Forgive Me Father, For I Have Blogged

2011-08-18T11:04:00.002-04:00

Imagine, if you will, Glenn Close's character from Fatal Attraction.

Now imagine her with fecal impaction.

Now imagine her whining about the aforementioned fecal impaction, asking repeatedly for advice, yet never ever actually USING the advice.

Now imagine her spending nearly 48 hours with a turd the size of a baby's forearm, just, yanno, hanging out of her butt. A recalcitrant turtlehead, refusing to return to its "shell," and so compact she cannot (or I guess WILL NOT) break it off manually, to yanno, GET ON WITH HER DAY.

Now imagine her finally relenting, and go to the hospital to involve some unfortunate innocent soul in this murky melodrama, which could have been prevented or at a minimum, ameliorated.

Now imagine her embarrassment, pain, discomfort and disgust of enduring this.

Now envision me, on the receiving end of what has amounted to a never-ending, narcissistic drain, of being regaled, graphically, about her ass. Whining incessantly about the pain of the major surgery she had which is the genesis of the impaction, whining incessantly about the consistency or paucity of her STOOL, and yet, not taking any of the advice she has asked for, specifically.

Now envision two, nearly three weeks of her intellectualizing herself out of actually, I don't know, USING miralax, benefiber, or colace to prevent this problem...

Therein is the rub. Nearly three weeks of having the same god damned conversation about her ass, like some sort of scatalogical version of Groundhog Day. Over and over and over again.

I'm neither a doctor, nor do I play one on t.v.

I don't know everything, but what I do know is how to prevent this shit (literally!) from happening.

For nearly three weeks I have been manic, and laughing at the absurdity of this Groundhog Day like situation. Over and over and over again, with me, of course in Bill Murray's role.

Well, the downside to manic?

Yeah, you know the downside. I've bottomed out. I feel physically like crap. This has been too much of a drain on me. If it's not the conversations themselves, it's the deep chord of fear that strikes me everytime I hear my phone ring. *GASP!* *CLUTCHES PEARLS!* And I cast my gaze to the caller ID, and let the calls go to voicemail now, with the last, resultant voicemail containing this, verbatim: [HUGE SIGH] ... "this isn't funny. call me," a la Glenn Close's character saying, "I won't be ignored... DAN!"

To that end? I'm going into a downward emotional and physical spiral and need to recharge my batteries.

And this, my dear reader, is why, I can go for years having friends just know me as my alter-ego, because I have been burned so many times before, burned when I share even the most basic of personal information (my name, my phone #).

So forgive me, Father, for I am wishing all manner of befoulment to this woman's ass, to the degree of wishing her anus to get septic with the next, predictable bout of impaction, septic to the point of requiring removing part of her colon, removing enough of her colon to require an ostomy. Why? Because as dense as she is, I dare say even going septic might be too subtle enough of a hint to drive home the point to this dolt that perhaps, JUST PERHAPS, there are worse things in life than to pop two fucking Colace (or mix a Benefiber in a drink) a day, and nothing says "There are worse things in life..." more than an ostomy, the penultimate bag, for which there are no shoes to match.

Here endeth thy rant.

(For now)

2011-08-15T10:56:00.003-04:00

Pay It Forward. Pretty much is my reason for life, I suppose.

Ever since having gastric surgery this year, I've been bolstered by the love and support of others who had it before me. They had endless answers and patience (not to mention samples of supplements and protein powders etc) for me.

It's a very giving community, and I've got quite the support system of friends, not to mention health care providers with whom I share a very candid, personal rapport.

So imagine my horror (and annoyance) at a friend who, when they asked me for all the precious details most of the books and doctors neglect to tell us (i.e., "constipation" is code for "fecal impaction," aka your bathroom habits will never ever be the same again), she's opted NOT to take my suggestions.

Fine. Live and let live, right?

No. She not only has chosen NOT to take my suggestions to prevent the disgusting and exceedingly painful medical condition known as fecal impaction, she also has texted me, RELENTLESSLY, about her ass.

And yet? Still not taking my suggestions, which ended her up in the hospital to have someone else root around in there to remove the blockage.

Three weeks out, and she still has yet to take Miralax. Took her two weeks post-op to finally take the Colace, but it was too late. Even going to the hospital to get the plug extracted, she waited 48 extra hours since the first text I received.

I feel like an A.A. sponsor for her ass. ASS ANONYMOUS. But it's not-so-anonymous.

I live by example. I remind her I'm over six months out from my own surgery, and yet, even "I" am still on stool softeners daily (as well as flax seed oil, primrose oil, omega-3 oil, and extra magnesium gel capsules daily). I've clearly stated that I am "scared straight," that the horror, indignity, and pure repugnance of manually disimpacting one's ass has struck such a chord of fear in me, I don't care if I need to be on oil capsules and stool softeners the rest of my life just to prevent this from ever happening again.

Granted everyone progresses at their own rate. I can't compare my journey to the journey of someone else. However! If someone were to tell me that XYZ is painful and disgusting and could potentially GET SEPTIC, I'd do everything in my power to avoid doing that. I would not have to endure the problem. I'd just do whatever was necessary to prevent it. I would NOT ignore advice, and then text someone REPEATEDLY about the problem, involving my intra-colon drama. I'd be an adult, take the advice and the tools provided to me, and just ... well...

SHIT OR GET OFF THE POT.

Father Forgive Me, I have no patience today.

Here endeth thy rant.

2011-07-12T17:16:00.003-04:00

Honestly, I don't give a shit anymore.

I've anguished for well over a year about the distance I felt in our friendship. Despite you denying anything going on, it was still there, noticeable, like a 300 lb gorilla, with diarrhea, in church.

You haven't contributed or enriched my life in anyway. You haven't actively cultivated our friendship. And I, simply put, got tired of waiting for you to pick me up like an object to entertain you, on your terms.

I see where I failed: I presumed you put the same value on our friendship as I. I presumed "The Golden Rule" was a philosophy you might have embraced in your life. It is what it is, and well, lesson learned!

I've spent enough time anguishing about this. Thinking it was all me. Thinking surely there's something I can do to fix this. But I can't. And furthermore, you don't want it fixed. You weren't woman enough to tell me to my face to back the fuck off, or even tell me bluntly, to leave you alone, or nicer, "It's not working for me," blah blah blah. Whatever.

So imagine my amusement, that you should be bent out of shape that out of my disappointment of how things are, disappointment of this sense of abandonment I feel, both for myself and the project we started together, that you should be upset that I gave away yarn which was supposed to be used for that project, and that I took apart the other related project I started and stopped at the same point (waiting, forever, for your assistance).

Every time I saw these half finished projects, and the excess yarn, in my stash, it made me sad. Reminded me of how very little you value me, how very little you've given of yourself or your time in over a year. I felt powerless to change things. And yet, I was just left with my anguish.

So yes. I gave away the yarn (some really shitty, splitty yarn in acrylic which I'd never use myself) to someone who could use it for charity projects. And yes, I ripped out my project, so I could use the yarn in another project.

I tried reaching out to you. You weren't interested. Calls and texts no longer returned. You Tweeted around me. So close and yet so far, you live around the corner from some medical offices I go to, and yet... nope, can't be bothered to grab a cup of coffee. Yet, you only break down to call me when YOU need something FROM me, and yet, as a good friend, I helped get you the advice you sought.

Yes, yes, paint me as a bitch who blogged about you, indirectly, not naming names. And rather than perhaps viewing it as an opportunity as an opening for discourse, you showed your true self, fangs and claws, the works. And yet, your co-hort on Twitter? Some hag who told me to "just get over it," when it was 6 weeks after my dad passed.

Yeah. Birds of a feather, flockin' together.

Suddenly, you're unhappy.
Suddenly, you're the one dealing with the reality and unpleasantness (when you could give a shit less when I was dealing with the back end of this reality & unpleasantness).
Suddenly, you're the one whose gone totally effing mental.

I remain "unapologetic."

I'm not mad, or sad, or even upset. Sure, Tweet for 10 hours straight about me, maligning me to countless folks. And yet, all eyes go to the blog post.

Granted... it all is maya, it all is illusion and delusion in this existence; however, I think from now on, I'm going to defer to my own illusions and delusions. Looks like you've got a shitload more issues than I.

Good luck with all that.

2011-07-02T12:21:00.003-04:00

Forgive me Father, for I am ticked.

Dear Sister o'Mine:

Yes. I've been slowly distancing myself further and further from the family fold in general since our dad passed. Either it doesn't register with you, or it does, and you just don't care. Either way, I'm okay with it, as for the most part I feel orphaned now since his passing.

Just don't try to monopolize MY time on the rare occasions when I DO make a trip "back home." I haven't been "back home" more than three times since he passed in almost as many years, which, if you're keeping track, is three times more in the last three years than you've ever visited my home.

Newsflash, it's just as far for ME to make that drive to go "back home." No. Magically it isn't shorter if I make it. I can't bend time and geography to my will and shorten both for my own convenience.

Newsflash, as I don't have children of my own (yet, if ever), however, I DO have a life and responsibilities and interests of my own, that do not include or involve "back home."

Newflash, I have a finite amount of free time and stamina to devote to jaunts "back home."

So, yanno what? You've been to see "The Mouse" four times since dad passed three years ago. This involves what? A 3-4 hour plane ride, flying thru/above HOW many states, yet, you cannot get in a car and drive 2.5 hours to visit me in a neighboring state?

Additionally, you can't be bothered to call me to see if I'm available to visit 35 minutes away, when you've made trips to NYC to take your "mini me" to see a Broadway show or to dump countless buck-o-las at American Girl store and cafe?

I call "bullshit" on your alleged agoraphobia. Folks who actually have the disorder cannot pick and chose the depth or degree they are afflicted with this disorder.

I wish I could say, "fuck you" or that it doesn't matter to me, because yanno? It DOES matter. I cannot wait until the day comes when I can say, it used to matter, or doesn't matter anymore.

We are our last links to our father. It's sad that even our brother, who normally is a bit oblivious about things in general, has zoned in and realizes the importance of us remaining in contact, that as long as we still have each other, dad hasn't died completely, that he's still here with us, when we're all together.

2011-07-02T12:17:00.003-04:00

Forgive me Father, for I have neglected this blog...

Now for my confession:

Look. I get it. I know your mom is a judgmental person, overly fixated on appearances, especially the weight of your daughter. I get it. Honest. I do.

However, my support of you bristling at the thought and knowledge of your mom projecting potential self-image bullshit on your teen aged daughter runs dry once you open your mouth and complain about how fat your estranged son is getting, as you stalk him anonymously online.

I damn near bit my tongue clear off, as I was about to point out to you that you're doing the very thing you bitch (to me) about your mom.

I'm praying for some self-awareness for you.

Bless your heart,
Sister Mary Rottencrotch

2010-12-17T16:26:00.002-05:00

Yanno what? I'm sick and tired of the one-dimensionality of our friendship. There. I said it.

2010-11-28T13:32:00.003-05:00

Dad's been gone since October 24, 2008.

I do not want to live in a world without him.

I've intellectualized myself out of acting on this impulse, given our family's mantra, which is kinda like "Murphy's Law" (i.e., if anything bad will happen it will); however, with this subtle difference: If anything bad will happen it will, in the worst possible way.

Thus, any "acting out on this impulse" could very well fail and cause me to be in a shitpile of misery, the likes of which nightmares are composed.

2010-08-18T14:49:00.000-04:00

BLAH!!!!

2010-01-27T16:49:00.002-05:00

I want to die.
I feel like shit.
I lost my will to live, and continue to exist purely out of neuro-muscular "habit," and the fact I am too cowardly to act upon this impulse.
I don't want to be married anymore. Not to you. Not to anyone.
There's no such thing as love or soul mates.
There's no me.
This, whatever it is, is not me anymore.
I'm just a husk.
There's nothing special here.
There's nothing here for me.
Waiting for you to finally realize it all too, so you can leave, and I'll kill myself.
If only wishing were all it took for the sweet release of death, I'd be gone already.
No words can soften how I feel.
It's not even necessary anymore.
The damage has been done.
I have failed at everything.

2009-12-29T10:06:00.004-05:00

Dear Douchenugget:

Due to the chronic issues of under-staffing in our office, it has become problematic and stressful for me to arrange the necessary time I need to take off for medical consultations to tend to on-going medical issues, the eventual/inevitable arranging surgery (for 2010), as well as coping with the death of my father.

As discussed in conversation (on Monday, December 21, 2009, with "Teh VIP") I was interested availing myself of the Voluntary Work Reduction Program, wherein I wished to opt-in for much lower 10% level.

While I understand the budgetary problems and the subsequent hiring freeze which is directly preventing the agency to fill Slacker and Waste-of-Space's vacancies, to continue my employment in this office is detrimental to my current overall health by directly impeding my ability to seek necessary medical attention for specialists who do not have weekend or evening hours.

Therefore, as mentioned in my conversation with "Teh VIP" on December 21st, I am left no recourse but to tender my resignation effective Friday of this week.

Regretfully,
Sister MaryJane Rottencrotch

ETA: 11/25/10 Douchenugget returned from extended medical leave for a matter of weeks until some "alleged" situation arose, whereby her "doctor" sent her a letter stating it's not beneficial for her to remain at work. Rather than be out on Disability (be it short term or long term) this leech is sucking off the teat of our office's "leave donation program," so she can continue to have medical benefits (which she WOULD have if she went out on Disability i.e., Medicare). Her desk sits unoccupied with all her debris as it was when she left, including her box of panty liners, prominently displayed at her desk.

2009-08-19T22:11:00.005-04:00

I understand that being in control is important. Important about your career, your life, the whole nine yards. I know you work long hours, you take call, and you have sick parents, so calling late is not cool. I also know that Thursday is your Friday, (usually) unless something weird happens.

I also thought than when you asked me to keep in touch as I was travelling, you meant it. So on Thursday night, late, I think hmm. Too late to call, no cell reception down here anyway, ah, I'll send a text message. Look for a birthday package, arrived at the coast, thinking of you XO. Now, if I were disturbed by late phone calls, I'd have my text message alarm turned off.

I did not know about the flight to DC. I submit, though, that if getting a single text message or a phone call puts you off your game so much that you flub the interview? You need to see your flight surgeon, there is no way you should hold a first class medical. And in your three paragraphs dear John e-mail, why the HELL are you blaming me for A calling and texting and getting in your face.

Be that as it may, I really get the feeling if you wanted to break things off, you'd have done it quietly. Bringing up all this irrelevant stuff leads to DRAMA. You want me to be angry. You WANT me to respond. Hell, I'm beginning to think you want to provoke me to hit you. Well, I don't trust you now, and I will not respond.

2009-08-13T10:04:00.005-04:00

Forgive me Father, for I have been labeled "unreliable."

::WARNING: RUN ON SENTENCE AHEAD::

Yes, my mother has lumped me into the same pile of useless offspring as my brother; however, she did not make the distinction that I cannot be counted on for her assorted and sundry mundane daily tasks which she is unable to tend to herself due to the logistics and geography involved (I live 120+ miles away from her, too far to pop in to take out her trash or bring in her mail daily); whereas my brother lives a scant half hour away from mom, and he was dad's co-executor to his "estate" has remained uninvolved and unconcerned about mom's welfare, and ambivalent about the sheer volume of work our sister and her husband do daily. And they DO work their tails off, I'll give them that.

I'm tired of dealing with the passive-aggressive nature of my sister, who so obviously has regretted her decision to convince our parents to move closer to her (several years ago), "just in case something happens." Well, for the first few years that my parents resided "one traffic light away," there was nothing BUT "just in case something happens."

I'm tired of being duped into being involved in my mother's care, when for the first three decades of my life all she did was verbally and emotionally abuse me, and be a "good will viper." I'm tired of making that long-assed drive, only to have my time and energy hijacked once I am there, with the mentality that I'm then a captive audience and my time is not my own.

I'm tired of having insights or suggestions to offer, to lessen the load or burden, yet my sister poohpoohs it, raises the eyebrow as if to convey, "Who the fuck do you think you are?" or "What the fuck do you THINK YOU KNOW, anyway?"

I'm tired and still grieving for dad; sensing he's "still around, somewhere," and now have been informed, in so many words, to "get over it," that I'll never get on with my life as long as I am prefacing everything with or by dad or his passing.

I'm tired, still tired that is, from all the back-and-forth inter-state driving/worrying/crying/etc with dealing with the hospitalization of both parents (this same time) in Summer 2008, culminating in dad passing away. I lost track of how many times JUST LAST summer I made that lengthy trip to help out, but I am sure it's more than tenfold more times than anyone in my family has bothered to come THIS WAY. (Current visit count since 2001 since relocating to NY: 2)

So getting back to the run on sentence...

Eff you to my mother, and my sister, who I suspect resent the fuck out of me and the fact that I live out of state. Get it through your skulls: MY LIFE NO LONGER IS BASED WHERE YOURS IS. Eff you for making me sense that you think I should pack up and move back/divorce/give up my life/my friends/my world to help out.

Eff you both for being willfully ignorant to the fact that you're only marking time until an assisted living or nursing home is not an "option," but a necessity.

All this is perking just beneath the surface until the next drama, until the next life-and-death situation arises, thus thrusting me back into the stink eye of yet another shit storm.

Tell me again why I should bother, when it's so obvious they're just takers?

Yes, when mom passes, I don't anticipate much, if any, financial gain. I venture a guess if she doesn't die in the next year or two; she'll end up needing to be put in a care facility, sell off the house, etc, to pay for that and go on the "dole" until she dies.

And similarly, mom's father has always made the distinction of being loving (or what he "thinks" passes for loving behavior; aka playing favorites) to mom's younger sister, and being very public with his affection for her, and very public with his disdain/dislike/whatever for mom, and currently as mom's sis is doing all the running around for their father (currently in his 90s), let mom's sister reap the rewards/and or financial gains.

Eff you for guilting me into giving you the only item of dad's from which I could have used (a nice mountain bike) and benefited. Guilting me because your husband does so much for our mother because he's so devoted to YOU.

Eff you for not giving me the table that dad's dad made, that dad finished up shortly before his passing. Eff you for wanting to give it to my brother. Double eff you for having it prominently displayed in your living room.

Eff my brother for taking possession of all of dad's firearms "for safekeeping." I doubt I'll ever see the pistol dad left for me. ETA: 11/2010: He claims he doesn't know what's in the gun safe now. I doubt I'll ever see that pistol.

Between the bike, the table and the pistol... I have nothing of his that brought him joy in this life. Granted they are all just things, but still, fuck all of you. Had I not snagged his father's bank he won in Atlantic City in the 1920s, snagged it like a common thief, I"d have nothing of his that meant anything to him. FUCK YOU.

Eff my brother's wife who distrusts my brother-in-law and suggested he might be "skimming off the top," when everyone else in the family would think the same of her.

Eff my mother for taking an inventory out loud of which grand daughter gets which pieces of jewelery, or which family member gets which piece of crystal or cut glass. Eff you for penalizing (indirectly) me for my malfunctioning ovaries and for fucking me up so colossally, mentally, that in addition to dealing with my infertility problems, I am questioning my judgment, and I don't know from one moment to the next if I want to go through the struggle of attempting to get pregnant if the end product is all of this garbage.

Perhaps this is my family legacy.
Perhaps it should stop with me and my line.
Perhaps procreation is over-rated.
Perhaps I better get my will, advanced directive, and final preparations sketched out.

Eff you dad for leaving. You were the glue which kept me in orbit with some sense of family. You were my ballast. Now that you're gone, I see now that "family" was all an illusion, that you were all the family I had in this life.

Eff this rage.

2009-04-10T10:17:00.002-04:00

Forgive me father, for I am a failure at marriage.

Weds p.m. he met up w/a college buddy who was in town. They hung out 'til about 9. I had to go out and pick him up at the train by 10. No problem, eh? As if this is all my life is about, being his chauffeur and whipping-boy. Being ready for him. It's even this way sexually. It's so counterintuitive to nature.*

I go out last night with some friends for a 2 hour sit and knit. He shows up, immediately wants me to drop what I'm doing. I'm trying to learn how to do this ONE stitch, otherwise it'll be another two weeks before I see my friends who are helping me with a project, as we are going on vacation soon.

He was sitting behind me, texting me on my phone (no, I did not pick up the phone). I had ordered up a panini (no cheese) for him. Only to get home to find out there IS cheese (provolone, no less), and shit, he was carrying on as if I:

1. am too stupid and do not know enough to ask for "no cheese";
2. I ordered it intentionally;
3. am too stupid and foolish with my money as if to waste it on something he cannot eat.

Granted, he's been in a lot of pain--and to be blunt, I live in chronic pain and depression every effing day. The kind of pain that won't go away. The kind of pain that even flares up unexpectedly, and to an extent debilitates me. You'd think that his new-found pains would make him more empathetic towards my chronic pain. But no. It's all about him. His pain. Pain that would probably go away with some surgical intervention.

Between my pain and depression, I do not want to get out of bed in the a.m., if ever, and there he is whining about a sandwich. When I finally hit my saturation point for his ranting, I picked the sandwich container up (w/the perfectly good sandwich, tortilla chips and salsa in it), and threw it at him and yelled that I am not an idiot, and that I'm tired of spending every day of my life with him reminding me of how fat I am and how stupid or incapable he thinks I am (he never comes out directly with those words, but pretty much in his rants will say stupid shit which pretty much dances around that theme).

My night last night ended with me taking my meds, and I decided I needed a second dose of my anti-depressant (the Rx IS written for 2x a day, afterall).

I sat and cried on the toilet. Regained my composure enough to brush my teeth, then strap myself into my CPAP, and I just cannot bring it up, the things I wish would happen to me. I honestly have nothing to live for. This is all so pointless. And no, I'm too much of a coward to act on these thoughts. With my luck if I were to do so, I'd no doubt fail, and in doing so, I'd make my situation worse. I know I've got enough blood pressure pills in the house: a nearly new bottle of blood pressure pills , which I don't take anymore as I'm on another with a separate diuretic; a near-new bottle of another, 20 mg tabs, which I no longer take as I'm on 10 mg tabs now; and of course the 10 mg tab bottle. But with my luck? That wouldn't be enough to do the job; however, it might just be enough to destroy my kidneys, and let's just say, that's not something I want for myself. Death is one thing, but painful kidney failure and dialysis? That is not for the squeamish.

*The sex is mechanical. There's no connection or communication that normally goes on with lovemaking. It's always when HE wants it. Not when I do. My advances get batted away with the same disdain as a fly at a picnic. And really? Sex is becoming a rare commodity. Sex for us is now roughly once a month, after I've showered on a Saturday, I might yell out for him to "strap one on, let's go."

No foreplay.
No kissing.
No nothing.
NO KIDDING.

Really if I think about it too long, my heart will just break even more. And after nearly eight years of marriage, I'm tired of trying to find a "common ground" or trying to fix this. Obviously it does not matter at all to him. Yet, I am still alive and have needs. So the "least sinful" route is "mechanical means" for myself, alone. Because it's frustrating to be frustrated and deal with all of this. I've tried all manner of trying to discuss this. It's taking every bit of restraint in me not to emasculate him. I don't feel desirable. I feel like a life support system for a glory hole. Plain and simple.

I love him, or the person I thought I married. I fear it's not enough. And yet, he sticks it out with me. I don't understand it at all. I don't know if he's really abusive or if he's just ignorant in how marriages work, or how sponge-like women are... being stimulated by what we hear... and well? If all I'm hearing is negative shit, what is the ultimate message right there? That I'm a fat, stupid glutton for punishment?

I'm petrified to do anything about anything. I'm broken down, mentally and physically. I'm imprisoned in a job that I hate and that gives me nothing (except a paycheck--of which is not enough for me to survive on, should I strike out on my own) in return. I feel professionally I've lost my edge. I'm not sticking it out because I am afraid no other man will find me attractive (because I know that's bullshit). I am sticking it out for my own survival. And of course, that one little shred of hope that perhaps one day, he'll revert back to who I thought I married. But first and foremost: survival.

Emotionally, I'm dying. But physically, there must be some primal sense of survival. I feel so parasitic.

And perhaps? Just perhaps? Perhaps I'm the type of gal guys fuck and shouldn't marry. I cannot help but wonder if this is the case for me.

Amazingly, I typed this out at work, and managed not to cry.

2009-04-06T16:53:00.001-04:00

I've sat here for a half hour. First I was amazed I remembered my sign-on and password. But really? I'm amazed no one has posted anything since December. Four months? No one needed to vent their spleen?

What's this world coming to?

2008-12-10T23:07:00.001-05:00

The Student who is going to EPIC FAIL refuses to drop the course. She thinks she can pass. She can't. She's going to try to cadge me into letting her pass. She's a black woman. I don't want to be the man that be keeping her down.

I may just pass the trash. I hate this.

2008-08-14T18:32:00.002-04:00

Yet another follow-up:

Two nights ago, as I stood outside waiting for the husband to pick me up, I heard the door to the lobby open.

As I turned to see who it was, I looked She-who-shall-remain-pseudonymless in the face, or at least was able to make out facially it was her, I didn't intend to look directly at her face. I merely glanced. So you would think she would have glanced to see who was standing in front of the building.

She turned and walked away, seeming to ignore my very presence.

My plan is working.

It sucks when I have to go against my innate character to be kind or generous (usually to a fault, i.e. finding excuses for the shitty behaviors of others), and cut these "good will vampires" off. She was nothing but a blight, a taker, and a fool if she thought I held her in any esteem after the "Assgrab Debacle of 2006," wherein when she was "called out" for saying something to someone out of context and got me in hot water with another co-worker, she back pedaled and said, "Well you shouldn't have told me in the first place!"

What are we in? Pre-school, where no one takes responsibility for their actions? I don't give a shit if she said what I said--but for the love of the eight-pound-baby-Jesus!, make sure it's in context!

Sadly for her, this is all a moot point.

Perhaps vanity is a sin, and if thinking I am a good friend and an entertaining conversationalist is vain, then color me a red, red sinner, baby.

God? Why did you create me to be trusting and such a shitty judge of character?

2008-08-11T14:11:00.003-04:00

Well she-who-shall-remain-pseudonymless was up here getting something notarized by me. She just left now. I don't need this stuff, yanno?

She couldn't help but notice I was "off," and I told her, "being the subject of current rumors regarding stuff which occurred four years ago will do that to someone."

Not once did she let on that it was SHE let the cat out of the bag. Seemed real blasse.

I said to her, "No, I won't take it easy. I treat folks here with nothing but kindness and good humor, and even for the a-holes I have to deal with, I am nothing but professional. This is the type of stuff friendships get ruined over..." She could care less.

And I said, "Not only am I concerned because Joan knows... which means everyone knows... I'm humiliated... but I am also concerned about WHO told WHO WHAT... I only spoke to two people about this. " (she-who-shall-remain-pseudonymless was one of the two).

I remain,
Devastated.

2008-08-08T17:01:00.003-04:00

It's bad enough when someone has a "slip up" at a low point in their lives;
It's bad enough to be full of remorse every day for years since...since;
It's bad enough to be contrite and go to confession for God's forgiveness;
It's bad enough not to be able to confess the misdeed, out of the assortment of reasons, primarily seeing the error of one's ways and viewing this lapse as a momentary and isolated incident;

It's bad enough when that someone confesses this to someone they thought was a friend...

...Only to be ~~approached~~ ambushed by another, totally unrelated party entirely, being asked, point blank, if the rumor were true... four years after the fact, thus precipitating an unexpected emotional set back, the likes of which has the victim second guessing and doubting their judgment CONCLUSIVELY, ENTIRELY, COMPLETELY.

It's not a stretch of the imagination to piece things together, that this person (She who shall remain pseudonym-less), [who was once thought of as friend, who not only sold "one" out nearly two years ago in what is now referred to as the "Ass Grab Debacle of 2006"], who also attended an "academy" recently with the "totally unrelated party" who was questioning the veracity of the aforementioned rumor, which I hope, I denied believably.

The guilt is oppressive, still; however, I cannot even must enough indignity to fuel the right-and-deserved ass kicking this twat deserves.

If I had the ability, I would quit this job, just to get away from these people, everyone who has ever known me (or the other) in any capacity. For my own sanity's sake.

I'm not a saint; however, I do believe in second chances. Being here is sabotaging my soul and the very essence of who I think I am.

2008-07-08T09:59:00.002-04:00

*deep sigh*

I resign myself to the idea that if I want to go out on a "date" with you, I have to do all the legwork.

I did.

Babysitter for Friday night? Check.
Dinner reservations made? Check.
Fundage set aside to pay for all of this? Check.

So when I log on to the bank account this morning to discover that the date money I set aside was gone, I was miffed. (Actually, I was a bit concerned that someone had hacked our account.)

Calling you, only to discover that you withdrew it this morning because you and your friend JG are going out to dinner tonight really pissed me off.

Which is why I felt the need to "make you feel bad" by pointing out that you and JG have managed to go out to dinner together three times since you both graduated from law school, while you and I have managed to go out together ZERO times since waaaaay before you graduated.

That's right. JG has me beat, three dates to zero.

Fucking Hell. Asswipe.

2008-03-12T13:09:00.002-04:00

Please for the love of the eight-pound-baby-Jesus!

Learn how to administer oral like a hound dog cleaning out a peanut butter jar, or pour on the charm so thick she chokes on it.

She make concessions you don't even realize.

With a big dick, technique isn't really mandatory, as big dick sex can still be quite good from an animalistic standpoint.

With proper sweet talking and romance, that would make her overlook your consistent habit of no foreplay. (Yes, that's ZERO foreplay).

Let's recap, shall we?

You are neither big dicked, have a technique to speak of, nor are you a sweet talker. (Out of the three, she'd settle for some melifluous words and some flirty banter, to be honest).

I'm givin' her all she's got, Captain!

Signed,
Your wife's vibrator

2008-03-12T12:27:00.002-04:00

As a follow-up to this post:

I did quit my group, and unsub from person #2's other group (which in a weird turn at this point, both groups are now "private" and only members can now read what's going on, rather than being accessible to future members like they both had been since their inceptions).
Person #2 is either too oblivious or just doesn't care about the how or why I did this.
Although I am now on "instant message" conversational level now (intermittent, but nothing like what it was), it's all superficial chit-chat.
I'd like to create a "craft-specific" group of my own, but to be honest, I'm just disappointed in people in general, and might end up shit canning the whole concept.

2008-03-12T12:20:00.005-04:00

Regarding the Sin of Opportunistic "Obtuse-i-tude":

I asked if you liked chocolate.

You hesitated at first, but then replied, "Yes."

I offered a gift. (Some "Smarties" a friend brought back from the UK for me.)

You said you'd give it to someone else. (Um? Why didn't you just say, "no thanks?" But you took it, initially anyway.)

I suggested you give it to your niece.

I guess this weirded you out as you did the only thing you could do under the circumstance: returned it to me.

So why is it I feel weird about it now?

I asked.
I offered.
And you took it knowing full-well you weren't going to eat it.

You returned it saying, you'd rather do this than toss them out.

Um?

TOSS THEM OUT?

Why do I feel alienated because of this?

Forgive me father, but some people just suck ass.

But I forgot what I was dealing with: I think there's something inherently socially defective with folks who don't dig chocolate.

My bad.

I should have taken my lead from your cues when you stammered out the word, "Yes."

2008-02-04T12:48:00.000-05:00

Forgive me father for I am petty and pissed.

This idiotic rant is multilayered.

Layer 1:
In sum and substance, on another of my blogs I mentioned a scenario wherein I was solicited by a (now-former) friend to assist in setting up a "group." This NFF then referred two of her friends to me to coordinate with, both of whom were impolite and unappreciative, yet have benefitted from my expertise. When I blogged about their impoliteness, as well as touching upon this NFF's "manipulator deluxe" status, some cowardly cuntessa pointed the NFF in the direction of my blog post. Within that particular post, I touched upon the scenario lightly with kid gloves, thinking surely, she doesn't read my blog, that is, until a cowardly cuntessa suggested she read it. The offending post was written in as vague of terms as possible and did not "out" in this who's-who of impolite asshole-dom. But she read between the lines, got offended, removed her membership from my group.

Layer 2:
NFF is friendly (I didn't realize how much until Layer 1 happened) with person #2, of whom I have been very friendly with, so much so, as to go out and socialize and have girls' days out etc, and even had her to my home during an adult slumber party while my husband was away on business. I directly asked whether Layer 1 has affected our friendship, and despite her desire to "remain neutral," the last few weeks of no phone calls nor emails, which amounts to dropping off my radar (in my book), it HAS affected our friendship without so much as an EFF YOU to me. She just packed up her friendship without a word and cut herself off from me.

Layer 3:
As person #2 also moderates a group which tends to plan its meetings on the same nights as my group on the basis of it being a "sister group," I find it awkward ... no scratch that... it pissed me off that she cannot be bothered to tell me what's-what, can't be bothered to communicate with me, yet, I network and plan events which she then tells her group about, so her group can benefit from MY PLANNING and ORGANIZATIONAL SKILLS.

Layer 4:
All three of these shitty layers are now compacting upon themselves to the point where I don't have any joy anymore, managing my main group... to the point where I really am restraining myself in one of those "cut the nose off to spite the face" moments, as I am poised and ready just to "unsubscribe" to my own group. Just bow out completely. I've found it all entirely too trifling.

2008-02-02T14:06:00.000-05:00

It's pretty fucking scary to me that most of my fantasies lately revolve around getting OUT. No alimony. No child support -- Hell, you can keep the kids.

Just me, my name back, and gone. Anywhere but where I am.

After six weeks of dropping hints like anvils about how we haven't been out on a date in five months, it's screamingly apparent that if I want a date, I have to make all of the arrangements -- finances, baby sitter, date and location and even wardrobe -- and just tell you when to show up. Is it any wonder I can't be bothered?

It feels like we have nothing in common any more but three children and a pile of bills. We do not converse beyond schedules -- and even then, it's me working around your schedule, because God knows I keep the kids' and mine, and they're fairly separate. We have no sex life. We have no social life.

I'm pretty convinced that once you finish law school, we'll limp along for a while, and then be done -- if not on paper, than in every other sense.

2008-01-19T17:35:00.000-05:00

For fuck's sake -- if I hear you moan about your balls one more time, I'll kick them up around your ears.

I'm sorry, but after three kids -- one episiotomy and one c-section -- your paltry over-sized needle hole that didn't even require stitchery isn't generating sympathy.

Shit out a couple of nine-pound watermelons. Sn4eeze when you have stitches -- either in your crotch or in your belly.

Then, we will talk.

2008-01-17T23:47:00.000-05:00

You don't HAVE to use the tutors. You don't HAVE to get tutored by me. I am the person who is going to make your test. The other folks don't have access to the materials that I use to make the test. I'd have shown you what was going to be on the test (among other things). You keep blowing me off.

You are going to flunk. You are going before the committee on students. I will too, and present all the phone logs, e-mails, and whatnot. You are going to take a Dean's Vacation. And it really doesn't matter what ethnicity you are, you've fucked up enough.

2007-12-10T15:48:00.000-05:00

Remind me again how or why I should live closer to my folks?

[Received from my father today in my inbox:]

Now not to bitch-----------but I am-------- it really pissed me off
I win something [a video game system] and she's [mom] already delegating
what she's going to do with it. I want it for here so everyone can play
it. she has no concept of what anything is worth or costs, none what
so ever.
Well, my new project for the year: I've got a 42'' piece of 2x3 I have to
shape a two handed grip and sand and stain & varnish. So when its all done
I'm ready ! ! So sometime when she starts her meddling I'll smack her on
the back of the head so hard she won't need a dentist as her teeth will.
Be ejected on impact. ONCE A DAGO ALWAYS A DAGO i need you to come down
again for an injection of sanity, because she is nuts well i won't take up
ore of your time.------this is dry humor
Love,
dad

I love how he points out how SHE is nuts; when the reality is they BOTH are nuts, and if I had to split pubic hairs over this, I'd say he's got a double helping of nutzo.

2007-12-10T15:39:00.000-05:00

I know I told you what we were having for dinner well in advance...

Did you know I marinated the meat for THREE days, as well as hand-peeled all those pearl onions myself?

So why is it when I plated your beef burgundy, and knowing NOW that you're a "reformed vegetarian," why did you NOT speak up THEN and say for me to take some of it off your plate?

I was equally broken hearted and pissed that I had to waste your portion and a half by tossing it in the trash because I felt like I could not scrape it off your plate AFTER you picked through and played with your food.

The idea behind me informing you in advance of what the menu would be, was to avoid scenarios where you wouldn't like something, or that I'd be wasting not only the food, but my MONEY providing you a gourmet meal you would not consume.

2007-11-14T17:33:00.001-05:00

Forgive me Father:

It's officially TWO YEARS.

2007-11-14T16:01:00.000-05:00

Dear Halfwit,

I go weeks and months without hearing from you. When I initiate contact, I get the distinct sensation you're brushing me off. Too busy, too distracted, too too... whatevah.

Footnote #1: SEE: #2

Last year you were great guns-a-blazin' we have to hook up and get together and be fast friends, yet you've put nothing into this. Sure, I'd see you only if "I" took time off from work to do so.

Footnote #2: SEE: THIS

Now out of the blue you're on an email fishing expedition wondering what the difference between knit or crochet is, and wondering if I've ever made leg warmers.

Do us both two favors:

1. Buy them at Walmart;
2. Go sell crazy some place else, we're all stocked up here, you fair-weather freakazoid.

2007-11-14T13:36:00.000-05:00

I don't care that you ordered a porn movie on the on-demand PPV channel. Porn? Eh. As long as it's not kiddies or animals, I'm alright with it. The price seems exorbitant for ten minutes' worth of wank, but that's not a real issue, either.

I DO care that I had to find out about it by opening the cable bill and seeing the title prominently displayed.

I'll just be over here, feeling unattractive, undesirable, and not worth your attentions.

2007-11-13T12:15:00.000-05:00

I live with low-to-moderate pain everyday, yet I am able to "do."

"Do" can imply any of the following:

Taking out the trash & recycling;
Running load after load of laundry up and down those 15 stairs back and forth, to and from our condo unit to our laundry room... and usually doing this when I am home SICK;
Painting the spare room while you were gone on business;
Snaking out the drains, scrubbing the floors, moving large furniture, you name it;
Donkey-ing up all the weekly groceries all in one shot in tote bags hung on me;
Yet, all the while, you think it's amusing to accuse me of being lazy...

Yet, I forgot that you hurt your ankle, and when I saw you entering the condo with your shoes still on, and I asked you a common place question, "Do you think you can take out the trash before we go away for four days?" The correct response is NOT, "I'm not your house slave, you fuck!" And I do not care that you CLAIM that you said, "... you fucking woman." I distinctly heard, "you fuck." And this of course was said with a scowl and a level of loathing and disdain that just is received by me with all the subtlety of a red hot brick being punched in my throat.

To be honest, I don't much appreciate the erosion of respect I've seen lo-these past six years (see earlier rant about how I am a life support system for a glory hole). The "you fuck," was enough to reduce me to immediate tears, shrieking out what I really think of you, "you fucking asshole!" and lock myself in my room, sobbing, again, so upset I cannot even see, so upset and enraged I'm slamming my skull into the drywall of my bedroom shrieking out, "I don't want to live anymore.... hear this? hear this? this is my skull hitting the wall!!"

Eventually I got my shit together enough to shower off and throw some clean clothes together to go on this trip we planned (afterall, I already paid for the tickets for Cirque DuSoleil... money is still money), and you threw your arms around me as I stood there stiff and emotionless like a totem pole, as you said, "all I want to do is make you happy... you know that, right?" When it's obvious you don't have a clue how to achieve that objective. I'll be the first to admit I'm not perfect, and hell, it's hard not to be the first to admit it what with you constantly reminding me of all my imperfections, neigh daily.

Just so we're clear:

No. I am not sorry I called you a fucking asshole. I call's 'em likes I sees 'em.
No. I am not sorry you paid $1000 for our weekend away, only for you to not get your ticket punched for Poonanytown.
I nearly wet myself with glee when we came home and the house was permeated with the stench of fermented garbage because you insisted on NOT taking it out as I asked.

2007-11-11T20:27:00.000-05:00

Look

I know putting your Dad in hospice is stressful.

And I don't mind taking you out for dinner and letting you lean on me.

But you bitch me out for being late to the restaurant, and sending inedible food back? Bite me.

2007-11-08T06:43:00.000-05:00

I understand that this was mandatory training, and we're lucky that it was only for one week -- as opposed to the three-week session proposed.

HOWEVER.

If you're leaving me to hold down the fort, please don't call to brag about how great the hotel is, how wonderful the food is, what a good night's sleep you're getting and how cool it is to go out for a few beers with your buds.

I'm really tired and really overwhelmed.

And for fuck's sake, don't tell me you cleaned out the savings account to buy the last three rounds.

2007-10-20T15:58:00.001-04:00

Dear Asshole:

If I have spent the entire day vacuuming, washing/drying/folding laundry, scrubbing bathrooms, writing out bills, returning phone calls, riding herd on a six- and four-year-old, and caring for a newborn, the FIRST words out of your mouth ought not be a whiny, aggrieved:

"But you promised you'd make CORNBREAD!"

Love and smooches,

Your Stabby Wife.

PS --
"Hey baby, let's get it on -- it's close enough to your rag time!" is not romantic foreplay. Loosen up your wrists and go to town. I'm tired.

2007-10-09T15:43:00.001-04:00

I was born at 10:49.

That was 10:49 p.m.

AT NIGHT.

Not LAST NIGHT.

So when you make plans with me a second time, and we made the majority of the plans on the phone to avoid the "Yahoo Snafu," and you decide you want to bail out, don't make it seem like it was because I did not call you before you were supposed to head out to my home.

The email I sent you the night before which detailed what time you were to arrive at my home, which also gave my street address for you to Mapquest, and all other sundry details, was met with an email in the affirmative from you, informing me you would call me. It would have behooved you at the time of that email to say for me to email my home phone # again, as you left all the numbers at your place of work.

However, I won't cop to this. As you called me two days before on your cell.

You called MY CELL on YOUR CELL.

IF you really wanted to reach me, you could have simply picked up your cell phone, scrolled through your recently called list, and hit redial. We're not in the dark ages, and I'm no shrinking violet--so, no, I'm not sucking this one down gladly.

I'm not pissed, I'm just disappointed. I really thought you were different.

I left voicemails on your home phone and your cell phone, as well as an email; all of which were unanswered. Fortunately I could have cared less if we went out or not as Aunt Flo was kicking my ass from the uterus out; however, that is besides the point.

2:30 no call.
3:30 no call.
4:40 no call.

5:30 I decided to start cooking dinner for my husband. After that I just stopped waiting for the phone to ring.

So excuse me when I say I was not eager to answer my cell when you finally got around to calling me today, 24 hours after the fact, after we had made specific plans to go out together on our day off.

I could respect an honest change of plans, just be an adult about it and own up to it, and have the courtesy to have let me know even in a shitty email form that you were otherwise engaged. Had I not been otherwise occupied clotting and curled up on my sofa in the fetal position (and in dire need of distraction, I might add), I'd really be pissed off; however, in hindsight, I shan't be making any plans anytime soon with you.

Which is a shame really.

You struck me as normalish, initially. I really need to pimp-slap my poor judgement.

2007-10-01T12:31:00.000-04:00

During all of the various the medical emergencies, family strife and bad news in the past few weeks, you've been physically and emotionally not present. The best you've been able to offer is a semi-heartfelt, "Sorry -- boy, that sucks."

Why am I doing this, again?

I knew law school would have a degree of emotional distance attached, but Jesus H. Fuckbuckets.

I'm really not looking forward to our anniversary next week. Yeah, nine calendar years -- but you've been less than present for the last eighteen months. I'd rather go to bed early. or get to sleep in.

2007-08-14T23:22:00.000-04:00

Hey asshole:

So yeah, we were rolling around, playfully on the bed tonight. And holy shit you had a huge boner. And yeah, I thought about letting you roger me with it.

But you kept yammering.

I was still willing to "take one for the team," and let you slap a jimmy on and hit it with some lube and just whale away on my hole, doggy style, as you always want it. Doggy style. It could be any anonymous twat being offered up for you to pump away for all of what... five minutes, and at the end you act as if you did me some great favor.

But you kept yammering.

If it's at all possible, I could feel the membranes of my vagina dehydrate as you reminded me of how when we got married I foolishly said how I'd never "deny you love." All I wanted tonight was a definition of what you thought "love" was. Apparently it's: penis inserted in vagina until it emits a viscous load. Funny thing is, way back in the day when I foolishly said I'd never "deny you love," you were still somewhat interested in whether or not I achieved an orgasm, or at the very least, if sex was somewhat satisfying for me. Luckily for me we live in the electronic age, and I've got Billie Bob... my back massager, who I might add, does not yammer.

NOT.

ONE.

WHIT.

So, with that being said, as you came in here, and interrupted me pecking out this rant to "request" access to my squish mitten, only didn't even sweet talk me, I believe the term was, "I want to stick it in," was met with me admonishing you with, "Hey, you had your chance. I was going to take one for the team, but you wouldn't shut the fuck up," and you said that you were going to stick it no matter what...

Newsflash...

I'm going to sleep tonight with an old fashioned, spring-loaded mouse trap.

We'll see who's laughing in the morning... or on the ride to the emergency room.

WHICHEVER COMES FIRST.

Signed,

Underfucked & Overfrustrated

PS: I took Friday off for a long birthday weekend--and I think the first gift I'll give myself will be the best multiple orgasm that alternating current can provide. He who laughs last, laughs best... and has the best orgasm. Try to top that!

2007-07-10T16:00:00.001-04:00

Yo-asshole.

And if you touch my crotch, squeeze my knee or kiss me, my cane is going up your ass--

2007-06-22T00:35:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure what to think or say.

I leave voicemails that go un-responded to. I leave emails which either get ignored or get brief responses.

You're in an "inward phase." Whatever that means. So I give you space.

And just when I come to grips with the fact that perhaps this friendship isn't going anywhere anytime fast, you zap me an email when I am out at sea, something really passive aggressive about how you've been sensing some type of edge or "undercurrent" in my emails... what am I supposed to think?

I'm not a mind reader. I don't know what you want or need in general, and certainly don't know what you want or need from me, specifically. And I'm feeling very marginalized and compartmentalized like a pair of really cute shoes bought on an impulse, but really don't go with anything in your wardrobe, yet, there I sit, on the shelf, waiting for my moment to entertain you as if I'm some sort of novelty.

So yeah... it's not an undercurrent.

I'm pissed.

But I suppose for your purposes, it's one and the same.

I've been here all the time. You've been the flake. And, no, I won't take ownership of being a flake.

2007-05-21T14:39:00.001-04:00

Two things...one for a different person...

1. Hasn't anyone ever told you about your breath reeks like an unholy mess? And by unholy mess, I mean camel feces...

2. No, I'm not aggravated at or by your inability to get face time; however, your schedule does not leave much wiggle room to fit me in. I came to the conclusion a few weeks ago that in order to get face time with you, it would require me taking time off from work to do so... something I'm not really too quick or anxious to do. What I am aggravated is your inability to follow-up on friendly emails, only for you to leave a passive-aggressive email for me, asking me if I'm somewhat aggravated by you, as I went to your place of business this weekend for a service (of which I paid for), and I didn't let you know ahead of time that I would be doing so. It was a spur of the moment thing I didn't plan on until one hour beforehand, and other than being surprised not to see you, my being there, getting a service done, had very little, if anything, to do with YOU.

2007-05-07T12:32:00.000-04:00

Dear Cumstain,

I think it takes rather large, steely gonads (as the manager/moderator) to "suggest" that I (as the social director) contact a local shop to see if they will be hosting a "World Wide" event devoted to our mutual hobby, which then leaves me at the crossroads of feeding this shop information regarding our group's interest in the aforementioned event. The owner was not planning on doing an event, however, was interested in accommodating our group for the aforementioned event.

After taking a poll and soliciting the group as a whole to see if "enough" are interested and had dynamic ideas for this event, which would both, promote the shop, promote/participate in the event, as well as promote our group, and coming back with NOTHING to present to the shop owner as far as ideas for the event itself, your steely gonads progressed to icy-cold titanium balls to suggest that "our group works best if we just tell them about an event, and give them a date and time to show up."

I'm not about to go to the trouble to organize an event of this size, coordinating with a shop keeper, who I am sure is depending on a reasonable turn out (from our group, especially), and in turn the shop owner go to the trouble of PROMOTING and ADVERTISING said event, if the group is not going to be actively organizing it, and showing interest in it.

Furthermore, I don't see the sense in me going to all this trouble to organize this event, with the distinct possibility of the group flaking out as a whole, leaving the shop owner with egg on her face, me losing credibility with this shop keeper, in addition to the fact that I, MYSELF, will NOT be in the country at the time of said event.

Eat my corn, you vapid twunt.

2007-04-15T13:06:00.000-04:00

Hey Dumbass!

When YOU take it upon YOURSELF to go to the office manager with complaints about another co-worker (who is not present at said meeting) paying too much attention to what others are doing (i.e. internet surfing, cell phone useage), does it ever occur to you that perhaps you should NOT answer your own cell phone in said meeting when the office manager herself let both her desk phone and cell phone go to voicemail?

You just made yourself look like a tattletail and a hack, and unfortunately another co-worker and myself were present to witness this, as we were dragged into the meeting in a false sense of solidarity and paranoia over the missing co-worker being a "snitch," which as it turns out, she was NOT.

2007-03-12T15:26:00.000-04:00

Oh how I would love to call you out on you pulling the "oblivious card" on me today.

How can you NOT realize it's been three years-going-on-four since I last laid eyes on you? Take one look at your daughter. The day she was squeezed into the gloriously fucked up world, that was the same day, the very last day you saw me.

And no, I doubt if I'll make an effort to see you this weekend, even though I will be 20 minutes from the center of your universe.

It's obvious that my presence is neither required nor "missed" by you.

So why is it, pray tell, that I feel like shit? Please tell me why I've missed you and what I imagined was our friendship?

2007-03-07T17:25:00.000-05:00

I don't care if my m-i-l thinks I'm wonderful.
Actually I do.
And she does.

However, I don't care what her neighbors or friends think of me. Afterall, when I got engaged to her son, her neighbors and friends who don't know me from Krishna, thought the worst of me.

And perhaps I did go overboard being hospitable to my in-laws. It was an easy enough trap to fall into. They appreciated every little thing I did for them. My f-i-l was the biggest surprise. He really took a shine to me, and was totally surprised about how it is to live with me.

The rub?
The problem?

As a result of my m-i-l's "showy" nature, and her vivaciousness, and her loquatiousness, she hasn't stopped talking about the "Wonder That Is Me" since she arrived home at the beginning of January.

The end result? The real problem?

I'm getting all sorts of oddball emails from people who I do not know, have never met, probably will never meet. Some identify themselves. Most don't.

The most-disturbing? Or disturbing "for me?"

I got an email from someone, containing a "sloka," a prayer or chant, for me to mindlessly pray or chant. Phonetically spelled out. No transliteration/translation to let me know what the hell I am chanting or the purpose or occasion of which I should chant something like this.

By and large this is a non-issue. I just sign out of my Yahoo.

The presumption just irks me.

2007-02-28T00:38:00.000-05:00

I have a great life.

I'm gainfully employed doing something I love and make damned decent coin at it.

I have a husband who loves me endlessly and happens to have a full 12 inches of manroot, and knows how to use it.

I have a bright and talented daughter.

I have awesome pets.

I have a small group of the best friends one could ever ask for.

I'm a published poet.

I've sold my art for hundreds of dollars.

But since the depression and the subsequent medication and counseling, I can't create.

My passions for art and literature are gone.

I'd trade it all to have them back...

2007-02-25T20:15:00.000-05:00

Forgive me father, for if I had a dick, I do believe I stepped on it.

A few weeks back, I was chatting with a RL friend of 20+ years, and I think I was talking about either the $17 bottle of Metamucil (I bought for the in-laws whilst on vacay in October), or some other scenario where I was financially taken advantage of...

And in this convo, I used the analogy of rape... "yeah I really felt financially raped..."

Only to realize after I got the words out of my mouth...

That even though we have not spoken much about it in 20 years since it happened...

She was raped while at college.

I continued chatting as if nothing happened. I figured if she said something, I'd do a mea culpa...

But I do believe she's moved on with her life...
And I do believe she's able to intellectualize the metaphor/analogy...

STILL...

I feel like shit.
Don't know if I should call and apologize.

It's been weeks, if not a month or so after this conversation.

I don't know if she took it personally.

I don't want to run the risk of dredging up something painful for her if she didn't take it personally when it was originally uttered.

I've called.
Gotten voicemail.

I've left emails.
Which have gone as yet unanswered...

But she's not a regular emailer.

I don't know what to think... other than feeling like shit for being careless with my words.

2007-02-04T18:00:00.000-05:00

I am not your motheer. Thus, I have not remonstrated, cajoled or nagged. I have left your law school to you, even when I have seen you neglect to do things that might help you, or when I've seen you slacking off.

But NOW, when last semester's grades have come in, and you're mightily depressed about your abysmal grades, you want sympathy, "poor baby," and a pep-talk.

Not from me.

I refuse to carry this family on MY back while you follow your bliss, just to watch you fuck it up. This was supposed to be about temporary familial sacrifice for the future family good.

You will not screw this up. There is too much riding on this.

Oh, and asking me to delay my professional dreams a further "three or four years" so you can quit your current job and take a 50% pay cut to work at the DA's office -- while I take up the wage slack and put our kids into daycare -- ain't happenin'.

Pull your head out of your ass, handle your business, and quit whining.

2007-01-31T17:13:00.000-05:00

Perhaps I've bitten off more than I can chew, Lord.

I've decided to befriend the gal who does my deep tissue massages, as we have some great post-massage conversations.

Though she's very interesting, and perhaps I may have some life's lessons to learn from her as a crone, I cannot get past two things:

1. She reminds me (and it hit me after our first "girl time" outting, not before) of a former friend of mine who up and abandoned me and our friendship without so much as an EFF you;

2. Even though she's sweet and interesting, I found her uncouth.

And rather than revel in the "afterglow" if you want to call it that, of our friendly little repast, she's over-eagerly anticipating out next outting.

2007-01-29T15:43:00.000-05:00

Hey, douchebag.

It was bad enough that you wanted a percentage of my home readings as if you were some kind of pagan mafia.

And it was disappointing that you would call this weekend and ask for your bible back without once addressing the issues between us, just pretending that nothing, in fact, has happened.

And it was laughable/nauseating that I read your skanky partner's comment on a mailing list the other day that he/she/it "tries to talk to people with whom he/she/it has issues". I find that ironic, considering the Androgynous Asshole hasn't spoken a word to me (except the words "fucking idiot") in three months. So much for trying.

But the most maddening thing was learning from a client that when they call the store, you tell them I left "without forwarding information" and try to set them up with your new reader. As if you don't have my phone number (which you used this weekend). Pretty lame, buttmunch. Hope the $40.00 is worth it to you.

2007-01-19T10:43:00.000-05:00

Okay. I get it. You feel guilty that I've sent you numerous packages and want to do this quid pro quo thing. However, when you were suggesting giving me some repmulp (intentionally backwards to foil search engines--God, I am so paranoid!) for my lips, I tend to view certain things as "personal testimonies" of how well something works, or in this instance, how GOOD it looks. The picture you have on your personal journal, I am sad to say, is not too convincing. So as if the repmulp isn't bad enough, you drew on a fake lip line with a contrasting liner. Sure if I were going for the Clarabell kinda look, that's one thing. But I tend to go for a more "natural" look, and well... it seems you're one sphincter wrinkle away from Tammy Faye.

2007-01-17T16:32:00.000-05:00

In the name of Great Spitting Bactrians...

Forgive me father, for I am a voyeur.

How can I NOT be? I humbly ask.

When my co-worker, pours herself into a panty girdle, and insists on wearing one size smaller than is comfortable.

Trust me when I say that the "addition" of a panty girdle, divided by two (being the bifurcated garment) still equals an exponential amount of HOOF.

2006-12-31T09:37:00.000-05:00

Get the holy motherfucking HeLL out of my house, you toxic, bloated, vile, poison-dripping SHREW.

Happy fucking New Year, indeed.

2006-12-28T13:53:00.000-05:00

Okay, can I just say this?

Arthritis medication should NOT be doled out in bottles that require manual dexterity to open!

Jaysus!

2006-12-28T12:38:00.000-05:00

Forgive me Father, For I am not a joyful receiver.

For three months I have hemorraghed money, rage, and tears, only to have your blessed Son's "season" tainted and diminished, and my joy sucked out of my bones like marrow slurped out with a Crazy Straw.

For my troubles I would gladly have assumed receiving nothing. Instead I get insulted with a tub of cold cream (which I cannot use).

My pride and ego won't let me let go of this rage. The rage of someone else's doing. And Eleanor Roosevelt can suck some posthumous dick for ever uttering the phrase, "No one can make you feel bad without your permission." Suck it Eleanor. Suck it HARD. (As if ghost dick has any texture whatsoever, yet I digress)

And yet.

YET!

Last night, as a Kmart handbag was shoved in my face, three days after Christmas, containing a gift card for a shop I shop at, and the words, "Happy New Year," and "I'm sorry I didn't go to your party" were uttered.

How dare they?!!!!

How dare they bring on my rage, and then when it's uncomfortable for them in dealing with the aftermath of the shitstorm they themselves crafted, they have the temerity and GALL to DARE to try to mollify my rage or pacify me, AS IF it were all about superficiality and crass consumerism.

How dare they NOT do this nearly three weeks ago!

For I am not the one who metaphorically went to an all-u-can-eat buffet, and stuff one's figurative self to the gills with the aforementioned cheap metaphorical eats; THEN proceed to take a metaphorical FLEET ENEMA and proceed to do a high-pressure excreta spray over my holidays.

"Turn the other cheek, my child" I hear from the angel on my right shoulder.
"But what about your hurt, indignation, your pride, and your inconvenience, lo these last five months?," the devil spits into my left ear.

Verily, my heart wants to forgive. Fully. Yet, before that takes place, I need to take a full-on-spiritual dump, ridding my body of this toxicity. I need the kind of release which only comes about after cracking someone's skull and watching their lifeblood trickle out their ear, or from a ritual burning of a hut stricken with bleed-out-the-ass Ebola.

"In time, Father," my heart communicates to my mind, conscience and my soul, as I commune with the Light within."

And now is not the time.

2006-12-26T13:13:00.000-05:00

I have ceased to give a shit. Really.

At this point, I am not bothering to be polite for the sake of family peace. I can see the confrontation looming on the horizon, and frankly, I welcome it. The sooner the better.

When the blow-out comes, I can cast all fucking three of you adrift.

Mom, you're a passive-agressive borderline bitch who can not relate to people unless it's to aggravate and annoy. You deliberately manipulate and hurt, on order to make your own bleak existence easier to handle.

B., you're a Hot Mess Walking, a negligent parent, a selfish, whiny, greedy piece of shit.

A., you're a ball-less coward who can't say no to your mother or your wife.

Fuck all three of you.

2006-12-25T12:27:00.000-05:00

Forgive Me Father, For I Am NOT a Joyful Receiver:

I got you a $50 MP3 player.
I got you $30 in knitting looms.
I got you countless items in your Xmas stocking.
I hosted you for five months.
[See previous post for other largesse.]

Since when is a small jar of PONDS COLD CREAM an appropriate gift?

Oh and while we're at it...

I got YOU a portable DVD player...

Since when is a pair of MEN'S XXX pjs an appropriate gift? (Granted there was a $50 gift cert from Amazon you printed up JUST NOW to "save face"...)

Words escape me.

2006-12-21T16:24:00.000-05:00

Why is it...

I have to be the bigger person?

Always?

People hurt my feelings, and when I respond the only way I know how (go into shut down mode, lick my own wounds, and tune everything and everyone out), I have to rise above it, and then soothe the emotions of those who hurt ME?

I have to deal with passive-aggressive shit at work. I've dealt with it for the last 38 years of my existence. I'm an expert at passive-aggression and thin-skinnedness.

"What is it about ME that makes folks think they can hurt me? What is it about my kindness which just leaves me open to be hurt and exploited? What is it?," I sobbed out and demanded last night.

I've had to just suck it up and accept it, accept being insulted and hurt as a result of my fil not wanting to meet my family, thus meaning he's never met my mother. I spent the greater portion of the first four months of their protracted visit, thinking of ways to make their visit enjoyable. Only to find out that the only thing I had planned on... the only thing I looked forward to... having both sets of parents together, finally, celebrating the holiday together, meeting finally, for the first time... was all for naught.

And when I shut down emotionally, physically, socially... when I am now an empty vessel, saddened that the possibility now exists that both complete sets of parents will never meet... I now have to worry about the fact that in my hurting, I am now hurting the very people who have hurt me.

Never doubt the type of cut that can happen when the knife is crafted of indifference. When I am like this, I can usually make folks feel like utter and total crap just by walking in a room and not uttering a word.

Never doubt the reasoning behind PRIDE being one of the deadly sins.

So it with all of that said, that me, my ego and my pride were all verbally assaulted last night, to the tune of my husband asking me to "make this right." AS IF "I" started this nonsense.

Afterall, it is MY holiday they messed with.
Afterall, it is MY feelings they messed with.

And despite the validity behind my hurt and indignation, I am supposed to simply "emotionally detach," and "take one for the team/the family," and finally acknowledge this chasm which has developed as a result of "The Gap."

I am not sure WHICH "Gap" I am referring to... whether the generation gap, or the culture gap.

So into placate mode I was thrusted.

And my husband was banking heavily on my devotion to him, and to our family.

I had to approach and broach and state my piece, and mollify my mil's frazzled nerves of being caught betwixt and between, and yes, she is part to blame for what's gone on as she's coddled and spoiled her man for 35+ years of marriage. He has no other way to be than the way God made him, and the way she's shaped him.

But be that as it may, that lump of clay has had a negative impression on me. The man hardly speaks English, yet, if I live forever and a day, and had every scribe known to mankind at my disposal to craft a word to describe the depth of sadness I felt that after all I've done "for the team/for the family," it might as well have been for nothing. The only thing that mattered to me, didn't matter to anyone else.

"Just because I am hurt and sad, that doesn't change the love between us," I told my mother-in-law, who was afraid of losing me, her only daughter-in-law, now that her elder son is divorced. "I know," she replied.

"I am not angry with you, I am upset at the circumstances," I continued. "You worry too much. This doesn't change anything."

With that she hugged me, and buried her face in my chest, and cried.

And with that, the sharp edge of my pain was lessened a tiny bit.

I want to wash it away completely.

Forgive me Father, for I am a hard ass.

I won't literally forgive until or unless an apology is made; Yet time heals all wounds, or so they say (whomever the EFF "they" are).

So until enough time has elapsed that I can forget this bullshit. And once that happens, then forgiveness is up to the cosmos.

Nine more days until they go home.
Lord knows how long it will be until I see them again.

I have nine more days to make up for three weeks I lost being hurt, and letting the negativity overrun me and my thoughts.

2006-12-20T21:20:00.000-05:00

k, i do have one wanky little beef to get off my chest: it's my dad's birthday and he's over here for dinner and swag. he just asked me to make a pot of coffee cuz, and i quote - "i make a 'great cuppa joe.' "

i don't! i just use enough grounds! stop being such a cheap son of a bitch and trying to skimp on the goddamned coffee. how's it supposed to taste like anything but a hot, sweet cup of water using 2 scoops to make 12 cups? he always used to bitch at the weak-ass coffee my mom made, but he's doing it just the same. hot, weak coffee with 2 equals.

don't even get me started on that shit. i don't use equal, and the hub is allergic to it. i don't keep it in the house. he knows this. he's been told 100 times. he still bitches about it.

oh, and it would be an improvement if he'd brew something other than fucking yuban at home too. he always comes over here wanting me to make him a pot of the tres spendy 100% kona the husband and i prefer.

i got him home electronics for xmas. perhaps i should have signed him up for zingerman's coffee of the month club instead.

2006-12-20T09:26:00.000-05:00

I just have to ask: why is it that you even bothered to bring a goodie tray in to work at all? You constantly bitch about being too fat, and how gluttonous people are. You then bring in a tray loaded to the fucking hilt with all sorts of extra fattening sugary sweets and strategically place it in the break room, letting everyone know to "help themselves". At the end of the day, when there are only 2 pieces of confection left on said tray, you then launch into a bitter tirade about how people don't know how to take "just one" and that the contents should have easily lasted 2 or 3 days with the amount of staff. Just shut the fuck up, will you? You make my brain bleed.

2006-12-20T01:10:00.000-05:00

you have no idea how much i need this.

thanks for inviting me aboard. i'm fresh outta snark at the moment, but shit piles up pretty quickly around here. it won't be long before i've christened this blog with a big steaming pile of my own.

2006-12-18T15:03:00.000-05:00

To the locusts in my house:

You better keep your mitts off my EFFing eggplant parmesan I lovingly crafted last night, in advance for my dinner tonight.

You have your own food which I also supply.

Twelve more days. Live it up. Many a truth has been said in a quip. And yes, if I have my way, no future invitations will be forthcoming.

Signed,
The Management

2006-12-18T14:46:00.000-05:00

Now for some vicarious vitriol from a near-and-dear-friend, currently enduring familial douchebaggery. And I must preface this,that getting a "Holiday Newsletter" like this reminds me of the Xmas Letter of 2002, wherein my dad's cousin expounded on the nature of her "pencil thin, tarry bowel movements":

Hi My favorite friends and family,

This here is a survival story. On October 7, 2006 my B-I-L, his wife, and their two children moved into our beloved home. And finally today we can finally say "GOODBYE". Yes, folks they are completely out of my guest room and YES I am still cleaning, vacuuming, washing towels, bedspreads,pillows, blankets, and a few afghans. They have moved into a brand spanking new 3/2 pool home.

The first two weeks were great, but then I was wearing down somewhere between the two week-to-two month vicinity. If I never see a COORS LIGHT beer can I will be eternally grateful especially right in the middle of the day.

OK here comes part 2. We had a grand Thanksgiving, wine, beer, cheese, turkey flowing in between the roar of the KC Chiefs game and other football games on the tube. An aunt, and hubby's folks and their beloved DOGZ all arrived safely in addition to company #1. We were all getting along just candidly until BLACK FRIDAY VEERED FROM under the shades.

B-i-l and wife went to sign the house/rent to own papers while hubby's folks and I were assigned to babysit 4 children. Hubby decided he needed a CALGON take me away day AT WORK and decided to come home after 4:00, leaving me and our kids with HIS FAMILY as usual ALL DAY. Well, we figured a few hours, well we were quite wrong they left at 11 and returned at 3:00.

By that time we were really running out of things to do with all 4 children not too mention we were all tired from the day before. We figured maybe they stopped by the house after they signed the papers to get a few household items, things like a mop, toilet paper, broom, whatever. NAH.

So we all went out to see the inside of this beautiful home and we did. THEN, IT WAS TIME TO GO, KIDS WERE RUNNING AND SCREAMING THROUGHOUT THE HOUSE AND I LOOKED AT MY WATCH IT WAS 5:00 BY THIS TIME SO IT WAS TIME TO GO AND GET DINNER READY BACK AT MY HOUSE.

We figured we would be nice and take everyone back to our place being the new place had no seats, no food, no table, etc. We needed an extra carseat for one of the nieces. The in-laws and I tried to get the seat out of Kelly's car, it wouldn't budge. We tried to get b-i-l or his wife to stop cleaning for a minute and help us.

B-i-l gave his mom an awful look while he was on his cell, and his wife comes out, looks, goes back in the house. B-i-l comes out and says his wife is crying and to just leave his kids there so we did.

B-i-l said something to hubby's dad that all you care about is the DAMNED dogs and not the kids so we don't want you to watch OUR KIDS ever again.

As soon as we got back to our house hubby's parents gathered up everything and the dogs and went to DAYS INN so they will NOT have to see b-i-l while he is getting stuff out of our house.

So early this a.m., b-i-l and his wife gathered everything up and they were off, and then hubby's parents came back to claim the warmed up guest room, NOW CLEAN.

SO NOW HIS BROTHER, BROTHER'S FAMILY AND MOTHER AND FATHER WILL NOT SPEAK OR HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH EACH OTHER. I ask myself how stupid is this family? So Now we have the b-i-l #1 VS b-i-l #2 12 YEAR WAR THAT WILL NEVER EVER RESOLVE THEREFOREEITHER BROTHER WILL KNOW THE NIECES OR THE NEPHEWS, MOTHER VS b-i-l CONFLICT OF 2006.

I FINALLY ASK MYSELF, WHERE IS THE LOVE BABY? MY OWN ANSWER WITH THE DOGZ!!!

Sorry to bore you all but I if I didn't share I would explode.

Love, Me

2006-12-18T14:06:00.000-05:00

Hey, TWUNT!

Noise by-laws are in place for people like you who don't have a fucking clue what it means to share walls and have respect for your neighbours. Having a big-ass stereo does not entitle you to boost the bass and play your shitty rap whenever you fucking feel like it. Either get your speakers off the floor or turn down the bass, you dollar-store douchebag.

I don't give a shit if it is the middle of the afternoon; I'm trying to run a business on the other side of that wall, and it gets hard to do when I can't hear clients on the phone over the throbbing of your crappy fuckin' "music". I feel like an asshole banging on the wall, but we've tried calling and we've tried ringing the doorbell; you either can't hear us, or you choose to ignore us. You go right ahead, because my next phone call is to the landlords or your mother-in-law. Or both.

And fer chissakes, bitch, change the fucking record.

And here's a little shout-out to the Narcissistic Paranoid Transexual She-Male with enormous control issues and a penchant for manipulation and passive aggression:

Next time you open your mouth,
I'll put my fist down your throat
So deep you cannot swallow.
I'll make your body hollow.
I will fist fuck your brain
Until I'm smiling again.
Everybody hates you!
--combichrist, "Enjoy the Abuse"

2006-12-17T21:10:00.000-05:00

I. AM. TIRED.

13 More days and it will be five full EFFING months since you arrived.

Truth be told, I ran out of steam somewhere around month four when, after you changed your plans YET AGAIN, ostensibly to stay on to celebrate MY holidays with me, only to find out the fil had no intention of going to my family's Christmas party, and by default not meeting my family under normal circumstances. EVER. No apology. No acknowledgement. Yet somehow, you want to go to see the Xmas tree at 30 Rock.

I. AM. TIRED. OF:

The attempts at manipulating me, no matter how sweetly;
The fact that on DAY EFFING ONE, you shattered my coffee carafe to my Krups by putting it in the microwave;
The fact that you've broken the brand new laundry rack;
The constant belching. Open mouthed;

I. AM. TIRED. OF:

The constant farting. Hot sour ass farts, almost always when I am in close proximity;
This includes hotboxing a closed up car;
The constant drain on my checking account keeping the house stocked with various and sundry items, none of which I consume;
The constant requests which come AFTER I've done stock up shopping;

I. AM. TIRED. OF:

The constant requests for ANYTHING, yet, somehow, you have yet to dip into the $500 USC you have in your possession, as if I am made of EFFING cash;
My inability to put away money into savings, and if anything DIPPING into savings to ensure that what needs purchasing is purchased;
The constant quips about me sleeping in my recliner;

I. AM. TIRED. OF:

The constant quips about me staying up late;
The constant quips about me waking up late;
The constant quips about keeping my den clean;
The constant "helpful" bits, despite the obvious lack of soliciting for help;
The (initial) attempts at getting me to do YOUR rituals;
The fact that for five months, I have yet to be able to go to my kitchen, and grab my first cup of coffee in solitude;

I. AM. TIRED. OF:

The fact that for five months, I have had a rip roaring romping stomping case of the shits when I drink that coffee, because you insist on using twice as much grind;
The fact that for five months, I have been unable to sleep braless, let alone in the nude, as I am wont to do so;
The fact that every. single. time. I go take a shower, you both decide you need to evacuate your bowels IMMEDIATELY BEFOREHAND;
The fact that at least once or twice a week, I come to discover you've broken something;

I. AM. TIRED. OF:

The fact that you have zero sense of cleanliness, yet quip about "it's a shame we can't keep the kitchen floor this clean all the time," yet, not quite five minutes later, there's a splat of batter on the floor. Oh, and I ruined a perfectly good pair of track pants during scrubbing the floor that time;
The constant game of "What the EFF is that stench??" when we arrive home;
The fact that you think nothing of carrying on a LOUD conversation with each other when you are in the same room... not different time zones;

I. AM. TIRED. OF:

The fact that you yell into the telephone as if it were two tin cans connected with a string;
The fact that I have been utilizing "strategic nocturnal avoidance," and sleeping until you are asleep, then I get up and live my life for a few precious hours, uninterrupted;
The fact that about an hour into my evening nap, you invariably come to my door, calling out my house name, and asking if I am okay, when it's so obvious, I just need to be alone;

I. AM. TIRED. OF:

The fact that my house STINKS.
The fact that you have ruined me for all types of Indian food, not just South Indian food;
The fact that you have no restraint and will pick at my food I prepared for myself, out of curiosity;
The fact that you came halfway around the globe to do NOTHING except sit and fart on my sofa, to the point that you have reshaped the cushions of my brand new couch;

I. AM. TIRED. OF:

The fact that my brand new recliner has an obvious looseness to the left arm;
The fact that I come home to find chunks of food dried onto the upholstery of another new chair;
The fact that you have taken to not only cleaning my den, but also rifling through my bags, consuming my sugar free chocolates, when neither of you have sugar or insulin problems;
The fact that I have had to hide my chocolate stash in my sock basket, and rely heavily on the hope that if you find my stash it would be the last time you eat my chocolates, as the sock basket also is home for my vibrator;

I. AM. TIRED. OF:

The fact that my shower curtains have been yanked down no less than two times;
The fact that the draperies in my den have been yanked off the wall with such force, it yanked the hardware out of the drywall;
The fact you insist on opening all the draperies in the house to let in the sun, yet in doing so, you negate any insulating properties of the draperies;
The fact you bitch about the cold;

I. AM. TIRED. OF:

The fact you've been bitching about the lack of snow;
The constant pacing;
The constant, dry hacking coughing;
The constant pinching of my abdomen;

I. AM. TIRED. OF. BEING. TIRED.

2006-12-09T17:54:00.000-05:00

One of the last things you said on Thursday was that the three of us--you, me and that Guy With Pie you call your partner--need to sit down and talk, that an effort needs to be made. Apparently, what you meant is that *I* need to make an effort.

So I didn't see him as I was leaving the building on Thursday--he evidently saw me. Did he say hello? Or goodbye? No. But today you called me up and reamed me out and invited me to clear out my office because I didn't make the effort to be "civil".

Small wonder I hung up on you, I'm tired of the bullshit. I think it's very telling that on the phone, you said, "If I am forced to make a choice, I have to choose him."

Just remember that *I* did not put you in a position of choosing.

Call me when the partnership is disolved. I'm on to bigger and better things.

2006-12-09T17:11:00.000-05:00

Fuck
Fuck!
Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Motherfuck.
Motherfuck!

Douche, douche, douche.

I really wish that my mother would honest-to-GOD drop dead of a fucking heart attack.

I know wishing that is engendering some bad-assed karma and invinting all sorts of ill-luck. But, Mohammed on a fucking pogo stick, porking Porky -- I can NOT deal with her bullshit up close and personal. I need the buffer of being able to not answer the phone (bless you, Caller ID), not respond to e-mail, or just hanging up.

Case in point: last night, she calls my husband -- while I am up at Dad's with the kids, just for the night, so we can visit the big holiday light parade and watch "Polar Express" while Husband works on a law exam -- she calls to tell him that my visit to dad's is the dress rehearsal for me LEAVING HIS ASS. Oh, yes she did.

Now, husband is not braindead, so he tells her to cram it, but the fact that she did it at all is a big fucking problem, and an indicator of things to come.

Fuck you, you fucking BITCH.

2006-12-07T01:30:00.000-05:00

Okay, let me get this straight...

You take 40% of my wage and provide me with a table from which to work, but are careful to add that this is not a rental agreement and I am not entitled to this space. The forty percent gets me security (should I need it) and advertising, which does not mention me specifically.

I am the one with the certification, the expertise, the knowledge. I am the one performing the service, learning the spreads, and teaching the classes. I am the one people call to see specifically. As you have mentioned yourself, I get a lot of repeat business, and a lot of that business is word of mouth. In my world, that makes them my clients, not yours, since you are providing the space (for 40%) and I am performing the service.

And now, you feel that you are also entitled to a percentage of the consultations that I do out of my home, just because they *might* have heard of me through the store?

Are you on crack?

You want more? Then learn how to do what I do yourself. You take the time to learn all 78 cards and more than a dozen spreads, discover how to teach this to other people and get yourself accredited and then you can get your own clients. Until then, consider yourself a resource and don't be so fucking proprietorial. Remember that you are doing little more here than booking appointments and putting your name (not mine) in a magazine or two.

You didn't even get me to read at the market on the weekend, remember? This is solidarity? Who's screwing who, here? The client you are upset about did in fact come see me at the other market (the one where I made $300.00--your reader never even showed up). And yes, that client did call the store first. But she was looking for me specifically, and she was given three options: she could

a) see your other reader at the store
b) reschedule with me on another day at the store
c) see me at her convenience at the market.

She chose. Do you really expect me to tell her that I can only see her at the store because you need my pound of flesh? No. I'm not gonna.

You whine about the lack of residual revenue if I "scoop" all the clients away and they don't come back to the store. This is bullshit. Consider this: you make good money when I teach, selling decks, books, crystals, etc. Do I get a percentage of any of those sales, ven though they are a direct result of my recommendations? No. Not a chance. But somehow, you feel entitled to a percentage of what I make because your business might somehow be peripherally involved.

That's greed, my friend. You need to re-examine your role in this.

And we need to re-negotiate that 40%.

2006-12-04T13:06:00.000-05:00

I know it's not becoming or emotionally mature to gloat. Really, I know that, and I aspire to be a bigger, better person most of the time. Honest.

But I cannot help but smile knowing that the crappy little Mickey Mouse market you squeezed me out of was so deserted this weekend that you could fire a cannon down the aisles, while at the other market I attended, I was consistently busy and made $300.00.

Looks to me like you got kicked by karma, pal.

I'm going to stop gloating now, so as to avoid your fate.

Good luck in your future endeavours.

2006-12-01T19:54:00.000-05:00

Should We Happen To Be at a Rubber Chicken Event, and Should I Goose You Or Grab Your Ass, Playfully While Getting a Photograph Taken...

How would YOU react?

Because I just got chewed a new a-hole by a coworker of four years, who knows ME, or who I THOUGHT knows me, the sassy unpredictable me.

After having a chuckle about it with a co-worker or two, it's gotten back to the "grab-ee," who then promptly called me at work (she's out today), to lace into me about how she doesn't "swing that way," and how she doesn't appreciate "rumors being told about her," and that she "loves men."

Lessons learned:

1. Co-worker thinks I swing "that way."
2. Co-worker thinks I THINK SHE swings "that way."
3. Another co-worker shared an irreverent rejoinder, out of context, with the "grab-ee."
4. Co-worker thinks I'm a gossip and a lesbian.
5. Note to self: Don't be playful around co-worker.
6. I'm wondering if this thing is truly over, or if I opened myself up to some type of liability.

For the first time in a very long time, my face is red.

2006-12-01T09:43:00.000-05:00

Though I feel badly that you were suffering so much that you felt the need to cut your arm and torso, I can't help but feel like a shit mother because even with my best efforts at raising you, you have obviously not yet acquired the coping skills necessary to effectively deal with the struggles you are facing. I pray that the coping skills class I had to bribe your school counselor into getting you a credit for, the emergency counseling you are getting twice a week, and my love and support will be enough to bring you to a place of peace, my dear. And I pray for my own sanity in this as well...

2006-11-24T20:10:00.000-05:00

You "forgot" to make an appointment with the doctor again because you're embarrassed to discuss your problem. I understand -- I really, really do. And I don't mean to nag.

But how can I take it any other way than personally when you can get it up and get it off when you masturbate, but not when you try to make love to me??

2006-11-20T12:46:00.000-05:00

Menstrual cramps.
Low back pain in hyperdrive.
Ennui gives way for Monday's predictable suckage.
Before I can do any of my actual work, I get zapped with several transcripts. The one I'm working on right now is SEVENTEEN FUCKING PAGES LONG.

It's sucking the marrow from my bones.

This is not making me feel "useful," nor is it making me feel valued.

Calgon take me away...

2006-11-17T19:09:00.000-05:00

Okay, bitches, one more time...

The proper way to use is traffic circle is as follows: motorists on the inside circle may exit the circle any time they want. Motorists on the outside lane, however, are expected to leave the traffic circle at the next available exit--they do not legally have right-of-way to endlessly go round and around.

No pay fucking attention, you dizzy fucking douchebags, and put down the cellphone while you're at it.

And while I'm here...

This little message is going out to the pissy little cunt at the store. You think you're hurting me, denying me entry into your sad little market? Take your precious little "good luck in your future endeavours" and cram it with walnuts, you Guy-With-Pie. I scored a bigger and better opportunity where I don't have to put up with you, your neuroses or your bullshit. Maybe while you're stressing out about not being able to pay the rental on your space--and I know you will stress, you always do--you can ask yourself why you don't have any fucking friends, and the ones you do have always seem to end up in irreconcilable conflict with you. Where's the common demoninator in all this, bitch?

You.

Gargle my piss, cunt.

2006-11-16T23:54:00.000-05:00

Hey Asshat,

Perhaps you'd have more money with which to PAY YOUR BILLS, if you DID NOT:

Go to casinos to let the husband gamble. Despite him being "good" at the slots or whatever it is he does, obviously he doesn't win ENOUGH for you to quit worrying about the bills;
Be duped into dumping money into pyramid scheme after pyramid scheme, and then apply yourself half-assedly to those endeavors;
Concern yourself with being more a "friend" to your tenants than a firebreathing, bitch on wheels landlady. Money talks and bullshit walks.

Signed,

I.M. Justsayin

2006-11-09T22:13:00.000-05:00

Dear Yahweh:

Is this only a sin if the kitty spills its seed?

2006-11-05T21:28:00.000-05:00

It's entirely OK to sit in the same room and just enjoy the silence. Please, stop feeling as if you HAVE to speak all the time. All I want to do is scream, "Shut the fuck UP!"

2006-11-05T13:11:00.000-05:00

Interplanetary Memo

To: Yahweh, Allah, Jehova, Brahma, aka "The Big Guy"
From: Sinner #19292993949995959553929239(b)
Date: 11/5/06
Subject: The Answering of Prayers

All praise to you, from whom all blessings emanate,

I know You answered my prayer regarding the winning of the lottery.

However, I did not know how much I had to specify a monetary qualifier to that prayer.

Even though I made a 100% return on the investment of my lottery ticket...

$2 is not even enough to buy an extra large coffee at Chunkin' Donuts.

Much appreciation and eternal praise,
SMJ

2006-11-01T16:06:00.000-05:00

How do you break the news to your loved one that you don't have the heart to tell him that the well has run dry, that you had so many blowjobs in ya, and now you're "over and done with" that particular act?

2006-11-01T10:22:00.000-05:00

Dear Dimwit,

Here is yet another reason why you keep getting passed over for job opportunities:

[A response to some vacation pictures I sent her]

These are in creditable. Looks like you had a great time, and I'm happy for you.

Perhaps you should stick to smaller, more manageable words. Oh, and while you're at it, quit saying "AXE" instead of "ASK."

Signed,

E.T. Myazz

2006-10-31T12:09:00.000-05:00

Forgive me father for I am gleeful... and a sodomist...

The husband called to say he had good news.

We're shipping them out on the 12th.

My reply, "So shall I suck OR tickle your balls when I give you your well-deserved, celebratory hummer?"

2006-10-28T11:51:00.000-04:00

You came out to me last night. You didn't think I already knew, but a mother sometimes just knows these things without them having to be spoken. You didn't think it would be so easy to do, or that I'd say nothing had changed between us. And that makes me a little sad...you agonizing over what was ultimately a very "easy" admission. I hope you feel better now, I know I do...

2006-10-20T18:24:00.000-04:00

Dear Clueless J. McDoucheberg:

I find it amusing, yet mostly ironic that after weeks of you sitting in your office discussing the case you're working on with the ejaculatory glee of a twelve year old boy, damn near yelling out, "Blow jobs!" "Anal Sex!" and just about frothing at the mouth..

I find it ironic and sadly amusing that you came out of your office this afternoon to ask if your Klezmer music was bothering me and my co-worker.

*AS IF* hearing the words "blow job," "anal sex," and "fuck," spouting out, spontaneously, disturbing and distracting us, couldn't possibly bother us.

Signed,

E.T. Myazz

2006-10-20T11:41:00.002-04:00

Hey you, yes YOU! The Jerk-off in the Jackson Pollock Jockeys...

Thanks for stiffing me at Yule with not so much as a card; yet the year before I got a $100 gift card.
Thanks for last year's limp dickery when it came to informing me about changes in my work venue for 60% of my work week.
Thanks for last year's limp dickery when it came to informing me that my work venue reverted back to normal.
Thanks for your piss-consistency in your dribblins on the handislapped toilet. You really should get your pisser checked out. Your dribblins are mighty dark.
Thanks for ignoring me for well over a month.
Thanks for not asking me how my father has been.
Thanks for not asking me how the visit with my in-laws have been.
Thanks for not informing me when you left on vacation.
Thanks for your consistency in douchebaggery.
Thanks for having evolved into your predecessor.

PS: I operate on the level that anything I say or do can be used against me. I suspect you are on to me, and my blogs. Or I could just be paranoid. I don't really care.

How can you penalize someone who simply does not care? How do you penalize someone when you know full-well that firing them is actually doing them a favor?

I should thank you for that, as well.

327 More Days Until I Affect A Change O'Scenery...

2006-10-17T10:18:00.000-04:00

I must be pretty convincing, because you actually think that I give two rat's rectums about your personal life. My pert, attentive expression as I listen to you drone on? My occasional nods of understanding, partial smile, and full eye contact? My occasional questions about the goings on of your life? All are just part of my master plan to build a positive profile of myself in your estimation. And it appears to be going rather well, if I dare say so myself...

2006-10-16T16:47:00.000-04:00

Once again, you pissy little passive-aggressive pubic hair.

Despite your level of frustration, Drama Mama, there is an appropriate way and an inappropriate way to voice your discontent, especially in a professional setting.

Just a clue, here: the inappropriate way is to come stomping into the store, where your customers are browsing and where I am watching the till because your partner asked me to do so while he vacuumed the back room. This is, I remind you, not my job, and a courtesy I perform out of a long-standing friendship with the man. I am a subcontractor and not your employee in any way, shape or form.

You should not, having stomped in, replete in rubber boots (such professional attire!) snarl at me, "Why do the two of you have to park like idiots?" on your way into the back.

There is a way to resolve conflict effectively. Clearly, given your behaviour over the last several months, you either don't know how or don't give a shit. And I can assure you, jerkoff, that bears consequences.

You can fuck right off. And I'll cheerfully tell you that next time I have the opportunity.

Asshole.

2006-10-15T14:50:00.000-04:00

This. THIS. This is Satan's Handmaiden.

Sure, it looks like a lift chair.

Sure my sister and I (and the husband) kicked in money to get it for mom after her womb-ectomy several years ago.

Little did we realize then what a soul sucking monster it would become. Little did we realize the potential for mom to jet-propel her laziness and her BPD into a whole new dimension.

Honestly, we got it with the very best of intentions; to keep mom's stitches from bustin' when she got up to go to the squatter. Instead, it's been used and abused (she even busted it within the first week of having it, and had it not been for my sister, that chair would STILL be busted today), and it has officially entered the realm of nemesis, arch-enemy to me, my sister, and especially dad; however, while mom is ensconced in it, she's also in a depth of denial unfathomable to normal folk.

God forgive me. Un-fucking-fathomable.

And granted life is all about the simple pleasures. And granted she really should be in a position to retire and get off her legs and feet which give her so much trouble. So it'd seem ogre-ish to complain that the moment she comes home, she flips on the Soap Channel and flops in the chair. Who doesn't want to relax after a full day at work?

Only the moment she comes home and flops in the chair, that is "all-she-wrote" for the rest of the day, and dad (who is recovering from his most-recent, near-life-jeopardizing bout of CHF) is expected to tow the line. Lift that bail. And to give an adequate mental pic, "that bail" could very well constitute the four loads of pissy laundry dad is EXPECTED to lift, carry, wash, dry and fold, in addition to other assorted household tasks.

The man is on oxygen nearly 24 hours a day. The man is restricted from lifting more than 20 pounds.

Yeah, let's work him like a pack mule doin' overtime gettin' the 40 mule team Borax to do your pissy laundry...

Why do you see nothing wrong or nothing embarrassing about having your spouse clean up after you?...

Her life is all about the chair. All about the Soap Channel, which blares until the wee hours of the morning, as she's no doubt konked out. Dad's the step-n-fetch. It is as offensive as you'd expect...

Get her the remote. Get her something to eat (regardless of the fact she doesn't ensure he eats, to prevent his sugar from bottoming out like it did over a month ago, and could have caused an early death for dad in the form of a diabetic coma...). Her laziness precludes or prevents her from putting the cordless phone back in the charger. After so many times being drained completely, they eventually lose their ability to recharge.

She eats in the chair. She sleeps in the chair. She pees in the chair. She commands court in her state of denial in that chair. She ignores her children in her chair by not calling them. She then bad talks her kids to whomever calls, because we allegedly don't call. She falls asleep during conversations in that chair. She pits one of us kids against the other with half-truths and other distortions. She sits in the chair and cries about how miserable her life is. She admonishes dad for having extended contact with sis or me, or going to sis's to eat. He's now relegated to emailing me or calling me at work when she's at work, so as to avoid her interference.

Divide. Conquer. Isolate. Abuse. Typical mechanics of a text book abuser.

I see no finer finale for mom and her throne, when she (naturally) passes on to her great reward, than to throw an old fashioned Viking funeral for her and the chair. We'll strap her into the chair, and mount it onto a dingy. Then load up the dingy with all sorts of things which will make her "passage" enjoyable:

The remote;
The cordless phone (fully depleted battery, of course) ;
Her cantankerous father to keep her "company";
Her niece Bratzilla, aka "Dolly," to do her bidding;
A bag of raisins and peanuts (to ensure for bombastic, sudden onset squirts like here on earth) ;
Serenity pads ;
Copy of Soap Opera Digest;
The last of dad's Alpine Lace reduced sodium cheese she insists on gorging herself on (despite a full pound of regular swiss in the fridge);
The L*xapro she so desperately needs to take, yet refuses to do so...

And then finally setting the thing adrift, saturated in some type of petroleum distillate, and launching a road flare or a cherry bomb at it to engulf it in flames, truly Viking style.

I dare say, even Thor would be proud.

2006-10-13T09:55:00.000-04:00

Hey, douchebag.

You finally have a job, and that's great -- it even has bennies! -- but refusing to sign your kid up for insurance becasue it would take $150 a month out of your check is competely irresponsible. In fact, it's criminal fucking neglect and child abuse.

We all know your birthday is coming up, too. Asking for money is just an asshole move when everyone has stated clearly that you ain't getting jack + shit financially anymore.

I really wish you'd drink a bottle of Drano, or something.

2006-10-13T00:49:00.000-04:00

Just when I think I've heard it all.

There's always a bigger fuckin' whacko in the woodpile.

This crazy bitch comes into the store today--I call her Elmer Fudd, because, well, she has a speech impediment just like his. You know, where the "r"s are all fucked up and turned into "w"s. I don't know what it is about women, speech impediments and a total lack of reality, but in my neck o' the woods, they all seem to coincide with alarming regularity. BEWARE OF CANADIAN WOMEN WHO CANNOT PRONOUNCE THEIR WORDS PROPERLY!!!

Anyway, Elmer is full of shit (speaking of regularity--HA!) and brags endlessly about how her coven is thousands of members all over the province and into the northern states. She's one of these compulsive liars. She's absolutely repulsive, too, as well as being--as a colleague would say--not the wiggliest dildo in the drawer. Ironically she's a reiki practitioner, but the mere thought of this bloated toad touching me with her bare hands gives me a virulent form of spontaneous cancer. Nasty.

But I digress. We have always known that Elmer was loopy, but never knew how deep the delusion ran until today when she announced to the store owner that she--and her coven of thousands--are working to open a portal. No, it's not the name of a store; she means an actual trans-dimensional portal so that she and other coven members can teleport.

"Magickal energy?" you might ask, if you were charitable enough to play along.

No.

"Projections of her spirit self?"

No.

"Thoughts and messages?"

No and no. Elmer means her physical body. From here, in Canada to somewhere in the States. Not that distance matters. This crazy bitch can barely drag her ass into town from an outlying community using a conventional car, let alone dispensing with all those physical laws!

"Christ on a cracker!" I said to the owner later on. "How is this broad still on the street?"

But neither one of us can really come up with a good explanation.

2006-10-12T12:29:00.000-04:00

Hey asshole. You. Yes YOU.

Just because you're hung up on you thinking you're a hot shot attorney... Not everyone of us in the office is just dying to hear every trashy word that comes out of your mouth regarding the prostitution case you're working on.

Subtlety is definitely lost on you, as yesterday as you were damn near shouting the details of blowjobs and anal sex I shut the door rather abruptly. And here you are again today, talking about blowjobs and fuck this, fuck that. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

And to make matters worse, and not to disparage everyone from Long Island, to hear such coarse dialogue in a less-than-melifluous accent, just further compounds the situation.

Um. You're an attorney. You're talking LOUDLY about sexually offensive things. Do you honestly think this can continue with impunity?

Just because I transcribe conversations that sometimes has salty language, does not necessarily equate to my ENJOYING such dialogues and diatribes.

Shut the fuck up already, or I'll have someone else shut you up.

You've been warned.

Signed,

I. M. Noprude

2006-10-11T18:16:00.000-04:00

Lemme get this straight...

When I complained about your parents farting up a storm into my couch cushions, you (excuse the pun) "pooh-poohed" it, and then got indignant that I'd deign to say anything remotely negative about your parents.

And *NOW* that you've gotten *ahem* "wind" of what kind of olfactory damage they have been up to, *NOW* that you've gotten a snootful of the hot sick ass that can only be attributed to one too many lentils or chiles coupled up with too much chocolate, *NOW* suddenly their flatulence is an issue. *NOW* that it's YOUR nose that has been offended.

If you were here right now, I'd shit in your shoe for an old fashioned stink foot and I'd give you a Dirty Sanchez, just for good measure.

2006-10-09T21:22:00.000-04:00

Forgive me father, for I have been naive...

Naive to think that there is a shred of truth in anything my mother says.

The picture she painted of my cunt-in-law was that which was posted about in this post; however, upon reviewing some summertime photos the C-I-L sent me where she was in the pool with her daughter, clearly, her problem isn't as bad as mom described. Though I don't doubt she's got growths all over her body, as it IS well known she has that disorder, I doubt if they are as progressed and plentiful as mom described.

Hindsight is almost always 20/20, and it should not surprise me that mom would want to usurp her joy at having a baby, knowing what she had to endure to get to that point. Shouldn't surprise me about the usurpage, as mom has shown herself to be jealous of her other grand daughter as well.

But such is the trap of having a mother with BPD.

2006-10-06T08:45:00.000-04:00

I know that you've taken a lot of time off in the last two weeks. I understand that. Hell, I appreciate it, given that a lot of that time was due to my back being screwed up, and the fact that I couldn't walk/drive/function as normal.

But when I tell you -- just TELL you, not ask you to go -- that your daughter's parent/teacher conference is coming up, and it's at 8 AM, it frosts my nonexistent balls that your reaction is, "Christ, haven't I taken enough time off to handle family matters that are more your purview?"

The sexism in that is appalling.
The implication that the kids and house are MY job, on top of my real job, pisses me off.

Fatherhood and familial responsibility don't end at conception. That means that two pumps, a tickle and a squirt doens't exempt you from having to occasionally cowboy up and go to school functions.

On top of that, making arrangements for us to take a walking tour when you KNOW I can't walk without a cane right now, and that my back is killing me, was petty fucking stupid.

And you wonder why I have absolutely no enthusiasm for our anniversary this year.

2006-10-05T02:56:00.000-04:00

No one but several family members know that I have tested in the high 160's both times I took IQ tests in my life, and that's the way I'd like to keep it. My job is one that could be done by anyone with an IQ of 90, some stamina, and dependability. I relish my time there mainly because I am free to bask in my many thoughts, and I feel useful. Also, some of my favorite words are curses. I wonder how many F-bombs they drop per day in Mensa think tanks?

2006-10-04T11:53:00.000-04:00

You pissy little, passive-aggressive asshole.

If you think for one minute that I am going to chase after you and beg you to tell me what's up your ass sideways THIS time, you are very sadly mistaken. I don't know and, more to the point, I don't care. You're a drama queen.

You don't want to make eye contact? Whatever. Talk to me only when necessary? Great--I'm tired of hearing your narcissistic whining about how the whole world is out to get you somehow. Is this cold shoulder supposed to be punishment? Look, I'm busy doing one thing or another. The more you leave me alone, the better I like it.

But you should know that your refusal/failure to just come out and say what's on your mind makes you look like an idiot. You're the one with the problem here.

2006-10-03T17:25:00.000-04:00

I am better than you.

Not better than most folks, but certainly better than you.

I lied earlier.

I had to.

Trying to be honest with you is a beating and I don't mean the fun kind.

Yes, I lied when I told you how smart and clever and special and cool and important you are.

I would have said anything to make it stop...to find the majic conversation button so you would SHUT THE FUCK UPABOUT IT!

Damn if it wasn't worth it.

2006-09-30T17:26:00.000-04:00

I wish everyone would back the fuck off of my jock and give me 24 full hours of peace and quiet, all to myself.

I probably wouldn't do a fucking thing but take several naps and lie around like a slug, but lack of responsibility would be ducky.

Also. Anniversary is coming up, and I just can't seem to give a fuck.

No clue as to what to get him as a gift.
No real urge to get my fuck on for the night.

I just don't particularly care.

2006-09-30T11:08:00.000-04:00

2006-09-28T16:47:00.000-04:00

All of my family stress really IS easier to deal with when I have vicodin.

I am really enjoying the peaceful numb that comes about half an hour after I take one.

This scares me.

2006-09-28T14:19:00.000-04:00

Hey oblivious-obtuse-obese-oh-please...

Don't you think you should have seen a problem sooner, rather than waiting until NOW, after your11 year old step-son has gained 75 pounds in the last year? He's illiterate AND morbidly obese. Bravo!