You scored as Captain Jack Sparrow, Roguish,quick-witted, and incredibly lucky, Jack Sparrow is a pirate who sometimes ends up being a hero, against his better judgement. Captain Jack looks out for #1, but he can be counted on (usually) to do the right thing. He has an incredibly persuasive tongue, a mind that borders on genius or insanity, and an incredible talent for getting into trouble and getting out of it. Maybe its brains, maybe its genius, or maybe its just plain luck. Or maybe a mixture of all three.
Ironic, eh? We’re going to see Pirates 3 now!
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‘Cuz I got nothin’ else today. Actually, I do, I’m just not ready to share it. Anyway, this is pretty cool. It was one of Jane’s posts.
Click here for the full report!
OK. I find it ironic that I was deemed a “Worker Bee,” though I suppose I am, just not in the traditional sense, you know, like in an office.
Since the widget’s too wide to add yet another thing to my sidebar, I’m also going to add this to my About Me page.
These past couple of weeks I’ve felt really, really weak and totally tired. Part of it is definitely because one or two nights out of the week I don’t sleep at all, in spite of the trazodone. Plus, I had my first maintenance ECT this past Friday.
Well, had I not visited my GE last week I never would have known that I’m anemic! Because he’s affiliated with Swedish Covenant, they faxed him a copy of my bloodwork.
While I was at Swedish Covenant’s E.R., one of the nurses or assistants or something drew several vials of blood from me. I bled out, remember? (If not, read here.) They never bothered to tell the E.R. doc the results of my blood test! Even my PCP, when I saw him recently because of the flu, said it’s been over a year since I had bloodwork done, but no hurry — I can have it done in a month or two. And here, I had it all this time! Or my GE did, anyway. WTF?
Fuck off and die, Swedish Covenant Emergency Room. I don’t care that your newly opened, completely renovated E.R. is gorgeous (note that this link may be dead one day), your fucking staff (except for the doctor and nurse I was lucky to have) is totally fucking incompetent.
NOTE: Please leave your link only if you’ve written a FOAD post today. Please leave a comment after linking. Thanks. 
“Catherine” is the name I’ll use for the Program Coordinator in charge of the IOP I went to last summer. I briefly wrote about this when it happened, and said I’d go into more detail but never did. So here it is.
On my first day, Catherine should have called my health insurance to see how many outpatient mental health benefits I had left in my plan. She did not. Most of the patients were told that they would be in IOP for two weeks, probably because that’s the amount of time their plans covered; I was never given a time period. I thought it was because I was in such bad shape that I’d be there for months like some of my other co-patients, and I figured that I had enough insurance to cover it since I was never told otherwise.
Near the end of August, when she and the staff doctor decided that I was ready to cut my visits back to three days a week, I was fine with that because I was doing really well. I was just surprised that my three-day weeks were to start immediately. Although this raised my anxiety, I dealt with it because I thought I would still be there for another few weeks. This was on a Monday. On Tuesday, my first day “off,” Catherine called Brian at work to tell him I had maxed out my benefits quite a while back, it turned out. Fine. But that isn’t what pisses me off.
Throughout my stay in IOP, Catherine always insisted that I take responsibility for myself, my actions, my recovery. Like, on the days I didn’t feel like going, I’d ask Brian to call her because I was afraid to call, irrationally thinking she’d be mad at me. Though it would have been better for me to be there, on the days I just couldn’t get myself to go, I eventually began calling her myself.
So that Tuesday, why the fuck did she call Brian instead of me about the insurance, and to say that Wednesday would be my last day? She wanted to meet with me at the end of groups on Wednesday to give me some referrals. I calmly asked her why she didn’t call me. “Well,” she replied, “I didn’t want to upset you.” At the time, I accepted her explanation.
When I told my pdoc about it, he blew his top! “I can accept people making mistakes–that happens,” he said. “But for her to give you that bullshit answer? Like you would be less upset hearing the news from your husband? She lied to you to cover up her mistake. That’s bullshit! I’m calling [the shock doc]!”
I know my pdoc called the shock doc, who’s his good friend and the one who conducted my ECTs, as well as head of the psych department at the hospital where I went for IOP. I doubt anything came out of the incident. I’m sure Catherine still has her job.
So Catherine, FUCK OFF AND DIE. You are a motherfucking hypocrite, and I don’t know how you can even call yourself a psychotherapist. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s hypocrites. You shouldn’t be in the mental health field if you’re going to lie to patients and can’t even take responsibility for your mistakes like you tell us to do, you fucking whore. FUCK OFF AND DIE.
Brian and I are still suffering from the financial, and for me–emotional–fallout of your fuck-up. Because you didn’t check my insurance and plan my discharge accordingly, I’ve only seen my individual therpist sporadically rather than once a week since August. In fact, once I was discharged from your joke of an IOP, I was supposed to be see her twice a week. But those benefits that you didn’t bother to check, which is part of your fucking job, included visits to my therapist and pdoc, and even though my therapist has given me a discount on office visits, it’s still more than twice as much as a $20 co-pay. I couldn’t go without seeing the pdoc and have had to pay the full amount each time.
Catherine, FUCK OFF AND DIE. I wish to God you were fired, but since you probably weren’t, FUCK OFF AND DIE. How dare you tell me to take responsibility for myself when you can’t do the same thing, you fucking bitch.
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Found this at Leslie’s Omnibus. She says:
Note: At the first screen, click on “Extras”, then on “What’s Your Seduction Style?”
So what’s yours? Leave me the results in the comments, as I’m curious to know. 
Be smart like Kentucky Gurl–leave a link to the .gif that shows your results, because it won’t let you copy and paste the text. Just do a right-click, open in new tab or window, or copy link location–something like that. Thanks! Or I suppose you could always post it to your own blog.
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I’m no stranger to hitting objects while driving. I even hit a policeman once (emphasis on “man” because it wasn’t a squad car–see here and here). As I left the gym last Tuesday, I hit an SUV while backing out. Yes, I was on the phone with Brian, but I was at least wearing my headset, which I always do when I drive. Also, the SUV was backed into the spot in which it was parked and was over the yellow line line, partially in my space. Unfortunately, I hit the right, front end near the tire and running board, which wasn’t over the line.
This was the first time I hit a car, and I didn’t know what to do, so I was understandably anxious. Thank God for Klonopin. Brian, who was still on the phone, told me to leave a note explaining what happened and to include our insurance information. Meanwhile, this “witness” fucking cunt busybody on her way to the gym began yelling at me: “You can’t just leave! That’s illegal!” Um, I wasn’t leaving. I was still in my car, foot on the brake, frozen in the position in which I was backing out, shocked. I so didn’t know what to do–I wasn’t going anywhere!
Meanwhile, this bitch continued to screech at me and the parking lot attendant, asking him where the owners were and demanding that I find them. Apparently, they took their kids to the Kids’ Club, which is in a separate building from the gym, so I went inside and told a staff person what happened, and if anyone in a gold Lexus SUV dropped off their kids. She said they did before going to work out, but that neither they, nor the front desk at the health club would have any license plate information. What did she suggest? Leave a note.
Another lady, who had just picked up her child and happened to follow me outside corrected me–nicely–to say that it was actually an Infiniti SUV, “if that helps,” she added. But the fucking douchebag was still there! I told her what the Kids’ Club staff person said, and she screamed that there was no way the owners have kids because there were no car seats in the SUV! WTF? Apparently, I’m a liar now, too. She left a note of her own that I of course read, but she didn’t leave a name and number, and I was surprised she didn’t ORDER them to purchase car seats.
I did exactly what Brian, the Kids’ Club staff person, and the parking attendant suggested–left a note explaining what happened and that included our insurance policy number, name, and phone number. The upside to this (as if there is one, since we’ll have to pay a deductible and Brian’s now jobless) is that the owner was polite and said the car would probably just need a touch-up paint job.
So FUCK OFF AND DIE, you busybody bitch, and learn to mind your own fucking business. You’re lucky I didn’t have a panic attack right then and there, though I’m sure you still would have treated me like I just murdered the SUV owners instead of hitting their car. I hope you get hit by a car and die that way, after you fuck off. Cunt.
***Only leave your link in the box below if you’ve written a FOAD post today. You’ll be deleted otherwise. Thanks.***
Courtesy of Leslie’s Omnibus. Apparently, I could be persuaded to be the DS. :[ I find that amusing.
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I was incredibly surprised to find that I’m at 130 lbs. when I weighed myself at the gym today. I didn’t work out yesterday, but the other day I was at like, 131.2 or something like that. I hadn’t had a BM in two days despite all the Metamucil–until yesterday. It’s amazing how much of a difference taking a shit can make, isn’t it? :d
See more progress on: Lose 20 pounds
Perhaps the Rozerem could have been why I’ve felt so shitty the past couple of days. According to Robert Meyer, M.D., who was interviewed for
this article, “‘We saw in the clinical trials that Rozerem could increase depression in people who are depressed’”. So I stopped taking it last night and will take the Lunesta samples I have instead. The
pdoc didn’t call back yesterday, so we’ll call him again tomorrow.
I was going to write a
FOAD post, but since everyone’s probably too stuffed on turkey to go blog surfing anyway, I’ll save it for next week. (*)
You are The High Priestess
Science, Wisdom, Knowledge, Education.
The High Priestess is the card of knowledge, instinctual, supernatural, secret knowledge. She holds scrolls of arcane information that she might, or might not reveal to you. The moon crown on her head as well as the crescent by her foot indicates her willingness to illuminate what you otherwise might not see, reveal the secrets you need to know. The High Priestess is also associated with the moon however and can also indicate change or fluxuation, particularily when it comes to your moods.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
“The High Priestess is also associated with the moon however and can also indicate change or fluxuation (sp?), particularly when it comes to your moods.” Well, that explains it all, doesn’t it? I was born on July 20, 1969, when man first landed on the moon.
Got this from Miss Ann.
Bad enough that we go to the ?ber yuppie health club, but Brian gets a discount through work and he chose this place because they have pick-up basketball games. And actually, since I’ve been going regularly, I feel a lot more comfortable there than I did the first time I ever went. The front desk and juice/coffee bar staff is totally friendly. I’ve never had to deal with the personal trainers, but they seem all right. Also, the facillities are absolutely superb. If you click on the link you can take one of those virtual tours. Too bad they don’t show the locker rooms because that’s part of what this post is about.
As I said, the employees are nice. The patrons, and I can only write about the women, are a different story. Most of the people in my age range (mid-30s to 40s) are snobby, pretentious, rich bitches, or if they’re still in their early to mid-20s, they’re total sorority girls. whether or not they actually were members, they have that aura. They may not be rich yet, but they’re still snobby and pretentious. Nearly everyone went to a Big Ten school, so in that respect I fit in, but most likely they went there for undergrad. Here are examples of what cold fishes the women are that go to my gym: whenever I’ve sneezed, I can count on one hand how many times someone has actually said, “Bless you.” If you happen to be in someone’s way, you might hear a reluctantly muttered, “Excuse me.”
Anyway, for a place this nice, you’d think the locker rooms would be larger and less cramped. There are three aisles of lockers. The two nearest the entrance are divided in half crosswise by a short hallway where mirrors and countertops are located on the ends. The one farthest from the entrance is one long aisle. Within each aisle are two rows of lockers–half on top, half on the bottom.
I usually use the lockers in the middle aisle, which, like the one farthest from the door, has lockers on both sides. There’s maybe 5′ of space in between and a narrow bench in the center. Courteous person that I am, I try to take up as little space as possible, especially when there are three or more people in the area. If I have toiletries I’m not currently using, I shove them, and my gym bag, back inside my locker, and though I may not lock it, I shut the fucking door so no one bangs into it. If I go to the end of the aisle to use the mirror, again, I shove the rest of my stuff back inside my locker.
But then, there are these stupid ass bitches who can FUCK OFF AND DIE because they leave their shit EVERYWHERE, even while they’re in the shower or nowhere nearby! We’re talking discarded gym clothing, shoes, water bottles–they leave them on the floor, on the bench, you name it. Some dumbfuck left her combination lock on the bench. Um, hello? Ever drop one of those on your foot? Or after they’re finished showering, they leave their wet towels on the bench along with their full-size bottles of shampoo, conditioner, facial cleanser, deoderant, etc. Apparently, these dumb cunts have never heard of a travel case or travel bottles. I, of course, have all of these items that you can buy for less than $1 so my toiletries are not only organized, but they also take up less space in my gym bag.
At first, I used to meekly tiptoe around these people’s shit. Now, if I need to set something on the bench and there’s crap all over it and the owner isn’t there, fuck it. I move that shit over to make room for myself. Fuck being meek. I have decided to take a stand!
If any of you locker room bitches are reading this, get into your Lexus SUVs and drive on over to The Container Store. Otherwise, FUCK OFF AND DIE, you dumb fucking whores.
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