Man, am I grumpy today! I’m seriously getting fed up with this day. Everyone and everything is getting on my nerves. I’m getting ready to clean off my bitch slapper and take care of business. Maybe I’m just hormonal, or maybe the full moon is affecting me. Either way I’m about ready to blow and someone is going to be on the receiving end of my wrath. Right now it looks like Ellen* is going to be the one to get it. She keeps annoying the living shit out of me and I’m ready to throw a book at her head. She started on me yesterday asking about my sex life. She wanted to know when Bob and I have sex since we don’t live together. How often we do it. How we do it (I mean, we’re both fluffy, but fuck, as long as point a meets point b, who cares?!), etc. Embarrassed to be asked these questions by a perverted old lady in her 60’s, I finally walked out. Thankfully my work day was already over so I could escape without having to make up an excuse.
Today she saw us holding hands in the cafeteria and she was making snide comments about it. She does these little things that just piss me off and make me want to slap the living fuck out of her. It’s not wonder she’s been married 3 different times and doesn’t have a boyfriend. No one can deal with her dumb ass. All she does it make nasty comments about sex, show off her wrinkly body by lifting up her shirt and clothes, and ask about everyone’s sex lives. Every time she comes near my area I want to scream at her and tell her to back off before I smack her. *Sigh*. If only.
On another note, thankfully it’s Friday. Christmas is coming up, and there are more financial worries due to it. I hate having to worry about money already. I can’t get another job because of the fibromyalgia pain, but it’s hard making ends meet, too. I need to just hit the lotto already! I’ve decided that this year I’m not going to buy everyone super expensive gifts. I’ll do extra for my mom, since I’m the only one that bothers to do anything for her, but that’s it. The holidays shouldn’t be about “gimme gimme gimme” anyway. I think people lose sight of that so quickly. To be honest, I would be fine if I didn’t receive a single gift. I like giving and rather than receiving, but know I spend beyond my means. I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have a credit card or it would be maxed out! This year I’m giving a small gift as a sign of my appreciation to the people I care about and the rest will get a “thinking of you card”. Seriously.
Tomorrow is the Christmas light’s parade in my town. Hopefully it will cheer me up and help bring me out of this funk I’ve fallen into. I will also be helping with a food drive for the homeless early in the day. I seriously need to give more to charity. I remember reading an article one time about how a father was teaching his child to give 10% of her income to charity, 30% into savings, and the rest should be living expenses so as not to live beyond one’s means. I think I need to adopt that lifestyle. Maybe I’ll do that in the New Year, even if I hate making resolutions. I can be so much more philanthropic but choose not to out of sheer laziness.
Ok, I guess I’ll sign off for now. I’m almost out of work and I need to go and buy stuff to make bake sale items for tomorrow’s fundraiser. Joy. ~Miss A
Friday, December 9, 2011
Apathy (12/6/11)
I really, truly despise the way I feel today. It happens at times…the feeling just crawls up and over me and leaves me feeling “blah”. It’s that feeling of nostalgia mixed in with apathy, regret, fear, dread and sadness. When I feel like this I seem to focus on the negative and cling on the thought of how short life is. I question the decisions I’ve made and even wonder why I’ve opened my heart up knowing that the future holds inevitable loss and suffering. Perhaps this loss and suffering may not be in the near future, but it will happen at some point in my future. And that point is what I am dreading. Again, this is a phase I go through every once in a while. I have no clue what actually triggers it. Maybe it’s an accumulation of fears in the back of my mind that spring forth like an unstoppable leak, or maybe it’s just a song or something on the radio that gets me going. Either way, it’s always worse this time of year. I am plagued by depression accompanied by a severe case of SAD so it throws my whole mood spectrum into a whirlwind. I also feel like it may be something hormonal this time around. I have polycystic ovarian syndrome and my periods have been pretty much non-existent the past year. I kind of feel like I may be starting my period, but I’m not sure. Either way, my hormones are definitely out of whack right now and I think my hormones are a big part of that. I’ve been mope-y, tired, emotional, etc for a little while now. My body just needs to start this freakin’ period already so I can move on with my life and try to be happy again. Good luck with that, right? Off for now! ~Miss A
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Misery Loves Company
Whew, last night was NOT a good night in my world. As I’ve mentioned before, my mom is disabled and has severe schizophrenia. Well, she has chosen not to take any medication so she’s definitely not stable on the best of days. Last night I got home from work and was dragging in a large package I had received in the mail for my home business (it’s something I do on the side). As I walked in I knocked over a medium sized potted plant. This sent my mom into a ballistic rage. She began yelling at me about how my “fat ass needs to lose weight”, how I “carry myself like an elephant”, etc. She continued to yell at me about how I can’t get a decent boyfriend because I’m such a fat cow…and on…and on…and on. She also told me that she can see why my boss treats me the way she does at work if I act like such a filthy, sloppy, fat pig.
*Sigh* All of this definitely wore me out emotionally and even physically. I felt horrible afterwards. I had no desire to even move off of my bed. I laid down under the covers and felt numb. To be honest, this behavior should not bother me since my mother always yells at me like that. I try hard to remind myself that it’s the mental illness speaking, not her, but it’s trying nonetheless. She’s been so “off” since I was about 8 years old, that it’s hard to tell when the real “Alice” (not her real name, changed for her protection. This is also one of her alter egos when she loses touch with reality.)
I can almost remember when my mom’s mental health went from great to non-existent. She had always been the picture perfect stay-at-home mom. She was a member of the PTA, the Girl Scout leader, the upstanding member of the community. At home she was Betty Crocker and kept the house spotless while my dad worked as a police officer. But behind closed doors, she suffered the fate of a unfaithful, abusive husband. My dad cheated on my mom multiple times (with much younger women), hit her, destroyed the house, etc. He let the power of being a cop get to his head and took it out on my mom. Her psyche was weak and through years of this behavior and uncalled for suffering, I think it all caused her to “lose it”. She had 2 nervous breakdowns that I can remember, and was never the same afterwards.
During summer vacation when I was about 8 years old, my mom decided she would sit in the bathroom and unknot a large basket of hair ribbons & barrettes. She was very intent on making sure there was not a single knot in anything. I had a strange feeling in my stomach and knew that I was witnessing some kind of change in her. Even at that tender age, the change did not feel right. Over the course of the next few days, my mom began doing some very odd things. She started talking about how I couldn’t wear certain colors together, how I had to wear certain colors on specific days of the week, etc. On another day I caught my mom sitting in the bathroom with a stack of magazines on the floor and a pen. She called me in to sit with her and color coordinate my extensive collection of hair ribbons all the while asking me if the people in magazines looked like certain people (an old teacher, my father’s ex lovers, etc). As I confirmed the similarities, she would draw a pentacle on their forehead or other characters which I cannot remember. After that, it became worse until she had a full blown nervous breakdown at my grandparent’s house about a year later. The second nervous breakdown came about a year after the first, when my grandfather, whom she was very close to, passed away.
Anyway, last night was really bad. I know I need to be more understanding, but the thoughts of how I used to hurt myself came flooding back and I almost began longing to cut again. For those of you who have never cut before, you would never be able to understand the feelings that are associated with self mutilation. Only a fellow cutter knows the intense flooding of relief that comes with the first painful sensation of a fresh razor wound. Yes, that’s absolutely disgusting to say, but it’s what a recovering cutter like myself remembers at times like this when the temptation is overwhelming. I felt almost entranced by the idea and found myself envisioning myself cutting up my wrists like I did in the past. I started to think about my job and thought that maybe my legs would be better so I could hide the wounds easier in my professional work environment. I started thinking about how I would still scratch myself in my sleep. In fact, just a few months back I woke up with deep scratches on my cheeks from where I had basically mutilated myself in my sleep. It must be some sort of pent up aggression coming out, I think. Maybe I need a psych…
*Sigh* All of this definitely wore me out emotionally and even physically. I felt horrible afterwards. I had no desire to even move off of my bed. I laid down under the covers and felt numb. To be honest, this behavior should not bother me since my mother always yells at me like that. I try hard to remind myself that it’s the mental illness speaking, not her, but it’s trying nonetheless. She’s been so “off” since I was about 8 years old, that it’s hard to tell when the real “Alice” (not her real name, changed for her protection. This is also one of her alter egos when she loses touch with reality.)
I can almost remember when my mom’s mental health went from great to non-existent. She had always been the picture perfect stay-at-home mom. She was a member of the PTA, the Girl Scout leader, the upstanding member of the community. At home she was Betty Crocker and kept the house spotless while my dad worked as a police officer. But behind closed doors, she suffered the fate of a unfaithful, abusive husband. My dad cheated on my mom multiple times (with much younger women), hit her, destroyed the house, etc. He let the power of being a cop get to his head and took it out on my mom. Her psyche was weak and through years of this behavior and uncalled for suffering, I think it all caused her to “lose it”. She had 2 nervous breakdowns that I can remember, and was never the same afterwards.
During summer vacation when I was about 8 years old, my mom decided she would sit in the bathroom and unknot a large basket of hair ribbons & barrettes. She was very intent on making sure there was not a single knot in anything. I had a strange feeling in my stomach and knew that I was witnessing some kind of change in her. Even at that tender age, the change did not feel right. Over the course of the next few days, my mom began doing some very odd things. She started talking about how I couldn’t wear certain colors together, how I had to wear certain colors on specific days of the week, etc. On another day I caught my mom sitting in the bathroom with a stack of magazines on the floor and a pen. She called me in to sit with her and color coordinate my extensive collection of hair ribbons all the while asking me if the people in magazines looked like certain people (an old teacher, my father’s ex lovers, etc). As I confirmed the similarities, she would draw a pentacle on their forehead or other characters which I cannot remember. After that, it became worse until she had a full blown nervous breakdown at my grandparent’s house about a year later. The second nervous breakdown came about a year after the first, when my grandfather, whom she was very close to, passed away.
Anyway, last night was really bad. I know I need to be more understanding, but the thoughts of how I used to hurt myself came flooding back and I almost began longing to cut again. For those of you who have never cut before, you would never be able to understand the feelings that are associated with self mutilation. Only a fellow cutter knows the intense flooding of relief that comes with the first painful sensation of a fresh razor wound. Yes, that’s absolutely disgusting to say, but it’s what a recovering cutter like myself remembers at times like this when the temptation is overwhelming. I felt almost entranced by the idea and found myself envisioning myself cutting up my wrists like I did in the past. I started to think about my job and thought that maybe my legs would be better so I could hide the wounds easier in my professional work environment. I started thinking about how I would still scratch myself in my sleep. In fact, just a few months back I woke up with deep scratches on my cheeks from where I had basically mutilated myself in my sleep. It must be some sort of pent up aggression coming out, I think. Maybe I need a psych…
Monday, November 14, 2011
Fast Forward!!!!!
Here we are, more than a year later and I’m still rotting in my misery at this job. I stopped looking for a while, hoping things would get better. And they did. But once again, it seems like it all goes to hell in the late summer and early fall. Maybe it’s because it’s performance review time. Or maybe it’s because the she-devil goes into her yearly PMS. Either way, this year was worse than the last. I’ve been written up multiple times and am currently at loss of good standings. Which means (for those that don’t know), if I take one step out of line, my ass is on the next freight train headed straight for the unemployment line. I’m definitely keeping my nose clean. The write ups were totally uncalled for, too. I got written up once for taking a 15 minute break to the lab, but apparently the Line Backer (as I’ve been calling her due to her size and manly stature) considered it “abandoning my post”, even though Lisa (name changed to protect my ass, basically), did the exact same thing a week later with no consequences whatsoever. Due to all this, I’ve been keeping a handy little “Rat’s” notebook. Every time someone has a visitor, or does something they shouldn’t be doing, I’m writing it down so I can use it as proof if the shit hits the fan. Or rather, WHEN it hits the fan. I also got written up for being out of work for a week due to pneumonia at Easter. Some bullshit about calling in adjoining a holiday (which I had -3- doctor's excuses for!) I also go written up for being one minute late several times. Yet Janice (another girl), comes into work between 8:05-8:10 most mornings and has never been written up or yelled at since she's the office kiss ass. The linebacker has it in for me, that's for sure!
On a slightly brighter note, I’ve actually moved up in the world of job searching and gotten a few interviews here and there. Nothing has come of any of them, but it’s worth a try. I’d rather know I’m trying rather than sitting on my ass and letting the world beat down on me. Someday, something good will come out of it all. I predict it will all be much more difficult now that the holidays are upon us, but once they pass I’m going back at it, head on. I won’t get anywhere in the world if I don’t try to make myself into something that can pass as a half way successful human specimen. My job title also changed late last year and I got a slightly higher raise, so now I'm making $13.50 an hour. It definitely helps a lot, and has also kept me working where I'm at since it's definitely a decent pay rate for my tiny little town. in my area, the poverty rate is well above the national average. A job that pays this amount around here is a golden opportunity that I've clung on to.
Coming up in the next year will be my wedding as well. And I’m –totally- not prepared (financially, anyway). Emotionally, I'm absolutely ready for it. I'm in love with this person and have been for ten years. Bob* is as happy as a 2 peckered goat (his saying, not mine), but I worry about money. A lot. He’s on full disability and has a steady income (though meager), coming in monthly. He worries about not being able to support me. I don't see it that way. I see it as trying to keep each other up and support each other. My money is his money. Neither partner is better than the other based off of income. Period.
I have my lowly paycheck coming in as well, but that’s it. We need to save for a small wedding, down payment on a place, even if just a rental, furniture, appliances, etc. And it needs to be done in less than a year. I also help my mom out a lot (who is also disabled, schizophrenia) , and it just seems like I love paycheck to paycheck. I’m literally scraping together coins to make sure I have some cash in my pocket. Coinstar has become one of my best friends since we finally got one at our rural little Wal-Mart about a year ago. I have absolutely -no- emergency fund sent aside, and zero in savings at the moment. I know, I'm bad off. And I'm worried about it. What if my car breaks down? Or something major related to my health comes up? When I had pneumonia, I had to take 3 days off without pay since I did not have enough paid time off accrued, and it was horrible. I live paycheck to paycheck, but I am the American norm in that aspect.
Earlier this year I attempted getting a second job, but I’m just not as young as I freakin’ use to be. I can’t work 7 days a week, take classes, and still function in my full time job like I could do 6 years ago. I had to quit because I couldn't handle to physical aspects of it. I’ve worn down my body a lot by working up to 3 jobs at once in the past. I’m also suffering from fibromyalgia now (which was the reason I was getting labs done the day I got written up), so I’m always low on energy and my joints constantly hurt. I feel like the tin man in need of some major oil. I feel like I’m inside a 60 year olds body on most days. I’m suppose to go see a rheumatologist next month sometime, so hopefully I can get on some meds to help alleviate the symptoms. NOT pain meds, since I'm completely against that stuff for myself. I can function without them. Right now, I’m just on the usual: antidepressant (a higher level because I became suicidal again), thyroid meds, and now a blood pressure medication. I guess having a blood pressure reading of 157/111 isn’t good for you when you’re only 27. My job is primarily to blame.
So what’s the purpose of me writing a blog? Well, one reason is to vent. I don’t care if no one reads all of this. It gives me the opportunity to write out my feelings and get them out in the open instead of letting them build up inside until I blow up. The other reason is to help. Maybe someone out there is reading this blog and going through all of the same things (or something similar). And if so, you’re not alone. That’s something that I need to remind myself of all the time. No matter what hardship, bull crap, or drama I’m going through, I’m not alone. And it makes all the difference in the world to know that.
On a slightly brighter note, I’ve actually moved up in the world of job searching and gotten a few interviews here and there. Nothing has come of any of them, but it’s worth a try. I’d rather know I’m trying rather than sitting on my ass and letting the world beat down on me. Someday, something good will come out of it all. I predict it will all be much more difficult now that the holidays are upon us, but once they pass I’m going back at it, head on. I won’t get anywhere in the world if I don’t try to make myself into something that can pass as a half way successful human specimen. My job title also changed late last year and I got a slightly higher raise, so now I'm making $13.50 an hour. It definitely helps a lot, and has also kept me working where I'm at since it's definitely a decent pay rate for my tiny little town. in my area, the poverty rate is well above the national average. A job that pays this amount around here is a golden opportunity that I've clung on to.
Coming up in the next year will be my wedding as well. And I’m –totally- not prepared (financially, anyway). Emotionally, I'm absolutely ready for it. I'm in love with this person and have been for ten years. Bob* is as happy as a 2 peckered goat (his saying, not mine), but I worry about money. A lot. He’s on full disability and has a steady income (though meager), coming in monthly. He worries about not being able to support me. I don't see it that way. I see it as trying to keep each other up and support each other. My money is his money. Neither partner is better than the other based off of income. Period.
I have my lowly paycheck coming in as well, but that’s it. We need to save for a small wedding, down payment on a place, even if just a rental, furniture, appliances, etc. And it needs to be done in less than a year. I also help my mom out a lot (who is also disabled, schizophrenia) , and it just seems like I love paycheck to paycheck. I’m literally scraping together coins to make sure I have some cash in my pocket. Coinstar has become one of my best friends since we finally got one at our rural little Wal-Mart about a year ago. I have absolutely -no- emergency fund sent aside, and zero in savings at the moment. I know, I'm bad off. And I'm worried about it. What if my car breaks down? Or something major related to my health comes up? When I had pneumonia, I had to take 3 days off without pay since I did not have enough paid time off accrued, and it was horrible. I live paycheck to paycheck, but I am the American norm in that aspect.
Earlier this year I attempted getting a second job, but I’m just not as young as I freakin’ use to be. I can’t work 7 days a week, take classes, and still function in my full time job like I could do 6 years ago. I had to quit because I couldn't handle to physical aspects of it. I’ve worn down my body a lot by working up to 3 jobs at once in the past. I’m also suffering from fibromyalgia now (which was the reason I was getting labs done the day I got written up), so I’m always low on energy and my joints constantly hurt. I feel like the tin man in need of some major oil. I feel like I’m inside a 60 year olds body on most days. I’m suppose to go see a rheumatologist next month sometime, so hopefully I can get on some meds to help alleviate the symptoms. NOT pain meds, since I'm completely against that stuff for myself. I can function without them. Right now, I’m just on the usual: antidepressant (a higher level because I became suicidal again), thyroid meds, and now a blood pressure medication. I guess having a blood pressure reading of 157/111 isn’t good for you when you’re only 27. My job is primarily to blame.
So what’s the purpose of me writing a blog? Well, one reason is to vent. I don’t care if no one reads all of this. It gives me the opportunity to write out my feelings and get them out in the open instead of letting them build up inside until I blow up. The other reason is to help. Maybe someone out there is reading this blog and going through all of the same things (or something similar). And if so, you’re not alone. That’s something that I need to remind myself of all the time. No matter what hardship, bull crap, or drama I’m going through, I’m not alone. And it makes all the difference in the world to know that.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
This Is My Life
So I have no idea why I got his crazy notion to start blogging about my life. It’s not like I’m ultra glamorous and there is such excitement going on. I’m just a normal person working a normal 8-5, Monday through Friday. Pretty boring, eh? My job sucks. The pay sucks, but the job market out there is so crappy. I’ve put in at least 20 applications/resumes in the past month and haven’t gotten a single interview. Maybe I’m over-qualified. Or maybe the jobs I apply for are just unobtainable. Either way, something needs to come up soon before I go freakin’ crazy. My job is simple. I’m a scheduler for a busy clinic. Too bad 90% of the people that call are fucking idiots…but that’s another story. Anyway, there are 5 of us that answer phones and I’m the top performer. I, alone, usually take half of the calls each day. You think that would make me the untouchable golden child, right? WRONG. My boss hates my guts. She always critiques me and treats me like I’m an idiot. Seems like I’m always getting called into her office or getting a dreaded “bad girl” e-mail. So get this, my boss gets really sick and has to be out on medical leave for a month. How horrible am that I wish she would be out longer?! Apparently she had to have some kind of stomach surgery and secretly, I was gloating when I heard the news. “Serves the bitch right” kept ringing in the back of my mind as I kept a straight face and listened to the interim supervisor talk about her condition. “She deserves it for all the ulcers she’s caused me”, I kept thinking. When at work, I’m so addicted to acid reflux medication and this herbal “nerve tonic” that I pop like candy. Funny enough, I haven’t taken either of those meds in the month that she’s been gone. That will change next week when the Queen Bee returns to her hive. Maybe you think I’m over exaggerating. I’m not. I started working at this place 5 years ago. Ever since I started at the young age of 21, this person (in order to protect the identity of the criminally insane, lets call her Loopy), had had it in for me. I remember one time when she got in my face as I left the office and started screaming at me (in front of everyone), telling me I was a disgrace to the office and I was the worst employee she’s ever had. Why did she tell me this? It was Friday (jeans day, YAY!), and I was wearing a pretty pair of light blue jeans with embroidered flowers on them, a pink shirt and white tennies. That day I got called in to do a peer interview with a potential employee and that’s what the horrendous crime was. Apparently, I was supposed to know that during these interviews I was not allowed to wear jeans. Well, wouldn’t it have been nice to have gotten that fucking memo before I got Loopy spit all over my face?! I remember running downstairs to wallow in self pity and cry on my boyfriend’s shoulder (he also worked in the same building at the time). That was the final straw and I became a VERY part time employee after that since I got offered a job in another town that was commuting distance and which offered more pay. I was in heaven! Fast forward to present day. “Why the hell are you back then?!” you ask. Well, all good things must come to an end. Flash back briefly to November 2009. I took a few days of vacation at my old job and when I come back, BAM, the petty cash bag that was in my locked desk drawer was gone. Of course, being that I was the one who signed for it, I was held accountable. Forget the fact that I wasn’t even in the office or the fact that I had locked the fucking thing up…Nope. It was all my fault. So I quit my job rather than being fired for a miniscule $100. The peeps I worked with even volunteered to throw cash in to replace the missing $100 since everyone knew I didn’t take it. But nooooo. The heifer in Human Resources said I wasn’t “careful enough and didn’t protect the assets of the organization well enough”. Fuck her in the ear with the Americana Dildo. In cleaning my desk out when I handed I my letter or resignation, I learned something that pissed me right off. The drawer above my locked drawer could be removed and that left open access to my “locked” drawer where the money was. I also discovered (while having lunch with a former co-worker), that this temp girl that had been working there in the office was arrested for stealing the wallet of one of the PA’s in the office. She had several credit cards, etc on her person when she was arrested. Apparently she had a history of theft. At that moment I KNEW it was that bitch that took the money. The day before my vacation, she had been interested in how much money was in my drawer and she was acting super sweet to me, when before she had done nothing but give me some disgusted up-and-down looks. She was using the excuse that she needed change for lunch in order to ask all these questions. Too bad it was too late to do anything about it. May that bitch rot in jail. So when that happened, I had no choice but to come back to my dreaded part time job and beg for a full time position. The bills still needed to be paid, and this was my only option at that exact moment. So I ended up in Trisha’s office (my supervisor, who’s name is being changed to reflect her actions) crying my eyes out and telling her I got laid off (not at total lie), and begging for hours. She took pity on me and told me that there were plenty of hours for me and she put me to work right away. It wasn’t without Loopy coming in and ragging on me first, though. She gloated as she told me that she had been planning to fire me as a part time employee because she didn’t feel I was “on the bus”, but would give me one more shot since I was so pitiful (she didn’t say the pitiful part, but I knew what the dumb cunt was thinking). So here I am. Stuck in a job that I hate that pays a measly $11.09 an hour and popping pills just to make my existence in this shitty office a bit more tolerable…all the while dreaming of committing homicide with a stapler. Which, if I may add, I don’t even have! I have a tiny desk about 4 feet across with a computer and a phone. I have purchased all the rest of my office supplies myself. All my supplies get taken home with me at the end of each day or get locked in my small, dark gray military-esque cabinet that looks like it was a leftover reject from the 1950’s. I am cautious about what I lock up since we all know what can happen when you lock important items up (insert rueful laugh). Ok, anyway, that’s all for now. People are lurking around my desk and I don’t feel as though I have adequate privacy to type any longer. Heaven forbid one of my co-workers should see my typing, especially the ever nosy “Jeff” (name changed to protect privacy again, of course). Until next time… -Miss A
Sunday, July 18, 2010
My Disclaimer
Ok, so I am a 27 year old female, legal in all aspects...so items I may talk about in this blog may NOT be suitable for children (or the narrow minded). I will speak my mind, talk about everything that's happening in my sub par life, and may (ok, ok... WILL) cuss. A LOT. Don't send me messages complaining about my language or views because, hey, I told ya it wasn't all going to be sugar and spice. So read on...if you're brave enough.
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
BTW...If you want to complain, compliment, etc, you can write me at: FabulousMissA@ymail.com
-Miss A
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
BTW...If you want to complain, compliment, etc, you can write me at: FabulousMissA@ymail.com
-Miss A
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