So last night I was at an outdoor concert by myself. A friend of mine is in a band, so I went to this park to hear them play. I sat at a picnic table kind of away from other people, because other people kind of suck. Don't give me that "A stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet," crap. A stranger is someone who will bug me, or rape and kill me.
So there's this old man looking at me, and he comes over and sits down, totally uninvited, and starts chatting me up. I tried to be polite, but I was extremely annoyed. I was there to hear the music and see my friend, not to chit chat. Then I realized he was totally staring at my boobs. I started getting pissed. I lit up a smoke and was thinking about moving to another table, when he started coughing because of the smoke and got up and left. That was cool. So what did I do?
I chain smoked for the next hour and a half to keep him from coming back.
I must have permanent old person stink on me or something, because old people seem to gravitate toward me like a moon to a planet. They're always trying to chat me up in the grocery store, at church, on the street, EVERYWHERE.
I know I work with old people, and they don't annoy me as much at work because I'm supposed to take care of them, but I don't want to see anyone over the age of 65 from the time I punch out until I punch back in the next morning.
Old people smell funny, dress funny, and all little old ladies have the same blue hair set in the same blue style.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
People with boundary issues suck.
Sometimes I want to turn hermit and go live in a cave and never have to see another soul ever again. There is a handful of people at work who have absolutely no personal or professional boundaries, and I want to punch each of them in the back of the head. This one's for you bitches, and you know who you are.
Stay the hell out of my desk. Do not take my pens or highlighters. Do not open up another pack of my pop-up post-its, tear a bunch off, and then try to stick them back together and put them back in my drawer. I hope you choke on the peanut M&Ms you stole out of my bottom drawer last weekend. It just blows me away that I have to hide my good pens/highlighters/post-its/food/nail files/lipstick/lotion in a top-secret spot so you won't steal them. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you twelve years old or what? No, I don't give a shit that you lost all your crappy bic pens. Go to the business office and get some more, jackass. You are not using the big green coolass Aricept pen with the gel grip that I got from the drug rep. Bite me.
I'm your supervisor, dammit! When I ask you to do something, get up off your ass and do it. Not whenever you feel like it... NOW. It's not your break time, you aren't busy, so MOVE YOUR ASS. Don't make me ask you twice. When I tell you not to leave the charting books or service schedules in the dining room, STOP DOING IT. The next time I find that book in the dining room, I swear on everything that's holy that I'm going to shove it up your ass. When I ask you to change the way you chart because you're doing it incorrectly, don't sit down where I can see you and continue to chart in your halfassed, corner-cutting way. Stop making retarded, common sense mistakes. Gee, someone used Friday's 8am pill and it's only Tuesday. Hmmmm... you signed for all the meds you gave except ONE. Which you obviously gave. You used SCOTCH FUCKING TAPE to bandage a wound. You sat in the dining room during lunch and bellowed a gross story about your period to the other aide, in front of the residents. You should not be working in a healthcare setting. You should be wearing a hockey helmet and protective mittens and be licking the windows on the short bus.
Did you really just ask me how big my boyfriend's dick is???? Seriously, I'm speechless. And speechless is something I rarely am. No, I'm not going to go with you into the break room and show you my bra. And no, I don't want to see yours. I don't give a crap what it looks like, where you got it, or what size it is. I am not going to give you all the juicy details of my sex life, and I don't want to know anything about yours. Just the fact that you're getting sex grosses me out. And, whoever he is, he must be blind, deaf and have no sense of smell.
And you: back the hell away from me. You have zero sense of personal space, and I absolutely loathe close talkers. Oh my god, I think you just spit in my eye. You need to stay at least an arm's length away from me. Here, let me stick out my arm to demonstrate. Oh, gee, I'm sorry... maybe I should've told you that that arm has a little pink fist at the end of it with a huge diamond ring, and that it's aimed at your too-close face.
Okay, now I feel better.
Go ahead, judge me for my evilicious nature. Like I really care. Go wipe someone's ass and shut the hell up.
Stay the hell out of my desk. Do not take my pens or highlighters. Do not open up another pack of my pop-up post-its, tear a bunch off, and then try to stick them back together and put them back in my drawer. I hope you choke on the peanut M&Ms you stole out of my bottom drawer last weekend. It just blows me away that I have to hide my good pens/highlighters/post-its/food/nail files/lipstick/lotion in a top-secret spot so you won't steal them. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you twelve years old or what? No, I don't give a shit that you lost all your crappy bic pens. Go to the business office and get some more, jackass. You are not using the big green coolass Aricept pen with the gel grip that I got from the drug rep. Bite me.
I'm your supervisor, dammit! When I ask you to do something, get up off your ass and do it. Not whenever you feel like it... NOW. It's not your break time, you aren't busy, so MOVE YOUR ASS. Don't make me ask you twice. When I tell you not to leave the charting books or service schedules in the dining room, STOP DOING IT. The next time I find that book in the dining room, I swear on everything that's holy that I'm going to shove it up your ass. When I ask you to change the way you chart because you're doing it incorrectly, don't sit down where I can see you and continue to chart in your halfassed, corner-cutting way. Stop making retarded, common sense mistakes. Gee, someone used Friday's 8am pill and it's only Tuesday. Hmmmm... you signed for all the meds you gave except ONE. Which you obviously gave. You used SCOTCH FUCKING TAPE to bandage a wound. You sat in the dining room during lunch and bellowed a gross story about your period to the other aide, in front of the residents. You should not be working in a healthcare setting. You should be wearing a hockey helmet and protective mittens and be licking the windows on the short bus.
Did you really just ask me how big my boyfriend's dick is???? Seriously, I'm speechless. And speechless is something I rarely am. No, I'm not going to go with you into the break room and show you my bra. And no, I don't want to see yours. I don't give a crap what it looks like, where you got it, or what size it is. I am not going to give you all the juicy details of my sex life, and I don't want to know anything about yours. Just the fact that you're getting sex grosses me out. And, whoever he is, he must be blind, deaf and have no sense of smell.
And you: back the hell away from me. You have zero sense of personal space, and I absolutely loathe close talkers. Oh my god, I think you just spit in my eye. You need to stay at least an arm's length away from me. Here, let me stick out my arm to demonstrate. Oh, gee, I'm sorry... maybe I should've told you that that arm has a little pink fist at the end of it with a huge diamond ring, and that it's aimed at your too-close face.
Okay, now I feel better.
Go ahead, judge me for my evilicious nature. Like I really care. Go wipe someone's ass and shut the hell up.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Seriously???????
Yeah... I just got an event invitation on Facebook from The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up. Remember The Thing???? Apparently he's getting ordained as a minister next Sunday. Just goes to show that some churches will ordain anything that moves and breathes. The Thing is pretty much a tard... he can't write an intelligible sentence, he can't muster up an original thought, and he lies like a rug. He even used to misspell HIS OWN NAME on his term papers. I know, because I had the misfortune of proofreading those pieces of crap. And The Thing never did finish his degree! He just kinda gave up and fizzled out... which was not such a bad thing, since the program director out and out told him that he'd never be able to finish, and that he wasn't cut out for full-time ministry. Apparently, whatever church he attends disagrees.
Anyhow, I'm totally not going, even though I replied "Maybe". I'd rather poke my right eye out with a ballpoint pen.
Does this post seem like sour grapes? It's totally not. I would never in a million years wish to become an ordained minister. I just can't believe that this dude is going to be ordained. How many searching people is he going to singlehandedly direct straight to Hell because of his own backward theological stupidity???
It's like a 10.0 on the Rectal Scale. (That's right, Thing... I still remember the night you said that and I still laugh my ass off when I think about it.)
Anyhow, I'm totally not going, even though I replied "Maybe". I'd rather poke my right eye out with a ballpoint pen.
Does this post seem like sour grapes? It's totally not. I would never in a million years wish to become an ordained minister. I just can't believe that this dude is going to be ordained. How many searching people is he going to singlehandedly direct straight to Hell because of his own backward theological stupidity???
It's like a 10.0 on the Rectal Scale. (That's right, Thing... I still remember the night you said that and I still laugh my ass off when I think about it.)
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