Why did I bother getting out of bed???

Yes, I know, everyone has those days where they wonder what the point was of chewing through the leather straps in the morning to get out of bed *shifty eyes*, or perhaps it's just me...Whether or not you have these days is really neither here nor there to me. This is my blog, which means we're going to talk about me and not you, damn it. So, yesterday and today have been those kinds of days for me. Please, allow me to explain...(And whether you "allow" it or not, I'm still going to talk about it. Read it or don't, you know it doesn't matter to me. *grins*)


Yesterday, I woke up feeling, well, like me. It's a rare day in hell that I bound out of bed singing such songs as, "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands," but I wasn't particularly grouchy or anything. I was going to go get my stitches out of my knee, which I was looking forward to. (Not quite as much as I am looking forward to not wearing these super-sexy compression stalkings that somehow make me look like the stereotypical "tourist"...All I need is a camera around my neck and a Hawaiian shirt...Seriously. Perhaps it's my fault because I insist on wearing shorts, but that's not the point. White compression stalkings look dumb.) The stitches have been itching for days. Why? Well because my skin was apparently growing right over them, with the exception of the two inches of string the doc left hanging off each side of the stitches. These pieces of string would rub on my clothes, the sheets on the bed, etc and irritate me. Anyway, I took Phoenix to work, jammed out to good tunes on my way to Sally's to get hair dye (Hooray for no more roots!), then to the bank, and then to the doc. The doctor kept me waiting for what felt like forever. Perhaps it felt longer than it was because I was forced to listen to some old lady bitch her husband out for making her wait since he had insisted on not filling out his necessary insurance forms until AFTER his meeting with the doctor. Not to mention there were like three moms in there with their kids, all of whom did want to be there and were whining. I guess if I were between the ages of 5 and 10 and had to wear a cast, I'd probably be whining too. Still...So, I got called back and my new doctor (My doctor left the practice.) is really a PA, which is fine with me. She asks about how physical therapy is going and I'm like, "They never called. I was told someone would call." Apparently, the place that was supposed to call never got my paperwork. According to the physical therapy lady who called me yesterday, that just never happens. Well, then it's no surprise that it happened to me. Nothing goes smoothly, you know? That's not the point though. So, the doctor proceeds to remove my stitches. And I wasn't kidding when I said my skin was growing over them. They didn't come out easily and really, now they're all scabbed over and look gross. The PA claims that's normal, but seriously, my knee looked better with the Frankenstein-like stitches.


Upon arriving home, I did some things I needed to get done and then I proceeded to start looking for teaching jobs. I need to get out of Walmart before I completely lose all forms of sanity I may have once had. Hey, I'm not claiming I was ever all that sane to start with, but it's getting worse. I found a few places that are still hiring, which then makes me think that since I now have my Chapman transcripts, I should send off for my AZ teaching certificate. Anyway, I find the information and email it to Phoenix so she can print it for me. I then see that if I waste any more time, I'll be late for work. I quickly got ready and left. When I got in the car that new Black Eyed Peas song was on, "Imma Be". Seriously, I don't know why, but I fucking love the Black Eyed Peas. I don't know if it's the beats to their songs or what, but love them. So, I blast the music and rock out on my way to work. Sometimes this helps me to forget that I am freakin' loser who works at Walmart. It's embarrassing to say that, you know?


So, I get to work and find the manager to print out some stuff I need to re-do the display for the NYC make-up. I should've called in sick. It was only a four foot section, but it took me nearly my entire four hour shift to do it. I had half of it almost done when I realized that I had the shelves too low and had to go back and move them up because the stupid diagram didn't show how much space to leave between the shelves like every other diagram for all the displays. *rolls eyes* In the process of "fixing" it, the one shelf had a holder for the lipsticks and, yes, that's right, all the lipsticks fell out and landed at my feet. I was so tempted to start cursing and kick over the entire aisle because I was fed up by that point, but luckily for Walmart, someone came down the aisle. Of course, it didn't make it much better though when the customer pointed out the mess I had on my hands. Really, bitch? Oh, I didn't notice the 9-billion tubes of lipstick at my feet, but thanks for pointing it out. *rolls eyes* Throughout the night, I was bombarded with questions from women about make-up. I wanted to ask, "Can you not see that I'm a lesbian and not a lipstick lesbian??? According to my girl, I look more like a dyke. So, why on earth would you ask me anything about make-up?" Instead, I tried to answer their questions. I fucking hate make-up now.


The customer who took the cake for the night and put me over the top regarding my stress level was this woman who came in with her 12 or 13-year old daughter and her two Bebe's kids who were like between 4-6 years old. I'm not going to tell you what I would normally call this type of person (on the inside), but let me explain how she acted and I think you'll know what I'm talking about. So, this woman and her rug rats make their way onto my aisle and start looking for make-up. The woman says, "All my make-up got stolen. I have to replace it all. What's the cheapest stuff you got?" Seriously, I work cosmetics, HBA (which is all the house stuff from toothpaste to shampoo to lotion to condoms to dish washing soap to toilet paper) and the over-the-counter pharmacy. I don't have the fucking prices of everything memorized. I can tell you where everything is, but not how much it all costs. Still, I take a deep breath and try to help. After helping them, I sat back down on my step-stool thing and went about trying to organize the make-up I was moving. The woman and her pre-teen-ish daughter then went about looking at all the make-up on my aisle. They kept dropping shit on the floor and then saying, "Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm making such a mess." Well, then pick it up you lazy mother *CENSORED, CENSORED, CENSORED*!! Don't fucking apologize; just pick it up! When I go shopping, if I drop something, I pick it up! You know why? BECAUSE I'M NOT A...Never mind. Seriously, this woman was the end of my rope. I wanted to curse her out. I wanted to tell her what I thought of her and her freakin' younger kids who kept running their shopping cart into my cart with deleted merchandise, which was moving it ever closer to hitting me.


After this devilish woman left (By the way, did you figure out anything about this woman? Do you think she was a well-to-do white lady?), I sat there trying to finish my display before it was time to punch out and I tried to focus on the music on my iPod instead of the thoughts rolling through my head about how I have an English degree and a teaching credential for CA and how I don't fucking belong at Walmart and wondering how I ended up at Walmart of all places. In the midst of it all, a friend of mine from California called. I haven't talked to her in forever. Unfortunately, my irritation from everything came through over the phone and I felt bad when I called her back after work. I wasn't irritated with her, just the shit from work. However...As nice as it was to talk to my friend, I couldn't help but wonder if she too thinks I'm a loser for working at Walmart...I feel like a loser and I can't think about where I work too much, otherwise it keeps me up at night, which may explain why I couldn't sleep last night. I finally fell asleep around 5:30am. Something has got to give before I go nuts. I can't stay at Walmart; working there is killing me.


As though all of that stuff was not enough, the Universe had to throw yet another thing my way...I submitted a story (or perhaps my novel...I'm not even sure what I submitted since it's been months) to a publisher like forever and a day ago and this morning, of all mornings, I got the "Dear Heather" email telling me how they're not looking for stories like mine. What-the-fuck-ever. I'm so over it all. We're going to Vegas this weekend and maybe I just need to let my hair down and forget about everything. I need to do something though because I can't keep going like this. I need a real job; one that I'm not embarrassed to tell people about. I need some sort of fulfillment in what I do. I don't care that I stock shelves quickly and accurately; I just don't give a flying rat's ass about that. I also don't care that I can push 12 carts at once...I could've lived my life without knowing these things. Something has got to give...Let's hope it's not my sanity.

"You expect me to wear that!?"

So, obviously I survived my surgery...I was a bit scared, but yeah, it all went well. During the last minute stuff at the outpatient surgery center, the nurse gave me my sexy hospital gown (Seriously, the gown is open in the back!! I am not cool with that! Especially without being allowed to wear underwear and bra! Come on, folks, we're operating on my knee, not my stomach or chest! I should've asked, "You expect me to wear that!?" But I figured it was a given...), a list of instructions I was scared I was going to forget (I didn't!), and some prescriptions for after the surgery...Morphine and Percocet to be exact! Well, those and aspirin to help prevent blood clots. Let's back up though...Morphine and Percocet. Yeah, those are for serious pain, right? Not stupid post-surgery knee pain, but like serious "I just chopped off my arm with a rusty Swiss Army Knife for shits and giggles" kind of pain. I'm not going to lie. I'm a freakin' wimp when it comes to pain medication and other kinds of medication. Somas knock me for a loop. Vicodin makes me sick. How would I function with these crazy pills??? I said nothing about it though and simply nodded to the woman as she finished going over everything.


On a side note, I found it mildly amusing when they made me take a pregnancy test before surgery. Apparently, they were supposed to have me do one when I did my labs on Monday, but someone dropped the ball. Even though I said, "Um, I'm not pregnant. Trust me, it can't happen," she insisted it could. Perhaps had I told her I had a girlfriend and not a boyfriend that would have helped...Oh well. Just to let you all know, I am not pregnant. If I was, I would have some serious explaining to do and no one would've believed me that it was immaculate conception. *grins*


So, the actual surgery...Man, I was petrified by the time they took me into the operating room. Apparently, everyone noticed how scared I was and then started making jokes to help me chill out. (Two peanuts walk into a park...One was a salted. Ba-da-bum-chhhhh.) They made me slide off of my gurney bed thing and onto an operating table suitable for a Barbie doll. (I think my left butt cheek was hanging off the side.) They opened two side trays for my arms, so I was laid out as though they were going to strap me in for some torture. In fact, they buckled me to the table so I wouldn't fall off. How sweet, huh? *rolls eyes* The anesthesiologist then said, "I'm putting it into your IV now. It'll hit you pretty hard." He wasn't kidding. I felt it almost immediately and I think I got out three answers to his questions before I must've passed out. Next thing I knew, someone was calling out, "Heather, you need to wake up. Open your mouth." I opened my mouth and they pulled a tube out and I was coughing. Scarier though was that my leg was wrapped tightly in an ace bandage and I was back on my gurney/bed thing. WTF? I was disoriented for a moment, but then things were coming into focus.


Phoenix came to sit with me after they wheeled me to an area to finish waking up. I think I came around pretty quickly. I mean, we weren't there long after. I heard from all the nurses and my doc that my anesthesiologist is like the best around. He gives people the exact right amount to knock them out, but not to leave them out of it afterward. I'm not saying I was cool to go drive a car or take a jog, but I was okay. Anyway, we left with the warning that I might get sick, etc, etc, etc, so to eat something light after I got home. Yeah, I ate a sandwich from Subway. *grins* It was so good! The shittiest part was trying to get up the stairs. Phoenix was worried about me walking on my knee, but I tried using the crutches. Apparently, these were easier to use when I was in the 4th grade with a broken ankle. I think I weigh far too much to be able to be use them without feeling it, big time. I made it as far as the stairs with them and I said, "Hold these. I cannot go upstairs with them." I then slowly walked up the stairs. I was scared, mostly because I felt slightly light-headed, but I made it. Phoenix, meanwhile, stood near the bottom of the stairs so that if I did fall ass over teakettle I wouldn't knock her down the stairs as well. *grins* Just kidding. She came up right behind me. I used the crutches again to get to our front door and then I gave up; they hurt my shoulders. I need to lose weight. Moving on...


I took a Percocet for the first time shortly after getting home. It didn't knock me out. I was allowed to take two, but one was enough to keep the pain at bay. That night, I took a Morphine (it's time released to last 12 hours) to go to bed. I slept pretty well, except that it's hard to sleep with my legs on pillows on my back or even on my side with a couple of pillows between my legs to keep my knee up. I'm happy to say I can mostly function on the pain meds they gave me. I wasn't looking forward to being out of it...


I survived my not being able to shower for three days after surgery...but only barely. I washed at the sink with a wash cloth and washed my hair in the sink. Pathetic, huh? Phoenix, I think, thinks I'm ridiculous, but come on, I shower twice a day, every day. (Well, almost every day. Sometimes I'm lazy and don't shower at night.) All jokes aside though, it was killing me. I took a shower this morning and was in heaven! What I am not doing well with is not staying off my leg...I mean, I'm allowed to walk around and such, but I'm not supposed to be out, say, dancing or gardening. I've been trying to do stuff around here and I realize I get tired kind of fast. Yesterday, I made tuna fish salad for lunch and some fresh iced tea and by the time I was done, I was tired...and a little dizzy. I just need to learn to take it easy. *laughs* Yeah, that'll be the day.


I guess that's it...I am lucky because my surgery will only leave three small scars on my knee. I would take a picture to show right now, but I have it wrapped up. I suppose I better go for now...I am making dinner tonight and it's going to take a little while. I am making green chili for her, but from scratch. (Normally, we cheat and use green enchilada sauce, but I am using green chilies to make it...) Here's to hoping!! If it's shitty, then it's going to be pizza night! HAHA! By the way, for those of you wondering, Phoenix has been a saint for taking care of me. I must admit though, she left for work quickly yesterday morning and this morning too...I think she was in a hurry to get to work where she wouldn't have to wait on me. *grins* Just kidding! She's been great through it all.

Surgery...And other bullshit.

Okay, so if you live under a rock and haven't heard, I'm having knee surgery on my left knee on Wednesday. I'm so not excited about this. Although, it'll be nice to have the pain go away. They are going to go in and fix a tear in my meniscus and take out some debris (small pieces of cartilage) floating around in my knee. Supposedly, I'll be able to walk myself right out of the surgery center afterward. Should be fun...*rolls eyes* I'm just hoping I'll be able to walk well enough to make it upstairs to my apartment. I am a but scared, truth be told. I've never really had surgery before, so this is all new to me. And I'm still wondering why, when they called to get my medical history, they asked me random questions such as, "How do you learn best--listening, seeing things, or what?", "Are you left handed or right handed?", and my favorite, "Are you a victim of domestic violence? Do you feel safe at home?" Of course, for that one, I said, "No...Christina beats me daily whether I deserve it or not!!" Don't get me wrong--I know this is important to ask, because some people have no one to turn to. However, it seemed absurd to me when I was half-asleep answering this lady's random questions. Oh well. Wish me luck/say a prayer for me/or whatever.


So, in other news, I saw the other day that some of my so-called friends on Facebook had added my ex and his wife. Yeah, so I deleted them. Sure, it may be childish, but really, I don't want those fuckers reading any comments I may post for those people. I suppose I could've just blocked the ex and his wife, then they couldn't see me at all...*considers this for a moment* Nah, forget the disloyal people, I say. The High Desert is not so small that everyone must befriend everyone, you know? The whole thing is rather ridiculous because I would've thought that after so many years of friendship, it would just be a given that these people wouldn't befriend someone who dragged my name through the mud and made me out to be some sort of huge bitch for no apparent reason. But hey, do whatever suits you guys and I'll just wave goodbye to you, good buddies. *waves hand with middle finger sticking up* We had some good times...But no more.


I am officially out of the deli at work. Now I stock shelves...Can you hear the excitement in my writing? Yeah, I can't either...Moving on...


I think a lady at my work may have a crush on me. There's something not right with her and it's not just because she's missing three fingers on her right hand. Oh don't give me that look!! Her hand always gives the hang loose sign and she insists on patting me on the shoulder with that hand or touching me with it...It takes everything in me not to flinch because it always catches me off guard. Oh shut up! I am not being mean. She creeps me out mostly because she always finds a reason to touch me. WTF? A few weeks ago, she came to work and said she'd found a couple of green polo shirts (I have to wear a green shirt to work and I always wear a polo) that just so happened to fit me. She gave them to me for free, even though I offered to pay her for them. Then when I started wearing them (When I was no longer in the deli and no longer destroying my clothes with grease and such), she was all happy, "Oh good! They fit! That's awesome!" Yeah, uh-huh, awesome. *rolls eyes* I was thankful for the shirts, but she scares me. Then the day before yesterday at work, she asked when my surgery is. I said, "Wednesday." She asked, "Do you have someone to take care of you?" I said, "Yes, my girlfriend." She said, "Oh. Okay. Well, I just wanted to make sure you had someone to take care of you. If you need any help or anything at all, I can help. You can call the store and have them contact me or whatever. " I just sort of stood there, stupefied by it all. I insisted that I would be fine, but appreciated her offer. Let me point out that this was above and beyond anything an assistant manager should be offering, you know? I mean, she's not my friend. We don't hang out. And if I had my way, we wouldn't even talk. lol The whole thing is so weird. I'm going to start hiding from her at work...


Okay, I've got to go now. I am exhausted and need a nap. I hope all my spelling and such is fine because I am so not correcting it right now. I will write more later about the scum of the earth I've dealt with lately...Peace.