Wednesday, September 29, 2010

It ain't Grey's Freakin' Anatomy, people.

So if you know me, you know I've been bitchin' about an annoying health "thing" for a while now. This post is about that, and poo--lots of poo, and lady parts. You've been warned...


For about five months or so I've been suffering from chronic diarrhea which on some days is annoying and on others interferes with day-to-day life. Since I was very young, I have suffered from Irritable Bowel Syndrome with chronic constipation, so the turn five months ago was concerning, but I didn't go to the doctor. But the other month Nate said to me, "Between the diarrhea and the increased joint pain, this is the sickest I've ever seen you. You should see a doctor." Nate never suggests going to the doctor, so I made the appointment.

They horrified my fecal-phobic ass by making me do myriad versions of "sample" collection. I'm still traumatized. I'm not joking.

All cultures and tests, including the bloodwork and urine were "totally normal." "Probably just your IBS. Here's some IBS meds." They didn't seem to be worried that thirty-some years of constipation had suddenly done a 180° . Surprisingly [/sarcasm], the meds have not been helping.

This whole thing got me pondering another problem I've been having, but assumed was just due to my advancing--ahem!--maternal age. Shorter, heavier periods; debilitating cramps pre-, peri- and post-menstrually; lower back pain during the same time period which leaves me wondering why I was such a cry-baby during labor. Putting that together with the immediate problem and the history of "lady troubles" in my family, I decided a call to my friendly gynecologist's office was, perhaps, in order.

Today I called, told the receptionist my symptoms and was promptly put on hold. I thought she was trying to find an appointment for me. She came back on the line and told me the doc-on-call or the triage nurse would call me back for the fastest available appointment. Huh? Well, that didn't sound very good.

A nurse called me back and asked me repeatedly about fibroids and my family history of endometriosis and so on...told me they'd see me on the 6th and that they might want to do an ultrasound for the fibroids and "maybe check some other things." She didn't seem interested in the poly-cystic ovary syndrome at all, so I'm guessing that is probably not the problem. Gah. Fine.

I'd already talked to Nate and Dawn and Vicki about the possibility of endo and my fear of having a hysterectomy and perhaps even oophorectomy.

All I'd ever wanted was to be a stay-at-home mother of two children. Nate wanted a stay-at-home mother to seven children. We compromised on five. I then set my heart on five. We had names selected and everything. Due to various health problems, all of my docs and Nate decided for my stubborn butt that I was done with my baby-making. I often miss the ones we never had. The miscarriage and all of the babies my friends and family are recently cranking out don't help quell my baby-lust. A final judgment on the closing of the baby factory will definitely break me for a while.

I loved being pregnant, nursing, raising my children. I hate being told I cannot do something. The possibilities are not pretty. I was just coming to terms with being in perimenopause but it gave me years to get used to the idea. So while it would be nice to be rid of the suck going on in my belly once and for all, it would be quite difficult if the result is removal of some of my lady bits.

One possible plus: I told Nate if I am seriously done being pregnant forever and part of my lady-ness is taken away, then he will be paying for the tummy tuck of my dreams. Buh-bye c-section flap. (Am I right, ladies?) I think I convinced him when I said if any of his "man parts" had to be removed, I would totally let him get the red, fast convertible muscle car he would surely long for. He seemed to consider this a reasonable argument.

Stay tuned. My appointment is October 6th.

I'll be honest.

Things I don't like:
  1. People who call themselves artists who never create anything.
  2. The use of words like "exquisite" and "gambolling" in casual conversation. Unless I say them.
  3. People who don't recognize that there is an art to cussing and artists should be left alone to create.
  4. The use of phrases like "harsh beauty" in Facebook comments or tweets. But only if written in a very self -aware "aren't I a super wunnerful writer" sort of way.
  5. The rest of the artichoke.
  6. Early '80s furniture in almost any style.
  7. When people drum their fingernails.
  8. People who get food or other undesirable stains on library books.
  9. When someone says they don't like pickles but don't specify what sort of thing has been pickled and in what particular way.
  10. Self-sealing envelopes. Because where's the fun in that?

Things I like:

  1. Hotels with a variety of pillows.
  2. Cotton
  3. Harvard beets
  4. Cussing
  5. The smell of an old paperback that hasn't been opened in years.
  6. Clear, waterproof band-aids.
  7. Drumming my fingernails.
  8. Paperclips
  9. The harsh beauty of people exquisitely gambolling.
  10. Finally getting that itch in me ear scratched but good.

Friday, September 24, 2010

Giving new meaning to "Bow-chicka-wow-wow"

All of my dogs and cats have been neutered or spayed on the very day they turn five months old because my vet won't do it before five months. (Or when they are older animals: before they enter my house.) Because of this, none of my animals have ever had problems with marking or humping. One of my hounds--a girl named Zelda--occasionally mounted my old yaller dog Zeke, but that was totally a dominance thing; she thought she could steal "alpha dog" from him, alas, to no avail.
Then there was Zev, my "special dog." (See previous post.)
He will, once in a great while, try to hump his older brother, Hahn. I do not think it is a dominance thing. He seems to genuinely enjoy it, but we actively discourage it and it has been quite some time since the last "incident."
Until yesterday.
I took both dogs to be groomed. It was Zev's first grooming. When we came home, until bedtime last night, he repeatedly mounted Hahn every time he thought we weren't paying attention.
Poor Hahn.
I have two working theories:

  1. He felt so sexy from having been prettied up that he just had to work it.
  2. He thought Hahn looked pretty damn fine after a day at the spa.

Either way, he seems to be "hump-free" today. Thank god.

Dumb as a, well, rock

My youngest dog, Zev, will be a year old in December. So I guess I can pretend he acts the way he does because he's still a puppy. But, honestly, I have a feeling I will have some excuse for him for all of the upcoming phases of life.
I had finally started keeping houseplants alive a few years back, so now there are plants everywhere. They might not "thrive" to the point of lushness, but they are alive and they do grow, so that is a big deal for me. I have put decorative gravel or river stones on top of the soil for all of the plants to keep the cats from digging in the dirt. Now, however, Zev has discovered an enjoyment for the pea gravel in a few of the floor plants. The gravel is round and smooth and the perfect size for his tiny mouth. He will take a stone and carry it around and play with it with his mouth for a while and then get bored. We have found ourselves repeatedly stepping on these stones all over the downstairs now and putting them back in the planter. I have a feeling there is a stash under or behind furniture, but I haven't discovered it yet. But I also have a sick feeling that he occasionally eats or swallows them. I've never seen him do it, but he is not that bright, so I worry about it. He seemed a bit constipated today, so now I am hyper-paranoid that there are rocks in his bowel. We had a hound a while back who had an intestinal blockage and that surgery was hell, both financially and emotionally.
I've been trying to train him to keep away from the planters, but he is a sneaky little bugger and I think he might even enjoy the "hunt" so to speak. Well, at least when I say he's "special" I can truly, truly mean it.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Asleep, Awake, Really Awake

I was feeling kind of "blah" after dinner. I think I was worn out from being in and out of the heat all day today. It was the first day of Autumn and it was 90° all day. Pretty hard to get into the "spirit" of the thing while I'm sweating my arse off, but anyway.
So I did the roll-over-and-take-a-nap maneuver at which I always--always--fail. It's not that I can't fall asleep. It's that I can. And then I sleep for too long, just like I did tonight. I woke at about 11 and tried really hard to not wake up any further, hoping to drift back off to sleep and wake up in the morning like a normal person. At 11:17 I had to give up the ruse. I was really awake now. Like, ready to go partying and grocery shopping and jogging (not necessarily in that order) awake.
I did, however, have another of my short dreams which seem to exist only to amuse myself.
In the dream, I had to get an upper GI with a barium swallow. (Don't ask me why; I think it was all a set up for the "punchline.") Now, if you've never had to drink the vaguely radioactive "creamy" barium, I will tell you: it is awful. Truly disgusting. But the manufacturers flavor it to make it "more palatable." It does not make it more palatable. The flavoring may even make it worse. In the dream, the nurse comes in and says, "You can choose your flavor. We have 'Chalk-olate,' 'Vaguely Vanilla-ish,' and 'Sorta Strawberry.'" And then I woke up.
I do think if they used truth-in-advertising names like this (think "Crazy People" ads) that people would not think the drinks tasted as awful. They wouldn't look at the creamy-looking drink and, knowing the woman just called it "Vanilla," expect it to taste like a milkshake, so that first sip wouldn't shock you so much and the rest of the drink might only be half as bad by comparison to the expectations you could have had.
Hopefully, I can trick my brain into fall back asleep in hopes of another amusing--to me, anyway--dream.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Blue Pills

I had thought the pills
were green because I'd only
seen them through yellow.

My kids are bad in my dreams, and I'm kind of a scared mom in real life, I guess.

Ever since the boys were young, my plan has been to have a fishbowl full of condoms in the house so that they and their friends can partake as necessary without it being too obvious to Nate and I--because there are so many in the bowl that we won't notice a few gone at a time.

So the other week I finally got a cheap glass fishbowl at Petco and a 100 Condom Super Sampler Pack online and placed it near the French Doors on a bookcase.

They were told to take what they need as could their friends, but they were not allowed to waste them on water balloons and whatnot.
The other night I had a dream that I happened to notice that about HALF of the condoms were gone already.
I found the kids and yelled the following at them, "You are NOT allowed to use the condoms to make water balloons, but you sure as hell better be just using all of those for water balloons!!"

Running on Empty

It's 6:31 AM as I start this entry. I have been awake since yesterday morning when I awoke with joints so swollen that I appeared to not have joints in a few places. I took the anti-inflammatory, rubbed on the topical of the same drug, did stretches and moved around. Nothing. By the time the boys came home, I decided it was okay to take a few pain pills, which made me sleepy, but did not lighten the pain enough to allow me to sleep. And I've been on a cycle of pain pills since then; still with not enough relief to sleep. So at this point I will attempt the "just stay the hell awake until dinner" maneuver. Though I may break up the day with a long, warm, smell-good bath and a short nap. I do have to take Ethan for a haircut, so that will force me to not nap straight through dinner and then be awake all night again. Hopefully, this plan will come off without a hitch.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Speed Round

Smartfood Popcorn is so good that I tend to forget how bad popcorn is for my teeth and gums and digestive system until it is much, much too late.


Terry Jones's church did not burn the Quran on Saturday. But somewhere some people did. Luckily, it did not receive the same media attention the whole Jones debacle did, because giving those zealots attention is giving them exactly what they want.


Andy Rooney Breakdown:
Why do companies send you paper catalogs when you order something from their website?


Don't tell my husband I am admitting this, but I am finally aware that I am a magazine hoarder. Well, not in the technical sense of the term, because eventually, once they've been read, they will be recycled. I have such a love for "traditional media" that I accept all free and super discounted subscriptions which come my way. But since I am also a book hoarder--well, technically, book "saver"-- and a library addict--um, lover--it makes it quite difficult to keep up with all of my reading. Okay, wait. I'm not a hoarder at all. I'm just slow. Yeah, I'm going to go with that for now.


Am I crazy, or does Raising Hope look kind of good? I love Shannon Woodward from the dearly departed The Riches, so I'll at least give the pilot a spin. And much, much love for Martha Plimpton and Cloris Leachman, of course. (I refuse to hotlink them. If you don't know who they are, you might be beyond the help of a hotlink.)


Colbert's Dr. Strangelove turn tonight was beautiful. Try to catch the reruns tomorrow if you missed it tonight.


DING! Time's up!


UPDATE: I noticed I forgot to make "Jones" possessive, so I actually had to go look up the singular possessive form of Jones. If that does not make me feel like a dingbat, I do not know what would.

Saturday, September 11, 2010


Nine years ago today, in more ways than one, the skies were much bluer and we were much younger.

A really ZANY "No, thank you."

Yesterday I received a rejection letter by email from a well-known, very large organization. I won't tell you from what I was being rejected, but I will tell you that it was not a form letter, which I found quite refreshing. The letter included advice, encouragement and specifics. But it did it all in a very odd way: in Comic Sans font. I am still not sure if this was meant to make me feel happier about my rejection or if being rejected by the organization was maybe not such a bad thing. ("Any club that wants to have me" and whatnot...)

With age you get more makeup. No eggroll for you!

From time to time I receive free books or products and a few years ago I was sent a reverse lip liner. Do you know what this is? It is, basically, a clear wax pencil which you use to line around you lips--instead of the inside the edge of your lips--and the wax supposedly keeps the lipstick from "bleeding" or "feathering" around your mouth. I thought, at the time, "What? Who the heck needs this?"
I have a real purty mouth and have always loved lipstick. I've never used lip liner with any regularity and certainly did not think I needed this weird product.
Then, some weeks back, I noticed that it had been (as my bestie says) yonks since I had done a brash red lip. And I realized this was because the last few times I had done such a lip and then went out, the lipstick did not just come off or disappear when I ate or drank, but seemed to spread out until I ended up looking like Bozo. Even if you redo your lip in this situation, you still have a faint stain around your mouth when using the highly pigmented reds I adore.
So, the other night, while at home, I took the reverse lip liner (brand unspecified here, lol) for a test run. I figured if I was relaxing at home I would act naturally regarding my lipstick since it didn't really matter if I ended up looking like a clown or Courtney Love. (Wait. Is that redundant?) I used the reverse liner, MAC Ruby Woo lippy and MAC Russian Red Tinted Lipglass over it. I ate and drank and putzed around. Then I looked in the mirror. And, yes, I needed to reapply. But I did not have a ring-around-the-mouth situation going on.
Now, you may wonder why you had to endure a post about makeup. But this post is not about makeup. (And, no, this is not a Jedi mind trick.)
See, what I realized was that by admitting that I was getting a bit older and maybe the teeniest-tiniest bit wrinkled that I was able to readjust my routine and once again enjoy something as simple as a bright red lip during a night on the town. Now if I could apply that to my Getting Shit Done (GSD™) list, I might actually get shit done.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Word Geek Sadness

I have heard that the new edition of the Oxford English Dictionary may be published only online for paid members.
Only a few of my readers will understand the sadness this brings me, but I will try to explain it.
When I was little my Ma and The Sperm Donor owned the Unabridged OED. (I believe it might have been the student edition, which is less well-made and cheaper to buy.) It was a thing of great beauty to behold. Even before I could actually read I loved opening the little drawer at the top, removing the magnifying glass, slipping one of the great, black volumes from it's case and poring over the pages.
Since that time it has been my Book Hoarder's Number One Goal in life to own such a wonderful, mystical, magical book. It's been on my Amazon wish list for years, but, of course, if it were bought as a gift for me it would be the only gift I would receive and my friends and family know I like lots of little gifts much more than one big gift. But I may have to bite the bullet and beg for the volumes before they become rare collector's items for geeks all over the world.
There is this ridiculously expensive version which would make me so proud to see as I walk past my bookcases, but I am drawn instead to this one, a reminder of the awe I felt the first time I encountered a truly magical book.

Wednesday, September 08, 2010

Something as simple as a shower.

This afternoon when taking a shower I watched the sun dappled leaves rustling in the wind. A cherry tree, a walnut, a locust, a sycamore and several maples. The smell of the lilac soap, a gift from my best friend, tricking me into wondering if it was really spring and not fall's approach I was seeing... Beauty in the mundane. I must always remind myself to pause when I find it and record it to my memory.

Words I Say Regarding Stuff: An Introduction

You may notice that about twice a year for the past couple of years I seem to decide to try to make this blogging thing work. This is one of those times again. I may not always have something interesting to say, but I want to try to post something--anything--every day. We'll see how this goes.
It does bother me that I can share some witty, deep, or important things on Facebook which, essentially, disappear after a week or so. I don't have an archive. I mean, I know that the words are floating around out there in cyberland forevermore, but I can't easily access it. So that is what brings me back to this page every once in a while.
One pet peeve I have about some of the blogs I've been reading lately is that they no longer seem to follow that format of backwards chronology from the top of the page to the bottom and then you click "older posts." I rather liked that. I liked seeing the posts in some kind of order and feeling the accomplishment of completing the reading of a page. I guess because I'm a book girl, I like my information in a linear format like that. But many blogs are now using that--um--"thing" where there is one post (the most recent) on the homepage and then six to twelve blocks at the bottom of the page to choose from for further reading. That's too difficult. I don't want to read a Choose Your Own Adventure blog. I want a narrative of some kind. Granted my narrative, when read in said linear format may make a reader wonder whether I have schizophrenia or ADD or some other mental disorder which makes it difficult for me to stay on topic. Yes, I do have mental illness, but really I'm just interested in myriad, disparate topics. I apologize in advance to any new readers for the bursts of flotsam and jetsam. If you don't like it, don't read it. I'm totally cool with that. Also, I do not claim to be a writer or an artist. So if you're looking for that, you might want to go elsewhere.
I rather like the meta element of this post. Blogging about blogging.
I just spell-checked this and Blogger doesn't recognize the word Facebook. Weird.

Tuesday, September 07, 2010

Aaaaand the oldest, too.

I guess they both got the sickness from me:
I sent you a request to confirm me as myself for my blog, if
you didn't yet, can you confirm it for me?

what now?

check your requests for a networked blogs
request which is just asking if i am me and the author of my blog

are you the author of your blog?

srsly? what is UP with you and your brother?!?

I dont know, likee you didnt just copy and paste it right?


i'm copying and pasting your annoying ass ?s

so your not really the author of that content?

come here, please. i need to slap you.

hey, plagarism is serious business, my english teacher says they can kick you out of college for that'

Sometimes I realize they are too much like me.

So, the old way that Blogger used to post to Facebook doesn't seem to work anymore, so I signed up for NetworkedBlogs to do it for me. One of the steps was to ask friends to verify that I am, indeed, the owner of my blog. I asked both of my sons, among others. My youngest and I just had the following chat via Facebook:
I sent you a request to confirm me as myself for my blog, if you didn't yet, can you confirm it for me?

can i not?

im to lazy to click

nd the mouse is so far away

yeah, but then fb wont let me publish m y blog...why would you not?

idk tho

how can i be sure ur the authore of blahgblahgblahg


they taught us about plagerism in skool




brb i hav to google some sample phrases to make sure u didnt steal this from someone elses blog
Why did I teach them how to be smart asses so well? It makes me laugh my mom ass off, but it's still frustrating.

Down with Socialism!

Government needs to keep it's nose out my healthcare, medicare, social security, roads, libraries, police departments, fire departments, education and schools, our stock exchange, our oil cleanups and disaster relief, our national and international protection, the prices we pay for milk and eggs and cigarettes and bread, air and water quality, public transportation, the railroads and ports by which all of our consumer goods reach us, the water treatment and sewers and trash disposal and, finally, our justice system. I just can't take anymore of their fucking interfering with everything.

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