Boo, our 7 year old mutt on Prozac, loves to eviscerate stuffed animals. Jill used to buy him toys at the DAV, just to let him gut them. He did, within minutes of them entering the house, and leaving the living room looking like a big cloud, with stuffing all over the place. He then carries the floppy carcass all over the house, and plays tug-o-war with anyone who will join in. Jill can even get him to play hide and seek with it. It's hilarious.
He hasn't gotten to do it much since The Brat left for school, but he has a new habit: pulling the batting out of my quilt. I have a quilt, not old, that is getting rather shredded from me bundling up in it. It's not a huge deal. Although I love that quilt, it was bought for cheap at Sears, and has now been relegated to covering the man-cave couch, in a desperate attempt to keep the dog hair at bay. Well, Boo has decided that it is his personal mission to remove the batting from inside every square inch of it with his teeth. It's quite something to watch, and he keeps at it, despite our admonitions to leave the darned thing alone.
So Thomas was over the other day, to watch football with Dan. Dan wasn't home yet, so the Heir to the Throne was sitting in the King's chair. Weird noises were coming from the couch, and we looked over to see Boo chewing on a piece of batting that he had stuck in his mouth. "What are you doing," said The Heir. Boo just looked at him and kept trying to get the stuff loose. It wasn't looking good. It was, as a matter of fact, looking more like he might barf on the couch, cause he just could not get it loose. "Not going too good for you, is it, Boo," said Thomas. Boo sat up and stuck his head near Thomas, with a look that said "I'm not too sure about this, dude." Thomas started laughing.
It was at that moment that Boo, formerly so terrified of him that he'd pee on the floor if Thomas even looked at him, gave him the ultimate gift: he dropped the whole slimy mess on Thomas' shirt. I swear he looked proud when he laid back down.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Warning: potentiall offensive to non-medical people
I will just say, nurses have an odd sense of humor. Be forewarned.
So, in my "new" job of 2 months, I am a systems analyst, working in our electronic medical record department. I'm quickly gaining a rep as the housekeeper of the system, because I've been fixing all of the typographical errors, punctuation gone awry, and lists that aren't alphabetized. Typos make me crazy, so maybe we can say that after 2 months, I'm almost sane. Not.
One of the nurses put in a Help Desk ticket to get a bunch of old diabetic monitors taken off of the list, so that the docs don't have to wade through a bazillion listings that aren't usable. It started with a list of about 50 things to do, maybe more, and now it's morphed into a huge project. Keep in mind that the majority of our patients are on Medicaid, and Medicaid won't pay for everything. add to that that the list of a bazillion things has listings for brands like Albertson's and Giant Eagle that do not operate anywhere near central Indiana. So yeah, I've been weeding those out.
I also took out the listings for the Land Before Time diapers, which I'm sure Jill wishes were still made, since it's one of her favorite movies. It gave me a real visual, remembering how many times the kids watched that movie. A visual that wasn't nearly so profound as when I came across the listing for a Vaginal Dispenser.
What the heck is that?
I thought at first that maybe it was one of those things you use to put Monistat in, but we call those applicators. So yeah, I have no idea, but I can't get the picture of a vajayjay spewing out M&Ms out of my head. I think I'll stop cleaning now.
So, in my "new" job of 2 months, I am a systems analyst, working in our electronic medical record department. I'm quickly gaining a rep as the housekeeper of the system, because I've been fixing all of the typographical errors, punctuation gone awry, and lists that aren't alphabetized. Typos make me crazy, so maybe we can say that after 2 months, I'm almost sane. Not.
One of the nurses put in a Help Desk ticket to get a bunch of old diabetic monitors taken off of the list, so that the docs don't have to wade through a bazillion listings that aren't usable. It started with a list of about 50 things to do, maybe more, and now it's morphed into a huge project. Keep in mind that the majority of our patients are on Medicaid, and Medicaid won't pay for everything. add to that that the list of a bazillion things has listings for brands like Albertson's and Giant Eagle that do not operate anywhere near central Indiana. So yeah, I've been weeding those out.
I also took out the listings for the Land Before Time diapers, which I'm sure Jill wishes were still made, since it's one of her favorite movies. It gave me a real visual, remembering how many times the kids watched that movie. A visual that wasn't nearly so profound as when I came across the listing for a Vaginal Dispenser.
What the heck is that?
I thought at first that maybe it was one of those things you use to put Monistat in, but we call those applicators. So yeah, I have no idea, but I can't get the picture of a vajayjay spewing out M&Ms out of my head. I think I'll stop cleaning now.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Never can say goodbye.....
So I went to lunch with the girls yesterday, and when I left, I got a true shocker. Now, I work in da 'hood, and I'm not easily surprised by much of anything that happens there. We share our side of the building with a bunch of social services. We get propositioned regularly by the prisoners. We ladies consider it to be a good week when we have toilet paper, because it's stolen on a pretty regular basis. And let's just say, you could get higher than a kite walking in the front door most days. It keeps the workday interesting.
So I went out to my car and put it in reverse. Started backing out really slowly, and suddenly the door on the car next to me flew open. The back door, that is. So now, I'm not only watching out for stoned drivers in the parking lot, I was worried about that door hitting my mirror as I tried to get out. I slowed down even more. I realized that the door wasn't closing, so then I was worried -- does this dude know that my car is moving, and is he gonna back into me. That was when I got an eyeful.
Dude was doing a furious booty shake, droopy pants and all, right in my passenger's window. WOW.
I thought that was strange enough, and was wondering if it was a private dance, till I backed up far enough to turn the wheel to get out. That's when I saw that he had moved to the back of his car, accompanied by his lady friend, and now BOTH of them were going at it with booty shakes the speed of lightening. They were still at it when I exited the parking lot. It was like having two butts waving goodbye.
That was a first. And that alone is something I never thought I'd say about my place of employment.
So enjoy this video, and if you don't know what a booty shake is, wait till 3:00 on the video, then imagine this being done practically in your face by a total stranger. I know I'll never forget it.
So I went out to my car and put it in reverse. Started backing out really slowly, and suddenly the door on the car next to me flew open. The back door, that is. So now, I'm not only watching out for stoned drivers in the parking lot, I was worried about that door hitting my mirror as I tried to get out. I slowed down even more. I realized that the door wasn't closing, so then I was worried -- does this dude know that my car is moving, and is he gonna back into me. That was when I got an eyeful.
Dude was doing a furious booty shake, droopy pants and all, right in my passenger's window. WOW.
I thought that was strange enough, and was wondering if it was a private dance, till I backed up far enough to turn the wheel to get out. That's when I saw that he had moved to the back of his car, accompanied by his lady friend, and now BOTH of them were going at it with booty shakes the speed of lightening. They were still at it when I exited the parking lot. It was like having two butts waving goodbye.
That was a first. And that alone is something I never thought I'd say about my place of employment.
So enjoy this video, and if you don't know what a booty shake is, wait till 3:00 on the video, then imagine this being done practically in your face by a total stranger. I know I'll never forget it.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
A sad moment in the house of Utter Chaos
It finally happened. Dan retired his coffee pot.
His coffeepot is an OLD Mr Coffee, hang from the kitchen cabinet Spacemaker model that he inherited when his grandma passed away in 1995. I remember the day they went through her apartment and divvied up all her belongings. I didn't feel it was my place to go, so I stayed home, asking Dan to just get one family picture -- of his great grandparents' wedding -- if no one else wanted it. He came home with that picture, a brass bookshelf, and the coffeepot.
Gram was one of those old school grandmas who was forever cooking. She'd fix a huge spread for breakfast then, while complaining that I ate like a bird (I remember those days!), she'd be asking what we wanted to have for dinner. You never left Gram's house hungry, and somewhere between arriving and leaving, you'd perhaps play some poker and hear her say "Herb, fix me a highball" right before dinner.
Gram had three husbands: Dan's grandpa, who died in his fifties, Kenny, who died of cancer, and Herb, who died a couple of years before she did. As Dan said, she married 'em and buried 'em. And the funny thing was that she never let them see her without her wig. Now, I'm sure that Grandpa Utter did at some point -- maybe -- but when I met her, she was married to Herb, and trust me, he NEVER saw her without her wig. Grandma had open heart surgery, and when they wheeled her away wearing her blue cap on her head, Herb chuckled. He had been given her suitcase, and remarked that her wig was in there, and he'd finally see her without it. He was wrong.
When we went to see her after surgery, there she was in ICU, on a ventilator, with chest tubes and tubes everywhere. There she lay, and we didn't even have a moment to get worried, because we were too busy laughing, because there she was, out like a light, with her wig on her head! I looked on the wall, and there was her list of orders. Written in big red letters it said "Patient's husband has never seen her without her wig. Please put her wig on ASAP."
Score one for Gram.
She went to our wedding two months later, and we have her on video asking the cameraman "ya wanna see my zipper" while she put her leg up a little, to show off her scar from the surgery. Gram was a hoot.
And so it is that she has made Dan a cup of coffee every day since 1995. That coffeepot leaked sometimes, and would subsequently ruin things if we forgot and put them on the counter underneath it, but Dan persisted. The one day a week or so ago, he forgot and left his phone under it. Fortunately, we caught it before it ruined the phone, but the writing was on the wall. He hung on for a week or so, but after finding a new coffee pot in the basement, he took the old Mr. Coffee down and now uses the new Krups coffee maker.
I wanted to cry, watching that coffee pot come down.
But that was before we started discussing where the heck that Krups coffeemaker came from. After some discussion, we decided that his mom had bought it for him, and that brought some comfort. Dan's mom has been gone for three years now, but now SHE is making Dan coffee every day. And trust me, you can't get that kind of service at Starbucks.
His coffeepot is an OLD Mr Coffee, hang from the kitchen cabinet Spacemaker model that he inherited when his grandma passed away in 1995. I remember the day they went through her apartment and divvied up all her belongings. I didn't feel it was my place to go, so I stayed home, asking Dan to just get one family picture -- of his great grandparents' wedding -- if no one else wanted it. He came home with that picture, a brass bookshelf, and the coffeepot.
Gram was one of those old school grandmas who was forever cooking. She'd fix a huge spread for breakfast then, while complaining that I ate like a bird (I remember those days!), she'd be asking what we wanted to have for dinner. You never left Gram's house hungry, and somewhere between arriving and leaving, you'd perhaps play some poker and hear her say "Herb, fix me a highball" right before dinner.
Gram had three husbands: Dan's grandpa, who died in his fifties, Kenny, who died of cancer, and Herb, who died a couple of years before she did. As Dan said, she married 'em and buried 'em. And the funny thing was that she never let them see her without her wig. Now, I'm sure that Grandpa Utter did at some point -- maybe -- but when I met her, she was married to Herb, and trust me, he NEVER saw her without her wig. Grandma had open heart surgery, and when they wheeled her away wearing her blue cap on her head, Herb chuckled. He had been given her suitcase, and remarked that her wig was in there, and he'd finally see her without it. He was wrong.
When we went to see her after surgery, there she was in ICU, on a ventilator, with chest tubes and tubes everywhere. There she lay, and we didn't even have a moment to get worried, because we were too busy laughing, because there she was, out like a light, with her wig on her head! I looked on the wall, and there was her list of orders. Written in big red letters it said "Patient's husband has never seen her without her wig. Please put her wig on ASAP."
Score one for Gram.
She went to our wedding two months later, and we have her on video asking the cameraman "ya wanna see my zipper" while she put her leg up a little, to show off her scar from the surgery. Gram was a hoot.
And so it is that she has made Dan a cup of coffee every day since 1995. That coffeepot leaked sometimes, and would subsequently ruin things if we forgot and put them on the counter underneath it, but Dan persisted. The one day a week or so ago, he forgot and left his phone under it. Fortunately, we caught it before it ruined the phone, but the writing was on the wall. He hung on for a week or so, but after finding a new coffee pot in the basement, he took the old Mr. Coffee down and now uses the new Krups coffee maker.
I wanted to cry, watching that coffee pot come down.
But that was before we started discussing where the heck that Krups coffeemaker came from. After some discussion, we decided that his mom had bought it for him, and that brought some comfort. Dan's mom has been gone for three years now, but now SHE is making Dan coffee every day. And trust me, you can't get that kind of service at Starbucks.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Six degrees
Tonight after dinner, Dan asked Seth to grab his bottle of vitamins from the bin that was on the counter nearby. Seth looked at him rather blankly and said "which bottle is it," at which point both of us said "it's the one that says Vitamins." ::sigh::
So he starts going through the bin and pulls out a bottle. "Anti-diarrhea," said he. Then he pulled out a big bottle of Ibuprofen, read the label silently, then tossed it back into the bin. "It's a white bottle," said Dan. Seth promptly pulled up a prescription bottle -- orange -- to which Dan said "It says VITAMINS on it." "I don't know which one it is. None of them say Vitamins." ::sigh:: I said "it might say One a Day or something on it." He responded, "none of them say Vitamins. " He then starting clicking off the bottles he found: "Ibuprofen." "Anti-diarrhea." "Menstrual Relief," said with a particularly sassy tone that promptly caused Dan to hop up from his chair, grab the right bottle and hold it up triumphantly in front of the boy. The boy responded, equally triumphantly "It says Central-Rite! Not Vitamins." Dan's response was a Father Knows Best "well, it starts with a V."
And that's when it started.
Seth: "Well, so does Ventricle."
Dan: "Ventilate."
Seth: "Vitreum. Yeah, I know chemistry stuff."
Dan didn't have a chance to regroup before Seth burst out with a loud "Ven-testicle." Proving that age old law of teenagedom: there are no more than six degrees of separation between a teenaged boy and a dirty, or pseudo-dirty, thought.
So he starts going through the bin and pulls out a bottle. "Anti-diarrhea," said he. Then he pulled out a big bottle of Ibuprofen, read the label silently, then tossed it back into the bin. "It's a white bottle," said Dan. Seth promptly pulled up a prescription bottle -- orange -- to which Dan said "It says VITAMINS on it." "I don't know which one it is. None of them say Vitamins." ::sigh:: I said "it might say One a Day or something on it." He responded, "none of them say Vitamins. " He then starting clicking off the bottles he found: "Ibuprofen." "Anti-diarrhea." "Menstrual Relief," said with a particularly sassy tone that promptly caused Dan to hop up from his chair, grab the right bottle and hold it up triumphantly in front of the boy. The boy responded, equally triumphantly "It says Central-Rite! Not Vitamins." Dan's response was a Father Knows Best "well, it starts with a V."
And that's when it started.
Seth: "Well, so does Ventricle."
Dan: "Ventilate."
Seth: "Vitreum. Yeah, I know chemistry stuff."
Dan didn't have a chance to regroup before Seth burst out with a loud "Ven-testicle." Proving that age old law of teenagedom: there are no more than six degrees of separation between a teenaged boy and a dirty, or pseudo-dirty, thought.
Friday, October 08, 2010
The playlist
We moved Jill into her new apartment yesterday, thanks to a psycho roommate and no help from the housing office, but oh well, she now has a permanent living situation. Drove four hours south in a U-Haul truck, then left for Maryland for a wedding. Thank heavens for iPods.
I remember the days of trying to find a radio station, only to be met with either a) static or b) twangy country music. I don't mind a small dose of country now and then, but I prefer a mix of stuff, hence: the iPod. I was late getting on the iPod wagon, but once I did, I filled it up in less than two weeks. I probably need a bigger one, but it'll do for now.
So we were listening to my mishmash of music, which can vary from Pavorotti to Different Drums of Ireland to Flo Rida and back again. I was cracking up in Louisville when Dan and Seth were jammin out to Shakira's "Whenever, Wherever." The girl is nuts with her dancing - more like a stripper than anything -- but listening to those two singing and watching their groove was hilarious.
Shortly afterward, we stopped at a rest stop, where Dan got the crazy notion to check the trunk for our bag. What made him do that, I'll never know, but within minutes, everyone around us knew that we didn't have our suitcase. And we were on our way to a wedding in Maryland. And that it was my fault. Never mind that I drove the U-Haul and he packed the car -- I've got big shoulders and I didn't care, cause it struck me as funny. Even if neither of us had clean underwear, socks, or toiletries. I still thought it was funny. So sue me.
Dan went on a little rant for several miles, while Seth kept repeating "it doesn't really matter, Leslie loves us and doesn't care what we wear to the wedding." Over and over and over. Seth is going to make a good psychiatrist someday, and it's times like this that make me realize WHY he wants to be one.
Dan calmed down when he wanted to - maybe half an hour later -- but I still was told later that I was going to be charged with reckless homicide when his butt got infected from wearing sweaty dirty underwear, and he died from the subsequent infection. Go figure. That man has some kinda imagination. I was still laughing when I went to bed. I guess that something about wearing the same clothes for four days just hits my funny bone, but I laughed for at least an hour after I woke up. It's a lesson in humility. Or maybe infection control
I remember the days of trying to find a radio station, only to be met with either a) static or b) twangy country music. I don't mind a small dose of country now and then, but I prefer a mix of stuff, hence: the iPod. I was late getting on the iPod wagon, but once I did, I filled it up in less than two weeks. I probably need a bigger one, but it'll do for now.
So we were listening to my mishmash of music, which can vary from Pavorotti to Different Drums of Ireland to Flo Rida and back again. I was cracking up in Louisville when Dan and Seth were jammin out to Shakira's "Whenever, Wherever." The girl is nuts with her dancing - more like a stripper than anything -- but listening to those two singing and watching their groove was hilarious.
Shortly afterward, we stopped at a rest stop, where Dan got the crazy notion to check the trunk for our bag. What made him do that, I'll never know, but within minutes, everyone around us knew that we didn't have our suitcase. And we were on our way to a wedding in Maryland. And that it was my fault. Never mind that I drove the U-Haul and he packed the car -- I've got big shoulders and I didn't care, cause it struck me as funny. Even if neither of us had clean underwear, socks, or toiletries. I still thought it was funny. So sue me.
Dan went on a little rant for several miles, while Seth kept repeating "it doesn't really matter, Leslie loves us and doesn't care what we wear to the wedding." Over and over and over. Seth is going to make a good psychiatrist someday, and it's times like this that make me realize WHY he wants to be one.
Dan calmed down when he wanted to - maybe half an hour later -- but I still was told later that I was going to be charged with reckless homicide when his butt got infected from wearing sweaty dirty underwear, and he died from the subsequent infection. Go figure. That man has some kinda imagination. I was still laughing when I went to bed. I guess that something about wearing the same clothes for four days just hits my funny bone, but I laughed for at least an hour after I woke up. It's a lesson in humility. Or maybe infection control
Sunday, September 19, 2010
More Adventures in Postage
I have the strangest experiences at the post office. Now, I love my postal workers -- they are the bomb -- but I have some really weird experiences AT the post office. Like the night the postage machine was possessed. Like the time I was standing in line and a little old lady drove her car right into the building.
So I went to the post office yesterday, to try to mail over a week's worth of shipping that had gotten delayed by some emergent happenings around the house. I even came home from camping to do the shipping -- that is how determined I was to get it done. So I had something like 11 packages to mail, and was happy to see when I got to the post office that there were actually some available parking spaces.
Keep in mind that this post office is really busy. It's one of a few in Indianapolis that do passports, so it gets more business than most. And the parking lot is a lesson in defensive driving. It has two routes, but neither are marked. Well, maybe three. You can drive straight in and park to the left of the building (the most safe option). You can turn right and STAY right and go to the drive thru mailbox area, then get the heck outta dodge. This is also a safe option, though it can get really irritating if you get behind someone who doesn't understand how a mailbox works. The exit is where this one gets tricky (more in a minute). The third option can be a little scary: turn right in the entrance, but stay to the left, and try to snag a parking place. This is tricky because if someone is backing out, they're gonna back right into you. And when you go to back out of your space, you can do the same, or get hit by someone who's too busy looking for a space instead of watching for you.
Keep in mind that options 2 and 3 exit the parking lot in the same place, so that's tricky too, because they merge together into two lanes. One is supposed to be a left turn lane only on the left, and right turn on the right side. People tend to go crazy getting here, and tend to want to be on the opposite side of where they are entering: parking lot people entering from the left want to be on the right when they leave, and vice versa. It's a little Keystone Kops, but most people can do it ok, with a little patience. Still, I've seen just about everything happen, until yesterday, which totally took the cake.
I was getting my packages out of the car when a lady in a tiny little car zipped IN through the EXIT, with a car coming from the mailbox lane, and an SUV coming from the parking lot. Drove against the traffic -- this is a NARROW space) and turned the wheel hard to pop into the parking space that the SUV was going for, narrowly missing them. Now, I don't usually confront strangers in parking lots, but I have had an awful week, and she irritated me. As in REALLY irritated me. So here's the exchange between us:
Me: "You know, this parking lot doesn't need any help with having accidents."
Her: 'Excuse me?"
Me: "You know, this parking lot doesn't need any help with having accidents."
Her: "Well, I was in a hurry, because the post office closes at noon."
Me: "The post office closes on Saturdays at 2:30, and you almost caused an accident."
Her: "I have an M.B.A."
Seriously? What? What the hell is THAT supposed to mean? You have an M.B.A., so you can drive like an idiot? Well, I have a nursing license, and after the week I've had, I'm liable to leave you bleeding on the ground if you pull something that stupid and then cause an accident. Ok, well, not really, but man, was I irritated. This, coming from a probably 60yo with a little blonde ponytail, who was wearing ACID WASHED SWEATS. Acid washed in a lacy pattern, no less. I didn't even know you could get acid washed sweats, and quite frankly, I could've gone to my grave not needing to see them. Add to that that at first I thought she had on platform tennis shoes, till I realized that she had on those "make your butt better" Sketchers, and I no longer had any use for anything she had to say.
She walked into the post office still happily muttering about how she wouldn't have rushed if she'd known they were up, completely unaware of my total disdain for her. She had an MBA all right -- my bitchy attitude.
I need to start shipping from home. The post office is clearly not a positive experience for me.
So I went to the post office yesterday, to try to mail over a week's worth of shipping that had gotten delayed by some emergent happenings around the house. I even came home from camping to do the shipping -- that is how determined I was to get it done. So I had something like 11 packages to mail, and was happy to see when I got to the post office that there were actually some available parking spaces.
Keep in mind that this post office is really busy. It's one of a few in Indianapolis that do passports, so it gets more business than most. And the parking lot is a lesson in defensive driving. It has two routes, but neither are marked. Well, maybe three. You can drive straight in and park to the left of the building (the most safe option). You can turn right and STAY right and go to the drive thru mailbox area, then get the heck outta dodge. This is also a safe option, though it can get really irritating if you get behind someone who doesn't understand how a mailbox works. The exit is where this one gets tricky (more in a minute). The third option can be a little scary: turn right in the entrance, but stay to the left, and try to snag a parking place. This is tricky because if someone is backing out, they're gonna back right into you. And when you go to back out of your space, you can do the same, or get hit by someone who's too busy looking for a space instead of watching for you.
Keep in mind that options 2 and 3 exit the parking lot in the same place, so that's tricky too, because they merge together into two lanes. One is supposed to be a left turn lane only on the left, and right turn on the right side. People tend to go crazy getting here, and tend to want to be on the opposite side of where they are entering: parking lot people entering from the left want to be on the right when they leave, and vice versa. It's a little Keystone Kops, but most people can do it ok, with a little patience. Still, I've seen just about everything happen, until yesterday, which totally took the cake.
I was getting my packages out of the car when a lady in a tiny little car zipped IN through the EXIT, with a car coming from the mailbox lane, and an SUV coming from the parking lot. Drove against the traffic -- this is a NARROW space) and turned the wheel hard to pop into the parking space that the SUV was going for, narrowly missing them. Now, I don't usually confront strangers in parking lots, but I have had an awful week, and she irritated me. As in REALLY irritated me. So here's the exchange between us:
Me: "You know, this parking lot doesn't need any help with having accidents."
Her: 'Excuse me?"
Me: "You know, this parking lot doesn't need any help with having accidents."
Her: "Well, I was in a hurry, because the post office closes at noon."
Me: "The post office closes on Saturdays at 2:30, and you almost caused an accident."
Her: "I have an M.B.A."
Seriously? What? What the hell is THAT supposed to mean? You have an M.B.A., so you can drive like an idiot? Well, I have a nursing license, and after the week I've had, I'm liable to leave you bleeding on the ground if you pull something that stupid and then cause an accident. Ok, well, not really, but man, was I irritated. This, coming from a probably 60yo with a little blonde ponytail, who was wearing ACID WASHED SWEATS. Acid washed in a lacy pattern, no less. I didn't even know you could get acid washed sweats, and quite frankly, I could've gone to my grave not needing to see them. Add to that that at first I thought she had on platform tennis shoes, till I realized that she had on those "make your butt better" Sketchers, and I no longer had any use for anything she had to say.
She walked into the post office still happily muttering about how she wouldn't have rushed if she'd known they were up, completely unaware of my total disdain for her. She had an MBA all right -- my bitchy attitude.
I need to start shipping from home. The post office is clearly not a positive experience for me.
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