The truth of what REALLY happened on that cruise. (Warning: STRONG language. I mean, strong.)

This post was originally written in late February of 2013.  I have not altered the original post in any way, shape or form; this is exactly how I was feeling at the time.  I will only say that these are the words of a scared, frightened, stressed-out woman that had no idea of what was going to happen.

The only reason that you are reading this right now is because the legal case has been dropped, or settled.  You will now understand what stress and horror I have been living under for the last three months.  I was ordered not to discuss this, for fear it would jeopardize the case - but now it's over.  And now I'm going to scream it to the skies.

Grab some popcorn.  You're about to take a ride on the crazy train.

By the way?  The case was judged as nolle prosequi - which means that "the plaintiff has dropped the charges".  Well, well.  Maybe because you're a lying douche that never had a leg to stand on, huh?

~~

It's been more than a couple of weeks since our aborted vacation; you know, the cruise to Jamaica that we were supposed to go on.  I've been putting off explaining what happened, partially because of shame (though why, I do not know!) and partially because I was afraid that a legal case would be jeopardized because I discussed it on Facebook.  More details about that are below.

The short story is that Greg was arrested, on-board the ship, by the Broward County, Florida Police Department AND by the United States Border Patrol.  He was arrested for, and I quote, "battery and tampering with a victim/witness".  Apparently there was a warrant out for his arrest that was dated from September of 2011.  In that warrant, it was stated that "Mr. Osman has violent tendencies". 

Wha-wha-wha-WHAT???  Fucking WHAT??????

Now, if you guess that it has to do with the crazy-assed bitch of an ex-girlfriend that he literally escaped from in Florida... you would win the new car and a year's supply of Rice-a-Roni.

This fucking cunt - and yes, I say the word cunt, I do not use this term EVER, but that's exactly what she is, so that's what I'm going to say - actually put out a warrant on Greg for supposedly abusing her.  Uhhuh.  That's why he had visible bruises on his body when he fled to my house in June of 2011.  Sure, bitch.  He abused you.  Get... fucking... REAL.

Greg was a victim of domestic violence in that relationship.  When he arrived in Baltimore, he and I actually went to the House of Ruth to try and get him to be seen by a counselor.  That's how much "he abused her".  She broke his glasses - and I do mean shattered them.  But HE "abused her".  Right, got it.  He walked around here for months like a whipped dog because he was so fucking afraid that someone would hurt him - but "he abused her".  Right. 

And she actually dared to use the judicial system to put out a warrant for his arrest. 

The result was that Greg was arrested, in view of over 3,000 people, on the Liberty of the Seas on Monday, January 28, 2013.  Needless to say, I was absolutely hysterical.  We had no idea that there was a warrant out on him, because if we had known - we would have freaking taken care of it!  Also, think about this - if we had known there was a warrant out for his arrest, what makes these idiots think that we'd even come back to Florida to begin with?????  Do they think we're that fucking stupid?

He was unceremoniously hauled off of the ship in handcuffs.  I'm throwing clothes into suitcases, sobbing hysterically, not understanding anything of what's going on, what I need to do next, anything. 

Do you believe that they actually asked me if I wanted to stay on the cruise?  Say the fuck... what?  What makes these idiots think I'd just take off to Jamaica by myself while Greg's in handcuffs over false domestic violence charges?  Do they really think I'm going to just leave him in the Broward County Jail while I hightail it off to the fucking islands?  GET.... FUCKING....REAL.

So I get off of the ship, with those same 3,000 people watching me.  The ship is late taking off, you see, and we're the sole reason for that.  So, yeah, I was totally humiliated.  No doubt about it.

No thanks to the Broward County Police Department, I found a hotel to stay in.  Of course, it's 130 dollars a night, but I was so hysterical that I didn't care.  I'm in a city that I know nothing about (Fort Lauderdale), I'm stranded, my fiance's in jail and I don't even know what the fuck is happening.  So, let's see... we lost our cruise vacation for sure.  That's 800 dollars.  Plus the hotel, so that's another 130. 

Want to keep tabs with me?  It gets better.

I call my mother in absolute hysterics, who in turn calls my brother in absolute hysterics.  He calls me, not in hysterics but visibly rattled.  He dispenses advice - call a lawyer, stat.  Good idea, I think, so I start looking up lawyers.  I'm overwhelmed by the choices.  Call a few, no one answers, it's 9:00pm.  I pull up the website of the jail - I see Greg's booking picture.  He's got visible tears in his eyes.  I totally fucking lose my shit and sob, curled up, on the hotel floor.  What the fuck.  What... the... fuck.

I toss and turn all night.  Can't sleep.  Dry-eyed.  Can't eat anything - I throw up what little I can get down.  I take my blood sugar levels - it's 214.  Only 36 more points and I get to go to the hospital.  Yay.  Great vacation so far.

Dawn arrives.  I wait until the latest hour I think I can before I start calling lawyers again.  I reach one's legal secretary - I spill out my story.  I end up crying again, I can't help it.  She puts me through to the lawyer himself.  I repeat my story.  He agrees to take the case - it's 1,000 dollars for a retainer.  I call my mother, begging for help.  She agrees and pays the retainer for me.  He promises to get over to the courthouse, in the meantime, can I come down there?  I'm on my way.

Now we're up to 1,930 dollars.  Keep counting, boys and girls.

I take a cab to the office because I have no idea of where the fuck I am, and even if I did it wouldn't matter, because I still don't have my driver's license.  So that's another 20 bucks.  I get dropped off right in front of the courthouse - nice, everything's laid out nice and convenient.  Lawyers here, courthouse there, jail across the street.  Big business, I see.  I'm totally disgusted.

I enter the lawyer's office.  Small, plain, white walls, Latina secretary.  Greg's been granted bond.  2500 dollars.  Charges are felonies.  Wonderful.  I start panicking again.  The secretary tells me not to worry, hands me a card, and tells me to go down the street to the bail bond office.  I go over there, thanking Christ that I have a fair amount of cash on me - it was for the ship staff, to give them tips.  I guess they won't be getting it now. 

I enter the bail bond office.  Explained the situation.  I sit down and sign mountains of paperwork - agreeing that they could come after me for the full 2500 if he doesn't show for court, etc.  Names of family, relatives, acquaintances.  I once again feel the humiliation and the despair of the situation we're in.  I get handed papers, told to wait at the jail for his release, and bring him back to the bond office when he's out.  "It may be a couple of hours," they warn.  Great, what else do I have to do?  I fork over 250 dollars, the 10 percent required to get him out. 

So far we're up to 2200 dollars.  Not done yet.

I walk up to the Broward County Jail.  Huge, multifloor concrete building.  Forbidding looking men and women walking through a security line.  I stand there for 15 minutes, not knowing what to do - no one is paying any attention to me.  I get barked at.  "You!  Purse in locker, walk through!"  I take the key, walk through security, nothing goes off.  I try a feeble smile at the officer behind the desk - nothing.  To him, I'm a common criminal just like everyone else that's in here - supposedly.  It doesn't matter that I'm in law enforcement, working for a place a lot higher than the state of Florida.  Here, I'm a criminal. 

I sit down.  Some inane talk show is on.  It's 10:30am.  I wait and watch.  Someone comes in, kisses his girlfriend, walks behind a partition, walks out escorted by a guard and in cuffs.  Returning from a weekend out, probably.  Lots of soft muttered Spanish, guards coming in and out, bringing lunches.  The hours pass.  12:30, 1:30.  The girl from the bail bonds office comes in, ostensibly to deliver paperwork.  She tells me not to worry, that he'll be out today; they're most likely going through processing, it takes time.  I ignore her - they've got their money, I want to be left alone - and keep waiting.  2:00, 2:30.  The time ticks away.  I zone out, wishing that I was anywhere, anywhere but here.

Suddenly... he comes out of the sallyport.  I lose it.  I totally lose it.  I ran over to him and squeezed him as hard as I could, sobbing like a child, not caring what happens.  I know we stood there at least 10 minutes, if not longer.  To their credit, he didn't look the worse for wear....

Not that that's much credit.

We leave the jail and go back to the bail bond office for an appearance.  The guy hands him a bunch of papers to fill out.  Same thing I had to.  Then, a picture.  We finalize everything and go back to the lawyer's office. 

I sit down with the lawyer and ask him straight out what the worst is that can happen.  I get told 2 to 3 years of probation, no more than that - but it's such an insult when he did nothing!!!!!!  He said he'd try to get the charges down to misdemeanors, or thrown out altogether.  I nod numbly.  Asked him if we could go home.  He said yes.  Thank you, Christ - thank you.  He said that we didn't have to appear at the arraignment, he would get a waiver signed so that he could stay in Maryland until the trial, if there was one.  Thank you again, Christ - I will never doubt you exist after this.

How much is the final fee?  2500 dollars more.  1000 extra if the case goes to trial.  Fine, I say.  Let's do this.

Total cost so far:  4,700 dollars.  Plus 1,000 if there's a trial.

We end up being forced to stay in Florida one more night - it's now 5:25pm.  Too late to get a flight out.  That's another 130 dollars.  35 dollars extra to change the plane reservation to the next day - fine, let's do it.

Now the cost is 4,865 dollars.  With trial - 5,865 dollars.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was our lovely Jamaican vacation.  We returned home on Wednesday, January 30th, with a nearly six thousand dollar bill for a legal case that should never have happened, and the possibility of a felony being on my fiance's record - all because of one scorned, abusive, crazy motherfucking bitch.  The same scorned, abusive, crazy motherfucking bitch that sent him countless messages over his cell phone, over Facebook, threatening him if he didn't come back, trying to sweet talk him back, then talking "dirty" (trying to use sex as a weapon, I guess, this thing knew no bounds), then threatening ME through Facebook, using her ex-husband to message him, etc.  We had to pay for a block on his number so that she couldn't contact him anymore - we had it instituted in July of 2011.  I had to change my phone number outright because she was calling it day and night threatening me.  When that didn't work, she tried to use my Facebook account to tell me to "watch my back".  I have blocked everyone on Facebook with the same name, whether they're her or not.  I have been living in a state of semi-fear since the day he moved here, because from what I understand, this crazy bitch has a gun.  And Fort Lauderdale is 2 hours away by plane and a mere 100 dollar fare.  How do I know what this stupid turkey-neck slut is going to do?

I have been trying my best to hold it together, for Greg's sake and for everyone else's.  But it's been absolute hell having no one to talk to - because I've had to keep this quiet.  I have had nightmares since January 28th.  I have eaten very little and slept even less.  My dreams are of sinking ships, jail visits, and death.  I can no longer think about taking a vacation anywhere that is further than 50 miles from home.  I jump at the sound of sirens; I feel sick when I see a police officer walking toward me. I jump when the phone rings because I think it's the lawyer or the bail bond office calling me to tell me that I've lost the bail bond because he didn't appear for court (and this has already happened once).  I am probably going to have to go back to therapy because I can't process.  This has been nothing short of traumatic for me.  I can't even tell you how many tears I've cried since that day.  I don't know.  It seems endless.

The only reason why you are reading this now is because it's finally over.  The case has been put to rest.  (Though right now, I don't know what that outcome will be.  It'll be revealed after this sentence - I'm prewriting this so I will never have to think about it again, ever.)

Now that you know the entire story, those of you who have disagreed with me about opposing the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) now know why I oppose it; it is what happened to us that makes me believe this is not a good idea for anyone.  Those of you who know and have met Greg personally can attest to the fact that he is genuinely the sweetest, gentlest man alive - he wouldn't harm a soul.  I will never believe that he abused that woman - ever - not from what I know and not from what I've seen.  I have lived with him for the past 2 years, and I know - if he were abusive, I would know by now!

And that part about "violent tendencies".  Shit.  I have more fucking violent tendencies than he does, and anyone who knows us can also attest to that!!!

So... now what?  I don't know, honestly.  I don't blame Greg for any of this.  He was a victim of this woman.  He was abused shamefully, and it just seems that it's punishment on top of more punishment.  How can I be mad at him? 

And yet, I still suffer from this.  The utter humiliation of three thousand people watching me as I scurry off a cruise ship, the amount of money that we've had to spend to defend ourselves from someone who has little to no respect for the court system, the nightmares and fear that I feel. 

Where is my justice? 

I was told that it wasn't even worth trying to sue this woman for the money that we've had to put out defending these bogus charges.  Because (if Greg is telling it right, and I believe that he is) she has nothing anyway - she's a leech on the body society, she collects disability (of course!), she doesn't work, she's a fucking drug addict.  She'd be at home on Jerry Springer - pure trash. 

All that I can say is that Greg must've had one hell of a lapse in judgment at one time to be involved with a thing like this.  (And, yes - the word thing applies here.)

I can feel the tears again - it never stops.  It never ends.  Again... where is the justice? 

An open letter to a drama king/queen I know. Ranty and DEFINITELY not for the faint of heart.

This is probably going to be a pretty insensitive post here, so be warned.  If you're offended at the end of it - well, too fuckin' bad, heh.  :p  Here goes.

I have an acquaintance on Eff-Bee (I don't consider this person a "friend", because I've never met them in person and only know them from a forum we'd shared once long ago) that consistently and constantly complains about - well, everything.  Now, granted, they've had it hard recently.  Their spouse cheated on them and their marriage ended up breaking up because of it.  That same spouse that cheated on them is now due alimony for the rest of their life - alimony that equals thousands of dollars a month.  In turn, this person got laid off a couple of years ago from a really prominent job, and is now down to their last unemployment check.  They also have a pretty bad problem with alcohol and drinking too much.  Sounds awful, yeah?  It is, I'll agree.

But.... (isn't there always a but in there?)....

This same person has had jobs in the last couple of years - not as prominent, and it involved a commute that was hellish to the extreme, almost a 2 hour commute each way - but still, a job.  A way to eat.  A way to put a roof over their head.  This same person has been advised to leave the state in which they live and attempt to fight their ex-spouse for alimony reduction and/or elimination.  This same person has friends that have, time and time again, offered to let them live with them, help them out, get their life back on track.  This same person has been told over and over again to quit drinking and smoking, to get themselves together.

Okay?  So the stage is set;  you now know what this person is like.  Let me get to the meat of the story here.

This same person, the one to whom I refer above, consistently gets on Eff-Bee and posts negative shit.  All the time.  Things like "if you want something from me, too FUCKING bad, suck it up, blah blah".  Or things like "I have given everything, now I'm leaving you all, goodbye", etc., etc.  Constant manipulation and drama posturing.  Not too long ago, I witnessed three friends of this person being blocked because they actually dared to tell them that they was being... what else.... a drama king/queen.  People were actually fighting on this person's profile - fighting for Chrissake.  This person self-describes themselves as "untreated bipolar" and actually takes pride in this self-diagnosis.  Pride.  This person is unemployed, has been for at least a year, but still has money to drink and smoke countless packs of cigarettes a day and travel to far-away states to indulge in a hobby - yet complains that they can't find a job.  This person complains constantly about helping their greedy, selfish ex-spouse and their greedy, selfish manipulative children and their greedy, selfish father - yet they consistently send money and act as support and go "family is everything, blah blah".  This person posts links to "meaningful songs" eight times a day - literally, I have seen this person post the same video 8 times in one day - and is practically screaming "NOTICE ME".

Well, I have noticed you.  But you're not going to like what I have to say to you.

1.  Stop threatening shit and just DO it.  You're going to disappear, leave, start a new life?  You're going to quit supporting your greedy family?  Fucking DO it and quit threatening it.  Otherwise, honey, you are all talk and no action.  It gets old after a while.  Ever hear of the story of "the boy who cried wolf"?  That's you all over.  After a while, no one is going to believe what you say or even notice it for more than anything it is right now - which is posturing.  You are so contradictory - one minute you threaten everyone who "hurts your family" and the next you're like, "they're all greedy, selfish assholes, I'm done, I'm done, I'm done".  Which is it?

2.  Just because people say things to you that you don't like, it doesn't mean they're not right.  Those three friends of yours were right - when you do contradictory things, a real friend is going to call you on your shit.  A real friend will tell you when you're wrong, because that's what they do - it means they care about your dumb ass enough to let you know, "Hey, dude, I think you need to maybe consider what you're doing."  Ever think of that?

3.  The reason you don't have a job isn't because you're over 50 years old.  The reason you don't have a job right now isn't because you're overqualified.  It's because you don't want to give up your hobby.  It's because you don't want to leave the place you're living now in order to get a job or start a life elsewhere.   It's because you don't want to realize that sometimes you have to give up the things you want in life in order to survive.  Life is about survival - something you claim to know very well, but I don't really think you do.  That job you had where you had to commute 4 hours a day - yeah, it sucked that you had to do that, but you know what?  If that's what it takes to eat, to have a roof over your head, then that's what you do.  It's not for a 50 inch TV or a fancy car that you keep crying everyone wants - it's so you can eat, have clothes on your back, and a place to lay your head.  That's what you claim you want - so get out there and do it, and don't complain if you have to do things you don't want to do.  That's called doing what you have to in order to survive.  If that means working at fucking McDonald's, then that's what you do.  

4.  Life is what YOU make of it.  If your life has been a catastrophic mess for the last X amount of years, maybe you need to sit the fuck down and think about why that is.  Nothing is ordained, okay?  You need to maybe examine your own self and see what you might be able to do to turn that around.  No one, no one, NO ONE in this life "deserves" anything and no one is going to fucking help you - the help lies in your own hands.  There is no "knight in shining armor".  There is no one that's going to ride into your life on a bright white stallion, scoop you up, and "take you away", okay?  You're on your fucking own out here.  The world is cruel, and life isn't "fair".  Get used to it.  Look at the things that you do, and say, and think, and you might find that a lot of your misery is caused by things you do... and say.... and think.

5.  As someone with long-term depression, I find it reprehensible that you believe yourself to have depression of any kind and refuse to get treatment.  As a matter of fact, I find your pride in "being unmedicated" absolutely abhorrent.  You do not realize what your actions do to people around you.  You do not realize that the things you say and do can cause incredible hurt to others.  I've seen it myself with the way you treat people, even your own children (who love you despite the shit you AND your ex-spouse have done to them).  You talk a big game about what a "real friend" does, but you know what?  A real friend doesn't tell the people who care about them to "fuck off", "suck it up", because they happen to think differently than you do.  I saw you go off on someone who had talked about buying their child a Christmas gift.  How DARE you presume to think for others?  Are you omniscient now?  Is your way the only right way to think?

I only keep you on my "friends list" because I'm waiting for the next drama-filled post of yours.  I'm waiting to see you implode, because you will if you don't fucking do something about your life.  Stop treating people like shit.  Get up off of your ass and do SOMETHING - anything.  Get a job, move away from that hellhole you call a state, start making money off of your hobby, do SOMETHING.  You've got plenty of friends left that will be more than willing to help you - that is, if you can keep from alienating them any further.  Stop crying about how your life sucks - because let me tell you something, pal - there are plenty, plenty, PLENTY of people in the world whose life sucks more than yours ever will.

Maybe try a little GRATITUDE for what you do have.  It works wonders.

End of rant.

Angry at the world tonight.

I don't know why, but I've been feeling like shit for the last couple of days. Part of it might be that I've been working a whole bunch of overtime recently (unwillingly), but... tonight was just weird. I once again felt that sense of disconnection with people, with life, and I've been crying on and off all day today. It reminds me of the old days when the depression took over.

There could be a lot of reasons for it, of course; it's getting close to a certain time of the month (oh, shut up, whiners, and deal), it's been raining the last couple of days and therefore kind of miserable out... the holidays have finally arrived and I'm feeling pressure, my finances are getting kind of bad because of all of the expense, I've been working a lot, Greg's been working a lot... it could be any or all of those things. Tonight, Greg and I had a few awkward moments... I can't really call it a fight, because it wasn't, but... things were not as they usually are and I could feel it in the air. It bothered me. It scared me.

I'm trying so hard not to be pessimistic, but it just seems to be my second nature now, no matter how hard I try to look on "the bright side" of things. I've been screwed over, fucked with, made fun of too much to be any other way. I keep waiting for that shoe to fall. I'm trying not to... but I can't help myself. :(

I felt bothered enough to go looking up old "enemies", if you will. And things haven't changed. I'm still angry with them. I still want to take a chunk out of their heads. It's still the same stupid toxicity, years later. I can't ever allow myself to think it'll be any different. Why do I seek it out still? Is it something within me that won't let go? What is it that I want to hear from these people - "I'm sorry"? Heh... sorry lies between the words shit and syphilis in a dictionary. What difference will it make, hearing it now?

In one particular person's case, I guess I feel cheated of the chance to rip her fucking head off and shove it down the stem of her neck. That's what I really want to do - write her (or better yet, tell it to her face) a big "fuck you, bitch" note. There's something that she did that I cannot and will not ever forgive her for - even though the original situation is long over and I don't really care about it anymore, the fact that she fucked me over while it was happening.... well, that's enough right there for her to earn a permanent place on the shit list.

Actually, I'm mad at a couple of people from that time period, one of whom I couldn't get mad at before. So.... I guess that's progress, in a way.

I wish I could blank out the last six years - the last thirty years, really - and start over again.... sigh.

Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow. I don't know.

Slowly getting my life back in order.

The alarm system has been installed, and don't think for one second that I don't feel better about it. There's some residual fear, of course; no doubt that I'll be trying to hide my electronics for a while - but for the most part, I don't feel crawly and disgusting when I walk through my own house. Some things will be hard to deal with (I can't get over the fact that these douches had their filthy, thieving hands all over my clothes), but in time that'll fade away. At least, I hope so.

Things are somewhat of a mess. I need to call a few people (my doctor, for one, he's probably worried out of his mind by now), and I may have trouble paying my bills for a while because everything's on lockdown, sigh. I just need to take things one step at a time, I guess.

Next thing on the list are security doors for the front and back of the house. I'm not playing with the drug-added assholes of this city. They're going to leave my shit alone if I have to have a fucking pit bull on guard outside, alarms everywhere, a motion light detector outside of my house and in the fucking street. I work too Goddamned hard for my things and I'll be damned if some jerkoff is just going to walk the fuck on in here and take it because they feel like it.

Heh. Yep, it's the anger stage. Way better than fear any day.

I'll be just fine once I get back to work, which I'm planning on doing tomorrow. I'm not going to let this rule my life. It's time to kick ass.

Peace.

A rocky start to the new year.

I won't beat around the bush with this entry - there's no point to it. Basically, I got into a rather violent confrontation with my mother this evening. What about, right? She started in again about how my brother was having monetary problems and she was sending him money, lalala. Now, I don't care that he's having money problems - aren't we all - but what I DID care about is that she just starts talking about him again. I don't care, I don't give a fuck, I don't want to know. This is what she always does. Every time I talk to her, she mentions him, and she always makes excuses for him no matter what bone-headed thing he does. So I told her what I thought, that he'd made some pretty bad decisions and maybe that was why he was having money problems. Like, say, having 9 cats. Having 9 cats equals a big fucking money drain! "Oh, they've had those cats. They were doing well once, would you get rid of those cats if you fell onto hard times?" Yes, I would, because that's a money drain. "Oh, no, you wouldn't!"

Uhh.... DON'T tell me what I would do. You obviously don't know me.

Then I proceeded to tell her that I wouldn't be so damned foolish as to have 9 cats in the first place. So then the huge question pops up... "Are you jealous of your brother?"

I said no, but you know what? Yeah, I fucking am. I'm jealous that he's gotten all of your love and attention and happiness over the years. I'm jealous that I've suffered from goddamn emotional abuse all of my life while apparently he gets off scot-free. Yeah, I'm fucking jealous. Sue me. Then she said that she's helped me out plenty (she has, I never fucking said she didn't) and that "he's had it hard, and I don't appreciate you criticizing my parenting decisions".

Anyway, that question prompted a furious lecture, to which I laid out everything I was thinking and everything that I'd told my therapist, including how his bullshit girlfriend fucking abused me while she was busy going out marching for peace and love and all of that crap. It was not a pleasant end to the conversation at all. I ended up hanging up on her, something that I have NEVER done. I screamed into the phone that I was busy, that I DIDN'T want to have this conversation (which I had actually warned her earlier not to pursue, which she didn't listen), and that I'm sick of hearing about my brother and don't want to hear anymore. Click.

And then I couldn't stop crying. I just couldn't stop crying, even through a warm shower and huddling up on the sofa in a fetal position. Happy new year to me, indeed.

I'm awake several hours later. I'm sitting here now and while I still feel raw, while there are still tears coming out of my eyes, I won't take it back. For once in my life, I was honest about how I feel. For once in my life, I told it like it is. If that means that she's mad, too bad. Let WonderSon come up here and take care of her for a change - not that he will, trust me. In that, he's like my father, not giving a fuck what his actions wrought, even if it's emotional destruction.

The really ironic thing about the whole situation is that I'm the one that made good. I'm the one that works their ass off at an odious, emotionally-draining job and doesn't ask for a goddamn thing. He's chronically unemployed and living in fucking "paradise" - only his paradise has now soured because my sister-in-law is in a wheelchair and can no longer work so "he's depressed". Awwww. So sorry, but you know what? It's an excuse. He has a goddamn degree from a culinary school, he can go to work at a restaurant somewhere - fuck, he could OPEN a restaurant. The excuse I got from my mother? "He's too old to do that, he can't stand long hours on his feet anymore."

AND I CAN??? I can stand on MY feet for 8 hours a day serving angry, drug-addicted criminals screaming epithets at me, but he can't stand on his feet for a little while cooking food? EXCUSE!!!!!

Yeah, look, I'm sorry for my sister-in-law, being disabled is hard and especially the way she is, but you know what? You take what you're given in life, no matter how little that is, and you do the best with what you have! You get out there and you WORK IT. My sister-in-law is in a wheelchair and has no control over her limbs - so fine, yeah, she's got an excuse. My brother has NO EXCUSE. NONE.

And I'm blue fucking pissed at my mother because she assumes that I'm ungrateful for the help she's given me. Yeah? I'm ungrateful? So how come I just bought her a fucking television set yesterday for Christmas/New Year's? After I had lunch with her the other day? We went to fucking Best Buy and I bought her a television, a nice flat-screen TV. I offered her a larger size TV than the one she bought, as a matter of fact. "I have the money, don't worry about it." Does this sound like I'm ungrateful for the help she's given me? DOES IT? Does my brother, Saint Kelly, have the wherewithal to buy her a TV set for the asking? Huh? I don't hear any fucking answer from the peanut gallery, so I guess the answer is no!

I am not going to put up with any more abuse. If this means she's mad at me and doesn't talk to me for a few days, so be it. She knows there isn't anyone else up here to take care of her needs and get to her instantly, so she's going to have to make it up to me somehow. And even if she doesn't - so what? It's a weight off of my shoulders.

It's time to start living for myself. I am DONE with this fucking guilt-trip bullshit. FUCKING. DONE.

A Christmas rant, just for you.

I will open this post by stating that I am sick and tired of being made to feel guilty for the choices I make, especially by my so-called family. I just got off the phone with my mother (of course - didn't you all see this coming?), who asked me what I was doing for the holiday tomorrow. Well, now, duh - I talk to her at 7:30pm every day (shades of my grandmother, sigh) and she KNOWS what's going on in my life (i.e., nothing). What makes her think that I have any plans for the holidays? I mean, really? Does she not fucking pay attention to what I say to her?

So I told her the truth - it's just another day for me. I'll probably clean the house and unpack some more. "Aren't you going to eat?" Well, yeah, a tuna fish sandwich and a bowl of soup later, perhaps. What makes her think I'm going to eat anything other than that? What in her mind is making her think that I'm going to sit down to Christmas dinner somewhere with people? Then she does what I call the "oh" - saying the word in a half-surprised, half-guilty voice. I fucking HATE that. I really, really fucking hate that.

I swear that I don't think she really ever listens to what I say. Mainly because most of the time she's bringing up my brother or his problems or what he thinks or what he did. I. Don't. Care. When is she going to GET that?

Yeah, okay, I'm alone on Christmas Day, wah, boohoo, what a tragedy. I WAS okay with that decision up until now. Now? I feel like shit. She actually asked me on the phone if I wanted to come over to her house. "Why? You're only asking me that because you feel guilty that I'm by myself on Christmas Day and you think I'm depressed. That's the reason you asked, isn't it?" For once, she was honest and said yes.

Yeah, well, thanks, Mom. Now I AM depressed, because apparently my decision isn't good enough for you. But when is that new? When is ANYTHING I do ever going to be enough? I mean, I know I'm not my sainted brother who's just the apple of everyone's eye or anything, but Christ, I'm human too. When are you going to fucking realize that?

Okay. Now I'm angry AND crying. Jesus. Way to go, Mom, you score again. Thanks a whole fucking lot. Why couldn't you just have left me alone?

Someone wake me up on January 1st, please.

Thoughts about Katrina.

Today is the fifth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. It's so hard to believe that that was five years ago... and I remember the horror of it all, thinking that New Orleans was doomed and that they'd never get all of that water out of the streets and that they'd find so many dead bodies, etc., etc. And in some ways, that did come true - some of the pictures were and are horrific. But I'm impressed with how N.O. rebounded after everything was said and done. It's not all fixed, of course - that'll take decades. There's still houses for sale in the Ninth Ward - I actually went on a real estate website for that area and looked at the offerings. I could actually buy 3 or 4 houses there for what I paid for this one, fix them up, make a profit - but I wouldn't. What I'd really like to do, if I had the money to, would be to buy those houses, fix them up, then just give them away to the ones that needed them - or if I had to sell them, sell it for a dollar, help those folks out. I don't really know that people would move back down there, though. I know that I wouldn't, myself, not because I'm afraid, but because I just don't like the South - I didn't like living in Georgia, so I know I wouldn't enjoy it there.

It amazes me that I had thoughts along these lines. It could be that I still have a shred or two of compassion for my fellow man - how about that.

One of the most heartbreaking pictures that I ever saw from Hurricane Katrina was one of a woman who had lost her... husband, boyfriend, not sure of the relationship... and was crying next to his body.


The body wrapped in the sheet had a name - Xavier Bowie. A lot of people didn't or weren't able to put names with the horrific images that they saw in the days after the hurricane. But those people that lived through this, they know and remember. It's still sickening to see images like this one five years later, and know that the man in this picture, Mr. Bowie, died because he ran out of oxygen and wasn't able to get medical help in time. A senseless, ridiculous death that didn't have to happen.

I was working at Bank of America then, on the late night shift, as a check processor. So I had a lot of opportunity to listen to the radio - specifically talk radio - and hear the live reports as they were coming in from New Orleans those couple of confusing days where no one knew what was going on, whether people were alive or dead - and as early as the next day, people sure were pointing fingers and assigning blame. It was disgusting, hearing some of these people speaking, especially the conservative faction like Sean Hannity and Michael Savage. (And let me tell you something, if you want to hear a reincarnation of Adolf Hitler ranting, tune in to Michael Savage. It's fucking EERIE how similar they sound. Seriously.) I can only imagine, five years on, what nonsense Glenn Beck is mouthing to the sheeple in D.C. at the tea party rallies.

(Can you all tell that I am not a fan of the extreme right? Tee-hee.)

Sure, I think that a lot of things were done the wrong way after the storm. I remember a rather juicy, angry post I'd made about the FEMA-issued debit cards back then when I still had my LiveJournal account - how I was angry about some of the less-scrupulous taking tax dollars to buy Coach purses, expensive jewelry, nights out on the town, etc. That was definitely not the way to go, and I'm still really ticked off that people would be so avaricious. But I have the gift of introspection, and there's always going to be a few people in every massive crowd that will not do the right thing, that will take the easy way out, that are soft and weak. The majority of those people did the right thing and used it for living expenses, for things they needed and not wanted. I know that, deep down.

I'm more disgusted with the fact that the state of Louisiana and the city of New Orleans didn't have concrete plans in place to deal with an emergency like this. To this day, I'm haunted by the fact that all of those school buses sat in a yard, flooded, instead of being used to get these fucking people OUT OF THERE.


Yeah, I know, some people were stubborn and didn't want to leave, but you know what? Had I been the governor of Louisiana, or the mayor of N.O., they wouldn't have had a fucking choice. You either leave, or you'll be forced to leave - whether you have to be arrested or not. But the picture above is just... fucking... sad. They could have used those buses, Greyhound buses, ANYTHING to get people out of there.

There is and was so much wrong with the way this was handled that I can't even go into it all, because the post would be the entire page and then some.

Five years on, New Orleans is still trying to make a comeback. I hope they do. I can't even imagine what would happen to us here in Baltimore if a similar situation arose - and it could happen, y'know. We're near a harbor, and it's flooded before after a hurricane. Just not to this level, because a cat. 5 has never come up here (it probably won't, as we're too far inland for conditions to be right). But one never knows, that's the point.

How do you end a post like this? A touching "rest in peace" for the dead? Or fervent hopes and wishes for the living? A warning that something like this could, Christ forbid, happen again? What do you say to these people that have had so much taken from them, but given the strength and the courage to survive the unsurvivable?

Just as those who don't have depression will never understand what I go through.... I will never understand, as an outsider who didn't live through Hurricane Katrina, what these people have suffered.

And I thank whatever deity that you may/may not believe in that I was spared that knowledge.

Songs that make me absolutely sick.

I was watching VH-1 Classic this morning (often something I do when there is absolutely nothing on the tube - it's amazing, I have DirecTV satellite and yet out of 500+ channels there's still zero airing that isn't dreck), and they were having a "Totally 80's" block. (Shut. the. fuck. up. It's my generation, damn it, so kiss my round red ass.) Anyway... they were playing mostly good stuff, but there are some tunes from that era that were disgustingly "feel good, positive, chin up, happy happy" bullshit. Since the 80's were basically not a very happy period of time for me as a rule, those songs tend to make me want to vomit.

Unfortunately, some of them are making a comeback. Why, I could not tell you.

I now present some of the most disgusting tunes ever made - at least in my opinion. The videos are included, though why you would ever watch them, I have no idea. I know I won't be. (Note: they're not all from the 80's, but for some reason that decade was the most nauseating...)

1.) Katrina & The Waves - "Walking On Sunshine"




This is the video that got me thinking about this whole subject. I mean, come on. First of all, those three guys walking behind this bitch look anything but happy to be in this silly, sad video. And it's common knowledge that "the Waves" aren't nearly as important in this act as "Katrina", whom I suppose is pretty enough but quite frankly looks like she's singing about her girlfriend, if you know what I mean. (Not that there's anything wrong with that, but let's face it, those tennis shoes of hers don't make her look real feminine, know what I'm saying?) Second, if you're going to be doing a video about sunshine - pick a sunny day and not a foggy, gray rainmaker. Though the shots of the bridge in London are a nice touch. It does occur to me that it could be a statement of irony, but I honestly don't think that was the intention - they don't look intelligent enough for it.

2.) Bobby McFerrin - "Don't Worry (Be Happy)"



This is the song that is on my all-time shit list. Don't worry? Is this guy fucking nuts? It's obvious this asshole has never suffered with depression or has even heard of it. Plus that guy going "whoo-hoo-hoo" in the bridge makes me want to curl my nails into his throat and rip it out - Jesus, how irritating. This video is actually cut off in the middle of the song - which for me is sweet fucking relief. I think this one actually vaults above Miss Katrina up there for the "most fucking annoying" award. The real kicker about this song is - this douchebag doesn't even give you a reason why you shouldn't worry about things. Just unbridled, unthinking optimism. That's how people get hurt, motherfucker. Sad thing is, this dick laughed all the way to the bank with people's money. I guess he doesn't have to worry about shit, now does he?


3.) Fleetwood Mac - "Don't Stop"



It absolutely breaks my heart to have to put Fleetwood Mac on this list, because I've always liked them so much, especially the tracks "Dreams" and "Rhiannon", which are nothing short of beautiful. But this song is an abomination. The lyrics - ugh. "Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone." Thanks for reminding me, assholes. I already regret that I've lost so much of my life to depression, I really don't need a reminder that I've wasted yet another day because I can't manage to hold my head up without sobbing my heart out. Jerks. My only consolation is that maybe Christine McVie and Lindsey Buckingham were LSD-tripping when they wrote this - I could possibly forgive them.

4.) Lee Ann Womack - "I Hope You Dance"



This bitch just...doesn't... get it. It's obvious that this song is for people that have never had one thing go wrong in their lives - that or fools, because you would be a fucking idiot to be that frigging optimistic. Thanks, but I will sit this out and be glad to do so, because I'm of the real world. What a douche. And so obviously trying to cater to the "girly-girl", the so-called "sisterhood", blah blah. Such a joke. I won't even get into that subject, because that's another rant altogether.

5.) Johnny Nash - "I Can See Clearly Now"



"I can see clearly now, the man's insane!
I can see all the bullshit that's in his way....
Gone is the common sense I thought he had,
He's going to sing a dumb (dim), dense (thick) piece of crap song!"

Heh, no doubt there'll be a part two....

More bitching. Lucky you.

There's a lot of things that have been going on as of late, but for some reason I haven't felt the need to really describe them. Unfortunately, my mental health as of late hasn't been too good, although as usual I give off the appearance that everything is fine. I'll tell you, if I had wanted to, I would have made a mighty fine actress - though in truth I think it's that people see what they want to see. But, anyway.

This time of the year is never good for me, because my dreaded birthday is this month, toward the last 2 weeks. Just as I didn't share when it was last year, I won't do it this year, either. I just don't want to think about it, or celebrate it in any way. This might sound really bad, but I don't see the day I was born as something to celebrate or anything particularly noteworthy. It's a day like any other. It's a day where I made an appearance in a world that I never wanted to be in.

Unfortunately, what's happening at work is coloring a lot of my outlook right now, and a lot of it is not too pleasing to me at the moment. It's a long story, but there's a lot of changes going on and it's not for the better in my view. I am tired of the idiots I have to deal with day in and day out, I'm sick of explaining myself over and over and over and over and over (when anyone with a fucking brain can understand what I say), I'm tired of dealing with the dregs of society who do nothing but leech off of the system and do nothing to fucking help themselves. I'm sick of dealing with fucking urine and people who don't have the basic fucking sense to wear a goddamn sanitary pad or tampon when they're fucking bleeding. I'm tired of dealing with people who deliberately piss on the floor, don't flush the fucking toilets after themselves... this is the bullshit I have to deal with day in and day fucking out here. I'm utterly SICK of it.

I didn't mean this to turn into a rant, but in truth I guess that's what it is. Fuck it. Ask me if I care what anyone thinks.

Yes, I know, I'm grateful to have a job, blah blah. It's still my blog and I'll bitch if I choose.

Wish that I had some better news to report, but the truth is that there isn't.

I'm doing okay with my classes, at least that, though the math is giving me trouble as per usual. Screw it - I'm going for a criminal justice major, not a math major - as long as I get my C, fuck it. So far I'm managing to pass it, and if I stay there, all is well.

That's about it. Sorry that it's not more exciting or that I'm not in a better mood, but if you know me by now, you know that you either take what you get with me at the time, or you're welcome to walk. I could care less either way.

'night for now.

More shower ruminations.

I recall that exactly this time last year, or close to it, I wrote a post about having rambling, disjointed thoughts in the shower. Funny how it's happened a year to the day that my mind is also focused on this topic...

Anyway, I was thinking this morning about certain happenings going on over at Facebook with my friends, apparently all interested in catching up on their past. Friends from high school talking about a reunion (it's 20 years this year - big whup), people from the BBS's making groups, blah blah. I was thinking about all of that, and measuring how vested an interest I have in all of it... and, well, call me antisocial but somehow this is all striking a "so what?" chord in me.

At one time, I would have been thrilled to revisit my past. But for me, "revisiting" always, without fail, tries to turn into "reliving". And for me, that's dangerous, not to mention counter-productive to what I'm trying to do, which is reconcile my past - to accept it, and to move on to whatever future there is.

My high school was, in a word, strange. It was certainly segregated into black/white terms (though you wouldn't think it would be, for an inner city school - but it was, there's no getting around that) and definitely had its "in" groups, including one particularly powerful clique that had been friends since they were knee-high, and more or less controlled nearly everything in the place - not really so different from a lot of American high schools, I suppose. They're still friends to this very day. Powerful stuff, I guess. But in truth, I'm thinking that high school cliques only mattered - in high school. Today, 20 years later? Big whup, right? :p

I never really fit in anywhere, which is the pattern of my life. Not with the powerful clique(s), not with the black kids, not with the "slow learners" because I was placed in advanced classes, no one. I became a chameleon. I learned to adapt. But in truth, I had nothing but acquaintances. People I hung out with, but never really got to know.

So I'm faced with the possibility of a 20-year high school reunion maybe coming up. Am I going? Honestly... if I'm asked (which I doubt I will be), I will have to say no. Because I'm not like them, never have been. I truthfully don't feel that I'm a part of .. well, whatever group(s) they have, not then and not now. And 20 years ago means nothing now, as my enrollment in school shows. Things have changed, the world has moved on. I need to, as well.

As for the BBS thing... I'm a little less torn about that, but my head is still in the same place for the most part - let it lie. No good can come of digging up old bodies and issues. Yes, I had some great times, but they can't be relived. I also think of the really awful times I had, too, and for some reason, that's what sticks out in my head. There are still people I'm angry with from that period of time, and I haven't resolved my issues with them as of yet. There are bigger fish to fry right now.

Anyway. I have to dash off to work, but I figured I'd share these disconnected thoughts floating through my brain this morning. Any comments are welcomed, as you all know.

:p

A mish-mash of jumbled thoughts all wrapped into one pretty package.

I've been snowed in over here for the last week. Haven't had to work or deal with drug addicts or urine for nearly 7 days now. However, during the course of this massive storm, I've had to check every day for the operating status of the gubmint - there's a special website we go to in order to know whether we're open or closed - and in the course of reading several federal-related blogs, I've come across sentiments like these below:

"Those of us who work for a living are honored to support your lazy butt staying in bed...it isn't as if you woulda done anything had you been there!

Yep, what we need is bigger Government!"

(Taken from The Federal Eye, 2/10/09)

Or...

"The federal workers who had a day off today should have been required to shovel snow."

Or this little gem here...

"The Federal Government -- great "work" (and I'm using that term very loosely-- if you can get it. For us poor schmucks out in the occupied provinces who have to pick up the tab, it's not so good."

Okay. This is all I've got to say about this bullshit above -

1.) I'd telework if I could do so, but it's a little difficult taking urine over the Internet. If anyone's got a way to do this, bring it on and let me know, because I'd have rather worked than spent this entire week snowbound at home. It's not like I could get out of my house, anyway.

2.) The Washington Metro subway isn't running. Neither are the MARC trains. What do people expect me to do, walk from Baltimore? It's not happening. I can't even get down to Calvert Street, never mind D.C. If the public transportation doesn't run, neither do I. You tell me what to do, should I hang on to the back of a fucking snowplow?

3.) If you had to work all this week in a snowstorm, blame your employer - not me. I don't set your hours. If it were up to me, I'd let everyone have a free week off, pay you, the whole deal. This wasn't a vacation for me. I spent 3 out of the last 7 days going stir fucking crazy in this house - I know I've had at least one depressive attack, if not more. So as far as I'm concerned, those who are complaining can shove it up their asses.

This has been the biggest snowstorm.. well, ever. This is unprecedented. We here in Baltimore/D.C. are not used to this bullshit, this isn't Minnesota. People should not expect us to know what to do in a situation like this, because it's never happened. We just have no clue about how to cope.

In other news... I'm upset about my checking account. Some company on the Internet decided to pluck my debit card number out of thin air and run 320 dollars' worth of charges on my account. That was pretty much my entire paycheck for the next 2 weeks, so I'm needless to say furious. I've disputed the charges, of course, but since this is my checking account, I literally have no money until the next payday. In some ways, I'm lucky that I didn't have to work this week, because I'd be in serious trouble if I had. My debit card is my lifeline, literally, and the fact that I had to cancel it, that is also a source of fury. I knew that number backward and forward to the point where I didn't even need the actual card itself. Now I have to memorize a whole new number - good luck with that.

I'm working it out, but in the meantime I'm fucked. I will say one thing - do not, do not, do not do any business with a place called Digital River - they're somewhere in the wilds of fucking Minnesota. Apparently they handle some antivirus shit. I don't need such services, so I know damned well these charges are unfuckingauthorized. But I'll get it taken care of. I've reported them to the BBB, too. Let's see how they enjoy that little piece of news.

I did, however, pay off a good chunk of my debts this week. I'm not sure of how much credit-to-debit ratio I have now, but I know it's under 40%. That's good. That's VERY good.

Anyway, hopefully they'll clear these streets up soon so I can get out of here for a while. I don't really want to go back to work, but if they do call open tomorrow, it'll be okay - it's Friday. Won't be much going on.

No word on the crim grades yet. Doing well in the math course, surprisingly. And the IFSM is disgustingly easy. So far.

Okay, that's it for now. Nothing else doing.

An open letter to the people I serve at work. Part II.

This is in continuation of the original letter that I had written in August. Now that the holidays are here, you and I need to get a few more things straight, Mr. or Ms. D.C. Drug Addict. Ready? I just know you are.

1.) There's a reason behind everything we ask you. When we tell you to hang your coats up on the hooks outside the bathroom door - do it. Don't give us an argument about how all of the money you own is in the pockets - if you're smart, you wouldn't announce that anyway - or how you're worried about someone stealing it. It's not possible, the hall is videotaped. The fact is, coats aren't allowed in the bathrooms. Deal with it.

2.) Do NOT assume we have public toilets. Do NOT come into this unit and just barge your way back into the bathrooms. This is not a public facility. If you're not testing, or being escorted, you need to find a bathroom elsewhere. Stay the fuck out of ours. I had one lady who was scared shitless because one of you idiots barged right in on her while she's trying to wipe herself, for fuck's sake. If you're not testing, you don't belong back there - STAY OUT.

3.) Don't dump your shit all over the counter. If I give you a paper to sign, it means you're finished with my part of the process. It does NOT mean that you then dump a bag of 19, 20 medications out in front of me and expect me to write them down. You are supposed to show me your medications BEFORE you sign, not after. If I have to write down all of your medications (which can take up to 20 minutes depending on how much you take), it means I have to start the whole sign-in process from the beginning. I am not inclined to do this, nor will I take kindly to you if I'm forced to do it. Show me your medications when you first come in here. It'll make it easier for both of us.

4.) Communicate properly. I speak English and very limited Spanish. I do NOT speak "Mumble". When you come up to me, speak clearly and intelligbly. Don't expect me to understand what you're saying if you come up going "nonfivetreesicktoofoh". The last I heard, the number 9 was pronounced "nine", 4 is "four" and not "foh". I understand about accents, but this shit I'm hearing from you all borders on another language, and I don't speak it. So make an effort and make sense.

5.) Control your crotchfruit. I understand that a lot of you have children. I also understand that sometimes you're not going to have people to watch them and you have to drag them with you into the unit, as sad as that is. That's fine. But if you do bring them in here - CONTROL them. The benches are not there to be jumped off of, nor are the line posts there to be played with. This is not a playground. If your precious darling busts their head open, that's your fault for not watching them, not ours, though I'm sure you'll try to sue us anyway. Gotta get your drug money from somewhere, right?

I'm sure more will come up, eventually, but this will do for part 2, anyway. And as an aside to my coworkers - get a fucking life, most of you are just as idiotic as the "customers".

Rant over.

Feeling sad and down.

I haven't been feeling real well as of late, as most of you already know. I was diagnosed with a viral infection and was ordered to stay home for part of the week - something I absolutely hate to do, I have the sick time but I don't like to take it - so I've been feeling like crap for the most part. My mental state has also not been good, for a couple of reasons....

What I am about to say may offend the few friends that I have left. If it does offend you, all that I can say is that I'm sorry, and that it's how I feel, and one of the things that I need to be in order to cope with my mental illness is honest with myself.

Some of what is making me sad right now is that I seem to be losing a lot of friends to what I call "The Great Pregnancy Wave of 2009". They're getting pregnant and... losing their sense of identity. Know what I mean? Suddenly it's "the baby" this, "the baby" that, here's the baby clothes baby crib baby sonograms baby names baby baby baby babybabybabybabybaby....

What happened to YOU? My friend? The one who has a separate identity from this person that is now apparently inside of them and has taken over every aspect of your life?

Look, I understand that it's an exciting time in someone's life, for those who choose to or can have children. And that's great, I'm happy for you - honestly. But when it starts to BE your whole life... it gets to be monotonous, boring, and for those who CAN'T have children, hurtful - because it makes them feel even less of a person than they already do. I have one friend that has not posted any kind of an update or has talked about ANYTHING other than her new baby... in over a year. Every single sentence is about how precious and sweet and beautiful her baby is, it cooed, it grinned, it belched, it threw up, etc. Not ONE word about how HER life is, how she feels, what she wants or needs. It's as if she has ceased to exist.

I am starting to realize that I have less and less in common with ANYONE anymore.

What bothers me even more than this, however, is that I'm doing my best to strike out and meet new people... and the people that I meet always have something about them that is a total dealbreaker.

This example is purely hypothetical - but please keep it in mind, because the real situation isn't that far off from what I'm about to tell you.

I met a person recently that I had a lot in common with, and we got along quite well... until they revealed to me that they absolutely despise homosexuals. And I mean DESPISES them - thinks that they should be stoned, thinks them ignorant and stupid and blah blah blah, so on and so on. I felt sick... because I don't at ALL feel that way. And the more I think about it, the more I don't want to hang around this person, even though it's the first friendship I've managed to make since Christ-knows-when.

It's ripping me up. Because even though I like this person, I cannot deal with the hatred. It's awful. It's senseless. And for me, it's a dealbreaker. I've felt horrible ever since that last conversation, because I can't bring myself to call them or to Email them or anything... I just don't want to know anymore. What if I were homosexual, or black, or whatever else one can think of that's been a target of hatred over the years? Would this person feel differently about me? How are they going to react when they find out I'm severely overweight? Will I change in their eyes?

It's a risk I don't want to take. It's a risk that I CAN'T take.

It hurts that there's still so much hatred in this world. It's why I've retreated for so long into a shell that I just don't want to come out of. Call me foolish for still desiring some utopia that will never exist, but... I have no room in my life for people that hate. I just can't and won't put up with it.

Consequently I feel very sad and just... flat today. I hope things get better. :(

Facebook "friends". How insidious. And how wrong.

This past weekend, I had found a person on Facebook that I had worked with at the computer store a long, long time ago... granted, it's been years, at least 15. So I send a request to be added onto his list... and he sends me a mail back. "Help me remember you." So I described my vitals, blah blah, who I am and how I knew him and all of that...well, apparently he remembered me - but didn't add me to his list, effectively snubbing me.

Now... even just a year ago, this so-called "rejection" would have had me doing the screaming meemies dance. People with depression, remember, don't see the world the same way that you do. I would have taken it as "the end of the world".

Today? Fuck 'em.

That's the thing about Facebook and similar social networking sites... they are so incredibly flawed as to whom to consider "friends". I have 118 people on my contact list, currently. One is family (my cousin). Three are very, very close friends, the best friends I have. Three more are friends that, while not extremely close, are close enough that I would consider a necessity in my life. The rest? Well... how well do I know them, or they me? A good deal of them are from either high school days (where no one knew anyone), or from my various places at work. So... 7 out of 118? See what I mean?

Facebook and the like shouldn't term people as "friends". I, with my social anxiety and depression, do not have anything close to 118 "friends". Maybe six if I'm lucky.

And for people like me - even for people like you, dear Reader - it's misleading. It's insidious, how places like this have taken over the landscape of the Internet, really. I see people at work checking their "eff-bees" constantly... "Oh, what did he say, what does she think?" Does it really matter? Do you have to be "on" 24 hours a day? I would think that would be more exhausting than just unplugging and chilling out, wouldn't you think?

I'm starting to move away from it, just as I have IRC, just as I have WinMX and the BBS scene. I've been there for all of it, and quite honestly... it was good but I wouldn't do it again. What for, when I've seen the best of what each has to offer?

So as far as I'm concerned, people can refuse my "friend" requests all they like - until you've been with me through the worst of times and have put up with me through all of the crap that I've dished out... until you know me as intimately as you know your own family... you're not anywhere close to a true "friend". You're an acquaintance. That's how it is. Stick around and I might be a friend - I'm a pretty open person despite my illness - but one request on a stupid social networking site does not a "friend" make. People wish it was that easy.

Because I'm classy (despite the fact that I say 'fuck' a lot), I won't name said ill-mannered douchebag. But I could.

Rant over.

An open letter to the people I serve at work.

I know that one of the conditions of your probation or parole is to give a urine sample for drugs. I also know that this is the last thing you want to be doing - I totally get that. Did you know that in the course of a day, I do little things for you all that help the process go by easier for you? I have an idea.. let's work together so that the process goes easier for both of us. Want to know how you can do that? Great.

Have a look at the following suggestions. Feel free to use one or all of them. I won't mind a bit.

1. Come in on time. That's right, it helps greatly when you all don't bum-rush us starting at 6:30 at night all the way up to closing time. We're open for 12 hours a day. Some of you don't have employment - so in truth you have no excuse whatsoever. We work hard and we like to go home to our families and friends at night, just like you do. If you do, however, decide to be rude and come in during the last 15 to 20 minutes we're open - don't expect a warm welcome or a big smile, because you won't get it. We're tired, and we want to leave. That leads us to suggestion #2...

2. Give your sample and leave. Don't engage us in conversation in the bathrooms. You're not supposed to be talking in there anyway, it's considered a distraction. And to be frank, we're not interested in what a bitch you think your parole officer is, or your complaints about how you have to do this every week/month. We didn't put you in the position you're in - you did. Don't blame us for your stupid actions. We also know you have friends out there in the waiting room - a sad thing in itself - but we don't appreciate the loud music or the cell phones blaring the latest 'gangsta' hit or the gossiping that you all seem to do while you're there. Your requirement is to pee and leave - that's it, thanks, no more is necessary.

3. Have some pride. Seriously, folks, this one isn't hard. When you're a child, you're taught to flush the toilet. Please do so. I take back over 200 people per day - that's a lot of urine. No one wants to see your offerings in the toilet when we come in there, okay? That's just trifling, if you want to put it bluntly. I don't want to see your piss, or your used tampons floating in the water, I don't want to see crumpled paper towels on the floor, I don't want to have to apologize to the next customer that comes in there with me because you couldn't clean up after your nasty self. Hygiene is a fucking basic - I don't care how many drugs you've done, you know better than to do that shit in your home, at least I hope you do. Don't do it here either.

4. Don't argue with me; you'll lose.
This one is simple. You're there because you're on probation or parole. You're there to serve your time and to pay for what you've done wrong. Therefore if I tell you that you need to do something - you do it. Period. No arguments, no whining, no bitching. I run the show here, not you. If I have people waiting in line to submit their samples, you don't get moved to the front of the line on a whim. If I need a new picture of you, you're going to do it - if you don't, you don't test, and you can explain that to your parole officer when you're sanctioned for not doing what you're supposed to. If you need paperwork for me to process you, you'll get that paper before I do one thing to your record. You don't get it? You don't test. That's it - no argument. This is your life I'm handling here - if you don't have enough respect for your own life, that's not my problem, but I'll be damned if I'm going to get into trouble for your stupidity.

5. Do something with your life. I see too many of you on a daily basis wasting away. Get out there and do something. Can't find a job? Go back to school, they're offering financial aid and Christ knows that you all qualify, I work for a living and can't get shit so you sure have no excuse. Take advantage of the help that we're offering you. Don't sit on your ass and do nothing all day, because that's called being a parasite - and I'll be damned if you're going to feed off of me. The drugs might be tempting, but look where it got your dumb ass - in here, giving me a urine sample in a filthy bathroom. How's that working for you?

Like I said... feel free to follow these suggestions. You might find that your life will improve greatly if you do. And for those that would ignore my advice... fine by me, but you'll be in my unit year after year after year giving me urine, so get comfy, you'll be in the system a long, long time.

'nuff said.

Warning - very angry tonight. VERY angry. Don't read if you don't feel like being yelled at.

I don't even know where to start complaining, that's how pissed off I feel. It seems that all of my life, everyone has wanted something from me - and to fuck with how I feel about it. I can't count on either hand the number of people that have been in my life that didn't have some kind of fucking ulterior motive, whether it's been a favor, money, sex, attention, something. Great, fine and fucking well - but have I ever gotten anything in return? Anything but pain and heartache and hassle and fucking problems? Come on, now, don't be shy, let's hear it! Anybody?

(crickets)

That's what I thought.

This is one of those nights where everything makes me angry. I was on Facebook a few minutes ago and I just felt nothing but irritation. "Thisperson just took a quiz that says they have a 10-inch penis!" Well, whoo-fucking-hoo, that's bully for you, isn't it. If that's the culmination of what's important to you in a day, I'll seriously consider unfriending you. I am so fucking sick of stupidity! I don't give a rat's fucking ass about your penis, what kind of fucking ice cream flavor you are, whether your stupid cow wandered off your farm game, how many fake fucking chips you won at poker... I DON'T CARE. Keep that fucking shit to yourself, goddamnit. Does anyone actually give a shit about the state of the world anymore?

God, I've just had it with the fucking human race. As far as I'm concerned, I'd be happy to hole up in my apartment, and see as little of humanity as possible, because in one way or another I get fucked over. What is the motherfucking point of anything?

Want to avoid me after this post? Fine. Go right ahead, because if anyone thinks that I care, they are sadly fucking mistaken.

I am SO FUCKING DONE with idiocy. I've had it. I am DONE.

Irritation rules the day.

I've been pretty pissed off for the last couple of days, and it's starting to show. There's lots of little things that are adding up to make me one miserable fucking bitch to live with. Work (of course), partially because this stupid bitch that gets on my last nerve still isn't gone yet... "this is her last week", so they say. They said that last week, too. And I'm getting really fucking tired of doing everything by myself. Escorting these idiots, signing people in, I have to do everything because apparently my coworker (the stupid one, not the bitch - there's a difference) is now allowed to come in from 12 to 7 instead of 10:30 like the rest of us. No, I haven't asked why - I don't particularly give a fuck why, because it's still going to inconvenience me, now isn't it.

The assholes at Target are getting on my nerves as well - this morning I woke up to an Email bitching instead of a phone call. And I can't get a hold of anyone, apparently, unless I pay these motherfuckers. So I did. But I guarantee you that come Friday when I have time to sit down and make phone calls, they'll be getting a nasty, nasty one. I've already canceled the account. Who needs this shit.

Add these to waiting for my fail grade in the crim course... desperately needing a vacation.... and pretty much feeling like almost everyone's let me down as of late, and well, it's not pleasant. It's just not pleasant.

I have one more fucking day before I get 4 days off, and I assure you that I am going to enjoy this shit. Immensely. I am so looking forward to not having to hear the stupid one ask dumb questions... the horse-laugh of the bitch... the offenders whining for their test results... Jesus Christ. I need a vacation. I need to be away from the fucking human race for a few days... preferably longer but I'll take what I can get.

And just as fast as the anger comes, it's gone and I'm left with incredible, overwhelming depression. I just feel like curling up somewhere and crying. I hate this shit, I hate it hate it hate it HATE IT. I am so sick of everyone in the fucking world asking me for shit, I'm tired of dealing with other people and their fucking problems.

One more day and I can collapse and not deal with the world for a few days. That'll be nice.

Thumbs down to the assholes at Target.

So I have an account with Target, okay, to get my medicine from their pharmacy. I recently did a bit of purchasing, stuff for the house and whatnot, and got close to my limit. I went ahead and paid the bill, sent them a hundred bucks, and considered the matter closed.

Well. Remember that bullshit with the checks bouncing from my Justice account? That was one of the accounts that was directly affected by it. So... instead of letting me fix this mess... they cut off online access to my account. Isn't that great? So now I don't have a way to pay these fucking assholes unless it's by a check - but guess what? I don't pay my bills with a check. It's inconvenient and it takes too much time. I pay my shit like everyone else does these days - online.

I've called these idiots at Target three times to try and get this bullshit straightened out, but they still can't seem to be able to fix my account so that I can pay this bill. The best part about it now is that they called me today - at work - to demand a payment. Ain't that a fucking BITCH? They can't manage to get their IT department straight - they're all apparently outsourced, lucky me, because they can't seem to speak a word of English, never mind understand me - and yet they have the balls to call me and demand a payment. That's funny. So funny that I'm going to call them tonight when I get home and literally bitch them out - and I assure you that I'm going to get the highest supervisor I can (hopefully one that speaks English, anyway) to straighten this crap out.

I'm not going to pay by phone - because I'm not paying their outrageous fees to do it. Fuck that shit.

I know one thing's for sure - I'm dropping this motherfucking account once I pay it off, because 1. these people have been incredibly unpleasant to deal with and 2. I get my medicine from a Rite Aid now because it's closer to where I'm going to be moving. I don't need this unbelievable crap.

Justice fucking owes ME money for all of the time I've had to spend straightening this shit out with all these people. I can say that much.

Sigh. Other than this headache, life's been more or less okay. My crim project is due tonight - I'm going to fix it and turn that in ASAP - and I expect my failing grade later this week, heh.

Meh. I am so pissed off now. How dare they pull this shit.

Back to work in a few minutes. I can't write entries while up at the counter anymore, they're starting to monitor Internet usage up there and they're threatening people with a 14 day suspension. I can't afford to lose salary for two weeks for a blog entry - it's not worth it. Sooo....

... more later. I guess.

Early morning rumination.

I woke up extremely early this morning, refreshed for a change, so I figured that I'd get up and post a little bit of what's on my mind today - and as usual, it churns with useless bits of information.

It seems that quite a few people were a bit upset about my Mother's Day rant post yesterday, which came as no surprise. What did surprise me, however, was the broad-brush general assumption that I don't love or honor my own mother. Uh... that's a rather bold statement (not to mention wrong) to be making, don't you think?

Let me say now that I'm in therapy for my issues with my family - which is where I belong at present. Because of my condition, I have a lot of problems in dealing with the dynamics - some of which involved a lot of neglect, both emotional and physical, and ignorance of some physical abuse that was going on. I hold a lot of anger toward my entire family - mother, brother, father - and I'm in the place that I need to be to work it out. Being angry with my mother doesn't mean that I don't love her - I do - but there's that old saying that you don't have to like a person to love them. And let's be blunt - I don't like my mother, or my brother, or really my entire family. If they weren't related to me, I wouldn't piss on them if they were on fire - and that's the truth.

With that said, I did have a nice Mother's Day lunch with her yesterday, so it all worked out for the best.

There's more going on, but I'm not real comfortable discussing it at this point. I'll get around to it when I can.

If my post bothered you, I'm genuinely sorry, but... I'm not taking back any of what I said in it. It's how I feel, and I'm not going to apologize for my opinions, or the right to express them. I spent too many years burying how I feel under a blanket of so-called societal approval - no more.

I think I'll actually be happy to start the week for a rare change... go figure.

Warning. A Mother's Day rant - just for you.

Back out now if you can't handle extreme sarcasm, bitterness and bile. Because I don't want to hear it about how 'negative' I am and all of that rot. If you're a regular reader here then you know damned well I'm not going to be happy and cheery and full of sunshine, bleh blah. Deal with it.

So, today is Mother's Day. And quite honestly, I'm sick of hearing about it. I'm not a mother, first of all - I don't have kids, I don't want kids, and I don't particularly like kids. Kids are tolerable once they hit 11 or 12 because it means they have enough sense (or the capability of having enough, anyway) to know better when they do something stupid. But before then? Forget it. I don't deal well with adults that have no sense, so kids don't stand a chance.

I also have a problem with the fact that we're "celebrating" the fact that women spread their legs, get screwed, and nine months later another human overpopulates the world. So the fuck what? No offense, but any woman can do that. It takes no special ability. It takes no talent to breed. I don't think that a day to celebrate a supposedly natural human function is necessary.

And I can hear all of the "mommies" screaming now. "You're not a parent! You don't know what we go through to raise these kids! Wah, wah, wah, wah!"

My response is simple. You brought that shit on yourself. Don't come crying to me when little Johnny or Susie steals money out of your wallet for makeup or pot or something stupid because of "peer pressure". Don't whine to me when little Johnny or Susie pitches a fit in the grocery store because you won't buy them a candy bar. I'll step right over them in the line and I won't hesitate. And especially don't whine to me when little Johnny or Susie puts your ass in a nursing home at 75, 80 years old because they don't feel like dealing with you anymore. That's the thanks you'll get for "being a mommy" - drooling all over yourself in some old age home, with bedsores on your ass and wishing for death every second.

Doubt me? I've seen it happen too many times.

It amuses me that the people who make the very best parents either don't want or don't have children, or at the most they have one that they know how to parent properly. Fuck this shit with the Duggers or that dumb bitch in California with the 14 kids. It's people like them that should be shot in a public square.

I know my opinion isn't the teeming masses'. I'm glad it's not. Because I can take my money and enjoy it. I don't have to worry about little Johnny or Susie's diapers/sneakers/school clothes/band instruments/club dues/blah blah on and on.

When I go on my cruise later this year, I'll be sure to wave to all of you "mommies" on shore, hmm?

Edited to add: Besides, I don't think males get nearly enough credit here, either. Some of my friends are excellent fathers - but recognition for it? They usually have to whistle for it. And that's not right either.