Friday, June 29, 2007
She also has a crush on the Spouse Sparrow.
She's not my Primary Care Physician anymore, but since I go to a group practice I do occasionally get her as my doctor if one of the others is not available.
The last three times I have seen her, she has asked about the Spouse Sparrow. By name. And then she blushed.
Oh, she also asks about the Nestling Sparrow and the Fledgling Sparrow, but she can't seem to remember their names, even though they are also patients of hers and she has seen them for years now. The Spouse Sparrow isn't even a patient of hers, but she manages to remember his name. I'm pretty sure the only reason she remembers my name is because I have an unusual name.
I'm wondering if this crush of hers might have anything to do with her not caring if I cark it, quite frankly. The first time she specifically asked about him, she was quite surprised to hear that he was my second husband, and that the Nestling Sparrow was a planned baby. The expression on her face said "How did someone like you manage to catch someone like him?!" Really, it was most unflattering to yours truly.
I have told the Spouse Sparrow all about it, of course. He's getting fairly used to the attention from womenfolk here in the States now, as they throw themselves at him, even with me standing right there. I mean, I am obviously his wife, we obviously have a kid together, as he is right fucking there in the stroller, and the Spouse Sparrow will still get women hitting on him in the shops. Right in front of me. Did I mention the "right in front of me" bit? Because the hotties are doing it right in front of me. I mean, I understand the attraction, really. He's cute, witty, has a really good accent, and they can see that he is great with kids and is a hands-on dad. Still, if the stupid bints could just manage to restrain themselves until I walked over to the next fucking aisle I wouldn't be slagging them off half so much, the stupid whoring twats. It's a good thing I'm not the jealous type.
(waits for laughter to die down)
Now, the Spouse Sparrow is quite shy and modest, and blushes easily. It's taken quite a lot of totty being thrown at him, and me harping on about it, before he even realized what was up. And now this, with Dr. DeVil, on top of it all.
I think that next time I have an appointment with Dr. DeVil, I will bring along the Spouse Sparrow, and then she can see him turn bright purple and stutter in embarrassment and maybe then she will go off him.
No, dammit, she will probably just think that is "cute." Fuck, she may even think he likes her.
Maybe I will just start smearing him with shite before he leaves the house.
Not that I am bitter.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
A few people have e-mailed me to ask me about the state of my health/test results/promised nude photos,* and I figured I had better get off my ass and post about it before I got any more e-mails. For those of you who have already received e-mails about this, you're in luck; you get to read my brilliant writing once again.
Re: Lupus.... So far, the doctors have not definitively ruled out Lupus, buuuuuuutttt.... It looks like the majority of the Lupus symptoms I was having were due to side effects from an allergy/asthma drug I was taking called Singulair.
Mind you, I saw several doctors and none of them were able to figure this out. Oh no, it was me that figured it out. Do I get paid $175,000 a year for it? Like fuck I do.
I had a few really bad days a while back, days where my stomach was so bad that I couldn't eat. And because I couldn't eat, I couldn't take my pills, either. After a few days, it dawned on me that I felt much, much better. I had a sneaking suspicion right then and there, but being a fan of the scientific method I started taking the pills again. Lo and behold, I felt like shit.
I went on the Internet and pulled up the list of side effects for Singulair, and there they all were -- fever, nausea, joint aches, kidney pain, unusual weakness, vomiting, dizziness, headache, hallucinations, muscle aches, irregular heartbeat, numbness/tingling of the hands and feet, general swelling, excessive thirst, and extreme fatigue, just to name of few of the really fun ones. Fucking hell. Months of torture, and it's due to a prescription medication.
I started on Singulair last August, and I suppose the first symptom I developed was fever. Unfortunately, I didn't notice it at the time because I already had a fever. When I went to the doctor in August, it was for a sinus infection and fever, and that's when she put me on the Singulair. The other side effects came along a bit later.
Still, the doctors won't rule out Lupus, because Drug-Induced Lupus does not cause the facial rash like regular Lupus, and I have the facial rash and the photosensitivity. I did read on the Internet forums that some people have developed other auto-immune diseases while taking Singulair, and other people who already had Lupus and other auto-immune diseases had to stop taking Singulair, because Singulair caused flare-ups and made them worse. So it is possible that I am susceptible to Lupus, as I had been tested before when I was 10 or 11, and the Singulair may have triggered it or at least triggered an episode. Come to think of it, when I had problems and they tested me for Lupus before, they were also guinea-pigging me on new asthma/allergy meds. The problem is, Singulair works wonders for my allergies, and when I'm off it, all the other problems go away, but I'm incapacitated by constant sneezing, wheezing, runny nose, runny eyes, and all that shite.
My new doctor and I are filing an official report (MedWatch) to the FDA (Food and Drug Administration, for you Brit-type people), and it would not surprise me in the least to hear, some 10 years from now, that there is firm scientific evidence that Singulair can trigger Lupus in susceptible patients, as Singulair works on the immune system.
So, that took care of most of the symptoms, but then I was still was getting kidney/bladder infections even after going off the Singulair. Guess what, turns out that another of my fucking prescription meds has been messing with my pancreas, kicking out sugar into my urine and causing those kidney/bladder infections. Again, it was me that figured that one out, without help from the doctors.
I started doing research on the Net about the other prescription drugs I was on, and found a new study done by the NHS there in Britain which shows that Inderal (a common beta-blocker, which I was on for prevention of severe migraines and it did away with my anxiety attacks too, dammit) can trigger Type 2 Diabetes in susceptible patients. Jesus wept. Of course, my doctors hadn't seen this study, because it hasn't been published over here.
Lovely. Just what I need, Type 2 diabetes.
My new doctor tested me, and yep, I'm pre-diabetic with a super-sensitivity to carbs. Off the Inderal I went.
I'd already been on a self-imposed diabetic-type diet since last November, due to all the kidney/bladder problems I had been having, and there's been no temptation to break it as if I eat something with sugar in it or what-not I become violently ill.
I'll have to do another fasting, 3-hour Glucose-Tolerance Test in 2 months, and we'll see how I'm doing then. In the meantime, my allergies and asthma are back full-force, as the Singulair and worked really well to control those. I am not taking another pill. I'll just put up with it.
I will have to do something about my migraines, though, as they are completely out of hand. God only knows what, as the doctors have put me on pill after pill that didn't work, already. $342 for 10 fucking pills, if you can believe that. Thank God it's not me paying for it.
It positively amazes me that I have been seen by scores of doctors, who all knew exactly what meds I was on, and yet not one brought up the possibility of side effects. And it's not just that; not only did the doctors not pick up on it, their response was to put me on more fucking pills, to control what was actually side effects from the pills I was on.
Oh, and while I was researching all those other side effects, I found out that it could be that the Aciphex, which I take for my ulcers, could be eroding my hip joints, causing my hip pain. Nice.
Basically what I am hoping for is for me to get back to the same level of illness I was at before they started prescribing all those helpful medications, and then I will bang my head on a wall, repeatedly.
So much for modern medicine. And the doctors wonder why I question them all the time. Jeez.
I will leave you all with this little gem.
* Yeah, right. Where's my money, bitches?
Sunday, June 24, 2007
As you can see, he has not even fully freed them to take this picture. God only knows where his poor willy has gone to....
Please join with me in my new Internet e-mail campaign, Free NiolK's Balls! Here at Campaign Headquarters for Free NiolK's Balls!, we are demanding that NiolK free his balls, and to prove that he has freed them we are also demanding that he post a full-frontal nude picture (face included) so that we can be sure that NiolK's balls have been freed. At this point in the campaign, it may be too much to hope for that one day we might see NiolK's balls freed at parks, shopping malls, and even workplaces, but we can have hope for the future when NiolK's balls will be free everywhere, all the time. Please go to visit NiolK right now, and let him know that we will not give up until our demands have been met.
Additionally, Free NiolK's Balls! is demanding that NiolK come up with some badges** for Free NiolK's Balls!, as we here at Campaign Headquarters do not have PhotoShop or any type of graphics programs. Thank you.
* Not really. It only took two comments on one of his posts.
** He came up with a badge for those of us who are Banned by NiolK!, so we know he can do it. You can see the "Banned" badge in my sidebar, just keep scrolling down.
Friday, June 22, 2007
I've been dealing with massive computer cuntery this week already, what with the computer crashing and losing everything. It seems to be going around lately; I know a few other people have posted about it, too. We had to do a lot of incantations involving anal sex, the blood of a black cock, and the horrible ancient deity Factory Settings. I happen to like bum sex, and the black cock thing was easy, as we live in the 'hood, but having to invoke Factory Settings was simply awful.
Hopefully everything will work out all right, and I will not lose my Site Meter count, and it will not take me too many weeks to add back in all my links and badges and tags and and and. This may be a work in progress for a while, so please bear with me.
UPDATE: Success, M'lud! Fuck, that was traumatic. I still have some kinks I'm working out, but everything seems to have gone okay, for the most part. I'm still trying to get my links to open in a separate page, like they used to, instead of having to right-click on them, like I have to do now. If anyone notices any other problems, please let me know, either by comment or e-mail (TheFatSparrow@aol.com). Thanks!
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
My teacher for most of those years was a short, tiny woman from Spain, who had married the German teacher at our school. Her name was.... Well, never mind what her last name was. It rhymed with "psycho," so we called her "Mrs. Psycho." As a bonus, if you were a student sitting in the back of the class room, Mrs. Psycho could not tell whether or not if you were calling her by her real name or her nickname.
She was psycho, which was how she got the nickname. She cared far, far too much about how we pronounced our Spanish words, and would make us repeat them endlessly until we got the pronunciation and accent correct. We were required to speak grammatically, and with proper inflection. I, with my Valley Girl accent, was a hopeless case. Much like singing class, I could understand what the teacher wanted me to do, and I could understand the way it was supposed to sound, but I could not make those sounds come out of my mouth. I can still hear Mrs. Psycho's voice, in my head, shouting "¡No, no, y no! ¡Es incorrecto!" every time I go to say something in Spanish.
She also liked to whack students' desks, aiming as close to our hands as possible. I believe she must have been educated in a Catholic school, as you could tell she was just itching to be able to whack us directly, and she frequently invoked the help of the Virgin so that she could have patience with us gringos estúpidos. She took Spanish very seriously, as only a native Castilian, descended from the proud hidalgos, can. Here in Southern California, we just wanted to be able to order a beer, find the bathrooms, and possibly ask where the donkey show was ("¿Dónde está la demostración del sexo del burro lo que esta con el burro con el pene gigantesco y la puta rancia?"), once we grew up and visited Tijuana.
We were taught the correct Castilian pronunciation of words, which involved a purposeful lisp (theta). A "z" or "c" in Castilian is pronounced as "th." In Castilian, of course, you say "platha" for "plaza," and "thero" for "zero." If you speak this way in a country where the majority of Spanish speakers are from Mexico, and do not use the theta, you end up sounding like Thorro the Gay Blade, if you know what I mean.
It's like if you're an American visiting England, and you go up to your average English tosser-on-the-street, and ask him in your best posh accent, "I say, old chap, could you possibly tell me where I might find a jolly good cup of tea whilst I am visiting your fine country?" If you try this you will get twatted upside the head, and rightly so.
If you speak Castilian Spanish to a Mexican, they will not twat you upside the head, as Mexicans are a polite people (which is surprising considering how they stand so close to you and breathe all over you and thing), but it will be hard for them to control their laughter. It is best to know the Spanish vernacular of Mexico while having important conversations with a Mexican, like buying a taco, asking the price of his daughter, or purchasing marijuana. If you do not know the vernacular, they will think you are an idiot, or a narc, and neither of those is a good thing, as the Federales will happily butt-fuck either.
My daughter, the Fledgling Sparrow, is taking Spanish in school, and she is not learning a damn thing, as they teach something called "Conversational Spanish" nowadays, which means that the lazy teachers don't have to teach the students Spanish spelling, or grammar, so I have to do it at home. She has the best accent in the class, better than the barrio kids even, as I hound her about it often. The muchachos pendejos del barrio resent being taught Spanish, as they think they already know it. I resent the fact that the school even has the cojones to call the class "Spanish," when in fact they are teaching Spanglish.
The school is misinforming the students, by letting them think that they are learning proper Spanish, and they are not even teaching them truly practical Spanish, like cursing. That is a shame, because Spanish is a beautiful and expressive language to curse in, far more imaginative and effective than cursing in English. Also, it is good to know when people are talking shit about you, especially in foreign languages, and it helps to know exactly what people are yelling at you as they cut you off and give you the international sign of goodwill while you are driving. That way, when the Highway Patrol ask, you can inform them in detail exactly what was said before that stupid fucking Mexican shot at you on the freeway. It has been a long time since I have had a car, but I still remember the rules of the road, you know.
Because of this, I have tried to keep my Spanish cursing up to par, and I am teaching it to my daughter at home, since the fucking fregado profesores cricas won't teach it to her. Don't worry, her accent will be perfect.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
When I win the Lottery I will be buying one myself, along with a 40-foot motorhome, and the license plate frames will read "Fuck you, Al Gore." Maybe Al Gore will feel so guilty that he'll quit jetting all over the world and showing up at his appearances in limos and SUVs, and maybe even downsize his house.
What? It could happen.
P.S. -- Sorry to have fucked off yet again for so long (due to health problems). I'll be around to everyone's place as soon as possible to catch up.
Monday, June 04, 2007
During my time as a manager at a McDonald's in Belfast, the head restaurant manager was an English girl called Jill. Her style of management was bossy, she was always there to catch you doing wrong and never saying a good word about you. She was a Psychology major, as you would say here in America, and thought she knew how people's minds work. If it was some young person's first job or someone had worked there for numerous years she thought she could treat them like shit, as they wouldn't leave. One time she did say "This is all they know." I felt insulted that she had summed someone up like that, and it occurred to me that she was just a dickhead without a clue. When I get pushed I suddenly feel the urge to go slower and not really give a crap, which is why the Army didn't suit me well, and Jill pushed me.
Jill would do the 6 month Progress Reports (or P.R.s as these dreaded things were called) on her managers. If you did well you got a raise, not much but it added up with the hours you do. I used to get these from school and they usually said "quiet in class" and "must try harder." I would be doing my job, happy and content that I was doing a good job. I could motivate crewmembers, I was liked and I sold burgers. Well okay, I did get 2 complaint letters, one from a customer that was drunk and an asshole, and another from the owner's friend who said he saw a blue-shirted blond manager eating fries on front counter. I knew I would never do that, the fries stink and besides I lead by example; also it sounded like the other blond manager that worked there but it got pinned on me.
When it came time for my P.R., I felt confident. Then I had an hour of Jill telling me how crap I was. This became the routine at every P.R., and I expected it; those that didn't lick up to her got the shit end of the stick. I am glad to say I never kissed anyone's ass which is why I didn't do as well as I should have. I grew to hate Jill, and I did my job, no more no less. I sold burgers, kept the place clean and protected my staff and customers, and I only did favours for other managers I liked.
Then it happened; Jill got moved to our other store in DunDonald. I had worked there for a while, it was a drive-thru unlike the Belfast one and definitely not as violent as the Belfast one.
We got a manager called Michael but then the franchise owner, Ian, screwed him over and demoted him forcing him to leave. Then we got a manager called Johnny. I loved that man; funny and easy going and quick to compliment you. I knew him from when I was a crewmember and he was a trainee manager, he spoke up for me to get my (manager's) shirt.
One shift, Johnny told me I was going on my BOC at the end of the year which is a promotion and meant I'd be salaried with a white shirt. Sure I was happy, I'd be about 4th in charge. Well, the end of the year came and went and no one told me a thing. Johnny said Ian had changed his mind. That's when Ian made his big mistake. He was a good businessman, but always f**ked you over for a profit. A McDonald's slogan was "People are our most important ingredient," I guess they meant in the Mac sauce as they f**ked you over in the work place.
I got the newspaper "The Belfast Telegraph" every Friday for 3 years as that's the day the job finder was out. A fellow manager, Sharon, used to joke that I would never leave, and how long have you been looking for a job? I even applied for a funeral home as dead people usually don't try to punch you over burgers. I creeped Sharon out by saying that if she died I might be the last person to see her naked. I'm sure she imagined something else happening, as I didn't have to say a word, the look on her face was priceless. To see a millie lost for words and disgusted at the same time is a wonder.
For 3 years I searched for a job. We were always short-staffed at McDonald's as Ian loved the low labour figure (who cares what corners were cut), then Johnny announced he had given in his 2 weeks notice, then a Dunkin' Donuts opened (first ever in Belfast) and 2 other managers gave their notice. One of them was called Eileen, a tall girl with a kind soul, she called me "Sparrow Boy full of the horn" whatever that meant; it was a term of endearment. Things really went downhill fast. No adverts were placed in the paper for new workers, it was very unreal, and Ian worked shifts doing everyone's head in with busy work.
I had a really bad morning shift one time, as the night manager Mark was really slack. I had called him on it before. This time he left a really shit clean up, also my front counter staffer sent a night staff person home without me knowing, saying that she would finish their job of removing Ajax from stainless steel. My 10 am person didn't come in, and we were packed to the doors. Tracy on till and me in the kitchen, that was it. Lobby full of people, trays all over the place because fast food customers can't manage to put their rubbish in a trash bin. Nevermind it's not your job, you're just a lazy f**ker, otherwise you'd be cooking at home, ha!
That was the day that 2 regional supervisors walked through the door. I am not making this up. They asked "Where is all the staff? Have you phoned anyone in?" all the questions you don't really need when you are trying to feed the 5,000, then they worked in lobby for me.
When it all had settled down and some staff came in one of the regional supervisors sat me down and told me of his worse shift, he was trying to make me feel better. I was shaking due to adrenaline and not having eaten anything all day. They went and threw some sauces that were a few days out of date, possibly due to bad rotation and when everything was fine they left.
Ian, the owner, came in. He wasn't angry, he was like "Oh shit, what do they know? What did you tell them?" He took me and Tracy to Laveries (the pub next door) and got us a couple of drinks and pried some info from us.
I was still in shock at having the worse shift I've ever had, and now I was a little beer buzzed, although I only had 2. Ian got me to go through the trash area and bring in the sauces that were thrown out, as they were only out there for 2 hours and in black plastic bags so to him they were all right. I didn't give a shit, I just wanted the nightmare to end.
Then the impossible happened; one of the many jobs I applied for came through. It was working days instead of nights for the same money, and it wasn't McDonald's, so I gave 2 weeks notice.
I was working a graveyard shift at McDonald's, as we were open 24 hours. And at the end of that shift Ian called me to his office. He showed me printouts of low profits (so he said) and how he couldn't have promoted me back then. I recalled how him and his secretary (that he was banging in the top office) both got new cars then. He asked me what I thought of getting my white shirt and now going on my BOC. Well, 3 managers leaving, which leaves 3 not so good managers and one good one (Sharon) and she was going to be the restaurant manager. I said to Ian that I was pissed off that no one had told me I wasn't getting my shirt, he blamed Johnny of course. Ian told me I'd only do day shifts, and he even offered me to work just Saturdays, cash in hand, and then I said my movie line "The only move I want to make in McDonald's is out."
On my way down the stairs, I saw Eileen who had waited to hear about it, I told her he had offered me my shirt and I told him to stuff it. She was so excited and couldn't wait to tell her mum who for some reason really disliked Ian. I was now a hero.
Johnny agreed to stay on an extra week before he realized I was leaving too, then he kicked himself for being dumb. On my last shift, a morning, I came in with a sweater on, and in slow motion with trumpets sounding (well in my head that was happening) I took it off. I was wearing a white manager's shirt underneath the sweater. I had been issued one when I first started, until I got my blue one. This was a statement completing my legend. Ian came in and said that it looked good on me.
I didn't want to leave that last shift but my time had come. When you wish for something to keep you at work it never does.
Weeks later, one of the inexperienced managers called my home so I could talk him through the safe's combination. I was happy to be the on-call assistance. Later a customer, a bright female student, was using the hand dryer in the disabled toilets and it electrocuted her dead, it was on his shift. Unlucky for both of them. Drunk customers punch and break anything in McDonald's, including hand dryers; I cringe every time I use one now.
They made a manager of a moron that Ian swore once would never be a manager and he poached staff from a Burger King. I may have been burnt out at the end, in need of time off but I do miss working there sometimes. Jill had a baby and mellowed out though I still really disliked her and would avoid her in the street.
Now I am in America, and I still have Mac sauce in my veins. Every time I eat at a McDonald's, I have to open up my burger before I eat it to check and make sure the dressings are centered, and that the pickles are side-by-side, and not touching. They never are, as Yanks are slack f**kers who just can't be arsed. They are all soft as shite over here, the McDonald's in Belfast that I worked at was like that movie "Roadhouse" but with burgers.