Tag Archives: DON’T JUDGE ME!

Saor Alba

Full Disclosure:  I am, on my Poor Ol’ Dad’s side, a bloody Jacobite — as Scarlett O’Hara said, “run out of Scotland with Bonnie Prince Charlie…”

Of course you KNOW I’m watching “Outlander” — #1, I’m a huge history nerd and #2, I read the books back when they came out (and am reading them again).

Leaving aside my personal name for the series: “Everyone in the Known World Wants to Fuck Jamie Fraser” (if you’ve read the books, you get it, and if not… well, I give you this:)

Lord, that lad is FOINE!

Lord, that lad is FOINE!

… so at least you’ll understand why I gladly count myself among the “Everyone” — GREAT casting, by the way!

But anyhoo, I can’t help but find it hysterically coincidental that this series came out just as Scotland is voting on independence.  So, Dear Sweet Mama being just as much a geek as I am, we found ourselves transfixed as all get out at the idea.  So we got to talking about it at the Bob Evans.

What?  Where do YOU discuss global politics?

So far, we’ve been able to discern 3 major points of contention in the matter – these being what the rest of the world (i.e., not Scotland) seems to think ought to matter:

  1. WHO GETS ENGLAND’S NUKES???  Um, England does.  They’re England’s nukes.  But they WILL need to be makin’ an arrangement about the back rent…
  2. WHAT KIND OF MONEY WILL THEY HAVE?  I’d guess whatever money they want, euros, pounds, whatever.  Although I do have to come down as strongly against going back to the Live Pig Currency Standard.
  3. THE DEBT??? WHAT PORTION OF BRITAIN’S DEBT SHOULD SCOTLAND HAVE TO TAKE ON???  This one I’m quite clear on.  NONE.  That debt was paid at (and after) Blar Chuil Lodair.

So, for what it’s worth, I say saor Alba.  And while we’re at it, tabhair Eire ar ais go dti na hEireann.  And am ddim Cymru, if they like.  The time has come.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, The Idiot Box

The Joys of Broke-Folk Insurance

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am ABSO-FUCKIN’-LUTELY a staunch supporter of the Affordable Care Act.  I would not have any goddamn health insurance at all without it, and I’ve been there, it sucks.  And I know the healthcare industry is all fucked up, and I know there’s not enough doctors, and everything.

But still… this ain’t right.

CALL #1 (Yesterday, ’round noonish)

Voice:  “Hello, Doctor ___’s office.”

HoodyHoo:  “Hi, I need to make an appointment?”

V:  “Okay, have you been here before?”

HH:  “No, my insurance company assigned me to y’all.”

V:  “Okay, what’s your name?”

I proceed to tell her, then spell my whole real name three times, then my first name an additional three times, because A) 5 letters is too hard or B) I have a speech impediment.

V:  “And what insurance do you have?”

HH:  “Broke-folk Insurance.”

V:  “Okay, can you hold please?”

Note:  When there are this many “okays” in a single conversation, things are not going to end well.

V (returning):  “What was your name again?”

I spell the whole name one more time.

V:  “Okay, do you have your card in front of you?”

HH:  “I sure do.”

V:  “Okay, can you read me your ID number?”

I do.

V:  “And the doctor’s name on the card?”

HH:  “Doctor _______.” (um, the same name you said when you answered the phone…)

V:  “Okay…”        <long pause>    “And what’s your phone number?”

I give it.

V:  “Okay, we’re going to have to look something up on the computer and call you back.”

HH:  “Ohkaaaay….”

I am somewhat perplexed.  Surely she could look and see whether or not they took my insurance WHILE we were on the phone?  But… maybe they have dial-up, whatever.

TWO HOURS LATER, WITH NO RESPONSE

CALL #2

HH:  “Hi, I called earlier today to make an appointment and someone was supposed to call me back?”

New Voice:  “You called today?”

HH:  “Yes, a couple of hours ago.”

NV:  “Hold on, I’ll get her.”

Short hold, then a Different Voice:  “Susan?”

HH:  “No, this is Hoody.  I just needed to make an appointment as a new patient?”

DV:  “Oh, okay, hold on.”

At this point, I licked my insurance card and stuck it to my forehead because that suddenly seemed to make more sense than what I’d been doing.

Third Voice:  “Hello?”

HH:  “Hi, I needed to make an appointment?”

3V:  “Okay, hold on.”

After yet another hold, FOURTH FUCKING VOICE:  “Hi, this is Linda.”

HH:  “Hi, Linda.”

And Linda was finally able to make me a goddamn appointment… in October.  Now, granted, all I need is a new patient checkup, but she told me there’d be a 3-month wait BEFORE she asked if there was anything wrong.

And people wonder why us Broke-Folk use the ER as our regular doctor.

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Filed under I'm Confused, Reality Bites, White Man's Medicine, WTF???

Anatomy of Finding Something on the Floor

  1. See unidentified thing on floor.
  2. Look at it.
  3. Look at it.
  4. What IS it? Look harder at it.
  5. Look at it while tilting head.
  6. WHAT IS IT?
  7. Bend over to look at it.
  8. Look at it lookatitLOOKATIT
  9. Poke it.
  10. Poke it again.
  11. WHATISITWHATISITWHATISIT?
  12. Pick it up.
  13. Drop it.
  14. Look for it.
  15. Look for it lookforitLOOKFORIT
  16. WHERE IS IT???
  17. IS IT ON ME???
  18. Flail uncontrollably.
  19. See second unidentifiable thing on floor.
  20. Repeat from Step 2.

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Filed under Getchore LEARN on!, La Vida Loca, My Secret Shame(s), Random Thoughts, Reality Bites, SCIENCE!, WTF???, Ye Olde Apartment Complex

Bar Lessons – Stone Pony Edition

Last Friday, Dear Sweet Mama and I ventured to the legendary Stone Pony to see one of her favorite bands, Black 47.  And Bar Lessons ensued.

STONE. PONY. BITCHES.

STONE. PONY. BITCHES.

1.  These kids today, they don’t dance, they don’t even sway… they just stand.

2.  Drunk white chickies don’t know from an Irish jig.

3.  When you do a jig in their general direction, they become frightened.

4.  The lead singer of Black 47 may in fact be a leprechaun (he’s SO WEE!)

5.  Whoever it was that reviewed the Pony online and raved about the food was VERY. FUCKING. DRUNK.

6.  DSM is hilarious when hammered (of course, this is not news).

7.  There are jobs out there worse than mine – one of them is Bathroom Attendant at the Pony.

8.  Even while asleep in the car on the way home, Hoody will still keep her finger on the station scan button and play DJ.

9.  3 hours of sleep looks like PLENTY from the front side.  From the back side, not so much.

10.  Last night’s eyeliner looks like hammered fuck at work the next day.

 

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, Weep for Humanity

The Wonderful World of Broadcasting, Episode II

As promised, here is “the rest of the story,” when it comes to the truth behind my ostensibly-glamorous career path.  Let’s see, where were we…

5.  I am essentially slave labor.

Yes, I do get paid (the aforementioned no money)… for my regular job.  But as anyone who has ever been referred to as “talent” can tell you, it don’t stop there.  For example, when I was a TV producer (NOT an on-air job, mind you), I was frequently dragooned into “voicing” in-house commercials and PSAs… for no additional money.  Which translates into “fo’ free.”

All the ads you hear on the radio?  The DJs did them… fo’ free.  Voiceover work is a PAYING job, yo.  But once The Man owns you, sure ain’t he gonna use you.  FO’ FREE.

6.  I have almost no goddamned privacy.

Like it or not, once strangers know your name (even if it’s fake, as mine is and most are), you’re at least a quasi-public figure.  This means your every move – even in your so-called “real” life – can be subject to public scrutiny.  Case in point, I myself have been arrested.  For a nonviolent, victimless misdemeanor that, while infinitely stupid, most of YOU could chalk up as a lesson learned.  But MY mugshot was on the motherfucking teevee… because I was a “public figure.”

Further point, the infamous Chuckweasel and I were once at a baseball game in another fucking state, when someone recognized him by voice alone.  My day-to-day “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” quotient is ABNORMALLY high, mostly just from my voice.  Of course, it gets much worse for my brothers and sisters who are actually on TV – I’ve had friends harassed and even stalked, one to the point where the cops had to come walk her to her car every night.  And you wonder why my avi is a fucking cartoon???

7.  I am consistently undateable.

Yes, yes, part of that is my charming personality.  Bite me.  But a fairly large part of it is the horrible hours I work – part of the appeal of goddamned Chuckweasel was that we had the same butt-crack of dawn shift.

Another part is what the job – the news part – does to you.  I’m fairly callous and unfeeling about just about everything now, and apparently potential partners like someone who at least PRETENDS to have human emotions (huh.  Pussies.).  Fine, Sonny Jim, you watch live Ground Zero feeds all by yourself in the middle of the night for over a week straight and tell me you have fuck one left to give about people’s petty fucking problems.

But I do have some, emotions, that is – which generally come pouring out in an awful cathartic flood when some major can’t-take-this disaster becomes the lead story.  The only way I’ve found to deal with this is to date people who are also in the industry (See Gilbert, the Evil Ogre, and CW).  But this produces its own problems, in that A) You both work ridiculous hours and never see each other; B) You end up in competition for the same jobs and/or C) Your general self-protective disdain for all of humanity extends to each other.

Or you’re just a total bastard who bolts when shit gets real, like someone this blog used to know very well… but I digress.

So, E-Harmony, Match.com… um… J-Date? (note: not Jewish but fascinated by the whole Orthodox thing).  Huddle up, you guys.

I’m a 37 year old news professional who will never work normal hours, make any goddamned money, or give more than half a fuck about #FirstWorldProblems.

A life with me will mean an endless cavalcade of “real” FB pages versus “professional” ones, and even so, strangers will masturbate to the sound of my voice.

Get used to being alone (again) at important family gatherings, and embrace the fact that, while I will seldom shed a tear in relation to our own crises, I am extremely likely to start hysterically bawling over a mine disaster or similar.

I will know the names of our state and local lawmakers better than your family’s.  And I’ll have their cell phone numbers.

 

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Filed under Getchore LEARN on!, Gilbert, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, Reality Bites

The Husbands of Hoody

Okey-dokey, so we all know Hoody is… shall we say, getting up in years… and still single.  So it stands to reason she has had at least SOME opportunities to change that status… but perhaps, MORE than y’all might think…

I’m really good at this, yo.  Or perhaps, really BAD at this…

THE (POTENTIAL) HUSBANDS OF HOODY

1.  We’ll call him “Angel” (’cause he’d like that).

                    Hoody was 17 and so, so stupid innocent…ish.  And so when Angel asked Hoody to marry him, Hoody said yes without hesitation… without really thinking of what that REALLY meant.  So things were great for awhile, but the minute things got tough, Hoody bailed… and bailed FOR…

2.  The Evil Troll (because, like life, he is nasty, brutish and SHORT)

                    The ET seemed meant-to-be at first — our mothers grew up together, our parents were friends in college, etc.  BUT… turns out he was a complete and total bastard who broke up with Hoody by the simple expedient of BLOCKING HER NUMBER.  Which didn’t prevent quite a bit of stalking on Hoody’s part (including some involvement of firearms… ‘nother story) and furthermore didn’t prevent her from going back a couple years later for…

ET:  ROUND 2:

                    The ET tracked Hoody down through a friend and tricked convinced her to meet up with him again.  Long story short, all appeared well for long enough that she did indeed accept when he asked her to marry him… only to have him FLAKE COMPLETELY OUT while she was at work one night and DISAPPEAR.  Yes, disappear.  In that he did not come home until his daddy made him.  Oh, yeah, and he absconded with the ring.  So yeah.

But yes, she was stupid enough to go back to him YET again, many years later… but not before:

3.  Gilbert

                    Yes, that Gilbert.  And yes, I should have actually married this one.  Have we not already established that I’m retarded?  So I ran screaming from Gilbert to end up with:

4.  The Evil Ogre (sort of like the Evil Troll, but taller and fatter)

                    The EO was actually one of those “no-ring” fiances – you know, they say you’re going to get married but no bling is ever produced?  Shoulda fuckin’ known… (and that’s actually what led us back to Evil Troll Round 3)… and also:

5.  Chuckweasel

                    Yes, you all know Chuckweasel.  And yes, things were great, as evidenced by this blog… until they weren’t.  As the poem says, “And when she was good she was very very good, and when she was bad she was horrid.”  Suffice it to say, when Hoody got sick, shit got horrid, and things fell apart.  No harm, no foul… except the karmic version, of course.

There’ve been others in between, of course — Hoody is nothing if not a loving and generous soul, don’tcha know!  For instance, even before #1, there was the gal who left me for Jesus… and in between #2 and #3 there was an interesting group marriage possibility with a very dear friend (we’ll call him “Cannonball,” ’cause he’d probably like that better than “Coltrane,” or definitely “”Kenny G”) and… well, a very crazy bitch (there was ring shopping involved, it was at TIFFANY’S, but then the CB showed her crazy, so, uh… no.).

But suffice it to say, Hoody has been around the block as far as potential partners, so:

6.  NOW

                    NOW I know I’m worth more than the amount someone chooses to spend on a ring for me (which I mostly gave back, by the way).  NOW I recognize that I’M the point of the relationship — not what I can get/give/represent for someone else.  NOW I accept that MY happiness is at least as important as my partner’s, and is MUCH MORE important than anyone outside the relationship’s.

NOW  I realize what I’ve done wrong.  And what I’ve done right.

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Filed under Gilbert, Twu Wuuv

When Hoody Ain’t Happy…

…ain’t NOOOOOBODY happy… So, in the interest of everyone’s happiness (it’s a public service, really), here’s a few things that have made me happy lately:

1.  These:

OH… MAH… GAWD…

Those right there are Archer Farms Lobster & Cheese Bites, available at yer local Target, and they are the best thing I have ever put in my mouth (SHUT UP).  And no, Target did not pay me for this endorsement, but if they DID want to pay me, a dump truck filled with these little balls of Elysium would not go amiss.

2.  This:

 

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA -- SCI FI Channel -- Pictured: (l-r) Jamie Bamber as Lee "Apollo" Adama -- SCI FI Photo: Justin Stephens

Oooooh, YEEEEAH…

As y’all may know, I’ve been holed up in my room watching Battlestar Galactica (2005 version) and this is why.  Jamie. Fucking. Bamber – best Apollo ever and not too shabby as a detective, neither!  But alas, he never writes, he never calls…

On a side note, I’ve been trying NOT to watch BSG over again (again) quite so back-to-back, so first I watched Caprica again, then I tried to watch BSG: ’78 again again again (but I just can’t — the hair, ye gods, THE HAIR!) (plus who can trust the actor who used to play Apollo now?  I ask you!).  So I was delighted to find…

3.  This:

OK… I can deal…

All 8 seasons, fo’ free on the OnDemand.  That should keep me busy for awhile, especially if I don’t fast-forward through the Paige episodes this time around.

I’ll be in my room if y’all need me.

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Filed under I Rule You, La Vida Loca, My Secret Shame(s)

My (Not So) Inner Beavis

As y’all should know by now, my sense of humor pretty much stopped maturing at around age 12.  Age 12 for a boy, in fact.  So I present:

THINGS THAT MADE ME GIGGLE LAST WEEK

1.  This:

Post-it® Super Sticky 4in. x 6in. Bangkok Color Notes, 3 Pads/Pack

Yes, those are Post-It notes that say “Bangkok.”  And yes, just reading the word “Bangkok” was enough to make me snort inappropriately at Staples and say, “Huh huh… Bangkok.”

I also may or may not have spent the rest of the day singing “West End Girls” in my head.

2.  Then this happened:

Dear Sweet Mama:  I’m hot, turn the furnace down.

Hoody Hoo:  To what?  It’s on 72, so 70?

DSM:  How about 69?

HH:  Huh huh…

DSM:  Go to your room.

3. And finally, this:

unnamed

First off, “Beavers… huh, huh…”  And secondly, mine personally is sometimes a nuisance, but I’m told it’s often a boon to others, so go figure.  Eye of the beholder, and all that.

And also?  BEAVERS.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, I Rule You, Just Call Me Beavis, La Vida Loca, Random Thoughts

I Rule You

Aaaaaaaw, yeeeah, boys and girls, lookie what Joeyfullystated done give me:

onelovelyblog

And since we all know awards are high on the list of Gifts Hoody Will Always Accept (another one is diamonds, but in that case I do mostly always give them back – just ask my multiple ex-fiances!), I have no choice but to comply with the rules.

1.  Thank the blogger who gave you this award:  Thank you thank you thank you, Joey!  This act of ass-kissing undying and completely deserved love and admiration has earned you a place on the Royal Court.  Pending further review, your probationary title is Executive Awarder in Charge of Awards.

2.  Share 7 things about yourself:  Well, hell, I’m the Queen of Oversharing (among many other things), so I’m running out of shit y’all don’t know.  Lessee…

  1. I am currently re-watching the new (well, 2005) version of Battlestar Galactica thanks to the magic of OnDemand, and I have to say, I love it just as much now as I did when it first came out.
  2. I have an irrational love for Lee Adama.
  3. I have been known to make an entire meal out of nothing but appetizers.  Many, many appetizers.
  4. As a working journalist in New Jersey, I am taking entirely too much pleasure in the scandal surrounding Governor Christie.
  5. I took one… yes, ONE… cheerleading class when I was a wee child.  Needless to say, it didn’t take.
  6. I have bitten my nails my whole life.  At present, I have exactly two nails past my fingertips – both the pinky nails.  Yes, I look like a cokehead.
  7. I could give absolutely two shits about who wins this year’s Super Bowl… as long as it’s the Broncos.

3/4.  Nominate 15 bloggers/Notify the nominees.  Well, this one’s easy – Royal Court, you’re up.  Voices, now’s your chance for a possible promotion.  Consider this your notification, since if you’re not reading my posts you don’t deserve an award anyway!

5.   Put the logo of the award on your blog.  Sure will, just gimme a second to remember how…

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Filed under I Rule You, My Secret Shame(s), The Royal Court, Youse Guys

Lowe’s Cares (No, Really!)

So yesterday, Dear Sweet Mama and I went foraging for Christmas decoration-type things, and we wound up at Lowe’s.  And no sooner do we walk in than one of the sales clerks PISSES. HOODY. OFF.

See, DSM was returning something at the returning-something counter, so I was cart-wrangling.  But when I went to push the cart past the returning-something counter into the store itself, the girl snaps, “Ma’am, you can’t go through there!”

To which I reply, “Well, where do you suggest I go?”  (I know, completely laid myself open, right?  I’ll tell HER where to go!)

And she proceeds to make me go BACK OUTSIDE and around to the main doors to enter with my evil cart.  And Hoody don’t play that.  Plus, bitch MA’AMed me.

So I tweeted this:

“Great, first #HomeDepot acts like assholes, now #Lowes is getting attitude – customer service, motherfuckers!”

Forgive me, I don’t know how to post the actual tweet (pretty not techie, ‘member?).  But that’s not the important part — THIS is:

LOWE’S. TWEETED. BACK.

From @LowesCares – “We’re sry about the cs u rcvd.  Give us opp 2 address.  Send dtails, ur contact info & store loc 2 CareTW@lowes.com.”

Which I have farmed out to DSM, who is much better at getting free shit than I am.  But STILL, yo!  I post an angry tweet, and they respond!  A tweet in which I said “motherfuckers,” no less!

Bravo, Lowe’s.  I hereby dub thee The Official Home Improvement Superstore of Hoody’s Hooligans, LLC.

AND THEN THIS HAPPENED…

HH:  “Fuckin’ Bones.  They ruined my Hodgins-fix with one of my least favorite midgets.” (yeah, yeah, I know, don’t say midget…)(and yes, I love me some Hodgins…)

DSM:  “Which one?”

HH:  “This one:”

MV5BMjA1MjQ3MTQ3MF5BMl5BanBnXkFyZXN1bWU@._V1_

Yes, I used my phone to look up which actor it was that I didn’t like on the ages-old Bones rerun I was watching.  Turns out, his name is Danny Woodburn and I’m sure he’s a very nice man, there’s just something about him that makes me not trust him.  But Mama likes him, and took me to task for my unreasoning hatred.  So all is well.

Still didn’t need him fucking up my Hodgins-fix, though.  Way to cock-block, Danny.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, I Rule You