OK…I’ll be the first to admit that I have avoided this place for way too long. I don’t really have a valid excuse except for the fact that I am extremely lazy. It’s not like I don’t have all kinds of crazy thoughts running through my mind, or that I haven’t done anything exciting since my last entry…quite the contrary, I have loads of craziness in my head and loads of adventures that I’ve taken in real life. I would like to share them with you so I am going to use January’s NaBloPoMo theme of ‘Best’ to review my year. I hope there’s still someone out there who cares. If not, at least I’ll be able to calm the craziness in my head.

As I was stepping into the shower this morning I had a flashback of my first real travel experiences in Italy.  I was travelling  with my friend Lisa and one of the places we visited was Florence.  Since we were not the hostel types, we decided to stay at a pensione.  The actual place itself wasn’t very memorable…except for the elevator which was extremely tiny.  This flashback started a chain of thoughts that pretty much ruined what I had planned to make my first mindless activity of the day, a simple shower.  

Now I’ve stepped into this shower every day for almost two years, today however I noticed that it really wasn’t a simple task.  Why?  Well to put it simply, it’s tiny.  The whole thing is just wrong!  It’s a tiny bathroom with a tiny sink, a tiny toilet, and a tiny shower shoved into a tiny corner.  In order to get into the shower I have to squeeze past the toilet, something I find completely gross.  Then, once I make it into the shower it only gets worse.  There is just no room to do much of anything.  I am forced to keep my shampoo, conditioner, and body washes on the floor because I can’t spare any of the wall space with shelves.  It’s so bad that I can’t even bend down to get to the shower essentials…I have to squat to reach them, otherwise I’d hit my head against the wall.  On the bright side, even if I ever did hit my head to the point of unconsciousness I wouldn’t actually fall to the floor because the size of the shower just doesn’t allow for that.  Why that’s a good thing I don’t really know, but I guess it would prevent me from breaking a hip or something. 

As if that weren’t bad enough, getting out of the shower has proven an even more difficult task.  Since I seem to have this thing with toilets (yes, even my own) I have to really take care to not to touch it on my way out of the shower.  Not that I think anything would actually happy to me, but the idea of it is a bit nasty.  After all, a toilet, no matter how sanitized, is still a toilet.   Furthermore, it is connected to the sewerage system, and, in my opinion, that can’t be good.  So, I have had to learn to step out of my tiny shower, at just the right angle so that I can shimmy past the toilet and onto a clean tiny towel, which, by the way, is strategically placed on my tiny floor.  Sometimes I lose my balance and end up grabbing the toilet which leads me right back into the shower.  This might all lead you to think that I am a germaphobe or that I’m just plain nuts.  Though non of that really matters to me because the real problem is that everything is so damn tiny. 

Now when I think back to that tiny elevator in the Florentine pensione I realize it really wasn’t that small after all.  It was definitely larger than my current shower.  In fact, it may have been bigger than my entire bathroom.  I guess I really need to get on with renovating and expanding my home because tiny and me just don’t get along. 

One of the things I was really looking forward to doing while here in Florida was to make some doctor’s appointments to take care of some health issues.  Exciting huh???  Well I was pretty stoked to know that I could finally see a doctor and clearly explain, in English, what issues I have been having.  So one of the appointments I made was with a Rheumatologist for some specific joint issues that I have.  No problem…I have spent my life in and out of hospitals and doctor’s offices so this is no biggie for me.  I call the office of the Rheumatologist and I set up an appointment.  I gave the receptionist my name (and spelled it for her), the name of the referring physician, my chief complaint, and a contact number.   Yesterday I showed up for my appointment, I was on time and in pain.  I stepped up to the window where the first thing I see is a big sign that says “Due To Privacy Issues Please Do Not Knock On The Window.  We Know You Are Here.”   Now I know what that is supposed to mean because I have vast knowledge regarding HIPAA from my work in the fields of both mental health, and health care.  What I don’t get is all that happened after reading that sign.  Let me start with the sign-in sheet that I had to put my full name on.  You know, the one with the full name of every patient that was there that very same day, yeah, that one.   Then there was the clipboard hanging on the wall with every patient that was there for physical therapy, and one for those who came for injections.  OK…this is not a big deal for most people, but I’m not most people.  This KILLS me!!!  Violations everywhere.  Well, let me get on with the story, I have a lot more bitchin’ to do.  So, the magical glass partition opens and there is a girl standing there looking at the sign-in sheet with a face that you would normally see on a three year old child who just smelled stinky cheese.  You know the look.  I knew by that very look that she was about to butcher my name…and I was right.  I step up to the window and she asks why I am there.  Now remember I am in pain and when I am in pain I have no tolerance for stupidity.  I tell her calmly (maybe with a condescending tone) that I was there for my 2:30 appointment.  She again looks at the sign-in sheet, then looks at the computer screen, and then at me…still with the stinky cheese face.  I knew this wasn’t going to be easy…here’s how it went:

Me:  “Is there a problem?” 

Receptionist:  “Who made the appointment?”

Me:  “I did”

Receptionist:  “Can you give me your name, the reason for your visit, and your referring doctor?”

OK, so there I am standing there in the middle of the waiting room (so much for privacy) and I give all of my personal information…again!!!

Receptionist:  “There is a 2:30 appointment but it’s not yours.”

Me:  “Of course it’s me, I made the appointment.”

Receptionist:  “I’m sorry, I’m looking right at it and it’s not yours.”

Me (becoming increasingly agitated):  “Then whose appointment is it?”

Receptionist:  ”It’s from the same doctor and they have the same chief complaint but it’s not your name.”

Me (now sounding like a lunatic):  “WHAT’S THE NAME?”

Receptionist (looking like a deer in the headlights):  “I can’t tell you the name because of privacy and confidentiality regulations.”

 Now at this point I am holding myself back from goin’ Jersey on this chick.

Me:  OK, perhaps you can tell me why I would make an appointment in another name?

Receptionist:  I don’t know why you did it.

Me:  OK, I didn’t do it!  I gave all of my information to the girl that took the appointment, including my name.  I even spelled it for her. 

Receptionist:  I’m sorry, but there is no appointment for you.  Who said they made you an appointment?

Yeah, she asked again.

Me:  Listen, I am about to go nuts here.  I don’t care who screwed this up on your end but I need to see the doctor.

Receptionist:  Well, I’m sorry for the mix up.  The only thing I can do is give you some paperwork to fill out and if the person who is scheduled for that appointment doesn’t show then I’ll have you meet with the doctor.

Me:  OK, I’d like to go on record as saying that the person scheduled to see the doctor will not show because they don’t exist.  I made the appointment and the person who took the call screwed up and put in some random name.  Now I will go sit down to fill out my paperwork.

So now I’m totally fit to be tied.  As I sat there filling out my paperwork I remembered that I received a reminder call on my cell phone the day prior.  So in my very G way (needing to be right) I take my cell phone up to the magical glass window and knocked…yeah, I knocked!  

Me:  OK…here is the call I received yesterday from this office confirming my 2:30 appointment for today.  You know, the one I don’t have.

Receptionist:  Let me see that.

Now, more confused than ever, the girl looks at my phone, looks at the screen, then looks at me.

Receptionist:  What is your phone number?

So I tell her.

Receptionist:  Oh, it’s the same number, I guess you’re not crazy after all.

Me:  I’m sorry did you…

Receptionist:  I’m sorry Miss…I didn’t mean that the way it sounded…I…

Me:  Stop talking…please.  Can I just pay my co-pay now?

Receptionist:  Yes, that will be $30.

I give her my co-pay, which in my opinion should have been waived for the pain and suffering I had endured, and then I get my receipt.  On my way back to my seat I look at my receipt and what do I see?  How about the name of the man whose vacation home I am renting. 

At that point I lost it…I went back up to the window and knocked. 

Receptionist:  What’s the problem now?

Me:  I really don’t like your attitude.  I want to speak to the office manager.

Receptionist:  I’m sorry Miss, but you don’t need to get upset.  

Me:  I want to see the office manager.

Receptionist:  She’s out today.

Me:  Then I want to see her boss.

Receptionist:  Miss, what is the problem?

Me:  The problem is I have been in the office now for 1 hour and 45 minutes during which time the only thing I accomplished was getting the you to understand that I had a valid appointment.  Then you take my money and hand me a receipt with someone else’s name on it because the idiot girl who originally took my appointment over the phone wrote the name that came up on her caller ID instead of my name, which, by the way, I spelled for her very slowly.  During this entire ordeal you have the audacity to act as if I am bothering you.  None of this will go unreported to your boss and my insurance company.  I want my money back and my entire file…and I want the original file.  Your customer service skills are deplorable and I do not want to see a doctor who is OK with having incompetent and rude staff.  Now please get my money and my file.

Receptionist:  I’ll be right back.

Well chickie never came back but another girl did and she gave me my co-pay and my file.  I left the office and immediately phoned my insurance company to file a complaint against the doctor, and when I got home I wrote the doctor a lovely letter. 

I don’t know why I can’t find the words…I certainly have the thoughts.  Constantly repeating thoughts, racing around my brain as if I were bi-polar.  And just so you know, I am not bi-polar.  I am actually disthymic…but that’s another post.  Anyway, I just can’t seem to sit down and get the thoughts out of my head and onto paper, or in this case, into cyberspace.  What’s wrong with me?  Last year, when I began blogging, I couldn’t stop writing.  I would wake up in the middle of the night just to post some thoughts.  Now it all feels so forced.  It’s crazy…and the fact that I’m blogging about my inability to blog is even crazier.  Maybe I’ve become too comfortable with life, or maybe, life has become too uncomfortable.  Either way,  the world goes round, and my life continues to happen.  And, despite all of the insanity I can say I am grateful for every crazy second of crazy every day.    

So when I said I’m a mover and a shaker it wasn’t a complete lie, but this was the move I was talking about.  I now take up residence at WordPress, where I am hosted by Expats in Italy.  I have to admit though, none of this would have been possible if it weren’t for Annika.  She took the time to set things up for me…twice.  Yes, I said twice, because in typical G fashion I screwed things up royally after the first time it went live.   But she saved the day and corrected everything.  So let me welcome you to my brand new blog.  

Oh, I guess you want to know what’s shakin’ now.  Well, that would be me.  Of course, that’s if you consider the amount of time I cry myself into a state of hysteria, which causes me to violently shake…I think they call it hyperventilation.  So you see…I’m a shaker too.

I have these wonderful moments lately daydreaming about my move to Italy. I can see myself walking over to a window, opening it up, and taking in all that is before me. What a magical feeling. The sights, the sounds, the scents. I have to wonder how anyone could not want to have such an experience at some point in life.

OK…now for reality. I am scared to death. Freaking out here!!! What the hell am I doing. Sure, I’ve done lots of last minute, half assed things. In fact, I’ve lived most of my life being irresponsible. That’s me…I’m irresponsible. This however takes the cake. I am getting rid of all my crap and leaving the country. THE COUNTRY!!! I didn’t even get a Visa. I have a one way ticket with NO VISA. Great…now I’m really freaking out.

Oh, and before I run out of steam here let me share with anyone reading this the real kicker…my birth certificate doesn’t even show my parents correct names. Am I getting that fixed? HELL NO!!! That would be the responsible thing to do. I am just going to get the damn thing Apostilled and then translated. Yup…you read that correctly. I am not going through the 12 week process of correcting it because I am also the queen of instant gratification.

So what’s my plan? I am flying to Italy with my one way ticket, American Passport, and my incorrect birth record. Once I am there I will collect my parents marriage certificate, their birth certificates, and Naturalization records. Then it’s off to the Wizard…which in this case is some guy at the Questura who used to steal chickens with my dad as kids. That’s my in…A POULTRY THIEF!!!

dumbfounded.