Ghostly Co-Workers

So life never turns out how you planned.

So what?!stock-photo-graffiti-on-the-wall-angry-kid-on-a-green-background-fuck-you-448424563.jpg

Sometimes work pisses you off so much, that all you want to do is quit.

 I can’t tell you how many times I have wanted to just walk out and leave my current job.

Say “si ya nara,” “adios bitches.” Bye! Good luck!”

 pexels-photo-126313.jpegpexels-photo-29082My job requires many skills, a major one is problem solving, and quick answers. Every time you turn around there is someone with a few questions, but no matter the answer it will seem wrong to someone. The fast paced work place works great for me, otherwise I find myself frequently distracted and bored. Which is not always a good thing, because that’s when I start doing something silly or distracting to others, most of the time it is doodling though.

The fun part of my shift is the ever-changing characters that come through. Part of my daily tasks deals with assessing and appraising items that customers bring in, and then dealing out cash for the previously sed items. You never know when someone is going to flip, and get extremely angry, or those who sell you sad stories to try to get sympathy dollars (it doesn’t work), even people who are happy with the outcome.

Yes I know people who are content, who knew that they existed anymore?! (Just for those who seem to not be able to read sarcasm. That was sarcasm.)

Yet I am still here, I will still come in, day after day, or night after night I should say. The only thing I guess that is a positive about being pissed, is that I still care. Tonight I was so angry, aggravated, livid, just purely pissed, at any and ebed-design-decoration-interiorverything at work but I still care. Showing some kind of emotion is better than those that come in looking like ghosts and just floating through the tasks at hand. Hopefully when, and if that day comes there will be another adventure to explore or a opportunity  to accept.

As the night has progressed I am not feeling so aggravated anymore – the writing is a big help to that and it is good to realize that I am or was not mad that I have this job. The anger was geared more toward differences in communications and just being overwhelmed.

pexels-photo-55624There were many times when I was younger that my mother, who is a nurse, would be in the same mental space I was in today. It just comes with the territory, hospitals are a high stress area, I mean you think the patients are stressed,try being the staff that has to take care of them and the rest of their family. Anyways, every now and again my mother and I would get in the car and just have a good day out on the town visiting her favorite stores and shops, having lunch in the mall food court, collecting job applications from nearly anywhere hiring. She always ended up filling out a few applications here and there, but we never went back to turn them in. I guess it was just therapeutic to have a great day and also think about sticking stock-photo-little-child-girl-plays-astronaut-child-on-the-background-of-sunset-sky-child-in-an-astronaut-394395106.jpgit to the man by quitting your current job and filling out applications to new jobs.

I like what I’m doing for now, let’s see what the near future holds.

(All photos and imagery shared from Shutterstock.com and Pexels.com)

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The Grinch is Green, Am I Too?

I’m sorry.
I hate the holidays and my birthday. Which are both in December, one of the most stressful months ever. Right now I’m sitting in the yard of my old elementary school, with tears streaming down my face. All because of the fucking holidays. I just can’t handle what people become, and they never understand where I’m coming from.
So why am I hiding in the school yard? Because I’m a fucking redhead with a temper to match my hair, and instead of using it to hurt anyone else (physically or mentally) I’m hiding. The sad part is that I am not just hiding from others, I’m hiding from myself as well. No harm can be caused- self inflicted, and really who cares about a crying woman alone in a park. I just can’t go home yet, I know I will, I’ll do what I’m avoiding.
I just can’t anymore.
This ridiculousness that spreads throughout my family. Do you want to know what started this? My sister was upset that I was breathing a certain way in the car. Look how this escalated. BECAUSE OF THE DAMN HOLIDAY PRESSURE AND STRESS.
MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS.

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Why I Don’t Sleep

It has become such a normal thing to me that, I forget normal people sleep and they constantly get 8 hours or more. I’ve never really slept on time or like others. As a kid I remeber always being up at like 11:45- which made me a God at school. I used to say it’s because that’s the time I was born, oh so long ago, but let’s be honest, I’m just not one for on time sleeping.
I hate sleeping. Because when I sleep I dream, and when I dream I wish for things in my future. Things as simple as kids or a family. Things that are seeminly becoming less probable. I just get lonely, I mean, who doesn’t?
I’ll get through this like I’ve done in the past, i’ll feel like complete shit for a few weeks and then hopefully I’ll cheer up. 😕

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Shame on You

(in response to a popular video right now titled “dear fat people” by Nicole Arbour. Which basically is a video about fat shaming, while saying fat shaming is non-existent, and was made up so fat people could say that their feelings were hurt.)

{full disclosure, fat shaming is real and there are rude ass people who say that it is ok, because they need a “little motivation.”}

It’s hard to speak up, and speak out against others who really don’t know what is going on in someones’ life.
Even if you are concerned about a friend/family member’s size/weight, how about you talk to them, help find an underlying factor, see if they even want to lose the weight. People don’t want to be fat, to just be fat. I mean It is not like a test, the higher pant size the better the grade, somethings just happen. If you are #fatshaming someone, FUCK OFF, they do not need you to tell them things they already know, they need you to say, ” I’m here, let me know if I can help with any kind of support.”

Because if I were to be honest, then I would have to say that I wake up every morning and tell myself that I’m ugly because I am fat, and then I spend the rest of the day saying that it’s not true, and that my beauty is not measured by my waist, or my fat rolls. I have to literally look at my self in the mirror and force myself to say that I am pretty, all because a bunch of people who are nowhere near my size decided that to be considered beautiful I had to be small, dainty, and fragile looking.

Society tells women especially, that beauty is what we strive for. Being a woman is hard, and it takes a tough soul to be able to make it all the through life. Since the day I was born all I have been told is that I was not beautiful. I was not the right size. I was too fat. I was too tall. I was too thin. I was too loud. I was too Masculine. I was too feminine. I was too original. I was too normal. I was never ok. What most people don’t realize is that even though we were tought as a child that

“sticks and stones may break my bones,

but words will never hurt me.”

They were wrong. Words are what hurt the most, because a bone will heal, a bruise will vanish, a scrape will scab. But a negative comment can ruin someones’ life.

I guess as adults we sometimes forget how hard it is to grow up and be told that the world is ours, all you have to do is follow your dream. We either grew up too fast, or not fast enough, life was never where I wanted it to be, and it never where I was. But being told that something or even everything I was, and everything that I wanted to be, was wrong, its one of those things you hold on to. Like when scientist do the tests with the mice in a maze where the prize in the center is cheese. Overtime that a mouse would come up to a dead-end, they would give him/her a tiny (non-harmful) little shock. Well after getting shocked a few times the mouse will learn that they are not supposed to go that way, so they go another away until they get shocked again. This goes on and on until the mouse reaches the cheese, and just in time for one of the other mice to begin this process from the beginning.

So what I’m trying to get at, is that society has brain washed us to all try to follow the correct path to finding the “cheese.” What if I take a wrong turn and find something better than cheese, like a tiny goblet of wine! Would they then say that I took a wrong turn and it wasn’t where I was supposed to be? Of course they would! In the end, we all try our best to find our own way, to a similar goal, and that is to live a happy long life.

But at the same time, being a large person is most likely unhealthy in some way, and we shouldn’t tell people to just settle with who they are, and what size they are. #LoveMyBody should not just be about the body that you currently have, but the one that is healthy, and the body that you are going to live in for a long time. I am a part of this “large and in charge” kind of world, and I am never content with what my body is doing, and that is ok. We need to continue to strive for something, and continue to move forward. What needs to be known is that as a large woman, I am trying my hardest to like who I am on the inside and out, but with all of this negativity on some layers of fat on my stomach, and my hips, people forget that under those layers is a human, who much like you is trying their hardest to not only make a mark, and make their life worth it, but to be HAPPY, and if you are tying to take that away from me, perhaps you should look in a mirror and see who should really be shamed.

~~~Vickeyyyy

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A 50’s House Wife Reject.

One of the things that has always bothered me about my siblings, is that they never jump up and take charge or take responsibility for anything at home. The one day I have off of work I decided to go out with my girl friends, and I come home to the dishes astray, the house smells like sour milk, and its a mess. When I left I had cleaned up my spot in the kitchen, and asked my sister to do the dishes. Simple enough, right? Apparently a simple request that would make our mother happy is too much. She just moved the dishes around to make them look like less of a mess.

Gah. I wish my sister would get the point and start to understand what our mother does for us. She gets up, goes to work and literally saves lives all day long, and comes home to a place that is supposed to be a sanctuary or relaxation station, and what she gets is a dump. I know that I also contribute to this mess, but at least I take the time to perhaps start dinner, or do the things around the house that she can not.

How can my siblings not see how hard my mother works. Oh and DO NOT get me started on my asshole father, who goes to work and comes home expecting a hot fresh meal on the table, and a cool coca-cola in his hand. I love my father but can he be anymore sexist?! I remember when we were younger, and he would make dinner because mom was at work, or just because he hadn’t done so in a while. An example of his gender role retardation, was one Sunday he picked me up from work after a 7+ hour shift, and said “oh good you’re out, now you can make dinner. I’ve been waiting” I swear if he was my boyfriend, I would have broken up with his ass right then and there. I have no problem making dinner, but as soon as you tell me that I have to, or that it’s my duty because I am the woman, or wife we are done. I get it I like to cook, and a lot of people know that, but he couldn’t have made dinner? I worked all day, and then come home to serve these douche bags who sat around swatting flies all day. Now I know where my sisters get it from.

If I had a fuck off button, I would use it. A lot.

~~~~Vickey

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A Blue Revelation.

What shocked me recently?
My apperence. Not the usual I’m getting fat, or my face is full of achne. It was my hair.

So I owe you some background Information. When I was younger,  my older sister had just started highschool and she kind of lost her mind. Out of the blue she decided to chop all of her hair off, and sport this hair style that I’m going say was a mix between an emo/punk hair cut and a pixie chop. But she didn’t stop there, before we knew it she was dying her hair a whole bunch of colors. The breaking point for my father was when a strip of hair, turned into 2/3 of her head, and she picked a horrible color! Bright/Hot pink! EW! Well as you might be able to imagine, my father had a hay-day and went on a rampage. It didnt stop her though. Haha.

The thing about my older sister, is that out of the three of us, she is the only one without the red hair, odd I know. Whereas I have red hair, not orange, red. It is a rare color, I was always told as a kid that people wanted my hair color, that even hair dye couldn’t get the right shade. Daddy told me that I wasn’t allowed to dye my hair, because I am a part of that 2% of the world’s population that is red headed.

But my father should have known.

I began dying my hair when I turned 16. I secretly dyed the back portion of my hair a purple-ish maroon, using the kool-aid method. I hid that from my whole family for a couple of months before people started noticing, probably in part because I gave up hiding it. When my Dad found out I was bracing my self for the full impact, but it never came. He shrugged his shoulders and said it looked good.

Flash foreward a couple of months, it is December 31st 2013. I just said screw it. I wanted to do what I wanted and he was not going to stop me. So I bleached a section of hair and I dyed it blue. I was so in love with this that I just kept dying it blue, and when I would let the color fade my friends would wonder where it was, and if I was going to redo it.

So as you can imagine after two or more years of damaging my hair, I decided that I was just going to let my hair go and develope how ever it wants to. The color development was interesting but now, that section is like a nice honey golden color. I don’t know what made me decide yesturday, but I needed to bleach another section of my hair, so that I could go blue again.

So here we are, at the point of where the title makes sence. I was all of the sudden so happy to see another section ready for blue -bleached- I could have cried I was that glad. This blue means more to me than standing out, or creativity, I think it is apart of me. I faintly remember when I was younger and coloring- as opposed to when I was coloring the other day- that I had this one crayon, in every box that I would use until it was gone, and I know I used to draw stripes of my hair blue.

What shocked me recently?

The emotional and physical attatchment to dying my hair blue.

~~~~I’m not feeling blue, but I will have blue hands soon~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3 Vickey ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3

P.s. Those are supposed to be balloons 🙂

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“Dad is on the phone honey”

As I have mentioned I currently work in the retail world, out of all the things that tend to bother me the most, fathers on the phone top the list. Here is thing, I get having to answer the phone for a few minutes or quickly make sure a message gets passed along, but when you are using the whole time to talk too a buddy about fishing, boats, cars or any other topic instead of helping you’re daughter pick out some clothes, you are missing out. What was the point in coming if you were not even going to help, you could have just given the wife the card or cash.

Take this time, enjoy helping her while she is still young, and still letting you shop with her. Because I promise there will be a day where she will ask for the keys to the car, and won’t need you to come with her to pick out some clothes. So choose wisely, talk to a friend or make memories that you can look back on in times off sorrow.

I want to say that I feel this strong on the topic because my father used to and continues to shop with us (my sisters and I). With three girls he had to learn what was what, and that we are SUPER picky. I for instance, cannot stand pinks, greens, oranges, and yellows, or dresses and skirts. If anything a dress or skirt need to be long or at least past my knees. My favorite articles of clothing are my sweatshirts, jeans and my T-shirts. I mean looking at me that is not hard to guess, but still with three daughters, we all have different preferences.

My advice? Learn what they like, what colors flatter them, and never make it awkward if you have to go underwear/bra shopping. My father he can get pretty weird, but I know it’s just the way our family is.

So girls, even guys, get your parents involved in your style. It really helps when it’s time for a new wardrobe and having restricted time. Also helps for birthdays – even though we all know that no one wants clothes on their birthday, even if they may need them.
~~~Starting to blog again~~
~~~~Vickey the Gingie~~~



 

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