25 Days and Counting

So I have done it. I turned in my resignation last week and I am leaving my job in search of bigger and better things another job. In Cookeville. 

That's right.

Cookeville. 

The place where there is more than one Dairy Queen in a 10 mile radius. Where they dress a big pink paper maché looking elephant up in a bikini. A mecca for meth heads and college students. Cookeville. Also, and most importantly- where my wonderful Boyfrand lives. Since I find him to be so wonderful (handsome, tall, strong, hot, brilliant, sexy, capable, tan), and he apparently feels the same about me (who knew?) we have decided to take the plunge and live in sin. I was ready to move on from my current place of employment anyway, and I have almost exhausted my online options for classes. So for our senior year (I feel so young and... retarded saying that) we are moving in together and eliminating the stress/expense of driving back and forth from Knoxville to Cookeville, and the stress of being apart. 

With that said, I will no longer be hardly working working hard for the money. I don't want to work hard, I don't want to be responsible- I just want to show up, do some shit, go home to Boyfrand, and get paid ever so often for doing all that shit. So why not now. In this endeavor, I have had to secure new employment. Okay, I have had to attempt to secure new employment. And I have tried my damndest. CraigsList is my friend, the online newspaper has been a resource, and I even went to one of the shiny new liquor stores to get an application (because, I mean COME ON THAT WOULD BE FUCKING SWEET). So far, I've heard back from 2 retail establishments, 1 that was only offering part-time. *sigh* I refuse to be discouraged, as I have some scrilla stowed away and am sitting on a tax return that needs to be amended so I can get some paper. (Thanks, Chris Brown.) 

I am going to miss some things about my current job. #1 being the fact that I get to talk to one of my best bitches all day, erry day. That is what is going to suck the most- no doubt. I am also going to miss being able to do things like this: post rather pointless ramblings of my mind on the interwebs. I will also miss the money, which goes hand in hand with the amount of work I do for said money. I will also miss the fact that my job is what keeps me here, where my lifelong friends live, where my family (including new baby sister) resides, and that I do indeed call Knoxville 'home'. But, I must look at these things and weigh them against the negatives- which are really kinda heavy- and most importantly against the fact that I cannot see my man as often as I want/need to. And the final fact that I am getting older, I don't want to be stuck in this job forever, and in order to fly- you have to jump. Or some shit like that. Whatever.

So here's to the last 7 years. There's been good times and bad and overall, I am thankful for the time I have spent where I am, but am also ready to see where I am now going to end up.

New Shit and Shit

Over the last few months, year even, I have grown bitter and resentful regarding my employment. Only lately have I turned the corner from bitter and resentful to apathetic and craptastic, so I have finally decided to investigate new career opportunities. First little stop was applying to work for the university I attend. However, the fuckwits in HR decided that since I chose 'no' as the answer to 'are you qualified' (as I didn't have 100% of the qualifications, but explained my reason for applying/choosing 'no' in my cover letter), they were going to waste my references' time by asking for letters of recommendation AND neglect to send me an email stating that my application was thrown into their cyber-trash. I emailed inquiring about the status of my application and that's how I found that out. Fabulous minds at work there... so I asked if perhaps they could consider my submission for review as on second thought... I am fucking qualified, asshats. I still haven't heard back from the second chat we had, and no- I did not call them asshats *in writing* so that wasn't the reason. Regardless, I decided that I was not too excited about the prospect of working for an institution who is proficient in time wasting and fucking up my financial aid every semester, so I have let that be pushed from my mind by better, brighter and sweeter things. 

Cuppycakes. 

That's fucking right. 

Cuppycakes. 

Given the recent discontentment of a good friend at her current place of employment due to fuckwits as well, we started exploring options after I half-jokingly said "Let's open a cupcake shoppe." Seriously exploring options. Like. Gigi's Cupcakes franchising options. 

Yeah. 

NOTHING is set in stone, we are pulling together things to send in for proper evaluation of, well- us. It is the very beginning of ANYTHING and there isn't an official aspect to shit right now. I'm only expressing the desire to pursue this. That is all.

Therefore, I'm putting it out there: I am going to fully investigate the possibility of making myself personally liable for half of a large amount of money in order to bake a bazillion tiny cakes in a week. Oh wait, no- that's not what it's about. I am going to fully look into the possibility of making myself personally liable for half of a large amount of money in order to be fucking happy with my employment situation. Because at this moment in time, I want to stab eyeballs. All of the eyeballs belonging to everyone.

So at 28, I think I'll undertake an endeavor which will surely make most say I am:

1. Retarded

2. Crazy

3. Stupid

However, I'm used to ALL THOSE THINGS because I've been working in the 10th circle of hell (yeah, it's new) and these feelings are dealt with on a weekly (being generous here) basis. I could very well change my mind next week, but I could also very well go stark raving mad and quit my job to take up knitting cat hats. I'm keeping my options open here, people.

Send Me To Paris... S'il Vous Plaît?

This is how I am spending my morning... http://ohhappyday.com/2011/06/goes-to-paris

And why? If you know me, you know my Bia, bff and main bitch has been living in Paris for going on a-long-fucking-time now. I visited her 2 years ago come October and got to take in the BEAUTIFUL city for myself, and I would love to do that again- alas, Paris is 1. expensive to fly to, and 2. kinda expensive to stay in. And since I work hard for the money, and don't get paid enough... yeah. I will even be missing her wedding this month to her French fa'naénaé (that's Byrd for fiancé) which breaks my heart, but just was not fiscally feasible.

All of this to say, I would love to see her. I would love to see the city again. I would love to wear striped shirts and berets and fucking scarves (those are also a must-have I learned). I want to be off work for that entire time as well, and shit- I have my fucking passport. I AM READY.

So yeah. Pick me. Choose me. I am your girl, yo. =)

Big Girl Panties

So for a while now I've contemplated a change in my daily 9-5 setting. This might have had something (or a fucking lot) to do with Boyfrand and his location on the GPS. That and I also have the chance to get some classes paid for... if I work for the university at which I attend. Free classes and a $$ increase. AND in the same zip code as Boyfrand. AND a zip code which I really like.

Given all this, I took the plunge this past week. I applied for a job I have had my eye on, but was not 100% qualified for- BUT feel I could totally do- however the position is still open a month after the initial closing date, as it has yet to be filled. So apparently others weren't qualified either... or the job really, really sucks. Plus, I've spent the last week and a half solid with the Boyfrand and I must say, it has been really nice. Like "I-could-do-this-all-the-time" nice. That was really the big kicker because no one wants to live in the same city- let alone apartment/house/whatever- with someone who is an irritating piece of shit. I know now that this is 200% not a quality I attribute to Boyfrand, and I am proud to say he feels the same way about me (yay). I also would like for anyone reading this who might be of importance to notice my use of percentages. That shit is impressive OMGHIREMEOMG.

This of course holds the potential for the last 7 years of my professional life to come to a screeching halt. No more dealing with Frank, Franka and Frank Jr. wanting to file 3 separate bankruptcies because Frank and Franka aren't legally married so they must file separately, and Frank Jr. is 21 and been gettin them credit cards since he was 18- oh, not to mention the 3 4-wheelers he has (actual client I had several years ago btdubs). No more dealing with fucking rude-ass creditors who don't know what the hell they're doing, but want to try to be dickholes about it nonetheless. Never again will I have to worry about confirming appointments wrong- excuse me, I mean after 7 years of confirming appointments in one way, my boss deciding that it was ALL FUCKING WRONG and riding my ass about it. Priorities, people. We have them. Finally this means no more bitching about all these wonderful things... because they simply will no longer exist.

With that said, I suppose I will be updating this blog only a few more times at most- perhaps just once more to officially close this chapter of my life. Either that or I will be posting every day at 3 hour intervals about how I did not get the sought after job and I therefore hate my life even more and everyone in it and am to going postal on some bitches.

Total toss up.

Dotting the i's and Just Saying FUCK YOU to the Rest

I haven't written lately because I've been very busy growing to hate my job more than anything in the free world. I've also been very busy answering the 37,000 questions my boss has about each phone call I take, the questions about who is in the parking lot, the questions about why copies look the way they do, and listening to how I would surely fail as a parent and need 'therapy'. True story. Anyway, I'm working on a case that's just too good to not publically vent about. Well that and Teresa is making me do this. She might be little, but her boobs aren't- and they are what I really fear.

So we have these clients who own some business I couldn't give half a shit about, I assure you. This business is housed in a building on acreage and said building and acreage is secured by a $500k loan. However, the clients felt that disclosing the location of the property was just not necessary. They also apparently felt that when they ran out of space on the questionnaire provided to them, that meant they didn't have to include the rest of their shit. Not that what they did provide was much help, as I had trouble deciphering most of it:


Yes. That says 'House & A*beginning of what I assume is the letter 'c'*. It was not felt that a second word was necessary, and this was apparently the sentiment a few times over:

Yes, that is MY handwriting with the SLASH OUT 06- WRITE IN 05 bullshit you see. 1. To not know the exact year of your vehicle is just fucking stupid. 2. Again, why not FINISH YOUR FUCKING WORD? It's like you just got tired and couldn't muster the energy to do this shit. REALLY? You lazy whore. Damn.

Moving forward, the writing was in and of itself hard to read. I don't like cursive. I think it's stupid. *shrug* That's my opinion, and yeah yeah- opinions are like assholes and blah blah blah, but really. This handwriting sucks. And apparently, says "FUCK YOU!" to basic penmanship or whatever it would be called, as crossing the letter 't' nowadays is just TOO MUCH TO HANDLE... even though you did it already:


*headdesk* Just... *headesk* BUT WAIT FOR IT...

That says "Hornsby Steele"- that is not the word "Harnsby", just FYI... because it actually IS, but HARNSBY is non-existent. And "Allorney" is the fancy word for "laywer" where she's from I guess. I don't know. I just can't even look at this anymore. I'm going to Taco Bell to drown my frustration in liquid cheese. Happy Cinco de Mayo, bitches.

Just Call Me The Office Raccoon

So I kinda have this problem. Regarding food. Yeah. Um. I go through little 'fits' where I have to fight the urge to eat everything in sight. True story. I've been like this a long fucking time. Like even when I lived at home. Is actually how I discovered strawberry PopTarts + cream cheese = god & win. (Not the frosted ones though, that's just ridiculous.) So seriously, I will suddenly get the urge for FOOD. Usually warm FOOD. NOW. NEED. MUST HAVE. And then I gorge for a moment... and usually feel totally sick with myself due to 1. the amount I have eaten, or 2. the nature of the things I've just eaten. Seriously. One time I wanted lasagna. Because it's comfort food and has cheese in it. So I got out my tiny ramekins and made 4 tiny ramekins full of lasagna... and ate them. All of them. I also tend to do this when I keep flour tortillas in the house. Or cookies. Or tiny candy bars. Or pizza. Yeah...

It's not even that I'm fat. I'm not thin, by any means - I don't me thin is even humanly possible - but I'm not fat. Nor do I purge. I just have a moment where I want to eat warm food and a lot of it, then hate myself a for an hour afterward.

Anyway... I kinda got in this mode today at work. So I had some sammich from yesterday, a pickle, some bread... with ranch dressing on it (I know, judge away)... and all of this while my veggie pocket thing was warming in the microwave. Now, this veggie pocket was an Amy's foodstuffs thing, all organic and that kind of bullshit, because I've heard them to be good and they were on sale so I got some. I was stoked. So I'm eating my bread and ranch and waiting for my little slice of carb heaven to warm, and all is well. Becomes sufficiently heated, take back to desk with knife and fork (because I've had Hot Pockets and I know the fury they house) and dive in.

Ew.

That is all I have to say about Amy's Pocket of Cardboard and Shitty Vegetables. It does NOT taste like a veggie pot pie. It does NOT taste like happy, organic things. It doesn't taste like much other than mushy. Just mushy. Mushy has a taste and this piece of shit is it. =(

The other thing about my little freak issue is that even though I might eat something, if it doesn't hit the spot- I go in search of other things. And the natural problem of this is I'm still eating and therefore I'm consuming calories and shit. So if after my mayonnaise infused feeding frenzy ensues and my psyche is not satisfied... I go in search of something else. Unfortunately for me, today I am at work and the only thing here is a box of strawberry Eggo waffles (OMGYES) which AREN'T mine (BOOYOUWHORE), half a bottle of ranch dressing to go with the stale bread (which also isn't mine so I can't eat copious amounts of it), or this...

Fuck you, Amy. Fuck you.

I didn't get the memo for 'Cram Things Up Your Ass Then Blame Everyone Around You For Things Up Your Ass' day.

For one, everyone at my place of employment is being an asshat today. I don't like it. I won't tolerate it. Snap at me, I snap at you. ESPECIALLY if it is for no reason or a reason I could not have possibly known. Jerkfaces.

Part of my lovely job (which I'm thankful to have or some shit like that) is to answer phones, as I've said before. Creditors call, ask if someone has filed bankruptcy, I give the appropriate answer, and that's the end of the phone call.

Today a creditor calls. They received a bankruptcy notice. Alright. Great. 'This is our address but not our name. We are Radiology Imaging. This says Radiology Associates.' *blink* Well, we can only provide names/addresses given to us by our clients. 'Well why did they give you the right address?' *blink blink* I. Don't. Know. And my patience is now worn thin. You are a retard. The end. Therefore I shall treat you as one. 'Well why would they have the right address but wrong name?' At this point I really am finished with this conversation. Again, I do not know you fuckwit. They giggle at me. I tell them look- if you don't have that name on file, then they must not owe you money so destroy the document. 'Who owes us money?' Goddamnit you fucking idiot! You have no idea what you are doing in life let alone at your place of employment do you?? I tell them- the debtor. 'The deb-tor?' they say. Yes. Sort of. They were a patient or client or SOMETHING of yours. 'Oh! A pay-shent!' Holy fucking shitting dick nipples. I am really having this conversation aren't I? And you are REALLY this stupid aren't you? Yes. A PATIENT would've filed BANKRUPTCY and is now named as the DEBTOR. 'Well who are they?'
*facepalm*
I don't fucking know who they are, you fucking fucker. YOU have the notice of bankruptcy. YOU called me. YOU have all the information you need. CAN YOU FUCKING READ?? 'Oh. Here is the deb-tor.' Good. Great. Nice talking to you. Click.
FML.
...
And they just called back. They have the names, the socials, but can't find them in the system and want to know why that person would have THEIR information. How stupid can you get...

My Favorite Thing...

Today, I fucked shit up. FML. Really it wasn't SO bad. I just forgot to put a creditors meeting on the calendar so my boss wasn't present, clients were, she was an hour late... etc. So the court calls- "Where the fuck is bosslady?" Uh, on her way here.. "Well she had a creditors meeting at 10:30a." Shiiiiiiit. So I call her, say so sorry but get your ass to the office, throw the file at her and off she goes. At 11:42, via iChat, the following happened:

My Boss: There is another couple here who told me the Wilson's left and are talking to me like I know them. Do I have a mod on?
They look really familiar?
Me: i'm looking
fuck my ass
My Boss: what!
Me: i'm just looking. just pissed at myself.
nope
docket shows nothing
My Boss: who are they?

Seriously?
I have nothing to say about this. Nothing at fucking all.

I know of some land in France for sale...

Well. New office. Across town. Three weeks of stress. A mini-mini breakdown. And tafuckingda, here I am. I believe April is National Fucktard month as well, if you don't already know for yourself. I shall just give you a couple answers from late:

1. Marble Mouth.
-He's been a decent client, but every time he calls he sounds like he's got at least 10 goddamn marbles jammed in his mouth. Well Marble Mouth has a now ex-wife. She's a bitch. Like the bad kind. So he gets his stimulus last year for $1,200 and gives it all to her. ALL OF IT. Dude. You're only allotted so much shit from the IRS while in bankruptcy, per your little planyplanplan- WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? Oh, I know what you're doing. You're filing jointly with a woman you don't have to file jointly with. Just because you're married doesn't mean you have to file a joint tax return. And I sure as fuck wouldn't (and didn't) if I were on the verge of d-i-v-o-r-c-e. Just fucking sayin', dude. But that's okay. You pretty much screwed yourself out of that money. Kudos.

2. Assface NoManners McGhee.
-He calls to tell me his life story and all his opinions on bankruptcy that he's learned from Uncle Larry. I tell him that I cannot tell him anything other than he needs to set an appointment to come in and talk to my boss. It's free. We'll even give you a glass of water. For free too. Ooooo. He asks when I have an appointment available. I tell him Monday and start naming times only to be cut off by the sound of him hanging up. Since when did it become an acceptable way to say 'good-bye' to just hang up the phone? Can you get any more rude??

3. Certifiable 'French' Loon.
-Seriously. I say that we have crazy clients. And some are borderline. I have learned they are just borderline due to meeting this woman. First appointment she comes in, sees the office dog (who really is a big part of the firm and clients love her and I love her and she is just grand) and sits down and proceeds to have a conversation with her. Not like 'Oh hey sweetie, what is your name?' kind of shit, which is still kind of fucking weird to me, but not crazy-like. This woman sits down and proceeds to ask Remmi questions like 'How is your day? What did you have to eat today? Do you like your collar?' in a manner that to me, expected a response. For 30 minutes she talked nonstop to the poor dog. Since that date, she has called our office every day, twice daily- once is usually to leave a voicemail that is too long for our service to accommodate and she is therefore cutoff mid-sentence. She also called repeatedly BEFORE she even met with my boss, and once told me she was making pancakes and 'You know how that is'. Uh. Yeah. The majority of her calls have to do with some land in France that her dead husband left her years ago and that she can't sell it because no one wants to buy it then all of a sudden she doesn't want to sell it then she wants to donate it then it has a house then it is all she has... I. Don't. Fucking. Care. Yesterday's call was letting us know that she thought we thought she was a 'deadbeat' and she rattled off her employment history until I told her to shut the fuck up, in a professional manner of course. Who am I kidding, the phrase 'shut up' was still used, minus the f-bomb. I mean really- one can only take so much.

I would think that relocating to the west side would make things more calm and chill, just by association right? And that I would all of a sudden become rich and a Benz would show up in my driveway, which actually one sometimes does, but that is not the point. The last 3 weeks have been the most insane and chaotic period of time since I started here, even topping the time that a gaggle of homeless people came into the office downtown to file bankruptcy. Yeah. Really. Horrible, I know but seriously- come on. So once again I prepare to leave for the day to go to my humble abode to do what I've found really helps during this stressful time: baking. More specifically, drinking Jack while baking. Fun times kids. Fun times.

Jakob with CitiBank, DIAF.

Part of my job is to answer the phone when it rings, as we have not had a receptionist for the last 3 years. 75% of the calls we receive are clients or potential clients, 10% are automated calls, 10% are creditors, and 5% is my boss' husband making his daily call to ask what's for dinner. Usually creditors don't give a shit- they just have to note when to call back for a case number. I usually tell them 30 days, 45 if near the end of the month. Sometimes we have files that we have to sit on for a few months to get money issues worked out (getting clients under the 6-month income cap is usually the main reason) and creditors for those cases can get annoying. Honestly, they usually aren't bad. Jakob with Citibank was a different story.

We have a file that has been sitting for a bit because they received an inheritance and bought 2 automobiles with that money. One is worth about $13,000.00 and since they own that free and clear, it could potentially be sold and dispersed to creditors. We want to avoid that, and we need some time between them receiving the inheritance and the file date, so we wait. Jakob from Citibank called on regarding the wife-debtor today, to offer a settlement. He first asks for the 'counsel' and I ask why, he informs me of the settlement offer, I tell him that the client is not interested as she is filing bankruptcy. He wants to know when they will be filed. I tell him by the end of April for certain. Jakob from Citibank finds this unacceptable. He wants to speak with the counsel. The counsel, I tell him, is unavailable. He wants to know when the counsel will be available. I laugh. This makes Jakob from Citibank unhappy. I tell him that when he calls next, I will check at that time to see if Ms. Brooks is available. He then says that he wants to schedule an appointment with her. I say oh! You're wanting to file bankruptcy? He says of course not. Well, I tell him, that is what we set appointments for. He is flabbergasted. "So you're telling me you cannot set me an appointment to speak with the counsel?". Um, kinda. I'm telling you I *won't* set an appointment. But I WILL give her your name and number and she can call you. He informs me that is not what he's asking. By this time, I am starting to shake a bit as I'm getting fucking pissed. I mean really- you have nothing better to do than this? You think you can bully me into setting you an 'appointment' to speak with my boss? L-O-motherfucking-L. So I tell Jakob from Citibank that I am quite aware what he is asking, however what I can do for him is take his name and number (as aforementioned) and forward that to my boss. He goes on for a bit and I sweetly tell him that I am sorry, and he retorts with "Yeah you are". Okay, J-Dog. Starting to cross some lines here. So again I reiterate what I will do for him and I hope he has a WONDERFUL day and to please, take care! Jakob from Citibank bids me the same and that is SCENE.

Fucking asshole. Can't wait for him to call the office again.