There once was a girl who was sick,
of everyone's bullshit.
She is me.
So I have been laughing about this shit all afternoon. I literally doubled over at one point and just had to take a second to laugh fully. I'm so sick of this bullshit that it has become comical to me. "All eyes on me in the center of the ring just like a circus. When I crack that whip everybody gon' trip just don't stand there watching me follow me and show me what you can do." No, really.
So I heard some comment today about someone definitely being able to read. Thank God! Here, read this:
I'm pretty sure it's the outfits that make her look like a cigarette in shoes. Someone should gift her a red hat--maybe a beret--for maximum effect. It's possibly that her attitude toward life, work, small challenges, is what makes her so...lugubrious. I can't think of a more perfect word for it.
Today it started with this bitch telling her buddy that she felt like slapping someone and indicating that she would come smack her friend. All "jokes" I'm sure. Although it's not really a joke if no one is actually, genuinely amused by your antics. You'd think someone of your age would have, by now, picked up a few pointers about manners, etiquette, and how to behave in a professional setting. Apparently not, given your continued behavior. It's sad, really. I once had to tell a seventy-year-old employee that she couldn't couldn't yell at the clients. You'd think she would have known better. When she started to yell at me in the same tone of voice I just stopped her and said, "Look, I know that you can control the volume, tenor, and tone of your voice, so just take a second and bring it down several notches, because if you were speaking to the clients like you're addressing me now, then I can see why I got the calls and emails that I received today." It was when I was delivering formal discipline that she told me that she didn't think that I liked her too much. I didn't reply to that statement, because it was--and still is irrelevant. I continued to read the letter of reprimand that I had been instructed to write and deliver by my superiors. I hadn't ever been in that situation before but I like to think that I handled it like a professional.
So, today, after I had had some food at lunch time and was in a much better physical condition--and also because they have finally given me one more round of medicine to help stop the ongoing reaction from the allergy shots--all I could do was laugh at how ridiculous the whole situation had become--how did you end up like this? What the fuck happened to you? Did your Mother not teach you better? I'm sure mine saw you for what you are and didn't even bother trying to get you to change. As I just laughed and laughed, I hoped that wherever Mom's spirit is, that she could feel just how much I appreciate the things that she taught me while she was here. I am so thankful for her and grateful for this life! I couldn't help but truly feel that part of Mom's spirit was with me today, even if she's already been reincarnated.
How ridiculous you are to behave the way that you do towards others! If I had a friend at work I would never threaten to hit them, even in a joking manner. I don't typically joke about hitting people. I tried to make a joke about starting a fight club but being too old for that. I am still not sure if it was as funny to the other person as it was to me, so I crossed that one off the list of things to do during my stand-up routine. Oh well, sometimes I'm funny, and sometimes I'm not. Can't stop, won't stop trying to lighten the mood (even if it's just for myself)! But this bitch!?! No, I don't get evil vibes. But I get the vibe that her growth as a human is stagnant. She's never going to learn to be a better person because she's spent far too long being the way she is and not being called out about it. When people get away with being shitty, trying to make it into a joke constantly, it just looks like, from my perspective, that you can't change. To me, it even appears that you don't actually want to change either. Which is the sad part, for me. I feel sorry for people who can't change their minds about anything. Who can't reflect on their own behavior and decide, you know, 'maybe I should try something different for a change and possibly, maybe, attempt to look for a silver lining instead of always harping on the negative'? I will never quite understand it. I guess I don't have to understand. I just have to tolerate your existence.
For anyone who may be wondering--I'm not going to be letting other people shit all over me and my happy existence any longer. You can try. But know this: if you fuck around, you'll soon find out that I will come here as much as I want and write all about it and your shitty behaviors. And there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it. Want to know why? Because it's not illegal to tell people how shitty you are if it's the truth! Want to know how I know that? Communication 411, Communication Law, which was maybe my favorite class in all of my time studying in college. Isn't it wonderful to know that I can only report that you're being a shitty person because you actually are being a terrible shit!?!? I don't know how you feel but I am reveling. REVELING! (also so so glad that you can read!)
Which brings me to my next point: I feel really good when I call people out for being shitty humans to their faces. It's pretty fucking amazing, really. I have never had a huge problem with confrontation. Most people do I guess. Whatever, man, get over it! Get out there and start calling out these awful people in public to their faces for their behavior!
I even went to the trouble to do it quite recently. Our little town was in the local news because a high school Spanish teacher was fired from his job for having a relationship with a student. There's a lot more to it, as it wasn't his first offense with the same type of behavior. Unfortunately, I have a child around the same age as the people who are involved in this fiasco--the fifty-something-year-old guy who likes to fuck teenagers has a teenage daughter the same age as the kid he was messing around with--gross! Can't you look at an 18-year-old child and recognize that they're still children? I know I can because I've got some kids myself.
The week that it came out in the newspaper, we were at the doctor's office and the girls behind the reception desk were talking about the situation. I was minding my own business for a minute, playing endless word games on my phone, when I became aware of what they were talking about. I didn't think anything about it, really, except that it was unprofessional, until one said to the other about the guy and the child he was "having an affair with" as it had been phrased, that the whole situation was gross and "they should just kill them both." And then I stopped being able to concentrate on the game in my hands. That crossed a line. Should I say something? The kid in question was, in a roundabout way, a friend of their dad's side of the family, the ex and the family of this kid are friends, this poor kid in question had been suffering--I knew, because she was being ostracized by her once-friends. This is a child! was all I could think. Something told me to just keep my fucking mouth shut for a minute because something was coming. I didn't know what but after that comment, things had gotten really quiet, like the other girl involved in the conversation was reluctant to even continue after what the other had said.
A few minutes later, my own child appeared in the doorway, ready to go, and around the same time as she was coming though, the girl that had made the comment about killing both of them came out sobbing and telling the other girl that she just got fired. (Good!) She kept crying and repeating it as she gathered her things. She was about to come out the same door that my kid had emerged from when she was--I assume--stopped by the boss and sent out the back door. Me and my kid made our escape and were in the car driving away from the girl in the lot still crying in her car before I explained, in much detail, what had happened. My kid had told me, and now I can't recall whether it was before or after this happened--but it hardly matters now--anyway, she proceeded to tell me the Wife of said kid-diddling Spanish teacher had caught the girl--the one who was in the very unfortunate position of being groomed by this man--at McDonald's before school one morning that week, I think, or maybe the previous one, and blocked her car in the parking lot so she couldn't just leave, and then, in front of her own young children, proceeded to cuss this child out about "having an affair" with her husband. BITCH, WHAT? Also, just for--reasons--we are going to call this bitch Leather Shoe Face, as she had been previously dubbed. And also because everyone knows who I am talking about--and if you don't, you're not missing much, I'll just tell you. Leather Shoe Face is having a really shitty time, I can empathize with that--family tragedy on top of a sex scandal is not easy on anyone. BUT the dude cannot abide. I couldn't abide. I didn't want to just sit by and do nothing, say nothing.
So I waited for the perfect opportunity to present itself. It happened one morning after we had both dropped off kids in the car rider line and were on the return trip, sans children, when it just so happened that I was at the stop light and she pulled right up beside me. So I rolled my window down and started saying, hell I can't even remember my exact words but it was something like, I heard you caught a child at McDonald's the other morning and blocked her in and cussed her out? Leather Shoe Face's response still puzzles me to this day. She said to me, "That's not true, I don't cuss!" Bitch, maybe you should cuss out your dirtbag of a husband! I said something like, and every other word was fuck or fucking or some such similar derivative--cause we ALL KNOW that I have no qualms about cussing. None. Anyway I proceed to tell her that she was wrong to do that to a child. That's a child, I insisted. "Did you know she was sleeping with my husband?" I remember what I said, emphatically, to that, "Everyone knows!" I can't clearly recall if she had said something else, it hardly mattered. "Maybe it wouldn't be a problem if your husband wasn't touching and fucking kids!" People behind us were honking, the light had changed, but I will never forget the look on her Leather Shoe face. She was so mad at me! Rolling up her window and being really mad. I drove away and I felt like I had successfully done a task that I hadn't even been sure that I would be able to complete. The stars aligned for that shit.
I am not sorry for speaking out. I guess my only regret in that whole situation was making the mistake of relating what had happened that morning to the manager here of the apartments. Turns out she's probably Leather Shoe Face's best buddy and now she doesn't like me at all, I think. That's not my problem, though, because I don't care if you like me or not. What I do care about is the fact that when I put my rent check in the box on the 1st, it still hasn't been deposited over a week later and all the residents got really weird letters detailing strange scenarios regarding the complexities of the lease we all signed. At the top of the list was about paying rent on time and what constituted late, and what the late fees would be when it was late. I read the whole letter, down to the request to have someone--a resident--apply for a position helping them out cleaning apartments, grounds, et cetera, for 25 hours a month for $200 dollars that 'wouldn't affect your rent." I think at least six of the units are open now. When she told me last month that my rent would go up because my kid had turned 18, I just said, if we can't afford it we'll just move. It's fine. There was some 'mistake' on her part because the kid is still in school. Apparently they can't increase the rent that substantially until after she graduates. Ok, I'm sure it was a mistake. I ended up calling to find out if we would incur late fees if the rent was turned in on time but not deposited on time? The message that I received while I had no service said that we should not incur late fees. I have photographs of the check with the date, taken right before placing it in the envelope and taking it to the box, as has been a habit of mine since Steven and I lived together. I have evidence of the day and time that the mission was accomplished. But what about their end? The message said that for whatever reason the payment couldn't be deposited from here so it was sent to a corporate/regional office for deposit or some shit. All I know is that it's still hanging out there in limbo and I am still waiting and wondering if this is a ploy on this woman's part to just get us evicted/kicked out of here? If they want me to leave, all they have to do is just ask. I'm already packing my shit up to move again anyway, as soon as possible, because who wants to deal with this kind of shit? This woman called other tenants 'useless' in conversation with me, called the maintenance guy 'pretty but not too smart,' and bemoaned having to deal with the various tenants and their rather unfortunate circumstances. If she's saying this kind of shit to me, what's she saying about me? First of all, I don't care to know, and secondly it's probably not good--if her prior behavior is any indication. Oh fucking well--if all it takes is me defending a child to bring about this kind of reaction from other people I MUST BE DOING SOMETHING RIGHT!
If you're out there reading this and just getting really mad at me--that's okay! Be mad! Stay mad! I don't care, just stop being a shitty fucking human being. And if you really can't or won't bother with trying not to be shitty, well, all I have to say to that is: YOU FUCKING SUCK AND I DON'T WANT TO ASSOCIATE WITH YOU! Someone I respect a lot told me that I would be better off tolerating the person who was unkind to me and she was right. I am better off tolerating you all. I've just been doing it for over 41 years at this point and I guess what I'm really feeling is DISAPPOINTED IN ALL OF YOU SHITTY PEOPLE IN THE WORLD! I can tolerate you but can you handle it when I call your bitch-asses out to your faces? Hell no, you can't! Every time I do it you either look shocked, angry, or pretend that I didn't say anything at all. Like the Post Office Bitch. Her name is Lindsay. She told me when I first moved back here and was (briefly) working at the Shell station--that's a whole other story on how you can incense people without even fucking anyone in the process, but that will have to come later--anyway this bitch came in to buy something, I don't even remember what or what else was said but she said to me, "I thought you would have done something more with your life." Bitch for about twenty fucking years I didn't think about you at all! Do you know what I expected out of your life? NOTHING! Want to know why? Because I don't care what job you have as long as you're happy and healthy! Does that matter to you--my health and happiness??? APPARENTLY NOT! Because if it truly did, you'd be proud of me for showing up every day to continue to participate in this life. There was a time that I was fighting--literally--tooth and nail, just to WANT TO CONTINUE TO LIVE! And I came back from that! All of you people out there with weirdly high expectations of me and my life, here's a message just for you:
FUCK OFF! Take those expectations of me, and of everyone else, and throw that shit down on the ground. Stop projecting what you think someone else's life ought to be onto others! How dare you act as if you didn't have every opportunity to do whatever you wanted in this wonderful life and you chose to work the same job since high school and never leave our home town! FFFFFUUUUCCCCCKKKK YOU! And furthermore, not that I owe anyone any sort of explanation, but for the record, just to set things straight and get it out of me, here's the deal: I have only ever wanted to do this--writing--as an occupation. At every turn in my life, I have let other people tell me what they thought I ought to be doing with my life and for some fucked up reason I listened!?!? I WAS AN IDIOT, I GUESS (Mom, you were right). I wasn't strong enough before to do all this by myself, to come to these conclusions, to decide what I really wanted in life and go for it. I didn't want to be a doctor, or surgeon specifically, because the thought of making a mistake that could cost someone else their own life was devastating to me! I don't want to hurt or kill anyone just by making an error! I didn't want to be an astronaut because the thought of going into outer space was very unappealing to me after reading Hawking and Sagan at 9 and 10 years old. I have only ever wanted to communicate my message to the world and learn as many languages as possible along the way so that I could do it! That's what I have felt my purpose in this life has been since I came screaming into it! I have known this. And I have never made much money at this. It doesn't feel right to me just yet to try to profit from my one true gift. So there it is. That's my truth. My purpose here was decided before anyone else had the chance to weigh in--and it never changed. It just became the thing that I do in the time that I have when I'm not working for money just to make it in our society. It doesn't necessarily matter to me what the job is, as long as I am not hurting others by performing it and I'm not miserable while I'm there. I think I have finally found a place that offers both things and an opportunity for me to not be so exhausted afterward that I can do all these other things that I seek to do--writing, skateboarding, spending time with family, traveling, and enjoying this world while it's still possible.
I guess I said all this to say: I wanted to tell this bitch to her face, for years, that I don't like her--and I DID. That was the beginning of all of this for me, of growing strong enough to face shitty people and be prepared to call them on it. It happened at the grocery store, I was leaving the check out and this bitch was lingering near the customer service area, staring openly at me until I saw her, looked into her eyes, and she started to turn, to flee! So I mustered my voice and said as loudly as I could without shouting, "I don't like you, you know!" I have a feeling that she had an inkling that I didn't like her--why else would she turn away and not greet me as a cheerful friend? Why does this bitch ask after me and my siblings to my Dad? Here's something else I would like to say to you but I'm not sure the opportunity will present itself: Stop asking about me, any of us, as if you are our friend. You're not. I don't like you, and I am pretty sure all my siblings could give two shits about you, especially after I have told them how you spoke to me. We used to like, hang out, me, you and Jennifer sun-tanning in your front yard? Was I so awful a person to you that you should seek me out to put me down?
The only other conclusion that I can come to is this: you were always better friends with the guy who is my ex-husband than you were to me. And you must have come to some sort of conclusion about me using information from him. So let's all clear the air on this shit right now:
I know that he had people at Cracker Barrel fuck with me when I worked there. That was the beginning of the stalking and harassment. We had just split up and 'our' friend Danette worked there and he was sure that she could help me get on there. So I went. Then people started stealing my things, putting napkins in my coffee cup in the break room, letting the air out of my tires in the parking lot. I should have known better that to think that this man ever cared about me. After all, didn't he verbally, emotionally, financially, sexually, and, eventually, physically abuse me while being a raging alcoholic? Yup, he sure did. And you know what!?! I think it was Gisele Pelicot and her strength and perseverance that inspired me to not be ashamed of this shit anymore. So here goes. I have been gathering evidence for years now of all the people that this man has had stalking and harassing me. It never ends. It may not end after he drinks himself to death, but, I can only hope and wait for the day when he finally decides that it wasn't me that ruined his life, it was him! I think he married me because he thought that it was his ticket to whatever property or money (ha!) that I may ever inherit. I was his get-outta-jail free card and he just can't stand it that I didn't want to be with him anymore. It might have worked out if he had just grown the fuck up like I eventually did. But, alas, I could take no more of his shit, told him I didn't want to be married to him anymore and then, rather stupidly, had a fling with an old boyfriend just so I could tell him that it was truly over--because he had always said that that would be the only way he would ever let me go. Well, buddy, I got news for you, too. You're gonna have to move on with your life. Stop having your merry band of meth head friends, relatives, and people you 'know' stalk and harass me! This is a polite request. I don't really expect it to work, but good luck finding all the evidence that I have of all of this shit. Because if something bad, something suspicious, ever happens to me, it won't matter. We will all know who did it.
I had a date with one of the seven dwarves--I didn't realize, until later, that it was Dopey, the former meth head who knew my ex. The dots connected. Suddenly the mix up with my meal made sense. The former dude that I had fucked briefly--those dots connected long ago, too, buddy and I gotta say: you're not very creative, smart, or good at keeping your fucking mouth shut. Good luck trying to get at me some more, I welcome the challenges. I can't wait to see what weirdo crack head approaches me next to be like, "Omg I bet you don't remember me, do you?" Buddy, I remember nearly everything in startling clarity, and I just don't care to know you anymore. It's just that I had tried turning a leaf and being polite and nice to people while I'm out--at the encouragement of my sister. Bless that woman, she's stronger than I ever thought about being--but I can't do it anymore. I told her as much as she doubled over with laughter, "Look, I really tried being nice to people but IM SICK OF IT! SICK OF IT!" I had been deep in the uncomfortable throes of an allergic reaction for weeks on end. It had helped turn the leaf back over to the other side; being a bitch was all I wanted to do--especially to those people who had chosen to be weirdly shitty to me, sometimes without even knowing me. All I have to say to all those participating in this situation:
1) You suck, and I hope you know that. If you don't, you'd better start understanding it, it will make things make more sense for you if you realize that there are consequences to your actions. Karma might catch up with you when you least expect it. Or I might see you out and tell you that you suck myself.
2) Bring it, bitch, because I'm just waiting. I'm ready now. Just don't dish it out if you can't take it.
3) Life has a way of dealing you the hand that you deserve, so try to consider that, at every point in your life.
4) If you think that I'm going to just sit and take endless shit from a bunch of assholes without saying anything about it, I can assure you that you're wrong.
I think that's it for now. Apparently, the assholes can read, and I hope that they use this skill to comprehend what I've said here.
FIN.
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