I came home from work the other day to find hubs alternately fuming and scratching his head in confusion.

“Just check the answering machine.”

This is Waste Management.  Our records show that your service does not include the type of can you are using and you need to call us at 1-800-DOU-CHEY to change your level of service.  Our service technician took the amount of garbage you are paying for and left the rest.

What?

According to hubs, what he really did is root through my trash, take a couple of bags and leave the rest.  Which leaves me with this look on my face kind of like this ?????????? and also WTFuuuuuuuucckkkkkkkahhhhhhh???

Were I a garbage collector who was pissed that I didn’t get a tip at Christmas, (because let’s face it, we’ve had this same can and this same level of service for FOUR years – it’s not news) I wouldn’t take the time to get out of my truck, paw through a can full of garbage, take what I want, and leave the rest.  I’d write a note and stick it on the can to call customer service for an upgrade, and either pick it up this time or not at all.  This?  Was just weird.

We bought our house from my father-in-law.  When we transferred the utilities into our name we just kept the same level of things and didn’t pay much attention to it.  We bought our own large, green can because the ones he had were at the end of their lives and we’re weird about having garbage cans whose bottoms are falling out.  It has been exactly the same for four years.  The garbage man even stuck a Waste Management sticker on the can two years ago about the direction it needs to point on the curb.  Suddenly we have a pissed off conscientious garbage collector with an axe to grind a list and he’s checking it twice?

That’s fine.  I don’t mind paying for the service I’m getting, I just had no idea that I wasn’t for the last four years.

So I called the customer service at the Waste Management and I talked to the lady about the level of service we currently have versus the level of service we need to order so that we can make the garbage go away.  Because really?  I just want the garbage to go away.  She told me that I was currently paying $11.49 a month for one 32-gallon can.  We have a something-something gallon can that is clearly larger than 32 gallons.  She rattled off this list of prices and sizes and somewhere I stopped listening because who knew there were so many options for trash?

Eventually she told me I can pay $20 a month for a 96-gallon can that they will provide, because my can is not approved and is a safety risk.  After four years of them taking it with no safety issues whatsoever.  Apparently.

But then!

She also told me that with the 96-gallon service I can also put out an additional SEVEN 32-gallon cans!

Oh reaaaalllllyyyy??

So I clarified with her what, exactly, I can put in these cans.  Yard waste?  Yep.  Does it have to be bagged?  Nope.  And it only costs me $9 more a month?

Oh it is so on like Donkey Kong!

That garbage man who got his panties all wadded up over taking my can that was smaller than the 96-gallon can that’s going to be delivered because hubs forgot to put his tip out at Christmas?  Can fuck right off when I line up Big Greenie and the seven dwarfs.  Every.  Single.  Week.

Because here’s the thing: I have a chain saw.  And a cutting torch.  And many, many sledge hammers (don’t ask).  I can make anything fit in a 32-gallon trash can.  I can cut up an entire house and fit it in 32-gallon trash cans because I am just that much of a bitch and it’s been a really bad week.

I have 65-ish trees on my property.  One died and we had to cut it down and instead of paying $30 to haul it to the dump I am going to cut that fucker up with a chain saw and load up 32-gallon trash cans.  I don’t even care that I have to buy more cans so that I have seven of them.

Principle, people.  It’s about principle.  Don’t rummage through my trash and just take a couple of bags because that’s just creepy.  Don’t be passive-aggressive .  Leave a note.  Send me a notice.  Call me in advance and say something like “We reviewed your account, and it’s not right.  We took it this time but it’s the last time until you change your service.”  I respect that.  Be professional, not a dumpster diver.

Anyone have any trash they want to get rid of?  I know a guy.

Surgery made me lazy.  Ok, laziER.

I haven’t cooked dinner more than once a week in I don’t know how long.  The amount of money we’ve spent on take-out and eating out could have purchased a new air conditioner so we wouldn’t have to suffer through another heatwave like we had earlier this summer.

The amount of food that we’ve wasted because I bought the groceries intending to make the dinners that it turned out I was too lazy to make for real is disgusting.  Mostly it’s produce that has been wasted because I have not one but two refrigerators with freezers and another stand alone freezer.  Wanna know the problem with too many freezers?  It is also possible to waste frozen food.  Freezer burn claimed a lot of stuff in my freezer too.

I needed a plan.  A cold-turkey kick the habit nip it in the bud program to stop the insanity.

So this week?  There will be no eating out.  At all.  Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I know, that doesn’t sound hard for most people.  I realize that most people don’t let themselves get to this degree of lazy, but I always said I was speshul.   You just didn’t know how speshul.

Ok, so really this plan is actually going to be in effect for longer than a week, I just didn’t tell anyone else that so let’s keep that little tidbit to ourselves, mmkay?

In preparation for this turning over of a new leaf I went grocery shopping today, the kind of grocery shopping that requires an advanced clean-out of the fridge, which I did the night before.  Because what makes sense after wasting a colossal amount of food more than going out to buy more, right?  That was my thinking, exactly.

I got up early this morning.  It was only 8:00-ish.  On a Saturday.  Really I deserve a medal just for that because come on.  Who get’s up before 9:00 on Saturday?

Only the truly dedicated, that’s who.

I went to Winco.  That’s right – this was the real deal.  The bag-it-yourself, get shoved out of the way of the lady wanting potatoes, small children with grubby paws in the bulk bins kind of shopping.  It’s not pretty, but it’s effective.

I had my list and I filled that cart.  I mean I filled it.  In my defense, about a quarter of the cart was taken up by my stacks of reusable bags because I?  Am a friend to the environment, yo.  Still, I’m a pro.  I’m such a pro that I had those groceries bagged and tagged in under 10 minutes.  I may be lazy but I got skillz.

On the way home I stopped at another store for the items that I couldn’t get at the Winco.  One of the things I found on sale at this store was chicken bewbs.  For $.77 a pound.  SCORE!  But they were on the bone.  And I’m lazy, remember?  Since I was turning over a new leaf and all I bought two packages, which I schlepped home with the rest of my loot.

It took me 45 minutes just to unpack and put away most of it.  I had to re-arrange the pantry to get the rest crammed in, and there may have been a pair of pliers involved.  I was on such good behavior, partially fueled by the amount of freezer burned food in my trash, that I re-packaged all of the meat I bought so it wouldn’t happen again.  Marked with dates even!

Then I broke out the knives.  I actually took the time to bone and skin around 20 chicken breasts, and I only stabbed myself once.  I packaged those into meal-sized bundles and put them in the freezer.

But wait!  Because waste is my new enemy I tossed all of the bones in the bottom of my stock pot, threw in carrots, celery, onion, water, and a bouquet garni and I made stock from scratch.

Where’s that freaking medal?

My house smelled like yummy goodness all afternoon.  My reward for all of my hard work was that I used some of the stock to make risotto for dinner and it tripped the cheesy fantastic.

It was a grand way to start off the week of no restaurants.  We will see if I keep skipping along with resolve or if I cave to the lure of the easy button.

I read a post on a blog the other day that instantly made my hair stand on end, like a momma bear defending her cubs. It was about how we should love ourselves, but at the same time it said that our society has become too accepting of fat people, essentially enabling fat people by making larger chairs and advertising delicious-looking food and making clothing that camouflages body faults. And really, shouldn’t we all just want to eat healthy and be thin? Because “nothing tastes as good as thin feels.”

Seriously?

We’re really still having this discussion?

I’m going to lose at least one reader for this one, but you know what? I’m willing to pay that price because goddamnit, are people still that narcissistic and shallow? Do they not get that not everyone is the fucking same? It’s great that you love your body despite your 10 lb fluctuation either side of a normal weight. That’s awesome, really and truly. Does that mean I’m jealous that you don’t struggle like I do? No.  Not in the slightest.

Let me set the record straight. Fat people are not jealous of skinny people. Do I need to say it again?  FAT PEOPLE ARE NOT JEALOUS OF SKINNY PEOPLE! Did you hear met that time?

Skinny people need to get it out of their heads that all fat people want in this world is to be like them. Everyone has issues. Everyone. Some people just have to wear their issues on the outside. Some people have extenuating circumstances that you, in your little shallow and judgmental world that revolves solely around that axis that is you, know absolutely nothing about.

You know what does bother me about naturally thinner people who cast judgment on fat people? It has nothing to do with the size of their body, that’s for sure. It has to do with the mentality that losing weight is a simple mathematic equation. Put down the donut, fatty, and you won’t look like such a lardass. If it were as simple as that don’t you think that there would be less overweight people in the world?  An entire economic sector is built on the fact that it isn’t just simple math.  Jenny Craig would go out of business if it were that easy.  It seems that because they’ve never had to fight this particular battle, they just can’t wrap their minds around why someone would find it so difficult.

Whatever happened to not judging someone until you’ve walked a mile in their moccasins? Whatever happened to live and let live? You don’t like the way I look? Don’t fucking look. And don’t trot out that tired old argument that fat is inherently unhealthy because it’s complete and utter bullshit. I am the healthiest fat person you know; actually I’m a lot healthier than a lot of thinner people I know.

Does all this mean that I don’t want to be thinner, or don’t want to lose weight?  No, it doesn’t.  It means I’ll make you a deal – you don’t judge me for being fat and I won’t throw M&M’s down your asscrack when your low-rise jeans show off exactly what you’re made of.  Ass.

I see a lot of douchetastic things during my day, but this one warrants it’s own award.  For almost as long as I’ve been working where I do now I’ve been getting gas at the station just down the street.  For ever and ever it was family-owned, along with the small casino next door.

Both have recently been sold and although the gas station maintained the same name it was quite obvious that the new owners were going to be making changes.  First they changed the inside of the store, which used to bustle in the mornings with construction workers buying breakfast foods and getting sodas.  That’s all gone.  They also took out the little diner restaurant in the back and replaced it with a Burger King.

It’s the latest change, though, that has my shizzle in a tizzle.  They took out the 87 octane pumps, replaced them with 85 octane, and kept the price the same.  They didn’t tell anyone, you had to pay attention to the stickers.  So unless you want to buy assgas, you have to pay the higher midgrade price.  Awesome.

What used to be a great locally-owned business that had major traffic has turned into a corporate money-mongering wasteland that has nowhere near the business it used to.

Way to go Golden Gate!  That’s 3 Masengill’s up for you!

I’ll be getting my gas down the street from now on.

Hub came home late from work the other night so we decided to grab some tacos instead of making dinner at home.  It was late so there was only one other group of people in the restaurant, a mother with her two devil spawn children and their grandmother.

The brother and sister were pretty close in age, about 1 1/2 and 3, and the brother wanted the cane that his younger sister had snatched from grandma.  Every time brother took the cane away from “Sissy” (as ghetto mom called her) the child would scream at the top of her lungs, and the mother would take the cane from the boy and give it back to the little screaming monster sister.  Way to reinforce a behavior, mom!

Oh their way out of the restaurant the mother picked up the child and laid her down on the banquet seat of a nearby table.

She’s not going to…

Mom starts rummaging in her bag.  Various items are placed on the table – wipes, a diaper…

Oh no…really?  No…she’s not…really?

Sure as shit, (no pun intended) mom pulled down Sissy’s pants, yanked her feet in the air, and took her dirty diaper off at the table in the middle of the restaurant. Where people eat.  At a table.

Who does that?

And THEN!  She handed the diaper to her mother, who took it in the bathroom to throw away!

At this point I could only stare, with my mouth wide open.  Only vowel sounds were coming out.

All of these things were randomly flying thorugh my head at the same time:

• She had the wipes out – that means there was something to wipe off.  It wasn’t just a numbero uno diaper, if you get my drift.
• Bare baby ass was all over that bench seat.  Where people sit.  When they eat.
• Never touch your seat when you’re in a restaurant – you don’t know how many dirty bare baby asses have been rolling all over it.
• If she was going to throw the diaper away in the bathroom, why couldn’t she have completed the whole process in there?  Where they have facilities for that?  With baby changing shelves and everything?  And disinfectant?  It was seriously only 10 yards away from the table.
• I can never go back there.  What if devilmom lives nearby and does that often?

Is this something that people really do?  I mean normal people, not just crackwhore valley trailer trash.  Do people really think that because it’s baby poop it’s all clean and germ-free?  As if all things associated with babies should be cute and sparkly?

Please, tell me I’m not crazy.

Winter and I just do not get along. I will conceed that since it’s now November, it’s time for me to suck it up and accept the snow, and I will but…

Why last night? (pardon me… there will be whining here. Feel free to avert your eyes.) Our planned fishing trip was thwarted by snow and CalTrans’ unwillingness to pony up for a snow plow. Instead we had the great fun of being stuck in a truck, mostly at a dead stop on the pass, for 5 wonderful hours. Joy!

Usually I don’t mind snow in the mountains as long as it stays out of the valley because usually NDOT and CalTrans keep it pretty clear over the pass. Last night, not so much! Last night was an epic fail for lack of any meaningful plowage whatsoever.

I understand both of our states are facing a budget crisis, but Jesus H! Get out the goddamn snow plows! It’s not like this is anything new. It’s been snowing over the pass in November since the beginning of time. Stories have been written about it in fact. Remember the Donner Party? They didn’t have a plow either and look how that worked out for them!

It’s official.   I’m old and I have CRS.

Twice in the last 2 weeks I have made appointments for my son.  I write them down, call the school and get him a pass, take him out of school (and myself out of work), and schlepp him to an appointment ON THE WRONG DAY!!

It happened the other day at the dentist and it happened again today.  I am sure the front desk ladies think I’m completely batshit crazy because I’m SURE that I wrote it down right.  But they always give you that look.  You know, the look that says “of course I didn’t give you the wrong day, I am perfect and I never do anything wrong you ignorant twat.”  After I slap them (ok, it’s really only a mental bitchslap) the doubts start to creep in.  Did I write it down wrong?  Am I really that dumb?

Only today I know I’m right.  I called for the appointment on Friday, told them he was sick and needed to be seen, and they said 10 am on Monday.  It wasn’t that long ago – I didn’t forget!  And yet nay nay.  Front desk twat actually made the appointment for NEXT Monday.  And she gave me the look.  That pitying “boy aren’t you dumb” look only I’m not so dumb because I did say he was SICK and I’m pretty sure he’s sick NOW not in the future, so why would I make an appointment for him NEXT Monday goddamnit goddamnit goddamnit!!?

Fine, I tell her.  Cancel next Monday’s appointment and tell me where the nearest urgent care is.  Luckily it’s only a block away so I’m thinking we might still get out of this without sucking up an entire day.  Only not so much because when I go to the urgent care (which is OPEN) they tell me they’re not seeing urgent care patients until noon.  It’s 10 am.

What?

NO!

Ummm….what exactly does URGENT care mean?  Does it mean urgent when we want to care but not when we don’t?  They were seeing other patients in there, just not URGENT ones.  Apparently it was non-urgent care time.  Say someone came in with blood spurting out of their forehead.  Would they say “Sorry – you’re in need of URGENT Care and we only have CareLess Care right now.  You have to drive across town to one of the Urgent Cares that are open and actually give a shit.”  Maybe it should be renamed something like, oh I don’t know, Lackadaisical Care?  Seriously?  What the shit I say!  What the shit!

We did drive across town and we got right into the Urgent Care that actually knows the meaning of the word urgent, and we got care, and we left.  Wham bam thank you ma’am – is that really so goddamn hard?  We were seriously in and out of there in 10 minutes! Oy!