Bitch Session

So much has happened that I don't know where to begin. I need this blog, this moment, to let it all vent out. Here is my five minute bitch session. Hang on for the ride if you like...

Last week my grandfather landed himself back in the hospital, again. He was staying with me, so I had to take him to the ER as per the doctor's orders. He stayed in the hospital for almost a week with high BNP numbers.

 Now if you don't know what BNP is, it's short for Brain Natriuretic Peptide test. Still don't know what it is? Let me barney still the bitch for you. This is a test to see how much of a certain hormone your body is letting off. Low number, generally 0-200, means your heart is healthy and every thing is fine. As you get older, these numbers tend to get a little higher, because your heart is old. Now really high numbers means that your having heart failure. This could also mean that you have water in your lungs, or around your heart. That could add pressure and make the numbers go up. Either way, it's very bad jew-jew.

I am not bitching about my grandfather being in the hospital. That would be a very bad thing to bitch at, and would make me look cold hearted. Even though I am to certain people, not to my family members that I care about.

My aunt. Those two little words. That bitch wouldn't pick up her phone while we were at the hospital waiting room. Wouldn't pick up her phone when he got admitted in, and talked to a doctor. No, what did she do? She called me early in the morning to complain about grandpa. Yes, you read that right. She called to complain about her father, who was in the hospital. Sounds fucked up right?

Short story of hers, grandpa got mad, and got one of his friends to wake her sorry ass up to tell her that he was in the hospital. Oops if it was like eight in the morning.

Oh but that's not the best part. That's yet to come. So I was the only one who visited grandpa through the weekend. My aunt couldn't make it. When it came to him getting out of the hospital, my aunt called grandpa, told him to have me take him to my house, and she'll pick him up from there. Although she visited him twice while he was in, and the second time didn't need my help on getting there. So why can't that bitch just pick him up from the hospital.

Well, Grandpa was waiting at my house for about forty minutes, until my aunt called me. Supposedly she was suffering a migrane all day, and couldn't move because she would vomit. I remind you that she told grandpa that she was on her way. Hmm, sounds like a cop out. I think she didn't want to come pick him up, so she made up a story. This bitch is so unreliable it's not funny. My sister pointed out that when she needs somebody's help, she demands it, but when the tables are reversed, she couldn't give a shit. If I was grandpa, I would've tossed her leeching ass out my door a long time ago. She's 56, and living off her 76 year old, heart failing, kidney failing, diabetic father. And she has the balls to even complain about him.


Then Saturday, my dog decided to be a gimp. She's part chiuhaha, and part something else. Pretty much, a what the fuck is it dog. We found out that it could be a genetic thing, we still have to take her in. She refuses to walk on her back legs. My husband thinks that she just can't feel them, but I know better. You can pinch her back legs, and she'll move them.

Let me tell you something. My husband has an unnatural affection towards dogs. It's almost unnerving. He treats them better than a human. So you can see where my husband's emotions are with the dog. Yes, this doesn't mean that I don't care about the mutt. It just means that I would think twice about running out in the rain, hopping in my car, and taking her to the vet.

Oh but my husband pratically forced my hand. He sat there and almost yelled at me to call my grandmother, the evil bitch that can never die, to see if she can help out with the medical bill. Yes, my husband, whom has no money to see a vet, will barter his soul with Satan herself.

To keep the peace, I called her. Wait, no, not his soul, my soul. Anyways, getting back on track. She agreed and said that she'll write a blank check and I can fill it out upon getting to the Vet ER.

My husband practically shoved me out the door when he heard that. And you know what I got in return? Stuck in a fucking puddle up to mid-calf, with a stalled out engine. Conveniently I stalled out in front of my grandmother's house. Oh yes, because she "forgot" to tell me that the road was flooded and to come down Whitson. Bitch.

So I got pushed out, and forced to stay the night with her. I went and bought a battery, not because the original was dead, but because it was so old that the contact were corroded. And yes, I was secretly hoping that the magical car fairy would wave her wand and my car would start.

No such luck. The next morning I used my free hook up and towing from my insurance and took it to a mechanic. To one that was within twelve miles. That way it would still be free. Let my insurance pay for the shit.

Well the dickhead, ahem the main mechanic, upon hearing the story, tried telling me that my car's engine is stalled. No, I knew it wasn't. And I had a feeling as to what really happened. So I did what I can do best under stressful times to get my way. I cried fake tears. Three guys hoped on out side, and helped after hearing my ball about wanting to go home and wanting to be with my child.

You know what it was? Water in my engine. Like the little feeling in my gut told me. The guy was just trying to fuck me out of some money. Or get me really scared. Whatever, didn't work. So they got most of the water out, and he charged me cheap for it. Just one man hour because three guys were out there with him. Okay, fine. Nothing else with that? Kewl beans! After he charged my card he noticed that it was a Navy Federal card. He asked me who his navy guy was.

I smiled and told him me. His whole demeanor changed after the next thing I told him. I told him the truth. I was a diesel mechanic in the Navy. The look on that guys face. He knew that I turned the tables on his ass, and screwed him out of money. But then again, if all of them listened to what I was babbling, they would have guessed that I had some experience with motors. I guess they weren't paying attention to what I was saying, just that I cried to them. There's one word for that. SUCKERS!