Back from the vet



Back from the vet

Originally uploaded by Megan_G.

This morning when we woke up, BK wasn’t in the bed with us like usual. After searching the house top to bottom and calling for her, I finally found her curled up against a wall behind an end table in the living room. She had her head down on the carpet and was very listless. She wouldn’t get up, so Ian had to carry her and put her in the carrier. Her eyes had goop in them, and her face was swollen. When I remembered her throwing up the night before, we figured something was wrong and immediately took her to the vet across the street.

$219, a ton of bloodwork and some meds later, she’s back home. She’s still pretty lethargic, but she’s been sitting near us and responding when we pet her or talk to her.

The vet said her blood sugar was a bit high, and cautioned us to watch for increased drinking in case she is developing diabetes. He also said her white blood cells were low, which could indicate an infection and her body was sending out so many cells the marrow can’t keep up. He also surmised the eye goop could be allergies, so he treated her with a cortisone shot for upper respiratory stuff, and gave us some ointment to put in her eyes. She is also most likely dehydrated (red blood cells were high), so they gave her some fluids under her skin. So she has a nice camel bump. :(

We’re supposed to watch her through the weekend and see if she gets better or worse, and follow up over the phone Monday. Poor baby kitty. :(

End

I sit in the stiff, vinyl-back chair in the waiting room, playing with the baby to keep him from fussing. Ten feet away is the door to an army of machines that keep lungs breathing, hearts beating, lives waiting. There are probably 20 bodies back there, fates unknown, but I am only concerned about one.

Someone is going to die today. Before you wake up tomorrow morning and make your coffee and read your paper, she will be gone. Machines will stop churning, monitors will stop beeping. Scientifically, she will cease to exist.

You do not know her story. You do not know what she has lived through. You do not know that her husband died nearly 20 years ago, or that she has raised several children. You do not see that one of those children grew up beautiful—inside and out—and is one of the most selfless people I know. And you can not see her heart breaking as she walks the hall.

There will be a service, and she will be buried. And as she is lowered into the ground, she will be surrounded by lungs breathing, hearts beating, lives waiting.

Why I love Twitter

It’s almost time for bed and I really should get some more work in tonight, but in the rare moment that Twitter is functional, I have to laugh at some tweets that I have favorited. Looking at them not in context (although many of them were pretty random to begin with), they crack my shit up:

“Infant toys don’t play Pachelbel’s Canon so much as repeatedly shit it.” – hotdogsladies

“Sometimes when I talk to a Windows person about using a Mac, I feel like I’m explaining Van Halen to a horse.” – hotdogsladies

“I wonder if it would be possible to put a platypus in a sweater.” – newscoma

“Is it still a ‘martini’ if it’s made from Kahlua and zesty ranch dressing? Bennigan’s says yes but my heart says fuck you I quit.” – fireland

“So I drank some Aveda Rosemary Mint Conditioner on accident, thinking it was a smoothie? First off, YUM. Also? My stache is hella luxurious.” – fireland

“If my feline were part of the grassroots, I would buy A LOT more carpet cleaner!” – Klinde

“I just accidentally glued the cat to just about the worst possible place on my body. This scrapbooking thing is NOT for amateurs, you guys.” – fireland

“Who said Q-tips were just for ear-holes? How about a little less calling the police and a little more high-fiving my dedication to hygiene.” – fireland

“God enables comments on Genesis: “1. First!” “2. Snake looks fake” “3. Abraham ram = teh lame” “4. LOLCains” “5. Friend me, Creator of man!” – hotdogsladies

“I love warm dark nights after 2:00am. It’s like a secret planet only I am on. Well, I and my crippled gay dog.” – mycropht

“Looks like I picked the wrong day to quit amphetamines” – jagadiah

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On beer, Stephen King and minnows

This past weekend Ian and I took what’s becoming my annual birthday trip to Asheville, N.C. First off, let this be known: So far, Asheville is my favorite city out of all the cities I have ever visited. Its downtown area is so vivid and walkable, with all of these great bars and shops and restaurants, but there are so many great places to go outside of the city, too. So much hiking and mountains and waterfalls. The whole place just seems so alive, and I always feel so relaxed and happy when I’m there.

Also: You can not shower for a week, be a white person with dreads, a dude in a skirt, etc., and they will not judge you there. In fact, it seems weirdos are embraced. No wonder I love it so much.

Some highlights from our trip:

  • Beer: Hands down, Asheville has got the best local breweries. We drank so much I can’t even remember all of the new beers I tasted. And honestly, it’s not because I was so wasted. Except for that one day we started drinking at 2 p.m. and didn’t stop until almost midnight, I was pretty lucid.
  • Non-asshat celebrity sighting: In our hotel, our room was on the seventh floor. One day when we were going out, it came down from the top, and when it opened, Stephen King was on the elevator alone. Ian and I looked at him, and then each other, but didn’t say anything. He started bitching about the slowness of the elevators (they were really, really slow), and we agreed with him. I mean, come on. Stephen Fucking King, the master of horror, is on your elevator bitching. How can you NOT join in?

    He was wearing a 1.20.09 shirt and was about 6’4″ or 6’5″, with his trademark glasses. I wondered if I should say something, but then the elevator stopped and some Chatty Cathy got on and I figured if I said something then she’d embarrass all of us. So we got to the bottom and got off, and as soon as we walked outside Ian and I were all, “Fuckin’ a, was that Stephen King? Yes! It had to have been!”

    We did some research later that day, and discovered he is an outspoken Bush hater (and actually advocated waterboarding Jenna Bush to determine if it is indeed torture), and so we paired that with his t-shirt. We were 99 percent sure it was Stephen King we ran in to. Our suspicions were confirmed the next night when we asked our bartender, Joann, if he was staying there, and she said that indeed he was. He was in town for a wedding. She said we should have asked him for a picture, that he would have loved it. Fuck. Every time from then on when we were in the hotel we were on the lookout. But no more luck.

  • Minnows: I don’t know if this counts as a highlight, but it’s pretty freaky so I am recounting it in hopes someone can shed some light on the symbolism of minnows. One night Ian and I fell asleep watching TV, and I woke back up sometime in the middle of the night. I tried to wake Ian because he was still fully clothed (and had a dip in), but he was not having it. At one point I was standing over by his side of the bed, patting his leg to try to wake him up, when I noticed he had his hands clasped together loosely and was making a flicking motion toward his body with his forefingers and middle fingers. I asked him why he was doing that, but he wouldn’t answer. He kept doing it, and I kept asking, and then his eyes sort of rolled back in his head. Scared he was having a stroke or something, I smacked his leg hard and asked again why he was moving his fingers that way. He opened his eyes and replied, calmly and with a smile, “Keeping them away from the minnows.” Shortly after that he woke up all the way, started responding to me normally, and then went back to bed. I told him what he’d done the next morning, and we laughed about it.

    When we were out and about hiking and stuff the next day, we came to a creek. Where we discovered this box. That was being used to trap… MINNOWS.

    That kind of creeped us out. I tried looking up the symbolism of minnows, but pretty much all I can find is info about fish in dreams. He doesn’t remember dreaming about minnows or fish, so I don’t know if his episode even counts as a dream. And I also think it’s more specific than just fish. I found a reference to an artist named Morris (Ian’s last name) Graves who painted minnows to symbolize “the spark of spiritual illumination,” and a few other things, but nothing I can find really seems to tie the two occurrences of minnows together.

Anyway, we finished up the trip by heading out to Chimney Rock to do some hiking, which kicked our asses but was fun and had gorgeous views. It was nice to spend some time outdoors, and the weather was perfect.

On the way home, we took a short detour and stopped in Cherokee, NC, and did some quick lose-all-our-money-quickly gambling at the Harrah’s there (which sucks, by the way—no cards, everything’s digital, and NO BOOZE! Dry reservation!!) and drove through the little town. Then, instead of driving 30 minutes backward to get back to I-40, we took the Blue Ridge Parkway all the way up to Pigeon Forge where we caught it again. That was a nice drive, and if we weren’t running short on time already we would have stopped at some of the overlooks. We also discovered that the Civ doesn’t really like mountain driving too much. It was getting a little pissed off, I think.

Anyway, it was a great trip, and Ian is an awesome boyfriend for taking me (and for letting me shop my little hippie heart out). I’m already looking forward to our next trip out that way!!

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No gray hairs yet

As of 9:14 p.m. last night, I have been on this earth 29 years.

Let me think about that… 29 years. That feels like a long time. And just in case I wasn’t aware of how long it was, this weekend I had several people comment on just how OLD I am now. Thanks, guys.

But then I started thinking: With age usually comes wisdom, right? At least that’s what everyone tells me. And I mean, some days I feel really fucking wise already, so maybe I am going to be SO READY for 30. Imagine the state of enlightenment I’ll reach then.

So, in preparation for my hike to this summit of the unknown, I am setting goals. And thus I bring you, in no particular order, nine things I want to do before I am 30:

  1. Visit the Grand Canyon
  2. Meditate in complete silence, both internal and external
  3. Design a Web site from scratch (for myself)
  4. Stop biting my nails
  5. Learn to let things roll off my back—and keep them off
  6. Focus more on the positive and less on the negative
  7. Play three chords on a guitar (a whole song would be nice, but that seems like a rather lofty goal with all this other stuff I’ve got in mind)
  8. Take a photography class
  9. Get my issues with my dad off my back

I’ll keep you updated.

Sprint: The Herpes of Cell Phone Companies

Oh, Sprint. Just when I thought I was rid of you, you keep coming back to irritate me.

So, as you might recall, after two years of bills riddled with errors, I finally canceled my Sprint service and went over to AT&T (where I planned on going as soon as the 3G iPhone was released anyway. Also, COME ON APPLE WTF?!).

I happened to cancel my Sprint service just a few days after the new billing cycle started, so I knew that I would have one last bill to pay. Earlier this week I thought, hmm I haven’t received my bill in the mail, maybe I should call them. The straw that made the camel cancel the service was that I never could log in to my account to view/pay my bill the last couple of months I was with Sprint, and now that I’d canceled I didn’t expect to be able to pay my last bill online anyway. I tried, just for old times’ sake, and what do you know—no access.

So I called them up Tuesday evening to ask that they send me out a bill. The woman who I was lucky enough to talk to was obviously having a bad day because, holy shitfire, she was a bitch. But so she told me that my bill was $67 and some odd change, and that it was due May 28. Well, that’s about $20 more than it should be, but not wanting to get into the specifics with this wildabeast, I just asked her to go ahead and send me a paper bill so I could see what random charges they were making up this time.

(This is where it gets good.)

She tells me—without laughing or saying “Psych!!”—that because I am no longer a Sprint customer, they can not send me out a paper bill. Ummmm. Ok, I ask her, so how am I supposed to pay my bill?

“Oh, you can pay over the phone or you can go online. Did you look inside your e-mail to pay the bill in there?”

Yeah, that last part made no sense to me at all, either, since even if they DID send me an e-mail telling me to pay my bill, I’d still have to go to their Web site and log in to pay it, WHICH I CAN NO LONGER DO BECAUSE I’M NOT A CUSTOMER. Oh, and does she think e-mail is a box or something? Just look “inside it” and pay it. Yeah, hi, e-mail’s been around a long time now, lady. Learn it. LOVE IT.

So I told her I was not going to pay the bill without being able to see a detailed report of the charges, so she would have to send me a bill. Again, she said they could not do that. Again, I asked her why.

She tells me she has to ask her supervisor, and puts me on hold. For an eternity. So after my arm fell asleep, I just hung up, figuring the bill wasn’t due til May 28, I’ll just call back later in the week and hopefully get to talk to someone who can actually perform his or her job satisfactorily.

So imagine my surprise when I check my e-mail earlier today and see a letter from Sprint. I have to download it to read it (I guess they don’t really understand e-mail, either, and that you can place text in an e-mail; it doesn’t only have to be embedded HTML images or attached Word docs).

What. The. Fuck.

It’s a nasty, threatening letter from Sprint, telling me my account is past due and—wait for it—they are sending me to collections!!!!!

I called them up immediately, and the woman who answered was actually very nice and apologetic, and couldn’t imagine why some dumb ass would tell me they couldn’t send me a paper bill because, you know, how am I supposed to pay my bill?

I know, right?!

So anyway, the woman assured me that she was sending out a bill right away, and it must be coming by pony or maybe even by turtle, because it’s going to take 15-20 days to get to my house. She also told me the extra charges were for roaming, and then (at my prodding) discovered I was charged for roaming while in Nashville. My home network. So she waived the charges, and I didn’t even have to yell or cry! What a concept.

Anyway, I’m supposed to get this bill in a couple of weeks, I guess, as long as the pony doesn’t break its legs—or the turtle doesn’t get run over and made into soup—on the walk here. She assured me they wouldn’t turn me over to collections, but gave me a reference number “just in case.” Yeah, that made me a little nervous. But here’s to hoping, Sprint!

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