Bordeaux to Britain, Days 1-3

Day 1, 4/23/16

Mom and I both had milestone birthdays last year, so this year we celebrated with our first Smithsonian trip.  From Bordeaux to Britain was a 7 night cruise about the French ship L'Austral.  Of course, first we had to get to Bordeaux.

Mom and Dad picked me up at 3:00 Saturday afternoon and Dad dropped us off at the airport to catch a 5:30 flight to Detroit.  I stopped at an airport newsstand to pick up a bottle of water and a granola bar, and caught up with Mom, only to find her at the bar on the way to our gate, chatting with the county executive and a local mayor on their way to Hanover, Germany for a trade conference.  They were on our flight to Detroit.  The flight was short, only 25 minutes, and we had plenty of time to eat overpriced caprese sandwiches near the gate before our 8 p.m. flight to Amsterdam.

On board the big-ass Delta Airbus, we met another mother-daughter duo who were going on the same cruise but with a different group, the National Trust for Historic Preservation.  B and her mom W are from Columbus, and the daughter and widow respectively of a WWII veteran who participated in the landing at Omaha Beach on D-Day.  W is 90, which is not something I would ordinarily mention, but which became important later.  We got all settled in the plane and then sat on the runway for a hour while they replaced the radio.  Delta wouldn't move us to another plane because it was "not a safety issue".

Once we were in the air and the cabin crew started serving drinks, they apparently got enough questions about potential missed connections that the captain came on and said don't pester the cabin crew, they can't do anything.  Then he said, "We are aware that some of you have tight connections.  Delta is aware our flight is late, staff on the ground is late, and we will do everything we can to see that you make your connections" (emphasis mine).  So I tried some of the pasta that smelled wonderful and wasn't, enjoyed the brownie, drank a boatload of water and napped fitfully while one of my seatmates watched The Revenant.

Eventually we landed, at 11:45 a.m. Amsterdam time, which was 5:45 a.m. Akron time.  Delta's idea of doing everything they could to make sure we made our connection was to have an employee meet us at the gate, look at our boarding passes and tell the 4 of us to go to gate B-36.  No one offered to call the gate and have them keep the doors open, no one offered transportation to the departure gate, and no one seemed to care that they were telling a 90 year old woman to walk from one end of the A terminal to the opposite end of the B terminal in under 10 minutes when it was a minimum of a 20 minute walk for an average adult.  A non-Delta airport employee helped us whisk through Customs but to no avail, by the time we made the gate they'd closed the doors of the plane.

After we walked all the way back to the A terminal, we got to stand for another 45 minutes while KLM agents tried to book us on the next day's flight and tried to call the ship to tell them not to expect us until Monday.  Then it was downstairs all the way through cavernous baggage claim to get our hotel and meal vouchers, then back upstairs and out of the damn airport to wait for the bus to our hotel.  It was 2:30 p.m. Amsterdam time when we got to the hotel and grabbed some lunch.  That's 8:30 a.m. Akron time and we'd basically been up for 26 hours and traveling for 19 hours.

Short digression:  the dog knocked me over about a week before we left and I was so concerned with the giant bruises that I didn't really notice I had a sprained ankle.  I very much noticed it by the time we'd walked all over Hell's high acre, aka the Amsterdam airport.  I'd also forgotten to pack any ibuprofen.  Because our hotel was in a freeway service plaza, after lunch Mom and I walked over to the gas station to see if they had any ibuprofen or aspirin.  Unfortunately, all they had was paracetemol, aka Tylenol, which does zip for me.  However, the flowers at the gas station were exquisite and heart-lifting.  After we walked back to the hotel, I took a nap, and then Mom and i had coffee in the lounge, then read for a bit, then had dinner.  After dinner, we both took the showers we desperately needed and washed our socks and such and then left a wake-up call and went to bed.

The next morning we were on the bus headed for the airport at 8:20, managed to catch the 12:30 flight to Bordeaux with no problems.  As dog is my witness, I will never willingly fly Delta again.

Days 2 and 3 with lots of pictures after the jump!

The Cupcake of Doom

aka my day.

Today being the first day of the month, we had objection hearings.  The magistrate doing them was ready, the hearing room was set up, and we had a LOT more people show up than we were planning for.  Two of the cases wound up being re-directed to another magistrate, and as I was running back and forth with files and making sure everyone was checked in, a co-worker snapped at me about how poorly organized the hearings were and how a third co-worker (who hadn't said a thing to me) was being importuned by people asking her questions.

Later, when my boss said something to me, I told him the truth about how I felt, and essentially got told to get over it, that's just this co-worker's personality.  HellOOO that does not make it okay.  If I went around interrupting visibly busy people just to snipe at them and then said it was how I roll I don't think I'd keep my job very long.  Fortunately, the magistrate didn't think it was a big deal and the actual hearings went smoothly.

By the time all of that stuff was handled, it was lunchtime.  An hour away from my desk was really not long enough, but I went back like a good employee, only to spend the afternoon trying to audit inventories while taking phone calls from idiots.

After work, I went to Staples, intending to mail three simple packages.  Of course, instead I locked my purse, packages, phone and AAA card in the car.  A nice manager at Staples let me use their phone to call Mom and ask her to call AAA, which she did.  I waited for almost an hour, missing the UPS pickup while I did, but eventually a tow truck arrived.  The idiot inside said truck pulled up behind my car and sat in there until I approached him, then rolled down his window and asked for my card.  IT'S IN THE CAR, IDIOT!  is what I did not scream at him.

Once the car was unlocked, I got my stuff out and turned in and paid for, got back in the car and came home with a pounding headache.  At least the poor neglected hound was glad to see me, oh, and my hair still looks good.

I am mercifully NOT currently perched on Rex's Erection with a water gun in my hand

Mercifully because after three days of "Do this.  No, we don't like this.  Do that.  Ha!  Fooled you--do that, but someplace else" from the miserable troglodytes at Express Scripts, I finally have my Lexapro refill.

Ever since Tuesday, when my nurse practitioner called in a new script to my local grocery store pharmacy, Express Shits has turned down the script twice, not told me until I called them, and then given me directions that turned out also not to work.  Everyone I had face-to-face interactions with was so very nice that I couldn't vent my rage, which just made it harder to cope.

Finally, after a second pharmacy was called and was willing to call the first pharmacy to transfer the prescription (since it had been e-mailed in, not faxed or written on paper) and I'd spent most of my breaks and lunches on hold, I got my Lexapro.  Of course, I had to wait for nearly 45 minutes at the second pharmacy because Express Shits kept asking for more info that they didn't have, but I got it.  I no longer feel like a donkey on the edge, and I am no longer tempted to climb a tower with a Super-Soaker in my hand.

Oh, and stop that, you dirty-minded people, I'm talking about a local landmark. :P

Black Friday disgusts me

Thirty-plus years ago, my mom and my aunt used to go shopping the morning after Thanksgiving, because that was when the Christmas stuff was first sold and because it was a little time alone for them, with their families sleeping off turkey hangovers.  Now, we have people camping out for a week, with generators, to buy things that will wind up in a landfill; retailers making their staff work on Thanksgiving night, and herds of people who need nothing and want everything trampling each other for the latest plastic crap.

My mother taught consumer education for thirty years, so I grew up with Maslow's Heirarchy.  I may spend like a drunken monkey sometimes, but at least I always know that I'm buying stuff I want rather than stuff I need.  I don't have a problem with people out there buying Christmas presents that would otherwise be smaller or non-existent, and I don't have a problem with people out there buying clothing or home goods that they need.

But people like the jackass with the generator?  They're disgusting and they tarnish what Thanksgiving is supposed to mean.

Serious Paypal Stupidity

(cross-posted from Bubbles & Baubles)


Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab recently re-introduced single note scents, which change monthly.  This month, the scents are (or rather were) Iranian Galbanum and Rum-Soaked French Tonka.   If you're a reasonably internet-savvy person who doesn't happen to know that these are perfume components, you look them up.

If you're a drooling idiot who works for Paypal, however, you shut down the account of a perfume vendor who is selling a perfume with that name.  Really, Paypal, have you NO employees there with brains?

Oh. My. Dog.

I got a phone call today to set up a meeting with the Summit County Executive about my letter and that horrible shelter! Now I have two weeks to get ready, worry about what I'm going to say and what I'm going to wear...

Letter #2

(Letter #1, if you missed it)

June 7, 2010


Mr. Russell Pry
Summit County Executive
175 S. Main St.
Akron, OH 44308-1314

Dear Mr. Pry:

Enclosed is a copy of a letter I sent to the Summit County Animal Control facility director over six weeks ago. Even though the former Executive Director of Heaven Can Wait ‘shelter’ has been convicted of cruelty to animals and the current Executive Director was also charged, the Summit County Animal Control facility still allows this organization to ‘adopt’ animals from them. I have received no reply to my letter, and as this concerns potential animal neglect and abuse, I am now looking to you for answers.

Since the taxpayers of Summit County are supporting the Animal Control facility, I believe we have the right to ask for accountability on the part of its staff, especially where the welfare of individual animals is concerned.

Ideally, the County would stop allowing Heaven Can Wait to remove animals from its facility owing to the owner’s conviction and jail term for animal cruelty. A much less satisfactory alternative would be the monitoring of any animals so removed on a weekly basis until such time as they are adopted.

Thank you for your anticipated attention to this matter. I look forward to hearing from you soon.


Very truly yours,

Anyone who wants to copy and send this letter above his or her name and signature has my promise that I will reimburse you for the cost of postage. Please help.

Thanks,

Jammies

Letter #1

Animal Control
Attn: [Facily Manager's Name Redacted]
460 E. North St.
Akron, OH 44304

Dear Ms. Manager:

Enclosed is a copy of a flyer which was posted on my home mailbox earlier this week. Please note that the flyer specifies that all animals come from the Summit County Animal Control Facility and that the new Executive Director is XX. As I’m sure you remember, the only reason cruelty charges were dropped against XX was that her daughter agreed to plead guilty to the charges against her.

The day after I received the flyer, I called your office, but the young man with whom I spoke dismissed my concerns quite casually. I would very much appreciate some reassurance that Summit County will stop allowing Heaven Can Wait to take animals from your facility or that you are monitoring the health and safety of any animals so removed.

Thank you for your anticipated attention to this matter

Very truly yours,

An Akron woman was just sentenced to house arrest for animal abuse and neglect. Here is a lovely picture of her mother, Patricia, at her daughter's sentencing.

So tonight, I get home from work, and find a flyer stuffed between the mailbox and the flag. I open it up to fold it neatly and put it into the recycling, and discover that Heaven Can Wait is holding a big party to reopen this Saturday. The flyer invites the reader to adopt one of the dogs or cats rescued from the Summit County Animal Shelter, and to meet the new Executive Director, Patricia Mihaly.

When I came home from water-walking, I left a voice mail for the reporter who wrote the story I linked to, telling him about the reopening and asking if he knew how this "shelter" is getting more animals from the county shelter. Tomorrow, I will look into finding out how to get the papers necessary to qualify as a 501c and seeing if there are sponsors who might not want to have their names associated with an animal abuse case.

Tonight, I shall fantasize about picketing the shelter open house on Saturday, carrying a blown-up version of Patricia's lovely picture.

Because leaving your side door unlocked is exactly like wearing a miniskirt

...it just invites rape.

Never mind that it's a side door.

Never mind that you can't tell if a door is locked unless you try it.

Never mind that anyone trying to open a stranger's door probably doesn't have a whole lot of nice things in mind.

Leave your door unlocked and get assaulted and raped, at least according to one big-mouthed member of the RCMP.

Here's my letter to the editor, feel free to write your own:

I'm sure anyone with criminal intent is very comforted to know that Cpl. Buxley will excuse rape & assault on the basis of an unlocked door which isn't visible from the street. How nice for the bad guys.

I'm so ticked I can't see straight right now.

What is WRONG with this country?

Today started out well. My e-mail this morning contained notifications that birthday and baby and cheering-up gifts were all on their way to friends, another friend's cat had come home after her owner had given her up, the sun was shining, I smelled yummy and work went well.

Then in the afternoon, my day started sliding downward. I made two mistakes at work, not huge ones, but they involved other people's work, which sucks. Then on my way home, I stopped at the bank and discovered I'd overdrawn my checking account by $10, which was immediately increased by the $30 fee.

I spent the next ten minutes reminding myself that my paycheck would be deposited Friday morning first thing, and even after the NSF fees, there would be enough money in my account to pay bills, buy gas and food and even have lunch out one day next week. I also went over all the ways in which I am rich, both in luxuries like bath products, necessities like half a tank of gas and a refrigerator full of leftovers, emotionally in terms of family, friends and pets. The sun was still shining, which helped, and I had managed to pull myself out of the little dip of despair.

At the big intersection down in the Valley, there was a very young man (early 20s if that) standing on the sidewalk, holding a cardboard sign that read "NO FOOD, NO DIAPERS, NO JOKE, PLEASE HELP."

I had a visceral reaction to this young man and his sign, a combination of pain that anyone with a small child has to beg for diapers, guilt that I was broke because I spend money on luxuries and anger that our President is making noises about starting yet another war because the one we're in now hasn't sufficiently enlarged his dick and that our candidates are all running around smearing mud on each other and that we as a people are more interested in the "next American Idol" or "next Top Model" than we are in making a damn difference.

I just feel sick.

Deep breath and walk away...

There's a raging argument taking place on a message board that I've been posting at since 2001. Basically, about half the posters are saying that depression is an excuse people use to get SSDI funds and that it can be cured with "a swift kick in the ass."

One poster dragged out Erick Turner's study. Somewhere on Queen Mediocretia's blog is a discussion of this article, but I'm too lazy to look for it.

The bit that caught my attention this time was at the very end of the article.

"About 80 percent of all antidepressant prescriptions are written by primary care providers and other non-psychiatrists. Before the introduction of SSRIs in the late 1980s, almost all antidepressant prescriptions were written by psychiatrists."

My response:

The "non-psychiatrist" who prescribes for me is a neurologist specializing in MS. In fact, he's the 2007 Ohio MS Society volunteer of the year, as well as Director of the Experimental Therapeutics Program at the Cleveland Clinic's Mellen Center. Oddly enough, all of my friends with MS-caused depression get their prescriptions from their neuros as well. I'd like to see some data on how many of those "non-pyschiatrists" are neurologists, oncologits, etc.

And I'd have to see a breakdown of the patients involved in all of the studies to see what the makeup of the control groups vs. the experimental groups is.

I agree that every medicine we have available to us today is over-prescribed. That's why we have things like antibiotic-resistant tuberculosis. However, I don't believe that it's as much of a scourge as it's made out to be.

Right now, I'm just ticked off and disheartened by the number of people who think mental illness, particularly depression, is faked for benefit. Time to walk away from the computer for a bit.

Merry Christmas and I hope you choke on it!

Some asshole stole the box of presents I mailed to my friend Rogue. Even as I'm preparing a new box, I am just livid at the thought of someone stealing at a time of year that's supposed to be about love and caring. Especially stealing from someone who is one of the most thoughtful, generous, gentle people I know.

Last year, Mallie & Scarecrow gave me a joke Grow-Your-Own-Voodoo-Doll kit. I felt uncomfortable having it in the house and have nearly given it away several times. I don't think it's going to hurt anyone or anything, I just don't like the spirit of wishing harm to someone else that even an unreal and lighthearted voodoo doll seems to represent.

Tonight, however, I could cheerfully use it on whoever stole that box. I need to calm down so that all of this anger doesn't wind up in Rogue's replacement box (which I am sending signature required, even if that does mean locking the barn door, etc.).

Oh, and would the Canadians please check in and let me know if you all got your presents? I'm a bit worried now...

*angry screaming*

Stupid insurance company. Last year, when they abruptly decided not to pay for my copaxone any more, I got a one-year reprieve by being a squeaky wheel. Apparently, though, their definition of "one year" is actually seven months. Today was the last day the pharmacy could ship my meds so that I got them before my surgery. Just to put the icing on the cake, the idiots at the pharmacy called me at home instead of at work, and left the message here where I can't do anything about it until tomorrow.

A little blast from the past, because it still applies:

To my health insurance company, for all the times you've screwed me, sans sweet talk, sans foreplay, sans lube and sans reacharound:

Just so you know, I'm going to enter your building armed with some fancy gun which shoots lots and lots and lots of bullets very fast. I am going to tell everyone but you to vacate the building, then I am going to make you walk through it, leaving nice little lumps of C4 everywhere. Then I am going to shoot the hell out of every computer, fax machine, printer, and even *gasp* the coffee and vending machines. After that, you and I will walk out of the building and detonate the C4.

As the police take me away, I will laugh maniacally at the thought of your insurance company dropping your coverage after they pay off your claim.