grrgoyl

EXTRA, EXTRA: Got a double feature today, because I was lazy and let all this stuff accumulate. But I'm breaking it into two posts, or I'll drown you all with my words, which neither of us want.

Whole lotta anger goin' on.

First, to my astonishment, the other day I spotted ex-neighbor Jennifer pulling into the parking lot. She was the hoarder with the five cats, thinking of getting a puppy, but thank god bought a house and moved away?

She was coming back to take her garden as the final stage of her moving out -- which is crazy talk to me, but I don't know a lot about gardening. She saw me and eagerly filled me in on all that was new with her (while throwing a bag of garbage in our bin, which I thought was a bit rude since she's not a resident anymore).

She then asked if I still went to the gym. I said no and started to tell her why (the mountain of hospital debt my money has to be spent on rather than luxuries like gym memberships), when literally she got distracted by the daisies that had started coming up and walked away from me.

I escaped back home without even saying goodbye, half relieved to get off so easily (conversations with her tend to suck large segments of time and for the most part usually focus on her -- kind of like talking to my family) but mostly really irritated at how unbelievably rude she is. I mean, "Me me me me me. What's new with you? Oh look...daisies!" Whatev. Thank god she moved.

I did make the observation, and Tery agrees, that it's pretty bizarre considering my unrelenting cynicism concerning people and their endless capacity for selfishness, that I'm simultaneously relentlessly optimistic and always surprised to be proven right.

~*~

BIG happenings in Tracey's world. She has a new neighbor under her, a woman named Nina, who is very outspoken and has no intention of taking any shit from her (literally, with Tracey's "balcony trained" dogs).

She's been here two weeks and is already fed up with her. She's prepared to go to the HOA, Animal Control, the police, President Obama himself to get her evicted. I didn't think eviction was an option, mainly because the HOA likes to paint itself as powerless against her, but Nina assures me it can be done.

I thought I hated Tracey, but compared to how Nina feels about her, I might as well be her Facebook friend. She is really, REALLY angry.

The problem is Nina's beef isn't with the barking during the day, but the galloping around at 3:30 a.m., which we can't exactly assist her with since (blessedly) we can't hear it. Plus she told me she still has urine dripping onto her balcony (EWWWW). "I don't think I've ever seen her walk the dogs," she told me. "Well why do you think you have urine on your balcony?" I asked her, lightheartedly because I get the impression Nina is someone whose good side you want to stay on.

She said there is an unbelievable amount of damage both to the balcony and the inside of the unit because of the dogs (and who knows what other activity), and Mary, the owner, is preparing a lawsuit. About bloody damn time. I've seen enough court TV shows to know she also has a good case for loss of rental income the way Tracey drives people out of there.

I really hope Nina stays, and that she's the final nail in the coffin. Just leave, Tracey. Have mommy and daddy buy you a house where no one will bother you, or at the least a ground floor unit somewhere. Anywhere else but here. We'll have a block party to celebrate your departure.

EDIT: Nina went to the HOA meeting, bringing with her a pal who runs the board at another complex. Two things of interest popped up: a) There seems to be the possibility that Tracey's (and when I say "Tracey" I mean "Tracey's mommy and daddy") insurance company never received full disclosure about the meth lab (or maybe she meant the dog situation. It doesn't seem possible that such a major detail as a felony arrest could be kept hidden). If they were to find out, Tracey might become uninsurable and lose the unit that way.

Also b) not just a possibility but a fact is that Tracey's mommy and daddy's names are on the title, not hers, which makes her in the eyes of the law a tenant and not a homeowner. Which makes her far less impervious to eviction.

(I have to wonder why this was all news to our own HOA and what the hell we're paying them for. It seems to me if I was going to run a property management company, one of the first things I'd like to learn about is how to deal with problem neighbors.)

Nina seems very excited about this, so we'll see. Christmas might come super early this year.

~*~

I was angry about a new policy at my transcription job whereby essentially we would be penalized financially because of ESL (English as second language) docs, but then they unexpectedly gave me a raise -- my first in two years, and I didn't even have to beg for it.

In case you'd like to know the details of the policy that makes me hate my job, in here you'll find a vile, obscenity-filled rant, only interesting to me and anyone curious about the seedy, dangerous underbelly of medical transcription.

( ::Proceed with caution:: )

Of course none of this stopped me from puckering up my lips to kiss some serious ass when, shortly after starting this program, they offered a $1000 gift card for the best 500 or less word essay about how great it is and how much it will help the company and the MTs. Four years as an English major left me with a bachelor's degree and some mad bullshitting skillz, at least on paper. Might as well see if they'll pay off.

~*~

Finally, this just in today: I was behind a woman whose car was covered in breast cancer ribbons and bumper stickers. Which I didn't have a problem with until I noticed a puff of cigarette smoke come out of her window. Really? Guess lung cancer is okay? If you ask me they both sound like rather unpleasant ways to die.

Current Mood: angry
Current Music: Just how deep do you believe//will you bite the hand that feeds//will you chew until it bleeds

Some post scripts from yesterday:

First, Tery demands that the story of her accomplishment be told, but she doesn't have the motivation to keep a blog of her own.

Last night she replaced most of our ancient metal kitchen sink pipes with PVC. Before you become unduly impressed, she was the one who clogged them irreparably by shoving a lemon into the trash compactor (an attempt to deodorize), a venture I advised against. When she started taking them apart to clear the clog, the 30-year-old metal just disintegrated in her hands. Water started gushing out of the pipe and all over the floor.

Some might think of calling a plumber at this point. But after spending $138 to have a plumber install our new faucet just because we panicked when one pipe didn't seem to fit right, I vowed never again.

With fifteen minutes until closing time, we dashed to Lowe's, the dessicated and crud-filled pipes clutched in her hands. We accosted Dan, a plumbing associate, who from half an aisle away saw the pipes and in under fifteen seconds grabbed the appropriate replacements off the shelves, almost without looking. I was the one who insisted on getting more pipes than technically needed replacing, as I saw no reason to go through this rigamarole twice.

For about 12 bucks we got all the PVC we needed. Tery did the manual work while I held the flashlight, because I have a powerful aversion to the sludge that lives in pipes of all varieties. Not Tery; she poked her finger in and swiped it around without a single qualm. I did talk her through some sticky spots where we couldn't immediately see how the pipes went together, and of course handed her the tools -- sort of like a surgical nurse.

Job completed. Tery declared what a satisfying feeling it was to work with her hands. She wondered if she could get a second job as a plumber in between being a hospital manager. I said be my guest, I could probably quit both my jobs if she were making that kind of money. Then she began fantasizing about being a lesbian plumber and visiting ladies' homes all day and I put a stop to that dream toot sweet.

She insisted on photo documentation, so here you are:

She's so butch

New mostly plastic pipes

She attributes her success mostly to me not yelling at her while she was working. Another contribution of mine.

~*~

My Truly, Madly, Deeply DVD arrived today. Perhaps the story of this movie needs some qualification. Of course Alan is adorable and funny and romantic in it, all the things he's never allowed to be in almost every other movie. He sings! He's got grab-fuck hair! I don't go 100% for the mustache, but it's the only Alan movie Deb would care about enough to own. The funny thing is back when I was first starting to seek out other Alan movies, before it was an official obsession, I caught it purely by chance on cable. Apparently it hasn't been on TV since, and I've searched. Cosmic conspiracy? You decide.

The problem with the DVD is it comes in two versions, a no-frills and one with director's commentary. Those who know me best know I would never be happy with just the no-frills version. But the special one was out of print and not selling anywhere for less than $50, which was a little too rich for my blood, even burning as it does for Alan.

I don't know what made me search eBay for it again, but I did, and found someone selling a brand new copy, with commentary, for $25. Of course I couldn't resist. I was half afraid it was someone trying to pawn off the no-frills version, but no, it's the correct one (leaving me with an unprecedented lack of saga).

I just watched it again tonight. It's definitely a must-own for Alan fans, however, I'm forced to admit I really prefer him a little older and a little...meatier. He was really scrawny when he was younger. I still wouldn't kick him out of bed but his appeal, at least for me, has definitely increased the older he gets.

No time tonight for the commentary, but I did watch the interview with director Anthony Minghella. This was pretty disappointing. I seek out commentary on some movies because I like the movie. On others I'm hoping for some behind-the-scenes tidbits on whatever actor I bought the movie for. I want to hear what it was like working with them, how they were chosen for the part, stuff like that. Minghella's interview talks a bit about his process in writing the movie, his first time directing a movie, the reaction to the movie, etc. He spends a LOT of time talking about his star Juliet Stevenson (who I found really annoying the first time. She was considerably more tolerable the second time). About how this is their 10th time working together. About how he discovered her in the RSC and instantly wanted to work with her in everything. About the rehearsal she went through to reach the gut-wrenching depths of grief required for one scene in particular.

Oh, yeah, and Alan and a bunch of other people were also really wonderful in the film. Literally, in a 30-minute segment, this is all that is said about Alan. I hope the actual commentary track takes some time out from self-aggrandizing to mention him at some point.

What is it about Alan Rickman that drives the movie makers to avoid doing anything to acknowledge he was a participant? The only commentary I've seen that makes any decent mention of him is Die Hard. It's also the only commentary I've seen that's in text form, so that's a bit annoying.

The rest of the film aside, it amuses me to no end that Juliet Stevenson later co-stars with him again in The Search for John Gissing. It's hard to see them outside of their TMD roles even though they barely interact in Gissing.

~*~

Since my 10% pay cut went into effect this month, I've been really trying to buckle down and concentrate on the transcription work. I think my new attitude of not caring as much about filling in blanks has helped, but it's still a stone drag not being able to idly surf in between reports as often as I used to.

YouTube obviously had to go. I can has cheezburger I can get through faster, and frankly some days I need those guaranteed laughs more than caffeine. I've only just discovered why women hate men; I try to save it as a little treat at the end of the day. The real trick is to stay as far away from cracked.com as possible -- this site sucks more time than YouTube, and delivers more laughs than the cats.

I've cut waaaaaay back on reading my F-list all day, but you people are so damn addictive.

They offered us a conference call to discuss the pay cut with our fellow MTs and supervisors. The catch was since it wasn't actual training, it would be unpaid. Yeah, give up an hour of work for a call that might address my concerns, but more likely would just be an unregulated bitch session, in between listening to a bunch of barely socialized women sharing stories about their day I don't care about, preparing dinner and letting their kids scream in the background? No, thank you.

~*~

Last but not least, this dog's name is Cuddles:

Cuddles

I discovered what an appropriate name it is when she was literally the only dog boarding one weekend, all alone in B ward. I felt bad for her so let her run loose all night, like I do with Beowulf. Unlike Beowulf, she climbed up on my cot with me and curled up behind my knees to sleep. Adorable. Until the morning when I returned her to her cage and she started howling mournfully. Because dogs, unlike cats, can't just say, "Well, this has been lovely but now it's time to move on." Nope, you give and give and then they say, "How much more have you got?"

She was there again the next weekend. Again I let her roam. There was a postop cat in the bottom cage in Recovery that Cuddles just fell in love with, but the cat wanted none of it. Poor Cuddles sat outside the cage all night hoping for another glimpse of her. It was actually quite sad.

Current Mood: full

I've got a whole bunch of little nothings I feel like writing about, so here they are in handy bullet form:

Firstly, for anyone who tried to watch my Heelys video from my last post, don't bother. I was forced to take it down when one of Tery's employees found it and spitefully showed it to the chief medical director, who then ripped yours truly a new one. Yes, these fat lazy people who see nothing wrong with spending their day sitting on their fat asses, stuffing their fat faces and dishing about Twilight (trust me, more later), apparently begrudge me my pathetic little extreme sports practice that took up all of fifteen minutes, the length of the average smoke break. We know this is how they spend their days because they don't have the decency to pretend to be doing anything else when Tery comes downstairs.

There also might have been a safety issue, except how stupid would I have to be to try to sue the hospital if I Heely hurt myself? I don't think anyone would believe it was a work-related injury. So fuck you all, you useless fat asses. And believe me, this has done nothing to endear the suspicious party to Tery either.

DISCLAIMER: I have nothing against fat people in general, despite flinging the word about insultingly here. It's just these people in particular, who happen to be fat. And very lazy. And cause Tery huge amounts of stress and grief daily.

Speaking of bad attitudes, I've gone and developed one over my work situation. Tery has had to cut everyone's hours in a desperate attempt to get back under budget -- it's that or lay someone off, not that any of her crybaby employees are offering a smidgen of understanding even after being told that those were her only options. I personally gave up three hours out of my weekend shift, almost 19%. I didn't mind it at the time, but boy did I feel it in my paycheck. But it helped Tery, and it's only temporary, so fine.

Then I got the news they're similarly trying to cut back at the transcription job, and we would be paid 10% less for speech recognition jobs, which comprise 50% or more of my workload. Need to stay competitive in the market, blah blah blah. I'll bet Carol Siemen's head popped right off her shoulders when she read it.

Still, this too I could have dealt with until I discovered the rumor a few months ago about paying a differential for difficult ESL (English as second language) doctors remains an idea they're just toying with. My head popped right off my shoulders when I read that. So. I'm not wasting 15 minutes trying to decipher just one word. I'm not agonizing over a report slurred and mumbled through by a careless doctor. No, from now on I'll send them on to Quality Assurance riddled with blanks with a smile on my face, so I can pump out as many lines as possible and not worry so much about doing QA's job for them (hey, job security for QA, right?)

My sister thinks with this decision I'm finally reaching the attitude that most of my fellow MTs already share - certainly I'm sure Carol Siemen does. Fine. Here I am. Fuck you, transcription company. Of course, I probably won't get that 3-cents-an-hour raise I was hoping for next year.

Oh yeah, Twilight. I've only heard bad about the books, from very reliable sources. Barely a step above awful fanfiction, was the description I'd heard from several people. I took their word for it, but couldn't resist finding out for myself. I found the first book on Amazon with the "look inside" feature. Started out simple enough, teenage girl moving from Arizona to Washington with her mother. I read until the line, "I had said my goodbyes to the sun," which is paraphrased directly from the movie (and for all I remember the book) Interview with the Vampire. Really, Stephanie Meyers? As if the vampire genre wasn't already derivative enough.

Worse and worse, I apparently came this close to receiving a deluxe boxed set of the books for Christmas. Tery's f-boom (short for "fatty boombalatty") employees raved to her about how much I'd love it as a gift. Thank god she casually dropped a hint to test the waters first. Fuck you, f-booms. Fuck you, Twilight, and everyone forgetting that Robert Pattinson was Cedric in the previous hottest film franchise to come from a literary series.

Evidently Robert's first act as superstar was to fire his hair stylist.

WTF??

So what else am I into these days? For starters, I finally got to see Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog -- a bit late, I know, but I had to give it a chance to find a second life beyond iTunes, who wants six bucks for all three acts. Ummm, no.

I love Joss Whedon. Sure, he's a self-absorbed prick convinced of his own genius, but he's also occasionally a genius. And Dr. Horrible is no exception. It flounders in parts and the ending seems rather...abrupt. But the songs are irrepressibly catchy, Neil Patrick Harris is surprisingly talented (and sympathetic), and for such a brief production, Joss manages to incorporate his trademark zero tolerance of all characters sweet and lovable. The DVD is due out any second now, and is shooting straight to the top of my wishlist.

Facebook. I thought maybe it was cooler than I had first surmised. But now, after receiving an error message or a busy signal on my last five log-in attempts, I'm back to thinking it's pretty lame. Also the fact that there are hundreds of users claiming to be Alan Rickman, and what's the point of having a profile that no one can see until AFTER you've begged them to be your friend?

Lastly, through the magic of my f-list, I discovered this photo trickery site. If you click on the "Lomo" setting, you'll see an easy way to simulate my new favorite genre of photography, Lomo. Lomography was, as I understand it, inspired by Russian cameras that took blurry, over-saturated pictures. Originally rejected by photographers, the style gained a following and is now a recognized form of art. I fell in love with it and have been busy converting as many photos as I can, all for the better in my opinion. Would you agree?

Some vanity shots

I like this result, though they look more like a Russian couple on a farm than Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd

Tery's shot of an arch in Central Park looks like it belongs in a coffee table book

My favorite. Devil Boy Duncan looks even more unsettling with the added shadows. And the pie looks like an illustration from a 50's cookbook.