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| For those who don't know, Gema wears glasses. I don't. This past w/e Gema wanted to go to the optometrist, so I went along w/ him. Since I'm covered under his insurance, we figured that I should get my eyes checked too. I never got them checked before (well, unless you count way back when I was 16, but that was because I had a bloody eye and it was rather necessary - ugh). Anyways, I count this as my first real trip.
Since I'm a newbie to it all, it was pretty interesting. There was this one machine that shot a burst of air into my eye. Lemme tell you, that was a nasty surprise. And then they had to do it to the other eye. Bleh! While I was waiting for Gema, I looked at all the frames on display, looking for ones that would look good on him. Little did I know that I should have been looking for myself as well.
After seeing the optometrist, I found out that I'm nearsighted and that the vision in my right eye is 20/70. My left eye is 20/60. Besides one eye being worse then the other, what the heck does that mean? After googling it up, 20/20 is what optometrists consider 'normal'. 20/200 is considered legally blind. At 20 feet, 'normal' ppl should be able to read a certain line on the eye chart no problem. What 20/70 means is that what I can read at 20 feet, a 'normal' person can read at 70 feet. What? 20 verses 70 feet? That's a big difference! I didn't know my vision was that bad. And here I thought I was fine. I mean, sure, I only see like three stars in the sky (when I wear Cat's or Monk's glasses, I see like, 30), but that's way far off in the distance!
The optometrist told me that with my current vision, I wouldn't be able to pass the vision part of the driver's test. I don't know if she was exaggerating that part or not, because well... I don't feel like my sight is that bad. But we decided to get glasses anyways. I admit, selecting frames is rather fun, but holy crow, they're so expensive!
(pic purloined from google images)
I mean, I used to read in books how getting glasses were expense, but the reality didn't hit until that day. We decided on a pair of Paul Smith frames for me. Who the heck is Paul Smith? Who knows. Some high end designer, I guess. Just the frames themselves was $350. The lenses were $120 (because I got transitions).
Gema's tab was much more. While I can't remember the price of his lenses (they were a lot pricier since his are high index), his Oliver Peoples frames were $375. Who the heck is Oliver Peoples? Again, who knows. But for that price, they better be the Chanel of eye wear, lemme tell you. Thank goodness for insurance. Still, when it was all said and done, we were out quite a bit of money. Not enough to pay for rent, but definitely enough to buy several iPhones. Yikes. What's worse? Gema acted like they were normal numbers. O.o Like, it's normal to pay this much for eyeglasses. >.< (What do I know? I'm a newbie.)
Lesson learned? Being blind is expensive. Eat more carrots minna!
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| Note: ranty and filled with hate
Wagh. I hate Bank of America. Why do they have to suck so much? @#$%. #*$%! ^#%@!!!
Basically, the statements of our federal funds accounts are sent to a different company that reconciles them. I didn't know anything was wrong until the reconcilors called me and asked why they didn't get any statements for the past two months. Two months? Are you kidding me? So I find out that three months ago, BoA decides to $&%@ everything up and send them to us instead. Why? Who the hell knows? Cuz they suck.
So we call them up to change it back to the way it should be (two hours of our lives we'll never get back). Since we had the statements, we sent them off to be reconciled and all was well. Fast forward one month to this past Wednesday (Nov 18). Reconcilors contact me and ask where our statements are. Guess what? The statements didn't go anywhere. We don't have them. They don't have them. Where the hell are they? Called BoA again (and again, two hours of our lives we'll never get back). And it's still not fixed! What? It boggles the mind. Some BoA rep has to call us back. Just to fix a simple address change? Are you shitting me? How hard is it? If you changed it before, why can't you change it back?
And of course, this doesn't change the fact that the reconcilors still need our statements.
Thinking I could somehow put a bandaid on it, I get the boss to print out our online account activity. I scan it and email it over. Reconcilors tell me it prints out illegibly. I scan it again. Edit it, make it bigger, crop out the unnecessary parts. Send it again. Reconcilors tell me that one turns out ok, the other one doesn't. Repeat this whole process three times. It doesn't sound like such a big deal, but if you were using the machines I'm using, it's a hassle. And there's a time difference too, since they're all the way in Florida. By the time I know I need to rescan something, half the day is gone. By the time they get it and tell me to scan it again, it's the next day. Jeebus. Oh, and since they haven't received our statements on time, we're smacked with a late fee too.
So basically, it's day three. It's still not fixed. And I'm so aggravated that my neck and shoulders are all tensed and achy. There is not enough chocolate in my purse to cheer me up. Is it time to go home yet? *sighs*
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| Notes: TMI. And probably really disturbing. But funny, I think. Still, you've been warned.
So I'm sick, and to help combat it, I've been consuming a lot of liquids. After guzzling down a mug full of tea, I can actually breathe through my nose for the next two minutes, so it's a good thing. The bad thing? I'm going pee every 30 minutes. Now, this is fine when the restroom is right across from my office. This is bad when I'm going home. My dear, dear Gema has been giving me a lift back, so my 90+ minute commute is now a 60+ minute commute. Problem? It's still over 30 minutes. And those last 30 minutes really suck.
I'm in agony doing everything I can not to pee in the car. Lifting the seat belt off my abdomen to relieve any external pressure, singing songs in my head, anything so I don't feel all the damn bumps on the road jiggling my bladder and making me yearn of sweet, sweet relief.
I mean, @#$%, I'm still in my twenties. I shouldn't be having these kinds of accidents, yanno? Then it came to me. What can I do to resolve the problem? Short of catheterizing myself or making Gema stop so I can pee in the bushes (he actually suggested that one), I came upon the brilliant solution of diapers!
Holy %^&*, why didn't I think of this sooner? I've been suffering for days now when it could have been so easily remedied. Augh, damnit. And just think. Not only could I use it when I'm sick, but on road trips, when I get preggers, over night when I just don't wanna get outta bed... Omg, just think of the possibilities! I can even give them away as gag gifts (hahahahaha). And since they don't expire, they'll come in handy when I'm old and gray, too. I'm a genius.
But then all these questions popped in my head. Would adult diapers be able to hold all my pee? I mean, if I'm ready to burst, my bladder must be pretty full, right? After doing some research, the adult bladder holds about 20 oz, and you get the 'I must pee or else' urge around 16.5 oz. Which brings up the question, could an adult diaper really hold that much liquid? I mean, I don't wanna take any chances, yanno? Thinking I could really relieve myself when I actually shouldn't, because the diaper wouldn't be capable enough. What a nightmare.
So I did even more research, and here ya go. I don't recommend reading this article unless you're in a place where it's okay to bust your gut laughing.
Basically? You can use adult diapers to catch little leaks, but don't expect it to "soak up a gusher". I still want to try one though. I just don't want to commit to an entire bag. Hmm, I wonder if they sell them in little travel sizes?
If you actually read this far and you're totally disturbed, you can blame it on my cold. I'm rather loopy at the moment. No, really. It can't just be me that thinks up these things, right? Right? Okay, nobody answer that.
*****
Update: you can get your own free sample here. Exxxxxxcellent. If minna cares enough, I can do a follow up blog on this after it comes in the mail. *looks at everyone's disturbed faces* Or maybe not. XD | | |
| I am so, so sick of being sick. It's certainly not as bad as it could be and I've been worse before, but I just want to be healthy again. What's strange is that I take my temperature and I don't have a fever. It actually says 95.8 or 98.4 or some nonsense like that. Dang, I thought I'd at least clock over 100! Maybe my normal temp is just lower than average. Cuz one thing's for certain, fever or not, I am sick. Sick sick sick. And so sick of being sick!
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| Her throat was killing her. Each swallow was self inflicted torture, but of one she couldn't prevent. How does one not swallow? How does one stop the production of saliva? She swallowed again around the feel of the iron shackle around her neck. The pain lanced through her, making her sinuses run and her eyes water. She sniffed reflectively.
Sweat beaded around her temples and rolled into the greasy strands of her hair. The material of her once white tank top clung wetly to her body, the grungy material completely soaked through between her breasts, her shoulder blades, her underarms. It was hot and sticky in here. The smell of human filth and her own unwashed body permeated the air, but she had been here for so long, her nose had already acclimated to the stench.
She had to pee again, but she willed herself to be strong. She would not be so weak as to soil where she laid. Never mind that her muscles were weak from dystrophy. She willed her limbs to move. Inch by aching inch. It was exhausting work, and the shackle around her throat never relented. Only the shining hope of knowing that it was just a matter of time kept her going. She would be freed from this prison. She would not break.
The sound of heavy footsteps and the jangling of keys reached her ears. The door opened.
*****
I get inspired by real life. Just a drabble. Love to know your thoughts. =D | | |
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