I don't have a lot to rant about today...well, that is kind of a lie, but there are only so many things I am at liberty to vent about in a public forum.
Lets' start with the Dermatologist this morning. I know some of you must be thinking, my word, does she spend all her time going to the damn doctor? The answer is no, but, since I've turned 40, apparently they want me to get everything checked out, like a truck that is coming to the end of it's warranty. I gotta lot a miles on this body. Anyway, the big gripe about going to the dermatologist is that they made me get on the scale to weigh me. Now why would they do that? Are we gonna go in a room pop a zit, come back out and re-weigh me? Why does the skin doctor care how much I weigh? Here is my driver's license, just jot down what I have recorded here. Take my word for it. Then, we go in the room and she asks me if I am still taking the Prozac and vitamin D, cuz, you know, they are working on making the pony less angry. So, if she knows what pills I am taking and she knows the last time I saw the doctor, why the hell isn't my weight recorded in there? Makes no sense.
The doctor then gives my body a general look-see to check my freckles and moles. She asks me to turn around, she's looking at my legs and then she says, do you mind if I look under your panties? Do people get a lot of skin cancer on their ass? My legs are pasty white, it is clear that area doesn't ever see UV rays. I told her to knock herself out, look at whatever she wants. And, wow, she did...look at everything. I felt violated.
So, that is how the day started. I got to work and the day seemed to suck as soon as I walked in the building. "I didn't know what to do this morning when you weren't here..." "Did you see that email I sent you?" "Did you fill out that spreadsheet yet?" ugh. Then it was time for a meeting with some key players that are helping us with our upcoming system conversion. We are setting up "war rooms." I am one of those key players. Part of this meeting was a tour. Now, I know I have described the building I work in as a "glass palace" but it is quite large. It is five stories. Five stories doesn't sound like much when you compare it to, say, the Empire State building, but, for a fat girl, faced with using the stairs instead of the elevators, it's huge. The ring leader that is taking us from room to room and floor to floor says to me when we are all done, "I guess we could have used the elevators." Seriously? One of the gals says, "Well, I guess you won't have to go to the gym tonight!" True dat, hell, I might have to go to the ER tonight to have some chest scans done. Don't even get me started about my bum knee. Bastards.
On the upside, I did get my "self-appraisal" done today. It's partly true, partly fiction. The part about how I answer the phone with a smile in my voice. That makes me giggle every time. The part where I talk about how I get that pissy look when I order pizza is just an act. I love my job and I will do anything anyone asks me to do, all with a positive attitude. It's almost Stephen King stuff, you know. It's good. I don't know if they will make a Lifetime movie out of it, but it could make a great mission statement for my company.
That's the highlights. Tomorrow I am going to start the day without stepping on the scale first thing. That should help my attitude...slightly.
Lets' start with the Dermatologist this morning. I know some of you must be thinking, my word, does she spend all her time going to the damn doctor? The answer is no, but, since I've turned 40, apparently they want me to get everything checked out, like a truck that is coming to the end of it's warranty. I gotta lot a miles on this body. Anyway, the big gripe about going to the dermatologist is that they made me get on the scale to weigh me. Now why would they do that? Are we gonna go in a room pop a zit, come back out and re-weigh me? Why does the skin doctor care how much I weigh? Here is my driver's license, just jot down what I have recorded here. Take my word for it. Then, we go in the room and she asks me if I am still taking the Prozac and vitamin D, cuz, you know, they are working on making the pony less angry. So, if she knows what pills I am taking and she knows the last time I saw the doctor, why the hell isn't my weight recorded in there? Makes no sense.
The doctor then gives my body a general look-see to check my freckles and moles. She asks me to turn around, she's looking at my legs and then she says, do you mind if I look under your panties? Do people get a lot of skin cancer on their ass? My legs are pasty white, it is clear that area doesn't ever see UV rays. I told her to knock herself out, look at whatever she wants. And, wow, she did...look at everything. I felt violated.
So, that is how the day started. I got to work and the day seemed to suck as soon as I walked in the building. "I didn't know what to do this morning when you weren't here..." "Did you see that email I sent you?" "Did you fill out that spreadsheet yet?" ugh. Then it was time for a meeting with some key players that are helping us with our upcoming system conversion. We are setting up "war rooms." I am one of those key players. Part of this meeting was a tour. Now, I know I have described the building I work in as a "glass palace" but it is quite large. It is five stories. Five stories doesn't sound like much when you compare it to, say, the Empire State building, but, for a fat girl, faced with using the stairs instead of the elevators, it's huge. The ring leader that is taking us from room to room and floor to floor says to me when we are all done, "I guess we could have used the elevators." Seriously? One of the gals says, "Well, I guess you won't have to go to the gym tonight!" True dat, hell, I might have to go to the ER tonight to have some chest scans done. Don't even get me started about my bum knee. Bastards.
On the upside, I did get my "self-appraisal" done today. It's partly true, partly fiction. The part about how I answer the phone with a smile in my voice. That makes me giggle every time. The part where I talk about how I get that pissy look when I order pizza is just an act. I love my job and I will do anything anyone asks me to do, all with a positive attitude. It's almost Stephen King stuff, you know. It's good. I don't know if they will make a Lifetime movie out of it, but it could make a great mission statement for my company.
That's the highlights. Tomorrow I am going to start the day without stepping on the scale first thing. That should help my attitude...slightly.
skin tags...that's all I have to say about that!
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