Free to a good home - or bad one, i don't care: One barely used uterus. Like a piano, the actual getting it out of where it is and to your place might be tricky - that part is up to you though. Seems to work fine, except for once ten years ago; however, since then, it has been perfectly regular. Requires meds two days a month. Answers to a variety of swear words. Pick it up today and i'll throw in two ovaries and a diva cup as a bonus.
Seriously, get this fucking thing out of me.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Thursday, August 14, 2014
15 Years
Apparently, even after 15 years a person can still experience Crumple Neck. Crumple Neck is a phenomenom i first witnessed and named after my brother Mike died. He was an immensely popular dude. There were a lot of people coming and going to offer comfort and to pay their respects. That moment when it hits you that someone is gone, after the shock wears off and reality sets in - that's when it happens. I saw it happen to each of my siblings and my dad and countless of his friends and family. The hands cover the face, the head falls forward like neck has given out under the enormity of sadness filling the brain, the whole body quivers for moment and then down they go. The body just collapses as if their bones have crumbled. All the times i watched it happen, the Crumple Necker was caught and mad hugging and sobbing ensued. It was horrible. I didn't experience it, or perhaps part of it is not realizing it is happening. I guess that could be.
I've been feeling not entirely like myself for about a month. I feel offended and slighted by completely innocuous things. I feel like i'm on the defense at all times. My brain gets fixated on stupid shit and won't let go like it normally does, like lakes and harmless off hand comments or a not-prompt-response from someone. My inner dialog and even what comes out of my mouth has been a nonstop stream of hateful bitchiness. I've been worried constantly about nothing in particular and seem to look for something going wrong to focus on. But everything is awesome - there's no reason for this. I love my jobs, my home, my friends, my city. My parents are moving back soon, the school year is about to start and the program this year is going to be bigger and better than ever and i get to work with two of my best friends, my art has been selling a little. All these things are great. So why do i feel impending doom? My anxiety has been getting progressively worse for a week straight.
Yesterday i realized that this is the exact way i was feeling in the weeks before my brother died. I kept having panic attacks and thinking everyone secretly hated me. I went to my doctor 3 times in the month leading up to Michael's accident. Every time all i could do was cry and tell him over and over that i felt like something bad was going to happen. I couldn't explain why or what, i just felt doom. After he was hurt, he was improving for two weeks and had one week left in the hospital before getting transferred to a care facility for therapy...and then he just died. He was fine, burnt but fine, and then he was dead.
When i felt that yesterday, that i was back to that place i was in before that all happened, i panicked. For real panic, worse than i have experienced in 15 years. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop and i'm absolutely terrified something terrible is going to happen again. Everything could go to shit again. I Crumple Necked. There was no one there and i went down like a ton of bricks. I went to the doctor, poor guy. He was only a general practioner, but he listened and was encouraging. He let me know that even if i watch for this stuff and do what i can to twart it, sometimes depression can get in there so intensely that before you know it you're bawling your head off, hiding in your bed or becoming a defensive über bitch and start having panic attacks. That is how my depression presents, and that way sucks because panic attacks can happen if i'm worried about having one or i remember ones i've had before. It's a sadistic disorder.
I miss my brother and i miss feeling normal. I hate my stupid brain for not knowing what chemicals to produce and when. I hate feeling like a fuck up when i'm doing the best i can. I hate feeling like i can't talk to my friends when i feel this way because i don't want to seem weak or bring them down.
This shit was supposed to be under control.
UPDATE: I didn't find this out until 3 days after i published this post, but on the day i had my freak out and went to the doctor, my oldest brother DJ was on a farm during a grain dust explosion. He was not hurt, thankfully, although there was a casualty at the site. Weird, huh?
I've been feeling not entirely like myself for about a month. I feel offended and slighted by completely innocuous things. I feel like i'm on the defense at all times. My brain gets fixated on stupid shit and won't let go like it normally does, like lakes and harmless off hand comments or a not-prompt-response from someone. My inner dialog and even what comes out of my mouth has been a nonstop stream of hateful bitchiness. I've been worried constantly about nothing in particular and seem to look for something going wrong to focus on. But everything is awesome - there's no reason for this. I love my jobs, my home, my friends, my city. My parents are moving back soon, the school year is about to start and the program this year is going to be bigger and better than ever and i get to work with two of my best friends, my art has been selling a little. All these things are great. So why do i feel impending doom? My anxiety has been getting progressively worse for a week straight.
Yesterday i realized that this is the exact way i was feeling in the weeks before my brother died. I kept having panic attacks and thinking everyone secretly hated me. I went to my doctor 3 times in the month leading up to Michael's accident. Every time all i could do was cry and tell him over and over that i felt like something bad was going to happen. I couldn't explain why or what, i just felt doom. After he was hurt, he was improving for two weeks and had one week left in the hospital before getting transferred to a care facility for therapy...and then he just died. He was fine, burnt but fine, and then he was dead.
When i felt that yesterday, that i was back to that place i was in before that all happened, i panicked. For real panic, worse than i have experienced in 15 years. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop and i'm absolutely terrified something terrible is going to happen again. Everything could go to shit again. I Crumple Necked. There was no one there and i went down like a ton of bricks. I went to the doctor, poor guy. He was only a general practioner, but he listened and was encouraging. He let me know that even if i watch for this stuff and do what i can to twart it, sometimes depression can get in there so intensely that before you know it you're bawling your head off, hiding in your bed or becoming a defensive über bitch and start having panic attacks. That is how my depression presents, and that way sucks because panic attacks can happen if i'm worried about having one or i remember ones i've had before. It's a sadistic disorder.
I miss my brother and i miss feeling normal. I hate my stupid brain for not knowing what chemicals to produce and when. I hate feeling like a fuck up when i'm doing the best i can. I hate feeling like i can't talk to my friends when i feel this way because i don't want to seem weak or bring them down.
This shit was supposed to be under control.
UPDATE: I didn't find this out until 3 days after i published this post, but on the day i had my freak out and went to the doctor, my oldest brother DJ was on a farm during a grain dust explosion. He was not hurt, thankfully, although there was a casualty at the site. Weird, huh?
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
The Story of Kasper OR Why I Never Trust That I Actually Know Anything
A long, long time ago, when i was in community college in Illinois, i had a classmate named Kasper (obviously, that is not his real name). He was a mega-babe and by far the most hilarious man i had met since moving away from home to a place where i knew no one except extended family who lived 45 minutes from where i was working as a live-in nanny. The family i worked for was (still is) awesome, and while i was content with my living and working conditions, i was lonely. I had made no friends outside of the cul-de-sac and none of those people were my peers in any way. I just didn't do anything except work, create art in my hella sweet suite in the basement, write letters, talk on the phone endlessly with all the friends i had left in Iowa, and spend hours reorganizing my expansive Pez dispenser collection. In the first six months i lived there, the lady of the house kept encouraging me to go to college, to figure out what would come after being a nanny, to challenge myself and put my "obvious intelligence" to use in bettering myself. She convinced me to get an education and helped me enroll in night and weekend classes at the county college 20 minutes from our house. Oh, the perks of living with a brilliant school counselor...
I excelled at my first two semesters although i had a hard time relating to the kids in my classes. They were all several years younger than me and had all come from very different (far more privileged) backgrounds. Working in groups was like being thrown into a group of derelict aliens. After a year of not meeting anyone who i thought possessed any of the qualifications i require for friendship, and after about the Nth time some idiot 18 year-old boy said, "Cold out there?" while eyeing my chest as i came in from a snowstorm, i came to the conclusion that i was simply not going to make friends. And then, in Spanish class, i met Gata and in Math for Teachers i met Kasper - all in the same week. Gata was the funniest girl i had ever met and easily the coolest and most interesting person i had met in years. I had thought all the cool people were already my friends and that they all lived in Iowa and that people from Illinois were pretentious jerks. She proved me wrong and i am forever grateful. Now Kasper...he was funny too, but also kind of dark and mysterious. He had these brown eyes that i wanted to live inside of, or else rip from his face and keep in a jar. I would get so nervous before class that i almost felt like puking. He would come in, look around for me, and then take a seat as close as possible and proceed to ignore the lecture portion in order to show me pictures that he drawn or things he had written. If i came to class late, he always had a seat for me. We worked in groups or pairs together exclusively and talked about music and art and deep things. After class we'd go to the cafeteria or the commons and just hang until the school closed for the night. If i happened to be looking stressed or unhappy, he would go out of his way to make me feel better. We never talked outside of school but i thought about him constantly and talked about him to Gata even more. One weekend she and i had plans to meet some other friends at a bar to see a local band that did a pretty decent rock cover show. Gata convinced me to invite Kasper to meet me there. I somehow managed to ask him without throwing up all over myself or having a stroke and to my utter delight his reply was, "Hell yeah - i love their show. Can't wait!" And so Saturday could not get there quickly enough. I wish that the world had ended at that moment.
Saturday night i sat at our table breaking my neck to see the door. Eventually i started to think he wasn't going to show and gave up watching the entrance like a hawk. I was having a good old time with Gata and some other classmates when someone taps my should and i stand and turn to see Kasper...with a really pretty redhead on his arm. He introduces us (i can't remember what the fuck her name was because really all i could hear was the blood rushing out of my heart and brain and some voice inside me saying. "You stupid bitch. You really thought this was going to be a date, didn't you? You sad, sad stupid cow."). After the intro, the redhead says she's going to get a drink and Kasper leans in, all smiles, and says, "I can't believe she said yes - i've been working up the nerve to ask her out for months." I opened my mouth and heard, "Oh, how extraordinarily awesome that must be. Hope it goes well." Then i turned back to my table, drank my beer and Gata's, ordered shots and another round for everyone except the traitor and his red-haired hussy. I proceeded to get as drunk as possible as fast as i could. Needless to say, Kasper and his date found another table and spent the whole night gazing into each other's eyes and giggling with their heads together. They didn't even watch the goddamn band, the losers.
The rest of that night went as expected. I was feeling hurt and embarrassed, but above all pissed off. I was mad at myself for misinterpreting his friendship for something more. I was really honked off at him for spending all this time talking to me about everything in the world besides that dumb slut he brought ON OUR DATE. And i was incredibly angry that i had just looked so stupid in front of my one and only friend in the entire state. Gata was awesome about it though - she offered to cut his brake line or punch the girl in the face or follow Kasper to the bathroom and cut his balls off. You know, all the things a best friend does. In the end though, it was me who got punched in the face that night. I ended up getting jumped by 3 horrible cunts over a misunderstanding about the stupid drummer's sweatshirt. That's a story for another time.
Anyway - that is why i never actually believe anything that i think i know. My heart is a big mean jerk that can trick my brain into almost anything given the chance.
I excelled at my first two semesters although i had a hard time relating to the kids in my classes. They were all several years younger than me and had all come from very different (far more privileged) backgrounds. Working in groups was like being thrown into a group of derelict aliens. After a year of not meeting anyone who i thought possessed any of the qualifications i require for friendship, and after about the Nth time some idiot 18 year-old boy said, "Cold out there?" while eyeing my chest as i came in from a snowstorm, i came to the conclusion that i was simply not going to make friends. And then, in Spanish class, i met Gata and in Math for Teachers i met Kasper - all in the same week. Gata was the funniest girl i had ever met and easily the coolest and most interesting person i had met in years. I had thought all the cool people were already my friends and that they all lived in Iowa and that people from Illinois were pretentious jerks. She proved me wrong and i am forever grateful. Now Kasper...he was funny too, but also kind of dark and mysterious. He had these brown eyes that i wanted to live inside of, or else rip from his face and keep in a jar. I would get so nervous before class that i almost felt like puking. He would come in, look around for me, and then take a seat as close as possible and proceed to ignore the lecture portion in order to show me pictures that he drawn or things he had written. If i came to class late, he always had a seat for me. We worked in groups or pairs together exclusively and talked about music and art and deep things. After class we'd go to the cafeteria or the commons and just hang until the school closed for the night. If i happened to be looking stressed or unhappy, he would go out of his way to make me feel better. We never talked outside of school but i thought about him constantly and talked about him to Gata even more. One weekend she and i had plans to meet some other friends at a bar to see a local band that did a pretty decent rock cover show. Gata convinced me to invite Kasper to meet me there. I somehow managed to ask him without throwing up all over myself or having a stroke and to my utter delight his reply was, "Hell yeah - i love their show. Can't wait!" And so Saturday could not get there quickly enough. I wish that the world had ended at that moment.
Saturday night i sat at our table breaking my neck to see the door. Eventually i started to think he wasn't going to show and gave up watching the entrance like a hawk. I was having a good old time with Gata and some other classmates when someone taps my should and i stand and turn to see Kasper...with a really pretty redhead on his arm. He introduces us (i can't remember what the fuck her name was because really all i could hear was the blood rushing out of my heart and brain and some voice inside me saying. "You stupid bitch. You really thought this was going to be a date, didn't you? You sad, sad stupid cow."). After the intro, the redhead says she's going to get a drink and Kasper leans in, all smiles, and says, "I can't believe she said yes - i've been working up the nerve to ask her out for months." I opened my mouth and heard, "Oh, how extraordinarily awesome that must be. Hope it goes well." Then i turned back to my table, drank my beer and Gata's, ordered shots and another round for everyone except the traitor and his red-haired hussy. I proceeded to get as drunk as possible as fast as i could. Needless to say, Kasper and his date found another table and spent the whole night gazing into each other's eyes and giggling with their heads together. They didn't even watch the goddamn band, the losers.
The rest of that night went as expected. I was feeling hurt and embarrassed, but above all pissed off. I was mad at myself for misinterpreting his friendship for something more. I was really honked off at him for spending all this time talking to me about everything in the world besides that dumb slut he brought ON OUR DATE. And i was incredibly angry that i had just looked so stupid in front of my one and only friend in the entire state. Gata was awesome about it though - she offered to cut his brake line or punch the girl in the face or follow Kasper to the bathroom and cut his balls off. You know, all the things a best friend does. In the end though, it was me who got punched in the face that night. I ended up getting jumped by 3 horrible cunts over a misunderstanding about the stupid drummer's sweatshirt. That's a story for another time.
Anyway - that is why i never actually believe anything that i think i know. My heart is a big mean jerk that can trick my brain into almost anything given the chance.
Monday, August 4, 2014
And it turns out...just another stupid fucking squirrel. So it goes...
My faith in humanity has taken yet another blow. For the past 18 hours i've been shaking. I threw up twice. I can't sleep. I haven't cried though...witch babies don't cry.
I've seen things. I notice stuff. I convince myself they are innocuous - that i cannot be interpreting the situation correctly. Internalize it. Forget it. Never mind that i am pretty intuitive and that things can mostly be taken at face value. Seeing a purple squirrel, for instance. A purple squirrel is just that - not a red and a blue squirrel standing really close together. (Listen, i seriously haven't slept. I'm in a place from which i don't know how to proceed. I obviously can't make metaphors at the moment.) Four times i saw that purple squirrel and four times i had myself convinced it was a red and a blue one, or that it was a trick of the light, or that i was hallucinating. But that purple squirrel showed itself to someone else and it can no longer be denied. It's like the hairy little fucking idiot ran right up to me, bit my finger, peed on my leg, and threw a piece of bark at my face. Upon the bark are scratched these words:
I'm a purple squirrel, but you already knew that. I've been a purple squirrel for years. I'm not exactly hiding it very well, i am? Being very still and pretending i'm not here never worked - you still saw me. But you were willing to ignore it. Thanks for that, but as idiots do, i forgot you were the only one who had spotted me and revealed myself to another. But i know you, you won't say anything. And if you do, i will present a blue squirrel and a red squirrel and make you look like the fool you are. So it goes...
Hey, squirrel, fuck you.
I've seen things. I notice stuff. I convince myself they are innocuous - that i cannot be interpreting the situation correctly. Internalize it. Forget it. Never mind that i am pretty intuitive and that things can mostly be taken at face value. Seeing a purple squirrel, for instance. A purple squirrel is just that - not a red and a blue squirrel standing really close together. (Listen, i seriously haven't slept. I'm in a place from which i don't know how to proceed. I obviously can't make metaphors at the moment.) Four times i saw that purple squirrel and four times i had myself convinced it was a red and a blue one, or that it was a trick of the light, or that i was hallucinating. But that purple squirrel showed itself to someone else and it can no longer be denied. It's like the hairy little fucking idiot ran right up to me, bit my finger, peed on my leg, and threw a piece of bark at my face. Upon the bark are scratched these words:
I'm a purple squirrel, but you already knew that. I've been a purple squirrel for years. I'm not exactly hiding it very well, i am? Being very still and pretending i'm not here never worked - you still saw me. But you were willing to ignore it. Thanks for that, but as idiots do, i forgot you were the only one who had spotted me and revealed myself to another. But i know you, you won't say anything. And if you do, i will present a blue squirrel and a red squirrel and make you look like the fool you are. So it goes...
Hey, squirrel, fuck you.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
I can smell it sneaking back - smells like chocolate chips and peanut butter
So depression and anxiety are trying to make their way back into my every day life. I noticed it the other night when, after the 4 hour nap i took when i wasn't even tired, i chose to eat peanut butter by the spoonful with chocolate chips stuck in instead of cooking the food i had bought. I noticed it last night as i was getting grilled about Riot Fest and, once again, made to feel as if my opinions about music are wrong (how many times do we have to go over that OPINIONS - even yours - are not FACT, so quit trying to act as though because mine differ from yours they are wrong) and as if my financial woes are anybody else's business and as if i'm a criminal for taking a night off work. I further noticed it last night during a discussion which was somehow deemed an argument into which i was only barely allowed to inject my perspective. And i noticed it today when i wanted to punch the face off of everyone i work with. Everyone.
This could just be my period coming on. I'm tired, i have a low threshold for bullshit, and the dullness of domestic work makes me want to scream and light shit on fire. Sounds like PMS - only this is beyond. I wanted to yell at a five year-old today for eating and talking at the same time. Talking with a full mouth is my biggest pet peeve in the world. This kid does it constantly. I politely remind him to chew with his mouth closed, finish chewing, and swallow before speaking. He doesn't get it. I finally convinced a teacher earlier this week to face his chair away from me, so that i at least don't have to see it, though i still hear it. So i'm hearing it today and i'm humming and trying to ignore it so as not to lose my shit when my boss comes into the kitchen area to get a burger, half of which she shoves into her mouth. And then...she starts talking. I'm standing there, knife in hand, watching globs of food fly out of her mouth and on to my food prep station - the station that is currently housing the food i prepared for the children to eat. Watching this grown-ass woman eat with no plate, standing in the middle of my work space, yelling to be heard over the kids, projecting the pure example of the heathen behavior we are trying to eliminate in the children, and spewing masticated food all over the freshly prepared plates of food i just spent 3 hours making. Slack-jawed i stared, loosely gripping my chopping knife, and over walks another teacher, mouth full of food, to converse with my boss. I put the knife down and left the room. I paced up and down the hallway chanting, "I hate this place. I hate these people. I hate my job. I want to die." for about 10 minutes.
This is not how i do. I love that job. My coworkers are mostly tolerable humans. I certainly do not wish to die. The kids are my favourite part. I may get frustrated, but i have never felt the concentrated hostility i did today. And now i am ashamed of myself, which makes me even more angry for some reason. And tomorrow i will be sad for thinking the things i thought and the shitty attitude i had toward people i really do like. Then i'll just want to sleep, which means i won't get things done, which means i'll get anxious and overwhelmed and i'll start being even shittier to the people i care most about. I am so sick of having to be hyper-vigilant about my emotions. I wish i could have a couple days in a row where i'm just fed up and it's okay. But i know how fast this shit can sneak up on me and how quickly i can lose control of it. And i think i know why it started.
I went to Colorado two weeks ago to attend the wedding of a friend. I had a great time. True, i only went swimming once and that was in a pool and i didn't get to explore as much of the Denver area as i had hoped and all of the touristy things i wanted to do were impossible with the chaos of the wedding details. Not a big deal. The wedding was super fancy and i had a good time hanging with my friend and her family. Camping was a bust. For reasons outside my control, i only got to camp for one night instead of three. While it was the most beautiful night sky i had ever seen and the mountains surrounding us were breathtaking, i was disappointed to leave immediately in the morning without doing any hiking or even site seeing in the car. But i quickly got over it and enjoyed what was left of the trip. Since i've been home, though, i have stared for hours and hours at our campsite on the map of the Rocky Mountain National Forest. Just within 3 miles of where we were, there are a dozen little hikes that lead to mountain lakes - lakes which only a handful of people ever get to see. And i saw none. I had to pack up and just walk away from all that splendor. I realize that i am devastated and it is making me bitter and intolerable.
I suppose i should suck it up and figure out how to move past it or i WILL be battling depression because of my shitty attitude. No more peanut butter and chocolate chips for dinner. No more four hour naps. No more rants in the hallway. Time to hike up my big-kid underpants and move on.
This could just be my period coming on. I'm tired, i have a low threshold for bullshit, and the dullness of domestic work makes me want to scream and light shit on fire. Sounds like PMS - only this is beyond. I wanted to yell at a five year-old today for eating and talking at the same time. Talking with a full mouth is my biggest pet peeve in the world. This kid does it constantly. I politely remind him to chew with his mouth closed, finish chewing, and swallow before speaking. He doesn't get it. I finally convinced a teacher earlier this week to face his chair away from me, so that i at least don't have to see it, though i still hear it. So i'm hearing it today and i'm humming and trying to ignore it so as not to lose my shit when my boss comes into the kitchen area to get a burger, half of which she shoves into her mouth. And then...she starts talking. I'm standing there, knife in hand, watching globs of food fly out of her mouth and on to my food prep station - the station that is currently housing the food i prepared for the children to eat. Watching this grown-ass woman eat with no plate, standing in the middle of my work space, yelling to be heard over the kids, projecting the pure example of the heathen behavior we are trying to eliminate in the children, and spewing masticated food all over the freshly prepared plates of food i just spent 3 hours making. Slack-jawed i stared, loosely gripping my chopping knife, and over walks another teacher, mouth full of food, to converse with my boss. I put the knife down and left the room. I paced up and down the hallway chanting, "I hate this place. I hate these people. I hate my job. I want to die." for about 10 minutes.
This is not how i do. I love that job. My coworkers are mostly tolerable humans. I certainly do not wish to die. The kids are my favourite part. I may get frustrated, but i have never felt the concentrated hostility i did today. And now i am ashamed of myself, which makes me even more angry for some reason. And tomorrow i will be sad for thinking the things i thought and the shitty attitude i had toward people i really do like. Then i'll just want to sleep, which means i won't get things done, which means i'll get anxious and overwhelmed and i'll start being even shittier to the people i care most about. I am so sick of having to be hyper-vigilant about my emotions. I wish i could have a couple days in a row where i'm just fed up and it's okay. But i know how fast this shit can sneak up on me and how quickly i can lose control of it. And i think i know why it started.
I went to Colorado two weeks ago to attend the wedding of a friend. I had a great time. True, i only went swimming once and that was in a pool and i didn't get to explore as much of the Denver area as i had hoped and all of the touristy things i wanted to do were impossible with the chaos of the wedding details. Not a big deal. The wedding was super fancy and i had a good time hanging with my friend and her family. Camping was a bust. For reasons outside my control, i only got to camp for one night instead of three. While it was the most beautiful night sky i had ever seen and the mountains surrounding us were breathtaking, i was disappointed to leave immediately in the morning without doing any hiking or even site seeing in the car. But i quickly got over it and enjoyed what was left of the trip. Since i've been home, though, i have stared for hours and hours at our campsite on the map of the Rocky Mountain National Forest. Just within 3 miles of where we were, there are a dozen little hikes that lead to mountain lakes - lakes which only a handful of people ever get to see. And i saw none. I had to pack up and just walk away from all that splendor. I realize that i am devastated and it is making me bitter and intolerable.
I suppose i should suck it up and figure out how to move past it or i WILL be battling depression because of my shitty attitude. No more peanut butter and chocolate chips for dinner. No more four hour naps. No more rants in the hallway. Time to hike up my big-kid underpants and move on.
Friday, May 16, 2014
This is my fist balled in anger
The next person who argues with me because i don't have a dick is getting kicked square in his.
This is a rant.
My toilet has been running for almost a week. I took the top off so it could be adjusted after flushing if the flapper didn't fall down correctly. The problem was simply that one of the rubber do-hickeys that connects the flapper to the arm dealy had torn so it was falling crooked and getting stuck. So today i went to a hardware store to replace the flap. I decided to get a hard plastic one so that this particular problem wouldn't happen again. (Fixing it myself is 20 times easier than asking my landlord to do it because he would call a plumber and it would cost a ton and then he'd raise my rent again. Or he'd think it was a bomb. He thinks everything is a bomb.)
Anyway, i picked the one i wanted and as i made my way to the check-out counter an employee goes, "Hey, little lady, are you sure you got the right thing there?" And i said, "Yeah. It should work fine." So he says, "I bet you have the wrong size."
"Looks right to me."
"No, no. Hardly any toilets use flappers that big."
"Mine does. This was the only size that looked right."
"I have more. Follow me. I don't want you to have to come back and feel silly."
Are you fucking kidding me? Little lady?! And that's just to start. I could've punched his lights out before he finished his sentence.
I follow him back to the aisle i had just left, seething. As i walked, i pulled up a picture on my phone that i had taken in case i needed to compare. He pulls down 1.5" flapper and i hold my phone to his face instead of taking it. "Well, i'll be. That's a 3 incher. You were right. Good luck fixing it though." Thanks, asshole. I hope he doesn't have any daughters. If he does, they probably can't even pump their own gas.
So i buy the hard plastic one and when i get home i realize it won't work because the hard plastic do-hickeys are too narrow to fit around the black tube ma-jigger where the water goes in to fill the tank, so i can't get the flapper to attach to the arm dealies. I realize that the rubber one would work because it would stretch out around the whatever-you-call-it. So i went back to the store. That motherfucker saw me coming and he said, "Told you so," and walked away shaking his head. I wanted to scream so much at him. He was off by HALF! I just picked the wrong material for the situation.
I know most dudes aren't assholes who think women are incapable, helpless retards. I know because i live with, work with, am related to and love a bunch of guys who are about the coolest dudes alive. However, here's an apparent newflash for the rest of them: JUST BECAUSE SOMEONE DOES NOT HAVE A PENIS, DOES NOT MEAN THEY ARE GOING TO CURL UP IN A BALL AND CRY AND START SCREAMING FOR A MAN WHEN SOMETHING BREAKS!
I open my own pickle jars too, motherfucker.
This is a rant.
My toilet has been running for almost a week. I took the top off so it could be adjusted after flushing if the flapper didn't fall down correctly. The problem was simply that one of the rubber do-hickeys that connects the flapper to the arm dealy had torn so it was falling crooked and getting stuck. So today i went to a hardware store to replace the flap. I decided to get a hard plastic one so that this particular problem wouldn't happen again. (Fixing it myself is 20 times easier than asking my landlord to do it because he would call a plumber and it would cost a ton and then he'd raise my rent again. Or he'd think it was a bomb. He thinks everything is a bomb.)
Anyway, i picked the one i wanted and as i made my way to the check-out counter an employee goes, "Hey, little lady, are you sure you got the right thing there?" And i said, "Yeah. It should work fine." So he says, "I bet you have the wrong size."
"Looks right to me."
"No, no. Hardly any toilets use flappers that big."
"Mine does. This was the only size that looked right."
"I have more. Follow me. I don't want you to have to come back and feel silly."
Are you fucking kidding me? Little lady?! And that's just to start. I could've punched his lights out before he finished his sentence.
I follow him back to the aisle i had just left, seething. As i walked, i pulled up a picture on my phone that i had taken in case i needed to compare. He pulls down 1.5" flapper and i hold my phone to his face instead of taking it. "Well, i'll be. That's a 3 incher. You were right. Good luck fixing it though." Thanks, asshole. I hope he doesn't have any daughters. If he does, they probably can't even pump their own gas.
So i buy the hard plastic one and when i get home i realize it won't work because the hard plastic do-hickeys are too narrow to fit around the black tube ma-jigger where the water goes in to fill the tank, so i can't get the flapper to attach to the arm dealies. I realize that the rubber one would work because it would stretch out around the whatever-you-call-it. So i went back to the store. That motherfucker saw me coming and he said, "Told you so," and walked away shaking his head. I wanted to scream so much at him. He was off by HALF! I just picked the wrong material for the situation.
I know most dudes aren't assholes who think women are incapable, helpless retards. I know because i live with, work with, am related to and love a bunch of guys who are about the coolest dudes alive. However, here's an apparent newflash for the rest of them: JUST BECAUSE SOMEONE DOES NOT HAVE A PENIS, DOES NOT MEAN THEY ARE GOING TO CURL UP IN A BALL AND CRY AND START SCREAMING FOR A MAN WHEN SOMETHING BREAKS!
I open my own pickle jars too, motherfucker.
Monday, May 5, 2014
Drugs are fun - don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Case in point ~ My good buddy, Nellie, hurt herself a while ago and was in such terrible pain that she was prescribed both very powerful painkillers and anti-spasmatic (i made that word up, apparently) muscle relaxers. These on top of her being medicated for anxiety-related issues. I didn't understand exactly how fucked up these pills could make a person until i started getting texts from her saying things like, "I hurst my neck and mom gragged me to the ER where i had dr hot body with sexy soft hands" and "I cannot function. I've stabbed myself with the cats used insulin needle and fell on the dog trying to get her harness on. It took me two minutes to get up the stairs because i walk like a drunk hobo at the bus stop." I alluded that i might come and visit her the following night and she asked me to bring "fisting supplies". ??!! We straightened out what she had actually meant, and i assure you it had nothing to do with either of us slamming the other one in the butt. However, i decided right then that i had to go take care of her for a couple nights. At first, honestly, i just wanted to hear what kind of shit was going to come out of her mouth. And that was awesome. But she's also just really fun to hang out with and she's one of the few people in my life who don't give a shit when i unleash the big girls and run around her house with my boobs bouncing and poking all over the place under a tee shirt. What a gal!
Anyway, she did say some pretty funny stuff. Some of it i was able to understand, most of it - not so much. She had two twin-sized air mattresses blown up and laid up against her huge sectional when i arrived. She had no less than 10 pillows and 5 blankets and she looked cozy as hell. She called it "Floptopia" only she slurred the shit out of the name and it took me a minute to get it. She wanted me to go get her some Skittles (yeah, let's say skittles) because she thought, for some reason, that skittles would make her feel even better. With that many drugs in her, i can't imagine how a tiny puff, er...nibble, of skittles would make any difference, but whatever. I told her i didn't have enough gas to go running around for skittles and she said i could take her car. I said i wasn't going to not smoke for that long because she has never allowed me to smoke in her car. She replies with, "Well then smoke and then drive your drive my your my car and smoke." And she looked at me like i was stupid. Then she lays back and pats the mattress next to her and says, with the thickest slur i have ever heard and been able to understand in my life, "Are you gonna drive me in Floptopia later?" Nellie then winked at me. After the fisting business, i was a little concerned she was forgetting that she is a straight girl or that i am a woman. Anyway, i drove her car but didn't smoke. She got her damn skittles. I did not drive her anywhere else, thank you every much.
She said, "Wattle dottle playum" to herself about 60 times and i never figured that one out. "Searslajusslookadatmayun" = "Seriously, just look at that man". She was showing me a picture of "Hoctor Dotface", which is Doctor Hotface who is the very same Dr. Hot Body with the Sexy Soft Hands, apparently. I wish i could have gotten more documented but i started to feel a little bad about barking laughter in her face and scribbling in my little pad. Not that she noticed. Hoctor Dotface, ha! I sure do love my crazy, drugged-up Nells.
Anyway, she did say some pretty funny stuff. Some of it i was able to understand, most of it - not so much. She had two twin-sized air mattresses blown up and laid up against her huge sectional when i arrived. She had no less than 10 pillows and 5 blankets and she looked cozy as hell. She called it "Floptopia" only she slurred the shit out of the name and it took me a minute to get it. She wanted me to go get her some Skittles (yeah, let's say skittles) because she thought, for some reason, that skittles would make her feel even better. With that many drugs in her, i can't imagine how a tiny puff, er...nibble, of skittles would make any difference, but whatever. I told her i didn't have enough gas to go running around for skittles and she said i could take her car. I said i wasn't going to not smoke for that long because she has never allowed me to smoke in her car. She replies with, "Well then smoke and then drive your drive my your my car and smoke." And she looked at me like i was stupid. Then she lays back and pats the mattress next to her and says, with the thickest slur i have ever heard and been able to understand in my life, "Are you gonna drive me in Floptopia later?" Nellie then winked at me. After the fisting business, i was a little concerned she was forgetting that she is a straight girl or that i am a woman. Anyway, i drove her car but didn't smoke. She got her damn skittles. I did not drive her anywhere else, thank you every much.
She said, "Wattle dottle playum" to herself about 60 times and i never figured that one out. "Searslajusslookadatmayun" = "Seriously, just look at that man". She was showing me a picture of "Hoctor Dotface", which is Doctor Hotface who is the very same Dr. Hot Body with the Sexy Soft Hands, apparently. I wish i could have gotten more documented but i started to feel a little bad about barking laughter in her face and scribbling in my little pad. Not that she noticed. Hoctor Dotface, ha! I sure do love my crazy, drugged-up Nells.
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