In This Skin

I know I already posted tonight, and not all that long ago, but I decided to make the trek back here and get a little deep on all of you. I'm not going to apologize for this, either, because I feel like sometimes we have to turn ourselves inside out just to really see what we're made of. If we can't do that, will we ever really know who we are?

No, we won't. Sometimes it's just worth it, and whether you do it alone, or around others, it doesn't matter. It's just important that you do it just because you can and for no other reason. Cry because it feels right, laugh because you know how to, and sing even when people are listening just because you want to. No one has ever died from embarrassment. I'm pretty sure this is a proven fact.

My friend and I were just laughing at some pretty sad ads on Craigslist. These certain ads involve dating, and people who really don't know who they are, how to spell, or what the human language entails.

For those of you who have read my blog, you know by now that I am often sarcastic, and get laughs by making fun of others, but gently. (Or at least I hope it's gently.) I never mean any offense to anyone, and anyone who knows me personally knows this, but you all may not. If you ever find me offensive, tell me. I can take it. I truly mean no harm to the person I am being witty towards.

That being said, deep down, I really do have to give these people credit for putting themselves out there on the world wide web. Even though some should most likely go about doing it in another way, or really think more into what they're doing first, they're still doing something that I could never do.

I hold my heart very close to me and I don't give it away easily. I am the girl who can't even ask the guy that I like and have known for over two years out because I'm afraid of making things awkward. I'm not even all that worried about making things awkward for me, but I am worried about making things awkward for others. I don't know why I do this to myself, or why I am like this. There's a fear somewhere that I have yet to conquer, but since I know it's there and I am working on it, I know that one day I will.

As the same friend and I were talking, I told her that I really hope that someone laughs as hard we do when we make fun of people, while making fun of me. I know that sounds really stupid, maybe even a little self masochistic, but it's not.

Everyone deserves a chance to be confident in themselves, and I am confident in me. I know that I'm not perfect, and through that I have the ability to laugh at my flaws, blow them off and keep going. I hope that just because I laugh at myself, others do, too.

As someone pointed out to me the other day, I am a "tool" and a "girl geek." (Just in case, you know, girls really can't be tools.) I am really proud of this. I know that I am both of these things and I would never pretend to be anything different.

I am the girl most likely to fall flat on her face in heels, or most likely to snort with I laugh, even if it's in front of a hundred people. But that's what makes me who I am.

So go ahead, laugh at me. Make fun of me and pick on me, and really get a good chuckle out of doing so. I'm okay with it, because I laugh at myself. If I can do that and make fun of myself, other people should be able to do so, too.

I don't make fun of anyone to be vindictive. I just have this off sense of humor that finds humor in things that shouldn't even be funny. Does that make me different? Does that sometimes scare people? I know that it does, but that is okay. For the people who are okay with this, I find great friendships.

And for those of you who don't like me, that's okay, too. No one said you had to.

The point is, people are people. Sometimes we change our minds. Sometimes we say the worst of things. And sometimes we're just ourselves, heart out, inside out, trying to figure it all out. There is nothing wrong with any of this and there is nothing wrong with who you are. Embrace who you are and learn to be confident no matter what anyone says about you. Because when people say mean things just to hurt you, it's them who is really hurting inside. If you keep your head held high and walk away, it will make them think. And even if they don't want to admit it, it will make them eventually realize that the only person they're hurting is themselves.

So be fearless just because you can be. Fearless isn't having no fears, it's knowing that you have fears and yet you go into life with that in mind and keep on trucking. So I dare everyone to take one day to be fearless and then get back to me and let me know how it feels.

Don't Worry. The Smurfs Will Catch You!

I just have a few short stories for today, none of which have anything to do with the ones I already have written up, but have yet to proofread. I should get on that, shouldn't I? (Hey, don't get pushy. Gees.)

The first short story is about my favorite person ever, and her accomplice. Of course I'm talking about Aunt Bev and my Mom. The only two people who can cause debauchery without actually doing anything at all. They made it so obvious again today.

Earlier today I had called my mom who was over at Aunt Bev's. I don't know why I do these things, or why I expect to get an honest, normal response from either of them when they're together. Yet somehow, I still do. With this in mind, I asked my mom a very innocent question.

"Are you coming home soon?" The answer I got; not so simple and innocent.

Prepare yourselves for this, people. Really, you can't say I didn't warn you. Take all the food out of your mouth, set your drink down and make sure you don't have to pee prior to reading this.

"No. I'm babysitting Bev right now so she doesn't fall in the pond."

*Gives you all a minute to take this in*

Now please understand that Aunt Bev's pond can not be anymore than a couple of feet deep, and it is a very small, three foot round, man made Koi pond. I do not know why she needed supervision to not fall into the pond. I could understand if it was a bottomless ocean, or something, but a pond? Really? She's a grown adult. I'm sure whatever she was doing could not have been dangerous enough that she would have fallen in her own pond.

And let's be honest, even if she did, what's the worst that could happen? Her pants would get wet and she'd scare the heebie mcboogers out of a few Koi, but after that, I'm sure she could fish herself out and find dry ground again.

My mom points out that knowing Bev's luck she'd fall in, slip, and smack her head off of something. This may be true, but the fact that they decided a grown woman needed a babysitter around her pond just really scores a ton of points in my book. Oh, those two.

Aunt Bev, I have faith in you to not fall in your own pond and drown. I'm just telling you this right now. I believe in you! (Unless you went back out after my mom left and did fall in and drown. In that case, disregard this. Or, you know, in that case, you wouldn't be reading this.)

I also watched the movie Wild Hogs today. You know, the one with John Travolta, Tim Allen, William H Macy, and Martin Lawrence, where they take a road trip on motorcycles across the US and get in bad with a biker gang? I have never laughed so hard in my life. I really think everyone should watch this movie.

It had everything. It had one man teaching another how to do the Lindy Hop to prevent him from doing the Sprinkler. It had Extreme Makeover: Home Edition rebuild a bar for a rebel biker gang. It even had a gay ranger who the four very straight men had a really hard time shaking. I mean, let's be honest, the thought of the four actors in the cast riding motorcycles and making their own "gang" is just amazing to begin with. All these other factors involved just make for an epic win!

My friend Silver Stripes and I were discussing how sane is vastly overrated. She is also the one who contributed to my other site, It's Traffic Time. In case you all have missed that, click on the name of the blog and get your butt over there and begin sharing your own story. It's about traffic blunders and I know you all have them. Don't even try to lie to me.

Anyway, in doing this, I thought about some of the most "sane" people that I know and their behaviors. Sane really is just a social standing. What is socially considered sane is sometimes so far from it. I mean, the way I see it, this is how it works.

Sane is way overrated. I mean, if you're totally sane you become one of those boring people who has the same daily routine and flips out if his Friday underwear go missing and he has to wear his Monday ones. You know what I'm saying?

For those of you who actually do this...all you CEO's and office workers of the daily bump and grind, you definitely know what I mean. Hats off to you, because you are no more sane than anyone else, and that's what makes you who you are. It's amazing to be a little fun, wild, and crazy sometimes. Please, wear those Monday underwear on a Friday. See how it feels. I promise you that you will not be disappointed!

As I'm sitting here typing this, my mom is watching TV. A commercial came out where this guy was using the voice dialing feature on his cell phone to make a call. My mom brought up a very short story that I don't think I've ever told on here. That, my friends, is a crime.

Ages ago when I worked at Hallmark, one of my favorite people to work with was Katie. She was smart, and funny, and really close to my age. She was also pretty awesome with technology and had one of those phones that did everything but clean the house. As we were leaving work one night, she got out her phone and hit the voice dialing feature. Just as she was about to say the name of who she wanted it to dial, the door to the store in which we were trying to lock up, got in a fight with us. And out of her mouth came an "oh, shit." Automatic reaction, understandably, but this is where it gets hinky.

Her phone then goes "now dialing oh, shit." We cracked up immediately, but the worst was yet to come. About five seconds later the automated voice answered back with "can not find oh, shit. Ending call." To this day I don't know if I've ever laughed at anything so hard in my life, or if I could recreate a situation as funny ever again. Just the fact that the automated voice actually said "oh, shit" and then tried to find them to dial, just totally made me wonder how smart technology actually is.

But the moral of the story is that Katie got technology to swear. I should totally be a fifteen year old boy to appreciate this properly, but I am not, and I assure you I appreciate this more than any teenage boy ever could.

This concludes the blog for the day, but before I go, I was just reminded that I love smurfs! You know, the little blue things from the 80's. They rock my socks in ways I can't explain. Ah, smurfs!

I Am Such A Chicken-Shit

I just want to know if I'm the only girl who is too much of a chicken to tell someone how I feel about them? To ask someone out that I like and have for several years. I mean, I can spill my feelings online, sing in front of a ton of people and fearlessly write a novel, but I can't ask someone out. *Heads desk*

The Wizards Have Come For My Mom

Just a short update on a couple of things that happened today and were too cute to not share. You know, just in case I don't get around to posting later. What's sad is that I have blogs written up to post. I just need to do the actual proofreading on them and haven't been up for it. My brain; not computing.

Today my mom called up a guy she used to work with just to see how things were going. She was given an ultimatum from the company almost two years ago. They gave her a buyout option and she either took it, or wait a few months until they did away with her position and find herself without a job, or a buyout. She did what she had to do.

This being said, she just wanted to check up on her friend and see if he still had a job, and get all the gossip. (He's on night turn now. Most of the other people she worked with, including bosses, have been rifted out of their positions, and it's not likely the rest of them will have a job soon, either. We're talking about people in all different aspects and positions of the job, not just the one she worked in.) What they ended up talking about was the lottery, and how when my mom won it she was going to take her friend and move to Hawaii. The way they got into this isn't important, because if you've read prior stories about my mom, you would understand this makes perfect sense just because it doesn't.

From here it led into a conversation about how everyone would pitch in for lottery tickets each week in hopes that they would win and be able to split the money. Back in the day when my mom worked there, she would pitch in, too. She asked her friend what the most was that they ever won since they were doing this long before she was working in the same office as them, and have continued to do it.

They had won $7. That's right. After years of doing the weekly lottery, the most they've ever won has been $7. And keep in mind that that isn't each. Oh no. The $7 had to be split between all four people. I'm sadly thinking that maybe my mom's chances of winning the lottery might be better than the four of them pitching in on a ticket. After all these years, I don't think Lady Luck is on their side. Beyond that, my mom's friend pointed out that when she wins the lottery part of that money is his just on pure standards alone, and as a consolation prize for never winning after all these years.

Too cute.

It also happens to be in the high 80's here today, and is far too hot to think about cooking. Especially when you don't have air conditioning. I ordered a pizza and was waiting until I could go and pick it up, since Pizza Hut does not deliver where I live. While doing this, The Wizards of Waverly Place came on. I had a few e-mails to check, so when my mom came in and asked if she could switch the channel to see the news and weather, I thought nothing of it. When she got the weather and urgently switched the channel back to The Wizards of Waverly Place, that caught my attention.

My mom watches the Disney Channel, but she hasn't been real fond of the shows they've been coming out with lately. I guess I missed the memo where she announced her liking towards The Wizards of Waverly Place, although I knew she liked Selena Gomez. None of these reasons were why she changed the channel.

In this certain episode there was a kid who had been raised by giants, but being as he was short, he wondered who his birth parents were and wanted to meet them. Alex was trying to help him behind everyone's back so that his parents didn't find out and become upset about this. My mom changed the channel because she "really had to know who his real parents were and what they looked like." Her words, not mine.

Mom, I am amused.

Princesa of the Fun

Ah, yes! Today is the day when I will finally share all of the fun stuff that I’ve had stored away to share. Okay, so I haven’t really had it stored away. I collected it all on the 23rd, but I haven’t had a chance to get it together, e-mail it to myself, scan it into my computer...you get the picture. (Get it, picture? Because they’re pictures! Oh boy.)

There’s a few things I want to say first, and then I’ll get on with the fun picture. Promise.

I had the best day today. (Edit, this was originally written on the 27th.) I decided last night that I would have a Princess Protection Program party and my puppy, Greta Hayley, could host it. Yes, I am nuts, I realize. I also realize that my dog can not host a party in all technicality, so I guess I take back saying that I’m nuts. There’s still a little girl inside of me that likes to have good, innocent fun, and this is what I wanted to do with my day. Besides, I had been waiting for P.P.P. to premiere since I saw the preview for it way back at the end of December, so I was psyched.

Today my mom and I took Greta to the pet store, picked out some things for the party, and then I ran in Wal-Mart to get some more things for us humans, as well as another special treat for the dogs, while she played with Greta.

I made my special Paw Print Puppy Popcorn Peanut Butter bones, and they were a hit. My mom made some treats off of a recipe that we had gotten from the shelter where we adopted Greta. They were also a hit.

I am glad to announce that the movie was super cute. I was concerned that I had gotten my hopes up for no reason, as the last two movies that Disney premiered on their channel this year, I was not thrilled with. They could have been cute, but something threw them off, which was disappointing considering all their movies that were done for the channel were always really, really cute.

P.P.P. definitely stood up to the standards that I’m used to them having, and if I’ve never mentioned it before, I LOVE Selena Gomez, who starred in the movie along with Demi Lovato. Selena is just the most adorable thing, so that made the movie ten times better. You can’t go wrong with anything that she’s in!

I’ve also decided that Princesa is just an awesomely cute name for an animal, and would be a great nickname for Greta Hayley.

Also, to politely sum up the whole SSI story, I spoke to the woman who was my caseworker. Basically, she did not pull all of my medical records, made assumptions on her own without the proof, and admittedly has no idea what happened to a whole group of papers that I physically took into the office for her to have, not to lose. Instead of calling me when those papers went missing and getting new copies, or calling around to all of the doctor's offices and getting all of my medical records, she simply made a decision based off the fact that she wanted to get me out of her way and move on. I’m sorry, but without all of my medical records, there was no way she could have made a fair and honest decision.

There’s several reasons that this is true, but other than the obvious, there’s the fact that three separate doctors have filled out paperwork for me stating that I absolutely can not stand for any period of time, bend, lift, carry things, or drive. These papers were filled out for the state for my health insurance coverage through them, and these are the papers I copied and physically took in to her. If she would not have lost them, she would have known this about me. This information was also in my medical records with those doctors. If she would have pulled those medical records, she would have known this.

Instead, in the extremely ignorant and aggressive letter I received, it stated that since I was able to stand for any length of time, bend, lift, carry things, and drive, that I needed to go out and get a job. Obviously, there’s just a whole lot of stupid going on here. I don’t know how else to put it. If she would have done her job, it is written in my records that I can not do any of these things, not a one. I have copies of these records in my own possession, so if I have them, she should have them, too, especially when I made copies and physically took them into the office for her.

I could tell she was uncomfortable speaking with me about my case. Many things I asked her she did not have answers for, and simply became quiet. Other times her only response was, “I made my decision.” She was very nice, but that’s really not the point here.

Also, in the midst of our conversation, she claimed she had no idea I had doctors appointments coming up. This is untrue for several reasons. First, I received two separate phone calls from her asking me when all of my doctors appointments were. I had appointments booked into October when I spoke with her on the phone those two times, and the second time she called was only because she “misplaced” the information I had given her the first time. My upcoming appointments were scheduled months before she even pulled my medical records, meaning, if she would have pulled them all, she would have seen that I had follow-up appointments coming up in the records as well.

I also contacted her two times to alert her of any new appointments I had made, since I knew I was supposed to do so. Again, I had appointments the entire way through October and she was aware of all of them. I have a witness to these conversations, and for her to say that she did not know about my appointments is absolutely untrue.

Thinking back, she had called me one time to ask me who I lived with. Not only had she called me three days prior and asked me the same question, but I was asked, and answered that same question more than once on the paperwork I filled out for SSI. Maybe I should have realized there was a problem then. Between that and her calling me to re-ask me when my appointments were, I should have most likely seen this coming.

In talking to her, I also brought up that she had collected my records off of a doctor that was not my doctor. She proceeded to tell me that, even though he was not my doctor, he worked in the same clinic as my doctor, and she retrieved the papers off of him. She assured me they were definitely my papers, as the birth date was correct. This wasn’t so bad until she told me that she also had a talk with this doctor about my treatment and medical history. This was infuriatingly confusing, to say the least. I have never heard of this doctor, far more ever even so much as had a consultation with him, so I am unsure of how he could have a conversation with her about my health. He should have thrown the conversation over to the doctor I was actually seeing, as it really wasn’t his place to speak on a patient he’s never so much as laid eyes on. This also happens to be the doctor who is in trouble with the medical board. Gee, I wonder why.

As for the whole “mental health disorder,” apparently in one of my files the doctor mentioned that there was a possibility that I had some anxiety. Well, yes, let’s be honest, everyone has anxiety from time to time. I am unsure of what doctor said this, however, when I asked, she absolutely refused to tell me. I will be going through the medical records in my possession to confirm this information.

Beyond that, though, if my “anxiety” was a real problem, I would have been sent to a psychologist and medicated. I brought this up to her, as she told me that their doctors had reviewed my files. They should be smart enough to figure out both of these things. I’m neither on medication for it, nor have I ever seen a psychologist, which means I have never been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. Simply saying in passing that I have some anxiety does not mean I have a mental health disorder. She was completely and absolutely out of line, and fabricated this piece of information without any solid proof, or a diagnosis.

(Edit: In going through my medical records, I found a little gem that most certainly needs to be shared, as it makes this part of the story just ten times better. I had actually forgotten about this, as it it such a minor, non priority in my current health situation, that it ran fast and far from my mind, allowing it to focus on the situations that were being thrown at me left and right.

A good six months ago, I had gone to a lung doctor for my breathing issues. While we were talking, I had expressed to him that sometimes I could not breathe correctly for a few hours at a time, and when this happened, after about an hour, I found myself getting edgy, as not being able to breathe correctly for that amount of time is, no doubt, a scary thing.

In order to find out if these moments of edginess were panic attacks or anxiety, or if they were just caused by the pure fact that I couldn’t breathe correctly and was not getting the total amount of oxygen to my brain that I should be, as well as this just being damn scary, he gave me an anti anxiety pill to try. They ended up doing the exact opposite of what they should do, putting me more on edge, and actually making me anxious and unable to sleep. This is how we proved that I indeed did not have any kind of anxiety disorder, and these brief moments were caused by me simply not being able to breathe correctly. These moments also never occurred outside of these specific circumstances.)

I have spoken with several people prior to this chaos who told me that when I ran into issue with SSI, and I would, to go to a certain local state congressman. Apparently, this specific person is just absolutely wonderful to work with when it comes to SSI, and he has gotten many people SSI when other problems have arose. I am going to go to him, taking the medical records I have in my possession, and a copy of the papers I filled out to show all the doctors I had listed in which to retrieve my medical records from. I will also take the note I got from SSI, this way I can not only show him that they did not pull the records from all of my doctors, since the note states which doctors they did pull them from, but also, with medical records in hand, show him that my medical records directly contradict what is in the letter.

I think it’s important for him to know what is happening down at the SSI office, and particularly with the caseworker I had. I do not wish her any harm, nor do I want to be mean to her, but it is as simple as this; she did not do her job. She is being paid to obtain all of my medical information and not lose my files, but she did neither of those things. It needs to be known that this has been going on, because honestly, how many people could she really be hurting because of this? A lot.

I also want the congressman to see how unprofessional, ignorant, and aggressive the note I received was. Again, this is not a personal thing, but a professional one. The lady who wrote the letter had absolutely no right to assume things, use the language and verbiage she used with me, and offend me the way she did. Her job is simply to tell me that I was denied SSI and why. It is not to tell me in so many words that I am completely lazy, trying to live off of the state, and need to go and get a job, among other things. It is uncalled for. If my doctors can vouch for me being sick, she has no right to tell me I am not. She is not a doctor.

I am going to leave that as is for right now, but I’m sure I’ll come back to it later. I probably won’t get a meeting with the congressman for a few weeks, but I am not upset over this. I am confident that everything will work out, especially now that I know what really happened, and have the absolute proof to show the decision made was not based on what my doctors have said, but on the half assed job my caseworker did. I will also post pieces of the letter, as it is kind of a hoot if you're not me, once this gets further straightened out.

Okay, and now that I am done with all of that, on to the fun. I have several pictures to add to this blog, so I am super excited. I will start with the pictures I took on the 23rd, and then get into some interesting family photos.

The first picture up to bat is simply one of my grandma’s door display outside of her apartment. It’s not funny, but I thought the fake flowers arrangement was adorable, and I wanted to show it off. I will get to the funny right after this. For now, take a moment to notice how absolutely cute that is. I had to take a picture. I could not resist.

Next up we have the infamous Koala that Aunt Bev named Wendell after a man she used to go to church with. I just knew I had to eventually get a picture of Wendell to share. I apologize that the picture is so blurry and icky, but the lighting sucked and the only camera I had with me was the one on my Blackberry, so the resolution wasn’t the best, but you get the hint.

The next pictures are very close to my heart in the way that they make me laugh. I don’t know about all of you, but passive aggressive signage just amuses me. I am a huge fan of it, as well as the Passive Aggressive Notes website. I don’t come across a lot of notes to share with people, but I found two just in my grandma’s building alone, so I had to share.

This first one isn’t so much aggressive, I guess, as it is just plain ironic and funny. I will lovingly entitle it, “The Keys That Went Home With Somebody Else.”

Here’s a closer view, just in case that one isn’t very clear for everyone.

This sign is really a gem for several reasons. Let’s just begin with the fact that everything is in capital letters. This makes an otherwise friendly and suggestive sign, aggressive. The lack of proper punctuation and the like also helps to win it an award in my book.

What really throws it over the edge, however, is the irony. The person who lost their keys did not lose the keys to someone else’s car, but to his own. It would have been understandable if he had lost someone else's keys, considering the cars and the keys to them were moved around during the process of the car wash. He instead lost his very own keys, which really wins because those keys stayed stationary. For them to up and take off is a real mystery with a lot of talent behind it, no doubt.

For the record, my grandma also told me that this sign is rather old, meaning the car wash was not “yesterdays,” and to this day, they have yet to find the keys to said car.

Now we shall move on to the second sign. I don’t even know where to start, so I will not. I will just let you all read this sign before I comment. I call this one “When Granddaughters Do Your Bidding.”

In case you can’t read it well, the bottom says “Clean as a whistle keep it that way!!!” It’s written exactly like that, lack of punctuation and all. I was unable to get a better picture of it, because it is written really small.

What really makes this sign is that it was obviously crafted by a child. The story behind it is that the lady who lives in this apartment is a complete neat freak. Apparently her granddaughter visits often, so she had her granddaughter make a sign for the door thinking that it would be less aggressive if it was obviously done by a child. I hate to tell the lady this, but it is not less aggressive, and possibly more offensive seeing as she had a kid write this. I believe my grandma said the granddaughter was five. Gees, they really teach them young these days.

Now we’re going to move onto a section of, let’s just say, “special” family photos. They really carry that certain sizzle. These were given to us by my grandma on the 23rd. All of these are pictures she’s carried with her through the years. I do not know who most of the people in the pictures are, so I apologize, but really, once you see them, who they are isn’t as important as what the heck they were thinking in the pictures. I will help you all figure it out.

Let me just start out with the cute picture first. This picture isn’t funny in any way, shape, or form, except that no one can figure out whose cat this is, and the picture isn’t even all that old compared to some of the ones I'm going to share.

But seriously, isn’t this just the most aww inducing thing ever? I mean, the color, the way it’s laying, the fact that it’s a cat. I had to add it for all those reasons alone.

Next we will head right over to the second newest picture in the bunch, which isn’t saying a whole lot. This picture is of my great grandfather, but unless you were the one who took this picture, or knew whose residence that was, I doubt you’d know that, because for whatever reason, it was necessary to take the picture from this angle.

Oh yeah, isn’t that special? I can’t help but wonder if there was supposed to be a point to this picture, or if Great Grandma thought this was funny, being as I would assume she was the one who took the picture. Ah, great grandparents. It doesn’t get any better than that.

The moment I saw the next picture, I knew it had to go onto the internet somewhere along with snazzy little talk bubbles that would extend to you just what they were thinking. Although I decided against the talk bubbles, I will still share their thoughts below the picture. Now keep in mind that these aren’t their actual thoughts, but just what they look like they are thinking.

Before I get into what they’re saying, let me just tell you who the people in the picture are, so this makes more sense. This is a four generation photograph. The little girl is my Aunt Diane, the woman is my grandma, the man on the right is my great grandfather (yes, the one whose ass you looked at in the previous picture, just in case you were wondering what his face looked like) and the man to the left is his father.

The crowning jewel in this picture is really the look on everyone’s faces, thus warranting some pretty fun mock thoughts. I imagine the thoughts in their head to be something to this effect. Also, on a side note, this picture is about fifty two years old, give or take a few years.

Aunt Diane: I have to pee. I really have to pee. I asked my mom if I could pee ten times, but she insisted I take this picture first. I don’t see how this is fair, because I have to pee. How in the heck am I supposed to smile when I have to pee so bad? This is the best smile she’s getting. I don’t care if it looks like I’m scared and I have to pee, because I really HAVE TO PEE! (If you knew my Aunt, you would know that this description fits her perfectly.)

Grandma: Wow, that light is really bright! Did anyone else notice how bright that light was from the camera? It damn near blinded me to death. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to see again. In fact, stars are forming! I hope you can’t tell just how deer in the headlights I am in this picture. Wow, the shock, the horror, the sheer and utter wide eyed glory! (My grandma does swear, so I promise I’m not insulting her.)

Great Grandpa: Seriously, we just had to take this picture today? I have other things to do. Church is over, there’s a game on, and someone somewhere is cooking. Can’t we just hurry this up? This is the look I am going with, and it’s the best look you’re getting. I will not straighten my tie, because if I do that it will only take more time and I have better things to do today than stand here. (In all reality, great grandpa was one of the most calm, endearing, and gentle people you would ever want to meet. Most likely the look on his face in this picture was nothing more than his lack of excitement that he calmly carried with him wherever he went, but then again, this was after church and he did like his food.)

Great, Great Grandpa - I am so bored. Nothing could be more boring than standing here until someone finally puts their little finger on the button and snaps the picture. Bored, bored, bored, and unhappy about having to stand here. Did I mention that? Maybe I’ll go to sleep. Ahh! Bright light! Well, at least my eyes were open for this picture. (I've never met great, great grandpa, so I have no idea what he was thinking. I just thought he looked awfully bored and unthrilled by the whole situation.)

This next picture is funny for very obvious reasons. I’m not even going to try to explain it first. I’ll just post it and then give you all a minute with it.

I’m not really sure who this person is, but I’m not blaming them for this picture. How can I? They’re obviously not the one who snapped the picture. Of course, for all I know, maybe the woman chose that particular pose behind the bush because she thought it was just so snazzy and so 1950’s mod. This is something we will never know, but it makes for a pretty good humor piece on the blog. So, to whomever decided to take this picture in this specific pose, thank you. And I also want to thank that bush for just being there. Bravo! Your performance is award winning!

The last three pictures are from a set that I’d like to call the “photo bomber pictures.” I think everyone knows what a photo bomber is, but for those who don’t, it’s someone who isn’t the subject of the picture, but somehow ends up in the picture and wrecking it whether it's on purpose or by sheer accident. They simply become the subject of the picture through their wrecking. These pictures have nothing in common except for the photo bomber tendencies of the (un)suspecting background creepers.

This first picture goes with the last one I posted. Apparently, someone was really into taking pictures of people behind bushes. I don’t know if the photographer was the same person or not. No one does, but I still can’t help but wonder if I missed something. Two pictures of people behind bushes! TWO? Gosh! Everyone, is there something I should know?

In this picture, what really gets me, though, is the photo bomber quality. If you look past the main woman in the picture, the one attempting to hide behind the bush and failing to do so, is someone who is failing even more at hiding behind the beams of the porch. She’s peeking out in such a creepy way that I have to wonder if she was purposely trying to photo bomb the picture, or, because of the way she’s positioned just so, if she really does suck that bad at hiding. My mom and I have had a conversation about this, and we really don’t know which it could be. It could go either way. Ah, little mysteries. If only you could have conversations with the dead.

This next photo bomber picture, at first glance, doesn’t even seem like it would go into the photo bomber category. Go ahead, take a good look at it and see if you notice the said aforementioned bomber, as I didn't at first either. I was so into the oddness surrounding this picture, and yet somehow, considering the times, it’s not odd at all. It’s freakishly adorable, even if I do not know who all these people are.

Anyway; the photo bomber.

Did you spot him? No, you didn’t? Look just behind the small child on your right hand side. Still don’t see him? Look closer! He’s there. Still nothing? Click on the picture to enlarge it. He blends right the heck in with the background, which really, I would call him a true photo bomber, as it takes talent to blend right into a background of a picture that you’re not even supposed to be in, in the first place. I have to wonder, did the photographer know he was there?

And last but not least, we have this little gem.

Obviously this is the newer of the pictures, but what really makes this picture is not just the way that no one seems to be paying a bit of attention to the camera, but the way that the photo bomber seems to be doing an exceptionally good job of not paying attention. He is so oblivious, in fact, that he just keeps walking like there’s really awesome, yet a somewhat boring flavor of ice cream that he needs to get to.

But the real win, my absolute favorite part of this picture, is not just that he’s unaware of the camera, or the picture being taken, but that he’s also unaware of the entire group of people standing just feet from him and talking. I have asked and this picture is from a small family reunion. He was indeed part of the family, but I guess he wasn’t real big on talking to the woman folk and gaggle of older gentleman.

And there you have it; the super fun blog that I had promised. Up next, I have an even more fun blog, and although it does not include pictures, I have several small, but fun stories to share, including one about my favorite obscurely random person, Aunt Bev, along with her faithful debauchery filled companion, my mom. The next blog is filled with so much fun, in fact, that I’ve even taken notes in not one, but two different places, people! I’m even thinking about finally getting around to reviewing not only New Moon, but Eclipse as well, as I’ve now finished both.

On the same token, please give me a little bit of time. I was taken into the ER early Wednesday morning - so early that it was still dark out - for TIA symptoms. This was not the first time I’ve had a TIA. Unfortunately, as is my life, the doctor in the ER is an old arch nemesis of mine, and we even went to my regular hospital over an hour away where all of my medical records are in an awesome computer system just to escape this particular guy.

He was a physician I used about five or six years ago. I stopped going to him because ha had a knack for not listening to what you were telling him was happening, and then prescribing you a bunch of pills for things that you weren’t even complaining about. I found out that I was not the only one with this complaint about him, and he also used to work at a nursing home where my great-grandparents were, and they also had the same issue with him. He was the only doctor in duty in the ER on that particular morning, and it was good to know nothing has changed with him. And by good, I mean I wonder why he’s still practicing medicine.

Long story short, he dismissed pretty much all of my symptoms. When I told him that I had a TIA previously and that it was diagnosed by not one, but three doctors, he looked at me and said this exactly. “You never had a TIA. You’re not the right type.” He hasn’t seen me in five or six years, three of my doctors I’m seeing now have diagnosed me with this, but suddenly he felt he was the expert on my health. He also did not pull my medical records which were accessible through the hospital computers, and then tried to medicate me for symptoms I was not having, as well as with a pill that actually makes me very sick.

Had he pulled my records or listened to us, he would have known that. I was checked out of the ER because obviously, I didn’t need to end up more sick by taking a medication that makes me extremely ill, as well as having him diagnose me AGAINST everything my current doctors are saying. That in itself was quite scary. The situation could have been really bad had I stayed and let him continue to go against my current doctors and their diagnosis of my health. Who knows what else he would have tried to give me in his overconfidence and want to push pills, or if he had continued to treat me without looking at my medical history. I will be writing a letter to both the hospital and my insurance company to let them know what has gone on.

What really got me, though, was that he walked in the room, took one look at me, never even asked me what symptoms I was having, and immediately diagnosed me. You can not diagnose someone without asking them what is happening with their own body. He also never gave me a physical exam, or attempted to touch me except for listening to my heart. My entire right side was numb, including my face, and yet he still ignored all of these symptoms.

Also, I was bleeding out of my nose and mouth, which he completely dismissed. I have talked to one of my current doctors about this and we found that I have a loose blood vessel in my nose. Since I will be having surgery to correct a deviated septum on both sides of my nose in just a few weeks, the loose blood vessel will also be corrected at that point in time. We’re still working on figuring out what caused the TIA.

I could probably rant about this, as I’m still pretty upset, especially considering I’m not feeling much better and am now struggling to figure out what is causing this to happen. I will hopefully be up and ready to lick the world in the next couple of days, but at this point, I’m nowhere near that. I already had ninety percent of this blog typed up for about a week now, hadn’t had time to post it, and really just wanted to get it finished and posted today. It has taken me all day. So my apologies, but I promise I’ll be back and kicking soon.

My Name Is Sara and I Have A Mental Health Disorder

I am sorry for not updating, once again, for so long. I guess this is mostly just an apology for myself, considering that I write this blog, first and foremost, for myself. I like to be a memory keeper, finding any way possible to do so, through the good times and the bad. But I want to inspire people as well, and I hope that my blog does this. I have no way of knowing this for sure. I really want to write more for this blog, spend more time on it, but with life as it is, that’s not always feasible for me. I wish I could try harder, but until things clear up a little for me, I can’t, because right now, I am trying my hardest.

I also am aware that I’ve stopped talking about my health on this blog, which was a large part of why I started this blog. I’ve been going through a lot, not all bad, because they are trying to find out what’s going on. Then, I got lucky enough to have a little break from doctor’s appointments, and realized that’s what I need in all angles of my life.

I am, by nature, a pretty quirky, good kind of crazy, fun person and I started to wonder if that was showing in my blog. I need it to, for myself. I know who I am, and I want to always remember who I was in the days, week, months that I spend writing this blog. I want to look back and be able to pinpoint that personality and hold it close, because that’s part of growing up. If I spend so much time writing about my health, maybe I’m missing showing who I really am.

When I started this, I felt as if documenting my trials and tribulations with my health was the most important thing, but now I know that it is not. Getting better and moving on with my life is. I will always remember these experiences, these years. But maybe I don’t need to remember every single detail, to be weighed down by it. What I automatically remember, there’s a reason that I only remember that, and I need to keep hold of that knowledge.

Does this mean I won’t write about my health anymore? Absolutely not. I want to document little pieces, little glimpses, and sometimes I just need to rant. If I feel like I could inspire someone with a certain story, I’ll tell that, too. This is, ultimately, my venting place, so anything goes. I just want to show my true colors now.

I could also get into my car and my cell phone, but I really don’t want to bring the vibe down. All I can say is that it’s severely sad that T-Mobile doesn’t stand behind the one year warranty on the phones they sale, especially when I bought the device brand new and it was bad from the get-go. My car is having issues, and I feel sad for it. Maybe I’ll get into this later, but we’ll see.

With that being said, on with the blog. I need to shut up about the ranting and move this train right on along, and into the station before nightfall. Okay, too late, night has fallen, and I have some appointments at ass crack hours, so I may not get this posted tonight, but I can not say that I didn’t try. (Well, I could, but it would be untrue.)

Today has been full of a lot of things. Life, love, fun and feeling a little sicker than I have in awhile, but to know your body and know yourself is such a beautiful thing.

I had an appointment regarding getting my deviated septum, which apparently I have one on each side of my nose, opened up. It’s such a little thing compared to everything else going on, but I’ve never been able to breathe right out of my nose, so this was something I always wanted to get done, and finally have the insurance to do so. I’m going for it and I am super excited! Clearances pending, the procedure takes place in less than a month.

Per the somewhat norm of attending appointments, Aunt Bev, if available, will go with us. Sometimes it’s just to get away from things going on at home, but mostly it’s because she likes to get out of the house, have a nice day where we don’t only go to appointments, and she knows we want her with us. Oh, and she loves to eat out. Did I ever mention that about her? Her favorite thing to do is eat out, and we always do when I have appointments, so I really think that wins her over in our favor when it comes to her going with us. We’ll take it and have a great time with her!

I’m unsure if I mentioned this in the last post, and quite frankly I don’t have a ton of time to go and look, so I’ll bring it up, and if I’m repeating myself, kick me? Okay, don’t do that, but do request that I send you a cookie, because I owe you a repeat cookie. Got it?

Anyway, for Aunt Bev’s birthday just a little over a week ago, I went through my blog and weeded out any excerpts about her. I then put them all together, dated them, and printed them out for her to have for her birthday, as well as spent twenty hours on a birthday video for her. (The birthday video isn’t really the important or relevant part of this, but I had to go there.) She has apparently gotten such a kick out of me putting her in my blog, and giving her all the pieces she’s in to keep forever, that she has made several copies and handed them out to all her friends, including my mom. She thinks it’s the best thing ever, and that really, really touches me.

When I write, I write because I want to tell stories, some funny, some sad and some prolific, because I want to remember the good ole days. The fact that she enjoyed the way I portrayed her, and she laughed hysterically, her words, not mine, really means so much to me. I always said I wanted to touch just one person with this blog, and although this was not what I had in mind when I said that, I think it’s even better than what I initially thought of. I’m humbled.

That being said, now, every time she and my mom get into their good old random and inappropriate conversations, or she tells a belly laugh inducing story, she goes “Oh no, this is going to end up on the blog.” Or “oh no, we better stop talking before this ends up on the blog.”

Just because I have to be one of those people who is predictable in an unpredictable way, and it’s really funny just to creep her out by actually putting this stuff on the blog, I will share the highlights of all the things she said today that were followed by one of those two phrases. Some conversations involve my mom, some do not, but I think I’ll focus on the “marriage” conversation.

As I’ve mentioned before, my Mom and Aunt Bev have quite a referendum of talking about getting married to each other, even though neither of them are remotely the least bit lesbian, even though there is nothing wrong with being a lesbian. They’ve just been friends for so long and both have had several issues with men. Not going there.

Things were no different on this front today, although prior to this it had slowed down and I was foolish enough to think that the insanity had stopped. Oh baby, was I ever wrong, but that’s okay, because it’s funny. At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself. And please, beware, I also took notes so that I can convey this to the best of my memories ability.

*Goes to get notes*

There’s another constant conversation that goes on between Aunt Bev and my mom, and it is one that consists of my moms habits versus hers. Aunt Bev is very laid back and she gets done what she gets done. She also gets distracted by shiney, fun things. I can’t really knock her for that, because I’ve been known to take off after something shiney in a store right in the middle of purchasing something, but this isn’t about me.

My mom, on the other hand, is a paper pusher, army like motivator at times. This is not a hit on her, but she just likes this as so, and she likes to get them done. She helped Aunt Bev clean out her deceased parents house last summer, and will sometimes help her around her own house. My mom will not let Aunt Bev get distracted and will continually go “Bev, get this done, now.” She doesn’t say it in a mean way, but she definitely pushes her. For me to pass along the convo between Aunt Bev and my Mom today, you had to know this piece of information which I may or may not have passed along before.

There was a discussion running about between Aunt Bev and my mom concerning this situation and how my mom’s the motivator of the relationshipo. The following conversation ensued. The wording may or may not be exactly, but damn it, I tried.

I will use AB for Aunt Bev and M for Mom. I figured you all aren’t stupid and could figure that out, but you know, I don’t always explain myself well so I thought I’d throw that out there.

AB: “That’s why I want you for my husband.”

M: “Why do I have to be the husband?”

AB: “Because husbands motivate, do the hard labor, and wives tidy up the house, cook, and things like that.”

M: “I don’t know if I want to be the husband.”

This continued for several minutes and I can’t remember the exact conversation, so we’ll move on.

Somehow, the suggestion of wanting my mom as Aunt Bev’s husband turned into an odd conversation, in which they seemed to think they were already married. Lesbian marriage isn’t even legal here, and as I’ve mentioned, Aunt Bev is already married, but it’s funny. Funny is awesome in my book.

AB: “How long have we been married?”

M: “Well, we went to New York together in 81, so since 81.”

See, I didn’t know that all this time I had two moms even when my mom was married, and Aunt Bev has since been married. The things I learn when I’m out with the two of them. I am so glad we cleared that up.

But to think the conversation ended here would be ludicrous, my friends. If you’ve learned anything, it should be that crazy doesn’t stop easy with these two. Although it did take a temporary halt while we visited my grandma and took her to lunch on the way home from the doctor’s office, it picked back up again once we got home and I served Aunt Bev and my Mom super delicious red velvet cupcakes with awesome blue and yellow icing that I had made last night. That has nothing to do with the story, but I wanted to throw it in there.

Somehow, while eating, the conversation took an abrupt change, leading me back on a path of trying to relearn everything I thought I knew. *Sniffle* I’M SO CONFUSED! Okay, I’m done with the dramatics.

Aunt Bev had been making little jabs at my mom most of the day, here and there, about needing a husband. My mom has no interest, and Aunt Bev has never said this, so I feel like I’ve seriously missed something, but at the same time I do not want to know. Either way, after they decided they were already married and had been since 81, they changed their story all over again. It went something like this, but not limited to just this.

AB: “There’s another reason you need a husband. I can’t remember the first reason, but I know that’s the second one.” (For the record, I can’t remember the first one either, as I tried to tune that out.)

There’s a few second pause here, and before I forget to mention it, this conversation started up over Aunt Bev, who is older than my mom, saying that a lot of old people are afraid of the dark. (Her words, not mine.) My mom then said that she was afraid of the dark, still was, and always have been. There are so many things wrong with this, but I’d like to point out that kids and old people are apparently the ones who are usually afraid of the dark, and Aunt Bev nor I are afraid of the dark, and we’re are individually older and younger than my mom.

Okay, end pause.

AB: “Let’s get married.” (Here we go confusing me again. I mean, first they’ve been married since 81, then Aunt Bev tells my mom she needs a husband, and then she proposes to my mom. Okay, I don’t know if that was really an official proposal, but still.)

M: “Just don’t share my bed. I like having the bed to myself.”

AB: “I’ll sleep in Amy’s room. She doesn’t use it.” (I don’t sleep in it because I have to sleep sitting up due to being sick, and it’s just easier to do on the couch.)

There was some more pausing before Aunt Bev caught her faux pas.

AB: “You needed a husband to sleep with you because you’re afraid of the dark. This defeats the purpose.” (Ya think?)

Both of these little excerpts of my day were followed by Aunt Bev saying “this is going on the blog.” I’ll have you know, though, that her saying this was not just limited to her saying it about words, but also about her actions. So much so, that this seemed to be the theme for the day.

I am a singer/songwriter, and I know from being such that every time someone hurts me, kicks me around, or touches my life, they know it’s going into a song. I am used to hearing people go “oh man, that’s going to be a song, isn’t it?” I am not used to people expecting me to put things in a blog, fearing it a little, or getting excited about it. I feel like such an odd, little, less read, famed to my own family and friends, blogger. Ya me! It feels official, because you know it’s not official until the context of your blog makes it into an everyday conversation somehow.

I’m finding that I can’t remember half of the things that Aunt Bev did that she then followed up with, “well, that’s going on the blog.” I didn’t have time to really log everything with the day as such, and there were some hysterical moments, so I’m going to take a pause here and come back to this tomorrow.

Tomorrow is a busier day than today, but things may slowly come back to me, so I shall save you, my draft friend, and we shall reconvene sometime tomorrow.

Okay, so it’s now Thursday, and I started this blog on Tuesday, so yes, I lied when I said I would continue this blog tomorrow. I, in fact, did not do so, but in my defense, I was tired and did not feel like it. In light of that, along with everything that has happened in the past few days, I have stories out the wahoo. Some are so insanely fun and also have pictures to go with them, that I just don’t even know what to do with myself, as I am that excited to share. Other stories are just...well, let’s go with “interesting.” As to not make this too confusing though, I will pick up where I left off on Tuesday.

I’ve been trying to think over the past two days of things Aunt Bev did that warranted her to say “that’s going in the blog.” I’ve had no avail when it has come to this. I knew when she was doing these things and I was laughing, that I should have taken them down in my Blackberry for future reference, but considering we were on the move when she was doing these things, I did not. Maybe some stuff will come back to me, and if it does I will add it later.

The only thing I was able to recollect was a small parking situation that we got into at the doctor’s office, even though it was I who said that it was going in the blog, and Aunt Bev who agreed, but I shall share anyway, because I really think it’s worth it.

The doctor that I went to Tuesday is a doctor that I’ve gone to since I was a young child. When I was little, we would see him at a more local office, but since then he has decided to only work one day a week at that office, meaning it would have been a very long time until I could get an appointment there. I opted to go to his other office, which is a little further away, but is in with the other doctors I go to, so it was no big deal.

Parking in Pittsburgh and Oakland is a really huge issue, especially with the lack of parking lots and surplus of cars, drivers and college students in the area. The last time that I was at this specific office, parking was impossible to find and we ended up parking about a half of a mile away on a residential street, but felt bad about taking up room in front of someone’s house. After driving around for so long, though, we didn’t seem to have any other choices. Everything else was full up, including all the pay to park lots and garages.

Once we made it into the office, we asked the receptionist where, for future reference, we should park. She told us to just go ahead and park in the lot next to Arby’s, which was also owned by Arby’s. The reason we knew this was because the parking lot has signs all through it saying DO NOT PARK HERE UNLESS YOU ARE AN ARBY’S CUSTOMER OR YOU WILL BE TOWED. Trust us, we had passed the parking lot several times, so we brought this up to the girl and she said “oh no, it’s okay, it’s our parking lot, too.”

So Tuesday we immediately went for the Arby’s lot, and to our surprise the signs were taken down stating not to park there, so we pulled in, happy we got a parking spot so easily. We walked down the road and reached the doctors office only to find a sign taped on the door that says “IF YOU PARK AT ARBY’S YOU WILL BE TOWED.”

I found this whole thing rather ironic, especially considering it was the girl at the doctors office who told us to park there. We went in to inquire, once again, with the girl who worked there, as to where we should park. As luck would have it, I got the same girl that I did the first time, the one who had told me to park at Arby’s. When I asked her where to park, she gave me a whole other place to park and then gave me a speech about how there will be no parking at Arby’s, and that she doesn’t know who would have told me to do so. Umm, she did. She was a piece of work, let me tell you.

On a side note, we did move on the car and got very lucky, because the metered spot right in front of the building magically became open just as we needed it. However, our meter was in tact, but the guys behind us was not and he believed our meter was his, even though you could clearly see where his meter was missing from. It didn’t turn into any kind of beat down or anything, but it did go into the blog.

Another thing I wanted to put on the blog was about my mom’s hair. We were getting ready to leave and I had made my way back the hallway, only to find my mom standing there with wet hair that was sticking up all over the place. I jokingly made the comment that I hoped she wasn’t going like that. She then responded with, “no, I’m going with the Eric look.” This was in reference to Eric Szmanda who plays Greg Sanders on CSI. Google Greg Sanders and a picture will pop right up, promise. I’m disappointed I didn’t have time to take a picture of my mom.

That’s about all I can think to report for Tuesday, even though I know that I am leaving things out. I will now move on to the highlights of yesterday, and then a really epic and random story after that before moving on to the really fun stuff, because there is so much of it, that I don’t even know where to start. In fact, it may take me a few days to get all the e-mails, scans, and texts together to share, that maybe I’ll wait until tomorrow to do so.

Yesterday (Wednesday) was filled with doctors appointments for the first half of the day. Long story short, I am being referred back to the heart doctor in anticipation that they may have missed something. I was also referred to a doctor out of state at the Cleveland Clinic. I spoke with my heart doctor today, and the doctor I saw yesterday has already alerted him to the issue and I am going to see the heart doctor first thing Monday, as they are concerned. This doesn’t seem very important now, but you just wait. This goes so lovely with a story I will tell soon.

Regardless of the medical drama, which I will hold off on really getting into until I know more, the day was pretty neat. I got to take a walk through Oakland and see some sights in between my doctors appointments. I had never gotten to do that before. The nice thing about Oakland is that there are several places to sit down, so when I didn’t feel well, I could sit until my heart was content. (No pun intended.) I also ate at Primanti Brother’s and I was excited about that.

Today I was exhausted and had a dentist appointment. All was well, until I got home. This is where the epic story will start. The problem with the epic story is that, for now, I can’t get into it the way that I want to until this is resolved. Also, I realize this is probably hilarious if you’re not me, so if you laugh, I won’t hold it against you. (Too much.) I’m sure I’ll laugh later. (Way later. Like, when I’m 90.)

As many of you know, I have been sick for an extended period of time. My doctors have been filling out papers for the state saying that I am not to work since September. They, at this point in time, have me off work at least until March of next year. Again, it is important to keep in mind that the state has these papers, and this is also why I am getting medical insurance through the state, because they know I am truly sick.

This being said, I signed up for Social Security (SSI) back in March. I am not allowed to work, drive, lift anything, etc, doctor’s orders. That is the reason I applied for SSI, because, just because I can’t work or drive, doesn’t mean that I don’t still have bills to pay, including a car payment. I’d sell the car, but I’d still owe close to $10,000 on it, so that’s stupid, and when I can drive again, I’ll need a car.

My doctors also filled out papers for SSI, ones of which my doctors very nicely allowed me to obtain copies of. I also have physical copies of my medical records, and they are online and I can pull them up at any time by logging in.

Today, I received a letter in the mail from SSI saying that I was rejected. I expected that, and I expected to have to appeal because I heard several times that they almost always reject you the first time. What I didn’t expect was the aggressive language that was used in the letter, as well as the mass amount of errors, leading me to believe that they had me very, very mixed up with someone else. And quite possibly they did not care for this someone else.

Once I get this cleared up, I would like to share parts of the letter on the blog, because I think people need to really get a good look at the horrible aggressiveness in the letter, and how this woman who wrote it is supposed to be a “professional.” I will be taking the letter to the local state rep. It is that offensive.

For right now, though, I will share the highlights of this letter, as well as why it’s a bunch of crap, just without using the actual wording. There’s so much to go over, that I don’t know where to start without making this into a novel, so I’m going to try to keep this as short and sweet as possible.

As I was reading over the letter, it didn’t take me long to notice the first blaring error. One of the lines on the paper states, in a very aggressive and offensive way, that I have never worked consistently, and at my age and with my twelve year education, I can get off my ass and get a job, and stop being lazy. The wording is sadly more aggressive than that and minus the swear word, but similar.

Let me just tell you all the ways that this is wrong. First of all, I have worked consistently for four years. As soon as I was able, I got a job. Yes, it’s true, I did not work at the same place for four years, but I have never been without a job for more than a week, was at one job for two years, have worked more than one job at a time, and have never been fired or laid off from anywhere. Obviously, this being said, I really did not appreciate her wording, her insinuation that I was lazy and trying to live off the state, and the whole kit and caboodle in general.

The second way that this is wrong is that I do not, indeed, have a twelve year education. If she would look into things, she would see that when I was in eight grade, I was pulled out of school by my doctor because of being ill. I spent most of eighth grade being home tutored by my teachers at home, only to return for the last few weeks of eighth grade and take the finals.

If this wasn’t bad enough, I started ninth grade, was there three weeks, fell ill again, and was pulled out by doctors once again. At this point it was decided that I would be home schooled. Due to being ill, I completed two years of homeschooling, got behind, and decided to get my GED. I understand that a GED is equivalent to a high school diploma, but that still does not mean that I was well enough to spend twelve years in high school, as she told me I had. It’s good to know that she thinks she knows my life better than I do.

What I REALLY appreciate in this, however, is that if she would have looked into my school history, she would see that I was pulled out of school by doctors because I was sick even back then, and then was home schooled. She would also see that I have been sick since then, but still went out and worked despite that, until the doctors eventually pulled me out of working. Therefore, I am neither lazy or a loser, but it’s so nice of her to decide that without proof.

Speaking of not having proof, I really feel like I should warn you all to go ahead, take some time, put down your food and drinks, and prepare yourself for this one, because I know I was personally shocked and offended to learn this little piece of information about myself.

The lady writing the letter stated that there is evidence that I have a mental health disorder, and that played a large part in the decision they made. Well, gee golly, I am SO GLAD she told me I have a mental health disorder, because none of my doctors of told me this, so I could have gone through my whole life never knowing this. What a relief.

There are so many things that make this part of the letter a gem that aspires to the likes of Hemingway, that I don’t even know where to start. I guess let’s just say that never once has anyone ever told me I had a mental health disorder, or suggested that I see a psychologist. Save for the next paragraph where I will explain the exception to this, but the exception only makes the story sway in my case even more.

In April of 2008 I was admitted into the ER because I could not speak, didn’t know who I was, and was extremely sick. I had purple highlights in my hair. Even though I had three people with me in the hospital, the first and ONLY thing they did was pull blood and drug test me. The blood, of course, as everyone told them, came back negative for any substances, INCLUDING Tylenol. That’s right, they tested me the whole way down to Tylenol.

After that, they decided that something had to be mentally wrong with me, so once I was able to talk again, they had someone come in and evaluate me. After the woman evaluated me, she proceeded to ask me what in the world would ever make them think that I was crazy, and not just sick, and filled out a paper, physically writing on there that I was mentally stable, and handed me a copy of the paper. I still have this paper.

(For future reference, I had a TIA. My neurologist did the proper tests to figure this out since the hospital thought I was drugged or crazy. Even with proof that I was neither, they did not help me. Thanks Westmoreland Hospital, part of the Excela Health program in Greensburg, Pennylvania. I hope you eat your own shorts!)

Since then, it has never been brought up again. No one has ever suggested me to go to a mental health professional, so basically the only thing the lady at SSI has to base her decision that I have a mental health disorder is a paper from April of 2008 stating that I am mentally stable. If someone would like to explain this to me, I’d really appreciate it, because I can’t say I understand this.

What also really irks me is that she used her own delusional assumption to make the decision on my SSI. She has nothing to base this decision upon. I could understand if I went to a psychologist and they told her I was a whack job, but that’s not the case. Somehow, she just decided that I was. I want to know if it’s even legal for her to make a decision like that without hard proof. They have no papers from a psychologist, who is a mental health professional, therefore the person to diagnose this, saying that I have a mental health disorder. This would be because I NEVER went to one, nor was I ever told to be evaluated, so if that’s the case, why would I suddenly just go? There’s never been a reason to, but apparently now there is, because I need to prove this lady wrong and maybe encourage her to be evaluated.

I do not want the state thinking that I am crazy for several reasons. There’s the obvious reason, and there’s the reason that I also have my health insurance through them. If this gets back to them a good many problems could ensue, including a change in the way my health insurance works. I could be in big trouble. When I finally get a hold of someone in the office, I am going to tell them that I would like to have the mental health professional of their choice do an evaluation on me so that they can see their magic assumption is incorrect.

They are treating me as if I am making up my issues, and pretty much stated that I am in the letter. What is upsetting is that I have medical records to prove that I am not. This is where the story gets even better.

They went on to state that I have not one of the problems that I listed on my initial paperwork, and appear to be totally healthy. I’m so glad this lady who wrote the letter has decided she is a doctor. I mean, it’s just so fantastic, especially considering as of yesterday, the doctors are now looking to send me to a doctor out of state because they are concerned about my heart, and I have an emergency appointment with my cardiologist Monday to make the final decision.

What makes this better, if that’s even possible, is the doctors who filled out the papers for SSI, the ones I have COPIES of, state that I have all these issues. I mean, what more proof do they need than that? If the doctors are putting it on the papers, it’s also in my medical records.

Also, the one doctor who filled out the papers was on pregnancy leave and was nice enough to fill them out from home, instead of making a colleague do it, because “she was concerned what would happen to me if I was allowed to go back to work with the way I pass out and other things relating to that.” Needless to say, she’s just “thrilled” about this letter.

In the letter I got, it was also stated that I could stand for long periods of time, carry things, lift things, and drive. This is another thing that was put on papers from the doctors. I can’t do any of these things, but again, I’m glad this lady who works there who is not a doctor has decided I can. Yesterday, in fact, my neurologist reiterated to me that I am NOT TO DRIVE, and if I needed her to fill out anything attesting to that, she would. I wonder how one would get to work if there were no buses and they lived at least 2 miles from the closest business. The person who sent me that letter may want to think about that once she finally realizes that she’s the only one who thinks I can drive.

This is all a lot of fail, but it still gets better. What I have to share with you next, really sums up the letter quite beautifully.

My mom pointed out to me that several of the doctors listed on the letter of where they pulled my records from, aren’t even my doctors. I looked them up online and they all practice within the same offices that I go to, but regardless, are NOT my doctors. And what really wins is that one doctor no longer has a license due to malpractice. So good going there, chief.

This got me thinking. I know when I go to several of the doctors offices and tell them who I am, they often ask me which *insert my name here* I am, as they have several patients with that name. I have a generic name. What can I say? Knowing this, I have a feeling I know what may have happened here, but considering we’re dealing with the government, it’s hard telling.

I think they’ve confused my records with someone else’s. When it’s all put together, I think it’s a large possibility that social security sent papers to my doctors offices requesting information about my health. I happen to know from signing the Hippa release forms that all that went on them was my name. Not my birthdate, not my social security number, and no other way to identify me. They also don’t specify which doctor I see, because I guess they assume my doctor either the only doctor there, or there’s only one person with my name, so this makes sense to them.

Since all the offices I go to have several doctors, I have to wonder if they didn’t send the papers in, and since they had several people with my name, and no other way to identify me than by name, if they didn’t send out the wrong records not knowing. What solidifies this for me a little is that it’s only the offices that have told me before they have clients with the same name as me, that seem to have the incorrect doctor listed on the letter I received. I don’t think that’s a coincidence, especially when these offices have also accidentally pulled the wrong charts for me before and have had to switch them out while I waited.

I also understand that SSI could have confused me with someone else if I’m not the only person with that name that several of my doctors offices have. This means I am not the only person with this name who is sick, so that’s also a large possibility.

I think the worst part in all of this is that I wouldn’t even be mad if it wasn’t for the absolutely unprofessional and indignant letters I received. Yes, I said letters, as in plural. I got mailed two letters, both in the same envelope. The only difference between the two is that one states I have a mental health disorder, and the other does not. Apparently, not even the lady who wrote out the letters can decide if she magically thinks I do or not. Lady, I don’t. Please have me evaluated. I would actually prefer you did so that you can know this, too.

I have to get this all taken care of tomorrow, or start to. I’m concerned that this is not going to be an easy process considering they obviously think that the records they have are for the correct person. I plan on taking the note, along with all of my medical papers into the SSI office so that they can see something is off. I also plan on taking everything to our state rep who deals with this sort of thing, as I think it’s important for him to know the errors being made at his office, as well as the kind of language and aggressiveness this lady who using towards people. I have heard the state rep here is fantastic and really goes after the SSI people, so I think he’d like to know all of this. Hell, even he’ll be able to see there’s something up with the letter if he looks over my medical records.

I think I will just leave you with this story for right now. This blog is going really long. I think I will go ahead and start on the next blog, one that will be full of a ton of fun. I promise to keep you updated on the SSI situation as much as I can, but I promise even harder that the next blog will make you laugh your a** off. Yes, a**, because if your ass isn’t big enough to need to be laughed off, I don’t want you to laugh it off and therefore have nothing to sit on.

Oh, but before I forget to mention this, I should explain the title of my blog. The other day I had to have my car towed due to engine trouble, so I called my insurance company, as they reimburse me for towing. While I was talking to the wonderfully polite lady on the phone, she somehow decided to start calling me Sara. I’m unsure of what sparked this, but she called me Sara throughout the conversation. I have since gotten the reimbursement check, and it is in the right name, too. In case you were wondering.

This being said, apparently my name is Sara and I have a mental health disorder. See how I did that? I mixed two things that were not true and ta-da. Maybe I should send an e-mail with this subject to the woman who wrote me the SSI letters just to really screw up her day. If I didn’t think she’d take me seriously, I would.

Happy Birthday, Aunt Bev, and Passive Agressive Yard Sales

Before I even start my story of the day, I want to take a minute to point out that Saturday June 14 was the forever awesome Aunt Bev's birthday! This post should come up as being posted on the 14th, since I started it on that day, but that would be a lie. My intentions were good, but I did not get around to finishing this post, but the thought is still there.

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY AUNT BEV! Here is to many more years of being awesome. Enjoy being 29, because you are only 29 once! (Or, in this case, several times, but hey, who's counting. I say you're 29!)

Thank you for always being there for me, and for just being awesome in general. Your kindness, love and support means the world to me, and I hope you know that! Thank you for just being you! (The cats and dogs agree completely with all of the above, just so you know, but considering the video, I think you do.)

And now, without further ado, I present to you my story of the day, even though it is not near as important, or as cool as Aunt Bev's birthday!

There are a few things I have learned in life, some important some not so important, but there is one thing that I consider to be number on on my list.

No one likes yard sales. This has never been more true in life than it was on the 14th, when Ziva David from NCIS walked into an unsuspecting yard sale, and then announced in Hebrew that junk is junk. Period. There's no way around that, and one man's trash is not another's treasure treasure. God Bless her.

That thing I've learned could could also be number two on my list, as it's just that important. I mean, I guess there's those people who do like yard sales, but no one likes having them. It's more painful than having your cavities filled, which I've done in the last week, more boring than watching grass grow, and more agonizing than getting a farmers tan, which is bound to happen with any luck. Not good luck, though.

That being said, guess what I got sucked into? I'll give you three guesses.

No, I did not get sucked into singing "The Song That Doesn't End." Although, comparably, I would have taken it. I like to sing.

Skipping while singing obnoxious songs? No, although I've been there, done that.

Watching an NCIS Marathon? Oh buddy, you best believe I wanted to, but I only caught the last three episodes.

If you guessed right, you would have guessed that I got sucked into a yard sale. Now history tells us that zoos have nothing on yard sales, and I'd much rather deal with angry animals than people. They are both smarter, and unable to steal from you. I was prepared for the worst.

What happened, however, was worse than I could have imagine. Hoards of people did not fall into line and wreck our unhappy yard sale. Things did not get stolen. No one asked me if the chair I just stood up from was for sale. (Save for later.) In fact, we probably had twenty people in the span of eight hours.

I made a whole five dollars and seventy five cents and it wasn't even my yard sale. I had less than ten things involved in it. I'm not complaining.

But this yard sale wasn't about the money. It was about proving Ziva David wrong. Okay, so it wasn't about that either, probably about proving her right, if anything, but it was about getting rid of junk. It was also about gearing up and dealing with the stupidity of people. I have yard sale stories, and now would probably be the right time to tell them, but instead I will only tell you one that is significant to this post and shattered my naive youth of how great people can be in a billion pieces, but therefore preparing me for yard sales of the future.

People will buy anything, period. They will offer you money for your shoes and sort through your car if you leave it unlocked, even if all the things you wish to sale are already displayed. Basically, people are scary little critters with a will and a way to snap up everything they see, whether they intend on telling you what they're doing, or paying for it. They're uniquely crafty. Yep, going with that.

A few years back, my grandma decided to move from her house that was larger than she needed, and into an apartment in a complex for people who are over fifty and super awesome. This has worked out well for her, by the way, but that's not the point of this post. The point is, I've been part of many yard sales prior to this, but never have I been more mortified than I was at this particular yard sale. It cemented my fear of them, and made me see that it was totally warranted.

Several things happened during the day, including people trying to go through our vehicles, and some lady trying to steal things off of my grandma, who was then in her late seventies. This ended in my grandma chasing her down the street and yelling. I don't wish I was kidding. It was pretty funny and my grandma got money for the stuff, and her exercise for the next month, as well as exercised her vocal chords. I say it's a win.

With all the debauchery going on, what really got me, though, was the story of the chair. There were supposed to be four of us running the yard sale, however my grandmother and aunt decided after awhile that it was okay to sit inside her house and not help at all despite all the stuff belonging to either of them, and the fact that we were being mobbed, but that's beyond the point. When all four of us were still working the yard sale, we had four chairs seated in an open circle around the table for those little down times when we did actually get to sit down, rest our feet, and get our shit together.

Eventually, though, someone was bound to come along and ruin this. I stood up to assist said person, and the second I got up she grabbed the chair that I had just gotten up off of from behind me and yelled HOW MUCH IS THIS? The bitch actually thought I was selling the chair. (If you were wondering why I just called this lady a bitch, please refer to Khloe Kardashian and her hilarious comment towards a realtor that obviously could not read.)

After chair-gate, I have since learned that you just can not get up and leave your chair, or even get up from it, without someone wanting to buy it. I took this into consideration during the recent yard sale.

The chair that I had with me was not any chair. Oh no, it was my much coveted Spongebob Squarepants (or SquareBob Spongepants, if you're Danielle's grandma), camping chair. No, I do not camp. I did once and that went extremely wrong, so we will not talk about that right now, even though it's not totally off limits for one day down yonder. My Aunt bought me the chair for when we woudl go to free concerts consisting of singers that were popular in the 1950's, and it is very comfortable, and I love it. Enough said.

I was all prepared for combat when it came to my chair, not wanting to lose it, or have it accidentally "sold" or "creatively borrowed" the moment I walked away from it to eat my yummy, yummy bagel. This is how I dealt with the fear of losing my chair.

Can't see it well enough? Well, here's a close up for you, then.

And you know where that sign got me? Well, do ya? Hardly anyone came to the yard sale and no one noticed the chair. All for lessons I've learned during yard sales. Sheesh! Where's the spirit? Where's the fear of woman on a mission trampling you and trying to bargain you into selling what's not actually for sale. Where's the sheer terror of the sport?