Eating out is another big downfall for us. We're trying to be better about it, but there are still far too many nights where I get home from work and say "No, I don't want to cook."
see, that's what kills me. I like to cook. I probably make a full meal 4-5 times a week. I don't eat out because I don't want to cook, I eat out for the social factor. And I have that certain sector of six figure lawyer friends that like to go to expensive restaurants (sparky feels me on this). I like to go there too, I just shouldn't :)
Good heavens, ita. Did anyone tell them they're Not Helping!
ita, I am so sorry you're having to put up with all of this nonsense.
Just spent fifteen minutes being asked if pedophiles ever hit on me, why i spend all day and night sitting in a chair posting on teh net, and if any pervs ever contact me to ask if it's okay to stick a stake in one of my orafices.
I tried really, really, hard to play along. Now I feel like a jackass.
blinks
Okay, the Yahoo profile thing is getting zany. I just got email from a lady who likes to make crocheted Victorian-style accessories, like lace gloves and little purses. She's offering to make me some trinkets because she likes my writing.
This is after I got a book in the mail from Immanion Press to review. (I'm about halfway through it, and really like it so far.)
People! Telling me nice things about my writing and offering me shiny things! Someone tell me I'm not dreaming, okay?
sparky feels me on this
Yes, yes I do. Perhaps we need to start a cheap-eats-good-food club that meets once a month for the under-paid academic set.
Someone tell me I'm not dreaming, okay?
Not dreaming. Deserving!
People! Telling me nice things about my writing and offering me shiny things!
Clearly, your corner of the universe is finally working exactly the way it was always supposed to. Now ita's corner of the universe really needs to get with the program.
First they sent me the head nurse, and then they sent me a psychiatrist.
What goddamned horseshit. And when I say "goddamned," I mean it literally. Given the amount and duration of this shitty pain you've been in, I fully expect that whenever whoever sent you to the psych. dies, the angel sitting at the Pearly Gates is going to look up sternly from the heavenly Google or Wikipedia or however they're keeping track of people's immortal souls, and say sternly, "Ah. You. We haven't forgotten that ita-to-the-psychiatrist incident back in aught-seven. Down you go!"
Hmmm, I think I prefer Jilli's fans to paperdol's. You know, if I'm given a choice.
did you threaten to kill someone with your pinky?
Quite explicitly not, since that's what the dustup in the ER this morning was started by--a patient threatening harm to someone not even there.
No, the psychiatrist came in because I'm on anti-depressants. I pointed out that one of them was prophylactic, for the migraines, and then he asked about my relationship status, and if I was straight, and how was my childhood, was I getting professional mental health help, and did I have a drug or alcohol problem.
Why, thanks! I did tell him I was considering a drug or alcohol problem since I couldn't get painkillers, and he laughed and left.
Now I'm supposed to sit tight and wait for Neurology and Pain Management.
Fuckers.
