Sunday, January 26, 2014

The Cat Stole My Xanax

Ma! The dog did it.

I went to the doctor last week. She is a good doctor but also a pill pusher.

Specifically, antidepressants and anti-anxiety stuff.

No matter what the problem is, she always adds, “You know, depression causes aches and pains. We should get you started on meds.” And I always say, “No thanks, you know I won’t take them,” and then toss out the thought that maybe we could work on what I came in for, to which she replies that maybe anxiety is an issue for me.

After being told to arrive 15 minutes early to update paperwork and then waiting an additional 45 minutes past my appointment time, spending that wait time in the lobby where SICK people with FLU have waited, finding out what the cash price of my visit was going to cost me, and then freezing half to death in the exam room while we had our chat, well yes, perhaps I do have a little anxiety.

I paid and made two more appointments and then swung by the pharmacy to pick up the drugs.

When I got home I put the prescriptions on the kitchen counter and wandered off to do something.

Next day I went to make coffee and take my anti-inflammatory meds (basically prescription strength Advil for a $130.00 office call plus the 12 bucks to the pharmacy). The Xanax was gone. I checked the cupboards to make sure I hadn’t stuck it away.

It was gone.

No humans had been in the house since my doctor appointment, so I asked the cat what she did with my pills. She gave me the dumbest look, as if she didn’t understand.

I knew she did it. She has a gazillion toys and just wants to play with mine. Pens, keys, saltshakers, anything that isn’t hers…

So I searched under furniture and appliances. I leaned over the stair rail to see if she tossed the pill bottle to the basement. The Xanax was nowhere to be found. I hoped the lid had stayed on and the dog didn’t get hold of my meds, although she could occasionally use a chill pill.

I imagined calling the doctor’s office not 24 hours after getting the prescription and telling them the cat stole my controlled substance and I needed more.

Note in chart: “Patient may be abusing meds. Offer antidepressants again.”

Rather than stress over the missing drugs, which could create the need to take a pill I couldn’t find, I went about my day and forgot about it.

Come bedtime, I snuggled in with a book and then I heard the cat making a bunch of racket. I tried to concentrate on my book but the noise was too distracting. I got up to see what she was messing with.

When I rounded the corner into the living room, Damcat was curled up on an ottoman pretending to sleep. She’d heard me coming.

I headed to the kitchen, got a drink of water and headed back to bed. As I reached to flip the light back off I noticed something sticking out from behind the wine cabinet. 

It was the fortune cookie that went missing from my lunch. But behind it was a pill bottle.

I picked it up, confirmed that it was the missing Xanax, and put it in a zippered pocket inside my purse.

I went back to bed and tried to read. Five minutes later I heard a THUMP noise coming from the kitchen. I wanted to ignore it and doze, but then the wailing started.

Back in the kitchen, I found Damcat and my purse in the floor, all tangled up. While freeing the cat before she strangled herself, I made a plan.

Then I wrapped double stick tape around the pill bottle (cats hate that stuff) and put it in a Ziploc bag. Then I put more tape all around the bag. Then I put the bag in a box and taped it closed.

I found a Sharpie and wrote XANAX in big bold letters on the box. Then I took the box to the garage and put it on a high shelf. Then I made a note to myself in case I ever decide to take anti-anxiety pills and forget where they are.

At my next visit the pill pusher will want an update. I’ll tell her I feel much better, but I don’t need a refill just yet.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

The One Thing All Women Who Die Alone Do

You can call me the Enchantress

Last night I was on Facebook and saw one of those “suggested” posts. I usually ignore that stuff.

I mean, if I want to spend money online I’ll go to or amazon, not the land of nuttiness. I read links from those I follow, but otherwise I prefer to just pick up a book.

But this one caught my eye:

“Women who die old and alone all do this one thing.” 

Yeah, they failed to properly capitalize the title.

It was a tempting headline. I almost clicked. But I saw that new sidebar thing that tells me Bob just scored two points in Words with Friends and Patty likes Jim’s picture and Jill joined a group for people who like to join Facebook groups.

I could not bring myself to read “Women who die old and alone all do this one thing” because everyone would then be notified that I’d read it and think AHA, I knew she was lonely and afraid of dying alone!” 

So I just pondered what that one thing might be that old and alone women do. And how they define “old” and “alone.” Eighty? Ninety? One hundred? Does single mean alone? Or is that reserved for old women with not one relative or friend?

I’m just gonna say I may be of a certain age, but I am not old. I am single, and I live alone, but I’m not alone.

Anyway. What could that one thing be?

Hoarding cats?

Eating at Waffle House?

If they’re alone, how would anyone know what they are all doing?

I had to stop pondering to meet up with my coaching group, and as I got on Facebook to go to group I saw this headline:

“3 Things That Repel Men.” The link was to the same website that knows what old women do when alone.

At first glance I thought it was 

It was actually Enchant Men. Oh boy, now it was pretty clear that by “old and alone” they mean single.

After the coaching session, instead of starting my homework I googled the website so I could get the scoop without it being announced right there next to Cathy watched a cat video!

The articles linked on Facebook weren’t there. It’s just a video. A very long video about how to snag a man.

You know, all the authentic things that lead to lasting love, like what colors to wear, how to pretend interest in boring things he likes, stuff like that. But they don’t give it all away in the video, because they want you to pay for these insider secrets, and that shit ain’t cheap.

It’s 320 bucks, but hey, a low low price to pay to learn how to trick a man into loving the person you are pretending to be so that you won’t die alone because you did that one thing.

Alone meaning single. Not alone.

Saturday, January 4, 2014

Why I'm Single Saturday: Drugs and Public Poopers

I was in my twenties when I dated an older guy that worked for the stock exchange and I was pretty impressed, mostly because I had no idea what that meant.

Turned out he had a part time job too. Dealing cocaine.

But this story isn’t really about coke dealers, it’s about public pooping.

The guy (let's just call him Joe Blow, shall we?) wasn’t a fancy guy, but invited me to a fancy restaurant for a date. Joe seemed to know the manager and everyone that worked there and we got seated right away and then excellent service.

Didn’t occur to me at the time that these people were most likely his best customers.

Between appetizers and entrees, Joe laid out lines of coke right there on the linen tablecloth. I was young and dumb but still pretty sure this was illegal and excused myself to go to the ladies room (I was going to say powder room, but the powder was back at the table).

Nobody else was in there, so I locked myself in a stall and tried to figure out what was happening and whether I would be able to finish my dinner and get home or would have to call my parents and tell them I’d been hauled to the slammer (I probably would have just stayed in jail rather than tell my parents).

So I was sitting on the toilet pondering every possible scenario and feeling totally paranoid when someone else came in.

She took the stall next to me, in an otherwise large, empty restroom. Who does that? Isn’t there a rule? 

Now, as they say, I had to piss or get off the pot – I didn’t want this stranger to think I was taking a dump or giving birth or snorting coke or something in there.

Then the grunting started. Loud, trying to poop grunting with some wheezing thrown in for good measure.

Then I saw the shoes. Big clunky man shoes.

Oh, man, one of us was taking a dump and one of us was in the wrong restroom. Had I freaked out over the coke and locked myself in the men’s room without noticing? Now I had to choose the lesser of two evils, and my choice was to hightail it back to my dinner.

I raced from the stall to the sinks and noticed there were no urinals. Good sign. 

Grunt…Grunt…Wheeze. Also there were tampon machines. Whew. 

I washed my hands and…FLOOSH!!!!

The stall door opened. The crapper saw me in the mirror and started yelling that I was in the wrong room.

He stomped his big embarrassed ass toward the door without even washing, and swung it wide open to find his entire dinner party standing there waiting for him.

Waiting and laughing.

When I returned to the table there were no signs of drugs. But man, was that waiter happy when he served my steak. Talked a lot too.

Friday, January 3, 2014

Road Shaves

I see some really stupid stuff on the road. Weaving, driving too slow for traffic, sitting at a green light...and on and on and on. My first thought is usually that the driver is drunk or sick. My second thought comes when I am closer and see that they are texting. Not really texting while driving, as there's definitely more texting than driving going on.

So check this out. This woman wasn't trying to text and drive, she was shaving her...privates.

The Perp

Ms. Rivenbark tells the story so well - if you don't laugh out loud, there is something wrong with you.

 Right? I know you've seen some weird stuff on the road too. I'd love a comment telling me the strangest, scariest, or funniest thing you've seen out there.

Ringing in the New Year With a Few Challenges

**Full Disclosure: I wrote this yesterday (ok, it's 12:30 a.m. now, so I should say on 1/1, then had technical difficulties posting it. A challenge I did not sign up for this month : )

Dear 2013,

We’re done. Finished. Kaput. And I’m not sorry.

As they say, when the bad times outweigh the good, it’s time to move on. We have no choice, really.

I know you’ll beg and plead, reminding me of the good times while calling me baby.

Yeah, there were good times, like the trip to the Oregon coast, that rather well known writer who trusted me to proofread her new novel, a successful conclusion to a business project I’d worked on nearly all damned year, clients who called just to say they appreciate what I do for them…

But we really shared some shitty stuff too.

Business could have been better, people I love died, others are suffering, and that reminds me that I also blame you for the failure of the website; If I could get paid for every hour I’ve spent trying to get signed up for insurance, then waiting for live chat help, then waiting for phone help when the live chat non-help said they couldn’t help me, I’d be freaking rich. I still don’t have insurance, but I’m sure 2014 will care more than you did. 

And don’t even get me started on the dentist from Hell that tried to ruin my life and charge me for it. Long after replacing him with a professional, I still get emails inviting me to pancake breakfasts and ice cream socials…I’m going to send him an invite to small claims court.

It’s all good though, like a high school love. Eventually we forget how stupid it was and just have fond memories.

I’m over you 2013. My new year promises so much more than you ever had for me.

January is gonna kick my ass. Besides the usual work for right-way money, today starts another round of Christina Katz’s 21 Moments Writing Challenge, Jeff Goins’ 500 Words challenge, and a new round of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. Not as overwhelming as it appears, since writing 500 words per day will take care of all three challenges.

Tomorrow I’ll join for “Embody Your Pricing Genius.” I need this.

Then there’s Coach Jennie’s Astonish Yourself 2014: Six week’s of coaching to craft a plan for a “legendary year of making shit happen.” I love Jennie, although I’m kind of afraid of her. She will take no excuses.

I met Jennie while participating in Dana Sitar’s ManiWriMo in November. Speaking of Dana, I’m also signed up for her E-Pub Boot Camp and I'm super excited. I’ve adored Dana since reading her Writer’s Bucket List (get a free copy here) and love that she doesn’t preach rules for writers, but suggests that wherever you are and however you do things is okay. I’m well into the writing of the ebook and have another in mind, once I learn…a lot.

I’m also in the midst of setting up two new websites, one for writing/proofreading, and the other for general VA services. I know nothing about website design and should have just hired someone a long time ago to do it for me. But no, I’m stubborn and thought that if I could figure this out, it would be another service that I could offer to clients…I’m pretty sure that nobody is going to pay me to set up a website based on the looks of my own, and if I really wanted to spend my days doing things that suck I'd just go back to working for criminal attorneys. Wait, the attorneys weren't know what I mean.

And HEY LOOK! I’m way over 500 words for the first three challenges of 2014. 

Are you challenging yourself for the new year? Leave a comment and tell me all about it!