Saturday, August 16, 2003
Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention some stuff:
The gas stations were packed today with people buying gas like there was never going to be any gas ever again. I mean, there were mile long lines at the flippin' Amoco down the road.
And at Meijer, people were buying everything in sight. Nothing like a crisis to boost the economy, you know? The guy in line in front of me had seven, count 'em, seven bags of mulch. Now I can understand all the people in there buying food, but what the hell possessed this man to venture out into the madness to buy seven bags of mulch? But most of the shelves in the grocery section were empty. There's nary a can of soup to be found in the Ypsi/Ann Arbor area. All the pop was gone, all the bottled water, everything. It was only by a stroke of complete luck that I found a 2 liter of Coke hiding in with the Faygo lemon lime pop (because no one drinks Faygo lemon lime. Because it tastes like ass.) I clutched it to my bosom like it was a small child I needed to protect. I managed to find a 2 liter of Mountain Dew for Ryan, too, so he wasn't surly when I got back home.
The stores were forbidden to sell any meat, produce, milk, eggs, cheese, etc, so I shudder to think how much food had to be thrown away across all the states and Canada because of this little screw-up. How appalling.
At any rate, it was sort of creepy to see the shelves at the store so empty. I know that sounds weird, but it's evidence of how crazed people can get when something out of the ordinary happens. They are reduced to mindless mobs swarming over the jars of peanut butter like they'll never have any peanut butter again...
Sunday, August 10, 2003
That's all I have to say about the past couple days.
Okay, not really, but it sounded good.
So, I know you are all burning to know what's happened in Zombistan. Some of you will remember my whinging in chat. For those of you that missed that happy crappy, I'll re-whinge here for you. Aren't you lucky?
I've had this hernia thing on my belly for over a year now. I got it from the pregnancy with Meredith. The stomach muscles split apart as your belly grows, and that resulted in stuff getting rearranged improperly and left me with a hernia. Now, my OB/GYNs told me it would go away. Then another doctor told me it would go away. But it didn't. And it hurts like mad sometimes. So a few months ago, I went to St Joseph Mercy, to try to get some help. St Joe's told me that it was indeed a hernia, but it would probably go away on its own. If I didn't feel like waiting, I could schedule surgery to have it fixed. But what was that? You have no insurance? Well, get some insurance and then you can get it fixed.
So, I waited.
Two days ago, I woke up in searing pain. Ah, the hernia again. It hadn't given me trouble in so long, I thought maybe it had finally healed on its own. No such luck. I tried ignoring it for the two days that followed, but it kept getting worse...and worse...so I broke down and had Ophelia take me to the ER, thinking, this much pain has to be an emergency...they'll do the surgery.
So, we go to the University of Michigan hospital, which I am told is like 8th best in the US. Surely a hospital this good can help me...
We wait. They draw blood. We wait some more. Finally, we are taken back to an exam area. Then we wait some more. Now, they've got me in one of those hospital gowns, and I was freezing, huddled under a sheet, while Ophelia ransacked the cupboards and stuff for neat toys. In the cubicle next to us, is a drugged out lunatic strapped to the bed, talking to himself. The nurse that came in to prod at me was a small Asian man that Ophelia dubbed Wang Chung. Which was rude, but he wasn't nice, so he deserved it. Finally, the doctor arrives. I am still in pain, but less so since I'd been laying down for a while, waiting for her to show up. She asks me some medical history questions. Then she says, 'So, you don't have insurance?'
'No, I don't,' I said.
'Ah,' she said.
She proceeded to poke at my belly for about two minutes. Then she pronounces it's not a hernia, just 'weak stomach muscles' and that I 'should do situps.' I was aghast. Shocked and amazed. My bowel dysfunctions and vomiting are 'probably food poisoning.' Now, what the fuck?
So, I'm angry. She leaves, saying she'll get me the discharge papers. She doesn't come back. Wang Chung says we can't leave til she comes back and gives me my instructions. I say 'hah' and leave anyway.
That's okay. I am determined to get this taken care of, and I will. I've got some numbers to call and so forth. It'll be done.
And that's that.
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
This just in, folks: I really am an idiot.
Yes, you heard it here first. I'm an utter moron.
I went to make a deposit into my spankin' new checking account today. In order to avoid a 1.50 fee, I have to use the ATM to make my deposits. If I see a teller to do it, it costs money. Which is lame. But anyway, I go to the ATM, I fill out the little envelope, put the check in the envelope, seal it up, do all the neat button stuff on the ATM, put the envelope in the slot...the machine eats it, says 'Thank you!' and I get a receipt and go on my merry way, all pleased that I did it and the machine didn't blow up or start singing 'You're an idiot!'
Well, it should've started singing that...
It wasn't until I was back in Ophe's car that I realized I forgot to sign the back of the check.
Oops. I'm a 'tard.
So now I have to go back tomorrow and say, 'Oops, I'm a 'tard.'
This is why I shouldn't have grown up toys like bank accounts. I can't be trusted to do it properly.
Tuesday, August 05, 2003
Kiss Me! I'm a Pirate!
Man, I love pirates, so it was happy time when I was reading over Neil Gaiman's bloggie, and found this linkie. Arrr.
Today I took the bus out to Meijer, which has a Standard Federal bank in it, and proceeded to establish myself a checking account. Look, Ma, I'm an adult.
I'll be the first to admit that I have no idea about how checking accounts work, so when the nice bank lady started prattling on about minimum balances and interest rates and surcharges and foisting debit cards and checkbooks on me, I got a bit flustered. My eyes must've taken on a glassy appearance, because she stopped, and then slowly slid her business card across the desk to me. Then she said, "Call me if you need help."
I debated on saying, "I surely need help, but I don't know if it's the kind that you can provide," but opted instead for a sweet, if slightly vacant, smile.
Now now, I know you've all missed my Bus Ride of Destruction tales, so aren't you lucky that I rode the bus today? Seems like every time I get on the fucking thing, insanity happens. I imagine that the bus runs peacefully until I show up. Then all hell breaks loose.
So, I'm sitting on the brick wall in front of where the buses pull up, Indian style, reading a paperback and smoking, when someone walks by and smacks into my cigarette.
Yes, that's right. Smacks into my cigarette.
Okay, let's review what we have so far, just to make sure you get this: I was sitting on a wall away from the main walkway-sidewalk-dealie-thingie, Indian style (meaning my feet weren't even on the ground), reading a book and smoking a cigarette. And someone ran into my cigarette, which I was holding in my right hand, which was resting on my knee.
Sparks flew, and I swore, and looked up, and the dude that did it had the balls to glare at me like I had done something wrong. Now, I dunno what this guy was trying to accomplish by trying to walk on top of me like that, but I find it very interesting that someone would do that and then get upset when he runs into burning objects. Perhaps he had a depth perception problem, or something, but I think next time he ought to walk on the sidewalk proper and not so close to innocent girlies reading books on walls.
So, after that nonsense, I went back to reading, having lit a fresh cigarette since the first one got demolished by Joe Bob Billy Bob the Myopic from Ypsilanti, and then I hear a ruckus going on a few yards away from me. I look up and there's this retarded man I see quite often around town. Looks harmless enough, just usually trots around and digs in garbage cans for bottles and so forth. One time, he blew me a kiss and said, 'You pretty!' which I thought was kinda cute, even if he is buggy-eyed, retarded, has no chin, and is prone to drooling...I suppose I'll take a compliment where I can get it. (Note: Yes, it seems I have just made fun of a retarded man. Please send hate mail to Zombie, You're a Fucking Bitch, and You Smell Funny, To Boot@chaosinmotion.net. I promise to try to care. Really.) ANYWAY, there was a group of teenagers saying things to this man, and I couldn't quite hear what they were saying, but it got the man all excited and he started making that cawing noise that the retarded folk make...you know that noise...and then ran over and planted this huge kiss on one of the girls. Now, I thought that was pretty funny, but the girl apparently didn't (I probably wouldn't have liked it much, either, come to think of it, but it was funny at the time and that's what matters. It's all in the timing.) and she screamed. So her testosterone fueled male companions got all riled up and lots of shouting ensued, and I thought perhaps they were going to attack the retarded man, at which point I'd have had to do something crazy like tell them to knock it off...but...
They didn't end up going after the guy. Just shouted at him a lot, and then the guy flipped them off, cawing the whole time, and I thought, 'Score one for the 'tarded man! Swooning the bitches and giving the boys the finger!' and went back to reading.
Ah, the joys of public transit.