Apple juice tastes nasty after drinking Irish Cream flavored coffee.
2004-08-15...11:27 a.m.

Neener neener, neeeeeeeeeeeener!

Okay, now that I'm done having a proud mommy-moment, I'll move right along.

Sneakers and Natty Rat, the newest additions to our household, seem to have adjusted quite well. I still worry about when Alex handles them. They're so small, and I don't know if he understands how fragile they are. I'm happy to report, though, that he hasn't killed either one - in spite of taking them out of their terrarium while everyone else was asleep.

Apple juice tastes nasty after drinking Irish Cream flavored coffee.

ANYway.

Yesterday was a nightmare. Corey was in this gawdawful friggin hurry to get an eye appointment for my dad and I. I called the place I usually go, which is about 3/4 of a mile away, but they didn't have any openings until Tuesday. So I called the eyeglass place that's 3/4 of an HOUR away, and the SBTDKA (for you newbie-surfers, that means Stupid Bitch That Doesn't Know Anything) receptionist told me they could see us that day, we could just pop in. She asked what kind of insurance we have, and I told her.

"Who?" she asks, ffs.

I offered to give her the number to verify my coverage, but she declined, saying that "there are ONLY two people in the office right now!"

So we get to Bullhead, only guess what? The office has moved. Just fucking dandy. Fortunately, Dad had his cell phone, and the number was ridiculously easy to remember - since it's an eyecare place, and it ends with 2020. Ur ur ur. So I called up, and asked, "Where are you?"

"Um...Bullhead?"

No shit, you stupid fucktard. I finally coaxed the directions out of her, and we got there. Only to find out that, "Well, your insurance office isn't open, and we can't verify your coverage." And then she just stands there and looks at me like I'm a fucking tarantula - you know, a giant hairy spider that she was too afraid to touch, and too grossed out - by the thought of the mess - to squish. Not only that, but I kept having to ask her to repeat herself, because her entire vocabulary consisted of Ebonics, coupled with an apparent inability to unclench her teeth when she was speaking, made her impossible to understand. She never once said, "Well, if you'd like, you can pay for the glasses and exam yourself, and have your insurance company reimburse you." Which, in all reality, would have shown me that she really wanted to help, instead of being a stupid TWAT, and I wouldn't have wound up hating her nearly as much as I did.

Anyhow, we didn't get out of there for nearly 3 HOURS. I don't think all of my visits to opticians added together have taken that much time, and I've been wearing glasses regularly since I was 14. The only good thing to come out of this is that Dad is actually getting glasses, and he plans to wear them on a regular basis. I'm really excited about that. I think it'll give him a slightly new outlook, no pun intended. I think he'll feel better when he can see better, even if he DOES have to wear bifocals. And he got to pick out frames he likes, too, so I'm sure he'll feel more encouraged to wear them. He's got work glasses and "going out" glasses.

I'm never going to send business to those people again. Stupid assholes.

Corey and I went out for karaoke last night. We were going to invite some people to go with us, but I decided I just wanted to go out with him. We played pool (kind of against doctors orders - I'm not supposed to do anything to aggravate my shoulder, and playing pool aggravates it in a way that is second only to shooting my 12-gauge), and I sang. Oh, and drank. I got quite pleasantly schnockered off of 5 glasses of GOOD amaretto. Hee hee! We walked home, made our usual stop for our usual sandwich at a convenience store, went home, and (beware, this is kinda creepy) made out while watching Brother Bear. We didn't finish watching the movie - off to bed with us! I am well-laid, well-rested, and quite satisfied with life at this moment, except that I want to go see Christine. Which I can't do because the guys are off shooting. Fuckers. They know I'm dying to go. I can't wait for my stupid shoulder to be better. I hope it's fixed by the time quail season rolls around. I've been dying to do a nice quail dinner, and I still swear the little fuckers have been taunting me since the day after season. I even saw a family of them while we were on vacation in California. They were waddling across the road at the mobile home court where Corey's grandparents live. That's okay, though. I'll take 'em out if I have to shoot from the HIP. So there!

the last trail...the next path