Posts Tagged ‘Drama’

Single; Not Available

Tuesday, October 6th, 2009

Five days ago, I posted a private entry of the same name on my Livejournal so now I think its time to post this publicly and put this to rest.

I am a single woman; that does not mean I am available.

No, I am not available to be your Fuck Stop.

No, I am not available for your Mid-life Crisis.

No, this is not a challenge for you to get with me.

No, this is not a challenge for you to set me up.

No, I am not playing hard to get.

No, I am not some angry bitch queen.

No, I do not need to be “fixed” or “repaired.”

No, my vagina does not have an “open for business” sign on it.

I shouldn’t have to explain that I’m quite content being single and why I have never married. I was complete the day I was born, I don’t need a penis between my legs to be complete. I will not be measured by the male I am able to attract. I am more than my sex.

So stop. Just stop.

This is a lifestyle choice. My choice. I would rather be happy and single than with a man and miserable.

I really don’t have the right personality for being someone’s little wife. I am so much more fulfilled by the friends I make than any man I have ever been with.

Guys get their little Male-PMS thing going and all I want is to thrash them with a rolled up newspaper. I won’t stay quiet and let them take it out on me. I’m more likely to pelt them with eggs than walk on egg-shells. I’m more likely to walk out and let him stew in an empty house for the night. I’m more likely to divorce him and be done with it.

I’ve heard that verbal and emotional abuse after marriage is so common that some marriage counselors are telling their patients its normal. That is utter bull. But yet… I have heard woman after woman tell me that she got so she could tell by the way her husband drove, walked, or whatever coming up the street to their home what kind of an evening they were going to have. He seethes with an inexplicable and generic rage. And since he’d get his ass kicked if he did it in public… he’s about to take it out on his family. And she’s having to run interference to protect the kids from the wrath of his man-tantrum.

It’s a sad and darkly funny commentary in a way. We women will share stories and information regarding our families and our own health… right now to the color, volume, and consistency of the bodily fluids involved. But do we compare notes and kick his ass like he really needs? No. Most women stay quiet, try to ignore it, and hope it gets better. All the while feeling torn. They love him deeply but resent – just as deeply – the way they are being treated. Only when they feel like they’re going to explode do they come to a close friend to let it out. But should he be confronted he either minimizes it or acts remorseful just long enough…

I’m choosing to say no. I don’t want to deal with it. My heart and my ears are still open to my friends. But I’m not interested in bringing it into my own life.

Whew. Now that I have that off my chest. It’s not easy convincing people of my choice either.

I’ve had people come right out and demand to know if I’m a lesbian because somehow I’m nearly 30 and not married and haven’t squeezed out a few kids. I guess there’s some unwritten rule that women should get married, have 2.5 kids, and perform wifely duties or else there’s something wrong with them. I’ve literally had people damn near spittle-shrieking over my decision.

It’s crazy, but so many people find it inconceivable that I could think this way.

So, here comes the endless parade of people trying to set me up.

Here’s the wolves sniffing my crotch and howling at my door. It gets so old so fast when somehow me being nice, friendly, and approachable equates to “ZOMG HAVE SEX WITH ME!”

It’s like “Me Male, you Female! We’re compatible!” They put far more effort into learning about who is servicing their car than the cunny they’re looking to plunder.

No one has actually ever come out and asked what I want.

In the end, it boils down to me making a lifestyle choice. This is my official announcement that I have made it.

Leaving: The Right Choice

Tuesday, August 18th, 2009

I’m making the right decision regarding leaving and ceasing contact with my family.

Today was the day mom had to appear in court to fight our eviction from this trailer park. While I know the panic attacks are associated with that time of the month, I’m in a slight panic. Trying to find jobs, housing, and all other things remotely is scary. We could make a day trips to our previous long distance moves to arrange things, here it has to be done entirely remotely.

Since I’m having so many panic attacks, I asked mom if I could remain at home. I’m not good to anyone if I’m completely panicking over every little thing. I don’t trust myself out in public when I’m like this. (Yes, I know it only enforces the behavior. *sigh*)

So anyway, Poppa calls to ask if mom is ready to be picked up to go to court. He’s completely dismayed when I answer the phone. I do live here, I do kinda of have the right to answer the phone in my own house. I make a remark that “mom is out shredding a few papers” and he’s aghast… outside? Sure, the paper shredder is kept out in a far out remote location and it takes us 7 hours of trekking through deep snow — uphill — in the middle of searing hot sun to shred our credit card offers.

Not long after they leave, I look at the time. The court summons say 1:30pm and it’s 1:30pm and they left only 2 minutes ago. >_< So I pick up the phone and dial his cell phone number. Holy attitude, holy hostility. In face of that kind of gruffness (for a sec I think I may have dialed one of our other friends), I stammer a “Poppa?” Yep, right number. I stammer meekly again pointing out the time and asking if this means we’re in trouble. Attitude. An angry “maybe yes, maybe no.” I sigh, “Sorry for bothering you, won’t happen again” and hang up.

This man, my grandfather — Poppa, used to be my hero. A safe place to fall. He was in the military and into drug enforcement, very scary work and I admired him for it. I told him he was my hero and role model. He was someone I could call if I was scared and needed some reassuring. I’d like to know what happened to him. While I was packing a found a picture of him holding me when I was a baby, us both taking a nap.

At some point, he began to hate me. I can’t identify when or what happened to cause this, but it’s grown until I get hostility when I attempt to contact him. Even without my monthly hormonal-caused panic attacks, just knowing he’ll be dropping by the house causes me to panic. Part of me wants to blame Caroline — my step grandmother; some of the behavior started after he married her almost 15 years ago.

It came to a head when I went away to college and Mom — and later Jasson — followed me north. No matter how it was justified as “he’s just passing a kidney stone” — what was the statistical chance he was passing one each and every time he’s spoken with me for 10 years or so?

I wish there was a way to communicate with them and find out what the exact problem is. But, it’s time for that long vacation away from them. Maybe permanently.

Stop Psychoanalyzing Me!

Sunday, May 10th, 2009

I seem to invite people to psychoanalyze me. The simplest things I say or do seem to indicate some deep psychological thing ™ I’m apparently not aware of or am deluding myself over.

I can’t figure out why the heck people keep doing this to me. It’s so annoying. For example:

  • “Oh, I enjoy Japanese Animation — Anime.” Two types of analysis comes from this: A.) I am some poor idiot who was ill-prepared for adulthood and thus cling to my cartoons like a life-preserver. B.) I’m some kind of repressed nymphomaniac who gets off on animated porn. (It all depends on whether they think anime is all kid’s stuff or all porn.)

  • “I play World of Warcraft.” Psychoanalysis: I’m a raging video game addict. Apparently I’m at high risk for skipping work to play the game or even trying to play it while I’m at work. Even worse is when someone drops by unannounced, catch me playing, and a simple “Yes” to “Playing World of Warcraft?” and it somehow implicates me for a raging addiction.
  • “I have allergies to most soaps, so I don’t do the dishes.” Psychoanalysis: I’m lazy.

    Explanation: I get allergic contact dermatitis from most liquid soaps if I have to be in contact with them for longer than it takes to wash my hands. I get similar reactions to certain brands of triple antibiotic ointment and certain molds found on Oak leaves. Several skin reactions have had to be treated with rather unpleasant injections.

How exactly am I supposed to respond to this sort of thing? Seriously. Most of the time any effort made to refute, defend, or absorb/deflect winds up somehow further proving their analysis. Even silence or walking away seems to support their stance. They’re either Dr. Phil or they think any possible reaction I give is completely uproarious. Even a facepalm or rolled eyes.

Unfortunately, I’ve even developed the habit of attempting to “pre-defend” myself… which makes it even worse. That is, I try to explain my reasoning when I present the issue at hand. (Especially on message boards.)

A good, recent example of that: I posted on Monster.com, asking for advice on whether mentioning I play World of Warcraft on my blogs and Facebook could actually hurt my chances for hiring. For some stupid reason, I felt I had to pre-defend myself. I got my answer from one of their career coaches and I’m satisfied, but now it’s attracted someone who’s doing the psychoanalysis thing again. (e.g. “ZOMG! Because you said the game isn’t a problem and you have a full social life you’re a raging addict!”) *facepalm*

While I know I shouldn’t care about what they say (I have no intention of even bothering to reply to the bozo on Monster.com)… for once! Just for once! I’d like to do something novel and have what I say taken at face value. Just for once.

Pretty please?

Literal Sweatdrop

Sunday, February 24th, 2008

Just once in my life, I’d like to have at least one month without drama. Just one month. Is that too much to ask, Universe?

Wow, four weeks since I last posted something. And I was doing so well too.

In summary, we’re now working 2nd shift. In some ways, there’s less drama and in other ways more. On 3rd shift, the drama was way more personal. On 2nd, it’s nothing personal — they’re just short handed and some machines keep deciding to take dirt naps at inopportune times. Had someone go home sick and I’m the natural choice to take their place. Let me tell you: It’s novel actually sleeping at night again!

College is… tough. (Not new.) I got a D+ in C++ Programming II, so I’m retaking it next semester. Passed my Web Usability Design (i.e. Planning Web designs) with a B+.

I’m re-taking C++ Programming I right now and while it’s not tough, my classmates can be pretty difficult. There’s one person who I really hope is a non-native English speaker. I can barely read anything she’s written because her posts are so garbled. The others can’t actually do the work without the professor holding their hands. They post help requests for every step of a simple program the book practically walks you through anyway. *sigh* Fortunately, I’m taking it online so I can just close the window whenever they get too annoying.

Last week, the car decided the middle of winter was the perfect time for the head gasket to wear out. (That’s a gasket actually inside the motor…) So, it was into the shop so they could tear the motor apart to replace this stupid little gasket. Since they were going to have to keep our car overnight, they gave us the loaner car to use. Well, it got us to work, got us home, and refused to start when we had to go to the shop to pick up our car. So, we got to squeeze into the cab of the tow-truck and ride all the way to to the shop. A $540 bill later, we have our car back.

Here’s hoping we don’t get hosed when we do our taxes. I need a month off.

Oh, grow up

Tuesday, November 27th, 2007

Sometimes, I just really have to wonder about my coworkers. You have to be at least 18 to work at this place and more than half my coworkers act like they’re still in Middle School. The whole balkanized atmosphere of the public school is there, being played out by people much older than I am. It’s more annoying than anything else, but still.

Take Sarah, who runs a machine called a “cell” that makes screwdrivers and nutdrivers. That girl has a serious girlcrush on Kim, the technician/mechanic who keeps the “cell” machines running.

Kim has this habit biting your head off if she’s even the slightest bit stressed. I have this habit of strongly disliking being yelled at for any reason. Yeah, last time she did it I tolerated it only a couple times before I yelled back. During my next break, I found one of the managers and reported just the last time she yelled since it was about the person I was training.

After I yelled back, Kim and Sarah actually began acting like little teenage girls (please note Kim’s old enough to have teen kids herself). Heads together, talking, casting scathing looks at me. Wow. I haven’t had that happen since High School.

Sarah then runs off and tries to get more information from the new person I was training and then runs to my mom over it. (What’s she going to do, spank me?)

I shunned both of them for a while. I’m not giving people with that kind of behavior more shit to throw around. I’m still a bit chilly towards Kim, but since she’s one of the technicians I can’t entirely ignore her. Sarah, I’m completely avoiding. Sarah, for her part, seems to have decided I’m on the shit list.

Whatever.

Awkward-sauce

Tuesday, October 23rd, 2007

Have you ever met someone who insists on telling you their entire life story no less than 5 minutes after you’ve met them? It appears we attract that sort of person at work. So far, we’re up to 3 temps who are that way, plus one or two regular employees.

Today was my Mom’s birthday, but she never really celebrates it. She’s at that point in her life where her regrets are really catching up with her, so she spends the week of her birthday extremely depressed. Well, Carmen, the latest one of these people who like to talk about themselves also celebrated her birthday today.

I really don’t know how to even attempt to describe Carmen without being rude, classist, and — God, I don’t know. Within a few minutes of working with her for the first time, she had to almost recite an itemized list of her previous employers, health and medical history, family, friends, gossip regarding those people, latest movies she’s watched, TV programs, yadda yadda yadda. She had to brag about her “new” car, which is all but falling apart around her. Carmen even had to inform me that she was going to go buy sheet metal to “fix up” some part of the vehicle. What kind of white trash are you???!!!

Basically, Carmen loves to talk — about herself. Every second of the 8 hours you have to work with her. To make things worse, she insists on wearing the cheapest, most vile perfume she can find and then takes a bath in it.

I hate her. Completely and utterly despise working with her.

So back to mom’s birthday. Mom hates celebrating birthdays, Carmen loves talking about anything that has to do about herself.

Mom’s trying to politely brush off the birthday wishes all night. However, over lunch Carmen suddenly notices the birthday message up on the bulletin board in the break room right next to mom’s head and asks if she’s seen it. Hello, idiot — she can’t get much closer to it.

Mom grunts “yes.” And — BOOM — Carmen begins talking endlessly about herself and how much she loves her birthday and that she realizes that not everyone likes their birthdays but she loves hers and that she just doesn’t think about getting older blah blah blah. Since it’s a special occasion, her perfume is especially strong today. Mom keeps trying to bat it away. She’s clearly starting to become upset.

500 tons of awkward here.

Carmen keeps talking.

Finally, mom snaps at her, tears in her eyes, that it’s just another depressing day just like any other. And she finally stops talking.

Great, now I have to put up with an even bigger dose of awkward-sauce than I normally have to.

Thanks!

So much for thinking

Friday, April 27th, 2007

First thing this morning, I’m woken up by the phone. It’s Sue, wanting to know my decision.

So much for having time to think about my father’s estate. Less than 48 hours later, my dad’s trailer is completely cleaned out, fixed up, and ready to sell. My jaw literally dropped. That doesn’t happen overnight. Meaning she had no intention of giving us the option of getting anything from it in the first place. “Thinking” about it only applied to the money and probably only because of the laws governing this.

Great.

I never did get the chance to call our CPA or the probate court, and Theresa didn’t get a chance to get back with me. Gee! Thanks, Sue. We had been seriously considering requesting the genealogy things. So much for that idea. Somehow, I kept my temper in check and told her in a tone as gracious as I could muster that I wanted her to have the money as compensation for the investment she made in taking care of my father.

I know we were going to let the State take everything and that I didn’t want to bother with it, but I have been so angry about this all day long. Why the hell did she even suggest that we think it over and discuss it when she was just going to pull this anyway? These sort of games were the reason we started avoiding that side of the family to begin with. Mom and Jass has been trying to get me to see the bright side. That being that aside from signing a waiver from the probate court, we shouldn’t have to do anything else.

Later today, I ran into one of my relatives at the grocery store. She offered me her condolences and I thanked her coolly. She apparently interpreted this as me being grief-stricken and pulls his “poor dear” crap on me. I ended up being a touch brittle with her, because I am just SO sick and tired of dealing with my father’s side of the family and their damn games.

Oh, she didn’t-!

Thursday, April 26th, 2007

Oh, you did not just go there. Aunt Sue, you did not just try to play a guilt trip on me.

She didn’t say anything overtly, her tone of voice and the way she said things that said “guilt trip.”

The crap over my father’s estate continues. Sue definitely wants me to take it over. She’s pushing the idea of money, but there’s something else and I don’t know what. (I’m also getting really tired of her acting like I’m supposed to know who this Tony is.) I don’t want his stuff. I couldn’t get through to our CPA today, so my tax questions didn’t get answered and I want that before I call the probate court. Theresa also promised me to ask her sister-in-law, who’s a lawyer, some questions regarding this sort of thing.

Jass pointed out that we were supposed to get the genealogy stuff as per the court agreement; or at least copies. I cringe at the thought of losing family albums and stuff because I know how important those are. But the way Sue is going, if I say that all I want is the photos and genealogy things she’ll use it as leverage or something. Nothing — not the money, not mom’s ring, nor the genealogy — is worth this. I’m exhausted after I get off the phone with her. I don’t want to discuss it. I want this to be over.

I want to do yoga or tai-chi, drink some tea, meditate, and find my quiet spot again. He’s dead. Let me bury this part of my life and move on. I’m tired of laying in bed and suddenly remembering all the nasty things from back then.

As I told Theresa last night; it’s a very tempting fantasy to go over to the trailer with a box of matches and be done with it.

What NOW?

Wednesday, April 25th, 2007

I swear, they’re on a campaign to make me crack. Yesterday, I went down to the mortuary and signed off on the cremation. (No, I’m not an Ice Queen. While he’s biologically my father, he’s a stranger to me. kthxbai.) After chasing around Grand Rapids, I then spent the rest of the evening exhausted. I fell into bed at midnight, woke up briefly at 7am to hit the bathroom, and passed out until noon.

*sigh* So much for my math test…

This afternoon, I received another phone call from the mortuary to let me know that Aunt Sue wanted me to contact her. Now she wants me to handle his estate. What the…? Here I thought, as per our discussion the other night, that we were letting the State take everything. She apparently wants me to become the executor of his estate because someone named “Tony” desperately wants his trailer. (From the context, I’m guessing this is a relative I’m supposed to know — despite being estranged for 16 years. *sighs, shrugs*)

According to Sue, my dad’s trailer is worth about $2000, his bank account has about $600, plus whatever belongings I/we could sell off or anything.

Supposedly, probate court said that because he doesn’t have much in the way of assets, there is no financial liability for his heirs. Supposedly, his creditors can’t come after us for his debts. Supposedly, if I do this I/we get some $2600 with no strings attached.

Forgive me if I’m not exactly excited. My student loans alone are already well above the 10-grand mark. If his creditors come after us, we’re sunk before we even set sail.

I politely told Sue that I needed time to think. What I didn’t tell her is that I’m either calling or going down to probate court myself, so I can get the story right from the source. I’m also calling our CPA/Tax Preparer and finding out if there’s any tax liability. Frankly, I don’t trust Sue. I absolutely do not trust her.

Just cremate him

Tuesday, April 24th, 2007

Well, hopefully I can bury this chapter of my life. Got a set of pissy e-mails from a cousin demanding that I sign off on some paperwork for my father. Thing is, she kept sending them to my mom’s e-mail which isn’t usually checked until Friday. Only reason I checked it tonight was because I was updating her e-mail client.

*sighs* Gave Kathy my e-mail and warned her not to send me forwards or chain letters (like she’s constantly sending to my mom.)

I really hate my family. I remained civil when I called Aunt Sue, but I kind of got a little brittle with the mortuary. 16 years worth of bad blood has been doing an awful lot of boiling in my house.

Anyway, called Sue and asked her what I needed to do. I don’t have the finances to handle burying him nor handling his possessions. Frankly, there’s nothing I really want. He was a heavy chain smoker, so anything in the place would need to be professionally cleaned before I could touch it.

The only thing I want back is my mother’s ring, which he stole back when we were 12. I doubt it’s in the house. I really think he threw it away or flushed it down the toilet or something. But he was such an awful pack rat hoarder, part of me wonders if it isn’t in the house somewhere. Still, I doubt it and that wonder isn’t enough for me to dig through his things. The State can have all of it.

Turns out in Michigan, it’s illegal to cremate someone without permission from the next of kin. So they need me to sign off so they can cremate his body. Fine fine. First thing tomorrow, I’ll go down and sign off so they can do what they need to.

We really want to deal with this.

EDIT: 16 years, not 18. Finally found the right paper and checked the date.