Hmph

Dear Overpaid Idiot Doctors,

How about you give a correct diagnosis? Or are you boycotting decent medical practices? When you examine a 3-year-old's ears, don't freaking ignore the hard mass with a red outer ring that signifies an ear infection. After three and a half hours that consist of two five-minute nebulizer treatments and one 10-minute X-ray and ignoring the patient the rest of the time, don't tell the mother that her daughter has neither asthma nor pneumonia, then have a nurse come in to explain the medications for pneumonia ... to only have another doctor two days later confirm that the daughter indeed has asthma!

And, new doctor, thanks for the diagnosis, but don't send the mother to the pharmicist for more prescriptions without explaining how to mix them, in what quantity, and how to use the new nebulizer that the three-year-old must now have at home, thereby pissing off the pharmicist.

And to the rest of you medical people, don't just freaking start doing tests and walk in and out of the room without explaining who you are and, most important, what the importance of the tests are! Would it hurt you to take 30 seconds to explain what the crap you're doing? You're this close to making me think Tom Cruise is sane.

Love, April

And now, an open letter to John Mayer

This morning, I woke from a lucious dream where I had been dating John Mayer. He was very sweet and funny and wonderful. Which made waking up more miserable than normal. Then as I brushed my teeth and began the morning ritual of making myself presentable to the world, I formulated a letter to JM in my head. I snorted in laughter several times. Then I thought, I should post it on my blog! Because, really, what the hell else am I going to blog about? This may even be the first in a series of open letters to my dream boyfriend. Prepare thyselves.

Dear John Mayer,

You don't know me, but we had a totally awesome relationship in my dream last night. We held hands and shared an ice cream cone, which equals true love. Now, I know you don't really know me, but that hasn't stopped me from envisioning our first date.

We would meet in some neutral area, or possibly some place predetermined by your staff members to avoid cameras and publicity. You would be hot, of course. I would be ... uh ... well, I'd show up! We would shake hands, and my face would be bright red and I'd look down a lot because I'd be painfully shy. I would most likely stammer as I tried desperately to think of something witty to say. Then I would apply chapstick 13 times as it's a nervous habit.

Awesome, right? Let's continue to our conversation. I know you're wondering what we could possibly have to say to each other. Let's just assume that I've already told you how much I love your music and how it's the only music I turn to when I need to feel understood. I will bite my lip to keep from mentioning the green swimsuit debacle. (I still haven't determined whether it's hot or not. Funny, yes. Hot? I better go look at it some more.)

We may continue talking about music for a while as we're getting to know each other. I would suggest that you listen to some of my current faves, like Andrew Bird and Margot and the Nuclear So & So's. Then we might chat about blogging, since we have that in common. I'd tell you how I wrote on my blog about my friend Krista and I at your Valentine's Day concert in '07. I would refrain from mentioning that I was surly because Jessica Simpson had also been in attendance.

As we get more comfortable with each other, you'd tease me about all the times I've written about you on my blog. (Seriously, I'm a little embarrassed. Just type in "John Mayer" in the search blog box at the top of the screen.) I'd playfully slap your arm, then my face would turn bright red again, and an internal discussion would frantically begin in my head. "Oh, my God, I just touched John Mayer! Don't smirk, don't smirk! But he's so warm and boy-y. Must touch again. DON'T DO IT!" And on it would go. It's tough being a girl.

I would change the subject and ask if you've ever played SingStar on Playstation 2. If you hadn't, I would then proceed to tell you how awesome it is. If you had, I'd compare which songs were fun, which sucked, and which made everyone crack up with laughter.

We may talk about more serious things. I'd nod a lot at things you say and repeat "Exactly!" I may even mutter buzz words such as "economy" and "health care" to make you think I totally knew world events. Not because I want to deceive you, but because I don't want you to walk away from the experience thinking I was a complete idiot.

And oh, how we would make each other laugh. Be careful, John Mayer, not to snort with laughter as you drink something. I've ruined many a person's shirt due to my ill-timed hilarity.

I don't know where we would go from there, but I think that's a lovely start to a first meeting, don't you? Perhaps you can fill me in (that's what she said!) on how the rest of the evening would go.

Until the next dream-inspired letter,
love,
April

"Wow, that dinner smells good. Let me guess, meat?"

Dear Basterts,
(Yes, I'm calling you the misspelled version of my favorite curse word because you aren't only a bastard, you're deviant, immature thieves who don't deserve a correctly spelled insult.)
Stop breaking into the library.
Love,
April

Dear Wilco,
Who the hell gets adult chicken pox? Weren't you man enough to get it as a child? Hmph. Your rescheduled concert better be 2X as rockin'.
Love,
April

Dear Monday the 13th,
You were just sucky enough to wish I'd never gotten out of bed today. Woke up with a splitting headache. Spilled a bowlful of delicious Golden Grahams and milk down the front of my clothes. The dishrag I tried to use to clean up the mess jumped out of my hand. Mouse in garbage can at work. Smoothie place was closed, resulting in strawberry flavored shake at a different place, as opposed to actual strawberries in the shake. And, of course, Wilco cancelled their show for tomorrow. Well played, Monday the 13th. Well played.
Love,
April

Mom, at grocery store: Have you ever tried those raisin-covered yogurts?
Me: Uh, no. Never tried raisin-covered yogurts.
Mom: Oops! hahahaha Web that on your site!
Me: Yeah. I'll do that.

Krista, at the tractor pull: Ugh! Why do smokers always sit near us? Do I look like a smoker?? No, I look like an eater. Bring your popcorn near us!

Also at the tractor pull:
Krista's brother was super late, so by the time he was supposed to pull, his tractor had only been running for 5 minutes. Therefore, not allowing it enough time to warm up caused something to happen to his whatchamacallit. In other words, he broke down in the first round/class/whatever you call it.

Krista, after announcer repeated the name of a tractor about 8 times: Please stop saying El Champione.

Me: Uh, Krista? I can't decide if that person in front of us is a masculine woman or a feminine guy.
Krista: (staring silently) FG.
Me: I think you're right.

Driving through a small town:
Krista: I wonder what people do in Bruce.
Me: Bruce-type things.

Wilco may be cancelled, but I'm heading up to visit Kristen tomorrow anyway. I have a baby-shower present to buy, Barnes & Noble to drool over, Duluth Public Library and the UM-Duluth library to visit for the first time ever, and a couple of movies to watch. Ever hear of The Simpsons and Stardust?

Also, don't tell anyone this, but I haven't heard from a certain boy in a long time, so I got snoopy and looked up his name on the open criminal records. Ay yi yi! I think a warrant has been issued for his arrest!

Because SHUT UP, that's why!

Above quote from a button that Krista just sent me. Have been terribly tempted to wear it to work.

The July heat must be making all of us cranky, as I've noted several blogs with annoyed letters posts. And since when am I not cranky? Therefore, I will join the masses with another edition of letters.

Dear boys age 11-22,
Cut your freaking hair. This isn't the 1970s.









Or are you trying to look like Kristy McNichol?





You look like a 14-year-old girl. Knock it off.
Love,
April

Dear Idiot Driver near the Kwik Trip at 8:30 this morning,
Quit being a douche. You can wait the 5 seconds for the car in front of me to turn left. You don't need to rush past me in a parking lane and then cut me off when I begin to drive. And don't give me that startled "Why's she honking at me?" look, dorkbreath. Learn the rules of the road, or I'll teach you the rules of my fist.
Love,
April

Dear Library Patrons,
Stop. Asking. Me. Stupid. Questions. Why are you bothering to get on a computer if you don't know how to use it? Why must I show you how to access the Internet? Why must I then show you how to find and/or use basic search engines, such as Yahoo! or Google? And no, I don't need to know your life history or what you need to make copies for. I don't care if you want to make 20 copies of the lyrics to "Endless Love." Just stop being stupid.
Love,
April

Dear Homer,
Save a seat and a doughnut for me.
Love,
April

Dear Bald Sir at the Grocery Store,
Nice "No Fear" ankle tattoo. I guess 1995 is alive and well, if only on your hairless leg.
Love, April

Conversations:

Last week my grandma was obsessed with how pretty the moon was. One night she came up to my room and noticed I had the shade drawn over my window.
Grandma: How come you have the shade down? You can't see that big, full moon outside.
Me: Because I didn't want anyone to see my big, full moon.
Grandma: Oh, you! *laughing*

My mom was kneeling on the living room carpet when Jersey decided to climb up. She ended up sitting more on the top of my mom's (mini) stomach roll.
Jersey: No, Gram. I wanna sit on your other lap.

Last night my mom and I were on the phone discussing American Idol since she and I are both Bee Gees fans. My mom has a major thing for Barry Gibb.
Mom: John accused me of checking out Barry's package.
Me: Were you?
Mom: Well, yeah! I thought I was being sneaky, but I saw him noticing.
Me: You saw John noticing Barry's package, too?
Mom: NO!

Yesterday at work, I was helping two guys at the computer. One guy printed a map. He came up to the desk to pay for it. I told him how much it was.
Guy #2: Don't forget, you didn't pay last time you printed something.
Guy #1: Oh, yeah! That's right.
Me: Don't worry about it. The first time's a freebie.
(My face suddenly turns red.)
Guy #1 and Guy #2: OOOHHHH!!!
Me: Lesson learned. No matter how innocent I mean it, never say "first time's a freebie" to men.

And Amanda just informed me of a new Jersey classic this morning. Amanda woke up first and went to the bathroom. From where the bathroom is, you can see right into her bedroom. Jersey woke up and rolled over.
Jersey: Hi, Momma.
Amanda: Hi, Jerz.
Jersey: Whatchu doing?
Amanda: Just going potty.
Jersey: Okay.
Jersey turns back over and farts really loud.
Jersey: Ah, my fart said good morning to me.