Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Locked out and Locked in

It's one of those extra special days here at the Fickle house!

I got up at 4:30 and made The Cowboy his lunch, went back to bed til around 5:15, got Monkey up, we showered, we dressed, I grabbed my purse, locked the bedroom door to keep the heathen out of my crap, and headed to the kitchen. I poured my coffee and orange juice, took my vitamins, helped Monkey brush the back of her hair, and headed toward the garage while digging in my purse for my keys...

No keys.

... (light bulb!)...

After a momentary pause I remember why I never, under any circumstances, put my keys in my pocket.

My keys are in my jacket.

And where is my jacket?

...not on the computer chair; where I usually attempt to hang it to show the heathen that we don't just leave our things carelessly around the house.

(If you're not going to put something away, at least make it look like it belongs where you leave it.)

...not tossed carelessly on the arm of the couch; where The Cowboy and I typically deposit our his hoodies, coats, hats, gloves, etc.

(I know... we're awesome role models.)

My jacket is hanging on my bedpost. Right where I left it last night after unloading the shit-ton of Christmas gifts, that I purchased yesterday, into my closet.

I am stuck at the house, all day, in my work clothes (because of course my laundry is never in the laundry room, ready to be washed), trying to entertain a Monkey who cant get to school because I cant drive because my car keys are locked in my bedroom!

I actually called my office and told them that. Seriously, if I was just trying to get out of going to work I'd have come up with a way better lame-ass excuse.

I keep going upstairs to try to get stuff out of my room or put laundry away. I even got the bright idea to wrap all the presents while everyone but Monkey is gone for the day. But the presents are locked in my room, with my keys. and the wrapping paper, tape, scissors, bows, pretty colorful super-fine-tipped Sharpies, and my wedding guest list which would be handy for sending out my Christmas cards.

I thought about working out, but I realised I'm in work clothes.

Maybe I'll bake something. Yeah! Maybe if I get all of the domestic things done, that I don't have time to do because I work all day, and if have a big dinner on the table and a smile on my face and I'm still in my "nice" work clothes instead of my green Hollister sweats or yoga pants, when The Cowboy gets home then he'll let me quit my crappy job and stay home! I can become all Martha Stuart-like and I can play with my horse while the kids are at school and I can work out and shop and be crafty and bloggy and ... and ...

Oh! What...Sorry...
Then there's reality and all...


Well... at least I got a post in :o)
Oh! and the heathen's laundry is finally done.

If I don't write before then, Have a Very Very Merry Christmas!


Wednesday, December 2, 2009

I don't feel like I'm thriving, but who knows.

So, I have a new husband, thus I have new health insurance. Almost free, incredible coverage, fully reimbursable, union-health insurance. I'm not bitching.

OK. I am.

I loved my old doctor. I had 11 years of history with her. She delivered my daughter. For 3 years she continually told me I was not crazy, when clearly I was. She wasn't a doctor who handed out script and rushed you out the door, but she wasn't opposed to helping a girl get a good night's sleep every now and then either. She is not part of my new coverage. I married into the big box club that wants the world the "Thrive."


(I'm going to make some microwave popcorn so I can grease up my keyboard as I type this... just a sec.)

(OH! did I mention that last month I found a cockroach in the drawer, in the break room at work? A COCKROACH! Seriously. I took the rest of the day off... Paid!)

OK, thanks for your patience. Back to my story.

Monday, I went in for an establishing physical... I will mention now that I had to argue with the appointment lady, who's switchboard is in another state, to get a girl doctor. "Thrive" is apparently so popular that none of their women doctors in two states was accepting new patients. I was like, "Bull Crap. I didnt choose to "Thrive" I married into it. I want a woman doctor, find me one."... and she did... sometimes it pays to hold your ground. When it doesn't, be a tactful-bitch.

(see. I was raised right!)

Fortunately this wasn't the gown with socks and speculum physical. More like a nice-to-meet-you-what-drugs-are-you-currently-prescribed-none?-would-you-like-something-oh-by-the-way-you-drink-too-much physicals.

I left work, picked Monkey up from school, arrived 15 minutes early, like their courtesy reminder call from Friday requested, and got checked in. Then we sat in a waiting room, which was more like an airport boarding area, full of people coughing and sneezing into their hands then touching the chairs and magazines and each other, all being redirected to another boarding area to enter the raffle for an H1N1 Vaccine. For An Hour.

Finally this 40ish perky lady calls the next name, "Fickle Newwife". I look around to see which germ factory's turn it is. She says it again, "Fickle Newwife" sounding a little less perky. Finally on the third time I realise she's talking about me. I've been Fickle Chic for a long time, Newwife isn't familiar on anything but paper yet.

(I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying this popcorn.)

I explain the name thing as she walks Monkey and I though the door. She resumes perkiness and tells me to have a seat, right there in the hall. Monkey stands, like an angel, against the wall (shocking!) and the preliminary interview begins.

"First your Temperature: 98.9 good. Blood pressure? excellent. Pulse? yep, still there. Weight? well that's not bad for someone who drinks a bottle glass of wine everyday. Height? You shrank an inch this year. Now follow me this way and you can wait for the Doctor."

In the exam room Monkey sat in the chair and I on the "table", and the full disclosure began... This is my favorite part because I get to talk alot about ME.

"I'm not sure but I can call my mom.... I don't think so but that sounds familiar....I think my sister has that... Yes, I have but I don't anymore... Just once, but that was a long time ago and I didn't inhale... Could you please define alcoholism (we're not mean or anything.) Really? then my whole family and almost everyone I know is likely affected by that... No, I haven't had a TDap. You're right I should probably get one. I tend to step on rusty barbed wire with my bare feet."

So the Not Doctor leaves and Monkey and I get really involved in an intense game of "I Spy" when the Real Doctor comes in.

I should've been a Doctor. She's my age (ish.) and even though she works for "Thrive" I bet she makes alot more than I do... and seriously, she spent all of 5 minutes with me over an hour after I was on her schedule.

(I'm seriously chowing this popcorn... I feel like a pig, but it's friggin' good!)

"Ears; good. Throat; normal. Glans; normal. Boobs; nothing out of the ordinary. Are you taking any medication?"
"Is there any questions you have for me."
"Well... I keep gaining weight no matter what I eat or how much I exercise."
"That happens as we get closer to 30."

(insert blank stare...)

If you went to a hair stylist, and you were asked to be 15 minutes early then you sat waiting for an hour only to have some other person who looks like a stylist but isn't actually a stylist come wash your hair and set the foils then rinse and prep you for the cut only for your real stylist to come in with the scissors and give you a quick, cold, trim then say "you should probably drink less. did you have any questions for me. OK good. it was nice to meet you. not-stylist will be right in to blow dry and style as you wish." wouldn't that piss you off?

OK. I wasn't pissed, just in awe. Taken aback, if you will.

So, Real Doctor leaves, Not Doctor returns. Monkey sees the TDap and immediately says, "Mommy, I'm not sick. I don't need a shot."
To which I reply, "No baby, the shot is for me."
"Not feelin good huh? It's OK, you're a big girl. Just sit up and take a deep breath."

I Love Monkey!

A quick stab in the arm, didn't feel a thing. I mention that the last time I got a tetanus shot it hurt immediately, like when the horse bit my arm. Serious muscle cramping ache in my arm. This time nothing.

Not Doctor explains that sometimes people hit the wrong spot.

Yesterday, my arm hurt. That horse bite, deep muscle, painful to stretch or reach for things hurt. I went to my girl gym to work out, and my arm cramped up and it was painful to do three of my arm exercises. It still hurts, popcorn and all.

Not Doctor is a liar.

This is not "Thriving".




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