A couple months ago, while driving into work, I came over a hill and saw some glittering blue and green near the road. As I got closer it wasn’t near the road but on the road. There used to be two peacocks that would wander around in the woods that lined the highway. One of them was killed and the colorful bump in the road remained. I nearly cried as I passed it, considering pulling over and trying to get the corpse off the road.

There are very few things in life as beautiful as a peacock. On one was killed on that dreary road. The other I have not seen since.

And this makes me sad sometimes.

And every day I am thoroughly disappointed with my day.

I think I need a new job. Somewhere else to work, cause I’ve really truly had it with this place… and most of the people.

Realistically, it doesn’t matter. Don’t bug me. I’m really not in the mood. And now in order to make myself feel less homicidal… I will eat Cadbury Creme Eggs. *sigh*

Sorry to interrupt your normally schedule program, but there’s a Newsflash!

Ooooohhhhh! That’s right. It’s not my purpose in life.

There’s a 22 year old… person of the male gender… here at work. I’ve given him the petname of Tard amongst friends and those I trust, but occasionally I slip and say it outloud to anyone, regardless of whether I trust you to know that the sky is blue, and the sun will rise (it’s a big secret, don’t tell!). One of these completely untrustworthy folks decided to tell the Tard’s mom that I “pick on him.”

Last I checked, bully’s actually have to, oh, I dunno, bully someone in order for it to be considered “picking on.” I don’t even talk to the Tard. After the things that came out of his mouth regarding my ass, tattoos (that are NOT placed in highly visible areas of skin), and various other body parts, I simply didn’t speak to him. He’s not an actual employee of the hospital, so a sexual harassment report might not have done any good because, well, he’s not an employee. Though I guess I could have reported it to the people he is getting his paychecks from. Regardless. I choose not to speak to him. I asked the person who overseas his department to speak to him, and this means that I’ve been “picking on him.”

Other co-workers are being asked to rally around the Tard and “stick up for him” when I go on my tirade of meanness and I simply can’t resist picking on him.

Tard’s mom is a pretty cool person. We get along, and I have no issues with her. She came, she confronted, I explained and by the time I was ready to walk out the door to head home, she gave me a hug. I didn’t hold back and I explained to her that I don’t like him. He creeps me out. He says terrible things that you “expect if I worked in a bar, but since I don’t, it’s inappropriate and he shouldn’t say it. Ever.” Her reasoning?? “But it’s because you’re pretty.”

I don’t care. I really don’t care. Actually, I really don’t fucking give a shit what his “reason” for talking about my ASS at work is… he simply… shouldn’t.

“But he’s just a kid.” No. No he’s not. He hasn’t been a kid for a few years.

Apparently, it’s not only my job to make him feel better about his inability to communicate like an adult to other adults in a professional environment, but it’s also the job of my co-workers to stand up for him when I’m not doing my job.

Next time someone comes up to me about how I’m “picking on” the Tard, I’m going to tell them to eff the hell off. Next time Tard’s mom decides to try to confront me, she’s getting a rude awakening to the reality of her son. I’m getting tired of this bullshit, and I’m tired of that little fuckface getting to say whatever the fuck he wants about me, my ass, and my NON-PUBLIC tattoos, then I get to choose to NOT speak to him, and call him whatever I want in the comfort of my friends.