I know. I've been a bad bad blogger.

I was inspired to make a brief update by Chris, who is in fact, not dead. I've also heard from a very reliable source who shall remain nameless that he got more buff (I always thought he was anyway). But regardless, this is something I demand to see for myself! He owes me drunk time!

Also, Jon Stewart is my hero. He wins for the bowtie comment.

I started working out again, seeing as prednisone has made me gain more weight than Roseanne on an icecream bender, and I kind of want to die. And by "kind of want to die" I mean, I really want to die. Muscles hurt that I didn't even know I had. If I lift my arms, they might fall off. My thighs burn, and I may or may not have a cramp in my butt. I didn't even know that was possible.
Apparently this guy knew all about it.

On another note, I put in my two weeks at my job. One might ask why I would do that when I love my kids as much as I do.
The answer is simple my friends. I adore my kids at work. I'd do anything for them at any time. They are my babies. They make me feel like I make a difference in the world, and I love spending time with them.
However, my direct supervisors are complete asshats, and I can't subject myself to one more moment with them for fear that I will wind up on top of a water tower with a rifle.
It all started when I got chewed out for not showing up to a shift that I wasn't scheduled to work anyway. Schedule me on my day off all you want, my fat ass still isn't coming in to work. This old bitch chews me out for ten minutes, in front of my kids and staff. I'm not one to apologize, even when I know I'm wrong, so the chances of me sucking it up and apologizing for something that I didn't do are slim to none. My habit of doing this really tends to piss my superiors off.
So, I get shipped off to go to the Haunted House, Hardees and Church with a group of kids. Gone for upwards of 7 hours. During this 7 hour time one of the kids back at the shelter flooded the upstairs toilet. It was a goddamn disgusting mess, I'll spare you the details.
That old bat of a boss that has it out for me not only waits 7 goddamn hours to have someone fix it, she makes, surprise surprise, me do it. Not the other staff that was there when it happened (although its their responsibility).
Being the 'team player' I am, I give it a whirl. And promptly almost barf all over everything. I pull the old bitch to the side to tell her that this isn't going to happen, as it's company policy that we don't have to do anything that makes us uncomfortable.
She looked at me and said, I swear to god "The longer it takes for you to clean it up, the longer it'll take for you to go home". Now, knowing that she can't go home until I do, I decide that not only am I not going to clean it up, but I'm going to take a shitload of time not cleaning it up.
During the time that I was busy faking cleaning it up (and trust me, I wouldn't step in that bathroom again, ever), that Geritol popping lazy eyed cunt sent the rest of the staff home, and forced me to stay after and do the laundry, which again, another staff could've easily done.
I gathered up the last shards of my dignity and I punched out that night almost two hours after my shift was supposed to end.
I also wrote my letter of resignation.

Dear Bill:
Effective November 1, 2004 I am resigning from my position as Youth Service Worker at Valley Shelter Homes.
I thank you for the opportunity to work here, and the knowledge I've gained will be valuable for my studies and future employment in the field.

Clare

He sends me a note, saying he wants me to stay, as I'm the best and the brightest staff he has. Bless his heart, he tried to be accommodating, but I just can't stay.
My response:

Bill:
I have carefully considered your offer, and regret to inform you that nothing short of firing half of your staff and promising me vacation time, a Lexus and $38 an hour will get me to stay at this institution. I love the kids, and the staff, but your senior staff coordinators are nothing short of petty assholes who need to be shot in the forehead. I pray someday that I will run this bitch and they will clean my toilet.

Clare


So as you all can see, I can't stay at the job anymore. However, he did promise me a shining reference. And maybe that last HALF isn't EXACTLY how things went, but you get the idea.
Oh and Myrlene, if you're reading this: Fuck you and your mom.