Deviations and detours in my life.

There's a rooster across the street.

For the last year, he's gotten up at 4 am, without fail, gotten up in a tree - He has this little alcove in it, when my camera comes I'll take picture - and he sings his little heart out.

I am not mad at  the rooster. Poor thing is doing what his body tells him to do. Rooster crow at the drop of a hat.

I am pissed at the owners because we are in a city. We are smack in the middle of urban life, and their rooster is living it up like it's the country and they have done nothing. No folks, I don't live in the country. If I did, I'd suck it up and frankly would likely never even hear it because of wider open spaces. They are about 200 yards away. I can see him in the tree, all big and brown, with his bright red coxcomb. He's really quite gorgeous, till he opens his mouth.

I've called animal control once already when my other neighbours asked me if I knew who owned it, that it was waking them up and their baby. I pointed to the old bint across the street who likes to spy on nieghbours from the confines of her screen in porch. But I was the one who called animal control.

It's 2 more days till I can complain again. It's illegal to have the rooster and any chicken in the city limits. They supposed had a officer go out to serve a code violation to them and give them notice that they have 7 days to get rid of it. I'm giving them ten.

Ten days to crate the fucker, or send it away. I don't want to deny them what is possibly a pet.

But let me tell you, the temptation to get up at the buttcrack of dawn at 4 am, and sit at their front door and ring the doorbell each time the rooster opens it's mouth is pretty tempting and I think a pretty good analogy of what their animal puts me through each more from 4:19 am onwards.

Only I'd get arrested.

The rooster, clearly hasn't.

There's days I miss living in Canada, right now is one.


Hospital hasn't put in their claim, fair enough, he's been in and out, for sake of paperwork, they want to mash it all into one.

Only he has to get at home infusion therapy for two weeks. So the infusion handlers call. they want 1700 up front for the first week, then 800 for the second, after that, it depends on whether he needs the antibiotics still.

No option for a payment plan.

period.

Commence the crying.

Commence the billions of phonecalls to our insurance to beg the hospital to go put in their claim, since at that point they had set up a payment plan for when he got out of the hospital. Insurance company is more than willing to help, because hey, they're getting their money.

Cue the hospital changing it's mind and no, they want the now reduced cost (because other small claims on our deductible went through) of 1800! all in one payment. Nope, they don't want to work with us on a payment plan.

Cue more crying.

Cue the call from the nurse who will be doing the actual infusing. Cue bitchy nurse who wants to know when exactly he's getting out because she doens't live near us and it's far away from her and she needs to work us in to her schedule. No. I don't know when, we're dealing with insurance issues. Cue angry wife who doesn't tell the woman over the phone what she really wants her to go do and promises to call by 11 tomorrow to let her know what's up.

Cue then a call from the boss, who passes the phone to HIS wife, who as the only possible good news of the day. She has a lawyer friend. She wants permission to tell him what's been happening, because even she is aghast at what has happened to my husband and wants to make sure that if we have a case at all, that we have someone who is good (her friend) and that "This too shall pass Sarah, just hang in" and then pass me back to her boss who assures me that no, my husband will still have his job, to stop worrying, they just want him to feel better already.

Did I mention that I'm running a fever of 101 and throwing up all over the place from some bug either from the school or from the hospital that the kid got too?  

Yeah.

Go me for shitty day and for shittier day tomorrow.

Fuck my life.

Because twitter is too short, I'll drop the update in here.


As of today, he's not out of the hospital, possibly tomorrow, barring the surgeon turning his nose up again. Something to do with his pain medications and then one of his other doctors wanting to run some tests today and then tomorrow. Being very overly cautious. Makes me worry.

That said, here's the low down for those who know us and have worried.

Gerry's gallbladder was removed on wednesday evening. They managed to avoid going from laprascopic to open but just barely. Massive damage from his gallbladder which showed evidence of repeated infection and had to literally - I kid you not - be chiseled out of him. What should have been a half hour surgery, possibly 45 at the most took over 2 hours for them to complete. They decided to keep him a day or two to see if there had been any duct damage and because of the severity of the issue.

The surgeon was nice and sat for fifteen minutes, to relay what the back up plans would be if there was damage, but so far, there doesn't seem to be any. So no needing to send him up to LA to UCLA. Thank god.

But he didn't understand why Gerry hadn't been in sooner and why nothing had been done before now and urged us to next time come in sooner. Which had me flabberghasted since for the last 4 months he's been battling nauseau and vomiting and his diet has been broth and rice. We've been in to see the Dr. every two weeks if not sooner and have the medical bills to prove it. Apparently, an ultrasound would have caught this sooner. Irregardless I was livid, I still am. We had broached the question/subject a couple times about whether it was his gallbladder or not, and were told that since there was no pronounced pain, that wasn't the cause. Surgeon has told us otherwise. That the nerve cluster responsible for the stomach was affected by the infection and irritated.

We're going to wait a couple weeks after his surgery and if things have resolved, then we'll by pass the Gastro. If they're still off, we'll see the gastro. But whatever still happens, we are on the hunt for a new medical practice to satisfy our family's needs. This should have been caught, it was inquired about and that, combined with the ever revolving door of doctors, state of their facility and their shortened business hours/lack of on call after hours doc for any emergency calls has me so far beyond unhappy.

Right now, he's resting, being weaned off the narcotics since he's been on them for this whole week and I've run ragged trying to play peacemaker between him and some pretty unprofessional nurses (not all are bad, but the last few have been complainy/bitchy to me re: stuff that they shouldn't be bitchy about/being paid to deal with/should not say to a patient's wife) that have been driving me nuts to the point of contacting the supervisor.

I'm read for him to come home, truth be told. The hospital isn't that far away, and Andrew's asperger tic's are showing up pretty hard and they have been in the past, pretty toned down. He misses his dad, is pretty worried. Longest really, that Gerry's been away from him.

But, enough of the whining, now down to the part that makes me cry.

My neighbours. On either side. Fantastic.

I really don't talk to the one, and the others, I make cake for them and share baked goods but that's about it right. Then there's a teacher one house over and then his own friends down the street. All have gone above and beyond and let me tell you, the milk of human kindness flows freely in my neighbourhood.

They have driven me to the hospital and back, refusing to let me walk (it's 20 min away on foot) they have taken andrew without hesitation, offered to go to the grocery store, to make me meals to make sure I eat and have been prayed for andrew. Then there's Laurie, a friend from my MUX, who came up to help take the kitten in for stitch removal and then stayed when asked by my husband, to take care of andrew so I could be at hte hospital for surgery.

His co-workers who are working so diligently while he's sick, to ensure that his A-Stars levels remain at 100 percent and his work is covered, so that he won't worry about that and have sent a card, and all the twitter folks (even one actor that we've met) have just been coming out of the woodworks to wish him luck and get better.

You hear about the bad shit, and horrible neighbours, or the psycho neighbours and I may gripe and groan about some of mine, but these ones, the ones right on either side and his friends down the street, I can never repay. I really can't and words cannot express how grateful I am for them, or my in laws who call once a day to make sure I'm taking care of myself.

With that, I'm going to close. I have pizza coming, and stress for me = narcolepsy almost and I am very tired I have a kid to put to sleep and still a long ways to go to get stuff in order for him to come home. He'll be home, at some point, life will go back to normal. I am grateful to everyone, for everything and hope to god that we never have to do this again.

Or that anyone else ever has to.

Not even the little braggy latino gang banger in the bed next to him who got bitten/broken armed by a dog when he resisted arrest.

I am so not kidding.

It's been a while since i honest to god posted.

Our cat went missing. Little surprise, since he essentially over this last year spent more time outside than inside and every time we turned around he wanted in, then he wanted out. Which is fair enough. Except that last week a handful of the nieghbourhood cats went missing. So far, count seems to be about 4 from what I've heard. Booger next door came back, and is the only one so far to have come back. Which is surprising since he's big and fluffy, grey and not the fastest thing on four feet.

But ours hasn't. Kitty-Baby's been gone a week this afternoon. Which has my anxiety pretty high because, I mean, it's a cat, but he's my cat. If that makes sense. I'm quite attached to the sleek ball of fur that is my sometimes back of my chair companion. Of hearing my husband grumble about needing to move the cat off the foot of the bed or him in the morning when he's been let in, and sits on my chest with his cat breath till I get up to feed him/let him out.

Didn't help that I found out that there is indeed, coyotes in the area.  At this point, I hold out a smidge of hope, that he's out there, lost and scared, having to have run too far from home because of something. Which it sounds like. Booger made it home a few days ago.

In the meantime, in our search for Kitty-Baby to the various pounds (they refuse to look over the phone or take a picture emailed thereby saving me half an hour of time) we discovered that the local one is a kill shelter and isn't staffed with the greatest of people who are reluctant to actually look at hte animals. To get someone to check the "ferals" for our cat, was like asking them to volunteer for a root canal. Even after explaining that our cat is not social with anyone outside of the family and that he was uncollared (Yes, I know, long story there, don't lecture me about uncollared domestic cats please, got it enough this weekend) someone with a permanent scowl finally went and checked and saw nothing. Thank god, because they only keep uncollared animals for 4 business days then :bye:

we filed a lost cat report and headed out. At this point, it hit home to Andrew (he's 7 now) that really truly, kitty-baby was lost and started crying. So we decided to hit up the next shelter, the one we got KB from. This one is a no-kill, they take //everything// and it's way out in buttfuck nowhere. No luck there, they even checked the ferals for us, checked the dead reports (animals found dead on side of the road) and told us to check the cat room. No KB.

But there was a calico runt. Female, cowering in the kitty litter in this open space cage. Anyone who knows me, knows I come from a home that had a multitude of cats - we lived in the country and they were fairly outdoors except for the summer - and I'm a sucker for a cat pound. Needless to say, despite being told in such a way as it sounded like they didn't really want to adopt out the cat (she had the green collar meant she was adoptable) we ended up leaving with a calico that andrew calls baby-girl and I call her "Norma Jeane" because of a marking on her face.

All is great except..

Norma Fucking Jeane keeps getting into the walls.

SHe's skittish, get her on the bed, where it's quiet and she starts to behave like a kitten. But one night she went creeping and got under the sink where we discovered there's this HUGE open space that leads into the walls. (We don't go under the sink often) and guess where she likes to hide?

We duct taped the door shut, but it didn't hold and she went creeping back there. I've cleaned it out, left out some tuna, and have a cardboard cover waiting, to go over the hole. But god.

Please grant me the patience I need for this kitten. I don't mind playing hide and seek with her. I just mind having to possibly play CHASE THE KITTEN THROUGH THE WALLS....

BTW< she loves popsicle sticks. She cannot get enough of them.

pictures to come of Norma Jean.

I wonder about my husband.

Today, the walk to Tae Kwon Do ended with me with a mild case of heatstroke and my son pretty near to not being able to do his class, and that was with me dousing his head three times on the way to class. Took us almost literally an hour and a half to get there when it normally takes us 45 minutes or so.

His class, is 2 miles away from the house, uphill, and there's very little in the way of shade till that final stretch. And our umbrella is MIA for some reason.

So I know our city has a bus, I've seen the stop by the albertsons, and it goes straight up main. 4 blocks away from the house, down a tree riddled street = LOTS OF SHADE. Should stop at the bus stop at about 4:15, and drop us off right beside the studio at possibly 4:21ish.  Great timing, his class is at 4:45. Gives us time to get him a drink or join in on the tail end of a class etc etc.

Husband doesn't see the point.

Doens't understand why. In some weird convoluted way, he thinks that leaves 15 minutes later, getting there 20 or so minutes earlier, and minus the heatstroke is pointless. Why do we want to take the bus when we can tromp the two miles through the California summer heat with no shade and come out on the other end overheated, sweaty, me down with a migraine later, and the kid exhausted from the whole thing. It'll be easier once he's back in school, the walk will be half and it won't be so hot.

He doesn't want to spring for the bus and there was a bit of an argument. I have money in my wallet, I'll break it down into ones for our trip, but I flat out told him that this thursday, after his dentist appointment, he was //walking// with us, to the studio and then, if he still felt that we were being lazy etc etc, that we'd keep walking.

He won't last till the school, telling you this right now.

Some days, I wonder how the hell he made it through boot camp.

THERE BE SPOILERS BELOW


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(apologies if Kiwi is used as a derogatory term, I don't mean it as such)

It's Fathers Day, and this meant that we go out and do something fun. Today that meant, we were going to mosey on down (or in this case up) to Hollywood. Do some bowling, eat at the Cat & Fiddle which is a traditional English Pub, stop at Fredricks and then part ways while the husband and child went off to see Green Lantern at the Arc Light Cinema and I went to see a trio of small plays put on by the Blank Theatre at the Stella Adler.

These plays were amazing. Let me tell you. The first was very profound, makes you think about your life. (I got the playwrights signature, she's a lovely girl and I swear to god, she is gonna go places) 

The second was another one that was very sad, had me tearing up and eventually crying in my seat (front row, so awesome) and Jerry O'Connell was great but the actor who played the guys dog was just //bang// on. You almost forgot that he was a person and not a dog. I wish I could have taped it. BTW... Holy hell O'Connell is //tall//. No seriously, he is //tall//.

The third was a funny one (needed it after the crying) about the spiderman broadway production. This was the one I had come to see because Lenny Jacobson - Also known as Lenny the paramedic from Nurse Jackie - was in it. The whole reason that we frankly treked up to Holly wood. (The arclight showing of green lantern was bribery to the hubby to go, I //really// wanted to go) .

Afterward, after everyone had taken their bows and lights went back up, we got to mingle on the stage. O'Connell was around for like five minutes? He didn't stick around, but understandable. But Lenny. Such a sweet guy. I wove in, waited, he knew who I was and just bear hugged me, signed everything that I asked him (My nook now bears his john hancock, I shall smile when I crack the cover open) took pictures (he put the one he took up on his twitter, I'm tremendously flattered) let me take video for a friend, and then hugged me //again// - Holy hell he's a great hugger - and then I made my departure as I had to meet up with my husband and kid.

And then we started home, making it back in time to rest, relax, get comfortable for season finale night. I also picked up 17 postcards for my postcrossings to send out, and BOY ARE MY DOGS tired. A lot of walking in shoes not meant to walk.

I also forgot how smelly and dirty LA is, when you're not walking right down Hollywood or sunset blvd.

And so, because I know a certain new Zealander will be reading this... WEll, you'll see, but Operation Kiwi Smile was a resounding success. Sorta. You'll see!

Here's how it is with my 7 year old. During school, 7:30. Flat out. In his room, in his bed. Usually he won't be actually asleep till 8-30. Which is fine, he can read in bed,  he can sing, whatever his little heart demands.

It's  summer though, and I had the same thoughts. What time does he go to bed? Well, we talked and decided that, he can stay up till 8:30. But after that, same deal, in his bed, and usually knocked out by 9-9:30. I think consistency is key. I know he won't be passing out the moment his head hits his pillow, so I'm fine with him laying quietly, reading a book, looking at a lego magazine and all that. Just so long as it's in bed, and when I say lights out, lights out. Maybe try that? Still do his 8:30, but allow him half an hour to read (hey, PROMOTE READING) and just laying/playing quietly in bed. Might work?

And no, it's perfectly fair for your daughter to go to bed earlier. She's five, she needs more sleep than he does. When she's as old as him, she can stay up that late too.

Awesome: Income tax money came in. Replaced our x-box so that it would stop eating games.

Not so awesome: //Hooray// for still sick husbands.

The awesome: New x-box means he can kick my ass at portal co-op when he's not bent over the toilet.

Not awesome: This fucking three day migraine that can totally break anytime soon. Seriously.

Did I mention our x-box is dying?

our x-box is dying jsut as we bought two new games for it. But I need new glasses. But at this rate, I'm going to be hoping I can order another box of lenses from 1800contacts and not have them go "expired prescription' because cali just came back and claimed we didn't claim 8k worth of income from 2009, please give them 1600 dollars.

Wow California. //again//? Every year, you just do this. Never the federal, Mississippi never did this either. Just good ol, you, flat ass broken state that I swear to god, you are sending these out ot people hoping they won't contest it.

Which we will, but it'll cost us regardless since we'll have to go to a tax place and get it done.