A Farewell to my Stevie Cat (and an important PSA)

After five and a half years of being my best friend, our kitty, Señor Stevie Nicks, succumbed to heart disease*.

If I had known it was coming I would have taken the time to have a few more days with him to do all the lovey things people do:

Chasing butterflies

Spinning in a field of flowers

 

Drinking milkshakes together

Going for boat rides in Central Park

Snuggling at home

   

But he was sick... and scared, and we lost him so suddenly. He was barely showing any signs of illness, still eating and playful, sleeping with his butt in our faces, drinking milkshakes, and rowing boats, but then he was gone just moments after getting him to the vet, leaving me and Mike shocked and devastated. I don't know how I have managed my whole life to avoid the up-close death of a pet with as many as I've had. It's a really horrible concept and I don't know who came up with it but I would like to unsubscribe, RIGHT NOW.  In the end, I am glad he chose us and we did everything we could to give him the best life possible. I love him so much and I will never forget my sweet Stevie cat.

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*Stevie died of cardiac arrest from an enlarged heart. He had a grain allergy, to the point that he couldn't even eat poultry that was fed grain or he would itch terribly and barf/poop/gain lots of weight. We found him a grain-free food that had all the nutrition he needed to keep him healthy, in theory. Unfortunately, I am finding now, much too late, that grain-free pet food currently on the market seems to contain some ingredient that might interfere with taurine uptake, which cats (and dogs) need to avoid heart damage. The FDA is investigating this, but there are things you can do in the meantime.

Please, if you are feeding your pet a grain-free diet have their taurine levels tested IMMEDIATELY (or as soon as you can afford to).

If they don't have allergies, stop feeding them a commercial grain-free diet. If they do, please, get their taurine tested and consult with a vet on how best to proceed. Once they have symptoms, which, in Stevie's case was only abdominal breathing, it is often too late, but the damage can be reversed if it is caught early enough with taurine supplementation. No one should go through what we're going through now, losing our pet so young, so please, share this information so every cat lives long enough to replace us as the dominant species on the planet.

My Summer from Hell- Part Two: She's Going To Die

While I was waiting this summer to find out if I had cancer, the night after my cat got the cat equivalent of heat stroke, I got a call from my sister letting me know that she was in the ER with our mother who was about to be flown in a helicopter across Montana to a hospital in my city because she was having a cardiac event that was giving her trouble breathing. The next morning at 5:30 am, I got a call from the ICU doctor telling me to get my ass to the hospital to say goodbye because my mom was about to die.

Thankfully, the hospital is about 8 minutes from my house so I threw on clothes and booked it to the ICU where my mom was absolutely dying. Her lungs had filled with fluid and she was drowning, but she had refused intubation so they couldn't do much to help her.

I entered the room with a crowd of people around her, she was fighting them and was almost unrecognizable with a CPAP mask over her face, out of her mind from the lack of oxygen that was making its way into her blood.

They sort of pushed me forward and told me to talk to her. My mother and her mother didn't get along at all and it just so happened that it was my grandmother's yahrtzeit (that's Jewish for deathaversary, which I always thought was "yard side" as that's how it's pronounced). I grabbed my mom's hand and made her look at me, "It's 7-11, you're not allowed to die today! I'm sorry, but if you insist on dying, you're going to have to put it off so you don't share your death day with grandma."

And my mother is so spiteful that she immediately stopped dying. She did have to go have heart surgery immediately afterward to sustain the whole living deal, but as soon as I got there and reminded her to breathe and fight, she cleared her lungs and was able to be transported across Montana yet again to go to another hospital for her surgery.

It was that night when I got home from the hospital, that my computer died.

And then my husband's computer died, having just died and been replaced two months earlier.

And then I had a hysterectomy.

And then I had weird side effects from my hysterectomy like white-hot leg pain, and 96 hours of full body itching, and phantom uterine cramping that felt like it was tearing me in half.

And then my car died. Twice. (It was the alternator, and then the starter, in a week's time).

And then I found out my neutered cat was an attempted rapist when we let in a cute little neighborhood cat who'd been meowing at our door, then immediately put her out because my cat is horrible and gross, but then she stalked us for five whole nights, howling like she was using a bullhorn outside our windows which, of course, made Stevie howl inside at the top of his lungs for 5 whole nights.

And my state elected a reporter-slamming jerk.

And then I was diagnosed with a breast tumor which probably isn't cancer but might still be cancer.

And then my camera died.

And I was turned down for disability because I have a good attitude which, of course, precludes actually being sick.

And the jerks in our government spent the summer trying like hell to take away my health insurance, which would have meant that I wouldn't be able to be treated for all the Schrodinger cancer I had (or didn't have as the case may be), which I was constantly worried about, which of course made my illness all that much worse (and of course, they're still doing it).

So yeah, my summer had a lot of suckage that just kept on pooping down on me, like a way less appetizing fondue fountain at Golden Corral.

But now that I have a computer again, and  the use of a working camera and I feel slightly less like spending every waking moment binge-watching Netflix (almost done with all eight seasons of Dexter) and playing Candy Crush on my tablet to drown my woes, it is my plan to make up for lost time with content galore, which I hope you will come back for and share.

I also have an actual smartphone now (for the time being, seeing how things go for me) so I'm all over social media as "cheeseblarg" and I'm actually posting stuff, so go ahead and follow me!

So what days of the week are you most looking forward to something to laugh at? Let me know so I can get on setting some kind of schedule, please.

Dead, dead, deadski.

My best friend of 14 years died in November. She was hilarious and smart and beautiful and a fantastic writer and it's really hard living without her. It's probably harder for her eight year old daughter who she left behind while she lingered in a coma for 6 months, while we all waited, some with more hope than others, to see if she would finally wake up. But damn it, it's hard for me.

When I think of her being gone, I think, "my Tracey is dead," but when I mention it elsewhere in the world, I change it to, "she passed away," or she "succumbed to her illness" or some other euphemism, not because I need to say it, but because I think people will somehow think I'm a jerk for plainly stating she is no longer alive.

I never hear anyone else using dead in conjunction with the death of a loved one. Does everyone else want to use it, but feel the same as I do? Like they have to make it into a poem to talk about it? Like other people might break, or think you just don't care if you plainly say, "Tracey died"?

Is it the proximity of the death? My previous best friend, Aimee, died 10 years ago, (I might add at this point, I'm a little afraid to claim another best friend as this seems to be a trend), and saying, "My friend died 10 years ago" doesn't feel quite as jarring. Does the fact that Tracey just fell through the veil (to borrow from the imagery of Harry Potter, which we both loved), make it seem that she could be right back if only I don't make it plain to others where she is? Is saying "she's dead" like a lock that keeps her trapped in the next world, where as "she passed away" allows for her to change her mind and pop back in, like she went out to smoke a cigarette with Jesus and changed her mind?

My Tracey is dead. She died because of the weird autoimmune disease we both have (had?) and I miss her every day. I miss her when I watch Seinfeld and when I read Stephen King books, and when I see the previews for the new Harry Potter movie that she'll never see unless a next world actually exists and has the same entertainment offerings as ours. I love her, and I always will, and I hate feeling that I have to compose a poem to lessen the sorrow of her loss for other people every time I want to mention that I had a friend and I don't any more.

Sucky, Suckier, Suckiest.

Last week was one of the suckiest of suck weeks in my life. I just had to add suckiest to my dictionary, because really, it needs to recognize degrees of suck. So yeah, it started off innocuously enough with awesome stuff on TV. I don't watch all that much TV any more, but Sunday evenings, I am there from 6-midnight, pretty much. It brings me joy.  The rest of the week, not so much. 

So yeah, I am back to being destitute, and my mom has thyroid cancer. She goes in a week to have it removed and hopefully that will be the end of it. They assured us that although it is a very large tumor, it is unlikely that it has metastasized, so she should be just fine... hopefully.

The husband losing the job is another matter all together. It took him a year to get a job last time, and places around here aren't really hiring, so I am trying to convince him to go pick up applications for jobs where he obviously isn't going to get hired wearing a magician's cape, since I figure he might as well be amused if he is going to be rejected. Also because flourishing a cape while introducing yourself and asking for an application sounds incredibly fun and the man seriously needs some fun.

So if anyone has an adult sized magician's cape they could loan us, just let me know!

Laughter is the best medicine cause it is free.

I'd like to talk about a major issue in my life right now. It's a downer, so prepare yourself.
So, I'm poor. I know I have said that before but when I say I am poor, I mean we survived last year on less than $6,000 income. Like super poor.
And one would think, "Oh, you're taken care of by the state," but nope.  If you don't have kids and you are poor, you can pretty much go fuck yourself... which apparently I have done by becoming ill while poor.
I have been chronically ill for about 8 years now. Longer really, but it has been steady for 8 years. I used to have a job, and I worked, and I loved working. I would even work for free, if they didn't have money to pay me because working was awesome and fun. But then I got sick and I had to go home from work all the time and had to ask people to cover for me, and my job was such that I couldn't just leave when I needed to... I had to wait for someone else to be there before I could go, so it sucked, and it made many people mad at me, and at the end of the year, I got let go. And the next year, my contract wasn't renewed. And then my day to day jobs stopped because I was making errors of judgment from being on pain pills that I was required to take... and then 4 years ago, I stopped working. I was making it through my days by refusing to eat or drink, because those things made me sick and made me have to go home, and working is hard when you have no food in you.  I know models do it, but they just have to stand there and look pretty... they don't have to keep other people safe and alive and stuff.
And the point of telling you that I am poor is to tell you I have no insurance. I have no medicaid, I ain't got shit... except a bunch of chronic illnesses that like to make me miserable and a moral code that tells me it is wrong to run up bills and not pay them.
Beyond that, I have several diseases, all autoimmune, that don't have cures.  My experiences with doctors has been this:

I am certain there is something actually wrong with me that hasn't been diagnosed, as far as my chronic pain and lessening muscle control, but I think I come off to doctors as a hypochondriac.  I say this because I complain and I complain and they just look at me cross-armed and say "Mmhm." and nothing gets done.
I had one doctor lady stand across from me, when I was pleading that she do some test, test for MS maybe because it runs in my family and I have almost all the symptoms of it, and I was being told "we don't know what is wrong so we aren't going to do any more tests on you," please test me, for the love of God, test me,  and she crossed her arms and her legs and said in a nasty accusatory tone, "Do you WANT to have MS?"
And you know, yeah, I would rather be diagnosed with MS when I have most of the symptoms of it anyway, and actually fucking be treated, than to sit in a room with shitty doctors who treat you like crap because you have problems that they don't have a name for. You get screwed because your symptoms are too hard to figure out and testing costs money and you don't have money, and people subsequently think you are making it all up, but you are in pain all the time and you know this is real.
So, I have tried to get help but all of the agencies say that there isn't enough documentation to prove that I am sick enough. Because when I am feeling my worst, I don't want to go sit in a doctor's office, or ER, for hours to tell them "I feel like shit, I am going to take some narcotics and lie in bed for the rest of the day. " Or "I feel like shit, I am puking and crapping and I can't stop." yelled through the bathroom door of the doctor's office because I don't relish the idea of wearing a diaper out in public. Or "Hi, my intestines are bleeding again. I have ulcers on every mucus membrane of my body. I can't sit up because it hurts so bad. You can't do anything about it because taking steroids all the time is going to kill me... so hi, bye, thanks for writing it down after I sat here miserable for 5 hours. That will be $500 I don't have. Please, make sure you call me every day to stress me about it which will make all of this flare worse."
And because it has been suggested that they can't do anything for me, it seems an exercise in futility to mention it. I don't WANT to spend every second thinking about being sick. I want to ignore it and do whatever I can to bring myself joy (like writing this blarg here, that I love, and interacting with all of you), but in order to get any help from any agency that is in place (disability, voc. rehab, etc), it seems that you can't have a moment of joy in your life, which is about how I feel right now. So, please, I can have help nao?

Another time I thought I had cancer.

I learned yesterday that I don't like having needles stuck into my face.  I had an inkling before that it was the sort of thing that I would not be in to, but having it done totally cemented in my mind that I REALLY don't like it. I probably like it more than the prospect of having cancer though, which is why I allowed my doctor to put a needle into my face.  If he had just been like, "You know what would be fun? Stabbing you in the face with a needle!" and then he'd come at me all:

 I would have had to use my Hamster Style on him.

But why was a doctor sticking a needle into your face, JRose?

Funny you should ask.

On Friday, my face went all Volcano-mode and the mole by my nose did a dramatic recreation of the movie 2012.

I thought, eh, pimple, whatevs, because I like to talk to myself like I am cool and hep, as the kids say. I kept screwing with it 'til it popped because if I have a giant "end of the world" sort of face sore, I cannot do anything but poke and prod until it goes away or I pass out from pain.
I am not sure what it was, I don't think it was actually a pimple, but it had its sights on my signature mole which is now gone completely because it fell off.  PART OF MY FACE FELL OFF! One of my favorite parts of my face, too. I mean, I would miss my eyelids more, but I really liked that damned mole.

Of course, by "fell off" I mean I kept messing with the little flappy part that was threatening to fall off until it ripped off, but the results are the same, a bloody gross face hole that I was pretty sure was the deadliest kind of cancer, because I always think everything is the worst thing it could ever be... and obviously, my inane expectation that I'm going to die eminently led me to the doctor's office where I allowed him to inject shots into my face to do a biopsy because while it probably isn't cancer, he says, it would super suck to be wrong.

And now I feel sorry for strangers who have to look at my post-biopsy face because I am sure they must feel uncomfortable looking at me. It kind of looks like someone put a cigarette out on my face, which should totally be my story if anyone breaks social code and asks why I am so horribly disfigured.

By Tuesday, I will no longer be a liar.

I've been lying to you all.  I've shamelessly misrepresented myself.
Last week, there was a mix-up and I missed an appointment to get my bangs trimmed (that is my fringe for OG English speakers).  I've needed a bang trim since before I went to NYC in fact, and instead of drawing myself as I actually look, I have continued to draw myself with cute short bangs. I'm sorry.  But there is a reason.

Now, I am cute.  I have no doubt about it, but when my  bangs get to a certain length, it causes some sort of illusion wherein I look like a frumpy cross dressing cave man.

Perhaps it is the hair in my eyes that causes this visual disturbance, but it can only be combated by wearing more makeup than I usually have the patience to wear, and since I don't draw any realistic features on my cartoon representation, it is easier to just create the same effect by making my bangs the right length.

Believe me, I did it for you... and also for me... because I'm vain and don't want to be hassled by scientists thinking they've found a missing link.

OH, and my Coco Llama,  the actual piece that was in the museum in NYC is now for sale on eBay.  Share it with everyone you know. I still need to pay for that trip!

CLICKY to go to EBAY

GERD is No Joke.

The ghost of a tuna fish tried to kill me last night while I slept.

Most people think of acid reflux as a minor annoyance, and while you are awake, I would tend to agree.  Having heartburn sucks, but at least you are awake, and aware of having it, and are most likely not lying down, and so you're slightly uncomfortable and can go take an acid reducer of some sort.  But when you are asleep, acid reflux tries to murder the shit out of you.

Last night, I was happily dreaming about magical spit when all of a sudden, I was awake and terribly aware that I was dying. I sat straight up, flailing, as one will do when they are jolted awake by choking to death, and tried to breathe but my lungs just gave me a big "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU" and would not inflate.

The following conversation was then had with my lungs:
Me: "Please, I need to breathe!!!"
My Lungs: "You should have thought about that before you filled us with stomach acid, you asshole!"
Me: "Yeah, I wasn't trying to. I'm not enjoying this any more than you are."
My Lungs: "Stop eating tuna fish for dinner."
Me: "Yeah, I'm right on top of that, Rose.  In the mean time, could you let me get some fucking oxygen because I am dying here."
My Lungs: "Fine, if we must, but we're not kidding about the tuna."

And so, after probably only a few seconds that felt like way longer of desperately trying to breathe, my lungs began working again, and the ghost tuna was exorcised through a ritual of burping and puking that sounded like I had eaten a live velociraptor.

In case you are worried, I'm fine now, other than some slight lung-area pain and a major case of tuna-related PTSD.

An illustrated guide for taking gross pills.

There are a plethora of really BAD tasting pills out there, and while children are usually the ones we need to worry about, some of them taste so bad that even adults need some help getting them down. The pills, not the children, what's wrong with you!?

I started taking Prednisone a week ago.  After two days, I couldn't take it any more and didn't think I would be able to force one more pill down my gullet, let alone four a day, so I used my well-cultivated creativity and came up with a way to take them without having to run around in circles, gagging and shuddering. I'm not even kidding. That stuff is horrible, almost beyond measure. As bad as guaifenesin (mucus reducing pills) and flagyl (you're usually nauseated before you take this, the taste doesn't help) or any prenatal liver vitamin.

So I bring you, my handy dandy guide (for adults and children) to take pills that make you want to shave your own taste buds off:

One word of advice: Be sure to take care to wrap the pill tightly. Pokey edges don't facilitate the swallowing process, at all!

And clearly, use liquid to swallow the pills, still. Do I need to mention that? 

And many more...

Tomorrow is my husband's 44th birthday.  I want to share with you the story of how I almost lost my husband two years ago to celebrate still having him today, so that maybe it can help someone else.

Me and my husband at my art show on 5/15/09

On the morning of May 9th 2009, I woke up to a crashing sound. I was notorious for leaving my shoes in inappropriate places and they were notorious for trying to murder people, so when I jumped up and found my husband on the floor at the end of the bed where I had left my shoes, I immediately began apologizing for being a total butthole and helped him up. When he took a few more steps into the bathroom and fell down again, I started to realize that the problem clearly wasn't me and my homicidal shoes.  I asked him what was wrong, he said he was fine. I asked him if it concerned him that he was falling down repeatedly, he replied, "Not really." And even though he doesn't drink, I asked him if he was drunk, just in case. He wasn't.

On his way back from the bathroom, he looked like someone walking on a moving bus.  I was terrified and told him I wanted to call an ambulance and he told me he was fine, this had happened before and had resolved itself and he just needed to lie down and rest.  He was sure it was just an inner ear infection and he would be fine.  I immediately turned on my computer and googled strokes. I roused him and made him go through the steps to tell if someone was having a stroke.  F.A.S.T.  -He could smile just fine.  His arms stayed up perfectly. His speech wasn't slurred or strange, he didn't even have a headache, so I didn't force him to go to the ER and I just stayed beside him, checking on him as he slept to make sure he was still breathing.  When he woke up, he complained that the room was too bright.  He was having double vision and sitting up made him so dizzy he threw up. When he went to reach for things, he would miss them, grabbing a few inches in front of where they were. I kept having to ask him to loosen his grip because he was crushing my hand without realizing it, as I lay next to him in the dark holding his hand.
I should have forced him to go to the emergency room, but I didn't. I'm used to people wanting me to go the ER when I know I don't need to, so I stupidly listened to him and didn't force him to go, and thankfully he didn't die.

My husband had in fact had a stroke.  The doctor called it a TIA (transient ischemic attack ), which is the technical name for a mini-stroke, which means  a stroke that resolves itself and doesn't show changes to the brain on an MRI.

Unfortunately, F.A.S.T. doesn't cover every kind of stroke.  He was having a Cerebellar Stroke, which means that there was a bleed or clot somewhere in his cerebellum.  That is the part of the brain that controls walking, and fear, and sensory input, and coordination.
For a Cerebellar Stroke/ TIA the test you need to do is “W.T.F? :P”

W- Walking -Is the person falling down repeatedly or unable to walk?
T- Touching- Are they able to reach out and touch something easily- is their grip too tight?
F- Focusing- Are they having trouble focusing their vision, or having other visual disturbances?
P- Puking- Does moving make them throw up?

If I had had this list of tests, I would have immediately dragged his ass to the nearest doctor. Like I said, thankfully, he lived.

He is mostly recovered now. It took quite some time and a lot of walking with a cane to get his coordination back.  For some time, I couldn't get him to go places with me because he was afraid people would think he was drunk. His gait is still a little off, but I doubt other people notice much. His vision is permanently damaged, it seems, as he has to wear sunglasses inside if there is a lot of light, which makes him seem like a cool guy, or a Corey Hart impersonator.
 I've asked him about it since. It was, in fact, the stroke that made him think he was fine.  His fear reaction was broken and he just felt happy and at peace.  It was up to me to take care of him and I didn't have enough information to do so, which is a big reason why I want to share our story.  Now he knows that he needs to go to the doctor if I say so, though he is probably pretty tired of me neurotically assuming he has had a stroke again.  He broke his toe last week jumping up to turn off the fire alarm at 4 am and I keep forgetting and spaz out when I notice his limp has worsened.  But he has since been heavily medicated with 2 types of cholesterol pills and as many blood pressure meds, and he has regular checkups, so his chance of having another stroke is greatly diminished.

On a walk to take photos 5/23/09

So I ask you, in honor of his birthday, please share our story with someone to let them know that thinking "W.T.F? :P" could well save a loved one's life when someone is acting like they're drunk when they've not had a thing to drink. It is not what we usually are warned about but it could be a stroke.

"WTF? :P" FTW!

Disclaimer-- I am not a doctor, clearly, I am a humor writer, and while I have spent a lot of time researching cerebellar strokes since my husband had his, I am not an expert.  My initialism (WTF? :P) is meant to help but if you think someone needs a doctor, please, call 911 or your local medical expert and stop reading a humor blarg.

OMFGNOTBBQ!

I came to a terrible realization today.

Hanging out at my friend's house, we keep lamenting that the neighbors are ALWAYS barbecuing and it smells so delicious. We've even joked about showing up at their door with a plate for dinner. Then, this morning I walked out in the backyard and saw this over the fence:

I'm so sorry, Mr. Fluffypants. I'm so sorry.

Out of the frying pan...

Sometimes I need to vent.  Especially when I have oil burns on my neck and  face.

I think the phrase is 'Kill it with Fire'?

My husband is growing me strawberries.  They have been working their way up to actually producing fruit for the last 2 years... and now, I wish they wouldn't because this is what they look like:

Yes, we have terrifying mutant strawberries growing in my backyard.  I'm wondering if maybe there was a toxic chemical spill in that area, because the strawberry plants in the plot on the other side of the yard (that get the same amount of water, light, fertilizer, and love) are just fine, but these ones, all of them, about 6 plants, they have produced horrible alien strawberries and I hate them. It makes me feel queasy just knowing that they are there, in the yard, watching me... plotting to give me their space herpes.

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Don't forget, there are only three days left to get July's Limited Edition Sticker.

Happy Star Wars Day!

I am old enough that I actually saw some of the original Star Wars movies in the theater, first run.  I remember standing in line outside the theater in San Diego, California, in 1980 waiting to see "The Empire Strikes Back." My little nerd heart was overjoyed at the wintry landscape of Hoth, and the AT-ATs and the "Pew! Pew!"

I even learned my first lesson that some people are total jackasses and don't understand the concept of spoilers, thanks to Star Wars.  

Sometime, around June of 1983, my family was somewhere, I remember it as Las Vegas, that had a pool with a bar next to it. My parents were somewhere else, though, again, kinda fuzzy, maybe it was all the drinking I was doing at the bar (which is a joke, because I was 6 at the time). 

My sister and I sat at the bar by the pool in our adorable matching sun dresses (my grandma was big on buying us matching clothes, perhaps she though we were twins, though there was a three year difference in our ages),  and while the cute bartender girl made us Shirley Temples (I was a sucker for Shirley Temples, still am, actually. I'll drink almost anything that is pink and sparkly that I am reasonably sure won't kill me), she made small talk.

"Do you like Star Wars?" she asked, and we enthusiastically said we did.

"Have you seen Return of the Jedi yet?" No, not yet!

"Who's your favorite Star Wars character?" and we told her, and then she heartlessly said, "Oh, it's so terrible that he DIES IN THIS MOVIE!"

At which, I might have started crying while being all "WTF LADY! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!? I'M A CHILD! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!!??" in my sweet little child head. And then I was ruined, forever, to the joy of not understanding what a spoiler was... So, former poolside bartender, I hope making a small child cry through your stupid thoughtless actions still haunts you to this day, because I was really cute and you made me really sad, enough that 28 years later, I still want to punch you in the boob every time I think of Star Wars.

And here is a Jedi Narwal to make it all better.

Now You're Traumatizing with Portals!

Can't write.  Highly traumatized by the heartless slaughter of a poor defenseless companion cube.  Or, I might just be watching my friend play Portal (while anticipating Portal 2 getting here- 40% off at Amazon today, with free shipping!) and I can't be arsed to write something more substantial because video games are much more entertaining.  But let's go with highly traumatized and distraught so you don't think I'm just a lazy asshole.

Terror- It's What's for Dinner!

I often say that I wish that dinner would make itself for me, but no.  No.... if I came out, and food was actually making itself, the last thing I would want to do is eat it.

The Bête Noire

I just started watching all of the episodes of "How I Met Your Mother" recently.  In one of the episodes that I watched within the past few days, it mentioned "Field of Dreams." Since I've never watched the movie (don't dig on Kevin Costner or baseball... or dramas), and since it was on today, and since HIMYM was talking about how awesome it was, I figured I'd watch it... and then, I quickly lost interest and took a nap because on to the screen walked my film foe. It was like, "Four strikes, you're out, movie!" (See, told you I don't like baseball...)
Now, I am sure that Ray Liotta is a lovely man.  I've never heard a single bad thing about him that I can recall. I understand that actors are not the parts they play, but gha, I hate Ray Liotta*.
Really, the problem is, he is apparently too good of an actor... and the first movie I saw him in was Unlawful Entry. I just can't get over it. Especially since he is a character actor and plays the same icky bad guy all the time.  Even when he is not playing the bad guy... he is still the bad guy to me.

 Kinda like Sam Rockwell and Craig T. Nelson (Poltergeist 2 ruined him for me).
*shudder*

* In movies, I hate him in movies. It's not like I would spit on him and shove him into traffic if I ever met him.  It is only on the screen that I never ever ever ever EVER want to see him. Except in Identity, that movie is AWESOME!

Something in the pipes.

There is a nightly ritual in my house. It goes like this:

Me (yelled throughout house): TAKING A SHOWER!!!
Family (yelled back through house): OKAY!!
Me, happily showering.
Burbling clicking sound.
Water slows to a trickle.
Horrid screeching monster sound from pipes as a result of family member turning on water despite my making them aware I would be in the shower and they should not flush toilets/do dishes/water the lawn.
Me, being angry/frightened/concerned by my bleeding ears.

I've had water systems before that didn't like other water being used, but seriously, the pipes in my house now sound like they are possessed by some sort of terrible terrible creature.

Don't miss the video of the sounds  in the next post!

Be careful what you wish for!

I think the stories about trees who really want to be Christmas trees are pretty sad. I don't think these trees are really thinking it through.  Let's go over the ramifications of your frivolous wishes.

When you are chosen to be a Christmas tree:

• Your trunk is chopped and you are severed from your roots... your roots keep you alive, in case you didn't know.
• You get stuck, in the best situations, in a tub of water so you languish slowly, in the worst case, your severed trunk is nailed to two boards. 
• You have to stand there with shiny ornament weights on your limbs making you more likely to be attacked by cats and children. 
• Your needles fall off leaving you on display naked until eventually, you are thrown on to a trash pile, because thankfully your awful sap saves you from having the last vestiges of your life burned out of you.

So really, you want to be a Christmas tree, or do you think maybe you could just be happy being alive in a pretty forest?

Troubling Turkey Trends

For some reason, I am completely scandalized at the growing trend I am seeing of people celebrating Thanksgiving early.  I've no idea why it should matter to me, but damn it, Thanksgiving is on THURSDAY!  How dare these people make a completely arbitrary holiday fit their schedule!?

Inconveniencing people is one of the greatest parts of the holidays!

For instance, last year, I wouldn't allow anyone to eat unless they drew a suitable "hand turkey" first.