Wed, 18 Nov 2009 16:59:34 +0700WeeblyWed, 18 Nov 2009 16:30:27 +0700http://heidishole.weebly.com/1/post/2009/11/super-snatch-day.htmlOkay, I know, alright, I know. Nobody likes hearing from me. I’m the dreaded collection call. But I swear I’m actually really nice and most people like to work with me! I’m relatively easy going and I can empathize with the tough times. Hell, I’m in tough times m’self, so I try to extra nice and helpful.

 

But today has been Super Snatch Day. Everyone has been a total jerk. I asked K if it was me, and he said he can hear me and I sound like my normal nice self. Here’s a snippet of the conversations I’ve had today.

 

ME: Sir, we can release the supplies, but we can’t deliver. I already made an exception because your account is past due.

CUSTOMER: This is crap! You better have someone deliver supplies or I’m going to cancel.

M: Sir, since all of our techs are out assisting other clients, would you like the address to send in that cancellation letter?

 

M: Ma’am, I’m not saying you’re a “deadbeat” as you put it, I’m just saying there’s a past due invoice, maybe you didn’t get it in the mail?

C: So, you’re saying I don’t pay our bills then?!

M: [bangs head against wall]

 

C: How dare you leave a message for Deanna! She’s not the owner! I AM, GOT IT?!

M: Sir, I asked for accounts payable, they said she was it. So I left a message.

C: Well, she might be accounts payable but I sign the damn checks!

M: Dully noted, sir.

 

C: You called me yesterday, Heidi.

M: Yes, and you said you’d call me back in an hour. I didn’t hear from you, so I’m calling you back, 24 hours later.

C: This is harassment!

 

C: I said I’d send you a check, didn’t I?

M: Yes, ma’am, you did. But that was a month ago and nothing has posted. Perhaps it was lost in the mail?

C: When I say I sent a check, you best believe I sent the check, missy.

M: I’m sure you did. Has the check cleared? Perhaps it was misposted?

C: I don’t have to answer that.

 

As you can see, I am renaming today, November 18th, Super Snatch Day.

 ]]>Mon, 16 Nov 2009 16:39:50 +0700http://heidishole.weebly.com/1/post/2009/11/food-poisoning-low-pain-tolerance-im-dying.htmlWay to kick my ass, food poisoning.

Not that I had a huge weekend planned anyway, but it would've been nice to do something other than lay on the couch and DIE.

It started with some cramps Friday evening, that within a matter of an hour was full on hurling my innards out. I couldn't even hold it for the trip home, I ended up puking in the truck.

Without getting all TMI on the three of you who read this blog (and already knew), let's just say at one point it was coming out my nose, there was blood coming out of my esophagus, and my system was kicking back water. I called both my parents, utterly convinced I was just DYING.

I was up until four the in friggin' morning, and um...So was Bryan. I was bawling, "I'M DYING BRYAN, OH MAI GAWD CAN'T YOU SEEEEE?!"

Saturday I pretty much slept the whole day, since I got no sleep the night before. I didn't puke much, but then the cramping started. Holy hell, that was worse than the hurling. I could feel that coming on, and knew it would end in a minute or so. Not cramps! Hoooo no! They'd come, they'd stay for a bit, make themselves comfy (if not wholly unwelcome), and then they'd leave. The cramps felt like when I was in labor, DYING Y'ALL, and the second epidural wore off, and just in case the point wasn't made earlier: DYING. (I may be exxagerating, but I shit you not they really did feel like labor.) At that point, I was advocating going to the hospital, faking labor, and BEGGING for an epidural. (Ask Bryan if I actually asked to do that, because, I was DYING, and also wasn't entirely coherent.)

Kiera, our seventy five pound sack of loving dumbness, felt sorry for me and jumped up on the couch to cuddle me. On my stomach. While I was cramping. Doubt she'll be making that mistake again.

When I was in the throes of the cramps I briefly considered pushing. (Remember, not coherent.) In a moment of lucidity, it occured to me that when you push, things come out. There's only one thing to push out and I didn't have the strength to get up and shuffle my DYING ass to the bathroom. I didn't push. Bryan is grateful.

I'm better now. I'm no longer DYING. I'm back to my bitchy ole self again.]]>Fri, 13 Nov 2009 16:08:22 +0700http://heidishole.weebly.com/1/post/2009/11/denver-rocked-the-party-that-rocked-the-party.htmlDenver was...in a word, amazing.

See, I met Jacqueline on BabyCenter, and that turned into commenting on each others blogs. That turned into IMing furiously throughout the day, and that morphed into phone calls.

Next thing ya know, we're calling each other sis and I'm on a plane to Denver. (After two glasses of wine and an overpriced gin & tonic at the airport. I'm afraid to fly.)

Her daughter is SO CUTE with her widdle cheeks and big brown eyes and nom nom nom cuteness nom nom. And because in her eyes, Aunties bring presents. Auntie Heidi brought presents. And a chocolate sucker!! Guess who adores Auntie Heidi?

Don and I took a stunning helicopter ride over downtown Denver at sunset and wow....Just, wow. The views were amazing, and I cannot find the appropriate vernacular to describe the sunset over the Rockies. Breathtaking, amazing, stunning, gorgeous.

The USMC Ball was a TON of fun! We got all gussied up, looked FANTABULOUS BITCH, and danced the night away. The hotel was a five star hotel and my room had a shower stall with Italian marble and OMG I took the longest shower ever.

I'd write more, but technically I'm supposed to be working right now. Here's a few pics though!

]]>Mon, 02 Nov 2009 15:56:05 +0700http://heidishole.weebly.com/1/post/2009/11/the-rule-of-the-office-whats-yours-is-mine.htmlBryan is a good, nay GREAT cook. I have yet to find a dish that he has made me that I didn't love. As a matter of fact, he told his friend last night, "If it's good, Heidi will let you  know. Also, if it sucks, she'll let you know that, too."

It seems, however, that I am not the only one who appreciates his culinary skills. Most of my lunches are leftovers from the previous dinner. However, half the time I am not eating for one, I am eating for two. My deliver driver, DB, will often eat half my lunch. Sometimes he'll eat his lunch AND my entire lunch. "You had a ton in there!"

Last night, Bryan and his friend made Southern BBQ babyback ribs with mashes potatoes, gravy, and corn. Four of my favorite foods, just waiting for me to nuke 'em and devour them. DB noticed my ribs and made the comment, "SWEET, HEIDI BROUGHT RIBS!" Like it's somehow a picnic lunch I packed just for him.
 
I responded with my natural grace, "DB, if you so much as breathe on those ribs, you'll be castrated with an company issue spork. In fact, touch my lunch ever again, and I'll kill you. And you can take that to HR." EXACT WORDS, FOLKS.

DB, to his credit, didn't touch my ooey-gooey goody ribs. Noooo, he did not. My manager, Gerald, took one. I came back from getting a soda and there's a forlorn rib on my plate, and a reddish mess where its companion once lay. He said I had two, and since it was on my desk unattended, he thought they were for everyone. DUDE, WTH?!

Since eating out every day is not fiscally an option, I contemplated telling everyone I spit in my lunch. But I somehow doubt that will stop things. Nor is telling Bryan to stop cooking because, lets face it, a girls gotta eat. OH! I KNOW! Innernets, I am so smart, y'all. I'll post a sign saying , "ONE OF THESE HAS THE H1N1 VIRUS. DO YOU KNOW WHICH ONE IT IS?"

I'm s'glad I'm klassee and edumacated.]]>Sun, 01 Nov 2009 09:00:54 +0700http://heidishole.weebly.com/1/post/2009/11/no-freaking-way-dude.htmlIf you had told me three and a half years ago that TF and I would be texting, talking, and laughing with each other without a hint of malice or passive-aggressiveness I would've probably looked into involuntary commitment for you.

Yet here I am.

For the last week, I've been texting her, laughing, discussing everything from my gown to the idiosyncracies of Janet Evanoviches writing style. We've been trying to get along for the sake of the kids, and it's been going pretty well. How well? As in she said I'm "alright" in her book, and I said likewise.

I even gave her a "BORN TO SHOP" mug and lent her books. (That may not seem like anything to YOU, but my books are SACRED.) (Besides, they're copies of what I already have.) I mean, we shared a glass of wine last night. I mean, stop the damn presses everyone.

Seriously. I never thought we'd be here. I'm sure Bryan is happy that we're getting along now. I hope Old Wolf is proud of me. I'm proud of me. I'm hoping she never finds this site.

In other news, in 48 hours I will be in Aurora, Colorado with my Triplet. My Doppelganger. The one, the only, Jacqueline...If you haven't been to her site, check out her out at http://italianamama06.blogspot.com. (Sorry I have no clue how to insert links into my blog and the Weebly platform SUUUUCKS for it.) I might blog from her house, but don't count on it. It'll be a weeklong slumber party, culminating with the both of us in gowns for the USMC Ball.
]]>Tue, 27 Oct 2009 10:36:01 +0700http://heidishole.weebly.com/1/post/2009/10/slutty-cyrus-sisters.htmlHere is an open letter I wrote to the notoriously slutty Cyrus sisters. Now, the Old Wolf would tell you that I tried to dress this way. And yes, I did. WHEN I WAS A TEENAGER. I was not nine years old, and I certainly wasn't dancing on a stripper pole like Miley Cyrus did at the teen choice awards. Somone PLEASE call CPS on this family already and have those kids taken away. Preferably to someone who will force them to dress Amish. Look, I dressed a bit provacatively in my day. Most girls did. However I wasn't NINE YEARS OLD.

(Go to Babycenters Famebaby blog to get a gander at the sluttiness that is Noah Cyrus.)

Look, as the Stepmother to a nine year old girl, I can tell you it'd be a cold day in HELL before I let her walk out of the house with a dress so short you could see her cooter. As a parent, I am nothing short of appalled and disgusted with the clothing marketed to girls T's age. What business does a nine year old have wearing shorts with "JUICY" written across the ass? (I've seen them, they DO exist.) Why not just put a sign around your neck advertising yourself to anyone with pedophilic tendencies and BEG to be knocked up before you're 18, hmmm?

Without further ado, here is the letter I have written to the Slutty Cryus Clan:

Dear Cyrus Sisters,

Thanks to the both of you cavorting around dressed wildly inappropriate, you have lost a part of your fan base. See, what neither of you seem to grasp is that parents (such as I) control what our children watch, and control what they buy.

Thanks to Miley dancing like a stripper during the Teen Choice awards, I will be throwing out anything Hannah Montana. Thanks to Noah dressing like a hooker at a recent Halloween party, we will not watch her show. Nor will we buy anything Cyrus-related.

Both of you are practically begging every person with pedophilic tendencies to fantasize about you. You are also screaming with your choice of wardrobes and actions, "Fill my womb before I am ready for such a responsability!"

I hope the both of you realize that you're not only hurting yourselves, you're losing fans rather quickly.

Signed,
A Concerned Mother]]>Sat, 24 Oct 2009 13:24:25 +0700http://heidishole.weebly.com/1/post/2009/10/um-body-a-word-please.htmlBody, we need to have a word, you and I.

At first, I admit, having a cold was kind of cool, in a twisted sort of way. I walked around in a medicated stupor, and I was able to get away with not remembering things and parking myself on the couch.

I felt like hell, but I could be lazy. But you've taken this just a bit too far.

We are now on our sixth day of this crud. I have filled you with OJ, Dayquil, Nyquil, throat drops, chicken soup, and hot toddies to help you fight this off. What have you done?

Have you felt better? Nay, body, you have not.  You just continue to not fight this crap off. Wait, that's not fair. Yesterday I only threw up once! And after that I just dry heaved! Congratulations! Much better than the previous day when I puked five times, two of those times were at work. And since I'm out of sick time, my bosses deemed that as long as I Lysol the hell out of everything I touched, I needed to be at work. My dearly beloved told me to just stay at home, even if it was unpaid. Nay, I cried, NAY! Unpaid time off = not paying rent.

But today....Oh today. I woke up after sleeping well into the afternoon with a raging headache. I feel good if I lay down but the second I get up, the room spins. Oh! And lest I forget, what was coming out of my mouth is now coming out the other end.

WTH, body? I thought we agreed we'd start to get better. I've done everything I can to get you better, and this is how you repay me? By feeling worse? Look, body, I like you. No, really, I mean that. You're a cute little thing when you're healthy. You're not stick-thin, but nor are you fat. You're right in the middle, and it's cute. You allow me to be able to chase after our child with ease. You also do some pretty cool things in the boudior, if I may be so bold.

But if you don't start getting healthy, I'm afraid I'm going to have to exchange you for a different model. Perhaps one with longer legs?  So lets make a deal: I'll continue to do what I can to get us healthy, and you'll start to get healthy.

Nice chatting with ya.]]>Sat, 17 Oct 2009 12:11:31 +0700http://heidishole.weebly.com/1/post/2009/10/yeah-its-official-im-a-parent.htmlThis morning, as Bryan left to Bubbys football game I decided now would be a good time to give the kidlette a bath.

The bath part went fine. When she got out, I carted her into the bedroom to towel her off.

I had the bottle of lotion on the floor, waiting to be slathered onto her chubby widdle belly.

Pook was intent on getting the lotion bottle open...I thought. She squatted down, nekkid, and was trying to pry the lid open while I laid out clothes for her.

She gets up and walks off....Leaving a monstrous poo in her wake. The following part is how you KNOW you're a parent.

I did not even blink, cringe, or hurl. I simply took a wipe, cleaned it up, and threw it in the trash.

I'd like to thank bodily functions for officially making me a parent now. And, um, for lowering my standards of gross.]]>Thu, 15 Oct 2009 10:21:20 +0700http://heidishole.weebly.com/1/post/2009/10/an-open-letter-to-the-person-initially-assessed-pooker.htmlDear Assesor,

Thank you for not listening to a damn thing I had to say. Every time I would try and point something out or say something helpful, I was poo-pooed. "We're the professionals, we know what we're doing." That little statement made me doubt everything I'd ever done as a Mother, and everything I'd done to help her speech along.

You gave me the results and tore my world apart. Four months?! I was crushed, and I was angry at the world. I was so mad that someone had dared to tell me my baby girl, my heart, my soul, my world, my EVERYTHING was anything less than perfect. But at the same time, I thought to myself that I was justified, that something was wrong. Anyone who dared contradict me brought my full wrath upon them. I even wrote into my favorite advice column, Alpha Mom, twice about it! I feel like I need to write in and apologize, "Sorry, false alarm! I'm a jackass! Thanks for publishing my questions, and having people respond! Love your blogs, though!"

For three weeks we waited for the second appointment. Three very long, very torturous weeks. Three weeks of living in a self-created hell. I doubted everything I'd ever done when I was pregnant, in labor, or as a parent. Was it because I drank coffee when I was pregnant? Was it the two epidurals? Did I not work with her enough? I picked fights with everyone. It was not a pleasant time in my household, and now I owe just about everyone I know an apology for being such a snatch.

Only to find out last night, you didn't even DO THE DAMN TEST RIGHT AND DIDN'T READ THE DAMN DIRECTIONS! The second assesor, Paula, apologized on your behalf. She apologized that we had to go through this, she apologized that you didn't give the test right. Come to find out, you didn't give her credit for things, when you had them noted on the test that SHE FREAKING DID THEM! What the hell, tester?! Needlessly Bryan and I wondered if Pook would be alright in the end. I spent three weeks trying to figure out how we'd afford her therapy. THREE WEEKS, YOU BITCH.  Paula was so upset that she put in a call to your office to ream your ass out. You haven't returned her phone call, I doubt that you will. You're damn lucky Bryan wasn't there at the testing, he would've left you in tears. While I stood back and laughed.

Next time, why don't you READ THE DIRECTIONS, ADMINISTER THE TEST CORRECTLY, and here's a novel idea...LISTEN TO THE PARENTS. Hopefully some other family doesn't need to go through what we went through due to your mistakes. As I write this, I am trying to refrain from cursing too much. It's taking quite a bit. When I am as furious as I am now, I swear quite profusely. But I will say this, a parting curse: FUCK OFF, BITCH.]]>Wed, 14 Oct 2009 19:45:19 +0700http://heidishole.weebly.com/1/post/2009/10/if-ive-got-to-put-a-word-to-how-im-feeling.htmlIf I had to put a word to how I'm feeling, I couldn't. There's so many emotions running through me right now...Anger, relief, frustration, happiness.

We had Pooks second, more in depth assesment tonight. Basically, she is NOT that delayed. She's got the abilities of a 15 month old. Basically, the person who administered the first test not only didn't do it right, she didn't follow the directions of the test, and knows little to nothing about the development of an infant.

I am SO happy & relieved that she isn't delayed. I was crying with happiness. The assesor tonight said she'd like to see her around 18 months to make sure she is on track then as well.

I am so fucking pissed off at the initial assesment. When they told me their results, I shut down. I bawled and I was heartbroken, and I was angry. How dare they say my baby girl is anything less than perfect? Why didn't they do it right the first time?

When they tested her the first time, they set her in a chair and buckled her in. And basically forced her to perform. Because she didn't perform, they didn't give her credit for things I told them she does!

For three weeks, I've been torturing myself, living in my own hell. Blaming myself, fighting with everyone else who said "She's FINE." Bryan and I fought about it. He was saying she was fine, while I would screech that she's not. He was the voice of reason. But three goddamn weeks of wondering if I did something wrong. Did I do something while I was pregnant? In labor? Have I done something wrong as a parent? As a mother? All to find out we're doing everything we should be. We're doing "it" just fine.

The assesor tonight, Paula, (if you ever read this thank you for...everything.) was so ticked off at how the initial assesment and how it was handled that she is placing a call to the initial person to, more or less, ream her out. She personally apologized for us having to go through all of this, and how it was handled, and how that person is a discredit to the profession.

While I apologized to Bryan for more or less being a bitch, I will absolutely not apologize for following my gut. I refuse to apologize for acting on the instinct that something was wrong with my child. I would do it no matter if it was a fever, or a developmental delay. No mother should ever apologize for making sure their child is healthy.

And I won't.]]>