The other day we got a letter on our door from our landlord. They’re doing a yearly inspection of all the apartments to make sure the fire alarms are working and to check up on the condition of the apartment. So the following things need to be addressed before next Thursday.

• The fire alarms need to be reattached
• The leaky faucet in the bathroom
• The bleach stains on the carpet
• The broken closet door
• The several missing vertical blinds
• The broken kitchen drawer
• The broken screen door
• The compost pile in the backyard

Something tells me landlords don’t think highly of pits filled with food waste on their property. To be fair though, I don’t think we can attract any more skunks, possums or raccoons. And as important as fire alarms are, it’s more important to stop the ear stabbing when they confuse a minor toaster oven situation with an actual fire. Why are there so many things that we should have already called the landlord about but haven’t? Because the handyman he sends over is a fucking creep and he’s the one who caused the bleach stains on the carpet.

The Millionizer used to want to be a professional swimmer before Michael Phelps smoked some weed. Now she doesn’t care about anything.

I help adults with disabilities of all sorts learn the skills to live independently. Some staff have a constantly rotating schedule of clients because clients will request someone else or administration is trying to find the right “match.” It pretty much boils down to the fact that they are not very good at their job. I, on the other hand, have had a very stable client list since I started working there. I have worked with clients for years who previously went through every other staff member. I don’t know why clients like me so much. Maybe it’s because I really don’t bullshit them. When they invite me to their pity party and tell me they can’t get a job. I tell them it’s probably because they show up with bad breath and have drool on their shirt. Then we work on those things and hey! guess who has a job? When they tell me they can’t get a girlfriend I tell them that it sucks but it’s probably because their cerebral palsy freaks most chicks out. I haven’t gotten that guy a girlfriend. Yet. I don’t let clients fall back on their disability as an excuse and I think that’s a huge reason as to why most of my clients are so successful.

A couple weeks ago a co-worker and I realized that a client was deeply in debt. He previously had no money issues and was very independent in that arena. So when we found out by chance we dove in to help him. He resisted and told me he didn’t want to work with me anymore, that he didn’t want a girl to tell him what to do with his money. I was really bummed. I hear a lot of stupid things throughout the day and it’s easy to not take things personally but that stung. I had done so much for this fucker. Before me he dismissed several of my co-workers and we had been really successful together. Because of me he started taking classes and got financial aid for it. He improved in his reading, math and cooking skills. I even helped him lose 40 fucking pounds! I was there for him and his family when he got hit by a car and was unconscious in the hospital for a week. I helped him achieve so many of his goals and he never once thanked me for the help. I never expected it of course because it was really my pleasure.

But today when we met with his coordinator to discuss a financial plan for him, he said he didn’t like me and I wasn’t helping him and that he needed a male staff to get things done. Then I got angry at his ungratefulness. Whenever I talk about being angry at one of my clients people tell me something along the lines of, “Well they’re just reta, they’re disabled.” But to me that’s completely beside the point. Number one, mentally disabled people are perfectly capable of forming relationships and bonds which means they are perfectly capable of being an asshole if they want to be. Number two (haha number two) excusing someone for their behavior based on their mental capacity dehumanizes them, it takes away their right to free will and it suggests that they don’t have their own personality. Believe me, mentally disabled people have distinct personalities just like all of us walking around undiagnosed. So my point is I have every right to be angry at this turd. But I know I shouldn’t be, I know ultimately it ‘s his loss because I know who his next staff is going to be.

His coordinator made him call me and apologize. I know he was expecting me to coddle him and tell him it was ok instead I said, “I’m really disappointed in you. You were really rude and ungrateful and I’m glad we’re not working together anymore. Now someone who appreciates what I do for them will get my help and be able to achieve their goals.” Then I hung up. And it felt good.

On our way to San Diego last Friday we boarded an airport shuttle. When the driver said he’d tell us what our hidden gifts are I thought he started his day by hiding various items on the bus and then telling people about them if he decided he liked them. But he was psychic. Apparently my hidden gifts are art, crafts and children. Children feel like I understand them like no other adult does. Strange, because children are always weirdly attracted to me even though they freak me out once they can verbalize things. He said I’d be a great teacher or nurse. My weakest “gift” is the fact that I analyze things too much. And that’s true too. But really, doesn’t everybody?

TBU’s hidden gift is law. Interesting because TBU has been talking about going to law school for a while now. After David 296′s prophecy, Teebs started to study for the LSAT and research schools. I wonder where this will take us. TBU’s weakest “gift” is that he doesn’t have one. But David 296 didn’t want TBU to be too boastful so he said that if he did have to name a weakness it would be that TBU looks for approval. So thanks SFO shuttle man.

The flight back to San Francisco was terrifying. The turbulence made the flight attendents edgy which made me edgy because I know they are used to all kinds of craziness in the air. Once the emergency exit lights came on, I prepared for all variations of a horrifying death. But we landed and on the way out I thanked the lady pilot.

Speaking of lady pilots. When we got on the plane the cockpit door was open. And since I haven’t seen the inside of a cockpit since about oh I don’t know September 11, 2001. I nudged Teebs and said, “Look at the cockpit!” Then a young blond, male flight attendent poked his head out of the galley and said, “We call it the flight deck now.” TBU asked if cockpit was too risque. And Mr. Virgin America said, “Yeah, especially since we have a female pilot.”

It was kinda funny that the cock was brought back into cockpit. Then I realized that cockpit probably evolved because at one point it was literally a pit of cocks up in there. Flight deck sounds awesomer anyway. Yay for lady pilots!

After that exhausting experience we decided that we’d A) never fly again or B) fly only under heavy medication.