Last night I was home alone. Well, not "Home Alone" home alone. I had Elise here. I had my dog Lydia and her cousin Inky here. Zero Cat Hero was here. My mom was even here until about 10 p.m. I guess the only one that wasn't here was my husband. So I was allllll alone.
It being only a few days after Halloween, I had a dvr full of spooky shows. Eugene hates ghosty shows so I have to record them for myself to watch alone. Which, in turn, forces me to sleep with the lights on, especially when I know Eugene is at a Guns and Roses concert, where Axl Rose will be a douche and not go on until 11 or 12 at night, which will mean Eugene won't get home to keep away the boogie man until at least 3am. Anyway, I started watching my recorded stuff, and when finished, I was sufficiently scared. I went to bed, turned on the boring news (hoping that I wouldn't see or hear about any masked-boogie-hook-demons.) I checked AND double-checked our video baby monitor, first to make sure that there were no violent spirits hovering over my precious baby and second to make sure the volume was turned up loud enough that I would hear her if a violent spirit started whispering to her in the middle of the night. My last conscious thoughts were "Man, if I were a Medium, I wonder how many dead people would be talking to me right now" and "Make sure you're all covered, Lauren, because it would suck to get slapped by a cold ghost on your uncovered skin." Then my very last thought was "Stop scaring yourself and think of happy things and go to sleep." So I did.
Fast forward to 7am. Elise usually sleeps through the night now, but when I woke up to the sound of her muffled cries, I was wondering how I even heard her because she sounded so far away. My fingers stumbled on the nightstand looking for my glasses so I could look at the baby monitor and confirm whether I was actually hearing her or whether the cries I was hearing were those of "sadcat" who is the sad black cat that lives next door and cries ALL the time. Her cries were so muffled I was sure that if it was her, I was only hearing her through the walls and that the monitor was broken. Glasses secured to my face, I turned to where I always keep the baby monitor and IT WAS GONE! It was unplugged (I always keep it plugged in), it was not on the hook where I hang it and the cord was just dangling! A normal person might initially think, well it must have fallen. (Not me). Is it under the bed? (It wasn't). Maybe it fell and the dog picked it up and carried it away. (Nope). Perhaps I did not, in fact, check and double check it before I went to bed and maybe left it somewhere else? (Not a chance). Although I did get out of bed and start looking for the damned thing, literally, my first thought was "Oh my god. The ghosts in my house read my mind, knew I was thinking about them and decided to prove their existence to me!!! Shit! Now I am scared again!"
After letting Elise whimper for a few minutes, I decided to forget about finding the monitor and save my baby from the unseen! The ghosts probably put it somewhere totally strange and I figured I would find it in the shower or nailed upside down over the fireplace or smashed to bits is the kitchen sink. The more I thought about it, the more freaked out I got. As I was leaving the room, and telling Eugene that it was only logical that the ghosts read my mind and decided to move the monitor, he rolled over and wouldn't you know, said "Found it."
It was in the bed.
I do not recall moving it to the bed.
Maybe the narcotic pain medication I am still taking for my surgery/lingering pain made me do something unconsciously.
Or maybe it really was the ghosts...
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
An Ode to Wal-Mart
My love picked out a birthday gift,
For me to have, my heart would it lift.
We went online
and both spent some time
and ordered what I wanted.
A camera is what was my present,
and what luck, it came with a pheasant.
Ok, I lied, no pheasant included.
But something else, for sure,
I would not be deluded.
Options, it said. You choose your bag.
Here are four choices, please don't lag.
Pick bag one or two or three or four,
you need a place for your camera to store.
So I chose bag one as it seemed nice.
I made my decision, I didn't think twice.
The camera arrived, and right on time too,
but I waited and waited,
the bag was in route.
At least that is what UPS said,
as did USPS, who'd taken the shipment instead.
Then Wal-Mart claimed the order'd been lost,
so they promised to send me a replacement, at cost.
Overnight, it would come,
to compensate for my time.
No charge for this service,
not even a dime.
Again I waited, less patient than before.
Every day I would look,
would it come to my door?
Another week went by, and no bag did arrive.
I was mad; I was sad; then went into overdrive.
Tried to talk to a human when I called Wal-Mart again,
I was transferred so often, my head started to spin.
I finally got a person and the answer I sought,
A new bag would be sent, this time,
so I thought...
But a bag did arrive, not three days later.
Almost two months had since passed,
but I was not yet a hater.
I opened the box, pulled the plastic apart,
saw my camera bag nestled, oh bestill my heart.
My camera I ran to, picked it up with great need.
I wanted it home, in its bag, and with speed
I unzippered the bag and wouldn't you know it?
The damn bag was too small.
I almost did vomit.
Wal-Mart will not remedy their error.
I warn you, fair shoppers,
shop there with terror.
I hate that damn place,
avoid it, I will.
To offer an item as a part of a bundle,
one would think it would fit,
would one not? Would one wonder?
A good deal comes at a cost, I now know.
I hate you damn Wal-Mart.
Go suck a toe.
For me to have, my heart would it lift.
We went online
and both spent some time
and ordered what I wanted.
A camera is what was my present,
and what luck, it came with a pheasant.
Ok, I lied, no pheasant included.
But something else, for sure,
I would not be deluded.
Options, it said. You choose your bag.
Here are four choices, please don't lag.
Pick bag one or two or three or four,
you need a place for your camera to store.
So I chose bag one as it seemed nice.
I made my decision, I didn't think twice.
The camera arrived, and right on time too,
but I waited and waited,
the bag was in route.
At least that is what UPS said,
as did USPS, who'd taken the shipment instead.
Then Wal-Mart claimed the order'd been lost,
so they promised to send me a replacement, at cost.
Overnight, it would come,
to compensate for my time.
No charge for this service,
not even a dime.
Again I waited, less patient than before.
Every day I would look,
would it come to my door?
Another week went by, and no bag did arrive.
I was mad; I was sad; then went into overdrive.
Tried to talk to a human when I called Wal-Mart again,
I was transferred so often, my head started to spin.
I finally got a person and the answer I sought,
A new bag would be sent, this time,
so I thought...
But a bag did arrive, not three days later.
Almost two months had since passed,
but I was not yet a hater.
I opened the box, pulled the plastic apart,
saw my camera bag nestled, oh bestill my heart.
My camera I ran to, picked it up with great need.
I wanted it home, in its bag, and with speed
I unzippered the bag and wouldn't you know it?
The damn bag was too small.
I almost did vomit.
Wal-Mart will not remedy their error.
I warn you, fair shoppers,
shop there with terror.
I hate that damn place,
avoid it, I will.
To offer an item as a part of a bundle,
one would think it would fit,
would one not? Would one wonder?
A good deal comes at a cost, I now know.
I hate you damn Wal-Mart.
Go suck a toe.
Friday, October 21, 2011
The Jersey Devil...
So here is the story of the Jersey Devil, thanks to Wikipedia.
The Jersey Devil is a legendary creature or cryptid said to inhabit the Pine Barrens of Southern New Jersey, United States. The creature is often described as a flying biped with hooves, but there are many variations.
Most accounts of the Jersey Devil legend attribute the creature to a "Mother Leeds", a supposed witch, although the tale has many variations. According to one version, she invoked the devil by saying "let it be the devil" while giving birth to her 13th child, and when the baby was born it was named Lucas, it either immediately or soon afterward transformed into a devil-like creature and flew off into the surrounding pines.
During the week of January 16 through 23, 1909, hundreds of people reported encounters with the Jersey Devil. Newspapers of the time named it "Phenomenal Week" and the public reaction has been called the Devil's "most infamous spree." Reports initially concerned unidentified footprints in the snow, but soon sightings of creatures resembling the Jersey Devil were being reported throughout South Jersey and as far away as Philadelphia and Delaware. The widespread newspaper coverage led to a panic throughout the Delaware Valleyprompting a number of schools to close and workers to stay home. Among alleged encounters publicized that week were an attack on a trolley-car full of passengers in Haddon Heights and an attack on a social club in Camden.Police in Camden and Bristol, Pennsylvania supposedly fired on the creature to no effect.
And what does the Jersey Devil look like?
Since I've been laid up after my surgery, I've been indulging in some of my guilty pleasures. Namely Jerseylicious, The Real Housewives of New Jersey and The Jersey Shore. All of those crazy ladies got me to thinking about baked ziti the Jersey Devil. I think Snookie might be the Jersey Devil. So, in honor of Halloween and because I've already had a baked Italian dish this week, I wanted to pay tribute to New Jersey in my own way.
I present to you:
THE JERSEY DEVIL MEATLOAF.
Mmmm. Evil meatloaf.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY
WARNING. THIS BLOG CONTAINS IMAGES THAT MIGHT BE OFFENSIVE TO SOME READERS. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. SERIOUSLY, YOU MIGHT THROW UP. POOP. NO, YOU WON'T THROW UP POOP. JUST THROW UP THROW UP.
I am serious. If you have a weak disposition, or are sensitive to eewy things, do not read on. What you will see will give you nightmares. Or maybe just some weird dreams.
And with those strenuous warnings, without further ado, scroll down to see my herniated disc.
It is big. The spinal column, I've been told, is only about 1" in diameter. My hernia was bigger. Now it is bigger sitting on some table somewhere. The doctor wouldn't let me take Hernia Harold home. I planned to give him a home in a jar with googly eyes glued on. Maybe some hair too. Like a teratoma. Although I couldn't bring him home, I sure am glad Hernia Harold has found a new place to live. All I can say is that he'd better not come back. Bitch ass.
I am serious. If you have a weak disposition, or are sensitive to eewy things, do not read on. What you will see will give you nightmares. Or maybe just some weird dreams.
And with those strenuous warnings, without further ado, scroll down to see my herniated disc.
 |
| Harold the Hernia |
It is big. The spinal column, I've been told, is only about 1" in diameter. My hernia was bigger. Now it is bigger sitting on some table somewhere. The doctor wouldn't let me take Hernia Harold home. I planned to give him a home in a jar with googly eyes glued on. Maybe some hair too. Like a teratoma. Although I couldn't bring him home, I sure am glad Hernia Harold has found a new place to live. All I can say is that he'd better not come back. Bitch ass.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Under the K-nife.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
One of those days...
It has been one of those days.
Today was my very first experience with a prescribed narcotic to prevent pain (well, second experience...my first was about 7 years ago when I got some drugs to take after the removal of my wisdom teeth). This time, the meds are for pain before surgery. I have to have surgery next week for a herniated disc and between now and then, I can't take the Advil that I've been reliant on for the last months. Something about the Advil being a blood thinner and how that's not good before you get cut by a knife. In any event, I've been taking hydrocodone for about 6 hours. And it feels fuzzy. I feel fuzzy. I hate taking drugs period and I thought I could handle the pain without any meds. I'm tough. I birthed a baby without drugs. What's a little herniated disc? IT IS WORSE than childbirth. By far. So I have found my limit. It is the herniated disc. And I need drugs.
The pain and subsequent drugs made the day "one of those days". But wait, there's more...
Before I went to work today I put on some black leggings. I wanted to wear my black leggings so I put them on. Nothing strange there, right? Well I wore the leggings on Sunday and I'd done some laundry since then, so when I pulled the leggings out of the closet, I just assumed they were the ones I'd worn and washed. So I get to work and I'm thinking, "Gee, these leggings seem pretty stretched out." The were all bunchy around my knees and butt. But after acknowledging the unusual stretchiness, I put it out of my mind. Until I went to pee. When I pulled down my leggings to use the toilet (don't think about that too much), I realized why the leggings were feeling odd. Turns out they were not my leggings but some black long underwear I'd bought for a ski trip two years ago. So yea. I was wearing long underwear instead of pants. And I'm a lawyer. In an office. Where I see people. Some of whom are clients. And that was before things got fuzzy from the drugs.
It's just been one of those days.
Today was my very first experience with a prescribed narcotic to prevent pain (well, second experience...my first was about 7 years ago when I got some drugs to take after the removal of my wisdom teeth). This time, the meds are for pain before surgery. I have to have surgery next week for a herniated disc and between now and then, I can't take the Advil that I've been reliant on for the last months. Something about the Advil being a blood thinner and how that's not good before you get cut by a knife. In any event, I've been taking hydrocodone for about 6 hours. And it feels fuzzy. I feel fuzzy. I hate taking drugs period and I thought I could handle the pain without any meds. I'm tough. I birthed a baby without drugs. What's a little herniated disc? IT IS WORSE than childbirth. By far. So I have found my limit. It is the herniated disc. And I need drugs.
The pain and subsequent drugs made the day "one of those days". But wait, there's more...
Before I went to work today I put on some black leggings. I wanted to wear my black leggings so I put them on. Nothing strange there, right? Well I wore the leggings on Sunday and I'd done some laundry since then, so when I pulled the leggings out of the closet, I just assumed they were the ones I'd worn and washed. So I get to work and I'm thinking, "Gee, these leggings seem pretty stretched out." The were all bunchy around my knees and butt. But after acknowledging the unusual stretchiness, I put it out of my mind. Until I went to pee. When I pulled down my leggings to use the toilet (don't think about that too much), I realized why the leggings were feeling odd. Turns out they were not my leggings but some black long underwear I'd bought for a ski trip two years ago. So yea. I was wearing long underwear instead of pants. And I'm a lawyer. In an office. Where I see people. Some of whom are clients. And that was before things got fuzzy from the drugs.
It's just been one of those days.
Monday, October 3, 2011
My biggest fears.
Some people have labeled me paranoid. Irrational. Bat-shit crazy. Since having a baby, my fears seem to have quadrupled or quadbillioned. Growing up, my biggest fear was being stabbed in the foot with a fork. Oh how things have changed.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am still scared of being stabbed in the foot with any implement, be it a fork or a knife or even being attacked with a cheese grater. Until very recently, as in last year recently, I could not face a pedicure.I have since overcome my fear of pedicures, but I still have some odd fears.
I have some perfectly rational fears, like being in a plane crash, or being buried alive or losing my child. I cannot bring myself to really go into the things I think about in regards to my child because anything I write would be too horrific to have to think about so I am going to just not write it. But I am more aware of my mortality and the mortality of those I love. And it scares the shit out of me.
I am afraid of nuclear holocost and having to eat people. I am in the process of storing food and making a "go bag." What foods am I storing, you ask? Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix and rotini. Why these foods? Because I don't think things through and just buy things that are cheap and easy to make. But Lauren, what if you don't have eggs or clean water after said nuclear holocost? What then? I don't know. But I will have muffin mix.
Now, the fear that inspired this blog post. Last week I was in Macy's with my sister. If you know us, you know that we are very, very tall. When we go out together, or when I go anywhere with my husband, or any member of his family or any member of my family, it is like the tall freakshow comes to town. We are all over 6', with the exception of my mother who is only 5'9 or so. We don't notice it when we are together in private but when we go out, invariably there are hushed wispers about the height of our group. When I go out alone, someone somewhere will comment about how tall I am. Sometimes it is a comment or a question to my face, like "Oh my goodness, you are so tall. Do you play basketball/volleyball?" or "Are you a model" or "Where on earth do you find pants?" While it is sometimes flattering, I go through times where I am terribly self-conscious about it. A lot of times, I hear someone whisper right behind me "Oh my gosh...did you see that girl? She is so tall!" I could have it waaaaay worse but each person has their own struggles. This is one of mine.
Anyway, back to Macy's. My sister an I were walking through the store and I just kept seeing tall women everywhere. EVERYWHERE. And believe me. I notice tall people. The store was just full of women even taller than me. Since I was with my tall sister, we were attracting attention but I just could not believe how many other tall women were out. So as we approached the jewelry counter, I saw these two tall women looking at the goods. They were both in heels and both were taller than me and my sister. I was about to ask my sister if I looked as freakishly tall as the two women I was staring at (I feel compelled to ask whomever I am with if I am as tall as whatever tall person I see) when they both turned around to talk to the clerk. The two women were two MEN. In drag. They still had facial hair. They weren't even trying. I have no problems or issues about guys who dress in drag, or transvestites or transgendered anyone.
But I certainly am terrified of being confused as one.
That is one of my biggest fears. So now you know.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am still scared of being stabbed in the foot with any implement, be it a fork or a knife or even being attacked with a cheese grater. Until very recently, as in last year recently, I could not face a pedicure.I have since overcome my fear of pedicures, but I still have some odd fears.
I have some perfectly rational fears, like being in a plane crash, or being buried alive or losing my child. I cannot bring myself to really go into the things I think about in regards to my child because anything I write would be too horrific to have to think about so I am going to just not write it. But I am more aware of my mortality and the mortality of those I love. And it scares the shit out of me.
I am afraid of nuclear holocost and having to eat people. I am in the process of storing food and making a "go bag." What foods am I storing, you ask? Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix and rotini. Why these foods? Because I don't think things through and just buy things that are cheap and easy to make. But Lauren, what if you don't have eggs or clean water after said nuclear holocost? What then? I don't know. But I will have muffin mix.
Now, the fear that inspired this blog post. Last week I was in Macy's with my sister. If you know us, you know that we are very, very tall. When we go out together, or when I go anywhere with my husband, or any member of his family or any member of my family, it is like the tall freakshow comes to town. We are all over 6', with the exception of my mother who is only 5'9 or so. We don't notice it when we are together in private but when we go out, invariably there are hushed wispers about the height of our group. When I go out alone, someone somewhere will comment about how tall I am. Sometimes it is a comment or a question to my face, like "Oh my goodness, you are so tall. Do you play basketball/volleyball?" or "Are you a model" or "Where on earth do you find pants?" While it is sometimes flattering, I go through times where I am terribly self-conscious about it. A lot of times, I hear someone whisper right behind me "Oh my gosh...did you see that girl? She is so tall!" I could have it waaaaay worse but each person has their own struggles. This is one of mine.
Anyway, back to Macy's. My sister an I were walking through the store and I just kept seeing tall women everywhere. EVERYWHERE. And believe me. I notice tall people. The store was just full of women even taller than me. Since I was with my tall sister, we were attracting attention but I just could not believe how many other tall women were out. So as we approached the jewelry counter, I saw these two tall women looking at the goods. They were both in heels and both were taller than me and my sister. I was about to ask my sister if I looked as freakishly tall as the two women I was staring at (I feel compelled to ask whomever I am with if I am as tall as whatever tall person I see) when they both turned around to talk to the clerk. The two women were two MEN. In drag. They still had facial hair. They weren't even trying. I have no problems or issues about guys who dress in drag, or transvestites or transgendered anyone.
But I certainly am terrified of being confused as one.
That is one of my biggest fears. So now you know.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
They come in peach.
What comes in peach?
Sure, there are things you eat and drink. Pie. Cobbler. Tarts. Kool-Aid and FlavorAid. Jolly Ranchers. Tea.
How about things you play with? Yup. Crayons. Paint. A picture of a peach.
Cosmetics? You bet. Lip Smackers. A nice blast from the past, eh ladies? Blush. Lipstick.
I expect to hear about peach-flavored things. I enjoy coloring with the peach crayon. I am not suprised when my lip gloss shines in a pleasant peach. Peaches are good. I could eat a peach for hours.
But the other day, I was watching tv and a commercial aired. I thought, for sure, that it had to be a Saturday Night Live sketch. Seriously. But it was not.
Guess what you can get in pretty, passionate peach? You might want to sit down for this exciting announcement.
Depends.
No. Not as in "it depends." Just Depends. Now in peach, for when you can't hold your bladder but still want to look good. I guess there was a demand for something other than "dress whites."
Get your free sample here. You're welcome.
Sure, there are things you eat and drink. Pie. Cobbler. Tarts. Kool-Aid and FlavorAid. Jolly Ranchers. Tea.
How about things you play with? Yup. Crayons. Paint. A picture of a peach.
Cosmetics? You bet. Lip Smackers. A nice blast from the past, eh ladies? Blush. Lipstick.
I expect to hear about peach-flavored things. I enjoy coloring with the peach crayon. I am not suprised when my lip gloss shines in a pleasant peach. Peaches are good. I could eat a peach for hours.
But the other day, I was watching tv and a commercial aired. I thought, for sure, that it had to be a Saturday Night Live sketch. Seriously. But it was not.
Guess what you can get in pretty, passionate peach? You might want to sit down for this exciting announcement.
Depends.
No. Not as in "it depends." Just Depends. Now in peach, for when you can't hold your bladder but still want to look good. I guess there was a demand for something other than "dress whites."
Get your free sample here. You're welcome.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
May refuse drink because of contrariness.
So, based on some of my previous posts, one might gleam that I am more inclined to use natural remedies. I mean, I had a drug-free waterbirth with the aid of a midwife, I went to a "witchdoctor" when I was suffering from my second bout of thrush, I use a chiropractor (which I have yet to blog about), I drink all sorts of teas when I am sick, I chug honey when I've got a sore throat or a cold, I use vinegar to relieve sunburn, I wash my hair with baking soda (sometimes), etc. So yea. I tend towards the "alternative" when it comes to medicine and health. Needless to say, then, when it comes to my husband and child, I also prefer to use the least amount of intervention possible. Now, that is not to say that a nice dose of baby-Advil doesn't come in handy, or a trip to the pediatrician is never warranted. I just prefer to try the old-fashioned home remedies before rushing out to get a 'scrip.
Before Elise was born, I went to a local market here called Sevananda. Sevananda has a nice medicinals section, so I went looking for diaper creme, soaps, baby products, etc. I came across what seemed to be a great buy: "Hyland's Kids' Kit" which is a selection of what is apparently the most useful homeopathic remedies for most common childhood ailments. The kit contains 30x potencies of the following remedies: Aconite, Arnica, Belladonna, Chamomilla, Ferrum Phos, Hepar Sulph and a tube of something called "Bumps and Bruises." Now, I've used the Chamomilla and the Bumps and Bruises ointment with great success. I know how good Chammomile tea is when you're sick, so it basically works the same for Elise when she's running a low temp or when she is teething. In any event, this blog isn't so much about the healing powers of natural remedies as it is about the things I found HILARIOUS in the pamphlet that came along with the kit. Each remedy comes with a dose guide and a description of the ailments for which one can use the remedy. For your enjoyment, I present the following:
Aconite:
-fear of death/ says he/she is going to die. (I wonder if this works if the kid misbehaved and you have threatened death).
-croupy cough which frightens (everyone). (No, it seriously says "(everyone)".)
-frantic with pain.
Arnica:
-fears being touched, approached. (Maybe I should give this to my sister-in-law's chihuahua. That dog is afraid of everyone).
-Complains bed is too hard. (Goldilocks needs this. That biotch is always complaining about something.)
-Wants to go home/says there is nothing wrong. (What if the kid is at home...?)
Belladonna:
-thrashes about in bed. (This is not a sex thing...I don't think).
-sunstroke with throbbing pulse.
-throbbing pains made worse from jarring, as when someone bumps the bed. (that seems awfully specific.)
Chamomilla:
-likes violent motion. (Six Flags needs to hand this stuff out).
-everything is too much to be endured. (I think you might need something stronger if this describes your issue).
-thirsty but may refuse drink because of contrariness. (Ok, this is what caused me to write this blog entry. I mean, who uses the word "contrariness". I told Eugene that he was being contrary, like Mary Mary in that kids' rhyme, and he had no idea what I was talking about. Mind you, I didn't explain why I was singing around like Mother Goose, but still, he didn't know what it meant if he was refusing something "due to contrariness." I don't really know what this means. It sounds like most women I know.)
Ferrum Phosphoricum:
-Symptoms tend to be better from 4am to 6am. (Again with the specificity.)
Hepar Sulph:
-Chilly and sweaty with unpleasant odor due to sweat. (What sweat smells pleasant??)
-snuffles frequently. (What is a snuffle?)
-Cough worse from uncovering any body part. (just think about this).
-juicy sounding croupy cough. (Mmmmm, juicy).
-Sneezing with nose running clear that later ripens into thick, yellowish discharge. (What is it with the appetite-inducing descriptions?)
and finally...Peevishness. (wtf?)
So there you have it. Should you be able to figure out what the above means, like when your child is being peevish, well, feel free to tell me when I should administer the remedies to my child.
-
Before Elise was born, I went to a local market here called Sevananda. Sevananda has a nice medicinals section, so I went looking for diaper creme, soaps, baby products, etc. I came across what seemed to be a great buy: "Hyland's Kids' Kit" which is a selection of what is apparently the most useful homeopathic remedies for most common childhood ailments. The kit contains 30x potencies of the following remedies: Aconite, Arnica, Belladonna, Chamomilla, Ferrum Phos, Hepar Sulph and a tube of something called "Bumps and Bruises." Now, I've used the Chamomilla and the Bumps and Bruises ointment with great success. I know how good Chammomile tea is when you're sick, so it basically works the same for Elise when she's running a low temp or when she is teething. In any event, this blog isn't so much about the healing powers of natural remedies as it is about the things I found HILARIOUS in the pamphlet that came along with the kit. Each remedy comes with a dose guide and a description of the ailments for which one can use the remedy. For your enjoyment, I present the following:
Aconite:
-fear of death/ says he/she is going to die. (I wonder if this works if the kid misbehaved and you have threatened death).
-croupy cough which frightens (everyone). (No, it seriously says "(everyone)".)
-frantic with pain.
Arnica:
-fears being touched, approached. (Maybe I should give this to my sister-in-law's chihuahua. That dog is afraid of everyone).
-Complains bed is too hard. (Goldilocks needs this. That biotch is always complaining about something.)
-Wants to go home/says there is nothing wrong. (What if the kid is at home...?)
Belladonna:
-thrashes about in bed. (This is not a sex thing...I don't think).
-sunstroke with throbbing pulse.
-throbbing pains made worse from jarring, as when someone bumps the bed. (that seems awfully specific.)
Chamomilla:
-likes violent motion. (Six Flags needs to hand this stuff out).
-everything is too much to be endured. (I think you might need something stronger if this describes your issue).
-thirsty but may refuse drink because of contrariness. (Ok, this is what caused me to write this blog entry. I mean, who uses the word "contrariness". I told Eugene that he was being contrary, like Mary Mary in that kids' rhyme, and he had no idea what I was talking about. Mind you, I didn't explain why I was singing around like Mother Goose, but still, he didn't know what it meant if he was refusing something "due to contrariness." I don't really know what this means. It sounds like most women I know.)
Ferrum Phosphoricum:
-Symptoms tend to be better from 4am to 6am. (Again with the specificity.)
Hepar Sulph:
-Chilly and sweaty with unpleasant odor due to sweat. (What sweat smells pleasant??)
-snuffles frequently. (What is a snuffle?)
-Cough worse from uncovering any body part. (just think about this).
-juicy sounding croupy cough. (Mmmmm, juicy).
-Sneezing with nose running clear that later ripens into thick, yellowish discharge. (What is it with the appetite-inducing descriptions?)
and finally...Peevishness. (wtf?)
So there you have it. Should you be able to figure out what the above means, like when your child is being peevish, well, feel free to tell me when I should administer the remedies to my child.
-
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Pretending to be Justin Bieber.
Don't lie. You know you want to.
As some of you know, a post or two ago I tried to entice people with a giveaway. You winners already know who you are so I am not afraid of spoiling the prize. The little prizes I found were too good not to share with some close friends, so I took it upon myself to share them. What are these little gifts? If you were not a lucky recipient, then I will share with you. I bought a pack of JUSTIN BIEBER collectable stickers. Yes, you read that right. The Bieb. When I saw these stickers I laughed out loud, probably as much at the hilarity of the poses that the Bieb undertook as the fact that I knew that when I was a tween, I would have immediately purchased every pack of stickers if they were for Elijah Wood or Jonathan Brandis or Brad Renfro. Or Billy Corgan. I know. I can't explain the Billy Corgan obsession that I still have today. I've accepted it. As has my husband, to some extent. At least he loves the Smashing Pumpkins more than me, so he says.
Anyway, I decided to make use of these stickers in the best way I could imagine. For the first, I stuck a sticker of the nubile and swooning Biebs to a plain piece of printer paper, addressed it to my husband at his office and in his lawyerly capacity, and I signed it "Love Justin Bieber." Then I mailed it. I waited anxiously to hear from him, as I knew I would. I was not disappointed. The very day after I mailed the letter he called me and said, "So, did you mail me a letter from Justin Bieber?" I was going to pretend it wasn't me but I couldn't contain my laughter and my joke was exposed. My next thought was to share the Bieber love with some of my friends. At work, of course. The two letters you see here are the letters I wrote. Enjoy. The names have been deleted to protect the innocent.
So there you go. That is what I do with my spare time. Needless to say, I waited anxiously to hear from myvictims friends, but days passed with nothing. NOTHING. I didn't know what happened? Did they not get the letters? Did a secretary think they were not funny and trash them? Did my friends know it was me and were they making me sweat?
The answer, I believe, is the latter. Somehow, I was figured out but they wanted to keep me in the dark. You see, the one letter has a footnote and the other letter does not. The sans footnote victim ALWAYS footnotes his Christmas card so I intentionally footnoted the other letter so its recipient would assume it was the other. My plan worked and initially, I was not blamed. But then, according to the footnote fiend, my stamp gave me away. Darn the postmaster. But still my friends did not approach me about it, or even make mention of receipt of their letters. What was wrong??
Turns out, I was to be a victim myself. I received a letter and will post it in my next installment.
I know it's been a while since I posted last. I've been busy getting ready for my daughter's first birthday (where did the year go??!!??), preparing to host a baby shower for a good friend and just generally sweating in the Georgia summer heat. To spice things up, though, sometimes I decide to do silly things. I do these thinngs mostly because they make me laugh and I hope they will bring smiles to my intended victims. Let me explain what I've done recently.
As some of you know, a post or two ago I tried to entice people with a giveaway. You winners already know who you are so I am not afraid of spoiling the prize. The little prizes I found were too good not to share with some close friends, so I took it upon myself to share them. What are these little gifts? If you were not a lucky recipient, then I will share with you. I bought a pack of JUSTIN BIEBER collectable stickers. Yes, you read that right. The Bieb. When I saw these stickers I laughed out loud, probably as much at the hilarity of the poses that the Bieb undertook as the fact that I knew that when I was a tween, I would have immediately purchased every pack of stickers if they were for Elijah Wood or Jonathan Brandis or Brad Renfro. Or Billy Corgan. I know. I can't explain the Billy Corgan obsession that I still have today. I've accepted it. As has my husband, to some extent. At least he loves the Smashing Pumpkins more than me, so he says.
Anyway, I decided to make use of these stickers in the best way I could imagine. For the first, I stuck a sticker of the nubile and swooning Biebs to a plain piece of printer paper, addressed it to my husband at his office and in his lawyerly capacity, and I signed it "Love Justin Bieber." Then I mailed it. I waited anxiously to hear from him, as I knew I would. I was not disappointed. The very day after I mailed the letter he called me and said, "So, did you mail me a letter from Justin Bieber?" I was going to pretend it wasn't me but I couldn't contain my laughter and my joke was exposed. My next thought was to share the Bieber love with some of my friends. At work, of course. The two letters you see here are the letters I wrote. Enjoy. The names have been deleted to protect the innocent.
So there you go. That is what I do with my spare time. Needless to say, I waited anxiously to hear from my
The answer, I believe, is the latter. Somehow, I was figured out but they wanted to keep me in the dark. You see, the one letter has a footnote and the other letter does not. The sans footnote victim ALWAYS footnotes his Christmas card so I intentionally footnoted the other letter so its recipient would assume it was the other. My plan worked and initially, I was not blamed. But then, according to the footnote fiend, my stamp gave me away. Darn the postmaster. But still my friends did not approach me about it, or even make mention of receipt of their letters. What was wrong??
Turns out, I was to be a victim myself. I received a letter and will post it in my next installment.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Dorito the Prince Pony.
This is a post about the weird things I used to pretend. I know all kids are full of pretending but I wonder if most were as weird or morbid as me. Please let me know where you and I compare on the weirdness scale.
I used to pretend I was a horse. Now wait. Not just "a horse." There were at least three variations. First, in third grade, I was "Dorito the prince pony." I was the fastest girl in my class so I was automatically the one the other kids got to chase. Being that all the other kids were my female friends, they wanted to chase a boy but since no boys wanted to play girl games, I got to be the "boy" that they would chase. So I became "Dorito." Why? One of the girls really liked Doritos. So I pretended to be "Dorito" and I was a prince in disguise as a lonely little pony. I was lonely because people didn't like me and didn't know I was a prince. So they chased me. When I got older, like fourth grade, I still wanted to pretend to be a horse so instead of maintaining my "Dorito" moniker, I switched to akwardly galloping everywhere and slapping my hands on my thighs making a gallop noise. Come to think of it, I did this before I became Dorito. I did it after I left Dorito behind. God I was akward. AND THEN, after I stopped pretending to be Dorito and after I stopped galloping around like an idiot, I would pretend that this winged horse would run alongside any car I happened to be riding in. This winged horse would jump over the debris in the shoulder of the road and would occasionally fly over low-hanging tree branches. My pretending only gets worse.
I used to pretend I was a werewolf. Seriously. I am Italian therefore I have nice thick, dark and bushy eyebrows. I was a blond when I was little...I mean really toeheaded. Do you remember that episode of Full House when Joey got called toeheaded and he thought it was an insult saying he looked like a toe? Or how about that Family Guy where Peter says Sarah Jessica Parker looks like a foot? Well she does but it is not related to my story at all. Just related to foot-looking commentary. And I digress.
So anyway, being a blond and having really dark bushy eyebrows that grew together in the middle made for a really beautiful 10 year old. I didn't mention that my eyebrows grew together? Well they did and they do (or rather they would if I didn't get them threaded EVERY three weeks and pluck them EVERY day in between. No joke). So anyway, for some reason, I was trying to come up with an excuse for my eyebrows and I thought "werewolf" made sense. So I pretended at recess that I could attack people and make them werewolves and I would tell kids to be careful becuase they wouldn't know when the werewolf would take over my body and attack.
Similarly, I pretended I was a vampire. This was way before all the Twilight craziness. But just about the time Bradd Pitt and Tom Cruise made vampires look delicious. So I wanted to be a vampire. Is that so horrible? I think I even bit some people. But only when I was provoked, of course.
I also used to pretend to be a dead German girl. I know. I said it got worse. When I was little, I took German lessons for several years. This meant that I had a rudimentary grasp of the German language when I was in elementary school which was more than any of my classmates. I also had a Dirndl, which is a traditional German dress. Well, I would put my Dirndl on and tell people (mostly this girl I didn't like) that I had died in World War II and returned as a ghost. Then I would sing a song in German and maybe throw the German alphabet in for good measure and threaten to linger and do gastly and ghostly things.
I think that is enough about me and my weirdness. For now.
I used to pretend I was a horse. Now wait. Not just "a horse." There were at least three variations. First, in third grade, I was "Dorito the prince pony." I was the fastest girl in my class so I was automatically the one the other kids got to chase. Being that all the other kids were my female friends, they wanted to chase a boy but since no boys wanted to play girl games, I got to be the "boy" that they would chase. So I became "Dorito." Why? One of the girls really liked Doritos. So I pretended to be "Dorito" and I was a prince in disguise as a lonely little pony. I was lonely because people didn't like me and didn't know I was a prince. So they chased me. When I got older, like fourth grade, I still wanted to pretend to be a horse so instead of maintaining my "Dorito" moniker, I switched to akwardly galloping everywhere and slapping my hands on my thighs making a gallop noise. Come to think of it, I did this before I became Dorito. I did it after I left Dorito behind. God I was akward. AND THEN, after I stopped pretending to be Dorito and after I stopped galloping around like an idiot, I would pretend that this winged horse would run alongside any car I happened to be riding in. This winged horse would jump over the debris in the shoulder of the road and would occasionally fly over low-hanging tree branches. My pretending only gets worse.
I used to pretend I was a werewolf. Seriously. I am Italian therefore I have nice thick, dark and bushy eyebrows. I was a blond when I was little...I mean really toeheaded. Do you remember that episode of Full House when Joey got called toeheaded and he thought it was an insult saying he looked like a toe? Or how about that Family Guy where Peter says Sarah Jessica Parker looks like a foot? Well she does but it is not related to my story at all. Just related to foot-looking commentary. And I digress.
So anyway, being a blond and having really dark bushy eyebrows that grew together in the middle made for a really beautiful 10 year old. I didn't mention that my eyebrows grew together? Well they did and they do (or rather they would if I didn't get them threaded EVERY three weeks and pluck them EVERY day in between. No joke). So anyway, for some reason, I was trying to come up with an excuse for my eyebrows and I thought "werewolf" made sense. So I pretended at recess that I could attack people and make them werewolves and I would tell kids to be careful becuase they wouldn't know when the werewolf would take over my body and attack.
Similarly, I pretended I was a vampire. This was way before all the Twilight craziness. But just about the time Bradd Pitt and Tom Cruise made vampires look delicious. So I wanted to be a vampire. Is that so horrible? I think I even bit some people. But only when I was provoked, of course.
I also used to pretend to be a dead German girl. I know. I said it got worse. When I was little, I took German lessons for several years. This meant that I had a rudimentary grasp of the German language when I was in elementary school which was more than any of my classmates. I also had a Dirndl, which is a traditional German dress. Well, I would put my Dirndl on and tell people (mostly this girl I didn't like) that I had died in World War II and returned as a ghost. Then I would sing a song in German and maybe throw the German alphabet in for good measure and threaten to linger and do gastly and ghostly things.
I think that is enough about me and my weirdness. For now.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
A giveaway??!!
Am I so popular that I can afford to do a giveaway? Do I have sponsers that wish to bestow some goodies on a few loyal followers? Am I just awesome? The answer to at least one of those questions is a resounding YES! I can't tell you which one, of course. But it is the last one.
So I do have something(s) I found recently and knew, just KNEW, that people would like to see arrive in their mailboxes. I cannot tell you what these things are, only that they made me smile when I saw them and really wanted to pass the goodness on. So without further ado, I would like to explain how I will choose which lucky people will get what I'm giving.
I have three things I want to give away. That means three people have to comment on this post! That's it! That is the key to open the door to your potential giveaway success! You can post a song lyric, a joke, a Chinese proverb...I don't care! Simply post something (preferably witty) and I will pick the three best posts (best is highly subjective so be prepared to feel slighted, annoyed, cheated and miserable if you lose my gem of a prize!)
Why the giveaway now? Well, I've had a lot of views but I only have 7 followers (thanks friends!) and I know more of you are reading my blog. It's ok. You can admit it. One day you will thank me for writing my diddies. I want to know who you all are. I mean, I think I know who most of you are. But for the random friends of friends, this means you too. Please. Make me feel special.
The more people that comment, obviously, the less of a chance you have of being one of the chosen three. But that is ok. If I get a lot of posts, I might even go out and buy more of the things I am talking about and mail them away too! They are just too AWESOME not to share.
So I do have something(s) I found recently and knew, just KNEW, that people would like to see arrive in their mailboxes. I cannot tell you what these things are, only that they made me smile when I saw them and really wanted to pass the goodness on. So without further ado, I would like to explain how I will choose which lucky people will get what I'm giving.
I have three things I want to give away. That means three people have to comment on this post! That's it! That is the key to open the door to your potential giveaway success! You can post a song lyric, a joke, a Chinese proverb...I don't care! Simply post something (preferably witty) and I will pick the three best posts (best is highly subjective so be prepared to feel slighted, annoyed, cheated and miserable if you lose my gem of a prize!)
Why the giveaway now? Well, I've had a lot of views but I only have 7 followers (thanks friends!) and I know more of you are reading my blog. It's ok. You can admit it. One day you will thank me for writing my diddies. I want to know who you all are. I mean, I think I know who most of you are. But for the random friends of friends, this means you too. Please. Make me feel special.
The more people that comment, obviously, the less of a chance you have of being one of the chosen three. But that is ok. If I get a lot of posts, I might even go out and buy more of the things I am talking about and mail them away too! They are just too AWESOME not to share.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
My brother has a tv show.
Yes. My brother and his buddies wrote, produced and acted in a show that got picked up by Dish Network. I am very proud of him. The show is called Cabbagetown and is on the SkyCity channel at Dish. It is a comedy sketch show and it will probably offend a lot of people, but I think it is pretty darn funny. If it helps anyone get over their offendedness (which is a word I think I just made up), the network that picked up the show is called SimplyMe and it is a minority programming network. So, without further ado, here is the link to my brother's television debut. If you are easily offended, don't watch it. Consider yourself warned. http://www.dishonline.com/shows/357214-sky_city_tv/videos/889857-cabbagetown.
Ok, not his "debut" as an actor, anyway. He has been in a made-for-tv movie or two as a paid extra. As have my mom and sister. My mom was in a scene in "Life as We know It". She was in a scene that was supposed to be Texas or something but it was actually shot while my mom was walking down a street in Atlanta and they digitally added a Texas background. You can just see her curly hair glowing in the sun. You have to look close or you miss her! My sister was in "Lottery Ticket" and something else...but I can't remember it right now. She has also been modeling with Elite/Factor models and has done spots for Intimacy, Macy's and was on tv and in the AJC recently. I have a very talented family!!
Update: Apparently my sister is also featured on a recent mailer for Intimacy! If you get notices from them, look for my sister!!
Ok, not his "debut" as an actor, anyway. He has been in a made-for-tv movie or two as a paid extra. As have my mom and sister. My mom was in a scene in "Life as We know It". She was in a scene that was supposed to be Texas or something but it was actually shot while my mom was walking down a street in Atlanta and they digitally added a Texas background. You can just see her curly hair glowing in the sun. You have to look close or you miss her! My sister was in "Lottery Ticket" and something else...but I can't remember it right now. She has also been modeling with Elite/Factor models and has done spots for Intimacy, Macy's and was on tv and in the AJC recently. I have a very talented family!!
Update: Apparently my sister is also featured on a recent mailer for Intimacy! If you get notices from them, look for my sister!!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
That didn't end like I thought it would.
So let me relay this little diddie from the point of view of the person who told it to me; said person to remain nameless for purposes of anonymity. Which is, I guess, the reason most people choose to remain nameless. In any event, this story was too good to not tell everyone on the internet. I shall now proceed with the story:
"So when I was about 6 or 7, riding the school bus home on day, I had a jolly rancher."
Now, I know you're thinking this is a story about a sick school bus driver. I know it. It DOES sound like that is where this story is going. But you are wrong. Read on, dear reader.
"And I was so happy that I had this jolly rancher. I was just sitting there admiring it, twirling the wrapper between my fingers, listening to the plastic ends of the wrapper crunch between my fingers and watching the late-afternoon sunlight pour through the colorful square candy like a sun-catcher."
Ok, so the story teller did not go into such great detail describing the jolly rancher, but you can totally get the picture now, right?
"Then this girl in the seat in front of me turned around, her eyes menacing and her tone unquestionably accusatory, 'You stole my jolly rancher. Give it back.' Then this beast of a girl swooped down like some kind of prehistoric Pterodactyl, her talons snatching my prized candy from betwixt my fingers."
I've never used the word "betwixt." Just go with it.
"From that day on, I hated that girl."
Now to present day.
"So the other day I get this email about checking the sex offender registry before buying a home. So I says to me-self, 'Self, this might be fun. Let's see what kind of sex-offenders live near the home I purchased before I checked the sex-offender registry and what kind of dangers might lurk near my home.'"
Smart. Note to readers. Check the sex offender registry BEFORE you buy a home.
"I was suprised to see that there were some sex offenders living in my vicinity, but then I thought what could be more fun that seeing what sex offenders live near me and my family? Checking to see whether anyone in my hometown was a sex offender!! That would be more fun!"
"So I typed in my hometown zip code and realized that not only is my hometown full of sex offenders, but who do you think made the list? The jolly rancher stealing beast of a girl. Is it bad that that made me happy?"
This story made me happy. What goes around obviously comes around.
"So when I was about 6 or 7, riding the school bus home on day, I had a jolly rancher."
Now, I know you're thinking this is a story about a sick school bus driver. I know it. It DOES sound like that is where this story is going. But you are wrong. Read on, dear reader.
"And I was so happy that I had this jolly rancher. I was just sitting there admiring it, twirling the wrapper between my fingers, listening to the plastic ends of the wrapper crunch between my fingers and watching the late-afternoon sunlight pour through the colorful square candy like a sun-catcher."
Ok, so the story teller did not go into such great detail describing the jolly rancher, but you can totally get the picture now, right?
"Then this girl in the seat in front of me turned around, her eyes menacing and her tone unquestionably accusatory, 'You stole my jolly rancher. Give it back.' Then this beast of a girl swooped down like some kind of prehistoric Pterodactyl, her talons snatching my prized candy from betwixt my fingers."
I've never used the word "betwixt." Just go with it.
"From that day on, I hated that girl."
Now to present day.
"So the other day I get this email about checking the sex offender registry before buying a home. So I says to me-self, 'Self, this might be fun. Let's see what kind of sex-offenders live near the home I purchased before I checked the sex-offender registry and what kind of dangers might lurk near my home.'"
Smart. Note to readers. Check the sex offender registry BEFORE you buy a home.
"I was suprised to see that there were some sex offenders living in my vicinity, but then I thought what could be more fun that seeing what sex offenders live near me and my family? Checking to see whether anyone in my hometown was a sex offender!! That would be more fun!"
"So I typed in my hometown zip code and realized that not only is my hometown full of sex offenders, but who do you think made the list? The jolly rancher stealing beast of a girl. Is it bad that that made me happy?"
This story made me happy. What goes around obviously comes around.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Scrabiolies.
Do you ever just make words up? Maybe call something by another name just because it sounds better/funnier/more disgusting? I seem to do it all the time. I also come up with nicknames for people because it makes me smile. For instance:
1. Ravioli-I call Scrabioli. Why? Because it sounds kind of gross and it always makes me smile.
2. Squish-Squidgey.
3. Baby-bubbie.
4. Mosquito-Moss-Squee-Toe.
5. I am sure there are more but right now my brain doesn't remember.
10-12-11: Now I remember more:
6. Shrimp-Skrimps.
7. Macaroni-Smackaroni.
Some of the names I call my favorite people?
Eugene-My husband is lucky enough to have several nicknames, but the one I use the most is G-Doody. His middle name is Dudley, if that helps this make sense.
Michael-This is my brother and probably the first person I ever nicknamed. More than likely, I just couldn't say his name right, but I called him Mikemel. I don't do this anymore. At least not often.
Stephanie-This is my sister but since I can remember, I've called her Neffertiti. Similar sound but somehow I like it more.
Scott-My friend from college. I call him Scooty Pants.
Philip-So this is a wierd one. I call him Felip Navidad.
On that same note, when we decided to name Elise, I was so afraid that I would call her "Felise Navidad." I was actually afraid of the nickname I might subconsciously give my own child. Talk about wierd.
There are lots more, I'm sure. I do it all the time. I have nicknames for old college friends (My friend Emily, I called Chutney because her last name sounded like this delicious spread; my friend Kimberly I called Fraulein (and then Frau after she got married) because we were both in German class together) and I'm even calling my friend's unborn baby girl Breedra because my friend is Tedra and her name was a combination of the names of her parents. Tedra's husband is Brett, so Breedra is a combination of the two ( I also suggested Terrett, but this didn't stick). My other friends have also started calling the baby Breedra, so this makes it even funnier. At least to me. I make these names out of love and it is usually only my favorite people that get such names.
On that same note, everyone does this-you think a song says one thing, but it actually says another? I am probably the worst person to remember lyrics. Hell, I even forget the words to my favorite songs. ALL THE TIME. But, making up words? These are the two I really remember.
1. "Look out any window" by Bruce Hornsby. I thought it said "Look out Eddie Winslow." This was when Family Matters was really popular.
2. "Trouble in the sewers" is what I thought Billy Joel said in "We didn't start the fire" when he actually says "Trouble in the Suez." Again, tv probably influenced me because Ninja Turtles were fighting all sorts of trouble in the sewers.
1. Ravioli-I call Scrabioli. Why? Because it sounds kind of gross and it always makes me smile.
2. Squish-Squidgey.
3. Baby-bubbie.
4. Mosquito-Moss-Squee-Toe.
5. I am sure there are more but right now my brain doesn't remember.
10-12-11: Now I remember more:
6. Shrimp-Skrimps.
7. Macaroni-Smackaroni.
Some of the names I call my favorite people?
Eugene-My husband is lucky enough to have several nicknames, but the one I use the most is G-Doody. His middle name is Dudley, if that helps this make sense.
Michael-This is my brother and probably the first person I ever nicknamed. More than likely, I just couldn't say his name right, but I called him Mikemel. I don't do this anymore. At least not often.
Stephanie-This is my sister but since I can remember, I've called her Neffertiti. Similar sound but somehow I like it more.
Scott-My friend from college. I call him Scooty Pants.
Philip-So this is a wierd one. I call him Felip Navidad.
On that same note, when we decided to name Elise, I was so afraid that I would call her "Felise Navidad." I was actually afraid of the nickname I might subconsciously give my own child. Talk about wierd.
There are lots more, I'm sure. I do it all the time. I have nicknames for old college friends (My friend Emily, I called Chutney because her last name sounded like this delicious spread; my friend Kimberly I called Fraulein (and then Frau after she got married) because we were both in German class together) and I'm even calling my friend's unborn baby girl Breedra because my friend is Tedra and her name was a combination of the names of her parents. Tedra's husband is Brett, so Breedra is a combination of the two ( I also suggested Terrett, but this didn't stick). My other friends have also started calling the baby Breedra, so this makes it even funnier. At least to me. I make these names out of love and it is usually only my favorite people that get such names.
On that same note, everyone does this-you think a song says one thing, but it actually says another? I am probably the worst person to remember lyrics. Hell, I even forget the words to my favorite songs. ALL THE TIME. But, making up words? These are the two I really remember.
1. "Look out any window" by Bruce Hornsby. I thought it said "Look out Eddie Winslow." This was when Family Matters was really popular.
2. "Trouble in the sewers" is what I thought Billy Joel said in "We didn't start the fire" when he actually says "Trouble in the Suez." Again, tv probably influenced me because Ninja Turtles were fighting all sorts of trouble in the sewers.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Vampires of summer.
Or Moss-Squee-Toes, as I like to call them. I hate them. I really hate them. The thought of little vampirey-crawley-flying thingies just disgusts me. Not as much as the thought of crunchy-crispy-speedy-antlered/antaenned-leggedy thingies does, but close. In general, I hate all bugs. The list of bugs that I do not hate is rather short and includes (and IS limited to):
1. Lady bugs: caveat- lady bugs DO smell bad. I'm serious. Maybe "bad" isn't exactly right. They don't smell like a skunk. They smell kind of like soil and tomato plant and ozone. If you can't smell lady bugs then you don't have a good nose. Or you never connected the inevitable smell with the lady bug. I can pretty much tell if a lady bug is in the room just by the way it smells. Next time you see a lady bug, or one crawls on you, smell your hand when it flies off to lady bug smelly land. Your hand will smell, I guarantee it.
2. Praying Mantis: these just look cool and it doesn't hurt that the lady mantis kills her man after knockin' boots.
3. Butterflies: no explanation needed, although I don't like that caterpillars have so many legs. That is gross.
4. Lightning bugs: Also smell. Just ask the internet.
5. Worms: I like worms a lot. I will move them after a rainstorm if it looks like they are going to dry out on concrete. They signal good dirt and happy vegetables. Nothing to crunch, no gross legs to look at...hell, not even gross beady little eyes. Yes, I like worms probably the best of all bugs.
I think that is it. There are some bugs that don't "bother" me, like flies (unless they're bothering me), ants (unless they're fire), moths (unless they're eating my stuff) and maybe crickets. Maybe.
The rest I could do without. Spiders (blech), roaches (see above, defined as crunchy-crispy-speedy-antlered/antaenned-leggedy thingies), silverfish, horned tomato worms, milipedes, centipedes, any-pedes, fleas, ticks, flicks if there are such things, and the list goes on.
Since I really hate moss-squee-toes, we just started having our pest control company spray the yard for them. We seem to have billions every year and I thought the chickens would help control the population. I was wrong, of course, and it seems that chicken shit and warm-blooded chicken bodies only attracts more vampires. Since we do have the chickens we can't put any chemicals in the back yard, so we can only do the hard-core spray out front. Until recently, we were left with some inept tiki torches, citronella candles and Off! to help ward off bites. We bought and planted some citronella plants, hoping that it would help, but the chickens just ate them. I know. Ironic (at least if we use Alanis' definition of "Ironic")-damn chickens won't eat the moss-squee-toes but will eat the plants meant to ward them off.
So, in our newest war against moss-squee-toes, we bought a fan for the deck (they can't fly in heavy winds), some stronger tiki fuel and you'll never guess what the natural repellent is...GARLIC! For reals. Garlic actually keeps the blood suckers at bay. I bought some garlic spray that you put in the whole yard. I sprayed it two days ago. Now everything smells like a bad Italian restaurant (including my dog who hangs out in the yard) but I think its working!
1. Lady bugs: caveat- lady bugs DO smell bad. I'm serious. Maybe "bad" isn't exactly right. They don't smell like a skunk. They smell kind of like soil and tomato plant and ozone. If you can't smell lady bugs then you don't have a good nose. Or you never connected the inevitable smell with the lady bug. I can pretty much tell if a lady bug is in the room just by the way it smells. Next time you see a lady bug, or one crawls on you, smell your hand when it flies off to lady bug smelly land. Your hand will smell, I guarantee it.
2. Praying Mantis: these just look cool and it doesn't hurt that the lady mantis kills her man after knockin' boots.
3. Butterflies: no explanation needed, although I don't like that caterpillars have so many legs. That is gross.
4. Lightning bugs: Also smell. Just ask the internet.
5. Worms: I like worms a lot. I will move them after a rainstorm if it looks like they are going to dry out on concrete. They signal good dirt and happy vegetables. Nothing to crunch, no gross legs to look at...hell, not even gross beady little eyes. Yes, I like worms probably the best of all bugs.
I think that is it. There are some bugs that don't "bother" me, like flies (unless they're bothering me), ants (unless they're fire), moths (unless they're eating my stuff) and maybe crickets. Maybe.
The rest I could do without. Spiders (blech), roaches (see above, defined as crunchy-crispy-speedy-antlered/antaenned-leggedy thingies), silverfish, horned tomato worms, milipedes, centipedes, any-pedes, fleas, ticks, flicks if there are such things, and the list goes on.
Since I really hate moss-squee-toes, we just started having our pest control company spray the yard for them. We seem to have billions every year and I thought the chickens would help control the population. I was wrong, of course, and it seems that chicken shit and warm-blooded chicken bodies only attracts more vampires. Since we do have the chickens we can't put any chemicals in the back yard, so we can only do the hard-core spray out front. Until recently, we were left with some inept tiki torches, citronella candles and Off! to help ward off bites. We bought and planted some citronella plants, hoping that it would help, but the chickens just ate them. I know. Ironic (at least if we use Alanis' definition of "Ironic")-damn chickens won't eat the moss-squee-toes but will eat the plants meant to ward them off.
So, in our newest war against moss-squee-toes, we bought a fan for the deck (they can't fly in heavy winds), some stronger tiki fuel and you'll never guess what the natural repellent is...GARLIC! For reals. Garlic actually keeps the blood suckers at bay. I bought some garlic spray that you put in the whole yard. I sprayed it two days ago. Now everything smells like a bad Italian restaurant (including my dog who hangs out in the yard) but I think its working!
Sunday, May 15, 2011
I know a murderer.
I know, I know. I can't believe it either. I had no idea he was capable of such violence. I have been totally ignorant of his tendencies. How could I not know? His behavior until today has been nothing short of exemplary. I am devestated and I am afraid he might do it again.
I think it’s beyond the imagination of most people to think that someone they’ve lived with for years is killing, and more than once. To know that it is not being done spontaneously but planned out. It’s too extraordinary to be real for most people. It’s fiction and it might as well be in a novel.
Take the following examples of other women who have known killers, but not "known" that they know killers:
John Wayne Gacy’s wife would take weekend trips to visit family and return home to a terrible stench emanating from the basement. Gacy, who invited young men and boys to the suburban Chicago house, then killed and buried them in the basement, would say the sewer had backed up again and then go down to spread more lime on the bodies.
Judith Mawson was married to Gary Ridgway, a truck painter also known as the Green River Killer. Ridgway killed at least 48 women in Washington state, four of them while he was married to Mawson. His wife had no idea. “He made me feel like a newlywed every day,” Mawson said in an interview with ABC News in April 2007. “He’d come home from work with a big smile.” Of her husband’s two lives, she said: “I loved the man I knew, and I hate the man that took him away.”
Until today, we never had a reason to be afraid. Now I don't know if I can sleep in this house. The murder occurred so close to home. Eugene actually found the body. I didn't know what to do so I tried to cover the body...act like it never happened. I just can't live with the shame of this secret.
RIP little chipmunk. I promise I had no idea. Hide your kids. Hide your wife. Hide your husband too.
My cat, my Zero the "Cat Hero", is a killer and he knows how to open the door.
<sigh>.
I think it’s beyond the imagination of most people to think that someone they’ve lived with for years is killing, and more than once. To know that it is not being done spontaneously but planned out. It’s too extraordinary to be real for most people. It’s fiction and it might as well be in a novel.
Take the following examples of other women who have known killers, but not "known" that they know killers:
John Wayne Gacy’s wife would take weekend trips to visit family and return home to a terrible stench emanating from the basement. Gacy, who invited young men and boys to the suburban Chicago house, then killed and buried them in the basement, would say the sewer had backed up again and then go down to spread more lime on the bodies.
Judith Mawson was married to Gary Ridgway, a truck painter also known as the Green River Killer. Ridgway killed at least 48 women in Washington state, four of them while he was married to Mawson. His wife had no idea. “He made me feel like a newlywed every day,” Mawson said in an interview with ABC News in April 2007. “He’d come home from work with a big smile.” Of her husband’s two lives, she said: “I loved the man I knew, and I hate the man that took him away.”
Until today, we never had a reason to be afraid. Now I don't know if I can sleep in this house. The murder occurred so close to home. Eugene actually found the body. I didn't know what to do so I tried to cover the body...act like it never happened. I just can't live with the shame of this secret.
RIP little chipmunk. I promise I had no idea. Hide your kids. Hide your wife. Hide your husband too.
My cat, my Zero the "Cat Hero", is a killer and he knows how to open the door.
<sigh>.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
That had to hurt.
One of these things is not like the others...well, it is like the others but also not like the others. It will be as delicious as the others. And it is an egg. Sort of. It is actually a double-yolk egg and I actually eyeballed my girls to see if any of them were bleeding. That's how big this dang egg is. For comparison, I give you the following:
 |
| Two eggs. One two. |
 |
| Next to a blow pop. Strictly for comparison. My chickens don't lay lollipops. Yet. |
 |
| This is my favorite. |
 |
| It's like me among all of you. The air is generally clearer up here. |
 |
| Now it dies. A delicious scrambled death. |
 |
| It is about to be dead. |
 |
| Egg twins. Delicious. |
 |
| Do Ray Me Fa |
Monday, May 2, 2011
in lieu of a belt.
Have you ever had one of those days? You know, the days where you forget to wear socks with your shoes. Or the day you put your underwear on, inside-out. How about one of those days when you think you've already washed your hair so you get out of the shower but then realize that you didn't, in fact, wash your hair. I have a lot of those days it seems. Since having my baby, my memory feels even more forgetful. I think that might be one of those impossible scenarios...a forgetful memory. Anyway, despite having days where I unintentionally forget things, or accidentally drive the wrong way (even though I know where I am going), a few weeks ago I had a day where I did something on purpose even though I should try to claim it was just a memory lapse.
Luckily, I have lost all of my pregnancy weight. However, shortly after giving birth, I realized that I could no longer fit into my maternity clothes but all my pre-baby clothes still were a bit snug. That, combined with a slight bout of self-consciousness, is a recipe for an expensive shopping trip. I somehow managed to purchase only a few new clothing items, knowing (and hoping and praying and wishing) that my body would soon shrink back to its normal giantness. One of the things I bought was a pair of teal slim fit pants. Despite the fact that my description includes both the word "teal" and the word "slim", they were/are nice pants. I like them a lot. For a while, they even fit. But then as more weight came off, they started to get a bit loose around the caboose. So, because I liked the pants and wanted to wear the pants, I decided I would still wear the pants. This type of pant, however, is best worn with a long tunic shirt. If one wears a belt with said long tunic shirt, one looks fat. So, on the particular day that I chose to wear the too-big pants, I opted to not wear a belt. This was a bad decision on my part.
I got to work and as the hours passed, my pants became looser and looser. Finally, I could not even stand up without having to hold my pants up. As entertaining as I am sure my inadvertant strip-tease would have been for my coworkers, I needed to find a solution. I tried to find a safety pin, but we didn't have any. I tried to use one of those alligator clips to hold my trousers. No luck. I thought about stapling the pants up somehow, but then I remembered my third grade halloween costume (I was a bald eagle...yes, a bald eagle. I actually wanted to be a bald eagle), my mom stapled bird feet out of construction paper to my shoes and by the end of the day, the staples were scratching the tops of my feet. So I knew, from experience, that staples would be a bad idea. Finally I decided to use packing tape to secure my pants to my body. I did not, as you might imagine, actually tape the pants to my skin. Instead, I used the tape like a belt and made a tight tape loop around my waist. The "tape belt" as I will call it for ease of understanding, was great because it kept my pants up, with only minimal crackling noise, and eliminated the bulge that is caused by a belt buckle. My tape belt was a great success. Until I had to pee. Then it sucked.
Luckily, I have lost all of my pregnancy weight. However, shortly after giving birth, I realized that I could no longer fit into my maternity clothes but all my pre-baby clothes still were a bit snug. That, combined with a slight bout of self-consciousness, is a recipe for an expensive shopping trip. I somehow managed to purchase only a few new clothing items, knowing (and hoping and praying and wishing) that my body would soon shrink back to its normal giantness. One of the things I bought was a pair of teal slim fit pants. Despite the fact that my description includes both the word "teal" and the word "slim", they were/are nice pants. I like them a lot. For a while, they even fit. But then as more weight came off, they started to get a bit loose around the caboose. So, because I liked the pants and wanted to wear the pants, I decided I would still wear the pants. This type of pant, however, is best worn with a long tunic shirt. If one wears a belt with said long tunic shirt, one looks fat. So, on the particular day that I chose to wear the too-big pants, I opted to not wear a belt. This was a bad decision on my part.
I got to work and as the hours passed, my pants became looser and looser. Finally, I could not even stand up without having to hold my pants up. As entertaining as I am sure my inadvertant strip-tease would have been for my coworkers, I needed to find a solution. I tried to find a safety pin, but we didn't have any. I tried to use one of those alligator clips to hold my trousers. No luck. I thought about stapling the pants up somehow, but then I remembered my third grade halloween costume (I was a bald eagle...yes, a bald eagle. I actually wanted to be a bald eagle), my mom stapled bird feet out of construction paper to my shoes and by the end of the day, the staples were scratching the tops of my feet. So I knew, from experience, that staples would be a bad idea. Finally I decided to use packing tape to secure my pants to my body. I did not, as you might imagine, actually tape the pants to my skin. Instead, I used the tape like a belt and made a tight tape loop around my waist. The "tape belt" as I will call it for ease of understanding, was great because it kept my pants up, with only minimal crackling noise, and eliminated the bulge that is caused by a belt buckle. My tape belt was a great success. Until I had to pee. Then it sucked.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Zero Cat Hero.
My cat is named Zero and he is, essentially, a cat hero. At least that is what I decided to give him as an email address. He can be reached at zerocathero@yahoo.com. Why does my cat have an email address? Does he like to type? Is he unusually expressive when it comes to communicating with friends? Will I continue to ask rhetorical questions? The answer to these questions is no.
Zero is, in fact, a therapy cat. Remember that episode of friends where Phoebe wrote a song called "smelly cat"? I just remembered that. Zero is not a smelly cat.
Back to the point of this blog. Zero is a registered therapy cat with Happy Tails. He and I went through some extensive training to determine whether he would be suitable to travel to various locations and make people happy. Zero has always made me happy. I got Zero in 2003 when I was still in college. When I adopted him, he came with the name "Butters" and I changed it to Sebastian. Eugene kept calling him "Sea bass" so I decided to change his name to Zero, in honor of my favorite band The Smashing Pumpkins and one of my favorite movies, The Nightmare Before Christmas.
From the beginning, Zero was a very friendly and outgoing cat. He loves people. He has always gotten along famously with dogs, rats (yes rats), people and ghosts. He is an awesome cat. So I decided to see if he would be good as a therapy cat. Needless to say, Zero passed the test (which included being pet by lots of people, staying on a leash, sitting in laps, being around wheelchairs and loud noises and being comfortable around LOTS of dogs at once) and now we visit Peachford Behavioral Health Center once a month and then we also do "special visits" to places like the Salvation Army and nursing homes. We really enjoy our visits with people. It is really nice to get to share my Zero with people who maybe have had to leave pets behind. Also, Zero is now a tax write-off. An unintended but much appreciated consequence of our volunteerism.
Zero with my rat Madeline. Madeline is deceased now but Zero still won't attack rats. How do I know? Don't ask. It is gross. But he won't chase rats at all.
Zero is, in fact, a therapy cat. Remember that episode of friends where Phoebe wrote a song called "smelly cat"? I just remembered that. Zero is not a smelly cat.
Back to the point of this blog. Zero is a registered therapy cat with Happy Tails. He and I went through some extensive training to determine whether he would be suitable to travel to various locations and make people happy. Zero has always made me happy. I got Zero in 2003 when I was still in college. When I adopted him, he came with the name "Butters" and I changed it to Sebastian. Eugene kept calling him "Sea bass" so I decided to change his name to Zero, in honor of my favorite band The Smashing Pumpkins and one of my favorite movies, The Nightmare Before Christmas.
From the beginning, Zero was a very friendly and outgoing cat. He loves people. He has always gotten along famously with dogs, rats (yes rats), people and ghosts. He is an awesome cat. So I decided to see if he would be good as a therapy cat. Needless to say, Zero passed the test (which included being pet by lots of people, staying on a leash, sitting in laps, being around wheelchairs and loud noises and being comfortable around LOTS of dogs at once) and now we visit Peachford Behavioral Health Center once a month and then we also do "special visits" to places like the Salvation Army and nursing homes. We really enjoy our visits with people. It is really nice to get to share my Zero with people who maybe have had to leave pets behind. Also, Zero is now a tax write-off. An unintended but much appreciated consequence of our volunteerism.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
My cousin could kick your ass.
We just returned from a trip to Philadelphia where we spent a long weekend visiting my extended family. And what a trip my family is. In particular, I would like to tell you about my cousin Sammy. Some of you have already heard stories of my cousin Sammy. Some of you have met my cousin Sammy. This blog is not about those stories. All you need to know about Sammy is that she could kick your ass. She could kick your ass all the way to Denver. I believe Denver is far enough away to demonstrate just the kind of ass-kicking she could deliver. Apologies to any readers in Denver.
Sammy, if you somehow read this post, know that I love you and can't wait to see this show live!
Back to ass-kicking cousins: This blog will be short, in that I want you to spend a few moments watching the video I'm including. For any of you (or "yous" as we say in Philly) that have heard of/met Sammy, you will have no doubt believing that she is just insane enough to "embrace the fall" as she so eloquently explained her art. She is insanely tough and insanely talented, but mostly she might just be plain ol' insane. She is the one in the pink shorts with the yellow top.
Sammy, if you somehow read this post, know that I love you and can't wait to see this show live!
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Flying with my meat cleaver.
We are going to Philadelphia at the end of this week to visit family. We are taking the baby on her first airplane ride. And, after much debate, we are bringing our meat cleaver.
According to the TSA, I can fly with my meat cleaver, so long as I check my meat cleaver. Thank god, because I don't know what I would do if I had to leave my meat cleaver at home.
I was reviewing the policies for flying with infants, because until recently, I didn't have an infant to concern myself with. I actually laughed out loud (so probably a good place to use an "lol" but I think the phrase is really exhausted. I mean how many times can you actually write "lol" when you know you didn't actually "lol" before people begin to think, "Man, that wasn't that funny. Did she really laugh out loud or is she just writing that because she maybe thought it was a little funny and wanted to convey that little bit of humor to us but we don't think it is even slightly funny so now we are kind of mad that she claimed to have 'lol'd' when clearly she is lying. Plus she is stupid." So, I laughed. I chuckled. I giggled. Whatever. It was funny.
Among the other things that I can now bring on baby's first flight (so long as they are checked):
1. My saber. They don't differentiate between light and metal, so I'm a little confused. I will bring all my sabers.
2. My spear gun. There is some good whale hunting in the Philadelphia-metro area.
3. My realistic replica of a gun. I have so many to choose from.
4. My cattle prod. Otherwise sex would be really boring.
5. Martial arts weapons. Whatever the heck this is. I thought karate kids killed people with fists and foreheads and chops.
6. And the kicker? I can't even check my vehicle airbag. Damn.
Remind me to write about the time I brought furry handcuffs on a cruise.
According to the TSA, I can fly with my meat cleaver, so long as I check my meat cleaver. Thank god, because I don't know what I would do if I had to leave my meat cleaver at home.
I was reviewing the policies for flying with infants, because until recently, I didn't have an infant to concern myself with. I actually laughed out loud (so probably a good place to use an "lol" but I think the phrase is really exhausted. I mean how many times can you actually write "lol" when you know you didn't actually "lol" before people begin to think, "Man, that wasn't that funny. Did she really laugh out loud or is she just writing that because she maybe thought it was a little funny and wanted to convey that little bit of humor to us but we don't think it is even slightly funny so now we are kind of mad that she claimed to have 'lol'd' when clearly she is lying. Plus she is stupid." So, I laughed. I chuckled. I giggled. Whatever. It was funny.
Among the other things that I can now bring on baby's first flight (so long as they are checked):
1. My saber. They don't differentiate between light and metal, so I'm a little confused. I will bring all my sabers.
2. My spear gun. There is some good whale hunting in the Philadelphia-metro area.
3. My realistic replica of a gun. I have so many to choose from.
4. My cattle prod. Otherwise sex would be really boring.
5. Martial arts weapons. Whatever the heck this is. I thought karate kids killed people with fists and foreheads and chops.
6. And the kicker? I can't even check my vehicle airbag. Damn.
Remind me to write about the time I brought furry handcuffs on a cruise.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Beauty and the Yeast.
As part of my child-rearing decisions, I decided to breastfeed. The benefits abound, I knew that it was something I wanted to do for my baby. What I did not know, however, was how hard it would be to actually commit to breastfeeding. Spoiler alert: Elise is now 8 months old and I am still successfully breastfeeding.
Right before I gave birth, I had the standard Strep B test. I tested positive. Lucky us. So that meant that while I was labor I would need to have Penicillin every 4 hours. I was in labor for 28 hours and I wound up having four horrible doses of the pen (it took 2 hours to administer each time because I had a very bad reaction to the normal speed drip so they had to slow it waaaaaay down). Needless to say, it was bad. Big time bad. What I didn't know is that this copious amount of antibiotic that poured into my body would make me incredibly susceptible to yeast infections. This is where the blog will get gross. Not big time gross, but gross enough to warn any readers. So that is my warning.
Now breastfeeding is hard. For us, the physics of it worked out well and we had no trouble with latching or sucking or any of that stuff. What was hard (which by "hard" I mean "not hard") were my nipples. They were not ready for nursing, to say the least. I had cracking and some bleeding, despite the fact that Elise was a confirmed "good latcher." I tell you all this because the cracking of the nipples often leads to the dreaded yeast-beast. When a body gets drunk from a penicillin cocktail, and you add an almost constantly wet environment, you can get one heck of a yeast hangover. And that is what happened to me. About two weeks after Elise was born I realized there was something wrong. I'd endured the painful feedings and assumed that the pain was normal new-breastfeeding pain. But when I had intense pain and burning and redness between nursings, well, I knew something else had to be going on. I went to my midwife and she confirmed that I had thrush. Elise did not have thrush. Thrush is just a yeast infection in the milk ducts. And it milk duct suckt.
So the first time I had thrush, I took diflucan. I drank chlorophyll. I took a probiotic. I used genetian violet (if you want purple nipples, I suggest you try some genetian violet. It stains everything purple, including baby's mouth). I used vinegar to clean the "girls" between nursings. I tried a lot. Even with all my remedies working together, it still took nearly 5 weeks for the thrush to clear up.
Fast forward six months. I started feeling the unpleasant but all-too-familiar itchy/burny suckiness. I called the midwife and she gave me some more diflucan but then recommended I see a witchdoctor. Ok. She didn't actually say "witchdoctor." That's what Eugene calls her. She is just a naturopath. She doesn't do magic or other witch things. She did wear all black, but that is probably irrelevant.
I went to see said witchdoctor and she took some blood. Upon examination, she told me that my yeast levels were incredibly high, especially considering that I'd been taking diflucan for a week already. On a 1-5 scale, with 5 being the most yeast, I got a 6. I also found out I have a B-12 deficiency and a leaky gut.
I feel a lot better in the two days since I've been taking my new and natural regimen. I am now taking diflucan (one tablet a day), B-12 (2 a day), "yeast fighter" drops (30 a day), chlorophyll (36 drops in water a day), nux vomica drops (20 drops in water a day) and I have to limit my carbs. None of it tastes that bad, although the chlorophyll stains everything it touches green ... which I guess is better than purple nurples.
Right before I gave birth, I had the standard Strep B test. I tested positive. Lucky us. So that meant that while I was labor I would need to have Penicillin every 4 hours. I was in labor for 28 hours and I wound up having four horrible doses of the pen (it took 2 hours to administer each time because I had a very bad reaction to the normal speed drip so they had to slow it waaaaaay down). Needless to say, it was bad. Big time bad. What I didn't know is that this copious amount of antibiotic that poured into my body would make me incredibly susceptible to yeast infections. This is where the blog will get gross. Not big time gross, but gross enough to warn any readers. So that is my warning.
Now breastfeeding is hard. For us, the physics of it worked out well and we had no trouble with latching or sucking or any of that stuff. What was hard (which by "hard" I mean "not hard") were my nipples. They were not ready for nursing, to say the least. I had cracking and some bleeding, despite the fact that Elise was a confirmed "good latcher." I tell you all this because the cracking of the nipples often leads to the dreaded yeast-beast. When a body gets drunk from a penicillin cocktail, and you add an almost constantly wet environment, you can get one heck of a yeast hangover. And that is what happened to me. About two weeks after Elise was born I realized there was something wrong. I'd endured the painful feedings and assumed that the pain was normal new-breastfeeding pain. But when I had intense pain and burning and redness between nursings, well, I knew something else had to be going on. I went to my midwife and she confirmed that I had thrush. Elise did not have thrush. Thrush is just a yeast infection in the milk ducts. And it milk duct suckt.
So the first time I had thrush, I took diflucan. I drank chlorophyll. I took a probiotic. I used genetian violet (if you want purple nipples, I suggest you try some genetian violet. It stains everything purple, including baby's mouth). I used vinegar to clean the "girls" between nursings. I tried a lot. Even with all my remedies working together, it still took nearly 5 weeks for the thrush to clear up.
Fast forward six months. I started feeling the unpleasant but all-too-familiar itchy/burny suckiness. I called the midwife and she gave me some more diflucan but then recommended I see a witchdoctor. Ok. She didn't actually say "witchdoctor." That's what Eugene calls her. She is just a naturopath. She doesn't do magic or other witch things. She did wear all black, but that is probably irrelevant.
I went to see said witchdoctor and she took some blood. Upon examination, she told me that my yeast levels were incredibly high, especially considering that I'd been taking diflucan for a week already. On a 1-5 scale, with 5 being the most yeast, I got a 6. I also found out I have a B-12 deficiency and a leaky gut.
I feel a lot better in the two days since I've been taking my new and natural regimen. I am now taking diflucan (one tablet a day), B-12 (2 a day), "yeast fighter" drops (30 a day), chlorophyll (36 drops in water a day), nux vomica drops (20 drops in water a day) and I have to limit my carbs. None of it tastes that bad, although the chlorophyll stains everything it touches green ... which I guess is better than purple nurples.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Egg on my face.
As you know by now, I am a self-proclaimed chicken farmer. With four laying hens, we are awash with eggs in the spring. Now, our ladies are entering the spring of their second year. Hens never lay as much in their later years as they do in their first year and in their first year, our hens laid an average of five eggs a day. Some of the girls lay more than one egg a day, depending on her mood, I guess. Last spring, which was our first spring of eggs, I believe there was one time when we had something like 100 eggs in our fridge. In case you want to do the math, that is like 8 cartons of eggs (assuming we were using the dozen-egg cartons). That's a lot of eggs. More eggs then we could eat. So we gave eggs away. We gave eggs to our neighbors, coworkers, friends. I gave eggs to the pest control guy (although he was desperate to give pecans away, so I can't say I gave him eggs without receiving something in return). I was desperate to give eggs away.
On a sidenote, our eggs are rather expensive to lay. The hens themselves didn't cost very much (probably $50 for all five, including shipping) and the coop and run were built using supplies we mostly had in our house (and it was built by my wonderful Eugene). What is expensive is the food. We decided to feed our girls only organic layer food. It costs about $35 for 50 pounds. This may not sound like much, but regular old chicken food is about $7 for 50 pounds. Now, we have had to feed the girls the non-organic food on occasion. The store where I get the organic food, Farmer D Organics, has limited hours so when we run out of food and are not prepared with a fresh bag, the store is often closed. In a pinch, I've purchased chicken feed from Ace hardware. Once, when we were going out of town, I had to buy birdseed and squirrel food from Kroger. Chickens will eat almost anything, and since the squirrels always eat the chicken food, I figured we would be ok. In any event, I've keptall most of the chickens alive and the occasional non-organic food hasn't caused anyone to suffer. On the whole, though, the organic food makes for some delicious eggs and I believe it is completely worth the price. As the saying goes, garbage in, garbage out. What our girls eat goes directly into their eggs, which go directly into our bellies, so I want to make sure they eat right. The eggs are creamier, deliciouser (I know it's not a word but you see where I'm going) and more orangy than any store-bought egg.
After that sidenote, I now get to the point of this blog. With so many eggs, I've decided that maybe I can do something with the eggs that doesn't involve eating them! I found so many great homemade beauty products made from eggs! You can make a simple face mask with eggs! I tried it! I lookedAWESOME stupid, but it worked! The hairstyle I chose before taking the picture is not necessary or part of the mask. You can actually "do" your hair if you are so inclined.
Eggs Mask!
Mix together 1 raw egg and 1 tablespoon of honey. Spread on your face and use tissue paper to cover. Let sit for 15-20 minutes and finally rinse off with tepid water.
There are other beauty products with eggs that I've yet to try...maybe tonight will be the night, as I've got like 40 eggs to use right now. There are only so many quiche's a girl can eat.
Egg Mask (for oily skin)
Mix together 1 egg white and 1 tablespoon of oatmeal. Spread on face and neck, let sit for 15-20 minutes and rinse well with tepid water. This mask is especially good for removing blackheads.
Egg Mask (for normal skin)
On a sidenote, our eggs are rather expensive to lay. The hens themselves didn't cost very much (probably $50 for all five, including shipping) and the coop and run were built using supplies we mostly had in our house (and it was built by my wonderful Eugene). What is expensive is the food. We decided to feed our girls only organic layer food. It costs about $35 for 50 pounds. This may not sound like much, but regular old chicken food is about $7 for 50 pounds. Now, we have had to feed the girls the non-organic food on occasion. The store where I get the organic food, Farmer D Organics, has limited hours so when we run out of food and are not prepared with a fresh bag, the store is often closed. In a pinch, I've purchased chicken feed from Ace hardware. Once, when we were going out of town, I had to buy birdseed and squirrel food from Kroger. Chickens will eat almost anything, and since the squirrels always eat the chicken food, I figured we would be ok. In any event, I've kept
After that sidenote, I now get to the point of this blog. With so many eggs, I've decided that maybe I can do something with the eggs that doesn't involve eating them! I found so many great homemade beauty products made from eggs! You can make a simple face mask with eggs! I tried it! I looked
Mix together 1 raw egg and 1 tablespoon of honey. Spread on your face and use tissue paper to cover. Let sit for 15-20 minutes and finally rinse off with tepid water.
There are other beauty products with eggs that I've yet to try...maybe tonight will be the night, as I've got like 40 eggs to use right now. There are only so many quiche's a girl can eat.
Egg Mask (for oily skin)
Mix together 1 egg white and 1 tablespoon of oatmeal. Spread on face and neck, let sit for 15-20 minutes and rinse well with tepid water. This mask is especially good for removing blackheads.
Egg Mask (for normal skin)
Mix together 1 egg and 1 teaspoon of fresh sour cream. Sour cream is rich in lactic acid and helps soften and remove surface impurities and dead skin cells, leaving your skin soft and smooth. Spread on face and neck, let sit for 15-20 minutes and rinse well with tepid water.
Instructions for Doing an Egg Hair Treatment
Follow these simple instructions to use your every own egg treatment at home:
If anyone braves the smell of raw eggs (it's not that bad, I promise!!), let me know how if your bravery pays off??!!
Instructions for Doing an Egg Hair Treatment
Follow these simple instructions to use your every own egg treatment at home:
- Wash your hair properly like you normally would do. Shampoo your hair so that it will remove any excess oil and will prepare the hair for the egg.
- Take a bowl, and crack an egg in it. If you have long hair, use two eggs. Use a fork to scramble the eggs.
- Now, apply the beaten egg mixture to your hair. Make sure you apply it all through the length of your hair. Once you are done applying the egg mixture to your hair, leave it on for about an hour.
- The most important step is to wash the egg off your hair. It is necessary that you wash your hair with cold water. If you rinse your hair with warm water, you will not be able to get rid of the egg from your hair.
- Shampoo your hair and wrap your hair with a towel for about a minute, so that the excess water is absorbed.
- Leave your hair to dry naturally.
- For beautiful, thick hair repeat the egg hair treatment at least once in every 15 days.
If anyone braves the smell of raw eggs (it's not that bad, I promise!!), let me know how if your bravery pays off??!!
Monday, April 4, 2011
Snatiation.
Snatiation is a term coined by some very serious scientists for a very serious and rare genetic defect. If you've ever been around me when I'm eating, you've likely had to suffer through my disorder right along with me. It is something that cannot be cured. I will suffer with this defect for the rest of my life.
What is this condition that I suffer with on a regular basis? I sneeze when I am full. Food, drink, it doesn't matter. I could be innocently drinking a cup of coffee when, BAM, uncontrolled sneezing. Or maybe I'm eating chips and queso at my favorite Mexican restaurant when, ACHOO, the uncontrolled sneezing attacks. On the one hand, it is a good way to keep from really overeating. When I get to sneezing, I simply can't indulge in whatever feast is sitting on the table. Why learn portion control when my body won't let me eat more than it can handle?
For a long time, I thought I suffered alone. I know a lot of people experience "photic sneezing" which is sneezing when you step into bright light. I do this too, but the sneezing when I'm full thing really wierded me out. So I did what anyone would do. I googled it.
I've googled it a hundred times, at least. The best I can find, it is called gastric sneezing or snatiation. Apparently it is a rare thing to do. I don't know anyone else who sneezes when full. I decided to marry Eugene, though, only after learning his family history (I would have likely married him without knowing this strange bit of history...)
Early in our dating relationship, I learned that my husband gets a runny nose when he is full. He also learned that, whenever I ate a lot (or drank a lot of water or coffee or anything) I would sneeze several times. I told him that I sneeze when I'm full and he told me he nose runs. The next thing he told me just let me know that fate was working in our favor. Eugene told me that his grandmother sneezed when she was full and his grandfather got a runny nose! Having never known another person who sneezed with a full stomach, I just knew we were meant to be together! We have, of couse, been happily snotty and sneezy together ever since...
What is this condition that I suffer with on a regular basis? I sneeze when I am full. Food, drink, it doesn't matter. I could be innocently drinking a cup of coffee when, BAM, uncontrolled sneezing. Or maybe I'm eating chips and queso at my favorite Mexican restaurant when, ACHOO, the uncontrolled sneezing attacks. On the one hand, it is a good way to keep from really overeating. When I get to sneezing, I simply can't indulge in whatever feast is sitting on the table. Why learn portion control when my body won't let me eat more than it can handle?
For a long time, I thought I suffered alone. I know a lot of people experience "photic sneezing" which is sneezing when you step into bright light. I do this too, but the sneezing when I'm full thing really wierded me out. So I did what anyone would do. I googled it.
I've googled it a hundred times, at least. The best I can find, it is called gastric sneezing or snatiation. Apparently it is a rare thing to do. I don't know anyone else who sneezes when full. I decided to marry Eugene, though, only after learning his family history (I would have likely married him without knowing this strange bit of history...)
Early in our dating relationship, I learned that my husband gets a runny nose when he is full. He also learned that, whenever I ate a lot (or drank a lot of water or coffee or anything) I would sneeze several times. I told him that I sneeze when I'm full and he told me he nose runs. The next thing he told me just let me know that fate was working in our favor. Eugene told me that his grandmother sneezed when she was full and his grandfather got a runny nose! Having never known another person who sneezed with a full stomach, I just knew we were meant to be together! We have, of couse, been happily snotty and sneezy together ever since...
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Yolko the Chicken.
Today is a good day to write about Yolko. Why is today a good day to write about this particular chicken? She was injured at some point between yesterday and today. Her injury doesn't appear serious, but it is gross. Part of her comb, the red part of fleshy skin on the top of her head, seems to have been sort of scraped off her skull. Like a wierd fleshy hangnail. I think I will call it a "combnail", maybe? There is blood down both sides of the comb but it was all dry by the time I saw her. I quickly checked the other chickens to see if 1. they were all there and 2. were there any other injuries. Well, all of the chickens were present and accounted for and there didn't appear to be any other injuries. Relief washed over me because we have already lost one chicken (R.I.P. Poppyseed). I decided to google what to do about a broken comb and the best I can tell is that it was likely caused by one of our other chickens (most likely Dumpling) and that it can be fixed with some neosporin. So I went back out and slathered the poor girl with neosporin. I will keep an eye on it and if it doesn't get better maybe eat her take her to a chicken vet?
A little background on Yolko. She is a buff orpington and her full name is Yolko Moira. She is yellow and we thought that Yolko was a fun play on words. I always liked the name Moira, so when we were picking chicken names, I was pretty insistent. But when we went with "food" names, I relented and said she could take Moira as her middle name. Her show name, as I like to say. We don't show her though. I've looked into it. There are a suprising number of chicken shows. And I digress...she lays a brown egg. This is her egg. I think. Dumpling also lays a brown egg and I've never been able to figure out which hen lays which brown egg.
I hate to pick favorites, but Yolko is my favorite. She always squats for me to pet her. Now, you may be wondering, "did she just say the chicken 'squats' so Lauren canpet her?" In fact that is exactly what I said. If you google why a chicken may squat, as I did shortly after Yolko did this a few times, you will see that a chicken squats when it is being submissive. And here I just thought she liked being petted. Anyway, Yolko is our "friendly" hen and will squat for you to pet her or pick her up. Eugene has also had her ride on his shoulder. She is just that kind of hen.
As friendly as she can be, she also is our "broody" hen, which means she wants to sit on the unfertilized eggs until theyhatch spoil. When she is broody, she is not very friendly. Her feathers get all ruffled and she will not come out of the coop for days. She won't even come out to eat or drink, which is why a broody chicken is bad. When it's really hot, she could dehydrate and even die. A chicken goes broody when she wants her eggs to hatch and if they eggs never hatch, broodiness can be indefinite if not cured. If I take her out, she angrily plops down on the ground and as soon as I turn my back, she runs back into the coop. We've had her go broody probably three times. There are several ways to cure it and we've tried a lot of them. We've tried dunking her in cold water (results=wet Lauren, wet and still broody chicken), tossing her out of the coop (results=airborn, but still broody, chicken) and keeping her locked out of the coop at night (results=great success). She is not broody right now, so we're keeping our fingers crossed.
This is our Yolko. She is a nice pet and we enjoy her and her delicious eggs. And we won't ever eat her.
A little background on Yolko. She is a buff orpington and her full name is Yolko Moira. She is yellow and we thought that Yolko was a fun play on words. I always liked the name Moira, so when we were picking chicken names, I was pretty insistent. But when we went with "food" names, I relented and said she could take Moira as her middle name. Her show name, as I like to say. We don't show her though. I've looked into it. There are a suprising number of chicken shows. And I digress...she lays a brown egg. This is her egg. I think. Dumpling also lays a brown egg and I've never been able to figure out which hen lays which brown egg.
I hate to pick favorites, but Yolko is my favorite. She always squats for me to pet her. Now, you may be wondering, "did she just say the chicken 'squats' so Lauren canpet her?" In fact that is exactly what I said. If you google why a chicken may squat, as I did shortly after Yolko did this a few times, you will see that a chicken squats when it is being submissive. And here I just thought she liked being petted. Anyway, Yolko is our "friendly" hen and will squat for you to pet her or pick her up. Eugene has also had her ride on his shoulder. She is just that kind of hen.
As friendly as she can be, she also is our "broody" hen, which means she wants to sit on the unfertilized eggs until they
This is our Yolko. She is a nice pet and we enjoy her and her delicious eggs. And we won't ever eat her.
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