Sometimes, Crazy People do Crazy Shit

Before we get started, a couple of things:

1. I can say "crazy" because I AM crazy; and,
2. I would never, ever want to hurt someone else's feelings, so anyone I talk about in this blog will never read this blog. I know this for a fact. I also won't be using names. I'll make names up.

So don't get all bunged up about the title or all that other shit. I'm not hurting anyone. You all should know by now I'd never do that.

Anyway, on to the crazy shit. There's a no-smoking-in-the-house policy here at my house. As there is at most houses, both group-living and private. Most people don't want their clothes and their hair smelling like ass. Myself included, and I smoke so yeah. But THIS house has a very SPECIAL reason for the no-smoking policy, and here it is: one of our residents is on oxygen. Which we all know is highly explosive. So we all obey the no smoking in the house rule because let's face it, even if we're nuts, we don't want to get roasted like chestnuts on an open fire.

However, there is one person in the house who seems to have a really difficult time following the rules pertaining to the "Let's Not Blow Up The House" theme. Who, you might ask, would do that? Why, it's none other than the person to whom the oxygen is hooked up. WHAT?????? That is correct. She has an oxygen tank next to her bed, complete with breathing machine, and she goes two doors down to the bathroom with a can of air freshener and smokes in the middle of the night.

The best part of all this is that this is one of my roommates. She sleeps in the bed RIGHT NEXT TO MINE. And that oxygen machine is on the floor between our beds. This makes me rather angry and more than a little nervous. (She also has difficulties with personal hygiene but whatever, that won't kill me - although the smell of rotten feet in a room occupied by a sensitive person - me - can be trying.) 

This person got caught dead ass the other night. The next morning she got asked about it and flat out lied. "No," she said. "Not me," she said. Then comes out to the back yard table and tells me she got caught but she's going to keep denying because it's the staff member's word against hers and "she's not licensed and she's a nigger anyway so no one will believe her." That's right, she said the "N Word" and I repeated it. This is to show you what I'm dealing with here. 

I'm no snitch but I got pissed off enough about this bitch putting my life at risk and being a bigoted asshole that I went to MY counselor and related the conversation. She said she'd take care of it. I doubt that.

I don't know what my point was in writing this blog, other than to show that all those warm and fuzzy TV shows about group living for the mentally ill are not always accurate, and that some of us are mean, vindictive, and have stinky feet and dirty sheets.

Have a nice day. I'll be back tomorrow unless I get blown up.

Fucktards

They're everywhere. They are in your supermarket, banging into your back with their cart while their sticky children scream and grab you; they are in the bank, demanding that of course they can cash a personal check drawn on a DIFFERENT BANK with NO ID and NO SIGNATURE FROM THE ACCOUNT HOLDER; they are at the gas station taking up 3 pumps with their SUV while you watch your dial go to SORRY YOU GET TO WALK NOW; and they are in professional offices, disguised, my friends, as "People Who Know What They Are Doing."

Let us begin with the fucktards that run social services. They seem, on paper, like they would be good people, right? I mean, their career is to HELP people. The fact is? They have not one fucking clue what they're doing. I had the unfortunate experience yesterday of visiting one of their fine establishments to file for reimbursement for hurricane damage. Now, you would think, this being the day after a 3 day holiday, the beginning of the month and this special program going on, the fucktards would have had people WORKING. Wrong. There was ONE WINDOW OPEN. I stood in a line for an hour to get a form. Filled it out. Stood back in the line for 90 minutes to hand it in. Then sat there and waited another hour to get told, "Okay, we'll get that to you tomorrow." You couldn't just look it up in the fucking computer that was right in front of your BIG FAT SANDWICH? Or maybe the dripping mayo was obscuring the keyboards. Whatever. I feel really sorry for people that have to deal with that shit on a regular basis, because frankly, I'd put my kids to work in a sweatshop before applying for any more help from those asswipes.

Moving on: the insurance fucktards. I was visited last night by a "nurse" whose sole job it is, since I'm pretty sick, is to make sure I'm okay, and that I have my meds. I told her, "Well, the doctor won't see me til next week and I ran out of meds last Sunday." Her response? "You should go to the ER." Bitch, you're an NP. Pull out your pad and write me my shit. Fucktarded. Seriously. I'm not sitting in an ER for 8 hours to get 10 pills. I'll let it ride. But that bitch was fucktarded IN EXTREMIS.

There are others. The doctor fucktards. I was supposed to be scheduled for surgery in October. When I got home (finally) yesterday, there were 11 messages from hysterical ob/gyn workers, all of them fucktackular, telling me my pre-op appointment is this Friday, my surgery is next Friday, and I have to see the doc tomorrow. Um.....I have a job you fucking clowns. But yeah, I want this shit done so I'll get it done.

It's a good thing I'm on mental meds that are sedating. Because if I were not? Shit would have been blown up all over Long Island yesterday and you would have seen me on the news. Doing the perp walk in my sweats with crazy eyes.