tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-364725272024-03-14T02:27:37.055-07:00Riot KittySometimes I wonder if the world is being run by smart people who are putting us on, or by imbeciles who really mean it.
- Mark TwainRiot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.comBlogger985125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-12687153417211450112019-05-14T16:11:00.003-07:002019-05-15T20:42:35.274-07:00Enter the fuckerySorry to have kept you waiting so long for this, but now you'll get a good week-of-event rant.<br />
<br />
As some of you know, I'm in charge of what is now the largest event of its category on the West Coast. It has the highest turnout of any of the National events in this program, and we have reasons to be proud. Thanks to those of you who have supported me in this endeavor! (Shameless request for <a href="http://www.namiwalks.org/participant/mlmadison" target="_blank">donations</a> for everyone else...)<br />
<br />
I love my job and I'm passionate about what we do, and...I think I'm about ready to do a meditation series on becoming more patient. That, or move to Denver and start eating mushrooms. (Not really.)<br />
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Here are some real questions I've gotten:<br />
<br />
Q: How long does it take to do the walk?<br />
A: It depends on how fast you walk.<br />
Follow up: Oh! I guess that makes sense. <br />
(What I wanted to say): Seriously? Do you also need to know how long it takes to eat lunch?<br />
<br />
Q: I have an injury and want to use my bike as a scooter in the walk. I won't pedal, I'm using it as a mobility device. You allow wheelchairs so I wanted to know is this OK? (There was a lot of other stuff that makes me think it was someone fucking with me, but you never know.)<br />
A: Um...sure.<br />
Follow up: I've decided being in a crowd presents an unacceptable risk of injury, so I'm not going to go.<br />
(What I wanted to say): Good luck ever leaving your house.<br />
<br />
Not to mention the event I've been helping run from afar that's in our state. Now, I get that it's their first walk, but it's less than 250 people. So out of all of the questions I expected, I did not expect these:<br />
<br />
Q: What do we do with the leftover t-shirts?<br />
A: Give them to volunteers?<br />
(What I wanted to say): Oh hell, eat them.<br />
<br />
Q: I want to make sure this form's information is correct.<br />
A: It's your city that is permitting the event, so I think you need to ask them.<br />
Follow up: Oh I meant your office address. (Keep in mind we work with their office ALL THE TIME.) I just ended up looking on your website.<br />
(What I wanted to say): This requires true genius, thank you.<br />
<br />
I'll keep you posted on how much hair I have next week. <br />
<br />
PS Ninja edit from today:<br />
Q: I am woefully short of the fundraising needed to win one of the incentive items (since there is no fee to register and this is a fundraiser), do you happen to have any extras?<br />
A: (Truth) No, I don't.<br />
(What I wanted to say): Why yes! I'll take one from someone who *has* done the fundraising. Would you also like your lunch catered at the event? Valet parking?Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-23583566056640563602019-03-25T20:02:00.000-07:002019-03-25T20:02:34.792-07:00Grief sucksA friend of mine who lost his son to suicide posted a single sentence on social media recently: "Grief is a motherfucker."<br />
<br />
This is a not a fun post, it's something I'm writing to get some of this hurt out of my system, because it keeps rolling around in my head.<br />
<br />
As many of you know, I work for a mental health advocacy organization. This legislative session is the busiest one we've had since I started working there, and it's also been the one I've been the most involved with (my boss is our policy guy. I'm still learning.)<br />
<br />
Over the past few weeks, I've helped people draft written and oral testimony about, essentially, how our current mental health system sucks. (Note: no one disagrees with this. No one is boasting about the system we have now; but in true advocacy fashion, no one can agree on where to go from here.)<br />
<br />
And as I've been talking to people who want to make things better - essentially by sharing the very worst things that have happened to them or their loved ones - it isn't lost on me that these people either are or have the family support they need. And I wonder how many people we aren't hearing from, and am all too sure of what can happen to them in a system that sets us up for failure even when we're seeking help.<br />
<br />
My mood crashed a few days into this project and I finally realized it was because 9 months later, I am acutely missing and mourning my friend. I'll call her Leah.<br />
<br />
Like me, Leah was an assault survivor who had PTSD. Unlike me, she had a series of hospitalizations, abusive relationships, and no support to speak of outside of her network of friends.<br />
<br />
If anyone knew how to get help, she did. She was a mental health first aid trainer. She was a peer support specialist. At one time, she worked for me. She was one of the kindest, most selfless people I have ever known.<br />
<br />
Last summer, I sent her and two other friends a group text, telling them I was going to be in their area for work and that we should meet up. Then one of the other two friends called and said he had some bad news.<br />
<br />
Leah died of suicide. We had a safety plan, she had promised to call, text, anytime if she started going into a bad place. The last time she called and left a message - and I will always regret this - I texted her asking if we could touch base another time, since this huge event I was in charge of was happening the next day.<br />
<br />
Me, via text: Is everything ok?<br />
Leah, in response: Yes, everything is great. I'm doing great.<br />
<br />
And a month later, she proved very definitively that things had been anything but that.<br />
<br />
What I'm discovering is that this is an entirely different form of grief than I've ever experienced. My grandmother died last year; nothing could have prevented her death from a brain tumor. My friend Lynne died of cancer that had spread to her bones; same story.<br />
<br />
But I'm convinced that Leah died not because she didn't know how to get help, but because she knew the system so well that she knew exactly what kind of "help" she would get. And she knew it wasn't going to be any help at all.<br />
<br />
I'm told it's irresponsible to write about how people take their own lives, in case someone on the edge gets ideas about how they can try to do that. So let's just say this was not a spur of the moment action. It was well-planned. She left no note, no message, gave no clue anything was not, in fact, great.<br />
<br />
Sometimes you think, working in this field, that you're somehow insulated. Then mental illness takes one of your own and you realize how very helpless things can look.<br />
<br />
All I can think of is that she had no faith that things would ever get better. And that thought was apparently so unbearable that she couldn't find her way past it to the next day, the next month, the next year.<br />
<br />
So grief sucks, but this kind of grief feels like a wound that will never heal. Every time I think I'm as ok as I will ever be, it's like a bandage gets ripped off and I'm bleeding all over the place, needing a tourniquet.<br />
<br />
I read Kim Gordon's book, Girl In A Band (which is excellent by the way), and she was friends with Kurt Cobain from before Nirvana became big. Writing 20 years after his death by suicide, she says, There is no closure, and there never will be. Because someone died young, and violently.<br />
<br />
So I think that's what, after months of grieving, I need to learn to accept. That really, I have to accept something just won't heal.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-36960142699796907192019-03-06T19:16:00.001-08:002019-03-06T19:16:34.232-08:00I miss you peopleI started blogging, in a way, to improve my mental health (e.g. venting.) And I realized after some turbulent times I probably need to go back to it for that reason...and also I miss you people!<br />
<br />
So let's say this...my job is a lot different, but at the same place, so...you guessed it...it's time for a good rant!<br />
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<br />
I am working on more policy stuff, which I love, but still doing events, which I ... you get the point!<br />
<br />
One of these days, I'm going to buy the shirt I've been threatening to make and wear it to my event. And that shirt is going to say one of the following things:<br />
<br />
1. "I'm not your Mommy." Seriously. I have to organize shit for hundreds (and in the case of my biggest event, thousands) of people. Don't ask me at the last minute where the venue is. Or if you can have a meal tailored to the South Beach Diet. Or if I can give you a ride from an hour away.<br />
<br />
2. "Not my problem." In the vein of "oh, my 10 friends forgot to register - and they're right outside! Can I bring them in?" As my father used to say when we were little, "Would you like your answer loud or soft?"<br />
<br />
3. "Here's 50 cents. Call someone who gives a shit." Ok...that one might actually get me fired, but depending on the day, it might be worth it! Case in point today: we get a 1,000 word email (and I am not exaggerating) complaining that the various support groups (which are run by volunteers, and the spaces for which are donated by kind organizations), occasionally change times or locations.<br />
<br />
This person wrote, and I quote, "My mother co-founded a rubber stamp club and in 20 years, they only switched church locations where they meet ONE TIME. They STILL meet on the SAME DAY, at the SAME TIME. Why can't you guys do that?"<br />
<br />
Hmm...ok. We'll assume that a. None of our volunteers ever need to move, change jobs, retire, or have anything go awry in their life or their loved ones' lives. Or simply move on to something else. Also, do you have a 100-year-lease option for free in multiple spaces around the state?<br />
<br />
4. "We're low budget. Very." The beauty of working for a small, grassroots nonprofit and doing fundraising is that you get to put the bulk of the money into programs. The not so beautiful part of being affiliated with a national organization is that people assume we're bigger than we are.<br />
Case in point from last week: "I assumed there would be a van that would be taking people to your event (which is an hour away from where they live."<br />
<br />
Why didn't I think of that? In fact, I should plan to take my work limo to the event. Afterwards, we could go sit in the work lounge. Then drive home in the work Batmobile.<br />
<br />
So what's new with you?<br />
<br />
<br />Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-81071651161233952552018-04-10T17:00:00.003-07:002018-04-11T19:12:01.693-07:00What I wanted to sayDear Tootie,<br />
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<br />
You are no longer suffering, and for that I am grateful.<br />
<br />
I've gone through so many feelings since you left this world Saturday. Grief, relief, rage that you had to go through so much during your 82 years on this planet.<br />
<br />
What I should have said to you is what I have only realized in the past few days: you were brave.<br />
<br />
You raised five children and catered to a demanding, grumpy, negative, and often demeaning spouse for more than 60 years.<br />
<br />
You had one psychotic break and hospitalization after another, one medication failure after another, one that finally worked and had terrible side effects. But you kept going. You didn't give up.<br />
<br />
You didn't give up when the rest of the family felt ashamed of you, hid you during your times of illness. They told us you fell down the stairs again and would be in the hospital again. We worried. We finally figured out they were ashamed of something they didn't understand, something that was not your fault.<br />
<br />
Yet, later on, you were open about living with bipolar disorder, which affected you so much since you got diagnosed so late.<br />
<br />
You were not ashamed. You were strong. You inspired me. I should have said so, and would have said so, but I didn't recognize it until now. I was so focused on being angry at everyone who continued to marginalize you, to fighting for and speaking up for "the cause," that I was blind to what should have been more important.<br />
<br />
It takes an exceptionally strong person to persevere when the people who are supposed to care for you most say they "wish you weren't so weird."<br />
<br />
You weren't weird to me. You made me sugar cookies when I wanted them on a whim. You took one
step at a time with me on the stairs to match my pace, when I was afraid
of falling down them. You told me, when I was upset about my mother getting remarried to an awful man, that it was important that you knew how I felt on her wedding day. No one else wanted to validate a 9-year-old, but you did that for me. <br />
<br />
In fifth grade, I naively asked you for a red velvet pinafore, not knowing your medication made your hands shake. You still made it for me. <br />
<br />
*Ninja edit: Speaking of brave, I just remembered how you chased off a bear from your cabin porch in Minnesota.<br />
<br />
You were just five feet tall, but you said you shook a stick at him, and told him not to come back, and he ran off!*<br />
<br />
You were the only grandparent I connected with. It isn't an accident that you were the first person I hugged. (Meanwhile, I refused to go sit on my grandfather's lap, telling him, "I don't like you!" What can I say, I was born with good people sense.)<br />
<br />
You continue to inspire me not to give up. I have so many more choices than you do. For that I have both gratitude and sadness.<br />
<br />
You lived with so much shit you never should have had to live with, and now you are free.<br />
<br />
I only wish I had told you how strong you were. Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-28314184644695681582018-01-25T14:07:00.003-08:002018-01-25T14:08:24.199-08:00BetterI'm surfacing. 2017 was the most challenging year of my life, and I wanted to thank all of my friends in the blogging community for showing me so much wonderful support.<br />
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<br />
I want to send a message to anyone out there reading this who lives with depression or suicidal thoughts and tell you it gets better. To all of the survivors, you are stronger than your abusers. Getting well and carrying on and healing is the best revenge. It can be dark and horrendous and it can feel like not waking up again is the only way out, but it does get better. I swear. You do not have to die.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, <a href="http://www.namioregon.org/" target="_blank">this organization</a> saved my life. My boss allowed me to keep my job and believed I could recover even when I did not, and when a previous therapist wasn't sure. (Incidentally, note to former therapist: thanks for nothing. I'm stubborn and stronger than I thought.)<br />
<br />
I'm raising money again this year for an event I'm in charge of in May with renewed focus. We never give up hope on anyone. I thank everyone who did not give up on me. If you feel so moved, I would love to have <a href="http://www.namiwalks.org/participant/mlmadison" target="_blank">your support</a>.<br />
<br />
More to come - being able to be upright and go to work every day is a blessing, and there is much going on. I'll visit your blogs soon!<br />
<br />
Thank you all again. I'm so grateful.Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-66082515728344325882017-10-17T12:54:00.001-07:002017-10-17T12:54:43.034-07:00Theft.I keep apologizing for not posting often when I do post, and then feel bad when I don't post, so here it is: I had a traumatic experience in January that basically stole some of who I am. It's hard to do just the day-to-day stuff. It is a slog sometimes to get out of bed and get to work, go to the grocery store, or what have you.<br />
<br />
I'm not sharing this looking for sympathy, but I feel like I need to vent with my thumbs and writing helps. And maybe it will help someone else going through the same thing.<br />
<br />
All trauma is hard to talk about. Some types more than others. Having tried everything else I usually do to try to get well, and having nothing work so far, I started doing group therapy. The second meeting involved check ins, and one woman (everyone in the group is female) said she hates it when people tell her how she is - e.g., you're an angel, you're this, you're that - even if it is meant to be a compliment.<br />
<br />
And the word that came into my mind was theft. We are all in that group because something was stolen, some part of us, that none of us are sure we can recover.<br />
<br />
Some experiences make our brain short circuit. Do a Google search for complex PTSD and see what you think. On the surface, academically, I know this makes sense. I know things take work and effort and time.<br />
<br />
Still, my brain acts up. Why can't I do this on my own? Why can't I cast one day and one night aside as a 24 hours, and move on? <br />
<br />
It is hard not to give up. That is exactly what my boss told me not to do when I burst into tears talking about this a couple of months ago. He is not a really expressive guy but he said, I know this is frustrating. And I know nothing has worked so far. But keep trying. Don't give up.<br />
<br />
I'm trying not to.<br />
<br />
#metooRiot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-55689027017206172772017-08-08T14:59:00.002-07:002017-08-08T14:59:59.033-07:00Cancer, you're a dick.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Dear Cancer,</div>
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Fuck you. With a capital F. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQec_p6gcADi3X8c0PLk1EdghDJoeKIIHPtS7baCD-5SmyYbUB92NX8CrwOji0sKFBGkjOSTi3EZZz1-Je2L0xYaBp38FwSzITdKNVsjWnqjL2_1WuZgKqeqhfkpEEouK4LuAb/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQec_p6gcADi3X8c0PLk1EdghDJoeKIIHPtS7baCD-5SmyYbUB92NX8CrwOji0sKFBGkjOSTi3EZZz1-Je2L0xYaBp38FwSzITdKNVsjWnqjL2_1WuZgKqeqhfkpEEouK4LuAb/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
I get that death is the cycle of life. What I do not get is why, despite pouring billions of dollars into research, we can't eradicate you.<br />
<br />I do not get why you keep robbing us of people suddenly and unexpectedly.<br />
<br />
I understand that death is a part of life. I do not get why you have to come in and swoop down on those who are just beginning a new part of theirs. Like the fates snipping the thread.<br />
<br />
You took someone who spent his entire life providing comfort and a voice for those who are most marginalized. And he planned to do it after retirement, yet you couldn't wait to get your hooks into him.<br />
<br />
I am told anger is part of the grief process. I'm fucking angry. I am also sad, because I emailed someone yesterday about meeting whom I will never meet again - at least in this life. Because having watched other two people very close to me die of your filth, slowly and painfully, and having lost others when I was too young to know what was going on, I just feel helpless.<br />
<br />
I would never wish you on anyone. But why do you go after the saints among us?Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-32209437319705807122017-07-12T14:10:00.002-07:002017-07-12T14:10:25.495-07:00Thanks to strangersSorry to be MIA again. Depression sucks, and it's hard to write when you're depressed. I'm sure a lot of writers get that.<br />
<br />
We lost two people recently who vastly improved the quality of my life, and, I imagine, countless others. <a href="https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation-now/2017/07/10/wonder-why-we-use-ms-one-woman-sheila-michaels-who-revolu/463708001/" target="_blank">Sheila Michaels</a> single-handedly led the campaign to use an acronym/prefix, Ms., that didn't indicate a woman's marital status. I emailed my dad, who is the first feminist I ever met, her obituary and he replied: "Why haven't I heard of her?"<br />
<br />
Like so many others, she was lost to history. I hadn't heard of her, either.<br />
<br />
When I was little, I asked my grandmother, "What does 'ms' mean?"<br />
She replied, "That's if you can't decide if you want to be a 'miss' or a 'missus.'" I found that pretty amusing, but then realize now that in her generation, those were the choices. Period, end of story.<br />
<br />
Sheila Michaels created a movement nothing short of revolutionary - the idea that a woman had an identity outside of her legalized romantic relationships. <br />
<br />
To children's book author <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/06/28/books/michael-bond-dead-paddington-bear.html?_r=0" target="_blank">Michael Bond</a> I owe much. I read the Paddington Bear books as an adult during a time when my world was so stressful and chaotic that I could only handle reading something light and fluffy - or so I thought. There is a gentle humor in these volumes and a deep emphasis on lasting friendship. And, the idea that you can accidentally flood a house, or cover important papers in marmalade and still be loved is a pretty damn decent one.<br />
<br />
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A few months after I started reading those books, I was hospitalized for a week. Paddington - a stuffed one - was the only bit of cheer in my room. <br />
<br />
The Paddington books create a safe, happy place, one that we can sometimes only find in our imagination.<br />
<br />
Distraction can be a lifesaver. I imagine that isn't just the case for me, but for many others. <br />
<br />
Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-43053681383637260872017-05-30T13:36:00.003-07:002017-05-30T13:36:38.240-07:00Love and resistThis is going to be a raw post, because the mood here in and around Portland is raw. Bear with me. I have to get this out.<br />
<br />
How are you? has become a loaded question. No one here is asking, How was your weekend? Because I live near, and work in, a city where senseless hate claimed two lives and impacted so many others last Friday. <br />
<br />
It's not OK. We're not OK. And it feels personal when it happens where you live. <br />
<br />
I rarely get angry, but I am angry. Sad, raw, and angry. It takes the White House until Monday morning, and being nagged on social media by a member of Congress and Dan Rather, to respond and say this is wrong? Any previous president in the past couple of decades would be here, meeting with the families and the survivor, calling for unity and condemning the hatred and violence.<br />
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Not this one. This one had to be badgered into condemning senseless hatred and violence, and even then, didn't respond personally, but did it in a staff account on Twitter.<br />
<br />
This one and his ilk bear responsibility for inciting the hatred and violence that has become a pattern, that has emboldened those want to live in the America of 100 years ago.<br />
<br />
What is heartening is the fact that I believe most of us don't want that. We may disagree politically, but most Americans are, I feel, reasonable. We don't think it's OK to shout racial or religious slurs at teenage girls on the train. We don't think it's OK for people to be afraid just because of the color of their skin, how they choose to worship, or who they choose to love.<br />
<br />
Some people chimed in immediately, saying this guy must be mentally ill. As someone who lives with major depressive disorder and some other things, I can tell you that the overwhelming majority of the time, people living with mental illness are more likely to be crime victims, not perpetrators.<br />
<br />
I saw a great headline from a column: "Racism is not a mental illness."<br />
<br />
It is heartening to see the outpouring of love from the community here. More than $1 million has been raised for the families of the victims; more than $20,000 has been raised for the girls, in case they need mental health and/or counseling services. I know I would.<br />
<br />
So maybe, as John Lennon says, "Love is the answer."<br />
<br />
I say, love and resist. <br />
<br />Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-80659946789356920612017-05-12T14:44:00.002-07:002017-05-12T14:44:31.442-07:00I do not have a fix for you!I've been waiting to do another good rant, and here I go!<br />
<br />
As some of you know, I'm in charge of a several-thousand person event this month. I love my job. I love being paid to agitate at work, and since I work in mental health advocacy, it is a very scary time right now. People are worried that they won't have coverage or won't be able to afford it...don't get me started. <br />
<br />
Anyhow. I do some policy work as well, but the event I am in charge of is the largest mental health event in the region of the country where I live. Our organization is leading the fight to protect coverage and this is a
civil rights issue. However, I do not want to be leading the charge to
be the IT-person-in-chief for all of the people who try to sign up for
this event.<br />
<br />
And apparently there are quite a few people who just realized that 1. the event is in 10 days, and 2. have no computer skills, and 3. don't know how to read, and 4. expect me to fix #2 and #3.<br />
<br />
Bloody hell, people!!! One woman has emailed me literally 20 times, and called two of our organization's offices, trying to fix things on her team page,<i> including her own name</i>, which she misspelled when she signed up. Lady...I do not have a fix for you.<br />
<br />
I have gotten texts about event shirts on weekend nights. I have had my name incorrectly listed in a news article as person who signs people up for this event (I don't - see the part about how we have thousands of people?) <br />
<br />
Here is a typical email: "Do you have five minutes before 11:30 a.m. to help me figure out X, Y, and Z?" (Sent today at 10:55 a.m.)<br />
<i><br />But my favorite email came from someone who asked me for help planning a mental health event to be held on the same day as our event. </i>"It would be great if people from your organization could be there," she wrote.<br />
<br />Yes, really.<br />
<br />
Every previous person who had this position and ONLY did events and fundraising had an assistant. For better or for worse, I have OCD tendencies (yes, that is the official diagnosis), which makes me extremely organized.<br />
<br />
My boss: "You are organized enough that you don't need an assistant."<br />
<br />
Me: <br />
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<br />Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-85959957593771481132017-04-21T16:51:00.000-07:002017-04-21T16:51:13.303-07:00You will not, will not, run my show!Ever deal with a micromanaging control freak who doesn't actually do any work? Wait, that's redundant.<br />
<br />
This is a Seussy ode to one such person who shall remain nameless, except to be known as the Bitch of Vancouver. This person tried to control the seating at an event of mine that she wasn't even attending - the day before it - among other things. Enjoy.<br />
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<br />
Dear Bitchface -<br />
<br />
<i>There is no time for sentiment,</i><br />
<i>You aren't controlling my event!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I'm so tired of your bleating,</i><br />
<i>trying to control the seating.</i><br />
<i>You can't rearrange a chair</i><br />
<i>if you fucking won't be there!</i><br />
<br />
<i>You never do respond</i><br />
<i>until crisis and beyond.</i><br />
<i>You blame things on your staff,</i><br />
<i>but it's really simple math.</i><br />
<i>Your inbox is jam packed,</i><br />
<i>and you really should be smacked!</i><br />
<br />
<i>You're really quite a pain - </i><br />
<i>you point fingers and complain,</i><br />
<i>claiming others shirk, </i><br />
<i>while you don't do any work. </i><br />
<br />
<i>It won't be quite so funny</i><br />
<i>when your group runs out of money.</i><br />
<i>But then you'll probably blame us,</i><br />
<i>throw up your hands, and fuss. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The character that suits you best?</i><br />
<i>The green-faced Wicked Witch of the West.</i><br />
<i>Is it triggered by dementia</i><br />
<i>that you complain in absentia? </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>So go ahead and whine,</i><br />
<i>and if you find this post unkind,</i><br />
<i>I think you're a miserable hag,</i><br />
<i>and I won't be left holding the bag! </i>Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-19031631253147547052017-04-02T00:58:00.000-07:002017-04-02T00:58:15.054-07:00Spring had better fucking springSorry for the long absence. I've been trying to get my life back after something traumatic. I'm involved with another writer, who reminded me that I need to be blogging, so...<br />
<br />
Universe, help me out here. We are living in the apocalypse, and this has been the winter from hell! We have had no sun breaks here in the land of the dark, and vitamin D and intense workouts can only go so far.<br />
<br />
Throw us a bone, will you? I stitched this years ago...it sums up my current attitude.<br />
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In the meantime, I have yet another event coming up and once again, I need a shirt that says, "I'm not your mommy!"<br />
<br />
To wit:<br />
<br />
If you attend my free luncheon, don't complain about the food. It's from a hotel, after all. And, you didn't pay for it, or donate!<br />
<br />
If you sign up for advocacy action, and I let you know the goddamn minute we hear from the Legislature about a hearing, don't complain that you "didn't have enough notice." Particularly if you don't have a job to go to.<br />
<br />
If you want to sell ice cream at my event, get my fucking name right in your email.<br />
<br />
Likewise, if you want to play music at my event, get back to me, or I will book another band.<br />
<br />
This all brings to mind the comment a fellow event manager got a few years ago, letting her know that it "was hot at the walk, and there should be more trees for shade."<br />
<br />
I told her to tell that person, Start planting!!<br />
<br />
I will visit you all very soon. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-6891128931407418792017-01-24T16:22:00.001-08:002017-01-29T23:59:59.129-08:00The winter of my discontentSorry for the absence. I've been drowing in snow and interesting dates. I will visit your blogs very soon!<br />
<br />
I must ask, is it so much to want to meet at guy who doesn't want to pee on me, or want me to call him Daddy?<br />
<br />
So anyhow...our area got socked with more than a foot of snow in one day about 10 days ago. To give you an idea of how unprepared we were, we typically average four inches of snow in a winter.<br />
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<b>Things I have learned regarding snow in Oregon:</b><br />
<br />
1. If you share a driveway with neighbors who have four-wheel drive, they have no fucks to give, and no impetus not to create PILES of snow that trap your car.<br />
<br />
2. It's good to have a shovel. I own one now.<br />
<br />
3. Shoveling snow is a hell of a workout! And it impresses people. One friend from the Midwest said I was a badass...another asked if I stretched first...and another sent me a text warning me of potential muscle, back and heart damage. I told him that I merely shoveled the driveway, I didn't fuck it.<br />
<br />
<b> Things I have learned about dating as a 40-year-old:</b><br />
<br />
1. "I want to be exclusive" right away = "I am needy as fuck and I want to smother you."<br />
<br />
2. "I've gotten kinkier as I've gotten older" = "Please pee on me."<br />
<br />
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3. "Do you want to get married again?" = "I can't be alone. Ever!"<br />
<br />
And, most recently, 4. "I just met this girl I'm going to be focusing on" = "She slept with me on the first date and you wouldn't."<br />
<br />
For those of you who are single... you're welcome ;)<br />
<br />Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-87320007172953177052016-12-31T17:16:00.002-08:002016-12-31T17:18:59.620-08:00Goodbye to all thatDear Dave,<br />
<br />
#Fuck2016 is trending on Twitter, and I agree.<br />
<br />
I can't believe you are in the ground.<br />
<br />
I can't believe you are the second ex from high school who appears to have died of suicide.<br />
<br />
I can't believe we never talked about these feelings of hopelessness. How did we hide them from each other?<br />
<br />
Because I was there too. I wanted things to just stop hurting. I wanted to not feel like I wanted to die anymore. I just wanted the pain to go away.<br />
<br />
Things are far from perfect, but it was worth sticking around. I'm so, so sorry you found it too painful to do so.<br />
<br />
I wanted to lose my virginity to you. We tried, I got too nervous, it didn't work. You were patient.<br />
You never knew about the subsequent assault, in between times we went out. <br />
<br />
I didn't realize how significant a role you played in my healing. You were the first guy I went out with who never pressured me, who let me do things on my terms. I went back and forth on you, I saw other people and then went back to you when I felt like it, and you were always OK with it. And when I decided I wanted to just be friends, you were OK with that too.<br />
<br />
I wish I had known the kind of pain you were in. I wish I could have comforted you. I wish I would have thought to reach out to you and say hello, instead of having you simply occupy a fond space in my memory.<br />
<br />
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Your obituary read, simply, "At peace, in Monterey." I hope so. This song is all I can think of.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-86853575734812126822016-12-12T16:42:00.003-08:002016-12-12T23:15:50.385-08:00Dear potential dates~Dear potential dates,<br />
<br />
I don't remember dating being such a pain in the ass, or perhaps I just have selective memory.<br />
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<i>From our holiday bag project at work...we got 2,000 condoms donated...I love my job!</i><br />
<br />
Here is a list of conditions/dealbreakers I never thought I'd have to make. FYI:<br />
<br />
1. DO NOT request anything involving pee. Ever. Period. I do not have any interest in anything in this area EXCEPT PEEING ON MY OWN, WITH MY DOOR CLOSED, WHEN I NEED TO. Why the hell does this keep happening?! <br />
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2. It's not a moment of brilliance when you feel compelled to say, "I like the woman to have her orgasm first" ... out of nowhere, when we haven't even kissed. (Yes, more than one person has done this.) And...Really? How fucking generous of you! Only one? I have vibrators that can do better than that.<br />
<br />
3. Before you request anal sex, I require you to have experience it first, on the receiving end. Pun intended. Then tell me how you feel.<br />
<br />
4. If I say I don't want to go out again, don't ask me. Especially don't ask me five more times.<br />
<br />
5. If you feel the urge to send flowers to my office after I say I don't want to see you again, refer to condition #4.<br />
<br />
6. Don't ask me about how your dick stacks up to anyone else's.<br />
<br />
7. Really. Don't. Ask.<br />
<br />
8. I told you not to ask.<br />
<br />
9. If you have a stash of Viagra, tell me about it. I date older guys, I get it. There's no shame. Don't spring it on me by surprise and leave me wondering if I'm going to be there for five minutes, and be like, "What?" or an hour, and have to limp home.<br />
<br />
10. Speaking of which, if you need Viagra, FUCKING GET SOME.Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-47336974613672031022016-11-23T11:29:00.000-08:002016-11-23T11:29:21.678-08:00SurfacingThanks to all of my blog and offline friends who have been so supportive during my divorce and the other shit this year. For the handful of people who have simply stopped communicating with me since I announced this, I have no interest in your husbands, you idiots! <br />
<br />
I'm incredibly thankful for all of the rest of you. I wanted to give a shout out to my cyber buddy <a href="https://lovelaughtertruthblog.com/" target="_blank">Matthew Williams</a>, whose online insights on dating and divorce and living with depression have really resonated and gotten me through more than one bad day! Plus he's just a cool guy and good writer. I encourage you to check him out.<br />
<br />
I'm going to try to make the rounds and catch up on your blogs a bit over this post-apocalyptic holiday. I still feel, as one of my colleagues put it, that I woke up next to Rod Serling's corpse.<br />
<br />
Instead of focusing on that, I choose Snoopy. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.<br />
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PS The dating adventures continue...but that's another post. No one else has asked me to give them a blow job while they pee, thank God!<br />
<br />
<br />Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-61096536480358520942016-08-19T12:01:00.001-07:002016-08-19T12:02:51.675-07:00Of warrants, sex toys, and peeingIf you haven't figured it out from the subject line: I went on an online dating website. I wanted to push myself out of my comfort zone and meet new people, because even though I meet a lot of people through work, I don't want to shit where I eat.<br />
<br />
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WENT. As in, past tense. As in...oh holy fuck, I have to get this out of my system and share it with you people.<br />
<br />
First off, sorry for the long absence. Just when I think I am turning the corner from depression this year, I am right back where I started. I really appreciate the support from my friends in blogland who have been checking in on me, especially as I get ready to go over the hill next week. (More on that later.)<br />
<br />
So, I was married for 11 years, and needless to say I'm out of practice at dating. I missed the whole online thing and the smart phone revolution (read: naked pictures) happened while I was married.<br />
<br />
I get that in dating as in life, you have to meet a lot of idiots and creeps before you meet people you like. It's a fucking tall order, trying to find someone who 1. isn't a creep, 2. isn't an idiot, 3. DOESN'T OFFER TO SEND YOU NAKED PICTURES OR ASK YOU IF YOU'D BE UP FOR GIVING HIM A BLOW JOB WHILE YOU PEE. <br />
<br />
Um. WAT. You say? It's true. I had that come up as a "theoretical" question.<br />
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Some of my favorite doozies:<br />
<br />
1. A message from someone who looked at my online profile. "I have no wants or warrants out for my arrest." Oh really? Glad we got that out of the way...<br />
<br />
2. Sexting etiquette. Two people messaged me offering naked pictures "on request," because "I'm a gentleman" and wouldn't send them unsolicited. Oh. My. GOD. How about never? Does never work for you?<br />
<br />
3. People who wax poetic about things like architecture and books in their online profiles, and then message you with questions like, "Are you into anal? How about beads?" Not making this up.<br />
<br />
4. 25-year-old idiots who ignore the age filters. I am turning 40 next week! I am old enough to be your mama!! Not only that, you're probably living in your parents' basement, don't have a car, and won't be any good in bed, because you're 25. End. Of. Story.<br />
<br />
A tip for the uninitiated: women don't ever have to go online for sex. If we ever get truly desperate, there is always an ex or a friend waiting in the wings. And we know better than that anyway. Most of us have invested in products with batteries.<br />
<br />
So there you go. Stay tuned for part 2...because there are more horror stories to make you laugh.<br />
<br />
Hope all is well in your worlds.Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-28055160797456221822016-07-15T13:50:00.001-07:002016-07-15T13:50:08.148-07:00Celebrity fuck your way to wellness!As I've mentioned here I have been in therapy recently. One of the things my therapist recommended was a workbook with some mindfulness skills.<br />
<br />
Even though that was the section I was supposed to read, having OCD, I like to finish things (like books) from start to finish. So I started reading from the beginning of the workbook. Topics included "pleasurable distractions" when moods crash.<br />
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Among these suggestions, and I kid you not...<br />
<br />
"Imagine the top 10 celebrities you want to have sex with. Write detailed encounters." <br />
<br />
Um. Really? As a guy friend told me, "Writing about a fantasy with a celebrity who doesn't know I exist would make me even more depressed!"<br />
<br />
At this point in the book, I wondered aloud, "I wonder if all of the authors are male?" (Yep.) I suppose they could rebrand this book, or at least this section, with "how to use your shitty moods to inspire your hidden talent for writing erotica."<br />
<br />
Now, mind you, the book was worth $11.99 just for the amount of laughter it has generated for me and for friends!<br />
<br />
Another "pleasurable distraction" was to "have sex with someone you are interested in and care about."<br />
<br />
Yeah, if I was that person, that motivation would make me feel good. "Hey, RK! I was reading this psychological workbook and it told me to go have sex with you as a distraction." Goody.<br />
<br />
Or, better, "And I'm choosing you, RK, because the book said to pick you, because I care about you and am interested in you. As opposed to the hot blonde down the street that I'm just screwing for fun." <br />
<br />
How do you distract yourself when you're in a bad mood?<br />
<br />
<br />Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-34210716471684067902016-06-08T22:46:00.000-07:002016-06-09T14:57:35.856-07:00My hometown rape cultureSince the grief, triggering and rage that was Monday, learning about the <a href="http://www.wsj.com/articles/stanford-university-sexual-assault-case-prompts-backlash-1465343570" target="_blank">verdict in the Stanford rape case</a>, I've written and re-written this post in my head.<br />
*A ninja edit: <a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/joe-biden-to-stanford-rape-victim-your-bravery-is-breathtaking-20160609?utm_source=newsletter&utm_content=daily&utm_campaign=060916_16&utm_medium=email" target="_blank">I love Joe Biden!</a>* <br />
<br />
Like millions of other people, the emotional rollercoaster between those three kept going around and around. And I don't want to be silent about it. Not anymore.<br />
<br />
Stanford is in my hometown. The judge that is now up for recall was elected in the county where my family still lives.<br />
<br />
In high school, we were warned not to go to Stanford frat parties because we heard girls got raped there. We stayed away. It didn't protect us.<br />
<br />
Apparently the law still can't, either.<br />
<br />
Even after decades of feminism, of advocacy, of public awareness campaigns, it is being argued that "alcohol and promiscuity" are to blame for a violent crime. <br />
<br />
This rape culture existed in my hometown in the 1990s. Some things, apparently, don't change.<br />
<br />
More even than the ridiculously light six month sentence are the ludicrous objections to any sentence at all by the rapist, Brock Turner, and his family. His father, it seems, is more interested in whining about him being so "depressed" that he no longer craves his favorite steak, than showing any concern whatsover about the woman he treated like a piece of meat.<br />
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This tells us what we have always heard before: <i><b>don't tell. </b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>No one will believe you.</b></i><br />
<i><b>Your name will be dragged through the mud.</b></i><br />
<i><b>It isn't worth it.</b></i><br />
<br />
And our internal voices told us: <b><i>just blame yourself.</i></b><br />
Which is what so many of us have done.<br />
<br />
The longer I am involved in advocacy, the more people come to me and disclose that too many of us - far, far to many of us - have been suffering in silence.<br />
<br />
Brock Turner's father wrote in a letter to the judge that his son would never be the same. Turner himself complained that he had already lost two jobs because of "this." This, bucko, is the fact that you raped an unconscious woman behind a dumpster. Clearly he thought of her as trash.<br />
<br />
Try living with PTSD for 25 years. Try burying things that happened to you when you were 14 because the handful of people you tried to talk to 1. didn't believe you (therapist), 2. couldn't handle it and changed the subject (family), 3. groped you and tried to get it on with you when you just needed a hug (male friend. Yes, really. He's a district attorney in upstate New York now.)<br />
<br />
Try living and reliving this in your nightmares and having lifelong trust issues and only recognizing it now.<br />
<br />
My boss said he hadn't <a href="https://www.change.org/p/california-state-house-recall-judge-aaron-persky?recruiter=1562910&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=share_email_responsive" target="_blank">signed the petition to recall this judge</a> because "it's not here, I can't vote to recall him, so I really can't do anything about it."<br />
<br />
I disagreed. I told him what I thought: expressing outrage, protesting, sends a message around the nation and the world that this is fucking unacceptable. That no one should be afraid of coming forward because they're afraid of being humiliated. That rape is never, never the victim's fault. That it is a violent crime that should be punished like any other violent crime.<br />
<br />
After the triggers, after the hot, angry tears all through my drive home Monday, I decided that I am not going to be silent anymore, in hopes that other people will believe it should be OK to speak up. <br />
<br />
<i>If you or someone you know needs help, call the National Sexual Assault Helpline at 800.656.HOPE (4673.)</i><br />
<br />Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-49726848982911378402016-06-02T16:32:00.002-07:002016-06-02T16:32:31.175-07:00Surfacing to say...Go buy <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GFCWXMO" target="_blank">this book</a>! My friends over at <a href="http://www.abeerfortheshower.com/" target="_blank">A Beer for the Shower</a> have been kind enough to check in on me throughout all of my symptomatic shit, even though they are busy as fuck with their new release, and so I am sending a big hug towards Colorado. (Did I swear enough in that sentence? I fucking hope so.)<br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GFCWXMO" target="_blank"><img alt="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GFCWXMO" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja_RIiC9eTYixs8TDg1SINqs2eeu96vaO2NNwsoI7veL-qwGBg4tLpIRWkjdYh7pyojbSQEt_mUZxcVR9cYlSjcjEbTAHehoTjhtTYlOgVK2v4TbBzjk6Oc9gItDHdrus744IT/s320/51UhIOxZsbL._SX346_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
<br />
Humor is how I get through the day, and it probably saved my life these past few months. And I don't think I know anyone funnier than <a href="http://www.abeerfortheshower.com/" target="_blank">these two</a>. So, Marvin K. Mooney, will you please go now? Go buy this <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GFCWXMO" target="_blank">e-book </a>and they'll send you a signed copy free of charge, because apparently they don't want to make any money. (Hint: you can always buy the Kindle version and offer to pay them for the hard copy.) At $2.99, it's cheaper than a trip to Starbucks, unless you're one of these people who waltz in there and ask for a venti iced water with light ice. (Yes, I have seen people do this.) <br />
<br />
I hadn't planned an extended absence but between getting divorced and my grandmother's cancer, my brain kind of went <i>splat. </i>I'm feeling much more like myself this past week. I found a great therapist who took one look at my intake form and said, "Wow, there's a lot of mental illness in your family, isn't there?"<br />
<br />
Nothing like validation!<br />
<br />
Fortunately, one of the things I live with is OCD, which, no joke, allows for great organizational skills. It allowed me to pull off <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GFCWXMO" target="_blank">an event like this</a> without an assistant, during a week I was debating a trip to the hospital. <br />
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Seriously, thanks to all of you who have been checking in on me during my time of hermiting and licking my wounds. If you or anyone you know needs help, please <a href="http://www.nami.org/" target="_blank">reach out</a>. Help is available. <br />It does get better.Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-74028105635667745642016-04-27T20:50:00.003-07:002016-04-27T20:50:57.572-07:00Words for Wednesday: for realsFirst off, I'm hoping this time around I'm not getting any more lecturers from prudes. Thanks to all of you who supported me during that fuckery!<br />
<br />
This has been a week where I've been presented with situations that cause me to ask, "For real?" (Or more honestly, "Are you fucking kidding me?")<br />
<br />
My ex has a sleep study tonight to see how bad his sleep apnea is. He was given a printed list of instructions of what *not* to do during said study, including:<br />
- Taking sleep aids<br />
- Bringing guests (reminder, this study is done in a sleep lab, not your house)<br />
- Masturbate<br />
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Which means that enough people have done ALL of these things that it necessitates such an instruction list!<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, a friend who is an attorney is banging his head against the wall because a jury is coming out with questions like this: "Was there a dashcam in the undercover cop car that captured the drug sales?"<br />
<br />
Yes, really. I reminded him that dumb people can make it onto juries. Given the current mistrust of law enforcement, he said these days everyone wants to act like they're on CSI.<br />
<br />
Another interesting tidbit: volunteering last Saturday, I saw a guy who I hadn't seen since my first night volunteering back in September. It was good to see him - he said he usually doesn't come on Saturdays, which is the only night I can get out there - because when you don't see people for awhile, you wonder if something bad has happened to them.<br />
<br />
Anyhow, I was wearing a Beatles t-shirt and he said back in 1965, he bought a ticket to see them for $1.50, and decided to skip the concert and go to the beach instead! "And," he said, "I've been regretting it ever since."<br />
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I'm thinking about starting another blog with stories like this from the people I meet volunteering. A lot of people don't think about homeless individuals having stories, lives, etc. It helps take some of the stigma away if you chat with a person. <br />
<br />
So my words for Wednesday are:<br />
Beatles<br />
undercover<br />
instructions<br />
dash cam<br />
ticket<br />
stories<br />
<br />Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-4526922931190624622016-04-20T23:22:00.000-07:002016-04-21T13:31:16.578-07:00Words for Wednesday (idiocy version)I'm sorry to say that event season can be idiot season. Or as a friend says, "I'm afraid I think that every season is idiot season!"<br />
<br />
*A ninja edit for those who feel they need to correct my language. If you can't handle the word fuck, don't visit this blog. I don't appreciate lectures. I'm going through a divorce and have a loved one with terminal cancer, and I am entitled to say fuck, thank you very much!* <br />
<br />
Case in point. Sunday, I get an email from someone that has our 5,000 person event name in the subject line and he says, "Hey, RK! I'll be there. Let me know any details I need to know."<br />
<br />
I thought, since he got my email address from the event website itself, that no one could possibly send an email so moronic...so I asked if he was the one from his organization hosting their table.<br />
<br />
"No, I just plan to show up. What do I need to know? See you there? "<br />
<br />
Yes. Really. Because there are only, like, 12 of us coming.<br />
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Another call. "It says to enter my fundraising goal. What should I put?"<br />
<br />
Maybe I should give you 50 cents to call someone who gives a shit?<br />
<br />
In addition to being the IT whisperer, I am also expected to be the idiot whisperer.<br />
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Then my least favorite person in the organization (and we have about 2,000 members in our state, so that is saying a lot) keeps calling and emailing with questions like, "Can you send me the direct link that shows this information?" (Tip for the uninitiated: he created the link.)<br />
<br />
So my words are:<br />
Idiocy<br />
Fuck<br />
Platypus (someone else suggested that while I was typing. Please don't fuck platypus.)<br />
Painful<br />
Crying<br />
Fuckery (this shit deserves two fucks, methinks.)<br />
<br />
Have fun. <br />
<br />
PS I will visit blogs as soon as the fuckery dies down a bit.<br />
<br />Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-54585814158357573212016-04-13T15:15:00.002-07:002016-04-13T22:17:18.955-07:00Words for Wednesday (annoyed version)Hello! First of all, I *love* all of the contributions from last week! I'm still catching up on blogs and will check out the ones who posted on your own pages. Once again, I am taking over for the wonderful Sue of the <a href="http://myjustsostory.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Elephant's Child blog</a>.<br />
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And just for the hell of it, because it made me howl with laughter and prompt a family member to see what the hell was going on, I'm including this amazing illustration from my friend <a href="http://shewhoseeks.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">She Who Seeks</a>' blog post about Bunnies Behaving Badly. Don't you wish there was a Little Golden Book like this when you were growing up? Maybe I'll write one. <br />
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My words this week are ANNOYED. Because, once again, it's event season. Did I mention that I am the first person in this role who does not have a full-time assistant (no assistant at all, actually) for this event? Which is the largest one in our field of advocacy in our state? OCD works for me! Seriously, I told my boss everyone who has this job in the future will require that (my) diagnosis to get all of the details taken care of.<br />
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Some of the things going on daily...<br />
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1. People who have no business trying to register online expecting me to be their personal tech guru. Use a fucking paper form! Really, this is an option! You don't have to join the 21st, or even 20th, century for this event.<br />
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2. Said people bitching about why we can't make the website easier, telling me how they loved the last website, when they bitched about the last one too!<br />
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3. The same people emailing all of their team members about me, telling them I'll fix any technical support issue they have.<br />
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I truly love advocacy work, and I don't mind the fundraising. But for the love of God, I'm not IT!<br />
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So here are my words for Wednesday:<br />
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Shoo<br />
Irritable<br />
Bother<br />
Whine<br />
Voodoo<br />
Scream<br />
Fuck<br />
Off<br />
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I am allowed six to a dozen, so there you have it. Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-15506744356553514472016-04-06T12:27:00.002-07:002016-04-06T12:28:21.055-07:00Words for WednesdayHello! I'm at least temporarily out of my cat cave. I'm sorry for the absence and will visit your blogs soon.<br />
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My good friend Sue at the <a href="http://myjustsostory.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Elephant's Child</a> blog passed the torch on to me for Words for Wednesday.<br />
The skinny: I give you words, you run with (and write with) them if you so choose.<br />
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This has been a trying time, so I am choosing words that represent things I take solace in:<br />
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Coffee<br />
Profanity<br />
Cats<br />
Flowers<br />
Cards<br />
Writing<br />
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I look forward to seeing what you come up with!Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36472527.post-50382729988595199822016-03-16T13:00:00.000-07:002016-03-16T13:00:00.101-07:00Sure, buy me a muffin. Who are you?Is it me, or is way too much texting done for work these days?<br />
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As a general precaution I sometimes exchange cell phone numbers with people in case something comes up DOE.<br />
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But it's a bit weird to get a text like this, from an unknown number:<br />
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"Sorry about all the emailing you had to do to make sure I had the right time. Will make it up to you Friday. Will BUY YOU A MUFFIN!"<br />
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Really? How about telling me who the hell you are first? And...who capitalizes muffin? Ever?<br />
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It's just about event time, which means 1. I will have PMS that week, and 2. I start to get unreasonable requests.<br />
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I got this meal request from someone the other day:<br />
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Mind you...she has come to this event every year for the past 8 years and had no restrictions. Also, what is with the "no soda or chocolate or MSG?" Does she think we're going to force feed her soda and chocolate Chinese food? Just curious.<br />
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Update: Today, she called to un-RSVP. In lieu of attendance, she wants me to write up a synopsis of what each speaker says. Since we're going to have 300+ guests, that should be no problem, right?<br />
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Anything ridiculous going on in your lives?Riot Kittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725825736285347870noreply@blogger.com22