Oh, hello there.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's been a while since I wrote. Sorry 'bout that. A lot of my writing (ranting) has been going into a text file that stays here on the MacBook instead of getting out into the blogosphere.

I know I shouldn't worry so much about being found, but I do.

As hilarious as it is to tell the world about a fourteen year old HoMeSkOoLeR who needed five or six tries to spell "Camel," I worry that some of the mis-spellings might be good Go0gle-Bait.

I'll spare ya the long-drawn-out rants and the sad jpg files, but since there's camel-toe-a-plenty out there on "the internets" that'll show up way ahead of this bit of Go0gle-Bait, I told HoMeSkOoL mOm what a Camel Toe is, because she really does need to know what her kid is searching for in the MySp@ce Videos.

I wish I was kidding, but honestly, she had no idea what it was, and she didn't seem to understand the English when I tried to explain it with words. Apparently she wasn't entirely thrilled with the Visual Representation either, but hey, communication is about getting the point across, right??

So, maybe it was because Mom and I teamed up to show her a printed e-mail and say "Your HoMeSkOoLiNg is putting your children at a tremendous disadvantage," or maybe it's because of me grabbin' my Levi's and showin' her a shockingly unexpected glimpse of Delicious Fat Girl; but one way or another, we ain't seen 'em since.

While I don't miss the screaming while I'm trying to answer phones, I'm still deeply concerned about Lit-Ruh-See...

More later.

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Tweeeeeeet!!!

The third baby parakeet hatched today, and was apparently tossed out of the nestbox. After I discovered it squirming and peeping on the newspaper beneath the bottom of the cage, Clay scooped it up and put it back in the box -- the first two, hatched Wednesday and Thursday, are already twice the size of the brand-new baby.

Also, in bird-ish news, if ya didn't already know, I'm hooked on Twitter.



Tweet tweet!

More later... _\,,/

Surely it's not just me.

I'm a bit of a wierdass when it comes to eating alone in restaurants -- I always feel like everybody in the whole place is staring at me. That's why I totally understand those folks who take a book with them to sit and eat alone in a fast-food joint -- that's usually what I do if I can talk myself into sitting down inside. Usually I take it to the car, where it feels more normal to be by myself.

It's been years since I was able to leave work and go to lunch; every day, somebody (usually that means me) goes and gets whatever and brings it back, and we all eat here. Today, it was Subw@y (in Skiatook), and that's where I saw something that stunned me.

Now, I've got no bitch about Skiatook Subw@y, everything has been fine since they got rid of the one who made change and sandwiches with the plastic gloves on. It's been a long time since I've seen The Bread Squeezer, and everybody who's workin' there is a real sweetheart; especially Patty, 'cause she always remembers me and she'll make my sandwich the way I want it even if it's my brother who's standin' there instead of me.

I can recall several occasions, mostly in college, where I'd take a book or newspaper with me when I wasn't going to be able to eat in my car -- I vividly remember reading that cowboy novel alongside a plate from the P!zza Hut buffet or turning through the Owasso newspaper with greazy fingers from the Kay-Eff-See buffet.

Lots of places have free Wi-Fi now, I can understand taking a laptop along. I can totally understand the thought behind taking a book or magazine or possibly an !Pod. If you're graceful enough to manage a pen or pencil together with food, I can see circling a few classified ads or working a crossword or Sud0ku puzzle.

The nail clippers are just not something I'm interested in seeing at a table in a restaurant. Now, if you want to cut your nails over your sandwich and lemonade in the privacy of your own home or car, I guess that's your choice; but it seems to me that it's just not something one ought to be doing in a restaurant amongst several other people and their sandwiches.

Cutting someone else's fingernails with a big orange pair of scissors may be alright in your own privacy if y'all are close and really trust each other -- but doing it in the middle of a restaurant full of people is gross, and that's all I know to say about that.

Crunching and chewing and talking, I'm okay with; but the snipping and snapping of scissors on nail-flesh is the last thing I need to hear while I'm trying to decide what kind of cheese I want on my sandwich.

Eich.

I'd almost bet they had a little dog in a purse under their table too.

Something You Can Do With Your Finger.

Yip, I ripped off a TV show title there. I only did that because it kinda makes me grin considering what's on my mind today and how I don't want to just let it out. I can't remember who said it, but I heard that "As humans, we make our own drama and we're responsible for our own stress." That phrase really stayed with me, and that's what I'm seein' around here today. In short, what you did with your finger a couple years back just might bite you on the ass when it gets a chance. Yeah, ain't it terrible.

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That, and hey, when it comes to bein' stressed-out, it's not me this time. It's good to be calm, it really is.

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Speaking of stress-and-me, the new health insurance company still hasn't pulled the first payment out of my account yet, but since the cards say "Effective March 15th," maybe that's when the draft goes through. I'm calm about that, in spite of being stressed-out earlier. It's still a little less money than the previous company, and though I haven't had any experience with using it yet, I'd say it's fair to guess that it'll be better coverage too.

I'm still a little irritated about The Salesman, but screw it, I've already ranted about him.

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I finished Baby Sweater #4 and placed it in the hands of a new-mommy-to-be; it was my first actual project from that massive quantity of dollar yarn that I carried home a while back and I like how it turned out even if it did take me a little time to get used to working with that type of yarn. It's fuzzy-fuzzy-fuzzy, and even just layin' in my lap while I was knitting on it, it's very, very warm. I almost worry about the warmth-factor since the baby is due in April, but I'm sure it's too big, so maybe she'll be able to "grow into it" in time for the Fall. I really want to try my hand at grown-up size sweaters, if I can just find a pattern that doesn't make me wonder if I forgot how to read.

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Also, Boobie Scarf #2 (the raisin-ish colored one that doesn't show crud near as bad as the white one) is still on hold because I got the bug to turn out one of those scarves with pockets; if it comes quick enough, maybe I can turn out several and send 'em with Mom. That might be a "competitive" kinda thing... We'll figure it out later.

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Apparently the phrase "We can get Chinese for around three bucks a person," was not what they wanted to hear when they asked me if I had any ideas for lunch. Whups. Oh well...

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A little more amusement, The Motor Guy is here. He wants a rev limiter for the new motor. Now, I've had some motors come apart on me, but in all these years, I've never caused it by lettin' one over-tach itself. If it breaks 'em loose, ya let out a little bit and keep it under control, 'cause if ya don't, you'll be spun and into a wall, soon to have twenty-some other cars piled on top of ya.

Do those asphalt racers he runs with just keep it on the floor when it starts to spin the tires??

I didn't think so.

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Last night I dismantled the keyboard from my first iMac and scrubbed each individual key (and the parts underneath), and then put it back together just to see if I could. (Oh, hello OCD, what a surprise seeing you here!) I figured that since it's ten years old and the computer it came with is long since dead, there wasn't much to lose -- so if I ruined it, I could just toss it in the garbage and forget it. After finding that I don't know that keyboard as well as I thought I did (I know the letters, had to double-check for punctuation and home/help/page-up), I got it all back together and brought it to work with me so I could try it, and it still works! I was almost shocked to find that all that Ch1orox-Wipe juice didn't short it out. It works, but the shift keys and the spacebar don't seem to feel quite right, I think I may have goofed somethin' up with the tiny metal parts that were underneath them.

Anyhow, it's good to know there's a spare around, even if it's not quiiiiiiiite right.

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Mmmm... Snickerdoodles... So good...

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Disjointedly Distractable, yip, that's me!

More later. _\,,/

Third Time Lucky? Please??

I really need to vent; even though I've already bitched about my health insurance company here once before.

A couple weeks ago, I let one telemarketing call slide through because they were offering Health Insurance plans and mentioned the State of Oklahoma's new program to help small businesses provide (and pay for) coverage for employees. I gave 'em my information, a guy called back and scheduled a time to come see me about checkin' out a couple insurance plans. I bought a new plan and cancelled that crummy one that never paid for anything. The salesman gave the impression that it was a "state approved plan" and that the fantastic new "Oh-Eh-Pick" (sorry, had to Go0gle-proof that, just don't want involved) program would help pay for it.

The salesman, whom I thought was an insurance Agent, was apparently puttin' on the ol' "Speak their language, just get 'em in the car" routine. He made his sale and once that was done, nothin' else mattered, and if I wanted to look into "Oh-Eh-Pick," I should call them direct and then get back with him afterward.

"Oh-Eh-Pick" will not help pay for individual plans. "Oh-Eh-Pick" will not transfer my new policy into an employer-provided plan because the rules do not consider this particular small business a "group" because being a "group" requires 70% employee participation -- I, as one of four, would work out to 25%.

As if that's not enough, "Oh-Eh-Pick" doesn't really even want to talk to me as an individual, they say to "contact an agent," which is something an Agent would've known, and that's the number one clue that I had been dealing with a Salesman and not an Agent.

When I called the Salesman back, he gave me a phone number for "a good buddy of his who knew a lot about Oh-Eh-Pick," and said I should call him.

So, after calling the other number and talking to Salesman's "good buddy" (who did seem to know his ass from a hole in the ground, but did not have any idea who Salesman was), I am about to apply for yet another health insurance plan.

To make a long story short (as if I ever make a long story short), I have once again learned the hard way that it's better to just dig a little deeper into information found ever so easily on the magical internets instead of spending precious seconds on the phone with a telemarketer.

"Good Buddy," who actually worked for the state, was notably friendly and easy to talk to, and he also knew his stuff well enough to tell me what I needed to know without sending me on to some other phone number. He certainly was able to talk me down from that stressed-out hissy fit that had me ready to pinch somebody's head off.

I just wish the people who handle my Car Insurance would take up Health Insurance -- My car insurance is a great deal (can ya beat $321 for six months, covering two cars?), they're Oklahoma-based, they're hassle-free, and when I needed 'em, they took good care of me without jackin' up the rates or makin' me do all the work.

I've resolved to save the pinching off of heads for the next wave of telemarketers...