No Sympathy for Sarah...and a big old BOOO!

Good evening.

So two weeks ago I told you about my rather randy afternoon with my 98 pound physical therapist.

Today was round two.

Only today I was armed.  Last night I did a lot of soul searching while tennising with Hubby.  (On the court next to us, a father and his 8 year old daughter.  Number of times the 3rd grader hit the ball into our court: 0  Number of times I hit the ball into their court: 9) 

Since my car accident I've been spending lunch hours, and hours after work at doctor's offices.  I've been poked, prodded, stretched, x-rayed, MRIed, and medicated.  (more on that in a minute.)  I come home and pretty much go to sleep.  I'm in pretty constant pain from either the injury or from the treatment.

And let's talk about the pain killers.  The first one they put me on made my legs swell so bad I couldn't walk.  Not a little water weight...I COULD NOT WALK because I the bottoms of my feet were rounded and my feet and my shins met in a fleshy, watery, balloon way.  Think of one of those Right Angles from Geometry class....now fill that with over full water balloons.

The second one gave me heartburn in the middle of the night so awful I'd wake up gagging and vomiting.

The final one...well let's just say that Jamie Lee Curtis would probably just hook me up to an Activia IV if she could, but even that probably wouldn't




Won't be needing this as much!

help since this last one stopped waste disposal so completely for two weeks I am actually saving money on TP.  (Oh come on...that's not even the grossest thing you've read in this blog!  Do I need to remind you of the story where we bought a TV in the dead of winter?  HMMMMMMM?)

I will say this...I have finished two of the three Stieg Larsson books, so there's that...

Anyway, I'm relaying this to Cruella deSkinny and then I recount the effects her most recent treatment gave me:

I couldn't lift my left arm for two days.

I had a blinding headache for two days.

I had bruises on my chest, the back of my head, and my arm.

I finished my litany of woes, in tears, and she looks at me and says, 

"These sound like symptoms of depression.  Do you have depression?"

WHAT?????????????????????????

These are symptoms of someone who got hurt in a car accident 11 months ago and now no one seems to know what the #(*$%(*&%$^& to do with her!  There are the symptoms of someone who is angry, used, and fed up.

Oh, and this is someone who is currently being treated like a rented mule at work, but I'm still too angry about that to talk about it.

Then she said, "Well, I'm not sure I even want to touch you today."

Fine, thinks I, no pain for me today.

WRONG!

Cruella has me hop up on her table, set extra high just for me to hoist my fluffiness higher.  Then she begins with the "Does this hurt?  Let me JAB THIS IRON FINGERNAIL OF MINE INTO IT HARDER!"

I swear, the woman has fingertips of steel, weighted with lead.

At one point she actually lifted my rib cage and yanked it up to my chin while pushing on a tender spot in my arm pit.  Let's ignore the fact that I had some other woman's fist in my armpit and her claw wrapped around the bottom of my ribcage and let's forget that it felt like she was going to lift me off the table and twist me until I split.  Let's forget that and try to remember that she didn't want to touch me for fear of hurting me...five seconds earlier.

Afterward, she told me she wanted me to call her office tomorrow and tell her how I felt.

I couldn't help but think of dear Count Rugan after he sucked away a year of Wesley's life on the MACHINE:

How did it make me feel?

I'm pretty sure I'll never make a left hand lane change again...thanks for asking.

Nope, no sympathy from the 98 pound therapist.  I'm starting to think she's playing some weird online game like Words with Friends except for PT people only and it's more like, "Where did you poke this person and did they scream?"

***

Now, about that BOOOOO!  A big old Princess Bride sized BOO goes to the woman at the public library yesterday who was there with her small children at the same time Peaches, my daughter, was.

Those of you who know Peaches know that for her entire life she's had a certain flair for clothing and more recently for hair color.  Right now her hair is a bright candy apple red.  It's not cut in an odd way.  She wears it very neatly either in a pony tail or, when her eczema flares up, she wears it in a neat long bob around her face.  Yesterday she was wearing a short sleeved t-a pair of white shorts and, because she's Peaches, she was wearing some grey tights under the shorts.

The children must have looked Peaches' way, because Peaches says she waved at them.  She's a friendly girl, my girl Peaches.  She didn't speak to the children, she just waved in a friendly way and smiled and then went back to looking for books.

The mother, however, took one look at my daughter and gathered her precious perfect children around her and said in a voice loud enough for Peaches to hear THOUGH HER EARBUDS..."no, no children, we don't associate with them."

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!  BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Elsie W takes recycling to a whole new level.

Good evening. 

So last week at work was very stressful.  PM was on vacation.  This means the office was missing it's "Jasper."  (If you know the "Twilight"  books, you know that Jasper Cullen has the power to diffuse highly emotional, tense situations with a glance.  PM sort of has that power over Elsie and NBM.)

I'm sorry Alice.  Not even I
can calm the battle that brews
between NBM and Elsie W.

I tend to get more tense as tension builds around me, so I would make a lousy Jasper.  I picture myself more as a Bella...although I would more than likely go for the tall dark, and you know, ALIVE wolf guy.

But I digress.

I've mentioned before that Elsie is oblivious to the office except for the parts of it she uses every day.  For example, while she walks past the coat closets every single day, she has no idea that there are coat closets in the office.

We keep the extra T.P. stored in the coat closet.  Everyone in the office knows this, and I've told Elsie this at least three times.

Wars have been started over smaller things than this.

Elsie, as you all know, also has an issue with bathroom etiquette. The woman doesn't always remember to flush, I don't know why I should expect her to put the new roll of TP on the spindle.  She never has, she never will.  But, since my arthritis pain is at an all time high, I don't have the hand strength to change the spindle myself.  So for the last couple weeks, we've been balancing the roll on the spindle.  That seems to work.

Until today when, I guess, Elsie decided that the active roll of TP should go on the back of the toilet tank.  A fairly safe spot most of the time, but not when a completely oblivious maniac is making personal calls in there.  At some point, during an especially flail worthy call, she must have knocked the roll into the toilet bowl.

A danger zone not even Kenny Loggins could have imagined.

A normal person would have disposed of the roll and fetched another from the storage closet.  (Typically I put two rolls on the back of the tank should the active roll run out...there were two on the tank on Friday.  It's Monday, and there wasn't a single roll there.  She's the only one here on Saturdays.  You solve the mystery.)

Anyway, did Elsie dispose of the dripping roll?

If she had, I would not be blogging.

Here's what's really funny:  This is as close to what Elsie looks like as I can find without actually putting her picture on this blog.

No, instead she must have decided that since the roll wasn't completely soaked to the core, it was still good.  Which means when I next went in there  (and due to the fact that she has pretty much made every corner of that room as gross as anyone could wish, I only use the place when I MUST, like when I can't get to the Culver's on the corner) I was delighted to set my searching hand on a completely WET roll of TP.

Folks, show of hands, how many of you would use any of that paper on any part of your body?

Nope, I didn't either. 

Having learned that when it comes to the bathroom at work, I need to carry pretty much all my supplies on my person  (because any supplies not chained down can, and do, disappear several times a day) so I had a couple tissues in my pocket to cure what ailed me.

I then went to the closet  (Where I store the fresh coffee grounds as well.  Everyone in the building knows it's there except Elsie who has to by now be wondering what sort of Elfin magic I had to conjure up coffee every day where there is none.) and pulled out again two rolls for the back of the tank.  The wet stuff....well, I just left that out so the next person to use the bathroom could enjoy the same excitement of reaching for clean TP and touching wet TP.

Hey, Elsie, she truly recycles everything...even wet TP.

Now if only I could get her to stop throwing soda cans and plastic bottles in my trash.

Laundry List Friday: 5 skills I'm putting on my next resume.

Good evening all!

So I've now completed my third week with the new job.  Got my first paycheck, which, I am delighted to say, did not reflect any sort of oddities given the fact that we were bought and sold a week ago.

I was going to write a list entitled "There's something about Sherri"  all about the woman I work with, but today something struck me that was far more funny...I am clearly NOT putting my best, most usable skills on my resume.  Who knew?  So, the next time I send out my resume, you can bet it's going to include the following vital, if somewhat specialized skills.

5 Skills I bring to any business.

5)  I can read and translate a paycheck.  (I can also open one without shredding it.)

Those of you who follow me on Facebook  (and if you're not, why aren't you?  I AM HILARIOUS!)  have been hearing about the woman who sits next to me...I call her LCW  (Lady CoWorker).   This poor woman, while being very sweet, is also easily befuddled and therefore unintentionally hilarious.  Yesterday, I got my very first paycheck.  (Also, my very last since the business that hired me was sold and bought and therefore I now work for yet another new company.)  I was pretty jazzed as I read through hourly pay, overtime pay, deductions, totals, all that good stuff.

Meanwhile...at the desk next to mine:

"WHAT?  This isn't right!  This. Is. Not. RIGHT!"

"What's not right?"  (Why do I get involved.)

"My deductions.  Who can live on this if this is how much they're deducting?"  (Truly a question we all ask.)

I didn't get very involved past that for about five minutes.   Then LCW stopped NBM  (this only causes more hilarity.  Read on...) 

LCW:  I need to talk to you about my paycheck.  (She waves the tatters of the check, which is one of those that's held together by perforations and you're supposed to fold along the lines and THEN tear the ends off.  She sort of forgot to fold on the lines.)

NBM:  What did you do to your paycheck?

LCW:  Nothing.  I mean, I couldn't open it, so I just tore at it.

NBM:  I hope you haven't voided it by tearing it almost in half.

LCW:  WHAT???????  You can do that????????????

(I should interject here that NBM, I believe, LOVES to needle LCW.  LOVES it.  Sort of like a 9 year old boy poking at a dead animal. For him, it's fun, it's easy, and it provides amusement in an otherwise blechy day.  I'm just guessing, given how often he does it.)

"NBM:  Yep, you can.  So what's wrong with your paycheck, other than the fact that it's torn?

LCW:  It's not right.

The phone rings, and NBM is out of the conversation.  I don't like watching the wounded, so I roll my chair over to her desk. 

"What is the problem?"

LCW:  It's not right.  They took $1200 in taxes out of my check.

(Let me just say, if they took $1200 out of one paycheck, I'm thinking I'm being WAY underpaid!)

"Let me just look at it."  I look at it and realize instantly what the issue is.  "The $1200 is your gross pay to date.  The amount of taxes taken out is right here."  I point to the column. 

LCW: It's too much taken out. How am I supposed to live on this if they're going to take that much out in taxes?

"I ask myself that all the time.  But see, these are the hours you worked. This is your hourly wage.  You multiply this by this and you get this number here."

LCW:  I don't know. I don't think you're right.

(I guess I should have known I was in trouble.  She asked me the other day to figure out, with the calculator on my desk, what 20% of 1000 was.  Hers kept tellling her 200, but she just knew that wasn't right.)

"It's right.  The total on your check is the total after they take out taxes.  That's the amount of money you have."

She was quiet then...but that didn't end the issue.  later in the day she called the home office....in Montreal...and got very upset when they were closed. 

4)  I can type without the rubber fingers for protection.

In the move, many of the office supplies got jumbled.   LCW was sorting through a box of things yesterday and handed me one of those rubber fingers covers, the type you use to avoid paper cuts when you have to thumb through a lot of paper.  I asked her what it was for...she said, "You'll need that since you do so much typing."

3)  I am able to hold a conversation with someone and put stamps on outgoing mail at the same time.

NBM does not think so...as evidenced by his shout from his office today that all the sales guys "GET AWAY FROM SARAH'S DESK."  I asked if we should just erect barbed wire around my area, since this wasn't the first time he's thwarted my attempts to get to know my co workers.     He said it might be a good idea...except he wasn't sure of something, which brings me to #2.

2)  I know what the word THWARTED means.

Say it with me, my friends, "How do these people not fall down more?"  We are #1 in the company, led by man who does not know what the word "thwarted" means when used in a sentence.

Once again, Sarah's work environment has thwarted her desire to stay employed.

And finally....

1)  I know how to change a roll of toilet paper.

I thought this was something only my children refused to learn...but now I realize that it is a necessary skill in the workplace because CLEARLY no one else who uses the ladies' room...(and yes, many of the guys use the ladies' room...unless LCW has decided to leave the seat up.)  is able to do it.

So there it is my friends...the top five things I'm going to put on my resume based on the skill set I have that's so clearly lacking at my current workplace.

And we are number one in the company.

God help us all.

The many uses for TP (Funny, none of these make the commercials!)

Good afternoon:

I've been informed, by some very reliable readers, that I'm not blogging enough, that my blogs are hilarious, that the print size is too small, and that my blog is a good cure for insomnia.  (That last one came from my good friend Shay, again, not her real name, who read every post in one sitting one long night and enjoyed it.)

Today my friends, I'm getting back to the most basic of basics, that one thing you should never be without, the one product we all know, need, and love.  It's the one thing, I don't care how hard certain environmental groups push, that should NEVER BE REUSED.  I am referring, of course, to Toilet Paper.  More importantly, commercials about toilet paper.

I loathe commercials.  My children will tell you that watching TV with me is horrible because I can, and will, watch no fewer than four shows at the same time for no other reason than I cannot abide watching commercials.  I know what products I need and I know where to find them in the stores.  So unless that maxi pad is lined with gold, that toothpaste can double as a frosting in a pinch, or that hairspray is suddenly a magic weight loss treatment, there's really no need to advertise.  I, like about 99.999% of everyone I know shops more by PRICE than anything else.  I don't care if that paper towel comes in 50 different sizes.  If it's $1 more for fewer sheets, Homey ain't gonna by that.  (Oh yes, I've started referring to myself as "Homey."  I think it's cute.)

Toilet paper is one of those items that really, REALLY doesn't need to spend a dime on advertising.  I don't care how cute that stupid puppy is.  And I don't care how much dust is on a Bear's rear.  It's toilet paper.  It does quite possibly the nastiest job on the planet.  (Mike Rowe should walk a day in the shoes of a roll of TP for his "Dirty Jobs.")  It's paper we use to clean waste off ourselves and then we flush it. 

My aunt used to decorate with toilet paper.  "Go get me a roll of green" she'd tell my cousins.  I always wished we could get colored toilet paper.  Alas, the rolls were smaller and the price was larger and therefore we had colored toilet paper only once.  (Hang on to your hats, my friends, this story takes a turn for the weirdly gross.)

See, when I was in high school, not only was I transfer student who liked to read and write poetry, but my father was the English teacher who was tough when it came to grading.  Can you say, "SUPER POPULAR?"  (No, I can't either.)  So every time there were doings at the school, which was pretty much every weekend, my classmates and other students with an artistic bend and no curfew, would troll out into the night and TP our house.  (I'm told this practice is now illegal in many places, which is stupid because TP doesn't do any real damage.  One good rain and it's pretty much gone.  Oh yes, I ache to go back to my old hometown and exact some tissue laden revenge, but I'm not willing to pay the fine.)  Anyway, one night, some extra creative juvenile delinquents hit our house with several rolls of Northern's finest pastel paper.  Pinks, blues, greens, and the rare yellows fluttered in the late October breeze one Saturday morning.

My mother, so impressed, took pictures.  And then, because not only was she impressed, but she was practical...she collected what she could, rerolled it  (Because no one EVER takes the cardboard shell casings... I mean rolls, with them!) and yes, we used it.

It wasn't bad.  A couple of random bits of twig here and there, but it was the one time we had colored TP, so that made up for the fact that it was...you know...used.

My mother now uses a TP that is so thin, not only isn't it absorbent, as so many others are, it's actually translucent.  I'm not kidding.  Oh, sure, there are like 3000 sheets on each roll.  But ya have to use 90 at a time before you get even close to a "clean" feeling.  And forget about blowing your nose in it.  I actually gave myself a paper cut on the face trying to blow my nose in some at my mom's house.

TP, they tell me, has many uses.  Okay, I knew TP had one use, and some preschool teachers would ask for the cardboard rolls, so that's two, right?  And then there's the nose blowing thing.  But recently I saw something that opened my eyes to a new world of uses for the beloved product.

Boys, we're gonna need the two ply on this one.

Some people claim to make dresses out of TP, as seen in the pic above.  Yeah, I have my doubts.  I tried doing that once for a fashion show in our youth group.  All I'm going to say is that thank goodness I had no trust in the strength of my garment.  Making clothing out of something that's designed to dissolve is just not...right.  Call me crazy, but I always like to end an evening with at least the same amount of clothing as I started it.

I watched a road crew patch  crack in the road with toilet paper.

Now, this is a point that will start an argument at our house.  Hubby says it wasn't TP.  I say, it looked like it, it fluttered in the breeze like it  (Who would know better than I?) and it was ROLLED LIKE IT.  Road crew Dude had three rolls of the stuff on a plunger handle.  He'd unroll several squares, then stuff it into the crack of the street, and tear it off with his foot.  I was so amazed, watching him, I didn't move in my car, which backed up those trying to get out of the grade school parking lot.  I ignored the honks.  I was watching SCIENCE!  (Or, at the very least, I was watching the sad state of our city budget at work.)

All the way to work I was thinking, How strong it that toilet paper and why haven't they advertised this?

"SO STRONG WE CAN PATCH A ROAD WITH IT.  NOW PUT THAT ON YOUR DELICATE PARTS AND RUB."

Okay, I'm not a pitchman. 

"IF IT'S STRONG ENOUGH TO STAND UP TO SUBURBAN TRAFFIC, IT'S STRONG ENOUGH TO STAND UP TO ANYTHING YOU CAN PUSH OUT."

Hmmmm, that's a little icky.

"THE STIMULUS PACKAGE GAVE US MORE MONEY TO PATCH ROADS WITH THAN WE KNOW HOW TO SPEND AND WE'VE DECIDED WE'RE GOING TO STRETCH THIS MONEY FOR AS LONG AS WE CAN BY DOING THE LEAST AMOUNT OF WORK POSSIBLE. TODAY, WE PATCH WITH TP.  TOMORROW IT RAINS.  THE NEXT DAY WE PATCH WITH TP.  WE LIKE THIS BLOCK AND WE WANT TO WORK ON IT FOREVER.  YOUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK."

That one might be a little wordy.

"FORGET THE BEAR AND THE PUPPY.  THIS TP IS MANLY ENOUGH TO PATCH ROADS!"

That's the one we'll go with!  Yes!

Well, I think if we've learned anything today it's that toilet paper can be useful in ways we have not considered.

And, Sarah's childhood was pretty messed up.