grrgoyl

We're having neighbor problems again. Not Tracey, but the people below her. A single mother and her teenage daughter, who I originally thought were decent people when they immediately jumped into the battle against Tracey within a week of moving in. They're still "decent," but lately there's been no sign of mom and daughter has been having more and more friends over.

Which of course she has a right to, except it seems the longer these "friends" stay, the more chance there is of a screeching, eye-scratching catfight to erupt. I don't fight like that with my friends, so I don't know what's going on. She had a male friend over for a couple of weeks a short while ago. Then one morning at 7 am we were awakened by their screaming argument followed by him slamming the front door hard enough to shake the teeth in our heads.

Since the only common denominator is this girl, I have to assume she's just really hard to get along with.

Yesterday she had several friends over, and just as I went out on the balcony to clean my bike chain the argument had escalated to such a level that every other neighbor that was home was out on their balcony to see what the hell was going on -- the Asians below her, the grandmother across from her, even the 20-something drug dealers (suspected -- they play videogames night and day, and have many different "visitors" who only stay for five minutes at a time. What does that suggest to you?) were out. When you're bugging the drug dealers, you know you're out of control.

Ridiculous. I marched down to put a stop to it, gratified to see the grandmother marching up to join me. The daughter came to the door. Grandma asked if her mother was home. She wasn't. We asked her to quiet down (or at least close her windows, I added). She sheepishly agreed to do so.

As I resumed my work, her party moved to the balcony, where they weren't fighting at least. Instead they were conversing rather loudly, with generous helpings of "fuck" and "nigga," etc. in the conversation (from what I've seen, all her friends are African-American, so this is perfectly acceptable; unless, of course, you prefer peace and quiet and not so many inflammatory, violent words in your space).

I wrote to the HOA to complain. I hope grandma did too -- she has an adorable grandson, 4 or 5 years old, who visits often, and I'm sure she can't wait to hear him start throwing those terms into casual conversation. I guess I've officially become an old fogey. "These kids today..."

~*~

I'm sure many if not all of you are waiting on tenterhooks for the next chapter in the Comcast battle (I'd love to say "final" chapter, but I'm becoming less and less naive with each confrontation).

I got online with one of their reps determined to get rid of that damn cable I'm not using that I'm sure is the root of the problem. I was equally determined not to be distracted by their pretty offers of promo deals for six months.

I got one guy who began his routine of pleasant banter. However, as soon as I explained my situation and made it clear how very unhappy I was, he turned me over to an "account specialist" so fast I almost LOLed.

I explained it all over again to "Andres," who expressed his rehearsed regret at my inconvenience. They all sound oh-so-sincere which, after going through this three times with zero results, only infuriates me even more.

He promised to return me to plain old high-speed internet (what I had before all this nonsense), but I had to call directly to cancel the cable. Whatevs, Andres.

I then launched into my first meltdown of the day. I said I wanted to trust him, I really did, but after going through this three times I was becoming a little distrusting and cynical. I actually begged him. "Please Andres, PLEASE don't tell me you're going to make the change and then do nothing. I'm not being unreasonable. I just want my plain old service back. PLEASE."

He typed back what was probably meant to be goodnatured laughter, but in my near-hysterical state could just as easily have been sly, knowing chuckling ("Sure I'll downgrade your service! No problem! NOT") and an attempted reassuring "I'm here for you!" No Andres, no you're not. As soon as we close this dialogue box, you disappear into the bowels of the Comcast work pool and I'm left holding the bag.

At least he gave me a confirmation number, and I informed him I would be printing out our conversation. I wasn't trying to be threatening, but I'm sick of being left with no recourse.

As soon as I left Andres (still sniggering behind his hand), I called Comcast, eager to again re-enter the fray (NOT). I got what sounded like a nice young woman. I AGAIN explained what had happened thus far (story gets better each time I tell it) and said I wanted to cancel cable, that was all.

After receiving her rehearsed regret, she made a big deal of looking up my info to try to figure out where everything had gone so wrong. Unfortunately for her, because the longer she talked to me, the more worked up I became, leading to my second meltdown. I didn't want to take it out on her, but I did use my phrase "universal employee incompetence" from my previous post. I've heard it doesn't help your cause to get abusive with them. I don't like being mean if I can avoid it, but we can all see how far being nice has gotten me. I pay my bill every month. On time even! I am a model customer. I shouldn't be treated this shoddily.

She seemed quite taken aback, which is surprising; based on the huge volume of complaints on comcastmustdie.com, you would think they would take every call fully prepared to deal with another customer who had reached the limits of their patience. In fact, if they don't go through some sort of special training to deal with the equivalent of trauma victims, I firmly believe they should.

She agreed to remove the cable. THANK YOU. I apologized for venting to her, but hoped she could understand my frustration. She laughed warmly and reassured me. I actually started to fall for it, until we went a little astray by her offering, "I can still get you that Blast Internet deal if you'd like..." NONONONONONO. I told her, with fewer capslocks.

When she said she had made the change, I again begged her as I did Andres. This is what you've reduced me to, Comcast. You've stolen my pride for lousy high-speed internet. To calm me down, she gave me her initials (not her actual name) to track her down for any more problems. This seemed odd, but since I can't exactly hold them hostage on the phone for a month until I'm sure the change is made, it was better than nothing.

I asked her what my new balance would be. She couldn't tell me because the system takes 48 hours to update. Which gave me an opening for my other complaint, the fact that the website balance never changed but the phone line's did. I said "I don't know what kind of games you're playing there."

"That's actually no game," she said. "Unfortunately the website doesn't update as quickly as our main system does." Which I might buy if it were lagging by a few days. But a few weeks? Your webmaster sucks, Comcast. And what about that phone balance? "You're seeing it change daily because of all the changes you've been making." Oh, that's just plain bullshit. If I'm changing from $68 to $29.99 (or even $19.99) a month, why is it going down in $4 increments? Are you trying to find the money elsewhere a bit at a time to cover it?

So I left "RBJ" and hoped for the best. I gave it a week, whereupon the phone balance seemed to level off at $50.45 (online still $68.78). I paid that, but who knows what will happen next month. I'm fully expecting right now to be writing a follow-up post, so you have that to look forward to.

My "Dylan apoplectic" icon was born to handle my Comcast posts.

This entry is going to be nothing but non sequiturs, random thoughts and notes to myself. A massive brain dump, if you will. So I'll cut for your skipping pleasure.

( ::Dogs, dogs, dogs:: )

~*~

( ::Will Ghost Hunters come to Colorado?:: )

~*~

( ::Just doing the best I can with what I've got:: )

~*~

( ::She COULD have been the next Anne Rice:: )

~*~

( ::EA on MJ:: )

~*~

( ::He's not the only one watching...:: )

*~*

( ::I'm a magnet for these types:: )

~*~

( ::The Half-Blood Prince revisited:: )

This weekend was the judging of the Christmas lights in our complex. Tery went even more crazy than last year, but her secret weapon was something I bought for her -- one of those boxes you plug the lights into that makes them flash in time with musc. They were originally $100 and I said "Oh, HELL no," but then after Christmas when the markdowns start kicking in I bided my time and watched and waited, finally swooping in when they were 75% off. That was quite a coup.

(I was a little hesitant about buying something meant to be blared loudly into the neighborhood, but since most of our neighors are literally dead and gone it's not such a big deal anymore.)

Good thing, too, because she actually had some serious competition this year. The renters below Tracey FCW (and also evidently her friends -- she solved the problem of how to shovel dog shit off her porch without her neighbors complaining) had a really nice display up since last week. Tracey herself was out literally two hours before the judges came around, frantically hammering and drilling to get her stuff hung. Two problems -- they were the exact same decorations she had last year, and the eleventh hour installation kind of defeated the purpose of the contest to encourage people to get into the holiday spirit (if history repeats itself, she'll take them down again tomorrow).

Tery invited her bar friends and our neighbors Mike and Anna for an anticipatory victory celebration. Tery was pleased to see parents from the neighborhood bringing their young children to view her work. Anyway, she took first ($75). Second went to the renters ($50) and third to Tracey ($25). Justice was served, and I guess that isn't too shabby for an hour's work. We invited the judges in for some food which I was glad for, so they could see our spirit extends to every possible inch of our house, not just areas visible for judging purposes.



I think the only way Tery can top herself next year is to hire a chorus line of snowbunnies or something.

Tery also outdid herself for the party, making an enormous amount of hors d'ouvres for us. My favorite was a Martha Stewart idea, pea pods with Alouette cheese and tomatoes with pesto.



Christmas also came a little early in the form of someone finally closing our neighbor's door downstairs. Thank god.

~*~

Funny thing is, I was talking to neighbor Anna about how the only thing I really hate about working at the hospital is never knowing what I'm walking into. I had to leave Tery's party to go into work, where I discovered Dr. Norton still present; I hate finding anyone there when I arrive -- it typically means they had a last minute emergency come in that would be left with me. Not the case, however, she was staying with a seizure dog, Colby, who had been there a few days already who she was afraid to leave alone. Terrific.

It turns out this dog was on a continuous Valium drip, absolutely crucial fluid maintenance. We were also having a Valium shortage, never having to administer it in the massive doses this dog required. Dr. Norton hinted if we didn't control the seizures soon, we'd have to send him to an emergency 24-hour facility (so I spent the rest of the night praying for just that to happen).

In the ten minutes it took her to explain everything to me we started having pump difficulties. I was nervous, because in my experience once a pump starts giving me problems, it's nonstop all night long. We thought we had fixed it and she went on her way.

She hadn't been gone ten minutes when the pump started again. Normally I'd do everything I could to fix it myself, except liquid Valium can't be exposed to light or it loses potency, so the tubing and connections were wrapped up super tight, making my troubleshooting work twice as challenging. Rather than futz with it I decided to call her before she got too far away. She came back, fortunately.

Again we had it licked and she left, and again it started alarming on me. The second time she brought a pillow to stay overnight. I felt terrible, she'd already worked a full day, but she insisted.

The trouble with Colby was he was a 4-year-old lab, and when he wasn't seizing he was strong and willful and impossible for one person to do anything with without him fighting to get away. Dr. Norton eventually decided to re-lay the catheter, succeeding after two attempts. This made me feel much better, as I would never have been able to do this myself. The one she removed had a defect in the line that puzzled her.

But that wasn't half as puzzling as when we got him hooked up again and the pump STILL complained about an occlusion. There was no reason in the world for this that we could see and the doctor was stumped (again, making me feel better about keeping her there).

We finally got it going, though it was a tentative victory at best. She went upstairs to try to get some sleep, I tried to accomplish something else on my list of duties. The other trouble with Colby was he had occasional very violent sneezing episodes to boot, during which he would smack his head full force against whatever surface was nearby. The recurrent head trauma couldn't have been helping his condition, and from the next room sounded identical to a seizure, making me dash back into Recovery about every ten minutes.

He had his first seizure since my arrival at midnight. The head smashing with sneezing was nothing compared to what he did while in the throes of an epileptic fit. I fetched Dr. Norton and we sort of nursed him through it. He had a second one about fifteen minutes later. The good news was when he was post-ictal he immediately became sleepy and passed out, making him much more manageable. We pulled him out onto the floor where he seemed more comfortable and she again retreated to her office.

I gave up the idea of doing anything else that night and settled in beside him. The fluids would still inexplicably stop flowing occasionally and need some messing around to restart so I had to keep an eye on the drip. Let me tell you, if you ever suffer from insomnia, don't waste your time with pharmaceuticals -- try staring at an IV fluid drip for about 20 minutes (or perhaps a more practical substitute might be a steadily leaking sink faucet). I absolutely couldn't keep my eyes open, and settled instead for checking in every five minutes or so.

Also for obvious reasons, there would be no setting up my cot that night. By about 3:30 a.m. I was so exhausted it turned out the desk chair with my feet propped up felt just as good. All told I slept about a half hour that night, and I really felt it the next day. Hard. But these medical reports don't type themselves, you know?

Colby was okay the rest of the night (except for more of those alarming sneezing runs), and I was extremely happy when 5 a.m. finally arrived. I called Dr. Norton through the intercom and she sounded as cheerful and refreshed as if she'd slept a solid 8 hours. I asked how she did that, and she replied, "Many years of practice."

She still had to stay, as the next seizure was due in the next hour or so, judging by the previous trend. I felt just as bad leaving as I did making her stay, but she's not hourly so wouldn't impact Tery's payroll the way I would. It turned out the morning doctor let her go home and come back later in the afternoon rather than work through.

Reportedly the kid who owns Colby has no money, so it will be interesting to see what becomes of the bill resulting from essentially four days of intensive around-the-clock care for this dog. Also the kid was going to pick up the dog the next morning, but then leave town at 2 p.m., trusting his roommate to watch over him in his absence. The Valium was all used up at that point, so they sent him home with rectal suppositories to administer if (when) he seized again. I'm sure the roommate was thrilled.

My point is, the dog is only four years old and having these problems, with an owner who has no money. I think the kid is going to have to make some very difficult decisions very soon about what he plans to do with his pet.

Fortunately I only had two boarders that night, one of which looked like the American werewolf in London:



~*~

Finally, Tery is very interested in seeing the movie Slumdog Millionaire, but since she hates leaving the house on her day off and it wasn't available on Graboid, instead we watched Milk which WAS on Graboid.

I won't bother cutting, I don't have much in the way of spoilers or length. Sean Penn did a predictably outstanding job as Harvey Milk, first openly gay elected official. Well, he was a bit more buff than I'm sure Harvey was, but he had the voice, the accent, the hair, everything else down. Josh Brolin was also perfect as Dan White, the insecure, frustrated co-worker that ultimately assassinated him -- if anything, he was a little underused. I didn't really get any idea of why White was driven to commit murder. The scenes between him and Penn, with the knowledge of how their relationship ended, seemed very tense and charged to me.

I think hanging out in the boy_touching community has completely inured me, as I saw nothing at all titillating or unusual about watching Sean Penn and James Franco kiss. Perhaps if the rest of the world joined, two men together would no longer be such a controversial event.

My one complaint (apart from Penn's bordering-on-prizefighter physique) was the first scene of the movie; Penn passes Franco exiting the subway, and greets him warmly. At this point the viewer isn't sure if they are already together or not, and the rest of the scene really does nothing to clear it up. They talk like old friends, then they share a passionate kiss. It turns out that no, they were complete strangers and this is the first time they hooked up.

I didn't buy it, until coincidentally while browsing Netflix's "watch instantly" selections as our afternoon entertainment, Tery chose a documentary called Gay Sex in the 70's (making it quite the theme for the day). This is full of aging queens reminiscing about all the free gay love before AIDS hit the scene, when the community was pretty exclusively about random anonymous encounters, and hooking up really was as simple as walking down the street. So I'd like to think this quick scene in Milk was a brief nod to that time.

The end of Milk, obviously his assassination and the famous Candelight March, had me predictably crying like a baby. It was very understated and very well done, no over-the-top Hollywood dramatics. Tery, equally predictably, reacted not at all. She chastised me for crying so early in the day, as if crying was the same as drinking. As usual I did my best to ignore her.

The movie was very relevant to our time, portraying a major step in our as-yet unwon struggle for equal rights. In particular, I think about Obama's much-criticized choice of evangelical homophobe Rick Warren to perform the invocation at his inauguration. No, it doesn't make me happy, but this is how I see it: It's a two-minute prayer, not a cabinet position. Obama is trying to bring the two extremes of the political spectrum together, not an easy or enviable task, because right now our differences are what is tearing the country apart.

Milk operated the same way. In the film, he challenges one of the biggest anti-gay rights proponents of the time, John Briggs, to a public debate. But he does so with an extended handshake and a warm smile. Because screaming at each other is getting us nowhere. Because if you can't shake your enemy's hand and look him in the eye, how can there be any real communication?

~*~

Is this what it's like getting old? While flicking around, Tery stopped on something called "Hannah Montana & Miley Cyrus: Best of Both Worlds Concert Tour." I watched this young, not particularly talented chick leaping all over the stage in front of thousands of squealing teenage girls and asked, "Now which one is she?" Tery rolled her eyes. "They're the same person, goofball."

I blame this guy here.    I didn't even know adult Heelys existed before seeing this video (on a side note, watch all his other videos.  Hell, subscribe to them, you won't be sorry.    He's one of the best things on YouTube.  Ever.)

So anyway, Heelys are the skate shoes with the wheels in the heel, for cool people on the go.  (not the retractable wheel.  Those I understand are knock-offs and not recommended)    All the videos on YouTube demonstrating their use looked like so much fun I HAD to have a pair. 

Instead of doing the logical thing and looking on the site where Toby got his, I had to check every other route -- which turned up lots of information and advice, but no shoes in my actual size.  I have gargantuan feet -- men's size 10, even 10-1/2 depending on the shoe.  I couldn't even tell you if I have a women's size, as I've never in my life shopped for women's shoes (I usually wear Doc Marten's to dressy occasions like weddings, etc.)    Finding Heelys in this range is nigh impossible, even on the sites claiming to have adult sizes.  Everywhere I looked the largest size on offer was a men's 8.  Which men wear a size 8?  Men with pixie feet, that's who.  Men who should be shopping for glass slippers, not skate shoes.

During the course of my virtual travels I happened on a guy's review that explained different models of Heelys actually had different types of wheels, and that for maximum stability he advised the Mega kind rather than the far more common Fats.  I was thankful for his words, even if that meant, taking into consideration the wheel type, sasquatch size and something without pink piping, I actually had only two models to choose from.

After wasting my entire work day searching every site I could find, I ended up on the site Toby lists in his video, adultheelyshoes.com.  I placed my order and excitedly sat back to await their arrival.

Trying to predict UPS shipping time, I thought it would be really, really nice if I had them before the weekend, since the privacy of the animal hospital with its long hallways seemed an ideal practice spot.  Only about 6% of our condo floors aren't carpeted, and I didn't think I'd be ready for sidewalks straight away, so if they didn't come by Friday I'd have to wait an entire week before I could even try them out.

So naturally I received the email cheerily notifying me the estimated shipping date would be Monday, November 3rd.  And from experience I know that UPS is meticulously accurate about their shipping estimates.

Then imagine my surprise when they came Friday morning?  Hell, YEAH.  It was clearly fate.

I couldn't resist giving them a quick test spin in the kitchen, just to make sure they fit and everything.  Wow.  These things are a DEATH TRAP.  All those YouTube videos of 6-year-olds zipping around without a care in the world are only because they DON'T have a care in the world.  Or a fear of their own mortality.  Or a lack of health insurance, probably.  I remember too vividly the agony I felt when I threw my back out by pulling my chair away from my desk once and couldn't move for a week.    I really miss being invincible.

Still, there's enough of a smattering of videos made by older people like myself to give me hope, including this 60-year-old guy (though it looks like he might be living somewhere full of health care professionals).  Don't ever underestimate my determination when I make up my mind about something.  For at least a week, anyway.

I practiced both nights at the hospital for as long as my energy held out.  You can actually watch my efforts here, though I warn you, they're pretty boring even after I cut out all the interstitial periods of catching my breath.  Definitely involves a lot of building up of stamina and skill, though I think the most important step is just letting go of your fear.  But every time I try I can feel that back spasm like it was yesterday and how I practically screamed in the middle of the room in front of all my co-workers. 

I discovered it's much more fun watching videos of Heeling than trying to Heel.  Then I came across this guy, who hates Heelys, or at least the kids who wear them, enough to make this expletive-filled video rant about them.  Plenty of F-bombs, but no real explanation why he hates them so.  He hints that the kids "think they're so bad-ass" wheeling around, but then says "You might as well use a skateboard or rollerblades instead," as if skateboarding, of which he appears to be an aficionado, is nothing more than a sensible form of public transportation and has nothing at all to do with looking "bad-ass." 

I don't put much stock in what he says anyway, since in this video he sports two lip rings despite posting an equally nonsensical video rant about people who wear lip rings not a month earlier (I was even tempted to leave a comment asking if he bought Heelys a month after making this video). 

So to sum up, I have Heelys.  It might take me a bit longer to get the hang of them than a 6-year-old, but I'm determined.

Oh, and for the latest Kitten Mittens videos, see ( ::below the cut:: )

~*~

How was my Halloween?  Completely uneventful.  But my sister made these fabulous Sweeney Todd costumes for herself and Russell:



And Tery made these Cat in the Hat outfits for the hospital contest (took only second place because people thought the whole thing was photoshopped instead of just the background):


Oh yes, and Tery finally banged on the door of the poor shih tzu below us, who is now left on the porch 24/7 with the blinds drawn shut so they don't ever have to look at it, when s/he started barking at 1 a.m. for three hours straight.  She left a note too about what terrible owners they were, inhumane and selfish, and how if they didn't want the damn dog they should give it to a family that does.  If you knew Tery, this is the equivalent of her punching them in the face, she hates any level of confrontation that much.  I'm so proud of her.  The dog has since vanished, though I refuse to believe it became a beloved family member (as it should be) overnight. 

I just think of my Minky Schminky stretched out on the desk in front of me all day as I rub her belly and kiss her face while she purrs contentedly, and I feel sad that not every animal is as adored as she is.  Not even yours.

~*~

Finally, a rant about my co-workers.  Not the animal hospital but my fellow transcriptionists, again.  I was told I had to attend a mandatory conference call.  They have to make it mandatory because I would never willingly subject myself to this ordeal.  Remember these co-workers can't possibly be as idiotic as they come across, they probably just suffer from not getting to talk to another living soul all day long, which I consider a plus but not everyone is as introverted as me.

The purpose of the call was simple enough, to get out the news that they were eliminating the quality control department that usually gets our reports when we can't find the correct date of service.  Why on earth this couldn't have just been addressed in an email I'll never know.  We were assured we'd be reimbursed for 30 minutes of our time, which completely failed to take into consideration how much time is wasted on conference calls with all the interruptions and small talk and people taking off on wholly unrelated tangents.

The call was moderated by our new supervisor, Tracy, who began by taking roll call.  The first few names went off without a hitch, until we got to Carol Ferris.

Tracy:  Carol Ferris?
Woman with bossy, irritable voice:  Carol Siemen.
Tracy:  (pause)  Carol Ferris?  Is she on the call?
Carol Siemen:  This is Carol Siemen.
Tracy:  I'm looking for Carol Ferris?
Carol Siemen:  Ummm, this is CAROL SIEMEN.
Tracy:  There's more than one Carol, Carol.  I'm waiting for Carol Ferris.
Carol Siemen:  (finally shuts her yap)
Me:  (rolling my eyes)

Then shortly after the roll call Carol Ferris DID turn up, and Carol Siemen commented snidely, "Are you sure you aren't Carol Siemen?" thinking it was a grand inside joke between everyone but poor Carol Ferris, guilty only of sharing a first name with her, but I just wanted to get through this and back to work. 

So basically we were being instructed on how to choose the correct encounter for the report based on certain clues, which would now be solely our duty without the QC department to fall back on.  This involved going through the search process which I'm sure we all had to be aware of, but it meant throwing terms at people that might have been unfamiliar, causing widespread panic (and the accompanying babbling and interjections) until we realized that Tracy was describing something we all do about 30 times a day. 

I almost LOL'ed, though, when she ended this portion with the option of hitting "Accept Just Patient," which fills in everything on the screen except the billing number so the hospital can choose it on their end.  This caused a solid ten minutes of confusion, people trying to explain to each other and ignoring Tracy completely, until the smoke cleared and one woman said, "Oh, well when I want to do that I just use the 'Accept Just Patient' button at the bottom."  Through gritted teeth I murmured, "That's. What. Tracy. Said."  Like I said, they CAN'T be this stupid.  I just think they all freak out a little when suddenly thrust into a conversation with six strangers.  Which is more proof that it should just be handled in an email.

She tried to move onto a new feature of the program called the "submission history," a term she barely got out of her mouth when Carol Siemen snapped, "What was that again?"  "The submission history," Tracy repeated.  "What the heck is that?" asked Carol Siemen.  I'm pretty sure Tracy was just about to tell us exactly that info when she cut her off.  It's pretty hard to imagine there are people out there with even worse social skills than myself.  I might have been projecting, but Tracy's patience seemed to be hanging on by a string at that point. 

Then I finally thought we were in the clear, I could get back to work (this was the 45-minute mark now), when Carol Siemen asked with no attempt to disguise her bitterness, "So with all these changes, are we MTs going to be blamed for even MORE stuff now?"  Oh yeah, Carol Siemen had a bad attitude and didn't much care who knew it.  Tracy said she didn't know what she meant, which Carol Siemen took as her cue to vent all kinds of pent-up issues.  Meanwhile, tick-tock, I don't care about this shit and I'm not getting paid to listen to it.  Tracy did her best to placate her and end the call.  It had now been a solid hour.

I sent an email to Tracy making sure I got credit for the call (I wasn't on the roll since I signed up only a few hours before), and to diplomatically express my disappointment at essentially losing 30 minutes of work.  I pretended I didn't mind calling it a lunch break (even though I very much minded) because I didn't want to be a problem child like Carol Siemen.  Carol Siemen doesn't seem aware of how lucky we are to even have a job nowadays, and that bad apples are usually remembered as such if it ever comes time to chop a few branches. 

I've said enough.  It just reminds me yet again how happy I am to have not one but two jobs that, for the most part, involve no interaction with anyone else on the planet but Tery. 

~*~

Of course it goes without saying you all better go vote tomorrow, people. But only if you're voting for Obama.

Ahhh, July Fourth...the holiday when everyone in America but me (and swankyfunk) get the day off to celebrate the birth of our country, and when the stupider Americans lose various digits after buying illegal explosives that shouldn't by right be sold to anyone but professional event coordinators.

Normally Independence Day is only a source of moderate irritation to me. But that was when I didn't have to work the kennels. This year the Fourth fell squarely onto my shift. Imagine taking care of 16 dogs. Now imagine doing it in Baghdad.

I could see a few public displays far off in the distance. These were not the problem. The problem was at least two neighbors behind the hospital setting off large (and quite illegal) shows of their own, only a few blocks away, not to mention still more across the street at the Taco Junior. I watched a few rockets with trepidation, as they seemed likely to land right on top of me.

Some dogs were completely unfazed by the noise, like this monster of a Bassett hound, Waylon Elvis.



Others didn't play it so cool, like Sharkey, a standard Schnauzer who attempted to climb on top of my head in terror. Or Sissy the chihuahua, who needed desperately to pee but had to do so while running back down the stairs. Poor things.

As much as I pride myself on having mastered the attitude of calm assertiveness preached by Cesar "Dog Whisperer" Milan necessary to be a pack leader (actually had it even before we started watching him), that only takes you so far when you're essentially a complete stranger to the dog, unfortunately.

I hustled through everybody as fast as I could, promising to make it up to them in the morning. Back inside, I followed Tery's advice and set up a radio in the ward to play soothing music for the dogs, although it took the better part of a quarter hour for us all to agree on a station. Finally I found the auditory equivalent of Xanax (lite jazz) and went about my work.

There seemed to be an abnormally high amount of emergency traffic whizzing by all night. As each one passed, I made a silent prayer that it represented another idiot mutilated beyond recognition. The air inside the hospital had the metallic stink of gunpowder even with all the windows shut.

By about 11 p.m. it seemed to be mostly over. I poked my head in the ward and actually heard some dogs gently snoring over the sound of the radio. Well, that wasn't TOO bad, I thought.

In the morning I got a bit of a headstart, looking forward to giving the dogs some extra quality outdoor time after our hectic evening schedule. My plan was working well until about 4 a.m., when, to my complete incredulity, the people behind us decided it was the perfect time to set off some residual mortars they had left over. Setting off personal fireworks at dusk on the Fourth of July is annoying, but at least in the celebratory spirit of things. Doing it at 4 in the morning is just you being a douchebag.

"God DAMMIT!!" I screamed at them, but they either didn't hear or didn't care. So, whereas I tried not to rush the dogs through as I had done previously, they still had to perform under a certain amount of duress. Why can't I work at a cat hospital?

But there was good to all this: A) At least I was making time and a half holiday pay. B) At least Honus, the beagle who makes my life hell even without a good reason and who had been boarding just the weekend before, had gone home. And C) I had my favorite dog, the dog I would steal if I thought Tery wouldn't notice, Baby Face the greyhound, who chatters her teeth when she sees me, stretches like a cat and just wants me to wrap my arms around her in a big hug. I love her so.



I also had this pair, Megan and Morgan:



They're Rottweiler/German shepherd mixes (how many different guard dogs can we squeeze into one body?) and obviously twins. The only difference between them is 3 pounds and the color of their collars, with no indication anywhere of which is which. Smart, huh? They snarled and barked quite savagely at me the first weekend they arrived, but now we're best of friends.

~*~

Our neighbors are still annoying, surprise surprise. Reggie has all but vanished since our little run-in, but occasionally we'll see Clarence, his father? older brother?...I don't know, but he's far less pleasant than Reggie and uses the balcony for EVERYTHING. He'll come home at midnight, get on the phone and carry on a conversation, you guessed it, out on the balcony. Tery told me he had a knock-down screaming fight with his girlfriend (?), on the balcony. It's like the 1000+ square feet of condo he's got behind the balcony simply doesn't provide the living space needed (despite being devoid of furniture). Thank god they're only renting -- if they owned, I wouldn't put it past them to stick the toilet out on the balcony just so he could feel a breeze up his ass when he takes a dump. Am I hostile? Sure. But some things are better not done in full view of all your neighbors, no matter how nice the air feels.

THIS JUST IN: Apparently they feel their balcony also makes an ideal staging ground for Roman candles. They set off two of them FROM THEIR BALCONY before Tery threatened to call the cops and they stopped. The city of Aurora won't even permit full-size barbecue grills on balconies, why on earth do they think it's okay to set off fireworks?? The HOA has been notified, I'm sure there will be a nice little fine in it for them. Neighborhood police, springing into action!

Then there's Tracey, our beloved FCW. We're still trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, even in the face of increasingly odd activity. Like the night Tery noticed she had filled the stairwell landings with computer monitors, so many Tery wouldn't have been able to leave if she needed to. Clunky old CRT monitors that she got from god knows where, to do god knows what with. Then Tery said 15 minutes later they had all been whisked inside her unit. Strange. Possibly suspicious.

She also has attached a little trailer to her Chevy sedan for transporting who knows what. Which wouldn't really bother me except when she isn't using it, she has it propped up between the curb and her car. Which also wouldn't bother me except that when she goes out she leaves it there so no one else can use that spot (our complex doesn't have assigned parking, which I thought was a good thing until now). And of course it isn't a spot out along the periphery of the lot where no one else ever parks, but a real primo spot practically in front of the mailbox. I guess she just isn't happy unless she's pushing legal boundaries somehow, though granted I prefer this parking infraction over the meth lab.

Tery tells me she noticed a towing company's ticket on her windshield, and although it apparently didn't do much in the way of immediately rectifying the problem, I feel better knowing someone else is stepping up to the plate. It's exhausting being the only stool pigeons in the complex.

~*~

Now, to finish on a happy note, I give you the boys:

Oh, so much to say.

Murderous!dog is still around, though not for much longer. Sunday I had spent a peaceful, quiet morning in my hammock with my Mitten, until the stupid beast emerged and immediately began its usual noise, again for no discernible reason other than perhaps it noticed the sun shining. I tried to ignore it, but the mood had been utterly shattered. Stupid bloody useless creature, and I didn't hesitate to yell as much across the short distance between our balconies, before angrily stomping inside, Kitten in tow.

Then a couple of hours later our doorbell was rung by our neighbor. He had come to apologize and explain his family was in town for his son's graduation, and they (and the dog) would be gone by Tues. Furthermore his mother was allergic to dogs, explaining why it was so often shut out on the balcony. He agreed that "she's crazy" (the dog, not his mother, presumably) and that he personally preferred Yorkies. I thanked him for speaking to us about it, and said as long as it wasn't permanent we could put up with it for a short while longer.

I regretted being such a bitch, but was also thankful we hadn't actually filed a complaint against him yet.

~*~



I had decided some weeks back that my thirst for more Alan couldn't wait for the November release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and that there was nothing to be done but buy Sense and Sensibility, a movie I'd seen once with MyFriendDeb but that obviously didn't make too much of an impact on me at the time, other than Alan was completely edible in it.

I found it cheapest online at DeepDiscount.com, for $9.66 and free shipping. A mere few days after placing my order, I received a text from kavieshana that Target had it for only $5 (pure coincidence on her part, she didn't know I had ordered it. She's very insightful that way). I flew back to DDD, only to find the price lowered to $5.99. Worse and worse. I emailed them outraged, demanding a partial refund, threatening to return my order and buy it elsewhere. Within 12 hours they had complied, to my huge relief.

Then I waited. And waited. And waited. Saturday, close to the 2-week mark, I had decided enough was enough. Free shipping or not, 2 weeks? From Illinois to Colorado? Was it coming by wagon train? I checked the Target website where it was listed for $7.49. Slightly higher price, but if my principles demanded I fight for a $3 refund, they also didn't mind paying another $2 to prove a point. My life is so complicated, and all by my own design, but I believe a life without principles is no sort of life at all.

So Sunday I bought it from Target (win-win, it was actually still only $5), and sure enough, it arrived today from DDD, Monday afternoon. It's almost as if someone was watching me, planning out an elaborate and completely unfunny joke. So it's going back, along with a hefty piece of my mind, and I'll certainly have second and third thoughts before ordering from them again, free shipping or not.

( ::Again, cut because no one cares except maybe one:: )

~*~

I'm including this part at Tery's insistence. My newest hobby is faux stained glass -- glass painting that comes close to stained glass at a portion of the cost. One of the simpler projects that I just completed is a lampshade. I thought it would make a cool idea for Christmas gifts, so I looked into buying cheap lamp parts to create a lamp from scratch. I found a base on eBay and a lamp kit on a craft site. I hoped by buying a kit I could avoid having to wire it myself, but in vain.

Today all the parts arrived and I tried to build a lamp. Despite following instructions I found online, it wouldn't turn on (leading to many nerve-wracking, but ultimately anticlimactic, attempts). I called Tery to tell her yet another tale of me biting off more than I could chew, leading to this exchange eventually (cookies to who guesses the movie first):

"I'm an idiot because I can't make a lamp?"
"No, you're a genius because you can't make a lamp."

I'm currently communicating with the eBay seller to see if she can talk me through wiring it, or returning the base if I can't. We'll see. Why can't things ever be simple for me?

Our excitement this weekend had nothing to do with the kennels. A couple of weeks ago I came home from a shift and noticed our elderly neighbor's dome light on in her car. Seeing her living room light was on, despite it being 5 a.m., I decided to take the chance of stopping her heart and ringing her doorbell to let her know. She didn't answer though. The next day the light was still on so I tried again, with the same result. Ah well, much longer and it would be a moot point, so I gave up.

Then we never saw her again in the subsequent weeks. Her car stayed in the same spot day after day, even when we were ordered to clear the parking lot for sewer line work. Tery saw half-full drink glasses sitting untouched on her coffee table. We tried not to think the worst, but she was very old and sickly (had a stroke last year, and is a devoted smoker). On the other hand, she also has family that visits her occasionally; surely they were on top of the situation?

So it was with great trepidation indeed that I came down the stairs on my way to work Saturday night to see three uniformed policemen struggling to get into her front door. They asked me if I'd seen her lately and I had to admit no. They asked for contact numbers, anything, so I called Tery to see if she could help them after I left. She called me regularly to keep me updated. She gave them the HOA emergency number, thinking they had to have personal information, but apparently all the numbers they had for her were disconnected. Tery said she heard them knocking on everyone's door looking for contacts, even the FCW's (Tery said, "I was going to tell them not to knock on that door unless they wanted to open a whole new can of worms," because yea verily Tracey is back to carrying things into her unit in covered plastic bins and, one memorable night with a large male friend's/customer's help, muscling some sort of very heavy air conditioner-size piece of machinery up the stairs and inside. Of course, it might have been an air conditioner).

There's a happy ending, sort of. When Tery told them her name they were able to put out an APB to the hospitals and found her in one. Not good news that she's been there so long, but certainly better than dying alone in her condo and going undiscovered for weeks.

It's very stressful living near elderly people.

~*~

My love for my dentist remains intact. I saw him yesterday. He's still hot as ever, but the point is he looked at my mouth, declared it to be in "good shape," and admitted that my bridge was still functionally sound, it was just a matter of aesthetics whether to replace the missing tooth. He said there hadn't been many advances made in bonding porcelain, and if he tried sticking the original back on I'd be back within a week after it falls out again. The other alternative is ripping out the entire bridge and starting over, and that sounds expensive and hugely unappealing. So I said if it was just a question of aesthetics, I'd live with the missing tooth. He shaved down the rough edges, charged me for the visit and the x-ray and sent me on my way (after insisting that I really should still have a yearly cleaning, which I plan on now).

~*~

Speaking of my love for older men, I finally got The Barchester Chronicles from Netflix, a very early BBC series (well, 1982) featuring the Rickman. Hoo boy, guess there's no avoiding the truth anymore: I am obsessed. ( ::cutting because I'm absolutely positive no one cares about this but me, with possibly one exception:: )

I thought all the scenes without Alan were unfathomably dull, but there are scores of rave reviews over at IMDb, which I suppose makes me an uncultured heathen.

At last, it is mine. A bit later than I would have liked. Tery gets irritated when I shop for myself a week before my birthday and/or Christmas. So this time I vowed to be good, no matter how much it hurt. She had assured me she wouldn't wait until my actual birthday (Apr 8) to give me this present. However, she also wasn't terribly keen on going out at the stroke of midnight to get it as soon as it was on sale, as I would have done (even if the tables were turned and it was her birthday). She used the excuse that she had to go into work a bit earlier in the morning or else she would, but I know damn well she was up watching Big Brother anyway.

Part of me hoped it was all a bluff, that she'd sneak out after I fell asleep and leave it at the foot of my bed as a surprise (which is what I would have done), but no. Then I hoped she would leave early, pretend to go to work, then pop over to the store and back to surprise me (something else I would have done, failing Plan A), but no. My point is, she had ample opportunity, but instead made me wait until she got home from work (late), when she of course wanted to watch baseball. At least she's going out tonight so I can have the TV.

I have the DVD propped up staring at me while I work, kind of like a carrot on a stick. It's full of juicy extras, all of which seem to be trying very hard to ignore the fact that Rickman is even in the movie. "Depp! Burton! Depp and Burton! Burton and Depp! And Bonham-Carter!" *sigh* My man will never get the recognition he deserves.

DreamWorks isn't the only company guilty of this. I was excited to see a small article in this week's "Entertainment Weekly" about the long-standing affair between Burton and Depp -- that is until the author started heaping lavish praise on Johnny's singing, even comparing him to David Bowie, then had the nerve to add, "Rickman can't sing a lick." No, Alyson Hanigan can't sing a lick (BtVS, "Once More with Feeling"). Cameron Diaz REALLY can't sing a lick (A Life Less Ordinary -- her singing actually causes physical pain). Alan can at least carry a tune without murdering it, and I sent in a letter to them pointing this out. Tery rolled her eyes at my passion. "You're the only one who feels that way." She really likes to imagine I'm the only one who cares about Alan. This is what gives her joy in life (that and baseball).

Anyway, tonight is all about the Sweeney, so Do Not Disturb.

~*~

Another chapter in the People are Asshats book: I left the house once yesterday to get some milk from the gas station across the street. The place was pretty busy around 5:30 pm, people coming home from work and whatnot. As I pulled in, this joker in an SUV (yeah, surprise!) started pulling away from the pump. The angle wasn't quite right, however, and if one of us didn't stop moving we were going to hit. As I was the one entering the lot and already in motion, as opposed to just starting from a parked position, I felt I had the right of way and kept on my course accordingly. He FINALLY gave in, but not without him and his passenger making lots of violent, where'd-you-learn-to-drive gestures in my direction. Maybe they were just testy after dropping $50 into their tank, but I half expected them to follow me inside to really start something.

This is why I can't stand leaving the house -- because every time I do I step into this Bizarro World where the rules of the road as I learned them have been replaced with some kind of Mad Maxian society where the asshole with the biggest axles must be deferred to.

~*~

Our mystery Christmas neighbors have reappeared. Tery had a confirmed sighting of them on their porch. Which isn't to say the unit has been restored to a post-holiday condition. The lights and wreath still hang, and it might be my imagination but I'm sure I can still see the silhouette of a tree in the window behind the blinds. No, they were outside to clean up all the doggie mess from their Rottweiler. Remember, this is one of the complaints leveled against Tracey and her "balcony-trained" mutts. I don't understand why people think it's acceptable to just let dogs do their thing on the balcony, especially if you live anywhere higher than the ground floor. Nasty. And if you can't be bothered to walk your dog properly, maybe you should consider not getting one. Radical thinking, I know.

Speaking of neighbors, The Alcoholic has finally bought a house and is moving. From the day she told me she was closing it was practically a matter of hours before the moving van showed up and she was gone. She REALLY couldn't wait to get out of here (into a "nice neighborhood" she smugly informed me. She hasn't lived many places if she doesn't think this is a nice neighborhood, meth labs notwithstanding). She told me her unit was bought by a nice woman, fresh out of a messy divorce and just as desperate to move, also a vet assistant. Which I thought would be really cool to have as a neighbor before Tery pointed out the chances of her having a dog that will spend all summer barking at our cats on the balcony. We shall see. Stay tuned.

~*~

Lastly, this is what Cadbury has reduced me to by not selling their irresistible Creme Eggs year-round:



This, my friends, is a box I salvaged from the 50% off cart. I plan to freeze them to tide me over until next Easter. I chose my checkout line carefully, trying to find a big, fat clerk who wouldn't judge me. Unfortunately, the woman I selected naturally went on break literally just as I got to the head of the line, being replaced by a petite teenager who probably weighed about 75 pounds soaking wet. She was just happy I had counted the eggs while waiting in line rather than making her do it. Hey, I'm an ex-inventory specialist. I still got the skillz.

The Search for John Gissing: Arrived. It came via DHL which, you'll remember, isn't my first choice in a delivery agent but it wasn't up to me. After yesterday they're even less of a choice. I toodled on over to the tracking site to check its progress, and you can imagine my astonishment when I saw it was marked "Delivered" and "Signed for" already. WhatWhatWhat???!!?! I immediately headed to the mailbox only to discover it sitting on my doorstep. Which means someone climbed 3 flights of stairs and put it there (or tossed it over the railing from below) but couldn't be bothered to ring the doorbell and deliver it properly. What is wrong with them? This isn't brain surgery. "Abandoned" is not a synonym for "delivered." Thank god it wasn't something truly valuable like, say, a passport.

Passport: Arrived! Just when I was ready to lie and claim I was traveling sooner than I was. I can't help but think it's no coincidence that my earliest date of travel on the application was July 23, which if it were would be cutting it very close indeed. I had hoped its delivery would coincide serendipitously with a sudden drop in fares, but no dice. Amusingly, the passport was packaged with a pamphlet cheerfully proclaiming, "With a U.S. Passport, the world is yours!" because you're an AMERICAN and therefore foreigners must defer to YOU. Or so I preferred to interpret it in my current bitterly anti-American state of mind.

Creepy old neighbor Louis: Is still spending every day out on his balcony. Which I don't care about except every time I pass the window, he's looking straight up into our house. When it gets this hot, I don't much care to wear clothing, and I don't want to don a shirt just to walk around my living room. So he gets a little peepshow every now and then, which I guess is incentive enough to keep him staring hopefully. Ewww. But when it gets this hot, my comfort takes first priority, even if it's giving an old man his jollies.

Speaking of crazy neighbors, I got cornered into a conversation with The Alcoholic, who can't believe Tery and I don't use our air conditioning every single day (we don't break down until it tops 100 degrees). She uses hers at the first hint of mugginess, she told me proudly. A bigger sweatphobe I've never seen. I explained that we're New Englanders and used to 100 degrees plus 95% humidity, so it really doesn't bother us that much. I gave the excuse that we're nervous about running out of freon and needing it serviced. 5 minutes after we returned to our respective homes, she called me excitedly, telling me to check the user manual for our AC unit. Hers doesn't specifically mention freon servicing, so she reckons it doesn't use freon. Yes. She believes she has the world's first totally environmentally friendly air conditioner, that she bought 10 years ago. I didn't waste time trying to correct her, as it's not likely to change her usage anyway. But this didn't do much to raise her intelligence in my estimation.

Harry Potter: Finished "Half-Blood Prince" (again) and am more excited than ever for "Deathly Hallows." Meanwhile Tery is more stubbornly in denial than ever. We were talking about something and she made the comment, "Whatever, it's just Harry Potter." She HATES that Harry is so popular because she is, as my tag so aptly describes her, a joy-sucking robot. Which is perhaps for the best, so we aren't fighting over the book when it arrives. I'm holing up all day Sunday and Monday, NO INTERNET/NO SPOILERS whatsoever, then Monday night plan to see Order of the Phoenix in IMAX with my friend Rebecca. I also expect to gloat my face off to her silly sister-in-law, who refuses to believe that Snape is anything other than pure, unadulterated evil -- no complex motives, no hidden layers, just straight up exactly what Jo has made him seem to be. That will be fun.

Gideon: Has an adrenal tumor (common among ferrets). Unfortunately the gland in question is wrapped by the vena cava so it's a very complicated surgery. Tery brought him to the premier vet specialist in Colorado, Dr. Fitzgerald:



Some people might recognize him from an Animal Planet show called "Emergency Vets." He didn't want to do the operation at first, until he met Giddy and had to admit he was a great little guy and worth trying to save. He's still strong and healthy enough that he shouldn't have any complications. We'll see. Fortunately too Dr. Fitzgerald's hospital recently joined the VCA family so Tery can use her 70% employee discount.

That's all. Internet radio silence begins Friday evening just to make double sure to avoid spoilers. Will resume communication Tuesday morning. Over and out.

Our Fourth of July outing this year was everything that 2 years ago wasn't. Ryan invited us (me, Tery and MyFriendDeb) to the park in Englewood that he always goes to. This time we came prepared, packing sweaters and blankets (then the temperature never dropped below 70), snack food and drinks (then the park had food for sale, yummy roast corn-on-the-cob and turkey legs), and best of all, the show's start time wasn't dependent on the whim of a stupid baseball game. And we actually got to see a show this year, which was a huge check in the plus column.



And what a spectacular show it was! We selected a spot on top of a big hill (well, us and 1,000 other people) so we could actually lie on our backs with an unobstructed view, as if the show was being put on special for us. It was worth the difficult climb up an 85-degree slope. We worried about getting back down, until I pointed out that we'd have a crowd of people in front of us to slow our descent. Tery and I shared a knapsack for a pillow and held hands. Halfway through she whispered to me, "I wish Kitten was here."

It seemed rather brief, but we weren't complaining when it began to rain almost the second we got back to the car. A few seconds after it started it turned into a torrential downpour of hail that we imagined turned that 85-degree hill into a deadly mudslide for anyone that didn't get down in time. Ryan barely got us home alive. It was all terribly exciting.

~*~

Our neighbors (the ones we called the Fuzz on) have a shopping cart in their stairwell from the dollar store across the street. Now that really says "class," though not exactly "upper" or even "middle."

~*~

I'm writing this on my balcony, which is pleasant enough despite the conspicuous absence of a hammock. No, it hasn't arrived yet. On Monday, when I thought it might arrive, I received an email from the seller excitedly telling me that it had SHIPPED that morning. Oh HELL no. I shot off an angry mail expressing my dissatisfaction with this timeframe. Their response was "Good news! We've traced your package and it's scheduled to arrive on 07/09/07. Thanks again for shopping with us!" Here's a tip for would-be sellers: The way to deal with an irate customer is NOT to pretend to misunderstand their complaint and carry on like everything is peachy. If this isn't the best damn hammock I've ever sat my ass in, their feedback will go from neutral (where it's at now) to negative -- but they're a power seller so I doubt I'll be able to bring them down singlehandedly. Which is precisely what they're counting on.