Tag: idiocy

please oh please oh please

I have been on hold with my doctor’s office for several minutes now. I am trying to convince them that it is time for my annual exam. The woman on the phone doesn’t believe me and is pulling my chart to ensure that I had one last year. I’m like lady, my pills are running out, you guys prescribed them, you won’t give them to me unless I have the exam, and besides, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t ask for multiple exams in a year. It’s not exactly a comfortable experience.

I never thought I’d have to beg for a cooch check before.

3 Comments August 22, 2008

all this for cheap housewares

I had to drive to Atlanta this past weekend for a work-related meeting. They’d strongly encouraged us to drive to avoid having to reimburse us for expensive airfares, and I said I’d drive unless I got a great last-minute fare on Delta. I did, in fact, get a great last-minute fare on Delta, but I got all twitchy and booked my flight for the wrong day. By the time I convinced Delta to give me a refund and went back to rebook, the flight was sold out. So I’d be driving.

Computer drama kept me in Lynchburg until nearly 8pm on Friday, and so that night I drove just past Spartanburg, SC, and got a room and slept for a few hours. I woke up early on Saturday morning and finished the trip with no trouble, then spent the next ten hours in meetings and events with the committee. I tell you all this so you know that when I left the Hyatt on Sunday morning, I was damn tired.

I decided that since I had to drive to Atlanta and back in one weekend, I’d reward myself with a trip to IKEA before I came back to Virginia. I’d been all responsible and plugged the address into GPS the night before so I’d be sure to make it there with minimal drama.

Problem: I-75 and I-85 in downtown Atlanta are all torn up and under construction, and some streets had been detoured and rerouted to accommodate the situation. It seemed okay, though. GPS guided me toward the edge of downtown and then told me to turn right. I was turning onto a street that had been rerouted, and the three far lanes were going left. The near lane was empty, and that’s the one I turned into.

Problem: THE NEAR LANE WAS ALSO GOING LEFT, as I learned when I’d fully committed to the turn and was greeted by a hundred blaring horns and a car headed right at me.

I didn’t think. I threw the Mazda into reverse and flew backwards around the corner, back to where I’d been before. Luckily, nothing had come up behind me while I was inadvertently risking my life and someone else’s. I was completely rattled and horrified and embarrassed, and literally sat at the light with my head in my hands until I heard a knock at my passenger-side window. I looked up. A homeless dude with a sign had watched the whole situation unfold.

“Where you tryin’ to go?” he said.

“I-I-I-I-KEEEEEE-A,” I managed to choke out. He told me I couldn’t go that way. I told him I’d figured that much out. He told me where to go to get straightened out again, and then asked me for some money to help the homeless.

I’ve been asked for money by homeless people dozens of times in my life, and usually handle it smoothly and quickly. On rare occasions I’ll give them money, but most often I’ll apologize and say that I don’t have cash (which is nearly always true, anyway) and then I’ll be on my way. That is not how I reacted this time.

This time, being asked for money launched me into a full-on, hysterical sobbing, snot-dripping, choking, gasping meltdown. I was crying so hard I couldn’t even form words to answer the guy. I just sat there and freaked completely the hell out.

And the homeless guy with the sign, apparently convinced I was bugfuck crazy, apologized, blessed me, and backed away from my car very, very slowly.

It’s an interesting day when you convince the homeless guy with the sign that YOU are the crazy one.

1 Comment August 21, 2008

my spy name

Shortly after I moved to Lynchburg, I noticed a sign outside some country store I drove by a lot. It said “Halifax Lopes Here.” A few days later, I saw a similar sign somewhere else. And then it seemed like they were everywhere. I figured it was one of those things that everyone in Lynchburg knew about except me, and I kept meaning to look it up to save myself the embarrassment of having to ask, but I’d always forget. So I just found myself wondering on a near-daily basis who the hell Halifax Lopes was, and why she spelled her last name Lopes instead of Lopez.

Several months ago I learned that they were talking about cantaloupes.

Evidently, Halifax County, Virginia, is known for a certain kind of fabulous scrumptious cantaloupe. Halifax ‘lopes are highly sought after and, if my coworkers’ endorsements are any indication, they’re really very yummy and better than regular ‘lopes.

Most local people I know are intensely amused that I spent YEARS thinking Halifax Lopes was a person. So I decided it’d be my spy name.

August 11, 2008

flowing

I have been practicing vinyasa yoga for most of the summer and I love it. It and So You Think You Can Dance are the only two things I’m ever looking forward to in a typical week these days, and yoga’s a lot better for me. I always think about skipping class, and then I remind myself of how good I feel when it’s over and I force myself to go. Sammi usually comes along too. It is a benefit being offered to our staff for the summer, so many of my coworkers also attend. This means we are obsessed with yoga now and spend a ridiculous amount of time discussing it in the office.

Our instructor is awesome, and has a wonderful habit of sneaking harder and harder stuff into our classes each week. I’ll be standing there on one toe with my other leg wrapped around my head twice and both arms turned inside out, struggling like crazy, and then she’ll casually mention that the pose we’re doing now is pretty advanced and we all feel awesome for having accomplished some form of it. It is infinitely more challenging than other yoga classes I’ve taken in the past, and that’s a really good thing. Pretty much everything in my life right now feels chaotic and out of balance and sucky and uncontrollable, but if I focus on that when I’m trying to do downward dog on one arm and one leg, I will fall and break my face. I have to concentrate, to focus on something very specific. So it’s good, even though the class kicks my ass sometimes. It kicks it in a good way.

So in last Thursday’s class, we were doing some crazy twisty stuff and I noticed after I got home that a ligament in my knee area was feeling kind of tweaky. I took some ibuprofen and went to bed. The next day, I had a work retreat that required us all to pile into a 16-passenger van and ride somewhere off campus. When we got to our destination, I said I’d wait to get out of the van last, because I had this crate to carry and I’d tweaked my knee a little and so the last thing I needed was to fall out of the van.

Guess what happened?

Luckily, I didn’t fall too hard, and though my knee was very sore all day Friday, it was okay by the end of the weekend.

3 Comments July 30, 2008

sicknessandspiderstories.com is still available!

I’ve probably been making more use of the random post feature on the right than anyone lately. It’s been interesting to read about the things I found blogworthy back in the day, and I’ve been reading a few back entries at random most every day. While in this little Wayback Machine, I noticed two strongly recurring themes: illness and spider-killing.

And wouldn’t you know it, I have both to tell you about today. On the illness front, I would like to say that I took a sick day last week after spending the weekend unable to breathe, went to the doctor, and after waiting for two solid hours to be worked in was told I hadn’t been sick long enough and I should get a neti pot. And that it was probably just allergies. Okay fine. I’m so glad I spent $400 on allergy testing last month (AFTER insurance), followed by a monthly cost of $80 for two new allergy prescriptions and an asthma prescription, so that you could tell me that it’s probably just allergies and I need a damn neti pot.

When I’ve just spent $500 in a single month on medical treatment for something, I think we’ve passed the point where we get to flippantly call it “just allergies.” Plus, this wasn’t my regular doctor, and I don’t trust dudes under 70 who wear bow ties daily as a matter of course. Note to self: no more work-ins with bow-tied doctors. PS – It has now been 13 days and my head still feels like it’s full of mud, and I still can’t breathe through my nose consistently. OH WAIT I’LL JUST GO GET A NETI POT.

This morning when I dragged my ass downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast, I was greeted by a large black spider sitting on the stove top. It was one of those shiny menacing-looking ones that is probably completely harmless, but is all like “step off, bitches, I JUST MIGHT BE A BLACK WIDOW.” Like I’m going to flip it over to check.

It looked like the cats had already gotten to the spider, as it was curled up and two of its legs looked weird. They’re pretty good about torturing things to death, so I stood there and looked at the giant carcass and thought about how I would get it to the trash.

And then I blew on it to make sure it was dead. And then the carcass started to crawl, though lopsidedly, since it did appear to have two messed-up legs.

I stood there for a second all OMG OMG OMG and the cats were nowhere to be seen, of course, so I had to come up with another way to get rid of the spider. So I dove under the kitchen sink and got the spider-killing spray and hosed that mofo down with it.

Because what you really want to do to a food-preparation area capable of very high temperatures is douse it with toxic chemicals.

Side note: the spider-killing spray is emblazoned with a very giant, very realistic picture of a spider, and though I logically know it isn’t real, when I’m holding the can I try not to look at or touch the part with the spider picture on it.

So anyway, yeah, I hosed down my stovetop and its inhabitant with highly toxic chemicals, so of course that’s when the cats wanted to come investigate. I shooed them away and while I was doing so, I noticed that Robo-Spider was dragging itself toward the edge of the chemical spill. Yep. Still not dead.

Plan B: Smash with shoe.

I went in the other room and grabbed a flip-flop, and came back to deliver the killing blow. And I am a wuss, because my killing blow also failed to kill Robo-Spider. That bitch kept on army-crawling through the chemical spill, though partly squashed and a little more slowly than before.

It was clear that I’d have to be a little more decisive. So I got a bunch of paper towels and made a wad that, hopefully, would not have any gaps in it and would be thick enough to keep me from feeling the spider. And then I got a few more paper towels and wrapped them around the wad. And then I struck.

And I both felt and heard a serious CRUNCH. So I maybe screamed a little, because EW OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG THIS IS WHY I KILL BUGS WITH PHONE BOOKS.

I peeked. Robo-Spider was finally dead, and its guts were everywhere. EW. So I threw the wad in the trash, and I’d like to say I went about my business, except that I’ve been quite convinced that every stray hair or dust particle or puff of air is another Robo-Spider that is going to crawl on me and eat my flesh.

Is there irony in the fact that I used non-toxic, people-friendly, panda-friendly Method wipes to clean up the remaining harsh chemicals and spider remains?

3 Comments July 2, 2008


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