Suckday: The Eighth Day of the Week

It’s a shit day and I don’t feel like jazzing this up with anything funny or thoughtful or whatever the fuck normally comes from life’s ass-raping lessons.

I received an email today (I was cc’d) that an employee where I have been “temping” for a year come this lovely Friday, has decided to downgrade her hours and accept the position that I was temping for. What does that mean exactly?

It means, once they fill the position she is vacating – one I’m not qualified for – I will be once again without a paycheck. Fuck. Seriously. And you convinced me not to be a whore and take down my ex-stalker. Thanks. Thanks a lot. FML.

This on top of the fact that I couldn’t get to sleep last night after receiving a rather disturbing Flickr contact request from a person I had never heard of. His line was, “I use to follow your blog before it expired. Now I spend time on Flickr.” I went to check out his photos, which he had none. He had just had favorited other Flickr photographers’ photos. His selections seemed odd.

I googled his email. It came up to a Facebook account with what might be his “real” name. No picture. No updates. No friends listed. No location. Nothing. I googled his Flickr account name. Found some comments on Flickr, but it also lead me to several threads on The link is a list of his comments and posts he created. Innocuous? Maybe so, but after seeing some of the pictures he linked to via Flickr and some of his posts, I got a sick feeling in my stomach.

Especially this post regarding belly buttons. Especially since I see this as a recurring theme in his comments and posts. Especially since he’s using pictures of kids who aren’t his (and as far as I can tell – he doesn’t have) as an example. Especially when he asks to see photos of other kids’ belly buttons.

Infer what you will, but I immediately blocked him. I didn’t report him as many of my Facebook friends urged me to do because if the ICAC is going to be able to check him out, having his accounts suddenly deleted isn’t going to help out the next innocent person.

Maybe he’s just a normal guy who loves amateur photography, especially family orientated, but you know what? I don’t care. He’s a stranger to me and my family. Just to see what would happen, I responded to his request by asking, “Which blog are you referring to, Real Name?” (his name from Facebook since he didn’t use it anywhere else) and surprisingly, I’ve had no response.

So yeah. Not a good day.

Ironically, I just hung up with someone who’s been trying to get some information from several different departments where I work with no success, and she said, “You’ve been the most pleasant person I’ve talked to so far today. Thank you.”

It helped. A little. But now I’m going to go to the ladies room and have a good cry over how I hate my former employer(s). After this, if I’m ever offered a position where my supervisor is bald, I am SO declining. Billiard-ball-sporting fuckers.

14 thoughts on “Suckday: The Eighth Day of the Week”

  1. I was really hoping that you would be getting into a better work situation and thought that with time it would come. I hate that this is happenning to you. Wish I could do more than say, this really sucks.

    1. Yes, I can protect them all. The only ones I had public were pictures of either myself or my husband; and then any of the kids where you couldn’t see their faces. Right now, Mr. Creepo is blocked from seeing any of my stuff.

  2. Fuck. This is certainly Suckday. I’m so sorry to hear this – does your temp agency have any other openings? Is it too late to take down the ex-stalker, ’cause I think you’re probably in the right mood to do it…

    Wish I could cheer you up…want me to mail you some of my husband’s b-day cupcakes?

  3. Sorry your having such a shitty day. Really, sorry.

    OMG – thank god you blocked that guy. I can’t think of 1 legitimate reason why a MAN (or female for that matter I guess) would have for commenting on how cute someone elses childs belly button was – and then want others to comment on it. SICK. Ugh. I am completely freaked out…

    …and grossed out!

    If you want to talk, I’m here.

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