with a wounded hand
cause it has to heal
with a wounded hand
cause I like to steal
With lines like these, what is really stopping me from becoming a songwriter? A couple of music theory classes? A guitar? I was looking at the Martin DX-1 last week (recommended to me by the spectacularly irreplaceable Katelyn). I should probably pick up a copy of Songwriting for Dummies.
I fought the law, and I won, even though when I fight authority, authority usually wins. Some day, I'll tell you tales of my epic struggle to get CIGNA to issue me a healthcare card without my SSN on it, in case, y'know, I want to carry it around with me. Suffice to say, when I called them last week, they told me to get my HR to do it, and my HR sent me back with reinforcements. My reinforcements were in the form of an HR manager in Seattle (where corporate is headquartered) whose number I gave them and we escalated the mofo to the point where I got two telephone calls within ten minutes of getting home tonight assuring me that the necessary forms would be in the mail soon and if I could please send them back, I'd have my card in a few days (as opposed to the few years it would take their system to switch to a non-SSN based ID system). An almost entirely bloodless coup! (There was the part where it looked bleak, so I took my X-acto knife and cut my SSN out of the card I have now.)
I am going to do the fuck out of my taxes this year. Cross your fingers I get back more than a g-and-a-half.
I get to see my girlfriend with something approaching regularity this month. Last weekend, she made it down here, despite her alternator dying. Hopefully, I will make it all the way up there next weekend, despite my alternator also dying. Folks, please be advised. My girlfriend is the Typhoid Mary of whatever alternator disease she's carrying. Do not let her in your cars! She may be pretty, but she is also pretty deadly. You have been warned.
My LameJournal™ is still powered by S1.