Tuesday, August 28, 2007
on the phone as i am in the damned parking lot just to make sure that
i was running on time. So that is good. In Other News, Harry is still
doing ok at his new job, and he has largely taken over feeding the
colony for the time being. I have been promised that once the weather
cools a bit and everyone's schedules get closer to normal, we ('we'
being this rescue group) will take another swipe at colony management
and have a trapfest. And Chrissy *finally* returned my phone calls (i
had actually been getting worried about her), and she is doing
ok...for Chrissy. She has taken in two women who were evicted. With
their something-like-forty cats. Now, knowing Chrissy, i have but
little doubt that at least some of these cats were *from* Chrissy; i
have learnt that she is not always diligent about re-gathering up
temporarily placed cats, largely because others (like scam-artist
Lisa) suck ASS at relieving Chrissy of *her* allegedly temporary
boarders. Lisa, in fact, has mastered the art of getting Chrissy to
not only take in Lisa's extra cats, but to pick them up from the vet
herself, and even PAY for them. This happens often enough that i have
honestly wondered if Lisa has nude pictures of Chrissy that she is
threatening to make public, or something. I am just grateful that i
have avoided being put on the Kitty Summer Camp list by everyone. But
my point in bringing all this up was to mention that Harry was fussed
at for feeding the colony yesterday by a manager at Eviljob, so now i
have to hunt this ass hole down in a building that is highly
populated, to say the least...'cos in addition to handling the
exchange poorly, Harry could not be bothered to get a name, or even a
department. More stuff to do. Yay. Ok...my exercise class is about to
start, so i'd best get out there. Whee.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
meeting after my class, now i am at Eviljob, and Baby Bat is annoying
the crap out of me. In fact, the only one *not* annoying me is
Supermom. Oh...and one of our out of state trainers. Sigh. I do not
know why -- it is me, not them -- so i am trying to just avoid
everyone. It may be a combination of things. This situation at Job 2,
combined with the fact that i am changing job functions again in a few
weeks (only no one at 2 knows yet), and during yesterday evening's
class i was disappointed in Kate a lot for carrying on a sidebar convo
with Some Guy throughout the class, which i thought was quite rude.
What bothered me so much was that Kate is older than me, a lot older;
she is around forty-five or fifty, and she has taught in middle and
high schools...my point is that she knows better. Then she made a very
off-colour joke during our introductions, and then went right back to
entertaining the man with whom she had been speaking, again ignoring
our professor, as well as the rest of the people introducing
themselves. I think that was when i started becoming angry with her;
she should flirt on her own time.
Ok, i know that sounded petty. It did. But i feel as if i have stuck
my neck out for Kate a great deal recently, and it upsets me to
witness her behaving like that. But it is not my life, and she is not
my child, so i say nothing; she is not even in the same program --
just one slightly overlapping -- so it is not even like anything she
does is reflecting on me, really. We both work at the same place, but
so do a lot of people. So i need to get over it, yes. I will.
Personality-wise, both of us have had better days than these past two.
I am just in kvetch mode. Baby Bat is the same as ever, i am just
having a harder time than usual with the constant negatigvity. And if
her attitude won't pass (doubtful), my intolerance of it will.
Harry is mostly ok; the left side of his heart -- the one left un-bypassed -- is all crapped up. He is now on Plavix, and has to go back in a month, when his cardiologist will know if this can be stented at all.
On the way to work Wednesday afternoon, i was listening to NPR's story about a group named TAPS, that helps counsel children who have lost parents in Iraq to overcome their grief. The link is worth a listen if you have the time, and not just because it is a noble endeavour...oh, no; there is comic relief, too. It is run like a camp of sorts, with different exercises and projects designed to direct the children in a path they feel is more positive. The one project that i found most striking was the group project to make stress balls -- you know, those things vendors stick in your bag at conferences? Because, like I always say, having a stress ball is *just* like having a dad. Even better sometimes.
And were they unable to come up with *any* name better than 'Good Grief Camp'? All I can think of is Peanuts, sorry.
At Job 2, we are having Upheaval...again. There is this guy who is fairly high-up in the food chain, only not with Job 2; he signed on with us recently, 'cos at the present time Job 2 is a farking money pit. Well, he started making moves last week and even more overtly this week towards unseating my immediate manager/senior researcher. This is just not good. The Wacky Divorcee (I named her Kate earlier, when we had the upheaval with Karol) I have mentioned a few times was placed under this guy, and I assisted with pulling her over to our group 'cos she was about to be let go. What this dork is doing is trying to stock his group with people who are in his back pocket, basically. To a large extent, he did something similar in our department a few years ago. Some people are just Completely Batshit Antisocial Megalomaniacs. Sigh. This will be fun; especially since, in gunning for Xena, Warrior Princess, this guy is indirectly gunning for me -- our whole group, in fact. I am amazed that he thinks his little group could accomplish *half* of what we have done, but apparently he must. For the time being, his group has been moved out of our building into a different facility across the street, more or less, but he wants *our* space. And our equipment. And allegedly is making grandiose claims and statements both about us, and about what *his* group is capable of doing in comparison to us to some of our funding sources. It just gets weirder and weirder. I guess I will have to explain more later, 'cos I need to actually pay attention in this class I am currently in (an unnecessary class -- my necessary one was last night -- but this one is with HoD), and I am beginning to wonder if HoD thinks I am really taking all these notes.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
i am waiting for Harry to show up for Showdown. We had guests today at
Job 2, so i had to get all cleaned up and stuff. Whee. I think it went
well, and this group will be partnering with us shortly, which means
more money, and damn it, isn't that always welcome?
Harry has a heart catheterisation in the morning for a pretty large
blockage caused from his being a rampaging fucktard. Well, that and
eating absolute crap. So let us all hope that he does not die or have
to go in for another bypass, cos then i will never get paid back
anything. I know, it has been at least two months since i lent him two
thousand to get his stupid car back, and to date he has repaid me
exactly fifty dollars. And mind you, the money to bail out his car is
on top of the other money i have given him which i have not kept track
of faithfully, as it has been a hundred here, fifty there, and so on.
I would be happy with just the 2k back; between Harry and Romeo, all
my pin money is GONE. Seriously. I have not been this broke since,
well...a long time. A really long time. But my point is that the only
way i will ever get *any* money back is if he lives and is working, so
i hope tomorrow is uneventful. Sigh.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
...that I would post something, but I am tired.
Okay, I *little* something:
We did not have this life-or-death meeting today, either. I was put on 'hold' from eleven until four, whilst two of our post-docs hammered out their differences. Fuck it; I care not.
So we are having it tomorrow. Yeah, right.
I am so very happy that the weekend is coming up -- I need the *sleep*! And Meg is coming back on (I think) Monday or Tuesday; she went over today, and will be spending the weekend in Canada. She said that she has only done 'ok' this trip, poker-wise. Poor baby.
I have more going on, but I am suddenly absolutely *exhausted*.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
- Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: "Σίβυλλα, τί θέλεις;" respondebat illa: " ἀποθανεῖν θέλω".
- (I myself saw the Cumaean Sibyl with my own eyes, hanging in a basket, and whenever the boys asked her, "Sibyl, what do you want?", she used to answer, "I want to die.")
Today I RACED (did you see that? ALL CAPS. I RACED) to get to Job 2 in time for a VERY IMPORTANT (note the ALL CAPS AGAIN), LIFE OR DEATH meeting.
No one was there.
Well, people *were* there, but no meeting. Nothing. And no one could be bothered to *tell* anyone that it was off, so five or six of us were wandering around like morons for about fifteen minutes before we gave up and tried to re-schedule. I was pissed off; I had gotten up at 4:30 in the morning after a handful of hours' sleep so that I could water Romeo, pill him, feed my other cats, and hug and kiss Mr Rhett Butler Kittypants (he gets so bored and lonely in that cage) before I left. Oh, and bathe, dress, try to look cute, and so forth.
That really pissed me off, cos once I am at Job 2 I might as well stay, and then I had to go directly to Eviljob, and ended up getting home not all that long ago. I really hate days like this. I need to go to sleep, but I just wanted to record for posterity that days like this really piss me off. My kitties miss me a lot when I am gone for that long. I am so desperately looking forward to doing the graduating and leaving thing. And the having one job thing. *Really* looking forward to that part.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Greetings, greetings fellow star gazers!
Hee…I crack me up.
Tonight is the Perseid meteor shower; I usually do try to get at least a glimpse in, but I have a full 24-hour day tomorrow, so I may give it a skip. :-D Or I could make a video and play it back *next* weekend, when I expect to have more time.
Ok, kidding about that.
But on a space-related note, we have a new galaxy! I think we should name it after me. Or Romeo. Or Squooshable. I really love the way that they make this sound almost corporate, I mean, check this quote out:
"When this merger is complete, this will be one of the biggest galaxies in the universe," said study team member Kenneth Rines of the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics.
Heavens! He makes it sound as if we can expect the arrival of a new big-box galaxy, like a merger between Wal-Mart and Target. Screw Earth; I am looking into it as the future site of my Mall of the Universe. I wonder if they need any cats there…
I was supposed to drive out to visit my father today – I had semi-promised to do so – but I frankly do not feel like the drive right now; I am enjoying being at home and just vegetating and spending time with my cats, to be honest. And watching bad movies. And believe me, there are some bad movies out there.
Right at the moment, it is 8mm. I actually feel bad about making fun of 8mm, or anything with Nicholas Cage in it, 'cos Nurse Betty's such a huge, drooling, lust-filled fan of Cage's (which is really funny in a way, 'cos although NB claims to not see much of a resemblance, in my estimation, her husband looks very similar to Cage; I tease Betty that she does not actually lust after Nic Cage, she just picked someone who looks like Mr Betty cos she's in love with her husband), but 8mm is…well…slightly bad in some places. And a little hokey, acting-wise at times. And kind of like Reefer Madness for the BDSM set…but whatever. I went with some friends to see it back when it was in the playing in theatres (can you believe that was about *eight* years ago? It may not be a full eight, since I think I remember that is was still slushy and cruddy outdoors, but still…that is a Long Damn Time), and I have to admit that I was laughing (albeit to myself) in several places. I love Betty, and I am sure Cage is a nice guy, but his acting is, well…not all that great at times. Like a lot of the time. Put the bunny back in the box…uhhh…oh, don't get me started. Butsoanyway. Ancodia's Golden Rule was fully-formed that very night in fact, and I do not believe in all these years here I have ever shared Ancodia's Golden Rule™. Listen up; this is important:
Ancodia's Golden Rule™
If there is plastic on the floor and you're not in on it, leave.
I even wrote a blues song about it with harmonica accompaniment to make it easier for Young Minds to remember. Doo-de-doo-do…ba-ba-ba-ba..
I am sure you get the idea.
And really, this is an important principle as long as one remembers that we are speaking about all manner of drop cloths, not just plastic. It may not be bad; it may not be ominous; you may be only being tricked into helping a friend paint their condo; regardless, leave. Seriously. You can see violations of Ancodia's Golden Rule™ all over, and no good ever comes of it.
In a never-ending effort to get me to prove I love her more than my father, I just – as in this second; I had to leave mid-post – got back from having dinner with Mom; she wanted to take me to this Mom and Pop pizza parlour-type place by her home, and it was not too bad. :-) She spoke with her older sister today and was, thusly, full of family gossip. My psychotic televangelist cousin is doing well, and his Daughter Whom I Cannot Stand ('cos she is a fake hoor) has moved to another state in the Northwest under the guise of finishing school, but I guarantee she is still doing her ministry schtick (promoted by my cousin, she thinks that she is quite the little ministerette; I'll eat my hat should anyone else ever agree that she is that great). But my psychotic cousin does not take care of his mother at *all* in the sense of looking after her in her old age, making sure she is at least OKAY on a daily basis, and that is something I find nauseating; my aunt has her issues (as does farking everyone on Mummers' side of the family), but she has never done anything overtly bad. Mom and I decided we would get her something really nice this Christmas, even though Mom still blames her for my grandmother's death, saying my eldest aunt *murdered* her mother.
Sigh. This is, I think, a story for another day; I am too tired.
So I am home now, fed, and all caught up on gossip from the maternal side of the family. I decided to finish this post off and send a few pre-meeting emails before going to sleep, and so I turned on the TV and My Cousin Vinnie is on; it just got to the part where the owl is outside the cabin, and Squooshable and Cookie actually sat down and started watching the movie when the owl screeched! :-) Too cute! Cookie also likes all the movies in the Star Wars series; I think she likes Chewbacca, or wants to be Princess Leia, or something.
I also spoke with Meg, finally, as I was driving home; she says that she is on a huge losing streak again, poor girl. I bought a pendant for her that has a Chinese dragon on it; the dragon represents Squooshable (to Meg and I, not the Chinese ;-) ). I told her that if she had not been in such a hurry to leave, she would have her new lucky pendant. Sigh. I am *constantly* trying to find something lucky for her, though and it never works out. Squooshable actually *did* pick this one, though; I had ShopNBC on, and it came up on clearance and Mr Squooshable started Mrrp!ing. In all reality, I think he was Mrrp!ing at himself, or a shadow, or the tree outside, or Rhett Butler, but I told Meg he asked me to buy it for her because as bad a poker player as she is, she needs help!
I can only say things like that to her over the phone; otherwise, she hits me.
Ok…it is getting late, and I have way too much to do tomorrow. Whee. I guess I could have seen the shower, after all.
'No', I am telling myself; 'five is ENOUGH!'
Plus, I am babysitting Meg's little tyrannical mafia cat until she comes back. He is definitely NOT cute. Well, he is sort-of cute. I mean, it is cute the way he fusses at me over everything. In an acquired taste kind of way, though.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
All day today, I have had two songs stuck in my head, battling for brainspace: Sweetheart, by Frankie and the Knockouts, and Jet Boy, by the New York Dolls. So 'splain me how *those* two come to be headfellows, hmm?
Though I would have you know that they actually *can* be mixed together. Just so you know, just in case it ever should turn up as a question on Jeopardy, or something.
One annoying thing I do that really drives me batshit and I just did is that I *always* try to spell 'York' with a 'u'. Like Y-o-u-r-k. I do not know if I am trying to spell it phonetically, or if my fingers are templating through (mine own term, what I just made up just now!) trying to spell the more common 'you', but regardless, it annoys me, and I have done it all my life, but only if I am typing. So I guess all my *typing* life. Whatever; my father was born there, and I have been enough that one would think I could muddle through it, but no. 'parrently not. Sigh.
Speaking of being annoyed, I also find it annoying that Meg O'Myheart refuses to fucking phone me when she is out travelling with the poker stuff. I have to resort to reading her god damned blog to find out what in the hell she did each day. Her idea of 'staying in touch' is to text message me extremely infrequently with 'Squooshballs!' (to which Custom mandates that I respond with 'Indestructiballs!').
Yes, I do inflict my cat stories upon EVERYONE. Not just my blog.
She is really getting on my last nerve with this crap. And for what it's worth, Meg would tell you that she does not have a blog, because blogs are très way gay; she has a 'poker website'.
Sigh. So I call it a blog whenever I can.
So I have to read her fucking blog in order to find out how she is doing, game-wise...or if she is even still numbered amongst the living. She has been gone for a few weeks now, and comes back around the beginning of September, if I am remembering correctly. Or it might be the end of August, I forget; the university at which she teaches is off from mine by around a week and a half to two. And I am LONELY. Pfft. Selfish biznitch.
I am eating dark chocolate and sitting on my sofa. I was watching Undead, which sucketh, but I just changed to Back to the Future III, 'cos I can no longer handle all the sucking that was going on in that sucky, sucky movie. Except for the fish in the boat part; that part is *funny*…though I do not think it was supposed to be. Silly Aussies. Plus, BttF (I, II, and III) are ranking in my fave films of all time; I do not actually *have* a list, but were I to, they would be Up There. I have no idea why, but I can watch all three of them again, and again, and again, and be happy as hell about it. :-D Plus, I have dark chocolate.
I am so very menstruating; does it show?
I am difficult to get along with sometimes (Hey! I heard that!), but I have really been getting along with The Wacky Divorcée at Job 2. I mean like we are becoming fairly ok friends-ish-ly-stuff-kinda. I am going to have to name her, 'cos I am trying to take her with me when I leave.
Yeah, leave; gawd willin' and the crik don't rise (or however that goes), I am moving over to a different Job 2. I did this before.
Eviljob = Always The Same Corporate-Type Job Which I Now Do Part-Time
Job 2 = Striving To Be Bigger, Better, Faster, More; Faster, 'Codiacat! Kill! Kill!. eventually shall do this my whole life.
I need a legend on this blog, I swear. Or at least a 'You Are Here' arrow.
For Amelia, my friend who moved here from MN, and could not understand (or care!) any less about all this striving nonsense that is Job 2 to which I subject myself, I had to come up with a parallel, so here: Right now, Job 2 is kind of like Andie's job in The Devil Wears Prada, only with neurocognitive stuff instead of haute couture. There is constantly a deadline, everywhere an emergency, and just all manner of fun hurry-up-and-wait schtuff. And prima donnas. Yes, researchers can be prima donnas. This is a very high-stress situation; we have a lot of burn-out. Plus, it is not exactly what I want to do. Close, and they can afford a LOT of new toys (my 'Miranda' wrote the book on getting paid, geek-style), and now that I have been around, I can still go back and plead to someone and get to use the stuff, I am certain. But I am just tired of it. And I have put in my time, so I do have a lot more open to me now, and so forth. It will just be elsewhere.
I have grown tired of having everything be last-second, and feeling as if everything were my responsibility. Well, I always feel like that, but...now more so. And after this long, it is a little suffocating; I have spent the past few months feeling as if I am drowning. So there are more changes on the way. :-) I think most of them are good. I will miss a lot of the people I work with now, but I can still see them. And I get to go back and play with machines and things. And less stress. This might work out to be a pretty ok Holiday Season.
It is just a few weeks away, you know.
Friday, August 10, 2007
I now have a tie for Ancodia's Most Favourite Picture Ever. I just found it, and I am in LOVE. This could not be more perfect had it been planned to turn out the way it has. As Squoosh is my witness, I *shall* find a way to print this on a t-shirt.
And I will wear that t-shirt. Proudly.
I have laughed so hard over this in the past hour that I have actually given myself dyspepsia, and my stomach muscles hurt.
When I get it, I may wear my t-shirt every day for the rest of my life. It is this sort of...effect of civilisation that results in people turning into either of two things: consumers, or Wonko the Sane. How awesome.
When we finally do become extinct, we will have deserved it. Richly.
I am done. I just have to got to the new vet's and get more fluids tomorrow, and then go to Job 2. Whee. I am in desperate need of sleep; when I get like this, I misread everything horribly --just now when I signed in to Gmail, I saw the banner thingy that said:
What I read was:
And I actually thought about that for a moment, considering exactly *why* this would be newsworthy, especially if it happened two days ago, and why an adult would have giant Legos. Yep. Time for bed. If I were not so tired, I could've spelt something truly clever. Rilly. Swear. It's just that my brain is not on at the moment.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Guess what movie I am semi-watching! omfg, I am so bored and tired...someone come over and type this for me! I am at least getting to catch up on my television-viewing and movie-watching. Sigh. I *do* love this movie, and this song always makes me want to dance. After this, I am still not going to be done. Bwaah. I need sleep...but I also need the time I will gain by getting this submitted tomorrow. Phoo.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Still going. I am *such* a fuck-up when it comes to estimating time to completion sometimes.
Ok, now the good news is that when I am done, this will be a Major Career Accomplishment. The Even Better News is that this is *actually* due on Monday. I will be done by Thursday mid-afternoon at the latest.
The Bestest News is that Rhett Butler is simply loving the fact that his beloved Mom (this would be me) is camped out for so long right beside him; she usually comes and goes FAR too much for his liking. I bought a mid-sized dog crate (or it may be a small; wtf do I know about dogs?) for Rhett's cage rest. I found it basically on clearance at a local flea market-type thing, and it is at PetsMart for I think around $100; I got it for $45. It looks like a big cat carrier, but it does not have a handle on top. It does assemble and disassemble really easily though, so it will be good to have on hand in case anyone needs to cage rest in the future, or if I go travelling with felines, or when I eventually move, or when I eventually pick up a male companion.
Ok, I am just kidding about that last one; the cage is way too small. Though I can climb halfway in it, and gosh, doesn't Rhett Butler love it when I do that?
Speaking of moving and getting A Life, I am about to begin my LAST SEMESTER OF CLASSES, Chirrin! And of those, I only need one for my degree. ONE. Then I need a one-credit seminar, and one remaining class for one of the three certifications I have picked up along the way, but those are no real issue. I am *thisclose* to being...::drumroll::...ABD/C.Phil. (as you wish). By this time next year, I will be whining about how tired I am of my dissertation topic, and how ready to murder my advisor I am becoming. :-) By next Christmas, I would really like to be the fuck out of Dodge, though I doubt that will happen so quickly. I actually have to enrol in my final nine credits (I do procrastinate, I confess), but it is not as if any of them are going to fill; that is one fabulous thing about checking in on the 7k level; time-wise for this shite, I am golden...though I frustrate the living fuck out of our program director's admin (she loves me, though!); I break year if I *don't* enrol, which means different requirements (only one real thing has changed in the past four years, and it is not very important), plus I may have to get all my exceptions and exemptions re-excepted and -exempted. So she has been emailing me multiple times per week for the past few weeks, reminding me to fucking enrol for Fall semester.
I will...I will...once I finish this crap.
...and I am really ticked off now; I was all jazzed up to watch Forbidden Zone for like, the second time in my life, and I come to find out that it is on one of the movie channels to which I do not subscribe...because I find there to be something unsettling about paying a million billion dollars to the fucking cable company for shit that I do not have the time to watch because I am out working to afford the ghastly bill from the cable company. No, really; going from what I have to the big movie package thing is a difference of like $50 or so, if I am remembering correctly, and as infrequently as I get to sit like this, there is no way I can justify spending that much for crap that I will never watch. Except for Forbidden Zone. Grr.
Bastards. They did this intentionally.
As I was saying, I got this nice cage for Rhett, and I moved one of the end tables by my sofa, and I am using Rhett's cage as an end table. Rhett loves it, 'cos I end up being right next to him. :-) He is such a needy little kitty. And he looks *just* like the blue kitten on the yellow bags of Purina Kitten Chow, or he did when he was younger; he is bigger now, but he has the same markings and everything.
My mood is clearing; there are lights appearing in at least three of my tunnels. :-) Tonight I actually even made dinner for myself -- Chinese potstickers -- and they were pretty good! Yay! I *wanted* to call for a ginormous calzone, but I figured that with sitting on my ass for the past week, the last thing on Earth I need is ricotta cheese.
Ok...back to work, and once I am done, I have a lot of catching up to do as far as chronicling everything that has been going on for the past...what? Three months? Four?
I am working to get something out by, ideally, tomorrow morning. Ack. I have been working all day on it, save for my morning exercise class and this evening's trivia with Harry. We ended up fighting, as usual. I think he enjoys it. He had to borrow some money from me; I think he enjoys that, too. :-\ I lost to the table behind us, which ticks me off a bit, 'cos they were scamming answers off us. I used to like playing at sites where we all played as a big team, but anymore that is but a distant memory. Sigh. I know the table behind me was cheating off me (I usually give Harry at least 80% of the answers...of the ones that *are* given, that is; some he and I both shrug and guess, and a few he knows that I do not, mostly about history or automotive stuff). After the first two rounds, I was second, so I signalled to Harry, and the next round we did not give any answers out loud, and they dropped. I actually do not give a damn in the Grand Scheme of Things, I just like to know what kind of people I am playing against, so we went back to giving answers the round after. Feh; not playing as a team, I do this mostly as a distraction; we cannot rank nationally.
Romeo *likes* it when I give him sub-cutaneous fluids; he sits by me and purrs and lets me pet him! This is working out, I think. Rhett is doing ok, though I think that he is bored. I need to think of something he can do that does not involve too much hyper-like moving (contrary to how he seems, Rhett actually *does* play pretty vigorously, so I do not think I could leave him with anything unattended, or he will be turning backflips in the cage as he tries to kill it).
It's That Time again, and I am very crampy. Unfortunately, tonight has been bad enough that I have taken 600mg Ibuprofen, and waited almost two hours...still crampy. Then I took two of the generic Evil Uterus Pills I get at CVS, the kind with Pamabrom in them, 'cos those are the only ones that help at all, and waited for about an hour...still crampy, just as bad as before. Sigh. So I took a Cataflam about thirty minutes ago, and I am about to take some Excedrin; it looks like it is going to be one of those cycles. Bwaah. If I did not have so damned much to get done and could afford to lie down and sleep, I would go take a Tramadol and one of the...gah; I forget the name! It's like Valium -- in the diazepine family -- and Harry's girl friend is addicted to them (like for real, as in she needs a rehab program or something, and if she did not have a legit source for them -- NOT ME -- she would be one of those people you read about in the paper that gets arrested for trying to use fake IDs at different doctors, and stuff...she is pathetic). My new gyn put me on them 'cos she said that I am way too nervous and tense, plus she thinks that I am depressed (I Just Said No to antidepressants though, Nancy; any depression I have I can work out on my own), and she says that whatever this crap is will be beneficial for my core/pelvic area, 'cos I stay tense physically, even when she says to relax. So fine. Whatever. I cashed the prescription, only I cannot take them regularly at all; they put me right...the fuck...to...sleep. Srsly; I take one, and it is like a countdown starts -- within fifteen minutes, I will be in a coma, usually about two minutes after I start thinking that getting laid might be a good idea. Now *that* is relaxed. Yeah.
Needless to say, I do not have the *time* to be that relaxed; I have (I think) sixty, and have taken I think four and a half. But I am definitely keeping them for plane flights. Fuck, yeah. They kick the ass of Xanax, for real. Which is one more drug Harry's girl friend is addicted to; she is completely nuts. I am so, so, SO grateful that I do not have an addictive personality, at least pill-wise. Sheesh. I hide the stuff I have like that, 'cos if she knew I had it, she might not break into my home, but she damn well would pillage my medicine cabinet, or try to talk Harry into doing it...which I know he never would, but the *point* is...all that shite is Quite Very Hidden in my home.
Everyone always tells me that I should have become a doctor (as in physician, not as in the PhD researcher to which I currently toil...endlessly), and although I usually brush that idea off (blecch; I would either panic myself to death, or beat a non-compliant patient to death...either way, someone would die). But I have to admit, I *do* miss the days of being able to tap into the overflow that my father stored at home. I wonder what it would take for a drug rep to put me on his or her route...hmmm...
Well, it would save me from having to take time out to go get a prescription.
After this one thing that is sort of like a theory chapter in an instructional manual, I have to make up what is basically the rest of the manual. That part will not be too bad (I hope), but this part is sucking, mainly because it is all just putting shit together that I have been compiling for the past three months, and I have already read all of it, I know what it says, and I am *tired* of dealing with it. I have research ADD; once I get *my* answers, I like to move on. Argh. It is probably because I am forced to linger and write about it all the time. At least this gives me a chance to kinda watch movies; right now, I am watching Rumour Has It, which is, well...moderately cute pablum about a quasi-nauseating topic, even though there is something about Mena Suvari that I just do not like. Maybe she reminds me of someone and I do not realise it, or maybe I just did not like her character in Beauty Shop *that* much, or something. Earlier, before trivia, I was writing and watching Message In A Bottle, which sucked ass. Why in the fuck would anyone waste the ink to pen that? I have enough drama and problems of my own to voluntarily soak up some fictional burdens, especially needlessly neurotic and melodramatic ones (what kind of batshit babe falls in love with someone who is clearly pining away for someone else, dead or not? Just write 'PLEASE REJECT ME' on your forehead with a Sharpie; it's easier). If What'shisname had lived, it would have been just another Barely Tolerable Chick Flick With Nice Scenery. Oh. Spoiler warning. Sorry.
Butsoanyway. I have to get back to work. Pfft.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
I just changed the ad of someone who has posted to the Women Seeking Men category of Craigslist.
I received from Craigslist an email requesting that I confirm this advertisement:
Sweet and fit female seeks good looking, professional jewish male (Manhattan)
Reply to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Date: 2007-08-04, 6:41PM EDT
Do you have a chivalrous, romantic side that perhaps coexists nicely with a hidden edgy side?
Tell me about yourself.....send a photo iwth your age, height,
weight, what you do, where you live, interests, and hobbies.
Myself.......slender, feminine, 5'7 117lbs, sweet, sexy, playful,
stylish from head to toe, thoughtful, loving, no children,
no pets, creative artistic type exotic pretty girly (feminine) girl.
I am seeking a male who is mature, down to earth, good-looking, fun, with a sense of humor. I am seeking someone who is between 29 and 35, single, intelligent, educated, and passionate. In fact, I am searching for someone similar or if not, maybe you could "sell" yourself to me.
- Location: Manhattan
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Ok? So my first thought is, 'what a fucking idiot'. My second thought is that I am about thirty seconds away from every loser in Manhattan emailing me a picture of his penis.
In an attempt to thwart such a disaster, I immediately logged in (the link to edit is oh-so-helpfully included in the confirmation email) and re-wrote things a bit:
Semi-sweet female seeks really rich guy who is about to croak
Reply to: email@example.com
Date: 2007-08-05, 3:24AM EDT
Do you have a chivalrous, romantic side that perhaps coexists nicely with a hidden edgy side, or are you a repellent asshat? Either way, it doesn't matter a whit if you are loaded, stupid, and near death! :-D
Tell me about yourself, but only the important parts...send a photo with your age (near death only need apply), height (in flats, not heels...duh!), weight (both real and imaginary), what you do (and how much you make doing it, and how often you will be gone once we are married), where you live (I want to scope out the house I'll have once you kick the bucket), interests (snore), and hobbies (double-snore). I will ignore you unless you make over $500,000 (that's USD, retards) per year...AFTER taxes.
Myself? Mind your own fricking business. You shall take what you get, and you will ENJOY it.
I am seeking a male who is wealthy, about to die, generous, lacking friends and/or family members to whom he intends to leave his money, with a sense of humour about being ignored for weeks on end and cheated on. I am seeking someone who is, frankly, as dumb as a box of rocks.
...you know, kind-of like the girl who posted this ad, and can't remember her own email address? Would you trust a girl like that? Would you? Should you, the next thing you know, she'll 'forget' where she lives, and you'll find her a year later in Argentina with Manuel The Shepherd, 'cos she also 'forgot' that you were her boyfriend, or husband, or whatever. She may have already forgotten about her husband...who knows? Whatever, one would definitely not want to cheat *with* this girl, so married men take note: She's likely to 'forget' that she is not supposed to phone your home when the wife's there. But, on the other hand, that might not be all that bad:
Wife: ...may I help you? Who is this?
Dingbat: I forgot. Gimme a sec...
Christ on a cracker. If Craigslist had a 'Women Seeking Expatriation, Flogging, and Bites From Rabid Wombats' category, I would re-post this there.
Please...remember your own email address. Sigh.
p.s.: Should perhaps there be any really wealthy men as above-described, I am still totally open to hooking up. Rilly. ;-)
- Location: Manhattan
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
- License info:
I do hope that picture comes through on my post; if not, I will have to add it later, cos I am tired. Butsoanyway. I already (before I could get on and change it) received two loser replies. Sigh. One of them is a black guy, and I resisted the temptation to email him back and tell him that I did not believe that he is really Jewish.
No, not 'cos of his skin colour; on account of Mr Dangly. Well, and he's not wearing a yarmulke, but one cannot always go by that. The disposition of Mr Dangly, however, tends to be non-negotiable, except for those Reform Jews.
I still have a live link, so I am considering further editing. But then I have the guilts about not posting, so I will instead catch up for a sec:
I am drowning in work, but our semester is almost over, so that is ok. I will be better on Friday. Rhett Butler is doing well, and is Just Fine with cage rest. :-) He seems to be walking a bit better, also. Romeo is actually doing pretty well; his new vet (I am fully aware that I have not explained all this yet) has changed his meds up a bit (to make it less expensive for me), and taught me how to give fluids at home, so I have my ringer & needles, and Rome and I will have a go at it in the morning. Yay. This is supposed to be less expensive, also. Our new vet charges just $25 for fluids and IM Valium, but Old Vet charged almost double that.
Ok...I give up...let me give a brief swipe at an explanation. Dr Vet is actually several different vets, though I usually tried to stick with the same one. They have quite a thing going over there: huge building, indirect lighting, walled-off walk area for the boarders, and so on. I have stuck with Dr Vet even though they do no business with rescue groups -- period. No discounts, no volunteer hours, nothing. I am actually ok with this, because they have the right to make a profit in any way they see fit; they are, after all, a business, and I explained this to the people who have helped me for the past -- what has it been? Two years? -- that I do not want to switch vets (they all suggested that I switch to, in their words, more 'animal-friendly' vets, typically Dr Superhero or the vet I am now with).
So back when Romeo became ill, I had an 'incident' happen at Dr Vet's. I thought so little of it at the time that I did not even think to mention it here; I was given an estimate of around $800 for Romeo's exploratory surgery. We agreed to do it, and I had nothing better to do as I was waiting to hear that he had died, so I paid the estimated bill with the front desk.
Well, as we all know, he did not die. When they came out and told me he had needed a nephrectomy and his colour had improved already, I had to leave to go take care of things at work, and after talking with Dr Vet (as Rome was still open on the table back there), I left with the agreement that I would come back at close and transport Romeo to the Emergency Vet for overnight monitoring.
When I returned, the office manager was waiting for me, telling me to NEVER leave owing them that much and not answer my phone (I had managed to sneak in a nap of about 3 hours, and shut the fucking cell phone off until I *had* to wake up) EVER, EVER AGAIN. All in a nasty-assed Hitler tone.
That much? Huh? Well, that is when I found out that Romeo's surgery cost me $1,700.
...in addition to the $800 I had already paid.
And that did not cover the Emergency Vet stay that night, though it did cover some of the next day's expenses at Dr Vet's.
So I said fine. I did not feel like arguing at that point. Had I known how bad she would become, I would have argued, or something. I do not feel that it is okay to run up a bill of $1,700 when the estimate was $800 and then be a rude ass on top of it. I defused the conversation with the office manager, and when I saw Dr Vet, he explained that they had not tried to phone me, it was a judgement call (or several, rather) that we were trying to make Romeo live. It was the office manager who had tried to phone me, and that was about the bill.
Ok, whatever. As long as Romeo had a few more months of happiness, I am not going to fight or gripe. And I did not; not in real life, and not here. Fine. *Fine*.
So then Rhett was injured, and I took him in. And after Dr Vet looked him over, the office manager came in and gave me Rhett's estimate...and told me I had to pay her right then. I told her, point-blank, that I was not going to pay her the day before, that I would pay *when* he had his surgery the next day, and that I was saying so specifically *because* Romeo's surgery was initially $800, and then ballooned so; I wanted a realistic estimate, if not a firm one (I did not feel that I was being unreasonable asking for a semi-firm estimate, because Dr Vet assured me that FHOs are performed all the time), plus the estimate included things like boarding pre-surgery, and I was going to take him home, and it also included things I had already paid for, like x-rays (or was about five minutes away from paying for, on my way out, rather). And I took Rhett and left. Their estimate had been for $952.whatever, and according to *my* calculations, it should have been more like five or six-something after removing the things I was not going to do (pre-surgery boarding), and the things for which I had already paid ( e.g., x-rays, exam, pain pills).
I thought we understood each other. So I took Rhett, paid for what had been done, and left with the instructions to return with him between seven a.m. and nine-thirty the next day for surgery, with no food or water after ten p.m.
I was already getting a Really Weird Feeling.
When I showed up with Rhett the next day, a surgery tech came out to pick him up with the surgery release forms and estimate from the day before. She handed me the estimate and said that Office Manager had said that I must pay for the procedure before they are allowed to take Rhett back, so could I give her a credit card for her to charge $952.whatever to as I am filling out the paperwork?
I showed her my receipt where I had paid for x-rays, office visit, pain pills, office injection, etc., the day before. I explained to her that I understood that she was the middleman here, but I am not going to double-pay. PERIOD. If I do, then I will never see that money again; Dr Vet's puts it on one's account as a credit, they do not refund money (this has happened before, but only by a hundred or so). If the Office Manager is going to be a bitch and insist that I pay beforehand (which I have NEVER been asked to do in the entire history of going to Dr Vet), then I am going to be a bitch as well, and ask for the *correct* amount to be charged, and I am also going to ask for an estimate that is more accurately reflective of what I will be charged in Reality since this is allegedly such a common surgery.
So the tech says that she has to phone the office manager, and goes off. She comes back a few minutes later and says that OM says that I do not have to pay for the x-rays, but I do have to pay for everything else. I ask the tech if she is on drugs; does she not see that this estimate includes pre-surgery boarding? How about *yesterday's* exam? And my receipt shows that I paid for Rhett's exam, x-rays, pain pills, and so on -- yet here they all are on this estimate. No. Bzzt. Try again, and now I have fucking *rabies*. I ask to talk to Dr Vet, and am told that he is already in surgery. So the tech goes to phone OM back, and then comes back with the explanation that I have to pay for pre-surgery boarding because it is actually going to be POST-surgery boarding. After I have been told that I could take Rhett home that evening.
Why? Because, the tech explains, Rhett was cancelled from the surgery list YESTERDAY by OM, after I refused to pay her in advance. Now, OM will let Rhett go in as the last surgery of the day, but that has him ready to go home at around five or six in the evening, and they know that I cannot pick him up then (I have been going there so frequently, for so long that they know that late evenings I am in one job or the other).
I asked the tech if this was something coming from any of the Dr Vets, or if this was something going on with the OM, and she told me it was the OM, that she did not know what happened, did not want to know what happened, was only doing what the OM had cornered her the day before and told her to do.
So I told her that I was sorry that she was put in this position, and asked her if I could have a copy of Romeo's last blood tests as well as a copy of Rhett's x-rays. She left, brought them back (one sheet of paper and a cd). I thanked her and told her to tell OM to go fuck herself.
Then I took Rhett Butler and left, and it was especially satisfying to have the girls at the front desk try to ask me if I was going to reschedule.
As if. I have not had a worse feeling about something in a long, long time.
As I drove off, I phoned Dr Superhero's, and his office person said that he was just going to sleep after having been with a horse all night (quit laughing; Dr S does a lot of farm and show animals...although I have to admit, the phrasing *did* make me smile), and would probably not be in or available any time before four p.m. So I phoned the other vet that works with local rescue groups, and explained to his front desk girl what was going on in a nutshell, and she said to come over right away and she would fit Rhett in.
We only had to wait about forty five minutes (and as I was waiting, I ran into Lisa -- the normal, good one, not the nutty con artist one -- dropping off some ferals and rescues; I told her what had happened, and her reaction, besides empathy at my frustration, was to say that she had told me from the beginning that she did not like Dr Vet's in the least, and that is true; she had), and then we were taken in and (sheesh...I have to come up with a good name) the vet checked Rhett out, moving his leg around and holding him and stuff (Rhett did not mind; though he did growl when it hurt, he was quick to snuggle after), and then took the cd into the surgery room where he has the system to read x-rays on cd (where it is important if it comes from the emergency vet, etc...), 'cos he still uses regular film x-rays.
He showed me where Rhett's hip is not dislocated at all, but the leg (the femur, I think) is showing up as separated from the hip a tich whereas the other hip is close together because of a line he saw on the x-ray where the ball of the top is. He said that he thinks Rhett may have fractured it, but that it is still in the socket and that Rhett managed to do this because of Mister Blue Cat's avoirdupois; Mr Rhett is just under fourteen pounds, and Doc (still working on a good name) said Rhett needs to be closer to nine. He said that he was not trying to hurt my feelings, but he was diagnosing this in his records as an 'owner-inflicted injury'...because I let Rhett get so fat, and that almost five pounds is nothing on a human, but it is a BIG difference for a small animal.
Okay, so I let him get a little porky.
Doc said that as young as Rhett is, with the hip being *not* dislocated, and with Rhett being an indoor-only cat, he would like to try cage rest for a month and a half and see if the fracture will heal on its own. This would be better for Rhett, Doc said. He also said that, contrary to what I was told at Dr Vet's, in Rhett's situation this is *not* an emergency surgery, and if Rhett never *ever* has it he would probably be Just Fine, although there is the chance that he might fracture it further, and waiting 1.5 months will *not* result in Rhett being crippled with arthritis forever, and even if he is, there are meds and surgeries for arthritis, and worst possible case scenario as an indoor cat would be that when he hurts I give him some pain meds and set him on a heating pad.
This is in stark contrast to Dr Vet's, where I was told that Rhett is in excruciating pain, if we do not operate immediately he will develop arthritis and may stop using his left leg entirely, and I am being negligent. I forgot to mention the part about OM calling me negligent, and I do not feel like going back up and explaining it all, but yeah -- *I* am a negligent cat mom. Smoke starts rising from my head when I think about that whole part of the conversation.
I was really not feeling like being social, so I told Doc flat-out that I do not know who to believe at this point, that I really thought I was taking Rhett over to him for him to work in an FHO today or on Saturday, and that if I had at any point in time given the impression that I am unwilling to pay for Rhett, that is wholly wrong, that I will pay for him THIS MOMENT...I just want him fixed, out of pain, and not crippled for life. I just had a Very Bad Feeling about what was going on over at Dr Vet's (I am NOT a religious girl, but at one point during the brouhaha, I actually thought to myself, 'how much more of a clue do you need, Bitch? Take the cat and LEAVE!', and actually had carried a Bad Feeling of Foreboding since the day before).
Oh! Oh! I forgot one *really* good part! When I was at Dr Vet's and arguing with the tech, after she got off the phone the first time and took the x-rays off the estimate, there was a $50 'miscellaneous' charge added in, so in actuality I only had $100 of the x-ray charges taken off. I asked what 'Miscellaneous' was, and the tech said that OM was on her way in and would explain it, but that was basically the limit of my credit with them for Rhett's procedure, because I had complained about having unexpected bills from them. So I asked her if that meant that, god forbid, should Rhett start seizing in surgery and it costs $51.00 to stop the seizures, that they are just going to let him die? That they would not even make an effort to save him, or euthanise him...because euthanising at Dr Vet's is more than $50 also? The tech said that OM could explain it to me, she was just telling me what she was told by OM, that she didn't know what OM meant, and that this is not a standard policy (no shit!), so she really is just repeating what OM told her to say.
Oh. Yeah. I am so very *totally* going to let you operate on my fucking cat. Absolutely. Sign me up.
So Doc looked at my copy of Rhett's estimate, and told me that for a straight FHO he runs around $800-ish, and he was not exactly sure 'cos he does not handle billing, plus most of his FHOs have other issues, like being hit by a car, or falling out of a tree. Then he took me to meet Ike. :-)
Ike is, as Doc put it, 'another slim, trim member of the feline family, like Rhett'. Ike fell out of a tree a few days ago. :-( Ike is recovering from an FHO and having some other stuff done, 'cos he basically smashed the crap out of his whole back end. Doc showed me Ike's x-rays from when he was brought in, and showed me what a dislocated hip looks like (Ike's left side), and a fractured and dislocated hip looks like (Ike's right side). Yeowtch. And it did look different from Rhett's hip. It's easy to see how Rhett's ball part of the bone is still in his hip, where it should be. So Doc convinced me to cage-rest him for a bit.
Rhett *loves* it; Mom comes and hugs and kisses him, and brings him food, and kisses him some more, and all he has to do is lie there and every once in a while get up and take a crap in the litter box; Rhett is in Heaven.
And I bought a whole bunch of his favourite food, Purina's Sardines and Whatnot in Aspic. He just loves that stuff; he eats a whole small can in like, four bites.
Wellll...Doc said to monitor his eating so that he does not gain, but not put him on a diet as-such until after he is better.
So I figured that since Romeo is dying and will need water until I put him to sleep, I would give Doc Rome's blood work, and make sure that if Rome crashes that I can bring him in to be put down. Doc said absolutely, and when I brought Romeo in the next day for fluids, Doc was surprised that Romeo was alert and stuff; he increased his water to 200cc every other day, and ran more blood work, and can you believe -- Romeo's kidney function has actually gotten *better*! He was at BUN 60, CRE 4.5 and now he is at BUN 41, CRE 3.3. Yay, Measle!
And Doc taught me on Friday how to give fluids myself, 'cos he says that NO ONE with a cat like Romeo brings the animal in three to four times a week. This is another total inconsistency with Dr Vet's, because I was told that No Way could I do this myself. But on Wednesday, Doc made me watch (Dr Vet takes Romeo in back to do it), and on Friday, Doc made me do it. I screwed up because I didn't realise the needle had to be poked all the way in, but I know now. :-)
So I think that this was good, overall. I have not returned any of Dr Vet's phone calls, and have in fact deleted the voice mail messages unheard. I am still a little angry, to be honest. Doc showed me how to make a pill gun out of a syringe (cut the tip off, so that the black plunger is sticking out a bit, and put some Laxastat -- a VERY small amount -- on the black tip, then put the pill on, pull back the plunger and stick it in the cat's mouth all the way in the back, and depress the plunger fast...it works PERFECTLY! And he also told me that it is ok to buy vitamins for Romeo, and if Rome likes the cheap Hartz vitamins at Wal-Mart better than the expensive FeliVites (or whatever they are called; I buy like ten a year at $15 a bottle, and they always go mushy before I can use them all, 'cos the only cats I own that will touch them are Rhett and Squooshable; Romeo refuses to eat them, period. So now I can go back to giving Rome the Cyproheptadine at home, and cut out the IM Valium and vitamin shots; Romeo has been costing me approximately $120 a week (around $90 - $150) at Dr Vet's since March with all the stuff I have to do to him. I don't resent paying it, but I would have appreciated some counselling on how to minimise costs.
I have to take a nap (I am -- again -- fighting to get crap out before Monday morning), but I am glad I posted. And now I *do* feel a bit guilty over messing with that ad, but seriously -- I would rather discourage people in Manhattan from emailing me pictures of their dicks.