Porkchop Needs Strength

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I was called into the office and the manager spoke in rather loud abrasive tones with me. Apparently, he isn't too keen on getting calls from various important people telling him it is not acceptable to screw me over.

In his own words "a shit storm has been released" and he isn't terribly appreciative that I unleashed it. I have been told it is completely unacceptable for me to go "whining for help" because I didn't like the way he handled it. At this moment, I am easily the most hated person at the dealership. Even with my perky little boobs.

I am sure you are wondering why I am not reveling in the drama I have created. Because frankly, I am not like that. I hate the fact everyone hates me. I hate the fact I have to stand up for myself. I hate the fact that I have been there a week and a half and have created more controversy than some people will in a lifetime. I hate the fact that the post appropriate thing I can say right now is: WELCOME TO MY LIFE.

I have to face tomorrow bravely. Face it with confidence. Face it knowing I have done absolutely nothing wrong and that I have to stand up for myself. I have to keep my chin up. No being apoligetic. No dissolving into puddles of tears. I must be strong. I must speak my mind. I must be fierce. FIERCE! (I am pondering what I shall wear tomorrow that will clearly communicate FIERCENESS!)

Because I am Porkchop, I am woman, I can do this.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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