Growing Into The Bitch

I'm going to be 44 next month, as Martin keeps reminding me. He has been saying this since January, which, okay, but really, I don't need to hear it in the various versions of "Well, in seven months, you'll be 44!" I keep reminding him, it's not until July.

This has become my Year of the Bitch.

It's rather glorious.

I no longer have patience for bullshit in any of it's forms. You tell me I owe something, I know I've paid it, I'm not making one iota of effort to prove it; your dumb ass will figure it out sooner or later. If you can't smile at me or say hello when I come into your store or go through your check-out line, don't expect me to do anything other than roll my eyes and shake my head at you; if you didn't want to be a cashier at Kroger's, why didn't you get off your ass and reach for something else? And guess what? Lots of the cashiers who's lines I go through regularly, they like their jobs, they like the people, the regulars. It's a pleasant moment for me as well and that's why I go there. Dumb ass.

I'm not a Republican anymore and I haven't been for a long time. I do not intend to return to the tub of grape Flav-R-Ade anytime soon. If I was any more liberal, I'd cross into Granola Territory, and trust me, I'm not going there anytime soon; I enjoy shaving my legs and wearing cute leather shoes and steak is always on my menu, baby.

If you are conservative, well, if we like each other, we just won't talk politics because if we do, if you bring up Sarah Palin for any reason whatsoever, I will instantly dismiss and never take your intellect seriously anymore. That's okay, though; you will think the same of me. In that, we must agree to disagree. That doesn't mean I hate you; it just means we can respect each others choice to agree to disagree and that's part of what being a grown up is all about. Respect for those who are different from you, no matter the way.


My last ex was such a Rapid Republican; I can't help but laugh at myself in those days; I was brainwashed, stupid, trained to ignore hypocrisy, and just generally deluded. When I re-discovered my own opinion, it was rainbows and unicorns to my heart.

I was a Stepford Wife, but it helped me to grow into The Bitch.

This is what I am and what and who I suspect I will be forevermore. People tend to either love me to death or hate me and wish death upon me. I can respect that.

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Just realized it's late on a school night for me. Remember when your mom made you go to bed at some ridiculously early hour when it was still daylight and other kids were still out riding their bikes? I do that to Mia now. Meanest Mommy on Earth; just ask her. I try to be the same way about work nights; i.e. those evenings before the days I work. A good nights sleep, which I rarely seem to achieve, and a good pair of shoes, is making a difference in my energy level.

I'm tired and we'll go with the next saga in my very lackluster but embracing the Bitch story of my life.

Not enough hours in the day today.

Working For A Living

Sometimes, fate does smile on me. Not often, but enough to keep me hopeful.

I found a new job. I've been applying to everything I've been remotely qualified for, in addition to filling out online applications to every place I drive by. Nearly all of the Craigs List jobs seem to be scams, making you pull a recent credit report or background check for a job that doesn't exist. Because you know, there is nothing quite so noble as preying on the unemployed. I've applied to everything in the Indy Star, which uses Career Builder, and everyhing on the Indiana Career Connect site. Indiana Career Connect has commericals nearly as annoying as those for Don's Guns.

One of the places I applied to online was a chain of local smoke shops. Since I'd sent approximately 4392 resumes at that point, I was on auto-pilot and instead of clicking on my resume to send, I clicked on a picture of Martin and I that was saved under a title very close to my resume's. Instead of thinking I was a big dunderhead, the lady I sent it to thought it was funny and asked me to resend my resume.

When she finally got my resume, she sent me an email saying she was forwarding it onto the manager of their Indy distribution center. So, now I have a job.

We sell cigarettes, tobacco products, candy and novelties, in quantity. It's not open to the public. We have some real characters for customers and the neighborhood itself is sketchy, in an Indy sort of way, i.e. only Ypsilanti sketchy. Since my co-workers have been there for years and the customers have been coming there for years, a lot of trash talk fills the air. I can trash talk with the best, and when I told one customer who came in with a big bag of change that we didn't take change on Thursdays, he promptly told me, "I'll be back with green" and walked back out to his car. I had to chase him down and tell him I was only kidding.

Eventually, I will be handling the daily reports, payroll and other paperwork. Right now, I'm learning how it works by stocking, running orders and doing whatever needs to be done.

I like it. I feel like I'm a good fit with my co-workers. We close at 4 so I'm usually out no later than 4:30. It's not too far from home, although the transportation thing is a huge pain in my ass since Martin's job is in the other direction and I'm driving a good 40 minutes each way. We're trying to solve that problem with purchasing a second car. I've been exhausted every evening; I'm not used to being on my feet all day. That problem is hopefully solved with the new pair of kicks I got yesterday.

The in-laws came for a visit this week-end, but that's a blog for another day.