On Abusing Generosity

Due to the ever increasing workload lately, we’ve taken on some new employees.
The D’s each got a “new girl” to help with their work and I’ve been training in a rather gloomy, but pretty smart young guy on CAD.

I’ve enjoyed getting to know the new girls. They really liven the plastic-lined (remember the flood?) place up. But today I came to a point where I don’t want to get to know one of them anymore.

See, both the new girls (I call them “girls” but they are both older than me) are African American. They are both from the city. They are both single mothers in college. However, one likes to talk about the books she reads while the other talks about the bootleg DVD’s she watched the night before (and she “got any one” I want. Only $5.). One talks about how she spoils her kid with love and attention and is glad that’s enough because Christmas is going to be tight this year. The other…well…that’s why I don’t want to know any more about her.

She likes to announce things to a quiet room. We’ll be silent, working, and she’ll blurt something out. This doesn’t really bother me much. But today she said, “I need to get me some Toys For Tots or something.” I looked at her. “I broke, man. Bah-Roke. I need to get my babay some toys.”

I went by her to talk to her about it. “The Salvation Army runs a program with Lite FM called ‘Operation Joy,’ I told her, “I bet they could help you.”

“Operation Joy. Yeah. I got their number and I called, but I didn’t get no answer.”

“Well, I volunteered in their offices last year and they have lots of people answering the phones all day, you should try again in a little bit. Otherwise, I know most counties hold some kind of program.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that.” she said.

Twenty minutes later, she blurted out, “You know on this ‘Cyber Monday;’ they estimate there was [a mass amount of money] spent!?!?”

“Wow.” I replied, mostly uninterested. Internet facts are her favorite thing to blurt out and I’m a tad bit irritated that she spends so much time on the internet while mine has been set “off limits.”

“Yeah, I got me a laptop for $250!” She said.

I stared. “Really? Where’d you find a deal like that?”

“Overstock.com!”

“Wow.” I said again, trying to contain my anger.

Here she is, spending her WORKING time on the internet and finding good-hearted people to buy her kid Christmas presents because she’s “Bah-Roke” after buying herself a fucking computer. I wonder how many of those “good-hearted citizens” got THEMSELVES a laptop on “Cyber Monday.”

I can tell you what. Not THIS one.

Now is NOT the time for me to meet people who can successfully destroy all faith I have in man kind. I do NOT need to be thinking when I take that afternoon off to do data entry for Operation Joy, “Gee, I wonder what they blew all THEIR money on that need to use this service.” I just DON’T.

So my solution is to not get to know her anymore. I don’t know how I’m going to do this. But I have to. Because I just can’t know people who become stereotypical leaches on society. Other girl, however, I plan to get to know a LOT better. Because I could really use some empowered people in my life right now. Someone who will make me believe that there really are good people out there doing what they can and not asking for handouts. Someone who isn’t afraid to go without frivolity so she can plan a better life for herself. Someone who won’t make me feel like a fucking fool for giving up MY hard-earned vacation time to spend on programs on Operation Joy - or any other charity.

1 Year Old

It's my first birthday all over again!

Except this time it's the Garden's birthday.

And I get to blow the candles out all by myself.

Honestly, I can't believe I've stuck with it this long.

If I hadn't made friends like you all, I probably wouldn't have.

So THANK YOU for being a friend. In a totally Golden Girls sorta way.

Here's to another year of bitching, soap box ranting, and random edjumacating.

And many mooooooooore.

This is probably why she claws my couch

Alternate title: I need to find better things to do with my time off work.

A Simple Request

Excuse me, Mr. Grosspants.

Mr. Grosspants of Aurora, Ontario, Canadia.

Mr. Grosspants with an IP Address of 24.137.212.137.

Mr. Grosspants, who uses Aurora Cable Internet for their provider.

I just wanted to tell you: Please stop coming here.

It's obvious that you have some problems. Not only because of your search term (circled in red because I don't want MORE searches for it landing people here), but because of the fact that you are repeatedly coming back after having found me by searching for that term, when you should have been sadly and disgustingly disappointed.

You are creeping me out. You are making me scared for my kids. You are making me regret hosting a fun, informative and SUPPOSED-TO-BE innocent little blogging event. You are making me want to close this blog.

Again, not only because you are looking for that particular sort of thing, but because

YOU KEEP COMING BACK.

So please. Just stop. Don't come back. At all. I will know if you do. And I will be pissed. And when I get pissed, I get vengeful. So just don't. Go about your sick little life somewhere else.

That is all.

Search Me.

When time is tight, it's best to enlist help. The help of my READERS (or rather, random searchers that landed here expecting...something very different, I'm sure).

Brought to you via Statcounter, by request of Melissavina (it’s more than a one-liner, but generally the same idea, right?) and completely idea-pilfered from Cherann, The Effed Up Ways People Come Across My Blog:

"insane ways of torture" (Work for my company!)

"beautiful redneck wedding" (Trying to include tulle AND Nascar?)

"sexy gyno stories" "gyno fetish stories" "gyno play" "horror gyno pics" (The list goes on, I knew talking about my girly parts would bring in a bad crowd!)

"milf garden" (This is a new take on an old search, do they just grow right out of the ground now?)

"women who have three boobies" (Really? I've decided this searcher was about eight years old.)

"should pastors marry non-christians" (Sure...why not?)


And...my favorite:

"chocolate syrup bad for vagina?" (I'm no expert, but I would guess it is.)

Break

We had a water main bust at work, flooding out half of the offices. We are all working in stations set up in meeting rooms and the auditorium. Then on top of that, my boss just mandated 50 hours a week. I’m now seriously searching for a new job.

I need a break, guys. When it comes down to putting something on hold, I never wanted it to be my blogging. This keeps me sane. It makes me feel like I’m not alone. Like I have FRIENDS or something.

But in reality, my job and my family have to come first. Even though this job has gone from kinda crappy to almost unbearable (okay, not in terms of “well, they dig in mines all day” but in terms of “This is not the job I took four years ago”). But it is still what puts food in my family’s mouths and pays the mortgage. Until I find something that allows me just a little personal time, I have to give up the personal time I took here and just do the work. I have to do my best for the big faceless corporation. And family…well, I know you all get that. With an extra ten waking hours out of the house, my time with them is already limited enough.

This isn’t “Good-Bye,” just “See ya later.” I might find time to post here and there, but in case I don’t, I wanted to let you know that YES! I AM okay. I miss you all (you know I’m a whore for the comments – and by that I mean your comments keep me company and keep a smile on my face!) and I will try to stay caught up on your blogs.

I have the whole week of Thanksgiving off and I’m going to use that as my little beacon of hope to get me through it all.

I will also try to post some pictures from Halloween tonight.

So until next time…

On My Own

The song "Here I Go Again" by Whitesnake is probably as cheezy of a song as you could pick for a "Life Soundrack." But if I were to sit down and figure out a soundtrack to my life, that song would pop up several times.

Every time I made a change in my life, I'd get in my car and turn on the radio and Whitesnake would be playing, "I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time. So here I go again."

It seemed so routine. I felt like it was a sign from God to keep me strong. I know, "Sign from God? On the radio? Take it easy, crazy lady!" That's not the point.

I had it down. I knew when my time somewhere was up. When the tension builds between you and the friend you're staying with or you find a piece of paper in your boyfriend's wallet that says Hot Blond - 612-555-9008, you pretty much know you need to be moving on. I could have everything I owned - anywhere I was staying - in my trunk in under twenty minutes. Then I'd hop in to take off and that song would play. And for some reason, it always made me feel better, like everything was going to be okay. Whether I'd left a cheating boyfriend, lost a friend in an argument or had another blowout with my mom - I knew I would be okay. Even when I didn't have anywhere to go, I knew I would be okay.

I guess that's why being on my own never scared me much. I'd left home at 17 out of what I saw as a necessity. My life after that - for four years - was a whirlwind of safe havens, crack houses and mirages of home. I did what was necessary to take care of myself and never really saw a reason to be afraid. Covering myself with my clothes so I could sleep in the backseat of my car, sleeping on disgusting carpet - whatever it took, I had the strength to get through it. I just always felt like the two people I trusted the most - God and myself - were on top of everything.

So while I do suppose I owe Whitesnake a good amount of gratitude for helping me through all those crazy years of my youth, I have a message for them:

Dear Whitesnake,

You wrote the song that kept me strong through every bad boyfriend, ill-fated friendship, job loss and family fued of my young adult life. Could you please write one for me now? Something rockin' with good guitar riffs and a catchy chorus about working too much and needing a vacation?

Thanks! Love you!

Forever Your Fan,

Amy of the Butrfly Garden (My Official Title)

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This post was written for Novemberance's October Writing Project and is cross-posted in my Cre8Buzz blog.

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