OG-forsaken Los Angeles ADA Access paratransit jerks! You’ve been picking my wife up at our home for the past five years (nearly). Now, all of a sudden, you won’t admit to venturing any further into OC than Knott’s Berry Farm.
Even though you have actual clients that you drop off and pick up every day at the Braille Institute OC, you claim that that site is not a designated connection point (our living two blocks down the street was why you let her have our apartment as her official drop-off/pickup five years ago when you certified her as an eligible client). Now, thanks to you, she doesn’t get to go on her outing with her friends to Long Beach unless I give up my sleep time to drive her in, and she finds a way to get to the VA Long Beach at 10 p.m. to get home on the OC Access van!
kaylasdad, is therr some back story you can share?
My rant is that my old, sick, diabetic kitty won’t cuddle with me and nips my hands when I try to rub his ears. He didn’t sleep with me last night, so I didn’t sleep well and had a very tired day. Tomorrow, he’s going to the vet and will get stuck with needles and an anal prob.
I’m replaying Final Fantasy VII. And I just realized that I missed picking up a Ribbon.
And I know that makes NO sense at all if you don’t play the Final Fantasy series. Let’s just say that I missed a VERY nice accessory that is incredibly useful.
Oh yeah, and I hate spiders. Little bastards are coming indoors for the winter in record numbers this year, and to add to the fun poisonous spiders are thriving in Britain’s increasingly temperate climate. I used to stamp on them. This year I’m gonna start shooting them. Horrible, weird, little alien-looking fuckers.
I’m going away today. So of course it’s time for my body to ruin the fun by throwing a flare at me of not one, not two, but three of my chronic conditions. Whee! I’ll be driving through Virginia on Vicodin. Look out.
My daughter is about to give birth any minute now, so I’ve been sleeping with the phone next to me. So my other daughter calls me at 3am this morning, waking me out of a sound sleep, to tell me she found two kittens at her new apartment!
My daughter has apparently evolved beyond the need for sleep. Between us, my wife and I spent six hours yesterday fighting to get her to go down. And she woke up at the crack of dawn as usual this morning. My head feels like there’s a rabidly insane ax murderer inside it trying to get out.
Where the hell did our souvenirs for Jim’s parents go? And while I’m at it, where did our dollar token that we made at the Royal Canadian Mint go, too? We were looking at them the day we got home, and I haven’t seen either one since. We’ve turned the house upside down, and no luck. Which of you dirty bastards snuck into my house and took them?
Was your dollar token shiney and silver? If so, it was probably Lucky. I’ll watch the litterbox for you.
My old, sick kitty has lost a pound and a half in 5 months. I’m sad. I know that cats don’t live as long as I’d like. He was an adult when he showed up in my yard 12 years ago, so I should probably be happy that we have had this much time together. I’m still sad.
I just found out I need $500-$1000 (depending on how much my insurance will cover) of painful and annoying dental work. They better give Michael Jackson-quality drugs, the kind that make you wake up with a dead hooker in the trunk of your car. A dead hooker with $500-$1000 on her.
Then a friend called to tell me her father has prostate cancer, which made *me *feel silly for bitching about dental work . . . (But as my mother would have pointed out, “How does her father’s cancer make my dental work go away?!”)
As far as backstory, it’s just that since my wife can’t manage the fixed-route bus system, she’s eligible to be a rider on Access paratransit service. We live close to the county line, so she got herself registered with both counties. The Orange County one only goes to the Long Beach VA hospital as their connection to the LA County service. LA County will drop her off at Knott’s but getting home from there at 11 p.m. just isn’t doable (I’m at work tonight, or none of this would be an issue).
Where the hell do you get off calling these things bagels? I am far from the Bagel police, and am willing to put up with less then idea vessels for my sour cream. But these are just a kick in the balls to call bagels. Just leaving a hole in the center does not a bagel make.
And this thing, even if you were going for a dinner roll at old folks home, it’s would be a shitty, chalky, tasteless, texureless blob of starch.
My sweetie has his bloomers in a bundle, because neither the Girl Child nor I answered his phone calls today. Never mind that neither of our phones actually rang… we’re just ignoring him, and we have to get a home phone. Oh, and a quick demo of 1) me calling her, 2) her calling me, 3)each of us calling him, and 4) him calling each of us (all while we’re in the same room) illustrates that there’s clearly something wrong with his phone. (Although, to be fair, I’m notorious for not answering the phone if I damned well don’t feel like it. But the 11-year-old? Loves the telephone. Always answers. Because she’s 11.)
He’s still pouting. Because he couldn’t phone me to consult about buying a damned rake and wheelbarrow. As if I care whether he buys the fiberglass or the aluminum one. It’s for hauling figurative and literal crap out of the yard. I don’t care at any time, much less when I’m in the middle of helping to arrange a memorial service in honor of an old and dear friend…
I live in a basement apartment. It is like spider heaven. Yesterday while I was making my bed I found a big black spider in the sheets with me. On the plus side, I have become much less afraid of spiders now that I kill at least one big black spider daily. They are horrible creatures and I hate the way they move. I don’t even like looking at the enormous picture of a spider on the side of the can of Spidercide or whatever.
I know that many people quite like spiders, but I am not one of them. I love snakes, but spiders are not allowed to live in my apartment with me. They are not allowed to crawl through my bedsheets. Fuck, the number of human people who are allowed to share my bed with me is decidedly limited. That list is not open to arachnids!
I’m now drinking beer and witing for my polish friend to come online and play hellgate with me. M’s timing is perfect, he will call me while we are finishing up Stonehedge and I’ll die again.
Did you all know that bleach in sealed bottles will turn into water if left in the sun? I didn’t. Someone gave me several big bottles of Clorax and I left them behind the barn. Today, I was doing my Saturday chores which includes bleaching out the litterboxes. I had noticed that the jugs had swollen, but thought it was altitude and heat. When I opened one of the jugs, it didn’t smell right and there was no color. I unsealed all of the other bottles and they seemed to be just holding water as well.
My first world problems are usually pretty lame, but bleach going bad? Really? This could easily become a big third world problem.
