Identity Crises

I talked to one of my sisters today and she told me that someone stole her identity. Somehow they got her name and social security number (probably wasn't too hard, come to think of it) and opened a credit card account, racked up some bills on a wireless phone and even opened an account with the local phone company for a land line phone! Which they promptly traced to an apartment! But are the police knocking on that apartment door asking questions? Certainly not. They probably don't care. Which means my sister is leaving the country for over 3 weeks and will be bringing two adorable Russian toddlers home and there's no telling what these bottom-dwellers will do to her account in the meantime. Maybe she'll get to make a commercial with a voiceover talking about all the "phone conversations with my boyfriend-in-France-on-my-Cingular-account-that-I-don't-have-to-pay-for." At least she could make some money for herself in this whole process.
And the kicker of it is she is trying to get all her paperwork done to go to Russia and pick up her boys. Do you have any idea what it takes to adopt a child from Russia? First, you must fill out about one thousand fourteen forms asking such questions as "have you had now, or ever had in the past, a condition categorized as a communicable disease?" and "In the past 55 years have you or anyone remotely related to you ever had what may be construed as a drinking problem at any time during his or her life? Have you ever been around alcohol? Do you know what marijuana is? Do you watch violent movies? Do you like them? Do you believe a low carb diet is healthy? Have you ever gained weight? Would you be willing to donate your left kidney to one of your family should the need arise? What about your right one?" Etc. etc.

Once you fill out the forms you fight with about 48 different people on the phone over issues such as whether your fingerprints can be obtained at THIS office, or if you must drive 45 minutes across town to obtain the form which allows you to obtain you fingerprints in a town three hours away. Between the hours of 3:15 and 4:30 pm central standard time. On the third Tuesday of the month. Which was yesterday. And you need this done by next Monday or you can't send in the form to verify your Visa status which has to come in by the fourth Thursday of the month. If and ONLY if you get the Visa straightened out can you book your plane tickets. For your SECOND trip to Russia. And if you don't book those tickets by the fourth FRIDAY of the month the price will mysteriously skyrocket to $8,425. Of course, they may have already skyrocketed while you were on the phone with the doctor's office trying to convince them you really do NOT have a communicable disease. And you've never smoked marijuana. And all that porn material on your credit card was NOT purchased by you. That was bought by a 17 year old geek in a spider man outfit hiding out in his apartment waiting for the next Spiderman 2 showing.

I think it's MUCH easier to be pregnant. I will never complain about feeling fat, bloated, ugly, tired, or moody again.

Upside the head by a 2x4

When I was a kid my big brother could elicit fear in me in several ways. One was by folding his middle finger down until it was held at the base of his thumb. That would give it maximum velocity when he let it go. And velocity was important when he was "thunking" me on the top of my head. For some reason he got great pleasure in thunking me. It hurt like the devil every single time and he knew it. A malicious grin would come across his face and he would chuckle as he walked away. To this day if I see him bending his thumb down I get scared. Of course I don't show it, I just find an excuse to casually leave the room. That is his way of "hitting someone upside the head with a 2x4." I've been hit many times.

He also could elicit fear by getting up the earliest on Saturday mornings and eating all the sugar cereal. The guy weighed 92 pounds dripping wet all through high school and could eat an entire box of Count Chocula in one sitting. Fast. So fast that when you heard that "ding, ding, ping" of that cereal hitting the bowl you better get your butt out of bed or you weren't going to eat anything good for breakfast.

And he didn't play fair. One day when I was six years old (and he was about 10 or 11) he held a quarter in his hand and told me that if I guessed the year it was made I could have it. The first year that popped into my head was 1976. But for someone reason I said 1977. He laughed gleefully and showed me the quarter. 1976. Damnit. I'm still mad about that. I think I stomped around and pissed and moaned for several days about that. I ALMOST said 1976. I MEANT to say 1976. I want my quarter.

But don't get the wrong idea. I'm not holding a grudge. Really. I really am feeling bad that his pool has turned into a mud pit. If I could go down there and suck the water out I would. In a hearbeat. Just as soon as I finish this cereal.

Ping Ping

Last night I was watching either Law and Order or some such crime show set in NYC. It's the one with the "Ping Ping" sound at every scene. The sound that creates real drama and suspense. Or so I'm told. I know that when I hear it I look up from whatever I'm doing and watch slack jawed (like a Pavlovian dog looking at a piece of steak) until the next commercial. I don't know why I watch the show. It's really silly. The poor victim is always already dead. No help there. And even though they ALWAYS figure out who done it the perp often gets away with the crime through some freaky loop hole. And when all else is lost and you think there's no way in Hades they'll figure this one out, they discover a hair. Always a hair. Last night it was a pubic hair wrapped up in a $80,000 watch. Hmmmm. From that they concluded the perp was gay. Oh yes, only gay people wrap their private hairs in their expensive watches. . .

I'll be watching next week when the Ping Ping sound tells me to. I just can't wait.

I'll try again

Last week I posted a story about computer geeks. Actually, I should have clarified that the very nice man at the help desk referred to himself as a "computer geek." I would have saved myself some insults. Someone anonymously posted a comment showing his or her's dislike for that term and his or her's intense desire to refer to physician's using other "four letter words." Of course, this was the second physician bashing post. The first was from by brother, which was expected. He's always told me "you docs are just a bunch of dumb@#* idiots." That doesn't offend me. But the second post did. I kind of gave up on the blog thing for a few days and decided to try again tonight. I mean, if you're that mad about it and hate doctors that much, why post it anonymously?

Anyway, I'll try again and hope I won't regret it. Please keep your comments on the pleasant side. I'm a bit hormonal and get my feelings hurt easily.