Friday, June 7, 2013

I'm not crazy. A lunatic, you betcha'.

Dedicated To: Katie Baroni Lassley

My blog title, "The Everyday Ramblings of a Lunatic Housewife" could not be a more accurate description of who and what I am. 

First of all, I'm quite capable of rambling on for what I'm sure seems like an eternity to some about an ingrown toenail or the amount of rust on my front door vent.  Why do I do this?  Perfect segue into the fact that I've been diagnosed as certifiable, or to place a gentler term on my condition, Bipolar.  I have also, for the sake of raising my two adopted, special needs boys, given up my place in the business world to stay at home and raise them.  Do I regret this final decision?  Honestly, some days I do.  Being alone with a crazy lady who laughs mercilessly as she vacuums up dust bunnies and answers her own questions can be disconcerting at times; however, I love to dance and there's no one to mock my lack of rhythm when I turn the music up.

Prior to and during the adoption process of our children, I was a Human Resource Supervisor at a large national health insurance company in California.  My work consisted mainly of maintaining Web content for the company's employee HR site and overseeing/implementing a new systems' process for resumes and new hire documentation.  It was exciting and interesting work and I loved what I did. 

When I was hired six years earlier, I was an entry level file clerk who didn't know how to turn on a computer.  I worked my way up and soaked up all the knowledge I could.  I did well and nothing was beneath me.  I took a lot of crap from many people but that's life, right?

As a health insurance company, it took great care and concern for its employees so therefore it had a special Employee Mental Health Helpline.  If employees were ever stressed, we were to call this number and directed to a behaviorist who would, under strictest confidence, help us through our issues or refer us to someone who could. 

No workplace is free of tension among co-workers.  As much as I'm a fantastically wonderful, creative, hard-working, and funny individual, there are always those spiteful bitches who are - and I somewhat understand this - extremely jealous of me.  Really, who wouldn't be?  (Sarcasm friends, sarcasm)  This company was no exception.  I had a couple of nasty witches who were always after me for something.

At this stage in my career, I was the supply clerk and front desk supervisor for the Life Insurance Company division.  I don't recall what it was on this particular day which set me off.  Perhaps my candy bar in a bowl (aka coffee) wasn't hot enough, or I had a ingrown toenail, or Hell - it could have been Eric's jaw popping too loudly at breakfast - who knows...but I was in a foul mood.  One of the diablas (Spanish:  for female devils) approached me with a standard complaint that she did not receive the correct black pens (Dear LORD!) and "why was it that I never got her order right?"

I imagine my face probably looked like a balloon too full of Helium before I hissed, "I don't know?  Why don't you order your own fucking pens you dumb bitch!"

And with that naughty sentence, I grabbed my purse and walked out the door for what I thought was the last time.  Within moments of this tirade, I was in my car screaming more obscenities, and dropping the f-bomb between every other four-letter word  I could conjure up.  With tears and snot dripping down my face, I answered my cell phone which rang almost immediately within stopping at the first turn signal, "Hello?"

"Bri?  Are you alright?" came the concerned voice of my office manager through the other end of the line.

Damn, news travels fast in that office.  Did I actually scream at Rhonda?  "No, I'm not.  I QUIT Melanie!  I can't stand that bitch another day.  I'm sorry, but it's either her or ME and I know you need her for billing.  I FUCKING HATE HER!!!"

"Now Bri, breathe.  You're not going anywhere.  I need you more than you know.  Take the afternoon off.  I want you to call the Employee Helpline and talk this through, okay?  Do you have the number?"

Pause.  Sob.  Sniffle.  "Yes."

"Promise me you'll call?"

Another long pause on my end, "Okay."

"Will you come back to work tomorrow or Wednesday if you can?"

"I'll try."

"I'll talk to Rhonda.  Just come back, I don't want to lose you.  Now call, okay?"

"Okay.  Thanks, Melanie."  I barely managed between hiccuped sobs.

Ten minutes later I found myself in the parking lot of the nearest state beach.  Still weeping, blowing my nose with a spare maxi pad I found in my purse, I called the Employee Helpline as promised.

"Employee Helpline, how can I help you?"

I explained what had just happened to the behaviorist on the phone.

"Bri, where are you right now?"

"I'm at the beach."

"Do you have any hollow pipes or tubing with you?"  Clearly confused I answered no.  "Any drugs of any kind?"  I told her I had some Midol for my menstrual cramps.  "How many?"  Why the Hell was she asking me this??? 


"Are you planning on going into the water?"


"Bri, what are you doing at this very moment?"

Still weeping uncontrollably I said truthfully, "I'm sitting in my car watching five surfers strip out of their wetsuits and into their street clothes."

There was an extremely long pause on the other end of the phone.  "What do you plan on doing next?"

"I'm going to finish watching these dudes, then call my husband and tell him I'm okay, then eventually go home and take a nap."  I could have sworn I heard a stifled giggle on the other end of the phone.

"Be careful driving home Bri.  Try to have a better day tomorrow."

"The Everyday Ramblings of a LUNATIC Housewife"?  You betcha.