Soldiering, mice and sleepless nights

I have not been at the computer much, lately. Have you noticed?

My father has been to the hospital twice in as many weeks, and continues the steady decline in health. He is now hooked up to oxygen 24-7, which means no more smoking in the house which means 1)I look like an asshole still smoking, period and 2)I'm really angry all the time because I have to go out in my jammies and scare the neighbors to smoke. Which I do constantly, because I'm stressed out. Hooray.

I (in a wild fit of brilliance!) Rearranged my work schedule so that I can drive my father to and from the kidney center, not realizing that I now have no free time whatsoever. Like, less than zero. Sigh.

Oh, and dad? By the way, if you could remember a few things for me that would be great. Post-its, something.

1)If you have a doctors appointment somewhere other than our house, please let me know more than 4 hours beforehand.

2)If you are being raced to the hospital via ambulance, and the nurses ask you if they can call your daughter, only tell them "I already did" if you have, in fact, done so. Telling them that you did, when actually you were humming the tune to Gilligans Island and wondering why the hell you are going to the hospital will result in your youngest progeny having a small nervous breakdown at her work and threatening one of the nurses with physical harm and/or legal action for your fuck up.

3)I love you. Really. I know we don't say that to eachother, ever, but I do, and it scares me to no end to see you so frail.

I have not been sleeping. I should be sleeping now, as I have to work tomorrow. Today. Sigh.

We have/had mice! Fuckity shit! We got rid of them thusly:

Mouse #1:

Realize there is a mouse in room.

tell T there is mouse in room.

watch T tear room apart while in underpants to find mouse.

Watch T find mouse, leap into air.

Open door to frantically smoke cigarette in pajamas.

T scares mouse outside.

Go back inside and shut door, leaving T out on stairwell in underpants with mouse.

Mouse weighs options, leaps off balcony from 2 stories up.

Mouse #2:

Next day. Dramatic steps have been taken to convince mice to leave premesis. If they have not listened, they die.

Fall blissfully asleep.

Awaken to T turning on all lights and tearing room apart while in underpants looking for mouse.

Fall blissfully asleep.

Awaken to T turning on all lights and tearing room apart while in underpants.

Fall blissfully asleep.

Awaken to T setting mousetrap.

Sit in darkness, watching T stare at spot where mousetrap is, out in darkness.

Hear SNAP of mousetrap, watch T dispose of dead mouse outside, while in underpants.

Mouse #3:
Day three. This mouse is smart, and has eaten all bait left in traps. Final mouse in house.

Rearrange traps.

Put trap next to father in kitchen. Warn him of traps presence.

Hear SNAP of trap, loud swearing from father.

Mouse in trap, but not dead. T is wearing pants this time.

Father gets oxygen tubing wrapped around now dead mouse in trap, more swearing.

Tell T to remove pants, as that seems to help the process.

T untangles father, disposes of mouse.

The end.

Two Handed Porkscrew

I don't know that anyone wants to know the story behind that one. Or about the specially trained elephant that my coworker seems to have in his pants.

I have hooker nails now. Finally. Again. I had acrylics for years and then ran out of the fundage. Now that the fundage has reappeared in my life, more acrylics. So there.

I always think of such interesting and witty things to write about while Im at work (9 days straight this week, baby!) and then come home and forget about them entirely. All my news is bad, really.

My father's medical practitioner basically told him that he needs to start getting his things in order due to the fact that he is going to die here shortly. Nice. Really. Didn't even try to dress it up in a nice outfit or anything. Just the "theres nothing more we can do" talk. Sigh.

I guess thats really it. Im just kinda down about it, as im sure you can understand. theres nothing really more to say about it. I guess I will just start writing down the interesting things I think of at work.

That gross popping grating sound

That's the sound my knee and shoulders are making right now. I have to be back at work in less than 11 hours....I really love having less time off between shifts than the actual shifts I work. Really.

I am so freaking tired right now, its not even close to OK. But I drank about a gallon of 'liquid crack' (also known as energy drinks/life giving nectar) so I will blog a little and then off to bed with me!

Ugh. So. Tired. Really. Can't stress it enough.

What's new? Nothing. Not a damn thing. Got hit on today, by a gentleman of all things! And for someone not creepy to hit on me enough to have me notice--Damn. I had to casually drop T's existence into the conversation to spare him/me the awkwardness of the coming phone number request. (It was coming. I could tell.) People don't flirt with me unless they are old, creepy or insane, usually. No one has ever asked me for my phone number! People tell me I'm intimidating, and I suppose that could be true. Who knows, I don't interact with myself all that often. But I know that if this man had asked me for my number, I would have said something retarded in an attempt to let him know that I was very flattered (for once) but off the market. Or just laughed uncomfortably and spilled water all over myself. (That's nothing new.) Instead, I just mentioned casually that I had a boyfriend, and let it end there. haha!

I've lost almost 20 pounds, bitches! I can fit into my skinny jeans again! 20 more and we're in business. Oh yes.

I'm going to bed now.

Blargh

I only worked a half day today and I'm so ready to go to bed. It's not even 6 yet. Sigh. Doubles tomorrow, and Friday, then I am off to the other restaurant to attempt to not kill the man who fancied himself king, or TV, as he will be known from now on.

One of the girls I work with down there is oh-so-nice, but oh-so-dumb. I like her, and we get along fine, but having normal conversations is slightly difficult.

She didn't know who Chuck Norris was.

She hasn't read a book since the third grade.

Now, I know that Chuck Norris isn't a major figure in today's culture, he's not the president or a senator or anything, head of a major cult, you know what I mean. But he's HUGE as far as 'campy' goes. Everyone knows who he is, right? You can't turn around without seeing a joke about him being able to slam a revolving door or something....and yet--nothing. Oh well.

The book thing, though, that threw me.

Speaking of books, Chuck Palahniuk has a new one out and if I don't own it soon my head is going to fall off. I worry that it's going to suck like some of his other new stuff has (oops! Did I say that?) but I am compelled to read just the same. Compelled! I tell you.

New work uniforms. Thank the lord baby jesus. that's all I have to say about that. No more pumpkin, for the love of all things holy.

I had plans of writing a good, long blog. And here I sit, with nothing coming forth. Nothing! Sigh. My ex is moving to China, which T says is the best place for him. (and this one isn't even one of the famous exes!)

Im supposed to go have a drink with Anti-Chuck Norris girl tonight. I should go. But she always gets so freaking loaded, so quick! Oh well, drinking Lemon Drop martinis like they're shots will do that to you. I usually sit there and have my obigatory one glass of cabernet and watch the hilarity ensue.

I just don't have any patience for people that drink to get fucked up every time. I know that is judgemental, and not fair, and that I should take into account how this girl just recently turned 21, but....Well, I was raised in a house of alcoholics. All I knew from birth, basically, is that drinking too much makes you mean and stupid and my mother. I don't want to meet my mother for cocktails, dinner or even a glass of milk. I know it's a stumbling block that I should get over, but it just sticks with me--I always, always get irritated or pissed at people if I'm out with them and they get totally fucking shitfaced. Internal monologue starts up about 'being responsible' and 'ruining it for everyone else'--But that's unfair, as I have gone out and just gotten plastered before as well. I have ruined it for everyone else. But for me, the hangover isn't the worst part, its the guilt I feel afterwards. Did I act like an asshole? Did I say something out of turn?

A friend of mine once told me that the only time he had ever seen me really relax was when I had about 5 beers in me (after having a man in a Stihl hat put his finger in my buttcrack--there is a story to this, I swear. And I wasn't too happy that he did it) and smoked some pot. I just....stopped caring about shit. I stopped caring that my life was in a shambles, that I had so many things to worry about, to take care of, to deal with....I just was there, in the moment.

I don't know that this is what I was doing just then. I remember it more as being a "I need to go to bed now" sort of situation, and the worries were still swimming around in there, I just wasn't focused on them like I normally am. I don't let shit go. I can't just put it aside, and have fun.

I think that stems from my childhood as well, actually. I think that because I have had so many responsibilities for so long, the idea of not having something to deal with, worry about or be in charge of is totally foreign.

I should work on that.

In Memory

I respect Memorial day. I appreciate that it exists, and that we as a culture are given a day to take a step back and recognise the sacrifice that members of the armed forces give, and have given, to our country, freedom and democracy.

I do not respect, however, how most of our culture spends this day. They do not fly the flag, visit the graves of those closest to them who have left this mortal coil, make a toast at their evening meal--no, they choose to take a vacation on this three-day weekend, to laugh it up and go to parts unknown and sample the local fare.

In theory, this is not a problem.

This weekend, I was very nearly fired. Seriously. Like, my ass is in trouble at work. Big time. Who knew that asking your new boss where the fuck he gets off throwing accusations around like confetti will get you in trouble. Huh! Learning experience.

My customers this weekend.....Lord. Lord. LORD. I don't even know if I have the time to get into it now as I am making dinner. I had a 5 top from New York City. This is not a problem, aside from the fact that they seemed to adhere to the belief that ALL CITIES stay open 24 hours. That when a restaurant is packed full, its OK to stare at your menu and hrmm and haww and debate while the server is shooting fucking DAGGERS at you, especially after she informed you that she would give you more time to decide and help other tables and you said, "No! Wait! I'm ready!" and then continued to hrm and haww....NO YOU ARE NOT! YOU ARE NOT READY! WHO ARE YOU FOOLING?? GET YOUR HUGE FUCKING HEAD OUT OF YOUR MAMMOTH ASS AND JUST TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT TO EAT, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY! THIS ISN'T GODDAMN ROCKET SCIENCE YOU MORON!! (this is what i was yelling internally whilst smiling and nodding externally)

This was the least of my problems. From fighting with the boss to pissing off the kitchen, to rude anus-lipped women sending their food back and telling me I am 'dirty' because of my tattoo, (that's a whole post of it's own, I tell you), to 5% tippers who stayed well past closing, to being at work until nearly midnight....I had work nightmares when I got into bed. Seriously. Like, dreaming not of puffy clouds and angels and Tuscan summers,no, dreaming of realizing you haven't put in a food order and its 9pm, dreaming that customers hurl drinks at you, that I will be stuck in this godforsaken profession (no matter how well paid) for years....thank god none of these things have come true, and knock the hell out of wood that they don't.

I will post a more well defined version of this later. Please bear with me.

And please, take a moment to observe memorial day. Just a moment.

And put shoes on your children. (I'll get to that later too.)

Quickity quick quick

I made more money today than I used to in whole paychecks.

For real.

We like that.

Never mind the fact that I havent eaten a damn thing, nor have I bathed, gone to the bathroom, or smiled like I meant it.

It was worth it.

See now how I call myself a "kindess whore"?

Anyway.

I seem to have picked up a few new readers. We like that too. It gives me a sense of purpose. Does that make sense? If the only people reading are people I talk to on the phone, I can apologise for not writing and tell them whats going on anyway. But strangers! Its motivation.

So thank you, new person from the opposite coast I live on.

Oh, and when I said no food? I meant it. But I had a beer. So we're happy, suddenly.

Amazing how that works.

Anyway, 12 hour day. Back again tomorrow. Getting moved to the other restaurant. Not forever.

Feeling better than I was a few days ago, which is a good thing.

More later.

Secrets and Lies

I just spent the last hour half crying on the phone to T.

I'm the best girlfriend ever. 'Hi, honey, you're at work for 12 hours, and that sucks. Your job has been horrible the last few days, very stressful, lots of cleaning up other people's messes only to have to do it again 12 hours later? Shit. Here, let me get semi-hysterical and babble for an hour about things you can't change nor really understand because I can't go into any real detail because of the squeaky sob thing going on, that should help, right?'

Sigh.

Yeah, so, as the two of you that read this can surmise, I spoke with my mother just before speaking with T. Amazing how you pick that stuff up--its almost like it happens every time I talk to the freaking woman.

But it wasn't really mom this time. Well, yeah, it was, but it wasn't anything she out-right said to me. (No calling me a whore or anything! Amazing. She did elude to how fat I am, but it wouldn't be Wednesday without that.) She has decided that I am coming out to visit her next month, work be damned. Remember what happened the last time she decided this? I quit my job to be able to get out there and the day before I was supposed to leave she tells me that she doesn't want me to come. (Granted, that was a terrible job, but I didn't get a new job for over a month after that. And how freaking manipulative???!!?!?!) She just can't see past herself. Oh well. That's not really the problem.

The problem is this:

When T and I went back there last summer, as we drove up towards the godforsaken town she lives in, I FREAKED THE FUCK OUT. Crying, begging him to just turn around and go back, hyperventilating, the whole routine. I didn't see it coming, actually. But now, just hearing her tell me all about the things we will do when I come visit--It makes me want to throw up. Just thinking about going back there is flooding me with memories of all the horrible shit that went down when I lived there. Not just there, but college, High School. Just how many people hate me. More people hate me than call themselves my friend, many times over. And I may or may not deserve that hate--regardless, its there. All of them live in that state. No one had ever hated me before I lived there. And those people don't even really matter, in the grand scheme of things.

The most horrible, fucked up time of my life was bar none the eight years I lived in that state. A lot of it was due to very poor choices on my part--and a lot of it had to do with circumstances beyond my control. I had a realization earlier. My parents should have done a better job of raising me to believe that I deserved better, and could do better, than I did/was doing. A good heft of the blame lies with me, for being dumb enough to fall into the shit that I did, but we do have to at least cast a glance at my childhood. Everyone who knows anything is now having an "ah-ha!" moment, I'm sure.

I need to be able to get past this crap. Get past the cheating, the lying, the drug use, the sex, the betrayal, the shooting, the alcoholism, the slaps in the face, the 16 hour days, the fucking white trash assholes, the absolute bottomless pit that was my despair and loneliness during this time. Wrap it up, kiddies. Throw it out like yesterday's trash--we're done.

It doesn't work that way.

Its been almost 2 years since I have lived there, and still, still I am haunted by visions of my mother falling down and splitting her head open on the hope chest. (Irony, anyone?) Her bleeding internally and smoking a cigarette with a beer in her hand yet unable to walk when I came to take her to the hospital, finding out she was hours away from death but still had to finish that drink before we left. My stepfathers blood frozen into the ice in the driveway for months with nothing we could do about it. Being alone in that house and having to pull a gun on someone, and the knowledge that I could and would pull the trigger if I had to. The fear....constant fear. Uncertainty. Thinking that this was as much as I deserved. It was like a whirlpool--I could see up over the edge, to the calmer water, but it was just too much pressure, too much weight, I couldn't climb, claw, swim, leap out. How many times I contemplated taking my own life, how many times I tried. The reactions of those around me, telling me that if I couldn't get it right the first time I needed to accept that I was a failure at being a failure and get my fat ass off the floor.

I don't want to go back there. It is just a place, a state, a piece of land. But its so much more than that. No part of me wants to go there, ever, ever again. I'm afraid to. I'm afraid that if I do all those things will happen again, that I will feel like that again, be responsible for my mother again. I know it won't. But I was sure it wouldn't the first time.