incidents and accidents

Actually afraid

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I don’t think I spend my life being afraid of things, sometimes even when I should (how was I not terrified floating around in the Persian Gulf during active conflicts when I was in the Navy?).  I don’t lose sleep worrying about the next tornado or hurricane or earthquake or mudslide, and I didn’t even when I lived closer to tornado country (I remember plenty of tornado watches and warnings in Kentucky).

Then I read this New Yorker article.

John and I are considering moving to the Pacific Northwest (Seattle and Oregon have been on the list since the beginning), certainly for a few months, and possibly for good (if we love it), but this article (more specifically, its discussion of imminent disaster and death by earthquake and/or tsunami) has seriously freaked me out.  I want everyone west of the 5 to move.  Immediately, please, since this could happen ANY MINUTE NOW.  We are taking our lives in our hands* visiting this part of the country.  If we survive this trip, well, I really don’t know if that will have any bearing on our decision to make the move later (other than that we’ll be alive to make that decision).  Surviving this trip just means it hasn’t happened yet and is more likely to happen when/if we come back.

*See next post.

I fell down

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I fell down today.  Like, I landed on the floor with a big boom.  John admits responsibility, since it was his shirt dripping on the floor that caused the puddle I slipped in post-shower.  He’s very apologetic.  And I’m okay.  The only visible evidence is a scrape up my right forearm.  I will live.  I didn’t even drop anything.  (I’m talented that way.)  But I have to say, falling down like that is not fun.  It didn’t hurt that much – it was more shocking than anything.  If I were still three years old, I would have burst into tears, but once I caught my breath, I realized that nothing hurt – it wasn’t even as bad a stubbing a toe (which, to be fair, is pretty bad).

I still feel kind of stupid.  Who slips in a puddle?

My wise little Sansa

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My little Sansa SanDisk mp3 player knows all.  I went to bed in a mood, and I woke up in a mood, and then I didn’t get out of bed and my mood got worse until I basically threatened myself with bodily harm (it’s called being fat and lazy) if I didn’t get up and run, so I did.  And I’m glad I did.  (No surprise there.)  The sky was overcast and the temperature was in the mid-sixties and the humidity was, well, it wasn’t high, and I had just taken two days off (which is why the threats were effective), so my legs were fresh, and it felt good to run.  Even then, it would have been just okay if it weren’t for my cute little purple mp3 player.

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I don’t know what songs played during the first few miles (maybe some Van Halen?), but I know that as I coasted downhill about a mile and a half from home, Dean Martin’s “Good Morning, Life” started, and then with a half-mile to go (and the last incline in front of me), I heard Stevie Wonder’s harmonica heralding Sting’s “Brand New Day”.

I am as certain as I can be that my mp3 player has become sentient.  Maybe it happened after a certain number of hours of use for such a tiny little device, maybe it needed this exact combination of sweat and wind and weather, or maybe all mp3 players become aware (or have always been aware), but I KNOW that mine is now.  There are a LOT of songs on it, and while many of them are upbeat (I do use it for exercise), they aren’t all upbeat and they’re certainly not all that positive and life-affirming.  I mean, really.  What other explanation could there be?

 

 

It’s not supposed to rain inside

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We had some pretty major thunderstorms today.  All afternoon, actually.  It was pretty cool, although I couldn’t enjoy them all that much because I was on the longest conference call ever.  Someone was having a crisis, and John was wrapped up in his work, so even though we heard dripping, we assumed it was outside, and neither of us got up to check.  The rain stopped, we stopped working, and that’s when we found the giant puddle in our kitchen.  Yes, it appears the roof is leaking in our charming old rowhouse, right through the ceiling into our charming kitchen.  We are crazy-happy to NOT  be homeowners right now.  I have texted and email our landlady.  SHE can take care of this mess.  (It’s not actually a mess.  The puddle has been mopped up, and since it’s not raining anymore, I don’t plan to worry about it.)  Oh, did I mention we have ants?  So maybe it is a little bit of a mess.  Also, I got a mosquito bite on my knee during the three minutes I was outside this evening.  Maybe I’m a little bit of a mess.  Tomorrow is Friday!

Don’t shop hungry!

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I went to the store on my way home from work to pick up two things.  TWO!  I left with six.  I cannot be trusted.  It’s not like I went crazy – I didn’t buy caviar and dog food and ice cream and olives and six pounds of potatoes.  (Feel free to substitute your own list of things you don’t need when you go to the store.)  I bought things we eat, things we like, things I knew we were out of (or thought we were).  But still – TWO things were my plan.  I needed salmon and croutons for dinner.  I got salmon and croutons…and crackers and two types of cheese and a bottle of wine.  Turns out we’re not out of crackers yet, but we will be someday.  Someday soon, I mean.

It could have been worse.  I stayed away from the cookies.

I would make a really bad criminal

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I’m an idiot.  My only consolation is that I’m not alone. Thursday, I had lunch with my friend and coworker, Chastity (previously seen here).  We had a lovely lunch, and the service was really really good.  Our server was great, very attentive, and the manager came by to check on us at least once.  I think they read the same Washington Post article I read this week (about restaurant service).  Anyway, we got back to the office, and as I sat back down at my desk, I was thinking how good the service was, and maybe I should call the restaurant and let them know, and our server certainly deserved a big tip, and huh – I don’t remember leaving a tip.  Surely I left a tip?  Did I pay the bill?  Shit, do I have my credit card?  Scramble for my wallet – no, I do not have my credit card.  Mad dash to Chastity’s desk.  “Chastity, do you have your credit card?”  “Oh my god, no.  Let’s go.”

Yeah, we got the bill, handed over our credit cards, chatted for a few minutes, put on our coats, and headed back to the office.  Idiots.

We sped back to the restaurant (maybe a half-mile away) and headed to the host station.  “Welcome back!”  We hung our heads, paid our bill (I tipped well), and left sheepishly.  It could have been worse – they had our credit cards, so at least they would have gotten paid.  They knew we didn’t dine and dash.  Still, we both felt REALLY stupid.  Feel really stupid.

A terrible, no good, horrible day (for John)

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Sunday, John replaced the side mirror on his car (it was cracked, and he needs to get the car inspected), and then he replaced the door-lock relay in my car.  Remember that?  How I’ve had manual locks for FOREVER because they kept cycling on and off and draining the battery so John unplugged the relay?  Well, he ordered a new one and installed it Sunday, and now our fingers are crossed that it was actually the relay that was bad and not the switch in the door.  We’ll know if my battery dies.  So yesterday morning, in the cold, I half-expected us to have to take John’s car to boxing since surely my battery would be dead.  But no – it started right up.  Hooray!  And then it started up again when we left boxing, and again when I left for work.  Hooray and hooray again!

Then I got to work and heard from John.  His day didn’t go so well.

HIS car wouldn’t start.  I was already gone, so I couldn’t jump it for him.  He tried to pop-start it, but he couldn’t get enough momentum to back out of the driveway and into the street.  (Our driveway has a little bit of an incline towards the street, but not much.)  Then he tried to push it back up the driveway and let it roll back again, but that didn’t work.  After about half an hour, the neighbor we almost NEVER talk to (the one who mows his lawn (when he mows it) in khakis and a button-down shirt) came out to go to work, so John got him to jump it (which I’m sure took a lot of explaining on John’s side).

Side note: I just typed “hump” instead of “jump”, and I had to pause for giggles.  And more giggles, because that really would take a lot of explaining on John’s side.

Okay, I’m back.  So, his day didn’t start off well.  THEN he found out that his window wouldn’t work when he tried to order lunch in the drive-thru.  It just wouldn’t roll down (he assumes he did something when he replaced the mirror on Sunday).  It’s always embarrassing when you have to open your door to place your order.  In the cold.  At lunch time on a weekday when there’s a line of cars behind you.

Poor John.  At least his car has started without assistance every time since then.  Of course, then today arrived, with its two to three inches of snow.  We shoveled the driveway, and I started to head off to work, but I changed my mind when I heard they hadn’t even plowed our parking lot yet (at the office, at ten after eight), and then I fishtailed a bit when I took a turn at the bottom of the street, so I came home just as John was backing out of the driveway.  I gave him my car and stayed home.  It STILL took him 25 minutes to go 3 miles, but at least he was in a car with 4-wheel drive instead of rear-wheel drive.

Cars and winter – these do not a good combination make.

Flaky agent

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We like our real estate agent, mostly.  He’s a little odd, but in an interesting way, and he talks too much (when we get back from being out during an open house, we want you to go home so we can relax), but he’s nice, and he’s giving us a discount, and he’s doing the hard part of selling our house for us (except that he hasn’t sold our house yet).

HOWEVER

At least three times (I think four, but I can only think of the reasons he gave for three), he has flaked on us for an open house.  The first time, his mom broke her leg, and he was the son in charge of getting her to the hospital and helping out. We totally get it, sorry it happened, do what you need to do, we’ll do the open house ourselves.  No problem.  The second time is the one I don’t remember the reason for.  The third time was two weeks ago.  I got a text 45 minutes before the open house was supposed to begin saying that he was stuck in traffic in Maryland and would get there as soon as he could.  Then he didn’t respond to my next text, and he didn’t answer when I called.  So we started the open house ourselves, and when it was halfway over, I texted him again to tell him to just skip it – go home.  He didn’t respond.  Later, we got an email about the horrendous traffic and how he’s so sorry and blah blah.  Sure, things happen.  But seriously?  Where the hell was he exactly, and why stop responding to me?  The fourth time was today.  About 90 minutes before the open house was scheduled to start, I got a text from him saying his dad is having chest pains and he’s going to the hospital to be there for him.  My response, again, is of course, I hope he’s okay, do what you need to do, we’ll handle the open house ourselves.  No response.  And we haven’t heard from him since.

So what’s going on?  We’re no longer certain when he’s being truthful.  Are these excuses to not do the open houses?  We’ve told him we understand if he doesn’t want to do it every single weekend.  He could get someone to cover for him (which he’s done once) or we could take a week off.  He’s the agent – what should we do?  He says keep doing them.  Okay, then.  He keeps sign in sheets when he does show up for them, but we never see them (we haven’t asked yet), and it seems like every week, 5-6 people come through (so he tells us when we get home).  But on those occasions when we do the open houses, we get one person.  Maybe two (it was two today).  So how is he always getting 5-6 people in?  Last week, he did the open house, and he said only two people came, so that felt true (even if it sucks).  Are the other times exaggerations?  Or the truth?

I can wear shoes!

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I never thought I’d be so excited about wearing shoes.  And socks!  Turns out a whole week of not being able to wear anything other than flip-flops is nearly more than I can take.  Mostly it was going a week without being able to run (or go to the gym for any reason, including zumba, because working out in flip-flops is not recommended) that was bothering me.  I was doing so well and working out so consistently!  Didn’t want to lose my momentum.

Why couldn’t I wear shoes?  That’s what happens when you have a violent encounter with a cabinet.  You lose (painfully) the toenail off your left big toe, and since it hurts so goddamn much, you can’t wear shoes.  That’s what happened to me last Saturday night.  I was in an unfamiliar hotel room, it was pitch black, I was trying to find my way to the bathroom, and boom: cabinet, toe, toenail askew, lots of profanity.  It was the middle of the night, though, so I continued on my way to the bathroom and back to bed and sleep (despite the throbbing).  It wasn’t until I got up the next morning that I actually looked at my toe (and the barely attached nail) and grossed myself out.  (And you just now, I’m sure.  Sorry.)  I’ll spare you the pictures (because I did take pictures).  Emily and Molly, my angels, went to a nearby drugstore and bought me some bandages and a pair of flip-flops (I didn’t have a single pair of completely open-toe shoes with me), and I patched myself up (mostly rinsing and covering) enough to get home.  Or to get to Urgent Care.  I went there first after 5 hours on the road (it was supposed to be a three-hour trip – this was not a good day).  The Urgent Care people, thankfully, were really nice.  They numbed my toe and removed my nail the rest of the way and sent it home with me.  I almost didn’t take it, but I figured I’d have to show John (who was appropriately creeped out that I thought he’d want to see my detached toenail.  But he totally did.).  Don’t worry, people – I threw it away the next day.  No one who comes to visit has to worry about mutant red-painted toenails crawling towards their feet.

My toe didn’t really hurt anymore by Friday, so that morning I tried to go for a run.  I didn’t get past putting on socks.  Socks are tight!  Did you ever think about that?  Too much pressure.  So I didn’t run on Friday.  Saturday was yard-work day, so I had the brilliant idea of borrowing John’s very large socks.  No pressure, I was able to put on shoes, and (lucky me) I was able to help with the weeding and mulching.  With that success behind me, I put on my own socks today, waited out the uncomfortable pressure for a few minutes, added my shoes, and out for a run I went.  I am back.  Thank goodness.  I was getting tired of flip-flops at work every day.  Everyone could hear me coming.

I need a little more Kermit in my life

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I started reading Jim Henson: The Biography.  The very first chapter describes a scene between Kermit and a little girl singing her ABC’s on Sesame Street, a scene I remembered as I was reading about it. I’ve seen that – it’s adorable.  Still, I read to the end and burst into tears.  You know, like anyone would.

That’s normal, right? (I’ve been a little stressed lately.)

Birthday Shenanigans

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I’ve been trying really hard to be a caring manager and a good boss, create a fun working environment, all that sort of thing, but I keep almost screwing up birthdays. (Hey, celebrating team birthdays is fun.)  I have everyone’s birthday on my work calendar, so I know when they’re coming up.

Incident #1: My calendar showed one for a new team member for last Tuesday (the 21st) and another one for last Friday (the 24th), so Tuesday morning, I went to Wegmans and picked up some balloons (we know how to party around here) and another coworker picked up cupcakes.  Well, Tuesday was the day the snow started midmorning and we all headed home early.  Coworker #1 (whose birthday it was) checked in with me because she wanted to avoid the commute altogether and work from home.  Whoops.  So much for her birthday stuff.  I emailed her back and wished her a happy birthday.  She responded with confusion.  Turns out her birthday was the following Monday – I was just completely wrong.  Nice.  The rest of us couldn’t let the cupcakes go to waste (or wait overnight), so we divvied them up and took them home.  J  She doesn’t know that.  And since Coworker #2’s birthday still really was Friday and he wasn’t coming in at all that day (Tuesday) because of the snow (so he wouldn’t know) AND he was going to be out on the actual day of his birthday, I moved the balloons over to his desk.  Recycling.  We had cake for him on Thursday.

Incident #2: The following Monday, Coworker #1’s ACTUAL birthday, I had planned to pick up a cookie cake and balloons on my way in.  TOTALLY forgot.  Thankfully, I get in almost an hour before she does, so I went racing back out to the store.  Back no more than a minute before she got in, but it totally counts.  She doesn’t have to know that, either.

I think I’ve wandered from the point.  What is my point?  Oh.  I’m trying really hard, guys, and still can barely get birthdays right.  It’s a wonder I ever get the real work right.

Saturday is running away from me

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I don’t know what happened.  I got up fairly early (8-ish), had a quick breakfast, went to the gym.  Well, that’s part of the problem: it was 11:30 when I got home.  Spent over an hour fighting to get Ubuntu to recognize my phone and when I gave up on that, AirDroid took forever to download the pictures off the phone.  Finally switched to my work laptop (running Windows), which has no problem recognizing my phone, so now I’ve backed everything up.  Today’s the day for a new phone.  I think.  I need to upgrade to a new version of Linux on my laptop, but when we looked at that last weekend, we found that my graphics card is too old to handle the latest version of Ubuntu (which is supposed to have no problems recognizing cell phones).  So…new laptop?  Maybe soon.  Phone first, since I had the screen problem (went dark and wouldn’t come back without a reboot prompted by removing and replacing the battery) three times this morning.  Super irritating.  Anyway, after the phone/laptop drama, John and I went into the basement to see if we could find more stuff to get rid of (we could), and now all of a sudden it’s almost 4.  Boo.  And we still need to make a run to Target.  I won’t make John come with me to the Sprint store.  When we went to replace his phone last month, we were there for nearly three hours.  I’m bringing my book.

It’s not always about baking

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Sunday morning, I realized the disadvantages of having a ton of cookies (I will eat ALL THE COOKIES).  I decided to offload some of them at Erik and Margaret’s house (John was not exactly on board with this decision – he’s never thrilled when I give cookies and pies away), where we finally met new baby Will (who wriggled against my shoulder for a while as I held him, puked down my arm and side, and then fell asleep – he made some cute cooing noises, so all is forgiven) and played with Corinne (who gets more adorable every time we see her).  When we got home in the afternoon, John dropped his phone on the porch and smashed the screen into smithereens.  He was overdue for a phone upgrade, so we headed to the Sprint store.  That took the rest of the day.  Seriously, we were there for nearly three hours.  At least two and a half.  There was only one guy working and only one woman in front of us, but she took FOREVER.  Getting a new phone is never quick (it took John about 30 minutes, maybe 40, and he already knew exactly what he wanted), but it doesn’t have to take an hour and a half.  And that’s just after we arrived.  Who knows how long she’d been there before we walked in.  But hey, it’s over, and John owns a new Nexus 5.

What I should have said to our real estate agent

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The relationship between a real estate agent and her client is purely business (or should be).  Just because I disagree with you doesn’t mean I don’t like you, but please remember that I hired you.  We’re not friends.  I don’t have to like you, and you don’t have to like me.  It’s nice when we like each other, sure.  And we certainly started that way.  But I reserve the right to stop liking you when you don’t listen to what I’m saying, completely disregard my opinion, assume I’m greedy, and then try to manipulate me into doing what you want.  EVEN THOUGH WHAT YOU WANT IS NOT IN MY BEST INTEREST.  It’s in YOURS, certainly, but not in mine.

Emotional blackmail will get you nowhere.  This is no longer a relationship (business or personal) I want to be in.  Luckily, we only have to wait a few weeks before we are free of you.

Happy Place

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During the meditation part of yoga class last night (my favorite part), I was thinking* about doing yoga at home.  I always mean to do it the rest of the week, but I never do.  Then last night, I realized that since we put the desk away (the one I had the puzzle out on – the table wasn’t big enough and the puzzle was going nowhere, so I quit), there’s a ton of open space in the library (that used to be the dining room).  It gets all of the morning and midday sunlight through the east window and the bay windows, so it’s a cheerful, sunny room, and ZOMG I’m going to do yoga in there!  Isn’t that just disgustingly perfect?  Yoga in a room with sunlight streaming from windows all around?  So I tried it this morning.  At 6:30.  Flaw #1: it’s still dark at 6:30.  Flaw #2: it was pouring down rain.  Actually, Flaw #2 was just fine with me.  I found a yoga station on Pandora, and that kind of music combined with the rain beating on the windows was very relaxing.  Then I lost all my zen peacefulness when I kicked the baby gate on my up the stairs and pulverized the toenail on my second toe.

*I don’t think I’m supposed to think during meditation, but it’s hard to just be.

 

I don’t plan to make that a habit

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We live in a very safe area.  I knew this already, but it was reinforced for me tonight.  I went out to pick up dinner from Noodles & Company (mac and cheese with meatballs for John, Bangkok curry with shrimp for me), which is located in one of those new mixed-use shopping centers, with lots of apartments upstairs and lots of shops and restaurants downstairs.  I parked right across from the place, went in, got ignored by the staff for a few minutes (for no reason I could tell – the place was completely empty), ordered our food, read my book while waiting, got the food, and left.  I was in there for maybe 15 minutes.  I walked outside and noticed my car immediately.  “Why is that so unusual?” you may ask.  “Surely you know where you parked, and since it was “right across from the place”, why wouldn’t you look right at it?”  “Well,” I might answer, “it was dark and lots of people drive cars like mine, so shut up.”  Most people, however, do NOT leave the driver’s side door open, even if it means the dome light will be on to welcome you in (which is what I saw immediately, by the by).  I’ll admit to being a little hesitant as I got closer to the car.  I mean, obviously I must have left the door open.  I seriously doubt some car thief got into my car and then left it like that.  But what if a crazy murderer had taken the opportunity to hide in my backseat?  Well, again, the light was on, and I could see that there wasn’t anyone in the car.  Couldn’t see into the back, though, so I checked the trunk, too.  THEN I got in and went home.  (Confession: I wasn’t that scared. There were lots of people around to hear me scream if I HAD found someone in the car.)  The real question is this: how on EARTH did I get out of the car and not close the door?  Usually, John gets on me because I slam it instead of closing it gently.  And it wasn’t just ajar or not quite latched – it was OPEN.  I can’t even blame this on the cold medicine.  Today was my first unmedicated day since Friday.  I should maybe just go to bed.  After I eat the rice krispie treat I’m pretty sure I got for free.  Maybe the guy felt bad for ignoring me.

I shouldn’t try sports that need actual equipment

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Despite my recent enthusiasm for shopping, Black Friday is still something I avoid.  Like the plague.  I have absolutely no interest in dealing with crowds of shoppers, and I think the day after Thanksgiving should be a national day of rest.  I did go to one store.  One superstore.  One store I have no need to ever visit again.  Cabela’s.  It’s a hunting/camping/fishing kind of store.  Like Bass Pro Shop, but with more taxidermied bears.  (I assume.  I’ve never been in a Bass Pro Shop, but it sounds more civilized.)  SO totally not my kind of store.  We tagged along with Emily and her boyfriend (who fishes) because, I guess, family time?  It was…interesting.  Aaaannd we came home with two bows.  With arrows.  Actual bows.  Well, junior bows, like toddler’s first bow.  Kid bows.  And blunt arrows (of course).  We set up cardboard boxes as a target in the backyard and pretended we were Robin Hood or Welsh longbowmen.  And you know what?  It’s kind of hard.  And kind of painful.  I don’t know if I was holding the darn thing wrong or what, but the string kept recoiling against the inside of my left elbow.  Out of 20 or so shots, the string hit me (hard) 3 or 4 times.  After the last one, I was about to start taking bets as to how long it would take before a bruise showed up when I rolled up my sleeve and actually looked at my arm.  That’s when I ended my illustrious career as an archer.  I already had the nastiest bruise I’ve ever seen, and on top of that, there was an egg-sized welt right in the middle.  Even now, three days later, I look like I caught a fast ball with my arm.  (The swelling went down pretty quickly after I iced it.)  So I’m retired now.  No more archery for me.

Maybe I’m overwhelmed

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I think I’m forgetting things more often lately.  Or having more frequent airhead moments.  I’m not sure if this is something I should be worrying about or not.  Is it really happening more?  Or am I just noticing it more?  Yesterday’s example is fairly mundane.  I was making a list on my phone for groceries.  While upstairs, I remembered that I needed to get Listerine, Zyrtec, and contact solution.  I repeated those three things to myself on my way down the stairs and added them to my list.  No problem.  I got to the store and made it to the right section.  Picked up the Listerine.  Thought to myself, “I’ll go down the aisle this way, turn the corner for the Zyrtec, and then come around the other end for the contact solution.”  Then I checked off all three items on my list.  Before I picked up the other two.  Why?  I don’t know – to save time?  Couldn’t tell you.  I got the Zyrtec and then headed to the other end of the store (in search of peanut butter and cereal, if you must know.  Turns out the peanut butter has moved into the coffee aisle.  I’m not crazy about the new look at my Wegmans.).  I got home, put everything away, and went about the rest of the day.  Then bedtime came around, and it was time to take my contacts out.  THAT’S when I noticed I didn’t buy any contact solution, and THAT’S when I remembered crossing it off my list and then NOT picking it up.  Ridiculous, but not really worrisome by itself.

A few weeks ago, I went to pick up dinner.  This place typically gives us bread and their really good, really garlicky, olive oil and parmesan dip, whether we ask for it or not.  John had specifically requested it, so I when I got in the car, I checked the bag.  More specifically, I leaned over the big paper bag, reached in, pulled out the little bag with the bread, looked at the two salads we’d ordered, and thought, “Hmm.  I guess they didn’t give us any bread.”  My left hand moved to put the bread bag back in with the salads, and I stopped, looked at the bag in my hand and said, “Holy shit.  I’m losing my mind.”  I can’t believe I did that.

Wanna know the punchline?  Those are only two examples, and while I know I’ve done other similar things, I can’t remember the details.

Bad end to a long day

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After a somewhat stressful day, I had a long drive home (in a good way – it was calming, not frustrating), and I was already to relax for the evening until I moved to get out of the car.  That’s when I realized I must have stepped in gum in the garage downtown, because my left shoe was practically glued to the rubber floor mat.  Gross gross gross ew EW.

I slipped my shoe off and left it on the front porch, went inside, and googled how to get rid of gum.  No time to waste!  It has been a LONG time since I had to figure that out.  WD-40 worked like a charm on my floor mat (Let it sit for a minute or two, then use a paper towel to wipe it away.  Repeat as needed.  I only had to do it twice.), but I’m still waiting to see how my shoe remedy will work.  I wrapped it in a plastic bag, pressing the plastic into the gum, and put it in the freezer.  Supposedly, the gum will come off with the plastic bag.  We’ll see.

To add insult to injury, while I was outside cleaning my floor mat, I got three (THREE!) mosquito bites.  Because mosquitoes are the devil.

Update: The plastic bag thing didn’t work at all.  Stupid gum.

Why should I put up with that?

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I went to see my doctor last week to have some blood drawn.  No big deal, really quick visit.  I was in the examination room for all of five minutes, but in that five minutes, I got really annoyed with my doctor.  She didn’t even really do anything – it was just the way she said something.  She asked me a question, and I said well, not really, but maybe a tiny bit this, and she jumped at that and said no, that’s wrong, which I heard as what? Are you crazy? Only crazy people would think that.  Stop it. So I shut down and yessed her until it was time for me to leave (which was only 30 seconds later).  I probably overreacted.  In fact, I’m sure I did, but I still think she was wrong and I was right-ish, and now I’m considering finding another doctor.  I’ve only been seeing this one for six years…  I’ve never felt strongly about her (it was her nurse practitioner I really liked, but she left for bigger and better things years ago), so I don’t really consider this any great loss.  It’s just a pain to find someone else.  Because I’m lazy.  But you already knew that.