Rape at the Pharmacy

I'm pretty pissed off.  Not because I spent half my day going through file cabinets full of shit left behind by the last three admins spanning over the last 25 years or because they created a file folder for every single effing thing that ever came up and they used a butt-load of paperclips and metal clippy things, all of which I had to take off in order to put the paper in the shredding bin.  No, that isn't why.  I'm not even pissed because Ass Kicker made it so I walk like the Hunchback of Notre Dame after today's workout.  I'm pissed because I still have thrush in my mouth and I am on my fourth medication.  I'm pissed because the pharmacy thinks it is okay to charge someone $60 for aforementioned prescription.

Sure, it isn't the pharmacy's fault that I had a "complication" after my surgery.  It isn't the pharmacy's fault that my body decided to revolt in every way possible.  The injustice of it all really chaps my ass.  It isn't like I was off licking someone's infected body part to contract this.  It isn't like I didn't try everything possible to get rid of it.  But tonight, when the lady at the pharmacy, that looked a little like this,

advised me that it was going to be $60 bucks, I looked at her and said, "Did you run that through my insurance?"  I could barely understand her, but I believe she said yes. She mumbled some more stuff at me that I couldn't really understand.  My conclusion was that I was screwed.  And then, you can't even check out with your dignity.  The stupid card reader wants to know if you want to accept advice from the pharmacy.  Then it wants to know if you understand your rights, then you have to check a box saying that you understand your rights.  Then you have to agree to the drug, then you have to agree that you denied the pharmacist the right to mumble instructions at you.  Sign here.  Now put your pin number in...I was poking that damn card reader so hard, I'm pretty sure it is going to need a reboot before the next person uses it.
I decided I need to call those mother trucking, liver licking, scum sucking, ass sniffing, narcotic rapists tomorrow and get to the bottom of this.  This is bullshit! 

So, I'm driving home, still furious, and the old man in an old Ford truck in front of me turns on his turn signal for no apparent reason. It stayed on for the next five miles.  I wanted to ram his truck.  I could feel the anger boiling over.  I called Will to see if he was home.  He was.  I told him I was going to first, take out the old fart in the Ford, and then I was going to lynch the pharmaceutical company.  I was ranting.  He was quiet.  The conversation went something like this:

"Can you believe those f*ckers charged me that much?!  I'm over it!! From now on, NO MORE prescriptions!  I don't care if I get lesions, boils, moles, rashes, infections, my easy bake oven rages with fury or my appendages fall off.  I'm not spending one more dime with those assholes!  If my arm falls off, I'll just super glue it back on and staple it.  Then, if it gets gang green, I will just take the staples out and let it drop off.  I have one of those staple remover things at my desk at work.  I'm sick of this!  I'm going to get real ugly and the only way that we can get through this and have the money to afford Top Ramen is for me to come home and toink your eyes out so that you don't have to look at me being HIDEOUS!!! Do you hear me?!" 

Will was quiet, but replied, "I don't think that is the answer."  Clearly he doesn't understand that it is going to cost a lot to maintain this body. Sigh.  I am going to call them tomorrow though. I'm going to call them money grubbing narcotic rapists.  I don't have to take this.  They are going to pay, even if that just means the payment is a painful conversation with a pissed off fat girl with thrush in her mouth.  This isn't over.  Do you hear me MEDCO?!  I'm coming for you! Asshats.

I gotta go. I feel tense, and Lord knows I can't afford the medication to make me less tense...

Positive Energy is a Farce!

I did not wake up any different than any other day today. I did not make any specific attempts to be perky, nor sad. However, on the way in to work, the sun was shining, I put some "old school" NSYNC in the CD player and put my sunglasses on.  It felt good to be warm and it felt good to see the brightness all around me.  I thought, you know, this day might not suck.  I am going to go into it with no malice or pessimism and see what the day brings.

My plan of letting a calm, pleasant day happen went out the window by noon.  I was just sitting at my desk on my lunch hour, checking out Facebook and whatnot when someone starts to message me telling me about something she had found.  It led to what I thought was a conversation about writing styles, blogs, etc. It wasn't too long in and I was feeling like this person was on the defensive.  I was just speaking in general terms, but this person, as I was perceiving it, was getting a little offended.  I said I wasn't trying to offend anyone, just commenting.  Then, I felt like I was being attacked.  For crying out loud, so much for casual conversation, I tapped out.  I turned my attention over to my Facebook and notice some people were getting offended by a post I had put up earlier about feeling like Godzilla next to this really petite girl at work.  I wasn't saying anything bad about the petite girl.  I like her.  I wasn't saying anything bad about myself.  I kind of like me, depends on the day.  I wasn't saying, "OMG, I'm such a fatty, I look huge next to her," I was just saying I felt huge next to her.  It's just my humor, just how I roll.  Now people are telling me to shut up, people are telling me how that skinny girl might not like her body either.  Okay, WHOA.  I never said anything bad about her, I said she was tiny and petite.  I didn't mention her name, I could have been talking about anyone.  Now, perception is, I'm being mean.  WTF?  News flash, if I'm going to be mean to someone, you will know, there will not be questions about if I meant it.

Now, it's time for the staff meeting.  I walk in and Car Salesman Magoo has brought in his daughter's Girl Scout cookies.  For once, he isn't selling them, he is just sharing.  At first I was like, oh, I sure as hell don't need those and so I passed them along to the next person.  Seems like no one really wanted any due to everyone is watching their weight.  Car Salesman Magoo was very angry about this.  He clearly thinks dieting is stupid.  Next thing I know, the cookies are coming back around.  I saw they were thin mints.  Yum! Those are my favorite!  I said, "Well, maybe  I will have one."  Smarty Pants Malone says, "Oh no, you don't need those."  Then, Thong Barbie grabs the box and says, "No."  I was pissed.  Let me just get the following Fat Girl Public Service Announcement (FGPSA) off my chest right now:

I had weight loss surgery.  I didn't lose my mind.  I am not incapable of making decisions for myself. I know what is good food and bad food.  I do not need YOU or anyone else telling me what I do or do not need, what I can or cannot have or what I should or should not eat.  I don't need your help.  And, if you say things like, "Oh, let's go get a donut...oh, wait, YOU can't have that." I'm going to be pissed. I don't even want a fucking donut, but I can make the choice myself.  I don't need you to regulate me.  Yes, I know I'm fat.  Yes, I know I need to lose weight.  Yes, I know what foods are good and bad.  Yes, I am able to make decisions for myself.  I don't need you to tell me.  Can't everyone just treat me like a normal person?  Yes, I have said don't bring crap to my desk.  Yes, I have said, don't give me chocolate anymore, but if I choose to have ONE MOTHER TRUCKING GIRL SCOUT COOKIE, it's my choice and you know what?  I CAN!  It's one cookie, not the whole box.  One cookie is a reasonable choice.  One cookie is a human choice.  Get off your pedestal and give me a break.  Don't judge me. Don't put your rules and expectations on me.  I'm capable of making life choices, even though you don't think I am.  And, I know these people love me and they care and they want to help, but these types of comments are judgmental, they are humiliating and condescending.  It's not okay.  Don't do it to me again.

With the FGPSA out of my way, I will tell you, when they were playing "keep the box away from Cassondra," I got mad and I told them their behavior was not okay and that I didn't appreciate it.  I think that hurt Thong Barbie's feelings, because I know she would never be mean to me, but I need people to hear me and see me and understand. I don't want to be singled out or "handled."  Lord knows, Will has his hands full trying to handle what he can of me. For the record, I had one cookie and that was satisfying enough, it was fine.  I didn't need more.  Asshats.

So, survived the staff meeting. I get back to my desk and then Alligator Horse Guy starts pinging me about where he is going to sit when we relocate to the other side of the building.  Since I am the move coordinator for our group, people have questions and I don't mind answering them.  But then, Alligator Horse Guy starts getting a little intense about what space he needs.  He doesn't like the answers I'm providing him.  I'm telling him I don't have all the plans finalized yet, but I will work on it.  I was kind of getting worked up about it.  What the hell is everyone picking on me for?  Is this what positive energy buys me?  Screw that.  Finally, Alligator Horse Guy comes over to my desk and assures me he was not trying to be a dirtbag.  I believed him, he's good people.  He was forgiven.

Feeling a little out of sorts, I headed down to the gym, I mean, MY GOD, I had ONE freaking Girl Scout cookie, how in the world was I EVER going to work that off?  I looked at my workout shirt, clearly stolen from Will, and it says on the back, "Do I Look Like A Freaking People Person To You?"  I smiled a little and said out loud in the locker room I was sharing with no one, "No, I don't."

So, what I think about all of this is that the universe isn't ready for me to have a bright and sun-shiny day.  It doesn't want me to be full of hope and love.  It's all bullshit. No more.  Tomorrow, I'll go in and treat people accordingly.  Today I left myself vulnerable.  It won't happen again. 

And, I don't need the drama or controversy, I'll just remember I don't give a shit and I won't tell them what my opinion is.  I will just tell them what they want to hear. Tomorrow, if you come up to me and are covered with dog shit and ask me how you look, I will tell you that you look Fan-fucking-tastic! Maybe a brown ribbon in your hair will compliment that smelly brown color on your shirt!  If you want to know if your email sounded okay, or if it needs tweaking, I will say it sound like fucking poetry.  If you ask me if I want to buy fucking Girl Scout cookies, you could lose a testicle.

Who's happy about Wednesday? Not this girl, that is for damn sure.

Monday and my Adele hair...

I'm not going to beat around the bush, today sucked.  It's Monday, and therefore, by nature, it doesn't have a lot going for it.  Unless you were one of the lucky SOB's that got the day off for President's Day.  Lucky bastards. 

Anyway, after I woke up at 4AM from disturbing dreams, I couldn't get back to sleep. Finally, I just went ahead and got up.   As I was getting ready for work, I thought, why not try and rock some big hair today, that might help my mood.  A little mousse, a curling iron and quite a bit of hairspray later, I looked like freaking Adele.  I just needed cat eyes and a scoop neck dress and I was there.  Rumor Has It, from Someone Like You, I was Rolling in the Deep, Turning Tables, Setting Fire to the Rain and watching the Skyfall.  Yikes, this wasn't helping my mood.

The day, overall, went okay.  I went down to the gym and Ass Kicker worked me over pretty good.  I came back to my desk and sat there like Jell-O. My budget Adele hair was quite a bit calmer now and, my butt hurt.  All those walk out plank things on the big exercise ball thing with kettle bells, that was rough.  I almost couldn't lift my arms.  Oh, and my stupid vaccine site is still red, hot and angry, so my arm really was a hot mess.  I wanted to call the doctor and see if all this swelling, heat and rash was normal, but Sassy Ipod Girl said that I shouldn't worry as one of her kids had this same reaction.  I asked her when I should start worrying, exactly?  When my arm turns black and falls off?  This was the agreed upon benchmark.  So, I guess I just wait it out.

I turned my attention back to expense reports.  After being gone so long, I was having to Sherlock Holmes this thing.  It was stressing me out.  So much so, that I made a little faux pas on my bosses expense report.  I sent him the following, shame-filled instant message: "hey...if you get an email from the corporate card folks talking about a 'mishap' just let me handle it.  Sorry, but I got this. Woops."  It is fixable, but now I have to ask someone to undo what I did and then I need to go back and fix it, which means I have to babysit this situation and rely on other people.  Dislike.

And, as if that drama wasn't enough, someone was disgruntled because the Valentine "balloon gram" they paid for on Valentine's Day allegedly never made it to the recipient.  We were selling balloon grams to benefit a charity.  They were like a buck or so.  But today, this person wanted us to make it right.  I was asked for an extra Valentine.  I didn't have an extra Valentine, nor was I going to make one.  Seriously, it is this many days after, it was for a good cause, you can't just let this go?  I grabbed a box of those heart candies with all the sayings on them that someone gave me, scratched my name off, put hers on there, grabbed a pink post-it, drew a heart and wrote Happy Valentine's Day on it.  I said, "There, happy freaking Valentine's Day."  I'm just solving problems left and right.

I was getting ready to leave when one of the interns from another department needs something. Damn it, almost clear.  The thing she needs is missing.  It got "hidden" when the VIP's came.  Again, I was infuriated. Why these people gotta mess with my stuff?!  I went into this locked room we have that is called the prize room because it used to hold all kinds of prizes.  Now it holds junk.  And, when they cleaned the center, all the extra crap went in there.  I was standing in the room, my vaccine site throbbing, my temples ready to explode and I'm cussing a blue streak.  In that moment, I wanted to start grabbing stuff and throwing it and yelling at the top of my lungs like my Dad would have.  I understood why he would destroy things in anger, it was extremely therapeutic.  I needed that release...but I couldn't move my f*cking arms.  Damn you Ass Kicker. Foiled again.  Now, even more mad, I left.  You know that tiger at the zoo pacing the fence because your kid looks like a gimpy gazelle and he wants to eat him?  That was me.  I was about to go buck wild in this zoo.  Long story, a little bit shorter, I did manage to finally find what I was looking for, thankfully.  All the visitors at the zoo would live to see another day.

I finally left work. On the way out, I walked by to say goodnight to one of my friends and she was crying, feeling hopeless and like she was being sucked into the swamps of sadness.  Shit. What could I possibly say to her? What advice could I offer?  I had nothing.  I went through what she was going through.  I just cowgirled up because I couldn't quit and eventually things got better.  No one wants to hear that. No one believes that when they are in the swamp of sadness.  I told her I was sorry.  Maybe I should have told her to take her damn headset off and come with me and F this place.  Maybe I should have told her to stop crying and suck it up. Maybe there was nothing I could say.  Sigh. I don't like the people I love to be unhappy.  I had to get the hell out of there.  After all, I needed to stop at Target on the way home to buy gift cards.  I hate doing that.

So, Target.  Screaming baby. White trailer trash Mom talking to her very possibly pregnant 12 yr oldish daughter like she is a piece of crap and screaming at her.  They followed me everywhere I went.  I just needed some effing Vanilla Frosting Lip Smackers lip gloss and the freaking gift cards.  Crikey! Get back to your trailer park, woman and buy some friggin condoms for teen Mom.  I make it to the check-out line and some stupid old bag and her husband are ramming their cart up my ass.  I'm trying to enter my pin number into the damn thing-a-ma-bob and Big Ass Bernice is on me like flies on shit. I was doing a slow burn.  It was now time to buy the gift cards with the ol corporate card.  I needed to sign, but kind of hard when she is completely inside my personal bubble.  I took my whole body and took a step towards her, shoved my butt at her and then lengthened out my arms so I could sign in private.  I still don't think she got it, but I don't effing care.  AAAAAAAAAACCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKK!

Finally, destination, home.  I'm tired.  Will is tired.  The dogs are tired. The horses, mostly hungry. Another Monday, in the can. Over. Done.

Bring on Tuesday. Let's get to Friday as soon as possible.




Target

Fast Lane Faux Pas

Probably the hardest thing about getting in the groove of going back to work is the traffic.  I freaking hate the people I must share the road with.  Primarily, I hate the people that drive in the fast lane, aka passing lane, and think that it is their God given right to drive in that lane no matter how fast or slow the flow of traffic is and they truly believe that going just under or right at the speed limit is their right. Well, stupid lane hog, I hate your friggin guts.  All week this has happened to me.  Why do people do this?  And why are these asshats allowed to get away with it.  The speed limit is 60mph, which everyone who is anyone knows that really means 65 -70mph.  If you are going to go 59 or 60mph, get your freaking Geo Metro, your old ass station wagon and your stupid soccer Mom mini van out of the passing lane.  You have no right to be there. You know why?  Because YOU ARE NOT PASSING ANYONE!!!  Not only are you not passing anyone, you are blocking everyone.  Do you not see the one mile backup behind you?  Do you not see the frenzied expression on the face of the guy behind you?  You should, because he is riding your ass, flashing his lights and flipping you off. He is probably even banging on the steering wheel.  You are an asshat.  You are a self-involved, mother trucking, sock sucking, ignorant piece of crap.  You are entitled.  You probably grew up with a silver spoon in your mouth.  You probably had cashmere diapers.  You probably nursed off of your mothers tit until you were nine years old and if you have a significant other, chances are, you are all about your own needs and you are selfish lover.  I bet you don't even care if your partner "gets there" when you are having sex and surely you always get there first.  You are a butt munching, liver-lillied, mindless piece of crap.  You know, other people need to get places and YOU are the reason they can't get there.  You are a menace to society.  I wish I could drive a bulldozer that went 75mph so that I could clear the area between my house and my work of all the jackholes like you that create strife in this universe. It would be a public service.  I bet people would pay me to do it. You know what, take a side road if you want to go on your laid back drive.  Leave the freeway to the angry people that need to get to work.  Maybe, just maybe they would be less angry if you weren't on the freeway.  Dumbass.

Anyway, kind of sick of that.  Maybe it is because I was up early and started my day at stupid Walmart pushing a cart full of soda, chips and candy at 7AM.  And then, as I'm trying to reach the candy, what I needed was on the top shelf and it slid back.  I look around and there is this guy stocking a display in the aisleway.  I asked him politely if he would please get that candy for me.  He seemed annoyed.  OH, I'm sorry, Walmart Employee of the Freaking Month, don't bust your ass on my account.  He comes over, eyes my cart and looked at me as if saying, "fat girl, you don't need candy on top of that."  But, he begrudgingly got me the candy.  Dirtbag. I hope you are part time and don't get health insurance.  I get up to the checker and the girl says to me, "Don't you have a vending machine at work?"  What? I looked at her and said, "yes...but we are doing a lunch for 200 people today."  "Oh," she says.  Well, glad we got that cleared up. 

It also should be mentioned that when I went in to Walmart, it was not raining.  When I came out, it was a downpour.  So glad I spent time on my hair.  By the time I got to work, parked, went in, got a cart, came back out and loaded all the crap and pushed it in, I pretty much looked and smelled like a man's armpit.  Way to start the day.  I just love a center celebration day.  On the upside, everyone seemed to love the sandwiches and chip selection, so gold star for me for pulling off a successful lunch.  However, back on the downside, when it was time for the "treat trolley" to go around with all the candy I bought, I wanted some, bad.  Oh, but lucky me, I brought a Skinny Cow chocolate treat so I wouldn't be tempted to eat the full strength crap.  Let me just be clear about Skinny Cow products, however.  Those bastards aren't fooling anyone.  Those damn things are not "diet food."  I'm not going to become a skinny cow by eating them.  I'm on to you, you marketing bastards.  Yeah, it was half the calories of a candy bar, but bitch, please, you aren't fooling anyone.  I think the reason it is half the calories is that it is half the size.  Skinny Cow, indeed.

Well, I guess that is all the ranting for tonight.  I have to gear up for Valentine's day tomorrow.  Another day of activities at work and a center-wide potluck.  I will be surrounded by sugar and fat.  I'm sure my celery and peanut butter will tide me over.  I'm positive that will work.

Dead Bodies & Tent Cards

So, today is day two back to work.  I thought yesterday went well, with the exception of being tired.  I woke up today with a bit of a headache and feeling that old familiar dread going to work.  I didn't think it was going to happen this fast.  I thought I would have another week or so before feeling like this. 

I got to work and there was a bunch of stuff waiting for me.  More prepping and planning for the big VIP visit this week.  I immediately became frustrated because my corporate credit card is still in a suspended status.  They always suspend them when you go out on disability so that you are not home buying lots of juicers, rings and sham-wow's on the home shopping network, I guess.  So, from the get-go, I'm frustrated that I can't do what I need to do.  Then Curly Sue comes up and informs me there is a dead body in the back parking lot.  That is awesome, at least someone is having a good day.  Everyone is instantly making jokes about how I've only been back one day and I've already killed someone.  Not true, I have been completely cordial.  I came back with the attitude that I was glad to be back and that I was going to be nicer and less stressed.  I had definitely not killed anyone.  Our new SVP even came up and gave me a hug this morning.  And, I'm not huggy, as we all know, so I must not have been putting off the "drop dead" vibe.

As the day was progressing, things started to irritate me.  First of all, my bra.  The damn thing kept riding up and peeking out on the left side.  It's a pink bra so it was kind of obvious.  I asked Valerie to keep an eye on it and if she saw it peeking out to use the code word, "magenta" and I would know to inconspicuously get it under control.  It's good to have a wardrobe code word, if you think about it.  I mean, who wants to hear, "hey, your boob is popping out" when you are in a crowd?  This bra thing is not exactly a catastrophe, I can handle this.

Then it was time for our daily morning meeting where we review yesterday's numbers and talk about whatever is going on.  One of the guys, which I shall hence forth call P-Daddy, has this weird long Fu Man Chu chin hair thing going on.  I don't really like facial hair and for some reason today I was not able to shut my inside voice up.  I said, "Why don't you shave that off, it looks bad.  It looks like rogue guy armpit hair."  Well, that was mean.  What is wrong with me?  That was uncalled for.  I started to feel bad, but then that passed.

The day progressed and I hit that magical space in time where I uttered the words, "Are you effing kidding me?"  It was exactly 14 hours of time spent at work before I felt like I had never been gone.  Like my rage spot had been activated.  Something clicked inside of me.  From that moment on I felt the despair, the hopelessness, the ridiculousness of the Glass Palace.  It was like finding out Darth Vader was my father. Totally ruined my buzz.

The chaos surrounding the preparation for the VIP visit was increasing and the energy was tense.  Instead of checking things off my list, my list kept getting longer and longer.  Then my boss sends me a message asking for name tags and tent cards for one of the meetings with the queen VIP.  So, I go in search of tent cards.  I went into a back room we have that we use to store valuables and decorations.  This is also where my ponies and personal belongings are being held hostage until after the VIPs leave.  I open the door and it was a little like a child had cleaned a messy room and thrown everything into a closet. They cleaned the entire Glass Palace and all of the shit is just crammed in there.  It took my breath away.  I couldn't even bring myself to seriously pursue aforementioned tent cards.  My God.  This was wrong.  I did catch a glimpse of my ponies.  I petted them and poked their heads out of the box and apologized.  NO pony deserved this. Anyway, I considered the mission a failure and concluded that we didn't have any tent cards. Since my corporate card wasn't working, I couldn't go buy any, but you know what?  No problem.  You know why? Cuz I got skill.  I've got card stock paper and I've got labels that I can create name tags with.  The boss said he didn't care if I could get it done, that'd be great. I mean, these people have badges that they are required to wear, but if he wants name stickers and tent cards, I'll do it.  It's past time for me to leave for the day and I finally finish them.  I show the boss and he is like, "Okay, so these tent cards won't work.  Can't we print them with their names and titles?  And these name tags, can we put the first and last names, and their titles and then maybe...."  I stopped him and said snottily, "Perhaps I can put a bio on each person's name sticker and maybe even a picture...?"  The boss thinks it's funny to poke the bear, so he suggests that yes, I should do that.  I stood there and with all of my being I held in what I wanted say.  I wanted to give him what for.  I simply looked at him and said, "Well, I guess you know I am feeling well enough to be at work when I can feel this way and contain it."  I went back out to my desk and started over.  I wanted to give everyone "special" names and titles, but thought better of it.  I don't think titles like "Executive Pain in My Ass," "Lazy Dirtbag," and "Big Whiny Baby" would fly, so I used official titles.  While doing so, I thought about where a second body might crop up...and where a good place to put one would be.  I think right under the balloon arch would be perfect.

My boss makes another appearance and asks me if Stilletto Barbie knows that she is running the slide show tomorrow for the Queen VIP.  I said I thought Admin Queen had told her.  My boss decides the best way to handle this is to text Stilletto Barbie and give her the news.  She calls me within moments in a panic.  Apparently, she had not been told.  Why did I come back to work this week?  Why?  Stilletto Barbie and I discussed taking a lot of Xanax tomorrow to get through the day.  I don't think that is a good idea for me, because as whacked as my system is, I'm sure it would go right to my head and then next thing you know, I'm the crazy employee standing up in the middle of the all employee meeting asking her what her stance is on tent cards and if she liked her effing name tag.  No, no Xanax for me.

Anyway, finally got out of there.  I passed by one of the other managers and told her briefly  about my day.  I told her I felt bad for letting my attitude get out of check as I was wanting to be better than that.  She advised me that no one wants me or expects me to be nice and submissive and that we expect this type of behavior.  She said people would worry about me if I was any different.  Well, she sold me on that theory. I guess I'll embrace it.  Everyone is now effectively on notice - The bitch is back in town and she is ready to resume business as usual.

Here is to the VIP visit being over tomorrow.  I sure hope my tent  cards pass the test.  Especially since I'm not doing them again.  I mean it.  I'm not. This bitch has freaking perfected them as far as I can tell.