Oh Holy Crap...

So I had a dentist appointment today. See, the night I went out with my new boss, the incomprable C, and Ferret Trimmin' Girl, I thought I felt a little twinge, and when I got home I mistook my metal filling for a ginormous cavity.

Since I have dental insurance now, I thought it only good that I call and get the thing fixed, especially because it was a bit annoying, and the last time I let a cavity go? I bit into a cinnamon raisin bagel, cracked my molar in half, ended up having that molar and 2 wisdom teeth removed, and got into a horrendous insurance fight over the whole shootin' match with Aetna. So now? Cavities I don't ignore.

But the rest of my dental health? Welllll not so much.

I knew it had been a while since I'd seen Dr. D. I had no idea that it had been in the '90s. Holy crap. So I had to do the whole round of x rays (enough to render me sterile, yay!) and periodontal disease poking. Lets back up to the x-rays for a minute. I think next time I have them done, I'm asking for kid's sized plate holders, because despite what you may have heard/seen/read in the men's room, I really do have a small mouth*. (Shut UP!) And the bite plates they had (all 7,492 of them) in my mouth were sized for Andre the fucking Giant.

The good news? I don't have a cavity, part of my filling broke off.

The bad news? I've got some hella angry gums and some serious tartar buildup on the backs of my teeth.

The upside to that? I'll be taking a half day from work and getting a debridement (which sounds positively cheery, let me tell you) next week, (and then going Christmas shopping) and a cleaning/filling repair a few weeks after that. All told it's not as bad as I had feared.

Of course it could just be a hoax perpetrated by my dentist to pay for the new flat-screen TVs and schmancy technology he bought when he switched offices. They've got the cameras, and the pointers, and the multi-media extravaganza (but I could have done without the Fox News stream as they were poking...) and who's to say they don't just substitute a picture of someone else's scary-assed teeth and call them yours in order to scare you into stuff like "root planing" and "tooth scraping" and "brushing your teeth more often than once a week"**

And my dentist has assured me that his hygenist is not a direct descendant of the Marquis de Sade or Atilla the Hun.


*It's purty, too.
**OK, I do brush pretty regularly, but flossing? Not so much.

Fa-la-la-la-la-get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way!

Some people call this the most wonderful time of the year. They'd be bald-faced liars who deserve to burn in the hottest part of hell for, well, forever.

It's not the 14.01 billion renditions of Jingle Bells by everyone from the barking dogs to Andy Williams that makes me crazy.

It's not the nuclear holocaust colored store displays.

It's not the overabundance of smarmy goodwill and cookies.

No. It's the people.

I don't like crowds. I don't like people just randomly milling around, or moving at the speed of dark. I hate craaaaaaafty people (and you can always spot a craaaaaaaaaafter too. They're the ones in the sweatpants and sweatshirt [homemade, of course] or velour tracksuit [in red-hat colors] whose ginormous asses block entire aisles, and their hideous cackles shred eardrums at 40 paces), and I hate the whole "I must have this thing, and I must have it right now and I will kill you if you look askance at it!" thing. And lets not even discuss the mall, shall we?

Every year it becomes a bit more of a challenge. I do sometimes enjoy the physical process of shopping. Looking at items, making a mental inventory, and matching my friends and loved ones special interests to one fabulous gift. Birthdays? LOVE shopping for Birthdays. Christmas? I'd rather slit my wrists with a broken gift card. Shopping online isn't really an option, because I still have to do physical recon before I can order. And that? Means going out. In the people. And very well risking either a complete mental breakdown, or an episode involving an AK-47 and a water tower. Both would get me 302'd, but one would probably get me released for good behavior without having to be someone's bitch.

I'm considering taking the easy way out this year. No, not gift cards... doing all my shopping at the Liquor Store. Who's in?

Heh.

Re-What-Now?

Fuck.

That was the biggest waste of "fuck me" hair ever.

Maybe I didn't stay long enough to give it a chance, but after 4 years of going to school with these people I think I have figured it out. The people who hung out together? Knotted together there. And yes, I could have played the "Oh hi, I've matured in 10 years, How are you?" card, and actually mixed/mingled, but honestly? Fuck that.

So I slammed my pint of Strawberry Wheat, made some awkward small talk with the girl who took over as "most awkward person here" and as soon as she went over into the shark tank, I fled. I did feel sort of bad for her- she's the one who organized the "family" 10 year reunion, and she was about a thousand times more out of her element than I was. So. Sort of felt bad for her, but not bad enough to a: talk to her, or b: stick around.

I came to the realization on the way to Taco Bell (the chipotle grilled stuft burrito was the best part of the evening from 7:00 on) that everyone I really wanted to see/hang out with is either a: dead, b:incommunicado, or c:someone I contact on a semi-regular basis anyway. Feh. So not my scene. It's also one of the occasions where Social Anxiety comes in handy. (And lets talk about having a reunion of people you haven't seen in 10 years in a crowded-assed bar, so you can't figure out who the fuck you went to school with and who's just a drunk? ARGH.)

So. Yeah. Fuck it.

Awww.

So the morning has started auspiciously enough. Yesterday I did a flying "surprise dropoff" of dinner for P, since he was asked to come in to work early, and had to miss dinner at my house. (And so did Odie's GF, so I totally got to hear "You mean I waxed the floor and bought a tablecloth for nothing?" Not to imply that we always live like slobs, despite the fact that there's a freaking tablecloth up over the kitchen window, and unpainted drywall all over the place... no. Not slobby 'necks at all.) (don't ask.)

Anyway. Surprise dinner flyby. I dropped things off at the nurse's station without being detected (by him) and woke up to "How sweet it is to be fed by you" in my mailbox. That rocks.

So lets see how the rest of the day goes, since it's approximately 4 degrees outside (thank you windchill from hell) and tonight's the (insert imposing music here) Class Reunion. I packed up my stuff and will go see P immediately after work/before the wingding. I'll brief you in the morning. On the upside? I totally get to park in the garage at work, since there's no shuttle service today. Woo.

Later.

PS. You know what would make the Macy's parade more interesting? More injuries, less Broadway. In fact, I think I may start a letter writing campaign.

An Open Letter

Dear Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade Gurus,

A parade is marching bands, floats, and the occasional ginormous balloon (carnage optional). A parade is various B-List celebrities freezing their tuchises off because they've got sucky agents/need the work waving like stepford beauty queens on the "Candyland" float.

Broadway musical numbers? Not. A. Parade.

So could we knock that crap off already? I want to see the Podunk, Arkansas Fighting Wombat Marching Band. I want to see chunky girls twirling flags. I want to see frozen smiles and even more frozen fingers forming Miss-America waves. They probably sold enough candy bars to rival the GDP of Zaire to get to that damn parade, and their entire hometown is watching them. Guess what. They do not want to see some twit in horrible makeup lip-synching to some godawful song. They want to see their Fighting Wombats. On TV. For more than 13.4 seconds. And they could be on for more, if you would cut. The damn. Broadway. Numbers.

Sincerely,

Sweet Charity Shouldn't Be In A Parade Unless It's Being Played By Kids In Bad Uniforms

Snark Free. Maybe

So tomorrow's Thanksgiving.

I have a lot to be thankful for. I've still got a roof over my head, I've got a decent paying job, health insurance, and my cats haven't managed to smother me in my sleep. I've got some incredible friends- Some who read this, some who've been around for a lot longer than I care to count. I've got a supportive family who doesn't drive me batshit insane every moment of every day, and a pretty swell guy who happens to think I'm pretty swell too. In all, I'm pretty damn lucky, and for that, I'm thankful.

Also? Thankful I don't have to do much tomorrow other than to make Tom's Famous Green Beans (Sauteed with soy sauce and pine nuts), and my mashed potatoes of doom. Woo. Unfortunately, P won't be able to make it, because he's been asked to come in to work earlier than usual. So I am planning to take him in a plate and some dessert anyway, as a surprise.

I hope that your day tomorrow is filled with contentment.

No, they haven't

Really, the terrorists, my former bosses, and those bastard department store santas have not won. I've just been, well, busy.

Ok, that's a lie. I've been. Well, I don't know what I've been, but it was fun.

Friday I went out with the Incomprable C, Ferret Trimmin' Girl, JB (one of my current bosses) and her husband for drinks and apps at a nifty little restaurant north of town. That was fun. It was excellent to see everyone OUTSIDE work. Nobody got snockered and danced on the table, though. Rats.

Also had Cheddar Theater- Shock Waves. In brief: Good movie about Zombies. Nazi Zombies who live underwater. And it starred the boy from Flipper. And his moustache. Oh yeah, and there was a Carradine and some Cushing in there too. Heh. Good deal. AND I got to see Sir Eric of Horst's short film "Interview with a Dungeonkeeper". And it was AWESOME. And it may be available on Atom films. So cross your fingers, eh?

Saturday and Sunday were P's days off, so... yeah. Lots of P. We made 2 ginormous (and 2 small) Pumpkin Cheesecakes on Saturday night, and went out for dinner, and on Sunday we went hiking and dinner again. (And watched the aforementioned short film.) And how do I know this one's a good egg? Other than the stopping and trying to calm me down after my lungs freaked right the fuck out and refused to function correctly as we were hiking up the incline? (Because he did, and I was right damned freaked out. When he laughed after I said "Man, I'd love to bring my knitting up here and sit in the sun and knit" he wasn't laughing at, but with me. Heh. (And followed up with "you're funny. You've got a healthy streak of tomboy, but you knit too. Heh.")

Anyway.

What are all y'all up to?

It burns! It burns!

90% of the time I love the people I deal with at the GigantoMegaHospital. However, today? Was one of those 10% days when I really wanted a goddamned tazer, electric fence, and some mace.

Lets recap, shall we?

Ferret Trimmin' Girl's boss (who is also technically my boss, sort of)has a big presentation to do. Oh yeah. And it's due tomorrow. And part of the presentation involves a copy of the nursing bylaws for the gigantomegahospital. This is great, but we had a problem with the document which required that it be recreated.

Y'know. From scratch.

Which is fine, because I have demon fingers, and could wail through the 42 pages of text, if Ferret Trimmin' Girl used her mad skillz to recreate the appendices with their tables/graphs etc. Not a big deal, but it needed to be done by the end the day today. And we needed to burn 5 copies, so really it needed to be done no later than 5:30, because the guy who'd do the CDs for us was leaving at 6:00. (We don't have burners on our PCs)

So we're knuckling down, I'm typing like the wind, FTG's makin' like an evil genius in the back, and we're, y'know, busy.

So of COURSE this means that every twit, nitwit, halfwit, yahoo, douchebag, moron, and jerkoff from seventeen counties around has to either call or stop in with some inane question (invariably regarding payroll- So lets just get this one out of the way. If you can't be bothered to get your paycheck from my office by 5:00 Friday afternoon, and are too lazy to call me and say "please hold my check for me, or please place it in my department's mailbox" I cannot be bothered to give a shit when it's Wednesday and you amble on down asking for your money. Direct Deposit exists for a reason, people. That reason? Is so that you stop bugging the shit out of me. 'k?),or some stupidly ridiculous "support" request (I need 742 copies of this document, in color, on foil paper, laminated, and cleansed in the blood of freshly slaughtered Howler monkeys. Can you do that?) or decide they needed to stand at my desk and yammer for days on end.

Oh. And the operators were in rare form today. I got some of the most wack-assed calls ever. We're talking beyond the pale- like an insurance company trying to confirm if a patient was staying at our hospital. For the love of pretty shiny things, people, we are godesses in our department, but "psychic powers" isn't on my list of fabulous attributes. Yet. I'm asking for them for Christmukkwanzaka, Ok? So in the meantime? Lets go over it again. Nursing Administration. I don't deal with the outside world, unless it's someone looking for one of my bosses and the boss is mentioned by name. Otherwise, chances are that if it's an outside call, and it's not someone calling in sick, I? Am not who they want.

Jesus. I got so wrapped up in the rant I forgot where I was.

Oh yeah. Crazy-assed day. I should have known, because how did I start my morning? With an email from Crazy-Ex-Bosslady. And she spelled my name wrong. (Yes, C, I finally read it- because with Gmail? Deleted doesn't mean gone.) Meh.

I am, however, happy to report that I got a cupcake from the Second Most Awesome Unit Clerk Ever (C's the first), and we finished the project on time, I got to pantomime pulling someone's paycheck out of my ass, and my wrists don't hurt too badly. So I guess all's well that ends well.


Oh.

And I invited P over for Thanksgiblet. Odie, the official younger brother of Special Sauce, is coming over- most likely with his girlfriend, and Papa Sauce will already be trussed up like Hannibal Lecter, so he doesn't say anything obnoxious/asinine/douche-y, so I figured why waste the trussing on just one person?
Plus P's supposed to work that night, and won't get to do dinner with his grandparents. We just happen to always do lunch anyway, and I'm a fervent believer that people shouldn't do T-giving alone. And I stressed it's not the creepy "Come to my house for the holidays. Meet my parents. Good. Now we're getting married!" kind of invitation. (C, you can stop hyperventilating now.) And if he says he'd rather not, I'm not going to collapse into a weeping ball of stupid.

Heh.

How much?

How much do I love my mechanic Dutchie?

Two hundred and three dollars and fifty-three cents worth.

Yep. Because that's how much it cost to do the alternator. And he swears my brakes are fine, despite the crunchy noise.

And my car is fixed, and for the first time in months I drove it home without one blasted light coming on on the dash. Sweet!

Oh, sorry. That was me.

That really loud cursing you heard yesterday around 5:30? That was me.

My beloved Nerdmobile, my 94 Saturn, decided to take a shit on me. Well, perhaps I had encouraged it to do so, what with being emboldened by ignoring the "you should do something with me, but Dutchie can't figure out what, so ignoring is the best tactic" light that periodically comes on on my dashboard.

Take note: Never ignore the "Battery" light.

Because if you do, you will wind up OK while you're driving during daylight, with your radio off*, but the nanosecond you turn on your lights, your car will go into seizure mode, and seriously fuck with you at traffic lights (mercifully only 2 of which were red) and you will get stuck behind some absolute fucking douchebag asshole who is doing twenty-fucking-five-motherfucking-miles-a-damned-hour in a Goddamned forty-fucking-five zone. And you will want to crawl up the dude's ass, but you're afraid to because now there's an entire christmas tree's worth of lights that have come on, and 2 of them read "brake" and "Anti-lock brakes" and you really, really, don't want to rear end the dude, even if he would fucking deserve it.

So. Um. Yeah.

We're testing it today to see if it's just the battery, or possibly the alternator. I need to take it back up to Dutchie anyway because it needs new front brakes, and I think it needs an oil change and a flush & fill too. The air filter and the windshield blades I can do my self. (Then again, so could a monkey.)

In other news: Went to Saw II yesterday. That was creepy, disturbing, and not really one I would have chosen to go see on my own. The writing was a bit... stupid, and the gore was, while not excessive, exceptionally realistic. Overall ok, but the twist at the end was nice, as was the Christopher Walken Lookin' Guy.

Otherwise, nothing to report except for Troy Polamalu being on the cover of Sports Illustrated this week, and flannel sheets being on sale at Target for $15.00 (granted, they're kind of kiddy patterns, but for fifteen bucks- all sizes- and they stay soft and don't shrink up horribly in the wash- they're a steal.) Oh. And Ferret Trimmin' Girl IS preggers.

More on the nerdmobile and other crap as it happens...



*which was a massive trial, because I just bought a doohickey to put on my iPod mini that plays it over a radio station...

Thank You, City Residents

For voting Charlie out yesterday.

I don't live in the city, so it's not my bitch to make, I suppose, but I was hoping the man would go this time around. Because frankly, if he runs the city in the same manner that he runs his pharmacy, or manages his finances the way his daughter manages the finances of someone I know, y'all are in deep shit.

Sure, those of us out in the county will miss the 900 cannon and fireworks shows, and the opportunity to yell "Hey! There goes Mayor McCheese*!" and watch our backs because his wife? Total nutter. The new guy might suck just as bad, but lets give him a shot, eh?




*Gray's rather portly too, but he's more Hefty than McCheesy.

Heh. Heh. She said "balls".

A zillion thank yous to the Incomprable C for lending me her swift and ball winder this evening. I just put all my un-skeined yarn into center-pull balls in an hour. I could probably wind one skein of lace weight in aaaaaabout that much time by hand. Suhweet!

This, of course, means nothing to anyone, but it makes me giddy.

In other news: They started showing Beavis and Butthead on Comedy Central again? Why did nobody inform me? Granted, I'm rarely around anymore to watch TV, or have on an episode of L&O when that comes on, but damnit, you people are supposed to TELL me these things. "This sucks! Change it!"

Did y'all get out and vote today?

That sound you hear

Is me shrieking with delight over the fact that I just finished and bound off the bottom band for Samus.

Of course, this means absolutely nothing to anyone but the Incomprable C, but that's beside the point.

Now I'm going to pick up the stitches for the sweater itself. *giddy*

And it's just odd timing that I had a discussion with P that it's difficult to find good Greek food around here, and Good Eats had a show about how to make Gyros. So would I be a total freak if I decided to whip up a batch for Wednesday night?

Yeah, I thought so*.



In other news: I could kiss the people at TCM for airing The Philadelphia Story tonight. I do so love Katharine Hepburn, especially in George Cukor movies.




*I'll probably do it anyway, though.

For those of you who live in town...

Run, don't walk, to the Japan House Bistro (or whatever it's called) out by the Health Campus- in the little plaza with Amelias, the Beer Guy, and Minuteman Printing. You will be ever-so-glad you did.

The place looks like a total dive hole from the outside, but inside? Oh, inside is beautiful, spacious, very nicely decorated, and the food. Good Lord, the food. Go, order the Thai Basil Chicken. Heaps of sliced bits of chicken sauteed with assorted bell peppers, onions, mushrooms*, and plenty of yummy thai basil, in a delicious brown sauce. Or, try the Dragon and the Phoenix. I can't vouch for the shrimp stuff, but the General Tso's chicken was delicious.

Trust me, I wouldn't lead you astray. And frankly, something tells me that anything you choose will be good. I can't wait to go back and snag some Crab Rangoon, and maybe try their homestyle bean curd... They also apparently have buffet apparatus, so their lunch may be pretty decent. We arrived for dinner, and our entrees were 11-13 dollars, but well worth it. (I just finished off my leftovers, as a matter of fact.)


So go. Now. I'll wait till you get back. Tell your friends to go too- I don't want this place to go under, I've got a menu to work through.



*It's supposed to have mushrooms, mine didn't, which was a bummer, but it was still delicious.

Meme Stealing.

Stolen from the Incomprable Jo. Google your first name, and the word "needs" in quotes.

Report back:

"Elissa needs to see you on your knees and humbly asking her to forgive you"

Why yes, as a matter of fact, though you can skip the forgiveness crap...

"Every Elissa needs a special box with her name on it!"

Sure, sure...

"Elissa needs to work on her Togo dance."

But I just practiced it for hours!

"Elissa needs volunteers first!"

Why yes I do. A few good men would do nicely. Volunteers, line up to the left, please.

"Elissa needs a plan to keep her father from sending Storm to the Pound."

Nah, Storm probably deserved it.

And finally-
"Elissa needs to take daily medication for schizophrenia"

Shit! I thought that Health Risk Assessment was confidential, fuckers!

A riddle

Question: What has 10 thumbs and puts on a fucking great show?

Answer: These guys.
Also, if you answered These other guys? You're correct too... (And it's spooky, but Laney? Looks like Odie.)

Don't let the early timestamp fool you. I came. I saw. I rocked my ass off. I came home. Life is jolly. I even eschewed the Mexican Lampshade skirt for something a bit more comfortable (Namely my Hildy's Ramones shirt, furry leopard print sneakers, and my favorite denim skirt. Commmmmmmfy.) I did not have to resort to throwing elbows, but I do have to ask this- Why is it that there's always that ONE freak at every show who is always about 20 years older than the average concertgoer, who feels compelled to ask you questions about the show? And why does that guy always find ME? Seriously. ("How old are you? How many times have you been here? How many times have you seen this guy? Is it true he does coke on stage?" "30, more than I can count, this is the 4th or 5th time, and no, it's not.") And this guy? Totally had to bitch about the "Drunk, obnoxious" guy behind him. Hel-LO, I know the feeling. Except you're not drunk, but you ARE annoying, old guy with a cigar. You're in a bar. With 2 rowdy bands. What did you expect? Also? These boobies? Don't belong to you. Staring at them won't change that. Goodbye. And really, you're at a punkabilly show. Cigar? Not appropriate.

Anyway. I had a great time, and I'm glad Anon nutted up and took a nap, and came out. Also, if you're in town, I recommend going to DipCo (or wherever you can get it in your town) and get some Brooklyn Pumpkin Ale, because you will not regret it. So. Good.

Crazy Searches

So, Anon. Someone found me by googling your name again. Or was that you?

I still get searches for the incomprable AJ Gentile too. (Folks, I'm nowhere near as funny as he is, I'd recommend checking his real site.) And remember, he is not at all rape-fully yours...

I've also been getting a bunch of hits from the incomprable C. Which means a lot. And it scares me that she's got this sort of.. cult... thing happenin'. Cool.

Someone was looking for "Monkey Costumes for Children" sorry, no luck here. And I still get "Long Dong Silver" and "Necrophilia pictures". Loooovely. But my fault for mentioning them...

Of course, when the PC died, I lost all my bookmarks. That sucked. But it also meant getting to look for new, spiffy, shiny, candylike sites to visit. I've found a few:
March of the Platypi, which I found through the lovely and talented Head Nurse. C'mon, the story about the guy getting his "best friend" blown off, and the cucumber where it shouldn't be story are worth the look-see alone... but the rest of the content? also good.

The Daily Snark. Blame C. Also, Blame Corneilus for my now-intense craving for pumpkin pie. Damnit. Damnit. Damnit.

Blame P for this one. I've been surfing it vicariously, but Geocaching is fabulous.

YeeHa. That's it for this morning.