Debra's first visit to San Diego
In 1966 I entered the third grade at the Wolcott Elementary School in Davison Michigan. Debra Melanson’s family had just moved into the school district and that was the first time I saw her. Although we were just kids it really was “love at first sight” although I just couldn’t muster up the courage to talk to her. From that point on though I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Not in the “stalker” sense but more “oh my GOD I don’t know what to say” sort of way. Typical of kids at that age though really. My mother just kept telling me “Oh honey, it’s nothing more than puppy-love and it’ll pass.” But it never did. Ever.
So… Tuesday marked my one year anniversary with the company… and it sure doesn’t feel like it’s been a year at all. First thing I need to point out is that my close friends, the people that really know me well also know that I’m not much of one for all this “Political Correctness” stuff. From my perspective it leads to confusion and misunderstanding. I tend to be direct and to the point and let the chips fall where they may. And with that having been said… keep it mind if you decide to keep reading.
Hi all. Long time; no post. Well, I'm back. And here we go.
I don't mind taking full responsibility to pay all of mama's bills--especially her medical bills, as I wish to see her well cared for and not shunted aside as so much dead meat that can't pay. Well, the clinic where she consults is often irresponsible about getting her bills mailed out. Sometimes, their negligence spurs them to find a collection agency which, of course, gives them mere pennies on the dollar. I have written to the clinic to let them know that I voluntarily pay her bills in full and on time, but to no avail. Here again, a collection agency has purchased one of her bills--one that did not come to the house and which, ergo, I never saw. Below is the text of a smarmy letter I sent to that collection agency today. This is fun!
I had an unusual experience late last month, during the hottest portion of our Texas summer this year. Well, perhaps the experience wasn’t unusual, but rather the way I processed it mentally was unusual. Let me tell you about it.
Background: Sometimes, when I have some food on hand that is totally unfit for human consumption, I prefer to cut/chop/tear it up into tiny pieces and flush it all down the toilet, tiny bit by tiny bit, instead of risking a clogged drain line by running it through the garbage disposer or creating a stench in the kitchen for several days by tossing it into the wastebasket. I know there are other options for getting rid of undesirable food.