Category Archives: Sigh
Sent me a very revealing e-mail:
******** was the exact link my cousin showed me after i spilled my faults out to my family. I swear since the last time we talked, i was doing bad, now im making over 30 bucks a hour, all on my own time. Thought you should give it a read and check it.
I left out the hyperlink she attached, she is after all a very dear friend and I didn’t want to, you know, embarass her or anything.
Never mind that I’d never heard of “Stephanie Rose”, it was apparent that at some point we were friends and then she fell on hard times and I….I….I wasn’t there for her…sigh…
I’m obviously a terrible friend and yet here she was reaching out to me and offering me this awesome opportunity.
So, I answered her back:
You’re right! It has been ages since we spoke and I must say that though I didn’t know you had fallen on hard times – I know, I’m a terrible bestie – I’m very happy to see you’ve gotten your shit together at last. If I remember correctly, you never were very bright so I’m not really all that surprised to hear about this. In fact, Miss Stephanie, aren’t you the one I caught naked..in the back seat of my boyfriend’s car at prom? Yes, yes…it was you. Where, exactly did you say you live now? How about a phone number, too?
Your bestest friend
I am awaiting her reply, and yet something tells me I won’t be hearing from my best friend “Stephanie” anytime soon.
I’m getting new homeowner’s insurance. The new company sent me an application for the insurance. This after extensive e-mails and phone calls and the like over the last several months, is what I found wrong with the application so I sent it back to the rep with this note:
Mr. New Insurance guy, much of the information contained in this application is incorrect.
My husband should also be on this policy. I don’t see him listed anywhere.
I do not have a bachelor’s degree, just a high school diploma.
I am not in sales, I am an administrative coordinator, and have been employed as such since 1990. With the same company since 2002.
The home was built in 1996, not 2005. We have lived there since 1996, not 2005.
The burglar alarm is monitored.
My prior insurance carrier was Safeco, not State Farm and the policy number listed is not mine.
The roof is original to the house.
So, after wooing me for nearly a year you finally score the prize and just quit on me? Seriously, dude, it’s like you’re not even trying anymore.
He called me back, laughing, and apologized. I’m still waiting for the flower delivery to get here, though.
And, the corrected application would be nice too.
….when I called hubby from the Big Box Home Improvement store to ask him a few questions about the list of nail-thingys and other fixy-thingys he asked me to pick up.
Do you realize there’s like a hundred gozillion different sizes of nails?
And the types? Fuhgeddaboudit!
He wasn’t answering the phone. That was odd.
Odd and irritating.
I was, after all, doing him a favor by getting those nail-thingys so the least he could do was answer his phone when I tried calling.
I had questions. Lots of questions.
Finally, I found what I thought were the right thingys and went home.
I walked in the front door, ready to yell at him for not answering the phone when I saw that he was standing at the kitchen sink, muttering under his breath and furiously scrubbing his hands.
“I can’t get this stuff off me!”
“What ‘stuff’ are you talking about?”
“The de-greaser,” he said and nodded in the direction of the garage where he’d been cleaning the floor with some type of solvent.
I went out there and picked up the jug of cleaner and began reading the label.
By the time I got back in the house my hands were shaking and I was sweating.
“Did you even read the label?!”
“No, but I’ve used it before.”
‘This?” I said holding the jug up in front of him as he continued to wash his hands.
“Well, no, not that, but something like that.”
I rubbed my brow.
“Honey, it says if you get this on your skin you should SEEK IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION!”
“Now you’re just trying to scare me.”
I shoved the jug in his face, “Here, YOU read it.”
He kept scrubbing his hands.
“Were you wearing gloves?”
“Did you splash it on you or…..”
“No, I used a brush to clean the floor with it and then I was sopping up the excess with a sponge and wringing the sponge out in the bucket.”
“WITH YOUR BARE HANDS???”
Hubby stopped scrubbing and dried his hands.
“They’re sticky feeling…before, they were slimy.”
They were also shiny, red, and the tips of the fingers on his right hand were blistering and peeling.
I grabbed the phone and dialed Poison Control. The helpful “Medical Professional” on the other end strongly urged us to go to the ER…like five minutes ago.
I dragged hubby to the ER, the whole way there he’s marveling at his now stinging/burning/hurting red hands and muttering, “..they should put better warnings on the label….done this before….if I’d of just used gasoline, like when I was a kid….”
Me, I’m breaking every speed limit on the way – and where is a cop when you need one?? – and telling him that he’s just acid-washed his hands and we’ve got to neutralize the acid to stop the burning process.
The ER was another voyage to the strange and weird.
He saw three nurses before the doctor.
You know what EVERY ONE of them asked?
Two things – What did poison control tell you to do? Uh..come here, dumbass. Okay, I didn’t actually call him a “dumbass” but I wanted to.
…and…the other thing they asked?
What do you expect us to do?
I swear, visions of tackling and pummeling the entire ER staff did dance in my head for a few seconds before I managed to gain my composure and…
….stare, blankly, at the idiot nurse who had asked the question.
Maybe my “blank” stare translates to “murderous-daggers-and-flame-from-eyeballs” stare on the receiving end, because she turned pale and retreated backwards out the door and said the doctor would be right in.
The doctor knew what to do. Thank God. He has no idea how close he came.
Oddly enough, the solution is to neutralize the acid with a base (this I knew) but the coolest/strangest part is the base they use is something called “GoLightly”.
If you’ve ever had a colonoscopy, and who doesn’t love a good colonoscopy, right? Anyway, if you’ve ever had one you will recognize the name. It’s the stuff you drink to clear the plumbing prior to the big day.
Hubby had to soak his hands in this solution for twenty minutes. Then they slathered this silver-based cream on his hands and wrapped them in gauze.
He looked like he was wearing mittens.
The next day we had to soak his hands again and since they felt so much better there was no need to slather on the cream (which, we were told, would turn his hands a lovely and permanent tan color – it didn’t though) or re-apply the mittens.
His hands are still shiny – a result of stripping the epidermis and leaving the dermis exposed, much like the chemical peels women pay a fortune for at high-end salons – and the tips are kinda raw and sore. They are also swollen, but all in all he’s much better.
It coulda been a LOT worse.
So, after the ordeal I asked my husband one question.
“So, what did we learn from this?”
To which he replied,
“Next time, use gasoline.”
There’s a deep well inside me and from it springs my skewed outlook on pretty much everything.
It’s not a bottomless well, and sometimes the rope to the bucket breaks and I can’t bring up anything at all.
Other times, there’s so much in the bucket I have to force myself to relax, slow down and organize things into something that may entertain a few of you.
By far, the greatest contributor to my well is my life experiences.
Good, bad and indifferent.
I have to say, though, that the bad experiences seem to provide me with the best source material. Humor is a great buffering agent.
To that end, I present Daddy.
He has Alzheimer’s.
It’s not pretty.
But, sometimes it’s damned funny. Especially since he has really lost the ability to communicate verbally. Oh sure, his sentence may start out with “Today, we had…” but most of the time it ends with “….verbloggle fish toasted narfles” leaving me to wonder if he had fish, toast, narfles or verbloggle for lunch.
Like I said, it’s funny sometimes.
Other times, not so much.
He’s in a secured unit in a nursing home, since he’s given to walkabouts that may, or may not, include clothing, shoes, money or any idea who he is or where he is going.
I go vist him every chance I get, and he seems to understand we are connected somehow.
He’s just not sure how.
I visited him the other day, and most of what he said made no sense whatsoever.
Except when I got ready to leave.
I sat across from him and took both of his hands in mine.
“I have to go now, Daddy.”
“Yes, but I will be back soon.”
“Where you goin’?”
“Well, back to work and then home.”
“When are you coming back?”
“Soon, Daddy, soon.”
I leaned in and hugged him.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, baby.”
Tears well, heart breaks and I leave as quickly as I can.
It’s the moments of clarity that steal a little of my soul.