Going All Splodey In The Mental Asylum

I made it, six straight days of work and mostly walking four to five miles a day.  I'm so exhausted, I'm just a bundle of nerves. It's like being hyped up on the world's strongest expresso.  Luckily, my co-worker gave me a ride to the bus stop tonight since we were getting out at the same time.

Everything in the refrigerator is spoiled.  The freezer thankfully is working.  Duane contacted the manager twice and still hadn't heard anything by the time I got home at 7pm.  I marched over there and exploded about everything.  Including my flowers, and how it's crap, that I'm trying to make the place look better.  However, the trash he rents to destroys it.  He said he will send out notices to the tenants to leave the stuff on people's patios alone.

Duane still isn't feeling well, even with the new air condenser. I'm really getting concerned.  Anyway, I went up and got McDonald's for dinner.  I walked the quarter mile up and then back again so fast, he thought I ran.

We got rid of the meth addicts above us last month.  This month, I believe we have a herd of St. Bernards wearing Dutch wooden shoes, up there.  The constant stomping over head is beyond annoying.  Duane was saying he was about to go up there and say something.  Without saying a word, I jumped up and stomped to the upstairs apartment.  Being it was the first time, I was rather nice to the mother.  She said, it's their first time in an apartment and she'd been trying to tell the children.

When I walked back to my apartment, I noticed a child's face peering out from between the blinds, looking down at me.  I gave him my "you better cut the crap" glare.  The one my daughter will tell you can put the fear of me, in people.

I walked back in the door, looked at Duane and said, "Is there anyone else you would like to sic me on, while I'm still up?"

"Damn woman, your like a guided missile tonight."

"I'm so stressed, I just want to go all splodey on someone.  Point me in the direction of someone you don't like."

Really blurry action shot.

That's when I noticed Ms. Bootsie Bitey, formerly of the Scottsville Biteys, stretched across the back of my rocking chair with her "this sucks" expression on.  (Please note, I realized I should have said, formerly of Rochester, Scottsville and Syracuse since we  moved to Tucson. Forgive me, I'm just a bit tired.)

"What do you say, Ms. Bootsie Bitey, formerly of the Scottsville Biteys, if you and me go out and go all splodey on someone.  I'll even let you use the tazer."

D: "Wow, that's quite an honor Bootsie.  Mom's going to let you use the tazer."

"Well, yeah.  Imagine the guy we encounter when he talks to the cops.  'You won't believe this officer.  It was a little lady, with long grey hair, walking her cat.  All of sudden, the cat pulled out a tazer and tazed me."

D: "Officer,  it was Pink!  Plus, the cat pulled the tazer out of her butt. Not only was I tazed by a cat, but I have cat butt all over me."

It's especially funny when you think about the drunk thugs we have wandering the neighborhood late at night.

Mom wears this expression too.

I have the next two days off and a ton of stuff to do, so it's not like I'm going to get to rest or anything like that.  The saving grace is that I won't have to answer 350 calls a day.  Imagine saying, "This is pharmacy technician Denise. How may I help you?"  or some variation of one of the four different questions I have to use depending on what the computer tells me that the call is about, 350 times in an 8 hour period.  Sometimes, I get so over-stimulated my brain farts, then my tongue trips over itself and I say a combination of all four questions at once. Which makes absolutely no sense.  About a third of those calls are angry people screaming at me.

I just noticed that Ms. Bootsie has put on her cat prowling suit.  It's time to go.  We'll let you know of our exploits when we get back.  If there is someone you don't like, send them my way.  Ask them if they're feeling lucky.

Happy Thursday everyone.