The Wet Spot

First, let me say, "You perv."

Second, I have to speak up and tell everyone that I absolutely HATE wet socks. If the mats and carpets on the porches are wet from rain, and I don't realize it (that lovely gray doesn't look wet) I am unhappy.

I also hate when the Howler slops water all over the bathroom floor, and you know, just know, that when you mopped it up, there's still one spot you missed...and you'll find it with your sock.

I hate that.

And now that I've made you read this (and got to call Peter a "perv") I feel better.

More Annoying Things I Could Do Without:

Because one Top Ten List is never enough!

10. My mother on cough meds that make her (more) loopy.

9. Cat hair.

8. Migraines.

7. Strep.

6. 18 year olds.

5. My mother loopy for any reason.

4. Anyone who thinks I could make this stuff up.

3. Ovaries.

2. Cold weather.

1. People at McDonald's who take 10 minutes to decide what to order. (It's freaking McDonald's, for Pete's sake! A heart attack in a paper wrapper! Order already!)

Get Over It

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you still make a mistake. You read some thing (or someone) wrong and you've mistaken their behavior. Sometimes, it's wishful thinking and sometimes, it's just that they have, for whatever reason, their own hangups and you made a mistake.

It's a bitch.

I hate when I do that. It frustrates me, and that, in turn, makes me angry. Much like Bruce Banner, "you wouldn't like me when I'm angry." I don't go green and I don't have purple hair, but, it's still not attractive.

I stomp. I swear. I mutter. I don't like it.

And, it makes it worse when it's not something that I can just go up to that person and say, "Hey, jackass, WTF is the problem here?" I do realize that sometimes, okay, many times, talking may not fix things--and sometimes, talking would just dilute the issue further, or frustrate me further.

And, in this particular instance, it may not even be something that this person is aware that he's doing. He is just *like that*. Or maybe he does know, but he doesn't know how to change it; he may not want to change it.

Whatever.

It's also frustrating that I have to be honest here and admit that at least some of my anger is residual. It's not entirely caused by him, and it's not fair to dump it all on him--or anyone else for that matter.

I thought I'd resolved all this within myself.

That frustrates me too--that it creeps out of whatever crevice in my soul it's been hiding in. It makes me grit my teeth and my jaw hurts.

I'm trying very hard to not be bitter about this. But it is disappointing to discover that someone whom I trusted and respected isn't fully deserving of it. And it hurts that it's looks like it's because I'm a woman--if I were a man, I'd have his respect and his reaction(s) to problems I have would be different. (Of course, if I were a man, I wouldn't have some of the problems, so it'd be more of a win-win for him, if not for me.)

I have been making an effort to "Get over it" and let this not be what I live.

I'm learning from this. I can be hurt; I can be angry; I can be disappointed; but I do not have to be bitter. I do not have to have all that sticking out in lumps. And I do not have to believe (or accept) that it's okay. (Because it's not.) I deserve better; I've earned better.

And whether or not I have that respect from this person, it doesn't make me stupid for having believed that I did have it. It means that I'm human, and that I make mistakes.

What I am doing now is learning. I am learning how to not grit my teeth (my jaw really does hurt!). I am learning. I am better than this anger. I am better.

Sometimes, you don't get what you deserve. And sometimes, sometimes, you just realize that you will be okay anyway.

Serial Killers R US

There's a guy that comes in who really makes my skin crawl.

He seemed harmless enough--just a little *off*--at first.

Then, he came in last spring and waited around until the place all-but emptied out and started talking to me, totally out of the blue, about the computer chips that can be implanted into people and used to locate them if they come up missing.

He felt it was "against his rights to privacy"--"What if some woman, who has no business being at my place, is reported as missing, and if she has that chip, they find her at my place? Then I get into trouble because of it. It's against my right to privacy."

I'm thinking, "Yeah, you don't want anyone finding those women in your basement freezer."

So, after that, I notice that he kind of follows me through the store. If I'm at one particular place, he just kind of hangs out near there. He doesn't have to come through my check out lane, but he just kind of is *there*--wherever I happen to be.

Once, I was in picking up stuff on my day off, and he spotted me, and he followed me well enough to get in line behind me when I was checking out. He tried to make conversation, "Didn't you used to work here?"

Creepy.

He's grown a beard since the last time he was in and I had the chance to make someone switch name tags with me. She thought I was nuts, but after watching him for a while, and she talked to him, she decided I was right--he was skin-crawling weird.

Now, last Saturday, he shows up again, and it's busy. He comes through my line. He talks quietly enough so that no one else would hear him, but he starts about "Technology is a pain in the ass" and ends with "Like those computer chips."

I'm creeped out enough that I'm telling everyone I can that if I call them and just tell them to come up to the register, SOMEONE needs to come.

I'm not easily creeped out--I get more than my share of nutjobs, freaks and weirdos. But this one is different.

If I ever come up missing, I hope to God someone gives his name to the police.

I Lie To You Because I Know You Like It

This week, I had a real winner:

Winner: "Where do you keep your treated lumber?"

Mumple: "In the LUMBER department at the other end of the store."

W: "Are you sure?"

M: "Yes."

W: "I mean, 2x4s and 2x2s and things. Treated lumber."

M: "Yes. LUM-BER. In the Lumber Department, with all the other kinds of lumber."

W: "Treated 2x4s too?"

M: "Yes."

I must look horribly dishonest or stupid.

Do these people really not get that everything in the store is still INSIDE the store, where it was before Spring got here?

Where TF is the treated lumber kept in other lumber yards? In plumbing or home decor? Was he here the day we took all the lumber and hid it, piece by piece throughout the store as a tribute to Psychotic Treasure Hunt day?

I so want to get a button that says, "I lie to you because I know you like it." But they'd never let me wear it anyway. Dammit!

Where Do They Find Them & Why Do They Keep Sending Them To Me?

I have to say that at least, in the latest crop of hires, there are some decent people who can do the work.

I especially like the one who is at the desk, and who asks questions when she's up against something she hasn't seen before. Even if you can't show her right when you're doing it, she asks you to show her and explain after-the-fact, so that she can do it herself next time. I like that, and I like her.

Anyway, we've got some real winners in the mix also.

The ones I recently got to know better are:

Register Tape Infinity

This brite little package thinks that if the printer doesn't work, it's the entire computer needing shut down--even when the message pops up and says, "Check Printer", she doesn't think to actually CHECK THE PRINTER.

Last night, I ended up with literally no register tape, because she "needed" to reboot her register/computer because it "froze up." So she did that, but she also stood there and WATCHED someone else ring up her customer on a different register--no attempt to even help bag the merchandise was made.

I discovered her *oversight* when the first customer I tried to help came up. There was, I kid you not, 1/4" of register tape in that machine. The lights were all red (granted they aren't as bright as they used to be, but come on!) and she apparently thought that she had been granted "Register Tape Infinity".

I told them today, since I was again, covering her break: "See to it that she knows and understands how to check that tape, and how to get more and how to change it BEFORE I get there."

We also have:

I Want Out Early

Our company has a relatively generous break policy. One that it enforces, due to a variety of local, state, and federal laws. They are careful to follow the company implemented break policy because it's just good business--especially for those of us who cannot self-relieve (meaning, we have to have someone else at our station/assigned place in order to go to the bathroom, take meds, grab a bite to eat or drink. And sometimes, for mental health reasons, those breaks are the difference between bloodshed/tears and sane workers.

This Newbie has decided that if she's scheduled to work 5.5 hours, she wants to work those 5.5 hours and "get the hell out of here." That's fine, except that the 5.5 hours you're scheduled is actually 6 hours WITH A 30 MINUTE BREAK. You don't get to work those 6 hours and get paid for 6 hours. If you CHOOSE to not take your break, you lose your break (and your bitching rights) and you will be docked the 30 minutes. You'll also still be here, especially if you're scheduled 'til close, 'til close. You will not be going home after 5.5 hours. You have to bleed out your eyes for that.

And yapping (and snapping) at me isn't going to get it done your way, either.

I am, btw, PLANKTON in the store--I am low on the food chain. Whatever power and authority you were lead to believe I have stops shortly beyond my own personal space. No matter how well I make a decision, I am still not THE decision maker* in the company.

I am so desperately happy that I got to experience BOTH of these this early in the game. I can now specifically site why I do not want either of these to specimens to come and *help* me outside, if I ever get there.

When I'm busy out there, I don't need yappy to tell me how much she doesn't like company policy (like it or lump it, you agreed to live by it while you're here--you accepted that smock and that last paycheck, didn't you?). I also don't need someone who will stand and watch me (and others) help customers because she ran out of something (like brains) in the middle of a transaction.

*See previous flypaper for freaks posts for more information

The Proxy

Disclaimers: *This isn't so much a rant as an entire theory I've come up with about women and men, and how they get respect. The technical terms and research are all anecdotal, so bear with me--and you psychology types, make sure you give me credit when you publish.

**For the record, if you have a problem with the word *penis*, you best excuse yourself now. It'll be running rampant through this column (~snark~) and I can't be responsible beyond this point.

I developed this theory well before I was married, but being married hasn't made it less valid--it just reinforces what I had already come to believe.

This is my PENIS BY PROXY theory: If you have penis, you have immediate credibility. You can be a junkie, a molester, a jerk, a jackass, a moron, a genius, a redneck, a metrosexual...whatever you are, if you have a penis, YOU WIN. Period. Your ideas, even for lead underwear, are great. The words that come out of your mouth, drunk, sober, or stupid, carry more weight with more than 50% of the world than the same words coming out of any woman's mouth at any time.

You have a penis. You get respect for doing nothing. You can lose IQ points every time you piss, but, hey, buddy! Great idea. Great thinking. Great job. Even if the job you did was to vomit in your own shoes.

I was not born with a penis.

When I was single, I was automatically discounted in validity of ideas, points, problems, what-have-you, because I had no penis, there was no way I could be taken as seriously as a man, or a married woman.

Divorced women, well, they were still a bit above me on the food chain--you see, they HAD acquired a penis, if temporary, or short term. At least they'd HAD one.

When I got married, I noticed that this theory was correct. As soon as I could show a wedding band on my left hand, my credibility went up. Since I now had at least gotten some poor schmuck (Kevin is not a schmuck, btw, but he did marry me) to marry me.

And, let me tell you, a penis by proxy has changed my life. I still can't write my name in the snow, BUT I can tell you that no matter who I'm dealing with, if I can work the words, "My husband says/does the same thing." into the conversation, my rating goes up.

Adding the *Mrs.* before my name adds weight to my words and ideas.And, if it's something that isn't relative to my husband, so what? Why would I want to be considered intelligent and capable on my own? Really. (This is sarcasm, if you don't recognize it). What more do I need in life? I have a husband to submit to, what else would I possibly need?

So, my Penis by Proxy theory, in a nutshell, is that as long as you've been born with a penis, or have acquired one through marriage, you are a person to be taken seriously. No matter how often you need help to find your own ass.

Think about it. Until/unless you marry, you are a persona non grata. Once you get that penis by proxy, you just got a little smarter, a little prettier, a little BETTER than the other penis-less women out there.

(another btw for ya: Kevin hates that name, and he doesn't like the theory. I think it's because he knows I'm right).

Still Can't Wrap My Head 'Round It

I have posted before about the stupidity and selfishness I see in the World Wide Web. It still amazes me that, for the most part, those who are stupid and selfish never quite get it--and they never get over it.

I suppose that is the charm of being stupid and selfish online; but I also have to say that there's no way these people can be this stupid, this selfish online, and not be that way in real life. That's the part that scares me, but at least she doesn't (to my knowledge) have my real name and address.

This isn't a general rant, this is specifically about one person. She is still insistant that she's moved on, yet, she brags online about every dirty trick she pulls. All over the www. It's insane.

Better yet, she complains if anyone comments that she doesn't seem to be *moving on*. Moving on, apparently, means posting all the crappy things you're doing to keep his nasty, drunken attention; it means doing yourself out of friendships with people who've known the two of you through your entire marriage (if HIS family is supportive of you, but you pull some shitty tricks then they tell you to keep the hell away from them, you know you've sunk pretty low); it means justifying that everything about you is still about him.

She's still saying she loves him and misses him, though. I don't know about *most* people, but I know, for myself, if he treated me as badly as she claims, MISSING him would be more in reference to bad aim, not love.

You're damn right we're not supportive! For God's Sake, Woman! Get some dignity, get some self-respect. We're not applauding because you are an emotionally immature brat throwing a tantrum at the cost of thousands of dollars--some one else's dollars to boot. All it proves is that you are vindictive, crass, manipulative, and unbalanced.

Most of us just want you to please stop posting evidence of how unbalanced you are. You scare us.

Annoying Things I Could Live Without:

10) Repeated visits and phone calls from my mother

9) The neighbor's child who has, shall we say, an interesting upbringing (we're starting to suspect that Mom isn't so much allergic to *spiders* as she is tired and hungover from *stomping spiders*).

8) Delivery fees from the pizza place down the street. If I wasn't so lazy, I'd save a whole dollar.

7) The backache I've had for the last 3 days.

6) Repeated phone calls and visits from my mother on my day off.

5) Cold to freezing temps in April.

4) Insomnia.

3) Howler whines.

2) Cat hair all over.

1) Repeated phone calls and visits from my mother on my day off.

The Cowardly Lion

Hindsight is 20/20, as they say. (and yes, this is another rant)

I am disappointed.

Someone whom I respected and trusted has turned out to be unworthy of it.

I have realized that what I thought was respect was cowardice. And why is he so cowardly? Because, apparently, he is acutely aware that I have a uterus, and it, in his view, makes me unstable. Never mind the quality of work I do; never mind my integrity. All that matters is that I have to sit down to pee--no writing my name in the snow for this girl.

How did I realize this?

The latest in a long line of mis-communications and disappointing changes in my immediate supervisors caused me to discuss the changes with him. He acted like I was asking him "Do these pants make me look fat?" (Nevermind that I don't generally ask that question because I'm fully aware that my fat makes me look fat.)

He couldn't get away from me fast enough.

I had another reason to be angry the other day--I was outside, as I choose to be, but in 40 degree temps that lead me to need a heater that works. It's important to stress the *that works* part, because I had a heater--a heater that I have repeatedly told Burt Lahr couldn't heat a hot cup of coffee on a hot July afternoon.

My feet are cold and hurting, even though I was dressed for the weather, including thick hunting socks and my break is late. Not just a little to-be-expected late, but LATE. As in, probably not coming. I called to find out if it was actually coming, and got told "I'm covering this, I'll be out soon." Soon, apparently, is an hour from now.

The break did finally show up. I went inside, mad as a wet hen (which isn't attractive, and I hate being). My feet start to thaw. I go to where I know there was a heater earlier in the year. I cannot find it. Someone else asks me what's going on, and I tell her. SHE calls and tells them to get me a heater THAT WORKS.

A heater, that works, shows up. But not from the Cowardly Lion--he sends someone else.

How disturbing is it that I am supposedly respected, trusted, and appreciated, especially considering that I don't complain about the weather and rarely complain about how cold (or hot) I am outside, yet, in the 18+ months I have been telling the Lion that the heater does NOT work, it takes a state of high piss off and someone else telling him to get me a heater that will actually stave off the frostbite to get me a heater that works.

These two incidents coupled together show me that I am not respected--and that it's probably because ol' Burt is spending too much time thinking about the panties he's busy assuming are in a twist all the time.

How pathetic is that?

It also explains why, last year, he was totally unable to handle a situation that was rapidly becoming unbearable. I thought he just had some blind spot for that woman; now, I realize that it was a total and absolute inability to deal with effectively 1/2 the population.

All I have worked for is to be taken seriously, to be respected for the quality of work I do, and to be treated fairly. I don't run around acting like *a woman*, and I don't trot out my uterus AT ALL when I am at work. The closest I come to that is if I am in a foul hormonal mood, I may let others I work with know that, so if I don't seem friendly, they know it's not about them. That I've got a foul hormonal peri-menopausal body that we can all find revolting.

I strive to be at least as good, if not better, than the men in that building. I strive to keep my being a woman the last thing to consider when dealing with me. Apparently, it's not enough. Having visible breasts is a handicap, and that uterus? Well, that must be the cause for everything--especially the bad.

It pisses me off to no end to realize that not only does the Cowardly Lion not deserve my respect, but that he can't treat me as an equal because I am, horror of horrors, a WOMAN.

What a load of week old warmed by the summer sunshine shit.

Commando

The Howler went to preschool commando today.

I laid out her clothes, including underwear. I was in the shower when she got dressed. I had no reason to think she didn't put on panties.

We went to McD's for lunch after preschool, as a treat before going to the doc's for her checkup and shots for school. At McD's she had to go to the bathroom, and low and behold, she's panty-less. Thank the God of Small Miracles she was not wearing a dress today.

I don't know what I want to do more--be mortified that she went to preschool commando, or laugh out loud.

Toadwort, at least, waited until he was 8 or 9 to try commando...and he did it in the summer.

She's insistant that she not put on panties to go to the doc's.

God help me, but this child is going to *be the death* of me!

Even If It's A Lie

It's a nice one:

I was told, a few days ago, that I looked waaaayyyy younger than I actually am.

I damned near had to pull out my ID to prove my age. It was fun. I like playing that game, and I'm almost always younger than I am--I suppose that's why I like playing it.

Even if the other person is lying when he says how old he thinks I am. He's good at it--this lying to women. It's forgivable in this situation. It was cute.

It helps his cause that he's young enough to be my son, which is to say, about half my age.

That was part of what made it fun, too.

Long Time Coming--Aimless Rant

Insecure women can bite me.

The one that was a pebble in my shoe years ago (to the point of harassment) has apparently, been reactived by her unit, and is now on the rampage again.

Things have been quiet now for almost three and a half years. What a beautiful 39 months it has been. Work conversations have been pleasant, tiptoeing towards friendly. It was hard to come down off the red-alert I was constantly on, and I thought I had finally gotten over it. Of course, harassment aside, I don't like her.

Anyway, after all this time, what sets off this rant about her is that until next week, I am in the building, behind the desk. She has begun to put herself between me and any man who might be there too. It's annoying, trying to have a work-related conversation with a manager, and have her slide her scrawny little body between us so that eye contact is all but impossible. She has even gone so far as to squeak her bony ass between a manager and myself in a manner that almost got someone's eye put out--he was doing one thing, I was doing another, and because we were closer than a yard or so together, she stepped between us and since my back was turned, I bumped into her. Good thing I wasn't flying like I usually am in the ol' work mode--I'd have definitely done some damage to one of us.

I hate bumping into anyone, and this particular woman is not someone I want to touch--in any fashion, EVER.

Grrr. Argh.

I don't need this, and as God is my witness, I've never had any inappropriate physical contact with anyone at work--let alone in front of customers, co workers, God and everybody.

She acts like some sort of insane yapping dog--Look at Me! Look at Me! The only thing she hasn't done is actually take off her shirt: but, since the dress code makes those see through ones off limits at work, she has to settle for the skin tight ones that are low cut. Lucky, lucky me--If I wanted to see tits, I wish she'd realize that they wouldn't be hers.

Along with the whole I don't want to see your tits bit, what has been apparent to me for a long time is that I do not like her. She's intelligent and funny, but I don't like her for many reasons, not the least of which is the above mentioned harassment. I dislike her smarmy, shallow "self-proclaimed best friend to the entire world" attitude. I dislike the way she speaks to me--as if I am less than She of the A-Cup.

Those reasons center on the fact that for someone who is a self-proclaimed confident, beautiful, successful woman, she spends a lot of her time trying to make others believe that she is confident, beautiful and successful. Instead of just BEING, she has to PROVE it, and get you to say so.

I also don't like her condescending attitude to other women. She treats us like we're idiots, even if we ask her a simple question about something that is work related. While there are things on the job I still don't know, and I don't care much who I learn them from, having her telling me things I already know in a way that says "you're stupid and ugly, I'm not" isn't helpful--it's annoying.

I don't like her attitude that wherever there is someone in pain, SHE knows what it's like--she's LIVED it herself. Even if, by her own admission, she's never heard of it before. Mention some odd tropical disease, and within days, she knows everything about it--even if you just made it up.

She's also everyone's (except mine) best friend--whether they know it and want it or not. But she's a fickle friend--it's always with the feeling, at least to me, that she's you're friend because somehow, someway, there's something in it for her. I guess I've gotten a favor on missing out on that one.

She seems (still) to resent that I am respected. I prefer it that way. I don't pretend to be things I'm not. I don't go along with what she says, if it's wrong. She's got issues with that also: at the point when the harassment finally got settled, it was because she'd apparently taken a few too many hits on the authority pipe and was jonesing for an ass to chew. She picked mine (and admittedly, I made mistakes in the whole thing, and that day, she'd pissed me off and I'm no good at hiding my emotions, even if I don't say anything) to chew on, and a lot of what she said at that time leads me to believe that she was convinced that her body--her tits, her backrubs, her see-through shirts--would give her the power to take me down.

She threatened my job, which was a threat to me. She told me that SHE was my superior and that I WOULD do whatever she told me to do without arguement and if I didn't, she'd see to it that paid the consequences. She also said that management was sick and tired of me, and that everyone knew I was crazy. And that if I EVER went to anyone except her for any problem EVER, she'd see to it that I paid for it. The whole thing would have been funny if I hadn't been stressing from months of all the crappy things one intelligent, desperately insecure woman can do to another human being.

Was that a power trip or what?

She apparently based her absolute authority over me on her A-cup tits, and skin tight pants. What she didn't realize is that I'd dealt with worse things than her, and I have an almost annoying sense of self-worth. To the point of sounding arrogant, I know I'm good, no, excellent, at what I do, I know that I am consistant and fair (if blunt), and I suppose in some sense, she thought she could bully me into submission to her, thereby increasing her power and self-esteem.

What I did about it was to handle it--do the usual woman things of crying and all that, first. God, the stress was killer! But, in the end, I was smart enough to know what needed said and how to say it. No heads rolled, but definite changes got made. I acknowledged the mistakes I made--and I had plenty of witnesses to what she was doing.

What I got out of it was an understanding of the managers I work with (still!) and a better control on my temper. I also got the respect that I wanted, and preferred; I got trust and, I hope, friendship (although, not, happily, with her), too.

What I don't understand is this: If she truly is happily in a committed relationship, WTF is the deal with the Secret Service Detail (protect the man with your body) she's running against me right now?