At Least I’m Amused


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To whomever is trying to break into my wordpress account,

Look, you’re either going to have to figure out my password, or give up.  Simply trying to request or change it won’t work.  The request to change is tied to my email and my email is fairly secure.  So unless you track me down, mug me and steal my phone, you can’t get into my email.  And no, the email that shows in my wordpress profile, is not the actual email that’s tied to my sign in.  So you don’t actually even know what email address you need to break into.  But keep trying, I have unlimited text messaging.

Really, all you’re accomplishing is that you’re alerting me to your presence and telling me I need to keep an eye on things.  Oh.  And you’re giving me a much needed chuckle.  So thanks.  Really.

 

Sincerely,

Someone who wasn’t born yesterday

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ER Doctor: So what did you do to your wrist?
Me:I tripped over a kid, not my own, and braced my fall with it.
Dr: Ow!  And you did this today (Late Thursday)?
Me: No… Sunday afternoon.
Dr: And you’re just coming in?
Me: Well, I’m a klutz with fibromyalgia.  If I came in every time something hurt, I’d never leave!
Dr: *chuckling* Well, it’s good you know this about yourself.  We have plenty of repeats who don’t.
Me: Exactly.  I figured I had just sprained or strained it as usual, stabilized it, and have taken Ibuprofen for pain and swelling.  But 4 days later it’s getting worse and not better so I figured now it’s time to make sure I’m not being stupid.
Dr: Makes sense.  Alright, let’s get some x-rays.

30 minutes, if that, passes

Dr: Alright you have a hairline fracture about here. *points to where thumb meets wrist* I’m going to wrap it for you and refer you to an ortho for follow-up to see if you need an actual cast.

And scene

Ah yes. Fibromyalgia: Where you can fracture a bone in your hand and just live with it for 4 days before getting it checked because you’ve had worse pain so how bad can this be.

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In a world where beauty is the first thing noted.

In a world full of world full of words like: beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, cute, adorable, sexy, etc.

In a world where intelligence seems to be the afterthought.  They’ll notice your tits before they notice how you can foil out those binomials.

In a world where really complimenting someone on their intelligence, well, “smarty pants” is filled with sarcasm.

Try this one for size:

Injeni (adj) [in-jee-nee] -  Magically intelligent.
I.E. Einstein was injeni, as is Neil deGrasse Tyson.

And if you like it, follow this link here and like it there.  Pass it on.  Share it with your injeni friends.  A certain Wyld Tree Ogre I know and hold in the highest esteem (because he is rather injeni) would really appreciate it.  As would I.

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1. Not having to choose between scalding and freezing water when showering.  Seriously, they want you showering daily as a sign of mental competence, but the water does not recognize that warm is an option.  I even love hot showers.  Really hot showers.  This was burning.

2. Bath towels larger than a hand towel.  I get it.  I really do.  But with no real privacy from the roommate and checks to make sure you aren’t hanging yourself with said bath towels ever 15 minutes, being able to wrap myself in a towel and have it cover more than a single boob would have been nice.  Luckily I was allowed to be brought my bathrobe.  Had to leave the belt at home.  Obviously.

3. Unlimited pop, not a single tea bag in sight.  We Americans have such fucked up priorities.  I got funny looks for requesting bottles of water.  They use those for giving out meds.  I informed them I use them to stay healthy, which was supposed to be a mutual and primary goal.  If you can’t be sassy in a psych ward, you can’t be sassy anywhere.  That might be why this stay was longer than any of my others, in retrospect.

4. Not waking up every morning to the sound of the gentleman in the next room over hollering at the top of his lungs about everything he could think to holler about, or threaten over.  My favorite was when he woke the entire ward screaming about how rude it was they banged his door open on the 8AM check, waking him up from restful sleep.  Can’t make this shit up.  Earplugs were provided to any and all.  We shared a common wall though and ear plugs can only do so much.,

5. 3AM snack raids to a kitchen with unlimited snacks.  It’s a bloody shame orange sherbet only tastes that good inside a psych ward.  I mean, yes it’s good on the outside but not this is the only thing I actually enjoy about this place, good.

6. Ladies, I don’t care how annoying shaving can be, but trying going a week without it no choice.  M’kay?

7. Q-Tips.  Shut up, I use at least a half-dozen of them a day.  I have issues, we know this.  What’s your excuse?  Not you, you have issues too, the other you.  But apparently despite the fact I had some in my purse, because the package outright says they are not to be used in ears, I was not allowed to have access. Liability and all.  I seriously considered asking someone to smuggle some in to me.  And then I realized how insane that would sound.  Then I realized where I was and what great company I was in.

8. My dad may be schizophrenic but he doesn’t think he’s the messiah.  That probably sounds really mean but well… perspective.  I got some.

9. How amazing my real world shrink is.  Oh yes, we all know I adore her.  She listens to me, works with me, and consistently values my input and feedback on my treatment.  See, I’m annoyingly informed and intelligent.  A shrink can see this as an advantage, a tool to be used which I gladly offer up.  Or a shrink can decide they know best because they are the doctor no matter how intelligent my assessment is.  What do I know, it’s only my history and mind.  Let me demonstrate.  This is not, and I repeat NOT an exaggeration.

Shrink: I want to put you on Lamictal

Me: Why?  I’m allergic to Lamictal and Cymbalta has always worked amazingly for me

Shrink: Yes but the allergy might not happen (It doesn’t always, it’s hit and miss but can be deadly when it hits) and Lamictal won’t kill your sex drive

Me: … I’m going through a divorce.  I don’t need a sex drive…

Shrink: Well it won’t make you gain weight either

Me: Yeah… I’m going through a divorce, I don’t give a fuck how I look.

Shrink: …

Me: Know what, consult (my real world shrink) and get back to me. I’m not going anywhere.

That night I started a 20mg dose of Cymbalta.

10. I’m nowhere near as crazy as I think.  And neither are you.  Oh, and depression lies.

 

Look, depression really does lie.  It always gets better.  It takes work work more work, support, sometimes meds, then a little (lot) more work, but it always gets better.  Please get help if you need it!

 

 

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I’m heading to a 4.0 with this first class at Franklin.  Granted, it’s an easy class, but I’m headed to a high 4.0 so I’ve still worked for it.  When I was at CSCC, I had a 4.0 there as well until I had to drop 2 classes due to life circumstances.  I wasn’t skipping class or not turning in my work.  I simply moved with little warning, which took my internet connection, and got promoted all in the same week.  By dropping the classes so I could go next semester, I was attempting responsible.  But, they failed me.  I apparently missed the deadline.  The thing is, I could see not getting money back and that would have been fine, but failing me because I missed the deadline, when I was otherwise being really responsible, was questionable.  At best.  You see, by failing me, they killed my GPA causing me to lose all financial aid.  Not cool, Columbus State Community College.  Not cool.

So here is what I’ve decided.

I’m capable of a solid 4.0 and maintain it like some people are capable of maintaining breathing.  I say some people, because there are indeed people who have trouble breathing.  But for your average person, they don’t have to think about breathing, and I don’t have to think about my 4.0.  It simply happens.

Which means, if Franklin University has a Dean’s List, which I have not actually found evidence they do, I will be on it.  Then I will print off this notification (or photocopy it should it arrive in the mail) and I’ll sent it to CSCC’s financial aid department along with a strongly but eloquently worded letter informing them what they can stick where.  I will proceed to do this every single trimester straight through my master’s because I am capable of maintaining my 4.0 straight through my masters.

Then, after my master’s, should I really manage to work a miracle or find hopes of seriously paying off student debt, I will go for my doctorate in psychology.  That way I have a few more years of what will, by this point, become a form letter.  And when I graduate Dean’s List with my PsyD, I will sign that last letter Doctor Karen Marrs.

And them promptly seek counseling with myself because yes, I know how crazy I sound.

 

And you are all, “But Karen!  You are in banking!  Why a doctorate in psychology?”  What, you don’t think that will be useful in banking?  Maybe not behind a teller line.  But psychology is everywhere.  I psychologist is the one that suggested to stores that they stock candy bars and other little impulse purchases at the check-out register.  Psychology is knowing how to read people and how the mind works.  It pays to have a psychologist on staff.  But only if you know how to use them.  And corporate level knows how to use them.

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One weighs 6.6 pounds.
The other doesn’t even register on the scale.
One is the bringer of doom to spiders found in my bed.
The other could be carried around by the spiders in my bed.
Both are awesome.

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None of these are long enough for a separate blog post all their own, so they are having a lesson in sharing.

Speaking of sharing, my boys share a room.  And almost every morning they wake up ready to brawl, waking the rest of us with the sound of their fighting.  I say “almost” because once a week they wake up in separate homes.  One with my mom, the other here.  So I’ve decided to take a creative approach.  Mind you, I think so far out of the box that my box doesn’t even exist.  What the hell is a box?  This box you speak of, does it hold candy?  Only then am I interested.  Or, maybe if it were a box of puppies.  I digress.  So I’ve decided that from now on, every morning that they wake up and immediately start fighting, that night they have to share a bed.  My husband finds this twisted.  I argue the horrors of sharing a twin bed might shock them into getting along.  Oh, and we’ll go top bunk since it is much harder to fall out of when your brother tries to shove you to your own side.

Hey!  Speaking of falling out of the top bunk:

The NASA technology is gone, now there is just a brace in its place for the next 1-2 weeks.  But only when he plays.  It’s still healing but he needs to be able to let it move when he isn’t being rough and tumble.

On a different note, Guess who is getting a perfect 100% in the first college class she’s taken in over 5 years?  That’s right, this bitch!  It started easy but once you see it possible, you keep it possible.  If you tell yourself you’ll settle for a pass, you’ll only pass.  When you tell yourself you are an A student and you will pull in A’s you get A’s.  I’m telling myself I am capable of perfection. (I’ll settle for A’s.  What do you think I am, crazy?  Yeah, don’t answer that.)

My husband told me he broke the hair clippers, basically meaning I can’t shave my hair off anymore.  And that’s how I got blood stains on my hands.  Then he told me he fixed them so I brought him back.  Slightly zombified.  Slightly.  Or, it’s possible he only seems like a zombie because he threw out his back?  This paragraph has no real purpose other than OMG I finally can get rid of this hair that is way too long.  I spent a week thinking I could maybe grow out my hair.  HAHAHAHAHAHA.  No.  It’s touching me. (I’m not crazy, I’m eccentric.)

Any job letter of reference that starts out

Jane Doe can rappel down skyscrapers with a single bound.  More importantly, you can trust Jane’s set-up so that you too can rappel down skyscrapers, in a single bound of trust that she can get you safely to the bottom.

is a winner.  You want me to write you a letter of reference.  I’m qualified.

I’m a touch slap happy.  We just survived the 1st of the month in banking with an entire 7 employees for the entire branch.   We’ve been known to consider ourselves short on the 1st with a full 12 employees.  Tired doesn’t cover it.  But I’m flying high because I took on a role of leadership over something we were trying to logic out.  I presented the plan, ran it, and it worked like I knew it would.  Flying.  High.

Hey, speaking of leadership.  I would have had a chance to get a promotion that I turned down.  Again, not crazy.  First, starting school and being promoted within weeks of each other does not lead to perfect scores in school.  Oh, I’d still pass, but at what cost?  Sanity is a fragile thing.  And that box is currently upside down as it is, as “this side up” points to the floor.  Oh hey!  There’s my box!

But also, this promotion had I been given it, would have taken me from my branch.  It isn’t like I won’t ever leave my branch, but we are days away from being down to 2 tellers.  One of which, not me, is pregnant due to pop in less than 2 months.  Full line, FYI, is 6-7.  Me leaving before we hire at least 3 more would cripple the branch.  And I can’t do that to my team.  I can’t.  If I had absolutely nothing left to learn from them, it would maybe be different.  Hell, my boss would push me out the door.  She’d rather that than hold me back.  But I still learn something new there daily.  Plus, we have a new teller supervisor(!!!!!!) starting next week.  I am so excited to work with her.  She will be amazing for our line, branch, team.  She use to be a trainer.  She trained all of our personal bankers in fact.  Moral is high just thinking about her joining our team.  It’s her job I’d be taking at the other branch.  It’s a position I’m after in general.  But I’m excited to learn from her first, and then move on.

Finally, and the boss lady only told me about this after I decided not to apply, the other branch is so slow.  I mean so very, very slow.  There isn’t even anything to clean or organize.  I’d last about 2 weeks before they’d have to lock me away because I tried to put the ceiling tiles in proper order based on how many dots or bumps or specks of dust they have.  Hint: it’s so clean there is no dust.

But what matters is that the boss lady told me about the position because she thought I’d be perfect for it, and confessed she got depressed at the idea of losing me.  And not just because I’m a warm body running a window.  And when she told the other manager to expect my application, and then told me I should email the other manager if I wasn’t going to apply after all, the other manager actually put up some fight.  I don’t know what boss lady told her, but my heart if full of warm and fuzzies.  Perhaps my ego too.

Perhaps my ego needs those warm and fuzzies.

Perhaps my boys will be grateful they have adequate jammies as they spend a few night crammed into a twin sized bed, learning how not to fight.

Perhaps I can pull a perfect 100% in every class straight through my bachelor’s and my MBA.

Perhaps you too can rappel down skyscrapers in a single leap of faith in Jane’s rope work.

Perhaps her name isn’t really Jane Doe.

Perhaps I am even more eccentric than you anticipated.

Perhaps.

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