RSS

Tag Archives: Rants

Coining a New Phrase

Doesn’t everyone at some time or other wish they could be the one to coin a new phrase? A phrase so very catchy that soon everyone is saying it? Just me? Whatevs.

Today’s New Phrase, or rather acronym, is EPS – Entitled Penis Syndrome. Surprisingly, Urban Dictionary has no listing for this particular acronym, so Yay!

What prompted me to invent this new term? I’m so glad you asked!

There’s a sign that hangs on the back door of my office that states the two parking spaces directly outside the door are for my company’s survey crew. This sign is 24″ wide x 36″ tall and is bright yellow, white and black. It’s not small, and it’s not the only sign – there’s a slightly smaller sign in red and white that states the same message. The reason those particular two spaces are reserved (the parking lot has 12 spaces and is private, for my company only) is because the Survey Dudes back in and load & unload the trucks directly through the door and into the back room of the building. Because of the high rate of (tweaker) crime in this crappy small town nothing of value is ever left inside the trucks. In fact, two of the Survey Dudes take the trucks home every night so they are never parked behind the building when business is closed.

So. On Monday some young man* drove into the lot and carefully backed his pickup up against the back door, got out, locked the truck and began to walk towards the Big Town Hero next door. I know this because I was out with Sabu and just returning to the office and I saw him.

“Hey!” I said/shouted, “that spot is reserved. You can’t park there.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” he tossed over his shoulder.

“Uh, no,” I said, a bit louder now. “That spot is reserved for the survey crew and you need to move your truck.”

“I’ll just be a minute!” This time with a dismissive hand gesture at me without even turning around.

“So if they come back and don’t have a spot to park to unload the trucks, well, you’ll ‘be back in a minute’ and they can just wait for you?” I asked, getting really angry now. “Way to be an asshole!”

“I said I’ll just be a minute!” He finally turned to face me.

“You can see there’s a sign right there on the door and still you’re gonna park there, huh?” I might have had steam coming from my ears, I was so pissed at this entitled little shit.

“So what?” Another dismissive hand gesture and he was around the corner.

I seriously thought about keying his truck, but that wouldn’t have been in character for me – I much prefer to commit crimes no one can blame me for.

I went inside and asked Kyle if we had any recourse when someone parks in the clearly marked reserved spots.

“Was it my brother?” he asked with a grin.

“I hope not – I called him an asshole…”

Amanda had a better solution, though – she has printed up a little flyer, bright green, that clearly states the parking spot is reserved by City Ordinance and violators will be towed. They get ONE warning. Hah! I was quite happy to put that little missive under the asshole’s windshield wiper.

Let me just say here that there is A LOT of parking in front of Big Town Hero and he could have parked on the street all along the block, or across the street, or any number of other places. He was not disabled, and if he had been, well, there are MANY places he could have parked that would have been closer to his destination. He is just an Entitled Asshole.

BUT this was not the only piece of assholery I saw on that most irritating day of my week. Lest you feel I’m being sexist with my new catch phrase, I’d like to coin another: EBS, which can only stand for Entitled Bitch Syndrome. Why would I need yet another acronym to describe asshole behavior? Because, as I was driving Sabu to the dog park** a young woman in a red car rolled down her window, tossed out a napkin and then rolled the window back up. She actually tossed a napkin out of her car window into the street, in full view of a dozen or more people, and went merrily on her way. Who does that any more? How difficult would it have been for her to keep the napkin in her car until she got somewhere she could properly dispose of it? I would have run her down if I could have gotten over into that lane, but, alas, it was a futile thought.

Gahhhhh! That’s only the start of the assholery I’ve been witness to this week, but it’s all I have time for at the moment.

What say you – did I overreact?

* Funny how “young man” now encompasses any male under 30 in my mind.

** Srsly? When did I agree to be a dog chauffeur? Seems like all I do is work and pick up dog shit and hair all day.

 

 

Tags: , , ,

“Doesn’t play well with others”

It might as well be tattooed onto my forehead.

In an effort to meet people my age who might have the same interests, I joined a Facebook group. I lurked for awhile to get a feel for the group and it seemed fine. The people are of both sexes and the only requirements are that they live in Oregon and be over 40. Sounds good, right?

And it was until a woman posted that her divorce was final that day, and while she left with her children because of his substance abuse, she still felt sad about the end of her marriage. She left when she realized that she had “stopped living” and his constant demands for money (she worked, he, of course, did not) meant that her kids were going hungry.

I was in the middle of composing a, “Way to go! Congratulations! You did the right thing for you and your children,” response when someone else (a woman, surprisingly) jumped in with a caustic paragraph condemning the newly-liberated woman for leaving her man when he was at his lowest. “You wouldn’t leave if he had cancer, would you? Alcoholism is the same thing. You’re a horrible person who will burn in hell.” or words to that effect.

Red flag in front of a bull! To compare substance abuse to cancer is not only ignorant, but cruel to a person who is still raw from being a victim of it at the hands of the man she meant to spend the rest of her life with.

I fired off an “I call bullshit on your comparison and here’s why…” reply and sat back to see what would happen. Several others joined in to tell Sarah Sunshine (yes, that’s her name) she was wrong to abuse another member of the group and that she needed to back off. She kept on, berating everyone who disagreed with her in rapidly escalating language. And then she started throwing around the c-word. Yep. She called three women posting to the thread cunts and said that she would rather shoot up a speed ball and follow it with a shot of vodka than be in a relationship with any of us narrow-minded, judgmental cunts.

That’s when the moderator of the group deleted the post.

Okay, fine. It did get out of control and name calling is the lowest form of debate. But then he posted (twice) telling everyone that he wouldn’t tolerate that kind of behavior and blah, blah, blah. Okay, I get it, but he was rather condescending, and to post twice? Really? He posted again this morning saying that he had some new moderators and there would be a crackdown on “inappropriate content.” Several people started asking in the comments what exactly that meant (as if he hadn’t already outlined his New Rules in the previous posts.) It got silly very quickly and I commented that I would never post anything I wouldn’t say to anyone’s face and couldn’t we all just act like adults?

My comment was deleted about ten minutes later. No warning, no questions asked, just gone. The new moderator posted an apology to another member for deleting his comment before reading it thoroughly. What? Someone else chimed in, asking WTF was going on with the comment deleting and I asked why my comment had been deleted as it was a harmless eye-roll.

I was told, with a shout out for all to see, that I was welcome to leave if I didn’t like my comments being deleted for no reason.

And so I left the group. This always happens. I’m also a thread killer – if I comment on something, very soon everyone quits posting. I dunno. I don’t think I’m especially combative online – I really don’t type anything I wouldn’t say to your face and I don’t mean to piss people off or whatever it is I do, but there ya go.

What say you? Did I do the right thing? Am I just being paranoid and/or crazy?

 

Tags: , ,

“Relax” Part Whatever

Thankfully The Flood has abated. Who knew telling 900+ people all about the workings of my Lady Bits would shut the faucet off? Obviously I need to be telling y’all every little thing – maybe shit would start to happen 🙂

Before we get to my scheduled post, just let me relate one more work-related irritation. On Friday, the server went down at the office. No problem – I saved my drawings to my hard drive. When the problem hadn’t been fixed by 11:30 and my work was done, I left. I saw The Boss’ truck parked in front of the office on Sunday but didn’t have time to stop by to tell him the latest drawings were on my hard drive because I had somewhere more interesting to be. I don’t keep his cell phone number in my phone, so I didn’t bother to call, either. WTF he was doing at the office on a Sunday defies all logic anyway.

So I came in to work this morning and went immediately into his office (before the weekly staff/planning meeting I am no longer invited to) to ask if he’d changed the drawings and to explain the situation. Turns out he HAD made changes to the drawings and appeared a bit irritated that I hadn’t let him know I’d saved the files on my hard drive. BUT the architect changed his floor plan (again – surprise!) necessitating a bunch of changes that voided all the work I’d done on Friday. Of course, The Boss asked me what I’d done on Friday (your redlines, duh!) and was not happy about the situation, but in the end no harm, no foul.

No biggie, right? Well…no, it’s just fine with me to get paid to do the exact same work over and over again, but the $ doesn’t make up for the irritation and frustration my job makes me feel. I gotta get something more stimulating going on or I will lose my mind.

Ahem. Okay. Where was I? Oh, yes. The Thing I haven’t written about at all. For awhile there was A Boy. No, that’s not a misnomer – he turned out to be nothing more than a lying little child. No, he’s not the cause of any of my stress (which is considerably diminished thanks to getting it all out there on the blog) but now he’s gone I have a little less.

Let me explain. We met online. He seemed normal enough, a bit quirky, but in a good way. He gave off none of the Red Flag vibes I’m hyper aware of. I figured, why not have a fling? We’re all adults here and I can do what I want, right? So long as we’re both on the same page it’s all good, right?

He lives 90 minutes North of me, so I drove to see him. I never invited him to see me because Towanda is a Penis-Free Zone (until now, what with The Kid living there and all, but it’s different, right?) and I didn’t want to go there anyway.

I introduced myself to him as Sofia and somehow I neglected to tell him my real name until it became awkward to do so. He was a bit shocked, but by that time he’d been telling me little white lies for awhile and I refused to be upset by it. Even his mother said, “that boy was born with a Tall Tale on his lips!” And therein lies the reason I’m no longer seeing him – he’s a compulsive liar. About everything. Oh, it’s not all malicious, but we had agreed early on to be honest with each other, and I had been. Maybe even a little bit mean if he asked for my opinion.

Anyway. It was fun. Then it wasn’t. I was done in January after we went to Las Vegas to stay at one of his timeshares. I’d never been and he talked like we were going to have a great five days. It would be an adventure! I paid $250 for Sabu to go to Sleep-Away Camp and drove up to his place. When I arrived he was in bed. He had “thrown out [his] back” and needed to go to the chiropractor before we left for the airport. Fine. I drove. He was obviously in pain. I offered to cancel the trip but he insisted that he would be fine once his back was fixed – this had happened before.

We got to the chiropractor’s office. He did not have an appointment but they take walk-ins. The receptionist asked to see his insurance card. He claimed to have forgotten his wallet (I had seen him put it in his pocket) and told her he would call her with the info as soon as he got home. He also lied about where he worked (he was laid off at the time) and gave some other false info. Uh-huh. The Doc took him into another building and I got creeped out by the looks I was getting in the waiting room so I went to wait by the car. I kept an eye out so I could tell him I wasn’t in the waiting room when he came out and when he saw me, he came directly to the car and did not check back in with the receptionist. Since the info he gave her was false, he just got himself a free chiropractor appointment. I was livid, but he was in pain and pain can make people do odd things.

So. The trip should have been cancelled, but we went and he basically slept the whole time. When he was awake, he was a dick to everyone we encountered. We had a war over the thermostat in the room (he wanted it cranked all the way up with the tub filled with boiling hot water – it was like a sauna and I couldn’t breathe) he refused to go out for food but we did to the “Party Weekend” dinner and show* and he dragged me on the rides at the top of the Stratosphere (just to laugh at me, I’m convinced) but otherwise he was asleep. He hadn’t packed any clean clothes or underwear (who does that?!?) It was just awful. I understand he was not feeling well, but he should have cancelled the trip instead of being such a dick. He should have gone to a doctor like I asked, but he’s a grown man, right? I couldn’t force him to seek treatment so I kept my mouth shut.

Anyway. I didn’t hear much from him the following week and went up to see how he was feeling on the following Saturday. He was not awake. At 11:00 in the morning. He knew I was coming and he couldn’t be bothered to be awake? I figured he must be really ill and set off the house alarm so he’d be forced to get up. Long story about the alarm. He stumbled out, let me in and apologized about the mess. I won’t even go there. He was obviously drugged to the gills. He couldn’t stay awake and refused to go to the emergency room. He said all he needed was sleep. The house was a wreck and I was pissed, so I left. Sad texts from him later so I lied and said that he told me to leave. I told him to text me when he was feeling better and that, I thought, was that.

The following week I get a text from him saying that he’s in hospital and has been for five days. WTF? He didn’t seem that bad off when I saw him last. Or is this another lie to get sympathy? You see, the stories he told should have been verifiable online (they were that big) and they were not, so I questioned everything he’d ever said. I asked what hospital, etc. and called to make sure he was indeed there. He was. Well, crap. Now I felt bad. I promised to go up the next weekend and see him.

The next weekend arrived and I drove up. He was in the ICU – his bowels had quit working and they’d done emergency surgery the night before. I met his step-dad and got the whole sad story. I thought maybe having a near-death experience would change him. He said he felt like he was getting a second chance and that he wanted to be a better person, etc. etc. etc. So I visited regularly during his hospital stay and even drove three hours (each way) to visit him at his parent’s house. They are nice people, but not really my kind of people. I felt obligated, though.

He was finally cleared to go home and take care of himself and I went to see him. He was asleep when I got there. He slept most of the time I was there but I spent the night because it was too late to drive home (I don’t like driving in the dark for any long distance.) Next weekend, wash, rinse, repeat. I suffered through one more weekend so I could use his power tools to make a pair of sawhorses. Hey, I’m no dummy and he owed me, dammit!

He was cleared to start work and took a job for a “friend” who has an old house that needed some plumbing repairs. The Boy is a bit of a Jack-of-all-Trades and could not yet resume full time work. He told me that this guy, Jerry, has a 1920’s shower that needed a new faucet-gizmo. He gave The Boy $150 and instructions to order it from a specialty restoration company. The Boy went on eBay and found “the same part” for one third the price and pocketed the money. He was bragging when he told this story.

I was aghast. I said, “you’re cheating this guy and it’s gonna come back to bite you on the ass…”

“No, it won’t! I do this stuff all the time! If people are stupid enough to pay stupid-high prices when they could shop eBay, they deserve to lose their money.” He was proud of himself!

I was all done feeling bad for The Boy at this point, but curious to see how this little farce would play out, so I found reasons not to visit the next few weeks but stayed in touch via text. And then the lies came home to roost.

Via text –

Him: Once again I made a mistake and misread a person.

Me: What’s up?

Him: The guy I’m working for refused to pay me. Since it’s under the table I have no license, bond, insurance. I’m not the leg breaking kind of guy so he gets off scott free. I should have known better.

Me: Are you telling me the whole story? Surely there’s more to it than that?

Him: Nope. Everything was fine yesterday and now today he won’t pay me.

Me: Did he give a reason?

Him: No. He just kept saying ‘get off my property, you’re trespassing’ over and over again.

Me: Ah! Is this the plumbing job?

Him: Yes.

Me: Well…you cheated him. You went on eBay and found “the same part” and kept the extra money. Where else did you cut corners?

Him: True. Karma?

Me: Ah…yeah. You fucked this one up all by yourself.

Him: So I can’t play the victim part here, huh?

Me: No, not with me. Surely this has happened to you before?

Him: No. This is the first time.

Me: You’re splitting hairs. You’ve done this sort of shit before and been caught. You’re denying it to make yourself look good and I don’t buy it.

Him: True. Guess I need to get my head on straight…

And nothing else for a couple of days. Then I get a text saying he wants to tell me something but he can’t do it via text. It’s a phone conversation. Fine. Whatevs. I didn’t care and was still fuming over him thinking I’m gonna give him sympathy about his little cheating scam.

He scheduled the call three evenings in a row but failed to call at the appointed time. Always had an excuse via text. I really didn’t care.

Finally he called, late, but he did call. He started in about “misjudging people” and how something else had happend and OMG life is so hard, blah, blah, blah, again and I just lost it.

“I don’t even care about that,” I said. “I need to go back to the plumbing job. We need to talk about that.”

He was plainly not prepared to shower me with lies about that. “Uh…okay…”

I repeated the story as I knew it. “Is that right?” I asked.

“Well, yes, but you make it sound so bad…I don’t even know what to say here…”

“Right. That whole mess is a deal-breaker for me. I don’t have people in my life who think it’s okay to cheat people that way. Good bye.” And I hung up.

He didn’t even have the wits to apologize. For anything. It was fun for awhile, but damn am I glad I’m still single!

There were many more instances that should have ended it for me, but I was curious to see where he would go when I started to call him on his bullshit. I mean, honesty was our bargain in the beginning and I kept to my part no matter what, which felt really great, I have to say, but he couldn’t tell the truth about anything, even stupid stuff that doesn’t matter. I refuse to have that kind of crap in my life. Unless it’s related by blood, apparently, because The Kid is still on my couch.

So I gave The Kid his ultimatum on Thursday evening when I was sure he was sober. August 3 is his move-out date unless he’s working and paying me $200 per month rent. Six months is long enough for anyone to find some kind of paying work if they apply themselves and I’m soooo done with this Mom Gig. I told him I would drive him back to The Big City and drop him off or he could just walk out the door but he would no longer be welcome to live with me. He hid his panic pretty well and I haven’t mentioned it since. If he thinks I’ve forgotten he’ll get a very rude awakening come August 3 when I show him the door. Let’s see if this lights a fire under his ass 🙂

*Jeff Dunham. Fantastic!

 

Tags: , , , ,

“Relax…” Part Three

Stress Reason the Third – my job(s) and related issues.

I have no real reason to complain, but I’m not exactly rational these days and this shit is piling up.

I work at a really great office with people (almost all of them male) who are a joy to be around. The work is right in my wheelhouse – CAD drafting in the civil engineering field.

The trouble is that The Boss is very busy and doesn’t have proper time to lay out the work he wants me to do. He has obviously forgotten how well and how quickly I do my job (that’s not a brag – it’s my Super Power) causing me to spend a lot of time doing nothing. Surfing the ‘net doesn’t count. I’m getting bored.

The thing is, I could do a certain amount of the design myself – water flows downhill, right? But The Boss is micromanaging everything. It’s just the way he is and I know this about him, so what’s my problem, right?

I feel undervalued and unappreciated. I’m bored. Did I already say that? The Boss comes into my office or calls often enough that I can’t really work on a personal project, and that chafes. There are so many things that I need to get online but I just can’t find the time or energy to do them and Work is taking up all my energy. These days, even staying conscious all day is a struggle, so I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed and behind schedule, what with all this wasted time at Work. Sigh.

Add to that work for The Other Boss is getting busier. His EIT has become an engineer and flown the nest, leaving TOB, who is nearing retirement, to run the office by himself. He’s not very tech savvy, although I did see him texting the other day, which freaked me out just a little. Any work I do for him now necessitates a trip out to his office after work to upload and plot the drawings, taking up even more time that I just don’t feel I have. He does pay well and is great to work for, but still.

AND Crazy Dog Lady is calling me up every other day with various computer and internet problems. I’ve had enough of her but cutting her loose isn’t practical and I know she means well – she has a rather selfish view of life and I think she’s pretty oblivious as to how she treats people – but her shit is getting old. She says she’s going to write me into her will, but that’s another post…She calls me during work hours, as many as ten times a day, despite my having told her not to call me at work. No, I don’t answer the phone – it always goes to voicemail. She also calls after 8:30 in the evening, despite my telling her that I won’t pick up that late. I tend to let her messages pile up and get back to her when it’s convenient for ME. She hasn’t gotten the hint yet. Maybe she never will. Whatever. It’s like herding toddlers but what can I do?

All this takes up so much of my energy that I’m feeling like I have nothing left for the Fun Stuff. The Sweatshop Girls have done some stuff this Summer, but there is so much more to get done and the project list just gets longer and longer while all I can think about is a long nap.

Okay, one more entry and I think y’all will be caught up. Tune in tomorrow-ish.

 

 
9 Comments

Posted by on June 26, 2015 in Drafting

 

Tags:

“Relax…” Part Two

A lot of things have been going on here that I haven’t blogged about, mainly because I am tired. So very tired. All you men can just stop reading here unless you want way too much information about the workings of the female reproductive system.

Okay?

Those who are squeamish have left, right?

Good. That leaves the sympathetic and the curious. Perfect.

So. I’m 46 this year. We all know what that means, right? I’m of the age where all those wonderful Changes start happening that herald the end of my child-bearing years and the beginning of Real Freedom from the plagues of women. Right? What a load of horseshit!

I want to lodge an official complaint to who-the-fuck-ever informs society about the “most common” symptoms of menopause. Dude, you suck!

Oh, sure, we’ve all heard about Hot Flashes, right? Great news – only about 30% of women experience hot flashes, and that’s the most common symptom we all hear about. Hot flashes and night sweats. I’m usually cold, so those don’t sound so bad. And, no, that’s not what I’m talking about today. Nope.

You occasionally hear that your periods will get lighter, irregular, and then stop altogether. When you haven’t had a period for 12 consecutive months, you’re officially in menopause and done with all that messy business. Right?

WELL! The symptoms no one talks about (except women on various internet boards who are all shocked and horrified, apparently) are the two I’m experiencing at the moment – flooding periods and peri-menopausal rage. I don’t know if one isn’t caused by the other, but I suspect they go hand-in-hand.

I’ve had regular periods all my life. Like you could set your watch by them. Seriously, totally predictable. A few years ago I went in for my usual Yearly Exam. The doc told me I could expect my periods to get erratic and likely much lighter in the next few years. It’s like the words went from her lips directly to my uterus and the irregularities began. Nothing too shocking, just not on schedule, but lighter, so that was a great bonus!

Not long after I left the narc, I missed completely for three months. There was no way I was pregnant, so I counted my blessings and was a bit disappointed when they started up again, slightly irregular, but back to my normal.

I missed February, March and April this year and was pleasantly surprised, but since there was no way I was pregnant, I didn’t think too much about it. In May it  came back a little more severe – more PMS than usual, heavier bleeding, but nothing too strange.

But then! June 7 (about a week early) it started. With a vengeance. At first I didn’t make much of it. Maybe it was a little heavier than usual, but no biggie, right?

And then it was quite a bit heavier than usual. No panic, this never lasts more than five days and I can do five days of pretty much anything.

That was when the flood began. It went on and on. And on and on. A full week. Still, no biggie, this is to be expected at this stage in my life. But it didn’t stop. It was heavy and oh-my-god-surely-I’m-dying heavy. Then nothing overnight. Whew! It’s over, right? Nope. It’s freaking Niagra Falls down there, if Niagra Falls were prominently featured in a slasher flick.

Today marks Day 18. A bit of online research reveals that it can go on much longer or stop at any time. It can never happen again or start up again at any time. Either/or and/or both at once. Lovely. AND I can expect this to go on for 4-10 years! Halla-freakin-looya. Being female sucks.

Besides the irritation of going to the toilet and having it look like a crime scene, there’s the expense of all the pads I go through.

From a website (they all agree on this info):

The usual length of menstrual bleeding is four to six days. The usual amount of blood loss per period is 10 to 35 ml. Each soaked normal-sized tampon or pad holds a teaspoon (5ml) of blood. That means it is normal to soak one to seven normal-sized pads or tampons (“sanitary products”) in a whole period.

Srsly? So I pay way too much money for pads that only soak up a teaspoon of liquid? How many drops is that? I’ll save you the Googling – one teaspoon equals 76 drops. Okay. So each pad soaks up 76 drops. Lemme tell you this – Flooding Periods can produce as much as 2 cups! How many drops is that? Yep – 4,732 drops per cup, for a total of 9,464 drops. Divide that by 76 and you get 124.52 pads. I wish I was kidding. Two pads per hour sometimes and it shows no sign of stopping. It’s a laugh riot around here, lemme tell you.

Now, being smarter than the average bear, I use a FemmeCup, which holds 7.5 – 15 ml, so more than two pads, which makes it a bit more convenient, but it still has to be emptied every couple of hours and if I miss that, well, it gets really messy, really quick. Good thing I have a good stain stick for the laundry!

If all of this becomes too inconvenient, I can opt for birth control pills (which may or may not work to bring my cycles back to a predictable rhythm and which have many terrible side effects, naturally much more severe considering my age and that I smoke) an IUD (with more side effects and which may not work but could result in a host of really nasty problems) a D&C (which may or may not work and can result in severe pain and other side effects) a hysterectomy (just what I need – invasive surgery which will knock my hormones into all kinds of insanity but will bring on menopause proper) or various other drugs that may or may not work but will have side effects that may or may not make life unbearable.

All the websites agree that I should go see the doc and have a host of tests done, some invasive, some not so much, all of which will confirm that I am indeed Peri-menopausal and this is just the beginning of the next chapter of my life. With the wait to see a doc around here, I think I’ll pass on that one.

ALSO, I’m probably anemic, which can lead to a bunch of complications, including fainting. Yay! I bought some multivitamins and iron tabs today at lunch time to try to head that off before it becomes a problem. It does explain the fatigue, though.

Which brings us back to the Peri-menopausal Rage that I mentioned. Yeah. That’s not something anyone warns you about. My moods are all over the place and I would cheerfully choke the life out of my own child if it meant my uterus would quit gushing blood for just a few hours. I’m not even kidding. So far I haven’t acted out, but I think I chipped a tooth biting back words that I really didn’t want to speak to someone with a penis who was being especially stupid in that moment. Or maybe he wasn’t being stupid. Who can even remember? It was…something…whatever. The rage has passed, for now, but I know it will be back.

The good news is that I haven’t had any hot flashes or night sweats! Yay?!? Or will that be the next cross to bear?

Oh, but wait! There’s more stress. Tune in tomorrow for Part the Third.

 

Tags: , ,

“Relax,” she says…

I spent the weekend at Mom’s, helping with her annual neighborhood yard sale. My Sis gave me a (belated) birthday card. On the front is a cartoon woman doing yoga. It reads, “Life is a lot like Yoga. Relax. Be Flexible…” The inside reads, “…and try not to Fart.” Funny, yes? Underneath she wrote, “Really…relax a little!”

I asked a couple of friends if I seem tense. They glanced at each other, panic in their eyes, and replied that I seemed just fine, while giving me the Side Eye.

Huh. I guess people are noticing that I’m a bit…stressed? More aggressive than usual? A bit more outspoken about douchebags and their assholery? Less tolerant? Sigh.

Okay, let’s get it all out there, then, shall we? I am a bit stressed, but my reasons are sound, IMHO. Tell me if I’m wrong, ‘k?

Reason The First: My son is still on my couch. He is still unemployed. He says that he’s looking for work, but he’s been growing out of my couch for almost four-and-a-half months now. He worked for maybe one of those months. He has not paid any rent. He has food stamps for food, so he’s not draining my resources there. He has paid his cell phone bill only once since he’s been here (I can’t just stop paying it as he will need a phone to schedule all those job interviews that aren’t happening.) His feet smell because he wears an old pair of boots that probably have enough genetic material in them to become fully animate any day, therefore, Towanda smells. He does not feel the need to shower every day – it’s a waste of water, he says*, therefore the first thing I encounter when I get home from work is Man Smell.** He will not do any type of housework until I have okay-ed it. Explicitly. Yes, you can wash the dishes any time you want to – please trouble yourself to get them clean, though, ‘k?!? Yes, by all means take out the trash and recycling. Feel free to vacuum any time you get the urge, ‘k? Gaaaaahhhhhhh!

So he spends all his time, as far as I can see, playing games on his computer, using my Wi-Fi, watching TV and generally amusing himself. He doesn’t go anywhere. I don’t believe he’s looking for work but can’t prove it. He just sits there on the couch, silent for the most part, living inside his head, convinced everyone in the world is “stupid” and “useless.” There is no reason to get up, go somewhere, do something, become a functioning part of society. It’s all just a waste of time. He isn’t suicidal, though. He can be coaxed into conversation of a limited sort but would really rather be left alone. Right. It’s like I’m living with a sullen 13-year-old again. Didn’t I do this already? When does this Mom Gig end?

On top of all this, he is an alcoholic. When he’s drunk he agrees that he has a problem. Sober, he is a Special Snowflake, so special that no one in the universe could possibly understand him and his troubles, therefore making AA meetings or therapy of some sort a worthless waste of his time. Yeah, he’s pretty much said exactly that.

“Why can’t I just have a beer and relax in the evening?” is his plaintive cry.

My answer, “You are an alcoholic. One beer leads to another and another and pretty soon you’re on your lips. It happens every time. It will always be this way. You can be drunk or sober, there’s no “relaxing” in between. It sucks, but that’s the way you’re wired. Get a grip and admit you have a problem so we can move forward.”

I am sooooo over this bullshit. So. He lost his job. He wasn’t fired or laid off, he was simply not put on the schedule any more. This is a new tactic used by Slaveway and other large companies to make sure ex-employees can’t claim unemployment benefits (not that he worked long enough to get any) and have no cause to file suit for being laid off or let go for reasons other than poor performance at their job. Okay. Fine. I get it. He’s feeling sorry for himself. Whatevs.

What does he do? He starts (continues, actually, but it’s a long story) to spend all his money on beer. Not regular beer, but the fruity, 12% alcohol beers the homeless people around here drink. The kind of beer that has a stench like dorm rooms and cat shit. I can smell it the second I open the door. It pours out of his body like toxic sludge for the next couple of days as he sobers up. He drinks until he passes out. I finally took away his debit card (yeah, Slaveway doesn’t even hand out paychecks – they put your wages on a debit card that is not tied to any bank, therefore you can’t put any money on it, but they can take money out if they “make a mistake” with your pay. Cheap and crooked…) I made sure that my wallet was within my grasp at all times (I’ve been here before with his father…) and told him that there will be no drinking in my house. Period.

Things went well for a month or so. Last weekend he went with me to Mom’s. He did some yard work for her which she paid for in cash. Can you see where this is going? Oh, yes he did! I know he spent about $15 of the $40 she gave him, leaving him about $25 in his pocket. Sure enough, when I came home from work on Monday he was passed out drunk. There was no point in even talking to him – he won’t remember a word the next day, as past conversations have proven. I took to my bed with a glass of sweet tea and a book, ignoring his drunken stumbling to the bathroom some time later***.

Tuesday evening basically a repeat of Monday. The beer he likes is cheap. It takes 2.5 for him to be on his face, wasting the last .5 unless he manages to slam it down before passing out. At $2.50 each, he has about five days of being drunk before he runs out of cash.

Is this reason enough to be stressed? Wait! There’s so much more! Tune in tomorrow for Reason the Second.

* Nevermind that an RV shower is the height of efficiency, using less than 10 gallons of water per shower, compared to a “real” shower that uses as many as 4 gallons per minute. I mean, as an argument that is absurd.

** Man Smell is not a bad thing, in and of itself, I just chose to live a life without it and being forced to endure is making me really cranky. No, it’s just flat pissing me off. No need to sugarcoat, now is there?

*** I have told him that if he pukes he will be out on his ass. Period. Towanda is far too small to have a drunk puking, even in the bathroom, and he’s not known for making it to the bathroom in time. Yeah. Picture that and listen to him assert that he’s not an alcoholic.

 

Tags: , , , ,

People Suck – Part Whatever

After lunch Sabu and I were on our typical walk, down the alley, around the corner and up the street. We walk this way Monday thru Thursday, rain or shine.

The first house around the corner is owned by the neighboring church and stood empty for well over a year. I believe it’s generally used to house the pastor and his family. It’s a nice house, two story, large with lots of windows.

Some months ago there was a flurry of activity as the house was readied for new tenants. I thought it would be a new pastor and family, but instead a white trash family of dubious origin and a bunch of kids ranging in age from four to OMG surly teen moved in.

Now, before you get all up in arms that I used the term white trash, let me explain. These people ARE white and they ARE trash. How do I know? The crap that has started piling up in the yard, the belligerent, tattooed miscreants smoking and drinking on the front stoop, the language coming out of the mouths of everyone over there, the damaged vehicles (looks like they like to drink AND drive for entertainment) and on and on. These are not quality people and I wonder if regular church goers are sorry they rented to them.

There does not appear to be a male head-of-household, only an assortment of young-ish men half-dressed and smoking on the front step most mornings. No, they aren’t all the same guy. Sigh. It’s ugly.

Anyway. I’m not usually one to judge so harshly, but I’ve had a couple of run-ins with the woman in charge that make no sense and leave me angry and wanting to hit someone.

The first time, I was pulling my car from the alley onto the street. There’s a hedge that partially obscures the sidewalk until you’re right up on it. She was pushing a stroller with her 4-year-old daughter walking alongside. I came up on the sidewalk and she yelled at me for pulling up in front of her.

What? She was 10 feet back, was in no danger of being hit and I was moving at a crawl anyway. I looked into my driver’s side mirror to see if it was clear to back up when she started yelling again, this time calling names. Sabu started to snarl and claw at the window, so I pulled out into the street to her curses and bellowing.

WTF? That’s some high-class parenting right there! I couldn’t believe she was so nasty over nothing.

Today Sabu and I had another run-in with her. We were walking by her yard (strewn with lawn chairs on their sides and assorted broken toys and bits of trash) as she was pulling up in her (barely running) car with a child in the back.

Sabu did what dogs do – she peed on the edge of the grass. OMG! You would think she left a big, wet pile of crap for the reaction we got.

“Do you let that dog do that on everybody’s yard?” She was red-faced and shouting at me, gesturing at the grass.

“She just peed. If she’d pooped I would pick it up…” Stunned by her reaction, I kept walking.

“You didn’t pick it up last time! You never pick it up, blah, blah, blah…..”

I was getting angry now and turned fully around to look her in the face. “I always pick up her poop. Always!”

“You didn’t the other day!” She’s really winding up now and I’m getting mad enough to do something I’ll regret.

“It wasn’t me. It wasn’t this dog…” walking away now, trying to hold my tongue.

“I have five witnesses in the house who saw you! It was YOU!!!”

Fighting to stay calm, I said, “You’re wrong. It wasn’t me and it wasn’t this dog,” before turning and walking away.

She continued to shout at me but I tuned her out.

WTF? I’ve had people stop, in their cars, to thank me for picking up my dog’s poop. I am known for picking up after my dog in a neighborhood where no one bothers. Why does this woman have such a chip on her shoulder for me? What did I ever do to her but let her daughter pet my dog?

Gaaaahhhhhh!!! People like that give this town a bad name. What a crappy way to end my lunch break on a Monday afternoon.

 

Tags: , , , ,

Feminism Isn’t Hard

There has been so much riot mongering in the press lately about gender issues that I’ve gone on a news blackout. One absurd story after another that does nothing more than get both sides of every issue ranting at each other and I’ve had enough. I have no doubt it’s a great diversionary tactic. Anyone know what’s happening over seas? How many soldiers died today in a senseless war that’s not at all about oil (wink, wink)? How many states passed legislation limiting the birth control options of women? I could go on and on, but, hey! Football!

This guy breaks it down in easy to understand terms. Especially at 2:23-ish. Srsly folks, get a grip!

If I end up talking with someone about sexist issues, I prefer to use the term “non-sexist” instead of “feminist” because saying the word “feminist” has such a violent reaction from people on both sides of the issue. If a woman has short hair and declares herself a feminist she will likely be called a lesbian. How does that even make sense? Has everyone gone crazy? I know The Golden Rule is hopelessly old-fashioned, so how about we adhere to Wheaton’s Law? Wouldn’t the world be a better place?

I can’t even write coherently about this subject today because of all the freaking out by people who would know better if they just closed their mouths and thought about it for one second. If you’re a “friend” of mine on social media and suddenly you find yourself dropped from my news feed, yes, it was done on purpose. Quit yer bullshit people bashing!

 
12 Comments

Posted by on October 2, 2014 in Battle of the Sexes, Crazy, Rants, right?

 

Tags: , , , ,

Godbag at the Dog Park

The weekend was incredibly busy and overwhelming socially. I’m still recovering.

On the first Saturday of the month there’s a big gathering at the yarn shop and the place was full. I arrived early and stayed after. Somehow the clock at home went from 8:07 to 10:35 in three and a half minutes and I missed breakfast, which may have had something to do with how the rest of the day went.

There’s a guy who showed up at the usual Wednesday evening gathering. I don’t like him. He sets off my Freak-Dar lights and sirens but the other ladies think he’s just fine. He’s a young-ish man with prison tattoos and the look of the newly-released. He has not brought any project to work on and in fact claims not to know how to knit or crochet or to have money to buy supplies. He just wants to sit and visit and enjoy all the creative energy. Yeeeee-aaaaahhhhh. Dude creeps me out. He was there and in fact sat next to me, upping his creep factor exponentially. I don’t like his vibe at what is normally a very friendly gathering of like-minded people. More on him as the story develops.

After 5 or so hours of socializing Sabu and I headed for the dog park where we found three young springer spaniels romping about. They weren’t interested in Sabu, but they reliably fetched her ball over and over again which amused me greatly.

After awhile a very large pit bull showed up with his people. The dog (an intact male – don’t get me started on why that’s wrong!) was rather shy and didn’t want to play with the pups, who left soon afterwards. The couple did not look like locals. They wore brand new camo pants tucked into boots (not military boots, but Dog Park Boots) with rather dressy-looking jackets, obviously expensive. It was a discordant combination, but whatever. There’s an RV camping park within the State Park that also houses the dog park and we get all kinds.

The husband, Raymond (we’ll call him Ray from now on because it’s easier to type) spoke at some length about their conversion to a vegan diet three years ago (everything good for him started three years ago when he had an epiphany, but this did not become apparent for awhile) and how their dog is also vegan because they don’t want to consume the chemicals, hormones and antibiotics found in meat. Fine. I am on board for knowing what’s in your food and making informed decisions about what to consume. I even agree that factory farmed meat is not a good choice if you want to live a healthy life.

Then the conversation went a bit sideways. Now, normally I would not engage with a wacko, but I had not eaten, it was 3:00 on a beautiful sunny afternoon and I didn’t have anywhere to be until Sabu pooped, so I decided to start poking at the guy. Just for fun, you understand.

He asked me if I knew about chemtrails. Uh. Nope. Hoo-boy! I got an earful about that and then started asking questions.

“How far down do you figure the conspiracy goes?” I asked. “I mean, does the guy who puts the chemicals into the fuel know what he’s doing? Do you think he cares that he’s poisoning himself and all his descendants? How would the government keep those guys in line? Is money enough or do they use threats?” And so on in this vein until he changed the subject. Seems he was quite comfortable with the idea that Big Government was poisoning the world in their quest to reduce the population and bring about the New World Order prophesied in the bible, but the thought of one single Dude knowingly pouring poison into the atmosphere made him squirm. Interesting.

Predictably the conversation turned to god and his relationship with this particular dude. I heaved in internal sigh when Ray said, “I don’t mean to offend you, but I don’t know your religious background…”

Not wanting to give him any hints as to what my beliefs might be, I simply said, “none,” with a shrug.

His eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning and he launched into his spiel about the errors of his youth with respect to what he was taught about the bible. Turns out the church authorities of his younger days had it all wrong with their portrayal of god as a vengeful ruler who damned all people to hellfire for the slightest of “sins.” HIS god is a just, merciful god, and isn’t that a wonderful thing? Oh, he was positively beaming at that point, waiting for me to do…something…I never know with these people.

So, being my mother’s daughter, I said, “My problem is not with god, or with anyone who believes in a god, just and merciful or not. I take issue with organized religion and its crimes against women and children. I can’t stand behind any religious organization that would take away my right to choose and demand that me and my children submit to a man as head of my family, regardless of his ability to handle that role. I don’t believe in an organization that kills millions of people because they don’t have the same belief or who enslaves another people just because the color of their skin is darker. I realize that Rich White Dudes rule the world, but I don’t have to like it and I don’t have to subscribe to their propaganda, either.”

He was taken aback but jumped right onto my hottest button: abortion. I don’t remember his exact words, but he made it clear that he believes life begins at conception and to end that life is a horrible thing that only the most wicked of women even consider.

My reply was scathing. “No woman takes the decision to have an abortion lightly – that you think we do is because you are a man and will never face that decision. What about instances of rape?”

You’re gonna love this!

“Women VERY rarely get pregnant as a result of rape,” he said, “it’s too traumatic an event and pregnancy just doesn’t happen…”

“I don’t find that true, based on my personal experience,” I said.

Blink. Blink. Blink. For a moment he was lost for words.

His wife had been pretty much silent, nodding her head occasionally, obviously used to Ray’s public proselytizing and not in any hurry to leave, but at my remark her head came up and she looked me in the eyes. I couldn’t tell what her expression meant, but I like to think she was urging me to poke him again to see what he would say to this break in his routine.

He spluttered and repeated that it was “rare.”

“I think you need to reconsider the word ‘rape’ and take into account the ‘non-violent’ occurrences that happen every day, some of which DO end up causing pregnancy.” Hunger pangs were beginning to sour my mood, as was the smug face of this man without a clue.

He started in about how the “body rejects a pregnancy when it comes with violence….” and I told him that was bullshit and I based that opinion on my own personal experience.

Obviously uncomfortable with my insistence, he changed tacks and I was immediately reminded of the narc and his circular arguments. This was turning into an entertaining experiment.

“If a woman has the right to end a life, shouldn’t a man have that same right?” he asked. “Can a man just sign away his obligations to a child he doesn’t want? Do you see that happening?”

“A man can wear a condom and make it very hard for a woman to get pregnant if he doesn’t want children, and he can indeed sign away his parental rights here in Oregon. My first husband did.”

“Just like that? A man can’t deny his obligations, his responsibilities with the stroke of a pen! That’s absurd!”

“Yeah, he can. The father of my son did. He did not pay one penny of child support, nor has he once seen or even asked about his son in the past 22 years. Just. Like. That.”

We went round and round for awhile in this vein. He doesn’t believe in sex education and I pointed out that abstinence only education Does Not Work, nor does slut shaming, victim blaming or denying the problem exists. Sexualizing young girls, teaching them they only have worth as sex objects from the time they’re small children and giving men power over them everywhere they turn has created a rape culture that leads to all of the things he’s so outraged about.

He denied my interpretations. I pointed out that he’s not a woman and has no idea what I, personally, have had to endure in my life. He has no concept of the things I’ve had to do to keep a job, keep a roof over my head, to keep my son fed, to exist in a world controlled by Rich White Dudes. He has no idea how hard it can be for a young woman to say no when a man who has power over her (real or perceived) demands sex and that we need to educate and encourage all women to be strong and independent, punish men who beat and rape and shirk their responsibilities, and then we might approach the nirvana he seems to live every day.

He made some asinine comment about good men and blah, blah, blah, but I was mad by that point and said, “there are a lot of bad men out there. I’ve met many of them. You have no idea.”

He could see the conversation was over and so he said again, “I hope I haven’t offended you…”

This is, of course, my cue as a submissive woman to thank him for enlightening me and apologize for being rude and disagreeing. Instead I said, “you haven’t offended me. We can agree to disagree. I haven’t lived your life. Just remember that you haven’t lived mine, either.”

There was much more to the conversation, but I won’t bore you with details.

While we were talking, Sabu was trying everything she could think of to get Tank the pitbull to play with her. He was very gentle and shy for the longest time, not wanting to get physical, but Sabu insisted she wanted to wrestle and he finally obliged. What followed was an epic wrestling match and Tank falling in love with Sabu so hard he was drooling all over himself. At last! Here was a female he could relate to! She wasn’t having any of his mounting efforts, but he was undeterred – she’d come around sooner or later, right? It was a mirror of the human conversation.

In the end, we left the park, me feeling a bit slimed, Sabu literally covered in slime. It was a good day.

For the record, I have never become pregnant as a result of violent rape, nor had an abortion, but I will fight to my last breath to defend any woman’s right to choose, regardless of circumstances and I will continue to school ignorant assholes whenever I meet them. I just can’t keep silent any longer, even knowing that I can’t really change anything with my truth telling.

 

Tags: , , ,

More Facebook Irritations

Last night I was cruising around on the internet when I got a photo message on Facebook. It was a pic of the guy (let’s call him Dave ’cause that’s his name) who started the whole FB kerfluffle with the narc. It was a selfie in the bathroom mirror in his underwear with shaving cream all over his face like Santa. Whatever. He’d posted that shot to his wall to show off how he’s getting back in shape.

The conversation went like this (my thoughts at the time in bold):

Uh, huh. You already sent me this one.

I did ??I was going through some photos !!

Yeah, send me something new. Like a shot of him and his daughter skydiving – he’s got some amazing photos of that.

Ya I’m sure I’d make ya blush !!! Lol

I don’t blush so easily these days. Totally rolling my eyes, thinking it would be another “getting in shape” shot because he’s been posting a lot of them lately.

[Insert dick shot here. His hand is also in the shot, with wedding ring in full view]

Oh good !! Remember me !! Lol it’s all good : ) I’m real open with my sexuality !!

“Open with your sexuality?” Um…yeah. Like all boys, you just like to show off your dick. This after much eye rolling and head shaking. WTF a dick shot has to do with “sexuality” I don’t know. It does show that he’s still 13 years old and still not familiar with the dictionary, which I’ve always suspected. Thankfully I dodged that bullet or I would have been bored silly within a year.

True !! Haha .. It’s fun !

Sigh. Boys! I was starting to get irritated at this point. I mean, when did he think I invited him to send me dick pics? Never crossed my mind and I never suggested I would like to see it again. We haven’t seen each other in 25 years or more. Why would he think it’s appropriate? Because I’m in his Old Girlfriend Club? Am I supposed to reciprocate? WTF is he thinking? Besides the obvious.

Yep !! Nap time !! Yay .. Long day of snowboarding

Hope you had fun. Should you really be sending dick pics to a woman who is not your wife? I mean, you can see your wedding ring right there…I really doubt his wife knows about him sending pics to me and I doubt she would approve if she did and now I’m getting really pissed off for her sake.

We have a open relationship it’s not so complicated .. We are very open !

Uh-huh. I’ve heard that one before. Whatever, Dude. Even if it were true, I gave no indication that I wanted to get involved with him so it’s quite a stretch to be sending me this particular pic. Men that I know lie. A lot. I, however, do not, and I would not be a part of an “open relationship” with a married couple. Ewww. And yuck. And who the fuck does he think I am?

What ever !! Too funny ! It’s all good !! Just having fun ! Well now I feel stupid for just sharing with ya ! Probly burn in hell right ! Lol have a great night : ) going to bed !!

Wow !! Nothing ?? I logged out and went to bed, my brow furrowed in irritation, both that he sent such a pic and that I was so affected by it.

Sorry. Logged out to do something else. Trying to spend less time online this year

If you knew what I’ve been through the last 10 years you would not have sent that particular pic. Long story. Just don’t, okay? I am so done with cheating, lying assholes and that he had the nerve to send me an unsolicited dick pic really has me steamed.

Wow I feel like a dick .. Hope things get better for u..

Life is great now, but you broke my winning streak of being a penis-free zone for a year… Srsly. I had just 12 days left! I guess it counts that I haven’t seen one in real life, but dammit!

My first reaction was to send a scathing note back, but he’s an ignorant redneck and he probably thinks shit like this really is funny, so I tempered  my response and refrained from giving him a lecture about his treatment of women as objects, starting with his disrespect of his wife. He wouldn’t get it and I don’t have that kind of time.

Am I wrong thinking that shit like his is precisely what’s wrong with the world today? Why would he think I’m up for games of this kind? I realize that I’m totally Un-Cool for not playing along, but I don’t want to play along! It’s not funny. At all. It’s demeaning. He could have sent a shot of his smiling face and we could have talked about anything under the sun (although his interests are pretty narrow to judge by his FB wall) but he decided to make a sexual overture instead, leaving me feeling squicky. Yes, squicky is a word and it means exactly what it sounds like.

Am I wearing a sign that declares to men that I’m available? Do I send out some sort of signal that I’m in desperate need of a penis, so please send me dick pics so I can change my status to “taken” once again and make all of humanity feel safe? Why do men (and some women, I know) feel entitled to assault others in this way? Why do we feel like they’ll think we’re assholes for not playing along? Sure feels like emotional battery to me and that’s probably why this little exchange affected me enough to write an entire blog post about it.

Gaaahhhhhhh!!!!! The fucking entitlement complex of some men!

 

Tags: , , ,

 
%d bloggers like this: