About Stewie

Not much to say. I work, I watch movies, I write reviews and I love to go to a kick ass coffee shop every Saturday and Sunday.

Just give me what I asked for and shut the fuck up.

Not so recently, the state I live in legalized marijuana for medicinal use. However, it was only relatively recently that the law has finally taken affect and people can now start getting their cards. Including me.

Since my state consists of a bunch of cocksuckers, the list you can be approved for marijuana is shockingly small comparatively, but one of the things that is pre-approved is glaucoma, which I have. So, at my last visit with my ophthalmologist (a really amazing guy), he was gushing on how much my pressure has gone down. Originally I had been taking an eye drop once per day, but he changed the prescription because that really wasn’t cutting it, and I started taking a different eye drop (which cost $65 for like a fucking ounce — that’s WITH insurance) twice a day; or, rather, was supposed to. I do take it once a day (in the mornings) religiously, but I don’t really want to take my contacts out to do the second dose in the evening because…well because it’s an inconvenience. However, to sleep at night, I may or may not use a product God put on this earth for me and you. All of this I told the doc, to which he replied, “Whatever you’re doing, keep at it. This is really great.” For the record, the pressure in my right eye was a 26 before I started treatment. At last check, it’s a 16. That’s insane (normal eye pressure is 12-22; 12-22 what, I’m not sure).

After my exam, I went to pay my bill and the employee taking my card notified me that their printer wasn’t working so they’d have to mail me my receipt. I told her that was fine, and I would like my medical history mailed to me as well.

“Why?” she asked. This didn’t bother me. Normally I take this as they fear you may be leaving and perhaps they can fix what may be wrong.

“Because I’m applying for my medical marijuana card, and I need to show that I have glaucoma in order to get it.” Boom! Question asked and answered. Nothing more to say. But no, the bitch had to get judgy.

“The doctor would rather you use traditional treatments for the glaucoma. He won’t sign off on this.”

See, there are numerous things wrong with this dumb ass statement. First, she had no idea what transpired between the doctor and me. She wasn’t in the room. Second, it’s not his decision on whether or not I get it. Another doctor makes that decision. What my doctor thinks or feels is irrelevant. Don’t get me wrong, while that might look like I have a problem with my ophthalmologist, I don’t. He really is amazing, and I wouldn’t go see anyone else unless I was forced to. He’s done a tremendous amount to make sure I will have vision until my 80s. Hes a great guy. It’s this dumb cashier who has no fucking clue on anything that annoyed me.

I did a silent 10 count in my head. The way this office is set up is the other patients are RIGHT THERE next to the cashier, so I wasn’t going to make a scene. So I simply said, “I will need a copy of my medical files mailed to me with the receipt, please.”

“But…”

“Do I need to pay for them? I understand if I do.”

“No, but…”

“Okay, thanks. Just go ahead an mail them.”

She gave me some stink eye, but she can go fuck herself. The more I think about this, the more it annoys me because she obviously has an issue with marijuana, medicinal or not, and it no doubt stems from the old wives’ tales that people are still clinging too without doing any research. And that is infuriating since it’s because of people like her why it’s so fucking hard (and expensive) to get the necessary treatment I need for not just my glaucoma but also my anxiety and insomnia. And I’m not even that bad off.

Yes, marijuana also feels good when you do it. I don’t deny that. But so does wine. So does beer. But last time I checked, alcohol doesn’t help with your anxiety, glaucoma, PTSD, insomnia or a host of other issues.

I have a friend that lives in Oregon, where it’s legal for recreational use. He’s been sharing prices lately for grams. He literally…LITERALLY paid $40 for a gram of brand that goes for ~$340 here. JFC. I blame the feds. Fucking idiots.

Ugh.

Apple users really are the worst.

There’s an old joke that goes, “An atheist, a vegan, and a crossfitter walk into a bar…I only know because they told everyone within two minutes.”

It’s high time they swap “atheist” for “apple owner” because good fucking Lord, those are far worse than atheists. Mainly because the majority of the time they are clueless at the topic at hand when it comes to computers, there only response to any discussion computer related being, “Buy a Mac.”

Recently, a guy I know solicited his friends on Facebook for new laptop advice. His needs were really simple: Something cheap, no bells and whistles, he just needs it to write on. That’s it. The best advice came from someone who clearly knew what they were talking about, and gave my friend some great advice on how he can achieve his goal for just a few hundred bucks.

Then the Mac users piped in how he should by a Mac. I swear, it’s as if the members of the Cult of Apple are incapable of reading and, if that’s inaccurate, they sure as hell have little to know reading comprehension. First and foremost, Macs aren’t inexpensive. They are the opposite of that. For what it costs to purchase a middle-of-the-road Mac, I can build a faster Windows laptop. But that’s not the point. The point is he said in the second sentence of the post that he was looking for something inexpensive. For his particular needs, he can get away with a laptop under $300. You are not finding a decent Mac, refurb or otherwise, for under $300.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t care who owns what. Macs are really needed for a subset of people whose computer skills are limited to pushing a button to power it on. These machines are perfect for those type of folks because it’s tough to screw up a Mac. But, man, I get so tired of this dipshit excuse that Windows always crashes. No, it doesn’t. I mean it will if you keep opening those .exes in your email from you grandma and throwing viruses on your machine, but on the whole, I can’t remember the last time any of my machines have crashed. Then again, I’m not installing garbage on my computer, so there’s that.

And don’t get me started on the false notion that Macs don’t get viruses. They do, but Apple won’t tell you about them and don’t patch their computers for them for months. That’s a fact, jack.

From https://www.digitaltrends.com/computing/can-macs-get-viruses :

“Mac OS X software has more high-risk vulnerabilities than all versions of Windows put together,” explains Bogdan, “Apple markets these products as virus-free. They say you don’t need an antivirus, because they know people hate antivirus software. These utilities often slow down your computer, so they don’t want to promote them.”

Apple has also been criticized for being slow to deal with threats and shut vulnerabilities down. Rootpipe was discovered in October 2014, but the fix only came out this month (April 2015), and it only patches Yosemite, not older editions of OS X. To make matters worse, the patch doesn’t actually fix the problem properly. Apple’s big rival may have a bad reputation, but it has taken decisive action to tackle that perception.

But, yeah, your Mac is safe, I swear.

Oh, and Steve Jobs? He was a cunt and you know it.

There’s plenty of room for both Macs and PC in the computing world. Both are great choices depending on its users’ needs (although the fantasy land Mac users live in really is laughable). It’s like some people want an SUV, some want one of those little battery-operated cars. Both are going to get you to your destination, both have their pros and cons, and both are (probably) a good choice for their owner.

I guess the point of this is, no matter what you own, if someone is looking for advice, take a minute and actually read what their needs are before opening your big fat mouth and sounding like an idiot. I actually recommended laptops to people at one point, it was part of my job, and I would recommend Macs, Dells, Lenovos, Acers and other types because it all depends on the needs of the person buying it. You’re nothing but an asshole if you try to convince someone to buy a $1,000 machine when a $250 will be more than sufficient.

This video has nothing to do with anything other than the fact I love this genre of music and Turbo Kid is an awesome movie:

Getting old is weird.

When I first saw my sister wearing reading glasses, I busted out laughing. Called her old and crippled. She simply said, “Wait until your 40.”

Well, wouldn’t you know it, like the day I turned 40, my eyes just said fuck it, you can’t read without squinting.

I also find things that I used to LOVE even in my 30s don’t have much appeal to me now. I’m meh on fast food anymore, opting to eat at a nicer sitdownish type restaurant or just making my own food (subs and pizza excluded). This might not be a big deal to most, but as a lazy fuck, this is a pretty big change.

But the biggest thing I noticed — and I don’t know if it’s because I’m older or I’m more in tune now — is how aware I am of things. I hate the term woke because it seems so…ugh, yet I don’t enjoy certain things that I know I would have LOVED when I was 16. A good example of this is the novel The Fury by John Farris. I read and reviewed it a bit ago, and while I know teenage me would have ate every word up, adult me found passages gross as fuck (mainly because they were pedo-laden; a 40-year-old men feeling up a 14-year-old girl, as well as a 30-something woman seducing a 14-year-old boy. What sucks is if you can get away from that (and you can’t), it’s a fun ass book. I’ll just stick with the movie though.

Another good example of problematic books is The Howling by Gary Brandner. I’d never read the book until recently (snagged all three for the Kindle for like $1.99!), and I have mixed feelings on it. As pure pulp, it’s a great amount of fun. But holy shit, Karyn, the main character, is fucking helpless due to her having a vagina. First, she doesn’t have a driver’s license. Now, if she was living in NYC, that might be acceptable, but she lives in California. I’ve been to California. You need a license. To make matters worse, when it’s time for her to get away, she gets in the car and has no idea what the fucking gears mean. She literally didn’t know what R mean. Seriously. I can almost get behind not having a license (lazy as fuck writing, but whatever), but not knowing means reverse? C’mon. That’s just asshole writing. You can’t even chalk this up to the time it was written (late ’70s, I believe) because Roy, Karyn’s husband, gets annoyed at her because she is a bit cold with the sex since HER FUCKING RAPE. Yeah.

I have such mixed emotions about The Howling. The reality is the book really is a good read, but he treats the female characters one-dimensional beings. I’m reading the second one now, and Karyn is a bit stronger (so far), so we’ll see.

I don’t know where I was going with all of this. Maybe the whole point is getting old kind of sucks.

You’re so dumb. You are so dumb.

Two Fridays ago…well, not yesterday, but the Friday before Friday before yesterday…I was an in accident. Some dipshit wasn’t paying attention, cut over to my lane and plowed me right into the guardrail. There is so many fucked up things about this whole situation:

  1. When I saw the driver about to hit me, I started cutting into the breakdown lane, but he was having none of that, he just kept coming anyway, into the damn breakdown lane with me.
  2. Dude didn’t even slow down or apply his breaks as he was pushing me into the rail. I know this because I could see his taillights seeing how they were like 3 feet away from me.
  3. The guy was clearly fucking lost, and clearly fucking distracted with something (more on that in a moment).
  4. Dicksuck admitted to the police on the scene that he was in fact at fault. Until he changed his story.
  5. My Escape, my beautiful, innocent, always-good-to-me Escape, is totaled.

You can figure out what happened by 1. and 2. But if you didn’t, long story short, I was taking an exit ramp that has two lanes. I was in the left, he was in the right. He got over to the left to (what I figured) enter the highway. I got over to the right. No big deal. Until he decided to get back in the right lane WHEN I WAS ALMOST PARALLEL WITH HIM. Me moving to the breakdown lane did nothing, because the stupid fuck kept on coming over. So in addition to the driver’s side quarter panel being fucked (pictures below), there is a lovely scrape on the passenger side from the guardrail. (Irrelevant of course because of 5.)

When the cop arrived, he asked me first what happened. I told him pretty much what I just wrote up there, but a little longer. He walked about 100 – 150 yards to where the idiot cause of this whole thing was and asked him what happened. The cop then went back to his car, filled out the report, and came back to me with my driver’s license and registration.

“Here you go, sir,” he said, handing it back to me.

“Did he corroborate my story?” I asked the officer, immediately regretting using ‘corroborate’ because that just seems like I was making something up.

“Yes sir. He will be listed at fault for the accident.”

Good, I thought. At least I didn’t have to worry about fighting that. Until Monday when my insurance company called and informed me that the douche changed his tune and was now saying I rear-ended him. The fuck?

Rather than go into every detail, both my insurance rep and his insurance rep thought that his claim was ridiculous. While his insurance rep didn’t out and out say it — he’s in a position after all — I could here the smile in his voice as I openly mocked the dick who hit me.

But, it gets better. My insurance agent told me that not only did it go down as not my fault because of all the evidence I had, they are also going to get my deductible back when it’s determined it’s his fault and I’m probably going to get my lost work wages too.

Also, as a bonus, today I went and picked up the police report. Not only was the shitstain charged at fault for the accident; not only was dickface issued a ticket for the accident; but it’s also noted in the report that the asshole was distracted by the GPS when the accident happened.

Yeah, you piece of fucking shit. Good luck on not being found at fault here. Cunt.

On the bright side, I got double what I expected the value to be for my Escape, and I got a brand new one with better (and more) options than my baby, and the payments are slightly less than what I was paying. Yes, I absolutely would prefer not to have payments, and I was SO looking forward to being payment free, but I’m in a fortunate position where this won’t hurt me financially. It just really sucks.

“Don’t worry, no one will ever hurt you again,” was what I whispered to my truck after I cleaned it out for the last time. I’m going to fucking miss that SUV.

It’s about control.

As mentioned in my prior post, I legit have OCD (and ADD too, which kind of helps offset the OCD at times, but that’s a story for another time). I can make an educated guess and say OCD affects different people in different ways (like some may be big in keeping a house immaculate — I wish I had that problem — where others might have the counting issue. That’s one of my “things”. I’m a counter on some things. For example, when leaving the house, I count the stove knobs in sets. The knobs on my stove go as follows:

KNOB | KNOB | KNOB | CLOCK | KNOB | KNOB | KNOB

Whenever I leave the house, I do two sets of three and one set of one. So, that first set of knobs to the left of the clock get verified three times (from left to right) that they are off, then the knobs to the right of the clock get verified three times (from left to right) that they are off, then the entire row gets verified once that they are off. If you were in my head, you would hear:Off, off, off. Off, off, off. Off, off, off. Pause, to the next grouping. Off, off, off. Off, off, off. Off, off, off. Pause, back to the beginning. Off, off, off, off, off, off.

If I’m stressed out, I go through that process more than once. And that’s just the stove. Verifying the door is locked is something else entirely. And the lights are off. This is just leaving to go to work. Don’t get me started on going somewhere on vacation.

Anyway, that’s an example of how OCD affects me. But not what I wanted to write about. I can deal with that counting horseshit (which, by the way, I do so the house doesn’t burn down or getting broken into while I’m away…I know, I know), it’s control I must have at all times is what gets to me.

For example, my neighborhood literally only has two streets. The street you drive in and out of, and a side street. Well the dipshit that designed the neighborhood named them the same, except calling one DRIVE and one COURT. Oh, AND KEPT THE SAME FUCKING NUMBERS. Meaning, in my small ass neighborhood, there is a 123 Sandlewood Drive and 123 Sandlewood Court.  What makes it much, much worse, is we have a mail carrier that is retarded. And to add to that, the fuckers that live on Court are lazy pieces of shit. When I get their mail (which is often), I tend to run it down to them because, you know, it’s the right thing to do. The lazy cunt that lives at Court? When she gets my mail, she just puts on the envelope, “Not at this address” and puts it back in the box. I cannot express my rage on both my shit carrier and the cunt at Court. (You may ask why I still run it down to her house, it’s because her son gets boxes from Amazon to me too, and I do it for him because I know he runs stuff up to me; I’ve seen him do it. It’s his mom that’s lazy garbage.)

Anyway, this is the type of thing that kills me because I tend to get a lot of anxiety anyway when I don’t have control over something that I want control over, but this is even worse because I can’t do a goddamn thing about it. Let’s face it, we all know if I complain, I can just kiss my mail goodbye. If this shit that delivers my mail doesn’t give one shit enough TO LOOK AT THE FUCKING ADDRESS SHE’S DELIVERING TOO, there is no doubt in my mind that she will just toss my mail all together if I make a complaint. It doesn’t help that I don’t believe for one second any complaint I make to the Post Office will be anonymous. If her boss likes her, they will immediately tell her who complained. Fuck that.

It’s the same at work. Right now there is an issue going on that is getting dumped on our group to fix as it arises, but nobody is taking ownership of the overall issue, and I just feel like screaming at everyone until something is fixed. And instead of lighting fires under people, we’re getting a runaround on what we should be doing to document this bullshit. I just feel like screaming. Right now the fucking house is on fire, and people are asking our team why we haven’t decided on the brand of batteries to put in the new smoke detectors. THE FUCKING HOUSE IS ON FIRE RIGHT NOW, HOW ABOUT WE PUT THIS FUCKING THING OUT AND THEN WORRY ABOUT THE BATTERIES FOR FUCK’S SAKE. (To be fair, though, I finally forced the issue, a meeting was held, and my manager is now effectively pissed off enough to go crack some skulls. I don’t think he realized the scope of the problem, but once he did, he’s getting everyone involved. But fuck, this is why I can never handle management. The politics of it all is fucking retarded.)

If anyone has any ideas on what to do with my shit carrier while remaining truly anonymous, throw them at me. Apparently, getting the name of the streets changed or renumbered is out of the question. Fucking politics, man.