Memelicious II: Electric Boogaloo

Since it's Friday, and I'm simply EXHAUSTED from having worked five full days this week, I'm going to accept the challenge from sauntering soul and do another meme. (It's my blog, and I can meme if I want to, meme if I want to.)

The Rules are:
Devise a list of 5-10 courses you would take to fix your life. It's more fun to be in classes with friends, so include one class from the person who tagged you that you'd also like to take.
Tag 5.

Okay, first is the class from her list that I would take with her. I have long felt that someone implanted a butt-magnetic device into my couch when I wasn't looking, and that said magnetic device is the sole reason that my butt stays so firmly affixed to said couch. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.) But perhaps this class would help me to remove the butt-magnet.

Motivate yourself to get off the couch more!
Do you come home from work, put on your pajamas, make yourself some dinner and head straight to the couch to numb your tired overworked brain with blogging and reality TV? No? Me neither. But if you do, take this course which will give you insider secrets to making your evenings more productive. Learn how to (a) go for an actual walk for some actual exercise; (b) maybe do a load of laundry so you have clean socks tomorrow; (c) organize your personal paperwork and pay those bills on time!; (d) volunteer to help others in your community; and (e) buy birthday presents ahead of time rather than stressing yourself out trying to pick something from the only drugstore that's open on your way to the birthday celebration. Don't just sit there on your bum.....call right now!

Okay, now my classes.

Learn how to stop taking in stray cats!

Do people get a "oh, she's one of those crazy ladies" look on their face when you tell them how many cats you have--and you actually cut the real number in half? Do you consider cat hair a legitimate fashion accessory? Can you toss a hairball-yacking cat off the side of the bed without even waking up? This class will help you to STEP AWAY FROM THE KITTENS! Special electronics instruction on the correct way to safely disconnect the flashing neon visible-only-to-feline-eyes "vacancy" sign over your door.

Come to understand men.

Bwaaaaaaa!!!! There ain't no understandin' 'em. You just gotta love 'em. Or give up on them entirely and just have cats. Your call.

Learn to De-clutter Your Home.

This class will enable you to realize that NOT keeping every single plastic tub, butter dish, etc., that crosses your path for your entire adult life will (probably) not worsen global warming significantly, and/or bring Al Gore to your house for a personal chastisement. (Probably. But if he does come, it will be with Powerpoint and pointer.) You will also learn that it's okay to get rid of shoes/clothes you haven't worn in years (But what if that style comes back?--No talking in class, missy.), and that the IRS probably isn't interested in your 20-year-old bank statements. Perhaps you don't need to keep (and pack in boxes and move, and pack in boxes and move, repeat ad nauseam) every single book you've ever purchased in your life, especially if you haven't read it in years and/or it dates back to that somewhat embarrassing "historical romance" phase from high school. Your childhood diary? Oh, that you can keep. That "historical romance" is comedy gold.

Say no to that third slice of pizza.
I wish I had attended this class earlier today, then I might be a tad less miserable right now. (It's the owner of my company's birthday. In addition to the pizza, there was rotel dip and chips, and Italian cream cake. My tummy hurts.) But really, how do you eat a sensible amount of "Pizza of the Gods"? There are artichoke hearts on there, for pete's sake! And garlic! And provolone cheese! And mushrooms! And tomatoes! And olive oil! Why, it's practically health food, right? Right?

Okay, that's enough learning for one day. I'm going to slump over here at my desk and revel in my misery for the rest of the day. If I'm still this uncomfortable tonight, I can always take a nice relaxing soak with the delightful l'Occitane relaxation kit that was part of my contest prize package from -r-. Thanks, -r-!

Oh, and tagging five? I'm too tired. If you're reading this, consider yourself tagged. You know, if you want. Whatever. Slump.

Memelicious

Being completely without blogging inspiration today (except for this nagging "dating karma" thing that's been floating in my head for awhile, but hasn't come to fruition yet), I am stealing a meme from Sauntering Soul, (one of my favorite new reads, by the way--check out her D.R.U.G.S. series).

1. What kind of soap is in your bathtub right now? A bar of some funky Indian brand, rose-scented, and some Avon lavender shower gel.
2. Do you have any watermelon in your refrigerator? I hate watermelon. So, um...no.
3. What would you change about your living room? I wish it was bigger, and I wish the furniture had not been "customized" by the evil cats and their evil little claws.
4. Are the dishes in your dishwasher clean or dirty? I don't have a dishwasher. But everyone who knows me is giggling right now at the thought of dirty dishes being allowed anywhere in my house. (I have an OCD thing about that.)
5. What is in your fridge? Oh gosh...rye bread, english muffins, multigrain artisan bread, fake turkey, swiss cheese, sauerkraut (I just had a Reuben craving), kimchee, lettuce, asparagus, radishes, mushrooms, fresh mint, green onions, lemons, eggs, butter, mustard, curry paste, assorted salad dressings, peanut butter, cherry jam, an partial can of dog food, iced tea, soy milk, Pur filtered water pitcher, various and sundry assorted pickled things, and a sliced cheese variety pack I got to take to a party that was cancelled and I'm fighting the urge to rip it open and gorge myself. (But I've got another party to go to this weekend, so I'm trying to save it.)
6. White or wheat bread? Always wheat. White bread is not actual food. I once had a partial loaf of white bread (left by someone else) in my refrigerator for over a year-and-a-half, and it still didn't have one spot of mold. That's not natural!
7. What is on top of your refrigerator? A bamboo steamer, a stack of vegetarian cookbooks, an empty champagne bottle that was given to me by Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Edward Albee (it wasn't empty at the time, of course), a wine bottle my boyfriend at the time bought me for my 25th birthday (it wasn't empty at the time either, of course, and boy am I a sentimental sap, but it's hard to throw away things given to you by the last guy who really, truly loved you), an ashtray stolen from somewhere I can't even remember, a set of oil and vinegar cruets stolen for me by a friend from an Orange County restaurant on perhaps the best summer vacation of my life, some little cow-themed knick-knacks, and a bunch of straw baskets, one of which may have a cat nesting in it at any given time. Boy, that makes it sound like the top of my refrigerator is huge, but it's really just normal-sized. And covered with stuff.
8. What color or design is on your shower curtain? It's kind of beige, with purple flowers.
9. How many plants are in your home? 26 in the living room, plus assorted cuttings in water in the kitchen. (I am partial to living things, it seems.)
10. Is your bed made right now? If I'm not in it, it's made. (OCD.)
11. Comet or Soft Scrub? Method brand daily shower spray
12. Is your closet organized? No. (The OCD only applies to things easily visible. Closets, drawers and cupboards are not covered under my OCD contract.)
13. Can you describe your flashlight? I have a sturdy yellow one with a magnet on the side, a purple one, a heavy-duty blue one, another yellow one I usually keep in the car. Apparently every time I need a flashlight, I just buy a new one.
14. Do you drink out of glass or plastic more at home? Glass.
15. Do you have iced tea made in a pitcher right now? Always and forever.
16. If you have garage, is it cluttered? It's not too cluttered, only because I actually park in the garage, which limits the clutter to the sides.
17. Curtains or blinds? Blinds through the house, curtains and blinds on the living room picture window.
18. How many pillows do you sleep with? 4. Plus my enormous dog.
19. Do you sleep with any lights on at night? I sometimes leave the fluorescent light over the kitchen sink on.
20. How often do you vacuum? Every Saturday morning, like it or not.
21. Standard toothbrush or electric? Electric. (Oral-B Vitality rechargeable. Love it.)
22. What color is your toothbrush? Blue and white.
23. Do you have welcome mat on your front porch? It doesn't actually say "Welcome" on it, but I do have a mat.
24. What is in your oven right now? One cookie sheet and one very large skillet that don't fit in the stove's storage area.
25. Is there anything under your bed? A little dust. Sometimes a cat. Sometimes a yacked-up hairball left behind by a cat.
26. What chores do you hate? Can't say I love any of them. Cleaning the litter box closet is pretty heinous.
27. What retro items are in your home? My house is mostly furnished with cast-offs and give-aways...I mean "family heirlooms," so everything is somewhat retro. I have a bed and dresser that were used by my parents and before them, my grandparents, dating back to the 50s, I think. I have a vanity that was in my mother's childhood bedroom, and a dresser handmade by some family member that was in my grandmother's house as far back as I can remember. I have one of those old 50s-style formica-type kitchen tables, a funky round, glass-tier-topped coffee table I bought in a thrift store and a great, creaky wooden rocking chair that was made by some long-dead family member (and which my mother used to rock us all to sleep as babies). I have two art deco table lamps with groovy round 2-tiered fiberglass shades that were found in my grandmother's attic after she died, but which nobody ever remembers seeing before. At the time, one was given to me and one to my sister, but I was forced to take my sister's from her after seeing that she had replaced the groovy tiered shade with a countrified silk monstrosity with fringe. Sacrilege!!
28. Do you have separate room you use an an office? No.
29. How many mirrors are in your home? One in the bathroom, one on the dresser in the bedroom, one full-length on the closet door, one each on vanity and dresser which are actually in the living room.
30. Do you have any hidden emergency money around your home? I used to be good at keeping a little cash rat-holed, but at the moment I'm down to the spare change holder in my car.
31. What color are your walls? That generic taupe-y rental house color. I don't mind it too much, actually. It goes with everything.
32. What does your home smell like right now? My hope is simply always that it doesn't smell like cat poop. I have a multi-tiered odor removal system in effect at all times. And still sometimes it smells a bit like cat poop--one of the little devils isn't so good with the covering after, if you know what I mean. I've discovered Indian incense is the best way to instantly remedy that aroma.
33. Favorite candle scent? Lavender, cotton...clean scents, mostly.
34. What kind of pickles are in your refrigerator right now? Nothing sweet. Dills, pepperoncini, cocktail onions, etc.
35. Ever been on your roof? No. I used to have a friend who would let us climb on her roof to watch the 4th of July fireworks display nearby. That came to an end one year after she realized there were a couple of dozen drunken people on her roof, singing "Stars and Stripes Forever" at the top of their lungs. (Hi, Julie! Miss those parties!)
36. Do you own a stereo? Yes
37. How many TV’s do you have? One
38. How many phones? One cordless, one regular in case of power outage, one cellular.
39. Do you have a housekeeper? Ha ha ha ha ha ha....oh, that wasn't a joke?
40. What style do you decorate in? Shabby chic without the chic? Eclectic, very eclectic.
41. Do you like solid colors in furniture or prints? Solid, generally.
42. Is there a smoke detector in your home? There are two. One is very near the stove and goes off every time I cook. (No, I'm not in the habit of burning things, it just seems to sense the heat.) I try to remember to take the batteries out if I know I'm going to be cooking, 'cause the noise turns my 86-pound Doberman into a quivering mass of jelly who MUST BE LEANING AGAINST ME. I have a tiny kitchen, and it's very hard to cook with 86 pounds of quivering Dobie jelly between you and the food.

Well, that was kind of fun, wasn't it?

It was just another manic Sunday

Okay, before I go off into internet-less land for the long weekend, I promised to tell you the tale of my crazy Sunday.

A little background info--and this part's not funny at all. One of the players in the story is a woman I go to church with who has been diagnosed with Pick's Disease. For the last few months, we've been watching this intelligent, articulate, capable woman disintegrate before our eyes. It's beyond sad. And terrifying. This disease (which has similar effects to Alzheimer's) primarily strikes people in their 40s/50s, and since I'm 45...well, it's like watching one of my worst nightmares play out right in front of me. Unlike Alzheimer's, its victims generally don't live very many years beyond diagnosis. At any rate, to watch this formerly vital and forceful woman pacing restlessly up and down the aisle, stopping sometimes to salute people, or repeat the same bit of trivia over and over with childlike glee...there are no words. She's not like that all the time, of course. The real cruelty is that there are times when she's completely lucid, and I hope during those times she doesn't remember the other times. Okay, backstory done.

On Sunday our usual priest was out-of-town at a family funeral. We had a guest priest--a very charming, charismatic little guy who was raised a Southern Baptist preacher's kid, somewhere along the line became an ordained Lutheran minister, and was hired as an assistant pastor by an Episcopal church here (the big downtown "high" church), after the Episcopal and Lutheran churches established "full communion" a few years ago. (Basically, their clergy are authorized to serve in each other's churches.)

He was very excited to be with us, and announced at the beginning of the service that "while the cat's away, the mice will play," and we were going to shake things up a bit, since our usual priest had assured him that we were a particularly open-minded and flexible congregation. (True enough, I'd say.) The Southern Baptist in him came out right away, as he repeated the opening sentences three times, until our response was vigorous enough for him to continue. Then he informed us that we were going to worship "from one end of the church to the other," and requested that we begin the service at the back of the church, circling the baptismal font.

Okay then.

We all trooped to the back and circled the font, which was then ceremoniously filled with water. At that point, he picked up a small whisk broomlike thing, dipped it into the font, and began to dramatically smack us all in the face with water to remind us of our baptismal vows, and that we were "marked as God's own."

Okay then. (And boy, just TRY not to wince as you see that whisk broom coming your direction! And no, never in a million years would they let him try this at his usual church. They're a little more...traditional there, let's just say.)

We began the opening hymn and processed back to our seats. Things proceeded more or less as usual--some slight differences, due to his Lutheran background, I presume, (I've never actually been to a Lutheran service) and also his own extreme exuberance. (He's just a happy, happy guy. He's a "shiny, happy people," so to speak.) Different, but nothing we can't handle. We come to the scripture reading portion of the service--the lay readers are asked to approach him before each reading, so he can remove his stole and drape it around their necks while they read. (That's not funny in and of itself, but each time he pulled the hood of his vestments up to remove the stole, he reminded me of the Jawas in the first Star Wars movie, and I had to stifle a giggle.)

So we get to the gospel reading, which is done by the deacon. The deacon happens to be the husband of the woman with Pick's. At my church, the deacon and the crucifer process about halfway down the aisle to do the gospel reading, facing the back of the church, and the people in the first few rows generally turn to face him, which means the deacon can't see anyone sitting in those rows. Deacon's wife always sits very near the front. So he starts the reading, and suddenly I noticed a woman sitting in my pew (I also sit near the front) duck across the aisle and sit next to Deacon's Wife, who has just slumped right over in her pew. Another woman slides into the pew on DW's other side, and they gently rouse her. She sits up, I see her mouth "I'm fine," and I think she just had a dizzy spell or something, but it's worrisome. The two women stay on either side of her, obviously still concerned, as well. The deacon, of course, can't see this, and he just plugs away at the gospel reading. (Which was a pretty long one.) Then suddenly, over DW goes again. A couple of more people go to her, and one woman sprints off to call an ambulance. The deacon at this point knows there's something going on behind him, but everyone is being very calm and quiet about it, and he obviously doesn't know just what's happening. He finishes the reading, turns to process back to the altar, and sees people clustered around his wife, who is sitting up at this point, but is deathly pale, and her eyes are quite unfocused. He returns the Bible to the altar, and at this point the service stops, obviously.

The priest jumps in, calls us to gather around DW, and we do a little laying on of hands while he prays, and we lay her down, prop up her feet and wait for the ambulance to arrive. This part was really...moving. You could literally feel the love and care surrounding DW, and I don't think there was a person there whose eyes weren't filled with tears. I hope she could feel the love--she was conscious, and when we segued into the Lord's Prayer, I could see her lips moving along. Pretty soon we hear the ambulance pull up outside, and we all move back to let the paramedics do their work.

At this point, someone notices that the baptismal font at the back of the church apparently did not have the drain plug inserted properly, and has been trickling water all over the floor for some time. Water, water everywhere! So a mop and bucket and towel brigade is formed to clean up that mess before the paramedics are forced to wheel DW down a canal, instead of an aisle.

Eventually, they have her strapped and ready to go to the hospital, and the deacon goes with her, of course.

We all take a deep breath, and the service continues. Except...the next thing to happen is the sermon, and guess who was scheduled to do the sermon today? Of course...the deacon.

So our apparently unflappable guest priest pulls out a chair, re-reads us the Gospel, and asks that we each try to focus on a word, phrase or story that popped to mind when we first heard it. He then improvs a pretty decent sermon, ending by telling us excitedly that he wants to try something he saw done recently in San Francisco. He wants US to finish the sermon! Remember those words, phrases or stories we were supposed to be thinking of? Well, let's out with them, and make a beautiful tapestry of the voices of the church!

Okay, let's be honest here. I did not hear ONE WORD of that gospel reading the first time I heard it. The only words or phrases in MY mind at the time were "Oh holy crap, what's wrong with DW?!" I didn't really hear it the second time I heard it. One very outgoing church member got up and rambled emotionally a bit, and then...well, apparently I was not the only one less than inspired, because the silence was deafening. It was awkward, and sad...he stood there, with the sweetest, most expectant expression on his face, and...silence.

Okay then. Moving on.

He asked us all to depart from the norm, and come on up and kneel around the altar for the portion of the service preceding communion. Okay then, but at this point I'm just consumed with hoping that the 90-year-old woman next to me is okay with all this extra traipsing around. "Please don't let sweet Mrs. R fall and break a hip, God, okay?" (That prayer was answered, fortunately.)

We made it to the end of the service, with perhaps a little extra exuberance in the final "Thanks be to God. Alleluia, ALLELUIA!"

I stopped to shake the priest's hand on my way out, and thank him for being there. Right behind me was a fellow I'd never seen before--we didn't have our usual introduction of visitors amidst all the hubbub, so I didn't know if he was a friend of the guest priest, or a true visitor. Turns out he's someone our regular priest had been ministering to, and "this is my first church service after a 15-year hiatus." I turned and said "Well, you certainly picked an interesting day to come back, didn't you?" and we all laughed a bit.

'Cause really, what else are you gonna do?

So, that's the tale. (I haven't heard anything regarding DW, so I'm going to assume that she's okay, or as okay as someone with her disease can be, as I'm sure the phone tree would have been activated otherwise.) What a crazy day, huh?

And on that note, let's all go somewhere tomorrow and be thankful for our blessings, shall we? Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

A Conversation

Taking place after BFF read my recent "seven weird/random things" blog entry.

BFF: "Have I really bought you ALL those purses?"

Me: "Are you kidding? ALL those? I didn't even mention the furry black one, the tiny green silk one, the beaded black one, the two with monkeys or the old lady brocade one."

BFF: "I am the gayest man alive."

Me: "Yes, you are."

Good news

Well, my father's "lung spot" scan results finally came back, and they think it's scar tissue or the like. They do want to check it again in 3 months, but for now--we can all breathe again. And maybe plan a Thanksgiving dinner. Whew! (And there had better BE Thanksgiving dinner. Last year my family stood me up and I was by myself all day. Pathetic, I know.)

New Guy, kids in tow, had a relatively uneventful flight back home to Louisiana today. I miss him already, but I know he really needs this time with his family. Before he left for Texas Saturday morning (his kids live in Texas--he moved to Oklahoma from Louisiana to be closer to them--did I ever explain that?) he thanked me for the last three months and told me I had made Tulsa "livable." How sweet is that? (Not exactly a declaration of love, or anything...but sweet.) I told him I'd miss him, and that I was giving him permission to lie just this once and tell me he'd miss me. His response? "I WILL miss you." Awww. Sweet. Even if, as I then laughingly told him, I'm quite sure he'll be so busy with his kids and his parents and his childhood friends that he won't even remember my name by mid-week. "Liz WHO?"

I was going to tell you all the tale of the most interesting time I've ever had at church, which happened yesterday, but I think I'll save that story. It involves a guest priest, a whisk broom, an ambulance, a leaking baptismal font...it was really quite an experience. (Intrigued, aren't you?) I don't want to make too light of it all, though...the part involving the ambulance was really quite sad, and I don't know the exact ending to that part of the story yet.

That's it for today--I think somebody's got a case of the Mondays. Heh.

Dipping into the reservoir of untapped random weirdness...

...to see if there are any "random/weird" facts about me I have not previously shared, as I am accepting the tag from 3carnations.

Said challenge to be:

1. Linking to poster who tagged you. Done. (See above.)

2. Listing seven "random/weird" things about yourself. Well, here goes.

• I'm somewhat double-jointed, and can bend the pinky finger on my left hand so far back it nearly touches the back of my hand. I don't have a camera handy to give you photographic evidence of this freaky finger limberness, but trust me, it's impressive. In a "ewww---doesn't that HURT?" kind of way.
• I had Michael Jackson's first solo album when I was a kid (when he was still part of the Jackson 5, and also still a black man and a reasonable proximation of a human being) and I was FASCINATED with the song "Ben." I listened to it over and over, singing along. Is it any wonder that I came to have pet rats for several years?
• I was one of nine valedictorians for my high school class. (That's not weird, but it is, indeed, random.)
• I have been onstage in a Mr. Peanut costume, speaking with a Cockney accent.
• I love trying to see how low a bid I can use to win jewelry auctions on eBay. My record is $0.99 for a lovely pair of sterling silver and iolite earrings. (And no, I did not pay $25 for shipping and "handling"--I'm smarter than that. See above re: valedictorian. Hee.)
• I sometimes still put potato chips inside my sandwich like a junior high girl. (I like the crunch.)
• I own two purses made out of cigar boxes, one purse made entirely of beer cans, one made of grey (faux) fur, two purses that are hinged wooden boxes (one handcrafted to look like a freaky cat, one with shells and fish affixed to it) and one shaped like Andy Warhol's red cat, among many others. I did not purchase any of these. Do I have a BFF who loves to buy me purses? Yes, yes I do. Have I carried any of these purses? Yes, yes I have, but mostly I love to display them as art pieces. Is the decor in my house a little offbeat? Yes, yes it is.

Okay, that was seven heretofore unknown, or at least unblogged about, things about lizgwiz.

3. I'm supposed to tag five additional bloggers, but I'll just issue a blogosphere-wide challenge. Any up for it, get to it!

On that note, I will bid you a lovely weekend. New Guy and I are going to an organ recital tonight (heh, I said organ), and then he is leaving to spend Thanksgiving week back home with his parents. Pity poor me, all alone with only my 86-pound Doberman to keep me warm. And, you know, 57 cats. Or so it feels. Heh.

The Mystery Post

Last week I was diagnosed with a life-changing disease. A disease that will make me think constantly about every single thing I do to my body for the rest of my life. Every move I make, every bite of food I eat. How I feel now, how I felt an hour ago, how doing something now might make me feel later.

Ironically, a complete lack of regard for my body is how I made this mess. And now… now it’s all I think about every single second. I overreact (internally – I’m not screaming in public or anything) to every little feeling.

“What’s that? Did my foot just tingle? Is it going numb? Do I feel nauseated? Should I eat something? Why do I have a headache? Is that normal? Will this scratch on my foot ever heal?”

I have diabetes, and I’m still in my 20’s.

Lots of people have diabetes. Lots of people are worse off than me. I can control this, potentially for the rest of my life, with just diet and exercise. I don’t have to give myself shots, I don’t have to test my blood sugar, I don’t have to have anything amputated.

Yet.

I think I’m overreacting to everything because I don’t trust myself to take care of myself. I’ve put nothing but bad things into my body for 29 years, how can I be sure that I’ll change now? Why can’t I just do the things that I know are good for me and walk away from the bad? My body is finally, dramatically, telling me to STOP, but I can’t guarantee I won’t eat my mother-in-laws Christmas candy.

(Hell, that candy might be worth it. It’s freaking good. Homemade peanut butter covered in homemade chocolate? Gee, okay, I’ll eat ten of those.)

I feel bad for my husband. He didn’t sign on for this – he signed on for a healthy, happy, slightly chubby girl. Now he has an overweight, moody woman. He didn’t think that someday his wife might have to have something amputated because she just couldn’t put down the Fritos.

And bean dip. Great googly moogly, I do love me some bean dip.

I have a blog on a weight loss website, and so far it’s been surprisingly helpful. I’ve lost some weight in the last week and a half, and it’s inspiring me to stay on track. So far, things are looking up. But I’m afraid of failing, of falling back on my bad eating habits and doing more damage. Maybe that fear is exactly what will keep me in line, but who knows.

I’m afraid to talk about this thing, this diabetes, and yet at the same time I feel the urge to shout it out to everyone. The few people that I have confided in have, for the most part, had very casual responses, like, “Oh, that sucks. Let’s talk about me now.” At first that really upset me, but now I think maybe it’s just a reaction to finding out we’re not invincible, we are getting older, and we all need to take better care of ourselves.

So maybe that can be the good that comes out of this – a message to everyone… PUT DOWN THE FRITOS AND BEAN DIP. OR YOU MAY LOSE A FOOT.

Watch This Space

Tomorrow is the Great Blog Share, orchestrated by the lovely and talented -r- . What does that mean for you, gentle reader? Well, tomorrow a super-secret guest poster will be writing for LizLand, and I will be writing a super-secret guest post somewhere else. Want to try and figure out who's doing what where? Below is the list of participants. Knock yourself out!


Alyndabear
AndYou Know What Else
Bright Yellow World
Confessions of a Novice
Everything I Like Causes Cancer
Face Down
Liz Land
Muse OnVacation
NancyPearl Wannabe
NotWhat You Think It Is
OperationPink Herring
Red Red Whine
Sass Attack
Stefanie Says
Thinking Some More

Maybe I should get me some of that.

MegaDick, that is.

My work email has recently been inundated with spam from the MegaDick corporation, all of it designed to make me feel inadequate because my penis is so small. Or, excuse me, my "pen!s."

"Don't you think it's time you stopped being a loser with a tiny pen!s?"

That's kind of harsh, don't you think?

"There are no losers among the possessors of long dic'ks."

No losers, perhaps, but plenty of inappropriate punctuation usage.

Don't worry, though, MegaDick assures me it can turn me into a winner:

"So, don't miss it out, perform a miracle in your life with this unexampled preparation."

"Unexampled preparation"? What the hell does that even MEAN? And speaking of "what the hell does that even mean," what the hell does THIS, received as a subject line, even mean:

"Wattlework fouled driftingly bewrayment"

Or this:

"lactation wilcox brawlis macwilliams"

Well, I don't know about you, but I am completely befuddled. First I'm being urged to enlarge an organ I didn't even know I HAD (and the huge plastic one given to me by friends as a 30th birthday present certainly doesn't need enlarging!), and now it's all "wattlework" and "lactation."

So I didn't know WHAT to think when I saw this:

"We featured it Tuesday and it exploded."

Calm down, it turns out they were talking about an investment opportunity. Whew.

"Everything Comes Down to Poo."*

Seriously, why does so much of my life seem to revolve around animal excrement? (So much so that a good many of my search engine hits involve various terms for the products that leave the body--poop, shit, pee, puke, etc.)

Last night I had to go meet my animal rescue friend to pick up Steve the stray from his second (unsuccessful) stint at PetSmart, where we're trying to get him adopted. I hadn't eaten dinner, and had given some thought to running out to my favorite restaurant afterwards to pick up some "crack noodles." (Crazy good Vietnamese noodle dish--I crave it so strongly there MUST be drugs in it.)

I met Linda at our designated swapping spot. She generally has about a dozen cats she carts back and forth to this gig--her car is crammed floor to ceiling with caged cats. "Someone pooped in their carrier," she said. "I think it might be Steve."

It was. Of course. Forget the noodles. I rolled down the window, turned the fan on high (vents pointed AWAY from me) and raced home. Where, instead of munching on delightful noodles, I spent a few minutes washing Steve's hiney and cleaning out the crate. MY LIFE IS SO MUCH FUN!

Earlier in the evening, I had demonstrated my one-handed cat puke cleanup, while on the phone with BFF. Didn't miss a beat, or a word of conversation, when Babs went spewing. Just followed her around with a paper towel. I had to hang up, though, when Pudge suddenly decided to part company with HIS dinner. "Sorry," I said to BFF, "I can't clean up THAT much puke with one hand." I am a delightful cellular conversationalist, aren't I?

But it's finally Friday, thank god, and New Guy is, I believe, staying in town for the first weekend in a while, and we have tentative plans to take in a play and a concert. So hopefully it will be a delightful weekend.

I'm sure it won't be excrement-free, though. "I am, after all, me."**


*If you don't know the source of that, well then, you missed out.
**That's for BFF, should he read this post. It's one of our favorite movie quotes.

Kinda funny...and not so funny

A conversation:

New Guy: "So what are the winters usually like in Oklahoma?"

Me: "There is no usually."

New Guy: "Ha ha. No, really. What's it usually like? What should I expect?"

Me: "I wasn't being glib. There is no such thing as 'usual' Oklahoma weather."

New Guy: "What kind of snow do you get?" (They don't get snow where he's from.)

Me: "Last year we had 8 inches on the ground for several days. I didn't leave my house for 4 days. The year before that we had light snow one time, and it didn't stick. I went to a party in January that year and stood outside at midnight in my bare feet. You see where I'm going with this?"

New Guy: "Oh boy."

Me: "You have front wheel drive? You'll be fine. And they're saying La Nina should warm things up this year. But you should probably buy a coat."

Should be interesting!

And now the not-so-funny...my mother called to tell me my father stumbled and cracked a rib, and in the process of diagnosing that, they found a small spot on one lung. He's been a heavy smoker for 50 years, so...please send all good thoughts/prayers/positive energy his way. (He's having a CAT scan, and then we'll know more.) I refuse to panic yet, but I'm very concerned. Damn it. I'm not sure he's sturdy enough to undergo chemo or radation, so a cancer diagnosis is JUST NOT AN OPTION!

Okay, back to not worrying yet. Sigh.

Sleepy, Crampy, Cranky, Blotchy...

...and several of the other dwarves seem to be having a party with Aunt Flo in my uterus. Couldn't be more fun!

Okay, it could be a GREAT deal more fun. Grrr.

On the plus side, I'm back on antibiotics, with an added topical cream, and an option to refill the antibiotics if necessary, so hopefully Blotchy is on his way to being banished for good. The doctor won't come out and say whether he thinks I actually have a MRSA infection, only that the drug he's giving me is the best for that, just in case. There has been a little outbreak of MRSA (all the not-too-serious skin infection type) in the schools around here, so I guess it could be. I hate the way they're now saying "Mersa," though...so I'll stick with Blotchy.

Five Aleve and one antibiotic horsepill first thing in the morning will make your stomach just a tad bit upset. Did you know that? Consider yourself warned. Fortunately, the Aleve finally kicked Crampy in the butt and made him lie down, so it was worth it.

Sleepy? Well, he decided to settle in for a nap today...probably because I could not for the life of me get to sleep last night (VERY unusual for me--I never have insomnia), and finally got up around 1:30 to take a Benadryl. Which did put me to sleep for a few hours, but boy, did I have unpleasant dreams. I should have just gotten up and watched a movie or something, I guess.

Cranky? Well, he's been around since yesterday, all of which I spent putting out fires caused by someone else's incompetence/general stupidity, etc. Seriously, it was the most aggravating day. These weren't BIG fires, just one petty little annoyance after another. Someone remind me WHY THE HELL I WORK IN CUSTOMER SERVICE!?!?

New Guy and I had vaguely talked about getting together last night, so when I finally left work I thought, hey...as soon as I've tended to my own horde of critters, gone to my chemo-enduring cat lady friend's house and tended to her horde of critters, come back home, worked out and done yoga, then at least I can go and get a little snuggling action. Guess again. Someone was suffering some...digestive upset and for some reason didn't want to share that experience with me. So, no snuggling. (Except for Pudge. And far be it from me to discount the snuggling power of a clingy 90-pound Doberman.)

I can't believe it's only Wednesday. It might take a few more tiny packs of leftover Halloween Skittles to get me through. I'd LOVE a good stiff drink, but that's contraindicated with the antibiotics...I guess Skittles will have to do. (Taste the rainbow!)

I'm fine. I think. Ask again later.

In case you were wondering re: the absence of much posting last week. I was just oddly busy. Oddly in that I wasn't non-stop busy, by any means, but it seemed that every time I was ready to start a blog post, something work-related would intervene. And so it goes.

I have to go back to the doctor in a few minutes. The tiny little red dot that was the sole remaining vestige of my giant red blotch decided to start shaking things up this weekend. Yep, blotchy again. Only about the size of a pencil eraser, but it's there. The doctor won't prescribe antibiotics again unless I come in and spend some money, so into the office I go. Grrr. I'm hoping we just didn't do the last round of drugs for quite long enough, and it's not something scary like MRSA. I'll let you know.

How's New Guy? Fine, mostly. He's been battling some homesickness, and in a bit of a funk. Perfectly understandable, if not much fun for me. But I am being sweet and patient and understanding. And he better by god appreciate it! Hee. Seriously, I have not once been the slightest bit passive-aggressive or snarky with him. I don't know if it's the yoga getting me all zenned out, or if he just brings out my softer side, or a combination thereof, but I don't even WANT to be passive-aggressive or snarky. Who AM I? I'm like Doris Day, all "que sera, sera."

How are the animals? They're all okay, more or less. I need to take one of the indoor cats to the vet--losing hair and weight again. Steve the Wonder Stray still needs a home. He's a great cat--I don't know why someone hasn't snapped him up yet, damn it! And Dolly and McBeady are now into winter mode--staying close to home and making full use of the blankets I've put out for them. I'm trying to get them all fattened up before it gets really cold. (Which might be tomorrow night--our first freeze warning. Boo!)

I went to the 50th birthday party of one of my theatre friends this weekend. A good time--although it would have been a better time if I wasn't a vegetarian. They brought in barbeque, and there was meat. And next to that, meat. And oh, over there...meat. I dipped bread in barbeque sauce and ate my weight in his mom's homemade potato salad (which was quite yummy--who needs meat?). I chatted with said friend about my desire to possibly try to do a one-woman show sometime soon, and would he like to direct if I did? And he said he'd love to be involved, so I sent off for a couple of scripts I thought looked interesting. (Yeah, I know, I should turn my OWN life into a one-woman show...maybe some day. Unless one of you really good writers wants to go ahead and pen that for me. Unsolicited scripts happily accepted.)

We saw a really great concert last week (it was New Guy's birthday present from me)--a sort of super-energized baroque quartet called "Red Priest." Seriously, you should check them out. They play very standard baroque repertoire, but they play it...differently. With attitude, if you will. (And the lead guy, a "recorder virtuoso," is way yummy.) I played in a recorder consort all through college, and of course, after the concert I had to get my recorder out and see if I could still play. I can--although my cat Stella might disagree--she bit me pretty sharply on the elbow when I hit the high notes. I actually might try to brush up my mad recorder "skillz" and find a group to play with. I loved playing recorder. (Yes, I am a geek. Your point?)

Okay, that pretty much catches you up. I'll try to be a more diligent poster this week. Hey, I never promised you a NaBloPoMo, did I? Heh.