Diaper Lady

Sorry about not writing lately. I’ve been in a dark, dank place in my mind at work and I’ve somehow crawled the fuck outta that shit hole.

After a silly argument with Lauren about the amount of bookmarks she’s been giving out to patrons, I’ve implemented a strict no nonsense attitude at work. I look straight ahead and don’t make eye contact with my coworkers and staff. I don’t initiate conversation. When I walk, it’s with a focused purpose that really isn’t much of a purpose at all other than going to the bathroom, getting snack out of the fridge, and retrieving my documents from the color printer. So far it seems to be working, seeing as no one is speaking to me. I’m probably coming off unapproachable, which is fine with me because if it’s really important, then they will approach me with it. If not, they’re in trouble. #bossbitch

I thought I’d write today about Diaper Lady. A very poor, unfortunate old woman who will probably live forever through some deal she made with Satan that she’s long forgotten about in her old age.

Diaper Lady is kinda the town misfit. Everyone knows who she is. You guessed it, she wears adult diapers. She’s the reason I begged our administration to reupholster all our furniture because her diaper would leak onto everything she planted her ass on. Now we have wipeable furniture. It’s not exactly ideal, but at least it’s easier to clean.
She’s not allowed to check out library books anymore. She’s damaged so many with her own piss that once she reached over $25, the staff were more than thrilled about it because now she can’t check anything out unless she pays off that fee. Of course she doesn’t have money. She’s been reduced to taking some honor paperbacks. Hell, she can take all of them! John is a paperback hoarder and we don’t need to make anymore space for those tatty old books.
She is loud as fuck with and of course nothing that comes out of her mouth is anything of substance. It’s normally something like, “I told that fucking bitch!!!”

She calls me, “Angel.”

She pushes her shopping cart down our very dangerous main street. They’re currently constructing sidewalks on this main street. That’s how behind this town is. Diaper Lady doesn’t actually look where she’s going, of course. She hunches over so low over the handlebar of her shopping cart that she can’t see which direction she’s heading, which is normally in the direction of oncoming traffic.

I hadn’t seen Diaper Lady in weeks, maybe even months. I lost track when faced with picking Loretta battles. When I finally realized Diaper Lady hadn’t graced us with her presence in a very long time, my coworkers and staff said the same thing: she hadn’t been here in ages. You know what that normally means in the customer service universe? They’re dead. We checked the newspaper for any news, or obituaries and there was nothing. I imagined this poor woman dead in a ditch somewhere, long forgotten by her fed up family.

I was covering the reference desk for Gerald and the phone rang. I answered it.

“Hi, Angel! It’s (insert real name here) Ms. Diaper Lady!!!”

I was shocked. I couldn’t believe it. Here I was, holding the phone a foot from my ear because Diaper Lady’s sweet voice is wailing from it. She then proceeded to hold me hostage on the phone for over 10 minutes to tell me that she got hit by a car. She’s in the hospital with a few broken ribs. The guy that hit her made up some excuse about not being able to see her. I will vouch for the driver. It’s sometimes really hard to see when you’re driving around 5:00pm during the late winter season. The sun is glaring and everything just looks golden white. Anyway, the guy was still in deep shit because the police found weed in his car. Bad luck, man. But holy crap! Good luck for Diaper Lady!
This was the second time she was hit by a car walking aimlessly on the main street. She got hit just last Thanksgiving! How many cat lives this bitch got in her?

Lauren saw Diaper Lady walking across the overpass again last week. So she’s recovered, it seems. It’s only a matter of time she remembers there’s a library over here and makes her way in, terrorizing everyone with her stench and vulgar conversations. I can’t wait.


Tardiness doesn’t bug the shit out of me unless it’s done too many times at work. I had a talk with Loretta TWICE about being late too often.

“There was a train!”

“The stop light took too long!”

“Ok, I think the stop light is broken now.”

Really, Loretta? Really?! Then explain to me how I live 15 minutes farther from work than you and I almost always manage to drive into the library parking lot 10 minutes before my shift starts?! Tell me right now, Loretta since you know everything and all!

I overheard her talking on the phone with her husband about a new Kroger’s opening up in their area soon. She wanted her husband to tell their youngest son about it, who’s god forbid, enrolled in PUBLIC high school. (Read my previous blog post, The Good Catholic.)

Why would her son be interested in a new Kroger’s? I’ll tell you why. This sorry excuse for a 16-year-old teenager was over 10 minutes late to his first job interview at Kroger’s as a bag boy. I wonder where the fuck he learned that shit from! The apple certainly didn’t fall far from the tree.
I walked into her very angry phone conversation with her son about it. She was practically screaming into her cell phone.

The thing I absolutely hate about conservatives is that the majority of the ones I’ve had the displeasure of interacting with always criticize Millennials. They incorrectly consider anyone at least 10 years younger than them a Millennial. Ok, I’m sure there are worse generations than Millennials. For one, we certainly didn’t try to fight to legalize slavery, or anything heinous like that.
I’m a Millennial and I’ve never been over 10 minutes late to a job interview. I’ve been working since I was 16 years old too. I’m almost 30 now. How’s that for being a Boomerang Peter Pan Snowflake, bitch?! My mom didn’t even have to tell me to go anywhere on time. I just did it on my own!

Anyway, try to think twice before you criticize my generation, or any generation again because you’re probably a pathetic excuse for a human being anyway and raising your kids, Generation Z into hapless, hopeless asshats.


The Applegates are a married couple who frequently visits the library to use their two hours of internet access playing FarmVille. I shit you not. The date is April 29th, 2017 and yes, FarmVille is still around. I had no idea until I started working here.

I think the year was 2009 or 2010 when FarmVille debut during the early states of Facebook. You remember almost all your friends were playing it and you’d get these notifications, hoping it was friends liking your well thought out and profound status updates, only to discover that it was Morgan asking you to buy a Sad Cow for him.

Mrs. Applegate must have been a bearded woman from a circus at one point. Her beard should be envied by all facial hair challenged men. It covers 2/3 of her face and is nice and thick, and symmetrical. I sometimes notice her shopping online for clothes, though I dunno why because she always wears large mumus. She can’t fit into anything else.

One afternoon, Vivien went to the women’s bathroom and found herself in a dangerous shit warzone. It was everywhere. On the walls, on the floor, on the stall doors, on the handicapped rail. Vivien claimed she saw Mrs. Applegate go to the bathroom, left the library, then came back wearing a different mumu. Clearly Mrs. Applegate was responsible for launching the Shit Missile from her ass on our poor bathroom.

Mr. Applegate has a look on his face like he’s slowly undressing you, or slowly killing you, or maybe both. Those dark beady eyes see right through your soul, I’m sure of it. He also looks like he suffers from permanent chicken pox. I have no idea what causes all those tiny red bumps that cover what seems like every inch of his body and I really don’t wanna know. I have a feeling that maybe a few extra showers would resolve the issue, but I would never suggest it. I noticed recently he’s been wearing jelly sandals. He’s the type that wears sandals with socks, of course. His jelly sandals are a matte black. I wonder if he thinks they could pass as men’s sandals because they’re black. I wouldn’t think twice if he wanted to wear hot pink, glittered jelly sandals, though.

As mean as my descriptions of the Applegates are, they are two of the nicest library patrons I’ve ever had in my entire library career. Did I mention I’ve been working in public libraries since I was 18 years old? Anyway, they’re super nice and sweet people, if not just a tad bit gross. Then one day, Lauren mentioned Gerald’s name, our Reference Librarian in a conversation and Mrs. Applegate exclaimed, “oh, that little fucker!” That’s basically how most of us feel about Gerald. The Applegates are literally all of us.

The Good Catholic

Lauren called me yesterday to vent about work. We don’t have a lot of opportunities to have hushed and rushed vent sessions with each other at work. Lauren is the circulation supervisor at my library and she too deals with the woes of supervising petulant adults.

Somehow the conversation lead to Loretta. I mentioned how Loretta has been mysteriously taking a lot of sick time to take her son to the dental hygienist and doctor. It’s been often enough to wave a red flag at me. Maybe her son’s teeth are atrocious and maybe she’s got him going to gay conversion therapy a couple of times a month. I have no idea. It’s illegal to ask her unless it’s for a prolonged period of time and that calls for medical documentation.

Loretta has three strapping sons. Her youngest is still at home in high school. I can’t tell you how many times Loretta has bitched to me about having so many kids and having to pay for their private school tuition. Apparently all three went to the same catholic high school. I mentioned that to Lauren over the phone and she interrupted me.

“Which catholic high school?” she asked.

I told her I didn’t know. She then went on and on about how there aren’t any catholic high schools in the area. Lauren’s been living in this area for over ten years so it wasn’t like I could doubt her. I Googled it and she’s right! There aren’t any catholic high schools within a twenty-mile radius!

I just went into our shared office space and looked at Loretta’s pictures of her and her sons. In one picture, her two oldest are wearing soccer uniforms and she has her arms around them. Her t-shirt says ____ High School. I know for a fact that’s a public high school!

What the fuck? She’s been lying to me and possibly other people about all her children going to catholic school?! In fact, she bitched to me last week about how her youngest is failing his history class and she has to pay for him to go to summer school!
What the fuck is the point of lying about something like that? Does she think people question her devoutness? Or is this another weird form of Keeping Up with the Joneses?

CrossFit Bro

If you dunno what CrossFit is, it’s an exercise program geared towards having you sacrifice over $200 of your monthly income to do random, absurd exercises like running 3 miles in the hot summer sun (without any running training leading up to it), plus 100 pull-ups. I have a good friend, who I will call CrossFit Bro, suffer intense pain and dehydration for stupidly doing just that. I had zero sympathy for him. If he were actually dying in the ICU, I think I’d still laugh at him before grieving.

I’ve been thinking about these types of exercise programs and those obstacle course races. Some are downright dangerous! But all in the name of bragging rights on Facebook and Instagram, right? What’s cooler than carrying a bucket of rocks weighing 80 lbs. down a slippery ravine?! Eating a Monte Cristo sandwich at Orleans Cafe in Disneyland, that’s what!
It took me almost a whole year to train so that I wouldn’t die during my first half-marathon. Real scheduled, structured training and diet. Nothing really prepares you mentally or physically for walking barefoot on a muddy ground covered in Lego pieces set on fire. I bet you that’s gonna be another obstacle if it’s not already one.

So Crossfit Bro is a good friend of mine. I wouldn’t call him a best friend because my best friend would probably kill me. He’s almost like a brother I’m half ashamed of and half amused by. We met in a Meetup group. If you dunno what Meetup is, it’s an organized group of lonely strangers meeting up to do random activities they may or may not enjoy in the face of not staying at home another hour to play Starcraft and eating another bag of Cheeto Puffs. I like to consider Meetup the sad phase of life right before reaching a milestone. As you can tell, I had really poor experiences with Meetup and more on that in later blog posts!

CrossFit Bro was your average single, shallow, drunk, strip club addicted, anti-feminist douche bag. The bulk of our friendship is done through Facebook Messenger and almost all of our chats used to end in arguments because this fool was as dumb as a bucket of 80 lbs. rocks. He received almost all of his continued education through a body building forum. A great resource for piss-poor life philosophy and advice on relationship destruction. There are so many derogatory nouns for women out there, so CrossFit Bro has got to be the male counterpart for #basicbitch.
My SO and closest friends could not understand why someone like me, an attractive 30-something, successful, intelligent and mostly morally grounded woman would put up with CrossFit Bro. I guess all I can say is I saw potential in him to mature and grow up that I normally don’t see in most human beings. It was enough for me to stick around as a very disgruntled friend.

Fast forward a year into our friendship, CrossFit Bro fell in love with a woman he met through Coffee Meets Bagel. She’s average looking, which stunned the hell out of me because remember, CrossFit Bro was shallow! She’s not a drop dead gorgeous, #10 model that could also dangle from a pole by her feet for more than five minutes. Here’s the biggest stunner: she’s a single mom of two. This coming from a guy who wholeheartedly believed that men are dicked 100% in custody battles! I thought the world was ending. Okay, it might still be ending. But who the fuck is this guy and did you make sure the real CrossFit Bro’s body could never be found?!

His outlook on life has changed entirely. His messages are noticeably more positive. He no longer acts sanctimonious, like he’s far better and more knowledgeable than people in love. He no longer responds in sarcasm, period. I now face a dilemma. While I knew he had the potential to mature and grow up, I did not mentally prepare myself for the actual transition. I really had low expectations for this guy. Instead of getting into arguments about how not all women were liars and gold diggers, now I’m rolling my eyes at his emotional (he used to tell me I was too emotional just because I have a vagina) declarations of intense love for his new girlfriend. So…new shit, but same level of obnoxious? Got it. Just you wait, he’ll be giving me marriage advice.


I was in a dysfunctional relationship for over six years with someone that dangled me along for a really bumpy ride, only to be told they didn’t wanna marry me. If there’s any type of person I loathe, it’s the time wasters. Obviously that relationship ended.

I spent only a year single and discovering what modern dating was like for young folks. It wasn’t pretty. Being single was fine until you start dating and you’re faced with just why you were single in the first place. It’s not always your own fault. Sometimes it’s just the fact that everyone else is also single and they dunno what the fuck they want, including you.

I still can’t get over just how confusing it all was! It’s uncommon for people to speak their minds and well, I guess that makes me uncommon. I felt that when it came to dating, it was most important to be upfront, open and honest. Though no one I encountered felt that way. No one was a straight shooter. There’s all this ghosting, there’s all this vagueness, there’s all this miscommunication and misunderstanding, there’s all this pent-up anxiety and I  was also surprised to encounter passive aggressiveness. No one said what they meant and everyone’s actions did not reflect what they said. Nothing made sense. I finally had enough. Being a single cat lady was better than this bullshit.

I closed my Coffee Meets Bagel account. Seriously, has anyone gotten married through that app yet?! It sounds like a great idea on paper, but just doesn’t seem to work as well as anyone promised or hoped. I was ready to close my paid OkCupid account too, but by an unexplained urge through some divine intervention, I checked my trash. When you pay for the upgrades, you get to filter messages. Trust me, ladies, you wanna filter messages! I found my fiance in my trash. He didn’t send me an inappropriate message, but it fell under the “three words or less” filter, that lazy bastard! Anyway, we began messaging and we’re now planning our wedding! Romantic, I know.

I’ve been thinking about how my SO (significant other) differs from the other men. I wouldn’t say I’m attracted to a specific physical attribute. I dated/talked to guys that were tall, short, chubby, thin, different races. Though I will say almost all of them had black hair. I’m not sure if that counts.
I know for many people, looks matter a great deal. I trained myself to undo this mentality for myself because guess what, we all grow old. No matter how much plastic surgery you can afford, nothing hides the fact that you’re aging. Why care so much about looks when it’s so flimsy, temporary and fluctuates? Are you even sure you’re that good looking yourself? I tirelessly have this argument with young people and well, they don’t get it.

So what made my SO different? To be really honest, he’s not so different from my exes or even other men I dated/talked to. He has similar interests as these other guys. Similar careers even. He’s not perfect. He drives me crazy sometimes. I can’t say he’s uglier or better looking than other men, but I think he’s handsome. What it really came down to was that we’re on the same page with just about everything. We talk a lot about everything and we make sure we’re always on the same page. If we’re not on the same page, we meet each other halfway somehow. Most of it is pretty easy. I know that sounds really unromantic. It wasn’t this earth-shattering, epic, mind-blowing, romantically dramatic affair. It’s not what you see in the movies or read in the books. In fact, it’s quite boring in comparison. Because we both work to remain equal, it formed a deep emotional connection. I was involved with men that I thought were very compatible with my personality and probably more so than my SO, but there was never that type of connection that I have with my SO.

I know there’s a lot of talk about pickiness. Men and women are very picky creatures, or at least everyone seems to think so. I heard men complain about that a lot in the dating world. Well, if you’re particular about hair color and eye color, then yeah I would say you’re picky and you’re probably picking the wrong people to date! But for the most part, I think it boils down to whether or not that person feels connected to you and vice versa. You might even feel a connection, but they don’t and vice versa. It took me a long time to get over that. It’s not personal and you shouldn’t take it personally, but it feels like a punch-in-the-gut rejection. Trust me, you would rather feel “rejected” than to be dragged through a dysfunctional relationship throughout your 20’s. If you and the person you’re dating aren’t mostly on the same page about things, you’ll have a lot of disagreements and arguments. You’ll probably spend a lot of wasted time wondering what the fuck is wrong with them. I can guarantee they’ll be thinking the same of you.

It’s very cliche, but very true. When you meet that person, they really make you understand just why it never worked out with anyone else before them. Until then, you have to muddle through the trenches of modern dating. Godspeed, my friends.