On Fucking All The Self Righteous Pricks

There are very few instances where I wish I was crazy enough to just set someplace on fire.  But unfortunately, I have this thing called morality and a general fear of being someone's bitch in prison.

I work a very boring job as a personal assistant at a travel agency. I took it to escape another boring job at a real estate agency.  At least my employees weren't fucking assholes there (although, pretty sure one of the boss' there tried to ask me out on a date. Awkward.).  Case in point:

1. They rarely involve me in conversation, barely even saying hi. Ironically, the one who comes off the friendliest is the most dangerous to trust.

2. They are petty. They will CC my boss on correcting my spelling mistakes on emails that hold no importance.

3.SOMEONE or some SOMEONES has been reporting me coming in late. And fuck them, because I have very little do anyway and spend most of the time reading random articles on the interwebs. And I do EVERYTHING they ask, so what the FUCK do they care?

4. I technically don't even take money away from the business. I'm paid through my boss' husband's company I guess to save on workers comp or something.

5.  Instead of throwing out/recycling things themselves, they'll actually put it on my desk and wait for me to come into the office before it gets taken care of. The recycling bin is right next to the bathroom. Oh, the poor things might break a nail.

6.FUCK THEM ALL IN THE EYEBALLS WITH A SANDPAPER CONDOM

I'm also slightly disgusted by them because it is obvious to me that none of them have ever gone through any economic hardship, either through watching their parents struggle or struggled themselves.  I've been pretty lucky, but I always finish my plate; I know the value behind putting food on the table.  One of the reasons I don't have a driver's license is because my parents told me they couldn't yet afford a tombstone for my sister and I though "Meh, driver's ed isn't THAT important".

Anyway, I'm cranky and saddened by the fact that I am not only working with a bunch of jerks, but I actually felt like I owed them something. My boss sat me down a couple months ago and expressed that she was afraid I would just leave as the summer came after she invested so much money and time in me. That I should invest in her and she'll invest in me.

A part time job that is leading me no where is not "investing" in me, you stupid twat.  I admire my boss for her business skills and organization and general savvy, but this means she's a master manipulator as well. I just happen to be nice enough to be steered.

Well fuck them, as soon as I find something better, I'm out.

*Drops Mic*

-Grace #Adulting

Panic, palpitations, and bears. Oh my!

My head is currently more condimented than a salad. Oh, the things I do for beauty. Or at least to tell myself I'm even making a difference. Genetics, thou art a bitch. 

Today I went to the gym, for the first time in about a week. Understandably, I knew it was going to suck. What I didn't know was that elevating my heart rate would cause me almost having a panic attack. I had to leave after my squats.

The first time I can remember ever having a panic attack was in junior high. I was in my science class and we had a substitute teacher. Back then, I was a very different kind of person. *cough cpugh* goody two shoes *cough cough*. This was the year before I told my parents I was a satanist. So, big year of changes for me. 

Anyhoo, we had a sun and the class was going insane because of this. I noticed across the hallway a very annoyed looking teacher gazing into our room and yelled out as an aside "guys, shut up, she's looking at us!" 

Fast forward ten minutes, and I'm being pulled into the principal's office. Of course, I'm freaking out (I've always been neurotic) and the teacher who had looked into our room has accused me of telling her to "shut up and stop looking at us". 

First thing I say is "but, she wasn't saying anything. Why would I tell her to shut up?" Apparently this means I was a smart aleck. 

Second thing that happens, is that I'm threatened with suspension. Next thing I know I feel my hands tingling and my face seizing up. I can't breathe, I'm hyperventilating. The teacher is looking at me like a freak. I'm ashamed. 

My mom used to tell me stories about how she was so crippled by anxiety even a train would cause a panic attack and my dad would get angry with her. I can only empathize the shame that comes with that experience. Because it's happened to me multiple times. 

It's hard to be in that place again and feeling like not even those closest to me understand. I don't like talking about my anxiety, I figure if I don't acknowledge it out ooud it will just go away and no one will think any less of me. I've accepted that this is something I'll always have to deal with and come to terms with, but will anyone else ever will?

-grace #adulting

To be or not to Hepatitis B?

You may have a medical degree, but this doesn't mean you're not an idiot.  Case in point: My weekend.

So I got a physical done for the first time in who knows how long, and of course this includes blood work.  I should have known I wasn't dealing the highest caliber of medical professionals when it took them 3 tries to find a vein, and they had to use the one in my hand and the assistant says "Well let's hope it doesn't burst" to the OTHER assistant while I AM RIGHT THERE. SITTING WITH A NEEDLE POKING OUT OF ME. TRYING NOT TO HYPERVENTILATE. I AM NOT A ROBOT.

This was last week, so this weekend I am dog sitting and I suddenly get a call "The doctor needs you to come in to discuss your blood work results". Um, what? So of course, my inner hypochondriac starts to imagine all the worst things, from cancer to Super Aids.  So I go in, and right away they hand my my lab results on a paper that has a whole lot of red on it.  I ask if I'll get to talk to someone, and am told to wait for the doctor.  2 and a half hours later I am no closer to seeing the doctor, so I leave with a test that states I am positive for Hepatitis A and B to race back to a dog that might poop itself if it waits any longer.

Fast forward to Saturday morning, after waking up at the ass crack of dawn to be the first person there, the assistant speaks to me and tells me I have Hepatitis B.  Understandably, I start to hyperventilate and inquire about the future of my liver and the possibility of cancer.  Also, I'm confused, because I don't use dirty needles or have sex with homeless people. This is what he said, VERBATIM.

"Well, since you're asymptomatic there's no need to concern yourself with liver disease just yet.  While half of liver cancer patients have Hep B, that doesn't necessarily mean Hep B causes liver cancer.  It's just that most people with liver cancer have Hep B."

Why, thank you physician's assistant. YOU MADE ME FEEL TEN TIMES WORSE ABOUT MY LIFE, FUCK YOU, I FEEL BAD FOR THE GIRL YOU DATE YOU PROBABLY SUCK AT TALKING TO HER TOO.

An hour later, I finally get to talk to the ACTUAL doctor.  Who says I don't have Hep B, I just have antibodies from the vaccine.  I do have a hyperactive thyroid which would explain why I'm neurotic as fuck, though.  I'd like to think that if this get's fixed, most of my problems will be gone.  I know that's not the case though, because my brain is also broken. But not my spirit!

Ok maybe it is a little broken.  It's hard to feel hopeful when even going to the doctor is so difficult.  I'm trying to be healthy, trying to make positive changes and then I just flip out. It makes NO sense.  And I worry it will ruin everything.

So here's pictures of the doggie I took care of, because fuck doctors.

-Grace #Adulting

Training Wheels and Blankets

Today, I made up my mind.  My professional goal is to be a community/social media manager.

How the fuck do I become one of those? The girls at my current job are such micro-managing control freaks it's not like I'll ever get to touch their social media sites. Seriously, if I wanted to be micro-managed this much I'd just stay home and hang out with my family.

I figured out exactly what pot feels like to me; it's sort of like wearing a fuzzy blanket while holding a laser pointer.  You get to peek out from under the blanket and focus on one thing at a time, the thing that seems most important.  My boyfriend says I'm much more logical when I'm high, since I operate on a zero-mental break down mode the rest of the time.  There are these moments where I feel I'm getting insecure and then I realize that I would look much stupider admitting I do and would it would be more beneficial to shrug it off. Is that almost like confidence?

So anyway, laser point thoughts; I feel like I've been riding on a bike with training wheels my whole life.  I'm biking alone, but there's no real danger yet, just the danger of comfort.  Now if only I could learn how to get those fucking wheels off and ride off into my fat bank account sunset, that would be just swell.

Open to suggestions.

-Grace #Adulting 

Defensiveness and the case of the Mondays

Today as of now, has been a very tough day. I wish I had a real excuse as to why, but I don't. Even if I did, it would just sound whiny and I know no one actually wants to read whiny self pitying Grace.

What do you do when all the thoughts in your head are so garbled and coated with moroseness swirled with a dash of chaos, that whenever you try to voice a thought or process an honest remark all you can do is spew out bile and want to hide in yourself until no one can ever find you again?  How does anyone communicate effectively, please, all you actual adults that don't suck at the most basic of human functions, PLEASE tell me how you do it.

Because as of right now, I just want to not exist, and I have neither a flask, blunt, or a dog to comfort myself with and the boss is in the office so I can't look at animal videos. One of the most frustrating things about adult life is how lonely it is. I have great friends and a great boyfriend, but I don't feel like I can talk to anyone because I barely understand myself.

Also, slowly but surely, I am starting to hate my job.  I actually got reprimanded for not putting a space between two words in an email solely meant to provide a coworker with a phone number, and she CC'd my BOSS on it. It may seem small, but little things like that show me how petty someone is.

Fuck bitches, make money.

-Grace #Adulting

Of Guilt And The Zoo

I was raised catholic (I had a Freudian slip and wrote raided, fancy that?) so I have a lot of guilt naturally instilled in me.  On top of that pile of 100 bibles is the fact I'm a woman, and so every urge I have to act like a person and not a subservient mammal is looked down upon by 3/4 of the world.  My own family and I have butted heads over my philosophies and they attribute it to my "Americanism", but I know it's something deeper.

I probably shouldn't write about this, not here. But I don't actually think that many people read this so I'm going to go ahead.

The last time I remember feeling very ashamed and guilty wasn't when I was raped, or yelled at, or groped; it was a night with a heavy blizzard in college. I somehow became trapped at the dorms and received a very stern lecture from my friends on how I dressed. It was slutty, no one took me seriously. This is why guys used me.

To be honest, they may not have said these things as bluntly, but that's all I heard and all I hear.  I remember going home the next morning and wanting to cover myself in pitch and feathers so no one would be able to see I was even a female.  I didn't spend much time with my friends over the next few months, I don't know if they ever attributed it to that night, or if they noticed.  I don't think they knew how much they hurt me, but we all moved on from it.  I forgave them, because people you love will always hurt you.

Unfortunately, the shame permeates my shield still sometimes, and in moments of vulnerability and PMS, it is hard to beat down.

And I'm going to the zoo tomorrow. I'm really excited, I feel guilty I'm so excited, because zoos aren't great for animals at all.  Based on principle, I shouldn't go.  But I want to see the animals. I want to ride a camel.

I wonder if this is how people in religious households debate masturbation.

-Grace #Adulting

Of Farts And Birds

So my boyfriend is a pain in the ass, and thinks I need to post something every fucking hour.

I mean I have a job, that I do stuff at. Like, grown up stuff. A lot.

Ok, maybe I don't do much at work, but still. It's the principle of the matter.

So while commuting to work today I got bitch slapped by a bird. I was just walking to the train, jamming out to some Miley when all of a sudden I feel a FWAP against my skull.  I stop, very perplexed...and then it happens again and I see this fucking asshole bird fly up and start following me along the fence.  After checking myself for birdshit on my nice shirt, I ran away. NYC birds are assholes.

Anyway, this got me thinking about the idea of aggression vs. assertiveness. Also about my feelings for NYC, and how as I get older I get the urge to branch out a bit.  I am not overly assertive. At all. I've been likened to a doormat.  I may look all tough with my boxing gloves and F-bombs, but at heart I'm a softie and I just want to be everyone's friend.  But in this city it's all a rat race; you can't get anywhere without throwing some elbows, and quite honestly I don't know the first thing about tapping into that side of myself. It was there a long time ago, but its been squashed for so long I don't even know if it can be revived.

I love NYC, I love the hustle and bustle, the energy, the convenience, the abundance and the variety of options it has. I'm very fortunate to inherit my residence here, my parents sacrificed everything to come here 32 years ago. But lately, I've been feeling the depression that comes from not making enough to move out, the lack of breathing room, the constantly being pushed aside simply because someone else has bigger elbows.  I want green and ocean and a lifestyle that I don't have to haul ass in order to even stay afloat.

But then, today I'm taking the elevator back up to work and a very professional looking man lets out a wet fart, and says "ooh!" and I'm reminded of the very heart of NYC: a sick, assholish sense of humor.

And I laughed.

-Grace #Adulting