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I’m posting this from my iPhone. I hope it doesn’t turn out like the last post I tried to write on my phone that I LOST, which I would link to, but you can’t do that shit on here. Or if you can, I have no idea how.

Anyway, my laptop won’t turn on. Research again tells me this is the same motherboard issue. And that losing wireless access was like losing the ability to walk. Now it doesn’t even turn on. It is dead. Dead and gone, like Justin Timberlake so poetically sings.

I thought I’d have a few more days! A few more days to say our goodbyes! At least a few more days to use the Ethernet cable that I JUST BOUGHT LAST NIGHT! (Oh and funny side note, I kept the packaging and receipt yesterday in case it didn’t work and then JUST TONIGHT figured it was safe to throw it away and tear up the receipt into TINY LITTLE PIECES! TINY LITTLE PIECES! There is $25 down the drain.)

So it is gone. I’m sad because I didn’t back it up. After ALL that talk of backing it up when the wireless stopped working, I didn’t actually get around to backing it up. Because I was too lazy.

I actually was trying to be better about posting more regularly on here in 2010, or twenty ten. I have taken this as a sign that the greater human population DID NOT WANT THIS SAME THING! WHY???!?!? WHY WORLD, WHY?

In the mean time, I’ll be looking for a new laptop. Probably not a Mac, since I have zero money and they cost a lot more than zero money. But we’ll see. I’m going to be doing my research and NOT buying an HP again. (Seriously, there was this study and they were by far the worst when it comes to laptop reliability. THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN GOOD KNOWLEDGE TO HAVE IN 2007! OR TWENTY OH SEVEN!) (ALSO, YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WARNED. DON’T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE AS ME!)

Buy hey, now I can go to bed earlier and have more strange dreams about reality TV show people, which I would have told you about if not for the DYING LAPTOP and all.

Oh first world problems, why do you taunt me so? If my feet weren’t so sore from wearing these diamond shoes that are too tight, I’d totally kick someone or something.

Anyway, apparently my wireless card-do-hickey-thingamabob is no longer recognized. So I can no longer blog and email and Twitter from the comfort of my couch. It means I have to be plugged into the actual DSL, which is WAY over there in the second bedroom. The bedroom WITHOUT a TV. The bedroom with the futon. YAY! Wait, no, not yay.

After doing some research online (yay for iPhones!) I found out this is a common problem in this HP laptop. But not common enough to require a recall, since it only happens in one of seven laptops. HUZZAH! I should play the lottery with those odds!

So the only way to fix it is to fix the motherboard (which will be going kaput here any day now). And since it’s called the motherboard, like the MOTHERLODE, it’s not going to be cheap. And since this laptop is going on three years old, I’m thinking the most cost effective thing is going to be to buy a new laptop. Because fuck! That’s exactly what I need, because I’m just rolling in money at the end of the year! Guess I’ll sell my Christmas gift cards to help me buy a new computer.

Yes, I realize this is a first world problem. Yes, I realize I could have so many other worse things happen to me or my family. But you know what? I’m pissed! Laptops should last more than two and a half years! And people should tell you, HONESTLY, to renew your extended warranty so you’re not out a lot of money in this situation. Also, HP SHOULD TELL ME THIS, don’t you think? I mean, I do all their checks for updates, etc. Shouldn’t I have been ALERTED to this as a possible issue? I mean, one in seven is kind of high odds. If you had one in seven odds of winning the lotto, WOULDN’T YOU PLAY? Well, fuck you HP. You have up and lost my business.

So yeah, I’m pissed. And I’m going to have a glass of wine and go to bed. And curse HP and their damaged HP Pavilion laptops. And be thankful that it isn’t something worse. And be glad I bought a house this year and will have some extra money come tax refund time. THANK YOU OBAMA STIMULUS PACKAGE!

Good riddance 2009! Bah humbug.

(Noteworthy: When I previewed this post, it came up with an HP ad in the sidebar. I’m going to bet BlogHer won’t be too happy about this post since HP is a big sponsor. THEN GIVE ME A FREE MOTHERBOARD AND WE WILL CALL IT EVEN, HP!)

I’m back from my trip. It’s almost midnight and I’m pissed off because I spent about an hour on the plane typing a VERY LONG POST into my Wordpress app on my iPhone. I typed a whole fucking post and now? It is GONE. Saved it as a draft and it is nowhere to be found. Fucking technology. Now I know…..DO NOT USE THE WORDPRESS IPHONE APP! HULK SMASH!

So you’ll have to wait to hear more about my trip tomorrow. Because I’m exhausted and I need to go to work tomorrow. Plus I should probably plan to get up earlier since it is supposed to SNOW tonight.

But I will share with you one highlight from my trip. On Saturday night, I went to Darcey’s holiday party at her office. I met a friend of hers who no longer works for her company, but is a consultant. At Slalom Consulting. Which is the place that fired me for this here website. So, small world, huh?

She was very nice and I didn’t hold it against her that she works there. Plus, she also agrees Slalom is a stupid name.

And now, my bed is calling my name. Because it’s cold in here. Because I turned the heat off while I was out of town. Good thing the cats have fur.

Kristabella out.

Last week I came home and I had a message from some medical billing place.

I should back up.

About a month ago, I got an Explanation of Benefits (EOB for those in the know) from my old insurance (from the old job that I haven’t worked at in over a year) about an urgent care visit from November of last year. It was this visit, where they gave me an EKG even though I had heartburn and then I cried and was shamed for having such hairy legs.

The EOB came and it said I owed money, about $150, to meet my deductible from old insurance that I no longer have. But as we know with those little EOB statement things, it says very clearly that THIS IS NOT A BILL.

So I waited for a bill. I wasn’t too concerned since it wasn’t for too much and really? If you can’t send bills within a year’s time, not really my fucking problem. Right? Can I get a “hell yeah!”?

Turns out, it is my problem. And it could have been a BIG problem.

So the medical billing place finally calls and tells me that they keep getting mail that they send to me returned and this is an urgent matter and PLEASE CALL BACK! So I call the next day. I tried to give the lady a shit ton of attitude because hi! I HAVE LIVED AT THIS NEW ADDRESS FOR FIVE MONTHS! Also, THIS BILL IS FROM 11 MONTHS AGO!

She wasn’t hearing it. I later figured out she probably gets that excuse all the time.

So she tells me that she’s resending out the bill and since I called back so quickly, she won’t turn it over to collections. I thank her and tell her I will pay it as soon as I get it. Which I do, two days later. Done and done. Right?

Well, no. See the day after the medical billing place calls, I have a recorded message on my answering machine. It’s all foreboding and scoldy and says things like “If you are not Kristin Johnson, DO NOT LISTEN TO THE REST OF THIS MESSAGE! I MEAN IT! YOU WILL BE DOUSED IN ACID THROUGH THE PHONE LINES IF YOU CONTINUE TO LISTEN!”

Since I am said person, I keep listening. But since I have an answering machine and this message has long pauses so “you can listen to this message in private, out of ear shot of your cats or something”, the fucking thing cuts off. What I did hear is that it sounded like a bill collector. I hear something that sounded like “collec…” before the message cut off. I’m guessing it was about this medical bill.

The problem is, they didn’t leave a number. I’m sure it was after the long pause, you know the one I needed so that no one overheard me, say if I was on the bus and didn’t want the homeless man to know I was DELINQUENT. So, that’s fun.

Hopefully, since this place should have received their money last Friday (or tomorrow at the very latest, it’s right down the street from me!) there will be no more phone calls.

Now, I don’t have any experience with bill collectors. But I’m still pretty pissed about this whole thing. I’m pretty sure these collectors have WAYS of finding you. I mean, I’m listed in the phone book for pete’s sake. And my mail is still supposed to be forwarded. Also, MAYBE SEND YOUR BILLS ON DAMN TIME!

Has this ever happened to any of you? Should I be worried about the fact that a bill collector maybe called and I didn’t get the number? AM I GOING TO BE LABELED A DELINQUENT? WILL THIS AFFECT MY MORTGAGE?

All I know is I’m never going to that stupid Urgent Care place again.

What I realized is that having your windows face the parking lot + living in a building with a bunch of assholes = Waking up 17 times throughout the night due to the jackass blasting his LOUD Indian music as he pulled into his parking spot at 2 AM and the douchebag who has the world’s most sensitive car alarm that goes off all. The. TIME. This from the girl who has slept through four-alarm fires and earthquakes. So sorry Mother Earth, the A/C goes back on tonight.

(I should add that I had not one, but TWO, fans going. That is how loud my fucking rude neighbors are.)

As I was saying, tonight I came home to this sign pasted all over the damn condo complex.

Someone likes to bold, italicize and underline things at my property management office!

I have so many issues with this, the least of all it being neon pink.

1) WHAT are you exterminating? HUMANS? RATS? VAMPIRES?

2)What kind of infestation do we have in this building that I’m not aware of (i.e. it ain’t in MY unit) that we need an exterminator for?* What kind of fucking New-York-and-Company-pants-stealing critters infest this building?

2) Why do you need access to MY HOUSE? The one I OWN? Do you honestly think I’ll leave the house that morning for work and just leave the door UNLOCKED? Like, so anyone and their mother can break in? Like you do realize you put the NEON PINK sign up where the mailman can see? And any other visitors? LET’S ADVERTISE THAT EVERY FUCKING UNIT IN THE BUILDING WILL BE UNLOCKED ON FRIDAY! That should increase the property value!

3) And then I wonder “they don’t have keys do they?” Like this isn’t a fucking apartment complex. The only person with keys to this unit is ME. WHAT IF THEY DO? I come home to exterminated cats?

I am not comfortable with this at all. My door will be triple locked when I leave the house on Friday morning. And I’m leaving a trail of mouse traps along the floor, and maybe a fucking bear trap, so that if you do enter my house, it will be the last time you make that mistake.

Please tell me this is NOT normal for condos.

*On a separate note posted today, regarding our condo board meeting later this month, one of the agenda topics is Early August Extermination. Clearly this is an issue I wasn’t aware of. Until I walked down the stairs to go take a photo of the neon pink sign and stepped on an ant.**

(Also on the agenda – a special assessment for lawyer fees (news to me), repairs to the front doors and Dish Network. The meeting is the Sunday after BlogHer ends, at 6:30 PM. I suppose I should go, only because I have Dish Network and I’m not taking my dish down after I just signed a 2-year contract. Then we’ll be talking special assessments for lawyers when I sue your ass.)

**And now since I’ve been thinking about critters and exterminators, I constantly feel like bugs are crawling on me. WAY TO GO CONDO FUCKERS!

It all started at about 4 PM on Tuesday. With an email that pretty much made me cry at my desk (don’t ask). That sent me into A MOOD. So then I decided since I was in A MOOD, I would find out where all the shit I ordered online was.

That was a mistake.

First up, Barnes and Noble. I recently paid money to join their rewards club because Scarlet told me I had to and really, after paying $25 for Jen Lancaster’s book in the store (where, had I been a member I would have saved $10) I decided it was worth the $25 annual fee.

Anyway, I had ordered a few books, including my book club book for July, and in the same ordered figured I’d pre-order Danny’s book, Rage Against the Meshugenah. It had been over a week since I placed this order and since I was a rewards member or whatever I paid to be, I got fast, free shipping. Nothing about a week is “fast” to me, so I wanted to check it out.

And apparently Barnes & Noble is stupid. Because the default method when you order books is to ship them all at once. Which, fine with me. But that means “wait until pre-order book comes out so you can get all your books at once.” Now, I know Amazon does the whole “ship in fewest shipments” thing too. But Amazon also is smart and assumes that if you’re ordering three books that are already published, and since you’re getting free shipping anyway, you’re probably going to want the already-released books when you order them. So they ship them. Common sense.

But not so at Barnes & Noble, my friends. Not so. So I sent some nasty email that will probably end up on their bulletin board, going on and on about how ridiculous this is and this is why people shop at Amazon.com all the time. It made me feel better. But they have yet to respond, which way to go in the customer service department, B&N!

Thankfully Twitter came to my rescue again and told me that I need to cancel the pre-ordered book and they’ll ship the rest. (Don’t worry Danny, I’m still going to buy your book!) (Because I’m sure you’re reading and worried I won’t buy it!)

Next up, New York and Company. Although, this is more a Rage Against the Post Officenuh. Or someone in my building. I AM NOT QUITE SURE YET. I AM ONLY SURE THAT I AM MAD.

So I placed an order with NY & Co. They were having a sale and I needed some new summer cardigans. It is cold in my office and also I can use them for BlogHer. Plus they had some capris on sale and I figured since I wear the same 2 pairs of capris in the summer, maybe it was about time to get some new ones. I was very excited about these purchases and because everything was on sale, it didn’t cost me much!

I ordered it right before I went to New Orleans, expecting that after I got home, I would have mail! And packages! And new clothes! To hopefully wear on my pseudo-blind date!

But I also knew that they said 7-10 business days and I wouldn’t be lucky enough to get them when I was expecting them, would I? No, I wouldn’t. So I checked the tracking number on Tuesday just to see where it was, since we were coming up on the latter part of the 7-10 business days. The tracking number said my package had been delivered on Monday. Monday, June 29.

Wait, WHAT? Over a week ago? And I never SAW the package? Granted I was in New Orleans on Monday, June 29, but I was home the next day to get my mail. Did someone in my fucking building steal my package?

So I did what any normal, insane person would do, I freaked the fuck out. And it was partially about the money, but mostly about the clothes. Because it was a sale and the things I bought were no longer available in my size or color choices! So if someone did steal my clothes (WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT?), I can’t even replace them! FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS RIGHT HERE, FOLKS!

I sent a note to NY & Co asking them for assistance. Thankfully their customer service could teach Barnes & Noble’s customer service a lesson or two because I actually heard back from from NY & Co. They said to contact my postal carrier. And also should have warned me that it was bound to result in me going postal.

At my old place, sometimes the mail person would not deliver something and leave a nice little card for me to go pick it up. This generally happened in the winter when my car was stuck in the snow. But regardless, I would pick it up and all would be fine.

So I figured, maybe that’s what happened here. And the stupid fucking post office forgot to leave a card. I’m sure it happens all the time. Chicago does have the worst post office in the entire country. We won that award by a damn landslide. I’m surprised I ever get anything ever sent to me.

After work today, I decided to head to the post office and figure this mess out. Because I really don’t want to believe that someone in the building stole it. Because if you’re mature enough to purchase a home, I would hope you are mature enough to not steal women’s clothing. One would hope.

I went to the only post office in my zip code. I learned at my old house that just because there is a post office across the street from you, it doesn’t mean that it is your post office. Because across the street is a different zip code.

So I go up to the counter and I’m all “so I think you might have a package for me, kind sir.” And the whole time I’m talking to the post office dude, he’s looking at some dude behind me. Like this post office guy? Totally not paying attention to me. ME! The customer! TALKING! So I stop talking to look at who he’s looking it. Because clearly whoever it is, is fascinating. He wasn’t. He was just some dude who was looking for boxes to mail shit in. From the way Post Office Dude was looking at him, you would have thought we were all in for it, like the dude had an Uzi strapped to his back.

Finally Post Office Dude remembers that I’m standing there. He takes my ID and walks to the back. And of course he comes back with no package. And I’m like WHAT THE FUCK? DOES THIS MEAN IT IS STOLEN? And he’s all “no it was probably addressed wrong and on its way back to the shipper.” And I’m like dude, I ordered it online. The address is correct. It says online that it was DELIVERED. I’m just going to assume it was stolen because where the hell else would it be?

Thankfully the dude in the window next to him was actually nice. And he told me, “well we need the tracking number. Because it was apparently delivered somewhere and not here.” (Dear Chicago, I now see why your post office is the worst in Chicago. “Somewhere, but not here?” No fucking shit, Sherlock.) I tried to pull it up on my phone and then got so irritated I stormed out of there.

I plan to go in the morning since they open at 7:3o. But I can almost guarantee you that my lazy mail person didn’t feel like filling out a card and sent it back to the post office. And since it is like more than 5 days later, the post office was probably “fuck this noise and this Kristin Johnson not picking up her packages, we’re sending it back!” And now it is probably on its way back to NY & Co.

If that is the case, how do I tell NY & Co that I still want my pants and cardigans? Because I’m really upset about the pants! It’s hard to find nice capris this time of year since everyone is already bringing out their fall shit.

Thankfully when I got home from the post office, I did have at least one package that I had ordered. My new purse. Ain’t she pretty?

But then I remember when I notice all the things I have yet to pack. How can you spend a whole day packing and have very little to show for it? I mean yeah, I purged a lot and I packed, but how come it still looks not empty in here. I’m going to just open all the empty cabinets and closets. It’s like the house version of a poor man walking around with his empty pockets hanging out.

But then if I did that, the cats would sleep in the empty cabinets and well, I don’t need another place to clean up cat puke.

Anyway, speaking of moving, I got a call from my apartment complex this past Saturday. It was a little after 10 AM. I remember because I was in my car on my way to get my hair done. Which meant I was up, showered and out of the house! That never happens!

The apartment lady called to remind me about the showing of my apartment. I’m sorry, what did you say apartment lady? Oh right, par for the course, they scheduled someone to come look at my apartment and only told me AN HOUR before they were set to come. Look, most weekends I’m still sleeping at 11 AM. And you damn well can be sure that if I was sleeping at 10 AM when they called, I would have IGNORED the call. And then SURPRISE! Who’s the slovenly chubster in the bedroom? Please tell me she doesn’t come with the apartment.

I voiced my displeasure with her. Which she acknowledged and then did nothing about. Much like the many complaints of pot smoking and LOUD NOISE I have made in the past year. And then I told her “well, it isn’t clean and there are boxes everywhere.” She said that was fine. I don’t think she actually understood how messy and dirty it was though. I hope they didn’t look at the bath tub.

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Also this past Saturday, I met Scarlet and her sister! Scarlet and I have been blog friends since I first started blogging. She was my first non-family/friend blog reader. And we’ve been friends ever since. We regularly text and email. I honestly felt like I had already known her forever, and we had never met in person.

She was in town with her sister for a graduation. I met them out downtown and we had pizza at the original Uno’s and we drank beer and laughed and told stories. It was awesome and I’m so glad we finally met!

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Sunday was supposed to be a BIG day. I was supposed to go up to Wisconsin with my brother and his family with my nephew’s Cub Scout den to a race track. I was going because there is this guy that my sister-in-law has been trying to set me up with. He’s the uncle of one of Noah’s friends. My SIL saw photos of him and got the scoop a few months back and has been trying to figure out a way for us to meet since February.

So this dude (I don’t remember his name) races cars. So he was going to be at the track and I was going to get to meet him and we were going to fall in love because wouldn’t that just be perfect? Can you imagine an easier way for the President of the Lazy Club to get betrothed? I mean, I met my ex-boyfriend at a wine festival for Christ’s sake.

Well, we had nasty storms here. Some of the weirdest weather I’ve ever experienced. The temperatures fluctuated like 10-20 degrees in a matter of minutes. At one point, it was in the upper 30s in the north suburbs, 47 at the lake, 67 at Midway and 80 in the south suburbs. We’re talking a span of like 100 miles. It was nuts.

Anyway, the race was cancelled so I didn’t get to meet him. (His name is Chris! I remembered! Only because Chris and Kris? Totally not lame.) So there will be another meeting planned, I’m sure.

But, I set the alarm and got up in the morning as planned because I didn’t find out it was cancelled until closer to the time I had to leave. And that is when I had to call the police.

I set my alarm, but I actually forgot to turn it on. Thankfully, some asshat rang my apartment buzzer at about the time I needed to get up. Figuring it was friends of the pot heads, LIKE ALWAYS, I ignored it. I snoozed a bit, for like 10 more minutes, when the buzzer went off again. I finally was like “fine! I’ll get up!” and went to get in the shower.

At this time, I noticed that I didn’t hear the door slam. No one let Buzzer McGee in. “Hmm,” I thought. “Maybe it wasn’t friends of the pot heads.”

Just then the buzzer rang again and I pushed the TALK button and was like “WHAT?” And this jackass is all “can you let me in, I locked myself out?”

Being the most untrustworthy person ever and always expecting someone is going to come in and kill me, I asked “what unit do you live in?” And he was all “this one.” So I give him another chance “no, which NUMBER?” And he’s all “3B.”

Nice try fucker. But our units aren’t numbered like that. Also, you should have noticed it since you pushed the button that was clearly marked with a number in the 20s. We really give you all the information you need on the button you’re pressing.

So I didn’t respond to him and then got in the shower. And then when I was in the shower, Gloom and Doom came to meet me and was like “WHAT IF NO ONE ELSE ASKS HIM THOSE QUESTIONS? AND THEY JUST LET HIM IN?” So I freaked out.

I jumped out of the shower and called the city’s non-emergency number. I was like a dispatcher’s worst nightmare because I have no idea what he looked like and had no information. But they were sending a cop out anyway.

I heard the police come a few minutes later, but I’m guessing by that time, sketchy dude was long gone.

So that was my exciting story of the weekend. I am surprised that the first time I’ve ever called the police in this apartment was not because of the pot smokers.

Anyone else have any exciting stories to share from their weekend?

Well, not really. But I came close to it. In fact, I was waiting for the bitch to rumble with me in the cat food aisle.

I’m so going to end up sounding like an old lady, but where the fuck has common courtesy gone? I mean, I’m quite used to it not being around on the internet. The internet is a place where you get called out for being a bitch with no sense of humor. But in real life, not through a computer box, I expect people to act just a wee bit human.

So today I made a run to Target. I really only needed to go for light bulbs and figured since it is March, I could take a look at the spring clothes since I will actually get to wear them in a few short days. What I didn’t go there for was rage and wanting to shove some bitch up against shower rods.

I was happily browsing the bath aisles, looking at options for my new house. I figured it was about time to get a new shower curtain and a new bathroom “motif” since I was moving into a new place. I thought I’d check Target to see what they had. I pulled into one of the aisles and this chick had her cart smack dab in the middle of the aisle and was standing and bending over, making it IMPOSSIBLE to get through.

So I rolled up on her ass, kind of cleared my throat, thinking she would see the error of her ways and get the fuck out of the way. Really, how hard is it to pull your cart to one side of the aisle? THIS ISN’T WALMART!

When she didn’t move, I let out a very nice, passive-aggressive sigh and turned my cart around. I went down the next aisle and came up the aisle she was in and totally put my cart in her way. Since I was being passive-aggressive with my loud sigh, I wasn’t actually expecting this 20-something to say something to me.

I was wrong.

HER: You could have just said excuse me.

ME: You could have not had your cart in the middle of the aisle.

HER: I can put my cart wherever I damn well want to.

ME: Wow, OK bitch. I don’t think you need to buy a new shower rod, you can just pull out the one that is stuck on your ass.

OK, I didn’t really say the last part. I did  call her a bitch and turned around and went to the food aisles. A little quicker than normal, I might add. I was so waiting for her to run through the aisles and attack me. But I think she thought better of it when I was a whole foot taller than her.

Also? SHE NEVER FUCKING MOVED HER CART.

I am still kind of pissed about it. WHAT THE FUCK? Is it SO hard to move your cart to the edge of the aisle? I mean, it’s fucking Target. We’re not claiming land here in the 1800s. Putting your cart in the middle of one of the Bath aisles isn’t going to give you the rights to all the towels you can use. It’s just a fucking Target aisle. You won’t be getting acres in Topeka, Kansas out of this.

Plus, it’s Sunday afternoon. Target is always busy on the weekends. You think you’re the only one who needs to look at bath stuff?

What happened to apologizing for blocking the aisle? That is what I do when that happens. I never mean to block it and get in people’s way, but I get caught up in looking at things, so I always apologize for being in someone’s way. How come it works so well at the grocery store? I never run into this problem in the grocery store. People are always mindful of their carts. What happened to people being respectful? What happened to people having common courtesy? I expect this shit at Walmart. I don’t at Target. Target is always a happy place.

Or maybe I was a tad testy because I decided to go out on Sunday when it was snowing, as opposed to Saturday, when it wasn’t snowing. Or maybe I am mad at the world because I am getting sick, my first cold of the winter, right before I leave for Arizona.

Good thing warm weather makes it all better. T minus 3 days.

Mostly it is junk, or copies of the bills that have been paid, CDs that were Christmas presents in January, etc. In this pile there were a lot of W-2s and tax information and a few envelopes from my stupid insurance company. I ignored them for the most part because I thought they were just sending me a reminder that my health insurance from the old job, as part of the severance, is about to expire at the end of February. (And the insurance at my new job takes over on March 1. How perfectly did that work out?) So I didn’t rush to open them because I’m well aware that my old insurance runs out February 28.

Well as is almost always the case when I let my mail pile up in-between several issues of US Weekly, there’s usually something relatively important that I miss. Like say, for example, a letter from the unemployment office telling you to call them because they didn’t realize you got a new job. Not that that has ever happened to me.

In this stack of mail, I had three separate things from CIGNA. They were all about my most recent prescription. My prescription for Nexium to cure the FIRE IN MY BELLY. Basically these letters, ALL THREE OF THEM, told me that “hey, we’re so not filling any more prescriptions for Nexium for you. That is a Step Three drug and you’re not allowed to use those drugs because they are expensive and cheaper drugs do the same thing. Like Prilosec. You should totally use Prilosec. Prilosec is awesome. Here is a coupon for Prilosec OTC. It’s totally available over the counter now, Prilosec is, and we are showing how much we love Prilosec and our need for you to use Prilosec, buy using it as many times as we can in this letter. Sincerely, Prilosec. I mean CIGNA.”

I’m so not even kidding.

I get why they are doing it. I mean, Nexium is expensive. Even with a prescription, it was quite a bit. But it was what my doctor prescribed. Because it HEALS the lining of the stomach, and since that is what she thinks I need, she did what I pay her to do, and FIX IT. It wasn’t like she was carrying around a “everybody needs The Purple Pill” sign and using a Nexium pen and had painted the waiting room the same purple of the pill. She’s not in the drug companies back pocket. (Well, she may be, but she doesn’t come off that way. I mean the purple candies she makes everyone try and eat were a little over the top.)

The thing that bothers me is that I go to the doctor once or twice a year, usually. The amount of money I pay for my insurance premium is probably more than the costs I incur by going to the doctor each year. I always get generics and I avoid the doctor like the plague. Insurance companies must love me.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE that I have insurance and that for a $20 co-pay, I can go to the doctor and get medicine and my issues resolved. That is not the issue. I know I am very fortunate and that many people out there are not as fortunate. Which is what Barack Obama is going to fix.

But my issue is that because this drug is “like every other acid reducer out there, like Prilosec OTC” the insurance company refuses to let me have it. And since my doctor prescribed it for 6 weeks, and my insurance would only fill it for 30 days, I am now stuck in insurance hell-hole right now while I try to get my refill. My refill for 12 pills. Twelve. And now I’ll probably have to go use Prilosec (but only the generic is allowed before you’re allowed to try any other acid reducers.) And then if that doesn’t work, I get to try other acid reducers to see if they work before I get to go back to Nexium again, which DOES work, thankyouverymuch.

I can call my doctor and she can call the insurance company and try to tell them why she prescribed this and that it is only, right now, for six weeks, and that she had good cause to prescribe this particular medicine for me. Which, I will do, but again, all this is a bunch of bullshit to go through for trained professionals. My doctor is not an idiot. I trust her. Therefore, CIGNA, since she’s part of your network, maybe you should too.

Meanwhile, I’ll just sit here and stew in my own stomach juices. Thanks.

(I don’t think this actually conveys how mad I am about this. In addition, Staples didn’t have the exact size envelope, so there are like 30 cards that are being sent in a bigger envelope. And I’m sure it looks stupid, but at this point I DO NOT CARE. I just want to have these cards out the door.)

So by the time I got to the grocery store, I was already irritated. Mostly because I had to put on a bra and leave the house. And also because I leave everything to do on Sundays and I get mad at myself every Sunday when I have to cram a whole weekend of stuff into a few hours. Because I don’t ever get up at a reasonable time and have quite a bit of shows to watch on my DVR.

Anyway, that was not really what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to rant about the bitch in the grocery store.

I was standing in line to check out, waiting for the idiot in front of me to unload her stuff from her cart. She seemed a bit frazzled and annoyed. I don’t know why. Maybe she didn’t get enough envelopes either. It can really mess a person up. So as she’s checking out, the cashier asks her if she would like to donate money to a food bank for those in need this holiday season. The lady gets all ranty and says “no, I’m the one that should be getting the charity, not giving to charity. Unlike the rest of these people in this store.” And then she proceeds to FULL-ON STARE AT ME! As to say “I am talking about you, bitch!”

Now I will admit, I was at a Jewel in Lincoln Park. It is a nice Jewel and most of the people who shop there are probably not hurting. But that does NOT give her the right to judge. And it also does not give this woman the right to judge ME. I mean, I didn’t even say anything about your SWEAT PANTS and you hair that hadn’t seen a brush or comb in WEEKS.

I was really put off. Part of it was the fact that she was shopping at this Jewel and had money to buy food. She probably drove to the store in a car and were taking those Stouffer’s meals home to a house with a fridge and a freezer. So you are SO MUCH BETTER OFF THAN A LOT OF PEOPLE.

The other part of it was because I live paycheck to paycheck. Yes, I just recently had a few extra ducats to buy an iPhone. But I was also just unemployed. So how dare you judge me and my cart full of generic groceries. Was it because I was wearing a down jacket? One I got on sale for like 50% off because my old one was falling apart? Was it my $30 purse from New York & Company? Was it my fake Ugg boots from Target? What was it, exactly, that told you that I was clearly not hurting for money? IN A RECESSION.

I know I judge people. I’m Full of Snark, for Pete’s sake. And maybe this is just karma’s way of teaching me a lesson to be less judgey of people. But that doesn’t make me any less pissed off. (Or make me vow to be less judgey. Let’s be realistic people.)

This year, during this holiday season, I’ve tried to help and give to people that need it. I tried to get my family to change our annual holiday gift card exchange to a donation to charity. Because none of us need anything. I gave money to the cashier when I checked out because I have $5 to give to a food bank. And I should be giving more than that and I should be giving every time I go to the grocery store, at least.

I’m not sure what the point of this post is. I was just so irritated by that woman and her outright judging of people in a grocery store because of where they shopped or what they wore or what they bought. Even though she was in the same exact store. And I’m guessing she didn’t drive up from the South side to go to the Jewel in Lincoln Park. Glass houses and stones and all that.

Appearances are just that. Had I not been so flabbergasted by her statement (and distracted by the tabloid that said the Obama election was illegal) I would have told her that out loud. And not in my head. Because we’re going through some tough economic times right now and we should all be thankful for what we have and remember that there are plenty of people out there that have it a lot worse than we do.