My First Day Off

Mmm...there is something about sleeping in for the first time in a long time. It is awesome. Just. Awesome. And though I do feel bad that my boyfriend had to work today, it's still really nice to hear his alarm and think, "Hey...that's not for ME" and then continue drooling onto my pillow.

I'm in my new favorite coffee shop EVER. They let me bring my dog in, so I don't have to spend all my study time at home. He is currently lying quietly under my table with this bored expression on his face. They also give away free doggie bones here...he is getting his in batches. Batches based on goodness or how cute I think he is at any given moment.

I auditioned today for a TV Pilot called "Two Doors Down." It's going to be shot in the vein of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" or like the Christopher Guest movies. I think my audition went well, but I think I just don't fit either part I auditioned for looks wise. Well, that, and they made me take my hair down, which was sad, since it was pouring like a mother earlier and I tried to straighten my hair, so I sort of looked like I had a brownish Brillo pad thing going on. It's not too huge a deal...I don't have a ton of time to spare for the gig, I just thought it'd be fun.

It's nice to finally be at that point with my acting where I can really want something, but totally be okay with knowing that I didn't get a part because I'm too short or too tall or too flat chested or too whatever. It's nice to just do really good work and be appreciated for it.

Okay, now I'm just procrastinating so I don't have to study...

Just Put…the Money…in. the. bag.

I FUCKING HATE DEALING WITH PEOPLE AND THEIR MONEY.

I really, really hate my job right now.

Every month, on the tenth and the twenty-fifth, I start getting knots in my stomach because it's "statement day." On these lovely days from hell, I have to send out statements to all of our patients who still owe us money. This is especially fun since, due to the nature of our system, people either get obnoxious detail about their bill ("This bill is five pages long! I don't understand! Why are you so incompetent!") or no detail about their bill ("This bill has no explanation! I don't understand! Why are you so incompetent!"). Add to this that the economy sucks syphilitic balls and people can't even pay for gas, let alone a bill their insurance refuses to cover.

So today some douchebag calls and tells me he is so unhappy with our practices and he doesn't appreciate all these bills he is getting. I look up the explanation of benefits, and sure enough, he owes a deductible. And then...oh shit. It looks like I didn't adjust off twenty-two dollars per my office's agreement with his dumb-ass insurance company.

I first explain that he has a deductible. To which he responds, "What is a deductible? Why do I have that?" Then I have to explain to a grown-ass man what a freaking DEDUCTIBLE is. Then I deliver what should be good news...I screwed up, here's twenty bucks off your bill.

To which he responds, "Do you think in the future you could pay more attention to your agreements with the insurance companies?" And I want to fucking tell him to fucking fuck off. With Metlife alone, we have over forty different plan variations, and each plan and company has a completely different explanation that they send us. Often, I have to hunt down information and sit staring blankly at these stupid fucking things for ten minutes to figure out what the hell they're saying.

AND GUESS WHAT? Sometimes I screw up! AND GUESS WHAT ELSE?!? This was in your favor, you shit head. My mistake means that you save twenty-two fucking dollars off your fucking bill.

Once I'm done with this whole school thing and I get another job, I am never, NEVER going to work with stupid fucking people and their stupid fucking money. I don't want to be responsible for collecting a dime from anyone. Ever. Again. Just send me my big fat salary check, please. I will write you lots of letters and make lots of speeches, but give you money to the lady at the front.

In other news, school is super fun and I'm a total nerd. I keep thinking, "This is my homework?!? COOL."

I'm such a loser.

Whereupon I Became a Whole Soap Opera Unto Myself

So my dad leaves this message on my voice mail yesterday:

"Hey. I need you to call me as...as soon as you get this.  (Pregnant pause)  [Your ex's dad] called and is concerned [your ex] has been killed in a motor scooter accident."

That's it. That was the whole message...no, "I'm sure he's fine, don't worry about it, blah, blah, blah." Just, "Hey, your ex-husband is probably dead...call me!"

Whereupon hearing this message, I became a whole soap opera unto myself. You know what this means...I felt faint, I was alternating between tears and uncontrollable shaking, I was kidnapped by a madman in a mask and bore his illegitimate child who became an alien. All those things.

THEN, five minutes after my dad calls, he doesn't answer his phone. At this point, I'm pretty much full on freaking out. I mean, my ex is someone I spent a good six years of my life with and he's suddenly dead? And now it's my job to track down details for his father? I finally get a hold of my dad, and he says that my ex's dad found this article which basically describes where my ex lives, what he drives and exactly the kind of thing he'd do late at night. Then on top of that, my ex's dad keeps trying to reach my ex and he keeps getting the old "this phone number is no longer in service."

Now I start to calm down a little, because I realize that I saw my ex online earlier in Google chat. I log into my Gmail, and sure enough, there he is. This is the following chat:

me: are you dead?

because your dad thinks you are?

Him: ah shit.

they saw the artcile didn't they..

me: you need to call your father immediately then

Him: yeah

i don't have his number on me.

i will.

as soon as i get home.

me: your dad is very very upset

2:08 PM he called my dad

you need to call him right now

Him: do you have his number?

me: yup hang on

Him: thanks

me: 727 xxx-xxxx

2:09 PM Him: i've been getting messages all day over email

i had my phone disconnected

and never told anyone.

Ohhhh! You had your phone disconnected! And you never told anyone! Ohhh! Isn't that nice! And ohhh! You want to call your extremely upset father AFTER you get home from work! That is so thoughtful!  And you don't have his number! Oh great! Don't worry, *I* will get it for you!

Yeah, turns out he actually had his phone disconnected because he is "tired of phones." This means that he no longer has ANY number where he can be reached. He also thinks this whole ordeal is very funny...especially because "all kinds of people having been thinking" he was dead.

Whereupon I truly was glad he wasn't dead...but still wanted to kill him. Seriously.

And then I wanted to call my dad and tell him all my decisions I have made over the last two years have been validated, since I am pretty sure on the "sin scale", divorce isn't quite so bad as murder.

Peas in a Pod

I've always had a soft spot for my oldest nephew because I see a lot of myself in him.  We have very similar personalities and we just sort of "get" each other (plus, he's always guessing my age at "like, you look, like twenty"). 

I knew he'd be my buddy when he was about six.  We were driving in the car together, and he unintentionally made a pun, so I told him he was very "punny."  He asked what a pun was, and I explained.  He looked at me with this odd little expression on his face and says, "So like, if I was a skateboarder and I told you that skateboarding was 'wheely' fun, that would be a pun?"

And I was like, this is my boy.

Well, now he's in trouble at home because he's realized, at twelve, that if he says really shocking things to his friends, the funnier they will find him.  This is no surprise to me that he would learn this (I nailed this tactic down to a science by the time I was about five) but his parents are freaking out a bit.  I'm sure the whole "conservative Christian upbringing" isn't helping his case much.

Nor is the fact that he told someone they could suck on his big glow stick.

The funny thing is, he's a good kid.  He's sweet and kind and considerate, all things that I would value far above his typical twelve year old potty mouth, but seriously, my family is freaking out.  My dad is taking it personally, as if somehow it's his fault as a grandfather that his grandson is referring to his penis as a party favor.  My brother-in-law has the haggard look of absolute failure on his face, and my sister has "had it up to here."  I think my mom might think it's somewhat funny, though she knows she can never admit this, for fear of spankings or some other such nonsense.

I dunno...I don't know how I would be as a parent.  Obviously, I'm sure my kid will have heard much worse than "suck on my big glow stick" before twelve.  (Not that the bf and I are planning on having kids, but if we did, the debauchery the kid'd witness before it is two is going to be mind-blowing.  And well, let's face it, the kid'll be coming out of MY VAGINA, which I will be sure to remind it of constantly.)  But I guess I can see where my sister and brother-in-law would be somewhat embarrassed that maybe his little mouth is a poor reflection on their parenting...ESPECIALLY in their little Republican bubble.

It makes me wish my family would be more normal and want to meet my boyfriend, because if any one can sit a kid down and give 'em a pep talk about saying shocking things it would be the guy who routinely elicits looks of horror from perfect strangers.  (He really is joking when he does this...I think.)

In Five, Four, Three…

The countdown is on to resuming a somewhat normal life.  My body and mind cannot process just yet what this might feel like.  I'm guessing the correct word would be "tingly."

It's amazing how self-absorbed humans can be (I loosely include myself in this "human" category).  This whole problem with the lady and the accusations toward me has consumed me for most of the weekend.  It seriously is not the end of the world, and I seriously need to somewhat get over myself and move on, but there is a part of me that keeps wanting to throw a bit of a tantrum at the injustice of it all. 

I suppose in the grand scheme of things, it's not all that "unjust"...I just like to be dramatic.

Holy crap, you would not believe what a scrub I look like right now.  I had to schedule a freaking oil change at freaking 7 a.m. in the morning because a) I am mentally handicapped and b) this was the only time available that *I* was available.  So of course, I wake up way late and OF COURSE my hair is in dire need of washing.  The problem with my hair, though, is that it is more of a petulant child than I am and only responds to the gentlest, kindest TLC.  Because of my natural curl, anything less than seventeen layers of hair shellac and a gentle hybrid of blow and air drying techniques results in something like a giant mass of highlighted pubes on my head. 

This may seem like a disgusting analogy, but you haven't seen my hair this morning. 

It is only made worse by the fact that I ran out of contact solution so I'm wearing big red glasses.  The big red glasses are the perfect introduction to my hair line--which now looks a lot like a seventies porn set--especially because I thought that maybe I could smooth my hair back into some sort of low ponytail or bun.  My hair resents this, and in retaliation is forming cow-licks where there were once none.  Combine this with my lack of make-up, men's white Hanes t-shirt, flip-flops and ratty jeans and I am what the kids like to call "a hot mess."  In fact, I look slightly crazy and people are looking at me funny, but that could be because I forgot to zip my fly.

I.  Hate.  Mornings.