Die, SSI Bitch, DIE.

Last night the Brain Fairy brought me one of the huge, disgusting, vomit-inducing headaches that I so dearly love, the kind of headache that is only manageable with heavy doses of narcotics, dark glasses, and more heavy narcotics.

Late last night after about five Vic0din, when the power saw roaring away at my optic nerve started to abate, DC and I began to think up interesting ways in which we could answer Social Security's latest offering, a fifty-page questionnaire which inquired about my daily routine.

I get one of these beauties every so often. Although Social Security is not interested in paying me, they are very interested in how I spend my day, how long it takes me to shower and shit, and whether I am able to trim my hedges.

"These really piss me off."

"What does it say?"

"How long does it take you to... everything. Shower, go to the bathroom, cook dinner, wash dishes, you name it. The thing is, it's always different. It depends. I could write a normal time but then put an asterisk and then write "unless I have a headache" or "unless I can't walk that day" or "unless I'm dizzy or having seizures" or "unless the moon is in fucking retrograde"."

"I know, that's dumb. Tell them they can just come over for the day. Spend The Day With Jen!"

"Heh. Riiiight."

"They can follow you around, like SSI reality TV. And then when you have a seizure, you can choke them, and you'll finally have an excuse. You won't be in your right mind."

"You may be on to something. I have to give references, too. Disability references. Like they're going to call my friends and say, 'Is that bitch really sick?' Ha!"

"Did you put me down?"

"No, I put B. and my dad down."

"I wish you would have put me down. I'll go down there and say, 'Look, man, she ALWAYS has a headache. Do you know what this is like for me????'"

"Yeah, RIGHT!"

"'My porn magazine collection is growing so large that I have to keep it in the fucking GARAGE, man. She ALWAYS has a headache. ALWAYS.'"

"You are so full of shit."

"Heh."

"They don't make a headache that bad. Ha!"

"Ha. But really, you should have put me down."

"No, I knew you'd be ridiculous."

"You give me no credit."

Yesterday while making my daily call to the completely usless office manager who most certainly should be fired, if not drawn and quartered before a screaming horde of angry civilians, I once again politely (still polite, since I am either stupid or very, very mannerly) asked whether my check might find its way to my mailbox sometime during this decade.

"Well, let's see if I can find anything in the computer. Can I have your social security number?"

I'm sorry, but this bitch should know my social security number backwards, forwards, inside out, and in her motherfucking sleep by now. I have called her every day for the past two years. She should name her goddamn children after me, send me Christmas gifts, and invite me to goddamn Bunco parties. If she doesn't know my social security number then I am Paris Fucking Hilton. She knows it. She's just being a fucking assfez.

"555-55-5555."

"Well, it says here that they just sent a check to your lawyer last week for the remainder of what he was owed."

"Really."

"Yes. Says that right here."

"So my lawyer has been paid in full."

"Yes."

"But I have not."

"No, I have nothing here saying a check was sent to you."

"But you did tell me before Memorial Day weekend that a check was going out to me and to expect it by that Tuesday."

"Did I?"

"You most certainly did."

"Well. They must have told me that. You didn't receive a check, I guess."

"No, I sure didn't."

"I'll have to call. Tell you what, if you don't get a check by the end of this week, call me back-"

"-Um, no, tell you what. Why don't you call them right now, because this is a check I was supposed to receive in April of 2003. And really, this is a little silly, don't you think? Or you could just give me their number-"

"-I can't give that number out."

"Of course you can't. So why don't you please give them a call, and see what's going on, because I'm very interested to know why it is they can pay my lawyer but not me."

"Oh, they always pay the lawyer first."

"Probably to avoid being sued."

"Maybe so. I will call you back."

"When?"

"Pardon me?"

"When will you call me back?"

"When I hear back from them."

"You're calling them now, I take it?"

"Pardon me?"

"I said I take it you're going to call Payment Processing now?"

"Uh, yes, I can call them now."

"So you can call me back in say, ten minutes?"

"Uh, sure."

"I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you so much."

She didn't call back. She also didn't pick up or return any of my fucking calls yesterday or today.

I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

I am so ready to break my foot off in this woman's ass that I don't know what to do with myself. I have left messages for both The Senator and The Congressman, but both are waiting for medical records from my lawyer, and now that my lawyer has been paid in full he is probably very unlikely to do any more work on my case.

Damn them, damn them, and damn them again.

Social security left out one very important question on their questionnaire: How long do you spend each day banging your head against the wall while cursing social security?

You don't want to know.

Happy Wednesday. Kick a government employee today.

3:05 p.m. - 2004-06-09
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