"Helpers"

I'm going to assume that nearly everyone, at some point or another, has had someone in their life that is a "helper". And I don't mean that in a positive way, either. I'm talking about a "helper" as in the fact that they only seem to help in order to get praise; in order for them to feel important. I more often than not find this in the work place. There always seems to be that one person who is looking for the praise, the attention from helping out as many people as they can. And in case they're not sure if everyone around them knows how "helpful" they're being, they list their endeavors to anyone who will listen.

Supervisors eat this shit up. Everyone else? Rolling their eyes and possibly wiping off the tip of their nose as a sign to the next person rolling their eyes, "Hey, did you hear the brown-noser?"

What's worse is when this "helper" is a person who goes through . . . periods, I guess, where they're not their cheery little helper-person. That every few months, these people decide to have fits where, if no one is noticing how hard they're working, they won't help. Maybe the wonder if no one knows? So they start telling everyone who crosses their path just to make sure everyone knows how helpful they are, therefore they get praised and it raises their spirits so that they're cheerful enough to make others sick.

I was raised with chores to do in order to get any kind of allowance. I was praised for my hard work with a few bucks and a thank you. When I had horses, I spent hours doing chores out in the corral and barn. For myself. When I got into the work world, I did the work because it was there, it needed to be done. More than likely it was assigned to me so I didn't really have much choice in the matter, but still. If I could do more, I did more. If I could help someone else with something, I would. I didn't stand there and demand to the thanked and praised for all my help and hard work. Unlike some other people.

Now don't get me wrong, I like praise. It's nice to be acknowledged for helping your co-workers out, or doing something you weren't asked to do. But it's not why I do it. Sometimes I feel that my boss may not praise all of us at work enough. We all work our collective asses off, and at the next meeting we might be fortunate enough to get a lecture on what else we need to be doing. My boss actually asked me one day (a few months ago) very randomly (like I was on lunch in the break room and she was coming in from sucking on a cancer stick), "Have I complimented you recently?" I was seriously dumbfounded, and probably looked like an idiot with my forkful of food an inch from my mouth with my mouth wide open just staring at her. I kept thinking, is this a trick question? I kind of shrugged and shook my head, thinking if I can't remember it's been too long, and saying "I don't think so, why?" And her replying back to me, "I love the way you do your amended reports. I wish everyone did them the way you do." It was a very random compliment over a very random item. As she walked away, I was happy to have gotten such a random compliment.

But I don't run to my boss (or anyone else for that matter) to list my goings-on at work so that I can continually get praise. If I covered someone's break, I will let them know what I did and there's anything special they need to be on the lookout for. I get a "thanks for covering me" or a "thanks for doing that", and I'm back to my bench. I usually don't give a detailed over-view of what I did, because it was stuff that should be done anyway. I don't deserve a ton of praise for doing my job.

And I also don't jump around all over the building helping everyone, because I'll never get my job done on time. Some helpers are all over the place, and once they realize that their actual assignment might not get done on time, they're suddenly all pissy. Like it's someone else's fault that they just I had to run around helping half a dozen people? No, actually, they didn't. Someone else could have stepped in to do some of that.

There is a reason why businesses hire several people - so the work gets spread out. So, "helpers", spread the love. Leave some out there for the rest of us. Don't do all the work, don't take all the credit, and don't bitch about not getting your own job done. Use your head. It's that lump three feet above your ass. At least . . . it should be above your ass.

Forced donating

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about the donation fiasco that I dealt with regarding my job's annual United Way campaign. My department's fundraiser is Thursday night, and I'm already feeling the pressure.

Last week, no one bothered me for much. Another department did a bake sale, and I offered to bake some cookies and muffins. I told the head guy that those would be my donations to United Way, seeing as how I can't even part with $5 as my bills are much more important. He was totally fine with that.

This week, however, is my department's turn. We're doing a Salsa Cook-off and Nacho Bar. I was planning on making salsa, as that's easy enough to do and let that be my donation. I won't be doing that anymore. The nacho thing got added Monday night as the salsa cook-off alone isn't a very big fundraiser. They charge per vote and per taste-test. You can choose a small nacho container or a large nacho container. And we're even making virgin margaritas for an additional cost. And at the last minute, my boss decides to charge an entrance fee for the salsa cook-off. I have to pay $3 just to put a bowl of salsa out for others to taste. Hell no.

What sucks is this: I love nachos. This is positively killing me.

Not to mention, while I was on lunch last night, my boss and two others were in the break room discussing our event. This was when I found out all these "donation" charges. As I'm sitting at my own table, eating my chili and garlic bread, my boss goes on and on about how she expects everyone to participate. Meaning, the nacho sign-up sheet that doesn't have my name it on . . . I could possibly get hell for that. When I don't have a bowl of salsa on the table, I could get hell for that. When I don't show up with my paycheck to donate all the money their looking for, I could get hell for that. She wants so hard to beat the other department who raised nearly $600 from their bake sale, because why? The department who earns the most money gets pizza.

I have nowhere to hide on Thursday night. It supposed to start at 1AM, and I don't go to lunch until 2:30AM. I have already refused to bring anything for the nacho bar, considering I'm not eating any of it, nor am I donating money to eat it. I'm not sure if my boss has caught wind yet of the fact that my name is not on that sign up sheet.

I know I'm within my rights to not donate for whatever my personal reasons are. But sometimes, others just don't understand - whether it's a can't or won't, I'm not entirely sure. I may not be destitute, but I need all I can get. If I have a couple extra bucks and decide to let loose once, I treat myself cheaply, like a $3 meal from McD's, or a $2 meal from Taco Bell. But that's at my discretion.

I know I'm a good person because I volunteer for my two organizations with my time. But I'm really starting to feel like a chump for not being able to give money to United Way. Especially with my boss hollering around the lab how she expects everyone to be buying salsa votes and nachos. I know I shouldn't feel bad, but I do. And I hate that.

Psycho Roomie, Part IV

We left off with Betty leaving our apartment late at night with Suzi chasing her down, trying to get her back after she pushed her out. I was left standing in the apartment, completely astonished at what I witnessed. I don't really remember much else from that night. I think I tried placing another call, crying, to my then-boyfriend, who wasn't picking up. I don't remember if Suzi tried talking to me about the incident, as if I wasn't there. What I do remember is the aftermath.

Betty came home the next day with moving boxes and started packing. And looking for a place to live. At best, she was there another week or two, and she would be gone. Betty and Suzi never said another word to each other. Well, it was more like Betty refused to say anything to Suzi and did her best to not be in the same room as her. Suzi kept pushing. Creating drama at every turn. I stayed out of that one. Betty and I would sit outside her room at the front of the apartment late at night and talk. Betty often spent her nights at friends houses as she didn't want to stay over-night at our place; she feared Suzi might try something. And of course, Suzi's mother showed up to stay until Betty was gone, since Suzi's mother was afraid Betty would do something to Suzi. Seriously. Betty and I feared more for Betty's life than Suzi's.

I mentioned briefly, that when things started getting ugly in the apartment, I started having boy troubles. Right after this fight between Suzi and Betty, Boyfriend and I broke up. My parents were getting on a plane to take an Alaskan cruise for their 25th wedding anniversary. I kept my best friend from church crying for hours on her shoulder via the phone. Boyfriend broke my heart. He was my first boyfriend and the first boy to break my heart. Now, fast forward several years, he and I are excellent friends. Turned out better that way. My mom was grateful to Suzi's mother for one thing: being there for me when Boyfriend broke up with me. She gave me hugs and tried to tell me everything would be okay. I was grateful, too. Until Suzi and her mother did a group hug with me. The gratefulness stopped there. Then it got a bit creepy.

In a span of about two weeks, I lost the better of two roommates and a boyfriend. I was on a roll. When my parents got back from their two week cruise, Betty was gone, having found a room in a house near campus. I told my parents everything that happened and they were astounded by what went on. I told them I'd really rather not live with Suzi anymore. God only knew what she would do to me if she turned on me. In the end, financially, it wouldn't work for me to move. My parents spoke with Suzi's parents regarding rent and how we could only afford so much. Rent was agreed upon. And I was to remain living with Suzi. All I remember is my mom asking me to not blame them if I wound up in therapy from living with this chick.

With Betty gone, so was her nice entertainment center. Along with the TV, VCR, and DVD player. And her Play Station. So, since I was the only with a large enough TV, I moved mine on it's little stand out to the living room. I had it all, except the Play Station. And now that my TV stand was out of my room, I could move my book case into my room, which made Suzi very happy. Did I mention her giving me shit about my book case? I had a small three shelf book case from my Nana. It housed old text books for reference, all my CD's, and other random stuff. I hadn't had the room in my room to keep it, so we all agreed it was okay to put it in the living room. I even left the top shelf open for all three off us to put stuff on. So that it wasn't just "mine". It was all okay until Suzi realized my personal shit was on the book case. All Hell broke loose over that. She kept on me about until I cracked and yelled back at her "And where do you expect me to put the book case, Suzi? Please, tell me where I have room?" That shut her up. But now that my TV was out of my room, I unloaded my book case and moved it and all it's belongings into my room. She never said a word, but I'm pretty sure the bitch gloated.

Suzi held the threat of going to the cops over Betty's head for awhile. Unknowingly to Suzi, Betty had already gone with her dad to the police station to file a report about the incident. Nothing ever happened about that. Suzi was pretty much full of a hot air anyway.

I barely spoke to Suzi after that night. I didn't want to. I thought she had to be the worst person in the world to treat her "friend" like that. Remember, Suzi introduced Betty and I; her and Betty had been friends prior to this. Not besties, or anything, but friends nonetheless. Suzi was also going to be starting her research project. For the College of Ag at Chico State, each student is required to take a two part class for a research project, and do a research project of their own. Many students pair with a professor and piggy-back off their current project. Some come up with their own. Suzi did the latter. Considering the College of Ag works with farm animals and she doesn't. Also consider the fact that Suzi killed an Aloe Vera plant (not kidding), she wasn't going to do a project with plants. Oh no, Suzi came up with her own project and to my dismay . . . conducted it in our apartment. Me? Not a happy camper. Why? Her project title: The Affect of Cage Size on Mother Mice. (Regarding the size cages research mice can be housed in).

Anyone else see where this is going?

Unrequited . . . feelings

Today I watched one of my all time favorite movies. On VHS. Yes, I still have a VCR. I know you're giggling . . . you can stop now. I do own a DVD player - two in fact. The regular one I've had for nearly 10 years and the Blu-Ray I got this year. But I still own my first VCR, because it still works, and I still have movies on VHS because I never went and bought them on DVD. It's a rare day that I watch one of those movies . . . I mean, I actually have to check to see if I rewound it the last time I watched it.

The movie is "While You Were Sleeping" with Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman. I hadn't seen it in a few years, but I found that I still know every single word of that movie by heart. But there is one part of that movie that resonates with me, because, well, the description fits me. Good, bad, or indifferent, it does. If you haven't seen the movie, here's the premise: Sandra Bullock plays Lucy, a girl who is all alone. She saves a guy's life at Christmas and the family believes she's their sons fiancee, even though she's never actually met him. I found a clip on YouTube, that has the scene to which I'm saying that fits me. Unfortunately it's like a 10 minute clip, but if you go to 7:00 it cues it up nicely - "Lucy" is visiting her "fiancee" in the hospital:

The part where she starts her little monologue about where she had "planned" to be versus where she is now. How she states "that I have a cat . . . I have an apartment . . . sole possession of the remote control . . ." That is me. I'm not where I thought I'd be. Growing up, girls like to plan things out - what a good age to get married might be, and if that happens, the age they'd like to start having kids. Owning their first home. I'm still not there. All the ages that I thought things would be perfect have come and gone. And I'm left with "I have a cat, an apartment, and sole possession of the remote control." Now, I'm not alone in the world; I have my friends and family, without whom I'm probably be completely lost.

I thought about this movie today on my way home from my volunteer gig at the horse place today, being that I made a pit stop before I got home. This pit stop made me think of this moment in this movie (minus the bit about someone being in a coma). I mentioned in an earlier blog about a guy that I went to dinner with a few months ago. From this point, he shall be called WB - only a total of four people in this world know what that those initials actually stand for, and it's not his name. I stopped by his house today to drop off some beer that I had originally purchased for him to have with dinner I made one night. He's never been back to my place (and no, it wasn't my food! lol), and I don't drink beer. I'm not much of a drinker to begin with, and I've never acquired the taste for beer. So, a few months after not seeing him anymore, I finally emailed him and asked him if I could stop by to drop it off for him. I felt a little silly (okay, a lot silly) for driving thirty minutes out of my way to drop off four bottles of beer. But he said I was welcome to stop by, so I decided to just do it. Now, he and I have still talked on Facebook once in awhile, but we don't chat/talk/text like we did this last spring - which seemed like tons. I got to his house and meets me outside with his dogs gives me a hug and asks how I've been. He puts the beer in his fridge and asks me to come see the work he's been doing on his and his friends trucks (apparently his friend was there to learn from WB). He's restoring a 1950 dump truck for himself, and he's helping a friend work on a 1950 flatbed truck. Both trucks looked awesome, by the way. I chatted with WB and his friend for a good twenty minutes or so, with the conversation going smoothly. I threw the ball for his dog a few times. Shared a few laughs. When the conversation started to lag, I finally said that I should let them get back to work on their toys. WB walked me out, and I teased him about the way his house looks (he has about a dozen projects going, so it looks like a construction zone), and we shared some more laughs out front. And we hugged goodbye.

The thing about WB is that, from what I've seen and heard, he is what I've been looking for in a man. The only fault I can find with him is his apparent lack of romantic interest in me. He prefers country life to city life, his family owns a ranch, he has a college degree, a good stable job that he enjoys, and he's a perfect gentleman. He offered to kick my ex's ass for breaking my heart, having never met me nor my ex (who was a marine and could probably kill anyone with his pinkie finger). He's restoring the dump truck alone - that takes a lot of talent in my book. He has a house, dogs, has a great sense of humor, has a laid-back personality, is just the right height, has blue eyes that I could dive into, and to round out the whole shebang, he's handsome. I rarely say a guy my age is handsome, but he is. He's cute, good looking, but there's something about him that makes him handsome. And in some ways, I guess is the guy that most resembles my dad, and my dad is one of two men I compare all boyfriends (or potentials) to. Because I want a man like my dad.

For what seems like an eternity in my mind, I've thought him perfect for me. But I realize I can't make him like me. I can't continue to beat my head against a wall to see what else I can do for him to realize "that if he only knew me, he would (of course, dump the perfect model they were with) and realize that you were the person that they wanted to just grow old with". But, though I know I can't make WB do anything (Read: fall in love with me), and I can't stop thinking about him. It's like he's gotten under my skin. Why am I drawn to a person who doesn't like me romantically for whatever his reason(s)? I drove all the way out to his house to deliver four bottles of beer that reminded me of him every time I opened the fridge. I wanted to see him again, as three months of not seeing him was aggravating. I left his house hating him for being so nice and wonderful and handsome and funny. But I felt welcome, even though I felt silly for being there. He never made me feel like he didn't want to see me or talk to me, or introduce me to his friend. He never forced me out of his house to get back to work on the truck.

I remember the day I realized just how "not interested" in me he was. I was visiting my parents for the weekend, and I came out of the computer room and sat with my mom on the couch in the back of the great room. I laid down and put my head her lap, and cried. We talked about it. Mostly her talking and me whimpering, because as we all very well know - mom's are psychic like that. It's scary. I felt silly - 30 years old and crying over a boy with my head in my mother's lap.

And this would just be another reason why I hate boys (yet not really) and dating. Oh the vicious cycle.

Say what?

I'm not sure about the rest of the world, but I have had my fair share of funny/odd/stupid things said to me over the years. Anyone who has ever worked in retail can attest to the fact that some people are definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. But you can find these people or moments even in your workplace. Some things are definitely not stupid, yet are silly. Some just make you go "huh?" and think before you either understand it or decide it's not worth giving yourself a headache over. I won't be using any Psycho Suzi ones in this, mostly because those really belong in blogs about that situation where I can properly set the stage for such comments. (Trust me, they're worth it). However, here are a few anecdotes from the silly questions/comments to the annoying, to the really dumb.

"You know about horses, right? Well, what is a 'draft' horse?" (a horse that pulls heavy loads, like the Clydesdales - they pull that big Budweiser cart) "Oh, see, I thought they were called draft horses because they hauled the beer!" (I totally see where she got that! Easy to make that reference! But still, funny shit.)







"Can I put boy hamsters with girl hamsters?" (Sure, if you're looking to breed them.) "Don't they come to you fixed or something?" (O.M.G. who would PAY money to spay/neuter a hamster?!)

"I have this dog . . . he needs someone to visit him." (Uh-huh. You're old enough to be my dad, you're drunk, and this is your pickup line?) "He's at home, and he's lonely." (Seriously, dude, WTF? I'm going to have nightmares for a month.)

"What am I going to do with my machine? It keeps giving errors." (Okay, um, I don't know what errors you're talking about.) "Well, service called us yesterday." (FYI, I'm not psychic. I still don't know what you're talking about.) "It keeps beeping." (Yeah, that psychic-ness I mentioned earlier, still on the fritz.)

"I'm looking for a book on a dog breed." (ahh. easy.) "I think it's called (I'm spelling it how she sounded it out) Bitchin' Fries." (Don't laugh. Don't laugh. Don't laugh. Shit.) I reply, "Um, do you mean, Bichon Frise? It's a french breed." (Stop laughing at the customer.) "Oh! That's how you say it? Well, now we won't have to whisper it in people's ears." (Please walk away so I can let the real laughter out - it hurts holding it in.)


"I'm gassy today." (Oh dear Lord. Thanks for the warning, but, over share, dude. Over share.)

"I'm really sorry for freaking out. I have G.A.D." (dazed & confused look.) "General Anxiety Disorder." (Riiiiight. Self diagnosis, am I right?)

"I'm really sorry for my attitude/mood swings." (One word: postal.) "I think my glucose levels are off today." (Ohh, that's --- what?)
"I think we're kindred spirits." (Um, okay . . .) "I feel like I could tell you my deepest, darkest secret." (On our third date? Please let it be he has a wife and three kids in Sydney.) "I don't like cheese." (.....................)

"I collect little Lego men." (pffft! really? I think my drink came out my nose.) "I'm currently living with Mom & Dad while I'm looking to buy a house." (buying a house? okay, I'll bite.) "I've been hunting for about two years." (............... blank stare .......)

"Hey, that's a cool bridge!" (Yep, the Brooklyn Bridge is pretty awesome.) "Hey, isn't that the Bay Bridge??" (Um. No.)

"Cool, a map of the US Mints. Let's see . . . where's Boulder?" (That would be in Colorado.) "Where's this one?" (That would be where WE ARE.) "Oh my gosh! You mean D.C. is all the way across the country?!" (and THAT would be why we had a 4 hour flight here. Duh.)

"Wow, what pretty graffiti." (pretty graffiti? isn't that an oxymoron?) "I wish all graffiti was like that!" (that's what we like to call a mural, sweetie.)

"Donate to our church!" (you guys realize you're in an intersection. literally.) [bangs on car windows] "Will you help us help our church?" (help yourselves away from the car.) "No donations means you're going to Hell!" (and you're not on my list to get into my party.)

"You're from California???" (yep, that's what I said.) "So, do you know a lot of celebrities?" (hahaha - no.) "Don't you live in L.A.?" (you do realize there's MORE to CA than just L.A., right?) "Well, you're by a beach then, right?" (the beach of the Sacramento River. does that count?)

I worked for Petco for 3 years, and I came across several nice folks who, while it was obvious the lights were on, it was apparent that no one was home. In some cases this shocked me; like how many times I had this conversation:

Me (heeeyy, he's cute): Hi there, can I help you?
Customer: Sure. I'm really loving this fish here. It's beautiful. I think I'll take it.
Me (ooh, switching to default mode): You'd like the Yellow Tang? Do you have a saltwater tank set up at home?
Customer: I'm sorry - a what?
Me (another one bites the dust): A saltwater tank. The Yellow Tang is a saltwater fish.
Customer: It's a fish. Doesn't it just need water?
Me (trying not laugh): Well, yes. But it needs saltwater, like the ocean. If your looking for freshwater fish, we have plenty to choose from over there in that section.
Customer: What's the difference?
Me (laughter subsiding, urge to slap commencing): Saltwater would be the ocean. Freshwater would be a stream or lake. Saltwater tanks are beautiful but really high maintenance. What sort of system do you have set up?
Customer: Well, I was just going to get a bowl. From the shelf out there.
Me (hello? anyone home? hello??): If you buy the Tang and put it in a bowl, it will be dead in mere minutes. If you're looking for a fish-in-a-bowl type, you can go with a Betta or a simple gold fish.
Customer: Well, how much would it cost to set up a small tank for this guy?
Me (waste. of. air.): About $500 minimum. I'll let you look around some more.

In my first three months, I had this "wonderful" encounter with an older gentleman:

Customer: I'm looking for something to keep the cats off my car.
Me (dumbfounded): Off your car, sir? I'm not sure that's physically possible.
Customer: I'm sick and tired of the cats running all over my car, leaving their paw prints.
Me (you and the rest of the world): I understand that - cats are notorious for going where ever their little hearts desire. But we don't really have anything that would keep a cat off a car.
Customer: Well, what do you have? I can't take this anymore.
Me (oh dear . . .): Well, we do have boundary/repellent sprays.
Customer: No no no, that won't do it. I need to keep them off the car. I don't think that will work on my car.
Me (well no shit Sherlock): Well . . . the only other thing we have are things to prevent cats from scratching furniture, but--
Customer: YEAH! Where's that stuff at???
Me (omg, what HAVE I done??): Ummm, okay. As you see, it's to stick on your couch or chair. It's all sticky and cats don't like it.
Customer: So if I put this on my car, they'll stay off it.
Me (danger will robinson, danger!): You want to put adhesive Sticky Paws on your car? Sir, that will damage the paint job.
Customer: Well, I'll put newspaper under it.
Me (uhhhhh......): So when the cat lands on the car, all of it will slide off - cat and sticky paws.
Customer: No, it won't.
Me (I can't believe I'm having this conversation): So you're going to drive around with Sticky Paws plastered all over your car?

Turns out his daughter forced him to come back the next day and return said items. During my conversation with this man, another coworker was laughing his ass off (literally) at the cash wrap and was in my view the whole time. Made it that much harder to keep a straight face.

Sometimes, you just have to wonder.

Psycho Roomie, Part III

The first two months of living with Suzi felt very much like the worst roller coaster ride. Ever. Betty and I began to find out just how weird this chick was. Now, everyone has their little idiosyncrasies. Everyone has different levels of street-smart or book-smart. And some are a very special kind of stupid or naive. Whichever you prefer. You simply cannot live with someone and be perfectly fine with everything that they do. I'm pretty sure that even after being married for 33 years, my parents have at least one thing about the other that drives them up a wall. Most things you can live with. Or learn to compromise. But what if you wind up living with someone who doesn't really seem to understand the word "compromise"? I was about to find out.

I mentioned in Moving in with Psycho, that Betty and I noticed that Suzi was prone to believing something yet unwilling to show proof. This showed up early on. Suzi's biggest thing in the beginning was fighting about the PG&E bill. (Oh, for those reading that are not from California, PG&E is Pacific Gas & Electric; see: Erin Brockovich or San Bruno gas line explosion. Yep, that's our big shot energy company). She insisted that when not in use, that our computers be turned off. That if we're not in our rooms, any fans or lights should not be left on. This made sense to a point. Betty and I agreed (you'll find this happened a lot) that with the computers, being that we were college kids and all and on and off our computers all the time, that leaving the CPU on was fine. We both agreed that turning off the monitors and printers saved a few pennies, but the CPU doesn't use that much if in "sleep mode". Suzi disagreed. She kept telling us how horrible it was for our computers to be left on all the time. We argued right back that it's just as bad to turn them on/off all the time. Suzi insisted to the point of no return - until I finally had to scream at her that it was "none of her fucking business", that it didn't make that big of a difference on the bill. That shut her up. For about a week. (sigh)

If it wasn't the computers, it was the other thing - fans/lights on in our rooms if we weren't in them. I kept a 12" oscillating fan in my room. I've slept with a fan since I was a kid; I like it. It helps drown out sounds of the world and circulates the air. Suzi got on my case more than once about my oscillating fan being on when I wasn't in my room.

Now, the thing that interested me was that Suzi would insist on the rules above. Yet leave every damn light in the house on, and keep the a/c at 68 degrees. I'm serious. Every light the apartment - kitchen, dinette area, hallway, and living room. Not to mention her bedroom - three lamps. One of which had the fucking clapper that didn't work for beans. And she had the balls to get on our cases about whether or not the CPU's on our computers were on or off. Anyone comprehend this? Because years later, this shit still baffles me.

Every week, the same stupid arguments would come up. Every week, the three of us would be screaming at each other. Usually Betty and myself against Suzi. Nothing was ever resolved. I was really beginning to regret my moving decision. I was not raised in a household with fighting, especially screaming matches. Having to hear it all of a sudden every week was sickening to me. But what doesn't kill you makes you stronger . . . right? In between the fighting things would be okay. There were days the three of us got a long great, laughing, joking around. For instance, one lazy afternoon the three of us enjoyed a lunch together at the apartment. Suzi was playing with her new snap bracelet. (Um, those that grew up in the 80's might remember those horrible snap bracelets. I think schools actually had to ban those things. Fits right in with all the other crap cluttered in this chick's room.). Betty and I teased her a little about it; I think I said, "The 80's called, and they want their bracelet back." She just thought it was the coolest thing. Ever. Possibly since sliced bread. After about 15 minutes of joking around, suddenly Suzi was offended. And all fun subsided. More arguing ensued. Over a damn bracelet. Oy ve.

At one point, Betty and I decided to plan a trip to Europe for the next summer. We thought about telling Suzi about it, but she'd already told us how she had absolutely no desire to ever leave the continental United States. (Seriously, she had no culture). So we decided not to tell her our plans. We bought a map and put it up in Betty's room, using tacks to pinpoint the places we really wanted to go. One afternoon, Suzi comes home while Betty and I are talking - about our trip. We simply switch topics with ease. Suzi asks us if we're talking about our big trip to Europe. Uh . . . what? It took us a day to figure out how she found out. Betty had left me a note on my pillow. The only way Suzi could have possibly found out about our trip was to gone in my room to read said note. So we set up a trap. Sure enough, the only way Suzi found out about the trap was because she'd read the note . . . left on a pillow. She sure respects privacy.

By the time August hit, things were not going so well. For some reason, Suzi was hell bent on pissing off Betty. Me, not so much. In the midst of all the arguing, I was having boyfriend trouble. At the same time things got ugly in the apartment, I stopped hearing from my guy for two weeks. Which in college-kid speak, is forever. Betty came home from a church camp just before school started up. And being that she was around kids for a week, she got sick. Suzi wouldn't let up, telling Betty to "not infect her because she couldn't afford to get sick". No matter how we explained that it was practically inevitable that we, as roommates, might get sick, Suzi kept it up. Basically she told Betty not to touch anything. Or breathe for that matter. Oh that did it. Fight fight fight. After enough screaming I finally went to my room. A few minutes later, I hear a noise. I came out of my room, peeked around the hall to the kitchen and gasped. Betty had Suzi pinned against the kitchen wall. Betty is 5'7ish. I'm 5'3. Betty was more like 5'9 in the shoes she was wearing that night. I knew that if I got directly in the middle I'd get pummeled. By Betty. By accident. I did a choke hold on Betty and dragged her off Suzi. Then got in the middle. I swear there was fire in Betty's eyes and smoke coming out her ears. Suzi was suddenly shouting about calling the cops for battery and filing charges, and fighting wasn't going to solve anyones problems. Betty got on her cell phone to call her mom . . . grabbed a bag and shoved clothes in it. Betty's mom heard the last half of what happened. Suzi practically chased Betty out of the apartment. Betty shouted how she was moving out.

From the minute that Betty crossed the threshold to the outside world, Suzi chased after her - yelling about how running away wouldn't solve the issue, and to come back to work it out.

Oh. My. God. Really?

Quick Observations

Just some observations from running errands and spending my hard-earned money this morning.

1. Why must Jiffy Lube keep it so cold inside their customer waiting area? It was at least 10 degrees warmer outside, and the temperature outside was probably around 60/65. Although I must commend them on not having one of their TV's on the stupid sports channel. I got to watch 30 minutes of National Geographic talking about one of the most adorable animals ever - penguins. And on an even brighter note - I got half off my oil change today! SWEET.


2. I think it does not speak highly of a banker to have such bling that the first words that pop into your head are "MTV Music Awards" or "Rap Artist". Seriously dude, dial it down a notch. Not making it any easier forking over my car payment.


3. I saw a bumper sticker on a truck this morning at Target:

Really? Unless there is a toddler in that truck, such a bumper sticker shouldn't be attached to a truck. Even then, put that bumper sticker in their room or something. Plus I hope that's not all they brake for. Considering Unicorns are very rare creatures indeed, I hope they also brake for all other 4 legged animals. Like those that aren't fairytale creatures.