And so this morning we find our Intrepid Heroine evaluating her life and discovering that she's too nice.
The Girl does not leave her laptop, except for trips to the bathroom and to scavenge food. Trying to get her to take another college course, practice driving a car, or even get outside for five minutes so that sunlight might touch her face, is like trying to raise the dead.
The Boy and The Baby have been ready on time to catch the bus in the morning a total of about one week out of nine.
A clean bedroom in my house is an urban legend. These days, I settle for "no visible cups or crisp packets." I think these kids would qualify for intervention from the television programme, "Hoarders."
Unless I pitch a fit, the dishes and clean laundry get left where I leave them, to be randomly picked through until nothing's left but knives and mismatched socks.
Clearly, something must be done to fix this, even just a little bit. Oddly enough, bribing my kids with money in exchange for doing dishes, putting their own laundry away, or even just pulling the blanket up on the bed has never been successful. Grounding the children also doesn't work, as they enjoy taking naps as much as they enjoy playing Guitar Hero. A new plan must be implemented, one that hasn't been used before, one that is sure to get their attention.
I have the solution: Air Horn.
Dude...
I have seen the enemy...
One of the contractors at my building has seriously freaked me out. He has behaved in such a way that I felt stalked and threatened. I reported the situation to management, and thought it was handled. The person to whom I confided did "do something," but, as it turned out, not enough "something."
Last night, as my work buddies would say, the shit got real.
The contractor tried to approach me inside my workplace. I told him to go away, but he did not stop. So I ran away. I couldn't scream, because I work in retail, but I high-tailed it to the nearest cashier. She seemed surprised to see me and I realised she couldn't see what had happened, so I blurted out, "I'm just going to stand here and watch you work for a few minutes." I kept my eye on the guy until he gave up and walked away without another word to me.
His next move, however, was to report to the night manager that an employee "went nuts" on him, and he wanted something done about it. I was called back to talk to the night manager, not knowing what had been said. I was asked to tell what was going on. It seemed an odd request, because surely everyone knew.
When I finished telling the whole story, the level of fury the night manager was keeping under control was staggering to behold.
It turns out that the manger to whom I confided kept the situation under wraps, so that no one else, not my immediate supervisor nor the night-time manager, knew what was going on or that I needed extra supervision/protection.
I do love my job and my coworkers, but my workplace has become a battleground now. I have had setbacks with my PTSD because of this. Poor Mister. He has endured so much, and I had made such good progress only to regress. But to continue to work there, requiring an escort from the building after dark thanks to this schmo...
We will see what the next few days will bring as my champion, Sir Steven, kicks ass and takes names. He was most displeased to be the last to know of this situation, and as I'm his favourite employee (his words, not mine), he was particularly cross.
If this is "stunning," I'll stay fat, thanks anyway.
Saw this photo on a UK news site. They described Ms. Angelina Jolie as "stunning," and continued to rave about how lovely and attractive she is.
I don't know about you, but "skeletal" has never equaled "stunning" in my book.
The Race Is On!
From time to time, we cannot provide the service our customers ask of us. Whether it's a Corporate decision or the decision of the Zone Manager from our individual store, or if it's just a common-sense thing, sometimes we have to say, "No, sorry." Occasionally, 'That Thing' occurs, and everyone on my crew feels a little, well, pissed off about it.
You see, everyone else who works on my crew is not the same skin colour as me. I have never seen this as an issue, for any reason, as I accept everyone at face value until they get in my face or disappoint my expectations. Unfortunately, it most definitely IS an issue.
About once or twice a week, a customer will bring their problem to the Customer Service desk. It doesn't matter to whom they speak; That Thing crops up after they get denied and can't change the employee's mind. If they're speaking to me, they will turn to my coworker and say, "Sista! Sista! I just know you can do something for me? /wink wink/" If they are dealing with a coworker, they will turn to me and in a very patronizing and/or begging tone of voice, say, "Soo, ma'am, isn't there anything you surely can do for me?"
Either I've denied them because I'm white and am racist, or I'm going to help them because I'm white and will surely help a brotha or sista out because I don't want to be seen as racist.
And this, my friends, is why we cannot move forward as a society.
Uncertainty
A friend recently discovered that we had an acquaintance in common, and we discussed this person in great depth. She was very curious to learn more about him, and I was eager to reassure her about his character. This young man is someone I admire, musically talented and incredibly intelligent, a comedian in one moment, sensitive and caring the next. His was a rather unfortunate story, one that should have been a blessed life but whose history will forever be marred by a distant, alcoholic father.
That father died this weekend, of complications from a sudden, serious illness.
Few people who worked with this man had any measure of respect for him. I truly wish I did, but having been affected by his malcontent personally, I just can't. His family, however, were practically the perfect family: angelic wife, smart and well-mannered kids. I have an urge to help arrange a sort of memorial for him, not so much to honor his memory but to honor their struggle and the years they tried to stand by him, to help him.
But then again, I fear such a gesture will not be well-received by anyone. How much would that hurt if few people showed up? It's a risk I'm not so certain is a good idea.
Able to leap capital T in a single bound
I don't know if this is bogus, but it made me laugh. A guy claims to have taken a few Viagra prior to entering an airport in order to get the full experience of the TSA pat-down. He claims to have been running at full throttle by the time he reached the security center and graciously turned down the full-body x-ray. He even carried on a conversation with the TSA employee tasked with his pat-down.
Cain positioned himself behind me and began firmly patting down my neck, back and arms. He was like one of those massage chairs at Brookstone. "How 'bout them Bears?" I joked.It carried on from there, but this was just classic good fun.
He laughed. "I'm not a big fan of the Bears."
"I'm not talking about the sports team," I replied. "I'm talking about the woodland creatures."
"They're all right, I guess."
"They're good at foraging," I pointed out.
"I'm gonna use the back of my hands now, all right?" asked Cain.
He began to firmly stroke my buttocks, and I began giggling. He thought this was funny, too, and laughed. "I'm sorry," I apologized, "that reminds me of my uncle when I was ten."
I say, let 'em crash!
When people go swimming through shark-infested waters, they have an increased risk of getting eaten by a shark. That is common knowledge. There is very little sympathy after the initial outrage calms, and this is as it should be.
A group of people, four adults and 3 children, willingly went sailing their pretty yacht through pirate-infested waters and...then what happened? If you guessed that they were kidnapped and their boat seized by pirates, you may collect your prize at the door.
It would seem that about half of the media reporting this incident think we should give a damn. I do, and then again, I don't. I feel real bad for those kids. Kids mostly just do as they're told. Poor things, they just can't choose their adult leadership. The adults, on the other hand, deserve everything they have earned for their stupidity.
I sincerely hope the pirates treat the children with great care. The adults? Feed 'em to the sharks.
Bring me the comfy chair!
Iran is threatening to boycott the 2012 Olympics to be held in London. That's in England. You can read about it here, at Yahoo's newspage.
Iran has their panties in a bunch because the artist used a style that has caused the number "2012" to look just like the word "zion." They have a point, but a bigger issue for me is not the alleged religious slight. Oh no, if I were to boycott the Olympics, it would be because the logo and the mascots chosen for it are just straight-up stupid.
I'd post photos, but Blogger is being a butt and I'm just too lazy to copy to my desktop. Besides, your google bone ain't broken. :)
The Endless Highway
I was asked if I was in the grip of a depression. I cannot honestly answer yea or nay, as every day is the same, a feeling that I cannot distinguish from any other day for as long as I can remember. There are moments of great joy as well as great sadness, but mostly the days are simply marked by the changes in the weather. I have rarely ever felt in control of any facet of my life.
One major truth that I have finally allowed to sink in is my inability to turn people away. I simply must make everyone else happy---do what they want, say what they expect, help them, coach them, encourage them, allow them their freedom. My own happiness appears to stem simply from the happiness I help create in others. A deep-seated feeling within my soul whispers to me that this is just not normal, and that I must change. I have lost my sense of importance, having spent so much time helping everyone else be more important. I have rarely ever been a priority to myself, and perhaps have lost myself along the way.
I often feel as though I do not know the real me. There are things that I like, things I would like to do. But too many of these things seem to point back toward my need to please people. Many of my so-called goals, many of the plans I make, are set with the idea that the completion of my goals/plans would be of great benefit and happiness to those along for the ride. When I begin to think of the things I had wanted to do, wanted to be, in my younger days, ideas that had helped me break free from a cumbersome situation, I am filled with a heartbreaking sense of sadness. Why did I let these things go? Returning to those idea and goals, however, would overturn everything I have now, people I truly love.
How can I change the patterns of a lifetime without adversely affecting those closest to me? Everything indicates that dramatic change would herald a new dawn for me, but at great expense. There seems no easy answer, and so I find myself perpetually lost at sea; a thought not so much comforting but comfortable: today is as yesterday was and what I expect tomorrow to be.
Well, bless your little heart!
Sorry, folks, but I had to do it. I got spammed. And so I have been pushed into enacting that dreadful thing: the word verification. In this instance, I am using "word" very loosely, as I have yet to encounter an actual word as found in any English-language dictionary in these verifiers.
Many apologies, but please, dearest friends, continue to post your comments and complaints. Much love!
Soo
it's on!
I'm going off in search of a random word generator online. I'm fishing for topics for my next flash fiction, and since I can't actually find my hardcopy dictionary, hopefully there is a generator out there that I can "flip open" and get inspiration.
Or you can post a random topic or a "starter sentence" in the comments.
Flash Fiction
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Straightening his spectacles, the man in the derby hat cleared his throat.
Jasper looked up. "You startled me, Professor."
"I am only checking in to see if our project is still on schedule."
Jasper nervously glanced around the laboratory then back to his worktable. Schematics, gears, and tools littered the surrounding area. "Yes, Professor. I do believe we will be ready--and with time to spare."
"Excellent work, Jasper. I'll be back on the 20th to give the presentation." The professor left the laboratory, and Jasper breathed a sigh of relief.
One of these days, he's going to be shown for the fraud he really is, Jasper thought. This project had been one of Jasper's best ideas, a design he had sketched and altered over and over for two years until he felt it was finally perfect. Many of the parts he had invented himself, the remnants of his efforts scattered throughout the laboratory. The hydraulic system was a masterpiece of copper and brass, beautiful enough to be left exposed and tough enough to withstand the abuse the automaton was naturally going to endure. But the key feature was its unique "exploding" design: each major segment of the automaton was self-supporting and could function independently from the rest of the unit.
Business moguls and governments worldwide were sending telegrams daily, keenly aware of the automaton's potential as replacements for humans in dangerous factories and mines, and on the fields of battle. Jasper’s childhood fancy was coming to fruition and was poised to change the world. As always, Professor Kinsberry was going to take all the credit.
Or will he? A thought raced through Jasper's head, diabolical and delicious. As with any new invention, Jasper was creating two simultaneously, one as a control and one as a variable. This time, however, the control was in his basement laboratory at home. The professor wasn’t aware of its existence, or of the money missing from the project’s budget which funded the second automaton.
He walked quickly to the cabinets to retrieve his collection of plans. About four revisions ago, he had discovered a weakness in the automaton's flexible joints. It had been a painstaking fix. Most of the newest hydraulic innovations came about to correct this flaw. All Jasper had to do was hide the newest revisions, and then undo the fix.
The one in which I swear. No, really.
I just wish it would hurry the fuck up and find Georgia!
The other reason I adore fall is because the normally-occurring cooler weather causes middle-aged and post-middle-aged skanks to wear more than just a loose-fitting tank top over their droopy and often veiny cleavage. Do they even look in the mirror before leaving home? If they do, is it a circus mirror? I'm certain at the very least that they need their eyes checked, because they don't see what I see.
And that which has been seen, cannot be unseen. Ever.
Remember, ladies: the brassiere, while occasionally ill-fitting and uncomfortable, is your life-long friend. Just because you were hawt and the girls were perky in high school does not mean it's still a grand vista at 40(+).
Did you really just go there?
Right now, I'd like to address the people who post medical issues online.
You know what? I truly am sad your loved one had to go to the ER. I'm also sad they're admitting your loved one because of his/her ailment. I really hope he/she recovers quickly, because he/she has a new job/baby/dirigible. Did I need to be told that your loved one suffered from extreme diarrhea all weekend? I may have to look him/her in the eye next week. I'd rather not have that image, thank you very much.
If people want the extreme details, why not leave it to them to contact you instead of posting it all out there? Maybe your loved one doesn't want anyone to know this stuff, and you're just charging on ahead regardless. All I'm asking is maybe you take a second look at how you announce information. Some things just don't need to be said out loud.
--------------------
On a mostly unrelated topic, am I the only person on this planet who thinks the new 3D ultrasound photos are creepy?
Switch Back
A week or so ago, The Girl turned 18. In celebration, I had talked for days about "doing something big." Her plans to hang with friends had fallen through, a situation that really couldn't be helped when your peeps are big dorks and you are their leader.
On Saturday night, I announced a definite trip to a coaster park about 2 hours away. This plan had been discussed off and on for at least a week as an alternative to The Girl's other plans, so the announcement should not have been a surprise to anyone. The Boy's reaction to the news came as a complete surprise to everyone.
He was beyond cross.
He claimed we had not given him enough notice to be ready for a trip to anywhere, let alone to a coaster park. Most kids would have been overjoyed to spend the day riding roller-coasters, eating junk food, and buying souvenirs, even if it means hanging out with your dorky family. Not this kid.
So Sunday dawns and he refused to get out of bed, declaring that he just wasn't ready and that we should have been more considerate of his feelings (!). We left him home. It was just too much drama for me to legitimize it by begging and pleading.
Fast-forward to today, where I announce that on Saturday, tomorrow, he was going to get his flu shot. Holy cow! Listening to him rant and rave over a lack of advance notice, you would have thought I had just told him he had an amputation scheduled.
It is now obvious to one and all that Mr Dramapants needs more than 24-hours' notice for anything. And I thought I was a big dork.
breathe deeply
A young woman looked at herself in the bathroom mirror; the choices she had made had led her to a dark place. She rose on sunny days only to see clouds and haze on the horizon. She needed to think, to breathe, to find inner peace and a new way forward. Without a second thought, she borrowed a friend's car and started driving in any direction away from home.
Right turn, left turn, straight through uncounted intersections--she drove without taking in her location. She was startled out of a daydream-like state to recognize where her subconscious had taken her: the Causeway, a long, low toll bridge that connected the mainland to the tourist beach area. Too late to turn back, she tossed the requisite change into the bin and began to cross.
Once on the spit, most tourists turned left to select any number of beach areas, all littered with kitschy restaurants and bars. Instead, she turned right into a protected nature reserve that was rarely visited by anyone but the most intrepid of hikers and campers. No lifeguards were to be found anywhere in this section of the beach, no Applebee's, no pubs, and the roads were prone to flooding at high tide.
A few minutes of driving through the reserve brought her to a small parking lot. She parked the car and wondered at the situation she now found herself in. A born land-locked Northerner, she had recently learned about tides and knew that she would shortly be cut off from the main spit and at the whimsy of nature until the tide receded. No one knew where she was. It was the beach, the last area of the planet she ever wanted to visit.
It was precisely what she wanted, what she needed.
Picking up her sweater, she locked the car and carefully made her way toward the water. For the first time in her life, she encountered sand dunes, and she took the time to appreciate all that they were: a foundation for the spit against tidal erosion as well as a thriving ecosystem for myriad beach life forms, as well as the most beautiful Earthly creation she had ever seen. Instead of traveling farther in toward the water, she chose to rest among the dunes to watch the tide roll in and the seagulls dance. No other person wandered the beach to interrupt her musings.
It was early evening when her stomach rumbled. The tide had dropped again and she knew it was time to go, surprised to realize so many hours had passed. It seemed as though only minutes ago she had settled in at the beach. She couldn't recall any one particular thought other than the the serenity of this place and the peace she felt settle within herself. The tides had called to her soul, and she had listened. "We are strong," they said. "You are also strong. Nothing can stand in our way."
With the song of the crashing waves in her heart, she returned to the car and drove home, never looking back. She didn't need to--everything she ever needed to learn about life, she learned sitting quietly among the dunes and the tide, listening to and learning from the universe.
On The Wagon
The aforementioned customer was exceedingly polite all through our engagement, which isn't anything special. However, he felt I went above and beyond to help him. After reaching his car, he picked something up and came back into the store because he had decided to give me "a little something."
He gave me a "Repent and be saved" pamphlet.
...?
He said he just knew there was so much goodness in my heart, that he felt I needed to give myself over to Jesus (his words) and that this little pamphlet would help me find my way.
All of this makes me wonder, is there some sort of Jesus-dar that scopes out the non-believers?
I said nothing to any of our customers, ever, concerning religion, as my beliefs and opinions are none of their business. If anyone wishes me a "blessed day," I thank them kindly, and I appreciate the gesture regardless. I do not believe that kindness and good manners are restricted to Christians, and am puzzled by this man's actions.
Or was he making an assumption based on my general appearance: black hair, dark green nail polish, and funky jewelry? If so, then that opens a whole 'nother kettle of worms.
Ideas, input, information, and/or objections requested.
days of our lives
A short while ago, I posted about an incident at work in which my coworker spoke her mind about immigrants, Hispanic immigrants in particular.
To sum up, she expressed her opinion regarding Hispanic immigrants and migrant workers, in front of a customer who did not speak English, to a fellow employee. I chose to turn my back on the situation rather than say anything at all, only to later regret not shutting her up.
I recently learned that the coworker at the receiving end of the rant filed an EO complaint against her, an investigation was done, and she was fired. I was listed in the report only as "another employee who was there."
While initially shocked at the outcome, I was pleased that my employer takes a zero-tolerance stand on discrimination. I have long held the belief that if you are being paid for your time, then while "on the clock," your company's beliefs and policies are your beliefs and policies. You want to be different, do it on your own time.
I also felt I needed to say something to the other employee. It was imperative that he know that I did not agree with what was said, and that I just didn't know what to do. Today, I got my chance. I the storage area, I bumped into him and took the opportunity. I told him how I felt, that I live in a very diverse, working-class neighborhood, that my family is full of colour and diversity as well. He said he could tell by my actions, and that's why he didn't tell them my name. He reminded me that we had chatted a bit before that had happened, and he felt he had a "good read" on my personality. I told him I just wanted everything to be good between us, and he assured me we were alright.
A very heavy weight has been lifted from my conscious, and that's a very good thing.
