Heidi's Hell Hole

The big cheese was in town today for our annual meeting. It wasn’t a bad meeting, all in all. Despite the corporate buyout, it looks like our office and jobs are relatively safe, and it’ll take about a year to get everything in place. As he put it, “The good news is you’re the only office on this side of the state, so that helps. But think of it as a twelve month long interview.”

 

He asked some rhetorical questions of the office, and here’s what he asked and what I would’ve liked to have said….

 

“I mean, what type of job do you want to have?”

Preferably one where I can work 4 hours a day, surfing the ‘Net, and get paid $100k a year. Like our sales manager.

 

“You guys work hard, right?”

Not really, no, I don’t. I mean, sometimes I do. But mostly I’ve worked myself into a position where I can do minimal work most of the time, and achieve maximum results. I work smarter, not harder.

 

“You guys take pride in your company, right?”

I wouldn’t go that far. Am I proud of my numbers, sure. But this soul-sucking job doesn’t treat me well enough, nor does it pay enough for me to say I’m “proud” to work here. Besides, I’ve seen what we do to our clientele. No, I’m not proud.

 

“Most of us are making this company a career, not a job.”

Whoa, buddy. I most certainly DO look at this as a job, not a career. If I said this was a career for me, it’d be killing what little soul I have left. I hate this company, I hate this job, and to be honest, I’ve been looking for a new job for the last 6 months.

 

“You guys all seem to get along…”

Correction: we get along when you’re here. The rest of the time, we bicker amongst ourselves. The warehouse guy is a drink away from killing the inventory guy, the sales manager *would* slap the admin manager, but he’s too old & lazy, and the receptionist is one more retarded phrase away from getting my stiletto up her ass.

 

“Walk me through an average day in the sales process…”

Get up, scratch balls, shower. Scratch balls again. Head over to Starshmucks, flirt with barista. Scratch balls. Head into the office, bullshit with other reps for 2 hours. Flirt with sales assistant, (me), and stare blatantly at her boobs. Scratch balls to make sure they’re still there. Half-heartedly propose new deal to customer, get rejected. Choke the chicken at lunch, go play golf. Head home.

 

In the meantime, I of course answered all his questions in the PC, polite way. I love my job! I mean, where else can men thrice my age stare at my chest? Where else can I get yelled at by customers for crap that’s not my fault? I tell ya, I’ve landed a job in Heaven!

 

In order to get my mind off recent crappy developments, here’s a CL rant.

 

When you post an ad and you’ve gotten rid of the item, REMOVE THE DAMN AD. I called on a free couch that looked pretty nice, considering I was in the “free” section of Craigslist. I called and the guy said it was gone yesterday. Then remove the ad, jerkoff. This isn’t hard to do. Besides, aren’t you tired of the phone calls by now?

 

When I call on your item and you say you’ll leave it outside on the porch, have a light on! I spent twenty minutes circling the block trying to find your damn address because you couldn’t get your ass off the couch and flip a switch. When I emailed you about how I couldn’t find your house, you said you’d put the porch light on. I said I was busy running errands but I’d be there in about an hour. You then proceeded to get huffy with me. Dude, I’m gonna give you a newsflash: my life doesn’t revolve around picking up free shit I found on CL. Christ.

 

Post a damn price. When you walk into a store, their items are priced. CL is like a store. You’ve got shit to sell, we’ve got money. It helps tremendously if we know how much you’d like to get for your item. Posting “now taking offers” doesn’t help. Since you haven’t posted a price, expect to get lowball offers. Don’t repost and bitch later “NO LOWBALLS, DON’T BE INSULTING!” Well then, why don’t you post a range that you’re looking for?

 

Don’t be outrageous with your price. I know, you JUST bought that Coach purse set last Thanksgiving for over $300. But you’re asking $250. I agree, that would be reasonable if this was a consignment shop, but it’s not. Again, this is CL. We’re looking for cheap digs. Oh, you bought that Tiffany’s necklace for $1,200? And you’re “giving it away” for $1,100? No, you’re not. If you want to recoup most of the money you spent on a purchase, try eBay. By the by, $2,500 for your 1986 “vintage” pea soup green couch is crap. Quit reposting your ad for that price. Lower it to maybe $100, and you’ll probably get some hits.

 

If necessary, post a size. Oh, you have a brand new pair of Steve Madden pumps? My, those are lovely. But it would help the buying process if you posted what size those beauties are. About a quarter of the ads I see don’t have sizes posted. If you’re too lazy to add “size 6” then you’re not going to sell your item. Sorry, that’s how it works. This is CL, folks. We’re a bit lazy. It’s the nature of the CL beast.

 

This has been mentioned before, but I’m going to regurgitate what you’ve already been told: POST PICTURES. Make sure the pictures show off the item. A blurry picture doesn’t help you sell anything, nor does the phrase “pics don’t do it justice”. If the picture is blurry, fuzzy, or whatever, then keep retaking a picture until you get a good one. If you don’t have a digital camera, then use Google image search. (Also, get out of the cave. This is 2010.) If that STILL doesn’t yield your wanted results, then describe the item in minute detail.

 

If you follow these simple steps, I promise, folks, you’ll probably sell your item a hell of a lot faster. Post pictures, post a price, and don’t make the price unreasonable. If it’s sold, take down the ad. If it’s free and you say it’s outside and at night….TURN THE DAMN PORCH LIGHT ON.

 

I don't know that I can describe how I am feeling.

The OW made a choice, and as a result, H1 and I chose.

To give you an idea of how I'm feeling: I drank rather heavily on my lunch break. Three shots of tequila and two beers.  I want to drink until I am numb. I probably shouldn't, with alcoholism running in my family. But I'd really like to drink until I'm so drunk I don't know my own name. I just want to forget this last week. I want to forget the last 25 years so I don't have any memories. I'm a breath away from leaving work and getting drunk.

I also want to destroy & obliterate. I want to assault someone until they are unrecognizable. You see, my emotions cause a very physical reaction in me. I'm told I have anger management issues. I want to destroy and obilterate something or someone, anything. I don't care at this point. Just as long as something or someone feels the pain I'm feeling. Who or what doesn't matter to me at this point. Even if it's myself, I don't care.

I feel like someone made me drink acid, then ripped out my heart, threw it in a blender, and hit frappé.

I am living with the choice I made. I know that. But as you may have picked up on, I don't handle things very well. I learned by watching my family that you can drink the problem away. I learned a few years ago that destroying things (including yourself) gives me a rush and a release. Physically, it feels like a high. The ball of white-hot fury in my chest dissipates, and I feel giddy and light headed.  Drinking, destroying, and a razor blade gives me this rush.

So far, I have only drank and made a few select incisions. Unfortunately, I'm at work, so the release is exceedingly small and unfulfilling. Nonetheless, the liquor felt good burning my throat, and the cuts made me happy. My birthmark turns bright red when I'm unhappy. It's as bright as neon right now.
 
Fuck you if you want to say I need therapy. I know I'm fucked up, okay? This is not news. I am living with the choice I made and dealing with it the only way I know how.

I feel like I have no one else in the world to trust. Just an empty room, full of empty space. I tell you know as you turn to go, I'll be dying slowly inside. I don't know how else to deal with the overwhelming, all consuming pain and anger other than to drink and cut.

I am prepared to live with my choice. Indeed, I have no other option. I will always love him, how can I stop? But he has shown that he loves She Who Shall Not be Named more than us. However, he will not relent and I am unyeilding.

So, this unyeilding fortress will be filled with cheap wine and will continue to bleed.

I will give you this: no matter what words I say, I will always love you. No matter how long I'm away, I will always love you. No matter what you say, no matter what you've done I will always foolishly love you. You simply chose your girlfriend over your children. Do you think we'd ask such a choice over a falsehood? Apparently you do. Fare thee well, Old Wolf. May your travels be happy, and your trail easy. May no owl defecate on you, and may you never eat her up and spit her out ever again. Wounded though she may be, she will fly high and proud. And alone. Always alone.

 

Well, damn it all, I didn’t get the job I was angling for. I’m not taking it personally. However, it is rather disheartening simply because it feels like I brought my A game and it wasn’t good enough. And it was quite a bit more money than I’m currently raking in.

 

I bought a new suit, and looked right sharp in it, if I do say so myself.

 

I made three laminated packets with examples of my work.

 

I made eye contact with all of the interviewers, and would answer two questions in one answer.

 

I also sent out something like 30 résumés and only got one stinking interview out of it.

 

However, there is one thing that kind of irked me. The interviewer that called to deliver the news rambled on about how it was just a pleasure to meet me, and how delightful I was….Yeah, okay, get to the point Barbie, all I need to know is if there’s an offer on the table.

 

“However…” Okay, stop right there. We both know what you’re going to say next so shut up now.

 

After she delicately informed me that I wasn’t getting the job, she tried to placate me. Look, I don’t need your solicitous attitude, okay? It obviously doesn’t matter how much you enjoyed meeting me because I wasn’t hired.

 

“Do you have any questions?”

 

Yeah, Barbie, as a matter of fact, I do. Know the number of a good hit man? Just curious.

 

Fine, y’know what, Barbie? Don’t hire me. You can’t handle my administrative awesomeness. I would’ve filed the shit out of your office. But noooo, you don’t want the Queen of Administratia.

 

Stupid interviewees.

 

In November, I found a backbone I hadn’t utilized before. Once and for all, I told my Mother off.

 

I warned everyone that I was making some changes in my life, and that they might not like some of them. Heretofore, I’ve not really needed to use my newly discovered backbone.

 

Times, they are a-changing.

 

It seems few took me seriously about the changes. I’m going to assume that they’ve learned the error of their ways.

 

Am I serious about leaving if my birthday comes and goes without a proposal?

You’re damn right I am. I know that despite my failings, I’m a good catch. If you can’t see the light, I’m not giving you a flashlight.

 

Am I going to let people railroad me?

Hell no I’m not. I’m going to fight my side 200% and I’m not going to be guilted into your side.

 

Am I going to ask for peoples help?

Considering that most people seemingly take delight in telling me what I’m doing wrong, and that I can’t do anything right...I’m going with no.

 

Can I do this on my own?

You’re damn right I can. Despite what you may think, I can be alone. If it comes down to it, (which it probably will), I don’t need Bryan. I don’t need the Old Wolf or his girlfriend. I don’t need my Mother. I’ve been alone before and I’m going to do it again.

 

Am I tired of peoples incessant bitching about things they won’t change?

Oh, darlin’, and how. If you want to bitch about a problem to me, you better have a damn plan to fix it. Otherwise, you’re wasting my time.

 

In conclusion: I’m making some changes in my life. If you don’t like them, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. Let me sum it up for you: I’m going to leave in March if I don’t get a proposal. I couldn’t give less of a shit what you think about it. I’m not going to let people run roughshod over me; I can do this on my own, and if you want to bitch about a problem and not change it then call someone else. Do not call me.

 

Have a nice day or not, it’s your choice.

 

WARNING: I am pissed the eff off. Screw hurting your feelings at this point.

What does broke mean to you?

Broke to me means I’ve got a dollar (often less) to my name. It means I’ve got $20 until Friday payday, and the truck needs gas, and that means we’ll have ZERO DOLLARS after the truck is gassed up. It means I have no money for extras.

I’ve been living, for all intents and purposes, broke for the last three years. Rarely, if ever, do we get to eat out. It costs about $8 for one value meal at a fast food restaurant. That $8 could buy me groceries that can make dinner, have leftovers, and eat for a few days.

Rarely, if ever, do we buy new clothes. Last week was a bit of an exception. I needed a suit for an interview I had with an organization that contracts with the state. I had a very small budget, and with the miracle that is thrift stores, came home happy.

BF gets his haircuts from a $6 barber. The last time I had a professional stylist cut my hair was back in May of 2009. Since then, my friend AC has cut my hair in exchange for dinner or fixing her SUV. She’s since moved away, and I probably will just find a Great Clips and have them trim it.

We were able to afford a gym membership using a wonderful work discount. We also looked at it as an investment in our health. Healthy people don’t get sick as often, and of course, have less long-term health issues.

I do not spend $20 every two weeks to get my nails done. I do not eat out, unless it’s from the dollar menu. I do not travel. I do not because I do not have the funds with which to do so.

However, it rankles me to no end that people will complain to me that they are broke, when it does not appear to be so. If you are as broke as you claim to be, then might I inquire as to why you can somehow afford to spend $40 on your nails every month? How is it you can afford that, but paying your electric bill is a challenge? How can you bemoan that buying groceries is a difficulty, when you’re out to lunch?

Furthermore, if one is broke, and considers taking a title loan out on a vehicle, it would make sense to me that one would use those funds to pay off existing debt. It does not make sense to take a loan against a vehicle, and buy a bauble with it. You’re essentially taking out a loan to buy something pretty. Since you are well aware of your existing debts, and how broke you are, you should not have to be convinced by someone twenty years your junior not to buy the jewelry.

How does one go about living to a higher standard, and not living hand to mouth? There’s the obvious conclusion: find a better job, or work a second job. I have been scouring the job boards for some time now, hoping to land a better job. Hopefully, this interview on Friday will prove fruitful, and I will have a better paying job. BF has also been doing the same. He’s also applied for several second jobs; however, so far, that has not produced the wanted outcome.

What if you were fired from a well paying job, and now work a job that doesn’t pay well? In this case, the person I am referring to did lose his job. However, he was told he could be hired back with a different contractor, and due to his exemplary work history, he’d be hired back in a second. Said person has not explored this option, because he doesn’t want to deal with a certain person who is also employed there. It seems to me that you’ve got two options. Option one is to continue working a low paying job, and struggling to pay your bills every month. The benefit is that you do not have to deal with a nasty person. Option two is to apply with your previous job, and be able to pay off numerous debts, and live to a higher standard. The negative is that you might have to potentially deal with a nasty person.

While I can certainly understand that one would wish to avoid said person at all costs, it seems to me that is truly your only option. It is simply not financially feasible to continue to work as you have been. You need to ignore the disparaging remarks and rumors that circulate, and do your job. The people that truly matter will dismiss the conjecture, and not give it a second thought.

There’s also another option, which, depending on your living situation, might also be an avenue. You could get a roommate. BF and I had a roommate for 18 months. While I completely despised the roommate, if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have been able to pay our basic bills such as rent and utilities. He did contribute to the rent, food, and utilities, despite his numerous unfavorable qualities. As it turned out, we were able to get our finances back on track to the point where we did not need him. The object of a roommate is to have someone to share the bills with.

A roommate is essentially useless if they do not contribute financially. If the roommate has a job, yet does not help pay the rent, food, utilities, cable, and internet, then you don’t have a roommate. You have a dependant. The situation is aggravated even further when the roommate in question is a fully grown adult with children, and not a minor with an after school job. It is one thing to move back in with your parents for a few months while you’re trying to get back on your feet. It is another thing entirely when said person has a fulltime job, and instead of saving up money to find a place of their own, pawns their children off on their parents every weekend to go out to the local bars. Said person also goes shopping quite a bit. Perhaps my view is skewed, but wouldn’t it make more sense to stay at home and save your money for your own place?

In closing, I would like to add a few remarks. If you are truly broke, then look at cutting out extra expenses, such as getting your nails done every other week. Quit eating out at restaurants, they are a waste of money. There are plenty of free things to do, so you’re not homebound every night. Also, when you've got someone on a shared family plan, it goes without saying they need to pay their share. So, when said person pays $200 when their share is $65, (three months worth of payments) its quite rude to ask them to pay more the next month. On that note, if you're phones are getting cut off every monthy why on EARTH would you buy a brand new phone that requires a $30 data package to work?!

 Furthermore, do not assume that because someone makes more money than you that they do not have their own financials demons to contend with. For the record, BF & I are paying off our respective divorces as well as a hefty medical bill of mine. Spending three weeks in the hospital, it seems, even with decent insurance, costs a small fortune. Do not continue to add to your mounting debt by taking out loans against vehicles for extraneous things such as jewelry. A plain gold band will work just as well, the sentiment is the same, and costs anywhere from $50 to $100, depending on the quality of the gold. Lastly, do not complain to me about how broke you are when your statements and actions indicate that you are doing nothing to change it.

I stayed home from work yesterday because when I woke up I could barely move. It struck me as odd because Monday my head hurt, and my back/neck/shoulders were a little sore but nothing too bad. But when I woke up yesterday it felt like I had taken a beating by 6 Sumo wrestlers.

I probably shouldn't be surprised at all. I've had whiplash before, when I was ten. I was in a car accident with the Old Wolf on Halloween, when we got T-Boned. That night I felt fine, but the next day was a bitch.

I sucked it up and went into the office today, mostly because it's the last week of the month, and because I felt "better". I popped a few Tylenols and felt okay. Nobody ever has accused me of forethought, which the next statement will prove. I wore five inch heels today. I went from "I feel better, just a bit sore" to "For the love of Christ, find me a tranquilizer gun."

But my back isn't what is weighing quite heavily upon me. I know that over time, it'll be fine.

What's killing me and making me feel just horrible is that I wrecked Bryans BMW. That's his toy, his baby, his love. I wrecked it. I feel like complete shit. When the wreck first happened my thoughts were, "Oh holy f*ck he's going to kill me. He's going to hate me for this. He'll never put a ring on it. Oh shit I wrecked his car. Ohshitohshitohshitohshit."

To his credit, if he is pissed, which I'd imagine he probably is, he hasn't said as much to me. He's let me know he's upset but he hasn't blew up at me for it.  I am a bit miffed that the queries regarding how I'm holding up are few and far between. I've chalked it up to him being a bit more concerned about how to fix his BMW and how to pay for it. After all, I've got health insurance. The M3, however, only has liability.

In the meantime, I leave you with pictures of what my crumpled beer can looks like. All I can say is go big or go home, right?

In which I lose my shit....



UPDATE:

 

Chances are that the damn car is totaled. Bryan looked, and he’s pretty sure there’s frame damage. Because of course it’s totaled! Why not, right?

 

Nonetheless, there’s at least a grand in damages, even with used parts. Good thing my tax return should be here this Friday, because we’re going to need it.

 

Have you ever wondered how nasty a pit viper would be if you stepped on it? Take a moment and envision the snakes mood. The viper would look like a puppy compared to the mood I am currently enmeshed in.

 

Allow to take a moment and vent. Fuck you if this hurts your damn feelings. Life’s a bitch, get over it.

 

Everyone at the office knows that I totaled the M3.  Needless to say, I am not in the greatest of moods. Yet they keep coming up to me and bitching "The coffee in the break room isn't strong enough" or "Why is my computer so slow?!" “Oh, man I lost my coffee mug. That’s a $20 mug.” Lemme tell ya, guys. I've had a far shittier day than you have, my week and month are going to BLOW, and I've got bigger fucking problems than the coffee or your computer being slow. Quit fucking complaining about how shitty your day is when my next MONTH is going to rape me financially. You lost a twenty dollar mug?! Jackass, I just caused $2,000-$3,000 in damages to my fucking car. If you really fucking think I care about your stupid $20 mug, then I’ve got a bridge to sell you, asswad.

 

While I’m sure your problems seem monumental to you, I quite frankly don’t give a flying fuck about them right now. My future, in many ways, just got ass raped.

 

Go find a therapist to whine to, because I am in a terribly nasty mood, and I’m ready to go postal. 

In the mean time, here's a video to show you how I feel:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_wtHnZytyQ

Today, January 25th, is a day that will live in infamy.

 

Why, Heidi? What makes today so great?

 

It’s not that it’s great, it’s that today sucked, on a level of suckiness that heretofore didn’t exist.

 

I wrecked Bryans precious BMW.

 

I was doing about 20 MPH, and I started to spin out of control and hit a parked car. The front of the car looks like a crumpled tin can.

 

Did I mention I hadn’t left the house not five minutes earlier and was not even a block from my house? Because that’s what happened.

 

I called Bryan, who didn’t ask if I was even okay. (I hit my head and it’s still throbbing.) I guess he assumed if I was calling him I was okay. I wonder if I would’ve been coherent to call even if I was gushing blood?  Bet I would be. Hmmm.

 

Bryan is less than pleased at the destruction I managed to cause to his precious car. It’s not totaled, I think, because the airbags didn’t deploy. But it’s pretty munched.

 

I guess that changes my goddamn after birthday plans quite a damn bit, now doesn’t it?! He’s pissed that the damn car is wrecked, and I’m pissed for a slew of other reasons.

 

If you want to complain about your day to me, I ask that you take a long walk off a short pier. I don’t want to fucking hear it, and furthermore, I do not care. I’ve got a shit-ton of other problems that have immediately arisen, the least of which is the damn BMW. So shove it.

 

I got an e-mail today saying all I blog about is old crap and how I'm wya behind.

Why don't I blog that much anymore?

Well, it's pretty damn simple: there's nothing to say.

Blah blah blah my job still blows, blah blah blah, my parents divorce still isn't final, blah blah blah, I'm still a clumsy dumbass, blah blah blah.

Nothing to see here, folks. Move along.

Pretty exciting shit, no? And what I DO want to write about stays in a private diary, which is password protected. Because some stuff I don't want Bryan or my Father reading, nor do I want their input on. It's me venting about things I don't feel comfortable sharing with the three or four (literally) that read this blog.

Originally, when I started this mess, I didn't think anybody would ever read it. It was like an online journal. I told nobody about it, indeed, it was found by accident. I blogged about whatever I wanted. Let's face it, when you think nobody reads something, you tend to get pretty free with yourself.

Then some people found it, got their feelings hurt, and everything changed. Now, I don't want to write anything that might get people angry, nor do I want to hurt peoples feelings. However, sometimes, well...Shit happens. But I'm too much of a wuss to post what I really think of people and their situations most of the time, so I pick out an incident, put a humorous spin on it, and post it.

In the meantime, I either write what I'd really like to write about in a journal, that unless you've got my incredibly obscure password, you'll never be able to see. You'll also need access to my office and, about six other passwords just to access the program that houses my journal.
 
Let me put it another way: I'm really, really, really fucked up in the head and  you don't want to see it. No, really, you don't. I've had two therapists confirm that I am indeed batshit crazy, and have medicated me to control it. Nobody but me needs to see the crazy-train that is my innermost thoughts. Besides, if they did, more feelings would be hurt, more arguments would ensue, and so on and so forth. I don't want it, I don't need it, and if I want to argue, trust me, I'll pick an argument. I'm good (read: crazy) like that.

So there you have it, guys. Why I rarely blog anymore.