The Idiot Magnet

Bad news, Gals. (If there’s any guys reading this, I’m sorry. You have to be a gal for your duration of reading this.) I did not move over the weekend as planned. It’s a very long story, but the long short of it is this. In previous posts, you’ve all been introduced to Greta Hayley. If not, you’re about to be introduced to her again.

This is Greta Hayley. Although a lot of you have heard me talk about her, what a lot of people don’t know is that she’s a medical companion dog, meaning she’s medically necessary for me to have. I don’t have to take her into stores or anything, but if I’m home by myself, I need her to be here with me. She knows how to wake me up when I pass out and get me help. She can also sense when something is going to happen to me and alert me ahead of time so I can get the proper help or at least sit down. On several occasions, had it not been for her, who knows what would have happened to me while I was alone for several hours on end in the house. When I had my mini stroke she kept me awake and helped me get help. I’m fully aware that had I fallen asleep, I probably wouldn’t have been here today since my mom had her phone off and wasn’t aware of the situation until five hours after the fact.

So imagine my surprise when the apartment complex told me at the last minute that they wouldn’t allow me to have a medically necessary dog in the apartment. The last thing we thought was going to be an issue was having a medical companion dog, especially with a doctor and a vet to back that she is one. Everyone agrees that these people are huge assholes. I was told by two different people, a vet and a person whose husband rents out apartments, that I have a strong lawsuit here. I could sue them, and I’d win, but who wants to live in an apartment complex run by such insensitive asshats? I sure don’t. There’s clearly something wrong with the people running the complex, and the way the situation was handled was beyond ridiculous. If I get into the whole story, I’d be talking slander for the next week, so I’m just going to leave it at that. I guess I have to find a new place (and roommate) where my medically necessary dog is accepted.

In other news, the stupidest people on Craigslist find me. If you’re ever looking for someone really, really unbelievably stupid, just come ask me. I’ll post something on Craigslist and have all the stupid you want in an hour or less. In today’s Craigslisting adventure, I have a lady who emailed me about a pro-grade pair of horse clippers. Please keep in mind that horses have incredibly thick skin and hair, much thicker than dogs, yet it is still possible to nick your horse with these clippers. So imagine my surprise when this lady wanted to use pro-grade horse clippers on her dog, and a little Maltese, at that. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out this isn’t going to work, as I’m pretty sure anyone can figure out that pro-grade horse clippers are meant for horses. Yes, sometimes you can get the cheap horse clippers and use them on dogs, but we’re taking expensive, pro-grade horse clippers that could eff your dog up. Also, if you need pro-grade horse clippers on your dog, you haven’t been taking care of your dog. Pro-grade dog clippers, which are much cheaper to buy new than horse clippers, will take great care of your dog, unless it’s seriously matted, and if it’s that matted, you need a groomer.

I emailed this lady back and nicely told her that I used to be a vet tech, and I had to advise her that using pro-grade horse clippers on her dog, especially a little Maltese, could be very dangerous for her dog. I would prefer not to sell her the clippers, but I would if she would have to sign a paper saying that I am not liable for her dog being harmed by the clippers if that happened and she understands the risks. I honestly didn’t think that was too much to ask, though I really didn’t want to sell her the clippers and figured this would fend her off. I have no idea how tangled a Maltese needs to be to warrant using pro-grade horse clippers on it, but there was no way the dog wasn’t going to get hurt. I thought having her sign a paper was a fair compromise.

She emailed me back and told me, what a coincidence, because she was also a vet tech. (When people get this passive aggressive about stuff, it’s a good sign they’re lying.) She alerted me she would not be signing anything and that was too much to ask. She just wanted the clippers. This raises all kinds of red flags for anyone with half a brain. If she didn’t think she was going to hurt the dog with those horse clippers, she would have signed the paper. After all, if you’re not planning on coming back on me for anything, why wouldn’t you? Obviously, she knew there was a danger of it happening and was planning on coming back on me. Also, and I can’t stress this enough, if she really was a vet tech, she would have known better, but I adore how she tried to intimidate me. Please, lady, get a life. Instead of searching for a pair of used horse clippers that you can get on the cheap, try spending the money buying a pair that are actually for dogs. If you don’t want to spend the money on new ones, buy used ones. They’d still be cheaper than used horse clippers. Sheesh.

On a totally unrelated topic, has anyone ever tried eHarmony? I think it’s about time that I find myself a nice guy and try to move forward with my life. I’m ready for that, and to see where things could go. I apparently can’t find guys on my own and in the real world that want to date me or ask me out (I haven’t had any offers in years.), and although I’m typically against online dating, I think I’m out of choices. Thoughts?


Moving Day

I know that lately I’ve managed to do my normal, amazing disappearing act, of which I’ve nearly perfected over the past several years. (Yay, ninja skills!) I promise I’m not ignoring my blog but, you guys, boy have things changed in the last month and a half. I think I forget what life used to be like. Zoey, this post is particularly for you. You always think my life is interesting. This time, it actually is. Are you ready for some exciting news?

I am moving. When, you ask? This Saturday. When did I decide this? Two days ago. No, I’m not kidding. Only I could come up with something this ridiculous sober. Maybe I’m one of those people alcohol was made for. We will never know. Either way, I’m moving this Saturday with basically nothing packed and no one to help me move my bed. It should be interesting, special, ridiculous, funny and everything in between.

For those of you who have been with me during all the years I’ve been blogging, you know I haven’t been happy with my living arrangement for awhile. If I were moving because of that, it would be helpful. Unfortunately, there was a situation with my insurance and it’s forcing my hand. I would get into the entire story, but it’s so stupid it’s almost unbelievable. In fact, I thought someone was punking me, so I both called and went into the office to talk to someone about my insurance, each time with the same result. Apparently, insurance companies are as senseless as their reputation perceives.

To add fuel to the fire, I’m moving in with my guy friend. I swear if one more person asks me if I’m moving in with my boyfriend someone is going to be bailing me out of prison. At least I have a friend who is my designated bail-me-out-of-prison person, and it’s not the same person I’m moving in with. (Some of us need one of those.) I’ve known this friend for six or seven years, so long that neither of us can remember exactly how long. His girlfriend approves of us living together and encouraged it, her mom approves of us living together, and his mom approves of us living together, THAT’S how long we’ve known each other. I’m also going to be sanctioning off the dining room with curtains or some other contraption we’ve not discovered yet and making it my bedroom. There’s so many ways this can go wrong and one way it can go right, but somehow it’s going to go right and it’s going to be awesome. (Lest I eat crow on this later. Sue me for being an optimist.)

I’m super nervous about moving. The last time I moved I was eleven and didn’t own anything. Now I’m twenty-six, own an obscene amount of things that will never fit in the apartment, and I have to figure out how to downsize it. I’m going from the country to right smack dab in the middle of an urban area over an hour away. No more driving twenty minutes for bread, I can just walk. No more driving over an hour to the doctor’s, they’re twenty minutes away. But no more letting little Greta outside in the fenced in yard either or looking across the street at a horse farm. No more doing whatever I feel like. I have to watch what I wear and have a roommate now. No more taking paranormal cases for the historical society or volunteering with the wildlife center, because both will be too far away.  No more being home alone ninety percent of the time and having so much downtime that I become the most socially awkward person on the planet. No more having a bathroom to myself, we’re sharing. (Yes, somewhere along the line this is going to turn into a great set up for a television show. Maybe I’ll make a blog just about our living arrangement and hope someone comes along and wants to buy the rights to it. No, I’m not a dreamer. Why do you ask?) I’m going from my own customized bedroom to somehow making a dining room into my own space. I’m interested to see how this is going to go, but once I figure it out I will post some pictures of my space and chat you all up about it.

In the midst of all of this, I still have the normal medical junk going on, though I’ve been a little more stable. I have to have some testing done this week, more appointments to make when the tests comes back, and two other appointments in the next two weeks. Those two, of course, are down where near I live now. Murphy’s Law and what not. Life doesn’t slow down, not for a minute. I’m in such a transition phase right now that I don’t even know what to do with myself. On the other hand, the doctors have finally, finally, finally, after five years, identified that I have Sjogren’s. It was the least lethal of the auto-immune options, so I’m going to take it and not complain. My doctor also fully approves of the move and thinks it will give us a chance to test if there were any environmental factors to my illness. She’s actually supporting the move and telling me it will be a positive thing and she wants me to go through with it, so I guess if I ever needed a sign that I’m doing the right thing, there it is.

One of the unfortunate things about the move is that I am leaving all my animals, except for Greta, behind. Sometimes, animals leave you behind, too. A few days ago my beloved cat, Sophie, died. If you all remember, she’s the creepy cat that used to stare at me for unprecedented amounts of time and creep all of us out. I never thought I’d miss her being creepy, but I really, really do. If it counts, I’m sure she’s in Heaven staring at me. Goodbye, Sophie.

There’s nothing in my life that’s not changing now, and I am monumentally bad with change, so hang in there with me until I get to post again. In fact, I’m so bad with change that I haven’t even stopped and thought about what was going on, except for on Monday when I full out cried and then wondered what was wrong with me because that just seemed like a stupid thing to cry about. I’ve just moved forward with it. For now, I’ll just give you guys a short story so you can all understand just how insane this idea and move are. (Zoey, this story is also for you.)

Today, while I was trying to pack with the whole half dozen boxes I have and mass amount of items that won’t fit in them, my mom realized that she just couldn’t possibly have a use for all of the stuff that we have, considering she’s one person and we have too much stuff for two. This worked out well, because the things she didn’t need were extra pans, cups, dishes and the like. These are all things we can use. In an attempt to be nice, my mom offered us the glass dishes and cups, because she never has anyone over and thought we might appreciate them more than the colorful plastic pieces. As I was weighing out the option of taking the fancy glass stuff, I realized that the friend and I’m moving in with and myself both have a mutual friend who will, without a doubt, break every glass and dish we have on complete and total accident if they’re glass. I took the plastic. It kind of started out as a joke, but we realized we have to friend proof our apartment so that everything is in tact when he leaves. Everything I buy, I’m making sure it’s nothing he can break. Things are going to get special, you guys. Really special. Huge changes are coming. It’s going to be good, though, right?