Lately I have been amusing myself with “doggo meme speak”, which, since I am also a bit of a Grammar Nazi, is mildly frustrating. Hence, the title of this particular blog entry.
It’s probably too late for me to attempt to blog coherently. I had an exposure (“trigger”) and did a bit of a rage today… the stupid goddamned idiot neighbors keep firing up their barbecue grill right under our open windows, flooding our house with smoke. Now, this is gonna piss anybody off, but, my grandmother will be 90 years old in 2 weeks and she has COPD, emphysema, and asthma, and I of course have MCS. I knew better than to go out and talk to them – one of the effects of an MCS trigger odor is rage. The other is weeping. Neither one of those responses would be helpful in this situation. Now please remember – I am a hermit and a recluse. Even though I have lived next door to these people for 7+ miserable years now, I have no idea who the hell they are. I do not know their names. I stay the fuck in my apartment and I mind my own damned business. I don’t want to know who the hell those people are. I don’t want my life touching theirs, and I sure as hell don’t want their lives touching mine… but it’s happening anyway.
Of course it is.
Maybe instead of “Skeletons, Boogie!” I should have named this blog “Par for the Course”. 😆
I don’t want to knock on their doors – there are two units in that house, both families have a grill. I don’t do well with face-to-face confrontation. I really, really really do not play well with others. I don’t know how to play the nicey-nicey-butter-’em-up game. I do not want to win friends nor do I wish to influence people. I want to be left the fuck alone.
A lot of the misanthropy on my part has to do with the way people treat me due to my most unfortunate appearance. Cruel people made me this way. I am an easy target and often get looked at and treated like I am an easy target, a piece of shit, white trash, less than. It’s the most horrible feeling – it’s being torn between not knowing whether to turn into Bowser from the Mario Bros. video games and just do everybody a heckin’ big stomp, or to shrivel up and wither away like a salted slug. (Unfortunately – or fortunately? – I can’t tell which! – I tend towards the latter).
I told my grandmother earlier, “I have a bit of an ‘I will either cower behind this big rock or I will kill you’ mentality. I really need to work on expanding my grey area”.
By “kill” I don’t mean literally – I am not maniacal – (I don’t think?) – I just mean that I maybe (read: definitely) go a little bit OTT when I finally get around to defending my injured, slug-shriveled self.
By “you” I didn’t mean my grandmother, to whom I spoke; but rather the societal “you” – everybody.
I am the little bitty bitey snake who will leave “you” alone if you walk by and do me no harm, but if you poke me first – and it will always be “you” who pokes first, I don’t poke first – then God help you. I will do my goddamned best to fuck you up, even if I am just a little snake.
Jesus, what the hell am I babbling about? I should go to bed. I started fooling with this blog instead of doing what I should have done tonight – which was try to write a reasonable and not (!!!) ranty letter to the neighbors talking about “blah blah blah and HCAs and PAHs (BBQ-specific carcinogens) and blah blah blah and Propane Exposure and etc. etc. and Carbon Monoxide Poisoning and rant rant rave and Private Nuisance and the right to Quiet Enjoyment and more laws and ordinances and blah blah blah and I have MCS and my 90-year old granny has asthma, emphysema AND COPD, so yes I WILL be that neighbor who calls the coppers every single time you flood my apartment with your BBQ smoke until you goddamned shitting fool idiots knock it the fuck off… etc…!”
The thing is, I cannot allow myself to get snide or cuntly when I write the goddamned letter (and this situation is making me feel very much that way!) I must be as bland and inoffensive and placating and knowledgeable-sounding as possible.
“Under the Environmental Protection Act 1990, the local authority can serve an abatement notice requiring people to stop producing smoke, if it causes a nuisance. The notice can be served if an officer has witnessed smoke causing problems, such as neighbors needing to close doors and windows, or being unable to hang clothes out to dry.”
Gah! I am not in the mood for this shit!
I’ve also been stressing about this social services broad that has come to our apartment twice now – my counselor got me involved in some sort of managed care – man I really really really don’t like this woman (the social worker, obvs, not the counselor). She made me cry both times she’s been here. There are details about that, of course there are, and I almost blogged them at the time – I should have – but I was already Doin’ a Big Stress and writing here is weird – it can be cathartic, or it can stress me out more, or in some way it does both at the same time – even though that doesn’t make any damn sense!
It reminds me of that awful, soggy, squishy line from that movie The Hot Chick: “You’re the only boy who makes my heart beat faster and slower at the same time.” That didn’t make any damn sense either (but it did).
Instead of blogging about he angst-provoking incident, I instead opted to pursue some bland pleasurle in order to suppress my reality-related dismay – I cannot remember what it was now; probably a library book or my stupid Sims 4 game.
Crap, I should go to bed. I applied online for a cosmetic dental grant and the site said they would call me during the next 48 business hours. I suppose The 4th of July will disrupt what those would typically be – my luck being what it is they will call right exactly when the goddamned social worker is here again on the 5th…
My thoughts are stretching out badly now. Must do a big sleep. I will say that the social worker said things that seemed irregular, inappropriate and just plain rude to me – treatment I always get on the street but unacceptable from a “social worker”. For example, when I said that I always seem to lose my friends, she asked “well what is the common thread there? “(insinuating that I am at fault) … (maybe I am but before you hasten to judge me, mayhap you should peruse my “I Cant Keep A Friend“ series).
She also said “you strike me as a woman who thanks that you know a lot but really… don’t know near so much as you think that you do.”
Excuse me? Like who the fuck says things like that? Do ordinary people get treated like this?! Two social workers and a dentist have now said completely inappropriate, fucked-up and rude things to me – people really do think they can just shit right the fuck all over your face when you are the most unfortunate combination of fat, ugly and indigent.
Since being within mere points of having to take home the glucometer – I am apparently pre-diabetic, of course I am – I am trying to take food/sugar reduction and exercize a bit more seriously and I have lost 7 pounds. I don’t want to have to be fucking around with test strips or be poking my damned fingers several times a day each day. That shit hurts!
Also, I am tired of the seemingly endless stream of people who have just decided that they can treat me like shit. After all, what the fuck good is a middle aged dumpy fat broad with a harelip? Useless! Send it to the killing fields!
This weight loss shit will take a while – if I manage to stick to it – (I must!) – but there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about the godfucking harelip. My life being what it is, if I get the cosmetic dentistry grant (I want implants – dentures are not working for me, (another sob story for another sad day) – it will almost certainly somehow, some way fuck up my SSI. Because – have you not been paying attention? – this is how my life works.
If I cannot get legit work-at-home job training and/or grocery acquisition transportation assistance (I really struggle with that!) through this woman/social services, then I am going to do my very best to backpedal the fuck on up out of this “managed care” mess.
The social worker – she was so very much not nice to me – my Grandmother sat right there, watched the whole thing, and confirmed that my assessment of the situation was very much not imagined, the woman is a mean bitch and that she would be willing to vouch/testify to it if need be. Both times that woman came over I was in tears by the time she left. She’s like a sadist drill sergeant or something – I felt majorly under attack.
The social worker also said some strange stuff about “loving me” and “loving all of her cases” (or something like that).
Fuck! She has a volatile love.
In other news I am mildly obsessed with Detroit (NO I do NOT want to live there but the urban decay is fascinating and terrifying to me) and I am largely – but not completely – over my slavering idiot crush on Joaquin Phoenix.
God damn it for some reason I really want to blog about Skeleton Land right now but I suppose I should force myself to go to bed for a few hours. Squishy-headed.