2005-07-09 @ 1:26 a.m.
Man, how desperate are you for attention, when you look forward to your mammogram, because you know for about 6 minutes, you'll have some woman sweetly cupping your breasts in their hands? Of course, than there's the down side....having said lovely goddess breasts crushed beneath heavy machinery like a piece of Angus beef in a George Forman Grill.
Ok. I enjoyed both parts in varying degrees, but that's just me.
Did I mention I was lonely?
And I really found my weekly sMatch.com e-mail so encouraging this week. For the second week in a row, they have sent me listings of lesbians. Lesbians?? Well, despite the soft-core porn scene up above...you know, the woman cupping my breasts and all, I am not gay. But sMatch.com keeps sending me listings for lesbians, and they're always the same: Women in their forties....with a few extra pounds. Isn't that an oxymoron? Today when I was at work, I took an informal survey of all the lesbians I work with, and guess what I came up with? They all had a few extra pounds. And even more amazing? They were all dressed alike. I swear to god! Khaki colored pants. Blue Polo shirts and sneakers. Holy shit! Is that like the official work uniform for lesbians? I think it might be.
Of course, I did have my very own little special lesbian around today...the lesbian chick who has a crush on me. She did buck the official uniform a bit. She had blue shorts on and a totally filthy white wife beater T-shirt with sneakers. She weighs about 299 pounds. She now thinks because I have a new cubical mate, she can come over anytime and hang out with us. Like we're all friendsy wendsies. Its fine if she wants to be friends with "K", but the lesbian chick is the type of person who zeroes in on new employees in hopes that they'll like her. "K" is a really nice person. She'll probably be nicer to her for longer than I was. But the lesbian chick keeps coming into our cubical and its really starting to get on my last nerve.
Like I'll be talking and lesbian chick will come up behind me and say, "Can I say something?" and I'll say "Go ahead" and she'll say, "Oh no, finish your story." and then she'll stand there with her mouth agape. She's a major mouth breather and for some reason, all this makes me very nervous and uncomfortable, so I'll wrap up my story very quickly and say, "Now what did you want to say?" and she'll say: "Did you put your car in drive when you drove to work today?"
So that was the startlingly evocative inquiry she had to interrupt me for?
I also made a very serious error on Wednesday. I went into the office hoping to catch my client coming out of the women's group. I haven't been able to get ahold of her all week. She missed our appointment and I even drove to her house, because I've been worried about her.
So I was in my cubical with "K". Its actually very crunched up. Its a tiny cubical and "K" is a very large woman, probably about 320 pounds. Our desks are practically on top of each other and we share a phone and at the moment she's been using my computer, which I'm not thrilled about, but since I like her, I guess its ok. "K" doesn't know anything about computers...except how to look up things on E-Bay. Smart woman. But as far as looking at e-mails or sending them...no. And I, of course, am a supreme queen-expert on all that is computer related. Except HTML, of course. So I was showing her how to send an e-mail. Well, I guess super ears (i.e., lesbian chick) was listening to our conversation from the next cubical and was immediately over in our space, honing in on the uber special wittykitty's computer lesson. Talk about being claustrophobic. A 8X8 cubical with 2 desks, a filing cabinet and two chicks weighing in at around 300 pounds (give or take 20 pounds). Oy! The lesbian chick wanted us to send HER an e-mail (wow, there's a surprise!!), so I said, hey!, why don't you run back to your computer, so you can wait for it. And it actually worked! She toddled back to her cubical, kinda like a cow going back to their barn for a milking. I guess I could have thrown some cookies over the wall of my cubical as well, but I digress....
So I sat with "K" and wrote lesbian chick a funny note to the effect if she ever throws anything over the cubical wall, like a candy wrapper, we'll come over and hit her in the head with a computer monitor. Ha, ha, ha.
Fruck! Now she thinks we like her.
And this morning when she saw me, she said, "I know you're funny, but I think you're really vulnerable too." and then smiled wistfully.
I was a little perturbed today though. I went into work this morning for a staff meeting at 8:45 and guess what? It had been canceled. Shitsky! Nothing worse than getting up early for nothing. I had another so-called meeting at 11 (so-called, because it involved free food and merriment, but I still got paid), so I had to waste some time (mostly dodging the lesbian chick, if I chose to stay in the office). So instead I headed over to the Medicaid office to bring some receipts from "A". And as usual, the Medicaid office was a total delight. It was amazingly empty for a Friday morning, but then I remembered....Yo! Lazy ass Medicaid people usually sleep til noon, so why would anyone be there at 9:15? So I went up to the lady behind the bullet proof glass. I had my receipts, but I also wanted to see my case worker. They have a Back to Work program which might help eliminate my pesky monthly spend down payments, and I wanted to talk to her about it. And as in any government agency, the main requirement for employment is either, total hatred of the general public or total stupidity and if you can get both traits in the same person, they'll probably put you in charge at the front counter. And it was certainly true at the Medicaid office today.
The woman worker gave me a number #A2 and I went to sit down to wait for my case worker. Sometimes you can wait for as long as 25 minutes, but today was pretty good. I saw my worker come out in about 5 minutes and say, "A7.....A7". Me and the only other person in the waiting area looked at each other blankly. Is it you? No. No, its not me. And then she went back to the back again. I pretty much knew that was meant for me, so I went up to the counter to talk to the lady who had written the number down. "Was that supposed to be for me? I have #A2, but she called #A7. Could there have been a mix up?"
Oh dear, never accuse a government worker of mixing something up, because they tend to get a little testy, and tend to say things like "What'cho talkin' bout Willis?" accompanied by a glare so intense it could probably make paper burst into flames. Hey, I was just saying 2 and 7 look really similar...and maybe, just maybe....
Criminy woman...just admit, you're dyslexic and the people on disability are smarter than you and go get my case worker, okay?
My case worker fortunately came out in about a minute and a half and apologized for the mistake and showed me that her co-worker had written the wrong number on her sheet. Glad to know, that the slightly smarter one is in charge of all my medical insurance. Onwards and upwards.
And speaking about the need for medical insurance, my group with "A" was pretty intriguing Thursday morning. No...no punches were thrown (I reserve those for my private sessions with him). We were having our usual group. "A" decided that I was one of the five people who had problems in group. My problems included the stress that will be forthcoming when I move. I tried to throw in the fact that I didn't have any help, hoping that some of the manly men in the group might step up and help a damsel in distress carry a box or two, and let.me.tell.you, the rush to do so was totally deafening. Heh, heh. Not really. Just like every other time I have ever asked/hinted/begged for help with moving, I have always met with total resistance. Well, except for my last move, when the Born Again Christian half of the family decided to make my move their good deed for the month of August, 2003. I didn't really care. I just needed help. If it'll help get you into heaven then great. Here's a box of my "Moonlighting" videos.
But the exciting part of the group was when one of the people in the group wanted to end things and "A" picked up the phone and called the police and they came and got her and took her to the hospital during group. Woot! Nothing like a little excitement to liven things up. Kinda made my need for moving help seem, I don't know, vaguely unimportant. I felt bad for the girl though. And maybe a little shaken by the whole event. I've tried to be a friend to her in the past and "A" even offered the services of the place that I work. I told her I would attend any of the groups we offered with her, if she wanted. But she was pretty inconsoleable.
So I think what I really need to do is meet some healthy people. And I really need some chocolate. And while we're at it, I really need a hug.
P.S. Thanks to whoever got me a Super Gold Membership. Yay! Does that mean I'm a kept woman now? I could only hope.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty