29 December 2009

29 Dec 09 - WTF AM I DOING?

I hate feeling like I do right now. I don't even know how to describe it. I'm just here. I'm uninterested in everything. I took a trip to the library to get out of the house for a while, plus I noticed the books I borrowed were about 6 days overdue, so I brought them back. Now I'm here and I'm just uninterested in being here. I want to go home, but I don't. There's nothing to do there either, just get online and bore myself. Plus Dad is in a shit mood today as well & the tension is pretty thick inside the house. I'd go home & lie down, but I'm not really tired. I tried to clean the house, but Dad told me not to. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? He told me I was gaining weight. Yay, I look super fat today. Well I feel it. It's Christmas time, aren't we supposed to gain a little weight over the holidays? Plus I'm bloated like a mother fucker because it's period time for me. So thanks. Thanks for letting me know I'm a huge lazy worthless fat ass. I would probably cry, but I don't feel like it. Frankly I don't feel much for showing any kind of emotion today. What the fuck is that about?

It's already 1:30pm and I could give two fucks less about today. I got up & showered early because my hair was greasy looking and I was probably starting to smell bad, as I hadn't showered since Saturday. I think it was Saturday. I get confused about what day it is anymore. I only know today is Tuesday because my clock told me so.

Blank. My mind is just blank. So are my emotions. I'm sitting in the very back corner of the library tables so no one can or has to, look at me unless they deliberately look my way. I really wanted to check out a book, but it hasn't been returned yet, so I don't know what the fuck to do now. I could search for other books, but I'm not interested in any of them. Aren't you glad you don't fucking feel like this? I mean seriously. I'm just a big blob of suck today. Plus I'm getting jittery due to the two enormous cups of coffee I had this morning. Now I'm feeling hyper & can't sit still in my chair. What do I do with this? Shake my leg? Okay.

I could type faster, but then I start to make mistakes and look like a fucking idiot. So my fingers are moving way slower than my brain right now. My brain is saying, "Oi, type this shit faster beeyotch!" But my fingers are all, "Fuck you brain. I'm not feeling the fast typingness right now." Actually my whole body isn't feel much of anything right now. My vision is kind of blurry too. More blurry than usual I suppose. I would take my contacts out & put my glasses on, but it's way too sunny out and that makes it a bitch to see. You ever tried driving in the sun without sunglasses on? It sucks. Not like I'll be doing much driving anyway. I wish I had a doctor's appointment today so I could drive there and back. Plus I could let them know how fucking shitty I feel today. Can't they give me better drugs to make me feel less like shit? Yeah, no they won't. They won't even give me anything for my fucking chronic back pain. Well nothing that works, anyway. They give me shit that tears up my stomach & I keep forgetting to ask for some pills to help settle my acid reflux. That's what wakes me up in the mornings.

Waking up with acid in my throat makes for a shitty way to start the day. I try to chew a few tums & lie back down but then my mouth feels like an icky dry iron sponge. So instead of swallowing the acid back down, I'm swallowing some irony tasting chalk. Yum!

I want to go home & watch some shows my TiVo recorded for me, but I don't think I'll be able to relax much there. Not with Dad being crabby & two girl cats being in heat meowing like sick cows, constantly. It doesn't bother me at first, the perpetual meowing, but after a few minutes I wish I were deaf. Then it gets worse when dad yells at the cat to cut it out. Like the cat knows what he's saying? They don't know what I'm saying when I tell them to shut up. But they do run from me when I get up & walk towards them. Then they find a safe place where I can't get to them and start their dying cow serenade again.

Bored again. Ugh. I feel like I want to get up and run around the library to shake these jitters, but I'd probably get kicked out for doing that. Plus I'd look pretty silly. People would think, "What the fuck kind of drugs is SHE on?" Some would probably wonder if they could get some of the shit I'm on. Others would think, "Aww poor thing has lost her damn mind." Of course that would be true. I feel like I HAVE lost my damn mind. I wish I could find it though. Where have you gone little sane mind of mine? Please to come back and visit for a while, won't you?

So I sit here, type at the sunny desk and stare out the window to the river. Yes I can type I look at other shit. Not like I can see it very well since my vision is blurry as fuck, but I can see the river better than I can the words on this screen. The farther away, the better, I suppose.

Now I don't know what to say, or type. I hear the clacking of nearby keyboards and beeping of someone scanning books or something. Then there's the constant humming of the heater, which is working very well, I might add. It's like a fucking sauna in here. I'm going to break out in a sweat in a few minutes, I just know it.

Great, my back is hurting more as I sit here in the wooden desk chair. The jitters are working their way up from my legs to my arms now. I'll start bouncing my leg to try and shake them off. I have to type slower or I'll be fucking up everything that I type. See? Well, no you don't because I used backspace to correct my errors. But if I didn't it'd look something like this. Well shit now I'm not making any mistakes. Great. That's how shit always goes, right? You make mistakes when no one is looking & when you want to make a mistake while you've directed attention to it, nothing ever happens. So now I just end up looking like a complete fucking moron who's lost her damn mind.

Oh yeah, Dad got mad at me the other day because I only had like $5 left out of the $50 he gave me the day before Christmas. Well I spent most of it on shit like rust proof spray paint for the underside of my car, for the muffler. Then I put gas in my car and I bought myself an orange pashmina for $10. On Christmas day I bought cigarettes too, so all of that left me with a bit over $5. He's mad because I didn't save it for other things around the house, like cat food. I'm pretty sure the cats have enough food until the first, but according to him I should have bought a small bag of food, just in case. I did buy a bag of litter for them though. I think he forgot about that. He spent $20 of his $50 on an iHome radio for my iPod, because I was going to buy it for myself, but decided against it since I didn't want to spend, or waste, the money. So he got it for me for a Christmas present. He shouldn't have, since he already got me a tv & snuggie for Christmas, I just got them a little earlier.

I'll check my phone to see if anyone's called. Nope. No missed calls. Even the bill collectors & late payment notifiers aren't calling today. Good. I don't want them to bother me. It's not like I have any money for them anyway. Fuck, if I did, they wouldn't need to call me.

I got a letter from the Disability Determination office today regarding the lack of response to my medical records request. A few facilities that had received the request had yet to deliver my medical records, so I called and asked wtf was going on. Turns out they claim to have mailed them out today. They better have. I need to get this shit going. They'll probably set me up to see one of their doctors or something. I hope, if they do schedule me an appointment, I feel like this when I go. Chances are I'll be having a good day & they'll think I'm fine! "Nothing's wrong with her!" That's what they'll think. I wonder if there's a way to induce my having shitty days like this? I don't know how it happens, it just does. If I call my psychiatrist and ask her to increase the dosage of one of my prescriptions, I'll probably feel pretty good. Then again, I don't know how well that shit is working if I still have fucked up days like this. I guess, not so well. Right?

Well at least the jitters seem to be subsiding for now. I really just want to go home, pop some popcorn & watch tv. But I can't do that. Dad will comment on how fat I am and how I don't need to be eating shit like popcorn, or something along those lines. I don't even know why I'd care, since I'm in a fuck all mood right now. My head feels like it's just floating on my shoulders. I feel like I'm not really here, but in some fucked up dream. I wish this were just some shitty dream. At least in a dream there'd be some hot guy I could talk to and I wouldn't have to worry about the consequences of my actions. Then again, when I'm driving a car in my dreams, the brakes seem to never work. So that's never good.

I guess I'll go poke around the self help section for some interesting shit to read. I just returned two books about being bipolar. I only read parts of them. I'm sure this blog is pretty fucking boring as it is. So that'll be all for now. I'll try to write more boring shit later.

09 December 2009

12 Days of Christmas

Partridge In A Pear Tree

By Ledya Putros

December 14th

Dearest John:

I went to the door today and the postman delivered a partridge in a pear tree. What a delightful gift. I couldn't have been more surprised.

With dearest love and affection, Agnes


December 15th

Dearest John:

Today the postman brought your very sweet gift. Just imagine, two turtle doves.... I'm just delighted at your very thoughtful gift. They are just adorable.

All my love, Agnes


December 16th

Dear John:

Oh, aren't you the extravagant one! Now I must protest. I don't deserve such generosity. Three french hens. They are just darling but I must insist.... you're just too kind.

Love Agnes


December 17th

Today the postman delivered four calling birds. Now really! They are beautiful, but don't you think enough is enough? You're being too romantic.

Affectionately, Agnes


December 18th

Dearest John:

What a surprise! Today the postman delivered five golden rings. One for each finger. You're just impossible, but I love it. Frankly, John, all those squawking birds were beginning to get on my nerves.

All my love, Agnes


December 19th

Dear John:

When I opened the door there were actually six geese-a-laying on my front steps. So you're back to the birds again, huh? Those geese are huge. Where will I ever keep them? The neighbors are complaining and I can't sleep through the racket. PLEASE STOP!

Cordially, Agnes


December 20th


What's with you and those birds???? Seven swans-a-swimming. What kind of joke is this? There's bird do-do all over the house and they never stop the racket. I'm a nervous wreck and I can't sleep all night. IT'S NOT FUNNY.......So stop with those birds.

Sincerely, Agnes


December 21st

OK Buster:

I think I prefer the birds. What am I going to do with eight maids-a-milking? It's not enough with all those birds and eight maids-a-milking, but they had to bring their own cows. There is poop all over the lawn and I can't move into my own house. Just lay off me. .



December 22nd


What are you? Some kind of sadist? Now there's nine pipers playing. And do they play!
They never stopped chasing those maids since they got here yesterday morning. The cows are upset and are stepping all over those screeching birds. No wonder they screech. What am I going to do? The neighbors have started a petition to evict me. You'll get yours.

From Ag


December 23rd

You Creep!

Now there's ten ladies dancing - I don't know why I call them ladies. Now the cows can't sleep and they've got diarrhea. My living room is a river of poop. The commissioner of buildings has subpoenaed me to give cause why the building shouldn't be condemned. I'm sicking the police on you.

One who means it, Ag


December 24th

Listen Idiot:

What's with the eleven lords a-leaping? All 234 of the birds are dead. I hope you're satisfied, you rotten swine.

Your sworn enemy, Miss Agnes McCallister


December 25th

(From the law offices Taeker, Spedar, and Baegar)

Dear Sir:

This is to acknowledge your latest gift of twelve fiddlers fiddling, which you have seen fit to inflict on our client, Miss Agnes McCallister. The destruction, of course, was total. All correspondence should come to our attention. If you should attempt to reach Miss McCallister at Happy Dale Sanitarium, the attendants have instructions to shoot you on sight. With this letter, please find attached a warrant for your arrest.

-Merry Christmas

08 December 2009


The past few weeks have just been insane. You know that ride called "Hellevator" that lifts you up & when you get to the top you just fall? That's kind of how I have been feeling for a while, only recently I've been taking rides more frequently on that Hellevator.

I would probably be fine if I didn't have to live with my dad due to financial reasons. Since that's not the case, I never know how my day will turn out. Last month we discovered my car needed a new water pump. This was only discovered after we paid to get my antifreeze flushed. The next day, the car was dripping antifreeze again & the mechanic said I had a bad water pump. Yay. The cost to buy one & put it on would be around $180. If dad had an air socket or something, he could have done it himself, which means 'I' could have done it myself & saved $140, since the water pump was only $40. Oh, did I mention that my dad insist this be done at that very instant? There was no talking him out of this one. He wanted to get it done & get it done now. Never mind the fact that I didn't have the money to pay for it for two weeks. GET IT DONE! Was what I heard loud & clear. How can I even argue w/that without being seen as the ever loving drama queen. or a hoarder of monies?

I gave in & took it one Friday to the mechanic to have it fixed. It runs great now, but I had an embarrassing ordeal when my check to the auto shop bounced, and again when I went to pay for the check on the first. But hey, the car was fixed, right?

A few days after that, dad turned on the crazy about him always being broke. Um hullo? I've told him time & again, to not buy shit for me, but he does. Like the new 32" tv he got for me to put in my bedroom, or the money he spent buying my water pump that could have waited two weeks until the first.

So here he goes, stomping up & down the stairs, stomping down the hall & slamming the door. That is his usual "I'm so fucking pissed right now" routine. Sometimes he stops at my door & looks at me. I guess waiting to see if I have anything to say, or sometimes for him to tell me how much I fail at life. You know, because I didn't know that already from the countless other times he's told me.

Well he wants money & I have a bunch of jewelry I don't wear so I go pawn it to get some cash. Only when I get home, he doesn't want my money. Alrighty. Well I'll keep it then, because he'll probably ask for it later (he did). I got him a pack of cigarettes & he didn't want those either, yet. A few days went by & he took them. He also started calming down & we were able to have Thanksgiving dinner in a peaceful kind of setting. I mean, at least no one was throwing knives at one another, even though that thought may have crossed minds.

Last week I have no idea what I did, but he was so pissed at me! Oooh wee T-Shayne! He was SO pissed, I had to get out of the house to give him time to chillax. I was okay, just a bit teary when he hurted my feelings. He's good about knowing how to make me feel like shit, especially when I've done nothing wrong. That makes me sit & think about what the fuck I might have done to have him so mad at me. The answer: Not a God damn thing!

I woke up the morning after his crazy spell & he told me to clean the upstairs part of the house. Yay. Cleaning. I'd rather have a root canal than clean, but I did it nonetheless. I mean, I cleaned that bitch so hard you could snort coke off the floors/walls/tables, etc.

While I was cleaning, I popped on my iPod to listen to some "pick me up" kind of songs to keep me moving. That's when he came upstairs & said something to me that I didn't hear re: iPod in ears. I asked him what he said, "Oh you heard me."
No actually I didn't. "I said, Life's a bitch iddinit?" I said yeah, and tried to go back to cleaning. He then came back with, "You better watch who you're punishing." I guess I should have bit my tongue, but I didn't & said the only person I was punishing was myself. He got kind of fiery hot with that comment. So I stopped cleaning, showered & got the fuck out of the house for a while.

He calmed down the next day. I had an appointment w/my psychiatrist & she changed my diagnosis from depression to Bipolar type 2. She wrote me a new prescription & told me to appeal my compensation decision since my diagnosis had changed.

I guess knowing that I'm bipolar helps me deal with things better & not worry about why I'm so fucked up & why I keep doing random shitty things or saying random shit that hurts people's feelings.

Remember when I said I cleaned the house? Yeah well, kneeling & crouching wore the ever loving piss out of my back. I was in so much pain. I got an appt with my dr. & she just gave me some muscle relaxers & some Voltaren. That shit didn't fucking work at all! If I were shot, it'd be like she put a fucking Mickey Mouse band-Aide on the wound & sent me on my merry fucking way.

So Sunday, I was in so much pain, I couldn't stand or sit, just lay. Every time I moved I thought someone was grabbing hold of my lower back muscle & twisting it. Since I don't have insurance, I drove to the VA ER. Oh. My. Lawlz. That place is so fucking bad I think the providers of patient care got their degree at the University of Phoenix online. I was there for 4 hours & all they gave me was a shot in my ass of toradol & some fucking ibuprofen. What kind of bullshit IS this? Only yesterday did I think I should have said, "I NEED SOMETHING FOR THE PAIN. If you don't give it to me, I'll find someone who WILL." Not really, because I don't know of anyone who sells pills, so that would have been a lie.

Two days later & my back feels a little better. If I sit or lay a certain way, it hurts like hellfire & damnation. I'm only supposed to take 1 muscle relaxer 3x/day, but I take two 3x/day instead because those tiny fuckers aren't doing a very good job of relaxing my muscles.

Funny story, while I was in the ER, I would make myself cry to try & get sympathy so they'd give me some good drugs, but NO. No one there mother fucking cared! I worked really hard producing those tears multiple times dammit! But I walked away with nothing but some fucking ibuprofen, which I had at home. So that trip was a big ol waste of time for everyone. I'll know that next time I have an emergency. I'll ask myself "Is this REALLY emergent?" Or maybe I'll just say screw it & go to the local butcher um, hospital instead.

26 November 2009


I received this letter in an email from a friend of mine currently working in Afghanistan. Please take the time to read it, regardless of your political affiliation, race, religion or creed.

WW II Battleship sailor tells Obama to shape up or ship out !

This venerable and much honored WW II vet is well known in Hawaii
for his seventy-plus years of service to patriotic organizations and causes
all over the country. A humble man without a political bone in his body,
he has never spoken out before about a government official, until now.
He dictated this letter to a friend, signed it and mailed it to the

Dear President Obama,

My name is Harold Estes, approaching 95 on December 13 of this
year. People meeting me for the first time don't believe my age because I
remain wrinkle free and pretty much mentally alert.

I enlisted in the U.S. Navy in 1934 and served proudly before, during and
after WW II retiring as a Master Chief Bos'n Mate. Now I live in a "rest
home" located on the western end of Pearl Harbor, allowing me to keep alive
the memories of 23 years of service to my country.

One of the benefits of my age, perhaps the only one, is to speak my mind,
blunt and direct even to the head man.

So here goes.

I am amazed, angry and determined not to see my country die before I do, but
you seem hell bent not to grant me that wish.

I can't figure out what country you are the president of.
You fly around the world telling our friends and enemies despicable lies like:

" We're no longer a Christian nation"
" America is arrogant" - (Your wife even
announced to the world,"America is mean-
spirited. " Please tell her to try preaching

that nonsense to 23 generations of our
war dead buried all over the globe who
died for no other reason than to free a
whole lot of strangers from tyranny and
I'd say shame on the both of you, but I don't think you like America, nor do I
see an ounce of gratefulness in anything you do, for the obvious gifts this
country has given you. To be without shame or gratefulness is a dangerous
thing for a man sitting in the White House.

After 9/11 you said," America hasn't lived up to her ideals."

Which ones did you mean? Was it the notion of personal liberty that 11,000
farmers and shopkeepers died for to win independence from the British? Or
maybe the ideal that no man should be a slave to another man, that 500,000 men
died for in the Civil War? I hope you didn't mean the ideal 470,000 fathers,
brothers, husbands, and a lot of fellas I knew personally died for in WWII,
because we felt real strongly about not letting any nation push us around,
because we stand for freedom.

I don't think you mean the ideal that says equality is better than
discrimination. You know the one that a whole lot of white people understood
when they helped to get you elected.

Take a little advice from a very old geezer, young man.

Shape up and start acting like an American. If you don't, I'll do what I can
to see you get shipped out of that fancy rental on Pennsylvania Avenue. You
were elected to lead not to bow, apologize and kiss the hands of murderers and
corrupt leaders who still treat their people like slaves.

And just who do you think you are telling the American people not to jump to
conclusions and condemn that Muslim major who killed 13 of his fellow soldiers
and wounded dozens more. You mean you don't want us to do what you did when
that white cop used force to subdue that black college professor in
Massachusetts, who was putting up a fight? You don't mind offending the
police calling them stupid but you don't want us to offend Muslim fanatics by
calling them what they are, terrorists.

One more thing. I realize you never served in the military and never had to
defend your country with your life, but you're the Commander-in-Chief now,
son. Do your job. When your battle-hardened field General asks you for
40,000 more troops to complete the mission, give them to him. But if you're
not in this fight to win, then get out. The life of one American soldier is
not worth the best political strategy you're thinking of.

You could be our greatest president because you face the greatest challenge
ever presented to any president.
You're not going to restore American greatness by bringing back our bloated
economy. That's not our greatest threat. Losing the heart and soul of who
we are as Americans is our big fight now.
And I sure as hell don't want to think my president is the enemy in this final

Harold B. Estes

When a 95 year old hero of the "the Greatest Generation"
stands up and speaks out like this, I think we owe it
to him to send his words to as many Americans as
we can. Please pass it on.

21 August 2009

21 Aug 09 - WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO?

I know it's been a while since my last blog. I want to write more often, but sometimes, okay, most of the time I get out what I need to via Twitter. Not this time.

This has been the king of fucking shit-all weeks. No kidding. Let me start, well, from the beginning. Last Friday I took dad to get his 'medicine' but it wasn't good. Just try to follow me here. Since it was some pretty weak shit, he got mad. Well for him to buy that 'medicine' I gave him $60 of my last dollars for the month. Still with me? Okay, well since the shit was weak & he was pissed & I being virtually broke (I've still got about $20 on me and $50 in the bank,) that just pushed his anger farther into the abysmal red zone. So I guess he needed something to be pissed at and this became the local cable company. He fought with them for about 3 days to try and fix the reception he was getting bc a few of his channels had interference and were kind of fuzzy. I mean, you could still watch it, but being that it wasn't perfect & the neighbor's WAS, that just wouldn't fucking fly.

Well yesterday, he got me up, bright and fucking early to bring me in on this shit tornado and had me look up the cost to switch to a satellite/dish company like DirecTV or Dish. So I did. I was kind of excited about the fact he wanted a dish since those came with the channels I love like BBCAmerica, Bravo, Oxygen and all that other crap. Well it was about $15 more a month and only offered the local Lexington channels, not the local Louisville channels (which was his main concern.) Don't ask me why, I have no fucking clue. Are you still following me here?

When the cable company gave him the run around and basically said there wasn't a problem, the fire in his ass got hotter and he started to shit lava. He left for a few hours, to walk it off I guess, and I tried to shower and get dressed & clean the house as much as I could before he came back. I was on my way out the door and WHAM! There he was. Fucking fucksticks!

He asked where I was going, so I told him the library, which is where I went. Then he asked if I was going to find a job or a place to move to. What?!? Um, no. I hadn't planned on it. I thought about asking, "Should I?" but realized that wouldn't be smart, so I kept my mouth shut.

Thinking things were okay, just that he was still in a bitch assy mood, I left and went to the library for a few hours. Well when I got home, shit started at ThreatCon Delta. I have no idea what the fuck I did, but dad told me he was moving out. I asked where he was going and he wouldn't tell me for a while. Later he said he too had been to the library and researched about going to San Francisco. Well, okay. What the holy piss do I say to that?

It kind of hurt my feelings a little that he was just going to up and leave me with everything, telling me he was moving out on the first of September. Then he started in with his usual; I'm a bad daughter, I don't care, I never show/say my appreciation for everything he's ever done for me, I'm selfish, I pity myself, I'm ungrateful and act like a bitch. I think that covers the jist of it. Anyway, you get the idea, right?

So this goes on for a while and my only reaction really is to cry, because I fucking do that shit when I'm mad. HE sees it as my way of wanting sympathy or some other bullshit. That just pisses me off more. I say very little, because I know whatever I say, I'm basically cutting my own throat. Which is right. Because everything I said got twisted around and misinterpreted to make it seem like, again, I don't care, want sympathy, blah, blah, fucking blah.

Here it is Friday, and here I am again at the Library to get some peace and quiet. I intially came here so I could watch a movie on my laptop, but I don't think I'll have enough time and will probably just try to watch it at home tonight if I ever get time. As I'm sure when I DO go home the bitch party will continue and I'll end up crying off all my fucking makeup. What pisses me off most is that my eyes feel like hot pokers are stabbing me because they are so dry. OH, but this moring they were all pretty, red and puffy like fucking marshmallow eyes.

I think he got his tv fixed today. At least that's what it seemed bc the main tech guy w/the cable company came over and worked on shit for about an hour. I know he was doing stuff w/our cable because I was trying to watch DOOL and my tv kept going snowy. Once that was done, he left, so I got my shit together and left as well. But not before I grabbed my laptop case newly covered with cat piss.

Really? Seriously God, that shit is NOT fucking funny. I spent about 10 minutes cleaning that nasty shit off then sprayed it soaking wet with Fabreeze. I hope no one around me can smell the cat piss. I know I can't.

Well, here I sit, at the library trying to blog this shit out and while I feel a little better, I still don't know what to fucking do. I mean, I can't go stay with any friends for a few days bc they all have kids or are married. I could look for a job, but that is the same shit I've been trying to do. In this economy is like trying to win the fucking lottery just to even get an interview with someone.

I have an appointment with my Psychiatrist Monday morning. Maybe if I act like a crazy fucking psycho she'll admit me to a mental health facility? Well, my dad DID tell me I needed to get some help. Which is ironic, because I actually HAVE been getting help, yet he hasn't and really is the one who needs it. I don't fucking know.

Sometimes I just want to stand in the middle of rush hour traffic or jump off a fucking bridge, but with my luck, I'll just get really badly injured then have a lot of other shit I can't pay. So scratch that idea.

What I really want is to get a fucking job so I can take my two kitties and move the fuck out! I can't take going through this insanity every other week. No shit, it is every other week. I could make a calendar by his mood swings.

Okay, I feel a little better, but I know I still have to go home. UGH. That makes the pit of my stomach rumble with fear.

Who the fuck knows what will happen? I sure as hell don't. One thing I DO know, is that I'm so over feeling like shit all the fucking time for no damn reason. I could understand if I did shit on purpose, but no. It comes from out of nowhere like a fucking ninja.

12 July 2009

Are you fucking kidding me? 11 July 09

I know I haven't blogged in a long time, but that's only because I hadn't had much worth blogging about. I mean, when you are unemployed and pretty much, broke as fuck, not a lot goes on. Shocking, right? STFU.

For the past few months my dad & I have been getting a long better. Well, better than previously. By that I mean, the arguements were just less frequent. More biweekly, instead of weekly. Once I think we even went almost four whole weeks without an arguement! I know, right? See, there isn't much fun in blogging if nothing exciting happens and everything is all happy fucking rainbows and shit. No one wants to read that boring bullshit. Hell, I don't want to WRITE that sappy, sugary crap.

Now, in the past, most of the arguements dad & I had were about something I'd done that he didn't like or approve of, that was also completely re-fucking-diculous. Like when I made dinner once, not thinking that he disliked tomatoes, chopped up tomatoes and put them in the dish. Fuck me, I forgot. I was following the assing recipe, and it slipped my God-fearing mind that he didn't like tomatoes.

Another time, yes recently, he forgot his cigarettes across the street at a friend's house & they'd left. Well he tried calling & I had to find the # in his phone, since he's not tech savvy, or tech anything, really. I found the number & he dialed it. Well it rang once then hung up. He got mad because I didn't remember the number & told him to press talk so it'd call the same number back. Well that's when he threw the phone at me. Really. Threw. Seriously.

So, after about 5 months of living with these peculiarities I have started becoming more aware of the warning signs of when the craziness is about to strike. Usually a few days beforehand, he'll ask me, on more than one occasion, "What is wrong with you?" or "Are you okay?" But in the kind of voice that isn't really sincere, but more accusitory. That's when I know, nothing is wrong with ME. Hehehe.

Never fail, this past Thursday, he asked me a few times, what was wrong w/me and if I was okay. Like I'm on fucking drugs or some bullshit. I don't know, maybe I had some things going on in my head at the time and he couldn't understand that I was thinking how bad I felt for the homeless couple sitting at the intersection, asking for help and I was considering pulling out a tenner and giving it to them? Or that when I put new batteries in the flashlight, and it still didn't work, I thought maybe it wasn't the batteries that was the problem, so I tried the old ones in a different flash light. Surprise, the batteries weren't dead.

Maybe my logic is too complex for some people to understand? Or maybe I think in wibbly wobbly patterns that differs from most? Who knows?

So anyway. We saw on the news that Friday night at 9:09, if you looked in the sky you could see the International Space Station float by. Dad wanted me to check the NASA website to make sure that was correct. As he was standing in front of me, while I was searching the laptop, he noticed that the boxed set of books on my table all had the word "Dead" in their titles.

I tried to explain that it was because they had vampires, werewolves, faries, and other things like that in the books.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

He told me to get rid of the books. Simple as that. Without batting an eye, "I don't want those in my house." Um, what? I JUST bought the 7 book series set of Charlaine Harris's Sookie Stackhouse Novels, which is what the HBO series, "True Blood" is based on. I spent $35 for these books and wasn't going to throw them away. I told him so. He argued with me.

I tried to explain to him that they were fictional novels, just a first person narrative about the life of a cocktail waitress or barmaid as Sookie refers to herself so often. Yeah, he didn't care. He left me alone the rest of the night, and I hoped *hoped* that would be the end of it. HAHAHAHAHAHA!

The next day, it started right back up. Only this time, the arguement was bigger. Yeah, not only did he not want the books in his house, he didn't want me reading those kinds of books and if I did, he wanted me to leave. Seriously. Because he claimed the books were evil, a darkness that throws off the balance of good and good spirits in the house. (I hope he never looks at my DVD collection or the Harry Potter books I have in my bookshelf or the box of Tarot cards I have, but never figured out how to work!)

While I sat there, basically being accused of being evil, narrowminded, gullible, and selfish, I thought. I thought maybe if I just make him think he's won and agree to get the books out of the house, he'll drop all of this nonsensical bullshit. Nope.

Even though I told him I would take the books to a friend's house, who also likes them, he said the problem was me. Aww, you shouldn't say such sweet things to me! No matter how much explaining I tried to do, he didn't get it. He used the most asinine analogies EVER that made NO SENSE whatsoever. I didn't help by adding fuel to the fire, asking if he had an approved list of TV shows and movies I could watch.

He walked outside, and I grabbed my books then left. I was gone for about 4 hours. I drove around. Dropped of a book that was almost due back at the library, then visited my friend. She and I talked about how silly it was that my dad and I were arguing about BOOKS. Silly, fictional books.

I left all but one book with her. Well I haven't read it yet! I came home and he seemed okay. Usually when he's mad at me, he won't eat dinner with me, or eat what I fix for dinner by saying he's not hungry. This time was different. He didn't seem mad at me anymore. Hmm. That's strange. I thought it was a trap at first, but then he told me he had a weird strange feeling and was dizzy but then snapped out of it. It's hard to explain the episodes he tells me he has, so just imagine with me that it was something weird that scared him a little. :)

Kind of weird that happened, since while driving around, I asked for a sign. Some kind of sign to prove that either I was wrong and should listen to him about silly fictional books and it was sinful to read them, or a sign to show I was right and it's no big deal, they are just silly books that aren't real and have no influence over my general principles or way of life. Since nothing strange happened to me, I win.

Even thought I knew in my soul there wasn't anything wrong with the books I was reading for entertainment purposes, I drove by several churches, suppressing the urge to go in and ask the preacher or minister or whoever, if I was sinning against God by reading fictional books for the enjoyment and imagination. No kidding.

I hate doubting myself. Shit, it's not like I was out killing kittens and running down grannies in the WalMart parking lot. I was just reading books. Who's parent gets mad at their child for reading? Not like it was instructional books on how to be a sociopath. I wonder if they have those at my library?

05 May 2009

This is why I'm a cat person - -5 May 09

Last Wednesday I went to my BFF's house to dog sit for her, while she and her hubby went on their honeymoon.  They don't get back until this Friday, but because my dad hadn't been feeling well, I didn't want to leave him at the house very long by himself, so I stay at her house until Monday.

My first night there was okay, the dogs seemed at little depressed, but they liked eating treats, so they got some of those.  I was not doing okay, because I thought I was getting the swine flu (I had been in walmart earlier that day).  My face, ears and neck were flushed red and very warm.  I took my temperature, but I was fine.

The next day was boring, except when I took the dogs out.  The redneck neighbors had two dogs they didn't keep on a leash, so their german shepard kept barking and running towards me when I had one of the dogs in the yard.

Friday I decided to take the dogs for a walk around the neighborhood.  It was too cool to get into the pool, but warm enough to go for a walk.  I knew it was kind of rude to leave a pile of dog shit in someone's yard, so I took some sandwich baggies with me, just in case.

Lana, the bigger of the two, dragged my ass everywhere we went.  She's like a hyper 2 year old on candy, just running around with no coordination or awareness. Austin is the smaller dog.  He's old and about the size of a Jack Russell but without the enthusiasm.

Austin pooped first, and since people were watching, I picked it up and carried it to the end of the road, where I dumped it into the bushes.  I thought about putting it in someone's trash can, but I'd be pissed if someone put their dog's shit in my trash can.  When I tossed his poop baggie into the bushes, Lana decided it was time for her to poop.  She kind of poops and walks and pooped on the road, so I just left it and turned around to walk back to the house.  The dogs were tired for the next two days.  It was awesome!

Even though Austin is little and calm, he whines about EVERYTHING!  When he came around me and whined, I took him outside, but he would just stand there, with me, in the rain.  When I brought him in, I took Lana out.  Well she just wanted to chase a bunny down the street she saw.  I now have stronger biceps from holding her back so much.

My last day there, I loaded up all my stuff and was about to take Lana to the vet for boarding, when I decided I should take them out one last time, just in case.

I put the leash on Austin, did my usual commanding Lana to sit and stay, when that little bitch bolted out the door!  She took off, across the street, into the neighbor lady's yard.  I got SO close to her, then she took off again, this time running around to the back of the houses.

I got close to her, and she would run away again.  So, here I am, chasing after a leash-less lana, with Austin on his leash running along side me as we trapse through these soaking wet, muddy yards after Lana.

I'm freaking out, thinking she's going to start chasing the cows in the neighboring field, or maybe find a bunny to kill, so I'm yelling at her to stop, which she never does.

Finally, I catch up to her and grab her by the collar.  We start walking toward the house and she wiggles out of the collar and runs away from me!  OMG!  This fucking dog is houdini!  So, five more yards Austin and I run through until we finally catch Lana.

This time I've tightened her collar, and grabbed the skin of her neck as I walk, hunched over, back to the house.  That's when I see the redneck douchebag neighbor ask if I needed another leash.  Yeah, fuck you asshole, I've got it, thanks.

I get to the front sidewalk of the house and Lana wiggles out of the collar again!  OMG!  Instead of running, she lays down and plays dead.  I'm trying to put her collar on, but she's not cooperating, just wiggling around on her back.  I finally get it around her neck and clasped together, and get both dogs inside the house.

By this time I need a drink, a cigarette, a valium, and a nap, but I just put a leash on Lana and lead her to my car, where she happily gets inside.

On my way to the vet, which is about 2 miles down the road, I'm constantly telling her to sit, and stay, but she doesn't fucking listen to me.

As I make a sharp right turn into the Vet, Lana slides into my lap, knocking my car out of gear.  Before I realized what happened, I tried pushing the gas, and freaked out when it wouldn't move.  I thought I had just fucked my transmission, when she had just kicked the gear into neutral.  Oh thank fuck!

I park and get out with the glee of getting rid of this dog, finally!  Not before she dragged my ass across the yard and barked at all the dogs inside the vet.  Then she tried to climb on the counter to get the kitty that was laying behind the counter.

After about 5 minutes, the vet tech finally took her from me. Thank fuck!  I was never happier to get rid of a dog!

When I got home an hour later, I was never happier to see my two calm, non-outside pooping cats.

24 April 2009

24 April 09 - Need more meds, STAT!

I had an appointment with the VA on Tuesday.  It's something I agreed to do after my dad (who has dementia among other medical problems) yelled at me for a day, then calmly told me in so many words, I was crazy.  What does one do when they are told they are crazy, by a crazy person?  It can't cancel each other out, that's too easy!  It must mean, time for a visit with my psychiatrist again.  Woohoo!

The way the VA works is, you call a number, and some dipshit fights with you about getting an appointment.  They want to know why you need the appointment, "Because I'm fucking crazy, asshole!" Then they pick a day and time, then send you a letter in the mail.  My winning lotto date was Tuesday at 3pm.

Well, Monday was a pretty shitty day because me and my crazy dad argued all day.  Seems when I took a muscle relaxor for my neck, he woke me up too soon to fix dinner, and I burned it a little.  Hey, have you ever tried to cook while half asleep?  You'd burn something too!  Ass.

So that got the bitch ball a rollin, and it just escalated when I told him I had less than $500 in the bank.  You would have thought I murdered a litter of puppies in front of a gang of school children.

I had a job interview scheduled Tuesday morning, but since I was depressed and feeling worthless about myself all night, I didn't go.  I did go to see my Psychiatrist though! But before I went, my dad asked if I had anything to say to him.  I told him no, I'd talk to him when I got back.

So, I go see my shrinky-dink.  To recap: my Psychiatrist is from India, sometimes hard to understand, and not very personable.  Usually, my visits consist of my answering yes and no to her never changing questions.  This visit was different.

Keep in mind, I'm a big ball of depressing girly tears, so right off the bad her first question makes me cry.  "Did you come here from work?"   *cry*  "I don't have a job!"
Don't you feel like an ass now? Ha! Bitch.

I tell her what happened, she seems uninterested, but says she wants to help.  I tell her I feel like I'm on a bipolar rollercoaster of emotions, so she increases my happy pills.   Hoorah!  She also gives me something else for nerves and to help me sleep.  Double hoorah!  Then she walks me down to talk to some guy with lots of hair, about getting a job.  He was of very little help, but hey, I have more happy pills coming!

Once that was over, I had to go to the OTHER VA hospital on UK's campus to pick up my drugs and get blood drawn.  For some weird reason, I feel comfortable around all of the other vets.  No matter what, I know most of them probably have a crazy mental status like me.  They don't judge me because we're all fucked up in some way.  Ahh, home!  Only with the smell of vitamins and pee.

12 April 2009

12 Apr 09 - Long overdue

I haven't blogged much since last year.  My last blog was on myspaz on election day.  I had a job then. Granted it was a shitty, thankless job, but a job nonetheless.  I had my own apartment then.  Life was good.

A few weeks after election day I was fired from my job and have been unemployed ever since.  My fulltime job became looking for employment.  There were a few times when I would have had a job had it not been for a less than stellar credit report.  How the FUCK can a job refuse to hire you according to your credit history?  I mean, I can see the logic if I were going to work in a bank, insurance claims, or dealing directly with any kind of finances, but for a call center/help desk and Coca Cola?

I even thought I was getting hired at a dermatology office last December.  I shadowed one afternoon a few hours, then again the next day.  I was supposed to get paid for that, but never did and when the girl never returned my calls about the position, I just gave up.  What a shitty way to do business, you don't even have the balls to call me back or write a letter letting me know I wasn't needed for the position?  Assfaces!

I tried to keep my apartment for as long as I could, and finally in February I had to move in with my dad.  I don't even want to talk about all the bills I currently owe for not having a job for two months, yet having an apartment with utilities.

Living with my dad has been an infinite emotional roller coaster.  Some days are good and happy and cheerful and laughy, and others, not so much.  I will say, this past week or so has been pretty level and happy, with less crazy.  

The only craziness has been from the fat old bitch next door.  That crazy cow has been running around the street bare assed naked.  The past two days, she's been cutting down her half of the very pretty purple lavender tree along the fenceline of our house.  She is an evil hateful bitch.  When my dad told me what she was doing, I went outside and stared daggers through her soulless body.  Then he told me not to do that, it was mean.  Oh no, I wanted that crazy assface to know what she did wasn't cool, and now I'd be watching her.  She doesn't want to provoke me.  I will wish her ill will until her saggy ass end up in the hospital!

So, current life is boring.  I mean, I twitter and play myspace games, watch tv and do other unimportant shit, but I don't have any of the same liberties I had when I lived and provided for myself.  Like I could drink and smoke if and when I wanted.  Now, I can not.  If I wanted to go out and stay out for the night/weekend, I could and didn't have to report my whereabouts to anyone.  Now I do.  It's not that I mind, it's just different getting used to not living by myself again.

The one good thing is the food.  I get to cook real food and real meals now without having leftovers for a fucking week.  Real food is awesome!  It's way better than prepackaged, processed shit all the time.

I feel bad for not having a job, but then again, there are millions of other people in my kind of situation too.  When I think about it like that, I don't feel as bad anymore.  So when the bill collectors call, I just tell them, "I'm unemployed.  Have been since November, and don't get unemployement."  So SUCK IT!

Another bad thing about living back at home with dad is I can't stay up very late.  Well I CAN, but I have to be quiet, because it makes him stress when I'm awake and he's trying to sleep.  Or something like that.  

Dad sits and talks with me sometimes.  He tries to explain his interpretation of some of the stories in the bible.  So far, what I've heard is God is an alien who created Earth and populated it with species from several other planets.  There was the first Earth Age, where people lived for hundres of years and in spirit form, then there is the current, or second Earth Age where people will be created until souls run out.  (No they don't get reincarnated.  I asked)

He's also told me about the bloodline of Jesus and Satan, how there were more than just two of every animal on Noah's ark, and what spit Jonah up on the beach was not a "great fish" but an alien water craft.

Sometimes, I'm not really sure how to process all of that information, but I usually just smile and nod.

15 Aug 08 - What you want to know

With zero life, I have saved MUCH gas, therefore saving much MONEY by not having to buy that shit so often.  Which is good, considering I had to spend all extra money on co-pays for the doctors I saw.

My leg/knee is better.  Well, from time to time, like when I stand or walk a lot, it hurts a little, but I try to be as sedentary as possible. Hehe.  I am supposed to still be using the crutches, but great Jesus on jumpercables, they suck!  So I said eff that to the crutches after about two and a half weeks.  Well, the handicap parking was nice though, but have you ever tried grocery shopping by yourself. . . on crutches?  Yeah, that should be a new olympic sport!  Seriously.

Speaking of Olympics, I've been watching the hairy balls off the games!  It kind of helps that Michael Phelps is smoking hot, but still I have homeland pride, beeyotches!  I love watching the US kick all the other suck-assed country's asses!

Let's talk about work.  The past few weeks, okay, more than that.  It started a month or two ago.  I started really HATING the girl who trained me.  She would belittle me and talk to me like I was a fucking retard every time she told me about some little mistake I had made.  I found it condescending and hypocritical because she was making even WORSE mistakes than myself, yet seemed to overlook that.

But whatever, I just came in to do my work, and get paid.  Oh, and try to stay awake in the process.  The playing of music and listening to iPods were soon banned, for some reason.  I dunno, I wasn't there when the decision was made.  So, the buds came out of my ears and I started chatting it up more with the two front desk clerks sitting to my right.

Work got tolerable, yet that bitch kept pissing me off until one day I SNAPPED!  Well, kind of.  I didn't go COMPLETELY insane, like any previous times.  I just basically stood up for myself and let her know she wasn't as right as she thought.  I stopped being friendly to her, and started just being civil.  With as little interaction as possible.

About two weeks ago, she tries being nicer to me, yet things she was telling me to do sounded, erm. . . peculiar?  But, instead of listening to my gut, LIKE I SHOULD HAVE, but didn't, I brushed it off and just did what I was told.

I guess the military instills some of that shit farther than even I imagined.  I did what I was told, and didn't attempt of breaking the "chain of command" so to speak, by going over super-bitch's head to our supervisor.

Wednesday I was pulled into a conference to find out that super bitch had quit!  YES!  Life was going to be good again!  I was excited and scared all at the same time!  More responsibility!  Less backstabbing and dirty looks! WooHOO!

Then it hit me like a spike from Carrie Walsh, I was trained wrong.  That dirty bitch had trained me to do parts of my job incorrectly, thus causing billing problems, inturn costing the company $$ and headache.

That skanky cunt threw me under the bus and BAILED!  WTF?!  But I took it calmly and vowed that I would learn the correct way to bill new/referred/consulted patients.  I would work hard and they would LOVE ME!

Wrong-o.  I wasn't given a chance to do anything but pick my panties out of my ass.  I was brought upstairs again and told that the billing of fee tickets aka my job, was going back to a third party and my position was gone.  Just like that.

Yes, I was crushed.  But within the same breath, I was told they didn't want me to leave the company, so I had the option to stay and do a different job.  Across the street.  WHAT!?!

Across the street!?!???  The building I'ver heard ZERO good things about?  People I don't even know??!?!  NOOOO!!!!!!!

Well, of course I took the fucking position.  You honestly don't think I'm an idiot, do you?

So, watery and red eyed, I packed up some stuff and headed across the street to the main clinic.  I was introduced to my new supervisor and told of my new position (same pay).

I was reluctant because my new job involved answering the phones.  All calls to each of our five clinics go to the phones in one little room of women, dubbed THE HEN HOUSE.  I swear to BLOG!

Instantly I knew that all change was indeed NOT bad, and instilled my belief that things DO happen for a reason.  These chicks were cool!  They talked and actually laughed!  Holy balls!  I have a new home and it makes me happy!  I like it more than the old place because I'm not surrounded by grouchy, grumpy, crabby old bitches who fight like two year olds!

ALAS!  All is again right with the world.  I am home, saving money and watching the Olympics.  Life is good.

26 July 08 - Making up for lost Dr.Visits

My health insurance kicked in, full force this month.  So far, I've been wearing the shit out of it!  Damn, if they don't hate me yet, they will be kicking themselves for insuring me soon!

First, I just made a few normal appointments.  I have been having crazy, feels like I'm 16, mad acne breakouts for the past few months.  It's been insane!  So, I decided to see a dertmatologist.  That went pretty well.  I'm using RetinA and taking tetracycline.  I lucked out on the cost of RetinA, getting it for FREE!  I also love kRog's $4 scrip list!

Secondly, since I haven't had a menstrual period since April-ish, I went to see an OB/GYN.  My bloodwork came back normal, and we discussed birth control options.  No big deal.

A week later, my knee started feeling sore.  Nothing major, just kind of achy.  I thought that it either had to do with my excercising or standing up all night the night before at the Jimmy Buffett concert I went to.

The next day the pain was worse, and progressively worse as the days went by.  So, Monday I called to get a primary care doctor so I could get my knee checked out.

First, let me tell you about trying to get the appointment.  I chose to stay with the Lexington Clinic, because that's who my OB/GYN is with and they have offices all over town plus an after hours care center.

When I called, I asked the woman who answered, what the clinic hours were.  She asked me what doctor.  I said, any family doctor.  She put me on hold and transferred me to someone's voicemail.

I hung up and called back, getting the same damn woman.  I tried to be a bit more specific, and say I was needing a new family doctor and wanted to know the hours.  Before I could say anything else, I got the hold and transfer again.

Now I'm pissed the fuck off.  I call for a third time and guess who answers?  The first thing I say is, "Does anyone else answer the phones besides you?"  She kind of laughed and said yes.  I was angry and told her I had called twice before wanting help and she was not giving me any, just transferring me.

She seemed to listen a little better this time when I told her I needed a new doctor and needed one who opened early so I wouldn't have to miss much work.  Finally, I was sent to the right person, who answered and got me an appointment for Thursday morning.

By Thursday my knee was swollen and hurting much worse.  Hopefully the doctor would help!  When I got to the clinic, I had to stand in line for 15 minutes to check in.  I'm sure that was good on my knee.

The doc checked out my knee, ordered some blood tests and an xray.  The lab took FIVE vials of blood!  Holy piss!  Why did they need FIVE?  I still have no idea, but maybe in the next few days I will and will let you know too.

It took no time to get the xrays back and the doctor said they looked normal, but there was a slight sign of inflammation.  She ordered an MRI for Friday morning, at the clinic across town, close to my office.  She gave me a sample of Flector patches to put on my knee, and I stood at the window for a good 20 minutes while the nurse made my mri appointment.

That night, I noticed my left foot, mainly ankle, was swollen.  Awesome.  I put the Flector patch on my leg, took some ibuprophine and went to bed.  Those patches, by the way, suck.

Friday morning I went and had the MRI done, taking a nice nap during, and my knee was still hurting.  Only now, both knees hurt because I was limping and putting more pressure on my right knee.  The pain changed to stiff achiness and every time I walked, I felt like the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz, and my knees needed oiling.

I noticed my foot/ankle was swollen again and became concerned, so I called the doctor's office.  The nurse told me to go to the after hours clinic.  So I went after work.

The pain was now so bad, that if it got any worse, I would have been in tears.  Seriously.  I was walking slower than a 90 old granny with a walker.  Back in the exam room, I laid down and tried to rest until the doc came in.

I think she was just out of school because her bedside manner was questionable.  She asked me if I had gotten the results of my MRI yet.  I said no, and she asked me what I thought was wrong.  Then she said, "Well I know the results of your MRI, and you have a fracture in your tibia."

Okay, if you KNEW the results, why didn't you just fucking come out and TELL me in the first damn place?  If I wasn't hurting so much, I would have been such a bitch about that.

One of the nurses came in with a brace for my knee and a set of crutches.  Have you ever used crutches?  They completely suck gigantor saggy oldman balls!  I'm not supposed to put any weight on my left leg, so using the crutches is hard, and hurts my underarm pits.  Owie!

I could tel you stories of how, when I went to pick up my script for Ultram, I hobbled around kRog, but that would be pretty boring. 

Why is it, when you are visibly injured and on crutches, people look at you like you have an under developed arm growing out of your forehead?

Oh yeah, the crappy doc who did my last exam referred me to an orthopedic surgeon's office, but they aren't open until Monday.  I guess I'll find out more about my sitch then.