I just had a wonderful, long talk with an old friend of mine.
Years ago, I was fired from a job for being "mentally ill." Of course, this was not the reason they gave but no matter, we all knew that was the truth. I had chosen to be open about my illness--I had no recourse. I had been hospitalized twice; I had even been visited during one of them by my Manager and Supervisor (much to my horror!) I believed they were trying to be supportive. Maybe at the time they were. I do not know.
I had no means for litigation--I was broke! I was close to living on the street as I had to barter my last month's rent by painting and doing some odd job work in another unit in the building lest my landlord try to evict me. I chose another "free" route via the government to seek what was owed to me.
I was "vindicated," I suppose. I did not receive the full settlement I was entitled to by law but I did receive a portion of it. That was all they were willing to give and I could have rejected it but I couldn't face going through the entire process again. It was too lenghty and too upsetting.
The company could have appealed everything entirely but they chose not to. I guess this means that in doing so, they were admitting that they were in fact liable and it was a case of "wrongful dismissal." I did not receive any apologies, however. The victory seemed hollow.
And it was truly brutal facing my Ex-Manager (who was now also my Ex-Friend,) my Ex-Supervisor, the head of Human Resources and the completely ridiculous lawyer they had hired all by myself.
Anyway, I had not spoken to this friend of mine in a long time. He still works there. Many changes have taken place since I left. I have found out that Ex-Manager/Friend and Ex-Supervisor had "been removed" perhaps due to performance issues and one has failed miserably (Ex-Supervisor) in a new position. I have also found out that the company has lost the contract where we all worked and will probably never get it back--it was worth a lot of money. I have also found out that over the years, several other people have deluged them with other wrongful dismissal claims.
I wonder how they made out?
Call me a bitch but I am still bitter to the core about this. I was treated horribly and the things I was asked to do, the way I was made to "behave" after I came back to work at this job--it was sickening. I was trying at the time to figure a way to get out but apparently that decision was made for my by a bunch of ignorant, discriminatory, unfeeling assholes.
Showing posts with label Life is Stranger Than Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life is Stranger Than Fiction. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Police or Paramedics: Who Are Better In Dealing With Psychiatric Crises?
While coming home in the car a while ago, I witnessed a scene outside a shop where two paramedics were painstakingly dealing with a man who was obviously mentally distressed. I only caught a brief glimpse of it all but it took me back to some experiences, some thoughts and discussions I have had with other people who have a veritable cornucopia of disorders. The paramedics were pleading with the man to get in to the ambulance repeatedly or else they would need to call the police.
Now I am not prone to generalizations and am always willing to give everyone the benefit of the doubt but in answer to the question above: Paramedics, absolutely.
In various times of crisis, hospitalization etc..., I have dealt with both individuals in these professions. I have met some decent coppers but at best, they have just done what was needed (save one man) without a modicum of care. The paramedics, on the other hand, have always been the most caring and least judgmental of persons and have always taken such good care of me. Some have even had great senses of humour too.
My most terrrifying experience with the police happened one night after speaking long distance to a friend of mine. I was rather down and had been drinking (or course) and was merely venting. Or so I had thought? My friend had apparently become quite concerned and called 911. As I was getting ready to pad off to bed, there was a knock at the door. I had no idea who it could be; it was quite late (or early...perhaps 0100hrs?) I answered the door and there stood five (yes five) police officers.
Alright. I'm not exactly up on police protocol but I don't think they send that many officers to a domestic disturbance call. And I've never worked as a 911 dispatch operator either but I would assume that they would have asked some pertinent questions like if I was alone in the house?
They asked if they could come in. I was completely stunned. What do you say with five police officers standing in front of you, "No?" So I invited them in and they told me that they had received a call from "a friend" and that I "might be suicidal." I told them that I was not and that I was just getting ready to go to bed. They told me that I would have to come with them to the hospital. I looked at one of the officers who was casually sifting through my mail and some of my writing. I became agitated. I told him to put all of those things down and that he had no right to look at them! I again insisted that I was fine and I needed to go to bed as I had to go to work in the morning! I didn't need to go to the hospital! I told them that this was just a misunderstanding!
At this point, they became increasingly more forceful in their demands and I became more agitated and not combatitive but certainly argumentative. A female officer stepped right up to me, almost into me and threatened me with arrest if I didn't go with them. That was it. No matter how hard I tried to convince them, I couldn't compete with that.
They physically grabbed me by the arm and I told them to let me go as I wanted to put my shoes on. They told me there was no time for that so I ended up leaving the house with one bloody shoe on. Fantastic. They threw me into the back of one of the cruisers (they all still had their lights flashing!) and off we went.
My poor landlords. They were a great couple and didn't even know what to do. They just hid upstairs--I had some serious apologizing to do later.
So we get to the hospital and I am fuming. I had been an inpatient there before and was seeing a psychiatrist there. I explained rather loudly to anyone who would listen how grand a mistake that this was and that I positively needed to get back home to get at least some sleep in order to get to work. My job really depended on it at the time! I could not afford to miss work! I even demanded that they call my psychiatrist at home, wake him up and he would deem me fine. I'm surprised after all the fuss I made they actually didn't hospitalize me. But knowing the hospital as well as I did and knowing I didn't need to be hospitalized I managed to get out of there as the sun was beginning to come up.
By that time, four of the officers had left and one stayed behind to wait with me. He drove me home. I gave him a little piece of my mind on they way and told him that police officers should treat people under such circumstances with a little more decency and respect. I don't know if it made an impact as he simply told me, "We're just doing our job."
Now I am not prone to generalizations and am always willing to give everyone the benefit of the doubt but in answer to the question above: Paramedics, absolutely.
In various times of crisis, hospitalization etc..., I have dealt with both individuals in these professions. I have met some decent coppers but at best, they have just done what was needed (save one man) without a modicum of care. The paramedics, on the other hand, have always been the most caring and least judgmental of persons and have always taken such good care of me. Some have even had great senses of humour too.
My most terrrifying experience with the police happened one night after speaking long distance to a friend of mine. I was rather down and had been drinking (or course) and was merely venting. Or so I had thought? My friend had apparently become quite concerned and called 911. As I was getting ready to pad off to bed, there was a knock at the door. I had no idea who it could be; it was quite late (or early...perhaps 0100hrs?) I answered the door and there stood five (yes five) police officers.
Alright. I'm not exactly up on police protocol but I don't think they send that many officers to a domestic disturbance call. And I've never worked as a 911 dispatch operator either but I would assume that they would have asked some pertinent questions like if I was alone in the house?
They asked if they could come in. I was completely stunned. What do you say with five police officers standing in front of you, "No?" So I invited them in and they told me that they had received a call from "a friend" and that I "might be suicidal." I told them that I was not and that I was just getting ready to go to bed. They told me that I would have to come with them to the hospital. I looked at one of the officers who was casually sifting through my mail and some of my writing. I became agitated. I told him to put all of those things down and that he had no right to look at them! I again insisted that I was fine and I needed to go to bed as I had to go to work in the morning! I didn't need to go to the hospital! I told them that this was just a misunderstanding!
At this point, they became increasingly more forceful in their demands and I became more agitated and not combatitive but certainly argumentative. A female officer stepped right up to me, almost into me and threatened me with arrest if I didn't go with them. That was it. No matter how hard I tried to convince them, I couldn't compete with that.
They physically grabbed me by the arm and I told them to let me go as I wanted to put my shoes on. They told me there was no time for that so I ended up leaving the house with one bloody shoe on. Fantastic. They threw me into the back of one of the cruisers (they all still had their lights flashing!) and off we went.
My poor landlords. They were a great couple and didn't even know what to do. They just hid upstairs--I had some serious apologizing to do later.
So we get to the hospital and I am fuming. I had been an inpatient there before and was seeing a psychiatrist there. I explained rather loudly to anyone who would listen how grand a mistake that this was and that I positively needed to get back home to get at least some sleep in order to get to work. My job really depended on it at the time! I could not afford to miss work! I even demanded that they call my psychiatrist at home, wake him up and he would deem me fine. I'm surprised after all the fuss I made they actually didn't hospitalize me. But knowing the hospital as well as I did and knowing I didn't need to be hospitalized I managed to get out of there as the sun was beginning to come up.
By that time, four of the officers had left and one stayed behind to wait with me. He drove me home. I gave him a little piece of my mind on they way and told him that police officers should treat people under such circumstances with a little more decency and respect. I don't know if it made an impact as he simply told me, "We're just doing our job."
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
My Neurologist Is So Headache Inducing, He Gave Me A Migraine!
I know, it sounds like a bad punch line/one-liner but I went to see my neurologist yesterday and it was just maddening. I don't expect every doctor I have to commit my entire history to memory--I know that's impossible--but this guy doesn't even know who I am! Every time I walk into his office, it's like I'm a new patient! Is it too much to also ask that neurologists out there not have egos the size of their office buildings and personalities the size of the pen point of which they use to write the notes which they obviously don't bother to read? He said some other things that were inaccurate and actually kind of inappropriate but I didn't have the energy to get into it with him. Everything is "under control" so let's just have our 10 minute consult and be done with it, okay?
My head began to hurt the minute I left his office. I went home and it stopped. But then later in the evening, I started to get my regular aura: light sensitivity, nausea and irritability. And my head had started to hurt again. I had taken some ibuprophen a few hours prior but it hadn't worked.
Time to reach for the abortive? In my case, Maxalt/Rizatriptan. The only problem is, it doesn't seem to play well with my current sleepy med, Imovane/Zopliclone. For some reason, I just get the worst sleep ever when I take the two in conjunction! Of course I mentioned this to my neurologist yesterday and he didn't even bother to acknowledge it. I just told him that I also pop an anti-nauseant which is good for the aura symptoms and it also helps with the sleep.
But last night, I still slept like crap, and when I woke up today, I was still feeling very nauseous and dizzy. I have the typical feeling that someone has hit me with a shovel across my neck and shoulders...that's normal after I have a migraine (or don't as for me, the abortives work well and usually catch things before they become full blown.)
I'm still a bit puzzled as to why I still feel so nauseous and dizzy today though. I've been trying to get some more sleep but haven't really been successful. I'm not hungry but that's "normal" for me anyway. I don't feel "sick" in any other way.
Who knows? I'm sure he didn't give me a migraine but it's awfully fun and funny to blame it on him. And awfully ironic that I got one immediately after seeing him.
My head began to hurt the minute I left his office. I went home and it stopped. But then later in the evening, I started to get my regular aura: light sensitivity, nausea and irritability. And my head had started to hurt again. I had taken some ibuprophen a few hours prior but it hadn't worked.
Time to reach for the abortive? In my case, Maxalt/Rizatriptan. The only problem is, it doesn't seem to play well with my current sleepy med, Imovane/Zopliclone. For some reason, I just get the worst sleep ever when I take the two in conjunction! Of course I mentioned this to my neurologist yesterday and he didn't even bother to acknowledge it. I just told him that I also pop an anti-nauseant which is good for the aura symptoms and it also helps with the sleep.
But last night, I still slept like crap, and when I woke up today, I was still feeling very nauseous and dizzy. I have the typical feeling that someone has hit me with a shovel across my neck and shoulders...that's normal after I have a migraine (or don't as for me, the abortives work well and usually catch things before they become full blown.)
I'm still a bit puzzled as to why I still feel so nauseous and dizzy today though. I've been trying to get some more sleep but haven't really been successful. I'm not hungry but that's "normal" for me anyway. I don't feel "sick" in any other way.
Who knows? I'm sure he didn't give me a migraine but it's awfully fun and funny to blame it on him. And awfully ironic that I got one immediately after seeing him.
Friday, January 12, 2007
In The Line Of Fire: Inflicting My Bad Neurochemistry On Unsuspecting Tourists
Oh those poor, sweet, darling girls from England. I don't think they knew what hit them!
On the way home from work this evening, I was stopped by three young girls who I assume were visiting here. They were looking for a nightclub a mere couple of blocks away (from where we were and my workplace nonetheless) and yet, I could not manage to give them proper directions. I babbled on and on about what the club looked like and how it had several names for differents parts of it and the signs on it and how to sort of get there.
What on earth? I used to know my city like the back of hand, inside out, up and down, backwards and forwards. Conclusion? Meds make you stoopid. I can get lost in a teacup now. And nevermind that I could have provided ample landmarks that I walk past every day (like my own building!) That would have been far too easy.
And riddle me this? Why is it that whenever I meet someone with an accent (and always someone from the UK--England in particular) I start parroting them? I don't mean to. I've since learned through "sensitivity training" that this is completely unacceptable as you are "othering" people. That is to say, you are highlighting their differences and it can be perceived that you are being offensive.
But I don't mean to! It's just some strange thing that my brain does! And I have to put concerted effort toward stopping it and that is very hard to do when you are actually in the midst of trying to have an intelligent, cogent and sometimes rapid-fire conversation!
I used to be very good at dialects and all sorts of accents when I was a child. That's a great skill to hone should one want to pursue a career on the stage or in film. But I don't and didn't.
So apologies you girls, I hope you made you way to the bar and that I didn't sound like some bizarre hybrid Canuck-Londoner!
Addendum: Here's some information that sheds some light on the fact that nonconscious mimicry is entirely "normal!" Take a look.
On the way home from work this evening, I was stopped by three young girls who I assume were visiting here. They were looking for a nightclub a mere couple of blocks away (from where we were and my workplace nonetheless) and yet, I could not manage to give them proper directions. I babbled on and on about what the club looked like and how it had several names for differents parts of it and the signs on it and how to sort of get there.
What on earth? I used to know my city like the back of hand, inside out, up and down, backwards and forwards. Conclusion? Meds make you stoopid. I can get lost in a teacup now. And nevermind that I could have provided ample landmarks that I walk past every day (like my own building!) That would have been far too easy.
And riddle me this? Why is it that whenever I meet someone with an accent (and always someone from the UK--England in particular) I start parroting them? I don't mean to. I've since learned through "sensitivity training" that this is completely unacceptable as you are "othering" people. That is to say, you are highlighting their differences and it can be perceived that you are being offensive.
But I don't mean to! It's just some strange thing that my brain does! And I have to put concerted effort toward stopping it and that is very hard to do when you are actually in the midst of trying to have an intelligent, cogent and sometimes rapid-fire conversation!
I used to be very good at dialects and all sorts of accents when I was a child. That's a great skill to hone should one want to pursue a career on the stage or in film. But I don't and didn't.
So apologies you girls, I hope you made you way to the bar and that I didn't sound like some bizarre hybrid Canuck-Londoner!
Addendum: Here's some information that sheds some light on the fact that nonconscious mimicry is entirely "normal!" Take a look.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
For Those Of You Keeping Score...
Well, back from a therapy appointment, the bosses have left and I can not do any more work for the day. My head is going to explode.
So, if anyone's been following, no word from my Dad at all over Christmas. I came back to zero, zip, zilch, nada in my inbox. No calls were made. Nothing.
Does this mean we are no longer speaking? Patient Anonymous is extremely confused. She doesn't even know if she's disappointed. She's not miffed...maybe not even baffled anymore?
*sigh*
So what would be the score, then?
PA: 0
Dad: 1398 (possible number of times he's proven himself to be unreliable, self-absorbed, stupid, shallow, irresponsible, thoughtless and yes, I guess, a disappointment?)
I don't know what to do. Contacting him (yes, that would necessitate the child parenting the parent yet again...) would only result in weak, empty apologies and promises to "do better" and "try harder" in the future. Yes, that's been heard before. A very empty ringing quality. Kind of tinny and it doesn't really resonate or even echo.
I'll have to think more about this (oh, great...looking forward to it!) and try to figure out what the hell to do.
And speaking of "keeping score," I had a dream this morning that I was a hockey player. This is quite amusing because I can't skate to save my life! Well, I can skate (sort of) but I can't stop. I do actually own a pair of hockey skates (figure skates--no way!) but I just can't master the "swish." I can't make my ankles and knees bend properly on such a slippery surface. I can do the "T-Stop" sort of thing and kind of turn around and manage to not fall. I usually just crash into the boards though--that does it.
It's also funny because if you could see little Patient Anonymous loaded down with all of the equipment, she'd actually be prostrate on the ice with her heart racing at about 200bpm (okay, maybe I wouldn't be that bad...)
This of course was all the more ridiculous in the dream because I was in the position of goaltender. You might think it wouldn't matter as you don't have to "skate much" as goalie but actually, you need to be a very good skater. And you need to have really strong legs for those pads!
I was playing in a charity women's tournament and our coach was Sylvain Lefebvre. There was some woman who I was in trouble with because I didn't have a "temporary NHL card" (whatever the hell that was supposed to be!) and I was trying to explain the situation in my very pathetic French to Sylvain as this woman could neither speak to him nor get his name right, pronounce it etc...
Then I woke up.
I don't take a lot of stock in "dream interpretation." They're just random thoughts bouncing around while we sleep. A lot of the time when I do manage to remember my dreams (very rarely) I can usually figure out why I was dreaming about the subject matter. This one has me completely stumped. Well, maybe not completely but it's a really bizarre one.
Recurring dreams are more worth paying attention to but I haven't had any of those since I was very young.
So, if anyone's been following, no word from my Dad at all over Christmas. I came back to zero, zip, zilch, nada in my inbox. No calls were made. Nothing.
Does this mean we are no longer speaking? Patient Anonymous is extremely confused. She doesn't even know if she's disappointed. She's not miffed...maybe not even baffled anymore?
*sigh*
So what would be the score, then?
PA: 0
Dad: 1398 (possible number of times he's proven himself to be unreliable, self-absorbed, stupid, shallow, irresponsible, thoughtless and yes, I guess, a disappointment?)
I don't know what to do. Contacting him (yes, that would necessitate the child parenting the parent yet again...) would only result in weak, empty apologies and promises to "do better" and "try harder" in the future. Yes, that's been heard before. A very empty ringing quality. Kind of tinny and it doesn't really resonate or even echo.
I'll have to think more about this (oh, great...looking forward to it!) and try to figure out what the hell to do.
And speaking of "keeping score," I had a dream this morning that I was a hockey player. This is quite amusing because I can't skate to save my life! Well, I can skate (sort of) but I can't stop. I do actually own a pair of hockey skates (figure skates--no way!) but I just can't master the "swish." I can't make my ankles and knees bend properly on such a slippery surface. I can do the "T-Stop" sort of thing and kind of turn around and manage to not fall. I usually just crash into the boards though--that does it.
It's also funny because if you could see little Patient Anonymous loaded down with all of the equipment, she'd actually be prostrate on the ice with her heart racing at about 200bpm (okay, maybe I wouldn't be that bad...)
This of course was all the more ridiculous in the dream because I was in the position of goaltender. You might think it wouldn't matter as you don't have to "skate much" as goalie but actually, you need to be a very good skater. And you need to have really strong legs for those pads!
I was playing in a charity women's tournament and our coach was Sylvain Lefebvre. There was some woman who I was in trouble with because I didn't have a "temporary NHL card" (whatever the hell that was supposed to be!) and I was trying to explain the situation in my very pathetic French to Sylvain as this woman could neither speak to him nor get his name right, pronounce it etc...
Then I woke up.
I don't take a lot of stock in "dream interpretation." They're just random thoughts bouncing around while we sleep. A lot of the time when I do manage to remember my dreams (very rarely) I can usually figure out why I was dreaming about the subject matter. This one has me completely stumped. Well, maybe not completely but it's a really bizarre one.
Recurring dreams are more worth paying attention to but I haven't had any of those since I was very young.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
This Is Why I Sometimes Don't Like To Socialize...
So last night I bid adieu to my Canadian expat friend before he heads "home" to London, England. Our party was "hi-jacked" by a mutual acqauintance who brought along someone I had never met. My friend and another friend of ours had met up earlier for a few drinks before dinner and a couple of more people showed up after work. It was an odd sort of coming and going with peoples' different schedules. I stayed out longer than I wanted and drank too much.
Anyway, during what I assumed would be a civilized dinner in a restaurant, a bit of hell broke loose.
We were talking about something trivial, music of our younger days, something to do with DJs and dance music and I had a rather strange tale about meeting a local DJ who still continues to broadcast a weekly show that we all grew up with. So I launched into my rather zany tale (it was a story that was fuelled by hypomania years ago) but I kept being interrupted by the server, by other people talking and laughing so I had to keep repeating myself, starting over. Something that well, just happens with a rather long story with someone who has ADD who has been drinking.
Well, doesn't this woman, who I have never met before, launch a complete verbal assault all over me about how something must be wrong with all of us because we have no lives, are we all a bunch of "club kids" and do I still "do this?!" I calmly explain to her (had she even been listening) that this was something that happened years ago and that I was bipolar so no, I would not do this now but I did it then...
She cut me off and said that my story had no point and that I was just rambling on and kept repeating myself and...and...
So, I turned and asked her if I was boring her. She said no, that I wasn't but I just had no point.
Well, that's interesting because I never got to finish before I was so rudely interrupted. I told her that I would just save her the time of listening just in case I was boring her and end my story now. I quietly went back to eating my dinner and did not say another word.
Everyone was a little mortified and rather shocked. I have not been yelled at or bullied in such a manner since I was a teenager or younger. On my planet, you listen politely even if someone is boring the shit out of you, you don't scream and berate or insult them. Or even if you do, if they call you on it, ask you if you are bored to tears then at least have the guts to answer honestly.
I'm still angry and hurt and feeling the after effects of the alcohol so life is not good at all in PA Land today.
My friend who is flying out tomorrow called to apologize today. That was sweet but it's not his fault. I said to him that the old PA might have just let the person run roughshod all over her but the new PA won't be treated like that anymore.
If life gives you lemons, throw them back at the fucker who gave them to you in the first place. Hard.
I still just want to burst into tears right now though.
Anyway, during what I assumed would be a civilized dinner in a restaurant, a bit of hell broke loose.
We were talking about something trivial, music of our younger days, something to do with DJs and dance music and I had a rather strange tale about meeting a local DJ who still continues to broadcast a weekly show that we all grew up with. So I launched into my rather zany tale (it was a story that was fuelled by hypomania years ago) but I kept being interrupted by the server, by other people talking and laughing so I had to keep repeating myself, starting over. Something that well, just happens with a rather long story with someone who has ADD who has been drinking.
Well, doesn't this woman, who I have never met before, launch a complete verbal assault all over me about how something must be wrong with all of us because we have no lives, are we all a bunch of "club kids" and do I still "do this?!" I calmly explain to her (had she even been listening) that this was something that happened years ago and that I was bipolar so no, I would not do this now but I did it then...
She cut me off and said that my story had no point and that I was just rambling on and kept repeating myself and...and...
So, I turned and asked her if I was boring her. She said no, that I wasn't but I just had no point.
Well, that's interesting because I never got to finish before I was so rudely interrupted. I told her that I would just save her the time of listening just in case I was boring her and end my story now. I quietly went back to eating my dinner and did not say another word.
Everyone was a little mortified and rather shocked. I have not been yelled at or bullied in such a manner since I was a teenager or younger. On my planet, you listen politely even if someone is boring the shit out of you, you don't scream and berate or insult them. Or even if you do, if they call you on it, ask you if you are bored to tears then at least have the guts to answer honestly.
I'm still angry and hurt and feeling the after effects of the alcohol so life is not good at all in PA Land today.
My friend who is flying out tomorrow called to apologize today. That was sweet but it's not his fault. I said to him that the old PA might have just let the person run roughshod all over her but the new PA won't be treated like that anymore.
If life gives you lemons, throw them back at the fucker who gave them to you in the first place. Hard.
I still just want to burst into tears right now though.
Saturday, December 9, 2006
A New Tool For My ADD?
I just saw a commercial for this on television. Caution: it actually shows you the annoying commercial. It actually reminded me of some discussion about Direct Marketing Ads over at Dr. Anonymous' blog, granted they were about selling pharmaceuticals. This is for some "must have" gadget that will make your life so much more manageable.
I always wonder about these ads. I mean, if the product is so great(!) why isn't it sold in stores, in catalogues, all over the free world? Well, I did find it on the internet but well...look what else you can find on the internet.
Hey, you found me right?
But back on point. They said in the commerical that "other" voice recorders (aka microcassette etc...) were *flash flash* more expensive! But this product was so much cheaper, smaller, handier and you get 2-for-the-price-of 1! Ah, there's the hook.
I have a microcassette recorder and I used to try and carry it around whenever I got a great "writing idea" when I used to write (and coincidentally be hypomanic.) But I more often than not forgot to to bring it with me wherever I went. That was the ADD rearing it's head.
This new doodad has a keychain attachment, however. But when you have ADD there's the issue of remembering where exactly you put your keys... Didn't someone come out with something where you could whistle if you lost your keys and that gadget would emit a sound so you could find them...?
Yes! Apparently no longer available through Amazon.com (people in the US aren't losing their keys anymore?) but here's a company in the UK that apparently still has a model to offer: Maplin Electronics.
But by this time, even if you don't have any cutesy personal key tags/trinkets to identify your set, your keychain is going to be getting pretty heavy. Will it still fit into your pocket? And I still have some questions that remain unanswered about that little "reminder thingie." I mean, what's it's capacity? I forget a lot of things in the span of one day. I mean A LOT. How many messages can I record for myself? What's sort of memory is on that thing? Can I get it upgraded? And who will remind me that I need to check my reminders? Does it have a flashing light or a beep? Ooh, a beep would be kind of annoying--probably to all parties involved with the amount of messages I'd need to record.
I guess if I want to scrap adding the extra 5lbs. to my frame, I can always go for the Hipster PDA. But really, I've never been that crafty and it just seems to be too much work. I've already had way too many bad experiences with Post-It notes tacked all over the place. They inevitably end up not being sticky enough and fall off their intended surfaces and then, my reminder is lost into an abyss forever. Paper doesn't seem to work all that well for me. And eternally, there's always the chance that I'd forget to bring my Hipster PDA (like my keys or my microcassette recorder--and just about everything else I use every day) with me wherever I went.
I don't think there's a product out there that can really help me. Certainly not one I'd pay for.
I always wonder about these ads. I mean, if the product is so great(!) why isn't it sold in stores, in catalogues, all over the free world? Well, I did find it on the internet but well...look what else you can find on the internet.
Hey, you found me right?
But back on point. They said in the commerical that "other" voice recorders (aka microcassette etc...) were *flash flash* more expensive! But this product was so much cheaper, smaller, handier and you get 2-for-the-price-of 1! Ah, there's the hook.
I have a microcassette recorder and I used to try and carry it around whenever I got a great "writing idea" when I used to write (and coincidentally be hypomanic.) But I more often than not forgot to to bring it with me wherever I went. That was the ADD rearing it's head.
This new doodad has a keychain attachment, however. But when you have ADD there's the issue of remembering where exactly you put your keys... Didn't someone come out with something where you could whistle if you lost your keys and that gadget would emit a sound so you could find them...?
Yes! Apparently no longer available through Amazon.com (people in the US aren't losing their keys anymore?) but here's a company in the UK that apparently still has a model to offer: Maplin Electronics.
But by this time, even if you don't have any cutesy personal key tags/trinkets to identify your set, your keychain is going to be getting pretty heavy. Will it still fit into your pocket? And I still have some questions that remain unanswered about that little "reminder thingie." I mean, what's it's capacity? I forget a lot of things in the span of one day. I mean A LOT. How many messages can I record for myself? What's sort of memory is on that thing? Can I get it upgraded? And who will remind me that I need to check my reminders? Does it have a flashing light or a beep? Ooh, a beep would be kind of annoying--probably to all parties involved with the amount of messages I'd need to record.
I guess if I want to scrap adding the extra 5lbs. to my frame, I can always go for the Hipster PDA. But really, I've never been that crafty and it just seems to be too much work. I've already had way too many bad experiences with Post-It notes tacked all over the place. They inevitably end up not being sticky enough and fall off their intended surfaces and then, my reminder is lost into an abyss forever. Paper doesn't seem to work all that well for me. And eternally, there's always the chance that I'd forget to bring my Hipster PDA (like my keys or my microcassette recorder--and just about everything else I use every day) with me wherever I went.
I don't think there's a product out there that can really help me. Certainly not one I'd pay for.
Friday, December 8, 2006
Lipstick For Your Roots?
So on my way in to work this morning, I saw one of the oddest things. A woman looked like she was applying lipstick to her faded roots with a compact mirror. I just sat and stared. And barely contained myself--I wanted to laugh out loud! I know it's rude to stare but when I see things that I can't comprehend, sometimes my eyes betray me.
Now I don't dye my hair (I've earned every one of my incoming greys and they're staying!) so I don't know if some bizarre product is on the market that looks like lipstick that could be used to "patch up" the offending spots on your scalp before you can get to your stylist.
But still. What on earth could it be made of? And wouldn't it be greasy? And this thing looked like lipstick. It was this dark, almost maroon colour and slid up and down and was shaped like the traditional thing.
I'm sure I could spend some time researching this as there just may very well be something someone has invented out there that matches this description. But I don't know if I will. It's just too much fun to think that this woman was actually applying lipstick to her head (I'm still grinning like a fool as I type this.)
I did ask a colleague when I arrived at work (who does colour her hair) and she'd never heard of such a thing. She also thought the whole incident equally bizarre. Maybe I should ask my own hairdresser when I see him next.
Now I don't dye my hair (I've earned every one of my incoming greys and they're staying!) so I don't know if some bizarre product is on the market that looks like lipstick that could be used to "patch up" the offending spots on your scalp before you can get to your stylist.
But still. What on earth could it be made of? And wouldn't it be greasy? And this thing looked like lipstick. It was this dark, almost maroon colour and slid up and down and was shaped like the traditional thing.
I'm sure I could spend some time researching this as there just may very well be something someone has invented out there that matches this description. But I don't know if I will. It's just too much fun to think that this woman was actually applying lipstick to her head (I'm still grinning like a fool as I type this.)
I did ask a colleague when I arrived at work (who does colour her hair) and she'd never heard of such a thing. She also thought the whole incident equally bizarre. Maybe I should ask my own hairdresser when I see him next.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
