Yeah, like if you’re planning on going out for Easter dinner at Bob Evans, better get on line at 4 a.m.
You’re not a Imp. Nor are you made of Cinnamon.
So it’s holiday season and the lines at the discount store where I cashier are very long. A woman buys 17 packages of glasses, six to a pack and after I ring them up and before I can bag them insists on personally inspecting all 102 glasses! No, she couldn’t do that in aisle, but had to do it at the counter, holding up other customers by moving very slowly.
20 minutes later, I was finally done with her. Ouch!
And I bet she paid with a check and had a coupon, too!
Some people just dont think of others.
Wretched day.
My first full day off in a month. Very little sleep last night because my husband possibly has pertussis and is coughing up a lung five times an hour. My little one was seated at Wendy’s for lunch. She decided to crawl on top of a wooden shelf partition separating the booths. The partition promptly gave way, sending her sprawling down three feet and creating a gnash in her poor head when she hit it on some screws on the way down. Two hours later and two stitches she seems fine after charming the ER nurses. So we went to our local supermarket to get stuff for a Passover meal only to have it be a nightmare of long lines, missing items and disgruntled people all like me looking for the same stuff. Then I get home and open my purse only to realize that the Wendy’s chili had spilled into my entire purse including on a library book. Oh and I get upstairs and realize the kitty has peed on my down comforter because she feels the litter box is not cleaned often enough.
I need a nap. I need three or four naps.
Owww! My heartfelt sympathies!
Oh, note dudes- today many grocery stores are gonna sell huge boxes of matzo unleavened crackers, at a loss leader. These make excellent emergency rations. A huge box + a few jars of peanut butter- plus plenty of water- and you’re in business for a week.
Dammit, Chick-fil-a that’s not a frozen lemonade, that is a lemon milkshake! Do you wanna know how I found out. Lactose intolerance, that’s how I found out.
:mad:
{{LavenderBlue}} I hope tomorrow will be a better day.
IN line.
Unless you’re talking about using the Internet to book a reservation.
Even with the water, you won’t be needing the facilities for your business for a week.
Passover. Blegh.
No Seder here, as Bean has a raging ear infection.
If the housemates aren’t out of here by 4/30 I’m going to…oh hell, I don’t know.
The fact that they were originally supposed to be out of here by the end of January says something, doesn’t it? OK, so we were clobbered with two separate blizzards and 8-foot drifts blocking the front door. They’re mostly melted now, and they’ve kept dragging their feet and spending money they don’t have on their dogs and organic food and $150 sweaters “because it’s cold here”. I’ve gotten a song and dance every time I demand money from them.
Now it’s “I need money for X so I can’t give you everything you’re asking for and EVERYTHING IS SO EXPENSIVE HERE!” Haven’t heard the end of how much their car insurance is now, how much XYZ are, yadda yadda.
And now we’re saying, “April 30th you’re outta here.” They’re now crying about how rent will take almost three-quarters of their combined take-home.
Oh, and no, have you noticed I’m not cooking anymore? That’s because you’ve stopped giving me money for groceries (because god only knows what would happen IF they stepped into a supermarket). Plus we’re sick of you scarfing down our leftovers “because we’re hungry.”
Mind you, these people are well into their 50s. They’re the textbook example of WHY you should do your homework before moving to another state.
kiz, I’m thinking at this point you need to get a giant catapult and fling them out of your house, your town, and possibly your ZIP code.
No kidding, I’d love to live in Beantown, but I know it would be way too expensive. As it is, we’re in the ‘posh’ part of West Lothian, and only able to afford a place here because it’s a bit of a dump. At least we finally got the landlord to replace the faulty boiler, in the middle of winter and over a year after we first started getting on his case about how it wasn’t working properly. Then he moaned a bit about the expense when he’s the one who dragged his feet about applying for reimbursement programs until they weren’t available anymore. I got no sympathy. It’s your property, it’s your responsibility to make sure that what’s included in the lease does what it says on the tin.
My rant today is that it’s the first warmish sunny weekend day in ages, and I’m in too much pain to even contemplate doing any gardening. My left arm hurts like billy-oh for some unknown reason, so much so that I can’t pick anything up without huge stabbing pain. Feels like I’ve got a huge bruise or pulled muscle or something but can’t find any cause for it. And unfortunately, that’s usually my ‘good’ arm, which I use a lot to avoid using my ‘bad’ arm, so I keep forgetting about it and picking something up and nearly dropping it because the pain severely diminishes the utility of that muscle.
The rest of me has been so sore lately, plus general feelings of illness with no apparent immediate cause except ‘fibro fucking with me’, plus increasingly encroaching brain fog, that I can’t seem to get anything done that I want or need to. It didn’t used to be like this, at first I was mostly normal except for occasional bouts of severe joint pain, which was treatable with occasional courses of pain medication. Otherwise, I was quite fit and able to do all sorts of stuff. Now ‘normal’ is synonymous with ‘nonfunctioning’ for the most part, and about all I’ve got to battle it with is ibuprofen and vitamins/supplements. 
Blood tests all come back ‘normal’ or at least ‘satisfactory’ and ‘no action required’, physiotherapy exercises have to be done in miniscule (I mean, like, infinitesimal) amounts or they’ll trigger a flareup and send me back to square one, and the rheumatologist told me ‘I can’t do anything for you, you’re doing all the right things, just keep doing them.’ But these things aren’t enough.
TL,DR: Fibromyalgia sucks. Bitch, moan, bellyache.
Today was my last day with Mom for this time. At one point one of the nurses, having just been hit with a sample of one of Mom’s quickest mood swings*, told her to mention those to the doctor. Since I didn’t know which of the docs was on duty, I told her to make sure to also say she’s like that normally.
I saw the doc go in while I was coming back from a minor errand and suddenly knew there wouldn’t be any problems: that one has known Mom for about 30 years (damn we’re old). The doctors examine the patients with the relatives outside and then they inform us. He didn’t mention Mom’s mood swings at all, nor did I. When I went in, she told me “Doc has defined me!”
“Oh?”
“I started telling him about the mood swings and he said ‘yes, you’re ciclomimic’”
“Cyclothymic, Mom”
“What does that mean?”
“Doctorspeak for ‘patient’s moods swing like Duke Ellington’”
“OooooOOOOOOH!”
Mom’s very proud that her doctor told her she’s manic-depressive.
- In the time needed to get a dose of antibiotic drip in, Mom greeted the nurse like they were best friends since kindergarten, called her a whore’s daughter, told her she doesn’t know how to do her job, performed a crying jag, said that nobody loves her, and declared that the nurse is beautiful and such a nice girl.
So very true. 
I dragged my ass out of bed this morning, had breakfast and did a bit of work, and then drove to the gym, only to find the gates closed and the parking lot empty.
Stupid Easter observance.
The local pizza place that I have been ordering faithfully from every week for the last year has suddenly changed their menus, and no longer offer small pizzas (the perfect size for singular me) or even my favourite topping.
There may have been a sudden change of ownership. Any other explanation doesn’t make sense.
Loud music in stores. I don’t mean so much in trendy or would-be trendy stores in the mall that cater to younger customers. I expect them to have loud music, and possibly for that reason I’m psychologically ready for it when I need to shop in that kind of store. It often turns out that I even enjoy the music, even if it’s not something I own or would be likely to buy. This happened just the other day when I was buying a couple of pairs of pants at Express, where the urban/R&B/hiphop mix they had going wasn’t bad at all.
No, I’m talking about grocery stores where they blare the classic rock or country–not overpoweringly loud, but merely enough so that you can’t listen to anything of your own. At my local corner chain grocery store, I have now heard “Barbarann” three visits in a row. And I can’t listen to my music, because that would only be possible if I cranked up the volume enough to hurt. Just like I don’t crank up the stereo at home so i can hear it over the TV–instead, I turn the TV off first.
I’m not saying they shouldn’t play any music at all in stores, just that it shouldn’t be so obtrusively loud.
That’s the plan 
Snow. Fucking snow, again. On Easter. A late-ish Easter.
I get up and it’s sunny, and warm, and most of the snow has melted away. I think, “Hey, I can get outside and do some overdue spring chores.” By the time I finish the Sunday paper and get dressed… it’s cold and cloudy. My outside time is cut short because it’s too cold and windy to be out there without bundling up, and I don’ wanna.
Then about 4 I get a holler on the bitch box, and come up to see… snow. Big, fat, fake snow like torn paper in a school play. Then it stops. Then later the dog noses out onto the porch and barks a while, then comes in covered with more big fake snow. Since it was warmish and wettish and then then temp dropped overnight to the 20s, everything had a hard frosty snowy glaze again this morning.
We had Christmas grass and Easter snow. Fuggin’ Nwingland.