Motherfuckingsonaofbitch...

Less than 60%.  No change in schedule, although the want me to be an hourly worker so I might be able to get overtime but that is so painfully unlikely that's not worth considering.  They've told me anything over additional .50/hr isn't doable.  So of course I asked for that and an additional week of vacation.  So far I've been told that it's not doable because of employee handbook (which has been defunct for years).
Anyway, the part that really gets to me is that they don't think I'll leave.  I was actually told that, and it is sooo crazy that they don't think a 20 something IT worker/super secretary might have other opportunities for employment elsewhere.  Ugh.  Just that they think a 20 something would have any loyalty to job that has obviously been taken just to pay the bills is insane.  Hell, to think that anybody who's doing a job that they don't love will stay on indefinitely is crazy.  I'm sure that they're using the logic that the market is down therefore employees don't have any other choices.

Furthermore, if this the peak of what I can earn here why would I have any interest in continue to work here for more than the coming year?  If I've reached that top here I can use reach a new goal.

I know that I'm reading far to much into this, but this is my blog so I'm going to continue on down the crazy path.  It bugs me, the assumption that I won't go elsewhere, because it makes me feel that my lack of self-esteem, or confidence, is something they can see.  And maybe it is to a certain degree, but I feel so exposed.  This is my first real job and grew up in a household where conflict of any sort was to be avoided at any cost.  I was also taught that I should take what I can get and I that I can always do with less.  The prize was a badge of misery that could be worn with a sick pride.  So all this negation and making demands stuff is new to me.

Anyway, hopefully I'll get that extra time off to help me in the job search.

Office bag lady

Now that I've been at my job for over two years and now that I'm closer to 30 than I am to 20 I'm finally reviewing my work clothes. The majority of my work clothes were bought in a panicked state a day before I started my job. Needless to say I did not buy them for comfort or quality. The pants that fit well are beginning to fray on the seams. All the seams. It's looks like I'm wearing fringed pants. The other pants were inappropriately tight and some tops so loose the collars would slip down over my shoulder giving me a fabulous eighties look. My black capris (eeewwwww) are now a medium gray and my gray capris are hip huggers which I no longer find acceptable.
Even my shoes are starting to fall apart. Granted, I didn't buy the shoes because I didn't have any I could wear to the office, but until now I never understood that shoes wear out I just thought you outgrew them, physically or style-wise. I don't think I've brought shoes out of necessity since my feet stopped growing at size 10.
Anyway, my beloved (multiple) pairs of sky high black heels are being worn down to nubs, the soles are developing holes and the leather (the pre-veg purchases) is beginning to peel. I thought I was going to wear them forever, but not that I would wear them everyday. My poor babies!
Where was I going with this? The point is that if you caught me on the right day I would look like a bag lady. Especially if I'm wearing one of the purses the rabbit has chewed on.

lood. Everywhere, absolutely everywhere.  How's that to start your day?  After a few fairly peaceful months I've had another dramatic start to my period.  Oh, sure the day started fine, minor cramps, a little tried and achey but other than that I felt fine.  By lunch time, however,  my body apparently made the decision that it didn't particularly care for my emotional well being, or our shared physical well being.  From there things quickly spiraled out of control.
I got home and decided that I would skip lunch and have a light snack of Ibuprofen instead followed by a heating pad chaser.  I really thought that meds and a hour with the heating pad would make me feel better.  Instead the cramps began to really intensify  and I began to get trembly.  I actually had to call work and tell them I couldn't come back.  So that was my Monday, 5 hours at work, the next 6 in extreme pain, followed by another 10 in general discomfort.

Anyway, isn't the drop cap great?  Found it at Daily Drop Cap.

Painfully long work lunch

The last topic of discussion was earthquakes.  Not the causes, not actual disasters, not thought out ways of preparing for them, just earthquakes. I spent the whole time wishing for one to happen right then and there.

I can't stand this kind of stuff.  These long, long discussions that can't even really be considered discussion.  They really resemble monologues, with a shared theme, for all the interaction involved.  Maybe monologue is too generous, because that can include some sort of unique insight.  Everything is an announcement.  It's very "I heard this about that", followed by "Yeah, I heard that too, but I also heard that about this." It's like having the 10PM TV newscast to lunch.  And just any old nighttime news either, but the local Sunday evening news.

 And that kind of behavior is really what blogs are for.

Nightmares!

The other night I had a nonstop nightmare fest that actually prevented me from sleeping for more than minutes at a time.  Last, last night, I kept drifting off to sleep thinking of various scary scenarios, which I knew was a bad idea, but I couldn't help myself.  Each time I would drop off it would be into some new nightmare.  An uber-nightmare, if you will.  Zombies, misc. monsters, murders, and ghost ( I've never had a nightmare with ghost, ever) continuously acting out some horrific play, sometimes with slight variations, sometimes with totally different plots.
I thought maybe this was related to my midnight cheesecake binge at Denny's, or the aftershock of therapy, but I then I realized the real cause; horror movie depravation!
Yup, that has to be it, because for the past few days not one faux-gore soaked scene has graced by optical nerves.  There are two reasons for this, each more dastardly than the last; the rabbit chewed up my ethernet cable shutting down internet access and I seen every horror movie worth watching on Netflix streaming.
Under normal circumstances I rarely have nightmares, or at least I don't have nightmares involving monsters et al.  But without my daily does of focus grouped ultra violence moving smart ass viewer to terrified, or more often deeply confused, participant.

Since I still haven't heard anything my raise...

That's not true, I got a "we work something out" last week.  But since then I haven't heard anything, not has the bookkeeper, which means no research has been done as the raise.  So, in my passive aggressive way I am rebelling.  By working on notecard invites to send to friends for all the fabulous future parties that we'll be hosting.
Here are the two I did yesterday;

I think they would look cute printed on small index cards with a "hand drawn" map on the back.  And the usual info, time, date place, etc. of course.

Going to the subject, the cause of my angst, the raise, it looks like I have to bring it up once again.  Motherfuckinsonofbitch.  Don't get me wrong, I'm pleased that I've been so ballsy about the whole thing and that I'm willing to pursue something that I want.  But no real progress has been made other than acknowledgement and the "promise" that something with be "worked out", whatever that means...

*le sigh*

Still seething

I was still angry and frustrated after work and the rest of the night.  And of course those feelings turned into anxiety, about money in particular.  Even knowing that we fine with it right, despite the massive moving expenses, I still feel so insecure and its all thanks to the lack of response over the raise.  It barely 9AM and I just pop a valium to quite the jittery feeling in my stomach.  Actually it feels like my entire torso... not butterflies, but a frightened bird trying to bash out of the cage that is my upper body.  Actually, let's make that birds, a few finches, that allows me to feel funny in different place at the same time.
It's also affecting my work, not in sense that I'm blogging instead of working, but that I'm not pursuing larger issues with the office's IT needs.  There want to switch to a new software package--fine, but it needs to be researched, someone has to be able to troubleshoot, someone had to install it, maintain it on a network, whatever, whatever, whatever.  But I've got no real incentive, other than boredom, to pursue this.  If I'm not going to get credit for all that work, by a title change and/or raise, then why should I do it?

What I did with my weekend...

Spent all Sunday being very hungover.  Now let me tell the story of how I came to be hungover on the Sabbath.  I got fucking loaded on Saturday.
M and I attended two birthday parties, one for our friend J and another for a friend of friend, who's name I don't know.  But the nameless one had bottle service at the Abby.

In total I consumed
2 Jack and cokes
4 Beers
1 Screwdriver
1/2 a Mojito w/ M
1 Lemon Drop

And it was the fucking Lemon Drop that put me over the edge.  I knew I was my limit, which is why I reluctantly spilt the Mojito with M.  I had been dying to go so I could kvetch about work.  I instead I wandered off, chatted w/ B and her girlfriend, L, and had the poisons Lemon Drop of doom.  I was fine until got home actually, surprisingly, and didn't feel sick until I was starting to fall asleep.  
Anyway the point is I now realize why I will drink so much.  To deal with anger, I was pissed about work, about being giving the run around regarding my raise.  So drinking hard not only dulls the frustration to a point where I can sit calmly and pull my hair out it also makes me feel like a bad ass.  Until I start throwing up, at least.  It does make me feel like I'm tough, rebellious, that I can do anything I want to if I put my mind to it.
Right now I'm sitting at my desk seething about the almost two full weeks that have gone by since I brought it up without any response.  I'm angry that I have to bring it up again, it feels like begging.  It feels shameful, as if my work is only worthwhile if I'm not asking to be paid for it, 'causes then it's worthless. Then it's optional.  It's unnecessary, unless it seems like I'm doing out the goodness of my heart. Blogging makes me feel slightly better, then I get to feel like I'm sticking it to them for the unpaid IT work.  Four months of unpaid IT work.

Lunch

2 cups of coffee

A big bowl of pessimism and anger, with a delicious side of confusion because I'm still being encouraged to maintain the network and come up with various tech-a-lious solutions to different problems.  If they are planning on not paying me then they should really begin to discourage me from doing this kind of work.  le sigh...

Anger repression breakfast

1 Gross (taste, not amount) smoothie, of which I will be lucky if I drink half of it
1 valium
_________
Even though I got a maybe, a we'll see, I'm still pissed.  And now the pressure is fucking on.  Now I have to really prove that I am administering this network,  although so much of maintenance is mundane.
I've already begun looking for other jobs, following my dad's advice of applying, letting certain talkative co-workers become aware of this fact, and hopefully being offered another job.
M's pushing the lawsuit route.  I'm prepping.

Dinner/rant

1 cup of water
1 cinnamon roll
1 valium
_____________
I'm trying to determine if my current mood is beyond pissed or sad. I'm going to revamp my request using my old job description and to do a side by side comparison with the new duties and site the precedent that I have been given raises in the past when my duties have changed.
I think what has me the most upset is that my parent's immediate reaction to my boss's comment was to either apply for a new job or stick it out here. It's not that I expect them to offer a magical solution or to call my bosses and complain, I just want them to feel a sense of indignity that their daughter's work is viewed as less than because of gender and age. Is their advise to move from job to job betther than to demand my employer acknowledge my work?
I'm not going to take no for answer on this. I will not let that be an option here, if they want their IT work done then they will simply have to pay somebody or let the system deteriorate. I mean fuck, if my male colleague can say no to the work then so can I. Why would I not have the same right to not take on work that is outside what they hired me for?
I'm just a little ball of fury. Hard work means nothing if I'm not willing to demand that they acknowledge it. If I'm never going to ask then why should I make a fucking effort?

A preview of my evening

Image via the gallery of the very talented Camille Rose Garcia .   If I combine ativan, valium and xanax with a strong martini do I get to hallucinate about the above image?  Or will I just  put myself into a coma?

Rant

Either I'm gonna get that goddamned raise or I'm going to be a full time blogger on company time.  That's the only I'll be able to justify the lack a pay for fucking IT work, if I get to spend so much time screwing around it feels like a part time job instead of a full time.
I do love a good fight.
Once again this reminds me to begin applying for art school and to start taking programing classes.  And to drink heavily once I get home.

Today's breakfast;
2 cups o' coffee and 1 valium

The further confession of a beverage addict

So my foray into sobriety has not been as smooth a transition as I thought it would be.  I have been drinking, but a lot less.  I almost cut out hard liquor and now I have a glass of wine instead of a whole bottle.  And I don't buy wine every time I go to the store, so I've gone from buying booze on an almost daily basis to once a week.  So I'm still pleased with my self.  But I'm just addicted to fluids, no alcohol, then I have diet soda, no soda, then give me some juice, no juice, then I make some coffee.  If I'm desperate I'll drink water.  The other day we only had orange juice in the house and I drank the whole thing.
It's like I always want to be tasting something.  I would eat more snacks, but as a compulsive hand washer I can't do any other chores while eating.

Waiting room of horrors

Usually the only other person who shows up at my doctor's waiting room.  We both follow waiting room etiquette and ignore each other.  Well he didn't show, a new patient did.  Apparently my answering her question about which button to press was an invitation for her to tell me her life story.  The most entertaining part for me was her assumption that people who go to therapy go because they have either a substance abuse problem or a "domestic situation."  It was really strange to be talking to another patient who was making such assumptions, that mental health is limited to addiction and as a companion to 12 step programs.  She told my three, no wait, four, different programs she was currently involved with.  She invited me to come along.
I was debating if I should tell her I was there to deal with anxiety/depression issues.  A part of me felt that it's none of her  business and she should know better than to ask, another part  didn't want to say anything because I was worried she have the "well, that's not such a big deal reaction."  Shameful, I know, I'll talk to my therapist about it.  She also asked what traumatic, life changing event made me decide to go to therapy. There really isn't one, it's more that I finally got decent insurance that actually lets me see a good doctor.
Anyway, I was so happy when her doctor called her in.  The worst part is that I had picked up the March issue of Details and wanted to read the damn thing.  They written a profile about the blond pony-tailed guy who sale bizarre exercise equipment.  I guess it'll be waiting for me week...*sigh*

New painting

Speaking (writing) of therapy, I'm working on a new painting. I'm still putting off the painting of actual people, I haven't even tried since... since I was a teenager. Good god, and it was with oils, and two really shitty paintbrushes that would leave little nylon strands everywhere. Anyway, I had the brilliant idea to paint bug silhouettes, since I like silhouettes and am terrified of bugs, and the level of skill to paint a simple silhouette is within my range. Granted, I've only spent about 20 minutes working on it, which really means it's no where near complete, but I hate it already. My other reason for the painting was I wanted to put more stuff on the walls. I was hoping that would diminish the pressure, since it would just decorative and not "art." But when I look at I think about how childish it looks, that it's not smooth enough, not bold enough. And rather than think of it as kind of sketch of what I want to accomplish, the beginning of something, I all I can see is how horrible it is and that there is no way to save it.
So my solution is to get all Valium-ed up and take another crack at this thing. And then, when it's finished, put it under the couch where only the rabbit can view it. I like to think of the space under the sofa as my gallery.

Super high anxiety

It may be due to a big breakthrough during this week's therapy session.  It's made be feel a bit adrift.  No not a adrift because I don't feel like I'm in the middle of the ocean.  No, the ocean is full of life, can physically move you, it's creepy.  I feel like I'm in a anaerobic desert.

I feel like I've slipped back into my old skin, which never felt like it fit right in the first place.  This has actually affects my physical movement, it makes my step slow and hesitant, it makes my arms feel like they're too long and hang of my sides at funny angle.  My legs don't bend right,  the heel-toe method of walking is messed up.

Ugh.  Thank heaven for valium...

In 'n Out proposal

Every week we go to In 'n Out, this last time with our regular cronies, and was struck by a brilliant idea thanks to really lousy service.  That we get jobs there!  Second jobs, actually, but they pay well compared to other fast food places, at least.  I can serve people poorly! 

 This idea only works if we get we all get to work the same shifts, otherwise it won't be quite the adventure I'm hoping for.  This also meshes very nicely with my plan to have myself, and all friends, live in a cheap, read rat's nest, place in Long Beach.   If we live in the bad part of town, we could probably get a two bedroom for less than $800.  It won't even matter if the place gets robbed, because we will all have pawned our valuables by that point in time.  

I always feel better when I have a plan B, or in this maybe I should call it plan FU.

This will be a very long work week

Three days off for Xmas, plus the weekend, two days off New Year's, plus the weekend. For the past two weeks I've only spent 40 hours in the office, as opposed to the usual 80+. But now everything goes back to normal. Granted I have vacation and sick time, but it's just not the same. This week the only things I have to look forward to are leaving early for the doctor, my new computer stuff to come in, payday, and pill popping. It is indeed a very glamours life I lead. How I wish I had an office, or at least an actual cubical to call my own, because then I could actually read books during the long, long day.

Lesbians! And other things in movie titles that get my attention

I just love the way the announcer says "lesbians!"

It looks like campy goodness, of the old lesbo vampire genre, but having "killers" in the title makes it seem just a tad homophobic. But I'd watch it on Quicksilver, even though I was willing to rent Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS. There's a good party movie, it has to be one the most bizarre exploitation movies I've ever seen. I really want to watch Ilsa, Harem Keeper of the Oil Shieks .

In that one she "... devises penetration-triggered exploding diaphragms." Sexplotation films... how bizarre.  Fun Fact; apparently Ilsa dies in each movie, just like Aeon Flux did in the short episodes.