I don't know how much of my biographical information I have given you, so here goes: I cannot gamble. Well, I can. I could. I did. But, you know I am so frugal. So, when I lose, I get angry with myself.
When I was in college, I got a summer internship in Michigan (shout out to my Tri-County area peeps who have flown in or out of MBS Airport). Anyway, this caused me to live near an Indian Reservation and Casino. I enjoyed it much. Until I realized I had been sitting at the same blackjack table for 17 consecturive hours with nothing to eat and only little tiny juice glasses of non-alcoholic beverage served by entirely too-clad Native American women. I was up $40. I was always up. I never walked out of that casino with less money than I had going in, but it took all fricken day to earn $40. You see, I couldn't see my way to gamble more than $3 on any single hand of blackjack (splitting and doubling down, excepted). And time is money. But I was, perhaps, a wee bit compulsive.
Fast-forward to now. I work 90 yards from a casino into which I have never stepped foot (except the rare luncheon at the restaurant with coworkers). I've never gone into the casino part. Because I don't know whether I would be able to leave.
Did I also mention that I am a competitive jerk with a perfectionist complex? Oh yes, it's great fun to be seated at the table with me as I stack my chips into completely neat and symmetrical piles of only matching (or patterns!) colors.
So, it should not surprise you that I cannot go on ebay.
It all started on Easter. We had dinner here at our house. Mr. Long-Suffering washed dishes and broke one of my Waterford crystal flutes (two swans in the shape of a heart on the side). Anyway, I told him not to worry and I went to replacements.com Well, they wanted over a hundred dollars for one stinking flute. I am way too cheap for that, so I went to e*bay and they had a ton. I bid on a few and lost. Once I saw a price pattern developing, I realized I could win some. So I ended up bidding on something like 34 Waterford crystal champagne flutes. I won 3 pairs (6 glasses). None of which are the actual glass Mr. L-S broke. I say I had been planning on getting a few more flutes anyway. Which is true. But I was not going to do it this year. Oh well. It's done.
And that all would have been fine because I realized I now have enough crystal and I stopped bidding (because I have super self-control). But then I went back to leave feedback for my sellers. I can't believe I gave 5 stars to the guy who wrapped the glasses in scrap from his papershredder tainted with glitter, but I did. The glasses didn't break in transit but I nearly drove to the return address and dropped glitter all over his living room.
Anway, while leaving all this positive feedback lovefest, I noticed that there are people selling "Envelopes". Why in the world would you buy an envelope on e*bay? Because the people fill the envelopes with formula checks and coupons. Of course, you aren't allowed to sell those, so the people put the envelopes up on e*bay and send the coupons in the envelope as a free gift. Anyway, Bobo is 17-months old and still on formula (and soy milk) so I looked into it and turned into a competitive jerk. So, I closed the browser down and decided to come here and tell all. That is all. I have already spent an unholy amount of money this month and I don't need to be hanging out on e*bay wasting my time and money any longer.
Today was the intake appointment with the Early Intervention people. The date of the evaluation has been set as has the day for the review of the Action Plan. Those two meetings are 36 hours apart. The assessment was scheduled close to the deadline, so we're having the review on the deadline date. It's all so strange and weird. They want to know whether you'd like to apply for assistance. You get subsidized services if you make under $228,000 per year. So, uhhh, yes, I would like to apply for that but isn't that just my tax dollars coming back to me? Anyway, that's what is going on here.
I am a compulsive, competitive jerk. And Bobo still doesn't talk.
And Chuckles is turning into a master manipulator. Master. "Mommy, if I be your good helper all week, could I have a treat like a toy?"