Creeping Through The Cellar Door (none_too_subtle) wrote,
Creeping Through The Cellar Door
none_too_subtle

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It's gettin'...it's gettin'...it's gettin' kinda hectic...*singin'*

Something HAS TO BE DONE with our new muzak/format/thing.

We've heard NOTHING but light, crappy, generic jazz, REALLY BAD country music (er, that was an oxymoron...there IS NO GOOD COUNTRY since Marty Robbins and Patsy Cline died), and the rest is freakin' elevator music.

WHY?!




We used to have COOL TUNES pumped into our system, and this is literally putting me to sleep.

Cali-for-NI-A
Allllllrighty. After having the medical beat for a few years as a journalist, I really REALLY have to question the state of California, WHY everyone uses a chiropractor instead of a REAL DOCTOR, like OH I DON'T KNOW, an ORTHOPAEDIST? And how they're the FIRST "doctor" most "people who speak other languages" go to when they have some soft-tissue injury?! It was ascertained (for the most part) that most chiros were hacks; and considered by most major insurance carriers, i.e., BC/BS, to be "voodoo medicine." But in California, they didn't get the memo. They fly to seek their help with catlike swiftness and agility for whatever ails 'em. They can't DO anything but hook you up to a TENZ unit, massage you, put hot/cold packs on you, and rub. YOU CAN DO THAT AT HOME, HOMBRE, WITHOUT PAYING $4728394789274829 for it. *screams*

HOW FAST would I fly to an ortho if my knees were screwed up, having hit the dash of my car? With what SPEED would I find THE BEST G.P. to attend to, say, whiplash or a pinched nerve? The very LAST "profession" I would consult would be a chiropractor. Sure, they're great for a back rub. But so is a masseuse. I'm not saying this to be mean. I've seen chiropractors before, because they'll take you even when NOTHING'S wrong, it's great when you're pregnant, and my insurance ironically covered it. But that was BACK THEN, before BCBS discovered the fraudulent nature of most chiros. Oh indeed, many were shut down in our fine state, because half weren't even licensed. Unbelievable.

It is my understanding from compadres in California that there's a chiro on every street corner in certain neighborhoods. It's a HUGE scam, and one which is growing daily. What's WORSE is the freakin' 18-year-old in his dad's car, who has no license(?), no social security number(???) and his name might as well be Tom Smith, only the Espanol version. Pick any combination of Juan or Pedro "Martinez, Gonzalez, Lopez" and you'll hit it. It.Just.KILLS.ME.

I really really need that vacation. If all this doesn't kill me, that freakin' music will. Actually, the music's even worse. I recognize NONE of the songs, they're all whiny and predictable, and I'm gonna scream. Everyone's complaining and I don't get it. It's like torture for me to listen to this day in, day out.

WEEEEEEEEEEE. HAVIN' FUN YET?

Where's the fun part of today? Oh yeah. That was AFTER midnight. Heh :>

My hair's all wunderbar, now that it's recovered from my stripping/hot-oil. It's all soft, shiny, and doing what it's supposed to. :D But even a good hair day can't save me from this music. I'm gonna send a memo to H.R. (note to self). Ugh.

Took a break with the uberobermeistervisor this morning and talked about myriad things, none of which pertained to bidness. Which is fine. I had to reschedule the personal vacation thingy because we'll be too short if I'm gone Thurs. and Fri. Ughhh. *cries* I saw row upon row this morning when I got in, and felt *guilty* about taking um...my vacation time. Not sick time. Not personal holidays. VACATION time. Doh. I've gotta get over that. Gotta study today, too. Need to go ahead and get the whole exam out of the way, and feel certain I can do it if I just finish the book.

Yeahhh, this is my easy, simple, no-brainer job.

This is my brain at this job.


This is me, getting back to work before I grab my staple puller, climb to the ceiling where the speakers are, and start stabbing until they're SILENT.

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