Thursday, September 30, 2010

Why you should always remember your breast pads.

I know what you must be thinking, I love animals & I'm such a good person. Truth me told, yes, I love them but I'm not really a good person. There are aspects of pet ownership I, well, hate. One thing I hate? Take my pets to the vet.

I'd rather be without electricity than take my pets to the vet. Of course the reason for this is, well, crappy vets. There have only been 2 vets in my lifetime I've liked & who have done good things for my critters. One is 2 hours away, & the other is who knows where. So I'm back to crappy vets. I managed to find a decent vet, though I'm not too impressed overall but when you have a fucking assload of pets, you need a vet.

I also try everything possible before I take my pet to the vet. I mean, if it's something that they need medical help for I'll of course do it. But if it's something minor, I'll try your run of the mill home remedies. Like recently, Murphy got itchy. Itching led to scratching. Which led to digging. Which led to chewing. Which led to pulling her hair out.

When we hit that point, I decided it was time for a vet trip.

I called on a Monday. The earliest they could see me in Friday. My dog is getting more & more bald, & now we're waiting until Friday. Awesome. After I get off the phone, they called me back but I missed the call. No message, so I figured it wasn't anything important.

Wrong.

Friday morning, I get a call that they can't see me at the time they gave me. They can see me earlier, or next Thursday. Um, no. They finally come up with the idea that I can be seen that day at the same time at their other office across town. I agreed, even though I hated the idea. You see, I've been to that office. I'm not a fan personally of their care. The past few times I've been, I've had to wait & wait while they took people they knew ahead of me & people from the local pet shops. People who just popped in, announced they didn't have an appointment, but I guess since they are BFF's, they get my slot while I wait.

But my dogs ass is bald. And I can't wait until almost a week. And on a Friday afternoon, I can't really call around & find other vets & be see before a few days. So I figure my dog has a bald ass, so I need to suck it up & go. And I did.

First, Murphy & I played a fun game. It's called, "Get in the Car."

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Murphy won that game.

I then wrestled her. Seriously. Battle music was playing in the background, I'm trying to take her down which is hard because dogs have 4 legs you have to bring down. She's also big. I'd later find out she's 55lbs. That's 55lbs of shedding, drooling, avoiding the car battle I dealt with. I totally see why people drug their dogs.

But eventually I won.

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And she acted totally cool. Why do dogs do that?! We'd just wrestled in the street, I was dirty, my hair was all over, my left boob was popping out of my nursing bra. I was sweating. I hate to sweat. And her? You'd never know we just battled. Then it got worse. She looked as though she was fucking ENJOYING IT.

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Yeah, she was totally into this idea. Suuuuure.

I drive with this big ass dog all in my face, trying to act cool. I'm not sure why, but I felt like people would point & laugh at me & my dog. Weird, huh? So I tried to act like this was something I did all the time. Drive around, with a dog...cover in hair, & annoyance. I get across town, but not before that dog drool drop started. If you have a dog, you know what I'm talking about. They panting with the excess doggie spit. And they always have to hover their heads over you or your stuff. I had it down my arm. On my purse. It was on Adam's coffee cup.

Ummm...sorry honey. I just realized I never told him that & never took it in to wash it off after it was covered in doggie spit drops.

Anyway.

I pull in & see this.

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Hippies.

I don't know. It felt like I needed to get a picture at that moment. So I did.

Murphy is, of course, totally willing to get OUT of the car. And the hippies stare at me while I wrestle this dog. You're loitering at a vet's office wearing a comic book t-shirt, but I'm the weirdo? Hmph.

When I go in & wait in line, I see this.

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Oh fuck me. That's instantly what I thought. They are trying to sell me pet pictures?! Where I dress my fucking dogs up?! I wanted to run away screaming.

I wait my turn in line. Then I wait some more. I waited for 15 minutes before I was finally able to tell them who I was. I then stand there, because there are no seats. People are there with one dog, but 3 members of their family. Does it really take your entire family to take your dachshund to the vet? A woman is there with a kitten, wrapped in a towel. She looks at me, Murphy, then me again. "What's she do with cats?" I tell her, "Oh, she loves cats." She then replied, "yeah, to eat them I bet" then we back to playing with her cell phone with the Michael Jackson ringtone. I have 12 goddamn cats, my dog will not eat yours! I guess Murphy knew I was offended on her behalf, so she walked up to a cake where the vet had stray cats up for adoption & made friends with a kitty, nose to nose. I wanted to say, "See, bitch?! I told you so, fuck you!" but I didn't. I was the bigger person. Go me!

I wait. And I wait. Then I wait some more. Murphy isn't happy with this either.

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During my waiting, I feel...something. It's wet, it's weird...it's lactation. I then realized that in my haste, I hadn't put those lovely breast pads in my bra & I hadn't nursed for a few hours. I was in trouble. I tried to hide it. Put my arms over it. Held my purse up. I looked insane. So finally, I decided to do this.

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I took a brochure about flea prevention & fanned my boob. I tried to make it look like I was interested in it, then I announced to my dog that I was warm. Because that wouldn't make me look weird at all. And then I fanned myself. When on one was looking, I fanned my boob like I was trying to make a windmill create electricity. I look around the room, I see art. I see...this.

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At least puppies & kittens in flowers are less odd than dressing your pets up.

Finally, at 5:30, we're called back. Last people in the building. Then I wait some more in the room.

At this point, the decor gets, uh, weirder. I look up & see this.

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I thought "wow, that's a bad flea!" then I turned around & saw this....

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Then I realized I was an idiot, because that was a flea & the previous thing was a tick. I felt dumb, shouldn't I know my inflatable parasites?

Then this killed any appetite I had.

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Mmmmm....blood rich feces.

But you know what's worse than blood rich feces?

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DRESSING YOUR FUCKING PETS UP.

Why are people doing this?! Jeesh. I hate to tell you this peeps, but your dog doesn't want to dress up as a witch or lay in a basket of flowers. So stop it already. Have I said jeesh yet? Jeesh.

Murphy isn't cool with this whole thing. She keeps peeking around the table.

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She gets weighed, she's 55lbs. Funny since she wasn't suppose to get any bigger than 30-ish. This is why we're at the vet...

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Bad, huh? I tell the woman she's on flea prevention, but we still find random fleas. She tells me this is normal, nothing can keep 100% of them off. I then tell her I saw the brochure for a flea pill & I'd like some for her & my other dog at home. See, I really did read that brochure I fanned my boob with!

Speaking of my boob, it went from bad to worse. Wet was bad. Worse was dried.

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Yeah, that's not noticeable AT ALL. I started just wanting to tell people, "I'm breastfeeding!" so it didn't look like I was a dirty mess. With how I looked, I'm surprised they didn't insist on payment before treatment.

I wait for the doctor. Finally, she comes in. She looks at Murphy. She tells he she's raw & itchy. Tells me it's the few fleas on her & says she'll get the pills for the dogs. She leaves. Another few minutes go by, the assistant comes back in & gives me the pills for my dog. She tells me the vet is gone. Like...gone. And to go check out at the front desk.

So all this time & the $100 I'm out? I get told she's itchy.

Also on the list of "well no shit" diagnosis were "she's a dog" & "she's white & brown in color." Or maybe "she breathes." I could have, well no I did, already diagnosed that one. And that was that. Minus the $100, of course. Oh, & this.

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MORE TRYING TO SELL ME PICTURES! I don't want pictures, I want my dog to stop pulling her hair out. Thanks though.

I think she fell victim to the "last patient whose not really our regular patient, so I want to go the fuck home & get this over with" syndrome. Because that was insanity.

On the way home, Murphy tried to kill me several times.

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A 55lb dog jumping up at the dashboard is not for safe driving.

After I dropped her off at the house I went to CVS to get my medication. Because, dammit, after that day I needed it. I also got cokes. In my tiny little cart.

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Then I LOL'ed because after I took them out of the cart, I saw this in the CVS cart.

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I'm easily amused. Except by wet spots on my shirt. That shit isn't cool.

Later that night, Murphy & Buddy both took their magical flea pills. And they really are magical because within a couple hours, a few fleas were up at the top of her coat. And like a sick, disturbing person, I sat in the floor & picked them off of her. We're monkeys like that. But I put them in tissue & disposed of them, I didn't eat them. I promise.

Murphy enjoyed this bonding.

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Alot.

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This was almost 2 weeks ago. Since her adventure (well, ours), she's gotten alot better. We continued what we were doing for her & she stopped digging as much, which let things heal. Though her hair is still thin in the areas that were balding, she's no longer bald looking in places. So basically I should have dropped in on my vet, got a flea pill for $20, & kept the stuff we were doing ourselves at home up. I'd saved like $80 & all the insanity. But I can't complain, I'm a sucker...uh...I mean an animal lover. The things we do for our pets.

Like NOT dress them up. I love them too much to shame them.

...unless it's Halloween & we're giving out candy. Then I usually shame them, but only a little.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Debbie Downer Update

Hi peeps. I'm currently working on what we all love...an entertaining blog. It's in my other window actually. But I figured I should bring you Debbie Downer news. Because I can't be a fucking ray of sunshine all the time, can I?

Remember my insurance battle in the spring, when I was trying to fight insurance to pay for that autopsy that they said they didn't cover since it didn't enrich anyone?

Well, I got my ultimate, final, no further discussion allowed decision.

Denied.

It may as well have said "fuck off."

It was a nice form letter. The only personalized part was my name (which they spelled right this time, good for them), the term "your still born," & their reason for rejection. Are you ready for this? Hold onto your seats, people!

MEDICAL RESEARCH.

They decided that the autopsy was considered medical research, which they do not cover.

Silly fucking PEIA. I may just write a letter telling them to fuck off. Not that it will do anything & I realize it's wrong & inappropriate...but really?

How many people can actually look at what changed their lives forever? Because this pile of papers? It changed everything.

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I go through those records all the time. I'm looking for something, anything. I'm googling words, piecing things together, thinking I can find it. I can find the answer somewhere in there. But all I find are dead ends, which leave my chest feeling tight. Even if I think I have the answer or find a reason for everything, I can't do anything about it. I can't change it. I can't even be sure or prove that it's the answer. So it'd bring me no real peace. But that doesn't stop me from trying. But the only thing I can ever make real heads or tails about is the just over $8,000 price tag those 2 fun filled days in the hospital cost me.

Of course I do avoid parts of it. Like this part.

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All but one nurse called him "the infant." This one though, she called him the "dead NB" which means dead newborn, if you couldn't figure it out. Yeah, I know I throw around the dead baby phrase all the time, but I can. It's my baby. My baby died. Calling him "the dead NB" & documenting my every action with him? It almost seems dirty, in the very least it's just not the right phrase to use. It makes things seem weird, creepy, & extra sad.

I miss him. But I never really knew him to miss him. So I miss the invisible person...the invisible person I think about every time I take a picture of Jules & Blair. I think of how old he'd be & where he'd be in that picture. It seems like in many of those pictures there is too much blank space. A place he could be. But like every other dream or situation that went through my head, it's not real. And sometimes I feel like he wasn't either.

The sun will come out tomorrow, right?

Side note...I've not lost my mind, I do realize I mentioned it in passing a couple entries ago, but I figured it deserved it's own entire post. The medical records just added to it.

Friday, September 17, 2010

What happens when I get sick.

The husband is a teacher, he brings home kid germs. Icky, icky germs. Superbugs that cause him to have "allergies" & me to die for about 3 days. I seriously become immobile around the end of day 2 of my sickness. I don't just get colds, I get one foot in a grave. It's alot of fun, as I'm sure you can guess.

Last week Jules & both woke up with nose problems. Jules got sicker faster & ended up going to the doctor. After waiting & I'm sure running up a hell of a bill, I got the answer of, "ummmm...maybe it's a virus or something. Let's get him stickers!" Three stickers & I'm guessing $350 later, we were home.

That was on Tuesday. By Thursday, I was dying. Seriously. I laid on the couch & didn't move, even blink, for about 3 hours. Due to being comatose, Adam stayed home on Friday. But the night before, being desperate, we googled stuff to try to help find something to make my cold symptoms better. I didn't know how seriously he took these ideas until the next day, he took both kids & went out shopping. But only after leaving this as a facebook status update:

and now....ADVENTURES IN HOMEOPATHY!!

I'm packing up these kiddos for a trip to the Healthy Life Market; gonna pump up the wife with so many hippy remedies she's gonna come out of this illness smelling like patchouli and craving piccolo heavy jam bands.


I would have sighed, but I couldn't breath.

He came home with a bag of "goodies." I, of course, didn't miss this chance to give the peeps (that's you) an idea of what he wanted me to experience.

First & foremost, he took both boys out in Spiderman outfits. I didn't get Jules, but I did get Blair.

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Adam was very proud of himself for matching a cloth diaper to the top.

Then we have the bag of goodies.

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The Healthy Life Mart is about as hippy as we can get in West Virginia.

Out of all the things Adam found online, he was attached to one single item. I'll get to that in a minute.

First, I found this.

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...what in the...? Yeah, I was wondering to. It was something t sweeten a special mixture for me to drink that would cute me of everything I'd ever have in my life. Yes, it'd cure me of cancer before I even got it.

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Apple Cider Vinegar.

I should mention that I hate Easter. Why? Because I use fucking vinegar to color eggs. Holy shit, that stuff is gross. I can't even pour it without gagging & now he wants me to...drink it?

Even with a "sweetener" I'm pretty sure I looked at him the same way I looked at whoever told me what a blowjob was.

"I have to put WHAT in my mouth...and swallow?! Are you fucking kidding me?!"

But the big difference is that this stuff couldn't guilt me about it being it's birthday or try to talk me into how it's a good source of protein.

And finally, I should really trust this woman?

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If this stuff taste as good as she dresses, we're in trouble.

In case I wasn't into that idea, he got this.

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A pre-mixed version.

Nope, still not into it.

Personally, I would have much rather found booze in these bags.

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Isn't there some saying about feeding a fever, getting a cold drunk? No? Well, there is now. I'm going to write that down & sign my name to it.

Apple cider vinegar is a huge let down when you're thinking booze.

Then, in case that wouldn't work, he got this.

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Pill form.

Basically, he bought every fucking kind they had. This was his big cure?

I guess it worked, because I started feeling better when I realized he expected me to take this shit if I was still sick the rest of the day.

He also got this stuff.

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Sideways, sue me. It's peppermint oil & grapefruit seed something another. He wanted me to rub the peppermint on my temples, then use some of the drops of the other stuff with a neti pot.

Have I mentioned that I'm a bit weirded out? I am. Apple cider vinegar didn't cure that.

Of course he didn't just buy nasty stuff, he bought candy.

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And, for me, these things.

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I grew up calling them "nutty buddies." It wasn't until I was damn near 30 I found out that's not what they were called. Insane.

I didn't take a picture, but we also had some Tudors.

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It's a West Virginia thing. Bacon & egg biscuit & "chunkies." Potatoes with gravy. They look gross, but they are a wonderful thing. Of course, when vinegar is on the menu anything looks wonderful.

But I cheated death. Be impressed. And no, I never drank any of that stuff. But my Tudors made me feel alot better! As did laying around like a fat, lazy cat for a few days.

Hey, wonder if apple cider vinegar can cure snoring? If so, I'm in for a case for the husband.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Friday, September 3, 2010

iCulver.

It's been a crazy couple weeks.

OK, not crazy. I've done crazy, this shit isn't as crazy as I've been through before. But here is a good time run down of the going ons.

-I have a new lover. The husband knows about it, & he's getting more use to it. The truth is, he just can't do the same things for me that my lover does. My lover came at a hell of a price tag...yeah, I paid for him. Don't judge me.

My lover?

An iPhone.

Hi, I'm a little late on this iPhone thing. Excuse me while I gush.

HOLY SHIT WHY DIDN'T SOMEONE TELL ME ABOUT THIS AMAZING OVERPRICED PIECE OF AWESOMENESS?!

Yes, I wanted an overpriced status symbol, so people could say, "she's in debt & living outside her means."

Yes, yes I am. Thanks.

But judge away, I won't notice because I have a fucking iPhone. I mean really, what can I say about this thing that hasn't already been said? I'm in love. It's in a pink & purple case. Holy shit, this this is awesome. I have apps. I can check my email. The only damn thing I always get confused about? Making a phone call. And does this thing turn off?

Who gives a flying fuck...why would I have it turned off anyway?! It was worth buying it from some dude in too tight pants who looked like David Cook, only without any shred of any signs of "cute" David Cook may have. I figure the dude who works at the Target deli who looks like Ryder Strong doesn't stop me from buying popcorn, why let David Cook-ish stop me from an iPhone?

-I started school. I have a class that is required that has hard work...such as printing of documents & "practicing" writing our names on them. Seriously. I have a degree & I can dress myself, why the hell am I sitting through this? Oh yeah, you know how you hear about her "permanent record" in school & you laugh? Well, it's real. And I have to request mine to do a case study on myself. Because there is nothing I want more in life than to look back at all the shit in my life. There is a dude that is scary, I was seriously scared of him. He wants to be a teacher? Oh, he bragged about belonging to the NRA. And that was after I was already scared of him.

Of course, something weird happened this week. As we were in the elevator (we being fellow students), people started talking about labor & delivery. Us women do that, it's a bonding thing. I jump in when someone says they only had a 5 hour labor with the fact that I was jealous, mine were 24 hours plus. Then, without missing a beat, this girl with the 5 hour labor says, "Yeah, mine would have been even faster if she'd been alive."

The air was sucked out of the elevator. Everyone got quiet, wishing they weren't trapped in this small space for 6 floors. Me, I blurt out, "Really?!" like a fucking excited freak. Someone else mutters "that's so sad..." but I drown them out with the news of, "my 2nd son...he was dead, too! How far along were you?" Her daughter died right before her due date, she planned her daughters funeral on her due date. I tell her about Joel, when he died. When we get to the ground floor, everyone in the elevator with us go around the long way to get out of the building instead of the shorter way. I guess following the weird dead baby moms out while talking about baby funerals, still birth, & who had an autopsy wasn't their bag of tea. For the next 4 minutes, as we walked to our cars, we both spoke fast. I felt like I was normal in those 4 minutes. We talked about things no one else can understand unless you've had it happen. At the end I told her I hated to sound crazy, but it was amazing to find someone else in real life who knows exactly what I'm talking about & who doesn't bat an eye about the topic. She agreed. Hopefully we can talk more.

Of course, that discussion came at a cost. The rest of the evening was a long one. Even though it was nice to have someone who knew everything that came along with the whole dead baby thing, it sure brings back those memories. I zoned out in my next class, the only thing other than thinking about Joel & everything related to him that I could pay attention to was the overhead projector smelling like a hair straighter (if you use one, you know that smell). The rest of the night...it was rough. I realized I never even kissed him. A "to do" list really should be given to people in hospitals when they have a stillbirth. Because if you don't think about something when you only have the one chance, it really sucks looking back & realizing you never even thought about it. Just one of a few regrets I have. I should make a list of those things sometime, too.

On a related note, the same night, we got the official word that our insurance will pay nothing relating to Joel. The are considering it "medical research" which they do not cover. I don't remember signing up for a research study, but I guess they decided I did. There are no more appeals, not more letters, no more calls. Just $7000 of CC debt that would have been paid or even never existed if he was alive. Can't take your baby home...& enjoy your home until you loose it to sinking medical bill debt!

Yeah, it was a rough night.

-The week realllly sucked later though. I took Blair to the doctor for his once again infected eye (yay, blocked tear duct!), then ran to the bank before going home. Things were fine until I turned into the bank...then the car wouldn't turn anymore. I ran onto the curb actually because it just wouldn't turn. I looked down at my dash & several lights were on. I couldn't turn my wheel. I was stuck. Even the AC didn't work. I pulled straight ahead into a parking spot. I turned the car off, then back on. Because that should fix everything. Well, it didn't. I eventually called my parents to rescue me & the kids. My dad looked & said it looked like the power steering belt had broke. Got it home, called a shop, got a $75-ish quote. That was after I used my awesome car part vocab. Like when I spoke to Mike & tried to tell him I needed a belt. But of course I couldn't think of the word "belt" so I found myself making a circle motion with my right hand while saying, "you know...one of those loopy things." And this was after I talked myself up before calling. I came up with exactly what I'd say so it sounded like I knew what I was talking about. I decided I'd say something like, "Yeah, I needed to check on a price for some steering belts." That sounds awesome if you say it in a laid back, kinda manly way. When they answered though I panicked & said, "HI! I need to talk to someone...I need like...um....I need my car fixed, it's a thing for the steering that will make it turn." *sigh* I did NOT sound like I knew what I was doing.

And, of course, while I was on hold I practiced my speech again. I gave the same shitty one that screams, "I'm a girl...can I get pink car parts?!" But back to Milk. When he finally figured out what I needed, he looked it up & told me it depended on what kind of belt I wanted. Did I was "just a belt" or did I want a "GOOD belt." I finally said, "how about the belt that won't leave my ass stuck on the side of the road in 100 degree weather with my kids?" He laughed & quoted me prices for both. Dropped it off that evening, the next day we were picking it up. Life, it was good.

Until 10am the next morning when we got the call that actually, the thingy the belt attaches to is warped & the rod thingy it's on is worn & loose. That'll cost around $500 to repair. And that's the good news. That rod thingy? It goes into the engine & is attached to something called a "crankshft." What is that? I don't fucking know, but basically it's the brain of the engine. To change that out, you have to take the engine apart & put it back together again. In some cases, a new engine is cheaper than that repair.

I cried. Alot. I could pay my house payment for 6 months for what the repair of this thing is going to be.

But things are looking up now & I'm less stressed. My chest doesn't hurt nearly as much as it did before. Yay me.

-Remember my crazy ass neighbor? Well, she's still crazy. And angry. Long story short, they came into & up our drive way the other day to weed whack. They have this bad habit of coming into our fenced property & it freaks out dogs out & eventually someone is going to get bit or I'm going to punch them. Either way, we're responsible. Adam went over to tell them to not do it anymore, but no one answered so he left a note. Not a bad note, just a note saying for her to tell whoever does her lawn work to not to it again, that it upsets our dogs. Of course, he did also add the line that he doesn't go onto other peoples property to cut things or to remove her "ridiculous tarp" so he would appreciate the same respect.

I mean, seriously, it is ridiculous.

That was on a Friday. By Monday, we had a letter in our mail box. What really pissed me off was that our mail carrier won't bring us packages or something sent here by mistake if something doesn't get sent to our PO box, those get send back, but she'll drop off that letter? And I found it hysterical that she mailed a letter when the woman lives right beside us. I couldn't figure out what to do with it, but then it hit me. I wrote return to sender & sent it back to her. :) Of course after she got it back she walked it over to our mail box anyway. So I laughed & loudly announced outside that I wasn't reading shit & that I was throwing it away. Looking back, I wish I'd sent it back. Again & again. As I ripped it up, I did see a piece where she said she was reporting us for harassment. Um, OK. Good for her. Because the city takes care of that? And a note where the meanest thing in it is the term "ridiculous tarp" is harassing? She's the one who kept sending us that damn letter back! Also saw that she has a right to come up our driveway to weed whack in the fence since it's her fence. Of course, it's a fucking chainlink fence...if you are that worried about it, why not cut it on YOUR side instead of in my yard, while complaining about my dog barking at you because you're in our yard & trespassing? Also threatened to lure any of our pets she can so she can turn them over to animal control. That's a random, lame threat. Kinda sounds, well, harrasing to me. But what do I know?

So I've been enjoying being a bitch on my own property. Like today, when we rocked out to an Elmo DVD. I guess she didn't appreciate the song "sunny days" because she slammed her windows while fussing. Or last night at 1am when I went outside to test out my dog whistle app. It was suppose to make dogs stop barking, but I guess when you use it when they aren't barking, it has the opposite effect. So her dogs were bothered & went nuts. Of course, it was nothing compared to how aggravated they get when clumsy me pushed my cars "panic" button when locking or unlocking my car. Silly me! Adam will be putting up a 300 watt security light on the side of our house this weekend, so that extra bright light should help me be able to see what I'm doing. The lights should really light up all of our lives. At least it will if you're on the left side of my house. Wonder what is on the left side of my house? Hmmm...those may be bedroom windows. I don't know, I don't live in that house.

I'm an evil shrew.

I'm off to bed. With my iPhone. I'll be updating the kids blog tomorrow. I've got a couple things for it, so stay tuned. Also plan another blog here for this weekend, so yay!

Also, my friends are still looking for donations for Timmy. Read my post about it here.

Also like to direct people to my new friend, Jen. Jen is started up a cooking blog. Not a fancy cooking blog that will make you feel like you suck. Instead, she's doing it like many of us do it, she's just got the ball to admit it's all trial & effort. So if you'd like to see some creations from her & her entertainment as well, head on over there. The Self Taught Bad Chef...seems like a place that could do well. So start stalking now, so we can all say we knew her "back in the day."

And for those who asked about how I get my stat info & am able to see who searched what, it's from a neat little program you can read about & get here if you'd like. There are others, but that's Jess approved.

Questions? Comments? Leave them. Feel free to also follow me on facebook or twiter. I like friends. I'm lame like that, but you also get all the late breaking news, fast.

See you peeps soon.

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