Apparently, "90210" isn't the only thing that's around to make me feel like high school should still be going on. Neither is the sudden reappearance of NKOTB. Nope, gather a group of women together to plan an event, and all Hades breaks loose.
We're hosting a convention next June. I'm supposed to be a co-chair...although for some bizarre reason there are three co-chairs. This is a little over the top to me. Anyway, the "head" co-chair (which, really, if there's a "co," doesn't that mean that we share the same duties?) really wants to be the main head honcho, and I've been happy to let her run. We had some meetings, and I told her back in September about the baby, and assured her that it wouldn't interfere with my responsibilities. I mean, I have Hubby, it's not like I'm a single mother that won't have anyone to watch the baby. There are just shy of 60 of us women in the group hosting the convention, and apparently, just because you leave high school, doesn't mean that you can leave the drama behind. Nope, it's obviously innate in us that we all try to be the most popular, the one with all the news, the center of attention, the first to spread gossip, and the MOST IMPORTANT.
Seriously, I am the baby of all the women in all the chapters. I turn 30 next week. I don't need to be any of the above. If I can be a mature, responsible human being, what the heck is wrong with the others?
Our chapter needs to be the MOST IMPORTANT. That means we've seriously over-extended ourselves as a chapter and are doing a million things for the convention. None of this was discussed with the chapter--one or two or in one case, five, ladies made the decision without involving the whole group. And now we're all stuck, at a time when we're our busiest trying to support our sister with brain cancer, fundraise for her and organize the largest local Adopt-A-Family project in the community. Plus, our chapter had another large responsibility to all the other chapters before the convention was ever even a twinkle in our eyes. And I don't get why we feel like we have to do it all ourselves. I also know that because we made a commitment, we need to follow through. And yet, our need to be the MOST IMPORTANT is interfering in our sisterhood. This is crap.
The co-chairs besides me have butt heads for a long time. I'm usually in the middle, and it was not getting any better. However, apparently, in an effort to be the center of attention, one of them has allegedly decided to tell others that she thinks I cannot or will not handle my duties as co-chair. And in the others' attempt to stop it before it becomes gossip, they told me. So I called her on it. I mean, let's get real, it's not the time to nit-pick or pussy-foot around. Either you said it or you didn't, and let's have it, and move on. This, too, is crap.
And then the other ladies have decided to get involved, and apparently are calling others, who are then calling me to see what the story is, if my caller id is any indication. I'm ignoring the messages for now. Isn't this business known as gossiping? I thought that sisterhood was bigger than gossip. This is major crap.
As if there isn't enough drama in my life, I'm apparently not able to have a life of my own unless I get it cleared by everyone. God forbid I try to finish the home study for the baby. And heaven help us all if I dare to take a week off for a vacation. Even worse, how dare I plan to attend the birth of my daughter? I should have waited for written permission from all 60 people to be sure that my personal life was approved to coincide with the convention plans.
The convention isn't even for another 7 months. I don't think the world will fall apart if I leave for a week (well, it's more like 2 because I'm being shipped off to training tomorrow for 3 days and then it's Thanksgiving). However, apparently my decision to leave town for training and then for vacation has pissed off some, allowed others to make decisions for me about me, and had others decide that I'm not really important enough to be involved in meetings that can't wait 10 blasted days.
My mother must have been wrong when she called me Sarah Bernhardt...I'm nowhere near dramatic enough...I think others are giving me a run for my money.
Showing posts with label Irritable Me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Irritable Me. Show all posts
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
There's No Place Like Home
After the baby died, there was another tragedy in town that I had to work. However, I've now made it through a couple of rotations where nobody has died a tragic or traumatic death. In fact, nobody has died on my shift in about 3 weeks. This is good. It's been long enough that while I'm still remembering the important things in my life, everyday irritants are coming back.
I'm tired of living in a construction zone. It's a million degrees outside, and nobody but the millionaires have air conditioning in their homes in Podunk, so all my windows are open. All I hear are big trucks.
Yesterday I dragged myself home and tried to go to sleep. The construction was beginning before my head even hit the pillow. I was then fortunate enough to have workers hollering back and forth at each other (before 0800 I might add). To top off my morning, as I was finally drifting to sleep, the County began beating on my door. I dragged myself down the stairs (after fighting off the puppies that wanted to go to the door with me) and flung open the door to greet someone with my hair sticking up in interesting positions, my pajamas slightly twisted to one side and my eyes barely open. The man wanted to trim my trees. Then he wanted to cut down my trees. I finally said to him, look, bucko (okay, I didn't really call him that), I just got off a 12 hour graveyard shift at the police department. He says, oh, so you're tired? Can you be any slower to catch on????!!! I said cut down the bleeping trees (again, I didn't really say that). Then I had to wait and listen to the chainsaws.
This morning my neighbor began calling at 0700. I had finally gone to sleep at 0300. I call her back and she proceeds to share that she's coming over so we can discuss terminating the condominium. I'm again, in my pajamas. I did brush my teeth for her. She then tells me she wants to file this today with the County Clerk. So I have to put on clothing over my non-showered-non-hair-washed physique, go to the bank where I HATE going inside, and obtain a notary seal. I understand that nobody will secure a home loan for a condominium in Podunk right now, but that's really her problem and not mine, and I just wanted to sleep late and then take a bubble bath and shave my legs that haven't been shaved in over 2 weeks. They resemble a forest, and any day bugs would take up residence. But whatever, I'll help her out.
Now the doggone dog won't stop licking my finally shaved legs. The other dog keeps climbing in my lap because since I'm up it must be play time. The construction workers are using beautiful language at tones that are carrying throughout my house. The neighbor is beating on her walls. And I really just want to go to bed, but I still have a meeting that I said I could be at no problem because I was planning to sleep until now.
I wish I had ruby red shoes and could chant "there's no place like home" but I am home.
I'm tired of living in a construction zone. It's a million degrees outside, and nobody but the millionaires have air conditioning in their homes in Podunk, so all my windows are open. All I hear are big trucks.
Yesterday I dragged myself home and tried to go to sleep. The construction was beginning before my head even hit the pillow. I was then fortunate enough to have workers hollering back and forth at each other (before 0800 I might add). To top off my morning, as I was finally drifting to sleep, the County began beating on my door. I dragged myself down the stairs (after fighting off the puppies that wanted to go to the door with me) and flung open the door to greet someone with my hair sticking up in interesting positions, my pajamas slightly twisted to one side and my eyes barely open. The man wanted to trim my trees. Then he wanted to cut down my trees. I finally said to him, look, bucko (okay, I didn't really call him that), I just got off a 12 hour graveyard shift at the police department. He says, oh, so you're tired? Can you be any slower to catch on????!!! I said cut down the bleeping trees (again, I didn't really say that). Then I had to wait and listen to the chainsaws.
This morning my neighbor began calling at 0700. I had finally gone to sleep at 0300. I call her back and she proceeds to share that she's coming over so we can discuss terminating the condominium. I'm again, in my pajamas. I did brush my teeth for her. She then tells me she wants to file this today with the County Clerk. So I have to put on clothing over my non-showered-non-hair-washed physique, go to the bank where I HATE going inside, and obtain a notary seal. I understand that nobody will secure a home loan for a condominium in Podunk right now, but that's really her problem and not mine, and I just wanted to sleep late and then take a bubble bath and shave my legs that haven't been shaved in over 2 weeks. They resemble a forest, and any day bugs would take up residence. But whatever, I'll help her out.
Now the doggone dog won't stop licking my finally shaved legs. The other dog keeps climbing in my lap because since I'm up it must be play time. The construction workers are using beautiful language at tones that are carrying throughout my house. The neighbor is beating on her walls. And I really just want to go to bed, but I still have a meeting that I said I could be at no problem because I was planning to sleep until now.
I wish I had ruby red shoes and could chant "there's no place like home" but I am home.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Barbies' Common Courtesy
So the last two days have been filled with conspiracies to make me go off the deep end. Every little thing that would normally cause me to flip my lid, blow my gasket, whatever the saying, seemed to pop up within a 48 hour period.
I've been used to having the whole building we live in to ourselves. For the past four or five years, we really didn't have immediate neighbors in the unit next to ours. The few that did venture to live there really weren't that noticeable--well, other than last summer when a construction crew rented the unit, partied every night, yelled at each other, trashed the yard with broken beer bottles, and left cigarette butts every where. So anyway, long story short is that the unit was foreclosed on and sold to a couple from another town--the couple that wanted to tear down our nice, brand new fence. I got home yesterday to discover that they had erected a four foot high post in the dirt patch that sits between our units, attached a piece of lattice work to create a "fence" and had covered the sewage clean outs with small rocks. It looks nice, but they did not get our permission to erect the thingy, and I'm not sure we would have agreed to the covering of the clean outs. We have this ridiculous Condominium Association, and it has bylaws and declarations and the whole nine yards. I know that the new owners have the documents--I gave them the documents. Would it have killed them to ask us our thoughts? What happened to common courtesy?
So onto the next units. They too were foreclosed on and sold. The new owners there are trying to better the property--YES! Someone else to help foot the bill that we've been paying!--and have made numerous changes--asking for permission along the way. They have a contractor that's doing a good portion of the work. Hubby had gotten permission from everyone to put up these solar lights to light the pathway. Not a bad idea, especially since some of the steps are crumbling. The end units and their contractor have managed to bust two lights. The first busted light, the owner confessed to, and we said no big deal. The latest busted light the contractor put on the porch of one of the units and has not said one word to us. If we had busted something of theirs, we would have mentioned it. What happened to common courtesy?
After discovering the trouble with the neighbors, I opened a credit card statement and nearly had a heart attack. In April, I attended a direct sales shopping moment, and purchased over $300 in clothing. The show was on the 27th. In May, I discovered that the credit card showed the same charge by the same company on the 27th and the 29th. I had contacted the consultant--I used to be a direct sales consultant and hated when the customer contacted the company without giving me a chance to find the problem, and I wanted her to know I appreciated her as a consultant--and the consultant said that she was on vacation, and couldn't look into it until she returned. When she returned, she e-mailed me that the company only saw the charge once, and didn't know why it posted twice and suggested I contact the credit card company. I did contact the credit card company, and they reversed the second charge while they researched the charge. The direct sales company then closed their doors. Sure enough, on this month's statement, I see where they reinstated the second charge. Never mind what my receipt says. Never mind that I only got one shipment of clothing. Never mind the little person got screwed. The credit card company never sent me any notice that their investigation was complete or of their findings. I tried to call, but the wait was "eight minutes or more," and after 10 minutes, I had to be at an appointment. I fired off an e-mail to the credit card company. I have heard nothing. What happened to common courtesy?
Finally, we had to go to Albuquerque for a doctor's appointment. Then I had to get blood work. We cleared the hospital at 4:00, and I have to be at work at 6:30. We live exactly two hours from the hospital. The fastest route is I-25 home. There was major congestion on I-25. No traffic accidents, no construction, no reasonable explanation for the 45 miles per hour drive from Albuquerque to Bernalillo. After we cleared that, we had maybe 10 miles before the speed dropped again. And then there was construction. Here's what really got me--it is apparently every New Mexican's God-given right to drive in the left lane. Never mind all the posted signs about slower traffic keep right. If you want to drive at 30 miles an hour LESS then the posted speed limit, please, by all means, drive in the left lane. It's against the law to pass on the right, so the rest of us will just plod along behind you. What happened to common courtesy?
When I was a child, I would sometimes picture mankind as barbie dolls. God would bend our legs, dress up, make us walk, everything little kids do with barbie dolls. I pictured Him pushing around cars on a track, just like Hot Wheels. I saw Him placing buildings around a map. However, I never imagined that God would allow us to be so doggone rude to each other.
I've been used to having the whole building we live in to ourselves. For the past four or five years, we really didn't have immediate neighbors in the unit next to ours. The few that did venture to live there really weren't that noticeable--well, other than last summer when a construction crew rented the unit, partied every night, yelled at each other, trashed the yard with broken beer bottles, and left cigarette butts every where. So anyway, long story short is that the unit was foreclosed on and sold to a couple from another town--the couple that wanted to tear down our nice, brand new fence. I got home yesterday to discover that they had erected a four foot high post in the dirt patch that sits between our units, attached a piece of lattice work to create a "fence" and had covered the sewage clean outs with small rocks. It looks nice, but they did not get our permission to erect the thingy, and I'm not sure we would have agreed to the covering of the clean outs. We have this ridiculous Condominium Association, and it has bylaws and declarations and the whole nine yards. I know that the new owners have the documents--I gave them the documents. Would it have killed them to ask us our thoughts? What happened to common courtesy?
So onto the next units. They too were foreclosed on and sold. The new owners there are trying to better the property--YES! Someone else to help foot the bill that we've been paying!--and have made numerous changes--asking for permission along the way. They have a contractor that's doing a good portion of the work. Hubby had gotten permission from everyone to put up these solar lights to light the pathway. Not a bad idea, especially since some of the steps are crumbling. The end units and their contractor have managed to bust two lights. The first busted light, the owner confessed to, and we said no big deal. The latest busted light the contractor put on the porch of one of the units and has not said one word to us. If we had busted something of theirs, we would have mentioned it. What happened to common courtesy?
After discovering the trouble with the neighbors, I opened a credit card statement and nearly had a heart attack. In April, I attended a direct sales shopping moment, and purchased over $300 in clothing. The show was on the 27th. In May, I discovered that the credit card showed the same charge by the same company on the 27th and the 29th. I had contacted the consultant--I used to be a direct sales consultant and hated when the customer contacted the company without giving me a chance to find the problem, and I wanted her to know I appreciated her as a consultant--and the consultant said that she was on vacation, and couldn't look into it until she returned. When she returned, she e-mailed me that the company only saw the charge once, and didn't know why it posted twice and suggested I contact the credit card company. I did contact the credit card company, and they reversed the second charge while they researched the charge. The direct sales company then closed their doors. Sure enough, on this month's statement, I see where they reinstated the second charge. Never mind what my receipt says. Never mind that I only got one shipment of clothing. Never mind the little person got screwed. The credit card company never sent me any notice that their investigation was complete or of their findings. I tried to call, but the wait was "eight minutes or more," and after 10 minutes, I had to be at an appointment. I fired off an e-mail to the credit card company. I have heard nothing. What happened to common courtesy?
Finally, we had to go to Albuquerque for a doctor's appointment. Then I had to get blood work. We cleared the hospital at 4:00, and I have to be at work at 6:30. We live exactly two hours from the hospital. The fastest route is I-25 home. There was major congestion on I-25. No traffic accidents, no construction, no reasonable explanation for the 45 miles per hour drive from Albuquerque to Bernalillo. After we cleared that, we had maybe 10 miles before the speed dropped again. And then there was construction. Here's what really got me--it is apparently every New Mexican's God-given right to drive in the left lane. Never mind all the posted signs about slower traffic keep right. If you want to drive at 30 miles an hour LESS then the posted speed limit, please, by all means, drive in the left lane. It's against the law to pass on the right, so the rest of us will just plod along behind you. What happened to common courtesy?
When I was a child, I would sometimes picture mankind as barbie dolls. God would bend our legs, dress up, make us walk, everything little kids do with barbie dolls. I pictured Him pushing around cars on a track, just like Hot Wheels. I saw Him placing buildings around a map. However, I never imagined that God would allow us to be so doggone rude to each other.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Living in the Ghetto
One would think that in a town of supposed millionaires, where the average house costs $350K and is only a 3 bedroom 2 bath single car garage house, and where the highest population of PhDs per capita exist, there wouldn't be a bad part of town or a slum section or even a ghetto. However, my studies of the local gossip rag--whoops, I mean newspaper that doesn't report any real news--that comes out five days a week, to investigate the court findings has proven otherwise. I live in the ghetto of Podunk.
This wonderful government built temporary housing that I have called home for the past 9 years is on the outskirts of the ghetto. Further up my street, there's a point at which is stops being the ghetto and is a nice neighborhood. But the two blocks from where my quad is to just about where the fire burnt and new homes have been constructed to the block behind me from the gas station to the first two quad buildings on that street constitute the current slum of Podunk.
I don't really know my neighbors--and this may be a good thing, since in that 2 block radius we have chronic drug users, domestic violence offenders, auto burg thieves, and a registered sex offender who also happens to be a convicted murderer*.
We have a new neighbor immediately across the street from us, and they appear normal and friendly. In 9 years of living on this street, I had forgotten my neighborly manners and never introduced ourselves--the new neighbor approached us, and introduced herself, and then I felt horrible. I was raised better...but I also am very wary of this part of the street. I wear a uniform, that while tacky and not very professional, declares me to be part of the police department. Years ago, when our uniforms looked very similar to the cops and we wore badges, I had a neighbor that used to beat up his girlfriend with a gun and then approach me when I came home from shift and want to talk to me--that scared the begeezers out of me--I never knew if he had a gun or if he was mad because he'd been arrested the day before or if he was trying to show me he wasn't a bad guy or what. I'm a little leery. And I'm a pessimist, and I don't trust most people who live here. Turns out the new, nice, friendly and mommy to a cute baby with a fun dog, is fine--although I'm sure she has no idea she lives on the outskirts of the ghetto.**
We've tried to escape, tried to overcome obstacles and move, but it's not working. The housing market is stinky, and would you want to move to the slums? When I bought the quad, it was not a terrible street. There were other streets that I would NOT live on and that I'd been warned about. Plus, the house was cheaper than the rent I was paying for a one bedroom apartment with no bathtub, so it was silly not to buy and move here. As time has passed, most people have moved on to whole homes (or at least duplexes), and quads have become temporary rental property. I'm not trying to bash renters--I was one for a while, and I paid the bills, cleaned the place, was respectful of others and tried to improve where I lived rather than just seeing it as a place to party and trash.
This whole issue has been huge to me for the past two years, and grows larger every day. The quad attached to us was trashed and then abandoned and foreclosed on, and a new couple has purchased it, and is trying to clean it up...for rental property. The other two units have been abandoned (and empty from residents as long as I've lived here) and are now in foreclosure with the bank trying to unload them. We have maintained the front yard for the whole building for the past two years because it reflects on us, complete with lawn care (gotta love the water bill in the summer, and I can't explain how many times we've planted grass on the half immediately in front of us--the other side grows fine, so Hubby has to mow it), repairs (concrete steps are a pain in the you-know-where and now more have to be repaired), and we've even paid the insurance on the building when it's due and waited for reimbursement to be sure that if something happens we're not screwed more than we are by living here.
It's unbelievable that we can make a good living, have higher educations, pay our taxes, support charities, be upstanding citizens and do everything a "good American" should do, but be held back from pursuing our dreams by a stinking house. It didn't sell last year when we had it on the market for six months, and I don't think it'll move now. We have to wait to see if the couple that purchased the unit next to us purchases the other two units and then we'll have to offer them this unit for next to nothing (like less than we owe) because there's a blasted Condo Association we're in and if someone controls more than 51% of the building, they can dictate how the others have to live/decorate/plant/etc. I understand why some people are just walking away from houses. I respect my credit too much for that.
*While I'm all about the man served his time, he committed the sex offense after serving his time in another state and moving here. Where he committed the offense in his home. On my street. Public records people! Know where you live.
**We have other neighbors across the street and up a building that are fun, good people too. I know not everyone is terrible in this street. It just seems like the bad outweigh the good 4:1.
This wonderful government built temporary housing that I have called home for the past 9 years is on the outskirts of the ghetto. Further up my street, there's a point at which is stops being the ghetto and is a nice neighborhood. But the two blocks from where my quad is to just about where the fire burnt and new homes have been constructed to the block behind me from the gas station to the first two quad buildings on that street constitute the current slum of Podunk.
I don't really know my neighbors--and this may be a good thing, since in that 2 block radius we have chronic drug users, domestic violence offenders, auto burg thieves, and a registered sex offender who also happens to be a convicted murderer*.
We have a new neighbor immediately across the street from us, and they appear normal and friendly. In 9 years of living on this street, I had forgotten my neighborly manners and never introduced ourselves--the new neighbor approached us, and introduced herself, and then I felt horrible. I was raised better...but I also am very wary of this part of the street. I wear a uniform, that while tacky and not very professional, declares me to be part of the police department. Years ago, when our uniforms looked very similar to the cops and we wore badges, I had a neighbor that used to beat up his girlfriend with a gun and then approach me when I came home from shift and want to talk to me--that scared the begeezers out of me--I never knew if he had a gun or if he was mad because he'd been arrested the day before or if he was trying to show me he wasn't a bad guy or what. I'm a little leery. And I'm a pessimist, and I don't trust most people who live here. Turns out the new, nice, friendly and mommy to a cute baby with a fun dog, is fine--although I'm sure she has no idea she lives on the outskirts of the ghetto.**
We've tried to escape, tried to overcome obstacles and move, but it's not working. The housing market is stinky, and would you want to move to the slums? When I bought the quad, it was not a terrible street. There were other streets that I would NOT live on and that I'd been warned about. Plus, the house was cheaper than the rent I was paying for a one bedroom apartment with no bathtub, so it was silly not to buy and move here. As time has passed, most people have moved on to whole homes (or at least duplexes), and quads have become temporary rental property. I'm not trying to bash renters--I was one for a while, and I paid the bills, cleaned the place, was respectful of others and tried to improve where I lived rather than just seeing it as a place to party and trash.
This whole issue has been huge to me for the past two years, and grows larger every day. The quad attached to us was trashed and then abandoned and foreclosed on, and a new couple has purchased it, and is trying to clean it up...for rental property. The other two units have been abandoned (and empty from residents as long as I've lived here) and are now in foreclosure with the bank trying to unload them. We have maintained the front yard for the whole building for the past two years because it reflects on us, complete with lawn care (gotta love the water bill in the summer, and I can't explain how many times we've planted grass on the half immediately in front of us--the other side grows fine, so Hubby has to mow it), repairs (concrete steps are a pain in the you-know-where and now more have to be repaired), and we've even paid the insurance on the building when it's due and waited for reimbursement to be sure that if something happens we're not screwed more than we are by living here.
It's unbelievable that we can make a good living, have higher educations, pay our taxes, support charities, be upstanding citizens and do everything a "good American" should do, but be held back from pursuing our dreams by a stinking house. It didn't sell last year when we had it on the market for six months, and I don't think it'll move now. We have to wait to see if the couple that purchased the unit next to us purchases the other two units and then we'll have to offer them this unit for next to nothing (like less than we owe) because there's a blasted Condo Association we're in and if someone controls more than 51% of the building, they can dictate how the others have to live/decorate/plant/etc. I understand why some people are just walking away from houses. I respect my credit too much for that.
*While I'm all about the man served his time, he committed the sex offense after serving his time in another state and moving here. Where he committed the offense in his home. On my street. Public records people! Know where you live.
**We have other neighbors across the street and up a building that are fun, good people too. I know not everyone is terrible in this street. It just seems like the bad outweigh the good 4:1.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
What a Joke
Suffice to say, I'm back from Baltimore and my grandmother. Lots to post about that, but I'm afraid that tonight I've hit my limit of ridiculous voting crap. Advance warning--I'm so put off that I can't spell right or even come up with the proper words...I'm sputtering.
Each election year, the public is berated with negative ads, endless debates, guilt inducing lectures from celebrities-that you wonder when they figured out how to find a poll-about how important it is to vote, and headlines that are nothing but promises made that will never be held. Let's start at the beginning of my complaints, shall we?
Negative ads are a serious waste of campaign dollars. What happened to the days when a person stood for something, the days when a person held a belief so passionately that no matter what happened, the belief remained true? Anybody can take a part of another's life and spin it negatively and call someone a scum bucket or whatever...how many of us have a part of our lives or something we've said any number of years ago that won't come back and bite us in the arse? I only know one man that was perfect, and He walked on water. Tried that lately? Further, it's asinine that the Democrats are so nasty to each other--they're in a prime spot, it's been predicted that they will win the Presidency, so wouldn't you think that while they're grumping about how this nation needs a leader that will bring the country together they could try to get along? Actions are way, way louder than words, and I want you to put your actions where your mouth is.
Endless debates are pointless. Only questions that are preplanned and that everyone's heard the answers to repeatedly are asked. I think the last debate that intrigued me was not really a debate but when MTV asked Former President Clinton (this would be Bill, not the other Former President Clinton that's running again) about smoking pot and his underwear. Who knew then that his answers would continue to resonate for years to come (I smoked but didn't inhale:I had oral intimacy with that woman but didn't have sexual relations--he had a way "around" everything).
Guilt inducing pleas from celebrities (by the way, if an actor can change my beliefs and my concerns then I really don't believe that I should have the right to vote--I firmly believe that every voter should have to prove that they are capable of their own thoughts...that's why I'm so against straight ticket ballot options) are ridiculous because you see them "stumping" for
someone and then on an ad for the candidate, but hardly any of them are photographed outside the polls.
Enter tangent here--what's the point of voting for a primary anyway? If you have the privilege of living in New Mexico as a Republican, it's all decided for you before you have the chance to vote (Republican primaries are in June). Not to mention that I've barely gotten home from a poll when the news stations are already declaring a winner...sometimes they're declaring a winner before I've gone to the polls. You want to induce confidence in the voting process? Have a nationwide primary election, not a million individual primaries. Don't declare a winner until all the polls are reporting and you have every vote in. Heck, let's get crazy and actually let the public chose the candidate for the office instead of having the "popular" vote and then the vote that really counts.
Headlines that are filled with promises that will never be kept used to amuse me. It's a different world when you're at the top. Suddenly you realize that "Read my lips" becomes "holy cow" when you're faced with reality. Why can't we all just be honest about certain issues? Congress will continue to raise taxes. Illegal immigrants will continue to find a way to enter this country. Those that don't work will continue receive more benefits that I ever will garner. Social Security wasn't built to handle the population we have now but I'm still going to have to pay into it knowing I'll never receive it.* Health care will be a joke as long as there are HMOs sucking up my paycheck and denying every claim I make--but God help me if I try to get health care assistance without an HMO or similar plan. I will never know what those I elect into office do unless it's something like declaring the official food of my state chips and salsa because that's the only headline that comes out of a session in Congress while they're too busy to hear things like the fact that emergency personnel need to have a shorter retirement period because literally years of our lives are taken due to the stress we handle.**
I vote because it's my right to vote. I vote because I'm afraid they will take it away from me when enough of us don't vote. I vote because I believe in the fundamentals that this country was founded on, and I pray that some day somebody that remembers what it was like to passionately love other people and to want others to have the same undeniable rights that we as Americans have will make it past all the bull hockey. And I know that this will only happen when we return this nation to God.
And yet every time it's time to vote, I have a little voice in me saying "ha ha ha--you know this doesn't count for anything." When does the punchline change?
*In the interest of full disclosure, I don't participate in Social Security anymore. My employer has an alternate plan, and by working through this employer, I have forfeited my "credits" into Social Security.
**There are actually studies that show this, like studies by Universities and Colleges. I have access to many if anyone else out there cares. And Police Officers, Fire Fighters and Detention Officers all have shorter retirement periods...it's just us dispatchers left in the cold in this state.
Each election year, the public is berated with negative ads, endless debates, guilt inducing lectures from celebrities-that you wonder when they figured out how to find a poll-about how important it is to vote, and headlines that are nothing but promises made that will never be held. Let's start at the beginning of my complaints, shall we?
Negative ads are a serious waste of campaign dollars. What happened to the days when a person stood for something, the days when a person held a belief so passionately that no matter what happened, the belief remained true? Anybody can take a part of another's life and spin it negatively and call someone a scum bucket or whatever...how many of us have a part of our lives or something we've said any number of years ago that won't come back and bite us in the arse? I only know one man that was perfect, and He walked on water. Tried that lately? Further, it's asinine that the Democrats are so nasty to each other--they're in a prime spot, it's been predicted that they will win the Presidency, so wouldn't you think that while they're grumping about how this nation needs a leader that will bring the country together they could try to get along? Actions are way, way louder than words, and I want you to put your actions where your mouth is.
Endless debates are pointless. Only questions that are preplanned and that everyone's heard the answers to repeatedly are asked. I think the last debate that intrigued me was not really a debate but when MTV asked Former President Clinton (this would be Bill, not the other Former President Clinton that's running again) about smoking pot and his underwear. Who knew then that his answers would continue to resonate for years to come (I smoked but didn't inhale:I had oral intimacy with that woman but didn't have sexual relations--he had a way "around" everything).
Guilt inducing pleas from celebrities (by the way, if an actor can change my beliefs and my concerns then I really don't believe that I should have the right to vote--I firmly believe that every voter should have to prove that they are capable of their own thoughts...that's why I'm so against straight ticket ballot options) are ridiculous because you see them "stumping" for
someone and then on an ad for the candidate, but hardly any of them are photographed outside the polls.
Enter tangent here--what's the point of voting for a primary anyway? If you have the privilege of living in New Mexico as a Republican, it's all decided for you before you have the chance to vote (Republican primaries are in June). Not to mention that I've barely gotten home from a poll when the news stations are already declaring a winner...sometimes they're declaring a winner before I've gone to the polls. You want to induce confidence in the voting process? Have a nationwide primary election, not a million individual primaries. Don't declare a winner until all the polls are reporting and you have every vote in. Heck, let's get crazy and actually let the public chose the candidate for the office instead of having the "popular" vote and then the vote that really counts.
Headlines that are filled with promises that will never be kept used to amuse me. It's a different world when you're at the top. Suddenly you realize that "Read my lips" becomes "holy cow" when you're faced with reality. Why can't we all just be honest about certain issues? Congress will continue to raise taxes. Illegal immigrants will continue to find a way to enter this country. Those that don't work will continue receive more benefits that I ever will garner. Social Security wasn't built to handle the population we have now but I'm still going to have to pay into it knowing I'll never receive it.* Health care will be a joke as long as there are HMOs sucking up my paycheck and denying every claim I make--but God help me if I try to get health care assistance without an HMO or similar plan. I will never know what those I elect into office do unless it's something like declaring the official food of my state chips and salsa because that's the only headline that comes out of a session in Congress while they're too busy to hear things like the fact that emergency personnel need to have a shorter retirement period because literally years of our lives are taken due to the stress we handle.**
I vote because it's my right to vote. I vote because I'm afraid they will take it away from me when enough of us don't vote. I vote because I believe in the fundamentals that this country was founded on, and I pray that some day somebody that remembers what it was like to passionately love other people and to want others to have the same undeniable rights that we as Americans have will make it past all the bull hockey. And I know that this will only happen when we return this nation to God.
And yet every time it's time to vote, I have a little voice in me saying "ha ha ha--you know this doesn't count for anything." When does the punchline change?
*In the interest of full disclosure, I don't participate in Social Security anymore. My employer has an alternate plan, and by working through this employer, I have forfeited my "credits" into Social Security.
**There are actually studies that show this, like studies by Universities and Colleges. I have access to many if anyone else out there cares. And Police Officers, Fire Fighters and Detention Officers all have shorter retirement periods...it's just us dispatchers left in the cold in this state.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
PhD. in Frustration
So you wander into work a whopping 2 minutes before your shift begins. I've had one of the longest shifts known to mankind, thanks to a major power outage with temperatures dropping below 9 degrees and a million old folks living in a tiny community. I'm dying to go home--one more call about what am I going to do to fix the temperatures/turn on the power/open an emergency shelter/handle other calls to those who are stupid enough not to know that half the town is without power and therefore all the pipes in the powerless part of town are about to freeze and nobody will make it through the night due to the cold, and I'm going to tell everyone just how much I really DO NOT CARE about their problems unless their lives are in serious immediate danger. I have spent hours holding hands, reassuring the elderly that we love them (and I normally do), trying to interpret weather forecasts, being yelled at by almost every citizen because I'm not the electrician myself, fighting with the utility company about how long this will last, arguing with the Emergency Management Coordinator about what his job entails, and preparing for emergency shelters and door to door evacuations of around 10 streets and up to 100 homes, just to have the night end with you meandering through the door sighing like your life sucks.
You stare at me as I answer another call for service at the exact minute your arse is supposed to be in the seat answering the phone, but since you didn't show up in time for me to log off, I'm the only one who can answer the bleeping phone. You can't believe I won't get out of your way. I finish the call, dispatch an officer, and try to brief you.
You announce that you don't know what I'm talking about, and then ask questions that had you a)shown up in time to be briefed or b)listened as I briefed you (in between phone calls, radio traffic, and trying to get out of your way), you'd know the bleeping answer to without me having to repeat everything twice.
You throw a fit because you and I are scheduled for training 6 weeks from now and may have to share a hotel room--not a bleeping bed, but a freaking ROOM--for 1 night and threaten not to go to the training. I want to say "good, don't go." You then proceed to tell me that I don't know when MY licenses expire or when MY certifications are in danger when you're the moron without a clue. I've been the blasted one in charge with keeping track of everyone's licenses, certificates, schedules, OT, training. I'm not an idiot. We're ranked the same. You are no better than me. I know my crap forwards and backwards and inside out. In fact, the mere fact that you apparently are threatened that I MIGHT know more than you should indicate to you that I'm not an idiot.
And you wonder why I understand when other people get frustrated with you? Holy crap. This isn't rocket science. But if it were, today I'd say I earned my PhD.
You stare at me as I answer another call for service at the exact minute your arse is supposed to be in the seat answering the phone, but since you didn't show up in time for me to log off, I'm the only one who can answer the bleeping phone. You can't believe I won't get out of your way. I finish the call, dispatch an officer, and try to brief you.
You announce that you don't know what I'm talking about, and then ask questions that had you a)shown up in time to be briefed or b)listened as I briefed you (in between phone calls, radio traffic, and trying to get out of your way), you'd know the bleeping answer to without me having to repeat everything twice.
You throw a fit because you and I are scheduled for training 6 weeks from now and may have to share a hotel room--not a bleeping bed, but a freaking ROOM--for 1 night and threaten not to go to the training. I want to say "good, don't go." You then proceed to tell me that I don't know when MY licenses expire or when MY certifications are in danger when you're the moron without a clue. I've been the blasted one in charge with keeping track of everyone's licenses, certificates, schedules, OT, training. I'm not an idiot. We're ranked the same. You are no better than me. I know my crap forwards and backwards and inside out. In fact, the mere fact that you apparently are threatened that I MIGHT know more than you should indicate to you that I'm not an idiot.
And you wonder why I understand when other people get frustrated with you? Holy crap. This isn't rocket science. But if it were, today I'd say I earned my PhD.
Monday, November 26, 2007
I Never Make Mistakes
I had the privelege of taking the car into be serviced today.
I'm very proud of us--we've been very responsible with this car. Normally we just pay the loan on time and ignore everything else about a vehicle. Ok, so that's what I do--Hubby pays attention to the oil changes and when I gripe about a noise/tug on the wheel/etc., Hubby will figure something out. I was trained at a young age to take care of vehicles--most of my memories of hanging out with my dad involve learning about carburetors and changing brakes. My earlier cars gave us chances to bond over replacing numerous starters and just about everything under the hood of an '85 Pontiac Sunbird (that's right, a sunbird--I was cool with the grandma car until it just stopped running). I have no idea why I'm so lax about it now.
So with this car, (which has all the bells and whistles possible on it except for satellite radio--we chose the other option that I can't remember now and you couldn't have both--and the DVD player--again, can't have sunroof and DVD player--because Hubby is instant-gratification-man and because I'm the type that has to prove a point) we've really strove to make all the appointments and all the deadlines. We're actually 1500 miles ahead on our services because we don't even drive it as hard as the other cars we've owned have been driven (case in point--Hubby's PODD--that's doggie doo--that has well over 130K miles on it and we've owned that for 6 years and put all but 35K on it ourselves).
The bigger point of this long story is that I hate taking the car to get it serviced, because I hate the dealership. I will never, ever, EVER purchase a vehicle from anything that has to do with the Lithia dealerships. The way we got the car was absurd. We went to the dealership and meandered the parking lot for 45 minutes without any car salesperson coming near us. In July. How is it that NO car salespeople wanted to help us? I was in shorts and grubby sneakers, Hubby in shorts and a grungy shirt, so we assume that the evil car people thought we were a)too young to afford a new car and/or b) too poor to talk to. Never mind that we had studied up on Jeeps and checked out safety ratings and prices and packages and were therefore not only willing to walk onto the lot and purchase a Jeep then and there, but fully aware of the costs and able to purchase one. After being ignored, we left and went down the road to another dealership, deciding to check out other cars. We explained our terrible experience to a nice salesman (that followed us to the parking space and greeted us enthusiastically despite our appearances), who said that he used to work for Lithia and HE called over to the first dealership and told them that two nice people had left and that they had almost lost a sale but that he was giving up his potential commission and sending us back. Wouldn't you know it--upon our return to the first dealership, they were magically willing to help us! Who begs a dealership to sell a ridiculously priced vehicle to them? Us. I had to buy the car to prove to these people that we could so afford it and Hubby had to buy the car because it is a sweet ride and has a lot of bells and whistles and things I don't know how to work now 2 years later.
As we were learning the "benefits" of financing the Jeep with Chrysler/Dodge, the finance man had the nerve to complain about it being after his normal hours and that's why he was in a hurry to get through the paperwork. That made me determined to make him stay longer. Hubby told him it was his own dealership's fault, and we asked a million questions about purchasing some terribly expensive additional warranty. The finance man told us it covered things like towing, rental cars when the Jeep was being serviced, the majority of the parts that aren't covered after the original warranty, and a zillion other things I can't remember. Turns out none of that is true. On average, the Jeep spends about 3-6 hours being maintenanced whenever I take it down (I usually have the big months, Hubby gets the oil change only months). However, there's no rental car offered. Never mind that we drive an hour to get it serviced, or that in order for me to do anything else during this time, a friend or Hubby has to drive that hour as well and then cart my happy rear end around Santa Fe. All that the additional several thousand dollar warranty is good for is lifetime oil changes. Guess while I was trying to make him stay longer to piss him off, the finance man was figuring out how to screw me royally.
Then there's the fact that a part was recalled on the Jeep. Nobody mentioned this to us--we had to take the Jeep in 3 times before they heard the noise and agreed something was wrong, and then when they agreed, they announced that the part had been recalled anyway, so they were replacing all the parts. Of course, we scheduled a separate appointment for that--an appointment that would last 2-3 hours according to the maintenance manager. After 4 hours, the manager confessed to me that they didn't order enough parts for all the tires (everyone knows that a car only drives on 3 wheels, right?) and I would have to come back again. So I made yet another trip down where I sat for 5 hours. And the noise is still in the back of the Jeep, like it was last January when we began this quest for finding the noise.
So as I pull in today, and I give my last name, the manager says, "Oh, _____(insert Hubby's name here)." Of course Hubby has chewed them out several times in the past, and I sent scathing remarks back on a recent survey about the dealership. Manager tells me it'll be another 2-3 hour appointment--which Hubby failed to tell me, but my past experience has taught me to bring a book. I bet it really should have only taken 15 minutes, but again, Lithia is out to screw me.
Why do we still go there? It ain't the service--see all of the above paragraphs. It ain't the coffee--they don't even offer free coffee (but if we'd bought at the dealership next door, we'd get coffee and doughnuts--that's what my parents get). It ain't the other clientele--although the scruffy toothless man and his friend the volunteer fireman in an even more podunk town that hit on me in the waiting room did soften me up...it's been a long time since anyone tried to flirt with me. We're afraid of voiding the several thousand dollar warranty that nobody knows what it's good for other than lifetime oil changes.
That, and I don't really want to look like we made a mistake, because I never make mistakes :)
I'm very proud of us--we've been very responsible with this car. Normally we just pay the loan on time and ignore everything else about a vehicle. Ok, so that's what I do--Hubby pays attention to the oil changes and when I gripe about a noise/tug on the wheel/etc., Hubby will figure something out. I was trained at a young age to take care of vehicles--most of my memories of hanging out with my dad involve learning about carburetors and changing brakes. My earlier cars gave us chances to bond over replacing numerous starters and just about everything under the hood of an '85 Pontiac Sunbird (that's right, a sunbird--I was cool with the grandma car until it just stopped running). I have no idea why I'm so lax about it now.
So with this car, (which has all the bells and whistles possible on it except for satellite radio--we chose the other option that I can't remember now and you couldn't have both--and the DVD player--again, can't have sunroof and DVD player--because Hubby is instant-gratification-man and because I'm the type that has to prove a point) we've really strove to make all the appointments and all the deadlines. We're actually 1500 miles ahead on our services because we don't even drive it as hard as the other cars we've owned have been driven (case in point--Hubby's PODD--that's doggie doo--that has well over 130K miles on it and we've owned that for 6 years and put all but 35K on it ourselves).
The bigger point of this long story is that I hate taking the car to get it serviced, because I hate the dealership. I will never, ever, EVER purchase a vehicle from anything that has to do with the Lithia dealerships. The way we got the car was absurd. We went to the dealership and meandered the parking lot for 45 minutes without any car salesperson coming near us. In July. How is it that NO car salespeople wanted to help us? I was in shorts and grubby sneakers, Hubby in shorts and a grungy shirt, so we assume that the evil car people thought we were a)too young to afford a new car and/or b) too poor to talk to. Never mind that we had studied up on Jeeps and checked out safety ratings and prices and packages and were therefore not only willing to walk onto the lot and purchase a Jeep then and there, but fully aware of the costs and able to purchase one. After being ignored, we left and went down the road to another dealership, deciding to check out other cars. We explained our terrible experience to a nice salesman (that followed us to the parking space and greeted us enthusiastically despite our appearances), who said that he used to work for Lithia and HE called over to the first dealership and told them that two nice people had left and that they had almost lost a sale but that he was giving up his potential commission and sending us back. Wouldn't you know it--upon our return to the first dealership, they were magically willing to help us! Who begs a dealership to sell a ridiculously priced vehicle to them? Us. I had to buy the car to prove to these people that we could so afford it and Hubby had to buy the car because it is a sweet ride and has a lot of bells and whistles and things I don't know how to work now 2 years later.
As we were learning the "benefits" of financing the Jeep with Chrysler/Dodge, the finance man had the nerve to complain about it being after his normal hours and that's why he was in a hurry to get through the paperwork. That made me determined to make him stay longer. Hubby told him it was his own dealership's fault, and we asked a million questions about purchasing some terribly expensive additional warranty. The finance man told us it covered things like towing, rental cars when the Jeep was being serviced, the majority of the parts that aren't covered after the original warranty, and a zillion other things I can't remember. Turns out none of that is true. On average, the Jeep spends about 3-6 hours being maintenanced whenever I take it down (I usually have the big months, Hubby gets the oil change only months). However, there's no rental car offered. Never mind that we drive an hour to get it serviced, or that in order for me to do anything else during this time, a friend or Hubby has to drive that hour as well and then cart my happy rear end around Santa Fe. All that the additional several thousand dollar warranty is good for is lifetime oil changes. Guess while I was trying to make him stay longer to piss him off, the finance man was figuring out how to screw me royally.
Then there's the fact that a part was recalled on the Jeep. Nobody mentioned this to us--we had to take the Jeep in 3 times before they heard the noise and agreed something was wrong, and then when they agreed, they announced that the part had been recalled anyway, so they were replacing all the parts. Of course, we scheduled a separate appointment for that--an appointment that would last 2-3 hours according to the maintenance manager. After 4 hours, the manager confessed to me that they didn't order enough parts for all the tires (everyone knows that a car only drives on 3 wheels, right?) and I would have to come back again. So I made yet another trip down where I sat for 5 hours. And the noise is still in the back of the Jeep, like it was last January when we began this quest for finding the noise.
So as I pull in today, and I give my last name, the manager says, "Oh, _____(insert Hubby's name here)." Of course Hubby has chewed them out several times in the past, and I sent scathing remarks back on a recent survey about the dealership. Manager tells me it'll be another 2-3 hour appointment--which Hubby failed to tell me, but my past experience has taught me to bring a book. I bet it really should have only taken 15 minutes, but again, Lithia is out to screw me.
Why do we still go there? It ain't the service--see all of the above paragraphs. It ain't the coffee--they don't even offer free coffee (but if we'd bought at the dealership next door, we'd get coffee and doughnuts--that's what my parents get). It ain't the other clientele--although the scruffy toothless man and his friend the volunteer fireman in an even more podunk town that hit on me in the waiting room did soften me up...it's been a long time since anyone tried to flirt with me. We're afraid of voiding the several thousand dollar warranty that nobody knows what it's good for other than lifetime oil changes.
That, and I don't really want to look like we made a mistake, because I never make mistakes :)
Monday, November 19, 2007
Boozing It Up
First, a quick update on Malachi: I groveled at Animal Control's feet (and the officer was very nice). AC is pleased with our fence (thank God it's completed) because now Malachi can be banished outside (if it was still chain link, that's too risky as some jerk could put his/her hand through the chain link). Also, Hubby and I are allowed to play with Malachi, but he can't be around other people or other animals, including the cats. So now we alternate who's allowed out when and when some are outside, the other is in and vice versa. The 10 days can't pass quick enough!
Secondly, I realize that I ended yesterday's post with a note that Hubby was drinking and that we don't do that much. There's a couple of reasons for that: I can't hold my liquor (half a wine cooler and I'm giggling at everything) and Hubby has never liked the taste of beer and apparently spent enough college years with the hard stuff that he's outgrown that interest other than on rare occasions--or so I thought.
We're in the local grocery store (there's only one option for MILES) and I ask Hubby if we have everything. Hubby responds that he's decided to start drinking beer, so we need to get some. Fascinated, I ask why now he's interested in beer. Hubby's response? "I feel guilty when I turn down a beer."
Thank God he's not in charge of the Pentagon. "Why are you sending soldiers and tanks to Switzerland?" "I feel guilty they don't ever have any tanks hanging around."
What if he were in charge of the Victoria Secret catalog? "Why are there fat people on the pages?" "I feel guilty that some people should never ever wear thongs."
Seriously. What sort of an answer is "I feel guilty when I turn down a beer?" I'm sure it doesn't hurt anybody's feelings that they spent whatever amount on a six-pack and Hubby is not going to drink their last one.
So what sort of beer is Hubby starting with? Guinness.
And to think that this is what a higher education can buy you. I'm sure one of his MBA courses was "How to Win Friends and Influence People" and step one was "Always accept a beer."
What an excuse to booze it up :) What happened to learning say no so you could watch everyone else get smashed at the company party and you'd be holding the pictures on Monday morning?
Secondly, I realize that I ended yesterday's post with a note that Hubby was drinking and that we don't do that much. There's a couple of reasons for that: I can't hold my liquor (half a wine cooler and I'm giggling at everything) and Hubby has never liked the taste of beer and apparently spent enough college years with the hard stuff that he's outgrown that interest other than on rare occasions--or so I thought.
We're in the local grocery store (there's only one option for MILES) and I ask Hubby if we have everything. Hubby responds that he's decided to start drinking beer, so we need to get some. Fascinated, I ask why now he's interested in beer. Hubby's response? "I feel guilty when I turn down a beer."
Thank God he's not in charge of the Pentagon. "Why are you sending soldiers and tanks to Switzerland?" "I feel guilty they don't ever have any tanks hanging around."
What if he were in charge of the Victoria Secret catalog? "Why are there fat people on the pages?" "I feel guilty that some people should never ever wear thongs."
Seriously. What sort of an answer is "I feel guilty when I turn down a beer?" I'm sure it doesn't hurt anybody's feelings that they spent whatever amount on a six-pack and Hubby is not going to drink their last one.
So what sort of beer is Hubby starting with? Guinness.
And to think that this is what a higher education can buy you. I'm sure one of his MBA courses was "How to Win Friends and Influence People" and step one was "Always accept a beer."
What an excuse to booze it up :) What happened to learning say no so you could watch everyone else get smashed at the company party and you'd be holding the pictures on Monday morning?
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Temper Tantrum Temporarily Over
I'm sure you're all dying to know if I'm done with my temper tantrum from Tuesday. Not really...I'm sure it'll buck up again soon. I have a memory that holds grudges for eternity (my father once called me an elephant and then when the look of horror on my face became apparent enough for even him, he quickly explained that elephants have the longest memory of any mammal or something like that--I'm not the scientist so I don't even know for sure what a mammal is--anyway, who was able to test an elephant's memory? Who even came up with that idea?). However, I did re-frost part of the cake, and I have eaten 2 slices, and I haven't died and they did sort of make me feel better, and I remain married...guess that means Walmart is off the list of things I blame the bad stuff of the world on. I did refuse to go to Chilis with some girlfriends from work (well one co-worker and one ex-co-worker) because of the experience there though. See, I can stick to my guns.
The good news is that even though I can hold grudges forever and bring up memories from eons ago, I have enough crazy stupid stuff in my life that I always have a new problem to be dwelling on, and so the whole Espanola incident is out of my mind until I see or hear the words "Walmart" or "Chilis."
Here's my current gripe. Long meeting at work this morning. I work Friday night from 2230 (that's 10:30 pm to help those of you out that are reading this and don't want to translate) until 0630 (6:30 am) Saturday morning. I then work 1830 (6:30 pm) until 0630 on Saturdays and Sundays. My work week ends on Mondays when I work 2230 until 0630. I have the rest of Tuesday through Friday at 2230 off, so basically three days. However, I had to sit through training on Tuesday for 6 hours, and then was at work today for 4 hours worth of meeting. The meeting was at 0700. I know that this is easier for the dispatchers that work the graveyard shift and get off at 0630 during the week, but for me on my day off, it sucks, because I just wanted to sleep for more than 4 hours. And it sucks even more that it's always my day off that has trainings or meetings or whatever scheduled. Why can't these things rotate occasionally so that I'm not always giving up 1-2 of my days off (which I give up every week) for "mandatory" junk? Can't we have a training on a Monday morning when I'm already there? Why can't someone else give up their days off? GRR.
Actually, a ton of gripes came out of the meeting, but since this is our 4th supervisor in 12 months, I will follow my orders and see what happens. Pretty much it can't get that much worse. Did you know that Colorado Springs/El Paso County, Colorado pays their dispatchers more money than I make now (and I'm the highest rank there is for dispatchers--at the highest paid agency in the state of New Mexico) AND they are hiring? I told this to my husband (who is very offended that I called him "homeboy" in a prior post), who then looked up jobs that he'd be qualified for, and said he would apply if I wanted him to apply. Trouble is that I'm really not a quitter, I've never wanted to dispatch anywhere else (other local agencies and officers keep trying to get me to transfer) and I'm not sure I'm ready to leave my mommy. However, Colorado is gorgeous and hubby and I have talked about living there a million times. I'm not sure he'd been keen on getting a job there and giving up his retirement and stuff here (once you're 30, you have to start behaving sort of adult-like and think about what happens when you're 60--or so we decided when he turned 30) just to have me announce that I'm not going to work any more, but that I'm going to stay home and eat bon bons.
So for the time being, I'll just let my little gripes fill me up and distract me from making any decisions. Hey, I won't be 30 for over a year, and that's when I'll have to make adult-like decisions. Until then, I'll keep having temper tantrums :)
The good news is that even though I can hold grudges forever and bring up memories from eons ago, I have enough crazy stupid stuff in my life that I always have a new problem to be dwelling on, and so the whole Espanola incident is out of my mind until I see or hear the words "Walmart" or "Chilis."
Here's my current gripe. Long meeting at work this morning. I work Friday night from 2230 (that's 10:30 pm to help those of you out that are reading this and don't want to translate) until 0630 (6:30 am) Saturday morning. I then work 1830 (6:30 pm) until 0630 on Saturdays and Sundays. My work week ends on Mondays when I work 2230 until 0630. I have the rest of Tuesday through Friday at 2230 off, so basically three days. However, I had to sit through training on Tuesday for 6 hours, and then was at work today for 4 hours worth of meeting. The meeting was at 0700. I know that this is easier for the dispatchers that work the graveyard shift and get off at 0630 during the week, but for me on my day off, it sucks, because I just wanted to sleep for more than 4 hours. And it sucks even more that it's always my day off that has trainings or meetings or whatever scheduled. Why can't these things rotate occasionally so that I'm not always giving up 1-2 of my days off (which I give up every week) for "mandatory" junk? Can't we have a training on a Monday morning when I'm already there? Why can't someone else give up their days off? GRR.
Actually, a ton of gripes came out of the meeting, but since this is our 4th supervisor in 12 months, I will follow my orders and see what happens. Pretty much it can't get that much worse. Did you know that Colorado Springs/El Paso County, Colorado pays their dispatchers more money than I make now (and I'm the highest rank there is for dispatchers--at the highest paid agency in the state of New Mexico) AND they are hiring? I told this to my husband (who is very offended that I called him "homeboy" in a prior post), who then looked up jobs that he'd be qualified for, and said he would apply if I wanted him to apply. Trouble is that I'm really not a quitter, I've never wanted to dispatch anywhere else (other local agencies and officers keep trying to get me to transfer) and I'm not sure I'm ready to leave my mommy. However, Colorado is gorgeous and hubby and I have talked about living there a million times. I'm not sure he'd been keen on getting a job there and giving up his retirement and stuff here (once you're 30, you have to start behaving sort of adult-like and think about what happens when you're 60--or so we decided when he turned 30) just to have me announce that I'm not going to work any more, but that I'm going to stay home and eat bon bons.
So for the time being, I'll just let my little gripes fill me up and distract me from making any decisions. Hey, I won't be 30 for over a year, and that's when I'll have to make adult-like decisions. Until then, I'll keep having temper tantrums :)
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
The Icing on the Cake
Just a warning--I'm madder than a hornet that has just had her nest stepped on :(
STUPID STUPID New Mexico. I hate the service here.
Went to Chilis in Espanola for dinner. They seated us right away. We were sitting at about 5 after 7 pm. Didn't see a waitress until about 7:20 when she finally took our drink order and I gave her the appetizer order.
Maybe I should back up a bit. I got off work at 6:30 AM this morning, went home and fell asleep around 7:30 am. Had to get up at 11:00 am because I had to be at work for a mandatory training that didn't end until 6 pm. Did not get to eat other than a caffeine free diet Coke and a breakfast bar. It wore off quickly, and I am a true female dog when I don't eat.
So the waitress takes the drink order and what we wanted as an appetizer order at about 7:20 pm. She disappears. About 10 minutes later we get our drinks. Another 15 minutes pass and she comes back to refill the drinks (gave me the wrong drink and it took 5 minutes to get her to correct this--and she took my straw)and to take our dinner order. She assures us she turned in the appetizer order. Another 15 minutes after this we see her coming with our dinner order. She says that another waitress delivered our appetizer to another table but another one is coming. We tell her to forget it (it's been 1 hour since we've been in the restaurant and we're both famished and put off from here to high heaven), and she has the NERVE to tell us "well I won't charge you for it then."
NO BLEEPING BLEEPING COW MANURE you won't charge us for it!! Hello, we never saw it, never touched it, never tasted it. It was freaking a full 45 minutes after we had placed the order and our main courses were there. WTF (what the fudge) is her problem??
So hubby asks for a manager. He comes over and begins apologizing right away with lame excuses about how they're short 2 people out front and 2 people in the kitchen. Is that my fault? Do I do the hiring for Chilis? I don't care. All I want is a straw--which it's been around 7 minutes since I asked the waitress for one and she's never returned--and hot food. Yup, the dinner is just above room temperature. Is that even legal? So the manager tells us that he'll take the appetizer off the bill--again, WTF?!?!
Sure enough, when the bill appears (20 minutes later...nice that now she was in a hurry to help us leave since we've already complained--she gives the bill and then says "do you want anything else?"), the waitress is quick to tell us that she took the appetizer off the bill, like she did some favor to us. I blame Chilis for the hunger pains that chased me out the door and I blame Chilis for the fact that I have to go to a store where I will buy a bunch of food that's not needed because of the miserable night thus far. I blame Chilis for the fact that I will be even more grossly overweight and I blame Chilis for the fact that I will die of a young age due to a heart attack from clogged arteries and diabetes and stress from terrible service, not to mention the depression I'll be in from all the illnesses that will plague me because I couldn't get an appetizer or hot food.
So then we go to Walmart, where we don't spend near as much time as we usually do. I am hungry since dinner sucked and I want to go to Dairy Queen for a dipped cone. We buy a cake (comfort food for my foul temper) and a couple other items, and head to line, where we wait for what must have been at least 30 minutes. I had time to wander the store again and my homeboy still hadn't moved from where I left him. We finally escape after 10 pm just to discover that Dairy Queen closed at 10 pm. I hold Walmart responsible for the fact that my night is screwed up and that I will now go to bed hungry because I couldn't have a dipped cone.
Not even the cone that homeboy got me at McDonalds is going to fix this.
We get home and discover that the checker put the cake on its side next to the fresh loaf of bread, and then the bag rolled around the back of the car (I did ask homeboy to check this for me and he said not to worry as it would be fine), and sure enough, the icing is off the cake and stuck on the roof of the container and the bread is smushed. Now I hold Walmart responsible for the ruination of the rest of my night and probably this whole week because the cake won't taste right since I had to stick it back together. I also blame Walmart for any demise of my marriage this evening as I scream at homeboy for the ruined cake that he SAID would be fine.
Who knew life could be ruined and suck just because of icing on a cake?
STUPID STUPID New Mexico. I hate the service here.
Went to Chilis in Espanola for dinner. They seated us right away. We were sitting at about 5 after 7 pm. Didn't see a waitress until about 7:20 when she finally took our drink order and I gave her the appetizer order.
Maybe I should back up a bit. I got off work at 6:30 AM this morning, went home and fell asleep around 7:30 am. Had to get up at 11:00 am because I had to be at work for a mandatory training that didn't end until 6 pm. Did not get to eat other than a caffeine free diet Coke and a breakfast bar. It wore off quickly, and I am a true female dog when I don't eat.
So the waitress takes the drink order and what we wanted as an appetizer order at about 7:20 pm. She disappears. About 10 minutes later we get our drinks. Another 15 minutes pass and she comes back to refill the drinks (gave me the wrong drink and it took 5 minutes to get her to correct this--and she took my straw)and to take our dinner order. She assures us she turned in the appetizer order. Another 15 minutes after this we see her coming with our dinner order. She says that another waitress delivered our appetizer to another table but another one is coming. We tell her to forget it (it's been 1 hour since we've been in the restaurant and we're both famished and put off from here to high heaven), and she has the NERVE to tell us "well I won't charge you for it then."
NO BLEEPING BLEEPING COW MANURE you won't charge us for it!! Hello, we never saw it, never touched it, never tasted it. It was freaking a full 45 minutes after we had placed the order and our main courses were there. WTF (what the fudge) is her problem??
So hubby asks for a manager. He comes over and begins apologizing right away with lame excuses about how they're short 2 people out front and 2 people in the kitchen. Is that my fault? Do I do the hiring for Chilis? I don't care. All I want is a straw--which it's been around 7 minutes since I asked the waitress for one and she's never returned--and hot food. Yup, the dinner is just above room temperature. Is that even legal? So the manager tells us that he'll take the appetizer off the bill--again, WTF?!?!
Sure enough, when the bill appears (20 minutes later...nice that now she was in a hurry to help us leave since we've already complained--she gives the bill and then says "do you want anything else?"), the waitress is quick to tell us that she took the appetizer off the bill, like she did some favor to us. I blame Chilis for the hunger pains that chased me out the door and I blame Chilis for the fact that I have to go to a store where I will buy a bunch of food that's not needed because of the miserable night thus far. I blame Chilis for the fact that I will be even more grossly overweight and I blame Chilis for the fact that I will die of a young age due to a heart attack from clogged arteries and diabetes and stress from terrible service, not to mention the depression I'll be in from all the illnesses that will plague me because I couldn't get an appetizer or hot food.
So then we go to Walmart, where we don't spend near as much time as we usually do. I am hungry since dinner sucked and I want to go to Dairy Queen for a dipped cone. We buy a cake (comfort food for my foul temper) and a couple other items, and head to line, where we wait for what must have been at least 30 minutes. I had time to wander the store again and my homeboy still hadn't moved from where I left him. We finally escape after 10 pm just to discover that Dairy Queen closed at 10 pm. I hold Walmart responsible for the fact that my night is screwed up and that I will now go to bed hungry because I couldn't have a dipped cone.
Not even the cone that homeboy got me at McDonalds is going to fix this.
We get home and discover that the checker put the cake on its side next to the fresh loaf of bread, and then the bag rolled around the back of the car (I did ask homeboy to check this for me and he said not to worry as it would be fine), and sure enough, the icing is off the cake and stuck on the roof of the container and the bread is smushed. Now I hold Walmart responsible for the ruination of the rest of my night and probably this whole week because the cake won't taste right since I had to stick it back together. I also blame Walmart for any demise of my marriage this evening as I scream at homeboy for the ruined cake that he SAID would be fine.
Who knew life could be ruined and suck just because of icing on a cake?
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