Happy News

I don't want this blog to turn into a poor, poor me whine-fest, so I've been on the lookout for good news. There are a bunch of tulips and daffodils coming up already. They're just little green stubs so far, but they look nice poking up out of the ground. I got a bunch of seed catalogs I've been drooling over. I'm going to order some seeds and have a real garden this year. Something more than just tomatoes. I want to plant a bunch of flowers over Buddy's grave, too. Planting anything edible there has been vetoed by The Girl and The Man. By now I doubt if there's much Buddy left, but it's the principle of the thing.

Good News, Bad News

Well, we're broke, but the end is in sight. The Man talked to someone from Social Security who said they finally decided he qualifies to get disability. So now we (hopefully) only have to wait until Monday. When he goes in to see somebody and probably fill out more paperwork and sign his name in blood or whatever they're going to make him do before they actually give him any money. After that, who knows how long it'll be before we actually see any money. I can't believe it took them this long to realize he can't work anymore. I mean, his back is hurt basically from the skull down, his right knee is messed up, his right shoulder is messed up, and he's basically blind in his left eye. He's on more pain medicine than House. Oh, and his hearing isn't so good, either. Actually, I'm surprised they admitted he can't work instead of denying him and making us challenge the finding. That's the way those jerks work. You have to practically be holding your lung in your hand for them to just say okay.

So, that's the good news. The bad news is his back is so messed up he's finally actually talking about having back surgery. His whole back is messed up, but he's really got a major problem with his lower back. He has a lot of pain going down his legs now. He's about to go out of his mind from the pain. I'm not sure exactly what the doctor wants to do. I mean, it's not like he can get a back transplant. I think he's got calcium build up from arthritis, like barnacles, and they're going to scrape his hull, so to speak. He's not looking forward to letting them cut on him. It's going to be hard for him to get around after the operation. It's going to be so bad we're going to let his mom come and help out. And spend the night. Basically move in.

I'm looking forward to that almost as much as the surgery. Of course, I'm not the one having the surgery. His mom's really nice, but she's one of those clean people. I'm talking Stepford Wife clean. It'll be a real shock to her system staying here, but I'm not going to pretend to be a neat freak. We're not total slobs. I mean, we don't wallow in our own filth or anything, but we like that lived in look.

And One More Thing

I got so carried away writing the other day I forgot about something I wanted to mention. So now I'm blogging three times in one month. I don't know how much longer this streak will last. Maybe something exciting will happen tomorrow and I'll blog again. It could happen.

Anyway, I blogged about the first tooth I lost, and the second tooth. Don't get too worried, I haven't lost another tooth. Just part of it. The dentist warned me that I have plunging cusps, and that my poor lower molars were in constant danger of being crushed by the wicked upper molars. A couple of nights ago I was minding my own business, eating a chicken sandwich, when I felt something suspiciously crunchy. A little piece of the corner of one of my teeth had popped off. It doesn't hurt, thank God, but I'm not taking any chances. I'm doing my best not to chew on that side of my mouth, but that's amazingly hard to do. It's hard to chew on just one side and avoid the other. It's just not natural.

I don't know what I'm going to do with my poor gimpy tooth. I don't really want to have another tooth ripped out of my mouth. Before long I'll end up on a strict oatmeal and pudding diet because I won't be able to chew anything else. I was hoping I could do like the dentist said and get the molars I have left crowned. Even better would be to get a bridge to cover at least one of the two gaping holes where I'm missing teeth. Two bridges would be even better. Unfortunately, I'll be lucky to afford to get this latest victim of the evil plunging cusps pulled, much less crowned or bridged.

Yes, I Suck

I know, I know. I haven't been writing in here any more often this year than last year. I suck. It's not a real news flash. So I'm going to make up for it by writing one enormous post. First, I want to write about how cold it is.

All together now. How cold is it?

It was so cold today my hair froze. Swear to God. I don't usually dry my hair. Just lazy. Anyway, today I took a shower and washed my hair right before I left for work. I knew it was cold outside, but I still didn't feel like drying it. Of course, I didn't remember I had to stop and get gas. As if not drying my hair doesn't make me sound like enough of an idiot, I also put off combing my hair for as long as possible. Lazy, lazy, lazy. If I was any more lazy I'd probably be in a coma or dead.

So anyway, I decided I might as well finally comb my hair while I was standing around pumping gas instead of doing it while I'm going 60 (that's as fast as I'll admit to) down the highway. So, like I said, I'm minding my own business, pumping gas and combing my hair, but my hair was so tangled I couldn't get the comb through even the littlest chunk. I was getting pissed. I mean, I've never had that much trouble combing my hair in my life. My hair was so tangled it was actually stiff. Then I noticed all this dust flying everywhere. At least I thought it was dust. That was when I realized my hair wasn't tangled, it was frozen. That wasn't dust, it was microscopic ice crystals. In the time it took to get out of my car and stuff the gas nozzle in the tank my hair froze. When I walked to the building to pay I could hear my hair clinking and clacking together.

Just so you know, the low tonight is supposed to be 1 lonely degree. Can you say fucking cold?

Speaking of how fast I drive, the highway department has this new system to discourage speeding. On top of some of the speed limit signs they put these little electronic signs that show how fast you're going. If you're speeding the display starts flashing. If you're really going fast it switches to big red letters saying SLOW DOWN. Not that I've ever seen that, you understand. That's just what I've heard. Yeah, I heard that's what happens. Yeah. Really, it switches to SLOW DOWN if you're only going five miles over the speed limit, so don't think I'm screaming down the highway going 90 or anything. I don't even know if my little bomb will go 90. 80, yes; 90, don't know.

Now, for some ranting about work. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.

I have to go through three doors to get to my little work cubicle. The two inner doors are always locked. The outer door used to be locked on the weekend and at night, but a month or so ago I noticed the outer door wasn't locking when it was supposed to. It didn't lock a long time ago and I asked the lady at the desk about it. She said someone must have turned the lock off and just fixed it. No big deal. So I thought I'd do the neighborly thing and point out to that it wasn't locking again. I told two management type people about it. They were totally clueless. The lady that works at the front desk thought it wasn't supposed to lock anymore but seemed kind of vague about the whole thing. The lady that was higher up the food chain didn't have any idea what I was talking about. I don't think she knew the door ever locked. Then a couple of weeks ago there was a sign on the front door saying they were working on the lock. That day the front door was locked all day, but now it's back to normal.

I doubt if they fixed it just for me. I actually didn't care about it locking or not. I only had to worry about it going inside when I worked Saturday or Sundays, but going outside every night. Not that we were locked inside or anything. I don't work in a prison. It's just that to open the outer door when it's locked you have to push this little metal handle instead of being able to just push anywhere. Like I said before. I'm lazy. Having to concentrate enough to push that little handle instead of just any random place is just too much for me. Someone make the insanity stop.

I feel bad about complaining about work, but I'm going to do it anyway. Stupid Verizon Wireless. I could stop right there, but you know I'm not going to. When you call 411, are you looking for a phone number, or an address? If you want an address, ask for an address. How hard is that? Apparently, too hard for Verizon Wireless's customers. They decided to make us tell you what street the number's listed on whether you want to know or not. I could see if there's two listings, like Red Lobster on Main and Broadway. Tell the customer the two streets and ask which one they want. Easy. But if there's only one Red Lobster I should be able to just say see ya and send you on your way. That's the way it used to be. In the good old days. Before Verizon Wireless got all pissy about it. Verizon's residential division doesn't care. As long as we give out the right phone numbers they're happy. Verizon Wireless, on the other hand, wants us to go that extra mile, jump through that extra hoop.

I'm used to it now but it still bugs me. Especially in those stupid cities in Utah that don't even give their poor streets names. Instead of being able to say something simple, like Main Street, I have to spout all these numbers, like 4500 South 12189 West. What kind of address is that? But I don't even want to have to say Main Street. If you want an address ask for one. Besides, can't you, oh, ask them what street they're on while you're talking to them on the phone? And some places you don't care where they are. Like taxis. Who cares what street the taxi company is on. It's not like you're going to walk there and get a taxi. If you need the police do you care what street the police department is on? Plus, Verizon Wireless is so picky I have to run my mouth even if the company just has a PO box. Like that's going to help you find somebody. And if the listing has anything else, like a suite number, I have to say that, too. Like you care that Josey's Bar is in Unit C or Suite 12 or whatever. And all we have to do is say the street name and then send the call to the computer for the phone number. Sometimes you can hear the person on the phone start telling you it's the wrong street, but buy then you can't bring it back, so you know they're going to be mad but there's nothing you can do. The whole thing is ridiculous. Calling it retarded is an insult to retards the world over.

Verizon Wireless is serious about the whole thing. They test us and if we don't do everything they want we pay them a fine. If we're really bad they'll fire us. That's a serious threat because Verizon Wireless is like two thirds of our business. For the longest time we've been working 6 days a week, but recently we went back to working 5 days a week. Because we're just so awesome. Then I heard somebody in the lunch room talking about a call center in California that pissed Verizon Wireless off so much they lost their Verizon Wireless account. She said instead of getting rid of a bunch of operators there the company was just transferring a butt-load of other calls from us. Since they were taking a bunch of our calls we didn't have enough business to need to work 6 days. So it wasn't because we're so awesome. At least, if you believe what you hear in the lunch room.

Happy New Year!

One of my resolutions this year is to actually write in here. Why have a blog if I never post? I mean really. Why bother? So I decided to try something new and actually blog for a change. I don't have anything particular to write about, but I only have a half an hour until I already break my resolution, so prepare yourself for a lot of aimless rambling.

My other resolution is also 1 for 1. So far. I went down in the basement and walked on the treadmill. I know, I was going to start walking a long time ago, but never got around to it. I walked about 3 times and quit. I just don't know if I'll be able to keep doing it. We have a wood stove in the basement, and between the heat from the stove and walking long enough to work up a sweat (15 minutes, not anything to brag about) I ended up covered with my familiar little red bumps. The Man said there's a fan down there somewhere that we could set up to cool me down while I walk. Or I could just open the basement door or windows, or both, and cool down the basement that way, but that kind of defeats the purpose of having the wood stove in the first place. Maybe I should put the treadmill on the back deck.

The only thing I can think of to write about work is one night a week or so ago I kept feeling something tickle my leg. It irritated me and finally I shook my leg hard enough to make a roach-type bug come flying out my pants leg. I can't say for sure it was a roach because I didn't exactly get all up close and personal with it. I mean, I like bugs. June bugs, lady bugs, Daddy Long Legs, those little Rolly Polly bugs. I catch spiders, and even wasps inside and let them lose outside, and I love going outside after a heavy rain and picking up worms that wriggled onto the sidewalk or street and putting them back in the grass, but I draw the line when they invade my personal space. For a second I thought about squishing the bug. I mean, it was a bug, and it was trying to crawl up my leg. It's life was in my hand. But I just couldn't do it. I watched it scurry away and then went back to work.