I am reclaiming this blog as a way for me to deal with the aches and pains of what I do day in and day out. I never bring up in conversation what happens at work, because frankly nobody wants to hear about an old obese woman that is so lazy, she refuses to wipe her own ass. So this is my outlet, my soapbox, my therapist, my whipping boy. This is my way of putting out into the open the things I can never say aloud, even if I am just talking to myself.
One of the biggest sources of stress is a lady I will refer to from here on, as Mrs. Sweets. Mrs. Sweets is a picture of health as far as mobility is concerned. She exercises everyday, she eats regularly (if you a part of the medical community you'll know how astounding it is to hear about someone in their 90's), and is determined to do whatever she can phisically still perform. Her issue is that she is legally blind and has a terrible attitude about life. Her MR says she is also hard of hearing but I personally think that she is selectively hard of hearing. I've yelled things into her ear that she will still ask me to repeat, but then she will hear me mumble something under my breath. She acts as if she is the last of her clan (for all I know she could be) with a "woe is me" hallo she wears in every expression. This is the underlying problem. The problem I tend to have with her is that she is incapible of understanding that I am not a servant. I have twenty or so other people I have to care for, I don't have time to set her alarm clock, or hang her drapes, or sit in her room and listen to her weep about how she can't find the angel figurine you bought for three dollars at target. She is legally blind, and on top of that a pack rat. This combination is very disruptive to me, because whenever anything comes up missing, it has been stolen. Never mind that the thought of stealing an empty antique bottle of Canadian Mist is laughable, someone had to have taken it.
She is always coming back from a junk store like big lots with bags of shit. New clocks, new fake plants, more easy storage containers to further complicate and convolute her living space. Everything has a place, everything has a story. Even if the item is so far removed from the actual memory, it has sentimental value. The worst I was witness to was when she was convinced that someone had stolen her"Giving Angel" figure. This is the same figure I mentioned above. The story (condensed, this story in its full elaborated form took twenty minutes of my valuable time) was about how her son had found an old car for a friend of the family and gave it to him. So she got the angel as a token to stand next to his picture. That's it. A mass manufactured piece of plastic and polyester. The damn thing wasn't even a traditional piece, she bought it this past year. But to hear her moan and cry about it, you would think that the tiny guardian contained the memory itself.
I suspect that most of the hoarding stems from loosing her husband about two years back. This coupled with the loss of her son has left her a bit suicidal. Not normal suicidal, catholic suicidal. Let me explain: you still want to die, but for one you would actually do anything about it, and two instead of saying "Gee I want to kill myself" you say an equally damning statement such as "I don't know why The Lord doesn't go a head and take me home".
Friday, January 25, 2013
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Last night was possibly the worst night I have had in a very long time. It all started with a long work day, and a bunch of worthless customers. We had a grand total of five all day, and the only one who actually bought something came in at 4:25 (we close at 4:30) and didn't leave until well after five. From there I trekked back to my house to change out of my sweat soaked work attire (we don't have air conditioning and the building we occupy was once a refrigerated warehouse that still has six inches of foam insulation on most of the walls) and contact the people I was to be seeing that evening. My girlfriend, Alyssa had organized a few people to journey out to a little spot I had found with my friend, Graham, called the Tilted Kilt. The best way I have found to describe this place is "Hooters with kilts and green walls". This is a place you could easily see the Boondock Saints frequenting, but I digress. The first task of the evening was driving from my home in Brentwood, to my friend Anissa's in Antioch (about a twenty minute trip). Once we got there, Anissa informed Alyssa and I that before we went out that she needed to track down her boyfriend, Mike, whom she had promised to give a ride from a local bar to the downtown area to attend a friend's birthday party. This was a task within itself because nobody knew the location of the bar he was at, and he doesn't have a phone. After thirty minutes of driving up and down Murfreesboro pike without having any luck from Google Maps, Yelp, or the woman I had called who was working at the bar itself, we finally stumbled blindly into Larry's Restaurant and Lounge (I'm not kidding). Once coercing Mike into the car, he announced loudly that he wasn't going to Nashville, but was "Gonna go oyt wich'all". Also, about in the same time frame, Alyssa realized that she had also made plans with her friend Mary (thinking that her plans were for the next day) and resolved that we would bring her along with us, which meant we had to pick her up from Nolensville (another twenty minute drive from where we were). There is one thing I forgot to mention about most of Alyssa's friends, if they don't know where something is, they refuse to drive there. It's kind of like watching a three year old sit down in the middle of the cereal aisle, cross her arms and demand to be carried. Also, I don't care for Mary too much, but I'll get into that in a minute. At this point, Anissa had become so stressed out, she decided to scrub the whole mission and stayed with Mike at her apartment, leaving Alyssa and I alone with Mary.
On the drive to get Mary, I start to notice that Alyssa is staring at me. She will stare at me for long tracks of time without saying anything, as if she is trying to read my blank facial expressions. She does it mainly when she thinks I'm agitated, but she also does it when I'm doing mundane tasks like washing dishes, or even worse when I'm working out. It really bugs me when people stare at me, and people stare at me a lot because of my facial piercings, long hair, and large frame. But random strangers I can yell at or embarrass by staring back. With Alyssa I can do nothing but make an awkward situation out of something very small, or silently fume. Me being who I am went with the latter. I kept trying to tell myself that cheap beer and good music were not far away. Oh was I wrong.
Once Mary had been collected we started down the path, and so did Mary's mouth. Alyssa and Mary talk about the stupidest topics one could think of, it's actually quite painful to listen to. This pain was only made more vibrant because of a traffic jam that slowed our pace for an already lengthy trip (about forty five minutes) to a scratching crawl. And to add salt to my growing torment, they started talking about pregnancy. A previous girlfriend and I, a few years back, had lost a child in the late stages of the third trimester, so the subject of kids is a touchy one to me. I can't even be around children for more than an hour before needing a drink or a hasty escape. So being trapped in a small space with two people who were fully aware of this fact, discussing it was torture. After starting this little adventure around 5:30, at approximately 10:00 we finally reached the pub. And to my stomach's joy the grill was still open. Even though I had personally gave them the run down of how this establishment did it's business (Hooters with kilts) they both still shot me the "Are you kidding me?" feminazi glances. After wrestling with finding our server and trying to hear my guests grumble a conversation I wasn't invited into, I got my hamburger and my beer and I was content. Until of course our waitress decided to pop a squat at our table. At first I thought she was dumb, and boy was I wrong. She had originally lost favor with our table by not acknowledging us at first and being a bit daft about the menu. I didn't recognize her sitting with us as a ploy for a better tip at first, but it became blatantly obvious as I listened to her talk to Mary and Alyssa (I again wasn't invited into the conversation). Before three minutes had passed, she dropped on the girls that she had a five month old baby at home, but was getting a tumor removed. She didn't know if it was malignant. Surprised? I could see her stock portfolio rising rapidly. But I had to give it to her, my companions aren't easily hoodwinked, Alyssa particularly. This didn't stop for some time, so again I was subject to hearing about all the joys of children I was robbed of. Once again perpetuated by people that knew extensively of my past. I had to excuse myself outside because I was afraid I might lose my cool. After about fifteen minutes of talking on the phone I came back inside, I paid my tab and we left. Mark my words, I will never go out with the two of them again, under no circumstance or reason. Have a good day.
On the drive to get Mary, I start to notice that Alyssa is staring at me. She will stare at me for long tracks of time without saying anything, as if she is trying to read my blank facial expressions. She does it mainly when she thinks I'm agitated, but she also does it when I'm doing mundane tasks like washing dishes, or even worse when I'm working out. It really bugs me when people stare at me, and people stare at me a lot because of my facial piercings, long hair, and large frame. But random strangers I can yell at or embarrass by staring back. With Alyssa I can do nothing but make an awkward situation out of something very small, or silently fume. Me being who I am went with the latter. I kept trying to tell myself that cheap beer and good music were not far away. Oh was I wrong.
Once Mary had been collected we started down the path, and so did Mary's mouth. Alyssa and Mary talk about the stupidest topics one could think of, it's actually quite painful to listen to. This pain was only made more vibrant because of a traffic jam that slowed our pace for an already lengthy trip (about forty five minutes) to a scratching crawl. And to add salt to my growing torment, they started talking about pregnancy. A previous girlfriend and I, a few years back, had lost a child in the late stages of the third trimester, so the subject of kids is a touchy one to me. I can't even be around children for more than an hour before needing a drink or a hasty escape. So being trapped in a small space with two people who were fully aware of this fact, discussing it was torture. After starting this little adventure around 5:30, at approximately 10:00 we finally reached the pub. And to my stomach's joy the grill was still open. Even though I had personally gave them the run down of how this establishment did it's business (Hooters with kilts) they both still shot me the "Are you kidding me?" feminazi glances. After wrestling with finding our server and trying to hear my guests grumble a conversation I wasn't invited into, I got my hamburger and my beer and I was content. Until of course our waitress decided to pop a squat at our table. At first I thought she was dumb, and boy was I wrong. She had originally lost favor with our table by not acknowledging us at first and being a bit daft about the menu. I didn't recognize her sitting with us as a ploy for a better tip at first, but it became blatantly obvious as I listened to her talk to Mary and Alyssa (I again wasn't invited into the conversation). Before three minutes had passed, she dropped on the girls that she had a five month old baby at home, but was getting a tumor removed. She didn't know if it was malignant. Surprised? I could see her stock portfolio rising rapidly. But I had to give it to her, my companions aren't easily hoodwinked, Alyssa particularly. This didn't stop for some time, so again I was subject to hearing about all the joys of children I was robbed of. Once again perpetuated by people that knew extensively of my past. I had to excuse myself outside because I was afraid I might lose my cool. After about fifteen minutes of talking on the phone I came back inside, I paid my tab and we left. Mark my words, I will never go out with the two of them again, under no circumstance or reason. Have a good day.
Monday, May 30, 2011
First Xanga post
Friday, January 23, 2004
| Last night I went out with my viking friend, Boreka, to a satanic solstos ritual in downtown nashville next to a KKK owned truck stop. The preist was incredably intoxicated and accidently lit the sacrifice on fire before killing her, so needless to say we had to catch a flaming naked women. That bitch got melted skin all over my god damn leather pants. It took about thirty minutes for the fire to char down her nerves, so that made it easier for the fat black guy that never talks to slice her head off with his katana. After we left I dropped my pants off at the dry cleaners and picked up som'ore from my house. I got my dad to loan me twenty bucks (stole) then Boreka and I went and got some cheap vodka. Boreka got mad at a random padestrian and stabbed me in the eye. I have to go to the doctor today. I would've gone last night but I was too tired. |
Inspired by Kitty (recovered from Xanga)
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
My demon called me today. He said that our father below isn't happy with the polls. I'm going to see Mari tonight. I've seen her the past seven nights. She is such a freak. How much of a freak you ask? I will answer with a question, how many people have asked you to staple them to a wall with steak knifes and spank them with a lamp? Shes odd to say the least, but in the words of Hunter S. Thomson: "(She's) a rare breed...too weird to live, to unique to die." But still, I need to find someone that isnt turned on by being fucked by a heated hair curler. |
untitled (recovered from Xanga)
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
The other day when my friend Tasha and I went down to the local mortuary to get a birthday gift for my mom, this wigger dude with blood dripping down his nose walked up to us and and asked me to light his cigarette. Naturaly I refused because he was cracked out of his mind and it was allready lit. He took a swing at me only landing him in one of Tasha's headlocks. So I got a free present for my mom! In the process of putting him into the car, Tasha bit a hole in his ankle. Bastard was bleeding the entire way home. We made a nice chair out of him. Email me and I'll send you a picture. After we cleaned up the workroom Tasha went home, and I started out to a party my preist was having up the road. First I had to go by McDonalds and pick Boreka up from work. The stupid idoit had been getting complaints all day that the kool-aid machine had been spiked with some Portirican rum, so he was trying to hang himself with french fries. I paid for that rum too. Happy Birthday Mom!
The other day when my friend Tasha and I went down to the local mortuary to get a birthday gift for my mom, this wigger dude with blood dripping down his nose walked up to us and and asked me to light his cigarette. Naturaly I refused because he was cracked out of his mind and it was allready lit. He took a swing at me only landing him in one of Tasha's headlocks. So I got a free present for my mom! In the process of putting him into the car, Tasha bit a hole in his ankle. Bastard was bleeding the entire way home. We made a nice chair out of him. Email me and I'll send you a picture. After we cleaned up the workroom Tasha went home, and I started out to a party my preist was having up the road. First I had to go by McDonalds and pick Boreka up from work. The stupid idoit had been getting complaints all day that the kool-aid machine had been spiked with some Portirican rum, so he was trying to hang himself with french fries. I paid for that rum too. Happy Birthday Mom!
untitled (recovered from Xanga)
Friday, May 07, 2004
To remove the scrotum from a young adult would be one of the goriest sights imaginable. And I dont mean just a clean cut with all the toppings, just the skin. There is alot of tissue there, it would bleed quite profusely. If you didnt die during the process of the malpracticed surgery, you wouldnt have that long to retreive hospital care before all of your veins purged themselves of all their innerbeing, leaving them a worthless shell of mass, mocking your sufficating cells. I wonder how it would feel to have unsheithed testicules dangling from between your legs. I bet it would tickle.
To remove the scrotum from a young adult would be one of the goriest sights imaginable. And I dont mean just a clean cut with all the toppings, just the skin. There is alot of tissue there, it would bleed quite profusely. If you didnt die during the process of the malpracticed surgery, you wouldnt have that long to retreive hospital care before all of your veins purged themselves of all their innerbeing, leaving them a worthless shell of mass, mocking your sufficating cells. I wonder how it would feel to have unsheithed testicules dangling from between your legs. I bet it would tickle.
Ozzman (recovered from Xanga)
Friday, July 23, 2004
Ozzfest kicked my fuckin ass. If you've ever wondered what its like to be put into an oven, go to a festival where Hatebreed is playing and push up to the front. I guarantee you its not hard to get up there, just hard to say. Word of advice: if you go to Ozzfest and plan to spend time near the second stage, bring a bandana or something of the sort to cover your nose and mouth. There is a lot of dust in the air, and its not fun when your moshing your intestines out and you take a great big breath of crushed gravel.
Ozzfest kicked my fuckin ass. If you've ever wondered what its like to be put into an oven, go to a festival where Hatebreed is playing and push up to the front. I guarantee you its not hard to get up there, just hard to say. Word of advice: if you go to Ozzfest and plan to spend time near the second stage, bring a bandana or something of the sort to cover your nose and mouth. There is a lot of dust in the air, and its not fun when your moshing your intestines out and you take a great big breath of crushed gravel.
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