tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16635094338761055472024-03-08T00:21:17.255-08:00Shiny Green AppleAll in a day's work . . .ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-60586978422413730402013-03-28T19:27:00.001-07:002013-03-28T19:27:21.772-07:00Where have all the good men gone?No, seriously. I'd kind of like to know. Because of all the ones I've met here, whether they be local or have moved from some other state or city, at least three- count 'em, THREE have been arrested, put in jail, have felony records, or all three. This isn't counting the females I know with similar criminal histories. Most of them actually are local. Everyone else is either married, gay, or emotionally stunted to the point where their lives revolved around online games. Or a severe fucked up combination of some sort.<br />
<br />
My spicy little hookup boy was taken from the store in handcuffs at the beginning of the month. He had sent over 2,000 (<i>thousand</i>) texts to an 11 year old girl he met online, most of which were explicit in nature and contained photos of his genitals. Needless to say, this bothered me just a little bit and culminated in spending that Friday night on Kenny and Johnny's couch, where we bitched and gossiped and Ken & I each put away most of the contents in each of our respective whiskey bottles. I also learned that our charming fucktarded former coworker has bedded at least two other employees, one of whom was a virgin until a month after she got involved with him. He dumped her the day after she gave it up. He's a goddamn sociopath, I can see it now. No feelings, none whatsoever. I've since gotten over it, but that was the worst roller coaster of unsorted churning emotions I think I've ever had the misfortune of experiencing. Disgust, slight shame, a little regret. I fooled around with a pedophile. I finally let myself off the hook, because it's not like I knew, and if I had, I wouldn't have done it.<br />
<br />
But what kind of hurts the most, is that it was yet another disappointment. Aaron charmed me. He got my sympathies, the butterflies in my stomach, and my naughty bits all going at once. And now I have to come to terms with the reality that it was all a very well-played act. That shy, awkward boy who was scared to talk to me for so long? Who nervously reached over to hold my hand and trembled when he finally did? He never existed. And that, friend, is what bothers me now. What I thought was someone worth giving a chance finally coming along was a soulless monster who wanted nothing more than to get as deep into my pants and my mind as he could for the soul purpose of fucking everything over. Literally and figuratively. It frightens me that people like this exist and that they're so very good at what they do.<br />
<br />
And so now I am paranoid. What if I attract another one and fall for him? I do count myself fortunate that I never really had feelings invested in Aaron - he scared me too much, for one. But he was young and inexperienced and if he isn't imprisoned or killed by the time he's 30, he'll have reached expert level. A close friend of mine was married to someone like this for over six years and had two children with him. She was lucky. She got away, he lost total interest in her and the kids both, and she met someone else and moved here. But still . . .<br />
<br />
And then there's the issue of the not-so-available single guys. So and so is carrying a huge torch for me? Oh really? I guess it should have been painfully obvious by the way he never talks to me or almost brushes me off when I say hi. Seriously dude, you're 30. Pull your face out of WoW and MtG and be a man, because I'm sure as hell not chasing you. I made the mistake of chasing once. For two years. It won't happen again. Then there's my long-distance friend. I've known him online for over ten years, probably longer. About six years ago, he admitted to having feelings for me, but for whatever reason, I flaked and we never met. However, we still talk and remain pretty good friends. I'm also certain he still likes me, but will always insist that <i>I </i>come to visit and not the other way round. Actually he more like insinuates I come <i>live, </i>but I don't want either of us uprooting and moving until, um, you know, we know for sure this thing will work? Yeah. He literally lives on the opposite end of the country. Northwest, WAY northwest. He hinted around that I come on a cruise with him this fall (he works for a cruise line), but again, I don't know. I'm terrified now of more potential creepers. Aaron never wanted to come to me. Or with me anyplace. He always wanted me to come to him. My issue being, if this guy is so interested and thinks we're such a good match, he can uproot for a visit and bring his ass to me. Yes, to hot, humid, sticky sweaty fucked up Florida. I doubt if he's another Aaron, but still, is it so bad of me to want to meet him in my territory, so to speak? To let my friends and family figuratively sniff him over to see if their 'weirdo' alerts go off? Especially my one friend, Peachy. She's the first one who started having misgivings about Aaron, even before I did, and told me in no uncertain terms to ditch him and meet the other fish in the sea. How right she was, and even she didn't know exactly how dark he really would turn out to be.<br />
<br />
Or why couldn't I . . . you know, just find someone without taking some insane flight/ocean/road trip? Can't there be <i>one </i>decent person in this messed up little hick city? I don't want a hero and I don't need a white knight. Just a companion. Just someone to be with. To hold, to talk to, to make out with. I try not to be angry with God, but it's so hard. When I was younger, I did everything a good little Christian girl should. I prayed, I went to church, I read my Bible. I didn't smoke or drink or swear or date boys who did. I actually had it set in my mind that I would marry one of those sons of a deacon or pastor and have lots of little baptist kids with him, and I was happy with that idea. But I wasn't good enough for them. I didn't wear the right clothes, or put on enough makeup, or have a college education (Why go to college for six years to stay at home and raise babies?!) And so while they went on to higher education and eventually got married, I fell off the wagon and started to enjoy the secular life and discovered a whole new side of myself, the real me. To this day I still maintain my super-sensitive, bleeding heart, I'm just less naive. And still I waited. I asked God to send me a companion, a good man. He sent me Kenny and I fell in love. But Kenny turned out to be in love with Johnny and too insecure and ashamed to admit it to the world. It was almost three years before he finally stopped pretending around me, and it was a relief last time I stayed with them that he actually went to bed in their bedroom instead of sleeping in the living room with me. But I loved them both, so I accepted that I learned something from the whole thing and I gained at least a somewhat loyal friend in that dumb bisexual redneck. So again, I asked God to send me someone.<br />
<br />
He sent me a sociopath.<br />
<br />
At least with Kenny I learned that I could move on and love other people. And that no matter how much of a dick he is, I will probably always love him even if I can't be with him. All in all it was still a positive experience. But what the hell, God? A sociopath who is sexually attracted to children? What could I possibly learn or gain from this? All it's done thus far is cause me to mistrust people and view every strange man I see or meet or wait on as a possible creep.<br />
<br />
And still I wait . . .ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-80937177754576079412013-01-15T16:07:00.003-08:002013-01-15T16:07:45.924-08:00Simply smiling because it happenedAlas, dear Leonard, I barely knew ye.<br />
<br />
I am sorry things didn't work out, since he was such a perfect, geeky fit. But . . . gah. Red flags. Mainly, the fact that he wanted to have sex with me, which I was actually ok with, if he 'wrapped it up'. Next thing I know, he'd flopped down beside me and was pouting.<br />
<br />
<i>"I don't feel like wrapping it up" </i>he said. <i>"That just sounds like too much work. See, if I stop to do that, I won't stay hard, and it's just so much work, trying to put the condom on and not let it go soft, I lose my concentration."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"I told you before, I DON'T want your babies."</i><br />
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He fed me some story about how pulling out has 'served him well for many years'. HAHAHAHAHAAA . . .<br />
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So we made do with what we'd been doing, but I can't pretend there wasn't tension after that, and not the good kind. Either way we didn't fight, but since that night he's been notably less risque in conversation and at some points has gotten downright weird and disturbing. Earlier this week he told me he was an evil person, so I asked why. </div>
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"I have a Nazi flag"</div>
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Holy shit. Ok, ever killed anyone?</div>
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"No."</div>
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Raped anyone?</div>
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"Not totally."</div>
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What the FUCK?! How do you 'not totally' rape someone. Ultimately I told him there's nothing wrong with having a dark side, since most of us do, as long as you don't let it take over you and go wild with it. The response?</div>
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<i>"One day I will."</i></div>
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It's entirely possible I carried on a sexual relationship with a mentally unhinged person. Or maybe he was deliberately trying to scare me. Either way, I think we're done here, sadly. We still talk on occasion, but he doesn't give me anymore booty calls or even hint he'd like to get together for any reason now. I'm sorry he feels the way he does and I hope he gets help someday. I'm also a little uneasy I spent so many hours locked in a room with him with so many knives and swords laying about. Sometimes he seems pretty normal. But this. . . yeah, it's going nowhere, and I think it's best I distance myself from him at this point. </div>
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Regardless, as Elizabeth Swann would say "I'm not sorry." If nothing else, this was an ego boost. I <i>am </i>desirable, enough for this guy to persist after me for months on end before finally admitting I gave him the tinglies in his nether regions. It helped me massively to get over Kenny and to realize what a selfish dick he's always been. Crazy or not, Leonard made the friendly neighborhood Produce Guy look like an enormous turd. Not to mention, well . . . I've been wanting for a long time now just to grab someone and make out with them like there's no tomorrow. To fitfully peel clothes off and fling them wrecklessly wherever they might go. It was the sexual release I've been craving for several years, but couldn't find. And I picked up a few new skill sets, if you know what I mean *wink wink* for the person who will ultimately matter.</div>
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I can at least say with confidence, I would have regretted <i>not </i>taking the leap.</div>
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ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-917471096699748882012-12-24T18:56:00.004-08:002012-12-24T19:03:07.104-08:00 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.<br />
<br />
It's all so shameful, so horrible. Or it <i>should </i>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.<br />
<br />
And she would not have gone back again.<br />
<br />
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 <i>really </i>nice. That's not to say the other thing was forgotten. <i>Hardly.</i> 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<i> </i>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 <i>not </i>disgusting and that he really does want . . . <i>this. </i> Enough to where, well, that thing he's been wanting to do with his tongue for all these months? <i>That</i>. 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.<br />
<br />
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>'I know what you're thinking about me.' </i>The way he just lies there and <i>stares </i>into my eyes forever before leaning over to nuzzle my face or kiss my head.<br />
<br />
. . . 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.<br />
<br />
I sincerely hope and pray that one or both of us exhibits a little control over ourselves, or that the condom doesn't break . . .ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-17748010261617323912012-12-11T07:10:00.001-08:002012-12-11T07:10:21.633-08:00A 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 <i>is </i>randy 24/7, he wants more. I must have gotten to his place around 3 in the afternoon on Sunday.<br />
<br />
It was close to midnight before I left.<br />
<br />
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 <i>everything </i>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? <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Yes. </span>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 . . ."<br />
<br />
Sometimes I'm afraid I'll wake up and realize it didn't happen.I actually <i>do </i>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.ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-20473485530115518822012-12-08T15:32:00.002-08:002012-12-08T15:32:48.493-08:00See you blowin' me a kiss/It doesn't take a scientist/To understand what's goin' on, babyA 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 <i>The Big Bang Theory</i>, 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 <i>so </i>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.<br />
<br />
Truth be told, I really <i>wanted </i>to go over when he asked me Thursday night, and not just because I'm dying to see <i>The Dark Knight Rises </i>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 <i>terrified</i>. 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?<br />
<br />
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."<br />
<br />
I have slept in the same bed with this person.<br />
<br />
Sat with my arm around him and listened to him tell me about the time his sister almost disowned him.<br />
<br />
Been his designated driver.<br />
<br />
Let him know that I love him and am always there if he needs anything.<br />
<br />
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 . . . <i>why</i>? 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):<br />
<br />
"The farts im havin are contractions for the terds Im fixing to have."<br />
<br />
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 <i>sucks</i>. I don't even bother inviting him to anything anymore.<br />
<br />
And then there's Lab Rat, whom shall be referred to as such until a later time. What's on his feed?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
On Kenny's feed?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>does </i>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 <i>afraid </i>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 <i>speak</i>, 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 <i>suck</i>, 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.ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-34848272101660522272012-10-28T13:59:00.000-07:002012-10-28T13:59:06.058-07:00Riding in cars with boysOk, 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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>'To hell with it!' , </i>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.<br />
<br />
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.ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-84839504458133697482012-10-15T22:00:00.000-07:002012-10-15T22:00:17.639-07:00I Feel Sullied and Unusual<br />
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And I . . . kind of like it?
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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 <i>me </i>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.
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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.
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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 <i>soooo
</i>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 <i>am </i>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 <i>tried
</i>to
put lipstick on him – he wound up running halfway across a pub
parking lot, and this was with him moderately smashed.
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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</div>
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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.
</div>
ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-71121651764911148502012-07-13T21:02:00.002-07:002012-07-13T21:02:58.719-07:00Wherein I Question The Existence of GodJust what it says on the label, folks.<br />
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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 <i>dumb </i>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).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>me</i>? Granted, I'm not really happy about the three days work missed, either. When you work where I do, three days really HURTS.<br />
<br />
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."<br />
<br />
Although, something tells me that if I <i>really </i>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 . . .ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-80083366896336602472012-05-28T21:14:00.000-07:002012-05-28T21:14:10.201-07:00The 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 <i>so </i>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 <i>over</i>-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.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>after </i>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 <i>wishes </i>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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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, <i>anything</i>, 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. </div>ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-29455575815871889912012-05-07T12:54:00.004-07:002012-05-07T12:54:58.195-07:00So by the time the bar closes/and you feel like falling down/I'll carry you home tonightWherein 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.<br />
<br />
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 -<br />
<br />
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. <i>Ever</i>. 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, <i>really </i>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, <i>all </i>the time. For it not to be a <i>guilty </i>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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I just wish I could work out what the hell I did last night and why.ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-79885180000611169902012-03-21T09:10:00.003-07:002012-03-21T09:43:56.517-07:00Our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up<span><span style="font-size: 100%;">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. </span></span><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">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 <i>fifty times</i> for various offenses. After stabbing Sgt. Thomas, he struck another officer in the head with a heavy item hidden in a sock. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">This is my opinion, and I don't really care if it upsets anyone: </div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">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 un</span>necessary<span style="font-size: 100%;">. 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 <i>chance</i>. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">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 </span><i style="font-size: 100%; ">lifetime</i><span style="font-size: 100%;">, well, bullshit. Bullets are cheap. </span>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. </span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">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. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">I didn't know you, Sergeant Thomas, but I pray that justice will be done, for you, and countless others. </span></span></div>ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-21727958341863701062012-02-15T18:48:00.005-08:002012-02-15T21:07:59.205-08:00Don't be a drag, just be a queenMy 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. <div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Haha, you might wanna wash that with some bleach when you get home, might be sticky."<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>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 . . .</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>currently </i>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>^ That last sentence reads all kinds of wrong out of context. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm a sick woman. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i><span style="font-style: normal;">really </span></i>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 "<i>Lick </i>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>wants </i>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>What a strange commentary on today's world. </div><div><br /></div><div>Either way, anywho, best birthday EVAR. For now. Who knows what the next one will bring. </div>ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-46299558015372785392012-02-03T22:12:00.001-08:002012-02-15T18:42:45.556-08:00Unexpected twitterpationEDIT: 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.ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-56470742913946197072012-02-01T19:03:00.000-08:002012-02-01T20:45:57.922-08:00Some 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. <div><br /></div><div><b>What are you, six?</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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 <i>them</i>. 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. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Respecting our elders</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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 - </div><div><br /></div><div>Old Man: "You don't have any children's Tylenol on the shelf."</div><div><br /></div><div>Shiny: "I'm sorry sir, but if it's not on the shelf, we're probably temporarily out of stock."</div><div><br /></div><div>OM: "Awww, this Goddamn place isn't worth anything. Can't do a shit *garblemarblegrumple*"</div><div><br /></div><div>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. *</div><div><br /></div><div>* 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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 . . . .</div><div><br /></div><div>Wait for it . . .</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>..... </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>.... 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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>The mouths of babes</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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 <i>do </i>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Shiny. <i>Psst, SHINY!" </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>"?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Will. You. Please. SMACK. That kid!"</div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>still </i>hear this little shit wailing. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Impatience McPissy</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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! </div><div><br /></div><div>"Is mine done yet? They told me it would be done in ten minutes, it's been 35 minutes. This is SOME BULL SHIT!"</div><div><br /></div><div>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!!!!" </div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>got </i>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 <i>six!</i>" 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. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Sudafools</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Randomz</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>"Do you have any questions for the pharmacist today?"</div><div><br /></div><div>*Customer glances up, sees Raj, wrinkles face* "No, we don't like talking to <i>him</i>". </div><div><br /></div><div>*twitch* Fuck you. Fuck you very much, and the horse you rode in on. A simple "No" would have been sufficient. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>everyone's </i>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>How to fail at every possible level:</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>Stand at the closed register again.</div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>know </i>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is not cool. Not cool at all. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Phone Phunnies</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>"But which one is cheaper? I just want the cheaper one."</div><div><br /></div><div> . . . 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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>Wat. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, I think I've gone on long enough. Back to the Phunny Pharm tomorrow! </div>ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-60865002953254281052012-01-15T13:46:00.000-08:002012-01-15T14:33:19.818-08:00What 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.")<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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 <span style="font-style:italic;">finally</span> 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. <br /><br />LATER?! Seriously?!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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."<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-27242150664969742762012-01-08T16:18:00.000-08:002012-01-08T17:09:34.774-08:00I 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 <span style="font-style:italic;">lot</span> 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. <br /><br />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!" <br /><br />I hate it. This is what LifeScript and the glamour of being a stay at home Mom does to some people. Sick. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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 <span style="font-style:italic;">how</span> 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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-55019203169601174492011-12-17T19:07:00.000-08:002011-12-17T20:29:31.065-08:00I don't want a lot for Christmas/There's just one thing I need/I don't care about the presents/Underneath the Christmas treeWhen I really look at myself, I often find regret not so much in things that I've done, as in things I <i>haven't</i>. Warning: typical sap and such ahead, and sorry I'm not done with this after . . . gosh, almost two years, but it is nice to lay out my thoughts, and I appreciate any of you who do read this blog and all my blatherings, I really do :)<br /><br />Every time that Mariah Carey song comes on, I feel a little giddy inside. Giddy, accompanied by an ache somewhere inside that grows stronger all the time. Last week about this time, I was next door, probably halfway through my third drink and getting snookered enough to become a form of entertainment for those who knew me as "That quiet, shy girl from the pharmacy. Such a good girl." Although I am happy to report that everyone is still talking to me, so I apparently didn't make too much of a spectacle out of myself. Proof that I'm still a little paranoid and a little more loosening up probably wouldn't hurt me. <br /><br />I kind of stayed a little glued to Pip that evening, and I kept putting my arms around him. Granted, yes, I was drunk, but I wasn't doing it because I was drunk so much as I <i>knew I could get away with it</i> because I was drunk. While it felt good to be completely at ease and uninhibited to stare a little longer than was normally comfortable, to put my arms around his neck and pull him a little closer than friends probably should be, I would do the same sober in a heartbeat. Funny how just a few moments can stick in your head and drive you absolutely mad. He was leaving, it was 11:30, he was due to swipe at the time clock at 5AM, and he had all that whiskey to sleep off in the short hours between. But I wasn't letting him go just yet . . . I hit the camera button on my phone, handed it to Dixie, and attempted my ridiculous licking of his face shenanigan. Well, she was sitting and we were standing, she was too inhibited to even work the camera properly (she has the same phone!) and I got tired of hanging my tongue out so I just pulled him close instead while she tried to sort motor skills out. I'm not sure when I put my head in the curve of his neck and rested against his shoulder, but heavens, it felt wonderful, and his arm was around me, and he smelled positively intoxicating, as always, and it was with more than a bit of sadness that Dix finally got some decent pictures of us and I felt his hand slipping down and away from me. In those few moments as we were giggling at our friend's inability to perform a simple task and I kept squeezing him so that our faces pressed together and I could glance down and see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed . . . I've almost never been quite so content. And then it was over, and his brother was reaching out for hugs of his own, and then they were gone. <br /><br />At first it was nice just to keep reliving those moments, but now I'm kicking myself for not doing more, the crowd of people be damned. I was <i>right</i> there, it would have been so easy to just turn my head and kiss his neck. There was the time he was beside me on the porch, and for reasons I forget now, he said "Bite me, Charlie!" Charlie . . . it's a nickname. Anyways, I should have bitten him just for the hell of it. Or held that ornery stare for just a little bit longer and see what would have happened. I was doing exactly what I wanted, when I wanted, and it was <i>so</i> easy. I think that like me, he was just drunk enough to know exactly what was going on and not care, and I think I could have done or tried anything with him in that state. And if this ever happens again, I plan to take advantage of him. Is that shameful of me? It only seems that way because if you swapped me for him, and it was Pip saying he wanted to take advantage of a drunk woman, people would frown upon it. <br /><br />In my head, I see him being very affectionate and giving and sweet if I had tried what I feel I really should have. Honestly? It could all be completely physical and just as meaningless. But you know what? For the most part, I can accept that for what it is, and I just don't care. Would I like to be able to call him up or drop in on him whenever I felt like it, just to have someone to talk to or hold? Hells yes. But I also know that I finally feel like I'm ready to lose the V-card (pardon my lack of a better term!), and I feel right about it happening with him, whether it leads to a relationship or not.<br /><br />I saw him yesterday at work and he says that either Dixie or myself have to take him to Moe's next week. I told him to let me know, and he's been pretty silent on the matter, like he's done before. He's such a strange creature, getting so friendly and then dropping off the face of the earth. Maybe he gets cold feet, or he just wants me to chase him, the latter of which grows very frustrating after a while. <br /><br />Oh well. There's always New Year's, and a party is already in the works, and a good friend is once again making promises to get him there come do or die and shove us in a dark corner.ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-69512219897953925142011-12-11T15:21:00.000-08:002011-12-11T18:20:23.716-08:00Excuse me, I might drink a little more than I should tonight. . . which sometimes is not necessarily a bad thing. It was a really great weekend, I must say. One of the coolest people in the store also happens to live on the property right next to us, and to amend for the fact that she didn't have a Halloween party this year, she had a Nightmare Before Christmas party last night. Just like a regular adult-oriented Christmas party, only you show up in costume. My vampire fangs got the exact reactions I wanted, even if they didn't stay in after I'd have a few drinks and I had to pop them out and put them in the truck. But by that time . . . everyone was too wasted to notice or care much. It was an interesting night before it even started, honestly. <div><br /></div><div><ul><li>Pick up Dixie on the other side of town because her husband is Peter Griffin and forgot to.</li><li>Upon arrival, learn that she took a hit off an enormous bong minutes before I got there and is high out of her freaking mind.</li><li>Stop at liquor store</li><li>Go to drive through to get sustenance for friend on weed high. </li><li>Exit driveway and park to give directions to the guy in maintenance, the one who looks like a leprechaun, and the huge guy in unloading. </li><li>Receive text from Produce Guy who is about three miles away from the house and has no idea where to go next. </li><li>Proceed to play phone tag with him because his phone keeps dropping calls right when I'm trying to tell him where to go. </li><li>Arrive at house, get yet another call from Pippy and tell him to stay where he's at so I can come let him follow me. </li><li>That awkward moment when we're all finally there and he blows out of the ghetto van, says he needs to use the front of my truck, and proceeds to pee in Carla's front yard. For several minutes. </li></ul><div><br /></div></div><div>I mean geez, she would have let him use the bathroom inside. Or he could have gone into the gas station where we rescued him. But then again, he'd apparently been 'pre-partying' while getting dressed and was already a few sheets to the wind, which would explain why his poor brother was already playing DD. Regardless, you know I've wanted to have alcohol and fun with him for a long time now, and I can say that while things started out a little slow, it was every bit as fun as I thought it would be. Not to mention it seemed like half the store showed up, too. Hugs from everyone! It was amazing. I've never had particularly friendly feelings for the leprechaun in maintenance, but I can't not like him anymore, I just can't. He puts on icy blue contacts and hugs me and calls me Charlie. </div><div><br /></div><div>I really hadn't planned to have more than a few drinks, but well, sometimes things don't work out the way we mean them to and to put it bluntly, friends, I got slizzard. I have no idea what the fuck was in that orange Bacardi Rum Runner stuff but it slayed me. My judgement also told me there was nothing wrong with taking a big drink out of Pippy's cup when he offered it, which turned out to be whiskey and diet Coke O_o Dixie was the only one there who'd seen me that way before, and a lot of people just saw a whole new side to me, LOL! I kind of had a cloud of shame floating over me when I woke up this morning, but apparently last night ruled. No, I didn't sleep with anyone. There are, however, an alarming number of pictures circulating Facebook in which my arms are shamelessly locked around Pippy or his brother. What? His brother is a sweetheart, and besides that, OMFG, he snuggles when you hug him! No one can hate that. I hung all over a lot of people, male and female, but yeah, the ones of Pip were most photographed. I nearly licked him, too. Looking back, I really wish I had, it's not like he was pulling away or anything - I think I could have done any number of inappropriate things to him and he wouldn't have cared much. Ah, bless, I'm such an opportunist. Although I'm still trying to remember why we got into a shoving match while laughing at each other. Sadly, he had to leave after a few hours, since he had work at 5AM, suck. He missed me, Dixie, and Brian singing along with "Someone Like You" at the top of our lungs before leprechaun ran inside with his fingers in his ears begging us to stop. Also Brian was dressed like a woman - I don't think I've been to a party this year so far that didn't involve at least one gay/bisexual man dressed in drag. </div><div><br /></div><div>And since it was right next door, I was just able to walk out and go home when I wanted to - on one hand Mom's asked me not to come home late anymore, and also not to come home drunk EVER, but it would have been dumb to stay next door. Thankfully she was already in bed with the lights out and after a quick exchange and her expressing genuine surprise that Flaky McFlakerson actually showed up, I chugged some water and went to bed. Woke up feeling woozy and crappy and thought for sure she'd be onto me, especially since I almost never shower first thing in the morning if I'm not working, but nah. I feel a little guilty but also relieved. It seems as if she honestly has no idea, especially after she expressed disapproval when she found out Pip brought whiskey and then went on to ask me if Ogre drinks at all and if I can't find someone who doesn't do that. Pip's such an ornery drunk though, and I love it. Not that I expect to really go anywhere with him, relationship-wise, but he's still hella fun and I like being with him. </div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps next time, my dear friends, I really will pull him a little bit closer and lick his face . . .</div>ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-88246891814568451772011-08-16T18:53:00.000-07:002011-08-16T19:31:48.122-07:00I'm beginning to think that God has let me remain single for a very good reason. The more I get to know people, even people I like, going places, making plans, doing things with them . . . it really can be a big, aggravating hassle. Or maybe I just haven't met the right people yet. Last weekend = epic failure. I can't blame my nephew entirely, since he's legitimately sick, but I'm still angry that he couldn't be bothered to tell me he wasn't coming until I slammed on the wall and asked him. Saturday I'd talked to Ken and we'd settled on a time to meet and pick him up and everything, and then he's just all "No, not this time, I have stuff to do" in the morning. I really don't have words. I can't even blame the house arrest this time. It's glaringly obvious this time that he just doesn't like me that way, but it's also clear that he doesn't have the balls to just man up and tell me 'no'. And now I still have to wonder why he insisted on seeking me out and asking me to lunch last month, he's just so freaking weird. I was ranting a little about it at work this morning and mentioned it wasn't the first time this particular 'friend' had flaked out on me. S, the pharmacist filling in while the boss is gone, said "Well Shiny, I'd have to say if this happens that much, it kind of falls back on <i>you</i>." She wasn't saying it to be mean or snarky, but she was very right, and I do claim responsibility for part of this mess this time. "Shame on you <i>both</i>", says Dixie, referring to myself and the guy known as Frosted Flake. Him for being such an ass and me for constantly expecting different results from him. Dix says she'll go to the beach with me this weekend. Meh. She also said "You might pick up a zombie, but I'll be there!" Yeah, she's planning on going to a friend's house Friday night and getting shit-faced drunk. I've seen her on the morning after a night of getting pissed. Yeah, she's gonna be worthless till about three in the afternoon. Sorry, but no. I'm just gonna have to tell her I plan on leaving REALLY early in the morning Saturday and we can go another time. I'm not having a friend screw up my weekend plans yet again, no matter how well-meaning they might be. <div>
<br /></div><div>Truthfully, I <i>want </i>to go just by myself. Just to see what it's like, and let's face it, I know I can trust myself not to spoil my good time, if that makes sense. I won't flake out on me or decide I don't feel good in the middle of a fun day or constantly have to stop for a smoke or a rest. I might not want to jump up and leave the shore just because it's 6:50 and the changing rooms close at 7. I might want to watch the sunset with nothing but my own thoughts, or walk along the shore for however far without someone whining they're tired or bored and want to go back to the truck or get something to eat. I may not relish the idea of being alone, especially not for the rest of my life, but I've started to realize it's not as bad as I thought it was. People are just annoying, even if I do love them. While I was royally pissed off at Ken for doing what he did, AGAIN, I also was <i>not </i>looking forward to having to shop and pack up the truck and accommodate everyone, so amongst the angst and hurt feelings, I was also feeling relief. And then I did something I'm kind of ashamed of. I stayed in bed. All day. I didn't eat anything after breakfast until 7 that night. I quite literally stayed in bed all day because a man made me upset. I did take a break from the pity party to watch The Dark Crystal, which lifted my spirits, but still, oy. I had no motivation to do anything else, and the last thing I wanted to do was talk about it, which is all Mom seemed to be focused on every time I did show my face. Look Mum, I feel really stupid about this whole thing already without you dissecting every little detail, m'kay? Also I really can't agree with her about Kenny's brother. Apparently it was A-Ok for nephew to invite himself along, but she thought it was 'pathetic' when I said it was ok if Ken wanted to bring J. Because J is in his 40's, apparently that's what's so 'wrong' about that picture. Whatever. What I should have done that day is shrug off everyone and gone to the beach by my own damn self, but I'll know better next time. If I don't ask people, I can't be disappointed when they back out on me for no discernible reason. Maybe the solo life isn't so bad, and I'm going to seriously make an effort to try it out in the coming weeks. It may sound narcissistic, but I'm fine with being my own companion until I find someone who doesn't put a huge cramp in my style, and actually values my time and feelings. Everyone else can just go away. </div>ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-63982067799128333962011-08-09T16:55:00.000-07:002011-08-09T18:46:48.294-07:00You make me smile/please stay for a while nowAKA C'est la vie Part II. <div>
<br /></div><div>Halfway through another workweek. I miss the boss. Not that the lady who is helping fill in his shifts while he's gone is horrible or anything, I actually really like her, but yeah, there's something about having the boss there, laid back, understanding, and all around a great guy. Even if he can't talk an octave below bellowing to save his life. I swear, you can hear him across the store. Well, we miss him and without him around, it makes it incredibly difficult to keep him up to tabs on Tardy's increasingly bad work ethics, or lack thereof. Hopefully it'll only be a few more weeks and we'll have him back. I'm bummed that Student tech will be leaving us in less than two weeks. She's forever cutting up with ridiculous statements and sometimes thinly veiled (but funny and true) insults. I'm also curious and slightly nervous at the prospect of her replacement. From what I understand, Raj's friend is almost a lock for the job, sounds like he's Indian, too. But then again I trust Raj, and if it's someone he thinks will be a good fit with the team, I shouldn't worry too much. And then I wonder if Tardy will throw a fit about the newbie 'stealing' her job like she does about the other guy. Then poor boss will have to hire another cashier, too. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Tardy's wedding is the third, and while I've told her I'll be there and I'm gonna mail back the RSVP, I really think I'm going to be 'unfortunately sick' that weekend. The number of times I've been begged to work on my day off, or she took a 90 minute lunch, showed up late, left early, or left me with a line of people while she chatted with her future mother in law or someone else about wedding plans has put me off of it, quite frankly. Is that too bitchy of a thing for me to do? Backing out due to illness just seems like it'd be a lot less trouble than explaining to her that I outright don't want to go and the drama it would cause. She's even changed it so that there's going to be a fancy sit down dinner afterwards, and I . . . I just don't do formal dinners very well at all, I don't care who is there. I've thought about asking if it's ok for me to bring a date and then go beg Ken to suffer through it with me, but I figure why put him through that as well. He'll think I'm nuts. I'll just invite myself over and share enough drinks with him to the point I really am unable to go anywhere. XD Nah . . . I'll just say I'm sick. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Truth be told, I'm not sure I'd be able to invite myself over to Ken's even if I felt we were 'tight' enough to do that. Like Dixie, my produce guy is also homeless for the time being. There's a slight bit of humor to be found, due to vague internet updates, and misleading comments from other friends. "Gonna be big changes and good ones in my life", you see, followed by "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you with the transition" led me to believe he was coming out of the closet on us. I really and truly thought he was gay for a day or two, and figured that was the reason we clicked so well. I do <3 my gay friends to death, but I kind of panicked a little at the thought of him playing for the other team, and then I subsequently felt bad about that. But a simple 'I have no idea what's going on but I'm always here for you' was adequate enough to get him to spill that he'd gotten into it with his Dad and sister and decided it was time for him and J to move out until they can get court orders to get the house back. What a mess. In the meanwhile they're living in a motel room. Oddly enough, they both seem happier than I've ever seen them when they were living at 'home'. Although I imagine paying for the room is gonna get awfully pricey after a while . . . </div><div>
<br /></div><div>I have to admit though, the unrest that the possible "Frosted Flake is gay" thing caused me made me realize that I still have strong feelings for him. Fuck. If he was only my friend, the idea that he might not be into women as much as he once was shouldn't bother me. I've decided that when the opportune moment presents itself, I'm just going to go in for the kill. He may respond in a good way, or he may never speak to me again. Either way, it might just be worth it if only to have an answer. He needs to check his schedule for the weekend, but if he's not working we both agreed I'm going to scoop him up and spend at least a day in St. Augustine. I'll give him a poke if he hasn't got an answer by Thursday, but at least he didn't outright say no. There was a storyline on <i>House M.D. </i>for a while involving Chase's pursuit of Cameron. She kept telling him no, but he insisted on reserving Tuesday for waiting until they were alone to remind her that he liked her and would like to try a relationship with her. Corny, but hell, the writers had to get that from somewhere. I think I'll model Dr. Chase for a while, if not quite in such a forward manner - I'm just gonna keep asking this guy out until he tries at least once, goes away, or I find someone else. It's not like it'll do any major harm. In the meanwhile I'll just try not to get my hopes up too much. Although the idea of spending a two hour one-way drive plus the time on the beach, restaurants and possibly motel room alone with him is kind of terrifying. What if we run out of things to talk about? What if he doesn't take me 'going in for the kill' very well and then I'm stuck driving him home for two hours? OMG . . . Oh well. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>As for my other homeless friend, Dix and I are ok again, I guess. She's stopped being so possessive and weird, although I'm still convinced she married a manchild and has some growing up to do, herself. Oddly enough she's not at all peeved or surprised that I've re-lit the torch for this whiskey soaked brat, either, and thinks my 'just grab him and find out what happens' idea is brilliant. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>My nephew came back last Friday, too. I was originally gonna get him on the 20th. Then it was "I can't take this anymore, I need you to come get me this Saturday." Then I was gonna get him Friday night since I got off early, and then my Dad just said forget it and dropped off the truck when he went back to work Friday morning and kid drove himself home. He's not really clingy or showing signs of being thrilled at being back, other than asking for pizza and Mountain Dew and chocolate ice cream on his Friday, but he was calling the house four times a day while he was gone. He'd ring my cell at 8 or 9 in the morning and talk for an hour, it was ridiculous and I felt really bad for him. I took him to Deathly Hallows part II on Friday night and that was fun. Alan Rickman, you break my heart, you really do. So it's life back to normal, or at least the way it was before Nephew left in the first place, although I really must admit, it's really nice having someone a little close to my age in the house again. Someone whose interests aren't exactly like mine, but go outside the range of sitting in the house watching crime dramas for hours on end on a weekend. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>So all in all, it's been a nice, if un-extraordinary week. I have my nephew back, I'm not freaked out by Dixie anymore, and to some extent, I have Kenny back. What a dysfunctional little trio they are, but I'm beginning to realize just how much they all mean to me in their own weird little ways. </div>ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-59648426343467250492011-07-31T19:24:00.000-07:002011-07-31T19:50:43.923-07:00<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Maybe I am weak. Over sympathetic. Or maybe just weak and sympathetic when it pertains to certain people. I don't about him on the forums much anymore, because everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief when I took the step to 'delete' him from my life, and bringing him up again would just be asking for ridicule. But I've let him back in again, although I'm not obsessing or bordering on stalking him this time. And I would like to state that it was all him this time, and I was merely too weak and soft-hearted to Ice Queen my way out of his life. I was trying to hurry out the door for lunch, even moreso when I realized he was working just a few feet away from where I was walking. A few days later I ended up walking outside with him to the parking lot when he left and he asked me out to lunch for payday because he missed hanging out with me. So naturally that Wednesday I found myself getting showered and dressed and driving to town on my day off, because I swore I'd never be seen with him again and all that jazz. I'm confident it was a friends-only thing because he brought his brother, J. It was nice,albeit a little weird, but J is a sweet guy and we've met before. A sweet <i>gay </i><span style="font-style: normal">guy, as I learned only recently, which kind of shocked me. Usually my gaydar is pretty darned accurate and I would have probably never suspected. Gay rednecks, they DO exist! What an oxymoron, eh? Ken goes out to the gay bar with him sometimes and says they have a really good time; I didn't even know we had a gay bar in this little hick town. The first annual pride festival is happening there right this very minute, as a matter of fact. I kind of wanted to go since half of my Voldemart buddies are sure to be there and I love them to death, but I'm having a “Can't be arsed to do ANYTHING” kind of day. I'll go sometime though, that's the second time I've been invited to a gay bar and didn't end up going. Maybe before Student Tech leaves we'll hit one up with her and her girlfriend. But in short, yeah, I've gone and let Frosted Flake back in again, the future will show if I have chosen poorly. I even yellow bellied out and went “Um, hey I</span><span style="font-style: normal"><b> </b></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal">accidentally </span></i><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">deleted you from Facebook. I haven't gotten used to the new phone yet and I must have clicked something. Sorry.” It's ok if you roll your eyes. But we're just friends and I'm satisfied with that, for the most part. As sappy as it sounds, I love him too much to cut him out completely, and he is nice to be around once in a while, although he's still evasive when I tell him I need to kidnap him for a weekend at the beach or get drunk together. One day, maybe. After lunch that day I thanked him (he paid for himself and me but poor J was on his own, eliciting further confusion from me, but whatever) and he gave me a big hug. The more I think about it, it kind of was the 'opportune moment', and J probably wouldn't have felt too terribly awkward if I had grabbed his baby brother by the head and laid one on him right there, but for then, the hug was enough. There's no telling what goes on in that whiskey-soaked mind of Ken's, but sometimes I have to remember that he's got a hell of a lot of stuff to deal with besides the weird redhead in the pharmacy. Short lived statuses revealed that he's not sure what's going on right now but that he still loves everybody, and that his daughter is mad at him and he intends to make it up to her by doing something, just the two of them, this weekend. It's curious that the statements that seem to actually come from his heart and prove he's got feelings after all are the ones he goes back and deletes in the morning. He's a strange creature, that's all I can say. Most friends can be curious creatures, as I've learned. The only real issue is . . . he's invading my dreams again. Multiple times nightly. And during afternoon naps, too. Hrm. And I wake up pissed off to find it isn't real. </span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">I recently made the decision to distance myself from my friend Dix for a while, just at least a little bit. For a few weeks, it was getting to the point where she wanted to spend every last free minute we had together, even if it meant sitting in her living room watching Tivoed episodes of dreadful reality shows or me sitting at the lunch table bored to tears while she played fucking stupid Plants Vs. Zombies on her cell phone and didn't talk to anyone. Before the manager started giving me so many opening shifts, she relied on me to pick her up from her temporary home at a friend's house and take her to work, and then back at night. Except when I got there, I always had to wait for her to finish getting dressed, even if I was later than I said I would be, or finish a cigarette, or finish a level on the damn zombie game. And the same when we left at night. I don't care if she needs a quick smoke and I appreciate her being respectful enough not to try it in my truck, but put the damn phone down, I don't like waiting around for you to plant enough plants to keep animated zombies off your imaginary lawn or catapult birds at pigs. I also spent two late nights after work that week helping her move some things from their old house (it was repossessed) into her friend's house. Then she wants me to hang around at the place after I drop her off at night, even if I have an opening shift the next day. It wasn't too bad until the time she insisted I come in the house while her friend, friend's boyfriend and all the kids were gone, and then after a few moments abruptly said “I don't mean to be rude but if Friend comes home and finds people here in the house she'll have fuzzy kittens.” What the ever-loving FUCK?! I asked repeatedly if she was sure I should be in the house when her friend wasn't there, and she said yes, and then pretty much kicks me out on my ass? And still hasn't repaid the $40 I 'lent' them for gas. I just have a hard time garnering sympathy with them about losing the house – her husband has been out of work for months because he had a mental breakdown at the prison where he worked. He didn't really try very hard to get a new job, spending most of his time playing WoW or staying online all night or watching Supernatural all day. And then she, knowing they were in financial straights, still continued to smoke some of the most expensive menthols on the market, forked out $30 a month EACH for their WoW subscriptions, went out to restaurants, and bought a $90 a month smartphone plan, plus putting out for cable TV. Come on, if it was between that crap and losing my HOME, you'd better believe I'd be downsizing my damn lifestyle! That's not mentioning the little things . . . the comments about how she sometimes wants to kill her husband, or kill Ken, because they're assholes and no one would ever find the bodies. Um . . . I know 'kill the guy that broke your heart' has been a joke and a form of support for a while, but no. And no, I will not “Tell Ken you have a girlfriend LOLOLOL”. It just started to get a little creepy, is all. She seems back to normal now, but whew. I need a few new friends, LOL. Oh, and why, praytell, is her husband an 'asshole'? Because one morning she woke up 'sick' and asked him to get her clothes out of the closet and lay them out for her, after he'd been working all night and drove an hour to get home, and he said no. Grow the fuck up, sister. I'm sure that's part of the reason I was glad to go meet Ken and J at Moe's, it was just really refreshing to sit down with people who only periodically checked their phones instead of being glued to it the whole time, or went on and on about the latest crappy thing that happened to them and bemoaned the unfairness of life. I wanted to be supportive for her, but I was starting to feel like a doormat and a romantic parter rather than a friend. I dunno, I just think things are a little messed up when it's like “Lunch with friend A? Oh gawd . . .” “Lunch with friend B, with criminal record, drinking problem, and his brother? OMG yay!” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">Although I have somewhat of a dilemma . . . before I decided to cut our time together, I told Dix I would request four days off at her birthday with her so we could go to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando at Universal. Then I realized, what the hell are we gonna do there for three days? To put it delicately, she is . . . too large to fit on any rides. How much butterbeer and Honeyduke's products can one consume in three days and when will that start to get boring? Fortunately it sounds like my nephew's Mom is renewing his Universal pass so he'll at least be able to go with me. I've actually thought about inviting Ken, too, but she'd probably kill me and I doubt he could afford it anyways. Eh, you never know. I might get a pass and go back down afterwards for Halloween Horror nights, he did mention wanting to do that. And again, as Barbossa would say “But I doubt it.”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">Ok, in other news! My poor nephew is incredibly homesick and fed up with his other grandfather and intends to move back up here ASAP. He was going to wait until October because that would end his probation period at his new job, but he's going to try to transfer now if they'll let him, and he's let me put his application back in at my Voldemart store. The two above mentioned dysfunctional friends both told me that no less that thirty people were fired last week, I'm sure they'll need replacing! Even if he doesn't transfer or get hired at my store, he's probably going to put in his two weeks noticed and come back down. I'm pretty darn thrilled. Not about the people getting fired, but about nephew coming back. For as much as I bitched about him and argued with him and called him a dumbass, it's been a really dull two months around here without him. I miss seeing movies with him and doing fun stuff with him and his friends. I haven't been to the beach or springs since he left because everyone is always busy and I can never get Ken to go with me, either. Nephew hasn't gotten to see the new Potter movie yet because his grandfather won't take him and he can't get a friend from work to take him, either. His grandfather gets mad if he even buys a six pack of soda because “ZOMG you're supposed to be saaaaaviiiiing your monnnneeeeeyz!” It just sounds perfectly miserable and the old man sounds like a real asshole. He says he talks and texts too much. Uh, hello? What else is he supposed to do all day in a senior retirement community in a house with no door on his bedroom? I don't know why he invited him down there to live if he was gonna be like this. He's also been bitching he can't have 'female company' over with nephew there. What the fuck he's 70, I don't even wanna think about that. Anywho I've told Nephew just to let me know and I can come get him in a pinch if I have the day off, but I also told him to give notice and not just up and quit his job like I've done. Honestly I really can't wait until I get that call or text letting me know he's ready for me to drive down there and get him. When I do I'll see if I can scoop up his best friend to bring along as a surprise. And then I WILL find a theater that's still playing Deathly Hallows Part II and we WILL go see it! Mind, Mom did take me, but I feel so bad for him. He can't not see it, that would just be mean. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">Work is work, although I'm realizing how funny Student is and just how much I'm gonna flipping miss her after she's left for college. Most of the time I and others end up laughing until we cry, it's because of some bizarre conversation we had and her contributions to it. A memorable one from Friday is when I told her and several others “Listen you guys, if I EVER get like that nasty old bat at my counter right now when I'm old, you all have my full permission to push my wheelchair off a cliff!” She went into a full blown and animated tirade about how they could take me to the Grand Canyon and go “Ooops, she musta got too close to the edge and caught her wheel on a rock. Man, we ain't gonna miss that tired old nasty thing.” </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">And now for some snippets of stupidity we dealt with the past few weeks dealing with the general public. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">1. Ms. Tardy is habitually late, but Friday, the guest pharmacist, who is pregnant, called her before her shift started and asked could she please clock in, go to McDonald's, and get her a large sweet tea. Twenty minutes after ten, t shows up, Tea in hand. “Sorry it took me so long. The guy in front of me went up to the counter and said he didn't know what he wanted. Well, he knew what he wanted but he didn't know what it was called. 'The thing with apples.' After about five minutes they figured it out. He wanted apple pie.”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"> <span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">Me: “It took two people five minutes to figure out that 'the thing with apples' was apple pie?!”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">“<span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">No, it took THREE people five minutes to figure that out. The stupid customer and two employees.”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">Stay in school, kids! </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <ol start="2"> <li><p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">From yesterday. (and the real tradgedy? I wasn't even supposed to be there. I swapped out with Shorty because she needed the day off)</span></span></p> </li></ol> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">Me: “Date of birth?”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">Customer: “555-123-4567”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">And again. Different moron this time, but moron just the same. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">Me: “Date of birth?”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">C: “567 Southwest Blah Street”</span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">Die in a fire. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">This is for all the people who:</span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">Know the pharmacy opens at 9AM and will show up at the store EVERY Saturday without fail and get in line five minutes before we open. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">See the sign out that says “The Pharmacy will be closed from 1:30 – 2:00 PM for lunch. Thank you” and insist on piling into line at 1:20 – 1:25 despite the five people already standing there. You stupid fuckers. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">The people who see the sign </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal">after </span></i><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">we've already closed down for lunch, and wait around for us to come back at 2 (or after, seeing as how the pharmacist kind of, you know, needs to eat) and then proceed to huff and puff and roll your eyes at us and thank us for making you wait. It's thirty lousy minutes out of our TEN hour Saturday. See how you feel after having that little of time to swallow some lunch and drink a soda. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">Pile into line 5-10 minutes before close, again, despite the cluster of people already in front of you. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">All of you? Get a life. Seriously, get one. We are open 70 + hours a week and you have to pick open and close times to run in here and fill that scrip you've been holding onto since JANURARY! This even pisses off the pharmacy manager, and he's one of the most laid back people I know, it takes a lot to get him visibly annoyed. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">That's about all for now. It'll be a week or two until I have two consecutive days off again, since I swapped half a weekend with Shorty, but she swapped with me a while back when I needed her to, so it's all fair. I wish I didn't keep accumulating these customer stories to put here, but alas . . . </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="font-weight: normal">C'est la vie. </span></span> </p>ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-63791149161952841742011-07-14T20:05:00.000-07:002011-07-14T22:23:05.815-07:00It's something I said, or someone I know. Or you called me up, maybe I wasn't home . . .I've been mostly good. Mostly. It's had its moments, certainly, but it's not all gloom and dark clouds like I feared it would be. I've actually gotten to the point where I'm incredibly open to the idea of finding someone else, and I'm actually ready this time, instead of brooding on what I can't have. Although I won't pretend that part of me doesn't still say, to put it bluntly - "Ken, Y U NO STOP FUCKING UP UR LIFE?!"<div><br /></div><div>Let's talk about work for a while, to change things up, eh? Don't worry, there's more personal shens to be had in this post. One of the other cashiers in pharmacy is, to put it frankly, driving us all out of our fucking minds. She's constantly late, takes <i>forever </i>to do things that me and Shorty could do in 1/2 the time, by ourselves or together, and will do almost anything to avoid being on the register, I swear it's like trying to get blood from a rock. I guess since she's a certified tech, she thinks that she should be back doing tech work instead of cashiering, but she is NOT a tech, it's not her job description. So I really wish she'd get her ass out from behind the pharmacy counter and out there where me and Shorty spend the better part of our days. Even if Shorty or I have started a project because we open on a particular day, Tardy will stealthily make sure she takes over it while we're on the register and leaves us stuck there. Then she'll fart around answering the telephone or 'troubleshooting' stuff on the computers, pissing off literally everyone. Now, as a person outside of work, she's alright and I like her, but working with her is putting a serious chip on my shoulder, I don't care if she's been there for almost two years. She usually was on the 9-6 schedule all the time and then Shorty and I noticed that we were both getting a lot of those shifts with Tardy getting our closing ones. Turns out, this was by request from several technicians who were pleased when either of us opened on Tardy's days off and found we actually showed up on time and did our damn job, and efficiently too, I might add. Of course she's ticked off and can't figure out why the manager is giving her 'weird' schedules, even though he has spoken with her about the tardiness in the past. And the 20 minute bathroom breaks. And being gone on a 15 minute break for half an hour. And the 80 minute lunches. And the calling out sick all the time. Come on now, me and Shorty have lives outside work, too, and we'll cover because we don't want everyone to suffer, but it really does get old fast. One of our technicians has been accepted into pharmacy school (OMG YAY! We're incredibly proud of her and she and her humor and good attitude will be sorely missed). Tardy is convinced that the position will go to her, even though one opened last year and the manager decided to hire an older guy over from another department instead. An older guy with no experience, but a certificate. Hmm. There's talk of:</div><div><br /></div><div>A tech from another store wanting to transfer here because they're moving</div><div><br /></div><div>A pharmacy student/intern that is friends with Raj, one of our pharmacist, who is really interested as well and who Raj thinks would be a great fit with us, and</div><div><br /></div><div>D, another tech, said she'd be thrilled if I got Student's old job after she leaves, although since I have no certification or anything, this is really doubtful. Flattering though. </div><div><br /></div><div>But either way you slice it, it doesn't look like Tardy is being considered for the job at all, and if our manager has any kind of good sense he will NOT give it to her. Absent techs hurt us, really bad, and I doubt her behavior would change if she changed positions. All I can say is, once that job is filled and she doesn't get it, shit will hit the fan, to be sure. She'll either quit out of anger or let her behavior get so bad that poor manager will be forced to terminate. I do plan on speaking to him tomorrow if I can though, I'm tired of doing the work of two people when there's no reason for me not to. FFS, I was a few minutes late leaving tonight because she decided to run behind the counter and grab the telephones, letting me get tied up with a customer who had a tricky order and questions. Not to mention what she pulled Tuesday, not telling me she had an appointment so I could go to lunch and be back in time for her to leave. Normally its not a big deal if opening cashier stays a few minutes late and I figured no big deal. But when I got back, she was gone and poor old guy tech was on the register pissed off to high heavens because she waited until five minutes to six to tell everyone she had an appointment, meaning he got stuck covering until I got back, and I felt bad. She had ALL day to tell me that and didn't, instead she was more concerned she got all her entitled breaks. Which, btw . . . hardly any of us take our breaks, ever. And she doesn't smoke so that's not an excuse either. Gah. Oh well, just had to get that out!</div><div><br /></div><div>Ready for more personal crap? Yes? Yay! Like I said, it's been mostly good. As a matter of fact, there's a guy who manages at the Moe's Southwestern Grill where Dix has gotten me frequenting a lot, and I'm starting to think he might be interested. Or he could just be friendly. he was in the store a few weeks ago and made sure I knew he was there and stopped to talk for a little bit. I went in last week and I'm fairly sure he was blatantly staring at me from behind the counter while I was eating. Today I go in and he's chatty, as usual, and pretending to throw things at me. "Imaginary black olives," he said. Joke being, I always want olives on my burrito which makes Dix and Ken (he used to come with us) literally gag, and it's funny. Then he picked up a REAL black olive and chucked it right at me. Then he tried hanging onto my food after I'd paid and we got into a slight tug of war with it. Maybe we've just built up a really nice customer/service type rapport, but I have to say that's the only place I frequent where an employee threw food at me and I thought it was hilarious. Actually it's the only place I've ever had food thrown at me, to be honest. I just don't wanna read into things too much again after the whole other thing. And if it does look like a prospect, the first thing I'm gonna do is run a criminal background check! ;-)</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of the criminal . . . oh my giddy gawd it appears that dipshit has sobered up and remembered I exist. Last week he tried getting in my way while we passed each other down an aisle (and believe me I tried to avoid him) so I bodyslammed him as hard as I could. It would have been totally satisfying had he not seemed to enjoy it. I honestly think I could throw him down and beat or whip him to my heart's content and he'd jizz himself. Weirdo. Tuesday I had to pick Dix up and we ended up getting there early. She wanted a smoke before work so we sat down, thankfully away from him, but he came over and sat with us and tried making conversation and asked when I'd gotten the new phone. Tried to keep it short and not too sweet. Today I'm attempting to walk out the door for lunch (to get olives thrown at me, apparently) and he flagged me down and waved me over. Argh. </div><div><br /></div><div>"So did you get a new number with the new phone?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yeah."</div><div><br /></div><div>O__O "Then WHO have I been sending messages to?! [sad5]"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh my god . . . my Mom. She has that line now."</div><div><br /></div><div>Although I was kind enough to let him know she had all those features blocked before he started to flip out too badly, and that she probably never saw the messages.He's frightened of my Mom, for some reason. All 4-foot 10 3/4 inches of her. He assured me he didn't send anything off-color, but he was still freaked out. </div><div><br /></div><div>"I sent you the number a month ago, you were probably drunk off your ass. I sent you the picture of the Ho-Sauce, too."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Ohhhhh, so that's who that was, it was you! I kept sending messages to your old number and I was wondering why you weren't answering back!"</div><div><br /></div><div>He's a smart one, ain't he, folks? Let this be a lesson to you all that excessive alcohol consumption does indeed kill brain cells. He went on to tell me he wants to come have lunch with me again and even that his 1-10 shift is on the 27th and if I'm closing that day he wants to do lunch hour then, too. And that I need to come on one of his river trips with him but that I should be warned, last time they all got really drunk and ended up skinny dipping in the dark. What the fuck, man. Once he realized I was the person who sent him the 'mysterious' messages and pictures of Ho-Made bbq sauce (Yes, this does exist, look it up!), he was all happy and said now he could text me again and that he'd let me know when he was going to the river next because he really needs to ditch his other friend who always wants money. What is this I don't even . . . wow. The worst part is I'm not sure I still wouldn't go with him, for all that I've said. Although the prospect of his friends scares me, they seem like a bunch of wild shits. Him I'm ok with. Them? Not too sure now. I kind of wish he'd just kept on acting like I didn't exist, because I know I can do better. </div><div><br /></div><div>In other news, I reached a slight milestone last weekend. I went to Dixie's house where there was a copious amount of Red Bulls and a 750ml bottle of Jagermeister waiting, and between the two of us, it was gone within a couple of hours, maybe less. Her husband decided to just sip on rum instead of getting smashed up. I would have done alright if I hadn't laid down in the back of her pickup truck, I think. The effort of sitting up made me kind of sick, but I felt better afterwards. To anyone who said I'd be a damn mean drunk, nya nya. To anyone who said I'd be a fucking hilarious drunk, you win. I think my conversation wavered between "LOOK, STARS. They're MOVING!" to "Kenny is a deadbeat and probably has every disease known to man" to "I would fuck Barbossa if he were a real person. And Will. At the same time." Then I passed out watching Robot Chicken. Fun times, although I still think getting drunk is overrated. And from what I heard, I bet for damn sure I could drink my friend Kenny under a table. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anywho . . . those are my musings for now. Maybe I should frequent Moe's even more often than I already do. Otherwise I fear I'll end up with a bloodstream full of vodka naked in the river with a criminal. </div>ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-66448878100805982382011-06-26T20:35:00.000-07:002011-06-26T21:03:54.287-07:00Baby, I have no story to be told. . . <i>but I've heard one on you and I'm gonna make your head burn</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div>The final straw has been discovered, and while I did not confront Ken (The Pippy persona gets dropped here, he's not good enough for it anymore) with my feelings. I now have a reason to hate him. Last night I had a slight head explosion when I read "anybody got any ideas for babby girl names also anybody have 3 mos support." What in the ever loving FUCK, dude? He deleted it after he was barraged with floods of comments asking if he was having another kid, so I guess no one ever found out what that retarded statement truly meant, but if it's as transparent as he is stupid, it's horrible news. I hope for the hypothetical child's sake that it's absolutely untrue, because no one, <i>no one </i>deserves to have a father like Ken. Also pity the poor bitch who screwed him without protection, because she's in for a real 'treat', no doubt. Then this morning I woke up to find the 'babby' status deleted and replaced with "Damn near went to jail last night thank god for good ol' boy country cops who know who people are." I for one am not thankful for 'good ol boy' cops. I have no idea what this fucker did THIS TIME, but his stupid ass should have been hauled straight off to jail. He's had too many chances. From the law, from me, from his other friends who gave up on him. He learned <b>nothing</b>. God help him, if I find out he's been driving drunk or endangering people in any other way with his stupidity, I will rip his testicles off, coat them in barbecue sauce, and force feed them to him with a hot poker. I should have listened to those weird feelings I got inside me last year when I first found out he was a fucking criminal; I was scared, and for a while was really uneasy being around him. I should never, never have pushed those feelings away and tried to fix him, to love him, to even think about "If you can't beat him, join him." The only person Ken cares about is Ken, and he doesn't care who he has to push, shove, or mow down out of his way to entertain himself. He's become a complete and utterly different person since getting rid of the anklet, and that person kind of makes me want to throw up, though I can't pinpoint exactly why. He hasn't even had eye contact with me in two weeks, and I'd be very happy at this point if it stays that way forever. He's the kind of person who is going to have to hit absolute rock bottom before he straightens out, if he ever does. Something horrible is going to have to happen to him or someone he cares about (if he's capable of caring about anyone at all), before he gets the shock that he needs to stop being a dickhole, put down the liquor an have a nice tall glass of Grow the Fuck Up instead. </div><div><br /></div><div>So you go ahead and keep on flirting with the law, you worthless redneck shithead. Do it again, and do it soon, and hopefully next time my friend Steve or Robert will be the arresting officer and they have low tolerances for stupidity. Keep on publicly whining about how much you hate being at work and piss off your entire department. You'll show up drunk and hungover one too many times and eventually they will have had enough of it, no matter how much T might like you. Although I'd really rather you didn't lose your job and end up on welfare, because I certainly don't want my tax dollars funding your shens. You had over a year. <i>A year</i> to be a decent person, who couldn't go too terribly wild. You made dozens of friends at Volde-Mart who really like and care about you, now watch as many of them, I'm sure, will drop you like the nasty habit you are because they can't stand your hijinks anymore. Or maybe it's just me. You really, really scare me now and I can't help but be incredibly grateful for the fact that you never found out where I live and you don't know I'll be alone for the next 9 days. I loved the person I knew from last May to this one, but maybe he never really existed and it was all one big elaborate act. He was a great guy, despite his flaws. But the person he turned into is a literal nightmare. Maybe you were always like this. But either way, we're through. Your phone number is gone, the pictures of you on my phone are deleted, and thank the powers I'll never read another one of your drunk updates that sadden me and make me worry myself sick again, only to find it mysteriously gone in the morning. Kindly go burn in hell, just make sure you don't drag any innocent people with you. Have a nice life. </div>ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-18261207591671289572011-06-21T19:32:00.000-07:002011-06-21T20:23:37.808-07:00CirclesNo beginning, no end, they just keep going round and round. Sometimes I feel like my life, as well as the way I write here, goes in circles, although technically it did begin somewhere. I'm feeling very anti-Produce Man at the moment. He had his anklet removed Thursday and for the four days following, kept a steady flow of pictures going as well as the occasional status containing the words 'wild night', 'hot tub', 'fake tits' and 'biting'. On one hand I seethed with jealousy and distaste, but the pictures of him out and about (he didn't share the fake tits, thankfully), looking happier than I've ever seen him, made me a little squeeish inside. He was obviously happy and it made me giddy, too; even if I didn't approve of everything he was doing, I was glad he was having a good time. But this was also the telling point of a lot of things for me, the way I see it. Before, I figured he didn't want to talk much, didn't want to have me over, because, well, I'd see the bracelet. Now? Now there's really no excuse. I texted him to give him my new phone number, he never responded. I asked when he was coming back to work because it wasn't the same without him there, and he never responded. He did, however, respond, when I sent him a picture of "Ho-Made BBQ Sauce" that was sitting on a store shelf. The fucker just doesn't contact me. The first place he went after he got loose? Well, some nasty place with his brother in law. Then his sister's river place. Not that he gets in the water or boats. He just drinks and fishes and then drinks some more. Then he hit a bar. And another, and probably another. Got up for work early this morning and lamented the fact he couldn't have anymore shots because he had to work. Got home from work and mused how much he can't wait for another day of laying around drinking cold ones. And maybe hang out with a guy friend and some booze and fishing poles. <div><br /></div><div>I saw him when I walked in today, but he had his back to me and I didn't bother approaching him. He doesn't contact me, he doesn't respond to me. I don't know if he's still hung up on this bullpuckey about 'corrupting' me, in which case he needs soundly smacked upside the head with a sparkly purple strap on, or if he really does think I'm that pathetic and undesirable and to be left in the 'friends at work only' category. Either way, I'm fairly fed up with it. FFS, he's so stupid. I've come to the conclusion that there will never be anything meaningful between us, but at this point I really and truly just want to have fun with him. Mind, I think he drinks too much, but I'd still not be opposed to getting wasted with him on a weekend. Benefits? I think yes, unless he's got something nasty he picked up from a fucking prostitute. </div><div><br /></div><div>I try, and I try, and I try. I work and scheme so hard to get his attention, to find things to do with him, and I'm forever ignored, or he says yes and has no intentions of following through whatsoever. Why? Because he's a yes-man and doesn't know how to turn people down. He's always said yes. It made him a father at 17. And then again at 24, thinking it would be different, but at least he got his trophy son. "Hey, Pip, traffic these pills for me?" Well, that one landed him in jail. "You want the 5-2 shift even though you'll bitch endlessly about it?" Yes to that as well. From reading FB, I understand he blew off plans with some other coworkers Friday night as well, and claimed he got lost. How in the hell do you get lost with a designated driver in a town you've never left? You just drink and you drink and you drink and hang out with the bottom feeders of the community and worship the ground they piss on. Beer and fishing and fake tits, I get it. I'm books and movies and very slightly games with the occasional vodka and Jager thrown in. I don't MIX the two at once, obviously. We just wouldn't work together because we come from such different worlds. But I do know how to have fun, and he won't give me that chance and it pisses me off more than words can communicate. It's so hard to stop caring about someone, because I won't deny I have feelings for him, and I do love him, in however a strange and blind way. But if I didn't, none of this would bother me as much as it does. I wish I could have seen him for what he was when I first met him; I thought he was a straight-laced good ol' boy, clean and chivalrous and a gentleman. Then he showed a little of his cheek and I liked that, too. I know he's not and never will be the clean cut man I took him for, but it's hard to tell that to the part of you that loves unconditionally. In years past, I've had two men, who started as customers at places I worked, pursue me. <i>Persistently</i>. While I wouldn't touch either of them with a pole, I have to admire their perseverance. Coming through my checkout line or waiting at the front door of the store over, and over, and OVER. Pip only has me when I'm convenient to be there and he doesn't have any other plans. He was on fucking house/work arrest and was probably only so eager to hop in with me and go to food joints because it was literally the only chance he had of getting out without getting in trouble. He doesn't need me anymore, and that hurts. Then I remember that he has said we <i>will </i>do stuff this summer, but I don't think he'll follow through, and that hurts, too. Given the examples of them men I mentioned earlier, I have to concede, that if he were interested, then goddammit, he'd be <i>after </i>me, wouldn't he? I don't know what's wrong with him. Maybe he'll settle down in a few weeks once the shiny newness of his rediscovered freedom wears off and he'll go back to being the same stupid, lovable idiot I used to go to lunch with. Maybe he won't. But if his behavior this past week is any indicator of the 'real' person that he is, then well, I have to say I liked him a lot better while he was on house arrest if being a free citizen turns him into a redneck douchebag. Sometimes I've even wished he'd do something really stupid so he'd land his sorry rear back in jail and I wouldn't have to see him anymore. </div><div><br /></div><div>The cycle keeps repeating, and I'm tired of it. I fall for him, he does something to make me think we at least have a chance at a fun friendship, that he really does care about me as a person, and then he'll grow cold, ignore me, I ignore him back, get pissed off at him, and start to fall out of love. I'll be nearly done with him, able to walk past him without the urge to go visit him or poke his arm, like this morning. And then sooner or later he gets real friendly again and my hopes soar once more, everyone comments on my quirky or unusually good mood, and Raj the Pharmacist will ask me if I've been swallowing Zoloft. I really hope I don't do this again, but I have a feeling it'll happen at least one more time before this whole crappy situation comes to a head and the pus of angst and bad feelings and broken hearts goes kablooey all over the place. I guess the most logical (notice I refuse to say 'easiest') thing to do would be to sit him down and have a heart to heart, to let him know how I feel about him. Okay, maybe not the "I know what you've done. I know what kind of a person you are and I love you anyways. I've loved you for the past year" thing, but the "Hey, you are a GREAT person and I think you're a lot of fun and I think we should have some no strings attached, weekend fun. We'll be as bad or as good as you like, and you can get as wild and lewd as you want. I also find you incredibly sexually attractive." If he's pleased, great, if he rejects me, that's possibly even better because at least then I'd have a straight answer and, be it right or not, a reason to hate him.<br /></div>ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1663509433876105547.post-34296504518991453392011-06-08T21:39:00.000-07:002011-06-08T21:40:36.959-07:00Jesus is my virtue, but Judas is the demon I cling to<p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Gaga is still making sense, HALP. It all goes back to my upbringing again. All my life I believe that drinking and sex were wrong. Well, sex outside of marriage, at least. And now I find the larger part of myself not caring and wanting to go there. Memorial day weekend I packed up car soap, sponges and a brush, picked up a six pack of Smirnoff Green Apple and went to Dixie and her husband's place where the three of us washed our trucks together and got progressively more inebriated as the night wore on. Mind, they know I'm an alcohol novice and kept a close eye on me so I wouldn't become an idiot or spend half the night hugging a toilet. I think mostly we ended up in front of YouTube or the TV or playing Xbox and then watching my Big Bang Theory DVDs until about 2 in the morning. In short, I had a pretty good time and intend on doing it again, even if I . . . I <i>do </i><span style="font-style: normal">feel incredibly guilty about it. </span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal">Then there's the part of me that really wants to just go ahead and lose the virginity. Not just for the hell of losing it, but . . . you know? Hopefully I'm making sense here. I don't see myself getting married anytime soon, so why not have fun? Pippin has incredibly loose morals, borders on alcoholism, and to put it bluntly just doesn't give a shit. I'm not sure he'll ever settle down or want something exclusive and somehow I'm ok with that and I still want him. We already get along and he's just THERE and single and has a drawer full of condoms sitting around collecting dust. (Dear god, what can I say, I have some weird-ass conversations with my coworkers) He spends most of his free time hosting liquor parties and getting up to all sorts of inappropriate hijinks, and while that once and still does annoy me to some extent, it makes him easy. Listen to me, I mean . . . it </span><i>makes him easy</i><span style="font-style: normal">?! But honestly, the idea of getting him just a little drunk and seeing if being under the influence will make him let me have my way with him has occupied my mind a lot as of late. Getting straight to the point, I seem to have decided that if I can't have him for a boyfriend, I want benefits between us. Like I said, I just wasn't raised to think or behave like this and it's frightening and empowering at the same time to just embrace it, and my biggest fear is the risk of getting pregnant rather than what my family would think. It's gotten to the point where I think Mom knows that I get up to stuff she wouldn't approve of. But all she says now is “Any kind of drinking, partying, going to jail . . . if it happens, I don't want to know. Just DON'T come home drunk and don't expect me to bail you out. But really, I just don't want to know.” What she'd say or do (since I live at home rent free) if I ever succeeded in my plan to seduce my friend I don't know, but I plan on doing my damndest if I can manage it. I keep making comments at him about taking him away or kidnapping him for the weekend and he'll somewhat reluctantly agree that we could try going to the river or something like that and then follow it up with “But I don't wanna corrupt you.” Ah, there it is again. Do I really come across as that innocent? Even when I was a church mouse, the guys, and girls, for that matter, would treat me like I was the innocent little baby sister and I hated it. I kind of thought Pips was different in that he </span><i>doesn't</i><span style="font-style: normal"> stop himself from having lewd conversations with me or while I'm in earshot, but I guess it still nags at him like it did all those members of the contemporary Christian band years and years ago. Pip honey, my mind is a fucking cesspool and honestly I think a little corrupting would do me some good at this point. I don't wanna end up that lady who lives with dozens of animals (oh god, I'm already halfway there!) and dresses her dogs up in clothes. Although I have to say two of my friends in the pharmacy do this and they're wonderful gals. Married though. Let's just say I don't wanna end up a 60 year old virgin who dresses up her dogs. I know you're a nasty horny little bastard and our conversations have gotten more 'comfortable' and dirty over the past few months. I know you were a little drunk when we had the whips and cuffs talk and you said you like to be punished, but you were sober as a judge when you made that comment about the quiet ones being the ones you had to watch for, and 'damn I bet Shiny's a freak, aren't you?' and I haven't forgotten. That tells me your mind WENT THERE, at least once. Your mind might be wrapped around me a little better than I thought, but gods please don't be afraid to 'corrupt' me, although that's sweet of you to be cautious. I'm not sure how you can be such a gentleman and such an immoral bastard at the same time, but I love it. If someone pulled Sawyer and Charlie out of LOST and combined the characters, well, they'd have you. </span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal">Sorry for the frankness of my post tonight, but I </span><i>want </i><span style="font-style: normal">to be 'corrupted' as everyone jokes about me. I want this man to corrupt the hell out of me and I wonder if he'd be willing to teach me everything he knows if he found out just how inexperienced I am, if he hasn't already realized it.</span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span style="font-style: normal">Yes, I blame Lady Gaga.</span></p>ShinyGreenApplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11325138611525900911noreply@blogger.com0