I snore when I'm pregnant. I know this from previous pregnancies - the combination of a little stuffiness (which seems to last throughout pregnancy for me) and extra weight cause it. So I know I do it - I'm not in denial like SOME PEOPLE who live in this house and share the bed with me...
I've learned, after nine years of marriage, to tune out his snoring and sleep through it. But last night he woke me up repeatedly to tell me to stop snoring! Dude - I can't help it! I'm laying on my side, so it's not as if changing positions will stop it! Grrr. I'm just a little frustrated with his hypocrisy. He denies snoring. I've threatened to record him to prove my point, but he'd probably deny even in the face of that evidence.
He actually asked me to wait an hour after he goes to bed, so he can be sound asleep by the time I get there - so he doesn't have to listen to me! The nerve of that man....
{end vent}
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Friday, November 20, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The Bad, who was really The Felon, now an ex-con
The Man got Patton. On Tuesday, actually - the day he escaped. While I was searching the neighborhood for two days, he was waiting in a cage at the county pound. And they didn't call me because, well, they're idiots, and they never bothered to scan him and find his microchip, and the phone number wore off of his tag. I finally thought today to call them, and ask, just to make sure he hadn't been taken there, and they knew immediately which dog I meant.
And so Three and I had a big adventure to spring him from the joint - big adventure because we had to get proof of shots from Patton's vet (he lost his rabies tag a couple of collars back - he goes through collars quickly), and we showed up with our printout and a checkbook, but they wanted cash, exact change, $25 - which means the ATM is no good, since it only spits out $20 bills. The woman didn't bother to tell me this earlier on the phone. So the boy and I raced back into town to find a bank, go inside, wait in line very impatiently while the slowest people ever were assisted in front of us, cash a check, and scoot back out to the boonies to get Patton before the place closed. Because I couldn't bear to leave him there another night. That place was so incredibly depressing, with all of the dogs barking and calling to us, knowing that many of them - most of them - don't have long to live.
We called in backup (the grandmother) to pick up Big Girl from her class, since this debacle took far more time than anticipated, and we finally got our boy back. In retrospect, I cannot believe the confluence of stupidity that kept him there two days while we ignorantly searched our neighborhood. Some bozo in a nearby neighborhood - not ours, but close - called animal control about him, and told them that he belonged to some new neighbor in that neighborhood, so the dog catcher left a note on the door of that house, and then since they assumed that they had notified the owner, they never bothered to scan Patton for a microchip. Plus our new phone number had worn off of Patton's collar tag, leaving only our old out-of-state number, which was, of course, disconnected. They didn't try to contact anyone with the name listed on his tag, since we have a fairly common last name, I suppose - I didn't press the issue at the time, since I was so relieved to get my baby back. But I feel an irate letter, perhaps even a series of letters, developing.
And I hope I never have to see that place again. We have a great humane society here that adopts out dogs. They get some dogs from animal control, but the latter is basically a kill-shelter, a tiny place crammed full of dogs waiting to die. I don't want to think about what might have happened had my sweet boy been there another day or two. The pound did metaphorical lip service to animal adoption - a couple of posters and a sign listing contact information for the humane society - but I don't think many dogs make it out of there. I wanted to grab all I could and shove them in my van and speed away.
I couldn't - I don't have the space, the money, the time, or the energy to take care of that many dogs the way they deserve - but there were so many sweet faces. So many cute, wagging tails. I hate the pound. I hate what happens there, I hate that there are unwanted dogs, unplanned litters, unfit owners who make it "necessary" to have the pound. I started crying and seething with frustration and outrage as soon as I saw the place (that van was full of rage as I raced to the bank and back to get exact change, in cash, no checks, credit cards, or debit cards). Both of our male dogs are eunuchs, and Katy will be spayed next month, as soon as she's healthy enough for the surgery and finished with her second round of shots. I look around me in this community and often see people doing stupid things - taking foolish risks, engaging in absurd behavior, getting themselves into ridiculous situations - but those whose actions, or inactions, lead to the suffering and deaths of animals seem willfully ignorant, deliberate in their decision not to spay or neuter a cat or dog when taking that action, at relatively little cost, would improve the health of the individual animal and prevent the births of future generations that may not be wanted or supported properly. Ugh.
Nighttime now, and all three puppies are sleeping, at home, where they belong.
And so Three and I had a big adventure to spring him from the joint - big adventure because we had to get proof of shots from Patton's vet (he lost his rabies tag a couple of collars back - he goes through collars quickly), and we showed up with our printout and a checkbook, but they wanted cash, exact change, $25 - which means the ATM is no good, since it only spits out $20 bills. The woman didn't bother to tell me this earlier on the phone. So the boy and I raced back into town to find a bank, go inside, wait in line very impatiently while the slowest people ever were assisted in front of us, cash a check, and scoot back out to the boonies to get Patton before the place closed. Because I couldn't bear to leave him there another night. That place was so incredibly depressing, with all of the dogs barking and calling to us, knowing that many of them - most of them - don't have long to live.
We called in backup (the grandmother) to pick up Big Girl from her class, since this debacle took far more time than anticipated, and we finally got our boy back. In retrospect, I cannot believe the confluence of stupidity that kept him there two days while we ignorantly searched our neighborhood. Some bozo in a nearby neighborhood - not ours, but close - called animal control about him, and told them that he belonged to some new neighbor in that neighborhood, so the dog catcher left a note on the door of that house, and then since they assumed that they had notified the owner, they never bothered to scan Patton for a microchip. Plus our new phone number had worn off of Patton's collar tag, leaving only our old out-of-state number, which was, of course, disconnected. They didn't try to contact anyone with the name listed on his tag, since we have a fairly common last name, I suppose - I didn't press the issue at the time, since I was so relieved to get my baby back. But I feel an irate letter, perhaps even a series of letters, developing.
And I hope I never have to see that place again. We have a great humane society here that adopts out dogs. They get some dogs from animal control, but the latter is basically a kill-shelter, a tiny place crammed full of dogs waiting to die. I don't want to think about what might have happened had my sweet boy been there another day or two. The pound did metaphorical lip service to animal adoption - a couple of posters and a sign listing contact information for the humane society - but I don't think many dogs make it out of there. I wanted to grab all I could and shove them in my van and speed away.
I couldn't - I don't have the space, the money, the time, or the energy to take care of that many dogs the way they deserve - but there were so many sweet faces. So many cute, wagging tails. I hate the pound. I hate what happens there, I hate that there are unwanted dogs, unplanned litters, unfit owners who make it "necessary" to have the pound. I started crying and seething with frustration and outrage as soon as I saw the place (that van was full of rage as I raced to the bank and back to get exact change, in cash, no checks, credit cards, or debit cards). Both of our male dogs are eunuchs, and Katy will be spayed next month, as soon as she's healthy enough for the surgery and finished with her second round of shots. I look around me in this community and often see people doing stupid things - taking foolish risks, engaging in absurd behavior, getting themselves into ridiculous situations - but those whose actions, or inactions, lead to the suffering and deaths of animals seem willfully ignorant, deliberate in their decision not to spay or neuter a cat or dog when taking that action, at relatively little cost, would improve the health of the individual animal and prevent the births of future generations that may not be wanted or supported properly. Ugh.
Nighttime now, and all three puppies are sleeping, at home, where they belong.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Health Insurance
Changing health insurance? Stinks. Dealing with in-network and out-of-network and new paperwork and other assorted crap is giving me awake-at-three-a.m. anxiety (okay, it's 4:30 a.m. now, but I've been up for over an hour). I've jumped through so many hoops to get things approved by our current insurance, and now that I think I finally have most of those things done, I get to do it all over again with a new company that has new rules. I know, I should consider us very fortunate to have health insurance at all. And I do appreciate that.
But few things make me feel like an angry cat with fur standing up, ready to bite the next person I see, like the absurd bureaucracy of health insurance. Medications that aren't covered without prior authorization because some executive somewhere thinks s/he knows better than my doctor. Tests and procedures that have to be coded correctly in order to be covered, cross your finger and hold your breath, and even then it might be denied if someone in claims woke up on the wrong side of the bed. One of the doctors I've come to love, with whom I've built up a good working relationship, is no longer "in network" and thus may become a lot more expensive next month. Never mind the fact at an in-network dentist doesn't even exist within a generous driving distance of our town. I just hope I can get my mysterious kidney stone issues resolved before the new plan starts. And I'll steel myself for more hours spent in the coming months on often fruitless phone calls to get the care that I need...
But few things make me feel like an angry cat with fur standing up, ready to bite the next person I see, like the absurd bureaucracy of health insurance. Medications that aren't covered without prior authorization because some executive somewhere thinks s/he knows better than my doctor. Tests and procedures that have to be coded correctly in order to be covered, cross your finger and hold your breath, and even then it might be denied if someone in claims woke up on the wrong side of the bed. One of the doctors I've come to love, with whom I've built up a good working relationship, is no longer "in network" and thus may become a lot more expensive next month. Never mind the fact at an in-network dentist doesn't even exist within a generous driving distance of our town. I just hope I can get my mysterious kidney stone issues resolved before the new plan starts. And I'll steel myself for more hours spent in the coming months on often fruitless phone calls to get the care that I need...
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Dear Saxby,
Dear Saxby Chambliss,
I will not be voting for you. I did not plan to vote for you previously, but I became even more certain of my decision after your campaign used an automated calling system to call my home during my children's naptime, just to play some asinine recorded message asking me to vote for you and using negative, ridiculous language about your opponents. You woke up my children, and even worse, your automated call showed up as "Unavailable" on Caller ID. Masking the call's origins makes you seem like a sleazy telemarketer, dude, and just reinforces my desire to see your campaign fail.
Sincerely,
Me
I will not be voting for you. I did not plan to vote for you previously, but I became even more certain of my decision after your campaign used an automated calling system to call my home during my children's naptime, just to play some asinine recorded message asking me to vote for you and using negative, ridiculous language about your opponents. You woke up my children, and even worse, your automated call showed up as "Unavailable" on Caller ID. Masking the call's origins makes you seem like a sleazy telemarketer, dude, and just reinforces my desire to see your campaign fail.
Sincerely,
Me
Friday, October 10, 2008
A "teaching moment"
The phrase "Bad Driver" is heard frequently from the middle seat of my van. I've taken to saying that when someone annoys me on the road, because I don't mind my kids saying it in front of the minister as much as I would other things they could hear in the car. But tonight, Big Girl and Two learned another new concept: the squirrelly driver. I was behind really poky junker which kept slowing down and speeding up. The kids and I were so close to home - in our neighborhood, even - but it was taking forever. So finally I yelled at the guy, who couldn't hear me, "Don't drive like a squirrel!" And Big Girl did hear me, so I had to explain the concept. Without pointing out that it sometimes involved squirrels being indecisive and meeting their doom beneath the wheels of cars. I don't think she would take that well, tender little soul that she is. I'm sure that squirrels will now make regular appearances on our drives.
Naturally, Big Girl was the first to embrace the "bad driver" label, and she applies it liberally. Her brother started using the term because he admires just about everything his sister does and says. So now when she mentions a bad driver, I usually hear a little echo. This echo also can be heard after I take a phone call; like her grandfather, Big Girl is curious - a snoop, even, at times - so when I get off the phone, she immediately asks, "What was that person's name?" and then launches into additional questions to find out the caller's name, the topic of conversation, and even, occasionally, their opinions on alligators.
Naturally, Big Girl was the first to embrace the "bad driver" label, and she applies it liberally. Her brother started using the term because he admires just about everything his sister does and says. So now when she mentions a bad driver, I usually hear a little echo. This echo also can be heard after I take a phone call; like her grandfather, Big Girl is curious - a snoop, even, at times - so when I get off the phone, she immediately asks, "What was that person's name?" and then launches into additional questions to find out the caller's name, the topic of conversation, and even, occasionally, their opinions on alligators.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Why do those punks do it?
Why do some people drive like morons? What possesses them? Why do stupid teenage boys do ridiculous stunts while driving motorcycles through my peaceful neighborhood - when they're not wearing helmets, don't have any protective clothing, and don't have even have plates on their sketchy motorcycles - so that I have to work so hard to avoid hitting them?
Teens Are Hardwired for Risky Behavior (WebMD)
Psychologist Explains Teens' Risky Decision-making Behavior (Science Daily)
Teens driven to distraction: Nature or nurture? (USA Today)
Teens Are Hardwired for Risky Behavior (WebMD)
Psychologist Explains Teens' Risky Decision-making Behavior (Science Daily)
Teens driven to distraction: Nature or nurture? (USA Today)
Friday, September 12, 2008
This dog
This dog escaped at some point this afternoon or evening - not sure exactly when - and ran feral about the neighborhood. Truly feral: he discarded his collar during the escape. When I went out late tonight, about forty-five minutes ago, to feed him and his punk companion, I noticed he was missing. I called, whistled, yelled his name - no dog. So I prowled around the house with a flashlight for a few minutes, and then got in my van. And drove slowly around the neighborhood with the windows down, whistling loudly like a fool. If any of the neighbors saw me (most seemed to be asleep, as their houses were dark), they probably thought I was creepy, given how slowly I was driving, and/or insane, given my persistent whistling.I made two huge loops through the neighborhood and I was just getting ready to pull into the driveway when a big yellow goofball ran up next to the van, grinning and panting. I threw the van into park, hopped out, and for once he came nicely when I beckoned him. I put his collar back on and escorted him back to the back yard. Prodigal pup that he is, he enjoyed a big bowl of kibble and lapped up some fresh water with his dinner. Tomorrow I'll try to figure out how he managed this great escape...
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
How do I know if I should pull the plug?
Hubs and I have been trying to start a new group for parents at our church, to get together once a month for dinner sans kids. We scheduled the first dinner for this Saturday and I began publicizing it about three weeks ago. I had already floated the idea in the abstract starting last spring, and lots of people expressed interest. However, after two weeks of having this publicized in the newsletter, on the backs of bulletins, etc. only one couple told me they would attend.
So on Sunday, I approached numerous people directly, and almost all expressed interest and wanted me to e-mail the information to them. So I did that, and now, most people haven't replied at all. Those who have replied have said they can't come - some are interested but have a conflict this month, and others aren't interested at all (I send out the message to most of the potential members in the congregation). So now, on the Wednesday before the dinner, it's still just Hubs, me, and one other couple.
Should I just cancel this thing? Try again next month? Forget the idea entirely? It's pretty frustrating, because I am making a concerted effort to get this thing going and right now it's going nowhere. I have a lot of personal energy and emotion tied up in this, as well as less personally-vested goals - I don't have a lot of close friends, and I was hoping to get to know some people better through this group - so I just don't know what to do. I feel like the kid who has a party but no one shows. I've been that kid, for real, in the past, and the feeling sucks.
So on Sunday, I approached numerous people directly, and almost all expressed interest and wanted me to e-mail the information to them. So I did that, and now, most people haven't replied at all. Those who have replied have said they can't come - some are interested but have a conflict this month, and others aren't interested at all (I send out the message to most of the potential members in the congregation). So now, on the Wednesday before the dinner, it's still just Hubs, me, and one other couple.
Should I just cancel this thing? Try again next month? Forget the idea entirely? It's pretty frustrating, because I am making a concerted effort to get this thing going and right now it's going nowhere. I have a lot of personal energy and emotion tied up in this, as well as less personally-vested goals - I don't have a lot of close friends, and I was hoping to get to know some people better through this group - so I just don't know what to do. I feel like the kid who has a party but no one shows. I've been that kid, for real, in the past, and the feeling sucks.
Monday, June 2, 2008
My hands
are all puffy and swollen. I think it's a combination of the heat and humidity plus moving a lot of boxes and cleaning and such, in preparation for Big Girl's party. They go numb periodically - due to the swelling - and they hurt. I'm already going on Wednesday for my carpal tunnel appointment so I'm just waiting. Hopefully the other hand/arm will be back to normal by then. It's hard to type - lots of typos, because my fingers just don't work quite right. Sometimes they're completely numb (love it when I'm driving and that happens), and sometimes they feel huge and they hurt. They've been bothering me since last week. I wish the swelling would go away.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
If I ruled the world...
Okay, pardon me as I indulge in a brief lolkitty-induced rant. Am I the only person who doesn't like the smell of Febreeze? It makes me want to gag. I can't stand to smell the stuff, in any of its incarnations. I have a problem with air fresheners and perfumes in general. Subtle and non-offensive scents are okay, but even a lot of the stuff my mom wears is too strong for me. I ordered the Clinique Happy freebies that someone kind posted on the bargain board - too strong for me. I had one sent to my mom and she put a little dab on big girl, and the ride home in the van from mom's house was bad. I had the windows down in the front for me, so I could breathe, and the heat blasting in the back to keep the kids warm. Anyway, that concludes my rant. It is a cute lolcat. But if I were that cat, I'd run outside screaming.
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