Once upon a time, in an alcohol-soaked land not so far away, there lived a lovely girl who was known far and wide for her blunt honesty...
This is her version of how it all went to hell in a handbasket.
I've been making excuses for a while. The excuses will continue for the time being. I don't have internet set up at my house yet, and I've been putting it off while getting ready for my best friend's wedding. Obviously I've had bigger things to worry about, like getting my dress altered, making sure I had the right shoes, making sure my bank balance was high enough to purchase airfare, trying to figure out exactly how I was going to get my bag through security without raising questions regarding whether or not I'm some shoe-bomb-toting terrorist because I have foil wrapped items and finger nail clippers somewhere in the packing.
But The Admiral tied the knot this weekend, so that situation is handled. She looked gorgeous, (as expected,) I cried, (not expected,) and we drank and danced our asses off. I'm pretty sure that when I take my dress to be cleaned, my dry cleaner is going to just look at the dress, shake his head, look at me and say, "WHAT DID YOU DO?" in that shaming judgmental tone that so many dry cleaners are known for. Like an ashamed puppy, I'll just tuck my tail between my legs and give the sad "I'm sorry" face and hope that he'll forgive me. (Yeah, I have a tail now.)
Basically, what I'm getting at is that I hope to be getting internet at home, and updating you with more horror stories from the poop house chronicles on a much more frequent basis.
That said, I love you all, but I have to go nurse my post-wedding hangover and board a plane back home now.
You kooky kids stay out of trouble while I'm gone! Much love.
Poop House Chronicles 12: Once more into the breach...
I know it has been a while so we’ll give you the quick and dirty (emphasis on dirty) version of the previous PHC post, even though you’ve had ample time to review the existing posts in the absence of anything new.
Long story short, the last post examined the shitty, (both literally and figuratively,) working conditions that apparently applied to the terms of employment I somehow agreed to. It demonstrated exactly how little we were paid, exactly how much more work we were expected to do to get that pay when compared to the state social workers, and that VERY necessary mental health services that we all needed to maintain sanity, (if not sobriety,) were not covered by our health insurance plan, and were not provided for free, despite the fact that state social workers DO get free mental health services, their medical plans DO cover mental health services if they choose to see someone outside the office, and all this, despite the fact that the employer specializes in mental health services. In a word, GRAND… but just not for us.
The last post also recalled a phone conversation between the Poop House Family’s state social worker and me. It was not a productive conversation to be sure, unless your idea of “productive” includes further cementing the idea that the state social worker has got to have some kind of (pretty severe) impairment of all 5 natural senses as well as a significant overall comprehension and problem solving skill handicaps. The phone call refreshed our memory of the fact that the Poop House Plumbing was entirely, revoltingly clogged solely with the carcasses of roaches which died most likely of natural causes because the family did not appear to be taking any discernable extra steps to remedy the situation.
After the conversation with state worker Dave, I had other clients to see, and I decided to round out my day by going to the poop house last, as usual. [Sidebar: Some people have queried as to why I would wait and leave that dreadful experience for the tail end of the day. Their reasoning being that one could just power through it in the morning and then have the rest of the day to focus on all of the positives of already being done with the Poop House, and having the rest of the day to air out. My argument is this: if you have ever been to a Poop House, you know that your sole concentration from the instant you leave the premises until the instant you are bathed in purell or are otherwise sanitized and solidly getting started on getting blackout drunk, is getting to the closest possible shower and scrubbing your entire body until it is raw from the effort, and minimizing any unnecessary contamination (this is why having a pair of poop shoes is important for ventures into the poop house, and keeping those poop shoes in a sealed bag when they are not in use is equally important) … This type of showering, sanitizing, and heavy drinking is not something that most people can easily swing at the beginning of the work day, especially when you’re just going to go into other slightly-less-dirty people’s slightly-less-dirty homes and undo all the positive sanitizing efforts you’ve just undertaken for yourself.] So I went to see everyone else first. I got pissed off at several of my clients because they would fail to show up for visits, or they would fail to appear in court, or fail a drug test, or commit wholeheartedly to doing whatever they could to live up to being the ultimate failures that they always knew they could be. The clients’ total commitment to failure and my near constant pissed off mood went hand in hand, and as inseparable as they were, it should go without saying that I often let it show on my face that I was not to be trifled with on any given day. The really rare contact I had with clients who were not as committed to actively pissing me off was usually met with them saying to me something resembling, “You look mad… Who pissed in your cornflakes?” It was a just question, and was almost unfailingly answered, “Pretty much everybody but you.” This answer was not a stretch, given that I had the employer I had, the clients I had, and the fact that we were not compensated for using our own cars, even though gas prices hovered somewhere in the $3-$4 a gallon range during this time. (I know what you’re thinking, and yes, this job does find new and diverse ways of sucking, just when you think you’ve heard it all.)
At the end of my day when the Poop House was the only thing standing between me and a scalding shower followed promptly with a stiff drink, I headed over in that direction. As was my normal routine, I sat and audibly cursed for a couple minutes, put on the poop shoes, and headed in to see just exactly which circle of hell I’d be working in for the remains of my day.
As I knocked again on the once-white, now-tan-with-grime front door, I tried to control my breathing in an effort to keep my lunch down. The little pissant dogs started their incessant yapping which would not die down at any point during the duration of my stay, no matter how long it was to be. Mitch cracked the door to see who I was, (as if anyone without a professional obligation to enter this shit hole would ever set foot on the property,) and after putting the dogs in the bathroom, he let me in. As usual, I was nauseated at what I saw, and even more so by what I smelled.
“Mitch, this has got to stop.”
“What?”
“What is that odor?”
“Well… We still haven’t gotten the sink all the way unclogged, so it’s probably the food from the dishes, and the standing water in the sink.”
“Mitch, I’ve got to tell you, I don’t really care what it is you have to do, but that can’t keep going on. I don’t care whether you take those dishes into the bathroom and wash them in the sink or even the tub in there, or if you take them outside and run a hose on them, the fact is that those nasty dishes can’t just sit around out in the open being dirty.”
“Well, I think we’ve almost got the sink unclogged, so that’s why they are still there.”
“I’m thinking that the sink has been clogged for the better part of a week now, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, if there’s still standing water in there, then I’m pretty sure that it’s not ‘almost unclogged’ as you say. I’m no plumber, but I think that’s a pretty safe bet. Furthermore, I’m not an exterminator, but with the standing water and the dirty dishes, I’m guessing that you’re only attracting more roaches and then giving them a pool in which to drown. And I’m pretty sure that that’s only going to make your problem worse.”
“Well maybe, but Martha gets paid at the end of the week, and she’ll be able to get some stuff to fix it when she gets her check.”
(My internal monologue was wondering whether or not whatever they would purchase to "fix" their problems included the words "cyanide" or "atom bomb" or since they were working on a budget, even "just enough rope" would have satisfied me... but obviously that's not what Mitch meant.)
“Mitch, that absolutely cannot wait until the end of the week. And I don’t care if you have to call your landlord, and have him fix it, the fact is that this is a MAJOR problem.”
“I know. I know.”
“Don’t blow me off, Mitch. I know you’re just trying to get me to drop this, but the fact is that if anyone from the state came out here to make sure that things are going ok, they would yank Millie out of here so fast that it’d make your head spin… And then you get to start this process ALL OVER again. And I know you don’t want that.”
“No.”
“Well, between that little issue, and all the other little issues running around here and leaving their own little issues all over your carpet, you’re about 2 seconds from having that happen.”
Mitch then became visibly frustrated. He shifted his weight nervously because he could tell that I wasn’t bullshitting him.
“Well, what am I supposed to do? I can’t do everything here!”
“Mitch, I’m not asking you to do everything all at once.”
“Well I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“Mitch, I’ve told you what I want you to do. I’ve written it down as a chore list and had you tape it to the cabinet. What you have to do is work on those chores EVERY SINGLE DAY. And I know they seem big right now, but that’s because you haven’t been working them every day. You’ve been thinking that you can get by just doing the minimum while I’m here so that I don’t yell at you. But if you’re working on it EVERY DAY, and keeping up with it as you go through the day, it won’t seem like much at all. You just have to change your habits and get busy.”
“But I don’t have any help!”
“Well why not?”
“Because Millie is 5, and Martha goes to work all day.”
“Right, but neither of those is a reason not to help you. Your contribution to the house is maintaining it in general, and doing daily things like laundry and dishes, and cleaning up after the animals. I guarantee that you didn’t create this mess entirely alone… And there is absolutely no reason why Martha or Millie can’t help you out by cleaning up after themselves.”
"Yeah, like that'll happen."
"Well it definitely won't with that attitude! You've just gotta have a little discipline and make it all a prat of the family routine."
Roughly the time those last few words rolled off my tongue the Tasmanian Devil, or perhaps just THE DEVIL rolled in... Little Millie was home from school... And I was about to bite my tongue clean off from trying to withhold the urge to correct anything while Mitch was still in such an agitated state, and Millie was hell-bent on continuing her reign of terror.
I haven’t died. There is no cause for worry. Do not send out the search dogs to scour the entirety of the South. So far I haven’t been assaulted by the good ol’ boys for being a liberal.
The fact is that I have settled into my new home, gotten entirely unpacked, and started to actually smile occasionally because for once things have somewhat gone my way. I mean if I all of a sudden find a guy and fall in love and live happily ever after, it will be the adult-life trifecta. I’m not holding my breath for that one… I’ve NEVER been that lucky.
However, the proverbial fly in the ointment at the moment is that my computer is totally jacked. I even took it to the office IT guy to see if there was anything he could do for me. He gave it a look and said, “Yeah, it’s totally fixable, but if you’re going to spend the kind of money needed to do it, you might as well be getting a new computer.” This is clearly not what I wanted to hear. I mean I did just drop a boat load to the folks over at U-Haul… TWICE. And that would have more than covered the costs of a new computer. But that was an investment that has paid off handily, so the U-Haul folks can keep their money, and I’ll sit here with a busted computer.
The primary drawback of all of that is that I lack internet access outside of work, (where they monitor everything,) and you don’t get the posts you so dearly love. For that, I’m sorry. Within the next few paychecks I’m guessing that I’ll have this situation remedied, but that takes time, as you know.
Once all of this is resolved, you will get regular doses of the poop house, and other posting will resume on the normal schedule. I PROMISE! I will also work on getting caught up with all of you, because in case you haven’t noticed. I haven’t made the rounds or commented on any of your pages either.
It’s all in the works. I promise. I SWEAR… I think.
I've been looking for the last few weeks and had found a place that I kind of liked the looks of right off the bat. The thing is that they were always closed when I was able to make time to go check out the actual living space. So I went back this Saturday, and of course they were closed again, (because who goes looking for an apartment on a Saturday?) so I called the office and left a message saying I wanted to set up a time to see an apartment.
While I was either at church or having lunch with some of my dago family members, the property manager called and left a message saying she'd be around today. (SERIOUSLY, who is closed on Saturday when the ad says they should be open, and then around on Sunday when the ad says they are closed? Is that not weird, or am I just loony tunes?) So I went and took a look, and unlike all the other ones I'd seen, it wasn't ghetto, it wasn't a matchbox, it didn't stink of recent animal inhabitants, it wasn't stupidly set up, it wasn't in a complex that had just made the papers for having a fire, the other residents that I saw walking about didn't terrify me, and the rent was reasonable. And since it had been the first complex that drew my attention when I first arrived and was able to look at complexes in person, I was pleased. What pleased me even more was the fact that I will cut my commute to work from 45 minutes to a measly 15 minutes. This means I can sleep in even later! There is also free wi-fi in the community room, so that means that as soon as I get my retarded-ass computer patched up, I'll be able to post and check in with you guys all the time! (And yes, that also means that the PHC will start up again, and believe me there is a LOT more to tell!)
As excited as I am about all of this, I think I am even more excited by the fact that I will be able to unbox all of my belongings, and have access to my full wardrobe! I'm also really anxiously awaiting the day that I can invite Traci to come down and hang out for the weekend, because I know that homegirl could use a friggin break! And we can go ca-brewing on the Cahaba river! (For those of you not up on your slang, ca-brewing is canoeing with lots of beer.)
I'm just so pumped that I'm not tossing out a boatload of cash to live in someone's walk in closet and call it my apartment. I will have all of my own stuff all around me again, and I don't have to worry about anybody else's plans, or who I've got to worry about offending, or whatever... I'm PUMPED! It's going to rock!
(Don't tell anybody, but I think we're about to witness the comeback of the Lizzle... And that should excite us all! It's been a long time since I've had this much go right for me!)
Sorry I've been so terrible to you kids lately! You've done nothing but shower me with affection and praise, and I've been neglecting you like a wicked stepmother who forces you to live in the windowless basement and have only mice for friends... I could've made a "People Under the Stairs" reference there, but that would make me that creepy lady who gets all freaky with her brother, and despite living in the South, I don't get down like that.
Anyway, I promise that I have a good reason for neglecting you. And it all has to do with the fact that I'm kind of a big deal. You all know about my new job, and while having a respectable job in this economy is news enough, I have already made a name for myself, because I learned in one WEEK what it took my predecessor nearly a MONTH to learn. That makes me awesome. It also makes me very tired, because not only have I had to learn it, I've had to explain it to pretty much everybody down here who knows me, one at a time. They run into me at church, or at the grocery, or I get invited to their house or whatever, and then, one at a time, people will congratulate me on getting a good job so fast, and then ask what it is that I do. I take the time to explain to them the basics, and then they get all confused, so I have to give them more detail. Usually around the time I finish telling someone the gist of my job, someone else shows up and the whole cycle starts over. It is flat out exhausting. Add to that the fact that my weekends are spent at the kids' sporting events, babysitting the kids, trying to find the parts to fix my car, and looking for a good deal on an apartment in a reasonably safe area of town, and well, that really rounds things out. Are you tired of hearing me whine about how busy and awesome I am now? Because I'm fucking BEAT!
My cousin Frank has repeatedly suggested that I take up adult rec sports or other means of meeting people because he basically wants me to find a dude and get married already. I don't know about you kids, but if I could find the time to breathe I'd be happy, let alone trying to breathe while making out with someone... I mean that'd be nice and all, but I've been here less than a month, and already landed the job and have narrowed down the apartment search significantly... I figure the boy will come around given time.
So if you've been wondering why the hell you can't get your regular dose of the poop house chronicles, calm down. The remaining posts are in the pipeline. It might take a little time to get to them, but this has been a pretty significant shake-up for me, and I'm trying to get the dust to settle a little bit. If you're that antsy, go back to the beginning and refresh yourself... Gorging yourself on poop house posts ought to be enough imaginary-sensory overload to slake your thirst for a little while... In fact, if you go back and read them all at once, I'll commend you for keeping your lunch down.
This is yet another reason that I am so much happier below the Mason-Dixon.
2.5 weeks of job searching landing a REAL job that does not involve poop houses or cashiering, versus three months of job searching and getting stuck behind a cash register and doing hourly restroom checks and having to clean up other people's vomit and explosive diarrhea messes. Salary versus hourly. Benefits and 401k versus no benefits and wanting to chop my legs off at the knee because my feet hurt so badly from standing for 9 hours at a stretch.
We know that I'm a junkie when it comes to the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament. That has clearly been established in years past. And in more recent posts, we've established that I'm a fan of my new home in the South.
So I'm really hoping that the stars are aligned to make this the best day ever, because not only is it the first day of game play in the tournament, but I have an interview that I totally think I'll nail! Couple that with the fact that the weather is spectacular, and after my interview is over I'm headed to the family lake house for a long weekend of tournament viewing, boozing, hooting and hollering, game playing, basketball watching, jet-skiing, bracket busting amusement. Basically, if I get this job on top of everything else, this weekend is going to rock the house. I'm trying not to get my hopes up so high that I totally choke, but I'm pretty damn excited.
After consulting with the Admiral in our annual tournament selection series, and discussing the job interview, (because she does pretty much the exact job I'm interviewing for,) I'm feeling pretty confident about this nonsense, and all I have to do is make that easy layup... Though if I don't get the job, I will totally revise that figurative language to reflect something on the order of a Hail-Mary- buzzer-beater- half-court shot, as opposed to the bunny shot of an unguarded layup... Or for the few tournament nerds out there, I will equate it to the year that Kenyon Martin went up for an easy layup and came down only to snap his leg like a twig, and crush the hopes and dreams of 90% of the tournament enthusiasts, all of whom had Cincy winning it all that year because he made them unstoppable. I'm really hoping that this doesn't go down like that.
So keep those fingers crossed for me sports fans, (and all non-sports fans who love me enough to want me to get a damn job). If you enjoy reading anything here, you really need to keep those fingers crossed, because getting a good job means that I can finally afford to get my computer fixed and post more frequently because I won't be spending my down time looking for a damn job.
I know that I haven't posted in over a week and then I followed it with two posts in under an hour, but I do want to make a couple of quick points.
First, I apologize for not checking in on many of your blogs recently. And I certainly haven't been much for commenting since a few months ago when my computer went bonkers... I've lost most of my bookmarks as I use my cousin's computer here, and seldom have time to go through the whole sidebar to catch up with everyone.
Secondly, (albeit much more importantly,) I know that many of you couldn't give a rat's pink ass about this, but I want to point out that BRACKET DAY IS RAPIDLY DESCENDING UPON US, AND I FOR ONE COULDN'T BE MORE EXCITED! You all forget from year to year that this is better than Christmas for me, because it gives me a totally fail safe excuse to drink beer and consume buffalo wings while gorging my auditory and visual senses with NCAA Men's Basketball nonstop for days on end. (It stretches over a couple of weeks by the finals, but in the later rounds there are days with no games in there and clearly those days totally don't count!)
Thirdly, I still get regular updates from people who continue to work for my old employer, (The poop house job, not the retail job,) and from what I gather, the shit is REALLY hitting the fan over there, and believe it or not, they are actually FIRING some of the more dedicated people who are not only WILLING to do the worst job on earth, they are, or rather, WERE totally COMMITTED to the job... This all sounds crazy to rational people and continues to make me happy that I told those bitches to suck it when I did.
Thank you, that is all... If you haven't already read it, there is a new post below, but these surreptitious thoughts and addenda came after the fact and therefore stole the heading thunder.
There's a place where people are actually HELPFUL?
So, I've been here for almost two weeks. Most of my time has been spent settling in, getting to know the lay of the land, and looking for a job. It was the latter of which that had me so perplexed, and I'm still a little surprised by what I've found.
I know that in past posts, and in my general conversation, I've mentioned to anyone who will listen that the news has regularly reported that Ohio was the state hit hardest by the recent economic recession. And while I've only relocated to one state since the market upheaval, I must say that the bleak picture in Ohio is an accurate one when compared to my new homeland. Around here, while people talk about the recession, and jobs aren't exactly overabundant, the fact is that there is work out there, and much to my shock and dismay, people are actually willing to do what they can to help a sister out!
Imagine my utter awe at making one phone call and being instantly given three outlets to search for jobs by someone who doesn't even know me. Imagine my jaw hitting the floor as the woman later emails me with two more possible contacts for me to pursue without a moment's hesitation. Imagine my complete astonishment when my cousin gave me another person to call who may or may not know of anything I can do, and upon talking to her for a mere five minutes she's asking me whether or not paid benefits would be a deal breaker. Am I really that good? Or is it just freakin' AWESOME down here? Now, yes, I've had a fair amount of people giving me the cold-shouldered brush off, (FUCK YOU AIG, I DIDN'T WANT TO WORK FOR YOU ANYWAY, YOU BAILOUT-NEEDING, COMMON-MAN-ROBBING ASSHOLES!!! I just didn't have the bad manners or the heart to walk away after the poor sweet little underling grabbed me out of the crowd and tried to get me to talk to her snake oil salesman of a manager.) And I've gotten plenty of the "Well, you need an appointment to meet with anyone in HR, and to do that you have to apply on our website and wait for them to call you," But the fact is that I really do love it down here, and I love that people are friendly and helpful, and that I've got people to talk to at the end of the day, and it's not Ohio... All of which is AWESOME!
Who am I now? I'm all happy and shit... If I don't start busting out Debbie Downer news, you all are going to start wondering what the hell happened to the old Lizzle and leave me! (Well, you wouldn't leave right away, you're still waiting on the conclusion of the Poop House Chronicles!)
I'm telling you, if it weren't for all of the McCain/Palin stickers all over the place, I'd think I'd died and gone to heaven!
Hey everybody! I made it safely to my new home in the South, though I must say, the trip was an interesting one! One involving cars spinning out into the median despite near perfect road conditions, and several inches of snow causing traffic snags, and sleeping in the cab of the u-haul when the roads got a little too ridiculous... It was a harrowing journey, and making it through Tennessee was a white-knuckled ride to say the least! But I'm here, and settling in.
Since I'm no longer an Ohio resident, I apologize to all the people who do live there, but I just gotta say, OHIO SUCKS ASS! I mean REALLY REALLY SUCKS ASS! For those of you who don't live there, don't go! And for those of you who do live there, I'm sorry but you need to think about moving... Soon.
And I will say that even though I've only been here for a couple of days, and those days have been spent primarily with my family, everyone I've talked to seems really optimistic about the economy and my quickly finding a new job that doesn't involve cashiering, or doing restroom checks, or fetching carts from a sub-zero parking lot, or cleaning up someone else's explosive diarrhea, or going into poop houses, etc.
I have a good feeling about all of this!
I'll check back soon, until then, stay out of trouble, and make good choices!
