bitterdiva

Kitty Psychotics

Leeloo, the tabby cat who had kittens, is out of her mind. Last night yet again while we had a friend over Leeloo yet again decided to change her nest. First it was my roommate’s closet for the birthing and original nesting, then under my bed. She decided probably after I dragged them out under my bed that she needed a more secure location for them. Where did she put them? She dragged them in a corner among several garbage bags of clothing and on top of some clothes.

The poor kittens were squashed into a little tiny hole. I look at their cute little faces and think, “plastic bags and little kittens do not mix.” They have warnings on plastic bags “this is not a toy, keep away from children due to risk of suffocation.” Unfortunately due to lack of intelligence and opposable thumbs, cats can not read. So I as a guardian of a feline must recognize certain risks to her life and the lives of her three childrens.

I eventually grabbed one of my clothing bins and put her nesting blanket inside and place all three of them there. They love it! I thought Leeloo though was going to rip my face off for touching her precious wee ones numerous times. Then I said to her, “Leeloo, when I wake up in the morning you best damn well be lying in that tub with all three kittens.” She looked up at me with her dumb eyes meowed and settled down for some quality nursing time.

Well, when I woke up this morning, the first thing I checked before shutting off my alarm was to see if she moved them. She didn’t. Amazingly enough, I think she accepted the fact that I would not tolerate her just placing them in the most secure position which always turns out to be a death trap if left there. I guess my maternal instincts and her maternal instincts don’t quite mesh well together. But at least we found a suitable compromise. That and I could just sit on my bed watching their cute little faces as the try and crawl out.

The tabby male, the one that reminds me of Luke, an original cat of ours, he also reminds me of that damn picture, “Every time you masturbate God kills a kitten. Please, think of the kittens.” I definitely will have to put a picture up on here sometime soon!

How’s the rest of the week been shaping up? Let’s see a talk given to a certain person has set them straight for a while, even making me look bad, but whatever. Finally got the money to buy my vitamins. I thought Tuesday that I really was going to die, luckily now I’m better. Flowers and Chocolate for Admin. Professional’s Day. Resin chairs for the apartment. A purple lighter. A blown power supply for Beast. It’s really been a mixed bag of good and bad.

Lately I’ve had this deep desire to play The Sims. I lost my original copy somewhere in the move. I am assuming that the Gremlins stole it. Those damn bastards are always up to no good. They used to steal my Barbie clothes when I was a kid. They stole 8 dollars, contact lenses, and a pair of pants in the old apartment. These are also the same Gremlins that follow me to work and make various people trip in the office. Maybe they’re more of a Hobgoblin or maybe it’s the Hobgoblin from Spiderman, but that’s just fictional.

2 prayers | 11:36 AM

Note to self

Dear self:

It’s day five of a miserable week, the bright side is that it’s Friday and in several hours you can plan your escape and relax in the comfort of your own drunken stupor. If I was you, and I am, I definitely wouldn’t sit idly by why others (the secretary) are able to go home and enjoy the now thunderous part of the afternoon.

You’ve had to cover for her at the beginning of the week. You’ve had to sit by the phones and answer them in the mornings from day 3 to day 5 missing your scheduled lunch hour. Now you are forced to sit by them in the afternoon on a Friday. Have you completely lost your spine? I remember when you were vocal and not allowed any injustices to keep you down, now you’re a spineless bitch mulling over in your own self-pity because you don’t know how to deal with situations. If you were going for the outlandish protesting statement, leave that chair now and go home. Turn on the tv and get your drink on, get your sex on, and get your weekend on. But you’re not and as such you’re allowing me to vocalize what you want to do, what you want to say to those who bring you down.

Remember the time when people used to make fun of you and they threatened to come over to your house and beat the ever-living fuck out of you for no reason? What did you do then? That’s right, you invited them over and sat on the front stoop with the sharpened butcher knife waiting for them. Unfortunately they never showed, I would’ve enjoyed watching you go Psycho on their ass. How about the time when your best friend started wigging out on you and you grabbed her by the throat and lifted her off the floor (all 200lbs of her) now that was admirable. Now you’ve gone corporate, dealing with the man in a passive-aggressive manner. I think it’s time that you stand up for yourself. I think it’s time you break out your job description and bring it to the attention of your boss that Office Bitch isn’t a title nor is it directly outlined there to get it in the ass.

And since we’re on formalities and I’m giving you advice would you please clean up that fucking pigsty you call your room. I mean dirty laundry and winter clothes are really starting to take a toll on me along with the not aesthetically pleasing post snack/post drink mess you got going on your nightstand. I’m ashamed to even call you my physical self. While you’re at it, straighten out your fucking mind and organize all your papers and bills. I’m sick of you beating me up over a forgotten note, payment, appointment; I can only do so much when you’re repressing me every night.

Thanks,
-Ego

3 prayers | 01:35 PM

New from Mofo Toys™

As I was sitting in my chair, now unable to move about freely because of one of those pads they lay down to enable more fluid movement has in fact disabled movement, I began thinking of a new area that I haven’t delved into before. If I were an action figure what would be my accessories? And I’m talking action figure, not some flexible plastic bitch that has bad make-up and gaudy baubles for the buyer to use. I turn to look at my desk. Emperor Palpatine has his cane and Professor Snape has his potion bottles. Leia and Boba Fett both have guns. Samwise has a sword, frying pan, spoon and some Orks at the door set. Even Ash has a tiny version of himself and his boomstick along with his chainsaw adapted hand.

The bitterdiva is equipped with her staff of smite and an AK-47. Clad in black PVC clothing including knee-high PVC boots and a trench coat she’d also be accompanied with a rainbow pack of Sharpies and chocolate. Complete with a bathtub crack lab, she’s one bitch you better not irritate unless you want to unleash the beast. Brought to you by PlanetMofo Toys™.

There have been many faces of me over the years, many accessories that would be packaged in my action figure box. Everyday these change. I’ll probably replace a couple of these tomorrow or add some like my faithful companion poopoos, my kitty who always needs to be around me and chooses my boyfriends wisely. I could even create a whole series of figures, my allies and my axis. I believe the axis figures would outnumber my allies greatly, those bloody dolts that have crossed the line and now seek refuge from my bitterness.

I believe that cov from Bloghit.com would come packaged wearing jeans and a tie-dye. Among his list of accessories would be a tin-foil hat, antique yardstick, and plush panda bear. His set would be in the underground missile silo where he keeps his Holy Nuclear War missiles. In true covzilla fashion they would be aimed directly at Quebec and France.

As an update to the first sentence, I have deviantly moved my $50 hard plastic protective carpet covering which disabled my movement in my fun wheelie-chair. I don't know if the organization is trying to save the carpeting or to appease some peon whose chair didn't move easily enough for them. I would have appreciated if someone asked me if I would prefer a mat before purchasing 70 of them and just flopping them down on the ground. Talk about a waste of money. I don't have a contract but they have superfluous money in the budget to expend on floor mats.

1 prayer | 02:46 PM

"Uh-oh sounds like somebody's got a case of the Mondays"

The weekend was one of the best that I’ve had in a long, long time. In fact although I was extremely busy over the course of 2 and a half days I was highly productive, socially that is. However, academia suffered greater – but who gives a rat’s ass about papers and exams right?

Friday night my two roommates and myself went to a concert that was balanced out to mediocre by a couple of fantastic high points with a droning constant state of low points. Saturday I spent a portion of the day with my “little brother” whom I haven’t seen in about a year. I also saw the notorious lover of Chinese lesbians with goiters. Some people never change; he’s one of them. Later in the evening after dinner I headed up a couple of blocks to my fraternity. I saw my Big Brother, my bubbas, my old pals and some new pledges and brothers that I haven’t a clue as to what their names are. I’m a bad, bad brother. Sunday was a beautiful day filled with a trip to church, Target, and Borders. I was about to do laundry when it dawned on me at the place that I left my wallet home. Oops.

Now anyone around me knows that when I take a day off or half a day of vacation time, I expect certain things. Like, oh, the secretary to be in so there’s someone to answer the phones. I guess the drink fairy paid a visit and messed up someone’s gastro-intestinal system. This time she was prepared with some Immodium, but still didn’t show up. Being the bitter and angry person that I am, I informed my superior coworkers that I was in fact leaving when I was and it’s not my problem that someone can’t show up to work a complete week in over a month.

The weather gods were shining down upon the land and the fierce goddess embarked on her journey to the land where freshman read on a 7th grade level. The sun beat down and heated up the land, the goddess sweated profusely and sought refuge in the shade before she turned into a puddle. Whilst waiting for her chemistry-able colleagues to arrive a young man approached the goddess. He, although physically disabled and dependent mostly upon a wheelchair, proceeded to strike up a conversation and continued to hit on the goddess.

One of the things I understand is that although people have disabilities, it doesn’t mean that they’re capable of nothing. A person with a physical handicap is just as mentally with it as the next person, barring the fact that the person is in fact mentally there. It’s just the brain-vocal interface that’s all messed up. They have emotions and thoughts just like anyone else but the vocalization of these things comes more difficult to the person. It also turns a short 5-minute non-handicap conversation into a 30-minute one.

I give the guy mad props for asking out a female, he doesn’t let his disability get him down. I sometimes wish that more men (non-handicapped) would take a couple of lessons from this Don Juan. So what exactly came out of this conversation? The guilt I felt for this guy asking me to take a walk was just too unbearable and I graciously accepted his digits. He wanted me to call him this evening and arrange a walk Wednesday after I got out of work. Me being the tremulous person that I am immediately left the situation after making a commitment she wasn’t going to follow-through on, although adding in a clause that stated she was probably not going to follow through, wished the gentleman a nice day and proceeded to find her colleagues.

I do now believe that this is another notch added to the headstone that’ll send me straight to hell, do not pass purgatory, do not collect $200. Game over, thanks for playing.

No prayers | 12:04 PM

Metaphor of the day

1 prayer | 12:52 PM

Don't bet your life on it

So it's a good thing that I don't bet my life on the absent record of coworkers. I would fail. 10:45 the secretary calls in, her stomach isn't feeling great. Well you know what beyotch, mine never feels great. In fact I have suffered through one of your stomach virii and I still came to work. I even have the wonderful big pink bottle of stomach elixir, Pepto, in my drawer for such things. Take a hint from my roommate: invest in some Immodium. I guess the common theme of the day is investment.

Here's a list thus far: alarm clock, Pepto, Immodium, a life insurance policy, and a clue.

The good out of all of this, the big boss has finally taken to writing down such absences to deal with them at a later time. That's good right?

No prayers | 11:18 AM

"Incompetent, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life"

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t in a civil service position. That way all the injustices that I face weekly would be solved in a single phrase, “You’re fired!” Unfortunately I’m not Andy Richter, and I don’t control the Universe. I don’t even have control of what I do at work let alone urge someone to see my injustice of being shafted with the work of 3 people on days when an individual is out of the office – which mind you happens so frequently.

What do we do with an employee that is constantly late and constantly out of the office? Let’s switch things around and give their coworker more work and let’s allow the absentee worker to keep their job untouched. I did nothing wrong; I show up on time (relatively within the first 10 minutes) and although I take days off, it’s very rare that it’s more than one in a week. So why is it that when the hammer falls it is my self that gets further driven into the concrete wall of this corporation when the other is allowed to stick out and cut someone in the toe?

Today I’m working on a project. I’m relatively happy with my package of Nutter Butter Bites and my 20oz. of chocolate raspberry coffee. I’m updating the web site and I take a look at my clock, 8:30, the secretary hasn’t arrived at work yet. I sigh and think, she’s going to call in soon. Ten minutes later the phone rings, it’s her; she overslept and is on her way in. I had bet earlier that she was going to be out of the office this week for only a half day. Looks like I might actually be correct with my guess.

Once I finish up my project I spell check the damn thing. She had more spelling mistakes than Walt Flanigan’s dog. I agreed to allow her to take some of the work because it was the simplest thing to do. I just get so annoyed at the fact that I have to go back and go over all the work and correct all her mistakes. Now I know why I’m such a control freak when it comes to something I’ve been working on – I can’t trust anyone else.

I just enjoy the look on my upper coworkers' faces when I tell them that their secretary overslept and is on the way in. "By the way of where?" I could make so many insulting comments here: by the way of the bar; by the way going back to bed then getting up an hour later; by the way of screwing me over; by the way of waiting for the advil to kick in to cure the hangover.

I tend to be a bit of a partier. I enjoy blowing off steam on my nights off with my friends, but I am responsible enough to wake up on time and get to work. If you constantly oversleep because you drink your liver to mush, I think it's time to hang up the pilsner glasses. That or invest in an alarm clock that actually wakes you up.

No prayers | 10:35 AM

New York is rife with wacky news!

I probably should've waiting until finishing up reading all the news headlines before actually posting to here, but the NORML one I just had to post immediately. Last night I was having a discussion with my roommate about dreadlocks. The proper way to grow dreads, how to keep bugs out, and something about keeping the tone in the scalp using lavender.

Well, I get down to the law.com section of the news wire and I see this article about some guy sued Brown because they fired him on the premise that his appearance did not fit into their appearance guidelines of "businesslike" - his refusal to hide his dreads under an acceptible hat.

The guy lost his case. It wasn't due to a religious purpose. Now what stance is bitter diva going to take on this case? I'm ambivalent. On one hand I'm a chief proponent for individuality and not compromising one's self due to The Man's regulations. On the other hand if you're working for an organization that clearly defines a policy regarding appearance and you break said policy then I see no reason for you to have legal right to whine.

One day I showed up to my job with blue hair (along with blue skin) but before I embarked on such a shocking appearance at my job I read the employee handbook. I dissected each line and once I was finally convinced that there was no legal guideline for them to force me to dye it to a naturally-occuring-in-nature color I busted open the bleach and went for it.

If you don't like an organization's policy regarding certain affairs then don't work there, simple as that. If you're a marijuana smoker, you're certainly not going to work for a company that drug tests. If you like to wear your hair blue (unless you're a senior citizen), you're not going to work for someplace that doesn't allow such appearances. And appearantly, if you wear dreads, you're not going to work for UPS, unless you enjoy covering up your locks to appease the man.

The other part of the article that I found most amusing, Johnny Cochran style, is the affidavit from an expert "locktician." Stating that "wearing a wool hat 'smothers locked hair,' causing damage to it and creating other problems such as dandruff, lice and fungus." If the hair's gone to shit, you must acquit.

2 prayers | 09:20 AM

I love THC

New York City's new slogan: I love THC. Just thought that I would link something cool today whilst I was reading a newswire for my job. NORML has an ad campaign featuring the mayor of NYC saying he enjoyed smoking pot. I think this is absolutely hysterical. I wonder what Rudy's thinking right now, or is he out back lighting up a spliff?

No prayers | 08:29 AM

Stress fractures and fractals

I sit here with my stomach churning feeling at any moment that I’ll either vomit or shit my brains out. I have been feeling well in the stomach department lately but I’ve noticed that lately it’s been getting worse. Tomorrow I imagine that I’ll be back to chicken soup with peas and rice for lunch. It’s quite enjoyable really and damn is it cheap! But the cause of the problem is something that I believe that my roommate could all attest to: stress.

We three roommates of ailments and pain. Lately the three of us have been stressed by a myriad of external and internal factors but can be summed up in one word stress. Seems redundant that sentence, eh what the fuck, I’ll keep it. Pressure, strain, anxiety, and tension are affecting our spiritual selves by compromising our physical beings. Finally the colds are fading and we’re attempting to return to a natural state of healthiness whatever that state is I don’t know.

I can’t speak for the other two but I know that for myself school, classes, family, money are all poking at my subconscious and I’m losing the mental health battle. The overwhelming self-depreciating feeling has returned to plague my thoughts and feelings. This is the reason why I left school among others, but primarily the main one. After 3 years of being out of school I’m still kicking myself in the ass for allowing my feelings to get the better of me and to just up and leave. The cycle is never ending. You can’t take classes full time because you need to have an income source. You can’t just work full time because you need your loans in deferment. You have credit card debt that isn’t diminishing, current utility bills that need paying, old utility bills that are being sent to collections, and teeth that constantly need some sort of fixing.

It only hit me at Easter when I went home and my mother is now definitely going to retire under disability, which is the best thing for her. What that means for me is that unless something good happens to my financial status, I can’t take classes. I don’t have the ability to save the $1,000 I need for classes. I miss the days of when I was able to go out and buy anything I wanted because I had no debt, no bills. I actually thought of going back home to Connecticut to live with my family so that I can save money. Unfortunately that’s not a possibility since my rents’ bedroom was turned into a family room, my sister’s room into their room, my room turned into my visiting sister’s room. My brother’s room remains the same and the unfinished room won’t be finished because my brother has a toy store stock room full of GI Joe and Star Wars crap (not that I don’t like either because I do).

I’m falling. Falling rapidly into darkness. One probably could see the waves my emotions take on. Lately I just feel like everything is hopeless and I keep waiting for someone to step in and help me. Ideally someone would. Realistically, I’m there to help everyone else and I feel like no one is there to help me get across the churning molten lava pit of doom. Then again, I’m too shut inside myself to even contemplate allowing anyone to help me out. Ah, the conundrum of the bitter diva.

Here’s my PSA: Take a step out of yourself for a moment. If you see that you need help ask for it. If your security net is as sound as you think there’ll be someone there watching out for you. If you think you’re walking around without one, you’ll be amazed that you probably aren’t.

Hmmm… this rant isn’t so bitter, so let me take the pH level down a couple of notches. This world has become too fucking PC. People can’t say anything anymore without people getting all uppity about something. Shut the fuck up, I am sick of all you bitches whining about everything. I now return you to your regularly scheduled happiness. The last paragraph of this rant has negated my entire post and I now go off in search of some theobromine to enlighten my afternoon.

2 prayers | 01:23 PM

Patchouli anti-stink bombs

A strange conversation about a guy blasting off stink bombs in a cafetaria. I immediately come up with the idea of patchouli stink bombs for when someone does lay the bomb done in a restroom. At least you don't have to smell someone else's shit. I don't think that there's anything worse in the world than walking into the bathroom and being hit with the stale, pungent scent of fecal matter that exited someone else's brown eye. My own poop? Well my shit don't smell like roses but it's apart of me so I'm proud of it. =)

As for what I've been up to lately. Break from school, illness, Easter, bitchass coworkers, getting shafted, interrupted sleep, and KITTIES! There's nothing that brings out the paternal instinct in Chupanibre or my roommate than newly born kittens. I still think he'd make an awesome father some day to a human but he believes that felines are better in that 8 weeks is the equivalent of 18 years homosapien style.

Mmmmm heartburn!

No prayers | 09:52 AM