Sunday, October 31
Friday, October 29
Anyway, a few days ago, I started changing my opinion. Surprisingly, it has nothing to do with the first dead deer I saw (MamaSunny remembers me toddling outside and seeing it hanging as a carcass and screaming, "BAMBI!!!"). It has more to do with the preparations.
My mother is making all sorts of indescribably disgusting food for the season. It's early hunting season in Wisconsin this weekend, and you would not believe the shit that's bubbling on the stove this week. I wouldn't believe it either, but it's stinking to high heaven and I can't seem to avoid it.
- Boiled Dinner (Apparently made by boiling the most disgusting parts of a pig in some sort of broth, with lots of cabbage. Disgusting.)
- Pickled Eggs (They're stewing in my fridge. Although most unappealing - incredibly so, really - helpful for people on a diet.)
That's it, really. Lots of bologna, too, and Jack Daniels. It's all adding up to a weekend in which I'll remember constantly to be thankful that I'm not sleeping in a one-bedroom shack with the men consuming copious quantities of said food.
I know that not all states have the same laws on deer hunting as we do, neither do they get as attached to the sport as we are. Anyone have any opinions on the sport?
Thursday, October 28
Lisa: "TWO bags, please. (Waitress goes to fetch our bags, I roll my eyes at Lisa)
Lisa: "Wayne will be happy, he loves it when I bring stuff home."
Me: "My dad, too. (after a moment of contemplation)"Wow, everyone DOES think we're lesbians, don't they?"
Lisa: "God, I know."
Me: "Man, people are going to think we've broken up. They're gonna say, 'Man, whatever happened to that fine young lesbian couple? We only just see the one at the bars now. Shame.'"
Lisa: (laughing)"Oh, totally! If they ask me, I'll be like, "It all started that day at Perkins, when I asked for two bags. That's when she knew there was someone else.'"
Me: "She hurt me for the last time. I was so upset, I fled to Missouri."
Lisa: "And when you move back, people will ask you what's up. You'll say, 'I know we had something once, but I'm just not sure I can forgive her.'"
Me: "How could you do that to me, anyway?"
Lisa: "Dude, you expect me to believe you're bringing that home to your dad? How lame!"
Some people make us want to wring their necks. Some people leave us pondering evil schemes deep into the night. Some people make us want to leave their lives in shambles. It's not our faults that we're weak. It's theirs, for making us hate them so.
When your childhood best friend marries a whore and won't talk to you anymore, when she hates you so much that she spreads rumors about you, and refuses to let him help you in times of crisis, you might get a little angry. When she openly puts a halt on a 20 year friendship, things might turn ugly.
I'm sick of my friends being brainwashed by their signifigant others. This isn't my fight, this isn't my childhood friend. Maybe if it were, I wouldn't be so inclined to exact revenge. My best friend has put up with an awful lot, however, and that is inexcusable to me. I'm willing to help her fight the good fight. And so, we scheme.
Most of our scheming turns us into weeping drunkards, but we have had a few ideas. Of course, we always write them down. One, "Ice cream bucket full of shit", eludes us. We must have been at the bar. Another is pure gold. I'll share it, because it's too good not to pass on. It's titled, "Send out NAWBLA welcome letter".
If anyone's interested, I've got a rough draft I don't remember typing saved on my computer.
Yes, I plan on voting in this year's upcoming election. Yes, I am aware that it will be taking place on November 2nd. Yes, I'm aware that that is a Tuesday. Yes, I know where to go. Do I get a lollipop if I show up?
Seriously, folks, I'm 24 years old. Even if I were unsure how to vote, I'd still make it. I promise. After all, I've been watching MTV since I was 14. Believe me, after a few years, that "Vote or Else" campaign really begins to sink in. You all can thank late night Beavis and Butthead for that.
Amy? Julia? Anyway, I'm registered.
Yeah, that's right. Thank heaven for this poor gal, wading through the tailgaters in search of non-voters. Thank you, Amy/Julia, for providing me with an extremely easy sign-up. I'll be at the polls, you betcha. Thank my brother, too, for being so incredibly infatuated with politics.
I'm pretty sure that I'm going to go against myself this election. I know that I said in the past that I wanted to vote for Nader, but I'm not sure if that's the best thing for this country right now. It breaks my heart. I wanted to lie to myself and say that's who I had voted for, but I changed my mind. Am I getting old? I always associated the loss of self-induced arrogance with maturity. I don't want to be mature. Fuck, last election, they wouldn't let me vote. What better time to live out my youth than right now, at this election? Alas, I can't. I've seen Farenheit 9/11 too many times, now. I've also read compelling evidence that Bush is indeed the Anti-Christ. Neither of which may be the perfect argument, if I had not also seen The Omen a few days ago.
Anyway, I'm not sure where I'm going, and I'm pretty freaking tired, so I'll leave you with this: The Greatest Knitting Project Ever.
Tuesday, October 26
It all started when I woke up; I wanted to go back to sleep, but was afraid I wouldn't wake up in time. Bruce woke me up.
I drove to Waupaca, scared I wouldn't make it on time. I didn't. It sort of sucked.
I didn't do one very important thing that I need to, and that's tell Lisa my news. I'm afraid of how she'll take it. I guess the only way to guage her responce is to actually tell her.
She didn't answer. Great. Left mumbly-message saying I "need to talk to her". Awesome. Now she's going to think she pissed me off last time she saw me, probably, and we were drunk, so she won't know any better. I hate that feeling. I hate that I just made that feeling in somebody else.
Once this is done, I'll feel 100% good about the news. The news is amazing, and wonderf..
She called back. I told her that I'm moving to Springfield, and she's fine. She understands. She's also sure that she'll be able to come down to visit. I love her.
I just can't wait to actually be down there. Getting the drive out of the way will be good, too. I'm not known for my incredible patience/endurance behind the wheel. I'll have to work on my visualization techniques - just picture what's waiting for me at the end of the ride. That'd keep anyone motivated. :)
I'm moving in with my fiance, over 700 miles away!
My girlfriend and I purchased this vacuum for our new apartment thinking that it was a smart buy because of its affordability and included features. Two people have rarely been so wrong. After approximately 3 uses we noticed a horrible smell coming from the vacuum and were forced to open all of the windows in our apartment to try and vent the fumes. Only after careful inspection did we find out what was causing the awful odor... It was the $99.00 that we spent on the worst vacuum ever created, burning up with the unmistakable stench of spite and regret. Since then, the vacuum has sat off to the side, with a smug look on its canister, as it watches the 2 of us pick tiny pieces of lint off the floor which are too mighty for the device to heft. Hopefully this purchase causes us less mischief and grief in the future when it finds its new home at the bottom of our local garbage dumpster. I just hope it doesn't cause too much of a smell.
Saturday, October 23
We're going out to eat, and then going to the bar. I think I can pull off the "trying to be cheap" look, which is way more acceptable than the "counting calories" look. I'd hate to look like one of those girls.
Bah, I've disgusted myself by talking about it.
I took this picture a few months ago, and I don't believe I ever posted it. It was a vehicle celebrating the 25th annual Corn Festival in a town next to ours. Yes, it's made out of real corn. Alright, that was a lie.
Otis (Kitty) is a great cat. He used to be not-so-great, back when he was younger. Some trauma (induced by one of my ex-boyfriends, grr) had him slightly neurotic about people. Happily, he's become much more sane over the years (though not a bit more intelligent). I have to say that, although I'm still not exactly a CatPerson, this cat has made me rethink my position a bit. When something stares at you with such a look of pure (if stupid) love, you can't resist for very long.
Friday, October 22
Anyway. The other day, I was at work. I was getting into a political debate with our pharmacist. Chuck is only there a few times a month, but still I was worried. I know he's a Bushee, and I don't like to get into something that I couldn't sound intelligent arguing about. This creates a lot of road-blocks in my life, as I'm sure you already suspect. Let's just say, I don't argue a whole lot.
I succumbed, however, and told him the truth. I think Bush is the devil. We argued back and forth a lot, about the war and the national debt. We talked about the tax cut. He seems to think it's reason enough to vote for Bush again. I disagree. The president has to do more than send me a check to get me to vote for him. I can see how he might be confused about this, but it's just not the way I work. And for the record, I didn't get a fucking refund. Bastard.
Here's how the end of the conversation went:
Chuck: "Policies, policies, taxes, war.. boo sadam, WAR, money money money money, I'm fucking rich, blah blah blah blah, environment."
Me: "Biting retort about the environment!!!"
Chuck: (taken aback)"Woah, simmer. You know what your problem is? You watch too much CNN."
Me: (Hair bursts into flames, turning incredulously to look at him, glaring)"As opposed to Fox News?"
Yeah, that's right. I owe it all to you people. I don't watch the freaking news. The news makes me want to cry. Had it not been for the fine thoughts I read, I wouldn't have even known about Fox News. That's how freaking network-clueless I am.
I did of course explain that to him. I told him that I don't watch the freaking news. I hate that the media doesn't know what they're talking about from one time to the next (I hate that that little girl didn't actually get bitten by the bat, that she got scratched). I hate that, because people can't get the story straight, I have no idea what's actually going on half the time. But just because I don't watch the news, doesn't mean I'm unaware.
[Note: On the first attempt at this post, I spazzed out. In a mad rush to get everything looking perfect, and with the pathway of nerves from my brain to my fingers momentarily paralyzed with a brain fart, I somehow managed to publish the post with nothing other than the title. While intriguing and freaking hillarious (also probably more interesting than what I'm about to post), it wasn't what I was going for. On to the post as originally planned.]
...has supplied me with everything I need for the next two weeks.
I'm not going to get quite as detailed as the reciept (no UPC numbers), but here is what I bought today. Yes, at Walmart. Who else would I call the Evil Empire?
NB MOHAIR SW (New Balance Mohair Sweater. Right on. Best sweater ever. Pink, "Why, to match my ring, of course!" $14.72.)
EGGO BLBRY (2, I'll spare us both and not type it up twice. 20 waffles for $3.00. That's 15 cents a waffle, bitches!)
NDLE SOUP (2, Mrs. Grasses. Only 60 calories a serving, two servings/box, four boxes total for $2.08. Missed the $1.00 cutoff, but barely.)
SOUP (Four varieties, all under 130 calories a serving, all containing 2 servings, all less than $1.00. I usually eat the whole freaking can, but still, that's not bad for calories.)
LP PEPP PZA (For $11.68, I got 12 Lean Pockets - pepperoni, of course)
TOTINO PEP (2, Those crazy-gross "party pizza"s. Figured it was best to punish myself out of the craving. Don't worry, pizza's not off the list for good, it's just been put on hold while I'm saving money and trying to get in the habit of eating more healthily. Well, that's what I told myself before I bought the next item, anyway)
INST SHRIMP (Ramen. Those instant lunch things. Figure they'll be good for lunches at work, and at $1.42 for 6 of them, that's pretty damn cost-efficent.)
[Secret Item $4.00]
LP BAC/EG/CH (Lean Pockets, breakfast edition. Bacon, egg, and cheese variety. 4/$1.97. They'll be useful on my "God, I can't even LOOK at another waffle!!" days.)
GV SALTINE (Saltines. $0.87.)
RAMEN CHICKN (6/$0.84. That's just too beautiful to pass up.)
TOOTSIE POP (To aid in the cause of the next item. $1.60.)
EQUATE PATCH ($31.98/14. Last time I didn't need all 14, but then again, last time I didn't stay quit.)
Now that I've bored you all to death, I'm taking over the world. Muah ha ha ha ha!
Thursday, October 21
A few months later, I started living at his duplex. It wasn't the ideal situation, it was borne of cars breaking down and having no other choice, but it did the trick. They could say they were living with someone who had a job, and I had a place to stay (and sometimes a ride to work). It was ideal. I could also finance their alcohol purchases.
One time, I came home from work to find the front door locked. It was unusual, because a)usually at least one person was home, as they were all unemployed, and b)we didn't lock the door when we were out. I shrugged it off, and knocked, suspecting that someone had accidentally gotten plastered and locked it due to paranoia.
The knob made that clicky-unlocky-noise, and I opened it up. I saw Brian running up the stairs, thought he'd probably been making sweet love to himself, and commenced playing a video game for a few hours.
About an hour later, I succumbed to my bladder and went upstairs to pee. On my way through, I noticed that Brian's door was open, and that he was sleeping on his bed, curled up to a porno mag. My thoughts? "Awww." I peed and went back downstairs.
Jon and Dan happened by, and I told the story of how I was almost locked out. They wanted to know why - they knew immediately that it was odd that the door was locked. I tried to say it with subtlety, but it didn't come off right. Eventually I told them, as delicately as possible, "Um, I think Brian was.. busy.
Brian chose that moment to wake up and come down the stairs. "Yeah, she interrupted Whack-Off Time*."
And here I thought he'd be embarassed. One of the many lessons I learned regarding males. You never have to explain to another male why you were masturbating.
*edited when I was sober, now includes accurate dialogue.
If nothing else (ie: if you're not the complete and utter dork that I am, and/or you don't have a million spare hours to waste), read the current stuff. He's actually funnier than I am. I know, hard to believe. Take my word for it for 3 minutes, then click on the link.
Hillarity will ensue.
[Apparently the hillarity will be two-fold, because the link wasn't working.]
I'll sum it up, for those of you too lazy to read the news story: Girl goes to church. Girl plays with bat. Girl gets bitten by said bat. Girl (and girl's family) deem bite "insignifigant". About a month later, Girl feels funny. Two days later, Girl goes to doctor. Doctor tests Girl for rabies. Test comes back positive. Girl is probably not going to make it. Girl dies at 15.
This is horrible. I know that, you know that. The whole world knows that. Well, those who know about the story do. I just increased the number of horrified people, and I'm pretty proud. Five more people think this story is horrible, all thanks to me.
People, how many times have you heard horror stories about rabies? Who hasn't seen Old Yeller? Show of hands. That's what I thought. Come on. You get bit by a strange animal, go to a freaking doctor.
What's up with the "insignifigant" bit, by the way? Since when is getting bit by anything "insignifigant"?
When I was 8, my best friend's dog was being teased at the end of his tether by the neighbor girl. He jumped up, trying to play with her, and accidentally caught her cheek with his paw. He was put to sleep for fear of rabies. The girl didn't even need any stitches.
When did getting bit by a bat, the animal most likely, of all wild animals*, to have rabies, become something people could call insignifigant?!
I beg of you, if you get bit by an animal, go to the doctor. If nothing else, those bites can pack a whollop of an infection.
*statistic created by sunnyfreakingday, and since disproven by B. Please refrain from correcting me. I know that it's really elephants who are the most likely to carry rabies.
Wednesday, October 20
- Marry someone who wants to fly.
- Visit New Orleans during Mardi Gras (since 1994, I've been dreaming).
- Learn to play the banjo. I seriously love the sound it makes. Stop making fun of me. Also, marry someone who plays guitar, because it's the sexiest thing alive. Stop, already.
- Get credibility in a field which I respect. Preferably animal-related.
- Gain respect from others in that field.
- Visit Australia. Play with native animals, roam freely, see natives of Australia. Pet a wombat. Attempt to smuggle said wombat into USA.
- Go back to France. Visit the parts of Italy I missed out upon. Visit Germany. Visit Great Britian. Have a kick ass time.
- Visit Asia, at some point.
- Learn to scuba dive. Employ said knowlege.
- Windjammer cruise.
- Help build or rebuild a home in a foreign country. Realize that it's not only heros who do this sort of thing. Realize that I am a hero for doing it too.
- Sit at home while Lisa and Bruce watch the cars go 'round in circles.
- Fantasy Fest in Key West.
- Produce a book, period.
- Visit all the major brewery tours in the US.
- Watch my friend and my fiance create music that will reach the masses.
- Be published.
- Marry a pirate (of some sort or another).
- Not be ashamed at performing karaoke.
- Be a regular at a karaoke bar that never makes me feel ashamed of myself.
- See more concerts.
- Buy a house. Any house, really. We can furnish the basement ourselves.
- Own at least one more big dog in my life.
- Own at least one small dog in my life.
- Vacation as much as is possible, for the rest of my life. Living anywhere I feel needs vacationing to more often than once (that's a tall order, I know).
There you are. The list of things I'd like to do, when compaired to the list of things my fiance would like to do, in his/our lifetime(s).
2. I have random memories of "The Dukes of Hazzard" playing on TV when I was really little. Mostly people jumping into cars through the windows.
3. Did they really jump into cars, or was that a dream I had one time?
4. My dog would/could/has tried to eat his weight in more things than I can name. None of which is dog food.
5. I had braces after the age when it stopped being cool to have braces, but my teeth are still crooked. Mostly because after I paid enormous sums of money to get my retainer replaced after I threw it into the garbage in the dorm cafeteria, I couldn't bring myself to tell my parents I'd done it again.
6. I'm missing 4.5 of my origional teeth. Two they pulled before my braces, because they had grown no "grown up teeth" underneath by the time I was 16. Two they pulled to "keep my mouth even" after pulling the first two. They pulled all four at the same time. Yipee for Tylenol 3. The 1/2 broke off sometime last year. Gross, I know.
7. Nobody seems to care if I go to church. If they ask, and I tell them I don't, they tend to get envious looks on their faces.
8. I tried to vote in 2000, for Ralph Nader. They wouldn't let me. I think I also voted for prom king, but I can't remember if it was for a real cantidate, or for Kermit the Frog.
9. 36C. Haven't heard many complaints.
10. I wear one earring in the second hole in my left ear. It's there because I forget it's there. When I wear other earings, they feel strange for a little while, tend to itch, and I take them out before I leave the house.
11. My 1/2 brother-in-law is ex-millitary and a hypochondriac. He probably won't be related to me much longer, so he barely counts anyway.
12. My dog Jack lived to be 7. He could escape, but this is his best story: One night, my dad got home from work, and noticed him missing from his 10ft tall pen. Dad went in search of the neighborhood, giving up about an hour later. He came back to the house to find Jack in his pen, having snuck back in so as to not get in trouble.
13. I don't have any kids.
14. I convinced my grandma that Bush is the devil.
15. I lied on the previous question, and can't answer this one.
16. I convinced the grocery store girl that my name is Samuel Meidinger, simply by looking her in the eye.
17. I can stand on the very tips of my toes. I can also bend the first knuckles of the eight non-thumb fingers on my hands at the same time, without bending any of the other knuckles. I can also eat cheese all day long with no ill effects.
18. I beat the "master of Trivial Pursuit" once. Well, I would have, had I not been distracted into leaving the game by a prospect of sex. But I was 3 plastic triangles ahead.
19. I can touch my right hand to my left behind my back, if my right hand is going over my right shoulder. Vice versa is impossible in my body.
20. I own a string of pearls (fake, maybe) from when I was 5 and was flower girl in a wedding. I don't typically vacuum.
21. My favorite song is "For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her", by Simon and Garfunkel.
22. I've never seen "Casablanca", and I don't really want to.
(Imagined questions provided by SJ)
Me: (stumbles through kitchen, blinded by light, twards potty) "Aargh, grumble grumble, ungh."
Dad: (stirs pans on stove, ignoring cave-daughter)
(after 30 seconds)
Me: (stumbles back through kitchen, brain first registering pans upon stove, coming to a dead stop and putting arm out in a full, index-finger-point at the sausage pan) "What that?"
Dad: (continues stirring) "Sausages."
Me: (cue instant salivation) "Will you save me some, pretty pretty please? Pretty please? For when I wake up for real? Please?"
Dad: (stirring, considering) "Ok. I'll save you"
Me: (content after the Ok, still half-asleep, continues twards the stairs) "Thank you Daddy."
So now I, knowing full well that Dad was joking, that he was saving me more than one sausage, am still unable to sleep. This is partially because I want more than one sausage, and partially because my mind can't sleep when it's thinking, and partially because.. well.. we have fleas.
It's all reminding me a lot of one of the first conversations I ever had with B on the phone, which went something like this:
Me: "Blah blah blah talking talking talking talking talking..."
B: "Talking back talkin-"
Me: "Interrupting, talking blah blah blah.. OH MY FUCKING GOD, AUGIE HAS A TICK ON HIM!!!!" (sounds of Sunny running around frantically getting rid of tick that was on Augie. Toilet flushing.) "Now there's something that's never good to hear when you're on the other end of the phone, right?"
B: "Laughing, talking talking talking"
Me: "Talking talking blah blah.. OH MY FUCKING SHIT DAMN THERE'S ANOTHER ONE.. THERE'S ONE ON ME.. OH MY GOD IT'S ON ME!!!!!!" (sounds of Sunny running around frantically, sobbing, toilet flushing, etc.) "Oh god, I'm so sorry (still half-sobbing), it's just.. I've never actually had one.. attached to me before...."
B: "Aww, it's ok. Look at it this way, at least it wasn't really, you know, dug in."
Me: (hiding supreme effort it's taking me to not upchuck all over at the thought of actually letting one dig in to her) "Yeah, you're right, I guess.."
Besides the fact that I'm disclosing the one and only time when B came close to me never talking to him again with that little choice of wording, the whole conversation might help you understand why I might not be able to sleep, knowing that there are fleas in my house.
Tuesday, October 19
Now, with the absence of my drug, my fiance, things seem a little more pale. A little less real. When he's around, things seem to take on new meaning, I see things through two sets of eyes. When he's gone, especially when he's newly-abscent, things seem to dull. I'm not sure if it's healthy, and I don't really give two shits. Thing is, I want him with me, forever, because he makes me more alive.
I feel weaker when he's gone. Especially when he's newly-gone. The world doesn't have the same appeal when he's not right here to share it with me. When I'm not seeing things through two sets of eyes, it pales a lot. Does anyone know what I'm talking about? Has anyone ever felt this? I sure hope so. I hope everyone knows what it's like to be totally, completely in love.
We met through very unconventional methods. Online, even. Through online means which are even more dismal than a chatroom setting. We met on a matchmaker website. The one redeeming factor is that we didn't go there in hopes of finding someone. We weren't hunched over keyboards thinking, in Eegore voices, "This is where I shall find my spouse."
For some reason, the Gods smiled upon us. They lent us their ears, and heard our unspoken prayers. "Let me find someone worth talking to," we said. They abided. They cast their good fortunes upon us, and gave us more than we'd dreamt of having. They gave us each other.
We are flawed, and we are hopeless. The only way to be, I have to say. Only hang out with people who know they're ridiculous and flawed, for they're the true path to enlightenment and fucking hillarity will ensue. Amen. At least we're aware of our failures. And we laugh at them, every single day (we laugh at other people, too, but we don't talk about that. We hate hurting other peoples' feelings).
Our lives have been destined for each other. Each of us going through trials that force us to realize that a) we are not perfect, b) perfection is to be mocked, and c) head is a great thing to learn how to give. We were made for each other, and we struggle with the idea that not everyone will find someone as perfect for them as we are for each other, every single day.
I'm sorry for getting all sappy with you, and I forget the true outstanding reason for this post, but there is one thing I have to be thankful for. Pops has unwittingly made me start capitolizing, and I think you should all give high praise. I was online for 3 years without realizing the importance, and he led the way for me. Not because he's cute, obviously (as he's probably not, given his general crabbiness and fatherliness), but because he forced me to realize that intelligent people try to read my incoherence every day. I choose to bend to fit the curve, and give them what they want to read.
Or, I Know Why the Winged Whale Sings
It's good. If you don't believe me, I have evidence. I read it in 10 hours. That was non-stop (rather short-breaks-for-nourishment-withstanding). After those 10 hours, I was sad that it was over.
Personally, it's a matter of a love of learning. Even if what I might be reading is 1/2 scientific fact, 1/4 bullshit, and 1/4 pure unadulterated grade-school-humor, I love to learn things. Hell, it's probably because of all that.
If you love a good book, and you love intelligent humor, and you adore learning things you never thought you'd ever know, then pick it up. I feel like I'm writing a report for Book-It!, but it's almost fitting, as Book-It! is celebrating it's 20th anniversary this year (bet you didn't know that, either, didja?).
Here's an excerpt, if you're so inclined:
"Leathery bar girls worked the charter booths at the harbor, smoking Basic 100s and talking in voices that sounded like 151 rum poured onto hot grease-a jigger of friendly to the liter of harsh. They were thirty-five or sixty-five, the color of mahogany, skinny and strong from living on boats, liquor, fish, and disappointment. They'd come here from a dozen coastal towns, some sailing from the mainland in small craft but forgetting to save enough courage for the trip home. Marooned. Man to man, boat to boat, year to year-slat and sun and drinking had left them dry enough to cough dust. If they lasted a hundred years-and some would-then one moonless night a great hooded wraith would swoop into the harbor and take them off to their own craggy island-uncharted and unseen more than once by any living man-and there they would keep the enchantment of the sea alive: lure lost sailors to the shore, suck out all of their fluids, and leave their desiccated husks crumbling on the rocks for the crabs and the black gulls. Thus were the sea hags born...but that's another story. Today they were just razzing Clay for leading two girls down the dock."Thar ye be, matey. You'll like it, I promise. I like a good book, I love a good book with deep meaning. I adore a good book with a lot of deep meaning and some fucked up shit thrown in and a dash of bathroom humor tossed in, just for fun. I worship an author who can give me all those things, consistantly. Read Christopher Moore.
Thursday, October 14
Unfortunately, I (or rather, my drunken self) added it late at night, and instead of adding this:
I added this:
showing the blogging world how incredibly wrong it is to drink and link.
Tuesday, October 12
We're going to have two receptions. Bruce is going to be the major planner for the one in St. Louis, and I am in charge (mostly) of the one up here in Wisconsin. We're going to do it at the Schoolhouse, because that's the best place for miles around.
Lucky for me, someone close to my family was recently married, and had her reception at the same place. I saw her this weekend, and she was able to give me some priceless advice regarding food, costs, and decorations. Possibly more importantly, she offered up any help that she could, to make sure things go the way we both want them to.
Some of the vital information I recieved? She wrote it down on one of those "Guest Check" sheets that you find at the bar. It reads:
(home phone number)
(another phone number)
1 pig 500
2 pig 800
To me, the pig idea seems better and better every day.
I wanted to make this very clear: Everyone is invited to both receptions. If you can make it, please know that you're welcome. Same for the wedding itself, actually. If any of you are ever interested in more details regarding the time and/or place of the event(s), please email us and let us know. If you've got any tips/hints/tricks for cost-efficent celebrations, feel free to share those, as well.
I'm off to register for some more stuff, but I thought I'd post something so that you didn't think I was getting cold feet. Rest assured, my feet are toasty warm. :)
Personally, I was a little afraid to see it. I knew it would turn my perceptions around [that's wrong. I knew that it would tell me that my perceptions were reality, probably worse than I had ever imagined]. I was right. It's pure. It's black-and-white(figuratively speaking)-in-your-face-this-is-why-you-should-care-even-more.
I have the utmost respect for the soldiers giving their lives every day. I feel for them, and I know that what they're doing is (in their minds, at least - in order that they remain sane) for the right cause. However, I do not believe in murder. I do not believe in fighting for no good reason. I do not believe in vindictive rage. I do not believe in war, in general. I most certainly don't believe in war as a distraction. No one should ever be allowed to abuse their power, and the faith that people have in that power. For isn't that all that it is?
No matter how sick the current administration makes me feel, I always feel blessed. I am a person - unlike many unfortunate souls in this nation - who does not follow blindly into the night. I question the things around me, and the motivations behind. Because I am one of those people, one of those insightful people, I feel a moral obligation to share (at least through this blog) the importance seeing this movie.
I saw it months ago, and it forever changed me. No one should go into an election booth without having seen it. I will forever stand by that.
"The offices of Fashionista are like the streets of San Francisco, only with microscent zones instead of microclimates. Every editor in every office is always burning some kind of candle---lilacs, vanilla, cinnamon, multifragranted concoctions called Grandmother's Kitchen---and if you don't like the smell, all you have to do is walk a few feet to the left and breathe different air.
But things are different today. Someone is burning incense. Its scent is heavy and powerful and floats down the hallway like a thick-soled phantom, seeping under doorways. Even the bathroom's ordinarily antiseptic aroma is undermined.
We aren't prepared to deal with incense. It is the heavy artillery, the big guns, and we have no place to take cover. We are exposed in the center, a shantytown of cubicles, and our only recourse is to breathe the cigarette-infused air outside the revolving door on the ground floor.
"It's frankincense and myrrh," says Christine, popping her head over the cubicle wall.
"What?" I'm trying to write an article about celebrity-owned restaurants, but I can't concentrate. The smell is too distracting.
"The incense. It's frankincense and myrrh," she explains.
I'm surprised by her revelation and not quite sure I believe her. This is the twenty-first centruy, and we have all forgotten what frankincense and myrrh smell like.
"Myrrh has a bitter, pungent taste," says Christine.
"It's not myrrh," I say, my eyes focused on my computer screen. "Myrrh doesn't exist anymore."
Christine leans against the wall and it gives slightly under her weight. "Vig, you can't deny the existence of myrrh."
I look at her. "I can. I deny the existance of myrrh."
"That's ridiculous. The wise men brought it to baby Jesus as a birthday present."
"So?" I say with a shrug before making some comment about dodo birds. My point is only that dodo birds used to exist and now they don't, but somehow I've managed to suggest that dodo birds were another gift of the magi.
Christine's eyes widen as she misunderstands me. "The wise men didn't bring dodo birds to Bethlehem. What a ridiculous thing to imply," she huffs.
"How do you know?" I ask, because the vehemence in her tone is too strong. You should never be that sure about anything. "I mean, how do you know for a fact that they didn't also bring dodo birds?"
"Because it's not in the bible," she says with more insistence than the topic calls for. I'm only teasing. "There's no mention of dodo birds anywhere."
I don't have Christine's religious bent---in fact, I don't have a religion at all---and I'm amused by her vehemence. It's not my intention to upset her. The last thing I want is for her to clutch the thin thumbtack wall with clenched fists, but I don't apologize. It's my belief that myrrh no longer exists and even though I don't believe in much, I have the right to use these thin convictions. I have no problem accepting the existence of frankincense, with its ugly f and traffic-stopping k, but not myrrh, something so light and airy that it is only a soft breeze on your lips.
"Besides," she says, "I know for a fact that myrrh still exists. We had some in my cooking class."
Christine is trying to get out of Fashionista and the route she has taken is aspiring food critic. She harbors dreams of being a food writer. She wants to be one of those people who is paid to detect the impertinent flavor of cumin in a spring roll. She wants to go to James Beard foundation dinners and sit next to Julia Child. She wants to work at a magazine that has a little more substance than seeping incense."
Monday, October 11
I've got taco dip to make, and stalkers to aid tonight, so things are going to be pretty quiet on the Sunny front this evening. Make merry amongst yourselves, won't you? Not merry enough to make me jealous, but enough to know that, although things are super-fun, they'd be way better if Sunny were around.
Gave the cat a bath. Well, Dad gave the cat a bath, I had the other honor. Trying to dry the cat. It was an effort, let me tell you. He didn't like the towel especially much, and the hair dryer is the Spawn of Satan. It was trying to tempt him with it's warm air, making him cozy.. but he's too smart for that ploy. He knew that as soon as he relaxed, it would gobble him up. Now I'm the enemy, for attempting to feed him to the Leaf Blower From Hell. Oh well, he'll dry.
In the meantime, Go Pack!
Sunday, October 10
The Cosby Show
A Different World
Will and Grace
The Daily Show
Beavis and Butthead
Late Night with Conan O'Brien
Law and Order
The Muppet Show
And, the Best Show Ever...
What are your favorite shows of all time? Why did you love them? What gave them the dubious honor of being your all time favorite(s)?
Saturday, October 9
On one occasion, I was in a particularly pissy mood. I think I'd just taken a midterm in a class I'd never been to before (one where, when I walked in to take the test, everyone looked at me in mass confusion, having never seen me before). Needless to say, the midterm didn't go well. I was sitting on a bench outside of Vincent Hall, probably deciding how to break it to my uber-responsible boyfriend of the time that I was going to fail the class, and a girl walked up to me. Through the tears that I wasn't allowed to cry (wailing + sobbing = looking not-so-collected), I saw her approaching me with a sympathetic look on her face. She asked me how it was going, and I had a moment of weakness. Letting my guard down, I hinted that things weren't all silky-smooth.
And she pounced. She "was sorry" that things "weren't going well", and had I ever thought about "looking to a higher power" for my "guidance"? I narrowed my eyes and saw the "Disciples of Cultism" pin on her left boob, and told her, "Look, Elizabeth, had I known you were being nice to me in order to woo me into your clan of drooling, koolaid-drinking, Mall-Preacher-following gypsy troop, I would have glared at you in the first place. Now, however, I have seen the light, and know the truth. Be gone, lest my death ray force you to meet your Higher Power immediatly*!"
She fled the scene.
That'll teach her.
*the author may have taken certain creative liberties when re-creating dialogue.
As I sat in my car, listening to my radio seemed to be breaking that connection I had felt. I turned it off - I know that that isn't something I'd be capable of doing just a few months ago. It doesn't seem right, to not want the music around me, but I did it anyway, and it was entirely worth it. Watching the clouds, listening to the leaves and the wind was so incredible.
On my way back into the building, as I watched the clouds (they were going in the same direction as I was), I noticed they were moving slower. I stopped, and got a few seconds of light vertigo as they sped up. It was silly, and I laughed at myself for doing it, and for the sensation it created. Wonderful. A girl was watching me, and she saw me laugh at myself. She shot me a grin, letting me know that she was in on the joke.
If anyone's in the mood for some inspiration, check out LH. It's very uplifting.
Friday, October 8
Clothes. [a pair of shorts, a tank top, a pair of underwear, two pairs of socks, my favorite sweater jacket, a hooded sweatshirt, a light jacket that says "Larry" on the left breast, a pair of pants.. the socks were clean, mind you. They were emergency-I-need-socks-for-work-and-I'm-late socks.]
Reciepts [grocery store (aproximately 5,000), gas station (aproximately 50,000), and liquor store (aproximately 5,000,000).]
Beverage Containers [cans (8), 20 oz bottles (20), and 2 liter (one, it was circa 2001, free with a pizza once. Most of them were 1/2 full, the 2 liter still sealed. I threw it away, fearing for my life if it was opened.]
Tent [one, neatly folded in the box, forgotten since 2 summers ago, had wondered where it was for almost that long.]
Board Games [two, only one of which was in the box.. the other was strewn about my trunk.]
Air Fresheners [3. One on the floor, soaked full of unnamed substance, two hanging from the rearview, which had been there when I got the car.]
Coins [$3.46 worth.]
Cigarette Packs [300. All on the floor. All empty. Some from before I quit. More from after I re-started.]
Cases of Beer Bottles [3. Two non-returnable boxes, empty. One box of returnable bottles, 1/2 of which are missing.]
Fast Food Remnants [too numerous to count.]
Please tell me about some gross stuff in your car, so that I don't feel so bad!
Thursday, October 7
Dad: "Walgreens is closer."
Me: "By 3 blocks!"
Dad: "Still, that's three blocks!"
So imagine my surprise when, yesterday morning, he came at me with the "I'm a poor, pathetic puppy-dog, so go out of your way to do me a favor, please?" look in his eyes. He wanted me to fill his prescriptions at work, and bring them home for me. He went so far as to write out a check. Even addressed to MyPlaceofEmploy, this is HUGE. Dad doesn't give out money. Period. I was thrilled.
So naturally, I went to work, determined to a) have the pharmacist request a transfer of prescription from Walgreens (Take that, Stuart!), and b) get some insider information on his prescription drugs. I managed to do both.
Turns out that both of the first drugs are used to treat (surprise, surprise) high blood pressure, and to lessen the risk of another heart attack or stroke. One of them, however, is Aceon, and I talked to Hank about it, and Hank said that he couldn't think of a reason why my dad would be on brand-name medication, rather than the generic drugs that do the same thing - lisinopril, captopril, etc. I told my dad this, thereby sealing my place as the #1 favoritest, bestest ever daughter for all of time. No matter how gay my little brother gets.
I looked up Plavix in The Pill Book, and it was listed as being used for "the treatment and prevention of gential warts, blah blah blah, I didn't register any of this because I was grossed out beyond belief." Oh, thank pete. I was looking under the wrong section. Plavix is another one in the same category as the first two. Phew.
I had a meeting this morning. Apparently, everything we've done to improve ourselves, and our pharmacy in the past month has been overlooked, and we're getting "talked to" about how to "improve stuff". All of which we've already been working really hard at, and is already being done. FRUSTRATION!
That's not what I wanted to write about. What I wanted to write about are the things that I, as a pharmacy technician, am expected to do at my job.
- Recieve prescriptions. I need to get the prescriptions into the pharmacy, ask the pertinant questions of the patient (Name, Address, Date of Birth, Phone Number, Allergies, Insurance Information).
- Enter this information into the computer system. Add the patient, if they are new to our store, add/change any additional information, or information that may have changed. Make sure that the name they gave us is the correct name (not as easy as it would seem).
- Enter the correct insurance information. If there were guidelines, it would be much easier than it is. Every card is different. Every card has a different set of numbers on it. Every set of numers is labeled something different. For example, on one card, it's called "Cardholder ID", and on the next, it's "Member Identification". On the next, it's "Red Fish Blue Fish". They are not all the same, and they do not have a standard. Some cards don't even include the numbers I need. I need 6 sets of numbers in order for an insurance to pay for the medication. If they cover that particular medication. 3 of those 6, I need to guess at. Sometimes, it's intuitive. Often times, it is not.
- Enter the prescription into the computer. Make sure that everything on the prescription matches the things I put in there, to the letter. Be responsible for any mistakes, because it might cost someone something more important than a failed erection. Much more.
- Fill the prescription. Measure out the medication, bottle it appropriately. If the patient requested non-safety caps, make sure that we have a signature stating that they requested it as such. Put the appropriate warnings/cautions/informational stickers on the packaging. Have the pharmacist inspect my work, and scrutinize, top to bottom, every single thing I just did.
- Provide the customers with their medication. Make sure that the pharmacist talks to every single person walking away with a prescription (drag them by the ear, if necessary). I cannot, legally: talk to the patient about the medication, answer any questions they might have regarding the medication, mention the name of the medication within earshot of anyone not in the pharmacy, or talk out of turn. Ok, that one might be made up. I also cannot give any information regarding over the counter medications, as I work in pharmacy, and it's assumed that I know more than I actually do. I can't suggest a brand of asperin. I can't suggest a bandage brand. Don't be mad at me, it's a legal issue. I'm not allowed to share anything that I may know with the customers, because it's assumed (by them) that I know what I know. I can't tell you anything that I do know, for fear that something would go wrong. I haven't gotten my PhD in pharmacy, so I don't know crap. That's basically the gist of things.
That is the list of things that I already knew I was required to do. Yes, it's a lot, sometimes. Keep in mind that at any given moment, all of those things are happening at once. It's fine, I like it, but it's not something that everyone could do, and it's definately not something that everyone understands. Below, you'll find a list of everything I do that I am not technically required to do, that I do because I'm a swell gal, and I like to make people happy:
- Smile at everyone. I make it seem like what I'm doing is easy, when in actuality, it's extremely difficult. I breeze around like I'm not carrying 100,000 of tension in my back. I like to do my job, and I like my job to seem effortless, at all costs. It makes everyone happier.
- Fight tooth and nail with insurance companies. Fanagle my way through, getting your medication to you at the lowest price. Call them repeatedly, without the patient even knowing, arguing their cases for them. Making sure that everything that can be done, is being done.
- Request refills on prescriptions that are expired. Talk to nurses, and pray that they get to the doctors on a timely basis. It's a great joy to me, when someone's prescription arrives, and we can fill it before they come in for it. There are a few things I cannot do: fill a prescription if it's expired, fill a prescription that has no refills, take a prescription over the phone (that's strictly for the pharmacist), know intuitively when your prescriptions run out. Those are all things that are up to either the pharmacist, the doctor, or you, to take care of. We don't know which medications you're running out of. We cannot fill a prescription before getting it from your doctor. We cannot make the doctor call us back. We can hassle him to death, but sometimes, he's on vacation, or out to lunch, and nothing can be done.
- Ask you how you're feeling. Care about you, and your family, and make sure that you're all doing well. Those things I do because I actually do care.
- Explain to the patients. I explain why I can't counsel you, I explain all of the stuff in the first list of things I wrote. I watch carefully, and only explain as much as you'd like to hear. I tell you why I'm having a difficult time with your insurance, or the many reasons why your doctor may not have gotten back to us yet. I explain what a PA is, and why it's required, and agree with you that yes, it is indeed a bitch. I talk to you, too, while you're waiting, to help you pass the time. Small talk, gotta love it.
- Keep myself caffinated. Oh, you don't think that's a big deal? Well, apparently you've never seen me without it. Trust me, it's done entirely for your benefit.
All this stuff adds up to why I get a little persnickity at someone (anyone) complaining about me or my pharmacy. I'm just one of many people back there, and they all work as hard as I do, all day long. It runs smoothly. Don't let appearances fool you, it's not as easy as it looks.
[Sorry about the book-of-a-post, I know it's not something that everyone wanted to read about, but I didn't post it for everyone - I posted it for me. I needed to vent a little bit, after the meeting this morning.]
Wednesday, October 6
Because he was in the basement, I decided to wash my hair, instead of taking a whole shower [the shower is located in the giant room of a basement, and I didn't want to make him move]. I went down there and quietly collected my shampoo and conditioner, when all of a sudden the TV caught my attention..
TV: "And we'll give him some fine blond highlights, to make his eyes stand out and..."
Me: "DAD! WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING?!!"
Dad: [not realizing anyone was in the basement, jumps a mile out of his seat] "What? WHAT? Huh? [realizing I was there] "Uh, nothing, it was just on... I swear!"
Me: "Oh, ok.. [runs upstairs and tells mom that dad is watching man-makeovers all by himself, has good loong laugh with mom about it].
My dad is so male. That's what makes this hillarious. Wonder if he's strategizing eye-enhancing highlights for his balding do? I'm sure it'd make him oh-so-attractive [at least to the metrosexuals teaching at the Shawano-Gresham School District. Don't laugh, I went to school there, I know for a fact that there are some].
Tuesday, October 5
Personal plea, from me to you, don't be so paranoid as to "need" a flu vaccination.
It might make you sick - it's an active virus that they're injecting into you.
More importantly, it might make you too reassured - those things are based upon the particular strain of the flu which "they" think is going to be the biggie this year.
People, please trust in your own immune systems. Unless there's dire circumstances, usually they're enough to combat the issue.
PS: Rodney Dangerfield? Poor guy. Bad jokes, but still.. poor guy.
Everyone is buzzing. They talk about how the bride is glowing, how she looks so happy. They cry, out of pure joy, for the couple. Everyone just knows that it is a beautiful thing.
I think that's what I wanted for myself. That's why I used to dream about it. It wasn't the being married part of a wedding that I really wanted, it was the "so happy" - the enourmous joy that was felt, so big that everyone around could practically smell it in the air. That's what I was dreaming about. Being just that happy.
That and being the center of attention.
I never really thought that it would happen for me. I knew, deep down, that I would always be happy. I knew that, no matter what, I'd make myself happy. And I have been. I've had a good life, and I've had a good time having that life. I know that is enough for me.
I can go to a wedding now, without the intense longing that I used to feel. I don't have that overriding urge anymore, to take the place of the bride. I am happy, yes, for the couple. Now, though, it's not a jealous happy. I am happy. I was at the point where I'd happily accepted that I might never have a day of celebration, announcing to everyone I've ever known that I had become happy.
It was better that way, because I did it on my own.
All of a sudden, I'm 16 again, doodling in notebooks about how I want my dress to look. I'm daydreaming about buttercream icing. The nice thing is, I know that I'm not the only one reading this blog, who's doing it. Even more sweet, I know that I'm not the only one in this relationship doing it.
Just wait a few weeks, and I'll have proof.
Saturday, October 2
I saw him tonight, and told him that I got engaged. He was happy, congradulated me twice. It was sweet. He's sweet, I think that's why I liked him in the first place.
He's not really a "dreamy" sort of guy. He's very.. ordinary. He's got a great smile. That's about all anyone could really say about him. Twinkly eyes, and a great smile. Really, that's all it ever boiled down to, for me. Those things, and a sense of humor. Oh, and he was not entirely unwilling to play "house" with me, when I was 8. Sweet guy.
He was the first boy whom I watched play video games. Sports video games, and that sucked, but it gave me an appreciation for other video games. Ones that weren't baseball oriented.
We played softball once, when I was four, and he hit a ball directly into my head. I passed out, waking up later to him and his dad standing over me, contemplating if I'd be ok. I was.
I saw his naughty bits before I knew they were naughty - behind the bushes in front of the Flaggs' house. Mom reminded me recently of how he used to drop his drawers and pee on the corner of the nearest house, when he was little. Aww.