0024. I can admit when I'm being childish

So my last post was written while fairly drunk and in the middle of a tantrum. I admit that sometimes I can be a bit of a child. I'm 27, not 17. I sometimes have trouble remembering that.

The thing is, with how severe my social anxiety is, I don't want to go out often. PK has routinely told me that I've changed his entire lifestyle because he used to go out all the time and now he never goes out. Of course he gives himself away when I actually want to go somewhere and he tells me that he wants to stay home because he's "so tired" and he "never [gets] to stay home and relax because [he] never [has] time off".

Yes, I know that he works hard and often. I understand that. But why is it only when I want to go out that he's too tired for it? And why is it the things that I want to do that he's tired of (going to a bar in the area - i.e. Maribel's, Scout Bar, Monkey Bar, etc).

Maybe I'm still in the middle of my childish tantrum.

While I'm ranting... We had a "pow-wow" at work yesterday wherein we were told that we all need to help each other out. I found this a bit amusing, since my job entails filing, voicemail, whatever Boss Lady needs in the office, and backing the guys up because they're out front with students. I'd say about 85% of my time is spent in the front or standing in the office helping the guys because they know nothing.

The 2 new guys, I can totally understand why they need help. They've been here less than a month, they're bound to have a few questions here & there. But Lazy has been with us for MONTHS and he still routinely has to ask the most basic simple questions there are! And he made a comment on how the filing wasn't done Thursday afternoon. I'm sorry, would that be the day that we were so busy I didn't even have time to eat lunch? The day that I pick my kid up from school and have to RUN out the door? Yes, I believe so. And he also brought up a day where he asked me a question & I told him that I had to leave. That was on another Tuesday or Thursday. He claims it was 10 minutes before I had to leave, and yet I've routinely been late picking Monkey up because I've been too busy helping his stupid lazy ass out and taking care of students to leave right at 3:00.

I cannot tell you how many times I've told them that if I'm not OUT THE DOOR RIGHT AT 3:00 that I will be late to pick her up. And how many times I've left at 3:05, even as late at 3:10. I don't like it when Monkey is the last kid picked up. I don't like it when it's evident that she's been crying when I pick her up because she thinks Mommy has forgotten her. So fuck you for being upset that I told you I'm leaving and don't have time to answer your stupid ass question. Fuck you twice for implying that I said it 10 minutes before leaving because that shit has NEVER HAPPENED, Mr "I'm out 15 minutes before my shift is actually over".

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that? He leaves early. Every day. And he laughs about it! He even left me by myself on a Friday when the entire office was closing at 5:00. We do NOT leave before 5:00 because the Big Boss Lady (the one who's in charge of the entire office) gets pissed if we close our doors one second before 5:00. But our boss was out that day and he & I were the only ones there. He told me that his clock said it was 5:00, so he was leaving. I told him we don't go by our personal clocks, that we go by the one in the office and even then, we don't leave until all the students are gone and/or we've been given permission by TBBL to leave. He left anyway. I should've reported it to our boss, but I didn't because he was new and I didn't want to throw him under the bus like that.

But now? Oh, I can't wait for the first Greyhound to pass by because his ass is getting tossed directly in the line of fire.

0018. Venting

I like helping people if I'm able to. I have no problem loaning a little bit of money, babysitting, or helping with homework. But I don't like being taken advantage of and I don't like being treated like it's my duty to serve people. It's not. It's my duty to make sure that my daughter grows up happy, healthy, and well-adjusted (because let's face it, she needs to be well-adjusted with a crazy ass mom like me). It's not my duty to pick up after people, make sure that their lives are in order, or wait for HOURS while they wake up, do other homework, and get their shit together.

In other news, my house is spotless and dinner was fabulous. My stress relief for today was cleaning the house top to bottom and making dinner. I cleaned the living room, the kitchen, both bedrooms, and the bathroom. I have 2 small loads of laundry left to do, and then it will be done. Completely. Even the sheets, towels, and blankets (which I always leave for last). And even though it went slightly against my diet, I made baked tilapia with lemon juice (not against the diet), olive oil, sea salt, and parsley (against the diet). I also made asparagus (not against the diet) and crescent rolls (against the diet, and I only had 1).

I've been really good about this diet for the past 2 weeks. And I'm starving. MIL made me realize that what I'm doing is basically an amped up version of the Atkins diet, which I've been preaching against for quite a while. So, I'm still doing the protein shakes and the fat burning pills (I ran out of the cleanse stuff), I'm also allowing myself slightly more food, while still eating healthily.

0015. I haz anger.

iTunes: nothing

Mood: pissed the hell off

We have 2 cats named Stinky & Ditto. They may seem cute & cuddly, but in reality, they're devil cats sent straight from the pits of hell to annoy me to death.

The thing is, I don't really like cats. I hate them, actually. I never really have been an animal person, but in the last 7 or 8 years, I've really gotten to the point where I loathe those little asshole balls of fur who exist to piss me off.

It started with the cats my roommate Nerf & I had. Their names were Harm & Mac (yes, we named them after the characters from JAG). We didn't have the money to get them fixed, so Harm started spraying the apartment. Mac decided to follow his lead and she started peeingeverywhere. I ended up getting rid of them and paying to have the carpet cleaned, but it was so bad that the apartment complex had to replace the carpets, the padding, and have the concrete below it cleaned.

This makes me seem like I'm not a clean person. I am. I have OCD and I routinely bleach everything in the house. If it doesn't smell like bleach, it doesn't smell clean to me and that makes me insane (told you - OCD). On weekends, I've been known to get in the corners with a bucket of bleach water & clean the baseboards with a toothbrush. I blame my mom for making us do this when we were kids, but I also thank her for it,because my house is spotless. And I usually get my security deposit back when I move (obviously, I didn't in the other place).

When PK moved in, Ditto came as part of the package. He had another cat named Sam as well, and I really loved him (he was more like a dog than a cat, and he was cool as hell), but he died shortly after they moved in from heart disease. Ditto is friendly, but he's definitely PK's cat. He climbs into PK's lap when he gets home, and sneaks up to PK's face to try and get kisses from him. It's really cute to watch, actually.

Because I wasn't sure if PK was going to move in or not (at the time) and I wanted Monkey to have a pet to grow up with, I got Stinky from my mom (Monkey re-named him... he used to be Gibbs -from NCIS- but when he moved here, his food got changed to indoor cat food, and his tummy didn't adjust right away... Monkey said he was STINKY! and it stuck).

So now, I'm stuck with 2 cats. And a bird (her name's Tessa. She's relatively cool, except for the fact that she tosses her food out on the floor all around her cage... and her cage smells weird, even right after I clean it out -- birds are gross).

The reason why I haz anger? Last week (the week before?), when PK was at rehearsal, I was hanging around the house. I was on the phone with my cousin MamaDee when I decided I was going to head into my room to watch my shows. When I walked into my room, I noticed that it smelled pretty strongly of poo in there. The bathroom connects to our bedroom, so I went to close the door while whichever asshole was in there could finish & cover it up with the entirely too expensive cat litter I have to buy every week. But the odor didn't leave when I closed the door.

I walked over to my side of the bed so that I could take off my jewelry before launching an investigation as to where the hell the smell was coming from. And that's when I saw it. Stinky was sitting on my bed... next to a fresh pile of dung.

Even though I was still on the phone with MamaDee, I started freaking out. I screamed at the cat (who promptly RAN out of the bedroom) and started gagging (I don't do well with poop - it's gross). Then I started crying because a) there's poop on my bed b) I don't have any clean sheets and c) I'd just cleaned out the litter box. I scoop it out daily, but I replace the litter at least once a week. Like I said before: OCD.

So, I hung up the phone, picked up the nasty & flushed it, then set about the task of washing both sets of sheets so that we'd have something to sleep on. I called my mom and cried. I called Jaime and cried (sorry about that - I'm a whackjob, I know). And then I put on my big girl panties and dealt with it. Of course, I kicked the little bastards out of my room and haven't allowed them back in since, but that's beside the point.

When PK got home, I calmly told him what happened, and then told him I couldn't handle it anymore. There's no reason for either cat to be shitting on our bed. There's even less reason for Ditto to be peeing on the wall by the bathtub or by the main door to the bathroom (I've caught him doing it).

I have anger issues sometimes. I may have a long fuse, but once my temper blows, it's explosive and you don't want to be in the way when I go off. And when I saw that pile on my bed, I saw RED. I imagined throwing the little fucker out the window and praying he hit something on the way down (we live on the 2nd floor). I've imagined kicking them clear across the room. I would NEVER harm an animal that way, but I've certainly imagined it.

I've been asking PK for a few months now to fix Monkey's door. It doesn't latch properly, and the cats sneak in there at night. It's cute when they want to sleep with her, but when I was leaving her closet door open all the time, they took it upon themselves to pee in there. I borrowed my mom's steam cleaner to clean the carpet in there, and started closing the door. I thought that was the end of it.

I was wrong.

Tonight, Monkey was being difficult and didn't want to go to eat her dinner. We've been having issues with her not wanting to eat unless it's chicken nuggets, hamburgers, or mac & cheese, so we sent her to bed without anything else. I always feel bad when I do it, but if she doesn't learn, she'll never eat what she's given.

Anyway. We sent her to her room to put on her jammies. She kissed PK good night & I told her to climb into her bed and I'd be there in a minute for prayers & to tuck her in (I was cleaning up the kitchen from dinner). She went into her room and shouted "Mooooommmmm! There's pee on my bed!" I immediately thought she'd accidentally wet the bed, although there wasn't anything there this morning, and she hasn't done that for months. So, I went in there and she pointed to a yellowish stain on her white down comforter. I leaned down to smell it, and sure enough, it was cat urine.

WHAT THE FUCK?

Then, she pointed to her (closed) closet door and says "Mommy, there's poop!" And I immediately yell for PK because I'm livid again.

He comes into her room, sees the pee on her bed and the poop by her closet, and immediately walks out again. At first, I'm pissed because he's not dealing with it, but then he comes back in with a toolbox and starts working on her door to keep the little fucks out of there. He tried his best, but wasn't able to fix it tonight. He's going to have to get a file and a chisel and work on it.

And yeah, I'm happy that he's finally working on it, but I asked him to fix her door or to teach me how to do it months ago. He used to tell me that he likes the fact that the cats go in to sleep with her at night and that's why he wasn't fixing it, but honestly... I think he was just being lazy. And that pisses me off too. Because if he hadn't been lazy, the asshole cats wouldn't have been able to defile her room.

I want to get rid of the stupid fucking cats and never have to deal with them again. But I can't. Because they're not mine, and PK & Monkey love them. I will say this though - when they die, that's it. No more cats. No more birds. No dogs. No guinea pigs. No hampsters. MAYBE we'll get some fish. But I refuse to get any more animals that I'm going to have to take care of (when I don't even like the stupid things!) and are going to make a big fucking mess.

Edit: Yes, I know it's kind of funny that they pooped on my bed. It's disgusting, but it's funny. I can see that through the haze of anger. But it's disgusting, unsanitary, and just plain wrong, so I reserve the right to be livid.

0005. it messed me up, need a second to breathe

iTunes: Adam Lambert - What do you want from me
Mood: LIVID

I took Monkey for shots today. The county clinic (which was free) didn't have Varicella. While they did inform me they were out of it, they failed to inform me that she had to have the shot the same day as the rest of her shots, or she'd have to wait 30 goddamned days to get the Varicella - which she has to have for school, or they absolutely will NOT allow her to enroll in school. I called 15 motherfucking doctors and clinics trying to find someone who would give her the shot.

If they had the shot, they weren't accepting anyone else for the day. If they were accepting people, they didn't have the shot. And she HAD to have the shot today because it's a live virus, and so is the MMR shot she got today. If she were to get the Varicella tomorrow (or even next week, when the clinic said they'd get the Varicella shot in again), there's a huge chance of a bad reaction.

Thanks for fucking telling me that she had to have the shot today and making sure the other free motherfucking clinic just down the street is a) open and b) has the goddamned shot. Oh wait, THEY DIDN'T!


I'm calm now. Sort of. Really bad headache because of all the stressing. I cried when she got the shots (all 4 of them), I cried when I couldn't find the 4th shot, and I cried when I had to ask PK for $169 to cover the fucking shot that we should've gotten for fucking free. GODDAMNIT! I'm not calm. I'm fucking LIVID.

When I brought Monkey up to the shop to get PK's credit card so he could pay the outrageous fee for the shot (I fucking hate not having insurance - and that's a whole other post in & of itself), she crawled into his lap and cried about how "Mommy let them poke [her]. [She doesn't] like pokies." Then she begged him not to make her get anymore pokies. Begged. With tears in her eyes and everything! We talked for a few minutes and tried to find a closer (and cheaper) clinic, and she fell asleep in his lap. When it was time for me to take her from him, she woke up and cried because mommy the meanie was trying to take her from daddy.

That NEVER happens. Monkey goes to me first before anyone else. Including the grandparents who spoil the shit out of her. So for her to cling to PK over me when I was just trying to take care of her and get her everything she needs in order to go to school, it shattered my heart.

I don't ever want to have to do that again.

0004. it ended just like a movie scene & i had to play a part

iTunes: Josh Gracin - Telluride
Mood: irritated

I served in the United States Navy for 6 years. In that time, I hurt both my ankles, both my knees, my back, my rotator cuff on my right shoulder, my neck, lost hearing in both ears, have a high-pitched ringing in both ears that will not ever go away, developed severe migraines, and battled severe depression (which was later diagnosed as mild bipolar disorder). I am 70% disabled, but still able to work. Even if I were 100% disabled (through the military), I'd probably still have to work.

What you don't know is that even on 100% disability, it is not enough to survive. At 70% disability with a dependent, I get $1398 a month. I have a house, a car, electricity, cable/internet, daycare, food, gas, car insurance, etc... Now, I can cut off the cable/internet and just read, but that is literally my only source of entertainment these days. We don't go to the movies, we don't go out of town, we very rarely go out to dinner, etc.

I go to school full time on the GI Bill. I opted for the Post 9/11 version because it gives me housing allowance - which allows me to go to school full time (when combined with my disability) and not have to work while I go to school. This won't last forever. In fact, I only have 24 months left on my GI Bill. There are 24 months in the nursing program, but I won't get to apply for it until September. I'm going to school this Fall. That means my GI Bill will run out 6 months before I finish the nursing program -- if I get accepted the first time around and if I pass all my classes.

I've had a few people tell me they think it's "bullshit" that I get free money for the rest of my life because I got "a little hurt" in the military - because obviously if I'm still able to work, it must "not be that bad". I've had a few people tell me that it's "bullshit" that I get to go to school and not have to work because I get a housing allowance.

Allow me to tell those people to FUCK THE ENTIRE HELL OFF.

I paid for my disability check with my body. I ache every. single. day. I have a handicapped parking placard because it physically hurts me to walk some days. When I'm having a good day, I park in the back and walk. Why? Because I can. On the days when my knees aren't killing me, I enjoy the ability to walk through a parking lot. The fact that I'm still able to work (even up to 100% disability - through the VA) is a good thing. Why? Because they don't fucking pay me enough to make a living.

I paid for my GI Bill out of my own pocket. In order to receive it, you have to pay a certain amount each month while you're in the military. The rest is from taxes. Taxes I still had to pay while enlisted and I still have to pay today.

The idea that any of this is "free money" is fucking bullshit.

I paid for it with my body, my soul, and my freedom. I gave 6 years of my life to the military. I gave up time with my daughter. I gave up time with my sick mother. I gave up living in my hometown to go to a place I fucking hated.

I won't be getting the GI Bill check forever. I might not even get disability forever (if my conditions get better). I will, however, have pain in my knees for the rest of my life. I will have migraines. I will have issues with my shoulder (which will likely have to be rebuilt at some point in the future). So, no. It isn't "free money".