pudding

i had the morning from hell. lucky for me it got better as the day went on. so this morning i got up early for my very first appointment with my new shrink, i follow the directions given to me by yahoo maps and still manage to get lost. by the time i am already ten minutes late for my appointment i pull off onto a side street and call the number i have for his office. the number is not the direct number so it connects me to an automated messaging system. suck. so i press a few numbers and finally get a hold of a real live operator. at this point i think things are looking up. well, the operator is a raging cunt. i gave her the first name of the women i was told to call regarding my appointments. she doesn't know anyone's first name and asks for her last name. i don't know her last name. she asks for her extension number. i don't know her extension number, and if i had i damn sure would have punched it in five minutes ago when the automated service asked for it. she then has the balls to say to me, "well if you don't know her last name, and you don't know her extension, how am i supposed to help you?" now the bitch has pissed me off, i'm already angry that i'm late, that my driving instructions were unclear, that i'm lost, and now i'm pissed that this woman is giving me shit. tell me people out there in internet land, what office in which a shit ton of people work, each having their own extension, does not give every employee with access to a phone (most importantly secretaries and operators) a list of employees including their first and last names, department and extension number? i know that in the larger places i've worked there was a sheet like that posted by every phone. so i'm pissed now and sensing that she is going to be no help in getting me to speak to the person i need to speak to i switch gears. maybe you can just tell me how to get your office. she asks what street i'm on and i tell here, to which she responds that she is in no way familiar with the long beach area. i shake my head. she then asks me if i'm near a freeway (which is the most retarded question ever because i am lost somewhere in the middle of long beach, of course i'm somewhere near a fucking freeway), but i humor her and say yes. she then asks which freeway i am near, and i'm pissed off enough that i have completely forgotten where the hell i am. i hang up and throw my phone in the backseat. dumb cunt. so i decide to say fuck the whole damn thing and just go home. not exactly. i get lost on my way home, but eventually make it because all roads lead south, and thusly home. i get home and am climbing out of my car and i am so pissed off i am falling all over myself on the way up the stairs. it feels like i'm drunk, that's how fucking angry the whole thing made me. anyway, the point of that dumb story is this: i can't believe that someone who deals with mental health patients on a daily basis would be such a douche bag. i would be nice as fuck simply because there is no way of predicting what kind of fucked up psycho is on the other end of the line, lucky for the both of us i am only a moderately fucked up psycho. not that i didn't want to stab her in the eye with a fork. because i totally carry one around just for that purpose. ok, fine, i don't carry a fork, but maybe i should start. i'd even tape the handle and write "for dumb cunts" on it. at any rate i cried my little eyes out over the whole thing and then laid down on the couch until i felt it was safe to move. i then tried to make myself happy by getting a caramel javalanche and two chocolate chip muffins. i also made an appointment to get my hair done on monday, i'm going to have it dyed teal with blue streaks, i got the idea from a wall mural. i'm now sitting here burning my guts out. people are fascinated by my mak ryden tattoo, i was asked if various people could see it three times in twenty minutes today, very weird. it's a great piece though. it's a hoot. hoot. hoot.