removed" portion of the phrase is actually meant to be "we-moved." For example, at the time Ariel was my 1st cousin, once we-moved (because she had only moved once). Sheena was my 1st cousin, twice we-moved (she had moved twice). Christy was the girls' 1st cousin I believe quadruple-a-time we-moved (she'd moved several times by that point). I, however, am the big winner at 1st cousin many-a-time we-moved (I've moved more times than I can count thanks to my crazy bipolar tendencies, and I don't think there's a fancy word for "23").
Quite honestly, there were a few places that I have chosen to block from my memory... Places that I won't be discussing with the social worker. I don't think they need to know about "the early years." No Porno Guy and the Sex People... (Brings back memories, doesn't it Case?) No getting locked IN the same apartment because the "safety" lock got stuck... No rotting rat corpses... No having to duck below the window sills at night for fear of being shot at by the neighbors housed in the hotel where people lived across the street... No having to move out early because Sam threw up on our carpet... No holes being BURNED in our carpet because Sam felt the need to play with lighters... On second thought... Maybe I just won't mention Sam. He seems to be the trouble-maker here. (Love you, babe!)
And I'll leave out the little details about our neighbors in the Portland apartment. They don't need to know that Melissa and I got stoned every day off of the second-hand pot smoke from the downstairs neighbors or that Sheena's virgin ears were introduced to the sounds of seriously loud lovin' from the same people (Well, the man and his mistress anyway. His wife was having NONE of him at the time, a fact that we were also aware of from the screaming fights). I might also omit the fact that I had to duct tape my back door shut in the duplex to keep the critters from crawling in because the builder refused to come out and put the weather stripping on.
I'm not too concerned. I mean, really! How many of us haven't had daily contact with Ugly Naked Guy? Isn't that just normal? And it really shouldn't shock the social worker when they enter my apartment and it sounds like the ceiling is going to cave in from the all-hours love fest coming from upstairs. Love is a beautiful thing, isn't it?
So, send me any addresses old or new that you might have for me from over the years (along with any fun stories that you might remember from the different places I've lived... Might be good for my book, even if they don't bode well for the homestudy...).