Archive for May, 2007

Bionic Kitty Disapproves of this Website

May 3, 2007

My mom once told me that I write about Bionic Kitty a bit too much. Well, this rabbit based website should make her feel better.

And this cat must be related to Bionic Kitty.


Nutter politicians in Utah

May 3, 2007

Um, some Utah Republicans had a convention. They talked about many important things. Like how Satan and his minions are behind illegal immigrants. You know, important, pressing issues.

12 More Days Til My Birthday!

May 1, 2007

I love random home decor items. This vase is kind of nifty.

How To Love Me

May 1, 2007

My Baba (which means grandma in a language nobody in my family actually speaks now yet still randomly uses) sent me a card which arrived today. She’s not the type for sending a lot of mail. I think the last thing the postman delivered from her came about the time I graduated from law school. Anyway, she sent me a handkerchief which was blessed at a religious facility in a religious ceremony many years ago in a land far, far away (re: in Europe). But the funny thing is, my Grandma (the other one, who also happens to use words I don’t commonly associate with my vernacular, like great-grandchild) had sent it to her at some point. I know because the card said so and my Grandma’s original note was enclosed. Grandma sent it to bring comfort and Baba sent it in love. To be given that handkerchief, to know both my grandmothers have put a bit of their heart into it, means more than I can say. Somehow, it made the icky last few months just a tad bit better to know, when it really counts, I am loved.

High Art

May 1, 2007

It’s high fashion, so is the proper phrase high art? I dunno. My brain stop functioning last week. Regardless, I think a Gummi Bear Chandelier qualifies.

2007 Birthday Countdown!

May 1, 2007

There are 13 days until I turn 25. Again. OK, for the fourth time. I have been thinking long and hard about what I want. What else do I have to do? Plus, this is a joyous occasion which I demand be acknowledged by the entire planet.

I’ve decided to make it easy on everybody and start off my Birthday Countdown (aka Shameless Present Solicitation) by exploring Things I Don’t Want:

1. Anything related to cars, driving, Henry Ford, or any mode of transportation besides walking. I can’t drive for another four months and it is a cruel taunt to remind me that not all adults ride to work with their dads.

2. Food. Inactivity has made my butt swell to never before seen proportions. Food quickens the growth process. The exception to this would be a Graeter’s Birthday Cake in Mint Chocolate Chip or Vanilla Turtle.

3. Fuzzy socks. My previously declared love of my red fuzzy socks brought on an onslaught of various other colored fuzzy socks at Christmas. Eight pairs is enough.

4. A subscription to E-Harmony. I’ve sworn off men until they mature as a race. Sorry, Mom.

5. Anything I have to return. I can’t drive, thus I can’t return on my own, thus the fun of returning that hideous/awful/silly gift is negated by the call to Mom about getting a ride next Saturday.

6. Denim furniture. Not that I think I would get any, but just in case.

7. The new Avril Lavigne CD. She’s the mortal enemy of Britney Spears. After JT, Christina, Lindsey Lohan, Paris Hilton, her manager, K-fed, and the paparazzi. So of course I don’t want the CD. It would be betrayal of all that I adore.

8. The Nigella Lawson Salt Cellar. It’s cool, it’s funky, I want it, but where the heck am I going to keep it? Plus, I have decided that I only like people on the Food Network if a.) They have easy to pronounce names which I know how to say without sounding out b.) They are not Rachel Ray c.) They don’t go “BAM!” or talk about their kids excessively or shamelessly put their adult children on their TV show and d.) They don’t have infomercials on Bravo between the hours of 1 a.m. and 5 a.m.

9. The complete first season of any show on the WB/CW/whatever the teen channel is now. I’d like to keep the shreds of my television viewing dignity that remain.

10. Legos. Bionic Kitty will eat one. Imagine the consequences. *shudder*


May 1, 2007

About a month and a half ago, I was put on a new medication that is supposed to help with the medical problems I’m having. The doctor spent about ten minutes telling me how wonderful it was. She was speaking in one of those route, mono-tone voices that people typically tune out. When somebody speaks that way, it is the international sign for “what I am about to say is not important so please feel free to take a mental nap.” Usually, I do, but this is an unnerving experience for me, and I knew my mom would ask a million questions about my new drug, so I made an exception to the zone-out rule and for once, I half-listened. The doctor talked and talked how the drug had a great success rate and really, it was such a medical leap forward, and it was really helps, and somewhere in there she got to talking about how there was nothing to worry about as far as side effects. She then went into how it was so great she needed to reapeat all the great things, that it was such a miracle drug that all humans should hold hands and sing campfire songs praising the drug and that this wonder drug with no side effects, except for a few little ones she forgot to mention earlier, and those were actually insomnia and a fatal rash and really that wasn’t a big deal because who needs sleep and it is really a wonder drug and… Back up. Did I understand correctly? Apparently, I did. There is indeed a fatal rash and this medication can cause it. I looked it up on WebMD and the drug site on the net (and in about 2,000 other places online) and I even read the pharmacy’s info pamphlet that nobody actually reads except when the doctor describes a potential side effect and uses “fatal” as an adjective. This wonder drug can cause a FATAL RASH. And insomnia, but who cares about that when THERE IS A RASH I COULD GET THAT COULD KILL ME.

Apparently, a lot of people used to get this rash from the drug and it itched and so the rash-sufferers would call up the doctor and nobody thought anything about it. Then people died and everybody agreed that was less than desirable. At that point, doctors figured that when a patient got the rash, they should go to the hospital. Only problem was there was nothing much the medical establishment could actually do to treat this fun rash. And people actually died from it at a fairly high rate. FROM A RASH. Through trial and error, the medical profession has since discovered that if a person weans onto the drug, rashes rarely occur and thus fewer people die. Bonus. But just in case, the medical established asks that everybody please check their chest every morning and night for the first few weeks and look for any odd discolorations or report any unusual itching to the prescribing physician. Because dieing from a rash is not any body’s idea of a good way to go.

So, I got this fatal rash/insomnia causing drug and was checking my chest every half hour. Yes, I was paranoid. But who could blame me? FATAL RASH, PEOPLE!!!!! Initially, I figured that the drug people had it wrong and the insomnia wasn’t actually from the chemical reaction caused by the drug. My theory was that it was due to the sudden itching anybody who values life would suddenly develop just as they were about to dose off, thus causing them to run and check their chest every thirty seconds throughout the night in the off chance they had developed a rash in the last ten minutes. Nobody wants to die of a fatal rash because they were not vigilant and it developed in their sleep. Anyway, my insomnia theory was wrong. The drug does in fact cause real, honest-to-Baby Jesus insomnia but I only noticed it once I knew I was in the clear with the rash thing. (I had bigger side effects to keep me up at night.)

Initially, when I realized I had insomnia, I had these grand visions that I would get so much done. After all, if I was going to gain all this “lost time” that is usually reserved for what I have since learned is an important bodily function: sleep. I figured I would have so much more free time that I could organize the DVDs, clean the kitchen cabinets out, and bake lots of yummy treats. I was going to finally finish my latest screenplay and outline the next one. And oh yeah, I was going to watch all 8 seasons of Gilmore Girls (darn you, Amy, no more talking to me about stupid but addicting TV shows on the WB). But here I am, nearly a month after my rash worries have past, and all I can do is sit on the couch and occasionally wipe up the drool from my chin. Very occasionally because I’m too tired to lift my arm.

It’s only in the last few days that I’ve started to become “acclimated” to the drugs and instead of sleeping one to two hours out of every 48 hour period, I’ve made it to four hours. Maybe next week I’ll hit six… Anyway, my body is now so sleep deprived that I’ve moved beyond feeling the loss. It’s like starving people. At some point, the stomach just stops hurting and eats the liver, then kidneys, then you die. Or something. Regardless, I am now beyond the excruciating two week headache that felt like a migraine-on-steroids, beyond seeing double and even triple, beyond having trouble walking in a straight line unless I am leaning against a wall. I’m now at the point where my body has accepted it won’t get any sleep and I feel no pain. In fact, I am perpetually slap happy. Cat poop is now funny. Ripping off my pinkie toenail in a freak bathroom door/foot accident was hilarious. And when I ruined The Best Work Appropriate But Still Sexy Black Pumps Ever Made in an elevator door because I couldn’t walk due to the aforementioned nail thing combined with lack of sleep, I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants in front of two strange men who where also riding up in the elevator. This was actually not funny at all and those guys now won’t ride up in the elevator with me. Yet, I enjoyed it immensely.

This all begs the question, “What have I done with all my free time?” Um. I need to think…

Nothing. I’ve done nothing.

Well, that’s a lie. I did discover the joys of infomercials. Seriously, these have been the best television viewing hours of my life. I lay on the couch, sort of watching TV on mute, silently willing my brain to shut off. But my brain’s chemically altered and it won’t stop working. So, infomercials, thinking of words that rhyme with insomnia (pomnia, domnia, lamnia), and chest checking are now my new pass times.