…higher than the ceiling.

Hey guess what?


The good news – I do not have to be on insulin, even though I have to take oral meds.

The bad news – holy fuck I miss sugar.

The good news – my HgA1C went from 11.4 in May to 7.2 in July (meaning my average blood sugar dropped from 283 to 150 in 2 months).

The bad news – no seriously have you seen that Speculoos Cookie Core Ben & Jerry’s?

The good news – I’ve lost ~50 lbs from my highest weight.

The bad news – that number happened 3 weeks ago and it hasn’t changed. Perhaps that’s because work has been very stressful and even though I haven’t given in to my urge to eat my way through Hershey’s entire inventory I have drowned my sorrows in various other foods, like honey roasted macadamia nuts. Also, because I have been working a lot of overtime, I have developed a serious Starbucks problem (as has the rest of the office). At least I’m getting them sugar-free, right?

In other news, apparently being diagnosed with the Beetus is stressful, because my hair is falling out. I had two doctors test my thyroid, and they’re like, nope, you’re fine. REALLY you’re fine. Have you tried vitamins? Yes? Well, try some more, and we’ll send you to a dermatologist who will also confirm that you’re fine. PS, you need to get out more, you have a Vitamin D deficiency. The dermatologist was like “yep, stress. I promise. It’ll be better in a few months.” That’s ASSUMING I have any hair left and also assuming I can afford enough Drano to keep my shower drain unclogged.

Further news, my back is not making me very happy right now either. You would *think* that since I had a spinal cord stimulator installed a year ago, and that because I’ve been exercising and have lost weight, that my back would be awesome. Not so much. Even though the radicular pain from the jacked-up discs is better, I still have inflammation at the S-I joint…which makes it hurt to sit for any length of time, even in my fancy Tempurpedic chair. Basically, this inflammation can really only be treated by burning the nerves with an electrified needle. It’s about as much fun as you would imagine, as the whole “conscious sedation” thing doesn’t work so well on me. Dear body, why can’t you metabolize french fries fast, instead of Versed? I had this done again in July. It worked on one side, but the other side is still being an asshead. So I’ve had to take painkillers again, and while they help with the hurting part, I’m not sure it’s worth it to not poop for weeks. (I’m just being honest. My doctor laughed when I said this, but agreed with me. IT’S A MEDICAL FACT. Why no, I don’t have a filter.)

Fuck you, hair.

Fuck you, S-I joint.

Also fuck you, genetics.

I suppose I have started some healthier habits. I get in my 10K steps every day. I really have been trying very hard not to eat a ton of refined sugar. I go to bed at a reasonable hour.

God, I’m so fucking boring.

Song of the Day: “Diane Young” – Vampire Weekend
Today’s Time Waster: You know you’ve missed cat videos more than my lame blog entries.
What I’m Craving: I think that has been made abundantly clear.


She is smiling alone.

I guess it’s been a while. Things have been kind of crazy. My 83-year-old gramma was not doing well, so I went to Michigan to visit her. Of course, the phone call from my mom sounded like it was the end, but by the time I got there, she was getting back in fighting form. She’s still not doing great, but she’s back to being an asshole to everyone, which for her means she’s feeling better. She’s driving my mom and my aunt nuts, and she’s being bitchy. The thing is, she has never been like that to me, ever. Gramma’s was my safe house. Some of my best childhood memories are from staying with her and my grampa. She let me do whatever I wanted, like stay up all night to watch Charles & Diana get married and eat ice cream for breakfast.

Seeing her was hard. Since she lives so far away, it’s been tough for me to get the time off work to go visit, and when I was unemployed, I didn’t really have the money. I knew she wasn’t well, but the weirdest thing was seeing her with her natural gray hair. Since I’ve been alive, her hair has always been a platinum blonde football helmet.

Anyway, the day I got on the plane, I had another stupid epidural steroid injection, which sadly, hasn’t helped. The doctor said Plan B is not necessarily surgery…there’s a procedure they can try where they basically implant little electrical contacts and wires and connect them to the nerves, and then implant a little device that you can control with a remote. The current is suppose to alleviate the pain. We’ll see. I’m really tired of dealing with this shit. The doctor did, of course, mention weight loss, but was cool about it…he acknowledged it would be hard to work out if you were in constant pain. I’ve been trying to eat a little better, but stress is a hungry, hungry hippo. She especially enjoys Russell Stover Coconut Cream Eggs and McDonald’s french fries, but occasionally wants something else, like nachos.

Oh and also, work got fucked up last week…I had gotten my friend a job there, and they fired her for what appears to be no reason. I think the decision may have been financially based, which worries me. I was also worried about my own job security, because I’ve had enough drama, and while by all reports everyone wants me around, still. The office manager assured me that no, no, everything’s fine, in fact you’re getting a raise….

Still do not trust them. I got a bonus right before I got shitcanned last February. Guess I’ll just wait and see what happens, but keep my eye open for anything that looks interesting. That’s about all I can do, really.

Enough rambling. Let’s move on:

It is time again for Friend Makin’ Monday. If you have a blog, I would like to invite you to answer the questions as well. Leave me a comment here, so I know you are playing. Then you can also leave a comment over at Losing Weight and Having Fun, so other folks can check out your answers as well. It is a fun way to connect to other bloggers.

1. Have you ever had a reoccurring dream? What was it?

I have a couple, and they’re both nightmares. In one, I am competing in an obstacle course, and the rules are much like those in the book “The Long Walk” by Stephen King (SPOILER ALERT)…if you drop out, you die. When I have this one, I’m usually under a LOT of stress, and the obstacle course gets more horrible night after night. Like the first night it might be swimming across a pool, by night #3 it’s swimming across a pool full of sharks. The second one is about school…I think high school. I’m in this giant, rambling school building comprised of almost every school building I’ve ever been in (since I competed in speech tournaments in high school adn college, this is a LOT of school buildings)–everything from crumbling, gothic looking brick to the 70’s and 80’s super-streamlined office-cubicle like hallways. I can’t remember my locker combination, I can’t find any of my classrooms, and when I do find them, it’s for a class I have forgotten to attend all semester.

2. What was the weirdest food you’ve ever eaten?

Hm. I’ve eaten octopus and squid, many kinds of seafood in a shell, eel, and alligator. I don’t know. I’ve pretty much sampled everything on a giant Chinese buffet. Does that count? (Hey, I’m picky.)

3. Can you comfortably eat in a restaurant by yourself? Go to movie?

Both. I don’t mind eating out alone as long as I have a book. Sometimes it’s very relaxing. I actually just did this last week. I was planning to meet some friends for some local activity, but they couldn’t meet till like 6:30 and I get off work at 5. So I went and had some delicious seafood and a $5 hurricane.

4. What would you leave in your will for the person you care about the most?

I’m sure I’ll be destitute and alone, so there will be nothing to leave.

5. Would you rather…Go without television or fast food for the rest of your life?

TV (I mean, I can still watch movies, right?). Sometimes my hormones get hungry for french fries, and that shit stinks up the house. Also, what the hell else are you supposed to eat after a night out besides Taco Bell?

6. What was the best thing that happened to you this past week?

One of my BFF’s turned 50, and we went out to celebrate. She showed up trashed. Someone made the mistake of giving her a wand with a star and streamers, and she bonked everyone on the head with it all night. Even though the bar DJ was mostly lame (if you follow me on Twitter, I posted a few updates), the night out was fun.

7. List the food items you take at a salad bar.

Are we talking a Golden Corral salad bar, or just a puny old-school steakhouse one? Spinach (if available, or if not romaine lettuce), hard-boiled eggs, mushrooms, carrots, cheese, bacon bits, ranch dressing, and CROUTONS. Lots and lots of croutons.

8. If you were in the “Miss America” talent competition, what would your talent be? (Note: both guys & gals have to answer this question)

I would sing something totally cheesy like “Memory” from Cats. (Shit. I just realized I mentioned this song in my last post. Well, fuck it. I would say “Defying Gravity” but I can’t hit that note anymore. Maybe “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from Carousel, or “Goodnight My Someone” from The Music Man.)

9. What do you keep in the trunk of your car?

Oh god. There’s actually not much in mine right now except for the plastic protector things you’re supposed to use on the convertible if you leave the top down. But I don’t ever leave it down when it’s parked, so I’m debating tossing those fuckers. Otherwise, there are a few random things…maybe a broken umbrella, a stuffed triceratops, and a couple mostly empty bottles of car products (like transmission fluid and antifreeze). Fortunately, I just cleaned it out a few months ago. Before that, don’t even ask. I’ve had my car for 12 years. Things end up there.

10. How many rings before you answer the phone?

Not very many. If I plan to answer, it’s usually by the second ring (unless it’s buried in my purse and I don’t hear it). If I don’t, I just send it to voicemail. At work, if I get stuck with phone duty, I answer after the first ring. The phone ringing annoys the living FUCK out of me. I used to work in an office where I was supposed to be “backup” on phones, but the chick whose job it was didn’t answer till like the 3rd ring, which drove me insane. I ended up answering it a lot because it interrupted my work just as much to glare at her to answer the phone than it did to just answer it. Plus, at that job, it was for me a lot of the time, anyway, because my boss was never there and it was family law and those clients are the worst about calling all day. This is where I learned never, ever to answer the phone after 5 on a Friday, because it was never anything you could fix but they wanted to TALK about it for an hour.

Song of the Day: “A Beautiful Mess” – Jason Mraz
Today’s Time Waster: Classic album covers in Google street view.
What I’m Craving: Something fried.

I wanna be sedated.

So, I can’t remember if I have talked about this shit on here before or not.

Anyway, starting in 2008, I have had off and on lower back issues: basically, a couple of bulging discs and an inflamed sacroiliac joint (where the base of the spine meets the pelvis). In October 2008, I was at work one day, doing whatever stupid bullshit law office job I was doing at the time, and all of a sudden, my back was in screaming, unrelenting pain. It wasn’t like “oh, I picked up something too heavy” or “oh, I should have known better than to move the couch by myself.” It felt like someone was poking me in the spinal cord with a hot poker. That night after work, I went to the minor emergency clinic. The doctor had me lay on the exam table and then lifted my right leg at a 90º angle. I thought I was going to die. Evidently, this is a normal test to see if the pain is muscular or discogenic. My reaction indicated that yes, one of the discs in my back *might* have a problem. He wrote me a couple of prescriptions and sent me on my way.

Up until this point, I never really thought much about pain. Sure, I’d had my wisdom teeth out, had a little stint in the hospital for mono where I was in pain, sprained my ankle god knows how many times, had a couple of fairly brutal ear infections in high school and again in my mid-20s, but those were bullshit. The doctor at the minor emergency gave me some 5/750 Lortabs. They might as well have been baby aspirin for all the good they did. The next morning, I called my regular doctor. He watched me gingerly limp into his office, said that the Lortabs were of COURSE not going to do shit, and gave me some Percocet. For a couple of weeks, I was marginally okay. A month, really. I went on vacation, and while my back wasn’t feeling 2000% awesome, I was able to walk around and do touristy and family-visiting things without too much incident. A few weeks later, though, around Thanksgiving, the pain was back with a vengeance. I went for an MRI. They confirmed the disc bulge. I was “laid off” right before Christmas and given 6 weeks severance. I was referred to pain management, but unfortunately, they couldn’t fit me in for anything until January.

In January, I went for the first epidural steroid injection. During this procedure, they sedate you, then shove six-inch-long needles into your spinal column. Well, they did the SECOND part. The first part didn’t really work so much. I had no idea that this was even a possibility. I’d been sedated for the wisdom teeth (don’t remember shit) and for an endoscopy because they thought I had gallstones and not mono (don’t remember much except the lead-lined cheerleader outfits the techs wore, which I thought for a while might have just been a hallucination because I was on IV Dilaudid for 2 days before they did this and it’s a little hazy, but it turns out the x-ray/CT techs do wear these outfits at all the procedures). It never occurred to me that when someone injected some drugs into a vein, it might not do anything.

So basically, I felt the needles in the spine. I was too shocked to even move, or scream. It was over pretty fast. After I went back to the recovery room, Lando went out in the hall with the nurse and chewed some ass. I had the same procedure done two weeks later (they usually do these in twos or threes), and while I remember it, I don’t remember FEELING it. A week or so after that (it takes a little time to heal after one of these, it pretty much feels like someone stabbed you a bunch of times and then kicked you while they were at it), the back pain was mostly gone. It flared up occasionally, but went away fast and wasn’t an issue.

A couple of years later, another disc decides to act up. This time, instead of the weird shooting pain and numbness on the right, it was on the left. Also, if I sat still for too long, it felt like someone was slowly heating up a small, hard object in my chair cushion. The disc was L5-S1, the lowest lumbar vertebrae/first sacral, so it’s kinda right at your buttcrack. I know y’all wanted to know that. The other pain was from the sacroiliac joint.

This time, the course of treatment was not so smooth. There was the MRI, where I got fat-shamed by the tech. He was a such an asswipe. “Do you have diabetes?” “Nope.” “Do you have high blood pressure?” “No.” “Are you SURE?” “(nonverbal-eat shit and die, cockmaster) “Yes, I’m sure.” Then, even though it was an open MRI (the first one I had was closed), he brings out this thing that looks like a giant metal ribcage. Basically, if you can fit under the cage, they get better images. I fit. Barely. If I didn’t take deep breaths. The test takes about half an hour, during which they tell you not to move, and even though it’s an “open” machine, it’s pretty claustrophobic with this ribcage bullshit on, and I can’t really breathe like I want to because it will dislodge it and then they have to start over. It was horrible, all the way around.

After reviewing the MRI, my regular doctor sends me to an orthopedic surgeon. After my prior experience with epidural injections, I’m not so anxious to start that shit up again. He sends me to physical therapy. It seemed to help at first, a little, but then it seemed to be making things worse. The MRI was in June. I don’t decide I’m really done with PT until early September, when I was in so much pain after a session that I just wanted to crawl into the fetal position and cry. Then he sends me to pain management. The doctor there decides to address the S-I joint issue first. This involves cortisone injections into the joint. They kinda sedate you a little, but they really weren’t that bad. However, they only worked for like 2 days each, and they were several weeks apart. I go back to the orthopedist in serious pain still, and he calls and bitches at the pain management doctor, so they do a couple of epidurals. The sedation isn’t great, but at least it keeps the top edge of the pain to a minimum. We schedule the last procedure for November, which is a nerve ablation on the joint. I guess the insurance requires two injections to diagnose the problem before they’ll pay for the ablation, which involves sticking a lot of needles in and then electrifying them to deaden the nerve endings that are causing the pain.

In the meantime, my gallbladder says “fuck you,” I end up on antibiotics, the ablation gets cancelled, Lando’s car transmission takes a shit, my gallbladder comes out before Christmas, and I have to put the last of my elderly cats to sleep on New Year’s Eve. Fuck you 2011, you go to hell and you die.

The ablation was not pleasant. The sedation for that is kind of sketchy, because they have to have you awake enough to make sure they’re hitting the right nerves. Also, the healing process, while the nerves actually die off, is brutal and involves two weeks plus of worse pain…but then, I was pretty much pain-free.

Until this August.

And it’s all back. The discs, the S-I joint, blah blah blah. So I had the ablation first this time, on September 11th. This time…the sedation didn’t really work at all. The anesthesiologist (I think they’re nurses for this procedure, but not positive) was this older lady, and even though the doctor and I both told her that I’m not easy to knock out, she doesn’t believe us. NO ONE ever believes you when you say you’re hard to sedate or that pain meds don’t work. She finally zapped me with some more Fentanyl, but by then, I’d already dealt with 15 minutes of electrified needles.

Cut to October…23rd? Yes. Time for an epidural. Doctor tells anesthesiologist to turn up the juice, which she does…she gives me a double dose of Versed. I get a little talky for a few minutes, but by the time the needles are going in, I’m stone sober and crying, and by the time they get some more juice going, it’s basically over. I go back to the recovery room in a non-good state, and they bring me some drugs and some juice.

Today, I emailed the doctor’s office and said that I was dreading the procedure I have scheduled for Wednesday and I really don’t want to do that shit sober again, so can he please at least give me some Valium for before.

No response. If I don’t get a response tomorrow morning, I’m going to have to call and get all ass-chewy.

Apparently, this anesthesia resistance is more common in redheads (they have actually done studies on this) and also has a genetic component. When I talked to my dad, he said he has had the same issues…needs 3x the novocaine at the dentist, Versed & Fentanyl basically wear off in 30 seconds, blah blah. My dad isn’t a redhead, so who knows.

Also, in addition to all this bullshit, the back windshield is falling out of my car. Kids, the convertible will look shiny. Dudes will want to sex your car. But IT IS NOT WORTH IT unless you have a garage to keep it in and it’s not your primary vehicle. The fuckers leak. They leak in the rain, and they REALLY leak if you do something dumb right after you buy it like run it through a gas station car wash. And when you put the top down, it stresses the seal around the glass in the back and then it falls out. (This is not the first time, but the first time, the top got slashed by vandals and it was fixed in the process of replacing the top.) So we have to drive to goddamn Edmond (which is at least 30 minutes away from here), drop off the car, and leave there in enough time to be to the hospital by 8:15 a.m. Then I won’t have a car for 2 days. Assuming, of course, that the convertible guys are not full of shit.

If I were the sort to bet (which I’m not, because my luck is pretty fucking bad), I wouldn’t count on my car being done till at least Friday.

*** UPDATE ***

Had epidural today. Explained to the nurse (who thankfully was the same one from last time) that she needed to keep the drugs rolling because apparently they are the only thing my body metabolizes fast. OF COURSE it’s fun drugs. Sigh. Anyway, I also got my pregame Valium, which did improve my mood. I was still slightly nervous, but at least I wasn’t a total basket case. However, I am now pissed off at my goddamn doctor’s office, because the nurse who handles the refills on the prescriptions is being non-helpful. It will be 30 days on Sunday since my last refill, as it should be. I’ve been hoarding, because they always get goddamn picky, even when it’s not anything that GOOD, but the pain after the last injections was awful for a week and I couldn’t not take them. But she’s telling me that you *always* have to make an appointment for a refill (which is a lie, because this same chick just called it into the pharmacy last time); they only make appointments on Wednesdays and Thursdays; etc. Okay, but you also have to sign this stupid contract that says no refill requests on Fridays, no refills on procedure days (Wednesdays), no other doctors can give you drugs, they can make you pee in a cup, basically everything they can do to make everyone in pain feel like a fucking addict even though THAT IS WHY THE SHIT EXISTS. Thanks, hillbillies and teenagers.

I didn’t think I was going to have a car on Thursday, but it turns out I would have bet wrong, because they called today and said it was ready. I asked if the glue was dry, and they said they actually use staples instead of glue. I don’t really care what they use, as long as the window stops leaking and doesn’t fall the hell out. So I call the doctor’s office back and ask for an appointment tomorrow, and of course there’s not one but call back Friday. When they don’t give refills.

Jesus Tap Dancing Christ.

I suppose this could all be worse, but it’s just frustrating. And I don’t even want to go to work tomorrow, because it hurts worse the 2nd day, but if I don’t go, I will get shit from my boss, who has been acting like an entitled dicknugget lately and I’ve had about enough of that shit. He claims to hate certain assholes we used to work for, but like most people in abusive relationships, he is perpetuating the cycle and I’m done with that. (1) He is not the only one with things besides work on his mind. (2) There’s no need for this shit. He wants my “A” game, but he knows and I know that the “B-minus” game is still better than the rest of the office. He is also one of those “I am too macho for doctors and aspirin” types. Well, son, I’m not. So go fuck yourself. (Interestingly, he is also a member of the group of dudes that give each other shit about what they eat for lunch…like “I’m eating fruit and yogurt…what are YOU eating?” The guys are way worse than the women in my office. The women (at least the ones I usually see in the break room) are eating tacos and hot wings and pasta. It’s usually the reverse.) I’m done with entitlement, and if he doesn’t realize this in short order, we’re going to have a problem.

Song of the Day: Ylvis – “The Fox (What Does the Fox Say)”
Today’s Time Waster: Why the above is stuck in my damn head.
What I’m Craving: A new car or some good drugs.

Look Both Ways Before You Cross Me

Things that are making me stabby:

1. My hair. It’s been falling out. I mean, I know everyone sheds, but this has been ridiculous. According to Dr. Google, if you have been under major stress, about 3 months later, your hair falls out. Something about expedited growth cycles blah blah blah. I suppose it could be something else, but the stress thing? Long term unemployment, career crisis, hate my life, check. It’s driving me nuts. My hair is at the awkward stage anyway. I want it to be LONG (bra-strap-mid-back length), but it’s about halfway between there and my shoulders. I see all these pretty braids on Pinterest, and I want to try them, but half of me just wants to cut the shit back off shoulder length and dye turquoise streaks in it. Which is probably going to win.

2. My shoes. So many shoes, and all of them are giving me blisters. THE FUCK is with shoe manufacturers making sandals that have these slippery, slidy bottoms? Do they think women’s feet don’t sweat? The only shoes I can even stand right now are my Sanuk Yoga Mat Flip Flops. I’ve been surfing for some slightly more work-appropriate options but I am not finding what I want. Might be time to order some black flip-flops and say fuck it. My co-workers wear jeans and tennis shoes half the time, or Toms, or Chucks. Probably no one would even notice.

3. My co-workers. Speaking of. They’re nice people but we need to bring this office to the 21st century, starting with direct deposit and ending with scanning the goddamn mail. Also, the one I probably have to deal with the most is lazy as shit. I can respect this as a lifestyle choice, but DUDE. At least make an effort on the typos and the putting things in the file in date order. I’m trying to keep my mouth shut but it’s so, so hard. None of these people would last 30 seconds at any job I’ve had for the last 15 years, and it’s making me crazy. Like I said, though, I’m trying to keep my mouth shut and not (a) create work for myself, because I have this habit of doing that and (b) piss anyone off. I’ve had enough work drama over the last year, I don’t need any more. I’m just trying to quietly fix things and make it so that *my* stuff is the way I want it. BUT AAAAGH LEARN HOW TO USE THE CALENDAR SYSTEM AND NOT PUT THINGS IN THE WRONG FOLDERS.

4. Summer. I hate summer. I hate it so much. I have many cute new clothes and perhaps a few more coming that I ordered from 4th of July sales and all I want to do is wear my pajama shorts. I can’t even with this. It was 94 degrees at 8:45 pm. Come on Powerball, I want to move somewhere that the temperature never, ever gets this high. When I see the weather forecast, all I can think of is Robin Williams in “Good Morning, vietnam” with his spiel about “The weather today is hot and shitty. The weather tomorrow will be hot and shitty with a crappy weather front coming down from the north. Basically, it’s hotter than a snake’s ass in a wagon rut.” PS, the Just My Size “leggings” are not, in fact, actual leggings, they are footless tights, and they are nigh impossible to wrench onto your legs in the morning when you just put on lotion and you’re in a hurry and you wanted to wear a tunic with non-pants and instead you ended up wearing a dress and not having time to finish your makeup.

Song of the Day: “The Love You Save May Be Your Own” – Jackson Five
Today’s Time Waster: Find me some shoes in a 9.5 or 10 wide that AREN’T SLIPPERY INSIDE and contain no parts that will give my little toe a damn blister. Also, cheap would be awesome.
What I’m Craving: A cold front.

Like the Last Time and the Time Before

So, I started my new job last week. I am not going to make the mistake of saying that I like it or it’s the best job ever NO SERIOUSLY I MEAN IT THIS TIME GUYS HE’S NOT GOING TO HIT ME AGAIN, but so far, it seems to be going fairly well.


    Nice quiet office. No asshole lawyers yelling back and forth at each other or yelling across the office at their staff because they cannot seem to figure out how that crazy newfangled intercom works.

    Working with former boss, Mr. Music, who is much more chill than he was at previous job. Also, he appreciates me way more now after his stint with some stupid people. Example of chill: he asked me to make some revisions to a document. When I was done, I e-mailed and asked if he wanted me to print it or just e-mail it to him. His response: “Goddammit Kelly, I’m trying to watch Bieber videos in here.”

    7.5 hour workday instead of 8+.

    Immediate health & dental insurance, 401k after 90 days.

    More money than it really should be for how little work it is.

    Based on co-worker’s new hairdo, I can put colored streaks in my hair and no one will give a shit. Go go midlife crisis!

    Visible ink also seems to be okay, which will come in handy if I decide to actually get a tattoo (I’m thinking about it.)

    Many bars within walking distance, including one in our very own building.

    Beer in fridge. Dr. Pepper in fridge. Hot Tamales in snack cabinet.


    It’s still a law firm.

    Less money than making at last job. Which means less online shopping. Lame.

    I’m not sure how I feel about some of my new co-workers. They’re not mean, but I’m not really sure they’re “my people,” either.

    Ugh, filing.

    I only have a cubicle, not an office…I’m used to having an office. Not that this matters. When I did have an office, people were in it all fucking day anyway, and if I shut the door, it was a sign that I had an attitude problem.

    Parking garage kind of sucks…the spaces are small, and people in small-penis-mobiles (i.e. giant trucks) don’t seem to understand what “compact cars only” means.

    Jesus fuck it’s hot in here. I need to go buy a fan. (Offices only have two temperatures: too hot and too cold. Of the two, I’d rather have the latter. Although maybe if more people started getting nakeder at work, the temperature might drop. I just don’t want to lead the revolution.)

    My face has not gotten the memo about makeup every day being okay. I am working on a couple of giant honking zits, one of which is perilously close to the end of my nose. NO I WILL NOT DRIVE YOUR SLEIGH TONIGHT. (PS Dear Neutrogena, your “Clear Complexion Liquid Makeup” is not living up to its name at all. Maybe this is because I have bought into the whole “primer” hype/bullshit. Why do we suddenly need primer to go with everything? Isn’t foundation kind of supposed to be the, well, FOUNDATION for the rest of your makeup? Why do I need stuff that’s like the piers and stem walls of makeup? [I have been reading a lawsuit about improperly constructed stem walls. I guess they hold up the foundation or something.] Seriously. The foundation and eyeshadow and lipstick and mascara all have primers and this is doubling the time I have allotted to makeup. Bitches need coffee and time to surf the internet, damn.)

    Not close enough to downtown to go to lunch with my downtown-working bitches.

Unrelated to work issues, I didn’t think I liked the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. But I think I was confusing them with Cibo Matto or someone all this time and they’re actually pretty good.

Also unrelated to work issues, the frosting from the Pioneer Woman’s chocolate sheet cake is also good on yellow cake out of a box.

Finally, what the fuck is up with the headphones with one short wire and one long wire? I like things to be symmetrical. There appears to be no good reason to have one wire longer, except for ease of getting the long one totally tangled up in my hair and/or necklace. They were probably designed by dudes who don’t have long hair and don’t realize what a pain in the ass it is when your hair gets all dreadlocked around your headphones. I wish it was at least adjustable, so those of us who crave symmetry and order can have it.

Song of the Day: “Pretty Girl from Michigan” – The Avett Brothers

Today’s Time Waster: Sad Cat Diary.

What I’m Craving: Key lime pie, now that someone in the office mentioned it.

Sunglasses at night.

I’m never going to say that I like a job ever again. Every time I say that, I sound like the battered woman swearing that this time, he really WILL change.


It’s not so much the work itself, or even the lawyers, mostly. It’s the evil cuntwich who is too dumb to do my job but knows just enough to convince the boss I’m not doing it. With one exception, my co-workers at the former place of employment were awesome. I didn’t really have to deal with the exception very often, and when I did, I knew she was a lying psycho, so I conducted business accordingly (document everything). The current Bitchface? I have to pretty much deal with her a lot. And I am so done with it. I’m tired of her thinking she has a clue, I’m tired of her whiny voice, and I’m tired of the fact that she has any input whatsoever into anything. Every time I make a suggestion about how to improve things at the office (i.e., organize files so someone besides her can find things; distribution of information; etc.), she acts like I have no idea what I’m talking about, even though I’ve been doing this way longer than she has and have worked in enough offices to know what’s functional and what isn’t. Basically, I want to fucking punch her in the face.

I’ve put out a few feelers for jobs. I’m not going to spend the next three years putting up with her shit. This place is starting to really remind me of a job I had for like 4 months … the same level of batshit crazy, the same lack of longevity among staff, the same constant reshuffling of responsibilities to the point that no one really knows what they’re supposed to be doing but whatever they’re doing is wrong.  I need out before I end up in a screaming match with Ms. Assface and get fired.

In the meantime, for purposes of distraction – I’m going to re-institute something I used to do on my blog:

Song of the Day: “Titanium” – David Guetta feat. Sia; also cover version by Madilyn Bailey

Today’s Time-Waster: www.grumpycats.com

What I’m Craving: Cheese.

Pour Myself a Cup of Ambition

So, I found a new job. I had been on many, many interviews. Most of them were a waste of time. I did not want to be a secretary. I did not want to do filing. I also did not want to work in an office full of cranky, hateful asswipes. Oh, and more money. Because fuck poverty.

My new job is awesome. I’m sure I’ve said that before, a long time ago. But this time? This is different. I’m not being thrown to the sharks. Sure, my predecessor quit unexpectedly, but the job wasn’t vacant long and did not go through three one-week wonders before I got there. My office is twice the size of my old office. I’m making $5K more a year, starting. And I do not come in to 50 emails detailing (1) how I fail at life and (2) how they still want me to do three weeks worth of work in the next three days. The new people are nice and they have low expectations. Also, they bring food. They have my favorite sodas in the fridge (I seriously thought I was the only Fresca drinker on the planet.) There is a candy dish on every available surface. And they are very happy to discover that no, I did not feed them full of bullshit, I actually do know what I’m talking about.


Had a long conversation with Mr. Music (my former boss) last week, wherein we both cackled maniacally and discussed how strange we both felt about being in a situation where no one is being a dick. Like, we both sort of expect the worst of everyone and feel terribly odd when it doesn’t happen. The new associate I work with (hmm, nickname time. I’ll call him Mr. Clean, since he’s bald) is a lot like Mr. Music, so it’s not as much of a culture shock as it could be. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still a culture shock. I still wonder how long the happy will last. But at least for now, it’s giving me the chance to get my head back in order instead of just being emotionally exhausted from dealing with the crazy all day.

The one thing I do miss is having lunch with BFRB every day. Today, I went and ate something, and still had like half an hour to kill. So I went to Target, which is conveniently right around the corner. I may see if I can leave half an hour earlier and only take a 30 minute lunch…having extra time to shop will pretty much negate the raise. And there is a LOT of shopping near the new office. Target. The mall (which has a Lush, a Sephora, a Lane Bryant, a Bath & Body Works, Dillard’s, and at least two cookie places); Talbot’s, Avenue, Wal-Mart, Shoe Carnival….all of these within about a 2 mile radius. There’s also a Barnes & Noble somewhere, I think, and some other stuff. The new place is a little further away, but by the time you factor in the parking garage trek, I leave at the same time. Also, no one at the new office is going to send me a shitty email for being one minute late.

BUT Big Brother starts up again this week, so BFRB and I are going to have a two-person watch party, which will be awesome. I hope to fucking god they don’t bring back that stupid whore Rachel again, because I will vomit. I’m done with her, and if I have to listen to that stupid annoying laugh for another season I will puke. I hope they bring back someone besides all the people who were there last season. I don’t want to be bored with my summer trash TV fix.

Why do lawyers wear neckties?

I think that, instead of having interviews for jobs, they should just throw all the applicants’ names in a bowl and draw one. If that person declines, draw another, and just keep on drawing until someone agrees to work for your minimal salary and “excellent benefits package.” That way, I wouldn’t have to devote effort to using “action words” on my idiot resume, I wouldn’t have to pretend to be nice to more penises with bar numbers, and I wouldn’t have to put on hose and/or a suit jacket when it’s 95 fucking degrees outside.

Perhaps you have gleaned from the above paragraph that I am unemployed. This is because my boss quit, and instead of taking a job in another city at a pay cut, decided to take an offer locally for a pay raise. Apparently, if you leave a law firm, you’re not supposed to go to another one, because it’s a “competitor.” I guess you’re just supposed to take your law degree and go farm soybeans or something? Or take your legal experience and go work at the grocery store? When he informed the partners of his employment choice, they pretty much escorted him out of the building…and took back his firm-issued cell phone. On which he had set up his personal e-mail.

I emailed him after I was “informed” of his choice, and I said that I pretended I didn’t already know what his plans were. I also sent him my resume, because he wanted to see if he could get me a job at the new firm. I sent this from my personal e-mail to his personal e-mail.

An hour later, the managing partner informed me that “the partners” had decided to terminate me. When I asked why (because up to this point, I had been receiving nothing but positive feedback on my job performance), he said “You don’t need a reason.” Translation: we read your former boss’s personal e-mail, which we weren’t really supposed to do, and now we’re firing you because you didn’t tattle on him when you knew he changed his plans, and also, you expressed a desire to leave this hellhole.

The day they pulled this shit, the office manager was out sick. I called her that night, and she had no idea that any of it had gone down. She’s pissed off on my behalf, and she’s going to tell anyone who calls for a reference that I was laid off. She’s also sending me job listings, one of which resulted in today’s interview.

It was one of those where they pull in all of the attorneys and put you in front of the firing squad. They seem nice, but for a firm as big as it is, they don’t pay shit. Also, while they appear to value employee longevity, sometimes it sucks walking into an office full of crusty old bitches who look down their noses at you and resent new people. (I’m not saying everyone who has been at one job for a long time is this way, but a lot of them are, at least in the legal field. They tend to be bossy and overbearing and resent it when you are not intimidated by them.)

Who knows, this job’s been open for a while and they’ve interviewed a bunch of people, and they may not even offer it to me. I’d like to explore some more options, but seeing as how unemployment is less than half my former (inadequate) salary, I’m not sure I will have much of a choice.

But I don’t want to go on a bunch of fucking interviews, either. It’s too fucking hot to be dressing up that much.

I hate lawyers.

PS – Answer to the riddle: to keep the foreskin from crawling up.

Attempting to Avoid Desk Drool…

Something nice actually happened at work on Tuesday.  Mr. Meeting, entirely unprovoked, brought the paralegals ice cream sandwiches.   

The rest of the week has been utterly boring on a stick.  While I am somewhat glad that the case which was going to make me travel again next week settled (because it was one that we had been told to get rid of, and if we’d had to actually try it, it would have meant a week of 20-hour days), having it settle means that I have not jack shit to do at work.    Oh, sure.  I could put paper in folders.  As the matter of fact, there are several folders which need to be paper-fortified sitting in my office.  But we all know that my hatred of filing blazes with the heat of a thousand suns, and I would rather surf the net and whine.   It’s kind of strange that I’m bored, because last week, I was out sick two days, and the days I was here were mostly spent sniffling, coughing, and generally wishing I was at home.  I actually went to the doctor, because at that point, the case hadn’t settled, and I knew that getting on yet another airplane when I couldn’t breathe through my nose was not going to be very pleasant, so I figured I should get some drugs and attempt to recover.   And I will admit that I was hoping that one of the drugs would be Happy Fun Narcotic-Laced Cough Syrup. 

Alas, my doctor was being a douchebag.  He gave me some antibiotics and sent me on my merry way.  Problem was, the over-the-counter concoctions were NOT DOING ANYTHING, and I was waking up all night coughing and sniffling.  So I call the nurse.  Bitch doesn’t call me back.  I call the next day, when I drug my sorry ass to work, but still felt like a steaming pile, and she was not in the least sympathetic.  She recommended some different cold medicine.    Mr. Meeting told me to go to the doctor downtown who everyone calls “Dr. Feelgood” because he will dispense the prescriptions freely.  Mr. Meeting called them for me, but unfortunately, Dr. Feelgood’s partner was out, and they couldn’t get me an appointment. The only good thing about all of this is that I have almost no appetite whatsoever, and I still don’t….I can sorta breathe, but I’m still plugged up, and nothing sounds good food-wise.  Maybe another week of this and my pants will fit the way they’re supposed to again.  What’s that movie line? Something about being one stomach flu away from my goal weight?  (Well, in my case, it’s probably more like one mild case of  pancreatic cancer away from my goal weight, but the principle applies.)   For those who wondered, St. Louis sucked monkey nuts.  First, because of how early we left on Saturday, there was a lot of boring time.  Second, we had no rental car.  (Fortunately, there was a Borders next door.)  Third, the hearing was bad, through no fault of our own….a witness flaked the hell out.  Fourth, due to said lack of vehicle, we ate at the same restaurant twice a day, every day, from Sunday through Thursday.  It was a nice restaurant, with many tasty seafood entrees, but by Wednesday, I felt as though I might be growing fins and gills, or perhaps a hard shell and some pincers.   

 This is St. Paddy’s Day weekend, so get drunk and wear green, but make sure you don’t drink so much your FACE goes green, mmkay?  And think happy thoughts, because Lando MIGHT actually get the whole weekend off, for the first time in a zillion years, so continue beaming the “YOU WILL NOT BE AN ASSTARD” rays into his boss’s brain for the next 48 hours.   

Meet Me in St. Louis.

Guess what?  This entry?  It’s going to feature some nice bitching about work!  I’m sure you’re all just SHOCKED. 

I have a hearing next week in
St. Louis.  In and of itself, this is not a horrible thing.  Getting away from this increasingly weird-vibe shithole is somewhat appealing, but leaving at 7:30 Saturday morning for a hearing that doesn’t start till Monday? Not so much.  We’re allegedly going to “be available for our client.”  Translation:  sit around in a boring-ass hotel room all fucking day for a one-hour meeting.  Heaven forbid our client should have to work on Sunday instead of Saturday.  Way to fuck up my weekend, Mr. Snorty. 

Furthermore, every time I talk to Ms. Whiny, the urge to bitch-slap her upside her (strangely flat and pointy at the same time) head gets stronger and stronger.  It’s been a long time since someone pushed my buttons in quite this fashion, and sooner or later, I fear that I will be forced to push back.  There’s only so much of being treated like a retarded five-year-old who just shit all over her 5000-thread-count sheets that I can take.   

The travel thing is weird to me right now.  When I originally applied for this job, I was unattached.  And honestly, the person to whom I was loosely “attached” for the preceding time period….well, let’s just say I never really missed him much when I was gone.  I’ve always liked to go places (especially when someone else is paying for it…hehe), and had never actually had a job where I got to go anywhere but to the fucking courthouse, bank, office supply store (and that was a rare treat), so I thought it would be fun.  Plus, I got fed a lot of shit about going to cool places.  So far, it’s been your basic Midwestern meccas that I’ve seen before…and I don’t think there’s anything “cool” on the docket until October.  Unless
Cleveland has somehow magically become cool.  At present, though, going somewhere means I will miss someone. 

The Universe does have a way of making you eat your words.  During my quasi-relationship with the former GID, and actually, in most of the ones I had before that, I felt like once a week was a perfectly acceptable…nay, DESIRABLE…amount of time to spend with your significant (or insignificant) other.  But since I have actually been involved with someone whose work schedule and mine are not exactly conducive to weeknight hanging out…someone who I actually want to spend more time with…I’ve realized that perhaps once a week is not enough.  And when that once a week is turned into 8 hours by virtue of a job that is pissing you off more and more with each passing day…well, that just blows the goat ass.