Meowy Kissmouse!

As we always tell the cats and dogs. :D Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were pretty good. Yesterday, I cooked a pork roast and we opened presents. Mr. Samoa got me fuzzy sockies. :D Today, we went up to Mom and Dad's and had ham, etc. and opened presents there. For reasons that never became completely clear, Mom was in love with the $1 mini feather duster that I got her at Dollar General. I figured if one was going to give someone dust catchers, one should give them something to dust them with, but I never expected her to gush over the feather duster! (shrugs) Mr. Samoa got a new bathrobe, with which he is very pleased. Merry Christmas once again to all!

Umm... yeah.

So I was sitting here, just now, playing Diablo and minding my own business. Then, I heard the jingling of bells outside. Mr. Samoa and I looked out to see Santa's sleigh wheel by on the road. With jingle bells and all. It just went by again, and I *think* it might be a salt truck that has jingle bells on it for some reason. I'm not sure. Considering it's Dec. 23, it's all rather surreal.

Today, 3:30 AM.

The dogs struck again. :P

It got butt-cold last night, into the single digits, so we took Pepper and put him in the garage. He must not have been that cold, however, as evidenced by the following. At 3:30 AM, I heard Pumpkin start to bark. This woke me just in time to hear the jingle of Pepper's dog tags as he sprinted by the garage, having wiggled out through a crack in the door. So, leap out of bed, get coat and slippers. I got out, no sign of Pepper. I could hear jingling, however, so I called him and he came. As it turned out, he had gone next door to see if his friends that live there were up for some play in the middle of the night. : P I beat down my homicidal urges, praised him for coming when called, and put him back up in his doghouse. If he's warm enough to be an asshole, he's warm enough to be in his house, I say. :P Dog BBQ, anyone?

SUNDAY

I actually don't think anything happened. I vacuumed, I baked some cookies, we did laundry. The wee hours of this morning more than made up for it, though. :P

SATURDAY

Oh, Gawd. This is giving me flashbacks just thinking about it. :P

Mr. Samoa's job involves doing work when the little weasels at Bugpit U are not using the computer system, to wit weird hours of the night. Saturday in the wee hours was one such time, meaning Mr. S had to get up at 3 AM. Even that wasn't the problem. The problem was that he kept snoring, I'd poke him, and then he'd jump straight up and try to shut off his alarm and grab his glasses. I would then have to drag him back into bed. This happened like 3 or 4 times. I have never been so glad to shove him out the door so I could sleep. :P

FRIDAY

Yeah. So Thursday night, I collapsed all right. Y'see, I lost my med key. Which I did not discover until I got to Shady Acres. And the spare key at SA is no more. So there I was. Tossed the med room, went home, tossed our house, went back, tossed the group home. All to no avail. They did get their meds in the end, but I didn't find my key until after that. Mr. Samoa finally found it at theeee very bottom of our laundry hamper. I might mention that it's now attached to my car keys, so that that won't happen again. Blech. :P

TODAY

I am soooooo going to pay for this tomorrow.

8 AM: Down to Samoaville, where the Shady Acres corporate office is located, for training. I can now save your life, at least mostly.

Noon: Back to Bugpit. Walk dogs, eat lunch.

1 PM: Head to Cakeville to meet up with Caroline and Saskia. Field phone call from Shady Acres, who have forgotten that I had training today. :P Shop. (As it turns out, tiny babies are highly portable. Who knew?)

2 PM-6 PM: Shop/head home from Cakeville. Struggle to stay awake.

8 PM: I'm going to be heading in to Shady Acres to pass meds. I am going to guess that this will lead to:

10 PM: Collapse.

Good times! :P

WEDNESDAY

Today was the Shady Acres staff Christmas party. I brought deviled eggs, which in Zen-Samoa parlance were "fooped" (inhaled by the populace) immediately upon their arrival. I did get a present, which surprised me pleasantly, as I had put my name in the drawing late and thought I might not get in. The "other Zen" (there's a girl at work whose name is also Zen) had gotten me a scrapbooking kit. She and Mr. Samoa had collaborated on the matter, as it turned out. :D

TUESDAY

I don't remember what happened, which I am guessing is a good thing. I think Tricia and I went grocery shopping. Uneventful is good.

MONDAY

The Friday drama came to naught, as usual. (Did I mention that I hate the full moon?) Had to take Mary to the doctor as she was sick. Then had to hunt through TWO pharmacies to get her cough prescription filled, and then it wasn't covered by insurance, so had to go back to the home, get a check, go BACK to the pharmacy... you get the picture. The wonders of the State of Ohio at work!

Here goes- SUNDAY

OK, so this is going to be a gigantic update because I've been busy/tired/busy/tired.

On this day, we went to Mom and Dad Cake's and helped them decorate their Christmas tree. I think Mom is going to get a real one again next year, because she hates the artificial one. I have no idea why they got an artificial one to begin with, as they hate it so. I think she thought it was asking too much for Mr. Samoa and I to drag it upstairs, but WE. DON'T. CARE! We'd rather drag than listen to grouching about the fake one! Ah well, here's hope for next year.

Today

Still recovering from yesterday. Trying not to lose momentum in hatching my escape plan, as this has been going on for years now and I need to accept that it isn't going to change. Cats are in window hoping for birds. :)

Friday

All hell broke loose. Without going into gory detail, let's just say that 1)I work with total and utter idiots 2) if I'm going to be expected to babysit them as well as look after residents, I want a HELL of a lot more money. I so need to get out of there. Did I mention that yesterday was the biggest full moon of the year?

Thursday

Resident to Metropolis for procedure. Relatively uneventful, BUT...

Awww II

Tonight, we were at Le Chic Food Shoppe. Mr. Samoa paused and was examining the gluten-free food section. I was a bit confuzzled, as nobody at our house has celiac disease, so I asked him why. Turns out that one of his coworkers has celiac, and he was hoping to find something to take to the yearly Christmas party for the fellow to eat. (All together now- "AWWWWW!") We purchased some GF chocolate chip cookies, so hopefully they will be good.

Funny

So I'm driving to work today. I'm on the road to Shady Acres when I see a car driving very slowly.

Now, a bit of background. There is a treeline off to the side of Shady Acres Group Home. Behind that is a field, in which normally live two horses. Which explained the following. I got closer, and realized that in front of the car were two horses. The neighbor horses. Being led by the neighbor, who had steam coming out of his ears. The car was being driven by Mrs. Neighbor, apparently to help herd them. I couldn't help but giggle. :D

MONDAY

I don't remember. So I'm guessing it wasn't too memorable. :P

The Cake Curse continues

So every time we try to go somewhere with Mom and Dad, it never fails that the elements throw a fit. Last night's 1.5 inches of snow during Dad's and my birthday dinner was no exception. :P Le sigh.

Kewtness!

So Tagalong, Fiance (I need to think of a blog name for him, as WeLoveYouPleaseDon'tEverGoAway is too long) and the kids came over in order to see the snake eat. (He obliged.) While there, we had to explain to Daisy that she couldn't go in Mittens' room as that is where the Christmas presents are. She asked if the room was "Mittens' home". We said basically, yeah. "So she is the guarder of the Christmas presents?" I just thought that was kinda cute. :D

Happy Birthday to Dad!

Dad Cake is 63 as of the 4th. Yes, our birthdays are back to back. A tradition in our family!

Happy Birthday to me!

As of the 3rd, I am now 31! Hence delayed blogging.

The uses of puppehs

I was sitting here just now, typing, when a white van pulled up in the yard and stopped. I could not see insignia but granted, I was looking through the pine tree in front of our front window. . The dogs set up a racket. The van left. >:) Treats were dispensed. I guess I'll refrain from turning them into a rug for another year!

Happy December!

Now can we all go to Hawaii? :P We fibromites do not so much do snow.

Eep!

Guess I really HAVE been busy! :P Now to play catchup.

We can haz Christmas tree!

So, we got a Christmas tree, our old fake one having expired last year.

I wanted a "live-with-roots" tree, or a "dug tree" as they are apparently called. However, all the real trees in the area were cut. So, we thought we were going to have to drive an hour and a half to the nearest tree farm that I could find online. Ecch.

However, all was not lost! We were leaving Lowe's, dejected, when we happened to drive past the Bugpit Farmers' Market. They had live-with-roots trees! Lots of them! We happily purchased one, and were saved from having to drive to Timbuktu. :D Yay!

(On another note, we discovered, AFTER this, that there were not one, but TWO tree farms selling dug trees right on the road to Caroline and Mr. C's house. Oh well. We lived.)

I was JOKING, people

Look, World At Large. When I said I didn't want to go shopping today because "I wanted to live", it was a joke. That's all. A figure of speech. There was no need, none whatsoever, to start actually killing people in order to prove my point!

http://www.newsroomamerica.com/usa/story.php?id=439053 I cannot honestly say that I can think of anything that could possibly be a good enough deal to justify trampling someone, folks! Sigh.

Happy Thanksgiving

We ate a great deal, as per usual. Mom and Dad's pets, Agnes and Cookie, were very happy to see us. (Agnes is a plump tabby cat and Cookie is a Japanese Chin a la Pumpkin.) Cookie will soon be going to the vet's for his grooming. He likes it there, so he is happy. I say, burp.

A Thanksgiving Tale

Gather 'round the fire, kiddies, and I will tell you a tale of Thanksgiving past. Crossposted, too!

This event is one of the many reasons why we no longer do holidays with the Samoa side of the family.

It was Thanksgiving of 2005. The day before Thanksgiving, I got home from work and Mr. Samoa said Mother Samoa had called. The message was that I must make sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving! It was an emergency! There were none! The earth was doomed! Now, I'd never cooked sweet potatoes before in my life, Mom always gets the canned kind. But I wanted to do this up right. I got my boss' sweet potato casserole recipe, we ran around getting all the stuff to make it with. We had to go to TWO grocery stores before we could find any brown sugar, and even then it was some kind of weird organic brown sugar because that's all there was. All this the night before Thanksgiving, right?

So I got it made, we headed to the ILs. We all sat down to dinner, we're eating, when Mr. Samoa noticed that Dad Samoa, Mr. Samoa and I were the only ones eating said casserole. (Remember? The one that the earth was going to come to an end if it wasn't made?) I had noticed, too, and had pretty much thought "Weirdos" and moved on, but Mr. Samoa said something like "Have you tried the sweet potatoes?" or whatever. At which point, Mother Samoa chirped, "Oh, we don't like sweet potatoes! We just thought you wanted them!" Tagalong cheerfully agreed. Now, fortunately for them, the carving knife was nowhere near me, or I'd be typing this from jail. Dad Samoa looked like he couldn't decide if he wanted to die from embarrassment or strangle them both. Yeah, no more ILs for Thanksgiving. (And that's *before* you get to Dad Samoa and the turkey-fryer-in-garage yearly dance with death. :P But I digress. )

Want to know why I'm blogging...

At 2:30 in the morning? BECAUSE I'M STILL COUGHING, THAT'S WHY. I feel fine otherwise, but I'm STILL FUCKING COUGHING. The count so far is we-lost-count-at-12 bags of Ludens cough drops, 4 bottles of Vicks 44 "Chesty Cough" cough syrup (I have porn-star cough syrup. Hee.) and about 3 boxes of Kleenex. I am going to cough for the rest of my life. I'm fairly confident of this at this point.

Happy Birthday!

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday, Mr. Samoa

Happy birthday to you!!!

(He is 32 today!)

Oh my

So we had Mr. Samoa's birthday party yesterday at Pizza Dwelling. Tagalong came, and brought her fiance, his kids, and Daisy. Fiance and kids are all very nice fellows. I did, however, come to a disturbing realization. After all these years of going around and around and around with me... Fiance is basically a male version of me, sans the bitchy. I don't know what to make of that! :D

TODAY

Trying to work up the energy to go take a shower. :P Spoke with Caroline. Saskia is doing very well, and squeaky. :D We likes the squeaks!

FRIDAY

BossLady annoying me, but so what else is new. Got paid, finished Mr. Samoa's birthday shopping.

THURSDAY

Finally got to take Mary the Client out for a morning, and nothing went wrong. This was exceptional.

Catchup time- WEDNESDAY

I don't think anything exceptionable happened on Wednesday, except that it was COLD. Is it July yet?

Remind me

Never, ever, ever to utilize the services of Metro University Hospitals. For any reason. They're nuts.

Having finally pried Saskia out of their clutches, we had Bob the Client up there for a checkup today. The highlights were:

*Getting pissy when we explained that, per facility procedure, we could not bring them Bob's actual pill bottles (we had Bob's administration records, which are more reliable for what they needed them for!)

* Wanting to perform a fairly painful procedure on Bob, then and there, without anesthesia. (Bob settled that one. It did not happen. >:) )

*Miscellaneous bizarre behavior that you kind of had to be there for, but trust me, it was bizarre.

Now, Metro University Hospitals are nationally renowned. What the hell for, I surely do not know. They're insane. All of them. Mr. Samoa is under strict instructions to keep me out of their clutches at all costs. I'd rather brave Krueger Memorial, the local hospital, than deal with these loons. And that is saying something!

I HATE WINTER

I have not been able to properly get warm all. freaking. day. I want to move to Hawaii.

Just checking

Just making sure everything got back to normal, postwise. Blogger does not like me for some reason. :P

Guess what?

SASKIA IS HOME!!!!!


That is all. :D

Awwww

Yesterday, a coworker of Mr. Samoa's made a fairly serious work boo-boo. He felt very bad. Today, Mr. Samoa took him some of the chocolate chip cookies I baked last night, to make him feel better. How cute is that? :D

Howwwl!

It's a full moon. This makes work suck.

They say it's all a myth. It's not. Ask any cop, nurse, EMT, teacher, long-term-care aide. They all go howling, flaming batshit around the time of the full moon. Every. single. one. of them. I'd discuss it more, but I'm still traumatized. :P

Pumpkin

He is recovering very nicely from his, er, surgery. I guess I don't have to ship him to a local restaurant after all!

TODAY

Went to the cemeteries for Veterans' Day. Left flowers on Caroline's mom's grave and Grandma's grave. Grandma would have been 93 today! Also, went up to Metro City and saw Saskia. Nurses were still bitchy (all except one, whose name I wish I had gotten because she was super sweet) but we got a piece of Very Good News. I'm not going to blog it yet until it happens because I don't want to jinx them, but it's Very Good News all the same!

MONDAY

I took Monday and Tuesday off, so I cleaned. Also, Pumpkin went to the vet, and had his, er, "tonsillectomy". He is recovering well. Hopefully, this will put a stop to him humping his brother's head. :P

Catching up yet again

Sunday, Mr. Samoa and I went to the craft store and then to the bookstore. I think we're beggared, but it was fun. :D

It works everywhere!

The Voice of Doom works even on small children!

So we were in the Chinese buffet in the mall last night. They seated a group behind us that Mr. Samoa knew slightly (it was one of his old college professors, Prof's mildly autistic brother, and Prof's 2 kids). Prof is divorced and is a "weekend daddy", which is going to get important in a moment.

Prof had to go get food for the kids, so left the kids with Brother. (I would say kids are about 3 or 4 and 18 mos. respectively) Well, Brother did not know enough to correct the child when he starts trying to crawl OVER TOP OF THE BOOTH into ours! o_O Had he not been stopped, he would have either cracked his skull open on our table or landed square on Mr. Samoa's head. So I decided to take a chance on being bitched out (I figured it was the lesser of two evils between "damaged kid/Mr.Samoa and irate parent"), signed "sit" and said, "Nononono, sweetie, you're going to fall!" So, sit he did, rather to my surprise.

Well, I did not get bitched out. It became rather clear from the subsequent father-son interactions that the poor man had no idea how to deal with kids and rather welcomed assistance. ("Tyyloxx, WHAT are you DOING?" in increasingly crazed/desperate tones). I can live with this; I do not mind doing the disciplining, I DO mind when they're clueless but throw a fit when you try to do it. So, we had here a situation that was manageable, and I must admit to finding myself struggling to keep a straight face!

So, then the kid tries to climb over again. This time I signed "No" and said very calmly but firmly, "NO, sweetie. You need to sit." Little Tyyloxx did a double take, sat back down and was not seen in our booth again for the rest of the meal! Choirs of angels sang.

Moral of the story: 1)If I can do it, you can too. 2) Parents, take a clue from this man. If for some reason you cannot handle your kid, don't bitch when someone who can, does. At least he got that far!

On the bright side

For the first time since starting at Shady Acres, I have Grandma's birthday off. Grandma would have been 93 on Nov. 11. We are going to the cemetery with flowers, of course. I'll have to post more about Grandma later- she was a trip. :D

Sighhh hhh hhh

Hasn't been a good week at all. I find myself at a career crossroads, I'm still coughing and have reason to think I may have developed asthma, and Saskia is still in the hospital. I can haz hugs, plz?

So it's Nov.5

And, good grief, history has been made. The new American president is Senator Barack Obama, of Illinois, a black man.

I am in (good) shock. I never, ever, thought I'd see an African-American president in my lifetime. I sooner expected a white woman, particularly after the debacle in the primaries where several West Virginians voted for Hillary Clinton on the grounds that "they weren't votin' for no [highly unacceptable pejorative]."

I did have to think about it a minute. Mr. Samoa voted for McCain because he was concerned about Obama's views on gun control, which is reasoning I can tolerate. But I hadn't made up my mind about what I was going to do when I wandered into the polls last night, still coughing. (Yes, I did feel up to it- no thanks to Shady Acres, but I digress.) I had several concerns about the future state of Mr. Obama's health as affected by white supremacist loons, which this country really doesn't need. So I kind of peered at the ballot for a few minutes, as I saw a lot of people around me doing also.

I thought and thought. Mr. McCain really wasn't on my menu (sorry, Ms. Palin, you're a lovely lady, but several residents of the Shady Acres system have a better grasp of politics than you do!) so it was between Obama and independents. I thought about the white supremacist loons, and Mr. Obama's little girls.

Finally I decided. I don't know what is going to happen, but we have to try. Four more years of a rich, clueless white guy, and our country would be a smoking ruin and we'd all be out on the streets. Something has got to give, come what may. I filled in the circle next to Senators Barack Obama and Joseph Biden.

Apparently a lot of other people did too. Because, praise to Ceiling cat, the president-elect of the United States of America is now an African-American man. He campaigned on a platform of change. Let's all pray for him that he can bring the change that he hopes to be.

C'mONNNNN Nov. 5

Yeah, so I jinxed myself yesterday. We had a vote solicitor today. I did not set the dog on her, but I harbored evil thoughts about doing so.

I was in the bathroom getting ready when I heard Buster flip out. This usually means someone's at the door. I checked the side door (the one we usually use), nobody. So I peered out the front window. I saw, through the trees, what looked like a mailman going by the clothing. The regular one knows to go to the side, but I thought it was maybe a sub; I was expecting a package, so I opened it.

Wrong thing to do. There stands this chick, hands full of Democratic Party crap. (I'm Libertarian but registered as Democrat so that I could vote in primaries.) "Are you Zen?" she cheerfully chirps. There I'm standing, no makeup, slippers, hair in Turbie Twist, and the dog is going batshit. Do I LOOK like I have time for you, lady?

But, I decided to take a stab at being nice. I said, "Yes, I am, but we don't accept political solicitations. Thank you." and began closing the door. As it's closing, she goes snottily, "Are you voting?" The two possible responses for me were "None of your damn business" and "Depends if I feel OK after I get off work" (the truth), so I just continued closing. As I walk off, I hear "But it's about voting!" plaintively from the porch. Eventually, she wandered off. Um, call me a nut, but how is voting NOT political? What else do you vote for? Favorite breakfast cereals?

So, now we have two lovely new "Absolutely NO SOLICITATION" posters, one for each door. And Nov. 5 cannot get here fast enough. :P

Election is tomorrow

NOW will everyone please SHUT. THE. FUUUUCK. UPPPPPP! about it? I really no longer care who wins, so long as I don't have to hear any more about it! Also any further door-knockers (why have they all been Democratic?) will have the dog set on them, in a bipartisan fashion.

That is all.

Other news

It is also Mr. Samoa's birthday month. Any suggestions for presents for him would be greatly appreciated, as I have no clue what the hell to buy him. The man has no hobbies! Maybe we should make him get one.

Happy November!

Only a day late. We have excuses! I was at work and Mr. Samoa was helping ride herd on 30,000 crazed college-age party monsters. More when it's not 11 PM and I'm not tired.

Happy Halloween!

Well, it's past midnight and registering as Friday the 31st, so I guess I am safe to wish you all a:

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!

Have a good one, enjoy your trick-or-treating, and stay out of the road. :D

More of the same

As far as I know, Saskia is still in the NICU. I really wish she were at Children's Hospital (Metro City has an entire hospital specializing in pediatrics!) but Caroline gets defensive any time you question the Metro U. doctors. I think she's keeping it together by telling herself that Saskia's getting the best possible care, so I hate to push it, but I don't trust them. I don't know how they think Caroline and Mr. C are supposed to pay for all this- she works at a gas station and he works for Sears, for crying out loud! I don't think they care. I think they're out to bilk them for all they're worth and move on once they've cleaned them out. Metro U. Hospitals have always been renowned, but this whole episode has caused my opinion of them to drop several (thousand) notches.

Let the sucking commence

The Dyson is here! I haven't given it its test run/maiden voyage yet, but that will probably take place on Sunday. For some reason, I caught Mr. Samoa trying to stuff extra parts from the old Eureka onto it. Now, the Dyson already has these attachments, so he never could give a good account of himself as to why we might need them: he much preferred to repeat "But I wanted to see if they would fit! I thought we might need them!" and not elaborate as to why he had come to this conclusion. I blame brain rot from the Mucinex.

Signs of improvement

I continue to feel better, though I could wish the cough would go away. Now to convince Mr. Samoa that he needs to get seen. I am thinking I will need a blunt instrument for this.

Sigh, again

So I woke up this morning and my sinuses were on fire. :P Call in, off to Urgent Care. This time I went to the one where we take the residents. I feel better after taking the meds they gave me, so I think this one might actually be hopeful. IhopeIhopeIhope. I am so sick of being sick, I could scream. :P

No real good news anywhere. Saskia is still in the NICU. Every time they get ready to send her home, the little stinker has another bout of apnea. :( She is sooo going to hear about this at her prom!

I suck

Or I am going to, anyways. The ancient Eureka canister vacuum finally gave up the ghost this afternoon. It turned onto its side, which triggered the automatic shutoff. All very well. But then it never came back on, ever. Even after I checked the dustbag, let it cool down, everything. And of course this was about halfway through my vacuuming job. I finished the work as best I could with broom and dustpan, then hauled the thing to the trash cans. I thereupon hit amazon.com and ordered a refurbished Dyson for $250. It'll be winging its way here as of Monday. I sort of informed a rather amazed Mr. Samoa of all this when he returned from walking pups. Hopefully, it and I will have many happy years together.

Still coughing

And now so is Mr. Samoa. Mr. Samoa never gets sick. I literally think the last time he got sick was 2002. What is this crap, anyways?

The other side of the coin

So Tricia and I are at the grocery store. We are stuffing the contents of the THREE FREAKING GROCERY CARTS FULL into the van, when the gentleman parked behind us toddles by. "Quite a job you have there!" he said sympathetically. "Yup!" I chirped, thinking of the earlier memo. He loaded his own groceries and then paused. "Ma'am, would you like some help?" he asked.

Now, I normally suffer from the fibromite's curse of allowing one's lips to be cut off via chainsaw before accepting help, but today was different. I don't know if it was the rain, or my STILL aching shoulder, or what, but I, for once in my life, had the sense to ACCEPT. Yay! We chatted a bit, finished loading, and then he rode off into the sunset in his rusty pickup truck.

When my world domination plot comes to fruition, he and his shall live. :D

Still more work FAIL

If you want people to help out over the weekend, the best way of achieving same is not to post a memo that basically amounts to "Eff you all, I don't want to hear it." I might have been sweet-talked into helping, yet again, had you not posted same.

That is all.

On a happier note

Mary is home and seems to be doing OK. Also Mr. Samoa and I carved pumpkins. I carved one to look like a kitteh. And then we roasted the seeds. Snacks for all!

Well, feh

Saskia has had another setback. :( Apparently she had a bout of sleep apnea, on the very day she was to be released. So, they're keeping her another five days. At least this is some semblance of an excuse, but if they don't give her back at the end of the five days, Aunt Zen is gonna open up a can of whoop ass. Caroline is doing about as well as can be expected, but this is getting pretty old for her too. :( This is about enough!

A real baby update

Finally, finally got ahold of Caroline! As I surmised, she is dividing her time between NICU and sleep. Saskia was to be moved to the regular floor last night, and if she makes a go of that, they are going to release her. Considering that I can see no reason why she would not, we may soon have mad baby snugglez!!!

Now the bad news. "Mary", my favorite resident, spent the weekend in ICU. She had an Unfortunate Medical Event that may have left her with brain damage. :( Prayers, thoughts, spells, etc. would be greatly appreciated from all readers.

A-haunting we will go

Well, did go. Me and Mr. Samoa, anyways.

Bugpit is located in Ohio. Each year, the Ohio Statehouse does a Haunted Statehouse tour. Thus:

http://www.ohiochannel.org/your_state/ohio_statehouse/communications/press_releases/press_release.cfm?release_id=94595

I had not heard of it before this year, so we decided to go. Neither of us had been to the Statehouse since elementary school, so it was a blast from the past in more ways than one. We had a nice time. There were a few screechy kids, but I had my cane, so their parents at least made a stab at roping them in. (Not that I'm not grateful, but isn't it a bit pathetic that you have to have a visible disability before parents decide that you're worthy of not getting squashed by little Boopsie? :P ) I got a T-shirt and (drumroll) Mr. Samoa actually purchased a souvenir! He got a little wooden cube puzzle. I think this is the closest we've come to a date night in about three years wherein disaster has not struck!

Baby non-update

I'll give you an update for real, if I can ever get ahold of Caroline. :P I am guessing that her time is divided 50/50 between the NICU and sleeping, so haven't pressed it. I am going to go guerilla and show up at her house unannounced if I don't hear anything by mid-next week.

Worrying

I don't know. I guess I'm being a worrywart, and I so do not want to turn into that horrid friend/relative who bosses the new family around without having a clue and will not freaking go home, so this is probably the only place I'll ever actually say it aloud. But, I am worried.

I think Metro U. is jerking around Caroline and Mr. Caroline. While Caroline isn't the most communicative person on the planet (she's basically a female Mr. Samoa in that regard), what I am getting from her is that they are not giving straight answers as to when she will be able to take Saskia home. They are also, at least to my jaundiced eye, acting like the baby belongs to the hospital and they are ever so magnanimously deigning to let Caroline and Mr. Caroline have her. They're making her take a "discharge class" that goes over things like baby CPR and baby care and stuff. While I can see the value of training infant CPR, why the hell do people need a baby care seminar? If they're like most new moms, that's all they've been studying for nine months! Moreover, if it were me, you would NOT be placing conditions on how I can take MY child home and care for MY CHILD unless there are concrete health and safety issues. And if there are, you would be getting a warrant allowing you to place these conditions. Otherwise, it would not be happening. I gave Caroline a very watered-down response version of the above, and she said, "Oh, well, they just strongly recommend it, you don't have to." "Good", I thought. "Because what would be getting discharged would be my Mag-Lite, upside their skulls, if they dared tell ME what to do."

Moreover, we were talking, and she said, "..blah blah they let me change her diaper today." Whoa whoa whoa. What do you MEAN let? This is HER child. SHE lets THEM do things, not the other way around. Oh, and did I mention they're not giving straight answers?

I wouldn't be so worried, but neither Caroline nor Mr. Caroline are very aggressive people, and I don't want them to get taken for a ride or pushed around because they don't know they can stand up for themselves, you know? The more I think about this, the more I think that I will handle it thusly. I will say something gentle like, "You know, this is your child, and you can make whatever decisions you wish. You are in charge." or something to that effect. I feel, upon contemplation, that she doesn't yet realize that she is basically God in terms of advocating for this child and she and Mr. C make the decisions; not me, not the hospital, not anyone else. Perhaps helping her realize that is what I am supposed to do in the end.

Slipknot chick is in the clink

So they have finally, finally arrested Casey Anthony on murder charges. Next up, people: Water is wet and the sky is blue. :P

Again with the catching up

The good news is, I think I'm on the tail end of this cold. After only a month. :P The bad news is, I'm now really tired. Yay! :P

Baby viewing, the full version

So I finally have time for the full version, thus, here it is.

Baby Saskia (not her name, but one of my picks, so it's going to be her Zen Name) was born Sunday afternoon. I had originally been intended to be there, but Caroline's labor went so fast that Mr. Samoa and I were unable to make it. Thusly, we decided that we would make the trek last night after Mr. Samoa got off of work.

I got out of work myself at three yesterday, and went home to walk pups. This being done, I headed off to Voldemart to get baby gifts. I had intended to leave with roses and a mat for the birth record I stitched. I left with: the roses, the mat, a card, a bag of chocolates for Caroline, an adorable pink knit hat and mittens set with roses on them, a pink and purple sleep sack (JFGoogleIt, I'm lazy), and a gift bag for all of same. What can I say, I was sucked in by the lure of Voldemart.

At five, I arrived at Mr. Samoa's office to drag him out. This is generally no small task, and yesterday was no exception; I used the time to put the birth record in the mat. At ten after five, I dragged him out by the hair and stuffed him into the car. Due to Saskia's prematurity, she and Caroline were two hours away at Metropolis University Hospitals. So, off we schlepped.

We actually made it in an hour and 45. We parked in the parking garage, then realized no one had cash for the attendant. "No matter," I said, "there is an ATM inside." This will get important in a bit.

Hopped in the elevator, made it up to the seventh floor where Caroline and Mr. Caroline were to be found. You have to get through an airlock system to get to the mothers' rooms. I was tempted to have work fax them a copy of my background check and fingerprinting, but resisted. We then trooped down a long hallway (I expected some villain to jump out from behind a meal cart at any moment) to Caroline's room.

Caroline and Mr. C were looking very well. Caroline was wayyy bouncier than Tagalong had been after having Daisy, but Caroline does not have a flair for the dramatic so I imagine this was to be expected. All the presents were appreciated, but Caroline leapt upon the chocolate directly. :D At Metro U Hospital, the babies do not room in, and Saskia was in the NICU so was on the floor below. As there was only one visitor at a time allowed in, with a parent, it was decided that her Aunt Agony (there also) and I would be the ones to go while Uncle Fester and Mr. Samoa stayed behind. As Mr. Samoa and I had been there longer, I got to go first.

Caroline and I trooped down a floor, and through still more airlocks. They make you do a surgical scrub before you go in. "Oh, you don't have to do that, just wash your hands," said Caroline. I had come almost straight from work. I did the surgical scrub. :P

We went through the final airlock, and there she was, in her little incubator. Only parents and grandparents could touch (I was somewhat relieved, having come from Germ Hell) but I could look and take pictures. Dear readers, Saskia is beautiful. I swear she looks exactly like the picture of Briar Rose that I stitched in her birth record. Caroline and I were sitting there: "Dude! You made that! Isn't that wild?" "Yeah! It's crazy!" "Totally!". Beavis and Butthead do the NICU. ;) She looks a bit like Caroline's mom, who I really wish could have lived to see her. Perhaps she did get to.

After standing there enthralled for several minutes, we reluctantly went up to switch out for Aunt Agony, and Mr. Samoa and I began the trek back home. This was when we discovered that neither of the ATMs in the place liked Mr. Samoa's debit card. As nearly as we could tell, this had something to do with the events of the Miss Butterhorn festival last month. So I dug through my purse and found enough change to get us sprung from the garage. I got us dinner at Dave's Daughter's Fast Food on the way home, as is tradition on late-night trips home from Metropolis.

I can't wait until she gets home so we all can hold her, but there's time enough. As a wise person said, babies don't spoil, and we have eighteen years. :D

Man!

Baby viewing is, apparently, very strenuous, as I am wasted. :P

Baby viewing

Carolinelet is gorgeous. She is TEENY- Barney the Cat is bigger than she is! We could not hold her due to NICU policies, but she has a ton of dark hair and really long fingers. She got really wiggly when she heard Mommy's voice! :D She is going to be absolutely stunning.

The important one first

CAROLINELET IS HERE!!!!

If you hadn't surmised from the pink, we have a girl. Saskia was born about four hours ago. Caroline's labor was, alas, too short for me to get there, but Mr. Samoa and I are headed up tomorrow. YAYYYY!

More work FAIL

So, today, the toll at work stood thus: One quit with less than 24 hours' notice, one was fired due to a no-show (it did not help her case that she was also the perp of the bangs trim) and one had the day off but nobody knew it. I haven't lost it and started crying at work in over a year and a half. I did today. :P Fun times!

Aarghh.

I am going to strangle Mother.

Without typing details that it's too late to go into that in-depth, and besides it'll just piss me off all over again, the gist is this. You know, some people don't have relatives who even WANT them at family gatherings. Mr. Samoa's relatives can't even be arsed to invite him any more. So, if yours DO want you there, perhaps you should be flattered instead of pissed off. (I'm talking to YOU, Mother!)

That is all. :P

Work work work

Still working. Still trying to find time to blog. I am going to do my damnedest not to get suckered into work this weekend, as I am also still coughing. :P

TODAY

Tackled the fair again, with much better success. Very tired now. :P Still coughing. I figure I'm going to cough forever at this rate.

MONDAY

Work was interesting. One of the staff apparently didn't know we're not supposed to cut the residents' hair ourselves and gave Gina this "bangs trim" that made her look like the fourth Stooge. The hairdresser was able to effect some marginal repairs. :P After work, Caroline came down. I believe she is about ready to rip the baby out of her uterus with a spoon. (5 weeks to go= not tiny. :P )

Catchup time- SUNDAY

Went to the ZenHome County Fair, or tried to, anyways. It was free admission day. BIG MISTAKE. It was literally so crowded that our arms were pinned to our sides. Took Mr. Samoa a minute to figure out why this was a problem. :P We went back later in the day and were more successful.

O.J. Slimebag

Guilty as charged of kidnapping, armed robbery, and ten other charges, thirteen years to the day after the original joke, er, trial.

You can't run forever, scumbag. Nicole and Ron, I hope you got to see. They may not have caught him on your deaths, but he's finally, finally where he belongs.

"The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small. With patience stands He waiting, with exactness grinds He all." – Friedrich von Logau

Flea Follies

So White Kitteh had to go to the vet today. As it turns out, she is allergic to fleas. :P She got a cortisone shot to complement the flea treatment she got, and to help with the itching. Then, the birds got to hang out at the vet's while we flea-bombed. Yum! Death to fleas! :P

Sigh

So Nurse Ratchet apparently got overheard and chewed yesterday, because she was all up my butt being nice at the doctor's appointment today. (The results of same: yup, viral bronchitis, nope, nothing to do but wait it out and hit the albuterol and Mucinex. Oh, and monitor my blood pressure as I am sliding inexorably towards the Family Curse of high blood pressure. And, Nurse Florence and the doctor didn't think that waiting and letting my bronchioles close would have been such a hot idea either.)

But anyways. So Nurse Ratchet is asking alll about my life, I'm trying to extricate myself, and she goes, "Any babies?" (Note: The last time she saw me was June. That would've been the world's shortest pregnancy!) I did my usual and trilled, "Oh, no, just the furry kind. We're up to five cats and three dogs." That did the trick, as it often does, and she got off on the pet tangent. Immediate problem solved, but talk about OB. TUSE. !

I have decided to take this opportunity to share my distraction-from-baybeez lines with you, as they're all pretty funny.

1. "Oh, no, we stick to the furry kind. [insert babbling about pets here]." This one is really effective for some reason. An alarming number of people seem to feel that pets count. Not that I'm complaining!

2. "Oh, no, Caroline and I divided up the labor years ago. She's to have the babies, and I'm to spoil them." (Works great for relatives.)

3. (for work) "Great Scott, I already have seven! How many do you want me to have?!" (Our residents are the highest-needs home in the Shady Acres system, so this shuts up any Shady Acres employees and their relatives/friends.)

4. (if for some God-unknown reason none of the above work, which is highly unusual) "Um, I have fibromyalgia. If you think hobbling after a toddler is going to work, I'd like to know how!"

I seldom if ever make it to no. 4. Yay for smartasses!

Is an effing chest X-ray so unreasonable to want?

Turns out it is, at least if you're my doctor's nurse. :P

I woke up this morning, and not only did I not feel better, but it was hard to breathe. I advised work of same, and got on the horn to my regular doctor, getting his nurse. Nurse Ratchet, as it turned out.

First I couldn't convince Nurse Ratchet that I was, in fact, a patient of Dr. Good's. Finally accomplished that. So then she says that the soonest they could get me in is tomorrow afternoon. I expressed concern that something might need to be done sooner, being as I thought it was probably pneumonia. (It turned out to be viral bronchitis, but there was no way to know that without a chest X-ray at that point!) So Nurse Ratchet says snottily, "I really don't think it's going to go down hill that quickly." I decided at that point that there was no use dealing with her, agreed to the appointment, and hung up.

I got off the phone, and had a crying jag, not knowing what to do. Mom and Dad weren't home. So I called Mother Samoa, who advised to go to the emergency room at once. Mr. Samoa came home, and we toddled off and did so.

We got there, and the triage nurse listened to my breathing or lack thereof, shrieked in horror, and rushed me back to a room. One albuterol treatment and a set of chest X-rays later, it was determined that I had bronchitis. I am headed to the doctor tomorrow as planned, but he's going to hear about Nurse Ratchet. :P

Pet problems

So Caroline's cat has gone back to peeing everywhere. Basically she and Mr. Caroline are determined to either get rid of him or have him euthanized, which the vet is refusing to do the latter because he's otherwise healthy. I think she kind of wants Mr. Samoa and I to take him, but it ain't happening because if we stick one more cat in this house the house is going to pop a seam. Plus, it isn't like we want him pissing everywhere! (It's not helping my sympathy level that if it were one of ours, we would go with Option C, keep the cat and clean up after him. Mr. Samoa and I do realize, and have been reminding ourselves, that we don't have to worry about carpet or the cat peeing on baby or carseat, which is a bit different; however, that's still what we'd do.) I gave her the list of options that I could think of and got off the phone, in no small part because I was hacking up a lung.

In Happier Pet News, Tagalong came and took the leopard frog that hopped up to our house and sparked WWIII. (If I haven't blogged about that, I will when I feel better.) It is going to go live with the science teacher at the high school where she teaches, who is quite amped about a free exotic pet. We also got to meet her future stepsons, who are very fond of critters. Can we keep Fiance and Stepsons, and ship her off? :P

Blah

I have spent most of today in bed with this stupid crud. It Will. Not. Die!!! And this is typical, from what I've seen in the residents. It's like the Plague Vol. II!

Black jumpy specks

Oh, how I hate them. C'MONNNN Mr. Samoa's paycheck so we can buy all the household furbearers a round of FrontLine!!!

HRAAAAGGHHH!

That's the sound the guck in my throat makes when I have to remove it. :P Said sound HURTS, too. This sinus infection can leave any time it feels like it! Oh, and so can the hiccups.

It can be done!

Childfree people CAN throw a baby shower! And it can be a darn successful one too!

So, Caroline's shower was a smashing success. The story of this smashing success follows.

I spent yesterday (Friday) cooking and finishing the other stuff. (That may be the last time I cross-stitch a card. But, I digress. When Mr. Samoa got home from work, we went up to Hometown to decorate the church. After we got Mom and Dad dissuaded from "helping", which tended to consist of such things as putting boxes on tables as I was trying to decorate the tables, we got it all done up. We stashed the food in the church refrigerator, and headed back home. Not, however, without a Mom-Ism. It went thus:

Me: I'm going to go put these signs on the doors so that people know where to go.

Mom: Oh, you better wait until tomorrow to do that!

Me: I'd rather do it now, tomorrow will be kind of pressed for time.

Mom: But I'm afraid someone will steal them! This isn't the best neighborhood, you know. [Note: The church is bounded on all four sides by: another church, a funeral home, a gas station, a Green Ship Movers franchise, and a house owned by gay bikers who take Extreme Exception to people messing with the church. To say nothing of, the signs were posterboard and Sharpie.]

Me: Mom. If they are going to steal anything, I think they'll pick something a little more valuable than posterboard. Besides, I have extra, if for some God-unknown reason they do.

Mom: Oh! I guess you're right.

Me: [slams own head in door repeatedly]

Today, we packed up the presents and such, went up, and set out the food. For some reason people started arriving at 12:30 for a 1:00 shower, but oh well. Games went splendidly. We made babies out of Play-Doh, had a diaper relay race, and decorated onesies. We all stuffed our faces, and everyone lived happily ever after. Now, I will be spending tomorrow staring blankly at the wall. :P

T-2 DAYS and counting!

Caroline's shower is THIS COMING SATURDAY ACK! I took tomorrow off from work to cook, and was able to use being home sick today to get a good bit of stuff done. But, ACK!

Antibiotic SCORE

So the sinus infection either didn't go away, or has come back, or something. Thus, back to Urgent Care I went. They gave me the high-powered stuff this time, which is normally the high copay ($20, oogity boogity, but still).
But, they also gave me a coupon for a pretty good percentage off the antibiotic! So, Mr. Samoa wound up paying $5 for it. Yay coupons!

It's the thought that counts.

So Gina and I were headed back from Keep-a-Bunch today. Merging onto the highway was a sheriff's deputy, sirens and lights going. Thus, the civic-minded souls on the highway concluded they should pull to the side of the road. Which would have been a more touching gesture if they hadn't all cut the deputy off. :P We figured at least they bothered to pull over, a courtesy that is not so common these days.

Oops, no, I didn't

So, the bank card. Mr. Samoa had managed to leave it in the ATM at the Miss Butterhorn festival. Which we did not notice until Sunday, when our water went out and he went to go buy water. :P It was one of those days.

Catching up

Mr. Samoa's bank card is back, safe and sound. As it turned out, some civic-minded soul had put it in his bank's night drop, and he picked it up today, contents of account safe and sound. Off to see if I remembered to blog about it in the first place.

Speaking of work

You know, I never really thought of showing up to work as an optional thing, assuming you wanted to remain employed there. Sure, you can get sick every now and again, but you should at least call and let them know what's going on. Common policy, right?

Weeellll... apparently not if you work alongside me at Shady Acres Group Home. There are a grand total of five of us, out of about 20 staff, who seem to think it is a good idea to reliably and consistently show up for work. The rest call off, don't show up, don't take shifts, etc, etc, etc. So, the five of us are fairly fried and tired out. Don't happen to want a job, do you?

Canes for all!

So Mr. Samoa and I were at the Miss Butterhorn festival (yeah, lots of butterhorns around here) when this lady we didn't know came sprinting up to us. She wanted to know where I had gotten my cane! (I have a new cane. It is lovely and it has lilacs on the shaft.) As it turns out, her mother has spinal issues and the doctors are recommending she use a cane, but she doesn't want to because she doesn't like how they look. Apparently her mom really likes purple, and she was sure one like mine could help. Happily, there is a CVS ( home of kewl canes), and she toddled off to purchase one, content.

I was actually helpful! Yay! I do hope her mom uses it, as if she does she will feel so much better. I wish I could use mine more, but it would be hard to deal with at work. :P

Animal abuse

Of the worst possible kind. Yorkie dressup torture!

I had a resident at the local Miss Butterhorn festival, and we were in line to get French fries. Across the street from us, we saw this guy and his wife. Their poor little Yorkie was wearing:

* A Harley jacket
* A Harley hat
* And he was riding in this thing that looked like a baby backpack, on the guy's back, with all four of his little paws sticking straight out.

All I can say is, that dog must love his Mama and Papa very much, if he has not already torn off their faces in their sleep.

The apocalypse is (again) nigh

Tagalong's babydaddy actually did something useful.

The time is coming for me to make Daisy's yearly scrapbook page, and I had no recent pictures of her. Like, none. I didn't really feel like dealing with Tagalong, so I decided to bite the bullet and see if Babydaddy had any or could facilitate me taking some.

Turns out he had some all right! Like, a whole Picasa site full! Publicly accessible! So, I was able to download the ones I wanted and didn't have to deal with either one of them.

This is not natural. I am perturbed. That was too easy!

I really need to lay off Cake Wrecks

Because it makes me want cake. And I just ate. I need no cake. :P

The full moon cometh

But this time, it isn't the residents, it's the staff. As in, getting them to show up.

My favorite tale o'woe from this weekend was the following. Noob, one of the new hires, was unable to come to work, so he called off the day before he was scheduled to work, like a responsible citizen. So far, so good, right?

Or...y'know, not. The girl who took his call neither documented it properly nor told anyone he had called. She then proceeded not to show up herself the next day, meaning there was no way for anyone to know he had called off. Those folks there found that Noob wasn't coming at 11:00 PM, when he was originally scheduled to be there. >:( Such responsibility! Or not!

Whew!

You may have heard of the terrible train wreck in LA. http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/train_collision;_ylt=Ane8GM5HNlx4dYrLxiheZL6s0NUE

This was the cause of some excitement at Casa Zen-Samoa; you see, this is right. where. the Hawaiian Hottie lives. And, the train line goes right past his apartment building. o_o

Fortunately, he popped onto Messenger a few minutes ago. He is fine, but as it turned out he would not have been if he still worked for the Suburbia Snooper, his old job. You see, that was the train he took every day to the Snooper offices. Some of his neighbors in the apartment complex are still unaccounted for. :( So, prayers for them and thanks that HH lives to sizzle another day.

Blog by Oldkeh

Caroline's old kitty, who lives with us, has advised me that she wishes to be known in "the Zen" as Oldkeh. She also says CHURR PURR MEW. Just thought you would all like to know that. :D

T-2 weeks and counting

Until Caroline's shower. I'm beginning to stock up on shower food supplies. Cooking here I come!

Notice the date

Seven years ago today, many sucky things happened. All at once. I trust I need not elaborate further, because we all got pounded with the images 24/7/365, so if you haven't figured it out by this time, you aren't going to.

I was in my first year of grad school at the time, teaching an introductory Spanish class to undergrads that was mainly freshmen. I should have known it was going to be one of those days when I was walking up the hill to my classes and I saw a flock of sheep. The Bugpit U. campus is in the middle of a small city. (As it turned out, the sheep were part of an alcohol-awareness campaign that flopped, but I digress.) I didn't think too much more about it; it was a beautiful, sunny day and I probably had plans for that evening.

My medieval Spanish lit class, from 8-10 AM, passed without incident, though I probably dozed off somewhere in there. Little did I know that people were dying less than a thousand miles away, while I was trying to pretend I was interested in Gonzalo de Berceo. That lack of realization was about to change

Class got out at 10, and I had an hour before I had to teach class. I was noodling around doing some last-minute preparations, when my office mate came in and called her husband. I heard her say something about "blah blah, plane hit the World Trade Center". Now it was a fairly routine occurrence for light aircraft to fly into the side of the building, so I just assumed that this was what had happened. I wasn't sure why she was calling her husband over such a thing, but I thought "hey, maybe it's not routine in Bolivia" and continued about my business.

Then I walked out into the hall, and everyone was crying. Every single person, including the Latino male grad students. The Latino men I have known do not cry. Ever. Even if you pull out their fingernails. I think someone punched the wall. I pretty well figured from that that something was horribly wrong, but I still hadn't connected the phone conversation and the horribly wrong something. So, I headed into the stairwell to go up a floor to teach class. The stairwell was set up such that you could see into classrooms, and every single TV in all the classrooms was showing the same thing. "Why are they all showing a Schwarzenegger movie?" I thought to myself. At that point, light began to dawn, and I was starting to associate the plane and the Very Bad Something. I remember I was running the rest of the way up the stairs.

I got into the classroom, and my supervisor was packing up from teaching the class before mine. My students were all there, watching the TV in frozen horror. "WHAT is going on??!!" I asked her. "You don't know?" she said. "Um, no!" I replied. She pointed at the TV and left, leaving me to explain to twenty-nine frightened teenagers what the hell was going on. :P Needless to say, we did not have class that day, though they all stayed and watched the news. That day was the one time in my life where I have badly wanted to cry and couldn't to save my life. It was that much shock.

We all found out soon enough what happened, of course. Also, what was going to happen, and what wasn't, some of which was almost as bad as what had happened before, but none of it could really compare to that day. I normally love true crime, disaster documentaries, etc. and I still to this day have not seen any of the ones about 9/11. I sure as hell did not go to see United 93. I just can't do it, and to be honest I don't think I ever will be able to. This morning when I was getting one of the residents dressed, someone had put a country station on her radio, and they were playing 9/11 themed country songs, of which there are a lot. I started bawling and had to turn off the radio. I apologized to the resident and explained briefly why I had to do it; she was quite understanding, as she usually is. She's not able to speak, but I think she remembered too.

I'll leave you with the prayer I said an awful lot that day; I think a lot of us did.

Dios te salve, María, llena eres de gracia; el Señor es
contigo;
bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres,
y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús.
Santa María, Madre de Dios,
ruega por nosotros pecadores,
ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén.

Skipping the important parts

So there's currently an ongoing debate about skipping children a grade in school on a board I frequent. I put a polite $.02 in and wandered off, because I had the distinct feeling that nothing I said could change anyone's mind in any case. But, that made me think of a piece I wanted to say.

Skipping a grade: Don't do it. Just don't do it, parents. Send 'em to private school, get them in gifted classes, homeschool them, get them tutors, send them off to join the circus, whatever. But don't skip them. My mother gets upset when I say this; I think she takes it as me blaming her for the problems I had later, but that is not so. They were doing the best they could with what information they had at the time. And, now I am informing current and future parents of schoolchildren that it is a bad idea.

It all began when I started school. Kindergarten, the teacher refused to believe I could read, which was a whole other mess. My cousin, who was in high school at the time at the same school, once said of it: "That was when I realized adults didn't always know best. It's a bizarre feeling when you're sixteen years old, and you're arguing with a forty-year-old teacher, and you know you're right!" First grade, they tried to give me "enrichment work". Read: More badly mimeographed worksheets. In ADDITION to still being required to do the regular work. There were not enough hours in the school day for me to get it all done, literally. So, I stopped doing any of it. This was when, at the end of first grade, it was decided that I would skip second grade.
Mother likes to say "You chose it!" Um, not exactly. I was called down to the principal's office one day, and Mom, my LD teacher (yes, you can be gifted and have an LD folks, not explaining further), and the principal were all there. I about coded right there. The LD teacher was the only one who realized this and said "You're not in trouble or anything!" I believe my exact thoughts were "Yeah, right!" (Oh, did I mention I was all of seven?) Then they asked me if I wanted to skip second grade. I would have agreed to cut off my arm if it meant I could get out of there, so I agreed to do it. Not my idea of voluntary. But anyway, that's how it all got started.

Disaster. Oh, I could do the third grade work, no problem. Socially, I don't think I was even on par with my age-mates, never mind kids a year older. And it showed. And we all know the kindness, tolerance, and patience shown by the typical elementary schooler to the different and/or immature. (I'll stop for a minute while you all finish rolling around on the floor laughing.) Meanwhile back at the ranch, other parents were mad that their speshul snowflakes didn't get skipped, so they told their children that I was snotty, stuck-up, etc. Which their children, all predisposed to believe the worst, lapped up. The absolute worst was seventh grade. We'd all left school at the end of sixth and everyone was normal. Then we all came back to junior high (this was when dinosaurs roamed the earth, before "middle schools") and WHOOOOOAAAHHHH all the other girls were into boys, boobs, and Tiger Beat, and I was still stuck back on Barbie. Yeah. Not fun. I think that year was pretty much what cemented my hatred for 99% of the rest of the human race. :P

While we're at it, let's not forget the part where teachers and other people who should have known better took every. single. opportunity to announce that I was a year younger. Did I mention I was a year younger? Because I was a year younger, you know. Remember that I was a year younger! And so on and on and on until I thought my head was going to explode. I had been one of the older kids in my "right" class, so it extra-special sucked. Let's not forget doing drivers ed a year later than everyone else! And still needing permission slips for field trips during fall quarter of freshman year of college! (I turned 18 in December, college started in September.) Oh, and lots and lots of boys want to date girls in HS that they see as a bratty kid! It's quite the turn-on! Or, you know, not. :P Honestly, the best part of grad school was NOT being younger than everyone else for once, having taken two years off in between undergrad and grad.

I did get to "save" one little girl, though. About three or four years after I graduated, a colleague of my mom's was offered the opportunity to skip her daughter. Said child, Abigail, had gone to Montessori kindergarten, and as a result was way ahead, so the school POTB were looking to have her skip first grade. Mom's colleague being a bit more forward-thinking, she decided to research the idea before telling them yea or nay, so she came to me. I told her all of the above, and added that it's not worth having your child be out-of-sync for the rest of their academic career (or life!) just to get them ahead a little. She took my advice to heart, sent Abigail to Montessori first grade and then to private school. Abigail's in high school now, and very normal, in-sync and happy. It does make me feel better to know I was able to help someone else avoid it, if I couldn't.

So, I guess my point is this. Parents, school only lasts 12 years (well, 16 for the college bound, but the point still stands). Your children are going to have to deal with people for at least 80 years. Which is more important, making sure they have the social skills they need to succeed or entering MIT at 16? You be the judge. I'll be at the prom, thanks.

Dog LOLz

So Mr. Samoa was walking the dogs just now. They started to fight while he was walking them along the road, so he bent over to separate them. Just then, a car came along, and the occupants were treated to the sight of Mr. Samoa's backside, and Dog WWF at the end of the leashes. They applauded. :D I don't know, I guess you kind of had to be there, but it was funny.

We found them!

I forgot to mention it, we finally found onesies for the crafts at Caroline's shower. I'm going to have everyone decorate onesies and bibs, using fabric markers. I was looking for somewhere that had them cheaper than Smiley Face Hell, and Target had them for ten cents cheaper. One thing I have noticed throughout this, however, is that parents really get bent over on the cost of stuff. $9.89 for what are basically five teeny pieces of T-shirt material? Oookayyyy!

Oh dear

First, a little background. (Don't all my posts need background?)

Casa Zen-Samoa is next to a particular building. The top half of this building is an apartment, and the bottom half is an area that used to be a pet store. Said pet store closed about six months before we moved in here; we have lived here about fifteen months. So, about two years it's been closed.

The setup is something like this:
...............................................................X
...............................................................X
..............................................Casa Z-S 1 Building
............................................................1
............................................................1


Let the X's represent a fence that goes back past the backyard, and the 1's represent our driveway. While they are pretty close together, it's still reasonably obvious that they're separate.

Unless you're Yokel 1 and Yokel 2. Said Yokels came flying into the parking lot in their redneckmobile at Mach 5 as Mr. Samoa and I were getting into our car, in our driveway. Yokel 1 comes dashing over and hollers "Are you guys open?" It took us a minute to figure out what the hell he was talking about, and then it dawned on us that he somehow had decided that, since we were within 300 feet of the property, we must be the proprietors! Never mind that 1) huh?, 2) there haven't BEEN any proprietors for two years.

Fortunately for them, they got Mr. Samoa and not me, as I don't do stupid terribly well. He said, "Oh, you mean are they open? They haven't been open for a couple years. You might want OtherPetStore, over yonder." So Yokel 1 and 2 proceeded over yonder, happy. But, do they make a habit of assuming that anyone within the vicinity of an establishment owns it? And how do you not notice, in a time period of TWO YEARS, that a business is closed? It's a mystery.

They're baaaack

Bugpit is a university town. The students came back this weekend. In one sense, I'm glad to see them because Bugpit is sleepy when they're not here, but on the other hand, I did not miss:

*Staggering out in front of cars/crossing the street when the light is green/insert other pedestrian follies here

* Size XXL freshmen wearing size S shirts

*Needing to take my cane when I go uptown, not to walk with, but to beat my way through the throngs of people parked in the middle of the sidewalk yapping on their cell phones

I'm sure there will be more.

I knew it!

The 2008-09 Sinus Infection Season has officially kicked off at Casa Zen-Samoa. This month's edition has migrated from my sinuses and gotten into my ears and throat. So I basically have an infected head. Go doxycycline!

Is it November yet?

Because I am soooooo sick of all the talk about politics I could scream. Mercifully, the forums I mostly visit now have dedicated politics folders, but I can't figure out how to ignore a whole folder, so I still get stuck with some of it. :P

Y'see, I do not care about politics. Not one whit. I am one of those cynical souls who believes all politicians are liars anyways, so it doesn't really matter which one we elect. I am for neither of the presidential candidates. Not McCain, because he's more of the same, and not Obama, because... well, I actually think he would make a perfectly good president. For the whole fifteen minutes he would last until some KKK yahoo assassinates him. :P The likelihood of my making it to the polls is slim to none anyways, because for the last three years something work-related has always happened on Election Day to prevent me from getting there, and I expect this year to be no different. So I don't think I'll actually have to pick one. But, the nonstop political talk will persist until November either way. STFUTHXBAI!!!!

Memo to the bread people

"The sell by date is tomorrow" is NOT synonymous with "That bread is no good." Particularly when it's going to a group home where most of it's going in the freezer and what doesn't won't last until tomorrow. I think it was National Dumbass Day or something. :P

I have faced the forces of darkness.

And I have won. I have defeated them and sent them scrambling back to their pits of despair from whence they sprang.

I took Tricia to get new shoes.

Tricia, like a lot of people with disabilities, likes things to remain ExactlyTheSameForever. More reasonably, she prefers to wear shoes that are appropriate to her adult age. Unfortunately, her feet are small and she wears childrens' sizes. :P Do you see where all this is going?

So, we began at Smiley Face Hell. Everything was too narrow to go over her ankle widget. By "everything" I mean "the two pairs in the store that don't look like Tinkerbell threw up all over them." Then, onto Dumbass Jock Sports Store. ("We need this in a 4.5 or 5." [looks] "All we have is a 6." "Um, that's not going to work." "Could she wear a 7?" I wish I was making the above exchange up. ) Oh, and did I mention we only had $30 to work with? So $60 shoes are not going to cut it?

Finally, we went to Chain Store that Changes Its Name Like Monthly (CSTCINLM, or CST for short). We dug and dug and dug through the piles of shoes. (Oh, for the full effect picture an amount of dramatics to make Sarah Bernhardt look like a rank amateur, coming from Tricia.) Finally, what to my wondering eyes should appear but a pair of plain gray sneakers, from the clearance rack. In size 5 wide. More than sufficient to go over the widget. I showed them to Tricia, she pointed at them and said firmly, "Yes." Tried them on her, they slipped over the widget like they were made to do it. Oh, and they were $22! I nearly wept for joy.

On the way out, Tricia said, "I'm happy now!" I said, "So am I, Tricia. So am I." Was I ever!

Happy September

And happy Labor Day. It's been a busy few days.

Yesterday, went to Stacey's recital at her church. Mr. Samoa and I being a Presbyterian and lapsed Orthodox Lutheran (Catholic lite) respectively, we were a bit at sea with the Baptist thing but we had fun. Mr. Samoa hadn't gotten to meet Stacey before, so that was cool.

Today, went to the Renaissance Faire with a resident. We had a good time; she liked the jugglers. But the thing that surprised me- she was afraid of the Renaissance garb at first. She hadn't seen it before! And she's 40! It's really amazing the stuff people miss out on just by being mentally disabled. People think they won't like it and they do. They have a term for it in MRDD theory, it's called "poverty of experience". Basically, they "only like" certain things because no one ever thinks to have them try new ones. All the more reason for everyone to try new things!

Owtch.

I don't know if it is runoff from Hurricane Gustav or what. All I can say is, ow. :P

Oh my!

So here I am, staying home from work today because I feel like crap. Should make for a quiet day, right?

HAH. This is Casa Zen-Samoa we're talking about here. After having called off and crawled back in bed to suck my thumb, I woke up about 10 and checked my voicemail. There was one. "Curse you people!", I thought, thinking it was work.

It was not. It was a long, rambling message from someone named "Marsha". I know no Marsha, so I knew it had to be a wrong number, but the content of the message was rather disturbing. She seemed to be whispering, and she was concerned that someone named "John" was going to do her harm. This was quite enough for ol' Zen to get on the horn to the non-emergency number of the police department. Since my caller ID coughed up the number she was calling from, they were able to trace Marsha's whereabouts. Seems, in the end, that Marsha was in a place of safety, and was attempting to call relatives from thence. She was admonishing them not to advise John of her whereabouts.

So, all's well that ends well. But good Lord, it's not even noon!

Keep-a-Bunch update

Tricia and I were in Keep-a-Bunch again yesterday. Lancelot the manager waited on us himself. No sign of Hagula, nor has there been for quite some time. I think Hagula might have hagged herself right onto the unemployment lines. >:)

Now, the poignant part. Keep-a-Bunch receipts have the cashier's full name printed on the bottom, I assume for inventory control purposes. I happened to glance at ours, and saw that Lancelot had a rather unusual last name, one that I recognized but couldn't remember why. So, I went home and Googled. I learned, thus, that I remembered the name because Lancelot had been in the papers some years back. He was a Bugpit Police officer, who was fired over an incident that let's just say, I'm not sure I entirely believe the complainants' version of events. So now he's apparently working at Keep-a-Bunch. :(

I just have this to say. Officer Lancelot, whether you did it or didn't do it, you were kind to a mentally disabled woman and her caregiver, and stood up for us. Ceiling Cat won't forget that. Best wishes to you.

Owwwch

Some observations.

1) Grendel and her transwoman friends are insane. Why would anyone WANT a uterus?

2) Someday, I will hunt down the people who started pushing the idea that there was no reason a woman would be incapacitated during their period and do horrible things to them. Then I'll eat three bags of cherry sours.

3) C'monnnnn menopause!!!

Cake Wrecks

Is evil. Yes, the insane cakes are amusing. But all I can think of is how much I would like to eat them. Caroline's getting thisclose to having a cheesy bakery cake, just so I can eat it. CAAAKKKKE. (Well, I guess I am the Zen of Cake, after all...) Chocolate, spice or red velvet?

Caltrate anyone?

Since Thursday, we have had TWO of our seven residents break one or another of their bones. In completely unrelated events. And completely unrelated parts of the body. Did I mention the paperwork that comes when residents injure themselves in a fairly serious manner such as this?

I swear I'm going to start grinding up calcium supplements and slipping them into their food.

A walk to remember, Zen-style

So there Mr. Samoa and I are, taking Buster the Wonder Dog and Pumpkin for a walk. I'm sick of the cheesy dog pseudonyms, so the other DD will from now on be referred to as Pepper, because, well, that's his name.

Pepper is an outside only dog, while the other two are indoor. (IknowiknowiKNOW about the outdoor dog thing. It was either that or send him to an uncertain fate at the pound, because he completely destroys the house if he's in.) He got a new tie-out chain today. Which Mr. Samoa apparently hadn't fastened securely. We learned this on the last leg of our walk around the block.

We were getting ready to go back down into our yard when we heard the clink of license tags. "Oh," we thought. "Someone else is walking their dogs also!" I turned around to look, and saw a small dog proceeding towards us. "Must be the neighbors' dog," I thought. "But theirs don't look like that..." My thoughts trailed off when the dog got closer, and I realized that it looked very much like Pepper. This was because it was Pepper. He had worked his collar through the latch somehow, and decided to join us on our nightly walk. :P Fortunately we weren't far from home, so Mr. Samoa was able to lead him home by his collar and securely reattach him. Good thing he's not a bolter! :P

Wrong Ade update

I had to go there again today to get a resident's medicine, and got it on the first try! This is unprecedented!

The doctor had called the scrip in. So I go in there, expecting a fight. I asked for it, they had it filled but there was a last thing they had to do or whatever. So I waited. They got it, and it was a narc, so they asked for "the patient's photo ID." (Thank you Ohio law!) This is where we got into it before, so I was prepared. I stated firmly, "Mr. Smith is mentally disabled and does not have a photo ID. When we went through this before, it was decided that my company ID would be used as the photo ID."

Light dawned in the clerk's tiny pea brain. "Oh, are you the home health aide?" That's not my exact job description, but feeling it best not to split hairs, I said yes. They took my ID, the computer was happy, and Bob now has his pills. Maybe those nasty letters I sent to corporate did some good after all!

Mother for sale, again

So, at Casa Zen, we have as a member of our menagerie a ball python. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ball_python One of these little guys. Herbie is about 2.5 feet and will not likely get much bigger. He is very small, quiet and completely harmless unless you happen to be a white mouse.

Well, Girl Genius here made the mistake of mentioning to Mom in passing the fact that we had Herbie. So, Mother has made it her mission to get rid of the snake. Never mind that 1) she's been down here since we got him and has never even noticed his presence 2) she's here something like a grand total of four times a year anyway. 3) Mother in no way resembles a white mouse. The Snake Must Go. (Oh, the hell he will, in case you were concerned.) So she's been doing this by means of little digs about the snake at every opportunity, and then this.

She read the following article in the paper: http://www.dispatch.com/live/content/national_world/stories/2008/08/20/burmese_python.ART_ART_08-20-08_A2_H1B34QJ.html?sid=101

Sadly, it's not too unusual for this to happen with the bigger snakes, as they get too big for people to control and then are turned loose. (The last guidelines I read recommended one handler for every 4 feet of snake to safely handle a reptile; most people can't come up with this.) But, you may have looked closely at the URL! It says BURMESE python. These guys: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burmese_python Yeah, you think it's a different snake much?

Mom didn't, apparently, or didn't care. She sends me this big long e-mail about the above news article, and how Herbie is going to eat our pets, and our pets are too cute to get eaten, blah blah. Did I mention that I'm one of those people who finds snakes eating pets extremely upsetting? Those are the only Animal Cops episodes I can't watch. But that's not all! She got the completely wrong species of snake!

I did not do what I wanted to do, which was call her up and blow out her eardrums with my thoughts on the fact that she couldn't get her facts straight, finishing up with how I really did not appreciate being thought stupid enough to put the other animals in harms way like that. But I did not. Instead I sent back a terse e-mail, "Yes, Burmese pythons are very dangerous. That's why we don't have one." and explained the difference between the two, with links. We'll see if she bothers to read it or not. Yeah, not real happy with her at the moment.

Do Mormons have a Hail Mary?

A bit of background.

DD1 (Buster the Wonder Dog, for my forum pals) is half Boston Terrier, half pit. He is the absolute most non-homicidal dog in the world- you can walk up, stick your hand in his food dish, and he'll let you take it-so the vet, dog licensing people, and such all conspire to pretend that the pit half isn't there so we don't get socked for insurance or whatever. :D Anyways, his genes are mainly Boston Terrier, but he does have the intense loyalty to His Human (lovely self) of the pit. He also has the booming, killer-sounding bark.

Enter Pumpkin. Japanese Chins, for whatever reason, do not bark with the "yipyipyip!" of most toy breeds. They have a regular "dog" bark. Dad's Chin is the same way.

So enter the hapless Mormon missionary. He knocks on our door, expecting whatever the usual response from folks ("Fuck off!") is, I suppose. Well, DD1 and Pumpkin hear him before I do.

"BARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!!! KILLLKILLL! SOMEONE IS TRYING TO MESS WITH OUR MUMMY! BARKBARK! KILLKILL!" as they rush to the door, fangs bared.*

I open the door to find this shellshocked-looking missionary standing at the door. "Um, I have this to read..." I sent him on his way with the usual explanation that we don't accept solicitors, and he staggered off down the driveway. He's probably under the bed reciting whatever Mormons use as their Hail Mary even as we speak.

( The extra funny part about this is that neither dog would hurt a fly. His most grave danger was of being licked to death. While I think DD1 would cause it to Go Badly for him if he had been a criminal intent on damaging me, DD1's most common weapon is his breath. :D )

Today

Drove a resident to Large City for an appointment. I hate driving in Large City. However, I did it, no one expired, and resident is duly appointed. I think the Lane Change Gods were with me, as I was able to make a three-lane lane change with no one behind me. At all! At noon on I-70 in the heart of Large City! It must have been meant to be. :D

MONDAY

Caroline came down. Baby shower is duly moved and invitations are assembled and ready to send. Apparently part of what precipitated the phone call is that Mr. Caroline, who has owned a grand total of one (female) cat in his life, decided that his knowledge of dogs applied to cats, that this haaaaad to be a behavior issue, and that Fuzzy Had To Go. To the pregnant woman. (PS: Fuzzy did turn out to have a UTI.) He is just lucky that it was Caroline and not me, as I think my own reaction would have involved blunt instruments applied to his skull firmly and at high velocity. But, all's well that ends well; Fuzzy got to the vet and is going nowhere. Mr. Caroline got to scrub all the cat pee out of the carpet as penance. >:)

EEEEEEE!

So, I knew the full moon was going to catch up with us eventually. I just didn't know when.

The good news, the shower moving is a go, so now all I have to do is redo the invitations, which is no big. Then, came later.

Mr. Samoa's cell phone rings, it's Caroline. I pick up the phone and I hear sobbing. "ZOMGZONOZ TEH BAYBEE!" quoth my cerebellum. Then she says, "I have some questions." I'm like, "Ooookaayyy..." thinking "ZOMGZONOZ WHAT DID MR. CAROLINE DO?!" "Do you [snif sob] know anyone who wants a cat?" "Why, what'd he do?" I asked. (Mr. Samoa, only hearing one end of the conversation, thought he might have to thump Mr. Caroline's gourd at this juncture.)

As it turned out, her male cat, Fuzzy, is peeing all over the house. This does not make for the best aroma, and she was concerned that it might be behavioral. She described the symptoms, which left me with 99% certainty that Fuzzy had a medical problem. When I got off the phone with her, we had formulated a game plan for getting Fuzzy to the vet and how to clean the house, and she was much calmer. Mr. Samoa and I, however, have been sprinting about the house and emitting high-pitched yelps at random for the past hour, and we now have more gray hair.

Welcome to the full moon! (Are we done yet?)

Psst

I have a confession to make. You have to promise not to tell anyone, as it's a pretty shameful secret these days.

The Olympics. I. Don't. CARE!!! I do not care about the Olympics. I do not CARE how many bazillion medals someone has won. Good on him, and I'm sure he's pleased, but it is NOT worthy of the entire newspaper being devoted to it! (And let's not even start on the contingent of women who apparently find Dumbo ears to be a turnon...) OK, that was kind of mean. But I'm sick of it! I am sick of every third thread on forums (across multiple platforms!) being about the stinking Olympics. I am sick of people asking me if I've been watching them, and when I say "No" and attempt to change the subject (I do at least do people the courtesy of not shrieking "I'd rather poke hot pokers into my eyeballs!") they prattle on and on about whatever last night's circus act was. Here's a hint (and yes, Mother, I mean you!): IF I CARED, I WOULD HAVE WATCHED IT!!!

Moreover, I can't believe how many people are basically ignoring the underhanded tactics that the Chinese regime has been up to in order to get everything perfect for the Olympics. We should not be there at all, IMO. We've screwed up the world badly enough without playing along with a Stepford Country game masterminded by a bunch of Communist-in-the-bad-old-sense thugs. But oh, no, never mind the exiling people, never mind who all they've made disappear behind the scenes, never mind how many people's livelihoods they've taken out in an attempt to make everything postcard-perfect, we's gotta have teh SPORTZ!!! Because, dontcha know, Teh Sportz is WAYYY more important than murdering dissidents. It's also handy for distracting people from the fact that the US economy is headed down the shitter!

But I'm not bitter! Oh wait, yes I am. :P

Nothing is ever simple

So, after I get all the invitations assembled, it turns out that we now have to move Caroline's shower to the 27th. Apparently a lot of people cannot make it. I would quite cheerfully have told them to get bent, but for the fact that one of said people is the baby's only living grandmother. I fear it would be kind of hard to have it without her. :P (Both Caroline's mother and stepmother are dead.) Good thing I just did them on pretty paper rather than actual cardstock invitations, and that said paper comes in packs of 100!

On the bright side, I did score some free green glass craft marbles. We were going into Holyroller Hobby, and there was a pack of them sitting in a cart left in the parking lot, that someone had apparently forgotten. "Want some marbles?" quoth Mr. Samoa. Indeed I did. Don't know what I will do with them yet, but I'm sure they will be good for something.

Small things

So, there Tricia and I were, headed up to Deliverance City to pick up one of the other residents from workshop. Now, the Deliverance City Festival is going on this week, and there are all sorts of festival goings-on outside the workshop, including food. Tricia had desperately wanted to go, but she was out of money herself. Thus, the following transpired.

We were talking outside, when Tricia espied a french-fry wagon. "Fwies, honey?" she inquired hopefully. I was a bit sad, because she had really wanted to go, and I hadn't been able to take her what with her having no money. Then I remembered! I had just cashed my check from the Survey People and as such, had three dollars! Surely, enough to buy at least a small fry! The workshop director advised me that I was correct in this assumption, so off we went.

Well, you have never seen someone so excited to get a small fry. Tricia sprinted across the street, me flapping in the breeze behind her. I gave her the money, and she paid the lady, chattering happy all the while. She got her small fry, and guarded it jealously all the way home, so that she could eat it without spilling. She kept saying, "That's my lunch!" all the way home and beaming.

The residents really make you think sometimes. Sure, I could have come up with something to do with the $2 that the small order of fries cost for myself, but I wouldn't remember what I had gotten in a month. Where, for Tricia, this was a huge thing. And it made, if not her week, at least her day. It makes one think about all the things that we ourselves really do have, for a change.

THURSDAY

I spent Thursday printing out, assembling by hand, and envelope-ing 50 baby shower invites. I think I got high off the fumes from the sealing wax. :p Now, to wait with bated breath for my paycheck so I can hit Dollar Tree and pick up their adorable (yellow and green! yay!) baby shower paper supplies.

Part II

The few good things: Our time table for getting back from the eye place wound up being like a half hour ahead of schedule. So, I made it to work in plenty of time, and got lunch too.

Then, the baby. We were at Smiley Face Store when we saw these twin baby girls. Cute as heck, as twin baby girls generally are. One baby saw me. I do not for the life of me know what she thought was so great, but she lit up like a lightbulb, started reaching towards me, and making Cute Baby Noises (TM) to beat the band. Well, you'd have to be a harder case childfree-er than I am (actually, I think you'd have to be a sociopath, she said completely subjectively) not to smile and wiggle fingers at that point, so I did. "Coo, coo, giggle" quoth she. I still don't know what she saw that she thought was so great, but it was a nice cheer-up. :D

This is gonna be a two-parter

To explain why I didn't post yesterday.

Mr. Samoa and I went to get my new glasses in the AM. They are a lot stronger than the old ones so are going to take some getting used to, but I digress. On the way up, we stopped and got some donut holes. These turned out to be cursed donut holes, though we did not know it at the time.

On the way back, we both felt sick. Only thing in common that we had eaten was the donut holes. I actually, um, became ill. Just outside of Bugpit, we spotted what appeared to be a drunk driver weaving all over the road. So, call highway patrol, report same. Get home, roll partway back down driveway as a still-rattled Mr. Samoa forgets to put the car in park. :P

Work was, for me, fairly uneventful. Not so Mr. Samoa. He has a work situation that, extremely simplified, basically is that this guy either needs to do something to help or shut his mouth. There had been yet another flare-up of this that evening. I didn't know this, and was peeved that Mr. Samoa was late as we had to be somewhere before 8. Consequently, poor Mr. Samoa got home and had sort of a mini-breakdown. I think we got him on a course of action, but it wasn't much fun.

I think the donut holes were cursed.

(Next post, the few good things that did happen.)

Strike one for the little guy

So Tricia the Resident and I are at Keep-a-Bunch, the local discount grocery store. We bought about $175 worth of canned goods, not an unusual event, and got in line to pay. The players in the scenario were Penelope Peon, our cashier; Hagula, the assistant manager; and Lancelot, the store manager.

Penelope rings us up, and we pay as usual with a business check. There is a new store policy regarding business checks, they have to be processed with a different procedure. No problem. Now, when this is done, apparently Result A or Result B can happen. Both are OK but are handled slightly differently. In our case, Result B happened and I guess it was usually Result A. Penelope queries Hagula about this, and Hagula snips, "Well, then, we can't take the check!" Penelope says, " I don't think that's right. That's not what Lancelot said." Hagula replies haughtily, "Well, that's what SoandSo said!" Penelope says, "That just doesn't sound right. I'm going to go and get Lancelot." "Whatever", snipes Hagula.

So, Penelope goes and gets Lancelot. It all happened kind of fast, but next thing I know, Penelope is smugly accepting our check, Hagula is kind of pinned up against her register, and Lancelot is two inches from her nose, reaming her a new one. The gist of it was how we of the group home were some of Keep-A-Bunch's best customers, and we had been such for many years, and Keep-A-Bunch WOULD be accepting our checks, etc, etc, etc. Tricia and I cackled. Now, we will need to avoid Hagula when we go in there, of course, but- HAHAHAHAHAAH!!!

Only at Casa Zen

So I was working on making a document for Caroline's baby shower invites. Could NOT find a damn template for OpenOffice to save my life. Discovered that Word templates will work, couldn't find one of those either. Finally found a sample invitation from a printing company that had the wording the way I wanted it and was able to hammer something out in AppleWorks using that.

It was then that I discovered... the URL on the front of the stationery I bought, that leads you to free templates to use with the stationery. Right on the front of the package. This after 45 minutes of swearing and cursing at all three of the computers in the house.

As Mr. Samoa said, "I shouldn't be laughing, but that's just so us." :P

Yay!

I think I got Caroline talked into a bridesmaid dress. We found a pattern at the brand spanking new fabric store here in Bugpit that I think will do quite nicely. She and Mr. Caroline were down for dinner today. We had dinner and dinner theater, i.e. we fed the snake. :D This is always cause for great rejoicing in Caroline's clan.

It's in the water

When you click into Blogger, the first thing you see is the staff's new babies. Much the same thing is going on here. So far, expecting children are:

*Mr. Samoa's one friend from our wedding

* Caroline

* One of Mr. Samoa's friends from work

* Somebody I forget but I know there's another one

Weddings to date are:

* Caroline

*Mr. Samoa's cousin

* Tagalong

I'm feeling a bit left out, I guess. Not that I want the actual kid, but everyone's having all this exciting stuff happen in their lives, and we have... jack. It might be different if we had gotten our fair share when we DID get married, but... oh, that's a long post, and one for a different day. I guess there's just going to be a lot of tooth-gritting over the next year or so.

Must be the sign of the moon or something

So, on Board I frequent, one of the posters posts a situation that has her befuddled. Child A had gotten angry with Child B and made a statement that I shan't type out because it was that nasty. Suffice to say it was enough to possibly scar Child B for life. She was trying to decide what to do with Child A, immediate execution being illegal, but her knee-jerk reaction. I kind of had to back her on that one.

SOOO glad the worst thing my "kids" can ever do is eat the contents of the litter box.

A Slipknot kinda gal

As in "People= Shit."

http://investigation.discovery.com/blogs/criminal-report/casey_anthony_full_coverage/caylee_anthony.html

What is WRONG with this chick? Every. Single. other woman who is a mother that I know would have been going batshit within ten minutes of their kid turning up missing. Probably more like ten SECONDS. Even Tagalong, who is not exactly in the running for the Good Housekeeping Mother of the Year, wouldn't react like this. Oh wait! Why worry when you know EXACTLY where your kid is, Miss Casey??!

She'll have a lovely time in the state pen, methinks.

TUESDAY

Caroline had the second ultrasound on Tuesday. They *think* it's a girl but they're not sure. So, looks like yellow and green party decorations for us. :P

MONDAY

Back to the salt mines. I had residents following me around as if glued to my hip. Don't know if they are beating them while I'm away or what? :P

A zoo full

We went to the Largetown Zoo today. As it was the last day of my vacation (back to the salt mines tomorrow AIIIEEEE NOOOO!) and Mr. Samoa and I hadn't gotten to do anything fun yet, off we went. We had a very nice time. We saw the manatees, which are my very very favorite (I have manatee merchandise out the wazoo from various visits) and the otters, which are Mr. Samoa's favorite. (I am partial to the otters as well. As one ott to be. ;) I think I'm going to be kind of sun-toasted tomorrow, but oh well.

Told Mom that Caroline is expecting a Carolinelet. Mom, to the collective shock, was thrilled. I didn't expect an explosion, but I thought perhaps an eyeroll and the odd snarky remark. That was a pleasant surprise!

The darnedest thing

Why is it, that every time I set foot in an eye doctor's office, I get treated like I am five years old?

This is a picture of me, here: http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a218/skycat_98/nyesig.jpg While I don't look my age IMO (30.5), I don't think I look like a teenybopper either. So why, oh why, did the following exchange take place?

I picked out my frames, the assistant chick had me go to the living room to show them off. Mom loved them, Dad was like, "I'm not the guy paying, so whatever," and I believe I woke Mr. Samoa up from dozing off. So I go back in, and she chirps, "How did they like them?" I advised her of all the above, and she looks worried and goes, "Oh, do you want them to come in and help you pick?" I'm like, "Ummm... no, I want these!" And I did procure them. But, I remain unclear on how a 30.5 year old married person needs PERMISSION for a specific set of frames! I mean, I am thinking Mr. Samoa would have been a bit perturbed had I picked $400 Gucci frames, our eye insurance being not so great; however, that's about as far as his concern goes! And even that, he was like, "Umm, we'll figure out a way for you to get whatever frames you want, even if they're spendy." (They weren't, for the record.) I just found the whole thing very odd. The eye doctor himself is the only one in three counties who can manage not to bugger up my prescription, so I trek over there still, but his techs are a little weird.

(We will not speak of the Wal-Mart Vision incident. Suffice it to say that my name isn't "Miss Zen", I will wear however much eye makeup I choose, and I don't want contacts!!! I have since learned that I was not alone in such unfortunate incidents there- guess you get what you pay for!)

Whee

Went to see Stacey yesterday. Her pain disorder is not getting any better but she is living with it as well as can be expected. I drew her another picture, as she requested in her last letter. What I want to know is, if they can fix Ted Kennedy's brain cancer, (a fairly useless individual, but I digress), why the HELL can't they fix what's wrong with her? Oh wait, I know. Because the Tedster is a rich, white, powerful man, and she's a girl in a wheelchair.

I really hate people.