Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
sueno AGAIN (and please forgive the lack of the tilde)
As you know, it's been slow at work, which means a lot of days it's been even more flexible than usual at which time I show up. This has led to an unfortunate pattern in which my cell phone alarm goes off, I dismiss it, and then I go back to sleep for an hour. I've been so tired in the mornings, it's really hard to get out of bed. But this morning I did have a 7:30 patient which meant being to work at 7. So I asked D if he would come upstairs at 5:30 and make sure I was actually awake.
My alarm goes off at 5:30, I'm awake to turn it off. About 45 seconds later, I hear D coming up the stairs. He pokes his head in my room and tells me it's 5:30. I answer him. The next thing I know it's 6:12. Honest to fucking god, I do not know what my problem is. I managed to do the bare minimum of washing and grooming, suck down one cup of coffee, feed that evil cat, and make it out the door just in the nick of time to get to work at 7, but it really wasn't how I wanted to start my day. And it's all my own fault. Sigh.
But even in my rush to get out of the house, I did remember to wear my Halloween t-shirt. My Halloween zombie lolcat t-shirt, which reads, "i can has brains?" People who know what the lolcats are have been cracking up. People who don't just look puzzled. I plan on wearing this to pass out candy Sunday night, and if I can summon up enough ambition, I will zombify myself too. Gotta find some kind of online tutorial on how to do zombie makeup, because my imagination has failed me. If I do, and it comes out satisfactorily, I'll take and post a pic. (Now you all have something to look forward to all weekend. Full service blog.)
Happy Friday. I hope you got to wash your hair this morning if you wanted to.
xoxo
My alarm goes off at 5:30, I'm awake to turn it off. About 45 seconds later, I hear D coming up the stairs. He pokes his head in my room and tells me it's 5:30. I answer him. The next thing I know it's 6:12. Honest to fucking god, I do not know what my problem is. I managed to do the bare minimum of washing and grooming, suck down one cup of coffee, feed that evil cat, and make it out the door just in the nick of time to get to work at 7, but it really wasn't how I wanted to start my day. And it's all my own fault. Sigh.
But even in my rush to get out of the house, I did remember to wear my Halloween t-shirt. My Halloween zombie lolcat t-shirt, which reads, "i can has brains?" People who know what the lolcats are have been cracking up. People who don't just look puzzled. I plan on wearing this to pass out candy Sunday night, and if I can summon up enough ambition, I will zombify myself too. Gotta find some kind of online tutorial on how to do zombie makeup, because my imagination has failed me. If I do, and it comes out satisfactorily, I'll take and post a pic. (Now you all have something to look forward to all weekend. Full service blog.)
Happy Friday. I hope you got to wash your hair this morning if you wanted to.
xoxo
Thursday, October 28, 2010
fox news 25 teaser
During the World Series. "Full body scan or a stranger's hand between your legs--why you'll have to choose!" (<---slightly paraphrased)
What's this "stranger" look like anyway? Is he hot? And how long has it been since I've gotten any? Is the scan gonna give me cancer? Are you sure? What does WebMD say about that?
I can't choose, Fox News morons, until you give me all the pertinent facts.
Oh, wait...
xoxo
What's this "stranger" look like anyway? Is he hot? And how long has it been since I've gotten any? Is the scan gonna give me cancer? Are you sure? What does WebMD say about that?
I can't choose, Fox News morons, until you give me all the pertinent facts.
Oh, wait...
xoxo
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
successes
I got a massage today and you didn't. Nyah nyah. Okay, that's not true. I have no idea whether you had a massage today or not. I don't know what you people are up to when you're not reading this blog, though I always assume you're all up to no good. But nevertheless I *did* have a massage today and M2 told me I'm getting a lot of muscle in my back. Also, my quads. But I'm especially excited about my back because, as I may have mentioned, I've got no idea what's going on back there because I can't see. I want someone to take a picture while I'm flexing it, so I can see, but no one's been raising their hand to volunteer. Even though it could involve me taking my shirt off! Still no volunteers. Sigh. (Actually, M2 said she'll do it next time we see each other with her phone or mine. I really cannot wait.)
In related success news, I have just one more class in my 6 week session with Liz, and she asked me today whether I was going to do the next one. I asked if we'd be doing the same stuff or different stuff, and she said if she got some new people, we'd be doing the same stuff. And that, honestly, she thought I was ready to go on my own. (Then she remarked what a crappy salesperson she is. Heh.) So that felt good. And that was *before* she even saw me squat today. My squats were awesome, bitches. Trust. So then we were talking about squats and Liz was saying that doing heavy compound movements as in a squat actually cause your body to produce more testosterone, and thus stimulate muscle building even in your upper body. I *told* you I could feel my balls growing every time I squat!
In less of a success but probably a related note, those sweatpants I bought at the Tarzhay on Sunday? Too loose in the waist. In a size extra small. What the hell do actual thin people wear? There are plenty of girls and women my height who weigh ten or fifteen pounds less than I do. I'm sure they need clothes too. Anyway, I just rolled the waistband down on the sweatpants. They fit fine otherwise. But it astounded me. They don't make clothes that fit heavier women right. They don't make clothes that fit thinner women right. They don't make clothes that fit women with big boobs. The don't make clothes that fit women with no boobs. They don't make clothes that fit curvy hipped women. The don't make clothes that fit short women. They don't make clothes that fit tall women. I do not know who the fuck they design these clothes to fit, but I bet it's not 80% of the female buying public.
In totally unrelated news, the ultrasound vet sent me a letter saying they think Evil Kitty should have a follow up study. I don't know if I can justify spending another $300+ on this right now, but I'm going to call the regular vet and discuss, I suppose. Also, totally unrelated to any and all of this, one of my extended relatives has annoyed me greatly this afternoon. Is there some kind of rule that you have to be nice to people and put up with their passive aggressive semi-lying bullshit just because they share a small portion of DNA with you? Okay, is there a rule against changing your phone number so they can't contact you without great difficulty? Way to harsh my buzz after my squats were awesome and I had a massage, Ultrasound Vet and Andrea's Annoying Relative!
But now I'm eating veggie pizza and that makes everything good again. Mmmmm, pizza.
xoxo
In related success news, I have just one more class in my 6 week session with Liz, and she asked me today whether I was going to do the next one. I asked if we'd be doing the same stuff or different stuff, and she said if she got some new people, we'd be doing the same stuff. And that, honestly, she thought I was ready to go on my own. (Then she remarked what a crappy salesperson she is. Heh.) So that felt good. And that was *before* she even saw me squat today. My squats were awesome, bitches. Trust. So then we were talking about squats and Liz was saying that doing heavy compound movements as in a squat actually cause your body to produce more testosterone, and thus stimulate muscle building even in your upper body. I *told* you I could feel my balls growing every time I squat!
In less of a success but probably a related note, those sweatpants I bought at the Tarzhay on Sunday? Too loose in the waist. In a size extra small. What the hell do actual thin people wear? There are plenty of girls and women my height who weigh ten or fifteen pounds less than I do. I'm sure they need clothes too. Anyway, I just rolled the waistband down on the sweatpants. They fit fine otherwise. But it astounded me. They don't make clothes that fit heavier women right. They don't make clothes that fit thinner women right. They don't make clothes that fit women with big boobs. The don't make clothes that fit women with no boobs. They don't make clothes that fit curvy hipped women. The don't make clothes that fit short women. They don't make clothes that fit tall women. I do not know who the fuck they design these clothes to fit, but I bet it's not 80% of the female buying public.
In totally unrelated news, the ultrasound vet sent me a letter saying they think Evil Kitty should have a follow up study. I don't know if I can justify spending another $300+ on this right now, but I'm going to call the regular vet and discuss, I suppose. Also, totally unrelated to any and all of this, one of my extended relatives has annoyed me greatly this afternoon. Is there some kind of rule that you have to be nice to people and put up with their passive aggressive semi-lying bullshit just because they share a small portion of DNA with you? Okay, is there a rule against changing your phone number so they can't contact you without great difficulty? Way to harsh my buzz after my squats were awesome and I had a massage, Ultrasound Vet and Andrea's Annoying Relative!
But now I'm eating veggie pizza and that makes everything good again. Mmmmm, pizza.
xoxo
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
all about eve
Mr Indemnity gave me this on DVD awhile ago for reasons I don't remember. Somehow he had a spare or something. No idea. I'm old. So, anyway, I had never seen it before and was happy to take it to peruse at my leisure.
Well, over the last few weeks I've seen most of it, though not in chronological order. You know how I am about watching movies in bed. Let's just talk about first impressions. God, does this movie bring the snark. I think it's instructive to watch old films, just so you don't start thinking sarcasm was invented somewhere around 1975 or that hipsters were the original discoverers of cynicism. Bette Davis looks older than the 40 years old she was supposed to be in the movie and the 42 she actually was. Anne Baxter seems dowdy to me even when she's no longer meant to be and I don't know if that's because those early 50s clothes and hairdos are just inherently dowdy or because I just don't think she's so pretty for whatever reason. Marilyn! I didn't even know she was in this, so imagine my delight when she popped up at the party. Is there a young actress these days who could play "vacuous sexpot bimbo" and hold the audience's attention with charisma, not just boobs?
I will report back at some point, I suppose, when I've watched the film in its entirety and in order, with more cogent criticism. But right now I'll just say that "seemingly innocent person who turns out to be evil as shit" is one of my favorite tropes, so I'm enjoying this!
xoxo
Well, over the last few weeks I've seen most of it, though not in chronological order. You know how I am about watching movies in bed. Let's just talk about first impressions. God, does this movie bring the snark. I think it's instructive to watch old films, just so you don't start thinking sarcasm was invented somewhere around 1975 or that hipsters were the original discoverers of cynicism. Bette Davis looks older than the 40 years old she was supposed to be in the movie and the 42 she actually was. Anne Baxter seems dowdy to me even when she's no longer meant to be and I don't know if that's because those early 50s clothes and hairdos are just inherently dowdy or because I just don't think she's so pretty for whatever reason. Marilyn! I didn't even know she was in this, so imagine my delight when she popped up at the party. Is there a young actress these days who could play "vacuous sexpot bimbo" and hold the audience's attention with charisma, not just boobs?
I will report back at some point, I suppose, when I've watched the film in its entirety and in order, with more cogent criticism. But right now I'll just say that "seemingly innocent person who turns out to be evil as shit" is one of my favorite tropes, so I'm enjoying this!
xoxo
Monday, October 25, 2010
more aesthetics to brighten your monday
If you're a girl who likes boys or a boy who likes boys, that is. I give you: David Beckham changing his shorts on the sidelines. Must say, don't like the longer hair on Becks, but fuck it. Just stare at the thighs, people.
You're welcome.
xoxo
You're welcome.
xoxo
Sunday, October 24, 2010
bitter disappointment
Ever since the "coming soon" signs went up, I've been excited about the new AJ Wright store opening in my neck of the woods. "Oh," I thought, "it'll be nice to have a conveniently located craft store." It wasn't until this week when they actually opened and I heard a couple of my fellow Prison Bus riders discussing it, that I realized AJ Wright and AC Moore aren't the same place. Goddammit. Anyway, according to them, AJ Wright was just like a Marshalls, only better. Well, you see my first mistake. Never listen to people on the Prison Bus when it comes to matters of taste.
Nevertheless, this afternoon after the gym, I needed to go to that shopping area to visit the pet store (new flavor of Greenies for EK) and Shaws (the sour cream and 4-Cheese Mexican blend I forgot when I was buying the other ingredients for tacos yesterday, sigh), and I figured I would go in there and see if it was just like a Marshalls. Or even better! Okay, first of all, I was in there for no more than five minutes before I wanted to kill someone. People blocking the aisles with their carts, most of which contained two or more ill-behaved, illegitimate children in or hanging off them. It was immediately apparent that this is where the ghetto Market Basket shoppers are now going on Sundays after picking up groceries. Then, secondly, while the merchandise was certainly inexpensive ($5 shirts, etc), it was incredibly shoddy cheap crap that looks like it was made just for them. There were only a few things that I saw that were recognisable brand names (Nine West purses, a couple NY&Co shirts, some Rocawear and Dereon hoodies.) Even though I refuse to give up hoodies, a woman of my advanced years should stay far away from gold-embossed Dereon ones no matter how cute in a ghetto-fabulous kind of way they are, and so it was that I left completely empty-handed and not liable to be back. BITTER disappointment. My cheap disposable clothing will just have to continue coming from the Tarzhay.
Which, to prove the point, I then marched into and bought a new pair of sweatpants. But, no, really, I needed them, I swear. I have a couple pairs of drawstring waist sweatpants that I wear to the gym when I don't feel like wearing yoga pants, and even with the drawstring pulled as tight as it can go, they really don't stay up anymore. It's time to face the fact that they need to be relegated to sleepwear only. So new sweatpants were a completely reasonable purchase. Really.
In lesser disappointment? A couple weeks ago when D and I were in the supermarket, we happened to walk past the Muscle Milk Light, and with his encouragement, I bought one. I've been afraid to try it, frankly, but since I had all those errands to do after the Y and I didn't want to eat an Organic Food Bar (protein flavor)*** today because I had a carby breakfast pre weights, I bit the bullet and threw it in my bag this morning. My first impression was that it was too sweet. Then about a third of the way through it, I got a mouthful of something lumpy and oily. Oh, disgusting. There's the essential fatty acids! It was then that I realized that I was supposed to shake the damn thing before drinking. After shaking it vigorously, the remaining, properly blended shake was less sweet and non-lump containing. It still was not what I would term "good." So, no more Muscle Milk for me.
In no disappointment whatsoever, I have somewhat convinced myself that I can see some delt development now. This is very good since, when I first lost weight, it was suggested to me that my shoulders (and upper chest) were looking a little bony. Which is how it goes. I get really lean there before the lower body fat budges much. Now I think I'm getting a little meat back on there, and it's muscle, not fat. Too bad it's seven more months till spaghetti-strap weather again. I'll just admire my possible delts in the mirror like a dork till then.
Okay. Hope you all were totally free of disappointment this weekend. Namaste!
xoxo
Addendum: Holy shit, I forgot to put in the footnote. Scandalous!
***Protein Organic Food Bars are *awesome*. Their main ingredients are almond butter and dates. And rice protein. Did I tell you this already? If so, just let me reiterate: delish and not full of any chemical crap (though they do contain agave syrup which is the grunchy granola equivalent of HFCS, hehe!)
Nevertheless, this afternoon after the gym, I needed to go to that shopping area to visit the pet store (new flavor of Greenies for EK) and Shaws (the sour cream and 4-Cheese Mexican blend I forgot when I was buying the other ingredients for tacos yesterday, sigh), and I figured I would go in there and see if it was just like a Marshalls. Or even better! Okay, first of all, I was in there for no more than five minutes before I wanted to kill someone. People blocking the aisles with their carts, most of which contained two or more ill-behaved, illegitimate children in or hanging off them. It was immediately apparent that this is where the ghetto Market Basket shoppers are now going on Sundays after picking up groceries. Then, secondly, while the merchandise was certainly inexpensive ($5 shirts, etc), it was incredibly shoddy cheap crap that looks like it was made just for them. There were only a few things that I saw that were recognisable brand names (Nine West purses, a couple NY&Co shirts, some Rocawear and Dereon hoodies.) Even though I refuse to give up hoodies, a woman of my advanced years should stay far away from gold-embossed Dereon ones no matter how cute in a ghetto-fabulous kind of way they are, and so it was that I left completely empty-handed and not liable to be back. BITTER disappointment. My cheap disposable clothing will just have to continue coming from the Tarzhay.
Which, to prove the point, I then marched into and bought a new pair of sweatpants. But, no, really, I needed them, I swear. I have a couple pairs of drawstring waist sweatpants that I wear to the gym when I don't feel like wearing yoga pants, and even with the drawstring pulled as tight as it can go, they really don't stay up anymore. It's time to face the fact that they need to be relegated to sleepwear only. So new sweatpants were a completely reasonable purchase. Really.
In lesser disappointment? A couple weeks ago when D and I were in the supermarket, we happened to walk past the Muscle Milk Light, and with his encouragement, I bought one. I've been afraid to try it, frankly, but since I had all those errands to do after the Y and I didn't want to eat an Organic Food Bar (protein flavor)*** today because I had a carby breakfast pre weights, I bit the bullet and threw it in my bag this morning. My first impression was that it was too sweet. Then about a third of the way through it, I got a mouthful of something lumpy and oily. Oh, disgusting. There's the essential fatty acids! It was then that I realized that I was supposed to shake the damn thing before drinking. After shaking it vigorously, the remaining, properly blended shake was less sweet and non-lump containing. It still was not what I would term "good." So, no more Muscle Milk for me.
In no disappointment whatsoever, I have somewhat convinced myself that I can see some delt development now. This is very good since, when I first lost weight, it was suggested to me that my shoulders (and upper chest) were looking a little bony. Which is how it goes. I get really lean there before the lower body fat budges much. Now I think I'm getting a little meat back on there, and it's muscle, not fat. Too bad it's seven more months till spaghetti-strap weather again. I'll just admire my possible delts in the mirror like a dork till then.
Okay. Hope you all were totally free of disappointment this weekend. Namaste!
xoxo
Addendum: Holy shit, I forgot to put in the footnote. Scandalous!
***Protein Organic Food Bars are *awesome*. Their main ingredients are almond butter and dates. And rice protein. Did I tell you this already? If so, just let me reiterate: delish and not full of any chemical crap (though they do contain agave syrup which is the grunchy granola equivalent of HFCS, hehe!)
Saturday, October 23, 2010
sports n' fitness
Didn't watch that game yesterday, just tuned in in time for the ninth. In other words, just in time to see Mr Barma's boy Neftali strike out Cheater Cheater A-Rod. That was a thing of beauty. I'm happy for Texas. I'm also happy I could harass my one cyber friend who's a Yankees fan. (Yes, I know, I know, I shouldn't hang out with that type of crowd even electronically, but the guy seems otherwise harmless.) Still not sure who I'm rooting for Giants vs Phillies. You think I'd have picked a side by now. When we were watching the first game of that series I asked D who he wanted and he said he didn't know. Then he said, "I like when I'm not rooting for anyone. Then I can just relax and enjoy the game." There *is* something to be said for that.
Okay, now onto the personal athletic (ha) level. I haven't run all week since my iPod broke. I just cannot face it without tunes. I did, however, lift three times because now I can do pretty much everything I do with Liz myself, except squat. I did my whole body circuit yesterday by myself, and though the savants on certain weightlifting sites that have been previously referred to in The Adventures will claim if you have the ability to watch what anyone else is doing, you're not focused enough or not working hard enough, you know I watch everybody everywhere. I can't not people-watch. And what I observed was that these boys and men in the weight room (well, it's an area, not a room, but weight room has the proper ring to it) do not work as hard as I do or as Liz has us do.
They do a set. Then they sit around for a few minutes. Then they do another set. Then they walk around. Then maybe they do something else. Me, in an hour I do 3 sets of 8-10 reps of 12 different exercises. I take a minute or two break here and there to get a drink from the bubbler or sit on the bench contemplating whether I really can do those motherfucking inclined presses one more time. (Answer: yes, of course! suck it up, bitch!) Which is why at the end of my hour, my heart rate is up and I have a sweat oval on my belleh. But I also think if I were doing it the way most of those guys do, with four minutes in between sets and five minutes in between exercises, I could be lifting heavier weights. Also, some of them do really fast reps, which is cheating, 'cause you're getting the benefit of the momentum. All of which is my way of saying I refuse to be embarrassed (much) by my lil 12 and 15 and 20 pound dumbbells. Ahem. Some day I'll be doing pistol squats and you people won't be laughing then.
Also, in other news, I have read a bunch of stuff telling me that sprinting is my way to a better ass. I think it's true. Look at female track athletes and the ones who run short distance have bangin' bodies compared to, like, the marathoners.
See, I did the work for ya. And I know which one I'd rather look more like.
So I would like to incorporate sprinting into my fitness plan, but I think the chances of my doing it on a treadmill without causing myself grievous bodily harm are nil and I don't actually have access to a track. My message board advisors assure me I should just say "fuck the neighbors!" and do it back and forth on the sidewalk, and that, yes, they themselves might occasionally get funny looks, but they don't give a crap. I dunno. Am I not humiliated enough with my 15 lb dumbbells? There's only so much a woman is willing to put up with to get an Ines Sainz butt when time has passed her by. Thus I'm still deliberating.
Okay, I think I've wasted enough time at work! Hope your Caturday is turning out delightfully.
xoxo
Okay, now onto the personal athletic (ha) level. I haven't run all week since my iPod broke. I just cannot face it without tunes. I did, however, lift three times because now I can do pretty much everything I do with Liz myself, except squat. I did my whole body circuit yesterday by myself, and though the savants on certain weightlifting sites that have been previously referred to in The Adventures will claim if you have the ability to watch what anyone else is doing, you're not focused enough or not working hard enough, you know I watch everybody everywhere. I can't not people-watch. And what I observed was that these boys and men in the weight room (well, it's an area, not a room, but weight room has the proper ring to it) do not work as hard as I do or as Liz has us do.
They do a set. Then they sit around for a few minutes. Then they do another set. Then they walk around. Then maybe they do something else. Me, in an hour I do 3 sets of 8-10 reps of 12 different exercises. I take a minute or two break here and there to get a drink from the bubbler or sit on the bench contemplating whether I really can do those motherfucking inclined presses one more time. (Answer: yes, of course! suck it up, bitch!) Which is why at the end of my hour, my heart rate is up and I have a sweat oval on my belleh. But I also think if I were doing it the way most of those guys do, with four minutes in between sets and five minutes in between exercises, I could be lifting heavier weights. Also, some of them do really fast reps, which is cheating, 'cause you're getting the benefit of the momentum. All of which is my way of saying I refuse to be embarrassed (much) by my lil 12 and 15 and 20 pound dumbbells. Ahem. Some day I'll be doing pistol squats and you people won't be laughing then.
Also, in other news, I have read a bunch of stuff telling me that sprinting is my way to a better ass. I think it's true. Look at female track athletes and the ones who run short distance have bangin' bodies compared to, like, the marathoners.
See, I did the work for ya. And I know which one I'd rather look more like.
So I would like to incorporate sprinting into my fitness plan, but I think the chances of my doing it on a treadmill without causing myself grievous bodily harm are nil and I don't actually have access to a track. My message board advisors assure me I should just say "fuck the neighbors!" and do it back and forth on the sidewalk, and that, yes, they themselves might occasionally get funny looks, but they don't give a crap. I dunno. Am I not humiliated enough with my 15 lb dumbbells? There's only so much a woman is willing to put up with to get an Ines Sainz butt when time has passed her by. Thus I'm still deliberating.
Okay, I think I've wasted enough time at work! Hope your Caturday is turning out delightfully.
xoxo
Friday, October 22, 2010
rorschach test
Do you think this depicts a woman being raped? The government of Australia does. They banned the billboard.
Evidence? Supposedly this woman looks terrified. Not seeing it. She looks kinda bored and vacant to me, as most models do. Evidence part 2? The guy on the right is holding her by the hair. Um, anything I say right here will get me in trouble, so let's just skip that one. Evidence against? What the hell is the guy in the lower left supposed to be doing? Love his facial expression: "Jesus Christ, will ya hurry it up? I'm sick and tired of waiting on you people while you spontaneously decide to fuck in schoolyards."
Anyway, the most distasteful part of this whole thing to me is that Calvin Klein has been using this same basic ad campaign since 1992 or so. Get a new idea, people. Maybe one that actually incorporates the jeans you're shilling!
xoxo
Thursday, October 21, 2010
more proof you wanna work in my office w/ bonus EK update
This was today's conversation. For context, it involved a mother who tested positive for just about every drug they can possibly test for during her pregnancy.
Andrea: I don't understand people like that!!!
E, Andrea's boss, (charitably): It's an illness.
A (starting to rant): Yeah, I know. But if you become pregnant and you wish to continue using drugs, you should just get an abortion!
E (deadpan): Maybe she's religious.
A (also deadpan): Jesus said, "Don't do drugs when you're pregnant."
E (starting to smirk): Did he?
A (starting to lose it): It's the eleventh commandment.
E (starting to lose it too): I didn't know that!
A (has lost it): You should read the bible more!
Okay, enough silliness about important social issues. Evil Kitty had her follow up at the vet today. Waiting for blood test results, but the vet was very pleased. Tongue and gums nice and pink, heart murmur sounds no worse and perhaps a bit better. Breathing is good. She's gained half a pound back and it's fat, not fluid bloat. However, we're having a bit of a problem with the meds. The pill pockets are no longer irresistible to her--she's like, "yeah, yeah, had these before," so I've been resorting to giving them to her before she eats, so she will gobble it down 'cause she's hungry. However, coincident to this, and coincident to stopping the prednisone again, she's starting barfing up what she eats. (And then, in some cases, re-eating the puke. Sigh.)
The vet thinks it's possible the Plavix could be upsetting her belleh. She might need to go on Prevacid, which the vet assured me is not uncommon in cats, go figure! Or she might go back on the Prednisone. Or I might need to figure out a way to get her to take the pills on a full stomach. Maybe a new flavor of Greenies? I will say that I fed her when we got home from the vet before I jetted out to work, so 18 hours after her last Plavix, and I didn't find puke anywhere when I got home, which is good evidence that it's eating immediately after her pills that makes her vomit. (And you know what that's meant too, right? It means I get to examine any barf that isn't re-eaten to make sure there's no upchucked pill in it. I swear to god, they don't pay me enough for this.)
But, all in all, Ms EK is doing great for someone who was rumored to be about to drop dead any second. Like I said, lab results tomorrow.
xoxo
Addendum: Dr B just called me at noon on Friday, and every single one of Evil Kitty's lab values is normal. Her RBCs are 35! Go, Evil Kitty!
Andrea: I don't understand people like that!!!
E, Andrea's boss, (charitably): It's an illness.
A (starting to rant): Yeah, I know. But if you become pregnant and you wish to continue using drugs, you should just get an abortion!
E (deadpan): Maybe she's religious.
A (also deadpan): Jesus said, "Don't do drugs when you're pregnant."
E (starting to smirk): Did he?
A (starting to lose it): It's the eleventh commandment.
E (starting to lose it too): I didn't know that!
A (has lost it): You should read the bible more!
Okay, enough silliness about important social issues. Evil Kitty had her follow up at the vet today. Waiting for blood test results, but the vet was very pleased. Tongue and gums nice and pink, heart murmur sounds no worse and perhaps a bit better. Breathing is good. She's gained half a pound back and it's fat, not fluid bloat. However, we're having a bit of a problem with the meds. The pill pockets are no longer irresistible to her--she's like, "yeah, yeah, had these before," so I've been resorting to giving them to her before she eats, so she will gobble it down 'cause she's hungry. However, coincident to this, and coincident to stopping the prednisone again, she's starting barfing up what she eats. (And then, in some cases, re-eating the puke. Sigh.)
The vet thinks it's possible the Plavix could be upsetting her belleh. She might need to go on Prevacid, which the vet assured me is not uncommon in cats, go figure! Or she might go back on the Prednisone. Or I might need to figure out a way to get her to take the pills on a full stomach. Maybe a new flavor of Greenies? I will say that I fed her when we got home from the vet before I jetted out to work, so 18 hours after her last Plavix, and I didn't find puke anywhere when I got home, which is good evidence that it's eating immediately after her pills that makes her vomit. (And you know what that's meant too, right? It means I get to examine any barf that isn't re-eaten to make sure there's no upchucked pill in it. I swear to god, they don't pay me enough for this.)
But, all in all, Ms EK is doing great for someone who was rumored to be about to drop dead any second. Like I said, lab results tomorrow.
xoxo
Addendum: Dr B just called me at noon on Friday, and every single one of Evil Kitty's lab values is normal. Her RBCs are 35! Go, Evil Kitty!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
in which i don't get to express disgruntlement
...but do get to express horror, and ask a question.
Okay, I had a whole rant worked up to write about when I got home, all about how the goddamn Commonwealth of Massachusetts called me for jury duty last April (if you remember) and then cancelled my whole panel, and didn't send my written notice thereof, which meant I almost went (if you remember) but then I checked the website, and anyway, how that meant I was still eligible to be called again, and how in my mail today, yup, yup, there was my summons for January 5th, which means there probably will actually be cases, 'cause there'll be a holiday backlog, and how that was okay, because I am not averse to doing my civic duty, but how instead of calling me to one of the three--count 'em, three!--major courts within a three mile radius of my house, *this* time they were summoning me to the most inconvenient of all possible venues, and how yeah, I immediately requested a hardship transfer, but they're so snotty on the notice about distance and inconvenience not being a hardship, I had no idea if it would be granted, and how, again, I don't mind being a good citizen and I was all ready to go last April, but why do they have to make everything so fucking hard? I had that whole rant pent up and ready to go, when I checked my email and found that, less than two hours after I made the online request, they approved my transfer to the court of my choice. Um, so never mind.
Ahem.
But I guess I can express my horror, because I'm sure you want to know about that. My friend and coworker M1 is one of those joke email forwarding people. (Nobody's perfect, yo.) Well, yesterday, I was in the next room and I heard Townie Girl cracking up over something M1 had just sent her and saying, "Are you *kidding* me? OMG!" and other expressions of horrified amusement. So I came out to see what it was. Have you heard of peopleofwalmart.com? A couple of M1's forwarded emails were a "best of" compendium. In case you haven't heard of it, this is a website of actual photos of WalMart customers across the nation in all their, um, splendor. I had to check the site out for myself. Some of it is just mean. I don't think slagging on people for being unattractive or fat or, in some cases, apparently mentally ill is amusing, but again, I'm not in 7th grade anymore. But some of it? Holy shit, these people bring the horrified mockery upon themselves.
Case in point: scrawny elderly gentleman wearing a t-shirt that says "leg rests" with arrows pointing to his shoulders. Dude. First of all, even if you *are* still getting any, we all refuse to believe it's with anyone limber enough to get her ankles up there. Secondly, see above. Some jokes stopped being funny in middle school, or as they called it in my and your day, junior high. Thirdly, one would hope once a person was old enough to be a great-grandfather (oh, who are we kidding? this was probably in Mississippi, so let's go with great-great-grandfather) he would have enough class, or even klass, not to wear obscene t-shirts in public. God bless America. So, yeah, some of it, you can't look at without laughing and cringing at the same time.
This led to some discussion of what we personally have seen out and about. I had to mention the woman in the Vinnin Square*** Stop & Shop wearing the cutoffs so short, literally 50% of her asscheeks were visible. M1 said there's an old woman she sees in her neck of the woods who wears a(n askew) wig, three inch heels, tight "sexy" clothes, and bright red circles of rouge on her cheeks. Aw, I had to stick up for the old woman, because, as I told M1 and Townie Girl, when I am 80 and my eyesight has gone, I'm *sure* I'll be doing my makeup like that. It would be bad karma to laugh now. Also, I am totally sure that old woman looks in the mirror and thinks she looks exactly the way she did when she was 25. As delusions go, that's a pretty harmless and happy one, yo.
Finally--don't ask why--a thought occurred to me today that I have never had before. I'll throw it out to you all. Why is not wearing underwear called going commando? Try as I might, I don't see the connection. Help me out here.
xoxo
***in case you are unfamiliar, a relatively upscale location
Okay, I had a whole rant worked up to write about when I got home, all about how the goddamn Commonwealth of Massachusetts called me for jury duty last April (if you remember) and then cancelled my whole panel, and didn't send my written notice thereof, which meant I almost went (if you remember) but then I checked the website, and anyway, how that meant I was still eligible to be called again, and how in my mail today, yup, yup, there was my summons for January 5th, which means there probably will actually be cases, 'cause there'll be a holiday backlog, and how that was okay, because I am not averse to doing my civic duty, but how instead of calling me to one of the three--count 'em, three!--major courts within a three mile radius of my house, *this* time they were summoning me to the most inconvenient of all possible venues, and how yeah, I immediately requested a hardship transfer, but they're so snotty on the notice about distance and inconvenience not being a hardship, I had no idea if it would be granted, and how, again, I don't mind being a good citizen and I was all ready to go last April, but why do they have to make everything so fucking hard? I had that whole rant pent up and ready to go, when I checked my email and found that, less than two hours after I made the online request, they approved my transfer to the court of my choice. Um, so never mind.
Ahem.
But I guess I can express my horror, because I'm sure you want to know about that. My friend and coworker M1 is one of those joke email forwarding people. (Nobody's perfect, yo.) Well, yesterday, I was in the next room and I heard Townie Girl cracking up over something M1 had just sent her and saying, "Are you *kidding* me? OMG!" and other expressions of horrified amusement. So I came out to see what it was. Have you heard of peopleofwalmart.com? A couple of M1's forwarded emails were a "best of" compendium. In case you haven't heard of it, this is a website of actual photos of WalMart customers across the nation in all their, um, splendor. I had to check the site out for myself. Some of it is just mean. I don't think slagging on people for being unattractive or fat or, in some cases, apparently mentally ill is amusing, but again, I'm not in 7th grade anymore. But some of it? Holy shit, these people bring the horrified mockery upon themselves.
Case in point: scrawny elderly gentleman wearing a t-shirt that says "leg rests" with arrows pointing to his shoulders. Dude. First of all, even if you *are* still getting any, we all refuse to believe it's with anyone limber enough to get her ankles up there. Secondly, see above. Some jokes stopped being funny in middle school, or as they called it in my and your day, junior high. Thirdly, one would hope once a person was old enough to be a great-grandfather (oh, who are we kidding? this was probably in Mississippi, so let's go with great-great-grandfather) he would have enough class, or even klass, not to wear obscene t-shirts in public. God bless America. So, yeah, some of it, you can't look at without laughing and cringing at the same time.
This led to some discussion of what we personally have seen out and about. I had to mention the woman in the Vinnin Square*** Stop & Shop wearing the cutoffs so short, literally 50% of her asscheeks were visible. M1 said there's an old woman she sees in her neck of the woods who wears a(n askew) wig, three inch heels, tight "sexy" clothes, and bright red circles of rouge on her cheeks. Aw, I had to stick up for the old woman, because, as I told M1 and Townie Girl, when I am 80 and my eyesight has gone, I'm *sure* I'll be doing my makeup like that. It would be bad karma to laugh now. Also, I am totally sure that old woman looks in the mirror and thinks she looks exactly the way she did when she was 25. As delusions go, that's a pretty harmless and happy one, yo.
Finally--don't ask why--a thought occurred to me today that I have never had before. I'll throw it out to you all. Why is not wearing underwear called going commando? Try as I might, I don't see the connection. Help me out here.
xoxo
***in case you are unfamiliar, a relatively upscale location
Monday, October 18, 2010
service-y, yet again
Go forth, blog readers, and experiment!
I'll just be sitting here knitting or something, you bastards.
xoxo
(I suppose none of yous hit up the beer and fries this weekend in search of performance enhancement. Sigh. I can only lead you in the right direction, bitches, you gotta want to help yourselves.)
I'll just be sitting here knitting or something, you bastards.
xoxo
(I suppose none of yous hit up the beer and fries this weekend in search of performance enhancement. Sigh. I can only lead you in the right direction, bitches, you gotta want to help yourselves.)
and in celebrity news...
I know you all are too far above this and thus look to me to let you know what's what, so lemme do my duty by you!
First of all, headlines are insinuating Lady Gaga is getting fat, because of photos of her performing in which she doesn't have a six pack or four pack or whatever the hell her stomach usually looks like. The poor woman. She probably has her period or ate a pizza or something. God. But, anyway, did you know she's only 5'1? That's why eating a pizza registers on her! Story of my fucking life. That's also probably why the woman goes around in 8 inch heels. (Is that ascribing too normal of a motive to a person who wore a meat dress to an awards show? Perhaps.)
Meanwhile, the Lady Gaga of the 80s and my role model in veinity, Madonna, had a handwritten letter of hers, penned during the filming of A League of Their Own, leaked to the press. As you might expect, she has not a nice word to say about anyone, and mocks and insults her co-stars. Of course, that was before she found yoga and Judaism. I'm sure she's much nicer now!
Also, Christina Aguilera is divorcing her husband and has taken up with Samantha Ronson. Because she's bisexual. And all bisexual women in the entertainment industry must date Samantha Ronson. Why? I dunno. That's just the way it is. However, the even more salacious bit is that Ms Aguilera and her husband had an open marriage and she was "allowed" to do all the women she wanted. I'm sure you all have great sympathy for her soon-to-be ex-husband, right?
Finally, Kim Kardashian turned 30 this weekend, and as the tabloids would have us know, did so all alone, being in-between relationships. Boo hoo. Talk to me when you turn 48 alone and your ass looks like mine, Kardashian!
See that? Now when you are stuck in line at the grocery store, you won't have to read the headlines! You can concentrate on whether you want a candy bar or maybe some gum. This blog is such a public service, I can't even tell you.
xoxo
First of all, headlines are insinuating Lady Gaga is getting fat, because of photos of her performing in which she doesn't have a six pack or four pack or whatever the hell her stomach usually looks like. The poor woman. She probably has her period or ate a pizza or something. God. But, anyway, did you know she's only 5'1? That's why eating a pizza registers on her! Story of my fucking life. That's also probably why the woman goes around in 8 inch heels. (Is that ascribing too normal of a motive to a person who wore a meat dress to an awards show? Perhaps.)
Meanwhile, the Lady Gaga of the 80s and my role model in veinity, Madonna, had a handwritten letter of hers, penned during the filming of A League of Their Own, leaked to the press. As you might expect, she has not a nice word to say about anyone, and mocks and insults her co-stars. Of course, that was before she found yoga and Judaism. I'm sure she's much nicer now!
Also, Christina Aguilera is divorcing her husband and has taken up with Samantha Ronson. Because she's bisexual. And all bisexual women in the entertainment industry must date Samantha Ronson. Why? I dunno. That's just the way it is. However, the even more salacious bit is that Ms Aguilera and her husband had an open marriage and she was "allowed" to do all the women she wanted. I'm sure you all have great sympathy for her soon-to-be ex-husband, right?
Finally, Kim Kardashian turned 30 this weekend, and as the tabloids would have us know, did so all alone, being in-between relationships. Boo hoo. Talk to me when you turn 48 alone and your ass looks like mine, Kardashian!
See that? Now when you are stuck in line at the grocery store, you won't have to read the headlines! You can concentrate on whether you want a candy bar or maybe some gum. This blog is such a public service, I can't even tell you.
xoxo
spoilerish
How about that Mad Men finale last night, huh? Sucked! I've been pretty disappointed with the whole season actually. Characters doing things that seemed out of character. Potentially interesting storylines picked up, then discarded. Not a whole lot of anything that really grabbed me.
I will say this: fabulous to see Joan kept the baby and is planning to pass it off as hubby's. The fact that he's a *doctor* but obviously too stupid to figure out the dates is one of those things that is in character. I will also say, I think Faye is not the type of person to fuck around with and I hope the fact that she knows Don's secret means big trouble next season. Woman scorned n' all that. And Carla being gone? Gah. Just when you think Betty can't get any worse as a mother, there ya go!
And, as an aside, D and I decided to start watching that new zombie series they were shilling during the finale. At least we're gonna watch the first one and see if it's good. The previews made it look somewhat like a blatant ripoff of 28 Days Later, which is fine with me. All in all, it's *got* to be better than The Biggest Loser. (But wouldn't outrunning the living dead be a good way to lose weight and get fit? I see crossover potential.)
xoxo
I will say this: fabulous to see Joan kept the baby and is planning to pass it off as hubby's. The fact that he's a *doctor* but obviously too stupid to figure out the dates is one of those things that is in character. I will also say, I think Faye is not the type of person to fuck around with and I hope the fact that she knows Don's secret means big trouble next season. Woman scorned n' all that. And Carla being gone? Gah. Just when you think Betty can't get any worse as a mother, there ya go!
And, as an aside, D and I decided to start watching that new zombie series they were shilling during the finale. At least we're gonna watch the first one and see if it's good. The previews made it look somewhat like a blatant ripoff of 28 Days Later, which is fine with me. All in all, it's *got* to be better than The Biggest Loser. (But wouldn't outrunning the living dead be a good way to lose weight and get fit? I see crossover potential.)
xoxo
Sunday, October 17, 2010
muy triste una vez más OR eff u, steve jobs
My beloved 3rd generation green iPod nano died today, 2 years and eleven months after I first obtained it. You may remember the backlight gave out on it a few weeks ago after I got it a little too wet in the rain. So I knew this day was coming. But I was hoping it would come a little later. I love that iPod. I do not want one with other features. I do not want one a different shape. I do not want one a different shade of green.
You feel me? DO NOT WANT.
However, Steve Jobs (<--possibly the anti-Christ; anyone checked his scalp for the 666?) would like to sell me a 6th generation nano. Oh, Satan--I mean, Steve--I just read the reviews. Your new product sucketh. You've taken away features. The screen is too small. The touch screen is impossible to work when you are running/walking/biking. You have basically made the nano into a shuffle that costs three times as much.
I have foiled you however. Well, not really, 'cause I'm still giving you my money. But I have semi-foiled you by just ordering a 5th generation nano from amazon while they still have them. It is not the same as my beloved 3rd generation, which was the perfect size and shape and a lovely color, but I suppose the fact that it has a video camera means I could be embedding shit from the prison bus in this very blog. (Felons don't mind being filmed. I've seen Cops.) I *could* have bought another 3rd generation for well over $200, instead of $134, but even I am not that stubborn. The big question is, how am I gonna survive the next week to ten days without my iPod? I can't exercise without a soundtrack and the music they play in the gym is iffy.
xoxo
You feel me? DO NOT WANT.
However, Steve Jobs (<--possibly the anti-Christ; anyone checked his scalp for the 666?) would like to sell me a 6th generation nano. Oh, Satan--I mean, Steve--I just read the reviews. Your new product sucketh. You've taken away features. The screen is too small. The touch screen is impossible to work when you are running/walking/biking. You have basically made the nano into a shuffle that costs three times as much.
I have foiled you however. Well, not really, 'cause I'm still giving you my money. But I have semi-foiled you by just ordering a 5th generation nano from amazon while they still have them. It is not the same as my beloved 3rd generation, which was the perfect size and shape and a lovely color, but I suppose the fact that it has a video camera means I could be embedding shit from the prison bus in this very blog. (Felons don't mind being filmed. I've seen Cops.) I *could* have bought another 3rd generation for well over $200, instead of $134, but even I am not that stubborn. The big question is, how am I gonna survive the next week to ten days without my iPod? I can't exercise without a soundtrack and the music they play in the gym is iffy.
xoxo
Saturday, October 16, 2010
you will all be thrilled to know
My payment has been received, my "intent to cancel" notice has been officially rescinded, and financial calamity has been averted.
More later!
xoxo
More later!
xoxo
Friday, October 15, 2010
non-depressing friday misc
So, enough about my "problems" and my "lack of mental health." Let's do a roundup of other thingz.
1.) best reason to eat fries and drink beer this weekend!
2.) awesome video for those of you whom I haven't already spammed with it in email.
Special props to Mr Indemnity who knew where the car chase footage came from. Movie supergeeks FTW!
3.) I don't know if anyone played baseball last night! Isn't that sad and/or good?
4.) Today will be my last day of c25k. I'm graduating, bitches.
5.) Actual anecdote/news. So, since I broke up with my hairdresser (boohoo) I had to let a new girl cut and color my hair last night. The good news is that she gave me a really good haircut and then blowdried it in a really cute way (which I will never be able to replicate myself, but whatevah). The bad news is that it's at least a shade or two too dark and a shade less red than it's supposed to be. Oh, well. Time for a change, I guess. But what I really want to tell you about is the weirdness of this salon and its design. First of all, when you are having your color applied and then are "processing", you sit not at the hairdresser's station, but at sort of a counter/bar. Then, when it is time for your hair to be washed, you are removed to a separate shampoo room with closed doors and dimmed lighting. I believe this is because, as this is an Aveda salon, you're supposed to get some fancy schmancy special scalp massage as you are washed, though it didn't really feel any longer or different than most salon hair washes. They all scalp-massage you. What is especially weird is that in order for the hairdresser to get behind the sink, she must leave the room and come in another door. And vice versa. So as I am done and she tells me I can sit up, she says, "I'll come around and open the door for you." Which left me standing there waiting kinda awkwardly, 'cause I could have opened the door myself but I didn't want her to think I was rejecting her pampering or whatever. Oh, and the receptionist takes your jacket and spirits it away as soon as you enter, and you are brought water in a very heavy glass tumbler. It's all designed to make you feel like you're a Very Special Guest, but it makes me a little nervous, like when you go to one of those restaurants where the waiter opens your napkin for you.
Okay. I think that's it. I had another image I want to put in here but I cannot make it work, alas. Namaste and behave yourselves, bitches.
xoxo
1.) best reason to eat fries and drink beer this weekend!
2.) awesome video for those of you whom I haven't already spammed with it in email.
Special props to Mr Indemnity who knew where the car chase footage came from. Movie supergeeks FTW!
3.) I don't know if anyone played baseball last night! Isn't that sad and/or good?
4.) Today will be my last day of c25k. I'm graduating, bitches.
5.) Actual anecdote/news. So, since I broke up with my hairdresser (boohoo) I had to let a new girl cut and color my hair last night. The good news is that she gave me a really good haircut and then blowdried it in a really cute way (which I will never be able to replicate myself, but whatevah). The bad news is that it's at least a shade or two too dark and a shade less red than it's supposed to be. Oh, well. Time for a change, I guess. But what I really want to tell you about is the weirdness of this salon and its design. First of all, when you are having your color applied and then are "processing", you sit not at the hairdresser's station, but at sort of a counter/bar. Then, when it is time for your hair to be washed, you are removed to a separate shampoo room with closed doors and dimmed lighting. I believe this is because, as this is an Aveda salon, you're supposed to get some fancy schmancy special scalp massage as you are washed, though it didn't really feel any longer or different than most salon hair washes. They all scalp-massage you. What is especially weird is that in order for the hairdresser to get behind the sink, she must leave the room and come in another door. And vice versa. So as I am done and she tells me I can sit up, she says, "I'll come around and open the door for you." Which left me standing there waiting kinda awkwardly, 'cause I could have opened the door myself but I didn't want her to think I was rejecting her pampering or whatever. Oh, and the receptionist takes your jacket and spirits it away as soon as you enter, and you are brought water in a very heavy glass tumbler. It's all designed to make you feel like you're a Very Special Guest, but it makes me a little nervous, like when you go to one of those restaurants where the waiter opens your napkin for you.
Okay. I think that's it. I had another image I want to put in here but I cannot make it work, alas. Namaste and behave yourselves, bitches.
xoxo
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
i haven't written about anything serious lately
Other than Evil Kitty's health travails, that is. (Which is enough, I suppose.) But everything else I've been pretty silent about, preferring to post pics and videos and talk about the gym and other inconsequentials. Well, it's my blog, bitches, and I'll cry if I want to. Cry if I want to... cry if I want to...
I majorly fucked something up. I paid an important bill late, not because I didn't have the money to pay it, but because I forgot when it was due. And all last week and the week before I was like, lalala, I need to look at those bills and pay most of them. And I didn't. And by the time I did over the weekend, I was late. First I was just pissed at myself for incurring a late charge. Call that 25 bucks a stupidity tax. I've been doing so much better since I set up my little folder scheme in the Great Reorganization of 2009, but apparently I have been backsliding. More about which later. Then, today, in the mail I get the nasty "we're gonna cancel you" letter, "but if you pay up in the next 15 days, we won't." Hopefully my check and the nasty letter have just crossed in the mail and it's okay now and there won't be any awful consequences, but I am completely sick to my stomach over this. And really disgusted with myself and feeling shamed as well as worried.
Here's the thing. I've gotten a lot of props from a lot of people over "holding things together" and making it through the various shitty things that have happened in my life, both since 2003 and of late. I always find that slightly puzzling, if flattering and well-intentioned. It's not like I get a choice. I gotta get up every morning and live. As do you. As do we all. But what's even more puzzling to me is that I'm doing a pretty crappy job and people can't see it. The Benevolent L was telling me this weekend, for example, what a good "kitty mommy" I am for being able and willing to do all I've done during Evil Kitty's crisis. But I think that's the point. I deal with whatever is the immediate crisis until it isn't a crisis anymore, neglecting most everything else. I procrastinate on everything that doesn't have to be dealt with IMMEDIATELY, especially those things that make me anxious. So people see me doing a good job with the crisis, but they don't perceive everything else falling to shit around it. But I know and it makes me feel so ashamed and paralyzed.
I went to the doctor--when? last week?--and I had to do the depression questionnaire I know so well, 'cause I'm on the crazee meds. I answered "not at all" to all the questions and cheerfully told my doc I am feeling great. And at the time I meant it. But, y'know, the very fact that I did pay that bill late (a classic "I'm stressed out and don't want to deal with real life" move on my part) and the fact that making that mistake (a horrible one, but just a mistake) has sent me into such a shame and self-loathing spiral that I feel it necessary to blog about it, tells me that I probably am depressed and I've been stuffing it down or something. The endorphins from the gym and the crazee pills can only go so far.
I have a whole nother paragraph in me, but I think it's just gonna stay in me.
Thanks. This has been very therapeutic. Heh.
xoxo
I majorly fucked something up. I paid an important bill late, not because I didn't have the money to pay it, but because I forgot when it was due. And all last week and the week before I was like, lalala, I need to look at those bills and pay most of them. And I didn't. And by the time I did over the weekend, I was late. First I was just pissed at myself for incurring a late charge. Call that 25 bucks a stupidity tax. I've been doing so much better since I set up my little folder scheme in the Great Reorganization of 2009, but apparently I have been backsliding. More about which later. Then, today, in the mail I get the nasty "we're gonna cancel you" letter, "but if you pay up in the next 15 days, we won't." Hopefully my check and the nasty letter have just crossed in the mail and it's okay now and there won't be any awful consequences, but I am completely sick to my stomach over this. And really disgusted with myself and feeling shamed as well as worried.
Here's the thing. I've gotten a lot of props from a lot of people over "holding things together" and making it through the various shitty things that have happened in my life, both since 2003 and of late. I always find that slightly puzzling, if flattering and well-intentioned. It's not like I get a choice. I gotta get up every morning and live. As do you. As do we all. But what's even more puzzling to me is that I'm doing a pretty crappy job and people can't see it. The Benevolent L was telling me this weekend, for example, what a good "kitty mommy" I am for being able and willing to do all I've done during Evil Kitty's crisis. But I think that's the point. I deal with whatever is the immediate crisis until it isn't a crisis anymore, neglecting most everything else. I procrastinate on everything that doesn't have to be dealt with IMMEDIATELY, especially those things that make me anxious. So people see me doing a good job with the crisis, but they don't perceive everything else falling to shit around it. But I know and it makes me feel so ashamed and paralyzed.
I went to the doctor--when? last week?--and I had to do the depression questionnaire I know so well, 'cause I'm on the crazee meds. I answered "not at all" to all the questions and cheerfully told my doc I am feeling great. And at the time I meant it. But, y'know, the very fact that I did pay that bill late (a classic "I'm stressed out and don't want to deal with real life" move on my part) and the fact that making that mistake (a horrible one, but just a mistake) has sent me into such a shame and self-loathing spiral that I feel it necessary to blog about it, tells me that I probably am depressed and I've been stuffing it down or something. The endorphins from the gym and the crazee pills can only go so far.
I have a whole nother paragraph in me, but I think it's just gonna stay in me.
Thanks. This has been very therapeutic. Heh.
xoxo
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
if i were queen...
evil old men would go to the very end of the organ transplant list. But since I am not, fuckin' Cheney will probably waste up my health care dollars getting a new heart.
But, actually, I should be cheered by his absolute refusal to die despite his ticking time bomb of a heart. If malevolence keeps one alive even through a dire cardiac situation, I'll be shoving pills into Evil Kitty for years to come!
Happy Tuesday that feels like a Monday, people!
xoxo
But, actually, I should be cheered by his absolute refusal to die despite his ticking time bomb of a heart. If malevolence keeps one alive even through a dire cardiac situation, I'll be shoving pills into Evil Kitty for years to come!
Happy Tuesday that feels like a Monday, people!
xoxo
Monday, October 11, 2010
objectifying myself, public humiliation version
These are progress pictures. I ate crap all weekend, including ice cream twice, which is my explanation for my belleh fat. Ahem. But I hope you can see the definition in my arms and quads despite my crappy crappy photography.
I wish I had thought to get the Benevolent L to take some pics while she was here, so I could see if I'm actually getting any back muscles. Liz makes me work my lats enough. Something ought to be going on back there.
xoxo
I wish I had thought to get the Benevolent L to take some pics while she was here, so I could see if I'm actually getting any back muscles. Liz makes me work my lats enough. Something ought to be going on back there.
xoxo
Sunday, October 10, 2010
the more things change
Do you know what occurred this weekend, boys and girls? Andrea's 30th high school reunion! Of course I did not go, because you all know that is not my sort of thing (being an exercise nihilist, or something), but the Benevolent L did, because it is her sort of thing. And (also of course) she asked if she could stay at chez Andrea afterwards rather than make the long drive home to the hinterlands and I happily agreed.
Thus it came to pass that at 1 am I was texting her, "Where are you???" and, since she had her phone off, receiving no response. It was apparently a good time! Go figure. When she arrived in my driveway at 1:10, I was all, "And where were you, young lady?!?!!?" I would suggest this was a high school flashback, but the Benevolent L, being benevolent, was not the type of girl to stay out after curfew in those days. Me, on the other hand...
I got to hear all the news today at lunch. Honestly, I don't remember half the people that were actually there, but here's a general gist: a great many people in our class are divorced, most have packed on a few pounds, and the women have aged better than the guys. So, like, yeah, representative of middle aged America, I guess! But here's the best part, from my perspective. The Benevolent L was telling me she was looking at my yearbook entry. Apparently, under Ambition I answered "not much." It was a good thing I had finished my kung pao by the time she told me this, because I did not remember that *at all*, and I think I laughed for five minutes. I would like to think, and like to tell you, that I am a completely different person at 47 than I was at 17, but apparently, that would be a big lie!
xoxo
Thus it came to pass that at 1 am I was texting her, "Where are you???" and, since she had her phone off, receiving no response. It was apparently a good time! Go figure. When she arrived in my driveway at 1:10, I was all, "And where were you, young lady?!?!!?" I would suggest this was a high school flashback, but the Benevolent L, being benevolent, was not the type of girl to stay out after curfew in those days. Me, on the other hand...
I got to hear all the news today at lunch. Honestly, I don't remember half the people that were actually there, but here's a general gist: a great many people in our class are divorced, most have packed on a few pounds, and the women have aged better than the guys. So, like, yeah, representative of middle aged America, I guess! But here's the best part, from my perspective. The Benevolent L was telling me she was looking at my yearbook entry. Apparently, under Ambition I answered "not much." It was a good thing I had finished my kung pao by the time she told me this, because I did not remember that *at all*, and I think I laughed for five minutes. I would like to think, and like to tell you, that I am a completely different person at 47 than I was at 17, but apparently, that would be a big lie!
xoxo
sexxay
As most of you all are probably aware, I have hung out in some weird quarters of the internet over the past fifteen years or so. (I have a lot of interests and hobbies, and they shift from time to time. Don't judge.) I have learned a lot about human nature and group behavior from this, so I am sure the many many hours I have spent reading, typing, arguing with morons, gnashing my teeth over the general illiteracy and total failure to grasp logic of the English-speaking public, and rolling my eyes at how other people decorate their dining rooms has not been a total wash.
Of late, however, being very interested in what I am doing with Liz and my growing veinity, I have been perusing the forums on bodybuilder.com. Not that I have any intention of becoming an actual body builder. It's just what comes up when you search for weightlifting forums, and it's a huge, huge site. Huge enough that there are special sections for teenagers, people over 35, and women, along with the general interest folders. There are a lot of people on there that really know their shit, as well as people who don't. (My very favorite term/insult from there is "broscience"--which I don't think needs a translation, does it?) And there is a sad concentration of extremely obnoxious 17-24 year old boys, plus a few older douchebags who should have outgrown their testosterone poisoning by now. This, I guess, is what led to the women's section being created, though you can't actually keep the douchebros out of it. And so occurred a trainwreck of a thread a few days ago.
A young woman posts that she is a noob at the gym--often the only woman in the free weights section--and the guys stare at her, which makes her feel very insecure, as she is sure they are thinking she's doing everything wrong and that she looks like a moron. Now, unfortunately, this how-can-I-get-past-this query is accompanied by a profile pic in which the young lady is bleached platinum blond, is wearing a lot of (going out) makeup, and is showing cleavage. At first there are some gentle "well, of course they stare at you, you're hot" comments. These are quickly followed by "god, you're conceited if you think everyone's looking at you--you aren't THAT hot" and "you shouldn't dress like a slut at the gym and then no one will look at you." (Ed note: the picture posted was not a working out shot; no evidence that this woman dresses like a "slut" to lift weights.) These comments come from both men and women, by the way. Most people completely ignore the fact that the woman specifically states she thinks she's being stared at because she's a dork, not because she's hot, and those that don't, tell her to stop being a baby. This devolves even further into remarks that all women who bleach their hair like her are skanks and that guys only want girls that look like her for one-night stands, not as girlfriends or wives. The pile-on (from people of both sexes!) just because this woman posted a sexy picture is ridic. Finally a few more level-headed people listen to what she's actually said, some people give helpful advice, some of the worst douchebags are put in their place, and the thread calms down.
Okay. So also on bodybuilder.com, besides the forums and besides the online store at which my kid buys omega 3s, there are articles. Lots and lots of articles. This morning over coffee I decide to see what they have on the "Women's Superfeature", article-wise. The very first sentence on the index page is "Women, are you interested in losing that stubborn body fat for a strong sexy body or are you just looking for extra motivation to keep up with your training?" This is illustrated with a more-buff Paris Hilton look-alike (bleached blond hair, false eyelashes, blue eye shadow, shimmery pink lip gloss, cleavage). The word "sexy" is used at least six more times and there are at least two more pictures of boobs. This is just on the index page, mind. The index page of the sponsor of the forums where a poor girl was excoriated for having a picture of herself with eye shadow, platinum hair, and a rack. The irony, it burns!
But, seriously, that index page did piss me off a bit. It reminds me of when I was searching for "women's health" books on amazon while I was at war with my uterus last year, and most of the results were diet books, diet books promising me a "hot and healthy body," 'Cause god knows, being hot is more important than being healthy. If you're a chick. While I certainly think, against all evidence, that my new veins are sexxay, and while I keep jokingly telling, or agreeing with, my friends that now that I've been going to the gym regularly, I am hot, that that is supposed to be the sole selling point of exercise to someone because she happens to be female sucks, frankly. Especially from bodybuilding.com, if they are, as they seem to be, one of the premier weightlifting sites on the web. How about going to the gym because it's fun, and because being strong is useful, and because it makes you feel like you can kick ass, and so you don't break a hip when you're 70, and and and? Women have other motivators other than being hot. Even when we freakin' are.
And now, to objectify a dude. I was telling Liz about the insane pistol squat guy's video, and she suggested I look on youtube for "bartendaz" if I enjoy such insanity. She particularly suggested I look for the one where the gentleman is not wearing his shirt. Ahem. I think I found it!
xoxo
Of late, however, being very interested in what I am doing with Liz and my growing veinity, I have been perusing the forums on bodybuilder.com. Not that I have any intention of becoming an actual body builder. It's just what comes up when you search for weightlifting forums, and it's a huge, huge site. Huge enough that there are special sections for teenagers, people over 35, and women, along with the general interest folders. There are a lot of people on there that really know their shit, as well as people who don't. (My very favorite term/insult from there is "broscience"--which I don't think needs a translation, does it?) And there is a sad concentration of extremely obnoxious 17-24 year old boys, plus a few older douchebags who should have outgrown their testosterone poisoning by now. This, I guess, is what led to the women's section being created, though you can't actually keep the douchebros out of it. And so occurred a trainwreck of a thread a few days ago.
A young woman posts that she is a noob at the gym--often the only woman in the free weights section--and the guys stare at her, which makes her feel very insecure, as she is sure they are thinking she's doing everything wrong and that she looks like a moron. Now, unfortunately, this how-can-I-get-past-this query is accompanied by a profile pic in which the young lady is bleached platinum blond, is wearing a lot of (going out) makeup, and is showing cleavage. At first there are some gentle "well, of course they stare at you, you're hot" comments. These are quickly followed by "god, you're conceited if you think everyone's looking at you--you aren't THAT hot" and "you shouldn't dress like a slut at the gym and then no one will look at you." (Ed note: the picture posted was not a working out shot; no evidence that this woman dresses like a "slut" to lift weights.) These comments come from both men and women, by the way. Most people completely ignore the fact that the woman specifically states she thinks she's being stared at because she's a dork, not because she's hot, and those that don't, tell her to stop being a baby. This devolves even further into remarks that all women who bleach their hair like her are skanks and that guys only want girls that look like her for one-night stands, not as girlfriends or wives. The pile-on (from people of both sexes!) just because this woman posted a sexy picture is ridic. Finally a few more level-headed people listen to what she's actually said, some people give helpful advice, some of the worst douchebags are put in their place, and the thread calms down.
Okay. So also on bodybuilder.com, besides the forums and besides the online store at which my kid buys omega 3s, there are articles. Lots and lots of articles. This morning over coffee I decide to see what they have on the "Women's Superfeature", article-wise. The very first sentence on the index page is "Women, are you interested in losing that stubborn body fat for a strong sexy body or are you just looking for extra motivation to keep up with your training?" This is illustrated with a more-buff Paris Hilton look-alike (bleached blond hair, false eyelashes, blue eye shadow, shimmery pink lip gloss, cleavage). The word "sexy" is used at least six more times and there are at least two more pictures of boobs. This is just on the index page, mind. The index page of the sponsor of the forums where a poor girl was excoriated for having a picture of herself with eye shadow, platinum hair, and a rack. The irony, it burns!
But, seriously, that index page did piss me off a bit. It reminds me of when I was searching for "women's health" books on amazon while I was at war with my uterus last year, and most of the results were diet books, diet books promising me a "hot and healthy body," 'Cause god knows, being hot is more important than being healthy. If you're a chick. While I certainly think, against all evidence, that my new veins are sexxay, and while I keep jokingly telling, or agreeing with, my friends that now that I've been going to the gym regularly, I am hot, that that is supposed to be the sole selling point of exercise to someone because she happens to be female sucks, frankly. Especially from bodybuilding.com, if they are, as they seem to be, one of the premier weightlifting sites on the web. How about going to the gym because it's fun, and because being strong is useful, and because it makes you feel like you can kick ass, and so you don't break a hip when you're 70, and and and? Women have other motivators other than being hot. Even when we freakin' are.
And now, to objectify a dude. I was telling Liz about the insane pistol squat guy's video, and she suggested I look on youtube for "bartendaz" if I enjoy such insanity. She particularly suggested I look for the one where the gentleman is not wearing his shirt. Ahem. I think I found it!
xoxo
Saturday, October 9, 2010
meme
Here is how you play. Simply do a google image search on your name (first or last) and see what the first five results you get are.
Let's examine the "Andrea"s of the world, shall we?
Let's examine the "Andrea"s of the world, shall we?
This is a young woman who got attacked by a shark, showing off her scars. That's pretty badass. I don't mind sharing my name with her.
This is some bimbo.
This is some other bimbo. I hope she is no relation to (or god help us, Mrs) Mikey Lowell.
This is a third bimbo.
This is a "who wore it better?" from People magazine. The blond one on the left is the Andrea, and apparently she is an actress on Desperate Housewives. I don't watch that show.
Now, there *are* actually some famous people named Andrea. There's Andrea Mitchell, for one, or Andrea Bocelli (who totally counts even though he's a dude) and who was actually #7 on my google image results. But what is our object lesson we can take away? The interwebs exist for the purpose of disseminating pictures of women in their underwear (or without their underwear if you don't have safe search enabled), that's what!
And that is all I have to say about that.
xoxo
Friday, October 8, 2010
in honor of friday
I give you two of the best things in the world, rolled into one:
Kittens and massage!
The only thing better than that can't be shown on a family blog. But I'm sure you deviants know where to look on the interwebs for that sort of stuff anyways. You don't need any help.
(Shut up. I told you you were all in trouble when I learned how to make the video embedding work. I am a woman of my words.)
Evil Kitty is continuing to do very well despite her timebomb of a heart and I told the ultrasound vet just that when they emailed me this morning to check up on her. I have to say, all the vets have been way more concerned about my cat than any of my medical providers ever have about me (other than Marcy.) Does the fact that I pay both the vet and Marcy actual money, rather than insurance, have anything to do with that? Hmmmm...
xoxo
Kittens and massage!
The only thing better than that can't be shown on a family blog. But I'm sure you deviants know where to look on the interwebs for that sort of stuff anyways. You don't need any help.
(Shut up. I told you you were all in trouble when I learned how to make the video embedding work. I am a woman of my words.)
Evil Kitty is continuing to do very well despite her timebomb of a heart and I told the ultrasound vet just that when they emailed me this morning to check up on her. I have to say, all the vets have been way more concerned about my cat than any of my medical providers ever have about me (other than Marcy.) Does the fact that I pay both the vet and Marcy actual money, rather than insurance, have anything to do with that? Hmmmm...
xoxo
Thursday, October 7, 2010
and women things
It is Townie Girl's 10th wedding anniversary. Mr Townie Girl just showed up in person, all the way from Gloustah, to present her with a dozen long stem roses in honor of the occasion. Awww, sweet, right?
Except. Someone said to Townie Girl, "Oh, you can throw away the box now" and she said, "No, I need it to take them home in." Townie Girl does not work Fridays and Monday is a holiday for us. Her lovely flowers would be dead by Tuesday. You see the point here, right? The only reason for Mr Townie Girl to bring her roses to the office on a Thursday afternoon is for the fuck-you-bitches-I-got-flowers factor. Along with the see-what-a-wonderful-husband-I-have factor. Which would be more convincing if we also didn't hear about every frigging fight they have. Just sayin'.
And you all are just sayin' "Andrea, you cunt, you're just jealous." Well, DUH. That's the whole point of this little exercise: to make the rest of us jealous. I would be doing Mr and Mrs Townie Girl a huge disservice and ruining their 10th anniversary if I did not cooperate and be envious and bitter. God. Do I have to explain everything?
Meanwhile, nobody is jealous of the new vein popping out on the lateral side of my arm nor of my new found knowledge of how to squat, but those of us who are unlucky in love must take comfort in other accomplishments!
xoxo
Except. Someone said to Townie Girl, "Oh, you can throw away the box now" and she said, "No, I need it to take them home in." Townie Girl does not work Fridays and Monday is a holiday for us. Her lovely flowers would be dead by Tuesday. You see the point here, right? The only reason for Mr Townie Girl to bring her roses to the office on a Thursday afternoon is for the fuck-you-bitches-I-got-flowers factor. Along with the see-what-a-wonderful-husband-I-have factor. Which would be more convincing if we also didn't hear about every frigging fight they have. Just sayin'.
And you all are just sayin' "Andrea, you cunt, you're just jealous." Well, DUH. That's the whole point of this little exercise: to make the rest of us jealous. I would be doing Mr and Mrs Townie Girl a huge disservice and ruining their 10th anniversary if I did not cooperate and be envious and bitter. God. Do I have to explain everything?
Meanwhile, nobody is jealous of the new vein popping out on the lateral side of my arm nor of my new found knowledge of how to squat, but those of us who are unlucky in love must take comfort in other accomplishments!
xoxo
neglected sundry
I cannot believe I forgot to tell/ask/discuss this with all y'all yesterday. Apparently I need to start writing myself notes on my phone or, y'know, my arm or something so that when I sit down at the computer I am not at the mercy of my rapidly aging brain!
Here's the thing. I can almost run (yes, yes, jog slowly, STFU) 3 miles without stopping now. I'm very close. In fact, the other night when I went out in the rain--my preferred running conditions, as I may have mentioned--according to googlemaps I went about 2.7-2.8 miles and the thing is, I could have gone longer but I was back around the corner from my house. Any day now I'ma blow through that last quarter of a mile.
So, weeks ago, when I told Liz I was doing couch-to-5k, she had asked me if I was intending to run one and mentioned the Witch City 5k in October. I was all, no no, I don't want to run any races, I just wanna know I can do it. But you know the idea was planted in me feckin' head and I had to go to the website and look at the route, yadda yadda. Then, for a week and a half or so, my running progress ground to a halt. My legs were sore every single day from the combination of weights and increasing the running distances and I had, frankly, a little mental block about getting past 2 1/4 miles. Well, I said to myself, your silly fantasies about even being able to run 5k by the end of October are obviously just that. Stop kicking around the idea of signing up for that race. Out of the question.
But I got past my mental block and my body has apparently adjusted to the demands I've been placing on it, so the question comes up again. Should I do this? It's, like, stupid, right? It's not as if I would be competitive in my age group (though I know I wouldn't be last, either, because there are plenty of people who walk or walk/run these kind of "fun run" events) and it's not as if I'm gonna have people cheering me on at the finish line. (I know my friends. Ain't no one getting up that early on a Sunday morning for me. And you know D couldn't do it.) So what would be the point? There wouldn't be one.
And yet. I wish Liz had never put the idea into my head. I can't get it out so easily.
xoxo
Here's the thing. I can almost run (yes, yes, jog slowly, STFU) 3 miles without stopping now. I'm very close. In fact, the other night when I went out in the rain--my preferred running conditions, as I may have mentioned--according to googlemaps I went about 2.7-2.8 miles and the thing is, I could have gone longer but I was back around the corner from my house. Any day now I'ma blow through that last quarter of a mile.
So, weeks ago, when I told Liz I was doing couch-to-5k, she had asked me if I was intending to run one and mentioned the Witch City 5k in October. I was all, no no, I don't want to run any races, I just wanna know I can do it. But you know the idea was planted in me feckin' head and I had to go to the website and look at the route, yadda yadda. Then, for a week and a half or so, my running progress ground to a halt. My legs were sore every single day from the combination of weights and increasing the running distances and I had, frankly, a little mental block about getting past 2 1/4 miles. Well, I said to myself, your silly fantasies about even being able to run 5k by the end of October are obviously just that. Stop kicking around the idea of signing up for that race. Out of the question.
But I got past my mental block and my body has apparently adjusted to the demands I've been placing on it, so the question comes up again. Should I do this? It's, like, stupid, right? It's not as if I would be competitive in my age group (though I know I wouldn't be last, either, because there are plenty of people who walk or walk/run these kind of "fun run" events) and it's not as if I'm gonna have people cheering me on at the finish line. (I know my friends. Ain't no one getting up that early on a Sunday morning for me. And you know D couldn't do it.) So what would be the point? There wouldn't be one.
And yet. I wish Liz had never put the idea into my head. I can't get it out so easily.
xoxo
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
i squatted, bitches, PLUS bonus sundry
1.) Yes, yes, Liz taught me to squat today, in the rack or cage or whatever the hell you call it and everything. Okay, only the barbell, which is 45 pounds, but I'm a 47 year old 115 pound woman, WHAT MORE DO YOU EXPECT???? It's harder than you might think, because there are all these steps to remember to do it right: make sure the bar is centered, stick your butt out like you're going to sit, then squat, go at least to a 90 degree angle but don't go over your toes, and do it all in a fluid motion. I think I felt my balls growing even as I did it. (Have I mentioned lately that I crack myself the fuck up? No?) Maria esta muy macha! Then later when I was doing my dumbbell curls and standing shoulder presses, one of the big muscular regulars who was resting between sets of grunting over ridiculously big weights said to Liz (of me), "She's got good form already. I was watching her the other day." Liz said something along the lines of well, of course I do, because she's teaching me the right way. The guy says, "Yeah. Start 'em out light and correct." I wanted to say, "What are you calling 'light', pal? I'm a 47 year old 115 pound woman, WHAT MORE DO YOU EXPECT????" Heh. However, I did not, as I had dumbbells to lift. No time for chitchat, yo.
2.) So then I went to give M2 the massage I owed her that I could not give her last week. And, on the way there, what did I see on the train but a woman wearing my (in)famous autumn leaves coat! It's really weird owning a garment that is so distinctive that other people always remark on it, then seeing it on someone else, lemme tell you. However, the good part of it was that the other woman had to be my age or even a bit older, so I am somewhat reassured that this coat is in fact awesome on me rather than ridiculous. You know I worry about some of my more out-there fashion choices.
3.) D sucked me into watching The Biggest Loser last night. Two things. He was watching it while eating Oreos and drinking milk. I found this amusing. I went and put a bowl of blueberries on the coffee table, and told him that I thought you were supposed to be eating healthy snacks whilst watching 400 pound people losing weight. Secondly, this show pisses me off so much. The premise seems to be that these people are responsible for how much weight they are losing in the competition, which makes no sense. They're eating what they are given--there are no exposes of contestants sneaking out to eat HoHos or anything--and doing the workouts they are told to do. If they don't lose or don't lose "enough" by the ridiculous standards set forth, I think that's on whoever is figuring out their diet and exercise plans which ain't them. The show seems to get around that by convincing them, and supposedly us, that the people who lose the most each week are the ones who are putting in the most effort at their workouts. Bullshit. It doesn't work that way. I mean, if someone sneaks off and takes a nap instead of running on the treadmill, yeah, okay, but that's not what's happening. Someone who runs till they puke isn't gonna necessarily lose two more pounds than someone who runs until they *almost* puke. (Well, discounting the volume of the puke, I guess.) Secondly--and as someone who spent most of her summer working on losing weight, I know this--weight loss isn't linear. You can do the exact same things for three weeks, lose one week, lose nothing or even gain the next week, and then lose a crapload the third week. Your body lets go of the fat when it's good and ready to, and there's nothing you can do about it, but keep plugging away and wait for it to decide it's time to dump the fat. So, anyway, I was ranting at the TV. I much prefer D's other favorite show, Hell's Kitchen. The morons on there deserve Gordon Ramsey yelling at them.
Okay, that is all.
xoxo
2.) So then I went to give M2 the massage I owed her that I could not give her last week. And, on the way there, what did I see on the train but a woman wearing my (in)famous autumn leaves coat! It's really weird owning a garment that is so distinctive that other people always remark on it, then seeing it on someone else, lemme tell you. However, the good part of it was that the other woman had to be my age or even a bit older, so I am somewhat reassured that this coat is in fact awesome on me rather than ridiculous. You know I worry about some of my more out-there fashion choices.
3.) D sucked me into watching The Biggest Loser last night. Two things. He was watching it while eating Oreos and drinking milk. I found this amusing. I went and put a bowl of blueberries on the coffee table, and told him that I thought you were supposed to be eating healthy snacks whilst watching 400 pound people losing weight. Secondly, this show pisses me off so much. The premise seems to be that these people are responsible for how much weight they are losing in the competition, which makes no sense. They're eating what they are given--there are no exposes of contestants sneaking out to eat HoHos or anything--and doing the workouts they are told to do. If they don't lose or don't lose "enough" by the ridiculous standards set forth, I think that's on whoever is figuring out their diet and exercise plans which ain't them. The show seems to get around that by convincing them, and supposedly us, that the people who lose the most each week are the ones who are putting in the most effort at their workouts. Bullshit. It doesn't work that way. I mean, if someone sneaks off and takes a nap instead of running on the treadmill, yeah, okay, but that's not what's happening. Someone who runs till they puke isn't gonna necessarily lose two more pounds than someone who runs until they *almost* puke. (Well, discounting the volume of the puke, I guess.) Secondly--and as someone who spent most of her summer working on losing weight, I know this--weight loss isn't linear. You can do the exact same things for three weeks, lose one week, lose nothing or even gain the next week, and then lose a crapload the third week. Your body lets go of the fat when it's good and ready to, and there's nothing you can do about it, but keep plugging away and wait for it to decide it's time to dump the fat. So, anyway, I was ranting at the TV. I much prefer D's other favorite show, Hell's Kitchen. The morons on there deserve Gordon Ramsey yelling at them.
Okay, that is all.
xoxo
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
breaking news!
Tom Brady (whom I'll remind you I hate, in case you've forgotten) is so whipped, his supermodel wife is cheating on him in public. I honestly think that they are the famous celebrity couple that I despise the most. Maybe this will lead to a splashy sordid tabloid divorce and I can spend the next six or nine months wallowing in schadenfreude and laughing my ass off! Especially when the pics of Tom wearing Giselle's VS panties and looking better in them than she does get leaked to the press.
(And if this does come to pass, you all owe me five bucks. Each.)
xoxo
(And if this does come to pass, you all owe me five bucks. Each.)
xoxo
Monday, October 4, 2010
omfg, the solution
In salmon flavor. I thought Evil Kitty would be too smart to fall for this, but these things must taste like the cat equivilent of a 5 star gourmet dinner. I did not get bitten or peed on today. There was no trauma. Holy crap.
xoxo
in which i review The Town
I greatly enjoyed this movie, but I tend to like all those Boston crime movies, as well as Dennis Lehane books, on general principle. My main quibble with the film was that the locations of the particular crimes in it seemed predicated more on what would be picturesque and well-known to the viewing audience than on any semblance of reality. I mean, if you were planning on knocking off an armored car, would you do it in the North End which is impossible to drive out of under the best of circumstances, never mind when under high speed pursuit? But, y'know, a robbery in, say, Malden with easy access to major highways wouldn't exactly have the same cinematic cachet. Ah, well.
One of my major surprises in the movie was that Blake Lively can actually act. I have never watched an episode of Gossip Girl, and so my impression of her was as just a bimbo. (Possibly because her nickname on gofugyourself is "Boobs Legsley" due to her predilection for wearing very short and very lowcut outfits to every event, a fashion faux pas. One or the other, people, one or the other.) But she does very well in her small but pivotal role was the very pretty, very very white trash ex-girlfriend of Ben Affleck (and sister of his partner.)
And speaking of Ms Lively? Do you remember a post on here last spring, in which I expressed my fascination and horror over the black-tipped French manicure that the woman sitting next to me on the Blue Line was sporting, a manicure whose overall effect was to suggest she had dirt beneath her fingernails? Do you remember my pronouncing this the ultimate white trash fashion statement? Well. In the scene where Ms Lively is in her hospital bed at the MGH, recovering from her DWI, she has that same manicure! I was ready to hand the costume designer (or whoever was responsible) the Academy Award on the spot. A tiny detail that most people wouldn't even notice and that some who did wouldn't grasp the significance of, but perfect. That is what Ms Lively's character would ask for at the nail salon, no question. Brilliant.
Okay, I think that's all I've got to say about that. Other than: did you ever think about how much cash there must be in Fenway Park at any given time? Me neither!
xoxo
One of my major surprises in the movie was that Blake Lively can actually act. I have never watched an episode of Gossip Girl, and so my impression of her was as just a bimbo. (Possibly because her nickname on gofugyourself is "Boobs Legsley" due to her predilection for wearing very short and very lowcut outfits to every event, a fashion faux pas. One or the other, people, one or the other.) But she does very well in her small but pivotal role was the very pretty, very very white trash ex-girlfriend of Ben Affleck (and sister of his partner.)
And speaking of Ms Lively? Do you remember a post on here last spring, in which I expressed my fascination and horror over the black-tipped French manicure that the woman sitting next to me on the Blue Line was sporting, a manicure whose overall effect was to suggest she had dirt beneath her fingernails? Do you remember my pronouncing this the ultimate white trash fashion statement? Well. In the scene where Ms Lively is in her hospital bed at the MGH, recovering from her DWI, she has that same manicure! I was ready to hand the costume designer (or whoever was responsible) the Academy Award on the spot. A tiny detail that most people wouldn't even notice and that some who did wouldn't grasp the significance of, but perfect. That is what Ms Lively's character would ask for at the nail salon, no question. Brilliant.
Okay, I think that's all I've got to say about that. Other than: did you ever think about how much cash there must be in Fenway Park at any given time? Me neither!
xoxo
Sunday, October 3, 2010
liar, liar
Doncha hate people who lie? I said I was done with the baseball, but I just have to express my incredulity. I can't keep it bottled up, yo.
I caught the last coupla innings of today's game, and imagine my expression when in the 9th the crowd at Fenway started chanting "Yankees suck." Srsly? It takes a lot of balls *and* stupidity to trash talk a team that's going to the playoffs when your team is not. If the assembled multitude felt the need to chant, "Papelbon sucks" would have done very nicely, is what I'm saying. Ah well, what can you expect from a bunch of people who have not mastered the concept of MOVE INTO THE FUCKING TRAIN? By the by, I'm off to see "The Town" in a few minutes. We'll just see if Mr Affleck has captured the general idiocy of the native Bostonian successfully, won't we?
In other unrelated (except possibly for my own stupidity) news, I bought a pill gun for Evil Kitty, a device I hereforto did not know existed until I watched about ten different youtube videos about giving your cat a pill. It actually worked much better than trying to give her four different pills separately. (Which had led again to her peeing all over my kitchen floor and my leg and my favorite work shoes last night 'cause she got so upset.) On the other hand, the pill gun did not work well enough to keep her from actually biting me today. Sigh. I put some neosporin on my wound, but if you don't hear from me for a few weeks or forever, it's 'cause I went septic and died. Check the obits!
Happy Sunday evening, bitches.
xoxo
Addendum:
This is my favorite youtube video on pilling your cat. It gives you a flavor of what goes on in my house.
I caught the last coupla innings of today's game, and imagine my expression when in the 9th the crowd at Fenway started chanting "Yankees suck." Srsly? It takes a lot of balls *and* stupidity to trash talk a team that's going to the playoffs when your team is not. If the assembled multitude felt the need to chant, "Papelbon sucks" would have done very nicely, is what I'm saying. Ah well, what can you expect from a bunch of people who have not mastered the concept of MOVE INTO THE FUCKING TRAIN? By the by, I'm off to see "The Town" in a few minutes. We'll just see if Mr Affleck has captured the general idiocy of the native Bostonian successfully, won't we?
In other unrelated (except possibly for my own stupidity) news, I bought a pill gun for Evil Kitty, a device I hereforto did not know existed until I watched about ten different youtube videos about giving your cat a pill. It actually worked much better than trying to give her four different pills separately. (Which had led again to her peeing all over my kitchen floor and my leg and my favorite work shoes last night 'cause she got so upset.) On the other hand, the pill gun did not work well enough to keep her from actually biting me today. Sigh. I put some neosporin on my wound, but if you don't hear from me for a few weeks or forever, it's 'cause I went septic and died. Check the obits!
Happy Sunday evening, bitches.
xoxo
Addendum:
This is my favorite youtube video on pilling your cat. It gives you a flavor of what goes on in my house.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Alright...
Which one of yous forgot to sacrifice the damn goat?!???
Oh, it's been a very long day and I am tired, but I just have to say this: 8 innings pitched, 10 strikeouts, ERA 0.00, WHIP 0.63--Ubaldo, hijo, you did your best, and I certainly couldn't have asked for more.
We have almost come to the end of this year's baseball blog posts, boys and girls, which I am sure will please some of you all no end. I cannot promise that I won't throw a big fit in here at some point during playoff season when Tim McCarver causes me to froth at the mouth like Evil Kitty taking her pills, but mostly we are done with the baseball for a while. It may just be time to start back to the home decorating projects! I haven't been on Rate My Space for months. Hmmmm...
xoxo
Oh, it's been a very long day and I am tired, but I just have to say this: 8 innings pitched, 10 strikeouts, ERA 0.00, WHIP 0.63--Ubaldo, hijo, you did your best, and I certainly couldn't have asked for more.
We have almost come to the end of this year's baseball blog posts, boys and girls, which I am sure will please some of you all no end. I cannot promise that I won't throw a big fit in here at some point during playoff season when Tim McCarver causes me to froth at the mouth like Evil Kitty taking her pills, but mostly we are done with the baseball for a while. It may just be time to start back to the home decorating projects! I haven't been on Rate My Space for months. Hmmmm...
xoxo
and fuck you very much, seattle mariners
Felix Hernandez is not getting his last start of the year tomorrow. I know he's thrown more innings than any other pitcher in the AL, and possibly in all of baseball (though I'd have to check on that), but he wants to pitch. I mean, *that* could have been his no-hitter which sews up the Cy Young for the poor boy who has suffered so much indignity this year. And, not for nuthin', but practicing foresight (which is like really unusual and therefore a good part of my team sucked so very very hard), when I realized Felix was slated to pitch on Sunday, I did not allow either my career-best 17 wins overachiever Mr Arroyo nor my may-do-great-stuff-next-year Gio Gonzalez to pitch on Thursday, to save up for the 8 or 9 innings Felix would pitch during his last start. I mean, if the boy was gonna pitch me a no-hitter, I wanted it to freakin' count. Mr Arroyo and Mr Gonzalez both kicked ass and won their games Thursday, which thus did me no damn good, and now saving those innings was for naught. Again: fuck you very much, Seattle Mariners. I hate you.
And, Readers, when you are going about your daily duties today, running your Saturday errands and so forth, stop by the goat store and pick one up. If you all sacrifice properly, bitches, Ubaldo will win number veinte and I will at least have that.
Smooches.
xoxo
And, Readers, when you are going about your daily duties today, running your Saturday errands and so forth, stop by the goat store and pick one up. If you all sacrifice properly, bitches, Ubaldo will win number veinte and I will at least have that.
Smooches.
xoxo
Friday, October 1, 2010
la noticia buena y la noticia muy mala
Good news first? I am not losing my job nor are my hours even being cut. I had my yearly review today (late) and Led Zep Girl confirmed that my position is safe. Apparently when those evil bastids in upper administration started making noises about doing something with my position, E, my boss, flipped out and told them if they did, he was out the door and they could close our whole clinic. Which is not surprising to me for the fact that he is very loyal to me and vice versa, but which IS surprising to me in that he dared, 'cause I wouldn't have put it past them to call his bluff. I think they might very well be happy to close us down! But they're apparently sticking with us for at least another year. The gossip Led Zep Girl also passed on is that they have a nibble on a new doc, WHICH WOULD BE SUPAH. Cross your fingers we can shmooze him successfully *and* those bastids in administration don't nickel and dime away our chance to sign him. This would be very good for my continued employment.
Now the very very bad news. Evil Kitty had her echo this afternoon and not only is her heart very enlarged (as shown on her xrays) showing severe heart disease, but she has a couple clots that have formed. She could stroke out any time now, be paralyzed in her back legs, and have to be put down. I asked the docs doing the echo what this meant prognosis-wise, like did she have six months to live?, and it sorta sounds like they're not expecting she'll even last that long. But we're starting plavix and aspirin, so pray that helps dissolve those clots so she'll be with us as long as possible. We had another cat years ago who had a heart condition and took human atenolol for two years before he died, and he was much older than Evil Kitty when it developed, so I guess I wasn't prepared to hear this. I thought they'd put her on something and she'd live a few more years. She's only 10 1/2. I'm so sad right now. Muy triste.
xoxo
Now the very very bad news. Evil Kitty had her echo this afternoon and not only is her heart very enlarged (as shown on her xrays) showing severe heart disease, but she has a couple clots that have formed. She could stroke out any time now, be paralyzed in her back legs, and have to be put down. I asked the docs doing the echo what this meant prognosis-wise, like did she have six months to live?, and it sorta sounds like they're not expecting she'll even last that long. But we're starting plavix and aspirin, so pray that helps dissolve those clots so she'll be with us as long as possible. We had another cat years ago who had a heart condition and took human atenolol for two years before he died, and he was much older than Evil Kitty when it developed, so I guess I wasn't prepared to hear this. I thought they'd put her on something and she'd live a few more years. She's only 10 1/2. I'm so sad right now. Muy triste.
xoxo
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