Now that you have that song stuck in your head (hate me?)...
I.
Am.
Alone.
For three weeks. And 20 minutes into it, so far, it is A-W-E-S-O-M-E. I feel like I am on vacation. Think of me how you will, but the Ex-F (that's CN to most of you) just left to go out of town for...
THREE WHOLE WEEKS. INCLUDING WEEKENDS.
And I am soooooooo happy. He has been driving me bonkers lately. You see, he's having a hard time understanding that we are no longer together. My evidence?
I received a birthday present. (a nice gesture, I will say)
I received a Christmas present. (also a nice gesture)
I received a Valentine's Day present. And card. Which ended with "Love, CN"
Think about it. When was the last time you gave your ex any or all of the above? I thought so. To make it even more awkward, his mom still says hi to me when she calls, which is (again) nice, but really not necessary. I have slowly been trying to distance myself from him. But it's not easy.
If I am making dinner, and didn't consult him or invite him, he gets angry and sulks.
If I don't welcome him home at the end of the day, he sulks.
If I say anything which implies we are no longer an item or that I am no longer in love with him, he sulks.
I am sick and tired of all the sulking. It's manipulative and irritating. Because if I don't go over to him and apologize and soothe him, he will never stop sulking. It's gone on for as long as 48 hours before I give in. UGH. And lately, I have been not making as much of an effort to de-sulk him. Because I don't effing care anymore. We are over. Sorry it ended this way, it's not like I planned it. But we are not together anymore, so stop acting like it. Build a bridge already!
Ok, now that I have exposed myself as a cruel and heartless bitch, I will go on. Venting over for the time being.
I think that little dating he did a few weeks back was just something he was trying to distract himself with. His heart wasn't really in it. Yesterday, he was acting very strangely, and after asking him a MILLION times to just tell me (because that's fun), he told me he was sad about us. I have those days, too, sometimes, so I understand. But when you have no hobbies and no friends, it's kind of hard to get out of that slump and sad mood. To get over crap times in your life, you need a support network of friends and interests. He has neither, despite my pleading with him about how much it would benefit his level of happiness.
(Y'all, I am not exaggerating -- the man really has little interest in anything outside of the NFL and watching TV, and he has never had many friends because he is both paranoid and refuses to put himself out there. Yes, these two aspects of his personality played a role in our breaking up. I got tired of always being social director.)
Ok, so I lied about the venting being over.
Last night, Ex-F announced he was going to look into moving out when he gets back from his work trip. Thank effing gawd. We have been staying here as roomies (ask me how fun that is, btw) for 6 months, and although I love saving all this money, I am about to lose my mind. Not only is it an awkward living situation, but I am on Sulk Patrol, I can't really date and I'm rapidly becoming majorly annoyed with the fact that he feels the need to hog up all the space in the refrigerator with 7 different types of drinks. And he is SO LOUD all the time. Howard Stern (which I abhor) is blared all day long at 56 decibels.
Whoa. I didn't realize how annoyed I was until I started writing this post!
Anyway, at this point, I am ok with sucking it up for a few months and paying for the rent by myself. I may not even move when the lease is up. I don't think I will be able to find anything with as much space, quiet and safety for any less. The only problem?
My tenant (in my house in SC) is moving out in 3 weeks. I currently do not have a replacement tenant. So this might get interesting, financially. Add to that, my plan B fell through -- did I tell you about the married couple I know who said they would be willing to share a house w/me when my lease is up? Well, I just found out they renewed their lease for another year, which means they are not moving in August as originally planned. Looks like I am out on my own.
Rats. Oh well. I have not lived alone in a while, and I am DYING to. Ex-F never leaves the house, which means I am never alone at all. Never. All day, every day. Unless I leave the house. Which gets old, because sometimes I want to just crash in front of the TV in my jammies, not get in my car to go somewhere and be anonymous in public. Why do I always have to be the one to leave?
In case you are wondering why I am not considering moving out, here are the reasons:
1. Ex-F really cannot afford this rent on his own. I can (even though it means I will be eating PB&J sandwiches for lunch every day). The last thing I want to do is dick him over some more.
2. Knowing him, he will return from his trip all happy and perfectly content with staying put. He talks a big game, but always opts for whatever is easiest in life (another personality trait I don't like.)
3. Until I get a tenant in my house in SC, I need to stick with whatever is cheapest, and right now, that means staying put and convincing Ex-F to stay put, too.
Ugh. Boy did I learn my lesson. I am NEVER living with a man again until I get married. Whenever that is.
Thanks for letting me vent. And if you think I'm a bitch, that's ok. Maybe I am. But living with Mr. Sulkface who has no friends or interests other than stocking an army's worth of drinks in the fridge would get on your nerves,too. Trust me.
Showing posts with label bitching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bitching. Show all posts
Monday, March 08, 2010
Sunday, March 29, 2009
I'm Alive!
Alright, I'm sure I am now down to two readers, but that's what I get for being MIA for a month, right? Oh well. I was thinking about making this blog public again, anyway.
Let me try and summarize the last month:
My new job, like all jobs, has its good things and its bad things. I like my boss and the girl who works for me a LOT. They rock, actually. A lot of my coworkers are cool, too. Like everywhere, though, I have to deal with a couple of douchebags, like this one lazy guy who balks at helping anyone else out and Miss Passive Aggressive, who loves to come down to my office and imply that I am incompetent and/or inflexible with the schedule (this is because I will not make everyone else work around her schedule). Of course, she does this under the guise of being "concerned". Argh. If there is one type of person I don't get along with, it's passive aggressive types. That kind of behavior irks the crap out of me.
My department, which was at 75% capacity, has recently been reduced to 50% capacity with the resignation of this one girl who worked for me. I tell you what, though, she was good riddance. She did nothing but create more work for me an the other girl in my department. But her leaving means she and I have to do a LOT more work, so I will be slammed at work until further notice: working extra nights, extra Sundays, teaching extra classes....oh well. Hopefully we will find a replacement soon.
But that's all well and good. Normal stuff that is to be expected. What is really bizarre is how uber-controlling this school is. Maybe it's because I am used to working in the public sector, but I feel like I am a member of the Savannah Mafia or something. Actually, it's more like a Nazi regime. My first realization came when I had to deal with the Communications Dept. Now, I understand that the school wants to have an "image" and I completely grasp and support the notion of "branding". But to tell me that I cannot print out a flyer that would -- gasp! -- help students find something in the library because that's not the "look" they want in the library is pretty ridiculous. Last time I checked, it's pretty difficult to operate a library without any frigging signs or information for its users.
Now, this goes for everything. Signs, handouts, flyers, bookmarks we make -- everything has to get "approval" from about 3 people. Then it has to be designed by someone else (who has no idea how I need it to look in order for it to work). This process takes three weeks. If I'm lucky.
This is the same department who printed up my business cards and told me I had to pick them up at their office. The stupid part is that they are open the same times I am at work. So that meant I had to go pick them up on my lunch break. Fine. Whatever. Screw interoffice mail, right? So I spend half my lunch break walking over there, only to be informed that they have sent the cards to the library already, via interoffice mail. "Well, don't you think that as the Communications Department, you should have communicated that to me before I spent my lunch break walking all the way over here?" I said. The girl just stared back at me and blinked. I turned and walked out.
The IT department is just as bad. I am not allowed to download so much as a plugin on my computer without -- again -- getting approval and submitting forms. Heck, I can't even pick my own desktop background or screensaver. I have to use theirs. If I want Microsoft 2007 installed on my computer, I have to submit an approval form, get approved, then attend a mandatory 3 hour training session, and then they would install it on my computer. Are. You. Kidding. Me.
It took me 3 weeks to get a key to my office. Three weeks! It was just sitting around somewhere. All I had to do was sign for it. Sounds simple, right? Not really. It was held in a building so far away that I had to drive to it. And, as usual, the building was only open during the same times I have to be at work. So I had to scramble over there, the whole time wondering, "Why don't they just keep the library keys in the library, since that's where they are just going to be going to anyway??" I tell ya, the state agency I used to work for aint' got shit on the major inefficiencies going on at this private school.
I still haven't gotten my code for the photocopier (each person gets a personal code, which is odd to me, as it seems a departmental code would be sufficient) or my code for dialing long distance on my desk phone. This also is odd to me, as it's the type of phone which operates over an internet connection, so there is no such thing as a long distance number. I soon realized that this is because they want to know what numbers I am calling. Whoa.
But Big Brother goes far, far beyond my little long distance code. If you are a new employee, you are often put in touch with a particular real estate company -- they have some sort of a deal worked out. This seems like a potential conflict of interest to me. I have heard that they also have their fingers in other pies: with the police force, with city concil...
If you do a google search for my school, you will find absolutely nothing negative about it. Not a blog, not a news article, not a press release. Everything out there is positive. Don't you think that is kind of odd? Especially when the girl who had my job before me sued the school for firing her improperly? (I have yet to find out why this woman was fired. No one is giving me a legitimate answer. It sounds very fishy to me.) And the guy who used to have my boss's job was fired for stealing thousands of dollars worth of items from the library? Or that last week the president's husband, who is the CEO or something for the college, was brought up on embezzlement charges or something? And that there was a group of students who sued the school, too? How the hell is this stuff not reaching the press???
The only thing I have found that even hints at being negative is an interview between the local paper and the president of the school a couple years back. The reporter asks if she thinks the school has moved past all its problems in the early '90s. She doesn't want to talk about it. She just says she wants to focus on the future. I have no idea what all these problems were in the early '90s. Neither does anyone else -- almost everyone at my library is new. Apparently, when the last director was busted for stealing a bunch of shit, a lot of people went down with him. They bascially cleaned house. Only a couple of people made it out of the fray -- and one of them was demoted in the process. And of course, the old timers aren't saying a word about what really went down. So to say there's been a lot of turnover is putting it lightly. (And as you can imagine, makes everything that much more difficult for the new people -- we are all trying to fix departments that have been screwed up for some time.)
Anyway, that's a glimpse into the type of work environment I am dealing with. I'm sure there will be more. I will share with you then.
Let's talk about the rest of things in my life. I havent' been blogging, because I can't afford to have internet at my place, and let's face it: I would be pretty stupid to blog from work in this job. But CN is moving in very soon (the 2nd week of April!!), so we will get it then. Yay!
As far as my apartment goes....it sucks. I have very little storage and a lot of wasted square footage. Since the house is old, it doesn't heat or cool evenly, leaving me shivering on the couch most of the time. (MJ got me a snuggie, which rocks for this particular problem!) And since the windows are old, any noise made outside sounds like it is actually inside.
Which brings me to my neighborhood. Thus far, I have had to deal with the college kids next door who like to throw parties in their backyard. This would be totally fine with me if their backyard was not underneath my bedroom window and if they threw their parties on nights when I didn't have to go to work the next day. The morning of St. Patrick's Day (my only day off from work until further notice), I was awoken at 6:50am by firecrackers just outside my bedroom window. WTF. I got up, jerked up my window blinds, and scared the crap out of the college kid next door. I yelled, "Can you please stop that?!!!" He gave me a deer-in-headlights look and apologized profusely and then went inside. (Yes, I heard what he said. That's how much I can hear through these old windows.) He's lucky I didn't kick his ass for throwing a kegger in his backyard only 2 nights previously. On a Sunday night. I ended up sleeping in my bathroom that night -- it's the only quiet room in my place.
But this is child's play compared to the other stuff I have had to deal with. There have been fist fights in the street, drunk people yelling at all hours of the night, domestic violence disputes, all kinds of crazy and loud noises, lots and lots of sirens, a car chase, trash thrown in my yard and my own personal favorite: the gunshots in my backyard the other night. Yeah, my neighborhood is super fun.
I have to say, though, that the cops have a really great response time. It's impressive, actually. I know, because I peek out of my window blinds when stuff happens, and I dont' stop looking until a cop shows up. And when the cops arrive, it's not just one car. It's like, four. So that does make me feel a little bit better. But not much.
I do not go outside when the sun goes down. I might go to Target or something, but never late. and I definitely can't take walks or anything like that after it gets dark. That would be a really bad idea. Have you ever had to live like that? Let me tell you what, you feel like a prisoner. For the most part, I get home from work and do not go back outside until I leave for work the next day. It is stressful and boring and frustrating.
I know it all sounds negative, but I do love seeing all the beautiful buildings and I love walking to/from work. During the daytime, it's totally safe, even in my neighborhood. And most of my problems with my neighborhood have more to do with noise than safety. I am getting used to the noise, and the sound machine CN got me helps, too.
As soon as either CN or I can find a renter for our house(s), we are moving to a safer and quieter neighborhood. A house with enough room for both of us and storage for our stuff. And electrical outlets. (I have one outlet in my living room. It is a royal pain in the ass.) And a backyard, rather than an alley full of dirt and overflowing trashcans.
It is probably no surprise to you that I have been wondering if I made the right decision. But I think I will end up really liking my job and liking Savannah. I think that like some first dates, you just get off on the wrong foot. I've gotta give it a second chance. And that will take some time.
Thanks for reading, guys. I will hopefully be back to blogging on a more regular basis soon.
Let me try and summarize the last month:
My new job, like all jobs, has its good things and its bad things. I like my boss and the girl who works for me a LOT. They rock, actually. A lot of my coworkers are cool, too. Like everywhere, though, I have to deal with a couple of douchebags, like this one lazy guy who balks at helping anyone else out and Miss Passive Aggressive, who loves to come down to my office and imply that I am incompetent and/or inflexible with the schedule (this is because I will not make everyone else work around her schedule). Of course, she does this under the guise of being "concerned". Argh. If there is one type of person I don't get along with, it's passive aggressive types. That kind of behavior irks the crap out of me.
My department, which was at 75% capacity, has recently been reduced to 50% capacity with the resignation of this one girl who worked for me. I tell you what, though, she was good riddance. She did nothing but create more work for me an the other girl in my department. But her leaving means she and I have to do a LOT more work, so I will be slammed at work until further notice: working extra nights, extra Sundays, teaching extra classes....oh well. Hopefully we will find a replacement soon.
But that's all well and good. Normal stuff that is to be expected. What is really bizarre is how uber-controlling this school is. Maybe it's because I am used to working in the public sector, but I feel like I am a member of the Savannah Mafia or something. Actually, it's more like a Nazi regime. My first realization came when I had to deal with the Communications Dept. Now, I understand that the school wants to have an "image" and I completely grasp and support the notion of "branding". But to tell me that I cannot print out a flyer that would -- gasp! -- help students find something in the library because that's not the "look" they want in the library is pretty ridiculous. Last time I checked, it's pretty difficult to operate a library without any frigging signs or information for its users.
Now, this goes for everything. Signs, handouts, flyers, bookmarks we make -- everything has to get "approval" from about 3 people. Then it has to be designed by someone else (who has no idea how I need it to look in order for it to work). This process takes three weeks. If I'm lucky.
This is the same department who printed up my business cards and told me I had to pick them up at their office. The stupid part is that they are open the same times I am at work. So that meant I had to go pick them up on my lunch break. Fine. Whatever. Screw interoffice mail, right? So I spend half my lunch break walking over there, only to be informed that they have sent the cards to the library already, via interoffice mail. "Well, don't you think that as the Communications Department, you should have communicated that to me before I spent my lunch break walking all the way over here?" I said. The girl just stared back at me and blinked. I turned and walked out.
The IT department is just as bad. I am not allowed to download so much as a plugin on my computer without -- again -- getting approval and submitting forms. Heck, I can't even pick my own desktop background or screensaver. I have to use theirs. If I want Microsoft 2007 installed on my computer, I have to submit an approval form, get approved, then attend a mandatory 3 hour training session, and then they would install it on my computer. Are. You. Kidding. Me.
It took me 3 weeks to get a key to my office. Three weeks! It was just sitting around somewhere. All I had to do was sign for it. Sounds simple, right? Not really. It was held in a building so far away that I had to drive to it. And, as usual, the building was only open during the same times I have to be at work. So I had to scramble over there, the whole time wondering, "Why don't they just keep the library keys in the library, since that's where they are just going to be going to anyway??" I tell ya, the state agency I used to work for aint' got shit on the major inefficiencies going on at this private school.
I still haven't gotten my code for the photocopier (each person gets a personal code, which is odd to me, as it seems a departmental code would be sufficient) or my code for dialing long distance on my desk phone. This also is odd to me, as it's the type of phone which operates over an internet connection, so there is no such thing as a long distance number. I soon realized that this is because they want to know what numbers I am calling. Whoa.
But Big Brother goes far, far beyond my little long distance code. If you are a new employee, you are often put in touch with a particular real estate company -- they have some sort of a deal worked out. This seems like a potential conflict of interest to me. I have heard that they also have their fingers in other pies: with the police force, with city concil...
If you do a google search for my school, you will find absolutely nothing negative about it. Not a blog, not a news article, not a press release. Everything out there is positive. Don't you think that is kind of odd? Especially when the girl who had my job before me sued the school for firing her improperly? (I have yet to find out why this woman was fired. No one is giving me a legitimate answer. It sounds very fishy to me.) And the guy who used to have my boss's job was fired for stealing thousands of dollars worth of items from the library? Or that last week the president's husband, who is the CEO or something for the college, was brought up on embezzlement charges or something? And that there was a group of students who sued the school, too? How the hell is this stuff not reaching the press???
The only thing I have found that even hints at being negative is an interview between the local paper and the president of the school a couple years back. The reporter asks if she thinks the school has moved past all its problems in the early '90s. She doesn't want to talk about it. She just says she wants to focus on the future. I have no idea what all these problems were in the early '90s. Neither does anyone else -- almost everyone at my library is new. Apparently, when the last director was busted for stealing a bunch of shit, a lot of people went down with him. They bascially cleaned house. Only a couple of people made it out of the fray -- and one of them was demoted in the process. And of course, the old timers aren't saying a word about what really went down. So to say there's been a lot of turnover is putting it lightly. (And as you can imagine, makes everything that much more difficult for the new people -- we are all trying to fix departments that have been screwed up for some time.)
Anyway, that's a glimpse into the type of work environment I am dealing with. I'm sure there will be more. I will share with you then.
Let's talk about the rest of things in my life. I havent' been blogging, because I can't afford to have internet at my place, and let's face it: I would be pretty stupid to blog from work in this job. But CN is moving in very soon (the 2nd week of April!!), so we will get it then. Yay!
As far as my apartment goes....it sucks. I have very little storage and a lot of wasted square footage. Since the house is old, it doesn't heat or cool evenly, leaving me shivering on the couch most of the time. (MJ got me a snuggie, which rocks for this particular problem!) And since the windows are old, any noise made outside sounds like it is actually inside.
Which brings me to my neighborhood. Thus far, I have had to deal with the college kids next door who like to throw parties in their backyard. This would be totally fine with me if their backyard was not underneath my bedroom window and if they threw their parties on nights when I didn't have to go to work the next day. The morning of St. Patrick's Day (my only day off from work until further notice), I was awoken at 6:50am by firecrackers just outside my bedroom window. WTF. I got up, jerked up my window blinds, and scared the crap out of the college kid next door. I yelled, "Can you please stop that?!!!" He gave me a deer-in-headlights look and apologized profusely and then went inside. (Yes, I heard what he said. That's how much I can hear through these old windows.) He's lucky I didn't kick his ass for throwing a kegger in his backyard only 2 nights previously. On a Sunday night. I ended up sleeping in my bathroom that night -- it's the only quiet room in my place.
But this is child's play compared to the other stuff I have had to deal with. There have been fist fights in the street, drunk people yelling at all hours of the night, domestic violence disputes, all kinds of crazy and loud noises, lots and lots of sirens, a car chase, trash thrown in my yard and my own personal favorite: the gunshots in my backyard the other night. Yeah, my neighborhood is super fun.
I have to say, though, that the cops have a really great response time. It's impressive, actually. I know, because I peek out of my window blinds when stuff happens, and I dont' stop looking until a cop shows up. And when the cops arrive, it's not just one car. It's like, four. So that does make me feel a little bit better. But not much.
I do not go outside when the sun goes down. I might go to Target or something, but never late. and I definitely can't take walks or anything like that after it gets dark. That would be a really bad idea. Have you ever had to live like that? Let me tell you what, you feel like a prisoner. For the most part, I get home from work and do not go back outside until I leave for work the next day. It is stressful and boring and frustrating.
I know it all sounds negative, but I do love seeing all the beautiful buildings and I love walking to/from work. During the daytime, it's totally safe, even in my neighborhood. And most of my problems with my neighborhood have more to do with noise than safety. I am getting used to the noise, and the sound machine CN got me helps, too.
As soon as either CN or I can find a renter for our house(s), we are moving to a safer and quieter neighborhood. A house with enough room for both of us and storage for our stuff. And electrical outlets. (I have one outlet in my living room. It is a royal pain in the ass.) And a backyard, rather than an alley full of dirt and overflowing trashcans.
It is probably no surprise to you that I have been wondering if I made the right decision. But I think I will end up really liking my job and liking Savannah. I think that like some first dates, you just get off on the wrong foot. I've gotta give it a second chance. And that will take some time.
Thanks for reading, guys. I will hopefully be back to blogging on a more regular basis soon.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Familiarity Breeds Contempt, Part 2
Let's see, where were we? Oh, yes. I have my intervention talk with E.
I told her I do not understand why she doesn't move home, back to Minnesota. She misses her family so much. She's really close to them. She doesn't own a house, she hates her job anyway, she doesn't have any money...if I were in her shoes, I'd pack up and stay with my mom until I got my act together. Maybe go back to school. Away from all the bars. I told her I don't understand why she won't leave her job, where she is overworked and underpaid, and now working with her ex-boyfriend AND his entire family, who never liked her and are mean to her. I mean, there literally is no good reason to stay at that job. Everything is so obvious to me, but she just sort of agrees and then makes excuses for why she can't change anything in her life. None of her arguments have any merit. I swear, she is determined to stay miserable!
I almost laughed when she said, "You know, it's so funny that you are telling me all of this. Almost like an intervention. W even said the same thing to me the other day. She said, 'I feel like I need to stage an intervention with you, E.' Funny, right?"
I swear, there could be giant, flashing signs in front of her face, and she would not even see them.
If two people who know you well are both saying the same thing, what does that tell you???
I am pretty surprised W never told me what living with E was like. She never gave me a heads up or hinted at anything. So when E began to do things like sleepwalk and handwash the dishes in the middle of the night, in a totally dark kitchen, I had to figure things out by myself. And E's most recent ex, B, also never gave me any indication that he was dealing with the same kind of wackiness I was, although I'm sure he must have. I can only imagine the long list of crazy experiences we have witnessed individually. It is pretty amazing, though, that neither of them have ever approached me to talk about E's antics. I wonder if W and B just have more patience than I do. Or if they were both relieved that she was living with me instead of them, so they kept their mouths shut. Can't say that I blame them.
So back to the intervention conversation with E. As she went on about her problems, I began to understand what was really going on. After telling her how worried I was and how abnormal her behavior was, I told her that she might want to think about getting a shrink or some kind of professional help, in addition to rehab. She told me that she used to go to a shrink, but that she stopped going.
Knowing she has pretty good health insurance and loves nothing better than to whine about her problems, I asked her why.
"Because he told me I'm bi-polar, and I know that's not true."
OMG. Lightbulb. As soon as she said this, it all made sense! The insomnia, followed by sleeping straight for 3 days. The anti-depressants (to counter-act her "down") combined with the Adderol (to counter-act her mania). The impulse shopping. The sad, weepy days where she would be totally bummed. Followed by days where she was in a fantastic mood. Yet nothing in her life had even changed.
Being a librarian, I decided to do some research and looked in the DSM-IV, one of my favorite books ever, because you can diagnose your friends, your family and yourself with mental disorders (you think I'm joking, but I'm not. It really is fun. And we are ALL in there, trust me. I'm in there at least twice.). Well, it turns out that E could be the poster child for Bi-Polar Disorder.
Negative thinking that stops you from making decisions? Check.
Self-medication with alcohol? Check.
Loss of appetite? Check. (The girl never eats, I swear.)
Problems concentrating? Check.
Bouts of rage? Check. (She can blow up at the drop of a hat sometimes -- she's one of those girlfriends who makes a mountain out of a mole hill, a source of lots of relationship problems for her.)
At this point, there is very little doubt in my mind that E is bi-polar. But I also know she's in a deep denial about this, which is something no one can help her with. So as irritated as I am with her, I am also worried about her and feeling pity towards her. She is so unhappy. Her life is a trainwreck.
Now, I don't know if her bi-polar disorder is responsible for her need to re-organize all of her worldly posessions twice a week, or her obsessive stalking of her ex, or her abily to dwell on things until the cows come home. Or her innate ability to call me at the worst possible times. All I know is that she needs help. And that I'm glad she's out of my house.
Which are some pretty bad mixed feelings. I'm sitting at the intersection of Guilt Street and Annoyance Avenue, a very odd place to be. You see, I have so much pity for the girl. Her sister died at age 30 of breast cancer, and E was very close to her. E got tested and found out that she also has that breast cancer gene, which means she has an 80% chance of getting breast cancer. So to prevent this, E had a voluntary double mastectomy. Which totally sucks. And I just feel so guilty bitching about her. For a long time, I kept giving her the benefit of the doubt. My internal dialogue went like this: "Well, I'm sure I would be a basketcase, too, if my sister died that young and I might die of the same thing, causing me to volunteer to remove my boobs." (This health concern did not stop her from smoking like a chimney, btw. Another example of her great decision-making skills.)
But after a while, this argument couldn't justify her irritating habits or soothe my frazzled nerves. I began to divorce my worries and pity about her health from my resentment towards her. I compartmentalized these emotions. My internal dialogue turned into: "Well, I lost my brother and my dad in the same calendar year, and I don't feel the need to ruin other people's lunches or drone on and on about what an asshole my ex is."
And I grew weary of her. Exhausted, even. Encounters with her, which used to be friendly and exciting, were now dreadful and redundant, not to mention absurdly pathetic. I'm afraid I didn't do a very good job at concealing my joy when she told me she was moving out. I couldn't wait, to be honest.
The day her new boyfriend came to load up her stuff, I was in an excellent mood, I must say. I even smiled as I watched them load up the truck. I even offered to help. :D
Almost as a final parting gift from E, I have had to deal with The Table Incident. Let me explain:
When E moved in, she brought with her a HUGE, gorgeous kitchen table, with four chairs, all painted a glossy white. It looked like it was designed for my house, it went so well with my living/dining area. I love big tables, where I can spread out with books or projects. That table almost made living with E worth it.
So I was ecstatic when she told me she was moving out BUT was leaving the tables and chairs with me until further notice. She didn't need them at her new place, which was fully furnished. This was fabulous news.
A couple weeks later, E moved out. Not in the traditional sense of the word, in that all of your stuff is now at a new location and you no longer reside at your previous home. No, no. Not with E. For her, moving out takes a solid month. Which was, like most things E does, annoying as shit to me. I also happen to consider taking your sweet time to move out of someone's house to be fairly rude. But that's just my personal opinion. By that point, I just wanted her OUT OUT OUT. And all she did was drag, drag, drag her ass. So instead of having my house all to myself, I had to deal with random phone calls during that time: "Hey, I am coming over tonight to get some more stuff, ok?"
Most of you are thinking, "So, what's the big deal? You can just be conveniently not there when she comes over."
Oh, but I can't. Because E seemed to have a difficult time remembering what was hers and what is mine. She walked off with my George Foreman grill, after I told her which one was mine. In an admittedly childish retaliation, I hid her pizza stone until she brought it back. And she also managed to take one of my trashcans, which is only mildly irritating. If she managed to get anything else, I haven't noticed. But my point is, I had to be around to watch her move all her stuff out. Argh.
Finally, after weeks of this crap, she had moved all her stuff out. She also conveniently forgot to clean her bathroom or her bedroom, which were both filthy. Whatever. I certainly was not going to invite her back to clean them.
Breathing a deep sigh of relief, I thought I was free of her until further notice. I was enjoying the table and chairs so much, I was beginning to forgive her of all of her pain-in-the-ass ways.
But of course, nothing is ever really finished with E. She obsesses and dwells and changes her mind as often as she opens her mouth.
A couple of weeks after she had moved out, she called me to tell me she had changed her mind about the table and chairs. She was coming by to get them after work on Friday.
Leaving me with no table or chairs.
After she had told me 3 times that I could keep them until further notice.
Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe it was just the straw that broke the camel's back. It also could have been PMS. But I was royally pissed off about this and bitched about it incessantly for the entire weekend. Ask CN. He was sick to death of hearing about it, poor guy.
"What are you going to do if she calls you in a couple of weeks to tell you she wants to keep them at your house again?" he asked me.
"I'm going to tell her that if they come back in, they are mine forever," I said. "And if she remembers that she left her computer monitor here, I'm going to tell her I haven't seen it. I'm sick of playing Little Miss Nice Guy. I am having an E-botomy. She's being removed from my life. No more phone calls. No more hanging out. I do not care to ever talk to her again, to be honest. She drives me nuts."
"She left her computer monitor? Can I have it?" he asked.
"Consider it yours," I replied, happy to be 100% E-free at long last.
I told her I do not understand why she doesn't move home, back to Minnesota. She misses her family so much. She's really close to them. She doesn't own a house, she hates her job anyway, she doesn't have any money...if I were in her shoes, I'd pack up and stay with my mom until I got my act together. Maybe go back to school. Away from all the bars. I told her I don't understand why she won't leave her job, where she is overworked and underpaid, and now working with her ex-boyfriend AND his entire family, who never liked her and are mean to her. I mean, there literally is no good reason to stay at that job. Everything is so obvious to me, but she just sort of agrees and then makes excuses for why she can't change anything in her life. None of her arguments have any merit. I swear, she is determined to stay miserable!
I almost laughed when she said, "You know, it's so funny that you are telling me all of this. Almost like an intervention. W even said the same thing to me the other day. She said, 'I feel like I need to stage an intervention with you, E.' Funny, right?"
I swear, there could be giant, flashing signs in front of her face, and she would not even see them.
If two people who know you well are both saying the same thing, what does that tell you???
I am pretty surprised W never told me what living with E was like. She never gave me a heads up or hinted at anything. So when E began to do things like sleepwalk and handwash the dishes in the middle of the night, in a totally dark kitchen, I had to figure things out by myself. And E's most recent ex, B, also never gave me any indication that he was dealing with the same kind of wackiness I was, although I'm sure he must have. I can only imagine the long list of crazy experiences we have witnessed individually. It is pretty amazing, though, that neither of them have ever approached me to talk about E's antics. I wonder if W and B just have more patience than I do. Or if they were both relieved that she was living with me instead of them, so they kept their mouths shut. Can't say that I blame them.
So back to the intervention conversation with E. As she went on about her problems, I began to understand what was really going on. After telling her how worried I was and how abnormal her behavior was, I told her that she might want to think about getting a shrink or some kind of professional help, in addition to rehab. She told me that she used to go to a shrink, but that she stopped going.
Knowing she has pretty good health insurance and loves nothing better than to whine about her problems, I asked her why.
"Because he told me I'm bi-polar, and I know that's not true."
OMG. Lightbulb. As soon as she said this, it all made sense! The insomnia, followed by sleeping straight for 3 days. The anti-depressants (to counter-act her "down") combined with the Adderol (to counter-act her mania). The impulse shopping. The sad, weepy days where she would be totally bummed. Followed by days where she was in a fantastic mood. Yet nothing in her life had even changed.
Being a librarian, I decided to do some research and looked in the DSM-IV, one of my favorite books ever, because you can diagnose your friends, your family and yourself with mental disorders (you think I'm joking, but I'm not. It really is fun. And we are ALL in there, trust me. I'm in there at least twice.). Well, it turns out that E could be the poster child for Bi-Polar Disorder.
Negative thinking that stops you from making decisions? Check.
Self-medication with alcohol? Check.
Loss of appetite? Check. (The girl never eats, I swear.)
Problems concentrating? Check.
Bouts of rage? Check. (She can blow up at the drop of a hat sometimes -- she's one of those girlfriends who makes a mountain out of a mole hill, a source of lots of relationship problems for her.)
At this point, there is very little doubt in my mind that E is bi-polar. But I also know she's in a deep denial about this, which is something no one can help her with. So as irritated as I am with her, I am also worried about her and feeling pity towards her. She is so unhappy. Her life is a trainwreck.
Now, I don't know if her bi-polar disorder is responsible for her need to re-organize all of her worldly posessions twice a week, or her obsessive stalking of her ex, or her abily to dwell on things until the cows come home. Or her innate ability to call me at the worst possible times. All I know is that she needs help. And that I'm glad she's out of my house.
Which are some pretty bad mixed feelings. I'm sitting at the intersection of Guilt Street and Annoyance Avenue, a very odd place to be. You see, I have so much pity for the girl. Her sister died at age 30 of breast cancer, and E was very close to her. E got tested and found out that she also has that breast cancer gene, which means she has an 80% chance of getting breast cancer. So to prevent this, E had a voluntary double mastectomy. Which totally sucks. And I just feel so guilty bitching about her. For a long time, I kept giving her the benefit of the doubt. My internal dialogue went like this: "Well, I'm sure I would be a basketcase, too, if my sister died that young and I might die of the same thing, causing me to volunteer to remove my boobs." (This health concern did not stop her from smoking like a chimney, btw. Another example of her great decision-making skills.)
But after a while, this argument couldn't justify her irritating habits or soothe my frazzled nerves. I began to divorce my worries and pity about her health from my resentment towards her. I compartmentalized these emotions. My internal dialogue turned into: "Well, I lost my brother and my dad in the same calendar year, and I don't feel the need to ruin other people's lunches or drone on and on about what an asshole my ex is."
And I grew weary of her. Exhausted, even. Encounters with her, which used to be friendly and exciting, were now dreadful and redundant, not to mention absurdly pathetic. I'm afraid I didn't do a very good job at concealing my joy when she told me she was moving out. I couldn't wait, to be honest.
The day her new boyfriend came to load up her stuff, I was in an excellent mood, I must say. I even smiled as I watched them load up the truck. I even offered to help. :D
Almost as a final parting gift from E, I have had to deal with The Table Incident. Let me explain:
When E moved in, she brought with her a HUGE, gorgeous kitchen table, with four chairs, all painted a glossy white. It looked like it was designed for my house, it went so well with my living/dining area. I love big tables, where I can spread out with books or projects. That table almost made living with E worth it.
So I was ecstatic when she told me she was moving out BUT was leaving the tables and chairs with me until further notice. She didn't need them at her new place, which was fully furnished. This was fabulous news.
A couple weeks later, E moved out. Not in the traditional sense of the word, in that all of your stuff is now at a new location and you no longer reside at your previous home. No, no. Not with E. For her, moving out takes a solid month. Which was, like most things E does, annoying as shit to me. I also happen to consider taking your sweet time to move out of someone's house to be fairly rude. But that's just my personal opinion. By that point, I just wanted her OUT OUT OUT. And all she did was drag, drag, drag her ass. So instead of having my house all to myself, I had to deal with random phone calls during that time: "Hey, I am coming over tonight to get some more stuff, ok?"
Most of you are thinking, "So, what's the big deal? You can just be conveniently not there when she comes over."
Oh, but I can't. Because E seemed to have a difficult time remembering what was hers and what is mine. She walked off with my George Foreman grill, after I told her which one was mine. In an admittedly childish retaliation, I hid her pizza stone until she brought it back. And she also managed to take one of my trashcans, which is only mildly irritating. If she managed to get anything else, I haven't noticed. But my point is, I had to be around to watch her move all her stuff out. Argh.
Finally, after weeks of this crap, she had moved all her stuff out. She also conveniently forgot to clean her bathroom or her bedroom, which were both filthy. Whatever. I certainly was not going to invite her back to clean them.
Breathing a deep sigh of relief, I thought I was free of her until further notice. I was enjoying the table and chairs so much, I was beginning to forgive her of all of her pain-in-the-ass ways.
But of course, nothing is ever really finished with E. She obsesses and dwells and changes her mind as often as she opens her mouth.
A couple of weeks after she had moved out, she called me to tell me she had changed her mind about the table and chairs. She was coming by to get them after work on Friday.
Leaving me with no table or chairs.
After she had told me 3 times that I could keep them until further notice.
Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe it was just the straw that broke the camel's back. It also could have been PMS. But I was royally pissed off about this and bitched about it incessantly for the entire weekend. Ask CN. He was sick to death of hearing about it, poor guy.
"What are you going to do if she calls you in a couple of weeks to tell you she wants to keep them at your house again?" he asked me.
"I'm going to tell her that if they come back in, they are mine forever," I said. "And if she remembers that she left her computer monitor here, I'm going to tell her I haven't seen it. I'm sick of playing Little Miss Nice Guy. I am having an E-botomy. She's being removed from my life. No more phone calls. No more hanging out. I do not care to ever talk to her again, to be honest. She drives me nuts."
"She left her computer monitor? Can I have it?" he asked.
"Consider it yours," I replied, happy to be 100% E-free at long last.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Familiarity Breeds Contempt, Part I
Alright, so far, I am seeing choice #4 pop up in the votes the most, so today I will discuss the roommate issue a little bit more. In case you are scratching your head right now, E moved out the weekend of Halloween....in theory. (You'll see what I mean in Part II)
Now, I know I have familiarized you with E and her antics before. But I haven't really given you the whole story. So here we go.
I met E several years ago, through my friend W. At the time, they were roommates-- E rented from W. Every so often, we would all get together, so I knew E well enough to like her, but let me tell you, you never REALLY know someone until you live with them.
When W's boyfriend moved into her condo, which is pretty small, E began to feel like three was a crowd. And really, with a boyfriend around, I think most single girls would feel they were a third wheel. So I understood her feelings of discomfort and interest in moving out. Coincidentally, at the time, my old roommate K (who is a WHOLE other story which I won't get into right now) had moved out, and my extra bedroom was empty. So I invited E to move in with me.
That's when I got what I should have seen as Red Flag #1: "Oh, I would love to, but I'm really broke and I wouldn't be able to pay you a whole lot of rent, so I would feel bad doing that to you," E explained. I told her that since we were friends, I would cut her a deal, no problem. At that point, I needed the rent money. ANY rent money.
"Ok, well, how about you pay me $350 per month?" I offered. Where I live, this is a really good rent price, especially for living in a house, rather than an apartment.
"That's more than I'm paying now. I really can't afford to pay more than $230 per month," she replied.
Since I was really just wanted ANY extra money, I said ok. "You are a sucker," CN told me. I told him that we are friends, and I would feel bad if I charged her a price that broke her bank.
"$230 doesn't break anyone's bank, unless they are on welfare," he replied.
A little voice in the back of my head told me he was right, but I decided to ignore it. While E doesn't have a college degree (she dropped out), she does make a decent living working for a health benefits company. I don't know how much exactly, but she probably makes around $30,000-35,000. Looking back on it now, I do kind of feel like a sucker. When I made that amount of money, I was paying $500/month in rent.
Not long after E moved in, I began to learn more about her financial situation. With around $20,000 in credit card debt and an upside-down car loan, she was on the verge of filing for bankruptcy. Suddenly, her low rent request made a lot more sense to me. I told her to let me know if things got even worse and if she needed extra time to pay rent, or some other kind of help. She was my friend, after all.
Then, I started noticing the shopping. And I'm not talking about hitting big annual sales or Target or even Walmart shopping. E would buy brand new Coach purses. And not the little ones -- the BIG ones. She would justify the purchases by using $25 coupons she received in the mail for being a loyal Coach customer. "It's such a good deal! How can I not do it?" she would exclaim, showing off her new purchase. Then there were the matching shoes that had to be purchased to go with the purse. And if there was a party or an event coming up? She had to buy a new outfit. Often from places like Banana Republic or J.Crew. If nothing else, E is a well-heeled girl. I have to give her some props -- she's a fantastic dresser. But really, at what cost?
This was from the girl who swears she cannot afford to pay me more than $230/month in rent.
Then, there was her car. It was only about 2 years old, and it was a big, gas-guzzling SUV. It was newer and more expensive than my car. I am not saying that I am envious of her, because as you will soon see, that is the last thing I feel towards E. I'm just stating this as evidence of how outside of her means this girl lives. I make more money than E does, and my used car cost only $8,000. Hers was around $25,000. She eventually managed to trade it in and get a new car loan at a slightly lower interest rate. I thought this was a great idea, until she brought home her new car. It was a brand new, $25,000 car. "My payments are a little lower now. And it's much better on gas," she explained.
Is this girl for real???
Now, is it just me, or does it seem pretty stupid for someone in her financial situation to live this kind of lifestyle? I mean, it's a no-brainer, really. But wait -- it gets better.
One day, we were talking about her precarious financial situation. I managed to, in a round-about-way, aske her how in the holy fuck she got into this mess to begin with. Her explanation? Her ex-boyfriend from several years back, who we are pretty sure is a drug dealer (oh yes, she picks some real winners), showered her with luxurious gifts for so long (these were guilt presents, because he was cheating on her left and right) that she got used to them, and just can't seem to go back to anything less.
Are. You. Freaking. Kidding. Me.
I asked her what kinds of things he had bought her before he ripped out her heart and stomped on it. (Side note: It was a pretty shitty breakup -- he basically kicked her out of his apartment to make room for the new girlfriend, who he'd been cheating on her with. Yeah, he was a really great guy.) He had purchased for her: several Coach bags, shoes, perfume, a Rolex and (drumroll please) a Louis Vuitton purse. As in, a real one, NOT a knock-off from Canal Street or someone's car trunk.
Call me crazy, but if I was broke as shit, drowning in debt, and I had a bunch of junk that some asshole had bought for me with drug money to ease his guilt over cheating on me, I would sell that crap on eBay so fast it would make your head spin. But does she do that? No. She'd rather wear her Rolex every day, a constant reminder of not only a miserably failed relationship, but also her poor decision making skills. What the hell is this girl on, anyway?
Well, for starters, alcohol. Now, we all know that I don't drink anymore, so I am a little out of the loop, but I'm pretty sure it's not really very acceptable to drink beer on your lunch break. But this didn't stop E. I would come home at lunch to find one empty beer can in the trash, and a fresh one in her hand. Sometimes, she would get drunk on margaritas at lunch and go back to work. Yeah. I'm sure you're not surprised to hear this, but she also would drink heavily at night and on the weekends. In addition to knocking out a case of beer every week at home (an amount I already think is kind of a lot), she would go out at least 2 times during the week and every Friday and Saturday--drinking for about 5 hours straight. Now, E is a fun girl, I will give her that. But I also think a lot of fun people are alcoholics, and she's one of them. Not only was her safety impacted by her drinking (she would drive drunk if no one would was around to take her home and she came thisclose to getting busted for an open container once), but so was her budget and her job. She called in sick several times due to a hangover. I know a lot of people do this, but she would do it about once or twice a month. That's a lot.
In addition to the alcohol, E was also on a cocktail of pills. She's a Heath Ledger waiting to happen: anti-depressants, Xanax, Ambien and Adderoll were all put into her body every day. This is in addition to all the alcohol, any over the counter painkillers she would take, and if she was sick, antibiotics. She admitted to doctor shopping, especially when one of them would not refill her prescriptions.
As you can imagine, anytime her behavior became strange or erratic, I just assumed it was from all the chemicals she had swimming around in her body. Or an eccentric personality. After a while, I grew accustomed to her insomnia, her weekend sleep-a-thons, her drunken antics, her Ambien-induced sleepwalking, and her passing out in the bathtub. What, I never told that story? I can't believe I never told that one. I was probably trying to protect her by not spilling her personal life on this blog. But at this point, I doubt I will lose any sleep over it. If anything, I'm hoping this will serve as a warning to anyone using or thinking about using Ambien. The drug is evil, I tell you.
A few times, E would come home drunk, take her Ambien and watch TV in her bed. I have learned that drunk people need everything to be louder than sober people do, so several times I would wake up to the sound of her TV or music coming from her room. Knocking on her door, yelling her name and even shaking her did not wake her up. A couple of times, she was so PTFO that I thought about calling 911. She was seriously dead to the world. If there had been a fire, she would have burned alive. No joke. So I would eventually just give up, turn the TV or music off myself, and go back to bed.
This wasn't a huge deal, but it started to scare me as time went on. More than once, I would wake up in the morning to find that the oven had been on all night. E had gone out, gotten drunk, come home to make a frozen pizza, and then PTFO on her Ambien before turning the oven off. I was really starting to get worried, but always hoped it would be the last time.
The last straw came with The Bathtub Incident. One night, I was awakened by the sound of music coming from her bathroom. At this point, it was normal for her to be up all night, re-organizing her room as she often did when she had bouts of insomnia. I was annoyed, but I knew she hadn't woken me up on purpose, so I walked over to ask her to turn her music down. I knocked on the door. No answer. I yelled her name. No answer. Thinking she had passed out in her bed, I went into her room -- she was not there. She had to be in the bathroom. I peeked around the corner to look into her bathroom. She was passed out in the bathtub, with water up to her chest. I was panicked, and sort of froze for a minute, because what do you do? All I could think was, "What the fuck? I am so pissed at her for putting me in this situation. This is so fucking awkward and scary. At worst, she could drown. At best, I have to go in there and drag my wet, naked roommate out of the tub, which is very awkward!!"
So I went in and shook the crap out of her until she woke up long enough to mumble that she was fine. Then she passed right back out. I seriously didn't know what to do. She was too heavy and slippery for me to pick her up, because I tried. I was really furious that I even had to deal with this at 3am. I was starting to feel like her babysitter, and I was really just OVER IT. Looking back on it, I should have let the water out of the tub, but it didn't occur to me in my half-asleep stupor. I was just pissed. I took a good look at the depth of the water and realized that she was too tall to slip under it. (E is about 5' 9") At the time, that was good enough for me. I figured the water would eventually get cold enough that it would wake her up and she would get out. So I turned the music down and went back to bed.
When I woke up the next morning, I totally panicked, because HOLY SHIT, I just left her there??? What the hell was I thinking??? I felt horrible. But I am a deep sleeper, and not the clearest thinker in the middle of the night. I still can't believe I did that, and I shudder to think of what could have happened. But at the time, I thought I had made a good decision. Stupid, I know. I feel really bad about that. Anyway, so I ran to her room and I saw that she was safe in her bed--WHEW. I didn't even tell her about it until several weeks later, because it was just so awkward, and I was so pissed about it, I didn't want to bring it up.
This, along with the random guy she left at my house, were major turning points in our relationship. I began to really resent her and grow very annoyed with her. Little things that hadn't bothered me before started to drive me up the wall. For example, every morning, she would ask me if her outfit looked ok. It always did, because she has the most gorgeous wardrobe you've ever seen, and thanks to the Adderoll, she's as thin as a rail. I am not nearly as good of a dresser as she, so it never made sense to me why she'd even ask for my opinion in the first place. After the Bathtub Incident, this little morning routine began to drive me insane. It began to feel like she just wanted to show off her clothes to me. As if that wasn't bad enough, I swear she began turning her iPod up more loudly, and she listened to the SAME four songs every morning. And she has really bad taste in music. For weeks, I had to listen to "Please don't stop the music please don't stop the music please don't stop the music!!" (that Rihanna song) at 67 decibels.
As if the morning wasn't bad enough, lunch breaks were even worse. When I go home for lunch every day, I like to read or watch "What Not to Wear". I don't mind a little small talk or gossip, but if E took her lunch at the same time, she would basically hijack my lunch time. E would often change outfits at lunch, so I would have to go through the whole outfit-approval discussion again. And instead of making small talk and letting me get back to my meal/book/tv show, she would use lunch breaks as an opportunity to inform me on one of the following topics:
OMG, You Won't Believe What Someone Did to Me!
My Ex-Boyfriend is an Asshole and You Won't Believe What He is Doing Now! (aka OMG, You Won't Believe What a Stalker I Am!)
OMG, I Hate My Job
OMG, My Boyfriend is Such an Asshole (Side note: he wasn't. He's actually a great guy. Who gave her the boot a few months ago, because he also grew tired of her crap.)
As you can probably gather from this list of topics, E has a tendency to be a martyr and dwell on things. She's a little obsessive about how people have wronged her. A lot of the time, like with her ex, she's right -- the guy is a total fucking jerk. But they broke up FOUR YEARS AGO. LET. IT. GO. She still, as far as I know, stalks his girlfriend on myspace, drives by their apartment, looks for his car when she goes out, etc. A lot of girls have done these things, including yours truly, but for FOUR years???? Good grief, Charlie Brown!
All of E's Martyr Talks got really old after a while. I just wanted to eat my sandwich and watch my show and be left alone. I did not go home for lunch to play therapist. To the same patient. With the same issues. Every day. Not surprisingly, she never took any of my (basic and obvious) advice anyway, which only irritated me further. It's like she is hell bent on making her life as difficult and emotionally upheaving as possible. I don't get it. So I began to take my lunch breaks very early, to avoid seeing her. She rarely went to lunch before noon, and never went back to work before 2pm (yeah, her job is another story!) . I have found that simply avoiding her works very well. I haven't had to watch The E Show in a very long time. (You know anyone like that? Every time they talk to you, it's all about them? Never about you? That's E in a nutshell.)
For a while, the nights and weekends were great -- she would be at her boyfriend's house, and I would be free of her. But as I said a little bit ago, several months ago, he apparently grew tired of her, too, and dumped her. So then she was suddenly at home all the time. When she started dating the guy she's currently with, I thought, "Great! Now she can start sleeping over at his house!" -- but I had no such luck. She managed to start dating a 33 year old guy who still lived with his parents. Not that he doesn't have any money -- he owns 3 cars. But I guess he still wants mommy to do his laundry. WTF.
So he started sleeping over all the time, which led to their shower antics and that time I kicked him out, etc--I have already told you about those things. He only made things worse.
One day, not too long before she moved out, I broke down and told E everything -- I went on and on and on. I talked about The Bathtub Incident, kicking her new guy out of the house, how she left the oven on all the time, how tired I was of getting up at night to turn things off, how she drove drunk, how absurdly she managed her money, how silly it was for her to obsess over her ex, how smoking cigarettes wasn't a good idea considering how much cancer ran in her family, how I was worried about her -- I went on and on and on, for about 30 minutes. I ended it with, "I am really worried about you and I think you need to think about going to rehab."
Know what her response was?
"OMG. You're right. I really need to stop taking Ambien. I will talk to my doctor and switch to something else."
When I started to tell her that wasn't really what I meant, she jumped in with,
"I am such a burden to you. It is so good that I'm moving out soon. I feel terrible. Don't worry. I will be gone soon. I am so sorry."
I guess some people just don't get it.
Stay tuned for Part II.
Happy Thanksgiving, y'all. Be thankful you have a better head on your shoulders than my ex-roommate.
Now, I know I have familiarized you with E and her antics before. But I haven't really given you the whole story. So here we go.
I met E several years ago, through my friend W. At the time, they were roommates-- E rented from W. Every so often, we would all get together, so I knew E well enough to like her, but let me tell you, you never REALLY know someone until you live with them.
When W's boyfriend moved into her condo, which is pretty small, E began to feel like three was a crowd. And really, with a boyfriend around, I think most single girls would feel they were a third wheel. So I understood her feelings of discomfort and interest in moving out. Coincidentally, at the time, my old roommate K (who is a WHOLE other story which I won't get into right now) had moved out, and my extra bedroom was empty. So I invited E to move in with me.
That's when I got what I should have seen as Red Flag #1: "Oh, I would love to, but I'm really broke and I wouldn't be able to pay you a whole lot of rent, so I would feel bad doing that to you," E explained. I told her that since we were friends, I would cut her a deal, no problem. At that point, I needed the rent money. ANY rent money.
"Ok, well, how about you pay me $350 per month?" I offered. Where I live, this is a really good rent price, especially for living in a house, rather than an apartment.
"That's more than I'm paying now. I really can't afford to pay more than $230 per month," she replied.
Since I was really just wanted ANY extra money, I said ok. "You are a sucker," CN told me. I told him that we are friends, and I would feel bad if I charged her a price that broke her bank.
"$230 doesn't break anyone's bank, unless they are on welfare," he replied.
A little voice in the back of my head told me he was right, but I decided to ignore it. While E doesn't have a college degree (she dropped out), she does make a decent living working for a health benefits company. I don't know how much exactly, but she probably makes around $30,000-35,000. Looking back on it now, I do kind of feel like a sucker. When I made that amount of money, I was paying $500/month in rent.
Not long after E moved in, I began to learn more about her financial situation. With around $20,000 in credit card debt and an upside-down car loan, she was on the verge of filing for bankruptcy. Suddenly, her low rent request made a lot more sense to me. I told her to let me know if things got even worse and if she needed extra time to pay rent, or some other kind of help. She was my friend, after all.
Then, I started noticing the shopping. And I'm not talking about hitting big annual sales or Target or even Walmart shopping. E would buy brand new Coach purses. And not the little ones -- the BIG ones. She would justify the purchases by using $25 coupons she received in the mail for being a loyal Coach customer. "It's such a good deal! How can I not do it?" she would exclaim, showing off her new purchase. Then there were the matching shoes that had to be purchased to go with the purse. And if there was a party or an event coming up? She had to buy a new outfit. Often from places like Banana Republic or J.Crew. If nothing else, E is a well-heeled girl. I have to give her some props -- she's a fantastic dresser. But really, at what cost?
This was from the girl who swears she cannot afford to pay me more than $230/month in rent.
Then, there was her car. It was only about 2 years old, and it was a big, gas-guzzling SUV. It was newer and more expensive than my car. I am not saying that I am envious of her, because as you will soon see, that is the last thing I feel towards E. I'm just stating this as evidence of how outside of her means this girl lives. I make more money than E does, and my used car cost only $8,000. Hers was around $25,000. She eventually managed to trade it in and get a new car loan at a slightly lower interest rate. I thought this was a great idea, until she brought home her new car. It was a brand new, $25,000 car. "My payments are a little lower now. And it's much better on gas," she explained.
Is this girl for real???
Now, is it just me, or does it seem pretty stupid for someone in her financial situation to live this kind of lifestyle? I mean, it's a no-brainer, really. But wait -- it gets better.
One day, we were talking about her precarious financial situation. I managed to, in a round-about-way, aske her how in the holy fuck she got into this mess to begin with. Her explanation? Her ex-boyfriend from several years back, who we are pretty sure is a drug dealer (oh yes, she picks some real winners), showered her with luxurious gifts for so long (these were guilt presents, because he was cheating on her left and right) that she got used to them, and just can't seem to go back to anything less.
Are. You. Freaking. Kidding. Me.
I asked her what kinds of things he had bought her before he ripped out her heart and stomped on it. (Side note: It was a pretty shitty breakup -- he basically kicked her out of his apartment to make room for the new girlfriend, who he'd been cheating on her with. Yeah, he was a really great guy.) He had purchased for her: several Coach bags, shoes, perfume, a Rolex and (drumroll please) a Louis Vuitton purse. As in, a real one, NOT a knock-off from Canal Street or someone's car trunk.
Call me crazy, but if I was broke as shit, drowning in debt, and I had a bunch of junk that some asshole had bought for me with drug money to ease his guilt over cheating on me, I would sell that crap on eBay so fast it would make your head spin. But does she do that? No. She'd rather wear her Rolex every day, a constant reminder of not only a miserably failed relationship, but also her poor decision making skills. What the hell is this girl on, anyway?
Well, for starters, alcohol. Now, we all know that I don't drink anymore, so I am a little out of the loop, but I'm pretty sure it's not really very acceptable to drink beer on your lunch break. But this didn't stop E. I would come home at lunch to find one empty beer can in the trash, and a fresh one in her hand. Sometimes, she would get drunk on margaritas at lunch and go back to work. Yeah. I'm sure you're not surprised to hear this, but she also would drink heavily at night and on the weekends. In addition to knocking out a case of beer every week at home (an amount I already think is kind of a lot), she would go out at least 2 times during the week and every Friday and Saturday--drinking for about 5 hours straight. Now, E is a fun girl, I will give her that. But I also think a lot of fun people are alcoholics, and she's one of them. Not only was her safety impacted by her drinking (she would drive drunk if no one would was around to take her home and she came thisclose to getting busted for an open container once), but so was her budget and her job. She called in sick several times due to a hangover. I know a lot of people do this, but she would do it about once or twice a month. That's a lot.
In addition to the alcohol, E was also on a cocktail of pills. She's a Heath Ledger waiting to happen: anti-depressants, Xanax, Ambien and Adderoll were all put into her body every day. This is in addition to all the alcohol, any over the counter painkillers she would take, and if she was sick, antibiotics. She admitted to doctor shopping, especially when one of them would not refill her prescriptions.
As you can imagine, anytime her behavior became strange or erratic, I just assumed it was from all the chemicals she had swimming around in her body. Or an eccentric personality. After a while, I grew accustomed to her insomnia, her weekend sleep-a-thons, her drunken antics, her Ambien-induced sleepwalking, and her passing out in the bathtub. What, I never told that story? I can't believe I never told that one. I was probably trying to protect her by not spilling her personal life on this blog. But at this point, I doubt I will lose any sleep over it. If anything, I'm hoping this will serve as a warning to anyone using or thinking about using Ambien. The drug is evil, I tell you.
A few times, E would come home drunk, take her Ambien and watch TV in her bed. I have learned that drunk people need everything to be louder than sober people do, so several times I would wake up to the sound of her TV or music coming from her room. Knocking on her door, yelling her name and even shaking her did not wake her up. A couple of times, she was so PTFO that I thought about calling 911. She was seriously dead to the world. If there had been a fire, she would have burned alive. No joke. So I would eventually just give up, turn the TV or music off myself, and go back to bed.
This wasn't a huge deal, but it started to scare me as time went on. More than once, I would wake up in the morning to find that the oven had been on all night. E had gone out, gotten drunk, come home to make a frozen pizza, and then PTFO on her Ambien before turning the oven off. I was really starting to get worried, but always hoped it would be the last time.
The last straw came with The Bathtub Incident. One night, I was awakened by the sound of music coming from her bathroom. At this point, it was normal for her to be up all night, re-organizing her room as she often did when she had bouts of insomnia. I was annoyed, but I knew she hadn't woken me up on purpose, so I walked over to ask her to turn her music down. I knocked on the door. No answer. I yelled her name. No answer. Thinking she had passed out in her bed, I went into her room -- she was not there. She had to be in the bathroom. I peeked around the corner to look into her bathroom. She was passed out in the bathtub, with water up to her chest. I was panicked, and sort of froze for a minute, because what do you do? All I could think was, "What the fuck? I am so pissed at her for putting me in this situation. This is so fucking awkward and scary. At worst, she could drown. At best, I have to go in there and drag my wet, naked roommate out of the tub, which is very awkward!!"
So I went in and shook the crap out of her until she woke up long enough to mumble that she was fine. Then she passed right back out. I seriously didn't know what to do. She was too heavy and slippery for me to pick her up, because I tried. I was really furious that I even had to deal with this at 3am. I was starting to feel like her babysitter, and I was really just OVER IT. Looking back on it, I should have let the water out of the tub, but it didn't occur to me in my half-asleep stupor. I was just pissed. I took a good look at the depth of the water and realized that she was too tall to slip under it. (E is about 5' 9") At the time, that was good enough for me. I figured the water would eventually get cold enough that it would wake her up and she would get out. So I turned the music down and went back to bed.
When I woke up the next morning, I totally panicked, because HOLY SHIT, I just left her there??? What the hell was I thinking??? I felt horrible. But I am a deep sleeper, and not the clearest thinker in the middle of the night. I still can't believe I did that, and I shudder to think of what could have happened. But at the time, I thought I had made a good decision. Stupid, I know. I feel really bad about that. Anyway, so I ran to her room and I saw that she was safe in her bed--WHEW. I didn't even tell her about it until several weeks later, because it was just so awkward, and I was so pissed about it, I didn't want to bring it up.
This, along with the random guy she left at my house, were major turning points in our relationship. I began to really resent her and grow very annoyed with her. Little things that hadn't bothered me before started to drive me up the wall. For example, every morning, she would ask me if her outfit looked ok. It always did, because she has the most gorgeous wardrobe you've ever seen, and thanks to the Adderoll, she's as thin as a rail. I am not nearly as good of a dresser as she, so it never made sense to me why she'd even ask for my opinion in the first place. After the Bathtub Incident, this little morning routine began to drive me insane. It began to feel like she just wanted to show off her clothes to me. As if that wasn't bad enough, I swear she began turning her iPod up more loudly, and she listened to the SAME four songs every morning. And she has really bad taste in music. For weeks, I had to listen to "Please don't stop the music please don't stop the music please don't stop the music!!" (that Rihanna song) at 67 decibels.
As if the morning wasn't bad enough, lunch breaks were even worse. When I go home for lunch every day, I like to read or watch "What Not to Wear". I don't mind a little small talk or gossip, but if E took her lunch at the same time, she would basically hijack my lunch time. E would often change outfits at lunch, so I would have to go through the whole outfit-approval discussion again. And instead of making small talk and letting me get back to my meal/book/tv show, she would use lunch breaks as an opportunity to inform me on one of the following topics:
OMG, You Won't Believe What Someone Did to Me!
My Ex-Boyfriend is an Asshole and You Won't Believe What He is Doing Now! (aka OMG, You Won't Believe What a Stalker I Am!)
OMG, I Hate My Job
OMG, My Boyfriend is Such an Asshole (Side note: he wasn't. He's actually a great guy. Who gave her the boot a few months ago, because he also grew tired of her crap.)
As you can probably gather from this list of topics, E has a tendency to be a martyr and dwell on things. She's a little obsessive about how people have wronged her. A lot of the time, like with her ex, she's right -- the guy is a total fucking jerk. But they broke up FOUR YEARS AGO. LET. IT. GO. She still, as far as I know, stalks his girlfriend on myspace, drives by their apartment, looks for his car when she goes out, etc. A lot of girls have done these things, including yours truly, but for FOUR years???? Good grief, Charlie Brown!
All of E's Martyr Talks got really old after a while. I just wanted to eat my sandwich and watch my show and be left alone. I did not go home for lunch to play therapist. To the same patient. With the same issues. Every day. Not surprisingly, she never took any of my (basic and obvious) advice anyway, which only irritated me further. It's like she is hell bent on making her life as difficult and emotionally upheaving as possible. I don't get it. So I began to take my lunch breaks very early, to avoid seeing her. She rarely went to lunch before noon, and never went back to work before 2pm (yeah, her job is another story!) . I have found that simply avoiding her works very well. I haven't had to watch The E Show in a very long time. (You know anyone like that? Every time they talk to you, it's all about them? Never about you? That's E in a nutshell.)
For a while, the nights and weekends were great -- she would be at her boyfriend's house, and I would be free of her. But as I said a little bit ago, several months ago, he apparently grew tired of her, too, and dumped her. So then she was suddenly at home all the time. When she started dating the guy she's currently with, I thought, "Great! Now she can start sleeping over at his house!" -- but I had no such luck. She managed to start dating a 33 year old guy who still lived with his parents. Not that he doesn't have any money -- he owns 3 cars. But I guess he still wants mommy to do his laundry. WTF.
So he started sleeping over all the time, which led to their shower antics and that time I kicked him out, etc--I have already told you about those things. He only made things worse.
One day, not too long before she moved out, I broke down and told E everything -- I went on and on and on. I talked about The Bathtub Incident, kicking her new guy out of the house, how she left the oven on all the time, how tired I was of getting up at night to turn things off, how she drove drunk, how absurdly she managed her money, how silly it was for her to obsess over her ex, how smoking cigarettes wasn't a good idea considering how much cancer ran in her family, how I was worried about her -- I went on and on and on, for about 30 minutes. I ended it with, "I am really worried about you and I think you need to think about going to rehab."
Know what her response was?
"OMG. You're right. I really need to stop taking Ambien. I will talk to my doctor and switch to something else."
When I started to tell her that wasn't really what I meant, she jumped in with,
"I am such a burden to you. It is so good that I'm moving out soon. I feel terrible. Don't worry. I will be gone soon. I am so sorry."
I guess some people just don't get it.
Stay tuned for Part II.
Happy Thanksgiving, y'all. Be thankful you have a better head on your shoulders than my ex-roommate.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Groundhog Day
**WARNING** There is an obscene amount of whining and bitching in this post. Skip if you don't feel like listening today. Don't worry. I won't have time to notice a lack of comments.
Groundhog Day.
Have you seen the Bill Murray movie? I haven't, but based on what I've heard, I probably should. Apparently, it's about a man who has to re-live the same day over and over.
Oh, how I can relate.
Ironically, I don't have time to watch it. I'm too busy living my own Groundhog Day.
CN told me about an old "In Living Color" skit about the Hedleys, a family of Jamaicans, caught in a one-upmanship of employment. But the end of the skit, their claims are pretty outrageous:
I can relate to that skit, too: "I don't have time. I have to go to work." Sometimes, I feel like I work 12 jobs.
My full-time job is on the same schedule every week. My part time job is on the same schedule every week. With a few small gaps, these two schedules mesh perfectly together all week long. My house isn't so much of a home as it is an extremely dirty hotel room to me. I hurry between my bed, my main job and my part time job, only to repeat it again and again and again. Day in and day out, with each job session connected to the next, like a circled chain. I feel like I'm stuck in the pilot episode of an extremely popular dramadey: "Broadcast tonight with no commercial interruptions."
You have no idea what I would give for a goddamn commercial interruption. Time to sleep, time to clean, time to sit on my couch and BREATHE. Time to do laundry, time to cook a real meal, time to actually SEE my friends, instead of just texting them sporadically. Time to play with my dog and wander around Target.
My schedule is so strict, that if I don't get an errand done early Thursday morning, it doesn't get done. Period. I have to plan when to fill up my gas tank. I forget to go to the bathroom, only to realize I needed to pee 3 hours ago. Or I am baffled as to why I'm suddenly so thirsty, only to realize that it's 3pm, and the last thing I drank was the 6am coffee that morning. I am so concerned with the "OMG! I'm late! Where am I supposed to be? What am I supposed to be doing?" that I'm forgetting to do little things, like water my yard, return phone calls or make deposits at the bank. I find myself really looking at my priorities: unload the dishwasher or shave my legs? Iron the clean shirt, or dig through the dirty clothes to find something that will pass? Sleep or eat?
And lately, with my brain's dial set to the "Go! Do! Now!" setting, I'm having a hard time turning my body off at the end of the day, no matter how exhausted I am. That means that now, I am starting to get insomnia.
Hoo fucking ray.
Btw, this is on top of the constant headaches and gastro-intestinal issues I've already developed, thanks to my super fun new schedule.
And if you are someone who is good friends with/dating/married to someone who works two jobs, you would be The Most Awesome Person in the World if you would offer to run errands for that person. Or vaccuum their living room. Or cook them a meal. Or throw their clothes in the dryer. Instead of saying things like, "Yeah, I'm going on vacation to your most favoritest place in the world! Wish you could go with me! But you have to work, right?" or "My day? Oh, I just sorta watched tv today. Went to the gym. Took a nap. Not much." Saying these things might get your head ripped off, instantly and without apology.
So much for the Public Service Announcement portion of this blog post...and yes, CN did say that 2nd one to me the other day. But I was too exhausted to do anything more than whimper. Thinking about it pisses me off. A lot. But how can you ask your boyfriend to vacuum your living room for you, when getting the 2nd job was your idea in the first place? *sigh*
You can imagine how much fun I am to be around. Let me tell you, I am a *peach*. If I had my wish right now, I would scream at a stranger, and then have a good cry and a nap. It's sort of what I imagine being pregnant is like. Exhaustion, frustration and hopelessness. It's not going to end for months. And months. What have I gotten myself into? Why did I think this was a good idea? Is it too late to go back to the good ol' days?
Those of you who are mothers, work two jobs or have otherwise absurd numbers of juggled balls in the air, I salute you. Seriously, how the fuck do you do this without either losing your mind or turning into a supreme mega bitch?
I know what you are asking. "VB, why not just take a sick day? Call in, take a day off, you will feel better!" To which I reply:
1. I need much MUCH more than a day off. I need like a week off. Complete with clean sheets, a massage and fruity drinks. A pile of books, a big TV and a totally blank calendar. One day off wouldn't be a drop in the bucket. I had last Sunday off. It wasn't enough. It was nice to cook, don't get me wrong. But it wasn't enough. I need a Decompression Period.
2. I can't take a day off from my library job. I am working on Super Massive Huge Project, remember? And it's due on August 1st. I am about 85-90% done. So until it is done, no can do. To be perfectly honest, I have no business typing this blog post right now. I don't technically have time. But I have to do it, or I might kill a kitten or something.
3. I can't call in sick to Dildo's. First of all, it would only give me 3 hours off, and 3 evening hours isn't enough, either. Besides, they tend to fire people who call in. Not that it matters. I might quit today anyway.
Too bad my poor Dildo's manager has no idea what's coming for her at 6pm tonight. It is I, in all of my exhausted rage, and I have every intention of getting in her face and being a total bitch. Without warning. This is why:
1. Every employee gets one full weekend and one additional Sunday off per month. To date, I have had one weekend and two Sunday off. Over a 3 month period. Also, no Dildo's employee is supposed to close every Saturday. I have. So I think I've been getting screwed. This is not making me happy. Especially since that ONE weekend off was spent at my mother's house. So think about aaaaaaaall the stuff you have done in the last 11 weekends. I have not had that time at all. It was spent standing on my feet.
2. I have brought up the fact that I am not a machine to my manager, who replies with either, "Sorry, that's Dildo's policy." or "I didn't give you that day off? I'm sorry! I will fix it!" -- Both replies piss me off. Because they both communicate the same message: "I don't care!" It's bad enough hearing this message from any manager. But when it comes from the mouth of a 23 year old bimbo who spends most of her time at work doing nothing except flirting with another manager, you pretty much want to rip her face off.
This past weekend, I became fed up. After asking my worthless Dildo's manager for a weekend off this month THREE times, she "forgot" to change my schedule before she called in sick for a three day weekend so she could hang out with her boyfriend. So I had to work all weekend, AGAIN. If you are looking at a calendar right now, you will see that there are 4 weekends in July. Three of which have already passed without her fixing my schedule.
That means, there's only one weekend left. It's inventory weekend. No one is supposed to have that weekend off. So I know she's going to tell me I can't have this coming weekend off, either. And that's when I will punch her in the face. My goal is to break her nose in the process. I think that under the circumstances, the judge will be merciful.
"Give me Friday, Saturday and Sunday off, or I quit. Now." -- is what I will say. I know it doesn't sound like much of a threat, but that's because you don't know she's had some major turnover in her department lately. (My guess is because she never gives anyone any fucking days off.) So she is MEGA short handed at the moment.
And if she doesn't go for it? Fine by me. I was planning on quitting soon, anyway. Because I just cannot take this any more. At this point, maybe being in debt is worth a little sanity. Who knew how important weekends are to your psyche?? I mean, yeah, I'm making $150-200 a week. But at what price? I feel like shit. My house smells. I haven't exercised in three months. I am exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally.
Fuck. I'm late. I gotta go. I was supposed to go to lunch 45 minutes ago. Sorry about all the bitching and whining. I will try and be funner tomorrow. :\
Groundhog Day.
Have you seen the Bill Murray movie? I haven't, but based on what I've heard, I probably should. Apparently, it's about a man who has to re-live the same day over and over.
Oh, how I can relate.
Ironically, I don't have time to watch it. I'm too busy living my own Groundhog Day.
CN told me about an old "In Living Color" skit about the Hedleys, a family of Jamaicans, caught in a one-upmanship of employment. But the end of the skit, their claims are pretty outrageous:
I can relate to that skit, too: "I don't have time. I have to go to work." Sometimes, I feel like I work 12 jobs.
My full-time job is on the same schedule every week. My part time job is on the same schedule every week. With a few small gaps, these two schedules mesh perfectly together all week long. My house isn't so much of a home as it is an extremely dirty hotel room to me. I hurry between my bed, my main job and my part time job, only to repeat it again and again and again. Day in and day out, with each job session connected to the next, like a circled chain. I feel like I'm stuck in the pilot episode of an extremely popular dramadey: "Broadcast tonight with no commercial interruptions."
You have no idea what I would give for a goddamn commercial interruption. Time to sleep, time to clean, time to sit on my couch and BREATHE. Time to do laundry, time to cook a real meal, time to actually SEE my friends, instead of just texting them sporadically. Time to play with my dog and wander around Target.
My schedule is so strict, that if I don't get an errand done early Thursday morning, it doesn't get done. Period. I have to plan when to fill up my gas tank. I forget to go to the bathroom, only to realize I needed to pee 3 hours ago. Or I am baffled as to why I'm suddenly so thirsty, only to realize that it's 3pm, and the last thing I drank was the 6am coffee that morning. I am so concerned with the "OMG! I'm late! Where am I supposed to be? What am I supposed to be doing?" that I'm forgetting to do little things, like water my yard, return phone calls or make deposits at the bank. I find myself really looking at my priorities: unload the dishwasher or shave my legs? Iron the clean shirt, or dig through the dirty clothes to find something that will pass? Sleep or eat?
And lately, with my brain's dial set to the "Go! Do! Now!" setting, I'm having a hard time turning my body off at the end of the day, no matter how exhausted I am. That means that now, I am starting to get insomnia.
Hoo fucking ray.
Btw, this is on top of the constant headaches and gastro-intestinal issues I've already developed, thanks to my super fun new schedule.
And if you are someone who is good friends with/dating/married to someone who works two jobs, you would be The Most Awesome Person in the World if you would offer to run errands for that person. Or vaccuum their living room. Or cook them a meal. Or throw their clothes in the dryer. Instead of saying things like, "Yeah, I'm going on vacation to your most favoritest place in the world! Wish you could go with me! But you have to work, right?" or "My day? Oh, I just sorta watched tv today. Went to the gym. Took a nap. Not much." Saying these things might get your head ripped off, instantly and without apology.
So much for the Public Service Announcement portion of this blog post...and yes, CN did say that 2nd one to me the other day. But I was too exhausted to do anything more than whimper. Thinking about it pisses me off. A lot. But how can you ask your boyfriend to vacuum your living room for you, when getting the 2nd job was your idea in the first place? *sigh*
You can imagine how much fun I am to be around. Let me tell you, I am a *peach*. If I had my wish right now, I would scream at a stranger, and then have a good cry and a nap. It's sort of what I imagine being pregnant is like. Exhaustion, frustration and hopelessness. It's not going to end for months. And months. What have I gotten myself into? Why did I think this was a good idea? Is it too late to go back to the good ol' days?
Those of you who are mothers, work two jobs or have otherwise absurd numbers of juggled balls in the air, I salute you. Seriously, how the fuck do you do this without either losing your mind or turning into a supreme mega bitch?
I know what you are asking. "VB, why not just take a sick day? Call in, take a day off, you will feel better!" To which I reply:
1. I need much MUCH more than a day off. I need like a week off. Complete with clean sheets, a massage and fruity drinks. A pile of books, a big TV and a totally blank calendar. One day off wouldn't be a drop in the bucket. I had last Sunday off. It wasn't enough. It was nice to cook, don't get me wrong. But it wasn't enough. I need a Decompression Period.
2. I can't take a day off from my library job. I am working on Super Massive Huge Project, remember? And it's due on August 1st. I am about 85-90% done. So until it is done, no can do. To be perfectly honest, I have no business typing this blog post right now. I don't technically have time. But I have to do it, or I might kill a kitten or something.
3. I can't call in sick to Dildo's. First of all, it would only give me 3 hours off, and 3 evening hours isn't enough, either. Besides, they tend to fire people who call in. Not that it matters. I might quit today anyway.
Too bad my poor Dildo's manager has no idea what's coming for her at 6pm tonight. It is I, in all of my exhausted rage, and I have every intention of getting in her face and being a total bitch. Without warning. This is why:
1. Every employee gets one full weekend and one additional Sunday off per month. To date, I have had one weekend and two Sunday off. Over a 3 month period. Also, no Dildo's employee is supposed to close every Saturday. I have. So I think I've been getting screwed. This is not making me happy. Especially since that ONE weekend off was spent at my mother's house. So think about aaaaaaaall the stuff you have done in the last 11 weekends. I have not had that time at all. It was spent standing on my feet.
2. I have brought up the fact that I am not a machine to my manager, who replies with either, "Sorry, that's Dildo's policy." or "I didn't give you that day off? I'm sorry! I will fix it!" -- Both replies piss me off. Because they both communicate the same message: "I don't care!" It's bad enough hearing this message from any manager. But when it comes from the mouth of a 23 year old bimbo who spends most of her time at work doing nothing except flirting with another manager, you pretty much want to rip her face off.
This past weekend, I became fed up. After asking my worthless Dildo's manager for a weekend off this month THREE times, she "forgot" to change my schedule before she called in sick for a three day weekend so she could hang out with her boyfriend. So I had to work all weekend, AGAIN. If you are looking at a calendar right now, you will see that there are 4 weekends in July. Three of which have already passed without her fixing my schedule.
That means, there's only one weekend left. It's inventory weekend. No one is supposed to have that weekend off. So I know she's going to tell me I can't have this coming weekend off, either. And that's when I will punch her in the face. My goal is to break her nose in the process. I think that under the circumstances, the judge will be merciful.
"Give me Friday, Saturday and Sunday off, or I quit. Now." -- is what I will say. I know it doesn't sound like much of a threat, but that's because you don't know she's had some major turnover in her department lately. (My guess is because she never gives anyone any fucking days off.) So she is MEGA short handed at the moment.
And if she doesn't go for it? Fine by me. I was planning on quitting soon, anyway. Because I just cannot take this any more. At this point, maybe being in debt is worth a little sanity. Who knew how important weekends are to your psyche?? I mean, yeah, I'm making $150-200 a week. But at what price? I feel like shit. My house smells. I haven't exercised in three months. I am exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally.
Fuck. I'm late. I gotta go. I was supposed to go to lunch 45 minutes ago. Sorry about all the bitching and whining. I will try and be funner tomorrow. :\
Thursday, July 03, 2008
A Light at the End of the Tunnel
This month is going to suck. Not only do I have to finish up the Big Suck-Ass Project here at the library by the end of the month, but Dildo's is still working me over 20 hours per week, and it's not going to change. And my dumb manager got my schedule wrong -- I'm supposed to have one weekend off from Dildo's per month. Right now, the schedule says I have 0.
Which means the only day this month where I do not have to work at all is: July 13th. Gee, thanks.
Ok, ok, I shouldn't complain. I am paying off my credit cards like mad. I think I will pay off about $700 this month. Maybe $800. It's almost worth not having a life. Almost.
That's why I'm so freaking excited about some news I recently got: I am going to be an adjunct instructor and teach a college-level class here where I already work, starting in August. This is extremely awesome because:
1. It's only 1-2 nights during the week, so no more weekends!!
2. It pays a lump sum of about $1200, which I can just forward on to my credit cards in a big lump sum, instead of juggling around money between all my bills and two jobs and five paychecks like I am doing right now. It gets confusing, especially when the Dildo's paycheck is vastly different from week to week. And my electricity bill is all over the map.
3. I love love love love to teach. Anything. To anyone. Even this class, which is a sort of Welcome-to-College-Here's-How-Not-to-Fuck-Up class. Seriously, teaching is definitely on the short list of my passions.
4. Since I will already be at the library, and therefore already on campus, I will not have to use any gas to get to my night job. Woot. And I think it will end around 7pm-ish, rather than 9:30 like Dildo's.
5. There is nothing to buy while I am there. I have spent at least $100 on jewelry since I started at Dildo's. Oops. I guess it's like an alcoholic working in a bar....kind of dumb to get a job at the mall, now that I'm looking at it....
6. I will get to totally avoid the Hell that is The Holiday Mall.
The class runs from August - mid-December. If you are number crunching right now, you are correct: this is not going to pay as well as Dildo's, where I am earning about $500/month. BUT I will have a life again! I can go to the gym, cook, see my friends, sleep in on Saturdays......ahhhhhh. I can't wait.
So I'm thinking I will quit Dildo's at the end of the month, enjoy a 2 week semi-vacation where I only work one job, and then my class will start. The cool thing is, once you start teaching this class, they usually have you teaching it every semester. So I'm good to go.
In other money-related news, CN got his economic stimulus check. Since he is smart and doesn't have oodles of credit card debt like his girlfriend does, his options are limitless with this $600 he just got from Uncle Sam. I asked him what he was going to do with it, and he made a joke about eating it (don't ask) and then promptly changed the subject. Hmmm. That's an interesting reaction......to my admittedly semi-nosey question. So a couple days later, when the topic of the Uncle Sam check came up again, I got the same answer.
Is anyone else thinking what I'm thinking? No? Just me? Ok. Moving on.
Btw, he and I celebrated our 10 month anniversary by.....(drumroll please)...eating leftovers and passing out on the couch in front of the tv. What an exciting couple, no?
Oh! Some more exciting news: I have a Little Sister (as in Big Brothers Big Sisters). We haven't met yet, because I'm trying to schedule our meeting, but my schedule is not cooperating. Argh. So I'm playing phone tag with the Big Brothers Big Sisters rep, who is playing phone tag with the girl's mother. It's crazy. But the mom wants to get the ball rolling ASAP, so we may meet up as soon as this weekend!!!! Yay! So exciting.
Tomorrow is the 4th. I will be working. Shocker! I'll be at Dildo's all day. But it won't be an entirely suck day: they are feeding us lunch (hot dogs and burgers), which is nice. It would be nicer to get time and a half, but whatever. (New employees don't get time and a half on holidays, which is probably why they have me working all day long.)
After I get off work, I am going to see a semi-pro baseball game downtown, where I will eat more hot dogs (seriously, I'm in a phase) and actually --*gasp*-- hang out with some friends! I seriously only see MJ twice a month now, and it's killing me. Text messages and emails only go so far. Most of what she knows about my day-to-day life now is via this blog. That is sad.
Oh! If you are wondering about Miss MJ, since her blog is now defunct, here's a quickie update:
She sorta dated this guy who works for her company, but lives in Florida. He was in town for a couple of months, and was rather smothering, then he was a bad kisser, then became a good kisser. I'm hoping to get more details soon. Also, she is now in a co-ed soccer league, and their first game is tonight.
And I have dubbed myself Unofficial Team Mom, because A) I don't have shit else to do. LOL and B) any excuse to bake something is awesome for me. So I managed to squeeze out enough time to bake some cupcakes this morning, and after I get off work here in a few minutes, I'm going to take them to MJ and her teammates.
Then she and I are going to have some much needed girl time. Until I have to go to bed so I can get up early for work. *sigh*
One more month. Then I have a life again.
Which means the only day this month where I do not have to work at all is: July 13th. Gee, thanks.
Ok, ok, I shouldn't complain. I am paying off my credit cards like mad. I think I will pay off about $700 this month. Maybe $800. It's almost worth not having a life. Almost.
That's why I'm so freaking excited about some news I recently got: I am going to be an adjunct instructor and teach a college-level class here where I already work, starting in August. This is extremely awesome because:
1. It's only 1-2 nights during the week, so no more weekends!!
2. It pays a lump sum of about $1200, which I can just forward on to my credit cards in a big lump sum, instead of juggling around money between all my bills and two jobs and five paychecks like I am doing right now. It gets confusing, especially when the Dildo's paycheck is vastly different from week to week. And my electricity bill is all over the map.
3. I love love love love to teach. Anything. To anyone. Even this class, which is a sort of Welcome-to-College-Here's-How-Not-to-Fuck-Up class. Seriously, teaching is definitely on the short list of my passions.
4. Since I will already be at the library, and therefore already on campus, I will not have to use any gas to get to my night job. Woot. And I think it will end around 7pm-ish, rather than 9:30 like Dildo's.
5. There is nothing to buy while I am there. I have spent at least $100 on jewelry since I started at Dildo's. Oops. I guess it's like an alcoholic working in a bar....kind of dumb to get a job at the mall, now that I'm looking at it....
6. I will get to totally avoid the Hell that is The Holiday Mall.
The class runs from August - mid-December. If you are number crunching right now, you are correct: this is not going to pay as well as Dildo's, where I am earning about $500/month. BUT I will have a life again! I can go to the gym, cook, see my friends, sleep in on Saturdays......ahhhhhh. I can't wait.
So I'm thinking I will quit Dildo's at the end of the month, enjoy a 2 week semi-vacation where I only work one job, and then my class will start. The cool thing is, once you start teaching this class, they usually have you teaching it every semester. So I'm good to go.
In other money-related news, CN got his economic stimulus check. Since he is smart and doesn't have oodles of credit card debt like his girlfriend does, his options are limitless with this $600 he just got from Uncle Sam. I asked him what he was going to do with it, and he made a joke about eating it (don't ask) and then promptly changed the subject. Hmmm. That's an interesting reaction......to my admittedly semi-nosey question. So a couple days later, when the topic of the Uncle Sam check came up again, I got the same answer.
Is anyone else thinking what I'm thinking? No? Just me? Ok. Moving on.
Btw, he and I celebrated our 10 month anniversary by.....(drumroll please)...eating leftovers and passing out on the couch in front of the tv. What an exciting couple, no?
Oh! Some more exciting news: I have a Little Sister (as in Big Brothers Big Sisters). We haven't met yet, because I'm trying to schedule our meeting, but my schedule is not cooperating. Argh. So I'm playing phone tag with the Big Brothers Big Sisters rep, who is playing phone tag with the girl's mother. It's crazy. But the mom wants to get the ball rolling ASAP, so we may meet up as soon as this weekend!!!! Yay! So exciting.
Tomorrow is the 4th. I will be working. Shocker! I'll be at Dildo's all day. But it won't be an entirely suck day: they are feeding us lunch (hot dogs and burgers), which is nice. It would be nicer to get time and a half, but whatever. (New employees don't get time and a half on holidays, which is probably why they have me working all day long.)
After I get off work, I am going to see a semi-pro baseball game downtown, where I will eat more hot dogs (seriously, I'm in a phase) and actually --*gasp*-- hang out with some friends! I seriously only see MJ twice a month now, and it's killing me. Text messages and emails only go so far. Most of what she knows about my day-to-day life now is via this blog. That is sad.
Oh! If you are wondering about Miss MJ, since her blog is now defunct, here's a quickie update:
She sorta dated this guy who works for her company, but lives in Florida. He was in town for a couple of months, and was rather smothering, then he was a bad kisser, then became a good kisser. I'm hoping to get more details soon. Also, she is now in a co-ed soccer league, and their first game is tonight.
And I have dubbed myself Unofficial Team Mom, because A) I don't have shit else to do. LOL and B) any excuse to bake something is awesome for me. So I managed to squeeze out enough time to bake some cupcakes this morning, and after I get off work here in a few minutes, I'm going to take them to MJ and her teammates.
Then she and I are going to have some much needed girl time. Until I have to go to bed so I can get up early for work. *sigh*
One more month. Then I have a life again.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The Twerp
So far, my part-time job at Dildo's is pretty much what you'd expect from a retail job: lots of work on the weekends, ample quantities of boredom and a seemingly endless supply of annoying customers.
I could write a post about some of these incredibly frustrating customers, and I probably will at some point. But today, I want to talk about one of the managers. I call him The Twerp, which is a kind nickname, considering I would really like to call him His Royal Douchiness. The total suckage embodied in this guy is definitely at an imperial level, I can assure you.
Rumor has it that he came to Dildo's by way of Toys R Us, where he was also a department manager. Apparently, he was fired from Toys R Us because his wife abused the employee discount too much. This is a completely idiotic reason to get fired, in my opinion. Hey, moron, tell your wife to knock it off. Duh. So now he is the manager of the home store department at Dildo's. He runs the show upstairs, where they sell bedding, dishes, fine china and the like.
In other words, he is NOT my manager. I work in accessories (jewelry, handbags, scarves, etc.). As you can probably tell, he likes to think he's everyone's manager. You can guess how well this sits with me and my coworkers.
His wife is rumored to wear the pants in their relationship, which isn't surprising, considering how fucking stupid he is. And supposedly she keeps him on a short leash. Speaking of short, he's short. At least 3 inches shorter than me. So we have all the ingredients necessary:
1. Overbearing wife
2. Short stature
3. A lower management position
Mix together and you get: one helluva Napoleon complex. This guy is on a power trip from the minute he steps into the store until the minute he leaves for the day. Which would normally just cause you to feel pity for his pathetic existence, but in his case, he is so goddamn irritating, all you want to do is fantasize about smashing his skull into the pavement. Repeatedly. Until his brains spill out.
As evidence of my wholly encompassing, sheer hatred for this man, I present to you the following anecdotes as evidence to substantiate my claim that he is in fact due for a serious beat-down in the Dildo's parking lot.
1. One time, a customer was looking at a bedspread set (comforter, shams, etc.). She really liked it, and since her birthday was coming up, she was going to ask her parents to get it for her as a gift. In order to show them what it looked like, she took out her cell phone so that she could take some photos of it. Out of nowhere, The Twerp swoops in to inform the customer that he cannot allow her to take photographs of the merchandise for "liability reasons".
Like what? The comforter is involved in a bitter custody battle?? Come on! He just did this because he could.
More evidence that he's stupid: The customer works at the daycare where his kids go. She knew exactly who he was! But he was sitting up so high on his horse, he didn't recognize her. Which is typical -- he has a tendency to act like he cannot be bothered to take the time out of his ultra-busy and important lower management schedule to do things like look people in the eye or ask them how their day is going. He looks at other people as though they are objects, rather than human beings. He probably didn't even realize who she was.
Needless to say, the woman didn't buy squat from him or his department. And she made sure to tell another employee why. Which is how I know about it.
2. I was working with Courtney Love (yes, the girl is the spitting image of her) one evening. She and I were marking down some jewelry that was now on sale. In order to do this, each item needs to be scanned with a scan gun, which sends the information to the printer. Then the printer makes a sale sticker for each item. It's not difficult work, but it is time consuming. Most of the time is spent looking for the scan guns. It had taken us a good 30 minutes to find 2 scan guns.
So we had scanned about 200 items a piece, and we were ready to print out that set of stickers before moving on. Courtney left to go find our manager to tell her we were ready to start printing. As soon as she walked away, The Twerp walked by, said, "I need these," and then proceeded to just take the scan guns! No explanation, no discussion, no apologies. I watched in horror as he immediately turned off the scan guns. This means that all 200 records we had just done were GONE. Courtney and I had to start all over.
What was really frustrating about this was that if he had been just a TINY bit considerate, and just waited for us to print off the stickers, he could have had the scan guns in ten minutes. But of course, this would rob him of an opportunity to be a fucking asshole.
3. To warrant against employee theft, Dildo's technically requires all female employees to carry a clear purse (nevermind that this doesn't stop people from stealing, but that's another post for another time). During training, you are issued a clear purse by management. When I first started working at Dildo's again, I saw that this policy was still in place. But I also noticed that a lot of the female employees did not abide by this rule. It's a long story, but I never went to any of the training, so I never got a clear purse. Since no one ever gave me a clear purse, and it seemed this rule was not really enforced anyway, I didn't worry about it. And no one has said a word to me about it.
Until Sunday, when The Twerp was the manager for the day.
It was just after 6pm, and all the employees headed upstairs to customer service so that we could clock out. Now, if an employee purchases something while they are at work, it has to be kept at customer service until their shift is over. So a lot of people were picking up their purchases before they went home. We all filed back downstairs so that we could exit the building through the back door, just like we always do.
True to character, The Twerp was perched on a table, right next to the back door. He wanted to look inside everyone's Dildo's bags. He wanted to make sure none of us were stealing things and sticking them into Dildo's bags, because you know, we are all criminals. He inspected everyone's receipts and scrutinized their purchases before letting them out the door.
"What a fucking douchebag," I thought. In my opinion and experience, these sorts of policies do not stop employee theft. They only serve to irritate and offend your staff.
Since I hadn't purchased anything, I went around him towards the door. Just as I began to push on the back door, The Twerp stopped me. I should have known.
"Where's your clear purse?" he asked me, in a condescending tone one usually reserves for three-year-olds.
With the same tone of voice and facial expression as a defiant teenager, I replied, "No one ever gave me one."
"Well," he continued, using a tone of voice that was so sickeningly sweet and fake it made my stomach churn, "We will have to just get you one on your next shift!"
By the time he finished this sentence, he was talking to the back of my head. I was so instantly irritated and annoyed, I had to walk away from him right at that second, or else I would have flipped him the bird and told him to suck it. It was all I could do not to get right in his face and scream, "FUCK OFF!!!"
Because my beef here is not with the store's policy about clear purses. I understand the policy, and yes, it's probably a good idea. My beef is with the way he handled it. He has had numerous opportunities to learn my name, to treat me like a human being and to give me the basic respect any employee would want from a supervisor. But instead, he treats me like a subject of his royal power. He doesn't even know my name or what department I work in. He has taken every opportunity to insult me and treat me like a child. None of the other managers do this. At all. In fact, the other managers are all cool as hell. Which only bothers me more -- you'd think he would see how other managers behave and realize that he doesn't have to act like that.
So that's why I want to grab him by the ear, drag him out into the parking lot and bash his skull in while I scream at him, "It is NOT my problem that you are a nutless wonder and wholly incapable of standing up to your own wife! I am tired of you treating me and everyone else here like we are scum of the earth! So you can take your Napoleon complex somewhere else, and go fuck yourself, you power-tripping twerp!"
And then, I want to stop, stand up, and kick him really hard in the ribs, ending with, "Fucking douchebag!"
And then I would walk to my car and drive home. And never go back to Dildo's.
Wow. I guess I'm due for a nice, long run. Or a vacation. Or a massage. I think I have a lot of pent-up rage right now. I need to do something about it. Because this daydream is WAY more interesting to me than anything involving Julian McMahon and suntan lotion.
I could write a post about some of these incredibly frustrating customers, and I probably will at some point. But today, I want to talk about one of the managers. I call him The Twerp, which is a kind nickname, considering I would really like to call him His Royal Douchiness. The total suckage embodied in this guy is definitely at an imperial level, I can assure you.
Rumor has it that he came to Dildo's by way of Toys R Us, where he was also a department manager. Apparently, he was fired from Toys R Us because his wife abused the employee discount too much. This is a completely idiotic reason to get fired, in my opinion. Hey, moron, tell your wife to knock it off. Duh. So now he is the manager of the home store department at Dildo's. He runs the show upstairs, where they sell bedding, dishes, fine china and the like.
In other words, he is NOT my manager. I work in accessories (jewelry, handbags, scarves, etc.). As you can probably tell, he likes to think he's everyone's manager. You can guess how well this sits with me and my coworkers.
His wife is rumored to wear the pants in their relationship, which isn't surprising, considering how fucking stupid he is. And supposedly she keeps him on a short leash. Speaking of short, he's short. At least 3 inches shorter than me. So we have all the ingredients necessary:
1. Overbearing wife
2. Short stature
3. A lower management position
Mix together and you get: one helluva Napoleon complex. This guy is on a power trip from the minute he steps into the store until the minute he leaves for the day. Which would normally just cause you to feel pity for his pathetic existence, but in his case, he is so goddamn irritating, all you want to do is fantasize about smashing his skull into the pavement. Repeatedly. Until his brains spill out.
As evidence of my wholly encompassing, sheer hatred for this man, I present to you the following anecdotes as evidence to substantiate my claim that he is in fact due for a serious beat-down in the Dildo's parking lot.
1. One time, a customer was looking at a bedspread set (comforter, shams, etc.). She really liked it, and since her birthday was coming up, she was going to ask her parents to get it for her as a gift. In order to show them what it looked like, she took out her cell phone so that she could take some photos of it. Out of nowhere, The Twerp swoops in to inform the customer that he cannot allow her to take photographs of the merchandise for "liability reasons".
Like what? The comforter is involved in a bitter custody battle?? Come on! He just did this because he could.
More evidence that he's stupid: The customer works at the daycare where his kids go. She knew exactly who he was! But he was sitting up so high on his horse, he didn't recognize her. Which is typical -- he has a tendency to act like he cannot be bothered to take the time out of his ultra-busy and important lower management schedule to do things like look people in the eye or ask them how their day is going. He looks at other people as though they are objects, rather than human beings. He probably didn't even realize who she was.
Needless to say, the woman didn't buy squat from him or his department. And she made sure to tell another employee why. Which is how I know about it.
2. I was working with Courtney Love (yes, the girl is the spitting image of her) one evening. She and I were marking down some jewelry that was now on sale. In order to do this, each item needs to be scanned with a scan gun, which sends the information to the printer. Then the printer makes a sale sticker for each item. It's not difficult work, but it is time consuming. Most of the time is spent looking for the scan guns. It had taken us a good 30 minutes to find 2 scan guns.
So we had scanned about 200 items a piece, and we were ready to print out that set of stickers before moving on. Courtney left to go find our manager to tell her we were ready to start printing. As soon as she walked away, The Twerp walked by, said, "I need these," and then proceeded to just take the scan guns! No explanation, no discussion, no apologies. I watched in horror as he immediately turned off the scan guns. This means that all 200 records we had just done were GONE. Courtney and I had to start all over.
What was really frustrating about this was that if he had been just a TINY bit considerate, and just waited for us to print off the stickers, he could have had the scan guns in ten minutes. But of course, this would rob him of an opportunity to be a fucking asshole.
3. To warrant against employee theft, Dildo's technically requires all female employees to carry a clear purse (nevermind that this doesn't stop people from stealing, but that's another post for another time). During training, you are issued a clear purse by management. When I first started working at Dildo's again, I saw that this policy was still in place. But I also noticed that a lot of the female employees did not abide by this rule. It's a long story, but I never went to any of the training, so I never got a clear purse. Since no one ever gave me a clear purse, and it seemed this rule was not really enforced anyway, I didn't worry about it. And no one has said a word to me about it.
Until Sunday, when The Twerp was the manager for the day.
It was just after 6pm, and all the employees headed upstairs to customer service so that we could clock out. Now, if an employee purchases something while they are at work, it has to be kept at customer service until their shift is over. So a lot of people were picking up their purchases before they went home. We all filed back downstairs so that we could exit the building through the back door, just like we always do.
True to character, The Twerp was perched on a table, right next to the back door. He wanted to look inside everyone's Dildo's bags. He wanted to make sure none of us were stealing things and sticking them into Dildo's bags, because you know, we are all criminals. He inspected everyone's receipts and scrutinized their purchases before letting them out the door.
"What a fucking douchebag," I thought. In my opinion and experience, these sorts of policies do not stop employee theft. They only serve to irritate and offend your staff.
Since I hadn't purchased anything, I went around him towards the door. Just as I began to push on the back door, The Twerp stopped me. I should have known.
"Where's your clear purse?" he asked me, in a condescending tone one usually reserves for three-year-olds.
With the same tone of voice and facial expression as a defiant teenager, I replied, "No one ever gave me one."
"Well," he continued, using a tone of voice that was so sickeningly sweet and fake it made my stomach churn, "We will have to just get you one on your next shift!"
By the time he finished this sentence, he was talking to the back of my head. I was so instantly irritated and annoyed, I had to walk away from him right at that second, or else I would have flipped him the bird and told him to suck it. It was all I could do not to get right in his face and scream, "FUCK OFF!!!"
Because my beef here is not with the store's policy about clear purses. I understand the policy, and yes, it's probably a good idea. My beef is with the way he handled it. He has had numerous opportunities to learn my name, to treat me like a human being and to give me the basic respect any employee would want from a supervisor. But instead, he treats me like a subject of his royal power. He doesn't even know my name or what department I work in. He has taken every opportunity to insult me and treat me like a child. None of the other managers do this. At all. In fact, the other managers are all cool as hell. Which only bothers me more -- you'd think he would see how other managers behave and realize that he doesn't have to act like that.
So that's why I want to grab him by the ear, drag him out into the parking lot and bash his skull in while I scream at him, "It is NOT my problem that you are a nutless wonder and wholly incapable of standing up to your own wife! I am tired of you treating me and everyone else here like we are scum of the earth! So you can take your Napoleon complex somewhere else, and go fuck yourself, you power-tripping twerp!"
And then, I want to stop, stand up, and kick him really hard in the ribs, ending with, "Fucking douchebag!"
And then I would walk to my car and drive home. And never go back to Dildo's.
Wow. I guess I'm due for a nice, long run. Or a vacation. Or a massage. I think I have a lot of pent-up rage right now. I need to do something about it. Because this daydream is WAY more interesting to me than anything involving Julian McMahon and suntan lotion.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Blind as a Batshit Crazy
Y'all know I have problems. I have problems that could fill a book. But I don't think that I have shared with you my eye problems. So here goes.
In my family, you either get the good eyes (Dad's side) or the good teeth (Mom's side). Well, I am blind as a bat. If I am not wearing glasses or contacts, I will literally walk into walls. Yes, it has happened before. That's how I can say that. If glasses or contacts did not exist, I would be legally blind, and probably fluent in Braille. Unless it is approximately 3 inches from my face, I cannot see diddly squat.
To make matters even more complicated, I have astigmatism in my left eye. The way I understand it, this means that my cornea has a little ripple in it, when it's supposed to be just a smooth dome shape. It takes a little more effort to find a contact that fits my left eye, because it has to line up with the astigmatism just right, or else everything will be blurry. (And in case you're wondering, this would also make LASIK eye surgery more challenging, too.)
I also have vision that is progressively getting worse as I age. (This eliminates me from the LASIK option entirely.) So I have to go to the eye doctor whenever I run out of disposable contacts, because by then, they aren't working for me, anyway. Oh, so much fun. $$$$$$$$$$ *sigh*
The icing on the cake is that I detest the eye exams. Unless you have less-than-perfect vision, you will not know what I'm talking about, but basically the doctor shines lights into your eyes that are so bright, your eyes water profusely, and you are convinced that you will burn your retinas away. Just thinking about it is making my eyes water as I type this. It is so uncomfortable, you clench your teeth and squirm in the chair. Then, they stick things in your eyes, blow air into your eyes without letting you blink and dilate your pupils (which makes your eyeballs feel all numb and weird)....ugh. To be honest, I'd rather go to the dentist. Eye exams SUCK.
When I went to my old eye doctor a couple years ago, I decided to spring for updated lenses in my glasses, too. That way, I would have the option of wearing glasses or contacts. The contacts came out great, but the glasses didn't. I could see okay up close, but I could not read the road signs when I was driving. I took the glasses back, and it turned out that one of the lenses was flawed, so they replaced it. I tried the glasses again. They were not much better. I took the glasses back a second time. I passed the little eye test, and the doctor declared that my glasses were fine. But I still could not read the road signs. The eye chart you have to read to prove you can see 20/20 is easy -- it's maybe 7 feet away from you. But when you're driving, you need to see road signs sooner than 7 feet away! I didn't take the glasses back a third time, because I would look like I was a crazy person. So I have not been wearing my glasses for the past few years.
I was so frustrated, I never went back. I have "updated" lenses in my glasses that don't even work. And they cost $100. Whatever.
So this time, I picked a new eye doctor. When I went in yesterday, it all seemed to be going well. She recommended a different solution to clean my contacts with, and I like it a LOT better. She is concerned with how bloodshot my eyes are all the time. I told her I sit in front of a computer all day, so that's probably why they are like that. (None of my other eye doctors have ever been concerned with this, so she scored some points with me for trying to solve my red eye problem).
Then we got to the eye exam part, where the doctor figures out the strength you need in your contacts/glasses. This involves her putting different lenses in front of your eyes and asking you which lens works better for you. She was no different than any other eye doctor I've ever had: she rushed through it, expecting my eyes to adjust to different lenses in the blink of an eye. (Sorry, that was a bad pun!) Well, my eyes must be stupidly slow, because I had to keep asking her to show me the choices a second or even a third time. And the differences between the lenses were so minor, it was hard to tell which ones worked better. I did my best, and she put some new contacts in my eyes. She said this was my new prescription, and they seemed ok as I blinked and looked around.
I instantly noticed how comfortable they are -- much more comfortable than my old brand. And I could see just fine in her office, so I went ahead and told her everything was great.
"Ok, wear these a few days, see how you like them. If we don't hear from you, we are going to order your new contacts on the 12th so you can pick them up after your vacation. Sound good?" the doctor explained.
I nodded and thanked her. Then I paid for my exam and left.
On the way home, I kept "testing" my new contacts by seeing how clear the road signs were. How soon could I read them? How clear were they? Was it better than my old prescription? Or were the signs fuzzy? And my new contacts seemed ok. Not great, but adequate. I thought, "Hmm. This is funny. Usually I can tell there's a huge difference when I have a new, stronger prescription in my contacts. Everything is crystal clear. These are...about the same as my last prescription." But I didn't worry about it too much, because they were so comfortable and I figured my eyes needed to recuperate after my eye exam, full of crazy bright lights. I decided to see how they were today before I made up my mind.
I put my contacts in this morning -- they feel FANTASTIC. Between the different brand of contact solution and the new brand of contacts, my eyes feel great. They are still red, but they feel fine.
But I can't see shit. Anything 6 feet away from me is blurry. I was in a meeting this morning, and I couldn't read a single word on the presenter's screen at the front of the conference room. That is just not right. Not to mention unacceptable. I could see MUCH better with my old contacts -- the prescription that is 2 years old.
These new contacts aren't even as strong as my last prescription, when they are supposed to be stronger!! AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGH.
I'm starting to think that maybe I have an eye disorder. Or that I am just plain crazy. How can they work fine in the doctor's office, but not when I'm driving??? That makes no sense. Especially when I could see ok yesterday, but today, it's abysmal. It is noticeably worse. Same contacts, same eyeballs, same road signs. But I can't see shit. I am losing my mind. I have now had the same problem with two different doctors! What the heck is wrong with me??
I thought maybe it was just one contact that was wrong, so I covered up one eye. Then I covered up the other eye. Nope. Both eyes are equally blurry. Both contacts are bad.
"Do you have the contacts in backwards? Maybe you put your right contact into your left eye," my coworkers have been suggesting.
This is impossible, I explained to them. Putting a regular contact into an eye with astigmatism is massively painful. I would know instantly if that were the case. I honestly don't know what the heck is wrong.
I went ahead and made a last-minute appointment for 2:30 this afternoon. I am worried that when I sit in her little chair, and read her little eye chart, I will pass the 20/20 vision test, in her professional opinion. But I KNOW I won't be able to see anything out side of those four walls!! I really want to get to the bottom of this. Not being able to see is such a pain, especially when you're shelling out so much money!
I am frustrated. I am blind. Hopefully, I'm not crazy, too. Wish me luck.
In my family, you either get the good eyes (Dad's side) or the good teeth (Mom's side). Well, I am blind as a bat. If I am not wearing glasses or contacts, I will literally walk into walls. Yes, it has happened before. That's how I can say that. If glasses or contacts did not exist, I would be legally blind, and probably fluent in Braille. Unless it is approximately 3 inches from my face, I cannot see diddly squat.
To make matters even more complicated, I have astigmatism in my left eye. The way I understand it, this means that my cornea has a little ripple in it, when it's supposed to be just a smooth dome shape. It takes a little more effort to find a contact that fits my left eye, because it has to line up with the astigmatism just right, or else everything will be blurry. (And in case you're wondering, this would also make LASIK eye surgery more challenging, too.)
I also have vision that is progressively getting worse as I age. (This eliminates me from the LASIK option entirely.) So I have to go to the eye doctor whenever I run out of disposable contacts, because by then, they aren't working for me, anyway. Oh, so much fun. $$$$$$$$$$ *sigh*
The icing on the cake is that I detest the eye exams. Unless you have less-than-perfect vision, you will not know what I'm talking about, but basically the doctor shines lights into your eyes that are so bright, your eyes water profusely, and you are convinced that you will burn your retinas away. Just thinking about it is making my eyes water as I type this. It is so uncomfortable, you clench your teeth and squirm in the chair. Then, they stick things in your eyes, blow air into your eyes without letting you blink and dilate your pupils (which makes your eyeballs feel all numb and weird)....ugh. To be honest, I'd rather go to the dentist. Eye exams SUCK.
When I went to my old eye doctor a couple years ago, I decided to spring for updated lenses in my glasses, too. That way, I would have the option of wearing glasses or contacts. The contacts came out great, but the glasses didn't. I could see okay up close, but I could not read the road signs when I was driving. I took the glasses back, and it turned out that one of the lenses was flawed, so they replaced it. I tried the glasses again. They were not much better. I took the glasses back a second time. I passed the little eye test, and the doctor declared that my glasses were fine. But I still could not read the road signs. The eye chart you have to read to prove you can see 20/20 is easy -- it's maybe 7 feet away from you. But when you're driving, you need to see road signs sooner than 7 feet away! I didn't take the glasses back a third time, because I would look like I was a crazy person. So I have not been wearing my glasses for the past few years.
I was so frustrated, I never went back. I have "updated" lenses in my glasses that don't even work. And they cost $100. Whatever.
So this time, I picked a new eye doctor. When I went in yesterday, it all seemed to be going well. She recommended a different solution to clean my contacts with, and I like it a LOT better. She is concerned with how bloodshot my eyes are all the time. I told her I sit in front of a computer all day, so that's probably why they are like that. (None of my other eye doctors have ever been concerned with this, so she scored some points with me for trying to solve my red eye problem).
Then we got to the eye exam part, where the doctor figures out the strength you need in your contacts/glasses. This involves her putting different lenses in front of your eyes and asking you which lens works better for you. She was no different than any other eye doctor I've ever had: she rushed through it, expecting my eyes to adjust to different lenses in the blink of an eye. (Sorry, that was a bad pun!) Well, my eyes must be stupidly slow, because I had to keep asking her to show me the choices a second or even a third time. And the differences between the lenses were so minor, it was hard to tell which ones worked better. I did my best, and she put some new contacts in my eyes. She said this was my new prescription, and they seemed ok as I blinked and looked around.
I instantly noticed how comfortable they are -- much more comfortable than my old brand. And I could see just fine in her office, so I went ahead and told her everything was great.
"Ok, wear these a few days, see how you like them. If we don't hear from you, we are going to order your new contacts on the 12th so you can pick them up after your vacation. Sound good?" the doctor explained.
I nodded and thanked her. Then I paid for my exam and left.
On the way home, I kept "testing" my new contacts by seeing how clear the road signs were. How soon could I read them? How clear were they? Was it better than my old prescription? Or were the signs fuzzy? And my new contacts seemed ok. Not great, but adequate. I thought, "Hmm. This is funny. Usually I can tell there's a huge difference when I have a new, stronger prescription in my contacts. Everything is crystal clear. These are...about the same as my last prescription." But I didn't worry about it too much, because they were so comfortable and I figured my eyes needed to recuperate after my eye exam, full of crazy bright lights. I decided to see how they were today before I made up my mind.
I put my contacts in this morning -- they feel FANTASTIC. Between the different brand of contact solution and the new brand of contacts, my eyes feel great. They are still red, but they feel fine.
But I can't see shit. Anything 6 feet away from me is blurry. I was in a meeting this morning, and I couldn't read a single word on the presenter's screen at the front of the conference room. That is just not right. Not to mention unacceptable. I could see MUCH better with my old contacts -- the prescription that is 2 years old.
These new contacts aren't even as strong as my last prescription, when they are supposed to be stronger!! AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGH.
I'm starting to think that maybe I have an eye disorder. Or that I am just plain crazy. How can they work fine in the doctor's office, but not when I'm driving??? That makes no sense. Especially when I could see ok yesterday, but today, it's abysmal. It is noticeably worse. Same contacts, same eyeballs, same road signs. But I can't see shit. I am losing my mind. I have now had the same problem with two different doctors! What the heck is wrong with me??
I thought maybe it was just one contact that was wrong, so I covered up one eye. Then I covered up the other eye. Nope. Both eyes are equally blurry. Both contacts are bad.
"Do you have the contacts in backwards? Maybe you put your right contact into your left eye," my coworkers have been suggesting.
This is impossible, I explained to them. Putting a regular contact into an eye with astigmatism is massively painful. I would know instantly if that were the case. I honestly don't know what the heck is wrong.
I went ahead and made a last-minute appointment for 2:30 this afternoon. I am worried that when I sit in her little chair, and read her little eye chart, I will pass the 20/20 vision test, in her professional opinion. But I KNOW I won't be able to see anything out side of those four walls!! I really want to get to the bottom of this. Not being able to see is such a pain, especially when you're shelling out so much money!
I am frustrated. I am blind. Hopefully, I'm not crazy, too. Wish me luck.
Monday, March 24, 2008
The Good, The Bad & The Ugly
Well, I have been trying to exercise and eat better for 3 months now. Let's do a quick assessment.
The Good:
1. I can run 2 miles straight, without stopping. Sometimes I can even run faster than 5mph. (Shut up, I am a slow runner.)
2. I can do push-ups on my toes. About 12. Before, I could only do one.
3. CN makes comments about my "man arms" now, since my arms are bigger than his. Not that this was a major feat -- he's built like a 12 year old. But really, my arms don't even flap in the breeze much at all anymore. WOOT
4. Everything on my whole body is generally firmer and less jiggly. I have even noticed a difference in the amount of cellulite. CN has noticed my slightly firmer butt, too. YESSSS
5. I have gone up in all of my weights. In some cases, I have made huge jumps in my strength training.
6. My posture is better.
7. I have crazy energy and stamina now. And I sleep like a rock.
8. Warmer weather means I will want to go for lots of outside runs and eat more fruits and veggies -- warm weather makes me want lighter foods and more exercise, for some reason.
9. I have been going to the gym at LEAST 3 times a week, every week. Sometimes, as much as 5 or 6 times. This is far, far better than last fall, when I was going zero times. LOL
The Bad:
1. Not doing so hot on the diet front. I have good days....and I have bad days. Usually, the weekends are where I screw up.
2. While I am buying a higher percentage of healthy foods (hello, produce department!) and far fewer sweets, my portion control needs some work. And if something yummy happens to enter my house? Forget it -- I'll eat the whole thing in 2 days. There was a bad incident last week concerning some animal crackers....oops.
3. I am so starving after I work out that I basically eat all the calories I just burned off! Yeah, a lot of good that does!
4. I have been going to the gym about 4-5 times a week, which is great. But it's starting to feel like a job. I feel like I live there. Which pretty much zaps all the fun out of it. This always leads to me quitting the gym for several months, so I have GOT to find some exercise variety--and soon.
5. I am currently in the middle of a diet battle: Weight Watchers (which always works for me) vs. My Trainer, who thinks I should eat nothing but salmon, egg whites, protein shakes and broccoli. (WW, in case you are unfamiliar with it, is a low fat, low calorie, high fiber diet that doesn't give a rat's ass how much protein you eat. In fact, it can be difficult to eat a lot of protein on WW.)
6. WW kind of sucks if you like to cook, because it's difficult to know how well you are doing. WW is the perfect diet for someone who hates to cook -- it's super easy to do if you eat nothing but sandwiches and pre-made meals. I get tired of eating like that, and I love to cook, so sticking to WW has been hard lately. Especially when my trainer is pushing me to eat more meat, which is difficult to do on WW.
7. My trainer's diet sucks because it assumes the following:
A) I crave meat. Lots and lots of meat. In reality, I rarely crave meat at all.
B) I have an unlimited food budget -- hello! Salmon and protein powder are uber-expensive!!! C) I love eggs for breakfast and have gobs of time to cook them in the morning -- NOT! I don't even like eggs that much!
D) Protein shakes will take the place of meals for me. Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, buddy. It's just a fancier version of milk, as far as my appetite is concerned.
E) I have no concern for mercury poisoning from all of the salmon, tuna and other seafoods he's telling me to eat by the pound.
The Ugly:
I. Have. Not. Lost. A. Pound. (And yes, the optimists reading this are saying, "But you haven't gained! That's good!" To which I reply, "Thanks, but if you saw the SAME number on the scale EVERY week, after killing yourself at the gym, you'd be pretty annoyed, too.") I am not doing this for my health! Well, ok, yeah, I guess I am, but what I really want is to fit into my clothes! And lose this dumb belly pooch!! Aaaarrrgh.
This is really REALLY killing my motivation at this point. I will be the first to admit that I'm not the best at dieting, but I have been making a lot of progress: I have majorly cut back on my sugar intake and I limit my bad foods to the weekends -- I usually have about one or two "bad" things every weekend, which usually means dessert. I don't remember the last time I ate something fried. I have been eating more salads. I don't have a single full-fat dairy product in the house. I snack on fruit. I eat whole grains. I even stopped buying ice cream.
Yadda yadda.
Every time I step on the scale, and it shows the SAME stupid number it always does, I lose a little motivation. So after three months of it, I am rapidly approaching the "I just don't give a shit anymore" stage. Especially for the last 2 weeks. The word "frustrated" doesn't even begin to explain how I feel lately. I am thisclose to just completely throwing in the towel, and resigning myself to remaining overweight for the rest of my life.
It sure would help if I had some overweight friends. They are all skinny. (You'd think it would rub off on me, but it doesn't.) So I don't even have anyone to commiserate with. My fat ass and I stand alone. Argh.
I don't know if it's because I'm getting older and my metabolism has slowed to a snail's pace. Or if it's because I have illusions of grandeur when it comes to how well I'm doing in the diet/exercise department. I read an article the other day that said you cannot diet OR exercise. You have to do both to lose weight and keep it off.
I wouldn't mind turning into a total gym rat, because when it comes down to it, I enjoy exercising. But I refuse to be one of those diet robots like my mom, whose diet consists of a grand total of 5 foods, and she's starving all the time. I enjoy food, I always will. I'm not going to be one of those "salad with the fat free dressing on the side, please" women. That's not me. It never will be, because living like that would make me miserable. Being thin just isn't worth that to me.
To sum up:
My motivation is in the shitter. I am feeling hopeless at this point.
My budget is all screwed up, thanks to the expense of hiring a trainer and buying his trainer-approved foods. Which have yet to help me lose weight.
And my waistline is all screwed up, thanks to my average-at-best self control when it comes to food. And lack of cravings for anything outside of the Carb Family.
But I can beat you to a bloody pulp, so go leave me some kind, supportive and motivating comments right now. Do it! Or I will kick your ass!!!
Thanks for letting me bitch and whine. I think I'm just mad at myself for going to Wendy's yesterday and getting a frosty. I'm sure I'll be full of optimism tomorrow.
The Good:
1. I can run 2 miles straight, without stopping. Sometimes I can even run faster than 5mph. (Shut up, I am a slow runner.)
2. I can do push-ups on my toes. About 12. Before, I could only do one.
3. CN makes comments about my "man arms" now, since my arms are bigger than his. Not that this was a major feat -- he's built like a 12 year old. But really, my arms don't even flap in the breeze much at all anymore. WOOT
4. Everything on my whole body is generally firmer and less jiggly. I have even noticed a difference in the amount of cellulite. CN has noticed my slightly firmer butt, too. YESSSS
5. I have gone up in all of my weights. In some cases, I have made huge jumps in my strength training.
6. My posture is better.
7. I have crazy energy and stamina now. And I sleep like a rock.
8. Warmer weather means I will want to go for lots of outside runs and eat more fruits and veggies -- warm weather makes me want lighter foods and more exercise, for some reason.
9. I have been going to the gym at LEAST 3 times a week, every week. Sometimes, as much as 5 or 6 times. This is far, far better than last fall, when I was going zero times. LOL
The Bad:
1. Not doing so hot on the diet front. I have good days....and I have bad days. Usually, the weekends are where I screw up.
2. While I am buying a higher percentage of healthy foods (hello, produce department!) and far fewer sweets, my portion control needs some work. And if something yummy happens to enter my house? Forget it -- I'll eat the whole thing in 2 days. There was a bad incident last week concerning some animal crackers....oops.
3. I am so starving after I work out that I basically eat all the calories I just burned off! Yeah, a lot of good that does!
4. I have been going to the gym about 4-5 times a week, which is great. But it's starting to feel like a job. I feel like I live there. Which pretty much zaps all the fun out of it. This always leads to me quitting the gym for several months, so I have GOT to find some exercise variety--and soon.
5. I am currently in the middle of a diet battle: Weight Watchers (which always works for me) vs. My Trainer, who thinks I should eat nothing but salmon, egg whites, protein shakes and broccoli. (WW, in case you are unfamiliar with it, is a low fat, low calorie, high fiber diet that doesn't give a rat's ass how much protein you eat. In fact, it can be difficult to eat a lot of protein on WW.)
6. WW kind of sucks if you like to cook, because it's difficult to know how well you are doing. WW is the perfect diet for someone who hates to cook -- it's super easy to do if you eat nothing but sandwiches and pre-made meals. I get tired of eating like that, and I love to cook, so sticking to WW has been hard lately. Especially when my trainer is pushing me to eat more meat, which is difficult to do on WW.
7. My trainer's diet sucks because it assumes the following:
A) I crave meat. Lots and lots of meat. In reality, I rarely crave meat at all.
B) I have an unlimited food budget -- hello! Salmon and protein powder are uber-expensive!!! C) I love eggs for breakfast and have gobs of time to cook them in the morning -- NOT! I don't even like eggs that much!
D) Protein shakes will take the place of meals for me. Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, buddy. It's just a fancier version of milk, as far as my appetite is concerned.
E) I have no concern for mercury poisoning from all of the salmon, tuna and other seafoods he's telling me to eat by the pound.
The Ugly:
I. Have. Not. Lost. A. Pound. (And yes, the optimists reading this are saying, "But you haven't gained! That's good!" To which I reply, "Thanks, but if you saw the SAME number on the scale EVERY week, after killing yourself at the gym, you'd be pretty annoyed, too.") I am not doing this for my health! Well, ok, yeah, I guess I am, but what I really want is to fit into my clothes! And lose this dumb belly pooch!! Aaaarrrgh.
This is really REALLY killing my motivation at this point. I will be the first to admit that I'm not the best at dieting, but I have been making a lot of progress: I have majorly cut back on my sugar intake and I limit my bad foods to the weekends -- I usually have about one or two "bad" things every weekend, which usually means dessert. I don't remember the last time I ate something fried. I have been eating more salads. I don't have a single full-fat dairy product in the house. I snack on fruit. I eat whole grains. I even stopped buying ice cream.
Yadda yadda.
Every time I step on the scale, and it shows the SAME stupid number it always does, I lose a little motivation. So after three months of it, I am rapidly approaching the "I just don't give a shit anymore" stage. Especially for the last 2 weeks. The word "frustrated" doesn't even begin to explain how I feel lately. I am thisclose to just completely throwing in the towel, and resigning myself to remaining overweight for the rest of my life.
It sure would help if I had some overweight friends. They are all skinny. (You'd think it would rub off on me, but it doesn't.) So I don't even have anyone to commiserate with. My fat ass and I stand alone. Argh.
I don't know if it's because I'm getting older and my metabolism has slowed to a snail's pace. Or if it's because I have illusions of grandeur when it comes to how well I'm doing in the diet/exercise department. I read an article the other day that said you cannot diet OR exercise. You have to do both to lose weight and keep it off.
I wouldn't mind turning into a total gym rat, because when it comes down to it, I enjoy exercising. But I refuse to be one of those diet robots like my mom, whose diet consists of a grand total of 5 foods, and she's starving all the time. I enjoy food, I always will. I'm not going to be one of those "salad with the fat free dressing on the side, please" women. That's not me. It never will be, because living like that would make me miserable. Being thin just isn't worth that to me.
To sum up:
My motivation is in the shitter. I am feeling hopeless at this point.
My budget is all screwed up, thanks to the expense of hiring a trainer and buying his trainer-approved foods. Which have yet to help me lose weight.
And my waistline is all screwed up, thanks to my average-at-best self control when it comes to food. And lack of cravings for anything outside of the Carb Family.
But I can beat you to a bloody pulp, so go leave me some kind, supportive and motivating comments right now. Do it! Or I will kick your ass!!!
Thanks for letting me bitch and whine. I think I'm just mad at myself for going to Wendy's yesterday and getting a frosty. I'm sure I'll be full of optimism tomorrow.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Gym-Nauseum
Ugh. Going to the gym now makes me want to barf.
Not because working out really hard makes me barf, although that is true.
Not because I'm hating the whole process of getting back in shape -- on the contrary, I am excited about it.
What makes me want to barf when I go to the gym is the fact that every time I cross the threshold, I now risk running into any or ALL of the following former romantic interests*:
Dr. Seuss (a guy I used to date who ended up being a total wack job)
Fed Sucksy (a guy I used to date who stood me up, only to refuse to apologize or explain later-- asshole!)
Small World Guy (a guy I sorta dated for a bit, but there was no spark)
and the two newest additions--
Hot Neighbor (who has moved, btw) and.....
Repo.
Hoo-fuckin'-ray. It's official -- every guy I have dated or liked in this town now goes to my gym. I saw HN there 3 days ago and then ran into Repo last night. Oh. The. Joy.
Look, I know Columbia isn't that big of a city, but DAMMIT does everyone have to join my gym? There are several other gyms they can go to!!!! The true irony is that the only guy I want to see at the gym, CN, goes to a different gym than I do.
What used to be my aerobic oasis, my sanctuary of sweat, has now become a place of dread and awkwardness. It is only a matter of time until I do something to embarrass myself in front of one of them. I have never been known for my athletic abilities, let alone my coordination. I work out with dirty hair, little makeup and old t-shirts! This is not the way I want to look in front of former flames! AAARRRGH.
Oh well. I guess this should motivate me to work out extra-hard, right?
Maybe they are all stalking me. Ha ha!
Ok, yeah, that's probably not the case. I just have bad luck.
My membership runs out in a year. I am counting down the days.
* If you want the back story on these guys, just search this blog for their names. Or click on the tags below.
Not because working out really hard makes me barf, although that is true.
Not because I'm hating the whole process of getting back in shape -- on the contrary, I am excited about it.
What makes me want to barf when I go to the gym is the fact that every time I cross the threshold, I now risk running into any or ALL of the following former romantic interests*:
Dr. Seuss (a guy I used to date who ended up being a total wack job)
Fed Sucksy (a guy I used to date who stood me up, only to refuse to apologize or explain later-- asshole!)
Small World Guy (a guy I sorta dated for a bit, but there was no spark)
and the two newest additions--
Hot Neighbor (who has moved, btw) and.....
Repo.
Hoo-fuckin'-ray. It's official -- every guy I have dated or liked in this town now goes to my gym. I saw HN there 3 days ago and then ran into Repo last night. Oh. The. Joy.
Look, I know Columbia isn't that big of a city, but DAMMIT does everyone have to join my gym? There are several other gyms they can go to!!!! The true irony is that the only guy I want to see at the gym, CN, goes to a different gym than I do.
What used to be my aerobic oasis, my sanctuary of sweat, has now become a place of dread and awkwardness. It is only a matter of time until I do something to embarrass myself in front of one of them. I have never been known for my athletic abilities, let alone my coordination. I work out with dirty hair, little makeup and old t-shirts! This is not the way I want to look in front of former flames! AAARRRGH.
Oh well. I guess this should motivate me to work out extra-hard, right?
Maybe they are all stalking me. Ha ha!
Ok, yeah, that's probably not the case. I just have bad luck.
My membership runs out in a year. I am counting down the days.
* If you want the back story on these guys, just search this blog for their names. Or click on the tags below.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
The Men at Wal-Mart
Alright, since FEW people seem to be interested in my family stories, as evidenced by the paltry comments on the last post-- *ahem*-- I will not talk about that today.
So this is a big "FINE! Be that way!!" temper tantrum from yours truly. I know you guys are just jealous because my family has more boycotted marriages than yours does. Haters.
Today, I will post about something I know a lot of you will want to comment on: Wal-Mart.
Before going to work today, I stopped by the Wal-Mart near my house. MJ refers to this particular branch of the Big Box Store as "Little Mexico", since it is normally chock full of Hispanic immigrants who think blonde hair is the most fascinating thing EVER. They nudge each other when I go down the aisles. They stare at me. They like to call me "Mami" and "Bonita" and stuff like that under their breath. Uck. Why do men do that stuff? It's so annoying and rude, no matter who they are. It makes me feel objectified and I hate it. Something about it creeps me out. It makes me want to go home and take a shower. *shudders*
I wish I could learn how to respond in Spanish: "Yes, hello. While I am, in a nauseating way, flattered at the attention you are currently giving my outward appearance, I would like to inform you that it makes me feel very uncomfortable and violated, because it is rude and invasive, not to mention extremely dangerous, considering I outweigh you by about 50 pounds and could drop you like a hot tamale. Please refrain from doing so in the future or else I will be forced to call INS on your asses. Thanks. Have a nice day."
I need to type that up and make little flyers, and just hand them out when I go to Wal-Mart. That should do the trick.
So I'm at Wal-Mart this morning, and I am at first relieved by the noticeable absence of tiny Hispanic men, undressing me with their eyes. Whew!
Unfortunately, they were replaced with........
OLD PEOPLE!!!!
*screams bloody murder and faints*
If there is one thing I hate, it's old people. They are too slow, they smell funny and they are boring. I don't hate ALL old people, just most of them. There are some old people who kick ass, like The Fruitcake Lady. But unfortunately, this morning at Wal-Mart, there were no cool old people. (Except for the free samples lady who gave me a sugar cookie and tried to help me figure out the difference between semi-sweet and bittersweet chocolate.)
Nope. Today, there was a special deal at Wally World: disgusting old people! Just in time for Christmas!
NOTE: If you are eating while you are reading this, you may want to stop now. Don't say I didn't warn you.
I walk over to the coolers where they keep the milk. On my way, I pass an old man, hacking up one of his lungs. I am talking gurgling phlegm, here, peeps. He had just gotten some milk and put it into his cart, as he was coughing incessantly ALL OVER THE PLACE because he DIDN'T COVER HIS MOUTH AT ALL.
All in chorus now: Eeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwww!!!
I tried to put it in the back of my mind as I used my grocery list to grab the door handle. "Thank God I keep hand sanitizer in my car!" I thought. I grabbed my milk and put it in my cart.
Not three feet away, I look up to find Disgusting Old Man #2. He is -- get this - CUTTING HIS FINGERNAILS in the middle of the dairy department!!! Just clip! clip! clipping away!!! He wasn't even bothering to clean them up. He just let them fall on the floor.
This was so offensive to me that I could feel my stomach getting queasy and could not help but make a face as I passed. Unfortunately, he didn't see me, or else I would have said to him: "Does your wife let you do this? Because that's DISGUSTING!!!!" It is only because I was raised to respect my elders that I managed to walk away without saying something.
Gah. Unbelievable. What idiot thinks it's ok to do that?! In public???!! I won't even do it in front of my family members! Seriously, that is just.....disGUSting!!!
A few aisles later, I come across the baking aisle. Most of my list involves the baking aisle, since I cannot seem to kick this baking binge I've been on. I'm not kidding. Some people hole up in hotel rooms, smoking crack until the cops break down the door. I go on baking benders. People won't see me this weekend. I'll be holed up in my kitchen, baking soda in one hand and measuring spoons in the other. It will look like I'm on drugs, because I am sweaty, jittery and holding spoons and a white powder, but I assure you, it is only an addiction to baking. This is what happens when it's 4pm and all you've had to eat all day are chocolate chip cookies. It will mess you up, a little. And before you know it, you get hooked. I have been waking up in the morning, going, "Must. Bake. Something!" I don't know if it's the holidays or the cold weather or what, but dangit, I. Can. Not. Stop. Baking.
Well, apparently this is addiction is going around, because the baking aisle is jammed FULL of little old ladies, who were entirely too caught up in talking to even notice that I'm trying to get into the aisle. After pausing for a second to think, "Oh. I think I'm getting a glimpse at my future....I am turning into a little old lady who bakes all day. Huh. It's not so bad. I bet their grandkids love it.....Dammit, there's a shitload of old people in here today. Gah, are they bussing them in or something? Did the old folks home have a field trip?? What the hell?!" --I decided to go around them and come into the baking aisle from the other end.
So I'm going around via the cereal aisle. I turn right to get to the baking aisle and I see an old man, just standing at the end of the aisle. He's all alone -- no wife in sight -- uh-oh. As I am walking towards him, I see him looking around to see if anyone is nearby. For some reason, he doesn't look in my direction, although I'm practically close enough to touch him by this point.
And that's when he let one. He FRIGGING FARTED in Wal-Mart, right next to me. It was a very audible fart, too. And the second he did it, he looked straight at me, only to receive a disapproving look on my part. He was totally busted. He got a deer-in-headlights expression on his face, and then looked at the ground. He mumbled something as I passed by, but I didn't catch it. I was trying to get away from him before I had to deal with any after-effects. UGH.
Lucky for me, this was the last disgusting thing I have seen today. But thanks to these nasty old men, roaming around Wal-Mart, making everyone want to barf, I am now able to make a promise to future generations:
When I am a little old lady who bakes all day, I promise I will never EVER bring a disgusting old man with me to Wal-Mart!!!!!! I will make him stay in the car!!!!
So this is a big "FINE! Be that way!!" temper tantrum from yours truly. I know you guys are just jealous because my family has more boycotted marriages than yours does. Haters.
Today, I will post about something I know a lot of you will want to comment on: Wal-Mart.
Before going to work today, I stopped by the Wal-Mart near my house. MJ refers to this particular branch of the Big Box Store as "Little Mexico", since it is normally chock full of Hispanic immigrants who think blonde hair is the most fascinating thing EVER. They nudge each other when I go down the aisles. They stare at me. They like to call me "Mami" and "Bonita" and stuff like that under their breath. Uck. Why do men do that stuff? It's so annoying and rude, no matter who they are. It makes me feel objectified and I hate it. Something about it creeps me out. It makes me want to go home and take a shower. *shudders*
I wish I could learn how to respond in Spanish: "Yes, hello. While I am, in a nauseating way, flattered at the attention you are currently giving my outward appearance, I would like to inform you that it makes me feel very uncomfortable and violated, because it is rude and invasive, not to mention extremely dangerous, considering I outweigh you by about 50 pounds and could drop you like a hot tamale. Please refrain from doing so in the future or else I will be forced to call INS on your asses. Thanks. Have a nice day."
I need to type that up and make little flyers, and just hand them out when I go to Wal-Mart. That should do the trick.
So I'm at Wal-Mart this morning, and I am at first relieved by the noticeable absence of tiny Hispanic men, undressing me with their eyes. Whew!
Unfortunately, they were replaced with........
OLD PEOPLE!!!!
*screams bloody murder and faints*
If there is one thing I hate, it's old people. They are too slow, they smell funny and they are boring. I don't hate ALL old people, just most of them. There are some old people who kick ass, like The Fruitcake Lady. But unfortunately, this morning at Wal-Mart, there were no cool old people. (Except for the free samples lady who gave me a sugar cookie and tried to help me figure out the difference between semi-sweet and bittersweet chocolate.)
Nope. Today, there was a special deal at Wally World: disgusting old people! Just in time for Christmas!
NOTE: If you are eating while you are reading this, you may want to stop now. Don't say I didn't warn you.
I walk over to the coolers where they keep the milk. On my way, I pass an old man, hacking up one of his lungs. I am talking gurgling phlegm, here, peeps. He had just gotten some milk and put it into his cart, as he was coughing incessantly ALL OVER THE PLACE because he DIDN'T COVER HIS MOUTH AT ALL.
All in chorus now: Eeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwww!!!
I tried to put it in the back of my mind as I used my grocery list to grab the door handle. "Thank God I keep hand sanitizer in my car!" I thought. I grabbed my milk and put it in my cart.
Not three feet away, I look up to find Disgusting Old Man #2. He is -- get this - CUTTING HIS FINGERNAILS in the middle of the dairy department!!! Just clip! clip! clipping away!!! He wasn't even bothering to clean them up. He just let them fall on the floor.
This was so offensive to me that I could feel my stomach getting queasy and could not help but make a face as I passed. Unfortunately, he didn't see me, or else I would have said to him: "Does your wife let you do this? Because that's DISGUSTING!!!!" It is only because I was raised to respect my elders that I managed to walk away without saying something.
Gah. Unbelievable. What idiot thinks it's ok to do that?! In public???!! I won't even do it in front of my family members! Seriously, that is just.....disGUSting!!!
A few aisles later, I come across the baking aisle. Most of my list involves the baking aisle, since I cannot seem to kick this baking binge I've been on. I'm not kidding. Some people hole up in hotel rooms, smoking crack until the cops break down the door. I go on baking benders. People won't see me this weekend. I'll be holed up in my kitchen, baking soda in one hand and measuring spoons in the other. It will look like I'm on drugs, because I am sweaty, jittery and holding spoons and a white powder, but I assure you, it is only an addiction to baking. This is what happens when it's 4pm and all you've had to eat all day are chocolate chip cookies. It will mess you up, a little. And before you know it, you get hooked. I have been waking up in the morning, going, "Must. Bake. Something!" I don't know if it's the holidays or the cold weather or what, but dangit, I. Can. Not. Stop. Baking.
Well, apparently this is addiction is going around, because the baking aisle is jammed FULL of little old ladies, who were entirely too caught up in talking to even notice that I'm trying to get into the aisle. After pausing for a second to think, "Oh. I think I'm getting a glimpse at my future....I am turning into a little old lady who bakes all day. Huh. It's not so bad. I bet their grandkids love it.....Dammit, there's a shitload of old people in here today. Gah, are they bussing them in or something? Did the old folks home have a field trip?? What the hell?!" --I decided to go around them and come into the baking aisle from the other end.
So I'm going around via the cereal aisle. I turn right to get to the baking aisle and I see an old man, just standing at the end of the aisle. He's all alone -- no wife in sight -- uh-oh. As I am walking towards him, I see him looking around to see if anyone is nearby. For some reason, he doesn't look in my direction, although I'm practically close enough to touch him by this point.
And that's when he let one. He FRIGGING FARTED in Wal-Mart, right next to me. It was a very audible fart, too. And the second he did it, he looked straight at me, only to receive a disapproving look on my part. He was totally busted. He got a deer-in-headlights expression on his face, and then looked at the ground. He mumbled something as I passed by, but I didn't catch it. I was trying to get away from him before I had to deal with any after-effects. UGH.
Lucky for me, this was the last disgusting thing I have seen today. But thanks to these nasty old men, roaming around Wal-Mart, making everyone want to barf, I am now able to make a promise to future generations:
When I am a little old lady who bakes all day, I promise I will never EVER bring a disgusting old man with me to Wal-Mart!!!!!! I will make him stay in the car!!!!
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Writer's Block
Well, crap. I am suffering from major blog writer's block. I don't have much of anything to report. Everything is sort of "same shit, different day". Not that I'm complaining. It's just hard to blog. I'm sure I can come up with something. Um, let's see...
CN is fine. He's still wonderful. Although he did lose some points this past weekend. On Sunday, I told him I would make dinner for him when he got back from watching the Falcons play. I wanted to eat at 6pm, but he said that he was still full from all the nachos he ate at 3pm.
Now, this is just a word of advice to men: if your woman is making you dinner, DO NOT spoil your dinner by eating nachos mid-afternoon. It's very inconsiderate.
"Grrrr..." I thought.
"Ok, how about dinner at 7pm?" I texted.
"Sounds good!" he replied.
Soon it is 7:00. No CN to be found. At this point, dinner is ready to eat and waiting on him to cross the street to my house. He was probably sitting on his couch, watching "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" or "Curb Your Enthusiasm".
"Grrr..." I thought.
Word of advice to anyone: It is rude to be late to dinner. Usually because it means people are waiting on you and the food is being kept warm. Sometimes, keeping it warm can affect the quality of the food. Sometimes, this can cause the rice to stick to the pot like.....well, like white on rice. This kind of rice is extremely difficult to scrub off of said pot. Which often makes cooks angry.
"GRRRRR!!!" I thought as 7:15 ticked by.
I sat down on my couch, too stubborn to call him and see what in the hell he was doing. I began to work on my recipe organizing project to distract myself from my irritation. I was still busy working on it when he decided to show up. It was 7:30.
"GRRRRR!!!" I thought when he walked in the door.
"Rumble!!" said my empty tummy. (I was ready to eat at 6pm, so I was pretty hungry by this point.....although, my anger was definitely causing me to begin to lose my appetite.)
"Hey Babe! I have been so lazy today. I just laid on my couch after I got home from watching the game..." said CN.
"Hi," I said, frigidly. No hug. No eye contact. I was Ice Queen.
He instantly knew something was wrong. I told him I was annoyed and hungry. He said he didn't realize I was waiting on him. That's when I informed him that cooking dinner is different than cooking breakfast -- it's more than just cracking a couple of eggs into a frying pan. It takes time. If I say we are eating at 7:00, that means forkfuls of food are being sent to my empty tummy at that time. Then I told him that I was more irritated at the fact that he spoiled his dinner by eating a whole thing of nachos late in the afternoon when he knew I was making him dinner. That's just inconsiderate.
Ok, I didn't tell him he was inconsiderate. But I did make him feel badly. He apologized profusely and asked if he could do anything to make it up to me. I told him he had to do all the dishes, even the stuck-rice one. He said ok.
We ate. He washed. I felt better. We had a make-up smooching session.
Unfortunately, the handle on the rice pot broke during all of this (um...during dinner, not during the make-out session, that is). It was my fault, not his. And I was kind of upset, because the pot used to belong to my Grandma Virginia. I never met her, and I am named after her. All I have are her recipes and her pot, which is now broken. It is pretty old (from about the 1950s, I think), so I guess it had to go sometime. CN can't fix the handle, and neither can I. It's cracked, and the screw won't "stick". Glue might work, but I'm thinking it might melt or something when I heat up the pot. So I might see if I can find a replacement on eBay. I'm kind of bummed out about the pot, actually. :'(
I am secretly hoping CN will read my mind and get me a replacement pot for Christmas......but I'm not holding my breath. And if you are one of my readers who knows CN in real life, please do not tell him this, because then it won't count. Guys have to think up their own things for girlfriends for Christmas. That's the rule.
Anyway....let's see, what else.......
Last night, MJ and I hung out -- we were sorely in need of some Girl Time. In fact, we are having MORE Girl Time this weekend! Woo Hoo! We love hanging out with our new boyfs, but after having Boyfriend Weekends last weekend, we are wanting some alone/friend time. I am excited -- I haven't gone out with just MJ and KT in a long, long time.
Tonight I'm hanging out with CN, though. I haven't really seen him or talked to him since the Dinner Incident, and he really wants to see me. "I want to take you out somewhere nice for dinner. Are you free tonight?" he texted me today. How can you be mad at this guy? He's such a sweetheart.
Ugh. This blog is turning into a Boyfriend Blog. Which makes me kinda throw up a little. I need to get some variety in here. Does anyone have any ideas? Posting requests? I have major writers' block, guys! Help!
CN is fine. He's still wonderful. Although he did lose some points this past weekend. On Sunday, I told him I would make dinner for him when he got back from watching the Falcons play. I wanted to eat at 6pm, but he said that he was still full from all the nachos he ate at 3pm.
Now, this is just a word of advice to men: if your woman is making you dinner, DO NOT spoil your dinner by eating nachos mid-afternoon. It's very inconsiderate.
"Grrrr..." I thought.
"Ok, how about dinner at 7pm?" I texted.
"Sounds good!" he replied.
Soon it is 7:00. No CN to be found. At this point, dinner is ready to eat and waiting on him to cross the street to my house. He was probably sitting on his couch, watching "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" or "Curb Your Enthusiasm".
"Grrr..." I thought.
Word of advice to anyone: It is rude to be late to dinner. Usually because it means people are waiting on you and the food is being kept warm. Sometimes, keeping it warm can affect the quality of the food. Sometimes, this can cause the rice to stick to the pot like.....well, like white on rice. This kind of rice is extremely difficult to scrub off of said pot. Which often makes cooks angry.
"GRRRRR!!!" I thought as 7:15 ticked by.
I sat down on my couch, too stubborn to call him and see what in the hell he was doing. I began to work on my recipe organizing project to distract myself from my irritation. I was still busy working on it when he decided to show up. It was 7:30.
"GRRRRR!!!" I thought when he walked in the door.
"Rumble!!" said my empty tummy. (I was ready to eat at 6pm, so I was pretty hungry by this point.....although, my anger was definitely causing me to begin to lose my appetite.)
"Hey Babe! I have been so lazy today. I just laid on my couch after I got home from watching the game..." said CN.
"Hi," I said, frigidly. No hug. No eye contact. I was Ice Queen.
He instantly knew something was wrong. I told him I was annoyed and hungry. He said he didn't realize I was waiting on him. That's when I informed him that cooking dinner is different than cooking breakfast -- it's more than just cracking a couple of eggs into a frying pan. It takes time. If I say we are eating at 7:00, that means forkfuls of food are being sent to my empty tummy at that time. Then I told him that I was more irritated at the fact that he spoiled his dinner by eating a whole thing of nachos late in the afternoon when he knew I was making him dinner. That's just inconsiderate.
Ok, I didn't tell him he was inconsiderate. But I did make him feel badly. He apologized profusely and asked if he could do anything to make it up to me. I told him he had to do all the dishes, even the stuck-rice one. He said ok.
We ate. He washed. I felt better. We had a make-up smooching session.
Unfortunately, the handle on the rice pot broke during all of this (um...during dinner, not during the make-out session, that is). It was my fault, not his. And I was kind of upset, because the pot used to belong to my Grandma Virginia. I never met her, and I am named after her. All I have are her recipes and her pot, which is now broken. It is pretty old (from about the 1950s, I think), so I guess it had to go sometime. CN can't fix the handle, and neither can I. It's cracked, and the screw won't "stick". Glue might work, but I'm thinking it might melt or something when I heat up the pot. So I might see if I can find a replacement on eBay. I'm kind of bummed out about the pot, actually. :'(
I am secretly hoping CN will read my mind and get me a replacement pot for Christmas......but I'm not holding my breath. And if you are one of my readers who knows CN in real life, please do not tell him this, because then it won't count. Guys have to think up their own things for girlfriends for Christmas. That's the rule.
Anyway....let's see, what else.......
Last night, MJ and I hung out -- we were sorely in need of some Girl Time. In fact, we are having MORE Girl Time this weekend! Woo Hoo! We love hanging out with our new boyfs, but after having Boyfriend Weekends last weekend, we are wanting some alone/friend time. I am excited -- I haven't gone out with just MJ and KT in a long, long time.
Tonight I'm hanging out with CN, though. I haven't really seen him or talked to him since the Dinner Incident, and he really wants to see me. "I want to take you out somewhere nice for dinner. Are you free tonight?" he texted me today. How can you be mad at this guy? He's such a sweetheart.
Ugh. This blog is turning into a Boyfriend Blog. Which makes me kinda throw up a little. I need to get some variety in here. Does anyone have any ideas? Posting requests? I have major writers' block, guys! Help!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
