Let's just file this under the "Things that suck a whole lot" heading, shall we?

So I have this THING in my uterus.  (BTW, more blog posts should start out this way, no?)

And it's not a baby.

It's a uterine fibroid and apparently it WAS bigger than a softball, but NOW is bigger than a grapefruit.  I'd like to take this moment to thank my surgeon for ruining a fruit that I actually used to like to eat.

I would link to the Wikipedia page on uterine fibroids, but once you go there and see the pictures, you'll never want to eat anything again.  Probably.  Wait, maybe I should go there and check it out.

Anyway, said fibroid makes me bleed for weeks on end and apparently is leaving me BARREN.  That, by the way, is a word that I totally think should make a comeback.
So I'm having surgery at the mid-end of October to get it removed.

Assuming I don't die, I'll be off work for 6 weeks or so.

During that time, I'll be catching up on my Harry Potter reading (I just finished book #3) and (of course) working on my never-go-wrong formula for figuring just WHO the baby daddy is on the Maury Povitch show.

It's good to have goals.

Note to co-workers: manage your diabetes or we will hurt you

A co-worker went into diabetic shock on Monday. The good news is that she is fine...but the bad news is that not many of us knew what to do to help.

So, in an effort to ease people's anxiety, we had a safety meeting yesterday where we went over warning signs of low blood sugar and high blood sugar. You might be interested to know that people with low blood sugar are usually cranky. So, let me just answer the question that I've been asked all day long. NO. I don't have low blood sugar right now.

Anyway, our Operations Manager asked us, "What do you do if the diabetic goes into an unresponsive state?"

And another co-worker said "Give them CPR."

So the Ops Manager said, "No. No, that would be very bad."

At a couple of blank looks, he went on to explain the difference between your heart not beating (and thus needing CPR) and someone passing out (where the person does NOT need CPR, and you should proabably call 911).

I'm just saying, if you're a diabetic and need a job, you probably don't want to work here. We're likely going to make matters worse.

At least it's keeping my mind off the 50 thousand mosquito bites on my body...

The electrician that I hired to come to my house on Friday didn't exactly give me great news. Even though there is nothing wrong with the wiring now (every connection is sound, everything is hooked up correctly, and nothing is "hot" that shouldn't be), he was able to tell that the wiring is very old and brittle and it may catch fire. And that diagnosis goes for every room in my house - not just the one that I have the fan in. His advice? Either get smoke detectors in every room of my house and prepare for a fire or totally replace all of the wiring in my house. It could cost a couple of hundred dollars to fix it. Worst case scenario, it could cost 15-20K. Let me say that again, IT COULD COST ME 15 to 20 THOUSAND DOLLARS. That's US dollars, not Monopoly money. I know because I asked him, just to be sure.

(sigh)

Basically, the house IS up to code, electrically. I mean, not 2009 code, but to the code standard of when it was built, in 1882*...and I'm not shitting you, apparently that's "good enough." Houses don't need to be up to the code of today's standards...they just have to be up to the code of whenever it was that the electrical was last worked on. This means that your house? Yeah, it's probably got shoddy electrical work too.** Because of this weird rule, the past owners aren't on the hook and if I opted to sell it today, I wouldn't be on the hook. Apparently possible spontaneous combustion just one of the perks of buying an older house. I think that's one of the things that give it "character."

You need to know that there is some weird Electricians Honor Code thing that involves them having to replace/fix all things that they mess with.*** So he can't open the ceiling and start figuring crap out in there without fixing it. At first, I thought the guy was totally making this crap up, but to be honest, he did not seem to have a sense of humor so I think it's unlikely that he is pulling my leg.

So to understand the situation better, I asked a bunch of questions - like:
1) What are my options?
2) Can you just re-route the new wire without having to fish the wire along the existing stuff?
3) Can you give me a better price range than $500 - $20,000?
4) Do you know the muffin man?
5) Would you and your wife be willing to adopt me?
6) Can I move into your house anyway?

After asking those questions, I paid the man and really kept repeating this mantra: "Just wait until he leaves to start crying."

And although I did cry when he left, I also called for help. I called my realtor, I called friends, and I basically have come to the conclusion that in reality, my situation is really no different than what it was 60 days ago. It's just that now I KNOW that I have crappy wiring.

I'm sure you all might roll your eyes when I say this, but I just don't feel like anything is going to happen. The truth is, the wiring really hasn't changed...and this guy is probably just covering his ass. He can't say that it won't happen again because if he does, and my house burns down, he'll have to deal with a crazy red-headed lady. And really...who has ever wanted that? Okay, OTHER than Desi Arnaz?

The plan?
1) Get smoke detectors in every room, call my security service and have them monitor the smoke detectors and have them route to the fire department if they go off.
2) Possibly send things of great sentimental value down to El Paso with my mom when she visits this weekend.
3) Find a new job - one that pays a lot more than the one I have currently and then sell this place.
4) Start playing the lottery.
.....a) Win the lottery
.....b) Sell this place.
5) Consider joining the nunnery and then sell this place.



*Yes, my place was built in 1882. Is it bad that I had no idea that they had electricity back then? OMG. I just googled "When did electricity become common in homes?" And the answer is in the 1930's. Which means that this electrician is a big, fat liar. Or Google is just fucking with me. It's likely both. But since I have a commenter who knows the PV=nRT equation and how it relates to yogurt urping, I'm hoping that s/he will enlighten (haha) me on the history of electricity, specific to when it was put into houses in Denver. I need you! After all, I really didn't pay attention in school history or science class.

**Yes. Your place might go up in a ball of flames too. Join the club! We meet at my house. During the meeting, I serve lil' smokies and beer. Also crackers with Cheez Whiz (not imitation cheese spray spread) because it's a classy club. The dues are only $15-20 thousand dollars per person. Please make checks payable to: Anne Not-Kennedy. If my house starts fill with smoke at any time, please gather your belongings and exit the premises calmly and quickly.

***It also possibly involves them wearing cloaks at night and chanting. Which means that they might be monks. Or not. It turns out that I really didn't pay attention in religious studies class.

This post is more about Scooby Doo than I had originally intended...

'Member when I told you that I live in a possible fire-laden death trap?

Well, it's true. Or maybe it's true.

See, the thing about me is that I'm lazy about a lot of things. Like my eyes had to get really bad before I had them checked out by Dr. Chester Roe III.* So I just wait until the pain of staying the same is worse than the pain of change. I suppose that a part of me is hoping that whatever the problem is, it will just go away. Unfortunately, this is hardly ever the case.

So back to my death trap of a place, I actually have been using the fan while I'm at home and then turning it off when I'm not. Mostly because I would be okay with taking my chances and dying in a ball of flames, but I don't want Chassis to have to endure that. Although that only-use-your-fan-sometimes plan isn't exactly what I had wanted when I thought about putting ceiling fans in, it's really not all that bad. I've adjusted to it.

BUT...

My mom is coming in town next week. And I love my mom. I do. It's just that I don't want our time spent to consist mostly of her "helping me understand" the importance of having sound wiring. Her "helping me understand" sometimes feels like "smothering" and I'd like the time that we're spending together to be fun and not spent with me sticking my fingers in my ears shouting "LALALALALALA!" Because I'm five.

So I've called a certified electrician. In fact, he is going to be at my house this afternoon with hopefully all the tools necessary to fix the problem. I called him yesterday to confirm, and also to help him understand that I'm really hoping that it can be fixed in two hours. Because please, I've got plans tonight.

I'm just praying that my place doesn't have to have all new wiring run. I mean, I want it to be safe and all, I just don't want to have to update it. So PLEASE, say a prayer, meditate, salivate, channel positive energy, rub your crystals (no, that's not code for anything - but you can do that too if it'll help) WHATEVER just make sure that you send good juju my way around 3ish.


*Seriously, don't you think that that sounds like a creepy old man from Scooby Doo? He's even older and lanky. He didn't say anything like "and I would've gotten away with it too if it wasn't for you meddling kids!" but then again, I didn't rip a mask off his face either. YET.

P.S. Speaking of Scooby Doo, I'm thinking about being Daphne from Scooby Doo for Halloween. I think it'd be fun. Especially if I can bring Chassis along.

P.P.S. Yes, I'm thinking of costumes for Halloween already. Because "Sock Thing" wasn't exactly a hit.

P.P.P.S. Also, in case you're wondering, my headaches and eyesight are better since the last time I went to visit Dr. Roe. So I think I'm fine. See? This is a scenario when waiting it out would've been okay. Unless I have MS or a brain tumor. But I probably don't.

P.P.P.P.S. Awww man, I just read the last post that I linked to. I already made the Scooby Doo joke. (sigh) CRAP.

My place is a deathtrap

Yesterday I wrote how my place used to belong to crack whores.

Today, I'm writing to tell you how it's also a deathtrap. I know what you're thinking... and I KNOW! I don't know how I get this lucky either.

It all started with a good idea. In an effort to be greener and to save money, I decided to add ceiling fans to my bedroom and living room.

They're SUPER cute... see?

Anyway, my friend Matt agreed to install them in my house...and so I bought he and his wife rounds of drinks as a way of payment of sorts. I figured if they were saving me the price of a handyman, the least I could do is to try to get them drunk. What can I say? I'm a giver.

A couple of weeks later, Matt and I tried to install the ceiling fan in the living room, when we realized that my bedroom light wouldn't come on at all. Yes. That's right. Just messing with the living room light made my bedroom light inoperable.

Turns out my place was renovated (this is after the crack whore removal...which as I understand it has got to be AT LEAST a 12 step process) by drunken artists.

I write "drunken artists" because it is clear that they were hopped up on some kind of mind altering drug. And I use the term "artists" quite loosely. I think of them as saying to each other things like "That is so FIERCE!" as they slap plaster and install 2x4's and do other renovation-friendly tasks. Things like proper wiring and wall studs not consisting of 95% paper shims seem like guidelines rather than rules to them. Besides, it would totally mess with the FEEL of the place, dahling!

So after hours of scratching our heads and drinking beer (also known as "idea juice") we opted to call an electrician. A few days later, an electrician showed up and was able to fix the problem. Turns out that although the wiring was not made solely out of coat hangers, it was put in by complete idiots. It might've been that the first electricians were too scared of getting beaten up by the pizza thugs or that they got paid in blow jobs by crack whores. All I know is that the wiring is not exactly up to Bob Villa's standards.

The electrician agreed to wire up the in-wall remote. One quick spark/fire later, and apparently it's all fixed.

Don't freak out. I'm totally pulling your leg.

It's not fixed.

See, the electrician didn't exactly FIX the problem per se. It's just that the fire/large spark made the previous problem not exist any more. It didn't FIX it, he just UN-BROKE it. When I asked, the electrician said that he would feel safe sleeping underneath the fan - that the problem wouldn't come back and that it wasn't a big deal. According to him, the wiring was fine and perfectly safe.

Then I told my co-worker, Larry. Who told his friend - another electrician. That electrician apparently said that I should in no way operate the fan lest I have a death wish.

That electrician (who conveniently does not work on residential homes) said that anytime there is a large spark/fire, it's a really bad thing and it can happen again at any moment. Without warning. So I should probably run far, far away right around now.

So now I'm trying to figure out which electrician is right. The one that said as many words as Bob Newhart's brother Earl (no, not that one...his other brother Earl) or the electrician that hasn't actually SEEN the work but rather heard about it through a twisted game of telephone.

In the end, I guess I'm going to call another electrician to my place just to get a 3rd opinion. I don't want a guy who is going to convince me that I need all new electrical work done, but I also don't want some guy to tell me just what I want to hear.

Hiring another electrician to rip apart my ceiling and walls just seems easier than trying to determine if I have a death wish from day to day. Don't you think?

If I go missing, please tell my mom I love her

Two weeks ago, a guy in our warehouse receiving department called me for what I thought was business purposes. Turns out, he wanted to ask me a question that his friend texted him earlier that day. That question being, "Why do the white guys not like the thick girls?" He was apparently so perplexed by this question that he decided to "ask the source."

I did not point out to him that I was not the source of the question, but rather a person resembling the subject. Why? Because I don't want to be a complete asshole to everyone I work with.

To be clear, this guy meant "thick" as a compliment. And after about a half second of being hurt that I was being described as thick, I got over it and realized that that's probably a pretty accurate description of me. HOWEVER, please understand that "thick" is not something I want to be described as. So if you start your comments below as "Dear Thick Chick" I will promptly fly to wherever you are and punch you in the kidneys. Yes - both of them. Because I'm not about to get mocked about my size. You may think I'm kidding, but I am so not kidding.

ANYway, the guy went on to say that he thought that I was "rockin' a skirt" earlier that week and that I "kick it" in the jeans I wear. What can I say? He is so right. BUT I don't have any interest in being Kelly from "The Office." So I did what I do best in situations where guys are hitting on me. I play dumb to stall.

I KNOW! You expected more out of me...but the truth is, I don't get hit on often. So when I do, I usually play dumb and wait until the moment passes. The weird thing is that although he was giving me compliments (albeit inappropriately) it's not like he SAID he was hitting on me. And he didn't ask me out. So I also didn't want to freak out and be all "Dude. I am offended! I would never date a co-worker!" and then spray him with pepper spray because he might have been just asking a question. Or at least that could be what he would claim. So I just played dumb and pretended that he really was trying to get an answer of why "all" the white guys don't like the thick girls. My answer, by the way, was "I don't know. I'm not a white guy."

Fast forward to yesterday at lunch when I was getting gas at a nearby gas station.

He pulls up a bay over and calls me over. I walked over to him.

Him: Just so you know, today is one of those days.
Me: Huh?
Him: You know, where you're rockin' it in jeans.
Me: Uh...okay.
Him: Well, I can't hit on you at work...
Me: So you're doing it at a gas station?
Him: Yeah. So....
Me: See you later.

And I walked away.

While I was at the pump, I noticed that he pulled through the bay he was at, and left the gas station to go back to work.

That's right, people. He didn't even need to go to the gas station.

So I let Larry at work know afterwards...and we both laughed the entire time. And then he, straight faced, told me that if I started to feel like someone needed to step in and tell him that he should leave me alone he was happy to do so.

To be truthful, I think that this guy probably got the hint when I didn't flirt back or indicate that that was cool to do. So I think I'm going to be fine. I have no problem with telling someone no and he's taken 6 months to approach me about this, so I really think that he's not going to push it either. It does help to know that someone at work would step in if need be.

But just in case I go missing, tell my mom I love her. And tell the police to look for a guy that resembles Dave Chappelle (only slightly less bug eyed) and drives a teal minivan.

I'll name him Pete

Alright people. I need you.

Here's the problem: I'm noticing that there is a lot of orange hair in the shower these days. Like A LOT. An alarming amount.

Because I'm trying to think about things logically, I've come up with three possible reasons this could be happening:
1. I'm going bald either due to stress, alopecia, or another illness.
2. It may not be all that much. I may just notice it more because my hair is getting longer. Also, I know dogs shed in the spring time...does the same thing happen with people? Am I shedding?
3. I have a baby orangutan that also lives in my house and takes a shower when I'm not looking.

To be honest, I think I'd like option #3 the best. Because LOOK HOW CUTE THEY CAN BE:

I'd totally name him Pete.

Anyway, is there something to option #2? Or does everyone lose their hair like this? It doesn't come out in clumps per se as I'm washing my hair, but as I'm running my hands through my hair it'll be like LOTS of strands at once.

How much hair do you lose? Have you ever gone through this before?

If not, what do orangutans eat?

When I was looking for pictures, I came across this little guy:

I was going to use him as the "cute orangutan" picture, but to be honest, he looks a little too freaked out. It could be because he's dressed in clothes or it could be that he's shocked by how much hair he's losing too. Either way, I had to include him in this post.