A is for Awkward Fracktard: Adventures in Introverting

So the other day some old bosses of mine were visiting the building I work in. I recognized one because I see him all the time. But I spent possibly five minutes talking to him without recognizing the other boss. On top of that, there was the handshake hug. You know the thing I’m talking about: where you shake someone’s hand and lean in to give them a pat on the back? Yeah, we kind of danced back in forth over whether to do a handshake or handshake hug. It was awkward. That will bother me for the rest of my life! I am sitting here berating myself for not recognizing my one boss, and giving awkward handshake hugs. Algnakjbvfjb njlfznvl!!! Grrr! Argh!

I’ve taken the MBTI a couple of times (google it if you’re confused, I’m not here to teach you stuff). I’m an INTJ with a severe introvert slant. Because of the military and my job I’ve learned to be in an extrovert’s world. Extroverts, your world sucks! It sucks big blue donkey balls covered in ice cream that I can never eat, because it was on donkey balls. I hate socializing, except with a small group of friends I know, I hate public speaking, but am for some reason drawn to it. And I hate, HAAAAAATE small talk because I sound like a robot who took robot crack.

So on top of my being an awkward fracktard at work, I get invited out. It’s not going out and partying all night long in some dark sweaty place of hedonism (I have to have many adult drinks to survive such a place). Nope, a friend invited to his friend’s place, where people would just chill and talk and sip wine. At first glance that sounds great! I mean, no worries about being in a crowded bar/dance club? Cool. Then I thought about it. Oh dear lord, people I don’t know, and I have to smile and talk to them. And since I’m driving, I can’t even imbibe my liquid courage!

I stayed home and play PC Hidden Object Games on my computer with my bottle of Riesling  Yes, that is how I spent my Saturday night. So what!

I get called out for being mean looking. You know why? Because when I walk down the hallways of my job I either go with A: ignoring everyone, or B: trying to do a fake “hi, how ya doing” smile. The problem is, for some reason my fake smile looks unsettling. I don’t think I’m at Dexter mass murdering level smile yet, but from what I hear, its creepy. I wish I could see it. I’ve tried to re-create it in my mirror, but it doesn’t work. Maybe I could scare away clowns with it. I know it even scares my son. He says I do it when I’m really mad sometimes. Pfft.

What was I rambling about? Oh yeah, introverting. You know where its worst for me? Shopping. I’ve become quite the adept online shopper, from deployments where you had to get everything mailed in, and stateside because I hate going to the store. Case in point: Walmart on a Saturday. See, this was part of the reason I was already too drained to do nothing but drink wine and play video games. I forgot it was Saturday and went to Walmart. Oh god. Oh dear baby Hay-soos in Heaven with a sombrero. It was a madhouse! A madhouse of ghettoness. Of roly poly bodies of all nationalities excreting their trailer park and welfare-edness all over the place. Why is that little girl half-dressed and rolling on the floor?! Why is that man riding a children’s bike down the aisles when he is clearly over 300 pounds and we are in A FRACKIN STORE!!! My son laughed as I started to daggone near hyperventilate. By the time we got back to the car, I was catatonic, muttering to myself “Never go to Walmart on the weekend,” over and over.

Good thing my favorite holiday is coming up: Halloween! Yay! See, when you dress up in costume, you’re another person, so you don’t have to be your regular awkward scaring others self. Or at least that’s what I’ve tricked my brain to believe. I swear, I need a job where I can dress up in costume every day. No clowns or furries though. *Shudders*


Punch a Clown in the Face & Other Phobias

Stephen King’s It was the first story, movie and written, that got me into Stephen King and adult horror books. I think I was about ten or so. Saw the movie first and then went to the library to rent out the book. This series also solidified the creepiness of Clowns. Pennywise is still forever more the scariest clown in the history of the world.

I hate clowns. But that phobia is kind of normal. I mean, who actually likes clowns? They have fake painted faces, always smiling, laughing for no reason, making you try to laugh with them. Who does that?! Clowns do. They’re unsettling little bastards that do not seem human once they have all the clown makeup and gear on. They also have a habit of messing more with the people who aren’t smiling. Guess who that is? Me. Yes, me. And I can’t give them a fake smile because all I can think about it that as soon as I start to trust them a butcher knife is going to come out of the folds of their costume and they will proceed to chop me into little pieces.

The other thing that unsettles me kind of connects to the clown issue: furries and full costume wearers (like the Mickey & Disney characters). Seriously, I refuse to ever go to Disney World. I have the money saved, I love amusement parks, but heck to the naw. Those beasts are running all around the park, the commercials say so! And THEIR fixed smiles and big gloved hands are going to come towards me, ready to touch me, and I will ACT A FRACKIN FOOL. One of my jobs once called for me to be around a mascot for an amount of time. Even though I knew who was in the costume, they knew that once the head was on to stay far away from me. Or they may not walk away with their twigs and berries un-kicked.

What else unsettles dimensionthe5th? Glad you asked: birds. Yes, all kinds of birds. Except penguins  They’re cool. But especially ducks and geese. There’s these gangster geese at the lake by my mother’s house that like to try and attack me when all I’m trying to do is sit out on the porch and inhale some nicotine while reading a book. Birds plot, you can tell… that’s why you’ll be minding your business far away from them and they will find you and poop on you anyway. I think it’s between dolphins and birds that one of those devious animals will try and take over the world from humans one day. In case you didn’t know, I’m convinced dolphins are shady bastards.

Last but not least, I do feel bad about this one, because these people can’t help it, but midgets freak me out. I don’t know if it was Oompa Loompas at an early age or something else that makes me feel skittish around little people, but I’m just… I don’t try to, and I think I hide my feelings pretty well, but I’m just ready to run when I see someone of the shorter stature. It doesn’t help that my weirdest and scariest dreams feature evil midget monsters. That and monkeys, but the monkeys are usually on my side.

What does that all tell you? I watched too many horror movies and read too many Stephen King books as a young kid.

This Generation of Punks, Crybabies, and Murses

When you pass your ten-year mark in the military, you’re considered old school. The military ages you. You can be a young 30 something like me, but feel like you’re 50 sometimes. It’s the hurry up and wait life, it’s the constant moving, constant change. And when I first joined, September 11th hadn’t happened. I joined knowing that there was the chance for war, not that it was going to happen so soon. But it did, and I did my times in those sunny beaches with no water, and possibly will do it again before retiring.

But the new guys coming in… the guys and gals around my young siblings ages. Just out of high school or even college. There’s not that many years difference between us, but mentally there’s a swamp with crocodiles.

I’m in a teaching position. You know the school that the basket weavers go to after their initial military training (basic training, boot camp, the time in Hell, or whatever else you want to call it)? Yes, I teach how to weave the basket. And so I have students. Now granted I just moved and am new, so I’m only assisting, but I do interact with them. And this is the thing that gets me: within a week, we had about 5 students break down into tears/ nervous breakdowns.

Let me go back. I went through initial military training when the older guys were already complaining that it was too easy. Drill instructors/Sergeants/whatever weren’t allowed to curse at us. I found it easy. Maybe because I was a military brat from a military family. Maybe because I already knew that it was just a big game that I had to play. Nothing ever made me cry. I laughed when I got dropped and made to do push-ups. The only thing that scared me was my Drill Sergeant threatening to bring in her big dog to chase me because I kept failing my run time.

But today’s kids… and yes, I call them kids, are weak. They are big crybabies. They believe everything should be handed to them, and everything is owed. That it’s a parent’s job to let them live in their home long past the age of 18, and go into debt paying their school bills. Everything should be fair in their world. Even if they do average, they expect to be treated as if they’ve done the best. Sensitive is in, and so is the color pink for boys. Men wear murses. And tight pants. And put more gel in their hair than me. Can you tell I do NOT like the feminization of men yet? Spanking is now abuse, and can get you sent to jail. Instead, put a leash on your child like they’re a frackin pet to keep them from running away. Blame their ADHD, the teachers, what’s on TV, superstars even for why your child grows into a total absolute douche bag of fun and love. Treat bullies like they are a new thing and must be eradicated. Instead of helping your child grow by facing their fears, whether it’s a fight after school or just playing outside on a warm day with nothing but they great outdoors… teach them it’s ok to sit in their room texting with horrid English or playing video games.

My younger troops whine about being made to get up early. They whine about having extra duty. Dude, complain when you have to paint rocks or pick up trash all around base! I had a troop take a knee after only standing in formation for a ceremony about 10 minutes. O_o That boggles my mind when I remember practicing for a whole day and more standing in formation for a ceremony that would last an hour-plus the next day. In the hot sun. With no breaks. Let’s not mention the time a guy puked from partying too much the day before right in formation. Nope, still can’t move. Ugh.

We’ve got a bunch of punks growing up.. And you are letting it happen. Heck, in fact, you ARE the problem. STOP IT! You know, having rules is not a bad thing. Tough love does not have to be a whooping with an extension cord. I’ll be good gosh darned if I let my son wear the pants in my household. Nope. I’m disgusted. Can’t even talk about it anymore. Can’t even make sense. Blech.

Diary Entry 42.0000A: Internet Rule 34 and the Dirty Fanfiction Addiction

This post is a confession.

I’m addicted to reading. It’s a healthy addiction I think. I read alot of books, mostly urban fantasy and horror. But there’s a seedy underbelly of my healthy addiction. It happened when I stumbled upon fanfiction.

It was around 2002-3 timeframe. Buffy was in its 6th season I believe. And I just wanted more in the story-line about Spike. Because Spike was hot. You know, they showed a lot of James Marsters’ skin the 6th and 7th season. Nummy. Siiiigh. Ahem, anywhoo, I wanted more with my characters. So I’m spending the military’s money cruising the internet at work, looking for stuff on Buffy (you know, like little tidbits, maybe some spoilers, pics of J. M. with his shirt off and such) and find this website with stories. Huh?

Is this… heaven?

It was a frackin ultimate high.

It was like… remember the What If Marvel Comics? I still have somewhere one from right after the Phoenix Saga. It was taking your favorite characters and continuing the story, or changing it so that what you wanted to happen, happened! It was GREAT!

And then… I found the dirty stories. Of course I did. And hey, my mind is already pretty perverted, but now, where in Season 6 when Buffy and Spike first get all HBO on the screen and it fades to black, now, I had the full story! This was back before I had my own computer and there was such a thing as the government blocking sites or monitoring a regular office’s computer (or I think, no one ever said anything to me, so meh). So I would read all day long. I would print off some chapters to a long fic I was reading, and take it back to my barracks room to finish. I read through the daggone internet all the Buffy fanfic that I could get my hands on until… I couldn’t find anymore to read. It was like, my crack ran out. Sure there were still some stories here and there, but not enough to feed my beast. People weren’t writing fast enough. I’m a frickin speed reader and they weren’t producing! So… I left it for a while… breaking myself away from the addiction.

Until… I started getting into Naruto. Yes, Naruto. Hey, I’m not sure where in the timeline of my life this is, but I know it had to be about 2003 or later because there were already tons of Naruto episodes out. I remember visiting home, and my young sister going on and on about this silly ninja cartoon that she loved. Now, I remember watching Sailor Moon as a younger dimensionthe5th, an even watching a couple of episodes here and there of Pokemon with my siblings (and remember, I can’t watch the first Pokemon movie ending without shedding a tear). But this, this was straight up anime, and I wasn’t THAT kind of geek yet. Until, I sat and watched a couple of episodes. And saw the character Kakashi Hatake. And by then I had my own computer, and I searched… for fanfiction. Oh dear baby Jesus.

It was the super high all over again, and I hid my addiction because who wants to admit to reading dirty stories about cartoon characters? Ha… there’s many on the internet because there are huuuuuuge fanclubs. I even felt bad sometimes watching the show, getting my memories all mixed up, trying to think “Did Kakashi really do that in the anime? Um, no, because only in the fanfiction world would he do that with Sakura because they aged her up.” And after Naruto, I realized there was fanficition for almost any tv show, anime, any book, move, heck even pop stars! Even my beloved X-men characters. Storm and Wolverine definitely should’ve gotten together. The fanfics SAY SO! The writing was sometimes really good, sometimes written by a 13-year-old that obviously never had kiss let alone understood that nookie just did. not. work. that. way.

And let’s not even talk about the male pregnancy fics. What in the blue blazes O_o ?

My son and I are watching Firefly now (well, I’m re-watching). And my laptop is there. My fingers start a-googling. There’s fanfiction. What if Mal Reynolds had a thing for crazy River? Hmmm. *saves link to Mal/River stories, while checking to see if any new Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark stories were written recently*

I still say it’s a better addiction than most. I mean, this is my brain on fanfiction. Slightly more perverted than normal. Okay, I’m lying, my pervertedness is over 9,000 with a cherry on top. Not because of the internet. That just enhanced it.

Don’t look at me like that. What’s your favorite character, book or show? I dare you to search for some fanfiction for it. Double dog dare you.

Customer Service People Nowadays are like a 3-legged Dog Blowing Bubbles out of its Butt.

Exactly what the title says.

You know, the world is supposed to be a whole lot easier now that we can order pretty much anything online right? WRONG you son of a donkey! WRONG.

So, I went to a couple of different furniture dealers in the new area I live, and they didn’t have the exact furniture I had in mine. And yes, I’m picky, picky as all heck when it’s what I want in my home. So a friend (who shall remain anonymous) told me of an online store he found. Said it seemed legit. Famous Last Words.

Well, first, after ordering, I contact the company because after 2 weeks my order says still pending. Come to find out, apparently only in their own little world your billing address HAS to match your shipping address. I have never heard of this before, and I am an online shopoholic. I mean, what if you’re buying a gift for someone. Yes, a gift of 2 bedroom sets. And a dining room table. It could happen.

So we fix that and it takes a week to finish. And let me say that although I had to change my bank information, they had already taken the thousands of dollars for my purchases. I probably should have just cancelled then. But I’m stubborn. And I wanted the exact furniture I paid for. So I stuck through it.

And so the day before I receive a call that they’ll be able to deliver the next day between 4 and 7pm. Weird times to me, but okay. And so day of, I leave work, sit in my house, and make sure everything’s out of the way. And I sit. And sit. And sit. Until at 615pm I start calling the company. No one answers. I leave a message. I go online. Leave a message there. I keep calling back and leave a message with Sales, Customer Service, and the General Mailbox. No answer. No answer. No answer.

730 rolls around and everything I planned to do AFTER the delivery is shot. But I get a phone call. And really, I can barely understand the guy, and I’ve lived in another country for the past 4 years! “Ms. dimensionthe5th, we are on our way. We hit traffic.”


“Um, yes. Was the traffic so bad that you could not dial my number until now?”

“Uh, uh… unintelligible gibberish.”

“Fine. When will you be here?”

“About 45 minutes.”

They arrive at 9:30. I guess they can’t count so good either. They seriously take until 1130 to finish, and then, theeeeeeeen, these son of a monkey’s donkey have the nerve to tell me I can put the knobs on my dresser and chest myself. I did a stare. A stare that means I am slowly peeling the skin from your body inch by inch with a rusty knife dipped in a mad cow’s butthole.

They then finish putting on my knobs and leave the house.

Me and my teenage monster do not get to sleep until after 12, and we have work and school the next day. Right now, I’m thinking of making voodoo dolls. It’s been about a week. I don’t think anyone can track it back to me. Maybe.