Saturday, May 26, 2007

I am a very, very angry monkey.

I finally got a new job (Woot!) but money is ridiculously tight right now.
So I scraped up just enough money for my electric bill.

You know, because I have a thing about sitting in the dark in the middle of the summer with no air conditioning.

I just spoke to the bitchiest woman alive who works at Com Ed. Apparently, I need another $200 that I don't have. Why? Because the person I originally spoke to was wrong.
When I asked her why the hell that person would tell me something that's not true, her only response is "I can't speak for anyone else who works here".

After getting huffy as fucking shit when I asked for a supervisor, she informed me that I'd have to wait until Tuesday.

I've never wanted to kick so many people's asses.

I make it a point to not yell at people for doing their jobs. I tend to be pretty good at directing my anger to the responsible parties.
And I rarely raise my voice.

This bitch had me fucking yelling. If I could reach through the phone and squeeze the life out of her, I fucking would have. I snapped my phone shut so hard that I broke part of it.

So In short:

Fuck you Com Ed. You suck. Your customer service is a bunch of incompetent assholes who are completely incapable of helping anyone, and you should be proud that they represent your company so wonderfully. I spend the majority of my day on the phone. I make it a point not to yell at people. So when you get me to a place where your "Customer Service Reps" ask me if they can do anything else for me and I almost reply "veer your car into oncoming traffic on the way home" there's a problem.

I can't wait to talk to the supervisor. I'm sure it'll smooth things over, if my past experiences with them tell me anything.


Saturday, May 12, 2007

I'm going to warn you all now that the picture that comes along with this post is gross, and not for the faint of heart. Actually it's attached to (whats left) of my body and it kind of makes me want to chuck, so don't say I didn't warn you.

Ive been absent the last, ever, because I'm dying. And don't give me that shit about how we are all dying every day blah blah blah, because right now I am almost positive that I am dying at a faster rate than you are. Ive even been to the doctor who decided that he didn't know what was wrong, and in turn referred me to Doctor Kevorkian who decided that a punch biopsy in my side is the best way to figure out why Im dying.

Simple in house procedure, my ass.

That procedure has rendered me with a Zombie Hip.

This is the ultimate result of that simple procedure. This is my zombie hip.

The black line is where the bruise was marked to see if it..ahem...spread.

In case your wondering, that hurts alot. That's where I've been.

Now theres a big problem. I have this gross ass zombie hip and Ive only thought of 2 things to do with it.

1. Go up to all the people I have had sex with and show them. Explain that its a rare STD I picked up, conveniently right before I had sex with them. Then tell them that they ought to get tested.

2. Wear something revealing to the bar. Tell an outlandish story about my run in with a zombie. When they inevitably call bullshit, show them my side and then chase them out of the bar.

Its a sad day when I can only find 2 ways to fuck with people.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

I am all sorts of stressing out.

I need a vacation. I also need money to go on that vacation.

I feel like I'm 3 seconds away from a nervous breakdown.

What started this?

I got mail at work. Trust me, if it's from someone I want to hear from, they know how to find me.

AND it's at the wrong office, so I get to wait until it gets here to figure out what sort of fucked up trouble I'm in now.