Phone Phun

I've been at the customer service desk lately. Which is better than it used to be--they've rearranged things, and instead of a divider between returns and the rest of the world, it's all one area. And that means that there are 2 people to handle all the crazy. No longer alone...what a concept!

Anyway, the rest of the store is running short staffed, and that means that we have, yet again, no "team" mentality. It's every-man-for-himself again. That means that department phones are not going to get answered, even if there's a body in the department with a phone.

The other morning, I was at the desk, answering 5 phone calls in 4 minutes or less. I keep transferring the calls, and paging the departments, and the calls just keep on keeping on coming back to me.

The general pissiness of the general publicness, Oh My! Loving getting my ass chewed on over the phone. LOVE IT!

But what I loved best was hearing, "GRAWN-hack-cough-HORCK-mowers" over and over again as I tried to get someone ELSE to answer the call!

Quickie

A quick lil' post, donchano.

Yesterday, at work, I get this call:

mumple: How many I direct your call?

caller: I dunno. Maybe you can help me. *pause* Do you carry those strap on things?

m: *jaw just a-hanging

caller: Like for on your shoes in the ice.

Language Lessons

For the record, I do not speak Idiot. I hear it--I am surrounded by it--but mostly, I do not understand, nor do I speak it.

And everything seems to happen in that last 10 minutes before you're supposed to punch out and walk away.

That being said, at the very end of my work shift, seconds before my coverage got there, a man walks up to me and says, "How do I get that salt outside?"

Which, of course, is absolutely understandable to every thinking person on the planet.

I sez: What salt? Where? What outside?

He waves vaguely behind him: That salt. How do I get it outside?

Slowly coming off my senses: Well, go to any register, tell them how many bags of salt you need, and they'll get it rung up and call someone to help you load it.

Blinking, like a cow staring at a passing train: I want all of it. Out there.

Now I'm blinking, trying to not say something that will cost me my job: OK. I'll call someone and they'll help you get what you need.

I call the department, and am informed that there is more salt, of the same type, in aisle 22. How many bags does he need?

So, I ask the guy. He says: About that many. Again with the vague gestures toward the entry doors.

I'm in the car, headed for the wall...I ask the next natural question: How many bags are there?

I dunno. That many. Again with the gestures. I try rephrasing the question, and got more of the "that many" answer.

*sigh* I notice the clock...two minutes. TWO minutes, people. No way am I getting suckered into staying here for this. I've had enough grief and pain in the final 10 minutes of my shift in the last 7 days...no way, no how, am I staying for this. Customer Service at its finest be dayumed! Besides, my coverage is here.

I tell Department Dude he needs to come up to help the customer. I tell the Dopey Dude that the Department Dude will be right up. I look at my coverage and say, "I am OUTTA HERE!"

And I punch out and leave. Is it just me (no, really!) or are people actually getting dumber?

Memes R Us

Flea's got a meme...and I mean to have one, too.

1. What is your occupation?
I am Flypaper for Freaks. I am the Weirdness Goddess. I am the Frodo the Bee Keeper, too.

2. What color are your socks right now?
They are both white. I have another pair at home that matches them exactly. Except, I mean, on opposite feet. (HAH! you thought I was gonna say that they match my panties...and that I wasn't wearing panties. Fooled ya!)

3. What are you listening to right now?
The Howler ask me 12 demanding questions about all and sundry flotsam from my life. Oh, she has the sniffles, too.

4. What was the last thing you ate?
A mint.

5. Can you drive a stick shift?
Yes. I learned on one, because that's all my parents had at the time. What fun! My sister & I would head to softball practice early, so I could practice in the school parking lot. She worked the pedals and had me shift from the passenger seat for months before I got my permit. Then, she switched seats with me, and I worked the clutch while she shifted. Finally got to put it all together--and then when I got my permit, my dad commented that he was impressed that I "got the hang of it" so quickly! Didn't admit to anything until after I got my license, though.

6. Last person you spoke to on the phone?
My neighbor, Michelle. She was wonky last night with Ambien, and she called to ask if she'd called me yesterday.

7. Do you like the person who sent this to you?
Yeppers, I do. She is a Wise Woman, and I consider myself blessed to have made her acquaintance (HAH! I spelled it right before I checked it!)

8. How old are you today?
OOOOO. I love this game! How old do you think I am?

9. What is your favorite sport to watch on TV?
Is hacky sack a sport? No? Then I'll take I'll door #2, Monty.

10. What is your favorite drink?
Well, coffee, I suppose. High-Octane please. Although, I do like beer. And water. But not all at the same time.

11. Have you ever dyed your hair?
Yes. I decided that I would not age gracefully, and while maintaining the color is a pain in my ass, I rather like being a red head, and thank God for Clariol Nice & Easy (no comments from the peanut gallery, thank you) every few weeks.

12. Favorite food?
Yes. Absolutely. Oh, a list, then? Salt & Vinegar chips. Brownies. Frosted Mini-Wheats. Bagels. M 'n M's. Home made chocolate chip cookies. Popcorn. Wow, but doesn't that sound like a list of Munchies?

13. What was the last movie you watched?
Disney's UP. And yes, I can smell you.

14. Favorite day of the year?
Any day I wake up still sucking air during which nothing explodes, nobody vomits on me, and there is hot coffee.

15. What was your favorite toy as a child?
We-ell. I don't recall, really. I loved to read, so I preferred books to toys, mostly. Although, if it counts, I still have the stuffed red donkey my grandmother bought me at Murphy Mart when I was in 1st or 2nd grade. I slept with him every night for about ever...and he went to college with me (but not on my honeymoon!) I know where he is this exact minute, and his name is Charley.

16. What is your favorite season?
Can this be a BOGO? I like spring, God, I love spring. It means no more inside the dayumed store. Sunny sunshine, warm rain...but I love autumn...the colors, the smells, the cooler days and snuggling under a fleece blanket.

17. Cherries or blueberries?
Why?

18. What occupation would you pick any (and had the talent) if you could live your life again?
I would be a Goddess, but not a Weirdness Goddess. Oh, alright. Seriously? I would have taken my writing seriously and I'd be published--and getting paid for it.

K, now it's yer turn!

And Another Thing

It's one thing when I make fun of my age. And it's the same thing when someone close to my age makes fun of my age. I earned these gray hairs (and the money I use to buy the hair color to cover them)

I understand that due to many cultural factors, these puke kids don't respect their moms much. I also remember the lack of respect I had, when 20 years younger, I had for people who were then the age I am now. Was I this obnoxious? I hope not, and if I was, I humbly apologize now.

My rant today centers on Special Ed and the wrongness that is Retail Hell. For 10 years I have been the only person with my first name in the place. I was singular. Unique. Now, they go and hire someone with the same first name for exactly the same department. It's just not right.

What makes it more not right, is that Special Ed decided yesterday that it is too confusing for everyone else when we're both (me and the new one) working at the same time--especially since yesterday, we were on the front line. Everyone else is coming up with ways to be sure to not confuse us (although there wasn't that much of a problem when there were 9 Ashleys and 42 Tiffanys all at the same time.) As if confusing me with anyone else would be possible.

Special Ed announces that the new one could have "New" added to her name, and I could have "Old" added to mine.

I tell him--as only I can--that she can very well be "New" but I am not to be designated "Old" EVER. He continues, much like the Howler when she's in her think out loud phases, to explain all the situations in which it would be OK to refer to me as "Old."

I continue to repeat myself. He continues to ignore me.

Finally, I tell him: "Under NO circumstances EVER will the word "old" be added to my name. No how, now way. NOT EVER." Apparently my tone communicated better than the words themselves.

A Mr Mumple Story

When you travel for your job, there are some strange things you can encounter. And My Sweetie tells me about 'em.

The other day, while out and about in the county, he & his trainee were replacing a windshield...the customer was a decent looking woman who, apparently, had very few wardrobe options.

She wore a short black robe. Emphasis on the "short" part. When done with the job, and awaiting payment (not that kind of payment, perv) she invited them inside the house.

Yeah. She showed them her pussy.







He was a Himalayan.

The cat had absolutely nothing to do with the short robe, but, of course, the fun is in telling it to your wife this way.

Bible Quiz

So, once upon a loooooooooooooooong time ago, My Sweetie was on his church's Bible Quiz team. I believe him when he says it was because there were pretty girls on the team, because he certainly remembers very little scripture from it.

Recently, the Howler moved up to the next level of AWANAS. No more foolin' around! She needed a Bible, and we need to work with her on those verses. So, the former Bible Quiz Guy decided he would also begin reading the Bible.

He starts, of course, at the beginning. A few chapters into it, he announces that "all those begats and whose dad is whose is pretty boring. And hard to follow." Well, yeah. Why do you think I'm not also reading it? He also discovered that there are no guys in Genesis named Bob, but decided that any names he couldn't pronouce would be simplified into Bob and Bill and Biff. But I remember when I created a book of the Bible for the Toad called Inertiates, and made up verses, he said I was "so very wrong. Funny, but wrong." But he doesn't remember that Vince is a prominent figure in Inertiates, either.

Last night, though, he proved for once-and-for-all that the Howler's parents are really not the kind of people who should be helping the Howler understand the Bible: he sez, "You know, in the Old Testament, if a guy thinks he's not getting enough kids from one wife, or two, he just takes a few handmaids too."

I responded with, "So, you've made it as far as Jacob, then?"

He seemed a little surprised that I knew that much, since, as I stated before, I don't read the Bible, unless I have to. And I've never mentioned Jacob to him, so that must be part of the Black Hole that is my less-than-Christian accumulation of knowledge.

Then he tells me, "Yeah, and that guy Jacob would stick it in just about anybody."

There you have it: Bible Stories from Heathen Headquarters.

Truth in Advertising

Today, the evil entity I work for held a blood drive. I give blood for 2 reasons: the Howler needs that community service badge, or I suggested we do a blood drive at work, and feel obligated, since even the Weasel was excited to git r dun.

I gave blood today.

I understand that in yesteryear, giving blood was a simple matter of rolling up yer sleeve, and getting jabbed. Nowadays, it involves reading a long boring missive telling you a) all the reasons you cannot give blood--and because some schmoe didn't hear the 45billion newscasts about blood borne pathogens, the reasons why those reasons exist; and b) all the reasons you should make every effort to give blood, even if it's just so you can say to yourself, "I am not a totally self-involved asswipe."

The screening process takes longer than the actual bleeding, but as long as it's happening inside an air conditioned anything, I'll take it.

The questions they ask are more than a little invasive: Have you ever received money, drugs, or other payment for sex? Have you ever had anal sex with a homosexual male? are just two examples.

After they drained my blood, I ate my crackers and moved on...

My 10 year anniversary service prize had arrived. I picked it up, jokingly told a few co workers that it was my payment for 10 years of taking it up the ass with good humor, and left the building.

It occured to me on my way home, that I had lied to the Red Cross. Technically, I have accepted money, and other payments in exchange for a form of sex, or at least, humilation explained with a sexual metaphor. Does that disqualify me now?

Chuck Full o'Stupid

IT'S SPRING! And you know what that means...yeppers! The crazy, the stupid, and the reality challenged are out en masse. And coming to see me.

Case in point:
Guy, aka Chuck Full o'Stupid, walks up to me and sez, "I got a question for ya."

Me: Sure

Chuck: Would you know if you carry those doors you put in fences?

Me with a blank look: Doors in fences?

Chuck: Yep. Those doors you put in fences so, like, yer dog can go in and out?

Me choking back evil cackle: Would you mean a GATE?

Chuck, understanding lighting up his face: Yanno, I think that is what they're called.

Best EVER

The company I work for has decided that the best way to convince the consuming masses to continue to consume (ie spend loads of money with us) is to be all-up-in-yer-face with the whole customer service bit.

That means that there is never a customer in our store that is not harrassed into spending money or running for the doors when approached by EVERY.ASSOCIATE.EVER. asking some form of "how can I force you to accept my help today?"

Last night at work, I received the best customer response ever. And I am, of course, taking it out of context:

Me, in Full-On-Annoyo-Mode: "Hi. Can I help you find anything today?"

Customer: "My husband needs a screw."

A Funny Little Man

That's my Mr Mumple.

First, a little background on the day in question:

I spent my day at work inside. No problem, really, but it was noisy. As in clanging and banging, pages you could actually hear, large loading door going up and down on a rattly chain. Yeah, noisy comes close to describing it.

Second, there was soccer practice. During which I fell asleep in the car. When I woke up, I was a little disoriented.

Third, by the time we got home, the Howler (and the little mister) where quite chatty. As in non-stop blathering about God-Alone-Knows-What. The Howler had her volume set at 11. During the Howler's shower, I left the room for some quiet...and My Sweetie, ever the first to pick up on subtle clues, turned up the volume on the TV. Apparently, people two blocks over needed to hear it, whether they wanted to or not, and I, of course, in the next room, could too. My Sweetie wanders over to stand the doorway of the room I'm in, muttering to himself. Having had enough of the audio-overload, I shut the door in his muttering face. I got quiet, for about 2 seconds. He began asking if I was mad at him. Sheesh.

The Howler finally goes to bed.

There is quiet in the house. FINALLY.

My Sweetie is now complaining about a bug bite on his leg. I tell him, in an effort to not hear about it--or anything--I tell him, "I'll get you the anti-itch cream in ONE SECOND."

The funny little man I married responds with an evil grin, and a laugh, "Oh, do we have any anti-bitch cream, too?"

He's soooooo lucky that I know that being called a bitch is a compliment.

Confessions of the PTA Trauma Queen

It's lovely.

I'm 41 years old, and, apparently, by joining the PTA, I've been transported back to junior high--only with uglier, fatter, and dumber women. Okay, it's just like two or three (that I know of so far) but seriously. One or two psychotic breaks (or some really trippy bad LSD) and they've ruined it for everybody.

The emailing has begun. Without naming names, the AWOL prez (who was pretty useless to begin with) is sending out what I assume she thinks is "scathing" emails accusing people of being "VERY nasty" to her little nutbar friend. And, I'm on her propaganda email list.

It's pathetic, and it's upsetting to the people it's aimed at--you know, the ones who have been doing the work, and who actually put their money where their mouths are. The ones who aren't just saying, they're doing, showing, and being.

I so desperately want to reply, and just lambaste the hell out of them.

But, I've decided to take the higher road, mostly because these fuckwits aren't worth the energy I'd burn and the ever-increasing frustration I'll end up feeling. So I post it here instead.

What is most disturbing, though, is the fact that no one has yet explained the "I'm excusing myself from anymore invalid information" bit. I'm getting ready to start shipping it out to foreign language translators to see if there's some sort of Californianese language barrier keeping me from truly understanding.

It's Your Lie, Tell It How You Want

Our tantrumming acting president resigned everything PTA related Thursday night after elections. She said, in her letter, that the elections had nothing to do with it.

She's got some serious delusions going on 'round here. She says it's about standing up for herself, and gives the usual Jr High "I know who I am" and then proceeds to ramble on about "doing the right thing" and "always behaved in a professional manner."

Now, I don't know what kind of professional she's thinking, but she certainly wasn't it. Partly, it's the missing hard-g sound in her vocab, her lack of action in doing things that did not bring her into visibility, and then, it's the tantrum.

She got pissy during the meeting whenever anyone did or said anything she didn't like--including questions about the "whys" of the vote process. Several people had questions about why it was being done the way it was (it was obvious that she was trying to lock herself in/everyone else out, and what she ended up doing was locking herself out) and she actually YELLED and was very rude to those of us with questions.

She decided that we would proceed office-by-office, taking nominations from the floor, and closing the nominations as we went. Since she was up for two offices, she figured we would all just let it ride, including her removing one of the officer positions. Neither happened. She did not run unopposed for President nor for 1st VP. She lost both, dismally. 2nd VP opened back up, as the same person was running for each, and won each. Nominations were opened back up, and the one person nominated was voted in by a voice vote since she was unopposed.

Miss Thang managed to keep her composure, but I was certain to lose money, as I expected her to crack like a chapped lip before the end of the meeting. She didn't.

I do believe, though, that the bios that were put in the newsletter were reviewed by her, and she had help writing hers. The letter for the emergency meeting, the emails, and the emailed letter of resignation were hers, though. The inconsistancies from the newsletter to actual tantrumming were vibrant, easy to spot, and included poor sentence structure, misuse of punctuation, and some flat out crazed WTF does that mean thoughts.

Here's the one that kills me:

" I am excusing myself from anymore invalid information about me since I do not deserve it nor did I do anything to provoke it. "

She's pissed because someone stood up during the meeting, before the actual election, and stated that not only did the previous president not return her calls or emails, but that Miss Thang did not do it either. EVERY PERSON in that room has had that experience with one, or both, of them.

I have noticed during this past year, that neither of them treated the people they perceived has having little or no power with respect. If they didn't know you, if they didn't like you, you were ignored, and, I assume (because, DUH, they're women) they talked about you behind your back.

The difference between me and them? Mostly it comes down to a willingness to treat every one the same--I may think you're a total skank, a complete bum, a flake, a freak, or just a plain o' PITA, but, I learned your name, made an effort to know something about you, and THEN asked if you could help me out with whatever PTA thing there was. I never said ANY. THING. bad, mean, or rude about ANY straight up member. It was just the previous prez and Miss Thang--and it was all about their piss poor "professional" conduct. And, I would have said ANY of it to their faces--and, now that I mention it, I HAVE said it in a meeting, at least once.

Oh, btw, I am the Secretary-Elect for the PTA. May God have mercy on my soul.

Open for Your Amusement

The garden center is now open--limited hours, of course, but at least it's open.

I am happy.

I have been working on being less grumpy. Nobody's really noticed. I've been working on not being quite so harsh about the stupidity of my coworkers, at least, while I am at work.

Anyway, I wear my lovely orange and am quite content in the 40 degree (and sometimes lower) March temps. I don't mind the rain, the wind, or the snow flurries on the first day of spring. I am happy.

Of course, certain Know-It-Alls have to comment on my attire. But I have managed to not snap out on them, as I usually do, and have mostly-politely explained that it's one thing to be out in the 40 degrees and windy garden center when you have the immediate option of going inside, and quite another when you're out there, with toothpicks and saranwrap, sans door, for upwards of 2 hours (and sometimes longer) before having the opportunity to head inside where there is real heat, and little windsheer.

And, honestly, the orange is all the rage in Paris this season. ~eyeroll~

But, of course, there are a few nutjobs out there coming to see me. And I'd just like to ask, yet again, what is it with you people, hanging baskets, and stupidity?

Yesterday, while standing in my glorious register shelter to avoid the rain, a woman approaches me, hold up a hanging basket of pansies, jiggles it, and says, "Are you using this out here?"

At first, I just looked at her--I know I just had a blank look on my face, because I can think of no active use for a hanging basket of pansies.

She asks again, "Do I have to pay for this inside?"

I respond, "No, that's what I'm here for."

She gets pissy with me, and says, "I was only trying to be polite!" To which I'm thinking, "No, honey, you're only trying to be stupid." I didn't say it, though.

Timeless Questions

When you say, "Mean people suck," are you really saying, "Nice people swallow"?

The First

Stop me if you've heard this one:

The first ever nutjob I experienced at work (other than the run-of-the-mill cranks) was a doozy. I still remember her to this very day.

Play along with me, you saying the parts in bold.

We start our little game in the garden center.

How can I help you today?

I need a 40 pound bag of Quikrete.

Okay. *looks up number on register*

Do you know if it will be enough?

Enough for what?

To make concrete. Will a 40 pound bag be enough? *I was on the road, already up to 80+ miles an hour and into that wall, before I even knew I was in the car*

No, I mean, what will you be using it for?

*sigh* To make concrete. Will a 40 pound bag be enough?

Yes. *eye roll*

Okay. Great! How big will that bag be?

It'll be 40 pounds.

No, I mean how big will it be?

It'll be 40 pounds. *told you I was headed into the wall*

No no no! Dimension-wise. How big will it be?

Half the size of an 80 pound bag.

Oh, okay. Great!

There's a reason I am the self-proclaimed Weirdness Goddess.

This Is What a Month of The Snots Does

My Sweetie and I have both been sick since just before Christmas. If it weren't for being alive, we'd be feeling better by now.

I've already ranted about HIM, so let me tell you about US.

Friday, I was so tired I couldn't focus my eyes. I was crumpled on the couch, trying to watch (and hear) the TV. I don't watch much TV, because, well, most of what interests me does not interest my beloved, and he has this delightful man-way of making it impossible to watch anything.

Which is, after all, a good thing, because most of what is on TV is drivel.

But when you're miserable sick, and too tired to focus your eyes, the TV is a beautiful thing. It's distracting, especially if you're watching a Lifetime sapfest or a drivelly sitcom.

The Howler who very much understands grumpy sick Mommy was kind enough to not be shrieking and whining. My Sweetie, who is stressed from work, decides that this would be a good time to pick up the 500 thousand billion pieces of clutter about the house.

The Howler decides she needs the skin peeled off her apple (it was cuter when she would ask us to "cut the crusts off" her apples, but I digress.) I state, loudly, I'll do it on a commercial. He was in the room when I said it.

My Sweetie, who demands a lot of attention, especially if I'm involved in something that he does not find interesting or fulfilling (TV, computer, reading) decides that this is the PERFECT time to ask me about a box that is sitting under the corner shelf--it's been there for 2 solid weeks, and he hasn't thought about it in all that time, either.

So I get mad. Mostly because my head hurts and like any wild animal, pain puts me into claw and bite mode over everything.

I get the crustful apple and take it to the kitchen for decrusting. He follows me, saying repeatedly, "Honey, I said I'd do that." I ignore him, because everything I can think to say to him involves imbedding the decrusting knife somewhere in his body while reciting the F-bomb over and over.

(I should explain here that on the disagreement/fight thing, we do pretty well. If angry, we wait until the anger has subsided a bit, and ALWAYS remember that words, once out, can't be taken back. Even with unpleasant, personal things, we are always careful to treat each other respectfully and lovingly. We BOTH protect our relationship diligently--especially carefully when one, or both, of us is angry. We're careful, but we're honest. There's no silent, submissive, handle with kid-gloves partner here, though.)

A short time later, we discuss this, and being adults, we come to the conclusion that the TV has got to go. It's drivel, and it's a problem. We, the people paying for it, do not get to enjoy it, and therefore, it must go. (We're only half serious in this.)

We discuss how, in the past 8 years, I have been "allowed" to watch exactly ONE TV show regularly whether he liked it or not. Since the end of that, I have been allowed to watch zillions of hours of Spongebob and the Fairly Odd Parents (which I mostly hate, btw) without censure, but if it's a grown-up program of any sort, or worse, a sitcom that amuses me for any reason, I am not to watch it. (and if I get to actually watch it, I'm not allowed to hear it.) He and the Howler are in cohoots on this. It's been HER diabolical plot since the day of her birth. (The funniest part of that is then, Saturday evening, he announces that he's going to go buy an HDTV. While complaining that he doesn't get to watch the TV we currently have. Go figure.)

My Sweetie (bless his heart) will go so far as to get on the phone and have a very loud conversation with his hearing-aidless father while sitting right next to me. He will decide to clear out clutter, rearrange furniture, discuss budgetary issues, question the filing system, and make grocery lists all while in the room with me.

If I remove myself from the main living area room TV, and relocate to a more private, less accessible room in the house, he will FOLLOW ME THERE. He will increase his volume and the need for my vital input. And it's all done DURING THE PROGRAM. Play a jingle or flash to a logo, and WHAMMO! He's silent. Most of TV viewing is of commercials (the drivelliest drivel.)

Then he will be offended and confused when I finally shut off the TV and commence doing something else (usually, when I'm totally angry, cleaning--mostly filing and throwing things out--is a really good release.) He'll then try to placate the angry beast confronting him.

In time, he has improved on his use of the telephone during these times, but what that really means is that he relies, instead, on his unfailing need to clean, straighten, or otherwise purge the house of clutter.

I will admit that it is, in part, my fault. Especially if I'm on the computer, trying to write something (for a blog, or my pleasure, or even as part of my mission from God.) I was in a slump when we met, and began this thing called us, and in all honesty, until recently, it hasn't been all that important.

It's become important again, and even by repeatedly trying to explain and share, because it's not HIS interest and not important to HIM, it's relegated to NON-IMPORTANCE.

Quite honestly, I resent that HIS interests are important, and vital, and mine are, well, classified as "dicking off." I acknowledge I do quite a bit of this "dicking off" anyway, but at the same time, he cannot, even if I spell it out for him, using brightly colored visual aids and charts, determine that what I'm doing is important to me.

I love him, and I can't say it often enough: I have it really really good with him. I don't have to do much by way of housework. I don't have to do much by way of laundry. I work parttime. I get to "dick off" several hours a week, no questions asked. Whatever I want (within reason and budget) I have--including unnecessary office supplies like white-out and multicolored markers, paper and paperclips.

But I do resent what feels very much as if my interests--if they are outside of his interests--are secondary, and are always considered part of my "dicking off." Even if it's the mission from God stuff--which means that if it involves a book, or the computer, it's "dicking off."

No, he doesn't beat me. No, he doesn't verbally abuse me or belittle me. He doesn't really belittle what interests me. He just can't recognize it, see it, accept it as important.

Like I said, eight years ago, there were things about me that weren't important at the time. Now, they're growing in importance again, and he can't seem to wrap his head around the changes.

I don't want to fight with him, but I don't want to give up those things (again) and I really don't believe that I should have to make this kind of choice.

Question

I have a question, and I know I cannot find the answer in my thesaurus. I beg anyone who reads this to please please please leave me a comment telling me their answer.

What is the complete polar opposite of an attention-whore?

Thanks

You know who you are (and don't let your head get any fatter for it)

I don't have my English to English dictionary handy, but thanks for the pennies.

Warning, Will Robinson!

I had a warning on this blog--due to "Tits and Tats." Not that it offended me (because who doesn't like a good titty-show?), but I thought it might be considered a bit much to the unsuspecting among us.

I'm guessing that I was unduly worried and should leave well enough alone.