This is what Seroquel does not do.

actually, Seroquel is one of the 'new' atypical antipsychotic drugs. i've been on it for about 7-8 years.

i have noticed (and so has my supervisor) that my Customer Service skills have decreased as my dosage has decreased. she only thinks that because the other day i said i refused to wait on any more STUPID (ie: IGNORANT) people. there was one right in front of me who wanted a book for The Book Club. i presumed (very wrongly) that she wanted the book for OUR Library Book Club. nope. she wanted the Book Club book for a whole other town Library and was surprised that we ALSO had a Book Club. she was also surprised that we did not have the book she needed because SHE presumed we would have ALL the books for ALL the Book Clubs from EVERY town hidden somewhere under our front desk. why? because there was a flyer on our foyer bulletin board that mentioned her town had a Book Club (but not our town). i know it seems silly, but i have one nerve and half a brain cell and i would really like to hold on to them, PLEASE!

i have also noticed that decreasing the dose has left me far less depressed, in less pain, less likely to sleep ALL FUCKING DAY, and more able to think, though a little bit askew, at times. most times. well, let's just say it's like having Monty Python's Flying Circus living in my head. i am just glad that i LOVE Monty Python!

a nod's as good as a wink to a blind bat!

MM liked the tattoo, of course. he especially liked it because he feels few people will know what it stands for and some may ask me dumb questions like: 'is it a Satanic symbol?' erm....i don't think they will ask that but who knows? i plan to tell them that the four bars represent the years i spent in federal prison for NOT revealing the titles of the books a patron had on their library record. HA! the truth is, as much as i Bitch and Moan about the public, i would NEVER reveal any personal info, even if faced with prison. Patriot Act, Schmatriot Act!

Henry Rollins: Unsafe at any speed OR The care and feeding of your first tattoo

i said i would write about how Henry Rollins got me a speeding ticket: this is it. i think it was March 3rd and i was just getting home from a visit with Mike. i was listening to the song by Rollins Band 'Get Some, Go Again' and passing by the brand new State Police barracks that is just before the exit i take to get to The Mill. i was going atleast 87, maybe 90, which is really stupid because (like i said) i was passing the Staties and taking the next exit. i did not hear the Trooper behind me, of course, because the music was really loud and i was screaming along with it (because it is no use trying to Sing with Henry Rollins) and well, i DID slow down for the exit but when i got off, i realized i was being followed. the long and short of it is that the Trooper (by the way, RI State Troopers have the nicest AND most expensive uniforms in the country: true!) was slightly sarcastic and yet pleasant enough to charge me with speeding at 75mph in a 65mph zone even though he Said he clocked me at 87mph. plus, he did not charge me for not having changed the address on my license which i have since found out needs to be done within 10 days. i moved several months ago. yes, i now DO have the proper paperwork and will send it in, hopefully before the next ticket. i think he must have felt a little bad for me because when he asked me where i was going, i told him i had my aunt's diabetic cat at home and she needed her insulin and i was late. that was true. i also showed him a bill from my psychiatrist that had my current address. i also think that remembering to put on my interior light (law INRI) and placing my hands above my head helped, though having to dig through my purse for 5 minutes didn't. that is where his sarcasm showed, "what? you're not going to pull out a Bazooka are you?"
well, NO!
he also asked how i liked living in The Mill and if there were a lot of vacancies and he said i could use my good driving record, if i had one. i told him, in all honesty, i had just gotten a ticket last May-ish and used my good driving record already. he asked what it was for and i told him: doing 87mph in a 65mph zone. just digging my own grave, folks, that's all! in the end, i got a ticket for 85 bucks. WHEW!!

so, logically, Henry Rollins owes me 85 bucks.

also, for the record, Maniac Mike had absolutely NO DIRT on HR. none. Mike saw Black Flag about 8 times (Jockey Club) and Rollins Band twice (possibly Bogart's). he NEVER saw HR smoke, do any drug and he can't even remember him drinking. he remembers speaking to him here and there and liked him even though there were some weirdos who would go to concerts for the sole purpose of 'booing' Henry. now, that is nuts, really. i would never go to a concert to 'boo' the lead singer, unless, of course, he were Gary Puckett (but NOT The Union Gap). Hino will get this reference. Henry stayed at Amy Miller's parent's home once and the rumor is Amy's mom found him asleep on the couch and chased him around with a mop or a broom. later, Amy got an apartment and just about everybody stayed there. so, alas, no dirt. drat!

now about that tattoo. i've got one. a real one. today...and not the library card barcode. i went with another sort of barcode: the one pictured above. why a tattoo? good question. give me a moment to think of an answer.

AH!

1- because i have always wanted one...or more. yes, many more.
2- because i do not ever want to be thought of as a wuss.
3- because my husband must not be allowed to brag about his work unless i can also brag about mine.
4- because i am 42. it was about time.
5- because i can tell my director that it's only black Sharpie and it will eventually wash off and see how long she will believe it. also, i am testing the dress code...again.
6- because i wanted to know just how painful getting a tattoo was. turns out, it is nowhere near as painful as carving your loved one's initials into your own flesh with a box cutter. the tattoo is right under the scar (heart with MK inside). Forrest, who inked the tattoo, told me he knew i wouldn't flinch after he saw that.
7- because my psychiatrist asked me if i could think of a less destructive thing to do to myself than cut and i thought getting a few tattoos might be a positive thing. he kinda/sorta agreed. truthfully, the buzz i got off the tattoo and the care of it will last a lot longer than any cut.
8- i just plain wanted it. that's really the only thing that counts.

it is on my left arm, just above the elbow, in just the right place i had planned and at just the right size. there are no letters, just the Black Flag bars AND an added bonus is: Maniac Mike does NOT have them! HA! another artist looked over and said, "boy, i haven't seen those done in a long time!".
i had brought in the Damaged CD for the bars and Forrest told me he had his Damaged album smashed when he was back in high school (21 years ago), so, i gave him the CD as a tip (and some money). the tattoo cost $100 and took 45 minutes or so. he said he would be more than willing to work on the Death Eater tattoo with me along with anything else.

i asked Mike if, from now on, once he's home, he could he get me a tattoo rather than flowers for the holidays. he said he would. after all, flowers fade but tattoos are forever!

Hello! Gallbladder! Would you keep it down? Thanks!

yesterday, i had the worst gallbladder attack since my gallbladder started attacking me three or four years ago. the gallbladder is a vicious organ that cannot be placated once it has decided it does not like you and it is prone to sneak attacks, which makes it all the more undesirable. it must be removed. eventually. there, that'll scare it straight.

i worked yesterday, hunched over, clutching my boob (which helps, really!) and feeling a whole lot of Hurt. but there is no way in Hell i would leave work on a saturday because my fucking gallbladder was angry at me for eating one pint of Ben and Jerry's and two small orders of BK fries this week. true, i eat fries no more than two or three times a month, but for some reason, i was craving fries this week. maybe because Potato is one of the few food groups i can Still eat (though, as you see, there is Always a price. i HATE food). for Christ's sake, all i ever eat is Fucking lettuce leaves!

today, i still hurt. i have a visit. it's Sister...i mean Easter. none of these have a correlation. not as much pain, a longer visit and another crappy holiday. i am pretty sure my whole family is dead because no one has called me in about two weeks except for Hino. this means i will have to call my miserable sister and my miserabler mother and listen to them bitch about why i never call THEM. i never call them because thay are MEAN and Bitchy.

Have a Nice Sister!

Have a Nice Sister! AND New for Easter! The Taserphone!

yesterday, i was helping two patrons. one was the 50ish daughter with a long, horribly costume-y black wig and her 75+ dad with a heavy accent (of unknown origin). they both wanted Herbie the Love Bug movies on videocassette. we have two: The Love Bug and Herbie Goes Bananas. the dad already had The Love Bug in his hand and he wanted more movies. i told him we had Herbie Goes Bananas and he said, "Yeah, yeah...that one!" so, i looked on the juvenile shelves (where it SHOULD have been), then the adult shelves, then the shelving carts. then i looked in the catalog and it did show that it was AVAILABLE which means it SHOULD be in the library. damn. i was about to set it to missing when i turned around just to look on the return cart and BAM! there it was! so, i said [smiling, happy], "Wow. you're lucky. someone just returned it!" and the dad said, "Yeah. I did!"

sigh

so, i told him i could get Herbie goes to Monte Carlo and he was happy with that. i was disgruntled and figured i'd leave it at that and look up other (are there other?) Herbie movies the next time they come in.
so, as the dad leaves he smiles and waves and says, "Have a Nice Sister!"

?!

i say, "You, too!" and wave back. what the hell? my coworker looks at me, i look at her, we shrug and then a little light bulb pops up over her head [POP!], "Oh! He said 'Have a Nice EASTER!'".

i walked into a conversation behind circ where i thought i overheard one circworker say to the techie, "It would be nice if the text messaging screen would pop up ON THE GUN."

?!

so i said, "Why? So you can text the guy before you shoot him...that's fucked up!"

????!!!!!

they were not talking about guns with text messaging capabilities but in this crazy society, it seemed possible to me. they DID start talking about a 'great' idea: a Taser Phone. an actual cell with built in Taser. a useful device with added protection. i said, "Why? So every time i answer my phone i can electrocute myself? No Thanks!". then the techie said, "Yeah. What would i say to a mugger...Wait! I need to make a phone call before you rob me?" HA!

"Futzing around"

a most excellent word: 'Futz'
a most excellent phrase: 'Futzing around'

on Dictionary.com

futz intr.v. futzed, futz·ing, futz·es Slang
To waste time or effort on frivolities; fool. Often used with around.

"Stop futzing around with that thinga-ma-bob and get to bed!"

[Possible blend of fuck and putz.]

excellent! something new to use at work. did i mention i used to read the dictionary for fun when i was a kid? i still do!

'futzing around' found in the book Freakonomics. read it!

"Back before I went to prison..." OR Good God, someone help that man

the phone calls are often strange:

Maniac Mike: "hi sweetie!"

Rhonda: "hi! you sick, still?"

MM: "yeah, my throat (my this, my that)."

R: ZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz

MM: "HELLO! are you sleeping? it's 6PM!?"

listen, i didn't sleep at all last night; didn't think i'd fall asleep EVER, but i DID! went to work, was all messed up, came home and fell asleep (after i washed my green hair). anyway, it didn't get weird until he asked about ice cream.

MM "what kind of ice cream did you get the other day?"

R: "Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey."

MM: "uuuuuuuuuu...i HATE banana flavored ice cream."

R: "nah. it's good. you'd like it."

MM: "NO. i HATE bananas. i HATE them especially when they are all brown and bruised!"

R: "what? you like banana splits!"

MM: "yes but without the banana. i HATE bananas."

now i have the Monty Python sketch running through my head where the drill sergeant drills his troops on fruit-as-weapons and the next lesson is on the Deadly Banana.

R: "so, you would prefer not to have bananas in the house. so, if i brought bananas home, hid them, waited for them to get brown and bruised, i could potentially use them to torment you?"

MM: "Yes!" (that was the Wrong Answer! men, will you ever learn?)

R: "AHA! yet another way to torment you! you always fall for my schemes. you poor, naive man!"

MM: "you would do that? you would use bananas against me!"

R: "YES!"

MM: "what IS wrong with you. you are always looking for ways to torment me. you are going to dog ear my books and put the wrong Cds in the wrong cases..."

R: "i feel it is my duty as a good and loving wife to torment you once in awhile."

MM: "well, i am going to torment YOU! i am gonna, er, gonna, hmm, (very little bothers me), um, LEAVE THE TV ON ALL NIGHT!"

that's the best he's got? i let him win because he is so obviously ill.

but it goes on:

MM: "why didn't you get Haagen Dazs? i like Haagen Dazs."

R: "because i wanted Chunky Monkey and i think it was on sale, too."

MM: "how much is Haagen Dazs?"

R: "3.99 a pint."

MM: " A PINT! Three dollars and ninety-nine cents A PINT! back before i went into prison...."

oh God. here it comes. know how we joke about the parent or grandfather who goes on and on about how great it was back in 1922? yeah, well, MM has his own version called "back before i went to prison" and it makes me nuts!

R: "they didn't even have Haagen Dazs?"

MM: "no, they had it but it was like 1.99 a pint!"

R: [laughing] "well, back before i went to prison...Haagen Dazs was 99 cents A GALLON and it was called Hood."

MM: "?????"

R: "well, back before i went to prison...i had to buy rock salt and a hand crank and make my own ice cream in the basement."

MM: "HA HA"

R: "well, back before i went to prison...we had the internet and it was called Commodore 64."

R: "well, back before i went to prison...gas was 78 cents a gallon and every wednesday, you'd get a free bag of ice with fill up."

MM: "what's wrong with you?"

R: [laughing hysterically] "well, back before i went to prison...for fun we'd draw paintings of bison on the cave walls...in France."

MM: "are you RETARDED!?"

R: "well, back before i went to prison...it was okay to call people RETARDED!"

MM: "you a ARE retarded, i knew it! look, go back to SLEEP and i'll call you later! I love you and tell Angel I love her, too!"

Torment is my middle name. funny how he never gets angry.

At random

it's quarter til five am
still no sleep
not an ounce
tried staring out the 12 foot tall window
in front of the bed
the dark looks so lovely
enticing
i want to go walking

my skin prickles
my face is burning
my cheek is twitching
my eyes have deserted me
my brain says "NO!"

i've listened to:
Midnight Creeps
Ramones
GG Allin
The Pretenders
and 4 Cds worth of Shonen Knife

my ears scream, "QUIET!"
sure...quiet and dark
just when will it come

where is there a good depression when you need it?

Happy Queequeg's Birthday!! Wear green!

this is not Queequeg. i do not have any pictures of him on this computer. i can say he was that cute, though; cuter, even. he was born on St Patty's Day, one of those rare (not really) Irish-Polish-Italian prairie dogs. yes, he was named for the Polynesian warrior in Moby Dick but he was also named for Scully's dog (got eaten by mammoth croc) on the X-Files. bet you don't remember that show!

that's because the Truth has never been Out There. it's in here! [points to head] and in There [points to your head].

so, i have already taken 50mgs Seroguel, 50mgs Benadryl, 2mgs Klonipin and 75 mgs Lyrica and i am listening to Shonen Knife and i am not anywhere near being asleep and i have work tomorrow. i was up at 8am after sleeping 3 hours last night and i still cannot manage to fall asleep tonight. the good thing is that the constant stream of words that stream through my head have slowed considerably. i can think. i read that most people can change thoughts every 2 seconds but people in a manic state do it at fractions of a second and constantly.
they also talk fast which makes me think of the time that i was working at a city library and calling patrons to let them know that their books were in when my supervisor came around the corner and asked me to speak slower because i was speaking much too fast for anyone to understand the message. so, i feigned placing the next call and spoke in an exaggeratedly ssslllooooww voice and she came running back and said, "That's NOT what i meant!"
the other day at work, i called an old lady who was hard of hearing and i repeated "I'm calling from the Library to let you know your book is in" 4 times, getting louder each time until the lady said, "OKAY!" and hung up. 3 minutes later, she calls back and asks me to repeat what i said but very slowly and i did and she finally got the message. so, i know i must speak more slowly but it's just habit. this habit only got worse when Maniac Mike started calling from prison in Florida. each 20 minute call was $20 dollars and we always tried to get as much in as we could.

so, tomorrow i am wearing the Green in honor of my husband's Irishness. i am Polish by birth but Irish by marriage. my aunt used to say she was Irish by birth but Polish by marriage so i am sure she would be very proud of me for picking and Irishman to fall in love with. CP is even decked out in Green (CP the penguin which stands guard at my front door and also serves as a beacon for those who give up looking for my apartment. just look for the 3 foot tall plastic penguin, 'kay). Hino named him. all my penguins have names. most of them have names from the works of Melville. CP comes from a Beatles song and is short for Corporation Penguin.

back to Green: i have the Green nail polish, the neon Green 'Kill Rock Stars' t-shirt that will drive the director mad ("we have a dress code!"), and Green spray on hair dye. no one can say that i do not get into the spirit of the day. after all, it IS Queequeg's birthday!

Angel...waiting

this is Angel waiting by my computer chair with some Cds also waiting by my computer chair.

Angel

Just a couple of things...nothing important...not really worth mentioning

the other night, i was sitting in bed reading, fully awake and aware of my surroundings and all alone except for the cat when i heard a voice. this voice did not come from the cat. infact, i am pretty sure it was just a projection of my own mind but it was a rather odd projection even for my own mind. this voice spoke one word (or a partial word) through a megaphone from deep in side a long, metal tunnel...that's what it sounded like anyway. the voice said, "casualt...". i waited for the '-y' but it just stopped at the 't'. so, of course, i had to stop reading (Animal Farm) and try to figure out just what this voice was trying to tell me. did it mean to say 'casual' and just threw in the 't' or did it really mean to say 'casualtY' but fell down a hole or something before it could get the whole word out. hmmm. i mentioned this to my husband the next day and he said, "the next time you go to Newbury Comics, look for Crass:The Feeding of the 5000".

today, i found the CD. MM happened to call while i was shopping and i asked him to name some bands and record titles that we NEED and he did but he did not tell me them in alphabetical order so i was running back and forth with a stack of Cds and a well-pierced kid and a tatooed girl were trying to keep up with me and i thought, 'how strange is this; i've got two teens following 42-year-old ME to keep ME from stealing Cds. WOW!'

after NC, i went to the worst place in the world: a virtual hell-on-earth. there are atleast 3 in every town and city and once you get trapped inside, you will be lucky to EVER get out. i am speaking of The Grocery Store. pick one, any one...Stop and Shop, Whole Foods, Piggly Wiggly, Publix, Safeway, WinnDixie (good story about WinnDixie, though), Shaws...which ever. going to the market SUCKS. that's a whole 'nother post.

really, the only reason i got out of the house today was to pick up 2 pints of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey, sharp cheese and fig preserves but somehow, i got sidetracked to Massachusetts which happens to me rather frequently. Massachusetts just likes to sneak up on me like that. weird.

when i pulled into the Mill parking lot, i parked, got out, unpacked and listened to this (female) Moron yell to another (male) Moron in the car that was pulled up to her car, "Pull your car over, you're blocking another car that wants to get by!!" "WHAT!?" "I said: Pull your car over, you're blocking another car that wants to get by!" "WHAT!?!?" now, these cars were right next to one another. so, being a good neighbor, i said: "She said: Pull you're FUCKING car over so this other Fucking car can get by! see the car!>>>>>>>>>>! (Asswipe!)".

now, i often wonder why i have no friends...

I'm really undecided

the good news is: i do NOT have schizophrenia. i now know this because i called my psychiatrist last monday and asked him point blank if i had it. i believe he said, "Do YOU have schizophrenia? weeeelllll, nnooooooo, not really, but you ARE bipolar". funny, Maine is the farthest north i've ever been and Hawaii the farthest south, so i hardly would consider myself bipolar. now, if i had been to northern Canada and Antarctica then, yes, i might consider that much more bipolar.

oh.

well.

i am also rapid cycling which means that i can beat Lance with a unicycle. well, i wouldn't actually use one to BEAT him. i am not, after all, homicidal. i know that i am not homicidal because during the very first appointment i had with Herr Doctor, he asked me if i THOUGHT i was homicidal and i told him i was much more likely to be suicidal. i guess this was okay since he gave me meds and let me go. to this day, i wonder what would have happened if i said that i WAS homicidal.

sorry, not much to write. when my mind is not racing at 4 times the speed of light (at these times, in order to get any reading done, i must put on headphones, crank up the music...Motorhead is good...so loud my brain leaks. this quiets my mind enough to follow the written word and curiously, block out the music. weird) i am so sssslllllllooooowwwweeeeedddd down that i can stare at a single white cat hair that has stuck to my black bed sheet and think, "I Prefer Not To" over and over and over.

and then there are the Suicidal Tendencies (self titled). now THAT was a good record!

Pepsi, please, ma! all i want is a Pepsi!

295.70 OR I'm not myself today and neither am I

295.70
Schizoaffective Disorder.

the other day, i was trying to explain to a coworker the coded system used to diagnose mental illnesses (the DSM or Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). so, i pulled out the last receipt i had from my psychiatrist and showed her the code i had and then showed her how to use the manual. i expected the same old PTSD code but found a new number: 295.70.

WTF?!

"The essential feature of Schizoaffective Disorder is an uninterrupted period of illness during which, at some time, there is a Major Depressive, Manic or Mixed Episode concurrent with symptoms that meet Criterion A for Schizophrenia." it goes on but the key word here, if you missed it is: Schizophrenia. clearly, somewhere along the line, someone has forgotten to tell me something.

so, i did the only thing i could do. after work, i went home and watched Harvey.

tomorrow, i will call my doctor and ask him point blank if i actually HAVE schizophrenia OR this is just something he pulled out of his hat to get me to go back on the full dose of Seroquel. i would think that that would be an IMPORTANT thing to tell someone: "Look, you nutcase, you have schizophrenia so start smoking 3packs a day, drink your coffee black and often, and find a Fucking cardboard box because YOU are riding on the Looney-Go-Round!"

yeah. would be nice if i knew. like the aliens and i will ever trust you again.

Reminders

write about:

our patron with Tourette's who got kicked out of a Library down south (southern RI) for being too disruptive.

how Henry Rollins got me a speeding ticket (and The Dirt i didn't get from MM)

the Cheetos fiasco (that was NOT funny)

Haagen Dazs (and how no one would go for it. can't pronounce it/too expensive)

Be careful what you read before bed OR Why does Iggy have an English accent?!

just before bed, i was reading a little of the Iggy Pop bio Open Up and Bleed. be careful what you read before bed:

i was dreaming that i was asleep in bed in Hawaii, dreaming that i had to get up and go to school in the morning and how much i didn't want to go to school. then i realized i was no longer in school and i 'woke up'. i was 16 and tired of living in Hawaii. all i kept thinking to myself was, 'everywhere i look, all i see is Ocean'. water, water everywhere and Get Me the Fuck Off this Island. and i really wanted OFF the island. only in the dream.

both of these are recurring stress dreams.

the next part, however, was weird, good and great.

i decided to get out of the apartment and head down to Waikiki Beach and just hang out. i was trying to decide if i wanted a Shave Ice or just Black Walnut ice cream when i spotted this guy down by the water all alone. he was crouching by a nice little sailboat and he looked just like a younger, tanner Iggy Pop. he had his dyed blond hair half in a ponytail and half hanging loose. so, i think that i have found someone interesting and i go down to the water and see if i can start up a conversation.

in Hawaii, i would pretty much go up to just about anyone interesting and talk to them. my friends were embarrassed for me. i was never (i hope not) rude, just nosey and i wanted to find out where everyone (the Tourists) came from. i talked to the hookers on Kalakaua, the Hare Krishnas, the cops on Kuhio, the pimps, fellow teens, Tourists, the guy that sold oysters, Eddie K, who was a very well known Hawaiian singer, and anyone that looked halfway interesting. the pimps and hookers took better care of us kids than the cops.

anyway, i went down to the water and struck up a conversation with this guy who looked kind of like Iggy. as soon as he spoke i knew it could not really be Iggy because the guy had an British accent. i have no idea what we talked about but it must have been really interesting because i was having a really nice time. after a while of heavy conversation, the blond guy asked me if i wanted to get in the sailboat and sail around Diamond Head to 'his place'. i first told him 'no' because i was terrified (i AM terrified) of the Ocean. he told me he had a life vest for me and it would be all smooth sailing, guaranteed! so, i thought, 'what the heck!' and got into his little sailboat. it was a really short, smooth sail and before i knew it, i was in his house admiring his massive Cd collection. one little room, wall to wall Cds. i asked him to play something and he put on (guess!) Iggy Pop. so, that was the good part.

the great part was the sex. really, really great. awesomely great.

and then, i woke up. why do i always wake up? i would have really liked to have stayed asleep for at least, oh, another 14 years.

now, i need i bio of Josh Holloway because the poster has not done a thing for me so far.

Waxing Is Not In The Lease Agreement

do you want to hear something Really Funny? i bring home $1,700 a month. A MONTH. working full-time at a job once listed among the top 15 most stressful jobs in the country. my March rent is $1,915.50 (including gas and sewer). hmmmmmm. let's do some simple math:

1,700-1,915.50= -215.50

ohmigod!

i have just calculated the Theory of Everything (meaning: that's Everything i got and then some).

ah, but wait! i'm married. to an Old Punk in prison. who has more money than i have made in several lifetimes combined (and he did not steal it or sell drugs to make it...he freely shared his drugs). kharma has been good to me. finally!

so, i won't have to work Hamlet Ave. today.

the only reason i live in an over-priced, yet safe and beautiful, restored mill is because i adopted my 85 year old aunt's cats when she was forced into The Home. i had Poppy, Angel and Little One and Maniac Mike said to me, "you can't keep those cats in your apartment! it's too dangerous for THEM!" for THEM. not ME. i guess he figured the cats might be scared of the SWAT teams that would appear at random to run around the complex and break down doors, but i was able to handle it. yet, i know he loves me; only he'd love me WAY more if i were an ancient, toothless, pretty, white, diabetic cat. he says, "aawwwwwww! Angel is so poor and pathetic. she needs love and a comfy home." well, what about me?

I'M PATHETIC!

we have the weirdest phone calls:

MM: "when i get out, i'm going to wax the kitchen floor."

R: "why?"

MM: "because i like my floors waxed. Popeye waxes our cell floor and it looks great!"

R: "well, good for Popeye. you can't wax my kitchen floor."

MM: "YOUR kitchen floor? i pay the rent. it should be MY kitchen floor."

R: "no. not until you live here. then you can lay claim to the kitchen floor. besides, i'll slip and fall."

MM: "no you won't."

R: "and the lease agreement states that you cannot wax the floors."

MM: "you make that shit up. i'm going to bleach the floors and then wax them."

R: "you can't use bleach. it will get on Angel's paws and she will get sick. i use environmentally and pet-safe floor cleaner ONLY."

MM: "you are mental!"

okay, he never called me mental, but he Implied it! then the conversation turned all FelixUnger-y:

MM: "i'm going to have to organize the Cds. first, i'll start with Classical, shelved alphabetically by composer, then Rock, then Punk, then Punk Hardcore, then Oi!, then..."

but if he wants them alphabetcally filed, should that not be Classical, Death Metal, Heavy Metal, Oi!, Punk, Punk Hardcore, Rock, Thrash, etc??? i should have called him on that but i like to let him have his little fantasies. right now, the Cds are categorized by: Those On The Floor, Those On The Counter, Those In The Car and Those Of Which I Cannot Find. see, my system is much easier.

HateYou! Have a Nice Day!

God I wish that I could hide away
And find a wall to bang my brains
I'm living in a fantasy, a nightmare dream... reality...

...I hate people
I hate the human race
I hate people
I hate your ugly face
I hate people
I hate your fucking mess
I hate people
They hate me

-Anti-Nowhere League

most of the time, i don't hate people. okay. that's a lie. i hate people. just a little bit. a teensy-weensy little, tiny bit. oops, i've lied again. hate them/love them hate them/love them...it's just too much for me to sort out. okay, most living people are okay. Zombies, though, Fuck i HATE Zombies...always wanting to eat your brains or your guts or check out their massive pile of DVDs or bitch about their 10 cent fine when they have a brand new BMW parked ON the sidewalk right in front of the Library door (so everyone else has to walk around it) because they cannot be bothered to park 5 feet away in an actual parking space. why is it that i cannot recall what i read yesterday but these Zombies can recall that, on March 3rd of 2006, they returned their one and only book two days before the due date. therefore, they could not possibly owe a fine. infact, they have never, ever been fined in their life for any reason. gee. maybe you should start LIVING! huh?

i also hate the person INRI with the license plate that reads: SMYLEE. really and honest to Allah, that is what was on the plate. what poor felon had to pound that one out? please tell me that is NOT your nickname because if it is, i have visions of a large, very hairy, middle-aged man in a clown suit that thinks it's okay to look at pictures of naked little boys.

now all clowns are not like that! don't misquote me!

I HATE CLOWNS!

that, you can quote.

please don't tell me you had SMYLEE put on your plate because they could not manage this>>>>>> :) <<<<<<<<< down at the DMV.

me: i am the second luckiest person INRI when it comes to license plates. the only two letters on my plate are FY followed by three consecutive numbers. once again: FY! the luckiest person INRI is the guy driving around with FU on his plate.

my favorite word in the English language is: Fuck You! yes, that is one word if you say it really fast with one burst of fiery, furious breath: FUCKU! the Y and the O are lost and the U merges with the motherword. practice!

don't try to get it placed on your plate: the DMV frowns on it. they frown A LOT down at the DMV. i don't know why, having to work for a bunch of Lunatics aka The Public. if you work in retail then iloveyou! iloveyou! iloveyou! here, have some tranquilizers. anyone who works FOR The Public...may Allah have mercy on your soul because no one else will...are the heart and soul of this country. you may think it is your boss but in reality, it is The Public that will pay you shittily (word?), walk all over you and tell you that you smell bad. they will make you follow a dress code, take out your piercings and cover your tattoes. you will work vast hours for pennies and suffer more Stress than Jeb when his brother called down to Florida and said, "do me a favor...fix it!" so, I LOVE YOU! really!

now be a good little Monkey and find a wall on which to bang your brain. preferably, one made of Corporation Concrete.