Roxy, Mizz Rose

Today was crazy-ass crazy day at the old Red Bulls-eye Satan fitting room. I had a complaint lodged against me, for no reason that I can see. I had so many people look at me like I'd arbitrarily decided to make their day more difficult. Children took time today to practice being little bitches on a safe adult, adults practiced being assholes on someone they mistakenly think is required to take their bullshit. Okay, so I can't lean close and say, "You are a fucking pain in my ass and I'm thinking a bigot." No, I have to let my eyes say that. A half-smile and a slight roll of the eyeballs says plenty. Or coming to a complete stop, smiling wide and saying,"Suuuuure." to their stupid little requests.

I'm astounded all over again at how many people have claustrophobia. Here's a tip, asshole--if you tell me in a conversational tone of voice that you are suffering from this problem, if you try to, y'know, not *shout* it at me, or stamp your little feet, or give me a look full of challenge, I will show you to a large fitting room without question. If you ae obviously struggling--broken bones, back pain, pregnant, you are automatically getting the big room. But here's what you can't have, no matter how much you glare at me in hatred--you cannot go into the wheelchair accessible room because your ass doesn't need it.


I said NO

WTFuck? Why do people want that damn room? What the hell? The door opens outwards, that's *it*. That's the only difference between the family fitting rooms and the wheelchair accessible ones--that and maybe a foot more of space. *smh*

I'm leaving them in June. I intend to dedicate the rest of my life to painting tiny watercolors of kittens and flowers. Maybe I'll join one of those senior art classes, make little ceramic penis vases, maybe little ring dishes shaped like vaginas. I'm looking forward to it.

My child is moving...again. From the apartment that she just moved into. Yes, I know. She's moving into a different place, because of extreme phobias. No one understands, except folks who also have phobias that can turn one's life inside out. We talked about it and I supported her move, but asked for her promise to seek counseling of some kind because this is just too much. So this move, she's totally on her own. She's a grown, mature woman, and this is her life, she has to live it the way she wants. But that doesn't mean we have to live it with her. The move is totally, completely on her. How she accomplishes it is in her court. Mom and Dad are tapped out, financially and mentally.

Staycation is almost over--I have one more day. Except for the mind-boggling news my kid dropped in my lap, it's been so good that I'm kind of considering taking early retirement and just becoming a hermit. Nothing would make me happier than to shut my door on the world outside and just...breathe. I have two more months to think about it. Hmmmm...*ponders* I wonder if I can cut my hours at Red Bulls-eye Satan without getting fired and then live off the riches of my retirement. And my husband, poor man. Hell, he's younger than me, he can deal.

This post brought to you by 'has it been that long since I posted?'

I'm working on Small, Dark Place, and I have to reread the other stories and I don't want to. There are so many other stories I'm following and I want to read them, but I can't because then I feel like I should be working on my own stories. So, you can imagine the massive amount of house cleaning I've been doing instead. ;)

Tonight! Tonight I will finish all of them!



What? It *could* happen.

I got lost last night and missed Show. I didn't work on my BB, I didn't do anything. I slept a lot. It was pretty good sleep. and I had a good reason for it.

Folks, let me share with you my traumatic work day--which led to hugs and pats and cuddling for mental support which morphed into 'race you up the stairs'--oh, let me not lie, power-walk--I'm not racing anyone up any stairs, out of shape as I am....

So, my day at work? Just, omg, filled with people who had a tenuous grasp on hygiene, and where the appropriate places to urinate were--hint, not the fitting rooms. I had to boil my hands and apply outrageous amounts of sanitizer before I was able to overcome my attack of the vapours.

I was cleaning out a fitting room and cursing the lazy-ass lazy bitch who left hangers and stuff all over the floor instead of bringing them out when I grabbed one that was wet. And the liquid on the white hanger was yellow. And the only reason I didn't scream the house down was that my throat locked up.

My bare hands, my friends. My bare hands on this...thing. Stuff.

Beloveds, Yer Mother might have some slight issues with strangers. And touch. Probably not more so than the average person but maybe scooching over into OHMYGAWD territory, just a bit. So that was rather paralyzingly horrifying. I just went blank for a second--like, my fingers would not open to release this thing.

I'm just a simple, country fitting room attendant, I don't expect to have to deal with anything like this, lord have mercy. All I want to do is make sure no one's stealing stuff, that's all.

I should start wearing gloves all the time...or maybe change the fitting room spiel. "May I count your items, thank you, please return what you don't care for to the desk--oh and by the way, please don't pee in the room..."

This week is almost over and I have not been as productive as I hoped I would be. So, I did this, I printed out the bit I have so far and I'm editing it on paper because I can usually see it better that way. I have stacks of scribbled over bits of different stories! I don't know why it's easier this way but it is. I tend to see mistakes better, get the flow better. It does get expensive after a while, especially when it's a long story. Sometimes, I end up with big fat folders full of the same five pages, scribbled and high-lighted all over. :D

Also, as time goes by, I am more and more unhappy with my laptop. The keyboard is just godawful, hinky and touchy and just stupid. It's terrific for reading and watching shit on because it's huge, but for writing--gaaah! It is not for me. Of course, it's taken me a few years to admit out loud how much I hate this thing...*sigh* I feel bad about that because it wasn't cheap, and I was raised by folks who survived the Great Depression on one side and WWII on the other...you used stuff up until there was nothing but fuzz left and gosh, rarely replaced an item just because you didn't like it.Especially if it cost an arm and a leg! Which I have been told that I didn't spend much at all for the laptop so shut up and replace it but GUYS. It's not broken, I just don't like it.

I'm posting this, because I'd like to break my streak of writing long drawn out posts full of personal feels and meandering, blabbly thoughts about my Show and my life and then deleting them. You don't even know what I've saved you from, because I love you. And yes, because I don't want to come off as a ranting, weird, sometimes grossly over-sharing person...but I suspect that ship has sailed....

I'm just looking over my tags, and all the things I planned to do with this LJ and gosh, I don't think I've ever completed a darn thing. *sad* I really had the best intentions, you guys. I really wanted to make this an informative and entertaining LJ. *more sad* Instead, we have unfinished projects, volleyballing ideas...I admit publicly that I am a flake of the worst order.

( here, have a musical rendition of my feelings, boulevard of broken dreams.... )


*siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh*

Maybe I should post a list of all my WIP projects.

NAH! That'll just make me feel like crap. Looks like you guys are stuck with me rambling about RL and all the thinly veiled references to my sex life...geriatric porn, I hear it's big in Japan.

*gasses up Big Bertha*

All right, Mr. DeMille, we're ready for our close-up....

You know how you come across a recipe for something you've eaten ever since you were a wee thing? Some dish that when you eat it nowadays, you're suddenly thrown way back when? So you're reading this--this *recipe* and you're all "WHA? THE ACTUAL HELL? What the *hell* is that a recipe for because it sure is not the dish we ate!" You know what I really hate? When folks do stuff like, I don't know--throw black-eye peas in a silver dish. Or healthy up those old time recipes and swear up and down it will taste just as good--even better. No hell no. Where's the fat? Where's the damn salt? Where's the damn TASTE????

I need to keep away from that damn Pinterst. But the SpN pins call me like sirens.

I'm really crabby right now because all we have is granola bars in the house. Some of us seem to think that's an actual exchange for cookies. But some of us are cute but insane. I really want a red velvet muffin right now.

See? This is me kind of writing.

I'm not going anywhere I'm thrilled with Show and happy with the cool stuff they're showing us. You guys are great, fantastic and make me so happy--*but* it is recharge the batteries time! Usually when I fold my tents and sneak off into the night, I'm back in like--what? Two days? Two hours? Look at you, you fucking cute little things. I CAN'T QUIT YOU!! But I'm gonna try, just for a few days.

If you need me, drop me a holla. If you've decided that this is the year you're finally going to get me that Mercedes--what what! If you hit the lottery while I'm gone, dude, we really need to talk.

Be lurking around here like a creepy grandma seeing you real soon!

♥ ♥ ♥

I'm so down about my BB that it's screwing up everything. I just can't feel crappy that I'm having trouble with it, no, I've got to translate that into "I'm a crappy person." I'm *not* sending this hot mess to anyone until I get some sense that it's salvageable. Though if any of you could give me an ending, that'd be great--hah.

I'm giving myself a couple of days to pull this shit together and if I don't feel like I'm going somewhere by Friday, I guess I'll drop out. I'm not a fast writer anymore--if I can't get an ending roughed out by the end of the week, I'll never have anything by May 1st. I was rolling along pretty well throughout the weekend, about 3000 words--not great, but not bad--and then it fell apart when I realized I had no idea where it was headed. Which isn't terminal if you're posting a WIP but not if you're trying to make a deadline. :(

I'm just bitching here because I need to get this out, and I can't at home. You know how they are about my hobby. Not entirely non-supportive, but they're much happier if I never mention it at all. So, I just kind of wander around all bitey-lip and swearing I'm fine because it always feels silly to get so emotional about something that's only important to me and a few folks in a faraway land who might possibly be unicorns, for all I know. *sigh* Thanks for letting me babble. I'm going to print out all the fucking ugly pages and look over them at work tomorrow. And if anyone asks me what I'm doing I'm going to straight up tell them, "Wondering how I can get these brothers to fuck each other...any ideas?"