It's my day off, so OF COURSE I woke up at 4:57.
Took the garbage out and found a corkboard AND a chalkboard leaning against the dumpster. Damn, I love this time of year. Students throw out everything. Kent dragged home a huge stand fan the other day. That has increased the cool in this house hundredfold....which, considering the projected weather for this summer, is like a gift from the gods.
Anyway, back to the fact that I HAVE A CHALKBOARD!!!! It's going to have to go in the craft room /room of doom, which was not my original plan (yes, I have had chalkboard lust for a while. Wanna hear about my fountain pen fetish?), but it'll do. But first, both of my finds must be painted and glittered and rhinestoned and Be-dazzled beyond belief.
I know. I have issues. Hell, I have subscriptions.
Actually, speaking of subscriptions, I have found a brilliant way to get magazines out of the house (and how did I not think of this before?).. I went on a $5 magazine binge on amazon not too long ago. I took a HUGE pile to my residents yesterday. They have magazines out in AL, but we don't get SHIT for our residents in back.
Well, that's about to change. even if I have to do it myself. All it is costing me is a broken back for hauling stuff to work.
The thing that broke my heart was Good Time Charlie, who latched on to Rolling Stone immediately and wanted to "see what Hunter is up to."
I'll take Things I Never Thought I'd Have To Do for $500, Alex. I told him that he doesn't write for RS anymore. And he stared me straight in the eyes. Bored right into my soul. "He's dead, isn't he?"
I nodded. And he exploded. In the way only a Vietnam vet with PTSD can.
I had to hold him while he was sedated. He has a PRN for it, but it still felt...wrong.
I sat on the floor with him, then took him to his room. Tucked him in bed. Brought him a glass of water and said he should get some rest.
As I was leaving, he said my name. I turned around, and I could see the ghosts in his eyes. "They're all dead. Tell me. THEY'RE ALL DEAD!"
I nodded. He fell asleep. I shut the door.
And people wonder why I drink.
Took the garbage out and found a corkboard AND a chalkboard leaning against the dumpster. Damn, I love this time of year. Students throw out everything. Kent dragged home a huge stand fan the other day. That has increased the cool in this house hundredfold....which, considering the projected weather for this summer, is like a gift from the gods.
Anyway, back to the fact that I HAVE A CHALKBOARD!!!! It's going to have to go in the craft room /room of doom, which was not my original plan (yes, I have had chalkboard lust for a while. Wanna hear about my fountain pen fetish?), but it'll do. But first, both of my finds must be painted and glittered and rhinestoned and Be-dazzled beyond belief.
I know. I have issues. Hell, I have subscriptions.
Actually, speaking of subscriptions, I have found a brilliant way to get magazines out of the house (and how did I not think of this before?).. I went on a $5 magazine binge on amazon not too long ago. I took a HUGE pile to my residents yesterday. They have magazines out in AL, but we don't get SHIT for our residents in back.
Well, that's about to change. even if I have to do it myself. All it is costing me is a broken back for hauling stuff to work.
The thing that broke my heart was Good Time Charlie, who latched on to Rolling Stone immediately and wanted to "see what Hunter is up to."
I'll take Things I Never Thought I'd Have To Do for $500, Alex. I told him that he doesn't write for RS anymore. And he stared me straight in the eyes. Bored right into my soul. "He's dead, isn't he?"
I nodded. And he exploded. In the way only a Vietnam vet with PTSD can.
I had to hold him while he was sedated. He has a PRN for it, but it still felt...wrong.
I sat on the floor with him, then took him to his room. Tucked him in bed. Brought him a glass of water and said he should get some rest.
As I was leaving, he said my name. I turned around, and I could see the ghosts in his eyes. "They're all dead. Tell me. THEY'RE ALL DEAD!"
I nodded. He fell asleep. I shut the door.
And people wonder why I drink.
I survived the Seven Day Schedule of Doom! I even stayed late. Big Boss J is moving her office, so I said I'd rack up a few hours. Instead, I ended up helping Miz C's daughter sort through her late mother's books. She's donating most of them to our library, with little stickers that say "In memory of..." which I think is so sweet. She just wanted to make sure that everything was "appropriate" because "mama liked herself a little bit of trash."
It was like going through Great-grandma Ethridge's books after she died. She was a pious lady and read only western novels. And then we found her secret stash of some of the trashiest, most salacious, rauncy bodice-rippers you could imagine. I suggested to Miz C's daughter that maaaaybe some of the other ladies would appreciate them as well.
Somehow, I have found myself volunteering to organize the library. In my free time during my shift, ya know.
And she was so sweet. She said she knew I read a lot (my reputation: "She reads, she writes in that notebook...AND SHE DOESN"T OWN A CELL PHONE!") and I could have first pick.
I almost cried. I asked if she would let me have the stickers in those, even though I was taking them home. She said yes. <3
I told I could come in tomorrow if she needed more help. She told me we'd both take the day off, but if I could stay late Thursday....
More books. And she wants to distribute the clothes among residents who could use them. I'm already making a mental list.
Lest I seem like a saint, i took the swiftest bus to the ABC store once I got done. After a quick stop by the kitchen to ask 'Kinley if I could fill my water bottle with orange and cranberry juice.
Yes, I walked out of work with reading materials and mixers. And I survived. And I am off tomorrow.
It was like going through Great-grandma Ethridge's books after she died. She was a pious lady and read only western novels. And then we found her secret stash of some of the trashiest, most salacious, rauncy bodice-rippers you could imagine. I suggested to Miz C's daughter that maaaaybe some of the other ladies would appreciate them as well.
Somehow, I have found myself volunteering to organize the library. In my free time during my shift, ya know.
And she was so sweet. She said she knew I read a lot (my reputation: "She reads, she writes in that notebook...AND SHE DOESN"T OWN A CELL PHONE!") and I could have first pick.
I almost cried. I asked if she would let me have the stickers in those, even though I was taking them home. She said yes. <3
I told I could come in tomorrow if she needed more help. She told me we'd both take the day off, but if I could stay late Thursday....
More books. And she wants to distribute the clothes among residents who could use them. I'm already making a mental list.
Lest I seem like a saint, i took the swiftest bus to the ABC store once I got done. After a quick stop by the kitchen to ask 'Kinley if I could fill my water bottle with orange and cranberry juice.
Yes, I walked out of work with reading materials and mixers. And I survived. And I am off tomorrow.
Lost a resident this morning. She was on the assisted living side, so I didn't know her all that well. I do know she always took lunch in her room, and loved margarine with her crackers when we served soup. Reminded me of Granma. (Is there going to be something in every single resident that reminds me of my grandparents? Don't answer that)
Angela and I went to make the deceased presentable for the family. I hadn't realized I did it (or, rather, that it was noticible), but she said "Now what is all that hand jive you do when we come to clean a body?"
I went to the window. "It's a sign of the cross. It's respect for the dead. And...I consider a sort of self blessing and maybe a prayer, that I do right by them."
"And then you go straight to that window so their soul can fly free. At least you got the bases covered."
This is the third time Angela and I have done this. For as flip as she is, she approaches it in the same way I do. It's a sacrament. It's a sacred trust. In many ways, it's a gift. A messy, frequently disgusting gift, but a gift nonetheless.
We were there when the family arrived, made our apologies, said a few memories (I mentioned the margarine and crackers. Her daughter smiled). As we were taking our leave, Angela said "Oh, do you want us to get her diapering supplies out for y'all? We could really use them in back and that's one less thing y'all would have to deal with."
She went to get the hand truck while I thanked them profusely, cringing inside but not surprised because...well, she's Angela.
And this is why we work so well together.
So we came back with a TON of supplies. Angel (yes, the staff in MC was Angela, Angel, Alicia, and Ali. Not confusing at all. Although Angela has cut through some of that confusion by referring to Ali as "the dipshit newhire boy who ain't gonna last a week." So that helps) took one look, shook her head, and said "Do I even want to ask?"
I said "To put it in gamer terms, Angela looted the body." Which earned me a sharp elbow to the ribs.
"I'm not even sure what that means, but I am pretty sure it was really fucking rude in geektard-speak."
(Real charmer, that Angela. And yet she'll split her last cigarette with a resident who is out. If she thinks no one is looking).
We divided everything up into three piles, which really confused Angel. So we explained The System (tm): we have hiding places we both know about, and one each that only one of us knows. That way if The Enemy (read: second and third shifts) breaks one of us, we won't give away ALL the state secrets. ;)
Yeah, Happy Acres is an interesting place to work.
As far as beginnings go, I got tapped to start med tech training last week. It's just 47 modules I can do online in my copious free time (read: from home on my days off. But I *do* get paid for it if I log my time. Hey, that means I can do it with Food Network in the background, wearing my jammies if that's what I want). I haven't had a chance to even START.
Our med tech never showed today, so Angel got called in on her day off. She never works cart in MC, so to say she was displeased is a huge understatement. So she decided today ws my day to start hands on training, computer modules be damned.
Long story short, I administered my first insulin shot today, and DIDN'T PASS OUT! Go, me! That was the one thing that has kept me from really persuing this seriously, and I did it!
I got this. Wow. :)
And now, off to reward myself with a glass of wine and the Tonys.
Two more days, then my day off. Whee!
Angela and I went to make the deceased presentable for the family. I hadn't realized I did it (or, rather, that it was noticible), but she said "Now what is all that hand jive you do when we come to clean a body?"
I went to the window. "It's a sign of the cross. It's respect for the dead. And...I consider a sort of self blessing and maybe a prayer, that I do right by them."
"And then you go straight to that window so their soul can fly free. At least you got the bases covered."
This is the third time Angela and I have done this. For as flip as she is, she approaches it in the same way I do. It's a sacrament. It's a sacred trust. In many ways, it's a gift. A messy, frequently disgusting gift, but a gift nonetheless.
We were there when the family arrived, made our apologies, said a few memories (I mentioned the margarine and crackers. Her daughter smiled). As we were taking our leave, Angela said "Oh, do you want us to get her diapering supplies out for y'all? We could really use them in back and that's one less thing y'all would have to deal with."
She went to get the hand truck while I thanked them profusely, cringing inside but not surprised because...well, she's Angela.
And this is why we work so well together.
So we came back with a TON of supplies. Angel (yes, the staff in MC was Angela, Angel, Alicia, and Ali. Not confusing at all. Although Angela has cut through some of that confusion by referring to Ali as "the dipshit newhire boy who ain't gonna last a week." So that helps) took one look, shook her head, and said "Do I even want to ask?"
I said "To put it in gamer terms, Angela looted the body." Which earned me a sharp elbow to the ribs.
"I'm not even sure what that means, but I am pretty sure it was really fucking rude in geektard-speak."
(Real charmer, that Angela. And yet she'll split her last cigarette with a resident who is out. If she thinks no one is looking).
We divided everything up into three piles, which really confused Angel. So we explained The System (tm): we have hiding places we both know about, and one each that only one of us knows. That way if The Enemy (read: second and third shifts) breaks one of us, we won't give away ALL the state secrets. ;)
Yeah, Happy Acres is an interesting place to work.
As far as beginnings go, I got tapped to start med tech training last week. It's just 47 modules I can do online in my copious free time (read: from home on my days off. But I *do* get paid for it if I log my time. Hey, that means I can do it with Food Network in the background, wearing my jammies if that's what I want). I haven't had a chance to even START.
Our med tech never showed today, so Angel got called in on her day off. She never works cart in MC, so to say she was displeased is a huge understatement. So she decided today ws my day to start hands on training, computer modules be damned.
Long story short, I administered my first insulin shot today, and DIDN'T PASS OUT! Go, me! That was the one thing that has kept me from really persuing this seriously, and I did it!
I got this. Wow. :)
And now, off to reward myself with a glass of wine and the Tonys.
Two more days, then my day off. Whee!
Just when I think I've got my ducks in a row, it turns out they're actually Ritalin snorting ferrets in duck suits and are on their way to a rave.
Picture it: Sicily, 19.....wait.
Let's try this again.
Picture it, Happy Acres, 4:25 this afternoon. I am about ready to spit nails because the three o'clock person quit yesterday and my relief isn't showing up until five and they just now saw fit to tell me.
Supervisor passes me in the hall and said "Oh, I've been wanting to talk to you."
I take a deep breath, get ready to start a monolgue that begins "Yeah, I've been wanting to talk to you, too..." and escalates rapidly from there.
"Would you consider starting the training to become a med tech?"
I...wait...WHAT?
Cue the voice in the back of my head: "Why are you nodding? WHAT ARE YOU DOING< WOMAN!?!?!?
You have one foot out that door! And what the hell do you know about meds, anyway?"
And then I realize my mouth is having a very knowledgable discussion with the supe about Coumadin, its side effects, the foods you can't eat while on it, etc etc etc. Oh. Oh, yeah. I managed both my grandparents' and ex inlaws' meds. I MIGHT know a thing or two about this stuff.
More stuff to think about.
Picture it: Sicily, 19.....wait.
Let's try this again.
Picture it, Happy Acres, 4:25 this afternoon. I am about ready to spit nails because the three o'clock person quit yesterday and my relief isn't showing up until five and they just now saw fit to tell me.
Supervisor passes me in the hall and said "Oh, I've been wanting to talk to you."
I take a deep breath, get ready to start a monolgue that begins "Yeah, I've been wanting to talk to you, too..." and escalates rapidly from there.
"Would you consider starting the training to become a med tech?"
I...wait...WHAT?
Cue the voice in the back of my head: "Why are you nodding? WHAT ARE YOU DOING< WOMAN!?!?!?
You have one foot out that door! And what the hell do you know about meds, anyway?"
And then I realize my mouth is having a very knowledgable discussion with the supe about Coumadin, its side effects, the foods you can't eat while on it, etc etc etc. Oh. Oh, yeah. I managed both my grandparents' and ex inlaws' meds. I MIGHT know a thing or two about this stuff.
More stuff to think about.
Yeah, damn near fainted when Voltaire said that. My years of borderline stalking (and wearing the same blouse) seems to be paying off. "You were in the choir at the St. Louis show, right? Will you be joining the Charlotte contingent tonight?"
*fans self* I mentioned that I was also in the 2009 Atlanta/Dragon*Con iteration, and he looked kinda pleased.
I almost said "Take me now" when he asked if it was okay to put his arm around my shoulders when we got our picture taken together. There is something so sexy about a man who recognizes and respects boundaries. And offers you a swig off his bottle of Captain Morgan's. (Yes, our lips have touched the same bottle)
I had absinthe last night. Like, real deal, fiddly little ritual involving a silver spoon and a sugar cube and water dripping oh so slowly absinthe. The guy who was passing it out had this weird picnic basket-looking set up with actual glass glasses (no red Solo cups here) and looked like a younger version of the bartender from Lost Girl. I'm fairly certain he was at least part fae.
Con reality has gotten to me. This is how things should be. You can stand in a room with 20 people you met 2 minutes ago and find commonalities almost immediately. Last night, I got to have THE MOST AMAZING conversations about wildcrafting and the way Baz Luhrmann uses music in his films and growing up a geek girl in the south in the 80s and how to fashion a drop spindle (yeah, Kent was less than thrilled about that one) and how Chapel Hill/Carrboro is actually Newford. I had a beer with a couple of furries and gained some insight on the youngest (one guy actually said he wished he had a mom like me, because he got that I'm kinda out of my depth here, but want to understand. The other tried to cop a feel. And the irony that one of my first crushes was on Disney's version of Robin Hood and I've got someone dressed as a fox sliding his paw up my thigh was NOT lost on me).
Okay, back to the absinthe. Somehow, I find myself with a glass of The Green Fairy, leading a singalong to The Monkees' "Daydream Believer." While standing on a nightstand.
Gentle readers, you will be happy to know that this story does not end up with me in traction after breaking a hip. How? No clue. Apparently, I get more agile after forty-eleven different kinds of booze. If I tried to do that sober, I would have a rolled ankle at the very least.
Man....do I HAVE to go back?
The writing panels were REALLY good for me. Especially the one on dark urban fantasy, which was all women. We not only talked about the topic at hand, we had a nice side conversation about what it is like being a woman at a con. Which was timely, because I had already regretted TWICE not packing my hockey stick (one really egregious case of mansplaining and one dude crosstalking while I was trying to have a conversation with another woman. He was literally TALKING OVER US. Cosplaying Hunter S. Thompson. Dude, you are no Gonzo. Go away)
This was also the first con where I more or less did my own thing. In the past, I felt tethered to whomever I was with, that we had to do the same panels, go to the same events, etc etc etc. This time, I got the guide and said "Okay...I'm doing this, and this, and OH FUCK YEAH! THIS!" And the spousebeast just smiled and said "Have fun with that. I'll be drinking by the pool. Wake me up for the Nerdvana burlesque show."
I know this sounds weird, but it was very affirming. The fact that he trusts me to not do anything too stupid (you know, aside from accepting what may or may not be illegal absinthe from a self-styled bartender who may or may not be fae) feels good. So many of my past relationships have had an element of "Oh, Alicia needs supervision. At all times." It's nice to be trusted.
Even if it is by a guy running around in a Dr. Strange bathrobe, a Labyrinth tshirt, and swim trunks. Not exactly the arbiter of sanity. Or at least not the uniform for it.
*sigh* The cab is going to be here in a little under an hour, which means I should pack. Feh.
This sucks, because I feel like I'm just getting to know this guy again. I blew off a couple of concerts last night (and if y'all know me, that NEVER happens) so we could sit in the room, play a round of Munchkin (yes, we took a set with us. An intervention might need to be in the offing), and just...talk. With our schedules, we never get to just TALK any more. We communicate in post it notes and stuff scribbled on the back of index cards and, of course, The Notebook.
REALLY not wanting to go back to reality.
*fans self* I mentioned that I was also in the 2009 Atlanta/Dragon*Con iteration, and he looked kinda pleased.
I almost said "Take me now" when he asked if it was okay to put his arm around my shoulders when we got our picture taken together. There is something so sexy about a man who recognizes and respects boundaries. And offers you a swig off his bottle of Captain Morgan's. (Yes, our lips have touched the same bottle)
I had absinthe last night. Like, real deal, fiddly little ritual involving a silver spoon and a sugar cube and water dripping oh so slowly absinthe. The guy who was passing it out had this weird picnic basket-looking set up with actual glass glasses (no red Solo cups here) and looked like a younger version of the bartender from Lost Girl. I'm fairly certain he was at least part fae.
Con reality has gotten to me. This is how things should be. You can stand in a room with 20 people you met 2 minutes ago and find commonalities almost immediately. Last night, I got to have THE MOST AMAZING conversations about wildcrafting and the way Baz Luhrmann uses music in his films and growing up a geek girl in the south in the 80s and how to fashion a drop spindle (yeah, Kent was less than thrilled about that one) and how Chapel Hill/Carrboro is actually Newford. I had a beer with a couple of furries and gained some insight on the youngest (one guy actually said he wished he had a mom like me, because he got that I'm kinda out of my depth here, but want to understand. The other tried to cop a feel. And the irony that one of my first crushes was on Disney's version of Robin Hood and I've got someone dressed as a fox sliding his paw up my thigh was NOT lost on me).
Okay, back to the absinthe. Somehow, I find myself with a glass of The Green Fairy, leading a singalong to The Monkees' "Daydream Believer." While standing on a nightstand.
Gentle readers, you will be happy to know that this story does not end up with me in traction after breaking a hip. How? No clue. Apparently, I get more agile after forty-eleven different kinds of booze. If I tried to do that sober, I would have a rolled ankle at the very least.
Man....do I HAVE to go back?
The writing panels were REALLY good for me. Especially the one on dark urban fantasy, which was all women. We not only talked about the topic at hand, we had a nice side conversation about what it is like being a woman at a con. Which was timely, because I had already regretted TWICE not packing my hockey stick (one really egregious case of mansplaining and one dude crosstalking while I was trying to have a conversation with another woman. He was literally TALKING OVER US. Cosplaying Hunter S. Thompson. Dude, you are no Gonzo. Go away)
This was also the first con where I more or less did my own thing. In the past, I felt tethered to whomever I was with, that we had to do the same panels, go to the same events, etc etc etc. This time, I got the guide and said "Okay...I'm doing this, and this, and OH FUCK YEAH! THIS!" And the spousebeast just smiled and said "Have fun with that. I'll be drinking by the pool. Wake me up for the Nerdvana burlesque show."
I know this sounds weird, but it was very affirming. The fact that he trusts me to not do anything too stupid (you know, aside from accepting what may or may not be illegal absinthe from a self-styled bartender who may or may not be fae) feels good. So many of my past relationships have had an element of "Oh, Alicia needs supervision. At all times." It's nice to be trusted.
Even if it is by a guy running around in a Dr. Strange bathrobe, a Labyrinth tshirt, and swim trunks. Not exactly the arbiter of sanity. Or at least not the uniform for it.
*sigh* The cab is going to be here in a little under an hour, which means I should pack. Feh.
This sucks, because I feel like I'm just getting to know this guy again. I blew off a couple of concerts last night (and if y'all know me, that NEVER happens) so we could sit in the room, play a round of Munchkin (yes, we took a set with us. An intervention might need to be in the offing), and just...talk. With our schedules, we never get to just TALK any more. We communicate in post it notes and stuff scribbled on the back of index cards and, of course, The Notebook.
REALLY not wanting to go back to reality.
There is no better night's sleep than in a hotel bed, I swear.
And the spousebeast and I slept in...all the way to shortly before seven. WOOT! He got some sort of upgrade, so we get breakfast (and "light" appetizers in the evening) which may be the most brilliant $25/day ever spent. He's currently in a food coma, and I'm relaxing with some Law & Order before my first panel.
One of the things I am loving about Con Carolinas is that the panels are so writing-centric. (Although I am skipping "Facing Rejection" this morning. Coming off of LJI this week, I could probably run the fucking panel). I'm kinda wishing I'd brought a notebook. I spent yesterday morning at Parker and Otis before we got on the train, staring down an entire display of Moleskine. I should have abused the debit card while the spousebeast was in the bathroom.
I did the LGBTQ in fandom panel last night, and met LJ people! We ain't dead yet, folks!
Voltaire was, of course, wonderful. But, yet again, he didn't perform "Anniversary." :( I know it's not exactly a rollicking con song, but, damnit...that's kind of Kent's and my Voltaire song. I would love for us to see it performed live just once.
I am so fucking relaxed. Great good gods, I needed this. It's not just being away from work; it's being with my people. I hadn't really realized how isolated I've been feeling until yesterday. There are no other geeks at work. The cultural divide there is huge. And, let's face it, I don't have a lot of local friends. It's nice to be around people who get the same things I do.
And to whomever abandoned an unopened Highlander IPA outside my door....I love you. I now have a tasty adult beverage when I come up for lunch. I was too excited to eat on the train yesterday, so I still have my turkey, arugula (yes, I finally got my paws on arugula! Yay!), and herbed cream cheese sandwich.
I'm gettin' all fancy. ;) I mean, as fancy as someone who packs homemade food for the train ride.
Rambly Alicia is rambly.
I am contemplating doing a bad thing in the dealers room (no, not that, ya pervs!). There is a first edition Tamora Pierce book that IS SIGNED. The only problem is that it isn't one of the Alanna books, and I would kind of like to take one of my battered copies and have the woman sign them in person. But....but, but, but....
The woman running the table showed me the copy, and I immediately put my hands behind my back. She grinned indulgently and said "You can touch it, if you like." Then she said I could touch the signature. I know this is like the weirdest fangirl shit ever, but I actually teared up. And I felt (imagined?) this jolt of energy when I touched it.
Okay, that came out weirdly sexual. I blame con energy.
Oh, and thus far, I have lived up to the contract that Kent made me sign re: not talking about work. (Yes, he actually wrote one out in our notebook and made me sign it) Oddly enough, a plethora of men running around in kilts kind of makes me forget....where do I work again? Do I work? Can I just live here forever? The bed is amazing, the food is plentiful, and the company is lovely. And beer just shows up outside the door. And there's a pool!
Yeah. Never going back.
And the spousebeast and I slept in...all the way to shortly before seven. WOOT! He got some sort of upgrade, so we get breakfast (and "light" appetizers in the evening) which may be the most brilliant $25/day ever spent. He's currently in a food coma, and I'm relaxing with some Law & Order before my first panel.
One of the things I am loving about Con Carolinas is that the panels are so writing-centric. (Although I am skipping "Facing Rejection" this morning. Coming off of LJI this week, I could probably run the fucking panel). I'm kinda wishing I'd brought a notebook. I spent yesterday morning at Parker and Otis before we got on the train, staring down an entire display of Moleskine. I should have abused the debit card while the spousebeast was in the bathroom.
I did the LGBTQ in fandom panel last night, and met LJ people! We ain't dead yet, folks!
Voltaire was, of course, wonderful. But, yet again, he didn't perform "Anniversary." :( I know it's not exactly a rollicking con song, but, damnit...that's kind of Kent's and my Voltaire song. I would love for us to see it performed live just once.
I am so fucking relaxed. Great good gods, I needed this. It's not just being away from work; it's being with my people. I hadn't really realized how isolated I've been feeling until yesterday. There are no other geeks at work. The cultural divide there is huge. And, let's face it, I don't have a lot of local friends. It's nice to be around people who get the same things I do.
And to whomever abandoned an unopened Highlander IPA outside my door....I love you. I now have a tasty adult beverage when I come up for lunch. I was too excited to eat on the train yesterday, so I still have my turkey, arugula (yes, I finally got my paws on arugula! Yay!), and herbed cream cheese sandwich.
I'm gettin' all fancy. ;) I mean, as fancy as someone who packs homemade food for the train ride.
Rambly Alicia is rambly.
I am contemplating doing a bad thing in the dealers room (no, not that, ya pervs!). There is a first edition Tamora Pierce book that IS SIGNED. The only problem is that it isn't one of the Alanna books, and I would kind of like to take one of my battered copies and have the woman sign them in person. But....but, but, but....
The woman running the table showed me the copy, and I immediately put my hands behind my back. She grinned indulgently and said "You can touch it, if you like." Then she said I could touch the signature. I know this is like the weirdest fangirl shit ever, but I actually teared up. And I felt (imagined?) this jolt of energy when I touched it.
Okay, that came out weirdly sexual. I blame con energy.
Oh, and thus far, I have lived up to the contract that Kent made me sign re: not talking about work. (Yes, he actually wrote one out in our notebook and made me sign it) Oddly enough, a plethora of men running around in kilts kind of makes me forget....where do I work again? Do I work? Can I just live here forever? The bed is amazing, the food is plentiful, and the company is lovely. And beer just shows up outside the door. And there's a pool!
Yeah. Never going back.
I'm on a train with a sleeping spousebeast, listening to Voltaire and swigging Diet Mountain Dew and vodka.
Why, yes. As a matter of fact, it IS my fucking vacation.
And I haz new bathing suit! Olivia heard me stressing about finding mine, and showed up with this cute black and white with red piping number. It has a halter top and a flirty skirt and, as she said "was meant for someone about six inches taller than I am." Which, conveniently, I am.
I've looked at the agenda for Con Carolinas, and there is so much cool stuff that there will be precious little time, but I WILL get in that pool. I haven't been swimming in forever. I think doing a few dozen laps would go a LONG way to shake off the last bits of Happy Acres.
Kent was funny this morning. "Are you packing your black tanktop?" "No. Why?" "Well, you're wearing The Blouse." "And have I EVER worn a tank top under that?" "Your biggest goal in life is for Voltaire to see your bra, isn't it?"
Well, duh.
Why, yes. As a matter of fact, it IS my fucking vacation.
And I haz new bathing suit! Olivia heard me stressing about finding mine, and showed up with this cute black and white with red piping number. It has a halter top and a flirty skirt and, as she said "was meant for someone about six inches taller than I am." Which, conveniently, I am.
I've looked at the agenda for Con Carolinas, and there is so much cool stuff that there will be precious little time, but I WILL get in that pool. I haven't been swimming in forever. I think doing a few dozen laps would go a LONG way to shake off the last bits of Happy Acres.
Kent was funny this morning. "Are you packing your black tanktop?" "No. Why?" "Well, you're wearing The Blouse." "And have I EVER worn a tank top under that?" "Your biggest goal in life is for Voltaire to see your bra, isn't it?"
Well, duh.
Thanks for all the birthday wishes, y'all!
The day itself was kinda meh (aside from a handful of residents singing me "Happy Birthday"). Normally, you at least get a CARD from the team when you work on your birthday. And Bev's daughter never showed.
I bought a package of Twinkies from the vending machine after lunch. We have some downtime when the dining room is cleared. so Bev and I split them and sulked. It broke my heart to see her look at the door every time it clicked open. :(
(She DID come yesterday, but I'm still miffed. If I'd known she was going to come a day late, I would have shifted our birthday to Sunday)
I came home to a silly card and a bag from Flyleaf. Kent got me Jenny Lawson's coloring book, an itty bitty bottle of chardonnay, and a sticker for my still-as-yet-unnamed laptop that reads "I am silently correcting your grammar."
<3 <3 <3.
So I spent the evening with wine (I also bought myself a MUCH larger bottle of moscato on the way home. No chardonnay in my price point on my birthday? Double--nay, triple--feh) and catching up on Lucifer. Hey, if I can't have my spousebeast around on my birthday, I might as well have a handsome devil, right? ;)
It's funny: I'm watching Lucifer when I'm home by myself at night; he's speeding through True Blood on dvd during the day before he goes to work.
Which means he's running through True Blood A LOT faster. It looks like this summer is the one where *I* am all work and no play.
It's weird to have the roles reversed. But I *am* getting more comfortable saying, "Hey, would you mind doing this?" I'm kind of proud of that.
Actually, it's more like leaving notes in The Notebook (not the Oliver Sparks kind, because....eeew). Our schedules are such that written communication is best, and we both are big enough Luddites that we refuse to start sending each other email. (Okay, and we both like having a written hard copy. Because I don't think either of us have every gotten rid of a journal, poetry notebook, spiral bound collection of handwritten stats, y'all get the picture...)
I really need to start packing for ConCarolinas. I've started a packing list. Tomorrow, I try to find my bathing suit. That might be the most lengthy part of the process.
And now, to bed. Hope everyone survived Monday!
The day itself was kinda meh (aside from a handful of residents singing me "Happy Birthday"). Normally, you at least get a CARD from the team when you work on your birthday. And Bev's daughter never showed.
I bought a package of Twinkies from the vending machine after lunch. We have some downtime when the dining room is cleared. so Bev and I split them and sulked. It broke my heart to see her look at the door every time it clicked open. :(
(She DID come yesterday, but I'm still miffed. If I'd known she was going to come a day late, I would have shifted our birthday to Sunday)
I came home to a silly card and a bag from Flyleaf. Kent got me Jenny Lawson's coloring book, an itty bitty bottle of chardonnay, and a sticker for my still-as-yet-unnamed laptop that reads "I am silently correcting your grammar."
<3 <3 <3.
So I spent the evening with wine (I also bought myself a MUCH larger bottle of moscato on the way home. No chardonnay in my price point on my birthday? Double--nay, triple--feh) and catching up on Lucifer. Hey, if I can't have my spousebeast around on my birthday, I might as well have a handsome devil, right? ;)
It's funny: I'm watching Lucifer when I'm home by myself at night; he's speeding through True Blood on dvd during the day before he goes to work.
Which means he's running through True Blood A LOT faster. It looks like this summer is the one where *I* am all work and no play.
It's weird to have the roles reversed. But I *am* getting more comfortable saying, "Hey, would you mind doing this?" I'm kind of proud of that.
Actually, it's more like leaving notes in The Notebook (not the Oliver Sparks kind, because....eeew). Our schedules are such that written communication is best, and we both are big enough Luddites that we refuse to start sending each other email. (Okay, and we both like having a written hard copy. Because I don't think either of us have every gotten rid of a journal, poetry notebook, spiral bound collection of handwritten stats, y'all get the picture...)
I really need to start packing for ConCarolinas. I've started a packing list. Tomorrow, I try to find my bathing suit. That might be the most lengthy part of the process.
And now, to bed. Hope everyone survived Monday!
So I learned how to put in a catheter today. Which is SOOOO not in my job description. You kinda have to be a nurse or a CNA for that.
But I did it, and I am sure I will uncross my legs at some point. I've been catheterized twice for UTIs, so I know what it feels like. I may or may not have been muttering "I am so sorry" under my breath the entire time.
Oy. This job. I swear.
Continuing the "Alicia gets random gifts" theme, as I was waiting at the bus stop this morning, one of the 6:10 Club (there are three of us) came up. He works at UNC Hospital. Or worked, I guess. He was in his civvies and had two Walgreens bags in his hands.
He's moving back to Detroit and his family. To become a priest. And he said he thought his scrubs would fit me, and would I like them?
I teared up. He teared up. I told him about my godfather (the failed Jesuit). He talked about how he felt he failed by not becoming a doctor, but his parents are more or less accepting his decision. I told him about my early plans to become a nun...until I found out they weren't allowed to have kids.
My bus arrived. I smiled and said I'd miss him.
And he laid a kiss on me that curled my toes. And then said "I'm sorry. I've never kissed a woman before. I figured this was my last chance."
Y'all, I just....damn. He's wasting his talents on the Lord.
Did I just say that?
The funny thing is that I have crushes on priests since first grade. I have two categories of crushes on men: gay guys and priests. And Hugh Jackman, which I guess makes three.
Okay, that derailed. BUT, I am now the proud owner of four more scrub shirts and three pair of pants. All black. I am the Goth PCA!
Hell, after this haul, I might start wearing eyeliner again. I haven't touched makeup in a long time, but this could be fun. And I hear they're making blue mascara again.
I swear, this purple hair has done something to my brain.
But I did it, and I am sure I will uncross my legs at some point. I've been catheterized twice for UTIs, so I know what it feels like. I may or may not have been muttering "I am so sorry" under my breath the entire time.
Oy. This job. I swear.
Continuing the "Alicia gets random gifts" theme, as I was waiting at the bus stop this morning, one of the 6:10 Club (there are three of us) came up. He works at UNC Hospital. Or worked, I guess. He was in his civvies and had two Walgreens bags in his hands.
He's moving back to Detroit and his family. To become a priest. And he said he thought his scrubs would fit me, and would I like them?
I teared up. He teared up. I told him about my godfather (the failed Jesuit). He talked about how he felt he failed by not becoming a doctor, but his parents are more or less accepting his decision. I told him about my early plans to become a nun...until I found out they weren't allowed to have kids.
My bus arrived. I smiled and said I'd miss him.
And he laid a kiss on me that curled my toes. And then said "I'm sorry. I've never kissed a woman before. I figured this was my last chance."
Y'all, I just....damn. He's wasting his talents on the Lord.
Did I just say that?
The funny thing is that I have crushes on priests since first grade. I have two categories of crushes on men: gay guys and priests. And Hugh Jackman, which I guess makes three.
Okay, that derailed. BUT, I am now the proud owner of four more scrub shirts and three pair of pants. All black. I am the Goth PCA!
Hell, after this haul, I might start wearing eyeliner again. I haven't touched makeup in a long time, but this could be fun. And I hear they're making blue mascara again.
I swear, this purple hair has done something to my brain.
On the bus today, I complimented a woman on her hair. She always wears it in a side braid and there is a strand of color and sparkles on it. I told her I'd been noticing it for a while but didn't want to seem creepy.
She gave me a long look, reached in her bag, and took out a clip on extension (still in the packaging, for the germ-phobic). "I carry these with me to make the world more magic. You seem like a hot pink girl to me."
I gotta figure out a way to make it work (WHY do people think I have any talent with hair?). I want to wear it to work on my birthday.
The rain here has been horrible, so I had to take the spousebeast's pants for work up to the laundromat. The owner was putting up new reading material and said "You read, right? Do you want a couple of books?"
I figured I could take them to the Little Free Libraries, because he said he was going to throw them out otherwise.
Ummm...no. They'll probably get passed along eventually. But not before they're read. 'Martini Man: the Life of Dean Martin' AND 'Cash.'
For a music-obsessed household, this is an AMAZING haul.
She gave me a long look, reached in her bag, and took out a clip on extension (still in the packaging, for the germ-phobic). "I carry these with me to make the world more magic. You seem like a hot pink girl to me."
I gotta figure out a way to make it work (WHY do people think I have any talent with hair?). I want to wear it to work on my birthday.
The rain here has been horrible, so I had to take the spousebeast's pants for work up to the laundromat. The owner was putting up new reading material and said "You read, right? Do you want a couple of books?"
I figured I could take them to the Little Free Libraries, because he said he was going to throw them out otherwise.
Ummm...no. They'll probably get passed along eventually. But not before they're read. 'Martini Man: the Life of Dean Martin' AND 'Cash.'
For a music-obsessed household, this is an AMAZING haul.
I always choose them with such care: Holly Hobbie, Strawberry Shortcake, kittens with party hats. When I got older and more sophisticated (also known as third grade), I would write out "RSVP at your earliest convenience" in careful, Palmer Method cursive at the bottom of each one.
EJ's mom says "Tell your mama we're coming" at drop off.
Cindy's mom says "I told your mama we'd be there with bells on. And party hats!"
Everyone else is at the beach. It is Memorial Day weekend, after all.
It happens year after year until mom declares a ban on inviting my classmates and that my two best friends (and my annoying little sister) will go to Pizza Hut, get individual pan pizzas, and little bags of quarters to play video games or songs on the jukebox. And, since it was just us, we could afford an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen, instead of that plastic-tasting stuff from Food City.
***
The flyer is slipped into my locker.
"Stinkyfinger presents: A night of Duran Duran songs in honor of Alicia's 18th Birthday! Come early to see the birthday girl, because we all know she has a curfew."
Written in familiar script at the bottom: "I talked to Deborah, and she agreed to let you stay out until 10. I'll pick you up and take you back home. And you are NOT hauling amps on your birthday, so dress accordingly."
I carefully refold the note, run to the girls' bathroom, and tuck it into my padded bra.
***
"So you and mama have the same birthday?"
I'm helping make the slow, halting steps down the hall. "Yup."
Her daughter looks crestfallen. "Oh, so you'll be off..."
"Nope. I'll be here. Who else is gonna get the disco ball and the open bar and the band and maybe some strippers?"
Then there is that laugh, and the arm around my shoulders. The vigorous nod and the kiss on my cheek.
Clearly, Bev and I have some invitations to write. And an activities director who might get fired if she gives into my/our demands.
Happy birthday, Bev. Happy birthday to us. Thank you for the invitation into your life.
EJ's mom says "Tell your mama we're coming" at drop off.
Cindy's mom says "I told your mama we'd be there with bells on. And party hats!"
Everyone else is at the beach. It is Memorial Day weekend, after all.
It happens year after year until mom declares a ban on inviting my classmates and that my two best friends (and my annoying little sister) will go to Pizza Hut, get individual pan pizzas, and little bags of quarters to play video games or songs on the jukebox. And, since it was just us, we could afford an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen, instead of that plastic-tasting stuff from Food City.
***
The flyer is slipped into my locker.
"Stinkyfinger presents: A night of Duran Duran songs in honor of Alicia's 18th Birthday! Come early to see the birthday girl, because we all know she has a curfew."
Written in familiar script at the bottom: "I talked to Deborah, and she agreed to let you stay out until 10. I'll pick you up and take you back home. And you are NOT hauling amps on your birthday, so dress accordingly."
I carefully refold the note, run to the girls' bathroom, and tuck it into my padded bra.
***
"So you and mama have the same birthday?"
I'm helping make the slow, halting steps down the hall. "Yup."
Her daughter looks crestfallen. "Oh, so you'll be off..."
"Nope. I'll be here. Who else is gonna get the disco ball and the open bar and the band and maybe some strippers?"
Then there is that laugh, and the arm around my shoulders. The vigorous nod and the kiss on my cheek.
Clearly, Bev and I have some invitations to write. And an activities director who might get fired if she gives into my/our demands.
Happy birthday, Bev. Happy birthday to us. Thank you for the invitation into your life.
And possibly not in completely chronological order, because I am too tired to fully brain and may or may not be drinking whiskey.
*I was queasy last night, and woke up feeling even moreso this morning. Hot flashes and dry heaves. Lovely, but not contagious. Kent suggested heavily that I call out ("What are they going to do? Fire you?"). I told him that I hold myself to a higher standard--and, besides, we need the money now that he's working the slow season--and off I went.
*Immediately regretted it halfway to the bus stop.
*Realized while sitting at the stop that I'd forgotten my necklace, and would have nothing to fidget with ALL DAY. Consider this a sign, and consider going back home.
*Wonder if I can find a way to induce dry heaves at work, and then subsequently get home. Hmmmm....
*Get to my next stop, where I usually get to write in solitary splendor. Someone else arrives, immediately lights up a cigarette, and starts playing music on her phone. Without headphones. First is the gawdsawful cover of Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work" by some misguided gits who turned it into a DUET. It makes my blood boil on the same level at that recent cover of "I Will Survive" by...some whiny emo boy. Then comes a smooth R&B version a Psalm 23 (I just...what? NO!). By the time the third song rolls around and I am shooting pointed looks while scribbling furiously in my journal, she says "Oh, is my music bothering you? You look like you're trying to study."
I am proud of myself for not saying "Actually, I'm writing about how I should either go back home or kill you for polluting my environment with your music AND your second hand smoke Still deciding." I just said "Yes. This is my quiet time, and I have other peoples' music inflicted on me all day at work. Thank you for noticing."
*Mentally applaud myself for not being a good girl. I clearly deserve a cookie.
*Start feeling a twinge in my lower belly. Oh, no. Is THIS why all I have wanted to do for the past 24 hour is eat red meat, fuck, and sleep?
*Get to work. Am greeted by J, who was all by herself on the 2nd half of 3rd shift. I get the list of people who aren't up and/or dressed yet. And she leaves. Lovely. Explain to me again why I am expected to do any work left from my shift when my relief (eventually) arrives, but it doesn't work that way on 3rd?
*I will spare y'all the tedium of the clusterfuck that was staffing today.
*I don't know what was in the air/water today, but every single resident had the rambles. We were chasing people ALL DAY.
*Did I mention we were grossly understaffed?
*Yup. That twinge meant exactly what I thought it did. The communists are in the funhouse. Fuck.
*Breaks? Hah! We're working through lunch!
*Oh, L the Hospice Nurse! We love you! Allow us to abuse your good nature by having you help us! (Yeah, she's a lot like me)
*J, who was almost two hours late because she "forgot" she had to work,got pulled to the front because THEY were short staffed too, comes to the back to say she's going to lunch, and does anybody want anything? She'll be back in an hour or so.
*Have a telepathic moment with A as she leaves: "Either one of us could take her. Or you go high and I'll go low."
*K the Hospice Nurse! We love you, too! But we love you even more because you brought us Girl Scout cookies! (Apparently, her dad bought 3 cases from each of his FOUR granddaughters. So she was just handing them out) I got my cookie! Actually, I got a whole box!
*Scarf down four cookies because I haven't had anything to eat but a granola bar and six Lifesavers since 5:30. Peanut butter is protein, after all. And--yay! The drink cart is still here and there is milk!
*With L and K's help, get all of the changes and naps done in record time.
*Linda comes to make sure we're doing all of our paperwork correctly and at the times we're supposed to be doing it. Guess who does the paperwork while everyone is out smoking? Yeah, I rock. Besides, my inner Beavis and Butthead gets a kick out of filling out the bowel and bladder book with brown and yellow pens.
*Cookies and diet Mountain Dew. Snack of champions. Residents have fruit cocktail and lemonade. They pout. I reluctantly share my cookies. *pout*
*Someone from corporate wants to talk to us for "just a few minutes." The last time this happened, we were informed the place was closing. Realize that THIS is the point I may finally throw up today and, damnit, my shift is already technically over.
*NO! Corporate is going to start doing the schedule! We're on a two week rotation, and I WILL BE GETTING EVERY OTHER WEEKEND OFF!!!!! Good news! And "the tardiness issue" is going to be dealt with "severely."
*I may have done one too many whiskey shots and ate too much excellent homemade pizza to finish this post.
*I have a surprise day off tomorrow, because J and corporate looked, realized how much overtime I'd be getting and said "Uh...no." Asked A if she'd like to cover, and she jumped at the chance.
*Like I'm going to turn it down when my uterus is getting poked by 1,00 Satanic knitting needles AND I'm having hot flashes? Besides, I have an LJI piece to write.
*Had great bus luck. Decided that getting home sooner rather than later was worth skipping a stop for a bottle of wine and a bendy straw.
*Came home to whiskey, homemade pizza, and a birthday card from The Patriach. I was floored.
*Now listening to David Bowie. And trying to ignore that I still have COOKIES!
*I was queasy last night, and woke up feeling even moreso this morning. Hot flashes and dry heaves. Lovely, but not contagious. Kent suggested heavily that I call out ("What are they going to do? Fire you?"). I told him that I hold myself to a higher standard--and, besides, we need the money now that he's working the slow season--and off I went.
*Immediately regretted it halfway to the bus stop.
*Realized while sitting at the stop that I'd forgotten my necklace, and would have nothing to fidget with ALL DAY. Consider this a sign, and consider going back home.
*Wonder if I can find a way to induce dry heaves at work, and then subsequently get home. Hmmmm....
*Get to my next stop, where I usually get to write in solitary splendor. Someone else arrives, immediately lights up a cigarette, and starts playing music on her phone. Without headphones. First is the gawdsawful cover of Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work" by some misguided gits who turned it into a DUET. It makes my blood boil on the same level at that recent cover of "I Will Survive" by...some whiny emo boy. Then comes a smooth R&B version a Psalm 23 (I just...what? NO!). By the time the third song rolls around and I am shooting pointed looks while scribbling furiously in my journal, she says "Oh, is my music bothering you? You look like you're trying to study."
I am proud of myself for not saying "Actually, I'm writing about how I should either go back home or kill you for polluting my environment with your music AND your second hand smoke Still deciding." I just said "Yes. This is my quiet time, and I have other peoples' music inflicted on me all day at work. Thank you for noticing."
*Mentally applaud myself for not being a good girl. I clearly deserve a cookie.
*Start feeling a twinge in my lower belly. Oh, no. Is THIS why all I have wanted to do for the past 24 hour is eat red meat, fuck, and sleep?
*Get to work. Am greeted by J, who was all by herself on the 2nd half of 3rd shift. I get the list of people who aren't up and/or dressed yet. And she leaves. Lovely. Explain to me again why I am expected to do any work left from my shift when my relief (eventually) arrives, but it doesn't work that way on 3rd?
*I will spare y'all the tedium of the clusterfuck that was staffing today.
*I don't know what was in the air/water today, but every single resident had the rambles. We were chasing people ALL DAY.
*Did I mention we were grossly understaffed?
*Yup. That twinge meant exactly what I thought it did. The communists are in the funhouse. Fuck.
*Breaks? Hah! We're working through lunch!
*Oh, L the Hospice Nurse! We love you! Allow us to abuse your good nature by having you help us! (Yeah, she's a lot like me)
*J, who was almost two hours late because she "forgot" she had to work,got pulled to the front because THEY were short staffed too, comes to the back to say she's going to lunch, and does anybody want anything? She'll be back in an hour or so.
*Have a telepathic moment with A as she leaves: "Either one of us could take her. Or you go high and I'll go low."
*K the Hospice Nurse! We love you, too! But we love you even more because you brought us Girl Scout cookies! (Apparently, her dad bought 3 cases from each of his FOUR granddaughters. So she was just handing them out) I got my cookie! Actually, I got a whole box!
*Scarf down four cookies because I haven't had anything to eat but a granola bar and six Lifesavers since 5:30. Peanut butter is protein, after all. And--yay! The drink cart is still here and there is milk!
*With L and K's help, get all of the changes and naps done in record time.
*Linda comes to make sure we're doing all of our paperwork correctly and at the times we're supposed to be doing it. Guess who does the paperwork while everyone is out smoking? Yeah, I rock. Besides, my inner Beavis and Butthead gets a kick out of filling out the bowel and bladder book with brown and yellow pens.
*Cookies and diet Mountain Dew. Snack of champions. Residents have fruit cocktail and lemonade. They pout. I reluctantly share my cookies. *pout*
*Someone from corporate wants to talk to us for "just a few minutes." The last time this happened, we were informed the place was closing. Realize that THIS is the point I may finally throw up today and, damnit, my shift is already technically over.
*NO! Corporate is going to start doing the schedule! We're on a two week rotation, and I WILL BE GETTING EVERY OTHER WEEKEND OFF!!!!! Good news! And "the tardiness issue" is going to be dealt with "severely."
*I may have done one too many whiskey shots and ate too much excellent homemade pizza to finish this post.
*I have a surprise day off tomorrow, because J and corporate looked, realized how much overtime I'd be getting and said "Uh...no." Asked A if she'd like to cover, and she jumped at the chance.
*Like I'm going to turn it down when my uterus is getting poked by 1,00 Satanic knitting needles AND I'm having hot flashes? Besides, I have an LJI piece to write.
*Had great bus luck. Decided that getting home sooner rather than later was worth skipping a stop for a bottle of wine and a bendy straw.
*Came home to whiskey, homemade pizza, and a birthday card from The Patriach. I was floored.
*Now listening to David Bowie. And trying to ignore that I still have COOKIES!
Did a 2 person assisted lift on a 362 pound, uncooperative resident today.
My partner in the assist is about 98 pounds soaking wet and clueless as fuck.
Wanna guess how much I hurt right now?
None. Because I wisely saved a pain pill from my abscessed tooth for just this occasion. Tomorrow, however, is gonna suck.
Kent called on his break to ask me how my day was, and that is one pissed off little Dane. I had to remind him that I can't just up and quit until I have another job. We've survived on one paycheck before, but it's the slow season in the restaurant biz around here. And I've gotten used to having some breathing room financially.
Okay, and I'll be honest: I've gotten used to buying what I want at the grocery store, and a bottle of wine after a rough day at work, and magazine subscriptions, and hearing the rain pounding outside and saying "Fuck it--I'm taking a cab to work." I'm getting spoiled.
Of course, I'm spoiling myself, I guess. Does that count?
Speaking of spoiled, thank you again
vincentursus! I must now go buy all the citrus in the world to zest! (Can you freeze that?) And Kent doesn't get to play with them. They're MINE MINE MINE!
[True story: he won't let me touch his microplane. But when an ex of mine was visiting, he was all chef-y and flirty and let her use it. I've never quite forgiven him for that. 'Sokay, I am building up my own group of kitchen tools that he is not allowed to touch. Gods, there is no way to make that sound normal, is there?]
In other birthday news, I have to work. But one of my favorite residents has the same birthday. Her daughter came by to pick her up for lunch today, and I mentioned that. The daughter looked sad and said "Oh....so I guess you won't be working?"
I laughed. "Are you kidding? It's a weekend, and Bevvy-bev and I are going to party. I'm looking at a disco ball, open bar, a band, maybe hiring a couple of strippers...."
Bev gave me that infectious laugh, wrapped her arm around my shoulders, and nodded VERY enthusiatically.
Apparently, according to her daughter, I was speaking mama's language. She used to be a VA nurse in Virginia Beach and was a bit wild. I knew I liked her for a reason.
I wonder if there is a way to do a small version of that that wouldn't get me fired? Of course, I'm still not sure what it takes to get fired around there.
I should talk to the activities director. ;)
Oh, AND I got an interesting proposition from my boss today (minds out of the gutter, pervs!): 3-4 12 hour shifts a week. That would still give me my hours, but it would also give me extra days off AND make up for the fact that 2nd shift SUCKS at coming in on time. That also means full days to devote to the job search (she doesn't know that) and maybe having a bit of a life again.
When I started at Happy Acres, I was hired for 2 12 hour shifts on weekends, and I couldn't hack it. But I wasn't trained. I mean, literally, I was thrown into memory care with NOTHING. And I melted down, so the former manager put me on 7-3s, kept me on weekends, and slowly added....well, as many shifts as they needed coverage for.
Now I can handle the job, and do it solo while I wait for my slackass coworkers most days. Me and 36 memory care patients. Talk about being outgunned.
One of the hospice nurses took me aside the other day and expressed her concern. She says I'm losing weight (although that's just the annual walking everywhere/sweating like hell that is late spring in NC. I think) and some of the other nurses have noticed I am always there. One said she feels I'm being abused because I am devoted to the residents, and the staff is using me. They might not be wrong.
Oh, this is a clusterfuck.
Quit talking about work, Alicia.
On my Absolutely Amazing Thrift Store Extravaganza (tm), I picked up a handful of cds that Kent took one look at and declared "Banished!" So, not going into the Rock and Roll Dice collection. Which means for some weird reason, I am listening to Trans-Siberian Orchestra's Christmas Eve and Other Stories. In May. When it was 90+F out today.
I guess....I don't know. There is a family story that Granma left the tree up after my first Christmas until my birthday. We were in California then, and she would crank up the AC, put on carols, and lay down with me under the tree. Light the fireplace, even. Granma swore my first word was "tinsel."
I would have bet on "fuck," but Granma always knew best. ;)
Okay, while I was writing this, Liv knocked on my back door (does anyone else classify how well you know/trust people depending if they knock on the front door or back door? Is that just an old school southern thing?). She was carrying a bowl with roosters painted around the rim, filled with garlic bacon mashed potatoes.
"I found this bowl at a porch sale and thought of you. Also...I cannot eat all of these. I made a three pound bag. Would you take this in exchange for some margarine?"
Margarine, hell. She got butter. The good stuff we're getting from the Amish dairy. Because we're neighbors.
Hard to believe how things have changed since she first moved in.
I finished season one of Glee. I'd seen about half of them, but it was nice to watch them in order. I'm kind of loving PTA Thrift selling complete seasons of shows for $6. I can buy them, watch them at my leisure, and re-donate them. Cheaper than library fines. And if I feel like I reallyreallyreally need to own them and rewatch forever (Julia Child, I'm lookin' at you), I'm out less than a ten spot.
And this is why I am not quitting until I have another job: Glee and Julia Child.
My partner in the assist is about 98 pounds soaking wet and clueless as fuck.
Wanna guess how much I hurt right now?
None. Because I wisely saved a pain pill from my abscessed tooth for just this occasion. Tomorrow, however, is gonna suck.
Kent called on his break to ask me how my day was, and that is one pissed off little Dane. I had to remind him that I can't just up and quit until I have another job. We've survived on one paycheck before, but it's the slow season in the restaurant biz around here. And I've gotten used to having some breathing room financially.
Okay, and I'll be honest: I've gotten used to buying what I want at the grocery store, and a bottle of wine after a rough day at work, and magazine subscriptions, and hearing the rain pounding outside and saying "Fuck it--I'm taking a cab to work." I'm getting spoiled.
Of course, I'm spoiling myself, I guess. Does that count?
Speaking of spoiled, thank you again
vincentursus! I must now go buy all the citrus in the world to zest! (Can you freeze that?) And Kent doesn't get to play with them. They're MINE MINE MINE![True story: he won't let me touch his microplane. But when an ex of mine was visiting, he was all chef-y and flirty and let her use it. I've never quite forgiven him for that. 'Sokay, I am building up my own group of kitchen tools that he is not allowed to touch. Gods, there is no way to make that sound normal, is there?]
In other birthday news, I have to work. But one of my favorite residents has the same birthday. Her daughter came by to pick her up for lunch today, and I mentioned that. The daughter looked sad and said "Oh....so I guess you won't be working?"
I laughed. "Are you kidding? It's a weekend, and Bevvy-bev and I are going to party. I'm looking at a disco ball, open bar, a band, maybe hiring a couple of strippers...."
Bev gave me that infectious laugh, wrapped her arm around my shoulders, and nodded VERY enthusiatically.
Apparently, according to her daughter, I was speaking mama's language. She used to be a VA nurse in Virginia Beach and was a bit wild. I knew I liked her for a reason.
I wonder if there is a way to do a small version of that that wouldn't get me fired? Of course, I'm still not sure what it takes to get fired around there.
I should talk to the activities director. ;)
Oh, AND I got an interesting proposition from my boss today (minds out of the gutter, pervs!): 3-4 12 hour shifts a week. That would still give me my hours, but it would also give me extra days off AND make up for the fact that 2nd shift SUCKS at coming in on time. That also means full days to devote to the job search (she doesn't know that) and maybe having a bit of a life again.
When I started at Happy Acres, I was hired for 2 12 hour shifts on weekends, and I couldn't hack it. But I wasn't trained. I mean, literally, I was thrown into memory care with NOTHING. And I melted down, so the former manager put me on 7-3s, kept me on weekends, and slowly added....well, as many shifts as they needed coverage for.
Now I can handle the job, and do it solo while I wait for my slackass coworkers most days. Me and 36 memory care patients. Talk about being outgunned.
One of the hospice nurses took me aside the other day and expressed her concern. She says I'm losing weight (although that's just the annual walking everywhere/sweating like hell that is late spring in NC. I think) and some of the other nurses have noticed I am always there. One said she feels I'm being abused because I am devoted to the residents, and the staff is using me. They might not be wrong.
Oh, this is a clusterfuck.
Quit talking about work, Alicia.
On my Absolutely Amazing Thrift Store Extravaganza (tm), I picked up a handful of cds that Kent took one look at and declared "Banished!" So, not going into the Rock and Roll Dice collection. Which means for some weird reason, I am listening to Trans-Siberian Orchestra's Christmas Eve and Other Stories. In May. When it was 90+F out today.
I guess....I don't know. There is a family story that Granma left the tree up after my first Christmas until my birthday. We were in California then, and she would crank up the AC, put on carols, and lay down with me under the tree. Light the fireplace, even. Granma swore my first word was "tinsel."
I would have bet on "fuck," but Granma always knew best. ;)
Okay, while I was writing this, Liv knocked on my back door (does anyone else classify how well you know/trust people depending if they knock on the front door or back door? Is that just an old school southern thing?). She was carrying a bowl with roosters painted around the rim, filled with garlic bacon mashed potatoes.
"I found this bowl at a porch sale and thought of you. Also...I cannot eat all of these. I made a three pound bag. Would you take this in exchange for some margarine?"
Margarine, hell. She got butter. The good stuff we're getting from the Amish dairy. Because we're neighbors.
Hard to believe how things have changed since she first moved in.
I finished season one of Glee. I'd seen about half of them, but it was nice to watch them in order. I'm kind of loving PTA Thrift selling complete seasons of shows for $6. I can buy them, watch them at my leisure, and re-donate them. Cheaper than library fines. And if I feel like I reallyreallyreally need to own them and rewatch forever (Julia Child, I'm lookin' at you), I'm out less than a ten spot.
And this is why I am not quitting until I have another job: Glee and Julia Child.
I have decided to streamline my "get the hell outta Dodge" shift change routine. The Other Alicia (tm) on 3rd shift is really good about giving me the lowdown on what happened on her shift. I really appreciate that. But, because I get there early, she can tell me and still get out on time.
Whereas I, when 2nd shift deigns to show up, have to wrack my fried brain to try to remember everything that happened on shift. For those late ass motherfuckers. I am cutting into my time where I can run, screaming, to the bus.
So I brought in a notebook today, and kept a running log of useful things to know (whose blood sugar is running low, who is just having a bad day, which person Miz D has been caught in bed naked with today ) All the things I try to remember at the end of the day. I'm calling it The Shift Change Log.
Mr. Sexist and Snooty came in today, and I handed him the notebook, told him that was all the notes from the shift and THIS is my fabulous ass walkin' out the door.
It was also casual Friday, and I recently got 3 pair of vintage 70s Calvins (for $10!!!!). My butt looks GOOD. I slapped my own ass as I sashayed out to the cheers and hoots and hollers of the residents.
I am SO over all this shit.
And the residents aren't the problem. Even Mr. H, who treated me to a 35 minute wrangle to change his diaper yesterday. I have bruises all up and down my arms AND one on my jaw. Today, he let me feed him his eggs (his MS symptoms are getting worse), get him changed and threatened to "beat down" whoever gave me all those bruises.
Yeahhhh...I didn't tell him it was him.
I put in for the first weekend in June off. Hell, if I have to work my birthday, I deserve SOMETHING. And ConCarolinas is that weekend and I have one word for y'all: Voltaire. It's been a good two years or more since I happily plastered my drunk ass all over him (he honestly doesn't seem to mind). Given everything I've been dealing with lately, I think I deserve some questionable life choices, and a con is the perfect environment.
Besides, we'd be spending time with Chirp, who is Kent's *original* questionable life choice. That makes it even, right?
Whereas I, when 2nd shift deigns to show up, have to wrack my fried brain to try to remember everything that happened on shift. For those late ass motherfuckers. I am cutting into my time where I can run, screaming, to the bus.
So I brought in a notebook today, and kept a running log of useful things to know (whose blood sugar is running low, who is just having a bad day, which person Miz D has been caught in bed naked with today ) All the things I try to remember at the end of the day. I'm calling it The Shift Change Log.
Mr. Sexist and Snooty came in today, and I handed him the notebook, told him that was all the notes from the shift and THIS is my fabulous ass walkin' out the door.
It was also casual Friday, and I recently got 3 pair of vintage 70s Calvins (for $10!!!!). My butt looks GOOD. I slapped my own ass as I sashayed out to the cheers and hoots and hollers of the residents.
I am SO over all this shit.
And the residents aren't the problem. Even Mr. H, who treated me to a 35 minute wrangle to change his diaper yesterday. I have bruises all up and down my arms AND one on my jaw. Today, he let me feed him his eggs (his MS symptoms are getting worse), get him changed and threatened to "beat down" whoever gave me all those bruises.
Yeahhhh...I didn't tell him it was him.
I put in for the first weekend in June off. Hell, if I have to work my birthday, I deserve SOMETHING. And ConCarolinas is that weekend and I have one word for y'all: Voltaire. It's been a good two years or more since I happily plastered my drunk ass all over him (he honestly doesn't seem to mind). Given everything I've been dealing with lately, I think I deserve some questionable life choices, and a con is the perfect environment.
Besides, we'd be spending time with Chirp, who is Kent's *original* questionable life choice. That makes it even, right?
Came home from work and tripped over a package on the doorstep.
And I am now dancing around the living room to 'Mama Mia!'vincentursus is a wonderful friend and a blessing in my life (and possibly a curse in Kent's. I squealed when I opened the package, and the first words out of his mouth were "PLEASE tell me that's not from Canada and it's not a musical." Heh heh. Wrong on both counts, happy boy.)
I am one very happy pre-birthday girl. <3
The funny thing is that I have been on a Meryl Streep movie binge. In the last few days, I have watched 'Into the Woods,' 'Julie and Julia,' and 'The Devil Wears Prada.' I think I'm needing to channel my inner Meryl, because I am falling the fuck apart.
Can't deal with work. Can't deal with life. But if I can be Meryl for a couple of hours, I'll survive.
And I am now dancing around the living room to 'Mama Mia!'
vincentursus is a wonderful friend and a blessing in my life (and possibly a curse in Kent's. I squealed when I opened the package, and the first words out of his mouth were "PLEASE tell me that's not from Canada and it's not a musical." Heh heh. Wrong on both counts, happy boy.)I am one very happy pre-birthday girl. <3
The funny thing is that I have been on a Meryl Streep movie binge. In the last few days, I have watched 'Into the Woods,' 'Julie and Julia,' and 'The Devil Wears Prada.' I think I'm needing to channel my inner Meryl, because I am falling the fuck apart.
Can't deal with work. Can't deal with life. But if I can be Meryl for a couple of hours, I'll survive.
"I miss waking up next to you."
The ICQ message makes me smile. My tea is growing cold, but I don't care as I type. I write things that make me blush, but we're so far away. Five hours seems like forever. The next chance I get, I'll gas up the car and steal a weekend.
But for now...I wake up to messages on the screen.
****
I sink to the floor, tears rolling down my face. The people in the post office politely pretend to ignore the sobbing woman with the pay phone clutched in her hand.
"I can't leave. They need me. Hell, our phone just got shut off. I HAVE TO STAY."
The click on the end of the line doesn't sound final, but it hurts just the same.
****
"There should be an Olympic medal for phone sex. I think the Russian Judge just gave us a 10."
The apartment is hot and sweaty and smells like a fishbowl, courtesy of the Deleware River. I lean back on the scavenged sofa and sigh with mingled satiation and regret. Ten hours is impossible, especially now that I don't have a car. It's been two years since we woke up together.
****
"Hi. I hear y'all are looking for a roomate. Mind if I stay?"
****
"How was your day?"
"Miserable. Yours?"
"Same."
I try to stay awake long enough for his arm to wrap around my waist.
"I hate these schedules. It seems like we're so far apart."
I snuggle closer. "I know."
The ICQ message makes me smile. My tea is growing cold, but I don't care as I type. I write things that make me blush, but we're so far away. Five hours seems like forever. The next chance I get, I'll gas up the car and steal a weekend.
But for now...I wake up to messages on the screen.
****
I sink to the floor, tears rolling down my face. The people in the post office politely pretend to ignore the sobbing woman with the pay phone clutched in her hand.
"I can't leave. They need me. Hell, our phone just got shut off. I HAVE TO STAY."
The click on the end of the line doesn't sound final, but it hurts just the same.
****
"There should be an Olympic medal for phone sex. I think the Russian Judge just gave us a 10."
The apartment is hot and sweaty and smells like a fishbowl, courtesy of the Deleware River. I lean back on the scavenged sofa and sigh with mingled satiation and regret. Ten hours is impossible, especially now that I don't have a car. It's been two years since we woke up together.
****
"Hi. I hear y'all are looking for a roomate. Mind if I stay?"
****
"How was your day?"
"Miserable. Yours?"
"Same."
I try to stay awake long enough for his arm to wrap around my waist.
"I hate these schedules. It seems like we're so far apart."
I snuggle closer. "I know."
My brilliant coworkers decided TODAY that the residents needed their hair done for Mothers Day. We'll ignore the timing on this one (you decided at ELEVEN on the Saturday before!?!?!?). We'll ignore that what we *should* have done in this case is lean on some local cosmetology schools to donate their skills (if I'd thought of it, I know a number of teachers at Aveda). We have a salon space, and some of my coworkers double dip by doing the residents' hair while on the clock (a whole 'nother, irksome post).
So I come back from break, am handed a pair of scissors, and asked "So, how you with white people hair?"
I...wait...WHAT?
First, this is nowhere in my job description. Second, I am not taking scissors to my own hair, let alone someone's granny's. And have you noticed I rock the punk rock Laura Ingalls Wilder look? Can you imagine someone's loved one asking, in a tone of forced cheerfulness, "So, Nana, who cut your hair? It's...different" and having them point at me?
No. Just...no.
[Actually, the response to the purple has been overwhelmingly popular with the residents, AND a number of their family members. I think the fact that, regardless of the color, the fact I keep it tightly contained earns me brownie points. And a couple of the younger loved ones have mentioned that they get a kick when I wear scrubs that match my hair.]
Just gotta make it through tomorrow. I still have that stupid meeting, but I don't have to be there until 1pm. I think I'll come home tomorrow afternoon and take a nap so I can be up when the spousebeast comes home. I missed seeing him today by mere minutes (he's working another split shift. Talk about a way to ruin your whole day) because they rerouted my bus due to all of the UNC graduation stuff. Grrr.
I'm off with no mandatory ANYTHING Wednesday. If Kent's working, I shall be taking my recently-paid, stressed out ass to Carrboro for some thrifting and flirting with Cute Counter Boy(tm) at Krave.
Actually, I listen to his dating woes (kind of a reverse bartender thing), but he's eye candy, occasionally shows up to work in a Hogwarts uniform, changes the music to suit me...and, like so many of my crushes over the years, is very, very gay. I dispense advice, and he's taken to referring to me as Mother Monster. What's not to love?
Yeah, me and the ol' notebook need a Carrboro date. Soon.
Besides, I still need a belated Mother's Day/early birthday present from me to me. There are still copies of the print Jenny Lawson made for Independent Bookstore Day up at Flyleaf, but we are SERIOUSLY running out of wall space.
Clearly, it is time for a bigger apartment. One with higher ceilings. ;)
So I come back from break, am handed a pair of scissors, and asked "So, how you with white people hair?"
I...wait...WHAT?
First, this is nowhere in my job description. Second, I am not taking scissors to my own hair, let alone someone's granny's. And have you noticed I rock the punk rock Laura Ingalls Wilder look? Can you imagine someone's loved one asking, in a tone of forced cheerfulness, "So, Nana, who cut your hair? It's...different" and having them point at me?
No. Just...no.
[Actually, the response to the purple has been overwhelmingly popular with the residents, AND a number of their family members. I think the fact that, regardless of the color, the fact I keep it tightly contained earns me brownie points. And a couple of the younger loved ones have mentioned that they get a kick when I wear scrubs that match my hair.]
Just gotta make it through tomorrow. I still have that stupid meeting, but I don't have to be there until 1pm. I think I'll come home tomorrow afternoon and take a nap so I can be up when the spousebeast comes home. I missed seeing him today by mere minutes (he's working another split shift. Talk about a way to ruin your whole day) because they rerouted my bus due to all of the UNC graduation stuff. Grrr.
I'm off with no mandatory ANYTHING Wednesday. If Kent's working, I shall be taking my recently-paid, stressed out ass to Carrboro for some thrifting and flirting with Cute Counter Boy(tm) at Krave.
Actually, I listen to his dating woes (kind of a reverse bartender thing), but he's eye candy, occasionally shows up to work in a Hogwarts uniform, changes the music to suit me...and, like so many of my crushes over the years, is very, very gay. I dispense advice, and he's taken to referring to me as Mother Monster. What's not to love?
Yeah, me and the ol' notebook need a Carrboro date. Soon.
Besides, I still need a belated Mother's Day/early birthday present from me to me. There are still copies of the print Jenny Lawson made for Independent Bookstore Day up at Flyleaf, but we are SERIOUSLY running out of wall space.
Clearly, it is time for a bigger apartment. One with higher ceilings. ;)
Worked with flaky, chronically late coworker today (well, one of many). She told me they called in TWO people for me yesterday. Seriously, y'all?
I'm off Monday...and we have a mandatory staff meeting. Really? Really?
And when I bitched about it, all I got was "Well, it's payday anyway." Yeah, and strangely enough, I was willing to wait until Tuesday to pick up my check (why our Corporate Overlords continue to cling to the payroll officer model and don't offer direct deposit is beyond me).
Oy.
I'm off Monday...and we have a mandatory staff meeting. Really? Really?
And when I bitched about it, all I got was "Well, it's payday anyway." Yeah, and strangely enough, I was willing to wait until Tuesday to pick up my check (why our Corporate Overlords continue to cling to the payroll officer model and don't offer direct deposit is beyond me).
Oy.
And I'm not working today and tomorrow.
(Sorry. I never get tired of that alleged joke)
My timecard for the last two weeks? 80 regular hours, plus 10.7 overtime. And the next person who sings the praises of how much money I'm making while I'm cooling my heels, waiting for my relief to finally show up (30, 45, minutes or more late. Every. Fucking. Day.) is getting punched in the nose.
The second shift med tech (who strolled in 30 minutes late) damn near got punched anyway. I asked where his staff was, and may or may not have referred to them as "inconsiderate jackasses." He looked at me in his haughty way and said "Why do you always need to swear, woman?"
You don't want swearing? (And that is SO not swearing. I'm the daughter of a Marine; I can SHOW you some swearing) Take one step closer and you'll find out what happens when I DON'T use my words. And I don't give a FUCK if it's okay in your culture to talk to people of my gender like that, you just made my list of grievances that is going straight to HR.
[For those of y'all following along at home, this is Mr. "Men are kings in my country, and I do not take orders from a woman" who, the last time I called him out for being late, informed me that it was only an hour, and I had "plenty of time to go make dinner for {your} husband."]
We have a mandatory inservice next week, which I am starting to refer to as a "come to Jesus meetin'." (K, my buddy in housekeeping and only work confidant--she's been there forever and sees how I get treated and does NOT like it--noted yesterday that, the more pissed off I get, the more Southern my speech gets. I was telling that to Kent last night, and he pointed out that I have completely "lost my g's" when I talk about ANYTHIN' involvin' work.) Should be fun. Especially if they are stupid enough to make that day my day off, and I have to come in anyway (as they seem to be wont to do). I don't know what their agenda is, but I know what MINE is.
Okay. Let it go, Alicia. You're not there for the next 48-ish hours.
There's a guy asleep in my bed. I think he lives here. He snores, but he's promised to take me out later when Tony the Bedbug Hitman comes to do a followup.
Seriously, Kent and I have a day off together for the first time in what seems like forever (and they've got him working closes at his new job. We're barely seeing each other, although I am starting to nap when I come home so I can stay up for an hour or two when he gets here. Yeah, my sleep cycles are beyond borked). Tonight is the X 40th anniversary concert. We WERE going to go out for dinner before the show, but he's elected to cook for me instead. <3 Honestly, his food is better than anything we can get at a restaurant, and quality ingredients STILL cost less than going to most places for "fancy" date nights.
Although I'm not sure going to see X wearing tequila tshirts I got at the Cinco De Mayo bash at Lucha Tigre counts as "fancy." But it is very us.
So, grocery store run for a few things for tonight (I've been promised his famous spicy shrimp cocktail as an appetizer. Harris Teeter has bags of IQF shrimp buy 2. get 3 free. Would that be excessive?) and breakfast at the coffee shop. He's got to get a Mothers Day card, too...a holiday which I am trying my best to ignore. Yeah, Mother is soooo not getting a card. My family has never really done cards for anything, anyway. I'll call, which is more than my kids will likely do for me.
Thank the gods I have to work and will be able to use exhaustion as an excuse to keep the call short, hopefully before *she* starts saying nasty things about Granma.
Ya know, I have a number of friends who celebrate their "birthday month." I like the idea. Unfortunately, the first two weeks of this month are emotional mindfields, so I'm lucky to make it through to the Monday after MD with any shred of sanity intact. I guess I should just declare it my birthday fortnight come Monday. Which I also have off...BUT it's payday, so I have to come in after 2 to pick up my check (see what they're doing here? What part of being the only staff member who has two bus transfers to get to work do they not get?).
I'm trying to decide what to get myself as a combined MD/birthday gift for myself. Suggestions? (Massage is out, because the Kinsey monster and I are trying to coordinate when he can show up here with his roving massage table and pan flute cds. There is much to be said for a gay boyfriend/former housemate who is a professional massage therapist. )
I realize I'm babbling, because I am sleep deprived and yet cannot sleep past 7am, even though I was up past 2am, kicking Kent's ass at Munchkin. We combined the Munchkin Fu and Zombie decks with the kitten expansion and...wow, bring in the weird. But IT WORKS.
Least for me it does. ;)
I won the May tourney, which means I get one CD choice a day that is not determined by the Rock N Roll Dice...for the entire month. I'm trying to not ACTIVELY make his musical life miserable, but I think he's really starting to regret this bright idea. I'm betting the prize for June is reverting back to $10 sprees at Flyleaf or the loser cooking the winner a dinner of their choice.
Have I mentioned he's only won once since he instigated the monthly tournament? I'm sure glad he enjoyed that meal. :)
(Sorry. I never get tired of that alleged joke)
My timecard for the last two weeks? 80 regular hours, plus 10.7 overtime. And the next person who sings the praises of how much money I'm making while I'm cooling my heels, waiting for my relief to finally show up (30, 45, minutes or more late. Every. Fucking. Day.) is getting punched in the nose.
The second shift med tech (who strolled in 30 minutes late) damn near got punched anyway. I asked where his staff was, and may or may not have referred to them as "inconsiderate jackasses." He looked at me in his haughty way and said "Why do you always need to swear, woman?"
You don't want swearing? (And that is SO not swearing. I'm the daughter of a Marine; I can SHOW you some swearing) Take one step closer and you'll find out what happens when I DON'T use my words. And I don't give a FUCK if it's okay in your culture to talk to people of my gender like that, you just made my list of grievances that is going straight to HR.
[For those of y'all following along at home, this is Mr. "Men are kings in my country, and I do not take orders from a woman" who, the last time I called him out for being late, informed me that it was only an hour, and I had "plenty of time to go make dinner for {your} husband."]
We have a mandatory inservice next week, which I am starting to refer to as a "come to Jesus meetin'." (K, my buddy in housekeeping and only work confidant--she's been there forever and sees how I get treated and does NOT like it--noted yesterday that, the more pissed off I get, the more Southern my speech gets. I was telling that to Kent last night, and he pointed out that I have completely "lost my g's" when I talk about ANYTHIN' involvin' work.) Should be fun. Especially if they are stupid enough to make that day my day off, and I have to come in anyway (as they seem to be wont to do). I don't know what their agenda is, but I know what MINE is.
Okay. Let it go, Alicia. You're not there for the next 48-ish hours.
There's a guy asleep in my bed. I think he lives here. He snores, but he's promised to take me out later when Tony the Bedbug Hitman comes to do a followup.
Seriously, Kent and I have a day off together for the first time in what seems like forever (and they've got him working closes at his new job. We're barely seeing each other, although I am starting to nap when I come home so I can stay up for an hour or two when he gets here. Yeah, my sleep cycles are beyond borked). Tonight is the X 40th anniversary concert. We WERE going to go out for dinner before the show, but he's elected to cook for me instead. <3 Honestly, his food is better than anything we can get at a restaurant, and quality ingredients STILL cost less than going to most places for "fancy" date nights.
Although I'm not sure going to see X wearing tequila tshirts I got at the Cinco De Mayo bash at Lucha Tigre counts as "fancy." But it is very us.
So, grocery store run for a few things for tonight (I've been promised his famous spicy shrimp cocktail as an appetizer. Harris Teeter has bags of IQF shrimp buy 2. get 3 free. Would that be excessive?) and breakfast at the coffee shop. He's got to get a Mothers Day card, too...a holiday which I am trying my best to ignore. Yeah, Mother is soooo not getting a card. My family has never really done cards for anything, anyway. I'll call, which is more than my kids will likely do for me.
Thank the gods I have to work and will be able to use exhaustion as an excuse to keep the call short, hopefully before *she* starts saying nasty things about Granma.
Ya know, I have a number of friends who celebrate their "birthday month." I like the idea. Unfortunately, the first two weeks of this month are emotional mindfields, so I'm lucky to make it through to the Monday after MD with any shred of sanity intact. I guess I should just declare it my birthday fortnight come Monday. Which I also have off...BUT it's payday, so I have to come in after 2 to pick up my check (see what they're doing here? What part of being the only staff member who has two bus transfers to get to work do they not get?).
I'm trying to decide what to get myself as a combined MD/birthday gift for myself. Suggestions? (Massage is out, because the Kinsey monster and I are trying to coordinate when he can show up here with his roving massage table and pan flute cds. There is much to be said for a gay boyfriend/former housemate who is a professional massage therapist. )
I realize I'm babbling, because I am sleep deprived and yet cannot sleep past 7am, even though I was up past 2am, kicking Kent's ass at Munchkin. We combined the Munchkin Fu and Zombie decks with the kitten expansion and...wow, bring in the weird. But IT WORKS.
Least for me it does. ;)
I won the May tourney, which means I get one CD choice a day that is not determined by the Rock N Roll Dice...for the entire month. I'm trying to not ACTIVELY make his musical life miserable, but I think he's really starting to regret this bright idea. I'm betting the prize for June is reverting back to $10 sprees at Flyleaf or the loser cooking the winner a dinner of their choice.
Have I mentioned he's only won once since he instigated the monthly tournament? I'm sure glad he enjoyed that meal. :)
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