At least in summer…
Captain America boxers, School House Rock Tee, ragged silk pillowslip used to calm my hair.
🎥 I’m Just a Bill (Schoolhouse Rock!) – YouTube
I made it past the probationary period! W00t! I’m Official!
Only 2.5 weeks later, a client is filing a grievance against me.
This is a Rite of Passage in that they do this ALL the time, have nothing but time and the vast majority –but guess 99%–are frivolous.
He’s putting paper on me for not giving him photocopies of gov documents–not HIS but mine. It’s totally ridiculous, totally unnecessary and nothing he needs.
It’s to see if he can spook me, piss me off or shake me down.
He’s Old Head Penitentiary but not in a pro way, more institutional. Most old heads are beyond this.
I’m not taking it personally. Truly. This dude puts paper any chance he gets. Other clients won’t cell with him. Me? Not spooked, not angry, not worried. He’s just the 1st, which shows I’m doing things right.
I have never watched this show but this link was shared and I’m glad that I watched it.
As a certain friend always introduced me, years ago, ‘She’s crazy!!!! –But the GOOD kind!’
I walked up to another housingunit to see their new puppies (yes! They save pitbulls!). I had already asked their equivalent of me if it would be okay (they always say yes, as they want the dogs adopted).
I walked in–that building also houses the head of theparoleofficers–and the big wig asked if she could help me. It’s a big place, you don’t know everybody and I looked like Somebody, I suppose.
‘Greetings. I am Reedof the HouseOfThree.’
Without missing a BEAT, this 60yo gal said, ‘Welcome Reed of the HouseofThree. I am Leah of the HouseofFour.’
What’s even funnier is we both didn’t laugh or anything, just carried on.
I love this job. Most people there are the good kind of crazy.
After failing at saving Dutch’s life with CPR, and the following stresses of getting her finances, husband, kids and grandkids in line (or whatever you’d call that), I’m apparently outwardly bitchy.
I can say even I noticed it in:
When I first got to the house at my gulag, I spent a lot of time telling men to pull up their trousers.
I see this and topless men all.day.long.
Except their drawers are white and thin and their trousers are grey scrubs. Or khaki long shorts.
It irritates me always but lately, if somebody has their trous just 2 inches down their hips (I fully grant this could be from sprung elastic), I snap like brand new, I say, I say!
So that? I was aware.
I had a group of clients on the walk yesterday ask why I was in a bad mood. I was just walking, to me.
Also, clients will say anything to get a response. They’re like paparazzi who take mental snaps and may or may not whip it out right in front of you. That’s called a 15.2.
-are the new readers gone yet?
By 11:30, a parole officer tended a gate for me and asked if he could speak to me. He proceeded with a very dog-faced apology for whatever he didn’t know that he had done to offend or make me angry.
I was flat confused.
He kept rambling a bit even after I told told him no. Then I realised. I reminded him that The Duchess had dropped and I suppose that I wasn’t myself.
He still didn’t believe me, you could tell.
I must be scary as fuck.
Me mean little lady to big, strong men!
Sis and I went a-touring the day before we (nieces-3, Spike and Bro) went across state to put The Duchess’ ashes where she had instructed (amongst certain family and in the plot she’s already bought when she planned on being buried…it’s a closed cemetery anyway but had put in many decades ago).
This is some vids pieced together, all of which representative of Sis asking and Big Sissy answering. As one does:
Ending with the Rootbeer Capital of Missouri!!!
I had Black Walnut ice cream cos you don’t find that just anywhere (the Ozarks and some place in the Orient are the only places they grow).
Oh! And the spring-priper: