Personal

Friday, August 06, 2010

Sometimes...

I think people really don’t get me. 

I think people think I’m mysterious and they get upset when they find out later, I’m not that mysterious.

I think people hate me for not revealing every last thing about me.

I think people think I’m stupid. 

I think people think I’m angry when I’m not. 

I think people don’t understand when I’m joking. 

I think people think I’m helpless. 

I think people think I have no experiences at all.  Apparently, any time I’m new anywhere, that is exactly 5 minutes after I was born.

I think people think I’ve had everything handed to me and they get mad, jealous. 

I think people think I’ve been spoiled.  If that wasn’t so sad, I’d laugh hysterically.

I think people think I don’t know how to do anything. 

I think people don’t think I want to learn anything.

I think people think I have nothing and try to hold that over me as if they are better than me.

I think people think I’m boring and have no goals. 

I think people are scared of me.

I think people think I have more going on than I do. 

I think people don’t respect me.  At all.

I think people think I’m a pushover. 

I think people try to tear me down to their level.

I think people really do not listen to me. 

I think my family never gave a shit about me and don’t care where I am, what I’m doing or how I’m doing.

I think people make a lot of excuses for how they treat me.  It always ends up being my fault, apparently.

I think people get tired of me.

I think people forget I’m human.

I think people think that my feelings don’t ever get hurt. 

I think people don’t think about me at all.

I think people wouldn’t miss me.

I think people just really don’t care. 

---

Wednesday, August 04, 2010

Sunscreen

Ok, I said I would let you all know, (or at least those who care), about the Neutrogena sunscreen and how well it works.

First, I want to state that I purchased two different types.  The first one is called, “Neutrogena, Healthy Defense Oil Free Sunblock Lotion, SPF 45”.  It says it won’t clog pores and that it’s lightweight, non greasy, sweat and water proof.

So, I tried that one first.

Don’t bother.

Non greasy my ass.  I put that on and my face was greasy as hell and the problem with sunscreens like this, that make my face greasy, is that they cause me to sweat even more and that is how I end up sweating it all off or wiping it all off with my sweat.  So that one is a NO-GO.

The other one I bought, (three bottles, actually), is the “Neutrogena, Ultra Sheer Dry Touch Sunblock, SPF 100+”.  (Again, the 100 was cheaper by 50 cents than the lower SPFs so I got it.) It claims to have a lightweight, clean feel, is fast absorbing, sweat and water proof.

First of all, yes, it most certainly is dry touch and fast absorbing.  It is lightweight.  I put it on and you could not tell I had sunscreen on.  That is what I want.  It also claims to leave skin soft and smooth and it did.  I did not feel as if I had something heavy, greasy and horrid all over my face.  It goes on exactly as they say it will.  BIG plus.

When I first got to work, it was hot so I did sweat a bit and some of the sunscreen did get in to my eye so keep that in mind when putting it on your forehead.  It will come off a little bit.  Now, it does not come off like the other sunscreens so, I’m not sure it’s 100% sweat proof but it does a better job than other sunblocks.

As for effectiveness, well, unfortunately it rained most of the day today so I didn’t get to really test it out as far as how well it works and how often I would have to reapply.  But the sun was out here and there during the day, between the rain and I did not get the slightest bit of red at all.  Not even a hint. 

I applied it only twice today.

The first half of the day it was fairly sunny so I think it does a decent job.  But, I’ll let you know how it does on a really sunny, hot day for sure.

Still, I’m pleased with it just for the simple fact that I don’t look like I just pulled my face out of a vat of oil and with the exception of the little bit that did sweat itself in to my eye early in the morning, I didn’t feel it or notice it was there.  Like I said, that’s a huge plus in my book.

In other news, I got “confirmed” for my vacation in September.  By “confirmed” I mean, the boss wrote it in the calendar but!  I’ve worked here long enough to know that doesn’t mean shit until the actual days come up.  I’ll more than likely get it, in fact I would say I am prepared to have it but I will not say, 100%, guarantee, yessiree, because I’ve been here too long and I’ve seen people have their vacations pulled at the last minute.  But September is our slowest month of the year, our boss tells us to request vacation during that month and since people were starting to ask for days here and there, I made sure to get my request in early before someone else decided they wanted those days.

If all goes well, I will be off September 6-15th. 

And do you know what I’ll do on those days?

I’m going to sleep.  And sleep some more.  And when I’ve done all that sleeping, I’m going to roll over and sleep even more.

Then I’m going to do some yardwork I’ve been needing to do, clean the outside of my house, get all those boring household stocking up and cleaning things done for the year and be done with it.

And then?

I’ll probably do a little sleeping.

After that, I’m going to take a day or two and do nothing but lie in my bed and watch really shitty day time television. 

I may also visit another air boat place just to see how they do things...and be the fucking tourist for a change.

Plus, I should have my brand new Kindle at that time, (yes, I caved, but you should see how beautiful it is and besides, I can always sell my current Kindle and make up the money so it would be like it was free or I may get more than the new Kindle costs because they will be running out of the version I have, (in fact, it’s already hard to come by), and people want that version so....why yes, I am trying to justify it to myself, still), and I can play around with that on my vacation.

Which reminds me, I’ll also do a LOT of reading, when I’m not sleeping and watching crap television.

And finally, a question.

Does anyone know how I would go about setting up something to gather donations for a particular group?  I mean, yes, people could donate to the group themselves but I would love to be able to present this group with a big check as a thank you for something they did for me.  But I have no idea how I set that up.  Or am I even allowed to do that?  And what about skeptics who won’t believe that I am taking donations to give to this group?  Is this something anyone has ever done before?  Surely I cannot be the first.

OH!  And something else I will do on my vacation-write that story about the cats that I’ve been promising for the longest time to finish and put up.  Now that I have my wireless router working again and will have the time, the blessed, peaceful time, to complete this story, I will do that.

And you’ll see why I want to set up something to gather donations.  You will indeed see.  And maybe, if I write my story well enough, I’ll actually move you, emotionally, enough to want to donate. 

But that’s all I’m going to say about that now, I don’t want to get ahead of myself.

So, again, if any of you know, like, know for sure, 100% and not just guessing, let me know if that’s something I can do, am allowed to do and how I would do it.

Aaaaaand finally, finally, I know these last few posts have not been all that ranty and venty and shit but I don’t have too much to be bitching about right now.  I mean, I could tell you about the Italian fucker on my boat today who took my tips from me but you know what?  Karma will get him and it’s my bed time anyway so maybe another time.  But don’t worry, kids, with the state of people today, their entitlement issues, their stupidity, their VAPIDNESS, I’m sure there will be something very, very, very soon.

Lastly, why is it that every time I’ve gone in to a store, recently, the power goes out and I’m left in the dark for a few moments while their generator tries to kick in?  I shit you not.

Not too long ago I was in Target.  Minding my own business, picking up some things I need when BAM!  Full darkness.  I mean, FULL darkness.  There I was, looking at pillows, (yes, I needed them because one of my cats shredded the other two trying to get to the feathers), when suddenly I couldn’t see a damn thing.

The lights came back on for about 30 seconds and then BAM!  Out they went again.  Eventually the generator kicked in and all was well but that was...interesting.

Then, on Monday, I was at Publix getting supplies.  There I was, shopping along and BAM!  Lights went out.  It wasn’t total darkness as they had “running lights” or whatever but I was like, “What the fuck with me and stores and their lights, lately?” Eventually their generator kicked in and all was well but kids, seriously....it reminds me of that time some cheap pieces of shit called tourists totally stiffed me on my boat tour and it was during one of my “10 day in a row work week” days and I was tired, pissed off and not in the mood to be shit on by a bunch of asshole tourists so I walked to our break area, vented to a co-worker loudly, threw my Gatorade bottle down on the ground as hard as I could, wheeled around and stared at those assholes HARD, while they stared back at me watching me throw a fit as they waited in line to watch the wildlife show and then BANG!!!!!!!!  the transformer blew right behind me.  It scared the shit out of the tourists and many of them were looking at me as if I had done something and I didn’t even flinch when the transformer blew, just kept staring at them, gauging their reaction and thought to myself, “That’s right, mother fuckers!  I DID THAT with my mind!  That’s how fucking powerful and pissed I am right now because of you cheap bastards so DO NOT CROSS ME!  I suggest you all reach in to your wallets and fucking TIP ME, pricks!  You see what I did to the transformer?  Just THINK what I can do to you with my mind!  Don’t fucking TRY ME!”

But then they all realized it was the transformer and got over it, (although I swear I saw one or two still eyeing me suspiciously; looking at me, then up at the transformer, then back at me, then back up at the transformer...wondering...wondering....could it be? Nah, that’s ridiculous...although, I have read...NO!  No, not possible, I’ll just avert my eyes now because I just don’t know and no sense in taking any chances), much to my dismay.

Maybe I can do things with my mind.  I used to have dreams all the time that I would move things with my mind.  Then I wake up and am SO disappointed that it’s not real. 

Speaking of dreaming, time to go do some of that.

---

Monday, August 02, 2010

Have A Drink On Me

Today is my birthday.  I’m in my last decade before I’m considered, “old”. 

To celebrate, I got myself a piece of cake and bought cat toys for the cats.

At least I didn’t have to work today.

Feel free to give.

And drink merrily.

---

Friday, July 30, 2010

Charbroiled

If you would indulge me for a moment while I whine.

Because I work outside all day, I do my best to keep covered up as much as possible as well as slather on the sun screen.  I’ve seen what the sun can do to people’s skin and how it ages people way before their time.  Plus there’s that whole skin cancer thing I’d rather not experience.

Being that I have Irish blood coursing through my veins, it means I’m extra white.  Even when I’m tan, I’m still pretty much the whitest person around.  I wear long pants, a long sleeve t-shirt under my uniform shirt and when out on a boat, wear a hat and sunglasses.  And, like I said, am constantly putting on the sunscreen and chapstick.

But kids, my God today was so fricken hot.  HOT, I tell you.  Scorching.  Unbearable.  INhumane.

And I got charred, fried, burnt to a crisp.  (My face.)

See, in, say, WA state, I could be in the sun about 2 hours before I would start to get a burn.  Here?  It’s like 10 minutes.  Yep, that’s all it takes.  So again, constantly slathering on the lotion.

I could feel my face getting hotter, feel it burning, it hurts right now, (don’t even start with the jokes, I will cut you), and I was wondering how the hell that happened when I am so conscious about protecting myself.

You know how?

Because it was so fucking hot that every time I put the sunscreen on, I would sweat it right the hell back off in less than a minute.  I didn’t realize this until too late today.  I cannot remember the last time I have ever burnt my face like this. 

IT BURNS!  (Exorcist voice)

I still have two more days I have to be out in the boiling ass furnace and guess what?  Those days will be HOT AS HELL as well!  I’m so thrilled I can hardly stand it. 

You know, I think the Chinese are on to something with that “welder’s mask” visor they like to wear.  Looks stupid as hell but I bet it works.  How many burnt Chinese have you ever seen?

Anyway, that’s all.  I just wanted to come on here and feel sorry for myself for a minute as well as write this out so that I remember it for the future.  Note to self:  Find a solution.  This is not good.

Oh, in other news, I did finally get my car back.  Have had it back for about two weeks now.  They did a pretty darn good job on it.  They even did the alignment.  That meant I had to get two new tires on the front so I did that on the weekend after getting the car back.

Kids, that is about the straightest alignment I’ve ever had on a car. EVAH!!!1!!1!!  I drove back home and because the traffic was light, I got it up to 60mph, (in a 45 zone...don’t tell the cops), and went about 1/2 a mile without touching the steering wheel.  (I chose this particular area because the road is nice and smooth and flat there.) The car did not even attempt to pull to one side or the other.  I’m damn impressed. 

You can tell that the left side is a bit different color than the right side but only if you are specifically looking for that.  Any random person probably would not be able to tell.  They did a damn good job getting that color as close to the original as possible.  (Plus the left side is shinier.)

AND, the repair shop even fixed a slight scratch and small dent that was not from the accident but had been there since I got the car.  (They knew this as my insurance company requires us to take it in for inspection before we get the policy for this very reason.) But they did it “free of charge” as a way to make up for taking so fucking long fixing the car.

So, like, my car is practically brand new.  Or looks that way, anyway.  It took too long but I’m pleased with the results. 

Now I get to see if I ever get my deductible back.  Said it could take 30-45 days or so.

And in other, other news....yesterday and today were Cry’s days off and I wasn’t about to let him cut that tree down out of childish spite so I backed my car up in to the base of the tree leaving him NO ROOM at all to do a damn thing.  I found another way to get to work.  Ha, ha asshole.  And I will keep doing this every Thursday and Friday until he gets the fuck over himself.

And finally, there is a new Kindle out.  And it looks sweet.  And I’m thinking....get my deductible back, maybe I’ll plunk down the $189 to get it.  Not sure yet.  I hate spending money but it’s pretty hard to resist the new Kindle.  I am going back and forth with myself. 

“You don’t need it, your current Kindle works perfectly fine.”

“Yes, but, this one has all kinds of new features and it’s smaller and sleeker and has more space and you can have more books and reading leads to serious intelligence and while you are already insanely intelligent, you can never stop learning and think of what a power house you could be with 3500 books worth of intelligence!”

“Are you mad?  Why on earth do you need to carry around 3500 books at one time?  You can’t even possibly read that many books in a lifetime.”

“But you could give it a valiant try!  And then you’ll know everything and you’ll rule the world and everyone will be your minions and have to do what you say and you’ve got a couple of people on your shit list who you would love to fuck with and make their lives miserable as hell as they do your bidding; it would be sweet nectar revenge.”

“Hmmm, well, you do bring up a good counter argument with that one.  We’ll think about it.”

See?  How can I resist?

---

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Corporate Speak

Why the hell can’t people answer a damn question with a simple “yes” or “no”?  Seriously.

I asked the agent if what was written to me in email yesterday meant that my car was going to be fixed, that the repair shop would fix it and I would get my car back.  Instead of just saying, “yes” or “no”, I got this:

The estimate is a preliminary estimate and there is a possibility of additional damage. However, based on the shop you did not want to give [the shop] permission to do a tear down on the vehicle to check for additional damage or give them the authority to repair the vehicle.

Before the shop can start repair you have to give them authority to repair the vehicle for you by going to the shop and signing the appropriate paperwork.

The total damage at this time came it $2,358.41 after we deduct your deductible of $1,000, the total payment would be for $1,358.41.

Did you want me to issue this payment to [the shop] directly or do you want me to issue this to you? If you have not done so yet, please give [the shop] authority to repair your vehicle and know that the repair that our body shop does is guaranteed for the lifetime that you own the vehicle.

Jeezus, why can’t people just be straight?  Now, the agent is saying in THIS letter that the total payment would be for $1358.41, HOWEVER, in the email yesterday, it said, “Be assured that the process is not complete until we have identified and paid for all damage related to your covered loss.”

So.  It sounds like they are going to repair my car.  That’s fine!  That’s what the fuck I want.  What I don’t get is that in the first letter they said, “Don’t worry, if there’s more damage, it’s paid for” and in this letter today it says, “That’s the total amount”.

Well which the fuck one is it?

As for getting a lawyer, look....all I want is my car fixed and my car back.  If that is what they are going to do, why do I need a lawyer?  I just want my damn car fixed, brought back to me and I pay nothing.  Isn’t that what I’m getting here? 

As for the snippy little tone in the beginning of this letter, I told the shop, when they gave me the preliminary estimate over the phone that I needed to contact my insurance company before they did anything.  It wasn’t the way this agent is making it out to be.  Also, I did not sign any paperwork because I had to work.  They came and towed the car to do the estimate.  I was not present to sign a damn thing.  And I won’t be present to sign a damn thing until my next days off.  (Monday and Tuesday, usually.) I just wanted to be sure it was getting repaired, to try to understand what the fuck this insurance company was telling me before I did anything.  Because if they were going to total it, I would see if I could drop the claim and have the company just pay for the damages and get it fixed.

I do not want my car totaled.  I do not want to have to get another car.  I don’t want to have to go through a lawyer, I just want what I fucking had when I parked my damn car in the lot on Friday morning.  Is that what I’m getting?  I just want to know this before I ok a damn thing.  Why the fuck can’t someone just tell me that is what I’m getting or no, it’s not what I’m getting.

I hate fucking corporate double speak. 

---

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

There I Was, Minding My Own Business...

...when some douche crashed in to my car with a tour bus.  And I’m the one who is screwed.

(Please see update below)

Shop came and towed my car today.  At about 4:30, they called me up and told me that they had an estimate ready.  I would need a new fender, new quarter panel, new driver’s side door, new driver’s side mirror and they could repair the driver’s side passenger door.

Total for the bodywork?  $2358.41

Whee!

Except!  Guess what!  That’s not all! 

The alignment was also fucked up and he has to put it back up to check the suspension and any other issues.  This is NOT included in that estimate.  The joy of it all!

Do you know what this means, boys and girls?  I’ll tell you!

It means that there is no way in hell my insurance company is not going to total this car.

And do you know what that means, kids?

It means I have NO FUCKING CAR!  Oh, I might get a check for a grand or so but I have no car.  AWESOME!

So, I had a nice little chat with the boss today.  He swears up and down that he is not upset with me for going through my insurance.  He states that he just thought it was not in my best interest and that I could have just had a 100% guarantee that the company that owns the tour van that hit me would have paid for it.  It’s “just cosmetic damage”.

Oops!  No, it’s not just cosmetic damage. 

We discussed the possibility of the insurance company totaling it.  We both believed it would probably happen.  He said I just screwed myself, (not his words), and I said, “Au contraire!  I don’t have a car.  I don’t want to have to do this but if I have to sue that company to get another car....”

He said I had no legal standing to sue them for a new car.  He said, “The insurance company will give you a check for what the car is worth.  That is making you whole and the law will not be on your side.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He firmly believes that I have no standing to sue that tour company for a new car.  Basically, I’m just out of luck.

How is that possible?

He did state that I could try to sue them but I won’t win.

Other people, (readers), are telling me that I can sue them and win and possibly get MORE than the price of a car, meaning, I could get a car AND some change to go with it.....he says no.

WHO IS RIGHT?

Update Ok, I just got this email from my insurance company.  I’m leaving out the private information, (ie; the insurance company name), and am telling you all in advance, I CHOSE a higher deductible on purpose. 

We have completed an appraisal of the damage to your vehicle which is detailed below. Payment will be issued directly to you or to your repair facility based on the information you have previously provided.

Your initial, or original appraisal, is completed based on the visible damage to your vehicle. Once repairs begin, the repair facility sometimes finds additional damage that was not included in the original appraisal. Any additional damage found, that is related to your covered loss, will be included in a supplemental appraisal written by either a professional at one of our [redacted] facilities or by a [redacted] staff appraiser. The detail below indicates if this is an original or a supplemental appraisal. Be assured that the process is not complete until we have identified and paid for all damage related to your covered loss.

Please do not hesitate to call me or email me if you have any questions. My contact information is to the left.

Original Appraisal
Gross Total:  $ 2358.41
Less Deductible: $ 1000.00


Net Total: $ 1358.41

What does this say to you?  Is my car getting fixed?  Does this mean I get to keep my car?  Wouldn’t they have told me it would be totaled in this message or am I naively wishfully thinking and hoping?

Also, yes, my deductible is high.  I did this for two reasons.  One, it keeps the insurance payments lower throughout the year.  Two, I’ve been in a few wrecks before and I’ve never had a brand new car before....I know that the more I pay in to it, the more chance I’ll get something good out of it.  (I’ve learned the HARD. WAY. MY GOD I’ve learned the hard way, kids.)

But what do you think?  Does this sound like I might be lucky!?  God please, let me have my car back!!!!!!!!!

---

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Stuff The Attitude

Yes, what a wonderful day it has been.  The boss came in, (the actual boss), asked what happened with the car, I told him and he came out with me to look at it.  (Still in the parking lot right where it was when it got hit.) He couldn’t believe the damage.  I guess he thought it was a minor scrape, (he wasn’t there yesterday), but he realized that this guy did a number on my car.

I had not really touched the car since seeing it at the end of the day yesterday so he wanted to know if I could open the driver’s side door.  Nope.  Key won’t turn to unlock it.  So I had to go to the passenger side but the problem was that every time I tried to unlock it, it locked back up.  Unlock, it locked, unlock, it locked.  I even tried to hold the lock in my hand to force it to stay unlocked...nope.  It locked again.  So much for the “it’s only cosmetic damage” theory.

He then tried to convince me not to call my insurance company.  I knew this was coming but I already made up my mind.  I just want to know why on earth does it bother them that I call my insurance company.  Why?  Why wouldn’t I call?  If they are concerned about the tour driver getting a big fat ding on his driving record, well, first of all, that is NOT my problem.  He should have been more careful when he was driving the tour bus.  Second of all, it wouldn’t matter if I called the insurance company or not, the police are charging the guy with hit and run.  I hadn’t called my insurance company yet when the officer on scene yesterday told me he was charging the guy.  DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER about the insurance company.  He’s getting charged.  And that is NOT my fault.

The other boss, (the one who was there yesterday), was all upset with me today because I did call my insurance company and opened a claim.  What is the deal? 

I explained to the actual boss, (the one who wasn’t there yesterday), and told him that I do not feel comfortable not calling.  See, let’s say, six months down the road, I’m driving along and something happens and they find out it was because of this accident.  Well, I’m screwed aren’t I?  And you know what?  I’ve been fucked enough times by companies and mechanics and the like in my life that I’m listening to my instincts and voice of reason and I’m going through the insurance company to protect myself.  What part of, “I need to protect myself” do these people not get?  I’m sorry, I don’t have millions of dollars laying around in my bank account that allows me to buy my way out of a situation.  Ok?

Apparently a detective is being assigned the case since it’s a hit and run so I still have to talk to them.  The other driver was there again today and he stated that he did not know he hit the car.  I understand that driving a bigger vehicle that can happen but I find it very difficult to believe that he had NO fucking clue he plowed in to my car with all that damage.  Bull.  Shit he didn’t know.

My theory is that he thought it was a customer’s car and that he would just leave the scene and no one would be the wiser.  Oops!  You hit an employees car and it was on film.  Sucks to be you, asshole.

Did a little test drive around the parking lot today and when it started up, it sounded like some beat up, old, piece of shit car.  Not the way my car sounds.  I drove it in a big circle, a co-worker said the wheel (driver’s side, front), was wobbling as I drove and when I parked it back in the spot, I looked again at the wheel well.  If you look at the photos I posted yesterday, you can see that there is a good 2 inches between the scrunched wheel well and the tire.  After one circle in the parking lot, it is now mere centimeters above the tire and one bump or pothole in the road, it will start rubbing the tire apart.  But hey, it’s “drivable” and it’s “just cosmetic damage”.  Of course.

And this is why I called my insurance company.  Things like this may not be readily apparent and this is why I say I have to protect myself.

On Monday I am having it towed to the body shop the insurance company wants it taken to and we shall see just what is wrong with it.  I’m hoping it’s something that can be repaired, isn’t too expensive because I do not want this car to be “totaled”.  My car is a Kia.  It’s not an expensive car.  The blue book value is not much.  I don’t want a fucking check for a few thousand dollars, I want my fucking car and I want it fixed.

If it’s “totaled”, I get a check for a few thousand and then what?  Then what the fuck?!  That’s not enough money to replace my car!  I had just paid it off!  I own it outright.  I do not want car payments, I want my fucking car the way it was.  I feel like I’m going to get screwed in this situation no matter what.  And that pisses me off. 

Hopefully it won’t be “totaled” but again, the damage done to this car, even if they just repaired the “cosmetic damage” may end up costing more than the fucking car is worth or close to it.  And I’m going to be fucking livid. 

Especially since it seems all these people care about is that the tour driver doesn’t get marks on his record.  Boo fucking hoo.

Anyone know how this works?  If it’s totaled, am I screwed?

---

Friday, June 18, 2010

Not So Fast

Today, as I was leaving work, I noticed that some douche bag completely wrecked my car on the driver’s side while it was parked, in the parking lot, at work.

Do you know how fantastic that is to go to your car to go home, after a long ass day to find you can’t drive it because of some assmunch? 

So, I called the cops.  They came out and started a report.  In the meantime, my boss started looking over the surveillance camera.

Oh yes!  Mother fucker, we have cameras.  And one of them is pointed in the parking lot.  And it was faced in the direction of my parked car.

And we found out who fucking plowed in to my car.  AND RAN!

A tour company.  A tour van that comes out all the time, was caught on camera, plowing in to my car, and LEAVING THE SCENE!

The cop is going to charge him with hit and run.  And things may get real fucking interesting because my boss wants me to allow the company to just “take care of the problem” while I’m thinking, “NO!  I’m going through the insurance company.”

And I get to tell him this tomorrow.  And he’ll be pissed.  But I don’t care, I’m protecting myself.  Besides, it’s too late, the cop already came out, saw the damage, saw the footage from the camera and is charging the guy with hit and run.

And shit will hit the fan.

Which is why I got drunk tonight for the first time in AGES!  And is why I have had to type this damn post over a few times but whatevs Man! 

I had just paid that car off.

And some fucking piece of shit plowed in to it and ran like a bitch.

But we caught you, mother fucker.  ON FILM! 

SUCK IT!

Tomorrow shall be interesting.

Passing out, ciao kids.

---

Monday, March 15, 2010

Twilight Zone

Today is my day off and I had to go out in to the public which is something I dread greatly.  If you have read here for any length of time, you know that most of the time I go out, or even when you go out, for that matter, I have to deal with a bunch of assholes.  It never fails that I will encounter rude, stupid, selfish, assholes and finding someone who speaks English in this town is like finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

One of the reasons I have requested to have Mondays and Tuesdays off is because when I do have to go out in to public, most of the public is at work and that helps minimize my asshole quota for the weekend.

So, it was with great reluctance that I pulled myself out of bed this morning to get dressed and prepare myself for the onslaught of shitstupid pricks.  I just hoped that I could get out there, get my stuff and be back within a short period of time to lessen the drama and heartache.

I hopped in my car and pulled out of my neighborhood only to find myself with a pretty clear road ahead.  Nice.  It wasn’t until about the middle of my travels that, naturally, some douche pulled out in front of me.  Scoff, of course!  However, it wasn’t too long before I had to make a turn and they went in the opposite direction so it wasn’t too bad. 

After my turn, I continued on and was again about halfway down the road when yet again, another twit pulled out in front of me.  I hate when people fucking do this especially when there is NO ONE behind me!  You can’t wait 5 fucking seconds for a clear, free turn?  But again, it wasn’t long before I had to make another turn so it wasn’t too bad.

I pulled up in to the parking lot of the grocery store and got out with a sigh and steeled myself to deal with arrogant fucks inside the store who get pissy with me for having the audacity to speak English.  Here.  In America.  The nerve of me.

I did my shopping and for the most part, it was empty so I didn’t have to encounter too many rude snots shoving me to the side of the aisle.  Got everything and proceeded to check out. 

No line.  In fact, a checker saw me looking for an open register and told me to come to his lane and got me started right away.  And he spoke to me in English.  In fact, he spoke English right from the start and did not ask me how I was doing in Spanish.  WHAT!?!  That was surprising, as well as refreshing.

Got done with that, loaded the car and headed off to Home Depot.  Now...kids.  I despise going to this Home Depot because I can never find any help, no one speaks English very well and it typically takes me an hour to do something that should take only 5 minutes.  One time I actually was so pissed off I did call for the manager after waiting a half an hour for someone to show up to help me when they had been paged by another Home Depot employee.  I was NOT looking forward to this.

I walked in the door and was immediately greeted by a lady who, AGAIN, spoke to me in English right off the bat and asked me if I needed any help finding anything.

HOLY SHIT!  Really?!  SERIOUSLY!?!?! 

I informed her of what I needed and she thought for a minute thinking it was on aisle 10 but asked another employee just to make sure.

I almost fell over in a faint. 

The product I needed was actually in aisle 9 and that was confirmed by the other employee she asked just to make sure.  Still, she was only one aisle off and she made sure before I even started looking. 

I went to aisle 9, found just what I needed and proceeded to check out.  This particular Home Depot is pretty notorious for NOT having anyone around in a regular check out stand but pretty much makes everyone do self check out.  For anyone who has read all 7 years of my site, you know how I feel about self check out.  And, usually, I can find no one around to assist when self checkout hell begins.  (The machine starts yelling at me that I’m doing it wrong and mayhem ensues and it’s all rather embarrassing, chaotic, annoying and mentally exhausting.)

However, when I walked up to self checkout hell and placed my items on the ground to get my money ready so that the machine would not start yelling at me to give it my money, NOW, damnit, you snail, you moron, give me your money!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, someone came over and scanned the items for me!

HOLY SHIT!  ASSISTANCE?  Assistance before the crap starts?

This gave me ample time to get my money and insert the cash in to the slot before I got my ass chewed out by a fucking machine.  I did, apparently, take too long to pick up my items as I was trying to put my wallet back in my bag but again, it wasn’t too bad.

I then proceeded out the door and immediately some man asked if he could help me carry my stuff to my car.

HOLY SHIT!  Kindness?!?!!?  You sure you don’t want to just watch me struggle instead?!  (One time, I actually had someone stop and stare at me and say, “I’m just wondering how you’re going to carry all of that!  I can’t believe you’re going to carry that without any help.  Don’t you have a husband or kid to help you?” as he stood there, NOT helping.)

I told the guy he could help carry one awkward box for me and when we got to my car, I thanked him very much.  All he said was, “No, no, no problem!”

Woah!

I got in to my car and headed for home.

Not one single person pulled out in front of me and most people actually drove the speed limit.

I was done with my errands a half an hour earlier than I was hoping for.

I don’t know what they put in to the water today but I hope to God they keep doing it.  In fact, I’m so pleased with it all that I’m actually going to take the opinion survey for Home Depot and let them know what a great improvement today was over every other time I’ve been there.  Companies need to know when they do something right, too, ya know.

After that, I’m going to continue sitting here in a state of shock that people were actually helpful, considerate and kind today.  I’m not quite sure how to handle that!  I just know that I like it.

---

Friday, February 19, 2010

Continued

I was leaving a comment, replying to those of you who have written something but it got so long, I decided to just make it a new entry.

Boy I tell you, it’s amazing what a few words can do for a person.  What I really wanted to do is just not going to happen and as I realize this, yes, I harbor some resentment.  Resentment, anger and sorrow.  Fucking assholes...what was their gottdamned problem?

But, after reading the comments, I’ve made a slight change in how I do things.  It’s going to be hard for me but it’s a first step in many of the small steps I’ll have to take to accomplish what I wish to accomplish.

May sound silly to all of you but for me, it’s pretty big.  See, I don’t like to owe money.  I don’t like the feeling of knowing that someone can take something away from me if I don’t outright own it.  And many times in this life I have not done the, “Pay yourself first” business when I’ve been paid but have paid everyone else, leaving me with little.

What has happened as a result is that when shit hits the fan, because I’ve paid everyone else and not myself, I’ve had nothing to fall back on.  Granted, I’ve never been wealthy or anywhere near that playing field...hell, I haven’t even been in the stands as a spectator, and as I wrote, (actually, added to a list that I copied and pasted about what it is to be poor), there is no room for error when you don’t have money.  There just isn’t.  Everything is hard when you are poor.  EVERYthing.  And it’s downright exhausting.

Last night, I decided to count up all of my tips and the four checks I haven’t cashed yet as well as what I have in my bank account.  It’s not a whole lot but it was enough for me to pay off my car, pay my insurance for the year and pay an extra amount on something else; something I’ve been working on to ensure that I’ll have a damn roof over my head always.

And I was very, very, very tempted to do it.  Just plunk it all down and I wouldn’t have to worry about anything.  Just my measly little satellite bills each month.  What a great way to live!

Except...what if something happens?  Or, what if I saved that money and put it towards getting THE HELL OUT OF HERE!?!?!

I was actually unsure what I wanted to do but I held off for the time being while I tried to make up my mind.  Like I said, I hate, hate, hate owing money.

Then I come here and see these comments and while they are all rather encouraging, (God how nice that is to hear), I think it was physics geek’s comment that did it.  Something about “something came along out of the blue and I ran screaming out the door” hit the right nerve.

I will indeed run screaming out the door when I leave here and I will be so fucking happy when I do, (provided I do it on MY terms and on MY initiation), but the only way I’m going to get there is to have some money to do it. 

This isn’t the best time to be looking for something else but I can save up a big, fat chunk of change in the meantime and what I have now is one hell of a good start.

So, while normally it’s better to pay off your bills ahead of time, I think, in this situation, it’s worth it to continue to make the payments I have been making, (still giving them more than the minimum each month to apply it to that principle), and save the rest.

Because if there is one thing I’ve learned in this life, when you are ok financially, you have so many more options than you do when you are not ok financially.  And one of those options is to tell them where to shove it.  Knowing that I’ll have the money to leave when I’m ready will make things easier at work, as well.  I won’t be so worried about getting canned or let go.  I won’t have to worry about being homeless or starving again like I have gone through before in my early 20s. 

That is something I never, ever wish to go through again.  Which, coincidentally did teach me that of course I can make it through anything..I made it out of that shit from sheer will and determination and would not throw in the towel and cry about it.  It sucked total ass but I worked hard to get out of it.  Some of you know the story but I’m just going to do a quick recap for those who don’t.

I was in college.  I had my GI Bill, Pell Grant and a little bit of money saved up to get me through it.  (Money I had saved from serving in the military.) I lived in an apartment with a roommate.  I did not have a car.  I did not have cable television.  We shared a house phone that was just a house phone and had none of the extras.  We ate cheaply.  My money went to rent, electricity, bus fare, food and school supplies.  I was full on college mode because I wanted to do well. 

My roommate and I got along.  Unfortunately, she had some issue with a boyfriend and was advised by her psychiatrist to move away from him, (he lived near us), and perhaps go back home with her parents because I guess the relationship wasn’t healthy.  Well, she did just that.  The problem is, she left me with two days’ notice...meaning, two days before rent and all the bills were due.  I could come up with my half but I sure as hell couldn’t come up with her half.  I just didn’t have the money to do it.  I had planned everything out according to having a roommate.  And two days’ notice is not enough time to find a solution.

I ended up homeless.

But I still went to school.

After school I would knock on every business door in downtown Seattle and ask for a job.  Every fucking one of them whether I was qualified or not.  Very few places would even let me fill out an application.  They just weren’t hiring. 

I also went to every damn apartment building I could to try to find a place to live that I could afford.

After a few hours of doing that every day, I would then try to get my homework done before getting a few hours of sleep and starting all over again the next day.  For three weeks I did this.  Finally, the pieces started to fall in to place.  Yes, of course, a couple of people helped me along the way but that was because they saw how damn hard I was working at it.  They knew I wasn’t just sitting in a corner whining about my situation, they knew I was busting my ass to resolve the situation.

A very, very kind apartment manager helped me out by giving me “half off” my first month’s rent because it was a “summer special”.  There was no fucking summer special.  He just paid the other half of the rent for me.  And he didn’t make me pay last or deposit.  He trusted me.

And that was all I fucking needed.  A break.  Someone to believe in me.

Let me tell you what kind of shits the adoptives were in this situation:  When I told them of the roommate leaving with only two days’ notice and asked for $500 to cover the rent and the electric, they refused.  According to them, the entire situation was my fault.  I chose that roommate, it was my fault.  I didn’t have money saved up, it was my fault.  Nevermind that the money I had saved up went right in to school, tuition, books, bus fare, registration, labs, etc, I was “irresponsible” and they considered me a fuck up.  I had just served three years in the military but I’m a fuck up.  Nice.  I told them I was about to be homeless.  They didn’t care. 

Some years later, the maternal unit told me that she had been feeling guilty about that all these years.  I told her to forget about it because I realized that I could make it through anything.  I made it through that, for crying out loud.  Oh how she thanked me.  What I wanted to tell her was that her guilt didn’t fucking do me any good and that I now knew I could not rely on them to have my back for anything.  If your own family won’t support you, who would, I thought, at the time.

But she was absolved of her guilt because I told her to forget about it, I realized how strong I am.  Goody gumdrops for her.  Whatever makes her happy.  But it’s not something I’ll ever forget.

Anyway, yes, I made it through that but you know what?  That fear of repeating it stays with you.  You are always afraid that someone, somewhere is going to fuck things up for you and you will end up there again.  It’s not a nice way to live.  It’s even worse knowing you can’t ever go home again.  Not that I would want to but to even know that you could has to help a little bit. 

So, as long as I’m here, I’m just going to save.  I’ve been overpaying on my car payments for some time but I think I’m going to slow down on that, not make quadruple payments every month like I have been and just save it.  I may still owe on my car but I’ll have a savings building up so that no matter what happens, I should be ok.  And it will take away some of that fear, when I have enough to live for a good year without work, (that’s the goal), and have an idea of where I’m going next and what I’m going to do.

But just getting the financial part in my favor is a big step.  And then?  Then I’ll start finding my way around this life again. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever have the money to open my own animal sanctuary.  It takes a LOT of money to get them up and running and keep them going.  And since they are non profit, you rely on the public and grants to help you along.  Many have tried, many have failed.  This is why I want to learn as much as I can about every little thing so that if I ever do get the opportunity, I can fix it my damn self and not have to rely on others to help me because, see, the lesson I’ve learned in this life is that while I can count on a few people here and there along the way, most people, as you all said, SUCK and you just can’t rely on them for anything.

But, that is my dream.  A big piece of land, far away from assholes, where I am saving animals, making a difference and helping.  I like animals more than I do people.  I really don’t care who says that’s the wrong thing to say, it’s true.  Animals don’t lie.  They are very honest.  All you need to know is how they operate.  You could say the same thing for humans but humans are far too complex, phony and deceitful for me to ever figure out, in the general sense.

If I had an animal sanctuary, I think I would be a little lonely but I would also be too busy making a difference and be too happy with the beings I work with every day.  And if I don’t like someone’s bullshit attitude?  Guess what?  BYE!

Now, I know some of you might say that I don’t need to know everything, I can hire people to know those things or recruit volunteers to know those things but at the same time that I realize what makes a good leader is one who listens to those who are in the trenches and takes all of their suggestions in to consideration, a good leader also has to have some idea about the topic at hand. 

As an example:  I don’t need to know how to build an airboat from scratch but it would be helpful if I knew the names of the parts, basically how they work, why there are there and simple fixes.  It’s no less than when you own a car.  You should know the basics so that you can do for yourself before taking it to a mechanic to get ripped off.  You don’t have to know, completely, how to fix it but you should know the basics and have a general idea of what is going on when they say, “Your control arms and tie rods are broken.” The last thing you want to do is tilt your head to the side and say, “HUH?”

I want to know what the control arms and tie rods are, how they function and what they mean to the car.  I can have someone else fix them, but I want to know why the hell they are fixing them and know that they actually need to be fixed.

Do you get what I’m saying?

Now, it’s going to be stressful for awhile because it’s not like I’m going to be able to pick up and leave tomorrow.  This may take awhile.  And it’s going to suck every damn day.  And I may not be going straight to an animal sanctuary of my own right after that.  The first step is to get what I can while I’m here and then plan the next step.  Then the next one and the next one and the next one.

And yes, I’m going to be resentful for some time.  I am not stupid, I know life isn’t easy and I know there are no guarantees, but I do know, that a little boost so many years ago would have made this far, far less exhausting, physically and mentally and I wouldn’t have to live in perpetual fear of amounting to nothing. 

It’s sad, really because there is so much I want to do.  But I know I’m in this, basically, on my own so I’m going to have to pick one that I can still do regardless of the fact that I’m older now.  Age does indeed close many doors and eventually, I’ll accept that and move on.

Right now though, I just want to be pissed.

I’ll get over it...just let me be pissed for awhile.

---

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

It's One Or The Other

Ok, kids...go easy on me here, I’m just trying to flesh out what it is that is bothering me these days.  I have just woken up, (my day off), and usually that is when I think most clearly and I think it’s one of two things going on.

Either I’m going through a mid-life crisis or, in all sincerity, my job is reminding me of everything I have hated and worked against in my life.  Or maybe it’s both.  What I do know is that it’s really starting to eat at me...I guess it could be depression, I am really not sure.

For example, just before I woke up, I was dreaming about myself being much younger.  And as silly as this sounds, I was wearing a pair of dark, burgundy jeans that I used to own.  I loved these pants.  (Stick with me here, kids.) In the dream I was wearing those pants, rolled up at the hem because as with most pants, they were too long.  I had on a black sweater and a black leather jacket, just like I always used to wear.  I don’t recall what the hell I was doing in the dream but I remember as I was waking up, I thought, “What the hell happened to those pants?  Where did they go?  When did I get rid of them?  I don’t remember shit.”

Symbolism, kids, in case you didn’t catch on.  I’m sure you did, you are all pretty damn intelligent but I’m saying it anyway because I’m just kind of understanding some of this as I’m writing this.

Anyway, I woke up feeling...bleh.  Like something was missing.  And then it all kind of hit me.  What the hell happened?  This is not the course I set out for myself.  And this is not the person I thought I would become.

You know, I sit here, often, and think that all I want to do is save up as much money as possible so that I can go buy some land somewhere, far away from people and just be left the fuck alone.  And you know what?  As much as I want that, as much as imagining it makes me happy, it also makes me incredibly sad.  That is not the person I once was.  What I used to be was the type of person who could not wait to get out there, meet as many people as possible, see as many things as I could, go as far as I could, explore the ends of the earth.  I was full of adventure, would try many things, especially with higher risks, and basically embraced the world. 

Now?  Now all I want to do is hide from the world because the world actually pisses me off.  A lot.  Whereas I use to think, “Man, I can’t wait to go here, here and here and meet all those people”, all I can think now is, “You couldn’t pay me enough to visit your country because you are all fucking idiots!” I guess the travelers from those countries haven’t been the greatest ambassadors.

Nonetheless, there’s a feeling of something dying.  Like...maybe my hope?  Maybe my sense of adventure?  Maybe the zest for life I once had?  I’m not sure what it is but again, each time I think how great it would be to get the fuck away from people and not have to deal with them on a daily basis, it makes me feel tremendous loss and I’m not sure really how I would react after about a month of living that way.  Is that really what I want?

Basically, I don’t even know who the fuck I am anymore and what I want.  I’ve always known who I was and what I wanted.  I have no idea how to handle not knowing.

There is also the possibility that what is causing this is where I work.  My co-workers are either dumber than a box of wet Depends or they are abusive.  Verbally abusive, that is.  I really have low tolerance for abusive people and I really do not wish to spend my time around abusive people.  I’ve done enough, more than my share, in this lifetime.  The sperm donor was physically abusive to the point that he was thrown in jail and I was adopted out.  Lots of scars there, kids.  Physical and emotional.  Lots of work getting past that.  A LOT of work getting past that.  (And no, it doesn’t just magically disappear when you become an adult, you still have to work through that shit.)

And frankly, the adoptive units weren’t much better.

My abusive co-workers remind me of both of them; both sets that is.  They care only about themselves, they do not want to see you succeed, they do not care what their actions do to you, if they feel shitty, they want to ensure that you feel shitty, they manipulate, back stab, gossip and do everything in their power to get people fired.  Even their own friends!  They bring in “friends” and then turn around and start talking shit about them to get them fired.  WTF?!?!!?!

The boss....everyone here is a “fucking idiot”.  If you do anything, make a mistake, you are a “fucking idiot”.  And that is everyone here.  Not one person here is immune to it no matter how far their tongue is up the boss’ ass.  I’ve heard, several times in the almost three years I’ve been here, him calling people “fucking idiots” when they call in on the radio with a problem. 

There you are, driving the boat, something mechanical happens while you’re out.  You call in on the radio for assistance.  Immediately the boss wants to know what that “fucking idiot” has done this time.  Or sometimes we get stuck.  We turn wrong, or the boat just plain ass doesn’t fucking turn, the wind pushes us up in to the grass, something.  We are now stuck and need assistance.  Jesus, you should hear this guy when that happens.

“Doesn’t that fucking idiot know how to drive an airboat?”

This past week has been very windy.  VERY windy.  Docking is a bitch in the wind.  Every. single. person. has needed help at the dock.  Every last one of them.  Even the ones who claim that they have driven airboats their entire lives, have needed help.  And every last one of them has completely and totally fucked up their docking in the wind.  But the boss only gets upset with some of the people.

I had a boat last week and was coming in and has just about docked it perfectly despite the wind when a gust came up and fucked that all up for me.  The boss was on the dock loading boats as they came in because there was a long line of people waiting.  The right, front corner of my boat got caught up on the dock.  If I had just a few more inches, maybe only 5 inches, I would have cleared it but again, the wind gusted right at the most inopportune time and I didn’t complete the turn.

But do I get understanding? 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

No, what I get is a deep scowl and disgust from the boss.  See, I’m just a fucking idiot who cannot drive an airboat.

All of this reminds me of life growing up.  There was no room for error.  You had to be perfect.  You may think I’m being facetious but I’m really not.  You HAD to be perfect.  And to ensure perfection, there was a gottdamned rule for every little thing you did.  From the time I woke up in the morning to the time I went to bed at night, there was a rule.  Every action had a rule.  And it was stringent, there was no room for artistic license, you would do it this way, every single day, day in, day out or you would pay for it.

And I mean every. little. thing you can think of.

Because you had to be perfect, the house had to be perfect, you had to look perfect and the only way to achieve that perfection is to follow a set of rules stricter than the Chinese government.  At times, friends would come over and feel extremely uncomfortable in my house because of these rules.  They also realized that the place didn’t look lived in at all.  It was too clean, too shiny and there was nothing welcoming about it.  Every room looked like a show room.  And you damn well better keep it that way, right down to the glare of the freshly waxed floors.

If you made a mistake?  It was enormous.  There were no small mistakes.  Every thing was blown out of proportion.  You obviously were not trying very hard, you were being lazy and you were acting stupid.  For that you must pay.

And I think about that every time my boss calls us “fucking idiots” for simple mistakes.  There is no room for error at work.  We must be perfect.

So, you throw all of this together and I’m completely lost.  I do not appreciate being treated this way, I don’t tolerate the abuse and I did not work this fucking hard just to come right back to this sort of environment.  But how the fuck do I get out of this?  Can I actually hold on long enough to save up that money to get the fuck out?  How much more of this shit can I take?  And just how many more times will people try to sabotage my efforts TO get out of here?  (Yes, sabotage...you really have no idea.)

I don’t like feeling like I’m fighting for my very own existence every single day.  I’ve already been homeless once, I’ve already literally starved before, I do not want to go through that again.  I cannot just tell them to fuck off and leave out of here.  To do that would be to fuck myself over.

There is no encouragement here.  There was no encouragement growing up.  I always remember this during Olympic season.  I enjoy watching the games but sometimes I think I shouldn’t watch them because of what they stir up.

I often wonder, while watching, just how far I could have gotten in this life with a little support.  I didn’t ask for much.  I asked for very little.  And even those requests were not fitting with the regime so the answer was always, “no”.  There was so much I wanted to do, learn and take part of when I was younger.  These things were fun for me but the skills I would have gained, the lessons I would have learned, the confidence I would have gained, the leadership skills I would have been taught, the life lessons that I would have developed....all were denied because, you see, there is no future in those things. 

I wanted to act, sing, play piano, take more computer courses, (yes, even that long ago, they were there for kids), ski, do gymnastics, be on the swim team, track, tap...the list was endless.  And while I understand those things take money, that wasn’t the issue.  The issue was, “You are not allowed to have fun, therefore, no.” I got to do some of those things on a small scale but I thirsted for more and was always told, “no”.

What the fuck kind of parent tells their kid, “NO” when they are aching to learn things?  I was a very, very bored child.  I lost myself in books.  That was encouraged, thankfully, and that’s pretty much how I spent my years as a kid.  When I was home, I’d read a book.  What else was there for me to do?  I wasn’t allowed to fucking go anywhere or learn anything or gain a new skill.  I wasn’t allowed to explore and discover new talents.

No, maybe I wouldn’t have ever been a professional skiier, or gymnast or ice skater.  Maybe I would have never been a professional singer, only maybe being a back up.  But why the fuck would you deny someone the opportunity?

Because a) “things like that never happen to people like us” in other words, don’t even bother trying or b) you are too stupid. 

And here we have come, full circle.  I have been begging to learn the ins and outs of the mechanics of the airboat.  Just as I was taught in the military how to fix my own car, I should know how to fix a small, minor problem on a boat.  But we can’t have that because “you would all fuck it up”.  Only certain people are allowed to learn certain things at work and most of us are not allowed to learn shit.

I want to learn how to change the oil.

No.

I want to learn what this part is, that part is, how to fix these things when they go wrong; ie, how to change a starter.

No.

I want to learn how to find the fuse that gets blown at times on rides.

No.

I want to learn how to fix it should the rudder stick break on tour.  (And this HAS happened to people.)

No.

I want to learn how to fix this, that and the other.

No.

And it brings me right back to how I felt as a kid and always being told, “No.”

Who in their right fucking mind keeps someone from learning something?  Especially when that education would only benefit them AND the company or the family?  Who the fuck does that?

I am not a fucking idiot.  I am smart.  I pick things up quickly when I am allowed to learn them.  Sometimes how fast I pick things up pisses people off and makes them feel all threatened but that’s not my problem.  But I continually get held down.

No.  Fucking idiot.  You don’t need to learn these things.  You have nothing to gain by learning these things. 

Stupid girl.

So, you put all of this together and I feel like I’ve done nothing with my life.  I feel like I’ve advanced nowhere.  I feel like I’ve wasted all of these years because I’m right back in the same damn environment I fought so damn hard to get out of.  And it doesn’t matter what the hell I do, doesn’t matter how many times I prove myself, doesn’t matter how many times I prove them wrong, that I am stronger than they think, smarter than they think and more capable than they think and that not every little gottdamned last thing has to be run ONE. CERTAIN. WAY. ONLY!!!!!!!, I am not allowed to grow.

I’m stifled.

And I don’t know how to get out of this right now.....but even bigger, I don’t even know where the fuck I want to go next.  I really am not sure who the fuck I am anymore, as I said, and I am sick and fucking tired of people trying to hold me down, to keep me from being what I can be.

I’m sick and tired of the lack of support.

I’m sick and tired of people and their snotty attitudes.

And all of this really bothers me because this is not who I once was but it’s not because I’ve grown.  It’s because I’ve been held back for so long by so many that I have noticed my drive, my hope, my desires are pretty much flaming out.

And that really, really bothers me.  So much so, that it’s affecting my health.  My eating habits have changed drastically, for the worse, I can’t fucking sleep anymore.  I’m tossing and turning all night long, waking up at all hours, can’t get to sleep at night no matter how fucking tired I am, wake up too early, can’t get back to sleep, I’m exhausted all the time...I don’t even have the energy to do simple tasks.  Even going to the store is something big.  I’m fucking mentally exhausted and now I have to go out there and deal with more assholes?  How about I just don’t have any food at all.  Except I have to take care of the cats.

I have no desire to even go do anything.  Part of that is because I’m trying to save up my money but part of it is also, I just don’t have the energy to deal with people.  As much as I want to be the tourist for a change, I don’t want to deal with tourists.

And frankly, I’ve pretty much alienated my friends not because of anything they have done or I have done...I just don’t have it in me anymore.  I’m that fucking tired.  And I really can’t take one more excuse or one more let down.  And that is much too demanding on them.  It’s not their fault but they are the ones who bear the brunt of it.  It’s not fair to them so I don’t even bother.

How fucked up is that?

Fuck, man, I don’t even know what the hell I want to do anymore.  I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I’m totally and completely lost.

[Edit] If you read this far, thanks for listening.  I don’t expect anyone would have any answers.  I don’t really expect much...I just needed to get that out.

---

Monday, February 15, 2010

Frustrating

Sometimes I feel stifled...even here on this blog.  This was supposed to be an outlet for me, to write anything I wanted to write, to say whatever I wanted to say, to vent, tell a story, put my thoughts down, learn and grow from them…

I don’t always want to be the funny one.  I don’t always want to point out the insanity of the general public.  I don’t always want to speak to the peanut gallery.  I don’t always want to talk politics.  I don’t always want to have to point out why someone is an idiot or why their actions are stupid.  I don’t always want to be a voice of reason. 

I do not always say “everything there is to say”.  I hear this a lot.  “You’ve said everything and better than I could.” No, I seriously doubt that.  I think some of you sell yourselves short.

Regardless, sometimes I want to talk about personal shit and I don’t feel like I can do that here.  That is not a good feeling.  I’m always going to alienate someone or some people because they only want a certain type of blog entry.  I’m always going to have those who don’t understand anything and think that when you write about something that bothers you, not venting, writing, not ranting, WRITING, about something that is serious to you that is personal, they view it as whining or that you feel entitled to something or that you have it so good, what the hell are you crying about, why don’t you think about those in this world who don’t even have beds to sleep on! 

I understand that you only get to see glimpses of my personality.  You don’t get to see the whole thing but I also wish people would stop making generalizations about myself or other bloggers based solely on what they see in the blog.  These are not all encompassing pieces.  There is much more to us than what you see.  And I would love nothing more than to feel free, really, truly free, to write some of those things down.  To try to make sense of them.  To try to figure out the path to take because of those things.

But I do not feel that freedom here no matter how many times someone says, “Write what you want to write about , we’ll still read!” because it’s not true.  In the 7 years I’ve been doing this, I’ve heard that several times as well and you know what?  “We’ll always read no matter what you write” is a fucking lie.  I have a different crowd depending on what I’m writing about at the time.

If I write politics, I get a different crowd.

If I write animals, I get a different crowd.

If I write about stupid, every day people and situations, I get a different crowd.

If I write something a little personal, I get a different crowd.

It is RARE that one person will stick around for all of those subjects.  And I hate to lose readers or gain new ones who expect a certain theme.  If I didn’t care about readers, I would be writing in a personal diary that no one would see.  Anybody who puts their words out there on the internets obviously cares about other people reading it.  Those who say they don’t are liars.

But every time I think of writing something serious, all I can question is:  Who am I going to offend today?  Who is going to come here and say some nasty little thing without knowing the full story?  Who is going to come on here and be a dick when I’m exposing some deep feelings?  You may not know this, kids, but I’m actually very sensitive.  I know I don’t come across that way on this blog because I’m passionate about morons, passionate in my disgust over them, that is, but some things, you can cut me pretty easily and deeply.  I’ve had a fair share of pricks in this lifetime who have done just that, some times they were other bloggers, and I really don’t feel...safe, with those kinds of people out there. 

I’m pretty private in real life.  I don’t really like to share much with many in my real life.  I would usually share with one or two people and that would be it.  But sometimes, I just want to write about some of that personal shit because for the most part, I don’t know any of you.  You are strangers to me.  Sure, you come here and comment and we have a blog/reader/writer friendship that way but you wouldn’t know me if you saw me on the street and vice versa.  That makes me feel safe.  It’s much easier to talk to strangers. 

At the same time, that anonymity gives some people license to act like assholes.  Hiding behind a computer screen can make you open up, as I wish to do but it can also bring out the spitfire dick in some people.

And because this is off the cuff, it’s probably coming out wrong and someone, somewhere, is going to get all offended and say, “Well fuck you, too, Serenity.  I don’t need to read your shit anymore.” And there’s not a fucking thing I can do about that. 

At the same time some readers make me feel stifled, it’s those readers who make me come back here and keep this thing up.  I just have to figure out which to care more about right now.  I don’t like feeling censored.  Yah, a strong word but at times it feels that way.  ‘Only talk about this and this and that, nothing else or I’m not coming back!’

“You shouldn’t care about those types of people, Serenity.” Except that’s a large percentage of my readers, as I illustrated earlier.

I am more than just one who vents about stupidity but I don’t feel free to write about it. 

That really sucks.

---

Thursday, December 10, 2009

My Job Is Making Me Stupid

Or maybe it’s this entire town, who knows.  Here are some things I’ve heard at my job in the past...oh, about 3 months:

Whenever I point out that something can’t be that way because it would be illegal, I get told, “Oh, there’s a new law that just passed this year that allows that.” Apparently there are a lot of new laws out this year.

“Smoking pot is not bad for you.  That’s a government conspiracy.  You believe what the government wants you to believe.  I smoke it every day, it’s not bad for you.”

“The guy who shot JFK, Lee Army Oswald...”

Scene:  Co-worker studying for nationalization test brings questions to work to test our knowledge.  (I’ve shared this before but I’m doing it again.)

She:  “Who said, ‘Give me liberty or give me death’?”

Me:  Patrick Henry.

Others:  “Thomas Jefferson.” “Yah, it’s Thomas Jefferson.”

Me:  No, it’s Patrick Henry.

Others:  “No, it’s Thomas Jefferson.....Patrick Henry...please...scoff...hahahahahhahahaha...it’s Thomas Jefferson.” Look at each other all smug.

She:  “Patrick Henry.”

Me:  :::Stupid pricks:::

“It’s beer o’clock!!”

“It’s beer thirty!!”

“I’m gonna go smoke some pie!” (This is what they call pot.)

“Piss!” At random moments.  No, it’s not in conjunction with anything...it’s just out of the blue, random moment, someone just yells, “Piss!”

“I don’t read, it’s boring.”

“You’re gay.” “No, you’re gay.” “No, you’re gay.” “No, you’re gay.” “You’re gay times infinity.” (I wish I was making that up.)

We have some roosters at the park where I work.  When one of them is looking for them, they will say, loudly, “Where’s my cock?!  Has anyone seen my cock?!”, because they are 4.

Showing me a newspaper article:  “Read this headline.” I read it.  It says, “Haitian Community Coming Together”.  I look up, “Ok...what?” Them:  “I’d call that perfect timing!  BARHARHARHAR!” Don’t worry if you don’t get it....it was so stupid I didn’t get it for a couple of minutes.  Until I remembered who I was talking to.

As with “Piss!”, periodically, for no reason, someone will yell out, “Bob Saget!” for no reason.

Mon:  “I’m still hungover from last night.”
Tue:  “I’m still hungover from last night.”
Wed:  “I’m still hungover from last night.”
Thur:  “I’m still hungover from last night.”
Fri:  “I’m still hungover from last night.”
Sat:  “I’m still hungover from last night.”
Sun:  “I’m still hungover from last night.”

“It was all because of Bush.....” (Still.)

“You don’t burn calories just from moving around at home or work.  You have to exercise to burn calories.  Walking around all day at work doesn’t burn calories.”

“Fuck these tourists.  Only 4 of them tipped me.  I’m going to be late on rent again this month.” This comes from a guy who budgets in $400 a month for pot.  He can’t pay his rent, but he can afford his $400 in pot every month.

Me:  “There’s a plethora of issues here...”
They:  “Serenity’s using big words again...she’s trying to make us all look stupid.”
Me:  :::I don’t have to say anything and you all will still look stupid:::

I wish I could say that this was 5 minutes of conversation out of the day but this is pretty much all the conversation one gets throughout the entire day.  When you top it off with tourists asking the dumbest questions on earth, (really, there is such a thing as a stupid question....example:  Tourist is standing right next to the boats on the dock.  They’ve seen people loading in to boats and unloading out of boats at this dock.  They then ask, “Where do we go to get the boat.” I pretend they have stumped me and reply, “Hm.  Uh....to be honest, I’m not sure.” Many of them have no idea that I’m making fun of them), I think my IQ has slipped about 100 points since I’ve been here.

I’ve not had an intelligent conversation in 2 1/2 years.  No wonder I can’t think of anything to write these days.

---

Monday, November 02, 2009

Fantastic

Recently, I was whining about my wisdom tooth coming in.  I had stated that for the past 6 or 7 years, about once a year or so I would feel something going on.  I stated that in my 20s, my dentist took x-rays and told me I had no wisdom teeth in my bottom row and that the top row was still so far up that they would check them again in about 5 years.

Sigh.

It’s time.  One of them is in.  The one that has been causing annual pain for so long...it’s finally in and it’s causing more pain.  And that means I’ll probably have to go to the dentist and get it taken out.  Have I mentioned how much I hate going to the dentist?  Have I mentioned how much I hate needles?  Have I mentioned how much I hate pain?  Have I mentioned that these three things make me act like a big baby?

And have I mentioned that I find this highly annoying to be happening to me at this stage of my life?  According to the American Association of Oral and Maxillofacial Surgeons,

Wisdom teeth, also known as third molars, are the last teeth to erupt in your mouth. This generally occurs between the ages of 17 and 25, a time of life that has been called the “Age of Wisdom."

I’m well passed that number.  Well passed.  (The first one of youse to make a joke about wisdom and my youth, gets banned.) I’m not supposed to be worrying about things that happen to children, I’m supposed to be worried about keeping my teeth.

Most wisdom tooth extractions are performed in the oral and maxillofacial surgery office under local anesthesia, intravenous sedation or general anesthesia. Your oral and maxillofacial surgeon will discuss the anesthetic option that is right for you.

Following surgery, you may experience some swelling and mild discomfort, which are part of the normal healing process. Cold compresses may help decrease the swelling, and medication prescribed by your Oral and Maxillofacial Surgeon can help manage the discomfort. You may be instructed to modify your diet following surgery and later progress to more normal foods.

Oh goody, I can hardly wait.  I’ll be stabbed with needles, get sick from anesthesia, (does anyone remember my broken ankle surgery back in 2004?), be in horrifying pain, (literal translation of “mild discomfort") and I get to starve.  Well sign me up!

This was supposed to be performed when I was younger...when one can’t remember anything that happened in their early years. 

Well, I guess I better get this done before St. Hope and Change takes over our health care system.  The whole thing is going to be bad enough as it is.

---

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

I've Done My Duty

Now leave me alone!

Had jury duty today.  Got there about 5 minutes late but that wasn’t a big deal, really.  I was there in time before they started talking to us all about everything.  After we were told that they wouldn’t be calling anyone for about a half an hour, I went outside to just enjoy being outside and not cooped up indoors. 

Here’s the thing:  The very first time I walked through security, all went well.  I placed my bag on the conveyor belt, removed my jacket per their demands and walked through.  No beeps, nothing.  Excellent.  Gathered my things and went up to report for duty. 

When I came back from being outside the first time, the alarm went off when I walked through and they had an issue with something in my bag.  Nothing had changed.  Nothing had been added in to the bag, nothing had been added to my clothing but this time, I was stopped.  Interesting.  So I had to walk through over and over again.  The alarm goes off with red lights based on what area of the body the detector detects something.  Apparently this time it was my upper body.  Finally I was wanded.  The wand kept going off on the zipper on my shirt.  So, even after they had me lift my pant legs and looked around my waist band, they declared it was my zipper on my shirt. 

Then, they start getting snotty about my bag.  I’m pushed back and told to make my bag go through again.  What the fuck, man.  So I put it through again.  They yank my bag off the belt on the other side and start going through it talking about a laser.  Laser?  What fucking laser?  And what the hell, this didn’t happen the first time I went through.  They pulled out my Kindle and started man handling it, trying to figure out what it was.  They wanted to know if it was a laser.  I had to explain to them that it was an ereader, it is not a laser in any way, shape or form.  They kept going on and on and ON about a laser.  Then it hit me.....DER!  I just recently bought this laser toy for my cats that attaches to my key chain.  The keys were in my bag.  So I showed them the laser and they confiscated it, put it in an envelope and gave me a number to claim it before I left.

That’s fine.  I have no problem with that.  Except why didn’t they detect that the first time I went through?  See, this is how people sneak shit in and this is what bothers me about our security.  People may mumble and grumble about having to remove belts and shoes but I’m more of the type to get irritated when they don’t see everything that comes through.  You know what?  Take your time and make sure you see everything.  A room full of annoyed people is better than a room full of DEAD people!

Went back upstairs and noticed that the “Quiet Room” was now open so I headed straight there.  I opened the door and oh how beautiful!  I was the only one in there!  I had the room all to myself!  Hurray!  I started reading and was all alone for a good 15 minutes before someone else walked in.  I was so engrossed in my book that I didn’t notice him walk in.  It wasn’t until the door clunked shut that I realized I was no longer alone and I jumped a good 4 inches out of my chair.

About 2 minutes later, someone else came in.  But, they were quiet and that was ok.  One was busy with studies for school and the other was reading a book.  It was very quiet in there.  Nice. 

And then they announced over the loud speaker that the “Quiet Room” was now open.  DAMN!  DAMN, DAMN, DAMN!!!!!!!! 

More people started coming in to read.  That’s fine.  Everyone was quiet except that every time someone came in, the door would clunk close behind them.  It got rather distracting.  Just when everything started to settle down, some tool shed on the streets below started hollering some such shit, the same statement, over and over and over and over and over again.  Dude, shut up!  Can’t you see we are in the “Quiet Room”?  Go take your love anger elsewhere.

Finally, he left, things were being all quiet again and then, bam.  Announcement.  Sigh.  Eventually I just gave up being in the quiet room.  I started talking to a fellow juror about the Kindle.  Then we got on to the subject of politics and other things and, thankfully, we agreed on quite a bit.  Not everything but quite a bit.  Refreshing in this town!

Jurors were called, groups forming again and again but not me.  We were released for lunch.  I went downstairs to hang outside and continue talking to that fellow juror.  Eventually we worked our way back inside and here we go again with the security.

THIS TIME, my bag was fine, however; I still was not.  I told them, “Yah, last time I went through they said it was my zipper here on my shirt.” They did not care to hear me because this time the detector told them the problem was in my shoes.  “Do you have metal in your shoes?” No, just like I didn’t the last two damn times I went through here.  I had to take off my fricken shoes.  Sigh.  Every single time I went through the detector, it was a different outcome.  Doesn’t give me a lot of faith in that detector or those people, frankly.  And yes, they were the same people.  I went through the same line each time.

Got back up to our waiting area and proceeded to wait and wait and wait some more.  Again more groups were called and again, I was not.  It was approaching 2pm.  I asked my fellow juror, knowing damn good and well I was jinxing things, if it was possible not to be called at all and we just go home at 5.  Sure as shit, the next batch of jurors, I was called.  Naturally.

We get up to the court and file in.  When we first got to jury duty, we had to fill out a questionnaire telling them a little bit about us.  The judge went to each and every person, asking them questions based on their answers.  I was juror #19, one of the last, (20 of us in all).  Most of the people before me had never been called for jury duty.  When it came to my turn, I informed the judge that this was my 4th time.  “Wow!  Four times!?”, he exclaimed.  (The only one who had me beat was the lady next to me, Juror #20...she answered that she has had jury duty every two years since she first registered to vote.  You win!) He then asked me a bit about those other three times and proceeded on to ask me other questions.  Where did I live before Miami, that sort of thing.  Then he got to my job.  He said, “Now, (chuckle), this one is interesting and I circled it because I just had to get more information about it....it says here, you are an airboat captain and that you LIVE in the Everglades?”

I replied yes.

He wanted to know how far in to the Everglades I lived.  I informed him of the general area.  Not only did the judge gasp but so did some of my fellow jurors.  “Wow, you really DO live way out there!” He wanted to know a bit about it all and I felt kind of embarrassed because every single person in that court was looking at me....it’s easier to just BE the tour guide than talk about it.  Anyway, apparently it tickled him that I was an air boat captain. 

We then proceeded with the routine questions, swearing in, understanding the law and our job and all that.  Then he asked us if we knew any of the people there, any of the witnesses, all that.  Then he asked if any of us may have a bias towards lawyers, police officers that sort of thing.  Some people did from past experiences.  They discussed all that.  Then he asked if any of us had any bias towards the defendant.  At first I thought he meant racist because the defendant was black so I said nothing.  He then went on to explain, “You know, bias towards driving under the influence....” I raised my hand. 

I told him that 10 years ago I had been in an accident and the other driver was driving under the influence, (drugs not alcohol but still under the influence), and that periodically I still get pissed about that as I continue to deal with the injuries and the pain.  He asked me if I could be fair towards the defendant.  I said I didn’t think so.  I had to be honest.  I have a big fucking problem with people drinking and driving or doing drugs and driving.  It pisses me off!  And despite the fact that our job is to listen only to the evidence and base our decision on that, I know for a FACT that I would be biased if, say, the guy fell during a field sobriety test.  I might not be so keen on giving an excuse that he was nervous or something like that. 

The judge said he appreciated my honesty and made a note on my paper.  Well, after that, other hands shot up.  Seems a number of my fellow jurors had issues with drunk drivers in the past and they, too, would more than likely be biased and not fair to the defendant.  The judge asked us if we thought we could be fair and I told him, “For this type of case?  I can’t say yes.”

The the prosecutor and defense attorney had their turns standing in front of us, asking us questions...on and on it went.  It was 4:45pm when they had us go out in to the hallway while they made their decision.

We sat out there for a half an hour!

Finally, we all filed back in and the judge said, “I have some good news and some bad news...depending on how you see it.” NONE of us got picked!  LOL!  There were too many people like me who claimed they would probably not be fair, (I wasn’t using this as an excuse to get out of it, I was being totally honest), and some people were really stupid.  They weren’t listening well, weren’t answering the attorneys questions in any way that made sense, would totally change their mind from one second to the next....none of it was good.  So, there may have been only a few people who they would have taken but it didn’t leave them with enough so they decided to scrap the whole thing and try for a completely different pool.

It didn’t matter either way.  IF I had been picked and could be fair, they were going to have the case done right away.  They would pick the jury and begin.  They told us we may not get out until 7 or 8pm.  That’s fine with me.  Give traffic some time to die down and the judge had ordered food for us all.  Since none of us got picked, we all got to leave at about 5:20pm.  As we were leaving, one juror asked, “What about dinner?” The judge laughed.  He was actually a pretty cool judge, had a good sense of humor.  Nicer than other judges I’ve worked with as a juror.

So, I’m done.  And it will be at least 12 months before they can pick me again.  Hurray!  I’m free for a year.  And I didn’t bother to fill out the compensation form.  They give you $15.  Whatever.  Just keep it and leave me alone!

---

Monday, October 26, 2009

Again?!?!

Kids....dudes....seriously.  What the hell.  I have been picked, again, for Jury Duty.  Sigh.

I’ve already done this three times now.  I’ve served twice.  One time was a few days, one time was two weeks.  Two.  Fricken.  Weeks.  Now I have to go and sit in a room with a bunch of people who also do not want to be there and sit.  And sit and sit and sit and sit and sit.  Then I’ll look out the windows.  Then I’ll get up to get something to drink and look at the 5000 piece puzzle some jurors are putting together and see how much they have completed.  Then I’ll sit some more.  And crave a cigarette.  And a drink.  And hate.  Because I really do not like dealing with many in society and here, I have no choice but to sit in the same damn room with them for hours.  HOURS on end.

And I know I’ll be annoyed.  I hope to GOD they do not have a fucking television in there because I swear to GOD I cannot take Spanish soap operas. 

I’m bringing my Kindle.  Hopefully I’ll be left alone but I’m sure someone or some will come up and ask me what it is.  They’ll want to touch it.  Because, I swear to you, people in this town just snap things out of your hand without asking permission, so they can look at it a little closer.  And that’s going to cause serious problems.  And I may end up in jail my damn self if anyone DARES touch my Kindle.  Tempers will flare.  Bad words will be thrown.  Fists may fly.

I know all about how we are lucky that we have jury selection and they are a jury of our peers and the justice system and innocent until proven guilty and this is what it means to live in this country, yada, blah, blech.  I KNOW!  I’ve done it!  THREE TIMES ALREADY!  And not once out of those three times did I piss, bitch or moan.

This time though, I will because I cannot afford to be selected.  “Oh well, Serenity, just let them know that it would be a hardship for you and you can get out of it.” HA!  Amateurs!  Do you know how hard that is to claim and prove and actually get what you want?  It’s not that easy.  I’ve seen many people try and many people fail. 

And no, I’m not going to play the racist card or dick head card just to get out of it.  For one thing, don’t you think the judge has seen and heard it all?  I don’t need to end up in contempt of court.  For another thing, I may not even get asked any questions.  One time I did, that was the one for a few days.  The other time, they went SOLELY on my appearance.  I looked younger than I was, they didn’t realize how old I was and because the case had to do with a younger girl, they figured I would be great on the jury.  So, we don’t always get to say anything at all.  Sometimes, you just get picked.

I do not want to get picked this time.  They pay $10 or $15 a day.  That money goes right in to the fucking parking.  And this time, my employer can only match my check amount not the actual amount of money I make.  We work for tips.  The bulk of our income comes from the tips.  You cannot reimburse the difference on tips because you do not know how much the person was going to make in tips.  You can only make up the difference in actual hourly wages. 

The difference between $10/15 that I would get, (essentially $0 because, again, we are talking gas, tolls and parking to get there), and the amount I actually make at work in tips, is HUGE!

I have been debating whether I’ll also bring my laptop.  I’m not sure yet.  If I do, I guess I’ll live blog the event so you all can sit here, bored as shit, just like I’ll be.  It’s only fair.  We suffer on this blog together!  Like a family!

Four damn times now.  Aren’t there other people in this country who can be picked?  See, this is another reason I’m against illegal aliens.  Get your fucking ass here legally so they can pick YOUR ASS for Jury Duty and leave me the hell alone, assholes!

---

Saturday, October 17, 2009

We're Here To Sever

They say that shopping at Publix is “always a pleasure”.  Isn’t that cute?  I just got back from Publix and I’ll let you decide if this would be pleasurable to you.  I went to a different one than I normally shop in because I had something else to do beforehand and right beside the building I needed to get to was another Publix.  I drove over to the parking lot which was pretty full and had to park way away from the main door to the store.  Luckily the weather has changed and it was actually pleasant this evening so the walk wasn’t too bad.

Before I got inside the store I was greeted by a veteran who was collecting money for some veterans organization.  Of course I gave them money and thanked them for their service.  As I was turning away, an old man came up behind me to give the veterans money and stated he, too, was a veteran.  So nice to see.  Really.  Seems rare around these parts.

Inside I went, shopping cart in front of me and I proceeded to shop.  At first, nothing of interest happened except that I found gallon water at 2 for $1 so I snatched up a whole cart load of those.  (Can’t drink the water where I live.  Long story.  Don’t ask, I’m not going to go into it because it’s really not that entertaining.)

La, la, la, almost done.  Came around one of the last aisles when I confronted a bitch.  Now, I shop the way I drive my car.  Meaning I stay to the right of the aisle so that others going the opposite way can pass me on the left.  Just like on a highway/freeway.  I was just coming to the end of the aisle and starting to turn my extremely heavy cart when this stupid bitch almost ran in to me.  She was not watching where she was going and looked back around at the last second and exclaimed, “OH!”

I stood there waiting for her to pass.  She tilted her head towards the right indicating that she wanted to go down that row and I should move my cart.  Nevermind that she has the ENTIRE left side of the aisle to use, she wants me to move MY cart away from the right side of the aisle so that she can turn in to that aisle.  Look, I do not go out of my way to start things.  I try at least a little to be courteous...more than is required of me.  However, my cart had 2 gigantic tubs of cat litter, 20 lbs of cat food, 8 gallons of water, 3 gallons of milk and misc. items.  It was heavy.  PLUS, I was already on the correct side of the fucking aisle.

This bitch had an empty cart and was trying to maneuver in to a 2 foot space to the right of me with her cart.  Pushing her cart towards the left of me, as one would drive a vehicle, did not enter her brain, apparently.  Or she’s one of those fucking snots who is used to people moving out of the way for her.  Not today, honey.  I informed her, “This cart is quite heavy, it might be easier for you to move your cart around to my left.”

That’s when she got snippy.

And that’s when I stopped being nice.

In reply she said, “Well, you’ve just been sitting there making faces!”

Oh.  I see.  One of those bitches.  The face I was making was one that clearly stated, “You are one stupid ass selfish fucking bitch, aren’t you?” while I tried, for a second or two, to move the cart to the left so that I could turn back around to the right to get to the next aisle while she sat there, all demanding and lazy, waiting for me instead of being a decent and intelligent human being and driving her cart like the rest of the fucking world.

Once again, she said, “Well, you’ve just been sitting there making faces.”

I replied, sternly and in a low, menacing, ‘do NOT fuck with me today’ voice, “And I will continue to make faces as long as you continue to be stupid.  Dumb hag.”

All she could say to that was, “Gasp!” And move her stupid fucking empty cart to the left.  See how simple that was, twit? 

So, on I went, finishing up my shopping.  Eventually I made my way to the check out stands.  Two guys walked up behind me and because they were only getting ice, I let them go in front of me.  We all thought, all three of us, that the person who was in front of me was done with checkout.  The two guys set their ice bags down on the belt in front of his stuff.  A beat or two and then I said, “Um, I think that’s that guy’s stuff that has to still be rung in.”

The realization kind of hit us all at the same time because I swear to you, that stuff was not on that belt two seconds ago.  The two guys were under the same impression:  the belt had just been empty.  Where the hell did all this come from?  Actually, they asked that out loud. 

Then they apologized to the guy who was standing at the end of the counter, ready to bag his own groceries.  He saw that they only had ice and he, too, allowed them to jump ahead.  They started chatting while the checker rung up the ice.  As they left, they thanked the guy again for letting them jump ahead.

Nothing to me.

How nice.

I started to put my stuff up on the belt.  When I have multiple items like gallon water jugs or heavy items like cat litter, I wait until the checker is ringing up my stuff to put them on the belt.  That way, I can, say, pull the cat food off of the bottom of the shopping cart, hand it to the checker, have her scan it and then I put it right back on the bottom of the cart.  So, I was doing this with the water, milk and the cat litter.

I was handing her the cat litter but she pulled it towards her too soon.  For those who do not have cats, the tubs of cat litter have a handle and those handles are metal that attach to the tub leaving a very small space between the hooks and the actual metal.  Far too small for a hand, say, to fit comfortably.  So, I was handing it to her, she pulled too soon and my hand got caught in that small area where the handle attaches to the tub.  Before she completely severed it from my wrist, I yanked my hand back in pain.  I actually said, “OWWW!” I said nothing further; made only a stony face and stared at her because if I had opened my mouth again, I would have cursed a blue streak and there were customers around me.  It.  Fucking.  Hurt.

She looked shocked at first but then decided that I was being dramatic.  She spoke to the bagger in Spanish, they both looked at me and while I don’t understand every word, I got the gist of it with the words I do know and the expression on their faces.  As she continued to check my items, she would look up at me, sideways, with that skeptical look on her face. 

Whatever.  Let’s just get this over with because I’m ready to be home now.

As she was nearing the end, I went to get my wallet out to start counting my money.  That’s when I noticed the blood.  It wasn’t just a drop or two.  There was lots of it.  And it kept coming.  I said, ‘Oh!’ and looked at the checker.  She looked at me and then my hand and her eyes went wide.

For someone who didn’t speak two words of English before, suddenly she knew a phrase or two.  She started practically throwing sani wipes at me.  She must have tossed 6 or 7 at me in rapid fire succession.  I put them on my hand, they turned from white to red and she threw more, saying, “No, no!  Too much!” Meaning, too much blood.  She then decided she needed to tell someone. 

Oy!  I do not like a scene.  And I figured it wasn’t a big deal.  I even told her so, “It’s ok.  No big deal.  It’s ok.” Nope.  Off she went to go get someone.  Fuck.

The lady in line behind me started digging in her purse for bandages.  She said normally she always carries them but of course, they weren’t in there today.  Still, it was nice of her. 

Finally I see the checker coming back and I’m dreading if she brought anyone with her.  Thankfully she only brought an alcohol wipe, (HA!  Like I’m putting THAT on an open cut.  Hell no!), and some bandages.  She then stood there, looking at my hand, the blood and then at me.  I could tell what she was thinking.  “When is this lady going to start yelling at me?  When is she going to request a manager?  When is she going to sue Publix?  Why is that hand still bleeding?  Oh my God!  Look at all of that blood!  I need this job!  Shit!” And, “Eeew!  Did I get blood on me?  Where are those sani wipes?  I need to disinfect myself!” I don’t blame her.  I would react the same way if a stranger started bleeding all over my counter tops.

I kept telling her, “It’s ok.  It’s ok.  It’s ok.” Over and over and over.

She finally finished my transaction while I put the bandages on after applying pressure to get the bleeding to stop and suddenly, she didn’t speak much English anymore. 

Of course. 

I headed out the door, a different door than the one I came in, noticed that the veteran had changed sides, we greeted each other warmly again, and lo and behold...my car was in the row of cars directly outside this door.

Now, one could look at the negative and say, “Damn, shopping at Publix doesn’t sound like much of a pleasure” but I like to focus on the positive.  At least the hag bitch with the cart got attitude with me in English, I did get some pleasure from wiping that skeptical bitch look off the checker’s face when she realized, “HOLY shit!  I DID actually hurt her!  She wasn’t being dramatic!  Fuck!” And in the end, my car was pretty much front door parking.

So, yah, I guess it was a pleasure after all.

---

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Being Poor Makes You Stronger

It’s unbelievable to me how many people talk about how poor they are while they are listening to their iPods, diving in to their McD’s drive thru lunch, stepping out of their car and/or lighting their $8 scented candle.  It’s unbelievable to me that in my life, I’ve had people ask to bum a smoke from me, telling me they can’t afford them as their cell phone rings again.  It’s unbelievable to me that someone will ask me for money as they leave from work, on payday, check in their hand because they say that all of the check goes to bills and they have nothing left.  It’s unbelievable to me that someone who doesn’t have to pay rent, sewage, garbage, water or electricity, who has a job, talks about how they don’t have enough money to eat, that they are barely scraping by this week and ask me for a hand out and sympathy knowing full well that the reason they don’t have money is because they don’t show up to work half the week.  It’s unbelievable to me just how many people in this country do not understand what it is like to actually, truly, really be poor.

I’ve been poor.  I’ve bored you with the story many times.  I have been homeless, without a bed, with no food.  I’ve been without a car, no phone, no cable, no cell phone, no internet, no washer/dryer, no video games, no take out, no drive thru, no money for the movies, no pop, no hair cuts, etc.  I just love it when people try to lecture me about what it’s like to be poor and how I have no idea what it is like because America is such a rich country.  They look foolish when they say that.  I do know what it’s like.  (And yet I still am against hand outs, welfare and national healthcare...go figure!)

I found a list from writer John Scalzi on Being Poor.  I’m going to include the ones from his list that I know about, personally, have lived them, as well as add my own:

Being poor is knowing exactly how much everything costs.

Being poor is having to keep buying $800 cars because they’re what you can afford, and then having the cars break down on you, because there’s not an $800 car in America that’s worth a damn.

Being poor is feeling like you’re moving up in the world because you can actually afford an $800 piece of shit.

Being poor is hoping the toothache goes away.

Being poor is wondering if your well-off sibling is lying when he says he doesn’t mind when you ask for help.

Being poor is a heater in only one room of the house.

Being poor is thinking having more than one room in the house is a sign of your fortune changing.

Being poor is knowing you can’t leave $5 on the coffee table when your friends are around.

And when they do steal that money that was for your rent, you have to go and sell clothes and any CDs you’ve accumulated over the years but are so out of date, worn out and tattered that no store will buy them from you.  Since the “friend” won’t admit to stealing, you have to go get another job to try to make up that rent money before it’s too late.

Being poor is feeling the glued soles tear off your supermarket shoes when you run around the playground.

Glued on soles also tear off when you’re stomping the pavement filling out applications and/or working.

Being poor is thinking $8 an hour is a really good deal.

I’ve actually thought this at one point in my life.  Ok, a few times in my life.

Being poor is relying on people who don’t give a damn about you.

Number one lesson on being poor.  This is the absolute first thing that you must learn.  And you must not just learn about it, you must learn to accept it and deal with it.  Because it IS.

Being poor is an overnight shift under florescent lights.

Being poor is stopping the car to take a lamp from a stranger’s trash.

Being poor is the police busting into the apartment right next to yours.

Being poor is not talking to that girl because she’ll probably just laugh at your clothes.

Or guy.

Being poor is hoping you’ll be invited for dinner.

Being poor is people thinking they know something about you by the way you talk.

Being poor is needing that 35-cent raise.

Being poor is six dollars short on the utility bill and no way to close the gap.

Being poor is crying when you drop the mac and cheese on the floor.

Being poor is knowing you work as hard as anyone, anywhere.

This is the one that gets me every time.  I have worked my ever loving ass off my entire adult life.  I’ve had three jobs at a time which meant that Mon, Thurs, Fri, Sat and Sun I got only four hours of sleep.  Tue and Wed seemed like vacations when I actually got to go home after an 8 hour work day.  But I kept going.  And I really get annoyed when those who don’t know what it’s like make the implication that poor people are that way because they are lazy.  These are some of the most insensitive people I’ve ever known and these people have absolutely zero understanding of what life is like for many people.  I am not lazy, have never been lazy and continue to work hard.  Some people, no matter how hard they try, just can’t get ahead.  And some of us served our country and went to college to get an education and something happened along the way to rip that out of our hands.  Show some compassion instead of so much hatred.  Not everything works as it should.

Being poor is people surprised to discover you’re not actually stupid.

Oh God, I could go on and on about this one.

Being poor is people surprised to discover you’re not actually lazy.

See above.

Being poor is never buying anything someone else hasn’t bought first.

Being poor is picking the 10 cent ramen instead of the 12 cent ramen because that’s two extra packages for every dollar.

To this day, I cannot stomach ramen noodles.  I will never eat them again.  I survived off of these things and I mean only these things, nothing else, nothing, not a bite of anything else, for an entire year.  The mere sight of them now makes me feel nauseous.  No lie.  Also…

Being poor is knowing the big difference between ramen noodles and Cup O’ Noodles and knowing you can’t afford Cup O’ Noodles.

Being poor is getting tired of people wanting you to be grateful. 

Being poor is knowing you’re being judged.

Constantly.  Non stop.

Being poor is checking the coin return slot of every soda machine you go by.

Being poor is deciding that it’s all right to base a relationship on shelter.

Being poor is knowing you really shouldn’t spend that buck on a Lotto ticket.

Being poor is hoping the register lady will spot you the dime.

Being poor is a cough that doesn’t go away.

Being poor is making sure you don’t spill on the couch, just in case you have to give it back before the lease is up.

Being poor is a $200 paycheck advance from a company that takes $250 when the paycheck comes in.

Don’t do it.  It may answer your problems right now, but it will cause massive problems later and it is very hard to get out of that cycle.  DO. NOT. USE. Advanced pay day loans.  Don’t do it.

Being poor is four years of night classes for an Associates of Art degree.

Being poor is a lumpy futon bed.

Being poor is knowing where the shelter is.

Being poor is people who have never been poor wondering why you choose to be so.

It’s not a choice.  It is absolutely not a choice.  “Well you chose blah blah blah and that is why you are poor.” No.  You don’t know a damn thing of what you are talking about.  Again, not everything works out in real life like it does on paper or in your ideal little world or daily planners.

Being poor is seeing how few options you have.

To an extent, this is true.  It’s not that you don’t have the options, it’s that you can’t exercise those options when you want to.  And it’s not a matter of not getting what you want, it’s a matter of struggling to exist and hope to GOD you have enough left over to save so that you can go for that option...someday....hopefully soon. 

Or not.

Being poor is knowing things you never wanted to know and seeing things you never wanted to see.

Being poor is knowing that your life would have been so, so much different if you had $500 at the time you really, really needed it.

Being poor is being reminded, daily, that a matter of $500 is what drastically changed your life.

Being poor is knowing that those who could have helped you just didn’t want to.

Being poor is not having a family or friends to help you out because they either don’t have themselves or they think you don’t deserve it.

Being poor is not having the money to fight the insurance company who totally screwed you over; and they know they did simply because you were poor.

Being poor is feeling completely and utterly alone.

Being poor is putting yourself in potentially dangerous situations because you are so desperate for help.

Being poor is also scraping the inside of the toothpaste tube, shampoo bottle or lotion bottle trying to get every last bit out of it because you don’t have the money to get more.

Being poor is washing your clothes in the bathtub with generic shampoo because you can’t afford the luxury of the laundromat, are too embarrassed to haul your dirty laundry on the bus to get to the laundromat even if you could and don’t have enough money to get actual clothes washing detergent.

Being poor is knowing the difference in how socks feel when they’ve been tumble dried and how socks feel when they’ve been hung in up your bathroom to dry.

Being poor is stressing out about how you’re going to get to work when the bus fare goes up 10 cents.

Being poor is rolling up your long sleeved shirts to the elbows so no one will see that the cuffs are tearing off.

Being poor is having people call you “white trash” or “ghetto trash” even though you know you’re not trash.

Being poor is writing in for free samples and when they arrive in the mail, it feels like Christmas.

Being poor is not being able to participate in office pot lucks because you can’t afford to bring anything.

Being poor is being told you are too poor to receive government assistance and the humiliation that takes place when the “guy in the next room” won’t even come out to look at you.

Being poor is stealing toilet paper rolls from work.

Being poor is partaking in medical studies at the local university hospital that wreak havoc on your body because after one year there’s $100 in it for you.

Being poor is knowing just how expensive it is to be poor.

Being poor is literally not having any money when you say, “I don’t have any money.”

Being poor is listening to others talk about reusing tea bags because they are so poor and wishing you could afford tea.

Being poor is doing an intensive search inside your friend’s car for change, any change that can be found in hopes that you’ll find enough to put gas in her car to get you home.

Being poor is having to go to Planned Parenthood for all of your check ups and still not being able to donate any money when you’re done.

Being poor is eyeballing the left over breakfast on a room service tray and seriously contemplating eating it.

Being poor is losing out on so many jobs because you have no way to get there and that includes public transportation.

Being poor is having your landlord pay your rent for you one month out of total and complete pity for you because he knows how hard you are trying.  You pay him back after going to a few charities but you never stop feeling embarrassed about it.

Being poor is splurging and buying Kool-Aid.  As time goes on and the level of juice lowers, you keep refilling the Kool-Aid pitcher with water, over and over again until the color finally fades leaving you with only slightly tinged drinking water.

Being poor is thinking that maybe strippers aren’t so dumb afterall.

Being poor is accepting a hand out from a homeless man begging for change.  (Yes, this actually happened.)

Being poor is taking the fast food job up the street because it offers 25 cents more per hour and you don’t have to sit 4 hours on a bus to get to and from there.  Besides, you might get some free food.

Being poor is not having enough money in your bank account to do a minimum withdrawal from the ATM.

Being poor is getting new clothes from the “exchange table” in the laundry room of your apartment building.

Being poor is using blankets for window coverings.

Being poor is meeting people elsewhere because you don’t want them to know where you actually live.

Being poor is becoming friends with the bus driver so that on the days you just don’t have the money, at least you can get to work.  How you get home is another story.

Being poor is trying to pay for food at the store with a big bag of change and the grocer won’t accept the money.

Being poor is asking a stranger on the street what time it is and the lady looks at you with wide eyed fear and she grabs her handbag closer to her and her husband whisks her away from you.

Being poor is having a gang member lock their door when they see you cross the street in front of their car.

Being poor is realizing you’ll never be able to afford to finish your college education no matter how badly you want to finish.

Being poor is having the heat so low in your apartment in the winter that the zippers on your boots break.

Being poor is counting out your change and realizing that if you buy a pop from the pop machine just once this week, you will not have enough money to get the bus home on Friday.

Being poor is swallowing your pride and letting others know you are poor because you have lost 30 pounds in one month from starvation and you need food.

Being poor is doing things you never thought you would do just so that you can get ahead.

Being poor is only telling one person about those things you’ve done because the rest of the world has told you that you should be ashamed of your current situation.

Being poor is understanding that most people will never fully grasp what it means to be poor.

And finally…

Being poor is knowing how hard it is to stop being poor.

Being poor is not having any margin for error. The problem is that life only rarely lets people get through it without error.

Actually, this is “and finally...”

Being poor doesn’t mean you give up hope.  Being poor just means it takes you a little longer to get there.  But if and when you do get there, it will be very, very tasty to teach those who shoved you to the side when you were down, how to treat a human being.

Being poor is learning that you can survive almost anything.

Being poor is learning compassion and forgiveness even for those who put you down for being poor, saying you are/were lazy and/or stupid, for one day, they may need your help.

Being poor is knowing that you may be poor financially, but inside you are far wealthier than most of those around you.

---

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

Interesting To Me Anyway

In the two plus years I’ve been working out in the Everglades, I’ve seen only a small number of animals.  Sure, there are tons of fish, turtles and birds and of course the alligators but it’s rare to see many mammals.

I’ve seen two white tail deer.

I’ve seen a handful of otters.

A raccoon.

And just today, for the first time ever, I saw a fox.  A big, bushy tailed fox bolting across the grass and up in to the brush on the other side of the road.

I’m pretty disgusted at what this city has done to the Everglades.  Now much of it is considered National Park and cannot be touched by the bulldozer anymore but that does not stop these assholes from building right up to that line, that border, with their fucking ugly ass cookie cutter duplexes and townhomes.  It doesn’t stop them from wanting to build a got damn baseball stadium just inches away from the Glades themselves. 

This means MORE traffic, more pollution, more people coming out to the Everglades and trashing it.  I wish I could get my camera to work so I could download some photos I took a year ago just up the road.  I took these photos because I could not believe the piles of litter sitting right there, at the water’s edge, right there, in the Everglades, right there, where wildlife are trying to live....it was so repulsive, I didn’t know what else to do but photograph it. 

I think I need to go out and start picking it all up but it could take months, there’s so much damn litter.

I don’t understand how people can say they love the outdoors, they love nature, they come out to fish, hunt and look at things and then destroy it.

It’s sad that I’ve been out here for over two years and today was the first time I’ve ever seen a fox out here.

P.S.  Dear Florida:

Stop dumping your unwanted pets out here!  NOK IT OFF!  If you no longer want your cat, dog, snake, iguana, bird, take it to the Humane Society and surrender it.  Stop fucking abandoning them out in the Everglades!  Your dog and cat can no way in HELL make it out here you fuckwits!  They will die, usually before you’ve made it down the fucking road.  Your snakes?  Your pythons?  You stupid cows, your abandoned pythons are destroying the wildlife out here.  Iguanas...are NOT NATIVE TO SOUTH FLORIDA!  Stop dropping them off out here!  They are destroying the fauna! 

The Everglades makes life better for you and you are destroying it because you are too fucking inept to know what’s good for you. 

And another thing, what you are doing is illegal.  And you bet your sorry pathetic asses that if I ever catch you doing it, I’m reporting you and you will be in a shit load of trouble.  You are committing a crime in a national park.  And then you get to deal with the Animal Cops after the government’s done with you.

How stupid and selfish people are.  Don’t ever get a pet again.  Just stay in the city in your concrete jungle, smog up your neighborhood and leave us and the wildlife alone.  Idiots.

---

Saturday, August 22, 2009

How I Really Feel

You know how when you write out a rant and someone comes along and says, “Hyuck!  Why don’t you tell us how you really feel!  chortle, chortle, chortle.”

Fine, bitches.  Here’s something I wrote in my private journal that has never been seen by eyes other than mine, before today.  It’s about a job I had two years ago, at a cruise line.  I worked in Dispute Resolution.  What that means is that people write in and piss, bitch and moan that their lives have been blessed that they can even take a cruise when there are kids in this world who don’t even have beds.  See, if you dare run out of raspberries, well!  You are going to hear about that!  And it will be talked about non stop for the next several months because that is just uncalled for and what the hell kind of business are you running anyway?  And God forbid the picture in the brochure shows different colors of the stateroom than the actual stateroom.  (To which you get to enjoy explaining the fucking intricacies of photography and lightning and why certain colors look different in photographs...oh God, nevermind.  It was bad enough the first time around.)

Anyhoo, as I stated, here is an entry from February 18, 2007 from my private journal, about this job and my nosy assed boss.  You asked me to tell you how I really feel...be careful what you ask for. 

Enjoy:

1:33 pm -

My boss is a lying sack of shit. I lost respect for her when I found out she lied to me and others when we all applied for an open position there. She had the fucking nerve to say that the reason we didn’t get the job was because in the letters we wrote, “We” as in “we” the company. So she hired from outside. She simply did not have the time to teach us how to write.

Except ALL THEIR FUCKING LETTERS include “we” as in “we” the company. Bullshit bitch! THEN, because I’m not “allowed” to write letters because I’m far, FAR too stupid to write a fucking letter, I can only do piddly ass shit. Well, some of the work I do requires some type of letter. So, I copied and pasted from the archive of letters that I was told to use, (the same fucking letters that everyone ELSE copies and pastes from so why it takes these assholes so fucking long to do anything is beyond me...except I know why...they fuck around and do not put in an honest day’s work...seriously, they chit chat all fucking day and hmmm and haww and sigh and re-write...give me a fucking break...just about every fucking topic has been covered by one bitchy, whiny guest or another...cut and fucking paste, douchebags!) and just changed a few words; description of the item...the original letter said “bottle of wine” I changed it to “assortment of flowers” as that was the gift. Now, I did NOT write these letters. I merely cut and pasted and changed the names.  Again, as I was instructed to do.

And the fucking bitch boss tore it apart, correcting this and that and the other thing and said, “I know you are trying but...” blah blah blah. Problem? SHE IS THE FUCKING BITCH WHO WROTE THE ORIGINAL LETTER! She just sat there and corrected her own damn letter saying this was wrong and that was wrong and this needs to go like this and all kinds of shit and did this because she thought I had written it. SHE FUCKING WROTE IT but forgot! Stupid fucking bitch!!!!!! LIAR BITCH! But I said nothing. I love it when people think I’m stupid. The information and evidence I gather when people think I’m stupid. They are such idiots. Fucking bitch tore apart her own fucking letter.

And while I’m at it, if that fucking bitch who stole our job does not stop fucking touching my desk, my chair, ME, my food, and doesn’t stop fucking nagging me every damn time I get something to eat, I’m going to fucking lose it.

I hate this fucking place. Bunch of phony assed mother fuckers. I’m keener and smarter than that...oh, get this:

The other day bitch lying boss sat me down and wanted to ask me a “very personal” question: “Why do you dress the way you do? If you want to be successful, you have to dress the part.”

Ok, number one, I dress the way I do because I HATE the fucking attention I get from people I could not give a SHIT about telling me, “Like, Oh my GOD! You look so good!” Yes, bitch, I fucking know I look good. But that requires me to fucking have to THANK them for being shallow pieces of shit! I’m not here as your fucking eye candy and if you can’t see me for my skills, you want to JUDGE A BOOK by its cover, then you do not DESERVE to have me work for you.

Number two, lying BITCH BOSS, if you WANT me to dress up, THEN FUCKING PAY ME MORE! I’m not going out to buy fucking bullshit uncomfortable clothes so that you can all gawk and feel good about yousrelves, “Look how we’ve changed her and opened her up!!!!!!! We are such great people!!!!”, and offer me some fucking sort of advancement SIMPLY because I changed my outfit, IF YOU PAY ME THE SHIT FUCKING WAGES THAT YOU PAY ME NOW! I have BARELY any fucking money left and you want me to spend it on fucking expensive ass outfits so YOU are happy? I don’t fucking dress for you! BITCH! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!!!!!! I look perfectly fine. MAYBE if they turned the mother fucking A/C down I could take off my jacket that I “wear every day” and you could see that I wear nice shirts. And I NEVER wear jeans. I hardly EVER wear tennis shoes. I wear slacks, nice tops and black shoes. But these assholes want me to wear business suits, skirts and that kind of shit, blouses and frills...FUCK YOU. JUST FUCK YOU! You think I can afford that fucking shit off of the shit wages you pay me a fucking hour?

You start paying me three times that much a fucking hour and I will fucking dress nicer. You get what you pay for. You don’t want to pay me, I will continue to dress comfortably and you can suck a fucking rotten one you skank ass lying bitch!

I say, “I HATE the attention” and she jumps right on that, like she’s fucking Sherlock Douchebag Holmes, “A-HA!” she gloats. “I KNEW there was some deeper thing going on...”

Bitch, it ain’t “deeper” shit. It’s called I DON’T HAVE THE FUCKING MONEY AND I SURE AS HELL AM NOT GOING TO SPEND WHAT MONEY I HAVE TO PLEASE YOUR BITCH ASS EYEBALLS!

I will dress up for people I really like.  I do not CARE to receive attention from a bunch of mouth breathers who work in a call center. And she is one to talk. Bitch wears jeans and turtle neck sweaters every fucking day. You want to talk about what? Right. Piss the fuck off.

“You’re such a pretty girl...”

Oh for GOD’S SAKE! You just want a doll you can dress. Go fucking buy one then. LEAVE ME ALONE! BITCH ASS LIAR!

Sigh. Why don’t people just mind their own fucking business? I do not go to work to make friends. This fucking job is NOT my career. Guess what bitch liar, when I DO land the job that IS my career, I will THEN give a flying fuck how I dress. Until then? I’m just passing time. So fuck you. SHUT. THE FUCK. UP! Mind your own! 

And there you have it, kids.  What you’ve been asking for...me to tell you how I really feel.  Who knows, I may include some more of these in the future.

---

"The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated." ~ Mahatma Gandhi

"The question is not: 'Can they reason?' nor 'Can they talk?' but 'Can they suffer?'" ~ Philosopher Jeremy Bentham

No animals were harmed in the making of this site.

Adoptable Pets

These Ads Keep Kitty Fed

Click And Buy Now!

• Personalize & preview custom stamps !

Send Flowers - fresh flower delivery from proflowers.com. our flowers are shipped fresh from the fields ready to burst open into a magnificent display of color.

hilton head south carolina vacation rentals - whether you are interested in an ocean or harbour view, you can find the right vacation rental in hilton head at Island getaway

Your Ad Here

Your Ad Here

Archives

• Complete Archives
• Category Archives

Techie Stuff

• RSS 1.0
• RSS 2.0
• Atom

Best Website Ever

I Can Has Cheezburger