so i had a shitty day yesterday.
i was just the day from the hell, where before noon, you're already acknowledging that the day should be written off as a loss. big red X through it, suck it up and move on.
it started with waking up at mom's. late. i don't know what crack i was on when i went to sleep wednesday night, but i set the alarm for 6am. okay, leaving from orange county, i need to be on the fucking road at 6am. so i woke up in a tizz, realized this and got out the door by 6:30. didn't cut it. i inched along the parking lot and got to work at 8. joy.
to add to the general constant of being tired and in pain, i'd gotten a voicemail the night before from the neurologist's assistant that they didn't have insurance info for me and if i didn't confirm that by 10am the next day, my 2pm appointment would be cancelled. so i called her at 8 when i got to work and got that sorted out, but it was still fucking frazzling.
add to this the fact that my contacts were pissing me off, and within two hours of being at work, i was sufficiently at the end of my wits to email my boss and take off. i headed over to get glasses as i think i'm finally fed up with contacts. it's funny, everyone tells me i look like a librarian. oh my god, and everyone tells me that i look OLDER. that's such a trip since the last time i wore glasses was when i was 16 and i keep thinking, "hey, i'm 16 again!" and feel like a dork. i own a pair of glasses; my geekhood is confirmed.
so mom calls me at some point and as she says "oh, you're going to kill me", i know it's not good news. she tells me that she got another dog, one that looks like mr. winkle. (i have yet to confirm this.) apparently the creature is a 4-week-old, 2 ounce miniature poodle. i tell her that it's going to grow bigger than gigi. "oh, that's alright," she says airily. i tell her that she needs to get it de-[flea'd/wormed/insert random disgusting puppy disease here]. "yeah, i'm taking him in to dr. k's on saturday," she says lightly. i sigh. i can't help feeling snarfy that she already has to take gigi into account for everything she does and a second kid isn't going to help. snarf-snarf.
so i head to the neurologist and he's really sweet. i think i have a preference towards short doctors. ultimately he has nothing to tell me that i don't already know, including the need to run a bunch of tests before he can tell me anything i don't already know. first one's scheduled two weeks out. i walk out relieved to have kept the appointment and resolute to sort it out myself if modern medicine doesn't help me within a reasonable time frame.
oh. meeting. that's right: i'm at work.
*pause*
so where was i?
oh yeah. so i left the neurologist and thought, "hey, it's like 4pm. i need to make dog food. i should go shopping." so i wandered into a pavillions (which is always a mistake) and spent an hour fluffing over things like milk (organic vs. local dairy), fish (catfish vs. dover sole), cheese (brie vs. feta vs. mozzarella vs. everything else), muffin mix (instant vs. organic), eggs (organic + DHA vs. free range)... you get the idea. so an hour and $82.76 later, i'm putting groceries in the truck bed and go to close the lift gate, and it comes off in my hand. yeah. exactly.
so i'm standing there in the supermarket parking lot, hot, tired, frustrated, in pain, holding the lift gate to my truck in something like detached disbelief thinking, "you know you're having a bad day when..."
it takes me about thirty seconds to figure out that it's on detachable hinges and i just happened to lift and pull it in such a way that removes the lift gate. i put it back, making a mental note to confirm this "detachable lift gate" theory with my ford service advisor, get in the car and decided that if i head home and stay there, maybe i can minimize the drama quotent that's been allocated to me for the day.
seemed to work. went home, made dog food, hung out with jorie and alej, went to sleep happy.
maow maow maow. maow-maow maow.
so i'm thinking of getting a part-time job. for various reasons. ultimately it's just trying to decide what to do. the blanket given is that it has to be something that i'll enjoy, more or less. i'm not going to waste my life doing un-enjoyable things, at least anymore than i have to.
*pause, mom calling*
*laughing my ass off* remember gigi's embarrassing "humping the teddy bears" behaviour? turns out that must have just been a trial run. she's taken to humping mom's new poodle puppy, with little concern as to which is the right end. dear god, i need sound clips on here, just so you could hear mom as she tells me to hold on and says, in a tone of hushed embarrassment, "Gidget, no. No."
it started with waking up at mom's. late. i don't know what crack i was on when i went to sleep wednesday night, but i set the alarm for 6am. okay, leaving from orange county, i need to be on the fucking road at 6am. so i woke up in a tizz, realized this and got out the door by 6:30. didn't cut it. i inched along the parking lot and got to work at 8. joy.
to add to the general constant of being tired and in pain, i'd gotten a voicemail the night before from the neurologist's assistant that they didn't have insurance info for me and if i didn't confirm that by 10am the next day, my 2pm appointment would be cancelled. so i called her at 8 when i got to work and got that sorted out, but it was still fucking frazzling.
add to this the fact that my contacts were pissing me off, and within two hours of being at work, i was sufficiently at the end of my wits to email my boss and take off. i headed over to get glasses as i think i'm finally fed up with contacts. it's funny, everyone tells me i look like a librarian. oh my god, and everyone tells me that i look OLDER. that's such a trip since the last time i wore glasses was when i was 16 and i keep thinking, "hey, i'm 16 again!" and feel like a dork. i own a pair of glasses; my geekhood is confirmed.
so mom calls me at some point and as she says "oh, you're going to kill me", i know it's not good news. she tells me that she got another dog, one that looks like mr. winkle. (i have yet to confirm this.) apparently the creature is a 4-week-old, 2 ounce miniature poodle. i tell her that it's going to grow bigger than gigi. "oh, that's alright," she says airily. i tell her that she needs to get it de-[flea'd/wormed/insert random disgusting puppy disease here]. "yeah, i'm taking him in to dr. k's on saturday," she says lightly. i sigh. i can't help feeling snarfy that she already has to take gigi into account for everything she does and a second kid isn't going to help. snarf-snarf.
so i head to the neurologist and he's really sweet. i think i have a preference towards short doctors. ultimately he has nothing to tell me that i don't already know, including the need to run a bunch of tests before he can tell me anything i don't already know. first one's scheduled two weeks out. i walk out relieved to have kept the appointment and resolute to sort it out myself if modern medicine doesn't help me within a reasonable time frame.
oh. meeting. that's right: i'm at work.
*pause*
so where was i?
oh yeah. so i left the neurologist and thought, "hey, it's like 4pm. i need to make dog food. i should go shopping." so i wandered into a pavillions (which is always a mistake) and spent an hour fluffing over things like milk (organic vs. local dairy), fish (catfish vs. dover sole), cheese (brie vs. feta vs. mozzarella vs. everything else), muffin mix (instant vs. organic), eggs (organic + DHA vs. free range)... you get the idea. so an hour and $82.76 later, i'm putting groceries in the truck bed and go to close the lift gate, and it comes off in my hand. yeah. exactly.
so i'm standing there in the supermarket parking lot, hot, tired, frustrated, in pain, holding the lift gate to my truck in something like detached disbelief thinking, "you know you're having a bad day when..."
it takes me about thirty seconds to figure out that it's on detachable hinges and i just happened to lift and pull it in such a way that removes the lift gate. i put it back, making a mental note to confirm this "detachable lift gate" theory with my ford service advisor, get in the car and decided that if i head home and stay there, maybe i can minimize the drama quotent that's been allocated to me for the day.
seemed to work. went home, made dog food, hung out with jorie and alej, went to sleep happy.
maow maow maow. maow-maow maow.
so i'm thinking of getting a part-time job. for various reasons. ultimately it's just trying to decide what to do. the blanket given is that it has to be something that i'll enjoy, more or less. i'm not going to waste my life doing un-enjoyable things, at least anymore than i have to.
*pause, mom calling*
*laughing my ass off* remember gigi's embarrassing "humping the teddy bears" behaviour? turns out that must have just been a trial run. she's taken to humping mom's new poodle puppy, with little concern as to which is the right end. dear god, i need sound clips on here, just so you could hear mom as she tells me to hold on and says, in a tone of hushed embarrassment, "Gidget, no. No."