strina, posts by tag: rl - LiveJournal

My dad always has a shit-ton of flash drives in a box on his desk, because he gets them as swag at conferences and stuff. So I grabbed a couple today, looking for an empty one to put his present on.

I plug the first one in, it’s not empty, so I’m about to close it when…I see a document labeled Will1.

Obviously you see a will, you open it, right? I have read/watched too many mysteries to NOT read a mysterious will.

Except LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES, INTERNET. DO NOT OPEN WILLS. YOU LEARN THINGS YOU NEVER IMAGINED.

MY DAD HAS A SECRET CHILD.

(A SECRET CHILD WHO EXPLICITLY GETS NOTHING IN THE WILL, BECAUSE APPARENTLY IF YOU HAVE A SECRET CHILD AND DON’T MENTION THAT YOU’RE NOT LEAVING THEM ANYTHING ON PURPOSE, THEY CAN SUE FOR PART OF THE ESTATE. LIVE AND FUCKING LEARN!)

…Obviously I googled her immediately. And I seem to have found her.

Why am I so sure, you might ask? Because her first name is spelled unusually (Karlye), she comes from the right area - which happens to be middle of nowhere Oklahoma, so not a huge pool of possibilities to start, and oh, one other thing: when I logged into Facebook for the first time in months, just so I could maybe see more of her profile, SHE HAD ALREADY SENT ME A FRIEND REQUEST EVEN THOUGH WE DON’T KNOW ANY OF THE SAME PEOPLE. EXCEPT, APPARENTLY, OUR DAD.

WHY IS MY LIFE A SOAP OPERA. WHY DO I HAVE TO ASK THAT SO OFTEN. THE WHOLE “YOU’RE THE REASON YOUR DAD AND I ELOPED TO TEXAS AND MADE YOUR GRANDMA SO MAD THAT 25 YEARS LATER, SHE WILL BE ONE OF THE TWO GUESTS AT YOUR COUSIN’S SECRET WEDDING” SHOULD HAVE BEEN PLENTY FOR ONE PERSON. LET ALONE THE “BROTHER IS DATING THE DAUGHTER OF YOUR MOM’S SECOND (COMMON-LAW) HUSBAND AND BY THE WAY, YOU HAVE A SECRET HEIRLOOM OF HER DAD’S FAMILY IN YOUR APARTMENT”. BUT NO. THE UNIVERSE HAS TO GO FULL-ON GODDAMN SECRET BABY.

!!!!!????!!!?

UPDATE: SHIT GOT WEIRDER.

So I was venting to my best friend about the WTFness of it all and she thought she recognized the name, so she got on secret-sister’s Facebook.

APPARENTLY SHE USED TO WORK WITH THE GIRL’S ADOPTED MOM, WHOSE SISTER WAS THE BIO-MOM. NOBODY EVER SAID A WORD ABOUT THE BIO-DAD AND NOW WE KNOW WHY.

Secret-sister is ~18, so was conceived about two years after my parents’ divorce and before he and my stepmom were really a thing. Which makes the secrecy SO MUCH WEIRDER.

I just. Does my grandma know?! Do I tell my brother? How do I bring this shit up without going into “I felt mystery-plot-device obligated to open this will, but that is not the point right now”?

UPDATE UPDATE: I JUST REALIZED THE CONTEXT OF A WILL MEANS HE WAS LITERALLY PLANNING TO TAKE THIS SHIT TO THE GRAVE.

[Note: Post copied from tumblr, because that is where I was when my feelings exploded. They have exploded approximately three more times since, most recent best summed up as "IT IS TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, AKA, THE LAST TIME THIS YEAR ME, MY DAD, AND MY BROTHER WILL BE IN THE SAME ROOM. AWKWARD SECRET-KEEPING OR EPIC SHITSHOW?"]

I feel just really nervous and restless, which is not at all a good sign of things to come in my brain. It was just a really bad week, you guys. Week and a half, really. I was already edging myself toward a panic attack and then I worked my manager's shift on Saturday (for which I got paid NOT A DIME, because Monday was a bank holiday and so I was still under 40 hours), and then some stuff when down with a guy on my floor at the apartments that was just - awful and dumb and gave me literal nightmares, because there's a guy sexually harrassing you, and then there's a guy sexually harrassing you who lives in your building, likes to listen for movement in the hall outside his door (and you have to pass his door, it's the only to the safe stairs OR the elevator) so he can pop out and make people interact with him, and SURPRISE! who knows which apartment you're in, even though the hallway is constructed in such a way that he literally cannot have seen you go in there from his apartment. Also, he's persistent enough to knock on a door for hours with no encouragement.

There's since been a police report, because I didn't know at the time that you even could call the police for stuff like that if there weren't threats or something physical.

And then the friend that I work with, who persuaded to get this job, had her last day Friday and left me with a manager that I kind of want to yell at a lot. Which is complicated by the fact that when I was hired, our district manager was very careful to ask if I would have a problem working under a manager younger than me, because they'd had to let somebody go for taking constant issue with her. I do not give a fuck about her age, I care about a) the on-the-job training that I never fucking got, that I have literally been to other branches and seen, b) the fact that this last week makes TWO Saturdays I have had to come in and work on my day off, without pay, and that for NEITHER of them did she give me one of the tip cards we're supposed to get for going above and beyond the job (it's only worth $10, but that is still fucking better than $0), and c) that she's folding volunteer work into her manager position in such a way that she's planning fundraisers for Relay for Life every two weeks and everybody gets voluntold to bring stuff and shamed in front of everybody else if they don't. It's a good cause and all, but I literally cannot afford to spend ten to twenty dollars on it out of every paycheck.

Like I said, not one thing to do with her aga, ALL to do with shitty management choices.

So...a week ago, I had a perfect day.

Not a good day or even a great day, it was ABSOLUTELY PERFECT. I got exactly enough sleep, everything I ate was delicious, I did everything I wanted, I didn't worry about anything, it was amazing.

Like, if heaven was time loop, it would be July 2, 2013.

My application is being reviewed for an apartment and I am just, terrified either way, kind of? Because living on my own has historically NOT GONE WELL for me, but you guys, THIS APARTMENT. It is literally at least 10 times better than anything else I could afford in Chickasha, because it's income based housing in a historical building that just went through a $7 million remodel. THEY ARE THE ONLY APARTMENTS IN TOWN WITH ELEVATORS. It would be 564 sq. foot for $415/mo! I LITERALLY GOT TO GO THROUGH THE BUILDING AND JUST PICK WHICH APARTMENT LOOKED GOOD TO ME, BECAUSE A) THEY ALL HAVE INDIVIDUAL FLOOR PLANS AND B) THEY'RE ALL CURRENTLY EMPTY.

So I could use some luck, if you've got it to spare.

So I was at work yesterday when a tornado hit. Like, I was literally in the middle of processing a check when Mandy saw the edge of the tornado and we had to sprint for the bathrooms. Sadly, the store was not destroyed and my car only lost the back window (Dad was briefly all excited that we might get to total it before, like, the engine falls out).

Everyone was completely uninjured, so I get to be flippant.

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...But now I am forced to admit: I HAVE TOO MANY BOOKS. And oh, some of you are now denying there is any such thing, BUT OH, THERE IS. "Too many" is not "my room overflows". "Too many" is not "in my bathroom, there are books on the windowsill and books in the linen cupboard and books in the Secret Dedicated Cabinet of Bathtub Reading". "Too many" is not even "I have reached the point where it is easier to buy another copy than to find the book I want". No, I reached "too many" today, when I went looking for a particular, much beloved poetry textbook inherited from my father and looked first in my room, then in my car, then in the garage, and then went into the Cave of Books and Lawnmowers*, aka, my dad's shop. A cursory search there revealed two dedicated poetry anthologies and six literature textbooks for classes I've never taken (twice in my life, my schools have given away books for free without imposing a limit; this either ended very well for me or not well at all, considering current circumstances). I say cursory because my search had to be abandoned 20 minutes in when I was almost killed in a LANDSLIDE OF BOOK CARTONS.

THAT is the tipping point; WHEN FERAL BOOKS BEGIN DEFENDING THEIR TERRITORY, you have TOO MANY.

*Sometimes we call it Dad's Batcave. There really isn't a reason for him to have a shop, it's mostly there was a lot of yard and then suddenly, he was commissioning a building, and now there are like 30 cartons of my books, and like six lawnmowers/lawn tractors in there.

1) I admitted today that my grandma was right, I am totally ridiculous about food.

Backstory: I live in the middle of nowhere. You have to drive seven minutes to hit the ege of town. A formative theme in my life? If you're going to town, it'd better be worth it. Aw, we get home and McDonald's gave us the wrong food? Fuck it, I'm not going back to town. You left you book at your mom's? Fuck it, I'm not going back to town.

So today, when I had to go to the library, all the way across town (a whole five minutes extra drive, but whatever), I ended up hitting up five different places for food. Drinks from Sonic, muffins from TK's, cookies from Subway, sammies & salad from Quizno's, and breadsticks from Little Caesar's. This is why I'm always the one who picks up the food.

2) There is a (slim) chance that I may get a better job/escape the Atwoods hellhole. Good thoughts?

3) I am...losing all patience with Atwoods. Do you know how fucking sick I am of having to bite my tongue about customers' rude/inappropriate/racist/liberal-bashing jackassery? But Atwoods is a farm store that caters to a conservative customer base and they make you sign a thing when you get hired that you understand that and no, of course you don't have a problem with it (it's in the handbook; you sign a thing agreeing you've read/will abide by the handbook). So I had to just suck it up and move on when a locally influential asshole joked about ( Collapse ). ALSO TIRED OF PEOPLE - 99% OF THEM OLDER MEN - ASKING ME PROBINGLY IF I KNOW THAT JESUS LOVES ME, OR WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME I WENT TO CHURCH. I DO NOT CARE IF YOU MEAN WELL, KEEP YOUR CULT OUT OF MY WORKPLACE.

3b) PLEASE STOP MAKING ME WATCH YOU PERJURE YOURSELF. Do not ask me "should I sign my name or his?" IT SHOULD ALWAYS BE YOURS. YOU CAN LEGALLY ONLY SIGN YOUR NAME, FUCKWAD. And NO, your Shih Tzu's cans of Science Diet/your daughter's $50 Ariat shirt/your wife's $200 Ferrino boots/your ornamental trees are NOT "for farm use, take the tax off". Farm tax exemptable items must be DIRECTLY USED IN THE PRODUCTION OF AGRICULTURE. Every time you use your exempton, we give you a little piece of paper SAYING THAT and you sign it and YOU ARE IN HERE EVERY WEEK, HOW HAVE YOU NOT READ IT AT LEAST ONCE.

3c) I am pretty sure a disabled veteran's tax exemption is for the veteran/veteran's immediate family, not veteran/wife/children/grandchildren/cousins/friends/former sons-in-law!

4) Wow, that got kind of ranty. Sorry? I also spent a chunk of today thinking about how ridiculously awesome my grandma is? No, guys, she is so funny and mean and amazing that the most common reaction to meeting her is "why can't my grandma be like that?" We got in a slapfight once while driving! Jeannie, Atwoods employee voted Most Likely to Fucking Throw Down, freely admits that my grandma is scary and could kick her ass. Her reaction to open heart surgery? "Screw that, next time just let me die." She cooks better than everyone! She's the one who got me hooked on NCIS and House and CSI: New York and about 15 other shows

5) My yard is SO PRETTY. Dad went crazy one year and planted like 25 trees on top of the ones that came with the house when we bought it?* So there are more trees than anyone's ever counted (the yard is like, an acre-and-a-half, maybe?) and there are seven redbud trees clustered right in front of my north window (which runs basically the whole north wall of my room) and three or four mulberry trees out of my east window (right above my bed). Plus we're on a hill and have pasture (not ours) bordering us to the south and west and basically it is MADE OF GREEN AND GORGEOUSNESS AND PRETTY FLOWERS/WEEDS.

*Hilariously, at least some of this appears to have been so he could later chainsaw the fuck out of them when he's cranky. WE NEVER RUN OUT OF FIREWOOD.

So, it turns out I accidentally scheduled my week off IN BETWEEN ICE-OCALYPSES. Terrible ice storm last Thursday/Friday - the entire town lost power and oh yes, Atwoods stayed open - we only got power back Saturday night, and no internet until Monday (and it was incredibly slow and tempermental). Then the power went out 10:00 am Tuesday, came back on at 10:45 pm - I was asleep and then BAM, bright lights! water running! terrifyingly loud hallway vent-of-death! fire alarm!...it was awesome - and went out again this morning and came back this afternoon. At this point I kind of feel like I'm being toyed with. Also, it's supposed to storm tomorrow, just as bad as, if not worse than, last week.

I give up replacing groceries.

So, from Saturday the 24th through Sunday the 1st, I am OFF WORK. NINE DAYS, NO ATWOODS, YAY. It's the first vacation I've had in two years. And it's unpaid, which is going to SUCK in a couple weeks, but if I don't take some time off from people, I am going FLIP OUT on somebody.

I'm not going anywhere. I am mostly going to hide in my house and revel in not having to be polite to morons. Like, I am open if anyone wants to do something Saturday/Sunday/Monday? But after that, I am going hermit. And possibly nocturnal.

I'm gonna read lots of fic, watch lots of TV and DVDs, and actually cook my own food; I have steaks, pasta fixings, and pork chops. (Note to self: remember to get butter, white bread, wheat bread, english muffins, cream cheese, potatoes, oil, swiss, ham, turkey, cheddar, havarti, stuffing, PIE.)

IT IS GOING TO BE AWESOME.