January 31st 2018
I finished my B.A. in psychology with every intention of going into a master’s program. I majored in Psychology because the social sciences were the most interesting thing a rural community college offered, so when I transferred that was the box I checked. My senior year I realized that I despised the subject. I was frustrated beyond words from hearing about the importance of data in one class then going to the next class to hear how diagnostics were not exact and several people would watch the same interview with the same patient see different symptoms and may arrive at a different diagnosis. At this point, it was too late into my college career to switch without delaying my graduation. My condescending family would have loved to mock couldn’t manage a degree in the standard four years even though most of them are barely literate. My pride made me finish with a piece of paper leading nowhere. I was already working on this blog part time and in my most far-fetched dreams I wanted to be a writer, no formal education required. In the meantime, I wanted to be close to something I loved, books. After taking a semester off to make certain I really wanted a teaching certification instead of just having an identity crisis because I have spent my whole life from the ages of four up to twenty-two as a student and I didn’t know how to be anything else, I enrolled in classes. I have two four hour night classes each week that change every five weeks. Three weeks in I am already more exhausted than I have ever been before but in just two short years of sleep deprivation, I will be able to instruct a classroom. If the blog seems bare for longer stretches of time than normal I am simply locked in the closet hyperventilating over my homework.
January 11th 2018
New Year New Me
I never felt the magic of new years. I never felt like an improved version of myself because the date changed. I suspect that may be because I have only picked selfish goals in past. Losing weight and improving my eating and exercise habit are great aspirations but, ultimately they would only benefit me.
This year, I have committed myself to donating my unused items. I have already sent one bag of clothing that I won’t fit in anytime soon to the goodwill. I have plenty more too small clothing that I hope to be rid of shortly. I donated my used textbooks to a second-hand bookstore. Next on my list are my stuffed animals. They are filling the closets of my house and as much as I am sentimentally attached to them I am not enjoying them. They are in the dark collecting dust. I am sure they would be happier being drooled on and worn threadbare by a child. I hope to spend this year being more generous and environmentally friendly.
I have been my past experience that people who spend a great deal of time worried sick over things that are really not that serious are people who are spending too much time thinking of themselves. Giving to people that have bigger problems than I, who am upset that my hairstylist cut my layers the wrong way, keeps me thankful and humble.
December 15th 2017
I have been nursing myself back to health from the common rhinovirus since Monday. While attending my usual 8 hour work day I have been coughing on every doorknob and stapler I can find to hopefully share my misery. My sister one-ups me and catches walking pneumonia on Tuesday. Being the saint I am, I put on my apron an hair net to cook for the poor sickly darling and her two monstrous children. Last night being too exhausted to cook for myself or her, I enlisted my father to do burgers and fries. Twenty minutes after I delivered steaming hot food to her house she was in the kitchen screaming that she needed the baking soda. I don’t think we even own that. The smell of onion is beneficial when you live with a schizophrenic who refuses to shower. I follow her with our baking powder out of the house to see that she had lit the fire pit, caught her dog’s house on fire, and part of our adjoining yard was ablaze. This is what happens when sick people do not stay in bed, where they belong. Never mind the risk of spreading illness. In my family, a sick person is far more hazardous and creates an out of control yard fire. From now on, if she is spry enough to fight a fire with baking powder then she’s well enough to cook her own meals
*The dog was not in the house at the time and was unharmed by the dumbassery.
December 14th 2017
I Hate My Job.
I received a bachelors degree in Psychology because I mistakenly thought I had the patience and “give a damn” to help people. I am beginning to feel like I shouldn’t be around other people at all. Six months into an administrative assistant job at a disability services company I walk into work knowing any day now I am going to throat punch someone.
I still don’t have a working computer.
My start date was May 23rd. I didn’t have a computer of my own until July. The computer was not hooked to the printers until December 1st and I am still not able to connect to the share drive where all the files I need to access are. Essentially my computer is useless for work but perfect for fucking around. When I absolutely must use a computer I borrow the one in the office next door and get dirty looks. The lady who uses that office comes in one afternoon per week. I took to coming in early off the clock to do work so people wouldn’t stare at me. I grew tired of putting in an extra forty-five minutes of unpaid labor every day, so I just get glared at routinely. I still don’t know what all glares are about. My logic is company work = use any available company computer.
If it goes wrong it is my fault.
Everything that goes awry I hear about in a very accusatory manner. “Why are these papers out of order?” I don’t know I done file those. I can fix them. “Why is this balance sheet wrong?” I don’t know. I check the balance sheets and send them to be redone if they are wrong. I do not fuck them up to begin with. We initial our work here and I still see annoyed people waving papers in my face that they initialed themselves ergo they vouched for the correctness of and it is still my problem when they are wrong.
I am being pressured to engage in illegal payroll practices.
We’re still doing payroll with pencil, paper and an abacus for 100 employees. I admittedly cheated my way through every math class from seventh grade on. I would flirt with whoever necessary to get a B and thanks to Andy, Tyler, and Hali I managed it. Being the most mathematically illiterate college graduate I know I don’t fuck with payroll. I don’t even touch it. Inevitable when a person calls about underpayment errors on his check I tell our human calculator, and she throws a fucking tantrum when I tell her I am not making a person wait two weeks until the next payday to get his 27 overtime hours. I understand she doesn’t want to tell the boss she fucked up, but I don’t want some guy’s dog to go without kibble for two weeks. Add to the fact underpayment is illegal and honest mistakes should be fixed immediately should trump any of her pitiful arguments of “We’re too busy,” and “it makes taxes messy,” but she still wants to argue with me. Furthermore, none of those considerations are the problem of our poor underpaid staff who has bills due.
Due to my own inflexibility on the idea that staff should be paid on time for their hard work I have descended from merely hating my job to being actively hazed by a fellow staff who after the fourth of July and labor day told me I should be putting paid holidays on my time sheet and after I did just that for Thanksgiving said she had to check it with the boss. In addition, I am not allowed to leave for lunch like every other staff and even when I am eating at my desk I have to spit my food into a napkin when the phone rings because Calculator refuses to answer the phone for any reason.
Being part of the management level is terrible.
Everyone needs something. People turn in a time sheet with 8 of the 10 shifts they worked written on it and wonder why they were not paid for it and want me to play detective to figure out which shifts were left off. People do not call to update their mailing address so they are angry when their check doesn’t arrive because it was returned to the office. Everyone always needs copies of their check stubs even though every check has a check stub, and these GED possessing adults apparently cannot keep track of their financial documents, and never think to ask for copies until the day before they try to get a loan. People get pissy when they don’t do all of their paperwork and I email them asking for it, as it is part of my job to do so. Then, I call asking for it. Then, when they come to get their check for work that they still have not completed I tell them to plant their ass in a chair and do it, or they can get their check in the director’s office with a termination letter attached. Somehow this makes me unlikable. The crazy guy who calls the office angry because he uses an out of state credit union, so when he can’t wait two days for the check to deposit he cashes it at a bank he is not a member of and is angry that there is a fee for that. No, I am not going to call the bank about it. It is the epitome of not my problem.
This whole experience has sent me screaming back to college. I am enrolling for spring graduate classes for an initial teaching certification and a master’s in education. Hopefully, I like children more than my current colleagues.
Now, instead of coming in early to work on an abandoned company computer I show up early to pee in Calculator’s potted plant. After two months I have successfully killed it. I also spit on her doorknob this week when I had a scratchy throat foreshadowing the raging rhinovirus to come. So far mission typhoid Mary shows no results
In addition, I suspect that the whole field of disability services while a noble and important calling is thoroughly infiltrated by degenerates. We had a scabies outbreak at the other end of the office that I avoided by keeping my door closed and letting no one in. I also went on a date with a director of another company in another city who got shamefully drunk of dinner and started rubbing his erection in my car and was shocked when I pulled over and made him get out.
The only good thing about my 40 hours per week sentence to hell is the copy machine technician is the most delicious specimen I have ever seen. Unfortunately, the one time he and I stayed late cleaning the machines, just the two of us, I was on my period, so I didn’t offer to maul him in the file room. Still regretting that decision.
About The Author
I’m reviving the blog that I half-ass started in January. I read as a hobby and like to review the books I read. So many dust jackets have an “About the Author” section that I felt it fitting my blog should have one too.
Be warned: I am an oversharer.
1. Murphy’s Law disproportionately applies to me. Good hair day = rain. Family vacation to Florida = tonsillitis and period. I meet a delicious guy = I really do have a headache. Stuck in traffic, bladder painfully about to burst. I and every other car in eyesight have been at a complete standstill for 25 minutes = Perch on a cup to relieve myself. Traffic clears and jumps to 70 mph instantly.
2. I cuss. I cuss a lot. When I don’t want people to know that I was raised a trailer trash hillbilly I simply don’t speak. Professors and colleges think I am a timid little angel. I have those bastards fooled.
3. I am an overgrown child. In the same week, I’ll go shopping for sexy date night lingerie. Then buy a unicorn onesie and decide to sleep in it every night for the rest of my life date or no date.
4. I don’t like coffee, but I drink it — a lot of it. Then I have trouble sleeping and need more coffee the next morning creating a cyclical spiral into insomnia and stained teeth.
5. I’m a horrible driver. My dad gets bloody hemorrhoids every time he gets in the car with which is why I taught myself to drive. Obviously with poor results.
6. I love carbs. They are my main food group along with sugar, fat, and salt.
7. I like wine, preferable pinks and whites. It puts me to sleep which I need because I live on a coffee I.V. drip.
8. My parents used the television and shih-tzu as a babysitter and left me to my own devices for entertainment. I still don’t know how to act in civilized society as demonstrated by my propensity to growl when I am uncomfortable. I once peed on my significant other to get even for being tickled (tortured).
9. My job title is administrative assistant which means sitting at a desk eight hours a day. Work hard at appearing extremely busy, while doing nothing productive. My secret to success is sabotaging my colleagues so I look better. I never go to lunch so I can ensure they lose important papers from off their desks.
10. In my free time, I am an anti-pants activist. I only wear skirts. I prefer the breeze and lack of chaffing on my crotch that only skirts provide.