I got the job.
I blew all those associate-degree-ed hard workers out of the water, and I was hired today. I start tomorrow, just doing some little stuff, then I get a three day weekend. I didn’t know it was a three day weekend until I saw where someone was posting about a three day weekend on FB. Hmm. Oh well. To celebrate, Dennis and I went to a movie and then out to dinner. We hired a Japanese baby sitter who’s 15 years old and babbled that she always took such good care of her little brother, and she has a twin sister and so fourth. Again, an over-qualified person needing a job that a well-trained chimp could do. We offered her $60 as an entire price for: Taking out the trash, feeding the kids, cleaning the kids up, putting the kids to bed, cleaning up the kitchen, letting the dogs in and out as needed and checking on the kids periodically during the time they were asleep, as well as nighttime maintenance. Piece of cake, huh? Stay at home mommy stuff, right? She babbled that she could do it, and she had her “elite” 10th grade level science book to read when we left. I gave her our numbers and told her generally when we’d be back (11pm), then we hurried off to our night time adventure.
This is where the day stopped being good.
Dennis hit a huge pothole on the way to the theater. It made my shoulder blades start throbbing. I had my percocet with me, but I didn’t want to ruin the night. I waited. We talked of things that wouldn’t matter to anyone but us all the way to the theater. Glancing over the movies at the front door, I wanted to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – Part 1 or Burlesque, but before I could say anything, Dennis told the cashier “Two adults for True Grit.” I was kind of taken back. I remember watching the original when I was a child, and I strongly disliked it. Part of that was because I was forced to watch it. Just like I was being forced now. I just can’t get into Westerns. It’s not like I haven’t tried, because I have. I even bought The Searchers a few years ago because it was so highly recommended. But I just can’t do it. So tonight, I just smiled and nodded, bought a Coke and some nachos and sat in the cold, dark theater with Dennis, waiting for the movie to begin.
I choked down my nachos and gulped down most of my Coke by the time the previews were over and the opening credits were going through. I was sleepy. I felt bored. Dennis and I were snuggled together in the theater seats If we were younger and I was in better health, this is where we would have had sex. But I’m hurting, he’s getting on up there, and so we just snuggled. Covered with our coats. Only taking our hands out to take sips from our soda cups.
There was a woman, sitting alone, behind us, crunching ice. It just irritated me so badly. Crunchcruchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunch. Fast, slow, she had a never-ending cup of ice, or she was eating one of the chairs behind us. Crunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunch. SlurpsuckBURP. My god. I wanted to move. I noticed people texting. I could actually hear their fingers typing on the little keyboards. Little things were getting to me and annoying me, kind of like when you’re trying to fall asleep, but can’t because there’s always some little annoyance? Yeah. Finally, I whispered to Dennis that I was having pain and if we were going to dinner that night, I needed to take a pill. He shrugged, reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle, took out a pill and gave it to me. In the dim light, I could tell it was one of my percocets. Perfect. I took the pill with some Coke, and I was soon blissfully nodding away to another world.
After what seemed like a few minutes, I was jerked away by my phone going off in the theater. It was only vibrating, but it vibrates loudly against theater seat arms, and I jumped when it happened, knocking the plastic nacho dish over. I didn’t make that much noise, but everyone in the theater, from the text messengers to the ice smacker, turned to give me dirty looks. Assholes. I burrowed under Dennis’ arm and hurried out to the auditorium, and answered the call. It was the babysitter. The TV had stopped working. She said it just winked out. Alright, fine. I was tipsy from the percocet (I get so drunk and dizzy on just one of those, I don’t know why my doctor recommended that I take four at a time!), and told her we’d discuss it when I got home. I heard James and Ashe playing in the background. I checked my watch. It was after eight. I asked her what they were still doing up, and she babbled that she was going to take care of them, and that they were play-fighting over the potty. Again, I told her not to let them do that. Yes, potty is srs biznaz. I hung up and went back in the theater. My seat was cold and my Coke was warm. I knew that neither was the baby sitter’s fault, but I would blame her anyway.
Dinner was a mess. I ordered the chicken. It was so dry and stringy, I almost didn’t want to pay for it! I did, though, but I left a comment with the chef about how crummy it was.
I was still spitting out pieces of chicken when we got home to the mess that our babysitter left us. Oh. Lord. James was running around the living room. Ashe’s butt was all shit where she didn’t empty the potty (OMG! POOP! NO ONE SAID THERE’D BE POOP!) and he and his brother kept pooping in it. Chloe hadn’t had a bath, brushed her teeth or done her homework, and it was almost 11pm. She didn’t have time to do any of those things now. I sent her directly to bed, washed up Ashe, and wrangled James, tossing kids in bed, dumping poopy potties, and then I had to bag the trash and take it out. All while our babysitter is telling me she doesn’t know what’s wrong with the TV. Girl, the TV is the least of your problems. Dennis had the right idea, though, he just got undressed and went to bed. After getting the kids in bed, I docked the babysitter $5. She got so mad! I didn’t care. She was lucky I paid her at all, and I told her so. “What the hell did you do all night? Break our TV?” “You don’t understand what it’s like to take care of kids!” That statement right there made me usher her to the door. She was babbling about threatening to sue me for that remaining $5 and how she was never babysitting for me again, and she was going to tell all her babysitting friends…Good. From now on I’m going to only rely on adults to care for the kids. Clearly, teenagers can’t do the job.
Before sitting down to post this novel, I brushed my teeth, and there were still bits of that chicken in my mouth. I was so dehydrated, I had to rapid infuse, by drinking SmartWater, of course! I feel better, but I’m insanely tired. G’Night everyone! See you tomorrow!
Just a quick note to let everyone know that I reply to most comments here on my site. When I reply to these comments, an email is sent to the email address of the commenter that I have replied to.
However, sadly, due to my harasser(s) reporting my blog email address to gMail’s spam center, those replies are being bounced and sent to spam folders. So you’re probably not going to see it if I reply to your comment, unless you come back to the site and click on the comment bubble.
These are just some of the little things my harasser(s) have(s) done that makes my online life a little harder. The other part is they publish novel-sized comments here and on my journal, though those comments are never approved, to let me know how badly they hate me. I know who is doing this, and I am choosing to ignore them, for now. These things don’t bother me. These cowardly acts of commenting, reporting me for spam, lying to my host and claiming I’m hosting photos of them on the server, and so fourth. They’re little annoyances, much like when a fly gets in and keeps landing on you. But also like that fly, if it annoys me much, I’ll capture it and put it outside. Where it belongs. To go bother some cattle or another unfortunate person. But if it bothers another person, it may take on the risk of getting smashed.
Just something to think about.
Hope everyone’s weekend is starting out good!
I have another star. *grins* I am so loved, right? Or maybe Matt just wanted to make me feel better since things are starting to get bad again. I’ll make it just fine. I always have. I’m always alone when these things go down, but I’m used to it by now. I know that I am truly the only one I can count on. I shouldn’t read what they write, but I am curious. I’m called a bad mother because I don’t exploit my children on the internet. I don’t attempt to get hits by posting dozens of photos of my kids on the great web. I am a bad mother because I don’t exaggerate my daughter’s illness in exchange for hits.
I think of this site like a diary. I write what is on my mind. Perhaps that’s the wrong thing to do with a blog. I don’t know. Perhaps when writing on a blog, a mother should exaggerate her child’s illness, post hypocritical entries about how she hates bullies, and then turn around and bully someone else for their personal choice of what they put on their site.
I like what I do with this site. If others don’t, well, then, they don’t have to visit. I really don’t do this for the hits. I do it because I feel I have something to tell the world, and I want to release these words, thoughts, and feelings from deep inside me. I love to write. For the past twenty years, it has been a private dream of mine to be published. I have decades worth of stories saved on computers, from type writers, etc. I want to get them published, but I have other things that I’d rather be doing.
Then there’s sex.
If you’ve had a baby, you can no longer have sex, especially if the child is in the house and sleeping. That simply means you’re a sex fiend and a pervert and your child is being sexually abused. What…? Yes, my harasser really put that in the report she made on me. Wow. I bet the social workers laughed their asses off over that! How many of us wouldn’t be here if our parents stopped having sex after their first child?
Doesn’t bother me any. But it sure does make for a humorous read. Takes a boring evening and makes it pretty entertaining.
I have a bad feeling that Chloe has been taking my percocets. There are several missing, and while her father’s vices are slowly re-emerging, I don’t see him as the type who would take pain medicine away from me, especially knowing that I am suffering so. I don’t know how to go about checking to see if she has taken the medicine or what. I asked, and she didn’t confess to anything, but that could be because she has learned to lie. Where she picked up that filthy habit, of lying, I don’t know.
Dennis and I haven’t been eating right lately. I feel a little better, so I’m snarfing down nachos, Cheetos, Doritos, cheese, candy left over from Christmas, and Coke. Yes, I’m back drinking sodas again. I was giving some shit about that, but I really don’t care. If I want to drink it, I will. There’s no law that says I can’t.
January 4th I go back to see my surgeon. January 5th, I go to the back specialists. My (asshole!) physician charged me $98 for a “missed appointment fee” and when I called to complain about this, his response was, “If it hurts, you won’t do it again. My time is very valuable.” WTF? I’ve waited over an hour past my appointment times to see him before! I didn’t charge him any fees for that! The icing on the cake is that this little charge has put my credit card $35 in the hole. I have to pay it all up by Friday or lose my eight year old account. Bastards. Merry Christmas to you, too. Of course my physician doesn’t want to see me until this bill is paid in full. Lovely, nice man, huh? I owe Doc Mick over $2,000, but guess what? He’s still going to see me next week and administer my treatment. I owe this guy just a little over $400 and he’s acting like I’ve robbed him blind. Oh well. Can’t win them all, huh?
I need an escape. I wonder if we have anymore Cokes in the fridge.
I’m in a funk right now.
My new layout won’t work right (anyone else see that monstrosity last night?? Or did I get away with it?), and I got into a small flame-war on a parenting board last night/this morning.
One of the problems with the online world is that we take what strangers have to say too much to heart. For example, a solution given to me about my current situation was:
“You’re Prochoice? Then why the hell did you go through with the pregnancies? It woulda been a hellofaa lot easier to just get abortions and not have these problems you have today. You could divorce that useless sack of flesh man you’re stuck with and get on with your life.” That’s a direct quote. Spelling errors and all.
Funny how the majority of people who believe in prochoice-ness on the web feel that prochoice is only to choose to have an abortion. The choice to keep the baby is not part of the choice; if you choose to keep your baby or not terminate the pregnancy, you are clearly not prochoice and you have no business saying you are. Much like the feminists who feel that women should be able to choose whether or not they have a family, but if they do choose the option of having a family, they have made the wrong choice. WTF? Why give someone the option of choosing if you’re just going to bash them for making the choice you wouldn’t make?
For the record, I had no idea that I would feel unloved and unappreciated this late in the game. Believe me, if I even suspected this is how my life would turn out, where my husband jumps at any opportunity to be with his band and manager, I would have refused his proposal, point blank. I would have never had sex with him when I was a teenager.
It’s amazing how this person whom I don’t even know the first name of, has this incredible power over me, and their comment that I am not pro-choice and I am stuck in a bad situation because I did not have abortions, has angered me so. What the hell? So I changed my mind more than once in my lifetime. Is that wrong? This person’s comments made me feel like an idiot. Like I did the wrong thing by having faith that a family would make me happy. That I would get the love I craved since I was a little girl, and that I wouldn’t make the same mistakes as my own mother. In the end, it has left me resenting little children, whom are innocent parties in all of this, and wishing that Lance was right about his prognosis on one of my meds: It may cause me to stop breathing in the night if I take it. I also didn’t think Auz would have the effects on me as he did this time. Sure, it’s three years in the making, but the other two years, I didn’t have a problem with seeing him. This year, it was different. Probably because I had him all to myself this time. I am torn.
So I had a few hits from Spencer’s website‘s comments and noticed his nonsensical, whiny rant about me, or who he thinks is me. To be honest, if he hadn’t come here and left a novel of a comment, in a totally different tone, that is, I wouldn’t have suspected that the post was about me because it’s so off. The person he blogged about is on mental drugs, is an RN, and can’t see reality. I, on the other hand, have moved on from nursing, enjoy my (legal) narcotics immensely, and I see what’s in front of my face. Whether it be a lie on a webpage or a story that now has to change because it doesn’t “pwn” me in some way, I see what is there in its raw form. It’s also clear that in some way, I am a whore – as in I sell my body for profit – because clearly he’s never gotten to first base with me. I called it first!
See, I had a friend warn me that he was going to be posting about me, and guess what? It didn’t bother me the least! I see that I got some hits from his comment section, all of two, and I had a nice collection of 21+ hits from his IP, obviously he wants me to respond to him because lord knows, mean ole TGO ain’t around to back up his bullshit. I do like the touch that anyone who can properly Google, or just type in a word on Google and then click a link in the pages of links is a “stalker”. It really cheapens what true stalking victims go through. You know, the kind who don’t know their stalker is there, until it’s almost too late to do anything about it. The ones whose lives are in danger. Not the ‘big, bad men’ who have blinding links in their WordPress StatPress because they have and condone harassment to women over the internet. The next thing I’d suggest that he accuse me of is that I’ve somehow “raped” him because I have called him out on his lies and deceptions, in various posts, for the past three years. You know, because actual rape involves some kind of human contact, and not fonts on web pages.
All blinding stupidity aside:
Let’s narrow it down to this though: He claims that he “went against a buddy” to defend me, yet that’s bullshit. According to this post, he gave out information quite easily about his old “buddy”. And it wasn’t even to me! It was to someone who was obviously trying to take said Buddy down. What a pal!
Before then, ole Spencer tried to “pwn” me by posting nude pictures of me that weren’t even of me. They were ones that I had harvested from a few newbienudes.com accounts. I had more than one person tell me that they could tell those weren’t all of the same pussy. He even tried to “pwn” me by Googling the name “Christine Armstrong” – the name that I put on a Christmas card that he begged me for in 2007, which was sent to his grandparents home, and the address is saved if anyone is curious – and posting the first picture that came up, of some woman in Texas. Of course all the answers are in Google, right? However, the person who really owned the photos (which he could have found out who that was by simply mailing Jeff back @dreamhost.com, but that was too simple) had a problem with him redistributing them. I told her. She got upset. Her pictures were private for members only. I guess the owner of those pictures got pissed because that night, she discovered a ton of stuff about him in the real world and swore out revenge. It was so hilarious. XD
See, I saved all of that shit. I have archives and archives of CDs because some day, that stuff from 2004 will be useful, right? I still have the last IM conversation he had with me where he says he’s going to kill himself. I think I’ll put that up in its original form.
Go Superpowers of Being Able To See Right Through You, GO!
Then he thinks that I am “hiding” from someone. Oh lord. What the fuck. How do you “hide” on the internet? Especially when you have a public domain? Good grief. If this wasn’t so fucking entertaining, I wouldn’t be posting it. I assume that others get as big a laugh about this as I do, but it’s on the level of beastiality. It’s on the same level as kicking a dog. I’m not dealing with an intellectual equal here, I’m dealing with someone who’s idea of “revenge” is posting half-assed lies and rants about someone on the internet, and not even giving me a link back! Much too afraid of the truth, I guess. Naturally, I’d appreciate the PR boost that a link back from his site would give me. Or anyone else who wants to link to me. Welcome all new readers! Even ole Spencer himself!
Onto the Zen of his post that he thinks that Karma is somehow involved in all of this. That really makes me laugh, since that’s not the way Karma works. He thinks he has a “beef” with me or that we’re enemies or something. I have no enemies; enemies are a choice, one that I am choosing not to make. I’m all about the forgiveness these days. I forgave him. For the lies, for the deception, for everything. He’s not my enemy. I don’t have a “beef” with him, and I still forgive him. That’s one reason why I never made all of that stuff that happened public. It’s one of the reasons why I posted what I did several days ago, because if I cared that he found my site, I wouldn’t have posted it. I’m smarter than that. I know how the web works. After ten years of blogging, I know what does and doesn’t get a rise out of the general public. But if he wants to be the “big man” and claim that he has a woman – one that he’s never met face-to-face – as an enemy, more power to him. I guess I am or was very important to him because he dedicated a nine-paragraph post of nonsense about me in the middle of the night.
Last, there’s his obvious fantasy of me having a lesbian affair with Krystole. Just because I Googled that name and his site popped up, I’m somehow concerned with her? Call it my curiosity at where I stand in Google. But whatever. Again, I’m not dealing with someone on the same intellect level, so it’s really a waste of time to even post about it. But I like nonsensical entertainment.
It’s amusing that I have such power over small minded people.
While I was googling “Krystole” this morning, I came across a site with a whiny, crybaby, unintelligent post, the author pissing and moaning about people linking to his site, and that he didn’t want drama to follow. Or resurface. Oh? So it’s fun when someone else asks for the drama to stop and you continue it, complete with stolen facebook and myspace pictures and lies of your own added in, but it’s not fun when it’s happening to you? Right. Double standards. They rock. It seemed familiar. Unintelligent sentence structures, random cussing and ranting, re-posting garbage that wasn’t funny or interesting the first time it was posted. The pill I take that abolishes my caring and shame kicked in hours before finding the site, so I set out to see if I was right. Digging through the archives, it’s none other than Spencer, aka the author of vindictivebastard.net. It seems that he has several domains at his disposal, but that he has left Dreamhost in exchange for another host, despite the fact that no webhost is DMCA-proof. I had his Dreamhost account canceled because of a DMCA complaint, and no host in the world will let anyone host files that are not their own.
Not that I give a shit about things that happened two-to-three years ago.
It’s a brand-new summer.
What surprises me is that he doesn’t want people linking to him for fear that “Jenn” will find his site. It’s stupid to hide on the web. Hide in plain sight? That’s idiotic. Another surprising fact is that he thinks Krystole is somehow stealing WordPress themes. Um, not anymore. She hangs out on Insanejournal, when she’s not being mocked for her stupidity. Stealing content and claiming it as her own is probably the least of one’s worries when dealing with Krystole these days. I’d be more afraid that she would go psycho on me, especially since she rakes up old shit whenever she’s backed in a corner.
Shit comes in waves, and in the case of these people, those waves are more like circling dogs looking for places to drop their shit. Seriously. The web is not the best place to hide. Especially when you’re trying to ‘hide’ from someone who has already read it all and doesn’t care anyway.
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