I am so so sorry. 
{{{Family Matata}}}
I’m freaking out. The Mountain Villagers are freaking in: anybody who can avoid leaving the house, does. After 10 years of thinking it was funny when I heard the women moan “oh my God, it’s almost 30!” when we never broke 30, and after last year finally breaking 30, yesterday we maxed at 34 and it looks to be as hot today.
This is the mountains, we’re not supposed to need A/C!
(figures above are ºC)
My plans for today involve going to an air conditioned store to look at miniPCs, as Mom’s box is right now in the shop and it wasn’t looking good; then again, the poor thing has been subject to beastly shutdowns for seven years (what do you mean, we should shut the computer down completely before shutting down the power strip?).
{{{{{}}}}} to those who can use some, specially horseshoe and the Lacunaes.
Just do what I do: don’t exercise! :D:D:D
Special note to “Subway” worker: When someone says “no peppers,” that means no peppers of any kind. And when your mistake is pointed out, it doesn’t mean you should dig through everything, picking out all the peppers that are underneath everything else, then stuffing the remains back in. And it doesn’t help when you ask “What do you have against peppers?” I didn’t say anything to your face, because you’re not paid enough to have to deal with shit like this. I suppose it’s my own fault for not watching what you were doing more closely.
My problem with Subway is the opposite. I say, “everything”, then go back to answering a text.
“Hot peppers?”
Yes. Hot peppers are a subset of everything. Put every goddamn thing you have on there.
“Is meat Something or Nothing?”
(can’t find the clip, but businessman orders ‘a Goodburger with nothing on it!’, then is flummoxed when he gets just a bun…)
I remember seeing an eye doc when I was 40 and she looked like she was 13.
Looking back from my mid-50, 40 was pretty sweet. Enjoy it!
I was teaching tonight and one [del]girl[/del] woman there was talk about when she was “young.” She’s 25, what the hell does she mean by when she was “young.”
She meant, like, you know, when she was 23. Get the hell of my lawn.
Why does my insurance company insist on using faxes? By sheer coincidence my printer is a fax machine, and due to ridiculous telecommunications pricing games I have a phone line, but I don’t know how to use the damn thing and I shouldn’t have to learn. And FFS if you don’t accept color faxes, don’t send me color forms. Maybe you got like 15 copies of the damn thing, maybe you didn’t get any. I don’t even know how I can verify because you won’t tell me how to contact the faceless entity who receives faxes.
Come on, this is the 90’s! Email is the future!
No, you get the hell off my lawn.
Hey, you young’uns whinin’ about fifty, wait’ll you turn 60 and you start really living…
Seriously, my BIL turned 60 and I said "Welcome to the decade of Not Giving a Shit What Anyone Thinks.
Ignore those kids on your lawn, walk down to the 7/11 with that old ripped t-shirt on, sipping a Scotch, get a Coke Slurpee and pour the last of your booze over it, singing to yourself (oldies, loud ‘n’ proud).
So very very sorry.
Lost Georgie a few years back the same kind of way. Still kicking myself that I didn’t double check the temporary fence the stupid construction guys put up. Won’t ever forgive them or myself.
((((Lacunae Matata))))
Thanks all. We are all coming to grips with guilt - The Boy noticed a loose paver and figured he’d fix it after the sun dropped behind the trees, Girl 2.0 meant to go check JO’s water and play a bit, but was consoling a friend through a break up, etc. Littlest Miss - JO’s favorite “puppy,” is a bit young to grasp “dead.” She wants to call the vet, so Dr. Wolfe* can make him better. The 6-year-old understands dead, because she remembers her great-grandmother and our dog Sebastian. She’s just gutted. And the poor stupid big dog is searching everywhere for her friend.
Meanwhile, Tony is already talking about a puppy. A German Shepherd, at that. I put my foot down. Not yet, no puppies, and rescue only - not purchased from a breeder. I swore off puppies 15 years ago, thanks to a German Shepherd rescue - I just don’t have the energy. And, on principle, I don’t buy from breeders. The next dog will find us. But not yet.
- Yeah, our veterinarian really is Dr. Wolfe. And I’ve known him since seventh grade - it’s still weird to call him “doctor.”
When my MIL turned 60, she decided that she no longer had to do things she didnt feel like doing, particularly social events. She said it was very freeing.
I’m a dick, I made that decision at 50.
When I turn 60 in a couple years, I’ll need to come up with something else.
I noticed a strange rash on my arm last night. Then I went downstairs to rescue my aloe from the constant afternoon thunderstorms and got to talking with my roommate. He mentioned that he had to get some Benadryl because he had brushed up against some poison ivy when he was weeding the side yard. I had helped him weed, so I showed him my rash. Yep. Poison ivy.
And now that I know what it is, it’s starting to itch. :mad: I put a band-aid over it so I don’t scratch it.
If you think 60 is freeing, wait till you’re 70!
Now if I could only stand up or walk without pain.
What about an ultrasound?
Our veterinarian charges around the same fee for ultrasound vs exploratory surgery.
With surgery there is the chance to improve the situation. With ultrasound you may get a diagnosis, but then would have to come up with another pile of cash if the situation is surgical.
I can’t decide what’s worse: being surprised by the death of a loved one, or seeing it coming. 
Either way, I pit death.