Old people

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.

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.

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.)

Evilicious

Ladies, we all know PMS sucks ass.

For some reason, this month I am feeling particularly evil.

I saw some dude that just had skin cancer removed from his face. I can't stand this dude. He bugs the living crap out of me, even on a good day. It's nothing he's done, it's just HIM... the mere fact of his existence. Anyway, he walks up to me with this big bandage on his face, and I couldn't muster up a single shred of sympathy for this poor little troll. The only thought that came to my head was, "REALLY???"

There was some lady who needed to be let out of my unit after a visit to a resident. I stopped what I was doing and walked her all the way down to the elevator, where she stopped and said, "You know what? I changed my mind. I think I'll stay for a while longer." Okay, everyone knows how it infuriates me to be interrupted when I'm really busy. This really pissed me off. I stewed about it for about half an hour until she came back and asked me to let her out again. I swear to God, all the way down to the elevator I had visions of pushing that lady in the back so hard that her head would snap back, her road-kill-like wig would go flying, and she would do a beautiful faceplant into the ugly carpet. Of course, I would never actually do anything like that, but the thought and the desire were there.

Mike and I were headed for the liquor store to get some hooch to calm my rage, and all the way there I was full of evil rants about the drivers and pedestrians around me. "Wow, lady. You must have a really long neck to support all those extra chins." "Oh my God, was that a man or a woman?" "Nice. Once again, I've managed to end up in the Retard lane." "I want to rear-end your crappy rustmobile so bad I can taste it." Even Mike, who knows me better than anyone, was a bit shocked at my rancor. He was smart enough not to comment (I think he was a little afraid of me by that point), but I could see it all over his face. So I made myself shut up for the rest of the trip. Oh yes, I bit my evil little tongue.

And why is it that, when I start to rant about my craptacular day and everything that's bugging the hell out of me, people start to laugh??? Is Donna on Progesterone Overload really all that funny? Why are you laughing??? Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

This bout of PMS really needs to end before I go postal and end up on the evening news

Here's where it stands...

Never thought I would be here, never thought I would be saying these things. I am head-over-heels in love. I am going to marry Mike. We are going to get married and adopt babies. Never thought I would do the baby thing again, but it is going to happen with this man. We've even named our babies. We have our wedding planned... music, people, place, everything. I am building a life that I never, ever imagined with this incredible, amazing man. I watched him sleeping this morning and actually broke down and cried with happiness because this man is everything I want, everything I need, and he loves me with everything he is.

Could life possibly be any sweeter than this?????

Cartoons are cool

Check this out... I made a cartoon Me!

Things that bug the crap out of me...

1. People who butcher the English language with mispronunciations such as "warsh clothes" or "liberry card", or with hideous grammar such as "I ain't got no money" or "She don't have none" or god forbid the not-even-real-word "FUNNA".

2. Slow drivers and idiots who have no clue how to merge into traffic.

3. People who invade my personal space.

4. People who interrupt me with stupid stuff that could've waited while I'm busy with something.

5. People who know I leave work at 4:30 yet stop by at 4:25 with a "quick question" that inevitably takes 30 minutes or more.

6. When some crisis with a resident comes up right as I'm walking out of my office for the day. This has happened THREE TIMES just in the last week. Really? You couldn't have fallen at 3pm instead of 4:30?

7. My big fat upstairs neighbor, who tromps around at all hours. I swear to god, one of these days one of his big fat feet is going to come crashing through my ceiling... he actually makes the light fixtures shake.

8. That bug-eyed chick Carla on Top Chef this season. Seriously... could she look any more like a totem pole? I shudder each and every time I see her. I just cannot get used to her hideous face.

9. Strangers who talk to me and basically stalk me at the grocery store. Um yeah... Security?!?!?!?

10. Weird, creepy people who somehow think they're normal.

11. People who chew with their mouths open, especially when they're eating crunchy things.

12. People who rattle popcorn or chip bags while I'm trying to watch a movie.

13. People who try to carry on a full-blown conversation with me when I'm trying to watch a show on TV.

14. People who cannot for the life of them retain and follow simple instructions.

15. People who tell me what I should do with my hair, wardrobe, figure, relationship, etc. when I haven't asked their opinion or advice.

16. People who don't signal turns or lane changes.

17. Below zero temperatures and icy sidewalks or driveways.

18. Cats. They're no fun and they shed.

19. Dudes who sag their pants. Seriously, sometimes they're not even on the ass at all! Guy, I am totally uncomfortable with the fact that the only thing between me and your bare ass is a very thin layer of skid-marked cotton.

20. People who have extremely loud conversations in restaurants, like everyone needs to hear the ultra-important crap they're spewing. Like the other night when Mike and I were out and this gaggle of geese was squawking at the next table... one exclaimed that she'd just found out what "teabagging" is, and proceeded to bellow the definition to her companions, and to the rest of the diners by proxy. I'm sure the couple with the elementary school-aged children at the next table really appreciated that.

Oh.... My.... God....

He wants to marry me. He wants to settle down and adopt babies. And the really shocking thing is this: I think I want it too.

Question...

What is the deal with turning 40???? Why is this bothering me so very, very much????

Okay, it's not like it's tomorrow... I have a few months left... but the closer it gets, the more I hate the idea. 40 sounds so OLD.

A few of my 40-something girlfriends are trying to tell me that turning 40 is "freeing"... I say BULL. What the hell is freeing about getting that much closer to menopause, osteoporosis, whiskers sprouting from your chin, every nice curve you have heading south, people calling you "ma'am" in the grocery store, and ultimately senility and death????? What, I ask you????

Seriously... those of you (ladies only... I don't give a crap what the guys think) who are as close to 40 as I am, or have passed it, I really do want to hear your opinions on this subject. Those of you who are nowhere near 40, you can kiss my lily-white butt. I wish I were you.

I'm such a dork.

Okay, I am just the biggest baby on the planet.

Leaving my current job is going to be sooooo much harder than I thought! I'm even second-guessing my decision a little bit.

I mean, how many jobs does a person get in a lifetime where you really enjoy what you do, have fun with and care about your coworkers, and feel like you're really making a difference in people's lives???? Even with the pay hike, what if I don't like my new job? What if I don't like my coworkers? What if the residents and families bug the hell out of me? What if my new coworkers don't realize that poop is funny, and is too proper lunchtime conversation???????

Maybe I'm just freaked out about jumping into unknown waters. All the same, I can hardly talk to the staff or the residents this week without tearing up a little, sometimes out-and-out bawling. And if you know anything about me, you known how much I detest crying in front of people.

Maybe I'd feel better this morning if I went out for a little fresh air... which is funny, because I'll be chain-smoking, so the air won't really be all that fresh....

New Job!

Yep, that's right. I got a new job.

This one totally fell into my lap. My former supervisor at my current job called me out of the blue and offered me a position at the assisted living facility where she is now Director of Nursing.

Basically, she needs an LPN who knows home care and knows assisted living to come in and overhaul the memory care unit. It's been run like a nursing home for the last 10 years, and corporate wants that to change. As she put it to me: "New policies and procedures, new documentation system, new med system, and new blood all at the same time. And I can't think of anyone I trust more to pull it off. This will be Your Baby!" I was totally honored by the compliment, and by the trust behind it.

Besides the incredible opportunity, I'll be making way more money. Sweet for me, and for my kids.

The staff at my current job is not happy that I'm leaving, but I have to put my family and my career first. Everyone close to me agrees that I would be a complete moron to pass up this opportunity.

I'll start going in here and there after I punch out at my current job, just to familiarize myself with the paperwork, resident profiles, etc before I go full-time in December. I gave this job six weeks' notice so that I can be sure that my replacement and the new supervisor are up to speed and comfortable with the system before I go.

So... yeah. On to bigger and better things!

It's finally happened...

I've finally been confronted with a situation in which falling down is not funny.

You all know how I delight in the sweet biffs of others... the more humiliating and painful the better. I've often wondered if I would ever find myself in a situation where I wouldn't find falling down funny.

Found it. Work.

Here's the thing: people at work (residents, not coworkers... if it were coworkers I'd still laugh) are falling down all the time. At least once a day I get a call that someone biffed it in their apartment and I have to go running up there to see if they're okay. Sometimes they are, and we just have to help them up, but most of the time they're not okay and I have to call 911 and send them to the hospital. Then they're there for a grip of time, have to go to rehab for about a month, and come back to us even more frail than when they originally fell.

It's not that I want to laugh when they fall but restrain myself. It's Really Not Funny. Holy crap, did I just say that? What the hell happened to me?

Dammit... I... CARE. Ugh. Pretty soon I'll probably start feeling sorry for people with mullets and stop laughing at drunk girls.

Aw, CRAP.

Boys are yucky and dumb.

I don't care how old or "mature" they get to be, they're still yucky, dumb pervs at heart.

I'm leading an exercise class at work 3 times a week. Remember, I work at an assisted living place, so the average age of my residents is about 86 yrs old.

The first time I led it last week, there were four little old men in the back row. We were doing chest presses, and I realized that every single one of them was ogling my rack! And not in a sneaky way, either... just STARING. I kept trying to make eye contact so they'd get embarrassed and look away from the headlights, but to no avail.

Yesterday I led the class again, and this time the 4 guys from the back row were front and center. Right smack in front of me and my sweater puppies. For god's sake, if you're gonna ogle, at least don't be so frickin' obvious about it!I mean, one guy even made a couple comments about my flexibility and my "sexy boots" right in front of his wife. Later I noticed that couple waiting for the elevator. I got on and so did the wife, but the dude was moving kinda slow, so the wife pressed the door close button and left him out there. Funny. I guess I would've too if I'd been her.

I'm tempted to show up on Friday in sweatpants and a huge T-shirt and just wreck all their fun. Yucky dumb boys.

Epiphany

I've been doing some soul-searching tonight, and I've come to some conclusions.

I AM POISON. You heard me.

I warned my ex-boyfriend on multiple occasions to get out while he still could. He didn't. I broke his heart. I destroyed what we had with my own issues and insecurities. He's a good man... he didn't deserve what became of us. I know I have a knack for blaming others for their parts in my meltdowns, and he did play his role, but I took it further and destroyed everything.

Once I see something as damaged, I turn tail and run. I don't stick around to do the hard work that it takes to fix things. I just up and leave. I'm terrified of getting hurt, so once I start to feel hurt, I curl up with my prickly spines out to prevent further damage to myself. Selfish? Yeah. I know it.

So I broke this man's heart because I was afraid. Afraid of pain. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of loss. What I failed to realize... or maybe what I just chose not to realize... is that he was just as afraid as I was. Afraid of all the same things, and maybe more so. Yet I rampaged ahead, and destroyed any chance of salvage.

Maybe I did the same with my ex-husband. I justified everything... I was in so much emotional agony... but maybe I was just selfishly unwilling to see past myself.

Now I'm with somebody new, and I've realized that I have the potential to destroy him. He's young, sweet, trusting, inexperienced... and I am a very dangerous thing for a man like that. We've never butted heads, never argued, but it would be unrealistic to say that it won't happen. And when it does... will I destroy him? Will I bulldoze him? I can't promise that it won't happen.

I don't like what I've become. I don't want to hurt people, I really don't. Yet I can't seem to stop myself. It seems that no one in my vicinity gets away completely unscathed.

Maybe my ex-husband was right: maybe having surgery, becoming attractive, turned me into some kind of monster. Maybe it really did turn me into the Mean Girl that I always despised in high school.

Have I really become that self-absorbed, that self-serving? Have I really become the kind of person who is determined to get what she wants, no matter the cost? Has "collateral damage" become okay to me?

Holy shit, I don't want to be that person...

Last week my oldest son said that he can't even remember what it feels like to have a mother. God, it broke my heart. I just figured that because of his age, his lifestyle, and his alliance with his dad, he just didn't need me or want me. I had no idea that he was waiting for me to reach out. What kind of mother is that???? My son needed me, and I had no idea.

I've said before, partially in jest, that I'm not fit to raise Sea Monkeys. Well, now in all honesty, I Am Not Fit To Raise Sea Monkeys, let alone human beings. What have I done??? My kid doesn't even know me anymore. Maybe no one really does. Maybe I'm not so sure myself.

So Yeah... I Am Poison. End of story. Buyer beware.

Um..... yeeeeeeaaaaah.

Huh. Nice last post, Captain Bringdown.

Okay, I was in a really crappy, sick, angry place. But I'm much, much better now.

Lots of big changes in my world. My oldest kids turned 19 in March, and I was feeling old, so I went a little crazy. I dyed my hair red, chopped it all off, and got another tattoo. I was afraid what people would think, but people generally seem to like the new look.

My position at that janky homecare company got eliminated due to budget constraints. It's okay, because it turned out to be the job from frickin' hell. Totally dysfunctional, stressful, and terrible for my health. Now I have a new job, and I adore it. I'm a nurse for assisted living in a Twin Cities retirement community. I've been there about 8 months, and it's totally my dream job. Awesome residents, great coworkers, healthy work environment, and the pay is pretty good. On top of it, I get to use the degree I worked so hard for! I'm leading a Bible study and developing a spiritual care program. I also coordinate the activities program for assisted living. I couldn't ask for more... this is the best job ever, and I seem to be well-suited for it. I even managed my department for 12 weeks when my supervisor went on maternity leave. That was stressful, but nothing went down in flames while she was gone.

I'm seeing someone new. It's kind of a different situation... we've been friends for almost 2 years, and eventually realized that we both wanted more. We were just as surprised as anyone else. He's a great guy... very open and honest, very sweet, romantic and affectionate, always positive and optimistic, and he makes me laugh my ass off. There's nothing we can't say, nothing we can't talk about, no fear, and absolutely no ego between us. I can do something totally stupid and know that he's going to treat me with respect, gentlness and love. I also know that if something tough needs to be said, he's going to say it immediately instead of stewing over it and letting it fester until it damages our relationship. Best of all, he adores my kids and they adore him. It feels so good to be able to be open about our relationship... the last one I was in was pretty clandestine. He didn't want anyone he knew to know we were together, even though we'd been together for quite a while and thought we could spend the rest of our lives together. I couldn't see him when his kids were around. I always felt like his dirty little secret. With this man, I've met all his friends and his entire family, and he's proud to introduce me as his girlfriend. He makes me really, really happy.

That's the big update in a nutshell. I'm in a much better, much happier, much more settled place, and I'm damn glad to be here.

A Really Dark Place

I am frustrated, depressed, scared, and completely pissed off.

Once again, I am having neuro problems. My primary doc has been convinced for 4 years that I have MS, but so far the MRIs of my brain have come up clear. The neurologists I've seen have basically told me that I'm crazy because my scans come up clean. Bullfuckingshit.

So here I am, after catching a goddamn cold, with weak legs, pins and needles, brain fog, the whole nine yards again. I'm walking with a fucking cane because my balance is gone. My doc was alarmed enough to send me to the ER to get admitted to test me for MS. Did they admit me? Hell no. They put me on massive doses of steroids and sent me the hell home. Massive doses of steroids? To treat WHAT??? You don't just prescribe horse doses of that shit without a diagnosis. To top it off, the neuro I saw in the ER told me to make an appointment w/ his clinic the next day to get an MRI. When I called yesterday, they told me they don't see patients on an emergency basis. The best they could do was the end of fucking December. I called my clinic, and they couldn't do any better for me.

This is just like 4 years ago. I absolutely am losing faith in neurology as a specialty. Fuck them all.

So here I am, people staring at me in public, friends and family not knowing what to say to me or how to treat me, my weaknesses on display for everyone to see, and there's not a motherfucking thing I can do about it.

I am pissed as hell.

On top of it, I am UGLY. I can't stand up straight, I can't walk straight, I am weak, and I am miserable. The Love Of My Life is clearly uncomfortable with my infirmity. The one person I really need to treat me like there's nothing wrong... CAN'T. I am not attractive, I am not sexy, I am not myself... I'm just... SICK.

I hate this so much.

I don't want to go anywhere, I don't want to do anything, I don't want to see anyone, and I sure as hell don't want anyone to see me. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want advice, I don't even think I want sympathy at this point.

I think I just want to be angry. I want to fight this thing on my own terms. I want to hate it, I want to hate what it is doing to me, I want to hate what it is doing to my life. I want to wallow here and be left alone.

I think that maybe my anger is the only thing that can save me at this point. I think that maybe my anger is the only thing about me that I recognize as ME at this point. Everything else is Disease, and is out of my control.

I hate not having control. I need to be in control of my life.

Right now, the only thing that gives me a feeling of having any control at all is being Pissed As Hell.

Fuck this shit. Fuck MS. Fuck the doctors and the hospitals. Fuck pity. Fuck it all.

Stupid Neighbors

Okay, yeah... I have no business being up at this time of night, I know.

For the second or third time this week, my stupid downstairs neighbors are having a drunken gaming party.

They have buddies over, play their music super loud, sit out on their deck smoking shwag weed, etc until the wee hours of the morning. This time, they woke me up at 3AM.

Generally, on the off weeks, I'm not here enough for it to bother me. This week, though, I have my kids. The other night the crappy neighbors woke them up too. This is never a good thing, because overly-tired kids are hell on wheels the next day.

So I called the new caretaker and totally narc'd. I mean, how totally disrespectful.

"Quiet time" in the building is supposed to be from 10PM to 8AM. We're not supposed to run our garbage disposals/dishwashers between these hours, and we're supposed to keep our conversation and TV volume low. I get this, and I always abide by it, so it really pisses me off when my neighbors think they can do whatever the hell they want.

The other night, the male half of the duo downstairs was out on the deck getting a bake on around midnight. First of all, I could tell he was smoking crapass weed because it smelled like burning roadkill. Even better was the fact that he was on the phone trying to get his buddy to drop by for some "Mad Gaming." Um... yeah. The conversation went something like this: "Dude. Dude. Seriously, dude. I'm totally on level 18, dude. Dude. I'm not even shitting you, dude. 18. If you come over, dude, I'll smoke your ass. I'll totally get to level 20, dude. I'm not even kidding you, dude. I'm totally serious. Dude. Dude. Dude. Seriously... Duuuude." And this MENSA level conversation was punctuated with him choking on his shwag weed. Priceless. I laughed my ass off. And not polite, in-my-head laughing, either. I found this so comical that I even let the Horshack donkey bray fly a couple times. I felt like hanging over the railing and going, "Duuuuuuude. You're so smart. Seriously, dude. Level 18? Those are some mad gaming skills, dude. Maybe you can find a way to turn those mad skills into some cash so you can afford some better weed. Seriously, dude."

I've been in their apartment, because once I hade to go apologize for watering my plants on my deck while he was out there smoking a ciggie, and I guess I got his chair wet. They've got all kinds of animal heads mounted on their walls (I guess he's a hunter), and they have a couple pinball machines where most people would have dining room furniture, and there were two dart boards that I could see. I should've known right then that there would be loud, drunken, stupid parties.

Now, I am by no means a prude, and I have been known to party late into the night and early into the next morning from time to time. However, the par-tay they had before this one was on a Tuesday night. TUESDAY. Who parties and plays video games all night on a TUESDAY??? Don't these dumbasses have to work???

Anyhow, the new caretaker went down there and told them to shut up a little while ago, and they finally did. I'm quite sure they know it was me who narc'd, but I don't give a rat's ass. I would expect the same if I woke my neighbors up at 3AM.

Once I was having loud sex in the middle of the night, and the upstairs neighbors stomped on the floor, and we shut the hell up. Of course, it kinda ruined the mood, so we really had no choice, but STILL. At least I TRY to be a considerate neighbor. I mean, come on.

While I'm on the subject of neighbors, what's with the 20-something Asian dude who just moved in above me??? This freak paces CONSTANTLY, all day and all night. It sucks, because the floors are totally creaky. Maybe he's a crackhead. Or maybe he has OCD and can't sit down for two seconds. But he has to stop sometime, right? I mean, he's got to sleep sometime. At the very least, he's got to sit on the toilet to take a crap for a couple minutes here and there, right? I have yet to hear him stop pacing, and it's been two or three weeks. He's at it right now.

This is the only thing I have decided I really hate about apartment living: FRICKIN' NEIGHBORS.

Why can't everyone be more like ME???

The Scab Lady

So, there's this gross old lady who lives on my floor and parks her car next to mine in the garage. I call her Scab Lady.

She earned this name because she has these nasty, weeping sores all over her lower legs all the frickin' time. They're usually bandaged, but I can tell right where they all are because you can see the pus seeping through the gauze. Ew, ew, frickity EW.

I have a feeling she might live in her car part-time. The back seat is filled with crap... boxes, bags, empty food containers, you name it. Oh, and her walker, which I have yet to see her actually use. A couple times I've gotten home or have been leaving, and she's been sitting in her car. Just SITTING there, listening to the radio or talking to her dog. And she sits there for a super long time, too. I know this because I often putz around before getting out of my truck or pulling out of my spot. I may decide to clean out the garbage the kids left in the back seat, or throw out the empty cigarette boxes in my center console, put on lipstick, organize my purse, or what have you. And when I finish whatever I'm doing, she's still sitting there in her car. One time when I left, she was sitting there. When I got back more than a half hour later, she was STILL THERE.

Here's another thing that bugs me: she's got this yappy weiner dog named Deuce, and he's never on a frickin' leash. I see them sometimes in the hall, and that stupid dog is running all over the place willy-nilly, yapping away. Once he got underfoot when I was coming back from the laundry room with a huge basket of clothes. That glorified rat almost got himself kicked. Oh, come on... I wouldn't have kicked him on purpose! Luckily I saw him and stopped walking until Scabby Mc Scabsalot could get him to go back into her apartment. One of these days something will happen to him, though, if she doesn't get him on a frickin' leash. He's gonna get stepped on, or get closed in the elevator door or something. And the way she tries to get him to come back when he takes off down the hall... she says PLEASE, and talks to him like he's a kid. I got news for ya, lady: he's NOT HUMAN. He's a frickin' DOG. One, he can't understand you. Two, saying please is not gonna change his mind about bolting down the hall to yap at neighbors trying to get out of the elevator with their groceries.

Here's another thing I've been wondering about that dog: where the hell does he crap??? I mean, she doesn't leave her apartment for days on end, I never see her outside the building, and apparently she needs a walker to get around, and the walker's in the back seat of her car all the time. So, does she let the dog crap in her apartment? Does he use a litter box? Did she train him to use the toilet like some people do with their cats? Inquiring minds wanna know!!!

Maybe this is super mean, but that lady creeps me out to no end. I actually hold my breath when I walk past her, her car, or her apartment because I don't want to breathe in whatever bacteria is infesting her nasty legs. I've never had the dilemma of having to get into the elevator with her, but I kinda think I wouldn't be able to hold my breath that long. I think I'd have to make some excuse to take the stairs or say, "Oops, I forgot something," and go back to my truck or my apartment until the coast was clear. The thought of being trapped in the elevator with her and her rat dog makes me feel like hurling a little bit.

I know what you're thinking: I'm going to hell for being so mean, intolerant and judgmental. Whatever... I am what I am. However, if hell is indeed an eternity of your worst experiences ever, my hell would be being trapped in an elevator with Scab Lady and Deuce, and I could only get off the elevator at Steve-O's on karaoke night.

Maybe I should try to be nicer.......

Nah.

Frickin' Steve-o's

So, my best friend and I went to Steve-o's last week for karaoke with some of the Big Louie's barflies. One of the barflies was totally talking it up, like it would be this great night of fun, so I talked my friend into trying it out.

What a frickin' joke.

First of all, it's a crappy dive bar with no windows. However, my friend commented that it was a lot cleaner than he expected it to be. But it still is a crappy dive, with the clientele you'd expect to see in a bar with no windows that serves 3-for-1's at 8am.

Second, worst... singing... EVER. And I mean EVER. Not a single singer I heard was anywhere near the frickin' melody. The very worst I heard was when a couple drunk chicks got up and completely butchered What's Up by 4 Non-Blondes. It was absolutely painful. And it hurt my ears even worse because it's a song I do from time to time at Big Louie's, and I do it well if I do say so myself. So to hear these dumb girls hack it apart was just sick.

The food was extra, extra greasy... close to inedible for me. We got chicken wings and potato skins, with a complimentary side of... GREASE. We couldn't finish it all, so we offered the rest to this one barfly friend who didn't get his order in before the kitchen closed. Well, you'd think he hadn't eaten all year. He tore into those wings like he'd been raised by wolves. I'm talking food flying, teeth bared, shaking the wings back and forth like they weren't quite dead yet, the works. I expected him to start snarling and then go outside to howl at the moon. I'm not sure he even took a breath between mouthfuls. I didn't know whether to look away in disgust or start laughing. I seriously wondered what would've happened if we'd decided we wanted the wings back. I have a feeling someone would've lost a few fingers or suffered a fang wound to the jugular.

The beer on "special" was a crapass beer served in a thimble. A $2.50 beer ain't a great deal when you get about a teaspoon of pisswater with an orange slice in it.

Needless to say, we didn't stay long. I apologized profusely to my friend all the way home for dragging him to that craphole . Honey, if you're reading this, once again: Sorry, Sorry, Sorry.

Well, at least now we know. I can say with complete certainty that we will never set foot in frickin' Steve-o's again in this lifetime. And I think that's about how long it will take to get Wolf Boy's wing eating display out of my nightmares.

Dig me!

Yeah, don't know why I chose that title. Just thought it was funny.

Hi. How's it going? Seems like I've been doing these once-a-month updates. I just never seem to find the time to get on here and do my usual rants.

So, a couple weeks ago the ex and I dropped our oldest daughter off at college. I thought I was fine with the whole thing, until I was over at my best friend's house one night and he asked me how I was feeling about it. It was then I realized that I was totally not okay with the whole thing. For the week leading up to her departure I bawled at the drop of a hat, thinking about her when she was a baby, toddler, little girl, etc... nostalgic melacholia. The end of an era. And, of course, I totally cried when I was saying goodbye to her in her dorm room. As excited as she was to start this new chapter of her life, and as much as I know she can handle it, I felt like some kind of traitor leaving my baby in an unfamiliar place to fend for herself.

Of course, she's doing great. She's having a blast, meeting new people, and seems genuinely happy. I'm really proud of her, and happy for her. But I'm still struggling with this whole thing.

This is what I have trouble with: first, I am old enough to have a kid in college(two, actually, if my son could get his act together, but that's another story), which means that I am OLD. It's true: I am an OLD HAG. For cripe's sake, I'll be forty in a year and a half. Holy crap. So, sending my kid to college has totally made me feel my age. Thank God I don't look my age on top of it. Then I'd really be depressed.

Second, I really miss my kid! She and I have a great relationship. She confides in me, likes to hang out with me when she's not busy with her friends, she's funny, smart, kind, and generally just a great person. Now, before you think my head is swelling here, let me state that I'm entirely sure the way she turned out is more a product of her nature than of my parenting. I'm not fit to raise Sea Monkeys, remember? But anyhow, I just miss her. I mean, she does text message me at least once a day, and she calls at least once a week, so it's not like we're totally cut off, but still.... I miss her!

Third, now she needs money. Lots and lots of money. That sucks, because I'm not exactly rolling in dough. And she doesn't want to ask her dad, because she's afraid he'll yell at her (and he probably would), and she doesn't think he would send her money anyway (and he probably wouldn't). Now, I racked up my credit card debt paying for pretty much the entire senior year and graduation for both the twins, and the ex, who initially was going to pay me back half, decided to stiff me once he realized I'm not going back to him. So I've got these massive bills thanks to that big winking anus, and I've got a kid asking me for hundreds of dollars. Not sure how I'm gonna make it happen, but I gotta find a way to help her out and still be able to pay my bills. I suppose I could start selling myself on the street.... nah. Then I'd have to go out and buy a whole new cheap, slutty wardrobe.

The trip up to my kid's school and back wasn't bad. I just slept the whole time, so there wasn't much opportunity for sparkling conversation with my ex. Bonus. Right now he's in another "I'm gonna prove I'm a changed man so you'll come back to me" phase. I'm sure it won't last long. He's done the same old song and dance before, and once he figures out it ain't getting him anywhere, he goes all evil again. The other shoe should drop any day now... he hasn't been a major dick to me for a couple weeks now.

My oldest son is not making very good choices. Of course, now that he's 18 and living with his dad, there's not a whole hell of a lot I can do. I hope he'll figure things out and get his act together, but I wonder how long it will take, and how much trouble he'll get himself into in the meantime. I do worry about him. He's basically a good kid, and I just don't want him to get creamed by the real world before he has a chance to reach some of the potential I know he has.

The little kids started school a couple weeks ago, and both of them are doing great. They love their teachers. There's a new principal, which makes me very happy. The old principal was a dick and a half. He was old and crappy, and really had no idea how to deal with kids. He'd use all these big words that I'd have to explain later, and just generally was a sour old butthead. But now he's gone, and the school seems like a much better place to be. Sweet.

My job has been interesting. There's one woman there who hates my guts, and I hear it's because of how I look, and because she thinks I'm in my twenties. I'm sorry, but that sucks ass. Especially since I used to be a fat chick like her. Well, not exactly like her... I was never that ugly, I won't be that old for another decade, and I'm not a chiffon-wrapped, sugar-coated, venom-spewing, baby-waby-voiced bitch from hell. She takes every opportunity to hate on me, trying to trash me all over the office. Yeah... bring it on, witchiepoo. I'm not as young and stupid as you think I am, and I can be as bitchy as you are if I need to be. Let's dance, sugar.

Well, I gotta go eat something. I'm loathe to do it, because I've gained 5 lbs in the past 2 1/2 months. Yuck. I mean, I'm actually at my ideal weight right now, but I've decided I prefer the lean and mean look. Or the skeletal and anorexic look, depending on who you ask. I've been trying not to gorge myself, but in my head I'm still a fat chick who likes to indulge in emotional overeating, and I'm absolutely terrified of making a pig of myself and gaining weight again. However, I am thinking of going out later, and an evening of drinking on an empty stomach is never a good idea, so I think I'll heat up some leftover garlic mashed potatoes and watch a little TV for a while.

It's been real... see ya soon.