Ambitious Weekend Plans

Jeff headed out of town for the weekend, which leaves me with a glorious stretch of two days in which to do whatever I choose.

Things I should probably do:

• Clean the house
• Finish pulling out items from my closet to give to Goodwill or trash
• Scoop Great Dane poop out of the front & back yards
• Laundry
• 5K on the treadmill or long walk outside at least one day
• Continue looking for a local volunteer opportunity (since the USO rejected me.  Bastards!)
• Pick up sticks in the back yard: Jeff always asks me to do this.  I still haven’t figured out if he wants me to actually pick up sticks or if it’s a euphemism for something else.  Either way, I never do it.

Items noted on the list above have a 10% (or less) chance of being accomplished.  I might clean the toilets since I like a clean bowl.  I’ll probably also do laundry.  The beer fridge is in the laundry room, so I’ll be in there frequently anyway.

Here’s what I’ll actually do this weekend:

• Download dirty movies on Netflix and let the dogs get on the couch with me to watch
• Drive the dogs around in my convertible to get BOGO Blizzards at Dairy Queen (one for now…one for later!)
• Put exorbitant amounts of bird seed in the feeders outside. (Jeff still doesn’t know I spend $60 every month on birdseed.  He thinks birds just really like our yard).
• Sleep late without feeling bad about it.
• Put a dent in my backlog of reading.  I have a stack of New Yorker’s mocking me from the table next to my favorite chair, and I just picked up the third Stieg Larsson book.
• Catch up with my brother and go somewhere to eat (which should be interpreted as hitting a bar for drinks)
• Front porch / back porch / backyard swing drinking
• Read blogs / Facebook / news online

You might read that list and think I’m a lazy, drunken slug.  BINGO!  You know me so well!

Have a great weekend everyone!

So now I'm a dealer?

Subtitle: How I became the proud owner of six years worth of prescription painkillers that I neither want nor need.

I try to follow the rules.  I swear I do!  But as usual, following the rules bit me right in the ass.  All I wanted to do was refill a 30-pill prescription for painkillers for the horrific headaches that I occasionally (more like rarely) suffer .  Thirty pills lasts me a year, and that includes sharing with Jeff when he strains his back.  I normally get a 30-pill prescription at my annual doctor's appointment and take it to the Target by my office and I'm all set for 12 months.  I've been doing it for years. 

Over the summer I received a letter from my insurance company informing me that I could no longer take my prescriptions to a local pharmacy and that I would now be required to use their mail order program for all prescriptions in order to get full coverage and the best price.  Whatever.  I use the mail order pharmacy for a prescription antacid that I take every day, so I already had an account set up.

When it came time to refill my painkillers, I called my doctor and asked them for a new prescription.  The prescription was for 30 pills and read "Take one pill twice daily as needed."  That's exactly what my prescription has always said.  I sent it in to the mail-order pharmacy and a few days later I received an e-mail from them requesting permission to contact my doctor because the prescription wasn't written in the correct format for their service.  I told them that was fine.

Three days later I received my prescription in the mail.  The package contained 180 pills.  ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY.  Who do they think I am?  Courtney Love?  I called the mail-order pharmacy and they said "We only fill 90-day prescriptions and your doctor wrote the prescription for 2 pills a day.  That's 180 pills.  We contacted your doctor and they approved the larger quantity."  Apparently "twice a day as needed" means something different in the world of mail-order pharmacies.  Jeff took one look at the bottle and said "I'm going to have to get you out on the street with that.  Show me the money!"  I'm pretty sure he was kidding.  I hope.

Don't get me wrong, 15 years ago my best pal Suzy and I could have run through 180 painkillers over a long weekend in Miami.  But I'm older now and these days I get my high from stress, alcohol and lack of sleep.  Like a grown up.

On the bright side, they only charged me $20 for the prescription.  Anyone need a pill?

GA Senate Flushes $$$ Down the Toilet

Today's AJC "Truth-O-Meter" featured the potential economic impact of Sunday take-out liquor sales.  For those of you who don't live in Atlanta, the Atlanta Journal Constitution  is our local newspaper and the "Truth-O-Meter" is a daily feature in which a reporter investigates the validity of a statement or opinion from a local politician or pundit and then rates the results.  The highest rating is "True" - for a quote or opinion that is proven to be correct.  The lowest rating is "Pants on Fire."  You can probably figure out what that one means.  It can be quite amusing.

Today's statement, compliments of the Distilled Spirits Council of the U.S.:  "Sunday liquor sales could generate $3.4 million to $4.89 million a year in additional sales tax revenue for Georgia." 

The AJC rating: MOSTLY TRUE (it fell slightly short of a rating of TRUE because a handful of experts believe the additional revenue will be slightly less, but still substantial).

Regardless of whatever moral opposition or chickenshit excuse the Georgia Senate Republican Caucus has for not sending Senate Bill 10 to the Senate floor for a vote, they're flushing a potential cash windfall straight down the toilet.  Millions of dollars.  (Senate Bill 10 is the bill that would allow local citizens to vote on whether or not to allow Sunday take-out liquor sales in the area in which they live).  Is it possible that the Senate Republican Caucus isn't aware of Georgia's desperate need for cash?  They haven't noticed the joblessness?  The teachers and police officers and firefighters suffering from forced furloughs?  The general sense of economic despair?  May be they're more out of touch than I originally thought.

As I've stated in the past (ad nauseum), denying citizens the right to vote is a self-serving act of pandering to the Christian Coalition and the local liquor lobby. But at this point it's pretty clear that it's something else as well: Economically Ignorant.

I can't believe I voted for those assholes.  Shame on me.

Marital Zingers

I don’t have much time today, so I thought I’d share some of the “Marital Zingers” delivered by Jeff this week.  And before you start thinking that I’m an abused wife, I should note that I was raised from birth on a steady diet of good-natured ribbing, and I’ve never spent more than five minutes with a guy who can’t both take it and dish it out. 

And so, without further delay, I give you the wisdom of my hubby of almost 10 years, Jeff:

“LAB, the problem with you is that you live your life on 8.5 and I, along with the rest of the world, prefer you at around 4 or 5.”

“You’re asking an awful lot from those spiky heels, aren’t you?  SHHHH!!! If you listen closely you can hear them screaming.”

“I don’t know why I’m wasting my time trying to reason with a woman who firmly believes that no family is complete until they adopt a 125-pound dog.”

“OK.  I can’t believe we’re covering this again, but the proper response when someone asks if they can drive through our yard is ‘NO’.  Nnnnnnnnnn.  Oooooooo.  Got it?  Practice in the mirror if you need to.”

“You think you’re Colonel Potter, but it’s pretty clear that you’re really Radar.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!  Are you about to tell another story about how smart & creative you are because you had an imaginary friend as a child?  Because I can’t take it.  Can’t. Take. It.”

“Didn’t you just get approved for overtime?  Go back to work.  Back to work!!!”

“Are you sitting there watching YouTube videos of dogs sledding?  Seriously?  Just for one day I’d like to live in your world.”

“I don’t know how one woman can leave so much hair in the tub and on the bathroom floor and not be completely bald.  It’s like some kind of self-renewing energy source.  You’re a freak of nature.”

“You do understand that sitting in a rocking chair with a glass of wine while watching ‘What Not to Wear’ reruns isn’t the highest and best use of your time, right?”

And, my personal favorite:  “You better not be blogging about this!”  God help me, I really do love that man!

This is not an Infomercial

As I mentioned a while ago, after 13+ years of hard-fought sleep wars Jeff finally seceded to the guest room.  He gets much better sleep now, but I can't say that I'm thrilled with the arrangement.  I don't see how it's my fault that he can't get any sleep when I'm rolling around all night kicking him.  Men can be such babies! 

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago we were watching TV and a commercial came on for the Sobakawa® Cloud Pillow™.  I can remember saying something like "That looks like the least comfortable pillow in the history of mankind.  What dumbass would sleep on that?"

A couple of days later Jeff handed me a Macy's bag and said "Here's a little something to keep you company at night."  I opened the bag and found....my very own  Sobakawa® Cloud Pillow™.  Apparently he thinks I'm the right kind of dumbass.  He has a strange sense of humor.

We opened the box and tossed it around a couple of times and made all the requisite jokes.  Then I set it aside, fully intending to return it and spend the money on something I really need (like Smirnoff Ice).

That night I decided, just for laughs, to give it a try.  And......Holy crap - how much do I love that thing?!?!  It's the best pillow ever.  Best. Pillow. Ever.  The only thing I don't like about it is the size - it's really small.  I think it comes in bigger sizes, so I'm totally buying a bigger one.  All that bullshit in the commercial?  True.  Completely true.  You can even put it in the freezer if you like a cold pillow.  I freaking love it.  Love it!

Naturally, Jeff takes full credit for his genius idea.  Whatever.  He out smart-assed himself, as usual.  He better not try to take my new pillow to the guest room.  I'd hate to have to start sabotaging his nights. Again.

Disclaimer: A lot of people make money by monetizing their blog or doing product reviews for pay. I'm not one of them.  I don't have a problem with bloggers making money, but it's not my thing (and it wouldn't really work with what I do here). This entry is just my opinion about an item my husband gave me as a joke, nothing more.

Booze on Sundays: the final frontier

I was all stoked about the prospect of finally being able to buy alcohol at the grocery store on Sundays in Georgia until I received today's Atlanta Journal Constitution.  Right on page one (above the fold, no less) I read the headline I've been fearing: "Booze bill not a done deal."  Guess what the subhead is?  "Christian Coalition clear about opposition."

Curses!  My arch-nemesis is making their stand.

Here's what I don't understand: How does my desire to buy a 12 pack of Smirnoff Ice at the local Publix on a Sunday have any effect whatsoever on their desire to celebrate their personal brand of Jesus?  I just don't get it.

I think it's great that other people have faith.  Good on ya' peeps.  Go to church, sing some hymns, do your thing.  I, however, don't share your beliefs.  And when you tell me I shouldn't be allowed to exercise my rights on a Sunday because it violates your faith, well, we've got a problem. 

Yes, I can plan ahead.  I can buy my beer on Saturday or during my regular weekly grocery run.  But why do I have to?  Because of you & your God.  That's my beef.  I have zero problem with people whose religious beliefs differ from mine.  None whatsoever.  But when those other people's beliefs spill over into my everyday life?  Ding ding ding....problem!

I have a second point I'd like you to consider:  It's perfectly legal to buy liquor by the drink in bars and restaurants on Sunday in many parts of Georgia.  So say I want a drink, but my liquor cabinet at home has run dry (not likely, but stick with me here).  In order to get a drink, I have to get in my car and drive to the local watering hole.  And then I have to DRIVE HOME you jackwagons!  Do you see the problem here?  I'm not saying I go out drinking & driving every Sunday.  I don't.  But there are a lot of less organized folks out there who see only one way to drink on your Lord's day.  (I should note that I firmly oppose drinking & diving, and I generally cab it or walk home when I've been drinking.  However, many of my fellow soused citizens don't have the same restraint).

There is some resistance to Sunday sales from other groups, such as the liquor lobby.  To them I say this:  Nobody says you have to be open on Sundays.  If you don't think you'll make money, stay closed.  But don't deny me the right to buy booze on Sunday because it doesn't fit into your business model.

I guess my real point is that you can't protect the rights of one group (the Christian Coalition or liquor store owners) by infringing on the rights on another (me and my fellow tipplers).  Right?  But may be that makes a little too much sense for the legislature these days.

Dumbest. Holiday. Ever.

Jeff and I don't do Valentine's Day because, frankly, it's stupid.  If you need Hallmark and Teleflora to remind your husband to tell you he loves you, then you have problems that a card and a dozen roses probably aren't going to solve.

That being said, I still drew a Valentine's version of Lunch Art on Jeff's lunch featuring Boomer biting Cupid on the ass (and saying that it "tastes like chicken").

I also hid a card in his briefcase.  I refuse to spend money on an actual Valentine for the above-stated reason, but I still wanted to do a little something.  Last year I gave him a Halloween card for Valentine's Day - I'm a sucker for a "Holy Sheet!" joke.

This year I bought several greeting card options, including a Bat Mitzvah card (welcome to womanhood!) and a new baby girl card (because we don't have kids, so I'm the only baby girl he's getting) but neither one of spoke to me when I was considering my options last night.  I really wanted to give him a Quinceañera card and I came up with some hilarious commentary to write on it, but I couldn't find one.

Here's what I finally decided on:

It's hard to read my girly handwriting, but the note says "So sorry that you're stuck married to me.  SUCKER!".  I also added this note on the back:  "As agreed, if Gabrielle Reece ever becomes available, you're released (but only if)".

We did it ATL!

Big props to my fellow citizens of Atlanta for proving yesterday that we can operate on a "Business as Usual" basis while a bit of the white stuff is on the ground.  See?  That wasn't so hard, now, was it?

Now I'd like to raise you one: Can we all start using our turn signals when we're driving?  I know it's way too much to ask to use turn signals all the time, but how about we start by all using them when we change lanes on the highway?  I use mine all the time.  It's easy.  I swear!  If I can do it, so can you.

While I'm at it, I'd like to give a great big (theoretical) Jesus hug to the current Georgia legislators and new governor Nathan Deal for nutting up and telling the liquor lobby (who strongly opposes) that they're going to pass legislation to allow local voters to decide on liquor sales on Sundays in Georgia.  May be it will pass at the local level and may be it won't, but we're closer than we've ever been to showing the rest of the country that we're not all a bunch of bible-thumping, dog hunting, grit eating, cousin marrying rednecks.  Although some of us are (present company excluded).

Now if we could just get people to stop referring to us as "Hotlanta".  The person who coined that term should be locked in a box and shipped to North Korea.  C.O.D., of course.