11 out of 22 aka The Second Grand Canyon Incident

I got 11 of my 22 things done before I turned 40 (exactly a month ago as of writing this). I'm calling that a success, though I am still working on most of the rest. I've decided that goats and llamas don't need the stress of me hugging them, but if I come across one in nature and it's down to snuggle, I'll oblige. Others are being delayed as changes come into my life and 'cause I am perpetually broke and can't afford fanciful things, even if they are on a list of things I want to do. And I'm still afraid of dentists.

THINGS I DID

1. Go to the Grand Canyon
2. Pick my nose at the Grand Canyon

In April, we (being my husband, my mother, and I) took a road trip o'er this way too damned big country to FINALLY go see the Grand Canyon, with a detour through Las Vegas. I'm still not terribly thrilled to be in a car almost 7 months later. 

In true Cheeseblarg fashion, "The Experiment" was in full swing and my mother, who is physically incapable of throwing up, contracted The Worst Stomach Flu Ever Known To Man™ and spent two days pooping her way through Utah and Nevada. I, of course, waited to get this flu from hell until we got to Arizona, at which point I became the sickest and saddest fountain of puke and poop, ever.

We had planned to be in town for two days because I was set to complete task 8, "Meet an internet friend in person" but work stuff made it so she couldn't make the drive from New Mexico, and I literally felt like I was dying. I knew I'd be back the next day, so my first moments of seeing the Grand Canyon were staggering out of our car, which was parked right along the edge of the canyon on a cold windy day and thinking, "Great, it's a huge fucking hole, can we go home now?"

Then I sat in the car and cried while my mom expressed 40 years worth of displeasure with me and my husband enjoyed exploring with his family who had driven up to meet us there. It was just as The Experiment would have had it.

The next day, I was dying just a little bit less and it was at least 42% more enjoyable. I still wanted to go home, but I did have the energy that day to pick my nose.

I had that flu for 5 days. Apparently, me and the Grand Canyon were just really not meant to be.

3. Gamble in Las Vegas
4. Pick my nose while gambling in Las Vegas

Before I became deathly ill, I actually had a really great time in Las Vegas. I managed to win 5 dollars on a cheeseburger themed slot machine, and then I lost 20ish dollars in quarters the rest of the time there. And I picked my nose.

I also ate a lot at the Bacchanal Buffet at Caeser's Palace, which you could see from our hotel room. We also had a bitchin' view of the Bellagio's fountains from our room so I could watch the fancy water show without having to be around humans I didn't know.

 I chose the Bacchanal Buffet, in part, because research told me it had the best desserts of all the buffets in Las Vegas. If I had had more money at my disposal, I would have wanted to do my own research, but I did make sure to get one of every dessert I could eat (keeping my allergies in mind) and tried all of them*. The best was actually a Thai rice pudding with a delicate coffee perfume that I still pine for.

(Starting at the top and going clockwise-ish) Fudge, cherry clafouti, chocolate lava
cake, lemon tart, red velvet brownie, toffee chocolate mousse pop, pecan pie.

(starting at the top going clockwise) Thai rice pudding, guava strawberry sorbet, 
tropical pineapple compote, flan, coconut tapioca pudding, creme brulee, 
oreo dome cake

*My mom and I shared them, 'cause even though most of them were small, I totally can't eat 14 desserts all by myself  (especially after eating Lobster Benedict) and I am too Jewish to waste so much food, just taking a bite of each.

5. Read a new Stephen King book

Finishing out the Bill Hodges trilogy, I actually got this book in the mail from an otherwise anonymous woman named Becky, because it was a book I requested from The Bloggess's booksgiving, earlier this year. I look forward to more mystery/crime type novels from Stephen King. 

6. Collect all the cats in Neko Atsume 

I managed this one on my actual birthday. I've been trying all this time but all the fancy cats decided to visit me to wish me a happy birthday. I'm certain of it.

7. Vote for Bernie Sanders

While I didn't get to vote for him for President (because I'm not throwing away my shot vote), I totally did my primary duty. I wanted to take a picture to share, but I found out it was illegal in my state, so here is an artist's rendering:

8. See the new Ghostbusters movie in the theater
9. Pick my nose while watching the new Ghostbusters movie

I did, see this post: I Ain't Afraid of no Reboots!

10. Write a short story

If you didn't see it, you haven't been paying attention: The Melancholy Princess

11. Eat a fruit I've never had before

I started with Dragon Fruit and the image below is a summary of my feelings on this incredibly cool looking fruit.

For the most part, I'm pretty sure I've tasted all the best fruits (though I am holding out hope for mangosteen, which is incredibly hard to come by when you live in rural Montana). Moreover, there's a reason Dragon Fruit isn't as popular as apples and I don't think it's because it's tropical (see: Pineapples. Don't grow everywhere, still super popular because they are amazingly delicious.). I'm, of course, still open to new fruits. I had some awesome cotton candy grapes (that I had to peel to eat without a reaction), and the lychee was tasty but a little perfumey, but I'm totally giving up on Dragon Fruit. I just can't be down with a fruit that tastes like peppery water to me because pepper and I are not friends.

For extra content at just 1 dollar a post.

Read Only

I think I am just going to spend all of 2015 reading. I am doing this challenge from PopSugar:

Of course, I intend to cheat. I just don't have the drive to read 52 books in a year, mostly because I read really slowly and the whole reading-induced narcolepsy. So, again, with the resolve to cheat, I started before 2015, and I read "The Scarlet Letter," which covers like 5-8 of the checkboxes above. It was one of the books I was supposed to read in high school but never actually read. No, not true... I started reading it my 9th grade year and got to the description of the roses beside the jail's door and stopped. Having finished it, I am not terribly forlorn that I didn't read this book sooner. It wasn't nearly as awful as I had assumed but it certainly wouldn't have enriched my teenaged life.

With this challenge, I am taking this opportunity to read books I have meant to read for a long time. Right now, I am reading "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote, and I have "To Kill a Mockingbird" on my list, and "You" by Caroline Kepnes, and of course all the books Stephen King will have written by the time I get to them. You are more than welcome to follow my progress on Goodreads if you'd like. 

Last year was a terrible year for reading. I read 4 books. FOUR WHOLE BOOKS (not counting The Scarlet Letter... which doesn't count because I said so). It was "Game of Thrones" that killed my usually much higher average. Between finishing writing the first in a series of a kickass science fiction mystery thriller novels in 3 months and editing it, then trying to get an agent to represent that novel (still looking!), and having my body totally freak out where my hands didn't work for a few months (which seriously makes typing a novel difficult, let me tell you), and my liver and pancreas freaking out from all my horrible medications trying to fix my hands (most of which I am no longer on for the sake of not dying), and having my gallbladder removed, it took me SEVEN months to read the damned book. Just the first book. And it only translates into like the first 10 episodes of the series. I can't read them all. I just can't... until I run out of other things to read and write. I loved it. It was great... but holy crap. It's like the black hole of series. That's not an insult, I promise. It is just SO dense with information. It is wonderful, and I loved it... I really did, but, yeah, I'm abstaining from reading more of the series for the time being as long as I want to do other things in my life.

Thankfully now, my hands are working with just one medication and they no longer feel like they have been beaten with a hammer (as long as I remember to take my meds on time) so I can easily hold a kindle or an actual book (since Klout sent me an hard copy of "You" to read) without crying or whining or needing to train Stevie to press the side buttons on my Kindle to change the page for me.

So, if you need me, I'll be reading. 

If you want to join in on this reading challenge, I would totally be interested in hearing about the books you're reading, too!

A Tale of IC

So, awhile ago, I wrote about my jerk faced bladder. After all kinds of horrific bladder-related tests, including the one where they put me under general anesthetic to fill up my bladder like a big festive balloon until it cracked, I was diagnosed with Interstitial Cystitis.

Interstitial Cystitis or IC, is basically punishment from Satan in the form of the feelings of a UTI (urinary tract infection) because your bladder lining is faulty, with none of the therapeutic possibilities of things like antibiotics or cranberry juice.  In fact, cranberry juice is one of the things that makes it worse.

When I first started feeling the effects of IC, I was guzzling cranberry juice like a person desperate not to have yet another UTI, which only made my bladder angrier and angrier.

And then, like a misunderstood teenager, it began to self-injure

Once I figured out that I probably had IC, two years before it was finally diagnosed, I immediately started an IC diet to try to appease the angsty beast that was living in my groin, and it worked pretty okay, though it was (and is) inconvenient.

Basically nothing with acid, sourness, caffeine or deliciousness.

But, I also found that certain medicines that I had been prescribed for other issues also tore the hell out of my bladder. At 4:45 on a Friday about a year ago, I found myself on the phone, pleading with my urologist's office to give me something to stop the bladder pain before I found a bridge to jump off during the weekend.

What I got worked well enough that I did not have to go out searching for appropriately tall bridges. It is a handy dandy pill that I dissolve under my tongue made from the root of the mandrake. Mandrake or mandragora, if you remember from Harry Potter, is a powerful restorative.  It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed, to their original state.

 Actually, wait, no, it is an antispasmodic drug that soothes the muscles, so, I guess it would work to unpetrify someone who had been petrified by a basilisk (spoilers, sorry), as well as someone who has ridiculous cramps in their bladder that makes them feel like they have to pee every 2 seconds.

I was also introduced to the "Bladder Cocktail" which is likely not as fancy as it sounds at all.

Basically, it is the most wonderful thing ever invented, surely sent from any god that might exist who doesn't like punishing people for having a bladder. It's a mixture of lidocaine and heparin that coats your bladder and numbs the crap out of your bladder wall.

Now, you are likely wondering, like I was when this was first described to me... so... you just pee on yourself? Somehow, this magical concoction from heaven doesn't affect your ability to feel a full bladder, it just stops all the pain associated with having pee in your bladder, which is part of the actual problem with Interstitial Cystitis.

Now, there is a drug to coat your bladder with magic that is on the market called Elmiron, and it works pretty nicely, but it does have side effects.  In my case, along with a bunch of other drugs, it beat the hell out of my liver and I ended up in the ER thinking I was dying of liver failure where I was advised to maybe stop taking pills that were killing my liver. It also beats up your stomach really badly because it is housed in a capsule made of pure evil, but switching it into a generic gelatin pill capsule is enough to combat that... but not if your liver isn't working.

So... I have a crappy bladder disease, and I am managing it with mandrake pills and emergency bladder cocktails when the disease flares beyond what I can control with diet, because I can't handle the pill that would make my life normal, which is part of why I decided to write this post; because right this very moment, my disease is flaring and my mandrake doesn't seem to be working so I called my doctor's office for my "you can come in any time, immediately, no problem, emergency bladder cocktail" and immediately, in this case, translates to "in 11 days." ELEVEN DAYS!!!!

So, I figured you should know what happened, just in case I can't find relief and need to find a suitably tall bridge before I can make it to next Thursday.

Google Image Upgrade: Medical SafeSearch

I recently went to the doctor because I had to go off of my medications that quiet all of my crazy autoimmune diseases and I acquired a weird sore on my thumb that caused a volcano like hole that was fairly concerning to me.

He told me that if it got worse, I was to come back immediately, so of course, I went home and google imaged my diagnosis to see what "worse" would look like and then I immediately wanted to stab my eyes out with forks.

I appreciate that Google image has been proactive in filtering sexual content with their SafeSearch, which blocks out hardcore images (not that I ever use it, VIVA LA BOOBIES!), but what we really need is a search filter for medical images.

Without fail, every time you do a Google Image Search on a medical issue, there is one mild image showing what a normal case of the disease looks like, and EVERY OTHER IMAGE is like a 20 inch hole with gore and carnage exploding out of it.

Serious, no matter what it is. Hangnail? Stubbed Toe? Splinter? OMG!!! How the hell did someone get a log sized splinter in their eye!?

I'm not arguing that these images shouldn't be available, but dear lord, we need to be able to choose from mild, moderate and horrendous images when we're searching for actual medical images.

Someone ought to make a petition!

(^I did, that's a link to it right there^)

He ain't afraid of no ghosts.

Fifteen years ago tonight, after our second date, my husband told me he was in love with me and asked me to be his girlfriend. That sounds all sweet and romantic BUT, it is even more so when you take into consideration the fact that I sneezed directly into his hand during said date... and not like a cute little "achoo, 'scuse me!" sneeze. No, it was a full-on first day of the flu, "SHE SLIMED ME!" sneeze... directly into the palm of his hand.

This was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. We were in the theater watching a movie (I Still Know What You Did Last Summer), he was to my right, had his arm around me, and was holding my left hand. I was slightly aware that this horrible flu was coming on, and this terror was building in my mind... it was a very short process, but it was something like, "OH GOD, I HAVE TO SNEEZE! I'M LEFT-HANDED. I NEED MY HAND! SURELY IF I PULL, HE'LL LET GO!!" But he didn't, and instead of being smart and sneezing into my right hand, I turned my head, tugged, met resistance, and the sneeze was there, and so was a ton of snot and slobber on his hand, which I had pulled right over my face.

I was pretty sure he was going to break it off right then, so I was pleasantly surprised when he asked me to be his girl instead of running off before the movie even ended, which, I suspect, is what I would have done had someone deposited that amount of mucus on me during a date. 

Are You Experienced?

One of the crappiest things people can do, in my opinion, is insisting, when someone reports their personal experience, that said person with experience is clearly stupid/crazy/lying/in denial and is unaware of what is going on in their own life.

This applies to all sorts of experiences,
Like fat people who are told:

or writers of blargs who are told:
JUST STOP BEING DEPRESSED! YOU WON'T HURT IF YOU JUST GET OVER YOUR LIFE CRUSHING DEPRESSION!
Yeah. Not depressed.
DEPRESSION MANIFESTS IN COUNTLESS WAYS!
Does it ever manifest in being happy and content with your life, and being really motivated, because then maybe, yes, I am terribly depressed, but otherwise, NO, I AM NOT AND I AM GOING TO SHOVE A WAREHOUSE FULL OF TWINKIES UP YOUR BUTT IF YOU DON'T STOP TELLING ME I AM!

If someone is trying to tell you that your account of your own experience is wrong, or tries to assign feelings to you without really listening to you or even asking you how you feel, chances are, they are either trying to manipulate you, or they are an asshole.

After having been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia last week, I was sent to see a therapist yesterday to treat my "depression caused" Fibromyalgia. I willingly submitted to testing and answered questions on a little digital box to measure my sanity:

Er, does that count having to wake up to pee 10 times a night?
No. You have a reason for that, it means if you don't have a valid reason.
Okay, then no.

What? I don't abuse drugs at all! What the hell kind of question is this!? I don't think you can abuse a substance less than not doing them at all, unless I started doing nice things for drugs, like making them fancy dream houses with a working elevator or something?

False?

What's going on here? I mean they haven't in a while.

 Well, I guess true, now...


And after about 10 minutes, I had read and answered all of the questions to the best of my ability, since it asked many loaded questions along the line of "Have you stopped beating your wife? Y/N" What!? Wait! I don't even have a wife. Crap. This test should have been written by someone with a background in ambiguities.

And then the very lovely man who was assigned to talk to me plugged the test box into the the computer and a piece of paper issued from his printer with my results and after reviewing them, he said "As I am sure you are well aware, there is not a damned thing wrong with you psychologically." Which is what I have been saying to my doctors all along.

Skynet 1.0: Abuse of the RedBox

After watching my mother try to rape the Redbox Kiosk with the movies she was returning for me, because I have my nephew's cold and didn't want to get out of the car in subfreezing temperatures, I am fairly certain that this sort of thing  is the beginning of the Skynet Incident.
They didn't show it in the Terminator movies, but clearly, the repeated abuses of these machines are going to lead to a revolt where machines start attacking and murdering humans.

At the very least, RedBox should set up hidden cameras to record and broadcast, for our amusement, the various ways in which people are unable to figure out the operations of their machines.

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?

January Sticker Sale- It's a Trap(tor) Color Sticker

Hi there.

I have been thinking for days, "Damn it JRose, you should post something... just post SOMETHING!" but the problem is, everything I draw or try to write comes out like poop. Not out of my butt, I mean it looks like/reads like crap. There are reasons, but never mind that now, never mind that. As soon as I can produce something worth looking at/reading, you guys will be the first to know. In the meantime:

New year, new sticker, old image, because really, my drawing ability is broken...not kidding, but the picture is different, at least. As are the rules. There are only 50 of these limited edition stickers, but I will sell them until they are gone. Each is about 3.75" x 3.7".  Printed on sticker paper, by me. Cut by hand (that means it might not be Stakenblochen). Sent first class via USPS (shipping is included).

[no longer available] For those outside the US, please choose the outside US option for the first sticker, and $3.50 for any additional sticker in the same order. If you have a problem with Paypal but would like to buy a sticker, let me know and I can provide other payment sources, as well as accepting cash and candy.

Cake continues to be a lie.

Yes, I'm alive. Thank you for checking on me.  I went for a three-hour cruise on the S.S. F.U.NABLAPOMO and after several days of getting stranded on the isle of Mai Intestines Haight Me with the professor and Mary Ann, I am back.


And now that I can tentatively keep food down again, my body delivered the following message via twitter:

"I think I'd like Pepperidge Farm vanilla cake with chocolate frosting for breakfast. I don't have any but that's what my body wants."

Well, I mean, I wrote that, I don't have some internal twitterater, but it was a direct message from my body.

So I set out to find my precious Pepperidge Farm Golden 3-Layer Cake, directly.

And then, 4 hours later:

THERE IS NO CAKE!

Seriously, this town is like a black hole of things that JRose wants to eat.



And yes, I am aware that I can ask my store to order things, but that doesn't put the cake in my mouth when I want it... which is now.

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.

Sick Day

I meant to post yesterday, continuing my Harry Potter series, but here is what I did instead.  The aforementioned series will continue (and possibly conclude tomorrow, don't know... I'll figure it out as the fancy strikes me...) but I thought this was important to share today.  So without further ado, what I did yesterday instead of posting:

Whine about being hungry on the internet on the off chance that someone would feed me.

Get up, because I have to pee anyway and make a tortilla with some cheese on it, because it is the only savory food in the house that takes little preparation to make.

Sneeze x 112

Cough x 389

Get craving for spice cake. Ask the internet to get me some.

Wait for the internet to ignore me totally.

Make "should be" funny comments on people's Facebook posts

Take Thera-flu pill. Drink out of cranberry juice bottle. Realize I am sick and have just contaminated entire bottle. 

(p.s. don't drink the cranberry juice, it is contaminated)

Take shower while pill kicks in. 

Yell at shower curtain to stop touching me. Threaten to set it on fire. 

No, really, this thing is like a pervy guy on a subway.. 'oh I'm sorry, was I all rubbing on your butt... how silly of me, I didn't mean to do that. *rub rub rub*'

Collect the 17 used tissues that are on the floor and bed and throw away.

Notice I am starving . Go to eat bowl of Smores cereal. Realize I can't really smell... hope that the milk is still okay while sniffing in vain.

Take nap, a.k.a. fall into antihistamine stupor.  

Missing!

I've lost my sense of taste.  I noticed yesterday morning that "the best strawberry preserves in the world" that I had on my leftover matzo tasted, well, fairly crappy.  All day, everything tasted blah and it was making me pretty grumpy.  And then, I realized, while it is barely there, I seem to have lost my ability to taste sweet.  And now it is branching out to more flavors... I think umami might be going too.

I suppose it is also possible that it is not lost, but was actually stolen... though I have no idea what someone would want with my sense of taste, unless they lost THEIR sense of taste and were looking to replace it, knowing what good taste I have.

(On a serious note, for those who worry- I am fairly certain it is either a side effect of one of my medicines, or a new migraine symptom... if it continues, I shall talk to my doctor, scout's honor. I hope it passes quickly though, I have lots of Easter candy to consume and I would like to taste it.)

It's late, do you know where your stomach is?

It has come to my attention that many people don't actually know where their stomach is. Most people who complain of having a stomach ache are not at all talking about their stomachs, but are having intestinal pain (see It's a Gas, Gas, Gas!).  I happen to be an expert on gut pain, so here is a handy dandy graphic for you, so you can identify what part is involved in case you are having pain in your belly area. Of course I am not a doctor, but I spend enough time googling, and hearing about my guts in doctors' offices, that you can trust my anatomical knowledge:

(All of my pictures are bigafiable by clicking them, if you didn't know- and this has been edited to be less funny and more accurate, in case someone decided to refer to a humor blarg in a real emergency. Note, stomach is cartoonized for cuteness.)

I hope that helps.  

But most of all, your guts are not a laughing matter, okay maybe a little bit, but if things start getting weird in there, please see a doctor. And tweet about it, people love hearing about intestinal distress on Twitter.