No luck this am in the back alley behind Satan's Emporium Superstore. The only open bins were for grease disposal. Despite careful and (so I thought) inconspicuous stalking of the Hostess Delivery truck from it's initial vantage point out front of Major Superstore Too ( where I assume the driver had stopped to check in regarding inventory needs) around the back to the loading dock, no returns were to be had there, either. I had checked before even spying the truck and found nothing but a bin full of broken shopping carts. Mr. Twinkie was still at the loading dock the second time I doubled back, and it seemed a bit inadvisable to carry on loitering behind the supermarket for too long at 4 o'clock in the morning.
Dissappointing, because Monday AMs are supposed to be a big score day. I suppose there is always tomorrow. And I have yet to investigate Major National Doughnut ChainTM and Popular Soup, Salad and Bakery Deli TM.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Just in case I haven't made myself clear. . .
HELP!
See, it appears I may have been mumbling. Or trying to communicate with aliens via radio signals from my dental fillings. Or, while fumbling for my glasses, mistaken the refrigerator for a sentient being. Or maybe I'm mute and only know Bulgarian sign language, while every last employee of the Illinois Department of Human Resources, affiliated medical professionals included, along with the collective administrations of the National Alliance on Mental Illness and the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders are deaf and only understand ASL.
So now I'm going to use this big-ass font and put in type, out here in public. Will this do me any more good than the dozens of unreturned phone calls, e-mails and letters or the hours in line and waiting in offices? I suppose believing so requires a leap of faith on my behalf that there's an actual human being on the other side- one who can read, if not necessarily speak, English. But it's not a really complicated word. Only four letters. Not much room for subjective interpretation.
So now I'm going to use this big-ass font and put in type, out here in public. Will this do me any more good than the dozens of unreturned phone calls, e-mails and letters or the hours in line and waiting in offices? I suppose believing so requires a leap of faith on my behalf that there's an actual human being on the other side- one who can read, if not necessarily speak, English. But it's not a really complicated word. Only four letters. Not much room for subjective interpretation.
HELP
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
I wish I could write something of merit, really I do. I've been terrified to even check my e-mail these last few days because I didn't want to see my old advisor's comments on my paper. Luckily, she was merciful. But a lot of what she had to say was stuff I already know and can't seem to put into practice. Also, telling me about new lit in the field doesn't bloody help when I have no library access.
Also, my physician and everyone at his office are morons. You just can't throw out arbitrary ridiculous prescriptions for potassium without consideration of the consequences. There's a *reason* for those dosage caps. I get that you want to correct my hypokalemia as quickly as possible. I also get that you're trying to cut corners by not checking the side effects or implementing the proper monitoring procedures. I don't want to do this at a hospital, and you'd better believe I don't want a goddamn drip. But I'm not risking another GI bleed-out and a heart attack just because you are lazy and the state is cheap.
Now if I can only figure out who I need to convey this to.
Also, my physician and everyone at his office are morons. You just can't throw out arbitrary ridiculous prescriptions for potassium without consideration of the consequences. There's a *reason* for those dosage caps. I get that you want to correct my hypokalemia as quickly as possible. I also get that you're trying to cut corners by not checking the side effects or implementing the proper monitoring procedures. I don't want to do this at a hospital, and you'd better believe I don't want a goddamn drip. But I'm not risking another GI bleed-out and a heart attack just because you are lazy and the state is cheap.
Now if I can only figure out who I need to convey this to.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Dear Fucko Movers
I'd like to thank you for your services. No, the 9 hours we waited in the empty apartment beyond your ETA were no problem. We knew you'd be a little delayed, as you mentioned a second pickup and (as I kept reminding my father) the speed limit for trucks is lower than the speed limit for private vehicles on the highway. When you mentioned arriving at the second site and determining that it would be impossible to condense the two orders into one truck, however, how did you occupy yourselves for the following 5 hours? Would it not have made more sense to attempt your escape from the metropolis before 5pm on a weekday?
It was really amazing the way you worked as a team, moving from room to room to ensure an even mix of unrelated items in each box. And I have to thank you for the total absence of labelling and/or inventory on most of these. It's kind of like Christmas. Except Christmas rarely involves 3,000+ pounds of one's own belongings, rewrapped in plain brown cardboard. Moreover, my childhood holiday memories do not include memories of used bath towels, cheap underwear, and outdated USB cables. I never had to search through all of my gifts for a week before I could take a shower and change my underwear. Truth be told, the primary arena in which your packaging compares to the gifts of my youth is proliferation of alleged book boxes. The proportion of actual units of bound reading material to random wires/uncapped markers/loose bandaids/ your own used kleenex (YES!) notwithstanding, any box containing books that managed to get inventoried was inventoried "books."
Out of curiosity, you wouldn’t happen to have my laundry hamper? Not the white laundry basket you broke the handles off of when you straggled in at 11pm, but an actual stand-up hamper. It’s okay if you do, I’m accustomed to living in and out of crumpled dirty laundry carried round in a bag. Admittedly it might be of use in my foray in the world of the organized peoples, but I’m not holding my breath.
You didn’t happen to grab my unopened bottles of red hair dye along with it, eh? No need to be ashamed. I was hoping to redo my hair, but I’m honestly getting a little old for unironic technicolor dye jobs. So thanks, actually. I’m just happy that most of my empty containers of toiletries arrived safely. Somebody must be real TetrisTM champion, judging from the 5 gallon bucket and the bathroom trashcan between which every ickle bit imaginable was split. Toiletries and bathroom supplies were coated in a liquid yellow soap and the last 100ml or so of Witch Hazel that was left in the lidless bottle.
I really must applaud Tweedlewayne and Tweedlegarth: in defiance of both physics and common sense they squeezed it all in together, somehow managing to fit a bottle of household cleanser- loose-lidded and upside down, of course, in with everything else. "Everything else" included items such as those I often stick in my mouth or eyes. Then there are the items that keep such intimate company with my face and the rest of my skin- even my hair on occasion.
On the other hand, if you have the remainder of my kitchen, I must confess that I’m a bit irked. While I appreciate the tender, loving care that you took with my expired condoms and lube and delicacy which which you packed away my sex toys, I have to be honest. Those are relics. What I need right now is the rest of my bathroom and kitchen. Keeping the Dept. of Sanitation away requires some serious artillery. These testy little bits keep me-or at least-the house clean. I'd also like the teas, coffees, remaining storage and flatware, and magical packets that turn pebbles into stew and piss into wine.
I can’t complain too much, though. I still have a coaster. I shouldn’t overlook the mixture of red and yellow curries, cilantro, and cinnamon that wound up evenly spread among the single plate, salad bowl, mug, butter knife, broken spatula, dry measuring cup, wet measuring cup, soup spoon, measuring spoon, whisk, and (unmatched) homeless knives. I never wanted a spicerack for years, anyway. I know I should particularly appreciate the open box of stale croutons thrown in a atop my fur coat.
What vaguely amused me
Ah, wait. I forget. There was actually one box of "books" that was inventoried either in more detail, or differently (I forget which). It was labeled "CD"s. Naturally, it contained aging collection of cassette tapes. I had to wonder why? Do LPs get inventoried the same way?
Praise jeebus, they packed- and delivered unharmed- a spherical (glass) light fixture. Along with a fishbowl. And two glass pipes. The latter were packed by me, for presumably obvious reasons. The first two were thrown haphazardly into a wardrobe box with a lot of random crap, none of which included wrapping paper. At the same time, they maimed my spice rack for life, broke a bottle of liquid soap, and (apparently)handled my laundry hamper, backlog of cleaning stuff, and extra yoga mat so badly as to render them invisible.
How on Earth do you deliver glass intact while destroying plastic?
It was really amazing the way you worked as a team, moving from room to room to ensure an even mix of unrelated items in each box. And I have to thank you for the total absence of labelling and/or inventory on most of these. It's kind of like Christmas. Except Christmas rarely involves 3,000+ pounds of one's own belongings, rewrapped in plain brown cardboard. Moreover, my childhood holiday memories do not include memories of used bath towels, cheap underwear, and outdated USB cables. I never had to search through all of my gifts for a week before I could take a shower and change my underwear. Truth be told, the primary arena in which your packaging compares to the gifts of my youth is proliferation of alleged book boxes. The proportion of actual units of bound reading material to random wires/uncapped markers/loose bandaids/ your own used kleenex (YES!) notwithstanding, any box containing books that managed to get inventoried was inventoried "books."
Out of curiosity, you wouldn’t happen to have my laundry hamper? Not the white laundry basket you broke the handles off of when you straggled in at 11pm, but an actual stand-up hamper. It’s okay if you do, I’m accustomed to living in and out of crumpled dirty laundry carried round in a bag. Admittedly it might be of use in my foray in the world of the organized peoples, but I’m not holding my breath.
You didn’t happen to grab my unopened bottles of red hair dye along with it, eh? No need to be ashamed. I was hoping to redo my hair, but I’m honestly getting a little old for unironic technicolor dye jobs. So thanks, actually. I’m just happy that most of my empty containers of toiletries arrived safely. Somebody must be real TetrisTM champion, judging from the 5 gallon bucket and the bathroom trashcan between which every ickle bit imaginable was split. Toiletries and bathroom supplies were coated in a liquid yellow soap and the last 100ml or so of Witch Hazel that was left in the lidless bottle.
I really must applaud Tweedlewayne and Tweedlegarth: in defiance of both physics and common sense they squeezed it all in together, somehow managing to fit a bottle of household cleanser- loose-lidded and upside down, of course, in with everything else. "Everything else" included items such as those I often stick in my mouth or eyes. Then there are the items that keep such intimate company with my face and the rest of my skin- even my hair on occasion.
On the other hand, if you have the remainder of my kitchen, I must confess that I’m a bit irked. While I appreciate the tender, loving care that you took with my expired condoms and lube and delicacy which which you packed away my sex toys, I have to be honest. Those are relics. What I need right now is the rest of my bathroom and kitchen. Keeping the Dept. of Sanitation away requires some serious artillery. These testy little bits keep me-or at least-the house clean. I'd also like the teas, coffees, remaining storage and flatware, and magical packets that turn pebbles into stew and piss into wine.
I can’t complain too much, though. I still have a coaster. I shouldn’t overlook the mixture of red and yellow curries, cilantro, and cinnamon that wound up evenly spread among the single plate, salad bowl, mug, butter knife, broken spatula, dry measuring cup, wet measuring cup, soup spoon, measuring spoon, whisk, and (unmatched) homeless knives. I never wanted a spicerack for years, anyway. I know I should particularly appreciate the open box of stale croutons thrown in a atop my fur coat.
What vaguely amused me
Ah, wait. I forget. There was actually one box of "books" that was inventoried either in more detail, or differently (I forget which). It was labeled "CD"s. Naturally, it contained aging collection of cassette tapes. I had to wonder why? Do LPs get inventoried the same way?
Praise jeebus, they packed- and delivered unharmed- a spherical (glass) light fixture. Along with a fishbowl. And two glass pipes. The latter were packed by me, for presumably obvious reasons. The first two were thrown haphazardly into a wardrobe box with a lot of random crap, none of which included wrapping paper. At the same time, they maimed my spice rack for life, broke a bottle of liquid soap, and (apparently)handled my laundry hamper, backlog of cleaning stuff, and extra yoga mat so badly as to render them invisible.
How on Earth do you deliver glass intact while destroying plastic?
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