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.

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!

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.

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.

ARROOOOO?

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.

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.

VETO!!!

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.

Who are you, and what have you done with my real family?

I had an extraordinary day today. Though in the interest of literary license and general suspense, I'm going to tell you about it all out of order.

I got up with only a short list of things to do.

Go to church. (CHECK.)
Get a chop for dinner. (CHECK.)
Get laundry done. (CHECK.)
Go out to stores and look at possible chairs for my new soon-to-be living room. (UMMM... CHECK.)

I got up. I went to church. I talked to mom about looking at furnishings. She said we would get a chop for dinner, and then go looking at things. And the plan was to do laundry after dinner.

Well, we got the chop. And I got my laundry done after dinner, and we already established that I went to church. All this was according to plan.

After my laundry finished it's last tumbles in the dryer, I packed it up and prepared to take it home. I realized upon arriving home that I had forgotten my leftovers from dinner in the fridge. I let momma know, and she said she'd bring them by in a little bit. And when she did bring them, she informed me of an interesting exchange she had with the old geezer.

Momma: "I'm going to take those leftovers to Liz."

Old Geezer: "Oh, I just figured she'd come and get them tomorrow."

M: "Well, she could, I suppose, but I told her I'd bring them."

OG: "Why is that? She doesn't want to come over? Doesn't she like to come over here?"

M: "Oh, no, it's not that. She likes it just fine. I just told her I'd bring them... Do you like for her to come over?"

OG: "Well, yeah. I like it when she comes over. It's nice to see her!"

For those of you who stuck with me through the development of that story line, and know how I was repeatedly made to feel as though I were the ultimate burden in my time there, you were in all likelihood as surprised to read those lines as I was to hear them! When my mom told me this, I wondered if the old man had been into the bourbon again. Though it really wasn't the first time today that I had to wonder if Xenu had kidnapped my real family and replaced them with deceptively physically accurate cyborgs... Or something.

Earlier in the weekend, I decided to go and look at living room furniture, as in my new apartment, I will actually have a proper living room which will need to be furnished. I asked momma if she wanted to come along for any and all rounds of furniture perusal, as I value her opinion.

We looked on Saturday, and while we found a few pieces that went into the "maybe" column, nothing really popped. The fact that I also had little money to throw at the problem of not having furniture also gave some credence to the idea that we were LOOKING and not in fact BUYING.

Well, Sunday we ventured out to a grouping of stores, and found that they had a beautiful leather chaise. (It should be noted that I have ALWAYS - or for at least as long as I've had the desire to own any piece of furniture- wanted a chaise. I have always fancied them. I think they are very chic.)

I sat on it, and found it to be quite comfy as well as being very stylish. I balked at the $1000 price tag on it though. I moved on to look at other pieces... though in my heart, I lusted after the chaise.

Mom knows that I have a weak spot for stylish functional pieces.

Mom speaks to a manager.

Mr. Manager finds a tape measure.

Mr. Manager measures the object of my lust... As well as the dimensions of the rear of my mother's SUV.

I know that there is no chance in hell that mom is thinking of purchasing a $1000 piece of furniture for me.

Mom is a natural-born bargain hunter... She wouldn't blow a grand on a piece of furniture! That's just a FACT.

Mr. Manager and mom are in cahoots.

I won't give away the secret, but momma made little Lizzle's dream of owning a chaise come true. And for a LOT less than you'd imagine. (And no, Michael, she didn't get a "special price" by commission of any pervy sex acts in the stock room! My momma is a saint!) I think that the Xenu purchase-power cyborgs are equipped with some kind of mind-meld tactic that we simple humans are unable to escape... Poor Katie Holmes never really had a chance, and neither did Mr. Manager.

Mom, (I believe still drunk on her dealing-skill power trip) then said, don't you have a dining room too?

ARROOOO?

"Umm, yes. I do have a dining room." (I nearly choked on the words.)

"You have a dining room, and no table or chairs... You need a table and chairs."

(The wheels in my head were spinning... Damn you Xenu! I loved my momma just the way she was! You're trying to seduce me into loving this cyborg clone by buying my affections! You can't buy me Xenu! YOU CAN'T!)

"Well, pick out something that will work for you."

(Xenu... [cough, sputter] I am weakening to your buying power! )

(Jeez, now I know how Katie Holmes felt in the beginning... just before her lobotomy.)

I found a table and four chairs that worked for me.

Momma said, "RING IT UP! ...OH, and DELIVER IT! We don't want to have to fool with hauling it ourselves."

I know that I have said in recent posts that momma was the hotness... Today she was putting THE FIRES OF THE SUN to the test with her hotness. There was just no stopping her!

And even when I pulled out the old, "ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY SURE ABOUT THIS?" card, she didn't bat an eyelash.

"Yes. I'm sure. You need real furniture for your new place. And this is my way of ensuring that you will spoil me when I am old. You now have to put me in the good home."

So you see, my momma, is the awesomest.

(...And so is her cyborg clone.)

You'd think that after racking up 6 pieces of furniture I'd have been cut off. But momma still wasn't done.

Accent pillows, and an antiqued wall-hanging that reads, "HAPPY HOUR" were also in order.

My mind reels at the dizzying rate and degree to which I was spoiled this afternoon.

I know that my mom has ALWAYS been an exceedingly generous and caring soul. She has always put the wants and needs of her children above her own. I think this afternoon was just the latest display of her doing something for someone else before taking her own needs or wants into consideration.

(I also think that with the recent sale of her house, she has found a little financial freedom to make herself happy by being more able to do things for others... She really is the awesomest!)

A relatively uplifting day...

It's no secret that when you work in social services as a whole, you're dealing with the bottom 1% of the population 99% of the time.

Basically, when these people eventually have their kids taken away, it is because EVERY SINGLE other option has been exhausted due to total and utter failure. And a large portion of the time they are NOT happy to see you, and they don't want to have anything to do with working with you, or the system that you represent. Today was a little different.

I work with one client who (in the scheme of things) was doing well initially. Her drug tests had come back clean for long enough that her social worker had wrangled her a spot in a shelter that was willing to allow her to live there for up to two years to really get herself established before making her do it all on her own. They were willing to put a roof over her head, help her to save money for her future costs, they were willing to feed her, clothe her, provide her with free daycare once she got her kids back, and see that she got a full-time job that she would actually like. Basically she really had it made in comparison to most of the folks who we deal with. The only real rules she had to abide by? She had to do a daily chore, she had to keep her room clean, and she had to remain drug free.

Well, she blew it.

And since then, she has been technically homeless, sleeping on the couches on acquaintances and just kind of living moment to moment, not to mention hand to mouth.

Since that MAJOR setback, we've been working in baby steps. Getting her food from food banks, clothes from charitable clothing centers, working on appropriate child discipline by watching videos on parenting. And while those steps are worthwhile in meeting immediate needs, the fact is that they were doing little to make progress in the big picture... meaning that going to a food bank for a week's worth of food, while feeding her now, isn't something that a court looks too highly on, because she is still overly reliant on the system to support her. And so, when I met with her this morning, I went in with an agenda... but to be nice, I asked her if she had anything she wanted to work on during our session. Luckily she bought right into my plan. She wanted to look for a job. She wanted to have a real income. And so I told her, "GREAT! We're going to go and get applications from every place that you would be WILLING to work in a certain designated area." And so we went. And we got applications from something like eleven different places that were currently hiring. We even got her an interview at a telemarketing firm. And toward the end of our session, there was a small string of places that she hadn't considered. I offered them up. She said she wasn't sure. I told her, "Hey, if you don't go and ask, the answer is always 'No,' so you might as well give it a shot." And in that final string, she went in, she filled out an application, she interviewed, and she was hired on the spot.

She came out with the biggest smile, and gave me a double thumbs up. She was so excited, and I was excited for her. It might not be the most glamorous job, and it seem like such a small step, but for her is was so huge! And for that moment I was so thrilled for her. She was making an effort to get things moving in the right direction all on her own!

That was the best part of my day... And really, the best part of my week. (Maybe even longer than that.)

But then, of course, I had to move on and deal with other, less compliant clients, who are still in the less-than-thrilled to see me phase. Ones who have nothing standing in their way but their own stubbornness.

If there were some kind of medal for people who decide to be obstreperous, and stick with it, I've got a couple of clients who are totally up for medal contention on a professional level. (The Olympics are for amateurs... THESE folks are DEFINITELY PROS!)

And that drags me down a little bit.

But then I talked to my supervisor about this progress, and she noted that it really was a big deal, and that she was thrilled we were making this kind of progress with that particular client. She also noted that with the other clients, "you can lead a horse to water..."

But all in all, I'm willing to put today in the win column. I actually feel like I've gotten through to her, and I'm getting her to realize that there is a lot that she can do to help herself, she just has to TRY!

And upon completion of my work day, I celebrated by drinking a couple of bottles of wine... YAY.

We bond quickly...

I was talking to Sheree, a co-worker who started working at my office about 3 weeks after I started, and she said something that amused me immensely.

Every week we have a staff meeting on Tuesday morning. We usually wrap up the meeting around 11:30, and most of us try to set up our schedules so that several of us go to lunch together. The lunches are always HIGHLY entertaining. We exchange horror stories about our cases, we rip on each other, we enjoy each other's company, and of course we have a lovely meal.

While on the way to our weekly lunch, I was talking to Sheree, she mentioned that her husband was saying that he missed her since she was now working a lot of odd hours, and that he didn't ever get to see her anymore. She said that he jokingly said he was considering leaving her because she was never around anymore. She informed me that her reply was "Eh, go ahead. I enjoy spending time with all my new friends anyway."

I was amused. The irony of breaking up a marriage while reuiniting families was not lost on me. But hey, at least we all feel like a part of a family at the office... We're a little dysfunctional and occassionally crude, but dammit we're fun.

God bless my mother...

I was talking to my mom this evening, and she informed me of something that I found quite delightful!

She informed me that in my upcoming move she will be hiring movers to relocate all of my crap.

"What? How much is that going to cost you?"

"It doesn't matter. You've done it enough. I don't think you should have to do it again, so I'm getting someone else to do it!"

"Really? You're going to hire people to move the crap I've already moved like 6 times? I mean I know I can do it. It will suck like always, but I can do it."

"Nope. You're not going to have to do it. If I hire guys to get it in the door at your new place, you can set it up, right?"

"Well yeah. I've done that every time I've moved too... I've just always done it IN ADDITION to moving it myself."

"Well, now you don't have to move it, you just have to set it up."

"Wow! Thanks momma!"

"Don't mention it, I know a guy. He owes me a favor... Actually, he owes me a FEW favors."

So basically, my mom is the hotness... At the end of the conversation she sounded like a member of the Corleone family, but I'm not going to argue with her either way.

In other news, my office recently received the paperwork on a DCS (department of child services, for those of you not in the know) case that was recently billed on the local news as "The worst case of abuse or neglect ever seen by local officials."

To work in the trenches like my coworkers and I do, it's utterly terrifying to hear someone say, "We just got the call on that case..."

"Which case?"

"The one that DCS called the worst ever seen locally."

"Oh... ...Shit... Who got it?"

"Um, the new guy."

"They assigned the 'worst case ever' to the new guy? ARE YOU SERIOUS? We're going to scare the bejesus out of him! He'll quit before he gets his first check!"

"Nah, he's already gotten his first check... But in addition to that paycheck, he's also got availability. So he got it."

"Jesus! ...What's the name on that case again?"

"XXXXXXXX"

"Ok, mental note to self, don't EVER volunteer to cover that case!"

"No kidding."


Though, I will say that my first caseload was regarded as nightmarish by many veteran workers, (including one worker who has been doing my job for EIGHT YEARS who handled ONE of my visits and instantly said that she would NEVER do a visit on that case EVER again,) and although I have good days and bad, and I have days when I would much rather just ignore every phone call I get, and not deal with my clients, all in all I am glad now that I got the cases I got right off the bat. Some people might think I'm absolutely insane for saying that, but I think that there is something to the whole "trial by fire" thing. And that's why people in my office who have been doing my job for years look at me as a fellow veteran among them.

Yeah, they love me over there.

Basically, I think the new people having availability to do the new nasty cases that come in affords the office a chance to test your skills straight out of the gate and know very quickly whether or not you can take the heat. It's interesting to say the least.

HOLY CRAP!

It's been a week since I updated here?

REALLY?

Jeez! I'm sorry! I've neglected the few of you who actually give a crap about what goes on here.

To be perfectly honest, I have been very busy, though with nothing of any particular interest. In the last couple of weeks, every waking moment not spent working has been spent trying to find a reasonably priced, decent apartment. I've been supervising visits, and visiting apartment complexes pretty much 18 hours a day. And after all of that, quite frankly I was tired. And I didn't think it would be of particular interest to you, so I spared you really.

Long story short, I found out that there are apartment complexes around here that are just utterly ridiculous! Here are some highlights:

One complex, while demanding roughly a third of my gross monthly salary for rent (not including utilities) determined that I actually made too much to live there. Seriously! I made too much to live there, but they wanted 1/3 of what I do make to be spent on rent. So I said to the woman who was showing me the apartment, "Wait, you want $XXX.xx for rent every month, but because I make $XXXX.xx a month I make too much to live here? How does that work exactly?"

Her response surprised me. She said, "Well, we're a tax abatement program."

"So... What, you're like nicer looking section 8 housing?"

"Well, no."

"Well based on what you're telling me, you expect people to move in here, and spend like HALF of everything they have coming in just to have the privilege of saying that they live here, and that you don't even include utilities for half of a person's gross income... You're telling me that you're a tax abatement program, so here's the question, is there some kind of incentive for people to live here? Your residents don't OWN the unit, so who is actually benefiting from the tax abatement?"

"Well... Uhhh...."

"Basically, you're advertising to your residents that you're robbing them blind by overcharging on rent, and that you get to write off your profits and that they won't reap any real benefits?"

"Well... Uhhh... Um... Have I mentioned that we have a pool?"

"Have I mentioned that I make too much to live here, and that I'm not an idiot, so you need to stop trying to sell me on this place?"

Basically I totally shut down her game. We parted ways shortly after that. I just wanted that woman to know that she didn't have me fooled.

I talked to several of my co-workers, and ended up finding a really nice apartment complex that is a little out of the way, where I will never have to worry about running into any of my clients, (because that was a concern with a few of the complexes I toured). I submitted paperwork to apply for a place there today, and pending approval of my application (which basically consists of them finding out that I have some cash in the bank and no felonies on my record) I will be moving into a lovely new apartment with a washer & dryer in the unit, a dishwasher, delightful balcony, and a view of the tennis courts in just a couple of weeks! And I'm genuinely hoping that this will be the last move I have to make until I make my way back to Chicago.

In other apartment complexes, I found that people seem to think that it makes more sense to pay huge sums of money to a leasing agency on a monthly basis for an apartment that they will not own, rather than paying somewhat less to a bank for a whole HOUSE that they WILL own. I mean I understand why some people opt for apartments, but after seeing some of the rates that these places are charging, and seeing that they are pretty much totally rented out, I just gotta say WOW! People are nuts!

Before some random person attacks my last statement, I'm electing to rent because my finances are still in recovery, and because I don't plan on living in this neck of the woods long enough to commit to buying a house. And I'm not directly attacking anyone who elects to rent, because I'm sure they have their reasons too, but I just want it known that I think there are a bunch of people out there who are insane for paying the rates they pay around here, SO THERE!

In other news, I was tempted to entitle this post, "My mom said she thinks your mom is a bitch! (And by 'your mom' I mean mother earth.)" The reason for that? My mom spent earth day signing papers to seal the deal on her new SUV. I found that totally hilarious.

The only other tidbit I have for you is that I bought a few more acres in hell today. I was talking to a coworker of mine, and she made a smart ass remark. I retorted by saying, "You know, if you weren't pregnant, I would totally punch you in the mouth!"

Yes, that's right, I threatened to punch a pregnant coworker! Sweet little eight pound, six ounce baby Jesus, forgive me!

Touched...

There have been countless memorials and articles constructed surrounding the shooting at VT already.

I am reluctant to say anything on the subject, in part because I feel like whatever I might say on the subject would fall so grossly short of doing any kind of justice to anyone who was personally impacted by this senseless act of violence. But I'm going to say something because in a tangential way, it hit home for me as well.

As I have previously mentioned, I have a cousin who attends Virginia Tech. And while he was lucky enough to avoid physical harm, the fact is that 23 students were harmed, and 32 students and members of the faculty paid the ultimate price in Monday's tragic events. (I don't count the gunman among the dead, because I don't feel that he deserves to be placed among the innocents. Though I acknowledge that even his death had an impact on those who knew him.)

The main reason I was compelled to issue this missive is because I was shocked that something like this COULD and DID touch someone I love. And I think it's important to not only recognize the victims themselves, but also the people who are left to mourn them.

A secondary reason I felt that something must be said is that I am disgusted by the way most news outlets have been covering this story.

I understand that many people have a morbid curiosity to peer into the mind of the assailant. They want to know more about the who and the why. I know that that's what draws in a great deal of readership. But I feel like that kind of article presents the wrong kind of focus. It talks of the "largest massacre" to date. It names the killer, and presents possible motives. It shows other ill-minded people that if they dish out enough horror, THEY will be the focus of the notoriety. It also shows them that the bar has been set by this person, and that since this person has the record, they surpass all others who preceded them. It is basically an invitation to escalate the violence. It invites people with bad intentions to go above and beyond those who came before so that they can be the one who tops the list, and so it's their name that will be remembered. It's a slippery slope, and I fear that we haven't seen the worst yet.

I think it's more important to make articles about the victims the focus of our attention. They did nothing wrong, and they were the ones we lost. Their possible impact on the world is lost forever. Their stories are so often forgotten. I think it's more important to place the focus somewhere other than on the perpetrator.

I won't ramble on anymore, because as I said before, I don't feel like anything I could say would do any justice to the horror of the situation, or to honor those lost.

Another move...

Well, for those of you who don't already know, my mom finally got a good offer on her house.

Since this is where I'm currently residing, this means I will have to move AGAIN.

And so, after getting an oil change and getting my brakes checked during the tire rotation, I went apartment hunting.

I've found a few reasonable options, and I'm really hoping to be done with all of my moving nonsense for a good long while within the next month. (I'm not looking forward to moving YET AGAIN, but since this will be the last time for the foreseeable future, I'm looking forward to being done with it.)

While speaking with the leasing agent at the best prospect, we engaged in the following conversation with another leasing agent in the complex...

Leasing agent 1: When were you hoping to move in?

Liz: May 15th, or a couple days before.

Leasing agent 2: Oh... I don't know that we'll have anything ready until the 18th. Do you HAVE to move on the 15th?

Liz: Well they want possession at closing, and they plan to close on the 15th.

Leasing agent 1: What can we do?

Leasing agent 2: Well, we could let her live in the model for a few days until her apartment is ready. We're not going to let her be homeless.

Liz: Well, I appreciate that you're trying to accommodate me and all, but I personally think it would kind of suck to move all of my crap into one apartment, only to have to move it to another apartment 20 yards away three days later... You guys going to help me move?

Leasing agent 2: Uhh... Well, no. I don't guess that would be too much fun would it?

Leasing agent 1: I guess we'll have to have that apartment ready by the 11th.

Leasing agent 2: Hmm... well, I don't know what we're going to do! We'll figure something out.

Knowing my luck, I can only imagine the debacle that will ensue... Have no fear, it will undoubtedly be chronicled for you to read and enjoy.

============================

In other news, my cousin who is a student at Virginia Tech was not harmed in the latest round of nonsensical violence. I spoke with him at about 11 AM, and he said that he was not on campus at the time of the incident. I am glad that he is safe, and my heart goes out to those who were not so lucky.

============================

And in one last unrelated news blip, I have signed up to play softball for my company's team. We plan to be in the same league as the team from the department of child services, so I can only imagine the inappropriate jokes which will ensue... And so that about wraps it up for the Lizzle. (Boring, I know.)

Oh, and for those of you who don't already know here's a quick recap of my most loyal readers, Marcia can't sleep, Debbie finally got properly laid, Holly is excited about adopting, and Kelly is still miserable and continues to fall apart. (In summation, that sucks, that's awesome, that's spectacular, and I really wish there was something I could do to help!)

My nephew, the next notorious serial killer... and other things

I went to breakfast with my sister this morning. While sitting at the table, enjoying my pancakes, I look up in time to see my youngest nephew, Cody (age 2) stab an old woman walking by with a fork.

There was never any indicator that he was going to do this, he was just holding his fork, enjoying his own breakfast, and right as she passed by, BAM, he turned it on her! The old woman thought it was cute. And of course he giggled like it was HILARIOUS... My sister and I saw something far more sinister! Before you know it he's going to be tormenting neighborhood animals, and from there it's only a few short steps to him becoming a giggling birthday clown who is having his basement excavated by the feds because that was where he disposed of his victims, a la John Wayne Gacy.

If it doesn't turn out that way, then great! But if it does, I want it noted that I SOOOOOO called it!

In other news, yesterday was another sister's birthday. I called her, and in all likelihood, I will be travelling down to her KIM-stravaganza this weekend.

I have little else to report at the moment... And so I will pull a Lozo, and in lieu of text, I will provide you with an entertaining video.



And after watching this, there should really be no doubt as to why Lindsay Lohan is currently in Japan... Clearly they have some good stuff there!

The snippet post, (take 2)

Despite the fact that the response to the last snippet post was somewhat less than overwhelming, but I really enjoyed writing it... So much so, that I think I'll do another one.

In case you are not familiar with the snippet concept, here's a recap, cut-and-pasted directly from yesterday's post: "The idea is that you write little snippets of whatever length to whomever you wish, but you don't assign names to any of it... People can try and figure out if they are among the snippets, but I like the anonymity aspect."

Round 2 of the snippets... HERE WE GO!

• There were things said and done between us that might have seemed regrettable to some, but I wouldn't take any of that back. My only regret is not saying or doing more.
• I find you a little bit creepy. And you're not NEARLY as funny as you think you are.
• You, on the other hand, are hilarious. And based on your level of self-deprecation, I don't think you even really know how funny you are.
• I was not shocked by your "coming out." I was shocked at the lengths you went to conceal the truth from everyone... Even those of us who you said you didn't fear judgement from. I love you just the same.
• I miss the old you. The one who was unafraid to publicly roll on the ground with laughter. The one who would run through the halls screaming just for fun. The one who would happily frolic in a fountain without any concern for consequences. Where did she go?
• You aren't better than me. You think you're smarter, but you lack the common sense. You think can handle yourself, but you were an embarrassment more often than not. And you are not nearly as tough as you would like to think. I don't think I'm better than you, but I do think you need to get off that fucking high horse.
  
• I'll admit to being an insensitive asshole, if you admit to being overly reactionary.
• I'd have done a lot more, and enjoyed it, but you dragged me away. I resented that for a long time... Now I'm actually thankful.
• I hope someday you actually find the happiness you profess. But if you ask me, that can't possibly happen until you're honest with yourself.
• I think you still look at me as the one that got away. I used to see you that way too...
  
• I will always be indebted to you for giving me a chance. I hope I didn't let you down.
• I miss our conversations.
  
• I think you both always knew you were just spinning your wheels... But neither one of you wanted to be alone.
• Even if you did have a girlfriend, and it wouldn't have done any good, I regret not telling you that I had a crush on you.
• I think you told lies about me, because you were afraid that if you didn't say something everyone would have recognized you for the bore you really are.
• It's not nearly as exciting as you think.
• I watched her put bugs in your hair in the 5th grade. I'm sorry I didn't say anything.
• Your coffee cup was never as clean as you thought it was.
• I laughed. I shouldn't have, but I did.
• I still feel like you chose the easy way out... And I hope it haunts you.
• Your dress looked like it belonged on a tranny hooker... But you loved it, and you felt beautiful in it... It showed.
• You told me not to go. I told you I didn't. I lied. I went, and had an AWESOME guilt-free time!
• I wasn't sorry for being honest.
  
• I think you should be ashamed of yourself. Your manipulations did not go unnoticed.
• I know why you didn't, but I'm telling you, you should have come to the beach.
• It's liberating. You should try it.
• There is not always room for Jello.
• Once. In eighth grade. And never again.
• I couldn't do that because I didn't want to be the reason that someone else got hurt.
• I still kind of regret not REALLY telling you off.
  
• You were admirable because you acted with such reckless abandon. And I hoped to one day be so free. Thanks for making me see that in myself.
  

I think that's all for round two.

Something a little different...

I saw someone else do this a long time ago... I made a mental note to try it out sometime.

The idea is that you write little snippets of whatever length to whomever you wish, but you don't assign names to any of it... People can try and figure out if they are among the snippets, but I like the anonymity aspect.

• I don't know why you won't talk to me anymore... But I still want my books back, I loaned you some of my favorites, and I don't want to have to buy new copies. I want the copies that I made notes in.
• I knew long before I ever let on. It's ok. I'd have kept your secret forever.
  
• I was shocked when you told me that you were hurting yourself on purpose. I never told anyone, but only because I talked you into getting some help. If talking to you hadn't done any good, I would have spilled the beans, because I love you too much.
• I was PISSED when you didn't ask me to be in your wedding but still expected me to help... In fact, I'm pissed that you only ever call me when you want something. I don't think you've figured out that that's why I don't answer your phone calls. I often wonder how long it will take you to figure it out.
  
• Thank you for being there. There were days when just having a coffee and a chat with you was enough to sustain me for a little while longer. Your time and your candor meant more than you possibly imagine.
• Drinking 40s with you on the porch was ghetto, but I knew it was one of your "goals in life." I was more than happy to do my part to make that dream come true.
• Yeah, I used your toothbrush to scrub the toilet bowl and didn't tell you. You deserved it.
• I told you that the nightmares had stopped long ago. They haven't.
  
• I might not be a licensed clinical psychiatrist, but I KNOW that you need some serious mental help. And I also know that you are totally in denial about why people don't want to be around you... Here's a hint: YOU'RE FUCKED IN THE HEAD!
• I don't think you love them. I think you do it for the money and the control.
• You make a purring noise when you talk sometimes... It's not cute. It makes me want to punch you in the face.
• You used to call me and bitch about your life for hours. That's fine and all... but you never let me get a word in edgewise. Here's a tip: It's called DIALOGUE because there are supposed to be two people talking. That's probably why I felt totally ok with sitting the phone down for a while so that I could go and take a dump. I'd come back like 10-15 minutes later and you were still babbling. You never missed a beat.
• I know that there are things you don't like about me. I revel in those aspects of myself just to spite you.
• I'm so glad to know that you are happy... Even if I can't share it with you.
• I hope that before you die you realize what you've done to the people who loved you... And I hope you realize that they all continued to love you in spite of your shortcomings as a person.
• I think you lied about all of it. And until I see some form of medical proof, I won't believe any of it.
• You have the face of a rodent. I always wanted to tell you, but I think you already knew. I hope your offspring is more fortunate than you.
  
• I knew it wouldn't last. But I didn't say a word because I already knew that you wouldn't have listened.
• He looked back one more time. You didn't see it, but I did.
  
• You have no taste. Stop deluding yourself.
• It really was the best vacation ever. I'm glad you were there.
• You could have done so much better... Why you wasted so much time with that one, I'll never know.
• I'm jealous of everything you have. But I don't begrudge you anything!
• It didn't go down quite the way I told you.
  
• I never understood why you did the things you did. I hope you realize now just how much you hurt everyone who loved you. We are still waiting for an apology. I don't think that it will ever come.
• We all knew then. We all know now. Stop lying about it. It's gotten ridiculous.
• I liked listening to you sing... I just wished you would have picked a different song every once in a while.
• Your shoes were ugly. I know you loved them, but you looked like a fool.
• I resent you for underestimating my intelligence. I find it insulting that you think just because you're older, you're wiser. You're not... I don't know much, but I do know that.
• Yeah, he made a pass at me. I was 14. It was creepy and gross then, and it's creepy and gross now.
• I know you've given up hope, but I still hope that you will find happiness. All is not lost.
• What did I know? I was 10. I'm glad you forgave me!
  
• I'm sorry I rejected you. If I could take it back, I would. I should have danced with you all night.
• I'm glad we are talking again. I only wish we could get back those lost months.
• I love you more than you will ever know. I've tried to tell you, but I don't think you really get it.
• It makes a difference to me. I want to see you succeed. I want to cheer for you.
• Oh, that movie sucked. The acting was horrible, and just about aspect of it was cliche, but you loved it, so I faked that enthusiasm.
• I wish you would call more.
• I wish you would call more, too.
• I wish you would STOP calling me.
• I only hope that someday the rest of the world will see you the way that I see you.
  
• You are a stronger person than I could ever aspire to be. You deserve so much more credit for everything you do.
• I lied. I do still have your sweatshirt. I love it, I wear it frequently, and you're never going to get it back. EVER.
• I am still your friend, and I try hard not to, but sometimes I do judge you because I think he deserves better.
• If you throw enough popcorn, you're bound to get one in sooner or later.

I think that about does it for this session.

Monthly reports wiped me the hell out!

In my letter to my job, you all read that I had monthly reports due this week... They were due by Thursday at noon. But of course, I didn't have a solid due date for them until late Tuesday. And so I worked on them. And I worked on them... And when I figured I was almost done, and could go to bed and wrap them up the next morning, I found, much to my dismay that my body would not allow me to sleep until the beast had been totally slain, rather than merely severly debilitated. (Don't you hate it when you can't sleep despite exhaustion, because you know you've still got something to finish up?)

So I was up until 2 finishing the monthly reports. And then I was up at 6 to get other things accomplished so that the rest of my week would not make me want to tear my hair out. Well, I still wanted to tear my hair out, but only because nobody else was cooperating to make my life any easier.

And then I worked a 12 hour day... And my dad came into town and wanted to grab a drink with my brother and I. Well, my brother didn't get off of work until 11:15, so I was responsible for keeping up my end of the conversation until he arrived. And once he showed up, well I just HAD to have one round with my brother... and then the waitress mistakenly thought I ordered another and brought it to the table...

I got home at 12:45.

I went STRAIGHT. TO. BED.

I woke up at 9:17.

(12:45 to 9:17 doesn't sound all that bad, but let's keep in mind the sleep debt that I'm working with at this point.)

I wigged out because my alarm was supposed to go off at 9 and didn't. (I had to start working at 9:30 SHARP...) CRAP.

Typical really.

I went to work, worked all day, and had every intention of going over to see my aunt and uncle who are in town for Easter weekend... But I was pooped. When I wrapped up my day, I thought, "Oh, I'll just lay down for an hour... I'll get over to see the fam at about 6:30, spend a few hours with them, and then come home and go to bed.

And then one hour turned into seven.

And I didn't make it over to see the fam.

I'll have to spend a large part of my Sunday doing paperwork that managed to get away from me this week whilst I was tackling my monthly reports... Fun, I know! Monday will be spent getting schedules together to arrange for my weekly appointments, trying to get my house in order, because at the moment, I'm still living out of boxes and bags, and the all important laundry. And then Tuesday, it's up at the ass crack of dawn to do it all over again for another week! You may feel free to display your envy.

But at least I'm getting out there, right?

An open letter...

To my job:

Dear Job,

I like you a lot. To be honest, I think it borders on love. You have introduced me to a myriad of fabulous people, and provide me with countless pages of material for my eventual memoir... But since we're on the subject of "countless pages" I would like to issue a formal complaint.

I spend entirely too much of my time doing paperwork for you. I document my hours every day. I document my days every week, and now you expect me to do a monthly report too? I give and I give and I give... I try to be understanding to your needs, but seriously, after documenting everything all week long, isn't there enough material for someone else to read and get the gist of what's going on? Why must you make me do monthlies? They make my eyes bleed! They make me want to hurt people. They do not make me feel good inside. They make me a very grumpy and unlikable person.

I know that in relationships you should not want to force a change in the other party. I know this is something that's important to you, and I know I can't change this about you. I am accepting of this fact. But I want you to know that I'm not happy with it. I want you to know that this part of you makes me angry, frustrated, and upset. I feel it's only fair to advise you of this considering how close we've grown in this short time together.

I hope you're not mad at me. I just want us to be honest with each other.

I'll see you tomorrow!

Love,

Lizzle

Sleeping in never felt so good...

After a two month hiatus from MY bed, and all the trappings it entails, I finally slept in my own bed. And it was SPECTACULAR.

Since it was my day off, I woke up at noon (without being made to feel guilty by the geezer who gets up at 5 and then spends his whole day periodically snoozing on the couch). And waking up in your own bed at noon with no guilt is something that should be counted among one of the wonders of the world.

I then proceeded to reassemble my entertainment center, and move it about the room until it found it's proper place. I then put some clothes away, set up my kitchen, and went to get all the necessary items to fully stock my fridge for the foreseeable future. I then had every intention of watching the game, but I knew how it was going to end before it ever began, and I wasn't happy about the predicted outcome, so I skipped it.

My fabulous bed is calling my name very loudly at the moment, if only because I know I will have to leave it all too early to go to the weekly staff meeting...

Farewell, eggs!

Be good, and I will catch you all on the flip side!

But I don't even LIKE Billy Joel!

Back in my bar tending days, I worked private parties, and I worked at a bar that was infamous for having karaoke 5 nights a week... I didn't work there very long, but in that short time, I'll tell you, I got sick and tired of hearing BAD singers select Billy Joel songs to cover... As a result, I don't like Billy Joel... And I really don't like Bon Jovi... But Bon Jovi is a whole other can of worms.

But today I was thinking, and I was reminded of the immortal words of Billy Joel.

Billy once wrote:

"If that's what it's all about
If that's movin' up then I'm movin' out."

And that's exactly what I did.

I got sick of playing politics at home. I got tired of walking on eggshells to prevent some nuclear meltdown on the order of Chernobyl just because I didn't eat toast with my breakfast, or I drank a whole bottle of wine in the course of one evening. I'm old enough to do what I want, and I know what I need to do, and how to do it. I lived on my own for 6 years in a city of 5 million people, and for the most part, I knew what the hell I was doing, and how to function on a daily basis. (I'm taking a mulligan on those last few months...) Basically, I didn't feel like having an irrational 86 year old with questionable personal hygiene lording over me, interrogating me about my every move. HOMEY DON'T PLAY THAT!

And so I took my cue from ol' Billy. And I got the hell out.

I spent my Sunday evening gathering up the few things that I had taken to my temporary residence, and packed them into the back seat of the car, and drove my happy ass over to the empty house that was my childhood home. It's still on the market, and so, instead of giving grandpa any reason to bitch and moan, or feel "put out" only to then vent his resentments to my mother so that his point was made passive-aggressively, I left. I thus took the fuel from the fire.

He can grumble all he wants now. I'm not listening to it. I'm not there. I'm not going to be around to in any way irritate him, and more importantly, I'm not going to be around to listen to his bullshit.

(This post is my passive aggression... The difference is, I don't expect anything to come of it. I say these things only to vent my personal frustrations, and to entertain you fine folks for a few minutes, not as a means to any kind of change or end.)

But most of Monday will be occupied setting up housekeeping in my new-old home... The highlight of which will most likely come on Tuesday when I am finally able to make my own coffee which will have NO GROUNDS in the bottom of the mug... Oh, and then there's the whole getting-to-sleep-in-my-famously-fabulous-bed again. The bed at the last place left something to be desired, but it was rent-free, so I wasn't going to complain.

But let's face facts here, the skid marks... those were sooooo deserving of a complaint. But instead of complaining to the responsible party and then still suffering through (because he'd have insisted that it wasn't his fault, because nothing is EVER his fault), and being forced to do the "nasty toilet hover" in my own residence, I just moved to where I knew the toilet was safe, and where I know for a fact that if there is any dookie anywhere, it will be IN the toilet, it will be 100% flushable, and it will be mine.

I hate to be a kill-joy, but I need to go and get some things set up if I want to get to bed before the sun comes up... I'll check in again later.

Until then, be good eggs!

Adventures in living with grandpa...

Fair warning.

If you are easily grossed out, stop reading now. REALLY.

(Because I am not easily grossed out, and when these events transpired, even I was seriously wanting to vomit... Holly, you'll like this one.)

I had a little break in my workday today. I had meetings from 8AM to noon. From noon until three, I had a break. I like having this break. It gives me a chance to do whatever I need to do during the day, because I know that after three, I'm pretty solidly booked... And by solidly booked, I don't mean for just the rest of the day, I mean this is really my only genuine break all week. This break aside, I get the occasional fifteen minutes here and there, but even those breaks are hard to come by. (Most days I don't get lunch.)

This is ok by me. I accept it as a part of my job. And I like my job. Really I do. But when you think about it, I go to my office, I do social work all day, and when I come home at night... Oh, yeah, I get to have social work time too, only this time it's with my own family. So it's basically social work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for the Lizzle. I've grown accustomed to it with remarkable speed, if I do say so myself.

But I digress.

In my little break today, I decided to go to lunch with a few co-workers, (including the less-hot, albeit single male). After lunch, I came home to "clean my room" because the old man in his passive-aggressive way decided to tell my mom that my room was not quite up to snuff. He never said a word to me, but from what I heard from a reliable source, he was very unhappy.

Now let's keep in mind that I am a night person. I don't function well in the mornings. This makes me VERY unlikely to ever make my bed. EVER. This alone is enough to drive the old man up a wall. (He's a military man. He's kooky about stuff like that.) Add in a pile of clean, but non-folded laundry, it's a recipe for a meltdown.

He is a stickler for these stupid things that don't really matter. I mean as long as I don't mind crawling into an unmade bed at night, who is it going to hurt? And as long as I can find something that is clean, wrinkle-free, and presentable to wear in the morning, I could give a rat's pink ass if the rest of my clean laundry has been folded, stacked, and sorted by color.

What gets me, is that while he is a stickler for these stupid things that have NO impact on him, or anyone else for that matter, he apparently lets a noticeably bigger issue slide.

(I'm serious about the easily-grossed-out people stopping now... I'm not responsible if you keep reading from here on out.)

So today, after my lunch, I came home, made my bed, and I folded my laundry to appease the old codger. And before heading back to work, I thought I'd go into the bathroom and pee so that I wasn't forced to hold it for the next five hours while I was with a client.

I went in. I closed the door. I looked down, and much to my horror, what did I see?

SKID MARKS.

Some of you are thinking "So what?"

Well, I'll tell you so what.

These were not your typical "I dog-piled it, and then flushed" bottom of the bowl skid marks. No. These were something a hundred thousand times more vile.

These were skid marks ON. THE. SEAT.

IN. THE. FRONT.

As in there was POOP ON THE PART WHERE I SIT DOWN... And I knew it wasn't mine.

I don't even know HOW one could or would manage to leave skid marks where he left them. I don't understand the physics involved, and considering we're talking about my 86 year old grandfather's dookie, I DON'T (REPEAT: DON'T) WANT TO KNOW. I don't want to think about it. I am not equipped to handle old man poop. Especially when I don't work in a nursing home, and it's not enclosed in a Depends undergarment.

Sure. You can theorize about how it got there. But I don't want to know what you come up with. I DON'T WANT TO KNOW.

All I can say is that I can't possibly understand why my unmade bed is such a HUGE issue, when someone can't be bothered enough to make sure that he cleaned himself off enough to not only ensure his own comfort, but to ensure that the shared restroom facilities are friendly to the rest of us who use them.

And just so you know, I held it in, (meaning, I held in the pee, and controlled my gag reflex enough to hold back the vomit,) drove out to my office, and went there instead. Yes, I share the facilities there with 68 other people, but the fact is that I have never encountered seat-skid out there.

The clean-up has since been handled, the toilet seat disinfected with a Clorox product, and all is technically right with the world... But I don't know how long it's going to take me before I can ever sit on that toilet seat again.

She remembered... kinda.

So I went and got my "welcome to spring" pedicure.

I went to the same pedicurist I went to back in my high school days. And she remembered me... kind of.

She told me she missed me, and that she hadn't seen me since she was at her last store location. (She's seen me a couple of times since then, but that's OK... She sees a lot of people, so I don't hold it against her.) She asked about my mom, and why I was back after 6 years, and all that other good stuff.

And as she was doing her thing, she said the one thing that no respectable girl ever wants to hear while getting a pedicure.

"Oh my god! When was your last pedicure? Have you had one...EVER?"

Ok, I know it's been a WHILE since my last pedi. I freely admitted that. But hey, 8 months of unemployment and winter will do that to you... You wear shoes that don't show off your neglected feet, and you save the money. But since I am not unemployed anymore, I knew I couldn't hide behind that excuse and that I needed to start taking care of them again... And that first trip back is never pretty.

But seriously, she asked me if I'd EVER had a pedicure.

EVER!!!

Do you all grasp the gravity in that statement? That means that in 8 months my feet had gotten gnarly enough to look like I'd totally neglected them for 24+ years.

Let me make a point in noting that I don't have seriously gnarly feet. I don't have corns, or hammer toes or anything of that sort. My heels weren't cracked or bleeding or anything like that either. They did have some admittedly gross callouses though. (But hey, I leave the treatment of callouses to trained professionals. I've seen amateur jobs go seriously awry, and I know better than to press my luck by putting a blade to the sole of my own foot... I'm sometimes dumb, but I'm never THAT dumb.) And pumice stones are great and all, but unless you're willing to commit yourself to an hour of soaking and scrubbing, those bastards are limited in their powers.

But I suffered the embarrassment of letting someone else take care of my feet, and from here on out, the embarrassment should be vastly reduced considering I plan on keeping up with them. Because really, I know I don't want hobbit feet, and I know that nobody else wants to see hobbit feet doing anything other than picking mushrooms or saving middle earth by scaling Mount Doom, so really we're collectively working for the greater good here.

So that's that. (Pictures to be posted later.)

In other news, remember when I told you that one of my friends dropped a serious bombshell on me the other day, but that I couldn't really talk about it? Yeah, well, now I can.

My best friend in this neck of the woods (I've got a few closer friends, but they all live elsewhere, in more rational parts of the country...) informed me that she is completely unexpectedly pregnant. She is 23, still in school, and was on the pill at the time of her conception. (So when those bastard doctors tell you that it's only 99% effective, you can now say that you know of an actual case that falls in that 1%.)

She's handling it all very well. Much better than I would in that situation, I must say... But then, I don't have that worry since the hot co-worker is married, and well, we just won't get into the Lizzle's pathetic excuse for a romantic life. That's a whole other can of worms. (Though returning my feet to an acceptable condition is a step in the right direction! So is waxing... but I'm pretty good about staying up on that one.)

So now it's going to be my duty to help pull off a kick ass baby shower, (Debbie, I'm looking to you for hot tips on this)! Help pick out baby names... (She likes some odd names, and I'm more of a classicist, so I don't know how much help I'll be in that department.) And make sure that this kiddo knows (s)he's got a hot momma, and that Aunt Lizzle will fight a bear for either one of them! I think I'm up to the task.

Since the revelation of this pregnancy, I have come to find out that something like 9 of my friends from high school (who I pretty much disavowed any and all knowledge of upon leaving after graduation) have had babies, or are currently pregnant. (Those are just the ones I didn't know about. There were a lot of marriages and babies in there that I did know about.) It's a lot to process when you find out A LOT of people you knew have reproduced under your radar!

I only hope that they don't ever find themselves in need of my services... Because that would be a sad day for both of us.

Grateful for a weekend...

I was working on Friday morning. I was touring a facility that will soon become the home of one of my clients. We were there for her orientation. Coming down a flight of stairs, my stupid ass missed the last step. I landed hard on my left knee, and heard/felt a serious popping in my right ankle as I fell.

I got up and began by standing on my left foot only. And then I gingerly put my right foot down, prepared for the worst. Fortunately it could bear weight... But it sure as hell let me know that it wasn't happy.

As I stood there, I could literally feel the blood draining out of my head and rapidly rushing to the areas which were soon to be swollen and angry.

I wrapped things up with that client, and went back to my office. I was going to tell my supervisor about my fall, but he was taking a day off. SONOFABITCH.

So I talked to another supervisor. He told me to go and have it checked out. I told him I needed to work the hours I had scheduled for the rest of the week, or I'd fall short of my weekly minimum. He said go get it checked out anyway. I said I was hurt, but I was not disabled. Another supervisor chimed in, "Well, if you're going to get it checked out and file a worker's comp claim, you'll need to go ahead and have a drug test scheduled today too." I told them that I didn't have that kind of time. I had work to do.

I worked. I supervised 2 visits with 5 kids. My ankle and my knee were not pleased.

I iced the ankle and tried to stay off of them both as much as possible.

Today I was supposed to have two visits. I only had one, and since the other one cancelled, I used the opportunity to get my paperwork done early. My ankle is less pissed off at me today, but I can still tell she's going to hold a grudge. My knee is another story.

My knees are rotten, grinding bastards to begin with. Landing hard on one and pissing it off is never a good idea. My knee is swollen, and a little bruised... less bruising and more swelling though. Oh, and any time anything, even my pant leg, even so much as brushes it? Yeah, that's when it decides that my whole leg needs to feel like it's on fire. Lovely.

Basically I'm looking forward to a nice, quiet Sunday and Monday off. If only so that I can give my lower extremities a chance to forget why they are so hateful towards me!

I feel like there ought to be more melodrama involved...

I have made my minimum of hours... I did that like two days ago. But the boss gets mad if we don't have "full workdays" every day of the week... so basically if you have a couple of 14 hour days early in the week, you're not going to be able to take the last three days of your work week off... You still have to bill at least 4-6 hours minimum on all those other days. (You'd think they would like to get out of paying us the overtime, but apparently not.)

Anyway, I had just put in three hours on one of my cases, and was grabbing a quick lunch before putting in three to five hours on another case when I got a phone call. It was the client I was due to see this afternoon. She was cancelling on me.

Now let's keep in mind that it's a Saturday morning... A BEAUTIFUL, eighty degree, sunny Saturday morning. Part of me was REALLY glad she called and cancelled, but the part of me that realized that she just cut into my overtime pay, and put me under the minimum daily hours requirement(which will surely irritate my boss, and be a little suspicious given the GLORIOUS weather,) yeah, well, that part of me was a little bit irritated. It was that part of me that wanted to get all melodramatic and say something on the order of an angst-filled teen... You know something like, "WELL, FINE! I DIDN'T WANT TO WORK WITH YOU TODAY ANYWAY!" But then I'd have to find a door to slam... and I'd have to cry and listen to emo music, and that's not how I want to spend my Saturday.

And once I wrap things up here and get my paperwork all finished and turned in, I think I'll go and get my "welcome to spring" pedicure, because quite frankly, my feet are still that lovely shade of winter white, and aside from being clean and thoroughly hair free, they look like they should be scaling the rocky terrain of Mount Doom... And I am the first to say that NOBODY wants to look at that mess! So I'm getting it taken care of before wearing sandals becomes a serious daily issue!

And here it is, the return of the QOTD!!!!

Victoria: I think they had something like 9 kids... and they were living in a hotel room.
Kendra: Where do you even put 9 kids in a single hotel room?
Liz: Oh, you just stack them in the drawers and let one sleep in the closet, and one sleep in the bathtub... The others can find floor space to sleep on.
Kendra: How would you even check into a hotel with 9 kids? "Excuse me, sir, I'd like a single room, but we're going to need 11 pillows and 14 blankets!" Seriously, is that how you'd do that?
Victoria: Well, then you have the sex-offender thing thrown into the mix...
Tarita: It sounds to me like to need to make a couple of phone calls... One to a case worker, and one to the fire marshall.
Liz: You know, I'm betting that once the fire marshall found kids in the drawers in a room registered to a sex offender, he'll probably be calling the case worker for you... And that'll save you minutes on your phone bill!
Tarita: Liz, that's genius! Now that's thinking ahead!

Hello from Panera Bread!

I am sitting in a Panera Bread restaurant on an ill-gained lunch break. I had a little time to kill, and I didn't want to go back to the office because I have a feeling that I have a VERY angry client waiting for me there. (Admittedly it's my fault, but she doesn't know that I plan on making it up to her yet, so she's still mad now.)

As for other news, I picked up a new case, and fortunately everyone keeps telling me that it's SUPER EASY. I'm totally ok with that.

And then there are my co-workers... More specifically my two hot male co-workers. I found out yesterday morning that one is married. (He didn't have a wedding band on last week, but he wore it this week.) I was VERY disappointed by this. Is it bad that I was upset that my hot male co-worker is married? Shouldn't I be happy that he found happiness? Yeah... Well, I'm not. Because that's one less hot guy that I get to ogle and delusionally imagine ever having a shot at actually dating. The other one is (to the best of my knowledge) single, and we chat with one another in passing. I was really more focused on the married one.

I feel like a total lame-ass talking about the weather, but I must say that around these parts, it's been BEAUTIFUL! Warm enough to roll down all the windows in the car, sunny and bright, and well, that's just fine with me. Please note that unlike Brenda I am not making any weather forecast, and therefore and change in this gorgeous weather cannot be attributed to me.

I have to go back to work and face the wolves now, you are now allowed to resume your regularly scheduled day. (And I hope it's a good one.)

EPIC...

(This gets a little scatter-brained, but just run with it... It's all I can muster.)

It's been a week packed with drama here at the happy hour. In the past week, I've gone to court and given sworn testimony against a client, my bracket has fared crappier than in years past, I've started getting along a little better with grandpa, I took mom to see 300 at the IMAX theater, (her first IMAX experience ever,) I worked a ridiculous number of hours, and I found out something about one of my friends that I can't really share here just yet, but trust me when I tell you it's big, and it threw me for a loop... Oh yeah, and the refrigerator broke.

Yeah... I've been a busy bee. So I apologize for the lighter than average posting lately.

First off, let me tell you something. If you have ANY interest whatsoever in seeing "300"... And I do mean even the slightest little teensy weensy bit of interest, GO. SEE. IT! LIKE NOW! It's absolutely awesome. If you're a nerd for computerized effects, GO. If you're a nerd for classical studies, GO. If you're a nerd for Frank Miller graphic novels, GO. If you want to see a bunch of ripped men with six pack abs in leather underwear, GO. If you want to see some boobs, GO. If you want to see epic battle scenes, GO. If you just want to see a good movie, GO... It's an epic not to be missed! Thank me later.

Moving on.

Yeah, in the short time I've had my job, I've already been called to court. According to my boss, this is not a good sign. He told me that in his experience the sooner someone gets called to court when working my position, the more frequently they will have to go to court throughout their time working there. That's what I get for having one of those personalities that people just open up to... Dammit! While we're on the subject of my job, I should note that the majority of the people I work with, myself among them, are supposed to get 30 billable hours a week... You are allowed to bill more, but not supposed to fall below 30 if you can possibly avoid it. Anything over 30 is extra on your paycheck, but hell on your personal life. (Basically to work 30 billable hours in this business you're really WORKING for closer to 40-45.) This week I had 45 BILLABLE. Which means I probably worked closer to the 60+ range. That's a lot. Especially considering I've only been on my own for like two weeks. An epic billable week.

As for grandpa, well... I can't really explain it. I think it has something to do with the mail. (The mail is the only thing that has changed in the last week, because I have finally started getting the forwarded stuff from my old address.) All of a sudden he has decided he wants to be civil and talk to me. It's weird. Are we on the best of terms? No. But if I heard him take another tumble down the stairs, I'd most likely come running a hell of a lot faster than I would have last week. This isn't so much EPIC, as it is just a monumental step in the right direction.

My bracket... Well, we're just not going to talk about my bracket. Most of you don't care, and for those of you who do, let's just say that I HATE WISCONSIN. They shouldn't have lost so soon. Stupid badgers... Fearsome woodland creatures, MY ASS! I've still got some hope, but I'm pissed off at a few teams... LIKE EPICALLY PISSED OFF!

The friend thing? Stop moaning. I told you I wasn't going to talk about it. It's not my place.

And then there is the epic with the refrigerator. It's dead. We discovered it when grandpa wanted ice cream and when we got it out of the freezer it was soup. Since then we've been icing down our perishable food supply in coolers. It's been like a camping trip, but without the smores, the lewd behavior in tents, the lewd behavior not in tents, and the mass consumption of beer. (I've been sticking to wine lately.) Supposedly the fridge will be fixed tomorrow. I'm not going to hold my breath waiting on the repair man though. But the whole icing-down-the-food process, that's been an exercise in utter ridiculousness... I won't bore you with the details, but seriously... WAAAAAAY more complicated than it needs to be.

I guess that's all for now. You kids behave, and I'll see about getting you a lollipop. (Oh, and I'll also try not to neglect you so much.)

Oh, and if you remember this post, where I launched my attack on anyone who has ever hired David Caruso for an acting job, (Jay, I'm looking at you here,) then you might want to have a gander at this stupid little cartoon. It made me laugh. But then again, it might be the exhaustion and my disdain for David Caruso talking.

Spin control...

After the unfortunate events of September 11, 2001, we were told by our government to have no fear, because if we were afraid, the terrorists would win. And then we were told to go out and spend, because spending strengthened our economy, and that a strong economy would prevent the terrorists from winning. And then we were told, "DON'T DO DRUGS! Because drug money supports terrorism!" ...They left out one tiny little detail.

Apparently when you were going about your morning routine, just trying to get a little daily dose of potassium by eating yourself a heart-healthy Chiquita banana...

YOU SUPPORTED THE TERRORISTS!

(No, seriously, click it! If you don't click it, you're STILL supporting the terrorists!)

You should be so ashamed of yourself! I can't believe you! What? What's that you say? You say you had something like 2 bananas a day? You say your family might as well be a bunch of chimpanzees flinging poo on the walls for the sheer amount of bananas you go through in a week? I am ashamed to call you a reader! You and your banana habit probably financed the purchase of a rocket launcher, or a scud missile, or some anthrax... OR A TANK! You're despicable! DEPLORABLE!

So I ask you, was it worth it? Did you really enjoy that banana SO MUCH that you're ok with being a traitor to the ideals of democracy? Because you know, the CIA has been monitoring your phone, your mail, your garbage, EVERYTHING... All because they knew you were a potassium fiend! And they knew you weren't content to get your potassium from just anywhere! You weren't about to take Centrum! You weren't about to shop the aisles of your local pharmacy for a daily dose of vitamin K in pill form! NOOOOOO. You had to have your fancy terrorist banana!

You probably club baby seals and drown puppies too!

Your banana habit makes poor sweet lil baby Jesus cry!

I hope you're happy.

Fair Warning...

I'm going to go ahead and let you know right out of the gate that this post is largely about me being a huge nerd when it comes to the NCAA Tournament... If that doesn't particularly interest you, click away now. It was nice seeing you today, even if it was brief.

Ok, now that we're down to those of you who already know where this is going, let's just jump on into things... (Oh and if you're looking for deep analysis, don't bother... I'm not going to go into the details of my bracket with the likes of you! Mostly because I know few (if any) of you would give two shits about what I think about the 12-5 upsets, or who is going to be a "Cinderella" this year... Anyway, moving on.)

First off, to those of you who don't already know, I need to explain something about March Madness. It is understood by those who know me well, and/or those who spend any considerable amount of time around me, that March Madness, and the very prospect of the big dance looming on the horizon, is the main thing that gets me through those horrid grey winter months. I am honestly NOT kidding you when I say that I look forward to bracket day more than I look forward to Christmas. It might seem sad to you, but I am really not joking about that.

Some of you are re-reading that last bit in total disbelief because you are personally irritated beyond belief by all the hullaballoo surrounding the tournament. (You are certainly entitled to hold this opinion.) You hate listening to co-workers and all the sportscasters talk about their brackets and their picks. On this point I will agree with you. I hate listening to sportscasters talk about their picks. (That's another reason I am not going to go into my picks... because I know you don't give a dead dog's nose about my elite 8.) But my main reason for hating the sportscasters is that they were able to land in a cushy job where all they have to do is postulate about sports scenarios all day every day. They have their little lackeys to look up stats for them, and they have handlers and makeup artists to make sure they look good on camera, even when in reality they look more like they should be living under a bridge anxiously awaiting the arrival of some billy goats or Goldilocks, or whatever. I also don't like listening to random people I don't know talking about the tournament, because it's mostly men who I find engaged in this conversation publicly, and when I as a woman interject a point I am viewed one of three ways A) I am thought to be some kind of blathering idiot, and because I have ovaries my outburst of basketball fact is written off as something tantamount to a Tourette's outburst, initially acknowledged but then later written off as some kind of social anomaly to be gawked and laughed at upon my departure. B) I am looked at as though I have three heads... Because I have sports knowledge and a uterus I obviously belong in a freak show with a travelling circus. Personally if I could manage to parlay that into some kind of a paying gig, I would not be opposed to it. Or on the very rarest of occasions, C) I am lusted after uncontrollably because I have a great rack, and I could quote shooting stats of teams I follow, or argue the pros and cons of playing man-to-man defense versus zone defense. This usually turns into my knowledge embarrassing the guy in front of one of his friends for knowing something he didn't know, and thus calling his manhood into question, thus making any further contact undesirable.

I also hate the incessant car commercials aired during March Madness. Everyone offering up crazy deals because "the boss" (not to be confused with The Boss) has gone crazy with the March Madness and is offering up HUGE SAVINGS, it makes me ill... If I was a true basketball fan and I wanted to buy a car I sure as hell wouldn't run out and do it because I saw a commercial during a game. Hell no. My ass is going to remain firmly planted watching every last second of that game in all its glory. March Madness comes but once a year, car dealerships are always trying to sell cars, and they will always have some little sales event going on... and even if they don't, it's time for your stupid ass to learn to haggle. But I digress.

So a lot of you out there hate the tournament... That's fine. I respect that. I understand that you are upset that for roughly 3 weeks you can't tune into some of your favorite prime time shows... Hell in the early rounds, depending on what you like to watch on a daily basis, and who has the broadcasting rights to the tournament in any given year, unless you're really into Lifetime movies you can't tune in for much of anything but basketball for the first four days or so. I totally get how this might upset you. I just hope that you are understanding enough to make the allowance for me to have these two or three blissful weeks in March, because really, what else have I got to look forward to? Really, it's this and my family reunion... That's about it folks. My life is made tolerable by these few sparse annual pleasures.

And so after the brackets were set yesterday evening, I drafted an e-mail to my primary tournament confidante... As it is a long-standing tradition, Kirsten "The Admiral," and I had our regularly scheduled 6th annual conversation regarding the brackets. These conversations have stretched into the six hour range in past years. (We are big fans of sidebar notes, and we both love a hearty debate about the merits of anything, so the tournament gives us AMPLE opportunity.) We go through our brackets, we debate our picks, occasionally one of us will sway the other on a particular game. This year we managed to stay on task for most of the conversation and pared it down to a two and a half hour conversation. Though when one or both of our brackets end up in the proverbial (and in one instance LITERAL) toilet, we reserve the right to have marathon consultation calls. These conversations are a given. We save up rollover minutes specifically for this very reason.

This year we're officially putting Kansas "on notice" a la Stephen Colbert. And we both hate Duke, and North Carolina. We might be wrong in allowing these personal feelings to color our judgement when picking the outcome of certain games, but there is a method to our madness. We've been burned before. We bear the scars. For better or for worse, if you're stuck on a late-round game, when most of the bullshit teams have been eliminated, you go with your gut, even if your gut is only forcing you to lean a certain way because you dislike a certain team for whatever reason... (Cough, cough Krzyzewski, ...gesundheit).

I know that the few of you who didn't click away in the initial paragraph are probably bored out of your mind right now. My apologies. I'll wrap this up.

But for those of you who are interested in what I have to say about the tournament, I would like to add a little something so that you can enjoy a few of the games just a little bit more...

Maybe it's just me, but I can't watch a Florida basketball game anymore without chuckling to myself... It's something about Joakim Noah (probably the hair) that reminds me of Spanish from Old School... And then I have the mental image of Will Ferrell in a leotard, jumping around like a spaz, twirling a ribbon. It gets me EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

Who the hell are you people???

Since I'm speaking in generalities here, I can get away with this... I think. So here's my first real post about my job.

I, in all my experience doing the job that I now do, was gifted with only two cases to occupy my time. Some of you are thinking that number sounds a little low, and under ordinary circumstances, it would be... But these are certainly not ordinary circumstances. And trust me, two is enough!

One of these cases is something of office lore, if only for the longevity, and the consistency of the "Woops, I didn't know I couldn't do that" behavior of the parents.

The other is something of a new case. It only began a couple months ago. In that short time, it has had ample opportunity to build itself a reputation. First off, it's a HUGE case as far as billable hours go. Usually in our office, unless there is a therapist involved doing intensive therapy or something, most cases are going to have somewhere in the region of 2-6 billable hours per week. While I was talking to my supervisor, he noted that he found it odd that I could handle this entire case myself, because this case alone occupies somewhere in the neighborhood of 28 billable hours per week. (He said he would have to check, but he sincerely thought that 28 billable hours on any one case in a single week might be a record.) Yeah, you read that right. I am doing somewhere between 5 and 10 times the normal billable hours on one case alone in any given week... And when you spend that much time with anyone, and you're allowed to ask probing questions for the sake of your paperwork, you get to know them VERY VERY well. And when you have a case with the reputation that this one has around my office, other people get curious as to what's going on, and how the hell you are coping with it, while managing to not pull a Britney and go get yourself tattooed and show up with a freshly shorn pate. And most days I have new stories to tell... And most days the stories I bust out have even the most seasoned of counselors cringing in horror, and rapt with a blend of interest and total disbelief.

The other day, I went to lunch with someone who has been doing the equivalent of my job for over 8 years. She worked one meeting with this family and instantly said that she would NEVER, EVER, EVER handle this case again, EVER.

It's that kind of a beast.

It figures that as soon as I mention to my supervisor that we might want to think about having someone else around to help wrangle a couple of these meetings, I was thrown a curve ball.

A number of factors changed in the meeting I had tonight. And for the first half of our time together, you would have thought it was a totally different family. You'd have been fooled into thinking that these were perfectly normal people who were just being observed as a control group for some kind of study. For that first half of our time together, you'd have been totally deceived. I know that for the first half of the meeting I looked at this family and thought to myself, "These are NOT the same people that I spend all this time with! THIS IS NOT THE SAME FAMILY! Who the hell are these people? Someone has kidnapped the the crazies I usually deal with, and replaced them with clones who simply have normal personalities!"

But after a while, the guise wore off. The real people in that room decided to show up and rear their ugly psychotic heads. And at that point, I remembered why I had to be there, and why my company is involved. And I remembered why I talked to my supervisor about having another person handy for these meetings.

And now I don't really know what to do with myself. I can handle the meetings if they decide they want to be normal now. Hell, I can handle the meetings if they decide they only want to be normal HALF of the time. But what if they go back to the way they used to be on a full time basis? I can't do that alone! I JUST CAN'T! Someone will get hurt!

I don't really know where to go, or what to do with this!

At least until they decide that they want to be normal long enough to fool a judge my job is secure!