Get ready for some rants, ladies. Because I’ve got them. In spades. SPADES.
First up, the sleep bastards. As any of my blog-readers (bleaders? greaders?) would know, I have found myself in a Hatfield/McCoy feud with a sleep medicine group that has focused their entire practice on making my life a living hell for at least two years at this point. I have called them, emailed, faxed. Shown up at their offices, irate, insane, in tears, borderline-terroristic-threatening them to leave me alone. I have a CPAP and it doesn’t work properly, and no I don’t want to schedule my “yearly fit test” after receiving $3,000 in medical bills a year later, and no I won’t calm down, and yes, calling security is probably in your best interest. GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF OF ME! I SHOT TUPAC!
What I find insane, incredibly incredulous, is that after calling recently and saying, point blank, “your office is ruining my life”, that Emma with their front desk would call me and leave me weekly messages asking when I might want to sleep over again while creepers watch my every move both physically and physiologically for the bargain price of a new car. Are. You. Serious. I keep the voicemails handy to remind myself of the lowest common denominators that round out our human race. That, and to chuckle as I consider the pros and cons of krav maga. Moving on, in a disjointed fashion…
Watching television used to be a fun pastime that we all shared. Families surrounding a TV the size of a washing machine, spending time together while trying to empathize with the characters on the Wonder Years or Different Strokes, eating frankenfoods that would end up haunting us through the night. And I must say that I have a special place in my heart for a few programs these days (Lord, I sound like my grandmother with my “programs”). I mean, how many times can I gush over GLEE without the keepers of the Gay Agenda rolling their queenie eyes at me for being so gauche? That being said, some of the commercials are dumber than a box of hammers. Take, for instance, the new Apple iPhone 5 commercial, where the voiceover speaks of the genius of having an option to not be interrupted during sleep or an important activity by utilizing a customized application tool dedicated to keeping calls at bay. Oh yes, by navigating through a series of menus and swiping a few toggle switches, your phone can “know” that you do not want any phone calls interrupting your beauty sleep. What a wonder.
This ingenious new revolution is something I remember from long, long ago. Something that works on all electronic devices.
It’s called the “OFF” button.
Now don’t get me wrong, I overpay on a phone that considers itself “smart”, if only because it costs a small fortune to own, but I don’t rely on all of the wonders of modern science to keep phone calls at 3am from waking me up. I turn the damned thing off. Because I’m not an idiot.
Again, I continue to digress.
My most ultimate rant this week stems from the first bill to enter our lovely House of Misrepresentatives: Michele Bachmann’s idiotic, 34TH ATTEMPT to repeal Obamacare.
Michele. Here’s a news flash. And no, it’s not that your husband is more queer than a three dollar bill. Because that’s been established. Health care for everyone is here. Period. Yes, it’s going to be a big adjustment, and it’s going to cost money, because this country spends a shitload of money on health care and still lags behind almost every other industrialized country on the face of the planet because lobbyists own the government and the companies that thrive on our obesity epidemic have deep pockets (which, in turn, pale in comparison to the pockets of climate change deniers and the oil lobby, but let’s save that subject for another rant). And it’s not going anywhere. So take your sanctimonious tea-bagging rhetoric and stuff it somewhere else so that one of the two chambers of Congress can get to doing their job so that I don’t have to be so embarrassed about the way our country is governed. Can you do me that solid, Michele?
Also, Marcus just said “HEY!”