T.G.I.F... Doggonit!!!

It's Friday!

DOGGONIT!!!!

And it's Payday!

I am happy! It is Payday!

LOL

Yeah. Okay. Happy that I have a job. Thankful for my job. Thankful for the bread. And that is all.
Let's just say, this has been the week from HELL on my job.

Can I rant for a minute? I mean really...

RAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNT

for a minute...

Man, I've been so PISSED OFF this week that it hasn't been a good idea for me to go anywhere or do anything all week. It's the major reason for me not blogging too. Seems like I dropped all the stuff I like to do. Because I've been stewing.

I had to make a stop tonight. I was trying to hold out for the weekend, when I was calmer. Not a good look.

I was in Whole Foods tonight, and wanted to sock the bagger for bagging my groceries up wrong.

Me on cell phone with LadyTee during this time: "Girl, I can't believe Shawty done put my sorbet in with my hot food. I CAN'T BELIEVE HE IS STANDING HERE DOING THIS ISH!"

I was driving home, and a police car was beside me. He drove all the way up Courtland street for a good 2 miles, right next to me. Cop kept looking at me. (I may have been imaging this. I wasn't doing anything wrong).

Me on the cell phone with LadyTee: "Girl, Shorty got one more time to look over here. He better not pull me over or say nothing. I AM THE WRONG ONE TO MESS WITH RIGHT NOW!!! Girl, you'll be coming to the jailhouse bailing me out for jawwing this fool!!!"

LadyTee has done MUCH all week to keep me from going off the deep end. She and I haven't been talking much, but she knows when she gotta keep me from throwing myself off the roof, and she's logged in a few phone hours this week with me.

So, I need to rant. I find it hilarious that folks think I don't have bad days, but I do. I usually keep it to myself. You will rarely hear me holler "I'm hurting!!!" Rare.

I won't even holler it now.

An Oldgirl needs to RANT every once in awhile.

First of all, some mess went down on the job, and an Oldgirl was interrogated.

By some police type peoples.

Scared the CHEESE outta me, man!

I know what it feels like to be on this show.

I thought I was gonna hear that weird violin like music that they play in the interrogation room, when they have the suspect cornered. But it never played and I went on my way.

And after this week, I'll never watch another crime drama. NEVER.

Let's just say I am mentally and emotionally confused, distraught, and scarred behind some mess that don't have nothing to do with me. Had to tackle the Cowgirl Cre and take her around a corner somewhere so she could bring my heart rate back to normal.

DANG.

As a result, my attitude has sank to an all time low. I said some things to the boss today which should have stayed on my mind.

But what's on my mind comes out these days. And I just didn't care. Nope.

And just prior to dealing with the boss, I'd just gotten off of a HORRID 1.5 hour online conference call with some super duper super advanced chemical spreadsheet crazinesss.

(Mind you, I barely know simple Excel.)

My mind was shot. My mind IS shot.

I hung up the phone and said "This is bad, bad, bad."

Saw another chemist who was on the phone and I said "I might as well go outiside and shoot myself."

And I want to stand on top of the building and yell "Does anyone care? Is anyone taking things seriously around here???"

I know the answer to this. We all know the answer to this.

I mean, folks who are considered experts (a promotion that for whatever reason, I can't get) have disappeared into thin air and left me hanging.

Since management never takes responsibility for ANYTHING, I'm lacing my boots, getting ready to duck and dodge the the following title:

Been there, done that.... Got the t-shirt and the snowglobe to prove it.

But I'm 40 now.

Been there. Done that. Got the scars to prove it.

Scars heal. Period.

And as my girl Chele said in a blog post the other day: "This too shall pass."

Really though.

My friendly workplace librarian came over to my cubicle the other day. She wanted to know who that "man with the braids on Pimp my Ride" was.

I told her it was Xzibit.

She'd never heard of him. So I pulled up the following video. It was the song I listened to when I was working on my dissertation way back in '98. For some reason, in all it's violence, it gave me solace.

I gave her my headphones and let her watch and listen.

I watched and listened too.

Xzibit's girl asked him to go to the store and get some milk.

A simple walk to the store was full of chaos. Sprinkled with some goodness, but treacherous nonetheless.

The point is, he made it to the store and back. Made it through the mess.

I will make it through my messes. Scowling, opening the door to my Truck of Cuss, at times. Prayerful at times (as I should be). But I will make it through my messes.

As we all will.

So that is my bootleg rant/food-for-thought for the week. I allow myself to get it out, but I better come out with something positive on the tail end.

So you all have a great weekend. I'm flying outta here on Sunday morning, heading to Arkansas for a week for work related madness. I'll be back full of knowledge and ret to handle some things.

Because at least I care about what's going on. And I will continue to do so. That's a constant.

Take. eyes. off. storms. around. me.

Keep focused on the goal.

End of story.

I may or may not blog next week. Might set up a couple of automatic posts which are in queue right now. Hopefully they got internet in Arkansas! LOL (Shut up Lil' Rocker Southern Black Gal. I hope I get a chance to meet you, Oldgirl).

With that, have a great weekend...

On pupose!

Doggonit!!!

(P.S. Thank you for letting me rant. Thank you very much:)