Only Nola

On the Road Again

I'm such the world traveler. Here I sit, typing my heart out for the betterment of all mankind, from the depths of a Cambodian den of... I mean a Peruvian house of... Oh, fine, have it your way. I'm at my cousin's in Kansas City. Three WHOLE hours from my house. Am I not brave and daring and totally sophisticated?

And tired. Don't forget tired.

I am trying to work up both the desire and the energy to shower and change clothes. As can be expected, I didn't realize until I was unpacking last night that I forgot my belt (that SO goes with my new outfit), so I'm going to have to face the world today as one of the accessory challenged. And hope my pants don't fall down around my ankles. Sure, festive for anyone watching, but not so much for the one (that would be me) with my frozen ass waving in the breeze. Well, not so much waving, since that is something no ass should ever be able to do (pretty sure that qualifies as a medical condition, if not grounds for never. leaving. home. AGAIN.), but you get the point.

Where was I?

It's just me and Connor up here at my cousin's. Jonathan and I are taking a couple of days to staple our heads back on in an attempt to avoid killing each other. 'Cause nothing says love like avoiding bloodshed. See how I make the jokes? Watch me smile in the face of adversity! Making with the light and making stiff of the upper lip!

(...)

Phhhhttt.

Well, I'm sure my husband will be eternally grateful if I avoid going into all the details, so suffice it to say that we're ... um... facing a few problems. I'm trying to remain optimistic.

Oh, and by the way? Here's a story about work which, when compounded with the situation at home? Will highlight why this is one of my least favorite weeks in the history of man.

There's this bitch in my office (well, actually, there's a little group of which she is the ringleader. Gaggle of bitches? Herd? Flock? Rash? I'm going with rash. A veritable RASH of bitches. (...) I like it.) that, for whatever reason, has decided to hate me. Fine, whatever. Like I'm not used to people hating me? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Sorry.

Anyhoo. Hating me is one thing. Calling me names and completely disrespecting me in front of the office staff? Also one thing. Offending the gods of all things attractive and doing things to hair and make-up that strike fear in the hearts of men the world over? Yet again, one thing.

Threatening bodily harm to my 8 year old son?

(...)

Whole 'nother issue.

The story is long and involved and I don't have time to go into all the bullshit right now, but this cunt and her minions were all, in the MIDDLE. OF. THE. SALES. DEPARTMENT., discussing (I wasn't around for this, by the way... was not aware of it until after the fact. Hence this unwinding as a much different story than it would have the other way.) how they'd 'give me one less mouth to feed', 'tie him up and throw him under an oncoming car', something to the effect of 'see his guts get ripped out', etc.

Isn't that festive?

To top it off, they decided that he 'must be retarded, because look at his mother... and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'

Oh, these girls! They kill me! They're so witty! And kind! And... completely lacking in both a grip on reality and a moral compass.

We're talking about an EIGHT YEAR OLD CHILD, people! Not only an 8 year old, but a very well behaved 8 year old (I have witnesses and signed affadavits. Ask around.) without a mean bone in his body. And these twats, not content to keep their viciousness focused on me, whether I deserve it or not, widened their nets to include an innocent boy. They have the sense and compassion previously only found in lava rocks.

There's been this whole thing at work this week due to their actions/words. Drama, drama, drama. I'll try and report more later, if I can manage to find any enthusiasm for rehashing the whole thing one more time, but let me summarize by saying that the management? Has pretty much let these women (and I use the term loosely) off the hook completely. I've never been so stunned in my life. This is taking care of the problem? They had employees (other than me) tell them they would quit if something wasn't done about these women, and yet? Gee, look at them sitting back there, smug as can be. Not looking too chastened at this point. More like cats that ate the canary. With cream.

I need my job and I need to maintain my sense of dignity and maturity. I have handled this with all the reason and logic I could muster, even when I wanted to whip out a spork. I'm an adult. Right?

Being a grown up sucks balls.

*sighs*

I feel retail therapy coming on.

Fuckwits Abound

I'm not sure why I'm ever surprised at the levels of dipshittery I encounter in the world. You'd think by now my standards for people would be about as low as humanly possible. People suck. Not you, of course, but those other people. You know the ones I'm talking about. The ones who damned near drive you off the road to squeeze in between you and the car in front of you, 'cause that one extra car length? Proves they have a penis. Behold, the wonder that IS their genitalia! We are all properly awed. Assbag. Or the ones that pick the day of the SECOND ICE AGE, when everyone and their pocket-dog is in Wal-Mart stocking up so that they don't have to resort to eating their cats, to try their hand at the miracle of Self-Checkout. Sure, they don't know the procedure, never have their debit card handy, can't quite get the hang of that whole 'scan item and place in bag' conundrum, and have about 300 hostile natives in line behind them, but this is America... their right to be a fuckwit of astounding proportions is in the constitution. If they happen to leave the store with a large can of green beans shoved up their ass, well... I can't be held responsible for that.

And yet, somehow, there are always more.

I was at the mall yesterday. I know, I know... the mall is hell, I hate the mall, it inflicts the pain of a thousand burning suns, blah blah blah. But dammit, I needed new clothes. Where else was I supposed to go? Jiffy Lube?

The mall is always rife with people who should have been weeded out of the herd a loooooooong time ago, but yesterday I came exceptionally close to actually walking up and popping a teen-age boy dead in the eye. Really. Fucker deserved it. My only hope is that Karma was taking notes and he was mowed down in the parking lot by a runaway street sweeper.

I was walking along in the mall and noticed two teenage boys walking in my direction as they headed for (of course) Spencer's. For those of you who have missed the joy that is, indeed, Spencer's, it's a strange little store full of odd toys, gag gifts, adult games (both of a drinking and sexual nature), black-lights... you know, all the things that no frat house would be the same without. As they get close to me, I see them look over across the concourse to my left (their right... as if it really matters). The slovenly kid (roughly, oh... 15? Totally guessing here. Old enough to get laid, unappealing enough to ensure that will NEVER happen) on my right says, quite loudly, 'Fuckin' cock slinger!' . My eyebrows shoot up and I come to a stop, looking over to see who/what they're referring to. They pass me and are entering Spencer's as, much to my dismay, I see their target...

A United States Marine.

A UNITED STATES MARINE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

I see the Marine has heard the little fuckers, but what can he do? He can't go pummel them, much as they deserve, 'cause I'm pretty sure there's a rule about that somewhere. He gets to just walk on and try and pretend it didn't happen. I exchanged a brief look with him (this is where I dropped the ball, but all I can say is that I was so stunned that I threw a breaker or something. I literally could not wrap my head around what had just happened.), shook my head, and went on about my business in a bit of a fog. I was just dumbfounded.

I know there are people who don't approve of what we're doing in Iraq. I get it, I get it. That does NOT make it acceptable for some spoiled, hygiene-challenged, pimple-faced, overweight, rude little son of a bitch to boldly demean one of our soldiers in public. No matter what someone thinks of the activity in Iraq, the fact remains that if this country was attacked or in any sort of danger, that Marine that was just so horribly insulted would be the one putting his life on the line to SAVE little grease stains like that. It's BECAUSE of men in uniform, just. like. HIM. , that we have the freedom to live the way we do. And this kid thinks that his actions are acceptable. Obviously. He seemed almost proud of what he was doing. Mind you, he was also very safe because the same rights that that Marine and all his brothers fight for keep him from being able to stomp a hole in that kid's ass, so the rampant hypocrisy is mind-boggling. If you don't see what I'm talking about, 3 more paragraphs outlining it (with charts! and laser pointers!) won't help. We'll just assume you're all brighter than a loaf of bread and TOTALLY get it.

I have faith in my readers. Stupid people break out in hives and leave quickly. You people? You're damned near brain surgeons to have been here this long. I may give out certificates. Accreditation!

Anyway. I don't need to ask who's raising kids like this. People with no moral compass and, apparently, no time to bother making sure that their offspring has something to contribute to society other than an overall sense of loathing. See... THIS is why I don't like other people's children most of the time.

Man, I started out with the intention of writing this great post about my shopping experience (I'll have to make notes and post it in a day or two) and got totally derailed by my desire to go after a fuckwit...

WITH A SPORK!

*bangs head on desk*

Iceberg Ahead!

Well, for those of you who have been living under a rock for the last week, it's been a little piece of icy hell here in Springfield, Missouri. We were without power at my house from Friday to Monday, which was a kind of festive heretofore unencountered by man. Nothing like spending a few days eating things that you hope haven't turned into little Ptomaine fiesta's while huddled in front of a gas fireplace with no blower (and FYI? Gas fireplaces put out SHIT for heat compared to regular ones. Just in case you were wondering. And I know you were.) and cats that apparently can't take a power outage without turning into miniature homicidal maniacs. Special, my watermelon-shaped cat? Still hasn't recovered. He's spending all his spare time growling at Puffmeister, with random hissing and spitting thrown in for emphasis, while running by to hide under the nearest piece of furniture that will accommodate his FAT ASS. This makes his choices limited.

What a week.

Luckily, we have power now. Obviously. I haven't quite yet mastered the 'writing a post for my blog using nothing but my miraculous powers of telepathy' thing yet. Give me time. I'll try and get into my photo editing thingy in the next day or two and size some pictures of the local devastation in my next post. All joking aside, it's really horrible. Tens of thousands of people here STILL have no power... shelters are all full, hotels are packed, the damage to the local tree population is incalculable. You drive around town and it just breaks your heart. Huge old trees are just decimated. Homes are laid open by falling branches, and in some cases entire trees, gouging giant holes in roofs all over the area, flattening cars, tearing down power lines... it's not a pretty site. I'm grateful that our house suffered no damage (at least *knocks on wood* nothing we've been able to spot yet. Can't be sure of anything until the ice melts off, since the gutters and whatnot may still pop up as wrecked once everything thaws out. The ice basically acts as a brace... the news has been talking at length about how so many things (trees, gutters, fences, etc.) that may seem to be fine are actually going to fall apart as soon as the inches thick ice departs. Scary thought.) and that we did at least have the minimal heat of our gas fireplace. Lots of people didn't have even that much, so we're very lucky. I'm thankful for the safety of my family and my pets. When it first started hitting here, people were all 'Why don't you go to a hotel and wait it out?' What? And leave my familyfurballs to fend for themselves? ARE YOU ON CRACK? I wasn't even going to consider abandoning them to their own devices until such a time it became absolutely necessary. Thank God it never did. And on a brighter note?

Remember the resolution I made regarding my hair and cutting implements?

(...)

Shot to shit.

I know, I know... I should be studied by a team of professionals. And I don't mean plumbers. But what can I say? Other than be grateful I finished the cut and color minutes before we lost power, that is. 'Cause I was minutes away from being stuck looking like I lost a wrestling match with a demented weed-whacker. But, happily, good luck prevailed and now I look like I won the wrestling match with the demented weed-whacker. TKO.

*sighs*

Well, the upside is that the hair on my head is now too short for me to cut it any more, so I'll NOW be abiding by my resolution whether I like it or not. You can't cut what you can't see. Trust me. I know. What to do when the urge to cut strikes?

(...)

*eyeballs the cat*

Peek-a-boo

Hellooooooooooooooooooo, readers! Miss me? I know, I know... I suck, I should be shot, I have the attention span of a deranged flea, I lack focus, I... (...) Oh, look, a chicken!

Sorry. Where was I?

Time flies when your life is having a hard time deciding if it's going to settle on mind-numbing boredom or economy-sized drama. I'll go two or three days with no thoughts more complex than 'Hmm... how exactly does one clip the cats nails without losing an eye?' and then, suddenly... WHAMMO! Everything switches to something resembling 78 r.p.m. Don't ask me how it happens. I'm an innocent bystander.

Sort of.

Right now I'm dealing with some issues with my 8 year old. Book learnin'-wise and please-don't-make-me-start-saving-bail-money wise. Okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration. Maybe. It seems he's finally snapped after all that he's been through for the last 4 years. He's riding an apathy wave when faced with any kind of school work, mixed with random bouts of defeatist attitude and heart-breaking self-loathing. Add that to the fact that he's taking after his mother (God help us all) and deciding that the quickest way to make friends is to annoy the shit out of classmates and teachers alike until they essentially want to wring your neck. 'Cause THAT'S the stuff lasting relationships thrive on. He's constantly afraid that if he's not the center of attention, the world as we know it will tilt off its axis and life will cease to exist. This wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the fact that he's going about getting said attention by alienating his entire peer group. Normally this wouldn't bother me, since I find children, in general, to be hateful little shits with the kindness and tact of Dr. Laura after about six stiff drinks, but since every child (especially one with the tender heart and sweet disposition my son has) needs friends, I'm a bit distressed. I'm trying to convince him that if he just relaxes and lets the other kids see him without all the cutting up and whatnot, they'll like him, but he pretty much gives me that look that reeks of 'This mom person knows not of what she speaks' and goes on his merry way. It must be the testosterone already rearing its ugly head.

So, there's THAT for me to handle. Next?

My job. The usual bullshit, blah blah blah. Nothing to see here, people... move it along.

The hubby and I are spending many festive periods finding new and amusing ways to try and render each other emotionally traumatized. I think soon I'm going to skip the emotional angle and go straight for pulling out his eyeballs. With a SPORK.

WHAT?!?!

Car tags are due on one vehicle. Property taxes are due. I had to fire my therapist (long story I might get into later). I had an allergic reaction to one of my meds... have I posted since I went on meds? Probably not. I was temporarily heavily medicated. Anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds. The anti-depressant was on a mission to kill me, so I had to go off of it after four days. Which sucks, since for the first two of those four days I was, more or less, stoned out of my mind courtesy of my prescription. I've never had that happen on anti-depressants, but I'm pretty sure I liked it a lot. Damn the luck that it also came with a raging case of nausea, loss of appetite, insomnia, skin irritation and headaches. Call me crazy, but I'd prefer not to waste away to a swizzle stick (like I'm not already close to that as it is) and scratch the skin right off my body. I'm still on the anti-anxiety stuff, but not sure how effective it is. I think a nice, long coma might be better.

Well, I have to go help Connor with some of his homework. I'll try and do better on the posting thing. Really. Just let me finish my next psychotic episode and we'll be in business.

*bangs head on desk*

2007… What Now?

I guess I should follow tradition here and post some resolutions. I think it's tradition, anyway... I vaguely remember doing it at least one other time on here, so we'll pretend that qualifies. Because I'm inherently lazy (and was in a car for like 6 hours today with two pre-pubescents and a disgruntled spouse... that totally lets me off of anything up to and including homicide.), I'm not going to go back and reread any previous resolution posts. This means there's a moderate to high risk of an occasional repeat.

I'm pretty sure you'll all live through it.

1.) I resolve to, at some point between Friday after work and Sunday before dinner, get out of my bathrobe. And not just to get in bed, either. Hey, I might live on the edge and even shower.

2.) I resolve to be the bigger person and not shove my new five inch heels straight up a hypothetical co-worker's ass. Notice I promise nothing about my favorite boots.

3.) I resolve to remember there is a litter box in need of cleaning BEFORE the cats come in and wake me up with a sharp rap upside the head with the scooper. Or at least to remind my husband. Why should I have all the fun?

4.) I resolve to pay more attention to the concept of a budget. It may cause some general confusion and random fits of boggling, not to mention a bit of internal bleeding, but life is pain. And full of people who want my money. Bloodsuckers.

5.) I resolve to (oh, man, this one's going to cause an embolism or something, I just know it.) become... a... BETTER CORRESPONDENT. There, I said it. I will no longer nod and smile at my inbound emails, assuming, however innocently, incorrectly that the person on the other end is able to sense my general feeling of goodwill and attentiveness. Action is called for. Involving typing. Or sometimes actual envelopes, pens, and, god forbid, STAMPS. (...) I feel faint.

6.) I resolve to stop cutting my hair every time I'm bored and/or dissatisfied with my general appearance. I'm going to restrict myself to every OTHER time I'm bored and/or dissatisfied with my general appearance. See how with the program I am?

7.) I resolve to be more involved with my son's school work. Just because I hated school is no reason for me to make the sign of the cross and hide under my bed hissing like a cat when I see him break out his backpack. I'll have to work on that.

And finally...

8.) I resolve to not judge the worth of my site and my writing on the number of comments/visitors that it receives. This one is actually serious. I can't sit and kick my ass every time a post goes by with no input from readers or I see a few days where the only visitors are the porn bots that apparently like me. A lot. People have actual lives and, strangely enough, often put them before something as earth-shattering as reading about what kind of service I had at McDonald's that day. Go figure. That's okay... they'll all be sorry when I'm Supreme Ruler of the Universe. HA!

Happy New Year to all of you. I'm going to go sell my soul to Pogo for the night. Not that I'm addicted or anything. Not at all. What?!? I COULD QUIT ANYTIME I WANTED, DAMMIT!

Phhhttt.