Wednesday, December 10, 2014

The First Yule of Fight Club

So it seems I have a real life person from class/work who's been possibly Googling me and found his/her way here, all over my Facebook page and various places I post online.


Greetings to the person that sits at one of the other desks. Couple of things you need to know.

First. When I speak of someone who is right in my circle of beings in my town - details, happenings and names are tweaked to protect the guilty, innocent and annoying. I've never used a real name except for the name of the lady I knew that was shot by the rogue cop.

Second. When I've spoken of different things happening at various employments it's also the same way, details and names obfuscated and fudged to keep people from jobs discovering that I'm sometimes going to mention something about our mutual work.

Unless it runs to the really bizarre: such as the time Bitchy Galore, lady I worked for in the next town over nearly ten years ago, decided after a martini-fueled DVD watching binge of "Calender Girls" in her office on one rainy afternoon that the way to fund raise was to get all her pals to post nude for a calender. She wanted to raise funds to build a bigger, better, fancier ladies locker room at her local country club (where she spent many boozy lunches and afternoons) and thought getting all the ladies of the country club to pose for that nude calender just like in 'Calender Girls' was exactly what needed to happen.

I spent one frantic week trying to do everything in my power to talk her out of it, pointing out that the sniggering woodchucks in that county would have a copy of the calender an hour after it was released and would be photocopying up that thing out the wazoo and distributing her nekkid photos to just everyone.

She didn't listen to me, paid me zero heed at all and did like she always did with her stupider ideas, bulldozed on ahead right over any opposition. She was unsuccessful in getting more than one or two of her pals to pose in the altogether on the golf course and sure enough, when the calenders came out, mostly of her rump and fun bags, it went down just as I predicted. Photo copies made and distributed and she sort of turned into the county laughing stock for a few months. Such goes life in a small backwater Southern town. You just do not do such things.

Even the years I worked at the medical clinic were with their moments that were too odd to pass unremarked, privacy laws or not. I have told the disguised tale of the man that showed up with the can of hairspray up his ass, claiming he slipped and fell upon it in the shower. Then there was the time a patient's wife drug him in and it turned out all the symptoms he was having that pointed to a stroke were mere side effects of the shit ton of meth he'd recently smoked. Add in feuding senior citizens, good church going couples fighting in the waiting room over who gave who an STD and it has emerged somewhere in my writings, either my novels or here or one of the message boards I've been a member of for years.

There's not much that's hidden or secret in small southern towns where listening to the police scanner and talking about your neighbors are what much of the local populace does for fun. So that lecture about not being allowed to name who works where or what happens is pretty unrealistic. I'm not talking big details, just the bizarre little tales that happen around and about.


Now that I've gotten that out of the way I have to say it's been a crazy week. After the plumbers left on Friday afternoon I discovered they'd somehow managed to crack the plastic cat box, lose my dust pan and do a few things that leave me scratching my head in confusion. Example: master bath. Now the waste basket is wedged in between the toilet and vanity. I cannot get it out! It's not coming out till the toilet is replaced again. I eventually just broke the damn thing to remove it. Not sure why the plumber moved it to that location considering I keep it across the room behind the door.

They put nothing back where they moved it from, my place was a mess after they left.

Had to buy a new cat litter box, waste basket and dust pan Friday night. On my way across the parking lot I came very close to being hit by a car that sped through the lot between the cars, I managed to jump back out of its path, falling on the pavement, bruising my knees, skinning my hands and jolting the thin discs in my back. Missed being hit by mere inches and to add insult to injury the driver rolled down her window to yell at me! She was the one cutting around through the cars and somehow this is my fault?

One of my cats has taken an extreme dislike to the new cat litter box and has expressed it by pooping on the floor next to the box and peeing on the bathmat before folding the bathmat up.

And on Sunday I took the bold step of not going to church. I've decided I'm on a Sabbatical from church, not just because of the sensory overload issues I'm having, but for a host of other things that are triggering my emotions wildly. I made the right call as I felt much calmer the rest of Sunday.

The only sensory overload problems I'm still having involve class. Will have to consider my options.

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