Life and Other Things I Don't Understand
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
G.Boo-ism of the Day
Quote taken from my calendar page for Tuesday, May 31:
President G.W. Bush, speaking at the President's Economic Forum:
"I promise you I will listen to what has been said here, even though I wasn't here."
So is that plausible deniability in action, then?
Monday, May 30, 2005
Your Taxpayer Dollars at, Well, Something
What is this crap I’m hearing about lately that Medicaid is paying for prescriptions of Viagra for sex offenders? What kind of taxpayer-financed, twisted enabling is this?
I’m not against Viagra, per se. Although I do think medical research dollars would be better spent finding cures for more serious diseases and disorders. Like leukemia. Diabetes. Cancer. AIDS. Whether or not an old man can still get it up really shouldn’t be priority one. Listening, pharmaceutical companies? Sigh. Probably not.
Now, I understand the usefulness of a drug like Viagra. Grandpa won’t be so
crotchety any more, and that can only be a good thing. Or maybe the incidence of
Alzheimer’s in men will go down (perhaps they’re lost in reminiscing about the decades of their lives when getting rid of an errant obvious attraction was necessary, and when actually getting to use aforementioned equipment was never in question, and today it won’t even wave an unenthusiastic “Hey, howzitgoin,” so they don’t wanna come back). So, seriously, Viagra could be good for a man’s mental health. Or at least his emotional stability. Everybody wins. (‘Specially Grandma.) Whatever prescription plan they’ve got is fine by me.
But in my opinion, allowing a sex offender to keep his equipment at all should have them grateful. I’m one of those who thinks saltpeter should be sprinkled liberally on everything they ingest, rubbed into their bars of soap, injected into their deodorant... you get the idea. So, maybe the doctor didn’t know a patient was a sex offender, and responded to his request for something to, er, help his situation. So it seems the real problem here is letting doctors, pharmacies, and most of all, the Medicare/Medicaid system, know who the sex offenders are, and not giving them something... hell, not allowing them to purchase under any circumstances whatsoever... any substance to help ol’ Little Dickie stand and deliver
Monday, May 23, 2005
"And How Does The Defendant Plead...?"
I hate returning stuff.
Which ought to be weird, ‘cause I have to do it all the time.
Or maybe that’s why I hate it.
This morning, we discovered Ed’s tennies suffered a major blow-out in the heel, and the gel disk inside is bulging out the side of the shoe. I got them exactly thirty-one days ago at Target. I know this because I bought them, along with some other stuff, and forgot the superglue which is what I went to Target for in the first place (one of the hazards of bringing along a talkative thirteen-year-old). So I had to go back inside and get the glue and it got its own receipt.
I can find that receipt.
The receipt with the shoes on it has made itself scarce.
I’ve got receipts out the ying-yang, everything from groceries to underwear, and can’t find the one that I need today. I wish I didn’t have to keep them all. But since nothing lasts like it should, keep them I do. And get to hunt through them (I file them by month, since I have to fish them out again so often) to find the one elusive receipt that’ll show up in some obscure place a month from now.
I’ve had to return milk for being one step shy of cottage cheese and I’d just bought it the night before (probably some thoughtless person decided not to purchase it and left it on the detergent aisle, and an idiot store employee came along hours later to find it and put the now-warm gallon back in the front of the refrigerator where lucky me was the one to buy it once it was all nice and cold again), I’ve returned cryovac-packed pork because it smelled like a morgue when I opened the package, and you don’t wanna know how many times we exchanged one couch for another when there were either frame defects (like two of them were missing pieces of wood under the right arm) or the fabric wouldn’t outlast the Scotchguard Two-Year Stainproof warranty (I think we and our eight sofas were single-handedly responsible for Montgomery Ward going out of business).
Today’s project is exchanging shoes without a receipt at Target once I’m done with my
doctor’s appointment. Target’s bad when you don’t have a receipt. Suspicious looks and twenty questions that’ll make me feel like a shoe-swapping criminal. I know they’ll still return them, and the guilt-trip they toss out for doing it won’t cost me an extra dime.
*Update*
They wouldn't take back the shoes. They wouldn't even if I could locate the receipt, they said. Why?
"Because they've been worn."
Okay, and how am I to know if a shoe has been made poorly and has a defect if I don't wear it?
So, that means that one must determine if a shoe from Target is crap without so much as putting a toe into it.
We're going to Big 5.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Me? I Prefer Rollercoasters...
I clearly heard a new line yesterday in the legalese that follows new car ads on the radio.
“Airbags are not meant to replace safe driving practices.”
At first, I thought this was a stupid, obvious thing to mention.
Then Ed told me about the newest ‘thing’ in car thefts; apparently, thrill-seeking youths are stealing cars with airbags (and especially love the more expensive cars with side-impact bags), joyriding in them, then crashing them into things to make the airbags deploy. For kicks.
Oh, and then they’re just getting out and leaving the wrecked vehicles wherever they
happened to come to rest.
Apparently, ignition interlocks (where the car won’t start without a ‘valid key,’ whatever that means to the ignition system) aren’t preventing the theft.
I’ve got a suggestion for the automakers. Fuck the ignition interlocks. If a car isn’t started with the so-called ‘valid key,’ then cut off the airbags. Lock the seatbelts on the hidden rollers so that they can’t be used, either. Then, when the car is boosted, announce in that soothing female OnStar voice that all safety restraints have been deactivated, all the external and internal lights will now begin to flash, the horn will sound off at random, and the GPS locator under the hood has been turned on.
Maybe lock all the doors so that they can’t be opened or unlocked, either, and lock out the power windows. Magnetically lock the seatbelt latches so that, if the thieves had put them on, they can’t be undone. And don’t let the car outta first gear. They can either creep along, flashing and honking, or burn out the transmission trying to get somewhere fast where they can attempt to break out of the car.
Heh heh.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Want Ads
I don't know if any of you watch The Tonight Show... I don't. Except on Monday nights, when Jay Leno does "Headlines." (Stupid things that made it past editors and into print.)
Ed found one in the Sunday Help Wanted section (yes, he's still looking for a job *sigh*) and we sent it in yesterday. So if you see Jay reading one for an 'Inflatable Delivery Driver,' you'll know where it came from.
Monday, May 16, 2005
From The Just Because We Can Department
"My what smells like what?"
Posted by Hello
Now just what good is a soothing lavender-scented handle on a razor? I can't think of anywhere I'd be shaving that I could be able to smell it.
Maybe it's supposed to smell up the shower stall so that when I open the curtain, I get assaulted with the 'soothing scent' of lavender?
Or maybe whenever I get stressed during the day, I can just sniff my right hand and it'll make everything all right again.
Yeah, that won't make me look weird.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Mrs. Wordmeister’s Latest Shudder-Worthy Slaughtering of American English
(I’m feeling a little ornery this week, and I don’t think it’s just the cold I’ve been wrestling with since Sunday. It’s just been a bad spell for good language skills here.)
They’re not Crayolas. They’re crayons. Not Crayon-brand Crayolas and store-brand Crayolas. Crayola is the brand, and crayon is the item.
VCRs are not the same as videotapes. A VCR is a video cassette recording device, not
the tape it records on or plays. Call ‘em videotapes, VHS tapes, or VCR tapes, but please don’t call them VCRs.
It’s soda, pop, sodapop or a soft drink. There’s no such thing as Pepsi Coke, 7-Up Coke, or Root Beer Coke. Not everything’s a Coke. Unless maybe they were looking for designer-type, flavored cocaine, and retail stores don’t sell that. So quit asking already.
Maxell does not have a W after the X. You’re annoying me.
If you ask me for winnerce, and I haven’t the foggiest, don’t scowl when I ask you to repeat your request. (He wanted wieners, and no, the rest of his speech didn’t seem to have any sort of accent.)
It’s a Sony Ericsson phone you’re looking for a charger for, not a Sony Excursion. Each letter in a word has a purpose. Please don’t add any in or take any out.
Cell phones and cordless phones are not the same things. Try to stuff your cordless into your purse and see how far you can get from home and still make a call. And no, you can’t use the GE cordless with your Virgin Mobile account.
And heard Friday on a morning radio show, in which they asked listeners to call with their biggest etiquette pet peeves, since this past week was National Etiquette Week:
Caller: “I hate it when people snort their mochas. It’s so disgusting.”
Comments from the morning show crew: “Yeah, slurping, even when the coffee’s hot, is just so obnoxious.” And “That’s why I add a little milk, to cool it down enough to sip it.” There was also something mentioned about slurping soup.
Caller: “No, when they snort their mochas instead of getting a tissue and blowing their nose.”
A long moment of baffled, dead air followed before one of them quietly asked if she meant mucous. She hung up without answering. (Me, I’m wondering what she asks for when she goes to Starbuck’s...)
Have a Double Rainbow Sort of Weekend
That pot of gold would be somewhere on the way to Santa Fe...
Posted by Hello
The rainbows are still fading as I type this. One of the few things that makes living in this middle-of-nowhere state less sucky.
