Life with Lumpy Boobs

In college, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She is 27 years older than me, which means she was in her late 40s. She had a double mastectomy. A year or so later, my mom's half-sister (my half-aunt), also had breast cancer. She was in her 70s. These are called high-risk factors. None of this really phased me when it came to my own breast. My problems in life more centered around my cervix (another story for another time), which meant I had been seeing a gynecologist on a regular basis since I was 18 years old. My breast were felt up yearly by doctors (usually at Planned Parenthood), and always deemed fine. Around ten years ago, I noticed that my breast felt different. They used to feel kind of like heavy water balloons. My breast by nature are shallow on top and heavy on bottom (my roommate in college made a comment on them once that I can't quite recall, but something about being like flowers); to me they look like ski jumps. I love my breast, especially since the right bra will make them look full on top. It all works out for the best. So, my breast felt different. They felt lumpy. It didn't take a doctor's visit to realize I had breast fibroids.

I was drinking steadily at this time, and I recall having a lot of women touch my lumps (it's educational!). To me, they feel like large land masses moving around inside the sea of my breast. Some months I had a lot, other months just a few. They come and go as they please. When I did see my gyno, she would usually just tell me to cut down on my caffeine intake. I drink at most 12-20oz of caffeine a day, which is minuscule compared to most people I know. So, I ignore that advice. My breast often ache and they do not have much sensitivity, but I rarely think about it because my allergies are my true headache in life. My tits still look great, so I tend not to grouse about them.

Around three or four years ago, I did have a questionable lump. One that my doctor could not immediately identify as a fibroid, and I was hustled off to get my first mammogram. I was around 30 at the time. I was the youngest patient in the building. The tech was really nice, but I felt quite lost. You have to undress in this little closet with an accordion door, and you are just left there until someone comes backs to fetch you; while the whole time you are worrying that you are supposed to do something, like open the door to signal you are ready. There's a lot of that kind of awkward waiting. The actual mammography was more uncomfortable than painful. I'm on the average side of short, and it seems the MAMMOMAT (as the machine is called) can only be lowered so far; thus, not only am i standing with basically one breast and armpit in a machine, but I'm on my tip toes and trying to crane my head as far away from the machine as possible while doing a pelvic thrust toward it. Man, the humiliation is not actually in the smashing of the breast, it is getting in to position. Then you have to wait for the tech to confer with the doctor. Then, off to get an ultrasound. Then that tech consults with the doctor. That first time around, I was there for 4 hours and 7 mammograms. Seems I have weird deposits in my armpits that was freaking them out, but they decided it was nothing. They also felt there was nothing wrong with the lump in my breast. They did tell me that I have extraordinarily dense breast for a woman of my age. I do not have any idea what that really means.

Around last summer, I noticed an entirely different kind of lump in my left breast. It felt like a shooter marble--you know those big gorgeous one that is bigger than the rest of the marbles? It didn't shoot off to a different spot when I touched it. It felt quite attached to where it was located, like an eyeball on a stock. I saw my doctor for my yearly probing fun-time, and she was quite concerned. Off for another mammogram. This all happened around when I was very sick with a nasty cold and got laid-off four days later. So I had to sign-up for COBRA to be able to have continuous medical care. That was a good time in of itself.

I go get another mammogram. Same story, wash and repeat. I could see the damn thing during the ultrasound. Looked like a dark bubble, perfectly round. The tech left quietly, and came back with a doctor in tow. THAT IS NOT A GOOD SIGN. The doctor took my hand, looked me in the eyes, and told me I had a tumor. The Boy was going through the stress of his year-end concert, and I didn't want to stress him out further, so I called a friend, my Amazon beauty. She was and is the best person, caring but not dramatic in anyway. Very supportive but also realistic. I hope she knows I love her (I can't tell her, because she'd probably puke on my head, and that vomit would have 8" to fall before it even reached me). We love without using words, because that is too soft for us! I eventually told a few other close friends by the end of the week, but didn't tell The Boy until after his show.

Many appointments were then created. I had a consult that was thoroughly embarrassing, and I hope I don't have to go through something like that ever again. The man basically ridiculed me and asked why I was there since I OBVIOUSLY only had a fibroid. I did my best to explain that none of this was my idea, and that a very well-known radiological group said I had a tumor, so I was getting it checked out. He didn't even exam me--refused to have a looksy. He was supposed to do a needle aspiration as the least invasive way of seeing if it was benign or not, but he said I should just go back to the radiologist since he didn't think there was any reason for me to be in his office. Awesome. AWESOME.

Hey, worried you have a tumor, go get mocked by a doctor you've never met before!

In January of this year, I went back to the radiology group, and had a needle biopsy performed. To be honest, I never was really that worried about cancer, especially after the scoffing doctor; however, the whole process was very exhausting. The people were great and friendly, but it was still a lot of waiting around half-clothed. I at least brought a book, because I was made to wait on an operating table for almost an hour for the doctor to arrive. Reading while prepped is NOT comfortable. I had some rolled-up towels under my left shoulder and was covered in iodine, so had to read laying almost flat on my back with the book held over my face. My elbows were very pissed at me for quite some time after that stunt.

The doctor finally arrived, and he too was confused at why I was there. He wasn't as mean, but you could tell this was really just going to be an exercise for him in I-told-you-so. Usually when a doctor biopsies a tumor, s/he puts in this little bit of metal to mark where an area of the breast has been biopsied before; therefore, a technician will know during the next mammogram on ultrasound that this area has been looked at before. He didn't even bother doing that step. That is how confident he was that it was just another fibroid. At this point I'm about ready to yell it was HIS people who said I had a tumor. For fuck's sake.

The needle biopsy wasn't that bad. The area was numbed, and then a small slit was sliced in to the side of my chest. Then a teeny tiny tube was inserted to give the biopsy gun a path to follow to the tumor. I could see it all on a monitor, which was awesome and calming for me. I like to know how it all looks. The biopsy gun is much like an ear-piercing gun. It has that spring-loaded air-pressure sound, which was way more scary than it actually going in to me and the tumor. He did it three times, and I got to see bits of me in a vial. They looked like little white wavy tapeworms. Or slices of onion. He put bits of tape on me to hold the excision together. I was bundled off with an icepack in my bra and was told to go home and take it easy.

A few days later I get a call that I have a benign tumor (not a fibroid). That it was going to be up to me if I want it removed or not. Since it is right on top of my breast, near my actual breastplate, I don't really want to remove it. I don't want a dimple on my chest. However, I have noticed over the past few months that when I am lying down, I can actual see the bump (affectionately called "Myrtle Bulge").

The biopsy site took several weeks to heal. This is what it looked like a day or two later:



Today's mammogram (and subsequent ultrasound--I just can't escape without having to go through both) showed that the tumor, like most benign tumors, is growing. They want me back in a year for just an ultrasound (yeah, no awkward positions and boob squishing), but that I may want to start thinking about removing it if it keeps growing. We'll see. Right now it doesn't bother me other than being this lump that my hand will sometimes brush against, and I go, "Oh. My. God. What the fuck is that?" It feels like I have a rock in my chest. It does hurt when it gets hit or pushed on, and especially when this fat Siamese cat I live with decides he wants to kneed it flat.

Thus, I have a tumor and other lumpy bits floating around my tits.

It's Finished!

Here it is:



The day is quite overcast so it is hard to see any light through it. Notice my matching seahorse slicker! I like to match my art.

Here it is in the window (the glazier just fixed the bottom pane):



Eventually it will hang in a window to the right of the one that is shown. That window does not have any crossbars in it to obscure bits of the mosaic.

This is what the window looked like before the glazier showed (2 hours late):



This is what happens when a chair falls against the window while a table is being pushed. Surprised it didn't happen during any of our parties. Personally, that just tells me how fucked-up our windows are that a chair falling down breaks it.

How to Tell If You Had a Successful Day

Did you break your kitchen window today in a completely mundane way? I sure did. Now tomorrow will not only include a mammogram, but also calling people to come replace our crappy window pane. I also plan on taking Wikus to our local hobby store for paper stock for our Annual Chicken Holiday cards, and for me to pick out glass for my new project. For this project, I will chronicle it AFTER the fact, since it is a surprise for some people we know.

And...

The seahorse is officially finished. The grouting went very well, and I just finished polishing it. Since it is dark, it is kind of pointless to post a picture. Will take some during the day tomorrow when it is all grey and rainy. Stupid weather.

I'm very proud to have at least accomplished 2/3rds of my goals in November. Bring on December!

So Close to the Finish

I believe I have officially given up on NaNoWriMo. Too much energy going toward allergies and mosaic. I have a couple more days to finish, but I highly doubt I will knock out 14,000 words in time. We'll see.

A few days ago (if not more), the old Orange Lover pissed on a pillow I like to keep on the couch. I washed the pillow, but then it was too heavy with sodden feathers (synthetic? I'm not sure) to throw in the dryer, so it has been living on our front sidewalk for 3 days now. It is not remotely dry. If I throw it away and it went to a dump, would it ever dry? Or would it stay damp and mildewing underneath all the refuse that ultimately gets piled upon it?

Today I polished the mosaic and framed it. Here is the little lady who helped me scrub the glass:



Sadly, I believe the grout I mixed was too dry (I was very paranoid of making it too wet and it getting under the wavy glass, which really sucks), so a lot of it crumbled out of where it belonged. I decided to go ahead and frame it, and just fill in the cracks with more grout tomorrow. That way, I could at least have the mosaic hanging on a vertical with a light source behind it, thus showing where all the missing grout points are at.

The mosaic did warp a bit, especially at the top end (where I finished last), so when I stuck it in the frame, the top part wasn't touching the frame correctly. I do not own clamps. I know that is just crazy talk, but I don't. So The Boy suggested books (there are plenty of those in the house), and we loaded hardbacks on each corner of the mosaic (couldn't do one without the other side popping up). This is what that looks like when a little Black Bear wanders by:



While I was at it, I glued some backings on to some jewelry and photo frame I made 1.5 years ago in a glass-fusing class. That is what is sitting on the books to the right.

While the glue was drying, I found some cat legs (and a tail):



Once I felt confident that the glue was dry enough, I took off the books, and then added glue as a sealant on the back of the mosaic, thus adhering it even more firmly to the frame. Here is what the total back of the mosaic looks like right now:



All that glue will eventually turn clear. There's no way for me to know how long that will take--it totally depends on things like humidity, temperature, luck, etc. It will look good enough to hang up, and as time goes on, it will just look even better.

Grout!

The set-up:



The supplies:



The grout:



The result:



Now the grout has to cure. I brought it inside (it is still very dirty) and it is on some cardboard. I occasionally go and scrub at it a bit to get any stray grout and glue bits off the glass. I will do this for about 3 days, while also spraying water on it a few times a day. That is how the grout cures. The whole thing already seems sturdier having the grout in it.

When I have it framed, I will show the grand finale photo. I'll also finally be able to post a picture of what it looks like with light shining through it. I don't even know how that will look yet! I imagine booootiful.

The rest of the afternoon was spent stressing out for no particular reason. I hate Thanksgiving (here's what I wrote on FB when a friend asked why: I have lots of things against Thanksgiving. I don't celebrate any nationally recognized holiday. I feel I can be thankful for what ever, when ever. I also don't like manifest destiny. Even if you want to overlook the fact that we made all nice-nice with the native Americans and then did a really good job of almost killing all of them and stealing their land (Hey, we gave you a nice dinner, now shut up and be grateful!), and go with the it's-about-being-with-family approach, that still doesn't work for me since I had a rotten family. I am not thankful for them, and can't wait to dance on their graves. I hate the stress of Thanksgiving and all the expectations. I can have a good time with my friends, and do have a good time with them, without all the pomp and circumstance that's surrounds it. I also pretty much hate all the traditional foods that people serve for Thanksgiving dinner. Except stuffing. I do enjoy me some stove-top stuffing!).

The Boy had agreed that we'd bring some corn-pudding for the dinner we are going to tonight; unfortunately, he swears he bought the cheese, but no cheese could be found (maybe it is in the plastic-bags cabinet and we'll discover it months later stinky it up fiercely). Luckily, Walgreens was open, and he found some mild cheddar cheese, which I feel is basically butter, but it is all they had. So we accomplish that, but come to find out, he also told the people we'd bring rice pudding. Which takes a good 40 minutes to make from scratch, and we had no milk (I asked him, if you thought we were making rice pudding, didn't you wonder why milk wasn't on the grocery list? To which he responded, "I don't know what goes in rice pudding."). So back to Walgreens he went, and then I made him do the 20 minutes of stirring. Sucker.

I squeezed in a shower somewhere, and am now stressing out about what to wear. I don't think my meds are working today. And the Orange Lover peed on the couch. I just don't think I can handle much more. Still have to write about 2000 more words for today's NaNoWriMo count. Blargh.

NCIS is the Perfect Crap Television for Writing

There's this blog I like to read occasionally. It's by this charming gay man who totally cracks me up, and I'm sure like a million other people, I want to be his best friend. He needs to hang out at my house, and make funny films of my cats. He has a cat named Winston; I'm sure you have heard of him. He eats carrots! You can find the gentleman's blog here. He follows at lot of the entertainment world, and if you don't want to actually watch America's Next Top Model, you can read what he has to say about the episodes. It is great fun.

Here, I give you Winston (and his friend whose name I can never remember, which makes me a horrible person)!



I called The Boy from work today to tell him my plan for the afternoon, which included going to pick up the frame (and stare in to the dreamy blue eyes of the owner), and he let me prattle on for awhile, and then admitted he had already picked up the frame for me. Isn't he the sweetest person ever? And he totally will not admit that he did it out of fear that I was going to run off with the owner and have a hot love affair amongst all those frames.

Tomorrow I have the whole afternoon free, so I am going to grout the mosaic in the driveway. Then I'm going to frame it and say a few prayers to the chicken gods. I'll hang it in the window for a few days just to test how it is going to do at the museum. I need everyone to cross their fingers for me.

Today at work, Ex-Cop's Lady Lackey (ECLL from here on out) was telling me a story about a friend's cat and how he had long pointed "fingers," and that she had never seen a cat with so many toes. She also swears that this cat had "disposable thumbs." That's right. Just think of the possibilities! She did not say if the thumbs of this cat were actually ever disposed of, and we can only hope that they were not and the cat is still a marvel of nature with its long pointed fingers and disposable thumbs.

Spent my whole evening with a marathon of NCIS running in the background, and I banged out almost 4000 words for NaNoWriMo, getting me up to 35,336. If I write 3000 words every day for the next five days, I will reach my goal. Yet, I've made several plans over the next five days--after all, I am off from work. Tomorrow dinner with The Boy's work friends, Friday shopping in HELL with my dear beautiful Amazonion, Saturday Wikus is coming over (I don't think I have seen him since before San Fran!) to watch movies, and I know he wants to go take pictures of birds at some point (Sunday?), and Monday I have a mammography (which is the perfect reason to take the whole day off--and will provide perfect post fodder).

If you celebrate Thanksgiving, have a good time; if like me, you just look for the free food, I hope you find it!

And A Frame Is Found

Thanks to Google, I easily found the perfect frame shop to beg and bat my pretty eyelashes to get my bizarre frame made. Considering it is a custom frame, I'm getting it for a steal at $100 and it will be ready tomorrow morning. The Boy is so awesome--he paid for it. The shop is owned and fully run by one person; so it felt really good giving our money to him. He also had the most swoony blues eyes, and I'm sure I would have loved him when I was in college like he was the most cuddliest cutest puppy ever. Damn cutie. I told him that I'd send him a thank-you letter if I win. We'll see. It rained last night, and the sealant I put on it is still leaking out everywhere, so have a space heater drying it right now. Perhaps grouting will happen tomorrow. Let's all keep our fingers crossed that once it is grouted and in its frame, that it will be sturdy. Please, please, please say that it will.

The Boy and I went to a local Tex-Mex place afterward, so I could by him a drink and dinner. The poor waitress had 3 tables and kept bringing us random combos of the food we had ordered. We got the drinks of the people behind us, and they got our queso. Things like that. This place has daily lunch specials, and the best one is the "Ladies Plate." I tried to take a picture of it with my early 21st century phone, but it came out terribly, and I don't even think I can download those pictures off the phone anyway. One day I will own an iPhone...one day.

Well, Crap!

I spend a lot of time making fun of stupid people. I admit this freely. To be fair, I need to now acknowledge a very stupid thing I have done. When I read the brochure for the art contest, it had a rule that nothing could be larger than 48", so I hedged on going slightly smaller, not knowing if they would use the art's dimensions or the frame's dimensions. I went for 45" x 12", perfect for my bay window in the kitchen. I thought it would be cool to set a goal for myself that would press me to do something grander, thus harder, and leaving me with something really big and cool at the end.

Then, as you all know, I spent a long time mosaicing. I made something really pretty, and so far I'm quite proud of it. I still have to grout it; maybe that will happen tomorrow afternoon.

I went to the art store today to buy a framing kit; they have really awesome, well-made kits where I can buy single sides in any size. EXCEPT NOT OVER 40". Oh. My. Fucking. Lord. I need 5 more inches people. Now I will have to go the custom-framing route, which won't be cheap. I'm so peeved with myself. Why would I not check this out before fucking deciding on the size? Am I suddenly Twit? Dumbass extreme?

The art doesn't need to be turned in until 6pm 12/3. So I have time to get this done in theory, but have no idea how fast someone can get something together, and how many days shops are going to be closed. ARRRGH.

I'll have to shoot myself if this doesn't come together.

Chicken Day is Less Than One Month Away

That's right, my version of a winter holiday is coming up on December 17th. It should be a fairly good event this year since The Boy's big choir performance is actually before the 17th (usually it is right around it, so he's all stressed out and can't even think about Chicken Day). Even better, I was able to use my two personal holidays at work for 12/17 and 12/18--thus giving me a 4-day weekend. Our next Family Urban Gathering is on 12/20, so I probably won't have a Chicken Day party. Maybe I will have a small private dinner. Maybe a Quelf night! We'll see.

Today I spent many hours on the couch working on a special Chicken Day project for three important women in my life. I am not going to detail it anymore than that, but it was time-consuming work, and I hope it comes out well. I'm really excited for it, since it is something I made but not a mosaic. That would make one more thing I accomplished in November.

My Chicken Day shopping goals are always to try and have everything ordered by 11/30. I have instituted a no-buying-anything rule in effect this Friday for The Boy. He is terrible about getting a wandering eye right before his birthday, our anniversary and Chicken Day. Always giving me panic attacks that he is going to buy what I already bought him. He's such a jackass like that. I said it twice, so I hope it sticks.

I have finally made it to the halfway point in NaNoWriMo, but that means I am still a week behind. Ugh. But that's what work is for, right? To catch up on my writing in a very distracting, negative atmosphere. Should I file a complaint of toxicity in the work place? I can't get my writing done, there's a Twit in the office! Her belly is totally insulting me but being there. Grrrr.

The weather seems to be clearing up for the rest of the week. So back to the mosaic. Time to grout it, buy a frame and hope that the thing is sturdy enough to hang without any bracing along the back side of it. Thankfully the 3-day work week will give me some time to work out these details.


I'm watching a commercial for the movie "Elf." And this reminds me of the time when a friend of mine (one of the ones I went to see Precious with yesterday), who called me and asked if I wanted to go out with her and some other people to see Elf. And I totally thought she said, "A.L.F." My laughing was out of control. I was flabbergasted that they made a movie out of A.L.F. My friend was totally flummoxed over why I was choking on my tongue and practically having a seizure on the other side of the phone--you could hear my feet pounding the floor. Anyway, she cleared up the miscommunication, and then we didn't talk for awhile after that. Not because of that I think, we just run in slightly overlapping circles. Anyway, I think of her every time there is a reference to that movie. Maybe I will watch it one day. It has to at least be more uplifting than Precious!

Family

I've been having a bad couple of days. Not for any particular reason. My emotions seem a little out of whack. I don't think ranting about the new mammogram and cervical screening regulations is going to help me any. I'm pathetically behind on NaNoWriMo, and I may just be suffering from that adrenaline drop of pretty much finishing a project (the mosaic). Then there is the added worry that the mosaic is too long, that I'm not savvy at structural engineering and the plexi will flex too much within the frame and all the glass will eventually pop off. I'm obviously having anxiety issues. I just saw my psychiatrist and said I was doing good, and now look at me. Liar. At least I only have a 3-day work week, then 5 days off to try and accomplish NaNoWriMo and finish out the mosaic. I have time, I just feel like I don't. Perhaps it is just the damn rain.

Of course to add to my mood, I met up with some friends today and saw Precious. No, I didn't cry. It hits you over the head from the get-go--there was no building up to the lows, no time to build the emotion. It left me a bit frozen. Maybe I could relate to it too much (not THAT much, but enough). I had an odd life that does not mirror Precious', but in many ways is similar when it comes to our mothers and fathers. I'm a privileged, middle-class white girl, but my eyes were opened wide at a young age to the evil that is out there and how many people will just look away when they accidentally cross paths with it.

At the end of the movie, one of my friends made a comment about how on one hand she hated the mother, but on the other hand, some people are weak and cannot change their situation (paraphrasing, I don't believe she said something as specific as that). Nothing against my friend, we are new to each other, and this was just a first thought after a heavy movie. However, her logic is what stymies so many people. They want to hate and feel compassion at the same time for people who have made a very bad choice in life that not only affected the person who made that choice, but others as well. My other friend asked where the "uplifting end" was, and that surprised me. Precious made a choice her mother chose not to make. She walked away, she left a cycle. She chose her kids and herself over family. That is what I can relate to (ok, not the part about kids, but that is one of my choices that I think is a very good one for me). My mother made a choice to stand behind her husband, to say that she put him before her children, that she made vows to him, not to us. She meant that. And some how many other adults also had some kind of misguided loyalty to not get involved. So until I escaped to college, my life was not good, and I blame both my parents for that. I have not talked to them in over a decade. I walked away, and I have never looked back, no matter how many times people act like not talking to your family is the craziest thing ever. Precious may be a bit over the top, but I feel it drives the point home that some times, your family is not who you should love, they are only the people who brought you in to this world, and it doesn't mean there is any reason to stick with them.

Hating Twit

If she didn't already act like she's had a lobotomy, I would fucking give her one today with a crochet hook. She makes it so hard for me to be positive during the day. I was only physically at the office this morning for 4.5 hours, and it was all I could do to keep from punching her in the nose. The worst part is she is my designated back-up on certain tasks; meaning I do the task, and she has to go behind me to check and make sure it is correct. However, she is too much of a moron to be able to check my work, and it takes her way too long to do it. We had an early deadline today, and it seems she doesn't understand what a HARD deadline means. Any way, all this ended up with me being 20 minutes late to tutoring. How much does that suck? That I was late to seeing my kids because of her stupidity. On top of it, she fucked up her timesheet, and I had to leave her a message about advising that she needed to get with our boss to fix it, and she left a message saying, "oh, I saw that, but I didn't tag it." Oh, so you were hoping you'd get paid an extra 2 hours? She didn't say, "geez, I'm sorry, whoops, my bad, etc." Nothing. Way to go bitch.

Ok, thank you for letting me get that out. I feel my blood pressure dropping already. Now I'm watching some terrible show on E! about 15 fattest bodies that are now slim. The things they come up with. I have to leave shortly for a doctor's appointment.

Tonight, I'm going to see some musical theater production of a "Tale of Two Cities." We were personally invited by the composer. Does this mean I have to get fancy? Normally I wouldn't mind, but it's raining and chilly. And you just know that where ever this is being held will have the air conditioner running at 60 degrees. I'm just feeling grumpy, I guess.

I desperately need a nap.

A Day of Hallelujah & A Bit of Worry

On Monday's episode of House, I swear a scene has Hope Sandoval and The Warm Inventions playing in the background. I'm watching House for a bit of relaxation and background noise for futzing around on the laptop.

However, the holiday commercials are seriously paining me.

Tonight I spent a bit over 3 hours in the garage. It is getting cold here in Texas--or what I think of as cold, which is anything under 60 degrees. I believe it is supposed to get in to the 40s tonight. So being in the garage is a serious effort for me. But I had a GOAL. And after a day of moving furniture, setting up people's computers and digital phones, then spending 3 hours listening to James (skipping the "sad" songs), I did it. I fucking did it.



Huzzah! My back is killing me, and I have dirt boogers in my nose that a dung beetle would be shit happy to roll. And I'm not even complaining, I'm just stating some facts here about the ordeals I went through just to make this day happen.

FIFTEEN DAYS! That is amazing. I do still need to fill in a few tiny holes here and there, and grout, but the hard work is done. In plenty of time. Now I can concentrate on NaNoWriMo, which I am so incredibly, pathetically behind. Fink-Nottle has hit 25,000. Give him a round of applause. His parents are coming in to town, so I have a chance to catch up while he is entertaining more company (first me, then parents, perfect sabotage).

Ok, I promised to rant about the new federal guidelines on mammograms, but I'm exhausted. I have tomorrow off from work for the silliest reason ever, but it is paid by them (meaning it's not coming from my vacation or sick accruals); so I have time to rant tomorrow. I'm having lunch with a good friend, and then training at 4pm.

I'm hoping the DPS has a little gift ready for me tomorrow. Perhaps I breakfast with The Boy. Should be a good day.

Now, for the worry. My dear Orange Lover is not having a good day. I know I am a total paranoid mother, and it may not be anything, but he has me near tears. This morning he had a very hard time waking up, wasn't interested in food, and took me over 30 minutes of hardcore loving to get him to purr. Usually he purrs just looking at me. The Boy said Orange Lover had a bit of a lethargic day, but seemed ok. However, watching him tonight, he is losing his balance and isn't using his feet when standing, but is kind of sitting on the back of his legs. Hard to explain but it is obviously not right. And as he is sitting in this odd position, his body starts to collapse and his legs start to spread wider as his weight heaves downward. I don't think any of that is a GOOD SIGN. His ears feel warm to me, so I researched cat fevers, but there is nothing about warm ears, but plenty about rectal thermometers. I feel a 19-year-old cat should not be subjected to my clumsy temperature technique.

This may be nothing at all, just a bad day for a senior citizen. But I'm really trying to at least recognize the reality, so I won't be as devastated when IT happens. I can't spend forever in denial. He is so special but I can't force him to stay forever just because I feel like I would die with him. I love you little guy.

Seahorse Day 13 & 14

This sucker is getting really hard to photograph. I spent 3 hours on it last night, listening to Neutral Milk Hotel and a mix I made for someone whom I never ended up giving it to, which is good because she turned out to be one hell of a backstabber. Though, she was quite young and hadn't actually experienced the "real world" in any way. Now she knows, and she knows you lose friends over it.

Anyway. Here is day 13's progress:



Day 14 (today), 4 hours (or 5 hours with a 1-hour break for dinner and a new Mystery Diagnosis!), all Beat Happening:



My best guess is I have at least two more days to go. One to finish with the big pieces, and then a second to fill in all the small holes that you can't see very well in pictures, but are totally there annoying the fuck out of me every time I am working on it.

Tomorrow I will do my best to provide one hell of a fired-up rant regarding the new federal guidelines on mammograms.

Pretty Red Microwave

We've been having problems with our microwave. It is probably entirely our fault, in that we never cleaned it. Wikus cleaned it once when we were on vacation in July. He's nice like that; or, rather, he was so disgusted by it, that he felt forced to clean it just so he could eat some food while house sitting for us. We are terrible human beings. We do not cook, and if we do need to eat something inside the house (why weren't we able to go out to eat?), then we pretty much solely use the microwave, and no, we do not generally cover the dish first to prevent splatters. Microwave splatter is food art. A month or so ago, the microwave started making random beeping noise, then it occasionally turned on all by itself. I could deal with the beeping, but not a microwave turning on when we weren't home and blowing the place up. That would certainly be deemed negligence in regards to the cats. We dealt with this by unplugging the microwave when we weren't using it. And of course when using it, I would do my best to position my ovaries right in front of it in case it was leaking radiation. Free sterilization!

This weekend we decided we had had enough of this workaround. Target doesn't have that many choices for microwaves, and we weren't looking for anything that actually cooked food. We just need one to heat up our leftovers or Amy's frozen dishes and Quorn chik'n stuff (god, Quorn products are amazing). We spied a lovely red microwave on sale for $50. Now, I should know better than to buy something just because it is pretty and red. I've done this several times in my life--the latest being this really seriously crappy Dell laptop (BSD on the 2nd day of ownership). However, we went for it. It looks like this:



The Boy tried to suggest that the red did not go with the green in the kitchen, which I thought was amusing since it is almost the same color red as our living room, and the green in the kitchen is the ceiling color in the living room. I'm not sure how he didn't put this together.

I'll be sure to complain loudly if it breaks within the next few months. Perhaps we could make it in to a pretty red cat bed (if the Old Man pees in it, at least it will be a relatively easy clean up).

Not Exactly a Day of Rest

Tonight was our first installment of Urban Family Get-Together. It's a great idea, and guarantees us, if we'd like, to see each other on at least a monthly basis. However, it also required me to bring food. It's part of the point: see each other and bring dishes so we can all get fat and taunt each other. My dilemma was that I didn't want to just buy something at the store to bring, because that would make me feel like I was letting my friends down, like I couldn't even be bothered to be in the kitchen for my dearest and nearest. The thing is, I do not like being in the kitchen. I do like going to the fridge and grabbing some bubbly water or a Coke. Or walking through the kitchen to get to the garage to mosaic. That isn't so bad, but actually making food? I don't think so. Ugh.

A year or so ago, The Boy invited me to meet some of his friends at a Mongolian BBQ downtown. It was a really weird experience that I did not participate in other than to defend why I wasn't participating in it. Everyone else just grabbed a bowl and piled it high with various veggies and chose some meats. Then they handed it to some guy who cooked it on this odd metal surface. A vegetarian would be very sad because there was no cleaning between each bowl of random meaty stuff. Then the stir-fry guy would hand back the bowl and every one would wander around to some station to make their own sauces. It was so fucked-up. Why spend the money going out to eat, if you were required to figure out what ingredients went best together? That is so lame. I could do that at home. Just throw a lot of shit in to a skillet and hope for the best. And I am not good at doing that at home, so why would I go somewhere to get the same experience, but be humiliated by doing such a poor job in front of people? That's so messed up, but I guess some people really enjoy making up a dish and just have someone else heat it up for them. I bet Twit loves the Mongolian BBQ.

In high school, I had to make dinner every night, and have it on the table by 5pm. My parents got me to do this by letting me drive the car. It was almost not worth it. I hated it so much. My mom would leave something out on the counter indicating what she wanted me to make. She has her college degree in "Home Ec." I'm so not shitting you. She was very proud of them, and because of this really specialized degree, she made sure we ate a balanced dinner of a meat and two sides (generally a starch and a vegetable, or two vegetables). Desert was usually canned peaches or something like that. I hated food until I got to college. It seems that in home ec., my mother was taught to just heat the food, not season it. So I had spent a life time being forced to eat microwaved frozen peas with a pat of butter on top, or some beans, same way. All so gross. God. I hate to think back to those days. We ate steak almost daily, and I totally did not like it. Why? Because it was just cooked meat. Didn't even have salt on it. Now I love steak, but shit of I know how to cook it. Once I escaped the house, I didn't do much cooking ever again. Except for every now and again I made short ribs or fondue. I could handle that. Now I can do that and make corn pudding, sangria, and these little spinach hot cakes. I maybe do this three times a year.

Today I made caprese. I chose grape tomatoes because they are pretty damn tasty this time of year. I bought some basil in a bag, a container of fresh mozzarella balls and a pretty red onion. I thought I could just run stuff through the food chopper, but it made the tomatoes more like salsa. So I sat for over an hour and deseeded two pints of grape tomatoes. Talk about boring. I watched the last two episodes of Grey's Anatomy while doing this arduous chore. Crappy TV seemed appropriate to the job. I did use the food chopper for the onion and basil. I dumped some balsamic vinegar and EVOO in with everything and cut up the moz balls. Then I used a fair amount of salt, and would have totally added more if I was just making it for myself.

I was so nervous that my little urban family wouldn't like it. But damn, they complimented me and kept eating it. A very proud moment for me. I am now stuffed with a lot of bread and caprese. There was a lot of food there, but I was too full from all that tasty bread. It was an awesome night.

Here is a picture of my caprese:



The Boy is bleating in to a trumpet right now. This is an instrument he has yet to master. I can hear him spitting and puffing. He's totally going to have a brain aneurysm if he keeps that up. I asked him to please stop, and that if he wants to practice, he should only try it when I'm not home. I said it with the nicest voice possible.

The rest of my afternoon was all about the mosaic. I managed to gash my thumb pretty deeply early on, but persevered. It is getting hard to photograph. It is too long and I'm not that tall, even when standing on a chair it is hard to get the whole piece in the frame. Today, I'll just post a close-up of the part I am currently working.

Day 12, 2.5 hours, mix of Dead Milkmen songs (I'll probably listen to them again, because those songs are really fucking awesome to listen--makes me laugh and takes me out of obsessing over a piece of glass).



Here is a little sneak pic at me and what I wore to the party tonight. I'm standing on a chair in the garage trying to get a better angle for the mosaic. I'm absolutely wearing this again to work tomorrow to make life easier when I get up at 6am.

Day 11 of Seahorse

3 hours. That is what I managed after having over a week off; I feel like I should have been able to do more, but I was at a good stopping point. I finished all the grass, and now just have the water to do. After uploading the pictures, I noticed an area that needed fixing. Luckily, I it was a piece I put down not too long ago, so it was easy to pry out of the space. It's an easy fix, and I'm glad I spotted it. These pictures reflect the mistake, but I'm not going to point out what it is. The next set of pics will have the problem area corrected. I really need to work on NaNoWriMo, so 3 hours is all I can give to it right now. However, I may go back to it later tonight. Maybe. Perhaps. We'll see.

Day 11: 3 hours, mix of The Aisler Set, Black Tambourine and Ladytron. Whoot, ladies' night in the garage.

Is Google the New Face of Socialism?

Quick wrap-up of Day 4 and 5 in San Francisco:

Day 4:
Walking. Tons of walking. Fink-Nottle went back to work, which meant that Frijole and I were free to drag each other around Union Square and do some serious shopping. Which meant I made love with H&M. We stopped in a million other stores, names of most I don't know. H&M is where I found the motherload of good stuff, and walked out with 5 shirts and a necklace. Please understand, H&M does not exist in Texas. There's probably a law banning it. Just like anal sex (before 2003).

We visited many shoe stores, but still cannot find a pair of brown boots that don't make me look like I'm trying to smuggle oranges in the back of them. I have the skinniest calves ever. Or as a close friend likes to point out, that I have no calves. I just have a tibia and fibula, nothing else. No muscle, not fat. Just bone.



We had some tasty Italian food at some place (name already forgotten, but I pigged out on spaghetti carbonara). After some more shopping, we snuck in to the The Westin St. Francis, and rode up and down their glass elevators. It was a bit of a bummer that actual guests kept riding with us--it hampered my picture taking a bit. Here are a sample of what San Francisco looked like late in the day on day 4:







We soundly slept that night due to all that walking.

Day 5:
Last day. Sad. Frijole and I took our time getting dressed. Nice and lazy. She watched some General Hospital and I asked a lot of questions. Soaps are so confusing!

Google Day! Our original plan was to take the bus to the Caltrain station, but it ended up that the bus we were going to take was terminating its route early. So we had to take a taxi to make the train on time.

Here is where we waited for the train:



This is what the train looked like on the inside--we sat on the upper deck in the back of a car:



In case of an emergency:



A fast-moving RAIN:



The Millbrae station is so lovely:



Fink-Nottle picked us up at the Mountain View Station. Then we entered the world of Google. Frijole felt she could see how the future could be. She is heavily involved with socialism, and this was a peek of what it could be like after The Revolution. Of course I say that with some facetiousness, but seriously, all that food and entertainment for ALL!

Seriously, at "The Lunchbox" (where we ate), this is what we listened to some crappy music through:



Go ahead, check out what was on the wall (I apologize that it is a bit hard to see--I was sort of embarrassed to be at Google taking pictures, like I was that seriously uncool girl of the day):
\

Not only do they provide the most food I have ever seen in one place, and it provided free to Google employees AND their guests, they even want to know how you felt about your dining experience:



Then, seriously, right fucking next to the cafeteria is a break room with food for the taking. Not just free coffee, but like 6 flavors of syrup. Free cereal. Free sodas and teas and fancy water in a bottle. There were chips and animal crackers (I took some animal crackers for the road).

Then, what Frijole really felt was the culmination of all that is Google, something that has permanently changed her life: heated toilet seats. Seriously. Sadly, my toilet seat was not warm, just room temperature, but I went and felt hers, and it was warm indeed. Then, just to add to the magic, there was this:



However, Google failed me. These little gadgets did NOT work. I was totally ready for a rear and front cleansing. I was going to go for a bit of a fluff dry, and see what the wand cleaning was all about. But no, none of them were hooked up in the ladies' room. Fink-Nottle admitted to never using them, but advised he had other people using them. Imagine, sitting there listening to someone enjoying a rear cleansing.

After all the excitement, I was driven to the airport. Took one hour to get through security, and then an hour plus wait for the plane. I used that time and all of the plane ride to write for NaNoWriMo. I'm still behind but not by much. Go me.

And thus ends my San Francisco trip.

Told You So

Twit is pregnant. Today at work, not only was she wearing some maternity shirt of extreme ugliness, but she was yapping about it to a coworker down the hall. I tried my best to ignore all of this. The line that did stand out was, "Girl, you're carrying high, you have a boy baby in you." Yes, I work with these people.

Later, I totally had to call Twit out on her eavesdropping and nosiness. I was on the phone with one of my managers, and was extending sympathies due to a death in his family. We talk about some business, and he tells me this crazy story of a dick cop (no surprise there, really) who thought he was drunk because his eyes were red from crying. Anyway, I get off the phone with the normal wrap-up of condolensces, and I hang up the phone, and not one second after my hand leaving the receiver she asks, "What's up with XX?" I kind of sing-song at her that it was a personal matter (sing-songing is the best way I can control my seething anger). She actually started to rebut me and say some shit about how if it is a death WE should know--I honestly cannot even tell you what the point was she struggled to tell me because I talked right over her. I curtly and with what I thought was finality said that it was a private matter and that without his express permission to divulge his personal matters, that I will not discuss it.

About a half-hour later, she sends a snarky email advising to not worry, that she doesn't need my help since she found the information she needed on XX. Can you believe that shit? Totally eavesdrops on my conversation then calls around to find out who died in an employee's family. Then emailing me that she found out. That is one fucked-up person. That was the very last fucking straw for me. I wrote back, copied my boss, and put the complete smack-down on her ass. I told her I never planned to help her find out the personal matter of an employee. That I will never divulge any employee's personal business. That private matters are not fodder for workplace discussions. That I will only give out details if an employee explicitly asked me to share with his/her coworkers. Outside of that, if an employee wants to discuss the private affairs with her directly that is fine, but it won't be through me. That I stand behind this not just as a personal view but from an HR standpoint. That this philosophy also extended to medical issues of any employee and his/her family.

Stupid fucking bitch. I can't believe that she cannot understand privacy. Actually I can understand, because she is an attention-grabbing whore. She wants everyone to know her business, so it only goes to follow that everyone should want her to know theirs. I am not going to get involved in that, and if anyone wants her to know something, they can go tell her themselves. She sat there all smug because she figured out who died in this man's family. That is so disgusting. Absolutely horrible.

I know a lot of coworkers don't mind their private business being discussed, but I must stand behind the HR principles that employees' private lives need to remain private unless they consent for it to be disclosed. I would want the same for myself. I would hate that every time I had to call in sick or for an emergency that I would have to clarify that it was a personal matter, and not to discuss it with my coworkers. What business need do people have to know I'm sick, or a relative died?

GAHD!

The Newest Tastiest Non-Meat Ever

I just ate Quorn's Gruyere Chik'n Cutlet for dinner. I found it in the freezer--thank you, Boy! There's two to a box, so there is one for him, too. He's at rehearsal, so he didn't get to see me licking the fucking plate. Eat this. Support Quorn! It's not meat, but you would never ever know it.

Sympathies

It seems that it was a bad week for a lot of people. Lots of deaths, in particular, my good friend's cat died. He was 14 years old, and he meant a lot to her on many levels. She lives in Boston, so I can't give her any hugs and buy her many drinks while she tells me tale after tale of her awesome cat. This is the best I can do right here. I know the love between me and my 19-year-old cat is deeper than any human love I have shared. Some of you may totally scoff at that, and think that is really sad, but I don't think so. He has been through everything with me. I have told him all I know, and matted his fur with my tears through all those tumultuous teenage years. I've never had to worry about trust or respect. We are always there for each other. He is my little man. I am so sorry that hers is now gone. I'm so very sorry, friend.

Home!

I made it back with no crazy story to tell (other than the guy sitting next to me on the plane kept sneaking peaks at my monitor. He must be horrified at what I was writing, or at least trying to figure out what I was writing. I am up to 16,284 words for NaNoWriMo, which isn't bad considering I was out of town for 5 days. My battery died before I could get to my goal of 18,000. The Boy nicely skipped a band rehearsal to pick me up at the airport. We came home, told stories, unpacked my suitcase and looked at pictures. Our internet isn't working, so we're stealing someone else's. Thank you, anonymous stranger!

Luckily I do not have to be in to work until 11am tomorrow morning. That gives me at least 9 hours of sleep. In my own bed! With my boy, and maybe a cat or two. It's gonna be great.

I will catch everyone up on the last two days tomorrow or Friday. For now, it is time for bed.

The Tidepools and The Zoo

Yesterday I spent a good portion of the morning on a beach at the "high" low tide. "Low" low tide is better, but that happens in the evening, after the sun has set. So this was the best we could do. I didn't get a lot of great shots since everything was still covered by water, but I got a few. Like this one of a sea anemone.




Or this one of an empty chiton (I pocketed the shell):



Between the first and the second pictures, I managed to get soaked. The tide was rolling in high waves, and I thought maybe just my feet would get wet. Silly me. As I was bending down to take a picture, a wave came up and assaulted the back of my legs, all the way up to my knees. Luckily, it did not hit my camera. However, my pants were wet, as well as my socks and shoes. I stupidly only brought extra shoes with me. Although, the water wasn't as cold as I expected, my feet end up as ice blocks by lunch time. Since I am staying with such wonderful friends, they understood my imperative need to go out and buy dry clothing. We headed to some mall, where I bought these awesome light gray cords at The Gap. I do not usually go to The Gap, but this totally worked out in my favor. I also got a 3-pack of nice grey, purple and yellow knee-socks. Both these items went great with the purple suede One Stars I had in the car with me. Score.

The rest of the afternoon was spent at the zoo
. Of course I had taken so many pictures at the beach, I didn't have much room left on my card for the zoo. Frijole saved the day by letting me use her camera. Here are some photos from that shoot:

Look! A dik-dik (supposedly they sleep with their eyes open, which would explain why this one didn't move at all)!



This here is a gorilla. He sat in profile most of the time, but then Frijole said something to Fink-Nottle, about "how it kind of looks like gorillas sit around all day and don't do much." The gorilla totally HEARD her:



Here's the one-year-old baby gorilla, doing a classic gorilla pose:



Here's a young giraffe stripping a tree of leaves:



I have no idea what this is, but it is so lovely:



Here are some river otters frolicking (it seems that they should be EVERY WHERE, but I have never seen them in any rivers):



No lions ate us today--for extra protection, they put up these heavy plastic windows, that various hooligans have already defaced, but I managed to get a half-way good picture of them through the plexi:



We heart penguins:



This is a rhino, who seems to have rubbed off his central horn. Poor fella:



There were a lot of other fun animals, but I feel this gives you a good idea of the fun we had. I spent a good portion of time making fun on Fink-Nottle for being so tired, and then I pass out on the couch before 10pm. We were watching House, and I made it about 3/4 of the way through, and announced I was tired, and out I went. I'm pretty sure Fink-Nottle was up way past 10pm.

Owl Wallet & Moonstone Ring

This awesome wallet was picked up the first day I was here in San Francisco at MultiKulti. It was totally exciting to transfer all my crap from one wallet to another. I live a life of small excitements.




Then, about 15 minutes later, in the same store, I found this ring (look how old my hands are!). I pressured Frijole in to buying a truly kick-ass ring for herself. The rest of the night everyone complimented her ring instead of mine, but it was totally worth it, because the ring she got is beyond kick-ass. She's not wearing it right now, so no pictures.

Yesterday I did not buy anything but lunch for Frijole and Fink-Nottle. We ate St. Francis Fountain. It is this little hipster hangout, and we were seated right next to the bathroom. There was some rude girl of an age who should know better, totally beating down the door of the bathroom trying to get in, to the point where the person in there had to open the door and tell her that she can go when she (the user) was finished. Then the girl proceeded to jump up and down the back of the booth wall behind the people sitting next to us. I so would have screamed at her if that had been my booth. Later, her dad showed up when she made it in to the bathroom. I have no idea why, but it was odd. Way to go helping her when she gets in the bathroom, but not the whole 10 minutes before hand where she harassed someone in the bathroom, and a booth full of young men. She left after about 30 seconds in there, so you know she didn't wash her hands.

I had a great chicken club and a cup of delightful macaroni and cheese. While we were waiting for the table, Frijole and I went to this park that had a huge mosaic snake in it and fountains. Frijole and Fink-Nottle were very concerned that I wanted to go in there because it seems you're only supposed to have children with you. Knowing that I was not a child molester, and had no inkling in kidnapping those horrid things, I felt confident going in there. Having a camera greases the way, and the fact that there isn't any fucking park monitor to keep me out, I was fairly confident things would go fine. And they did.

They Aren't Grackles

I liked the pigeons' shadows on the wall. The sky is such an amazing color here.