So much for my vows...

No, my marriage is fine.  As fine as a marriage that involves two people who only see each other on weekends and have two small children to take care of in absence of the other can be, but that's another rant.  What I meant was a vow I made a while back.

That I wouldn't sling phone calls for a living again.

By the gods, I have done way more than my fair share of call center bullshit.  I have essentially done every thankless job in a call center from the front line agent to trainer to call center operations, management, HR, you name it.  Truthfully, the only roles I haven't had to play were facilities, site lead and janitor, and that last one only counts if you don't take the slobs I had to teach for years in a crowded classroom.  Yeah, I may be called "Mom" in my off hours, but even my kids pick up after themselves.

Again, another rant for another time.

But thanks to the ever wonderful job market in this festering hell hole I was conned into returning to, guess what I'm doing again?  Slinging fucking phone calls.  Right now I'm in a training class where the turd sucker who's training me (and I mean that in a personal way, not in an "all trainers are turd suckers" way, cause lets face it, I was a trainer, and I so did not suck, and I know people who can vouch for that) is a turd sucker that if there wasn't a freak last minute request for a transfer from some scrawny twerp from the Phillipines, would be my direct report.  (Woah, run on sentence much?  Oh well.)  To put it in clearer terms - I applied for a Training Manager position with this company 6 months ago, made it to the top of the list, and was going to be hired if it wasn't for the previously mentioned scrawny twerp from the Phillipines requesting an internal transfer.  So, can we say bitter?

You know how hard it is to not sit and scowl for 8 hours while working bottom rung when you know that you had a top paying job nearly in your lap?  Not to mention when you've seen their choice in action and would like to bitch slap them for being useless?  If I had intentions for sticking around for very long, it would probably drive me to drink (more so than I have since moving back here).  This is merely money to keep the roof over my head until some schmuck buys it and fulfills step 1 or 2 of the Ultimate Plan(tm).  The plan goes as follows.

Step 1 or 2:  Get job in city I should have never left in the first place and leave this festering hell hole OR Sell house and take the fuck off.

Step 3:  Get husband to find work in city we never should have left in the first place.

Step 4: Have husband and kids follow me out to the city we never should have left in the first place.  I will find a place while they make their way here.

Step 5:  Live happily ever after with minimal family meddling (what kind of bullshit can they cause 3000+km away?)

Yeah, it's a work in progress, but it was launched late last fall...  It's one of them there "living plans".  Which means I change the rules as we go along.  But in the end it's the same outcome.  Sell house, get job in Alberta, and GTFOH.  The kids will be better off in an area where there are a lot more kids their age (my oldest wasn't nearly as bratty or clingy when he had 20 some odd kids to play with at any given time, and only 10% of them should have been skimmed out of the gene pool for the sludge they were).  We have a compitent doctor out there who has already informed me that we're all still his patients, no matter how long we've been gone.  And I've got quality daycare lined up and ready for the boys.  So this isn't just a freak thing.  I've been laying the ground work down.  Now if someone would just bite at the fucking resume or the "For Sale" sign in the front yard, this wouldn't be so depressing.

Especially considering I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING SLING PHONE CALLS!!!!  

For the love of cheesecake, just cause I'm good at it doesn't mean I want to do it.  It's brainless damned work, and pays worse than that!  I am way too good for this job, and it's bloody obvious...

But like the bank cares.  They want their money...  And I like having a roof.  Not too many choices, and even though prostitution pays more, I just don't think so.  I found the only decent male in this region, no more kissing frogs for this princess.

So much for my promise to myself...  In the meantime though, I can entertain myself with the image of choking the customers with the products they are calling in to complain about.  That, and the liquor store takes air miles cards.  

Oh, and first irk...  BDJ?  Who the fuck are you?  Big Dumb Jerk?  Leave a clue behind wouldya?