I realize that for the past couple days I've been on hiatus, and I apologize for that. Hopefully I didn't disappoint any of my one followers.
Tonight I told my partner that I would be switching shifts. Originally I was going to let the bitch figure it out for herself on Monday when she came into work and sat around for an hour before realizing I wasn't coming in and I therefore wouldn't be working with her anymore. I like to think of it as a form of natural selection, or natural something. I just wanted her to figure it out on her own. Instead, she blindsided me with it: "so are you switching trucks?". Dammit. Now due to my incessant rage that exponentially multiplies itself like a strand of E. coli in nutrient rich agar at 98 farenheit, one would think i'd come right out and tell her "yes, because of your dumb ass." Instead, all I could get out was "yeah" before she jumped to the next question on the interogators list. "Is it because of me?" Fuck. Now don't get me wrong, I cannot stand this chick. However, she has no idea that everyday I wish she would hit somebody while she's driving ergo she'd be fired, vis-a-vis I wouldnt have to work with her anymore. But instead of letting out a "hell yeah," a "no" came out. Why? Why do some people find it so hard to tell a complete moron how much you can't stand them? Ask anyone, I'm not afraid to hurt someones feelings. Perhaps I do have a heart though, even though that was never really the question. The real trouble I'm having is trying to figure out why day after day I put up with her bullshit yet I can't go off on her. Literally, everyday I feel like exploding with all the stories I tell everybody else to make fun of her. Do I feel bad? Maybe I feel bad that she really is THAT stupid. But why, instead of confronting people with the problems they have with them, do people bottle it up, and wait to get home to let it out? Everybody does it. Originally I thought it was a personality thing, but maybe it's just the fact that people don't want to be involved in confrontations when they aren't necessary. Who knows.
Posted from my iPod
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
goodbye dummy
Today I received the best news since I've been employed at my job. Today my supervisor told me that I would be switching partners. Now before I get too far into this, I'd like to describe some situations that I've had to deal with:
Imagine being in a car. A two person car. All day. Everyday. With your mother. You love your mother right? She always means the best; gives you advice, tells you how to do things better and more efficiently (in her eyes), is quick to judge your decisions that don't fall in line with hers, and willingly tries to open up debates for each of you to explain to each other why you feel the way you do. In this case, I hate my "mother." My "mother's" name is Tammy. Tammy doesn't get it. Tammy doesn't understand that I despise her. It doesn't click in her thick always-has-a-smile-on-her-face skull that the reason why I don't talk to her while we're on the road for 12 hours is because I don't like her. She constantly asks me questions while I'm sitting there reading like, "do you want the heat on?" or "you want to listen to the radio?" while she is in the process of turning them on. If I wanted the radio on, I would turn it on. If i wanted the heat on, I'd turn the heat on. If you want it on, by all means, turn the damn thing on, but don't ask me whether or not I want something done when you are in the process of doing it or are going to do it anyways.
Now, going back to the smile. It's one of those smiles that looks like a face someone would make when they're trying to decide which of two things to choose. You know, you're eyes squint, and you've got a stupid stupid smirk on your face. However, the only things she's trying to decide between is which way would work best in pissing me off.
The lady has a spoon on her swiss army knife and brags about it. She just spent $500 on a butchers block and spent an entire day calling all of her friends and family to tell them. She still talks to her 26 year old son like he's ten. She always says "my pleasure" instead of "you're welcome." She calls everyone "my dear." She tells me how things "should" be done, when in fact, she is completely wrong. She thinks dialysis clinics are cold so patient's circulation increases (think about it). She constantly runs into my heel with the stretcher while I'm walking in front of her. She drills me on issues of abortion, healthcare, and religion, when the only counter-point she offers is some buzz-word/slogan she heard on some fox news show.
She, my friends, is a moron. Needless to say, I'm out of hell. I've done my time. The lady has never been able to keep a partner for more than two months. I've made it two and a half. Call me a hero, call me what you will. I'm not telling the bitch I won't be working with her anymore. She'll figure it out when next monday rolls around and I'm not there to absorb all of the useless and pointless incorrect bullshit that she has to offer.
New Shift: M-F 6:30a to 4:30p
CAN'T WAIT!
Imagine being in a car. A two person car. All day. Everyday. With your mother. You love your mother right? She always means the best; gives you advice, tells you how to do things better and more efficiently (in her eyes), is quick to judge your decisions that don't fall in line with hers, and willingly tries to open up debates for each of you to explain to each other why you feel the way you do. In this case, I hate my "mother." My "mother's" name is Tammy. Tammy doesn't get it. Tammy doesn't understand that I despise her. It doesn't click in her thick always-has-a-smile-on-her-face skull that the reason why I don't talk to her while we're on the road for 12 hours is because I don't like her. She constantly asks me questions while I'm sitting there reading like, "do you want the heat on?" or "you want to listen to the radio?" while she is in the process of turning them on. If I wanted the radio on, I would turn it on. If i wanted the heat on, I'd turn the heat on. If you want it on, by all means, turn the damn thing on, but don't ask me whether or not I want something done when you are in the process of doing it or are going to do it anyways.
Now, going back to the smile. It's one of those smiles that looks like a face someone would make when they're trying to decide which of two things to choose. You know, you're eyes squint, and you've got a stupid stupid smirk on your face. However, the only things she's trying to decide between is which way would work best in pissing me off.
The lady has a spoon on her swiss army knife and brags about it. She just spent $500 on a butchers block and spent an entire day calling all of her friends and family to tell them. She still talks to her 26 year old son like he's ten. She always says "my pleasure" instead of "you're welcome." She calls everyone "my dear." She tells me how things "should" be done, when in fact, she is completely wrong. She thinks dialysis clinics are cold so patient's circulation increases (think about it). She constantly runs into my heel with the stretcher while I'm walking in front of her. She drills me on issues of abortion, healthcare, and religion, when the only counter-point she offers is some buzz-word/slogan she heard on some fox news show.
She, my friends, is a moron. Needless to say, I'm out of hell. I've done my time. The lady has never been able to keep a partner for more than two months. I've made it two and a half. Call me a hero, call me what you will. I'm not telling the bitch I won't be working with her anymore. She'll figure it out when next monday rolls around and I'm not there to absorb all of the useless and pointless incorrect bullshit that she has to offer.
New Shift: M-F 6:30a to 4:30p
CAN'T WAIT!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
I'm starting to get a hang of using a keyboard that is about two and a half square inches to write blogs longer than some essays I wrote in college. I feel like I've reverted back to the seventh grade by only being able to use my right index finger while my others slack off and watch. It's like a construction site in the palm of my hands.
I figure this blog is a good way to remember what goes on and how I'm feeling on different days because my memory is terrible. Last night was another one of those nights I absolutely can't get enough of. It probably could have been better but some people find charging their phone a lot harder to do than most others. For the past couple years I've been practicing and enhancing my social life by sitting at home. There are few things I like more on a Friday or Saturday night than grabbing a six pack, plopping on my favorite chair that is terrible for my posture in my boxers, and drinking while playing videogames over the Internet with my closest friends. Am I a hermit? Maybe. Loser? Probably. Yet with this type of lifestyle, I've managed to keep in touch with friends relocated to Wyoming, and meet people who happen to be an heir to a successful mortuary somewhere in rural Oklahoma. And I can do all of this in the comfort of my own apartment. Why go to a bar and deal with a bunch of conceited douche bags looking for a) a dirty skank whom hopefully has the clap or b) a fight. If I don't want to deal with somebody, one simple press of the button shuts their prepubesent ass up. I suppose if I went to a bar there wouldn't be kids around, but still. Although I have probably spent weeks of my life in front of my tv, controller in hand, I can honestly say that I don't regret it.
Bring on the weeks to come.
Posted from my iPod
I figure this blog is a good way to remember what goes on and how I'm feeling on different days because my memory is terrible. Last night was another one of those nights I absolutely can't get enough of. It probably could have been better but some people find charging their phone a lot harder to do than most others. For the past couple years I've been practicing and enhancing my social life by sitting at home. There are few things I like more on a Friday or Saturday night than grabbing a six pack, plopping on my favorite chair that is terrible for my posture in my boxers, and drinking while playing videogames over the Internet with my closest friends. Am I a hermit? Maybe. Loser? Probably. Yet with this type of lifestyle, I've managed to keep in touch with friends relocated to Wyoming, and meet people who happen to be an heir to a successful mortuary somewhere in rural Oklahoma. And I can do all of this in the comfort of my own apartment. Why go to a bar and deal with a bunch of conceited douche bags looking for a) a dirty skank whom hopefully has the clap or b) a fight. If I don't want to deal with somebody, one simple press of the button shuts their prepubesent ass up. I suppose if I went to a bar there wouldn't be kids around, but still. Although I have probably spent weeks of my life in front of my tv, controller in hand, I can honestly say that I don't regret it.
Bring on the weeks to come.
Posted from my iPod
Saturday, March 7, 2009
As I sit here waiting for my pager to start going off to pick up the next "poor soul" who is too lazy to walk so their insurance can pay for the ambulance ride to and from dialysis, I start to realize that there are people these days that don't give a damn about anything. They don't give a damn that the reason this country is the way it is today is because the attitude of people has gone from "give me liberty" to "give me." People think they are entitled to take advantage of the system. These people are the reasons why a lawyer is a word in the English language, the reason why a car accident can be 40% your fault, the reason why taxes need to raise to pay for girl-from-the-block whom still is unemployed yet REFUSES to take birth control, and the reason why obesity is so prevalent.
I understand that there is a fine line between genetics and stupidity, but I have zero sympathy for someone who weighs 350 pounds, needs an oversized stretcher for the ride home from the hospital (abdominal pain) and is placed in a bed with a bag of potato chips clipped on the side rail.
No sympathy.
I don't like talking to people about religion because I am extremely stubborn in my beliefs as I'm sure defendant is equally so. I do, however, love acting like I know what I'm talking about to sweet old ladies on the verge of finding out the truth with all that mess. I don't think it's right for someone in that condition to start asking questions and having doubts. It would be like telling a four year old there's no Santa the day before Christmas. I'm not all about that. I smile, nod, wonder how long it's going to be until I'm at the point in my life where I actually love my job, and keep on truckin. I'll let people have their fun; convert me, open my eyes, "omg you are so right," and get the good feeling people get when you help another person. I'll be the one looking you square in the face thinking, "you have no idea and neither do I."
Posted from my iPod
I understand that there is a fine line between genetics and stupidity, but I have zero sympathy for someone who weighs 350 pounds, needs an oversized stretcher for the ride home from the hospital (abdominal pain) and is placed in a bed with a bag of potato chips clipped on the side rail.
No sympathy.
I don't like talking to people about religion because I am extremely stubborn in my beliefs as I'm sure defendant is equally so. I do, however, love acting like I know what I'm talking about to sweet old ladies on the verge of finding out the truth with all that mess. I don't think it's right for someone in that condition to start asking questions and having doubts. It would be like telling a four year old there's no Santa the day before Christmas. I'm not all about that. I smile, nod, wonder how long it's going to be until I'm at the point in my life where I actually love my job, and keep on truckin. I'll let people have their fun; convert me, open my eyes, "omg you are so right," and get the good feeling people get when you help another person. I'll be the one looking you square in the face thinking, "you have no idea and neither do I."
Posted from my iPod
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