My job, is made of suck.
Everyone says this, but mine really does.
I've had days where I was doing nothing but scrubbing shit (actual shit, as in fecal matter with pieces of undigested food and the stench from hell) off of someone's ass all day long. Or cleaning shit off the floor. Or dodging getting hit or bit or scratched or smacked.
I work my shift.
I go in on my days off if they need me (ON TOP OF A FULL TIME SCHOOL SCHEDULE)

And when I request the weekend off, I get told "eh, probably not" because we're short staffed by one. But! Another worker can take a week off of work in the middle of the month because she asked for it off. This same worker told me, flat out, not to expect her to offer to take one of the nights I want off, because it's her night off too.

I am going out of town to see my fiance, who I only get to see once a month if we're lucky, and I asked two months ago for that weekend off.

But probably not.

You ever want to rub someone's face off on the sidewalk for no reason other than they did something in the past? Brandon is best friends with a woman he used to date. They dated two years ago, it ended badly, and save for one occasion over a year ago, they haven't had physical contact like that since.
I'm totally okay with them being friends. I even like her and am friends with her, because she's my kind of people. I just keep the knowledge they used to do the naked tango together in a separate part of my brain and I can deal with that.
But when it's brought up in conversation they used to get naked and how often they'd get naked, either by someone else or when Brandon is retelling a story, I want to bash her face in until brain matter is painting the room.
Brandon does not understand how I am perfectly okay with them being friends and I still have moments where I want to shove a railroad spike through her eye. I've tried explaining it has nothing to do with her, or him, or anything other than he's mine and by God, I don't share.
Then Man I Used to Fuck came up. I don't have another name for him, so we'll go with MIUtF for short. He's in the military and is going to be back in our hometown over Christmas. MIUtF and I will probably hang out, as that is what friends do. And while he is firmly in the "used to fuck" category and not going to ever again be in the "plan to fuck" schedule, Brandon has an issue with it. Which I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND. But come on, do you really think I'm going to wreck a good thing for someone who had a chance with me and GAVE IT UP, only to realize later THAT I'M GODDAMN FUCKING AMAZING? He actually called to tell me that he'd made a mistake in picking women, and that comments and posts on FB that he knows are aimed at Brandon make him jealous. Not my goddamn problem fucker, you cocked up and now you can live with it.
But the fight ensued after that, and it ended when I basically said everything his ex's (who have cheated on him) said... which made me feel bad.
How is it that I feel bad after a fight that wasn't an actual fight? There was no yelling, no screaming, no throwing of anything, no slamming doors...

Friendships are different for adults. When we're children, our best friend is the kid with the best box of crayons and who shares their Oreo cookies at lunch time.

As an adult, our best friend has seen the very worst of us and loves us anyway. They've held us as we cried, plugged their ears as we screamed, and picked us up from the side of the road after we've been abandoned.

They are the ones who ask "which one" when you tell them an organ is failing and you need a replacement.

You go on vacations together. Cook together. Sometimes you even live together. Their children are like your own children, because you'd give anything for them to be happy. You punish them when they do wrong. You kiss their hurts. (I'm talking about the kids, not the adults)

You have inside jokes, and inside looks, and you finally feel like here is someone who gets you.

You had called her when your husband raped you the last time, and she came and got you and took you home and you laid in bed with her and cried everything out on her shoulder.

She got you blistering drunk when you finally realized your marriage was shit and you needed to get out.

You took the children so she could have a date night with her husband.

You put off two weeks of work to help her move.

You think they'll be there forever and a day, because you know you'll be there for them for forever and a day.

Then you get that phone call in the middle of the night, the one where she is screaming accusations at you that you've fucked her husband and lied to her about it. That you're trying to steal her family from her.

You don't bother reminding her that you've been her shoulder to lean on with him. You've been the one to hold her hand when she freaked out over the amount of porn her husband watches. Who told her she was crazy when she pointed out his profiles on "dating" and "looking for sex" websites. You told her that he loves only her, and that him having cybersex with strangers is just a way of blowing off steam.

She tells you that you're a dictator when you ask a simple question. But she doesn't tell you she's angry until you call a few days later and she is rude and short with you and when you ask what's wrong, she says "you know what's wrong".

When you call her crying that someone who is supposed to love you and be honest with you turns out to be a pathological liar, she says "well, you are just upset that your security blanket isn't working anymore, grow up". When you tell her that you feel like you're going crazy because someone is pushing you towards that cliff, she hangs up on you.

I'd love to say that I bit my thumb at her and told her where to go. But I didn't.

Instead, I've stopped calling. Stopped texting. Stopped emailing. And this withdraw makes me feel better. I hope she realizes one day that I slipped out of her life quietly, easily, without fanfare and didn't leave my shoe laying on the front steps for her to find me with later.

I wonder if her husband knows she thinks he's a cheating bastard, and a liar to boot, but I don't tell him. Let her fester in her paranoia and anger, I've got enough drama in my life, I don't need to borrow from their life.

Wow, I don't know where to begin. I'm fortunate enough that none of my exes are anywhere even remotely close to my plane of existence. The last time I did the whole "this is my stepkid" thing it took me two years to pack him off to military school and about 4 months for him to fuck that opportunity straight up the ass. We haven't heard from him in years and I figure he must be somewhere between prison and a crack house by now probably within a block or so of my ex-husband.

I agree with Winnie that granny panties suck even though I don't watch Project Runway. ;) I've lost 7 pounds in 3 weeks and while that is a good thing I'm reticent to discuss it because I have no idea when I'll finally blow the whole thing and gain it all back and then some. How is that for some schizophrenic bitching, girls?

Meanwhile, it's Halloween weekend, I have a party planned for tomorrow night and my enthusiasm is waning as we speak, ahem. My sinuses are totally out of whack and it looks like my son is coming down with a cold. Oh, and I'm going to have to dye his hair jet black so he can pull off Elvis circa 1967 with his girlfriend (*cough* *cough* shoot me) going as Priscilla of the same era. My daughter has invited one of her best friends over tonight because I adore the girl (she is totally worthy of being a junior bitch and since you guys know my daughter you can imagine what her evil redheaded twin bf is like) and she's probably going to be the only thing that keeps me from forcing Elvis out of the building while I make Priscilla disappear Vegas style. As in, too many gambling debts and the mob is on to your ass, Vegas style.

Much love and bitchyness to you and yours, it's 10am and I need a fucking drink.