Memoirs Of J

I had to go to the doctor this week for my annual check-up and sat in the waiting room for an extra 45 minutes.  Ok.  Annoying (and boring), but fine.  I’ve come to expect it with any medical-related appointment.  Oh and nobody else was in the waiting room whatsoever, but ok…ok.

So here I sit… 5 minutes…10 minutes, no sign of life in the office when another patient walks in the door.  She signs in and goes to sit down, and before her ass even meets the 60-year-old stained taupe upholstery, the nurse calls her back! All righty then.  I figure that she must be there to see the other doctor or something.

But wait – it happens two more times.  AND, this is the best part, the two dudes who also got to go back immediately were huge, smelly, and dirty.  I ignorantly chose to sit in the chair right next to the reception window.

The first guy looks about 16 months pregnant.  He’s wearing a tan shirt not quite long enough to cover his bun-in-the-oven.  This shirt was covered in black smears.  It looked like tar, but I don’t really know for sure what the hell it was.  His odor horrendous –  like ass sweat and BO.  I had to hold my breath for what seemed like 5 minutes while he chatted with the receptionist, his asphalt-smeared rear end right next to my head.

Not 5 minutes after smelly comic-book-store guy gets called back, a taxi rolls up to the front door.  A vegabond-ish looking guy slides out and comes inside.  I hold my breath in anticipation of a nauseating odor.  He’s wearing a red, white, and blue wind-suit.  Basically, a head-to-toe American flag/  He’s large but not apparently about to give birth to an adult midget clown like the first guy.  He approaches the receptionist, and yes, I’m still stupidly sitting in the same chair, and I can tell he’s not going to have his shit together.

That was a good assumption.  He’s told by the receptionist that he needs to pay the copay before the appointment and wind-suit says, “oh, uh… can you send me a bill for it?”  “It’s $20 and our policy is to collect up front.  You have a $35 balance already,” replies the oh-so-pleasant receptionist.  “Uh… I just went back to work so don’t have any money but will on Friday so I can pay it all then.”  The receptionist relents, but by this time it’s been about 5 more minutes of me trying not to inhale his musky skunk scent.

He doesn’t even sit down before he’s called back!  I suppose that’s good for me, the one exiled to the waiting room for an eternity.  But what is going on here?   The dude had a delinquent account and still got seemingly preferential treatment!  Plus, I can’t imagine being the doctor having to examine  the general public.  Unimaginable…

Today I had to go to the HQ office for work (which, granted, is where I’m  officially assigned but I’ve been working from one of our Lansing offices regularly because it’s a lot closer to my house).  Rather than iron some pants, I decided I’d risk it and wear a pair of jeans.  We’re not *supposed* to wear jeans, but I work in IT.  It’s fairly casual anyway, unlike accounting where I used to work, so I figured it’d be safe.

So I was on the highway this morning, half-way there, when I started having second thoughts.  Should I really show up in jeans?  It might be frowned upon by the corporate Gods or something.  This thought quickly evaporated because I was not about to turn around to go back home as that would have added another 30 minutes onto my already late-start day (I overslept yet again- damn DST).  Besides, I had a really busy day ahead and wanted – needed rather- to just get started.

Since I haven’t been to the main office on a Friday in literally months, I was pleasantly surprised when I arrived after 8am to find free parking spaces on the 2nd floor of the parking deck – normally after 8, you’re lucky to end up on the 3rd.  When I got inside and entered the elevator, a handful of people from my floor got on right behind me.

All wearing jeans and tennis shoes. 🙂

I finished cleaning out my closet today and ended up with two bags full of clothes to donate to the Goodwill.  Several of the items were just old; several no longer fit.  I pulled out a couple of my business suits that were hanging in the back of the closet, covered in dust since I haven’t had a need to wear a business suit in years. I peeked at the labels just because I couldn’t remember what size they were.  Holy crap, my blue suit (dress-suit with a long jacket) was a size 3.  The black one (my favorite) was a size 2 skirt and a small jacket.  I held the black skirt up and was shocked at how narrow the thing was – it looked like it would fit the thigh of an average man.

Sigh….

I am no longer a size 2/3, or even a 5.  Granted, I used to push the scales at a whopping 98 lbs at the time I wore these clothes, but still.  It sucks to hold up something that used to fit perfectly and know that there’s no way I’ll ever fit into it again.

I’m not overweight.  My BMI is in the ‘normal’ range.  But I think I actually preferred being underweight.  It gave me a little more freedom.  I don’t want to have to worry about everything I eat or drink because of the calories.  When you’re underweight, you can use the extra calories every now and again so no big deal.

The biggest concern, however, is that as you move up the ‘normal’ range, you start approaching that ‘overweight’ bucket, which is a place I don’t want to be.  I don’t want to be like the 63% of Americans who are classified as overweight or worse.  I feel embarrassed that the US is so fat, and how we’re viewed by the rest of the world.  Being fat, it’s like you just gave up.  To me, it’s just like this symbol of apathy and I don’t find this trait virtuous or desirable.  I know it is very hard to lose weight, and I’m not trying to offend anyone.  All I’m saying is I don’t want to get to the point where I need to try to lose weight.  I don’t want to be judged for yet another thing.   Let me put it this way:  I’ve heard people refer to some fat girls like “oh she’d be really pretty if she lost weight.”  Well for me, they wouldn’t be saying that so it would be like a double whammy.

I am pretty sure having a kid actually changed my bone structure, widening my hips permanently.  I know there’s some fat on my ass too but I’m working to get rid of that.  Jillian’s 30-day-shred, baby!

It’s hard for someone to annoy me more than when they’re being a judgmental prick.  ‘Prick’ is a word that normally would be associated with masculinity (as in you normally would only refer to men this way; not women).  Ironically,  the worst offenders for constant, incessant, unfounded, prick-like judging are – shocker – women!!!  Particularly the ones belonging to the ‘baby boomer’ demographic, but not exclusively of course.  There are many younger ones who’ve somehow inherited this awful, bitchy, negative disposition.

I empathize for the men who will eventually end up with them.  At least the baby boomer men stuck with these women will die relatively soon.  There’s some relief I guess.

Look, I realize that everyone judges a little.  It’s human nature, but some people just go way beyond an acceptable level, flaunting their intolerance, ignorance, and bigotry (proudly too, which only exacerbates my disdain for them).

I mean with these people it’s Every Little Move you make that draws a scornful comment.  Well I shouldn’t say “you” because you will never hear the criticisms being doled out about you personally; naturally this is a very passive-aggressive undertaking by these bitches.  But you can bet your ass that you’ll hear a slew of criticisms about every carbon-based life form unfortunate enough to cross paths with the self-righteous queen.  It doesn’t take much to  extrapolate that if literally everyone else is being judged by her majesty, you are too.

What’s up with the passive-aggressiveness lately?  Seems to be getting worse and worse, anywhere you go.  For instance, today at work I counted 4 separate passive-aggressive signs in the breakroom alone.  One was about filling the paper towel container daily, one was about not dumping coffee grounds into the sink, another had to do with stinky foods in the fridge, and my favorite of course was the one about remembering to pay for your cup of coffee or tea.  The thing I like about this particular sign is that it shows a big picture of a tree with the cross-out symbol through it and dollar bills floating around, then it says “No Money Tree Here!!  If you use any of these supplies [lists not only coffee and cups, but ‘swizzle sticks’ which are ridiculously cheap] PAY EACH TIME!”  Hilarious.  Look, I don’t drink coffee so don’t use cups, ‘swizzles,’ sugar packs- whatever, but that is so fucking pathetic and cheap to make such a big deal out of it.   Yeah, people need to pay for their coffee but just put a sign that says Coffee $.35 or whatever it is.  The tree with money falling off of it is a bit much.  And seriously, swizzle sticks?  I can’t get over that.  Who cares.  I almost put a post it note with $5 into the box saying I don’t use your supplies but think you must need this money really badly, hence the effort you put into making the beautiful poster.  No thanks on the coffee, but I’ll be happy to pay you for not being a petty idiot.

I should have taken a picture of the sign.  Maybe it’s the pettiness that bothers me more than the passive-aggressiveness… I’m not quite sure.  Yeah, that’s probably true.

There are some things that just revolt you & snots are probably one of them.  Namely, snots belonging to another person.  What’s the non-slang term for snots anyway?   Never really thought about that before… anyhow, yeah, they’re disgusting.

This disgust towards snots is just something you accept blindly.  It’s a universal trait.  Well  until you have kids, that is.  Never in my life did I think that one day I’d pick a snot out of a kid’s nose like it’s nothing and just go about my business.  But that’s what happens when you have a little kid.

My kid seems to produce extra nasal mucus (yeah there’s the term I was looking for earlier) when she’s in the bathtub.  A typical bath goes something like this:

Julia:  [playing in tub, splashing around]

Me:  Julia, let me wipe your nose.  Look at me!

Julia:  No!! [thrashes around, turns away]

Me:  [grabs tissue, does a quick swipe in the general vicinity of her nose.  Calls it good even though it’s not.]

This happens a couple more times during the bath, then it’s time to get out and dry off.  This, my friends, is the perfect time to clean out that plugged little nose.  She’s laying on the floor wrapped tightly in her frog towel while I rub and pat her dry.  While she’s still bundled, I grab another tissue and start working the nose with the precision of a surgeon to remove her mucus that I see up in there even better now that she’s laying down and I can see far up into her nostrils.

I have to work quickly though, as she starts rolling and squirming as soon as she sees that kleenex in her peripheral vision.  So I have a tissue wrapped around one finger and I start pinching, poking, wiping, and digging to remove all of her crusty old snots.  She’s pissed at this point, but wait.  Success!  I triumphantly admire the fruits of my labor briefly before tossing the tissue in the toilet.

I mean this is just absurd, right?  I would never, never, ever wipe another person’s nose, let alone dig something out of it.  But it’s like since she’s my kid, it just doesn’t phase me at all.  It’s so weird.  And I’ve noticed that this isn’t the only thing that I’d normally deem unacceptable.

Fascinating.

Well as much as our dogs, Zeus and Zoe, drive me completely batshit insane, now that we’re thinking about finding them a new home I’m feeling a little nostalgic.  I hate the incessant barking, whining, digging up the yard, Zeus having to be constantly watched because he’ll pee in the house, and Zoe’s skittishness.  I really loathe that stuff- it angers me severely – but now that we’re seriously contemplating finding them a new home I can’t help but reflect on the fun times (as infrequent as they were) they brought us over the years.

Zeus is fun to play with because he gets so intense.  He loves to eat stuffed animals, especially ones with a squeaker inside.  He’s so tenacious about his play.  When he was -ahem- less heavy, he’d clamp down on his rope or stuffed duck and we could actually lift him off the ground, him hanging there by his mouth.  He’d hang on for as long as he could, growling quietly while we laughed and encouraged him to hang on.

Oh and I can’t forget about the RC racecar.  That thing goes 20 mph and can turn on a dime, meaning there’s no possible way he could ever catch it.  But he tried with ever fiber of his being!  He wouldn’t give up, running at full speed all over the parking lot trying to catch that little car.  Sometimes I thought he was panting so hard that his heart was about to stop!

And then there’s Zoe.  She’s always been a pain in the ass, let’s be honest here.  But since she is so needy she makes a great lap dog.  When I was having a rough time emotionally (and I mean very rough time) a couple of years ago I’d let Zoe sit next to me on the couch.  She really did make good company when I was sad and visibly upset.  She’d just cuddle up next to me and lay calmly, looking at my face as if she knew something was wrong.  It’s weird to say, but when there was literally nothing else to comfort me, there was Zoe doing the job effectively.

It’s unfortunate to say, but all the fun times with the dogs came before Julia.  Now we simply don’t have the time to devote to them anymore between jobs, Julia, and attempting to have at least a minuscule slice of “me time.”   Lately it’s been ‘put them outside,’ or  barricaded in the laundry room so we don’t have to keep constant tabs on them.  When they’re out Zoe is harassed by Julia, the overzealous and excited toddler who still doesn’t know how to handle anything gently.  Zeus growls and gets snappy, and we can’t risk him biting Julia.  They need attention that we’re just not giving them.

So I don’t know what will happen… are we really going to do this?  I guess we’ll see, but either way it’s going to be hard.

Christianity reminds me of when you’re trying to get out of a conversation with a used car salesman.  You tell him no, you’re not interested in buying today – maybe you’re just browsing.   You tell him why with concrete reasons.  Your current car is fine, you didn’t find anything at the lot you like, you didn’t find anything you can afford – whatever.  All good reasons to walk away.  But that salesman keeps retorting with pleas and “reasons” to give him more time, to listen to his pitch and give him a chance to sell you a car.  And it’s almost pathetic in a way that this guy basically throws himself at your feet in desperation or how he may even resort to bullying tactics to persuade you.  No matter what you say he has a comeback, and each comeback is more absurd than the last.

I was listening to a program online today where a caller and the host got into a discussion about religion and whether God exists.  The host asked the caller if he believes the earth is literally 6,000 years old.  The caller danced about, dodging the question before eventually conceding that it’s a matter of interpretation and he doesn’t actually believe the earth is this young.  Basically the conversation devolved into the caller being unable to really articulate his position at all, eventually claiming “well you just have to have faith – there is no evidence, and that’s why you need faith.”

I mean that’s the most absurd and desperate conclusion you could come to – faith?  Just believe something because you want to or because it is popular?  How could anyone think faith in anything is a virtue.  How can someone be talked down until they eventually come to the conclusion that their position is unfounded, yet they don’t want to abandon it so they throw faith out there as the last defense.  You can’t refute faith.

If there were a God, then why wouldn’t it reveal itself without having to rely on faith, and beyond that why would it intentionally mislead or misrepresent what we see in the natural world?  That’s just evil.  Wouldn’t it be more virtuous to base your conclusion on the evidence presented and stay honest to yourself, rather than deny scientific facts?  It seems to me that keeping faith in some God and the bible – literally – despite all contrary evidence is just sycophantic.