Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
- If you are the person who has a desk reference, a dictionary, and a medical terminology dictationary at your desk but you still have to ask someone about how to spell a word because you're too lazy to look it up, you irritate me.
- If you make my friend cry, you irritate me.
- If you are the maker of an electronic gadget that I love and breaks within a month, you irritate me.
- If you are the freaking printer that runs out of paper just before printing the last goddamn page, you irritate me.
- If you are a hypochondriac germaphobe who can't stop talking about swine flu, you irritate me.
- If you are the guy driving that silver van who cut me off just to get to the red light faster than me today, you irritate me, too.
- If you're the only cashier at the front of the store, you irritate me on principle.
- If you work at the pharmacy that cancelled my prescription instead of filling it, for reasons as yet unknown, you irritate me by association.
- If you owe me money, which you know you do, and you haven't sent it yet, you irritate the shit out of me because that's just wrong.
- If you're too chicken to agree with me publicly but make a big to-do about agreeing with me in private where nobody can see, you irritate me.
- If you cannot take constructive criticism about something I am trained to do (and you are not yet) without getting an attitude, you irritate me.
I'm irritated today; can you tell?
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
I was at lunch, standing at the counter, and peeling my hard-boiled egg when I started to think about mistakes. This is an odd-duck time to think about mistakes, I know, but my egg was peeling funky, you see, and it made perfect sense. On most occasions, I am an expert egg-peeler. I can very nearly peel off the entire shell with no pock-marks on the flesh of the egg and an entire shell nearly intact. I am a rock-star egg-peeler, you guys. Today, however, the egg did not want to cooperate, and I very nearly chucked it and started over. This was when I started to think about mistakes; and more accurately, I started to think about how I react to mistakes.
I do not like them. Not one bit, no way, no how. I don't like it when other people make mistakes, and I hatehateHATE it when I make mistakes. When other people make mistakes, I feel let down (which you may totally read: they didn't do it my way). When I make mistakes, I suddenly become terrified, bunny-in-your-headlights fish. Or, I get angry (hence the near-egg-chucking...)
One night, while we were still living in the trailer (how country is that?), Hub was making chili for supper. Somehow...oh, I remember...we had already eaten, and I was going to put the remainder of the chili into a Tupperware container for leftovers. I got all of the chili into the container when WHAMO! Chili on da flo.
My first reaction was to get scared that Hub would be mad at me. Then, I started to cry. Who cries over spilled chili, really?
Ok, I know you think I'm getting a little off track, but all of this flashed in my brain while I was peeling that egg. I started to wonder why we make such a big deal out of mistakes. True, some mistakes are bigger than others (say, sleeping with the boss' wife versus forgetting to put a quarter in the meter); but as a society, we PUNISH mistakes rather than TEACH from mistakes. Isn't mistake-making part of learning? Don't we try to lead our children (the good parents anwyays) into better decisions when they make a mistake? Why, then, do we punish each other as adults?
(I told you I was going nuclear...my brain almost exploded when I started to think about this...)
SO THEN I started thinking, "Well, be the change you want in your life." AND THAT made me think about this: I'm a complainer. However, I'm a particular complainer whereas some folks are mass-media complainers. I particularly complain about people who complain about stupid things. I began wondering how I could "be the change" about mistakes. How that related to being a complainer, I'm not quite sure, but it does. So there.
I can hear frog..."OMG fish. Get on with it."
I think I'm going to start making more mistakes on purpose so I can learn to:
A) Not be afraid of them.
B) Not get angry.
C) Not complain when others make mistakes (and / or complain about the mistakes of others others)
Yeah. Quit reading this entirely-too-long ramble, and go visit Sprite's Keeper.
-points to blogroll-
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Hidden Life of Humans by Erika Ritter
"Single and on the downhill side of forty, Dana Jaeger has an unswerving allegiance to short-term involvements and perennially arrested adolescence. Lately, though, unexpected developments have begun to test her devotion to non-commitment...Across this terrain lopes Murphy-a mutt capable of consuming lawn mowers-whom Dana agrees to dog-sit...Between them, mongrel and mistress present a sometimes wry, sometimes antic portrait of our innermost selves sprung to life..."
A Madness of Angels (Or The Resurrection of Matthew Swift) by Kate Griffin
"Two years after his untimely death, Matthew Swift finds himself breathing once again, lying in bed in his London home. Except that it's no longer his bed, or his home. And the last time this sorcerer was seen alive, an unknown assailant had gouged a hole so deep in his chest that his death was irrefutable...despite his body never being found."
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Bear did a lot of driving...
While I...(did a lot of sleeping)...
From a conversation a-la-roadtrip yesterday:
Hub: I thought about getting Jaime a decorative spoon, but I didn't
think she had any spoons.
Me: Honey, I'm sure she has spoons. Look! Spoon River!
Hub: I am going to stab you with a spoon when we get home.
Me: If there is a fork in the Spoon River, do you suppose they call it
Kootienaj is seriously a real place. Look it up.
So, I think I have finally decided that I am seriously undecided. I make fun of frog a lot by calling her Indeciso, but I think she rubbed off her indecision goo on me or something because I'm having a hard time making big decisions. Do I want to go back to school? Or, do I want to try for my CMT certification again because I kind of actually like my job? Do I want to consider having a baby? Ohmycow, I seriously am having a cow about the fact that I can't decide.
Don't you think that places of business should just do away with recordings completely? Aren't they just a pain in your ear? This happened to me today: I called my rheumatologist's office to reschedule an upcoming appointment for labs. I listen to the recording, and it tells me to press 2 for scheduling. I press 2. I hear a little elevator music. Then this:
Office: Rheumatology Associates; how may I direct your call?
Me: *stumped a little because I wasn't expecting that question*
Office: How may I direct your call?
Me: I'm calling to reschedule an appointment.
Office: Just a moment, I'll transfer you.
HUH????? Isn't that the point of the damn recording in the first place? If you have to transfer me AFTER I PRESSED 2, then your recording is pointless and, therefore, a waste of my time, you crazy time-waster. After I press two, a friendly person should answer the phone and say, "Scheduling! How may I help you?"
...ok...I can't think of anything else right now...vacation update soon...
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
- Spin Cycle comes to you from Sprite's Keeper.
- I have just discovered Rhapsody (thanks frog!), and I love it! You only have to buy the songs you want!
- I found "Anti Monkey Butt" Powder in the store today. As soon as I download that picture from my phone, I will produce proof.
Ok, so this week's, and my first, spin cycle is about celebs. I have to admit that I don't follow celebs much because I think that a lot of them have made their money on obvious ass-hattery, which bugs me. Perez Hilton, you can kiss a toad.
However, in preparation for this very spin cycle, I have been watching the mags this week in hopes that fodder from heaven would plop down on me for some good bloggy. Lo and behold, I was not led astray.
"I am so alone," she says. Lindsey Lohan? YOU CAN KISS MY ASS! Alone? WTF? Did you not spend years now in a drunken stupor? Did you not take photos of yourself holding a KNIFE to your supposed pal? Did you not leave the guy-team for the almost-guy-team when you shacked up with a wedontknowwhat? If you're alone, fat-head, it is because you're an idiot.
I don't understand how these people can make so much money, have the ability to HIRE OTHER PEOPLE who are smart and savvy, and yet continue to make total jack-asses out of themselves. And why, why, WHY do we glorify actors? Really? They just stand there and make faces. You and I can "learn the lines," too, because we did it in elementary school. Why, also, do we glorify the likes of Paris Hilton? SHE DOESN'T HAVE A JOB, PEOPLE. Making faces at the paparazzi is not a job. Next thing you know, Paris will be quibbling over how much she's alone with her menagerie of animals the only company she has.
Ok, ok...so there ARE some celebs I can manage to stomach. Keanu Reeves, for example, is a favorite of mine because the man cannot emote, which is perfect for me because I don't need him to emote...just stand there and be pretty. I've also had some super-sexy-sex-dreams about the lives of Hugh Jackman (only in Wolverine, if you please), Paul Walker, Sean William Scott (its the sorta-beard), and Vin Diesel...though Vin is losing me to his huge ear-ness. I much prefer to imagine the stuff in my head than watch it on a screen. I come up with much sexier photos.
To sum it up, I guess you could say the fish is anti-celebrity. Mostly, I just want to tell them all to get a real job before complaining. :)
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
The other day, Hub and I were in our local Wal-Mart because that's where we always are. We are walking down the aisle towards the cash registers with our 50-pound bag of catfood when we, simultaneously, spot one of these "are you kidding me?" people. She couldn't have been more than 50 years old, but she was sporting a tracheostomy hole, a portable oxygen tank complete with nasal cannula, and AN E-FREAKING-CIGARETTE. Have you seen these new things? Smokeless smokes. So, at some point, her doctor told her that she was going to wear a hole in her neck for the rest of her life, speak like a gremlin, and probably die a slow, painful, drowning death from emphysema; and yet, she couldn't bring herself to stop smoking. Really? If I was that woman's doctor, I think I'd have saved my nickel for the next patient who might have given a shit about his / her health?
I have been preparing to go on vacation since the end of last week. I don't take vacation often partially because I don't like the way other people do my worn and partially because I didn't have the vacation time to do it. (Lots of health problems.) So, I do a lot of DETAIL work, and I've been sending out preparatory emails with all the damn details. Yet, today, I've fielded all SORTS of questions about 'what do I do when...," "when are you leaving," and "do i need to do this?" Really? Did you NOT read the freaking page-long email I sent out with all the details INCLUDED? Seriously? I think I'm going to stop answering questions that I've already answered. "Fish is no longer taking questions. Please refer to handout."
This is my favorite:
When I brought Epona home, Hub was all about not liking her. Told me that she was my dog. It was my responsibility to feed her, water her, train her, potty train her, etc. I'm not lying when I say that I became the Alpha Dog in my family quicklikeamofo. So, Epona is a year old now, and she knows her shit. She is a smart dog, and she picks up on training cues very quickly. (If you follow me at all, you've seen oodles of my doodle.) (Heh. That was cute.) Anyways, so she can sit, speak, jump up, all of that. She can also come on command (and not in the dirty way, you freaks). So, last night, we're lying in bed watching some man-opera (WWE wrestling), and I got up to let the dog out. Hub was the next one up; so, he went to let her back in. Do you remember that porch game I talked about before? Yeah, she plays this w/ hub more than she does me. He hollers for her to come inside, and she lies down. So, he pokes his head around the corner and says, "Honey, call your dog." I bellow out for that girl to come to me, and here she comes running. Hub lays down beside me in bed; and with a hearty sigh, says, "She's your dog. *sigh*" AGAIN, this morning, she's outside doing her best to look cute in the iris bed. Hub tries to lure her inside with a cookie, I bellow, she comes running. And again I get, "She's your dog." REALLY? For a year you were all about not being about the dog; and now that she's all cute and lovey on me, you want a damn dog of your own? REALLY?
She is my dog. And I'm not sharing. Dammit.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Having some mommy time. Epona loves to be cuddled and held. She STILL thinks she is a lap puppy even though she weighs 30 pounds now. Of course, it could be worse, she could be a great dane and still think she is a lap puppy. Whenever I sit down at my computer, I have to take at least five minutes out, before I do anything mind you, to pull her up into my lap and cuddle. She loves the hugs.
(frog please don't shoot me for putting up this photo. It is super-cute, and I luv you. *hee*)
Friday, April 10, 2009
- He cleans the house before he goes fishing.
- He makes super-special cinnamon-sugar-cream-whipped butter to go with croissants he bought just for you to take to work for breakfast.
- He waits until you've gone to work before having the exploding butt. (This is a big one.)
- On days when you're not feeling well, he doesn't complain (much) about making supper.
- He gets your coffee ready every morning.
- On Saturday mornings, he takes the dog out for a walk so you can sleep in.
- He understands that "leave me alone for a bit" isn't an insult.
- He puts blankets over the windows when you have a migraine to block out every possible shred of light.
- He makes plans to go visit people you love, even though they scare him to death, just because you love them and you want to go.
- He finally loves your dog, too.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Have you ever noticed how women shimmy, shake, and contort into their clothing to avoid flashing any part of the body to anybody at any angle? My most-favorite move is the wrap-the-towel-around-your-body-and-try-to-dress-over-it jobbie. Also of note is the sitting-down-panty-shuffle (that's where you try to get the panties to cover your ass without lifting it from the bench).
But we don't only do this in locker rooms, have you noticed that? Women do these same moves in a doctor's office WHEN THE DOOR IS CLOSED. And I know that women do it because I've done it, and (despite what I tell myself) I'm pretty run-of-the-mill.
Why do we do this? Why are we afraid of flashing a little flab in front of other chicks? Or, even moreso, why are we afraid to flash a little buttcheek to an empty room with the door closed (because I can totally understand not wanting to flash your FNP when they come back in)? So, there I was, people watching in the locker room, practically willing some of these ladies to just drop the towel and be brave! Be courageous! Be naked! Alas, it wasn't to be. (Did you know that some of these chicks won't even undress completely to take a shower in the locker room? P-SHAW!) There was hardly any nudity in the locker room, and I felt bad for us as women. I have a high doubt that the men are over in their locker rooms doing the panty-shimmy (or the tighty-whitey-shuffle, if you prefer). Oh no, I imagine they let it all flap in the wind and give a damn who sees. Moreover, I am fairly positive some length contests have occured.
So, why can't we have boob-sizing contests in our locker room? Why do we have to skirt around the nudity issue like we were practicing to be nuns? I, for one, wouldn't subscribe to bashfulness about my bod, and I got dressed like a normal human being without the towel around my body or my ass plastered to something - tattoos and all. And just for an added kick of spite, I didn't put my bra back on.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
[Side note: I LOVE the blog-following feature on blogger. I can put in all the addresses of the blogs I read, and it keeps them all right there together - even those who aren't on blogger. Can you say super-fantastic? I knew that you could.]
Also since I've been on blogger, I check out blogs of note, I read other blogs, and I surf the blog world. And can I just tell you? SOME OF THESE BLOGGERS ARE FUCKING BRILLIANT. And ok, I feel a little overwhelmed because really? They ALWAYS have something to say, and they say it in a really long, really detailed way...but not in a bad long way. It's like storytime every day on some of these blogs. I wanna be that blogger! I wanna know how to write a chapter about a temper tantrum, a roll of toilet paper, or a bad hair day! My venting usually resorts to foul-mouthed language, though, and that makes for bad blogging, I think. I wonder how they come up with all their verbosity, and I don't even care if that isn't a word. It sometimes takes me an hour to write an update, and some of that time is spent trying to drudge up something that I did or witnessed that seemed cool! I end up telling myself that nobody wants to read about the 10,000 things I did with my dog yesterday.
But you know what?
Fooey. I'm going to write about my damn dog, and my fish, and my bed, and my fuzzy slippers all I want. There's room for me, too, dangit.
And hey, if nobody likes it, at least I'll never know. Hehehe.
PS: If you're a blog-reader, check out The Daily Snark on my blogroll. I just found her, and I'm hooked.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Ok so first...I had a birthday...I turned 29 on April 1. I spent about a week before my birthday sort of grieving it because I knew this would be the first birthday I've ever had (ever, ever, ever) that I wasn't going to talk to my mom. (We're not speaking. At all.) I knew she wasn't going to put down her grudge to call me on my birthday; and even though I didn't want it to bother me, it bothered me. And I worried about it because I didn't want to be the jerk who received 19 great things and focuses on the 1 bad thing in the group. So I was concerned I was going to be a mopey jerk all day long. It turned out, though, that I didn't have *time* to worry about anything that day because even that whole week turned out to be super busy. My birthday was on a Wednesday. On Monday, Ted chartered me around for errands after work. On Tuesday, I went to a party with my friend, Jamie. On Wednesday, I was busy all day long at work with people wishing me happy birthday, getting presents, etc. After work on Wednesday, Jamie made me and hub a birthday supper. I was on the phone practically all week with people calling me to say happy birthday. So, it was a really ...uplifting experience.
I do have a couple of photos, but the modem at my house went down. So, I haven't been able to get online at home since last week. Apparently, they just go out because Qwest told us they "go bad" frequently. Whatever. It was under warranty; so, they sent us a new one. (The new one is prettier anyway.) I got that set up last night; so, I will be able to post photos soon.
In health news, I started methotrexate a couple of weeks ago; and I swear, it's fish speed. Once I take my dose on Monday night, I'm zooming through the rest of the week. By Saturday, though, I think it has worn off because I'm usually pretty tired on the weekends. I haven't missed a single day of work in months, though. *super flex* To some people, that may seem like a silly thing to get happy about, but I have a storied history with getting to work every day. My migraines have been cropping back up, but I do what I can. I think I have pretty much accepted that I'm going to hurt, in some capacity, every day. I just have to cope as best I can. I'm back in therapy now with a therapist who deals with patients with chronic pain so I can learn better coping skills (as opposed to "escapist" skills). So, there we go. The only thing I'm not thrilled about is that I now have to have monthly blood draws because of the methotrexate. Good thing I'm not afraid of needles.
Speaking of needles...I have to say that I'm not thrilled about the ink shops here in Davenport. I've been to two; and at both places, I wasn't treated very well. The front desk chick at one place downed on me because I wanted to get some stars...like it was too girly to get a freaking star; and at the other place, the guy wouldn't do what I asked for because "nobody here in our shop will do that unless you're at least 30 years old and work in a factory..." WTF? If I'm paying for your time, what do you care where I put my ink? Furthermore, who are you to tell me I can't put something on a certain place on my body when you're covered - head to toe - with ink all over? I got the impression from both places that because I didn't fit the mold (read: skinny blonde girl), they didn't want to give me their time. PFFT! It is unfortunate for both of their places of business because when I find an artist I like, I'm going to bring repeat business. I have a lot of ideas, and I'm prepared to keep going until I run out of them. I've been recommended to a shop in Rock Island, but I haven't gotten over there to check it out yet.
...that's all I can think of right now.