Hearts and A Cute Little Cherub

Hope everyone had a happy over-rated, consumerist, singles-awareness day Valentine's Day.
Joe asked me if I was doing anything special for him for Black Sunday. After moments of deep thought, I said I wouldn't consider holding a pillow over his face tonight while he slept. But just tonight. Tomorrow, well, fair game.

Heh, I'm romantic like that.

But enough of sappy holidays that make me want to yack. I've been up to my ears in heart business, and I'm not talking about the kind with little edible messages.
Apparently my Doctor wants to buy a third vacation home thinks I may have a little issue called arterial fibrillation which, technically speaking, is a wonky heart. It also can cause a stroke, like the one I had a few years ago.
After the stroke, I went through a bunch of tests. One of which required a camera to be shoved inserted down my throat and filmed some sort of horror flick of my heart, which resulted in me loosing my sense of taste for five months (boo!) which lead to losing 20 lbs (YAY!). Unfortunately, after reviewing the footage, the director wasn't thrilled and wanted to re-shoot. Hellz-to-the-no! Plus my blood-sucking health insurance company said if I had one more test, a big guy named Brutus would show up at my house and club me to death. Or something like that.
By then I was also tired of being a human pin-cushion anyway so I cancelled all future tests and decided to just get back to the business of living.

Flash forward several years and now my Doctor has recommended that I revisit the issue and referred me to yet another cardiologist. Last month I had to wear a 24 hour heart monitor. If you've never had the pleasure, it looks like this.

And no, the zebra print boob-tube isn't required.
But the wires, 2lb recorder with fanny pack, and 40 yards of tape is. It's as comfy as it is fashionable, trust me. But besides looking like a terrorist, you can't take a shower and sleeping with it just plains sucks. In short, longest frickin' 24 hours ever!

But now my sadist of a Doctor wants me to be hooked up to the heart monitor for a month! A month of being C3PO! Are you kidding me?! Of course he wanted me to get wired up right before my vacation. Yeah right! Who wants to try to make it through airport security with me? Anyone? No one, eh? Thought so.

Besides, can you imagine the tan lines?

So the Doc scheduled me for a special Valentine's wiring. But before my appointment I called to get a grand total on how much all this fun is going to cost me. Actually, I called several times, over 3 weeks, and the bastards never called me back. Finally I get a call... from the hospital to pre-register. Not only did the lady have no idea I was waiting for a call with a total$, she had me down as a 78 year old widow with no living relatives! What the friggin'-frack? Oh and they even had my phone number incorrect despite the fact THEY JUST CALLED ME. Thank gawd they're just super gluing electrodes to me. Trust me, I'll have serious second thoughts if they come after me with a scalpel!

Several calls and nearly an hour being transferred or on hold later, I finally spoke to someone in billing regarding the cost. The following is the abridged version of the conversation:

Me: So how much is the heart monitor?
Dingbat: $460 Me: A day? Or for the month?
Dingbat: A day. I think.
Me: You think?
Dingbat: Yes. Maybe. I don't really know.
(silence)
Me: So what you're saying is it may cost me $460 Orrrrrrrrrr..... $18,000.
Dingbat: yes
Me: But your not sure which.
Dingbat: Right
(longer pause)
Me: That's a big difference between $460 and $18,000
Dingbat: Yeah, it is.
(FRIGGIN' CRICKETS!!!)
Me: So if you don't know which it is, who does?
Dingbat: I don't know.

After muttering something about the state's 7% unemployment rate, incompetent shit-for-brains, and recommending she connect me to the bitch who writes up the bills and mails them to me because that lady seems to have bionic super powers, I hung up with still no clear answers.

The day before my appointment I made one more attempt to get a price. This time I got the head of billing. I won't recreate that conversation but let's just say she was a passive-aggressive bitch that repeatedly called me "madam" and couldn't fathom why I would need such information and in the end, still couldn't give me a price.

I ended the day with a call to her manager and another to my doctor to let him know I am no longer his patient and why.

I've decided that going on with the business of living was the right decision and I'm not being dissuaded from it. The Doc had already been talking a bunch of smack about putting me on high octane blood thinners that would prohibit me from ever riding again. Hello?! I own a horse farm! In addition, Dr. Buzzkill said no more coffee, no more alcohol, and definitely no more fun. Seriously? Why the hell can't I be restricted from housework, annoying husbands and whining children! FML!

But before you think I'm jumping ship because of no more drinking the "negative effects on my quality of life", Doc's words, it's not. I feel in my heart of hearts (ha!), that this will just be more testing, more expense and not a single definitive answer...again. And frankly, I have better things to do.

Besides, when your time's up, your time's up. There's no gettin' away from it. Even if your sleeping safe and sound in your own bed.

Some People Are Just Askin' For It

Seemingly, the Blog Gods have taken notice of my bloggy malaise and lack of posting.

...Despite having a fabulous Halloween.

... and good times carving pumpkins.

...and sordid tales about this guy (OK, not really)

I just haven't been moved to mentally wrangle up a tale and work it out in a grammatically correct fashion.

blah.

So today, the Blog Gods got together and heaved a big, steaming pile of blog fodder right on my lap. And boy did it stink! Let me explain...

I'm naturally a chill person. I don't care for drama; I'm a live-and-let-live kinda gal. I pick my battles and I often bite my tongue to avoid conflict. I hate conflict. Seriously, it takes a lot to get my blood boiling, but once some asshat decides to take it there, oh it's on!

A few things you should know about me when I've been pushed out of my peace-lovin' love nest:

• Like a pitbull I will go for the throat... and I do NOT let go. One of us is going down...it's not going to be me.



• I get LOUD! Yes, if you're going to push me to be pissed off, EVERYONE will know it.



• I don't believe in hitting below the belt or responding in a juvenile way... but I will.



• I get the last word. Chances are you started it, it's only fair that I end it. Got it?

So I went to the chiropractor's office today with Beck. When we arrived, the waiting room was pretty full so Beck went straight to the corner that contains a basket of toys and I took a seat on the opposite side of the 10X10 room. Beck got busy playing nicely with the three other kids cramped in the corner. I watched them as the 4 kids stacked blocks and giggled amongst themselves... you know, how kids can naturally just start having fun with other kids. Good stuff.

Soon a man enters the waiting room and glares at everyone, spots the kids and "huffs". He sits with his back to the kids but constantly shoots nasty looks over his shoulder.

Mind you, I'm the first person to get annoyed by unruly children whose parents have better things to do than to mind their own offspring. Moreover, I'm pretty strict about how I expect my children to behave in public. I REFUSE to be one of those parents.

That being said, these four children were playing very well together. They stayed in their little corner, stacking blocks, occasionally *gasp* giggling.

The Cranky Old Bastard (COB) leans over and asks the guy next to him, "Who thought they could bring their kids."

I take a deep breath.

The doctor comes to the door and calls his next patient when COB says to him, "why don't you take the kids. They're out of control."

Oh GAME ON ASSHOLE!

Me: "Actually, those kids are behaving just fine."

COB : NO THEY'RE NOT! THEY"RE BEING ANIMALS!

Me : ANIMALS!? They're just kids, playing nicely.

COB : Well, this is a doctor's office!

Me: Yes, a Doctors office with a basket full of toys for the kids to play with while their waiting.

COB: I don't come here to listen to kids.

Me: I don't come here to deal with cranky, OLD, bitter men!

COB: Well they're being annoying

Me: Really? Because you're being annoying. They're kids. What's your excuse?

COB: (turning again to the other guy) Don't you think these kids are out of control?

Other Guy: Actually, they're playing just fine. They're well behaved. They're just kids.

Meanwhile the other parents are quickly ushering their kids out of the room, probably in fear that I was about to whoop this old fart's arse!

Then this other dude says to COB: "You're a very rude man, How dare you talk to this woman you don't even know. They're just kids! Get over yourself."

... and then he splits.

COB: Well I don't care, these kids are being too loud!

Me: No moron, they're not. they're no louder than the Muzak being piped into this room. (OK I didn't say Moron... but I was thinking it. No I wasn't. I was thinking much worse)

COB: Well that's your opinion.

Me: Yes, and apparently that of the rest of the room as well.

COB : Well I don't want to hear your opinion.

Me: (laughing) Well then you might have considered keeping your mouth closed and not sharing your opinion. But since you chose to run your mouth, then you're getting my opinion. It would be wise for you to shut up now...unless you want me to continue.

COB: (sensing I was batshit crazy and that the veins popping and pulsating on the side of my head and neck may indicate that I'm just getting started, COB averted his eyes in defeat, and mutters) unbelievable.

Me: Excuse me? What's unbelievable? The fact you are a grown man pissing and moaning about some kids playing and minding their own business or because someone won't put up with your garbage?

crickets...

c'mon! Do it! Breath another G-D word asshole! I'm just getting warmed up! I sat there, blood swishing in my ears, jaw clinched, shaking... just waiting for him to say another word, a cross-eyed look.... another "huff". He sat motionless, eyes on his shoes.... for the next 15 minutes.

Once in the doctor's office, the chiropractor apologized profusely. I recommend he give the bastard more than a spinal adjustment.

Some people just need their asses handed to them. Today I was more than happy to gift wrap!

Room To Breathe

Monday, Joe announced only hours before Morgan's dance class that he moved Morgan's dance shoes (TWO WEEKS AGO!!!)"because they needed to be put away", however he doesn't recall where exactly he put them... obviously not "away", but rather far, far away. We searched the house high and low and there's no sign of her dance shoes.

Oh, and did I mention her teacher is Hitler of the Dance? Yeah, there's no way we're showing up to dance without the proper dance shoes. I believe you get shot on sight for that.

So since Joe and his squirrelly ways got "us" into this situation, I suggested he get "us" out of it.

He spent the next 5 Minutes thinking through the situation and the best way to remedy his obvious blunder. He finally concocted the best plan to fix everything... he asked me to take care of it. Not the course of action I was hoping for, but time was ticking and let's face it, if I left it up to him he'd send her to ballet in SpongeBob slippers.
So I spent the afternoon calling around, trying to find the exact shoes required for class. A fifty mile road trip and $80 later I produced the required shoes, no help from the hubster of course.

Fast forward less than 24 hours later. I wake up to the sound of the school bus pausing momentarily at the end of our drive and then continuing on. I look at the clock; 7:18am! It seems as though the prospect of the alarm clock annoyingly waking up my husband bothered him so much that he turned it off before the little bugger had the chance to interrupt sleep.
I rush to get both kids up, fed, lunches packed and each off to their schools. Since Morgan missed most of last week due to our little visit from the Swinethrax Fairy, I felt it was imperative to get her to school on time. I ask Joe if he'd bring Morgan and I'd get Beck. His reply as he calmly enjoyed his breakfast, "I don't know where her school is." and simply continued watching Fox and Friends.

WHAT!?! It's three freakin' miles from our house!!!! Are you kidding me?!!!

Again, like the shoes, I knew if I forced the issue he'd prove he was correct in his incompetence. So to save our daughter from repeating Second grade, I tossed both kids in the car and managed to get them both to their schools on time.

Seriously, I just wonder what little gem of shit will get thrown my way tomorrow. I'm the super hero of others' craptastic blunders!

Here's a video that I'll be playing for Joe while ordering a load of concrete is creepy... hey. it's Halloween.

Plus I love me some Art Alexakis!

Continued Adventures of Our Lawn

Well, it's been raining here for like 2 years straight or something and what with running a summer camp here and the fact that my lawn is under water, I haven't exactly kept up with my lawn mowing duties. I know, I know I'm such a lazy ass. All I need to do is put some pontoons on the mower... and the weed wacker is gas so it's not like I'll get electrocuted... well, unless I get hit by lightning. But details people, details.
The condition of the lawn, despite the obvious reasons why, has annoyed Joe, and after asking me every day "are you going to mow the lawn toady?" (you know, in the torrential downpours), he announced he was hiring a lawn care service to mow this week (passive aggressive much?). When I foolishly reminded him the lawn guy wouldn't be mowing in a thunderstorm either, Joe back-peddled a bit by saying he was just hiring the guy to 'help me out'. Yeah right. Turn on the damn sun, that would help me out.
So today the sun finally made an appearance. I wrapped up this session of summer camp and as all the rugrats went on their merry way home I busted out the lawn mower and got to work.

This is the note I sent to the lawn guy's wife (who sets his appointments):

Hey Dawners,
It's so damn beautiful today that I mowed the lawn... Hope Tim doesn't mind. I really like mowing. It's the only time I can just relax in the yard (and can't hear the kids and they know not to come near me coz I'll mow their little asses over). So although Tim's a pro and would certainly render a better finished product, Joe sucks for taking away my quality mowing time. bastard.
Of and since I NEVER do as good as a job as Tim, I told Joe that Tim came and mowed and he was very pleased with his work. He'll probably be sending you a check.
Have a great day.

My Life with BonBons

If you ever want to see evil Mala make an appearance, utter this simple phrase; What did you do all day?
In less than a nanosecond my head will spin, my eyes become death rays, and I vomit green acidic substance while I claw your face off.
In other words, don't say that shit to me.
Dear ol' hubster took many a long years to figure this easy fact out.
I used to have a somewhat craptastic cubicle job selling equipment to TV stations before I gave birth to our daughter and we decided I would stay home and raise our child... oh and start and operate a horse farm, care for my niece daily, do the bookkeeping for my Father's trucking business, adopt our son, teach riding lessons, run a summer day camp and work out of the house as a wine consultant.
Ahhh the sweet life of a stay-at-home Mom; sitting on the couch all day, eating BonBons. So my husband thought. Almost daily he'd come home and his first words would be "what did you do all day?". I could have killed him... and I'm fairly certain no court of law would fault me for it.
Maybe it was that last cast iron fry pan I lobbed at his head, but he doesn't (dare) say that anymore.
No, now he's a bit more passive aggressive in his tactics.
Case in point: Today, amongst other things, I mowed, raked, weed-wacked and trimmed our lawn. No biggie, right? Well, right... but it's A LOT of lawn. Allow me to show you...

and....

don't forget around the barn....

and back by the garden...

And out front by the flower beds...

and up the driveway...

and that whole new area we just seeded by the boarder's parking lot...


You get the picture... lots of mowing, lots of wacking.
But I actually enjoy it because I think it looks really good after I'm done (you know, that sense of accomplishment... not like when I make dinner and everyone bitches and moans). Besides, if I don't do a great job, I'll have another chance in just SIX days when it all grows in again and looks all shaggy like we just up and abandoned the property.

Anyhoo, back to my point (you didn't think I had one, did ya! HA!), instead of coming home and ohhh'ing and ahhh'ing at my mad landscaping skillz, the hubs huffs and puffs, gets on his 'non-office, work clothes' and heads out to......

wait for it......

wait for it......

WEED WACK IN THE FREAKIN' DARK!!!!!!


I swear, for the sole purpose of being able to say, with truly exacerbated angst, he "finished the lawn"! What the..?!!!!

and this folks is why I drink!

Craziness all up in here...

There be a full moon comin' on Sunday, but you could have fooled me cause I swear there's been a huge radioactive, madness-inducing full moon all up in here for a good week+. I won't get all into it right now because the urge to slit my wrists is too great and it's technically too early to crack open a bottle of wine. Which reminds me, my wine cellar is bare save for a few bottles of white that I've strategically drank around. GDMF!
And I swear it's not just me! Seems everyone I've talked to is suffering from the negative side-effects of the crazy pill (either themselves or consumed by those around them). Don't believe me? Look over there to the right, blog posts from my bloggy pals titled "WTF" FML" "Chopped and Screwed" "shoot me now" OK not really, I made that one up.. I was gonna use it for this post.
What. The. Hell.
Just seriously funked up deeds lately; certain members of my family getting hit by the wack-a-doo bus (or maybe they're driving it), my friend's son attempting suicide, my Beveroni's Dad, people at each other's throats, the lead singer of Cake yelling at us for 20 minutes because we couldn't identify a Tangerine tree! Seriously W. T. F.? And this is just the short list, but my blood pressure is making my temples throb so that's enough of that.
I've got plenty to be thankful for (yes, I keep repeating this in my head), good friends, awesome kids (oh yeah, by the way, it was Morgan's birthday last week. I would have blogged about the party...if I weren't neck high is freakin' BS drama), and I don't have a third arm growing out of my head... so I got that goin' for me. But I'm in a serious search for some good ol' fashion positive mojo. Or red wine.