Archive for the whatevah Category

Eureka

Posted in general weirdness, whatevah on August 4, 2010 by Nada

The wheel fell off my vacuum a month or so ago. It was one of those non-events that barely registered in my feeble brain. I vaguely remember jamming the Eureka powerhead into something and when I pulled back, there was a lose wheel, like a dog turd on my oriental rug. I put the wheel back on. I vacuumed a bit. The wheel fell off again. I put it back on. It feel off. I put it on. It fell off. I put it on. It fell off…You get the picture. This has been going on for weeks. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

Today, I pulled the vacuum out of its closet and the loose wheel stayed behind. “Screw you,” I said, as if a vacuum wheel could hear. I vacuumed without it – one wheeled around the house, kind of wondering if I was marring the hardwood and kind of not caring because that’s the kind of house frau I am.

Today, I vacuumed the den last because it was the worst with the normal purplish oriental almost white from dog hair. As I jammed the vacuum up under the futon, the Eureka powerhead came back minus its final wheel. I stared at it for a brief second, and then finished vacuuming the oriental without any wheels. Those old rugs are as tough as nails. Next week, I’ve got to do something before I start vacuuming, like repairs. I hate that. It reminds of me my time on the farm. Seemed like every time there was a chore to be done, you had to first repair the equipment or dig potatoes.

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Another one…

Posted in health, holy crap, hospital, whatevah on June 17, 2010 by Nada

Tomorrow, I have yet another appointment with yet another neurologist. This one is my fault because I fired the neurologist that was treating my epilepsy. The epilepsy docs I lost before him were not my fault. My HMO kicked them out of my plan.

This last neurologist got fired because of a personality conflict, which is code for he’s an asshole. Anyway, I had a migraine yesterday and the start of one all day today. I have some Dilaudid in my medicine chest I am seriously thinking about ingesting. I’ve already tried Aleve and 800mgs of Ibuprofen to no avail. The Dilaudid seems kind of seamy, in a back alley LSD trippy way to knock a headache on its ass with a crocket mallet. As Dr. Asshole said, “I never treat migraines with narcotics. It makes them worse.” Maybe, and then again maybe it stops the pain. His other statement, which is my personal favorite, “I don’t think just because you have migraines and partial complex seizures you shouldn’t be at work.” I’d love to know what company I could work for that would let me take hundreds of sick days a year, blank out on the job, and have pitfalls in my memory. Forklift driver comes to mind almost immediately.

That statement was the final separation of Dr. Asshole and me. That, and the fact I had been in his employment program to get an f’in job for two years and got kicked out because they couldn’t find me a job with my uncontrolled seizures. Maybe he should read his own files once in a while, the jerk, butthead, freak, useless lanyard, expired bus pass.

And no, I would not call myself a difficult patient, a name calling one perhaps, but even so, his mouth is far worse than mine because as he said, “You know I’m involved in a lot of research. That’s why you’ve been unable to reach me.” Geez, that cost my insurance two trips to the ER, total of $12 grand. But research is important, so I’m wondering why he doesn’t do just that and leave the doctoring to someone else who has the time. It’s a win-win-win situation. He uses his mouth on research assistants who could give a shit less. I get to see his associate and my insurance company saves money.

At this point, I think the Dilaudid sounds pretty good.

Crap

Posted in food, holy crap, life, Oakland, whatevah on April 27, 2010 by Nada

I called my husband at work and asked him, “What’dya doin’?”

He answered, “Crap.”

“Crap” is one of my words, supporting my theory when you live with someone long enough you start picking up their language, characteristics, mannerisms, until finally you’re acting like them, and they’re acting like you used to. I’ve also caught him speaking in a Southern accent. I’m from the South. He’s not. He’s from Michigan.

Switching gears into my favorite subject…food. I found these at the local grocery – Mini Cakesters. I don’t know what to say other than if you don’t go and get some right now, you’ll be sorry, as in it might be the biggest mistake you ever make. When I die, if hell has Cakesters and heaven has none, I’m opting for hell.

And these Sweet Potato Chips are located in the “Don’t Purchase” category. If they accidentally fall on the floor, the big dog won’t even eat them, and she’ll eat anything – except these. The bag advertises, “Good Source of Fiber.” I suppose they are too if you can get them past your gums. In all fairness, I don’t like the potato form of sweet potatoes, and this bag of chips was given to me, excess food from a wake. Serves me right, I suppose.

And finally there’s this – our Topsy Turvey Tomato Grower. The link is NOT WORK SAFE, only because it launches into a loud video. Annoying. And the price on the website is twice as much as Walgreens. I’ve circled the plant because there’s so much green in this picture; it’s hard to see.

The tomato plant seems to be doing pretty well too, upside down like that. A week ago, I noticed some brown spots on a few of the leaves.

“There’s some brown spots on the leaves,” I said to my husband.

‘Nematodes,” he said, and I could have predicted that, as that’s what he says every year. Then, he launched into his speech about how nematodes attack the roots of the plant. The next step in the nematode relief program is the leaves with brown spots go MIA. I checked today, and the spotted leaves were MIA.

Life per the usual crap here.

Word Up in San Francisco

Posted in San Francisco, whatevah on February 26, 2010 by Nada

The economy took down stores like VIrgin Records and Soho Labs on Market Street. Comp USA also slammed its doors. Nothing is cropping up inside these stores. People seem to be using them for advertising, but as I look at the signs, I wonder about this method of advertising. The Virgin record store now has furniture in the window but it’s not actually in the store. It’s some place else – a place I can’t find.


This is in China Town, of course, where the advertising is always dragons, no matter what you sell.

This was the garbage can in the front of Macy’s. More advertisement, I suppose. I didn’t see the sponsor, probably a bored teenager, standing around his/her handywork either. And yes, that’s bubble gum spelling out the word.

Police Helicopter

Posted in Oakland, political, whatevah on September 24, 2009 by Nada

Supposedly, according to city council person Jane Brunner, Oakland’s police helicopter has been grounded due to lack of funds. I found this wandering around the internet. It’s Oakland’s helicopter maintenance contract for $730,000 for two years, waiving competitive bidding. WTF?

Brunner was one of the council people responsible for the new parking regulations. The city council voted in expensive parking meter changes and regulations, and then, rather than hear any flak from the public, they went on break. The new regulations prohibit people from shopping in Oakland. That’s the way to cure the city’s ills. She says she was trying to raise revenue to save the city. Instead, she has caused a revolt. People are talking about recalling Brunner.

Needless to say, the police helicopter has not been around. I noticed in a way you notice something is missing but can’t quite place it. I finally decided the night train had turned up the volume on its whistle, but the truth is the helicopter, which was whopping over my house every other Saturday night, is sitting on a tarmac somewhere gathering dust.

Do I miss it? No. Was it helping? Haven’t a clue. Ask any long time Oakland resident and he/she will tell you the whirlybird was annoying as hell. It was so bad one night I called Oakland PD and asked them to contact the helicopter pilot and request he take his spotlight away from my bedroom. The fleeing felon was not in there, and he was scaring the animals.

The dispatcher responded with, “How do you know it’s us?”

“I can see you out my window,” I said.

“I have no way to contact him,” she said, and yet he whopped off in the next few minutes as if he got an urgent call on his bat phone from another part of the city.

10-4

Posted in general weirdness, hospital, life, whatevah on July 6, 2009 by Nada

I haven’t been blogging because I’ve been busy. Okay, maybe the better word is obsessed. Hubby sent me a link to listen to live feed for Oakland police and dispatch, like a police scanner, only it’s free and on the internet. Here’s the link. Knock yourself out. Of course, you may have no interest since you don’t live here, and then, you may be like me – unable to tear yourself away. Here are some of the Oakland police codes. I found out a few things while listening and one of them is Fruitvale and International is a hotbed of violent, weird, and spectacular crimes. The Fruitvale BART station is in the middle of a bad mess.

In other mess, someone has been calling the house phone all afternoon. This is not someone I know well, or they would know I don’t answer that phone. Ever. If you want to talk to me, leave a message or call my cell. By their persistence, I think they really want something, but rules are rules, and my rule is I never answer that phone. I’ll wait until Hubby gets home. He’ll answer it, AND yell, “I don’t understand why you won’t answer the house phone.”

I’ll answer him with “Hey Bud, yours is not to question why.”

Next subject…my volunteer jobs. I have three of them, but maybe two. The third one is so sporadic, I hardly count it. The two main volunteer jobs include the one at the hospital and the one working the desk at the Yoga studio. Both places decided I need to do better, better as in the hospital wants me to wear a uniform, consisting of black pants, a white shirt, and their bloody apron. The Yoga studio sent a list of four things they want me to do every time I work the desk. I’m not going to do them, so I may down a volunteer job. As far as the hospital dress requirements, I bought a couple of white shirts from Target at $8 a piece. I have some black jeans I can wear. If they outlaw the jeans, I’m through. I’m not buying any more crap to go some place and work like a dog for free. It doesn’t make sense. And the apron? Last time I wore it, I accidentally dipped the strings in the toilet and peed on them when I had to use the ladies room. Not doing that again. The apron is a no go.

Last night, I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, watching Road House. Why had I never seen that movie? Maybe I had and forgotten. The advantages of senility.

I got a piece published in The Monthly magazine. I wish I could say I did it all on my little lonesome, but one of the editors is one of my writing teachers. I think I had an edge. They are going to pay me a $100. My pen name is Wichita Sims. Why? Because if you had my real first name, you would invent another name for yourself too.

And finally the fourth of July. Fireworks are officially outlawed in Oakland but honest to God, if they shot off any more than they did, they would have exploded the whole city. On the third of July, I heard an unusual amount of ruckus outside my house on the front lawn. I could hear it above the vacuum. I figured it was some neighborhood kids planting fireworks in my yard. I put on my scary old woman face and looked out the front blinds. It was the kids two doors down, playing in the grass, all three of them, only the third one was naked as a jaybird. I closed the blinds and went back to vacuuming.

Napalm, Mac, and Mousey

Posted in animal, computer, general weirdness, holy crap, life, she-it, whatevah on June 4, 2009 by Nada

Thunder. Here. This morning. Scared the Little Dog. I had to hold her like a baby child. And me? I’d forgotten what it sounded like.

This bird on one side of my house refuses to let me sleep late. He doesn’t have a pretty song either. He sounds like he’s beating two rocks together. I want to shoot him. I want to bring him down in a hail of gunfire. As in Oakland. As in gangland style sparrow slaying.

Now, I have a set of crickets on the other side of the house. Pathetic. I only have two choices of sleeping locations. I can sleep on the sofa, which is on the side of the rock-pounding sparrow, or I can sleep in the master bedroom, which is on the side of the cricket chorus. I want DDT and a lot of it. I want napalm. I want to defoliate the whole block.

My MAC is acting an ass, and I’m afraid it might partially be my fault though I don’t want to accept blame for it, so I won’t. I was trying to speed things up so I cleaned up the start up folder. I did one of these, “What’s this? I don’t know. I think I’ll delete it.” That was last week, but today Entourage, which is the MAC’s version of Outlook, keeps crashing.

Yesterday, I was at the hospital, pulling stock in the gift shop storeroom, and I discovered the mouse was back. He had snacked on some Ranch Flavored Doritos and regular Cheetos. Right now, the gift shop’s storeroom is next to the loading docks and the Psychiatric Ward. In fact, I suspect the psych(o) guys of swiping stuff off our palette on the dock before we get a chance to put it in our storeroom. Anyway, we are moving to a new storeroom, which is larger, more secure, and in the center of the hospital. I hope we don’t accidentally give Mousey a ride to the new storeroom in one of the boxes when we transport the stock. He’d be like King Mouse, riding his thrown to his new kingdom of everlasting manna.

I said something along those lines to the head of volunteer services. His response was some sort of Disney mouseology where he explained, “Mice don’t live where they eat. They eat one place, and then go out and live some place else.” (And wear white gloves, no doubt.)

I just stared at him because there was no point in rebutting ca-ca like that. I grew up on a farm. Mice eat, crap, breed, and live at the same location. Ask our barn.