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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In Loving Memory.”

Deadly beloved!

We are gathered here today to pay respect and honor to the Good Flynn. We know she’ll go to heaven; while Evil Kitty will end up in hell fire.

This concludes the service and thank you for coming. No refreshments will be served. Donations accepted.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Circle of Five.”

Hmm. In no order of importance, I’d like to spend time with the surfing guru, the cat woman, the fat bastard, the temporary accounting manager, and the choir conductor.

Yeah, in that way, I could figure out what makes each of us unique. I’m learning from these people and how fun the differences allow us to grow.

 

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Plead the Fifth.”

Below is a pseudo-transcript of my informal interview with Philip, the old biker dude.

Philip: So, I’m shifting the topic away from Mike. Tell me about yourself. What do you think about this company? Do you like it here? Do you live far from here?

Moi: Fuck. I wasn’t prepared. Idiot. Duh. I cast my eyes downwards and averted my gaze away from him being that I wasn’t comfortable revealing myself too much on national security issues, of course. Hehe!

I like how they help disabled adults who have problems. I travel one hour to get here. I drive a Ford Mustang, you know, a fast car, driven by fast guys (like you and you’re Z530 whatever), and just as fast as my working speed.

Philip: What’s the nearest cross street? (He asked three times and motioned the timeout cross with his palms because my hearing failed me again). That’s my area! I live off Blossom Hill Road and I can get here within 20-25 minutes. I like the drive. It beats getting stuck in traffic.

Moi: I get on southbound HWY 101 off 13th Street, my hood, my neighborhood. There’s a Carl’s Jr nearby and a barbeque snack. Cal Coast Telecom is nearby.

(They did my requested CCTV cameras in an around my hood for the upcoming VTA/BART system, which was also my requested idea. I had to inform my local council member then via email and got a phone call and email response.)

I cut over from Commercial Street and can get here in thirty minutes if I punch it at 80 miles per hour or in one hour if I travel the Speed Limit of 65 mph. I like the reverse commute. In one temp job, I’m almost always late. It was located only five minutes away but takes me thirty minutes to get there!

Philip: We are considering converting you to permanent. There may be a supervisory position in AR with Kevin being cross-trained into payroll and Paulann reporting as AP supervisor to Jackie as AR manager when she returns from maternity leave.

Moi: All this time I’ve been a follower of my mentors, guides, teachers. I never was a leader and always had been pigeon-holed into one task, which was mainly keying in the cash receipts from the lockbox reports. I never had ANY direct customer service contact and was bored with this one task for many years in a large semi-conductor company.

But here at NCM, I was able to perform multiple tasks, such as emailing invoices and credit memos, stuffing envelopes of paper invoices, answering office calls like a switchboard operator. I don’t mind owning the cash receipt process. I actually like the ripping noise of opening live checks, by the way.

This temp job is the worse because I’m doing too much for little pay. I’d like to earn as much as what AP is cutting a check back to my temp agency/job placement at $24 per hour. (Folks, that’s how much I earned in that large semi-conductor company over ten years ago.)

Philip: I don’t think there’s a supervisory position for that pay rate. But you need to think about what you want do in the next six weeks.

Moi: I’m truly sorry if I was being loud while cross-training Mike whose personality I like or if I’m NOT making sense at all and rattling on and on without listening well to instructions.

Philip: You’re a soft bird. Beauty before brains. I could recommend you to Madam Cherie. But she hasn’t made up her mind about how she’d like to restructure the finance department.

—

I learned that he is a logistics and strategist with a broad range of knowledge and expertise. He took a severe cut in pay since his crash in 2009 and had been looking for full-time permanent employment, too.

To TPTB and pals: I’d recommend him. He’s got spunk. I really like him, period. I’d give this reptilian what he wants, deserves, and more.

I think he is both a genius and a spook based on my personal observation, despite his frustrated fits and loudness near me, which is a trigger to me to consider NOT taking the position.

I sensed I could have simply called my head hunter, Jonathan C, and let him know that I’m not fit for this position. And that’s probably because I’m already bored. It’s not fun anymore. The novelty of working full-time already wore off and the feeling is cold, calculating, and callousness.

I was saddened to tears at my desk afterwards because I was painfully disappointed and severely tired at this point in my life and pitifully vindictive at the creators’ design of working hard to get anywhere for survival. I wasn’t amused or fulfilled. I hate them all.

I wasn’t motivated to earn money because of not just losing my retirement funds but realized that even crazy/stupid can get the help without trying or working! I didn’t care for the rate.

I didn’t want to be overwhelmed with stress and prefer temping over being permanent because I don’t like staff meetings and dealing with stupid/crazy people, period.

Am I being selfish? Bah! I’m already desensitized by the trauma as a noobish shaman, of all sorts, because I didn’t flinch whenever he’d try to trigger my emotional response.

For example, he got excitedly loud and clapped his hands together. But I just sat there patiently waiting for him to diffuse his energetic signature.

I’ve learned slowly how to detach myself from such situations as I continue to boost this vector, my sector. We make our own realities.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Me Time.”

Well, I’m sitting at the dinner table with Mom, who is smashing her deep-fried garlic and storing those died bits in bottles of recycled soup based granules.

Last night, my parents and I smashed and then chopped fresh garlic. The result is to be used primarily as garnish for get rice porridge, which has been Mom’s foodstuff since her hospitalization.

Mom and I had finished gardening. We recycled the old soil and used it for re-transplanting her hanging flowers from the fruit trees of our backyard. Dad is still gardening. We haven’t eaten lunch yet.

Ideally, I would have wanted to travel locally during my off days. But since I’ve no friends or companions that can keep up with me, I’ve resigned myself to staying at home and assist these elderly folks with their chores, gardening, or other activities such as shopping for food and attending funerals/burials and daily masses.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Last Words.”

Dear readers,

Do me a favor and get a life! Step away from the computer and enjoy your family, friends, and the outdoors. Be kind to yourselves and learn NOT to take so much offense in negative blogs, such as mine. You deserve better than mere quotes etched in the mirrors of other’s words. Know that you’ve come a long way, baby! Can you do it?

With lots of hisses,

Evil Kitty

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Three Perfect Shots.”

20150227-0150. Based on the ongoing stressful environment at my temp job from hell and on the word of “shots” included in title of this daily prompt, it’s about “vodka”.

Had I bottle around home, vodka is my preferred method in dealing with stress. One shot and I’m off to a sleepy swoon.
I’ve taken a shot of syrupy draught a few minutes ago. It’s not working. I’m still wide awake and that’s how worked up I’ve been lately.

I awoke past midnight after two hours of sleep. I’m NOT sleeping well since taking this temp job from hell. I would rather stay home and take care of my parents.

That’s shot number one. Money. I lost everything around the 2008 market crash. Philip was affected in 2009. I’m a lucky girl to have security – free and clear. But the price is freedom. I can’t do what I really want.

Shot number two. Show. Since I lost everything, I’m putting a happy face. It’s fake and NOT real. I’m expending too much unnecessary energy to keep up appearance to show that I could handle stress in a dreadful job. I’m burning the candle at both ends.

Shot number three. To get ready. I’m ready for a change. I can’t stay in any one job or one location for long durations. I miss being home and sleeping in. I don’t like attending daily mass or doing daily chores. I don’t like groups and don’t like speaking.

I’m ready to go away.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fight or Flight.”

It was a roller coaster, water log ride. At the apex was a pause before the drop below. The moment prior to the freefall is sheer terror. For others, it’s fun. The damn snapshot captured the terror on my face. I hated that feeling!

The other feeling was not physical as in the above-referred paragraph but more by thought, albeit mind control courtesy of the government and its talented hoodlums. They intentionally created a fictional hostage crisis.

I sensed it was necessary for my understanding and personal growth and experience. I sensed I could play along and did. Then I sensed that they were joking and the joke was me. I had to stop and years later realized who “they” were.

It takes one to fool and the other to be fooled. I played both roles and as such have taught me to take the middle ground. I always try to take the middle ground. And by doing so, balance is achieved from stress to calm.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Cut Off.”

The last time I truly felt lonely was NEVER! It seemed that the distraction of family life keeps me from ever being truly alone, which I would prefer, say, 90% of the time. No need for exchanges or words or daily chores. Just quiet and solitude is all I need to decompress from the noise, called socialization.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Local Flavor.”

Here in Local Town y’all got it all. Lots of computers, geeks, and Cray-Creatures! That’s right! It’s a horrible nightmare, a pitfall of hell, and a gangrene envy of all time!

Cubicle slaves fighting over pushing papers. Mathematical geniuses plotting their next derivatives and speculators ending up with empty air and an empty chair for those on death row.

It’s a terrible feeling, oppressive among tyrannical rexes and psychotic exes, where dog eats masters, and masters are slaves to laws and regulations.

Yea, this is truly a New World Odor, filled with garlic and onions and other seasoning spices from foreign lands that can make you cough and gag profusely.

And all for a low price of one soul, greatly appreciated for doing crap all day, and worrying all night when the next bill collector will call.

Come and visit us. Technocrats and bureaucrats await your long-awaited stay, the kinds where y’all never leave!

May your debt be with us forever!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Plot of Earth.”

I’d build a vast sanctuary for all species, excluding humanz, and hire guards and install security to protect the place from invading forces.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Tourist Trap.”

Hawaii. I’ve never been there and probably never will ever set foot upon those soils.

Just as we are about to go home after eating lunch at their place, Hansen (or Anthony) told me to put on Mom’s wide-brimmed, cream and white hat. He looked and said, Hawaiian. I don’t know WTF he was thinking. Later he said, I could take a five hour plane ride on Friday evening and be back Monday morning. But I wouldn’t know where to go. Huh.