1) Laundry. We are both running out of clean clothes and I'm guessing I will need quite a few changes of clothing since the East Coast is experiencing record heat and humidity. Yuck.

2) Pick up drugs from Savons.

3) Get work clothes altered. (Another thing I will miss about Jackass Properties - going to work in my sweatpants).

4) Eat something.

5) Bank

6) Pack

What have I accomplished so far today? Lots of DOTA. And that's about it. Also, I had a pudding snack and some chips.

So this is what would happen to me if I didn't have a job.

Hm...I have to be at the airport in like five hours.

Things I will sorely miss:

- getting in the car to drive to work three minutes after I'm supposed to be there
- being half an hour late but still the first one in the office
- extra long lunch breaks
- my coworkers, the building engineers, attendants, dayporters, security, etc.
- having a building master key (and therefore not having to ask someone for the bathroom key everytime I need to go, which is a lot because I have a small bladder)

Things I will TOTALLY NOT MISS (at all, ever):

- reading leases (I've discovered that anything written on legal-size paper = huge bore)
- tenants complaining about how crappy their suite/the building/EVERYTHING is
- Crazy Toilet Paper Lady
- elevators that break down on a daily basis
- air-conditioning systems that break down on a weekly basis
- estoppels and SNDA's (HUH?)
- headquarters instructing on the importance of "pinching every penny" (logo idea: JACKASS PROPERTIES - WE PINCH EVERY PENNY!)
- this list could go on for awhile...

The office is no longer quiet. There is an angry tenant planted in our "waiting area" waiting for someone to come back so she can yell at them. Happily today is my last day so she sees no point in yelling at me.

Three hours and ten minutes to go.

I so don't want to be here right now.

My right elbow and left wrist are ache-y today. So are my teeth. You know, my right elbow was what started all this joint-pain-medical-condition crap. The Kaiser doctor thought it was tendonitis from playing too much WarCraft III. Then my mom took me to that Chinese chiropractor guy who told me I had dislocated my thumbs.

Thank God I eventually found a doctor who knew what he was talking about.

I forgot to bring Harry Potter to work today. Not that I've even found enough time these last few days to crack it open. Oy. At least I'll have something to read on the plane ride to New York.

Except...I'm taking a red-eye so maybe I should sleep so I don't look like Night of the Living Dead for the rehearsal dinner.

Can I go home now?

For a brief moment I felt a twinge of "I-should-have-made-my-resignation-more-conditional" remorse. Then I came to my senses and remembered that this job just isn't worth it. Like my manager said to me at lunch on Friday, "The tenants are killing me slowly."

The sad thing is they really are. Not me, I haven't been here long enough, but I can see how it would happen. Being yelled at by the tenants on a daily basis for things that you have no control over is bad enough, having to smile while you bend over and take it, only makes it all the more humiliating. Then on top of that you've got HQ breathing down your neck about all the damn pennies you're not pinching (of course according to their standards our buildings could be reduced to rubble piles and they'd still expect the tenants to carry on with their business and pay rent).

Anyway, the point is, I realized that yeah, it might have been nice for a few months to have a fatty paycheck, but the novelty would eventually wear off and I'd be stuck doing a sh*t job, at a sh*t company. And that is probably how people get trapped in jobs they hate but can't leave because they can't afford to take the inevitable paycut to break into the industry they really want to be in.

Have a lot on my mind. Will write later.

They are determined to work me these last few days.

3:45 p.m.: Receive a call from Tenant J asking why Wilshire is closed off in front of our building. Am very confused, tell her I will find out.

3:47 p.m.: Call security desk. No answer. Phone rings again. Tenant A wants to know why there are police everywhere. Tell her I will go down to security and find out.

3:48 p.m.: Call security again. Still no answer. Sigh. Tell G I am going down to find out what's wrong.

3:51 p.m.: No one is at the security desk. Walk to parking lot, attendant is also very confused and has no clue what's happening. Try to walk towards Wilshire to find the security guard but police call me "ma'am" and wave me away.

3:55 p.m.: Find security guard at front entrance of building. Apparently a suspicious black suitcase has been found on our property and the police are treating it as a bomb threat BECAUSE NOTHING ELSE CAN GO WRONG ON TODAY OF ALL DAYS. But at least we don't need to evacuate....yet.

3:58 p.m.: Go back upstairs. Tell G what's going on. Laugh hysterically because duh, we've lost our marbles. Call our manager and continue laughing hysterically as we relay the situation to him.

4:07 p.m.: G goes downstairs to talk to security. I call S (who is out sick today) and tell her about all the fun she is missing. We joke that it is probably a tenant who hates us and wants the building to collapse. Although it's not that funny because the tenants do hate us and probably want the building to collapse (just not with their stuff inside of course).

4:21 p.m.: G comes back, goes through possible evacuation plan with me just as the security guard comes onto the loudspeaker and announces that we are evacuating after all.

4:23 p.m.: G and I run frantically through the medical building knocking on doors, trying not to freak the tenants out too much with news of the bomb scare and evacuation. Most of the employees are just happy to be going home early. Their bosses? Probably less happy.

4:55 p.m. Evacuation is complete. We walk out onto the street to find our security guard and discover traffic is now flowing as freely as ever and the scare is over.

4:57 p.m. Sigh. Back to work. Building totally empty. Favorite flip-flops are destroyed from frantic running.

All I can say is: THANK GOD WEDNESDAY IS MY LAST DAY. I must admit it was kind of fun running through the building and going, "Hi, I'm from the building office and we need you to evacuate immediately," but SERIOUSLY? Did it really have to happen today? Can't things happen one at a time? Apparently not when you work for ******* Properties.

"You don't know what happened yet, do you," he said to me in a voice I can only describe as totally and completely, utterly miserable.

Apparently the bid was not for the mold remediation but was for an entirely new (or perhaps old but ignored and then escalated...which is generally how this company deals with problems) problem: on Saturday the main water supply line for a suite on the second floor started leaking and no one caught it until the cleaning crew came in on Sunday morning. When they noticed that the carpets were quite squishy.

So the leak (torrential downpour?) completely destroyed a couple of the suites directly below it and caused a substantial amount of damage to another. Of course it had to happen in the medical building which means all kinds of fancy medical equipment has been destroyed and maybe medical records and all that fun stuff as well! Whee!

It's kind of weird being here for this because on the one hand it Sucks. A Lot. But on the other hand, Wednesday is my last day and I don't really have to give a damn because while it may be my problem right this very moment, it won't be in two days. Which in reality, means its not really my problem at all since this situation is going to take a helluva lot more than two days to resolve.

The phones have been ringing off the hook this morning (obviously a perfect day for our receptionist to get sick and stay home) and I'm not sure if I should be bothering the building engineers with things like "light bulb is out - please replace" or "toilet seat in 10th floor men's room broken - please check out" or "JackAss in suite 580 is too warm - please turn up A/C" when they're dealing with the fact that our medical building now resembles a wading pond.

Meanwhile the amount of crap (i.e. work) I need to take care of is piling up and becoming more and more unmanageable.

It has now been about four hours since I first started writing this post. So far the only good thing that has happened today is that the bottle of Coke that came with our lunch (had to order in) was a winner so now one of us gets a free liter of Coke. Yay. Totally not worth it.

However, I do feel mighty productive today. The tree trimming permit I've been trying to get for MONTHS (stupid slow City of LA) was finally faxed over to us this afternoon. Since I've been calling them and bugging them on an almost daily basis I have no idea why they decided today was the magical day to actually respond and fax the damn thing over, but whatever, let's not look a gift horse in the mouth (what does that mean???).

Oh yeah, Crazy Toilet Paper Lady strikes again! My last few days here just wouldn't have felt right if I didn't get to hear her whine about a lack of toilet paper (when the attendant has already refilled each stall with three rolls). She didn't seem quite as angry as the last time which leads me to believe that our shitty-ness as a property management company has finally taken its toll and she no longer has the will to bitch at us incessantly.

So anyway, there went my day of reading Harry Potter quietly behind my wall.

You see, I genuinely like and care about my current coworkers. They are very good, hard-working, smart, funny, caring and all around awesome people. And when I leave I will be leaving behind a whirlwind of paper and projects that are kinda-sorta-half-completed for various reasons (including but not limited to: the vendors won't call me back, headquarters is slow, the vendors won't fax me things, the accountant won't fax me things, also there is too much shit going on and I want to put my head down and not worry about the fact that there is no air conditioning in the suite the guy is moving into TOMORROW because the butchers *ahem* excuse me "construction company" hacked up the a/c because they are frickin' genuises.....blah). Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that I'm worried because I know the company is too cheap/incompetent to send a replacement and therefore my crap pile is going to be shoved off on my coworkers who already have more than enough to do.

Remember how when I quit my last job I totally started a mutiny and people starting quitting left and right (I had lunch with an old coworker the other day and apparently the shockwaves are still churning...more people are preparing to quit all thanks to what I started, woot!)? I think this needs to happen here too because all the people I work with are way above this company. This company sucks. This company can kiss my ass.

More proof of why this company is the suckiest of the sucks: First of all, no direct deposit. How can a company with employees spread over 80+ buildings not have direct deposit?? Because it costs money. And this company would sell its own mother for a dollar. Well, maybe not its own mother but it would certainly sell your mother or mine for a quick buck. Anyway, that is not the point of this story, just a tangent and yet another example of why this company..yes..sucks.

So anyway, our paychecks are issued by our "Big Umbrella Company," which shall henceforth be known as BUC. I was informed by our accountant this morning that the procedure up until very recently was that BUC would issue our paychecks and then the accountants for each building would issue BUC a reimbursement check. Well, apparently, our buildings are too poor to reimburse BUC for payroll and BUC has informed the accounting department that since BUC has access to all our bank accounts anyway, they will now be taking the money directly out of our building accounts each pay period and if we can't cover payroll then someone's not getting paid!

Ooooooo-kay.

I didn't really know what to say to that. I mean, are they trying to hold us personally responsible for the fact that are buildings are broke? Because I hope they and their big team of in-house lawyers realize that THEY CAN'T DO THAT. It's not our fault BUC insists on pulling out every dollar we take in to buy new buildings in lieu of spending it on silly things like making sure the tenants have working elevators and air-conditioning. WE'RE ALREADY SCRAPING THE BOTTOM OF THE BARREL HERE. What more do these penny-pinching tightwads want from us? Blood?

So apparently I'm still expected to attend the company picnic this weekend. I must say the fact that I've already quit and don't need any of the jokers from BUC as a reference, I might actually enjoy myself. I might actually enjoy telling the Lady Who Signs All The Checks that she is a bitch and I'm SO SORRY we have to pay vendors for things like FUMIGATING A COCKROACH INFESTED SUITE. Yes, I might enjoy that.

Pinch this penny, bitch.

Aren't I just full of cheer and good will today?

Here's something you should know about me: I. Hate. Pain. I hate it a lot. And I'm not one of those people who can just power through it and be all strong and stoic about it. No, I like to whine and complain like a little child and hold my hands up to my eyes and yell out "fuck" every once in awhile because, damnit, IT HURTS and WHY, GOD, WHY?

At the moment I am trying not to gouge my eyes out, which is harder than it sounds because the only thing that even temporarily relieves the blinding pain is my fingers jammed deep into my eye sockets. Also, there appears to be an endless supply of snot lurking in the depths of my nostrils. I don't know where it's hiding, but it's in there and I've been blowing my nose ALL MORNING and all I've succeeded in doing is making my nose peel (thank you Santa Barbara sunburn).

I'm thinking of buying myself a nice piece of expensive, shiny jewelry for my birthday. Because I am generous like that and my bank account balance is much higher than I expected it to be t his month, so obviously I'm not spending enough! Although I should probably make sure all of my bills are paid before I let myself loose on ebay.

Anyway, I'm sleepy and on the rag. And I'm not really feeling "up to" going anywhere fun (i.e. energy draining) tonight. I plan on popping open a bottle of Asti, changing into my sweatpants, eating something deliciously bad for me and then playing DOTA all night. Maybe I will try and do something young and hip on the weekend. Or, knowing me, maybe not.

Anyway, we arrived at the ranch late Saturday afternoon and Talbot, Paul's pledge bro, wasted no time in taking us on a tour of the ranch. Which was huge, like seriously, huge. Being the gracious host that he is, Talbot started off the tour with some cold beers and a peak at all the different existing houses on the property.

Then came The Jeep Ride. Oh how I wish I had a picture of The Jeep. The Jeep was a pale yellow, dusty, doorless, seatbeltless two-seater that looked like it had been painted during the 1960's but was actually made during the World War II era. Because there were three of us Paul had to ride commando-style, standing up in the back, one hand holding onto his beer and the other to the bar over our heads. I would have spent the entire jeep tour preoccupied by my fear of flying out everytime we hit a bump (which was A LOT since the road wasn't paved) but since Rowdy (Talbot's dog) insisted on running just in front of the jeep for almost the entire ride, everytime we hit a bump I was instead seized by the fear that we had just run over the dog. Which happily, was never the case.

Rowdy (who is also the most in-shape dog I've ever seen in my life and made me feel extra bad about raising such an obese feline) ran in front of us all the way up to The Top of the World, which literally feels like, well the top of the world. It was the highest point on their property where some lucky person's house will eventually be built and on a clear day you can see all the way to the Channel Islands. Which is pretty damn far, for those of you who didn't know. Rowdy was exhausted by the time he made it to the top and had to spend several moments foaming at the mouth and panting heavily. Talbot drove us through a creek with a waterfall on the way down so Rowdy could lie in the water and get himself a nice cool drink. Here's a little tip to those of you who live in Montecito: the creek feeds a reservoir that serves the city of Montecito, so you may want to rethink drinking your tap water. It may come from the mountains but it also has Rowdy's hair in it. And dirty jeep tire crud.

On the way down from The Top of the World I realized that beer + tiny bladder + bumpy jeep ride = well, you know what it equals. Luckily we made it back to the house before anything embarrassing happened.

After relieving our bladders and changing into dust-free clothing we piled into Talbot's non-WWII era jeep (with five seats!) and headed to Santa Barbara for dinner at a restaurant on the pier called Brody's (I am not sure how accurate this name is as I wasn't paying very close to attention to where we were going). Dinner was delicious and included a free view of the sunset over the water. For dessert we went to an uppity restaurant in Montecito called Lucky's. I feel safe in calling it an "uppity restaurant" because I totally saw Oprah there (Oprah fans eat your hearts out!). Also, the bill for drinks + dessert was like five dollars less than the bill for drinks + dinner, but I mean we saw Oprah there so what did we expect right?

After the Oprah sighting I was pretty exhausted but Talbot wanted to show us State Street. So we tried to get into this place called Joe's but they were all, please wait in this line so we were like pfft, yeah right and we went to this english pub place instead where I, being the old lady that I am, promptly fell asleep in one of the booths and left the boys to their boy talk and Jamison's (Irish whiskey) on the rocks. Loud music and crowds apparently do not keep me from falling asleep in random spots after a certain hour of the night (11:00 p.m. to be exact).

Oh, so I forgot to mention that during cocktails and dessert at fancy Lucky's my purse fell off my chair and some items spilled out, including the mini-bottle of Bushmill's that Paul and Talbot stashed in my purse "just in case". Somehow, I managed to get my purse caught under one of my chair legs (don't ask me how this happened in the span of like 2 seconds) which meant making quite a spectacle of freeing my purse before attempting to jam the miniature bottle of alcohol back inside. The couple sitting next to us looked at the small, shameful bottle of Bushmill's and then at my cocktail and then at me like Wow, how much do you drink? I'm just glad Oprah didn't see.

All of us slept in on Sunday morning and then went out for burgers and clam strips at The Spot in Carpinteria. Which Paul and I are pretty sure was featured on $40 a Day with Rachel Ray. After that Talbot snuck us into the Santa Barbara Racquet Ball and Polo Club so we could experience (horse) polo for the first time! Dressed appropriately in our "country club clothing" (kahki's and pastel) we pretended to be young socialites as we watched 5 chuckers (there are 6 periods or "chuckers" in a game of polo, hah don't I sound knowledgeable). The best part was half-time (after the third chucker) when everyone goes onto the polo field and stomps down the divets made by the horses and they reward you for your efforts with free champagne! Gorgeous horses, stomping on grass and free champagne! What is there not to like about polo?

Because we did not feel sufficiently sunburnt by being polo spectators, we decided to go out to the sidewalk art show thing by the beach in Santa Barbara. Many cool things were seen by all, none of which I have pictures of to show you guys =( Maybe next time..

Last thing we did was have ourselves a little bbq, because dude, we were on a ranch. Talbot gave Paul a cowboy hat to wear to the Von's when we were buying meat and I must say he looked mighty good. The sunburn gave him a very realistic hot-sexy-redneck-cowboy appeal.

So here we are back from our lovely weekend in Santa Barbara and all we have to show for it are our lobster-like complexions and no pictures to speak of. Wish you were there, etc. etc. =)

Note: Upon returning from our glorious weekend with nature, we immediately sat down at our computers for a three hour session of DOTA with my friend Henry.

You're not usually much for adventure. You'd much rather stay home, snuggle up with your sweetheart and/or one of your pets and be comfortable. At the moment, however, you're bored, restless and ready to try just about anything at least once. No, that's not at all like you, but that's the way it is now. It's not a bad thing, but you should definitely expect to raise some eyebrows -- and to be pretty pleased with yourself about it.

It's creepy when things like horoscopes are eerily accurate.

I'm still on a total high from finding out about the job offer. A REAL OFFER. Like an actual, written-down-on-paper, legally binding contract! With actual details of what my benefits are! No more randomly asking coworkers who knows the sick day policy or how many years we have to work in this god forsaken hell hole before we get some paid vacation or who is our health care provider? IT WILL ALL BE WRITTEN DOWN!

For the first time in my professional life I look forward to perks like paid vacation and vision coverage! VISION! Do you know what this means? This means, I can get new contacts. And not a moment too soon as the supply I have has just run out and is about to expire. Yes, expire. As in, I got them five years ago when I was a freshman in college and I have now been out of school for a year and the contacts are about to go bad. I've been using the same one-year supply of monthly disposable lenses for five years. Which goes to show how often I wear my contacts.

But maybe now that I have vision coverage I will actually wear my contacts and look somewhat less frumpy and nerdy.

Yeah. Right.

Anyway, it's Friday and I get my offer letter tomorrow! And now I can laugh at all the things that really pissed me off in this job! And entertain you all with the now-hilarious stories! Like the time we had no elevator service contract (because the head office was taking their SWEET time to approve one) and BOTH elevators broke down. In a building with two elevators. You do the math. Oh that was a knee-slapping good time!

It's funny but even though I'm almost three years older than her, she's always been the "big sister" in a lot of ways. She microwaved my food for me for years because I was too lazy to do it myself. Then she got a little bit older and realized I was just a bum and started making me do it on my own.

I could go on and on but I won't because I have to go to the airport like, now.

What will probably happen is that tomorrow, on Paul's day off, I will call him every five minutes asking whether or not the fedex man has arrived and could you please, PRETTY PLEASE, go down to the management office ONE MORE TIME just to make sure it wasn't delivered there? And after obliging several hundred times because he's patient and he loves me, he will get fed up and tell me he's going to move out if I don't just call them already and find out where the hell that offer was sent.

I have a knack for driving both of us crazy when I get like this. Dear God let them have sent the package to the right address.

So anyway, I've been interviewing for this position that I desperately want and the hiring managers took me out to lunch on Monday and basically told me that they were looking at *several* qualified candidates and having a tough time making up their minds. They ended by saying they'd let me know by Wednesday but I left feeling pretty bleak about my chances. Then Wednesday came and went without a call and I resigned myself to the fact that I was probably going to be rejected.

With that in mind, I called them this morning "just to follow up" and was totally shocked when the manager said to me, "We sent you an offer today."

Me? You sent ME the offer?? (Those are the actual words that came out of my mouth, because I keep it cool like that.)

Then the dancing and frantic jumping commenced (after I thanked her profusely and hung up of course). I couldn't go back into our suite because I couldn't stop smiling and making little screaming noises as I leapt across the bathroom floor. I called Paul 8 grillion times but he didn't answer so I called my parents house and there was no answer there either. Through my joy I grew a little annoyed that people decided it would be a great time to stop answering their phones, but then my mom picked up her cell phone and it was all good.

The only word to describe me right now is: giddy. But even in a giddy state I have the ability to be painfully paranoid. The copy of my resume that was originally emailed to the hiring manager has my old address on it, but the copy that they took notes on during the interview has my new address on it...so they probably used that copy right? Right?? I will die if the offer gets sent to my old apartment and I have to call them and ask them to send it to my new place. Because part of me is afraid they're going to be like YOU GAVE US THE WRONG ADDRESS, NO JOB FOR YOU! But they won't right? RIGHT?? Funny, I was much more calm when I thought they weren't giving me the job. But I guess this just goes to show, I am a little insane.

In the elevator on my way up to work this morning there was a split second between when the elevator stopped and the doors started to open where I found myself wishing that they wouldn't and I could spend a few hours entrapped, happily singing along to the songs in my iRiver. Then the doors slid open and I grudgingly welcomed myself back to reality.

I found out yesterday that this girl who started about a month before I did just gave her letter of resignation. The funny thing is that during my last "interview" they had her come in and talk to me about what it was like being new and how great the company was. I didn't realize it at the time but the reason they had me speak to someone so new was because few people who have been with the company for more than a month have nice things to say about it.

So two people that I basically started at this company with have already quit and apparently moved onto bigger and better things. It does give me the feeling that I'm doing the right thing by refusing to settle down here.

Could we be anymore ghetto?

And there you have it. My first Vegas experience. Conclusion? I'd go again, but only because of all the free stuff.

I actually have a doctor's appointment scheduled on my birthday which means I get to have my blood drawn. Oh the joy. Undoubtedly it will be the filipina nurse who's really nice but always ALWAYS leaves me black and blue. So I will probably spend the evening of my birthday whining to Paul about how my arm is tender and ugly and wondering how my white blood cell count and blood sugar levels are doing.

Today I had lunch with Henry, who I've known since 2nd grade and Lian, who I've known since 7th grade. After lunch we all headed back to work and mused at how old we are now. We have jobs and limited time for lunch =

All I really want for my birthday is a new job and a day to sleep-in and play DOTA.

Nevermind the fact that I don't even know what estoppel means or why they need to be signed and there's apparently some girl down in the head office who knows exactly what she's doing (or at least enough to correct my mistakes)...and I have no idea why I'm preparing these damn things instead of her since she's going to be going through all the leases to correct my errors and make me feel incompetent anyway.

Hmph.

Also, the mold growing in our medical building is taking on a life of its own. Someone has ripped the wallpaper back a few feet (from carpet to ceiling) and exposed the mold for all the world to see. The assistant building engineer was kind enough to subject himself to mold spores and duct taped the wallpaper back to the wall (not just any duct tape, but classy blue duct tape). As our security guard so eloquently put it, "It looks like the projects in Westwood." And you know what? It really does.

UPDATE: Oh and in case anyone was wondering, I did send the estoppels to the head office to be corrected before I handed them out and I was given the a-ok, except apparently the person who okayed it didn't know what the hell he was doing either.

And it's a good thing I did or I'd be going out of my mind today. And tomorrow. But I guess that's why He's God and He knows when we really need to hear Him even before we do.

I am having a very difficult time being articulate today and am currently reading the blogs of other, more articulate people in hopes that their way with words will rub off on me and I will be able to put into words all the garbled crap floating around in my head right now.

Anyway. Because God is God, he knew before I did that I would find out today that I'm waiting for Very Big News on Wednesday. Also, I'm supposed to get my deposit check back on Wednesday. So basically Wednesday is a Very Important Day and anyone who knows me knows that I suck at waiting. I drive myself and everyone around me completely batty with speculation and questions no one can answer and I'll ask them over and over again to anyone who is unlucky enough to come in contact with me. So, if God hadn't spoken to me yesterday, I would be gearing up for two long days of making tortured noises at Paul and frantic pointless IMing of friends for reassurance.

Instead, I am at complete peace with whatever happens and have realized that I worry. Way. Too. Much. Especially when there is no point in worrying. And so even though there are big things coming up in my life, I'm going to trust that God's no dope and He's got a plan and it probably has something to do with teaching me to be patient.

So here I am, patiently waiting for Wednesday and impatiently waiting for 6:00 p.m. because I'm bored. And I'm almost done with this post. And I don't know what I'm going to do afterwards.

It was a little, white-haired old lady! YOU try saying no to that when you've been suddenly awakened from your Saturday afternoon nap and you think it's the apartment manager coming to fix your closet door but instead it's the LA Times new marketing gimmick. Man. Okay. Yes, I'm a sucker.

After dodging so many LA Times telemarketers, they finally found a way to get people like me (people who hate them with a passion). Damn tricky liberals. I just couldn't say no to her big pleading watery eyes. Sigh. I'll justify it to myself by saying I did it for the coupons.

So now what?

I've been reading/hearing a lot about the upcoming "fight" over Supreme Court nominees and it's making my head spin. I wish President Bush would just hurry up and nominate someone so we could all quit speculating and wondering. It's a lot like the Michael Jackson trial...just tell me the verdict! Maybe when he finally nominates someone I'll get back into poiltical blogging again =) It's been awhile hasn't it? I don't know, I guess I've just been too exhausted by arguing with half-wit liberals. It's hard when you live in California, and went to a school like UCLA, and all the liberals you meet are uninformed and completely illogical. You can only hear those Haliburton conspiracy theories so many times before arguing with the other side gets old. Reeally old.

The fact that I still see John Kerry for President bumper stickers everywhere makes me seriously wonder if the liberals here in LA haven't completely lost their minds and blocked out the last election altogether. Oh but I especially enjoy seeing those John Kerry stickers on a giant Lexus SUV. The biggest hypocrites undoubtedly live in LA =)

The other day Paul, Alvin and I were discussing oil prices and Alvin said, Hey didn't liberals say we went to Iraq for oil? WHERE THE HELL IS IT?

Yesterday, all across the left side of the blogosphere, willfully ignorant liberal bloggers were seizing upon the attacks in London as evidence that the "flypaper theory" is bogus -- which just goes to show what a poor grasp of foreign policy issues they have.

Nobody has ever claimed that fighting Al-Qaeda in Iraq makes the whole western world perfectly safe or that we're now invulnerable to terrorist attacks.

Instead, the whole premise behind the "flypaper theory" is that the more blood and treasure that Al-Qaeda spends in Iraq, the less they'll have to use in attacks against the US and our allies. Al-Qaeda does not have unlimited resources & it's to our advantage to see them used against Coalition and Iraqi forces rather than buses and airplanes full of civilians in the West. Were it not for the conflict in Iraq, all the suicide bombers, money, and manpower Al-Qaeda is using there would be free to go elsewhere...for example to London, New York, Rome, LA, Canberra, & Chicago among other cities.

This shouldn't be such a difficult concept to get a handle on, even for anti-war liberals...

I'm not sure why I am still so often surprised by how purposely stupid liberals can be just to avoid facing reality.

Then I was treated to Alan and General Wesley Clark talking about how this proves we aren't any safer after invading Iraq. My first thought? WILL YOU LIBERAL JACKHOLES PLEASE STFU. I don't know much about the details of the bombing yet but it sounds like 40 were killed and 700 hurt by these bloodthirsty subhuman creatures we call terrorists. And all the Democrats/liberals can do is gloat about how this proves they were right?!? My God.

First of all, 40 people are dead and they can barely hide their glee because now they have something to throw in President Bush's face. Second of all, this proves JACK SHIT. This proves that we need to do EVERYTHING in our power to pound the terrorists into oblivion. You don't "understand" people like this, you don't give in to people like this, you don't try to befriend people like this, you do one thing: kill them dead. Like 9-11, you don't simply catch the people who perpetrated this particular act, you need to hunt down every terrorist in the world and shoot them in their sick, twisted little heads.

I could be wrong but I don't see Britain going the way of Spain. The British, after all, are not known for being pussies. I think this will force them to face the reality of terrorism the way Pearl Harbor forced the U.S. to face the reality of the evil that was Hitler and the Japanese empire.

I wish the Democrats/liberals could see beyond political power plays and take their heads out of their asses and face the fact that there are truly evil people out there who want to kill everyone who doesn't see things exactly as they do. As shocking as this may be to them, these evil people are the islamofacist-terrorists and not Republicans. They need to realize the time has come to fight the terrorists instead of the "eeeeeeeeeeeevil" Republicans and President Bush. I mean c'mon how many times have we all heard "I'm more afraid of the Republicans/Bush than the terrorists" coming from the loons on the left side of the aisle?

Blah. My deepest sympathies go out to those who lost loved ones today...and to those who's lives have been changed forever by today's events. I'm sure all of Britain feels as angry and saddened as everyone in the US (including libs) did on 9-11 and I'm truly saddened by the fact that another nation has had to experience that pain.

And I thought I was having a crappy day before I even found out about this =\

I'm also hungry but nauseous. Nourishment for the day has consisted of a fruit cup, about six sticks of beef jerky and a half a cup of Coke. Now my stomach is really empty but so is the fridge. And I'm not sure what I could choke down anyway because the sight of food has been making me feel like puking all day.

Of course, Paul and the cat are both fed and sleeping like babies. Punks.

It's been quite awhile since I've been deep inside that dark, dingy hole my mental healthcare providers like to call "depression." In fact, I can't remember the last time I sucummbed to the desire to lock myself in and spend the day crying into my blankets.

It's weird, though, how depression can become a fixture in your life so that even when it's gone, it's still there like the proverbial monkey on your back. I remember the first few months I was "depression-free" were completely bizarre and I wasn't sure if how I was feeling was "normal" or if I had become bipolar and was in a manic phase. But eventually, I did get used to not wanting to cry all the time and not constantly fantasizing about slitting my wrists in the shower.

Anyway, where am I going with this...I guess lately there has been this nagging feeling in the back of my mind. It's like something's trying to pull me back into the hole I finally managed to crawl out of after fifteen years. My body is angry. My joints are rebelling. And I'm wondering, this time, is it the physical sickness preceding the mental or the other way around? I'm just so tired. And there are so many things to worry about (like that damn bill from the collection agency bastards).

So I guess, I'm writing because I feel like "it" is coming back. And I'm scared. Physical pain is one thing, mental anguish is another, but both at once, I don't know if I can handle it. It makes me want to give up and I know that that's what the depression wants. It wants me to stop caring about life and about waking up tomorrow. I'm so scared of that emptiness coming back. I honestly believed that after Paul I could never feel that way again, but I guess I was wrong. Apparently depression doesn't care if someone loves you better than you love yourself.

I just - I need something to change. But I'm not sure what. Maybe something inside me. Maybe something in my life. I think what I really need is to get away from Los Angeles. I want to live somewhere quiet for awhile.

Basically these assholes entered my address incorrectly into their system (the apartment number was 113 rather than 13) and then were dumbfounded when I did not respond to their letters. I finally got the last one and called in to find out what the hell they were billing me for and was met by the absolute RUDEST, BITCHIEST and LEAST HELPFUL WOMEN IN THE WORLD. Ann Daniels, you are a big whore and I hope you ROT IN HELL, you bitch.

Yes, I was a little teed off by her lack of helpfulness. She kept repeating that as long as the mail was not returned to them they would assume I had received it whether or not the apartment number was incorrect. She said they were assuming that since there is no apartment 113 in my complex the mailman should have recognized my name and put it in my mailbox anyway.

I'm not a lawyer but I feel fairly certain that if they're billing the wrong address because their billing clerk is retarded and doesn't double check her work (I know it's not my mistake because I only filled out one form at the hospital and all the other departments have been billing me just fine, sending it to the RIGHT apartment), they can't assume that the mailman corrected their fuckup and penalize me for their idiocy can they? Lawyers? Help? Advice?

Anyway after a frantic call to my mother that went something like this:

Joyce: Mommy! GAAAAH. Collection agent *gulp* Never got bill *gasp* $2,760 and CHARGING ME INTEREST! Lady was mean *sniff* HELP!

Mom: (in her infinite wisdom) Stop. Calm down. Ignore mean collection people. It's their job to be rude and mean and unhelpful and scary. Call the hospital and deal with them directly.

So that is exactly what I'm doing. And I hope all those people at the collection agency get herpes and burn in hell. I hate them. You can kiss your commission goodbye you bitches (which I'm sure is the reason they refused to give me the number for the original company that was charging me, but HAH I GOT THE NUMBER FROM THE HOSPITAL ANYWAY YOU ASSHOLES).

Bah. Cranky. Next post should be more cheery. Let me regroup and think about how nice it'll be when we're totally moved and unpacked and all the stuff with the old place is settled. At least then I won't have that to worry about. Why is it always something >< WHY?