Nothing Thrilling Thursday

Drug my ass out of bed at 8:47. 13 minutes before opening bell. 47 minutes after Becky & Jim went off the air. Dammit.

The D was up. I asked him he wanted French toast for b-fast. He said no. I asked him if he’d had breakfast (he usually makes his coffee and nukes a frozen muffin), and he said no. I asked him if he wanted coffee and a muffin. He said no. I asked him if he wasn’t hungry (hoping he wasn’t bound up again) and he said no – he’d already eaten. Whoa, talk about a communication gap. He said he’d gotten up early and had already taken a shower. He was dressed complete with tennis shoes, ready to bound from the recliner. I’d made the mistake of telling him we were going for his blood-clotting test today. He was raring to go. I told him it would be another hour. He was mad. At 9:54 – still in my pajamas, I realized I’d never make 10. I told him 10:30. Look of disgust crossed his face. Jumped in shower. Had to put on makeup. Always a chance of meeting cute doc w/ good health insurance (my COBRA runs out in August), so can’t go looking like an albino rabbit. I admit it. I’m eyeliner and mascara dependent. Lipstick, too. Luckily, my hair’s long enough to put in a ponytail. Only because I haven’t gone to my hairdresser in months. I’ve cut my bangs 12 times since then. There’ll be hell to pay when I finally go. Why do I put up with his shit? If he gives me too much grief, I’ll threaten to get a FlowBee. That’ll shut him up.

Slapped eyeliner on, looking dangerously like Cleopatra. Took The D to Baptist East, cruised around prowling for handicap spots (damn, he walks more than I do, but it’s a coup to get a special spot), but they were all taken. Imagine that – handicapped people at a hospital. I used my little trick to find a spot by exiting the garage instead of going up, up, up. Found a great one, but saw a mirage of one a little closer, but the cars were just pulled in too far. I threw it in reverse and his head was spinning like Linda Blair’s character in The Exorcist. Got the best spot. Without a myocardial infarction.

Walked to professional building and argued over which elevator to take. No fist shaking, but I think he was close. I signed us in. Got him a Field & Stream – asked him how many points were on the cover deer and he said it was an elk. Then he threw it across the room and knocked the pile off. I gave him Rachel Ray and that made him happy for about 3 minutes. More tossing. And picking up. Distracted me from InStyle. Why do they have Field & Stream, WebMD, Diabetes Today, Town & Country and Travel? How about Cosmo and Playboy? I guess PB would reduce their revenue from ED. It’s all about money.

Oh, that reminds me. I saw a doc in the hall. Asked him if he was the one I’d seen in the paper who charges a jillion dollar for a package deal of unlimited visits, including extra time to chat. He said that it was his brother. I couldn’t help it, but I asked him if that decreased his revenue. He thought I was asking about insurance reimbursement, and I finally had to tell him that I was a CPA and was curious about the effect on income. I was thinking it was a labor of love, but he told me that it was actually very lucrative because most people don’t go to the doc that much and that lots of them die and then they’re no trouble at all. With the thoughts I’ve had re The D, I can’t stand in judgment.

I guess that’s it for today. Oh, except the cutoff notice from MLGW at my church client. My biggest nightmare. The lights going off during Sunday morning worship service. But maybe it would be better than popping two beers and taking the slide, which I think about frequently. I did the right thing though, and drug the sweet 120 year old lady to the church to sign the check. She loves me though, and sometimes I slap her on the butt and tell her I love her. She seems to like it, so I don’t feel guilty. I’ve thought about trying to get her to marry The D. I took the check to the grocery store so it would get there sooner.

Cutoff notices are the bane of my existence. Main client got two of them in 2009. All MLGW’s fault. I swear. Just after I told him they hadn’t gotten any in 2010, he asked me if I’d covered a big check he’d written. I assured him I had. Two days later, he forwarded me a notice from the bank re overdrawn account. Shit. Fortunately, the banker honored the check and reversed NSF charges.

Ok, I know I’ve lost my entire audience with my accounting adventures.

I’m sure tomorrow will bring more interesting content. I’m overdue for some craziness.