I NEED GLASSES

First, I have to give a kind-of apology for yesterday’s posts. Since I’ve been out of California for the last three months, addendums have been made to the free-college-for-illegal-immigrants-bill. They now have to have been in public school (illegally) for three years and have STARTED the naturalization process to get a free ride. It says nothing about FINISHING the naturalization process and a question: Can they possibly have enough knowledge in three years of public school to make them competitive in a collegiate market? Isn’t that setting them up for failure?

And it says nothing about FINISHING the naturalization process. I don’t care how many addendums you put on this thing, they should be offered work study, the ability to get student loans — the same options American citizens have. They should NOT get a free education on the backs of tax-paying families who have to mortgage their souls and college kids who have to work sometimes 40-hours a week in addition to carrying a full load of classes, belonging to a sorority, and being involved on campus to build their resume and trying to get a night off every now and then to play. It. Just. Ain’t. Right.

Now, enough about that. Let’s talk about me.

I need glasses.
I hate glasses.

My eyes aren’t that bad. I’m not wearing any now, and I can see the computer just fine. Most of the time I can read books without reading glasses. Not as often as I used to, but still most of the time. And it’s best if I get hardbacks instead of paperbacks, but can still make due. And I can read menus. That’s important. And instructions on microwave dinners. So I’m not starving — but that’s pretty obvious anyway. (Has anyone else noticed that the first three letters in diet are DIE?)

The fact that my eyes “aren’t that bad” has been my problem for years. I’ve never been able to get a prescription that’s ‘just right’ – I’m kinda the Goldilox of prescriptions in that way. So I wear them, get frustrated, take them off and leave them somewhere. $300 down the drain. Again. I can’t tell you how many times that’s happened. There are a lot of people out there with Gucci, Prada and Versace frames with their own new lenses thanks to me. I know. I should just get the $39/specials…..but that’s just not me. I like the pretty things.

Back in the day when I only needed one prescription, I’d get the old photogray (transition) lenses that were normal indoors and got darker in the sunlight, and Bingo, I had both glasses and sun glasses and could wear funky 70’s looking things that went with the rest of my professional-by-day, hippy-dippy by night self.

But now. This bi-focal thing is killing me.

I can’t wear contacts anymore. That’s what I prefer. But the bi-focal ones don’t work for me, wearing one shortsighted and one farsighted doesn’t work. I’ve even tried just wearing one for — I forget — maybe it was for distance, maybe it was for reading.

And I went to a lasix doctor, hoping that was an option, but once again being the special person that I am worked to my disadvantage. My eyes don’t meet their exacting specifications.

Back when I watched television — and I’ll probably be there again someday once I know where I live, I like to lie down on the couch with a cozy afghan to waste my time. And I lay on my side to read and sometimes go to sleep reading. So the damned glasses get twisted and bent and go lopsided on my face. Then, I’m trying to re-twist them so they look like they used to, and it’s like the times when I get frustrated and decide to “trim” my own hair — I end up going to the professional and getting them fixed and they always give me lectures and make me crazy and then I go home and do the same thing again.

But lately —– twice in the last two days, I’ve written phone numbers down wrong. An “8” became a “0” in a fax # I gave my accountant yesterday, and I wrote down a phone number last night so I wouldn’t have to look it up again today and a “1” became a “0”. Maybe it’s just “0’s” I need to avoid and there’s nothing wrong with my eyes afterall.

And when I go to the sports bar to watch Thunder games (“F” World Peace), I have to sit at one of the tables with the video poker machines that say “reserved for gamers” and tell the barmaid, Kaela-with-her-butt-hanging-out-of-her-shorts-because-it’s-really-a-biker-bar-and-not-a-real-sports-bar, to tell me to move if I have to so I can see the screen better — and still can’t really see the guys’ numbers. And it pisses me off that I used to have a butt like Kaela’s. There are a lot of things more than love that are wasted on the young. Like tight asses and perky boobs — and eyes that don’t need glasses.

I’ve learned to drive by “things” rather than street signs because by the time I get close enough to read them, I’m driving past them. (Which reminds me. Why do they give driving tests in Spanish and expect people who don’t speak English to find their way around? Isn’t that kind of like putting brail on toll booths to tell how much money to put in?) Anyway, here in Vegas, I know to turn right after the McDonald’s on Sahara and then go a block past Mr. D’s Biker/Sports Bar to get to my office at Starbucks, and on the way back, turn right at the Cadillac dealership — and when I get back to Laurel’s condo, it’s the one before the driveway with the van parked in front.

And shopping? I don’t do that much anymore. It’s really sad. I used to love to get home from work, grab something to eat, change clothes and head to the mall to spend the evening. But the prices on those damned tags are too small. It’s like I need to carry reading glasses around with me and pull them out to read a tag and put them back in my purse and pull them out to read a tag and put them back in my purse. So, when I feel the need to shop, I just call Abbi and ask her if she wants a new pair of jeans. We both win. And no one knows I can’t read the price tags.

So, as soon as I get back to Los Angeles, I guess I need to go to the doctor and try to see if I can get past my Goldilox syndrome. But I know what’s going to happen. My vision is like 75/50. So the cycle is going to repeat itself.

Maybe I just need a “seeing-eye Toy Boy” to get me around. It could even be one from the biker bar at this point in time. After all, my eyes aren’t really that bad.

Please note: The Mind of Ann will have to take the day off tomorrow. Have to leave the house at 6am to get to a doctor’s appointment in LA by 11, then play with my web-designer-PDF-converter-editor-photographer, Hillary for a couple hours, then have lunch with Abbi and her Aussie — haven’t decided whether I’ll be staying w/ a friend at UCLA or driving back. Either way, there won’t be time for my mind to be working, so I’ll see you Friday.