That moment when a person snaps, today I think I have reached it.
Ok, so those of you that read my blog are most likely my Facebook peeps, so I probably don't have to do a lot of review here, but I will, for the sake of keeping everyone on the same page.
It's been a crappy few months, moving, dead things, water leaks, broken dogs, etc. Blah, blah, blah. However, I keep hoping things will get better. They aren't. Most recently, we came home to a door tag stating that the last power outage had caused the community well we are on to lose pressure and thusly pull contaminated water back into the well from all of the pipes of the people that share this water supply. No drinking the water for 10 days while they back wash the system with chlorine and run tests on the water. No drinking, brushing teeth, washing dishes, etc. It could be excrement, it could be dead animals, it could be used water that we are using, so basically, don't ingest anything until they give us the all clear. So, we stock up on water, buy paper plates and live like we are camping. I mean sure, I get to shower in bio-hazard, but I'm really hoping the toxins from the water will fertilize my hair and speed up the growth. At worst, I'll have diarrhea, rashes, flu-like symptoms and eventual death (I added that part, because it isn't a lie, we are all one day closer to death). It's fan-fucking-tastic.
All the while, I'm trying to stay calm, right? Trying to roll with the punches. Trying. As luck would have it, work has been full of little events that have left me tired and worn out on top of my daily will to live, which honestly, is getting less strong each day. Add to that my desire to get my eating back on track and I'm struggling. The freaking Girl Scouts are out, too. They are like grocery store cookie ninjas. I mean, it's a jungle out there.
This brings me to today. Today, I wake up tired. Not a good start, but I wander in to the bio-hazard shower and get "cleaned up." My hair is a little softer than normal, my guess is that the feces really plumps up the hair shaft. Anyway, I come in to get dressed and all is going okay. All except my mother trucking bra. Hey, Victoria, your "secret" is that your bra is a piece of shit. The fucking straps will not stay up. I call Shark Bait in, "Shark Bait, I need help!" He comes in reluctantly, like a baby deer coming in out of the forest for the first time. He knows the bedroom is a war zone when I get dressed. I've got a lot of fat control trying to happen and the right tights or nylons, the right skirt with the right shirt. It's complicated. Don't get me started on accessories. Anyway, I have him come in and change up the straps so that they criss-cross in the back. Now they won't slide. Perfect. The straps are, however, creating this weird hump on my back. Mother Trucker. I go in to melt-down and order Shark Bait away. He can't help me now, I'm too far gone. He willingly scampers away to the safety of the front room. I put the bra straps back and resign myself to just pulling up the straps all day every 10 seconds.
I arrive at work. Pissy. I'm really pissy. I open my email and the first email just sets me off. I rip the sender a new asshole and proceed with the other emails that need attention. Not long after that, the crowd starts to form by my desk. Apparently, some guy was bold enough to go into the men's room and go into a stall vs. just using the urinal. No one else was in the bathroom at the time, so why didn't he just use the urinal. When our Glass Palace reporter came on the scene, the man was standing up in a stall peeing. Apparently, this is cause for alarm. All of the guys were baffled on why this person would pee in a stall. I suggested maybe he was shy about his junk. They all said that no, that shouldn't be a problem, especially if he was alone in there at the time of commencing urination. What was he doing in there? I suspected, peeing in privacy, but the men of the conversation finally decided, he must have open sores on his penis. So, let that be a lesson to all you urinating stall users, there's a stigma to using the stall. Maybe he started out being a pooper and then assumed the urination stance? We can never truly know and I'm fine with that. Look, I'm just happy there have been no incidents in stall one in the ladies room, okay?
The crowd finally left. I continued with my admin work. I had a problem with an invoice not being approved. Apparently something had gone wrong behind the scenes and my boss didn't have the rights to approve it. I got on it, did some research, sent some emails, finally got it fixed. I was pretty proud of myself. That's how you handle that. I'm a fucking rock star. You know what? I'm gonna pay it forward. I let our VP's admin know I had fixed the problem and other people might run into the same issue. It wasn't long after that I received an email that would screw my day. Apparently, some things had changed behind the scenes that no one bothered to tell me about. This might not have been a problem, except that the contacts I made to get it fixed actually gave my boss all the super powers of the VP....and took them away from the VP. I didn't personally do it, but it happened as a result of me trying to "fix" my problem. Seriously. I give up. I was assured it wasn't my fault, but nonetheless, it is now something that will need to be un-fixed tomorrow.
About this time, Valerina came down to visit me. Thank God she did, because I was losing it. I asked her to come into my bosses office (my boss was gone). I said, "I need you to help me not hurt other people. I need you to help me get these bra straps off before I tear my arm off or take a hostage." She gladly complied and assisted me. Valerina is good in a crisis like that. She knew the danger, and like a good little soldier, did what needed doing. God bless her.
Beyond that, you can just insert in a bunch of other crap that irritated me and there you have pissy admin. I decided to use my forward momentum to contact the eye doctor that had "done me wrong" on my glasses. And by "done me wrong" I mostly mean my glasses don't fit right. I call the office and the gal has that dead soulless voice that says she could give a shit about my problem. That's when I became that customer. She started to talk over me and I just talked louder and over top her until she shut up and then I drove it home about how bad my glasses fit and how I hated them. I'm not proud, but I did get an appointment this afternoon to have the doctor fix them. Victory was mine.
I got my glasses fixed and came home a little earlier than usual. I took the dogs out and then came in to take care of my business. Watching the dogs pee made me need to pee, and soon. I go running into the master bathroom and as I lift the lid, I notice that clearly there had been a struggle before Shark Bait had left this morning. Whatever, I have to pee. I am trying to get the layer of FCD (fat controlling device), skirt and nylons down and start to bend down to take a seat when I noticed it looked like footprints on the carpet. What is that about? Weird....OH SHIT! SPLOOSH! My ass was in water! I repeat, my ass was sitting in water!!! I jump back up and realize that SOMEONE had clogged the toilet and walked away and went to work. I don't know how long the water ran over the toilet, but enough to entirely soak the rug on the bathroom floor. Like, there is a shit ton of water, no pun intended. I looked at the water. It was clear, which is why I didn't notice it being up to the brim.
So now, my skirt and nylons are down to my knees, my ass is dripping with water and my body wants to start peeing. Don't pee, don't pee, don't pee!!!! I start waddling and then I realize, in order to get to the other bathroom, I have to walk in front of the living room window where anyone could see me with my skirt around my knees and my bare ass waddling across the front room. I had nylons and shoes on, this was not a quick fix and my body was going to start peeing if I couldn't get this show on the road! I pull things half-heartedly back on and truck it to the other bathroom. I check the toilet. It has one of those blue tablets in there, so I can see the water level and that it is safe to descend upon the seat. I sit my wet ass down and take care of the task at hand. I just sit there for a second and shake my head.
What exactly have I done? Who have I pissed off? I mean, aside from the glasses lady, and frankly, she was rude to ME first. Now I had to take my still wet ass back across the great living room divide and get to the bedroom for clean clothes. And, furthermore, I'm not cleaning that up. Shark Bait better get home at a reasonable hour, because SOMEONE has some cleaning up to do!
I just really want to know what animal I need to sacrifice to make all this better? We already sacrificed a possum, and housed him after his demise (regardless if it was by our intent or not). I don't think it is too much to ask that I not have to bathe.... or sit in feces.
So, I'm hoping that is all the drama for today. I'm going to see about making something for dinner that takes the least amount of cookware and that we can eat on a paper plate. I think I'll call Shark Bait, too, and see when he plans on coming home...
And hey, word to the wise, look before you sit.
Ok, so those of you that read my blog are most likely my Facebook peeps, so I probably don't have to do a lot of review here, but I will, for the sake of keeping everyone on the same page.
It's been a crappy few months, moving, dead things, water leaks, broken dogs, etc. Blah, blah, blah. However, I keep hoping things will get better. They aren't. Most recently, we came home to a door tag stating that the last power outage had caused the community well we are on to lose pressure and thusly pull contaminated water back into the well from all of the pipes of the people that share this water supply. No drinking the water for 10 days while they back wash the system with chlorine and run tests on the water. No drinking, brushing teeth, washing dishes, etc. It could be excrement, it could be dead animals, it could be used water that we are using, so basically, don't ingest anything until they give us the all clear. So, we stock up on water, buy paper plates and live like we are camping. I mean sure, I get to shower in bio-hazard, but I'm really hoping the toxins from the water will fertilize my hair and speed up the growth. At worst, I'll have diarrhea, rashes, flu-like symptoms and eventual death (I added that part, because it isn't a lie, we are all one day closer to death). It's fan-fucking-tastic.
All the while, I'm trying to stay calm, right? Trying to roll with the punches. Trying. As luck would have it, work has been full of little events that have left me tired and worn out on top of my daily will to live, which honestly, is getting less strong each day. Add to that my desire to get my eating back on track and I'm struggling. The freaking Girl Scouts are out, too. They are like grocery store cookie ninjas. I mean, it's a jungle out there.
This brings me to today. Today, I wake up tired. Not a good start, but I wander in to the bio-hazard shower and get "cleaned up." My hair is a little softer than normal, my guess is that the feces really plumps up the hair shaft. Anyway, I come in to get dressed and all is going okay. All except my mother trucking bra. Hey, Victoria, your "secret" is that your bra is a piece of shit. The fucking straps will not stay up. I call Shark Bait in, "Shark Bait, I need help!" He comes in reluctantly, like a baby deer coming in out of the forest for the first time. He knows the bedroom is a war zone when I get dressed. I've got a lot of fat control trying to happen and the right tights or nylons, the right skirt with the right shirt. It's complicated. Don't get me started on accessories. Anyway, I have him come in and change up the straps so that they criss-cross in the back. Now they won't slide. Perfect. The straps are, however, creating this weird hump on my back. Mother Trucker. I go in to melt-down and order Shark Bait away. He can't help me now, I'm too far gone. He willingly scampers away to the safety of the front room. I put the bra straps back and resign myself to just pulling up the straps all day every 10 seconds.
I arrive at work. Pissy. I'm really pissy. I open my email and the first email just sets me off. I rip the sender a new asshole and proceed with the other emails that need attention. Not long after that, the crowd starts to form by my desk. Apparently, some guy was bold enough to go into the men's room and go into a stall vs. just using the urinal. No one else was in the bathroom at the time, so why didn't he just use the urinal. When our Glass Palace reporter came on the scene, the man was standing up in a stall peeing. Apparently, this is cause for alarm. All of the guys were baffled on why this person would pee in a stall. I suggested maybe he was shy about his junk. They all said that no, that shouldn't be a problem, especially if he was alone in there at the time of commencing urination. What was he doing in there? I suspected, peeing in privacy, but the men of the conversation finally decided, he must have open sores on his penis. So, let that be a lesson to all you urinating stall users, there's a stigma to using the stall. Maybe he started out being a pooper and then assumed the urination stance? We can never truly know and I'm fine with that. Look, I'm just happy there have been no incidents in stall one in the ladies room, okay?
The crowd finally left. I continued with my admin work. I had a problem with an invoice not being approved. Apparently something had gone wrong behind the scenes and my boss didn't have the rights to approve it. I got on it, did some research, sent some emails, finally got it fixed. I was pretty proud of myself. That's how you handle that. I'm a fucking rock star. You know what? I'm gonna pay it forward. I let our VP's admin know I had fixed the problem and other people might run into the same issue. It wasn't long after that I received an email that would screw my day. Apparently, some things had changed behind the scenes that no one bothered to tell me about. This might not have been a problem, except that the contacts I made to get it fixed actually gave my boss all the super powers of the VP....and took them away from the VP. I didn't personally do it, but it happened as a result of me trying to "fix" my problem. Seriously. I give up. I was assured it wasn't my fault, but nonetheless, it is now something that will need to be un-fixed tomorrow.
About this time, Valerina came down to visit me. Thank God she did, because I was losing it. I asked her to come into my bosses office (my boss was gone). I said, "I need you to help me not hurt other people. I need you to help me get these bra straps off before I tear my arm off or take a hostage." She gladly complied and assisted me. Valerina is good in a crisis like that. She knew the danger, and like a good little soldier, did what needed doing. God bless her.
Beyond that, you can just insert in a bunch of other crap that irritated me and there you have pissy admin. I decided to use my forward momentum to contact the eye doctor that had "done me wrong" on my glasses. And by "done me wrong" I mostly mean my glasses don't fit right. I call the office and the gal has that dead soulless voice that says she could give a shit about my problem. That's when I became that customer. She started to talk over me and I just talked louder and over top her until she shut up and then I drove it home about how bad my glasses fit and how I hated them. I'm not proud, but I did get an appointment this afternoon to have the doctor fix them. Victory was mine.
I got my glasses fixed and came home a little earlier than usual. I took the dogs out and then came in to take care of my business. Watching the dogs pee made me need to pee, and soon. I go running into the master bathroom and as I lift the lid, I notice that clearly there had been a struggle before Shark Bait had left this morning. Whatever, I have to pee. I am trying to get the layer of FCD (fat controlling device), skirt and nylons down and start to bend down to take a seat when I noticed it looked like footprints on the carpet. What is that about? Weird....OH SHIT! SPLOOSH! My ass was in water! I repeat, my ass was sitting in water!!! I jump back up and realize that SOMEONE had clogged the toilet and walked away and went to work. I don't know how long the water ran over the toilet, but enough to entirely soak the rug on the bathroom floor. Like, there is a shit ton of water, no pun intended. I looked at the water. It was clear, which is why I didn't notice it being up to the brim.
So now, my skirt and nylons are down to my knees, my ass is dripping with water and my body wants to start peeing. Don't pee, don't pee, don't pee!!!! I start waddling and then I realize, in order to get to the other bathroom, I have to walk in front of the living room window where anyone could see me with my skirt around my knees and my bare ass waddling across the front room. I had nylons and shoes on, this was not a quick fix and my body was going to start peeing if I couldn't get this show on the road! I pull things half-heartedly back on and truck it to the other bathroom. I check the toilet. It has one of those blue tablets in there, so I can see the water level and that it is safe to descend upon the seat. I sit my wet ass down and take care of the task at hand. I just sit there for a second and shake my head.
What exactly have I done? Who have I pissed off? I mean, aside from the glasses lady, and frankly, she was rude to ME first. Now I had to take my still wet ass back across the great living room divide and get to the bedroom for clean clothes. And, furthermore, I'm not cleaning that up. Shark Bait better get home at a reasonable hour, because SOMEONE has some cleaning up to do!
I just really want to know what animal I need to sacrifice to make all this better? We already sacrificed a possum, and housed him after his demise (regardless if it was by our intent or not). I don't think it is too much to ask that I not have to bathe.... or sit in feces.
So, I'm hoping that is all the drama for today. I'm going to see about making something for dinner that takes the least amount of cookware and that we can eat on a paper plate. I think I'll call Shark Bait, too, and see when he plans on coming home...
And hey, word to the wise, look before you sit.
No comments:
Post a Comment