A Partial Pictoral

After my trip to Knoxville and Atlanta, I returned with two new necklaces and three new charms, bringing me to a total of four necklaces and eight charms that I wear regularly. From left to right: The eight-pointed star which my aunt sent me from California. The eight-sided star is the symbol of the Goddess Inanna. A red (ruby) Swarovski crystal heart I bought at my first BlogCon in Kansas city which is Nate's birthstone, a diamond solitaire which belonged to my Ma-Ma, Bast (Egyptian Goddess and protector of cats, women, and children), the pentacle with celtic scroll that my cousin bought me on my trip to LA and TX, the blue necklace which has the symbol of Cancer on it which belonged to my Grandma, who was also a Cancer like Nate, the purple goddess pendant and the sign of the Scorpio. A close up of the Star of Inanna Last Friday, Ron asked me how I wanted my ceiling textured. I told him, "Surprise me." When I walked in on Sunday and went to my bedroom to see what he had done, I found this: If you can't tell, that's the 8 pointed star of Inanna. T-Bird looked at me and said, "Wow, someone's observant..." My friend Lisa, said the same thing. I can't really describe the feeling when I saw it. It was more than just a symbol that my Lady was with me and would always be with me and had not forsaken me, but that someone who barely knew me, who didn't know me 6 weeks ago would care enough to try and please me by using the pattern of my own necklace in the ceiling, without knowing what it actually meant. Then there was the way Ron acted when I questioned him about it. I could tell he was nervous about what he had done, afraid that I wouldn't like it, to the point he just continued working and didn't look at me until I pointed out that it was my necklace that he had used as the pattern. I guess the other guys had asked about the odd pattern as well because he told me to show them my necklace and they both looked at us strangely. Maybe he was afraid I would figure out how much time he spent looking at my chest... LOL! Regardless, it really meant a lot to me. A lot. It gave me the warm fuzzies and still does.

After 700 Posts...

It's time to find a new home. I find myself becoming as personal as I probably ever have around here with more to lose, therefore, I have set up a Wordpress account and am in the process of moving "Anything Goes" to her new home. Some posts will be password protected, but probably not all. I will e-mail those of you I have addresses for but if I miss you or if I don't even know who you are, you may e-mail me at nanner.peach@gmail.com for further instructions. My new blog home will be blackpunkin.wordpress.com. This post will self-destruct in 5 seconds. Good luck.

Read the Manual

When one gets a cell phone one should read the owner’s manual instead of attempting to have their daughter interpret symbols she cannot see. But thank goodness for my parents’ trip to Maine they invested in a cell phone. My Mo was complaining because she said the phone hadn’t been activated. I told her I would call the number to see if it would ring in. She could hear my house phone ringing her cell phone but the cell phone wasn’t ringing. She said, "See, this thing isn’t working, it just isn’t working, why isn’t it working?" I said, "Well, is it powered up correctly?" "Oh, well, no, it’s not on" "Mom, turn the phone on." *Sigh* "I don’t understand what this button does. It says "settings" and then it says "silent" and "meeting" and "normal," what does that mean?" "That is how you set how you want your phone to ring." "Well, which one do I want?" "Normal." "Well, what is this line with the line through it?" "I don’t know, Mom. Did you read the manual?" "I really haven’t had time." "You really need to read the manual, Mom." *Sigh* ... and hour and a half later... "Mom, you may not have service out there in the mountains *BFE!*" "But, I gave them my zip code and that is how they are tracking my minutes." "That doesn’t mean that you have service." "But, they did it by my zip code." *Banging head against keyboard* "I still don’t know what this line with a line through it is." "Mom, maybe you should just read the manual." "Well, I’m just going to have to get out my magnifying glass to read the instructions. They print them too small." "Mom, have a great trip."

Everything is OK

AZ has returned. I spoke to him last night and this morning. He seems tired but in an evened out decent mood. No finger pointing has ensued and I just feel better knowing he's back even though I was wondering if I would be. Relationships are complicated. I had a job interview on Friday and I have another one tomorrow. Although the peeps seemed nice, although highly Republican, the thought of moving from one sit down job to another is just almost too much to bear. Not that I've ever been cut out for a desk job, but as I get older the more kinetic I seem to become. And set in my ways. I can sit for hours and bead or write, but I'm also free to smoke and play loud music and move around if I so desire. I think that is it. I like to move around a lot. I always have. I'm constantly up and down. Aside from all of the problems I faced last week, I felt much better doing sales and pulling t-shirts and basically, running my ass off. I'm happier, freer, and more confident. I really have to give this some thought...

Der Ain't Nuttin' In the World

Like a tequila drunk. Best damn drunk on the planet. just ask my Texiss friends. That is "Texiss." I spelled it right, shut up. Me, and Kevin, that's the head printer, and his girlfriend, Terri, wo is kind enough to pull shirts out fo the dryer for us, decided that my offer of a a margarita was too good to pass up. Not to mention our Texiss fajitas, pronounced as "fa-hee-tees." That is West Virginia Mexican. fa-hee-tees. So, I talked to the ole Master and Commander today. That would be fuckin' AZ, for those not paying attention, I need to be fucking nicer but I been mad since that mofo told me I told him that fuckin' order worng. What the fuck ever. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Goddamn he hurt my feelings. mother fucker. I hate when he does htat. I told the son of abithc Id sell the fuckin' shirts. I said., "Do you trust me?" And for that fuckin' lackidaisial, unconvincing, half0hearted, mumbled "yes" i would have prefered he said, fuck no. Puhleasse. He don't trust anyfuckingbody. And it's his own damn fault. I fuckin' hate it. He has skills, mad 6th sense skills and he still trusts the wrong fuckers... what the fuck? I mean, WHAT THE FUCK??? FUCK THAT SHIT!!! FUCK THAT NOISE!!! I told yall the mofo didn't get the checks out on time, right? Yeha, so ya know, I've been there. I've needed money, I depend on my paycheck, so this morning, ya know, I call and ask, yo, do ya''ll need any money to help get you throuh the weekend? Only one did so I wrote a check out of my personal account. Fuck it. I figure fuck, he'll pay me back, I know the fuckin' boss. In myview, as the fuckin' quasi, fuckedup office manager, it may be my business to make sure my workers want to show up on Monday! AZ,well he told me he didn't want me floating that money, blah, blah fuckin' blah, WTF ever. I told him, it was, ya know, a special circumstance, it's not going to happen every week and it fuckin' sure as hell is not like I used his fuckin' money. I did it out of the goodness fo my fuckin' heart. He said he had asked the computer guy to drop by and give out some cash, okay, fine and fuckin' dandy, but he didn't tell me that shit. Fuck that noise. When I talked to the computer guy I told him what AZ said and he's like, "who else is supposed to take care of this?" As in, AZ really needed to get his head out of his ass. I coulnd't agree more. I understand but I don't understand. All I know is, the mother fucker ahs been pretty critical of how I've handled things. Well, I did the best I could given the fact I was hog tied, blindfolded, had cotton stuffed in my nouth and dropped into a hot vat o greese. I can't believe he had the nerve to tell me I had trust issues... pot. kettle .black. Look in the mirror asshole. Not to mention, I still fuckin' love him... ya'll know fo rsure now, I'm nuts. Crazy as a bedbug. whatever, I' drunk. I'm goin' ta bed.

Mojo Risin'

I know, two posts in one night... Just as an aside. . . remember how I’ve said that Sailor Boy and Mr. Catholic always make fun of my religion? Well, last Friday, Sailor Boy and I were trading barbs because there is only so much I can take before I start getting snarky and hateful. He tossed out a challenge. If I were so "tight" with my spirits and the Summerland world, then I should put my money where my mouth is and use my mojo to get him a new job. I said, Fine, Sailor Boy, and if I do, then you keep your trap shut about my religion for the rest of the time that we work together. Fine, two weeks, Gypsy Girl. Deal is done. Before I left today, Sailor Boy had two interviews, one for something he didn’t even apply for. I’d say that’s pretty damn good. Mojo takes time but I put in an express order. Then he had the audacity to ask, "Can’t you do something about the Prosecutor’s job? I really want that one." I said, "Damn, boy! ASK WITH SPECIFICITY NEXT TIME! You said, ‘A job, not A JOB AT THE PROSECUTOR’S OFFICE!’" I tossed this over my left shoulder to test the spiritual waters. My spirits sighed and rolled their eyes but flitted off. Now, why would I stir the spirits up like that? As I explained to Myra, maybe it will open some eyes. It may not change the world and may not even change how Sailor Boy feels, but, it may make him think and be more tolerant. Perhaps it will draw him closer to his own faith. Perhaps he will be able to see the power of positive thinking, the power of intention, the power of creative visualization, and the power of simply believing there is more to the other side than we could ever imagine. Not to mention, it was totally worth it to slither up next Sailor Boy and say, "Mojo risin’, baby... mojo risin’."

My Fabulous Life

I have a headache. Today his name is AZ. CAN ANYTHING ELSE GO WRONG?? Don’t answer that. Please don’t answer that. I have a been a paralegal for 9 years. I have been a writer for 25 years. Both require a certain attention to detail. It is my life. It is my personality. I work with lawyers and paralegals, who also carry these traits. I forget that others do not. Last Friday we were trying to call in an order when we discovered that the size smalls did not come in 50/50, only 100% cotton. This is what precipitated the call from me to the ad agency to determine if, per my understanding, they would accept 100% for the smalls. Yes, they would. My fault was thinking that AZ would remember this conversation or that I had understood him correctly or that he understood me correctly. I don’t know. Either way, when I talked him during the chaos that was our Wednesday, he believed that they had accepted 100% FOR THE ENTIRE ORDER. So, now, I have 138 shirts which, while the right color, are the wrong fiber content. No, they cannot be returned. Would anyone care for some 100% cotton maroon shirts in varying sizes (M to 2XL)??? Anyone? And no, the client wants the 50/50 even though the dye lots are assured to be wrong and the smalls will be a different shade of maroon. While he didn’t yell, scream, or cuss, AZ stated that I did not specify the fiber content. Frankly, I think I did. I know in the e-mail I did and if I’m not mistaken, although I could be, I also reminded him over the phone yesterday or maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough. Either way, I’m steamed. I’m steamed because we now have 138 maroon shirts that we cannot use and cannot return. I’m steamed because I’m being blamed for this fuck up whenever I’m only willing to take 50% of the blame and the reason for that is that if AZ had left the fucking credit card so that we could order while he was away instead of depending on calling cards and shoddy cell and Internet service, this most definitely would not have happened. Okay, one bitten, twice shy and all that other shit. Blow me. Not to mention, he’s not ordering anything until Monday so I then had to call the ad agency back again and tell them their order would not be ready until the middle of next week. The shop resembles a warehouse making it much harder to circulate the 100 degree air. AZ missed the FedEx pick up in BF-NC so payroll will be late. Did I mention he’ll be hand delivering those sometime late Saturday? Yeah, he’s coming back a day early. Hoo-rah. If you see fireworks from the general direction of WV Saturday evening, you’ll know what happened. Enjoy the show.

And... The Plot Thickens

At 12:42 this afternoon, I received a call from the shop informing me that some money had been stolen. While it was not a grossly large sum, $81.00, it was still our money. Well, all but $45 was our money, the rest belonged to our PC repair guy. I had no idea we even had any money on the premises. Most of the time, we invoice our contractor or promotional company or funds are collected and deposited the same day. First, I talked to the aforementioned Incompetent Employee and then the Head Printer who called me from his home. (He has the crud that is going around). I left work early to deal with the situation. Both guys asked that I not "bother" AZ with this latest pile of shit. I said I wouldn’t call him right off until I had a better understanding of what had happened. Head Printer suggested that we meet at 4:00 to discuss the situation but he strongly felt we should file a police report. I agreed. Regardless, I was at the shop by two, AZ was on the phone by 2:40 and the police had arrived by 3:15. When AZ called I told him that I was already at the shop. Printing had ground to halt because we had ran out of shirts on the 15,000 piece, artwork for other smaller jobs was being burned on the screens, we had shirts that we didn’t know what to do with, and I had other questions. I then told him that the reason I was at the shop early was because someone had stolen some money from the drawer. To me, not telling him would have just been a lie of omission, something I’m not willing to do. I don’t care if he’s on vacation. Sometimes shit just happens. He responded calmly, wanting to know why there was money there to start with. I told him all that I knew and when I suggested filing a police report, he concurred. He gave me some further instructions, telling me he would call me later. He didn’t lie. We were back on the phone as the officer, actually the one who was with Jeff when he found out I was pregnant with Nate, pulled up to the side entrance. I filed the report and it will be referred to the detective bureau. I can’t really speculate at this time what happened to the money. First, any of our money should not have even been there. It should have been given to me to deposit, yeah, if only they had known I had the deposit book. Regardless, someone should have taken it out of the office and not left it overnight. Even the PC repair guy’s money should have been carried out and returned the following day. My first and most major question is... if Mr. Incompetent discovered the money missing between 9:30 and 10:00, why did it take him two hours and 42 minutes to call me? Questions. Questions without answers. AZ issued an edict, via me, no more money is to be left in the office. Head Printer is distraught but came in at 4:00 and was still working as of 9:00. I am disappointed and exhausted. We have over 13,000 shirts arriving tomorrow. Hoorah.

FUCK MY BREATHING!

As much as I love the guys at the shop, there is one that I want to choke almost on a daily basis. I try to remember that he really isn’t himself due to various medical problems and ensuing medications. I try really, really hard. However, after busting my ass for two days trying to keep things running smoothly and telling him at least twice that I had a confirmation to change an order AND writing down the confirmation so he could tell AZ when he called back, I was livid when he called me back and told me that AZ told him to call me since I was the one who was supposed to confirm the order change. I lost my temper. I yelled into the phone. I reminded him that I had told him twice AND had written it down that the order change had already been confirmed AND that he was supposed to tell AZ that it had been confirmed and give him the order OVER THE PHONE SO THE FUCKING T-SHIRTS COULD BE ORDERED TOMORROW!!!! This is when he decides to open his eyes and click on the little part that reads, "literacy," and reads where I had written it down. "Oh, yeah, you did write it down." DOH!! DOH!! DOH!! Let’s put aside the fact that our boss is AZ. I don’t care if it is AZ or Guy #3, I do not like being portrayed as someone who has not done what they are supposed to do, especially given the very, very, VERY FUCKING TIGHT DEADLINE WE ARE UNDER RIGHT NOW!!! Now, multiply that by TEN because our boss is, in fact, AZ. I take AZ’s trust in me very serious, in case that wasn’t obvious. Not just because, under the right circumstances, I am a kick ass employee. I do not slack, I run full steam. But also because the man that is my boss I also happen to be kick ass IN LOVE WITH. Not to mention, that given the relatively small number of people I have contacted, I’m taking the shit for what other’s deem as incompetence on the part of said employee, not to mention the snide remarks about phone calls not being returned promptly by AZ. Hence why I said yesterday that human beings are foul creatures. Perhaps it was nasty, but foul will work too. Have I mentioned how far behind I am on my beading? I am very far behind and having hand cramps last week and Nate for two weekends in a row has pretty much ... yeah, I’m not happy. Having Nate is one thing, hand cramps are another. My hands are my life. I did finally get a bead order out only then to discover, I forgot a color. I looked at the diminished quantity in the vial, calculated rapidly in my head and said, "Oh, yeah, I really do need those." Fuck.