grrgoyl

I just wanted to pay for my groceries.

I was in line behind a woman with a hand-carry basket.  We were both behind a family that looked vaguely Iranian?  Iraqi?  Middle Eastern.  Their groceries were all bagged in the cart ready to go, when someone noticed a mistake on the receipt.  The cashier took it back, examined it.  Stared at it for a full five minutes with intense concentration, like she was reading a Twilight novel.  She was young, blond, a bit paunchy.  Had the exact facial bone structure of a pug dog. 

Then I got to see the item in question.  A fruit roll-up.  I wish I were kidding.  A fucking FRUIT ROLL-UP.  Unless it rang up for $50 or something, there's just no reason for this.  I think they actually bought five of them (because what kind of Commies buy just one fruit roll-up?), but still.  The savings that they were pushing for couldn't have been that great.

Then someone had to be sent off to the aisle to find the correct price.  Then the transaction had to be rectified.  Blondie started fumbling with keys, scanning the candy.  Scanned it again.  Studied the register screen intensely.  Scanned it again.  I glared at her (and the family) with the hate of a million red hot supernovas, which probably didn't help anyone but it beat the hell out of doing NOTHING.

Meanwhile the man behind me had moved to the next line over.  Someone with less patience than me?  I should have proposed.  However, the cashier there tried to pick up one of those gallon jugs of the unnatural lime-green juice drink; it slipped out of his hands and exploded all over the floor, creating a small unnaturally lime-green lake.  "Boy, there's just no right answer here, is there?" the line jumper said to me.  "Nope, we can't win," I agreed. 

I gave Blondie another five minutes of apparently fruitless (pun sort of intended) scanning and keying before fleeing to another lane.  Got everything rung up and passed her again on my way out, where the family was still standing and I heard Blondie say, "Okay.  I'm just going to start all over again."

I just wanted to pay for my groceries.

~*~

Tery is hell-bent on seeing as many likely Oscar nominees as possible before the big event (she is every year, however, this year has an extra sense of urgency since she decided to throw a party and hold a contest to vote for the winners).  As for me, I can't stand watching awards shows, and in fact vowed never to again after the last one took about six hours with all the commercials and crap.

So, without further ado, I give you first ( ::Gran Torino, with plenty o'spoilers, cuz I can:: )

I suppose Clint wasn't too bad.  It's the same role he's played for most of his career, after all.  But all the actors around him were bad.  Really, really awfully awful.  Embarrassingly awful.  Tery and I couldn't believe this was nominated for a Golden Globe.  And as of this morning, it wasn't even nominated for an Oscar, which means we essentially watched it for nothing.

Second was ( ::Revolutionary Road, perhaps not as spoilery:: )

Also as of this morning, this is another one that Oscar snubbed.  Although Michael Shannon fully deserves best supporting, unfortunately he's up against Heath Ledger, so chances are probably slim. 

All I'm saying is two movies on a Sunday, my weepiest day, and dry as a bone.  If teardrops were Academy votes, it's pretty clear why these weren't nominated.

ADDENDUM: To my once weekly update.

In the category of poor customer service, first I shot off this to DDD of the drag-yer-ass shipping:



While I was at it, I also sent another letter to "Entertainment Weekly" expressing my displeasure at finding an issue with literally half its pages devoted to Sex and the City, the series and the upcoming movie. It says right on the cover, as if it's something to be proud of, 63 pages of 'Sex'!. I couldn't care less about Sex and the City, have in fact only seen one episode (because it had Alan Cumming) and I thought this was a pretty bold assumption on their part that the series inspired such mass appeal to merit half a freakin' issue. I wanted my subscription prorated for the cost of the issue (joking), and a promise that they'd give at least as much fanfare to Harry Potter once the final movie has been released. I think 7 books, 8 movies, oodles of marketing tie-ins, not to mention making Daniel Radcliffe and JK Rowling the richest people in England in their respective fields AND getting children excited about books again deserves a damn sight more coverage than they have received so far. Certainly more than stupid Sex and the City.

But this is the real thing I forgot to add to my last post. Thursday I went to Walmart, a place I normally try to avoid, but they had certain organizational accoutrements much cheaper than anywhere else online. As usual, a quick stop for one item turned into a mini-spree when I realized they had those energy-efficient lightbulbs, Pillsbury apple turnovers that you can't get anywhere else in Denver (everyone else only has cherry, bleah), propane tanks and milk.

It was pretty busy for a Thursday afternoon (I'm kidding. I have no idea what it looks like on a Thursday afternoon) but I got in the Express Lane with my meager selection. Whether the girl in front of me was within the 20-item limit was debatable, but whatever. I was mellow and forgiving, mostly because my sister called at that moment and distracted me.

Then we hung up and I realized I hadn't moved an inch since entering the line 10 minutes ago. Express Lane, whut? I watched with silent frustration as the second Express Lane moved steadily and smoothly, as an Express Lane should, while our cashier seemed to summon a supervisor for every single transaction. But I just KNEW the minute I changed lanes it would suddenly reverse and I'd regret my decision AND look like an asshole.

FINALLY it was the girl's turn in front of me. As she started putting her items up, her friend that had been popping in and out disappeared again. Halfway through the transaction, she mentioned something to the cashier about not having received her discount card in the mail yet (?), which necessitated a supervisor to be called immediately, naturally. 5 minutes later the supervisor finished inputting a code so complex I swear she might have been booking plane tickets. I stood in stony silence.

Then when everything was finally rung up, suddenly the friend reappeared and I guess had her discount card, which meant the supervisor had to be called AGAIN to override the previous card (or something). Of course now things were really hopping and the supervisor couldn't get over right away. I glared a stabbity hot look of death at the girl, who noticed and looked as though she was going to start something, but at that moment I turned it instead onto the cashier, who gave me a helpless shrug.

At last it was my turn, 20 minutes after getting in line. The cashier said in a carefree sort of way, "Sorry about the wait!"

I couldn't resist responding, my voice dripping with sarcasm (which is mostly wasted on people in this state), "Yeah, not much of an Express Lane, is it?"

"Yeah, haha," she answered nervously.

She started bagging the propane tanks, worrying aloud that they were going to blow up. "They won't blow up," I assured her. She explained that they actually had a Pillsbury roll container explode at the check-out after becoming too warm. I said it was hardly surprising, if today were any indication. My stuff was rung up, bagged and paid for in under 3 minutes, as it should be in an Express Lane.

Not that I blame the poor cashier. The Express Lane rule should, I believe, exclude anyone with complicating issues or extenuating circumstances that would delay their transaction, like wanting to buy cigarettes that are locked up a half a mile away. But hell, it's enough of a battle getting people to stay under the item limit.

This morning dawned crisp and bright with the promise of new DVDs. I love waking up on Tuesdays (new release days). I headed out to Walmart with two goals in mind: V for Vendetta and Arrested Development, Season 3.

Just my luck, I got to Electronics and saw two employees (a middle-aged woman and an old, old man) in the process of re-zoning the entire New Releases section. Even though they're open 24 hours (and even if they weren't, night stockers anyone??) they wait until 8 am on new release day to re-do all the shelves. Bollocks. Trying to save time I asked the woman about V for Vendetta, since I could see the "W" and "U" titles were up already.

"V for Vendetta, V for Vendetta...." she mumbled to herself as she searched shelf tags. No luck. The old man had to put his two cents in, "That's been out for awhile, it's not a new release."

"Well, it's been out for less than a month," I corrected him. "I don't know how new is considered 'new' but..."

The woman went to the next aisle to search for it among the regular titles. Still no luck. She turned to me and said, "I don't see a slot for it. We must not sell it anymore."

Really. Well Jesus, I would have moved a lot quicker if I realized my window of opportunity was so small. She left me standing there without so much as an offer to look in the computer for backstock or anything. Thanks for the outstanding customer service, lady.

Left to my own devices, I began looking for Arrested Development with similar results, though this wasn't as surprising. Still, time was a-wasting and so was my patience. I came around the corner again.

"Oh," the woman looked up. "Here's the slot for V for Vendetta on the top shelf, so we'll probably get more soon."

"Great. I'm also looking for Arrested Development. Just came out today, so I KNOW that's a new release."

"Arrested what?" she asked me. I repeated myself, gritting my teeth.

The old man again chimed in. "Haven't seen any Arrested Development. We've got Desperate Housewives though."

Hmmmmm. Not exactly the same thing, but I guess it'll have to do. Is that what he was expecting? Go to bed, old man!!!!!!

It turned out they might have had some in the back, but the asking price was higher than I've seen it for online, so I took my leave. Walmart. Bunch of goddamn Philistines there. I ran to Target and both were way more expensive than they are online.

I walked through the front door empty-handed and fuming. Tery wisely ducked out of the way. I ordered them both online, in addition to this, because really, how could I be expected to resist it? (though not from Amazon, good god. DeepDiscountDVD.com has it for only $139.) Tery felt I fully deserved it for the frustrating morning I had, and that's why I love her so.

But I've lost so much respect for the Lord of the Rings franchise. Someone came up for air out of the vast mountain of money at New Line and realized that people weren't buying LOTR DVDs anymore, and they simply can't have that. So they've released ANOTHER FUCKING EDITION of the movies, if you can believe it. Enough, LOTR. Let. It. Go.

I already had some stuff to update about, and then this went and happened last night. The Saga of the Crankwhore will have to wait a bit, but I'd like to think my faithful readership (I know you're out there. Just admit it) sees more in me than the vicarious thrill of living next door to a drug dealer that I provide. I have so much stuff to update, as a matter of fact, that I'm extending a rare courtesy and cutting for length. Enjoy it while it lasts.

( ::The night I thought my sister was killed:: )

( ::Adventures in Cell Phones and Stupidity:: )

( ::What you've been waiting for...Crankwhore goodness:: )

( ::Finally...more about my favorite obsessions:: )


Whew. Quite the exciting week. Something I need to mention in passing is that I put that goddamned Coleman grill on eBay on the advice of ms_hecubus and metatronis and would you believe it sold for $100????? Making it only a $20 mistake and much easier to live with. It went to a local woman who met me to pick it up. I refused to take her money before making sure she could use it, but she shrugged me off. "If I can fix airplanes, I think I can work with this." O-KAY. Have at it then and I won't give it another thought. Thanks for the valuable words of wisdom, Michelle and Roxie.

Shutting up now. Now let's see how many tags fit this monstrosity.

My cough is back. Not nearly as bad as before, but enough to make me concerned about relapsing. However, I don't want to pay another $100 for a clinic visit if it's just residual bronchitis. It's times like this when not having insurance truly doth suck.

So I called the Urgent Care for some suggestions and was directed to their help line, 1-800-ASK-A-NURSE (well, without the 1-800, but I thought that sounded funnier). This is where old, retired nurses go to die...but not before dispensing free, dubious advice based on medical knowledge from 10 years ago.

After getting my biddy on the line, I quickly described my situation to her. I had been diagnosed with Strep and bronchitis, I had finished my antibiotics but now a few weeks later the cough has returned. She ran down a script of questions about my symptoms.

Biddy: Do you have a fever?
Me: No.
Biddy: Do you have a runny nose or congestion?
Me: No.
Biddy: Have you had any recent injuries, surgeries or hospitalizations?
Me: No.
Biddy: Do you have a rash?
Me: No.
Biddy: Because sometimes rash can be a symptom of Strep throat, you realize.
Me: I did not know that. But I don't have a rash (and we've already established that I did, indeed, have Strep throat. Can we drop the rash?)
Biddy: Have you had any recent injuries, surgeries or hospitalizations?
Me: (stiffly) ... No.
Biddy: Do you have a sore throat?
Me: It's not sore, just dry. I get a tickle sometimes and it makes me cough. But it's very intermittent. I mean, we've been talking for how long now and I haven't coughed once.
Biddy: So you have a dry throat.
Me: Right. And it feels tight sometimes. Like when I try to sing.
Biddy: When you try to what?
Me: Sing. When I try to sing.
Biddy: (incredulously) Well how often do you have to sing?
Me: Not often, but I'd still like it to be an option.
Biddy: .....
Me: And also, I don't know if this is related, but they found a meth lab next door in my neighbor's unit about 6 months ago and they're still in the process of cleaning it up. I wonder if that could be why I'm still sick?
Biddy: (Impatiently) Oh, I don't know what goes on in those labs. (Harumph)

Her prognosis was that I didn't need to go back to the doctor. Her prescription included a lot of stuff like tea with honey, long, hot showers, cough drops, glasses of water and headache powder (okay, so that last was Tery's addition). I have to say, it's a damn good thing it's a free service or I would want my money back. I wonder if MyFriendDeb could get a job working there, since they share the same remedies? Either way, I forgot I have my very own Ask-A-Nurse, my sister in Boston. Who sadly is too busy working three jobs to take my calls.

ADDENDUM: Finally got through to my sister, who amusingly sobbed, "I don't know what goes on in a meth lab either. Does that make me a bad nurse?"

Crankwhore action:

That sneaky Tracey's at it again! She and her deceptively well-groomed boyfriend have been busy installing new hardwood floors in her place...and then spending days and days and days (from the sound of it) buffing and polishing them with a very loud machine. That is, until this notice appeared on her door.



If it isn't obvious, those words behind the bars (where, ironically, that filthy crankwhore should be) are "Order to Vacate" and "Unsafe to Occupy." Followed by a lot of nonsense about "unsafe for human habitation until written notice" and "must vacate premises by Oct 12." Followed by a Penalty of a $1000 fine or 1 year in jail for removing the notice. She hasn't removed it, evidence that she can indeed read. Which you otherwise wouldn't be able to tell, since they spent all day on the 12th moving appliances out (a none-too-quiet process, I assure you) well past the 2 p.m. deadline, and have been sneaking in and out ever since to remove other little odds and ends. Yesterday they were in there for most of the day removing, I kid you not, the kitchen cabinets. WTF??? So the place has new hardwood floors but the kitchen is apparently completely gutted. Makes sense, in a crack-induced sort of haze. I didn't realize cabinetry had a large enough resale value to warrant risking being caught and arrested. But then, clearly someone with the level of determination required to break the law so extensively by setting up a whole meth lab won't be so easily deterred by a little piece of paper. Tery saw a suspicious-looking guy wandering around in front of the building, sneaking glances up to her place, and then getting on his cellphone. Because Mr. and Mrs. CW are just that stupid that they spent the whole day in the unit with their front door wide open. Sadly, I didn't get to see them haul her off in cuffs again (not for lack of me camping out at the peephole). I called the number on the door just to make absolutely certain someone is on top of it, just doing my neighborly duty.

Television action:

I know this will disappoint velmaneuwirth considerably, but I've watched discs 2 and 3 out of 4 in the Firefly set, and I'm just not moved to buy it. Don't get me wrong, it's a promising show. The characters are great, the actors are terrific. I'm amazed how quickly I got over my hatred of Nathan "Caleb" Fillion, amazed that he can play good and evil with equal skill. Alan Tudyk is always hilarious. Ironically my favorite character is shaping up to be Jayne, as much as I'm normally not into the "manly men." It just seems like he gets all the funniest lines. The episode "Out of Gas" absolutely blew me away. The clever interweaving of timelines, the humorous back story, the first time Mal lays eyes on his beloved Serenity. LOVED IT. (loved the commentary too, especially when they told the story of Alan Tudyk stealing the big red button off the set and sending it to Joss to "call back the shuttles" if he managed to save the show. I wept.)

But it has lots of big strikes against it too. First that comes to mind is, of course, no mention anywhere of Giles from Buffy. Yeah, his participation in the show would have been a huge draw for me. Second, I'm not a fan at all of westerns, even if they are set in outer space. Lastly, and biggest of all, just the one season. I might change my mind after seeing the last disc, but I think this will be just another one of those shows that could have developed into greatness if Fox wasn't so short-sighted. The potential is there, but now we'll never know. I think back on Buffy Season One. Good, sure, but not great. Season Two was when it really started getting great. Left to stand on just the merits of Season One, I doubt it would have become the smash phenomenon that it did. Given just one or two more seasons, I might have grown to love Firefly every inch as much as I do Buffy.

Another big strike against it is that there are about 5 DVD releases this month that I want more, and simply not enough money for all of them. Sorry, Jemma.

Just the opposite of this, however, is Lost. We didn't watch the first season on TV, mostly because I originally thought it was like a Survivor rip-off. And if there's anything I loathe in this world, it's any show that involves voting people off every week. By the time we realized it wasn't a reality show, it was far too late and the season was almost over. We rented the first disc last Sunday during Denver's "big" Oct snowstorm (3 inches. The news channels were freaking out. We New Englanders were rolling our eyes so hard we got headaches).

Oh. My. God. Holy SHIT. Why didn't anyone tell us how great this show was? From the very first episode we were on the edge of our seats. The mysteries. The drama. Sayid. What's not to love? (admittedly, Tery wasn't as swept away by Sayid as I was. She's mad, I tell you. Those big brown eyes, like luscious pools of dark chocolate? Long lashes a Cover Girl would kill for? The bronzed skin? The soft, black, curly locks? The undercurrent of danger beneath the gentle exterior? Yep. Mad as a march hare, I tell you.)



Don't look at me that way, you naughty boy. I'll only break your heart.

We immediately ran out upon finishing disc 1 and got discs 2 and 3. We devoured them like boar's meat and went back for more (but not before sampling the commentary on the pilot episode, which had to be shut off suddenly when they drifted perilously close to revealing spoilers about the enormous thing in the jungle that we haven't seen yet). We talked about just buying the boxed set. Sexy as the packaging is, I tend to think once the mysteries are revealed the show wouldn't be terribly interesting to watch repeatedly. But I could be wrong about this as well.

I returned discs 2 and 3 and picked up 4 and 5, and this is when I encountered probably one of the stupidest people I've ever met. The young girl behind the counter at Hollywood examined the box closely, then started asking questions so vague that I'm still not really sure what she was asking:

"Is this still on?"

"Ummmmm.....the show is still on, but it's on season two now."

"So they're not showing this anymore?"

Huh? "...Season two is being aired now. Season one is on DVD, as you can see right there in your hand."

After some closer scrutiny, "Oh!! So this is just starting!"

If you could call two seasons into it "just starting" perhaps..."Yeah." I said, defeated.

Pause. Pause. Pause. "Is this the whole show?" she asked, referring to the cases in her hand clearly marked "Disc Four" and "Disc Five."

My god, it's a wonder she remembered to dress before coming to work. "No, there are 7 discs in the first season."

Pause. Pause. Pause. Letting it sink through the very dense strata. "I don't have much time to watch TV anyway, with my kid and all." Sorry, Human Race, too late. She's already spawned.

As a further demonstration of her shining intellect, she scanned my card to ring me up, noticed the previous discs still out on my account (I had just dumped them in the return box), and left me standing there while she checked those discs back in (despite having a full 15 hours before they were actually due), THEN completed the current transaction. Oh yeah. Be afraid, Human Race. Be very afraid.

Going out and having fun action:

Lastly, we were invited by Kay (the shallow, tactless Makeover Queen) to a night at the improv. We agreed, making it a group of 9 (a rather unwieldy number to make arrangements for, but I was hardly in a position to complain). We took the Light Rail downtown, myself, Tery and of course Two-Date Tabby -- who had the nerve to criticize me crushing on boys while being accompanied by her two current boyfriends, Tim and Ryan. "Lesbi-who-be-whatsit?" was my response to her. Though in fairness, Ryan might take exception to the label "boyfriend" (at least with regards to women). Here he is with Tery:



He's quiet, shy, but funny and disarming and given to affection quickly. As you can see, Tery's a big fan of him as well. He's our newest, cutest gay male friend. He's in love with Tery's brother after seeing pictures, but sadly he's in New York and not likely to move. So I guess we'll do until he can meet Jason. I think Tabby's jealous that Ryan lives 5 minutes from us and not her.

The improv was enormously funny. I could tell because when it was over I felt like I'd done an hour of ab exercises, and I had to beg everyone to not make me laugh for awhile. Really, really fun, and we all swore on the spot to make a habit of returning to their little rundown theater in the city. We left and started walking, I assumed back to the Light Rail station. Tery led the way in a forced march 7 blocks away. People at the front started muttering, "This better be a great bar!" I overheard and said, "But we're not going to a bar...." But yes, we were. No one told those of us in the back. Fine, this was the kinder, gentler me who was trying to sympathize with Tery having fun and relaxing with friends.

We arrived at Fado's and the joint was jumpin'. It was nice enough, but the live band was very, very loud, and I screamed myself hoarse just trying to have a conversation with the people next to me. The cigarette smoke verged on the overwhelming, it was hot, crowded, loud, yeah, I wasn't enjoying it. The only nice thing was the waitress kept a steady stream of Cokes coming my way, Tery explained because she didn't have to wait for the bartender to pour them. When the tab came and everyone tried to sort out who had consumed $60 worth of shots, Tery pointed to my share of the bill, $1.75. Yep, I'm a cheap date and proud of it.

Everyone else present (except for Tery and Ryan) got pretty hammered. Audrey was there (she of the "this must be pretty hard for you, with your dead father and all") and still saying bizarre things to me that I had no idea how to respond to. Like, "I just love your profile, Elaine" and "You're such a good sport, Elaine, putting up with all us drunks!" I just don't know how to talk to that girl.

At 1:30 when the bar started closing down, Tery and I went to leave for the Light Rail. Everyone else there insisted it had stopped running for the night. Tery insisted it ran all night, just "slower" (she meant "less frequently"). Audrey and Kay burst out laughing at her choice of words and I swear I could have punched them. Our only choice was a cab, which I knew would be expensive. Ryan asked to share with us. After a not-so-amusing interval of plastered Audrey trying to teach me how to use a cellphone (in between fretting about what we were going to do, until I flat out told her that we were grown-ups and we'd handle it), we realized we could just go out to the street and flag one down (we're both small-town girls, give us a break). Lickety split we got one and piled in so fast we didn't even get to say goodbye to everyone in our group (not such a hardship, in my opinion).

We sat and watched helplessly as the fare clicked higher and higher. Tery bitched and moaned at the logic of Denver wanting people to come downtown and spend their money and have fun, but then fail to provide them with affordable transportation home again. $22 later we were back at the Light Rail station.....just in time to see a train arrive full of passengers. Motherfucker. Sure enough, I checked online this morning and the last train runs at 2:15. We would have caught it in plenty of time if we weren't so focused on getting a cab. But it was my first ride, so that was kind of exciting. I still think those people at the table who laughed at Tery should pay her back the fare, however.

I want to invite Ryan to Halloween.

Last week we got called about four times by the same unknown number. On the fifth call I finally answered just to make them stop. It turned out to be a marketing company wanting my opinion on a television sitcom, as well as asking about my history of reflux. I'm always happy to share my opinion on things, plus they promised the possibility of fabulous prizes, so I agreed to their study. They had to ship me a videotape so we went over my mailing address very carefully.

Me: ____ South Atchison Way #___, Colorado ____ (information unnecessary to this story omitted to discourage the many stalkers I believe I have)

Her: Atchison is A as in aardvark, T as in Tommy, C as in cat, H as in Hector, I as in ice cream, N as in Nancy, S as in Sammy, O as in owl, N as in Nancy?

Me: No, there's no N. Just AtCHIson.

Her: Okay, let me try again. I have S as in Sammy, O as in owl, U as in Utah, T as in Tommy, H as in Hector...

*sigh* You get the picture. She went on this way all the way up to C as in cat, O as in owl for the abbreviation of Colorado. You'd think I was getting FBI dossiers, they were taking it so seriously. An hour later, she was finally wrapping it up. She wanted to make sure I could watch the tape on Monday so they could call me for feedback on Tuesday. I hesitated because Monday was going to be a very long workday for me, but just wanted to be through with her.

I told Tery about the call and she reminded me she had been through one of these things before. She said I could expect to sit through a stupid sitcom pilot that didn't go anywhere and then they'd waste a half hour of my time asking me about the commercials, all for the tentative promise of an alleged drawing for fabulous prizes. Being thus forewarned, I hoped perhaps the tape might come on Saturday so I could cheat and watch it Sunday instead, but no such luck.

All this was forgotten come Monday morning. I felt fine when I woke up. I felt fine in the shower. As I was getting dressed, however, I started having a progressively worsening reflux attack (before people freak out that it was tied in somehow with the marketing survey, I have had mild reflux off and on for about 6 months now). This was the worst ever, culminating in violent and copious vomiting about 4 times in a row. Tery declared that there was no way I was going to work after that, and I didn't put up much of an argument. I crawled back into bed while she went in without me.

She returned 3 hours later with ginger ale and Pepcid AC. She woke me up and recoiled in horror. She fetched a mirror to show me what the problem was. The ferocity of my vomiting had burst most of the blood vessels in my eyes, as well as tiny little capillaries around them. I looked a lot like this:



Braaaaaiiiiins.....

Repulsive, yes. Even my cat Alsatia seemed to be regarding me with mild alarm. But since it didn't actually hurt or affect my vision, it amused me highly to use my new look to gross her out (Tery that is, not the cat). Every time she looked at me, her lip would curl involuntarily in disgust. She bragged that she was an old pro at throwing up, and if she looked like I did after every episode she might quit drinking. I speculated if there was a way to artificially create the effect so she would do so. We also had great fun pretending that Tery had kicked my ass. I emailed photos to her co-workers and warned them to stay on her good side, or she'd take a lead pipe to them.

She said she would never leave the house looking this way. I on the other hand can't wait to. A) when people see me at work, they'll know I wasn't faking a sick day on Monday (although with my track record and high work ethic this shouldn't be questioned anyway), and B) I kind of like it. I think it brings out the green in my eyes. This is what it calmed down to today:



If this picture looks unnaturally pale and washed-out by comparison, it's because the bathroom lighting really diminished the true shockingness of it. In reality it does look still worse than this.

My little sister the nurse was very disturbed by my symptoms, and lamented that I didn't have health insurance. She also warned me that eye injuries like this take about a month to heal (I have a baby shower to attend this Sunday. Tery said I would be the "belle of the ball"). She pointed out that Christmas was coming, and promised my present would be either a consultation with a gastroenterologist, or the Scrubs DVD. How screwed up am I that I'd rather have the DVD?

To bring this story full circle, the marketing tape arrived via UPS Monday morning (I wish other more important deliveries could be scheduled as precisely). The package included dire instructions to neither fast forward nor rewind the tape, ensuring I wouldn't miss any commercials. I was relieved that now I had the whole day to finish the survey. Except the tape didn't work in my player. It would come up for half a second and then stop. I tried many times with the same result. Worse, when I tried to eject the tape I discovered it had jammed up so badly that by the time I wrestled it out, my player was busted. Oh, sonofa..... I gleefully waited for their callback this afternoon.

Her: Yes, ma'am, I'm calling to see if you reviewed the material?

Me: No, I didn't. The tape wouldn't work, then it jammed up and broke my VCR.

Her: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. That means we can't go any further with the questionnaire.

Me: (quietly seething)

Her: Well, have a nice day, ma'am, and perhaps we can call you again sometime in the future.

Me: (explosively) Don't bother! I have to buy a new VCR now because of you people!!!!!!

Her: (very quietly) Oh, okay ma'am....*click*

I never expected them to replace my VCR. But I certainly didn't expect them to try to pretend that everything was still hunky-dory between us. What part of "You broke my fucking VCR and I'm not terribly happy about it" wasn't sinking in with her?

I honestly hope the call was "monitored for quality assurance." These people have no idea who they're dealing with.

Still no word from the guy who only wanted to dabble in eBay selling to toy with my emotions and waste my valuable time. As much as I'd love to move on and buy elsewhere, apparently recently portable DVD batteries have become quite the hot item and I had to begrudgingly admit I would be getting a hell of a deal (especially with free shipping)...that is assuming I could ever get the guy to hold up his end of the bargain. So since my latest email to him is apparently being ignored, I did the next best thing and tattled to eBay. This might seem like an extreme reaction, especially considering he had me cancel my payment so I'm not even out anything at this point. But if the situation were reversed, if I had won the auction but then not paid, he could similarly report me and be well within his rights. This is why there are reminders all over the site that listing an item and bidding on it is a binding contract.

Unfortunately the process to report a non-selling seller involved submitting certain technical information, namely the full headers of the incriminating email (i.e. "Sender's return path isp 97.610.56 net Mozilla" blah blah blah and all that). Since AOL is designed to be used by the lowest common denominator of the population, this information is not included on emails, nor is it immediately apparent how to get to it. After a perfunctory search through AOL's nefariously useless Help page (which again, is tailored to serve even (or only) the stupidest people on the planet) I swallowed my pride, squinched up my eyes and entered the AOL Live Technical Help arena.

I was eye-squinching in preparation for the obsequious bowing and scraping of the tech support person, and they didn't disappoint. This time I kept a copy of the session so I could include actual quotes (in case anyone didn't believe me). As you can see, it took Tech Live Janice quite a bit of ass-kissing before she could get to actually answering my question, I suspect a stalling tactic while she asked someone else what the answer was.

TechLiveJani :I appreciate this excellent opportunity to handle this issue for you :) (Praise Allah for giving me the chance to serve you, Holiest of Holy AOL Users!)

[Here there was a silence long enough to become uncomfortable, so I thought maybe she actually required a response to this]

Grrgoyl :thanks

TechLiveJani :No problem, I'm sure we can take care of that.

TechLiveJani :I'll do my best to make sure this is your last call for this particular problem. (Well, it's not as if it's been plaguing me night and day, tormenting my every waking hour. It really is just a quick, minor question because I'm too lazy to search the whole internet)

TechLiveJani :Elaine, when you get an email it automatically shows all the email addresses from where it has come from or to whom all this email has been sent.

TechLiveJani :When you open an email there is an arrow in the middle of that email on top. (See what I mean about "lowest common denominator"? Are there honestly people who go through all the trouble of Tech Support because they can't find the little "expand" arrow up there?)

Grrgoyl :I need to see the technical header, with the mozilla info and all that.

TechLiveJani :Could you please clarify more on this statement? (Because like most of our simpleton users, the only header I ever care about is the email subject and the return address...and I do technical support for a LIVING!!)

Grrgoyl :This is the example I was given: From: Received: from 207.214.211.69 (ppp-207-214-211-69.sntc01.pacbell.net [207.214.211.69]) by mail gw5.pacbell.net (8.8.8/8.7.1) with SMTP id GAA15251; Mon, 22 Mar 1999

Grrgoyl :for instance

TechLiveJani :Are you able to open that email?

Grrgoyl :yes

TechLiveJani :Has it been sent from a NON-AOL address?

Grrgoyl :yes

TechLiveJani :Do you see a Details Tab under the email addresses?

Grrgoyl :ahhh...that's what I need. Thanks!

TechLiveJani :You're welcome.

TechLiveJani :Here you will get all the information. (*through gritted teeth* Yes, thank you. I can see it.)

TechLiveJani :Is there anything else I can assist you with at this time?

Grrgoyl : No, that's all I needed. Have a nice day

TechLiveJani :You too!! (Okay. Let's not make a big thing about this.)

TechLiveJani :Bye and take care :) (Please. It's getting embarrassing now.)

TechLiveJani :It has been my pleasure assisting you. ( Good day, madam....I SAID GOOD DAY!)

Grrgoyl LEFT SESSION

*peeling tech support lady off my leg*

I was mildly mortified that it was such an easy solution, but it never occurred to me to click on the "Details" thingie. And why don't they just put that on their help page? Still, this does not, repeat DOES NOT, put me in the same category as people who never think to try the "expand" arrow. Shut up.

Joke: What's the difference between America and Canada? Canadians think there's a difference.

Well evidently they think right. I know this because today I spent another 20 Minutes Of My Life That I'll Never Get Back on the phone with yet another Clueless, Making-$17-An-Hour-To-Do-Nothing techie over my email issues. We went again down her little checklist of possible solutions, most of which looked discouragingly familiar. She asked me AGAIN how big the email was. Apparently there is a way to check actual MB size (not that my mail falls even remotely close to the MB category), which unfortunately involves clicking on the mail in the "Sent" folder. I think my patience was stupendously admirable as I explained that I couldn't do that, as I CAN'T. SEND. THE MAIL. (is anyone even LISTENING to me over there??). With each failure my voice took on an even more smug, self-righteous, been-there-tried-that tone (purely against my will, I swear). She said they would check it out on their end, as it was entirely possible the problem was with them and not me (which I am almost certain of, based on Operation: Delete and Reinstall being a resounding disappointment), but for now I should try the AOL Canada website to send my mail (which worked like a charm because, like everything else, it is better made than American products). I asked when I should call back if I still had the problem, and she laughed and said I could call back as often as I liked. And instantly realized her mistake when I made it clear this wasn't nearly as amusing to me and I certainly had better things to do than chat with Tech Support all day. I kind of regret being so harsh, only because it earned me no less than four apologies for the frustration in embarrassingly quick succession.

Her last words to me were, ironically, "Thank you for using America Online." I thought that demonstrated a remarkable level of hubris, because if I can't do something as basic as send email (did I mention I'm paying $24 a month?) I very well might have to go elsewhere for my internet needs (which I say all the time, then always come crawling back to AOL. Damn their user-friendliness.)

HateHateHateHateHateHateHateHate

Well, here it is, my first entry on my new (to me) laptop. Of course as is everything in my life, all is not perfect. The internal modem is inexplicably fucked up but I am working on it. Guess I shouldn't complain, at such a bargain price I half expected the thing to not even turn on. But how utterly blissful to type in my journal stretched out on the couch rather than in that stinky "ass chair" as Tery and I have dubbed it.

But that isn't what I wanted to talk about. No, I have a new chapter in my quest for medical attention for my lump (I have named it "Marla" lovingly after the line in Fight Club, you know, "If I had a tumor, I would name it Marla." There are so many choice quotes in that movie I am glad I finally get to use one. Not that this is a tumor (yet) but somehow the word "lump" sounds just as ugly.)

Well against my better judgment I traveled halfway across town through rush hour traffic to the surgeon's office. I hit an unexpected snag when the receptionist asked me questions such as when and where exactly my last mammogram was performed. Now as I have been blessed most of my life with exceptional health (barring an emergency appendectomy at the age of 10 which I am told saved my life, as my useless, ungrateful appendix was on the verge of bursting) I am a miserable historian when it comes to my medical care. I am aware this makes me look like an idiot when questioned by medical personnel such as this lady, but there we are. In my defense I had attempted to look this information up when I first embarked on this foray into the world of medicine, however the few relevant papers I found regarding the procedure were only insurance documents which didn't mention the location.

So there I was, sheepishly admitting to the receptionist that I had no idea where I had my mammogram done. I will be the first to bitch about the stupidity of some customer service personnel, so in this case I absolutely have to give this lady her props...she somehow managed to track down the facility based solely on the nearest major intersection, which is all I could give her (and which, like most medical buildings in a large city, is surrounded by many other medical buildings handling different specialties. The medical industry is almost as convenient as a McDonald's drive-thru in that respect). I was duly impressed but she was too irritated to notice.

So after this unpleasantness was resolved I was brought to an examining room and told to don what I can only describe as a paper banquet napkin with armholes. It seemed less humiliating to just remain topless. After changing into this hideous garment (for lack of a better term) I got bored and took out my copy of Order of the Phoenix (yes, I am still reading it. Tery gloats that her nephew finished it in about 3 days, to which I wistfully expressed a wish for the free time of a 10-year-old.) The surgeon entered the room, glanced at it quickly, and told me what a good book it was despite its lack of a jacket with which he could identify it. I wondered if he always made such small talk to help the patient forget the ridiculous clothing they were being forced to wear. If that was what it was, it failed spectacularly.

We proceeded with the exam, which consisted of him squeezing my breasts while staring fixedly at the ceiling. This created an attitude of embarrassment that made me more uncomfortable than if he had just looked at me. I wondered as he did this if feeling women's breasts at work all day affected his sex life, if his poor wife was neglected because if he had to look at one more breast he was going to scream (yes I have strange thoughts sometimes....and the lucky readers of my journal get to hear all about them). Well, good news or bad remains to be seen, but he did find a matching Marla in the right breast. I don't know if the Planned Parenthood doctor somehow missed it or if it sprang up during the 3-day interval between visits. The surgeon speculated that since I was symmetric perhaps it was just a "normal variant," but he couldn't tell anything without a mammogram. Which is exactly what I suspected he would say back in my previous entry. He DIDN'T have a magic wand, making this visit in my view completely superfluous and a waste of my time. But if it made the grant people happy I would do it. Speaking of the grant, as I was leaving and talking to the Wonder Woman receptionist, she seemed unsure as to whether this visit would be covered by it as she thought the cutoff date was Aug 18. My life is typically ironic enough that it wouldn't surprise me if I had to pay for a visit I saw no need to go to in the first place.

But I lied. So as to make the trip more worth my while, I had also planned to visit the County DMV building which inexplicably is located well over the line into the next county. You see, when I renewed my registration and put my new sticker on my plate, I suffered a moment of confusion and put the year sticker over the month side, making both sides inaccurate. I didn't even notice it until a few days later; I was sitting on the couch, minding my own business, when it came to me out of the blue in a classic forehead-slapping moment. Tery said I should just leave it and if I got pulled over for expired plates I could explain the mistake. I didn't like this solution because with my luck I would be pulled over precisely when I was running late for work or at the worst imaginable, inconvenient time (is there ever a GOOD time to get pulled over, though?) so I wanted to get it fixed, and naturally it could only be done at the County Building, not my friendly neighborhood DMV.

The DMV lady was very nice about it and assured me people did it all the time. This made me feel a little better until I got the envelope with the new stickers home and discovered that not only had she circled the little diagram designed to help motorists avoid this error, but she had written in large red numbers on the bottom "8" on the left side and "04" on the right, just to make ABSOLUTELY SURE I knew what I was doing this time. That bitch!! I am not an idiot and there is no faster way to my bad side than to assume I am and treat me as one. Boy is she lucky she is clear on the other side of town!!!!

-=Lainey=-