Words From The Pen

Holy freaking crap. I am on my FORTH (4) round of antibotics, ya'll, and I'm only getting worse. I know antibotics don't always make it all better, but they should, I dunno, put a fucking dent in it. No. No dent. They are captured by the goo of the snot build up in my sinus's. I pray they kept little suicide pills of their own with them. The goo is an evil and cruel ruler. 

Behold the mighty and terrible King Snotus and his evil Queen Hack'n'Stuff! FEAR THEIR RULE FOREVER MORE!

(If the above does not let ya'll in on how wacked out by sick and meds I am at the moment, you are probably on more pills then I am. And I'd guess that yours aren't shoved down your throat by doctors.)

When I get sick I get food cravings. Was craving homemade taco's yesterday. Wandered around Dollar General sick and drugged until a very nice employee walked me to the meat seasoning, asked me how many I wanted, got me down the appropriate number, walked me to the counter, and checked me out. He was awesome. 

Sick. Very, terribly sick. I AM STILL AT WORK. WHY DO I DO THIS TOO MYSELF!?

UUUGH!

No. There is NO freaking point to this post. Deal with it.
 

After one (1) vist to Urgent Care and one (1) vist to my family doctor, I started to win the battle against the sinus infection. I think it has something do with the fact my family doctor works in JCMG, and allow me to explain to you how much love I JCMG:

They have a coffee center. Not just ANY coffee center, kids - it's like the Most Awesome Coffee, Flavored Drinks, and General Yummy THAT HAS EVER LIVED. There was a three year period where if my mom drove by the JCMG building I would make her stop for the strict reason of getting a white chocolate moca END OF FREAKING STORY. Real chocolate. REAL CHOCOLATE. 

It's amazing.

So on my way out of the doctor's I got a white choclate moca, and my mouth exploded with delight. The owner - WHO I LOVE BEYOND ALL REASON - gave Meg and I (who I drug with me to the doctors, because I hate going alone) free samples of his new fruit smoothy ice drink things. Holy fucking shit, the chocolate banana was seriously a mouthgasm of epic scale. 

Point is, I got new antibotics and a white chocolate moca. Two days into antibotics and having tasted the sweet healing elixor of moca, things were looking up. The doctor had basically spazzed when she looked up my nose... um, yeah, apparently you need to come the doctor AT ONCE when your nose swells shut due to sinus's. Whatever. 
ONLY WUSSIES DO THAT, SERIOUSLY.

Oh, and I'm pre-diabetic and have to loose twenty pounds. But that's neither here nor there.

POINT IS, I was doing very well. I hadn't had a cigarette in THREE DAYS, my friends, which is like amazing. Chain smoker, hi. 

Last night my sinus's pack themselves shut again. My throat goes from good to raw meat. My NOSE STARTS TO SWELL SHUT FOR THE SECOND TIME. 

Moral of the story is: if you have no (0) immune system, work in an office building full of sick people that sneeze, coffe, hack, and breath at you all day AND you handle ALL THE MAIL for you unit which no doubt OTHER SICK PEOPLE have sneezed, coughed, hacked, and breathed upon before they sent it in - the sinus infection will win. And it will bring it's little friend known as Mr. Cold.

And you will long for death. Mostly because the pressure keeps makes your ears slowly clog utnil you can't hear...and then they pop. Suddenly. And all the sound blasts back at you, and you nearly toss yourself out of your chair whimpering hysterically.

Also, you will be so yucky and tired that you will spend at least three minutes attempting to feed the coin slot on the Pepsi machine in the breakroom a dollar. While co-workers watch you, and wonder exactly what kind of drugs you are on. (Q: Drugs? A: Antibotics, decongestion, something like Sudefed, allergy pills, and pain killers to numb the fact my sinus's may explode in waves of snot and mucus. Ha, made you gag.) 

Up note? New condintioner. Smells like Asian Pears and Red Tea. Which, if you don't know, is quite the amazing scent. I know, because hto showers let me breath a bit. Which fades when I get out, BUT FOR THOSE MOMENTS, MY NOSE WORKS.

1. Pick your birth month
2. Strike out anything that doesn't apply to you
3. Bold the five to ten that best apply to you
4. Copy to your own journal, with all twelve months under a lj-cut.

FEBRUARY:
Abstract thoughts. Loves reality and abstract. Intelligent and clever. Changing personality. Attractive. Sexy. Temperamental. Quiet, shy and humble. Honest and loyal. Determined to reach goals. Loves freedom. Rebellious when restricted. Loves aggressiveness. Too sensitive and easily hurt. Gets angry really easily but does not show it. Dislikes unnecessary things. Loves making friends but rarely shows it. Daring and stubborn. Ambitious. Realizes dreams and hopes. Sharp. Loves entertainment and leisure. Romantic on the inside not outside. Superstitious and ludicrous. Spendthrift. Tries to learn to show emotions.

Comment with one of my fandoms, and I'll reply (where applicable) with:

01. The first character I fell in love with
02. The character I never expected to love as much as I do now
03. The character everyone else loves that I don't
04. The character I love that everyone else hates
05. The character I used to love but don't any longer
06. The character I would shag anytime
07. The character I'd want to be like
08. The character I'd slap
09. A pairing that I love
10. A pairing that I despise

Holy crap, crazy day today. I was late for work because SiFi was playing Firefly, and I've never actually got to see the whole series. I was tempted to stay in my PJ's and call in sick, but I didn't, and I was grumpy for. I grumped all morning that I could be at home watching Firefly, why oh why did I go into work? Damn you work, damn you.

So Chris wasn't at work today - not that he bothered to call in, because OMG he is so far above that. So we spent the morning going, "Where the fuck is Chris," while peering into his empty office with a deer in headlights look. And Mary and Barb are both gone, so we only had two supervisors today, and that's generally when people call in WANTING A SUPERVISOR RIGHT NOW, NO, I WILL NOT TELL YOU WHY. BUGGER OFF.

But I got to listen to my head phones, so I was overjoyed about that. But I ended up not even getting to go on lunch until one, and I was like URG GRUMMP.

Anyway, at this very moment, there is a standoff happening a few roads down from me. This guy obviously is armed, has a hostage, and they've got a SWAT team, police...BUT THE NEWS ISN'T GIVING US ANYTHING, AND I WANT TO KNOW WHATS GOING. URGH I HATE THAT.

Edit: Situation over!

Yes. Yes I am the sick kind of person that would totally listen to a police scanner if I had one. But grandpa does, so I to listen to his. SICK I KNOW, BUT IT'S THE WAY I AM. DON'T HOLD IT AGAINST ME.


Meanwhile, my super cute haircut isn't so awesome unless I can straighten it. However, I don't own a big curling iron or a flat iron, so I'M RATHER SCREWED. I look like a poodle that got a bad perm, BECAUSE SCREW YOU CURLY HAIR, SCREW YOU SO HARD I HATE YOU. A;LJFE;LA FUCKING CURLY ASS HAIR THAT TURNS INTO A FRO. D:

White girls should NOT have fro's. Real, puffy, sticking out there fro's. EXCEPT THAT I AM A WHITE GIRL AND I DO.

My Home Town

So the link above takes you to our local news, and Iberia is my hometown...this lady is crazy, right? She was angry because her boyfriend broke up with her,  one of his reasoning being she had kids, so she had her baby in his playpen napping...she put the blanket on him, set it on fire. Put the lighter on top of him so it would explode when the fire hit it, went into her room, and didn't leave until she couldn't hear him screaming anymore. He was nine months old. He had his toes and fingers amputated, and his left leg...I think a week later he died.

How sick and wrong is this, that Juvinial Services insisted the kids go back to her? Fucking WRONG.

You are so grounded, Bragg. I THOUGHT YOU LIKED THE P0RN!

So really, I am of the fanatically pissed off and ready to maim people state of mind. Which isn't a very good place for me to be - not only to people get hurt, I can't write, which makes RPing go MEH. Anywho - there is a reason for my ;LAJKEFAL;, and the reason iiiiiiiisssss...

I hate my goddamn landlord so much I could choke. He came to my apartment at like ten last night (as I'm in my giant, limegreen night dress getting ready to see Meg and Luci to bed, and then conk out with Mari), pissed off at the world. He found a cockroach in his kitchen (he lives in the apartment below mine).

And THUSLY it came from my apartment, because he FREAKING SAID SO.

I do not, with no doubts, have roaches. I know this because roaches swarm, if you turn off the light, wait a few minutes, and flick it back on you'll see a whole herd or pack of whateverthefuck of them running away from the light. This has NEVER HAPPENED. EVER. I DO NOT HAVE EVEN ONE ROACH IN MY HOME.

I did, however, have a kitchen table covered in mail, Meg and I's purses, and a few random other things. A sink piled high with dishes because the sink is broke, and everytime I run a sink of water to do dishes it stops up and spits up grime and dirt, and every time I run the dish washer it backs up and spits up grime and dirt - so doing dishes is rather a dreaded event.

But OMG. I'm fithly. For real - this kid (he's no more then a kid, just a few years older then I am) thinks I am FILLLLLTHY.

I tell him that maybe the roach came out of my sink. Because it's been backed up for three months. Sure, they'd swarm away from the water if you ran it so I know they're not there...BUT THEY TOTALLY ARE IF IT MEANS YOU'LL FINALLY FIX IT.

He dickers around with it, pulls up part of the wash rag that mom got stuck in there...we sit and make faces at him because anyone of us could have done this, but I refused because it's what I have a LANDLORD for. Oh, and I've grumped at him about for like once a week, every week.

So he got done, and asked me if I was going to work today. I just kind of stared at him like he was stupid (he knows this) and nodded a few times. He then told me that "Everyone else in this building is a clean person, and I want to see this place cleaner."

OMG. NO YOU DIDN'T.

BITCH, YOUR GIRLFRIEND WORKS A REAL JOB SO YOU DON'T HAVE TOO, AND FRANKLY, BUTTHEAD, YOU ARE A REALLY BAD LANDLORD. I WORK FORTY HOURS A WEEK, I HAVE CFS, I AM OFTEN EXHUASTED TO THE POINT THAT I GET HOME AT FIVEISH, EAT AT FIVE FORTY-ISH, AND THEN AM ASLEEP BY SIX THIRTY.

PLEASE. FUCKING. FUCK OFF. AND DIE. THNX.

Made me so mad I saw RED. Yes, the house is cluttered and could be neater, but it is not, in any way shape, sort, or form filthy. When mom lived there, I could walk without socks on! The CARPET WAS TOO CRUSTED WITH EW TO WALK WITHOUT SOCKS ON. I LIVE THERE, NOW, AND I WALK FREELY WITH BARE FEET BECAUSE I CLEAN THE CARPET, AND VACCUM, AND SCREW YOU, BUDDY.

He didn't knock on anyone else's door. Only mine. The neighbore above and to the side of me - who is very nice, and I really like her - her apartment is a hundred times worse then mine. I mean, for real. BUT DID HE GO UP THERE? NOOOOOOO.

I hate him. For real.

I think, ladies and gents, it's time for Callista to be movin' on from this little corner of hell. I'm going to start packing...get everything except the absolute esscentals packed up...line up a place...and then give him my thirty day's notice.

Yeehaw. I think I'ma moving out, kiddies.

Mostly a note for those I talk on my messanger's too, and Rosey, my faithful RP buddy...I'm gone for the weekend!

And - low and behold - I balanced my account wrong, AND I HAVE A BUTT LOAD OF MY LEFT. Sooooo I got my hair cut, and it's awesome! I'll post pictures if I can find my camera. :/

Holy crap, I am seriously going to abuse someone. Viciously. So viciously that people may die, because I am that fucking wrathful.

Something. Is. Wrong. With. My. Car.

I turned the air on because it's hot and there is like a hundred degrees of humid and I hate it. So naturally, while I'm driving home from work, I WANT TO USE MY AIR. But then the air tuns its self off. No air. None. I wiggle the button...one, two, three, four...four to one...one to three...NOTHING.

NO AIR.

So as I am cussing and scarring people in the lanes beside me, I attempt to roll the window down, because it's FUCKING HOT.

Window. Does not. Roll down. Neither DOES ANY OF THE OTHER TWO WORKING WINDOWS. (I only have three that work, the wiring went out on the other one.) Then RANDOMLY the air comes back on, and the windows work. AND THEN NEITHER WORKS. AND THEN THEY WORK AGAIN.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I HAVE A WIRING SHORT IN MY CAR AND I DON'T KNOW TO FIND OR FIX IT. WTF IT'S NOT WIRING? WTF IT'S MY ALTERNATOR!? ALTERNATOR'S ARE FUCKING EXPENSIVE AND I CAN'T AFFORD ONE AND I SURE AS HELL CAN'T AFFORD A NEW CAR AND OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

Well. I feel a bit better now.

Okay, so, I also had a realization. To explain I must explain this: various people at work have teased me that I need to my office in the bathroom, because I'm generally running to the bathroom. Yeah, um, I have a tiny bladder and I drink water all day. So I was in the bathroom today, and I was in the big stall - you know, the handcapped ones?

Serious to God, I WISH they would move me into that stall. IT IS BIGGER THEN MY CUBE.

Guys, a bathroom stall is bigger then my cubical. I am such a peon that they don't see me as worthy as having the same space as a bathroom stall.

Something is not right with that.  And my car is BROKEN.

And I am angsty. Aaaaaaaaagnsty.

BOOOO.

FUCKING CAR.

I only have one thing to say right now...

At long last, Harry Potter is finally over. While I'm estatic at the fact that we all finally know how Harry's story really ends...I'm also a bit devistated. HP has brought about so much in my life - some of my dearest, closest friends, helped me flesh out a number of characters I've been walking around playing with for years (OMG, KIt pwns your soul...HI ROSEY!), and...hell, absolutely kept me enthralled for five years! 

It's finally over. Big nod to JK, love you doll. (OMG RED HAIRED BABIES W00T.) I think I need a drink. Possibly therapy. But...

OMG DH EEEE.

<3

Woo, going to Ozark Avalon this Saturday! It's a temple for us pagans up near Boonville, and I'm excited! It's kind of like offically coming out of the broom closet, I guess, since I've always practiced solo. Or with various friends who are also of the pagan/Wiccan/heathen (lol greatest. term. ever) way, so yeah, I guess it <i>is</i> coming out of the broomcloset.

So yeah, the fact I just wrote that paragraph as it being something 'exciting' in my life proves that I am the most boring person ever.

Also plan on fishing this weekend, which is BRILLIANT. The fish have been out like mother fuckers, and I am SO going to catch Bertha. Bertha just so happens to be a Giant Mother Fucker of a cat fish, that resides in the large pond behind Meg and Lassey's house. Seeing how the bitch has broken two poles (one of them being mine D:), broken god knows how many lines, and eaten a frickin' BALLIZION hooks - it is war. I bought a brand new catfish pole - a Shakespear - and it's like the mother of all catfish poles. Bitch stands probably six foot six inches tall, and it's got a damn fancy reel.

Quite an amusing sight to see me with it, seeing how I'm an inch and half above five feet.

So if this pole doesn't catch Bertha, the next step is explosives. Or I'm going to jump in the pond, swim to the bottom, and wrestle the bitch out.

Callista attacks catfish with bare hands, ends up in hospital due to massive stings. Film at eleven!

Sadly enough, this might happen if I have a few beers. :/ Friends don't let friends drink and fish. Pass it on.

So I'm having minor work drama involving a bitch of co-worker. Emily, the woman on the switchboard with me, didn't come into work today, so the superivsers had to schedule techs to handle her phones. Ann sits and reads romanace novels or plays Solitaire on the computer <i>all damn day</i>, and so she was quite bitch when she got put on the phones. I ended up taking a smoke break, which takes all of five minutes, and she got <i>pissed</i>.

Apparently, I never work. Apparently, I sit with my thumb up my ass, spinning circles. So she went and complained, and my superviser kind of stared at her in dumbfounded amazement before patting her on the head and sending on her bitchy little way. I have to count and log <i>everything</i> that I do - mail, TPL's incoming, out going, and entered into the data base, as well as all the calls I get. So she see's how much I do.

Haha. Eat, whore, the numbers are on <i>my</i> side.

Honestly, it's like working a pre-school.

"She ate my cookie! FIRE HER!"

"She's a stupid bitch. *kick*"

"Now, Callista, we know better then to kick Ann...."

"Well she freaking started it. Jeez."

Now, if only I could kick her and get away with it....

I have absolute proof that works makes me stupid. In fact, it is possible that in today alone I have lost enough brain cells to put me in a coma.

Call came in from an attorney wanting to talk with a certain tech. It comes to my attention, however, that there is not a case set up and so I open my mouth to ask her, "Have you spoken with Tech on this case?"

What actually leaves my mouth is, "Have you spoked with Tech on this case?" In which stars exploded in front of my eyes, something inside me curled up and died, and I sputtered out - "Spoken! Spoken with Tech on this case!"

Which leads me to wonder if I can call in stupid tomorrow?

"I GOT THE STOOPID, DUR DUR DUR. CAN'T COME IN TODAY. DUUUUR DUR DURRRR."

"Take the time to rest. We understand."

"HAAR, I LIKE SHINY THINGS!"

I would just like to note that I am so going to the St. Louis zoo this weekend. So if I disappear, I've gone to live with the gorilla's. As I recall I like gorillas - at least, I did when I was in second grade and they took us to the zoo on a field trip. The silver back and I were bonding by making faces at each other...and then he started whapping his chest at me, and I screamed like the child I was.

I also got to ride on a hundred year old sea-turtles back. They probably won't let me now, seeing how as I'm not tiny, with pig-tails bouncing about my chubby cheeks and hugging the sea-turtle watcher-man thing's leg. Which is, apparently, rather endearing.

Although I'm betting a push up bra + school girl outfit would win me super points. Just a thought. I could bounce enticingly, yes?

Sea turtle here I come!

...

As a side note: the entire point of this post is to distract me for about ten minutes, as ten minutes of distraction is ten minutes I'm not staring at the tpl2's as though someone as stabbed my 1 Twu Luv. (In which case I would not be staring, I would be kicking ass like some crazy, ass kicking fiance. Touch him. Come on. Fuck with him. I dare you, asshole.) Point of that being, sorry I'm spamming f-lists with this. But I'm bored. And...yeah. I'll go that way now. >.>

The random has ended. I am running away now. Damn you, work, and your habit of making me non-lazy.

I do believe a massive post awaits you all - so get ready for it. Oh yes, this has most certianly been my most interesting week to date. Ever. Period. In twenty years, this is the week that will probalby always stand out.
getting

Monday wasn't anything special. Work, eat, sleep. Booooring. Tuesday is when it all started.

I was working late on Tuesday, because I had hours to make up and a lot of shit to do. I checked my email in the afternoon, and saw that mom had sent me an email with only a phone number in it. I thought she had lost her mind, because who the heck sends a random phone number? I pretty much forgot about it until five, when I took a quick break before starting my overtime to call mom and ask her about it. She kept saying it was nothing, that she thought I wouldn't check my email at work - and then she finally tells me.

"Callista, Kyra called your grandparents house."

"...Who?"

"Your sister. Terry's other daughter." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my half-sister called looking for me. Grandpa took her number because he wouldn't give mine out, called mom, and mom emailed it to me so I would have it when I got home. I was...floored. I ended up going to Mary and telling her I just didn't think I could focus enough to work, that I needed to go home and call her. I cried a lot, and was so nervous - but I called her. It was pretty amazing, talking my little sister for the first time. She's eighteen, and while she really acts eighteen, she's a sweetie. We have so much in common it's frightening...and we couldn't wait to meet, so we both rushed to the McDonalds in Ashland (she lives about half an hour away from me in Columbia), and met there for the very first time.

We don't look an amazingly lot alike. But our hair is nearly the same color, and we have the same eyes. She looks so much like Terry that it's unbelievable, and she's so....so sweet. It was amazing, you know? Meeting my sister. We cried all over ourselves and talked non-stop, and it was great. I have a little sister, ya'll!

So Tuesday I'm way hyped up, still kind of dazed from getting to meet her. I was hurting, though - I'd been hurting really bad on my right side for two weeks. I figured it was about the time I was meant to have a period (I have periods that would send normal women to blowing off their own heads, and men to just dying right there), so I just kept on moving. But it just kept getting worse, and worse...I mean, I am used to pain and being sick - good lord, I've been sick for over half my life...to me, a bad cold is a minor annoyance! But I was at the fax machine sending an archive request...and I nearly fainted right there. No lies, I thought something had ruptured.

So again I went to Mary, and I was bawling like a damn baby. I was blabbling, I think. I kept saying, "I have to leave, Mary. I have to go to the ER right now!" And so she hustled me off and got Mary D. to come take over the phones since I was leaving in such a hurry - Mary D. nearly had a heart attack from what I heard later. Something about seeing a grown woman bawling and clutching her side, on the phone begging her mommy to please come get her and take her to the hospital. Hell, I was pretty shook up. I thought I was dying

So mom comes and gets me, frantic as any mother would be. We go to the hospital. We get there about...oh, two. At four, I am still in the waiting room, crying, dying, and pissed off. At five they come and get me so I can have blood taken, then put me back in the waiting room. I eventually start raising holy hell, and finally they come and get me and put me in a room. That's at eight.

About nine the doctor gets in there. He started touching my belly and I nearly came up off the bed and punched his face in. They hooked me up to an IV, did a vaginal ultra-sound (girls, if you can ever get out of one those, go for it.They SUCK), and a then the doctor came back in. The ultrasound showed that my ovaries are A) covered in cysts and B) the pain was from a massive cyst that swelled up, and then exploded. So me nearly fainting at the fax? Cyst going KABOOOM in my belly. I thought I was getting over the stomach flu or something, but they also told me I have IBS (Irritable Bowl Syndrome), and I was MASSIVELY dehydrated. Which would explain a lot. So I got like a bag and a half of saline stuff in my IV, and some KILLER pain meds.

And by killer pain meds, I mean I don't really remember leaving the hospital. The dehydration had my tongue and throat swelling really bad, so mom had to watch me all night because I was dead. Didn't go into work the next morning. I really don't even remember calling into work. That's how stoned I was. I got antibotics, other pills that stop me from having diarreah because that's what caused the dehydration, and pain killers. And by pain killers, I mean Darvicet. Or however you spell it. Which I can't take, because I have to work.

But right now it's a weekend, I'm hurting like a mother due to explooded cyst and swollen ovary, so I think I'm going to pop one and be dead for the next two days.

But first! We did Christmas today, at my grandparents with Uncle Bob, Aunt Vicki, and the twins. SO. FREAKING. AWESOME. All the gifts were perfect, and I made off like a damn bandit. Mom's present from me took the gift cake this year, though.

My great-grandma Dake, who mom was really, really close to, died of breast cancer. So we've all been really active in giving money to help find a cure, and we buy anything that's Breast Cancer Awareness. If it has the pink ribbon, there is a 99% chance it is in our house, or on one of our bodies. So this year I got mom a heart locked with the pink ribbon in the middle...before she opened it I told her I'd tell her what the second part of that gift is. So she opens, and just stares for a long time before she just BUSTS UP in tears.

So I tell her, "The second part is come my next payday, I'm taking you to Kinko's or somewhere, and we're going to get pictures sized down and put in it. You choose, but I was thinking at east one of Grandma Dake." Mom is hysterical at that point, and even my Uncle Bobbie was tucking his hat down to hide his face, and "scratching his cheeks." Which translates out into he's to manly to cry in front of us, so he reduces it to allergies and an ich. So cute.

Mom decided on putting a picture of Grandma Dake when she was young on one side, and a picture of Grandma when she was all white headed and plump and cooking and Grandma on the other. I think it's really nice.

Right, so. I'm going to finish up talking to my people, and then pain killer city. And woohoo, dead for two days!


Note: Marius is currently chewing on his own knee cap he put his foot so far up his mouth. And I am about to put my foot so far up his ass he is chewing on my chewlaces. Freaking Twatwaffle.

To start this whole entry off, I have to say that I really, really love my job. It's not so much the job its self but probably the people I get to interact with on a daily basis, that I'm out of the house, that I know I'm actually doing something and I can see it getting done. And, you know, getting paid rocks my world. Apparently my whole love-my-job additude and "I'm at work, so I should probably, I dunno, work," way of thought has pretty much endeared me to most of my co-workers and superviser and such. Not to say that my co-workers don't work - most of them work their butts as hard as I do - but there is always that handful of people that just kind of sit there with their thumbs up their ass and get pissed when they have to do something. Everyone knows the type, we've all had to deal with them at some point. Hate them.

I really could sit and talk about how much I love my job, and how I've impressed my superviser, all freaking day but I think I can live without premoting my own ego for a while. Because I had one of those horrible, the world is out to get me kind of days that just fuck your whole mind up. By three in the afternoon I was ready to crawl into a hole and just die, seriously.

So to begin my rant of my bad day, let me start out with this: I work my damn ass off. I am an entry level position, but I WORK MY DAMN ASS OFF. I never have a free moment, I'm constantly doing something; the phone is always ringing, there is always paperwork to be done, there is always mail to be sorted, messages to be sent...something. I really, truly, do not stop working from eight in the morning until five at night. And I know the lawyers and insurance people and recpiants that call into our office think I probably have a pretty easy job, answering the phone and taking messages...but there is a lot more to it then that. And even it was only that that I had to do, I think people would understand that I am taking their call, assuring them that their information will get to the tech, setting up their case...they would not be able to get what they need done without me. Not tooting my own horn, a simple fact.

On that note, please allow me to share why in the hell that needs to be said.

Lawyer: *Needs to know where a reembursment should be sent to*

Me: I'm sorry sir, that's not my department, I don't know. And besides, I'm knew, been doing this about three weeks...I just don't know everything, yet.

Lawyer: It took me four years to get my degree...it takes, what, an hour for you to learn how to do your job? YOu've been there long enough you should know what I need, and your boss made a bad choice in hiring you if you can't answer my question. You have a simple job, why don't you learn how to do it?

Me: .........

...................

.............................


Lawyer: *Gloats at setting the peon in her place*

Me: Sir, there is a lot more to my job then you think. Now can I please get your number so I can pass this message on?

Lawyer: *Bitches more, finally hangs up*

Me: ASSHOLE. ASSHOLE, ASSHOLE, ASSHOLE, ASSHOLE.

Okay, seriously, I can understand that if a person doesn't know how to do their job it's frustrating. But what he wanted WAS NOT PART OF MY JOB. And while I'm learning about what everyone does so I can help take the load off the techs and stuff, I do NOT know everything yet. THREE WEEKS, PEOPLE. THREE WEEKS I'VE BEEN DOING THIS BY MYSELF. My unit is NOT easy to understand or learn, and Medicaid is TERRIFYINGLY CONFUSING. I was so mad at him I was seriously seeing red - and I feel bad, because maybe I'm not doing my job well enough. Maybe I'm not picking up quick enough, even though all I've been told is that I am.

UGH. I HATE LAWYERS.

So compounded to that moment of horror (at least on my part), I also: ripped my pants, got called fat, broke my date stamper, basically got a passive-agressive bitch-slap on how I give tech's messages...Oh, and someone is stealing my shit.

Little stuff. Breakfast bars, soda's, my second request stamper thing. The little stuff that makes me think I just misplaced it, or I set it somewhere and forgot it. But now I know that it's not me...first off, I have a breast cancer pen that I use at work that has the breast cancer awareness ribbon on it...if it isn't in my hand it's on my notebook or in my hair. I always know where its at. I also always know where my notebook is at, because I keep right in front of the phone/beside the computer so I can take down my notes and messages without having to search for it.

I spilled my soda so I ran to the bathroom to get some paper towels to mop it up with it, and when I get done cleaning it off my desk, I realize my notebook and my pen are gone. I assume that I took them with me and left them in the bathroom. Go and look...they aren't there. I check in the breakroom, the front desk, the mail slots...it's not anywhere. So I go to my superviser and I'm like, "Listen, I know this is going to sound crazy but my crap is disappearing. Little stuff...it's just a notebook and a pen this time, but this is crazy. I mean, if someone needed something or wanted to borrow something, just ask me. I don't mind."

So Mary and I look. IT IS NO WHERE TO BE FOUND. Not in any of my drawers, the floor, behind anything...

I go to the bathroom. I come back, my pen and my notebook are laying on my desk as pretty as picture. As Mary is getting ready to leave I ask her if she found them and brought them back, or if someone told her they did - nope. So the only thing I can think of is that someone is pulling stupid, junior high little pranks on me.

Seriously, I am the youngest person there. YOUNGEST. PERSON. THERE. Why the fuck would someone steal a Nutragrain bar, or a Pepsi, or a freaking SECOND REQUEST STAMPER!? It's STUPID. And I KNOW they had to have heard, because I turned my cubical upside down looking for my pen and notebook - and then it's on my desk, pen on the notebook, just like I would leave it.

OMG. I AM SO FRUSTRATED.

Even if I find out who it is, I can't do anything. And by anything, I mean knocking their teeth down their throat because it is THAT annoying to me. I just tell Mary, like a kid going to a teacher. I WANT to chew them a new asshole. It is quite possible that if I found who it is, I will want to beat the living daylights out of them for fucking with me. It is a normal fucking reaction.

BUT I CAN'T DO ANYTHING. ;LAJFLE;AJKLF;EJA;LJL;FE

Who the crap takes breakfast bars and a notebook and pen, anyways? What could they possibly WANT them for? If it was like, money in purse or something, I could comprehend that. But for the love of god, if they go to our supply lady she can give them all the pens and notebooks they NEED. If that want a freaking breakfast bar I will GIVE THEM ONE. THis is CRAZY.

UGH. So frustrated.

But now I'm going to go to bed, I think. Because I can only be grumpy for so long.

Today I spoke to the woman that is the poster child for why sterilization should be a law inforced upon stupid people. And because it caused me to actually drop IQ points, I have no choice but to share the stupid with others, as I am deeply scarred and wish to not be the only one under such harsh mental stress. To understand this gem of stupidity I have to give a little bit of background on what I do - I am a state work, and my division is for state Medicaid. I'm an entry level position, and my job is answering and directing calls for my entire division, which comes up to around thirty or forty people I think, doing mail, forms...it's just a big load. One of the calls we get a lot are estate calls: when someone is on Medicaid and they pass away, a letter is sent out saying that a claim could be placed on their home or property so Medicaid can take back some of the money they spent on their health bills and such. If the person did not own a house or property they can't really do anything (as far as I know, but I've only been there three weeks, so I guess plenty of people who call in could mock me for being stupid), or if there is a spouse alive they can't set up that claim or lien.

Seeing how I've been there for three weeks, I don't exactly know all the ends and outs of the many programs I direct calls for, but I do know enough that I can give the basic jist to a person when they call in wondering what in the heck the estate letter they'd been sent says. For some god awful reason, today was packed full of estate calls, and one of our estate techs was out - which left our remaining tech absolutely overwhelemed with calls and call-backs. So I was doing my part and explaining the basic's, and if they still wanted to talk to the tech I'd either transfer their call or take a message.

So a woman calls in today, obviously because she had gotten an estate letter. But she doesn't tell me this in the beginning - all she says is,

"Ya'll sent me a letter today. What the hell does it mean?" Naturally, I have no clue what she's talk about. Very politely I ask her,

"What does the letter say, ma'am?"

"Well you sent it to me, you should know!" Let me pause here, to bang my head against my desk in an exact replica of what I was doing at this point when this happened. I just answer the phones, lady, I direct the calls and do my shit and that is the end of it - I didn't send you crap. Logically, this should be assumed.

"Ma'am, I just answer the calls around here. I don't know what the letter says, can you please read some to me so I know what it is?"

"I told you - you sent it, you should know what the hell it says!" Finally, I convince her to read some of it to me...

The begining of the letter goes something along the lines of, "To whom it may concern, this is a courtesy letter, bla bla bla..."

This, however, is what the lady reads to me (in a very thick, redneck accent - of which I posess myself, so that is not meant offensively in anyway), "To whom it may concern, this is a C-O-U-R-T-E-S-Y - whatever the hell that means - letter..."

And at that point, my brain promptly shut down in absolute and total shock. For those of you wondering, yes, she did spell courtesy out and informed me that she had no idea what in the hell it meant. Not one. Stinking. Clue. Now, I understand - to a limit - not understanding nor being well versed in your native language because I am from Missouri, and around here we tend to speak some mutated version of American-English that is only classified as Redneck Backwoods Lingo...But I just could not wrap my brain around this. I mean, for the love of everything holy, my brain basically SHUT DOWN while I am on this call, which makes explain what the letter means almost phsyically impossible.

But somehow, I managed it. The letter was sent on her husband, who had obviously passed, and so I assured her that Medicaid could not put a lien or claim against her home as he had a remaining spouse, which was her.

To which she replies, "Well that's good, 'cause I got me seven kids all under the age of eighteen and where the hell woulda we lived if'n we got kicked out?"

I AM NOT LYING. THIS WOMAN SAID IF'N IN REFERANCE TO HER SEVEN, UNDERAGED CHILDREN. What in the fuck is she DOING with seven underaged children in the first place? She goes ON to inform me that it's just an old trailer - and while I firmly believe that there is nothing wrong with living in a trailer, as my best friend does - the only thing I can hear is the Battle of the Banjo's playing on repeat in my mind. Seven kids. One trailor. And a dog named Precious. OMG WTF?

I thought my brain hurt before. After my halted attempt at explaing the letter to her, she still wanted to speak to our tech, so I took a message as she was very busy at the moment. She gives me her number, and then her "cell'ar" number. OMG THE PAIN MY BRAIN IS IN AT THIS MOMENT. To matters only WORSE, I could hear Jerry Springer playing in the backinground...and she was yelling at her yippy dog named Precious.

To many, this entire situation is not the kick in the nuts that it was for me. And I do suppose that the situation was probably a, "You had to be there," kind of thing...But when a grown woman with seven kids doesn't know what courtesy is, nor even how to pronounce it, my brain reaches it's melt down-level and it shuts down for a good ten minutes. I am currently stuck between sobbing in agony over the horrific condintions under which many people of lived under, leaving them to say things like, "Whatever the hell that means," or just going out and stabbing my eyes out.

And so not only do I have to put up with the obviously under-educated - which is of no fault of their own - I also have to put up with the I OWN THE WORLD, YOU PEON, BECAUSE I HAVE A LAW DEGREE lawyers.

I really dislike lawyers right about now. The reason being this little fiasco:

Wensday, at four thirty, a lawyer whose name I will leave out for obvious reason but will henceforth be known by The Asshole, calls. I deal with a lot of lawyers in my work because my devision of Medicaid only works with accidents/tramua/mal-practice/workers comp, and HIPP (Health Insurance Primium Policy or something like that, I can't remember). Medicaid can set up a lien on a case to get back some of the money they/we spent in paying all their medical stuff, and if there is a lawsuit and a settlement is reached, a portion of that money goes to us. So this lawyer calls wanting to find out about the lien and whatever, and from the get go you can tell he's some Starbucks drinking asshole that thinks he's gods gift to everything.

I hate him. But anyways.

I ask him for the DCN (Medicaid number) so I can get into the database, which will allow me to look at A)all the information on the case and B) Transfer him to the tech on the case. He throws a holy hell shit fit because I cannot simply type in the woman's name, and am thusly making him do something he doesn't want to do. So he finally yells over to his secretary/para-legal or whatever, "LINDA, WHAT THE HELL IS THE DAMN DCN?"

I am deeply offended for the poor woman. He gives it to me, I get in there, see the lien hasn't been updated in months so the tech will have to go over it and everything - and low and behold, the tech has already left for the day. Not my fault, I just answer the phones. But The Asshole, who feels the world revolves only around himself, throws yet another shit fit. In short order I am informed that I am shit, I am worthless, I am shit on his shoes, and this case is more important then me OR the tech on the case.

So I'm pissed. I'm REALLY FUCKING PISSED OFF. But I can't allow that show, and so I'm very nice, and sweet, and keep telling him how "Sorry I am to trouble you when you're no doubt so very busy, Mr. Asshole." I convince him to let me take a message, and he informs me that she has to call him ASAP.

I send the message. I am pissy, but I move on with life and deal with it.

But then The Asshole calls back yesterday. Wants to talk to the tech...I ask him for the DCN and he, again, throws a fit because he already gave it to me once. Serious to God, no sooner then I get off a phone call, that phone will ring again. So I don't remember DCN's, and even if I did, I would bash myself in the head to forget the one he needs. I finally get the DCN and he just wants to go straight to the tech - which I can't do until I look at the stuff I need to. He's pissed. He is so pissed, and he is throwing a fit...

Finally, I am ready to transfer him over. And The Assholes asked me, "Who are you transfering me to?"

"The tech."

"The one I wanted to speak to in the first place?"

"Yes, sir."

"YOU ARE SO FUCKING STUPID, YOU COULD HAVE DONE THAT IN THE BEGINNING! I DON'T CARE WHAT THEY TAUGHT YOU TO DO, I DON'T CARE IF YOU ARE DOING YOU JOB, YOU HAD BETTER LISTEN TO ME WHEN I TELL YOU TO DO SOMETHING BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT AND OBVIOUSLY NO ONE THERE DOES! YOU ARE FUCKING WORTHLESS, YOU STUPID BITCH, BLA BLA BLA LISTEN AS VERBALLY SUCK MY OWN DICK, SWALLOW MY OWN CUM, AND THEN CHOKE TO DEATH ON IT!"

To say that I am livid at this point is a very large understatement. Much to my delight, I get to inform him that the tech is out to lunch. To which he is very, very angry...nothing new for THe Asshole. So I take another message, email the tech...

And I get an email back saying that The Asshole can cool his heals because the tech called him at 8:45 that morning, and he was too busy to talk to her. You want to talk about nearly blowing my lid right there, all I wanted to do was get him back on the phone, crawl through the phone line, wrap the cord around his neck, and choke him to death. He will throw a fit at me - who can control neither what I have to do in my job, or when the tech is avalible or not - but when she calls him back as he not-so-nicely requested of her (and I was clear to let her know the manner in which he requested it), he is too busy to talk to her?

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

I can't even begin to tell everyone how angry I was. How angry I am now. But at least I have the satisfiaction of knowing that if I ever have to deal with The Asshole again, I full permission to tell him, "Excuse me while I transfer you to a superviser, sir."

And I think I just might throw in there that the calls are being recorded for training. He doesn't have to know that it's a lie - and I bet that would shut him up really quickly.

More the point, I could always sneakily put him on a three-way with a superviser, while he is bitching me out. Teehee. I like this plan.

As some of you know, I've spent the last...oh three months, looking for a job. Took the State Merit test (so I could get a state job, which pays good and has hella benfits). Got a call yesterday saying that, joy for me, I got a job! I'm entry level, but I've got the hella benfits and pretty lofty pay check for a twenty year old. Had my first day today, and talk about exhausted. I think I'll be okay though - right before my interview there, we got in a wreck. (Had the car seven freaking days, and a fucked Jeep moved the body off the frame. You want to talk about PISSED THE HELL OFF.) Still went the interview, though. And today, since I have so much trouble with the wisdom teeth and so desperately to have cut out, my back left gum over which a tooth is attempting to pop out, swelled up so badly I couldn't shut my mouth all the way. The bitch exploded three times.

Not pretty. I nearly spit blood all over my W4 form. Whoooopsie.


I've got an assload of tasks (first line operater to for like fourty people, various form stuff, mailings, sorting mail, handing out mail, ect), but I figure I'll be fine. Next week is entirely training.

Did I mention the hella great benfits? Hello, dentist, please to remove the wisdom teeth of pain.

I'm pretty exhausted, so this short entry and I are going to bed. Mmmbed.

And Happy Turkey Day, everyone! Love!

MOTHER FUCKING CARDS WIN, YES BABY.

JEFF WEAVER, HAVE MAH BABIES. STL, STL, STL, STL!

(I have lost all reason at this point, please look for a post with coherancy after this.)

I'm positive that everyone is just about sick of hearing the two sides of the coin when it comes to the Bush administration, what he has or has not done, what each side of the parties feel. And while I'm no doubt joining the bandwagon of others who - democrat, repblican, and liberal alike - have been or grown ill-tempered with leadership we have been given, the man who is the highest authority in our country, I think I'll find some of like mind on this bandwagon that I've been on since day one.

So for those of who are content with Mr. Bush, who are content with the leadership given, this isn't an attack on you. I don't want posts on my LJ claiming that I am. If you feel you have to, go right ahead. We'll both be mature about it, or at least I hope so. For those of you who carry the same tainted feelings others do, come on abord. And for others who simply like to hear all sides, who like to know all the facts, no matter what you believe or feel - nice to see you.

Keith Olbermann made a powerful, amazing speech in a piece brought on by the attack of the former president, Bill Cliton by the Fox network. It calls to mind the first report that Edward R. Murrow gave when McCarthism dominated the country, sent people into fear; when he became the first to publically stand up and give McCarth and his witch-hunting followers the finger. Olbermann even gives salute to Mr. Murrow, closing his own report in the same way Mr. Murrow did, with every report made in the fledgingly years of CBS's TV career.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=70wOzCkWN5g&NR

That is the link to Olbermann's report. Everyone should go watch, no matter their view on the Bush administration. Even those who don't care.

Mr. Olbermann spoke with power and dignity. And I, for one, found myself in tears.

So in the words of one famous man who did so much for our country, in the words of man who paid his respects he, too, stepped forward to question in a way others would not -

Good night, and good luck.

Warning: Extreme Whining Written Below.


Chronic Fatigue Syndrome can by my shiny metal ass, because I am so do with having that it isn't even funny. Now then, if only it would start responding to the eviction notice and get the FUCK out of dodge, we'd be happy. What brings on this hate fest of all things CFS related? Flare up. Mondo huge flare up.

I sleep the sleep of one who has been liberally drugged, the kind that you kind of sort of like but hate at the sametime. You want to wake up, you can't. You want to stand, and by some chance you make it; but you look drunk, tripping and falling over your own feet as you slur your words, squint, and attempt to find the bed/couch/comfy looking stretch of floor to pass back out on. You do all this completely sober; no pills, no booze, though you did take a few shots of water with the immune system booster powder in it. Doubt that can result in what is happen now.

That is me when I wake up. More specifically, that was me this morning, stumbling and groaning around the house. For some GODAWEFUL reason, unbeknownst to myself but beknownst to some cruel devil, I'm sure, I woke up with Katie this morning. I think I resemebled a zombie. RaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrGRRRRWRRRR. Stumble stumble, coffee table crash, snaaaaarrrrrlll, hit the chair, nearly fell otu of said chair, sat and drooled on self for a good five minutes.

Now, nothing unsual there, that's how I act in the morning. I am a damn zombie. I don't like the sun when I wake up, I have sensative eyes. I don't like humanity, nor the company of humanity, because they invarably piss me off. I sure as hell don't want to talk for the first twenty minutes of my day, so please save me the trouble and just fook oof, kthnx.

All of this happened around sevenish in the morning. For those who know me personally, you know seven in the morning is a rare sight for me, unless I have an 8a.m. class. And even then, it's 7:45, stumbling to the building with bed hair, pajamas, and a glazed look. So I wasn't too awake, nor to happy this morning. So I took my immune system powder in plain water (it has the singular abilty to be the only tasteless subtance in the world and STILL make me gag horrifically), tried to stay awake for oh, twenty or thirty minutes, and went back to bed.

Beautiful, blissful bed. Now, I've been sick. I knew my CFS was acting up. I'd wake up feeling slightly drugged - but nothing compaired to the stoned, can't walk or think and could very well get stabbed in the leg and not feel it, phaze that I really did exist in for a good two years. But I got back about twelve thirty...

I did stumble. I did feel drugged. I could NOT keep my eyes open. I slept for eight hours last night, four more extra today - 12 hours for those counting - and I am so exhausted I'm dizzy. Literally, falling on my ass DIZZY. My ears are so sore with a killer ear infection that I am seriously thinking about pulling a Vango. My throat is sore. My eyes hurt. And to top this joy off, I sprained an ankle.

Welcome back to the oh so wonderful world of CFS; phleme, twenty hour naps, no immune system to speak of, and BEAUTIFUL ATTACKS OF FUCKING ARTHRITIS. I want a new immune system. Right. Now. I thought, maybe, I'd gotten over it. No one knows that much about, so maybe - just maybe - it disappeared.

I was wrong. I was very, very wrong. If I keep telling myself "At least it's not cancer. Or another mono flaire up," Then I won't smash someone's head into the wall. Not that I could do damage. I have no strength/engery to do damage.

I don't want to be sick. I don't like having CFS. I hate sleeping this much, having to back out of things with friends because I'm too tired. I'm sick of constantly being ill. I hate my lack of immune system, and if I get mono again (a big fear right now) I WILL KILL SOMEONE. Or I'll play a violent video game, which counts, right?

End Whine.