Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer?

Saturday, April 15, 2006 Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Current mood: bitchy Because it feels so good when I stop. Each time I'm ready to take my garbage to the dumpster, I make sure to thoroughly clean out the cat box. This way, if someone is so inclined to go through it, and steal personal information, I will have the small satisfaction of knowing they had to dig through my cat's shit to accomplish it. It has recently come to my attention that the group home is now located in a "nice" neighborhood. The 1st clue being, the neighbors hate us with a passion. Nancy didn't even tell them we're a 'group home'. She said we are a 'care facility for children'. So, I smile brightly and wave big everytime I see them. I will melt their icicles of a heart, or I'm majorly pissing them off, (I'm guessing door #2) either way, I win. The 2nd clue was the constant barage of door to door salesmen. Living my entire life in an apartment, or off the beaten trail w/ my parents, has left me ill equipped on the appropriate protocol on how to deal w/ them. So, when I tell them I have no idea how much we just spent on the carpet cleaning, no this isn't my house and the owner isn't home now, and they look at me as though I'm lying, in front of the crowd of kids gathered behind me no less, I don't know how to respond. Kirby people look down on me! I'm no longer sure the quiet street is worth the drawbacks. As I look into the mirror, I decide that whoever is in charge of the natural direction of life has screwed up big time. Obviously there has been some mix up at the plant, it is against the rules for me to have wrinkles AND more zits then when I was in high school. One or the other, not both. Hello?! I'm pretty sure they have the same hiring practices as the body complaint section, because I put in a request for a bigger chest and firmer ass, and now my bras are loose and my pants are tight. If anyone has the 1-800 # to speak to their superiors, I would appreciate it. This has got to stop. Annie says my body is getting ready for breeding, that this is the prime time for procreating. I say Annie is a bitch, and as soon as she comes to visit me, I'm kicking her ass. In light of recent events in Northern California, I'm building an ark so as to be prepared for when it all becomes one giant lake. If you would like to be included on my list of humans allowed onboard, please let me know as soon as possible. Don't forget, space may be limited. The fan in my bathroom sounds like an air raid siren when turned on. It's not loud, it's just that same pitch. It's one of those sounds that completely grates on my nerves, it's driving me insane. So I find myself in the position of having to choose between fighting the urge to duck and cover/kill someone while taking a shower, and spending hours upon hours scrubbing the mold off the bathroom walls and door. Speaking of my apartment, I am amazed at the amount of shut ins residing in my building. Is it a studio apartment thing? How does one come to this conclusion? You live alone, then one day decide to just never leave again? I've lived here 4 months now, I've seen my next door neighbor once, (never even heard them leave, and the stairs are on my side) and my downstairs neighbor once, when someone was looking for a different apartment. When do these people shop? How do they pay their bills? I don't understand. I have a problem with flipping off inanimate objects. There, I've said it. I flip off my car, everytime it dings for an idiot light, the phone, the computer, the dvd player. I'm telling you, it's not sane. Is there a support group for this? Or should I accept my anger at these (and more, much more) items, and just live with it. I'm not offending them, it doesn't make them stop doing what I'm flipping them off for, what's wrong with me? My cat is a mutant. She has extra toes, but none of them include opposable thumbs. Thumbs are required to use a camera. I want to take different 'ballerina' pictures, the ones I have are lame. Plus I have a little more hair now, better ideas, and a new tattoo. But, as I mentioned before, it can not be my cat to do it. So, any volunteers? While on the computer my cat was on the desk looking out the window. Apparently another cat came within her sightline, at which time she turned around and bit the shit out of my hand. 2 holes, just the size of her teeth, in my hand. I could see inside! I cleaned it, bandaged it, beat my cat. About 6 hours later, I was at church, (not recommended) with the kids for the Easter thing, and my hand swelled up like a balloon, and hurts like a bitch! I think Jesus poisoned me. Nancy's mom, who's an RN, says it's too early for infection. It sounds like she may have nicked a blood vessle, and I will have a swollen hand for several days. Ice and elevation recommended. I fucking hate ice. It's cold. I come home from work, and can't find the cat. I hear her meowing from under the couch. Before I left for work, I had closed the recliner part of it, while, unbeknownst to me, she slept inside. I'm pretty sure we're even. My gloriously wonderful almost lawyer sister Trang loaned me the first season of Grey's Anatomy and about 7 seasons of 24. I have been watching Grey's Anatomy for 3 days. TV on dvd is kick ass shit. I love this show. I have a mad crush on George, the roommate, and plan on BEING Chrisine when I grow up. (please refer to about me section, yes I'm aware living in a fanasty life is frowned upon, I have moved on, am more enlightened then the rest of the world, and have decided this is the way to live.) In closing, you all need to read The Book of Joe, by Jonathon Tropper as soon as possible, or I will have 10 pages of blogs, just quoting it, don't test me, I've already read it 4 times. And remember kids, the management frowns on amputation.