So long 2015, I really hated you.

Today is the last day of 2015 and I am so very, very glad it's going to be over. I hated this year. Looking back on all the things that have happened doesn't bring back cherry, heart warming memories. It brings back pain, loss and agony.

Several people dear to me died this year. We weren't necessarily the closest of friends, we were definitely not confidants, but they had been a back ground part of my life for years. When one person dies it's a tragedy, when another one dies it's heart breaking, when people die every couple of weeks or months it's numbing.

The worst part of death is watching my friends fall to pieces and having no idea how to help them. All the words I know mean nothing in the face of loss. I don't know how to support someone who's grieving. What can you do?

And so, it's with great pleasure I say good bye to 2015. May there never be another year like this one.

I have reached a new level of stupid

I am not a fan of bad customer service. And by bad customer service I mean these new automated answering systems that make you talk back to them. Because when you say snarky, very sarcastic things under your breath the automated lady voice thinks you're talking to her. To be fair, I was talking to her. I just didn't realize she'd respond with -

"I didn't understand what you said. To repeat this message say 'repeat' or press one."

It took about five minutes into the call for me to be offered a press a number option. Why? None of the options on the "speak to me now" menu were what I needed. I needed the "I am unbelievably stupid, please help" option. This is a great option. It should be an option on the website of every business. It means I have screwed up in a new and slightly surprising way. I need to talk to a real person to get this figured out.

The worst part was when I called back. After hanging up in a rage induced fit of pique. The evil lady, instead of saying her usual spiel, asked if I was calling about a package with this tracking number. I should have just said no, instead I said yes and got the whole "this package was not deliverable and is being returned to the original sender."

I wanted to bang my head against a wall. Repeatedly.

I feel an explanation of events is now in order. I have recently(ish) moved in with a friend. I have also recently(ish) gotten a new pair glasses. The glasses arrived about a week after I had moved. Instead of driving the ten hours it takes to get home I asked my mother to mail them to me. In a moment of unbelievable stupidity I gave her the wrong mailing address. The address I gave her doesn't exist outside of Google Maps. Yeah. I fail hard.

My mother, being the reason behind half my DNA, put the wrong address on the shipping label. My parents had also recently(ish) moved. To make a long, dramatic story kind of short. It got lost in the mailing system for a few days but eventually got taken back to the post office in Wyoming, where my mom picked it up. A few days and addresses later I got my new glasses. They are pretty nice.

The only reason we got it worked out is because I called a random post office and they gave me the number for the people I needed to call. Talking to an actual person is so much easier.

I tried to decapitate my toe

Yesterday afternoon we were getting ready for a picnic when I cut open the bottom of my toe/foot area. It was highly unpleasant. And kind of embarrassing. My mom asked me to grab something from the pantry (our pantry is like 10 feet tall). It was barely out of my reach. Instead of taking the minute or so of time to move stuff around and set up the step ladder I decided to be time efficient and just jump up and grab it.

In retrospect it does seem like a dumb decision. However, I have lived in this house for over a year and jumped up to grab items on numerous occasions. At the time it seemed a reasonable action to take.

I landed on something and it hurt. It felt like a paper cut, a sharp stabbing pain. I looked down, this was possibly another mistake. Blood had gushed out of my foot all over the floor. There was a small puddle of blood on the pantry floor that was getting bigger while I put pressure on my foot. I turned my foot over and could see into my toe. A flap of skin had popped open, it looked like someone had tried to peel all the skin off. I freaked out.

My family members all rushed to the kitchen to see what they could do to help. After looking at the wound they decided it needed stitches. They bandaged up the toe in an attempt to stop the bleeding and took my to InstaCare.

Unfortunately the place was located in an intersection that is under construction. Traffic was at a standstill and we took the side roads, which ended up being blocked off and we did a circle around the building before getting to the lot. My father was driving and was not happy with the traffic. I was sitting in the middle of the back seat with my foot propped up on the passenger side seat. I did what most people do. I texted my best friends a picture of my bandaged foot. Responding to their messages kept me from freaking out about getting stitches. I have never had stitches before. 

The clinic was basically empty. I am assuming it's because of the horrible traffic. I got in to see a doctor in what is probably record time. I am almost positive you can't really read my handwriting on the information form. I probably should have had my father fill it out, but it's a little late for that.

The nurse was very nice. I remember she had on these light blue cowboy boots and black scrubs. She also had a really nice voice when she said my heart rate was elevated. Had I not been in so much pain it would have been funny in a I wan to punch you sort of way.

Had that nurse been the doctor things would have gone better. He came in and it all went down hill from there. He was an older, heavy man with a slow, wanna be Texas drawl. (I say want to be because it's Wyoming and most people from Wyoming who try and effect a Texas drawl don't do it right.) After looking at my foot he declared it a superficial lesion slapped two bandages on it and sent me home.

It was slightly more involved than that but the whole visit couldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes. I have a gouge out of the bottom of my toe and slice out of the side. The side cut almost looks like my skin just burst open. It's disturbing to look at. What's slightly more disturbing is that the bottom gouge connects to the side slice so that half of my toe skin can flap up.

I spent most of the examination gritting my teeth and trying not to bitch every time his pudgy fingers poked the open wound. For some reason the doctor did not realize, or possibly care, that it was really only one cut. He kept saying it didn't need stitches. Now it is possible there was nothing to keep the stitches in and they would only cause more problems but that isn't what he said. The doctor also told me I would be able to walk on it with out any problems. He only told me that after I asked. He also said I could take ibuprofen or Tylenol but didn't say how often or how much. Which I found highly irritating because I try to never take pain medicine if I could to something else to alleviate the pain, like drinking more water or eating something different.

By the time I got home I had already bled through the bandages the doctor had put on. I was so tempted to call them back and bitch at him. He had specified, the only thing he'd actually told me to do, that I needed to change the bandages once a day for the next ten days or so. When I'd asked if I would need to do more than that he'd said in a very snooty voice, "Once a day will be fine."

Subtext "I am the doctor, this is not a real problem."

You know when you can just hear what someone is saying?

That's what happened then. The doctor had decided I was a young woman who came in because of a little cut. Problem solved.

Even the nurse asked if he should look at it from another angle. If you are a doctor what would it hurt to have another look at something? It would have taken less then a minute and might have possibly made my life a little easier. It's not like he had another patient to look at.

Instead of him doing his job my mother has bandaged up my toe and I've been on bed rest. Which is very boring. Very boring. And quite possibly the only reason I wrote this post. Because every time I get up and walk around blood starts leaking all over the place. It's messy and disgusting.

The Emergency Room is not to be used for hair cutting

Today is probably the worst day I've had in recent memory. With my new job I have Friday's and Saturday's off. This morning I woke up to my father whistling and yelling that he needed help. Anyone who has roomed with me knows it takes a few seconds for my brain to have any intelligent thoughts. I took too long to answer and my dad burst in my room shouting that he needed help, that he couldn't see and that he needed to go to the hospital. Not exactly a great combination.

I grabbed the first semi clothes like objects I could find, picked up my purse and ran upstairs. My father was in the garage manually pulling the door down. He'd been in the middle of installing the garage door opener when his eyes went wonky, one looking up the other down. He said it lasted for about five minutes. Since he looked okay I asked if he felt good enough for me to put on real clothes before we left for the ER. It only took me about minute to put on real clothes but it felt like an eternity.

When I got back upstairs (it was a good thing I'd gone down to my room to get dressed because my car keys were not in my purse) my father was back up on a ladder finishing the instillation... He took too long to answer questions and insisted on locking the back door before we left. It was rather annoying. If your in pain we need to just go, screw the back door.

Never before have I hated bad drivers so much. Never. I've also never hated school zones like I did today. I will admit that I went over the speed limit. But not a lot. Something was seriously wrong with my father and I couldn't risk the time it would take by being pulled over. Each minute I was stopped at a red light was excruciating; my thoughts spun out of control as I imagined the worst scenarios. I kept thinking he was going to have a seizure and die in the car and it would have been all my fault because I took the time to get dressed. The emotional roller coaster continued until I pulled into the ER drop off; it then went from up and down to pure panic as I watched daddy stagger in the door. Almost blind panic ensued as I went around to the parking garage to park the car. Later I couldn't even remember what floor I'd parked on.

Parking garages confuse me on good days, hospitals are also notoriously confusing. I'd never been in this hospital before, with the exception of when I was born, and almost burst into tears when trying to ask for directions. Thankfully they had rather large signs with easy to follow arrows. It was easy to get around once I'd calmed down enough so I could actually read the signs.

We waited less than a minute after I found the ER waiting room before being pulled back by a way to chipper nurse. Chick needed to detox the caffeine. The feeling of dread that had started when I woke up got strung tighter and tighter as she continued to ask asinine questions. I wanted to shake her and scream "Can't you tell something is wrong with my daddy?"

The only thing that stopped me was knowing nurses are required to ask those questions, that shaking a nurse is a great way to get kicked out and that one of my best friends is a nurse who talks about the crazy people she deals with at work. I don't want to be one of those crazy people. But it was so hard. It couldn't have been more than five or six minutes before she lead us back to the actual ER. At least that's what I assume it was since the entire area was done in overly soothing, sterile, horrifying hospital style. I don't care what experts in psychology say, there is nothing that can sooth people when someone they love is having medical problems Calm is not even registered as a valid emotion.

Another nurse came into the new patient room, number 13 cuz apparently the hospital staff is not superstitious at all (not that I noticed that until afterwords, like right now), and asked all the same questions again. When the doctor finally got there, and honestly in retrospect it took time but not nearly as long as it could have been, he ask all the questions a third time. I was trying to keep my freaking out to a minimum and not succeeding very well. It didn't help that every few seconds the heart monitor would let out a high pitched beeping noise. Every time I sort of got under control it would let out a loud shriek. Not exactly soothing.

The nurse came back and hooked my father up to an IV and the heart monitor. I sat their and watched it all happening, a useless bystander. It hurts to sit and watch someone you love be in pain, to have to sit there and do nothing. After a while I realized my mother did not know what was happening, I thought about calling her but ended up texting her because I didn't want to explain what was happening on voice mail. She showed up a half hour before noon so I could go get some food. One of the first things she commented on was my dad's hair, apparently it was too long and she wanted to give him a hair cut... Some days I cannot believe the things that she does. It's just unreal.

I remember being absurdly grateful when I saw that people didn't have to pay for the parking garage. I've never taken anyone to the hospital before, much less the emergency room and have never thought about the parking space and stuff that hospitals need. While I was out the doctors had him get a CT scan. Apparently he did not have a stroke, he had a pinched vein (or artery, or something like that) which causes all of the same symptoms as a stroke but isn't as bad...? I am still unclear on all of that.

What I do know is that instead of coming home and relaxing like the nurses told him too he is in the garage fixing the door opener... It's enough to make me develop eye twitches. The good news is that he's fine, there was no permanent damage. Unfortunately the doctors don't know why it happens sometimes and not others. Real helpful.

Things I never expected to happen to me

More like crazy happenstances at work. This one is going on my anit-bukit list. A couple of weeks ago at work I went to the bathroom, because that's what happens when you drink a bunch of water. Well on my way out this dude walks into the bathroom and heads right for one of the stalls... It was very bizarre. He was kind of old looking and so at first I wasn't sure if he was a guy or not. Turns out he was. Thankfully I got to dump the problem on a manager and not have to deal with it myself.

Which brings me to one of my paranoia's. I am terrified that one day I will accidentally walk into the men's room. On it's own that wouldn't be a big deal, just turn around and walk out. But I always feel like I would walk into some really awkward conversation/ situation. Don't ask what is going down in the men's restroom, but I feel like I would totally walk in on a drug deal, get shot and then end up dead upside down in toilet  Not exactly the way I want to die. It's rather specific for a paranoia and I don't think there is a "name" for it, but if there is I bet it sounds totally awesome.

Adventures in Drug Testing

I am so freaking laaaaaaazy. I've had no desire to post at all. I just want to laze in bed all day, even the days when I drag my sorry ass out of bed for work. Yes. Work.

The evil four letter word that seriously screws up my week. I now have a job. It's super prestigious (please note the intense sarcasm there). My new, fantabulous job is in a deli. Let's just say that I have no desire to ever eat a rotisserie chicken. Never again. Ever. Nastiness comes out of those things. *shudder*

"I'm a nasty chicken that splooshes foamy crap out when unloading from the oven." (photo).

I've been meaning to write about the whole job search stuff but other things are so much more interesting. Like TV, books, my ceiling... anything basically. The interview process was a serious pain. They pulled me back for an first "interview". I have that in quotes cuz the lady asked me like three seriously asinine questions, it was things like:

"have you ever had a problem?"

"At some point in your life have you ever done something you disliked?"

"Have you been in the middle of a disagreement?"

The vagueness was enough to make me want to pound my head into a wall. I really wanted to just start making up a bunch of nonsense answers. Unfortunately I actually needed to get the job. Makes me grumpy when I have to deal with other peoples stupidity. Not that it really mattered. The "second" interview wasn't much better and the I ended up waiting over an hour for the "third" interview, which was pretty much just her telling me I was going to get a job offer in a few days. Such exciting stuff.

What probably ended up being the best part of the shenanigans was the drug testing. I hate drug testing. I hate peeing in a freaking cup. If I never have to do it again it will be too soon. Peeing in a cup has now been added to my anti bucket list. It wouldn't have been so bad except I had to get a clean test within 24 hours of getting the job offer.

Me being the overly excitable person I am decided to go straight to the drug testing place. I'd drank a bunch of coffee earlier so I thought it wouldn't be a problem. I was wrong. I got put on the "shy bladder" program. Not even joking. I got a red Solo cup full of water to help the process along. The water was seriously nasty tasting. I also was not supposed to leave the facility before I left a sample. It took almost an hour before I could do that. At that point I'd had about three full cups of water. They were not little cups.

It was not a party. It was not a good time. At all.

I strongly dislike those freaking red cups now. The highlight of my adventure in drug testing had to be the magazine in the waiting room. They had the "Architect Digest", it's a fantastic magazine with fun pictures of random famous peoples houses. If I wasn't totally broke I would totally subscribe to that magazine, it's fantastic.

The analyzer machine thing was shaped distinctly like a coffee pot. I am not joking, it was kind of creepy. Makes me glad I use a French press.

Things I never want to do again.

It is time I started an anti-bucket list. It is a list of all the things I NEVER want to do again. Normally I am not a big fan of using caps to emphasize specific words. In this case I am going to let it slide because I really hate the things on this list in a world blistering death kind of way. I cannot remember all of them, but on Sunday I managed to achieve one more.

I never want to hang sheetrock again. Never again. It is evil. That shit is heavy. But more than anything I hate the stupid lift. I hate it. Even looking at a picture of one makes me sooo angry I can perfectly imagine slowing ripping the thing to pieces and then burning the rest in an incinerator. Which would be really difficult since it's predominantly metal and I am not Iron Man.

This is what death looks like (photo).

I will spare you the horrific details about how I spent an entire day locked in a sweltering garage with my parents while attempting to hang giant slabs of almost concrete. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry. It was an awful experience that I never want to have again.