30 April 2007

Home sweet home.

I'm so excited to go home after work today. Okay, I'm excited most days to leave work and go home. Or anywhere, really. But I've spent four nights away from home. I was just staying at my aunt and uncle's place out in the suburbs while they were out of town; watching the dogs and making sure my cousin didn't throw a kegger. It just seems like forever since I was home.

My apartment may not be everyone's idea of kick ass. Hell, it's not even really my idea of kick ass. I love it, though. I love the deck. I love the hardwood floors and high ceilings. I love my bed. I love it because it's home. And all my stuff is there.

I like the routine of my life, even if it is a routine and a sometimes boring one at that. But I don't ever really get bored with it. I'm not sure that makes sense.

I like taking the bus to work. I like coming home from work to fuck around for a while before I go to the gym. I like coming home from the gym and taking a shower before I have a drink and fuck around some more before it's time to go to bed. I like the little breaks from routine -- going to happy hour, seeing a band, going to my nephew's baseball game or skipping the gym to sit on the deck and read.

You know what? I like my life.

26 April 2007

You can now send me text messages.



Or send them to the blog, really. Why would you want to do something like that? Quite frankly, I'm not really sure. But why the hell not?

Jayniek over at Critical Fluff hooked me up with an invite to Wiffiti and since she was nice enough to do so, I couldn't not follow through.

Because I'm something of a moron, it took me forever to figure out how to send a text, what with the "text @whatever message" instructions. It made zero sense to me. So, in case you're as dumb as me (and not that any of you dear readers are), here are the step-by-step instructions. I am assuming you know how to send a normal text message here. If you've not gotten that far with life, I'm afraid I can't help you.

1. If you want your name to come up on your texts, as opposed to the wiffitiXXXX (XXXX being the last four digits of your phone number), you should first create a text message thusly: name (insert your name here), then send the text to 25622. (Edit: I screwed this up, but it's correct now. Sorry. I did say I was a moron.)

2. Any other text you should wish to send should essentially be the same: @bacony and then whatever you want to say, then send.

So, what are you waiting for? If anyone uses it, I'll probably move it somewhere it will be visible (add it to the header?), so you can see the fruits of your texting labor.

25 April 2007

Fuck you, Blue Cross Minnesota.

This is kind of a part two for this entry.

When I spoke to Miles last week, he told me that just like I'd been doing with my Advair, I could get a 90-day supply of my albuterol inhaler for $50. Provided, of course, I get my doctor to write me a new prescription. Fat chance of that happening until I'm forced to go in for my annual exam, because my office copay is now $20.

Plus, I could now get the three-month supply at Walgreens. Previously, there were only certain pharmacies where you do get this benefit. Because God forbid I try to get everything at the same place.

So, I called Walgreens to have them transfer the Advair today and it all happened very quickly. I was impressed. I wanted to make sure that things worked out the way Miles had told me they would, so I went to view my prescription history and saw something very curious under cost for my 90-day supply of Advair. It said "$70.00."

Um, $70 is not $50. My first thought was that Miles was incorrect about me being able to get the three months for $50 at Walgreens. Maybe the Uptown location wasn't included for whatever stupid reason. How am I supposed to know?

I called and got a woman who wouldn't tell me her name. Nice! Things could only improve from here, right? It turns out Miles gave me "some misinformation." Well, hot fucking damn. Thank you so much. He was wrong about the albuterol inhaler, too. That'll cost $70 for three months as well.

Ms. No Name was so helpful in telling me that was basically the cost of a two-month supply. Thanks for the addition help, Francine. I do have basic math skills. She did try to tell me that I heard Miles wrong. That was nice of her. No dice though, sweet cheeks, because I made him repeat himself and made sure I had the information correct. Why go to the trouble of transferring the prescription if I'm going to pay more?

Also, how am I supposed to end that conversation? "Thanks for not apologizing for inconveniencing me. Thanks for not apologizing for one of your fellow worker bees telling me something that wasn't true. Thanks for nothing because what the fuck can I do about this? Not a goddamn thing, that's what."

Blah, blah, blah, thank goodness I even have health insurance and all that. Oh, and thanks for smoking while you were pregnant with me, mom.

Note: I totally have PMS. Sorry.

24 April 2007

I'm not sure that's such a good idea.

I was walking around Lake Calhoun last night after work, as I am wont to do when the weather is nice. There are many annoying things that can happen when you walk around Lake Calhoun, as well as a few delightful things. I've written about many of them before.

Last night, however, there was something I'd never seen -- little kids using remote control trucks on the walking path. And I'm talking little kids; two or three years old. I thought the first one was odd enough. Then I came across another and it seems like perhaps there is a trend in the making.

What in the name of all that is holy would make someone think allowing their kid to operate a remote control vehicle on a crowded path full of walkers, joggers, dogs and strollers is a good idea? Someone is going to get hurt.

In a somewhat related development, last week I saw a girl dribbling a soccer ball down the path. Last night, a tiny boy of maybe two was bouncing one of those big, bouncy balls (you've seen them in the giant cages at Target or whatever) as he toddled down the walking path between and behind three women walking abreast (thanks for sharing the path, skanks). And I saw two boys dribbling a soccer ball across Lyndale at 31st street around 5:30. Yeah, that's safe.

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with people? These morons (the parents/guardians/whoever) make the douchesticks who routinely come to a dead stop in the middle of the path with their stroller and dog for no apparent reason look completely reasonable. Maybe not the douchesticks who stopped for no reason where the path narrows and becomes two-way as it goes over the channel between the lakes. They were special.

I don't want to get hurt while I'm out getting a bit of a workout and enjoying the weather. I'd like it even less if I was forced to stomp the fuck out of your kid's remote control truck because he ran it into my shin. Remember, I don't hate your kids, I hate you because you let your kids run wild and do stupid things.

23 April 2007

Crappy Italian food in St. Paul.

Saturday night I ate some of the worst Italian food I've ever had. And I really only tasted bites of the "traditional" dishes my dining companions had, since Sweetness, KD and I ordered pizza.

We went to Yarusso Brothers' in St. Paul because Blondie (that's the name Macho Man has been calling her, and I like it) apparently "had my heart set on Italian and I wanted to try something new." I cannot deny that it was new to all of us save for Sweetness. And I'm all for trying something new. However, if I was to look at a restaurant's website and decide it would be best if I ate something before I left so as to be less hungry because not a goddamn thing on the menu looked remotely appetizing, it's not the kind of new place I'd try if I had my druthers. Reading some of these reviews didn't help, either.

There was bread on the table when we got there. It looked and tasted like D'Italiano. Though, I couldn't sit down right away because some dude was monkeying with the projection screen TV that was not used the entire time we were there. Thank God he was fixing it at that moment. KD and I ordered a carafe of the house Chianti. It looked, smelled and even kind of tasted like grape juice. Thankfully, it still got us buzzed like real wine would have.

I saw some plates as they were being served to the other diners in the room and I was terribly glad to be getting pizza. I don't know what you can do to a basic marinara sauce that would give it the color of the sauce at Yarusso's. It was an orangey brown. I mean, how the fuck do you screw up a basic marinara sauce? It's canned tomatoes, garlic, onion and maybe some Italian seasoning. I make it all the time and not once has it ever come out in a shade other than a lovely red. Yarusso's sauce looked like the sauce you'd seen in a can of SpaghettiO's.

As for the pizza ... the olives were good. I don't know why we did the whole charade of taking leftovers with us. Habit, maybe?

Oh! Then there's the clientele. We were in a room with other big parties. One was a "Happy 80th + 1 Birthday!" They were apparently doing some sort of toast at the end of the meal when some guy that was most likely older than my dad mooned the guest of honor. I did not see this with my own eyes and I thank the Good Lord Jeebus for this. Those were some klassy motherfuckers right there.

It can kind of suck having a friend who is a picky eater with less of an adventurous culinary spirit than my eight-year-old nephew. The kind of person, who when they order makes you so uncomfortable that you have to leave the table (I wish I'd thought of that). Of course, for Birthday Dinner Part Deux, she's chosen the restaurant that she refused to eat at for my birthday dinner a few years ago. That whole experience left me in tears for part of my birthday and resulted in my choosing a place that I hate with a passion. Oh, and a stomach ache, too. And you're damn right I'm still holding a grudge about it.

20 April 2007

I'll take what's behind door number two, Monty.

The only difference between the bathroom here at work and Let's Make a Deal, is that I get to look behind each door before I make a decision. Well, I'm not winning any fabulous prizes either. Nor do I have to dress up in weird costumes. Okay, fine, it's nothing like "Let's Make a Deal." Just work with me anyway. Please?

Do I want door number one (my usual stall by the way), which looks to have either a drop of blood or horrifyingly discolored pee on the seat? How about door number two? It looks like it could be a piece of lint. I hope it's lint. Door number three? Most definitely piss on the seat.

I rolled the dice and hoped it wasn't a chunk of poo on the seat behind door number three.

It was lint. Whew. Now I just have to remember to use that same stall the rest of the day.

Also, welcome to everyone from Adventure Rider. I'm quite tickled to be one of the "strange minnesotan blogger chicks." I'm terrified of motorcycles, by the way.

17 April 2007

I really hate my health insurance company.

Maybe hate is too strong of a word. And in this case, it kind of seems to be less their fault than others. Still, I'm highly annoyed at a variety of entities today.

I went to pick up a couple of prescriptions at Walgreens last night -- my Flonase and my albuterol inhaler. Last year, I was paying $5 a pop for each. This year, I'd gotten my birth control pills, Flonase and thyroid meds for FREE. I found out today it is because they are all generics. For whatever reason, I was still expecting to pay $10 last night. Instead, I paid $33.58. For just my inhaler. Now, it was a slightly different inhaler, but the medicine inside is the same.

I didn't bother to ask what the fuck was up at Walgreens because they NEVER have an answer. Why ask when I'm going to hear, "I don't know. Contact your insurance company."

So, I did today. Turns out that since it's an albuterol inhaler with a brand name (Pro-Air!) it now costs $35 a pop. Lucky me, I can get my doctor to write a three-month prescription and get that for $50. This is what I do with my Advair inhaler (I've said it before, people: asthma is sexy). However, when I started doing that two years ago, Blue Cross told me I had to get it done at one of a handful of pharmacies. I was driving out to St. Louis Park four times a year to a Cub to get that stupid prescription. The one plus to all of this time on the phone today is that I found out I can now get my three-month supply at Walgreens and save myself a trip to the 'burbs. Sweet.

After my somewhat enlightening conversation with Miles (who was very helpful), I called Walgreens to make sure they didn't have a generic and were just screwing me over because they could. The girl I talked to said there wasn't a generic and that albuterol was always a brand name. Why I'd been charged for it as a generic for YEARS is beyond me in this case. I wasn't going to get into that with her, though. What's the point?

I just wish someone would have told me when I ordered the refill that I was going to start paying out the ass. I didn't even really need the inhaler. I have a ton of them at home. I'm like Annabella Sciorra's character in The Hand That Rocks The Cradle. I have inhalers EVERYWHERE -- my purse, the drawer of my coffee table, my desk at work, my nightstand and two in my gym bag for some reason. And then I have three backups waiting to replace the aforementioned ones as they run out.

Is it overkill to have that many? Maybe. Probably. My asthma isn't so bad since I started using Advair. But if you've ever been in a situation where you cannot get a breath and you could fix that with a couple of puffs of an inhaler you might do the same.

I shouldn't be bitching. I don't pay my health insurance premiums. Sure, my copays change unpredictably and sometimes wildly every year. Sure, the changes happen in March so there is no possible way to plan from one year to the next. Sure, I had to drop out of our flex plan because the boss man wouldn't sign my checks for months at a time and I'd have money taken out of every check while waiting on $150 to $200 checks every month. But at least I have health insurance.

Incidentally, the inhaler was changed to make it better for the environment. They eliminated the CFCs previously used to propel the medicine. I didn't try the new thing to see how it worked. I should when I get home. I'll feel so much better that I can easily breathe our polluted air, knowing I'm no longer spewing massive amounts of CFCs into the air when I use my inhaler.

14 April 2007

Cake!


Yesterday was Carrie's birthday. So, I made her a cake. I found the Smitten Kitchen recipe through Charming, but single. I'd been holding on to it since January, just looking for an occasion.

It turned out well, though I had to seriously adjust the baking time due to my using a silicon bundt pan.

11 April 2007

I love hipsters.

No, not those hipsters. They annoy me as much as the next person. And I'm often accused of being one myself. No, I'm talking about these hipsters. It's like I've found the Holy Grail of underwear.

That's right. I said underwear, not panties. You see, panties is on the List of Words I Hate With the White-Hot Intensity of a Thousand Burning Suns. In case you're curious, the full list is:

Panties
Moist
Ointment
Slacks


That's not really the point, though. I'm so totally stoked about finally finding awesome underwear. I was on some kind of underwear-buying spree for the early part of the year and a couple times I decided to venture out from my usual bikini style, because, well ... why not? I was buying many pairs of underwear anyway, and they were on sale. I tried the boy shorts in my undie experiment, too.

For whatever reason, I just recently put the new underwear styles to the regular workout and yoga tests (I typed "testes" accidentally hahahahahaha). The boy shorts did okay in both; minimal creeping and other movement. This is never fun. I figured it was just going to happen when I worked out no matter what, because of the movement and all that. I mean, the bikinis did that all the time.

But yesterday, I wore the hipsters on the treadmill and the elliptical machine with awesome results. Yoga tonight was the best, though. I am always aware of my drawers during yoga. They're falling or cranking up or whatever. But today, during savasana, I realized I hadn't noticed my underwear at all. Yeah, I shouldn't be thinking about that kind of thing during the big relaxation. But sometimes my mind wanders. I CAN'T HELP IT.

I realize I'm a huge dork to be so excited about finding awesome underwear that I'm moved to write about it. I don't care, though. I've come a long way since the horrific incident where I accidentally wore a thong to play in an intramural softball game. I was playing first. I had to stretch to make a play. It was unpleasant. So, this is a momentous day for me. Please let me have my moment.

Most sincere apologies to all two of the male readers of this blog. Unless you like reading about girls' underwear. Then I rescind the apology.

10 April 2007

Bus grossness.

To Stinkypants McGee sitting next to me: If you're going to be ripping that much ass every 30 seconds or so, could you at least do it loud so it's funny? The hilarity really helps cut down on the perceived awfulness of the stench.

And to you, Chewy Von Spittoon: I saw you take that huge wad of tobacco out of the tin and cram it in your mouth. That's fucking disgusting in it's own right, but you really couldn't wait until you got off the bus? GROSS.

06 April 2007

Musical melancholy.

I was going to write a big, long entry today about music and how things change when you're a fan of a band when they're not very big and then they become this huge sensation, but I don't really feel like it anymore.

This is all because I'm going to see Snow Patrol tonight at Northrop Auditorium on the University of Minnesota campus. I didn't really even want to go to this show, but my sister and Carrie did, so I said, "Oh, what the hell." Northrop is a fairly shitty venue. It's old and has poor sightlines and the sound is less than stellar. And it's pretty big -- the capacity is something like 5,400. It's also where my undergrad commencement ceremony was held.

I saw Snow Patrol for the first time in 2004, I guess. It looks like that was when Final Straw was released. The show was in the Ascot Room at the now-defunct Quest Club. It was small. I couldn't get anyone to go to their first three Minneapolis shows with me, except Jen when she came to visit from South Carolina. I even had four free tickets to their second show here and NO ONE would go. Now everyone loves them. Go figure.

So now I have to fight a huge crowd full of teenagers and see them in a shitty venue and it makes me kind of sad. I still love them, even though they're ridiculously popular now and my friend the Macho Man mocks me for liking them. Shoot, I loved them when Carrie mocked me constantly for liking them.

And the chances of me hearing them do "An Olive Grove Facing the Sea" are waning each time I see them. It's my favorite Snow Patrol song. It appears on their second album, When It's All Over We Still Have to Clear Up," which wasn't released the in U.S. until after Final Straw was a huge hit. But they've done it every time I've seen them thus far. I just think my luck has run out, especially since Gary said before they played it at First Ave in September that they hadn't played it in a while. Save for the night before in Chicago.

Basically, I wish I hadn't wasted my money on a ticket to the show. Oh well. Maybe this is all due to the fact that I'm in a very blah mood today.

This turned out to be a long post about being a fan of a band that gets really popular. I could write a ton more, I'm sure. But if I can't be bothered to do it, I hardly think anyone could be bothered to read it.

04 April 2007

Ants in my pants.

And if the right music was playing on The Current, they'd be making me do the boogie dance.

I could not relax properly in yoga last night. It was partially due to the fact that I was really stressed out about ... something. What it was, though? No idea. Maybe the snow that never really came down. Who knows? Then our instructor was late. She managed to make a shortened class really intense though, which was awesome. However, I didn't get much out of Savasana. And that's always a shame.

Fast forward to right now, and I Can't. Sit. Still. Usually, I only get this antsy when I've used my inhaler. I think I'm just oddly excited (I was going to say "stoked," but I fear I've been using that word too much lately) about going to happy hour at The Independent after work and then The Slats show after that. Whoooooooo!

03 April 2007

I'm a winner!

I'd like to thank the Florida Gators for helping me to win the NCAA tourney bracket challenge over at I Dislike Your Favorite Team. I've had my heart set on the Jesus statue since the prizes were announced.

Once Big Blue Monkey stages the elaborate awards ceremony, I'll post pictures of my newest cherished possession. I look forward to many nights of drinking with Jesus watching over me.

It wasn't that many days ago I was blogging from the deck and mentioning that we were still statistically due five to six additional inches of snow before the end of snow season. Guess what's falling from the sky right now. Well, there's not much of it at the moment. But the forecast says two to five inches. Because Mother Nature is a cruel mistress, I'm sure she'll unleash hell in about an hour and a half.

Quite frankly, I expected it. Spring in Minnesota is notoriously cruel -- a couple of gorgeous days followed by a day that would be fitting of June, followed by a significant cool down, followed by snow within a week to 10 days. I might just be making all that shit up, but I remember it happening often enough that it probably happens nearly every year. In my mind, anyway.

These are the days people aren't thinking of when they speak wistfully about the new Twins stadium. It's the second night of the season and there's a home game and it's going to be snowing. Oooh! Oooh! Sign me up for sitting outside in this crap for three hours! I know the Dome sucks, but people will miss that roof early in the season and (hopefully) during the playoffs. Not so much on gorgeous summer nights, though. It'll all even out, I guess.

02 April 2007

Opening Day!

First of all: Fuck you, Blogger. I lost my post and have to write it all over again. Now back to your regularly scheduled blog post, which I will be sure to back up before I dare try to publish it.

Finally. It seems like it has been forever since baseball season ended. And here we are again, starting the season with the Twins mourning the loss of an institution.

Normally, I'd say "fuck that" when it comes to the NCAA championship game tonight. Because, hello! IT'S OPENING DAY FOR THE TWINS. And I seem to suddenly lose interest in college basketball after the Final Four games are played. "There's only one game on tonight? Screw that." However, I have renewed interest in tonight's tussle. If Florida wins, I get the Jesus statue.

It will be difficult for me to root for the Gators, as I hate all things Florida when it comes to college sports. Why, you ask? Why not? Even though I'm a Big Ten girl at heart and always cheer for other Big Ten teams once the regular season is over, I can't bring myself to do that for Ohio State. Also, I think it would be hilarious for OSU to lose both the national football and basketball championships to the Gators. It's probably not so hilarious if you're a Buckeye fan, I suppose.

Lucky for me, there shouldn't be too serious of a conflict. There should only be about an hour overlap between the two events. Plus, I have picture-in-picture. Fancy, I know! Even if both games ran at the same time and I didn't have picture-in-picture, not even Jeebus posting up a couple of little kids could keep me from watching Supernatural pitch tonight.