Annoyed on a Tuesday

Today at work it was "70's Day."  Four Feet of Fury loves the 70's.  She gets ready for work listening to 70's music and it seems to make her happy.  The music from that period mostly annoys me, so that could explain our mood differences.  Anyway, I didn't really want to dress up, but knowing how FFF felt about it, I thought I would be supportive.  I donned my long hippy dress and tried to curl my hair just like Farah Faucet. I knew I was in trouble when it started to flip completely out to the sides and I started to look a little more like the crazy cat lady.  I decided to go with plan B, which was hair pulled back and a full, sassy hair piece. Add a headband and some jewelry and presto, I was back in the 70's.

My outfit was a great success, except the dress is super long and actually trips me if I am not careful.  And, if I don't pull it up when I sit at my desk, it will get stuck in the rollers in my chair.  A real pisser when you have to go to the bathroom and you are playing office chair rodeo trying to get the hem of your dress out of the rollers before you pee yourself and without ripping the dress.  Indeed.  And yes, that did happen at least once today. It was making me crabby.  I know, the mind reels at the possibility of such an event occurring. It didn't help that people were making me crabby, too.  For example, I'm sitting there, minding my own business, working, and I get an instant message from Polly For The People wanting to know how I'm doing.  Immediately, I am on high alert.  No one messages me for no reason.  I ask her what's up.  She says nothing is up, she is just checking on me and wanted me to know that it is possible to get messaged without it requiring extra work on my part.  Not completely true.  I had to respond to her message. Thus, extra work. Nonetheless, I appreciate her sentiment.  I guess my railing on FB yesterday about how people only message me when they need something got through to someone.

My day progressed with the usual annoyances, but no major events.  I headed out to do a "desk drop" to all the consultants.  It was their lucky day.  They each get a can kozy and a handout.  Naturally, everyone wanted to know where their beer was. Ha ha. It got even less funny after EVERY person said something about it.  Whatever, we can't all be comedians.  I'm just about 3/4 of the way done passing these out when Bubba Gump, the security guard appears. I can't stand this guy, he annoys me.  He's kind of hunched over and staring at me.  I'm looking at him like, "what?" He doesn't say anything.  I finally said, "Can I help you?"  He asks me, "What is your name?"  I tell him and he says, "That's what I thought, there is a guy with a bunch of flowers for you at the front desk, I've called you like six times."  I looked at him, instantly annoyed, and said, "Well, clearly, I'm not at my desk."  He goes on to tell me that there are like six flower deliveries and that I need to bring a cart because the delivery guy is an old man with COPD and if I don't bring a cart, the guy isn't going to make it.  I asked, "so, do I need to go out to the parking lot, or what?"  He informs me the guy is by the front desk.  I said, "Okay, but he obviously needs the cart out there since he can't handle it."  The guard says, "He'll never be able to make six trips." We go round and round about where I need to be with the cart.  I'm losing my patience.  All the while, COPD guy is up there running the show while Bubba Gump is down here hunting me down.  Security at it's finest.  How do we know this isn't an elaborate rouse and that COPD guy isn't a suicide bomber?  We don't.  Bubba Gump didn't check his credentials.  This is how I know I am going to die there someday.  Anyway, I get my cart and head to the front desk to find a man hunched over the desk waiting for me.  He smiles and has half of his teeth in a lovely brown color and the other half are rotted off in various formations.  He is sickly, to say the least.  As I followed...I mean, lead him out to the parking lot with my rattly cart, he kept stopping to hock up parts of his lungs.  We finally make it out there and he hands me each arrangement.  There is only one left to get and suddenly, he stops, he can't go on.  His lungs have given out. Shit. He is going to die right here.  I don't have room for him on my cart, not with the flowers.  He finally manages to muster up the strength to hand me the last one.  I bid him adieu and start my dangerous trek back into the building.  I have to push my cart, hold up my dress and keep the flowers from sliding off the cart on the rough surface of the parking lot. This is a real hoot. I hope that guy wasn't looking for a delivery tip.  I make a mental note to be more diligent about my retirement.  Some day that could be me...pissing off some youngish saucy admin.

I finally get in the building, still upright and with all flowers still intact, and deliver the flowers to the happy recipients.  Now, where was I? Oh yeah, desk dropping the can kozy's.  By the time I am done, I am sweating in places I shouldn't be.  And, while I'm all proud of my Victoria Secret bra, let me tell you what all that padding does, it makes you freaking sweat.  I've got all this extra hair, a headband, extra jewelry, a long dress that has repeatedly tried to kill me today and I have tights that think the race to my ankles is the Boston Marathon.  Mother Trucker, I didn't need the perspiration, too.

At this point, I'm agitated.  Seriously. I sit at my desk and try and take care of some business.  First order of business is to let the employees know that lunch will be served to all of them tomorrow.  I sent an email out about this on Monday advising them (in all CAPS in the subject line) that lunch would be on Wednesday.  I had a few people ask me Monday afternoon where their food was.  No one can read the important part of an email.  It makes me angry. However, today, I am clever because I put it in the subject line again and now I put it multiple times in bold in the body of the email.  All the details they need.  Bomb proof. I can't possibly get questions now.  I walk away from my desk and someone asks me, "hey, when do I get my personal lunch?  Do you bring it to me or what room do I go to?"  I'm certain that my head spun around three times and that smoke came out of my nostrils.  I stopped and glared at him, "Don't you read your emails AT ALL?"  He smiled and said, "Well, kind of, but I like it when you tell me personally."  I smiled, in what can only be described as a menacing smile, and said, "Well, why don't you go read it again Einstein. This lunch isn't your personal lunch, it's for the center, do you really think I'd put it in a conference room?"  He started back pedaling.  I said, "Go read your email," and walked away.  I get back to my desk and I have an instant message asking me if the lunch will be buffet style or boxed style.  Okay, I'm going to lose it.  It's pasta, people. Who puts pasta in a box?  I talked about how we would keep the food warm and how people should come at their lunch times so that there would be enough food for everyone, etc., etc....I give up.  I had also explained to them that the food was coming in three different deliveries and provided the times.  Again stressing to them the importance of coming on their lunch time so that my calculations on deliveries would pan out. Another email, "What if my lunch isn't until after the last delivery?"  Um, come at your lunch time?  Then, finally an email that did not demand any further explanation, it simply stated, "You are making me hungry."  I felt dirty reading it.  I don't know why.  I felt like one of those cartoons where some guy is out in the desert with his best pal, but as a mirage he sees his best pal as a hot dog and starts chasing him and biting him.  I gotta get out of there.  I don't need anyone chasing me around the center thinking I'm a corn dog or something.  I think this place is getting to me.

I'll just be glad when tomorrow is over.  I hate center-wide lunches.  People don't follow directions, they think they are funny, they whine when they don't like something and they make a huge frigging mess. Well, in preparation for tomorrow, I'd just like to tell everyone, in advance,  you're welcome.

With that, I'd better get my beauty rest, because I am going to need to put a special face on tomorrow. The face of an admin that cares.  The hardest face to wear All. Day. Long.

Energy Shot?

Since I had my surgery, I do not absorb all vitamins as good as I should.  Specifically, I struggle with my Vitamin D, my iron and my B-12.  The B-12 is the biggest problem.  Notice these are all energy and mood enhancing necessities, no wonder I'm like a soaked Huggies diaper sometimes.  Anyway, the last time I was ordering my liquid vitamins online, I noticed they had some "Energy Shots" that were heavy on the B-12 and some other important stuff.  All natural, no unhealthy "uppers," which is good, because I can't handle anything that is an herbal stimulant. 

Today, I took one to work and decided I was going to take it.  I told Four Feet of Fury that I was going to take this, so watch out if I go crazy.  She whips it out of my hand and says, "let me see that!  You aren't taking that! It says it is 'High Performance' what does that mean?"  She is dead set against energy drinks and the like, says they are bad for you, which I tend to agree.  I told her it was supposed to be all natural and should be fine.  She starts looking up the ingredients online.  I said, "Don't you want me to perform at a high level?  Think of the crap I could get done, FASTER."  She still seems skeptical.  She gets to the second ingredient and starts laughing, "well this ingredient is good for erectile dysfunction, I don't even want to know what it is going to do to you."  I said, "Well, if you see me humping my chair or being inappropriate with my ponies, straighten me out."  She forbid me to take it.  I went over to Valerina and said, "FFF says I can't take this, but I want to, so watch me.  If I seem too intimate with my chair, stop me, okay?"  She agreed, she'd keep an eye on me. 

A few minutes after taking it, my chest fluttered a little bit and then I started giggling for no apparent reason.  Shit. This is bad. My hand started to itch and my left eye started to twitch.  It was at this moment I noticed one of the toys on my desk, a little dancing pony, had a pen positioned perfectly between it's legs so it looked like it had a big boner.  I couldn't stop laughing.  Dish Guy comes over and I said, "I have to ask you something, does this seem inappropriate to you?"  He stared at it for a minute and said he didn't think anything of it.  If the pen was sticking up in the air, maybe, but no.  Fine.  I had to move the pen, I couldn't take it anymore.

Come on, it's a little dirty, right?

After moving around, adjusting the items on my desk, I repositioned my dress so I wasn't exposing myself.  I looked down and noticed my boobs, dang, they look really good today.  That FCD has them good and scrunched..  Then someone walked by with a Marie Calendar microwave lunch.  Damn, that made me want a chicken pot pie.  I texted Will that I needed chicken pot pie and then eventually sex.  I was jacked up.  I was talking fast.  My boss came out and looked at me.  I smiled a crazy smile.  She went back in her office.  Cross Fit Crazy came over and asked for some documents out of the file cabinet.  I whipped around and walked over there, put the key in the cabinet and then cocked my foot up and tilted my head back.  I just stood there like that.  He started laughing, "what are you doing?"  I said, "I have no idea."  I gave him his stuff and went back to my desk.  Suddenly, I wanted to get everything done, all at once, this was going to be great, because by now, it was almost time to go home.  I looked at the clock again.  Wait, what?  I had looked at the clock, for what seemed like an hour ago and it said 3:15pm.  It was now showing 3:24pm.  I was in a time warp.  What the hell was going on.  I did a lot of stuff, it had to be an hour later, and yet, it wasn't.  Great, at this rate, I was never going to finish my shift. 

Dish Guy and his visiting boss, Cheetos & Takis, came over.  They were asking me something, or was I telling them something, I don't remember, but I was talking fast and somehow couldn't really remember where I was going with all this, but told them that luckily my energy shot had worn off.  They looked at each other and said, "...yeah, right...it's worn off..."  What?  I'm fine.  I mean, I have a little headache now, but my eye isn't twitching anymore and my hand is back to normal.  And, I totally didn't hump anything.

Valerina came over and I said, "I need crackers," with wild eyes.  She said matter-of-factly like a Mom, "you aren't taking that stuff again."  Fine.  However, as I sit here at home, a few hours later, eating my chicken pot pie, I can't help but wonder if I could get used to that afternoon buzz.  I'm watching Will over on the couch right now, eating his chicken pot pie, playing Quigly Down Under on his Kindle Fire and thinking, I wonder if he could use an energy shot...?  He seems tired...and possibly "uninspired."  I'm game to see if ingredient number two buys us anything extra.

Well, gotta go, gotta do dishes, clean horse stalls, feed the ponies, walk the dog, get lunch ready for tomorrow, think about what I'm going to wear, check FB, think about world peace and go to bed.  In consideration of my readers, I will not be reporting back on the results of ingredient number two.  You're welcome.

The Dark One

Mother Trucker.  That is the mood of the day.  The dark one has risen.  Of this, I am sure due to the two red marks on my forehead.  It would appear I am growing horns.  Fanfuckingtastic.

I'm not the only one that is a hot mess.  I check my FB first thing this morning and it appears the government is shutting down. The mother- trucking, lilly-livered, scum-sucking, ugly douchebag sons of a bulls nutsacks can't take care of our nation to save their lives.  No big deal.  The fat-cat, bottom feeding, wiener wielding asshats get paid, what the frick do they care?  They don't.  They have prostitutes to buy, oil in third-world countries and dirty deals with other country leaders.  NO ONE is looking out for us, least of all, our lame duck President.  I'm over it.  Now, in a related story about stupid people out for themselves, some couple in some other country decided to have sex on railroad tracks and the chick gets killed and the dude has severed legs.  What the hell is a matter with people?  Did you not see or hear the train coming?  My morning is filled with the asinine and ridiculous.  Ain't nobody got time for that. It's all just depressing.  Why don't we all just overthrow the effing government, go all "end of times" and frickin' pack a bow and a gun and do a Die Hard "yippie ki ya motha fuckers" and take charge? Who needs all this fancy crap?  I'm about ready to go prehistoric.  The government is going to kill us with our own food supply, pollution and bullshit anyway, why not make it interesting?  We are so busy screwing around in every other's country's business we can't even take care of our own.  Well, me Arnold Swartzenhegger, Sly Stallone and the effing Rock are going to get some shit right.  I'd better get my ass to the gym.

Anyway, I proceed to work and am in no mood to tolerate anything, but trying to semi fake it for Four Feet of Fury who likes to see me happy.  Luckily, she is busy so the darkness looming around me is undetected.  Then, almost as an answer to my prayer, HR shows up with a bunch of employee assistance pamphlets to pass out to those in need of support.  You know, if your employee says they are going to take the roof and off incoming civilians, you just give them a pamphlet, pat them on the head, and then you are good to go.  I took this as my queue to cover my ass.  One of the supervisors came up with a  question.  I proceeded to rip into her and when she stood there with her bottom lip hanging out, I handed her a pamphlet and said, "here, go make a  call and when they ask what your problem is, tell them "bitchy admin."  Now, go."  This was very fortuitous of HR to bring these today.  They were going to come in handy.  I wonder if I would need more...?

The next assault was when I checked my email to find a message from Ass Kicker.  Shit.  He was coming for me.  He wants to know when we can have our next session.  Today is not the day.  Although, I really should get down there soon, because of the "take back 'Murica" and my trip to the bathroom was exhausting.  Let me explain.  Today, I wore a long skirt...wait, let me start at the beginning...I had on the bra and panties, of course, then an FCD on the top, and FCD slip on the bottom, nylons and then the skirt, then a cami and then a cardigan on top of that.  I was layered like any fat girl does.  I waited almost too long to go to the bathroom because the nylons were under the lower and upper FCD, so I had to wiggle down the skirt and then the slip FCD, then roll up the upper FCD and then get my nylons down.  Holy shit, it was a serious undertaking.  Then, had to get myself back together after the fact and ensure nothing was tucked into the wrong thing as I left.  You people cannot appreciate what effort goes into dressing in the morning.

I got back to my desk, safe and sound, without flashing anyone and made a call to Amazon.  Those folks screwed up my order.  I ordered gift cards to be mailed to me so that I could hand them out to people that won them, but in Amazon's infinite wisdom, they gave me emailed gift cards, but then only emailed one of them.  I call and get some dude named Johnny with an accent so thick, I know that his real name is probably Bubskypicttaaaken Anju-Piakkeensomoffin.  He isn't from the hood, if you know what I mean.  I explain the problem to him.  Silence on the line and then he says, "I don't understand your problem."  I didn't understand that he didn't understand because I couldn't understand a fucking word he was saying!!!  Finally, I understand that he doesn't understand, so I say, "I don't understand what you don't understand...(I start to talk really slow) ...I wanted gift cards sent to me, so that I can give them away as prizes."  He says again, "I don't understand."  I said, again, this time slower and louder, "These cards are not for me.  I want the cards sent to me so that I can give them away."  Dead silence on the line.  I start again. "These cards are not for me to spend personally, I want to give them as gifts."  He finally responds back, "So these cards are not for you?"  I think I was having chest pains.  I'm certain my face was read.  I hit the mute button and put my head back and said, "oh my God, I am talking to the stupidest person on the planet in some village called Wikipupu, I know it..."  I probably just violated some sort of discrimination rule.  This is why HR is on the 5th floor and I am on the 3rd floor, sound buffer.  I finally finished my conversation with "Johnny."  I received an email from him asking me if he resolved my issue. I don't know how to answer that.  Until I see those cards, I don't know that he has.  I hope he doesn't get stoned at the well tonight for me not completing the survey.  I know that sounds really mean, but right now, I'm seriously sick of the bullshit going on in America. Maybe if we actually had people that worked here in America and companies didn't outsource so much, we wouldn't be in half the pickle we are in.  Ugh.

I finished my day by enduring a staff meeting and planning a luncheon for the entire effing work group at the Glass Palace.  I finally turn over to FB for some entertainment.  Not much entertainment there since everyone is pissed off at the government, which, rightly so, but seriously, where are my effing LOL Catz and inspirational quotes?  I did see one quote on there about how there are angels watching over us and how my Mom finds pennies where there were no pennies before and she thinks her angel leaves them for her.  Another friend claims she has found $20's from her angel.  I'm pissed. I have lost some special people in my life and none of them are leaving me money.  I don't even have that feeling anyone is watching over me.  Maybe it is because Satan has marked me to do his bidding.  I don't know.  If these bumps on my head get any bigger and start to form horns, or my tongue gets forked...or I grow a pointy tail...I don't know what, but it ain't gonna be good.  And baby, the Devil does not wear an FCD, so look for it to get ugly, too.

I've been marked by the dark one

I'm an Iceberg

I'm pretty pissy these days.  So much so, that my boss has noticed. I had canceled my therapy appointment due to other stuff going on and my boss informed me that I needed to call my therapist back and reschedule that appointment.  I guess I must seem on the edge.  I called my therapist and got my appointment back for today.

Today we talked about how much I feel angry and hateful.  I hate everyone that is happy, perky, active, achieving their dreams, losing weight, living a fun life.  I hate their guts.  Maybe not in my heart, but in my head, I do.  My therapist, the Rug Doctor, loves analogies.  She says I am like an iceberg.  Twenty percent of me is above water and angry.  This is the part everyone sees, the part I project.  The other 80% is under the water and is comprised of all the reasons I am angry on the surface.  The stress, anxiety, jealousy, vulnerability, sadness, fear, it's all there and it's driving the anger.  So, basically, all you skinny, happy, healthy, financially secure bitches are all wining and dining on your little boat called the Titanic of Life.  You are having sex all over the boat, eating whatever you want, wearing your diamonds.  Some skinny bitch wearing some big old amulet that is dangling in her robust cleavage is hanging over the front of the boat screaming that she is the king of the world with some heart throb standing behind her with a boner. (You can hear Celine Dion singing in the back ground ) I hate her guts.  I can't be her, so I'm going to destroy her.  Come here you big old Titanic of Life, come slam into this iceberg, let me show you what I think of your happy cruise of a lifetime.  Fuck off.  Oh, what is that? You're drowning?  That's sad, I hope you can push all those ugly people out of the life boats so you can get to safety.  Here, let me call my iceberg friends over to chill the water so you turn in to corpse-cicles.  I'm over you happy people.

No, I'm fine being an iceberg, really.  I've got all sorts of penguin friends that come over and climb all over me and shit on me.  Then, next thing you know, all these effing misfit toys show up and inhabit my cavernous hillsides.  Really, I'm okay with destroying the Titanic of Happiness, getting shit on by stupid penguins that just keep falling down over and over and using my iceberg ass for a slide for eternity, and then becoming the freaking land of misfit toys in hopes that some dentist with stupid hair and his mother trucking reindeer friend with a nose so bright show up and save the effing misfit toys when Santa gets word where they are.  That is just fine with me.

For the record, that probably isn't where the Rug Doctor was going with all that, but since she opened that door, I'm powerless to stop the train wreck of emotions that follow.  Speaking of trains, specifically runaway trains (aka, my train of thought), I told Rug Doctor about my anxiety when I see homeless people.  I'm torn between empathy and sadness and distrust.  I mean, some of those people are scammers out there on the corner.  Others are legit people that have fallen on hard times.  What if that is me someday?  What if I lose everything I have?  Financially, we are a mess right now, so what if it all goes to shit?  Then, that is me, my dog in a wheel chair, my pimp, Big Daddy, and there I am holding up a sign that says, "Homeless whore with a gimpy dog...anything helps, God Bless."  I'm wearing some wealthy bitches coat that she donated to the salvation army in 1986, I've got a half eaten hot dog in my pocket that I found in the dumpster behind Weinerschnitzel and a black eye from Big Daddy from putting up a fight when he took the $20 I earned blowing some crack head.  It's cold outside and I'm not sure where to go or what to do and I want more crack.  The other street whore bitches don't like me and I pretty much pray for a blizzard so I can walk out in it, curl up and die.  Rug Doctor just blinks at me.  I think my levels of crazy sometimes take her by surprise.  She says that scenario is unlikely to happen. She can't guarantee it won't, however, so the fear remains.

Here's the thing, I don't like being angry and feeling incapable of achieving the things I want to.  And don't tell me how I have achieved a lot over the last year.  I'm not buying that story.  I expect more from myself and this wishy washy ground of "I can't" is kicking my ass.  I'm angry.  I'm an iceberg.  And you bitches partying on the Titanic of Life, you better get your iceberg detection system checked.

Near, far...wherever you are....I  believe that the heart does go on...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKS5DwSC0fo

Barnacles are not plants?

I don't really know what was going on in the universe today, but people were weird.  It isn't a full moon, so that isn't it. There must be some other planetary thing going on.  My whole day was non-stop head shaking, but I won't bore you with all the details, I will just hit some of the highlights.

So, we have a few things going on at work.  First, my boss is on vacation, so I am baby-sitting her fill-in, Cross Fit Crazy. Secondly, we have new hires coming out of training and taking their first calls.  And thirdly, we are moving people around as we have just re-aligned our reporting structure.  All of this affects me in some way.

To start off, my bosses fill in, Cross Fit Crazy, has some random hair going on now.  He keeps his head primarily shaved, but has it long on the top.  He's been growing it out.  The general consensus is that he needs to cut it, but no one wants to say anything.  His one buddy even went so far as to get a picture of Sonic the Hedgehog and put on his ID badge.  Today, Cross Fit Crazy says, "I have a problem, I need your help."  I have my admin hat on, and said, "okay, what's up?"  He says, "I need to know what to do about my hair."  All at once, about 10 different responses bounced to the edge of my tongue.  I  felt like I was being tested.  I replied, "Well, I'm not really a fan of what you have going on now, I think you should shave it.  I'm not saying it looks bad, but I like it better shaved off." Then another supervisor came up and gave her opinion, turns out she liked it.  I knew this was a desperate time, I had to stop this positive re-enforcement.  I spotted Valerina.  "Valerina, Cross Fit needs to know what to do with his hair, what do you think?"  Without skipping a beat she did this finger thing where she pointed at it like "oh no you didn't!" and said, "you need to shave it and don't let this happen again."  There. It was done.  I knew I could count on her.

As the day progressed, I kept getting requests from people moved into their new desks needing things,so I am buzzing around taking care of business.  I get stopped by one of the new girls  and she is standing there, no shoes on, licking a big spoon and she is giddy as a school girl and says, "Did you know that barnacles are not plants?  They are animals!  I JUST learned that!"  I looked at her and contemplated the last time I had thought about barnacles. Hmmm, let's see, 3rd grade?  I said, "Well, that is interesting news...dare I ask how this conversation about barnacles came up?"  Her and three other girls giggled and said, no, they couldn't talk about it.  Okay then. I started to think what they were talking about that they couldn't share, I immediately thought of sex, but then wondered what barnacles had to do with sex.  Maybe her boyfriend had something on his junk that looked like a barnacle?  Ah man, I can't go there, sick. I guess my mind went to the sex part right away, because I understand one of them was walking out a few weeks ago talking about how being effed up the ass is not okay.  These girls clearly lead lives that are way more exciting than mine.  Anyway, I continued on to someone else that needed help.  I relayed the barnacle story because I thought it was kind of funny.  I was asked, "Why do people tell you these things? How does that happen?"  I shrugged and guessed, "Because I am so approachable and friendly?"  We both laughed.  That must be it.

I go back to my desk and I have yet another request in my email.  This person wants stickers.  Wait, what? Stickers?  I email back to Sticker Boy, "What do you mean...stickers?"  He emails back, "you know, like the kind on our badges."  I take my badge out of it's holder.  Side story: as I take it out, a sensor device falls out of my Coach lanyard-badge-holder thingy.  It was a security device.  No wonder every friggin' store I go to sets off the damn sensor! No wonder my poster is probably up in back rooms all over the stores I frequent.  Well, at least that mystery is solved.  Anyway, I email Sticker Boy back and advise him that those stickers came from our security department.  I ask him what he needs the stickers for, because I do have address labels I could put our logo on.  He emails back and says that would work, but still won't tell me why.  I'm getting irritated, why does he need the mother trucking stickers???  I email back, "You still have not told me what you need them for."  He replies, "Just a random thought.  I don't NEED them right now.  Just need to know if I could get them."  He is still not telling me.  He is withholding information, in which I need to process how much of a lunatic he is.  I mean, "random thought?"  A random thought for me, is like, "hey wonder what I should make for dinner?"  "Should I cut my hair?"  "Should I drive into oncoming traffic? What would that feel like."  You know, real stuff.  Not, "I wonder if I can get some Glass Palace stickers."  I guess it will just have to be a mystery.  I think he wants to label everything at his desk, his car, his home...possibly his body.  I'm not giving him any effing stickers.

Then, my day gets exciting when someone from another state calls and wants to know who in my department reached out to their VIP.  Our person didn't give their VIP a name and now the VIP is waiting for our person to get back to them.  Well, shit, that isn't a lot to go on, so I activate the bat signal.  I send an email out to the entire center asking who contacted VIP - Joe Blow and to please let me know ASAP.  It was a long shot, but you never know.  Well, since it is my lucky day, I got a response right away.  Okay, mystery solved. I can now go on with my day.  Then, I get a second email from Seriously Confused.  Seriously Confused says that she talked to this VIP days ago and told that VIP to come downstairs and see  her when they got a chance, so why does this VIP want an email from her?  I wrote back advising Seriously, that this was not the same person and that she did not need to worry.  This VIP is from another state and doesn't work in our building.  I get another email back, "Then why do they want me to email them?"  I shook my head.  Was I not clear? I wrote back again, advising Seriously that she did not need to take any action as the person involved in the situation had come forward and is taking care of the situation.  I thought that settled it.  I get another email bordering on hysterical demanding to know why I had emailed her specifically and to let her know why she needed to email this VIP.  I was losing my effing mind.  I wrote back.  I used Caps Lock and advised her something along the lines of "This isn't about YOU. YOU do NOT need to take any action. I did not email YOU, I emailed the center. This is NOT your situation.  I do not know how to be more clear than to tell you that YOU DO NOT need to take any action."  I just finish my rampage when Camo Boy chimes in and says, "did you know you sent that email about that Joe Blow VIP to the whole center?  I didn't understand it."  I said, "No kidding, it was supposed to go to the whole center since I needed to know WHO IN THE EFF talked to him and I had zero info to go on!  Do you even read your frigging email? Now, sit down, shut up and take a call!!!  A-B-C your way out of this conversation and SIT DOWN."  Camo Boy says, "oh, I didn't really read it, I just scanned it." It was a two line email. Mother Trucker, a girl wants to punch people some days. And, so help me, if I come in tomorrow and have an email waiting for me advising me that Seriously needs to know what to do again, I will snap...crackle...and pop.

Just when I think I can start to wind down and all the people that need a chair, keyboard, printer, fax line, stickers, Clorox wipes and a lesson in "slow down and read your mother trucking emails," Cross Fit comes over and says, "hey, I need you to send an email..."  Sweet Jesus.  So, apparently tomorrow is "shorts day."  Hoo-friggin-ray.  I send out an email advising of the do's and don'ts of shorts.  I make a list for guys and a list for girls.  In the list for girls, one of the things I stated was, "Daisy Duke does not work here, don't even think about it. If your shorts were cut off by you or someone in a factory, just don't."  First reply back to my email after I send it out was, "So, you don't mention the Daisy Duke thing on the guys list, does that mean they can?"  I guess you can never be too specific.  If I see one guy wearing Daisy Dukes tomorrow, I will have failed.  I will turn around and walk out.  Now, I'm actually kind of worried about it.  Sweet Maryanne, these people don't even know what category to put a barnacle in?  What are the chances they understand the list is universal?  I'm screwed.  Some one is going to get me on  technicality, I know it. "Cassondra never said the boys couldn't wear short-shorts..."

Thank God tomorrow is Therapy Thursday is all I can say...

I'm Driftwood

It's raining today and I feel Fall coming on. I always get depressed in the Fall.  I don't know if I have seasonal disorder or if is some sort of subconscious thing, but lucky for me, it is therapy Thursday. I did try and rise above this morning by looking up motivational quotes.  Turns out, that just made me feel more depressed.  When you can't get motivated and then some random person writes two sentences about how you should be trying to be amazing or you will just suck and die (okay, it didn't say that in so many words, but that was the gist of it), it ruins your buzz. 

I was trying to shake off my funk when Four Feet of Fury walks in and says, "I have a project for you."  She is carrying a Keurig coffee maker, rubber gloves, tongs, goggles and other random items.  She continues, "I need a fan, too.  Come in my office."  This type of behavior should not surprise me at this point. Why can't I be more like her?  A little quirky and always up to something.  She is fun, I'll give her that.  She is one of those positive people though, one of those people I don't quite understand.  Oh well, maybe she will rub off on me.  Guess I better go see what we are going to do with those tongs and gloves (it's a long story, by the way, just had to make a video about how to make coffee if you are technology challenged).

The day progressed without any major drama, but I was glad when it was time to go to therapy. I have been feeling very stuck lately and I hoped we could talk through some of that. I had shared my previous blog about the fluffy tail skunk with the Rug Doctor and she had some analogies of her own to share.

In my blog about the skunk tail, I talked about how I didn't think I could get to positive self-actualization and how I didn't get people that were positive about things.  I seem to be stuck in this pattern of "it's never going to work, it's never going to happen." The Rug Doctor suggested that I have created this black and white world where I dwell in the black most of the time and view the white as impossible to achieve. What I need to do is explore the shades of gray (not 50 Shades of Gray, just to be clear..although, that might get me out of my rut...) and allow myself to make choices and acknowledge that sometimes I can do what I need to do, sometimes things do go well, sometimes today doesn't totally suck, sometimes today is good enough.  I feel like if I can't get to the "white world," then I will never be able to achieve my goals.  The Rug Doctor was quick to point out that the white world is not who I am.  I will never be self-actualized into the white world, and that is okay.  She said a lot of external factors that I can't control happen and I have to make choices on how I deal with that.  She was trying to find the right analogy.  We shared a quiet moment while I contemplated her statements.  I considered the possibility that I was not able to play in the gray area and wondered how I could explain it to her.

I finally said, "But what if I'm driftwood? What if I am this piece of dead wood just floating down the river, unable to change, unable to control my destiny?"  The Rug Doctor is big on the theory that everything changes and said that driftwood could change.  I said, "yeah, if I drift to shore and someone uses me for their fire.  They light me on fire, maybe make some smores, I get gooey marshmallow all over me, then some kid pokes me with a stick, some guy throws a beer can on me.  Then, later, as the fire goes out, some dog comes over and pisses on me and then they kick me back in the water.  Now, I'm a little more abused, a little more used and I'm floating again, retaining water, no less, and I can't control it."  Rug Doctor contemplated for just a moment and countered, "I have a friend that loves driftwood to put in her garden, what if she picks you up and takes you home?"  Without even thinking about it, I said, "Yeah, and then, there I am, sitting in her garden, slugs crawling all over me, friggin spiders, birds crap on me, weeds grow all over me and then I start to decompose in the cold, wet ground."  Rug Doctor looked a little pained and said, "I think we need a new analogy.  You are not driftwood.  Driftwood can't control it's destiny and you can."  I responded, "I'm driftwood."

I told her that I was at a loss as what I should do to get out of this rut.  I told her about being mooned at work by the gal that was wearing a short skirt and no panties.  I explained that gal likes to go nude and hangs out in a community that clothing was optional.  Maybe, I just needed to go hang out with her, get naked and smoke some pot until I didn't give a shit about anything.  I wonder if I could get into the "white zone" by just letting myself completely go.  Stoned and naked.  I think that is pretty much taking things to the extreme and  I don't know if the nakie community is ready for all this clothed or unclothed.  I can't be trusted to run around with naked people with all inhibitions completely out the window.  I'm pretty sure I would get my ass kicked for something I said, like, "hey, do you ever get slivers in your junk when you sit on wooden furniture?" or "how do you keep your boobs from flapping when the wind blows?"  I'm pretty sure I would get kicked out of the nakie community. (I have actually blogged about my thoughts on what happens in a nakie community before, here is the link if you need a refresher: http://angry-pony.blogspot.com/2012/07/im-not-ready-to-be-naked-in-public.html).

Anyway, it was a pretty uneventful session.  I'll just carry on and hope that my inner driftwood self emerges from the water as some unique piece that someone wants to admire - not so much that they put me in their sucky garden, but enough so that they don't let their dog piss on me.  It's the best I can hope for on this stormy Thursday evening.

Flat Skunk, Fluffy Tail

I haven't been blogging much lately.  So much I want to blog about, but it's just too risky to blog about certain things.  I have tons of inspiration at work each day, and yet, sadly, much of it must be left alone.  I've also not really been in the mood, but tonight, I felt inspired. I've had a day of the fax machine sending me blank faxes, the villagers surrounding my desk with their needy demands and more drama than you can see in a full season of America's Next Top Model.  And when I saw roadkill on the way home, I knew I needed to  write down some of my thoughts, no matter how unstable they may be.

A few days ago, there was a skunk hit on the road not far from our house.  It was horrible.  The smell was so bad you could taste it, you could not escape it.  Whomever hit that skunk did a good job of cleaning out the stink glands.  As I have driven by it each day, it has become a little flatter, a little less offensive.  The guts a little less graphic, the body shape a little less recognizable.  But the tail, the tail remains fluffy.  And I thought, what a great metaphor for life.  One day, you are walking around, full of life and stink, ready to take on the world, but then, you decide you are going to take a chance and check out the other side of the road.  WHAMO! Life kicks your ass. You stick your ass out there and spray like you've never sprayed before and guess what, your stink wasn't enough to win this battle. But your tail, it remains strong, you can squish that little skunks stink out, but you cannot kill the essence of the skunk.  That tail refuses to become roadkill, it poofs out in defiance.  I know that skunk is dead, but it's spirit, it's still there. You can't kill the spirit. I need to remember that fluffy tail and become inspired by it. No matter what is going on, I have to keep my stinky tail fluffy. 

There is also a person I know that has a son battling cancer. Life is pretty intense for her right now.  But she is trying to remain positive.  She told me the other day that she is taking a new approach. Like, whatever you think, that is what will happen.  So, if I believe I will win the lottery, I will. If I believe I will get a new job, I will, if I believe I'll lose weight, I will. (So far, I have believed that I will have another bowl of ice cream, and I did).  If she believes the cancer will be cured, it will.  I've heard it said that you bring on whatever your thoughts are.  Like, if you think you will get cancer and worry about it, you will.  Well, freaking great, I worry about that all the time!  But, I'm not supposed to think about it.  How can I not think about it now that I know worrying about it brings it on?  I mean, has my destiny already been written out?  Is it too late?  I have to think about it...I have to think this through, but what if thinking it through makes it happen? Now I'm worried about thinking.  Shit.  Clear the mechanism....I can only think positive thoughts.  Well, I'm screwed.  This isn't working.  What if I can't think only positive thoughts? I mean, we all know this is an impossible situation.  Just the other day, when it was therapy Thursday, I was telling my therapist that on top of everything else going on, I went to the dermatologist, and after she pulled my butt cheeks apart and looked for cancer in my butt crack, she said I am allergic to something and that I have to stop wearing make-up.  I said, "oh great, now I will be hideous on top of everything else."  My therapist laughed and said, "okay, I'm not laughing about you thinking you're hideous, that isn't funny, but your dark humor gets me every time."  Then she went on to say that instead of focusing on being hideous, I should look in the mirror and pick one thing that I have going for me on that day that I can draw some self worth or pride from.  For example, maybe my hair looks like shit and I have a new zit, but that freaking right eyebrow looks AMAZING!  Hold on to that pride all day.  You know, I can walk around cocking my right eyebrow like, "hey, how YOU doin'?"  You know, rock it.  Work it. Own it.  My effing right eyebrow is UNSTOPPABLE.  And don't get me started about the nail on my middle finger, it is having it's own Emmy Award red carpet experience, I should use it ALL DAY.

I guess what I'm really saying here, is that if I have to hold on to thoughts like, "hey good-looking, your nose hair is amazing today," how in the hell am I going to get to positive realization?  I don't freaking think so.  I am positive that all this being positive all the time crap isn't for me. Does that count as a victory?  Positive people freak me out.  I mean, not like spiders, but I don't get them.  I've said it before, I'll say it again, what the hell?  How can you walk around pretending to be happy all the time? Because I can assure you NO ONE is happy all the time.  It just isn't possible.  Why pretend?  I sure don't.  And people depend on that.  Like, if people ask how I am and I smile and give them a positive response, they ask if I'm okay.  It makes them visibly uncomfortable.  People want me to be sassy and real. I can't turn this corner to a positive way of life. The balance of the universe is at stake.  What if I self-actualized myself into a happy person?  Egad!  The zombies will immediately follow if this were to actually happen.  For the safety of man-kind, I must stay the course of Angry Pony.

However, what I can do, is draw inspiration from the dead skunk and his fluffy tail.  The tail that could not be flattened.  The tail that would not succumb to the hundreds of cars that would drive over it.  The tail that still smells of a skunks ass.  That tail is what life is about.  Life stinks, but we cannot give up.  We must live to fight another day, even when life knocks us down. You can't see this, but I'm waving a flag and humming Glory Glory Halleluiah, a single tear streaming down my face, like that Native American Indian sitting on his horse overlooking the garbage on his land in that one commercial when I was a kid.  This moment in time, it is as magical as a unicorn fart.  I'm almost self actualized just talking about this effing skunk tail!

That last part is kind of a  bunch of bullshit.  I just pulled the last couple of drags of ice cream out of the carton and I'm about ready to go put my pj's on and scratch something.  I'm freaking exhausted. You are going to have to self-actualize on your own.  I'm done.