Asked and answered…

I try to be nicer than most to the random salesmen that I occasionally encounter.  I’ve really changed my attitude since Ray went into commercial sales a while back.  Now, he’s not a car salesman or door-to-door vacuum pusher, mind you, he sells big ticket items to other businesses in his industry, and I do consider that a tad different, but… I know that it’s hard to have a job where rejection is a big part of your career.  So, like I said, I DO try to be nice.

I feel like residential, cold-call phone sales is in a class all it’s own.  A Realtor – you go to them.  A car salesman – you go to them.  Insurance – you go to them.  Mattresses at the Mall… well, you see the pattern.  In all those instances, you contact them, you go to their place of business, you INITIATE.

But home phone sales calls are annoying to me.  I have never once, in my whole life, gone “Oh, good grief, what a great deal, YOU MUST SIGN ME UP!”  It’s like these people that I REALLY don’t want to talk to, come into my house, take up my time and get annoyed with me when I don’t give in.  There is a point to this story, I promise…

So, last week, I had a bad night.  I didn’t feel well, I didn’t sleep well, and I stayed in bed extra time the next morning.  The evening of the bad night, before bed, we got a call from an unknown 800 number.  With the miracle of Google Voice and the OOMA blacklist, not many of those sneak through, but since I have an item in dispute on my debit card with my bank, I thought it might be them.  I wasn’t sure though, so I just let the call go to voicemail.  No message.  Okaaaaay.  Maybe not the bank after all.  I waited about 30 minutes, called the number back, and immediately got a message that my call was being recorded – but I still had no idea who was recording me, so I just hung up.

Ok, jump to the next morning.  I’m sleeping late – it’s 9am – and the phone rings.  I didn’t feel like answering it, so I let that same number from the night before go to voicemail again.  Nope.  No message.  I stay in bed for about a half hour more, get up to brush my teeth and get the day started and THE PHONE RINGS AGAIN.  Same people.  Thinking that it HAD to be the bank, with all my spam call filters in place, I dove for the phone only to find a sales person waiting on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” I tentatively say into the handset.

A chipper, friendly voice comes on the line – “Hello, this is *ANNOYING SALES* with AT&T calling with an exciting new offer.  We’ve recently added services to your area and have updated our pricing to bring you the best deal in the services available to you.”  * I changed her name and am paraphrasing from memory.

“Thanks, but we’re not interested,” I reply, getting ready to hang up the phone.

She jumps right back, a little less chipper, “You’re not interested in saving money on your satellite or cable bill?”

I simply state, “Thank you, but no.”

Knowing that these sales people have a “Rule of 3” – you must reject them 3 times before THEY will end the call, she comes back again with a very flat voice, “Are you sure you don’t want to get a great deal AND get upgrade to better service?”

I tell her one more time, “Thanks for the offer, but no” and I was prepared to leave it at that.  But she had one more in her…

“Who doesn’t want to switch, if they will save money on a great plan with AT&T?” she’s full on snarky now.

Lady, I get that you have a job to do, but I’ve politely told you no three times.  I don’t care if I am receiving my TV signal from the moon and paying $1000 a month for the privilege, it’s up to me if I want to switch.  And, there’s nothing to switch.  We don’t have cable or satellite.  We’re those cable TV cord cutting, unlimited cell phone, LED light bulb money saving people that you have been hearing about.

“Ok, here’s how it is,” I snottily say.  “We HATE AT&T.  At our last house we had nothing but problems with AT&T.  We sold that house, in part, to get away from AT&T.  I would go without all services if it meant that I had to sign up for anything with AT&T.  WE DON’T WANT AT&T.  Thank you for your call, but WE. ARE. NOT. INTERESTED.”

To this I got a very clipped, “Haveaniceday.” and then there was a click in my ear.

Tell me, Dr. Internet – what’s the best way to handle these types of calls?  Just don’t answer?  Block all Toll Free numbers?  Tell them no once and just hang up on them?  I’m not sure how to handle these, since they get more aggressive as the questions go on, but I’ve always been taught that it’s impolite to hang up on people.

We are on the Do Not Call list and it still came through, so that’s proven pretty much useless – hence the OOMA blacklist and the Google Voice blocking.  I’m wondering if other people have noticed the decline of the politeness in sales calls, calls to customer service, etc.  Or if I have just been out of circulation in the workplace for so long that the median bitchiness level of all people has changed and I just didn’t get the memo.

Either way, I’m so annoyed with this last one that the next 800 number caller might just find an air raid siren waiting for them on the other end.  And ir you don’t like it, you can thank the twit at AT&T that just wouldn’t take the hint.


Image from

We gotta get out more…

Holy crap – It’s now been SIX FULL DAYS since I left the house!!!!

Actually, there’s really no reason to capitalize or emphasize that, it’s pretty normal for me in the winter (too cold).  And the fall (days are too short).  The spring (too many allergies).  Summer, too (too hot).  I just don’t go out a lot.

But, today, it was 60 degrees, so I compromised and propped open the deck door and cracked one single window on the opposite end of the house.  Win finally peeled himself off his afternoon Skype session to go hit the shower, walked through the living room and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Um, what is that smell?”

“What do you mean?  What smell?” I asked him.

“I’m not sure.  Something’s burning maybe?  An electrical type smell?  I can’t tell, but it seems like I should know it,” he replied.

I walked to where he was standing, took a big sniff and said, “That’s fresh air, hon.  The back door and a window are open.”

He looked at me, shook his head and just said “Huh.  Weird.”

Ok, I think maybe it’s time to start leaving the house once in a while after all.

The adoption of a poopy dog…

About 2 months ago, we decided that life was just not complete enough without tossing a little more shit into our daily routine – so we took to Craig’s List and adopted a puppy.  Before anyone freaks out, we had done the adopted dog route before, and had considered doing it again, but we have an aging rat terrier in the household and he DOES NOT like dogs that he doesn’t know.  We took Yap, the terrier, to a few meet and greets at shelters, prior to adopting the puppy, and he tried to EAT the other dogs, simply because he’s the alpha.  He’s always been the 13 pound alpha, for the entire 7 years we’ve had him, so we don’t expect to change that, ever.  The last shelter that we tried to adopt from, suggested we start with a puppy, so maybe Yap would take charge of it, like his own baby.  That’s what we did.

We found a full blooded baby Boxer on Craig’s List and Ray went to pick him up the same day.  Oaf joined our household, to much excitement of Win, because what teenage boy doesn’t want another stinky dog sharing his bed?  But Win was ecstatic and gleefully started on the road to potty training, and command training the new pooch.  Oaf has picked up sit, stay, no, leave it and outside with not too much trouble, but the potty training has continued to be a challenge.

We’ve always used these little, soft, 6 calorie a piece, training rewards to teach our dogs their stuff.  Oaf is our third Boxer, the first one died from cancer at 9, the second died from cancer at 4 and now this one, who we are hoping to keep for a long, long time.  Boxers are not new to us.  Stubborn and pig-headed Boxers are not new to us.  Potty training is not new to us, either.  But Oaf is going to weigh 300 pounds, just from those 6 calorie treats, by the time we are done potty training if I can’t figure this out.

We started him out by going potty every 20 minutes when he first came home.  We’ve never spanked, rubbed a nose in a mess or anything like that, just potty on a schedule, only ever outside (no potty pads), lots of praise when he did it and then reward with a tiny treat.  When he messed in the house, we cleaned it up, WELL, and then told him to go potty outside, scooped him up and took him out to finish up out there.  When he did, he got a treat.  If he didn’t do anything else, we came back in the house and resumed the 20 minute schedule, no treat.

So, now we’re 95% potty trained.  That’s not the problem.  The little bastard has learned “treat seeking”.  He goes outside, mills around the yard, and then comes back in and sits pretty until he gets a treat.  If we know that he didn’t potty outside, just went out and wandered around, he gets no treat.  But, THEN HE PEES AT THE BACK DOOR.  INSIDE.  RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.  I usually see him, scoop up his now 35 pound body, and take him outside to finish.  Then, for the next day or two, especially if the weather is nice, he’ll want to go out every 20 minutes or so, again, and get a treat every time.  He’ll even sprinkle just a little each trip out, just to make sure he gets that treat.

I’ve created a monster.  And I don’t know what to do about it.  He’s still only a puppy.  At just 18 weeks he’s well trained, fun, energetic, minds, doesn’t chew, loves to play with Yap, is Win’s best friend… but he’s a cookie addict.

Is this a bad thing, Dr. Internet?  Should I just let him grow out of it?  Keep treating him?  Cut him off completely and keep cleaning up pee when he gets into his pissy mood?  WHAT SHOULD I DO?

He’s just so cute, he really does deserve all the treats he gets.  In fact, maybe I’ll just go give him one right now – just for being such a pretty boy.  I know how he loves them so.


Hakuna Matata…

Yesterday’s post got me all in the mood for palm trees and warm sandy beaches.  It’s my own fault really, for fantasizing about Rum Punches, suntan lotion and a very hot Chris Hemsworth… but my tropical breeze blown thoughts kept jumping back and forth between the Caribbean and… DISNEY.  Is that weird?

Here’s the thing – I LOVE DISNEY!!!  I’m 38 years old and still remember the few times I’ve been, like they were yesterday!  I went to WDW when I was 10 with my mom, dad and brother, I went to Disneyland when I was 20 with my dad, and then to WDW again at 30 with Win (who was 5) and Ray.  I would dress up as a princess, now, and do all my housework that way, if I had a better costume than a slutty Alice In Wonderland deal that’s stuffed in the back of the closet.  I’m not sure how the now 13 year old Win would take that one.

As it so happened, I was talking to my dad on the phone last night and he had been watching a special on the Disney Cruise Lines a few nights ago.  He’s all in the mood for a Disney trip, too.  MY DAD!  The guy that I can’t drag kicking and screaming away from his office long enough to see a movie.  He’s now talking about how he would like to take his kids and grandkids to Diz for a once in a lifetime experience and all that, but I’m still wondering who this imposter is and if he has any idea what it would cost to take 14 people to WDW?!?!

When we took my 10 year old self trip, it was ALL my mom’s doing, he went grudgingly.  At 20 when he and I went, that one was all me.  He was in Cali for TechEd and I flew out to meet him, we hit Universal Studios one night and then Disneyland the next day – but it was all me.  Then, at 30, he didn’t go to that one, it was just my little family of 3.  So, Dr. Internet – did my dad win the lottery and now has money to burn, does he have a brain tumor and is dying OR has he maybe, FINALLY, caught Disney Fever from me???

I think, tonight, I might just go wish upon a star, but for now, I’m sitting here in the 45 degree sunshine, imagining Mickey, Minnie and all my old pals saying, “We’ll see ya real soon.”

But, I’m still holding a Rum Punch in that fantasy.  That’s just who I am.


Surprise! Win found Stitch in Epcot Center making a mess with ice cream!

FedUp with FedEx

I’ll admit it, Dr. Internet – I HATE WINTER.  If I didn’t have a million family members that lived here (and Ray’s pesky job) in the Midwest, I’d more to warmer climates where palm trees abound and coconuts conk you on the head as they tumble out of their tropical breeze swayed tree toward the white sandy beach, rolling towards the clear, aqua blue water.  With a trashy novel in one hand and a rum punch in the other, Chris Hemsworth rubbing suntan lotion on my… WHOA – OK, mental shake – and… back to reality.

Let me say it again, I HATE WINTER.

It’s been so cold and gray that I haven’t wanted to get out of the house to do anything.  I make poor Ray stop on the way home from a full day at work, to hit the grocery store, Target, gas station, whatever – just because I hate the cold and don’t even want to consider leaving the house until it’s at least 40 degrees and I’d like a side of full sun with that.

The point to this, is that I order a lot of stuff online, just so I don’t have to go out.  A lot of stuff.  Really.  The UPS driver once told me that I had a nice doorbell… he’s here often enough to see all the changes we’ve made to the house as they are happening.  The USPS driver smiles at me and lets me borrow his pen.  These delivery guys are going to expect to be invited for a Super Bowl party and to get a birthday card in the mail, as much as we see each other.

But, then there’s FedEx.

I’ve always had some trouble with FedEx.  When we were living with family this summer, I was ordering a ton of stuff for the new house but there was no one living here yet to receive it.  So, I’d have it shipped to where we were staying.  That was my childhood home, it’s been there for 28 years, it’s on the freaking map… but for an entire summer, FedEx (and only FedEx) missed 80% of my delivery dates.  Why?  Because they said that I put the wrong address on the shipping info.  28 years, ladies and gentlemen, that house has been there.  I’m pretty sure I knew the address of the home I grew up in AND was currently staying in… but no, FedEx claimed that there was always a delivery exception, because they couldn’t find the house – BECAUSE I PUT THE WRONG ADDRESS.  I didn’t.  Not once.

When we finally moved, most of this trouble stopped – in large part because I do my best NOT to use FedEx as my shipping service.  If given the option, I’ll always pick another delivery service, even if it costs me more.  I’m that serious about it.  But, occasionally, I’m not given the option.  Like with Amazon.  They do their own thing and there is no rhyme or reason to it.  I’ll get overnight stuff that is now USPS but used to be UPS Overnight, and I frequently get ground stuff from all 3 services with no pattern.  It’s always a surprise who my shipper is going to be, until my tracking number comes.  But, I always pray that the big items come UPS.  Case in point…

We had ordered a large, somewhat breakable HVAC part to be delivered to the house, via Amazon Prime.  It weighed 70+ pounds, shipped.  My UPS guy would have brought it into the house for me and set it down in the entry, because he’s just that kinda guy.  But, the tracking info came and was showing a FedEx truck delivery for this week – so no beloved UPS guy.  We placed the order on a Thursday and Prime is supposed to be 2 business day.  Well, FedEx doesn’t do standard home delivery on Monday – nice hours if you can get it, I suppose, but my shipment ended up being pushed until Tuesday for delivery.  Fine.  It’s not a critical part, so I could wait.

The driver shows up in front of my house, and I don’t recognize him.  I had the front door open, since I was expecting him, but had the storm door latched and locked.  I have two small dogs and one is a barker and door banger – he puts his paws up against the door and pushes, trying to get to the people on the other side.  I try to always keep the glass door latched and locked, so there are no incidents of him actually getting through.  Because of this (the noise, the canine hysteria, etc.), I closed the front door 95 percent of the way and kept an eye on the driver through the peep hole in the door.

He got out of the truck, and came around to the back, opening the liftgate.  I saw him, standing at ground level trying to drag/walk my box towards him, so he could pull it off the truck.  I could tell this wasn’t going to go well.  I knew that thing was heavy – more than 70 pounds and it was starting out above a comfortable lift level.  Now, I don’t know if he knew the door was open when he got here, but as he looked toward the house to see where he was going to leave it, the door looked to be completely closed.  He, most likely, had no idea that I was standing on the other side watching this whole thing.

So, he gets the box to the back of the truck bed, gets it scanned and tries to lift it.  Oops, heavier than he thought.  Try again.  Still no.  Ok, got a good grip now… Lift, bobble, fast walk through the yard to the house.  Fast walk.  Fast walk.  Make it to the sidewalk, semi drop the box on the second stair.  ROLL the box, end over end TWICE so it doesn’t have to be carried any farther.  Finish with the box, right side up, with 2 HUGE Team Lift stickers staring me in the face (he missed on that one).  Scootch the box RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE GLASS DOOR, SO I CAN’T OPEN IT TO GET OUT!!!  Once the box is in the perfect doorstop position, run back to the truck, with no indication of having been here – no rung doorbell, no knock, no toot of the horn as he leaves.  He just sneaks away, likely snickering about having me locked in the house.

No shit.  This ass hat of a driver, rolls my more than 70 pounds of very expensive parts up the stairs, clanking and banging all over the place and then scoots it in front of the glass door so that it can’t be opened from the inside.  I’m not even joking.  I would have had to go out through the garage, pull the box back from the door, prop the door open and then try to shove all those pounds of cardboard and thoroughly scrambled metal and PVC through the door, if my brother hadn’t come by and helped me out.

Now, said brother thought that I ought to call FedEx and complain, but that seems like leaving a negative comment at a takeout restaurant you don’t necessarily love but do frequent.  You could expect to have a lot more than spit in your food the next time you order.  I don’t know if FedEx keeps track of that kind of thing, but I sure would.  If they indeed do make a note of the complaint, the next time I have the misfortune of having something delivered by FedEx you can bet your bottom dollar that it would be late, broken, or nailed to my siding with a railroad spike.  I’ve been thinking about what to do, Dr. Internet – but for now, I’m just going to piss and moan like an impotent jerk, bend over and take it up the tailpipe – because I’ve been here before…

Welcome wagon…

So, this is one that I have been pondering for a while.  I haven’t been able to decide whether I should discuss it or not.  Why would I not, you may ask.  Well, my thought process goes something like this.

Joy writes a real blog under a fictitious name.  Joy uses real events and people, only changing their names.  Everything works for a while and no one discovers the secret. Then, one day, Joy slips up – or a friend figures it out – or a neighbor recognizes Joy’s story – or a co-worker of Ray’s reads something that identifies their mutual employer…

See how sticky AND slippery this slope is???  In writing this now, I have to automatically assume that someone will find me out later.  Then, once I’m discovered, people may go back and re-read some of this stuff trying to align names to stories.  I am not trying to get anyone in trouble but, I want to be able to say what I want to say without worrying about pissing anyone off.  So, for now, I am going to proceed as if no one knows who I am – and they don’t – and write what I want.  Which brings me back to this issue that I have been thinking about bringing up.

Ray and I bought this house last year.  Ray went through a job change, he took a big promotion, but it was into sales and so we were to be moving from a regular, adequate bi-weekly paycheck, to a MUCH smaller bi-weekly check but with the addition of a once-a-month fluctuating commission check.  At the time, we were living in the requisite up and coming, middle class, McMansion on a very nice half acre, in a neighborhood of similar… or even larger… houses.  Our then home was brand new, gorgeous, huge and a level of luxury I didn’t ever expect to live in.  I know, brag, brag, brag… Just wait.

So, Ray gets this job offer with his company to move both up and down with money, low fixed salary, possible high commission… and after much discussion, we decided he should take it.  But now, our mucho grande mortgage payment is a tad more difficult to manage since the monthly money is always going to be in flux.  After a whole lot more discussion, we make the choice of putting the Barbie Dream House on the market and seeing if we can get out of it.  Big surprise, we do.  It sells within a few weeks of going on the market, we got a good offer and had no issues getting the property to pass inspection (it was brand FREAKING new when we bought it a few years prior).  Closing was easy and out the door we went.  Do you happen to see anything missing from this scenario?  Anything at all?  Maybe a new place to live?  Aaahhhhh… you see where I’m going now, huh?

So, with no where else to go, we move in with family and wait it out.  During the sale of our house we had been looking for another place to buy, but every time we came up with something we were either outbid, were the backup offer or the new place didn’t pass inspection (seriously, one had termites, radon, wiring not up to code, drainage issues AND was in a flood zone.  No shit.).

Then, finally, by some miracle, a house comes on the market in the right neighborhood, at a good price, already vacant and a TOTAL DUMP.  It was involved in an estate issue, and we were willing to mess with it, but the whole thing had to be pretty much gutted and started over.  After much negotiation with the trustee, we made a deal and bought the house.  I had never dreamed of having to buy a place that needed so much work.  Most of the walls stayed in place, but everything else was pulled.  We did floors, roof, doors, windows, tile, paint, electrical, plumbing, landscaping, casework refinishing, EVERYTHING.  Obviously, this did not happen overnight, but took some weeks to get it all done, with Ray, Win and I doing the bulk of the work.  We hired some contractors for a few of the really big pieces, but much of it fell to us.  We were trying to get set up in a place with a much lower payment, but still have all the amenities that we had been used to in the last house.  So, it was work, work, work, to save, save, save.

Over a few weeks, there was a LOT of construction mess.  There were contractor’s trucks and vans, delivery people coming and going during the days, installers in and out, a dumpster in the driveway for a while, it was nuts.  We did go around and meet all the neighbors to let them know what we were doing and that it would not last forever.  We wanted everyone to know that this was a work in progress, and that there was a method to our madness, but it would be an extended pain in the ass since we were doing most everything ourselves.

Finally, early in the summer, we get to move in.  Most of the big remodel was done, some was still left to do but we could work on that while actually in residence of the house.  But, now come the movers.  And stuff.  So much stuff.  We went from 2300 sq. feet on our main floor to about 1600 sq. feet and not all of our furniture would fit.  Now we have to start selling items, replacing items, donating items, etc.  Yes, it was chaos.  Yes, it was annoying.  No, we didn’t throw the old ceiling fans and the early 1990’s fridge on the lawn and just leave it for decoration…

Eventually we get moved in and settled.  But, it summer and there’s still lots to be done.  We own a flatbed trailer that we were using for transport of supplies and replacement furniture.  While the trailer was in use SOOOO much, it didn’t make sense to try to store it anywhere, so we left it out for easy access.  Most of the time it was parked in the driveway (allowed by the city), some of the time it was hooked up to the Suburban and parked at the curb (because we were just getting ready to pick up something or had just brought something in, still allowed by the city) but some of the time it was stored in the grass right next to the driveway (not really allowed, but shuffling cars was a real pain and we figured it was short term and better than parking it in the street).

One fine day, the mailman comes to the door with a certified letter.  To me.  I sign for it, rip it open and find it’s from… THE CITY.  It appeared as if they had received a complaint about us and our wayward trailer, so they were giving us 10 days to remedy the situation.  Two problems here – one was that the trailer had since been relocated to the back yard, behind a fence and out of view – and two, the trailer is in Ray’s name only AND he is the primary on the house.  How in the hell did this get routed to ME?  Did the complaint get made when it was still out front?  Or had someone decided that we couldn’t store it out of sight in the back either?

Ray decided to call the lady listed in the letter, the city employee, and see what he could find out.  In his conversation with this very nice woman, he was told that it was a neighbor that called it in, and the complaint was that it was in the grass.  Now that the trailer is in the backyard and behind the fence, we are in compliance.  Ok, well, that’s a relief.  The city lady did tell Ray that they don’t take individual information from a caller like THEIR name or address, they just log the complaint and send a letter to the non-compliant resident notifying them of potential trouble.  So, technically, any neighbor could call on anyone else anytime for anything and there is no recourse.

So, you might be asking yourself, Dr. Internet, why I am so aggravated about this situation that has been worked out for a while, in our favor and is now old news.

Because I feel like we should have been cut some slack.  We bought this then hell hole for a decent price and then dumped a LOAD of money into it to make it nice.  We’ve increased the value of this place 40 to 50 thousand dollars in a month of work and that benefits the whole neighborhood.  We drive nice cars, the lawn is moved, we don’t have wild parties, barking dogs or teenagers coming and going at all hours.  I feel like if one of the neighbors had a problem with the trailer, they should have come to us.  After all, we went to all of them explaining all the work and it was obvious that the trailer was not staying there permanently, since it was always moving.  If they didn’t want to come face to face, what about an anonymous letter to us requesting that we move it or they will THEN call the city.  Maybe leave a note on the trailer asking us to move it?  Seriously, who calls the city on someone who is obviously working on a property to the betterment of the whole subdivision???

Even if the city lady didn’t know who it was, I think that I do.  I’m pretty sure it’s the single, old bat down the street that walks the neighborhood every day.  She’s been alternating between really nice and somewhat pissy everytime we see her out and about.  We always wave to her, sometimes stop to talk, but her mood swings are strange since I don’t even know her name – I don’t think her issues are actually with me, but you never know.

I have been debating having Ray hook the trailer up to the tow vehicle and leave it in the street for a while again.  I’ve also been thinking about bring it back up front, painting it neon pink, sitting it in the driveway with an old, broken, avocado green toilet (easily purchased from Habitat for Humanity) filled with fake flowers, and attaching a comments box.  Alternately, I can leave it where it is, behind the fence, and let whoever called the city feel like they won the battle (even though it had already been moved by the time the letter came) and hope this is the end of the HOA pissing match.  Ray thinks I should do like that infernal Frozen song and just Let It Go.

Tell me, Dr. Internet… what do YOU think I should do?

Oh, pour me…

So, tell me Dr. Internet… Is 3:45pm too early to start drinking?  Oh, good.  I was hoping it wasn’t, seeing as I’m staring at the business end of a bottle of Exotic Fruits Zinfindel.

I would say it’s been one of those days, but it just seems like my life lately has been a near endless chain of “those days” strung together.  Sometimes I feel like my purpose is to simply serve as a warning to others.  Think I’m exaggerating?  Well, let’s see, shall we?

It’s a balmy 10 degrees outside with a wind chill of -3.  The new puppy that we’ve had for about 8 weeks HATES the cold, so he’s just taken to peeing… AND POOPING in the house today.  I might try that too, if my hoo-ha was exposed to the -3 wind to take a leak, but it’s still pissing me off.  No pun intended.

We had another family funeral today, the 3rd one in 7 months.  It seems that it just doesn’t pay to be in my family.  Unless you have life insurance.

But… I missed the funeral due to a dental infection.  It started a few days ago and seems to want to NOT respond to any of the treatments that I am trying, however I am determined to try them all.  In the last 48 hours I’ve used clove oil, hydrogen peroxide, salt water, a water pik, tea tree toothpaste, soaked and cooled tea bags, honey and colloidal silver.  Since none of that has worked, I’ve now transitioned to wine.  I have high hopes for this one, but if liquor doesn’t work either my eye of newt is on backorder from Amazon.

I did manage to fulfill my self imposed requirements for the day, though.  I thought that to be best before diving head first into the Arbor Mist.  The dishes are done, the beds are made, Win has finished home school for today, the bills are paid, I’ve showered and have fixed my hair, put on makeup and changed into clean pajamas.  When Ray gets home from work, he’ll be pleasantly surprised by the dinner that’s being prepared (chili from a can), the laundry that’s put away (his, having sat for 5 days on the bench at the end of our bed) and the slightly sloshed demeanor of his wife, who is (now) using wine for medicinal purposes and is already dressed for bed.  Oh, he’s a lucky, lucky boy… *hiccup*