Now THAT Hurt!
Mood:  lucky
I hurt myself at work today. I could of very well killed myself and it's not like I would of died doing something daring like sky diving or maybe an interesting way like I fell into a compactor got crushed..no, it was really dorky and stupid and not an interesting way to go.

I could of died plugging in a stupid radio!

It's stupid, really. I went to go plug in the radio so we could all listen to music because the warehouse was way troo quiet. So I plug it and all it's all BZZZZZTTTT and shot flames out and then knocked me on my ass. I was stunned for a second but then I just went and washed the scorch marks off my hand and continued on working. I figured that it was my own stupid fault for not asking if the socket was faulty, I just assumed it was okay because there was a copier pluged into the socket above it.

5 minutes later everyone in the warehouse came running towards me. "Are you OK?!?!" and I was like "Yeah, why?" and Krissy held up the cord to the radio, the metal tongs on the plug were melted. Then I looked down at my hand and realized that my middle and index finger were white purple and red and I only realized then that'd I actually got fried pretty good.

They were all just kinda shocked that I shrugged it off. They shouldn't be though. I'm in a lot of pain everyday because of my spine and arms. I've kept on working after pulling muscles in my shoulders and neck. I'm not a complainer. If I say I'm in a pain and need to stop, you'd better believe I'm in a lot of fucking pain because I can push through a lot.

Anyway, some of the burns charred all the layers of my skin and killed the nerves so that will be permanent damage but most of the parts of my fingers that got burn just hurt a lot and I'll be fine in a couple of days. I get to take tomorrow off with pay. I really don't want to but, what can I do? I'm required to lift heavy boxes and machinery on a daily basis and I can't even hold a softball right now. I feel bad but it'sa not like I injured myself on purpose.

EDIT:I'd like to add that Krissy actually seemed more concerned that the plug on her aunt's radio got melted rather than all the layers of skin and fat on my fingers had gotten melted. Go figure that. She actually seemed mad at me for it. Hello?! I'm injured here! I didn't injur myself just to break your aunt's stupid radio!

The cord on the radio was replacable, the radio itself is a clunker that's older than I am anyway. Not a big loss. I could of died but, the radio is more important, I guess.

Way to be, Kirissy. Way to be.


"You need to go see Dr. Ivan Von Vinterough."~"Diggs" (My co-worker)

And On A Lighter Note...My Tattoo Experience
Mood:  a-ok
Now Playing: Anger- Skinny Puppy
Well, I've mentioned my tattoo so ya'll know I finally got it so I'll just share my experience and what I think about it and not my co-workers pissing me off about it :p

I was scared to death just booking the appointment so I figured the day of my appointment I was either going to A.) Chicken out and not show up B.) Get to Stigmata, have my named called, and then run out the door screaming or C.) Cry in the chair.

Well, I got to Stigmata, Chad was there so I knew he wasn't gonna let me run out. So there I sat in the waiting area all nervous and sweaty palmed. I could hear the buzzing of a tattoo gun. Really set me on edge, those things sound like wasps. I've tangoed with a wasp twice and both times I ended up in the hospital so you can see why buzzing would make me uneasy...luckily I'd brought my Mp3 player, so I could just lose myself in a really loud song if need be.

When I get to the tattooing area he cleans off my back, he hands were really freakin' cold and it tickled like a sonofabitch so I had a mini giggle-fit that kind put me at ease a bit. He goes to put the stencil on but my pants were too high. Chad tried to fold my pants but I just got tired of it and said "Here!" and yanked my pants down so I was all plumber-crack chic :p.

When I finally got the stencil put on and sat down in the chair I got the fucking jitters like you wouldn't believe. I didn't look in the mirror but I'm sure my face must have been white as a sheet because I could just feel the blood draining.

---First line, here we go----

That's IT?! I've been panicking for a fucking month because of THAT?! It was an annoying scratching feeling. I couldn't believe I'd gotten myself so worked up over it. Steve asked me how it felt and I said "Pretty annoying." and it was annoying, I felt like smacking him and saying bugger off. LoL

The whole thing took about 30mins. I turned off my walkman as I got used to the buzzing nose and then I got really relaxed and went in and out of a nap. Parts of the top lettering stung a bit but it was no worse than the scratches I've gotten from work, or play fighting with a cat. I didn't cry like I thought I would, I just said "Ow, that sucks". Parts of the bottom lettering actually tickled a bit. I had to try really hard to not to laugh so I wouldn't screw up his work.

When I got out of the chair to have him show me it in the mirror I almost fell down because my legs had fallen asleep. Chad and Steve both laughed at me. I got Chad to take a picture of the finished tatto and then Steve put a bandgage over it. (Still had cold hands, tickled like a sonofabitch *again*).

It was overall an enjoyable experience. Steve seems like a nice guy and he does good work. I'm looking forward to having him do more work on me now that I'm not petrified of getting inked. (Don't worry you guys, I'm not going to go nuts and look like a biker chick . . .unless I become a rockstart..but when's that going to happen, really?)


AFTER

I think the worst part of the whole tattoo process is taking the bandage off. I screamed like a little girl and swore a blue streak when Chad took it off. It was an unexpected back wax that I didn't ask for.

It's still healing right now, it is tender and it's started to itch today. I would love to take my nails and just scratch the fuck out of it but I can't, I have to settle for slapping it with a ruler which is nowhere near as effective. Also, having to wear my pants low makes me look ridiculous but it's shockingly more comfortable than wearing them normal...not that I'm going to make a habit out of it in the future.




"A genuine tattoo.... tells a story. I like stories and tattoos, no matter how well done, and if they don't tell a story that involves you emotionally, then they're just there for decoration, then they're not a valid tattoo. There has to be some emotional appeal or they're not, to my way of thinking, a real tattoo. It tells people what you are and what you believe in, so there's no mistakes." *Leo

Don't Like Me? Good For You!
Mood:  irritated
Now Playing: Living Dead Girl- Rob Zombie
I'm so fucking sick of Kris and Karen I could scream. They're all smiles and sunshine to my face but as soon as I turn my back they talk shit about me. FUCK YOU. I see through you like a pair of crotchless panties.

If you don't like me and you've got a problem with me, let's take it outside. I'm game if you are. I'll knock you on your big fat dwarf-lookin' ass you two-faced cunt dripping. Otherwise, shut the fuck up and stop pretending like you're my friend. I don't need your fucking fake smile to get through my day. You aren't important to me. The last thing I fucking need is another phoney friend. You either like me or you don't, I don't really give a shit wether you do or not.



"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind. " ~Dr. Seuss

Everyone's A Critic...
Well, everyone found out about my tattoo today. I have my pants slug low so they don't touch my tattoo and harm it, and I tripped over my pants legs. So Krissy asked why I was wearing my pants so low, and I said I didn't want them rubbing against my scab. "Scab from what?" so I showed her and she asked how much it cost.

All of a sudden everyone's going on about how they can't believe I paid $100 for my ink. How I could of gotten it so much cheaper, Steve (the artist who did it) is a crook, blah blah blah.

Yeah, I could of gotten it done for $50 or so at a crappy palour where they reuse the needles over and over again, use crappy inks, have shitty artists with no depth control and shakey hands. Hell, there's a 50/50 chance they might not even have an autoclave. But it'd be cheaper, so why not, right?Money before health!! Yeah!!!

Yeah, we'll see how tightly you can cling onto that dollar when you're in the hospital with hepatitis.

Steve's a a good artist. I *love* the work he did on my back. It turned out perfect, and it was a great experience. He's a keeper and I'll be getting more work done by him for sure. My co-workers can piss off.

Also, they went on and on about I have the bandage off too early and it's going to get infected and how a some people they know kept their on for a week and that I should put polysporin on it a few times a day to help it heal better....right. I don't need a bandage on it trapping all the sweat and moisture on it. *That* will get it infected. And polysporin..yeah...it hinders the healing process of a tattoo and fucks with the ink. Sorry, I'll pass.

None of them even have tattoos but they *must* be experts on it because they know a couple people who have tattoos. Plus, they're older than me so that means they know more about everything that I know about. It's always like that. I hate people like that. *I* don't automatically assume I know more about everything than someone else because they're younger than I am, that's stupid.





Information's pretty thin stuff unless mixed with experience. ~Clarence Day, The Crow's Nest

Stupid co-worker. Bah!

My co-worker Michelle (who is the one who argues with her boyfriend or makes kissy faces at him when she's supposed to be working) drives me up the wall. On Thurdays when I was cleaning inside a crawl space, I jumped up, screamed, and hit my head because I thought I saw a Black Widow spider. I'm normally okay with spiders aslong as they don't crawl into my hair, but Black Windows scare the fuck out of me.

Anyway, on Friday I was cleaning somebodys wine cellar and sometimes when I'd reach into the tubes to clean them, I'd end up pulling out a hand full of little spiders. Everyutime that happened I'd say "Eww." because it is fucking gross. Everytime I said eww Michelle would say "OMG, quit freaking out. You're such a baby. You've been freaking out since yesterday." Um...excuse me? Since when is saying "Eww." considered *freaking out*? STFU. At least I wasn't the one near crying when we tipped over a box that had urine in it. It's fucking urine, if you can't deal with it, you're in the wrong line of work. Just step away, and let me get the mop if it bothers you so badly. Don't just stand in my way and make a big scene out of it.

Later that day we were talking about if we were going to go down to New Orleans to help clean up all the wreckage and stuff and it got onto the subject of the horrible things happening to the people who are still down there. I said that I had trouble watching it on the news because it made me cry. She's like "Why would you cry?" um...maybe because peoples homes and everything they ever had has been destroyed? They're running around wondering if their loved ones are alive or dead? They are starving? People are dying all around them? They're children are being raped? Do you need anymore reasons? and then she kind of laughed at me and was like "So what?"

Whatever, Michelle. You're right. I'm just bleeding heart. The whole Hurricane Katrina is no big deal and I shouldn't even care. Thank you for pointing that out.

*cough*selfish cunt*cough*

Also, she was bothering me because I was being "slow". i wasn't being slow, I was doing my job correctly by making sure all the dust from the dry wall was swept up even if the meant having to get down on my hands and knees, crawl under the staircase, and remove it with my hands. You're so quick because you don't do your job right. you miss spots, you forget to sweep or mop. I have to go around behind you and fix your messes. Sorry that I take pride in my work and don't want to do everything half assed.

....

RULE#4 If your spouse is a co-worker argue with them about your relationship on your own damn time. We're not paying you to work out your relationship problems and scare the customers.

RULE#5 I don't care if it's Friday and you're tired, do NOT leave me to do the last 45mins of work by myself while you go make kissy faces at your boyfriend. If work doesn't get done on time or isn't done as good as it should be it's MY ass on the line.

RULE#6 If you've got a problem with me we can take it outside after work. Otherwise, shut the fuck up.

They sent me back to that location again today. I told Janet how I felt but she said she really needed me to be there because I'm good at dealing with the humidity inside the Tyvek suits and respirators while still being able to work at an almost normal speed. i said fine. I'm a good sport like that, I'll tough it out.

I ended up going home at 11:30 though. They had two other girls in two clean while standing on scaffolding but they couldn't do it because they were afraid of heights. I'm terrified of hieghts aswell but I really wanted to get the job done and I can't do any ground work until the scaffolding work is done because they'd just be knocking asbestos onto my clean floor the next day. So I tried to get up there and work, but I just could get any highing than 20ft before I started to get dizzy and shake. So I had leave with the other girls. I felt really bad but there's nothing I can do. My body just wouldn't let me go any higher. I become paralized with fear.

They didn't even tell me I'd have to be working on scaffolding this morning when they sent me back to that location. It would of saved everyone a whole lot of time if they'd of mentioned how high up we were going to be. We could of found two or three men who could go up there (I say men because the harnesses were really lose on us women, it was dangerous) and send us some place different. Then everyone would be happy and productive.

I put up with a lot of things and just push trough my mental and physical pain because I really do enjoy my job. I don't care that I come home covered in cuts and bruises because I enjoy helping people. I find it to be very rewarding. Plus, it's may be a dirty and disgusting job that not many people would do even if they weren't getting paid as little as I do but SOMEBODY has to do it. Disasters don't just fix themselves.

I'm not evening going to talk about what happened at work other than to say I had close to a nervous breakdown. Shaking, crying, hyperventalating, vomitting. The whole bit. I'm still shaking. I'm still crying off and on. I'm about to tweek on the next person who speaks to me.

On the way home from work some fucking idiot cut *right* infront of us. Like really f'ing close, we would of smashed right into him if we weren't lucky. So I flipped him off. Next thing I know, he's chasing us, rolls down his windows, says "What's the problem you fucking bitch?" ME: "You nearly fucking killed the both of us you fucking asshole!!!" HIM:"Fuck you." ME:"No thanks." and then I roll up my window and he's still fucking chasing us, tailing us, getting infront of us and trying to make us smash into his bumper. Was fucking scary. That's the last thing I needed after my fucking day at work.

Remember how I said I was going to tweek out on the next person who spoke to me? Well, I did. It was Kar. I feel like shit now:(

I started to shake, then I started to cry, then I started to scream and I just blew up. I've stopped crying and shaking and feel much better stress-wise because I got all of the out of my system...but I blew up at Kar so I feel sad

Why couldn't it of been my mother or on of my ex-friends..damnit...

Guess blowing up at Kar was only a temporary relief. Still crying, still shaking. Can't eat, can't sleep.

Fuck it. I'm asking for a new location. I'm willing to work but I just can't work in this particular building. Too many bad memories and emotional baggage attached to it. I didn't complain when I cut my leg open, I didn't complain when I had to go into work with my good eye not working and half my face paralized, I didn't complain when I I slipped a disc in my back...but I had a fucking nervous breakdown and spent most of the day bawling. I kept it low-key by bawling into my respirator and passing it off as sweat or crying durring decontamination and passing it off as water from the showers. I didn't complain the whole day, even after I threw up. Asking for a re-location shouldn't be that big of a deal. I'll go back there if I have to but I really really think it'd be better for everyone involved if they just switched me with someone else.