I feel like I need to take a step back and recharge my batteries. A great many of my readers are also friends on Facebook, so you have witnessed how up and down my life has been the last couple years. It's been chaos in its purest form, and I honestly think a brief hiatus would help. I'm on the fast track to burning myself out, I can see it coming a mile away, so I think it's time I just stop for a minute. Remind myself of those important things in life. My health, for starters. My kids. Both of them, my little ginger demon Daniel and the little spoken-of Alex. But that's my issue, not yours, so it need not be discussed now.
There's been a lot going on up in my neck of the woods, and it seems like every single time I turn around, I've been neck-deep in some shit or another. I'm just glad Daniel's been with his dad for it, because there have been nights I haven't come home simply because I'm too tired to make the drive. Nothing illegal, I assure you. But I gotta keep myself fed somehow. If all else fails, I'm a damn useful minion when the occasion calls for it. But that's part of why I sent him to Daddy's to begin with: I knew I was gonna be running like a chicken with its head cut off to make ends meet while taking this boot camp.
I've run myself ragged, and if I keep on like this, I feel like I'm going to drown. And I know I'm repeating myself, but my brain just can't really form the right words to describe how I'm feeling.
And the boot camp thing.... I did learn, I did. But I feel like my grasp on the logics and the way it all fits together just isn't strong enough yet to benefit the company that trained me. I fully admit that I do need more training, but right now, I can't go through more training. I'm just in no position to. I've stretched my resources as thin as I could without snapping, and I can't stretch any more. When I am once again in a position where I COULD go through more training, I will.
But... I need my kids. My emotions have been going haywire, and each day in a quiet, mostly clean, empty apartment is a little worse than the last. I miss my little ginger snot, and I would honestly like a chance to get to know the little blonde idjit my mother describes to me.
I know some people don't believe in mental well-being and health to be just as important as physical health, but there is a point where it is. I cannot stay focused on anything right now, and I feel it would be in EVERYBODY'S best interests as related to me if I went home for a bit.
So I'm going to. I'm gonna play and laugh and remember what it's like to enjoy life. I'm 25, for fuck's sake. I should not be feeling THIS bad. It's a bit ridiculous.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
QOTD - Anatomy Edition
When having one of the few female discussions I get with a fellow blogger and parent, and you KNOW how those conversations tend to lean...
"Parasailing Out My Bajingo is gonna be the name of my Queensryche cover band. Just because."
- Sabra
"Parasailing Out My Bajingo is gonna be the name of my Queensryche cover band. Just because."
- Sabra
Friday, December 7, 2012
Hip hip hoorah
Better men than me have written wise
words in regards to what today means in the history of our country,
so I'm not even going to try, beyond saying that it is another day
that will live in infamy, though fewer and fewer will speak of it.
Just like 9/11, the truest of patriots will never let the day the
Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor be forgotten.
And now, onto other news.
RobbAllen is not the only one who has been doing soul
searching. But he admits to having no soul as well as no pants, and
I am a whole other ball game. I do have a soul, I just don't know
what to do with it at this juncture in my life.
I have a Bible, given to me by a
friend. I'm in a rough spot in my life, as some of my closer friends
in the blogosphere have been told. Got the job, got the apartment,
got the friends and the car and I'm doing pretty well for myself,
considering how things in the past have gone for me since I started
SFTSM. But it's hard, it really is. I'm lonely. I mean, I have
Fake Redhead here with me, and she is a grand friend, don't get me
wrong. But a lot of nights, my mind is full of so many thoughts that
I just can't voice to her because while we have gone through a lot of
the same hardships in life, there are some things that she hasn't
suffered through, not to mention we don't have the same mindset in a
lot of ways, so she wouldn't understand what is bothering me most of
the time. I don't want to burden her with that weight, so I just
keep my mouth shut.
I can see myself blogging a bit more
now, and she can turn her phone into a wifi hotspot long enough for
me to upload a post whenever the fancy strikes me. Don't expect me
to start posting as often as Tam, though. Don't get your hopes up
quite yet, ya'll. Being a single mother, even with a roommate who is
a parent and is willing to help, I'm still strapped for free time and
the urge to write, whether it be a blog post, a letter, or pure
fiction (not all can be found here, smart asses). But I do have a
feeling that I might be able to crank out a small handful of posts in
a month's time, and who knows, hopefully sooner or later we will
actually have internet here.
But anyway. What was I saying? Oh
yes. The Bible.
I'm lonely. I have a few friends, but
not many. I'm on my own, with no one I can turn to at any hour of
the day and night. I'm pretty lost most of the time, and I must
admit, I'm drowning under the weight of trying to both be a
responsible adult and survive and live up to the expectations that
people have of me. Remember the blog post a few months back, where I
said I wanted to just be ME, and not the Dickless Guy Friend for a
while? Yeah, shit like that.
But... I'm alone. I realize that. I
can feel myself going down that slippery slope into the territory of
being a Bad Person, and I don't want to turn into that. And right
now, I need some sort of guidance. I'm not saying I believe in God
quite yet, or that I'm ready to start attending church. I don't know
what I believe, but I do know that I don't want to feel so damned
alone. And several close personal friends have suggested that maybe
going to church and praying would be good for me. Help my soul find
some peace, maybe rid myself of some of the anguish that I carry
daily. Good ol' Stud Roomie from last year understood it, he
understood me very well. He knew how to read my moods and adapt to
them, and he knew how to calm me down from a fiery rage with barely a
word. I miss him, more than words can describe. That man truly was
my best friend.
Who knows. Maybe I will start to
believe. Maybe I will go to church. Who knows, maybe some day,
against all odds, some of you weirdos will receive invitations to a
wedding starring me that takes place in a church. It's too early to
tell, of course, but anything can happen, right? That's what they
keep telling me, anyway.
~*~*~
I have a Christmas tree in the trunk of
my car at the moment. After hauling groceries up and putting them
away (I live in a second story apartment), my out-of-shape ass was
too damn tired to go back down and haul the tree up. It's a light
little thing, just a four foot fake one because there's no room in my
apartment for a full sized monstrosity, plus they didn't have the one
I wanted in six foot size. But still. Those stairs are a bitch when
you're fat and out of shape. But there's a tree, I promise, and
ornaments, and everything. Fake Redhead loves this time of year, and
she's looking forward to decorating and doing the Christmas thing
with me and Daniel. I may have to make some peppermint hot cocoa and
allow her to play Christmas music while we decorate it at some point
this weekend. I hate Christmas music, like no other. There's only
so many ways you can re-do the same songs before they make me want to
shove an ice pick in my ear. Fake Redhead, of course, ADORES
Christmas music. Go figure. But I think for the sake of doing the
holiday thing right, I'll let it slide for one day and she can play
the music. Maybe we can even get Daniel to understand it. Last year
the holiday explanation sort of fell by the wayside, but now Daniel
is talking and understanding a lot better, so I think when we
decorate the tree, we'll try and get him excited for it.
~*~*~
Daniel gets to go see his dad pretty
regularly, I will say. Every couple of weeks we drive down for a
weekend visit, because I live two hundred miles away. I would have
preferred to live in Springfield, because that town is more my pace
and my size, and I have a lot of fun there, but last time I tried
finding a job, it just didn't work. Really enjoy the town, but even
if it was just me, I couldn't even begin to make ends meet on a
hundred bucks a week from donating plasma.
Every now and then Daniel goes to stay
with his dad for a week. I'm mature enough to admit that I
occasionally need a break, and though his dad is a raging twat and we
only get along in small increments, he does love his son. He's just
not so great with being a full-time father, so weekends and
occasional week-long visits work. He stayed with him over
Thanksgiving break, and the week before Christmas he's gonna go stay
again with Dad. I'll pick him up the weekend before Christmas, and
then we're gonna go visit my very good friend Madame Lawyer in St.
Louis.
Madame Lawyer is a new character in
this story, too. She's pretty fantastic. She says she's gonna adopt
me, because I've helped her with some personal issues, so she's
looking out for me whenever she can. And hey, who couldn't use a
lawyer in their corner from time to time? But she's been pretty
close over the past couple of months, and she's like “Gurl, you
need a break. Bring Daniel out for a weekend and we'll go to the zoo
and we'll go ice skating and we'll do all manner of stuff and you'll
have a nice little mini-vacation.”
… Okay, cool with me. The Civic gets
fantastic gas mileage, so it won't cost me an arm and a leg for gas
like it would with the Death Star, though I still miss that truck
like nobody's business. So I'm gonna go to St. Louis the weekend
before Christmas, and Daniel and Fake Redhead and I will have
Christmas here in Casa de Snark. Don't know quite yet what we'll do
as far as Christmas dinner goes, but hey, that's not the important
part. Family and friends and love are.
~*~*~
So that's how things are rocking here.
I got a feeling you will start to see more blog posts from me,
simply for the catharsis. I've got so many thoughts spinning like a
whirlwind in my skull I fear I'll go insane most days, so this would
definitely help. It's why I started writing here to begin with,
right? Why not take advantage of that?
Goodnight, internet. Til next time,
same Snark time, same Snark channel.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
I'm still alive, I promise
-->
YES, MY FAITHFUL MINIONS, I AM STILL
ALIVE.
Seriously, I am, for reals. Stop
worrying, it's okay. I PROMISE.
Also, I'd just like to apologize now in
advance, because I have been spending an APPALLING amount of time on
Tumblr, where I am part of several different fandoms and I have
turned into a totally apeshit fangirl over the Winchester brothers
(from Supernatural - oh god I love that show so hard, it makes me
happy in the pants). So I've started to, uhm, talk like I'm on
Tumblr. All the time. Which means I say things like “OH BABY YOUR
FACE IT'S DOING THAT THING WHERE I JUST WANT TO KISS YOU” and the
really stupid one, “I CAN'T EVEN. I HAVE LOST THE ABILITY TO CAN.”
Yeah. It's pretty bad. Some of my
immediate family are staging an intervention as we speak.
ANYWAY.
I don't have internet at home. But the
good news is, I DO have a job, and I DO have an apartment of my own!
Isn't that astonishing? I know, you're all so very proud of me.
Never thought I'd make it this far, right?
So I've been living on my own for a few
months (with Daniel, of course), and then the week before
Thanksgiving, a friend/coworker of mine, Fake Redhead, called me
before work. Her boyfriend (now EX) is a monumental douchebag that
announced at 3 AM after he got off work (via text, in true douchebag
fashion) that he had been cheating on her and that she had to be
moved out by that afternoon because he was moving the new girlfriend
in.
I got this call at 6:30 AM. This was
the SECOND time that she had called me at such an ungodly hour, the
last time being when he had come home drunk and gotten physical with
her and kicked her out, then taken off with her minivan and pulled
the spark plug cables out of his so she couldn't take it. So I
called in sick that day, drove out and helped her pull ALL of her
crap out, kept a good portion of it (mostly books) in the back of my
car for a couple of days (oh god the Rogue Five was THRILLED WITH
THAT) and she stayed in a motel room. Of course, a few days later,
he begged her to come home and she did, and they had seemed like they
were doing really good for a while, even according to her, so this
was pretty out of left field and completely unexpected.
Back to what I was saying. She had the
minivan, he told her he would sign the title of it over to her, but
she had to leave. She had nowhere to go. She moved to this area a
couple years back WITH HIM, so she didn't have any real friends or
anything like that, and she knew I had helped her before and she
could probably call me for help again. I had told her I had been in
a position very similar to hers on more than one occasion in the
past, and I just can't stand by when a woman needs help and I can do
something, because I have been there and needed the help myself.
She didn't have anywhere to go, so
she's staying with me for a while. She's been here a couple weeks
now, and here's the astonishing part: we get along FANTASTICALLY. I
have had very, VERY few female friends in the past, as I'm sure most
of you are aware, so having one that is very much like me in quite a
few ways that I actually get along with is somewhat.... um....
boggling, to be perfectly honest. We have gone through a lot of the
same mistreatments from men, suffered a lot of similar bad lucks.
And, truth be told, even though my apartment is STUPID CHEAP (all
things considered), the extra help with finances would be greatly
appreciated. Where we both work, calling to conduct phone surveys
(yes, you hate me, I know), when our respective projects run out of
numbers, we get sent home early, and that's that. So there have been
more than a few paychecks that have NOT been my promised 38 hours a
week, and that shit hurts. But she is on a different team than me,
so when I'm getting sent home by 11 AM every day for a week straight,
she's working ALL day. It helps.
So, as it stands now, since we are
doing so well cohabitating without murdering each other, come spring
time (and tax time, whoo!), we will be looking into getting a bigger
place, so she will actually have, you know, a BEDROOM, and not be
sleeping on my couch. As well as more space for organization,
because I don't have a lot of stuff, and she has a FUCK TON of stuff
and I have zero storage space in my apartment. Approximately
one-quarter of my living room is lost to the mountain of her
belongings that we have no place to put.
Als+ o, I'm up to my eyeballs in pussy.
I have my one little demon furball, Diesel, and Fake Redhead brought
her three little nutters, Princess, Phoenix, and Dragon. Daniel is
delighted, because he loves the kitties and Phoenix and Dragon, the
two brothers, like to sleep with him at night. Princess, aka mama
cat, pretty much stays hidden all the time, and Diesel... Diesel just
kind of does her own thing. She lays in the middle of my TOTALLY BAD
ASS tiger rug (which, in case you missed it, I fucking love) and
blends in surprisingly well, considering she's a black-and-grey tabby
and my rug is well... tiger-striped But the stripes help her blend,
because I cannot tell you how many times I have tripped over or
stepped on the little fuzzball. She's very soft, and very
affectionate, and I love her. No replacement for my dearly beloved
Ping, but he vanished last fall and has not been seen since, and
considering he had over a dozen years on the planet under his belt,
I'm not holding out hope that he's still alive at this point. Breaks
my heart, but I know better than to have foolish hope anymore.
Ahhhh, fun times. Uhm. What else can
I say here?
OH YEAH. My job. I hates it. It
sucks with the fiery burning passion of a thousand suns, no lie. I
call to conduct phone surveys, market research. So I'm the
irritating twat that calls you and says “Hello, my name is Snarky,
calling on behalf of Capital One Bank. May I speak to the person who
recently visited the Capital One Branch for your business? We are
conducting a satisfaction survey on the quality of service you
received on a recent visit to Random Branch Name and your opinions
are very important, so we would like to include you in this research
study. Overall, how satisfied were you with the service you received
on your most recent visit to Random Branch? Would you were
completely satisfied, very, somewhat, not very, or not at all
satisfied?” So on and so forth.
My job SUCKS. But it's (usually)
pretty steady hours, easy pay, and I get to sit and read, or write,
or crochet (because Fake Redhead has taught me how to crochet) or do
whatever while I'm working, because we call a lot of numbers that get
no answer or answering machine or anything, not to mention people who
don't want to do the surveys or the answering machines we hit. Lots
of free time, yo. And I've made some pretty cool friends, to boot.
Fake Redhead, Older Cute Guy (that should be illegal, I swear to
god!), Scratcher, the whole nine yards. They're pretty awesome. I
just wish I had more free time in the evenings to socialize, but
since Fake Redhead is here, she has volunteered to watch Daniel if I
want to go out for whatever reason and do things without having to
drag hyperactive toddler around. That's so nice of her. She's
pretty fucking fantastic, if I do say so myself.
In addition to being just an awesome
chick to be around, Fake Redhead has earned a special place in my
mother's heart, working her devil magic like she is. I've started
wearing make-up to work, and she's been having a BLAST playing with
my hair and putting it into new hairstyles. Like, I shit you not, we
had friends over last week having some drinks (because Daniel was at
his dad's for the week of Thanksgiving, so we could cut loose with no
worries), and she decided she was going to french braid my hair into
pigtails.
YES. MAKE UP AND PIGTAILS AND
CROCHETING. HER DEVIL MAGIC IS TURNING ME INTO A GIRL. And my
mother has only been trying to do that since I was a wee small thing,
and I never had any of it, so she's delighted. It's funny to watch,
it really is.
But crocheting does give me an
inexpensive hobby, in leiu of having internet, and something I can at
home, at work, anytime I have free time and nothing to do. And it's
productive! So I'm doing a blanket for Daniel, then I'm going to do
a baby blanket for my lawyer friend who is pregnant. Fun times.
Ahhh, life. So what's up with ya'll?
PS - I know the captcha thing is irritating as all hell, but the new Blogger is seeming to have an issue, according to various other bloggers I love, with spam comments on overload, so the word verification stays. Sorry kids. I know it sucks, but I would prefer to not be swarmed with crap spam. I still love you. <3 br="br">3>
PS - I know the captcha thing is irritating as all hell, but the new Blogger is seeming to have an issue, according to various other bloggers I love, with spam comments on overload, so the word verification stays. Sorry kids. I know it sucks, but I would prefer to not be swarmed with crap spam. I still love you. <3 br="br">3>
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Excuse Me, Idiots
Dear parts stores and salvage yards in northern Missouri:
Open. Your. Fucking. Ears.
When I call your store/location/yard/whatthefuckever, I'm calling for a reason. Not just to chitchat and say hi, how's your mom? No. I'm calling because something is wrong with my car, I'm broke, and I need to find a part for cheap that will last me at least until I can get a few more paychecks and buy a brand new replacement part. Simple and easy to understand, right?
Apparently not.
In the past month, I have gone through *three* starters in my Civic. The first one was an improper fit, because the store I called did not, as I stated above, open their god damned ears.
When I say, "I need a starter for a 98 Honda Civic DX, 2 door, manual transmission," that does not mean "A 97 or a 99 starter would be close enough, they might work," NOR does that mean "The starter out of a 98 Civic with an automatic transmission should do the trick."
No. They are not the right size, they will not fit in my car.
Now, the first time this mistake happened, I was willing to overlook it. Mistakes do happen from time to time, and I'm usually not one to flip my shit at the first 'oops' incident.
But when it's happening several times, repeatedly, and costing me a lot of money, now I'm starting to lose my fucking cool.
The amount I have spend on starters for my car this month, because a parts department can't seem to get employees that at least know how to comprehend the difference between 'automatic' and 'manual' transmission, would be enough to buy a brand NEW starter, from a respectable store like AutoZone or O'Reilly's (If you use somebody else or have personal beefs with either of these places, keep it to yourselves, I really don't give a flying fuck right now), and I'd be done with all the problems.
But no. My car is still parked on the curb in front of my house, collecting a lovely coat of pollen and bird shit, and I'm reduced to walking (which, believe me, is just FUCKING DELIGHTFUL) or hitching a ride and inconveniencing other people, which I positively despise.
So yeah. Next time I call your store, at least have the common courtesy to pull your heads out of your collective asses and pay the fuck attention to what a PAYING CUSTOMER is asking for.
Sincerely,
The pissed off pregnant lady
Open. Your. Fucking. Ears.
When I call your store/location/yard/whatthefuckever, I'm calling for a reason. Not just to chitchat and say hi, how's your mom? No. I'm calling because something is wrong with my car, I'm broke, and I need to find a part for cheap that will last me at least until I can get a few more paychecks and buy a brand new replacement part. Simple and easy to understand, right?
Apparently not.
In the past month, I have gone through *three* starters in my Civic. The first one was an improper fit, because the store I called did not, as I stated above, open their god damned ears.
When I say, "I need a starter for a 98 Honda Civic DX, 2 door, manual transmission," that does not mean "A 97 or a 99 starter would be close enough, they might work," NOR does that mean "The starter out of a 98 Civic with an automatic transmission should do the trick."
No. They are not the right size, they will not fit in my car.
Now, the first time this mistake happened, I was willing to overlook it. Mistakes do happen from time to time, and I'm usually not one to flip my shit at the first 'oops' incident.
But when it's happening several times, repeatedly, and costing me a lot of money, now I'm starting to lose my fucking cool.
The amount I have spend on starters for my car this month, because a parts department can't seem to get employees that at least know how to comprehend the difference between 'automatic' and 'manual' transmission, would be enough to buy a brand NEW starter, from a respectable store like AutoZone or O'Reilly's (If you use somebody else or have personal beefs with either of these places, keep it to yourselves, I really don't give a flying fuck right now), and I'd be done with all the problems.
But no. My car is still parked on the curb in front of my house, collecting a lovely coat of pollen and bird shit, and I'm reduced to walking (which, believe me, is just FUCKING DELIGHTFUL) or hitching a ride and inconveniencing other people, which I positively despise.
So yeah. Next time I call your store, at least have the common courtesy to pull your heads out of your collective asses and pay the fuck attention to what a PAYING CUSTOMER is asking for.
Sincerely,
The pissed off pregnant lady
Friday, June 15, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
Memorial Day
I wish I had appropriate words for today. But I don't. Sometimes I manage to craft words in an almost appropriate manner, but today is not one of those days.
In lieu of that, though, I know someone who did.
Master of Birds* put it quite well when he typed this up last night. Go and give it a read.
Happy Memorial Day. And never forget exactly what it cost us to enjoy this day.
*Warning - Parts of this site are NSFW, but this particular page is not. Consider yourself warned.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
QOTD - Why I Own
Tam hits another one out of the park in that special way that only she can:
I honestly can't think of a better way to describe exactly why those of us who support the Second Amendment choose to own, shoot, and carry guns. That woman has a way with words that none of us can compete with.
That's why I own guns in the first place: To make sure nobody, from the mugger on the corner to the King of England to some washed-up political has-been from the Keystone State can come force me to do things against my will without me at least having a chance to shoot back.
I honestly can't think of a better way to describe exactly why those of us who support the Second Amendment choose to own, shoot, and carry guns. That woman has a way with words that none of us can compete with.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
TSA
Because I hate them as much as the next person. Let's see if this fits.
Created by: OnlineCriminalJusticeDegree.com
Created by: OnlineCriminalJusticeDegree.com
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