Switching jobs can be a pain in the ass for many reasons, but the one I hate the most right now is having to switch health insurance coverage. Here’s my saga:

- I started the job in early December.
- I filled out a billion kinds of paperwork to get on the company’s insurance plan and sign up for a Health Savings Account.
- The new plan is regional and doesn’t include places near my home (I commute over an hour now), so I asked around at work to find a new doctor.
- Made an appointment for mid-January with Doctor A.

- Doctor A called to reschedule a week in advance because someone broke a foot or something. New appointment was made for mid-February.
- I told them my birth control would run out before then, so I really needed to get in sooner. They had no earlier appointments.
- I asked if I could get an advance on birth control to get me through the month. Shot down.
- So I called my old doctor’s office (Doctor B) to see if they could help.
- Doctor B, plus the two PAs that I usually saw, had left the practice. I had been assigned a new doctor (Doctor C) at some point that I had never met.
- In the meantime, back in November, I had seen Doctor D about a stomach problem. I went to her because she was closer to work than Doctor B was at the time. And I really liked her. But she didn’t prescribe me the birth control, so I couldn’t call on her for a refill.
- Finally, after some finagling (begging), Doctor C, the one I never met, agreed to give me one more refill on my birth control.

- At the beginning of February, I learned that there’s some partnership that allows me to see certain doctors near home. One of them happened to be Doctor D, the one I saw once and liked.
- I made an appointment with Doctor D for early February.
- That same day, Doctor A, who had already rescheduled once, called to reschedule again! I said forget it, cancel the appointment because I’m going to Doctor D!
- Appointment with Doctor D last Thursday was fine. She wrote me a prescription for birth control and Ambien.

- Friday I tried to pick up my prescriptions. TRIED! Keyword.
- I picked out a cute stuffed giraffe (Maury) to give The Giraffe for Valentine’s Day and brought it to the pharmacy counter with me.
- Employee Z rang me up, but just after I swiped my Health Savings Account card, I realized I couldn’t pay for Maury with the HSA.
- Employee Z said to fear not, the card would reject anything not medical-related. Except not. It totally rang up the whole order.
- I didn’t want to deal with the paperwork it would take get Maury off my account, so I asked her to void the transaction. She did.
- She rang me up again with just the prescriptions. This time it only covered $50.
- I figured the the other transaction was still pending, so it showed as money spent. No biggie, void the transaction and I’ll come back in a couple days.

-Went back on Sunday and Employee Y rang me up. Rejected. I explained the whole thing to her, but she said there was nothing she could do. I left.
- I tried to check my HSA account online when I got home, but it demanded I give it a username.
- I was never assigned a username, and I couldn’t find anything in my paperwork that described how I might find or get one.
- I called customer service, which was of course closed.

- Monday I called customer service again. She told me my username as if it was supposed to be common knowledge. Like no big deal, we never gave this to you, but YOU SHOULD KNOW IT!
- I managed to log in, and oh look, $249 available. Excellent!

- I stopped at the pharmacy Tuesday (yesterday) and tried again. Employee X rang me up.
- Card declined. I begged him to help me figure out why. He said call the bank. I said call the manager.
- Manger comes and tells me the same thing. Call the bank.
- But I charmed her with sappy kindness and a loooong explanation of my journey so far, and she said she’d take a look.
- Eventually she was able to tell me that it was one of three things: 1) No approved items were purchased [not true since it was all prescriptions], 2) No pre-authorization was available [this wasn't necessary], or 3) No funds available on card [my online account said I had plenty available].

- I need to start a new pack of birth control Friday morning, and I’ll be out of town from Thursday morning until Friday night, so things are getting dire.
- I called the HSA customer service this morning. Explained the whole story.
- The HSA employee explained that I had a ZERO BALANCE! in my account because of two transacation from last Friday. The two transaction that were voided at the pharmacy.
- She explained that it takes about 7 days for voided transactions to go through, meaning I have no access to my money until Friday or Saturday, which is too late.
- I asked her why my online account shows $250, but she sees $0.
- Oh, they’re just having a little problem with their website right now.
- Great.
- I asked how I will know when the money is back in my account (since the website clearly has no idea) because I am NOT going back to that damn pharmacy just to get shot down again damn it.
- She had no good suggestions.

I’m starting a new kind of birth control, and I don’t want to start incorrectly, so I’m just going to have to suck it up and pay for the prescription out of pocket in order to get it on time. The problem is that my new insurance is a high-deductible plan, meaning I basically have to pay for everything myself up to a certain amount. The HSA is nice because the company contributes to that, so I’m spending their money, not mine.

So when I buy this birth control on my own dime tonight, it’ll be close to $200. Just to not get pregnant.

(This is Maury, the giraffe that caused all the problems.)

Emily [while handing Brady over to me]: Doesn’t he just make you want to have one?
Me: Actually, yes.

But of course I didn’t mean that I actually wanted to have a baby. I’ve always wanted to adopt, and I still do if circumstances allow someday. What I meant was that it seems more realistic than it ever has (which isn’t saying much) that someday I might actually be ready to be a mother. As much as Brady has stolen my heart, my uterus is still not calling to me.

Later when I recalled the conversation, without context, to someone else, that person commented how until Brady was born, Andrea never thought she’d love being a mom. There’s just something about carrying a child for 9 months and giving birth to it that creates a deep instinctual love.

“Don’t you think it could be the same with an adopted child?” I asked.

“You can still feel that, but it’s not quite the same. Andrea can’t stand to be away from Brady for long.”

“But don’t you think I’d feel the same way with a child I adopted?”

“Maybe…”

I think what that conversation proved to me was that no matter what, some people just won’t be as excited about me adopting children as they would be about my birthing them. I’ve noticed this before. Little glimpses of pure joy when someone thinks it’s possible I might procreate.

One relative’s unfettered joy when I said future pregnancies are not entirely ruled out.

Another’s comments about how they’re sure I’m going to change my mind about having babies after seeing me with Brady.

They always try to backtrack when I remind them that adoption is my first and most likely choice, assuring me that they’re just as excited about that idea, and they’ll of course love my children exactly the same. But I can tell there’s a difference.

I’m not sure yet if this is a bad thing, an acceptable thing, or just a complete non-issue. Do I care that they’re eyes light up when they think for a second that I’ve given up on the whole adoption dream and replaced it with the possibility of pregnancy? Does it bother me that they can’t muster the same genuine thrill when I talk about adoption? I don’t quite know.

Part of it might be that I’ve talked about adoption for sooo looong, that the idea of changing my mind shocks them into excitement. In fact, I bet that’s a lot of it. Yet, still. Still, there’s something else there. I just have to decide what that means to me.

(Just to be clear, I’m not at all talking about the Giraffe here. After re-reading, I worried maybe someone would think that.)

With the impending doom of winter already here, I thought I’d share a few reasons why I loathe the season so much. While it’s a sunny (cold) day here in Michigan, I am not fooled. I know winter and all of its misery is coming soon. If you’ve known me for long, you know I’m not a fan of Michigan winters (or any area’s winter that resembles ours).

Here’s why:

Black/grey snow. Yeah yeah, snow is pretty and all when it’s white and glistening, but the snow I know most of the time looks more like this:

Heaping piles of snow that block significant portions of parking lots and roadways. Which fits nicely with the above photo as well.

Terrible, horrible, awful parking jobs.

Wet pant bottoms.

Cold ankles from wet pants and shoes.

Dried salt lines on pant bottoms.

Salty cars.

Wet floors EVERYWHERE!

Shoveling.

De-icing frozen car door locks.

Being locked out of your car because the door is frozen shut.

Hot public places. I thank you malls for keeping it toasty, but what do I do with my coat and scarf and hats and mittens while I shop? If I keep them on, I sweat balls. If I take them off inside, I have to carry them around. If I take them off in the car, I freeze on the trek across the ice-covered parking lot.

Increased heating bills.

Brushing snow.

Scraping ice.

Bulky pajamas. I like to sleep in a tank top and underwear, but it’s so damn cold all winter that I usually end up in a long-sleeved shirt and long pants tucked into socks. Then my clothes get all twisted in the sheets and I get pissed.

Sleeping in socks. Did I mention how much I HATE wearing socks to bed? But poor tootsies get so cold without them.

Bringing extra shoes to work. I usually wear my ugly clunky winter boots to work so my feet stay as dry as possible while I trudge through the snow. But I don’t want to wear them all day at work, so I have to remember to bring a pair of shoes. Which, is annoying, and also sometimes I forget and have to walk around with old lady boots on my feet all day. To meetings and stuff. Where I’m supposed to be professional-ish.

Bundling. I hate having to put on so many layers just to get through the day. Shirts and sweaters and scarves and coats and pants and socks and more socks and boots and mittens and hats. Oh my!

Itchy scarves.

Itchy sweaters.

Itchy socks.

Itchy hats.

(This is my lovely sistah. I have a feeling she’ll hate me for posting this, but I think she’s adorable.)

Slow driving. I know it’s for safety, and I’m all about that. I drive slow in the winter, too. But see, if there was no winter, we could drive normal speeds all year!

Everything takes sooooo long! Not only does it take longer to drive anywhere, but it takes longer to put all your clothes on and take them off. It takes forever to clear your car and defrost your windshield. It even takes longer to find your keys or your chapstick or your phone because you gotta dig all around in your purse with your gloves on, feeling like a grizzly bear trying to pick up a damn ant.

Less daylight. All these things that take so long? We have to do them with significantly less daylight than the rest of the year. Driving to and from work in the dark is not cool.

Dull grey boringness.

Slush. Everywhere.

Frozen nostrils. You know that feeling. When the snot in your nose freezes your nostril hairs. *shiver*

Now tell me, dear friends, why do you hate winter?* Don’t be afraid to share in the ranting – maybe our collective hatred will cause winter to retreat.

Retreat! Retreat!

*If you like winter, I suppose you can share your reasons, too. But ignore that pain in your face, it’s just me punching you.

With my birthday coming up soon, I had to renew my license plates, and it just so happens that my license was expiring this year too. So I paid a visit to the Secretary of State last week. These experiences are usually pretty dreadful – long lines, disgruntled employees, smelly people – but other than the fact that my new phone was beeping while I rolled my eyes at the nerve of some people for a good five minutes before realizing it was me causing all the ruckus, my SOS experience really wasn’t so bad.

The wait was tolerable, and besides I had Kurt Vonnegut’s Bluebeard to keep me company. The people didn’t smell too awful, and the employee who helped me was very kind. She complimented my necklace and asked the significance of it (it’s the one seen here, a gift from Robin for helping out at her wedding). She also took a second picture of me for my license when I cringed at the first.

But really, the point of my story is a conversation we had about organ donation. In the middle of signing things and filling out paperwork, I asked what I needed to do to become an organ donor. She paused, looked at me and said, “Thank you for asking about that. I don’t even bother asking people anymore because so many say no.” When she saw my surprise, she added that if she had to guess, she’d say only about 1 in 10 people said yes to being an organ donor when she’d ask. Some said no for religious reasons, but some just didn’t feel like it. Maybe they misunderstood. Perhaps they thought if they said yes someone was going to slice them open on the spot? Because otherwise why wouldn’t you? I’m sure there are very valid reasons, but only 1 in 10 people? That’s depressing.

I think if you’re not an organ donor and you don’t have a good reason not to be, then you shouldn’t get any organ transplants when you need them. Give the kidneys to the people who care, I say!

All I wanted was a carport. A place to shelter my car from the winter snow. It should have been one phone call, one signature and out the door. But no.

Two weeks ago
The Giraffe calls our complex’s business office to inquire about available carports near our building. He’s told there will be one available on November 1 and we can come in the day before to claim it.

Friday, October 30
I call the business office to see if maybe we can get the carport a day early. I’m told there are now several available and to come on in. I call the Giraffe to let him know, and he informs me that he too just called the business office, talked to someone different, and was told he’d have to wait until Saturday as originally planned. I go in anyway.

There is mass confusion in the office about which carports are available, who can assist me and who can’t, where my building is located, what color the sky is and who the current president is. After way too much time has gone by, I am finally assigned a carport, a prime spot in fact, and sent on my way.

I get to my building and see another vehicle in my carport, so I park in a regular spot. I figure since it technically wasn’t available until November 1, maybe I have to wait until then to use it, and they just failed to tell me that.

Saturday, October 31
We go out of town.

Sunday, November 1
We return and there is still a car in my carport.

Monday, November 2
I call the business office. They check the records and tell me that the carport isn’t leased to anyone else and I should leave a note on their car asking them to move. This seems sketchy. So before I write a note, I scope out the car and see that they have the appropriate parking pass on their mirror. I can’t read the number, but I have a feeling there’s been a mix-up.

Tuesday, November 3
I call the business office again. Talk to someone different and explain the whole situation. She says she’ll get back to me.

Wednesday, November 4
I get a voicemail from the business office explaining that they had leased out that carport awhile ago to someone else and never updated their records. So yeah, I can’t park there. But there are two other carports available only a little further away, except they can’t seem to adequately explain to me where they are. They tell me to go find the carport, then call back if I want it.

I’m out running errands, so I call the Giraffe, just as he’s about to get in the shower, make him put clothes on and go out to find the carport. He says it’s in a good enough spot, so I call back and say I want it. Then I mention that we might want the other available one, as well, for the Giraffe. She says it’s almost the end of the business day, we should come in tomorrow to claim our carports.

Thursday, November 5
I drive home after work, even though I need to be somewhere on the other end of town in 30 minutes, and meet the Giraffe at the business office. We have to explain the whole situation again, and now they can’t find the original contract I signed for the first carport. So she has to draw up two new contracts while we wait.

Once everything is signed, she tells us that they don’t actually have anymore carport passes (the ones that hang from your mirror) to give the Giraffe. But don’t worry, he can park there anyway. Only, if maintenance happens to notice he doesn’t have the pass, they’ll leave him a note and he’ll just have to call explain the whole situation. Again. Because that’s not inconvenient at all.

Remember the burping fiasco? Well it hasn’t fully ceased. In fact, it was full on burping for about two weeks. Then I got a stomach virus, and all through the barfing and crying and not eating for days, I kept burping.

Finally I decided to make a doctor appointment, but I couldn’t get in for two weeks. My appointment is today, but in the last week things have improved slightly. It’s not a consta-belch anymore, though it’s still pretty frequent. I recently became concerned that maybe it’s my gall bladder again. I had gall bladder problems about six years ago, but it manifested itself much differently. But who knows. I’m no doctor!

Anyway, even though it’s been quite a bit better, I’m not canceling my appointment today. We’ll see what the doc has to say. Because damn, I used to enjoy a good belch, and now it’s like torture.

Last night before my book club meeting, I met my friend Robin for dinner. We found a Pizza Hut on Google Maps and decided to meet there, but upon arrival we realized it was takeout only. So I hopped in her car and we drove down the road to a different restaurant. After dinner we drove together to the book club location, and she took me to my car afterward.

As we approached the parking lot in front of the Pizza Hut, we realized my car was not where I left it. My heart stopped for a minute, but then Robin goes, “Is that your car over there?” Sure enough, there it was at the back of the lot with the rear tires on top of the curb.

What. The. Hell?

I always (ALWAYS!) park in first, so there was no reason that my car would roll. We were dumbfounded. But when we looked inside, turns out I had left it in neutral. Oops! When Robin pulled up earlier that night, I was waiting with my car idling in neutral, and when I got out to ride with her, I guess I didn’t put it in first like I normally would.

However, the parking lot was completely flat. Why would my car start rolling? Did someone bump into it or even push it somehow? And also, even if it did start to roll on its own, there’s no way it would pick up enough momentum to hop the curb like that. It didn’t roll far enough to pick up that much speed. It would have rolled into the curb and stopped. So I really can’t figure out what happened.

I’m glad there wasn’t another vehicle behind it to run into, but my car was on a curb! In the bushes! There was no damage, but man, how disconcerting.

On Friday there was a tag on our front door from FedEx. They tried to deliver my new phone (nothing fancy, still haven’t worked my way up to the ever-coveted iPhone), but we weren’t home, so the tag said they’d try two more times. Apparently they don’t work on Saturdays, so the next attempt was Monday. We were gone because, ya know, the jobs and things. Another door tag.

Tuesday they tried again. Same time of day. And surprise surprise, we were gone. With the jobs again. So that was three attempts, and this time the tag said I had to drive the to FedEx center to get my package within two days. Which is annoying because what if I wasn’t available in the next two days to drive all the way over there? And also, why didn’t they just leave the package at the apartment complex office like everyone else?

I’m not sure if it’s FedEx’s policy or Verizon’s policy to make sure the package is hand-delivered to the recipient, but let’s count. Three trips to my apartment by a FedEx truck, and one trip across town in my car. That’s a lot of unnecessary carbon emissions. I appreciate that my package got to me safely, but it’s just a boring little LG phone, nothing worth all the silly un-environmentally friendly behavior.

PS – My new phone is fun.

Since I’ve been using mint.com, I’ve been carefully monitoring my transactions, and today I noticed several charges of 14.95 each from SAVEACE and SAVINGSACE. I have no idea what this place is or what the charges are for, so I turned to google. Looks like this happens to a lot of people, and SAVINGSACE is somehow connected to mylife.com. Another place I have never heard of.

So I called my bank, and I’m submitting fraudulent charge disputes for every transaction I found. I also got a number for SAVINGSACE, and I called to find out how I got signed up for this and how to cancel. They asked for my member ID and email connected with the account, and I was like yo, I have no idea, I didn’t even sign up for this shit! They were able to look me up via the number of the card being charged (erroneously!), and their records show that I signed up back in February after accepting an online offer that came with a $25 WalMart gift card.

A) No I didn’t.
B) I never give my card number online except for purchases from secure sites.
C) I don’t even shop at WalMart, why would I want a gift card?
D) I definitely never got a $25 WalMart gift card.
E) I think I’ve been the victim of identity theft!

I can’t think of any other explanation. At first I thought maybe, by some mistake, I signed up for something awhile ago that was somehow connected to this, but when I heard about the gift card business, I knew it wasn’t me. I canceled my “membership” with them, so the charges should cease, but if you multiply $14.95 by 9 (Feb-Oct), that’s $134.55 that I spent on absolutely nothing. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from mint.com, it’s that I definitely don’t money to spend on nothing.

I hope my bank can resolve this for me. But in the meantime, a warning to you all. Look for charges from SAVEACE or SAVINGSACE on your account. I had no idea they were there, and it’s been happening since February. Bad adult, Shannon, bad!

If you’re sick of ‘hearing’ me ‘talk’ about the last name topic, that’s ok. But if not, you should read about the last name ultimatum I heard live on the radio this morning. Crazy stuff.

[Want to read more on this topic? I've written about it here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here and here.]

Halloween: a time for girls to dress up as sexy versions of any and all things. We all know that Halloween, for many girls, is just an excuse to wear very little clothing and call it a sexy kitten or a sexy zoo keeper or a sexy proctologist. Naturally I hate this trend and can’t understand when Halloween became an excuse to wear less.

Anyway, this isn’t a rant (though dangerously verging on one), but rather a way to point you here. It’s the Sexist’s Top 10 Worst Sexy Halloween Costumes. Some are pathetic, some are obnoxious, some are just plain ridiculous. Check it out, but first, here’s a little taste:

It’s the Sexy… America, Or Something Costume. It doesn’t really matter what she’s trying to be (in this case, nothing at all apparently) as long as it’s sexy!

Holy hell, I have the burps. Chronic belching. And it’s miserable.

Thursday night I ate a french bread pizza for dinner and went to bed feeling fine. Friday I had cereal for breakfast, as usual. But around 10:30 I drank some water to take a few Excedrin, and I haven’t stopped burping since. That is NOT an exaggeration. Maybe I swallowed some air when I drank the water – the swallowing of air seems to be the most common diagnosis from Dr. Google – but I can’t believe I swallowed enough to cause over 72 hours of burping.

More likely I’ve got some indigestion thing going on. But other than the burps, I feel fine. No heartburn or upset stomach or any of that. Just constant obnoxious belching.

And nothing on the internet will tell me what to do. I’ve learned that I need to eat more slowly (done), drink water (done) and eat fewer gassy foods (done). So ok, I can maybe avoid future burp breakouts, but how do I stop this one? I’ve tried Tums to no avail, but there has to be something else. Anyone ever had this problem? What did you do?

(To make matters worse, I’ve also gotten the hiccups on and off today. Burp, hiccup, burp, hiccup, burp, burp, hiccup. It’s so much fun I could cry.)

*The sciencey word for belching.

I’m sorry but I have GOT to talk about the damn Tomato Wars again. Seriously, this is getting out of control. They’re everywhere! EV-UH-REE-WHERE.

Case in Point (1):
At the dinner segment of a bachelorette party last weekend and my friend scoured the menu for something that did not require any omissions. She didn’t want to have to do the whole “Can I have the Blah Blah with no yadda” thing, so she ordered a sandwich whose description did not include any offenders. Sandwich comes – big giant slices of tomato all over it. That she had to pick off. And that were not on the menu’s description of the sandwich. Offender!!

Case in Point (2):
At lunch with a different friend. I ordered a gourmet grilled cheese that boasted three kinds of cheese and chopped basil on ciabatta. Yum. Sandwich comes and it is slathered in diced tomatoes. I’m talking someone took two ice cream scoops full of diced tomatoes and plopped one on each half of the grilled cheese. It took me half my lunch just to scrape them all off and out of the many ciabatta crevasses. Offender!

Since when are tomatoes a garnish you don’t have to mention? I’ve used the “I’m allergic” excuse before to get someone to remake something for me, but usually I just scrape and grumble. But what if I really was allergic? What about those people who are? Can they not count on menu descriptions anymore? Must they ask about tomatoes on every dish they order?

Tuna salad: Does it have tomatoes?
Fried chicken: No tomatoes right?
Belgian waffles: Are you sure it doesn’t come with tomatoes?
Creme Bruleé: No tomatoes please.

If I ever open a restaurant, I’m going to make it a Tomato Free Zone. Tomato byproducts are ok—gotta have my ketchup. But tomatoes diced, sliced, chopped or whole? Those offenders are BANNED!

I always knew that my mom got pregnant more than once while on birth control — twice with a diaphragm and once on the pill. But the part of the story that I just found out is that her doctor wouldn’t ‘tie her tubes’ when she asked him to, even after the fourth child. And even after he warned her that another pregnancy could cause long-term problems for her. She asked for a tubal ligation three times, and twice she was refused because she “might want more someday.” It wasn’t until after her fifth time giving birth (all vaginal, all without drugs, by the way), and after her long-time doctor died, that her personal decision about her reproductive health was honored.

As I understand it, this is how it went:

- Mom gets pregnant with my brother, has baby August 1979
- Mom gets pregnant with me, has baby December 1980
- Mom uses diaphragm, gets pregnant with my sister, has baby January 1983
- Doctor tells her shouldn’t have any more kids
- Mom asks for tubal ligation
- She is denied by her doctor
- Mom uses diaphragm, gets pregnant with my sisters, has baby March 1985
- Doctor tells her shouldn’t have any more kids
- Mom asks for tubal ligation
- She is denied by her doctor
- Said doctor passes away
- Mom uses birth control pill, gets pregnant with my sister, has baby September 1987
- She asks for tubal ligation from new doctor
- Doctor ties her tubes
- No more babies

Now what the hell? Her doctor tells her it’s bad for her health to have more babies, but he won’t do anything to help her permanently prevent it? She tries multiple forms of birth control and they fail (keep in mind my dad has seven kids… we are a fertile and tenacious people). She doesn’t want any more children*, she knows having more could cause negative and long-term health problems, so she tries to take control of her reproductive health and is denied. Why? Because the doctor knows better? Because she might want to have more kids one day? Because she’s not intelligent enough to make that decision herself?

The worst part about this story is that now my mom is living with those negative long-term health problems. Her medical issues are her business, so no details, but suffices to that she had to retire on disability in her mid-40s, she can’t drive, she walks with a cane, she is in chronic and serious pain, and obviously she can’t work at all. Most of this is caused directly or indirectly by giving birth more times than her body could handle (not everyone is built like Michelle Duggar). She is not yet 50 years old, and this is her life.

So let’s reiterate: doctor tells mom not to have more kids — mom asks for tubal ligation — doctor refuses — repeat — mom now lives a limited life with chronic pain.

I get so angry when I think about her situation. It was in the 1980s when she was being denied her reproductive rights, and sadly too much of that still exists today. Way too much. Women are people, they have brains, they are intelligent, they are capable of processing information and they are capable of making their own decisions. Stop making them for us.

*My mom is thankful for all of her children. Just because she wanted to stop having kids before my sisters became real people (and not just abstract possibilities) doesn’t mean she isn’t endlessly grateful for all of them. And she loves us all the same. Except for me, I’m her favorite of course.

Holy man I’m tired. Despite my 10:00 bedtime, I feel like I could fall over and sleep in a highway ditch right now. One of my coworkers said “If I didn’t know too well, I’d ask if you were pregnant.”

Definitely not pregnant, but where is this fatigue coming from? klnklagl;m Sorry, my head just hit the keyboard.

On Saturday we attended a wedding in the rain. It was unfortunate but everyone had a good attitude about the whole thing. Except for the fact that the rain gave my hair a distinct drowned rat look the rest of the night, which I did not have a good attitude about. Luckily the reception was inside though, and I’m thinking maybe it was all that dancing I did that has me exhausted today.

If I didn’t have seventeen and a half errands to run this afternoon, I’d be crawling into bed the minute I walked in my door. Also, if I had a penny for every time I’ve yawned today, I’d have at least 72 cents. Neither of these things is happening.

Alright, I just need to close my eyes for a second, and then I’ll…