4/27/00
"She is dancing away from you now...and her memory is all that is left for you...I still see your bright eyes, I can't touch you...it all comes down to you..."
I am really hating Miss Megan right now. She called me from her car about half an hour ago, and before even saying "hi, how are you, how's your day," she immediately starts bitching because her fucking car isn't done yet. Hey, life's a bitch. And this is somehow my fault because, you see, I recommended this particular body shop to her because I used them a few years ago and they did great work, they were slower than molasses, but they gave me a $50 gift certificate to the Plaza to make up for their oversight. So she's bitching up a storm, and I'm like, "why don't you call the manager? why don't you tell this to the manager? why don't you insist on talking to the manager? hey, I've got an idea, why DON'T YOU CALL THE MANAGER???" And I finally tell her I don't think she's going to get anywhere bitching at me as opposed to someone who could actually help her. So she bites my head off--"you're the QUEEN of that!" And I say, very politely, "hey, I realize you're upset about your car, but that doesn't mean you have to take it out on me." Then she hung up on me. OOOOOH, that pisses me off more than anything in the world, I think. Don't you hang up on me before I can give you a hefty piece of my mind, woman! Now get over here so I can bitch-slap you...
So I sent her an e-mail at her office that said, "anytime you decide you're finished being a bitch for the day, feel free to give me a call--HAVE A NICE DAY!" I even included the little :) smiley face, just for an added pissing-off measure. Sometimes I'd like to slap her across her spoiled little princess face. (Okay, I'm not a violent person, the most violent I've ever gotten during an argument is the time I threw a beanie baby at her, and remember, she's about 8 feet tall and could eat me for breakfast.)
I called my mother at work this morning. Apparently the sister is most likely going to lose the zygote. But it's hard to say for sure because the fucking asshole nurses at this ob/gyn clinic she's going to won't fucking tell her anything, and they also won't let her see a doctor until next week. Why the hell not? I know she has insurance, so what's the deal? It's almost as bad as the way those fucking bastard doctors gave Megan the runaround for three years (she was finally this winter diagnosed with Grave's Disease [fancy term for hyperthyroidism]). Why are doctors such shitheads? I've worked for doctors, and let me tell you, the only difference between them and us is that they have bigger cars, bigger houses, bigger heads, and bigger books to guess from.
And it figures that right now as I'm pissed at all of doctor-dom, I think I need to go to a dentist. I have a tooth in the back of my mouth on top that's starting to hurt. I was eating a chocolate bunny yesterday and bit down and YOWZA--like needles stabbing me in the gums. Oh, crap, it was awful.
I don't know why I'm so bitchy today. Okay, yes I do, I was in a perfectly happy mood until Miss Priss called to drag me down to her level. She's SO like her mother that way. "If mommy's not happy, ain't NOBODY happy." I need to think of something that will cheer me up--RENT is in a week! HA-HA! I can't wait, even though I know seeing that show is just going to totally bum me out because I'm not actually IN it. I love that show. I love musicals, at least, musicals that aren't so fucking cheesy they reek like Velveeta (I'd rather stab myself in the heart with a butter knife than do Cats, for example). If I had my choice to do one Broadway musical, it would either be Rent or Jesus Christ Superstar...or Les Mis, love Les Mis--it's my life's dream to play Fantine... GOD I need to be on stage again! But the theatre community here is so clique-ish, I mean, I know they are everywhere but not like here. The more avant garde group, The Unicorn, is totally dick-tated by this ugly nasty dyke whore that thinks she's God's gift to the playwright. (In truth, she's more like a sticky nasty slut puppy, but that's my humble opinion. MEE-OW!) There's one group that's Equity only, and the rest are either real small-time operators or (ick) melodrama. I took a solemn vow several years ago that I would never, NEVER do another melodrama, and I'm sticking to it.
But I am just a royal crabapple today. I want to go home and watch Montelevision (our term for that all-afternoon talk show brain death festival that dictates your entire day off) and drink red wine until I pass out. I think I need to start doing less talking about drinking heavily and do more actual drinking, what do you think? Perhaps then I wouldn't have so much to bitch about!
(Later) Miss Priss isn't being quite as bitchy any more, it seems. We've been exchanging hateful banter all day via e-mail. Which is our warped and twisted manner of apologizing and forgiving. We're odd.
I took what I call "the letter personality test" because it's the one that gives you all those letters that are supposed to tell everyone what you're all about. It said I'm an ESTJ, whatever that means. (I'll tell you what it means, that I'm a dictator. And I speak loudly and carry a big stick. And all that stuff.) I can't say I believe that's entirely accurate, however. I mean, part of the reason I'm in therapy is because of the whole "split personality" thing--no I don't have multiple personalities, I'm referring more to the real me/character me thing. (Oh, dammit, just go read my old entries. You'll figure it out, you're smart, right?) So I think I'm less rigid and unfeeling than this result would indicate. Actually, I think almost all of these tests are a load of crap--except for Myers-Briggs, which I've heard is right on the money. Megan and one of her old work friends from Cess Pool took it once while tripping on acid, and it scored them as complete schizophrenics. Go figure! I've never taken it, myself, but I think I might try to find it. I'll be sure to fill y'all in on my score, because I know the suspense is killing you.
Speaking of the suspense killing you, I've had a few people ask me about the next "notes from the cess pool." I'm working on it! Damn! Good ignorance takes weeks to cultivate! Don't you know that? I can't just drive up there any given day of the week and hand-pick morons off the street! Well, okay, I could, but it's a very long drive just to satisfy your wanton urges for stupidity. I will do my best to get more letters in sometime this weekend. Live with it!
All day long, I've thought it was Friday. That sucks. I want it to be Friday--wait, no I don't, because I have class Friday night. Bugger. I'll be leaving early, however. If that fat fuck thinks I'm going to sit there for 4 hours watching bad movies about the stereotypical Eye-talian mafia, he's off his rocker. (And I just took a class on criminal behavior, and our first key focus was on the whole "alien conspiracy theory" [the mafia in the US was started and continues to be run by Sicilians, even though all evidence points to the contrary]. Give me a fucking break.)
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