Tuesday Is Just Like Monday, Except Younger

• I just got a collection letter for $700 I owe on a hospital bill from August, even though I spoke to the hospital receivables department and they told me they were sending out a credit application for their fabulous Get Into Debt Faster program, and that the account would be placed on hold for 30 days until I could complete that credit application. Fuck you, hospital receivables lady who was a total cunt to me on the phone. Because you know what? Your $1,300 emergency room didn't detect that my fucking baby was dead and it took another 6 weeks and $4,700 for a better hospital to figure it out. I'm flipping you off right this minute.
• My check which paid in full the $700 for that hospital bill from August? Cleared the bank the same day I got the collection letter.
• I'm positive this is going to result in the hospital keeping my money but not calling off the collection company, and both companies assuring me that the other is responsible for fixing the cluster fuck, that I'll have to take it up with them, and that they're going to steal my soul while they wait. I hate you all.
• I didn't know that medical bills could go into collection when you've been making payments every two weeks.
• Speaking of medical bills, remember my awesome experience with Minute Clinic? And then remember the OTHER awesome experience with Minute Clinic a couple weeks later? Well, Minute Clinic has topped it's awesomeness with a cap of Fuckin' A Right-edness. I got a refund check in the mail for $23 the co-pay I made in December. Which, I know that's more likely an insurance company thing, but still - the check came from Minute Clinic, so I'm giving them the credit.
• Smokers smell really bad.
• You might also remember how much I hate Wal-Mart (aka Slightly Worse Than Puppy Mills and Sweat Shops)? In December, I sent letters of complaint to A) their home office in Bentonville, AR; B) the general manager of the store in Brooklyn Park with the shitty electronics department; and C) the general manager of the store in Shakopee, MN with the shitty electronics department. I have not received a response from anyone affiliated with Wal-Mart, so it's clear they do not give a damn about me or where I choose to spend my (non-existent) discretionary money.
• I wish I could drop kick Wal-Mart, but I've been known to accidentally miss the target, and because I'm kicking so hard (but don't meet any resistance from the target) I throw my leg up so high in the air that I'm flung onto my back on the ground. Then I'm stunned so I drop the target on my face.
• I never played sports.
• Gray got a letter in the mail from Maria Duval this weekend. See, there's this ring that is designed with some kind of Egyptian geometric patterns, and since she started wearing it 30 years ago, she's survived a deadly car crash and enjoyed decades of health and prosperity. She's also inspired bloggers to dedicate entire websites to discussing her and her talisman. Inside the letter is an order form (this magical ring can be MINE MINE MINE for only $7 plus $3 for shipping and handling) and a 4x6 photograph of the totalled vehicle from Maria's miraculous car crash 30 years ago. I thought it was interesting that the 30 year old vehicle was late-80's model Chevy S10. Do the math, dumbass scammers.
• I lured The Bloggess into sending me an email and I felt like I was talking to Jesus, and then I had an orgasm.
• I hate Dick's Sporting Goods, those worthless home wreckers can suck my balls.
• Friday, I went to a funeral. My co-worker's father-in-law died from lung cancer almost immediately after being diagnosed. Another co-worker's friends lost their 5 year old girl to cancer on Thursday night. A friend called yesterday to tell me that a former co-worker's cancer was back, and that it's terminal and she only has months to live. Fuck you, cancer.
• I cheated on my No Spending yesterday and bought a sandwich on my way to school. And McDonald's on my way home. I'm going straight to budget hell. But it's next door to regular hell, so it will streamline my afterlife torture, and I'm all about efficiency.
• Please, anyone? Send bacon. Immediately.

Please visit The Un Mom if you want to play with her. I hear she only bites the good way.

Updated:

• I got a random text from my ex-husband a couple of weeks ago. He basically just said that he hopes I'm doing well and that he was thinking about me. Which was weird. So I stalked him on Myspace and found out that he just moved back to Arkansas, which is where we met. So I guess that explains why he texted me. Sort of.
• This means that I'm officially "out of my element" in Minnesota - all of my original posse (the ex, my sister, my niece) have bailed on me. What the fuck am I still doing here?

Updated again:

• Apparently today is Fat Tuesday, whatever that means. Every day is fat day at my house. Anyway, my boss brought in a King Cake. For those of your unfamiliar with King Cake (as I was this morning, gloriously, blissfully unaware of the horror that is King Cake), it is a multi-colored coffee cake with a baby baked inside of it. I know, that just sounds wrong. But that's exactly what it is. Everyone cuts themselves a hunk of baby cake and whomever finds a little baby in their food wins...well, in my case I won three strands of plastic Mardi Gras beads and the title of "King for a Day", whatever the hell that means.
• I really should have been more specific when I told the Universe I wanted a baby.
• I stabbed it with my fork. By accident. Stupid plastic baby.