nothing like waiting all week to get some billable work, then finding out you won’t get it until Friday morning.
Then finding out it isn’t the draft you thought it was and it’s incomplete.
Then finding out the sponsor is being assy.
Then finding out the document is not the usual 60 – 150 pages you’re used to, but rather 281 pages of death.
Oy.
But, let’s look on the bright side: the writer is nice and very smart, my scheduling chick knows I’m working hard, and I STILL love my job.
As I sit here with sore and swollen gums, I am pouting like Veruca Salt without the yelling. Although I feel like screaming.
I usually LOVE going to the dentist.
But not after today.
My usual hygienist, Melinda, was the most wonderful person on the planet. Super nice, did her job well, and was always fun to talk to.
Today, I found out Melinda is gone from the practice.
And in her place they gave me the most bumbling, sloppy, verbose woman I have ever met.
She scraped me with the pick before she even got near my mouth. She couldn’t adjust her settings, light, chair, whatever else well enough so was shifting CONSTANTLY throughout my cleaning.
She jabbed my gums and muttered “plaque” repeatedly, while running her mouth, getting water all over me, almost in my eye, and constantly having me shift my head and the degree to which my jaws were open.
Halfway through, I almost told her to GTFO of my mouth. Then, I thought “I’m totally going to tell her that I can’t schedule my next appointment today, then call and ask for Eryn instead.”
Eryn is another super pleasant hygienist who did my cleaning when Melinda was out on maternity leave.
By the end, the dentist (who I also love) informed me I have “a little infection” in my gums and I would need to come back in 4 months instead of the usual 6. NOTE: I have NEVER, EVER, EVER had anything like this happen. EVER. Good teeth, only the smallest cavities, and pretty nice gums.
So I made my appointment with new lady, trying to keep up my “give people the benefit of the doubt more often” thing, and taking into consideration that she’s only been with that office 3 days.
But, if next time is like this time, I am SO bluffing on the scheduling, then calling back and getting Eryn.
I have legit pouted since I left, and have been frantically searching the internet to see if I can find out where Melinda has gone.
She is honestly the very best of all health care providers I’ve ever had.
And now, I no longer delight in having my teeth cleaned.
BAH.
While I realize the internet is a public forum, it still skeeves me out a bit to know that someone in my town googled “the fresh cracker wordpress” and landed here.
I have to wonder: did someone from my office somehow find out the blog title and domain and come here to see if they could catch me saying anything bad about work? Too bad, I never mention the company or what we do. Or name names. I’ve been spied on by coworkers before, had things I’ve said severely twisted to the point of them being given a whole new meaning. Suck it.
Could it be a friend of mine who just forgot to mention that they came here to get an eyeful of ridiculousness? Maybe.
I have one other suspect, but let’s not talk about that.
IN OTHER NEWS: today I was eating lunch with my friend Amanda and talking about baby names [our coworker’s wife is pregnant] and totally slipped and said, “I like the name Zelda for a girl….” Then proceeded to freak out because what I MEANT to say was “Stella”.
SHE IS STILL EVERYWHERE!!!!!
– that the house I grew up in was haunted? Now, you might be picturing a ramshackle, run down piece of crap house, but ours was nothing like that. It was a cute brick ranch in a middle-class neighborhood with a very above-average yard (my parents have the greenest thumbs of anyone on the planet). We had hair touching, and phantom tv noises, and “who the hell was I playing with?” moments and parents falling out of the attic but feeling pushed moments.
My parents have since moved to a larger house in a town about 10 miles away, and every time I visit I go by our old house. It is apparently empty now, and I desperately want to find the woman who bought it to ask her if anything ever touched her hair or otherwise scared the crap out of her.
– that sometimes I do lots and lots of random shit at odd hours? For example, it is now 3:03 am, Eastern time, and I am blogging. Two hours ago I was taking a camera phone photo of myself and my room as proof of the aftermath of ebaying. I tore shit apart in my entire apartment looking for one USB cord that is seriously about 10 years old, all so I could sell my old digital camera. I did a total super-cussin’ victory dance that included thanking Jesus [for real], fist pumping, jumping around and doing some weird cheerleader-type stunt with the help of my bed.
One night about a year ago, I decided to move my entire living room around, also at about 3am. After thirty minutes of sweating and cussing, I realized I hated it and went to bed very angry. I moved it back about a week later, completely crestfallen.
Cleaning the bathroom and driving also make this list. Maybe those don’t necessarily qualify as “random shit” but most people I know do not take a two to three hour nap just so they can drive at 4am and avoid traffic, or decide that their bathtub HAS to be sparkling after a night out til 2.
– that almost nothing grosses me out? (This does NOT count worms on the sidewalk) If you look closely, you’ll see I have the categories “farts” and “snot and boogers” in this blog. My family has no qualms about discussing bowel movements and nasal output. I’m lucky that many of my friends feel this way as well. It isn’t uncommon for my friend Katie and I to email or text each other: “Dude, I just took the greatest shit of my life. It filled the bowl,” or “My butt just exploded.” The latter is often after we hit up our favorite sushi joint. Go figure.
My brother-in-law and I discuss farts on a regular basis and I have often been the victim of his crop dusting skills. And he is an EXPERT.
– that my ideal house is one that may resemble a castle, will probably creep people out a little when they come over, and will also probably be dust-filled? Ok, so we can probably attribute the dustiness to my hatred of dusting. Seriously. I have not dusted my apartment in YEARS, except for the last time this guy I’m kind of seeing came over. And that was just a dusting of the bookshelves around my Mexican money and skeleton key collection. However, dust does lend a certain creep factor to things and although I am by no means some goth girl, I LOVE creepy.
I think antiques and dark wallpaper and damask fabric are beautiful things and I am all over trying to have a house that features this. Bonuses would include: gargoyle statues, an atrium with tinted windows so it always seems gloomy out, and a library with large windows flanked by heavy, heavy drapery.
Boo!
So by now you know that there are lots of things that I despise and some that even sicken me. This compendium, of course, includes worms on the sidewalk *shudder* and since my office building is surrounded by sidewalks, my short trek into work often grosses me out.
But let’s take it a step further and go INTO the building.
I know, I know, you’re thinking “Come on, you work in an OFFICE. How gross can things actually get?”
1. Fluids on file folders. (alliteration FTW) Oh yes, when working with file folders all day for TONS of patients (I don’t work in a doctor’s office, JSYK) things can get sticky. Literally. Some of the grossest office moments come when I’m innocently perusing a file, updating some important document and I see stains. Often brown, of uncertain origin, but possibly biological (I’m pretty sure I saw an actual booger the other day). Or chocolate. Either way, keep runny things away from paper!
2. Cubeland nose-blowers. Oh, yes. You’d think someone would have the presence of mind to excuse themselves if they need to expel some mucus, but noooooooooooo. Maybe I’m silly for being bothered by this, but gurgly snot sounds do NOT a pleasant working environment make. Also of note: do these people not worry about a stray string of snot dangling out there? Go to the bathroom!
3. Speaking of that inner sanctum, let’s talk toilets. More specifically what some of my coworkers often DON’T do after visiting the toilet: WASH THEIR HANDS. I don’t know how many times I’ve been innocently tinkling, only to hear someone else’s toilet flush, stall door open and then…… nothing. They walk out of the bathroom without even rinsing! I’ve nailed down at least two culprits, one of whom is this prissy woman who walks around talking very “essy” (I guess she thinks it makes her sound cultured?) and looking down her nose at people. Oh, I’m onto you, prisspot. Those hands are covered in remnants of urine and fecal matter. That sign I posted on the bathroom door that says “Please wash your hands!” with a sign of germy palms? Totally directed at you. By the way, don’t touch the copier.
4. Also bathroom related and so gross it’s unbelievable: spying blood on various surfaces. Oh yes, a travesty of this caliber occurred just this week, this time on the toilet roll itself, and I was appalled. Ladies, most of us have been dealing with “bloody issues” since we were about 12, so it’s time we got a handle on proper disposal, k? If you can’t keep it off the floor and the wall (!!), then perhaps you should go back to 4th grade health class.
No wonder I’m always catching something.
…is a great album title. See also: Yo La Tengo.
In other news: mosquito season has been upon us for quite some time. You can also read that as “I have been pissed off daily for quite some time.”
I swear, these things have mutated this year and left me miserable and itchy.
I currently have at least six active bites (one of which is on Hildette, my left boob as it is called post-operation BLast)
Wait, have I ever told you about operation BLast? That’s a story for another time.
Anywho, these bites are basically ruining my life. End hyperbole.
Today I acquired another in broad daylight while attempting to carry my cat indoors; I ended up dirty, with one mosquito bite, a reactive bite that can only be classified as “other” and huge arm scratches.
Thanks, Mr. United States Postal Carrier, for picking the exact moment I’m carrying my cat indoors to start up your mail scooter truck and peel out of the parking lot.
My scratched and bloodied arm appreciates your taking the time to scare the shit out of my cat.
Jerk.
Anyone who has happened upon this blog has probably realized I have a “thing” about Zelda Goldman (the sister from ‘Pet Sematary’).
[See also: The scariest woman in the world and how I ALMOST got over her. (This is a long one, folks), OMG She’s everywhere!, and Zelda Zelda Zelda!]
Almost every day, I see from my stats that someone has landed here after googling “zelda”, “pet sematary” or something similar.
Many people have commented that they, too, have had horrible Zelda fears and some have also participated in self-immersion therapy to get over it.
Some have realized, KIND OF like I have, that the whole Zelda thing is kind of silly. But don’t get me wrong: I STILL get slight heebie-jeebies when seeing her, but now I don’t run for cover and cry.
If you haven’t also done self-immersion, now’s your chance to dive right in:
Hope you enjoyed it!
Here’s a list of things I’d LOVE to stand up and shout while at work:
“It’s ‘asterisk’, not ‘asterik’ or ‘asterix’. Geez.”
“Just because you can’t hear yourself whisper-singing doesn’t mean the rest can’t. Shut it!”
“If you’d stop complaining about how overwhelmed you are/how much work you have to do, you’d get it done a lot faster.”
“Is it really necessary to yell every time you sneeze? I bet not.”
“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the sign on the building said ‘bring all your kids and their friends to run through our office while we’re trying to work. Every day.’ They’re cute, I get it. But today they are loud and in large numbers.”
“You just used the word ‘like’ four times in a seven word sentence. I counted.”
“You smell like a thrift store. That’s not a compliment.”
“PICK UP YOUR FEET WHEN YOU WALK. ARE YOU REALLY THAT LAZY?!”
When I was a kid, I always noticed when teachers did the “lick your thumb to separate the pages when you’re handing out worksheets” thing.
I hated it.
I always dreaded being the kid whose paper was touched by the next fresh lick. I didn’t want my teacher’s spit all over my paper and possibly my hands, face, etc!
This especially happened when we had certain substitute teachers. I loved getting the lazy ones, because I knew they’d have a fellow student [or me] pass out papers and there would be no licking.
Cut to modern day: I was standing in one of our file rooms at work, sifting through a stack of paper and stamping each page.
The pages kept sticking together.
Without a second thought, I LICKED MY FINGER TO SEPARATE THEM AND CONTINUED ON.
I can’t believe I’ve become a finger-licker-paper-separator!
I am running on <4 hours of sleep.
I have puffy-eye and my coworkers have been saying “you look exhausted” or “you look like you’re in a bad mood.”
yes for the first, no for the second.
although i WAS in a semi-bad mood when i got a ranting comment on my “smiling sex offenders” entry
then i did some research and found out that the commenter well, you know.
if you don’t like this blog, don’t read it.
or, don’t fuck 14 year olds.
your choice.
The Fresh Cracker 