Yesterday morning I was behind a truck that had “Florida Food Service” painted on the side. Along with telephone number, slogan, and website.
I snickered for a long time.
Almost ran myself off the road trying to take a picture, which didn’t come out because the sun was behind it.
So you’ll just have to believe me.
Half a glass of juice: pineapple, orange, whatever.
Half a glass of flavored seltzer: lemon, orange, lime, whatever.
Sweet, but not too sweet. Fizzy, but not too fizzy.
This tip works so well I am compelled to repeat it.
When you get a mosquito bite, put Benadryl cream (or the generic equivalent) on it AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. RIGHT AWAY. Put down what’s in your hands, ignore your family, and put Benadryl cream on it.
And a bandage to prevent rubbing it off.
It reduces the immediate itch to about 5 or 10 percent, and keeps it that way for the next few days. You’ll still know that there’s a bite, but you’ll be able to ignore it.
These are grapes. They’re called Witch Fingers. They taste like an all around basic grape. The skin isn’t snappy like a seedless red grape, and they’re not tart like a green grape. Basic grape. Just shaped different.
They’re from California, and I bought them in a hoity-toity speciality food store in Gainesville, Florida.
My aunt died tonight. It is, sadly, a relief.
She had an incredible amount of health problems from infancy on. Spinal meningitis led to deafness and nerve problems. Epilepsy came later. Fibromyalgia-like symptoms caused by leftover meningitis neurotoxins. Allergies, asthma, constant struggle to breath, constant pain, isolation from living in a hearing world, brain atrophy from years of pain.
All I can think of when I think of Heather’s life is sadness. She never accomplished anything, never lived her dreams, maybe never even had dreams. She was hardly ever happy and comfortable.
She loved her cats, she loved crafts and crocheting. She did marry, had a perfectly lovely wedding in her favorite color wedding dress, a pale purple.
If souls are put here on earth to learn through pain, Heather’s soul has definitely achieved the next level, whatever that may be.
Rest in peace, Heather. You certainly didn’t get any peace while you were here.
A couple of years ago, I found a product that, when sprayed on your windshield, defrosts ice, so you can squirt squirt, run the wipers, no scraping. Cool product, but I wouldn’t actually recommend it because it cools the interior of the windshield so much that water condenses and freezes on the inside, which is a much bigger more annoying problem. Either way, you’re no getting out of the driveway for fifteen minutes, so, pick your poison.
Anyway, I found it in the car today. I guess I no longer need it, since it’s July, and Florida. I can’t think of any possible reason to keep it, but knowing me, it will live in the shed until the plastic bottle breaks down and leaks the stuff all over the floor.
I will replace it with plain ole windshield cleaning spray to clean bird shit and road grime.
Oh! Handy tip I’ve learned! Apply Benedryl cream to mosquito bites RIGHT AWAY and the itching is reduced by about 95%. Don’t wait. Don’t apply the next day. Apply RIGHT AWAY. Sometimes I put a bandage over it so I don’t rub it off, but by the time it dries and flakes off, it’s done it’s job.
Met a new doctor today. Now, I realize that not every doctor is going to be the old friend that my old doctor back in New Hampshire was. I knew her for twenty years. We hugged and called each other by first names. I considered her a friend who happened to have lots of medical knowledge and was able to prescribe birth control.
This guy is young and pompous. Talked over me, didn’t let me finish a sentence. Didn’t let me tell half the things I wanted to say.
Basically told me that if I didn’t get a mammogram, he wouldn’t prescribe birth control. I have reasons as to why I don’t want to get a mammogram, reasons that are important to me, but sound stupid and lame when said out loud. But still important to me. Fuck you.
Any advice on mosquito bite relief? Quote, you’re on your own. I expected concern about mosquito borne diseases, how many bites have I gotten, lets pull a blood sample to make sure you haven’t picked up anything. Nope. You’re on your own.
I mentioned my old doctor a few times. “I’m your doctor now, and I…” ???? Just because I’m sitting in this tiny little beige room with you does not mean you are my doctor. With that attitude, you can keep your opinion and my ten buck copayment and shove it.
Joan and I are both overweight, and when I managed to lose 40 pounds through hard work, she was so excited and proud. This guy? Skipped over it like it was an everyday occurrence.
Ok, doctors are busy and overworked and can’t dig deep into every patient. But to threaten to take away my birth control because I find mammograms creepy and disgusting is unforgivable.
So I have five months to figure out if a) I’m going to go to another doctor, b) find the nearest planned parenthood for birth control, or c) take a vacation back north with the purpose of having my yearly exam with Joan. In December. In New Hampshire. Crap, that doesn’t seem likely. d) try to “get over” thinking mammograms are creepy and disgusting and roll over and get treated like a number.
So between waking up from a dream that had all the cats I’ve ever known and miss terribly, not really having any friends here that I can really talk to, PMS’ing, not exercising because of scheduling and feeling bad about it, and this guy, I’ve been crying in parking lots all day. Cause it’s not safe to drive and cry.
This will pass. My back will stiffen and I will fall into line. But today I am lonely and hollow and really want to hug kitties.
We got an order for 200 TR10’s. My boss texted me last Friday to alert me of this order while I was exercising, which almost put me in cardiac arrest because 200 is A LOT. I can build about 20 per day, beginning to end, plus the other products we sell.
I took it hard. I immediately felt as though the success or failure of the company was on me, and I knew that 200 was nearly impossible, depending on the time frame and the amount of help I got. By yesterday my boss had understood and calmed me down, and was thoroughly satisfied with the 120 I had managed to make.
See, a goal of 200 is really a moving target, because what I make might be sold and shipped to other customers, and not reserved for the big order. So in reality, I might have to make 300, 400. Impossible. Logistically impossible, without a couple of me clones.
Plus, they’re doing a trade show this weekend, and want to bring product to sell. Again, moving target.
Oh, and can I make 10 GTO’s for the show, and oh, oops, I shipped out three today, can you make some more?
So by the end of today, I had made 120 TR10’s and 17 GTO’s, and my fingers are meatloaf.
Then I hear, just by chance, that we only have enough batteries in house to package 60 items, and only enough packaging material to pack 6 GTO’s.
So even if I had pulled clones and miracles out of my ass, the products would have sat on the shipper’s desk until batteries and packing supplies had arrived.
So. In the end, reflecting on my poor attitude, bad mood and overall grimness, it was all in vain. I did what I could, and if I had done more, it would not have mattered one whit and I would be very upset that my hard work was sitting on the shipper’s desk.
So I am lying in bed, listening to the rain on the roof, and thinking pleasant lazy thoughts about three days off, knowing I did the best I could, and I can only do the same next week, but until Monday, I don’t have to think about it at all.
My old job, we used to talk about not bringing work home, not allowing shit from work to affect your home life. We used the analogy of hanging your problems on the shrubs outside your front door, and picking them up when you left for work the next day. Consider yourselves my front door shrubs, Tumblerites. I’ll pick that shit up Monday morning, until then, it can hang out in the rain and bugs and heat.
Plus side to the rain; maybe my neighbor’s fireworks won’t set fire to the neighborhood. I was imagining myself sitting guard on the front lawn with a hose, just in case. Reflecting on the amount of fireworks that happened New Year’s Eve, I can only imagine that tomorrow night is going to be loud. I am happy I have a metal roof; they are slightly less flammable.
There was a scene in “Miss Congeniality” near the beginning where all the FBI agents go to a bar and she sits at the bar and asks for a pint, and the bartender hands over a pint of Ben and Jerry’s chocolate chip ice cream, and she says, “If you don’t mind, I’m just gonna sit here and get chip-faced.”
OMG I want a bar like that. I want a bar that it’s understood that maybe not everyone wants to consume alcohol, and has other tasty options.
I know, I know, it’s a well written joke in a pithy fictional movie. Doesn’t mean I want to ask for a pint and get handed Ben and Jerry’s any less.
Okay, so maybe there wasn’t a “missing stuff part one” but I know this is the second time I can’t locate something since I’ve moved.
The first thing(s) I couldn’t find were my old glasses. I don’t NEED them, so, just frustrating.
My plan is to decorate the living room is a space theme. I’ve painted one wall various blues to simulate the night sky, and have added some constellations that have meaning to me. The rest of the walls (the plan anyway) is to have assorted space pictures; spiral galaxies, planets, etc, framed and hung. I have a calendar that has all the pictures I want to hang up, and I thought I put it in the “calendars and pictures” box. It ain’t there. Dammit. Grr.
I also can picture in my head where my stash of Diflucan was in the old house. Can’t find it. But it will push me to do the responsible thing and begin a relationship with a doctor here in Florida. I can find the things that were next to those sanity saving pills, but I can’t find the pills. Grrr. And ouch. And yuck, because the other remedies are yucky.
People, save yourself. Don’t try to move in one month, working full time. I am still kicking myself that I didn’t have time to fill in the nail holes and repair the cat scratched windowsills. And I can’t find things. Grrrr.