I thought I’d spice up Halloween with a few fun memes. Enjoy!
I thought I’d spice up Halloween with a few fun memes. Enjoy!
I have now received two phone calls from my daughter, informing me she believes the pumpkin I bought for her apartment is haunted. Two! She’s absolutely serious. She is convinced this pumpkin is haunted. Why?
Conversation #1 goes something like this:
Mom, I’ve got to tell you about this situation. That pumpkin you bought me is always showing up in a different spot. I think it’s haunted.
I remind her that there are cats in her apartment. It is very possible that one of them knocked it over, knocked it around, dragged it somewhere different.
Oh no! One time the pumpkin ended up in a bin or something. She insisted it was not someplace the cat could place it.
I assure her that the pumpkin is not haunted, but if she simply cannot deal with it then she should just throw it out. She’s throwing out a perfectly good Target pumpkin, but hey, if it makes her feel better and allows her to sleep at night… it’s worth the few dollars I spent.
I get another call on Friday. She actually called me at work to give me an update. Thank God I was in the bathroom and wasn’t able to take the call because when she told me I burst out laughing and couldn’t stop.
Mom, I did what you told me. I threw the pumpkin out in the trash and it’s back in my apartment! It showed up again, Mom! I told you it was haunted.
After I finally stopped laughing I told her one of her roommates was probably playing a prank on her.
She didn’t believe it was her roommate and sorority sister, E, and E didn’t believe it could be the other roommate. I suggested maybe it was the other roommate’s boyfriend. That suggestion was also tossed aside.
I told her that if she could bear living with the haunted pumpkin another two weeks I would be down there and would take the pumpkin back with me. She wasn’t real thrilled with that idea because it would just mean the haunted pumpkin was living with me in her permanent home instead of with her at her school apartment.
Well, you’re going to have to call a priest and have him perform an exorcism then.
Really, Mom? An exorcism?
I told her, yes, really.
Then I thought better of that idea and told her she should watch Poltergeist to get some tips on how to rid her apartment of spirits.
Finally it was revealed that another one of her sorority sisters was going to take the pumpkin home with her. I told her that was a splendid idea. Unless M is in on the prank, too.
I am not feeling well. As I was driving to Athens to meet the mobster on Friday I could feel the tickle in my throat and knew it meant I was coming down with a cold.
Today I was at work, not really focused but doing my best. At lunch I decided I would grab just a regular burger and fries.
I pulled into Wendy’s. Ordered a burger- cheese, ketchup, mustard, pickle and tomato. Medium size with a diet Coke.
“Would a Coke Zero be ok?” I’m asked. When I hesitated she went on to tell me it’s zero calories just like diet Coke. Well, so’s water but it doesn’t taste like fucking diet Coke.
I went with diet Dr. Pepper instead. Fine. Let’s move on.
I drive over to the park where I’ve been eating my lunch. I eat all my french fries first because that’s the way I do things. I eat all of one thing and then all of the next thing. I rarely mix it up.
I finally get to my burger. Yep- there’s ketchup, mustard, pickle and tomato alright. On a freakin’ spicy chicken patty!
I was a little bit torn. I mean, they did the condiments right. And I do like a good spicy chicken sandwich from Wendy’s. However, it would never occur to me to put ketchup, mustard, tomato, and pickle on a chicken sandwich. Mustard and pickle alone, yes. But the ketchup and tomato? That’s just wrong!
At this point I have two options. I can do like I did years ago when they forgot to put cheese on my burger and throw it on the floor in a huff, or I can suck it up and eat it.
I took another look at it, shrugged, and thought to myself, “It is what it is,” and I ate it.
Later on in my lunch hour I was telling the mobster this very fascinating story. I told him I had chosen to let it go and not let it bother me. Then I went on to tell him that earlier in the day I was doing one of my action plans for stress reduction.
One of the things that the plan recommends is to let things go and not let the anger overwhelm you. The plan went on to ask, “Will this matter 4 months from now? Four years from now?”
Let me tell you a little story about a Christmas shopping trip to Walmart. The year was 1996, maybe 1997….
My former in-laws were up visiting us in Michigan. The air was cold, there was plenty of snow on the ground, and it was Christmas shopping time. I was driving for some reason. Usually Jerry Lee drove. I found a great parking spot. Someone was backing out of it so I put my turn signal on and waited. Patiently. With Christmas spirit in my heart.
The car finally backs out. I’m getting ready to pull in when this car that was on the other side of the parking spot pulls into the spot on their side and then pulls through so that they have now actually taken my spot.
I know it’s irrational and has probably shortened my life by twenty years but that still pisses me off to this day! Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I think about it every day. But it’s there. Especially at Christmas time when the parking is tough to come by.
When the mobster expressed surprise that I could still get upset about that I had to remind him, “It was Christmas time. At Walmart! You don’t do that. You do not pull through when someone is waiting for that parking spot!”
Fortunately the chicken patty debacle will not have anywhere close to the same staying power. I plan on forgetting it as soon as I hit post.
I have a horrible admission to make. I never wanted to have a boy. I always felt sorry for people with all boys. When I found out I was having a boy, instead of another girl which I had hoped for, my heart sank a little. More than once during that pregnancy I thought, “Maybe I can try to get pregnant again. Go through all the nerve-wracking early months, scared to death I’ll miscarry, once more. Maybe our family isn’t complete at two children.”
Then he was born. I was besotted. He was the most perfect child ever. Every inch of him was perfect. I could not have loved him more if he had been a girl. And I have loved having a boy.
I loved how very different they were. Rock Star loved music and would stop whatever she was doing to dance. She loved all her musical toys. As she got older she loved to sing. Picasso, on the other hand, had no interest in music. No desire to dance. No desire to sing. He was around 3 when he finally decided to sing along to some songs they sang in pre-school. I owe a great debt of gratitude to Alice the Camel and her many humps.
He loved balls, though. Any kind of ball. Later would come guns and Legos and super heroes and video games, none of which I would have experienced with Rock Star because she had little interest in any of that.
I remember one summer when money was tight. We ended up going to the rollerskating rink a lot because I could buy a summer pass for a ridiculously small amount of money. Picasso must have earned tickets playing games because he got himself a rubber nose that had slime in it. When you squeezed the nose the slime squirted out like snot. I laughed and laughed at that.
Now as he’s growing up it’s harder and harder to find things for the two of us to do together. He doesn’t really care to go shopping for clothes, even when he needs them. He prefers to have me send pictures, although he can be a dapper little dresser. He’s always loved to dress up. I still remember him seeing a sports jacket and remarking, “I’d look good in that!” He once wanted a suit covered in shamrocks for St. Patrick’s Day. I declined to buy it because it was $40. I’m sure he would have worn it though.
Unlike his sister he has little interest in getting his nails done or getting a pedicure.
Conversely, I am not into video games or Dungeons and Dragons. I was hoping that maybe we could do Pokemon Go together but he likes the actual Nintendo or Switch Pokemon games and doesn’t like the mobile game.
We do share similar tastes in music. He likes classical music and stuff from the 80s. I can’t swear to it but I think he also likes country music.
He wanted Dead Pool to be “our thing” but it’s a little too violent for me. I did take him to see the first one, though. I’ve also taken him to see the final Avengers movie and all of the How To Train Your Dragon movies. So I suppose you could say movies are our thing, although there’s no big production.
I don’t remember how old he was when he first came across Jeff Dunham. I know we were living in Utah and he was there from age 4 until age 12. I would like to say he was probably 8 or 9. He loved the puppets and laughed hysterically at his show. He got a t-shirt with Ahmed the Dead Terrorist and his signature phrase, “Silence! I keel you!” one Christmas. Later on I would buy him the DVD so he could watch it whenever he wanted.
As luck would have it I discovered he was coming to our town. I wrote the date the tickets would be going on sale on my calendar and that day, promptly at 10 a.m. I got online and bought tickets for me and my boy to go see him. I was going to surprise him but #1, I’m terrible at keeping secrets, and #2, it’s been a while since he’s seen Jeff Dunham or mentioned him. I figured maybe I should suss him out and see if he was even still interested. My hopes were high. He had enjoyed Paula Poundstone after all.
He was definitely interested and he was excited to go. So, the other night I picked him up from school, took him to an all you can eat sushi restaurant in town, and then headed downtown to go see the legend himself.
We had a great time and the show itself was terrific. Picasso was laughing so hard at times I thought I was going to have to pat him on the back to make sure he was still breathing. We got matching t-shirts. He also shared that he really likes spending time in the downtown area; he says it feels familiar and comfortable. Finally, after the concert I took him out for a milkshake.
We had some fantastic mother-son bonding time. Maybe seeing comedians in concert can be our thing…
When I was a little girl I remember my grandma making Sunday dinner. Beef and noodles. Fried chicken. Ham loaf. Pot roast. Pork chops. With side dishes like mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, corn, wilted lettuce, many different salads, cinnamon rolls.
I always thought it would be nice to have Sunday dinners again. Most of the time, of course, I lived several hundred, if not over a thousand, miles away. Then I moved back to Indiana. It’s been three years and I kept thinking we should have a Sunday family dinner.
Yesterday, I finally followed through. I invited my brother and his family, a few single friends, and Rock Star and her roommate. We ended up with seven people gathering round for dinner and an eighth showing up after work.
I made two meatloaves, mashed potatoes, gravy, macaroni and cheese, green beans, corn, and a salad. All topped off with a cake. It was delicious. It was also a lot of work!
I started making the meatloaves around 10 in the morning and just kept cooking. I didn’t use instant potatoes this time. I peeled those suckers, cut them up, boiled them, and then mashed them. The green beans were fried up in bacon grease and then simmered for almost an hour.
It got super hot in the house. We were opening windows and changing into shorts and short sleeved shirts.
After dinner I was ready for a nap!
It was a good time. I’m going to start out slowly. My goal is once a month, and I’ll work my way up from there.
Here’s to Sunday dinners!
This is the meatloaf recipe I used. It’s a combination of two different recipes I’ve posted before. I really feel like this is “the one”. It combines all the best parts of each recipe. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. I’m going to toot my own horn for a minute, and I really hope I’m not overselling this recipe but my niece and both friends told me it was delicious. Queen B had second thoughts about showing up because meatloaf isn’t her favorite but she said this one was really good. She loved how moist it was and raved about the glaze. My friend Sweet J asked me to share the recipe and my other friend agreed that it was amazing.
Sam’s Amazing Meatloaf
For the glaze:
Yesterday I posted the song, “Better Off”, by Sara Evan’s. I know it’s easy to get fired up by a song and then when the music stops and life returns to normal we’re left thinking, “Oh sure, Sara, it’s easy enough for you to say! You’re not living my life! You’re not left in poverty. You’re not raising my kids. And I love him (or her)! So today I will talk about real life and how it gets better.
When the Mobster and I first started talking he told me about the day his wife left. She had grabbed a bag or two of belongings, supposedly because she was going to stay with friends “for a few days”. As he watched her leave he said to her, “You’re moving out. You’re never coming back, are you?” He said a look of surprise came over her face and she then thanked him for putting up with her shit all of these years.
About a month later when she brought the other man to their kid’s soccer game and she showed her ass once again he finally decided it was really over. Whatever hope he’d had before was gone. Whatever thoughts of reconciliation had existed were banished. He had had enough. Later that night he went into the basement and sobbed. His son found him there and assured him that he still had them, meaning his kids.
I’m fairly certain it was that same night while talking he told me, just matter-of-factly, as though it was simply the way these things work, that he would always love her. That was the point in the conversation where I rolled my eyes and sadly acknowledged to myself that this would never turn into anything because I wasn’t going to compete with the memory of his always loved wife.
We have a little disagreement over what happened next because he says that’s when I brought him to his senses and told him, no, he wouldn’t love her forever. I don’t exactly recall what I said but I’m pretty sure I mentioned Chump Lady. On second thought I probably did say something like, “You only think you’ll always love her. Give it some time and distance.”
Anyway…. my point is this. If you ask him today if he’s better off he will tell you that he is absolutely, 100% better off. He looks back on that relationship and wonders why he wasted so much time trying to fix things. He looks back now and admits he did crazy things, like always sniffing her drinks to try to figure out if she had alcohol in it or not, or starting his day super early and busting through his workday so that he could get back home early in the afternoon before she had a chance to drink herself into a stupor, or meet up with other men. With a little bit of time and distance he was able to say, “She is a really toxic person and our relationship was very dysfunctional. I felt like I had a fifth child.”
You’re gonna find someone who’ll love you like he should have
And when you finally feel the difference you’ll be so glad
You gave yourself the chance to move on
You’ll wonder why it took you so long
And why you wasted so much time on him
Those words are so true. He often remarks that things are so different with me. He would tell you it’s incredible finally being with someone who gives back as opposed to only taking.
Our first time meeting I brought him a little gift. It was a toy helicopter because he had said he wished he had one so he could fly to see me anytime he wanted to and it wouldn’t take the 10.5 hours it takes to drive.
He was so touched. I will always remember him saying, “I didn’t get you anything. I feel so bad! I’m the one that usually does stuff like this.”
That same evening I gave him the letter I had written to his wife. I had commented one time that I should write to her and thank her for letting him go because he was so amazing. He thought that was an amazing idea. So I did it. I never mailed it to her; ultimately, it was for him. It brought him to tears after I read it out loud to him. “That’s a really nice letter,” he told me.
He still wonders what life would have been like had he left when he found that first bottle back in 2005. Or what he might have accomplished if he’d had someone who had supported him and been a full partner to him.
I can’t help with what all he might have accomplished, but I do practically point out that back in 2005 his kids were all still young. His oldest was only 12 at that point. The youngest would have been 4.
Her drinking was not out of control; in fact, the only reason he knew about it was because he found the bottle. I don’t think 50/50 custody was that common back then, the kids wouldn’t have been old enough to say they wanted to go with him, and she was a stay at home mom who homeschooled her kids. They would have been with her full time and he would have had, at best, every other weekend and maybe a Wednesday evening.
You can worry yourself to death thinking about how things could have been, or what you should have done differently. None of that matters, though. The past is gone. Realize now, in this moment, that you deserve better. Choose you. Choose a future free from someone who doesn’t appreciate you, who mistreats you, who cheats on you, who lies to you, and/or who badmouths you to anyone who will listen. You will be so much better off.
Excellent advice! Seriously, they get off on our pain, I think. What better validation for their entitlement than to have someone begging them to stay, crying, pleading? Fuck that shit! They want to leave? Help them pack their damn bags! Don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya! Don’t beg for something that should already be yours. If you have to beg them to stay, to love you, to do the right thing, then it’s already too late. And honestly, as much as you may not believe it when you’re in the very early stages of all this bullshit, you really will be better off without that person. You know why? Because a person who loves you wouldn’t do that to you.
Yes, that’s me. At least that’s the way I feel sometimes. This post is going to be a hodgepodge of every little thing that happens to pop into my head.
Big announcement! Next month I am pledging to publish a post every day! Some days that might mean I post a meme or a video or a recipe. Other days you might actually get a real post. I’m not promising they will all be stellar but I am promising they’ll be there on a daily basis.
I almost fainted donating plasma last week. That was new. I’ve never had anything even remotely like that happen before.
I was almost finished. I was reading a post on my phone when all of a sudden I couldn’t concentrate on it. I felt almost nauseous, in fact. So I put the phone down and focused on breathing. Then I got very restless. Next came not being able to focus on opening and closing my hand to get the blood pumping faster. Then the alarm on the machine started beeping. Apparently I was low flow. Someone came over and attempted to move the needle around but then noticed my face.
“Are you feeling ok?” she asked me.
“Actually I think I feel a little bit dizzy.”
“Yeah, you’re really pale. We’re going to stop this right now.”
They broke out the ice packs. I got one for my chest and one to put behind my neck. That was awesome! The nurse came over and spent the rest of my time with me.
I guess almost fainting makes me chatty. I told her my life story. OK, I just told her how I was saving up all my donation money for Christmas presents and then talked all about the mobster. and how we’re a long distance couple who meets up on the weekends.
Long story short we’re like besties now. Next time I went in she told me to have a safe trip and this last time I went in she asked me how it went and told me she had been thinking about me. Ah, the perks of almost fainting at the plasma center. Everyone remembers you!
Now for something sane. I finally unfriended my former sister-in-law, the one married to Jerry Lee’s brother. I’ve written about her before. She’s reached out a few times throughout the years. She asked for our address so she could send a Christmas card and she’s sent birthday messages for Picasso through me.
I’ve had her on my restricted friend list so she can’t see anything aside from my profile and cover photos, unless I make a post public. After she asked for my address and I gave it to her I felt a little weird knowing that she was probably sending a Christmas card to Jerry Lee and Harley as well. I brushed it aside though which wasn’t that hard to do since she doesn’t show up in my feed and she’s on my restricted list.
After reading her “Love you!” message to Harley after their move I decided to unfriend her entirely. I don’t need that kind of crap in my life. If you are fine with what the two of those miscreants did to me and my kids then you have no place in my life. Period.
After a rocky start to his first two years in high school Picasso is finally bringing home decent grades. I think it’s probably because i threatened him with a fate worse than death. He’s a very smart kid. But he’s lazy. He’s also one of those kids that has decided if he doesn’t like something or doesn’t understand the point of something he just doesn’t need to do it.
Take French, for example. He decided he hated the class and that since he wasn’t going to college he didn’t need it. Why he didn’t simply drop the damn class is beyond me but he got an F in it. An F! In French. That’s an easy A!
When I finally saw his grades and how abysmal they were I hit the roof. His first year he had one or two bad grades, which he attributed to bad teachers. Not everyone learns the same way. A teacher that may be great for one kid may be terrible for another. OK, you get a bye. His second year I kept asking him how it was going and he kept telling me it was fine. I never saw a report card until the very end. I ended up telling him that the only reason he was going to that particular school instead of his neighborhood school was because this one supposedly provided a better education. I told him that if he wasn’t going to take his education seriously that there was no point in everyone in the family going out of their way to drive him to school, pick him up when the bus failed to show, drive him to yet another school for after school activities, etc. I let him know that if he had a single grade below a B at parent teacher conferences he wouldn’t be going to another single after school activity. If he had anything less than a B for his first report card I was going to yank him out of that school and enroll him in the neighborhood school because, hey, if he didn’t care about his education then I wasn’t going to waste my time going out of my way for him. I also reminded him about our conversation when he first told me he didn’t want to go to college. I told him I would support him in whatever he decided to do but to keep his grades up so that he didn’t close any doors if he later changed his mind.
I know some might argue that was way too extreme. Others might be horrified that I would take such draconian measures. I say, “Whatever works!” Right now the boy has one B (in orchestra of all things! Yet another freakin’ easy A!) and the rest are A’s. I don’t drop the hammer often but when I do it gets results.
Another pleasant side effect, if you will, of our little Come To Jesus meeting was his agreement that he should be medicated for his anxiety. One of the reasons his grades were so bad was because he couldn’t bring himself to ask for help. He can talk to you if you speak to him. He can be social with his friends, or people he knows. But he can’t start the conversation and he can’t approach others.
Sadly, the nurse practitioner wanted him to try talk therapy first, so no medication at our first visit. He just recently went back for a vaccination and my mom talked to her about therapy and medication again. This time he mentioned it was getting to the point where he would feel sick to his stomach whenever he had to present something in front of the class. So, we’re finally getting a referral to a psychologist. I’m hopeful it won’t take six months like it did when we tried to get therapy for Rock Star.
I’m left wondering how much is hereditary and how much is the aftermath of his father’s total destruction of our lives and subsequent abandonment? On the bright side (at least for me) that sonofabitch is going to end up having to pay for it- at least 71% of it anyway.
My head hurts thinking about this. Let’s lighten the mood and talk about something completely frivolous and unimportant.
Pokemon Go is going well. I just leveled up to Level 36 yesterday morning. I need 2,000,000 points to get to Level 37. I’m not real worried about it. I have several friends who will quickly be “best” friends and I will get at least 100,000 points for each of them. If I’m smart I’ll have a lucky egg on when our friendship level increases so I’ll get 200,000 points for each of them. That gets me to about a million points right there.
I was in Virginia this past weekend, visiting the mobster. We, of course, played Pokemon Go. Saturday was the big Community Event, which we almost missed. Sunday we went to Roanoke. We didn’t know what exactly we were going to do but we went anyway. We played some more Pokemon and had lunch at a great little restaurant. We ended the meal with the most amazing tiramisu I have ever had. It was delicious. So much cream and custard. We almost ordered a second one but I realized that would not be good for either of us.
Later that night as we were getting ready to leave we encountered some other people playing Pokemon Go. We ended up going on two Level 5 raids with them and some other people. We won both raids and we made some new friends.
It was the coolest thing! Usually I play alone. I’m only able to take on a Level 1 or 2 raid if I want to actually win. I’ve tried a Level 3 and am so close to winning but I’m just not able. When the mobster and I are together we can easily defeat a Level 3 Raid Boss but we got our butts kicked when we tried to take on a Level 4. Level 5 is completely out of range without some help. This time we had a whole group taking it on! The first raid was 8 people and the second raid had 12. So. Much. Fun.
Tootsie rolls are the best candy out there. They’re just the right amount of chocolate and the fact that they are chewy lets you enjoy them longer than a traditional candy bar. Chocolatey and chewy- the best combination out there.
I think we’ll end with my traumatic day today. I went for a walk on my morning break as I do most mornings. There is a little military park about a five minute walk from my building and it’s loaded with Pokemon stops. I was looking super cute with my black tights and long flowing flowery top. For once I wore a different pair of shoes… and that’s where this story starts to go wrong.
I was walking along, minding my own business, opening gifts from friends on Pokemon and giving gifts back when all of a sudden my feet no longer worked. I don’t know if I tripped over my own feet or slipped off my shoes. They were a slightly higher heel, maybe an inch and a half. I’m able to almost twist my ankle wearing perfectly flat loafers so this was probably not a wise choice for a brisk walk. Anyway, before I could say, “Help me, Jesus!” I was laying sprawled out on the concrete sidewalk. Thankfully I saved my phone. My hand and knee, however, got pretty banged up. I limped the rest of the way to the park. Called the mobster to cry on his shoulder. I walked it off. Literally. Returned to work and got cleaned up and bandaged.
I went to the bathroom an hour or so later. While pulling up my pants my hand slipped and smacked against the bathroom stall. Naturally it was the hand that was already scraped up. Turns out I’m really good at stifling the urge to yell, “Fuck!” when I’m at work and I know there’s someone in the stall beside me.
Later that day it was time for the flu shot. Our employer highly encourages them and because we have a new insurance incentive which necessitates earning 500 points AND getting a flu shot could earn you 20 points I got one this year.
My left arm was already sore from God only knows what and we didn’t have an option of which arm we wanted to use. Plus, I completely forgot about the flu shot when I was getting dressed. The men were unbuttoning their button down shirts. I was left pulling the arm of my shirt down so he could stab me which resulted in me showing off my lovely purple bra.
Thankfully it didn’t hurt much at all. Then again, I was still recovering from my earlier injuries.
I ended the day at the plasma center where once again I had a needle stuck in me. No fainting this time! Hooray! And even bigger hooray I made $68 tonight. I knew I got an extra $10 tonight because this was my second donation of the week, but I had forgotten this was my sixth donation of the month. That was an extra $20!
They do incentives each month. The first month I donated the full 8 times they paid out $20 extra for the 6th donation and $40 extra for the 8th donation. In September and October they paid out $20 extra for the 6th donation, $15 for the 7th, and $20 for the 8th. This month, in addition to that, they are doing customer appreciation and paying an extra $10 for the second donation of the week.
With all the little incentives I should earn over $100 next week donating.
I think that’s plenty of ramblings by a crazy woman. Maybe later I’ll write about the ramblings of a real crazy woman!
This is one of my new favorite songs. This girl knows all about no contact.
How about some good news for once? I did get that raise I was talking about. It’s not life changing but it’s more money. I figure if nothing else it increases my pay at my next job.
Speaking of work I have been on a lucky streak. I may have to break down and buy a lottery ticket.
I took a half day on the 27th to head down to my niece’s wedding. While I was gone one of the supervisors sent out an email about a healthy challenge over the weekend with a list of potential things you could do. On Monday morning they had a drawing. She ended up putting everyone’s name in because, as she put it, “I figured everyone did one or two things on the list.” Long story short- I won! I ended up with a $25 Visa gift card. Still haven’t spent it.
Then about a week later we had our quarterly drawing for the “time challenge”. If we clock in and out on time with no mistakes, no unauthorized overtime, and no forgetting to clock in or out for lunch, our name is entered into a drawing for a half day off work. Again- I won! So now I’ve got $25 and a half day off of work!
Also, I was perusing the insurance website the other day. I wanted to calculate what I would have paid out of pocket if insurance hadn’t picked up anything versus my premiums. While doing so I discovered that they had rejected Picasso’s claim (you remember that big $1282 doctor visit) because they were waiting to hear whether or not he had secondary insurance. So… there’s a possibility that bill will be picked up by insurance after all.
That brings me back to Jerry Lee. Like the new nickname? I don’t know why it took me so long to come up with it. Anyway, he texted me on Friday asking me why insurance didn’t cover anything from that visit since well visits are usually covered. As luck would have it I discovered the reason it was rejected only the day prior so I was able to tell him exactly why it didn’t cover him.
Here’s my confession. It took me an entire day to finally reply. Why? Because I was.. scared?…worried? I’m not sure how to phrase it. All I could think was that he was going to turn around and tell Harley and who knows who else that I was trying to rip him off by making him pay unnecessary medical bills. Yeah, like I could fake a medical bill. I have so much time in my day.
I hate that it can still affect me. It’s not that I worry about disappointing him so much. It’s not even that I deep down care if he thinks I’m ripping him off. I can’t really put my finger on it. I guess it boils down to the fact I don’t want to deal with him and his snarky remarks. I’m beyond tired of him acting like he is the victim in all of this and I’ve taken advantage of him. I guess I don’t want to give him any ammunition. I don’t want to even give him the slightest excuse to doubt me or accuse me of nefarious dealings. For whatever reason it’s important to me that he not be able to say I’m dishonest. I know it’s tilting at windmills; he’s convinced I’m dishonest and taking advantage. Yet I continue to try to walk that tightrope.
It’s stupid, I know. Liars are going to lie. Cheaters are going to cheat. He’ll always play the victim; I’ll always be the bad guy. He’ll never accept responsibility and I’ll always work overtime trying to fulfill mine.
The good news is I finally put on my big girl pants and told him I had only discovered on Thursday that they wanted to know if Picasso had other insurance and that I would let him know what happened.
Despite whatever he may be saying in private he simply replied, “OK,” and asked that I let him know what the final bill was.
And thus concludes my good news.
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Take your time to ask questions. It's a blessing to be curious. Discover new things about migration, multiculturalism and diversity.
Humor Strategist | Keynote Speaker | Writer Chick
Fierce Super Mom
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Ramblings From the North
Fighting to stay faithful, in a marriage without sex.
I rant, therefore I am
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Are we done yet?
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We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the secret sits in the middle and knows. – Robert Frost
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aftermath [af-ter-math, ahf-] noun 1. something that results or follows from an event, especially one of a disastrous or unfortunate nature
If you don't speak, no one will listen...
MLIASO is a collection of my thoughts and feelings relating to the journey navigating through my husbands infidelity. It has now been more than five years and I am still on this horrible ride.
One man's journey through the heartbreak of divorce
I'm divorcing a narcissist after 8 years of crazy. This is my story of getting out and healing from the abuse.
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the choices we make dictate the life we lead
Living life after divorce and betrayal.
Who says chivalry is dead? Oh, wait. I do.
Life and marriage after my husband's affair