Oof.
So, the new eBay sucks pickled donkey balls and I can't opt out of it anymore. Also, my computer is having a LOT of trouble running much of anything more than the word processor. Given that the whole thing as a 'new' item is available for $120 after a brief 'net search, it tells you about how obsolete it's become. On the up side, the RAM card for it is about $30 (from well over $100 back in 2004) and I'm reasonably sure I could manage to install it myself with enough patience and a small enough screwdriver. Which may help me drag a few more months out of this beast until I can afford a new machine (and before one more person starts in on the 'get a Windows it's cheaper!' tack, it's NOT - I would have to buy every. goddamn. software. all over again - including the full Adobe suite of products. [And yes, I will have legal copies of it all.] Which would be more than the new Mac system. So don't fuckin' start. The next person that tells me 'Linux!' is getting punched in the face. Seriously - this is why I don't discuss my plans with people. I don't want their goddamned input on a matter that doesn't concern them. Fuuuuck.)
Also, nice-but-socially-awkward-guy at work (especially guilty of the Linux battle-cry crime) finally blundered over that invisible line we're trying to be forgiving about. First of all, if you ask where I've gone and I tell you it was a routine doctor's appointment, don't press for more information. Because I'm still squishy from being poked, prodded, and having cold metal duck lips shoved up my cooter only to be swabbed with the Brillo pad of Q-tips, and I will GLADLY tell you every last miserable detail if it will make your testes crawl inside for protection and send you back to your cube. Seriously. For the love of small ponies, drop the subject. [On a more HR-friendly note, hello HIPAA laws - my medical history is none of your business.] Second of all, if you know I'm not fond of someone and I've chosen to confide in you, don't announce it in front of five or six people I do NOT trust. That's just bitchy. (I suppose I should be somewhat relieved that he's awkward enough most everyone tunes him out automatically until he's focused on them, because no one even looked his way, but still. Bad form, yo. He's a nice guy, but so utterly clueless about personal space - he'll listen to personal telephone conversations of others nearby and then comment on them. Seriously. Your cube-neighbor's realtor calling about their refinance is NOT your business, dude.)
On the bright side, I spoke to MY doc this Wed (not her bitchy, condescending NP, like last year) and she agreed that if I wanted an IUD, I could make the appointment for one, but she asked me to at least resarch the Implanon stuff, because the risk of IUDs and infection and the resulting scarring were enough she wanted me to really consider the alternative. (If that's her only objection -- being an infertility doc as well, she knows the risks -- and she can present it in a polite and not-condescending manner, especially after being told that I really had no interest in yet AGAIN arguing the subject of my choice not to reproduce, then I'm fine with that.) Implanon is TWICE as much as an IUD and not likely to be covered by most insurance. I'm not dropping between $400 and $800 of my limited medical budget on something that doesn't get positive reviews, sorry. That and I have a 'Hey world, she's got an implant!' lump visible on my bicep for three years (the longest it's good for) - no thanks. No one can see the IUD and I don't give a rat's skinny backside if some internal scarring on a non-vital organ occurs. Left a v'mail today to make the appointment - waiting to hear back. (I would also prefer the IUD insertion by a doctor who has proven that she can do a Pap smear painless to the point I was asking when she'd get around to it and she told me she'd done it long before. So. Skill with aiming for the cervix - big plus, there.) Also, I can now strike "before it's illegal" off my list of reasons for wanting an IUD (at least for now).
In a bitchy mood (duh...) today because work was suck-tastic, and I've cramped and bled through a whole load of laundry, to boot. Dinghy Blonde was up to her usual, and I spent the ENTIRE day on her project (which went from 'it MUST be in the mail Friday!' to 'Oh, I'll get to it this weekend, maybe, if I feel like it') and getting emails that included the phrase "good job so far". Bitch, I'm doing YOUR work, and you're not even in the building. Being a witholding cunt isn't going to make me help you any more than I absolutely have to. Trust me. I've already started taking notes, because I sense another meeting with my manager about this bullshit. (Which I hate - she's a hands-off manager, so she only hears about the bad shit, and I don't want to have to keep going to her with Bad Stuff, because it reflects poorly on me.)
Gah. So now I'm drinking really BAD sherry and debating whether to go to bed or not. I just might. I'm tired.
Also, nice-but-socially-awkward-guy at work (especially guilty of the Linux battle-cry crime) finally blundered over that invisible line we're trying to be forgiving about. First of all, if you ask where I've gone and I tell you it was a routine doctor's appointment, don't press for more information. Because I'm still squishy from being poked, prodded, and having cold metal duck lips shoved up my cooter only to be swabbed with the Brillo pad of Q-tips, and I will GLADLY tell you every last miserable detail if it will make your testes crawl inside for protection and send you back to your cube. Seriously. For the love of small ponies, drop the subject. [On a more HR-friendly note, hello HIPAA laws - my medical history is none of your business.] Second of all, if you know I'm not fond of someone and I've chosen to confide in you, don't announce it in front of five or six people I do NOT trust. That's just bitchy. (I suppose I should be somewhat relieved that he's awkward enough most everyone tunes him out automatically until he's focused on them, because no one even looked his way, but still. Bad form, yo. He's a nice guy, but so utterly clueless about personal space - he'll listen to personal telephone conversations of others nearby and then comment on them. Seriously. Your cube-neighbor's realtor calling about their refinance is NOT your business, dude.)
On the bright side, I spoke to MY doc this Wed (not her bitchy, condescending NP, like last year) and she agreed that if I wanted an IUD, I could make the appointment for one, but she asked me to at least resarch the Implanon stuff, because the risk of IUDs and infection and the resulting scarring were enough she wanted me to really consider the alternative. (If that's her only objection -- being an infertility doc as well, she knows the risks -- and she can present it in a polite and not-condescending manner, especially after being told that I really had no interest in yet AGAIN arguing the subject of my choice not to reproduce, then I'm fine with that.) Implanon is TWICE as much as an IUD and not likely to be covered by most insurance. I'm not dropping between $400 and $800 of my limited medical budget on something that doesn't get positive reviews, sorry. That and I have a 'Hey world, she's got an implant!' lump visible on my bicep for three years (the longest it's good for) - no thanks. No one can see the IUD and I don't give a rat's skinny backside if some internal scarring on a non-vital organ occurs. Left a v'mail today to make the appointment - waiting to hear back. (I would also prefer the IUD insertion by a doctor who has proven that she can do a Pap smear painless to the point I was asking when she'd get around to it and she told me she'd done it long before. So. Skill with aiming for the cervix - big plus, there.) Also, I can now strike "before it's illegal" off my list of reasons for wanting an IUD (at least for now).
In a bitchy mood (duh...) today because work was suck-tastic, and I've cramped and bled through a whole load of laundry, to boot. Dinghy Blonde was up to her usual, and I spent the ENTIRE day on her project (which went from 'it MUST be in the mail Friday!' to 'Oh, I'll get to it this weekend, maybe, if I feel like it') and getting emails that included the phrase "good job so far". Bitch, I'm doing YOUR work, and you're not even in the building. Being a witholding cunt isn't going to make me help you any more than I absolutely have to. Trust me. I've already started taking notes, because I sense another meeting with my manager about this bullshit. (Which I hate - she's a hands-off manager, so she only hears about the bad shit, and I don't want to have to keep going to her with Bad Stuff, because it reflects poorly on me.)
Gah. So now I'm drinking really BAD sherry and debating whether to go to bed or not. I just might. I'm tired.