![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Today, I vandalised a car. I'm happy to report that it's the first time I recall ever doing so deliberately (I don't think I did anything like that during my wild youth but honestly, I'm having trouble remembering entire decades at this point, I don't think I should claim to remember 13) and I also believe that Douchebag McCockHat had it coming. Parking so close to me that I can't get into my car with anything like ease and within half an inch of me ending that clause at "can't get into my car" is behaviour that I feel justifies me to some recourse. Normally, I would prefer to speak to the parking attendant to get the person to move their goddamn van, but that wasn't an option.
So I slammed my door into theirs. Fuck you, fuckhead. Sorry you wanted that space so badly (and apparently, that particular space, undifferentiable from any other on that level of the parking garage) that you felt it appropriate to park within eight inches of my car door. Also, I'm sorry that I kind of have, you know, a JOB that I had to go to, after the Appointment From Hell, so I couldn't actually wait around for your ass to come back out and MOVE YOUR CAR.
Although, the AFH may have had something to do with my utter rage. I mean, it may just be ME, but I don't actually think it's appropriate for the non-attending medical personnel to just walk into the room I'm being seen in (and am exposed in, thanks a lot, because I really want to be in a position to give an eyeful to any patient off the street, this is why I'm a part-time high-rise-based stripper, it is totally) without a) knocking and b) MORE THAN ONCE.
I will actually be filing a complaint about this, on the advice of my mother who is a (former) nurse for the same hospital.
I will also mention the timekeeping aspect of the whole thing. I mean, if you tell me to be there by 7:30 for a 7:45 appointment and I move heaven and earth to get there by 7:35 in surprisingly heavy rush hour traffic, I do actually expect to not cool my heels for another 29 minutes before I'm seen. And it turns out that $hospital has a policy of not making patients wait (at least without explanation) for more than 15 minutes. So, you know, THERE WE ARE.
Also, dear examining person whose name, rank, and serial number I never got because I don't routinely bring a car battery, ten feet of wire, and a pair of alligator clips to my cardiology appointments, maybe next time you do an EKG you'd like to actually EXAMINE your patient first? But I do realise that you were very startled by my yips of pain when you crushed the goddamn wand into extremely thick, extremely painful scar tissue. I tend to make loud noises when shit hurts. SORRY ABOUT THAT.
I am almightily pleased that my car has nary a sign of injury to show for my use of it as a crushing weapon. Not entirely sure what happened to Asshat McDickBag's car, but I did see paint loss. And I genuinely have no sympathy whatsoever. He (or she) chose to park in a space too small for his car (as determined by the giant, roof-supporting pole on the other side of the space) rather than looking for a better spot on another level ... I still need to get into my car. This parking garage is great and all, but I don't want to live here.
The irony is that the garage is one of the ones with those u-shaped double-line dividers with a shedload of room in them so you can't park too close to someone else without trying, AND it had the lines on the walls as well so you could aim your car appropriately. After years of trying to park at Westwood Village (motto: our parking places are 6 inches too small for anyone's car!) I sort of wanted to have sex with whoever designed the paint setup for this garage. And someone still managed to not be able to park.
Every day brings me one step closer to a cabin in the woods and a shotgun, it really does.
I'm thinking again about giving up social media. I feel totally alienated by it, honestly - I feel like I so rarely have something to say to someone else's LJ posts that I never comment, I've been slapped down one too many times by a fandom I tried to participate in to want to try to join in that conversation again, Facebook confuses me, and Twitter is composed of people who like everyone else more than they like me, so what exactly is the rush to beat myself up over social media? I can beat myself up over everything else I've ever done, including (but not limited to!)
1. Sitting next to someone I find VERY unstable in Group tonight and saying that I had spent the last week being a giant ragemonster. That ended well.
2. Not being able to force myself to interact with family members and a former student when I want to, if only to try to pretend for ten seconds that the dysfunction in these relationships isn't me.
3. Being Judgey McDoucherson if left to my own devices but turning into Zen Master Cass when confronted with my father doing the exact same thing I would do if he hadn't done it first.
4. Needing to stop being Team Mom for 30 minutes if only to take care of myself, emotionally, because half the people I associate with regularly aren't able or willing to reciprocate the emotional support I believe I give them.
5. Not cultivating a better relationship with Sane!Coworker because emotionally supporting MentalIssues!Coworker (not the one I have dubbed Initial) is so much more rewarding to Team Mom Me.
6. Not getting off my ass and doing things I don't want to because I will be unable to resolve the problem and therefore why not just fuck it up more upfront, like paying the life insurance, contacting the car insurance, getting a new dentist, talking to Sallie Mae. Continuing to not pay any of those will end well.
7. Liking to talk so much that I interrupt people because they've made me think of something and I'm excited and want to share it.
8. Not extending to other people the possibility that they have the same issues I claim to have and that's the real reason why I haven't gone to lunch with Phil or Josh this month despite their promises that this was a monthly think.
9. Not being able to muscle past my issues by sheer force of will.
10. Having issues at all.
So with that kind of busy schedule, I should stop beating myself up over things other people are doing and just get back to home-grown crazy. Think local!
On the bright side, if the problem with the website that I've been trying to fix for months turns out to be application-pool related, I will consider myself the most brilliant networking motherfucker to ever network. And also, I still have to call Integra and let them know that one of their techs is never, ever to be dispatched to us ever again because I refuse to be treated like a not-very-intelligent dirty sock by someone who intends to keep me as a client, and also they need to fix what he fucking broke.
And if the problem does turn out to be that we have, essentially, two routers in chain to each other (I don't know why, don't ask me, I don't do this shit, I would question my life choices if I were treating a print server box as a second router and didn't have it hooked up to the printer) I will require that someone crown me god of networking, Integra fire the most recent tech, and Crystaltech fire everyone I have spoken to before today, and then sacrifice them on an altar to my awesome.
That, I look forward to. It shall be glorious.
Now I'm gonna listen to the crows pace around on my roof for a while (it sounds like Hannibal crossing the Alps if you want to know) and then go to bed.
So I slammed my door into theirs. Fuck you, fuckhead. Sorry you wanted that space so badly (and apparently, that particular space, undifferentiable from any other on that level of the parking garage) that you felt it appropriate to park within eight inches of my car door. Also, I'm sorry that I kind of have, you know, a JOB that I had to go to, after the Appointment From Hell, so I couldn't actually wait around for your ass to come back out and MOVE YOUR CAR.
Although, the AFH may have had something to do with my utter rage. I mean, it may just be ME, but I don't actually think it's appropriate for the non-attending medical personnel to just walk into the room I'm being seen in (and am exposed in, thanks a lot, because I really want to be in a position to give an eyeful to any patient off the street, this is why I'm a part-time high-rise-based stripper, it is totally) without a) knocking and b) MORE THAN ONCE.
I will actually be filing a complaint about this, on the advice of my mother who is a (former) nurse for the same hospital.
I will also mention the timekeeping aspect of the whole thing. I mean, if you tell me to be there by 7:30 for a 7:45 appointment and I move heaven and earth to get there by 7:35 in surprisingly heavy rush hour traffic, I do actually expect to not cool my heels for another 29 minutes before I'm seen. And it turns out that $hospital has a policy of not making patients wait (at least without explanation) for more than 15 minutes. So, you know, THERE WE ARE.
Also, dear examining person whose name, rank, and serial number I never got because I don't routinely bring a car battery, ten feet of wire, and a pair of alligator clips to my cardiology appointments, maybe next time you do an EKG you'd like to actually EXAMINE your patient first? But I do realise that you were very startled by my yips of pain when you crushed the goddamn wand into extremely thick, extremely painful scar tissue. I tend to make loud noises when shit hurts. SORRY ABOUT THAT.
I am almightily pleased that my car has nary a sign of injury to show for my use of it as a crushing weapon. Not entirely sure what happened to Asshat McDickBag's car, but I did see paint loss. And I genuinely have no sympathy whatsoever. He (or she) chose to park in a space too small for his car (as determined by the giant, roof-supporting pole on the other side of the space) rather than looking for a better spot on another level ... I still need to get into my car. This parking garage is great and all, but I don't want to live here.
The irony is that the garage is one of the ones with those u-shaped double-line dividers with a shedload of room in them so you can't park too close to someone else without trying, AND it had the lines on the walls as well so you could aim your car appropriately. After years of trying to park at Westwood Village (motto: our parking places are 6 inches too small for anyone's car!) I sort of wanted to have sex with whoever designed the paint setup for this garage. And someone still managed to not be able to park.
Every day brings me one step closer to a cabin in the woods and a shotgun, it really does.
I'm thinking again about giving up social media. I feel totally alienated by it, honestly - I feel like I so rarely have something to say to someone else's LJ posts that I never comment, I've been slapped down one too many times by a fandom I tried to participate in to want to try to join in that conversation again, Facebook confuses me, and Twitter is composed of people who like everyone else more than they like me, so what exactly is the rush to beat myself up over social media? I can beat myself up over everything else I've ever done, including (but not limited to!)
1. Sitting next to someone I find VERY unstable in Group tonight and saying that I had spent the last week being a giant ragemonster. That ended well.
2. Not being able to force myself to interact with family members and a former student when I want to, if only to try to pretend for ten seconds that the dysfunction in these relationships isn't me.
3. Being Judgey McDoucherson if left to my own devices but turning into Zen Master Cass when confronted with my father doing the exact same thing I would do if he hadn't done it first.
4. Needing to stop being Team Mom for 30 minutes if only to take care of myself, emotionally, because half the people I associate with regularly aren't able or willing to reciprocate the emotional support I believe I give them.
5. Not cultivating a better relationship with Sane!Coworker because emotionally supporting MentalIssues!Coworker (not the one I have dubbed Initial) is so much more rewarding to Team Mom Me.
6. Not getting off my ass and doing things I don't want to because I will be unable to resolve the problem and therefore why not just fuck it up more upfront, like paying the life insurance, contacting the car insurance, getting a new dentist, talking to Sallie Mae. Continuing to not pay any of those will end well.
7. Liking to talk so much that I interrupt people because they've made me think of something and I'm excited and want to share it.
8. Not extending to other people the possibility that they have the same issues I claim to have and that's the real reason why I haven't gone to lunch with Phil or Josh this month despite their promises that this was a monthly think.
9. Not being able to muscle past my issues by sheer force of will.
10. Having issues at all.
So with that kind of busy schedule, I should stop beating myself up over things other people are doing and just get back to home-grown crazy. Think local!
On the bright side, if the problem with the website that I've been trying to fix for months turns out to be application-pool related, I will consider myself the most brilliant networking motherfucker to ever network. And also, I still have to call Integra and let them know that one of their techs is never, ever to be dispatched to us ever again because I refuse to be treated like a not-very-intelligent dirty sock by someone who intends to keep me as a client, and also they need to fix what he fucking broke.
And if the problem does turn out to be that we have, essentially, two routers in chain to each other (I don't know why, don't ask me, I don't do this shit, I would question my life choices if I were treating a print server box as a second router and didn't have it hooked up to the printer) I will require that someone crown me god of networking, Integra fire the most recent tech, and Crystaltech fire everyone I have spoken to before today, and then sacrifice them on an altar to my awesome.
That, I look forward to. It shall be glorious.
Now I'm gonna listen to the crows pace around on my roof for a while (it sounds like Hannibal crossing the Alps if you want to know) and then go to bed.
