Are You Kidding Me? Part 200

If I were an angry person, I would already be in prison. As it is, I’ve already pulled out all my hair because of these STUPID questions I can’t answer.

I just moved all my insurance. I just paid for all my insurance. Now, I get a million pages of questions about said insurance which must be answered a year ago:

  • Number of amps in electrical system – The only amps I’ve heard of are on an electric guitar. 
  • Fuses: Yes or No – Yes, I have a fuse and it is getting shorter by the second.
  • Knob & Tube or Aluminum Wiring – I am not wired to give out this information even if I knew what the hell you are talking about.
  • Plumbing system condition – The toilets flush.
  • Open or closed foundation – My home sits on something; have no idea about the emotional state of my foundation.
  • Copy of burglar alarm permit – This one is so easy; in my city, you have to apply, and then they DON’T send you a copy. So you go online and request a copy. Which is impossible to obtain unless you are an accomplished hacker.
  • Aircraft on premises? – Yes, I live in a townhouse and I have a DC-10 in my garage. Doesn’t everyone?

I immediately phoned and emailed my insurance agent for help. HELP! Was tickled pink to receive the following message:

“Hi! This is your insurance agent!

 I will be out of the office until the 12th of Never.

If you need to speak to someone, call your mother. Have a great day!”

Am sure there are many women who know all these answers. I’m not in your club.

Must make choice now: move insurance AGAIN or self-immolation. Leaning toward latter.

Later.

Maybe.

How to Stay Alive, So Far

Warning: the photo at end of this includes a word that some might find offensive. So sue me.

I will tell the story of the past 48 hours when later. Maybe. Have just two words for you : BE CAREFUL.

Despite the fact that I’ve always lived in nice places and have behaved myself sometimes, I’ve been a witness in a murder trial, thrown in the back of a car by two men (they were saving me from rapist), and almost shot while having a cocktail. I repeat, my lifestyle isn’t sketchy.

Night before last, a young woman was shot to death in her car. Within walking distance of my home. It is so tragic.

Already in possession of a serious alarm system, locked gates, a butcher knife by my bed, other accoutrement, and a ferocious dog, I’ve been forced to take things one step further. (Ferocious dog has hot spots, vet said to put him in baby t-shirt. I don’t have any baby t-shirts so Ferocious is wearing a smocked dress my eldest wore when she was three months old. Not very off-putting to criminals; dog won’t look at me). So, I have posted the following statement on all doors….

Here’s hoping criminals can read. And that the police find the %$#$ who killed an innocent woman. Very soon.

Pissed. Off to terror management.

Later. Hopefully.

A Crock of …

 

I wish I had his shirt. Not his shit, just the shirt.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I’ll write. If you are coming late to the party, I absolutely DO NOT  nor have I ever had any interest in online dating. Soooo happy for all the happy couples who met that way. So glad it works for so many. So glad if you like lima beans. I don’t. And that is my prerogative. Online dating + me = NO FRIGGING WAY. Which makes the next part of this story ironic.

Stuck in the house like the rest of the country, I’m on the computer … a lot. Oh boy, here’s a free personality test. I love those, I mean, there is always room for improvement, right? It started out simply … no real names, interests, yada yada … and before I knew it, I was in a bait-and-switch operation, on an online dating site. Ok, screw you, scammers. So I filled in their questions with some real and many false answers.

  • Do you smoke? Constantly!
  • How many drinks do you have per week? Can’t count that high.
  • Education level? Forth fOrt fourth grade
  • Income? ( -$150,000.79) that would be negative
  • Favorite music? Appalachian garage bands
  • Your idea of a great date? Get stinking drunk, throw up on the beach, start drinking again, get arrested.

Then there was a spot where you had to write 200 words about yourself. I typed “Blah” until it reached the stopping point. No photo, nothing. Next thing I know, an email address I have reserved for “trash” is full of creepy “matches”. DELETE. And they just kept coming. DELETE x 30. Really. I assure you, with the information I provided, a man would have to be a psychopath to want to “chat”. Psychopath is so last year. Really.

Had to make all sorts of threats to the administrators of the site to remove myself. I never “joined” or paid a dime. So, my inadvertent and very brief experience with online dating was over before it ever got started. Thank God.

Today, Lady Di sent me an email. She has a precious friend in Arizona who does use one of those sites. The email included her friends’ new “matches”. I almost started crying for her and I don’t even know her. Never have I seen a more motley crew of Eeyores. I know it is shallow to judge anyone, especially by photo. But if these poor souls were putting their best face forward, well, it can best be described as desperate Photoshop situation.

If it’s not organic, I don’t want to play. Which brings many “tsk tsks” from well-meaning friends; the few who haven’t given up on me as a “hopeless case”. After my divorce, I was with a group of women and we were talking about dating. Out of eight, two of us were single. When I said  it was rather difficult to meet nice people, one of the women turned to me and said, “You had your chance and you blew it. That part of your life is over”. Meaning, because my marriage didn’t last, there was absolutely no reason to consider another relationship. Ever.

Hmmm. That comment knocked the wind out of me. I’ve made peace with her and her comment; I make daily peace with the fact that all circumstances indicate she’s right. At least she didn’t say, “Good things come to those who wait” or any of the other platitudes that do more harm than good. And this is the part where I say …. WHATEVER. Enough.

In the WTF department: just stepped outside to turn on a light and A BIRD SHAT ON MY HEAD. This is getting ridiculous. First my wrist, then my chesticle, now my head. Surely someone can find some meaning in this other than I am a bird shit magnet. Aggghhhhhhhhh!

Stay warm. It is colder here in Texas than it is in Alaska right now.

Later. Maybe.

 

 

Joy … in the morning?

Joy.

That’s the word on the candle I pulled out today. So far, the vibe is very good … laughter, imagination, JOY!

I thought about my recent conversation with a homeless man. He said, “Every day you wake up on this side of the dirt is a good day“. Joy, in various forms, is everywhere; we just can’t see it or feel it sometimes.

So I decided to be joyous about unloading the dishwasher that does not clean the dishes. Piped up the iPod and danced while unloading the unclean dishes into a sink full of soapy water. Dancing makes me happy. My dog thinks I am strange. Feh!

The happy, happy, joy, joy situation lasted right up to the minute after my youngest walked in the door from Austin. She’s home just long enough to pack and head out to California. She is a runner with a bad muscle pull and two half-marathons scheduled for this month. She has not been able to run in two weeks. She is not joyous. But I was happy to see her. She verbally stuck a pin in my joy bubble. “I’m so worried about you. How can candles support you? What is your business plan? Don’t you think you need to go out and get a job and have some income? “

I was speechless – and that’s a first. When I found my words, I’m afraid they were NOT VERY NICE. Am not used to being grilled, especially by my daughter. Apologies were issued all around. When I had a moment to think about it, it occurred to me that her worries for the future fueled her inquisition. Been there, felt that. But what was hardest on her was the fact that I was NOT tearing my hair out and biting my nails down to the quick, gnashing my teeth and wandering about in a state of torment. As if. That would have been my MO in the olden days, but that was then and this is now.

Next time anyone peppers me with a rapid fire of personal questions, family or otherwise, I will pull out my current favorite snark response: “I’m busy now. Can I ignore you some other time?”

Off to focus on JOY, damn it!

Later.

Who Are You & How Can You Do This?

 

 

Last night, I watched Boston Med, ABC’s new medical reality docu/drama. I thought it was excellent … and disturbing.  One of the stories told was that of Marvin Pollet, a 55-year old man from Louisiana.  He suffered from amloidosis, a protein disorder that can attack vital organs.  If the heart comes under attack, cardiac failure can occur.  And so it did, in Marvin. His cardiologist at Mass Gen was Dr. Kimberly Parks.  Apparently, Marvin was scheduled to see Dr. Parks three weeks earlier but an alleged insurance snafu delayed his visit. He desperately needed a heart transplant, but he had to get to Mass Gen to be evaluated in order to be put on the transplant list.  He lost three weeks, his health deteriorated rapidly, and despite Dr. Park’s determination to save his life, he went into cardiac failure and died before a donor could be found.

What I find so disturbing is the insurance link in his tale. There are too many Marvin stories in this country. People who pay for health care only to find that if they become very ill, it’s a “too bad, so sad” situation. Insurance declined. Insurance Company says, “No”. The ridiculous maze of hoops we must jump through, just to get a portion of health care we pay dearly for, could also be cause for cardiac arrest. If you are very wealthy, a public figure, or a celebrity, well, you’re golden. For the rest of us, unless we hit a goldmine, the pot at the end of our rainbow reads, RIP, Insurance was Declined.

Who sits on these health insurance death squad committees? You know, the statistics gang who will decide whether you and I live or die someday? Any day? Is this a vaunted position? What are your credentials, seriously? Is it easy to sentence people to death because they are just names on paper? How does it feel to bankrupt Average Joe? Now he sits in his house that has been foreclosed on because his medical bills took him to the bank and closed his account. Do you get paid big bucks to let people die? How does it feel to know that you have, in your special way, contributed to the ruination/end of an untold number of lives?  Every Single Day. Sleep well? Hope not.  Just sayin’…

Later.

If I Were A Lion, I Would Roar

I know it’s Tuesday but it feels like Dumbday.  And I’m feeling bitchy.  You have been warned.

  • In the We-Are-So-Screwed Department, apparently the Feds have asked director James Cameron to brainstorm with the Powers That Be on how to stop the BP DISASTER in the Gulf of Mexico.  Excuse me, I don’t give a rat’s ass if he is an underwater technology guy – HE MADE A MOVIE ABOUT A SINKING SHIP.  Really, is this the best we can do?  We have an environmental disaster beyond measure and the Feds call Hollywood? And point fingers?  Can some smart people please take charge here. Jeez……..
  • The last report I read, BP stock continues to sink.  The company has lost somewhere in the are of 65 billion or so.  Hmmmm …. a company that can lose 65 billion or so and still be in business? Wow.  And NOT have a backup plan for rig disasters? Double Wow. Have always loved a quote of John Wayne’s, “If you don’t like something, don’t bitch. Get off your butt and do something about it.” Well, John, I would if I could, but I don’t think getting in a canoe and paddling out there with a net is going to make a difference.  Hence, the bitchfest.
  • Someone snuck in my room while I was sleeping and removed part of my brain.  There is no other reason why I would purposefully turn on the television shows I have.  Last night, for instance.  Accidently turned on “The Bachelorette” – and it was horrible.  Not reviewing the show, but what happened on air.  There are a bunch of “men” trying to win Ali’s heart.  One of them is a nice weather weenie.   The other, a dental appliance salesman. A scary, psychotic, cruel, nutbag sort of guy.  He taunted the weather weenie so much, it was painful to watch.  The weather weenie told on him and dental devil did not receive a rose.  Two things made me angry: the other “guys” didn’t tell Satan to shut the hell up at any point and, he’s really so scary I fear for any man or woman who ever gets near him.  This show continues to choose disturbed contestants.  And it is disturbing ……
  • As if that wasn’t enough, next on was “The Real Housewives of New Jersey“. Don’t want to get whacked so must be careful here.  Suffice it to say there were major rumblings on the show, along with ex-cons on parole.  One of the parolees wanted to do bad things to other people, but parole would end in six days if he kept his hands to himself.  While the show was very real, it has nothing to do with any sort of housewives I’ve ever known. The only ex-con would be the guy in high school who was caught literally shaking down the washing machines for quarters at the washateria.  These people on tv are very scary.

Cooking Partner asks, “Why do you watch that trash?”.  And I do not have a good answer.  I don’t have an answer.  Because part of my brain is missing.  Think I’ll go look for it … ending this bitchathon.  You’re welcome.

Later.

Baking Bread/Perfect Anger Management Therapy

I am not angry. I’m obsessed with baking yeast bread. In doing so, the notion struck me that baking bread would be a great activity for angry people. You have to beat the hell out of the dough to get it to the right consistency. Good exercise for the arms and mind. Bonus: if you do everything right, you have something delicious to eat; if you do it wrong, you have a heavy homemade brick you can throw against the wall. Win-win situation. Think about it.