From The Mental Mail Bag

Dear ITunes:

Pardon me but I didn't get the memo, you know, the one that told your customers that you were offering a new service? I'd like to personally thank you for wiping my 80 gig Ipod when I synched it last night. I understand that you must hold a great concern for those 399 podcasts that were cluttering up my device and yes, I guess I really didn't need those movies, especially the ones that I purchased from Itunes. Thanks for having my back!

Sincerely,

Your Customer With A Very Expensive Doorstop

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Dear waiter at the Duluth restaurant with the great steak fries:

Sweetheart, I have no idea what the heck your gig was tonight but just because I was dining alone doesn't mean I was lonely. I timed you. Coming up to check on me every 4.5 minutes was a bit excessive. Standing guard across the dining room and boring holes into my forehead with your attentively creepy stare was a bit trying as well. And at the end of the meal? When you told me "My night was far more interesting since you were here", I actually stopped in my tracks and gave you my best "perplexed vulcan with one raised eyebrow" look. Since you didn't even look old enough to be working at a bar I very nearly reached over and patted you on top of the head and asked you about your Lego collection. Allow me to introduce myself...I was the half of the equation that DIDN'T get off on children.

Sincerely,

So Not A Cougar

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Dear WDSE (PBS Duluth) :

It must be pledge week! All the shittiest of shows are on.
Frankly, I think you owe me money.

Sincerely,

Not Amused

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Dear Woman I Ate Lunch With:

Really? So, any intelligent woman would know that her husband is a cheater before they got married?

Really?

I very nearly blurted out "And does that go for pedophilia too?"

But we were at a full table and I thought that might be a bit of a conversation stopper.

Actually, I thought it might be a bit of a conversation starter...and you would tell me how stupid I was...and then I'd have to take you out to the parking lot where you would proceed to whip my ass seven ways till Sunday.

Yeah. I kept all niiiiiiice and quiet.

*bitch*

Sincerely,

Your silent companion

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Dear Neighbor:

I apologize for saying hello this morning at 5:20 a.m.
It didn't occur to me that you were trying to be covert. It didn't even dawn on me that a person lurking in the shadows of her own house in her housecoat, waiting for the dog to do her business, wouldn't want to carry on a conversation with yours truly.

I am, after all, at my most charming in the wee hours of the morning.

Charming, but a bit thick.

You really needn't run in the opposite direction or clutch the neck of your robe in fright.

I promise, I'll never speak to you in the morning again.

Sincerely,

Your Two Inch Tall Neighbor

It's Not Easy Being This Charming

Little things mean a lot.

With every little step I take, I'm hoping it is moving me forward to being far away, someday.

That's why I ended up going to a different bank yesterday and opening up a new account. STBX and I banked at a local bank which wouldn't be so good someday, when I move.

I like my present bank. I have never felt like they were trying to sell me on anything and for some strange reason, they actually make me feel like they care.

Yeah, I know. Dillusion can be a comforting thing at times.

But my daughter had opened up her first checking account at this new bank because it will be portable across the country so I figured that was a pretty good idea.

Let's just say, I wasn't at my perkiest yesterday. And my bullshit detector was on high alert.

Did you know that because my employer banks at this bank, I am able to receive a "gold account"? Why, I feel so special! And a gold account comes with a whole host of things that I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT.

But it's free! It's free! Don't I want to be able to get a great rate on a new mortgage and an endless line of credit??? It's free! We'll just be making automatic changes to your checking account and moving money to savings every month and no, you can't cancel it, but you can go in on the day that we make the transfer and transfer the money back. Now, doesn't that sound like a great feature? And if you forget to transfer the money back, you'll start bouncing checks! Hooray!

Here is twenty five yards of rope, place it around your neck and jump off that cliff over there. When you get to the end, stop...

Halfway through her speal, I stopped her and asked if there wasn't a basic checking account that was free.

She looked like I had crapped on Christmas.

"But all of these features are free..."

"Yeah, it's free for me to eat out of the garbage in front of the DTA but it doesn't mean that I want to. Since I'm the customer, it should be what I WANT, not what you want to SELL me."

She then pulled out the "basic" checking speal and started signing me up for it. Halfway through, she tells me that I will have overdraft protection in the form of a credit card which she is signing me up for.

"I don't want a fuckin' credit card! I want a straight forward checking account."

I'm finding that my use of explitives is creeping into my everyday frustration and I have stopped apologizing for it. I am so tired of people trying to SELL me stuff.

I should have told her that the only way her bank would be making money off me is on overdraft fees so really, she isn't doing herself any favors by signing me up for a line of credit.

"Well, I'm already halfway through and I can't cancel it now. You'll just have to cancel it when you get the card."

It was at this point that I very nearly walked out. I'm not coming to your bank to be given homework. I want to deposit money and then eventualy, use it. I don't want you to automatically do anything to my account. I WANT YOU TO KEEP YOUR DAMN HANDS OUT OF MY BUSINESS. JUST LET ME BE!

Since you are trapped, while waiting in line, by watching a large screen television which had coverage of Michael Jackson going (cuz NOTHING ELSE IS HAPPENING IN THE WORLD), she kept trying to make small talk. She was marveling at how long they were taking to get him buried "and I just don't see how they can preserve a body that long".

Ever hear of Lenin?

Trust me, there is no part of that man that could qualify as being normal. He's looked like a walking corpse for years. I'm sure he's going to look exactly the same five years after being six feet under.

I felt like such an exhausted bitch at that point that I didn't even care how I sounded. I very nearly grabbed onto the third rail of his penchant for sleeping with young boys but we finally got up to the window so I let it be.

Yeah. I have money in an account that I can use anywhere I might want to go.

Let's never speak of this again.

I Need A Personal Assistant

Better living through chemistry has kicked in over the past three days but I'm still "Princess Put Your Foot In It".

I used to work retail and I know what a suck assed job it can be but the ability to read a person and realize that "this is a person that just wants to pay for their merchandise and get the hell out", is a gift from the gods.

I went to the mall yesterday. Now, if you know ANYTHING about me, you will realize that this statement, in and of itself, is HILARIOUS. I would sooner be water-boarded but at the end of a session of "unconventional negotiation techniques", I doubt that they hand you a pair of black slacks.

Two freakin' hours. TWO HOURS AT THE MILLER HILL MALL! I kept crossing paths with tweens and queens over and over again and at the end of the day I had an undeniable urge to watch High School Musical.

I am able to find jeans that fit me in resale shops but slacks are a different story. I have three pairs of black slacks that I got, all for under $3.00 each, and every last one of them is now too big. Trust me on this, when you're running down the corridors at the courthouse, fantasizing about murder but powerless to do anything but scream, the LAST thing that you want running through your mind is "SHIT! My pants are falling down!"

And should I ever be in a position where I am gang tackled by security guards and wrestled to the ground, I would prefer the security cameras not get a glimpse of my ass crack.

After all, a girl has standards.

Thus, I was looking for a pair of pants and went into every single shop, even the ones that card you at the door and turn you away for being over 18. (Once I hit 35, I had a reverse fake ID made).

Finally I found a pair of pants that fit me. And I will state here and now that the sales girl was FABULOUS! She did everything right. She greeted me at the door, she told me that she would help me find anything. She directed me to the changing rooms. Let it be said that it was the best service I have had by someone under the age of 21 in forever.

But there comes a point at check out that I just want to pay and leave. I don't want to be coerced into a credit card. After I say "No, thank you," three times, you have officially worn me down. Congratulations.

So when I was posed with the question "So, where are you wearing these cute pants to?" I hesitated and just said "oh, just around."

"Like, to work...around? Or are you doing to a wedding? Someplace fun??? Come on! It has to be someplace fun, right?"

"I'm wearing them to court," I told her. "But don't worry, I'm not the one being incarcerated. If I were, I sure as heck wouldn't pay this much for a pair of pants. That's what Wal-Mart's for."

"Wow," she handed me my bag. "Bummer."

And that is why I need a personal assistant.

Or at least someone to follow me around with duct tape. Someone that knows me and will rip off a strip of duct tape and wordlessly hand it over when I am going to say something unfortunate. I could have easily lied and told her I had a wedding to go to but then I would have stood there and began to imagine just what kind of a wedding and I would have been thinking up colors for the bridesmaids dresses and the flavor of the cake and people would have been lining up behind me to pay as I came to the sudden realization that it shouldn't be JUST a wedding, it should be a gay wedding held on the front lawn of the local holy roller church. Sort of a "drive by" matrimonial protest. By the time I would have gotten to where I could purchase two men or two women for the top of the cake, 911 would have been called because I would have a vacant look in my eyes and a considerable string of drool coming out of my mouth. It has been shown that people with overactive imaginations can indeed induce seizures when overstimulated. All that disco dancing back in the 70's? Not dancing...just seizures.

Thankfully, the woman at the Target pharmacy was as game for a good laugh as I was when I went to pick up my stronger anxiety meds. She asked if I wanted to put them on auto-refill and I told her that it was unnecessary, I was only going to be crazy until the end of June. I then promised her that if I had any psychotic breakdowns, I would shop at Walgreens at the Plaza.

"Because I don't think I would be the first to do that and I don't have the energy to be a trailblazer."

She gave me a brilliant smile and said "And you can't imagine how much we appreciate that!"



So far, interviews for a personal assistant have been a little rocky. This one seems to think he should have editorial powers as well.

Please Sir, Can You Be A Little More Obnoxious?

Every now and then, a single individual comes along to put a shiny sharp point on the fact that there are a frightening amount of people in this world that need to be beaten with a sack of doorknobs.

As I stated earlier, having the criminal hearing and our garage sale back to back was a little bit overwhelming. After our morning in court on Friday, the rest of the day was spent prepping for the garage sale. I woke up at 3 am and went to bed at 11:30 pm. It was a long day.

I had put the ad in the paper for Friday and Saturday and as I was in the garage on Friday, some old guy pulls up in his truck. He has "dealer" written all over him but frankly, at that point, if someone had pulled up and asked to brew a batch of Meth in my bathtub, I probably would have just mumbled "bathroom's up the stairs and on the right."

"I know your sale is tomorrow but do you mind if I look right now? I just got paid and I have cash."

Keep in mind, less than two hours ago, I had listened to a painful description of exactly what my husband was pleading guilty to. I had a posse of people holding me up as I bawled my damn eyes out in the frickin' courthouse hallway. FYI: I don't cry in public (except for the grocery store. Organic produce makes me VERY EMOTIONAL).

So, the strange man who will now be called "God Damn Prick" (GDP for short, of course), starts rummaging around my sale after I looked up at him like a deer caught in the headlights. "I guess..." I faltered.

"So, you don't have this marked, what do you want for it?" He asked this at least three times.

"These sales really take a lot of work. You look really tired."

"Here, I owe you three dollars but I'm giving you five dollars, you look like you could use a good meal."

He needed to come back and pick up some lumber (from the dining room remodel) today. I told him to come back after 4 pm. He came at 1.

I went to open the garage door and he told me to stop because "that's not a woman's job"

"You look a lot different today. You're not wearing a sweater like you were last time." (I was wearing a tank top today.)

He then handed me two dollars for the glass blocks in my front yard. I was completely confused by this but I had some bricks for sale and thought that was what he was referring to.

Since I was making homemade pudding, I had to get back to the stove. I let him load up on the lumber.

Next thing I know, he was opening my garbage bags (which are the big contractor bags) and looking through my trash.

Then he wandered to the front yard and was walking through my flower garden which covers my front lawn. My daughter came and told me that there was a freak in the garden so I went outside.

"Where are your glass blocks? I came back for your glass blocks."

I told him I didn't have any glass blocks. I never had glass blocks. I thought he was talking about bricks.

Come to find out, there apparently was a house somewhere in my neighborhood with glass blocks in the garden. I gave him his two dollars back and said "Well, I guess you have what you need now."

He then proceeded to ask me what garden fixtures I wanted to sell.

"Yeah, you need to leave now." I waved him off to his truck and then stood there with my arms crossed.

I don't suppose it's a woman's job to rip off a strange man's scrotum and shove it down his throat either but I've always been a bit of a trailblazer.

Mother's Day Has Gone From Suck To Blow

Same old post every year. I hate Hallmark holidays. I hate Mother's Day. In years past, it was always the "Let's go out for dinner" comment from STBX that would just drive a nail through my forehead. One of the many MANY times that I would be annoyed beyond comprehension and yet...shhhhhhh...not say a word.

When faced with a parent that was never a parent, that would just sit off in the corner and snark at everyone and be awful to be around yet felt like he could get off the parental hook by taking me out to dinner for mother's day and let me know "how much I appreciate you".

How about showing your appreciation 364 days a year by getting off your fat ass and acting like a father? Remember me? I'm the nerdy kid in centerfield, looking up into the sun and yelling "A LITTLE HELP HERE! I NEED A LITTLE HELP!" Oh, but that's right, you were too busy molesting your daughter, downloading porn off the internet, and hooking up with your girlfriend in World of Warcraft.

Naaa. I'm not bitter. Not bitter at all.

Yesterday was fun though.

I went down to Shepherd's Harvest and spent several hours cruising the vendors and the animals, freezing my ass off, and eating 200 pounds of kettle corn. I got to meet up with many, many friends from the cities and surrounding environs and when I got home, I found an envelope in my knitting bag. Someone had stuck money and food gift cards in my knitting bag at some point during the day. The kids each got a cash envelope as well.

I hope it never sounds like a broken record, but my friends are AMAZING.

Practice Makes Perfect

The jerk of a urologist called yesterday to inform me that he spoke to the pharmacy and I WAS WRONG. It wasn't $500 a month, it's only $274 SO SUCK IT!

Well, that's about $270 too much big boy so I s'pect ya'll better look at your college text books one more time and figure out something different.

You know, when people delight in finding out you're wrong and present you with a steaming turd and act like it's applesauce, it makes you think they might have some sociological issues.

Or it might make you think of your STBX.

This shitbag will run you over with the proverbial steamroller and then back up and roll over you again. Perhaps he will be giggling when he does it.

I've been working lately on confrontations. I'm trying to learn to express my feelings without curling up in a ball of angry silence or flying off the handle at inappropriate people (my two favorite reactions to living with an asshole for 17 years). It takes a lot of practice with everyday situations that I would normally just let go and feel like shit afterwards.

When I called the courthouse to check on where I was supposed to hand in the piece of paper from STBX's lawyer that said he received the name change paperwork, the woman literally would not let me finish a single sentence. She would jump in and assume what the question would be and each and every time, she assumed wrong. Perhaps I would have confronted her in the past but I probably would have just said "screw it", hang up the phone, and take a chance at finding the right person once I got there. It would have pissed me off and I would have been grumbling about it for an hour, driving everyone around me NUTS.

Not this time! I let this annoyance that passes for a civil servant (an uncivil servant?) talk her way into silence and then I said "Now that you're done telling me the wrong answer to a question I never asked, will you allow me to finish my sentence so I can get the proper information from you?"

She gawped a bit at me and then let me ask my question. She answered it. It took twenty seconds total once she shut the fuck up and stopped putting words into my mouth.

Next stop? The post office!

Cranky and Lovin' It

This morning I am feeling full of piss and vinegar.

Or at least piss.

Just a sec.

There...that's better.

I went to the Y and worked out for a couple hours and ended up staggering outside and being barely able to lift my arms to open my oh so heavy car door.

It's all good.

I then got home to a letter from STBX which is his lawyer's notification that the application for name change has been served. Just seeing that p.o.s's signature makes me cranky.

CRANKY I TELLS YA.

OK...a little too much testosterone in the air at the cardio center and I am poisoned. POISONED. I'm feeling the need to mark my territory, write my name in the snow, and shoot a small animal.

I took my coffee on the veranda today (white trash illusion: it's a skanky back porch) and as I was sitting very, very still, two squirrels ran up to me and sat about five inches away from my feet as they ate food and chattered away.

Just ignore me squirrels...someday I will eat you.

Can't Win. Don't Try.

It was probably about three weeks ago (too lazy to go back and read the posts and find out) when the snark princess from the victim's reparation fund told me, as I sobbed into my end of the phone, that it didn't matter what the hell problems I had, she needed a copy of the police report in order to proceed with releasing the funds for my daughter and I to see mental health professionals. I was not allowed to make an appointment until I got their go ahead.

So I called people.

And I called more people.

And finally, the police report appeared where it needed to appear.

I then received a letter that said we had been approved. I was now allowed to go ahead and make our appointments.

I immediately made our appointments and we saw the intake person on Friday.

Today, I got a letter in the mail saying we had been denied because we didn't go to our appointment where we said we were going AND our insurance would cover it.

Hmmmm. Kinda funny since we did go to our appointment and we don't have insurance.

I don't have the energy to scream anymore.

I called and left a message with princess snark. This woman deals with crime victims on a daily basis and is such a bitch that I'm amazed her phone message doesn't say "Please just shoot yourself and make my job easier."

I can only hope that it is her incompetence that screwed this process up. I can only hope that we really haven't been denied and all of this will get ironed out.

Right now though, I don't even know if I have the energy to hope.

I am so very tired.

Today's Forecast-Partly Bitchy With An Increase In Malaise

It's 4 am and I'm checking to see if schools have been canceled yet. When there isn't school, I don't have to go into work. There is nothing like the site of two teenagers and one adult transfixed by the tv screen. It's bigger than the Super Bowl around here. It's the trill of victory and the agony of defeat.

Thus far, it's pretty agonizing.

My daughter and I finally got word that our victim's reparation funds were approved and we get to go to our initial intake for a counselor this morning. Unfortunately, it appears that we must return to school and work after that.

Damn Mother Nature!

I don't know why I'm so disappointed. I'm spending the weekend with friends and a snowy trip to the cities really wouldn't be a good thing.

Still.

Damn Mother Nature!

Both dogs are staring at me right now. The fact that I am up and about means that they, of course, need to go outside. Just because I'm two hours earlier than usual means nothing.

And it's snowy.
And cold.
And I am feeling horribly un-Minnesotan today.

Nice ain't got nothin' on this bitch.

Damn Mother Nature.

As any high school floosie will tell you, if you're gonna do it at all, you might as well go all the way.

Or so I've heard.

Freud Doesn't Live Here

I hate it when people apologize for not updating their blogs.

Obviously, they feel that they need to apologize for having a REAL life. Well, ask any of my extended family and they'll tell you how much I apologize for nothing.

Actually the whole disappearing into silence thing is rather common for me in my real life. I've been pondering the whole "Am I a bad relative because I just keep my head down and live my own life and only come up for high holy days and only then when there is beer?" We will be spending the winter holidays in the same manner that we spend all holidays. Surrounded by the entirety of us and only us.

Ours is a marriage of black sheep. When we got hitched, our goal was to live somewhere far away from our relatives and when homesteading in Alaska fell through (I had second thoughts about having to chew through the umbilical cord after giving birth on the barren frozen tundra while fending off wolves. And after seeing Sarah Palin, I think I chose wisely.) we ended up in Duluth, MN.

All of this crap has been rolling around in my head as I've been to a couple of functions where my obvious distaste for small talk and most normal human interactions had me leaning up against the wall in the background sending emo-waves out to all the teenagers. As people tried to approach me with clever little stories of their lives, all I could think about was this: My entire life has been a paean to being a sullen prickly outsider. I can be quite fun at parties, dinners, and the occasional bris, but I have to choose when and where to open up. There are times when I stand in a crowd at a function and I just want to scream at how incredibly boring it all is and then I do a gut check and think, perhaps , just perhaps, I am a HUGE FUCKING BITCH.

Not to put too fine a point on it.

Do social butterflies have to put on their game face before hitting the streets? Does the Queen of England ever turn to Phillip and say "Damn it all! I don't want to go to the embassy tonight! Let's order Chinese!" Do I have to stand in the middle of crowds with a frozen look on my face as I think back to the little girl that I was in kindergarten who only colored with the black crayons and played alone on the playground? Or can I just realize that the entire weight of the intellectual world does not ride on how interesting or stimulating Mrs. Blue Eye Shadow's story is. Perhaps, just perhaps, I need to get over myself.

Applying Strong Upward Motion To The Bootstraps

Random observations from the past two weeks of my life:

I drove from Cloquet to Duluth and witnessed gas prices at five different gas stations. Highest price? $2.70. Lowest price? $2.49. Some people obviously aren't getting the memo.

I ordered half a pig awhile ago from Green Pastures Dairy. My little piggy went to market on Tuesday. Wednesday night, my little piggy was in my freezer. I know have bacon for the apocalypse. I also have an entire chest freezer filled with porcine goodness as well as farm raised chickens and buffalo. Next week? Power outage!

The Youth Exchange jerk from the previous post apologized for my "misinterpretation" of his behavior. I registered my complaint with another member of the interview panel and he came back with his apology which, I must admit, is quite funny. He is restrained and well mannered and asks my daughter to reconsider because she was chosen to go onto the next tier of interviews. Her response? Yeah, started with an "F", ended with a "U".

My son started taking Russian this week. My daughter can speak to him in Japanese, he can sputter out some basic Russian, and I can sit between them like Bill Murray in Lost in Translation.

While watching the news and learning about folks that decided to buy a home fifty miles away from the husband's job in an upscale suburb, I watched the guy talk about how gas prices made him put $250 into his SUV every two days and yes, they were three months behind on their house payment, and yes, they bought more house than they really needed but it was so AFFORDBALE at the time, and then learning that this guy had access to a light rail line which connected to a bus which could get him to work but his answer to that was "I'm not the kind of guy to take public transportation", well, I really have a hard time mustering up sympathy for this family. But don't worry, they're voting for the party that has the most faith in Jesus because hey, as you know, SUV's run on faith. I on the other hand, was the un-american who was shouting at my tv that these rotten turds were probably going to get bailed out with my tax money. Here are your bootstraps bitches, I suggest you use them.

On the flip side, I got a call from the DFL a couple nights ago with an extremly pushy woman that suggested I donate $150. She was amazing in her ability to read her script and not deviate in the least. I snorted at the suggestion of $150 and told her I needed to buy food for my family. She actually came back with "But you obviously don't realize how important the issues are ma'am." "Really?" I asked her. "More important than gas in my car, food for my children, and paying off the thousands of dollars in medical debt that we have because we're uninsured? Really?" She then launched right back into her script as if I had just told her I would be selling off one of my summer homes and a yacht tomorrow. I finally broke in and told her that if she continued, I would vote for Norm Coleman and it would be all her fault. It was at this point that she discontinued the call.

As Fannie Lou Hamer said so eloquently, "I am sick and tired of being sick and tired."

Did Your Mommy Not Breastfeed You???

My daughter had her interview to be a foreign exchange student in Japan. This after having had one last year and being told that she couldn't go to Japan because she didn't know enough Japanese. She has spent the last year rockin' the Nippon Casba and now can understand conversational Japanese as well as a lot of the mysteries of Japanese culture.

The new person in charge of the foreign exchange has demonstrated prickatude to an amazing degree. Prickatude and incompetence. After being a month late on the interviews and a half hour late for my daughter's interview, he explained that my daughter would probably like to go to Brazil instead. There are more slots in Brazil...

And she can go there and shop!

Yes. That is what he said.

My daughter would love to go to art school in Japan. She would love to live there one day. She has worked diligently to understand a very intricate culture. And this leering, creepy son of a bitch thinks she just needs to go somewhere and lay on the beach and go shopping.

There were two other women in the interview who thankfully protested at this comment and said that "Obviously, she is after a deeper experience than shopping."

"Yeah," Mr. Prick snorted. "Right!"

Every answer either one of us gave was met by sneering condescension and smart ass comments that were totally inappropriate and completly unfunny. I actually had to take a deep breath a couple times and tell myself not to completly take this fucker out as he so desperately needed it. I ended up keeping my seething tone under control and whenever he said something like "I don't think you understand the situation. Your kid is gonna come back in a year and be a totally different person," all the while keeping a smirk on his face to let me know that I obviously rode the short bus, I parried with "I don't think you understand the situation. I used to work overseas. I KNOW how it changes a person. That's WHY I want her to be able to go."

So, this is the horse's ass that is supposed to be my contact stateside if my daughter goes overseas. This is also the creepy fucker that gives you the sense that he's only doing this for the chance to look down a teenage girl's shirt. When he was describing the beaches in Brazil, I think he gave himself a hard on.

Needless to say, my daughter is now coming to the realization that she will have to travel to two different conferences with this guy if she goes overseas. One conference in North Dakota and the other in Michigan. She has said that this will not be happening.

What's the Japanese phrase for "creepy middle age condecending potential teenage titty toucher"?

I don't know...but it has something to do with disappointment.

Quality Control

Dear Pakastani Child That Made My New Winter Coat:

Hi There! Yes, I am the white, middle America type woman that purchased the coat you made. I really love it, no seriously, really. I'm going for a total Dennis Weaver McCloud look.















I think it accentuates my new glasses and smaller ass and believe me, what I say can totally bring the fashion world to a screeching halt. Yes, I am THAT powerful.

That being said, I must bring up this one concern.
What is it with you people and buttons these days?

I know your hands are tiny. I know the building that you are working in is probably an unheated cinderblock affair. I know you probably are a kindergarten drop out because your parents needed you to get off your lazy ass and EARN YOUR KEEP. After all, it ain't sunshine and fairy dust putting food into the mouths of your ten brothers and sisters (although we all know how expendible those sisters probably are).

But SHIT! The buttons on my stylin' Dennis Weaver coat are hanging by a thread as were the buttons on the last coat I bought. I also just spent a LABORIOUS afternoon sewing buttons on my husband's shirt since they were also hanging by a tear soaked thread.

I am seriously thinking about finding you. Have you no concept of quality control? Doesn't that scary man with the cat o nine tails standing over you inspire you to SEW THOSE FUCKIN BUTTONS ON A LITTLE TIGHTER???

I don't need this frustration my little friend. Don't you realize how much stress I'm under right now? I'm trying to pay my house payment. I'm trying to pay my heating. I'm looking at an unemployed spouse at the end of the month. I don't have health care. The windows in my house are older than I am and twice as cold and drafty. I can't afford a new coat right now but I needed one since my old coat was the size of a circus tent and now I discover, MY FUCKING BUTTONS ARE LOOSE.

I think you need to take a serious look at your job quality and think about your motivations for being where you are. Perhaps it's time to move on? Perhaps you need to consider your CUSTOMER for a change.

Thank you.

For You, I Will Grow My Hair

The past three weeks have taught me something vital. Diplomacy can only go so far and timewasters and assholes need to be given the opportunity to have a blinding moment of self realization.

On the timewaster front, when you move an office building there is an incredibly important thing that everyone must realize. Everyone's applecart has been upended and before you come running to me with your complaints, ask yourself one thing...in the present context, does this really matter?

Things that are important? Oh, getting the internets back up, getting everyone's computer going, getting the copier going, getting the phones going...yeah, you get my drift.

Things that don't matter? That the water pitcher that I brought for myself but which I am willing to share with others as long as they fill it after using, makes the water taste funny because it doesn't have a lid. I believe my look of deadpan "YOUHAVEGOTTOBEFUCKINGKIDDINGME" conveyed my emotions rather handily.

"If you don't like it...don't drink it."

Oh my God! This IS rocket science!

Next, there was the concerned observation that the automatic ice machine wasn't making enough ice. Hmmm. Really? Let's see, we plugged it in less than twelve hours ago. Can we perhaps find something a little more pressing to bug me about?

It has been death by a thousand cuts over the past three weeks so when I left work yesterday afternoon and was accosted by a twentysomething guy in baggy pants and messy hair, I was just a little bit pissed off.

"What is it with all you women and your short hair!" He snarled at me.

I think I stopped and gaped like a fish out of water for a moment and then asked him
"What? We're not supposed to be able to wear our hair like we want to?"

"Well, I don't like it!" He shot back.

"Well, thankfully," I informed him "Your opinion doesn't matter at-fucking-all to me."

As I pushed past him to go to my car, all I could think of was one thing.

Now why didn't I use that line three weeks ago???

A Big Fat Annoyance

There is a woman I know who is perhaps the craziest bat shit insane person out on the streets, pretending to be a normal member of society. I believe I have alluded to her before but there are times when I have to sit back and simply marvel at her level of fuck-upedness.

As soon as she meets you, she is asking inappropriate questions, prying into your life, and trying to figure out where your weak spots are. Once she has that figured out, she continually strikes, often asking the same question over and over and over, barely taking a breath, until you are forced to answer, walk away, or pull out a shot gun. In all reality, I'm amazed that someone hasn't done the later already.

An example of her torment? Pulling out her boobs in a public place after having a boob job to show to an aquaintence who had just had a mastectomy. We're talking high class here.

So recently, she had gastric band surgery. And a couple days ago, I wore a new pair of pants that are actually the size that I need, as opposed to the pants that are three sizes too big (Forty two pounds now lost-thank you very much!) that I wear with my husband's belt. (I'm always free to give fashion advice...just give me a ring!)

Well, leading up to her surgery, she has done nothing but bitch and moan about how little she was allowed to eat! She was STARVING! Those kids in Africa had NOTHING on her SUFFERING! All this time I kept quiet and didn't tell her that even though she was bitching, I was still eating 200 calories a day less than her. I tell this woman NOTHING!

So, she asks me if I've lost weight and one of my very supportive friends pipes up and says "Yeah! She's lost over forty pounds!"

And so it starts.

I always carry fruit in my purse and whenever she sees me eating, she's asking me repeatedly, "Bet you don't want that...bet you don't want that,,,bet you want something sweet...bet you want some chocolate..." She also stands close to me, phones people on her cell phone, and talks loudly to them about how she knows this person who has lost over forty pounds but that they probably have bulemia..."

The one thing that thankfully, I knew to do when I first met this woman, was not to engage. It drives her NUTS! So, no matter how much I want to wrap my scrawny arms around her neck and give a sharp twist, I just sit at my computer.

I am the Cheshire Cat. I will smile blithly until you choke on your own venom.

But I have to admit, after seeing The Dark Knight three times and telling my daughter that I would cosplay The Joker if she cosplayed Batman, I really want to show this woman the pencil trick.