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It’s not that disturbing, that a man got a barnacle on his penis. No, what’s disturbing is how they got it off.

It is at this point that I need to discuss my mailman (or as they say on Sesame Street, “Letter Carrier”).

Our postwoman at our old house was really nice. She’d leave us little notes in our box and would come over to chat if she saw us out. She’d sort our mail so the big stuff like catalogs was on bottom and the little stuff was on top, so it was easy to retrieve from the box. I baked her cookies. We miss her.

When we moved here, the mailman came and introduced himself to us and he seemed very nice as well.

Then he got replaced.

The new mailman is deaf and mute (or, as they say on Sesame Street, “Hearing and Speech Impaired”). That’s fine, no big deal. The problem is that he’s rude as well. He left us a curt note telling us not to park in front of our mailbox, which coincidentally is right in front of our house. So we don’t park in front of our own house anymore. Once I had a friend come over and she tried to park there. Just as she was getting out of the car, the mailman came and honked prolongedly at her to make her move. From in front of our house. So she had to pull up away from the sidewalk and wrestle her baby through the grass.

The mailman also doesn’t make eye contact. That’s all very well and good, except he is deaf and doesn’t know what we’re saying if he doesn’t look at us. I made him look at me the other day, because I had learned how to say “thank you” in ASL, so I kept his pen hostage until he saw me.

When he delivers packages, he doesn’t bring the mail, too.

Those were all minor annoyances, really, but added up they really pissed me off. Then today I got a package. Instead of leaving it on top of the mailbox so that it’s easily stealable, he put it in the grass behind the mailbox. And the sprinkler system came on.

Luckily the only thing inside that got wet was the invoice, but I’m still pissed. He just seems like he doesn’t want to do things right. I wonder what USPS policy on packages is? If I call to complain, am I going to get accused of discrimination?

About that package – M.S. bought me stuff off my wishlist. What a cutie. Amazon didn’t put a gift card in with it though, but her name and address were in the invoice. I’m glad I found that part out, because I don’t want my address going out to Blogistan. Wonder how I can circumvent it?

I’m thinking about getting Gevalia coffee. Anyone ever tried it? Love it? Hate it?

Hey you. Yeah, you over there. The guy who’s lifting a weight so heavy that he’s grunting like a constipated Monica Seles. You’re being loud. Perhaps you should try a smaller weight.

Oh, and you have manboobs.

I took a nap earlier and had a very vivid and horrible nightmare. In it, I was pregnant and about to give birth. Yep, that was it, that was the scary part.

I had a terrible experience during the birth of my last daughter, so bad that I wrote a letter to my OB about it:

> Dear Dr. R,
>
> This is a very difficult letter for me to write. On the one hand, I
> want you to know how very much I appreciated your care and attention
> during my pregnancy. On the other, I feel that you should know some
> events that happened during labor and delivery involving your call
> partner, Dr. C.
>
> Dr. C’s rude demeanor and callous disregard for my and my
> husband’s feelings and wishes have been quite a blow to us; indeed,
> she has made me question whether I am mentally and emotionally able
> to have more children. Looking back on my birthing experience should
> recall feelings of joy, but I’m afraid that I will always have
> negative feelings about this birth because of her actions. I would
> even go so far to say that if I do ever become pregnant again, I
> couldn’t possibly put myself in a position where she would be on
> call, either during an emergency or during labor.
>
> My first contact with Dr. C was around 36 weeks, when I felt
> like I was having some contractions. I called in on a weekend to
> find out if there was anything I needed to do, and she was the doctor
> on call. When I told her that you had given me an internal exam
> earlier that week, as was your habit at 36 weeks, she stated that I
> had to have been mistaken; none of the call partners did exams at
> that stage. When I reiterated that you did indeed do the exam as a
> matter of routine, she cut me off saying that I had to be wrong. To
> be honest, I was so taken aback by her attitude that I can’t remember
> now what advice she gave me on the contractions I was having.
>
> When I met her face-to-face at the hospital, she measured my fundal
> height and expressed doubts that I would deliver vaginally within 10
> minutes of her arrival. A couple of hours later, she stated twice
> more that I would not deliver vaginally. She seemed quite certain of
> the fact. It was only as an afterthought that she mentioned that she
> would give me a chance to do so.
>
> As you and I discussed at length, my birth plan was fairly
> straightforward. I wanted to do everything that I could to avoid any
> sort of medications, but the health and wellbeing of the baby was of
> ultimate importance. To that end, there were specific items that I
> included in my birth plan. Several of these items were completely
> disregarded by Dr. C, including:
>
> * Rupture of my forebag without asking or discussion first – had I
> had a chance to protest, I certainly would have done so; as it was,
> she did it so quickly that I was left stunned.
> * Setting a time limit to how fast I should dilate, regardless of the
> fact that the baby and I were doing fine (apart from the time limit
> from when my membranes ruptured). Without warning, she appeared in
> the room at 11pm and said that I had a choice of an IUPC or a
> c-section, because I had been at 8 centimeters for 3 hours. During
> those 3 hours, I had been coping with contractions perfectly well
> without drugs, but had taken a break and was semi-reclining on the
> bed, a position I knew was slowing down my labor, but allowing me to
> relax a bit. If I had known that there would be consequences, I
> would certainly have gotten back up and walked or squatted to help
> hurry dilation.
> * Repeated offers of drugs, completely undermining my self-confidence.
> * Use of cord traction in third stage.
>
> When I asked Dr. C if she had read my birth plan, she hedged
> the question and stated that I should know from my first labor and
> delivery that birth plans simply go out the window.
>
> Finally, and though I understand that this is quite subjective, I
> feel that I should make a mention of Dr. C’s attitude. I
> don’t recall the last time I was interrupted or cut off so many times
> by an adult. Additionally, when the nurse went to get her from the
> sleep room to catch the baby, she walked in scowling and rubbing her
> eyes, as if I were an inconvenience. It would have been nice if she
> had seemed happy for me, since she knew how hard I had worked to get
> to that point. She didn’t even sign my souvenir birth certificate.
> Granted, her attitude paled in comparison to the anesthesiologist’s,
> who told me (about placing my epidural), “This sure is easier on a
> little skinny woman”.
>
> Dr. R, my first delivery was blindingly difficult, but I look back
> on it with a sense of joy, pride, and accomplishment. When I think
> about my second I feel hurt, sad, and the joy and wonder of birth are
> missing. I feel cheated that I didn’t have that fantastic, wonderful
> moment during delivery that I did with my first. Instead, it was
> just relief that the whole unhappy experience was soon to be over.
>
> I’m not sure if this letter accurately conveys what I’m feeling. I
> know that I’m unable to speak about it much, as I tend to get quite
> shaky and choked up if I do. If you’re willing, (hub) would like to
> meet with you for a cup of coffee to talk in person about what
> happened. Please feel free to phone us at xxx-xxxx if you have any
> questions or comments.
>
> Sincerely,

My brother informed me the other day that the plot next to my parents at the cemetery is mine. As in, bought and paid for by my father for me 15 years ago.

There’s a cemetery plot out there with my name on it. This is nearly too creepy for words.

Hub’s got one too (in another cemetery) that his ‘rents got for him. He said that the worst part is, if you want to sell it, what the hell do you use the money for? Embalming fluid?

Literally every time I think about it I get the shivers. I’m surprised I haven’t wriggled out of my chair just writing this. Really.

Shiver.

The baby’s broken out in spots all over her body. I’ve taken to calling her “Spot”. She feels better, but she grows spottier by the minute. Spotted child.

UPS, in their utter incompetence, neglected to pull the package off of the truck last night so hub drove all the way out to BFE to pick up something that wasn’t there. Fearful that they might forget us once again, he chased down the UPS man driving around the neighborhood and demanded our box. So now I have my iPod. Yay!