New hip is in. Bad hip is out. One down. One to go. I had several conversations with people who say I sounded just fine after surgery. I have no memory of these conversations.
I have no memory of this entry either.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Mrs. Linklater Wants To Know
Does anybody know why Julia Roberts and Clive Owen, the stars of Duplicity, keep repeating the same dialog to each other? She claims she doesn't remember ever meeting him, while he insists he may forget names, but he doesn't forget people he's slept with.
Sara Jane Olson has been parolled. She was the fugitive Symbionese Liberation Army babe, who masqueraded as a Minnesota housewife and mother for 25 years, before America's Most Wanted outed her and she went to prison for some terrorist behavior. Does anyone besides me think she wasn't really an idealist, but just an ugly, dateless, suburban white girl who fell for the deadly charms of a charismatic black hoodlum in Berkeley, who wrapped his control freak homicidal/rapist tendencies in sixties rhetoric so he could have sex with a harem of college coeds whenever he wanted?
Does anybody wonder whether the Octomom has had her tubes tied yet? Any volunteers to hold her down?
Does anybody think that, despite all their good intentions, the new administration is making some major mistakes because they're moving too damn fast?
Given the track records of FEMA, the SEC, the FDA and whoever is in charge of making sure peanut processing plants won't kill you -- are there any government agencies left that actually do more than sit around and scratch their butts? [With all due respect to my friends at the FCC].
Does anybody else think that the list of calories, fat, and sugar listed on our food is just somebody's guess?
Speaking of which, does anyone think that tofu is actually the unholy alliance of leftover school paste and a package of gelatin?
Finally does anyone wonder why Nancy Grace even bothers?
Sara Jane Olson has been parolled. She was the fugitive Symbionese Liberation Army babe, who masqueraded as a Minnesota housewife and mother for 25 years, before America's Most Wanted outed her and she went to prison for some terrorist behavior. Does anyone besides me think she wasn't really an idealist, but just an ugly, dateless, suburban white girl who fell for the deadly charms of a charismatic black hoodlum in Berkeley, who wrapped his control freak homicidal/rapist tendencies in sixties rhetoric so he could have sex with a harem of college coeds whenever he wanted?
Does anybody wonder whether the Octomom has had her tubes tied yet? Any volunteers to hold her down?
Does anybody think that, despite all their good intentions, the new administration is making some major mistakes because they're moving too damn fast?
Given the track records of FEMA, the SEC, the FDA and whoever is in charge of making sure peanut processing plants won't kill you -- are there any government agencies left that actually do more than sit around and scratch their butts? [With all due respect to my friends at the FCC].
Does anybody else think that the list of calories, fat, and sugar listed on our food is just somebody's guess?
Speaking of which, does anyone think that tofu is actually the unholy alliance of leftover school paste and a package of gelatin?
Finally does anyone wonder why Nancy Grace even bothers?
Mrs. Linklater Predicts Again
Have I mentioned Syracuse? How could anyone not embrace a team that beat UConn in six overtimes during the quarterfinals of the Big East tournament? In a game that lasted four hours. And if that doesn't float your boat, the next night they beat West Virginia in a semi-final game that also went into overtime. Just one, it turns out.
So naturally when they faced Louisville for the championship, I'm sure everyone was expecting the Orangemen to pull off another overtime miracle for a third night in a row.
Unfortunately that didn't happen. Because Louisville is probably the most formidable team right now. So when Syracuse lost to the consensus number one in the land in the Big East finals, there was nothing for them to be ashamed of.
Now that the boys in the dayglo orange jerseys have had some time to rest, they're been slowly making their way through the South region as the No.3 seed in the bracket. I sure wouldn't count them out as one of the Final Four.
Don't you just love it when Mrs. L thinks she's smarter than everyone else?
I'm just sayin'.
So naturally when they faced Louisville for the championship, I'm sure everyone was expecting the Orangemen to pull off another overtime miracle for a third night in a row.
Unfortunately that didn't happen. Because Louisville is probably the most formidable team right now. So when Syracuse lost to the consensus number one in the land in the Big East finals, there was nothing for them to be ashamed of.
Now that the boys in the dayglo orange jerseys have had some time to rest, they're been slowly making their way through the South region as the No.3 seed in the bracket. I sure wouldn't count them out as one of the Final Four.
Don't you just love it when Mrs. L thinks she's smarter than everyone else?
I'm just sayin'.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Mrs. Linklater Predicts
A few years ago I remember hearing that West Point was going to the NCAA tournament. All of a sudden. Out of the blue. And wIth a women's team no less. Whoa, did they have enough double-X chromosomes at the Academy to field an entire team?
It sounded like some kind of a miracle. A new coach had come in and things just started happening. So I figured maybe we were in for another Pat Summitt dynasty, only this time at a military academy. Then, not too much later, I read that West Point's amazing, young female coach, who had turned around a program in a mere six months, had suddenly collapsed and died. A heart arrhythmia or something.
After that I didn't hear anything else about her. Until last night.
Last night ESPN did one of their up close and personal profiles on a coach for one of the top men's teams in this year's NCAA tournament -- Jamie Dixon at Pittsburgh. I don't think he's been at Pitt that long, but he's made an impact. Certainly on me. I don't recall Pitt ever being ranked number one during the season before. Even if they have been, this year is the first time the Panthers have been seeded Number One in their bracket. It's like they came out of nowhere. Keep in mind that the games I usually follow are the ones when Duke is playing North Carolina, since I spent time in Durham as a Devil with a Blue Dress on.
Jamie Dixon is one of those too short white guys, whose fierce determination and hard won skills in high school earned him a place on a Division I team in college. That same work ethic at Texas Christian managed to get him noticed by the pros.
After he suffered a freak accident [burst pancreas] playing in Europe, Dixon went into coaching. Pitt has always been better known for its football than its basketball. Not any more. In his short time at the school, Dixon seems to be taking the basketball team way past its usual expiration date.
I haven't even checked their stats, but I bet Pitt is like Kentucky was the year the Wildcats lost to Duke in the regional finals. I was actually rooting for Kentucky to make the final four that night because I wasn't a big fan of that particular Duke team, as good as it was.
As individuals, the Kentucky players -- who lost to Duke with less than a second left -- weren't shining stars. Name one. But together they became a team that lit up the court like a super nova. Naturally, that's something only a coach like Rick Pitino could pull off. But even he was astounded by his group of way over achievers, so much so that he had the jerseys of four starters from that team retired. Even though they had never won a championship. Now he's at Louisville with another great team, ranked as the overall Number One.
I think from what I've seen of this year's Pitt team and the ESPN interview, Jamie Dixon has the same kind of magic dust Rick Pitino has. He makes players believe. It's possible that Pitt could meet Louisville in this year's finala.
But, as much as I admire Rick Pitino coaching skills, my heart belongs to Pittsburgh this year. I think Jamie Dixon could take his team all the way. Not just because he's a great coach who has built a fine program and knows how to motivate his players. But because winning it all is something I'm sure his little sister, Maggie, would have done at West Point, if she'd only had the opportunity. All she needed was a little more time. With that in mind, I'm sure her older brother will make the most of his.
It sounded like some kind of a miracle. A new coach had come in and things just started happening. So I figured maybe we were in for another Pat Summitt dynasty, only this time at a military academy. Then, not too much later, I read that West Point's amazing, young female coach, who had turned around a program in a mere six months, had suddenly collapsed and died. A heart arrhythmia or something.
After that I didn't hear anything else about her. Until last night.
Last night ESPN did one of their up close and personal profiles on a coach for one of the top men's teams in this year's NCAA tournament -- Jamie Dixon at Pittsburgh. I don't think he's been at Pitt that long, but he's made an impact. Certainly on me. I don't recall Pitt ever being ranked number one during the season before. Even if they have been, this year is the first time the Panthers have been seeded Number One in their bracket. It's like they came out of nowhere. Keep in mind that the games I usually follow are the ones when Duke is playing North Carolina, since I spent time in Durham as a Devil with a Blue Dress on.
Jamie Dixon is one of those too short white guys, whose fierce determination and hard won skills in high school earned him a place on a Division I team in college. That same work ethic at Texas Christian managed to get him noticed by the pros.
After he suffered a freak accident [burst pancreas] playing in Europe, Dixon went into coaching. Pitt has always been better known for its football than its basketball. Not any more. In his short time at the school, Dixon seems to be taking the basketball team way past its usual expiration date.
I haven't even checked their stats, but I bet Pitt is like Kentucky was the year the Wildcats lost to Duke in the regional finals. I was actually rooting for Kentucky to make the final four that night because I wasn't a big fan of that particular Duke team, as good as it was.
As individuals, the Kentucky players -- who lost to Duke with less than a second left -- weren't shining stars. Name one. But together they became a team that lit up the court like a super nova. Naturally, that's something only a coach like Rick Pitino could pull off. But even he was astounded by his group of way over achievers, so much so that he had the jerseys of four starters from that team retired. Even though they had never won a championship. Now he's at Louisville with another great team, ranked as the overall Number One.
I think from what I've seen of this year's Pitt team and the ESPN interview, Jamie Dixon has the same kind of magic dust Rick Pitino has. He makes players believe. It's possible that Pitt could meet Louisville in this year's finala.
But, as much as I admire Rick Pitino coaching skills, my heart belongs to Pittsburgh this year. I think Jamie Dixon could take his team all the way. Not just because he's a great coach who has built a fine program and knows how to motivate his players. But because winning it all is something I'm sure his little sister, Maggie, would have done at West Point, if she'd only had the opportunity. All she needed was a little more time. With that in mind, I'm sure her older brother will make the most of his.
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Countdown Begins
Well, I pissed off my surgeon. Who knew that would happen?
Last Wednesday I visited all my doctors so they could put a face with the hip they're operating on. Or something like that.
After signing my pre-nuptial agreement, relinquishing all rights to my bodily functions for the surgery, I was off for blood and other tests and a chat with an anesthesiologist. The good news about the tests was that I could prove I'd already had a bunch done just last month, including an "excellent" bone scan, so they only needed to poke me once.
However, during my conversation with the anesthesiologist, who assured me that the most dangerous part of surgery was afterward, I learned that my hip implant was going to be glued in place.
I reacted with my usual restraint, "Glued, whaddya mean glued? He [my surgeon] said I wouldn't need to have it glued!!" At this point I'm sure the gas doc made a mental note to up the load of knock out juice they were going to give me. And keep the morphine coming afterward. Anything to shut me up.
To save his ass, he backtracked a little about the implant glue, saying he wasn't the surgeon, so he couldn't be sure. Then he added, "Don't tell him I said anything."
After the bloodletting by the nurses and my happy talk with the anesthesiologist ["You're right, we have no way of telling whether you're all the way under or not."], I made my way to another building in the vast medical center for a visit with my orthopod. But before going in, I was told I had to have x-rays.
Huh? I had just had a whole bunch of x-rays last month and sent them over, so I didn't understand why more were needed. My pelvis was going to start glowing in the dark. Plus I would have to pay for anything I didn't need, So, to be sure they weren't duplicating the ones they had, I asked if the receptionist could find out if these x-rays would be redundant.
Based on the look I got, I don't think she had a clue what "redundant" meant. Or her look may have been a "Die bitch" expression on her face. But she went hunting for a nurse anyway. She came back with the message that I needed x-rays. Do they have the other ones I sent over, I asked? She didn't know. So I decided to wait and ask the docs first before adding to my radioactivity.
Since I'm being operated on at a teaching hospital, I spent time with a resident first, going over the surgery and concerns I had, after first giving him yet another medical history. Despite all the computers, none of the departments seems to talk to one another. We discussed a lot of things, including why I needed more x-rays and whether the implant would be glued. Frankly, the resident didn't know why I needed more x-rays and he assured me that glue would probably not be necessary except for an unusual circumstance. I also learned something else. I already know that the surgery I've chosen, anterior [minimally invasive], is much easier on the patient. With anterior surgery, you don't have movement restrictions afterward [like not raising your knee more than 90 degrees, to name just one]. Also recovery is faster because muscles aren't cut, they're separated. That's why I tracked down doctors who do it. What I didn't know is that anterior surgery is more difficult than the other techniques -- lateral and posterior. No wonder more docs don't do it.
So after our talk, the resident left me to relay our conversation to my orthopod -- in particular, the x-rays and the glue.
Next thing I know my orthopod pulls a Dr. House on me. He marches in and practically shouts,"You want to know why you need x-rays? Two reasons -- first, so I can design the best way to do the surgery and second, in case something has changed in your hips."
"So the x-rays I paid to have sent over at your request don't do it for you?" I asked rhetorically.
Beyotch that I am, I threw even more gasoline on the fire, "Come on, I'm sure nothing's happened to my hips in a month."
"You're probably right," he acquiesced. Then he ordered me on the table ["Okay, get on the table!"] so he could show the resident how bad my hips are. He made them move in directions they hadn't gone in years. Gee, I wonder why.
He also demonstarted on me how the x-ray he wanted needed to be taken, but I was only half listening since I assumed he was talking to the other doc. I vaguely remembered something about how the technician would place some positioners under my legs to hold them up at an awkward angle.
Turns out he was looking at the resident, but talking to me, something I didn't pick up on. The technician didn't have any positioners for my legs and I couldn't hold them up high enough or long enough, so she left to find the doc. He ended up getting mad at me for not listening to what he had said. Like it was my fault.
And I chose him for his bedside manner.
Then there was the matter of the glue. "We talked about this last time," he said. Last time he said no glue. But I didn't remind him. I also didn't rat out the anesthesiologist and tell my orthopod that two hours ago, I'd heard differently.
"I don't expect to use glue, but you're a female," he went on.
"I know, but I got an "excellent" on my bone scan," I retorted, "why would it be an issue?"
"You're still a female," he reiterated, as if that explained everything.
He left and I said to the resident, "He's acting like Dr. House."
He smiled and said, "You should see how he treats us. But don't tell him I said that."
I don't know about you, but I'm having fun.
Last Wednesday I visited all my doctors so they could put a face with the hip they're operating on. Or something like that.
After signing my pre-nuptial agreement, relinquishing all rights to my bodily functions for the surgery, I was off for blood and other tests and a chat with an anesthesiologist. The good news about the tests was that I could prove I'd already had a bunch done just last month, including an "excellent" bone scan, so they only needed to poke me once.
However, during my conversation with the anesthesiologist, who assured me that the most dangerous part of surgery was afterward, I learned that my hip implant was going to be glued in place.
I reacted with my usual restraint, "Glued, whaddya mean glued? He [my surgeon] said I wouldn't need to have it glued!!" At this point I'm sure the gas doc made a mental note to up the load of knock out juice they were going to give me. And keep the morphine coming afterward. Anything to shut me up.
To save his ass, he backtracked a little about the implant glue, saying he wasn't the surgeon, so he couldn't be sure. Then he added, "Don't tell him I said anything."
After the bloodletting by the nurses and my happy talk with the anesthesiologist ["You're right, we have no way of telling whether you're all the way under or not."], I made my way to another building in the vast medical center for a visit with my orthopod. But before going in, I was told I had to have x-rays.
Huh? I had just had a whole bunch of x-rays last month and sent them over, so I didn't understand why more were needed. My pelvis was going to start glowing in the dark. Plus I would have to pay for anything I didn't need, So, to be sure they weren't duplicating the ones they had, I asked if the receptionist could find out if these x-rays would be redundant.
Based on the look I got, I don't think she had a clue what "redundant" meant. Or her look may have been a "Die bitch" expression on her face. But she went hunting for a nurse anyway. She came back with the message that I needed x-rays. Do they have the other ones I sent over, I asked? She didn't know. So I decided to wait and ask the docs first before adding to my radioactivity.
Since I'm being operated on at a teaching hospital, I spent time with a resident first, going over the surgery and concerns I had, after first giving him yet another medical history. Despite all the computers, none of the departments seems to talk to one another. We discussed a lot of things, including why I needed more x-rays and whether the implant would be glued. Frankly, the resident didn't know why I needed more x-rays and he assured me that glue would probably not be necessary except for an unusual circumstance. I also learned something else. I already know that the surgery I've chosen, anterior [minimally invasive], is much easier on the patient. With anterior surgery, you don't have movement restrictions afterward [like not raising your knee more than 90 degrees, to name just one]. Also recovery is faster because muscles aren't cut, they're separated. That's why I tracked down doctors who do it. What I didn't know is that anterior surgery is more difficult than the other techniques -- lateral and posterior. No wonder more docs don't do it.
So after our talk, the resident left me to relay our conversation to my orthopod -- in particular, the x-rays and the glue.
Next thing I know my orthopod pulls a Dr. House on me. He marches in and practically shouts,"You want to know why you need x-rays? Two reasons -- first, so I can design the best way to do the surgery and second, in case something has changed in your hips."
"So the x-rays I paid to have sent over at your request don't do it for you?" I asked rhetorically.
Beyotch that I am, I threw even more gasoline on the fire, "Come on, I'm sure nothing's happened to my hips in a month."
"You're probably right," he acquiesced. Then he ordered me on the table ["Okay, get on the table!"] so he could show the resident how bad my hips are. He made them move in directions they hadn't gone in years. Gee, I wonder why.
He also demonstarted on me how the x-ray he wanted needed to be taken, but I was only half listening since I assumed he was talking to the other doc. I vaguely remembered something about how the technician would place some positioners under my legs to hold them up at an awkward angle.
Turns out he was looking at the resident, but talking to me, something I didn't pick up on. The technician didn't have any positioners for my legs and I couldn't hold them up high enough or long enough, so she left to find the doc. He ended up getting mad at me for not listening to what he had said. Like it was my fault.
And I chose him for his bedside manner.
Then there was the matter of the glue. "We talked about this last time," he said. Last time he said no glue. But I didn't remind him. I also didn't rat out the anesthesiologist and tell my orthopod that two hours ago, I'd heard differently.
"I don't expect to use glue, but you're a female," he went on.
"I know, but I got an "excellent" on my bone scan," I retorted, "why would it be an issue?"
"You're still a female," he reiterated, as if that explained everything.
He left and I said to the resident, "He's acting like Dr. House."
He smiled and said, "You should see how he treats us. But don't tell him I said that."
I don't know about you, but I'm having fun.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Getting Along Well With Others
I was regaling my older daughter with the details of my many recent meanderings through the medical world. After listening to my riveting stories, she asked, "Are the doctors still speaking to you?" For some reason she seems to think that I ought to just keep my opinions to myself when I'm dealing with trained professionals. But where's the fun in that?
Two weeks ago I gave my substitute internist a copy of a form that she needed to fill out to clear me for surgery. She never sent it. I called and left a message last week to remind her to please send it in. Then I called the surgeon's office and found out it still wasn't there. So I emailed my substitute doc and asked again. Still nothing. Yesterday we had a phone chat about how much Vitamin D I should be taking since I'm almost down to zero, and I used the opportunity to ask her for a third time whether she had sent in the form. "What form?"
Years ago, after the docs had failed to find a drug that worked, I was admitted to the ER with blood pressure hanging in at 180/120. I was worried about stroking out. At the same time my heart rate was only 55. First the nurse came in and tried to be comforting. In her most patronizing way, she said that since my pressure was so high, I must be feeling anxious about something. I pointed out to her that my heart rate was only 55, so probably not. A short time later, a resident came in and announced, "We're going to give you some Procardia." I said, "No, you're not giving me Procardia. That's a calcium channel blocker and they do nothing to lower my blood pressure." Ah for a picture of the look on her face. The patient talked back to her. The nerve. Whereupon she turned and left, mumbling something about calling my doctor.
And my daughter wonders why my relationships with docs often end in divorce.
That little incident got me to wondering whether I just have a short fuse or whether I'm actually entitled to get pissed off. After two seconds of reflection,, I realized that when I'm dealing with anyone who claims to have more knowledge than I do about a subject[s], I will defer to their expertise, until I get the first whiff of B.S.
For instance, when my substitute internist ordered eye drops for my earache. And continues to forget to send in the pre-op clearance. Or the anal retentive art director who wouldn't let me go with her to a press check, since she considered herself the expert in proofing. Only to have all the materials she proofed arrive in Texas with several major mistakes that I had to figure out how to get fixed in 24 hours.
I also have a problem with another, more insidious group -- a group that drives me insane. They're usually very nice, easy to get along with, and enthusiastic. But they are this close to totally incompetent. Mostly because they say they've done things that haven't been done.
Last week one young woman offered to send me her media list, something I needed quickly. I never got it. Yesterday I saw her and she said she had sent it a week ago. I checked all my email from her, new and old, and it wasn't anywhere to be found.
Suddenly I had deja vu. I was reminded that I called her recently and she claimed that my message had gone into the company mailbox instead of her voicemail. That was her excuse for not calling me back. But I could have sworn I got her voicemail, not the agency robot, when I left the message. Still, she had me thinking I had goofed.
Then I remembered something else. She was the same woman who drove me insane six years ago, telling me again and again that she'd done things for me that just didn't show up on the radar. It's like she forgets and tries to cover it up. Meanwhile I always blamed myself. I even started to think I was losing my last two marbles, until I realized -- wait a minute -- it isn't me; it's she. I could be annoyed, but I'm not. Thing is, her mother has early onset Alzheimer's. She's only thirty, but I'm just saying. . .
Then there's the senior veep who used to drive a bulldozes over me when we worked together. This caused some friction between us, but being a subcontractor I had to bite my tongue. If I didn't, I would get blamed for being hard to work with. Then, a year later, she did one of her patented control freak moves on the head of the agency and ta-da, she was gone shortly thereafter.
I have a pretty good bullshit-o-meter. Usually I'm the first one who figures out that somebody is full of shinola. But a lot of good that does when it takes other people such a long time to figure out what I already know. So long, that they forget that I warned them. Say, didn't Mrs. Linklater say something to warn us about Sally Sue a long time ago? Sally Sue? I thought it was Milt. Milt? Naw, had to be Marilyn. Yeah, maybe it was Marilyn.
P.S. For people keeping tabs on Mrs. L's social life, the international man of mystery who contacted me the other day has been revealed. He wanted me to guess who he was so he gave me a couple of clues. I didn't need them. I figured out who he was the day after he called. Clearly, I'm a genius. And I didn't even have to look in our college yearbooks. I promised I wouldn't, but mainly I couldn't, because I don't know where they are.
So, hi there, Stu. How's by you?
Time to step away from the blog. Mrs. Linklater's got her mojo working.
Two weeks ago I gave my substitute internist a copy of a form that she needed to fill out to clear me for surgery. She never sent it. I called and left a message last week to remind her to please send it in. Then I called the surgeon's office and found out it still wasn't there. So I emailed my substitute doc and asked again. Still nothing. Yesterday we had a phone chat about how much Vitamin D I should be taking since I'm almost down to zero, and I used the opportunity to ask her for a third time whether she had sent in the form. "What form?"
Years ago, after the docs had failed to find a drug that worked, I was admitted to the ER with blood pressure hanging in at 180/120. I was worried about stroking out. At the same time my heart rate was only 55. First the nurse came in and tried to be comforting. In her most patronizing way, she said that since my pressure was so high, I must be feeling anxious about something. I pointed out to her that my heart rate was only 55, so probably not. A short time later, a resident came in and announced, "We're going to give you some Procardia." I said, "No, you're not giving me Procardia. That's a calcium channel blocker and they do nothing to lower my blood pressure." Ah for a picture of the look on her face. The patient talked back to her. The nerve. Whereupon she turned and left, mumbling something about calling my doctor.
And my daughter wonders why my relationships with docs often end in divorce.
That little incident got me to wondering whether I just have a short fuse or whether I'm actually entitled to get pissed off. After two seconds of reflection,, I realized that when I'm dealing with anyone who claims to have more knowledge than I do about a subject[s], I will defer to their expertise, until I get the first whiff of B.S.
For instance, when my substitute internist ordered eye drops for my earache. And continues to forget to send in the pre-op clearance. Or the anal retentive art director who wouldn't let me go with her to a press check, since she considered herself the expert in proofing. Only to have all the materials she proofed arrive in Texas with several major mistakes that I had to figure out how to get fixed in 24 hours.
I also have a problem with another, more insidious group -- a group that drives me insane. They're usually very nice, easy to get along with, and enthusiastic. But they are this close to totally incompetent. Mostly because they say they've done things that haven't been done.
Last week one young woman offered to send me her media list, something I needed quickly. I never got it. Yesterday I saw her and she said she had sent it a week ago. I checked all my email from her, new and old, and it wasn't anywhere to be found.
Suddenly I had deja vu. I was reminded that I called her recently and she claimed that my message had gone into the company mailbox instead of her voicemail. That was her excuse for not calling me back. But I could have sworn I got her voicemail, not the agency robot, when I left the message. Still, she had me thinking I had goofed.
Then I remembered something else. She was the same woman who drove me insane six years ago, telling me again and again that she'd done things for me that just didn't show up on the radar. It's like she forgets and tries to cover it up. Meanwhile I always blamed myself. I even started to think I was losing my last two marbles, until I realized -- wait a minute -- it isn't me; it's she. I could be annoyed, but I'm not. Thing is, her mother has early onset Alzheimer's. She's only thirty, but I'm just saying. . .
Then there's the senior veep who used to drive a bulldozes over me when we worked together. This caused some friction between us, but being a subcontractor I had to bite my tongue. If I didn't, I would get blamed for being hard to work with. Then, a year later, she did one of her patented control freak moves on the head of the agency and ta-da, she was gone shortly thereafter.
I have a pretty good bullshit-o-meter. Usually I'm the first one who figures out that somebody is full of shinola. But a lot of good that does when it takes other people such a long time to figure out what I already know. So long, that they forget that I warned them. Say, didn't Mrs. Linklater say something to warn us about Sally Sue a long time ago? Sally Sue? I thought it was Milt. Milt? Naw, had to be Marilyn. Yeah, maybe it was Marilyn.
P.S. For people keeping tabs on Mrs. L's social life, the international man of mystery who contacted me the other day has been revealed. He wanted me to guess who he was so he gave me a couple of clues. I didn't need them. I figured out who he was the day after he called. Clearly, I'm a genius. And I didn't even have to look in our college yearbooks. I promised I wouldn't, but mainly I couldn't, because I don't know where they are.
So, hi there, Stu. How's by you?
Time to step away from the blog. Mrs. Linklater's got her mojo working.
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