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.