After watching "Watchmen" last night, I woke up this morning absolutely NEEDING straight, blunt cut, thick bangs (ala Silk Spectre). Oy vay. Immediately after the stylist snipped them I regretted my decision. I forgot that:
Why am I always so convinced that the world is over? That every dumb bunny boy that does something stupid toward me has truly crushed my soul?
It's not so!
And never will be.
(I know, a huge update is in order, but I must start another sixty hour work week at ten and have too much to do before then).
This is the part in the story in which our heroine's lover runs off and leaves her and she is devestated and clueless as to how to proceed.
I'm so lost and confused and hurt right now. It's all been a big fucking waste of time and energy. As usual.
I'm tired of all of it.
Geek-Betty's survival tips of the day:
Always wear cargo pants with many pockets when you are doing an "all-out" store cleaning prior to a visit from the HEAD HONCHO (and this must be read and said in all caps), no matter how unflattering and out of style cargo pants are.
Don't eat Taco Bell for lunch when you are really stressed out.
Do NOT gossip about your very short bosslady while standing among tall aisles of videos.
Don't wear your nametag - thus ensuring creepy old dudes won't come up and and say "hey geek-betty, could you help me find this porn I once owned in 1982?".
Find a dealer, buy speed, have the energy to clean your house after 12 hours at work.
Also buy drugs from this dealer for the two mutts you are harboring so they don't wake you up at two a.m. again.
Beat head against wall repeatedly until you black out and wake up to start the day again tomorrow!
(the obligatory narcissistic photos)
It has been a hectic and a not exactly inspiring last few weeks. With the new promotion comes 45+ hours a week at work, more stress, and less time at home. Which means the house is messier than ever (damn my pack rat genes), I'm spending less time with billiam than before and resenting the hell out of him for it, and I'm tightly wound ball of ready to explode stressed out broke close to collapsing into myself at any time BUNDLE OF JOY!!
At work, Bosslady has done exactly what everyone predicted she would do if I accepted the promotion - she's slacked off even more (I didn't think it was possible). I'm currently doing two jobs, the assistant manager and I'm also covering for the video manager since he quit last week and we have no prospects for a replacement. Since I've never even worked in the video department once it's all new to me, on top of the manager training. My brain has not yet exploded; it's always a possibility that it could though.
Work wouldn't make me so angry except that almost my entire last paycheck got sucked up in overdraft charges last pay period. A check that I had inadvertently bounced (okay, so I'm bad with money, sue me) a few weeks ago was put back through and fucked my account up all over again. The bad part is that I paid the vendor for the bounced check and their fee PLUS paid my bank fee the week it happened. But they put it back through and what did I end up with? Over four hundred dollars in overdraft charges for $32 in purchases that WOULD have been covered had they not put the check through again. Screw you US Bank and your fine print loopholes that allow you to take EIGHTY hours of work away from me. I basically worked my ass off for free. FUN!
My sister had another of her "episodes". I don't know what else to call it. About a month ago there was a terrible storm that raged across the southern part of Illinois, destroying my sister's house and messing up my dad's new home. Adrian, the day after this storm, called me in the middle of the night FOUR TIMES. When I woke up and listened to the messages in the morning I knew she was on one of her.....sprees. They were all telling me about how her boyfriend, the creepy and strangely over the top cheerful while google-eyeing my breasts the entire time Jed, had choked her during a fight. Now, as much as I don't like Jed (my dislike doesn't even touch the hatred billiam harbors for him) I can't imagine him actually doing such a thing. Given enough provocation over enough time, any man might do it. He's not quite there yet though, despite my sister's screaming harpie attempts to drive him there.
I called her back before leaving for work that morning. I'm a little ashamed to admit that I did so with an extreme feeling of trepidation. I sure as hell don't want to be drawn into any more of her drama. She insisted on telling me how he had choked her and kicked her out of his house (a ramshackle falling apart old house he bought for 10K that doesn't have running water or power or even a roof in some places). During this entire conversation he's in the background yelling at her not to talk about him and he didn't choke her, she's lying, yadda yadda yadda. When he asked who she was talking to and she said, "my sister", his tone abruptly changed (did I mention he has the creepiest crush on me? ewwww) and he chirped out in the strange falsetto tone he uses when he's being his serial-killer-ish best, "oh betty! tell her I said hi!!!". To which my sister replied, "she doesn't want to talk to you." This was the point where I had to shout to be heard over the ensuing mayhem and accusations so that I could tell her not to drag me into their freak show relationship, gotta go, love ya, good luck with all that, buh-bye.
It gets better.
She started calling around two a.m. that night again. Apparently Jed kicked her out, Mother wouldn't let her come live with her (Mother neglecting her parental duties? perish the notion!) and she was homeless. Could I take her in please?
Let me think about that for a moment.
Fuck. No.
On second thought..........
FUCKING A' NO!!!!
I decided to not respond to these messages because what was I going to say? Look, twinkie, I know we're twin sisters and we've gone through a helluva childhood together and familial loyalty and all that jazz but I don't need your drama, I can't afford to have you stealing out of my purse every time I leave it out, and, last but certainly not least, billiam and I are still sleeping on the couch because the fucking dog ate our bed nine months ago and we haven't been able to afford to get a new set yet. We ain't got room, patience, nor do we give a shit. But look me up when you stop acting like a nut, mmkay? For some reason I just don't think that will go over well.
The next thing I hear from/about her is a phone call from my dad to tell me that one of his cop buddies had called to let him know that someone had been pulled over and received a ticket in my name. And then, the next day, the same someone was ARRESTED after wrecking a car and giving the cops my name again. Guess what someone it was? Just guess? ....give up? It was my beautiful darling toothless selfish twin sister.
Looks like my license is screwed. Again.
THEN she starts calling me and leaving messages about wanting Analise to come and stay with her for a few days. Hold up a moment here. I know I'm not the brightest crayon in the box but surely even I can remember that only three days before she had called me begging for a place to stay because she was homeless. Which is what I said to her.
Her response was priceless:
"Oh some one armed, one legged guy came and fixed my house so I have a house now. And I'm real laid back because I'm on lots of medication for bipolar disorder."
There are several things wrong with this statement. I'm going to go ahead and skip the one armed one legged guy bit because that's just too easy. However, I can't pass up the "I'm on lot of meds" bit because WOW doesn't that make you want to drop your kid off with her for a few days?? Not to mention, you're not bipolar you crazy ass such-and-such!!!
She's paranoid schizophrenic, a verdict handed down after the big snowstorm of double 0. During that storm, she called me because she needed my help - the neighbors were playing their radio all night and all day and she couldn't get any sleep and it was driving her nuts. The only problem? She had no neighbors. She was the only person occupying the little complex at the time. I loaded baby Ani into the car and drove through blinding sleet and snow, stopping every five minutes to break the ice off my wipers as it continually built up, and driving in the middle of what I THOUGHT was the road because everything was completely obliterated by an endless white expanse of snow. It took me nearly two hours to drive the twenty miles to her house. I arrived to discover her walls covered from floor to ceiling by oil paint murals that made me absolutely sick to my stomach. That was when I decided she needed to go into a ward again. That was when they figured out she wasn't just ADHD and self-destructive but that she truly had serious fucking issues.
She has never taken her medicine properly. She sells what she can and pitches what can't get a person high. And now she thinks she's bipolar? She's such a copycat!! Har har. All joking aside, people are commonly mis-diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I firmly believe that a second and sometimes third doctor's diagnosis is necessary to know what's really up. She had to have lied like Pin-occ-e-fuckin-o to get a doctor to believe she was manic depressive.
Needless to say, Analise did not go and spend the weekend with my sister. She did, however, leave last Friday for a ten-day stint at her dad's house.
Does that mean her bedroom is empty right now though? Nope. We are currently harboring a fugitive in there. Billiam's old friends, R and A, have known him since his early teens. He is the godfather of their little girl, T. They are constantly on drugs, fighting, getting arrested, and two of the LOUDEST most uncomfortable people I've had the pleasure of being around in quite some time. R was established on my couch when I got home on Monday after a ten hour shift at work. And Tuesday. And Wednesday....and still here today. Billiam explained it to me like this: "What was I supposed to do? He showed up with a bag of clothes".
Let me think of a few other options rather than letting him stay at our house another night, eating our food, arguing on his phone constantly while we are trying to watch movies, and basically getting on the very last nerve I've managed to keep reasonably intact after a day of dealing with the white trash public for eight to eleven hours a day:
Turn himself in to the police. Hey that's always a crazy idea, I know!!
Jump off a bridge
Put a brick on his car accelerator, put it in drive, and lay down in front of it
Bug some other friends
Sleep in his car
GO THE FUCK HOME.
I tried to express this to billiam yesterday when I came home tired and stressed out (we are having a "visit" from the head honcho of the mega-entertainment-hell I work at) to find R, his wife, and his daughter spread around my house shouting and fighting. I went immediately to the grocery store and when I came back and they were STILL there, I went into the kitchen and started to cook dinner. I tried to let them all know I was tired and it had been a long day. Read: leave me the fuck alone, mmkay?? This didn't work and Billiam and I ended up in a growling match in the kitchen over a pot of chicken cacciatore. I told him R needed to be gone before Billiam left for the weekend and he told me not to issue ultimatums dammit OR my dad couldn't come and stay with us.
Let me catch you up a little: this weekend I have three days off. Three whole days. In a row. I asked for them off because billiam and I were supposed to go on a camping trip with some friends of his. He called that off weeks ago but I made it absolutely clear to him that my getting a weekend off was next to impossible and I damned well expected to do something!! The day Robbie showed up on my couch, his mom stopped by to let him know that his aunt who had recently married and moved cross-country had decided it wasn't working and she wanted to come home. Which means Billiam is leaving tomorrow early a.m. to drive there with his mom and will be gone all weekend.
But it gets better. Oh yes, it does. Billiam, while on a job site yesterday, literally stepped over two nearly starved tiny puppies going on to the job site. All of the other workers completely ignored the nearly dead mutts laying there but my boy couldn't (and that, right there, is part of why I love him so much). He got them food and water and, at the end of the day, reluctantly brought them home with us. So now we have four dogs in our teeny tiny messy already over crowded with R and his family house. We are actively searching for homes for the two pups - billiam said we can only keep them here for a week or two before we will be forced to take them to the dog pound. Which breaks my heart. What breaks it even more are their bony haunches, their ribs that still stick out over their food bloated stomachs, the desperation with which they scarf down any scrap of food they find.
I came home from work yesterday fed up in mankind in general. Between bosslady and her bitchiness, customers and their ridiculous assumption that "the customer is always right" when mostly they are wrong, and by wrong I mean complete morons who expect to get their way by cussing and threatening me. My faith in humans was not restored by the dumping of these two sweet little girl puppies. It was, however, a smidge fixed by my sweetheart's inability to walk away from an animal in need.
This leaves me completely alone - no Ani and no Billiam for my much anticipated three days off. I will shame-faced admit that I had a selfish tantrum about the entire thing, cried, and I pretty much still hold it against the boy. Well. Dammit. I wanted to have fun. I didn't get to go to my friend's wedding because my car's front end coughed up a lung or a bolt or something super important the day of it and I was left standing on the side of the road in all of my wedding finery, a vintage 30's dress, high heels, two hours worth of hair washing, drying, curling, and makeup melting in the 90+ degree heat. I've done nothing but work and come home to a messy house and dissatisfaction every day. I've felt alarmingly close to falling off the edge again, going over, giving up, pulling one of my old moves and quitting my job to stay in bed and sob for days at a time. I feel like I'm there, the cycle has brought me right back to that spot. I need to pull the nose up. I need to. There's nothing helping me though. There's nothing to keep me from spinning out of control.
Oh and my dad is supposed to come and live with us soon. Like two weeks soon. My "real" father, not my step-dad that I lovingly call pops. This is the ala peanut butter and honey sandwich dad. The one who abandoned me in my childhood and that has only seen Analise once. In our recent attempts at tentatively building a relationship we've started writing back and forth. One thing became clear: he wanted more than anything to move back to the area so he could see his grandchildren grow up. Add to that the crappy job market and his current living conditions *shudder*, mix in an outrageous monthly daycare charge and what you get is him moving across a couple of states and into our basement. Billiam and I sat down and talked about it when my dad first broached the idea and, for all of the shit I give the boy, he was fully willing to give it a chance for me. So, the countdown is on - we have two weeks to build a room in the basement for my dad and to come up with some furniture for him. Keep in mind here that we still don't have a bed.
Right, everyone caught up? Good. Where was I? Oh yes, the meth-head with a warrant out for his arrest that won't get the fuck out of my house. Billiam suggested he take him along to help pack and drive back from VA. The ungrateful fuck said he couldn't because his family was having a barbecue this weekend that he couldn't miss. I bit my tongue hard enough to draw blood at this point.
Here I am. Three days off. THREE DAYS OFF. I don't know if that will ever happen again while I'm in my current position. And what will I be doing? Taking care of four dogs, two of which aren't even remotely housebroken and that we are trying to keep separate from our spoiled pooches so they don't spread whatever they might have to them. And hanging out with R, you know the guy who is sleeping on our couch because he is hiding out from the cops? Yeah, that one.
Please. Shoot me now. That's all I ask.
Here are pictures of the ridiculously cute, starved
little girls that we need to find homes for asap:
I'm already nearly in love with the little red faced girl. She followed billiam around with hero worship in her eyes all day yesterday and she has just the sweetest disposition. I'm secretly calling her Leona (secretly because billiam strictly forbade me to get attached or name them).
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