Home before dark - WTF happened?

Miracle of miracles - today was a "6:30 today, 6 tomorrow day".

I kept asking my co-supervisor why the extra half hour. I mean six should be as good as 6:30 right? How much work would we really accomplish in that half hour.

He wasn't buying it.

Then I asked him "are you sure you didn't really mean to say seven tomorrow?", because seven sounded more than reasonable to me.

He didn't buy that either.

I also tried to convince him he really meant to say five tonight.

It seems my powers of persuasion are non-existent, so we went to 6:30.

It's become a rare treat to be home before dark and have plenty of time to prepare a healthy nutritious meal.

Such a rare treat that I'm celebrating it by ordering pizza.

Turns out, now-a-days you've got to make an appointment to make an appointment.

So today was the "doctor appointment".

Turns out now-a-days, you not only have to practically take time off to make an appointment, when you go for the appointment, it's only to book another appointment for some actual "doctoring".

I'm not shitting you folks - that doctor did not even lay hands on me today. I go for blood work some time this week, then I see the Nurse Practitioner for a physical.

Then the Doctor will diagnose me and or refer me to a specialist.

Seriously dude, I'm here, my lady bits are presentable. Aunt Flo has made one of her rare visits to somebody else, and my feet don't stink.

Give me a fucking sheet and lets get this shit done.

But it doesn't work that way, so I got a Tetanus shot and a requisition or whatever for blood work and another appointment.

Which means my lady bits have to be presentable twice in the same fucking month. Something I normally don't worry about when there's no action happening down there.


So then I went and got my hair  cut and my eyebrows waxed - which is a big deal once the reading glasses become necessary. She straightened it too. My hair I mean - not my eyebrows - which look awesome by the way. I even got a sort of compliment from Asshat #1.

#1: You should straiten your hair all the time - it looks better like that.

Little does Asshat #1 realize, in order for me to straighten my hair I would need access to the bathroom for more than 10 minutes at a time.

I think I'll stick with my usual wash and wear look.

I've always said vinyl gloves look like condoms

Nine tonight, six tomorrow and prepare yourself for supper. Which means expect more of the same tomorrow.

Seriously, I would sell my soul for a seven o'clock start.

But then while I was walking up and down the line, checking that the ladies were still trimming up the tomato vines and weighing correctly a couple of the ladies stopped me.

I groaned inside thinking it would be more conversation about piece rates, but they surprised me with this.

I've always said that vinyl gloves look like condoms. They one-upped me and used one to make a condom for a tomato penis. Note they even made sure to leave the reservoir tip. 

So of course I took a picture - which really got the girls laughing. 

A little later, one of the guys came up and said the girls told him to come and see my picture. So I showed him, and a couple of other guys. Some laughed. One said "what the fuck is that" which leads me to believe condoms are not his birth control method of choice. 

Next the girl on that line all told me that L wanted to see the picture. Now there's three Mennonite ladies all in a row wanting to see my picture. 

My picture of a tomato with a dick wearing a condom. Did I mention they are three very sheltered Mennonite ladies?

Which is when I said "Can I show you a cute kitty picture instead?"

Dreams are weird.

I dreamed I was eating spare ribs last night. Which is really weird because I haven't eaten meat of any kind in almost 12 years. In my dream the spare rib tasted like nothing, but I kept chewing away while everyone watched me in drop jawed shock.

I'm looking at the clock on my computer, and the hours and minutes are going by far to quickly for my taste. I worked 74 hours last week and I'm expecting more of the same for the next two weeks. So some of today will be spent matching socks to make life easier next week. Cleaning - because the house is kind of gross looking right now. Grocery shopping - for convenience foods. I hope Lipton Sidekicks are on sale - the kids love that 7 minute rice.

I've only managed to get my hair cut once since I started this job - the week before Labor Day. So on Wednesday, instead of going back to work after I see the Doctor I'm getting a freaking haircut. Maybe even an eyebrow wax.
And if the Doctor wants to do a lady exam before sending me to see a specialist who will evict Aunt Flo, I'll be reassuring myself with the thought that at least I'm not at work for a while. Plus I'll have a haircut to look forward to. 

What's in a name?

Guess what?

I may not be able to convince my kids to flush the toilet, but apparently I can shame grown men into not pissing on the floor. The pee talk worked and I did not once today have to worry about getting someone's pee on my pants cuff.

WINNING!

Then when I came home for lunch, the kitten was playing in the not my bedroom part of the house. With the dog and the kids.

WINNING!

Asshat #1 asked me "have you named this thing yet?"

He actually does love animals, once I wash the poo smell off them, but he has to act like he's a cynical tough guy.

So I told him her name was Miss Kitty.

Asshat #1: Well that's just ridiculous.

So I think he's going to call her Paws, but we know her name is really Miss Kitty.

Miss Kitty in true cat fashion is part of the reason I'm rarely on my computer these days. If she's awake she will continuously walk across the keyboard. After all, how dare I ignore her cuteness in favor of that silly little twitter bird.

Miss Kitty also frowns upon me reading in bed rather than indulging her cuteness. She's a bit mean to the books.

I promise better pictures in the future. My memory card in my phone just up and died on me one day. Which means I have to figure out how to get my Tomato Hunk back on my phone so I can show him off to complete strangers.

How the fuck did my life come to this?

There are days where I stop and wonder.

How the fuck did my life come to this point?

Yesterday that feeling hit me like a ton of bricks. Right after I went around talking to all the men in the packhouse about improving their aim. It seems we've got ourselves a fellow who is either waiting too long to go to the bathroom or is just a slob, because he pisses on the floor in front of the urinal at least 4 times a day.

Yes - I had the potty talk with a bunch of grown ass men. 

I mean it isn't sucky enough that I've been dumped from an almost 5 year relationship, I've also got this job that calls for some crazy assed hours - supervising a lot of people. Sixty of them.

Those sixty people are quite a mix too.

I've got high spirited Jamaicans displaying tomatoes with dicks at their workspaces. Today, I saw this lovely combo...

It's like they were made for each other isn't it?

Sadly, it's the most action I've seen in over a month.

And I've got strait laced Mennonite ladies - so I'm always doing the balancing act between being my usual trashy self and being my "mature professional" self.

Let's just say the trashy me is the real me.

Then I've got the problem people.

The young people who have no goals in life - and trust me it shows - that I'm always trying to encourage. I don't know why I let it happen but they bring out the mother in me.

The slow guy, who is a great worker - with a serious flirting issue - that always has to be tamped down. If there is a pretty girl in his vicinity he can't stop himself from staring.

Then there's The Swinger - who spent the week stomping around like a herd of PMSing 11 year old girls who had all just been dumped. I have never in my life met a man who gets his panties in a twist like this one does. To top it off, when I made my rounds doing the "aim" talk, he let me know that it wasn't him because he pees blood.

Eeew, just fucking eeew, but BULLSHIT! If the guy peed blood there would be a medical reason. He's obviously spent too many years working with people who don't know how to call him on his shit, because none of his BS is believable to me.

Seriously - How The Fuck Did My Life Come To THIS?

Nine tonight, six tomorrow and prepare yourself for supper

Two days in a row of working until 9 pm, after starting at 6 am, means I am officially dead dog tired.

To make it even worse, I had our Controller sitting at my desk all damn day. Tying up my computer and my chair, which meant I got to spend the entire day on my feet. He also had the heat on in the office full blast, which really brought out his personal aroma of old man. It took about 3 hours to clear the air of heat and smell after he finally left. It was like somebody had canned that Value Village old dusty clothes smell and let it out in my office. 

So then I asked one of the young people (anyone under 30) if his mom used Gain laundry detergent. Original scent Gain has a very distinct scent to me, and I kept catching whiffs of it.

K: To be honest, I used L's deodorant this morning because I didn't make it home last night.

L is a girl - one of the other Young People, and not his girlfriend either. Just good friends.

K: I figured watermelon was better than BO.

It was my best laugh of the day. 

Unfortunately, The Swinger is no longer mad at me. Which means he's talking to me again.

I'll work harder on pissing him off tomorrow. Which will be a 6 am start as well.

I honestly don't care if I never eat another damn tomato again. But I do have a tomato dick pick for you all.

Hyper-irritability Ruled Today

Honestly I haven't been to a Doctor in at least 3 years. I haven't been sick so I just haven't gone. I used to just go to a walk in clinic but then found myself a family doctor - and then never went.

I had forgotten how damn frustrating it could be to make an appointment.

I started last week. I called on my lunch, and found out there's no receptionist on duty at lunch time. Then I called from work at 4 - again no receptionist on duty at that time.

Seriously - I want that bitch's hours.

So I called the next day. From my pay as you go cell phone. I got through, started negotiating an appointment (that is what it felt like - negotiations) and ran out of minutes.

Today, I started again. I repeatedly got the "your call is important to us blah blah blah" and hung up, because I'm paying for those minutes. From 9 am to 12 pm I tried to get through to the receptionist.

At one point I was so frustrated, I was afraid I would get through and tear a strip off her. Which would earn me a "needs meds" notation on my file and the shittiest appointment times available for the rest of my life.

Finally at 3:30 I got through - so yeah, I'll finally be looking after my health. When I list my symptoms of fatigue, muscle cramps and Aunt Flo's extended visits, I'll be sure to add hyper-irritability to the list. I seem to have that symptom in spades.

Speaking of hyper-irritability - The Swinger felt it's edge today.

I had heard rumblings that he felt he was underpaid and not getting enough hours.

He gets shorted on hours because to be completely honest - he's a pain in the ass. Plus the other Shipper/Receiver works twice as hard and actually helps get things rolling in the morning. The Swinger just walks around yapping and irritating everyone.  

This afternoon he made a mistake and vented in front of me. I have to do all this paperwork, blah blah blah, they don't pay me enough, blah blah blah. 

I lost my temper and told him that if he wasn't happy there were at least three people waiting in line for his job and that he should try checking out the job market to see what people in our area are really making now that all the manufacturing jobs are gone.

He didn't like that so he whined to the other supervisor. The other supervisor told a little fib and said "you should listen then, she's above me."

The Swinger was even less happy to be told that I was his boss's boss. Which I'm not really - because I turned it down.

So I've got a doctors appointment and The Swinger isn't speaking to me.

In the game of life, I won today. 

The Swinger, Cramps, and the Not Long Weekend.

Most of the time, I try to avoid starting conversation with The Swinger. Once he starts talking it's nearly impossible to get away from him.

Friday I was desperate though. I had cramps and I knew The Swinger had a stash of Ibuprofin in his locker. So I asked him if I could have a couple.

The Swinger: blah blah blah, what's it for, blah blah blah.

Me: Cramps.

Now The Swinger is a single 40 year old man. I thought that would end the conversation nicely.

It didn't.

The Swinger: blah blah blah, when I was out in the greenhouse I had some Percocet for my back. I gave one to one of the ladies one time for her cramps and she said it worked great, blah blah blah.

Honestly, I was grateful for the Ibuprofin. Really I was, but discussing my period with The Swinger isn't my idea of fun - or even okay.

So far, the only topic I've discovered that puts the man off is if I start yapping about my dog. Especially if I spread the proud doggy mommy on thick.

Three day weekend? Pffft, as if. 

Here in Canada, it's a long weekend. For the rest of the country anyhow. For myself it's a regular Sunday only weekend.

To make it worse, some people will be taking Monday off. The locals, and especially the Mennonites because it's also a Mennonite religious holiday. All of this means that Monday will not only be me working resentfully because it is a holiday, it means it will be me working Monday frantically because certain key people will be missing.

It will probably be a long day too. 

Sometimes life just sucks giant monkey balls.

Turns out, if you haven't been to a doctor in 3 years getting help is kind of hard.

I'm ready to admit that I might need a little bit of "help" to get through this most recent hurdle life has thrown at me.

I'm also ready to admit that I've been feeling like shit for the past couple of years. You hit a certain stage in life and you never know if it's menopause or life. So you keep telling yourself it's menopause, and hope it isn't life.

Is it Memorex, or is it live?

Turns out, if you haven't been to a doctor in three years, just getting an appointment is a huge hurdle.

Apparently, these days you not only have to take time off of work to go to the Doctor, you have to take time off to make the damn appointment! My doctor has no receptionist over the lunch hour, or any other damn hour I'm not working.

So I called from my "pay as you go" cell - they have an opening in two weeks. On a Monday - which happens to be the only day of the week I need to meet deadlines.

Now honestly, I realize they're going to need to do blood work given my family history of thyroid issues, diabetes and my own history of anemia. So I want a morning appointment. That way we can get 'er done. Blood work and all. But Mondays do NOT work for me.

So as I was trying to negotiate an appointment, my cell phone ran out of minutes.

Finally tonight I was done at 5. I went to the walk in clinic - which used to be as close to a primary care physician as I had.

The man let me break down in his office, took my blood pressure and sent me on my way. He told me that he hasn't seen me in three years so he can't help me. Thank you!

Because I have a primary care physician now, I have to wait until I get in to see them. Even though I've never even met the Doctor that is supposed to be my Doctor.

Let's just hope she/he recognizes "my life has fallen apart" when she/he sees it and is willing to help. And also willing to give me a referral to a gynecologist who will give Aunt Flo her eviction notice.

Fate Will Have To Be In Charge of This One

Last night, after I emailed a resume to my former employer, who do you suppose was the first person I wanted to tell? It wasn't my mom, and as much as I love all of you who read my drivel and take the time to comment, it wasn't you either.

So instead, I called a former co-worker. Another sales rep. We discussed the job and the happenings over the past year at length.

I hope the three hour long distance phone call doesn't cost me an arm and a leg.

Which is when I discovered how much I miss talking to co-workers who know their stuff. The intellectual give and take of work conversation with people who are in the same industry.

I miss the give and take of being able to contribute to the conversation - because I know just as much as they do. I've been at my current position since the end of August - and I still don't feel like I know a damn thing.

Today my former boss was kind enough to acknowledge that  he had received my resume - so I guess he stopped laughing at that point. 

I still don't know if the position will require me to relocate, which could be a good thing for my mental health. It will keep me from hanging around, hopelessly hoping that The Polish Guy will come to his senses.

So now we will see what we will see. Right now, I'm emotionally incapable of making long range plans.

Fate will have to be in charge of this one.

My former boss is laughing his ass of right now

So I applied for a job tonight. At the company I used to work for as a Customer Service Supervisor.

Only I applied for a Sales Representative position. Which I would be good at - my customers always loved me.

Management - not so much.

Surprisingly I can be a bit of an outspoken bitch. Who knew?

But seriously, when you see someone who has no skills, is rude to customers and co-workers, and is illiterate getting ahead because she looks good in jeggings and fuck me boots, wouldn't you be a tiny bit bitter? She got a nice raise based solely on her ability to "ahem" ego stroke.

Meanwhile, I had honest achievements and got staff reductions.

So I'm sure my former boss is laughing his ass off that I applied for the job - but really he should consider it.

Because I'm damn good. I know the product lines and the customers. I also know the party line. Plus, by now it's got to be pretty evident that knowing how to suck a dick, means nothing when it comes to making a company money.

Eh, we'll see.

Kitties and whatchamacallits.

So remember the whole |A box of twine and a game of hoarders thing? Well I kept seeing these things at work.

And I kept thinking they looked like something useful. I mean really - there has to be something you can do with a cardboard whatever the fuck you call it. Right? RIGHT?

So now I have six of them, two in the house and four in my car. Along with a couple of packages of Cottenelle that were on sale. Because when the really good shit-paper is on sale I stock up.

They've been rattling around for the past couple of months - I could have two more tomorrow from work too - but no idea of what to do with them. One of the workers - who is Jamaican - said they would make good pot planters. I've always preferred my buzz in liquid form, so I'll pass on that idea and stick to growing vegetables I'll never get around to cooking, and weeds.

So I still had no crafty ideas of what to do with them, but then Mother's day came and with me and me in a funk. I posted the following:

And honestly when all you want to do is cry, how can you pass up a kitty?

So I messaged her and her husband went under the deck and caught one. He may have had more than one, except he figured I didn't want the one that bit him.

So now we have a new member in the household.

I waited to see if she was going to eat and all of that before announcing her arrival, but she's found her feisty so I think she's going to make it. She smells kind of poopy right now, but I don't want to overstress her by giving her a bath.

I'm totally going to build a cat fort out of those whatchamacallits. 

No name yet. Asshat #1 wants to call her Hobbes. Firstly she isn't orange. Secondly we had a Hobbes already. In the cat world Hobbes rode the short bus and totally would have licked the windows too. He would spend the entire day chasing squirrels he could never catch and was always skinny as a rail. He needed Ritalin in a major way.

Asshat #2 wants to call her Pooter, since she really does smell like poo.

Myself, I just want to be silly and call her Cutie or Sweetie because I need some silly in my life right now. Anything other than tears would be nice.

Please excuse me, I've got a frisky kitty to go snicker at.

Seriously?

This guy started off with an immediate invite for a drink and a walk. No info, no lead in. Being of sound mind, and not in all together that much of a hurry, I asked him to tell me a little about himself. If you click on the picture you should be able to read the conversation.

So I'll confess, I checked out his Facebook profile.

I'm 42, and fully aware that I'm no spring chicken, but on this dude 51 looks old! Plus his profile pic on Facebook is sideways.

I'm not sure a blogger and a guy who can't rotate a picture would have much in common. 

He's probably trying really hard to be hip and intriguing, but the repetitive LOL's are a huge turn off, as is the somewhat arrogant tone of the whole conversation.

I think I'll pass on this one.

On-line dating sites are kind of weird.

So I actually went and signed up for one of those on-line dating sites. So far the experience has been kind of weird. Take for instance this fellow's message:

How are you? Just an innocent and respectful hello from BC, to a VERY, VERY cute and adorable, fellow 'often' smoker, someone who understands that us silly smokers are good people too! What brand of cigarettes does a pretty lady like yourself smoke? I'm a really nice, very shy, very respectful guy, I promise, although I confess, I am a pack-a-day smoker and I do LOVE my cigarettes! Morning coffee wouldn't be the same without them! Along with the important things like being nice and sweet, loving, kind and caring, I am definitely very attracted to a romantic lady, a kisser and a cuddler, and a lady who smokes and enjoys her cigarettes as well. I could never date or kiss or cuddle a non-smoker, I would be WAY, WAY too shy and intimidated. Hope your world is being great to you. So, just a friendly and random hello to a super pretty cigarette smoker, hope you don't mind, and have yourself a safe and happy weekend!

So yeah, I'm a smoker. No I don't love being a smoker and someday hope cigarettes will no longer be a part of my life. Also, in all honesty kissing a smoker is about as tasty as licking an ashtray. So lets just file that one under weird. 

There should have also been a place to include in the profile that I work effing hard and won't consider anyone who doesn't work. Just saying.

And another thing - if you're going to message someone as a potential match, how about more than "Hi" It's kind of hard to start a conversation from there.

Hibiscus are just another way to say EFF YOU!

I have my hibiscus back, along with my campfire toasting forks and my barbecue stir fry pan. Sadly the dog bed is still missing, but I'm not asking again.

Having the hibiscus back has been hugely satisfying. He managed to sweep me out of his life without feeling anything about my absence, but I bet he's feeling a gap every time he walks in his door and those two mothereffing huge hibiscus are gone.

I've also gotten a reason - of sorts. Apparently me expressing concern that our relationship was suffering from lack of nourishment - as in he was too fucking lazy to drive down the road during the week - and worrying that it was going to wither up and die, was taken as "I was going to break up with him anyhow"

Listen dude -  if you're going to go and get yourself all pissed off over something so minor that nobody knows what the fuck pissed you off and then dump me, grow a set and own it.

All in all, I've got a nice little fuck you attitude going. I've only cried once today, and if I have my way that will be the last time I cry over him.

I'm also going to sign myself up for an on-line dating site tonight. If nothing else, I should get some great stories to entertain you all from it.

Saint Bernard Puppies, Goobers and The Grossest Tick Story Ever.

This past weekend, in a weird twist of the universe, I somehow found myself puppy sitting for my ex-husband while he took the youngest fishing.

The puppy is a 6 month old Saint Bernard. For a puppy he was mostly quiet and pretty well behaved. He may have pooped on my bedroom floor, but since I didn't have to clean it up no harm no foul. The first night he just pouted, and there ain't nothing sadder looking than a sad St. Bernard puppy.

We did have some discussion on whether he could just go off home on his own. Possibly a little dispute on whether sofas are for dogs. In my house they aren't. They certainly aren't for dogs who walk around with foot long goobers hanging off their faces.

On Sunday the oldest took both dogs for a walk. Which led to last nights downright gross fest.

I came home from work and cut the grass, since I've finally managed to get the motherfucking mower to start. Then I texted The Polish Guy a list of my things still at his house. The only thing I really cared about was my two Hibiscus. I've had them for fourteen years, they're each about 5 feet tall and I'll be fucked if I'm going to see them on his lawn all summer.

Well I guess he didn't expect to have to give them up because he told me I forgot to ask for a bag of dog shit back too. Apparently it's still a sore point that in between working 70 hour weeks, keeping my house somewhat livable and making time for him - I never had time to clean up dog shit at his house (yes it is my dog's shit). Hell, I still haven't had time to clean up dog shit at my house. 

I told him he shouldn't be bitter since he dumped me and he called me childish. I of course proceeded to drink too much and cry on my girlfriend's shoulder.

So there I am walking around on my deck - in my slippers - and I feel the unmistakable pop of a stepped on bug. I look down and see a ton of blood. More blood than the biggest bug is going to have on it's own.

I had stepped on a fully engorged tick. In all of my wallowing self pity, I missed my dog walking around with a tick on him for four fucking days. Did I stop feeling sorry for myself and check him over for more? Oh hell no. I was too far into the whole howling bit by then.

So tonight, the dishes will get done. Clothes will be washed. The dog will be brushed.

And I will get back to living my life such as it is. I may still weep, but I'll be damned if I'm going to keep hiding my head under the blankets. I'll be washing my slippers too. Blech.

Wash, rinse and repeat.

I don't know what to do with myself most evenings right now. It's strange to me because The Polish Guy and I haven't spent time together on weekdays since September. Still, this seems to be the place I'm stuck in right now.

I've always prided myself on being able to fill time. Sometimes I can fill time doing absolutely nothing. It seems now isn't one of those times.

I feel lethargic, but agitated at the same time. I don't want to do anything, but I feel like I need to do something.

I tried mowing the lawn - it does definitely need it. I gave up when the lawnmower stalled the second time.

I could focus on the never ending always there tasks of running a home, but I probably won't. I could go for a walk, but I probably won't.

TV can't hold my attention and neither can reading.

Instead I wander the house aimlessly, never quite settling on anything.

In truth, all I want to do is go to bed and sleep so that today will be over and tomorrow can begin.

Wash, rinse and repeat.

The Hardest Part Was Getting Out of Bed

Five years ago I used to ride my bike a lot. It was always a handy way to burn off the tension that goes with single parenting teens.

I looked damn good too. Good enough to catch The Polish Guy's eye. So I stopped riding my bike and started riding The Polish Guy.

Riding The Polish Guy was also a handy way to burn off tension. Sadly it wasn't as good for burning calories.  Even more sadly, I'm no longer riding The Polish Guy.

Right now I've got a lot of feelings that need burning off so I bought a new bike. It's the first bike I've ever bought for myself. The original plan was #1 (who has a truck) was going to pick it up for me on Saturday so I could test ride it on Sunday and then ride it to work.

Except Canadian Tire had to build it first. Yep, the bike was in the flyer on sale and they didn't have a single one put together. My son asked if he could just bring it home in the box but apparently building it yourself voids the warranty.

I didn't get the bike until last night, so no test ride to see how long it would take to get to work.

I turned to Google maps. And Google maps gave me some ridiculous routes that I wouldn't even take in a car. Every single one of them required going past where I needed to get to and then backtracking. So I guessed and set my alarm for 4:30 am.

When the alarm went off, I hit the snooze. Repeatedly. At 4:30 am it seems pretty fucking easy to say "tomorrow." Except eventually some part of me said "No! Today asshole." and I got up.

When you live in a country that has winter, the first bike ride of the season is always the hardest. It's the one where your muscles say "you want me to do what?" There were times this morning I worried I would fall over because I was going that slow.

I made it though - and only one minute late. Which kind of sucked since I had planned on being there ten minutes early so I would have time for a cigarette before work.

Yes, I do see the irony there.

Thankfully the wind was with me on the way home, so day one of riding my bike to work is done. I might wait until Friday for day two. 

But day two will come, along with day three and so on. By September my ass will be sitting high and tight.

Eat your heart out Polish Guy.