Same Old Tirade, Different Day....

Nothin' like a little AC/DC at 8am, right? Well, maybe not for everyone. But my asshole, self-absorbed, baby-neglecting upstairs neighbors should have thought about that before they blasted shitty, old Nelly hits all afternoon directly over my sleeping head. They know damn straight that I work nights, therefore sleep days(at least until the end of the week I still do). They are constantly doing things that make clear just how thoughtless they are. And it was just enough to push me into some good, old-fashioned revenge. All you Anons out there can't bitch about revenge, isn't that a concept highly supported by most, if not all, organized religion? I understand that it's daytime, the acceptable time for most people to be awake. Because I make an unconventional choice in working nights, I have to be willing to make sacrifices and be somewhat flexible in my requirements for sleep. But these people are constantly making noise at a level that is well above and beyond normal noise. Either they're the most clumsy-ass, butter-fingered doofs in the world or they just throw shit on the floor all the time. Now, I admit, I've thrown shit at people in my life before. I've thrown plates, full cans of soda, rocks, sticks and I don't know how many personal items of my own that I will regret forever that I broke. But I mostly grew out of it as I got older, certainly that's part of why I put off having kids...you know, until the rage simmered down a bit. And mine has, like, improved about eighty percent. But I don't even throw this much crap. I definitely haven't broken anything of my own in a few years, thankfully. I have the money to re-buy tv's and shit. They don't seem to smash big stuff like that, it seems like maybe just like a purse or book sized item, maybe. And then the floors are paper thin. So I'm sure they can hear me bitching about them, I don't really care because it's stressful for me to have someone selling drugs above me. I just want the benefit of being able to decide when to surround myself with that shit. I hate having it pushed in my face when I'm not prepared. And because it's looking like I'll probably have to wait for my tax return until I can afford to buy a car and get my own apt., if he shoves it in Mike's face it affects me too. Ever since I found out he was going to start selling that shit my stress level has skyrocketed. Mikey's always bitching about it or saying he wants some. He hasn't used yet but I'm sure it's only a matter of time. And I hate that shit. I've only ever really thought I might die when I was doing coke a few times. That shit can get scary when you're booting it. I want nothing to do with it. Mike can do what he wants once I'm not living here, but until then...not cool.

(Aside: Jesus, I just applied a face mask. And the f'n thing is kind of not as much pleasant as a violent assault on the senses. There, like, alcohol in it and it's making it very difficult to breathe in my small bathroom. I need air.)

I know I sound like a whiny ass pussy right now. I am ,basically. I really don't want to work another night at that stupid job, I just want to chill and get my shit together for my new job. I've worked there three days but start full time on Dec. 7th. I actually really like it. The owner is definitely a little weird, but maybe he'll grow on me when I'm not so nervous about just starting and having to make a good impression. I haven't really even spent that much time with him yet. He wasn't there on Saturday. I worked with the produce manager, an older, maybe in his sixties, man who seems picky and old-fashioned but very, very nice. He is obviously a hard worker who is also, probably, extremely reliable and trustworthy. And then there is a girl/woman named Eva who is a produce worker. She trained me so far in the produce area. She just recently graduated from Keene State, as far as I've can gather from the snippets of conversation we've been able to have while working. But so far I really like her. She's calm and easy-going, and down to earth(which is totally cliche, but whatever). She's easy to be around which is important if we're going to be working together. I get along pretty well with other women in most environments like work or school. I try to be a girls girl, as opposed to the type of woman who will ditch her girlfriends for a guy. I know some people who know me will say I haven't always lived up to that ideal, and I'd have to admit they were right. But I really try. When I've let the girls down for a guy, though, in my defense, it was always a guy I really, really loved, not just some passing fancy. I'm not sure that really makes it okay. But anyway, my point is that she seems the same way. I'm a pretty good judge of character. I generally know when someone is shady or not. I don't always make the most thoughtful decisions regarding such people, but I always know when I'm taking a risk with someone. The only other person I've worked with is a general worker named Peter. Also, from the little we've spoken, I think he also just graduated from Keene State. Both of them are able to be teachers, but work at the health food store instead. I guess I have to understand that because I could see myself doing the same silly thing. At least they're only in their twenties. Here I am, thirty years old, almost thirty-f'n-one (I feel so freakin OLD!) I know I'm not really that old (especially considering people just keep living longer and longer these days) but I could be a lot healthier and a lot more accomplished by now.
But anyhow, Peter trained me on my very first day on which we were directed by the Boss Man to put away a grocery order together. He showed me the general layout and where to put stuff and find stuff, where EXACTLY (and this is very important, per Boss Matt, that price stickers are placed in very precise locations on each product. He wants the customer to have to pick up the item to find the price. He claims that once they have the item in their hand, that's half the battle of getting them to make the purchase. I disagree, I hate having to search for a f'n price tag. Do they want to sell shit or play games? WTF?)to put the price tags. Of course I did as I was told as if it made all the sense in the world. Peter is generally pretty agreeable, I can't complain about him as a trainer or co-worker unless of course, dear readers, you can understand how uncomfortable it can sometimes be to work in the company of an absurdly good-looking man. I mean, he's like, Calvin Klein underwear model good-looking. He's tall with almond eyes and light brown hair. It's not normal for someone to be that unnaturally hot. It's just not right. Of course he has a girlfriend, who is probably stunning and tall and athletically slender. And she probably has perfect skin. I'm jealous of her and I don't even know her. How lame is that? But, of course, I promptly told him I lived with someone so he didn't feel uncomfortable. I mean it wasn't the first thing I said, obviously, but I did not flirt or in any way act inappropriately, nor will I ever. I will only admire from afar. Besides being painfully self-conscious and shy with hot men, I would never move in on a taken man unless it was totally, undeniably meant to be. But that doesn't stop my palms and pits from sweating when he leans across me to place a tub of oatmeal on the shelf. I'm sure I'll get ahold of myself over time, as the reality of how far fetched a fantasy it is to think he would ever be interested in me anyhow. Talk about beauty and the beast...

Anyhow, I'm really happy to be working days, normal length days at that. We have every Sunday off I guess. I thought it was open, but I guess that was just the Sunday before the holiday last week, which is why I was confused. So that's cool. Although I would work whenever, just no more third shift. There's at least a bathroom and reliable heat. And people to talk to. And a discount, twenty percent, which is pretty generous really. So I've already started buying some of my food there. I hope to eventually get most of it there. I used to be so concerned with my health, I was so fit and healthy until about five years ago. With the addiction and the methadone, I just got lost and stuck and unhealthy. I need to find my way back to my original values, at least the ones that were positive for me. I hat being fat. I'm so unhappy. Not that I'm all that fat compared to the general public. But I feel like shit. And I know why. I eat like shit, sleep like shit, and generally neglect my health. That being said, I need to suck it up and go make my breakfast/dinner and get some sleep. I promise to make an effort to write more as my life calms down and gains some semblance of normalcy.

I want to write about this book I'm reading which is making me consider becoming a vegetarian again. At least all but on special occasions when I know the meat came from a local farm where the animal was also butchered locally by someone I know, so I know that the animal wasn't tortured. The meat industry is seriously Fucked! But that's for another post.

Despite all my bitching and complaining, I know I'm taking steps in a better direction. I'm at least putting myself in a job where I can make new friends and I'm not totally isolated, Mikey's little mommy/housekeeper/cheerleader, anymore. I won't be so drained by my job anymore that I can't even consider looking for ways out or signing up for classes. I will be able to actually take classes soon. I can walk to the campus from my new job, so I could take some evening classes. I also want to take yoga classes after work. I've been looking into possible classes around town, there are plenty, but my stupid job interfered with them. Well, not anymore. I am definitely on a better track than I was, anything would be better than that place, almost.

Sorry if this was a crazy, all over the place rant that made no sense. It's what I do best.

What is Wrong with People?

I don't know why it's bothering me so much but my upstairs neighbors are having a baby in, like, five months and they are the biggest fuck heads - it's making me worry for them, the baby, and myself if it gets to that point (I hope to God it does not). First, the boyfriend is completely unfaithful to the girl. I watch him bring girls up to their apartment all the time while his gf is at work, pregnant with their child. He is unemployed, again. He had a job for about three months at one point but has since been laid off. Right before we moved in he was released from jail for his second drug selling offense. He was already on probation for selling coke and then he does it again. We live in a really small town, the police know what everyone does. It doesn't help that if you could see through trees, you'd be able to see the popo dept.
So the last and second time he was jailed she was pregnant too. She had a miscarriage - probably due at least partially to the stress of being left to pay for an apartment all by herself when she's been living off coke money since they met. So she has a miscarriage while he's in jail, then about three and a half months ago she had a cyst removed from her uterus - and now she's pregnant again! And the doctors (she says, and it makes sense) tell her any undue stress, mental or physical could cause another miscarriage. Apparently the boyfriend doesn't care too much about the impact of his actions on her. And she doesn't seem too swift either. They have no health insurance - because she didn't pick up the option her work gave her last year because she said she needed all the $ to support herself because duffus was in jail. Really? She couldn't spare thirty dollars a week? And instead of waiting a few months to get her pregnant so she could pick up the insurance this year, they don't and now they won't pick her up after the fact. To me, that is just stupid! Why begin your life as a family in mega debt that could have been avoided? Do they have any idea how much it costs to have a baby? Well apparently they didn't until I said something when I found out they had no health coverage. I was all "Oh, shit! That's got to be at least twenty thousand in the hole! Ouch!" Because my first boyfriend, his mom had him when she was fifteen, she had no insurance. We met when he was twenty and she was still bitching about how she was still paying for his birth! So now the dumb asses have decided he should start selling cocaine again to make ends meet. Maybe getting a JOB would be a good idea.
He's still on probation, his prob officer stops by unannounced, he has to check in at least monthly(pee tests and such) and he's been ratted out twice previously. If he gets caught selling again he's going to jail for, like, ten years. He's also been in trouble for flashing a gun at some kids at Friendly's because they made disparaging remarks about his dead brother. Grow up! A Gun?!? For real, you sell like a half oz a week, if that! And he thinks he's, like, some kind of baller! Who you gonna shoot, you idiot? Anyhow, doesn't he realize he could easily miss his baby being born? What if she miscarries again when he gets arrested, again. And they way he runs his mouth and brags and flaunts money and drives around in the middle of the night w/product and a scale in his whoopdy (sp?)-ass 1995 Honda Civic - he's asking for it.
Now, all this stresses me out just because it sucks to think that yet another child is being brought into this world with a dickhead for a father and an idiot for a mother, with no health insurance taboot. But that is not my main issue. My real concern is that he keeps sticking his F'n cocaine in Mikey's face. And I've heard Mike, on several occasions say he's not interested and please to not tell him about it. But then he asks to borrow our digi scale (which has never been used to weight powder drugs, only weed and methadone for us these days. If we buy dope it's recreational for a special day, certainly not enough to need to weigh). Wow, he must be really big time if he doesn't even have his own scale. He does now because we didn't even want it back after he used it because it smelled so bad of coke. Mikey has promised he has no desire to get high, but I can't help wondering if he's just appeasing me until I go to work and then, Whammo! I am not giving my money to those F'n losers. And if our neighbor really considered Mike a friend, then he wouldn't be enticing him with drugs when he knows our history and has been told to keep it away from us.
On Friday night, as soon as the shit was dropped off at his house (by what looked like high school kids) he's calling Mike up asking if he wants to come up and check it out. That time Mike did blow him off and declined saying we were eating and he didn't really care. But he'd already told him that. Is the kid just dumb, or is Mike telling lies? Both? I left him with NO cash and as soon as I got to work I checked our account online so I'll know if any money is missing. I will probably be able to tell if he used too, and he probably knows that. He's such a hypochondriac baby that he'll whine about how shitty he's feeling so much I'll know something is up and if I grill him he'll give it up whether he wants to or not in his bastard little smirk. I also made him swear on his grandfather's soul who is dead and I really don't think he'd do that if was lying. But I'm wicked trusting and always want to believe the best in people and I'd be easy to lie to if you really were intent on lying and didn't care at all how upset I got once I knew the truth. Either way, I have no choice but to trust him because I have to leave for work at some point. And he's there at the house, a grown man whose gonna do what he's gonna do when it comes down to it. Regardless of my wishes, and I know that.
I also know something else - if I find out that that stupid motherF'n loser got Mike to use that shit, when he's at home alone w/out anyone to keep an eye on him especially - I will do everything in my power to make him wish he had acted otherwise. And if Mike dies of an overdose, I swear I will turn him into his P.O. so fast the police will issue me an honorary badge. You fuck with my family, it's war. It's like no one but me can call my sister a slut or my mother a drunk - it's just not cool. Unless you're, like, a social worker or a shrink or something and it's your job to state the obvious regardless of personal feelings. I will tell his bitch about every girl he had ever brought over, I'll tell her every time he's smoked weed and lied about it, I'll tell her how he cat calls our neighbor and asks her to flash her boobs all day long, I'll tell her how he complains about her as soon as she walks away and how he hopes having a baby will make her less clingy. I'll tell her how he tells everyone they're never getting married - he won't be able to walk sideways in front of my window without knowing I'll repeat it to his girlfriend. So he best back off the person who helps pay my rent or there's gonna be problems.
I don't have a problem, morally, with drugs - obviously, as my past clearly illustrates. I don't even think selling drugs is inherently evil. I just think when you're a two time loser with a baby on the way, maybe it's time to look into an alternative source of income. Like a real job. Suck it up, if it's too good to be true, it is. Very few people get rich selling drugs, easy money, fast money, is usually gone money. Gone by the police, or gone by bad spending habits, or both. Read Freakonomics for crying out loud! Over time, most drug dealers are lucky to end up having made minimum wage. He keeps telling Mike that it's only temporary, a month or two. He says he just wants to make five or ten thousand dollars and then he's done. I don't know what planet he sells drugs on but buying the small quantities he's able to afford, he's never gonna make that much money. Especially spending it as he makes it. He doesn't have a job, I think he says he getting $200/wk on unemployment. She works at RentOne Plus or some shit like Rent-a-Center. So we know she's not raking it in. Are they crazy?
He didn't bother me so much at first, at least then he had a job and seemed to be trying. I never liked her because she's one of those girls who hangs all over her boyfriend when other women are around. Like, attached to his arm, guy can't even move w/out bumping into her. And when I see her away from our house she ignores me. I hate that! We live in the same building. She could at least say hello. I always wave, sometimes, like, five times, and she pretends not to see me! I swear. It drives me bonkers. And one time she brought these hideous pleather boots outside, they were obviously way too big for me. She hands them to me and says, "I won't wear these, I'm way to picky". Well, unless you got them used, it looks like you wore the shit out of them. And she dresses like shit and that was really insulting. I dress really nicely when I'm not at work, at work I have to wear an obscenely ugly uniform of gold and black, awesome, but not my fault at all. I took the stupid boots, said "thanks" and threw them away at the dump later that week. At the time I was hoping she'd come to throw her trash away and see them. But then I found out that they haven't brought their trash to the dump for probably the past six months (it's free and about a mile from our house). They've been stacking it in the garage in this little room attached to the back. The pile reached almost to my waist and was torn to pieces and strewn across the floor from the animals at night. Mike and I found their dirty, little secret when we were checking to see if he could use the room to blow glass. The trash discovery led us to buy the shack from Home Depot instead. From all their trash, mice have infested the garage and they are climbing into the engine of their cars and fucking up the wiring. Serves them right, the trasholes.

Dogs Bark

I've been glorifying the past lately. I'm sure some of the memories are worthy of their rosy glow, however, reading over an old journal earlier leads me to believe I may be deluding myself on some level. The past I'm remembering is pre-heroin and I don't really know why I'm thinking about it now unless it has something to do with feeling I may have squandered some of the years where we are able to get away with doing whatever we want.

Finally moved into new apartment. Moved all weekend and then some and now live in a small, one bedroom place with boxes piled everywhere and not able to find anything until all is put away. I wrote a note to the people who live above us and I said hello and that we just moved in and that it would probably take a few weeks for our dogs to adjust to the new situation. I wrote that they could call us on our cell if there were any problems with them being annoyed with the dogs. But I didn't really expect them to call, mostly because our dogs aren't really bad. They grew up living in apartments and we never had any complaints about them. People may not like us but they don't usually have an issue with the dogs. But anyway, I wanted to be polite and give them our number just in case mostly so that they would call me before the landlord or the police. So, anyway, this is the first night we have had to work and leave them alone there. They've been there for two nights with us already. And at about ten-thirty the girl from upstairs called to say the dogs were barking too much and could we quiet them down so she could sleep, having to work at six-thirty in the morning she kept saying. She sounded totally pissed. And I was like, "They're barking? Oh, well, I'll see what I can do, we're at work so it'll be a few minutes before I can get there." And she was just like, "Okay". And she hung up. So I'm sitting here in my little shack wondering what the fuck I should do about this, why the hell did she have to call, I wish I didn't answer the phone, she would have to eventually just fall asleep. But I did answer. So I went in the warehouse and paged Mike and he asked his boss if he could drive home for a minute to check. So Mike drives all the way back to our place and the dogs weren't even barking. So he called the girl back (I'd call her by name but she didn't introduce herself) and she was all, "Oh, they're being quiet now, it was just probably because my husband was downstairs smoking a cigarette." And she told him not to bother checking on them if it was just going to work them all up again. But why the hell did she really need to call? I mean to me she was saying they had been barking for two hours and couldn't stress enough how she had to sleep. I would not hesitate to use the word bitch when thinking of the impression she made. But then Mike talks to her and she's all nice and it's no longer a problem. What the fuck is that? Anyway, I just really don't want to have problems with anyone in this place. I know the dogs will settle down eventually, if they were even being that loud. But when it really comes down to it, we live in a building with other people, the landlord allows animals, there is going to be noise - it's an old farmhouse, for real, get used to it. I mean, we work at night so we have to listen to everyone all day long. And today they were listening to some shitty pop music station and using some whirring machinery. Maybe they should buy a device to simulate the sound of the ocean or crickets or something to lull them to sleep.

Warning: The Following Post is an Exercise in Venting

Well, Mike and I just put a deposit on a new apartment. It's nothing great but it's not the place we're in now. It's expensive but the guy doesn't care about us having the dogs; he just said if we ruined anything not to expect our deposit back. That's fine, I never do. Even if I don't think anything is wrong, like normal wear and tear. I only ever got a deposit back once from a really old woman who was super nice and honest. A lot of the time I think the people don't even have the money to give back to you. So this time around we rented from a man who has been renting for forty years and it's his business. I think he will be more stable of a landlord. Like we actually received a receipt for the deposit amount, although having been screwed so many times we brought a bank check just to be extra safe - no more cash exchanges for me.
So the main catalyst for this move was our apartment getting broken into. Property of much value was taken - I don't really know how safe it is to divulge the specifics on the Internet. I imagine anything written here could feasibly be incriminating. More than the actual items stolen, what makes me the most angry is the invasion of my privacy and the effect it had on my dogs. They were throwing up and had diarrhea all the next day and into the following night after the whole incident. That says to me that they were most likely terrified and sick with fear or perhaps the thief gave them some kind of food to get them to back off. The woman who lives behind us said that the morning we found our house robbed she found a huge chunk of rotten hamburger in her yard. She has a really big German Shepherd and maybe someone was trying to get him to shut up too, but he's really old and not used to people food and didn't eat it. Our dogs would because Mike cooks them their own food every day. Like they get chicken or hamburger cooked with rice and vegetables and they even get their own vitamin supplements (we don't have kids if that helps explain such oddness). Plus, they're assholes when we are home but I don't know what they would do if we weren't there. I'd like to think they put up a fight but for all I know they jumped up and licked the intruder.
Anyway, it's no mystery who it is when you get robbed - I mean there are those flukes when a total stranger breaks into a random house but in most cases you know the perpetrator. In our case, it's really easy. There are only two choices. I guess it's sad and pathetic in a way that I know for sure. But I do because only two parties know where we live and what was in our place since we moved there. And the doors were damaged but had been locked upon exit by whoever broke in. There is only one person I know who could accomplish that and he happens to be in the running. The other people who could come in and take shit and re lock the door would be the guy downstairs who rented us the apartment - he's not supposed to have a key to our place but I'm sure he does. We obviously have pad locked everything now for the next two weeks till we move.
Any locksmith type people out there??? Is it even possible to force entry into a door with a bolt lock and then have it back in place upon exit without having the key??? Does that make sense?? I wish I had pictures of the door. In fact, I need to get on the visual scene regardless of the stupid door. I need a profile picture and I want to post pics of the dogs and Mike's glass pieces - he blows really nice glass and I want to show it off - that will be my priority after this whole hellish episode blows over.
It's just really bothering me. If it was the people downstairs, I can at least see their logic - they feel owed because I refuse to pay full rent with no heat in the building. They don't see it as a problem. I'm like, you lied about the amenities this place had, we moved in here based on a string of lies - there's no heat included, no cable, no Internet, and the place is generally shabby, leaking and in overall disrepair. The police told us we don't legally have to pay at all and referred us to the court house dealing with civil matters in Newfane. In fact, the day this happened and the police came, they informed us that Dan, the guy who rented us the place, was in no way a legal owner of the property. His brother who lives in North Carolina or something actually inherited the house. The brother seems like he wants nothing to do with it because he didn't show for the funeral and he's not paying the taxes apparently. So maybe this is a blessing in disguise because we got out now before the place is condemned or foreclosed on. Blah, blah, blah I know this probably doesn't make much sense to anyone but me. My thoughts are so scattered, I feel so violated and angry. We work so hard and then someone just comes along and scoops up the bounty we've been slaving over. It makes me want to vomit.
The second guy who could have done it I really thought was a friend. And that hurts my feelings more than anything. If he had just asked for some money or help we would have given anything we could spare.
This whole thing sucks because it's really enforcing my bias against people who have any sort of addiction. I mean I know there are good people out there who are addicted and recovering. I'd like to believe I'm one of them and I have one really good friend who I met in a women's group at my old clinic. She is honest and clean and responsible and a great mom - so I know there are exceptions. But once we are in our new place - NOBODY is coming over except for immediate family and Katie. That sucks because it just fuels my own disease not to be able to have a social life but I feel like I can't trust anyone I haven't known since before I could talk. Any new potential friends will be put to a rigorous set of tests - I'm not really joking.
Most people are like, "If someone broke into my house, I'd fucking shoot em. Let's go fuck them up!" But that's just not our style. I just want people to leave me alone. If I have nice things it's because I work hard for them, they don't fall from the sky because I'm blessed. Both culprits do not have jobs and they figured easy money I guess. I just want to count my losses and thank God my dogs are not severely injured which could have happened and I'm looking into alarm systems for the new place. I want to believe that I may have learned something throughout all of this. I'd like to hope that I will not make brash decisions like taking someones word about an apartment and renting it without inspecting it first. I know I sound naive, maybe I am. I like to believe people are genuinely good but maybe I have to reevaluate?