Sniffle, Sniff, Sniff!

I want to start this post by stating LOUD & CLEAR, that I love my husband; he is my perfect match. Anyone who knows me intimately would probably agree that Aaron should be Sainted by the Diocese for putting up with me.

That said, every couple does a few things that drive the other nutso. I can openly admit that I consistently fail to put the caps back on anything (salad dressing, Tupperware, toothpaste) and it drives Aaron crazy.

Aaron, on the other hand, does something less intentionally that, never-the-less, drives me to insanity.

Poor Aaron has the sinus functioning of a pug. He struggles to breathe properly at night and the only thing he has found to give him relief are Breathe Right nasal strips. I am so glad he has found something that allows him to get better sleep at night but, I HATE these nasal strips.

Why? Because at some point in the middle of the night Aaron will peel them off (while he's sleeping) and they will inevitably end up somewhere. I have found them stuck to the headboard, stuck to the sheets (after they went through the wash!!!) I've had to pull them from Bing & Manny's fur and even had to disentangle one from my own hair. I seriously find these things everywhere and it's so annoying.

This particular day, unbeknown to Aaron, he wore one on his shirt all through breakfast. I neglected to inform him until after he got dressed for the day. Evil? Yes. Funny? For sure!

 

Do you see it?

Am I the only one?

It's time once again to fess up, people:

Am I the only one who: can't tolerate the look of an empty dish rack sitting on a counter? Either keep it filled with clean dishes or hide the thing under the sink.

Am I the only one who: the minute hangnail forms is forced to pick at it until I strike blood?

Am I the only one who: can't resist clicking on tempting news headlines? "Woman rubs buttocks on 10-million-dollar piece of art.", "198 pound tumor removed.", "Could that spot be skin cancer?" "Real invisibility cloak invented!"?

Am I the only one who: gives make-overs (in my mind) to strangers?

Am I the only one who: has to (sometimes) change the channel when I'm watching a reality show (like American Idol) because I get so embarrassed for the contestants?

Am I the only one who: on any given day contemplates trying out for "The Biggest Loser" because I feel like a neanderthal?

Am I the only one who: would like to remind the world that "a lot" is two words, not one?

Am I the only one who: gets incredibly pissed off by the mere sight of "Flo" on the Progressive commercials.

Am I the only one who: promises myself (with absolute certainty) that tomorrow I'm going to go crawling back to Planet Fitness... knowing full well I'm full of shit?

Am I the only one who: finds it amusing that when you order orange juice at a restaurant they basically bring you a shot glass of orange juice? How the hell do you expect me to ration that out?

Am I the only one who: Absolutely loves the "J.G Wentworth" commercial (the one on the bus with the viking opera singer)? "I have a structured settlement and I neeedddd casssshhhh noooowwwww."

The little engine that could-- but doesn't wanna

I think I'm getting old.

Or just tired.

I really don't like to use this as forum to complain but man, my schedule is just too much. And besides, who made that rule? Me? Yes. I can break the rules I make. That's the point of this whole blog. I make all these stupid rules for myself. I booby-trap my own life.

Maybe I'm beginning to realize the real joys in life are at home and what I used to see as accomplishment happens to be what has made me so busy. I know I can do anything. I've accomplished more in my 29 years than many have in a lifetime. I've proven it to myself (as I'm my worst and only critic.) So, can I be done now?

I'm tired, my body is telling me to slow-the-bleep-down, and I miss my husband while I'm out of the house working "24 hours per day."

Something has gotta give and it's not going to be me. Never, in a MILLION years, would I have thought I would be someone to slow down but I'm keeping my fingers crossed for new opportunities that will afford me the TIME to enjoy life a little bit more. I've been blessed enough for a lifetime and I've worked really hard for that. I can make peace with being a little less of everything I am right now.

I want to be home when it's still light out. I want to have dinner with my husband on a weeknight. I want the weekend to come and not be so completely exhausted that I use every ounce of my remaining energy to finish tasks I couldn't complete during the week. Maybe that's just the way life is and everyone's life is the same. For me, it's just getting old and tiresome...

wake-up

chores
work
sleep
wake-up
chores
work
sleep

I'm one of those people who really does work non-stop. I need to cure myself of myself... if that makes sense.

While I've been sick for the past 3 days (two of which I actually called out of work [GASP]) I've sat down and had a heart-to-heart with myself. What is keeping this train chugging along? I don't know. But there isn't any reason the train has to go full throttle.

Merely saying this out loud is a huge challenge for me. I'm not saying I can't do something (you hear that, Jessi?) I think I'm saying it's okay to take the less challenging trail... occasionally. Who knows, I might be able to enjoy the scenery a bit more.

My Christmas List

The past month or so has been horrible, absolutely horrible. I wouldn't even know where to begin to explain the details of "horrible" but I'll try to include a few specific examples of "my horrible" in this post.

What I will say, because I can’t stand being negative, is this blog has been very therapeutic, as has food, friends, and drinks ;)

(Yes, I have a subscription to US Weekly. Jealous?)

I have been so busy, so exhausted, and haven't been feeling well. I'd like to think I'm an optimist, or at least, people tell me I'm an optimist; I usually have a positive outlook on things or I try to find the bright side. Lately, however, that has been a little more difficult.

Wednesday was the day of the big snowstorm. I went work. Not a lot of people did, but I don't live far and I had a lot to do, so I went in (Aaron drove me, as he usually does on snow days.) Why did I do that? I should have just stayed home. I had vacation time. I had comp time. When I had to return to work at 11:00 PM that night to steal a space heater to warm my house, I was even more angry at myself for having already been in the office for most of the day when I should have taken a "snow-day."

On Wednesday evening our furnace died. Something malfunctioned and it caused the furnace to run when it shouldn't have. As a result, it cracked, spilling water into our basement. A repairman came on Thursday to "Mickey Mouse" it until we can get a new one installed. The Old Beast (as I call the furnace) is still running today and the man who fixed it said, "I'm not a magician. It could run for six hours, six days, or six months."

Really, we are just hoping it runs until summer when we will replace it.

Friday, our laptop started acting up. It kept freezing. It's still being very temperamental. We definitely need a new one. On-line shopping has been difficult, LOL. I’m just hoping that it will make it until my sister has time to back up all my pictures.

Saturday when we woke up, we noticed the upstairs toilet was leaking, or should I say, gushing onto our new tile floors. Aaron fixed that, but needed to find information online about the toilet, unfortunately the computer froze for the remainder of the day.

Later in the afternoon, we notice the temperature was dropping in our home. Aaron investigated to find the furnace had again stopped. He refilled it with water and it ran. Thank God. We are probably going to have to fill it with water everyday and watch it like a hawk. That's fine. It's running. I won't complain.

Yesterday I spent most of my day reading. I read 2 books this weekend. The first was Little Earthquakes by Jennifer Weiner. It was amazing. The second book I read I'll talk about in a moment, it's the point of this story.

As I was about half way through the second book, my mother-in-law called to ask if I had any pretty gift bags. "Of course I do, I'll bring them over." I grabbed the prettiest bag I could find and I yelled to Aaron to tell him that I would be right back, so he came up from the basement to give me a kiss. Poor Aaron. Poor, poor Aaron.

Aaron is a problem solver- BIG TIME. If something goes wrong, he is ready with 100 solutions. That can be a very good thing, or it can be a very bad thing. It's great when I need solutions- I have plenty to choose from. It's bad when I don't want solutions and I just want someone to listen, and let me vent. When I'm stressed out and I know there isn’t anything I can do about something, or someone, or a situation, I just want to vent. Hearing solutions tends to irritate me. But, alas, I digress.

Aaron can't fix the furnace, nor can he make thousands of dollars appear to get a new furnace immediately. He can't fix the computer, and while he can fix the toilet, he can't figure out why it leaked. This kills him. What he gets most upset about is that he feels like if he doesn't/can't do these things, then he is being neglectful to me. It kills him to feel like he isn't or can't take care of me.

He doesn't know how much he already does.

So, back to where I was heading with this. I was about to leave to head over to my in-laws-house. Aaron ran up from the basement to say "bye" (even though I'm going to be gone for less than ten minutes I still find it endearing.) He walked me to the door and as I reached for the handle I pulled it right out of the door. "What the f*ck!?" I screamed. Aaron came running back to see me there, holding our doorknob. He had a look of complete bewilderment on his face. I could see what he was thinking, “how am I going to fix this and why couldn’t it have happened to me?” He tries to protect me from even the smallest annoyances.

I looked at him. I put my hands on both of his shoulders and I said, "Baby, at least we still have each other." We laughed, hysterically actually, and took a few pictures. Then I left... through the back door.

When I returned home I finished the book I had started a few hours earlier, The Christmas List by Richard Paul Evans. It was probably one of the best books I have ever read, and, it's an easy read. The premise of the book is righting the wrongs you've done to others.

Now, I consider myself to be a pretty good person. I definitely have my moments, but I try to never intentionally hurt someone if I can help it. I don't steal, I'm pretty honest, almost to a fault, and I try to love life. Why on earth would all of these things be happening to me all at once?! What karma is biting me in the ass that I should have a horrible month at work, have some health issues, and have major house problems all happen within a week of getting bad news about a friend, constantly worrying about my grandfather, and being faced with a situation that makes you question who your friends are? Why did all of this happen right before Christmas? Why me? I have never felt so defeated in my life.

Then I started thinking about the book I had just finished. In the book there was a quote that I read, then read again, then over and over several times.

"When life is more than you can stand, kneel."

I really can handle what has been given to me. I am a positive person. It got me thinking that maybe the reason this is happening is so that I can see the gifts all around me- because I am strong and I can deal with all of this...all at once. Maybe I can't do it standing, but I do have some amazing people that can help share the load. I won't go through life angry at what I don't have, or who has cheated me (at least I try not to, I'm not perfect) and it made me realize that the people who feel like that, who keep score, really can't be all that happy.

Most people make Christmas lists full of things they want. There are always things I want. But this year, I'm going to make a list of things I have, and only one thing I want.

So, here is the list:

What I have:

• A beautiful home (I wanted the 1930's antique Cape. I need to accept the good and the bad that comes with old houses.)
• Some really great friends who are my biggest fans.
• An amazing husband who loves, adores, and supports me in every way possible.
• Aaron's family, who loves me as if I were their own.
• The best siblings a girl could ask for.
• Everything material that I need, and even a lot of things that I want.
• Stability.
• Great parents who, despite their flaws (we all have them) love me the best way they know how.
• An exceptional education and all the privileges that come along with it.
• A career that I love, regardless of the frustrations. I'm doing exactly what I said I was going to do 15 years ago. Who does that?
• A family that keeps me sane.
• Healthy animals that reinvent my world.
• Food in the fridge.
• Money in the bank.
• Pretty good health, minus one small detail.
• More love than any one person deserves.

What I want:

• Hope: That I never take this for granted and I am able to remember, every day, that: life goes on, I have more than any one person should, there is always someone to share the load, someone is always worse off than even my most horrible month and the humanity to give, in any way, to those who have less than I do.

Merry Christmas.

Say What?

Aaron can eat whatever he wants; something I hate love about him. Because he spends so many hours each week training and exercising he can eat whatever (and A LOT of whatever.)

I am quite the opposite. If I even smell food my pants get a bit snugger. Because of that I have to savor any type of junk food I buy. For example, I might buy a pack of peanut butter cups and take a bite out of one and put it back in the cabinet for later. Aaron, on the other hand, might buy a bag of chips and eat the whole thing in a sitting. Honestly, the cost of feeding Aaron while he's training is astronomical. I'm not complaining because he's definitely is easy on the eyes, but what I do HATE is when he eats MY stuff.

I know, I know, in marriage there is no "mine" or "yours." But, when it comes to food there certainly is a "mine" and a "yours." Often I will walk over the cupboard, quite excited for the rest of my whoopie pie only to find it has turned up missing.

J: Aaron! Where is my ________?
A: (innocently) Oh, it's been in there for a few days I thought you didn't want any more of it.
J: Of course I did. Do I need to start hiding food from you? Don't eat my stuff!

So tonight, as I was skulking around online and eating my pretzel rods, I had a thought, "You know Jessi, some Pepsi would be great right now." It's MY Pepsi and I purposely drink right from the liter just to mark my territory. As I walk over to the fridge, completely ignoring the concept of a glass, I lift the 2-liter-bottle and find it's a bit... light.

J: (screeching) Aaron!!!! Did you drink MY Pepsi? (completely pissed because he asserts that he isn't a Pepsi guy, he's a Coke guy- I'm a Pepsi girl.)
A: (startled... standing in the shower- fixing the window trim) Uh, I had a sip.
J: A sip? A SIP?! You took more than a sip... YOU TOOK A FREAKING CHUG-A-LUG!

I am turning into my parents. Who says chug-a-lug? In this argument, I immediately lost all credibility when I said chug-a-lug.

Grrrr! (Post 1 of 2 for tonight)

For the last 72 minutes I have been trying, unsuccessfully, to upload pictures from my bridal shower to this dang thing. I keep getting an error message every time! It's so frustrating! Now that I'm back in the "blogging mood" I can't even get a picture to post!!! What gives?

To add to my annoyance, I just checked my email and I received a message from Vista Print (a popular online printing company) that read:

Vista Print..........Fill you basket with BIG savings!!!

Can you spot the fail? What I find a bit more alarming is that I just had them print up the thank you cards for my bridal shower. FML. Those had better be PERFECT!!! Doesn't anyone proof read anything anymore?

As soon as blogger is working properly expect to see a lot more of me... until then... keep checking back my friends!

Say What?: FML

I have a saying that really isn't a secret (as it is actually a website.) I say it all the time. FML. It's a cute/cleaner way of saying: "Fuck my life", "this sucks", "why me?" and so forth... you get the point.

So I have a quote of the day and a huge FML.

On Tuesday, which was my birthday, my father called me and the conversation went something like this. (I'm paraphrasing as I have repressed much of it)

J: Hello?

D: Hi Baby! Happy Birthday!!!!

J: Thanks. What are you doing?

D: Oh, just working, you?

J: Heading into work.

D: You're working?! Today?!

J: Ah, yeah.

D: I might make a trip down tonight.

J: That's sweet Dad but I have plans. I don't get out of work until about 7:30 and then Aaron is bringing me out to dinner.

D: Oh, okay. Well are you coming home this weekend?

J: No.

D: Oh, I thought your high school reunion was Saturday.

J: It is.

D: Then you're coming home?

J: No, (annoyed) the reunion is in Portsmouth. (I grew up in Rochester)

D: Oh, where?

J: I don't know (Lie. I just suspect he would try to crash it) I haven't really been paying attention.

D: Well, is Kristy going?

J: Dad, I don't know (really annoyed) I haven't spoken to her in like... 10 years!

D: Well, (sweetly, in baby talk, which I despise) do you want to know what I got you for your birthday, just to tide you over until I can give it to you?

J: Sure.

D: It's a whole ensemble.

J: Gggrrreeeaaatt (ungratefully. I'm really not a bitch, but my dad is the worst gift-giver in the history of the world, just ask my brother; he received a spice rack.... three years in a row)

D: Okay, you ready for this?

J: (playfully sarcastic) I can barely contain myself.

D: I got you a Tweety baseball-type shirt, Tweety boxer shorts, Tweety flip-flops, do you know what a flip-flop is?

J: Yeah, if memory serves.

D: Oh wait, it doesn't end there.

J: Oh boy! (sarcastic and pissy)

D: The shirt is like a Red Sox shirt, but it has a Tweety bird right above your spleen. (Who uses the spleen as a point of measurement?!?!) And it comes with a bright yellow Tweety watch!

J: Wow, Dad. That's... a lot of yellow.

D: Yes, you LOVE yellow!!!

J: No, Nicki loved yellow... that was her favorite color.... about 15 years ago.

D: But remember how you used to love Tweety, and I used to call you Tweety?

J: Yep.

D: Oh and I got you something else.

J: Really? (Sounding somewhat hopeful/skeptical)

D: Well, you know how you're a history buff and all?

J: Yes, I do know that about myself.

D: I got you a giant poster, with all the 44 Presidents on it!!!

Legit. FUCK. MY. LIFE. What the hell am I going to do with that stuff?

Pack it in

My life, as I know it, has come to a screeching halt. This has nothing to do with the closing being delayed until Tuesday, it's.... almost.... worse.

I am a woman who likes routine. Living in the chaos I have been for the last few weeks has really taken its toll on me.

The events I endured this morning convince me that Armageddon is near.

Again, back to the routine.

Every single morning, when I get up, I do the exact same things over and over and over again; without deviation-- without fail. I walk down stairs, groggy, hit 1 minute on the microwave to heat up the coffee Aaron made for me before he left for work (he puts it in the microwave), and I then walk over to the pantry to get Manny and Bing a scoop of food. By then, I have about 10 or so seconds left on the microwave and I usually just open it up (leaving the time all messed up for Aaron's benefit), grab my coffee, and walk over to the table to have my coffee and go online before work.

This morning, all the same happened... except the coffee part. I flung open the door to find the microwave empty. It wasn't until then that I remembered, Aaron specifically prepped me for this last night. He reminded me on two occasions, "we are out of coffee, so you'll have to get some on the way to work."

How does this happen? We never run out of coffee. Then again, we always keep the fridge and pantry stocked, something we've been neglecting.

This is truly the straw that broke the camels back. Now I'm going to have to stop somewhere, probably Starbucks, and get some expensive imitation stuff. Aaron makes the BEST cup of coffee. Man, I'm screwed. My day is a loss. I might as well go back to bed.

Armageddon is near; run for cover.

Go Big or Go "Home"

Okay, people. I am losing my mind. Seriously. Losing. My. Mind.

Where have I lost it, you ask? Well, probably somewhere in this rat-hole of an apartment I'll be living in for the next four days. Since our closing date was set, and a few days prior to that, we just stopped caring for the apartment. It's driving me nut but I just don't have the time right now to do anything about it.

Seriously.... Anyone who has ever been to my house, or in my office for that matter, knows I suffer from O.C.D and thus, everything neat as a pin; not an item out of place. It's not something I'm proud of. It does impact my life, it probaly is diagnosable. Booo!

Right now our apartment is in complete and utter shambles as we prepare for our big move (moving from renting to owning, moving to a different, bigger city, and moving the entire life we've created here, together.) Yikes!

We have dishes in the sink, (never!) the bed has been left unmade for days, (gasp) I'm to the point that I don't even care about my attire; digging stuff out of the "mostly clean" pile of laundry, (the horror!) the living room is crammed with new furniture that isn't even unwrapped, (eek!) and I have chipped nail polish on my toenails (things like that bother me... a lot) But you know what? This is reality for us right now and I'm trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to be okay with it. I just struggle because I need peaceful, serene surrounds available to me when I come home from work and need to decompress.

Strangely, in the last few months (especially since I've been promoted) I've had people asking me how I get it all done. I don't even remember the last time I waxed my eyebrows. I'm not handling it all perfectly right now, but my job comes first (after my personal life, I must remind myself ;) then the move, then the wedding. So, I'm going to show you what I mean. This is the chaos I'm dealing with and I'm doing my best. It's not easy, and I'm barely pulling it off. But, in the end, I know it will be worth it when I have my "neat as a pin" white house with black shutters ;) Until then, it's like I'm living in a bad infomercial; just when I think I'm ahead of the game there is that voice yelling "BUT wait... there's more!"

My house never looks like this, and I hope it is many moons before it ever gets to this point again. I truly don't know how I'm going to make it until we move to the new place.

The Godfather, who?

So yesterday, being the good daughter I am, I answered a phone call from my father. I know, I know, that sounds awful that I am equating answering the phone with being a good daughter, but let me explain.

I had just arrived home from work when I really should have called out sick. When he called, I honestly contemplated not talking to him, not because I didn't want to talk to him (well, kinda) but also, being on the phone with my father requires a bit of... energy and... patience. Two things I didn't have yesterday.

There are several phone etiquette problems one faces while talking to my father, and I'll name a few here:

1. He always answers the phone, "Top of the world, God speaking." Ugg.

2. When trying to engage in conversation with him, be aware that he will simultaneously be in several conversations with others around him (his employees, his girlfriend, the waitperson at Benedict's Diner) or answering another phone (my dad has about 6 telephone numbers.)

3. Whomever happens to be within ear shot, he'll proudly and loudly exclaim, "I'm talking to my little bitty baby girl right now." Seriously?

4. He will often call when there is a song on the radio that reminds him of you, and make you listen to the entire thing. Don't worry, if you don't answer he'll leave it for you on your voicemail-- the whole damn thing.

But truly, what I hate the most, is when he hands the phone off, without warning, to some person who is near him. Yeah, I'm not kidding.
So yesterday here I am, sick as a dog, but still kind enough to talk to my dad and what's he do?

D: "There's someone here who you'd probably like to talk to."
J: (sounding exhausted) "No, Dad, please I don't feel good. I don't want to talk to anyone" (I barely want to talk to you.)
D: "Here he is..." (In the background he says to the person he's handing the phone to) "There's someone on the other end of the phone that wanted to say hi." (grrr! I don't want to say hi! How could I want to say hi when I don't even know who this per....)
Mystery Person: "Hello?"
J: "Hi."
MP: "How are you?"
J: "Good..." (Suddenly realizing I was talking to my Godfather, Don, who I haven't seen in about, oh, 20 years!)
MP: "Ah, who's this?"
J: (If I knew I could get away with it, I'd kill you Dad, you hear that?) "Um, this is Jessi, Don? Don? How are you?"
Don: "Oh, good............. Ah, where you living now?"
J: "Oh, you know, _____. Are you still living in that same big house?"
Don: "Yep, yeah. The big one."
J: "Well... How's Linda? Grandchildren?"
Don: "Yeah, she's good. Nice talking to you."
J: "Yeah, you too!"

My Dad returns to the phone:

D: "Hahaha, I know you hate when I do that, but you should talk to Don."
J: "Yeah, great Dad, he sounded thrilled to talk to me."
D: "Yeah wel..... (yelling to a co-worker) don't back that car in... can't you see.... Honey, I gotta go, I'll call you later."
J: "Yeah, (and I won't answer) bye."

Dear Rite Aid A-holes,

This is the email I sent this morning to Rite Aid.
Re: Their substandard treatment of me last night

To Whom It May Concern:

I wanted to let you know that I am absolutely disgusted with the treatment I received at your South Street store last night. So disgusted, in fact, that I will be transferring all my prescriptions to CVS on Hall Street.

I went to the pharmacy counter with over $100 dollars in prescriptions and medicines. Being a savvy consumer, I separated out the items according to what I could buy on my flex-card and what I would have to purchase separately. The cashier rang me through and added that she suspected "I could buy vitamins on my flex-card." I told her that I didn't think I could, but we could try it anyway. Once the vitamins were through, the entire purchase was denied (when it was originally accepted.) She voided the vitamins and rung me through again, but upon the completion of the transaction, I was denied for purchases that are normally approved.

The helpful cashier called the shift manager to the pharmacy register. On her way back to assist the transaction, the shift manager came to the counter already complaining about some freezer issue that's occurring in your store. Now, I am in the health care business, not retail, so I don't assume to know a great deal about how that end of the business runs. I do know, however, that problems internal to the store should be transparent to a customer. I honestly don't care about your freezer issues.

When the dismayed cashier tried to explain that she was confused as to what happened with my transaction, your gruff and glib shift manager sarcastically replied "Yeah, I'm confused too because I wasn’t back here to see what went on, she probably doesn't have enough money on her card to pay for the purchase."

Immediately I was infuriated. I am an educated professional who has a masters degree and am fiscally responsible. For her to assume that I didn't have enough money on my flex-card was a drastic oversight and rude assumption on her part. I am not going to guess why she made that assumption, but I certainly hope it had nothing to do with my appearance, for the reason I went to your pharmacy in the first place was because I HAVE THE FLU!

I assured the assumptive shift manager that I did in fact have enough on my card, about $700 to be exact and that I had recently called to check my balance; as I was aware, being fiscally responsible, that my time to make purchases was coming to an end.

The shift manager continued to be rude, assuring me that I did not have the $, and was also rude to the cashier who was trying to advocate for me. Unfortunately, I didn’t bother to get the shift manager's name, as she is not important enough for me to remember based on her treatment of me. Honestly, I would have gladly gotten into an intellectual battle with your shift manager if I weren't sick, but that wouldn’t have been very mature of me, would it?

However, I decided to only purchase the prescription I absolutely needed on my debit card (there was ample money on there too) and leave your establishment. I then went to CVS, and purchased $72 worth of OTC medications.

After calling my flex-card customer service center this morning, I was informed that Rite Aid did in fact preauthorize two transactions of $68.49 and 44.85 on my account. However, in the end, I didn't end up purchasing anything on my flex-card, only a prescription for $54.51 on my debit card. Can you explain these erroneous transactions? Does that constitute fraud?

I would have gladly remained a customer of your pharmacy had it just been some computer glitch, however, your shift manager; the representation of how Rite Aid conducts business, was not only rude but, further, insulted my intelligence.

Unfortunately being as close to my house as you are, I often frequent the pharmacy in between grocery shopping weeks, picking up odds and ends and usually purchase all my greeting cards there. My fiancé, who became infuriated upon hearing of the treatment I received, will be transferring his prescriptions to CVS as well. He also relied on Rite Aid for his prescriptions, greeting card purchases, and grocery items from time to time.

All in all, we probably spend (spent) about $2000 of household money at your pharmacy, a monetary benefit I'm certain CVS will gladly receive.

I do expect acknowledgement and explanation of the erroneous charges to my account, as I do not wish to resort to further actions to recoup your unnecessary charges, but will if my request is not met satisfactorily.

Sincerely,

Jessica & Aaron

Jeez Louise, I hate to have to throw my weight around and use the "education card," but I can not get over how mean that shift manager was to me last night. The poor cashier who was waiting on me didn't know what to do or say.

I may have been a tad bit "over-emotional" due to the fact that I have had a fever for three days (I know, I'm going to see Dr. Ma at 9:45) but I was still mad this morning when I woke up, a sure sign that I am not over-reacting.

I really am going to switch my prescriptions to CVS. Aaron wants to go into the store to see a manager, but I am trying to talk him out of it. Honestly, I can do more damage being a sarcastic, relentless blow-hard than he could by yelling at them for being mean to me. It would almost be a reprieve for them to deal with him instead of me because if I get backed into a corner I am a BITCH who goes straight for the throat- or the pockets in this case... hehehe...

What's up Doc?

For as long as I can remember I have been stricken with allergies. As I have heard it, apparently, the body is supposed to regenerate itself and change every seven years. While I have become healthier in some aspects, it seems I keep adding new allergies to my existing ones.

When I was little I was affected by things like pollen, flowers, dust, and typical hay-fever. When I grew a little older it became some metals like nickel and pewter; then cats and dogs and Dove soap and Aveeno lotion, and everything else. Now there seems to be something else that I am allergic to and I can't put my finger on it.

Last week, after waking up almost every night for two months with snot running down my face because I was so clogged up, (and at Aaron's *gentle* urging "For Christ's sake, go get yourself checked out so I can sleep!") I finally went to see my doctor.

My Doctor, oh my doctor. His name is Hongbao Ma, or 'Dr. Ma.' So far, I've liked Dr. Ma; he seems to be a very good doctor with only two downfalls. He speaks BROKEN English and, although he seems fairly young, he appears to have a poor memory as evidenced by him introducing himself every time we meet and informing me that it's nice to meet me.

Well, last week, he pissed me off and I am at my wits end!! I made the appointment and went in; the scenario when like this:

Dr: Hih Jes-ka, nice mee youah, I'm H(popping sound/unintelligible first name) Ma. (Hi Jessica, it's nice to meet you, I'm Hongbao Ma.)
J: Hi Dr. Ma, it's nice to SEE you again.
Dr: Wha bringy heeah? (What brings you here?)
J: I have really bad allergies that seem to be getting worse. I don't think my medication is working. I have been on it so long, can I get used to it? Does a body do that?
Dr: Youah sneeze?
J: (sigh) Yes.
Dr: Youah weeze?
J: (impatient) Yes.
Dr: Youah noo wunny? (Is your nose runny? OR- {Do you know how to play rummy} [?])
J: YES! (to both actually)
Dr: [Pulling out a pointy thing to stick in my ears] Ooh, oohkay, lemmee tack luuk. (Okay, lets have a looksie)
Dr: Youah ear foo snah!!! (Your ears are full of snot!!! {Or do you hear that futon?} not sure which [?])
J: (Ashamed/whisper) Yes.
Dr: (Moving to shove instrument up my nasal cavity) Oohh, youah noo cwogged up tie (Wow what'd ya know, your nose is also clogged! -OR- {Have you read any novels by John Updike [?])
J: (head bowed) Yes.
Dr: (In an excited tone) Jes-ka youah haah awwergy!!! (Jessica, brace yourself, I have some bad news. You suffer from severe allergies which do extensive damage to your quality of life)

Seriously? I left the office to go to the pharmacy for Nasonex nasal spray and Claritin (over-the- counter) "wiitoutahad" (Yeah, that took me a few times too. He wanted me to buy Claritin with out the D, so, NOT Claritin-D) I did, knowing it probably wouldn't work because I was switching from 180 mg of prescribed medication to over-the-counter 10 mg pills.

Sure enough I got worse... see my hives??? All over my body!!!



I call back and I'm told "Jes-ka, youha knee see awergest" So either my knee is their guest, or I'm guessing I need to make an appointment with an allergist.

Morning Rituals

I'm going to kill him.

Seriously.

Okay, I hear the snickers, gloating that finally something is "not peachy." Truthfully, we have hard times like every other couple. We fight (although we never yell, I hate loud noises) we ignore each other, we (I) give dirty looks, and we (I) pout until one of us (me) gets our way.

But this is it. He has sentenced himself to death.

I have a very difficult time sleeping; a gift from my Mother's side of the family. I can't get to sleep and once I am in la-la land it doesn't last. For instance, last night we went to be at 10:30 and I was out like a light around 11:15 but by 12:30 I was up, thinking it was time for work. I went back to sleep only wake again at 4:40am.

This is my normal process just about every night. So where does that leave me? Tired. For some odd reason I get my best sleep between the hours of about 3:30 and 7:30. I am, however, usually up around 6:00...

Coincidentally, the mornings I am able to sleep are the mornings that Aaron suddenly needs help dressing himself.

A: Baby? Baby, I know you're sleeping, but does this match?
J: (exaggerated inhale and exhale) I don't know (sarcasm) let me find my glasses so that I can check. (rummage loudly through the night stand to find my glasses, put them on with force, look.) Yes. (rip glasses off, put them on night stand, slam head back into pillow. heart beating too loudly to go back to sleep. damn)

This morning, in the hours of my best sleep, Aaron wakes me to ask about a symptom he is having because apparently I am the resident-freaking-dermatologist (he's having skin issues- nothing bad, just seasonal stuff.)

A: Baby, is this normal? Can you look at it?
J: Yes (sigh, resigned) lemme see. (reaching, squinting for glasses)

What does it take for a girl to get some sleep around here, seriously? I woke this morning with a terrible headache and I know it's because I slept like crap. This weekend, when I am up at 7:00 and he is sleeping soundly, wrapped in a cocoon of fleece blankets, I will suddenly find that to be an appropriate time to vacuum.

Gone to the dogs

I often ponder; If I were a McDonalds value meal, what would I be?
A Filthy McNasty of course.

While Aaron has been away I have not gotten anything accomplished, except of course work and spent an embarrassingly excessive amount of time on Facebook.

It all came to a head about 30 minutes ago when I passed by a reflective surface and saw my hair all astray, my shirt untucked, one pant leg rolled up and a stain on my pants. Good God, what have I become? I am prim and proper to some extent and as I sit here typing there are grease spots on the most commonly used keys of my laptop keyboard. What is the grease from you ask? Well, the entire pepperoni pizza I just washed down with a Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer.

God help us all.

a 55-gallon drum

Many people who read this blog know my dad. Probably most either know him directly or have heard some fable about him. He is a very strange man; sometimes funny, sometimes annoying.

Years and years ago my Dad drank a Pepsi and got ill that night. When I say 'ill' I don't mean long-term or terminal, I mean sick. After that, when ever we went out to eat and the server asked for a drink order, he would always feel obligated to explain his prior episode with Pepsi much to the horror of anyone within earshot.

Following his short lived *Pepsi boycott* he became a 'water person.' *I think it was a couple of years, but he would explain it to the server in a time-span of months... like a mother keeps track of her '22- month-old' my dad swore off Pepsi for 'x months'.*

My dad is extravagant; everything he does is "over the top." Now, when he orders water he will explain in great detail that he is diabetic and needs lots of water (for a visual to back up his story he will usually point to the plethora of medications he has brought into the restaurant and lined up at the edge of the table.) He always, without fail, asks the server to bring him out a "55-gallon-drum of water". Once the server brings him a glass he will pound it while holding up his pointer finger (motioning for them to wait) and then hand them the empty ice filled glass for a refill.

Honestly, I dread this.

What does this have to do with anything? We had our "fun day" at work the other day. We (my coworkers) went kayaking on the Contoocook River and had a team picnic on Daisy Beach, swam, went on a rope swing and so on... so much fun. Later, my boss took us all out for drinks and munchies. Now, I love a good drink from time to time but after I have been physically exerting myself in the sun, I know I need my H2O. Jokingly, I asked the server to bring me out a "big water" and he brought me this...

I am my father's daughter.

Planet Embarrassment? Oui.

The theme of my Oui is going to be a little different this week. When I invented the Oui, the purpose was to blog about something that made me happy, smile, and/or laugh. This Oui definitely has the last two covered. This is a true story; some of the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Aaron and I had a *horrible* time at the gym the other night. We forced ourselves to go when we really didn't want to which, was our first mistake.

First, it was pouring rain and we couldn't find parking. Then, I forgot my elastics so my hair was all over my face and I had to keep brushing it away. Once I started sweating and my hair stuck to my face I knew there was no hope for me being truly comfortable.

Then, I hopped onto the only available treadmill next to a person who was laughing, relentlessly, at what ever they were listening to in their IPod.

Additionally, my el-cheapo Mp3 player has the crappiest headphones ever made. You might as well try to stick a wine cork in your ear canal. So, while trying to brush my sweaty hair out of my face, I knocked the ear phones out of my ears with so much force, causing the Mp3 player to fall free from the headphone cord, onto the treadmill, and propel backward into some people standing by the garbage.

Did I mention I was jogging? Yep. Me hauling butt, going absolutely nowhere, but running like a fool, sweating, messing with my hair and listening to the butt-hole beside me giggling away at what I presume to be an audio book on tape. Mind you, he was giggling loud enough for me to hear it over "Come on Eileen."

So, my reaction? I turn around on the treadmill to grab my sorry Mp3 player, completely forgetting the law of inertia, (and that I was on moving treadmill.) I fling backward, facing forward but, luckily, giggling idiot reaches over to catch me in his moment of clarity. He caught me, but I almost slipped free from his grasp as his hands were all greasy from sweat, or laughing potion. God only knows.

So, naturally, I yell "You mutha f*cker!" Perhaps angry at my Mp3 player, or my hair, or Krusty the Clown laughing at absolutely nothing. Directly followed up by, "Sh*t!" Krusty asks, "What? Are you okay?" I reply "No, I am all messed up and now... now... I owe a dime." Dead silence, not even a chuckle.


I pull the emergency stop button, gather myself, and run to the other side of the gym to find Aaron at the bench press. I plead.


J: Lets go, we are leaving.
A: Why did you sh*t your pants?
J: What? No. Huh? Let's just go, I'll explain in the car.

We part, briefly, to use the locker room. I am out in record time refusing to do anything besides wash my hands. I wait at our "meeting spot" and after a few minutes Aaron emerges from the locker room, ghost white.


J: What?!
A: Nothing. (Sounding completely defeated.)
J: No seriously, what? (We are walking in the pouring rain toward the car)
A: I just saw the worst thing in my life.
J: WHAT?! You don't even know what just happened to me.
A: When I was in the locker room, changing just now, some dude comes in, drops his pants, and starts wiping his junk... while making eye contact with me!!! Then he starts inspecting it, right there, in the middle of everything!!
J: OMG. That is... what was he looking for?
A: I don't know!!! It was horrible. I left.
J: Who was it?
A: The guy you were running on the treadmill next to.


Honest to God, this really happened.
Only to us.

Jimmys vs Sprinkles

So, this topic has been a huge point of contention for me. Growing up I lovingly referred to the topping I add to my ice cream as "Jimmys." I would get a cone with "chocolate jimmys" *Please note* unless I am getting a sundae, still, I always get jimmys.

"Jimmys" is a New England term. Most other states, especially Southern states, call the topping "Sprinkles."

Sadly, when I was in graduate school and took a class called Race, Class and Gender, I was informed that Jimmy was a racial term. Apparently, it referred to Jim Crow's law, a law meant to secure segregation in residential areas. Rumors circulated everywhere, that Jimmy was not a term to be used.

Honestly, this confused me to no end. I have always referred to my favorite topping as Jimmys, but was my ignorance perpetuating racism? I don't know the answer to that, even still.

I have read up on this, simply because I want to call them Jimmys; for 26 years I knew them as Jimmys!!! My research has led me to the following; not sure what is true and what is false:

1. Most people consider, based on rumor, jimmy to be a racial term.

2. The word, Jimmy, came from the manufacturer who would donate $ to the Jimmy Fund every time someone purchased sprinkles on their ice cream (although the Jimmy Fund was established years after sprinkles were invented, so this is not factual.)

3. The man who ran the "sprinkle" machine in the factory was named Jimmy.

I have read a ton of articles on this topic, and I can not find a straight answer. There are too many conflicting reports with no concrete evidence. The true origin of the word is, probably, just a strange New England semantic. Unfortunately, without proof, most people are believing a sinister origin. So I have come to the conclusion I am going to call them sprinkles. I feel sad that I am not being true to the roots of my culture, where I was taught to call them Jimmys. But, I am also not willing to risk offending anyone of color or perpetuate racism.

So I guess it will be a small soft serve with chocolate sprinkles for me, please.

Five Curse!

Apparently I am not the person suffering from the $5 Curse! It seems most of America is singing along with me. Aaron, poor thing, is so badly afflicted he can barely manage a complete sentence before he belts it out at the top of his lungs (hand gestures and all) just as it has left my memory.

Perhaps, as an addictions specialist, I could think up a treatment plan and intervention to rehabilitate people suffering from the Subway 5 Disease...

My sister sent along a link showcasing one man's struggle with the curse. Click here to view, laugh, and then become an addict.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Five

Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have a coworker catch you mouthing the words and hand gestures to a song that you're singing over and over in your head?

If I hear this one more time I will go to the nearest Subway, and pee in the plastic bread container.

All it takes is for me to hear it, just once, and I am singing it all, all day, all day la-hong.