Confessions of a One-Track Mind

An individual whom I do not know rang my doorbell repeatedly this morning. By the time I flung the covers off, pulled on a shift and staggered down the hall, they were in the car preparing to drive off.

Seeing me in the doorway, they stopped, got out of their PoS Ford (but I repeat myself) and asked if I was looking to sell my car.

"No," I said. "It's the only car I've got."

Now, I'm blinking, owl-eyed, trying to stay awake---which, on some four and a half hours of sleep is ridiculously difficult---maybe breakfast will help.

.

To the driver of the dark green Camry I encountered yesterday:

How do I loathe thee, let me count the ways: First there was the fact that you were doing fifty in the lefthand lane of US1. Next time, get your ass into the slow lane where you belong. Second, what the FUCK were you thinking when you got to Barnes Blvd? I was able to stop for the light when it turned red; you were BEHIND me. You certainly could have stopped, but no, YOU sped up and blew through the RED light like you finally learned to tell the difference between your asshole and the accelerator. I thought that would be the end of it, but NO, you must've stopped for a couple of the other lights between there and Suntree because I was part of the pile-up you almost caused because clearly you haven't grasped the concept of a turn lane (and possibly turn signals---I couldn't tell if yours were on because I was too busy trying not to goose the minivan in front of me). You were in a great big hurry to make it to the Pineda BP station---what, you were speeding because you were afraid you might run out of gas? I think you're a moron, you have no business behind the wheel, and I hope that I get to drive by and snicker when the cop your kharma deserves pulls your ass over.

I just pray that your idiocy doesn't take anyone else with you.

Work yesterday was chock full of time-wasting idjits; I got calls back-to-back for about seven hours, with enough stoopid peeple to thoroughly fuck up my handle time. Although I *did* find out that I had the highest number of units per sale in our group last week. Told Current Boss that my handle time may suck but clearly I *do* pull my own weight in other ways.

I'm looking around trying to figure out what to take for the week (I hate running back and forth; I tend to get situated and Stay There, which is kinda the story of my life, I HATE change.) and making a note that the C's have that WalMart right up the road and I think I can manage to part with enough lucre for The Watchmen.

I am cursed with the need to do good deeds, apparently: One of my coworkers needed/wanted day-after-tomorrow Sunday off---her son is being dedicated at church---and I agreed to take it for her. Cause something like that? Is a special event, and she ought to be able to rejoice in it instead of having to worry about cutting it short to make it to work to deal with idjits. It's only a 4 hour shift and I can definitely use the money, plus it's during the afternoon, so I'm not going to be half-asleep in either direction.

And now to get my ass in gear and go dump things at the C's....

It's been a while since I've cleaned up after a major holiday weekend, and I had forgotten just how much stupidity ensues. That said, if profanity makes you go blind, I strongly suggest you shield your eyes, because Tuesday was fairly hideous, enough that I came home and went straight to the Captain Morgan's, and I am a cheap drunk. 2 drink maximum and I am LOOSE.

Come on, how often do I hit the bottle? 2, maybe 3 times a year? If that? But today, nothing else was going to unknot that tension, at least nothing *I* have access to. There's no convenient SigOther to rub my back and call for pizza and cater to my every whim (in a loincloth plaid flannel shirt and jeans). I can't afford a weekend getaway or a day at the spa. This is it, me and the rum and diet Coke with Lime trying to release the homicidal fantasies I'm having about certain callers I encountered today.

Like the dunderhead from Nevada who called in on Brand X jeans, very indignant because we had the temerity to send them by way of the US Postal Service, who doesn't usually deliver to his residence; he has a PO Box. Most of the time when that happens, the USPS sends the package back to our warehouse as undeliverable. In this case, they forwarded it to his PO Box, and he was pissed that he'd had to shell out $6.05 out of his own pocket for postage due. There was more---a LOT more that I won't inflict upon you, my friends---but if I ever get my hands on that prick, I'm going to rip his tongue out and use it to wipe my ass. Screw you, asshole---I hope you get eaten by bears. Next time, if you want to get it at the house, get expedited shipping. Cheap fucker.

He was the piece de resistance, but there were more, too many to count, and I'm not going to try...breathe in, breathe out...had one cancelled order for White Trash Queen, ESL broad called in 4 minutes before my lunch about a 100+ item order that was cancelled because it was placed from outside the country. I explained this to her, repeatedly, and ended up 8 minutes late for lunch, which they monitor incessantly.

And the day started out so well! I had a shortish fic* that I sat down and pounded out in good time, would probably have posted it if I'd had another hour, but that's okay, tomorrow is soon enough, because I'm a wee bit too tipsy right now. I've been on a roll this month, writing-wise, and that's shiny, because I haven't felt that way in a while. But then I had to go to work. And was late getting out the door, because I had a reminder that my adventures in banking still needed to be dealt with. (Thank you, gracias, merci beaucoup, danke schoen and all that jazz, you know who you are!)

Zoomed down the road, running about 20 minutes late by my standards, was highly irritated by the fuckmook in the Ford Fucus** who was weaving in and out of traffic. (Car du jour was a Ford Fairlane circa 1963, not in prime condition, but neither am I at a similar age.) Then! As if I wasn't already grumbling, I got stuck behind a school bus! That stopped traffic behind it THREE times! ON US1, for fuck's sake!

It turned onto Post Rd, then, entering Melbourne, a miracle occurred: I had sequential green lights at Aurora Rd, Eau Gallie Blvd and Ixora. Holy wow. This has NEVER happened in the whole time I've been commuting. Not ever. Otherwise, it would've been cutting it way too close and being late when holiday pay is up for grabs is a Very Bad Thing.

If I'm not careful, I will go into a rabid rant about other Very Bad Things, like in-store only gift cards, syrupy hold-muzak versions of Every Breath You Take, Uber-Boss, some of the idjits who put our websites together, that sappy damned Pediasure commercial, the Gosselins---and all the rest of those fruitcakes on TLC with enough kids to populate a Third World country. Apparently it no longer takes a village---it takes a network! Enough already!

Good night!

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* Because I was going through stuff I TiVo'ed the other night. And rewatched Torchwood --- Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, which was the first ep I ever saw, and could appreciate it so much better now, and Captain John said something about he was laughing at Jack, and I just had this moment of epiphany: What if the Comedian was a Time Lord? It kind of morphed a bit in execution, but I've definitely got a yummy little crossover in the oven! (Working title: Putting the 'Fun' Back in Funeral.)

** W00t! Best drunken Freudian slip EVAR!