Despite the title of this post, I am rating it G…suitable for all readers. No wait, I’m probably going to swear. Oh, who are we fucking kidding? It’s almost impossible for me to not swear. Oh fuck, I just did it again, didn’t I? Anyway…back to the rating. Um, I guess PG will work. Which makes me wonder if the rating system is different in Canada than it is in the US? American readers? Does “PG” mean anything to you?

Right, well, this is going to be a quick post. That’s why I picked the title that I did. I will not be mentioning the big, stupid penis. Or Don’s penis at all, for that matter. Or anybody’s penis! Not that I really talk about penises as a general rule. And until that post about Mona’s arrival, I never really blogged about Don’s penis. And since I’m really only interested in Don’s penis at the moment and I’m not going to mention it…big, stupid or otherwise…this post will be penis free. Just for you, Mel. A penis free post.

Okay. So, PG it is!

Either the military is practicing blowing shit up in the fields behind our house in preparation for the next deployment of soldiers to Afghanistan or it’s thunder I hear and it’s going to storm. The sun is weak this morning and the air is cool and the sky IS cloudy, but those clouds don’t look all that menacing. I’m guessing it’s the soldiers training for their mission.

I’m guessing because I’m hoping.

I’m hoping that it doesn’t rain.

At least not until I’m finished with my errand running this afternoon.

I have to head downtown to the Well Baby Clinic they hold every month in the public library. They give out immunizations there and Michael still hasn’t had his one year needles because Dr. Asshole is, well, an asshole and I’m not scheduling an appointment with the new doc just for a couple of needles. I’ve never gone to one of these clinics since the idea of sitting around, yakking with other mothers gives me the shivers and makes the urge to curl up into the fetal position, mumbling curse words under my breath and reciting Operation Ivy lyrics overwhelming. Situations like those Well Baby Clinics just reinforces my existing knowledge that I am not one of those mothers.

Furthermore, I don’t enjoy spending time with one of those mothers, let alone a fucking group of them.

While I’m out and about, I’m going to try to cram in as much running around as Michael will let me before we pick Rock up from work at two o’clock. And then I head to work myself.

This is where things * might * get interesting.

See, I had to book a day off from work as soon as I went back. I work Friday nights, remember? And two weeks from today….TWO WEEKS…I fly out of Big City to visit my American Boy. So, I needed the day off. Doesn’t seem like that big of a deal, right?

Wrong.

I work for assholes. Big, stupid, vindictive assholes. And there is nothing saying that I got the day off. Nothing at all. Even though I was verbally assured by the manager who does the scheduling that it wouldn’t be a problem. Even though I’m not hard to replace. Even though it’s only a four hour shift. Even though I gave them tons and tons of time and notice.

Despite all of that, there’s nothing saying that I will get the day off.

Cuz they’re assholes.

So, tonight I will check the schedule. And cross my fingers. For what, though, I don’t know. Part of me wants it to go completely uneventfully. I want the day off. They will give me the day off. I will return from my American adventure with my job still fully intact (SEE? I remembered!).

But then there’s the other side of me. The side of janetk that most of you have never known existed. This is the Reiki practicing, angel speaking, humanity loving girl who has a soft spot for pretty much everyone. This is the emotional and passionate girl who pours her heart out from time to time and who is fond of leaving the heart emoticons under blogs in the comment section. This is the girl who will e-mail you when you’re having a rough time to let you know she’s thinking of you. And you know what? She really IS thinking of you!

But this same girl is also a spiteful bitch.

And part of me wants very much for them to NOT give me the day off. So that I can quit. Not because I hate my job (well, I hate a lot of the people but the work itself is pretty fun) but just because I’d like to walk out in a storm for once in my life. Because I’m spiteful and I remember the way that they treated me when I was pregnant with Michael and I remember how they didn’t even acknowledge us when he was born. Nobody even cared to find out if he was dead or alive after his birth. And I’m spiteful.

And I’d like to hand in my smock and tell them I’m out of there.

Because I’m a bitch like that.

And now I’m a blushing bitch.

But whatever.