Shitter is Full...AGAIN

So, I've had some random rage lately.  It's not like I haven't always had rage, but ever since last weekend when Shark Bait forced me to watch the football game, and then I subsequently screamed at the TV like a mad woman, my rage seems to be on some sort of "slow leak" status that apparently flares up here and there.  You know what makes it flare up?  Everything?  Well, yes, but you know what my hot buttons are?  I'll tell you.

• The fucking mail at work and people's inability to address a mother trucking envelope.  It's a basic M-F'ing skill, people.  
• When people tell me about the bathroom conditions.
• Bad drivers.
• FCD's (Fat Controlling Devices)

Okay, let's just cut to the heart of the matter.  Screw the mail, it's a dead horse I've been  beating for MONTHS.  The mail is like a pulverized gorpey pile of organs that have been through a Magic Bullet.  That's how much I've beat it to death.  I can't talk about it anymore. If I do, I'll need a mudslide. And, if I get a mudslide, this blog is going to take a very scary turn that my readers are not ready for.

Bad drivers?  It's been done.  We all hate them.  I've almost been crashed into twice this week.  You could say I've lucked out.  Look at me counting my mother trucking blessings.

FCD's, I've had more drama with fat control this week than Obama has had with heath care reform.  I've had to seek refuge in the bathroom at least twice this week alone to remove a "foundation garment." I've walked back to my desk with the spandex blend in my hand acting like it's no big deal.  My body is being a real bitch and is not taking this attempt at control the fat laying down, no, it's fighting back. It's like this years strain of the flu, it morphs and changes and gets meaner.  Pretty soon, by current calculations, I will be full blown Stay Puffed Marshmallow man in no time. 

Anyway, that brings me to the bathroom issue. 

It's not bad enough that we have recently (within the last couple of months) found used undies and socks on the staircase, but the bathroom continues to be a constant drain on any belief that may still exist in my body that there is a shred of human decency left in this world.  Now, I will say, no one has finger painted shit on the walls or taken a dump on the floor or played "magic lasso" with their tampon strings in a while.  Those shenanigans have subsided.  I am relieved of that.  Stall number one, for the most part, seems to be an adequately safe place to whiz or poo.  Even the fire hose vagina girl seems to have stopped spraying the seats.  Stall number three, however, seems to have a frequent flyer that passes turds the size of a weiner dog and then uses enough toilet paper to make a queen-sized bed sheet. Look, I have a fat ass, but at the end of the day, when we compare body parts, I don't care of you are a size 4 or a size 24, your butthole is not the black hole of dark matter that requires that much toilet paper.  It just doesn't.  I don't care if somehow the poop shot out at a velocity that you were unprepared for and you became startled and slid off the seat.  Still does not require that much TP to clean up the mess.  You can't convince me of it.  I mean, I don't need pictures or any sort of proof, but seriously, let's be realistic.  If you are using that much, that means you are not done pooping and you need to wait until it's over.  This isn't a grunt, wipe, repeat situation.  If you are doing that, get help.  I mean, not with your pooping, but psychologically.  Help is available.

Yesterday, I had one of the supervisors send me an instant message, "So-and-so says it stinks in the women's bathroom."  I respond, "Does she know people poop in there?  What exactly should I do about it?"  I just sat there in disbelief.  Was it my job to run in with some Glade air freshener? Shortly thereafter, the stink reporter came to my desk and informed me it wasn't poop.  It was like rotting fish.  Okay, okay, this just entered a territory I was not prepared for.  Look, I am not sending out an email to the floor asking women to please freshen up their girl parts because we have a fish stench in the "ladies" room.  Sweet Jesus.  She said it was so bad she was gagging and it was really, really bad.  To appease her, I called and had the Selfie Janitor to go in and check the trash etc.  If taking the trash out didn't do it, then we were going to need a vagina evacuation drill of some sort.  I don't know what else to do.  As luck would have it, the smell seemed to dissipate.

Today, I'm already on the edge, okay?  New Boss even said, "you okay today?"  I guess after drinking mudslides every night this past week to help me sleep and then challenging my therapist, The Rug Doctor, to a pony draw-off last night, I was feeling kind of weird about life.  I even had someone looking for tools this week, and so, I was digging through my drawers and found a brand new hack saw.  I had it sitting out on my desk still today as I hadn't put it away yet.  New Boss asked what it was for.  I told her I liked to put it up to my neck and see what it feels like to be that close to actually cutting. It comforts me.  Freaks Stiletto Barbie out, but you know, not everyone shares in my moments of clarity.

Anyway, I went over to get the mail today, and there, inside the inbox are two huge packages that some schmuck left for me.  It's safe to say, I probably over-reacted.  Lost. My. Mind. I do letters, not packages.  I do my own packages, but the masses, they do their own.  I'm nobody's bitch (that's a lie, I'm everyone's bitch).  I found the sender's name and stomped over to his desk.  I was in the middle of chewing him out (also known as educating him on the correct process) when Loud Mouth comes over and interrupts, touches my shoulder and loudly tells me there is a problem in the bathroom.  I whipped around on her, surely with flames in my eyes and said, "What makes you think I care about the bathroom?  Why do people tell me this shit?  I don't care! Deal with it!"  She just laughed and said, "Because you seem to be the only one that gets shit done around here!" and then she walks away. She. Touched. Me.  I was fuming inside, and frankly, on the outside.  I turned my attention back to the package violator and said, "Look, because I adore you, I won't decapitate you and use your head as a bedpost, but please take those packages where they belong, please?"

I walked back over to my desk.  I was sitting there thinking about how pissed I was.  I sent the Building Dude an email asking him what the official process was with the bathrooms other than, "tell Cassondra."  I was disappointed to get back a response saying tickets needed to be entered for all issues.  Well, I'm the ticket bitch, so I guess nothing I can do. 

About then, someone brought me these cut-out Seahawks hats.  I gladly took them and started cutting on them.  Cutting makes me happy.  Just then, Queen of Purple People arrived to let me know there was a problem with stall three.  I like QPP, but this, this was too much.  She went on to tell me she was concerned someone might try and flush the already bursting toilet and cause a catastrophe.  I said, "You know what I do when I see that? Do you?  I say, 'Gross!' shut the door and use a different stall and MOVE ON WITH MY LIFE!!!  Why can't other people do that?? Why?"  QPP just smiled, "I don't know, but it's bad."  Sigh.
You know, I don't know why she was worried about someone flushing it.  I mean, I can barely get them to clean up after themselves, are you telling me suddenly someone is going to have initiative?  No.  Not a believable story.

Look, apparently, I'm screwed with this responsibility, but I beg you, unless there is a steaming pile of poo on the floor with a river running through it surrounded by what can only look like globs of snow on a mountain top, do not tell me, just figure that eventually the bathroom toilet crew will come and it will be okay.  To date, the building has not been flooded from the third floor restroom.  No one has been physically assaulted by shit zombies, so just go use a different floor, okay?  OR, stop plugging the fucking toilet!  How about that?  Change your diet, drink enough water.  Hydration is key to a healthy bowel movement.  And, I had the ice machine/water maker fixed, so really, no excuses.  Stop making the shitter full.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have a mudslide waiting.

Because Sassy Pants Said So...

Sassy Pants said I had to blog tonight.  She isn't really the boss of me, but maybe this will shut 'er up.

Today was my first workday of 2015.  I hardly slept at all last night between the high winds and thoughts of what my new boss would be like.  After months and months of searching, they had apparently found "the one" that would fill the position Four Feet of Fury had left. My mind reeled with thoughts of what she would be like and if I would have to find a new job or what.  I have a lot of time invested into the Palace and the people in it, I so didn't want the worst to happen. 

After tossing and turning, I finally got up and got ready for work ahead of schedule. I took some new vitamins I had just purchased the day before that would hopefully give me some energy.  The box said they were for "Energy Boost and Metabolism."  That is exactly what I needed since I never want to get out of bed anymore and I live the life of a blob.  I grabbed my protein shake and pony lunch bag and I was ready.  Well, almost.  I had to get my coat.  I went to grab my coat off the hanger so I could leave and all the sudden, pain shot through my middle finger.  I jerked back and there was blood everywhere.  Shark Bait has his favorite ball cap hanging next to my coat and that ball cap just happens to be sporting a huge fish hook.  Holy mother of all stuffed ponies in the universe, it freaking hurt and now I had lanced open my flip-em-off finger. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.  Shark Bait came running over to check the damage.  As luck would have it, we didn't need to call 9-1-1, we would be able to manage this with a bandage.  This was not how I wanted to start the day.

I managed to drive in to work without any further incident.  Unless you count my CD in the stereo that apparently had a scratch in it.  I'm trying to listen to Usher and friends yell, "yeah, yeah!....I wanna lady in street but a freak in the bed....yeah, yeah...." and it kept skipping. I was in the mood for gangsta.  I guess the vitamins were kicking in.  There may even have been head-bobbing/neck-jerking involved.  Or, as Dad would have called it Shuckin' and Jivin'. Anyway, I made it to work ahead of New Boss.

As I sat there waiting for New Boss to arrive, Stiletto Barbie came to see if she could get a glimpse at the new kid in town. What she found, was me, ready to have an out of body experience within my body.  I don't know what all is in the vitamins I took, but I pretty much felt like a full on concert was going on inside my skin, complete with a mosh pit, booze, possibly drugs and dancing, lots of dancing.  However, what you saw on the outside was cool, calm and collected...minus the weird smile and bulgy eyes... and me saying that I couldn't promise there wouldn't be twerking and doing a brief demonstration.  This might not have been the best day to debut those new vitamins.  On the up side, New Boss was going to think I was energetic and friendly.  I'm told these are desirable traits, so I would ride out that story for as long as I could.

And then, something kind of miraculous happened.  I saw a lady bug on my desk.  Where the hell did that come from?  Aren't lady bugs supposed to be good luck?  I think this is a good sign!  I don't really believe in "signs" but maybe this could be one.  I mean, it's a new year and I'm jacked up on vitamins, I could see a unicorn pretty soon.

Finally, New Boss arrived.  She seems nice and like a genuine person, which I respect.  We actually had the following conversation:

re: discussing getting her picture taken for her badge
Me: "I'm not really big on smiling in pictures, I'm not a teeth smiler and people don't get that.  It's irritating."
New Boss: "yeah, I don't like to smile in pictures either.  And when people walk by and say "smile" I'm always thinking, 'why? I didn't see you until this moment, why would I be smiling before I saw you?' So, yeah, not big on pictures."
Me: "I always tell people, 'I am smiling...on the inside.'" 

I felt like, at that moment, everything was gonna be okay.  Common ground.  It's good.

I returned to my desk and continued to try and make sense of all the crap, aka work, sitting there.  I was moving folders around and cleaning up when I realized I had set a bunch of stuff on my lady bug.  Shit.  It had been with me all day so far.  I lifted the folder and there it was, wings all smooshed out to the sides.  I just freaking killed my good luck sign.  OH NO!  Now what?  I can't ever have anything good happen!  I killed my luck!

The rest of the day was kind of crazy-busy with getting New Boss set up and catching up after being gone a few days.  Monster Energy drink people decided to stop by, the ice machine went down and the one millionth person asked me when the Starz calendars would be in.  Seriously, people, buy your own damn calendar.  And, if you don't have ice, it is not an apocalyptic situation.  You can survive.

And then, Sassy Pants comes up and says, "You need to blog about today and your new boss."  I said, "I don't know that blogging about the new boss is really in my best interest, do you?" She said, "you could do a happy, feel-good blog."  I just blinked at her.  "My blog is Angry Pony, nobody wants to read that sunshiny bullshit."  I then considered writing a full blog on nothing but my anger about every person that asked me about getting a new freaking calendar and every person that bitched about the ice machine.  Neither item do I own the responsibility of.  Nah, I'm letting it go.

I finally made it to my truck and got ready to head home.  What is that smell?  Kind of an odd smell.  Not bad, but not good.  No, wait, it wasn't good.  Well crikey, was that smell me?  In an effort to save myself from possibly getting breast cancer, I had switched to a "natural" deodorant recently.  I think that smell was my natural body oil mixing with a natural solution to sweat.  Gross.  I need my Clinical Strength Secret back!  I can't be stinky!  I pulled the armpit of my sweater up and smelled it. It wasn't horrifying, but I was one goat farmer away from being the girl no one would ever hug again.  Hey...I might be on to something.  Maybe that is my problem, I smell too good and people are drawn to me.  If I stink it up, I could avoid those unwanted human interactions.  No, I can't do it.  I like to smell like a frilly girl...when I'm not smelling like a stinky pony.

That reminds me, I need to make up a questionaire for New Boss.  I need to know, is she huggy? What is her stance on sarcasm in the workplace? and some other important details.  Perhaps tomorrow or next week.  I need more time to fully assess her tolerance to my personality.  So far, so good, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.


There, Sassy Pants, there is your damn blog.

Review of Alleged Year of Angry Pony

Well, 2014 is in the can.  It's over. It was supposed to be the Year of Angry Pony.  Well, I don't know if it was "my year," but it was a year worth reflecting on none the less. Any year lived and survived is worth reflection, I suppose.

Last year around this time I found myself in an almost "optimistic" place and set all kinds of challenges for myself.  I was going to get my shit together and LIVE my life.  I got off to a great start with my goal book, and trying new healthy meals and going to the gym.  I encountered many hurdles at the gym with my body fighting me every step of the way.  I worked-out with Ass Kicker and he helped guide me and push me and after just a short time, I came to realize that I liked the challenge.  I actually enjoyed pushing myself and seeing my body change before my eyes, seeing "baby abs" and muscle definition starting to form on the back of my thighs. I felt invincible and like I could do this.  I was excited that I found my inner athlete. I didn't know she existed.

Spring was here and I was starting to feel good.

 

 

I even cut my hair short.  I was feeling brave.  Like, maybe soon I would be able to rock a shorter skirt.  I noticed, and could feel, my collar bones for the first time. Maybe I'm not smiling in these pictures I am posting, but on the inside, I was feeling confident.  I'm not big on smiling in pictures, never really have been, so for every person that says, "you should really smile," I say to you, pick your battles, because I have been battling this body for a lifetime.  When I'm ready, I will.  A genuine, light up the room, smile.  Someday.  Wait for it.  Until then, let me be who I need to be to survive each day and know that I am okay with what I'm putting out there.



In May, I took my good horse, Lola, out to our first trail challenge event.  We weren't ready to compete on any level as we had not worked together that much, but it was a  great start to having hope for getting back in the swing of things with my horses.  It was a good day spent with my sister and friends.  I felt like the part of me that had been missing for so long, the part that lived for her horses, I felt like that part was truly coming back.  I had missed that part so much.

Lola and I waiting for our wild trip around the trail course.

And then, one day at the gym not long after my pony event debut, my work-out was too much.  We pushed too hard.  I could hardly walk and my hips screamed in pain, my shoulder screamed in pain, my sciatic screamed in pain.  I stopped going to the gym and over the next two months I saw doctor after doctor, but no one had answers.  I was angry, depressed, defeated.  My body had, once again, let me down.   I went to the Fat Doctors and they tried to put me on some medications to help me continue on my journey.  Those turned out to be unsuccessful.  I went to The Rug Doctor and we discussed that being on anti-depressants didn't have to be a bad thing and that maybe it would be helpful.  And so the journey of finding a balanced place for my emotions and giving my body a chance to recover began. 

The next few months I made a few attempts at returning to the gym, each time results frustrating me until I just stopped going all together.  I let the darkness in and watched all the progress I had made just disappear.  This only made things worse.  Looking at myself every day in the mirror and being disappointed in myself and knowing that my jeans were just a bit tighter than they were before.  I would pass someone at work and they would say, "You look so great, you can  tell you are really losing weight!"  I would die inside each time.  Hating myself, because I knew the truth.

The summer was full of struggle and angst for me, personally.  No vacations or adventures, really.  It just seemed to slip by.  I tried to keep the momentum up with my horse, but our pretty dry summer made the ground very hard and it was difficult to get the work-outs in here at home that I needed to with Lola to keep us moving forward.  I had a week of vacation in July and spent each day riding Lola, but at the end of the week, my hips ached.  So, now, for the most part, the riding stopped again.

In the fall, in an effort to hold on to the mental and physical progress I had made earlier in the year, I went and made a purchase that would make my heart happy, if only briefly.  I bought my first pair of boots.  Not cowboy boots, but the kind of fashionable boots that all the "cool" girls wear in the fall.  It was the first time I was able to find a pair that would fit my calves.  While they were wide-calf boots, they were still the mark of an accomplishment that I had dreamed of for a long time.  I wore them nervously the first time in public, but then after that, I found the "tramp walk" that I can't seem to keep myself from doing when I wear them, and it was empowering.  I would try to re-harness some hope and get back in the game.

In support group talk, this is called an "NSV"  (Non ScaleVictory)

 

 

 

Shortly after the great boot-love event, Shark Bait and I suffered a pretty significant financial blow and my good dog Spanky started losing his vision.  And then, Shark Bait's dog had a back injury. And then, after attending a trail clinic with Lola, she came down with a pony cold, which required a vet visit, meds and discovering Scruffy was also sick. I felt over-whelmed and hopeless that anything would get better and I was devastated that my baby boy was losing his eye-sight.  I think at this point, I gave up pretty hard.

Enter the holiday season.  So much pressure, so much stress.  Shark Bait and I decided that we needed to stop the madness and focus on us as a couple and take care of our needs instead of worrying about what everyone else wanted or expected.  I made a deal with myself that I would try and be kind to myself and that Shark Bait and I would take the time to enjoy the holidays with fun stuff instead of just frantically surviving it like we have in the past. I decided to stop the anti-depressants as they were enabling me to become an uninspired blob and I had zero enthusiasm about anything.  I promised myself that I would walk two 5-K's by the end of the year, that we would have a fun holiday get-a-way, and that I would take pressure off of myself about losing weight and  the Little Black Dress promise I had made at the beginning of 2014. 

I kept those promises to myself and to Shark Bait. I walked both 5K's without any pain to my body, which was exciting and Shark Bait and I took a get-a-way weekend to Leavenworth for the Christmas lighting ceremony.

Turkey Trot 5K, Jingle Bell 5K and us in Leavenworth

Now, about the Little Black Dress promise.  I know last year I said that no matter where I was in my journey, in December 2014 I would wear an LBD proudly and we would go out on the town and I would own it.  Well, here I am in my journey and I didn't want to own it.  I wanted my LBD moment to be special.  I didn't need to be at goal to have it be special, but I needed to feel like I had done the best I could do and that I couldn't have done more and that I would hold my head up proudly.  I can't do that right now.  I could have done more.  I could have not given up on myself, even when it hurt.  And so, since I am the boss of me, I decided I will have that moment, but now is not when it will be.  I will re-focus, I will get back on track.  I will.  Not because of an LBD deadline, but because it is what I need to do for my life that certainly does have a deadline at some point, which is unknown to me.

So, going in to 2015, my dog is officially blind, which we have come to terms with.  Shark Bait's dog has recovered.  The ponies are on the mend.  Our financial fiasco has been neutralized and we have a plan in action.  Shark Bait has a new job that will be better for our lives. 

That leaves me.  I know I need to get my shit together, again.  And I will, again.  Life will continue (God willing) and more shit will happen.  My goal is to handle it better.  To be that much stronger.  I've lived another year, I've learned more about myself and I hope that before I die, I get this shit figured out.  If I do die before I get to the LBD, my request from you is, stuff me in an LBD, close the lid and say, "Yay, she did it!"  Humor me, okay?

2015, Let's do this.  I'm ready.