2008-05-29 - 12:31 a.m.

IT'S BEEN A WHILE

Hiya. Wow. Haven't been here in a bit.

This is gonna be one of those random entries because I have too much to tell you and not enough wits to sort it out. I'll just throw out everything good and hope I get it all out there before my fingers cramp up.

I seem to have screwed it up for myself here in telling just a few real-life folks about my diary. See, unfortunately for me, those few folks happen to be the very ones I currently want to talk about...so I can't! Suffice to say, a lot's happened, and I expect more. Eventually.

So. What's doing tonight? That I can actually discuss? Well, there's this: my ex is here. Again. I'm glad he feels comfortable coming over here, as he used to not come over at ALL and virtually abandoned his children for 4 years, and being that he isn't drinking and is spending quality time with the boy right now playing a dice game in the kitchen, I can't complain...except there's just this one little problem: dude is hitting on me.

Now, there was a time, about three months after I left this man waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back in December '03, that he managed to finagle his way back into my pants for a twenty minute trampoline romp...but that was before his foray into skank hoes and IV drugs. That was before he showed me who he *is*, or, who he can become under duress, and it turned me permanently, irreversably OFF. There is no way, no how, no NUH UH that this man could ever, under any circumstances, even employing the use of any and all available drugs and potions, get into my pants again. Or get a kiss out of me, even. It's deader than Orson Welles. There's nothing. I mean *nothing*. So having him hit on me is horrifying. It feels like...being approached by one of my uncles. I don't consider my ex as an uncle by any means, but it's the same kinda creepy I'd feel if one of my jolly old unks were to get too close or make an inappropriate suggestion. Luckily, I feel no fear when in his presence, and I easily, handily and without guilt shut him right down, eeach and every time he attempts some shit. Still ...Eeeeeccchhhh. He's in my house, and he keeps coming over...and he apparently is, in his normal fashion, refusing to see or accept the very, very obvious: He ain't getting any. Not tonight, not EVER. If he touches me while I'm sleeping, I swear to God, I will beat him down. Have bat. Will maim.

So there's that. Second on my list of important items to blurt is this: Rhonda. I've told you about Rhonda in entries past. In a nutshell, she's a fellow disc jockey who sees other women in the business as threats. When we began working together I tried to befriend her to show her that we're not adversaries but BUDS, only to find that she is one of those people who you cannot avoid offending. One of those people who spontaneously become angry at you for some perceived injustice you inflicted upon them. In Rhonda's head, everyone she knew was out to get her, nobody reallllllllllly liked her, and she was constantly being treated like a second class citizen. The truth of the matter was, Rhonda picked fights with everyone, was combative and difficult, and lived a self-fulfilled prophecy in that, by the end, everyone had been alienated by her and was glad to see her go.

I was really sick last week, and so on Thursday and Friday, did the bare minimum and then went home where I curled up and tried to die. During this time, all hell broke loose with Rhonda and she managed to get herself fired. Imagine my surprise when I found out the reason for her epic meltdown was me.

In short, Rhonda resents me. She's been complaining to several people, for months, about how unfairly she is treated in comparison to how I, the Golden Child, am treated. She would rant to the production director, who would then come and filter the information to me, that Rhonda was annoyed by how much money I make (??), what time I arrive and leave, and all manner of things related to me. On this particular day, Thursday, someone mentioned aloud that I was sick and that he thought he'd call to see how I was feeling...and that sent Rhonda into a wild, career-ending, yeti rage. In essence, the coworker's concern over me was the last straw for "Rhonda", and she went on a tear complaining to all who would listen that SHE had been sick all week, yet MYRA was home, recuperating while SHE worked and suffered. That SHE was treated like a redheaded stepchild while MYRA was draped in silks and handfed grapes.
That it was unfair, that I am a diva, that everyone is lodged in my ass, and that SHE wasn't given equal consideration now or ever.

The truth is, Rhonda didn't tell her boss she was ill, and ask for time off. Her boss hates her, but he'd have let her off, had she asked.

Rhonda's a very good classic rock disc jockey, and knows her stuff and sounds smooth, knowledgable and reasonably clever...but she cannot write her way out of a wet paper sack, and couldn't create a successful commercial if her life depended on it. Her reads sound like JUST THAT, her production know-how is nil, and I can run big fat circles around her sedentary ass all the live long day with my eyes shut and both hands superglued to a concrete buddha. I am better than Rhonda, and Rhonda knows it, and Rhonda hates it and wishes I would die. And while I wheezed and coughed and hacked my phlegm-y way out of hell, Rhonda made these feelings known at work, and people shared the information, and Rhonda got angry that people were talking about her and she blew up and her boss, whom I have talked out of firing her THREE TIMES, saw the golden opportunity to be rid of her cantankerous old ass and finally did the deed, all while I was gone...and all because Rhonda hates that I exist.

Normally, I sympathize with Rhonda, no matter how ridiculous her shit gets, because she's been dealt a rough hand...but I got angry when I thought about how she's been dragging her bitter old crevasse from room to room bitching about me when it is ME who has repeatedly urged her boss to keep her the many, many times he's wanted to cut her loose and fleshy, pelican's gullet.

Yeah, I'm pissed. She earned it. Congrats Rhonda, your fantasy came true. Serves you, Timer. Now get to hankerin' for a hunk of government cheese.

Damn. If I leave that, there'll be karma. It's just too harsh.

I'm leavin' it. It's just too funny.

Holy lord. My ex just ambled in here and actually proposed that he sleep in my bed with me. Talkin' bout, "I'll only take up this little slice", and "I won't touch you". WTF????????????? I just laid it out for him real clear: THAT SHIP HAS SAILED, AND YOU WILL NOT ENTER MY ROOM OR YOUR KNEECAPS AND ADAM'S APPLE WILL BE CRUSHED TO A MEATY CHUM.

As IF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am too appalled to sleep.

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