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Below are the 19 most recent journal entries recorded in Dysfunctional People's LiveJournal:

Saturday, March 20th, 2004
9:04 pm
Anyone has a reason to hate George Bush?
I'm sure you probably can concieve more than a million and one reasons to hate that good for nothing old *****.
No problem...
You can simply...

Join, rant
speak your mind, right here, at anti_bush

See you there!!!!!
Friday, January 30th, 2004
2:30 pm
ever get the feeling that your life is so fubar that u dont know if u can go on?

Current Mood: numb
Wednesday, July 2nd, 2003
12:39 am
Paula was an interesting character. She was the assistant manager of the hotel where I worked, and she was assistant manager from the day that the hotel opened to about ten years later. She was also prone to nepotism, and had a variety of other problems. Here are a few that came to mind

  • She was Cheesy, and rather annoying.
  • She was a micromanager, to put it nicely
  • She was condescending
  • One time a guest bought me a pizza, kind of as a tip. Not only did she eat some of it without asking, she took it home with her.
  • When she finally got the GM job after ten years, she hired her daughter as assistant manager. Her daughter had 6 months of experience, I had 5 years.
  • Her daughter fired me while I was on vacation.
  • After I was gone, she hired 2 more of her kids to work at the hotel.
  • Shortly thereafter, the regional manager fired her and her whole family.

She had no ambition to be anything more than GM of that hotel, and her stint at the helm lasted less than 6 months.

The denoument to the tale was interesting. A former co-worker, who was also fired from the hotel, called me up and said "Did you hear what happened to Paula?"
My reply: "What can I say? The bitch got what she deserved."
Her: "That's terrible...how can you say that?"
Me: "You're actually sticking up for her?"
Her: "Well, I couldn't stand her, but I didn't wish her dead."
Me: "She's fucking dead?"
Her: "I don't guess that you did hear"

Turns out that she had taken another job as Assistant manager at another hotel out of town, and she had a stroke and died in the hotel room.

Oh well, at least she got to fulfill her life's dream before she died...not everyone can say that.
Friday, June 27th, 2003
12:53 pm
Because I'm feeling particularly shitty at the moment, I'm going to rant about myself. If you don't care, or would just not rather read, you don't have to. I warn you now, it's not pretty. It's a lot of self-loathing and rage.

Read more...Collapse )

Current Mood: depressed
Monday, June 23rd, 2003
12:03 am
Roommates revisited
Okay... from that first rant here is more.... Want to know just how fucking pathetic and lazy my roommate is????? Well lets see... instead of stopping at the store, which he passed at least 2 of on the way, he just goes to his parents and takes 1?!?!??! roll of TP, not a couple, but 1!!!!! I mean if you are going to steal TP steal a bunch... And why steal it from the 'rents when you can stop at the store, which you drive past to get to their house, and buy a big pack... tell me how much and I'd give money towards it even though I paid for the last 12 pack and the last 3 6 packs of soup. I don't give a shit I use the stuff too. The best is... I ride a bike to work, not a motorcycle, but a bike, BMX bike, small 20inch bike, ride it better than anything else... and he has the nerve.. the nerve I tell you to call me today and leave a voicemail on my cell phone asking me to fucking pick up toilet paper... I don't know about any of you, but can you think of how much fun it is to ride 2.2 miles with a package of TP under your arm... I can tell you it isn't fun since the last time the wind kept catching it and I almost crashed 4 times. I just do not get how the fucker with a _-car-_ can't drive to the fucking store to pick up fucking toilet paper!!!!!

Okay, that's out of my system... for now...

Current Mood: pissed off
Sunday, June 22nd, 2003
8:18 pm
Long time reader, first time poster
Let me ask all of you out there:

Why in the bloody hell do people have kids, when all they do is hurl abusive language at them? That's not parenting.

I mean, Mom got mad at me when I was a kid, but she never called the once seven year old me a 'worthless c**t that I should have aborted' loud enough for the entire block to hear.


Honestly, I don't care for kids; I can't have them anyway. But if I could have them, and for whatever reason wanted children later in life, I sure as all hell would NEVER communicate with my kids with aforementioned method.

*growls* Damned people.

Current Mood: annoyed
Friday, June 20th, 2003
11:55 pm
Because bone55 reminded me..
My roommates. I've had a total of three that counted. One in the apartment I lived in when I first moved down here, and two in the one after that. Oh wait. Then there were the friends we moved in with in GA. Oooh. Lots of fodder for posting.

This time though, we'll stick with the psychotic wench I lived with first.

We'll call her Amy. That was her name. I can't even remember her last anme, nor do I want to, because I might torment her violently. Amy was a two-faced, self-obsessed, neurotic cuntrag. Probably still is, but I'm not forced to deal with her neuroses.

Amy had two cats. Both black. Daisy and something else. The cats I felt sorry for. They did not deserve to be trapped with this woman. Amy's cats were treated like children. Not like most cat-people though. Oh no. Amy had posed pictures of these cats everywhere. In photo albums. In saccharine-cute frames strewn all over the apartment. On the refrigerator. This was just one thing that made me fear the girl.

Amy was overweight. Not that I have a problem with people that are overweight. I am. My husband is. A lot of people I know are. But Amy was using Phen-phen to lose weight, and her plastic-surgeon daddy prescribed her prozac to counteract the side effects. For those that may not remember, phen-phen was (if I remember correctly) recalled by the FDA and is not allowed to be distributed anymore. The reason Amy was on this combination of drugs is because her daddy threatened her with liposuction if she didn't lose weight. Threatened. You heard me right.

Amy was also neirotic about the strangest things. If I left dishes in the sink for a couple of hours, I was bitched at for it, even though we have a dishwasher, and they were my friggen dishes. But Amy had this opinion that tupperware .. whether it be hers or mine .. was disposable. She would leave leftovers to rot in the refrigerator .. and I do mean rot .. and then would just throw the whole container away. This was instead of actually eating the fucking leftovers. You know, if you don't intend to eat something, just throw it away! Don't waste good tupperware because you're a freak.

Amy also had no concept of logic. She went away for the summer. She did this just after the apartment had become infested with fleas. Now ... the fleas could only ahev come from one place. Her children .. aka the cats. But does she bother to do anything about it? Hell no! She calls me a few days later to tell me that she forgot to call the exterminator and that she'll do so when she got home. Which wouldn't be for a month. WTF?? So I'm supposed to live in this flea-infested apartment for a month? Thankfully, the little annoyances didn't come into my room .. there are good points to being a witch.

Amy eventually asked me to leave. Why? Because our 'housekeeping styles' didn't match. Heh. Okay, so I don't leave food rotting in the fridge and I don't leave the house flea-infested. I'm so sorry, little miss bulimic. (Yes, I did suspect bulimia, especially from the sheer amount of food brought into the house) I'm so sorry you're a neurotic freak.

Current Mood: cranky
9:37 pm
BLAH fucking roommate!!!
This is so not meant to be a gross post, but it involves the bathroom so think of it as you will.

Okay, so I get home from work hit the bathroom and find that there is maybe 18 squares on the roll of toilet paper. I Could swear that I picked up a 12 pack not a month.. month and a half ago, and that my roomie had picked a pack up himself as well... So when I use the bathroom I kill the roll without thinking about it, figuring we should have some left in the closet... but _-NO-_ there is no fucking toilet paper left in the apartment. I think to myself well okay I guess we went through a lot of fucking TP, oh well.. I end up taking a nap from about 330pm till 6pm and then 7pmish to 8pmish, In this process my roommate got home, and between the naps actually had the nerve to just call out to me as he walked past the room I am in, "Hey dude... we're out of toilet paper.." That's it... nothing else... not I'm going to run out and pick some up, not can you possibly get some at work tomorrow, nothing like that. No because my fucking LAZY roommate just assumes that I will get it at work tomorrow!!! He is the one with the car, and I swear that he is the one that uses more TP than I do anyway...

Now... here is why this bothers me so much... PECO(gas/electric) bill comes, he writes a check and puts it on the fridge for me to take care of mailing out with my half, we get a statement from out rental managment copy about rent, and he does the same fucking thing, sticks a check on the fridge.

Yeah so I work at a fucking supermarket, does this mean that I am the obligatory bitch who has to fucking pick up our paper and bath goods, like soap, toilet paper, plastic cups, and napkins... I am the one who fucking rides a bike to work, not the one who drives a fucking car and can go to the supermarket to pick up anything and everything. I mean if you know that the roll is low, check to see how much might be left and go pick some up! I mean that's what I did when I noticed we were about out of soap.

Some times I just get so pissed at his lazyness... and it just seems to get worse with time... I mean I am not grabbing TP at work tomorrow, I may snag a roll, maybe a 4 pack, but I am going to start carrying it into and out of the bathroom with me. Maybe this will make him realize what the fuck he is doing and that I am not his MOM to go out and buy this shit just because of where I work.

Current Mood: pissed off
6:56 pm
Well I said that I would be posting this... so here goes.

I work in a supermarket, more specifically I work in the deli of said supermarket. A very braindead easy job, but for some reason unknown to me my boss Tina just seems to make it far more difficult than it needs to be. Now, managers of most departments work along with the people that are in those departments, Tina does not. Tina does what she wants when she wants, be it walking away and leaving who ever else is working alone, or be it giving each person 5 different jobs to do. The other people that work with me are usually nice, I can say that not all of them are geniuses or they wouldn't be slicing lunch meat in the first place. Me... I do the job because I have been there for something around 3 years and I already make more money than most people who have been there the same amount of time. That is the only reason I have not quit yet.

Okay, back to the topic at hand... Tina... the fucking cuntwad that is my boss. She had this habit of telling me 5 different things that she wants done, after getting maybe one of them finished she gives me another 5. Does she not fucking know that I have yet to finish the first ones???? I think she does which just make it seem spiteful, can't she just write a list of shit that needs to be done and let us get to work. Thank god that she leaves to go do a grand openin of another store in about two weeks.. the 26th which makes it nice that we won't have to deal with her anymore, only real downside is that my hours will pick up which means less time for real things... I need to find a new fucking job!!!

Ugh.. writing when you first wake up isn't all too easy... I may add to this when I get a chance...

Current Mood: pissed off
Wednesday, June 18th, 2003
8:05 pm
Hey Everyone.
Just want to say Hey! and to compliment the chef on this fine establishment....
uhhh... Anyway...
Good Community here. Look forward to posting once my mind is not bogged down by all the quayludes...
thats it...
Sunday, June 15th, 2003
4:10 pm
A message from your moderator

Just wanted to drop everyone a line to announce that the first week of this new community has been successful, and I for one have really enjoyed your posts....keep em' coming. I love hearing your rants, and can't get enough.

I also joined another new community: giveusyourshit It's brand new, and they seem to be on to the same thing that we are, so I would encourage you guys to check them out.

Also, I have attempted to be pretty thorough on the interests page for this community, but if you have any suggestions on something that I have forgotten, please advise. I am also looking for some approriate icons, and I'm more than willing to hear your suggestions. I have been considering a pic of Jesse Helms or Jerry Falwell, but if you guys have a better idea, I'll be glad to look for an icon that you request.

Many thanks,

4:07 pm
No discussion of dysfunctional people in my life would be complete without a mention of this man. He is a man that I considered my best friend for a while, hated his guts for a while, envied, pitied, and then just lost touch with him.

Our paths first crossed in the mid 80s when we played basketball together. I was a starting forward, but never got the ball, and never scored a point. He was the guy that always got the ball, and was probably responsible for over half of the points per game. We lost two games the whole season, went to the championship, and we lost, because our whole strategy was to get him the ball, and he was double covered most of the game.

Our paths crossed again much later, when we were both extras in The Ernest Green Story. We quickly became friends, and hung out together a lot that summer. He was also 21 years old, and I was 18 at the time, so he had some value. The guy also pulled a lot of women, and I figured that he would be able to toss me some sloppy seconds. But he was a lot of fun to hang out with, and my weekends were filled with him. He was getting me into bars, buying booze, and we would have a blast together. He also got me my first job at a hotel, and we would go party with the bellhops after work a lot.

Fast forward a bit. The guy introduces me to various girls that he used to date, and I’d go out with them a few times. Then he would decide that he wanted them back. When I met girls on my own (actually happened a time or two), he would come on to them when I left the room. And when we went out, I was the eternal wingman while he made a huge time investment to pick up strange. But there was not a girl that I dated that he didn’t come on to.

So I decide that I’m going to wash my hands of him…who needs someone like that in his life, anyway? It was a challenge, but I successfully blew him off for a while. Then I ran into someone that he worked with at a bar, and we sat down and had some drinks. He asked me what I really thought about Scott, and I said that I was kind of tired of him trying to fuck every girl in sight. He then told me how unpopular Scott was at work.

It occurred to me that Scott had a very bad sexual addiction, and that he didn’t have any real friends. He needed a friend like me. It was also possible that he envied my education and professional accomplishments, and this was his way of dealing with it.

So I always prepared any new girls that I brought around about his proclivities, and things went by basically smoothly…we continued to do things for a while, and we managed. In most things, he was a totally decent guy, but when he started following around his hard-on, then there was trouble.

He got married once, and his divorce was final before their first anniversary. Turns out she was going to the air force base and entertaining more troops than the USO. Then he got married again, and he was way too busy to do much of anything…almost.

We would get a big group together and watch the wrestling pay-per-view events, and he’d show up for them. This eventually evolved into a monthly backyard wrestling thing that we taped for about a year. We wrote scripts, cut promos, and had some great storylines. It was a lot of fun to do, and a hell of a lot of fun to watch together.

But Scott was the one that wrote the scripts, and he did do a good job. The problem was that he started to pull a variety of machinations and swerves to put himself over. He would give himself more promos, more belts, and give himself as much time on camera as possible. At one point, we had considered lining up in a single file line and letting him pin us all. The wrestling thing was something fun for us all to do, but he got way too into it, and really carried everything to a dangerous extreme.

The last couple of times that I talked to him on the phone before he moved away to Europe, the wrestling was the only thing that he seemed to want to talk about. I would try and change the subject, and it eventually all led right back to wrestling. We had lost him.
Saturday, June 14th, 2003
6:02 pm
Southern Nonsense
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, an interesting marriage took place. The surviving members of two previous marriages (let's call them Mark and Rachel) fell in love with each other. You would think this would be a cause for celebration: a lonely widow and widower finding a second chance at happiness. But no! You see, there was a problem. A wrench in the monkey works, so to speak.

It just so happened that Mark's son from his first marriage (let's call him Alan) and Rachel's daughter from her first marriage (let's call her Cindy) had already found happiness--and gotten married--to each other. In fact, that was how the older couple had gotten acquainted.

On hearing that their widowed parents were to marry, thereby making them step-sister and step-brother (not to mention Dad/Uncle and Mom/Aunt to their own 3 children) some intangible guard governing Alan and Cindy's sanity disintegrated.

"No!" they wailed and moaned, "Oh, you can't do this! It just ain't right!"

You see, the primary source of Alan and Cindy's compatibility was not love: it was a shared belief that they were far superior to everyone else in the little town in which they lived. They embodied the cliché that appearances were not merely the most important thing, but everything. And this change in relative status would simply never do.

So, with much wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth, Alan and Cindy spent the next three months plotting ceaselessly to derail the wedding plans. First the order for the wedding cake was canceled and had to be re-requested with another deposit. Then the lovely Sunday dress that Rachel was to wear mysteriously disappeared from the dry-cleaners. Finally, the church reservation date was moved (on "someone's request") unbeknownst to the couple. (Fortunately, the minister was of a suspicious nature and contacted Mark about the change.)

The final attempt to stop the wedding was during the ceremony (of course) and entirely fruitless. The moment Alan and Cindy leapt up (yelling "We object, goddammit!") they were escorted from the building and invited not to return. So it was that Mark and Rachel were married.

Seeing that it was a "done deal," the previously inseparable Alan and Cindy began sulking and blaming each other for this "sorry state of affairs." They also started drinking too much and involving their children in petty arguments.

"Children, go tell your Daddy-Uncle that dinner is ready," Cindy would snap with Alan plainly in earshot.

And Alan would growl back, "No, kids, you go tell your Mommy-Aunt that I'm a goin' out! And I don't know when I'll be back!"


It surprised no one when Alan and Cindy were divorced roughly six months later. They rarely attend their own family reunions and, I am told, are not especially missed.

End Note:
Mark and Rachel are still very much together. They will celebrate seven happy years in August.

Current Mood: amused
Friday, June 13th, 2003
3:12 pm
A whore by any other name is just as slutty...
One night about 11 years ago (Yikes!) when I was 20 a group of college kids and I decided to go to Juanita's. It's the Sunday night before finals, but what the hey? Juanita's was an hours drive from where we were and you had to be at least 20 to get in, but not to drink. Some guy had a van and a big group of us piled in and drank the whole way up there. When we get there some chick named Leigh forgot her ID. I gave her my student ID that had a birth date on it and it worked. What was amazing is that I'm 5'8 of average weight and blond headed. She was short a little over weight and very dark headed. But hey it worked! So we get in there and in a matter of 10 minutes I'm thrown out of the place because I get caught with a beer. So I keep coming back to the door and they threaten to call the cops if I didn't quit harassing the door guy. Any-who, know one from the groups wants to leave, so I go to smoke cigs and drink in the van until they decide to leave. I get there and some guy was in the van passed out. He wakes up and we end up talking. Nothing happened BTW. He was really cool and I was grateful to have the company. Finally the group comes out and ready to go home. They drop me off at the dorm and I go to bed. The next morning I get a phone call from a guy that works for my dad. He said the cops had called him looking for me. "What? Why would the cops call you looking for me? What do they want?" So I'm thinking it has to do with the incident at Juanita's. Well the reason they wanted me had nothing to do with Juantias, but it did have something to do with the night before. The reason the cop got in touch with Mike at work was that the cop used to work for my dad and new Mike would know how to find me. This is the reason they were looking for me; The cop was working the graveyard shift early that morning. He was cruising through the city park when he spots this chick giving head to a guy on the hood of a car. When the cop asked her what her name was she told him my name, when he asked for ID she have him my ID. It was that bitch Leigh that used my ID earlier that evening! She had hooked up with some guy in the van and when they got caught, lied and said she was me, yadda yadda yadda! When Mike (the guy working for my dad) told me I hit the roof! Then he told me that the cop (that used to work for my dad) told Leigh he knew who Shelli ----- was and that she was no Shelli----. He let them go. But she wasn't off the hook, or at least I thought. At this point, I'm ready to kill her! So my best friend Robin comes to the dorm and I give her the low down. I called Leigh at her dorm -- at a private Baptist college that I happened to have had a short stint at-- and she wasn't there. I totally skip my final and get in my Escort with friend in tow and go track down that whore. I'm driving like a bat out of hell and hit a pot hole so hard that my car reacts as if I wrecked. That car had a special feature that if one was to wreck it would shut down and would not restart. --NO Shit-- So that pisses me off even more. My car is stuck in the middle of her college's street. But I'm on a mission to kick some ass so I go on with my pursuit to find her. My friend Robin is with me and even though she didn't weigh a buck o'five, it still made me feel braver to have her there. So I find this Leigh chick's dorm. I bang on the door and her roommate, a major Bible thumper, answers the door. I practically yell "Where is that whore Leigh?" The roommate is literally shaking--no joke-- and says she doesn't know. I tell her, "You tell your whore of a roommate that Shelli ---- was here to kick her ass, and she better watch her cock-sucking ass!" I storm off, still shaking, and really not knowing what to do next. This is pre-cell phone days and I had to deal with my car. So Robin and I use a dorm phone and call Mike (back at work) and he comes to the college and pushes some button in the back of my hatch-back and I'm on my way. I got the big lecture from him about how that incident in the park could have ended up in the local paper as sexual misconduct and my name could have been used and how it was against the law to let someone use your ID blah blah. The cool thing is that my parents never found out any of it. OF course they did get my grades and ........that was hard to explain.
Never saw that whore again!
2:48 am
Psychic Internet Tech Support, My name is Zelda ..
Some of you know, and some of you are about to find out, that I work for a Internet Service Provider. This has been my delight and my dismay for nearly 5 years now. Having secured a spot on the third shift, I pretty much have nothing to do most of the time, hence why my own LJ tends to get rather prolific, especially on slow nights.

This also gives me plenty of time to write about the idiots that call in. I'm sure, as nights go by, I'll manage some customer-specific posts. They can be quite amusing, apparently. For me, it's therapy to write about them. For now, however, I'll just give you an overview of what I deal with on a nightly basis. Consider it, if you will, a prologue.

One of the most common forms of idjit is the 'Idjit Without a Clue'. This creature doesn't know anything. Not their username. Not their OS. Sometimes, not even their name. They are no help when trying to troubleshoot a problem. Most can't even double-click. I get more of these than I care to think about, and am forever teaching customers basic computer terms, such as 'desktop' - which is -not- the surface you put your coffee-cup upon - and 'icon' and 'monitor'. I have twice had to explain to customers how to put the '@' in an email address. I have had to explain to them that the first part of their email address is indeed their username. It's not that these people are not teachable, usually. They just didn't bother to familiarize themselves with the computer before venturing out on the Internet. Occasionally, there's a real stupid one who just has no clue whatsoever. When this happens, if I'm lucky, they can follow instructions at least. If not .. that's why they put the hangup button right next to the mute button.

Next we have the 'Network Engineer/Administrator/SysAdmin'. This moron works in the IT field in some way, shape or form, and thinks that this qualifies him to do my job. Well, great. You took a class and got a little certificate. Maybe you actually do work on an internal network. You're probably making more than I am then. But guess what. All that training doesn't mean shit if you have to call me up and ask me a question. So put that arrogant attitude up your rectum for a while and just listen. Don't try to anticipate what you think I'm going to have you do. I'll do it differently just for spite. Just because you can setup a 50-machine network doesn't mean you have the faintest fucking clue how to correctly power-cycle your home computer, or can navigate a dialer's properties and know exactly how things should be set up. It's why you called me, moron. Let me do my job.

One of my favorites is the 'Jane, spelled S-A-R-A-H'. These are the people that have a username that by all rights should be easy to spell, but isn't. I've had 'Ford' spelled 'Foarde'. I've had 'Jenny' spelled 'Ghehni'. The combinations are endless. So unless you really think my name is Zelda and that I can just guess your username, don't act all surprised when I ask you to spell it for me. And don't huff and puff unless you're blowing a pig's house down. Just answer the question. It'll make your life easier if I get the right information.

Let me see. Oh yes. The ever popular 'English as a Second Language'. It doesn't matter where you're from, either. If English isn't your first language and you can't speak it fluently, find someone else to call in. We don't have the luxury of having multi-lingual technicians. If your accent is bad enough to make your speech indecipherable, then we're not going to be able to do a damned thing for you. This goes double if your computer OS is in a foreign language. I actually had once a customer whose computer was Korean. And I mean, everything was shown in Korean. Which some people may know, doesn't translate well. It's bad enough that you can't speak english .. but if your computer can't either? Just hang up.

Irates. My favorite. Irates are what we call a belligerent customer who has decided that all of tech support is against them and has ceased listening to a thing I am saying. Usually this is accompanied by colorful language, raised voices and abusive behavior. I've personally been told to suck someone's cock before. As well as being called a bitch, a broom-rider, a cunt, a fucking cunt, a whore, and a stupid idiot. Now, I can assure you I'm not a stupid idiot. I wouldn't be here for 5 years if that were the case. I have a cunt, but I am not a walking one. I do not walk on Trade St, and I make less than a whore, so that rules that out. I have been known to be a bitch at times, but that doesn't give -you- the right to call me that. Broom-rider however is my favorite. The customer saying this to me undoubtedly meant it as an insult ... he was apparently too 'Christian' to call me a bitch, or even a witch. What amuses me is I -am- a Witch. So his 'insult' just made me laugh. Which undoubtedly made him more angry, but I couldn't help it. Oh, and to the charming young man who oh-so-elegantly told me to suck his cock? I wonder how he's enjoying all that homosexual porn that's flooding his mailbox? Don't piss of the ISP. We know how to find you.

I have one parting shot to give you, that is the ultimate in 'Do Not Do This'. I once had a customer that was a difficult problem, and I was having to put them on hold numerous times to get some responses from my supervisor. Well, one such time .. and I promise you this man had only been on hold a maximum of 5 minutes, and was told I would be back .. I returned, and put on my headset to hear heavy breathing. Now, generally I would just speak up, but this sounded suspicious, so I paused. Only to hear moaning.

Now, I know what you're thinking. He was masturbating. I only wish. I've had that before. I've even had a couple guys receiving fellatio while I fixed their problem .. their computer problem anyway. But no. This man was having sex. How do I know, because not a 30 seconds after I returned I heard her moaning as well.

I blanched. I looked at my supervisor and held out the headset saying 'Please tell me they are not doing what I think they're doing.' He listened for a moment and then smirked. They were. The customer had apparently gotten so bored and horny that he and his wife/girlfriend/daughter (hey, some of our customers are in West-bygod-Virginia!) were having sex. And close enough to the phone that I could hear the bed squeaking, and both of them moaning as softly as they could manage. This was far beyond anything I could handle. I waited, hoping they'd finish. 5 minutes went by, then 10. They were still at it. I finally had to terminate the call, being completely unable to compose myself enough to interrupt this couple.

So my final word of advice? Fuck before you call your tech support. We appreciate it.

Current Mood: working
10:30 am
When I first signed up I thought I had nothing really to share, but then last night I was speaking to my dad and well... Its a bit lame hehe but all i can think of now :D

My brother used to live in this flat, anyhow he got really sick so he moved out while recovering to stay with my parents. One of his friends offered to stay in the flat for him so it wasnt empty. Anyhow this friend is getting married, so hes moved out to live with the lil woman. When my brother first moved into this place, Dad helped him - so the electricity and phone bill were on in my dads name...... Bad move we know but no one ever figured on Andy getting sick, or his friend living there. The friend moved on, and of course owes dad about 300$ for phone and 150$ for elec.

So last night Dad gets an invite to this guys wedding..... we figure my parents only got asked because theyre prolly the only ones in this guys circle that know what a wedding gift is ..... Pretty sad though to invite ppl you owe money to?! *boggle*

On the plus side, my Dads not going *happy dance* and he figures this is one time he can give an IOU as a gift and not worry about getting hassled :D

Current Mood: amused
Thursday, June 12th, 2003
10:54 am
Psycho Mike...
When I was a freshman in college, I lived in the dorm, and there was this guy down the hall named Mike, who I will refer to as "Psycho Mike".

The guy was a pretty nice fellow to me, and we quickly hit it off. He was a pretty goofy guy, but he was a nice guy, and that gets you a long way with me.

We would hang out a little bit, and I'd give the guy a ride to the grocery store on occasion. One of those relationships of convenience that arises from the people with the means, and those without. They all kind of fit into the little ecosystem, like Morlocks and Eloi.

The guy did have a pretty serious drinking problem, and he liked to smoke a lot of pot, and there was also the worshiping the devil thing that kind of wierded me out about the guy. I don't think that the guy was an according to Hoyle Satanist, but he liked to draw a lot of pentagrams on things, and he claimed to be a Devil worshiper. Of course, I think that the guy wasn't unlike myself, in and of if he actually wanted to worship the devil, he probably wouldn't be able to figure out how to do so. There is a difference between being a Christian and Being a Christian that goes to church on a regular basis. The two classes are not mutually exclusive, and it may not be necessary to attend church on a regular basis in order to be a moral person, but sometimes you need some structure in your relationship with your God in order to make sure that you are doing it correctly. The same could logically be applied to worship of someone else. But that is an entirely different discussion

But back on the guy's drinking problem. The guy could pound a lot of booze. That's a big thing in college, I will concede, but this guy loved being drunk more than most people enjoy masturbating. He had an unhealthy obsession with it. He had received several public intox charges, as well as a couple of DWIs, which was why the guy didn't drive.

But the guy would cut out the articles that spoke of his many arrests, and he hung them on the door to his room. I made a comment on them, and said that I wasn't sure if he should be proud of the fact that he had so much trouble with the law. He agreed with me, but the pictures stayed up there during my subsequent visits to his room.

The guy had also apparently been kicked out of a couple of Christian Colleges, and considering his proclivities, this really wasn't much of a surprise. My guess is that the selection of schools was based on the fact that he was a drunk, and either him or his parents sought out to rehabilitate him by engulfing him in a mob of do-gooders.

Of course, this is largely an urban legend, because most of the time the parochial schools are filled with the rejects of the public school systems. You gather all of the wretched refuse of the public schools into one location, and then the levels of deviance begin to multiply exponentially.

The only other stories that I can think of was the time that he came and borrowed my broom and dustpan. Upon its return, he said "I thank you, my room thanks you, and Satan thanks you too.". And then there was the time when he was drunk and stoned and picked a fight with another guy down the hall, and got the shit beat out of him right in front of my door, while I snoozed away happily, passed out from my own stupor. I was getting up to go get tickets to the Travis Tritt/Trisha Yearwood concert with a girl I was trying to fuck (but never did) that Saturday morning, and the janitors were cleaning up a puddle of blood in front of my door.

That was one weird dude.

Current Mood: thoughtful
2:04 am
Kendall, the Bath and Body Works Bitcharooni.
Okay. When I go to a store in the mall, I do not expect to be chased around by salespeople, attacked by perfume-counter girls, or told 'Honey, you'd look fabulous in this shade'. If I want to spend my money, I will. You, you heinous excuse for a salesperson, are not going to convince me to part with my hard-earch cash by whining, pleading, or appealing to my feminine side .. or worse yet, appealing to my husband to change my mind.

Picture it. Kannapolis, North Carolina. Carolina Mall. The store? Bath and Body Works. Yes, that place filled with the unending supply of sickly-sweet scented bath gel, bubble-bath, frangrance sprays and otehr such girly things that noone ever needs, but buys anyway.

Enter me. encouraged by my darling shopaholic husband who, like his father, can't ever pass up a 'deal'. Add to the blend my Best Gay, who like any girl, must have these generally foul-smelling concoctions .. though in his defense, the ones he likes are the most tolerable of the bunch.

Thankfully, it's a bad day. Or, I'm assuming so. There's only two salesgirlfreaks in the store, and neither of them even speak to us when we enter. A good thing, in my estimation. I can't stand being attacked the moment I set foot within their radar. We're hunting for a few things. Now, granted, we find some items we want. One shower gel that smells rather heavenly and is being discontinued .. so hence we must buy some .. and a few others that are just a good deal, and between the two of us we can split the cost. But this does not excuse the moronic behavior that will ensue.

First there is the quest. There is, on one very smelly table, a quantity of 'Anti-bacterial Gentle Instant hand foam'. In many odd scents that do not belong on ones hands. Cucumber melon comes to mind, as well as country apple. Ick. But there are alos a couple that I do like. Sweet pea, as well as Sun-ripened raspberry. But the sale is 5 for $9.99. I do not need multiples of these intriguing bottles, but there are not enough scents that I will use, and I will grow bored of them, surely. Now, after much perusal, we cannot find anything else on this table that would be useful and worth taking home with us. Not even the conditioner bottles that would be used up in three uses. So I decide, in my wisdom, to only purchase two. This will be $8, rather than getting 5 things for $10. This seems intelligent to me. Why, you ask? Because spending $2 more for things I -will not use- seems quite foolish.

Now, we decide, because we are all getting headaches from the overpowering aroma of far too many scented products in once room, to check out. Enter Kendall. Kendall is a bubbly, cheer-leaderish salesgirl who can't remember where anything goes. This is why Kendall is working at Bath and Body Works. Kendall has done nothing to earn my approval. And yet, Kendall thinks that I am unworthy because I do not succomb to the 'Buy 5 for $9.99' temptation. She tries once to pursuade me to pick out 3 more items and I, rather nicely and even with a smile upon my face, tell her I'm not interested in the sale. She tries a second time without even taking a breath, and looks to my two male companions, who both insist quite firmly that I have made my mind up and will not be pursuaded.

What does Kendall do? Kendall, in her infinite wisdom, pouts. Now, I ask you: how effective does this air-headed, chubby, cosmetic-covered twenty-something think pouting is going to be with someone who has said no twice? Do you, you mall-working sorority-girl, think that I am impressed by how far out your bottom lip and go? Do you really think I will break down in fits of tears and say 'Alright, please, pick me out 3 random things so I may buy into your overwhelingly effective sales techniques!' Umm. No.

Kendall then tries again, with big, sad eyes and clutching my two bottles of smelly foam to her chest. As though I were abandoning puppies by not spending two more dollars. This annoys the Tania. This annoys the Tania very much. I have already had an experience with the Bath and Body Works staff of another mall who would not understand that just because a thing is 'buy 2 get one free' does not mean I must have 3 of them. I only want what I want. And who are they to tell me what I should spend my money on?

Brandon and Jason both seem to move closer together at this point, effectively cerating a wall between myself and Kendall. This is both wise and foolish. Had I thought her reaction to my dressing-down of her worthless hide would be worth my time, I might have proceeded to explain to her in no uncertain terms what she could do with the three bottles of foam she wanted me to purchase, which would likely have been shoving them all at once up her smelly cunt .. they likely would all fit at once anyway, as I'm sure she's been had by everyone within a 100-mile radius.

I chose the better part of valor however, much to my boys' delight, and simply said 'No thank you.' I am quite certain the flames in my eyes at that moment, not to mention the pentacle hovering oh-so-prominently above my breasts, dissuaded her from saying anything more. I did not, however, stick around to find out. I said, quite pointedly, 'I'll be leaving now.' and turning on my heel I walked to the front of the store, pacing and glaring at the sweet little twit known as Kendall.

My boys followed me out not very long after, and quickly ushered me away from the store, which I will never again set foot within. Especially not if Kendall the wonder-bra is there. I'll probably shove a bottle of bath-bubbles down her throat. But I'm sure she'd just start bobbing her head instinctively.

Current Mood: annoyed
Wednesday, June 11th, 2003
12:57 am
The story of Heath....
Heath...the mere mention of his name prompts a wave of reaction within certain circles of my acquaintances, and he has come up a couple of times as of recent, so I think that I will attempt to place into words this enigmatic figure that has come in and out of my life over the years.

The story begins in the early 90s...I am a mulleted young man of 16 who is treading water at McClellan High School. In my spare time, I play drums for a local band called Submission, and that is when my path first crosses with a bass player by the name of Heath. Not a bad looking guy, and reasonably charismatic in a great many ways...one of those people who gets on your nerves when you take the time to sort him out in solitude, but whe he's around, he'll win you over.

Not unlike all of us, he has his problems. He lost an eye when he was younger (more on that later), he has a bit of a stuttering problem (not his fault), and he applies so much gel, hairspray, and mousse to his hair that he could probably deflect bullets with it. And he is a pathological liar. But we all knew him, and understood him....he was an uncomplicated man, or so he had us all believing.

The eye story was an interesting story, and one that we never got a response that put the matter at rest on. One story was that he ran into a tree branch, catching a limb vitreous deep. One story was that a squirrel knocked some debris from a tree, and it caught him in the eye. Yet another was that he was a victim of a William Tell stunt gone bad. I attempted to assimilate all three stories into my gestalt, and I finally settled on the relaity that a squirrel shot a stick at him from a bow.

He was the butt of our jokes, and a tragic figure that was victim to our folly. "Fuck you, you piece of shit" was his characteristic reply. And we also quickly discovered that he would lie for no reason. I'm not talking about lies for a purpose (like getting laid, for example). I'm talking about lying to you about what he had for lunch, or about what movie he watched. He once told us he had no middle name, so we gave him the middle name "Fraker", after a fave character from Death Wish III.

Post college, I move back in to the house that I grew up in when mom and dad figure they can't sell it. It's a three bedroom house, and I decided to take on a couple of roommates to help out with the bills and the rent, and he happened to be getting out of his lease at the time. So Heath and Oscar (see pic below) move in.

Things went great...for a few weeks. Then he has a Christmas banquet coming up that he needs a date for. The antichrist and I reacquaint him with a friend of ours that he used to know when they lived on the same street growing up. She had just gotten out of an abusive relationship with a man, and then another abusive relationship with a woman, and she was willing to go to the banquet with him.

Digression: She had met this guy from Wisconsin on the internet, and he moved down to LR. It didn't exactly work out, and one of the problems was that he kept wanting her to bring a female friend to bed with them. She finally got fed up with it and kicked him out. Immediately thereafter, she went over to the female friend's house in question, and thus began the short-lived Sapphic tryst that ended badly. The running joke was that Heath was like Luke Skywalker, and he had the power to bring her back from the dark side

Within 2 weeks, Heath and Suzanne eloped, and Oscar became my son.

Fast forward a couple of months, and the marriage was annulled, and Heath moved back in. And then there were four, because now Carter was living here as well. This was his longest stint at the house, and this was where we started to realize what an undesireable situation that this was. He would run the AC all night as cold as it would run, he would try and sell us things that he owned when he needed money, and if we didn't give him his asking price, he'd turn around and pawn it and get less than half he tried to sell it to us for. He would get a new job, and everything was great, until one day some guy at work would try and grab his ass, or he was juat getting tired of their bullshit. He would bring home lots of different girls, and he would move relationships from step one to step six in a week. He also had a bit of a temper when it came to Oscar's barking, which I will admit was excessive, and this was the time that he went to live with Grandma.

He fell in love with a waitress at Waffle House who was on work release from the women's correctional facility, and eventually wound up moving in with her family. That ended, but it did not stop her from constantly calling the house collect.

Hurt me once, shame on you, hurt me twice, shame on me, or so it goes. We let him move in with us a third time, and he started getting into drugs, meth, I believe. This was about the point that he had run out of shit to pawn, he had lied to us constantly about a great many things, and we were fearful of our stuff. So we changed the locks, and the story ended badly, once again.

But for all his faults, I kind of miss the guy. Carter and I used to think that he was handy to have around, because if we were ever insecure about what we had done with our lives, we always had him around to make us feel better about ourselves. I am on speaking terms with him again, but we don't talk often. His mother started him on some treatment with a shrink, but I don't know if anything has come of it.

He's not a bad guy, but he does have some problems. His credit is wrecked, he can't be trusted, and even though he did manage to hook up with some really nice girls on many occasions, he consistently managed to blow it.

This is his story....

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