Complaint Department

I love to sing-a

2007-02-10T18:03:00.000-08:00

Molly Ivins

2007-02-01T00:39:00.000-08:00

So, Molly Ivins has died and it sucks pretty hard. The good news is that Molly explains, in the "Dildo Diaries" that I thankfully qualify as a mere dildo "hobbyist" and not a felon. I'll leave it you you to guess how many more "educational models" would tip me over that edge.

My girl thing

2006-08-01T13:06:00.000-07:00

So, remember I had a girl thing a while back? I've been getting these letters from the insurance company ever since, letting me know that they were requesting more information from my doctor. Finally, I got a letter saying that my claim had been denied.

I call the insurance company to try to figure out who needs to be kicked in the pants over this. And the CSR is very helpful. He takes a minute or two to look up the claim, then comes back on and says, "OK. I see the problem. You see, all of our members have a flag on their account indicating if they're male or female. For some reason, yours says your male, and since this was a female procedure, it kicked out. I'll fix it and resubmit the claim."

Thanks Blue Cross! I always did think I was a guy and now I have proof.

Drama at Bingo night

2006-06-20T22:01:00.000-07:00

I had my first night of volunteering at Casino Night at the nursing home. They have blackjack and bingo. Because I'm nice (and a sucker) I ended up calling bingo. You wouldn't think there would be drama at bingo, but you'd be wrong.

There were five people at my table, all in wheelchairs: one newly married couple, the wife with dyed red hair and the husband a bit of a joker; one slightly batty woman; one "normal" woman; and one toothless woman who kept fiddling with her shirt and looking at her bra. I don't know if it has to do with not having teeth, but her tongue was sticking waaaaay out, and it kind of needed a brushing.

I call the bingo games and hand out a quarter for each winning game. They're each playing two bingo cards which is against protocol but we're allowing it because there are only five players. The big-screen TV is on behind me with the volume off, so the rest of the room can follow the basketball game. This is also against protocol because the "normal" lady asks me to turn it off, and when someone comes by to turn it on again she pouts that it's "not fair" but nevertheless allows the TV to stay on.

After another volunteer shows up, she calls the numbers and I help the toothless woman fill in her card. She's still way more interested in looking down her shirt than she is in the game. Then the slightly batty woman looks over and mouths that she needs to use the bathroom. Thankfully, the volunteer coordinator is walking by and I try to hand off the problem to her. She offers to take the batty woman to the bathroom but the new bride announces that "She must be present to win!" and that nobody can play her card while she's gone. I'm dumbfounded and the volunteer coordinator is unsuccessfully trying to argue that bathroom breaks are perfectly acceptable exceptions. Batty lady now doesn't want to go the bathroom and is looking pretty miserable about it. I ask if it's ok for us to stop the game while she's gone but that is apparently also "not fair". I have no counterargument to sheer bullheadedness and we're all relieved when the "normal" woman says we can watch her bingo cards while she's gone. In the five minutes she's gone, someone else wins (thankfully) and we all move on with our lives.

So, lots of drama and crotchety old women (plus one crotchety middle-aged woman, I suppose) for one lousy hour of bingo. We'll see if I sign up for this again next week.

File Under "Collective Left Nut"

2006-05-05T21:42:00.000-07:00

From Firedoglake:

Color me confused. Everyone on TV seems to be buying the line that the Goss resignation has been planned for weeks. No natural curiosity about the fact that it takes effect immediately, or that there is no replacement, or that he had a meeting scheduled this afternoon he didn’t show up for. Not to mention the fact that as Professor Foland pointed out in the comments, the White House would’ve probably sacrificed its collective left nut to avoid stepping on a drunk Kennedy story.

But has the entire press corps turned into such a pile of humorless prudes that they can’t connect the dots in the Brent Wilkes hooker scandal?

Seriously, why isn't more political analysis like this? It's succinct, accurate, and eloquent. Plus it's a little dirty.

Insert Hammer Joke Here

2006-04-28T20:46:00.000-07:00

Last week I used my hammer. Why I used it isn't important; what's important is that when I was done with it, I set it down where it didn't belong.

I remember saying to myself, "Self, if you leave the hammer there, you won't be able to find it the next time you need it."

And my self said back, "It's cool; I'll just set it right here with the handle kinda sticking out. You'll see it and put it away later."

So tonight I needed the hammer again. And of course I couldn't find it. I looked all over the place and it was not sticking out of any shelf, tabletop, or anything else in the apartment.

Finally, I remembered what I'd used the hammer for, which meant it was somewhere in the office. The office I'd rearranged recently. There was only one other shelf in the office that I hadn't checked. Look at the last post and see if you can guess what it was.

Figured it out? Of course you did. It was the printer stand, the one that now has four casters, which make it super easy to spin completely around so the shelf that had a hammer sticking out in front now has a hammer sticking out in back. Gaaaah.

Ah, well. I found it and got my calendar hung (yes, I know it's April. Shut up.) and the hammer is now in the toolbox where it belongs.

How to clean your room

2006-04-24T23:59:00.000-07:00

1. Decide to move the office desk.

2. Realize that to move the office desk, you have to move the printer stand.

3. Realize that to move the printer stand, you will probably need the casters for it, which were last seen somewhere in the bedroom.

4. Realize that to find the casters, you will have to move several pounds of dirty laundry.

5. Realize that to move several pounds of dirty laundry into the laundry basket, you have to put away the clean clothes that are currently in there.

6. Put away clean clothes.

7. Pick up dirty clothes and put them in the laundry basket.

8. Find all four casters.

9. Put casters on printer stand.

10. Move printer stand.

11. Move desk. Most of the way.

12. Realize that for the desk to go where you want it to go, you'll have to move the bookcase.

13. Decide you've had enough for one day. Leave the printer stand in the middle of the room.

14. Write blog post

15. Go to bed in newly clean (well, mostly) bedroom.

He's almost WHAT????

2006-04-06T22:59:00.000-07:00

Work has been slow the last few days; I'm waiting to get access to the software I'm supposed to be writing about, so I've been rearranging furniture, filing my bills, and shopping for curtains. So yeah, I'm bored.

I checked out Freecycle, which I hadn't done in a long time, and saw the most unintentionally tragic posting:

Who the hell offers an almost dead dog? Is this a joke? I must learn more... about... the dog...

Wow... from almost dead to full of life in one click! He's healed! I'm like, a doggie miracle worker.

Janet? Janice? Janith?

2006-03-23T23:22:00.000-08:00

In the waiting room at the doctor's office:

Chick with baby: So do you spell it with a T-H?
Unfortunate woman sitting next to her: What?
C: Do you spell your name with a T-H at the end?
U: My name is Janet.
C: Uh huh. She [meaning somebody they were talking about earlier] spells hers with a T-H. So it's J-A-N-E-T-H.
U (whose name I now know is Janet, and who is clearly regretting having this conversation): Oh. No, I don't spell it that way.

So, look... people? Stop. Just STOP with the stupid baby names. Because Janeth? Is thtupid. Speaking as someone whose name has a slightly variant spelling, I can tell you it's kind of a drag to go through life not being able to buy a personalized pencil at Disneyland, or constantly having to spell your name over the phone. Half the time I just let it go; I don't much care, and I'll answer to both. I'd be completely batshit crazy if I had to spell my name every damn time I met someone or had to make a doctor's appointment. I'd end up changing my name to something easy like Jane Smith, but then dipshits in the waiting room at my doctor's office would say, "Do you spell your name with an A-I or an A-Y?" and I'd have to punch them in the face and then change my name to Fuck You.

On a (slightly) cheerier note, if you're in the market for a shitty name for your kid, may I recommend Baby's Named a Bad, Bad Thing? This wonderful person has scoured the baby boards, found the worst suggestions (and justifications) for baby names, and posted them (with smartass commentary) for you to enjoy. Here's an example of the level of intelligence these people have:

I really like Freddie Prinze jr. and heard his father was famous and died tragically. What was his name?

Yeah... what was that guy's name? I can't imagine where one might begin to research such a complex mystery.

But I'm partial to The Utah Baby Namer because all the names are so completely bizarre. They're not mangled spellings of "normal" names (Kenadeigh?); they're just totally made up, mashed together names. My personal favorite is Jennyfivetina. That is the awesomest name ever. Actually, it's the second awesomest name ever. The truly awesomest name ever is Mayonesa, which came to me out of the blue while I was shopping at a bodega in Oceanside. Genius, isn't it?

They're totally going on the list

2006-03-21T16:44:00.000-08:00

I love Target. I love the clearance stuff and the cool cart escalator. I love their new prescription bottles too (click the pic for a really good article on how that came about), so I recently started using them to fill my prescriptions (since I'm there all the damn time anyway). I'd wanted to do this earlier, but then there was that big dustup over Target not dispensing Plan B; that's pretty much settled now so I decided to go ahead and switch.

Now I've got this kind of girl thing (and that's all I'm gonna say about that) for which my doctor needed to call in a prescription. I didn't even know what it was, I just knew that I had to get it and bring it into his office. I had to wait an extra day because Target didn't stock the mystery drug, so I went in today to pick it up. They had it in stock, I signed and paid for it, and the clerk sent the pharmacist over to tell me how to take it. I could have told them that my doctor was going to administer it, but I figured it'd be easier just to listen for two minutes, nod, say thank you, and be on my way. It didn't quite go like that.

Pharmacist: Is this for [here she cocks her head sympathetically and lowers her voice to a whisper] an abortion?

Me (confused): No.

Her: Because this drug is used for [cocked head, shrug, whisper] abortions.

Me: It's for my girl thing. I have to bring it to my appointment tomorrow.

Her: Oh. Good. [she proceeds to tell me all of the things this drug is used for and why it's bad if I wanted to get pregnant because it's sometimes used as an abortifacient]

Me: Well, it's not for an abortion and I don't want to get pregnant, so that's good. [Thinking: can we get off this subject so I can get out of here?]

Her: [I'm unclear on how she led up to this because my brain sort of froze up, but she basically said she was relieved because we weren't going to - grimace, shudder]... kill any more babies

Me: ...

Her: So... take as directed. Well, I guess your doctor will take care of that for you.

Me : Okay, then.

What the fuck? What the hell would she have said to me if I had needed this stuff for an abortion? And what kind of moron doesn't know that talking about baby killing is really shitty customer service? Because: 1) Gross, and 2) The odds are pretty fucking good that I know and love at least one person (or even a handful of people) who is, in her mind, a "baby killer". Way to spread the happy vibe, you twit.

I love you Target and I'll still shop your clearance racks obsessively, but no way in hell am I going back to your crazy-assed pharmacists. Morons.

Best compliment ever

2006-03-17T01:24:00.000-08:00

"Well... you're not a complete goober"

Thanks, man. Really. Thanks a million.

These things are not the same.

2006-03-15T15:24:00.000-08:00

In Fry's today I was looking at the magazines and there was one I hadn't seen before:

ALLIN? Like... GG Allin? You can't make a magazine all about GG Allin. That's disgus-- oh, wait...

Ohhhh. All In. Yeah... that's totally different. Never mind.

Prepare to be revolted.

2006-03-14T16:10:00.000-08:00

Have you ever heard of anal sacs? Did you know that your cat's anal sacs can get get impacted, abscess, and then burst? Did you know that you have to turn off Google's "safe search" to find a decent picture of a ruptured anal sac abscess? Does the phrase 'ruptured anal sac abscess' make you want to barf? In that case, don't click on this picture [Warning: the picture is huge. And gross.]

In case you hadn't guessed, this happened to my cat. For the second time. I noticed a bit of red on his butt yesterday, which on closer inpection turned out to be a dime-sized hole. He had to stay overnight at the vet's so they could flush out "lots of really thick pus"... I love my vet, but sometimes I wish she was a little less forthcoming about stuff.

So now, twice a day I have to give him antibiotics and - get this - put a warm compress on his ass. Isn't that just dandy? I'm not sure which one of us is going to find that more horrifying.

beep.. beep.. beep

2006-03-11T14:42:00.000-08:00

So last night I'm reading in bed and I hear this faint beep.. beep.. beep sound. I check around, determine that it's not coming from inside my house, and go back to reading. I can still kind of hear it, though, but I'm sure it'll be gone by the time I'm ready to sleep.

An hour later I turn out the lights and there it is... beep.. beep.. beep. It sounds like it's coming from right outside the kitchen window, so I crank open the window and look out. The sound doesn't stop, even though I am glaring very hard in its general direction. I go back to bed.

beeeeep... beeeeeep... beeeeeep

Whatever it is seems to be dying. Maybe I can wait it out.

beep.. beep.. beep

Fuck. It's not dying. Maybe I should investigate. Except it's cold and drizzly out and my bed is warm and snuggly.

beep.. beep.. beep

Oh, fine. I get up and put on my green flannel pajama pants, red clogs, and red flannel jacket. This is not as festive a look as you might imagine.

I check out the back of the building. Nothing.

I check out the townhouses next door. Louder, but still not there.

I check out the cottages on the other side of the townhouses. The beeping is VERY LOUD here.

There's a bag of trash in front of one of the cottages. I open the gate, tiptoe in, and check it out. The beeping is REALLY VERY LOUD, but it's not coming from the bag. It's... what the fuck? There's a smoke alarm just sitting on top of a bush right in front of me, and it's beeping.

I pick it up and push the reset button. The beeping is REALLY REALLY VERY LOUD AND KIND OF STARTING TO HURT. ALSO, IT IS NOT STOPPING.

Fine. I'll just take the battery out.

Except... there's no way to make it come out. I can see it, but I can't find a way to open the damn thing no matter how I twist, pull, and poke at it.

It's dark out and I have to hold it right up to my face to inspect it, which makes the beeping EXCRUCIATINGLY LOUD. This is not working out well at all.

I mash the reset button harder. Several times. The beeping does not stop. I think I may be going deaf.

I throw it to the ground and give it a half-hearted stomp. The ground is wet and slippery so it slides out from under my foot. And doesn't stop beeping.

I figure I'll just take it far enough away that I can't hear it. That works for a few yards until I realize that 1) it's mean to make it someone else's problem, and 2) I really don't want to be walking around in the rain dressed like a hippie elf any longer that is strictly necessary, especially if I'm carrying a VERY LOUD AND ANNOYING MACHINE. Discreet, I am not.

So, fine. I drop it on the ground and stomp on it until finally the beeping stops. Mission accomplished. I go home and go back to bed just in time to avoid the hailstorm.

The next day I tell B about it and he says, "Are you sure it wasn't a little kid?" Bastard.

Pandas! In Kindergarten!

2006-03-10T21:11:00.000-08:00

Baby pandas playing together in the snow... How could you NOT melt from the cuteness?

Barry Bonds: Crapping all over baseball

2006-03-09T23:28:00.000-08:00

The Daily Show does a hysterical piece on Barry Bonds. Go to Pinstripe Alley and check it out.

By the way? I haaaaate Bonds. He's a fucking cheater and he's ruining baseball. Sure, he's got a lot of help in that department but he's pretty close to the single worst offender. I hope his heart craps out on him and he has to spend eternity in Hell having Ty Cobb beat the shit out of him.

P.S. I just found out that They Might Be Giants did the theme song for The Daily Show. Yeah, I'm sure you already knew that, but I still think it's cool.

Need some web design

2006-03-08T22:52:00.000-08:00

Warning: contains really horrifying MIDIs and even worse poetry

Luv's Creations

Just so you know

2006-03-08T22:27:00.000-08:00

My cat is a moron.

Blogging Redux

2006-03-07T22:04:00.000-08:00

So yeah, I totally had a blog before but then Blogger got blocked by the net nanny at my Job From Hell and I was too lazy to update from home, so it went away. Sorta. It's still there but since I can't remember the logon, it's never getting updated.

Anyway, I was at the thrift store today and thinking about how much I hate stuff... and then I thought, "Why not share all that loathing?" so here I am.

Which brings us to... chick lit. Women's fiction. Beach reading. What fucking ever. Now, I enjoy a nice romantic comedy once in a great while, but this chick lit crap has got to go. If you haven't read it, I'll give you a summary:

Average, perhaps slightly overweight girl, just into her mid-to-late twenties (but not worried about her biological clock, because she's dating a great guy who'll probably propose soon, to the great delight of her mother). Even though she works as a copywriter/editorial assistant/lackey at a big-time publishing house, she can afford to spend her money on designer shoes.

Suddenly, the boyfriend gets cold feet and dumps her. She's desolate. She wants him back. She finds out he's already sleeping with another girl. She cries.

Then she picks herself up. Maybe she gets a dog. She decides to stop worrying about men and be independent. Suddenly, the dog gets sick. Or bit. Or a dog bites her. Frantic, frazzled, and wearing sweats (no Mahnolos!) she ends up meeting a very kind (and handsome!) vet/doctor/lawyer, who shows more than a professional interest in her, despite the fact that she wasn't even wearing makeup when they met!

She's tentative, not wanting to give up this fragile independence, but handsome/successful doctor/vet/lawyer charms the Jimmy Choos off of her and she starts to fall for him. And suddenly, the heartbreaking ex calls. He's sorry. He was wrong. He wants to marry her.

Oh! What should she do! She can't be sure the lawyer/vet/doctor loves her! She can't be sure she loves him! Should she risk the unknown? Should she get back together with her ex? And what about her new career as a novelist/travel writer/fashion editor that she serendipitously fell into shortly after she was fired from her dead-end publishing job? Oh, and did I mention that she magically lost ten pounds? Because she totally did.

In the end, she rejects both. BUT! Handsome/sucessful vet/lawyer/doctor will not give up. He woos her. He proposes. She accepts. She wants to elope, she is so excited - her love is enough! She doesn't need a fancy wedding. But he knows her mother, and so he insists on a traditional/massive/Jewish wedding. Which he will pay for. Designer dress and shoes included. Blah blah, happily ever after.

Don't judge a book by its cover, unless the cover refers to designer shoes, getting over a boyfriend, or the beach. Or it has an illustration of a beach on the cover, but that's an entirely different genre of annoying books.