The Twilight Zone

I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday. Sunshine’s niece (Emmy), who is visiting for the week, needed to go to a certain health food store that was in a mall located minutes from my doctor. As we followed Google’s turn by turn directions, we couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going through somebody’s mind when he decided where to build this mall.

It had to be a man that built this. Who else builds a mall in the middle of a fucking forest?

Some of the entrance doors were out of order.

We entered through the food court, which was a ghost town.

According to Emmy, it was a totally instagrammable moment. We consulted the directory map, and started off on our stroll, with Emmy & DaRule leading the way. There wasn’t even any flooring on the slab in some of the halls!

We passed a sobering reminder that we were in tornado alley.

We saw lots of kiosk shops that were deserted, some covered in plastic. The Cultural Appropriation kiosk still had some stock visible in the center, and it took every ounce of self-control Emmy and I had to NOT burn it to the ground (Emmy is a tribal citizen just like Sunshine).

As we trekked deeper into the mall, we felt like we were in the twilight zone or something. There were no people, shops were either closed or just downright empty. We could see through some of the windows and security gates, and the assortment of random shit we saw in display windows was surreal. I actually considered breaking the glass and stealing the half suit of armor (not the full one, because that was too normal, I wanted weird).

We came across a supersized claw machine. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working. Look at how the claw machine dwarfs Emmy; that shit is fucking epic and now I want one.

On our way back to the car, we noticed that the gumballs in a candy station were weird looking. Apparently, they have been there so long that the sun streaming through the skylights had bleached the color out of them.

It was a surreal experience, to say the least. The weird didn’t end when we left the mall, though. We went to a certain fast food chicken place that shall remain nameless, because I refuse to advertise for a company that has such reactionary policies. The chicken place contained every single person that one would expect to see in a mall, and we could barely move; we were lucky to get a table.

After lunch, we still had an hour to kill. We went to the big box craft store that shall remain nameless because I refuse to advertise for a company that has such reactionary policies.

I’m pretty sure I would have gotten us kicked out and banned for life if we had not had DaRule with us (I refuse to act a fool in public with Reshaud or Rule, for reasons). Why the fuck is Christmas shit on display BEFORE THE FUCKING FOURTH OF JULY?

I don’t know what alternative reality we entered yesterday, but I’m glad we woke up in the one we’re accustomed to inhabiting this morning. Now, I’m off to get ready for work today, which is going to totally fucking suck. I’ll be dealing with people who want to celebrate murica’s greatness and probably more than my fair share of drunks. Good times, no?


Stick a fork in me

Because I am done.

The boss has opened a second location. It is only open on weekends, but it means that I’m stuck with Saturdays & Sundays for the foreseeable future. I’m ok with it, because fuck knows I need the hours. Credit card debt from building this house is a thing. The problem here is my chronic illnesses, chronic pain, and the resulting fatigue. I’m not quite sure how I made it to my house last night; I can only assume it’s because my truck knows the way home.

I was so exhausted when I got home that I was barely able to poke food into my wordhole. I only showered because I felt sticky and gritty and greasy and gross. I didn’t really pay attention to anything around me once I reached my little haven.

This morning, I feel like hammered shit. As I started trying to get ready for my day, I started noticing things. Things like:

  • The dirty fucking t-shirt stuffed under some throw pillows on the couch
  • Sunshine’s fucking shoes on the bathroom floor
  • Sunshine’s goddamned slippers in the middle of the bedroom floor
  • The overflowing trash can that nobody could be bothered to empty all fucking weekend
  • The dishwasher that somebody didn’t fucking unload after he ran a cycle
  • The damned fridge filled with leftovers that need to be tossed
  • The stove is dirty as fuck
  • The nasty-ass floors haven’t been swept, much less mopped
  • Dirty-ass laundry is piled up like whoa

I could go on, but I think you yet the point. There will be a come-to-Jesus meeting in this house, and soon.

Seriously, Sunshine? When you went through a summer feeling like hammered shit because of some medical issues and I didn’t complain about having to take on more homesteading tasks than usual, did it not occur to you that the roles might be reversed one day thanks to my chronic conditions? I have 2 days before I have to go pull a long, shitty day working outside on the 4th, and those 2 days are filled with doctor’s appointments, and you couldn’t unfuck this mess you made? Get the fuck outta here with that bullshit.

I’d leave the shit exactly the way I found it, except for the fact that I am my mother’s child and knowing that my house is in such a gross state makes me fucking twitchy.

Final note: even in healthy relationships, things aren’t perfect. There are bumps in the road. I’m just grateful I have my sponsor to help me figure out how to get Sunshine to come to jesus.

If anybody sees the top of my head…

Please let me know where I can go retrieve it. Because it exploded into the stratosphere today at The Evil Empire (aka wallyworld).

I had to do a bit of grocery shopping because Sunshine’s niece is going to be here for a few days, and DaRule wanted to get a new phone (or tablet) so he could take better pictures. I forget exactly what the hell the niece and I were doing (it wasn’t grocery shopping, I’m certain) when DaRule came walking up to us wanting to borrow my phone to research the devices because the employee in the electronics department told him to read the information on the signs when Rule asked for more information. I rolled my eyes and told Rule to come on, we’d get it figured put.

Side note: I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it or not, but DaRule is black (or African American, whichever you prefer). This matters, at least in the context of this story.

I marched back to electronics, dragging my buggy that didn’t have any groceries in it at this point. Rule showed me the tablet he was considering, and I yanked out my phone to pull up the specs online. That one was getting terrible reviews, so we started looking at models from the powerhouses of mobile devices (whose names I shan’t mention because we all know who dominates the market and I am not a walking talking advertisement for them). We narrowed it down to two options, and Rule chose one.

As soon as the employee saw a white woman with Rule, he became very helpful; he even helped Rule select a pair of speakers to go with the tablet he chose.

That shit pissed me off, and I haven’t decided how to deal with it yet. Rule wasn’t any less of a shopper when he was in electronics on his own, and his money didn’t become any MORE spendable when I joined him. I really wanted to punch that employee in the nose AFTER I kicked him in the franks&beans, but I really didn’t feel like waiting for Sunshine to get paid next week so he could bail me out of jail.

I am sick and tired of the disparity in treatment in this country. I don’t deserve to be treated better just because I look like the poster child for Hitler’s master race. Rule did not deserve to be dismissed the way he was just because his skin is dark. I’m sick to death with having to be on my best behavior out in public with Reshaud or Rule

(and yes, I actually feel it necessary to NOT get melodramatic about an ugly pair of pants when I’m with one of them. Because this is murica, where: if a white woman is throwing a fit in public and a black person is nearby, it is automatically assumed that the black person has done something terrible to the white woman. I wouldn’t wish police harrassment on a white person, so I’m damn sure going to do all I can to make sure it doesn’t happen to a black person).

I’m sick to death with it, and I’m looking for suggestions on how to address the disparity in treatment with the corporate office of the store in question. If you have any ideas, please share them with me.

The Debacle Grows

Last night, Sunshine discovered that the toilet we were told we could use? Was flushing into the backyard.

Apparently, that was enough to get these assholes out here to actually do some fucking work. Of course, while they were here, they dug yet another trench. This one is for the electrical run that powers the pumps for the aerobic system.

Apparently, they heard me bitching about how that newest trench could NOT be left that way when they left for the day, because they’re out there filling it in right now.

The Great Septic System Debacle: The Sequel

A little over a year ago, we had The Great Septic System Debacle. It started innocently enough, then it got a little crazy, then it became insane, there was no end in sight, like a neverending nightmare, on and on it went.

Last week, installation began on a new and improved septic system. We finally got to use our new toilet in the new house last night. Don’t let that accomplishment fool you, though. Our grey water drain from the kitchen and shower is not connected to the septic system yet, and the property is one giant patch of trenches and mountains of dirt. It. Has. Been. A. Week. An entire fucking week. Since they dug up the yard.

I. Have. Zero. Understanding.

How the fuck can these people call themselves professionals when they’ve been on the job for a week and haven’t finished it? They didn’t even show up on Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, and THEY’RE NOT HERE NOW.

They haven’t even dug all of the trenches they need to dig. I go outside to hang some laundry out to dry, and I’m looking at a giant clusterfuck. There’s piles of dirt and pieces of PVC pipe strewn everyfuckingwhere and I am befuddled. Like, who does that shit? Apparently, the crew Mr B hired does.

I guess one Septic System Debacle wasn’t enough, so now we’re getting the sequel.

The Purge: shoes

A couple weekends ago, I noticed a blister between my pinkie toe and the adjacent toe. The pinkie toe blister was really deep, with a lot of layers of dead skin covering it. Thankfully, the adjacent toe only had a very superficial blister on it. I’ve been keeping the pinkie toe slathered in medicated goo and covered with bandaids, going barefoot as much as possible, and trying to figure out how the hell I got a blister in such a weird place. Obviously, I’m wearing shoes that are too tight.

So I did what any sensible girl would do. I started shoe shopping. I ordered two pairs of shoes and one pair of boots off the interwebs,

and I went to a shoe store just to see what they had in wider widths. Of course, I walked out of the shoe store with two more pairs of shoes.

Because obviously.

When I got home from the shoe store, I went into my closet and started trying on shoes. It was ugly. Shoes went flying across the closet and out the closet door. There were casualties. There was much slinging of snot and gnashing of teeth. I was brutally honest.

In the end, I had a box filled with shattered hopes and broken dreams. Two pairs of brown Cole Haan mules. A pair of tan suede Chelsea boots with adorable side panels of a stretchy plaid fabric. My acid yellow Fila plimsolls. A pair of rockstar cool cowboy inspired ankle booties. A pair of wicked cool Pliner ankle boots. A classic pair of nude suede Ferragamo pumps.

I didn’t try on any of my boots. I couldn’t take anymore heartbreak, and besides–it is entirely too fucking hot to be thinking about tall shaft boots right now.

I purged more shoes than I brought in, so I did good. Right?