Category Archives: annoyances

Living in a Fishbowl

Beggars can’t be choosers but this whole living in a fishbowl deal? It’s really annoying.

Let me back up for a second here and tell you about our current living situation.

As time was ticking down for us moving back to the northwest both Mack and I found that we were swamped with work and busy on the weekends packing. On top of that: have you seen airline ticket prices lately? I have yet to see proof that the airline industry is trying to draw travelers back by offering cheap airline tickets. Oil prices are going back up again and seeing as how the airline industry is already hurting I sincerely doubt they can discount more than they already are.

Anyway, so, here we are, a month before the move and I’m sitting watching airline prices but stuck since we already were busy and had plans each weekend up until we left. My brother, luckily, offered us a solution. Mark (as you have seen mentioned in our chicken porn discussion) moved back to the northwest a few weeks before we did. He had finished his medical school residency and, after living on the east coast for fourteen years, decided he wanted to be closer to the family and got hired for a position out here on the west coast. Mark knew of our situation and (very kindly) offered us a place to stay when we got there so it was one less thing to think about as we prepared our epic 3000 mile journey.

The house that Mark rented (while looking for another house to actually buy) is on the market still and, luck be to us, has a cottage behind the house which we have essentially “set up shop” in. All our stuff is still in boxes for the most part, however, it works. Thumbs way up for the brother.

Now, about the fishbowl I mentioned…

As I stated above, the house which Mark is renting is still on the market. A few times a week Mark will get a phone call asking us to vacate for an hour so that someone else can come look at the house. Lucky for us, Mark tells them each time that he has company in the cottage so Mack and I don’t have to hide boxes and stash cats. The having to leave the house can be mildly irritating especially if I have a conference call for work at the same time so have to set up my laptop et al down at the local Starbucks. This, however, is easy to live with since we usually get 24-hour notice. It’s not as irritating as to when I was a nanny for my nephew and my (other) brother had his house on the market and I had to vacate with 30-minute notice while I had a eight-month old baby. That sucked.

The problem I have with the fishbowl existence? The nosy, bold potential buyers.

I don’t know if you’ve ever had a house for sale but people, for the most part, will keep their distance from the house. They will stare at it, judging the outside as best as they can, and usually be on their way after a few minutes. These I don’t mind since usually I don’t know they’re out there and when I notice it’s usually when I’m jumping on Mack’s back in an attempt to be really annoying. Yesterday, however, for some reason a whole crop of really bold intrusive individuals took it upon themselves to cross the line and come up on the porch and peer in the windows.

Yes, put their faces against the windows and stare.

Some people, while kind of crossing the line in climbing the stairs and wandering around on the patio, will respect that there are people inside and usually just wander the patio and glance around. There are, however, people who will stick their faces on the window and stare at us. Like we’re fish. Beautiful, majestic, technologically advanced fish, but fish nonetheless. I wish I could say this is probably one in every fifty people that intrudes on our lives and makes me feel naked and exposed to the world. But honestly? Lately it’s kind of been one in three people who do it.

Take for example Monday. As I was eating lunch Mack got up to go towards the kitchen to get something when he said, “There is a crazy woman on the patio who is… sticking her face on the window and staring at you.” Shocked, I turned around and indeed, there was a woman with her face pressed against the glass staring at me as I ate. I stopped chewing and turned my face around quickly back towards the monitor wondering the whole time if this is how zoo animals felt.

But wait, it gets better.

Monday morning, before the cereal incident, I stumbled out of the cottage right before work in my sweats as I walked towards Mack’s car to get my laptop bag. Beside me I hear the unmistakeable crunch of the gravel as a car pulls down the alley and stops. Frightened, I look up and find a strange man had gotten out of his car and was approaching me asking me questions about the house and what is my involvement in said house. (Mack was, fortunately, watching the exchange from inside having just come down the stairs himself). I told him my brother was renting the house and cottage and was secretly really shocked and flabbergasted as the tenacity of this individual. Sure, while many an individual peek inside but he was the first to go behind the house and openly snoop. When I went into the house and poured myself a bowl of cereal there was a knock on the front door. The stranger who was behind the house was now in front and wanted to know if it would be alright if he looked around the yard. Flabbergasted, I agreed and let him do his thing.

When I told my brother about this later he was beyond pissed at how daring and invasive these people are. Sure, the house is on the market, but it’s really obvious that people are living here. They don’t get discouraged and/or shy when they see us trying to live our lives. No, they press their faces against the glass and almost snoop into our lives. Mark says every other day upon seeing someone else on the patio “is like living in a fucking fishbowl.” No longer does my game of sitting on the front patio and staring back really amuse me. I kind of want my privacy back.

Luckily, Mark bought a new house which will be move-in ready at the end of September. He graciously is letting us rent out the basement (which is finished basement with two rooms and a living room of sorts). We are excited and really appreciative and can’t honestly wait to get our privacy back. Perhaps if we find the voyeur-esk existence is missed we can get those cardboard cut-outs of movie stars at video stores and put them in our windows.

So, if you’re looking to buy a house, please please PLEASE people if you are going to look at houses, DON’T:

  1. Climb up near the front door or within a five foot radius of the house.
  2. Peer inside the windows. Especially if I’m there since I might flip you the bird at this point.
  3. Leave cigarette butts around in the lawn.
  4. Break shit.

Respect people’s privacy, please. I’m sure you wouldn’t like it if I came and stared in YOUR windows, that’s all I’m sayin’.

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When Pharmacies Switch your Prescriptions

A few months ago, my pharmacy and I decided that our relationship had gone past the honeymoon stage and it was time to get difficult. First off, as I have mentioned before, I am really passive when it comes to dealing with people. For example, with telemarketers I  will let them give their sales talk since I know they’re just doing their job and I can just tune them out before telling thempolitely that I’m not interested. People who are giant pains in the asses are just doing their job and trying to make a buck so I’ll be nice to their face and pretend to listen while they try to sell me their kidneys.

I have been on the pill since I was about twenty-years old for various reasons which I won’t go into. I’m sure you have zero interest in my medical history and I don’t want to violate my family’s privacy by talking about our horrible cholesterol due to genetics (wait… oops). Various doctors have changed which one they want me on and, ultimately, they’ve figured out that my body hates the levels of estrogen found in most birth control pills and I have to be on low dosage else BAD STUFF HAPPENS.

I say this so you can look at the title and the previous sentence, and see where I am going with this.

Earlier this year, a weird pattern started between the pharmacy and myself. I would call to refill the prescription and would be informed that, unfortunately, my prescription had needed approved by my doctor so they needed my permission to call his office. Usually this took them about three days to get stuff straightened out and, other then the hassle of having to wait, I didn’t think much of it. My doctors office was still in Phoenix and I did not feel the need to switch it to the actual state I was living in since I really liked my doctor in Phoenix and wasn’t willing to switch doctors yet (and I’m lazy truth be told). I had a doctor’s office I go to here in Florida, however it usually takes me on deaths door to actually visit them. That, and the doctor’s office here in Florida screwed up my insurance claim which made me dislike them to the Nth degree.

On a rainy day (a Florida rainy day which is like buckets of water getting dumped on you) three months after this fun pattern started, I ran across the parking lot to the pharmacy and went inside soaked to the bone. Having not heard from the pharmacy after the latest game of telephone tag between them and my doctor I went up to the counter and asked for my prescription.

“Oh. Well. We don’t have any for you.”

Wha? Confused, I told them I had called it in five days ago. Looking in their system (while being thoroughly put upon that I was making them do their job) they found that my prescription had expired and I had to call the doctors office to straighten it up. Now tell me, honestly, couldn’t they have told me this before I made the trip to the store? Like when they figured out it wouldn’t be filled? After a quick call back to Phoenix I was informed that my prescription had expired and they refused to refill it until I had that wonderful exam of joy and enchantment known as a pap smear.

Gag.

Stuck, I convinced them to refill it for one more month which allowed me a full month to avoid going to the local doctor’s office. This office, too, would not write me a full year until I had a pap smear. After I scheduled an appointment and appeased them, they wrote me a month refill to take the pharmacy to tide me over.

Now, according to my doctor (who was LIVID to the point of screaming in the hallway yesterday when I showed her the changed prescription) pharmacies get a kick back on pushing certain generic pills on consumers. (This is, of course, what my doctor said so if you work at a pharmacy you can enlighten me). I can understand giving me a generic of Type A pill which has the same components as it, however, giving me a generic of Type X which is in no way the same as Type A? Really?

In an article called “Are Generic Drugs as Good as Brand Name Drugs?” it states:

“The FDA requires generic drugs to have the same quality, strength, purity and stability as brand name drugs. One area they may differ in, however, is inactive ingredients. One implication of this variation in ingredients is that you may find you have an allergic reaction to a generic drug that you didn’t have with the brand name drug because they use some dye or filler that wasn’t in the brand name drug.”

While this is talking about going from the drug and its generic counterpart, what frustrates me is that it is not like I was going from Type A pill to its generic counterpart. The pharmacy ignored the prescription written on the refill paper and gave me one with more estrogen and other ingredients that my body does not handle well.

Yeah, hope you enjoy that kick back while I suffer from the effects of switching medications and hit every single side-effect known to this pill. Thanks a lot, pharmacy.

I guess the lesson learned is not to be so passive about this stuff and research and ask questions. I know I should know better since my brother is a doctor and Mack’s Mom is a nurse but still, you’d think you could have faith in your pharmacy. After my doctors appointment yesterday the doctor wrote on my prescription “DO NOT SUBSTITUTE” but it makes me wonder: how many people suffer side effects so pharmacies can get some sort of kick back for offering a completely different generic brand of medication?

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My Creativity is on an Extended Vacation

For about two months now, I’ve had a serious case of creative block. I know it is mostly due to stress in life and not wanting to write stuff that I would later regret and shouldn’t be written about online in the first place. I’ve wound myself into a ball of pure stress and anxiety about factors outside of myself and changes happening around me that, when I open up a blank text document to write, cause me to draw a blank.

I could write the details of my mundane life and the transition back to being full-time telecommuting but I won’t. The blank document looms before me tauntingly, telling me that no cares what I had for lunch, what I did with my day, or how many turtles my boyfriend and I have saved from the road and certain doom. I wonder if the stuff I write is boring to read. When I read over the posts they often amuse me but, then again, I have a really weird sense of humor.

On more than one occasion, I know I have admitted I can be a perfectionist. When I am doing something creative (web design, writing, photography, et al) I will always mentally berate myself as to the quality of my work and why I didn’t do better. Mack has found me laying in bed moodily staring off into space while I mull over my short-comings and why I don’t get better after so many hours spent reading and practicing.

I don’t feel like the world is against me, or that I need to write bad poetry to represent the anguish and misunderstandings of my life. I’ll save that for the emo kids out there. You need not worry about said poetry since, as an art form, I don’t understand it and think not many can actually write poetry (let alone produce anything good). I’m not a victim of anything and hate when people play the victim card— “woe is me I deserve all your pity”— since, frankly, I’m sure there are people out there with situations a hundred times worse.

Mack tells me, constantly, to stop stressing and stop letting the outside factors I have no control over drag me down. Last week, on more than one occasion, Mack expressed he was concerned about me. While it is natural for me to worry and stress, I was taking it to a new level. I let shit get to me and stress me out, I know. Couple that with the fact I’ve felt not an ounce of creativity in two months?

Out there, somewhere, my creativity is taking a shot of tequila and laughing about its extended vacation.

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