Monday, December 24, 2012

You're so fine and you're mine/Make me strong, yes you make me bold

I just realized when I first started this blog, it was supposed to be about retail experiences, and it's somehow become a life of Shiny kind of thing. And that's ok. I've learned so much about myself in the past two years, and I've also changed, so so very much as well. I've decided that this guy shall no longer be referred to as Lab Rat or Sith Lord, but nor am I ready to call him by his actual name on here. Not yet. Henceforth, I shall use the same code name as I do amongst my trusted colleagues, Dixie and Strawberry, who have my back and give me advice and are able to keep shooshed about it unless it's the three of us. We call him Leonard.

It's all so shameful, so horrible. Or it should be. I am simply still amazed that I don't feel guilt or shame about what I've done, and it's delicious. Yet again I recall the church mouse that I used to be, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt she would never have done these things, would have been uncomfortable beyond belief to be in the same bed as a man she wasn't married to. She definitely would have stopped the hand going down her pants, and not just because mother nature was visiting and she wanted to spare both herself and the guy horrible embarrassment. If that wasn't enough, she sure as hell would have run away, horrified, and driven straight home the minute his pants came unzipped and he put her hand on him.

And she would not have gone back again.

Thursday night, it was late, I was in the checkout line with Dix, she'd finished her Christmas shopping and I grabbed a few things. The line was long, I was bored. So like most brain-dead folks nowadays, out came the smartphone and I started bugging people. Well, one person in particular. And he wanted me to come over because "I need it right now." Just like I had hoped he would. Again, it was late. And I had to be back at work by nine in the morning, and he wouldn't be far behind me. I knew if I went over there, it would be a most ungodly hour before I left,  and then that wonderful moment of realization hit me . . . "Frankly I don't give a shit. My life. I want him and I'm going." Being paranoid, I was worried that I hadn't showered in a few hours, so when I pulled up to the complex, I found myself frantically digging in the console for napkins and wiping my face, shiny after a day of waiting on the masses. Got one half done and turned the other cheek to hear a loud tap and find him standing with his face right in my window with bug eyes and his signature grin. Given this enthusiastic and slightly creepy welcome, along with the horny messages, I had fully expected to be chivied up the stairs and pounced on. Imagine my pleasant surprise and confusion when instead, he just pulled me close against him with his arms around me, our fingers laced together and his head nestled on mine, and said "I wish you were staying all night." And then proceeded to talk about his day. THAT is a first, do you have any idea how hard it is to get this guy to talk about himself? And without being asked? Physical things are nice, but this was really nice. That's not to say the other thing was forgotten. Hardly. And that is where I'm both shocked at and proud of myself. For as much as I've fantasized and pined about clothes strewn all over the bedroom floor, I never actually thought I'd TAKE them off for anyone. Yet I hardly gave it a second thought and off they came, and sadly I was still surprised when he didn't throw me off in disgust and call it a night. But I don't say anything like that to him anymore, because it only kills the mood and frustrates both of us, him moreso, and I've forced myself to accept that I'm not disgusting and that he really does want  . . . this.  Enough to where, well, that thing he's been wanting to do with his tongue for all these months? That. Reciprocating gave me a slight case of stage fright, which he found amusing, and it was a little awkward, but not at all horrible, he didn't squeal in pain, and wanted seconds, so I must have done something right. Although originally he wanted the full shebang instead of 'seconds', but damn .  .  . I'm just terrified of the condom breaking, even if can openly admit I want it all, too. Honestly besides the obvious (pregnancy), the only thing that scares me now is the possibility I'll bleed everywhere.

But this whole dirty little secret, well, while I'd rather it not be a secret, is just what I've been needing and wanting for so long now. Someone to touch, to hold, to do shamelessly filthy things to. And when he actually does open that pretty mouth of his and speak, well, we have a lot in common. We laugh a lot. And the silence is not uncomfortable. Lying there with limbs entangled . . . it just feels like something I've done a million times before, and I always hate to leave. When I do, he walks me out and kisses me goodnight a time or three. I could be setting myself up for more heartbreak and disaster, but I don't care, I want to live, to take chances, because otherwise I'll never know or learn from my mistakes. But I've seen him. I've seen the way he used to walk past the pharmacy, we'd catch each other's eyes and he'd keep on walking, but with a grin for miles. Now we just stare right at each other and the 'teehee' feeling has been replaced with 'I know what you're thinking about me.' The way he just lies there and stares into my eyes forever before leaning over to nuzzle my face or kiss my head.

 . . . this isn't normal behavior for FWB/fuck buddies, right? He's also getting friendlier at work, using coherent, complete sentences and everything, although it's probably not obvious to anyone what we've done to each other behind closed doors. We're both off work Thursday.

I sincerely hope and pray that one or both of us exhibits a little control over ourselves, or that the condom doesn't break . . .

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

A new bounce in my step . . .

Nothing is committed, nothing is exclusive. Yet. But at long last, someone I've snuck glances and coy smiles at, thinking "Damn, that's a nice looking person, seems nice, too. I really wish I knew them better . . . " feels the same way. Mind, I had to pry it out of him via messaging, but I didn't want another months to years long game of beating around the bush, wondering. While it turns out that Lab Rat the Perverted Sith Lord is randy 24/7, he wants more. I must have gotten to his place around 3 in the afternoon on Sunday.

It was close to midnight before I left.

He's almost painfully awkward, and is just as painfully aware of it, but that stage only lasts for so long. We did talk and watch movies. He's fairly reclusive, and mostly stays inside with his XBox and his movies, the latter of which we share a lot of favorites. Not to mention he also owns every season of House, M.D. and even has a cane. "I can be your Dr. House," he says. A set of Sith Robes hung on the closet door, with lightsabers and swords propped against the walls. I can't believe I was ever squicked about age. Well, yes I can, but I can safely say I'm over it, as the pros definitely outweigh the cons. Pizza rolls and kool aid? Yeah, not so much into that. But he's a total nerd, and I mean that in the BEST possible way. He outgeeks me by a long shot, but he'll never outdrink me, turns out he doesn't even like alcohol or the feeling it causes. This too is a good thing, not only is he unlikely to become a raging alcoholic, but this also means I don't have to get him lit before he'll let me touch him. Yeah, about that . . .  I knew he would at least try to kiss me. What I didn't know is how far I'd let everything go and how oddly natural it felt. Granted, not everything happened, but much more than I had planned on and things happened that probably should not on a first date. All I can say is, I'm glad I'd seen those movies before, because otherwise I'd still be wondering how Bruce Wayne escaped or when Thor got his hammer back. I'm not sure whether it's sweet or creepy that he was incredibly affectionate and snuggly when we were actually paying attention to the television and not shoving, biting, and pulling each other's hair. But the wave of shame has yet to come, and two days later, I am still smiling. Do I want this to eventually become exclusive? Yes. But regardless of what happens or doesn't, I don't regret anything. It's infinitely better, in my opinion, to say "Oh well" than "But what if . . . " or "I wonder .  .  ."

Sometimes I'm afraid I'll wake up and realize it didn't happen.I actually do wake up and wonder if it was real. But then I walk to the bathroom, bleary-eyed, and as I  flick the light on, I wince at the marks on my neck, and I smile.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

See you blowin' me a kiss/It doesn't take a scientist/To understand what's goin' on, baby

A few posts back, I mentioned someone whom shall still be referred to as Lab Rat. He continues his flattery, albeit in a somewhat awkward and unmistakably forward manner. He kind of reminds me of the guys from The Big Bang Theory, to be honest, which really isn't necessarily a bad thing. We exchanged messages for most of Thursday and towards the end of the night, I'm positive that I was turning shades of red henceforth unknown to man in reaction to the things he was saying, which were growing increasingly pornographic in nature. He also wanted me to come over after work because he'd bought TDKR and had no one to watch it with, I felt kind of bad for saying no.Yet for all of that, he's incredibly quiet when I see him in person - eye contact will force both of us into awkward, probably stupid looking grins or he'll walk up and poke me, when he speaks it's very low. He's so weird and awkward, and yet as far as geeks go, we have so much in common. Halloween at my place of work is always interesting, I love seeing what everyone puts on, even if it's something small just to be out of dress code for the day and get away with it. I showed up all in black, with fishnets, fangs, and way too much makeup on my eyes. He'd traded in his khakis and blue for the robes and boots of a Sith Lord. Call me crazy, but that's hot. Even then, he chose to stand there stiffly and talk to Karla as if I weren't even there. But he's always sure to pop up online or send me a text and then get all sadface-y when I sign off or say I'm going to bed.

Truth be told, I really wanted to go over when he asked me Thursday night, and not just because I'm dying to see The Dark Knight Rises again. I panicked and just said I couldn't because I had work the next day, too. Main reason being that he's so quick to start with talk of licking and boobs and other activities involving his tongue. Could be he's just a little odd and that's his way of saying he likes me, or that could be ALL he wants, which I'm not quite ready for. I mean it's hugely flattering that he's having these thoughts about me at all, don't get me wrong. I even asked if he sends all his female friends filthy messages and he said no, but I'm still not sure yet. Keeping with the honesty thing, I'm starting to be a little crazy for this skinny little geek and I find myself oddly terrified. He's been burned this year already, so he could just be a horny little freak wanting to sow his oats, or there's the possibility . . . I just don't know. Maybe I'm afraid he'll do what Kenny's done to me the past two years, and frankly I'm very tired of being Kenny's fool. I sent him this sugary, heartfelt little message on the night before Thanksgiving and got NO reply. The next day he sent me a message asking if the pharmacy was open, I said no and asked why, thinking something must be wrong, and all I got was "Ok, thanks." As it turns out, his stupid daughter and her doubly stupid boyfriend were doing something stupid on a motorcycle and wound up in the emergency room. Nothing big except for drama. He could have at least told me what was going on. He also inquired early on in the week if I was working that weekend and then left me with "Dur her, see ya in four days!" He did make a small effort to go out Sunday. At the last minute. Instead of replying I rolled over and went to sleep because we'd reheated Thursday's dinner and I was overfull and ready to give in to another Tryptophan coma. It also got me to thinking .  .  . all we ever do is eat. At that point I'd decided I was ready to just start giving him the cold shoulder. I was so tired of making myself available, offering to be there whenever he needed it, putting SO much effort into even just a friendship and having him blow me off all the time. The only time we ever keep plans together is if they're ones he's made, my suggestions to go to the beach or go away for the weekend never come to be. Also, and this one is huge . . . he doesn't know that I know, but our mutual friend Stevie has a gay dating app on his phone. Guess whose profile he found while browsing the local guys?

I have never flat out asked Ken "Hey, are you sure you're not gay?" But he's volunteered statements of "I'm straight!" and "Men hit on me but I only flirt back to get free drinks" and "I've never been with a man/I don't date men."

I have slept in the same bed with this person.

Sat with my arm around him and listened to him tell me about the time his sister almost disowned him.

Been his designated driver.

Let him know that I love him and am always there if he needs anything.

WHY would he feel the need to lie to me about something as important as this? I understand some people are uncomfortable with their sexuality, but this feels like a huge betrayal after all the other stuff he's trusted me with. I mean, just . . . why? It's not like I haven't suspected he bats for the other team already. He could have come clean about this years ago instead of letting me make a fool of myself trying to win him over or get his pants off. I have lots of gay/bi friends so he knows I don't have an issue with it. I've been willing to overlook a lot with him, but this is just too much. Maybe not on it's own, but with everything else, it's just too big. The final straw was petty, but disgusting enough to put the nail in the coffin. His status on Thanksgiving night (on which he blew off his Black Friday shift, therefore forfeiting his holiday pay, by the way):

"The farts im havin are contractions for the terds Im fixing to have."

Yeah, I think we're done here. Unsubscribe. So he's still there, but I don't have to read this rubbish anymore, I've been very happy. Last Sunday I told him to come to the pharmacy and I'd give him one of the cupcakes I brought. No reply, and he never poked his face in at us, either. Yesterday during work I received another text from him, asking if I was working and when I was going to lunch. I said at four. He replied that I really suck, because he's leaving at one and wanted to have lunch with me, and that he didn't feel right going to Moe's without me, but still that I sucked. I told him if he wanted to go that badly, he could stop being lazy and just come back at four and meet me. Needless to say there was no reply and at four, I found myself just sitting at the smoker's lounge with Dixie and the usual gang of troublemakers. Terry from produce has such a perverted sense of humor and a fast mouth, he slays me. Dirty old bastard. But we all love him. I'm not going to pine over lost opportunities to eat burritos with Ken anymore. If he wanted to see me that badly, he'd drive the lousy five miles back to town to do so, not just when it's convenient for him. I mean hell, even as a friend, he just sucks. I don't even bother inviting him to anything anymore.

And then there's Lab Rat, whom shall be referred to as such until a later time. What's on his feed?

Pictures of him with his robes and lightsabers. Holding swords. Or with a snake around his neck. Yes, a real, live, wriggling snake. Goofing off with friends at work. Star Wars prints that he's found on Deviantart. And my personal favorite thus far, Sesame Street's Count punching Edward Cullen in the face.

On Kenny's feed?

In a hotel room with bloodshot eyes. Taking shots. Drinking beer. Taking more shots. At his sister's house, so knock down drunk that he's got her bra on over his clothes.

 Admittedly, from the time he started working at Voldemart, I've always thought Lab Rat was very attractive. But he was young and incredibly thin and I doubted if he'd want to have anything to do with plump,unremarkable, close to thirty me. To be fair, it wasn't until recently that I finally seized the opportunity to let on I wasn't as young as I figured he thought I was. No, Mr. Sith Lord person, I am not 23. But THANK YOU, haha! It really hasn't stopped him doing what he does. Is the 28/22 thing still a little weird for me? You betcha. But on the other hand, a large part of me really does like the filthy messages. Knowing he's had fantasies about the two of us makes it sorely tempting to just bury my hands in all that messy black hair and lay one on him. And yet his offer to come over Thursday night scared the crap out of me because I was afraid he'd want to get physical. I should really go after this, at worst, he's a creepy little perv with unfortunate good looks. At best . . . I could go to ren-faires with someone like this. Cons. Movie openings. Theme parks. If I could just get him to pull his head out of the gutter and speak, he might be a really great person. I'm not gonna be hard on the socially awkward thing, because I've been there, and I'm still there to some extent, so I know where he's coming from. Talking to people you don't really know can suck, especially if you find them attractive. Last night as I was walking past photo lab to go clock out, there he was. I had to go that way, and due to the large amounts of large layaway items crammed back there for the season and the dozen or so people squeezed into line, I ended up having to squeeze right past him, literally. He never stopped looking at me and then the motherfucker with that evil smile had to go and wink. Blood. Suddenly there was less of it in my head and I felt the need to breathe deeply and go outside for fresh air. Gods, but it's awful how someone can make me come all undone and giddy. There's definitely something there, and damn, but I want him, I want to at least try.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Riding in cars with boys

Ok, so I drive a truck, but same difference. I'm still kind of expecting to wake up and find I've had yet another frustrating dream, but to my lasting surprise and pleasure, Pippy made plans with me over a week ago and KEPT them, for a change. One of the newer hires in his department wanted to have her birthday at the gay bar in Gainesville and told him the more people, the better, so last night I snatched him up along with his brother and our adorable bi friend, Stevie, cake-decorator extraordinaire. Get on the road, ask Pip if he really needs to pee that badly after he keeps complaining about it and get no for an answer. Pull over at an Advance Auto parts store 30 minutes later because he's changed his mind. Put on Lady Gaga to keep everyone awake and then get progressively more nervous as Johnny talks about it being an "Enter at your own risk" night at the club. I vaguely wondered what I've gotten myself into and if this is really a good idea, but keep on rollin', nonetheless.

Birthday girl is waiting for us and has been standing outside waiting for the place to open, she is entirely WAY too excited, meanwhile her husband is on the phone with Tom who has gotten lost despite having been there before. And maybe judge me if you will, but I was gonna be damned to be surrounded by ornery drunks all night and not have a couple of my own. But at least this time I paced myself; no chugging, shooting, or back to back, and it was pretty much worn off by the time we left. This poor girl had warned us time and time again all this past week that she gets a little 'crazy' when drunk and kept apologizing in advance for what she might do, and lawd, she wasn't joking. But no one else seemed to notice or if they did, they didn't care. I'd never seen Stevie drunk before and as it turns out, he's a complete and total lightweight and a whole 'nother aspect of his personality came out last night, it was amazing, he kept grinding with me and was just so different from the sweet, soft-spoken guy I've come to know at work. I've always had a fondness for "Bad Romance", but it will never  be the same again. I'm generally reluctant to dance because I suck at it, but hell, this song I knew so I'd at least get up and sing along badly, because Stevie won't laugh at me. Neither will birthday girl, because she is in fact, batshit at this point. She decided to swap partners with me and the next thing I know Pip's reached over and given me a violent and unexpected slap on the ass, which I return before thinking 'To hell with it!' , and then grabbed his face and licked him. I've been wanting to lick him for so very long and I didn't want to be regretting not doing it yet another time. I'm assuming he didn't mind since we spend the rest of the song facing each other and  . . . rubbing - somewhere in between Stevie and birthday girl turned it into a foursome. I am sure we looked as retarded as possible but I didn't care. Neither did anyone else. Whatever this guy really feels, he's at least not afraid to flirt anymore.Or maybe I'm just no longer afraid to look at him because I've finally accepted that he won't reject me, at least not on a friends level. Friends who are incredibly comfortable with each other at this point.

Honestly, my intentions last night were to genuinely make an effort to get this guy's clothes off before morning. However, seeing as he and Johnny live in a one-bedroom trailer and it was Johnny's turn to fight the dog for bedspace, the two of us ended up in the living room with him in a recliner and me curled up in the loveseat. Not exactly the best conditions for seduction. But the past two weeks have been very unusual with him. Firstly with him being so insistent and excited about last night's trip, and besides that, there was one day when he was trying to meet me for lunch. On his day off. That never happens. Didn't exactly work out, but still, he tried. He's also been responding to and initiating playfully inappropriate little messages via text and Facebook, and I like it. Whether or not it leads anywhere, I like it. I mean shit, I'm single and the only commitments I have are my truck payments and my pets, so why not? Fortunately despite the licking, spanking, and ass-groping, he was still talking to me in the morning. And as I laced up my shoes and we headed out this morning for breakfast (He paid, yay! I mean well, he BETTER have, after I hauled his drunk ass all over town last night!), my ass cheek still stinging and yesterday's eyeliner only just starting to smudge, I was comfortable, and I was happy.

Monday, October 15, 2012

I Feel Sullied and Unusual

And I . . . kind of like it?

As of late, I've continued shedding the Sunday School girl that I once was. I mean, I'm pretty sure she hitched up her skirts and ran shrieking from her new self a long time ago, but I still surprise myself sometimes. Last week, Tardy and her twin sister (also a tech in the pharmacy) had a birthday party. At first I wasn't going to go, then I remembered that I told T I'd bring her the Hypnotiq she wanted and that it'd be sucky to flake. Also, I'm trying my damndest not to be a flake because of how much frustration I know it causes me when people bail out on plans, although I'm not naming any names *cough* Ah, bother. I went with Dix because A., she had no ride there and really wanted to go, and B., T lives out in the middle of BumFuck, Egypt and I had no idea how to get there, she did. But I'd made up my mind to just get there, wish the girls happy birthday, and stay just long enough to not be rude and before everyone started going batcrap nuts.

So of course it made sense that two and a half hours later, after Dix took my phone away from me, I was slumped against T's husband's truck while he handed me a bottle of water and put a cold compress on my neck, assuring me that I had nothing to apologize for, even after I got rather disgustingly ill in the yard to everyone's amusement. I don't really remember how I got into the house and on the couch, although I learned later it was a former Voldemort employee who helped me inside. Honestly all I remember is him telling me not to step in the Jell-O on the kitchen floor. I also woke up in the morning to find that I'd sent Pip a text message that basically said “I wish you were here because I wanna do bad things to you.” I vaguely remember screaming at Dixie “TELL HIM I LOVE HIM. OH MY GOD TELL HIM. YOU'LL TELL HIM, RIGHT??!?!” after she had taken my phone away for the night and said she was going to blame herself for the nasty message I just sent, even though I fessed up to it later. When I looked in the mirror I discovered that someone had used colorstay lipstick to draw a penis on my face, with a heart above it. Definitely not my proudest moments at all, but I think I'll always look back on it fondly – my first, and hopefully last blackout.

And then we come to – he whom I shall call Lab Rat. Not that he lets people do science experiments on him (well, that I know if, anyways), but he works in the photo lab and for some reason reminds me just a teensy bit of a rat, but that's ok, because rats don't really squick me too much. He works in photo lab and has gotten shamelessly flirtatious with me over the past few months, mostly through Facebook. I forget when he started with the random smiley-only messages, but that went on for an insane amount of time and somehow morphed into him asking to see my boobs O_O. That's a hells to the no, so I sent him a very ugly photoshop I found instead, with the face on a girl's stomach and huge eyeballs on the tits. It really is very disturbing and he was appropriately freaked out by my Bazinga. And in all seriousness, no one is ever, ever getting a picture of my tits. One doesn't exist, one never will. But this weirdness continues. He's randomly stopped me to ask for a hug, said “I love you”, and once stopped me on my way out to give me a shoulder massage. This has all got me rather freaked out, to put it un-elegantly. Don't get me wrong, he's pretty. He's soooo pretty. But he just seems a little quirky and insecure, or worse, gun shy like Pip, and the undying 'show me your boobs' thing is a little off-putting. But my main reason for feeling a bit odd is the simple and ridiculous fact that he's 22 and I'm a little over a year from 30. Is that weird of me? Unfair? It's not as if he's been following me around being mushy and disgustingly lovelorn, we simply have agreed that each of us finds the other pleasing to the mortal eye. And while I certainly do enjoy the attention, the whole thing horrifies me and makes me feel just a little dirty and ashamed. I'm fairly confident that it'd be easy to just give in to this kid and make out with him like there's no tomorrow, but then I remind myself that I am a nearly thirty year old virgin with nary an experience with anything beyond a comfortable hug or drunken snuggles. The idea of having a first experience of any kind with someone barely old enough to graduate college makes me feel ashamed an inadequate. I'd always wanted an older man, or at least one closer to my age, to do all that for me, to teach me . . . things. It's no secret here that I'd had my sights set on the friendly neighborhood produce guy for that task, but I think he'd sooner be interested in letting me put lipstick on him. And believe me, I've actually tried to put lipstick on him – he wound up running halfway across a pub parking lot, and this was with him moderately smashed.

Loosely-moraled man-slut, Y U NO LET ME IN UR PANTS? He's either gay or I'm just not trashy enough for him O_o

Gods, this is one of those times when having been so sheltered growing up really sucks. I'm having this fantastic sexual tension thing going on, mutually for once, and I have no idea what to do about it. 

Friday, July 13, 2012

Wherein I Question The Existence of God

Just what it says on the label, folks.

It's odd how something small can trigger an emotional breakdown. Yesterday after coming home from work, I went outside to feed Bea, my Dad's big dog, and my cat, Mort. As I was headed back to the house, I noticed the two small dogs wandering around out front - normally they can't go out there, but Mom had left the gates wide open when she drove a load of hay to the shed. No biggie, I called them and they came toodling over like the faithful little furballs they are, only my dog, Strider, spotted them just then. I love Strider like a child, but I'll be honest, he does really freaking dumb things sometimes. Apparently the sight of Meeko and Annie in the front yard reminded him that the front yard existed, and he decided he had to be in it, right then. So he darted. Maybe he wanted to take a stroll down past Karla's house, too, just because. Regardless, despite my calling and calling, he was and he wasn't coming back anytime soon. More than likely he just went underneath of our doublewide, but I was still infuriated beyond reason by that point. This isn't the first time he's pulled this, and it probably won't be the last. It was just the straw I needed on top of a frustrating day at work dealing with the unwashed, ignorant, uneducated masses and Shorty being a ditz as well. (Really, you don't know how close I was to telling my boss that I was first going to throw her over the counter if she didn't stop messing around and help me, and after she was over the counter, I would be walking out and leaving for the day, the last hour be damned).

So I had a bad day at work, and my dog was being an ornery brat. This obviously brought to my attention that life sucks and everything bad happens to me and I had a sort of meltdown. Why can't Strider just obey me? Why does he go under the house where it's filthy and dangerous and there are things he can break when the alternative is being inside the house with a love seat, a/c, and table scraps? Why are most of our customers hairy assholes bent on making everyone else miserable? Why, when I had gotten a nice bit of money saved and sent off a really huge payment to the auto loan company because I want to pay off my vehicle faster, did it have to flood for the first time in over a hundred years and make me miss three days of work? Come to that, we were pretty lucky in that flood. Sure, we had a horrible case of cabin fever, but we didn't sink any vehicles, our house is dry, our animals are ok, and we never even lost power. But other people lost everything. Their whole homes engulfed in flood water, everything ruined, pets drowned. One of my neighbors/coworkers drove her SUV into a 'puddle' in the road. The puddle turned out to be deeper than it looked, she and her sister narrowly escaped the vehicle and found themselves almost neck deep in water. This was about a mile away. Another coworker ruined her truck when she drove into a similar flooded road because she was desperate to get at her insulin-dependent father's house to see if he was ok. And as always, there were a few casualties.

Sure, we can say "Well, be grateful, it could be worse!", but why would a loving God let something like this happen to begin with? I'm sure all those people didn't deserve to lose their homes and their cars. The business owners didn't need to be ruined right now. A sinkhole didn't need to open up under a courthouse that has stood in Live Oak since 1904. The Cranky Pharmacist™ said he went down one of the flooded highways today and saw people operating bulldozers with arms, using the arms to scoop out furniture and other things just floating in the water. There are cars submerged in water along the road I used to take to town every day and rumor has it that there is a semi in there somewhere as well. Are we really supposed to look at all this destruction and disaster and say "O, what a great and merciful God we serve!" just because He didn't kill or injure me? Granted, I'm not really happy about the three days work missed, either. When you work where I do, three days really HURTS.

At least twice since, I have gotten lost simply driving home from work because of the weird detours I have to take and had no idea where I was. I had breakdowns then, too. If God cared about me so much, why would he let me get lost? Why does he let people be assholes to me and my friends at work? Why is it, every time I start to get ahead, something like this happens and I end up with skeletal funds yet again and have to start all over? Why am I pushing 29 and still living with my parents while other people are not only living comfortably on their own, but have also managed to find a companion to share life with? Ugh. I keep repeating to myself "There is no God. No God would let this kind of injustice happen. If there is a God, He obviously hates me and is a narcissistic dick."

Although, something tells me that if I really believed that, I wouldn't be screaming at the sky in the next breath, cursing said nacissistic god and asking Him "Why?!" But I really am starting to think He's just not as attentive as the baptist preachers would have me believe . . .

Monday, May 28, 2012

The Wonderful Chaos of Daily Life . . . also I am not a doormat!

Sickness. I can't decide whether I love or hate it. Mostly, it's a pain in the derriere,  to be sure, but there's something so satisfying about curling up in bed in the middle of the day and letting sweet, drug-induced sleep take me over. I've had a nagging cough for the past few weeks, at first shrugging it off as allergies. Unfortunately I could feel my chest starting to crackle and rattle late last week, so I finally sucked it up and went to the Dr. last Wednesday, even if it did mean making my day over 14 hours long from waking up to pulling back into the driveway. Turns out I have acute infectious bronchitis and get to spend 5 days on Z-Pack and even longer on Cheratussin, huzzah for me! Even with the meds, I showed up to work last Thursday morning feeling less than stellar and on a most unfortunate high from the cough syrup. After two hours, Strawberry and Student (who is back for the summer and working with us most days, which is a really good thing) were telling me they were about ready to drag me out and take me home themselves, as I sounded worse today than I did the day before. I at least stayed until after Shorty had gotten there and I finished putting up the drug order, but I was quickly and gently bullied out the door by the four people who had listened to me hack all morning. The Cranky Pharmacist™ even gave me a pack of his Oreos. I truly do have some good people back there in the Funny Pharm, I can't stress that enough. Especially since these are the very same people who have been bristling and bitching about Dixie's constant new calling in habit and doubting all of her mounting excuses. At least two days a week for the past three weeks, she's been calling out. She's claimed migraines, food poisoning, no gas money (and apparently no forethought on getting a ride), and then a cold. Although we know for a fact she was gone Monday because she'd taken a friend on a road trip! And she almost always calls out on days she knows another technician is off or on vacation, leaving us incredibly short-staffed. Frankly, we're all fed up with it and no longer care if she's legitimately sick or not. She also continues to make poor spending choices and then asks the rest of us for money! No, I will not buy you cigarettes. If you can't afford to put gas in your vehicle or food on the table, you can't afford to smoke, I'm sorry. There have also been days she showed up to work without showering first, judging by the smell. Strawberry was at the point of retching and gagging one day, she admitted to me quietly, and you could see she was having a hard time with it by the look on her face. Boss is transferring another technician over from another store, the same one Strawberry came from. While at times this is going to no doubt have us grossly over-staffed and tripping over each other, it will also help on the days Dix chooses to screw the rest of us over for whatever reason. We might have been good friends once, but things have gotten so out of hand, and I'm to the point I am just going to try to have as little contact as possible without seeming rude. My recent breathing issues are excuse enough not to sit with her at lunch anymore when we share a shift; better to be in my truck or inside in the cool air conditioning than outside in the cigarette smoke. And truth be told, the only reason I ever started going out there in the first place was because of Pippy, and seeing as how he works the butt-crack-of-dawn to afternoon shift, our breaks are never together anymore anyways. Dix has issues, to be sure, but as she obviously doesn't want to downsize her life or change the unhealthy lifestyle, I'm done messing with her. I don't want to be mean, but I really have no place in my life for leeches, either.

As of today, I've missed two half-days in two years of work. As we work in a pharmacy, constantly surrounded by sick people all the time, no one blinks if you show up with a cold, so long as you're not throwing up, running a fever, or have something highly contagious.

A slight edit - I started writing this post over a week ago, and since then have learned that Dix and her husband have apparently had the final childish blowout we've all been bracing ourselves for, for about the past year and are headed for the big D. Since Friday she's been posting all sorts of emotional nonsense about the world crashing down and being broken-hearted and other such crap. Friday night Karla, who also works at the store and lives next to me (of the infamous costume party last December) went and picked her up, meaning Dix is currently. Residing. Next. Fucking. Door. No. No, no, this is bad. She's already tried getting me to come over there several times with all sorts of weird excuses, and I reluctantly went for about 5 minutes Saturday after work. She said if Karla hadn't gotten her, she probably would have killed herself Friday night. But this close or no, I have no intentions of helping her anymore. Karla texted me earlier asking when I was working tomorrow - I have the sneaking suspicion her houseguest needs a ride to work, but I'm going to bust one of the ten commandments and say either that my phone was dead or I left it in my truck as the reason I never answered. Does this make me a cold-hearted bitch? Maybe, but I don't think so, and I feel bad for Karla getting caught up in this, too. I wonder how long it'll take her to yank back the welcome mat. Dix has continuously made horrible choices with her money, her health, and her personal relationships. There are only so many cell phone plans, salon visits, and dining out bills you can blow money on before it runs out and suddenly your electricity is being shut off for non-payment. No one is going to feel sorry for your constant migraines and breathing issues while you suck down over a pack a day in cigs. And there are only so many times you can ask a friend for money, ask for a ride on short notice (we all said no), or let us know you DON'T need a ride after we've already inconvenienced ourselves into getting up and leaving early to come and get your sorry butt. I don't know what the ultimate issue was with her and her husband, but I can't blame him for leaving. He's no angel, either - they both act like spoiled, irresponsible children and I wouldn't stay with either of them. And frankly he was probably more disgusted at her lack of hygiene than we are. I don't care who you are or if you're the best looking person on the planet, you NEED to bathe. You NEED to change out the litterbox if you have a cat in the house! Was I beyond giddy to crawl up in bed with Pippy last month? You betcha! But if he'd smelled like old fish and urine and catbox, no way in hell. No way in hell I'd go anywhere near him, actually.  No one can help someone that refuses to help themselves, and we've all pretty much decided to pull the plug. She needs to get off her ass and get professional help, shrinks we are not. I'm not a cold hearted person, please don't get me wrong. I'm just so worn out on this particular human being. If she ends up getting fired, I'd feel a little bad, but she will have had it coming. A part of me actually wishes Boss would fire her so I wouldn't have to deal with her anymore. Avoiding her on a personal level is easy, but when we're stuck in the pill box together all week, well, that makes it a little hard. But she's an emotional vampire and it's time to put on the garlic and hold out my cross, so to speak.

Anywho, that's what's been bugging me as of late. And I ended up having to call my Dr. back Thursday because I'd finished the Z-pack and was still coughing like a smoker. Raj got on my case about it Monday, saying it should have cleared up by then. Fortunately they called me in ten days of Keflex and it's been doing what the Azithromycin didn't, and I'm almost 100% myself again.

As for my fretting about Pip, once again my fears were unfounded and we're still buddies as usual, although it is surprisingly even easier to talk to him now than before. Maybe curling up with someone tends to have that effect on a relationship, platonic or not. See how clueless I am about these things? 28 and still figuring out the finer points of silly stuff like this. He's still kind of flaky, but I've just come to accept it for now. I invited him to come to the movies with me and nephew today, and yesterday his answer was yes, but today it was "I can't make it, got something in Hicktown I have to do". It doesn't piss me off or hurt me when he does this anymore. 9 times out of ten he doesn't come to things he's invited to, but I do enjoy the 1/10 that he comes through on. He has other friends and family and situations in his life to attend to. And after the drama of Dix the past few weeks, I'd sooner keep him in my circle of friends, flakes and all, than have someone needy and clingy and always asking for favors or money; at least he doesn't smother me with melodrama. Bitch and gripe and finally laugh it off over a drink, and he's good. I'd still love to have something more with him, but if that doesn't happen, that's ok. Truth be told, I think he does have 'more than friend' leanings towards me, but he shows all the signs of someone who got burned real good once or twice and has sworn to never let it happen again. So I just wave at him when I walk into work in the mornings, and he'll grin and wave back, usually with a banana or a tomato in his hand. Whether we hang out outside work or he turns down an invitation, I'll back off from him for a few weeks and hold off on the invites lest he pulls Walker's "Suspicious Horse Keeps His Distance" act and pretends I don't exist for a while. But like I said, I think I'll keep him.

It's odd. I'd gladly give Pip the food off my plate or the shirt off my back, metaphorically speaking, if he needed it, yet never once has he asked me for anything, anything, or taken me up on offers of help or a shoulder to cry on, while I wish Dixie would grow the eff up and go away, and she just takes and takes and asks and asks and never offers anything back. Spending any amount of time with her leaves me drained and depressed, albeit I do feel great about myself and grateful I'm not a mess like she is. Spending time with Pip  usually leaves me feeling upbeat, happy, and a little cheeky. And sometimes a little hungover, but hey, at least he smells pretty fantastic and makes frequent use of a shower and a washing machine. 

Monday, May 7, 2012

So by the time the bar closes/and you feel like falling down/I'll carry you home tonight

Wherein I am entirely pathetic. Last night, I went to visit Pip and Johnny's place. During a thunderstorm so strong it felt like I was driving into the pit of hell. And it turns out, they're still living in a motel room, poor things. I thought they had a place by now, but they'll be moving out Wednesday, fortunately. But we'd been trying to get together for a while and since we both had Monday off, he said I could come over and share his whiskey. Wonderful conversation lubricant, that stuff. Lord, the man can go off on a bitch rant like no one else, but then again, so can I, and it felt pretty good. It also turns out he cleared up and denied SO many disgusting rumors about him and the nasty girl in his department, without me even asking - she came to mind apparently while he was on his nonstop vent. It would seem she downloaded pictures of him in a swimming pool from his Facebook, put them on her phone and was showing them around to people like she had been with him and taken them. She also told our mutual friend D, who was good friends with Pippy, that she needed to "stay away from him", and told several people that she and Pip were sexually involved. This is the same one that is constantly giving me stinkeye. He says there's never been anything between them whatsoever and is thoroughly creeped out by the stalkerish behavior.

By the end of that conversation, I was pretty elated, and he'd started posting pictures of us to FB and showed me pictures on his phone of everything from his new great niece to a newborn kitten he saved to his daughter's prom pictures. Another drink and a while later and he wasn't comfortable with the idea of me driving home, besides the fact it was nearly 2AM. "If you're staying, you need to get on that side of the bed. No, I don't mind, it's better and safer than a DUI."  I don't sleep well away from home, I'll openly admit. I no longer go to Dixie's house mostly for this reason, besides the fact she snores like a cave troll, leaves the TV on full blast all night, and the apartment reeks of stale smoke and unchanged cat litter. I was struck with insomnia once again last night, but   . . . here comes the sap -

sleep eluding me was quite lovely this go round. I really kind of hated myself for it, but I spent a good chunk of last night simply watching him sleep, watching his chest rise and fall. And then there's the sound of snoring. This is #1 on my list of most annoying, nerve-wracking, rage-inducing sounds ever. Ever. And yet I was laying there in complete bliss, even after he rolled over and was half on top of me with his mouth inches away from my face, emitting the noise that irks me the most in the world. I probably shouldn't have drank so much and shouldn't have crawled under his covers like that. But I've gotten so tired of dreaming, and let myself have this pitiful little pleasure, just this once. Pathetic, desperate, hanging onto what is probably not there. Actually the longer I think about it, I really, really shouldn't have done this, and he probably thinks I'm weird. Or then again, I could be over thinking things again. I'm sure it's not the first time a friend has had too much and ended up passed out beside him. It was unsurprising, yet disturbing how I could just glance over and stare at him, completely at ease, and feel so happy. And yet . . . well, it's a 'so close but so far' kind of feeling. I want this, all the time. For it not to be a guilty pleasure to discover we'd somehow gotten pressed up against each other in the night, but for it to be on purpose. It's the most bizarre kind of relationship, yet I haven't felt more content than last night, insomnia or no, with my produce guy asleep beside me and Johnny in the next bed with a clumsy, 10 week old Labrador mix nestled into the covers with him.

And that's aside from the fact I kept having an arm thrown haphazardly over me or finding one of his legs between mine. I'm not sure if he was just that comfortable or if it's a sign that it's been a long time since he shared a bed.

No one really needs to know I stayed all night, and fortunately there was no shitstorm awaiting me at home when I pulled up this morning for spending the night in a motel room with two men.

 I did offer to take Pippy out this morning but he declined and said he'd rather head to the gym. Which, by the way, he thinks I should show up at once in a while, ensuring me that people of all disciplines go there and don't really judge or pay much attention to each other. It's not that I don't want to, I'm just terrified of other people seeing me and how out of shape I am. But I can work out at home until then.

I just wish I could work out what the hell I did last night and why.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up

It's been a somber kind of last few days. I'm ok, but it's stuff that's been happening. On Sunday night, a local corrections officer was killed when an inmate stabbed him in the neck multiple times with a homemade object. I first learned of the story when Pip posted it on Facebook, along with the words "RIP little Reuben, we will miss u cuz". Sgt. Thomas was only 24 years old. He was a father, and engaged to be married to his fiance, who is expecting their child. I'm sure I've seen him around here and there, this being a small town, and to look at his picture and read thoughts from his coworkers and relatives, it seemed like he was a really great person. Stories like this make me angry, this was so unfair.

The inmate who killed this man was in prison for murder and has also been arrested on charges of assault on an officer, robbery, and resisting arrest. During his time in prison, he has already been disciplined over fifty times for various offenses. After stabbing Sgt. Thomas, he struck another officer in the head with a heavy item hidden in a sock.

This is my opinion, and I don't really care if it upsets anyone:

This guy does not deserve to live, and the way I see it, it would have been much simpler and cheaper if they had just put a bullet in him in 94 when he killed a college student, shot an elderly man in a parking lot, stole the car, and assaulted the cop. Now a man is dead and it was completely senseless and unnecessary. There was no reason for this to happen, but because we don't want to be 'cruel', we let these useless fuckers live to kill again. Let's let these men and women live another day, because it would be so unkind to kill them. Don't worry about the victims they kill and injure, or the families of said victims. It's ok for women and men to be widows, children to be without parents, because gosh darnit, these criminals deserve another chance.

And if you want to tell me it's more expensive to execute a prisoner than to feed, clothe, and provide medical care for them for a lifetime, well, bullshit. Bullets are cheap. Guillotines could probably be constructed for a frugal price. Or gallows. Meanwhile, feeding one person for a week probably runs upwards of at least fifty dollars, and medical care is even worse.

My stand on this issue is kind of unpopular, but I think it's unfair that good, decent, loving people are punished and killed while murderers and rapists are given second chance after second chance.

I didn't know you, Sergeant Thomas, but I pray that justice will be done, for you, and countless others.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Don't be a drag, just be a queen

My birthdays have always been pretty 'meh'. Except for my 18th one, now that one I remember. Looking back on it now though, it was also pretty 'meh'. This one, however, was anything but.

On Wednesday, Mom, nephew and I decided to drive to the beach because it was going to be pretty cold for water come the weekend. Two and a half hours we drove, and upon opening my truck doors, were blasted with strong, chilly winds. Oh, no way we're getting in the water like that, but we can still walk on the shore. Oh no, the entrance is nailed shut . . . oh bother. We ended up going to the mall for food and a little shopping so it wasn't a total wasted trip, even if I would have liked to just stay and stare at the ocean for a few hours. On Friday, money was taken from the pharmacy 'Birthday fund' that we keep to buy me cake and a card, signed by everyone. The cake itself was Happy Feet themed, and I learned later that Pip helped Dixie pick it out. Fuck, every time I try to get good and mad, good and over him, he goes and pulls stunts like that. He's like that big, dumb dog that we've all known and/or had. It infuriates you with its ridiculous antics, but no matter how many of your clothes it ruins or how many times you trip in a huge hole it dug in the yard, you just can't stay mad at it. That night I did go over Dixie's house and got a little wasted, but it was mostly epic failure because her snoring kept me WIDE awake and I ended up leaving at 5 in the morning before I went postal. I also learned that raspberry Four Loko tasted like ass. I never understood how someone could use the term 'tastes like ass', but now I do. I think the drink in general was pretty nasty, no matter what flavor, and all it does is get you tipsy for an hour or two after which your eyes are plastered awake in pure, misery, painfully aware of everything going on around you. Never again.

Sunday night . . . I don't even know where to begin. For whatever reason, I decided I really wanted to go to the drag show for my birthday, since I'd been promising my friend Tom I'd go see him perform for . . . well, for a very long time now, and he was probably starting to think I was full of shit. As it turns out, I don't think a better idea could have been had. Once Pip finds out something, it's almost certain Johnny will find out too. Johnny is a bartender there, so by Sunday afternoon I found myself featured in his usual, almost daily "Come on out to the bar!" status. When I got there, Dixie met me in the parking lot and threw my gift, a pink stuffed unicorn, at me. Instead of putting it in my truck like a normal person, I stuffed it down the front of my shirt so the head was sticking out and went inside. I was there to have fun, wasn't I? Heels, denim jacket, too-low, too-tight shirt and all. Pip and Johnny are waiting for me at the bar and I'm immediately smothered in hugs, which I love because Johnny's of course are always great, and Pip had already been doing what he does best for half the day, which meant he'd already hit the "I love everybody!" point and was ripe for mauling for the rest of the night. We introduced him to the unicorn, which I had attempted to name "Jareth", the key word being 'attempted'. Have I mentioned most of my friends are extremely perverted? He grabbed poor Jareth out from between my boobs, examined him, then crammed it against his crotch and made it look like he had a sparkly pink dick with hooves and a horn.

"Haha, you might wanna wash that with some bleach when you get home, might be sticky."

Thankfully, it wasn't, but pointing at the unicorn in my shirt, screaming "STICKYYYYY!" and giggling became his favorite thing to do that night. And so everyone now called Jareth "Sticky", and Sticky McJizzersen he shall remain for the rest of his days. Moving right along, I was also greeted by a few members of the bar staff, who had heard about me from Johnny and wanted to say hi. And they were without a doubt, completely genuine. I don't think I've ever felt so loved and welcomed by strangers in my entire life. Got another surprise when Stevie from the bakery showed up, too. He has a special 'friend' at the bar, but also says to people that I'm 'tasty' and 'hot'. Bless, but I love this guy to death, in a kid brother way. He's always smiling and always ready to say something positive. Tom emerged from the dressing rooms not long after, in full drag. This was going to be a fun night. Dix bought me a martini and I sat at the bar with Pip on one side of me and Stevie on the other - I met another of the regular patrons, a nice older woman who was familiar with Pip, and disturbingly enough, while she was very friendly, asked me "So is Kenny your queer? We all have a queer here!" (she herself was straight). Pip will always insist he's straight, so either he's not being honest with her, himself, or he doesn't realize she's under the impression he bats for the other team. Regardless, she was another shining example of the complete acceptance I felt. What a wonderful group of people . . .

Pip bought me Jello shots. We sang songs, he bitched about work a little. Johnny slipped out for a smoke, but not before adding "Watch my beer, Doll." I squeed inside - I love it when he calls me that.

By the way, you haven't truly lived until you've been molested by a drag queen. These ladies are not shy, they will flirt with you, touch you, and if they know you or think you feel comfortable with it, sit in your lap. One of them would insist on touching my hair and kissing my forehead. Another mimicked going down on Sticky's horn. I recognized her as the cute younger guy who used to work in electronics. Another, who incidentally currently works in electronics, danced up to me with a huge grin, grabbed one of my boobs in each hand, SQUEEZED, and then proceeded to shake them violently until Sticky popped out and almost fell on the floor.

^ That last sentence reads all kinds of wrong out of context.

The one who kissed me came back for another go during her second song and this time grabbed my faced and pulled on me so hard to give me another kiss that I almost fell off the barstool while everyone laughed, including Stevie and Pip who both put an arm out to save me. At some point Pip was teasing me about something and I reached behind me to put an arm around his neck - he's very cuddly at times and I don't know how but I ended up holding his hand. Big contrast to after the show when I made to slap his rear end really hard and kind of failed because I chose the side he keeps his wallet on. Yeah, that doesn't really work. I reached over and grabbed a big handful of the other cheek anyways, just because. I don't really remember what he said, but he didn't seem upset. I suppose he's used to getting his ass grabbed.

All in all, not a night I'll soon forget. I met a few new friends, who wanted nothing better than to have me look a fool beside them while we tried shuffling to LMFAO and failed epically. Saw an old friend, who, ironically, I knew from my church days. He's now an RN and evidently, spends his weekends taking copious amounts of pictures of drag queens. Yesterday my lower half kind of regretted dancing in three and a half inch heels, but it was so worth it. I danced with Stevie. And Teresa. And Johnny's friend/coworker whose name I regrettably can't remember. And of course Pippy, who ended up sandwiched between me and his friend who asked if he was my queer. Oddly at one point he would insist on booty dancing his rump into my crotch, which was fun. Be warned boy, keep doing that and I WILL breach the topic of pegging with you, mark my words. I'll be gentle with you, I promise. At least at first.

I'm a sick woman.

After almost two years though, at least I finally got a kiss. On the cheek. But still. Gesture returned and ditto with Johnny, who charmingly enough farewells his male friends in the same intimate way. Oh yes, and if I had any doubts as to whether or not my teddy bear was in fact, a 'bear'. I no longer had them after seeing him come out from behind the bar, almost in a trance, and dry hump the house queen every time she did a number. Slowly. Closely. And without smiling.

There are pictures of me lying on a pool table with Tom/Teresa on top of me. After the bar closed, Tom, me, Dixie, another one of the queens, and queen's boyfriend went to McDonald's. Tom was still in full drag except for his wig and Justin still had makeup on. The look on people's faces when they walked in? Priceless.

It's an odd idea, that I had such a good time, and felt so loved at a gay bar, and have never gotten such a reception or warm fuzzy feeling from walking into any of the local churches. I suppose that is sad, but I really don't care. I've learned who the people in my life are who really care, and who don't. It also brings me back to the 18th birthday I mentioned at the beginning of this entry. 10 years ago, I really thought I was having the best birthday ever, because I was eating dinner at a church revival and the two guys I fancied were on their knees singing happy birthday to me. It's important to note that I was also devoutly against drinking, premarital sex, and had anti-gay and somewhat homophobic views. That was 2002. None of those people are my friends, or keep up with me anymore. I think I have one of them on FB, and though he might have been my first crush, he's a trainwreck now. In my opinion anyways. He's a youth pastor, brain cancer runs in the male line of his family, and his biggest ambition is to have a 'pack' of his own, biological kids. Way to go, buddy! Doom any male children and grandchildren to the same painful ordeal that you, your father, and your late grandfather have already been through. Chemo and brain surgery are what we all dream of for the children.

2012. I'm sipping a margarita at a gay bar. Sitting next to a redneck with a shady past and even shadier 'morals', beer in his hand and a pack of L&Ms in his pocket, actually cracking a smile when he laughs at my difficulty getting wine-based jello out of a cup and tells me to "Lick it, bitch!" I had also threatened to put my ice cold hand down his pants earlier, too. Later that night he yanked Sticky out from between my boobs again because he wanted a photo with it. I made him put the plushie back where he found it.Oh yes, Precious, we did.

On the rare occasion I'm told 'come on back' to a church, I make some polite, flaky reply and then bullshit my way right out the door, vowing to never come back. If Johnny were anymore insistent about how much I'm wanted back at the den, he'd be on his knees begging. Well, he might be on his good knee, anyways. And every part of me wants to be there more, and not just because Johnny works there and Tom is a regular and sometimes Pip is a fly on the bar, too. But the other people there were hugging on me as if we'd been friends forever.

What a strange commentary on today's world.

Either way, anywho, best birthday EVAR. For now. Who knows what the next one will bring.

Friday, February 3, 2012

Unexpected twitterpation

EDIT: I'm slightly in love with Pip's older gay brother and it's sweet. I know not to expect anything from him because . . . well I can't say he's flaming because he's one of the ones you REALLY can't tell with until you've known him a while. I guess he's what they call a 'bear'. But either way, he can give me his smooshy, heads-on-top-of-mine hugs anytime he wants. I guess most of us, at least once, have had that gay friend that we adore, not so much in the "Oh this is my gay, we share makeup tips and go shopping together" kind of way, but the "If he were straight I'd be on him like white on rice. But he's not so he'll be my big brother" kind of way, if that makes sense. Pip is still the flaky guy who is mostly evasive, but surprises you every now and then by actually doing something nice or showing up when he says he will. Like I said, a perfect little Frosted Flake.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Some people need a high five. In the face. With a chair.

Oh, it's been so long since I did a work-related post. Which oddly enough, was the reason I started these little chronicles, and has made up the least of my blatherings. I'll just give anecdotes in no particular order here.

What are you, six?

I'm talking about cutting the line here, people. A child might have the idea that if he claps his hands over his eyes, it means the rest of the world cannot see him, simply because he cannot see them. This same mentality must apply to the countless folks who approach the counter from the side, or even walk past the staggeringly long line of patiently (or not so patiently) waiting customers, walk up to the counter, and start firing off their name and birthday. Or they're just so wrapped up in the world of Me, Myself, and I, that they just don't give a shit about anyone else. In which case, fuck 'em all. Usually pointing out the line emits embarrassment, but in the case of "I refuse to take the blame even when it's humping my leg or peeing its name into my shirt", I usually just let the crowd of angry line-waiters have their own say. And by the way, my long line of regulars isn't going to pardon your rudeness because you are "Not getting a prescription, just want to ring out two bottles of cough syrup." Having a line-cutter try to cut line when one of my "I-take-shit-from-NO-ONE" regulars? Pure, gold entertainment. And to the people who see me loudly call 'NEXT!' while making eye contact with, imagine this, the next person in line, stare at said person, and then shove out in front of them to 'ask me a question', well, there is a special place in Idiot Hell for you.

Respecting our elders

I try to do this, I really do. But as I told Flower, an older technician "They make it SO. HARD. Sometimes. She was sympathetic with my plight, being in the same boat, as it were. Our newest technician, hired in October to replace Student, whom I shall refer to as Strawberry, just thinks that these were mean-spirited, hateful people their whole life, and that it doesn't have much to do with age. Either way, I have told my closest friends that in the case, heaven forbid, I become a nasty, disrespectful, hateful old hag, they not only have my full and complete permission to kill me, they have my ORDER to do so. Spectacularly. Like putting explosives on my wheelchair and pushing it off a cliff so that my withered carcass becomes a spectacular fireworks display halfway down it's plummet into the Grand Canyon. Some examples of instances that triggered these conversations -

Old Man: "You don't have any children's Tylenol on the shelf."

Shiny: "I'm sorry sir, but if it's not on the shelf, we're probably temporarily out of stock."

OM: "Awww, this Goddamn place isn't worth anything. Can't do a shit *garblemarblegrumple*"

Yeah, because it's entirely the fault of the person behind the counter, so that person therefore deserves to be subjected to your dirty mouth and general disgust with events in life that don't revolve aaaaallll around you and your needs. There was a demand for the product. Other customers bought it before you did. I can't pull down my pants and push a bottle of Children's Tylenol out of my sphincter. I hope you got a flat tire on the way home and no one stopped to help you. *

* This would be a good time to note that my cynical side is about to come out in a horrible way. I hope you don't think less of me.

Let's go back to a couple months ago. Christmas is fast approaching and it's the pharmacy manager's birthday. He was unlucky enough to be scheduled a 13+ hour shift that day. As the only pharmacist on duty. An incredibly aged woman has ordered an inhaler to be refilled and is very impatient, as she's riding on the senior bus and is afraid it will leave without her. Of course, instead of ordering the medicine as soon as she got to the store, she shopped around for a while and then came to see us, assuming it would be done in five minutes, lickety-split. Oh, we're also trying to close for a half-hour lunch, which is required when only one pharmacist is working. She's sitting on the bench. And then in line. And then sitting, and then in line again, constantly asking if it's done yet and reminding my poor boss that she's going to miss the bus if he doesn't hurry up. God bless him, he has the patience of a saint and never looses his cool once. Once her confounded inhaler has finally been stickered and processed by a tech, it's in my boss's hands for the final step. She demands I ring her up. I say I can't, because I don't have the prescription, the Rph does and he hasn't printed a barcode yet. She then yells over the counter at him to just hand her the inhaler in the packaging. He says he can't do that. She says she's going to miss the bus. BTW, the bus is NOT going to leave without her stupid ass. We finally have the flipping rescue inhaler, it's scanned out of the system, rung up at the register and . . . .

Wait for it . . .



.... she pulls out a checkbook. And fills out a check. Slowly. Asking at least four times what the total is. And then complains that she has to sign a screen.

Gods help me, but I hate checks and I wish we'd stop accepting them. But anyways, she finally left, leaving me feeling very ruffled as I duck under the gates, which are being lowered by Festus, another older tech. He's retired and works here to supplement his SS checks, but when it comes to difficult, rude old folks, he's my top bitching buddy. Maybe Strawberry is right, these people were always dicks and it's just exaggerated now because they're older and feel they've earned the right of passage to act like a spoiled child.

Then there's creepy UTI guy. I remember him from my Winn Dixie days, he'd always come in and ask to use the phone at the service desk, which he'd use to call the 800 number on some catalog and then bitch out the sales rep on the other end. I always wanted to call them back and apologize. Well, now he invades Volde-Mart. I call him UTI guy because one day he insisted on talking with Raj, asking him if Prilosec was good for UTIs. WTF . . . no. "He needs help" were the exact words of my aggravated Indian friend as he washed his hands. Twice. Yes, the customer in question really does give you that much of a skeevy feeling. Last weekend, he told me he needed 'acid reflux' medicine. Unsatisfied with me telling him the location, he insisted I had to go get it for him. I got absolutely no support from Raj, who has frankly had enough of him and refuses to deal with him at all if he can help it. So I go to the stomach aisle and get the med Raj said he needed. "No, that's not it" says creepy old man. I told him to show me which one it was and I could get it off the shelf (he's in an electric scooter) for him. He says I have to get it. After pulling three separate meds off the shelf and getting a response of "Nope, that's not it", I'm pissed off. I tell him just a moment, storm back to the pharmacy and explain to Raj what is happening, and we ended up just paging the poor floor associate. I felt so bad. But she said she's used to dealing with him. Seriously, though, you miserable, ungrateful, perverted old fuck. I am NOT your personal shopper and I'm not going to spend my valuable time showcasing our entire stock of antacids for you! There are people piling into line in my department that need me to actually do something productive for them. Please, either get help or go away.

Don't get me wrong, I understand old folks sometimes get lonely and visiting with the pharmacy staff is the only human interaction they get sometimes, but there is a huge difference between a chatty senior who wants to tell you all about their diabetic cat and THIS GUY, who just wants a personal female shopper. I hated him at Winn Dixie and I hate him now.

The mouths of babes

And now, the opposite end of the spectrum: Screaming children. Being childfree, I am constantly fighting against the assumption that I must hate children. I really don't, they're just not for me. At all. What I do hate, however, is the sound of a child's unrestrained caterwauling. There are a few exceptions in which I'll somewhat pardon this; a child might have an earache (been there, NO fun at all, little person. I understand), an infected tooth, or some other ailment, in which case we're more understanding about the noise and we all put in the effort to get that Rx out super-fast for everyone's benefit. But if you are shopping, or waiting, or eating at a restaurant, there is NO reason little Baby Junior Sonofabitch (Thank you, Peter Griffin!) is sitting there imitating a Ringwraith. We had one such angel doing that today, just a little in front of the Drop-Off window while Mommy stared blankly at the first aid aisle (Band-Aids are conFUSING!). I slipped out for the restroom, and on my way past the window, Strawberry snaps at me.

"Shiny. Psst, SHINY!"


"Will. You. Please. SMACK. That kid!"

This coming from someone who is a parent herself and whose favorite topic is her kids. I told her I'd do better, and push the shopping cart it was in halfway across the store. Her smile was gleeful and evil. Mine probably was, too. I didn't push the kid across the store, I rather like staying out of jail. It makes me feel like a superior person to all my friends on felony probation. *cough* But I bet if I DID push her across the store, she would have stopped squalling. At least for a few seconds. FYI, when I went halfway up the front of the store, into the bathroom, and into the stall, I could still hear this little shit wailing.

Impatience McPissy

Look, it's the first of the month. We're gonna be busy. When I checked around 4:30 this afternoon, we had already sold over 300 scripts. I don't know how many had been filled, only that the "Day 1" section of the bins wasn't filling as fast as normal, because people were picking up things as soon as they were finished. If I tell you I will keep an eye on your order, I really fucking mean it. Do not stare at me like an animal in a cage at the zoo. Do not look at your watch or phone and huff & puff. And most of all, do NOT keep getting back in line so that you are behind every third customer. Scratch that. Most of all, do not STAY in the damn line like you are waiting, making other people think that you are next and that I'm an unschooled dipshit for calling them up instead of you. Do not park your grocery cart in the line while you sit on the bench, either. While we're at it, do NOT pass Go. Do NOT collect $200!

"Is mine done yet? They told me it would be done in ten minutes, it's been 35 minutes. This is SOME BULL SHIT!"

Ohhh, look at you, Mr. Tough guy, saying big, grown up ugly-words. Pardon my bristling. "This is bullshit" is, in my experience, used by complete and total douchebags and is the Sucky Customer equivalent of "Thatz so gay!" or "FIRST!!!!"

Also, if I tell you at 11AM that your stuff will be done in 20 minutes, and you come back at 11:13 wanting to know why it's not done yet, fuck you. Today, as my customer was signing for an Rx containing Schedule II narcotics, I hear her mutter "You have got to be freaking kidding me." Not because she was having to sign for the script and then sign some more for the Sudafed she was purchasing, but because the customers at the next register were yelling and moaning about having to wait an hour. "I've been waiting six!" she says. I'm not sure how true that statement was, but being as she was getting a CII drug, those can be a hassle, and she might have been counting back from the time she was at the Dr to the time she actually had the meds in hand. Either way, when she picked up was the first time I'd seen or heard her all day, meaning she didn't piss and whine about it. She's a winner in my book, both for being polite AND for being disgusted with the person making a scene.


I hate selling pseudoephedrine products. Most of us do. We see a huge lot of them come in the order and groan. There's a limit to how much you can buy, and you have to present ID and everything, it's a pain in the ass. However, being cold,flu, and allergy season, The Cranky Pharmacist™ sees fit to make sure shittons of it is ordered so we can have some for the 'legitimate' patients who really do need it. I've sold a lot of the stuff to honest people. However, like cockroaches, the seedy people also seem to somehow know when I've gotten a shipment. I don't know how. Last year, we had a month or two long spell where we had NO pseudoephedrine products whatsoever. It was glorious. And the meth-heads left me alone. Now that they're back, so are the hordes of smelly, dirty, scabby, trembling people dressed way too warmly for 70 degrees slouching up to my counter asking for the stuff. What infuriates me is when the system denies the sale and they act all innocent, saying they haven't bought any in 6 months. Nice try, shithead. It's late afternoon rush, there are 7 people in line, and you've just wasted 5 minutes trying to buy something you KNEW you couldn't. You know what? There are too many people in the world. You spend your life cooking drugs and getting people addicted to them so you can make money. Do us all a favor and just blow yourself up. Really.


"Do you have any questions for the pharmacist today?"

*Customer glances up, sees Raj, wrinkles face* "No, we don't like talking to him".

*twitch* Fuck you. Fuck you very much, and the horse you rode in on. A simple "No" would have been sufficient.

Also, any answering of this question that is a variant of "Yeah, is he gunna pay for my stuff? Ah-h'yuck!" or "Yeah, ask him why it's so expensive!" makes me a little stabby. I've heard it so many times, and it was never funny to begin with. There have been a few occasions where I have seen one of my pharmacists use money from their own pocket to help a patient out, but these instances are few and far between. Really, if they paid for everyone's medicine, they'd be shit broke in no time, fancy salary or not. "Is he paying for my stuff" is right up there with "If it doesn't scan, that means it's free!" on my annoyance scale.

Don't leave wadded up gum wrappers, receipts, or various rubbish on our counters. We have a trash can and we'll happily dispose of this stuff if you only ask us.

How to fail at every possible level:

See two cash registers. One has a person (ta-da, ME!) standing behind it. The other has no cashier. It also has not one, but TWO signs posted on it. They both say "LANE CLOSED" in huge capital letters.

Pick the second register to stand at. Go back outside to ask someone if it's ok to spend $25 on insulin. Come back in.

Stand at the closed register again.

See me waiting on people who are coming to the correct area. Still insist on going to the one with the closed signs. There is no cashier there! Your almighty presence is not going to make everyone in the back of the pharmacy drop what they're doing to wait on your royal rear. Saying "But there was a long liiiiiine" doesn't make anyone feel bad for you. It makes us think you're stupid. And entitled. Standing at the empty register because you know that one of the people running round in the back is, in fact, a cashier won't work either. Shorty and I generally work out that one of us is in charge of watching the counter while the other puts the order away and will only stop working the order if the line gets too long. Again, in the back = NOT WORKING THE FUCKING COUNTER! So stop following us both around with your eyes, hoping we'll come rescue you.

It's not OK to smell like pee. Ever. Hear me? This is not acceptable. I can accept if you are poor. However, most people have or have access to running water. Even if you have no soap, for Eru's sake at least hop in there and rinse off. Remember to rinse your Special Places too, just like Mom taught us all. Also, your hands are covered with blood and dirt. This is yucky. I literally had to run to the sink and wash my hands after you left. Then grab paper towels and cleaner and disinfect the counter. And the stylus pens and debit pads. I noticed no one made their usual rush to my side of the counter and chose instead to wait for Shorty to take them. I could see relief in my customers' faces as I cleaned. Also, I had to take out the can of air freshener and spray that, because the smell of dirt and human urine hung around long after you left.

This is not cool. Not cool at all.

Phone Phunnies

Other Redhead got a call yesterday from a customer asking about the price of his medication. She told him that he could get a 30 day supply covered completely by his insurance, so it would be free to him, but the insurance wouldn't pay for a 90 day supply, so if he wanted 90, it would be a cash price of $10.

"But which one is cheaper? I just want the cheaper one."

. . . Wow. Let's see, which is cheaper, $0 or $10? Oh darn. It's too early in the morning for these kinds of math problems, boss. We're still laughing about it.

We also have a recurring caller, and for some reason poor Festus is the one who always answers. He says this guy tells him "Do you have Sudafed? Please tell me you have Sudafed. You see, I'm going to lose my job and my house and my kids if I don't get some." He called back again a week later, this time adding that his doctor told him to call us and ask about the Sudafed because again, if he doesn't get any, he will lose his house, his job, and his children.


Well, I think I've gone on long enough. Back to the Phunny Pharm tomorrow!

Sunday, January 15, 2012

What is this? Smells like piss, piss with ink!

A small side note to start with (I'm sure that's not proper, beginning with a side note, but . . . yeah) right after I finished the last entry, my Dad approached me solemnly to say he was concerned . . . about . . . ("Oh god", I think "He knows about my tattoo.")

But no. He was concerned about the music I was listening to, and the fact that I end up staying up half the night with my friends, because "Nothing good ever happens after midnight and I . . . I wonder if they're Christians." At this point I told him there was nothing to worry about and blew up at him, yelling that all the "Christian" friends I had treated me like dirt under their shoes and that I was tired of it. Then Mom, who had been in the shower came out and exploded as well because she's tired of him waiting until she's out of the room and then cornering us to preach like that. For a few minutes, I thought he might ask me to pack up and leave, but he didn't. In fact, he didn't speak to me again for nearly a day and then acted as if nothing had happened. This, my friends, is exactly why I can't live here with him.

Anyways, I'm not really concerned with that right now. I'll just keep my head down and start a savings account and keep working to fill it up.

Today I'm once again feeling I have serious issues with my friend from work, Dix. You know, the one who I keep having to help move. She and her husband finally got an apartment last week so now she wants me to come over all the time. Which is all good and well, I guess, except . . . it's disgusting. Mind, it wasn't when they first moved in, but it is now. Friday night I came in after I dropped her off from work, and as soon as the front door cracked open, I was hit with the overwhelming smell of cat piss and shit. This was a lingering smell at their old house, somewhat, but being that the apartment is very small, it's much, much worse here. It only got worse the further in I went. I opened the door to the laundry room where the cat and dog are kept when no one was home and quickly exited before I passed out from that acrid stench. She came in and noted that her husband must not have cleaned the litterbox and was pissed off at him. Even though it's her cat. She said she'd do it later.

LATER?! Seriously?!

She also thinks nothing of not washing one's hair for up to a week at a time, not brushing teeth at least daily, and skipping a shower every now and then, even if you have someplace to be.

Fast forward to yesterday. We were both off this weekend, and generally I wouldn't have minded helping them, if she'd given me notice. I took Mom and Charles out to Applebee's, accompanied by his gf and her very creepy mother whom I dislike very much. After that was grocery shopping at Volde-Mart, where I splurged and bought Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides. We were in the middle of watching said swashbuckler when I heard my phone ringing. Nope, not answering that. I knew who it was. I fired off a text asking why she called, and she just wanted to 'check if I was busy'. Yeah, as a matter of fact, I was busy at least for a couple of hours. With the boss giving me 40 hour weeks, I've had little time for R&R with Mom and Charles and we were all enjoying ourselves, thankyouverymuch. Later on in the evening, she asked me to come again. I asked if we were getting the couch out of storage. "No, just boring unpacking." FFS, I saw where this was going. I was going to go over there and a whole lot of fuck all was going to get done, but for some reason I got dressed and started driving over anyways. Get a few miles down the road, receive another text. "Just to warn you, the toilet has been backed up since yesterday so the house might stink. Sorry."

What the actual fuck, no. This was NOT how I was going to spend my Saturday night. I pulled over, texted back that I had a horrible onset of diarrhea while getting ready to leave, and that I wouldn't be able to leave the house. She may or may not have seen through that, but at this point I really don't care. WHO in their right mind thinks it's ok to ask someone to come over while sewage is stewing away in the toilet of a very small building? It probably still smells like unchanged catbox, too. I can only overlook so much, and I draw the line at literal SHIT. I just can't get over how incredibly disgusting that is. If there is something that exited an orifice, be it from animal or human, my opinion is that it should be cleaned up and/or flushed ASAP. Later that night I got a text letting me know that she was, in fact, lying in bed watching TV. I'm sorry, getting that toilet fixed or at least plunged would be my top priority, screw what I might want to sit and watch. And also proves that I would have gotten over there and done fuck all in the realm of unpacking. Just thinking about this makes me want to tie a handkerchief over my face and go nuts in MY house with my trusty little bleach/water spray bottle, and it's not even that bad.

I don't want to go over there anymore, at all. And she wants me over ALL the time now, because it's been so long since she had her own place and I guess she gets bored with her husband at work. But I just can't. I'm gonna have to pull some really awesome excuses out of my little white ass because I don't think I can be brutally honest enough to tell her that her house is a sty and that I find it revolting. And I certainly ain't having my birthday there, or asking Pippy to come over with me. He's always going on about how he hates people making a mess in his house, spends half his days off cleaning, and even burns scented candles. He'd be equally nauseated, methinks.

Then there's the issue of . . . food. Dix is very, very large. I'm not exaggerating, she is at least 350 pounds. At least. She has difficulty moving around, horrible arthritis, and is constantly losing balance and falling at work, leading to further injuries. And has no intentions of changing, always saying she proudly admits to being a 'fat girl who loves her food' and posting dumb pictures and quotes all over FB about how being fat is ok. I'm sorry, at this point, it is NOT ok if you lose your breath sweeping a small room. (which I tried doing for her, because it was at the room she was staying in at someone's house and she wouldn't leave until she cleaned it up even though they told her it was ok. I tried doing it for her to speed things up, because I was fucking TIRED OF WAITING, but she wouldn't let me! It must have taken over 20 minutes.) It's NOT ok if you are pulling muscles just giving yourself a shower and have the mobility of someone twice your age, no! At this point, her life is in danger. How does this relate to me? Well, like many people, I decided that I was going to treat my body a little better with the start of a new year, so I've been packing a lot of salads to eat on lunch break at work. Which she keeps trying to 'supplement' by buying bbq pork sandwiches and boiled eggs and slapping them down in front of me, saying I need more than 'bird and rabbit food' and that I don't need to change. I try not to complain about my weight in front of her since she makes two of me, but I really wanna ditch the sausage arms and muffin top that I loathe so much. Is that so bad? It's not the end of the world if I don't want to eat myself into a stupor every day to the point I can't properly function when I go back to work. I eat just enough to feel full and regain my energy, and I'm usually not hungry again at least until I go home. If she's comfortable being heavy, fine. But I'm not, and I wish she'd stop trying to change my eating habits back to the way they were.

I'm thinking it's once again time to distance myself from this person. It's clear that anyone who neglects themselves and their living area like that has issues, but she obviously has no intentions of changing and I can't participate or enable anymore. Enough is enough.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

I think I've discovered the polar opposite of "Empty Nest Syndrome"

And I do believe I shall dub it "Restless Little Birdy Syndrome", and I have a full-blown case of it. There are nights like tonight, during which I sincerely wish I was doing something more interesting and engaging than eating a salad and listening to film scores on YouTube. I do plan on changing this in the future, probably within the next year or so. You see, next winter, Dad will be able to retire and live off of a social security check every month, with maybe a small job on the side. Meaning he is going to be spending a lot, a lot of time at home. While I love both my parents dearly, I know that me continuing to live at home after he's retired would no doubt ultimately end in a sad falling out and be the end of our relationship. I can barely stand it when he comes home now. It saddens me to say that it's non-stop stress, literally from the moment he pulls up to the moment he drives away. Over Christmas, I offended him at least twice, just because of the shirts I was wearing. One said "Nice until proven naughty". No Dad, I do NOT wear that shirt to work, although I did see some people doing so and we were allowed to given that it was holiday related attire. Christmas Eve, I got dressed and went out to buy pizza for everyone because I thought a decent meal was called for, given my brother was up for the first time in over a year, and it was CHRISTMAS, (well, almost), and I don't think "a bowl of cereal or peanut butter and jelly" constitutes as a very nice way to celebrate. Blah. Anywho, I was wearing my Iron Man/AC/DC shirt and that earned me a lecture on how "hard rock" will control my mind. FFS! Then there are the weekends, like right now. What is the point of having so many weekends off work if I do nothing with them? I'm so, so very tired of spending every single Sunday (Oh my giddy God, Christmas was no fucking exception!) with old crime drama reruns playing from 1 in the afternoon past 8 at night.

I just can't live with old people anymore, I'm going to go bonkers right out of my poor mind. Mom is always sitting. Literally, sitting. I know she's in her sixties, but honestly, the TV goes on when I'm up getting ready for work, then she goes back to bed after I leave. Gets back up, turns on the Price Is Right, watches that, news, gameshows, and westerns until it's time to feed the horses. Comes right back in, sits down, and watches MORE TV until 11:30 at night. There are week old dirty dishes in the sink, the floor is covered with dog hair and Eru knows what else, and gravy from Christmas dinner is still in a brown, sticky, dried up mass on the stovetop. If she wants to live like this, fine. But it's not healthy. I come home at night and she announces to me that she 'rested' all day like it's something to be proud of. If dad calls and asks what she's doing, she screams "I'M RESTING!!! I'm TIIIIRRRREED!"

I hate it. This is what LifeScript and the glamour of being a stay at home Mom does to some people. Sick.

Anywho, I've been watching the local real estate. Egads, so much cheap, repossessed property if only I could afford it. However, I have this pesky auto loan to pay off. There is roughly $8,000 left on it and I hope to pay it off my this time next year. I've started putting extra on it, it's only $37 a month, but it's something. It helps that Tardy left because her pregnancy was complicated and delicate (Gee, didn't see that coming, ha!) and I've been getting a solid 40 hours a week, if not more. Once the truck payment is gone, I'll have $400 a month to dedicate to house payments, which probably won't even take that much because I've looked around and I can get one as cheap as $81 a month if I go for a repo.

Mentioned it this morning as I was browsing the foreclosures online yet again, and was met with Dad saying "Yeah, but you don't want to do that. You wouldn't like living alone." No, perhaps not all the time, but I can always visit. And I can have my friends over and not impose on him or Mom. Besides, I know that would be a disaster in the making, as my friends are rowdy, loud, raunchy, lacking slightly in manners, etc and so forth. They do know how to behave, but they're so much more fun to be around when they don't. Also I'd rather them not get home-grown sermons, because a large percentage of them are openly gay/bi or extremely supportive of LGBT. Then I wouldn't be sitting at home on a Sunday night like this, eating salad while the expanded score for At World's End makes love to me through the headphones.

NYE was a no go; I got invited both to V, an older tech's house, and to Tardy's place, but I declined both. (Dixie hadn't gotten the new place yet) I had to work the next day and wanted to sleep in my own bed. I also correctly foresaw myself not even making it up till midnight, for the first time since I can't remember when. And there was no way in hell I was going to Tardy's place anyways - these days she refuses to converse about anything unless it has to do with her, her husband, or her pregnancy, topics of which none I find remotely interesting considering how much she ran them into the ground at work. We're planning to make up for it soon, though. Dixie will have something at her house, be it this month, or maybe next for my birthday. There will be an abundance of alcohol and Volde-Mart employees, and it will be amazing. Pippy and his brother will naturally be invited, but oddly enough, the idea that they might not show up doesn't bother me much. There's also the possibility that Johnny will show up on his own, which tickles me as well. Gay, bi, whatever he is, he's a pretty sweet person. I think I'll keep him. Pip I've been 'meh' on as of late. He talks when he sees me, but he's getting very wild and evasive again, goes absolutely batshit crazy on his days off, and Friday when I saw him getting ready to clock out, he was with one of the girls from his department. He walked up, slammed into me and then said I still owe him cake, but that he doesn't want carrot cake anymore, he wants red velvet cake. Not a damn box cake, either. Or dirt pie, dirt pie would also work. He clocked out and kept muttering nonsense about dirt pie, oreos, and cream cheese with his coworker on his heels wearing a very puzzled, slightly worried expression. I think he might have been drunk at work again, or he was just in a really weird mood. BG: I "owe him cake" dates back to months ago when I wrote "Go Noles!!!!" in the dirt on the rear window of his van. He supports the 'Noles rival team, and didn't think it was very funny XD. Ever since then he's been asking for cake to make up for my horrible behavior.

Next weekend, perhaps, we'll do something fun. I am in need of a little liquid therapy, methinks. It's the first of the year, which means lots of insurance renewals, which is annoying because people forget and then present their new insurance cards at my cash register, then get pissed when I send them to the window. There are also the hordes coming to us from Walgreens, who for some reason has decided they will no longer accept Tricare insurance, as well as another popular insurance. Since the third, we have been yelled at, rushed, insulted and just plain overused and abused, and I've had enough of it. Some whiskey and rum will do us good, LOL. Dixie is moving into her new apartment this week, which is a relief in and of itself. I was so glad to get her out of that hellhole of a 'friend's' house she was in. It's a true sign of friendship to say "You have three hours to get out" five days before Christmas, no?

Anywho, that's all I have to say right now. I might tap out a post about work sometime this week. I'm excited and apprehensive about the possibility of moving out late this year or early next, but mostly excited. No more hiding, no more keeping secrets, and I can have my horrible, alcoholic, gay, drag queen friends over anytime I please.