The bitches I work with, man, they are SOME kind of bitches! It seems like I work with a group of people who hate being there. A few of them are actually okay, and friendly, but fucking hell, you'd think I fucked their sons and raped their daughters with a strap on they way they look at me sometimes.
Maybe it's not me? Maybe their face is permantly stuck in the scowl position and they can't help it? I know for sure I can't trust a single one of those bitches to not snitch on me.
See, we have interweb access, but are only allowed to use it for work purposes. Then they scare us with, "oh the big bad IT guy does a scan to check what sites you visit. " blah blah bullshit. What the fuck ever. If humpty Steve wants to question why I went towww.wendys.com then he can.
Anyway, since I don't internet surf, I use my crackberry. I get online and visit lexmojo and check my mail. I also text my homies. Well, if I'm having a shit or slow day, I open my drawer and sneak a message. Apparently the spies in the office hate me and tattle every time they see me.
Even when I'm on break I get questions, "Who are you talking to on there all day?" Yeah, they are called FRIENDS. Remember those? You probably had some before you got married and old.
So, now I go for walks around the neighborhood and text where no one can see me. I would go into the shitter, but since there is only one, people get tired of waiting for me to come out.
Well, today I listened to some Ricky Gervais podcasts and was laughing my jiggly arse off! I thought for sure I'd be busted and get in trouble for random bursts of laughter. I mean, it's not like I was watching a movie, again. Plus I was still working.
Now, even though he's a dood, my dad is one crazy bitch! He cracks me up sometimes, and other times I just want to wring his neck. He gets more mood swings than a woman. We had an argument a few weeks ago, over NOTHING. Because of our fight, he thought I was never going to talk to him again, so he left me a letter on my windshield. Drama queen!
We made up, now he's been telling me about his bathroom problems. "Not when I pee, you know, the other," is what he tells me. Yeah, dad, I'm 31, you can say poop or stool to me and I'll know what you mean.
He had me a little worried today. I think he's getting like my mother because he told me a story of when he was a kid, he thinks he saw aliens. Or maybe he thinks he was abducted by aliens, or they did something to him? Oi, I have no clue. Guess this is what I have to look forward to in about 30 years. Yippie!
Continuing my topic of crazy bitches, a few weeks ago I was in a fight with one. A real fight, with punches and shit. I didn't blog about it then, because I knew that's what some people were hoping for. Like I'm going to give anyone THAT satisfacion! HA!
So, here's what happened. The girl I blogged about a few months ago, that was acting trampish at a bar with her boyfriend and I told him to watch his back, yeah, well she got her feelings hurted and tried to call me out about calling her a whore.
Well, okay, if you see something or hear something someone has said about you, be it matter of fact or opinion, and you get mad about it, then it must be true. Right? I mean, if it's not true, then fuck it, let it go. But nooooo, she called me out as soon as she saw me and said if I were to start rumors about her, to make sure they were true.
Well, leading up to that point, I had drank 2 large assed fucking margaritas with a lot of tequila, and a few glasses of beer, along with a muscle relaxer chaser. I know, shut up. Hey, it's my Friday ritual, to ease the pain in my back. The muscle relaxer, not all the alcohol.
So, by the time I get to this place, I'm pretty fucking drunk. I have no idea what I said to that girl, but she wouldn't stay out of my face. I kept walking away from her, I think I sang a song, and drank some more, and smoked a few cigarettes, but she wouldn't go away.
Finally I said something to her and she punched me in the jaw. Hey, I'm still on probation (ending this month) and I'm not about to go to jail for some crazy person. Plus, I never throw the first punch, I learned that in college. (What, what Kellie!!?? LOL That bitch Shannon went down!)
Anyway, at the time, I was about to light a cigarette and she hit me, well I keep trying to light my cigarette and think I swung back, but kept trying to hold on to my cigarette and bit the inside of my lip. When I realized it was gone, I held my lighter in my hand and just started hitting.
Not too long after, the fight was broken up. I had a couple of scratches on my chest and my arm, and of course, my lip was bleeding from the inside, but I didn't know it until I started tasting metal. That's always lovely.
Well, I fixed my hair and went back to drinking. She left quickly after, with what looked like a black eye and bruised side of the face.
I don't really remember much else, other than getting some neosporin from PR, then going home and feeling like I was going to vomit, but passed out instead.
The next day I woke up and my bottom lip was kind of puffy, which was cool because I didn't have to pay for collagen injections to get that look. Ha!
So, last weekend, when I went out, I had to bring some pepper spray, just in case some bitches went crazy again. Seriously. I got a letter from the probation office, called Kentucky Alternative Programs here, and this is my last month of probation suckaz! So, in an effort not to fuck up while still on probation, I brought my pepper spray. 
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