Excuse me while I rant (aka: this is just the beginning)

I consider myself to be a connoisseur of sorts when it comes to customer service. I'm a consumer with lots of different businesses, but more importantly, I'm really ridiculously good at providing customer service. Really good. I'm not very good at lots of things, but this one, this one's my shining star. It's always been something I could do - relate and listen and care. I blame my dad, my dad's dad and mom, my mom's dad and my brother for this: we're all really good at it. When I was a social worker: good. When I was a server: good. When I library: good. So, I know bad service when I encounter it. And when I do, it's all-consumingly offensive. It's like a stinky, burning fart in the middle of a lily field. (Yeah, I did just say that).

Here's the history: I have acne. At one point in my life, I had terrible, horrible, bulbous acne that hurt and made me feel hatred towards myself and everyone else in the universe. I might have been vain, but mostly, I was heartbroken. When I was 12, I started using my first topical retinoid. When I was 18, my face exploded with "adult onset acne". I cried EVERY SINGLE DAY. I started going to Three Rivers Dermatology in 2002. This is when I fell in love with Dr. Sassmannshausen. He did things like listen to me cry and give me pep talks about my personality and remembered personal facts and tid bits. He wore funky ties and made jokes. He took serious and aggressive, but patient and comforting approaches. We, patiently, took my acne to the cleaners. He's awesome. I recommended him to at least 10 people in the last 10 years.

Somewhere along the line his practice has started taking itself way too seriously. It has a damn spa thingy attached to it (it's called Windy Ridge. WINDY RIDGE!!!), he has a staff of like 25 nurses and he's way too busy to interact effectively. This is great, right? His practice has boomed! Except, where does that leave the customer? Rushed and pushed around by nurses who cut off your sentences and have the same amount of bedside manner as a corpse? Yes. Sitting in a waiting room for 20 minutes to hold audience with the doctor for 2? Yes. Calling in to ask a serious question only to be redirected to 2 different people, ending up talking to the phone nurse who is, at best, kind of a jerk? Yes. Sorry, but in my book, this is not progress.

Also, while my nurse was updating my patient history today, she cut me off at least a half dozen times and NEVER let me justify my answers. Don't we all think it's important to note that histories are unique and side bars should be considered? It was infuriating. And to the point where I intentionally moved my body away from hers and crossed my arms. I wanted her to get the point that yes, in fact, she was cutting me off from my own appointment. She didn't seem to care. It doesn't matter, except that it does. For mainly two reasons:

1) I'm a long time patient. 10 years, guys. When I think about breaking up with Three Rivers Dermatology, my heart actually aches. 2) I actually paid them money to make me feel like a doofus.

On the upside, Dr. Sassmanhausen is still cool as hell. And we have a thick history. I can't sever that so easily -- but I can't continue to put up the notion that taking yourself too seriously, being cold and pre-occupied and being rushed and pushed around is to be considered professional. I had a horrible experience (2 within one month)and it's like this: What the hell?

I mean, he can always hire me for Customer Service Consultant, I'd be up for that - because some of these nurses have a thing or two to learn about humans. And I'm not talking anatomy.

Blog Post About Liking Things on a Bad Day or knowing somethings about yourself

Don't ask me when I became the person who started worrying about the fragile skin around my eyes because, basically, I don't really know. But you know? I don't care. I'll sing it from the mountaintops: I LOVE EYE CREAMS AND GELS AND ALSO HIGHLIGHTING POWDER FOR MY CHEEK BONES.

In addition, I like cheap wine, expensive pizza, tall socks, wearing head bands. I like talking, talking about pets, and feelings and babies. I also like alcohol. I like talking about my grandparents and watching lots of TV. I like that I form emotional attachments to fictional characters of all sorts. I like playing games on my phone. I like dishing out high fives and compliments and jokes. I like chatting online. I like tweeting and blogging and stalking people on facebook. I like thinking that people's parents like me. Reading and writing and browsing internets. Meeting people, making friends and making expressive movements with my arms, I like those things, too. I like having lunch dates and brushing my teeth. I especially like flossing.

I like wearing socks and sweats and oversized shirts. I like shopping at the mall, but also, I like staying at home and getting so drunk playing catch phrase. Hip hop music and tanning beds. I like getting approval from authority figures, and your parents and my parents and my cat. I like baking and eating the things I bake. I like being right. I like that I sometimes write poetry that could be considered good by some people somewhere who might want to read about the shit I write. I also like that I'm sometimes an elitist, but also, that I'm so approachable. I like that when I take personality tests I'm 100% extrovert, but sometimes all I crave is the quiet turning of the earth.
Et cetera.

I like lots of things.

Chances are, I like you. Unless you're part of that small group of girls from college... you know who you are. I don't like you... still.

BioFreeze Back and Sugar Scrubbed Feet

Hey, you guys, don't worry, for the first portion of today I was steeped in luxury like a damn queen. Or, like someone who was born into wealth. Or, like a high end prostitute with clients who pay for luxurious spa days. Or, like someone who had a little bit of christmas money to spend. Either way, I spent my day at the Woodhouse Day Spa alone and loved every second of it.

I'm not going to only talk about how amazing Spa water is (Basil and Orange infused water) or how deep tissue massages are simultaneously the best and worst pain ever or how going on a Monday morning essentially ensures a private spa - I'm not. I won't. That's boring. But I will talk about walking around with an oversized white robe covering my naked body in front of strangers... LIBERATING. Not joking at all.

Let me first, before I go on, lay out an exception: I still had my undies on, but they are skimpy undies, so basically, totally nude under my robe in front of people I don't know, lapping up basil and orange infused water while getting my feet massaged. WHAT THE HELL? Who am I?

So, here I am, walking around in spa shoes and robe, sauntering to the massage room, orchids and lilies littering the room, quiet ambient sounds invading my ears - and when the therapist tells me to disrobe, I do no problem. What does all of this say about me? I don't really know. Here's what I can only think:
I like being naked in front of strangers.

Hopefully that's okay. OH, and also, I slam down Spa Water like they're those test tube shots and I'm at a night club. And that, I know, is okay.

Sunshine on my shoulders

On the way home from lunch today, I became engaged in a conversation that made no sense at all. These are the best. It all started with a man in a hunter's jacket. You know the kind. Violently bright and, honestly, absurd if worn anywhere doing anything besides hunting.

Andy made mention that the jacket was assaulting his eyes. I told Andy he should sue the sun.

What if we did? Just brought a law suit down on the sun so hard for all the supposed wrong doings -- sunburns, drought, bright colors that hurt our eyes, snow blindness et cetera... but then, as a form of retaliation, the sun just decided to freeze us to death????

And then, just like that, 8 minutes later - we were all Popsicles. Dead. Because we think that we should be allowed to fall asleep in our backyards without shirts on.


addendum: I don't want to sue the sun. at all. it was just a thought.

Pho tai, nam and being good at things

There are things I do really well. Seriously. If you know me, this is something I bet you doubt, but it's true. For example, I'm pretty damn savvy in most social situations. There are, of course, some scenarios that send me over the edge, but mostly.. mostly, I'm prepared for many awkward interactions.

Also, I'm kick ass at my job. I am. Right now, I'm planning a puppet show, Mail Art programs for home schoolers, a poetry workshop in April and bringing in real life comic book artists in May. Kids love me. Kids love my robot earrings and red shoes and the high fives I dish out on a regular basis and my story times and how they know I will stand up for them when bullies are dick heads and grown-ups are mean. Kids know this about me, they remember the people they like and like you back. They remember when a grown-up doesn't take herself too seriously. They remember when you take time to listen. Kids, honestly, are the best things ever. They know I think that and they reward me with devotion reserved for cool ass librarians.

I, also, must be really good at bragging.

Anyway, among other things (and the aforementioned items), I'm also really, really good at eating. No lie. I'm good at ordering foods I like and eating the shit out of them. Pho, pizza, coney dogs, chili and soups, sandwiches, sides, appetizers, desserts and everything of the sort. If it's food, I'll eat it. I'll eat it in a way in which one would think it was my job to consume food - sometimes gracefully, with manners, sometimes lacking both elegance and table side charm. I mean, it all depends on the food. I eat pizza with my hands, pho with chopsticks, sloppy joes with getting the sloppy on my face, ice cream in little bites.. honestly, I've gotten it down.

Take me out to eat and you'll see. You won't regret it. In addition to seeing a professional eat food, you'll also get to hang out with me. And I really like making friends.