Location: Central Texas

I'm tired.

Wednesday, December 30, 2015


Through a drawn-out series of events at work, I now find myself in a position to buy many of the day-to-day things we need to get our jobs done.  I order pharmaceuticals and medical supplies, as well as procure some of the less strictly MEDICAL stuff that keeps the staff happy.  Things like feather dusters and really big bags of chocolate.

On the bottom of the whiteboard where we write our list of meds to be ordered is a box specifically set aside for the non-professional stuff.  Traditionally, our owner would buy those things from Sam's Club just down the road.  However, having gone to Sam's Club yesterday to continue the tradition, I was rudely awakened to the fact that they DON'T ACCEPT VISA CREDIT.  Visa debit is fine, but credit?  Fuck, no, thank you very much--we prefer to reject the most widely-used credit card in the cosmos because reasons!  So that led to my proclamation of "Bye, Felicia!" and the abandonment of a (very) full basket at the checkout counter for employees to re-shelve, followed by a grand exit during which I willed myself to believe that the Walton family (of WalMart fame) gives even the smallest rat's shit about the money they'll lose from my NOT buying 6 paper towel dispensers and a buttload of dish soap.  There's way more to the saga of Sam's, but it can all be summed up tidily by saying that Sam's Club sucks festering ass.

Anyway. . .

One of the items on the list yesterday was lube.  We use a LOT of lube.  On thermometers and our (gloved) fingers.  I'm sure you can imagine.  So while I was at Ass Sucking Central Command (Sam's Club) yesterday, gathering up all the stuff I wouldn't be allowed to buy, I had to ask the woman behind the pharmacy counter if they carried lube, which they don't.  (Because nobody involved with Sam's Club has need of lube.  Ever.)  Then I asked her, "Can you tell me where I can get lube in bulk?"

Let me reiterate:

"Can you tell me where I can get lube in bulk?"

I ASKED THAT QUESTION.  Shortly thereafter, I was informed by Sam's that my puny little Visa credit card with the $5,000 A MONTH limit wasn't good in their establishment.  So even if they had had it, I would have had to leave it behind.

Do you appreciate the difficulty of finding lube in bulk?

I had today off, and so went to WalMart (I love the Walton clan, I really do.  My cheapness almost always trumps every other consideration.)  There I found lube in 4-ounce tubes, and since they were only $1.98 apiece, I tossed 5 into my basket along with the packages of Sharpies and bottles of dish soap.  As I headed toward the checkout lines, I realized someone was going to have to handle all the lube to bag it up, and felt a little of what it must feel like to walk into the drugstore and buy condoms for the first time.  Did I really want some little old guy wondering just what in the name of fuck-all I needed FIVE tubes of lube for?  Not really.

So I bought a tote bag.  I bought a $5 tote bag EXCLUSIVELY for buying 5 tubes of lube, so I wouldn't have to go through the manned checkout lane and could instead go through the self-checkout where, for some bizarre reason, they don't have bags.  (Well, I guess it isn't that bizarre.  If there were bags at the self-checkout, they wouldn't be able to make sure they were charging us a dime each for them.  Because the Walton's need dimes.)

My stealthiness worked, and nobody accused me of being a whore, which was nice.

Upon taking my luby treasures to work, I discovered that we just usually bundle the request for lube into our usual order for Rimadyl and Phycox and CT Chews.  No biggie.

And then the Girl showed me online where I could buy a 50-gallon drum of lube.  I don't want to know how she knows.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

I would NOT like it!

In a coffee shop somewhere

(Happily surprised)  Hey!  How're you doing?

(hugging)  I'm great!  How are you?

Pretty well, actually.  I just got a promotion, so. . . you know, things are good!

That's awesome!  Will you be making more money?

Not at the beginning, but maybe soon?  We'll have to see how it goes.  

(grinning widely)  Well, I'm impressed.  I always knew you could do it.  

(looking around at others around, assessing)  Hey, is it warmish in here, or is it just me?

(also gauging everyone else in room)  No, I think it's just you.  Oh, did you hear that I'm going  to be moving soon?  The new house is way bigger, and I just LOVE the neighborhood.

(reaching up to touch own face)  Well, it'll certainly be better than living next door to that psychomoose you've had to deal with for years.  (laughing, but touching face with slightly more pressure.)

Don't I know it.  She pulled some crazy shit.

(poking at own cheeks with rising alarm)  Seriously, am I the only one who feels like this?  Is your face tingly at all?

No...are you okay?

(laughing again)  Oh, I'm fine.  I'm probably just dehydrated.  (signals waiter for a glass of water)

My brother once passed out cold in the middle of a picnic, and we were told he was dehydrated.  Personally, I think it was the 32 beers, but what do I know?

Uh, ha-ha!  Yeah.  (flicking fingers into cheek.)  Five six-packs will do that to you. . . (experimental, tentative smack across own face.)

What are you doing?

Being an alarmist, apparently.  I'm fine.  (deep breath, regroup, smiiiile)  So what prompted the move?  Aside from the neighbor, that is.  Didn't she burn carpet in the backyard that one time?  Who does that?

Yes!  Oh, my God, the smell!  It was like a tire factory in Detroit, or something.  But no, I'm moving to be closer to work and in a neighborhood that doesn't make me fear for my life.  The commute will go from an hour to something like 15 minutes.  Glorious!  Wait.  What--

(running fingers down face, pulling skin down into a rubber halloween mask inside-out lower eyelid screamfest)  Nothing.  Are you--  Can you feel--  Touch my face.

(recoiling almost imperceptibly) I don't know. . .


(reaching out and touching face)  Feels perfectly normal, okay?

(panicky) But I can't feel it!


(grabbing at YOU's shirt collar and yanking)  I think I might be having a stroke.  Does my face look funny?  Is one side all hangy?  Baby aspirin!  I need a baby aspirin!

I think that's for heart attacks...

(pretty darn shrieky) Really?  You feel the need to be pedantic RIGHT NOW?  I'm probably going to lose the ability to speak in about three minutes and you're withholding the aspirin?!

(backpedaling, literally) I'm not--

(making hurculean effort to calm the fuck down)  Breathe.  Breathe.  Okay.  Okaaaaaaaaay. . .  Phew.  I'm sorry, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to yell at you, but seriously--


(losing shit yet again)  WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY FACE?!

(deer in headlights, dude)  Normal!  It's normal!  Your face is totally normal!

(very stern)  No, it is NOT.  NORMAL.  I cannot FEEL IT.  Here, do this-- (grabs YOU's hand and smacks it back and forth across own face really, really hard)  

(yanks hand back)  Hey!


(freaked out beyond reason)  No, making your friend smash you across the face is definitely not normal!

(wild-eyed, freakishly animated) Call me an ambulance!  I can't feel my face and I need a hospital with doctors in it RIGHT NOW! Doctors with medicine and needles and soothy voices!

(starting to scuttle in an AWAY direction)  Yes, of course!  Stay right there!  I'll call, I'll call!  (sprints to nearest phone)

(sweating, squeezing cheeks and gritting teeth)  Hurry!  I--  I--  (calms quite abruptly)  Oh.  Okay, okay.  (touches cheek again, tremulous sigh) Hey, I, um . . .

(calling from across room)  They're on their way, okay?  It's just going to be a few minutes, so hold on.

(stupidly sheepish) Um, yeah, thanks.  I uh--  well, I feel kind of okay now, and. . . so maybe I don't need--

(really kind of livid.  I'm so sorry. . .)  ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?


(shouty and sounding very mean, even though I really did think I was--)  Everyone in this goddamn coffee shop is staring at us like we just punched a bunch of babies in the throat and you're OKAY NOW?  What the fuck?  What the ACTUAL fuck?!

(a teensy bit defensive) When you walked over there, it got better, okay?  It was only when I was WITH YOU, so I think maybe this is YOUR problem! (crossing arms because hmph!)

(totally unable to speak, probably overcome with guilt about what you caused.  You need to be more careful.)

Thursday, December 16, 2010

What next?

I have come to loathe whatever it is in the world that makes people get sick. Old age? A weakness of the system? Too many Krispy Kreme donuts? I don't know, but I hate it. And I want it to die in a way too obscene to put into words.

Seriously, this is the way people need to pass away: they age and age and age, and then one night, they go to bed, and they have a lovely dream from which they never wake up. Just like that. None of this, they age and age and age and then begin to forget everything, and then literally forget everything, including how to eat and breathe, and then waste away lying in a bed staring at the ceiling until one day the pauses between breaths get longer and longer until they just run together, and then there's no more anything. That's bullshit.

And no alien THINGS growing where they shouldn't be growing and making the things that are supposed to be there malfunction.

Nobody should ever get sick, and nobody should ever die. Or at least, nobody in MY family should ever get sick or die. Because both events suck, and I don't want to think about them even though they stare me in the face and poke at my chest and yell, "HEY! PAY ATTENTION TO MEEE!" If I don't think about it, it isn't real. That's how it works.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Something interesting?

Okay, how's this for interesting?

I have to go to the grocery store today after picking the Girl up from school. Just to get a very few things. Know what this is going to cause?

Unbridled drama. Great heart-rending sighs from the backseat. A whine that batters itself against my eardrums until they shatter and I'm rendered a quivering wreck with blood dripping off of my earlobes.

All because I want to pick up some salmon.

Damn you, tasty, tasty salmon!

Sunday, November 28, 2010

I guess it's been long enough

I have been admonished to keep up my blog. What is perhaps not understood is that I post when something INTERESTING happens. See where I'm going with this?

However, in the interest of family peace, I hereby update my blog. Ta-daaaa!

Let me see--Zoe is officially in 2nd grade, and we're gearing up to send her to a new school, since I have finally had my fill of ACE's shenanigans. However, for the time being she seems to be doing well. I am particularly impressed by her ability to read French words with the correct or nearly correct pronunciation. This is because she's Super Girl.

Halloween came and went with a LOVELY Cyndi Lauper costume. Much candy was begged for and received--it was a good night. And the costume didn't take her Sainted Mother countless hours to make this time. Just a few evenings for the skirt, and a few shopping trips to Wal Mart for the accessories. It's hard to see from this photo, but her hair was dyed red for the occasion, and lasted several days at school.

During Thanksgiving, she baked her first pumpkin pie and it was most photogenic. I signed on as her helper, so all I did was open cans and handle the oven and stuff like that. Everything else that had to be done was done at her hands. So I took a picture. I call this one:

Gang Pie
Seriously, I'm not sure I could have done any better. From what I understand, it tasted good, too! (Never could figure out the allure of pumpkin pie, myself. . .)

This has not been the most exciting of posts, but at least it's out here on the interwebs for all to see and snooze at--any questions about Christmas wish lists may be directed to my Amazon account, where both I and Zoe have lists posted.

Maybe next time I'll come up with something a bit more fun. . .

Friday, July 09, 2010


The Girl and I went to the Children's Museum today. This in itself was a huge triumph on her part, because I have grown to loathe the Children's Museum with almost every fiber of my being. Not because it isn't educational or fun for her, but because it makes me want to lynch myself from the boredom. When we walk in the doors and I get my first glimpse of the round lobby and the gift shop, my eyes glaze over and I turn inward, hoping I can make it through the next few hours without going on some sort of zombie-rampage.

On the second floor of the museum is a room devoted to creating stuff out of bits and pieces. There are egg cartons, colorful tape, crayons, scissors, ribbon, paper, you name it. And you can create anything imaginable (assuming your imagination is good enough.) We were sitting in there, across the table from a very large African American man and his two little daughters, and Zoe had found a wine cork. We also had a single strip of egg carton cups, and it was going to be a caterpillar with the cork as the head. Then she found a piece of grey styrofoam, but discarded it. I picked it up and discovered a hole in the underside. It fit perfectly on the cork. I handed it to Zoe, and said, "Hey, this could be his hair!" realizing too late that it looked almost exactly like Don King. Even though she doesn't know who Don King is, handing her a cork-head with a makeshift 'fro on it was going to open up a can of worms I wanted nothing to do with.

I went to work on the rest of the caterpillar, finding that crayons don't work on the styrofoam stuff most cartons are made out of. "Guess who this is!" Zoe hollers.

"I don't know."

"I'll give you a hint: he's holding a microphone!" Yeah, I know where this is going, and I'm wishing I was anywhere but here, anywhen but now.

"I. Don't. Know." Then I lean in and say, "Please be a little quieter."

Eye rolling. "Black hair and brown skin? Moooom. . . it's Michael Jackson!" And I'm thinking that the last time Michael Jackson had an actual 'fro was about 25 years ago, and also that the giant man four feet away from me is going to be offended by this aggressively white girl saying something that shouldn't be offensive at all, but could be twisted and construed to BE offensive somehow. I wanted to leap over the table to him and sob into his face that I'm NOT a bigot, and I didn't teach my kid that everybody with dark skin likes to talk about slavery! Honest! (Yes, she does seem to think that."

Nothing happened. We left Michael Jackson on the table and walked out. Really I should have kept him, because he looked a little bit like a mushroom.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

I have recently received complaints that I don't blog often enough.

My time is limited, and it might be better for all two of you who read this to just sit down at the kitchen table and talk to me directly. I might even feed you.

That being said, I am only writing tonight because I don't have the stamina to tackle yet another exam, but I do have just enough energy to blather for a while about something inane. Rather than try to be witty and urbane about everything, though, I'm going to make you a list, in no particular order of importance, of Stuff That Has Happened recently.

1. I bought a bicycle. "But Stef! Don't you already own a bicycle that you so frequently don't ride that it's covered in rust?!" you may be asking your computer screen. Yes! That is the case, but I discovered that my tendency to not ride my bicycle was a result of having a bicycle that sucked. I bought a Schwinn cruising cycle, which means it has upright handlebars, like the bicycles used to have when I was a kid. There are no handbrakes, but pedal brakes, and there is only a single speed. It is bubble gum pink and has a little ledge on back where I can bungee my belongings. This bike is a joy to ride, and you'd think I'd be a size 8 again because I like it so much, but that's not the case. Perhaps I should try not eating Sonic cheese tots every day of my life.

2. I ate Sonic cheese tots every day of my life up until the Girl got out of school, which was also when I had to stop my internship at the clinic, which was situated 3 blocks away from Sonic, where the cheese tots dwell. Presto! Now they are only a guilty pleasure. And I do mean guilty. But that doesn't stop me.

3. I am a semester and a half away from finally graduating. (Yay.) I am also about 6 and a half months away from taking the VTNE. (Boo.) I say boo because I'm not sure I'll pass it without killing myself studying, and those in the know are well aware of my abilities to study consistently. (I don't have any.)

4. I have decided that what my life needs is simplicity (plus a lot of money.) Along that line, I have decided that I am going to, in essence, pick up the house, dump everything out, and start over. I'm talking brutality here, okay? If we haven't used it in 6 months, it goes away. I don't care who gave it to us or where it came from. If we're keeping it, it had better have a darn good story about how it came to be ours! For instance, I probably won't throw out my wedding shoes. Yeah, I wore them for about 4 or 5 hours one day over 10 years ago, but dammit, the Girl is going to have big gunboat feet, too, so maybe she can wear them! Underwear and socks are going away, because I have about 300 mismatched widow socks, and an equal number of pieces of underwear that are either too small, too big, cut funny, holey or just plain weird. I've already started on my clothes and the Girl's clothes (about 5 lawn and leaf bags full!) and shoes. Towels and other linen closet stuff goes next, along with kitchen gadgets and old cans of food pushed to the back of the pantry. The Girl's old bike and kid kitchen are going on Craigslist (with her permission, of course. She gets the cash!)

5. Once the simplicity is established, it will be further enhanced by the cleaning person/people I'm fixing to hire, and the interiors company that I plan to have in to strip our nauseating wallpaper, retexture the walls, and paint. Which will then mean we have to buy new towels for the bathrooms and possibly lay down some carpet tiles in the living, dining, and bedrooms. And also new curtains, naturally, and maybe new kitchen and guest bath cabinetry. But all that stuff? SIMPLE!

6. The simplicity will continue on in our food. I am trying to get away from all the prepackaged stuff and go more toward whole foods, but I'm having a terrible time. The biggest obstacle is the Girl's need for snack foods, and to be honest, as much as I'd like to be able to make my own fruit leather and crackers, it just isn't happening. I do try to get stuff that's organic or without hydrogenated death powder in it, but sometimes, you've just gotta have a Pop-Tart. (Okay, not really. I don't eat them because of the Gluten, the Girl isn't allowed to have them, and Zach doesn't eat them because he's too smart for that. I do, however, occasionally give the Girl the treat of Fiber One toaster pastries. They're just as bad as Pop-Tarts, but at least you poop them out, faster.) At any rate, this means that I'll be cooking more often, which is a good thing, and eating healthier foods, which is also a plus. Now if I can only figure out a way to get the Girl to stop seeing veggies as The Enemy. Does anybody have a recipe for Vegetable Ranch Dressing Soup? Hmmmm. If nobody does, maybe I could develop one! Note to self. . .

7. I have finally become slightly better at jugular blood draws, and intubated another dog last week. I am in love with my job. How many people can say that? Seriously, I love it. I feel more confident (except about the state boards!) and feel like I can figure out almost anything people need me to do there. Now all I have to really work on is my fear of handling cats. As much as I love Mr. Kitty (and I do love him something awful!) I still believe cats are evilish. But I'm not afraid to scruff them anymore!

8. We are raising 10 Black Swallowtail caterpillars in a butterfly habitat on our kitchen table. Thus far, 5 have become crysalises and there's one more getting restless which is what they do the day before they suspend themselves from a branch and go to sleep. Of the four remaining, I'm pretty sure one is retarded. Curious to see how he'll turn out.

9. There are probably way more things to blather about, but I can't remember them now, and even if I did, I wouldn't feel like writing about them, so instead I leave you with this quote from Eric Cartman:

"Hell YES I want Cheesy Poofs! Stupid Mom. . ."