More This and That

DH was listening to the idiot Octomom 911 tape when listening to Howard Stern last week. I haven’t heard it yet, but DH said that is was maddening to listen to because she was completely off her rocker. Screeching and wailing, freaking out, but the worst was when the idiot said that she was going to kill herself… in front of the other children! The 911 operator had enough presence of mind to tell her not to say that in front of her kids. What a freaking nutcase. Those poor children!

 

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Why do people ignore their dogs? Barkbarkbark in this neighborhood for hours on end, all over the place. WTF? And I don’t get mad at the dogs—not their fault—but their stupid owners’ fault. Stupid people.

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I hiked for nearly an hour in Pima Canyon on Thursday morning, about elevenish. I was astonished that so many people were there. More importantly, I don’t believe that the South Mountain trails are really too kid-friendly. Lots of jagged rocks poking through the surface after all the rains this winter, a constant incline, no shade, etc etc. Are parents really so stupid these days?

 

No, wait, don’t answer that.

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I got my hockey pants in the mail today. I have to return them. They just won’t work; my ass is just too fat and they’re made for men who put the waistband of their pants below their beer (or Warcraft) bellies. Not surprised.

 

Today, I went to the hockey shop (Behind the Mask) near my house and a really nice guy helped me size a helmet and adjusted it for me, and even gave me the proper size of face cage. I also bought gloves. I’m about ready to go.

 

While we were chatting and he was adjusting my helmet, I asked him if the new facility in Queen Creek has been good for them. He said yes, actually, it has. There’s been more movement, more demand, more interest in this area. I later told him that for me it was a wash – I’m dead between the two facilities (see previous discussions of) and CSC has the baby leagues I need for now.

 

I said that it should be looking up – I see more and more kids and adults blading around, more than I’ve seen for years. Sports associated with inline skates invariably follow.

 

My clinic starts Tuesday. I’m excited but apprehensive. Am I ready? No. Am I anywhere near the shape I need to be in for this? Hell no. Doing it anyway.

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Earlier this month, The Young Victoria premiered in London. In this movie, the real life Queen Victoria’s great-great-great-great granddaughter (hmmm wait *mutters* Victoria, Edward, (g) George, (g-g) George, (gg-g) Elizabeth, (ggg-g)Andrew, (gggg-g) Beatrice… OK, good), Princess Beatrice–colloquially “of York”, properly “of Great Britain and Northern Ireland”–had a cameo as a lady in waiting. Princess Beatrice has the bug eyes of the Hanoverians and actually very strongly resembles a portrait of Queen Victoria done when she was in her twenties. Anyway, there was good reason for this royal kid to be there.

 

Here are Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie flanking their mother at the premiere:

 

 

 

(Photo: Entertainment Press/Splash News)

 

These girls are the granddaughters of the Queen of the United Kingdom, nieces to the recently-awarded Best Dressed Man (Prince Charles), and have access to the finest stylists and clothes in the world.

 

So WHY IN THE HELL ARE THEY DRESSED LIKE CRAP???

 

This isn’t the first time, and for criminy sakes you would think they’d learn. These young ladies are twenty and eighteen, supposedly somewhat sophisticated, and old enough to know that you don’t wear crappy off the rack items (or things that look like them) that fit poorly and/or make you look decades older than you are. Eugenie’s too young to wear something that makes her tits look like they’re already migrating south like a sixty year old, and Beatrice looks ghastly in that shapeless piece of crap. Their mother has learned to dress well, and their Wales and Phillips cousins dress beautifully. So why the horrible choices? Damn.

 

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 Check out my recent entries at Meant to Be, my sister blog. Things are moving along.

TGIF – With a Vengeance

I come into work, piddle around, check emails, then get to work. I go to log into the drive where everything is, and damn, they turned what we refer to as the “server” off last night. So I go into the copy room and turn it on.

Fan comes on high, then beep-beep-beep-beep, pause, beep-beep-beep-beep…

Oh, shit. Oh fuckity fuck fuck. We just bought this thing not four months ago. I hold the button to turn it off, perhaps it’ll reset. Nope: same as before.

I call my computer doctor husband, who looked it up for me and said, “You need to call Dell Support.”

Now, when he advises me to do that, I know I’m screwed. He knows all of the little byways to get a compy running. Add to this knowledge that Boss will completely flip out, and I’m freaked. DH gives me the number, and I sit on hold for twenty minutes to be connected with “Janet” and then later ”Natasha,” who don’t fool me–I’ve been connected to India. They’re as much “Janet” and “Natasha” as I am the Empress of Russia, so overlaying the instructional exchange is my struggle to understand their English. More fuckity fuck fuck rage.

I put Natasha on hold not only to find a screwdriver (in a law office?), but to pee–I’d been holding it for twenty minutes by that point because I didn’t want to be away when they decided to take me off hold. I calmed myself before grabbing said screwdriver and going back on the phone.

Thank God that it was only a loose memory board. Disaster had been averted. Boss doesn’t need to know that the work in this office nearly ground to a halt–he’s so damn lucky that I half a smidge of sense and know what to do when the compy takes a dump.

And things will get done today. It was a frustrating half hour, but I did it, and saved the day without anyone ever knowing.

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DH has a tentative offer on the plate–the recruiter called last night and had that most gratifying of questions: “When are you available?” DH is hoping that a firm offer is made today, and if it’s reasonable and fair, he’ll give notice in short order.

Last night, DH told me that the underground grapevine at his company is buzzing: the product that they staked the well-being of the company on has bombed. The company is hemorrhaging, and this is going to make it worse; add to it incredibly stupid decisions (I can’t go into them, as it would immediately identify the place), and it’s a recipe for disaster. At this rate, there won’t be a company. In the meantime,  his CFO is making his life hell, and DH can’t get out fast enough.

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I had my annual physical yesterday. Doc filled out my physical sheet for the adoption agency, chatting all the while. He put my health as “good” (because I’m a fat pig) and my mental health as “excellent.” Once that was done, on with the exam. My BP is disgustingly good (132/68), everything looks right, I feel fine.

Part of the yearly, of course, includes the one aspect of womanhood that Mommy never tells her daughters about. I have the best of doctors, with the gentlest of hands/techniques, but there just isn’t anything pleasant about metal being slid into the nether regions followed by the uncomfortable sensation of pressure and scraping. Sorry, gentlemen, your prostate exam doesn’t come close, even with the UFIA.

From there he did the palpation. Right side is fine, but the left seems swollen. He wants me to have an ultrasound done, just in case. Otherwise, everything seems fine. Of course, there’s that nasty, niggling feeling about it: the ectopic was in my left tube. Is it scarring? Cysts? Endometriosis? Tumor? Or, in my head the worse case scenario, is it another ectopic? Please, God, no.

I’m going to do it on Monday. Cross your fingers.

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Last weekend, we painted the kitchen and living room. The color is “Swiss Coffee” from Behr (it’s actually a base color for them), and oh my God it looks awesome. The pink was dirty and nasty and the new paint looks phenomenal. The room, as soon as it was completed, looked brighter, happier, cleaner, and the room looked much bigger. This weekend, we’ll do the baseboards and doors in white. It’s going to look awesome.

Then, on Monday, the tile folks come in. I wish to God we could afford to do the entire downstairs in tile. The place would look insane.

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Moving forward with adoption is contingent on what DH gets in terms of a job. I have bits and pieces of the docs to go with the application, but until there’s a yea or nay, we can’t in all conscience submit it. I still have to call the agency and tell them that it’s on hold for a bit.

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I hope this day goes fast. I need the weekend, and I hope Corona is on sale somewhere.