Spoiler Alert: I Still Have Both Feet.

February 10, 2009

It’s not that I don’t have stuff to tell you friends. I’m not even secretly addicted to a video game(for once). I just have not had the solid time to give you all the attention you deserve. It’s no excuse really…Just remember though, if you really need a crse fix, click the sidebar for my twitter link. Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think twitter is “better” than you or anything. It’s just quicker. Kind of like you are my betrothed and twitter is just a friend with benefits. I like to plan our time together, but I can just hook up with twitter when the bar closes. But today friends, I thought I’d post to tell you I’m turning over a new leaf.

I had a little health scare last week. My feet wouldn’t warm up one night and because I was in the throes of insomnia, I forgot that the problem could be related to tramping through snow in soggy shoes for ten hours (off and on of course) for the first time in ten days. (Because friends, much of my job involves cold sogginess in the winter). I decided I must have diabetes and that my feet were going to need cut off. Now loyal readers know my issue with having stumps (or as they are more delicately known, nubbins), and are probably aware of my fear of karmic retribution. Still, I don’t think I shared the shock of my most recent realization.

Let me preface the realization by making sure that we are all on the same page. Can we all agree that there are some people in the world that are fetchers and some that are fetchees? It’s best when the fetcher and the fetchee are together (like Gill and I). (Obviously, I am the fetchee.) I’ve always believed that karma would not allow me to be in a wheel chair because it always seems like folks who are in wheelchairs are fiercely independent and like to do everything for themselves. Since I’m only grudgingly independent, I figured that karma wouldn’t punish me in that way. Then, it happened. I met a person in a wheel-chair who was a textbook example of a fetchee. Just about the time I realized we couldn’t be friends because her fetchee status trumped mine and I was not about to become her fetcher (don’t judge me friends. We all have our character limitations, I just try to be more honest about mine on here), I realized that if a fetchee like her could end up in a wheelchair, well then so could I.

So back to last Tuesday night. I kept checking my feet in the bathroom and couldn’t decide if they were dark pink from squishing them to assess for numbness or because they were starting to turn black because of impending diabetes rot. (yes, that’s a little flash of my ignorance surrounding the disease) At one point, I noticed dark spots behind both my ankles. They almost looked like bruises but didn’t hurt. I was alarmed enough to want to wake up Gill to see if he had the same dark spots. I played that tape through and realized he would just yell at me and probably wouldn’t offer the extensive examination and reassurance that I was looking for. Instead, I got up and WebMDed the problem. Turns out there really is no such thing as diabetes rot, and after a brief thrombosis scare, I figured out it was probably just cold.

Yes indeed, the incident scared me friends. I’m changing my ways for real this time. Maybe that means I’ll blog more too!


Travis Bickle Tuesday*

September 23, 2008

Ok friends, this is a quick and extremely self-indulgent post but the bitterness? It fuels me. Some of you have been politely ignoring my ongoing bitches on twitter about my bank “problem”(s). As well you know, I seldom need encouragement to elaborate on bitches about “problem”(s) and today is no exception. I could regale you with a boring tale of how effed up things have gotten over the past week but instead, I think I will find it more cathartic to frame this as a reality check.
Still I will start from the top:
1. If you were in payroll and you were entering a new account early in the week and the entire two week paycheck from a long time employee bounced back, wouldn’t you maybe let them know they weren’t GETTING PAID THAT WEEK?
2a. We are a hospital friends. We have 1800 employees. Payroll is not one person. It is an ENTIRE DEPARTMENT.
2b. Is not the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results? Well yes friends. Yes it is. We cover that in the hospital mental health units.
2c. (Correlating back to 2a) What kind of incompetent jackass INCOMPETENT JACKASS re-enters the same number three times after it bounces back?
3. (Where I really start to get pissed). If you get a panicked phone call from an employee at 814am and then at 910am on MONDAY MORNING explaining that they got a pay stub BUT DID NOT GET PAID and shit was bouncing all over town, would you a) call them back and try to figure out what was wrong? or b) Ignore them as some whackjob employee trying to get more money, disregarding the fact that said whackjob has been employeed by the hospital for over 234 pay periods (Oh you know Im pissed when Im doing this kind of math) and NEVER called with such a concern before?
3a. Oh wait, you’d probably go with c) Not acknowledge the employee and continue to NOT LOOK AT THE ROUTING NUMBER PRINTED RIGHT ON THE CHECK because despite the fact that IT IS RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF YOU, you are stuck in some cognitively stunted pattern that refuses to recognize another state exists (let alone has different routing numbers) outside of your xenophobic hometown reality.
4. The answer to number 3 is D: You wait until the desperate employee’s department director contacts you and STILL DON’T CONTACT THE EMPLOYEE??? RUDE RUDE RUDE. You people just moved to the top of the list for the Asshole Rehab I plan to open as soon as society collapses and Im free to implement my interventions without pesky human rights limitations impeding my work.
5. When your sad poor milkless employee calls the bank for the third time looking again for answers, and FIGURES IT OUT FOR YOU TO THE POINT OF PROVIDING THE CORRECT NUMBERS FOR PROMPT CORRECTION FIRST THING TUESDAY MORNING do you fix the mistake thus allowing the desperate worker to access her money instantly, or do you TAKE A HUGE CHUNK OUT OF HER ENTIRE FREAKING MORNING BY FORCING HER TO DRIVE 26 MILES OUT OF HER WAY TO PICK UP A CHECK THAT WON’T CLEAR UNTIL THURSDAY THUS CAUSING ADDITIONAL BOUNCING??? YOU MONSTERS!!!

Ah friends, a rain will come soon and wash all the trash off the sidewalk…..it’s what keeps me going…

*It has come to my attention that there are folks that take this blog literally. I assure you no shivving will take place today. Instead, I will politely thank the folks at payroll for their trouble. I will deposit my check accordingly, suck up the funding problem till thursday and then I will just finish the shit I should have been doing instead of tracking this crap down (and venting to you) when I get home…sigh.

A Crse self-reflection post

July 20, 2008

Friends, I need to process a little here. An event occurred recently that has caused some inner turmoil. I’ve been feeling a lot of insecurity and self-doubt since it happened and made me ask myself some hard questions about my own character. Im going to relate the situation here and see if I can’t develop some insight as I write.

The incident occurred during an interaction with a homeless gentleman while I was working at the farmer’s market* yesterday. He approached on my co-worker’s side and I didn’t notice him right away as they were engaged in conversation. I did tune in time to hear him ask about getting some coffee. We were set up right next to the free trade coffee table where you could buy a cup or a bag. My table-mate seemed to be struggling to understand that he was asking for a cup. Since I speak “mental disability” fairly fluently, I caught on and led him over to get a cup. He was shaking a bit so in what I hoped looked like hospitality as opposed to condescension, I started to pump a cup from the thermos and when I asked how he took it, he told me I could put cream and sugar in as I saw fit. The coffee ran out before the cup was half full and my friend at the free trade table told us a fresh pot was brewing and went to get it We drifted into other activities. Soon, we reconvened there to observe that the coffee hadn’t come back out. He decided to go with decaf. As soon as his cup was filled, my friend emerged with the fresh pot. I immediately offered to take the decaf so he could have caffeine. We joked about needing caffeine and all seemed fine between until I offered to put the cream and sugar in. He immediately got defensive and said he’d do it himself. Now friends, I am used to irrational hostility. From grown-ups. In near proximity of my person. But for some reason, his defensiveness made me feel really nervous to the point that I emptied a full packet of sugar into the trash pouch. He continued to mutter at me and when I asked him what he said, he stopped muttering and said in an offended way “Ive said all Im going to say.” We went our separate ways but for the rest of the morning I spent time wondering how I offended him while telling myself I was being ridiculous as I know enough about mental illness to not personalize the outburst. I guess he decided to move on with our relationship and give me another chance because he did approach me for a light at the end of the market and didn’t seem too offended when I told him I don’t smoke.

Since the event happened, the guilt over offending him has dissipated but Im still struggling with why I felt so bothered by the thought that I insulted this man. I’m generally completely comfortable with people thinking Im an asshole (unless I really like them, and let’s be honest, the strong urine stench emanating from his person immediately prohibited any real soul connection from developing during our brief time together). Nor do I think Im above being insensitive to other people’s needs (remind me to tell you folks about the time I asked about a co-worker’s culture using the phrase “I understand you sleep with your young.” Nice. And then you eat them?). I even would go so far as to agree with the assertion that homeless people can be assholes sometimes. Generally, I can laugh off these encounters without too much thought, trying to learn from any social blunder Ive made but this guy threw me right off my game and I don’t know why. Ok so that’s the story and I still have no insights. Still Ill post this because who doesn’t appreciate a good “shunned by the homeless guy” story? Right?

* So when I use the phrase “im working at a farmer’s market this summer”, (go ahead take a few moments to laugh that out) I can understand how one could draw certain erroneous conclusions about what is transpiring there so we will take a moment and correct the assumptions folks might make that are clearly incongruent with everything you’ve learned or known about my character. First “work” is more like compulsory volunteering (no it’s not parole…) and does not involve any manual labor. In this context, work means I sit at a table handing out community events literature and chatting with folks for three hours on Saturday morning (or two hours since Ive not managed to get there on time for the first two weeks of the season). Lucy is also part of this gig which makes it even less work-like. Now that Ive defined “work”, you’ve most likely drawn the conclusion that I have nothing to do with anything farmer-y or vegetable-y in the market. You’d be correct. Im explaining all of this as the farmer’s market will most likely play into future posts and I can’t have you people think Im into vegetables or anything like that. I have a reputation to protect.


April 2, 2008

“Hi my name is Ted and I will be running the test today”. I felt slightly uneasy as I followed Ted down the hallway to the back room. He gave me the requisite half-gown and told me everything on top had to go and left. I turned around to undress and immediately flashed back to a conversation I had with my dad last week about camera phones. Dad does not have a camera phone because he doesn’t see what he’d ever use it for. I explained that with the kids, it’s nice to catch them doing cute things when i don’t have a camera. Today I realized exactly why I have a camera phone. And I flogged myself mentally for leaving it in the car. Apparently, Ted hangs his coat up in the room too. So the hook where Im to leave my clothes actually holds Ted’s beat up and tattered leather jacket and a baseball cap that shows a picture of a skull and cross bones with the phrase “surrender the booty” embroidered on the back.  Very trust inspiring.

Ted comes back in and we go through our drill. Then he lubes up the old probey thing and tells me to lean back against him and face the wall. He tells me to let him know if I become uncomfortable. Uncomfortable Ted? Really?  I can’t imagine how being propped on my side and having what is little more than a giant fake penis dug into the flesh around my boob would be uncomfortable to me Ted. On the contrary, I feel compelled to “surrender the booty”. At first Ted tries to make conversation. He asks about the kids. Well he asks how many I have. I tell him two little boys. An awkward pause. Mostly to make conversation, I ask him if there was any chance I would have to be rushed to the hospital today. He chuckles and says “well it happens.”. Another pause. TED! WTF TED? CAN YOU FUCKING ELABORATE PLEASE? (oh who am i kidding, my reader base knows id be up for a nice little trip to the hospital) I wait for a bit then ask him how that would play out. “Oh.” he says as if shocked i didn’t get it. “well if you go into full cardiac arrest or something”. I assure him Im pretty sure Im getting checked because of the pleurissy and he chuckles again and ten more minutes go by with very little conversation. I have to confess I was somewhat pleasantly surprised as Ted was as professional as a person could be when working on a woman with ridiculously large breasts that impeded a heart scan he was trying to perform.  I was both impressed and struggling with the feeling that i should have been insulted by the fact that Ted made no attempt to put me in a position where I felt compelled to “surrender the booty”. Towards the end of the test, he turned up the sound and i could here a disturbing arrythmia (sp). I remarked upon it and Ted chuckled and said “sounds like an old washing machine, don’t it?” AND ANOTHER PAUSE!!! TED? COME ON MAN! Throw me a freaking bone here! He clues up much quicker this time and says “that’s normal.” Before i knew it, the test was over and Ted and I parted ways.  Our encounter was brief, innocuous and forgettable. Still I take a small measure of comfort thinking that somewhere deep inside his heart, Ted found a new respect for me and my choice not to “surrender my booty”. Another time Ted. Another place. …..

Another opportunity to mention how much I don’t like rabbits

March 24, 2008

( I forgot to post this the other night) Mountain Dew and Easter Eve just don’t mix. Not when you are five and eleven twelfths anyway. I was at my brother’s for a birthday party today and the discussion turned to hand-me-downs. The object in question today happened to be bicycles. While I was pondering aloud about whether I would mind getting my older sister’s hand-me-down Barbie bicycle, I could not help but think back to my own childhood. I did not get any bicycles. Being an only girl you would not think I would have to wear hand-me-downs. You would be wrong. And sitting in my brother’s living room almost thirty years after the fact, it finally occurred to me that it was really not kind nor appropriate for my mother to have me wear his Tough-skin husky jeans after he’d outgrown them. Don’t get me wrong, I did feel shame and embarrassment at the time when I compared myself to the other girls in jordache and vanderbilt. The full impact of the fact that they don’t even use “husky” as a size determination in girls’ clothing did not hit home until just today though. Im not sure why, but this memory made me laugh harder than Ive laughed in quite a while.

Im writing this post at 2am because that’s how long it’s taken for Norm to fall asleep. (The Turnip never really woke up from the drive home from the birthday party which created a false sense of ease about tonight’s activities) At ten thirty, I was issuing threats about the easter bunny skipping houses where kids are still up when he comes by. Between the mountain dew and pre-holiday excitement, he was still literally vibrating at midnight (no that is not figurative, his little body would not hold still) so I relented and told him that the bunny would never skip him because he was such a good little boy. This led to a discussion of how to keep the dog from attacking and how late the easter bunny could actually come to the house. In the meantime, I was growing more tired and fearful that I would drift off before he did and risk ruining the whole holiday. At times like these, I entertain the notion of just telling him the truth so I can do my business and go to bed without worrying about maintaining the illusion. I know I couldn’t do that to him. Instead, I put him in bed with me, and waited. At first, he listened for any possible sound that could indicate bunny presence. (He knew not to get up because I told him that if he scared the easter bunny, he would have to wait for us to clean the rabbit poop off the floor before he looked for his basket in the morning.) Then, he was silent for a while and then quietly told me he loved me. I returned the sentiment and asked him what he was thinking about. “noffin’ really. Im ok. Im just grinning on my face.” He humbles me with the magic of his amazing little mind and Im so grateful my stupid adultness didn’t get in the way and ruin it tonight.

Today’s riddle or The subtle delivery of barely repressed five year old rage

March 18, 2008

Well…five and almost 11/12. He will tell you his age as such. “Hey mom. Guess what Uncle Sasquatch (my new blog name for my little brother, who happens to be unnaturally hairy) spent a lot of time putting into your car that you wanted really bad and that i think is a piece of trash and I wish you never got is?” Or for my readers’ benefit, guess who doesn’t like our satellite radio?

I think I was about twenty years old when I woke up one March 18th with most of my face dyed green and no clear memory of where Id been or what Id done save for the collection of stamps still identifiable on the back of my hand. To this day, I can’t find the source of the depiction of the leprechaun anally violating the armadillo. And that my friends is why I don’t go  out on St. Patrick’s day anymore.

Why I can’t win friends and influence people

February 15, 2008

No this isn’t about my suckiness of blogging and reading. I have pneumonia again. Let’s pretend that’s where Ive been for the past three weeks and it didn’t just get bad last saturday night hmm? This is really a random slashy thing but ill start with the title.

– Note to self: when you already do not fit in with the other school moms, do NOT start conversations with the phrase “Don’t freak out because Im on antibiotics.”

– The meeting was good. Well as good as can be expected during lean times. An example of this would be that Madame Fabu saw me in a lower cut top and asked if I was going to see the guidance counselor in question. I had to explain that these are rough times and I try not to leave the girls home anymore. She suggested I keep a pair of scissors in my car for emergencies.

-Why does nobody ever comment on the harrowing resemblance between Matt Damon and Leonardo DiCaprio? Yes, I did call it a harrowing resemblance. Defy me bitches.

– I had a bad meeting the last sunday in January with church members. Here is the thing. Once you meet a transgendered person, and you really want to like them and they are kind of judging and dismissive of YOU, it’s kind of hard to find the right bloggable words. Because friends, Ive wanted to meet a transgendered person for a long time. It was a blow.

– The turnip gets his tonsils out next wednesday. Im a little worried. He is just so little. In the craziest twist of fate ever, he is the most compliant patient. We used to fight norm at the drs. The turnip actually tried to hold a thermometer under his tongue when he just turned two. His last shot made Norm cry but he did not cry himself. He just looked around like “what the hell was that?”

– I think I may have become the single most annoyable person in the world. I thought this at the valentine’s party today at norm’s school when i wanted to slap down on this woman for walking away from her scoop station. And wanted to add “maybe cuz your stupid” to every inane comment made today. I wonder why they don’t like me there.

– Valentine’s day is a freaking hell-scam. I spent forty bucks today on cards and candy. And (in reference to the last slash) almost broke a blood vessel when I realized that gill spent over three bucks on what at the time appeared to be the second most lame assed card he’s ever bought me. Loyal crsites do you know the first? I admit that one effexor, two tablespoons of the codeine laden cough syrup and a sonicare toothbrush replacement made it appear way less lame and also made me glad I didn’t follow my first instinct to cross out the elaborate verse on his card and scrawl “roses are red, violets are blue. You’re such a dick and your card sucks bad too.” (Before you all crawl up my butt in defense of gill, remember ive been sick. You know how he is with me when Im sick). In fact, despite the enormously unreasonable expense, it was lovely day and he was very kind to me.

– Remember (i cant link to him because Im sick and lazy but look to my sidebar to see that Xavier Onassis at Hip Suburban White Guy is my (and should be your) online resource for the next big holiday, “Steak and blowjob day”.

– Man I could go for some scrambled eggs right now. Who wants to come make me scrambled eggs? With some cheese? Anyone?