Author Archives: Chrissie

The Pooka Life

I am a horribly stubborn person. I’m not sure why this is but there are times when I decide to plant my feet in the ground and nothing can move me. And to the poor fool who tries to shove me against my will, I offer my pity.

I went to get a flu shot the other day. The last time I got one of these, I didn’t get sick all winter so I believe it works. Unfortunately, last year there was a major shortage and they were only giving shots to the oldie moldies so I had to suffer through a winter of sniffles. This year, however, I got the notice at work that the flu shot people would be here and the company would pick up the tab. Free flu shot? You don’t have to ask me twice!

So I amble on down to the second floor conference room. There’s a table full of forms and a lady talking on her cell phone. I decide to be nice and wait for her to get off her call. In the meantime, I pick up a form and head to an open chair.

“Excuse me,” she barks, “are you suppose to be here?” She has her hand over her cell phone and is looking at me strangely. Lets see, there’s a big sign out front say FLU SHOTS and I’m wearing business attire. Seemed like a no-brainer to me.

“I’m here for the flu shot.” I reply.

“Well, who are you with?” She snorts at me.

I give her the name of my firm and she walks away yammering on her phone. It appears I have passed some sort of initial test so I fill out the paperwork. One page is a giant disclaimer saying that I’m not allergic and won’t sue them from complications from the flu shot. I sign on the dotted line and move on to the next form. It says….

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO FILL OUT THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION TO RECEIVE THE FLU SHOT. Blah blah blah. (Please note that the above phrase was written in big font and at the top of the page.) The rest of the form is a bunch of medical questions. Now, I’m in a hurry so I decide not to fill out the medical form. Everyone else is busily filling out bubbles while I head back up the cell phone lady who then tries to charge me for the flu shot. We go a few rounds and I finally convince her that my firm is paying for it. She then asks me the name of my firm even though I have already told her. I hate people who do this. You know the type who like to make you jump through hoops just to prove they can. She looks into her little binder and low and behold, there is my name on the employee list. At this point, our relationship as gone from bad to worse. I don’t like her and she definitely doesn’t like me. For those of you who aren’t so good with foreshadowing, this is where the stubborn part comes in.

“Did you give me your medical form,” she calls out as I start to leave the room.

“I didn’t fill one out.” I replied shortly.

“I need to have that form before you can get the shot” was her reply, obviously swelling with the power trip of deciding who could proceed to the shot station.

“I don’t give out my medical history except to my doctor,” I quip back to her. Ok, that’s a lie. A bald face lie but she was making me mad. Besides, I was taking a stand for all those people who really didn’t want to divulge their medical past to random strangers for no apparent reason. This was a matter of principal.

“Why don’t you want to fill it out. What’s wrong with you?” She shot right back.

What’s wrong with me? WHAT”S WRONG WITH ME??? By now, all the sounds of bubble scratching has died away and everyone in the room is watching us like we’re a 10 car pile up. I dig in my heels and nothing, I mean nothing, is going to convince me to give this woman my medical history.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, I just don’t give out my medical history” I manage to get out through clenched teeth.

“You have to fill out the form. If you don’t fill out the form, you can’t get the shot” she chants to me with a sneer.

Excuse me??? I HAVE to??? No one tells me what I HAVE to do except my mom and even then there’s at least a 50% chance I’ll ignore her as well. I am not stupid. I can read the form which specifically says the information is optional.

A word of caution, don’t try to BS an attorney. We do this stuff for a living and unless you are either an 1) attorney, 2) politician, or 3)a younger sibling you are out of your league. Some of my friends like to lay the cards right out on the table and launch right into “Listen, I’m an attorney so I know **fill in made up piece of legislation here**. I prefer the sneak attack. Let them think you’re some low level secretary. Sometimes it pays off to be young and female in my profession.

“So I have to fill this out to get a flu shot?” I began to lay the foundation.

“Yes, you do.” She replied without batting an eye. Now who’s lying?

“It’s mandatory?” Always re-ask your question slightly differently. This way, they can’t claim they didn’t understand you the first time.

“Yes, it’s mandatory.” She sneered at me. And then I knew I had her so I went for the kill.

“Well,” I began with a serene smile firmly in place which, in lawyer land, means you are seriously frelled “it says right here…YOU DO NOT HAVE TO FILL OUT THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION TO RECEIVE THE FLU SHOT. So either you are lying to me or the information on this form is wrong.”

I had her and she knew it. I think I heard someone in the back snicker. We stared at each other for a few seconds and then she turned and walked away. I took this to mean I was free to proceed to the flu shot area and did so.

The lady who poked me was very very very nice. I think she was afraid of me.

The Pooka Life

Oh my goodness, too funny. You must go here and read this site.

I think Kevin may need to start a list like this. Some of the stuff we argue about is equally ridiculous. Our latest was a rather heated discussion of who walks the dog more. Not sure why it matters but each of us is convinced we take out Artie the most and will good down fighting on this one. Ah, they joy of being in a relationship….

The Pooka Life

I’m so excited. I just found out that Ab Fab is coming back to Comedy Central. I loved the old Absolutely Fabulous reruns but never dared to hope there would be more on the way!

I must warn you that Eddie and Patsy are, well, horridly shallow. But there is something about them that just cracks me up. I think I got suckered into an AbFab marathon one weekend and spent all day on the couch laughing my butt off. Simply fabu darling!

So make a mental note that next Monday at 9pm the girls are back. I know I’ll be eagerly awaiting their latest adventure. Supposedly, Edina succumbs to the power of Parralox continuing her eternal quest to fight aging. I can’t wait!

The Pooka Life

We have heat.

I know it seems like this blog has turned into some sort of do-it-yourself home repair journal but lately, all our time seems to be spent pulling things apart and putting them back together.

So our dryer quit heating and according to our do-it-yourself manual, this probably means our heating coil is dead.

The dryer repair, however, proved trickier than we thought. Most models have a back panel that you simply remove to locate the heating coils. Ours, however, is an industrial GE dryer built sometime in the 70’s judging from the color. The only removable panel was the front which meant the whole drum had to come out. Oddly enough, it only took us an hour and half to take the thing apart. Sure enough, we had a bad heating coil. Since it was so old, I though we were done for but a re-string kit only set us back $25 bucks and was in stock!! So it’s 12:30 and we’re thinking no problem, we’ll have the puppy up and drying in no time.

It was then we learned a new lesson. Kevin is not allowed to take apart anything without me watching. That’s right, while I was on the phone with Elmo, Kevin pulled apart the dryer. I wasn’t watching or marking the parts in my anal way that I normally do.

The result? Disaster.

It took us SIX HOURS and a whole lot of swearing to get the dryer back together again. First, we plugged it in and nothing – no power. This meant we had to recheck all the wires to make sure they were connected. Then, we had power and heat but no tumble. Kevin had removed the belt but couldn’t figure out how to put it back on. No matter what we tried, we couldn’t get the right tension. In his frustration, he yanked off the door and broke the door safety. You know, it’s that little button that acts as a cut off switch so if you open the dryer door while it’s working it turns off automatically.

I sent Kevin on a walk with the dog and managed to realign the belt but there was no hope for the door sensor. So we did the only thing possible. By-passed the safety and said good enough. Don’t worry, we’re going to replace it. But the need for clean clothes outweighed our safety concerns. We ended up missing the symphony and spend the rest of the night doing laundry and patting ourselves on the back.

We decided to go a little wild and Kev made some strawberry pina coladas to go with our pizza. You know, you basic, wild Saturday night. I think we passed out around 10pm. Home repair is exhausting!

I Win!

Oh boy oh boy oh boy. I have such a story to tell. However, the following blog is a giant I TOLD YOU SO with massive amount of gloating. So you Kevin sympathizers who whine at me that I should stop picking on my poor husband, you may not want to read this.

Where to begin. I’m so excited I can barely think straight.

Kevin and I have been having an ongoing battle over the cars. As it turns out, every few days we switch cars. Since I leave the house first, I have to take whatever car is parked first on the driveway. Some days it’s the Civic, others the Volvo. But lately I have been noticing a disturbing trend.

Whenever we switch cars, I always end up with an empty tank.

At first, I thought it was just happenstance. Just some odd twist of fate that every time I used a car after Kevin it needed a refill. After a couple of weeks of this, however, I began to suspect something was afoot and confronted the culprit. After intense questions and the removal of a few toenails, Kevin admitted that he often drove a car to empty and then switched them on me knowing I’d go to the gas station for him. This made me grumpy and I chastised him.

Now, the other thing you need to know is that the Civic has a low gas light. Kevin will drive it until the light comes on and then switch to the Volvo. But the Volvo, being much older, only has a gas needle. Kevin’s technique is to drive the Volvo until the needle hits the red and then leave it for me. He is constantly telling me that the Volvo won’t be out of gas until the needle drops below the red. “No,” I told him “you have to refill the Volvo when it hits the red. Once it goes below the red, it’s on empty.” Kevin’s response to this is to chalk it up to one of my numerous neurotic tendencies and ignore me.

But last night, I went from neurotic to right.

Kevin switched cars on me Tuesday night. On Wednesday morning, I went out to the driveway and saw that the Volvo was first in line. I hoped in, started it up, and saw the needle sitting in the red. This made me very very very very very grumpy. I had just filled up the Civic and now Kevin was leaving me another car to take to the gas station. Since I only drive one mile to the park-n-ride, I decided to skip getting gas. Coming home that night, I debated with myself. Get gas or no? I decided two could play this game and passed the gas station. If Kevin was so sure about this whole below the red theory, he could just keep on driving the Volvo for all I cared.

Thursday morning I made sure I had the Civic. I admit, I felt a little guilty that morning but I soon got over it. That night, Kevin called around 8pm to say he getting off of work and was going to drop off a friend and then head home. I waited and waited and waited. He finally appeared around 10pm soaked and grumpy because, yes, you guessed it, HE RAN OUT OF GAS!!!! He got in the Volvo, saw the needle in the red and decided to drive it 20 miles to Vancouver and back WITHOUT STOPPING FOR GAS!!! Yes, he planned to leave it for me again. Only, his plans fell apart.

I’m afraid I was very undignified as I followed him from room to room chanting, “who was right? Huh? Who was right?” over and over again. Poor Kevin could only hang his head in shame and mutter “you were right, you were right.” I think at one point I actually burst into a spontaneous happy dance.

Kevin has promised to fill up whenever a tank is less than half full. He also needs a new pair of shoes from walking in the mud/rain for 10 blocks to the nearest gas station.

Oh happy day, oh happy day, my husband got stranded on the side of the road in the middle of the night in the pouring rain because he didn’t do what I said.

Can life get any better than this????

Just Thinkin’

I’ve been thinking about tatoos. Don’t worry mom, I’m not going to get one. It’s more of a philosophical debate along the same lines of “if the house was on fire and you could either save your dog or your cat, who would you chose.”

Sometimes, for no real reason I can put my finger on, I find myself wondering, if I was to get a tatoo, what would it be? I mean, this is something that would be stuck on me forever. What possible symbol or phrase is there that I was sure I’d like forever. For me, forever is a very scary thought. I mean, it’s always, the entire enchilada, for ever and ever. And for the life on me, I couldn’t think of anything that I was sure I’d like for the rest of my life.

Something inconsequential like a flower or a happy face seemed silly. I mean, why tatoo something that means nothing? A name is just asking for trouble unless it’s MOM but that’s just too pirate/sailor for my taste. Snakes and skulls just aren’t my cup of tea. So I’ve been turning this over in my mind with no success.

Until today.

Yes, in a moment of pure insight, I figured out what I could permanently place on my body without fear of every changing my mind. I’d go for one of these. (The little green symbol.)

I know, I know, horoscopes are silly and too general to be true but I honestly believe that I was born under the right sign. I’m proud to say I am a stubborn and bull-headed person and I always will be. So for me, I’d have to say that the Taurus glyph of the circle and horns would be my tatoo of choice.

Of course, this only answers half of my tatoo dilemma. Now I have to decide where I would want to put it. That question I am still debating. I’ll let you know what I decided.

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with this scenario…. I drag you into a tatoo parlor and won’t let you leave until you go under the needle. What would you choose? (Harder than you thought, huh?)