soapboxdiner

Demonstrations of my weirdness

Is it terribly, terribly sad to report that the only exciting thing in my day was the conversation I had with The Boss wherein I bemoaned my brokeditude and she offered to find me odd jobs with which I could accumulate up to 3 hours of OT a week - thereby allowing me to net another wopping $50(+/-) per week? Sure, you betcha. That'll really solve my problems over here.

No - not terribly sad enough for you? Well, how about the fact that I spent my entire commute home tonight figuring how much more per hour I will earn come January when The Boss assures me The Director is adding "a sizable raise for me" into the 2005 budget? Still no? Well - Boss hasn't given me a solid number, but hinted that it will be greater than the $1/hr raise I've hoped for. So not only did I figure what $1/hr would amount to, but also $1.50/hr and $2/hr. Then, for fun, I figured what each of those amounts would be after March's annual 3% COLA raise.

If I get the $2/hr raise, I think I will actually qualify for the 5% COLA, so maybe I will double my fun tonight and calculate what that will do for the budget.

Heh.

In other news, today I pondered back to this past summer's blow out BBQ. See, and I don't know if I ever documented it here... but The Man and I had quite the quarrel that evening. Wait, I think I did mention it before. Hang on.

.

.

.

Nope. Doesn't look like I ever wrote about the night of the BBQ. Suffice it to say, it happened quite similarly to this night, in that we drank (copiously), I danced, he bitched and moaned and whined and generally made a sad, sad spectacle of himself, and I bitch-slapped him.

Well, that wasn't really all I did. I also yelled at him for telling all his people that I was "his girl" when we had discussed on numerous occasions that that was not so very much not the case. When that was not enough to make him see reason and he drunkenly and quite forceably pulled me outside by the wrist, I shoved his little mole self grip off my arm and screamed that he was nothing but a stinky, dirty, broke-ass, fuck up homeless bum whom I wanted nothing more to do with.

Then I stomped away, hurdled over the concrete parking bump and up onto the sidewalk, then marched myself back into the club. On my way in there was a thick, beefy and quite tasty looking man passively witnessing the exchange and my hissy.

Who was that man, you wonder? Well, I believe it was none other than Mr. Nasty. So I have been obsessing all day - was he indeed that man? Because that would make him the sole witness to every last less-than-ladylike thing I have done this entire year, and could very possibly account for his assumption that I might enjoy a nice boffing over the back of the couch from him when he rolls through on his way back to his girlfriend.

And sure, I understand that if a person doesn't want to obtain the reputation, it would behoove her not to act the part. But my goodness! Come on now. Just because I enjoy an evening out wildly gyrating and don't particularly care to be wrangled into submission by a man whom I was merely "friends" with, that doesn't necessarily or automatically make me a freak.

Not that anyone has said as much specifically, but don't the responses speak just as loudly as the words ever would?

Yet on the other hand, perhaps that assertion would define his impression as well - if you catch my meaning.

But on the third hand, I also opened my home to Mr. Nasty and his girlfriend the night of that same BBQ/fight with The Man. I gave them both nice cozy blankies and pillows as well as showers in the morning. On top of that, Mr. Nasty was given my spare toothbrush after he remitted all the previous evening's alcohol whilst he basked in full glow of his hang over. I even cooked a lovely sausage, country fried potatoes and eggs with toast and juice breakfast for the three of us.

Yet that homebody/homemakerness was not what caused him to find me worthy of said boffing. So what gives there? Not that I will ever get an answer (other than the obvious one). Nor do I really require an explanation - these are merely the contemplations of an overthinker who overindulges when she has taken on too much and needs excessive amounts of fun to release all the dusty old stress.

And so. There you go. Welcome to my brain. Yet again, proof that I'm just a little neurotic.

But one hell of a good time if you can stand the ride.

6:43 pm - 10.21.04
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