30 June 2010

Vonnegut Knows Where I'm Coming From

I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant: Baby on a Boat

That has nothing to do with anything.  Just the best title of the week.  It needed to be shared.  Remember when I had a baby on a boat?  A baby I didn't know I was pregnant with until it shot out of my vag, hit the deck, skidded starboard and went tumbling in to the water?  Yes, that was some good fun.
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Twit.  Remember her?  That woman of colossal dumbassery?  That lady who had a baby at 42 and can't stop talking about herself?  The one who while on maternity leave left me cleaning up her work, and no password for an important spreadsheet she locked?  Yes, her.  She of the strangest butt shape I've ever seen and the weird secondhand-shop-from-the-'80s clothing?  The straw hair and hyena laugh? 

She has breast cancer.

At least that is what she is going around telling people.  It may be true.  It may not.  Her story isn't the same from person to person, but she does plan to be out for three weeks starting mid-July.  She can't say if she is getting a lumpectomy or a mastectomy.  She told some people she'd be going through chemo, and others that she would have radiation.  Of course she could be out-of-her-mind freaked-out.  After all, she is 42, has 3-month-old baby and breast cancer.  A lot to deal with. 

If it is true, I feel terrible for her, but I still dislike her with an intense burning hatred--a hatred that she is able to stoke every single day.  Like when she emailed me yesterday to say, "I overheard you talking about a surgery, and I assumed you're the one having surgery.  I'm going to have surgery too, so when is your surgery?"  I will gladly yank her breast off for her.  I totally enjoy how she so freely admits to eavesdropping. 

I talked this over with my therapist today.  My  conflicting feels regarding this.  How I feel terrible for her, but how I resent her even more in light of this because she now has a permanent carte blanche to be the biggest fuck-up at work.  If everyone always made excuses about her poor work being because she was 42 and pregnant, just think how it will be now.  I won't be able to criticize a single fucking thing she does.  I have to suffer in complete silence now.  Otherwise, I look like one hell of a selfish asshole.  Because, come on, the lady has cancer!  How dare I point out that her IQ is around 75, and she can't even code her own timesheet correctly without attempting to blame it on someone else.  I didn't know suffering before now.  I had only seen glimpses.

What to do?  Feel sorry for her and hate her at the same time.  Say "that's terrible" out of one side of my mouth, and "What the fuck did she fuck up this time?" out the other?  Then feel resentful and guilty all at the same time?  Oh my nerves.  My therapist helped me see this all in perspective, but it is going to take some work.  She admitted that I was totally screwed on this one.  Great.  You know it is bad when your therapist can't even find a way to make it even the tiniest bit better.  We did agree that I should try to stop putting work before myself.  Be more like Twit, but with my ethics still in place.  Don't blithely screw people over, but at the same time don't fret if I have lots of doctors' appointments or am sick on a time-entry day.  She has a point.

Ho hum.  And so it goes.
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"There's no hillbillies pitching tents here."

The best taken-out-of-context phrase for the day.  It's from Homicide: Life on the Streets.  Thinking of shabby country folks with erections made me laugh.  Even if that is not remotely what they were talking about, but they should have been.  It makes for a way more interesting conversation.  Hillbillies!  Pitching Tents!  What do you meant there are no hillbillies with erections in these parts?  Not even hillbillies in tents with erections?  And you call yourself a town?  Hrmph.

29 June 2010

Crap, Fruits Have Calories?

Must stop eating what I've been eating.  Gorging on all these fatty food substances will not do at all.  I was busting out of my shirt this morning and my upper arms felt like sausages in a silky shirt casing.  Lame.  Since Saturday I have eaten the following:

  • chocolate cupcakes (yes, plural...I believe I ate at least 4)
  • pigs in a blanket (probably 5 or so, which was totally rude since there weren't that many and I was at a party)
  • slice of really thick gooey chocolate cake
  • a whole Amy's margherita pizza
  • 1.5 huge muffins that should really just be called large cupcakes without icing
  • a breaded pork chop
  • the best cream corn I have ever had
  • peach buckle
  • meatloaf in a cupcake shape
  • lasagna
  • french fries
  • chicken chow fun
  • another piece of chocolate cake
  • chocolate-chip cookies
  • Wheat Thins
  • cheese, pepperoni, salami from deli tray
  • bite-sized Snickers
  • a Coke a day
  • non-spiked punch
When did this tubby urge come over me?  All this food has pretty much just been presented to me at various parties and functions.  There's half a cake left on my desk at work, with a box of leftover cookies by my computer.  I willingly took the cookies.  I have no idea why my desk was picked as the cake spot.  I plan to move it when I get in tomorrow.  Tonight I will only drink a fruit smoothie.  I promise.

Meet Mr. Walking Stick.  I met him yesterday at one of our more backwoods office locations.  He was longer than my hand.  He's the longest Phasmatodea I have ever seen.  If I had been in possession of a miniature leash, I would have strapped him in and taken him for a nice long walk.  We could have participated in some bird watching, and shared a cheese-and-tomato sandwich.  Instead, I chose to go back inside to help one of my division managers organize his office.  Something tells me I made a poor choice.


Notice how Mr. Walking Stick is "cessible."  That's my favorite part about him.

If insects aren't appealing enough, I have P1 suckling a P2!  P2 should just go ahead and grow some milk-heavy teats already because it seems P1 is not going to give up hope that  he'll squeeze some juice out of poor P2's nips.  Sometimes P1 even tries non-traditional areas like the neck or leg.  He's that needy.


I need to record the slurp slurp slurp of P1.  It's a frantic susurrate of sucking.  At first it seems cute, then it isn't.  I would hate to be P2 with all that grabby-paw action on my goods. 

Kittens learned to climb up my body today.  Something I didn't know about myself: I can only pry one kitten off my torso at a time.  It requires two hands: one to grab the kitten, and the other to unhook the claws.  With two kittens attached, I just give up and yell "fuck" a lot.

26 June 2010

Fine Dining at Chez Grumples

The Boy left a stack of singles on the desk in our office, and he told me that they are not mine to take to Sugar's and insert in ladies' g-strings.  He can be such a killjoy sometimes.  Therefore, I have spent my free time making delicious food combinations for ET and taking his picture eating them.


Here he is enjoying a plate full of carrots.  It's a surprise that they are not covered in a blood sauce.  I'm usually not allowed to play with knives.


The Bear is so wishing that plate had some nice pureed pumpkin for him to lick.  I went to the IGA today and bought a random assortment of fruit and vegetables that are high in vitamin A, per the vet's orders.  It came out to $3.21, which is really cheap, and I should probably give him homemade salads more often.  He's eating mango, yellow squash, yam, and carrots with a side of freshly wetted grass.


There's some serious devouring going on there!  I wonder if ET feels like he was taken to a fancy restaurant?  A restaurant where he is allowed to release four large poop logs right next to his vittles.  Chez Grumples is an open-minded establishment, and they always pay off the health inspectors with kitten sausages.

Twit and Her Missing Dollars

SCENE: Friday morning at the office. Twit looking at her electronic pay stub.

Twit: I think there's something wrong with my paycheck!

Grumples: Hmmmm? (Feigns interest by quickly glancing over at Twit)

Twit: I think something is wrong with my benefits.  I'm only supposed to be paying $90 for the baby.  It went from $900 to $600 in two weeks!

Grumples: Well, you did code half your time sheet as "leave without pay."

Twit: No I didn't!
Grumples (with glee): Yes, here is your timesheet and the report that you verified was correct before the time was officially submitted.

Twit: Oh.

Grumples: (Big smile and direct eye contact)

Twit: Oh, see how the LWP code is right next to the "regular" code?  I guess I got off a line.  

Grumples: Ooom, hmmmm.  You verified the report.

Twit: You put me in a rush to check over the report.  I only had ten minutes.

Grumples: You coded your own timesheet.

Twit: I mean, I know it is my fault, but I guess when I was hurried in to checking the report I must have looked over my time.

Grumples: ...

Twit (near tears): Who should I talk to about getting this fixed?

Grumples: I'll handle it.

[Thus another round of making fun of Twit begins as me and HR do stupid work to get her a check cut--sadly, oh so sadly, we won't be able to get a check cut for her until Monday.  We all agree that it is very classy of her to try to blame me for rushing her through her own bi-weekly job.  Poor thing.]

Death By Dolphin Sperm





It's 12:54 a.m. and Smokey the Bear is telling me in this implausibly deep robotic voice that only ME can prevent wild fires.  That is quite the burden for me to bear (Ha! Bear!).  I really can't process this new role in my life.  Who listens to Smokey?  How does one "Get your Smokey on?"  Do only stoned high-school kids respond to Smokey's demands?  I've only had one beer.  Maybe I need to go to sleep and spend some time reflecting on the prevention of wild fires.

I want to take the Orgasmatron seriously, but the name makes it impossible.  The Futurama writers must have invented it.  Orgasms are very important, but don't trivialize it by calling this new invention such an ass-stupid name.  Help, I have a Discovery Health addiction.  It's like my addiction to dolphin-love stories.

Hmmm, what's that?  Dolphin love?  Oh, yes!  DOLPHIN LOVE!  There are times when mating with your human partner is just not enough.  Why dolphin love?  I don't think anyone needs to ask such an obvious question.  There are stupid questions, and that is one of them.  Warning, if you are feeling the flush of lust for a dolphin, try to stay away from aquariums.  You know, because children might be watching.

Sure, there are some safety issues to consider when fucking a dolphin.  I feel that Dragon-wolfe Dolphinn really expresses it best (since he totally wrote the definitive how-to guide):

WARNING! In the considerations of safety, you should NEVER let a male dolphin attempt anal sex with you. The Bottle-nose dolphin member is around 12 inches, very muscular, and the thrusting and the force of ejaculation (A male can come as far as 14 feet) would cause serious internal injuries, resulting in peritonitus and possible death.

Oh, dolphin love isn't hardcore enough for you?  Their pink bellies are a little too fay for you?  Their need for cuddling after sex too time consuming and boring?  Why not try a stingray and show Steve Irwin how it is really done?  Your death will be worth it if you manage to have an orgasm with a stingray.  I promise.  Or, for those of you looking for a voluptuous lady, try sexing up a hippopotamus.  That's totally hardcore.  They do have a penchant for biting the heads off of those who try, but come on, 9,000lbs of pure hippo loving is just magical.  I recommend moving to Africa if you want to play the hippo field.  They are extremely jealous so be careful when you are two-timing them.  Theirs mouthes open four feet wide.  Consider that.

I want to thank EH for opening my eyes to the world of dolphin love.  Though she did steer me wrong when she said that it is the dolphin who initiates anal sex with the person.  As you can see above, Dragon-wolfe Dolphinn (I hope that is his legal name) has made it clear that that is bad news.  I acknowledge that some people may enjoy the idea of death by dolphin semen.  I'm just not one of them.  May EH go forth and be merry with dolphins the first chance she gets.  Or at least do a psych profile on Dragon-wolfe Dolphinn.

24 June 2010

Take Your Tortoise to Work Day

Happy birthday, Wikus!  We ate Italian (two years in a row!  A new tradition is born) and came home and watched Doctor Who and the brand-new Futurama.  A nice quiet night for us old people.  I've been up since 4:45am, and I must go to bed after I tell you the good news.  Elliott has gotten a pretty much clean bill of health from the vet--we didn't even make an appointment to go back.  I'm just supposed to call in a few weeks and give a verbal update.  The vet told me that it is operation Fatten up Sir Stinksalot.  Must get him big and growing.  I was advised to give him more "orange" foods but not oranges: squash, carrots, mangos, etc.  I peeled some carrots for him tonight, but I don't think he ate any.  He crawled in to his shanty and went to sleep.  I also took the kittens in for their rabies and vaccination shots, and they have both gained 2lbs in three weeks!  So I'm not having any problems making them fat.  Their vet estimates that they are actually older than 12 weeks and are probably 15 weeks, and that they were just very tiny babies who will probably grow up to be fat cats.  They also think P1 is younger by 7-10 days.  Same litter, just different fertilization date.  So they might have two different fathers.  Those crazy cats and their breeding ways.

Goodnight!

23 June 2010

Lessons in Toilet Safety

Wednesday-morning advice: Avoid at all costs spraying Paul Mitchell's Soft Spray Gel directly in to your eyes.  Watching cute kittens play is not a valid excuse for such dumb-assery. 

While quietly buttoning up my trouser jeans (this always seems harder than it should be) in the bathroom stall, two chatty women came in and entered the other stalls while smoothly carrying on their conversation.  I have no idea if they knew I was in there or not, because they just kept talking while during their business.  It was quite awkward for me.  Chatty Lady 1 (CL1) was miffed that her toilet seat moved when she sat on it.  CL2 commiserated and opined that a safety suggestion should be made regarding unattached toilet seats.  This made me pause in my buttoning for I have never ever had a problem with these toilet seats.  They stay put when I sit on them.  There's no slipping and sliding involved at all.  My toilet seat at home causes me more problems than anything here at work.  And really?  A safety suggestion!  Now, I did not see these ladies at any point (they were still gabbing away when I washed and dried my hands and made a speedy exit), but my guess is that they must not be sitting down correctly.  Maybe a bit too heavily?  Not using their knees?  Perhaps lessons in toilet safety need to be created?  A manual, at least, to be hung next to each toilet.  I have so many ideas on how to save people from falling of the toilet.

It's The Boy's last night home for a few days, so must go snuggle with him and watch some Homicide.  Tomorrow is going to be one hell of a long day, but it will be Wikus' birthday so I won't be able to complain too much.  I have to get up at 4:45am to get The Boy to the airport on time, and I'm taking ET with me since he has a vet appointment at 8:00am.  Thus, it is Bring Your Pet Tortoise to Work Day tomorrow.  That should be nice and fun.  Maybe I'll let him eat grass by the creek for lunch.

22 June 2010

That Tortilla Chip is a Total Tease

My office is getting some roof work.  I only know this because of a large sign posted in front of the parking garage that tells me to steer clear of danger from falling debris.  It does not give me any instructions on how exactly to avoid things falling from the sky.  I'm just supposed to steer clear of it.  To get in to the parking garage, I have to pass between the office building and this sign.  To even read this sign, I have to be in the danger zone.  Should I sue?

I have decided that the maraschino cherry is a nuclear cherry where it the cherry has been changed on a sub-atomic level.  Why this came up this morning, I'm not sure, but even though Wikipedia does not reference this fact, I know it to be true.  Actually the maraschino has quite the history.  Sadly, there is no society of maraschino cherries.  Perhaps I should start one.  My main competition would be with the Chanitcleer Society, who claim to be a "Worldwide Organization of Cocktail Enthusiasts."

Finally heard from my doctor's surgery coordinator.  I was mature for once and wasn't as impetuous as I usually am, and scheduled my surgery for Friday, July 9th.  Best greeting heard today, "Hi, this is Dr. N's nurse, calling to schedule your tubal!"  Seems I'll be getting a lot of insurance stuff and instructions in the mail.  Bleh.  I hate dealing with all the paperwork.  BOO!  Luckily my deductible is only $300, and for some reason they are saying I have already met $120 (I have no idea, since as far as I am aware, I have only paid copays).

On the floor of my work space (I do not have an office, just a space) are those plastic carpet protectors that my chair can never go over smoothly.  They are quite old and very stained and beaten.  On one of them is some beige and unidentifiable (okay, I have never actually squatted on the floor to inspect it), and every time I see this unknown thing out of the corner of my eye, I exclaim to myself, "tortilla chip!"  I get really excited until I remember I have never had tortilla chips at my desk, and even if it was a tortilla chip, it is a floor tortilla chip and has always been there.  Then I get bummed out.  No tortilla chip for me.

Twit is on her cell phone once again arguing with someone about her financial difficulties, especially when it comes to her community college.  If I had to guess based on how she fills out forms at work, that she hasn't submitted a single piece of correct paperwork to the cc, and therefore it is fucked up beyond belief, and no one knows if she's in school or not, and if she has paid for it or not.  She spends a lot of time trying to straighten this kind of stuff out.  I've seen faxes come in for her where there are items circled that specifically say, "Fill this out!," and you can tell she's already faxed it three times due to all the markings on the damn thing.  She just yelled at whomever is on the other end that she, "cannot talk about that right now."  I'm going to go ahead and assume she meant syphilitic brain.

21 June 2010

X-Files Would Have Been Better With an OMD Soundtrack

On my way out the door this  morning I noticed three unopened cans of Natty Light on the coffee table.  It was a bit unsettling.  Like they had infiltrated the house while I was sleeping, and had the audacity to set up shop right out in the open where I'd be sure to find them.  When I got home, they had moved in to the fridge.  Since I only visit the fridge a couple of times a day, I felt better about them being in there.  To be clear, I am not thrilled they are here, but I am learning to accept this lot in life.

Have I complained yet about the crazy old lady on the fifth floor who I have to deal with once a day when I check the mail?  She's totally senile, and everyone is just waiting for her to retire.  Which is sad.  If I am totally batshit out of my mind, will you please just fire me so I don't have to suffer the indignity of being that lady?  She's one of those people who if her name comes up, everyone rolls their eyes and sighs.  She happily tells you how she will only use the bathroom on other floors, and asks if you do that, too.  See, crazy. 

The past two times I have seen her, I have been wearing a dress, and both times she started to get up out of her chair, saying, "Oh, I gotta look at that leg!"  And each time, I back away quickly out of the suite saying, "No. NO. No no!"  I do it with a smile, but seriously?  How creepy is that?  What is her plan when she gets to my leg?  Is she going to grasp and caress it?  Sometimes she'll say, "Does that go ALL THE WAY UP?"  Every time I tell her yes, but she still asks me and then threatens to come out from behind her desk to get a close-up look of gam.  This is why Twit really needs to hold up her end and check the mail more often.  She probably likes to be accosted by crazy old insane ladies.  She does like a good intimate chat.

Talked with Frijole tonight.  She had a startling epiphany where she realized we have known each other a decade.  We decided we must throw a celebratory party--acknowledging that it may be just her and me at the party.  We're totally cool with that.  She's so awesome, and I am so happy we found each other. 

How does Mulder know exactly where the horn connection is under the hood of the car?  If my horn wouldn't stop honking (say, due to an accident), I couldn't just pop the lid and yank on a wire to disconnect the horn.  Mulder really knows his shit in the first season of X-Files.  Scully just screams a lot and pants heavily.  Not that I mind so much.  She's pretty hot--even in those frumpy suits with the shoulder pads and the jackets that go down to mid-thigh.  I'm now thinking how cool it would have been if they asked OMD if they could use their early music as the soundtrack to the episodes.

This morning, The Boy got up to a littler garter snake in the hallway.  It was probably 7"-8" and miraculously not mauled by any of the five cats (especially those kittens who really want to take little piranha bites out of everything).


How he got in to the hallway is a bit puzzling.  He is now living out his days outside where he belongs.
When I got home this afternoon, I went to change clothes and this is what I found on the bed:


Doesn't that just make you ooze squee out your pores?  It is just wonderful to walk in on the kittens embracing.  I hope it happens more often.
Then you have P2 helping The Boy play Super Mario Bros. Galaxy 2:


Mattress had some heartburn after eating all those kitten sausages, and went for some antacid:

P1 just played it cool:

 These kittens are just making life so much more fun.  And not just for me--I'm pretty sure deep down inside the adult chickenmonkeys, they are happier, too.  There's a friend of mine from high school (thank you FB!) who is suffering today.  My heart aches for her loss of Belly, who was almost as old as the Orange Lover.  These are cats who we grew up with, cried with, snuggled with, told all our most cringe-worthy secrets too.  We have both lost a very dear friend, and a part of our life to these little friends.  I really wish I could be in Tennessee to give her hugs and to cry with her over our losses.  Also, she has the best way of thinking of pet death--they have gone off to school.  Indeed they have.



20 June 2010

Does This Sterilization Come With a One-Week-Later Tummy Tuck?

This has been such a wonderfully relaxing day.  I have felt so good this weekend--awake, full of energy, and only the smallest amount of snots.  I managed to do chores and not want to kill myself.  I was motivated to do dull things!  Dishes washed, litterboxes cleaned, new DVR receiver installed, bedroom picked-up (okay, only enough to get to the TV to install the receiver), laundry, grocery shopping...look at me go!  Since I was kicking so much dull ass, I gave myself permission to take a 3-hour nap.  It was heroic.  It felt so good.  The kittens even snuggled quietly.  Then, because I am all alone (it's the weekend, The Boy is recording), I watched The Proposal on Netflix and didn't have to listen to him shaming me for watching something so lame.  I enjoyed it.  So there.  What can I say?  I'm an interesting dichotomy of low-brow and high-brow and only I know which way I am going to go at any given time. 

It is my understanding that today is Father's Day.  This means nothing to me, but it seems a lot of my Facebook friends are totally about their fathers, and I think that is great.  I am happy for all of my friends who have such happy, loving families.  However, only one person actually sent a happy Father's Day message out there that I could get behind, "Happy Father's Day to all the fathers who have earned it."  Totally.  Best sentence ever.  Thank you my old high-school German-class buddy.  That was such a perfect way to phrase it.

ET continues to poo some disgustingly wet, hay-packed poos.  Today he squeezed out two, and I congratulated him on his good work and perseverance.  He has a vet appointment on Thursday, and I am hoping it is the last for awhile.  I believe they are going to give him x-rays to make sure his colon truly is clear (how can it not be, look at all that hay poo!). 

I was reading this blog today, and now I am all paranoid about my sterilization.  I know they pump gas in to you to lift and separate the organs in an attempt to risk nicking of various things that should not be nicked, and I knew that it is painful and for whatever reason really hurts the shoulders.  What I did not know is that your stomach can swell to ginormous size (Schmutzie described hers as looking 8-months pregnant) in a very short amount of time.  Then you have to wait for it to go back down to a normal size (FARTS!), but it could leave me with a saggy skin curtain for a belly.  This is not okay!  What do I do?  I have a great stomach.  I do not exercise and it has always forgiven me for this.  I thought it would just snap back in to place, but what if I am one of those whose doesn't?  Argh.  Someone talk me down from this.  I was happy enough to have scars from the procedure, but not grody flab tummy.  Sigh.  I'll be reading people's stories all week to get myself even more worked up about it.  Not that I even have a date set yet.  That nurse better call  me tomorrow, so I can a) get a date set, and b) to ask her the likelihood of being stuck with a postpartum belly without ever having given birth.  Hey, I got sterilized just to look like I had a monster crawl out of me.  Yay!

Coming up this week: The Boy leaves town and Wikus has a birthday.  Grumples might get her tubes burned.  Stay tuned.

Ladies Like The Tea

Hot damn, I didn't write anything yesterday.  What gives?  I totally meant to since I had all these things to say--particularly how I came up with a new business venture: Roofie Teabags.  Seriously.  I know it is horrible, and totally wrong to make money off of such a heinous thing, but just think of how popular it will be!  After all, the ladies sure do like tea!  This came to me during an all-hands meeting when our CEO guy was babbling away in his effeminate Midwestern voice.  How this man is not gay is very confusing to me.  He wears suspenders and tweed coats with leather elbow patches.  Think of how Truman Capote talked, and now think of how Truman Capote would sound on helium.  There you go.  You got it now.  To further prove my point, here is an exact quote from him (I pretended to take notes, when really I was just capturing the insanity of this man), "We're not making widgets here...this is not highfalutin, brain-busting stuff!"  If only we were making widgets.  It sounds like way more fun than what I actually have to do for work.

Then there was that crazy birthday happy-hour for one of my favorite people (whom I haven't seen in ages because every time there's been something go on that involves her, I've been laid low with allergies--and I swear, I adore this person).  I'm not going to go in to details, but let's just say there was a lot of talk about $20 bill from someone's vag.  Sadly, it wasn't true.  Sniffs.  I also bragged a lot about my upcoming sterilization.  My friends are so great, and admire my tenacity.  Thanks, guys!
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Being such a wonderful person myself, I agreed to go on a date with The Boy.  Not that I don't usually agree to dates with boy, but this one involved going to see a Gilbert & Sullivan show then catching a couple of bands afterward because a friend was playing in both.  Sigh.  Not remotely close to an ideal night for me.  Gilbert & Sullivan?  Are you fucking kidding me?  But I did it people.  I totally did it.  And then, I whined a lot and made dirty faces and clenched my jaw a lot.  I didn't enjoy it one bit.  I tried, I really did.  My behavior was so bad, I had to make amends with The Boy for being so jerky.  I blame G&S for turning my brain mushy and making me wish I was deaf and blind.  Seriously, I sat there thinking that it would be great if I was, because I could sit there with my honey reading my book in Braille and not hearing a single thing.

Afterward, I was being a baby and wanted to go home, but I also felt badly because that wasn't nice to The Boy.  So a compromise was struck.  I get a Coke and he agrees to leave sometime during the last act.  I totally perked up and even though I spent a lot of time protecting my breast from elbows and cigarettes, it was fun.  We ran in to D's brother (D of D&T), who for the umpteenth time acted like he was meeting me for the first time.  It's all I can do from saying, "DUDE, Wikus and I took your cat off your hands that you were a millimeter away from giving to a shelter!"  Or, "DUDE remember how I was at your sister's wedding, and you stood next to me for a half-hour or so?"  He recognizes The Boy every time, just not me.  And yes, I am that vain.  I stand out in a crowd.  I promise you that you'd be able to pick me out in a line-up after meeting me just once.  I think it is my nose, but The Boy says it is my ass.  In the line-up in my head, they would ask us all to turn around so the person can identify us buy our butts.

We missed his friend's first show, and were treated to a terrible penultimate act (we're not sure the guy even knew he was in Austin--seemed he thought he was in San Antonio).  There were a lot of short girls in the crowd.  When I say short, I mean probably 5'1" and under.  I don't know what to say.  It just struck me as odd.  As a short girl, I spend a lot of time staring at people's backs, and tonight was no different, just that this time I had a lot of girls I could look down at and not just at their shoulder blades.  It was nice.  Then there was that guy with austin360.com who wanted to take our picture, and I immediately barked out "no," before I had really realized what he had said.  Luckily, it was what I would have said if I had thought about it more; I just regret not being more friendly in my declination.

Finally, after a long wait where I kept trying to use a wall for support (and totally freaking out if it was leaving black smudges all over my nice orange shirt), Daniel Johnston got his mentally challenged self on stage.  It appeared that he kicked the band off, but it was hard to tell what happened.  He did 2-3 songs acoustic, and then asked us, "Should I use the band now?"  I enjoyed the show much better when the band was playing.  I kept waiting for someone to hand Daniel something from McDonald's.  We left after he played Speedy Motorcycle, so I'll never know if people enabled his fast-food needs.
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If anyone has design ideas for Roofie Teabags, please get with me.  We have a lot to discuss!
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Finally, ghosty Bear

17 June 2010

Home Depot:: Stocking All Your Tooth Shellacking Needs

The internet must never ever die.  I was left cold and frightened without it all day long.  From 7am-4pm, I had no access to my darling internet.  I may have even cried in the bathroom a few times.  However, I may have been without internet, but I did get the extreme pleasure of seeing ducks and a young cat hang out together.  It was so amazing.  There were at least three different flavors of duck, and I was without camera (sadly, I do not have an iPhone and only have an old flip-phone that can't take a picture in the direct sunlight much less early-morning gray).

The kittens are totally drugged out right now on a catnip mouse.  I read that most kittens aren't affected by catnip, but not my two.  They keep stealing it from each other and scampering away.  It's awesome.  Baby chickenmonkeys are the best ever.

This afternoon I was caught at the doctor's office without a book.  Which, if possible, is worse than being without internet.  To make it worse, I got there a half-hour early.  What the fuck is wrong with me?  I sat around texting Ivy Vyne and Emma's Mom to keep me busy.  EM didn't offer that much in return but to brag that she always keeps a nook book in her car.  How does that help me?  Ivy Vyne and I discussed various things, included the extremely pregnant woman sitting in front of me wearing pantyhose and aggressively filing her nails.  My first thought she was crazy for wearing hose considering it was in the 90s, then I rationalized that they must be support stockings in an attempt to prevent varicose veins.  I also thought she might be mormon and the filing of her nails was taking her mind off of her heavenly underwear stretching across that swollen abdomen.  When they finally brought me back to the room, they left me sitting there with my dress hitched above my hips and shivering under a thin, white sheet.  They left me there for 20 minutes.  Gah.  I practiced having good posture on the exam table, but realized that after about 5 seconds, my face was practically in my lap.  I'm such an old lady.

The doctor was surprisingly not mad at me for taking out my own stitches.  She more wondered why I came in, and I had to remind her that I need to get sterilized and we had a date to discuss.  So I sat there still half-naked and under my sheet and we talked.  I explained that I know I'm totally being irrational but I wasn't a fan of the Essure, and didn't want anything going through my vagina and cervix to do the deed.  Now, she is a fantastic person because she accepted this!  She'll either totally burn them to crispy noodles, or she'll put a ring around them to squeeze them shut (why that is more acceptable to me than coils, I couldn't tell you).  She'll put a camera in my belly button and the tools through a small hole above my bush.  Scars don't bother me any!  I'm so excited.  We're looking at 6/25 or 7/9, depending on her schedule.  Her surgery nurse will be giving me a call.  If we do it next week, then I'll need to put a call out to all local friends to come and nurse me because The Boy will be out of town.  I really should qualify that with not just nursing me, but taking care of these crazy animals.  Like the goatchimp and all those furry chickenmonkeys.  Who would turn down that kind of fun?  Seriously, if you're interested in babysitting me, please feel free to sign up for a shift.

The best news you'll hear all month: ET had a healthy, moist poo filled with hay bits!  Yes, not a hard chunk of sand poo, but a hay poo, which means he's shitting out his current diet!  His blockage is gone.  He's healed!  Whew. I'm so happy for him.  I even let him crawl on the ground chomping on the grass.  He walked over my foot and barely touched it with his shell.  He's no longer dragging himself along the ground, but actually lifting himself up with his legs.  It is so amazing.
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Wikus: Don't blog too much; it'll wear the enamel off of your teeth.
Grumples: oh, god!
Grumples: is that true?
Wikus: Yes
Grumples: is there a cure if it is already happening?
Wikus: Tooth shellac?
Grumples: can that be found at home depot?
Wikus: Yes, but you'll need a prescription.

16 June 2010

Andre Braugher is Way Under Used These Days

Mattress has bonded with P1.  They like to chase each other back and forth on our little sofa.  No matter how many times Mattress knocks P1 to the floor, P1 shakes it off and gets right back up there and bites Mattress' tail.  It's glorious.  God, it's like I'm one of those people who can't shut up about her kids.  To further that point, ET is chomping away on some collard greens.  He is in sulcata heaven right now.  He gets to spend his days outside pooping and eating grass, and his nights in his warm terrarium munching on some greens.  Life is good.

I have accomplished a goal a set awhile ago: getting The Boy addicted to Homicide: Life on the Streets.  It was so easy to do really.  He tried to resist and say he didn't want to watch another cop show, but I knew he was a sucker for this kind of awesome acting.  How amazing is that cast?  Right now (one of the four episodes that composed the second season) Munch is telling his fellow detectives about how the future is going to be the "electronic highway," and that we'll never have to leave our Sealy mattresses again.  Munch totally saw in to the future.  I can't believe that was 16 years ago.  Thanks Homicide for making me feel old.  People, if you have not watched this series or only caught an episode here and there, rent it from your outlet of choice, sit down, and watch all seven seasons.  NOW!

My head was crushed between two bricks this morning, squeezing all the snot out of my head, thus I was late to work.  Somehow I managed to get to work and looked better than I have in ages.  I didn't even wear make-up.  Hello, I am 35 years old, and I still look damn cute when I wear my hair like Heidi of the mountains.  My cool glasses only made me look more chic.  Orange-red shirt from Anthro (Ivy and I bought the same shirt figuring we'd never accidentally run in to each other wearing it on the same day) and brown cords.  It sounds kind of slobby, but not at all.  This is important, and not just self-flattery, I rarely feel attractive these days, no matter how much The Boy says I am (and usually completely unbidden).  Maybe it is just because my skin has been very bad to me of late.  I am beginning to believe that as a child I just never paid attention to adults' faces to see that they had acne.  This adult skin is just not playing nice. 

My boss got an Italian cream cake for one of our managers who is retiring.  They placed what was left of the cake on my desk so us peons could get our grubby hands on it.  However, it was late in the day and almost no one was left at work.  I eyed it suspiciously since the icing was melting and undoubtably cream cheese in flavor (if I haven't puked in my hand for all of you over the grossness of cream cheese, then consider this the official vomit-in-palm moment).  To show that I really am taking my Crucial Conversations lessons to heart, I asked Twit if she wanted some of the cake.  She immediately said no, then asked where it came from.  I thought that was funny.  I did not poison the cake.  I actually brought it home and shared a piece with The Boy.  The icing was as foul as I predicted, but hey, I had no idea Italian cream cake had coconut in it.  How did I not know this?  That cream-cheese icing totally hid the deliciousness underneath.  Stupid jerky icing.

15 June 2010

That Kitten Is Living Out My Dream

Just returned from an exciting trip to the bathroom.  I actually managed to wipe at myself (versus dab) and not shriek and pass out from the white lightning scalding my pink bits.  I am not in any way exaggerating the pain.  Damn you cyst.  I should have had you removed much earlier to avoid having a throbbing hole on my labia.  Bleck.  Life felt much better after I removed the stitches (what's that doctor?  Using a pair of non-sterilized scissors and unwashed hands is not an approved method of stitch removal?  I do apologize.), and as of today, I feel almost healed.  That was one rough week.

Today's amusement is brought to us courtesy of Twit who just can't figure out how FMLA works.  My HR lady is calling me to ask just how stupid is Twit, and if she was deprived of oxygen during birth.  I cannot attest to what happened during the birth of darling Twit, but I can say that her standard personality and IQ is of someone who has been through a brutal lobotomy.  It seems that Twit brought the pediatric FMLA forms to her primary doctor to complete on herself, and the primary FMLA forms for the pediatric forms for her pediatrician to complete, and she doesn't understand what the problem is.  She got so frustrated when it was being explained to her that she actually said that it was too much work for her to handle.  No FMLA for her!

Since I know all of you have been sitting around completely on edge with ragged fingernails and raw chewed-on cheeks, here are my top-5 strengths according to the Clifton Strengthsfinder Assessment.
  1. Input
  2. Achiever
  3. Activator
  4. Ideation
  5. Strategic
When I read the descriptions for these, I seem completely schizophrenic, which probably just helps my boss with her case that I am completely crazy in a "good way" (she swears that it is in a good way, but I sometimes feel she is lying to me).  The Input and Ideation puzzle me in how they are strengths, since the book doesn't make them look like positive attributes.  Boiling me down to a nice concise paragraph would lead someone to think that I am inquisitive without reason and enjoy ideas even if there is no practical application for them.  Are they saying I can only handle the abstract?  The point of all of this is I am supposed to read this book, Now, Discover Your Strengths, and see how to put my strengths in to practice.  Presumably with my newly achieved Crucial Conversation skills.  I feel I need to make love with the couch a few thousand times before I commit to any of that.  Then, if all goes well, I'll be dead and will never have to worry about putting my strengths to use.

Have I mentioned how it always smells like baked beans in here?  It's as if that stupid talking dog from the Bush's baked-beans commercial is farting up a molasses shit storm in here.  I'm going to go ahead and say that this must be Twit's fault.

Sunday night Wikus came over and the three of us attempted to watch Saturday's Doctor Who, but my DVR is being a douche and is only will to playback recorded shows as if they are a badly scratched DVD.  For the last couple of weeks it was tolerable, now it isn't.  Thus leaving us without a planned activity!  This is horrific to me because what if the boys start talking about music in that tech-geek way they have?  I scanned through what was streaming on Netflix and discovered Buck Rogers in the 25th Century.  Oh how that did warm the boys frozen nerdy hearts. 

To prove that I am not making up how agonizing the boys can be when they talk shop, let me present you with what Wikus posted recently on FB (and yes, The Boy will be getting a beer):


Wikus:

Found the bad CEM3360 in the Prophet-600 on the second try and swapped it out for the new one. Listening to a 28-year-old circuit board groan as you pull IC's out of it is slightly nerve-wracking, but fortunately nothing cracked (that $8 Radio Shack chip-puller was a solid investment), and my wonky Poly-Mod problem is ...sorted!

P.S. If anyone understands any of this, I will buy you a beer (a really nerdy beer).

Wikus (more pedantry a short time later):

The Prophet-600 is an analog synth from 1982. The 3360 is a VCA (voltage-controlled amplifier) chip that controls the Poly-Mod amount. Poly-Mod is just an extra (in addition to the standard LFO) modulation section that lets you route the Filter Envelope or Oscillator B to modulate Osc A or the Filter cutoff.

That way you can achieve a pitch envelope, or audio-rate FM (which the LFO isn't fast enough to provide).

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To bring your brain back online, I give you P1!

12 June 2010

ET Does Not Ride a Harley

Driving south on I-35 this morning I was surrounded by at least 10 motorcycles, and groaning to have to be on the road this weekend.  Stupid ROT Rally.  It is really one of the more unpleasant events that happen annually in Austin.  A gazillion motorcycle enthusiasts descend on Austin with their Harleys, leather pants and even leathery gal pals.  Normally I am in hiding when the ROT Rally rides in to town, but I had to be out this morning to take ET to the vet (today may have been his last force-feeding!).  So, there I am, minding my own business, talking to ET and day dreaming a bit, and I see a knot of motorcycles spreading across all three lanes right in front of me, and the very last bike with a woman on the back with her fucking g-string riding at least 5" above the top of her jeans.  I had nothing to burn my eyes out with, and ET refused to peck them out as a favor since he refuses to eat meat, and will not lowers his vegetarian standards even in an emergency. 

On my way home, I passed a Denny's with at least 75 bikes in the parking lot.  I don't think that Denny's can even hold that many patrons, much less a dried-out plus-one in neon string bikinis and cut-off denim shorts for all of them.  I have had the misfortune of being in a room with that many Harley enthusiasts and have never been more skeeved out at the blatant sexism.  These guys have no problem being as crass as possible with their eyes and hands.  Ugh.  And to have that over your hash browns, scrambled eggs and bacon?  I don't think so.

Mattress is lazing on top of the couch with a paw planted solidly on my head.  He has to own me at all times.  He is very paranoid that the other animals will try to claim me as their own.  The adult cats have been viciously attacking each other since last night.  Those little sausages must really be changing the dynamics around here.  I had to get The Boy out of bed this morning to help me break up an angry fur-flighing ball of fury.  It seems I am unable to actually physically restrain three cats--luckily the kittens weren't a part of that threesome knot of fun.  ET is in the backyard eating grass and pooing.  Best day ever for him.

Last night The Boy and I went to a party to celebrate our friend's hard-earned good fortune.  She has landed a great teaching job, and we are ever so proud of her.  While there, I made a trip in to the closed-off room to visit the bunbun and cats.  The Boy and Glady soon joined me (because I am so awesome and no one can be out of my presence for more than a minute).  We had a lovely chat sitting on the floor, and Gladys and I discovered that we both have a dirty, shameful love of The Cutting Edge.  It is probably best not to ask us why, and just sit back and admire us for our openess and honesty.  We have agreed to hang out soon with her and her comic-genius husband.  I'm pretty sure they just want to come over and meet the cats, but the story in my head is that they like me, too. (Sounds like I need to have a Crucial Conversation with myself!  Brace yourself, I may run with this joke for far too long.)

While at the party last night I heard this horribly-funny-yet-extremely-sad story, and I wish I could tell you all about it, but it isn't mine to share.  It does involve an erect penis and a public bathroom.  That's all I can say.  Between that image and the g-string on some overweight biker babe, should have me set for the next 24 hours on ick.  It is my hope that you feel the same, because I may be hard pressed to come up with more.  Unless the thought of The Boy going to an Iron Maiden show tonight works for you.  That falls more in to a "lame" category than "ick," but that is just me.

Nap time!

10 June 2010

Kitten Sausage: A Nutritious Treat

ET Update: He no longer has to wear his bandage!  His x-ray this week showed he still has a bit of blockage in his colon, but it has moved way down the pipe.  The Boy tells me that ET enjoyed a nice poo today.  I will give him some hay-lettuce slurry as an award tonight (ET that is, not The Boy, because The Boy prefers fruit slurries with protein powder; he's not so much in to the hay).

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My brain has been a bit frazzled this week (which was not helped by me puking in the shower yesterday morning), thus my writing has suffered incredibly.  There is a huge portion of my body that just wants to go cuddle with some kittens in bed instead.  Damn those kittens for being so cute.  Their heads could so easily fit in to my mouth.  Nom nom.

Much interest was expressed regarding my voluntary-sterilization post.  All positive since everyone who reads this here blog is obviously highly intelligent.  There were some questions, which I am going to attempt to address without falling asleep and possibly wetting myself due to mental fatigue (everyone pees themselves when they are really tired, right?  RIGHT?).

Even though it is 2010 and voluntary sterilization is a hugely popular birth-control method, it is still extremely difficult to have the procedure if one is young, single and has no children.  Us poor women just don't know our own minds and need other people telling us what we're really thinking way down deep inside us--that place that holds all our true intentions regarding babies.  Our deep dark sticky baby pocket that can only be tapped by others.  It is great that other people know me better than myself because it has really saved me from all those foolish things I would have done left to my own devices.  So, sadly, yes, only a certain class of women can easily obtain sterilization. 

There are plenty of reasons why this is the case, though none of them really valid considering how willy-nilly people make babies with no interference from others.  It is funny that not making a baby is seen as this horrendous crime against nature and especially against women.  My desire to be childless actually offends people.  Like I am thumbing my nose at the ONE thing I am supposed to do as a woman.  Beyond that, there is the litigious issue.  For those dumbasses who do get sterilized then change their minds, they sue.  It's that whole idea of personal responsibility that people loathe.  Since I enjoy beating myself up, I usually don't have that problem.  I readily accept blame when I have done something so obviously stupid.  I am really not like the majority of people.  Therefore, doctors get blamed for a patient's personal choice, and that ruins it for the rest of us. 

The worst fear, really, is that a sterilized woman will find herself deeply in love with someone who wants children, and she loves that person so much, she finds herself wanting children as well.  There is a general belief that all women who say they don't want children now, will ultimately change their minds--they just haven't met the right person yet.  It is patronizing and makes me want to crush a lot of brains.  I haven't wanted children ever.  I was not a child who dreamed of being married and raising a family.  I didn't like horses and I never played princess.  I drew a pretty good unicorn once, and loved filling a page with rainbows.  (This proves I was a girl!)  Babies were never part of any of my master plans (like being a marine biologist or an architect). 

As for types of sterilization, I was really hoping my doctor could help me decide that.  She was all about the Essure, which are these coils placed in the Fallopian tubes, which causes scaring and prevents pregnancy.  I'm not really that keen on having something foreign in my body.  My aunt had something left in her after surgery, and let's just say it didn't go well.  I'm sure this method works great for a lot of women, but it is still these two things hanging out in my body, and since I do not have a lucky star attached to my ass, I'd be that one person where the coil gets loose and travels around my inner cavity putting holes in all my organs leaving me septic and dying.  At least I will die without leaving a child behind (with medication, I can now see the bright side of things).

My friend RFS is a promoter of endometrial ablation.  To hear her talk, one would be surprised that she doesn't receive some sort of commission.  She really does make it sound like a great choice.  However, reading up on it leads me to think it may not be the best choice for me.  It is a contraindicated procedure for sterilization and is mostly used for women who experience extremely heavy periods.  Since its main purpose is not to prevent women from having rugrats, it is strongly advised that birth control still be employed.  Bleck.  No thanks.  I haven't checked yet, but there's a good chance my insurance wouldn't cover this procedure for sterilization purposes. 

My basic plan is to have it done.  How it is done is a bit secondary.  I want a laparoscopic procedure that goes through my abdomen and not my vagina.  Please, please, please do not insert anything through my cervix.  I have zero qualms about having tiny scars on my abdomen.  I know that sounds crazy since that is a visible scar versus a hiding one in my vag.  I don't care.  My lady parts have suffered enough for my lifetime, and I will not subject them to anything else. 

I meet with my doctor on the 17th to discuss options and set a date.  I will write more as I know more.


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Now I am hungry.  Where are those kitten sausages?

08 June 2010

Is Anyone Doing Coke in the Bathroom During This 1980's Style Seminar?

It has been quite a taxing day.  Therefore, it is vitally important to post some pictures of the awwww variety:

ET is enjoying a lovely hay-lettuce slurry.  Leather T (it just seems appropriate to call him that) is the one who suggested trying the slurry to get ET to eat hay.  It is totally working.  Thank you, sir!


Look at those kittens.  Already in to luxury blankets and excellent headphones.  Such good taste!

Mattress caught playing with the kittens.  Now there is proof that he is a fat softy.
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I suppose I can now move on with the negative aspects of my day with a bulleted list!

  •  Had to attend day 2 of a "Crucial Conversations" seminar with the sleaziest name-dropping asshole motivational speaker.  
  • After I advised the motivational speaker that I will not be able to get up and walk around like we did during day 1 because I had a minor surgical procedures yesterday and can't risk splitting my stitches, and he responded with, "Oh.  I need you to move some tables."
  • Sat for 9 hours very aware of my swollen genitals.
  • Suffered a bit of abuse by the motivational speaker whose sole purpose was to teach us not be abusive to each other.  That was really fucking nice.  
  • The thought that I have to spend two more full days with the motivational speaker who is unable to actually have a crucial conversation and is more interested in telling us what high-profile companies he has worked with.
  • Actually participating in the sham this man was trying to sell.
  • Listening to him advise that if we just think that we LOVE something instead of hating it, our lives will be radically changed (yes, radically!).  If I don't like something, say the BP oil spill, I must turn it around and tell myself I LOVE it because that is a positive way of thinking!  My life is forever changed--radically changed.  In fact, I love every single aspect of my whole life.  It's been grand.  Grand I tell you.
  • Being told repeatedly that I made an agreement to not use my computer during the seminar and being cut off repeatedly when explaining I was sending out an email per my boss' instructions (she was sitting two tables away and had no idea what this man was spitting in my ear).
  • Being held to a bullshit agreement like that, because I didn't actually agree to it.  
  • Not being able to use my computer to calm myself when being subjected to an 8-hour sales pitch.
  • Being told that a) a woman should confront a man whom she feels is sexually harassing her, b) that she needs to make sure that he feels in a safe place when she talks to him, c) to talk with him from a place of "love" in her heart, and d) following up with their agreement that he not like at her tits anymore by going to lunch and discussing it.  AWESOME.
I could go on, but I am too tired to keep my heart beating this fast.  Though, I searched Google for "'crucial conversations' bullshit" and this blog was the fourth hit.  Which is funny since I only happened to use "crucial conversations" and "bullshit" in an entry, but they were mutually exclusive.  Now they're not!  FUN!

In all seriousness, I am not totally against the idea of the Crucial Conversations material.  I think there is some very good advice in the book, but it isn't a fucking panacea as Mr. Smarmy was trying to sell us.  It cannot be used in all situations, and a lot of how it was presented only works going down a hierarchy instead of going up (in that most of us wouldn't be able to be honest with our boss on certain subjects no matter how tactful we are--remember how I talked way long ago about that CEO who constantly touched himself?  Imagine how that conversation would have gone!).
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Many people have asked questions stemming from yesterday's post, and I plan to address them, just not tonight.  Me tired.  My bits are sore and peeing is torture.  The cats need snuggling.

07 June 2010

Say No to Babies With a Friendly Corkscrew

This has to be short due to the incredible amount of pain I am in due to letting the new doctor remove my cyst with no actual planning on how I was going to handle the rest of the day.  Here's a tip that all of you should earmark in case this happens in your future: If a doctor cuts a cyst out of your inner labia (blocked gland), please do not think going back to work is a good idea.  Also, ask for some good pain meds.  I really had no idea it would hurt this badly.  I told the doctor that if tattoos felt like that, I wouldn't have more than one (on the theory that I would have one and the pain would be too much for me to get any more).  I am in love with this new doctor, though, because she actually talked with me in her office instead of the exam room, and we agreed on the procedure before I even had my clothes off and feet in stirrups.  Of course I really fell in love with her when she offered to let me see the cyst that she pulled out of me--fuck yes I do!  It looked so small compared to how uncomfortable it had made for the last year.  It was perfectly round and reminded me of a tapioca ball.  Yum!  They wouldn't let me have it so they could biopsy it.  Jesus people, when will you let me keep some gross growth.  First I can't keep ET's stones, then I can't keep my own solid mass.  Grrr.

However, not to worry, all this is overshadowed by the fact that this new doctor has agreed to sterilize me!  Next week when I go in to get my stitches taken out, we'll discuss a date.  She advised that I should take off a week for recovery, thus I am looking at probably the last week of July.  Whoot.

Any voluntary sterilization procedure of lady parts that you or someone you know, please let me know what they chose and why and how they felt afterward.  I'm looking at Essure "The gentle birth control you can trust."  Corkscrews in my tubes!

06 June 2010

Permanent Solution to No Kids in My Womb

After last week's nonstop fun with Ivy Vyne, I felt it was very important to do nothing as much as possible this weekend.  I feel I have successfully completed that mission.  Okay, I really did do a lot in making the kittens think I am the most wonderful human they have ever had the pleasure to meet, and the couch and my ass renewed their vows of ever-loving devotion to each other. 

Actually, it has been a long day spent by myself.  The Boy works Sunday mornings, and last night he picked up a last-minute job to sing at some Star Wars thing today.  Don't even ask me what it is about, because I don't ask questions on that sort of thing.  I know he was really excited to do it, and that he wasn't getting paid for it--it's all about the connections, like Facebook!  I even had to go look up the show to get a guesstimate on what time he'd be home, since he didn't say (so excited, what details?).  Seems the last show started at 7pm, and it is 90 minutes long.  My guess is there is some kind of party with the cast and crew afterward since it is a quarter to 10pm.  Good for him.  That just means the kittens bond grows stronger with me.  Brahahaha.

My little P2 definitely has a cold, and today he started wheezing and sneezing (the sound of which is a squirt bottle shooting water, which is funny because it makes the big cats scared).  He's not as active as his brother due to his runny nose, and I'm hoping the vet will write us a script tomorrow when she is here to give The Bear some crazy ass test (notice the lack of hyphen, it is not a crazy-ass test, it is a crazy ass test where she will test his ass for what ever is making him poo bloody stools--this should teach everyone the importance of the hyphen).

ET hasn't pooed in a few days, and he doesn't really want to eat hay because he is a spoiled little tortoise who only wants to eat tasty field greens and romaine lettuce.  I tried to make lettuce wraps today with hay.  He was not fooled at all.  Damn him.  I am told that I must treat him like a goat.  I must get him grazing.  If anyone has any suggestions beyond don't feed him greens and he'll come around to the hay in time, I would appreciate it.

Tomorrow is a bit of an exciting day that I am also dreading.  I'm going to see a new doctor to discuss an annoying growth that I have nicknamed my third nipple in the wrong erogenous zone.  It's a little unwieldly I know.  I usually don't use its name, and rather just groan at it.  I've had it looked at before and was told it is just a harmless growth.  Don't ask me how this doctor knew that, because its not like a biopsy was taken.  She looked at it for maybe two seconds and touched it, and then proclaimed it benign.  It probably is, but dammit, it is uncomfortable and I want someone to take it seriously.  My therapist referred me to this doctor, so I have high hopes.  That is the dreaded part because there is nothing I really hate more than laying naked under a paper blanket with my legs in stirrups and someone making small talk at my vagina.  Grrrr.  The part I'm excited for is I am finally going to ask a healthcare professional to sterilize me.  No more of this hormone bullshit.  Just ligate them and be done with it.  If they say no, I am going to raise one hell of a stink.  Yet, I feel pretty confident since I am in my mid-30s, and would be late to the baby-making game if I started now.  So I'm a little knotted up about how it will all go, plus trying to decide if I will make up the two hours of missed work or submit it as sick time.  Oh my woes.

Please think happy thoughts for the green light to snip-snip my Fallopian tubes.  If we are going to Michigan in July to see the twins, then I will probably push it to mid to late August since Frijole is visiting the first week, and Guamaniac is having a dancy-drunken boat birthday party around then as well.  Obviously I need to schedule my voluntary sterilization around my social life.  Gah. 

04 June 2010

Hey! You Get to Eat Some Hay! Yay!

The kittens were let loose in the livingroom today after they received their second vaccinations and feline leukemia vaccination.  You would think they'd be sleeping the horror off instead of chasing each other and doing flips in the air.  P2 is the bravest little kitten in the world, and walks right up to the big cats and kisses their noses.  The Bear is thoroughly pissed off at them, and I think it is more that he can finally pass the shit down.  Mattress is being so gentle and inquisitive (somehow he hasn't realized yet that those kittens would make a lovely sausage dinner, and would fit in his mouth in one gulp).  Whoopis just wants to growl at them and keep his distance.  They have finally gone in to little kitten comas next to each other on the red couch.  We took lots of pics (I will post some tomorrow). 

In other great pet news, we were just given the greenlight this evening to go ahead and start feeding ET!  I gave him some hay and a bit of lettuce.  I should have taken a little film of him eating.  Usually he paces himself and takes dainty bites, but after a month of no food, he opened his mouth as high as possible and just chomped and chomped and chomped.  He didn't even pause to see if there was any food in his mouth.  He ate all the lettuce and some of his hay, and is now sleeping off his indulgences.

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Two days with Twit have left me with a stomach ache and shorter teeth from all that grinding of my jaw.  It has been a long time since I actually fantasized about beating someone up to the point where I had to keep my distance in case my fist felt the need to plow its way in to a nose.  Right now she's trying to play the system and use her remaining FMLA time to go to school.  I was a total bitch and visited my friends in HR to give them the heads up on her shenanigans.  I may hate being in her presence, but I'll be damned if I have to keep doing her work while she does her own personal shit.

My favorite exchange from yesterday after I checked the mail, and realized that she did not check it the whole week I was out of the office:

Grumples: Were you out more than you expected when I was on vacation?
Twit: No, why?
Grumples: Because it appears that the mail was never checked.
Twit: Oh, I totally forgot.  You know how it takes a while to get back in to a routine.  I'll make sure to make a reminder note for myself.
Grumples: You do that.

She did not check the mail today, and as I was leaving for the day, I bid her good day and sweetly suggested that she not forget the mail.  Isn't it amazing how petty I am?  I mean, it is mail!  It is mail that I want to shove down her twiggy throat.  Then I'd yank off her ratty hair and shove that down after the mail.  That would plug her up real good.  Real good.

02 June 2010

My Feet Are NOT Kitten Killers No Matter What P1 and P2 Think

Phew, I don't know how I can possibly do this tonight. I am tired and my all-day training has left me a bit sour and grumpy. P1 just spent 40 minutes asleep in my arm, while P2 kept jumping on my laptop (which was problematic because he turned on StickyKeys and that was very frustrating there for a few seconds). I did say I would tell more of my adventurous week with Ivy Vyne, but I just don't have it in me.  Call it the returning-to-work blues.  That and having to sit through 8 hours of training ("Crucial Conversations" can seriously kiss my fat white ass).  I still have one more day of being trained on how to have crucial conversations ("I don't want you to think that I am uninterested in what you have to teach me.  I do want to see how I can avoid having to listen to you."  Did I get that right with the "contrasting" exercise?).

Maybe the adoption story will just have to wait.  I don't want to write it while I'm in such a down mood.  My back hurts from sitting on the floor with the kittens, and my body just aches in general from the horrible allergies of yesterday.  The obvious solution here is to watch some Addiction on Discovery Health.  That should be a great pick-me-upper!  The kittens are sleeping (P1 on DVR receiver and P2 behind the door), and I just know those rascally bastards are going to wake up right when I go to bed and attack my feet as if they were kitten killers on the loose. 

To understand why I have two kittens when I already have 3 cats (two with medical problems) and a tortoise (with a huge medical problem), I leave you with this picture:


(Look how P2 is lazing on my shoes to keep my supposed kitten-killing feet vulnerable.)

01 June 2010

The Fun That Was Not Able To Kill Us

Did you little chickens think I had forgotten all of you?  So not true!  I have been playing non-stop with Ivy Vyne and kittens.  Yes, kittens in the plural.  I have officially become the crazy cat lady with my five cats.  I have vowed to not buy any clothes (or shoes) for a very long time to make sure we have enough money in case all six pets have a medical problem at the same time.  Or just off myself so I don't have to deal with such a tragedy.

Since I was unable to blog every day during my vacation, it is kind of tedious for me to recap now.  You guys know how lazy I am, so really, I don't know why you are acting so surprised.  Therefore, I'll hit some of the highlights.


Thursday
Airport cop: You know that parking in the crosswalk is a ticketable offense.
Grumples: Uh, sorry about that, but I'm only stopping for two seconds. (As friend is already throwing her stuff in the back of the car.)
Airport cop: I could give you a ticket right now!
Grumples: I promise to never do it again.
Airport cop: You better remember that!

We obtained a fish taco by accident during breakfast.  We could not find any takers for it.  We kept meaning to find a homeless person who wanted a fish taco, but kept forgetting to bring it along with us.  Now it lives in the fridge.  I may move him to the freezer to join meat baby.  We'll see.


Stranger in truck at Mt. Bonnell, 10pm: Did you remove all of your valuables?

The Boy: What's that? (Taken by surprise that someone is sitting in the driver's seat of a parked truck in the dark.)

SITAMtB: There's a lot of crime here.  Make sure your doors are locked so people can't steal your valuables.
The Boy: Okay, thank you.
Grumples to The Boy (whispering): Is he planning on taking our valuables and just wanted to give himself a bigger challenge by having us remove them?


Friday
Tubing on the Comal as suggested by a co-worker's daughter.  Obviously this kid hates me and my friend because we literally almost died.  Let's just say I have a new understanding of how very strong swimmers can die by undertow.  Seriously.  We are both quite lucky to be alive.  Oh, and we did have fun once we got past the harrowing experience and ignored all the crazy overly tanned and very drunk college kids. 


We were also made to walk around in our bikinis from the parking lot to the tube-rental place.  As women in our mid-30s, we were pretty okay with it, but it wasn't exactly ideal.  Two hotties walking down the street really causes traffic problems, and New Braunfels needs to be more concerned about its citizens.  Ivy Vyne got the fun of experiencing of dealing with the public and their reaction to my tattoos.  It was a bit tiring, but  having her around made it funnier, since I wasn't having to curse to myself in silence.


Made a stupid mistake later that night (I blame the near-death experience) in trying to meet up with my Bufallohead best friend from high school.  Went to the wrong bar and stamped around in frustration awhile.  Then I brutally berated myself for making the mistake.  All ended well with a late-night dinner at Star Seeds where all three of  us had a grilled cheese on wheat with french fries.  That's how we roll...in threes.


Saturday
Zoo!  Zoos are a sad place generally, and it's not that Austin's doesn't have that same vibe of animals being locked in small cages and out of their natural habitat, but the thing is, this is a rescue zoo.  All these animals have been taken from a way worse life (like all those cute monkeys subjected to scientific experiments and the circus animals).  We had the best time out there.  Of course we were full of pancakes, and anything would have pleased us. 


A goat tried to eat IV's shirt, and a goose bit me.  This did not dampen the good times at all.  Even if that goose actually bit me twice and left a bruise.


















Okay, that is all I can do for now.  I have been a fucking snot faucet all day long, and at one point had Allegra, Zyrtec and Benadryl in my body.  I have an all-day training class tomorrow--one last Twit-less day.  Sigh.


More recapping the weekend tomorrow.  There is even way more excitement to come.  I swear.  For now, you'll just have to wait to get the details on the kitties, and pictures.  That is going to be very tough, I understand, but that is just the way it has to be.