(as posted on Buffalo's Craigslist 4/22/10):
Dear Zen Tea Douchebag (Starbucks Drive-Thru)
Date: 2010-04-22, 5:59PM EDT
To the guy who threw his SUV in gear and peeled out of the drive-thru because we were out of Zen tea (Oh, the irony):
Dude. What is the matter with you? Listen, I know what a pain in the ass it is to have to wait only to be let down. It happened to me just yesterday at Kinko's, in fact. Waited in line for 15 minutes and left without what I needed. It sucks. I know. Everyone's time is valuable. I get that. And you most certainly had some important goings-on, judging by the way you were clutching that Blackberry.
Let me tell you something. I've been doing this for a really, really long time. So long, in fact, that I usually don't let douchebaggery get to me. Like water on a duck's back, that shit usually just rolls off. However, it never gets easier having to tell someone that they just waited in line for something that I discovered we're out of. I'm sorry about that. And I hope at least you recognized that when I looked at you and said, "Sir, I am really sorry, but I didn't realize when you ordered that we're out of what you wanted. Can I get you something else?" (which, incidentally, you would have gotten for free, such is my dedication to making it right), I was saying so with actual, genuine courtesy and regret. It was a tough day all around, really. Part of the reason you had to wait as long as you did was because we got new ordering system software, and like any computer upgrade, this one was not without its glitches. Again, I'm sorry. Honestly.
But do you realize just how reckless and dangerous and utterly careless your actions were? Do you also realize how FUCKING LUCKY you are that no one was walking through the parking lot at that time? Considering how busy we were, how full the lot was, Sir, I shudder to think what could have happened. The guy behind you said, "what was up with that guy?" And when I told him that you were upset because we were out of the tea you wanted, he said, "So he could have killed someone because of a $2 cup of tea? Wow." It's true. Had anyone stepped off the curb into the crosswalk that crosses the drive-thru lane at that moment, they would be dead. If anyone had been walking through the lot from our front door to their car at that time, they'd be dead. If anyone had been driving past at that very second, they'd be maimed at best. So much potential carnage. For a cup of tea.
My friend was inside at the time, with his 6-year-old daughter. Less than 30 seconds after you pulled your little stunt, they were on their way back to their car. When it dawned on me just what could have happened, I fucking broke down. I actually had to take my headset and my apron off, and go sit in the back to try and compose myself. Ten years ago I saw a dog get hit by a car. I screamed so loud and so long that I lost my voice for three days afterward. I was so traumatized that it kept me up at night for a long, long time. And to this day, ten years after the fact, I still have flashbacks. I'm pretty sure if the worst had happened today, I'd need institutionalization. The implications of your actions, sir, are far reaching indeed.
Yes, I realize that the worst DIDN'T happen, and for the sake of everyone who could have been affected, I am on my knees and thanking the universe for the fortuitous alignment. But I want you to THINK about it - about how life could have changed in the blink of an eye if someone had been in your path at that moment. And hell, since you seem to like to indulge in your own selfish behavior, think about how YOUR life would have been affected. The legal issues...the money issues...the impact on your marriage....on your kids....the jail time.... And above all, could you really have lived with yourself knowing you mowed down a kid, or someone's husband, or someone's mom...for a fucking cup of tea?
I hope you find some Zen very soon, indeed.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
I am writing...
...the most amazing love story.
Now I just need to raise $2000 to find out if it's fiction or autobiography.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Online Dating Lie #256
"I'm not really looking for anything serious right now (even though I'm a paid member and have that little gold 'serious member' icon next to my profile)."
Guys, what the fuck? I mean, come on. Did you not notice that I'm 39 years old? This, in case you hadn't realized, means I was born earlier than yesterday.
But hey, thanks for the gentle let-down. I feel so much better knowing you think I'm an idiot than thinking I might not actually fall within whatever standards you've set for this stupid shit.
Guys, what the fuck? I mean, come on. Did you not notice that I'm 39 years old? This, in case you hadn't realized, means I was born earlier than yesterday.
But hey, thanks for the gentle let-down. I feel so much better knowing you think I'm an idiot than thinking I might not actually fall within whatever standards you've set for this stupid shit.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
The glass is half full. And I'm still fat.
Forty pounds is the weight of an average 5-year-old, or a Brittany Spaniel. Or an industrial-sized bag of...whatever. Impressive, right? Maybe not.
I'm trying to be optimistic, but trying keep this all in perspective, because, see, I went out last night, and photos were taken. Despite the fact that two people whom I'd not seen in months rushed me and told me how good I look, the proof is in the photos: I'm still a fucking cow.
Forty pounds is a big accomplishment. I get that. But in the grand scheme of things, really, it's nothing. It's a drop in the bucket. There was once a time in my life when a 40-pound loss meant big changes (and even complaints from the boyfriend about being "too thin" if you can believe that). But now...ugh. Okay, I know. I look better than I did 40 pounds ago, but it's going to be another 40 pounds before I really start feeling like I look good. And even 40 pounds from now I'll still be fat. In fact I'll still have 50 pounds to lose beyond the next 40. So...what the fuck. It all seems so futile sometimes.
Don't mind me. I know that every destination is reached not by giant strides but by baby steps, and that every pound matters, but I just hate it when I feel like I'm making progress and then I see a photo that screams "FATSO!" staring back at me. It's not exactly the most encouraging thing. I'm trying to love myself every step of the way, but it's not easy.
I'm trying to be optimistic, but trying keep this all in perspective, because, see, I went out last night, and photos were taken. Despite the fact that two people whom I'd not seen in months rushed me and told me how good I look, the proof is in the photos: I'm still a fucking cow.
Forty pounds is a big accomplishment. I get that. But in the grand scheme of things, really, it's nothing. It's a drop in the bucket. There was once a time in my life when a 40-pound loss meant big changes (and even complaints from the boyfriend about being "too thin" if you can believe that). But now...ugh. Okay, I know. I look better than I did 40 pounds ago, but it's going to be another 40 pounds before I really start feeling like I look good. And even 40 pounds from now I'll still be fat. In fact I'll still have 50 pounds to lose beyond the next 40. So...what the fuck. It all seems so futile sometimes.
Don't mind me. I know that every destination is reached not by giant strides but by baby steps, and that every pound matters, but I just hate it when I feel like I'm making progress and then I see a photo that screams "FATSO!" staring back at me. It's not exactly the most encouraging thing. I'm trying to love myself every step of the way, but it's not easy.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Fresh on the ADDled Brain: My frustration with mental health care...and why Julie rules
All right, Blogwatchers, this is raw. This is real. This is from the heart. I am frustrated and angry and annoyed and irritated and anxious and all kinds of other stuff right now. If you don't want to read a personal rant about mental health and my absolute hatred of the system at this time, I suggest you leave. Close the door quietly behind you, though. I'm feeling a bit punchy at the moment.
There is NO DOUBT - in my mind or by others who know me - that I have some attention deficit issues going on. As a kid I had trouble sitting still, paying attention, and following through. Always a procrastinator, never on time for anything (see old post on polychronism), and always in some other world half the time. I've pitched tantrums when I can't find something because it's not where I thought I left it. Crying fits because I can't get my shit together long enough to figure out what to eat for dinner...and scorched small appliances when I figure it out but forget I've left it cooking. As I've gotten older, it's only gotten worse (ask me how many tea kettles I've destroyed by dry-boiling them for HOURS. Go ahead - ask. THREE). I make jokes about it, I hide it behind this "scatterbrained creative" curtain, and sometimes I come right out and make direct reference to it. But the fact remains, my attention span is deficient and it is a daily, no - HOURLY - struggle to keep my shit together most of the time.
I don't make a big secret of the fact that I've been in and out of therapy and on and off meds for years. You'd be, too, if you grew up with my parents. But the attention thing was never addressed, except once after it cost me a job several years ago, but even then I never followed through and got the necessary assessments done. Therapists can't assess or prescribe, shrinks can't (or are paid too much to need to) counsel. At one point I was into a psychiatrist for close to $400, and all I ever did was walk into his office a few times, sit across a desk, answer 10 questions about my medication and my opinion on whether I thought it was the correct dosage, and walk out. No more than ten minutes each time. Three times at $97 a pop. For what? THEN I found out that my primary could prescribe my meds. ADHD meds, however, are a different story. As controlled substances, they're not as indiscriminately prescribed. And for good reason.
Now. After realizing that much of my frustration this semester could have been alleviated by counseling and/or medication for my attention issues, I talked to my doctor. "I told you several months ago to go see Dr. Levy," he said to me today. "You clearly have symptoms of attention deficit, and I strongly feel you need to be assessed."
Fine. So I called Dr. Levy. No answer. Closed for the day. Whatever. I pulled up the list on my insurance company's website, and set my fingers dialing. Elmwood Health Services. No answer. Grider Street Counseling Center. Answering service. Buffalo Psychiatric Associates. Answering machine. Lather, rinse, repeat about 16 times. The same greeting over and over again: "Thank you for calling XYZ Psychology Place. Our office is currently closed. Please call back during normal business hours, blah blah blah blah...."
Yeah, see...here's the thing. One of the reasons I never called Dr. Levy back in October was because I forgot. If I didn't get hold of someone TODAY, I was not going to address it again for a while. I HAD to get this done. (This is another symptom of ADHD - the inability to delay gratification in just about any capacity, then a total lack of follow-up).
So anyway, I finally - FINALLY - got someone to answer the phone, and I'm pretty sure Julie was sent from heaven. So unbelievably patient, so unfazed and unruffled by my outbursts and rantings, particularly when we got to the part about how I was going to have to pay $200 for my ADHD assessment, and insurance wasn't going to cover it. Jesus. Like I have an extra $200 lying around. Good thing I'm selling a bunch of my crap off this summer. Maybe that should be the theme of my yard sale:
"Come and buy my stuff so I can afford to pay attention!"
Hee!
She even stayed calm when I yelled, "For Crissakes, I could buy a LOT of Adderall on the street with $200!" I'm not entirely sure if this is true, of course, since I've never actually tried and am not interested in amphetamine treatments anyway (they have alternatives which I am going to look into). But damn, this woman was so fucking compassionate, I just wanted to cry. No one - NO ONE has ever treated me so nicely like that on the phone when I first call. All the ones I've ever dealt with have been rude, patronizing, disinterested bitches. They all hate their jobs and take it out on you, especially when you first call, which is the worst. I mean, you're SO fucking vulnerable, you're finally reaching out for help, and you get treated like a nuisance. I had one receptionist ask me one time "So...What's wrong with you?" I shot back, "If I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn't need therapy, would I?"
But Julie was a friggin' STAR. So I made the appointment, and, well, we'll see. I've quit no fewer than EIGHT therapists (maybe more) in the last 15 years, for various reasons but mostly because I've traditionally felt like a cog in the wheel of a big shrink-mill and always started feeling after the second or third session like I was spinning my wheels. I have been assured, however, that they are a small, independent, caring, and compassionate outfit, and that the doctor I'd be seeing was highly qualified and acclaimed for his patient relationships. Their office is in a little house in the Elmwood Village and not in a strip-mall clinic, a hospital, or a suburban brick box - a good sign.
So, we'll see.
I kind of feel better already. But I still think Blue Cross can suck it.
There is NO DOUBT - in my mind or by others who know me - that I have some attention deficit issues going on. As a kid I had trouble sitting still, paying attention, and following through. Always a procrastinator, never on time for anything (see old post on polychronism), and always in some other world half the time. I've pitched tantrums when I can't find something because it's not where I thought I left it. Crying fits because I can't get my shit together long enough to figure out what to eat for dinner...and scorched small appliances when I figure it out but forget I've left it cooking. As I've gotten older, it's only gotten worse (ask me how many tea kettles I've destroyed by dry-boiling them for HOURS. Go ahead - ask. THREE). I make jokes about it, I hide it behind this "scatterbrained creative" curtain, and sometimes I come right out and make direct reference to it. But the fact remains, my attention span is deficient and it is a daily, no - HOURLY - struggle to keep my shit together most of the time.
I don't make a big secret of the fact that I've been in and out of therapy and on and off meds for years. You'd be, too, if you grew up with my parents. But the attention thing was never addressed, except once after it cost me a job several years ago, but even then I never followed through and got the necessary assessments done. Therapists can't assess or prescribe, shrinks can't (or are paid too much to need to) counsel. At one point I was into a psychiatrist for close to $400, and all I ever did was walk into his office a few times, sit across a desk, answer 10 questions about my medication and my opinion on whether I thought it was the correct dosage, and walk out. No more than ten minutes each time. Three times at $97 a pop. For what? THEN I found out that my primary could prescribe my meds. ADHD meds, however, are a different story. As controlled substances, they're not as indiscriminately prescribed. And for good reason.
Now. After realizing that much of my frustration this semester could have been alleviated by counseling and/or medication for my attention issues, I talked to my doctor. "I told you several months ago to go see Dr. Levy," he said to me today. "You clearly have symptoms of attention deficit, and I strongly feel you need to be assessed."
Fine. So I called Dr. Levy. No answer. Closed for the day. Whatever. I pulled up the list on my insurance company's website, and set my fingers dialing. Elmwood Health Services. No answer. Grider Street Counseling Center. Answering service. Buffalo Psychiatric Associates. Answering machine. Lather, rinse, repeat about 16 times. The same greeting over and over again: "Thank you for calling XYZ Psychology Place. Our office is currently closed. Please call back during normal business hours, blah blah blah blah...."
Yeah, see...here's the thing. One of the reasons I never called Dr. Levy back in October was because I forgot. If I didn't get hold of someone TODAY, I was not going to address it again for a while. I HAD to get this done. (This is another symptom of ADHD - the inability to delay gratification in just about any capacity, then a total lack of follow-up).
So anyway, I finally - FINALLY - got someone to answer the phone, and I'm pretty sure Julie was sent from heaven. So unbelievably patient, so unfazed and unruffled by my outbursts and rantings, particularly when we got to the part about how I was going to have to pay $200 for my ADHD assessment, and insurance wasn't going to cover it. Jesus. Like I have an extra $200 lying around. Good thing I'm selling a bunch of my crap off this summer. Maybe that should be the theme of my yard sale:
"Come and buy my stuff so I can afford to pay attention!"
Hee!
She even stayed calm when I yelled, "For Crissakes, I could buy a LOT of Adderall on the street with $200!" I'm not entirely sure if this is true, of course, since I've never actually tried and am not interested in amphetamine treatments anyway (they have alternatives which I am going to look into). But damn, this woman was so fucking compassionate, I just wanted to cry. No one - NO ONE has ever treated me so nicely like that on the phone when I first call. All the ones I've ever dealt with have been rude, patronizing, disinterested bitches. They all hate their jobs and take it out on you, especially when you first call, which is the worst. I mean, you're SO fucking vulnerable, you're finally reaching out for help, and you get treated like a nuisance. I had one receptionist ask me one time "So...What's wrong with you?" I shot back, "If I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn't need therapy, would I?"
But Julie was a friggin' STAR. So I made the appointment, and, well, we'll see. I've quit no fewer than EIGHT therapists (maybe more) in the last 15 years, for various reasons but mostly because I've traditionally felt like a cog in the wheel of a big shrink-mill and always started feeling after the second or third session like I was spinning my wheels. I have been assured, however, that they are a small, independent, caring, and compassionate outfit, and that the doctor I'd be seeing was highly qualified and acclaimed for his patient relationships. Their office is in a little house in the Elmwood Village and not in a strip-mall clinic, a hospital, or a suburban brick box - a good sign.
So, we'll see.
I kind of feel better already. But I still think Blue Cross can suck it.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Blogger Envy
I have someone new in my life. Don't get too excited, because it's not like that. Sure, he's fabulous and smart and funny and adorable and all that fun stuff, and no doubt the boy invokes some serious squishiness within, but he's on the other side of the world in Asia and will likely remain there for a very long time. He has, in fact, no plans to ever return to the United States. So, sure, he's awesome, but he's, you know, not here. Whatever. My point is that I've been inspired a great deal by this person.
He is a master blogger. Serious, serious blog action going on with this guy. He has dozens of blogs; public blogs, private blogs, blogs that tell stories, blogs that spill his deepest thoughts, blogs for commentary, blogs for opinion, blogs that chronicle his journey, blogs that highlight his work, et cetera. I'm just blown away.
I look at my little blogs (I have this one and then a couple of school-related things out there, too) and then I read his, and I'm like, "oh. I kind of suck a little." And it's not only Asia Boy, either. I put myself up against the other bloggers I follow - Jen over at All Things Jennifer, Sally at Unbrave Girl, Shaun at Me On a Diet, etc (see my roll), and I realize how woefully inadequate I am when it comes to this practice. It is, in part, because I simply do not have TIME to deal with the blogging thing every day. It's also in part because brevity is not my strong suit (really? Tell me you hadn't noticed) and so I find it hard to just pop in and tap out an entry on the fly. I take some time to think about what I'm going to write, and honestly, I think my "drafts" list is just as long as my "posts" list. I tend to get going on something, not know how to finish it, and then abandon the effort. So while it may appear that I don't update for a really long time, I really am sitting here basking in the glow of my 24" iMac and typing out my thoughts. Just some of them never make the cut.
I should work on that, really.
Oh, and check it out: I've lost 40 pounds as of yesterday. Go me!
He is a master blogger. Serious, serious blog action going on with this guy. He has dozens of blogs; public blogs, private blogs, blogs that tell stories, blogs that spill his deepest thoughts, blogs for commentary, blogs for opinion, blogs that chronicle his journey, blogs that highlight his work, et cetera. I'm just blown away.
I look at my little blogs (I have this one and then a couple of school-related things out there, too) and then I read his, and I'm like, "oh. I kind of suck a little." And it's not only Asia Boy, either. I put myself up against the other bloggers I follow - Jen over at All Things Jennifer, Sally at Unbrave Girl, Shaun at Me On a Diet, etc (see my roll), and I realize how woefully inadequate I am when it comes to this practice. It is, in part, because I simply do not have TIME to deal with the blogging thing every day. It's also in part because brevity is not my strong suit (really? Tell me you hadn't noticed) and so I find it hard to just pop in and tap out an entry on the fly. I take some time to think about what I'm going to write, and honestly, I think my "drafts" list is just as long as my "posts" list. I tend to get going on something, not know how to finish it, and then abandon the effort. So while it may appear that I don't update for a really long time, I really am sitting here basking in the glow of my 24" iMac and typing out my thoughts. Just some of them never make the cut.
I should work on that, really.
Oh, and check it out: I've lost 40 pounds as of yesterday. Go me!
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Why I eat out a lot
That, my friends, was my toaster oven. The little black things inside? Leftover crab rangoons from my weekly Tuesday post-weigh-in Chinese dinner. It's become a bit of a tradition (the Chinese food, not the appliance-scorching), but last night I ordered a little too much food, so I had a lot of leftovers.
This morning I decided to skip class (I just needed a break) and thought, what better way to spend a drizzly, gray day than catching up on homework and snacking on Chinese leftovers? It was just a couple of crab rangoons - nothing to go firing up the big oven for. So I popped them in the toaster oven, turned it on, and walked away. I sat down at the computer, chatted with a friend for a few minutes, got up and went to the bathroom, and then went into my bedroom to change. One of my cats was laying on the bed looking really cute, so of course I had to lay down next to her and cuddle for a minute until she got annoyed and ran off. I changed my clothes and went back out to the dining room to get back to work on my paper that I was writing. Suddenly the smell of burnt something came wafting my way and when I looked up I saw a haze of smoke hanging out by the kitchen door. Oh, shit. I forgot all about the toaster oven. When I ran in to the kitchen, there were flames licking up at the top of the oven, and when I opened the door they roared out at me. I really thought, "oh my god, I'm about to burn down my entire house." I'd bought a box of baking soda a few weeks ago in a fit of "I need to learn to cook" grocery shopping, so I grabbed it, opened it, and threw it on the fire. Flames were quickly put out (thanks Arm & Hammer!) and I just kind of stood there for a second, not really knowing what to do now.
I'm so inept in the kitchen I can't even heat up leftovers. But hey, at least I got to use the baking soda.
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