janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
posted by [personal profile] janersm at 10:48pm on 12/03/2012 under , ,

Tomorrow is the primary in the state of Alabama. I hate not voting in any election, even runoffs, but I really don’t see the point of voting tomorrow. I can choose between voting in the Republican primary or the Democratic one, since people in the state aren’t forced to vote for a party that they’ve allied themselves with.

I hate voting for Republicans, so voting in that primary does not really interest me. I don’t like any of the GOP Presidential candidates. I don’t like any of the GOP candidates for Congress. I don’t like any of the candidates for County Commission Chairperson.

I would love to vote in the Democratic primary tomorrow, but there is absolutely no point. I can choose between voting for Obama and voting uncommitted. (I’d choose Obama.) Then, with the delegate selection, I don’t really know who to pick. And it doesn’t really matter who gets selected because they’re all delegates for the same candidate. And with no other position to vote for in the primary, it seems like a waste of time to go to the precinct tomorrow.

So, tomorrow’s primary is just a big day of sucking in my opinion.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)

Remember how I was in a bad mood yesterday because my Apple ID had been disabled and because I was told that my SSI limit wouldn’t be increased because I wasn’t (and couldn’t) contribute my “fair share” to the household expenses?  What would you say if I said that those two things might be the highlight of my week?

I was overjoyed when I finally got my Apple account reset.   I was not so overjoyed when I saw that there had been a charge to my account for a $19.99 app.  Of course, since I have no iPhone, iPad, or app-loving iPod Touch, I have absolutely no use for any apps.  So, nice-going whoever ordered that.  That was a big honking clue that that account had been compromised.  It is now back to being disabled.

I’ve also put a fraud alert on my credit and will be closing out money-related accounts ASAP.

Luckily, my Apple account appears to have only been compromised on the twenty-fourth of October, so it was caught rather quickly.  Still, this is all going to be a pain in the ass.  I guess I couldn’t appreciate the not-so-great, okay, mediocre, or semi-good (and sometimes very good/downright awesome) if there were moments that really sucked.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)

Mom just got a call from her mom. Apparently, I’ve been up to no good again and saying “bad things” about certain people. I thought this was weird because I haven’t been saying anything recently about certain people. The last thing that I could find that is public is something from September. It was a rant about my mom taking me for granted while glorifying a particular family member, who I was (and still am) annoyed with over the lack of participation in my mom’s recovery process. I still feel my rant is justified. Of course, I still feel my rant from January is justified and I feel the rant I made in 2002 was justified, too. I also think that they have been taken way too seriously in some respects, while not seriously enough in others.

Since I know that those people are probably reading and will probably continue reading, I want to say this:

I have specifically asked, many times, that you not read this site if you don’t like what I say. I have also asked that you not take it off the computer or try to use it against me with other family. Apparently, this isn’t possible.

I am sorry that you were offended by what I said, but I’m not sorry that I said it. That may sound childish or rude, but let’s face it, I’m not exactly thought of as the most mature member of the family.

I do think that it was unfair in 2002 to shut me out of your life for 9 months until you suddenly decided that something might happen and that you couldn’t live with yourself if it did. I think it was even more unfair that for the next 9 years, even when I tried to make up for the 2002 post, I was basically ostracized within my own family. I think it was unfair that I spent two Thanksgivings when I was severely depressed wondering what I would have to do to make you spend time with me on a holiday that we used to enjoy together.

I think it is unfair that I am the bad one about the January thing in general. I find out something that was apparently so private that people who share DNA couldn’t know, but that was okay for hundreds of thousands of strangers to find out at the same time as those strangers. I get pissed about it. I make one tiny little comment, then become public enemy number one. Meanwhile, it is okay that that post that got her so upset was found only 6 or 7 hours after it was made meaning: she was checking up on me. Yeah, you can say that I apparently needed to be constantly monitored, but the thing is that I didn’t.

I also think that it was unfair that in January, when you talked to her after the post, you didn’t somehow emphasize that making a phone call to me would only further agitate me. You have known me since I was a little kid. Have I ever really been comfortable on the phone? No. Have I ever really been able to vocally defend myself? No. Didn’t it occur to you or to her husband or to anyone who may have thought that call was a good idea that it was, in fact, a bad one?

I shouldn’t be forced to feel guilty because I said things you didn’t like. I shouldn’t have to be told not to write about things that you don’t like. If I cater to you or to anyone else, then I won’t be writing about what is upsetting me anymore. I won’t be doing what the blog was basically set up for. Writing about my issues is how I deal with them. If I don’t write about them, I go more crazy than I already am. If that happens, then I go to the hospital. If that happens, then what? Are you going to move my mom and dad down to your house to make sure that they’re taken care of? Are you going to try to keep up with their health problems? Are you going to give my mom shots (insulin or otherwise) when she’s so out of it that she can’t give them to herself? If I don’t write about these things, these are questions that you will have to have answers for.

What I say doesn’t actually hurt this family in anyway. How have you been harmed by my words? Offended? Maybe, but not hurt. Whereas, I’ve dealt with having my education called into question multiple times, been treated like a dangerous fiend since my time IP, and hearing speculation that my grandmother (and then my mother) have drug problems because of their use of pain medicine. I’ve seen our family get torn apart because suddenly there is only room in the family for you and my uncle plus your son, his wife, and their son, and maybe your mom’s “adoptive” sister that you apparently communicate with more than you do with your own biological sister.

I will not quit writing about things. I will not apologize about your getting upset by them. I will not pretend that I’m okay that this family has been so dysfunctional for years now. I will remind you that you are an adult, you have a choice about what you do when you’re on the internet, and you make the choice to read these things. You know what you will find and you do it anyway because that justifies the anger that you have toward me. The subsequent acting-like-Janet-is-a-subhuman attitude is then okay because I brought it on myself. If you don’t want to be angry with me, then don’t read things I say. If you don’t want to know that I’m frustrated about you, then don’t read it. Or learn to skip posts that are categorized as “family” because they “might” be about you and they might be negative.

So, I shall say this now: back off and try to get over it. Oh, and stop opening that entry over-and-over. It will not be going away. It will not be edited. You need to move on.

I’m guessing this feud will probably hamper any Thanksgiving plans, but…it might be worth it. Sure, Thanksgiving is one of those rare days where I actually do eat a significant amount of food, and it is one of the few days that I get to see people I’m related to that aren’t my mother or father, but if I’m going to have to put up with this crap then I don’t want to spend the holiday with them. I want to spend it with Nana. At least she’s loved me and actually tried to be there for me through all of this.

I shouldn’t spend a family holiday with people who clearly don’t want me to be a part of their family.  I want to be where I’m wanted, and that probably won’t ever be in a room where she is.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)

There used to be a simple reason that I didn’t look forward to Thursdays: no matter what was going on, my dad was always in a bad mood that day of the week. Now, though, it isn’t quite so simple.

I got on my computer today and was going to do something very, very simple. I was going to set up Genius on iTunes. For some reason, I couldn’t get my password to work with my Apple ID. I tried to reset it, but couldn’t do so the simple (get an email from them) way because I no longer have that email account. I tried to reset it with the security answer, but I couldn’t remember the answer. So, I am waiting on a response from the support folks at Apple. I’m guessing that that will take forever.

I decided that I would call Social Security to check in, once-again, about getting the rest of my disability. I asked why, even though I submitted the paperwork years ago, I still was considered to not be paying my fair share. She asked if I paid a third of the living expenses for the household. Well, as it was defined to me when I started receiving SSI/SSDI, I do. I told her this. She asked how much rent is. I told her we don’t have “rent” since the mortgage is paid off. She asked how much I pay in utilities, and I was taken aback. No one told me in 2004/2005 that I was supposed to pay a third of the monthly utilities. I was told food and rent/taxes. Apparently, by not paying rent and not paying utilities, I am not paying my fair share. Of course, this whole thing fails to take into account that I can’t pay the “fair share.”

No matter how we try to cut back on expenses, monthly expenses (that we still have, since the mortgage is paid off and since I no longer have to cover property taxes for my house) breakdown like this:

Food: between $250-$400/week or $1200-$1600 per month
Utilities: about $260/month
Telephone: about $100 per month

That means that the total maximum monthly expense for the entire household would be about $1960. I am expected to pay one-third of this amount. One-third of $1960 is $653.33. I only get around $470. The total I could get if I got the maximum SSI amount is like $670. How the fuck am I supposed to cover the $653.33 with $470? Even at the minimum amounts, I would be expected to put forth $520 per month. Will someone please tell me how I would ever be able to pay the one-third amount because I don’t think it is possible?

Also, if I am expected to pay for things like utilities and the telephone, then why wasn’t I told this all those years ago? Why was it specifically food and shelter? And why was I told that the amount I was expected to pay was (at most) $250?

So, thank you Social Security Administration, you have helped to make sure that this day really is shitty for me. Oh, and I am supposed to be waiting for someone from the local office to call. They don’t usually call. When they do, they usually can’t find things or they’ll have the wrong information. (I think it was someone from the local office that reported that I had too many resources a while back, which was when I got stripped of benefits for a while.)

I hope that tomorrow doesn’t suck so much. Of course, I’m going to see my rheumatologist and that hasn’t been an enjoyable experience in a very, very long time. Except for the fact that he gives me medicine for my pain, I don’t really get any help from seeing him.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)

Before I start posting things and offending someone, because I know I will ‘cause that’s what I do, I should say that this is in reference to a post that featured the exact images featured throughout this post. It is also in reference to quotes from this entry by the same girl. Lessons for this girl and others like her will be bolded.

asshat #1 - college - 01

Hi, we haven’t been introduced, which is honestly fine with me. My name is Janet. I am 27 years old. Ten years and 1 month ago, I started to college. I still have not finished. And I am going to explain to you, Christine, and others like you why it is that you can’t act like you’re somehow better than other people and why you can’t judge people who are in debt. Hopefully, you will be able to understand it.

You may not be whining about how you are going to pay for your education, but I can assure you that that scenario might change. You see, you’re two years into what I can only assume will be at least a four year degree program. I say at least because I spent the greater part of a decade in college and I know how insanely hard it is to get a degree cracked out in a year these days, especially if you’ve changed majors (which I did), go to a smaller school (again, that would be me), or if you have trouble with getting classes or aid approved. Oh, hey, that’s me again.

We’re taught as kids that we’ll go to primary and secondary school for 12 years, or 13 if you include Kindergarten. We’re taught that our post-secondary education will begin with a four year rendezvous in the world of bachelor degrees, aka our undergraduate education. Well, that’s great and wonderful, unless you go into certain schools, degree programs, or have any issues at any time with any teachers, financial aid, or basically anything in your school, personal, or work lives. We’re also taught that if we don’t achieve the goal mentioned in that first sentence of this paragraph that we are utter failures, and this sentiment gets reiterated by people like you or your favorite candidate, Ron Paul.

So, my first official lesson to you is that you shouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch. You don’t know what will go on in the next couple of years. You don’t know what will happen in your life in that time. No one really knows for sure what their life will hold.

That brings us to the next lesson: do not judge that which you do not understand. You are not one of the people that you are mocking in your images, so you don’t know what is going on in their life. When I started to college so many moons ago, my dad actually had a job. His years of anger and torment and depression hadn’t eaten up his entire ability to work yet. I also had some level of energy that I no longer have. I was also happy that I was getting to go to college a year earlier than my friends, which made me feel like the luckiest human being in the history of the world. I hated being in high school. I had lots of friends and I was no longer being bullied, which went on some when I was younger. I was very smart and I had a lot of potential, but I was always miserable at school because I would spend seven hours a day (at least) listening to lessons on stuff that I had studied in my own time when I was much younger. I was bored out of my mind with school by the time I was in second grade, so the sooner I could move on, the happier I was going to be. There were issues that I was having with my psychiatric problems, including that I would go into such severe depressive spells that dying seemed like a good idea or that cutting would somehow allow me to bleed my pain out. I was also grieving because at around this time my parents were told that my former foster sister wouldn’t be allowed to move back in with us, which broke all of our hearts and spirits, and they were told that the reason was that they had raised a daughter who ended up depressed. She was kept out of our house because of my mental health, and I felt like any suffering or pain that she went through from that point on was on me. And I still feel guilt because I know that her life might have been different if I had somehow not managed to go crazy my Junior year of high school. And though this may all seem unimportant, I am stating it because you wouldn’t understand what all of this was like unless you went through it yourself. Even then, you wouldn’t completely get it because you’re not me. So, I started to college a year early with high expectations, massive depression, horrible guilt, and paranoia and anxiety episodes that were crippling me on a daily basis. I had to start off very, very slow. So, I already knew I was going to be in college for more than four years.

asshat #1 - college - 02

This is where we get to majors. When I was in high school, I was going to study music management and production. I was going to go to MTSU, which has a stellar program for that degree. I changed my mind, which isn’t uncommon and isn’t a bad or irresponsible thing to do. I decided to go with a double major of social work and religious studies. I was going to go to the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga. That was my goal and I was going to achieve it.

After almost 3 years in community college, because that’s where you go (instead of going to some school like Yale, which was my childhood goal) when you have dropped out of high school, I applied for a transfer to UTC. I was admitted there. And after my parents had written a hefty check so that I could live in an apartment on campus with 3 other girls, I started having massive panic attacks. They were coming regularly. It got to the point that if I even thought about the state of Tennessee, I would break down into tears or I would hyperventilate. So, after three years of working my ass off to prepare for this one specific school, I had to change my majors again.

I realized I had to stay in town, which meant either going to Oakwood College, the University of Alabama in Huntsville, or going to Alabama Agricultural and Mechanical University. My mom went to UAH, so that made me hesitant about going there. It also didn’t have a social work program, and that was the program that I wanted to use so that I could become a counselor. I could have chosen to get a degree in psychology, but I really didn’t want to do that because it wasn’t the exact path that I had my hopes set on. This leads me to another lesson about college and a lesson about your politics, as well: be flexible. If you’re flexible, you might find that your path is a little different than what you imagine it is. If you think that being flexible might not matter, I can promise you that it does. If you understand that you need to be constantly thinking about if the path that you’re on is the right one for you, then you might understand that you may one day end up in a situation where you, once again, must reevaluate your options.

There were two places that I could go to for my education that offered what I wanted, or what I thought I wanted. I didn’t go to Oakwood because it was a private, religious school, which meant higher costs and stricter moral standards. While I’ve never had sex and I rarely wear any makeup or jewelry, I would have had to agree to an honor code that forbids students from wearing makeup, wearing jewelry, promoting certain ideas (abortion/women’s rights, gay rights, etc.), having premarital sex, etc. and that wasn’t something that I was willing to do. I chose Alabama A&M. It was cheaper. I was a lot cheaper, since I got to go there on what was basically a a free ride. I was given a diversity scholarship because I was a white girl going to an HBCU (also known as Historically Black College & University) and I had the grades to get one that covered tuition, books, and room and board. So, that should have been enough, right? Well, the fun thing is that sometimes you need financial aid in order to cover the costs of your education while a school is deciding whether or not they’re ever going to apply your scholarship. I didn’t apply for financial aid very early during my first year there. I didn’t realize I needed to apply for it, since I had a scholarship that was going to cover everything. It didn’t cover everything because it wasn’t being applied to my education. So, I had to get the Department of Education to approve loans for me so that I could cover my tuition so that I didn’t get kicked out of school.

I realized at that point that I needed to make sure I always had tuition covered via loans that would get distributed to to the school because the school wasn’t going to just give me the free ride that I’d been promised. The loans would get refunded a few weeks after the scholarship would get applied to my account and then I would spend the loan money on luxuries like food and shelter, because by this time my father had lost his job and was no longer really employable. My loans started covering our monthly grocery and utility bills because we were living on my mom’s Social Security Disability checks and (eventually) my SSI/SSDI checks.

asshat #1 - college - 03

The school that I was going to was not a $50,000 per year school. Even now, it isn’t that expensive of a school, but college is an expensive thing for a lot of people. Tuition there is (currently) at $220 per semester hour (for in-state residents) plus mandatory fees that are $750 for anyone taking more that 10 hours. (I took 15, which was sometimes too much for me.) So an in-state student going there is going to pay them about $8,000 per year. Not bad, huh? Even when you consider that I was paying for access to buildings that still don’t exist on campus, a parking space that I didn’t need since I still don’t drive, a fee that allowed me to use the computers on campus—which was only necessary when I was trying to access the Alabama Virtual Library, and a yearbook that I only was able to get a copy of in my last year there. I never got reimbursed for things that were supposed to be covered by my grants and loans and scholarship. Basically, I was losing money by going there, which wasn’t really bothering me that much. Even when my parents and I were trying to figure out what we were going to eat on Thanksgiving because we’d run out of money to buy food and our food stamps were used up for that month, I wasn’t worried.

The worrying began in January 2007. I was set to graduate in about four months. I was in my last semester as an undergraduate. I had already taken my GRE and had a high enough score that I should have easily gotten into the Masters program at that college. That would’ve meant that I would be finishing my Master’s Degree in one year, instead of two. I would be saving more time and money. I was studying for my licensing exam for my B.S.W., and I was doing two seminars and my (required) internship. Everything seemed okay. Sure, I was still having issues with depression, but I had accepted by this time that I was going to have those problems for the rest of my life. I was okay with that.

On the first day of my internship, I showed up extra early and I was excited. I had been told the previous semester that since I was going to be doing my internship at the Boys and Girls Club (an internship that was given to me at the very last possible minute) and I had been told (at school and at my professional interview for the internship) that I could wear the same exact clothing to my internship that I’d been wearing at school. To me, that meant that I could wear jeans, t-shirts, my jacket (since I was always cold) and my sandals. I always wear sandals. Even when it is cold, I will wear sandals, and that is because they are comfortable to me. So, I wore my sandals the first day. I got called into my boss’s office and asked if I could go home and put some “real” shoes on. I told the boss, who happened to be a friend of my professor, that I would, but I would have to call my dad and he would have to either take me home to get the shoes (which would take an hour and half for the whole trip) or he would have to bring me a pair (taking half the time). When I explained how long it would take, she told me not to worry about it and to just wear them the next day. I told her I would.

The next day, I was wearing the appropriate footwear (sneakers) and my professor showed up. She wanted to make sure that I was wearing the right shoes, since I had messed up. I smiled and told her I had. I tried to show that I was being a competent future social worker. I tried my hardest to prove to her that I was doing a damn fine job. I thought I had shown it. On Friday, at our seminar to discuss our week, she didn’t mention me by name, but she made jokes in front of the entire class about my incompetence and about how I was ill-prepared. Because she mentioned the sandals, everyone knew it was me. I was horrified. I tried so hard not to let it show, because I’d grown up with a grandfather who liked to humiliate me often and I knew that would make it worse. I found out from my friends, a few weeks later, that I was often joked about by this professor. Apparently, my sartorial choices and “lack of insight” (i.e. how I wore the sandals on a rainy day and ended up walking across the campus without the sandals on, which was comfortable, and because I never brought an umbrella) were commonly joked about by this professor in front of my classmates.

The next week, I was called into the boss’s office again. This time to find out why it was that I wore the “same” clothes every day. I change my clothes many times during a given day, even when I have done absolutely nothing. I feel dirty if I’m in the same clothes for very long, so a whole week of wearing the same clothing every day would just be impossible for me. I was wearing different jeans (different colors even) and different shirts every day. The only thing that was the same was that I always had my jacket zipped. So, I was confronted about this, but this time my teacher was there. And it became evident that something that had been disclosed to the staff from the day I showed up for my orientation was about to get thrown into my face.

First, she asked me to call my parents to have them come pick me up from the internship because she thought I needed the day off. This began to eat at my already fragile psyche, and it got worse when I said that I was having to wait until my parents heard my voice on the answering machine. Apparently, I was a horrible person because my parents couldn’t afford to have Caller ID. My day off soon, within minutes, became a week off, which wouldn’t be counted against me. I had to agree to it, of course, but I thought that she had to be doing what was in my best interest and she wouldn’t do something that would hurt me. I trusted her, and I don’t trust people easily, but I trusted her. I couldn’t stand her, but I trusted her. And that was the point in my life where I realized that people suck. Within the next forty minutes, while waiting for my parents, I got grilled on my psychiatric history. I also got asked if my adviser, who I liked and trusted even more, could go with me to my next psychiatrist appointment. It became evident that I had no choice, so I agreed, which actually brings me to a lesson. Don’t ever be naive, because people can tell and they will fuck you over in a heartbeat. So, I was a twenty-three year old who was going to have her adviser meet her psychiatrist. I wasn’t too concerned, but I should have been.

The next week, both of those professors showed up at my appointment. They went back with me. They got to listen to me tell a psychiatrist that I had never seen before (I go to a mental health center, so you don’t always get your assigned psychiatrist) that I’d been psychotic, depressed, and suicidal in the previous two months. They also heard me say that I wasn’t actively depressed, suicidal, or psychotic at that time, but that didn’t matter. Because at this point, I was told by the psychiatrist that I needed to be hospitalized. I was given a hospital order, which I didn’t follow through on, and I was given that in front of two teachers who would, months later, end up using as part of their justification why, with so little classtime left and a history of complete honesty about my psychiatric condition, I was being dismissed from the program. In January, though, I didn’t realize that that was going to happen. I was told to take a few months off, and that it wouldn’t held against me. I was also told to call back in the spring about my internship, so I called and called and called and called. The lovely teacher that loved to joke about me didn’t call me back. She didn’t answer notes left at her door. She didn’t even answer questions sent to her through one of her colleagues, who had become an unlikely ally for me. Eventually, after I’d started back to school and was taking an entire semester (except for 2 hours that were specifically linked my major) of classes that had nothing to do with my degree, I would be pulled into a meeting with the two teachers and told specifically about my dismissal. During this meeting, I would be told to get a degree in business or something and to never work in a job where I had to deal with people. They were very specific about how I shouldn’t be around other people. And that was when I realized I had worked almost 7 years to get a degree in a field that I had come to hate and it meant nothing. I was in a pre-professional degree program, and I was going to have to start all over again.

Oh, but wait, there’s more. When I dropped out of my internship back during that January of “fun”, my student loans for that year were returned to the government/banks. The school returned all of the money from not just the spring semester, but the fall semester (when I was actually in class), too. So, I had to pay the school again. I now owed thousands of dollars that I didn’t have, and that I couldn’t pay to them. So, I chose to try to go to UAH, but I was dishonest on my application. I omitted that I went to A&M because to mention it meant that I had to get my records. I couldn’t get my records because I couldn’t pay the loan back to the school. UAH figured out my dishonesty, put me on probation, and said that I couldn’t be admitted to their school until they had my complete record. I had to wait until my dad’s disability got approved so that I could have my grades.

When I finally went to school there, I was so burned out and so tired from everything that I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t go to class and take tests and write essays for another four years and not know if that degree would ever come. I didn’t have the energy to get out of my bed in the morning, so I had to quit. I had to completely quit, which led to some nasty comments by people I know, about my laziness and about how I was just taking everything before too seriously. So, that was the end of my education career, but not the end of my debt.

asshat #1 - college - 04

I shouldn’t owe the amount that I do, but I do owe it. And that is not as you suggest in the very next image, because of my dumbass choice. No, it’s because I believed that people who were supposed to help me wouldn’t turn my whole dream into a nightmare.

asshat #1 - college - 05

So, in terms of your apology, I have to agree on one thing you said. You stated, “I am an idiot.” That, my dear, is true. Because you made the most asinine of statements, and you deserve the shit that gets dished to you. I think it is petty that you criticize people for getting mad at your post, but you don’t seem to realize just how horrible those 5 images are. You don’t realize what anger and what emotions you are evoking in another person because of your petty need to feel better about yourself. If you want to state your opinion, then do it in a nicer way. I bitch at people all the time now, which is not who I used to be. I was the girl who didn’t do that kind of thing, even when I was pissed, I was never outright cruel to people…not like I am now. And the stuff that you were being a brat about is part of what contributed to the bitchier version of me.

Like I said, you have no clue what is going on in another person’s life. You have no clue what your education career will be like. Most of all, though, you’ve just proven how incredibly immature and inconsiderate you are.

So, unlike many of my very, very snarky opinion posts, I shall end this one with a big fuck you. Why? Well, because your images inspired this post, which inspired me to reflect on everything that has happened in a decade, and that made me cry for two hours straight, while I tried to figure out what exactly I could say. I know it is unimportant to you because I’m just another whiny person with a lot of debt who made bad choices, but what you said was hurtful. It was cruel. It was unnecessary. You can be opinionated without going into full-blown bitch-mode. And you need to learn how to do that. And, I’m going to give you some advice that hurt me a few years ago, “Never get a job around other people.” They don’t deserve to have your judgmental behavior around them. No one does. If you do want a job around other people, then you need this advice as well: learn to be a more accepting human being. Learn to look at a person and see a person. I also need to say thank you, though, because this is probably the most that I have ever completely mentioned on the subject anywhere outside of just with my parents.

Original Article

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)

I finally understood what causes some people to act out in an irrational and improper way. I know that you would think that I would have learned this after 27 years of having a mother who is prone to acting out on impulse or having a father who has been diagnosed with an explosive anger problem or having relatives who, for all intents and purposes, were sociopaths when they were in their prime. Oh, no. I finally got it today in court, when the city attorney pulled me and my dad into a corridor to tell us that we had two more weeks to get our backyard mowed. My father and I kept trying to express to this man that we’d had the lawn mowed many times over the past few months, and he said that if that were true then we clearly were not getting what we were paying for. (I just love how it is an “if” when we say it or when I show images [on my camera] that were taken this morning and show a cut lawn, but the city just has to have 2 images on regular printer paper with dates scribbled on the paper in ink. That doesn’t prove the pictures were legit. I would like to see the Exif information on them.) So, after much frustration and belittling from him, I uttered two words that I should feel remorse for saying. I muttered, under my breath, “Fuck you.” I didn’t say them to the judge, but since I said them to a “court officer” and was showing him such disrespect, my outburst will be taken into account when they decide how much to fine me and if I get jail time. (This is what he told my father, after I’d walked away.)

First of all, I would like to state that the attorney got very lucky that all I said was, “Fuck you.” I had this urge to shove him into a wall or otherwise inflict physical harm on him. Muttering the “f-bomb” near him was immature and disrespectful, but it was a hell of a lot better than physically accosting him. I think if they’re going to take into account that I said 1 profane word to a court officer, then they should also take into account that my mental illness worsens under stress, which is well-documented throughout my 20 year history of seeing mental health professionals, and that I was also feeling physically unwell after experiencing two absence spells. (There were flickering fluorescent lights in the court, which I didn’t notice until I’d gone through 2 of these spells.) Of course, these things wouldn’t be taken into account because that would mean showing some level of compassion or understanding, which is clearly not a concern for this particular court officer.

Secondly, I think it is weird that the images that were used were of the backyard. The images were from an angle and showed certain things that could only be spotted from a particular spot in our yard. This means that yesterday sometime there was a person from the community development part of the city in my yard. They were trespassing to even get the photos. They claimed that this was what my neighbors see from their backyards, which is utter bullshit. I can truly call bullshit on this one because:

  1. In my lifetime, only two houses have had a good view of my backyard. One of these is the next-door neighbor’s house, which is the house where the person who mows are lawn lives. The other is on a different street. The latter homeowner hasn’t been able to see our yard for more than 10 years. though. The former, though, has only been kept from seeing the yard for 6 or 7 years.
  2. I know that it isn’t visible to either of those houses because on that side of the backyard, there are cypress trees that are about as tall as a two-story house.
  3. There is only one other family that may have, at any time in history, seen our backyard from theirs. Our neighbors directly behind us (though we have the same street in our address) cannot see our yard from their backyard because they’ve had a “popsicle fence” for at least 27 years.
  4. Even if those neighbors didn’t have the fence, we have cedar trees along that property line that are about as tall as the cypress trees. That means that they would have to be in the backyard to see the backyard.
  5. Even though we live on a corner, we have lots of trees between the part in violation and the street. These trees would make it almost impossible to see any of the bad part of the yard from the street. In fact, it is so difficult that I haven’t seen that part of the yard from the street since I was a little kid.

Okay, so basically, this whole premise is ludicrous because, in order for someone to be offended by the height of the grass, the someone would have to be standing in our yard. Also, the idea that neighbors are complaining about it is crazy. The only neighbors that we would continuously bicker with moved to Florida a while ago. (And they were such upstanding people that we used to get anonymous hate [snail] mail and threats from them…yes, you can tell who anonymous hate mail is from.) The rest of the neighbors get along with us now. And those that we don’t know wouldn’t want to complain to the city about our yard because they generally have bad yards or some other city violations that they wouldn’t want to be discovered. So, this whole convoluted idea that the neighbors are complaining is just a bit disturbing.

So, now we have two weeks to fix this problem and then I apparently will be sentenced in some way, shape, or form. It seems ridiculous that I will be the one who gets convicted of a “crime”, even though they have trespassed, lied, withheld evidence (by not specifying who complained, they are denying me the right to confront my accuser), and violated who knows what other laws and amendments that are supposed to protect people from being treated unjustly by their government. I think this whole thing sucks, and I don’t see how any of this does the city any good. Putting a person on trial because their backyard, which you can only see from the backyard, isn’t in tip-top shape is just petty. I mean, it is outright petty. If the city is so hard up for money, then maybe they should come up with a better system of punishing actual criminals. I see people who go into the court who have been cruel to animals or who have violated various laws created to keep people safe and they get no more than a slap on the wrist, but months of court dates, accusations, etc. are going on with me over overgrown grass. This whole this is just ridiculous and infuriating and causes all kinds of stress and anxiety that I really don’t enjoy going through.

Honestly, at this point, I would almost want to be in jail. Being in jail might actually give the city a good idea of what it is like to deal with me, my psychological crap, my physical crap, and my tendency to be a whiny, spoiled brat. I think that they might really appreciate my effort about the lawn if they learned what it was like to deal with an even more stressed out version of me on daily basis. A simple “fuck you” would seem almost like a compliment to them after that. If they don’t think so, then they should check out what was probably written down about me while I was in Decatur General West when I was 17. If a psych hospital found me tiresome, annoying, and rude, then I don’t think a city jail would really like having me around for any length of time.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)

A few months ago, I started receiving calls from Jamaica.  It was the typical scam call, which was easily identified.  I had a little bit of fun with it, for a while, because I liked listening to their pitch.  (Sometimes, listening to a lie is fun when you know that it is a lie.)  At first, it was the typical sweepstakes stuff.  Then, they started saying how they were from U.S. Customs.  I guess that they didn’t realize that U.S. Customs wouldn’t show up as being from Kingston, Jamaica.

Yesterday, the scammers got a bit more brazen.  I’d heard of Caller ID spoofing, and I knew that they did it some of the time, usually in the second or third call that they would make in a row.  I just didn’t expect my family to get one of those calls.  Well, we did get one.  Actually, I guess my mom got the call.  It was from Humana, which is the company her Medicare supplemental coverage is through.  Unfortunately, getting my mom to start giving out personal information can be a fairly easy, especially when she has just woken up.  It is even more easy when she thinks it is someone she can trust.  She was expecting a call about something from her case worker/nurse at Humana, so she thought nothing about them calling.

About four minutes into the call, the Caller ID switched from the fake number to the real number, which lo and behold was in Jamaica.  They were about to get some private details before my dad and I got her attention and told her that it was a scam.  This woke her up, and she tried to get their contact information from them.  They didn’t give legit information and she told them that if she was interested that she would call back.  She thought my dad was mad at her for almost giving out the information, which he was a little perturbed and wasn’t afraid to express this emotion toward her.  When he calmed down, we finally were able to get across how we were going to have to be especially vigilant  about these calls and not giving out any information to anyone unless we were absolutely certain that they were legit.  We also talked about how companies and organizations that we normally will deal with are not going to ask for things like account numbers or socials or anything like that.  They might ask for the last four digits (for some) or some information that isn’t really of any use to identity thieves and other forms of scammers.

It’s weird how this new level of deceitful behavior with scams kind of mirrors some of the new types of comment spam that I have seen lately.  Once upon a time, the comment spam would be easy to distinguish.  It would have BBCode instead of HTML.  It would be filled with drug names or sex-related topics.  Now, though, it looks like the spammers are actually reading the entries that they are commenting on, because the comments almost look like normal comments.  They even seem to get past things like Akismet and moderation filters.  I guess it makes sense that spammers would eventually learn how to adapt so that they could possibly get more exposure and might reel in more people to buy their product/service/nonexistent-entity-that-they’ve-made-up-so that-people-will-pay-them-lots-of-cash.  I just don’t like that they’ve adapted.  It makes being on the internet a lot less fun.  Plus, they’re on basically every site.  I’m used to them at fuzzypinkslippers.com and LiveJournal, and I’m almost used to them at Facebook and Twitter.  Finding them at Tumblr is really annoying, though.  I know that that site is growing in popularity, but I don’t like that so many of my likes lately have belonged to spammers, including “porn”-spam.  Really not cool.  I guess no place on the internet can escape the spam.

I guess I should just get used to these people, shouldn’t I?  They don’t seem to be going anywhere, so I guess I should accept it.  It just doesn’t seem like it should be something that I have to accept.  People shouldn’t have to worry that calls that they receive might take the little money that they might have in an account or might fraudulently use their insurance.  People shouldn’t have to worry that the next comment that they get might be from a spammer who, at best, wants them to buy something once that is not worth a dime or, at worst, might unleash holy hell on their bank account or their computer or cost them in some other way.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.


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