i get so tired sometimes

The ongoing saga that is the minor, but annoying car crash a few months ago, continues.
Late Wednesday night I get a voicemail from the owner's insurance company asking me if I took the car to one of their collision centers for evaluation. After Thanks giving break I call them up to let them know that I did (communication within the company, anyone?) I also tell them, again, to get in touch with my insurance company for pictures before repairs since they themselves inspected the car after repairs.
All is good, we hang up.
The guy calls me back five minutes later.
- So you paid for the repairs out of your own pocket, ma'am?
- Yes, I did.
- We can't use your insurance companies pictures in that case, since they are not part of the claim. You have to take the car to our collision center.
- I have taken it to the collision center!
- You have?
- Yes! That's why I called in the first place. To let you know that I took it to the collision center, since they failed to inform you that I have.
- Oh, OK. I'll get in it the.

Dealing with monkey's springs to mind.

I'd like to say 'I told you so'

So the insurance company of the owner to the other car (not the stoned driver) finally contacted me and said they were willing to pay for the damages, as long as they can take a look at the car first to inspect the damage. I explain that it has already been fixed, and that they will be looking at a brand new bumper instead of one that's been in a crash. I suggest my insurance company send over their photo's and estimate instead, together with the receipt for the work.
- We'd rather you go to our collision center, so we could take a look at it.

Sure. So I drive down to Harrison and 7'th (will I ever, ever be able to negotiate my way around the the one way system without ending up on one of the flyover's to the highway?) and wait for a representative from the insurance company. She takes one look at the car.
- Where's the damage?
I explain.
She's very nice.
- OK, she says. Since you've made you're way down here, I'll take a picture. To be honest with you, I'm surprised they told you to come in. They should settle this straight with your insurance guys.

I know. But it was nice to hear it from someone else.

From now on, I will not deal with time-wasters.

Happy day

Finn's annual cardiology ultra sound went well today. Nothing has changed - which is a good thing. Everything is as it was a year ago, which means it hasn't changed with him growing.

Am happy, a little relieved and very proud, since he managed to charm the entire pediatric cardiology work-force - well done, my monkey!

North Beach by night

Sean Penn was in Tosca last night.
Shame that he left just as we arrived.

PG rated?

I don't understand why some people insist on bringing their babies to the cinema.
Even when we're talking Hotel for dogs - exactly how much is the nine month old next to me enjoying the movie? But today, not sure that the 2.05 screening of Precious was the right fit for an 18 month old.
Not even before she'd finished her Medium sized popcorn.

Apparently, I subscribe to the Economist. It lands safely in my letter-box every Friday.
If I have to subscribe to something without paying for it, couldn't it be Grazia, instead?

Knit and purl, or knit and hit

There is something about ladies who work in craft-shops, and I can't exactly put my finger on it, but they are either over-the-top nice, or they look at you as something that the cat dragged in. Often they can be hot-and-cold all at the same time, and they can switch moods, right there, in front of you, and you don't know what you've done wrong. It all takes me back to sewing-lessons in school, when teacher Gunny A taught the class how to knit. I was rubbish at it,I just couldn't make sense of the needles, and the yarn, and which finger to wrap it around, and how to pull the yarn through the loops - it was a mess! And as the tyrant teacher she was, she made fun of me in front of the whole class for the entire lesson, really viciously and spitefully mocking me, 9 years old, by calling me stupid, useless and pointing out that no good could become of a girl who didn't know how to knit. As homework I had to try to catch up over the weekend. As I have a mother who was a fairly decent knitter, I was lucky for a while. She not only taught me how to knit in one night - by the end of the weekend I had finished the whole damn thing (I think it was a Moomin doll...) and brought it back Monday, relieved, and not a little proud of myself.

Unfortunately, it only made matters worse. Gunny A was sure that a useless girl like myself couldn't have picked up the art of knitting over one weekend, it was impossible! There was only one explanation: I had gotten my mother to do the work for me. I had cheated! More mocking, more taunting in front of the class, and a time-out in the corridor, for the rest of the class (and man, that corridor where dark and cold, it being Sweden in the early 80's, and probably winter, too).

I'm at my local yarn-shop to get hold of some yarn for a top I am knitting for Holly. They are short one ball of purple yarn on the shelf, and I ask if they have more in stock. Nope. Can they order it for me?
- But we have this in a cherry yarn.
- It's not the same color.
She looks at me as if I don't really belong in her shop.
- We have 6 skeins if this right now, I mean.
- Aha. But my daughter really wants purple. She has chosen all the colors herself.
- I see! That's where we're going wrong!

To imply that I was in any way wrong is not the best move right now. Finn has been in a foul mood all day. He's played up in every imaginable situation, every minute of the day, so far. To push me, even with the tip of a finger, would equal mental break-down.
- Well, I do want her to wear it, when I'm finished, so the colors are kind of important, I explain in nicey-nicey voice.
She shrugs her shoulders.

Meanwhile, Finn is throwing his 27th tantrum of the day in a pile of yarns in a corner of the shop. It's only 1.30pm.