Date Archives July 2009

I am not having good luck with retailers today.

I just got back from the optometrist, and shockingly enough, my vision has IMPROVED over the last three years instead of worsened. Perhaps I do not yet have to resign myself to waking up one day, utterly blind.

After the exam, they laid out my options according to my insurance: they’ll cover up to $120 for glasses frames plus 20% off any amount above and beyond $120. They’ll put $15 toward my lenses, and since I require high-index lenses and edge-rolling so as not to have a coke-bottle-y appearance, I’ll have to pay ~$100 above what insurance will chip in. So base on glasses is ~$100 plus whatever frames I decide on.

Contacts, for now, are out of the picture. The insurance website made it sound as if they cover contacts entirely, minus the fitting charges. Realistically, they pay ~$100 and I’m immediately out ~$500 plus the continued cost of purchasing more disposables–so I suppose we’ve determined my interest level in contacts, and that level is below $500. Though it would be awfully freaking nice to be able to see just ONE HALLOWEEN OUT OF A DOZEN.

Having decided on glasses, the receptionist? assistant? at the optometrist’s took it upon herself to try to pick out frames for me, after I told her what I loved about my current glasses. Everything she picked out was met with a resounding ‘NO’; I don’t know what my current frames tell people about my taste, but I can tell you that diarrhea brown with electric green? NOT MY TASTE. Before today, I’d never seen recycled baby turds, but now that I have, I can quite CLEARLY tell you that it’s NOT MY TASTE. It became increasingly difficult to turn down this woman’s choices politely, and finally I said “Look, I have been accused of being nigh-unreasonably choosy. I have known my tastes for twenty-seven years, and you have known me for less than an hour, so not to offend you, but I don’t think you’ll be able to pick out something that I’ll like.”

…This woman was not a quitter. So I laid out my ground laws: I don’t want rimless, I don’t want wire frames, I don’t want anything round as it not only makes me look rounder in the face but owlish besides, I want a frame that’s thick enough to break up my face visually to give it interest and look less full but not dominate it (I don’t want the glasses to wear me), I prefer metal over plastic as I have a narrow-ish bridge and nosepieces help them stay on my face, I prefer a rectangular shape but am open to cat-eye styles and since this is to be my primary pair, I want a neutral color. Yes. I know. Very fucking picky.

And yet she kept handing me brightly-colored hugely thick plastics or ultra-skinny wire frames. I found ONE PAIR that I sort-of liked–for $567. Damn these birth control pills, I actually felt myself starting to get upset and hovering on the precipice of weepy over the idea of walking out with expensive glasses that I didn’t love. I asked about the possibility of finding a frame I liked outside of the shop and then ordering it through them–no, that was not a service they offer. I inquired about finding frames I liked and bringing them in to be fitted for lenses–she looked at me rather belligerently and said “Well, *that* won’t be covered by your insurance.”

Lady, if I find frames I love online for, say, $300, my cost out of pocket for those frames is $300. If I take frames that I’m just OK about from you for $567, my cost out of pocket is $357.60. I’m not really seeing the benefits of insurance, here.

When I asked her to please measure my pupilary distance, you’d think I’d just sprouted some grotesque appendage from some unspeakable orifice and presented it to her to be given a tongue-bath. She said, and I quote “Oh! You’re being sneaky–you’re going to order glasses from the internet, aren’t you?”

“I don’t see how being sneaky has anything to do with it. I deserve to have glasses that I’m thrilled about as I’m the one who has to live with them every single day, with every outfit, with every makeup application, for dress up, for dress down–they reflect ME. And whether they’re $20 on the internet or $500 on the internet or purchased from a physical location or anywhere inbetween, it has nothing to do with your business and everything to do with me.”

Her mouth was still gaping when I left.

Hey America, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind.

On Saturday, while everyone else was BBQing and preparing to light off fireworks, I was de-zombiefying and re-human-being-ifying in order to meet up with Marie, whom I hadn’t seen in eight years. She moved to Vancouver, BC about three years ago, we found each other on Facebook about two years ago, and though we planned on meeting a few times, something always came up–the last time she was in Seattle, I was busy escorting ph34rtimmybunny around PAX. The last time I planned to drive to Vancouver, my car broke down. This time, she said she was visiting Seattle for one day, and that she was moving to Switzerland in three weeks, so this was really our last opportunity to get together stateside, and I sure as hell was not going to miss it. Not for all the fireworks and barbeques in the world. The fact that I wasn’t invited to any is really beside the point.

We met at Twist in Belltown (you know, the place with the giant mirrored disco pig dangling from the ceiling!), and she introduced me to her wonderful husband Paul, and another friend of hers who was visiting from France. We talked about our lives, our jobs, travel, old friends, and some escapades we had in Taiwan, and how our time there has affected our lives going forward. Neither of us spoke a word of Chinese when we arrived, but I didn’t know that Marie *also* didn’t know a word of English (I suppose it was arrogant of me to assume that she would have!). I am incredibly impressed that she managed to make such great strides with two languages over the course of a year; now, she talks like a native speaker. Marie also got into trouble at school–the only classes she attended were art class, gym class, and ‘how to be a good housewife’ class, where they taught her how to apply makeup, clean the house, cook, oh yes, and how to fire a gun in case mainland China attacks. She got banned from the school swimming pool because she jumped in and her classmates didn’t know how to swim, so the school decided she was dangerous. She also figured out how to get to the roof of the library to do some topless suntanning and smoking.

We only got to spend a couple of hours together before they had to get back on the road, but I’m so very happy that we did. We hope to try to organize a 10 year reunion for all of the Debbie Kids in 2011, and between the two of us, we’re thinking a meeting in Europe would be best as it’s the closest for the majority, travel-wise. I hope we get it together; it was just chance that brought us all together the first time, but the connection we all made was something truly special.

Red, White, & Dead

zombie On Friday, I met up with poetrix618 and amazoni to apply varying levels of gore to our faces for the record-breaking zombie gathering. Both Anne and Tonya made special shirts to wear–Anne’s said “I digeat geeks”, and Tonya’s was a play on the Subway ‘eat fresh’ ads: 6768_99530448939_504738939_2156330_6768098_n 6768_99530453939_504738939_2156331_5589014_n   Me? I decided I’d just go for disgusting makeup. We had a bit of fun staggering around Anne’s neighborhood, flinging blood on ourselves and on the ground near the mailbox, which is an appropriate location for any massacre, frankly. After this, we all loaded into Tonya’s car, realized we’d need to stop to buy some water, scared the crap out of some people in a Bartell’s, got on the highway in the wrong direction, and then finally started making our way to Fremont. As we got into the city, I rolled down my window and proceeded to groan at every person, car, and bicyclist we passed, and did not get ONE REACTION. NOT ONE. Maybe zombies ARE played out. 6768_99530498939_504738939_2156339_4567793_n We waited in line to register to count toward the Guinness total for about an hour, behind the most annoying child on earth and his equally annoying mother. The kid was way into the moaning thing, but it was more of the “mooooooooooooom I’m sooooooooooooooo thirsty” interspersed with loud shouty moans and his mom was dressed up like some sort of goth pirate, which, as of the last time I checked, was not the theme. This, combined with the heat, combined with the blinding sunshine and lack of glasses hence lack of focusing ability, helped reveal my true, unpleasantly dictatorial nature. I pantomimed kicking the child in the back of the head. I loudly dropped F-bombs. I noticed that Anne’s shirt was too clean and demanded she lay on the ground and do a dirt angel. NOW. NOW!! What choice did she have but to comply? 6768_99530508939_504738939_2156340_7930687_n After we finally got registered, we were given nametags. For the rest of the day, I was to be known as Moses, or at least my right boob was to be known as Moses, anyway. I, for my part, perhaps derived a bit too much pleasure from shouting “LET MY ZOMBIES GO!”. Repeatedly. 6768_99530528939_504738939_2156344_3386072_n Next, we had our photo taken by the fine folks at NightZero, and though they have not yet processed our photos, I will post it when they do. To repay them, I did my very best to try to knock down their set. As it turns out, I shouldn’t probably hang my body weight off of anything. Who knew? *edit*Oh hey, six months later, I am finally adding in the NightZero picture! 4225430017_c5a614ba00_o   6768_99530548939_504738939_2156346_6754928_n Now, this might be my true, unpleasant nature revealing itself again, but these girls? I HATE THEM. This is a zombie walk, not yet another opportunity for you to try to look sexy. Ohhhhhh loook, I’m a faerieieiey wandering amongst the zombies and I bet they all think I look so totally delicious that maybe by the end of the day they’ll make me a faerieieiey zombaiey  but if not then I still look, like, so totally cute because I need validation and whoa I just went off on a tangent there.  WE ARE NOT ATTEMPTING FOR THE WORLD RECORD IN FAIRIES, LADIES. Muttering loudly, I made my way over to the parking lot across the street to wait for the next wave of zombie walking. 6768_99530523939_504738939_2156343_1027595_n  6768_99530538939_504738939_2156345_7323580_n   6768_99530568939_504738939_2156350_46496_n 6768_99530573939_504738939_2156351_678284_n 6768_99530578939_504738939_2156352_8145832_n 6768_99530583939_504738939_2156353_6770302_n Look, ma, I’m gross!   6768_99530598939_504738939_2156356_7969742_n 6768_99530613939_504738939_2156359_5015847_n 6768_99530628939_504738939_2156361_6362122_n 6768_99530633939_504738939_2156362_4236112_n 6768_99530643939_504738939_2156363_6178836_n     We started the walk, and the poor sap driving this car picked the wrong time to be law-abiding and stop at the red. His car got swarmed, zombies were reaching in through his windows, crawling up his hood, and getting blood everywhere.   The zombies were all about general mayhem. We reached through patio gates at patrons trying to peacefully eat meals. Fake blood was smeared all over the window of the business having the ‘White Sale’. My favorite tactic was pressing my face up against the window until someone inside noticed me. At every intersection when we swarmed into the street, cars would get mobbed. In one, there was an unfortunate girl in the back seat who was clearly terrified, getting down onto the floor, covering her eyes, willing everyone to go away.     Anne, Tonya and I ended up getting separated and met at our previously agreed-upon ‘Zombie Lost & Found’. We were there when they started up another round of zombie walking, and this time I focused on photographing the hordes.   6768_99530653939_504738939_2156364_1963939_n 6768_99530658939_504738939_2156365_6461309_n 6768_99530678939_504738939_2156369_7868842_n 6768_99530683939_504738939_2156370_1520329_n 6768_99530688939_504738939_2156371_6742444_n 6768_99530703939_504738939_2156374_1728249_n 6768_99530713939_504738939_2156376_6870595_n 6768_99530728939_504738939_2156379_5447568_n 6768_99530753939_504738939_2156382_460458_n 6768_99530763939_504738939_2156384_646440_n 6768_99530768939_504738939_2156385_8228041_n 6768_99530773939_504738939_2156386_6239335_n 6768_99530778939_504738939_2156387_2433981_n 6768_99530788939_504738939_2156389_1962271_n This guy’s costume was completely awesome. He had a pole attached to his back, which dangled a brain in front of him, which not only motivated him to keep moving, but also caused zombies to swarm him. 6768_99530798939_504738939_2156391_3638787_n 6768_99530803939_504738939_2156392_5354010_n 6768_99530793939_504738939_2156390_5555246_n The King might be an undead zombie, but it’s all good. So am I. Here, you can see me surreptitiously trying to lick him. After this, we all decided we were pretty people-d out, and didn’t want to stick around for Shawn of the Dead. We ended up going to Pegasus in full makeup to have dinner–the language barrier was perhaps a bit too much for the waitress, who decided she did not want to spend a single second longer with us than she absolutely had to. I discovered that it’s difficult to eat when you’ve got a bunch of latex around your mouth. And then…things got silly. 6768_99530808939_504738939_2156393_2836985_n I know you must all want to make out with me now. Not all at once, please.

Annnnnd this is why I don’t use Myspace anymore

Last night, I logged into Myspace for that brief moment to do my Internet Detective work. In those few minutes, I received this message:

Totally off the wall I know, but if I were to pay u 800 or something would you let me have a go at ur feet?

no disrespect!

just curious on what you would say

Please help me draft a reply. ‘Hell yes’ is not only unacceptable, but also boring.