Anniversaries & Zombies

Yesterday was our anniversary.  Mine and Nick’s anniversary that is, not me and the insane people who read this blog; although if you want to buy me an anniversary present from Tiffany’s I would happily accept it.

 

I’m not going to get all mushy or anything, because honestly?  Not so great with the mushy stuff.  However, that being said I feel like I need to make at least some kind of statement.  To bad the only statement I can come up in regards to the anniversary isn’t actually addressed to my husband.  It’s addressed to all of those people (and holy jabeezus there were a lot of you) that said we would never last 3 months, let alone the 6 years we’ve been married (let’s not even mention the 14 years we’ve been together overall).   The statement?

 

Suck it, Bitches.

 

Let me just say this.  Nick is a saint….an absolute and total saint.  He plans this fantastic dinner out at one of our favorite restaurants trying to be all romantic and anniversary-like and what does he get in return?  A wife who will NOT stop speaking about what actions need to be taken by the CDC, DHS and us personally in the event of the Zombie Apocalypse….and speaking of Zombies, does Jesus qualify as the first Zombie?  Yeah…I’m not sure how the fuck he puts up with me either.

 

Happy anniversary, baby.  I love you so much more than my mood swings indicate and I’m happy every day that for once in my life I got my head out of my ass long enough to make the smartest decision of my life and marry you.  Also, I promise to stop taking about the Zombies. 

 

….but believe me; when the Zombie Apocalypse does happen you’re going to really happy that you had the good sense to marry a lunatic that has a “facination with the macabre” and knows what to do.

 

I love you. 

 

That’s it.

The Post Where I Basically Whine Because Someone Gave me Money

Before I actually get on with the update at hand, Nick has asked me to tell everyone that the game that injured my boob is to be forever called “Dirty Rotten Titty” rather than it’s original name of “Dirty, Rotten Kitty”. And yes, he thinks he’s brilliant for coming up with it.

 

Aaaanyyyywaaaaay:

 

For those of you that don’t know, I got a new job a couple of weeks ago.  My job at the time was sucking so hard that I think it had actually turned into that expensive vacuum.  You know the one the odd British guy sells on television that, apparently, never stops sucking?  Yeah…that one.

 

Basically, my old office (which I loved) merged with another office (which I hated) and I had start driving way the hell out to China everyday.  Seriously, I was driving close to 80 miles every day, with the added bonus of spending $45 per week on tolls.  I was actually loosing money by going to work. 

 

That, coupled with the fact that my job completely changed into something I hated (they were making me talk to people!  I had to be nice!  I couldn’t yell at anyone!) and truly wasn’t good at made me start to think about looking for a new job.  Then my boss/friend, the wonderful and fantastic Sarah was offered a better opportunity at another company and the idiots that ran the company thought it would be a great idea to bring back the old manager who is an incompetent whore.  At that point, I knew it was time to find another job.

 

Two weeks later I find myself starting an new job only 13 miles from my house where they have thrown a disproportionate amount of money at me, given me a freaking huge office, and pretty much said “Glad you’re here, manage the payroll and benefits however you want and we’re not really going to give you any direction or specific goals, or guidelines because we’re not into micromanaging”.

 

Sounds amazing, right?  It is for about a day and a half until you realize that you’re going to have to do something to justify the insane amount of money and huge office you’ve been given.  Sure, I’ve done all the projects that my boss has given me, but they really weren’t that difficult and now I’m typing blog entries trying to look busy.

 

My boss is a very nice, amazingly intellignet woman and I’m sure I will learn a ton by working for her, but I feel completely ill at ease right now.  I’m not sure if this job is really this simple or if they’re taking it easy on me because I’m new or what, but I need a whole lot more to keep me busy.  Even when I go and ask the boss if there is something I can assist her with or take off of her workload since I’m not very busy, the stuff she gives me is minimal.

 

Yeah…I pretty much live in fear of being fired everyday.

…and then Max tried to Remove my Right Boob

Okay, so officially moving on from the last post.  It’s over; I’ve dealt with it, made the necessary changes to my relationships and we’re moving on now.  We shall now refer to it as “The Post/Situation that Shall Not Ever Be Brought Up Again Because I’m done Now”.

 

So…did I tell you that the hurricane destroyed my office and then Max tried to rip my right boob off?  See?  So much funnier than psychotic family members.  Okay, so NOW I’m officially done.

 

I got into the office early on Monday because I knew from talking to my boss that the building had sustained some damage from the stupid goddamn hurricane and I figured that I was going to have to do a little bit of clean up and reorganizing before I could get started on doing things like actually working.  What I did not know what that it looked like a hurricane went through my office, and then a tornado when through, followed by a frat party and then some kind of voodoo ritual was preformed judging by the amount of feathers I found on the floor (yes feathers, and no, I have no idea where they came from).

 

All of my lovely windows were gone!!!  My pretty view in my gorgeous corner office (which I totally don’t deserve, but it was the only vacant office and I refuse to work in cubicle hell) was now covered by very ugly plywood.  There were papers, staplers (one of which was not there before), dirt and crap everywhere.  And holy hell, don’t even get me started on the smell.  I seriously hope that none of you ever smell something so horrible, unless of course, you’re a medical examiner or sewer repair man or something and that kind of stench is normal for you and merely means that you’re still employed.

 

The building maintenance team put several machines that bared strong resemblance to R2-D2 and sounded like a jet engine in my office to apparently trick me into thinking that they were going to fix the damage soon, while I went and ordered new office supplies for my temporary office/closet located at the waaaaay opposite end of our floor from anything I need to be remotely close to.

 

I finally get set up and was just logging into my email and trying to look very busy and important when some very odd man wearing the most incredibly stained shorts and these shoes that made it look like he had glued duck’s feet over his actual feet came into my office and mumbled something about needing to check the ceiling for damage. 

 

Do I even need to tell you that there will be still more repair men in my future as they fix some kind of problem in the closet where I am currently located?  At this rate I’m going to be working in the lobby by tomorrow.

 

More hurricane related bizarreness occurred throughout the day and by the time 4:30 rolled around I was more than ready to head home and flop down on the couch for some quality time with Max the Wonder Puppy and some Pinot Noir.  That is when the “incident” occurred.

 

Max and I were playing our new favorite game which we like to call “Kill the Dirty, Rotten Kitty**”.  Trust me, it would take me way to long to explain the intricate rules involved in this game, so you’re just going to have to trust me when I say that the rules are many and complex.  We now have a new rule to the game:

NO JUMPING UP ON ME, AND SLASHING MY RIGHT BOOB WITH YOUR FREAKING DOG TALLONS, MAX!

 

There was much screaming (on both our parts) a slight amount of blood, a liberal amount of Neosporin and the end result is my new found fear of putting on a bra.  Oh…and lots of Nick laughing at the entire situation because he is totally evil.

 

 

***Shut the hell up PETA; we are not killing an actual kitty, but rather this demented dog toy I got at PetSmart. 

My Family Blows worse that the Hurricane did

Sit down boys and girls, we’re gonna be here a while…

 

First off, we’re fine.  No major damages, just some water clean up, debris clean up and then there was all the fun to be had when we threw all the food in the refrigerator out because we didn’t have power for days.  Compared to most of the Galveston/Houston/Woodlands areas we got off very easy and for that we are extremely grateful.

 

Thank you everyone who called (most of you repeatedly) over the last week to check on us.  I am so grateful to have such wonderful, caring people in my life and your calls and emails really did mean so much to us.

 

As for my “family” (with the exception of my dad) who never once bothered to pick up a phone or send a text or email to make sure we were okay and still in one piece, and that we still had a house…well, um…I guess I only have four words for you and I can’t imagine that you’re all that surprised when I say that those words are FUCK YOU…WE’RE DONE.

 

There is not one of you who I have not been there for when you needed support or needed an ear to listen to you or a shoulder to cry on over the years.  There is not one of you who I have not done everything in my power for when I could.  Yes, there are some times that I was unable to assist you because I live half way across the fucking country or you were pissed off about a situation where I had no control or influence in the matter (i.e. Mom moving to Chicago) and you can’t even pick up a phone to make sure that I’m alive?  Yeah…you fucking suck.

 

I honestly don’t know which is worse: Not bothering to call at all or responding to a text telling you that I was freaking out and scared with “I hope Max has water wings”?  Actually, the more I think about it the more I’m inclined to think that the smart-ass comments are worse. 

 

Really?  How fucking heartless and twisted are you to make this kind of a fucking joke when there is a disaster that is causing people their lives and property going on?  And seriously…what the fuck did my DOG ever do to you?  Better yet…what the fuck did I ever do to you?  At this point I’m thinking that the Dingos that eat their young are probably more compassionate than you are.  At least the baby dingo’s are spared growing up and realizing what self absorbed assholes they have as relatives.  With the exception of a (very) few people, I think I would have been better off having the Manson Family as relatives that the asshats I got stuck with.

 

Now, before I go any further (and believe me, I could go on for days…I even have a lovely parallel drawn between my asshole family and life sucking vampires) let me get one thing straight.  There are going to be those of you who are going to actually have the balls to say (to each other, never to me directly because you are spineless) “Oh, look what a bitch she is.  She told the whole family to fuck off even her poor grandmother”.  Yeah…nice try, but my grandmother is not included in these statements. 

 

The reason my grandmother is not included in these statements is for the simple fact that I don’t even know where she is.  Last I heard she was in some assisted living facility somewhere and even that I had to hear second hand because you are all assholes (are you getting the point, that I think you’re all assholes?).  I have tried calling her house and don’t get any answer and I have tried texting you to find out where she is and how she is doing, but you’re so fucking juvenile that you won’t even give me that much information all because you’re pissed off at my mom.  Hell…I don’t even know if she’s alive because I wouldn’t put it past you dipshits to not bother giving me that information.

 

 

So at this point here’s where we stand:

 

Dad, Bub and the family I’ve created for myself here in Texas – good.

 

The rest of you – please do me the favor of going directly to hell.