it's nothing special....it's just kriss

Last week I almost had a heart attack. I got my Sinclair gas card bill in the mail. It said my owed balance was over $300! But my panic was short-lived. I noticed that my previous balance of $220 had carried over onto the current bill. I paid the previous balance, but obviously not before the new bill was printed. So, I placed the bill on my desk, feeling rather relieved, and forgot about it. Today at work I got a voice message from Connie at Sinclair Oil telling me that I had a past-due, outstanding balance and she was calling to collect payment for it. Puzzled, I called her back and explained that she was wrong. I had already paid it. I even have a confirmation number from paying on their website. I told her I would call her back when I got home and could find the confirmation number. But, being the patient person I am, I immediately checked my bank statement to see if I could figure the problem out. Sure enough, I found the charge for $220 on the day I told her I had paid it. It was...

So I just went downstairs to get a drink and took a pit stop in the potty. And when I went to grab some toilet paper, out of the corner of my eye I noticed what looked like a couple of big splotches of blood on the toilet paper dispenser. AHHH! I recoiled in disgust. Then I turned to take a closer look. No, they weren't blood spots. They were dang fall leaf stickers! I guess that's what I get for working at a scrapbook empire. I'd say it scared the crap out of me, but that might be an overshare. :)

Today was my annual dose of public humiliation cleverly disguised as a physical. For those of you who have been subjected to one of the only remaining legal forms of torture, you will know exactly what I am talking about. However, if you have somehow through Divine intervention managed to escape the horrible, life-scarring experience, I simply have nothing to say to you. And, if you are getting a little embarrassed - you should probably stop reading now. I woke up in a good mood - 'til I remembered. I went to the doctors office - alone. I waited - insides writhing in horrid anticipation. They called my name - I followed the cute little friendly nurse to the torture chamber. And so it began. And even though my doctor tried to make pleasant conversation, even though she acted truly interested in my occupation and all the other boring details of my boring life, and EVEN though the cute, friendly nurse said she really liked my orange toe nails...my dignity and self-respect are nonethel...