He's a one-stop shop with a real big *uh*...

So I didn't get to watch DWTS Tuesday night. I know, I know. I'm sorry. Erf needed the TV more than I did at that moment.

Which leads me into my blog post topic for today, which is all about how crappy the last few days have been for me. I wasn't going to blog about it at first, but then I remembered that blogging is supposed to be all healing and supportive and crap.

No, this is not a plea for sympathy. I just don't have anything else going on in my life right now, so what the hell, right?

Erf was (past tense, you'll understand later) a manager at a local fast food place. They call them QSR's (Quick Serve Restaurant), I suppose because they want to sound more sophisticated than McDonalds. Or maybe they want to sound like spies, but they massively failed. Whatever.

He had a review about a month ago, and they told him he was 'lazy' and a 'lollygagger'. Who the fuck uses that word anymore?! Seriously. I know that this couldn't be true because I've worked WITH Erf, and I've spent time with his co-workers outside of work. Lazy is not a word that you apply to my husband, he's one of the hardest workers I've ever met. However, the co-worker who described him as such is notorious for sitting in the back office, running useless errands during rushes, and other miscellaneous offenses. They gave him 30 days to 'shape up and improve', but wouldn't tell him exactly what he was doing wrong.

I can get not telling someone HOW to fix a problem at work, but not telling them WHAT the problem is? What the everloving mothercock? That's just irresponsible management.

He had his 30 day review review on Tuesday. They demoted him.

To maintenance. He's below the fucking burger-flipping crew members now. And to top it all off, he went from making $27,500 a year to $8.50/hr.

He makes less than I do. We just moved into an apartment with a one-year lease. We chose this apartment because it has 3 bedrooms and we wanted a place we could stay in for a while.

The co-workers who called him lazy (and are subsequently called lazy by the crew members when said co-workers are out of earshot) got promoted.

This, it fucking blows chickens.

My wonderful Twitter/blogger/real life friends, Beautiful Mess, Aunt Becky and Dana, helped tremendously by listening to my whining and bitching, and then reassured me that all will be okay.

My only surefire cure to disperse anger (which, hello, I was livid) is to cry. A lot. I cry watching movie previews for Angels In The Outfield. I cry like I'm fucking postpartum. It's insane.

So what do I do? I poured myself a large glass of wine, grabbed my chocolates, and settled down with Erf to watch P.S., I Love You. This is an incredibly sad movie. It's surefire to make me cry. Like Armageddon and Steel Magnolias (We'll sell t-shirts saying, 'I slapped Ouiser Boudreaux!' M'Lynne, you just missed the chance of a lifetime! Half of Chinquapin Parish'd give their eye teeth to take a whack at Ouiser!).

Sorry.

Anywho, I cried my eyes out. And by that I mean, I blubbered. Like, soap-opera-fake blubbered. Except it was real. That grieving widow cry. The lip-sucking, gasping-breath, annoying cry. Insane, is what it is. Erf laughed at me, because it really was quite funny. No better way to dispel the anger than laughter through tears. It's my favorite emotion! I felt much better.

Then yesterday I got a call from Erf to tell me that he has a management position interview at a local sports bar and grill next week. Silver linings, people.

Except my broken tooth. Fucking nighttime tooth-clenching. I clench my teeth at night like teenage boys clench their cheeks at drive-ins. That is to say, tight.

Not that teenage boys go to drive-ins anymore. But if they did, they totally wouldn't wanna gas their date. Unless they were trying to knock them out. Baked beans are cheaper than a roofie, people. Lesson learned.

By the way, in case you care, Erf took out his anger by playing Need For Speed and smashing into cop cars. To each their own, right? On a related note, I was on the phone with my mom last night as he was playing. He asked me what kind of car he should buy (I picked the Toyota Supra). My mom chimes in with, "I really don't think that now is a good time for you to be looking at buying a new car."

It's a video game car, ma. Put away the wire hanger, and I'll stop calling you Mommie Dearest. :)