Thursday, May 31, 2007

Well, my readership is down...

I normally don't pay too much attention to the little meter that tells me how many people stop in and read my malarkey. (SEE! I listen to you sluts! I'm already working it in more!) But on a whim I decided to check in and see what my current numbers looked like.


My numbers have plummeted. At the height of this madness I was seeing about 200 people a day. I thought that was pretty good considering I don't do any kind of advertising for this humble little page. Now I'm down to around 50 people a day. That's fine too, as I don't really care who reads this stuff, as it's really more for my own sanity than for you. (Sorry, it's true though.) I will say that I do feel a certain kinship with the loyal readers who have been around since ... well, the beginning. I also love the ones who have picked me up somewhere along the way and just keep coming back for some unknown reason. I mean, hey, if you're liking it enough to keep coming back, I must be doing SOMETHING right.

This got me to thinking. And well, the title is something of a double entendre. Yeah the numbers are lower, but the readers who have stuck it out through the worst of times as well as the times of raucous laughter are certainly down with the Lizzle.

And so this one goes out to you, my lovelies!

I want to make those of you who have your name etched on a bar stool here at the Happy Hour just a little bit happier. So I'll put it to you: what do you all love about the Happy Hour? What do you want to see more of? What could you TOTALLY do without? What topic are you anxious to get a Lizzle opinion on that you haven't seen addressed? Suggestions? Comments? Observations? Go ahead and feel free to let me know what's on your mind! (Because aside from dealing with the crazies who's behavior provides me with billable hours every week, I am intensely boring right now... I want what you want! And that's a happier Happy Hour for all of us!)

Monday, May 28, 2007

Who needs a staff meeting when you’ve got beer?

HOLA, readership! (Whoa, did I just briefly lapse into Spanish 101 there? Why yes I did! … I blame the beer!) In case you are particularly dense, and haven’t caught either of the references to alcohol so far, I will go ahead and point out the obvious.

The Lizzle has been drinking. (And we all know the Lizzle’s tolerance is SOOOO not what it once was.) (For the record, Beth, the Lizzle was only on her second beer when she called you, so technically you don’t fall in the drunk-dial category, in case you were wondering.)

Taking it to another level, the Lizzle has been drinking ALONE. (And she is TOTALLY fine with that fact, but still felt the need to point it out.) (It should be noted at this time that she has also lapsed into speaking, or rather typing, in the third person… Never a good sign.) (And apparently she is HUGE into parenthetical statements at the moment, but that is neither here nor there.)

Yes, its 11:30 P.M. on Memorial Day, and the Lizzle has decided to go ahead and keep on boozing it up even though she has to be at the weekly staff meeting tomorrow morning at 9 sharp. The alcohol induces a deeper sleep, so it should all work out fine.


In the interest of being awesome, the Lizzle did very little on her abbreviated Memorial Day weekend. She worked until 7 PM on Saturday… Later than she would have liked, but hey, people are demanding asshats, and part of the job requires that she be somewhat accommodating. She then spent Saturday night watching movies, all day Sunday in bed and/or lounging around the apartment, and since she slept for a large part of Sunday, she was still awake at 7 AM, so she decided to go ahead and take her paperwork over to the office, even though nobody was there to take it, and then she snoozed lightly for a few hours, and proceeded to unpack a few more of the last lingering boxes remaining in the area of the apartment which will eventually be occupied by her dining set once it arrives. She also bought a vacuum cleaner, a really cute votive holder for on top of her entertainment center, and an reed-in-oil-diffuser-potpourri thingy… but I can’t possibly imagine that you could give a crap about any of that.

And since I’ve lapsed back into first person prose, we’ll just run with it.

Since this post is an odd sort of stream-of consciousness, and just an odd little conglomeration of things that you really shouldn’t give a crap about, I suppose I will go ahead and mention that in my very buzzed, bordering on drunk (certainly beyond drivable) state, I have my i-Tunes going, and at the moment, and I can’t think of many songs that have a sexier vibe to them than Imogen Heap’s “Hide and Seek.” You probably don’t give a rat’s pink ass about it, but hey, it’s a free country, I’m not forcing you to read this malarkey.

In the interest of total disclosure, I will go ahead and tell you that I finally found the shelf clips that hold the kitchen cart shelves in place. (They were in a baggie in a box of odds and ends that I’d looked in like 6 times before… I just looked harder this time, I guess.)

Since we’re in the total disclosure category, I guess I will go ahead and tell you about that weekend I had a few weeks ago when all hell broke loose. I’ve been meaning to tell you about it for a while now, and just never got to it, and I suppose that at this point the drunkenness has called it to the front of the mind.

A few weekends ago I casually went looking for one of my clients. I went looking for her at work and found out that she had gotten fired. Instantly I thought, “WELL, CRAP.” And knowing I still had to talk to her, in addition to figuring that this setback would be something that we’d need to discuss, I went looking for her at home. And that’s exactly where I found her. She was devastated, in tears, and from casual observation it was clear that she’d been cutting on herself. She denied it, but I’m no fool.

I had another matter that needed my attention as well, so I told the woman who she was staying with to stay with her, and that I’d be back. I went back to my office, got the other matter taken care of and went back down to see what I could do with the cutter. The cutter was gone by the time I got there, and so I sat and waited for a couple of hours, and then proceeded home when it seemed apparent that she was not going to return. I told the lady she was staying with to have her call me, or to call me herself when she returned.

About 10 minutes after I got home, I got a phone call saying that she was back. So I headed back down to talk with her. When I got there it was clear that while she seemed less upset at that point, she had also been drinking. We talked for a few minutes, and she said that she felt things were hopeless. (At this point my internal monologue went, “Well, FUUUUUUUUCK.”) I told her things were not hopeless and that while we’d hit a low point, there was still a light at the end of the tunnel… But since she’d professed feelings of hopelessness I also had to go through a suicide assessment with her. And so I sat and talked to her for a considerable period about it. And my supervisor went through things with her over the phone. And the supervisor advised me to take her to a hospital to get her checked out. (Easier said than done.) Of course, she refused medical attention. So my supervisor went through the suicide assessment with her over the phone again. He determined that she was not at critical risk, and so it was ok for me to leave. After setting up a verbal agreement that she was to call me before taking any rash action, I left.

You’d think that would have been the main crisis of the week… You’d think wrong.

This whole time that I was dealing with her I was also getting repeated calls from another client saying that the foster placements had not sent adequate clothing with her children for her weekend visit. A large part of me wanted to say, “Listen, I’ve got real problems going on right now… If you need clothes for the kids, Wal-Mart is open 24 hours a day.” But of course I can’t just say that, so I told her I’d see what I could do. –It should be noted that her response to this reply was somewhat less than appreciative. I called the foster placement to see what could be done, and they offered to have clothing available in the morning. I told my client that I would bring the additional clothing from the foster placement in the morning, and she pitched a fit because apparently the children didn’t have pajamas either. (Oh, did I forget to mention that this was at 9 PM on a Friday night?) So, despite the fact that I had the internal monologue of, “You know a big t-shirt works wonders in the pajama department,” I called the foster placement again and mentioned this additional issue and asked if I could come out and get ANYTHING to make this problem go away. They agreed, and I went out to get additional clothing AND pajamas, and I took them to my client. (At this point it was something like 9:40 P.M. on a Friday night.)

Despite my best efforts, apparently the clothing I took to her was insufficient.

As I was leaving her home she said to the kids, “Well, I guess we’re not going anywhere this weekend kids, because you don’t have anything to f-ing wear.” (Lovely thing to say to your kids, especially in front of your service provider.) Let’s not even get into the fact that there was no appreciation whatsoever for the fact that I was willing to deal with this bullshit at damn near 10:00 PM on a Friday night… Or that it was layered in with my suicide assessment lady’s troubles.

So now you have a little bit more clarity and insight into the world of crap me and my bachelor’s degree get to deal with on a fairly regular basis. (Yeah, I only have a bachelor’s degree, and I’m giving suicide assessments… And I skipped class A LOT. How’s that for rational?)

Crap… I still have to get up and go to the staff meeting in the morning. I guess I better wrap up this mess.

G’nite sluts!

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Facts about the Lizzle:

1.) The Lizzle works a job where she is technically on-call 24-7.

2.) The Lizzle does not drink as often or as much as she used to.

3.) As a direct result of facts one and two, the Lizzle has actually reverted to a state where she can get a proper buzz from two glasses of cheap red wine.

4.) The Lizzle, and her former tolerance are totally disheartened by fact #3.

5.) You really ought to read the post below... not because it's particularly interesting, but because the Lizzle took the time to lovingly craft the post. (Really... asking for a once-over from you is really not too much to ask, is it?)

I want a long weekend dammit!

My mom came by on Wednesday night. She informed me that she was going to visit my aunt in Alabama, and that she was leaving Thursday morning around 10 AM... Which would mean that she has a FIVE DAY weekend. SERIOUSLY. FIVE DAYS.

Now if anyone has earned a vacation, it's my mom, but she took the geezer with her, so odds are she won't have as relaxing a visit as one might think would come packaged with a FIVE DAY WEEKEND.

I, on the other hand, don't have a long weekend. Instead I get to supervise visits, do parent aide, juvenile mentoring, (honestly, making me a mentor for anyone... It's tantamount to BEGGING on hands and knees for trouble,) and idly dream of the day that I can take a FIVE DAY WEEKEND.

In case you were wondering, it will be a long time before I can take such a luxurious holiday. Instead, I get my standard two day weekend, and a "floating holiday" to use at my leisure within the next 60 days. And I'm thinking I'm going to take it near the end of July to attend the annual family reunion, (also known as drunken family roast 2007).

Though, I will get another floating holiday for the 4th of July, so I can either take a mental health day as I see fit, or I can make that a 4 day weekend!

Team Medicated won again this evening, no thanks to me, as I was trying to pick up some hours, and we had the early game this week, and so I was unable to attend. I'll be back in action next week though, and it's gonna be great... Because my punk ass is totally hitting the batting cages.

In other news, the term "the wonk" is gaining popularity around the office. I mentioned to a couple of coworkers that I've been battling a serious case of the wonk lately, and everyone seemed to thoroughly enjoy the term. It prompted the following conversation:

Liz: "I've got a bad case of the wonk..."
Ann: "The wonk? What's that?
Liz: "It's when you feel just... OFF... You're not sick, but you're just not feeling like yourself."
Ann: "The wonk... I like that term. Though I should tell you that's what it feels like to get old."
Liz: "REALLY???? God! No wonder my grandpa is such a turd!"
Ann: "But really, I think having the wonk is a good thing... It gives you an insight into how our clients feel all the time!
Liz: "Yeah, but they feel this way because they've got the good drugs!"
Ann: "Well, I suppose that having the wonk is better than having The Clap."
Liz: "Or you could be like Barbie and have The HERP!"
Barbie: "Hey! I don't have the herp!"
Liz: "Keep telling yourself that... We all know better. The cold sores and constantly scratching your nether-regions are both dead giveaways."
Barbie: "Dammit Liz, you've figured out my secret."
Ann: "Well now that you've admitted to it, you can't blame her when the rest of the office finds out."

Seriously, considering we're in social services, an industry where many of our clients ACTUALLY have the clap and the herp, we are big into inappropriate humor at the office.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

The return of the wonk...

I've had that wonky feeling again today.

I think it has something to do with the fact that my schedule is once again in utter turmoil.

I've tried picking up coverage, but today I hardly had anything on my schedule. I slept until noon, felt lazy and wonky until 4:30, then got down to business and worked until 8.

I can already tell you that my paycheck is going to SUUUUUCK next Friday. I know this because I have been billing upwards of 45 hours a week, and last week I billed 33, and this week isn't looking a whole lot better. And that BLOWS.

I have gotten so desperate that I picked up a parent aide case and had the following conversation:

Barbie: "Here's the paperwork on that parent aide case we discussed. It's a little outdated, but I'll get the new information and put it in your mailbox."

Liz: "Oh, lovely... It says on this one that 'Personal hygiene' is one of the things that we need to work on."

Barbie: "Well, like I said, that one is old. It's possible that that issue has since been resolved."

Kellie: "Actually, no... I met her a few weeks ago... It's still a problem."

Liz: (dripping with sarcasm) "Well super!"

This gives me pause, and causes me to wonder, just exactly HOW BAD is your personal hygiene when it gets noted as a problem that needs to be remedied on a referral from the department of family and child services. The answer is something too foul to ponder... And I'm going to have to work with this woman on a regular basis on (among other things,) basic hygiene. LOVELY.

This also causes me to wonder, just how exactly do I approach this woman and say, "Uhh, so exactly when was the last time you showered?"

"Ok, and when was the last time you showered and USED SOAP?"

Is there a tactful way to do that? I mean do I just flat out say, "Hey, in the paperwork I got, it said that your personal hygiene fails to meet minimum standards... So whaddya say we do something on a regular basis to fix that?"

Is there a tactful way of going about this?

Your thoughts?

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Quick question...

I haven't had an opportunity to have cable installed yet. As a direct result, I have television that consists of exactly ONE channel. Fortunately, I don't watch that much television, however, the limited time I do have available for television viewing is usually pretty late in the evening. This causes me to ponder a question that bothers me immensely, and quite frankly, it should bother you too!

The burning question:

How the hell does Carson Daly still have his own show?

I mean, I understand if this hasn't been keeping you up nights, because the odds are quite good that you have more than one channel, or you go to bed at a reasonable hour, so either way, you're not watching this hour-long train wreck 5 nights a week. I don't watch it either... but just knowing it's still on bothers me. Who are the rocket surgeons who greenlit this debacle for additional episodes after the first week? Probably the same people responsible for "Joey."

Monday, May 21, 2007

I'm not calling you bad parents... Oh, actually, wait, THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'M DOING.

On Friday I was desperate to take any cases so that I could make my minimum number of hours for the week. And despite my initial protesting, I somehow got roped into taking a "parent education" case... Which basically means I'm going to go into the home of some people who have had their kid taken away from them because they were physically abusing the kid, and I have to "educate" them how to parent their child. Basically, I have to go in and find a civil way of saying, "Uhhh, hey, you probably shouldn't beat the crap out of your kid anymore, and here's why..."

Of course, that would require that I know something about parenting, for example, apparently answering a kid's question about a potato meant that I was interfering with one of my clients' parenting. I know this because she instantly became enraged, insisted that I was interfering with her parenting, and told me, "Just look around and get the hell out!" (Which is a lovely way to address anyone, especially someone who is only doing their job by checking in on you and your kids... Oh, and of course it's a lovely thing to scream at someone in front of afforementioned kids.) All because of a potato!

Man, do I ever feel loved and appreciated!

Thank goodness my co-workers know what goes on... and thank god for one co-worker in particular who knows just how bonkers this particular lady is, and allows me to vent any time I have contact with her

Friday, May 18, 2007

Friday is going to suuuuuuuuck...

Well, I told you that I had softball on Thursday nights...

I suppose I neglected to mention what sorry shape I'm in, and that I need to hit the batting cages like it's nobody's business.

We had our first game this evening, and though they looked well practiced, we demolished them by a score of 12-4. I know that you don't really care, but I batted .750 with three base hits and a ground out and 3 RBIs. I was pretty impressed with myself as far as the numbers went, though I must say that while it looks good on paper, it was ugly on the field. (And I KNOW it was ugly.)

Add in the fact that I was forced to play catcher, a position at which I have neither experience, nor demonstrable skill, and well, let's just say that it wouldn't surprise me if my coworkers all began to think that I had no athletic prowess whatsoever, which is untrue. (I was just VERY rusty, and playing an unfamiliar position.)

But with all the constant lobbing of errant pitches all evening, and then hauling my chunky butt around the bases, I have no doubt that I'm going to be more than a little sore in the morning. I could already feel it in my back after the game... It makes me realize that I'm getting old at a rate that boggles the mind.

I suppose I'll close this post that nobody particularly cares about by leaving you with a QOTD.

Sheree: "Well, somebody's got their panties in a bunch today!"
Johnathan: "Actually they are boxer briefs! Grey, in case you care."
Liz: "Well, since we're sharing, let's see... I think I'm wearing a multi-colored boy-short deal today..."
[I pull down my waistband just enough so that the three people at the table can see the color of my drawers.]
Jason: "Jesus, where did you get those? They look like they belong in a Dr. Seuss book."
Liz: "Yeah, actually I was lucky enough to find these in Whoville the last time I vacationed there."
Sheree: "You know, there is a part of me that could totally see you vacationing in Whoville."

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Can you find it in your cold, blackened hearts to forgive me?

If you're anything like me, (and I suspect you are,) you don't have a real heart. Instead, you've got something resembling a black lump of coal, (which smells suspiciously of bacon,) where your heart once was. (Your real heart hasn't been there since puberty, and we all know it!) I assume that whether you admit it or not, there is a part of you which is more than a little twisted, horrible, and wrong, and that is the part of you that keeps you coming back here to read my musings. (I know that some of you are remiss to admit that this part of you exists, but I'll tell you something, I wouldn't have you any other way!)

Anyway, I apologize for my recent absence. Truth be told, lately I haven't been feeling too sparky. I'm not ACTUALLY SICK, which would at least be a valid excuse, but rather I've just not felt like myself.

You know that detached, weird feeling you get when you take too much cold medicine? Take that feeling, only subtract taking any medicines of any kind, add a TOTAL lack of appetite (well, actually, I do occasionally have an appetite, but when it comes time to eat I just don't feel up to it, or nothing sounds the least bit appealing,) then add exponential amounts of unexplained exhaustion (expected amounts caused by work, the move, and then additionally whatever it is I've got going on physically,) only when I try to sleep or even just rest, I can't... and when you total it all up, the bottom line is that I've been feeling wonkier than Paris Hilton's left eye.

Basically, I feel like dog shit, but it's still "technically healthy" dog shit... I ought to know, I asked the vet.

And so the long and short of it is, I haven't felt like sitting down and composing a post telling you that I feel gross, but am not actually sick... I know I'm not actually sick, because at no point have I felt compelled to lie completely still on my kitchen floor. (Don't ask, I can't explain it, but laying on my kitchen floor has always made me feel a little better when I am genuinely sick... It's just one of my things. And in this instance it is not applicable.)

In other news, my work schedule is in total, complete, and utter turmoil at the moment because one of my clients bailed on a visit, failed to go to court-ordered rehab, and is about 1.5 days from a jail sentence if she doesn't turn up, another client is skipping town for a weekend, one case has changed to the point where I am only a glorified taxi service, and another case has closed out. So basically, my whole week is JACKED. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself... Though now that I've publicly stated that I've got this kind of availability, I can guarantee with 98% certainty that the shit will once again hit the fan. (I know that this will happen, because that's how this job works... When you think for even the slightest moment that you don't have jack squat to do, suddenly you find yourself in the middle of a shit storm.) It's accepted as a reality of the business. (And that is exactly what happened two weeks ago, and I know I've yet to tell you all about it, but I promise I will get to it... The wonk has prevented it this week.)

I suppose in my last little blurb of information I should let you know about my softball team. We finally got the details. We ARE in the same league as DCS, so we will get to make all kinds of inappropriate remarks during at least one game this season. We also finally nailed down a team name... And I LOVE IT. Our team's name? "MEDICATED." Seriously, if you know anything about the social services industry, you HAVE to see the humor in that team name!

And in closing, I will leave you with a QOTD:

[While sitting at a red light a guy pulls up and revvs his engine like he's wanting to race when the light turns green.]

Liz (on the phone): "Oh my god, this lame ass just pulled up next to me and is all revving his engine like he wants to race."
Kirsten (on other end of call): "Is he at least in a decent car? Or could you totally smoke him?"
Liz: "Umm, I think it's a Corolla... But that's not the point!"
Kirsten: "A COROLLA? DUDE! DO IT! Blast him out of the water! He needs to learn he can't be pulling up like that in a COROLLA."
Liz: "The light just changed. I'm not racing him. And I'll tell you why. -- One, I am not 16. I don't feel the need to prove myself on the road. I think we all already knew how that race would have ended if it had had two willing participants. And, more importantly, two, HAVE you seen gas prices lately? I'm not going to gun it and waste 84 cents worth of gas just to beat some punk at a light!
Kirsten: "Damn, there you go again... Saving the world by not crushing egos or over-using fossil fuels... I think you deserve some kind of award!"

****Oh, and a side note to the smart ass who said she knew where we put my shower curtain, but didn't know I couldn't find it until it was already found: I've got a question for you! Do you happen to remember where we packed the little plastic thingies that support the shelves on my kitchen cart? I can't find them ANYWHERE!****

****Another side note to Jay (Canadian Jay, not Portland Jay) I did write to you! HONEST! And I don't mean to be self-absorbed, but the wonk also kept me from running to the post office, so your letter is on a bit of a delay, but it is coming!!****

Saturday, May 12, 2007

I found that damn shower curtain!

I am a strange packer I suppose.

I was looking in logical places for my shower curtain. I had like three boxes marked "Bathroom" and it wasn't in any of those. Where did I pack the thing? It was in the bottom of a duffel bag packed with shoes. How or why it ended up in there is a mystery even to me, and I'm the idiot that packed it! (Sometimes I'm not very bright.)

My guess is that I put it in wherever I thought it would fit, and since I'm a shoe hound, I guess I figured that my shoes would be one of the first things I unpacked... Next time I'm putting it in a bathroom box, dammit! And if it doesn't fit, then I will just need to get a bigger bathroom box so that it's where it belongs!

Friday, May 11, 2007

Hi, my name is Lizzle... Please yell at me!

Every once in a while I feel the need to look down and check my name badge from the office and make sure that it still says my name, my title, and where I work rather than, "Hi, my name is Lizzle... Please yell at me!"

One of my clients has something of a reputation around my office. I am not the only case manger she has worked with. She had met with one of our therapists, she has met with SEVERAL case managers, and a couple of lower level people, and well... the general consensus among those of us who have had the privilege of meeting with her? Bitch is CRAZY.

I believe some of the other adjectives that I've heard used with regard to her are, "evil, hateful, fucking nuts, wretched, unhinged, and 'Oh don't even get me started on that bitch!'"

I have the dubious pleasure of dealing with her on a pretty regular basis... I see her something like 4 days out of every 5 day work week. I have frequently mentioned the ongoing issues with her to my supervisor. This week I brought it up again, but with the added bonus of "What are my chances of getting this transferred to someone else?" My supervisor gave me a light chuckle. She said, "Do you think this is a genuine personality conflict, or do you just not like her?"

"Both." I responded.

I don't think that the case will be transferred to someone else, because fortunately it looks like we will be closing it soon. (It'll still be a few weeks, but still, in this business where we have had to keep cases open for YEARS and YEARS, a few weeks is the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.) But after tonight's events my case against maintaining my presence on the case just got a little stronger. She seems to think that I "got shitty with her" in a note that simply asked her to call me when she got the note, and she also seems to think that I am constantly disrespectful.

I had a good laugh at that!

The funny thing is that if I treated her half as bad as she treats me on a regular basis she'd know what disrespect was... (Unfortunately there are rules that prevent me from cursing at her and calling her all the assorted names I have for her... I mean I guess I could call her all those names, because really, when it's her word against mine, who is going to believe her?) But I keep my mouth shut in the interest of avoiding additional problems with her, and (secondarily,) keeping my job.

I mean, you'd think that when dealing with someone who you know documents all contact with you and provides services for you so that you can get your kids back, you're going to be nice to the point of being obsequious. You'd think wrong, but don't feel bad, you only think that way because you are normal. These people are NOT normal. As we've noted before, these people are the bottom 1% of the barrel.

I think it's important to note that while I don't judge them for being in the bottom 1% of the barrel, the fact is that I'm there to help them out, and quite frequently I get yelled at for it. In point of fact, I should point out that I find it REALLY interesting to keep track of all the myriad of ways in which I am responsible for their problems. Because clearly it is my fault that they were out on a coke binge for 6 months and didn't care enough to make sure that their 5 kids from 5 different dads weren't getting molested by the neighbors, or (shockingly) even occasionally made an appearance at a public institution of learning. Yeah, that's obviously my fault.

I don't know where I was going with any of this, I just thought you all might like to know what I'm dealing with in addition to moving and trying to locate my damn shower curtain in one of those boxes in my living room.

I feel better now.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

You want a frickin post, NOW?

I told you bitches I was moving on Thursday morning!

And yet, HERE YOU ARE, scrounging for a post.

Selfish assholes! It really is all about you all the time isn't it!?!?

Nah, I'm just kiddin. But really, I'm moving, I can't be bothered writing a post for you!

So here's a video about pancakes. Enjoy!

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Whoa, I move soon...

I have been meaning to tell you about the second half of last week, but I've been too tired and too frustrated with my clients to really get into it.

I will get to it, I assure you, but I just remembered I have to move this week.

Yes, my nomadic ass will be working all day tomorrow, then packing up my crap tomorrow night so that the movers can get things shifted on Thursday morning... And I will work all day Thursday, Friday, and Saturday too... Then I'll have a couple of days to go through and actually unpack my stuff! (FOR REAL THIS TIME!!!)

I love the idea of relocating without doing ANY of the grunt work. It makes me really happy.

I'm also excited to be able to get into the entirety of my wardrobe, and actually be able to wear things that have been packed away for months. (I have seriously been recycling and laundering four pairs of pants for the last several weeks, I'm excited to see my other pants! It's going to be like embarking on an adventure into my new walk-in closet!)

In other news, now that it's officially spring, I am REALLY REALLY getting to miss Chicago. Spring was always my favorite time of year up there. I was flower slingin', the Cubbies played ball, and I attended games when I could, I would go to the beach and look for sea glass, and when I had a day off, I would walk around my fair city with Anthony. (...Oh, and I would drink outside at the beer gardens at night... But that kind of went without saying, didn't it?) It makes me sad that I don't get to do that stuff this year. I'll have to get over it I suppose.

Oh, and I made another wisecrack at the weekly staff meeting today. We had a couple of new hires who were introducing themselves at the morning meeting, and when the second newbie finished her introduction with, "...I just wanted to help people and this job allows me an opportunity to do that!"

I, (again in the half-under-my-breath, but still loud enough to be heard by the otherwise silent room) slid in, "HA! Suckerrrrrrrrrs!"

It was appreciated all around.

Lucky for me, I don't think they can or will fire me for being crass.

Sunday, May 06, 2007

A quick update...

The main floor of my current residence smells disgusting.

I am sitting in the living room, working on my paperwork for the week, and I'm catching whiffs of assorted things that (while some are pleasant odors on their own) just don't jive with other odors that happen to be present.

To fully paint the picture for you, I'm smelling:

  • Leather (from my beautiful new chaise)
  • Whole grain bread (despite the fact that it is wrapped up in a tied bread bag)
  • Feet (because my favorite sandals make my feet sweat, but I still love them)
  • Some other world of funk (because I cooked beer brats for dinner, and they produce a foul odor all their own.)
You know you are so jealous.

You may now carry on with your day. (Oh, but be sure to catch the Sunday update located oh-so-conveniently directly below!)

You rejected me, but now I kind of like you...

Contrary to what the title might lead you to believe, this post is SO NOT about a guy. (I'm ok with being terminally single, I don't go chasing after those who reject me.)

No... This post is about something completely different.

Remember a year ago? (Even though it feels like it's been more like a decade!) Remember when I worked at that first real estate office that laid me off? Well, if you remember that, then you also might remember that while working in that office I was supposed to be medically insured. Well, in the end, I wasn't. Probably because of something I said in this conversation... But that's neither here nor there, as I was laid off a couple weeks later, and thus the health insurance would have been cut off anyway. But still, I was rejected by the insurance company... And really, who likes rejection from anyone?

Well, I guess they found a handy way of helping we poor little rejects get over the agony of our rejection.

(Keep in mind that this rejection was A. YEAR. AGO.)

This weekend, I got a letter from the evil insurance company that rejected me. A. YEAR. LATER.

In spite of my rejection I found the letter quite lovely.

They wrote to inform me that they looked over their records. They found in those records that they owed me money.


Apparently they "tried" to send me my money before. And they seem to think I just didn't cash that check. (Insert HUGE eye-roll here... As if I wouldn't have cashed a check for $382.10 when I was out of a job for 8 months, struggling to make rent, and living on eggs, ramen noodles, and potato buds.)

The funny thing is, I never sent them any money.

My health insurance (had I been accepted,) was paid by my employer IN ADDITION to my weekly paycheck, it was not deducted from my pay. So even though I never paid them a dime, they are writing me a check for a dime, plus $382.00 ...Which is nice.

I suppose that TECHNICALLY that money should go back to my former employer, but since my name was the one on the account, and I was the one who had to deal with their stupid questioning and eventual rejection, I am keeping it. I'm considering it compensation for their stupidity, even though it provided delightful blog fodder.

Speaking of blog fodder, I have been incapacitated by "woman problems" all day, and a good chunk of my time has been spent going through the archives before I was a miserable loaf for so long. All I've got to say is, DAMN, I really did have a good time there for a while! And I also noted that when I was having a good time the writing was SOOOOOO much better! (Note to self: NEW GAME PLAN! Step 1: Have a good time for a long while. Step 2: Pen a novel. Step 3: Retire from real work and have more good times and write more novels. Step 4: Enjoy life as famous humorist.)

As for work, I really must tell you about the last few days, but in the interest of getting my paperwork in on time, I am going to have to wait on that until tomorrow.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

A couple of short notes about work...

1.) I HATE MONTHLY REPORTS. They make me want to jab a pen into my eye socket so that I would have a valid reason for not actively working on them.

2.) I hate that I occasionally I feel like I'm working harder on a case than the parents who are supposed to be trying to regain custody of their spawn. There is no reason that I should EVER be working harder than those parents. Granted, I work hard in every case I'm given, but the fact is that if I feel like I'm putting in more effort just to set up and supervise visitation than parents whose responsibility is supposed to be attending visitation and taking the necessary steps to get their kids back according to court orders. If you want your kids back, then you should be working hard, if not, then save everyone else the time and trouble of dealing with your stupid ass and just sign away your parental rights so that the kids can be adopted by a family who will actually give a damn about them.

3.) I think if the office sets a minimum number of hours for salaried employees to work in a given week to obtain said salary, and then they require you to put in additional hours doing things like CPR training during hours when you would otherwise be doing case work, that they should have to compensate us for our time.

4.)I think I'm getting a reputation around the office as a champion-level smart ass. (This is appreciated in my office, but still...) I say this because while sitting in our weekly staff meeting (which was incidentally attended by both of the founding partners of the office and it's sister company,) on Tuesday, a coworker was trying to get a visit covered. He said, "Hey, if you get lost, call me! Don't call the foster mom... She will get all pissed off and hang up, and then we'll be in a world of hurt." (He was saying this aloud, as a general statement to whomever elected to cover the visit, and not to anyone in particular, let alone speaking directly to me.) I said, half under my breath, and half aloud, "Oh jeez, that's really encouraging, way to sell that visit!" When appreciative laughter erupted from other areas of the meeting I realized just how loud I'd said it... Well... At least they know I'm a realist.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007


No, I'm not going to get political, cool it! (Besides, if you're coming here for your politics, you've got bigger issues to deal with than ... well, let's just say you've got some major issues.)

No, I'm issuing a veto of my own.

If you have paid any kind of attention to the timelines I operate on here, you'd know that once again, it's time for me to submit monthly reports on my caseload again.

As such, many hours of this week which would have otherwise been regarded as free time for the Lizzle will now be spent poring over every single scrap of paper which I've submitted in the last month, and condensing it into as few pages as is humanly possible... Which still ain't saying much as far as any conservation efforts are concerned.

And so I'm putting an official veto on the table. I've signed it, and I've had it notarized in 38 states. You are officially not allowed to entertain me until Friday at 4 PM.

I hope you don't vote me out of my office of awesomeness due to this legislative snag.

In other news, I would like to encourage you to buy me things.

Specifically, these t-shirts...

Go here, and spend money on me! (If I plan on wearing them to work, which I TOTALLY would do, they can't be too tight, or too short, so I'm advising you to invest in a men's medium, so that my spectacular boobs are not on display.)

Thank you, that is all.