Powerball madness, y’all.

Did you get your tickets yet? Do you live somewhere that doesn’t HAVE Powerball? Sucks to be you, eh? I mean…It’s $1.5 BBBBBBBBillion Dollaires. That’s BILLION. WITH A “B”!

I just had this conversation with my husband via The Facebook Messenger:

9:49am

Hubs: I have the vertigo this morning!
Me: uh-oh.
Me: hydrate.
Hubs: yep
Hubs: I did eat an orange
Me: Maybe we’re gonna have an earthquake.
Much like dogs can sense earthquakes and no one knows why – or maybe they do and I just don’t remember the reason…
Hubs: Maybe it’s Powerball fever
Me: Maybe! I should get a couple tickets.
Hubs: Won’t work.
The fuck?!
Hubs: Spadafore has the winning ticket
“Spadafore” is a buddy of his at work…
Hubs: and he’s not sharing the numbers
Stingy bastard, that Spadafore…
Me: He’s lying.
Me: Everyone says that.
Hubs: huh
Hubs: When it went from 1.3 to 1.5, he said I could have the $200 million
Me: I’d rather be the one to give HIM the 200 Mil.
It’s simple math, really…I mean…duh.
Me: So…
Me: nice try.
Hubs: okay
Me: And…uh…if he DOES have the winning numbers, then…the deal is STILL ON.
I amaze even myself, you guys…I’m fucking brilliant.
Me: Sneaky, right?
Hubs: very
I don’t like his tone.
P.S. This is probably the first thing I’d buy with my winnings:
dollar-signs-bling-ring

I’m pretty sure it says somewhere in the fine print on the back of the tickets that you are 100% obligated to buy one of these rings when you win the lottery.

Advertisements

Misophonia – It’s a “thing”, y’all. Look it up.

It happens against my will. It’s almost as if I get possessed. One minute I’m fine…the next I’m shooting daggers out of my eyes.

Usually, the first thing that I notice is people chewing their food noisily. At first, I’m able to control my twitchy eye. Breathing exercises work great. After that fails, though…all bets are off.

I drop little hints to those around me starting with that stare with the squinky eye. (Dear spellcheck…squinky IS a word…because I just made it up.) The offender usually senses this look…stops chewing for a moment, then says something like, “What?” to which I respond, “Oh…nothing…” hoping they get the hint. When that fails I go a little bit more passive-aggressive-aggressive.

Do those Funyuns taste good?!

I’m usually met with, “They sure do, want some?” I respectfully decline.

It will typically escalate from there. Here are ways that I will attempt to drown out or get them to stop:

  1. Turn on my music at my desk or turn on the TV.
  2. When that doesn’t work, I’ll turn up the volume so that I drown out that god-forsaken sound from my head.
  3. I remind myself that I love the person making this goddamned noise and sometimes that works…most of the time it does not.
  4. Slamming of dishes ensues.
  5. I will literally throw a fork onto my plate causing a scene making everyone nervous and occasionally they will leave the room.
  6. Heavy sighs work the best, I’ve found. And if you accompany the squinky eye and the stare-down, the offender knows you mean business.
  7. The final straw comes when I have had enough. Usually directed at my poor sweet husband or my BFF who both love me unconditionally and are the worst offenders. These two people love me DISPITE my shortcomings and weird quirks. I typically lose it completely.

The conversation will begin with the look. And my reactions exponentially get ballsy-er from there:

  • Blank stare while simultaneously freezing in place causing a silence in my general direction that is immediately noticed and the sense of being watched rather intensely is completely palpable.
  • They look in my direction, usually freezing in mid-chew. Let’s not forget, these people know me. They know exactly what this look means.
  • They say, “What?” – I say, “I’m literally going to stab you and to go prison if you don’t figure out how to chew more softly.” They say, “I’m just eating.” – I say, “Fine! YOU EAT AND I’LL GO LOOK FOR A KNIFE!”
  • They say, “You need to calm down.” – I say, “What would you like on your headstone? ‘Here lies Mr. Sassy, his wife murdered him because he wouldn’t chew softly and she fucking had had enough, already.'”*

In the end, I make my point. And a few days later, I feel really bad that I went so nutso about it – but SERIOUSLY.

* Don’t you fucking love it when you get to use “had had” in a sentence?! I do. Especially if it ends up on a head stone.

 

Anxiety in Sassyland

Have you ever read something and realized as you were reading it, that it is explaining exactly how you feel in certain situations? Well, that happened to me last night. The funny thing is, I never really realized what I have experienced had a name or that other people felt it and if I did, I never ever in a million years would have thought that it was something that described ME in any way. I mean…I’m not an idiot.

Thank you, Jennifer Lawson. “Furiously Happy” has opened my eyes to this feeling that takes over my life on certain occasions, and because of this, I feel slightly less strange, weird, psycho, closed-off, odd, scared and even a little alone. In this book of “essays” as it is described, lies a whole lot of truth. A whole lot of real-life hysterically terrifying ways that Jenny has dealt with her mental illness adventures. I say “adventures” because almost each chapter is a story in itself. She is refreshingly honest with her writing and makes the reader feel as though they are there with her ducked under a table or hidden in a bathroom stall or – beside her on the floor of her bedroom with “dead arms” trying to keep the cat from attacking her phone as she dictates the moment she woke up from her nap and the lack of circulation to her arms had caused her to be armless for what seems like an eternity and how she instinctively knew the moments leading up to that moment that morning had to be documented because it was literary GOLD. It’s no wonder that her book as been on the NY Times Bestseller list for 4 straight weeks. There is a desperate need for her voice in this world.

You see, I have a very bubbly personality – more so when I was younger, but at the ripe old age of 44, I’m finding that I still have, for the most part, my bubbliness in tact. I’m social. I like to hang out with my friends and do things and experience things…but sometimes…I’m the exact opposite. Sometimes, I don’t want to be around people or be in a crowd or mingle with people I don’t know. Sometimes the thought of meeting someone new just overwhelms the holy living shit out of me. It’s called “Anxiety”. And an even better term for what I’m self-diagnosing would be “Social Anxiety”.

I was once sent to a networking/marketing class – to learn to network for and market my parents business. What I didn’t realize, until after I got there, was that I was in a room full of artificial people that were all talking to each other, but they weren’t listening to each other. It was as if they were there for show, wanted something out of me – business, word of mouth exposure, me to think they were the most incredible person I had ever met – and there I was…just watching, from the corner. Sweaty. Feeling overwhelmed. Breathing heavily. Avoiding eye contact. Wanting to get the hell out of there as fast as humanly possible. But. I. Couldn’t. I was somewhat petrified. Frozen. Trapped. In this sweaty, hyperventilating state. Plus – I was with someone – a co-worker- who ate this shit up for breakfast. It was probably the longest day of my life. I hate networking.

I. HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE. IT.

Another time when anxiety got the best of me was when I returned to my job after vacation and my boss had decided to change my job title without discussing it with me first – no real reason, but I went from an office job to working in a warehouse – apparently the person that they had take over for me while I was on vacation had rainbows flying out of her butt and her mother was a higher up and blammo – Sassy got kicked to the curb. There goes Sassy’s job. Meh – hindsight being what it is – it was for the best. BUT – when it was happening?! Holy shitballs, you guys…I thought I was losing my mind. I really went off the deep end. I walked out of the office to a corner of this huge 50,000 square foot warehouse, all by myself and just bawled my fucking eyes out, called my mom so that she could calm me down. The physical things that happened to me were something I had never experienced before as an adult. My hands started shaking, breathing was erratic, I felt really clammy but hot at the same time. I remember my hearing sort of turned off and there was a slight ringing in my ears. I knew that I was in a full panic attack – even though I hadn’t ever remembered having one before.

There have been other instances – mostly surrounding groups of people that are just really beautiful and thin and have their shit together – where I’ve just retreated to a place where no one else was, usually I was with my husband and just sort of disappeared to a corner or to a table far away from anyone else – typically this happens when I’m with my husbands co-workers at an event or something. I just don’t belong in a room with those people. It’s come to a point where I just really try not to be placed in those situations. If I’m going to hang out with those people, it’s gonna be on my turf, man.

We are throwing a Halloween party this Friday. At our house. My turf. I can totally handle this. You know why? BECAUSE IT’S MY DAMN HOUSE and I CAN GO TO MY ROOM AND SHUT THE DOOR AND HIDE WITH A COCKTAIL! But I won’t because I’m waaaaaaaaaay more comfortable in a controlled environment than I am on neutral ground. Plus, chances are, some asshole isn’t going to show up to my party unless they really want to spend time with me and on the flip-side of that, I don’t invite people I don’t want to spend time with so it’s really a perfect storm.

So, other than my abandonment issues (someday I’ll get into that) and my need for everyone to like me (although age has gotten me to a point where I realize that I really am not that much of a people pleaser anymore and hey, if you like me, awesome. If you don’t, meh…I’ll get over it – I have lots of friends that I love very deeply and who love me in return, so I’m cool, bro.), I’m pretty sure that this anxiety stuff is my only real issue. It doesn’t consume my entire life…but it has made things interesting at times. I’ve missed out on some things I may have otherwise enjoyed, but was crippled by my fear of being put into situations that I couldn’t just remove myself from if I felt the need to leave.

 

Sassyland Adventures

Hey, y’all!

I’m writing to you from my God-forsaken desk, in my God-forsaken office. At work. I can’t get any actual work done because there are contractors over <— (there) installing new French doors and repairing some of the siding to our office that has been damaged due to the fact that this is WASHINGTON and there has been a water leak for who knows how long and they are using some God-forsaken power tools including, but not limited to:

  • Saws-All
  • Hammer
  • Nail gun (hooked up to the God-forsaken air compressor)
  • Pry bars
  • Electric Drill

Now, I’m not one to complain….BWAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! J/K, that’s pretty much all this damn blog is about! BUT I DIGRESS. So, I’m complaining….get over it.

I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS RACKET!!!!!!!!!! A nail gun powered by an AIR COMPRESSOR IS LOUD AS FUCK, YOU GUYS! And, I mean, great for the guys working –  because they get ear protection, but they are about 7 feet away from my desk and THWAAAAAAACK!!!!!!!! – hey, don’t worry about me, I. Am. Good. Yessirree. No big deal. Reading lips probably isn’t that hard to learn, right?

Oh, good…one of the guys just got a head beam to the forehead. I’ll be right back…

He’ll be fine. I have icepacks in the fridge. Thanks for your concern. What? I can’t hear what you’re saying…because HAMMER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The workers are Russian, barely speak a LICK of English and the only Russian word I know is “Спасибо”! Which looks an awful lot like “ACHOO”, but it’s pronounced “Sbah-see-bah”, which means “Thank You”, apparently…at least that is what the owner of this contracting business told me it means. I should probably look that shit up on the Google Translate or something because I could be telling everyone something really obscene. I’ll be honest, I just looked up all of this on the internet and Спасибо looks nothing like “sbah-see-bah” so who the fuck knows what in the hell I’m saying.

How’ YOUR day?

 

Apartment Manager Tales: Don’t come crying to me…

It’s the 21st of the month y’all. If you haven’t paid your rent by now…when the fuck ARE you going to pay it?!

I called a lady today and told her that if she didn’t get her rent into me by the time I get here tomorrow – we have a night drop – that I was going to send her paperwork to the attorney for eviction.

You’re thinking to yourself, “Damn, Sassy…you’re a bitch!”

Yeah, well…here’s a little background. Previous managers here have apparently been letting this woman get away with this for QUITE some time…and it’s continued since I’ve managed here because, well…a precedence has been set. 48 times this woman has been late with her rent. FORTY-EIGHT. Let that sink in for a minute, you guys.

Like I said, I called her and said it had to be here tomorrow when I got here or her paperwork is being sent to the attorney. Which will incur legal fees, because evictions aren’t cheap.

She says to me, “But Sassy…can’t you help me out?”

No, I can’t. You told me first, that you’d pay it on the 11th. Then you told me you’d pay it on the 18th. Now you’re telling me you’re going to pay it on the 25th? I’ve helped you by giving you 21 days to pay your rent. I will not allow 22 days. If it’s not here when I get here in the morning, you will be sent for eviction. This has gone on long enough! (…extreeeeeeemely long pause of silence – if I learned anything, the art of winning a battle is the first person that breaks the silence loses. I rarely lose these stand-offs…)

So you’re not going to help me out, huh?

I’ve already helped you out – now you need to help me out. Pay your rent or move out. Period. (…more silence…I win.)

How long does this take?

The paperwork that the process server gives you will explain what you need to do. (more silence…I win again, bitches!)

So if I pay you Friday anyway, will you take it?

Not unless the attorney advises me to do so. There will be legal fees that will become part of your balance due.

Ooooh…okay…

 

Days like this make me want to slam my face onto my desk. Hard.

Let me talk REEEEEEEAAAAALLL SLOW, so you can understand…

11wD2RW

One of my residents short-paid his rent – which means…let’s say it was $939 ($899 rent + $40 water/sewer/garbage) and he only gave me a check for $855. So I called him today to explain that he has a balance owing and he argued that he dropped his rent “on time”…to which I replied, “Yes, your check for $855 was considered ‘on time’ only…it didn’t cover your balance IN FULL, now you owe me $84 + $16 in late fees totaling $100. When are you going to bring that over to us?”

AW MAN! I don’t know how I did that! I don’t understand, I need to make sure I have $100 left in my account!”

*what I was saying in my head…* Yeah…well…get on that shit, because you need to get your money in here, PRONTO.

He comes in and gives me $100. THEEEEEEEEENNNNNN….he calls me 20 minutes later.

Yeah…I have a question. I should have $15 somewhere over there as a credit.

Me: *hey, that’s not a question…it was more of a statement – an incorrect one at that…* How do you figure that?

My water sewer garbage is $40 and my rent is $899. I gave you a check for $855 and another one for $100.

Me: Yes, and you had a late fee of $16.

That should have gone to my water, sewer, garbage – right?

Me: No – the total owing you should have given me ON TIME would have been $939. You only gave me $855.

Right…so…where’s my $15.

Me: *brain exploding all over my office* Listen – it might be easier for you to stop by the office so I can show you the accounting of this in black and white, or you can write this down as I speak to you. Your RENT was $899. Your water, sewer, garbage was $40. That totals $939. You dropped a check for $855. That left you a balance of $84. Because you didn’t pay your rent IN FULL and ON TIME, you owe late fees of 20% on the balance due – that’s $16 in late fees. $84 + $16 = $100. There is no overpayment, there’s no credit due, you paid in full and your balance is now $0.00. You’re starting FRESH. Zero balance.

Yeah…ok…whatever.

You guys…just pay your motherfucking rent on time…it makes life so much easier.