Suicide, Cell Phones and Big Boobs
My friend committed suicide on Monday. It sucks a lot. Why does it suck? Well, I mean, apart from the obvious, my views are quite strong on this issue. She was a grown woman, diagnosed with a pretty serious disease that would ruin her life, and tear at her family's heartstrings and patience. To me, she made an informed and personally acceptable decision and followed through. She took a gun, shot herself in the head, and ended the misery early, at least for herself. If that's not courageous, I don't know what is.
Ah, don't sit there in disgust, this is how I feel. No one, not even me, a pseudo-daughter has a right to tell her what she could and could not do with her own body. What type of feminist, pro-choicer would I be if I said "It's your body to do as you deem fit, but only when I deem it fit too?" A hypocritical one at best I might say. And so therefore, I say, good for her, for looking out for herself and her family the best way that she knew how.
But it still sucks. My pseudo-mom is gone, her daughter and husband will forever suffer knowing that they could have at least said goodbye, had she just told them what was going on. I really wish she would have looked into suicide a little bit deeper. Maybe check out the Gorlock Society, pick up some barbituates and kill herself in a more polite way, drugging herself into a terminal sleep. I just can't imagine my poor friends scraping the back of her head from their bedroom wall.
But she didn't, she did what she knew how to do. And I love her and respect her still. And this is how I will say goodbye, in my blog, I know she will see it. And, Hey Linda... Sorry I couldn't make the funeral. I'll miss you, but never will I forget you.
On to funnier stuff...
Have you ever been without your cell phone? Man, I love technology, but I want to know when I became so dependent on it. This weekend I went camping (random change of subject? I think not!) and took my dog along. He, like the crazy scavenger that he is, gulped up what could have been gallons of cave water.
Needless to say, puppy not feeling so good....
So, like the dumbass that I can tend to be, I left him out of his crate. I am not sure why I did this, aside from the fact that I was disgusted by the idea of having to clean diarrhea out of his cavernous house for the fifth time. Fast forward four hours later. I am having a wonderful conversation with my friend in California as I walk towards my itsy bitsy, one room apartment. I put the key in the lock and hear the click click click of my puppy dog's feet on the hardwood and the spit and hiss of my kitties as the dash away from him. I open the door mid "I am just lovin" gasp, gag, slight upchuck. I look around and see DVDs, CDs, underwear, pants, comforter paper towels, half a book, and diarrhea stewn, chewed, slobbered on, all over the floor. I can imagine, for my friend, that the sound was intense, as my phone fell from my shaking, angry hand onto a pile of chewed shoes.
To make this irritatingly repetitive story shorter, Seamus ate my phone cord. This would be cord number two, and we all know that those are not priced in such a way that a person can keep buying new ones. So, needless to say, I was without for a while. And this is where the trouble comes in.
I am a insanely busy person, and I like it that way. I don't have time to think about boredom, or sleep. But this life is difficult to live without a phone. My life becomes awkward, I feel awkward. I feel almost naked without my phone. The "I'll call you's" become "Tell me everything you have planned between now and all planets day and I will stop by if I get a chance." I end up at a Planned Parenthood meeting when I should be at a job interview. I am sitting, chatting with my hair stylist when I should be at home babysitting my monster's daughter. My world is a mess, I am a big, chaotic, naked mess without my phone.
Tuesday, I got a new cord. All the world is right and is as it should be.
Well... Almost...
I know, I know, I should not be slandering my job online, but I just can't help it. And honestly, who will really be able to tell which of the gazillion jobs I am talking about anyway?
"Girl, go get me my coffee!" is not something any woman, or man for that matter, should put up with. It astonishes me that being the proclaimed feminist that I am, that I put up with it. But with him, it's a love him or leave him type of situation. At this point, I would love to leave him. But hey, life costs money, and without a job, well... you know the rest. That's right, I have become the twit with tits he asked me to become not so many months ago (see previous posts). I wear my hair down, I put on make up, sugar up the ole' accent a bit. You know, anything to make me look like a weaker... oops, I mean "softer" woman. I realize now that it has not made a damn bit of difference.
Recently I have been looking for full time employment, and where would be the easiest place to start? Of course, the part-time job I already have. We were hiring for a separate, identical position, why not just let me work full time right? Well, I started out slowly "Would it be possible for me to work a few more hours?" to "I am available everyday now that classes are ending" and finally to "I could work full time instead of hiring a new person over the summer." I am sure that you realize that this point, amidst my very cynical blogging, that my requests were not well received.
Monday, I walk into my office and see his "Dream Receptionist" in all her bumbling boob-job glory, tight sweater pointed upwards, long curly hair down to there and highlighted in all the right places, her sugary, North Carolina accent lilting all over my front desk phone. Now, I realized when we hired a new "Girl" that I would be clinging to my 19 hours with a death grip. What I did not realize was that I would have to grasp on to my job in all it's crappy, less than excellentness as if my life depended on it. Now, I have to admit, the woman we hired is very nice indeed. She has a stellar background and is interested in things besides becoming a trophy wife. I can appreciate that, I can respect her, but do I have to like her? I want to like her, well I wanted to. I wanted to like her until I found out that he hired her all right. He hired her.... FULL TIME.
So... what is the moral of this story... all though it might ease your misery Suicide by Cell Phone still does not pay as much as having Big Boobs.
posted by Breeah at 4:25 PM
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