missmiah: (Miah)
( Jan. 15th, 2015 11:50 am)
I check LJ almost daily, to see what friends are posting... if friends are posting, but I haven't been posting myself because everytime I start to write something I think, "This is garbage, no one cares about my whinging" and then I delete.

So to catch up - Several months ago I started offering to knit things for money because I was hoping to raise a little bit of cash for a friend of mine that is hoping to be able to adopt a child in the next year or so. Apparently, adoptions cost upwards of $30,000 which is... well, it's crazy really. However, selling custom knitted crap has gone about as well as one would expect, which is to say I've made $20 so far, and half of that went toward yarn so. See, my stuff is good enough for people to ask for me to make them things when it's free, but if I want $15 for a pair of baby booties that look like tiny combat boots (military spouses EVERYWHERE here) then I'm apparently just talking crazy. Winter hats that look like Elsa or Anna's hair? Totes adorable, unless I want to be paid for them, in which case they're not really what people expected, you know?

ANYWAY, so that hasn't taken off, which is both a relief and a disappointment. I'm not sure I'm ready to be a responsible adult, and if I'm spending all my non-toddler taming time knitting then I don't have time to play World of Warcraft, which is a thing I've started doing because it's something Captain and I can do together.

After the Demon Spawn goes to bed most nights, we sit at the breakfast counter on our laptops and run around smacking things with our pandas or the future Mitzi Deathbringer the giggling gnome Death Knight (I'm just waiting for the right moment to create her, she will be awesome and possibly have pink hair). Because nerds.

In the rest of the Responsible Adult news, I will be having a pair of ultrasounds of my heart, a treadmill stress test (again for the heart), and a thirty day heart monitor applied. All on Monday. Because I am, apparently, at risk for a heart attack and I'm not even forty yet and I have just really, really, really been having a difficult time processing how some minor tachycardia issues that my doctors have been pish-poshing for over a decade are suddenly potentially life threatening.

Although, I think I did sort of know something was up when the random episode went from once a month or two to once or twice a week back in October. I insisted that Captain and I finally sat down with a lawyer and had our wills done to reflect that we've got an heir now, set up a guardianship for Demon Spawn should we both die, and to update the living wills and POAs, even though we've been putting all that off for over two years.

Still... I'm scared to death because vaguely ominous feelings are strangely less scary than the thought of having something very wrong confirmed. Does that make sense?

And now I've depressed myself so it's time to get back to figuring out how to knit a thumb on a mitten.
missmiah: (Miah)
( Jul. 16th, 2014 09:57 pm)
I get so annoyed when someone asks me a question and I give them an answer, and then they tell me they're pretty sure I'm wrong because they think the answer is this other thing.

If they thought they knew the answer, why the heck are they asking me in the first place?

Also, they are wrong.
Got into an argument about vaccinations with a stranger on the internet because of course I did.

Hey, don't want your kiddo to get his shots because it could give them autism/mercury poisoning/makes them cry, that's your business. But I think the polite thing to do is to let me know your kid hasn't received all his jabs before you let him play with my son who is not old enough to receive all of his shots - which we are giving him on schedule because I would rather have a living, breathing baby than one who might catch whooping cough and die, thanks.

I'm not saying you have to vaccinate your kids, I'm just saying I don't want him playing with my son if you don't.
missmiah: (Miah)
( Jun. 12th, 2013 06:29 pm)
I put up with my son's baby book being bent nearly in half by an incompetent asshole mover. I put up with the last remaining freeze-dried flower memento from my wedding disappearing at some point during the move. I put up with nearly FIFTEEN YEARS worth of dried roses and petals that I had saved from every single rose that my husband had ever given me in the entire time we've been together being shoved into the side of a packing box and destroyed.

But today I discovered that the hand and footprint ornaments I'd made when the baby was two months old for his first Christmas were missing and now I just want to murder someone. And throw up.
So far my early impressions of Colorado and our new duty station have been... less than favorable.

Read more... )

Over all of this.

The one bright shining star in this cluster fuck was introducing the Demon Spawn to a swimming pool at one of our hotel stays. It took a few moments for him to adjust to being surrounded by cool water, but then he discovered what would happen if he slammed his flailing arms into the water and suddenly there were smiles and giggles and Mommy trying not to drown in the deluge. So that was nice.
I spent the last three weeks working out an incredibly complicated time table for our move - it involved sending Captain to Colorado weeks early to find a house, bringing him home, packing, clearing the house so the carpet cleaner can get in, arranging the final walk through with Asshat the realtor, either shipping or arranging some other means of transport for the second vehicle, finding a way to transport the four furballs, driving us plus Demon Spawn 2000 plus miles in as short of time frame as sanity and the laws of physics would allow and getting hotels for as many nights as necessary before we can take possession of the new rental property.

Obviously none of that will work now, because that's how these things go.

Last night, as we're in bed with the lights off going over the details of our day and our plans for what needs to be done tomorrow (because that's what boring old married people do in bed most nights) Captain says that he'd rather just pack up this house at the end of April, hop in the car, leave the keys to the second car with a friend who is willing to tow it for us, and just drive to Colorado and find a house once we get there. It would mean our stuff would go into storage until we have a place and the Army decides to it's convenient for them to give our stuff back; and it would mean I'd have to figure out how to pack clothes for three people for at least a week, bottles, formula, diapers, cat food, dog food, cat littler, a stroller, a Pack N Play, a dog kennel, a pair of laptops into one trunk... which I'm not sure is even possible. We did make sure that the new (gigantic) car seat will fit behind the driver's seat and that three cat carriers and the dog can fit in the rest of the back seat space, so it is physically possible to get all seven of us into the car at the same time.

Captain's plan is probably cheaper in the long run, and would mean less rushing around and things depending on everything going off without incident, but I hate hate hate going into a move blind.

And this is why I started taking my anti-anxiety meds again yesterday, because I'm stressing myself out over things I have no real control over.

I don't want to be homeless, even if it is just for two weeks.
missmiah: (Been Better)
( Nov. 4th, 2012 07:20 pm)
Am out of the hospital, got out rather late last night after promising to be a good girl and stay home and rest and to not get excited or to do anything more strenuous than picking up my son for the next week or two. My OB (who technically should no longer be my caregiver but who told me to cancel my appointment to see my primary care doctor at two weeks postpartum and to see her instead because she had suspicions about my health because I'm pretty sure she's friggin' psychic or something) wrote Captain a doctor's note for his commanding officer telling them that she recommends he have the next two weeks off because I need a baby sitter and apparently can not be trusted to take care of myself or my child if left alone. We're waiting to see if his leave will be approved or not, but for now he was told not to come in tomorrow morning.

So, once again, that's awesome.

We did discover that the headaches I've been having since the Demon Spawn was born are not just annoying headaches but migraines and the reason the Tylenol hasn't been helping much is because Tylenol does NOTHING for migraines (for me, at least), apparently. Neither does percocet. Although percocet does help me clear out my stomach rather effectively, but then again, so does a migraine after its had a chance to set in for several hours without any ibuprofen (which they wouldn't give me at the hospital because I wasn't allowed to eat and ibuprofen on an empty tummy is a bad thing).

We're not sure if the migraines were contributing to the dangerously high blood pressure or if the dangerously high blood pressure was contributing to the migraines.

I did get some lovely new meds to treat the migraine, but much like the magnesium sulfate IV, the new meds mean I can not breastfeed my son. Because I am a stubborn cow, I refused to take the migraine meds today until I was able to pump one last time in an effort to provide some breast milk for the little bugger because I'm already feeling like a complete failure as a mother as it is.

Captain called in someone from the office he's assigned to on base (his current boss actually) to come babysit me and the kid today while he went to the store. That wasn't embarrassing at all.

Looking to the bright side, in the future, when the Demon Spawn is in his twenties and married and getting ready to have a kiddo of his own, I can totally remind him of how he tried to kill me from the womb. That should be worth some extra guilt induced grandparently cuddling/spoiling rights or something.

Finally, since it was make jokes or cry a lot during the latest hospital stay, I kept trying to smile and be funny and I most of the nurses joked along with me, but the day nurse on Saturday... I don't think she got my sense of humor. She definitely did not get it when I held up one of my socks as I got dressed to get discharged and said, "Dobby is a free elf!" and then made Captain take a picture.
missmiah: (Been Better)
( Nov. 4th, 2012 10:08 am)
Am out of the hospital, got out rather late last night after promising to be a good girl and stay home and rest and to not get excited or to do anything more strenuous than picking up my son for the next week or two. My OB (who technically should no longer be my caregiver but who told me to cancel my appointment to see my primary care doctor at two weeks postpartum and to see her instead because she had suspicions about my health because I'm pretty sure she's friggin' psychic or something) wrote Captain a doctor's note for his commanding officer telling them that she recommends he have the next two weeks off because I need a baby sitter and apparently can not be trusted to take care of myself or my child if left alone. We're waiting to see if his leave will be approved or not, but for now he was told not to come in tomorrow morning.

So, once again, that's awesome.

We did discover that the headaches I've been having since the Demon Spawn was born are not just annoying headaches but migraines and the reason the Tylenol hasn't been helping much is because Tylenol does NOTHING for migraines (for me, at least), apparently. Neither does percocet. Although percocet does help me clear out my stomach rather effectively, but then again, so does a migraine after its had a chance to set in for several hours without any ibuprofen (which they wouldn't give me at the hospital because I wasn't allowed to eat and ibuprofen on an empty tummy is a bad thing).

We're not sure if the migraines were contributing to the dangerously high blood pressure or if the dangerously high blood pressure was contributing to the migraines.

I did get some lovely new meds to treat the migraine, but much like the magnesium sulfate IV, the new meds mean I can not breastfeed my son. Because I am a stubborn cow, I refused to take the migraine meds today until I was able to pump one last time in an effort to provide some breast milk for the little bugger because I'm already feeling like a complete failure as a mother as it is.

Captain called in someone from the office he's assigned to on base (his current boss actually) to come babysit me and the kid today while he went to the store. That wasn't embarrassing at all.

Looking to the bright side, in the future, when the Demon Spawn is in his twenties and married and getting ready to have a kiddo of his own, I can totally remind him of how he tried to kill me from the womb. That should be worth some extra guilt induced grandparently cuddling/spoiling rights or something.

Finally, since it was make jokes or cry a lot during the latest hospital stay, I kept trying to smile and be funny and I most of the nurses joked along with me, but the day nurse on Saturday... I don't think she got my sense of humor. She definitely did not get it when I held up one of my socks as I got dressed to get discharged and said, "Dobby is a free elf!" and then made Captain take a picture.
What is it, exactly, about a visibly pregnant woman that makes people (including strangers) feel like they need to step-in and act as some sort of surrogate parent?

I've made it to the ripe old age of nearly thirty-seven without attempting to stick my tongue in an electrical outlet or trying to drink a gallon of bleach... I think I can manage to find a seat when I feel like sitting down (or stand up when I feel like standing up) without needing to be told, thanks.

I'm not talking about the ones who are being extremely helpful and offering advice when I ask for it. Those people are wonderful. It's the unsolicited bits that annoy me.

My own parents do not attempt to mother me like this (which I am very thankful for), and I just do not understand why my grumpy-ass bloated face and cankles is suddenly inspiring so much concern. I know Hillary Clinton wrote that book about it taking a village to raise a child, but I don't think she really meant that everyone and their dog should feel free to offer every single word of wisdom, cautionary tale or flat out "don't eat that, it's bad for you" that pops into their head to which ever knocked-up lady they happen to see first.

I know they're coming from a well-meaning place, and I am super polite when I grin and bear it, but in my head I'm just so... GAAAAHHHH! I know my limits, I know when I need to sit or eat or drink some water or stand up and walk around or lie down or whatever, I'm a friggin' adult.

Also, I'm seven and a half months huge and I've got a squirmy alien parasite thing in my belly that likes to pummel my bladder and/or rib cage on a regular basis so forgive me for occasionally needing to just close my eyes and breath through the latest barrage for a few minutes. I'm not dying, the baby isn't coming OMG right that minute, I'm not even running the risk of peeing my pants (yet)... No one needs to panic, I promise.

Just chill, people. Trust me, when I'm in labor? You'll know. I'll know. EVERYONE will know. I'm not the type to grit my teeth and suck up the pain. There will be screaming. This is a promise.

So until there is screaming and/or possibly bodily fluids leaking from random orifices, we're all good, thanks for the concern though.

Also? Suddenly Braxton Hicks. BLERG.
I'm a planner. I like to have a firm idea of what to expect before I go on trips, I like to have scheduled times, I like to know what I need to have in advance of showing up somewhere. Heck, during the shopping trip to Babies R Us with my parents I had spreadsheets with prices, broken down into subsections of need/want/secondary want so that we could get in and out as quickly as possible and make the most use of my stack of 20% off coupons.

There are some (myself included) who might call me anal retentive, even.

So... I really, really hate feeling like I'm not prepared for something, and I really do not feel prepared to have this baby.

Read more... )
I'm a planner. I like to have a firm idea of what to expect before I go on trips, I like to have scheduled times, I like to know what I need to have in advance of showing up somewhere. Heck, during the shopping trip to Babies R Us with my parents I had spreadsheets with prices, broken down into subsections of need/want/secondary want so that we could get in and out as quickly as possible and make the most use of my stack of 20% off coupons.

There are some (myself included) who might call me anal retentive, even.

So... I really, really hate feeling like I'm not prepared for something, and I really do not feel prepared to have this baby.

Read more... )
Still pregnant. Still cranky. So that's "normal".

Captain and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary this weekend. We drove out to Atlanta and spent the day at the Georgia Aquarium because I like looking at the sharkies and Captain likes it when I'm happy. Sharkies apparently do not "do it" for him, his loss. Also, they finally had the Harry Otter shirt in hippo size so now I've got a picture of an otter with a lightning bolt scar and some glasses and a wand on my chest. AWESOMESAUCE.

We also went out to our current favorite local Japanese steakhouse and split a virgin strawberry daquri and ate nummy food.

In crappy news, we came home after Japenese to discover the house AC had died and it was OMG hot in the house. On a Friday night. So that sucked. Captain dragged nearly every fan we own into the bedroom and aimed them at my side of the bed, so I managed to get through the night without dying. Saturday we said screw it and went to the PX and splurged on a window unit for the bedroom, which is where I plan to spend the next few days on my laptop working on fic or knitting until the AC guy has a chance to come and fix our AC. Captain and I suspect it is a Freon issue, as we have had a very similar experience before with other house ACs.

Also, the ceiling fan in my office has been broken for about three weeks now AND part of the popcorn ceiling in our bedroom fell down (probably because of water damage from the roof that may or may not have been repaired at some point) on the 21st and the repair guy for that has been dicking us around since the 23rd and lying to me, Captain and now the realtor. Captain is dealing with the issue because I'm about two seconds away from cutting someone thanks to pregnancy hormones (and also because I'm just a cranky person who despises liars in general). I refuse to let the repair guy in the house without Captain around because he skeeves me out, and every time Captain gets off work to be home because repair guy makes an appointment... repair guy does a no show. THEN repair guy tries to claim that he totally did not say he was coming at that time, and obviously we are confused. He actually tried to pull the old "your wifey must have gotten the dates confused, you know how women are" crap and I swear I was about to reach through Captain's phone to rip his nards off, but Captain very wisely walked into the other room and away from the homicidal woman.

So, quick recap, bedroom ceiling falling down because of water damage, office ceiling fan not working and now AC not making with the cold air blowing in June in GEORGIA, married to that guy for ten years and no one has been "accidentally" smothered in their sleep with a cat yet.

In other news, I'm pretty sure I felt the baby move Thursday night. Either that or I had gas. Both things feel remarkably similar at this stage, so I've been told. There was no pooting and the whatever it was was moving around so I'm going to go with baby because that makes me happy.
Still pregnant. Still cranky. So that's "normal".

Captain and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary this weekend. We drove out to Atlanta and spent the day at the Georgia Aquarium because I like looking at the sharkies and Captain likes it when I'm happy. Sharkies apparently do not "do it" for him, his loss. Also, they finally had the Harry Otter shirt in hippo size so now I've got a picture of an otter with a lightning bolt scar and some glasses and a wand on my chest. AWESOMESAUCE.

We also went out to our current favorite local Japanese steakhouse and split a virgin strawberry daquri and ate nummy food.

In crappy news, we came home after Japenese to discover the house AC had died and it was OMG hot in the house. On a Friday night. So that sucked. Captain dragged nearly every fan we own into the bedroom and aimed them at my side of the bed, so I managed to get through the night without dying. Saturday we said screw it and went to the PX and splurged on a window unit for the bedroom, which is where I plan to spend the next few days on my laptop working on fic or knitting until the AC guy has a chance to come and fix our AC. Captain and I suspect it is a Freon issue, as we have had a very similar experience before with other house ACs.

Also, the ceiling fan in my office has been broken for about three weeks now AND part of the popcorn ceiling in our bedroom fell down (probably because of water damage from the roof that may or may not have been repaired at some point) on the 21st and the repair guy for that has been dicking us around since the 23rd and lying to me, Captain and now the realtor. Captain is dealing with the issue because I'm about two seconds away from cutting someone thanks to pregnancy hormones (and also because I'm just a cranky person who despises liars in general). I refuse to let the repair guy in the house without Captain around because he skeeves me out, and every time Captain gets off work to be home because repair guy makes an appointment... repair guy does a no show. THEN repair guy tries to claim that he totally did not say he was coming at that time, and obviously we are confused. He actually tried to pull the old "your wifey must have gotten the dates confused, you know how women are" crap and I swear I was about to reach through Captain's phone to rip his nards off, but Captain very wisely walked into the other room and away from the homicidal woman.

So, quick recap, bedroom ceiling falling down because of water damage, office ceiling fan not working and now AC not making with the cold air blowing in June in GEORGIA, married to that guy for ten years and no one has been "accidentally" smothered in their sleep with a cat yet.

In other news, I'm pretty sure I felt the baby move Thursday night. Either that or I had gas. Both things feel remarkably similar at this stage, so I've been told. There was no pooting and the whatever it was was moving around so I'm going to go with baby because that makes me happy.
missmiah: (Default)
( Mar. 5th, 2012 12:45 pm)
It was as if some sort of magic lightswitch had been flipped in Captain's brain yesterday afternoon. Shortly after I finally calmed down enough to come back out of my office and start unpacking again, coincidentally enough.

Suddenly he was the most helpful husband on the face of the planet.

Which was good because I managed to end up queasy as heck a few hours later and ended up only able to unpack in short five minute bursts between fifteen minute breaks on the couch cuddling the barf bowl and crying. I hate being sick. I especially hate being sick when I don't understand why I'm sick. Three hours of threatening barfyness and then BAM, right as rain again.

So friggin' annoying. AND it was the second day in a row that I mysteriously got queasy for a few hours and then it was like cooties never even happened.

I've been giving my meds the side-eye. The dosage of one of my meds got upped a week or two ago and I'm wondering if that might have something to do with it.

Or it could be all the time I've been spending in the kitchen, where Captain has been slowly removing all traces off gross (finally).

ANYWAY, by bedtime last night, Captain had managed to get all the upper cabinets that I want to use (I'm ignoring the two small ones I can't even reach above the fridge and the mid-sized pair above the stove that are mostly taken up with the stove hood vent thing anyway), finished cleaning the stove hood, applied clear sealant to the place where the two counters meet and aren't even because the house settled and the counter top warped and who knows what sort of gross has fallen into the crack, cleared off the counters so I could put stuff on them, made Bella a box with a small entrance hole to hide under the bed in so she might stop hiding in my closet under my dresses, and moved all billion boxes of books out of his office so I can have a clear floor when I start unpacking and sorting them for the new bookshelves AND he kept stopping by the sofa to pat my back and make sure I was still alive.

I unpacked four out of the remaining six boxes left in the kitchen, cleaned and set aside everything that will eventually go in one of the lower cabinets since they aren't usable yet, finished arranging everything in the living room, moved some stuff in his office to get ready for the great book unpacking, put things on the counters so our kitchen is actually starting to look like a real kitchen and watched several episodes of Holmes Inspection and Storage Wars during my queasy couch breaks.

By tonight I'm hoping to have all but the books and the clothes still in bags where they need to be (even if where they need to be is just in a box on the floor next to the kitchen island because the cabinets are still dirty).

We've got a guest coming Friday and as LJ is my witness, this house will be CLEAN.

Perhaps I need to have my brain meat meds checked again?
Gave husband a to-do list on Friday, listed in the order I would like him to actually complete the items so that there would be a better chance he might actually finish some of them.

Noon on Sunday, let's see how many are actually done?

Oh, that's right.

None.

Since Friday night I have unpacked six boxes, refolded the (admittedly small at the moment) contents of my dresser to optimize storage space (I saw a thing on Pinterest), rearranged several shelves to make space for more knicknacks, culled some things we don't use and therefore don't need, made some progress on the fourth Battle Bonnet during the DnD game because I can multi-task, and found time to attend said game and take a couple who helped us move out to lunch yesterday.

My husband? Swept up some cat litter from the master bathroom floor, put together two out of three bookcases, inadvertently insulted the hell out of me several times, and has been fighting me tooth and nail about throwing away crap we haven't used in years but "might be useful someday". So it's not as if he's done nothing all weekend, just not nearly enough for me to be able to finish unpacking everything else this week, which was my goal since someone is coming over on Friday and I'd like to not have all of our dishes still piled on the kitchen table.

Why do men do that hording "someday useful" crap anyway? He's got a box full of cables that he hasn't touched and can't immediately identify, but heaven help me if I suggest storing it in the garage at the very least. Oh no, it has to be in the house, in his desk drawer. In case... of what, I do not no.

Sentimental things, I understand that. I've got loads of fiddly bits that have no value other than sentimental - they're not even pretty. But someone I liked gave them to me, so they go on a shelf and collect dust. I understand that. Whenever I ask if I can throw something of his away my first question is always " Does it mean something to you?"

And yet the answer is always something like "I don't remember where I got it, I've had it for a long time."

"Is it important to you?"

"No."

"Can I throw it away?"

"No. I might need it."

Rinse, repeat.

You know what I've started doing now? I stop at "Is it important to you?" and if the answer is anything other than yes, in the trash it goes. So now he's not talking to me at the moment.

I threw away Harry Potter stuff last week, that is how serious I am about decluttering the house.

I'm actually in my office right now so that I don't start throwing heavy leaded crystal things at his head because he has not only found my last nerve, he has been dancing on it all weekend and I... am one handy knicknack away from homicide.
missmiah: (Bored Now)
( Feb. 27th, 2012 05:07 pm)
I am so burnt out on cleaning and unpacking right now.

There are more than a dozen boxes of books in Captain's office that are waiting until we find bookshelves, another dozen boxes sitting in the kitchen waiting for the cabinets to no longer smell bad and to be covered in shelf liner (that would be Captain's job and he's made very little progress on it in the month we've lived here), plus the garage that needs to be sorted through. Oh, and a closet full of garbage bags full of clothes to hang or fold.

AND our dishwasher STILL DOES NOT WORK.

I've got to start working on the fic I promised for the exchange bingo prize thing. I need to have a finished product ASAP, because it's horribly rude of me to not have it done already and I hate being rude. I did warn the recipent about the surprise move, but I was not expecting the unpacking to go on quite this long.

I've also got knitting to work on, another fic I'd like to work on but won't until I have a good start on the Prize fic, a gnome to finish painting (that is so not a priority right now) and some scrapbook things that need to be organized (again, not a priority at this point).

AND I have to keep on top of the bills and the grocery shopping and search on-line for some mythical piece of furniture Captain swears exists and that he absolutely has to have for his office even though we already have a piece of furniture that is doing almost the exact same thing but is six inches shorter. Who needs to have a printer at exactly the same height as the desktop? Seriously? It works where it is and I'm not spending a ton of money trying to find him a perfect cabinet phone table whatever he wants thing. I even offered one of the plastic shelf units from my office, but it's not good enough for him. Also, he's whinging about not having enough storage space for all his junk, and when I pointed out that half the stuff from his desk actually is junk (old bill envelopes, scraps of paper, things that should be stored with the same thing in other places in the house, a large drawer full of a tangle of wires and cables that he hasn't move in two years, etc) and he'd have more room if he tossed the useless stuff out, he got all huffy with me.

Whatever, I don't have the patience to deal with him right now.

Seriously, nearly four weeks to wipe out and spray down cabinets in one room plus cut out shelf liners (none of that is finished yet, btw) vs four weeks for me to clean the entirety of the rest of the house, unpack nearly all the boxes, arrange my office with it's huge amount of fiddly bits, AND take care of the normal tasks involved with running a household. Yes, I know he works all day and he's tired when he comes home and blah blah I don't care anymore.

FOUR WEEKS.

I WANT TO UNPACK THE DAMN KITCHEN SO I CAN MAKE MYSELF A FRIGGIN' SALAD FOR LUNCH!

Oh yes, I'm bitter.
missmiah: (OMGWTFBBQ?)
( Feb. 9th, 2012 03:07 pm)
Since I posted last:

I hate moving. Seriously. )

And finally, today was another doctor's visit with New!Doctor Asshat. Although he wasn't an Asshat. It was like we got his good twin, or perhaps his meds finally kicked in, because he was smiley and polite and not at all condescending. It totally threw me off. Anyway, we asked for a referral to an endo, found out I've lost eleven pounds since the last appointment (go me) and my blood sugar and cholesterol are both under control. Again, I am awesome. And I take full credit for all of that and refuse to even consider that New!Doctor and the meds he gave me might have something to do with any of it, because I don't like him.

So, that's my last week or so.
missmiah: (OMGWTFBBQ?)
( Feb. 9th, 2012 03:07 pm)
Since I posted last:

I hate moving. Seriously. )

And finally, today was another doctor's visit with New!Doctor Asshat. Although he wasn't an Asshat. It was like we got his good twin, or perhaps his meds finally kicked in, because he was smiley and polite and not at all condescending. It totally threw me off. Anyway, we asked for a referral to an endo, found out I've lost eleven pounds since the last appointment (go me) and my blood sugar and cholesterol are both under control. Again, I am awesome. And I take full credit for all of that and refuse to even consider that New!Doctor and the meds he gave me might have something to do with any of it, because I don't like him.

So, that's my last week or so.
Yesterday was a clusterfuck, there is no other way to describe it. Sorry.

I've got a schedule, people. A very firm one that I need to keep to in order for the move to happen on time, and it is constantly being changed every friggin day because other people are not upholding their end of things!

Yesterday, for instance. My plan was get up and start packing small, fragile things that make me say, "Why the hell do we own so many small breakable things that just sit in this cabinet looking small and breakable? Who needs a tiny stone wolf? Why do I need to wrap a bunch of rocks in packing paper? No, seriously, why?" and then Captain was supposed to come home at lunchtime, we were going to shove cleaning stuff and bathroom supplies into the car and go to the new house. There we would do the home inspection, list everything that is broke or damaged, make a list of crap to be fixed, and then clean the house up a bit. We had to be there at 12:30 because the stove delivery guy was supposed to show up then, and also the guy who was coming to rekey the house. After they left, we were going to go shop for things for the house - shelf lining paper, some lamps for the living room, curtain hanging things, dowels for the windows so I can make sure NO ONE is opening one of those from outside without a brick, etc. Captain had the afternoon off for these things, and my plan was to get some lunch at some point, drop off the inspection form and the rent check, and end up with a clean house with some stuff in it.

But what really happened... )
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