Showing posts with label crazy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crazy. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

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.



Monday, September 5, 2011

You Will Be Pleased To Know

I can move my head a little today. I was gonna lie and just tell Chef Man that I couldn't but then I'd kind of have to disappear when the landlord comes to inspect tomorrow. The head moving is both good and bad. It is good in that I can now actually see the shit around me. It is bad in that I can now actually see the shit around me.

How the FUCK does a tiny apartment get so MESSY? I mean fucking really? There's a DONUT (sorry, DONETTE, what a stupid fucking name) on the floor under a shoe. WHY? Was someone in here last night stealing powdered mini donuts and eating them in our footwear? I don't understand. Also - the kitchen? He brings dinner home almost every night. SO WHY THE FUCK IS THE STOVE FILTHY? I NEVER COOK ON IT.

I also got pain meds at the store last night (OTC, nothing good). I opened the bottle before to take one and noticed it was BLUE. Alarm bell. I read the label. They are IBUPROFEN PM. So yeah. I can clean or curl up on the floor next to the bucket and take a lil' nappy nap. And then when Chefman comes home and takes me to the institution I won't have to worry about cleaning. Because hospitals are sanitary.

Anyway, I didn't take the blue pill (wrong kind of blue pill, no little v anyway) so I have no excuse. I have to go douche my abode. Fuck. Me. Sideways. Happy fucking Labor Day.