Thursday, December 28, 2006
Well, at least we tried.
Rest in peace, Santa Claws. Your injuries were too much for you to overcome. Perhaps if you had not been so dehydrated or starved, you would have had a fighting chance. But six broken ribs and a skull fracture combined with the rest proved to be too much. At least you were loved at the end. You were only with us a short time, but we miss you already. Be at peace.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Christmas miracles come in all sizes, shapes
and colors. In this instance, the orange ginger tabby variety.
Today, The Husband and I were just settling down for our long Winter's nap at about 2 in the afternoon. About half an hour into it, the dogs started going crazy outside (there arose such a clatter?). We couldn't see what was going on, so we sprang from our bed to see what was the matter.
Through the bamboo, we could see this orange, um, thing making it's slow way through. "A cat! Call off the dogs! And grab a towel! And some gloves! I think it's hurt!" was the message from The Husband.
We gather a few things up and try to head on in for a closer look. The poor thing is moving slowly and gingerly through the brush. Eventually, The Husband and I close in and we wrap it in a towel and pick it up.
The cat was skin and bones. In all my years of watching the Animal Cops program, I have seen animals this starved and always feel terrible for them. It is NOTHING seeing it on TV compared to seeing it in person. The poor thing's eyes were sunk into its head from dehydration and starvation. The hipbones were in sharp relief. I have never seen an animal look like this that wasn't already dead.
Worried that this cat was possibly sick, we stuck him in the greenhouse/future sewing room. It's a warm room in the day and is easily heated at night and perfect to help us assess what was going on. Food was not high on the cat's priority list, but water? That it couldn't seem to get enough of.
After it warmed up some, The Husband and I put on the gloves again to try and examine it. Was it sick? Or just abandoned and starving? Or something else?
The verdict: car. This cat appears to have been hit by some sort of vehicle. His skull shows an impact point, and he has several broken ribs. While he obviously can walk, he is not terribly comfortable in the hindquarters, so who knows what's going on back there. He had to have been hit by a car, but not completely run over and was thrown to the side of the road. Somehow, he has survived this long since then. His coat is still pretty, so it's obvious that he was somebody's darling at some point in the recent past. He loves attention and he struggles to purr, but it just can't come out. He's got the fight and the will to live, even if his body looks like it just crawled from the grave. We're going to give him medical attention to help him out, and and warm place to recover. I hope it will be enough. If it's not, at least he won't die out in the cold and all alone.
But the quesiton is this. How on earth did this cat manage to get onto our property? We're fenced in. No cat in this bad of a condition could possibly make it up and over the fence - even without the starvation and dehydration factor being there. Broken ribs and messed up hind quarters arent' too conducive to jumping or climbing. There's no hole in the perimeter of the fence - we had the girls check just to make sure. We're off the beaten path by at least 2.5 acres in all directions, so it's not like someone would just decide to dump the cat over the fence if it was found by someone.
The Husband has proclaimed this an Act of God. He's a bit stunned that he's so concerned about this poor feline. But frankly, I think The Husband cursed himself. I really and truly do. After years of being cat-free and anti-cat, he had a momentary lapse of reason (he's claiming temporary insanity), and BAM! We were the proud caretakers of a tiny kitten. The kitten, who has been named Spike, has grown hale and hearty, and aside from a bout with ringworm that he came with unbeknownst to us and is currently conquering with daily fungicide baths, he's the spunkiest kitten alive. After swinging back and forth between "we aren't keeping him" and "okay, we'll keep him," it's been finally settled that yes, Spike's permanent home is here with us.
And now, there's this cat. Already the proclamation has been put forth. His name is Santa Claws, and if we manage to nurse him back to health, he stays too - barring the possibility of finding his owners.
Cause once you're named, you're in the family for life. Get well, Santa Claws!
Today, The Husband and I were just settling down for our long Winter's nap at about 2 in the afternoon. About half an hour into it, the dogs started going crazy outside (there arose such a clatter?). We couldn't see what was going on, so we sprang from our bed to see what was the matter.
Through the bamboo, we could see this orange, um, thing making it's slow way through. "A cat! Call off the dogs! And grab a towel! And some gloves! I think it's hurt!" was the message from The Husband.
We gather a few things up and try to head on in for a closer look. The poor thing is moving slowly and gingerly through the brush. Eventually, The Husband and I close in and we wrap it in a towel and pick it up.
The cat was skin and bones. In all my years of watching the Animal Cops program, I have seen animals this starved and always feel terrible for them. It is NOTHING seeing it on TV compared to seeing it in person. The poor thing's eyes were sunk into its head from dehydration and starvation. The hipbones were in sharp relief. I have never seen an animal look like this that wasn't already dead.
Worried that this cat was possibly sick, we stuck him in the greenhouse/future sewing room. It's a warm room in the day and is easily heated at night and perfect to help us assess what was going on. Food was not high on the cat's priority list, but water? That it couldn't seem to get enough of.
After it warmed up some, The Husband and I put on the gloves again to try and examine it. Was it sick? Or just abandoned and starving? Or something else?
The verdict: car. This cat appears to have been hit by some sort of vehicle. His skull shows an impact point, and he has several broken ribs. While he obviously can walk, he is not terribly comfortable in the hindquarters, so who knows what's going on back there. He had to have been hit by a car, but not completely run over and was thrown to the side of the road. Somehow, he has survived this long since then. His coat is still pretty, so it's obvious that he was somebody's darling at some point in the recent past. He loves attention and he struggles to purr, but it just can't come out. He's got the fight and the will to live, even if his body looks like it just crawled from the grave. We're going to give him medical attention to help him out, and and warm place to recover. I hope it will be enough. If it's not, at least he won't die out in the cold and all alone.
But the quesiton is this. How on earth did this cat manage to get onto our property? We're fenced in. No cat in this bad of a condition could possibly make it up and over the fence - even without the starvation and dehydration factor being there. Broken ribs and messed up hind quarters arent' too conducive to jumping or climbing. There's no hole in the perimeter of the fence - we had the girls check just to make sure. We're off the beaten path by at least 2.5 acres in all directions, so it's not like someone would just decide to dump the cat over the fence if it was found by someone.
The Husband has proclaimed this an Act of God. He's a bit stunned that he's so concerned about this poor feline. But frankly, I think The Husband cursed himself. I really and truly do. After years of being cat-free and anti-cat, he had a momentary lapse of reason (he's claiming temporary insanity), and BAM! We were the proud caretakers of a tiny kitten. The kitten, who has been named Spike, has grown hale and hearty, and aside from a bout with ringworm that he came with unbeknownst to us and is currently conquering with daily fungicide baths, he's the spunkiest kitten alive. After swinging back and forth between "we aren't keeping him" and "okay, we'll keep him," it's been finally settled that yes, Spike's permanent home is here with us.
And now, there's this cat. Already the proclamation has been put forth. His name is Santa Claws, and if we manage to nurse him back to health, he stays too - barring the possibility of finding his owners.
Cause once you're named, you're in the family for life. Get well, Santa Claws!
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Alphabetical Meme
Blatantly stolen from Marybeth.
A- Available or single? So very not available.
B- Best Friend? The Husband.
C- Cake or pie? Cake. Caaaake!
D- Drink of choice? Hrm. Lately it's been fruit punch-flavored Crystal Lite. But overall? Coca Cola. It's just not on the menu now.
E- Essential item I use every day. Computer.
F- Favorite color: Purple.
G- Gummy Bears or Gummy Worms? Bears. Worms are icky copycats.
H- Hometown? Ridgecrest, California.
I- Indulgence: Quilting fabric. Or a Sephora shopping spree. Or a massage. They all work.
J- January or February? January. It's a new start in a new year.
K- Kids and names: Two girls - Thing One and Thing Two.
L- Life is incomplete without? Love.
M- Marriage date: April 2, 1994, July 21, 2000, June 24, 2006. We have this thing about getting married a lot. Nine more times to go and we'll have an anniversary every month! Hee!
N- Number of siblings: One brother, two sisters.
O- Oranges or apples? Apples.
P- Phobias or fears? Heights. Don't like them. At all.
Q- Favorite quote? It is the Glory of God to hide a thing, and the honor of kings to seek out such a thing.
R- Reasons to smile: My family. My animals. So very many more things as well.
S- Season: Rain.
T- Tag 3 or 4 people. Not my style. Sorry!
U- Unknown fact about me: I flunked out of college my first try. I was suffering from clinical depression and didn't know it.
V- Vegetable you don’t like: Brussel sprouts.
W- Worst habit: Surfing the 'net on company time.
X- X-Rays: Um, I've had lots? But never for a broken bone. Broken tooth yes, but no bones.
Y- Your favorite food? Chicken a la Providence.
Z- Zodiac: Virgo
A- Available or single? So very not available.
B- Best Friend? The Husband.
C- Cake or pie? Cake. Caaaake!
D- Drink of choice? Hrm. Lately it's been fruit punch-flavored Crystal Lite. But overall? Coca Cola. It's just not on the menu now.
E- Essential item I use every day. Computer.
F- Favorite color: Purple.
G- Gummy Bears or Gummy Worms? Bears. Worms are icky copycats.
H- Hometown? Ridgecrest, California.
I- Indulgence: Quilting fabric. Or a Sephora shopping spree. Or a massage. They all work.
J- January or February? January. It's a new start in a new year.
K- Kids and names: Two girls - Thing One and Thing Two.
L- Life is incomplete without? Love.
M- Marriage date: April 2, 1994, July 21, 2000, June 24, 2006. We have this thing about getting married a lot. Nine more times to go and we'll have an anniversary every month! Hee!
N- Number of siblings: One brother, two sisters.
O- Oranges or apples? Apples.
P- Phobias or fears? Heights. Don't like them. At all.
Q- Favorite quote? It is the Glory of God to hide a thing, and the honor of kings to seek out such a thing.
R- Reasons to smile: My family. My animals. So very many more things as well.
S- Season: Rain.
T- Tag 3 or 4 people. Not my style. Sorry!
U- Unknown fact about me: I flunked out of college my first try. I was suffering from clinical depression and didn't know it.
V- Vegetable you don’t like: Brussel sprouts.
W- Worst habit: Surfing the 'net on company time.
X- X-Rays: Um, I've had lots? But never for a broken bone. Broken tooth yes, but no bones.
Y- Your favorite food? Chicken a la Providence.
Z- Zodiac: Virgo
Five months
Today marks five months since I've had the Duodenal Switch. While my weight loss wasn't as good as I had hoped for the month - 9 total pounds bringing me down to 238 - the inches that I have lost more than make up for it in my book.
Last month, The Husband had me try on some jeans to just get a guestimate of where I was clothes-wise. I fit into a 24 or a 22, depending on the brand. Not too bad, considering I started at a 26-28, and it seems that when you're on this high of the scale, that it takes a lot of poundage in order for the numbers to go down. But I still wasn't going to buy any new clothes because it just wasn't worth it to me to spend the money. So I've been slogging along in my old clothes, watching them puddle up and nearly fall off me.
This weekend, we went to Lane Bryant in the mall in Palmdale. I desperately needed some new bras, and The Husband wanted to convince me to get a few new pieces to look nice at work with. Okay. I'll at least try some stuff on.
The bra fitting went better than I had anticipated. I'm now at a 42DD, down from a 44/46 DD/DDD, depending on the brand. The girls are much happier in their lifted state, and I'm not as depressed anymore about how much I have been appearing to lose from there.
But jeans. Oh, the jeans. I was going to go for a 22, but the sales lady stopped me cold. "No way," she said. "You're a 20 at the most." And yep. They fit me like a glove. And no, they're NOT stretch! Hooray!
Shirts? I'm an 18/20 there. Although I think I prefer to have a shaping undergarment beneath it all so that the fluffy rolls that have made their appearance don't show through. Needless to say, I bought Spanx Higher Power for those special occasions.
We also bought some lovely beaded chiffon separates and some satin skirts to make me a fancy-dancy outfit. And the waistband is such so that I can take it in when necessary and make the most out of the skirts. Bonus!
While I didn't get a whole bunch of stuff, they were pieces that are showcasing what I have done for myself through this surgery. And I think I'll be less resistant to picking up the occasional new outfit here and there along the way down the scale now that I've seen that yes, I actually can look good again.
When I came out of the fitting room to show off the outfits I was trying on, I nearly cried at the look I saw in The Husband's eyes. The woman he married is slowly but surely making her way back to him. And both of us are thrilled at the prospect.
Last month, The Husband had me try on some jeans to just get a guestimate of where I was clothes-wise. I fit into a 24 or a 22, depending on the brand. Not too bad, considering I started at a 26-28, and it seems that when you're on this high of the scale, that it takes a lot of poundage in order for the numbers to go down. But I still wasn't going to buy any new clothes because it just wasn't worth it to me to spend the money. So I've been slogging along in my old clothes, watching them puddle up and nearly fall off me.
This weekend, we went to Lane Bryant in the mall in Palmdale. I desperately needed some new bras, and The Husband wanted to convince me to get a few new pieces to look nice at work with. Okay. I'll at least try some stuff on.
The bra fitting went better than I had anticipated. I'm now at a 42DD, down from a 44/46 DD/DDD, depending on the brand. The girls are much happier in their lifted state, and I'm not as depressed anymore about how much I have been appearing to lose from there.
But jeans. Oh, the jeans. I was going to go for a 22, but the sales lady stopped me cold. "No way," she said. "You're a 20 at the most." And yep. They fit me like a glove. And no, they're NOT stretch! Hooray!
Shirts? I'm an 18/20 there. Although I think I prefer to have a shaping undergarment beneath it all so that the fluffy rolls that have made their appearance don't show through. Needless to say, I bought Spanx Higher Power for those special occasions.
We also bought some lovely beaded chiffon separates and some satin skirts to make me a fancy-dancy outfit. And the waistband is such so that I can take it in when necessary and make the most out of the skirts. Bonus!
While I didn't get a whole bunch of stuff, they were pieces that are showcasing what I have done for myself through this surgery. And I think I'll be less resistant to picking up the occasional new outfit here and there along the way down the scale now that I've seen that yes, I actually can look good again.
When I came out of the fitting room to show off the outfits I was trying on, I nearly cried at the look I saw in The Husband's eyes. The woman he married is slowly but surely making her way back to him. And both of us are thrilled at the prospect.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Here a cyst, there a cyst!
Everywhere a cyst, cyst!
Yeah. It's a hemorrhagic cyst. Which is normal for ovaries, seeing as how they are what release eggs and whatnot. However this one is fairly large, and bled a bunch more than normal. So, I'm off to a regular GYN to get, ummm, GYN'ed.
My choice in this area is between two doctors: Dr. C or Dr. M. My PCP didn't refer me specifically to one or the other, but gave the old, "well, you know Dr. M is the more up-to-date of the two" spiel to me.
Not that it was a choice for me anyway. You see, Dr. C? Well, he delivered me. Yeah. That. I have no desire for the man who looked at my mother's nether regions for four births to look at my nether regions. I'm a little bit wierd that way.
So I now have another appointment for next Wednesday in the morning to see Dr. M. Then, The Husband and I will be traveling out of town to see a new doctor about his knees. The doctor he was seeing here locally? Yeah, he got fired from the clinic and is going back to his regular position down south. And he's been screwing things up for The Husband with all the stuff he has to do for work to document this thing. We were Not Pleased with him, so this was actually a blessing in a way.
Doctor's appointments all around! Cheers!
Yeah. It's a hemorrhagic cyst. Which is normal for ovaries, seeing as how they are what release eggs and whatnot. However this one is fairly large, and bled a bunch more than normal. So, I'm off to a regular GYN to get, ummm, GYN'ed.
My choice in this area is between two doctors: Dr. C or Dr. M. My PCP didn't refer me specifically to one or the other, but gave the old, "well, you know Dr. M is the more up-to-date of the two" spiel to me.
Not that it was a choice for me anyway. You see, Dr. C? Well, he delivered me. Yeah. That. I have no desire for the man who looked at my mother's nether regions for four births to look at my nether regions. I'm a little bit wierd that way.
So I now have another appointment for next Wednesday in the morning to see Dr. M. Then, The Husband and I will be traveling out of town to see a new doctor about his knees. The doctor he was seeing here locally? Yeah, he got fired from the clinic and is going back to his regular position down south. And he's been screwing things up for The Husband with all the stuff he has to do for work to document this thing. We were Not Pleased with him, so this was actually a blessing in a way.
Doctor's appointments all around! Cheers!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Ow. . . . OW! The hell?
Yeah. Pain. My favorite thing. Not. And I've got a wierd one.
I've always been the kind of girl to actually be able to feel her eggs release. Seriously. Not every month, mind you, but often enough that I can identify the precise type of pain that this involves. It a very short, sharp pain that lingers for a tiny bit while dying away. Then, nothing. And two weeks later I get my period. Viola!
When I was on birth control, of course this particular pain went away. But the minute I was off either the BC pills or after the depo shot wore off, BAM! There it was again. I feel it more often on my left side than not for some reason.
Anyway, I felt the usual twinge last Friday. All is well and good. There is no way that little egg is getting to my uterus so life is just peachy! The pain aftershock is lasting a little bit longer than normal, but no biggie, right? Not so fast, slick!
Saturday, I start to roll myself out of bed and BLAMMO! It feels like somebody is jabbing a knife into my body right at the same place my egg release pain was at the day before. Holy crap! I collapse back onto the bed and scare the living piss out of The Husband. He immediately thinks that I've gone and given myself a hernia, but the pain gradually goes away in about two minutes, so I'm of a mind to blow it off. I just pulled a muscle wrong. Life goes on.
While life did go on, throughout the day if I twisted the right way, I would get a pain in the same area. Not as intense as the one in the morning, but still very noticeable. Ow. The Husband's getting more and more nervous. But then the pains stop and all is well.
Sunday, I got up from bed, a bit more gingerly than normal, and all was quiet in the lower pelvic region. Then, as I twisted to get into the car to go to church, again with the pain. The Husband wants to know if we should go to the ER and I'm all, "no, no, no. This is NOT an emergency. I'm not bleeding, not in constant pain. I'm fine. The end." But I do promise him that I'll make an appointment the very next day to be seen.
Throughout the day, the area is at a very dull ache level. I know it's there, but it's not terribly annoying.
Monday rolls around, and I call and get an appointment to see my PCP on Tuesday. Today. So I went in and ended up getting a pelvic exam. Just peachy. Love that KY jelly! Ew. But yeah, there is definite tenderness/pain in the area of the left ovary that is not occuring when the right one is palpated. Got to check it out.
So, tomorrow I get to go have an ultrasound. Yay me!
The moral of this story is: take a family history of ovarian cysts (mother had to have all of one ovary and 95% of the other removed because of huge cysts; sister had to have emergency surgery to remove even larger cyst), add loads and loads of estrogen being released from fat cells and stir. End result? Pain. Not fun pain.
We'll see what the ultrasound reveals. Best case scenario? This is all in my head and I just need to be medicated. Worst case scenario? Another operation. Most likely scenario? I get to go back on birth control. Joy. I got a tubal ligation so that I never had to take the damn stuff again. Grrr. They're a small part of why I got fat in the first place. But then again, slower weight loss versus pain, and possible emergency surgery. I think I'll take the damn pill and be done with it.
Hey, maybe I could get Seasonale and not have so many periods. That would be a plus! Silver linings. They lurk everywhere.
I've always been the kind of girl to actually be able to feel her eggs release. Seriously. Not every month, mind you, but often enough that I can identify the precise type of pain that this involves. It a very short, sharp pain that lingers for a tiny bit while dying away. Then, nothing. And two weeks later I get my period. Viola!
When I was on birth control, of course this particular pain went away. But the minute I was off either the BC pills or after the depo shot wore off, BAM! There it was again. I feel it more often on my left side than not for some reason.
Anyway, I felt the usual twinge last Friday. All is well and good. There is no way that little egg is getting to my uterus so life is just peachy! The pain aftershock is lasting a little bit longer than normal, but no biggie, right? Not so fast, slick!
Saturday, I start to roll myself out of bed and BLAMMO! It feels like somebody is jabbing a knife into my body right at the same place my egg release pain was at the day before. Holy crap! I collapse back onto the bed and scare the living piss out of The Husband. He immediately thinks that I've gone and given myself a hernia, but the pain gradually goes away in about two minutes, so I'm of a mind to blow it off. I just pulled a muscle wrong. Life goes on.
While life did go on, throughout the day if I twisted the right way, I would get a pain in the same area. Not as intense as the one in the morning, but still very noticeable. Ow. The Husband's getting more and more nervous. But then the pains stop and all is well.
Sunday, I got up from bed, a bit more gingerly than normal, and all was quiet in the lower pelvic region. Then, as I twisted to get into the car to go to church, again with the pain. The Husband wants to know if we should go to the ER and I'm all, "no, no, no. This is NOT an emergency. I'm not bleeding, not in constant pain. I'm fine. The end." But I do promise him that I'll make an appointment the very next day to be seen.
Throughout the day, the area is at a very dull ache level. I know it's there, but it's not terribly annoying.
Monday rolls around, and I call and get an appointment to see my PCP on Tuesday. Today. So I went in and ended up getting a pelvic exam. Just peachy. Love that KY jelly! Ew. But yeah, there is definite tenderness/pain in the area of the left ovary that is not occuring when the right one is palpated. Got to check it out.
So, tomorrow I get to go have an ultrasound. Yay me!
The moral of this story is: take a family history of ovarian cysts (mother had to have all of one ovary and 95% of the other removed because of huge cysts; sister had to have emergency surgery to remove even larger cyst), add loads and loads of estrogen being released from fat cells and stir. End result? Pain. Not fun pain.
We'll see what the ultrasound reveals. Best case scenario? This is all in my head and I just need to be medicated. Worst case scenario? Another operation. Most likely scenario? I get to go back on birth control. Joy. I got a tubal ligation so that I never had to take the damn stuff again. Grrr. They're a small part of why I got fat in the first place. But then again, slower weight loss versus pain, and possible emergency surgery. I think I'll take the damn pill and be done with it.
Hey, maybe I could get Seasonale and not have so many periods. That would be a plus! Silver linings. They lurk everywhere.
Monday, December 11, 2006
In an attempt to jump-start my holiday spirit
I'm going to answer some questions that were on both Marybeth's and Alison's blogs. Maybe it can keep me from being my normal Grinchy self this time of year.
20+ Holiday Questions
Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate?
Love them both. I make a great home-made egg nog, one that you can either spike or not (and more people than not actually want their nog un-spiked I have found). But I also love the store-bought thick crapnog and there's nothing better than a mug-full of hot chocolate to give you that special chocolate buzz with a hint of peppermint. Mmmmm.
Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree?
Wrapped. The only exception being the stuff that gets put inside the stocking. Or maybe a stuffed animal. Okay, both wrapped and unwrapped.
Colored or white lights on tree/house?
I don't care so long as it's one or the other. Nothing bugs me more than trees/houses with both white and colored lights on them. Coordination, people! Coordination! Oh, and no blinking lights! Especially when one strand blinks and then another. Have them go in running relays if you're going to have them blink. Ugh!
Do you hang mistletoe?
I'm not particularly fond of parasites, but mistletoe does have its uses. But to answer the question, no, not really. It's just another dead thing in my house.
When do you put your decorations up?
Here's where I become the Grinch. Christmas decorations (with the exception of the Advent Calendar and the Advent Wreath) do NOT go up until Christmas Eve. Decorations then come down on Epiphany, Jan 6. Period. End of Story. It's not Christmas until then, so why put up decorations until then? This is how we always did it growing up. From others I have spoken to, this is a German tradition, which makes sense for my family to follow seeing as how both sides are heavily German. I mean, when you have a town in Alsace/Lorraine that one of your family's names is from, hello! You're German! And no, I don't acknowledge France's occupation of that area. It's German, thankyouverymuch! But for The Husband, Christmas decorations should go up immediately after Thanksgiving. Ugh. Too much crap out for far too long, IMO. So, we've kind of come to a compromise on this. We didn't put up our tree until yesterday. I'll grumble about it, but I can live with it.
What is your favorite holiday dish (non-dessert)?
Hrm. This is a hard one. I think I'll have to settle for my mother's hearty winter soup. It's got keilbasca in it, and is definitely a great meal on it's own or a side dish.
Biggest Christmas peeve?
Again with the ranting here. I hate obnoxious Christmas music. Like the stuff all the modern musicians have done "jazzing" up all the old standards. It didn't need your help, buddy. Quit ruining the melody of Little Drummer Boy, mmmkay? You can't even sing along with them! Feh. And don't start playing that crap until the middle of December, either. When I turned on my radio the day after Thanksgiving and the station was playing some of the afore-mentioned Christmas tunes, I wanted to puke. Those that start playing it before Thanksgiving need to be firebombed. 'Nuff said.
What is your favorite holiday dessert/treat?
Aside from eggnog, I have to say the Busch d' Noel. Chocolate-y and creamy goodness all dressed up to look like a wooden log. Brilliant! I need to try to make my own this year I think. And if I could ever find them again, there is this bakery that makes these German anise-flavored cookies that are the cat's meow. My Grandfather was the one that always bought them and I never knew where he got them from so I'll have to figure out someway to get them. Kind of difficult seeing as how I don't even know what they're called. Aaargh.
Favorite holiday childhood memory?
The whole decorating the house on Christmas Eve day. And then the days when we would get to invite a friend over and we would either make taffy or make a gingerbread house. The best!
Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?
All gifts are opened on Christmas Eve in my family - again, a German tradition. Then Santa/stocking gifts on Christmas Day. For The Husband's family, they open one gift on Christmas Eve and then everything else on Christmas Day. So now we do the one gift/all gifts thing. It really makes no difference in the end, right?
Garlands or Tinsel?
Showy and overdone. Tinsel only ends up coming out of the butt of the cat and garlands are just overdone drivel. Now a string of pretty beads is okay, but the big frou-frou stuff has got to go.
Snow: Love or Hate?
Love it. Don't get enough of it. That's the problem with living in a desert.
Can you ice-skate?
Never attempted. Yet.
Do you remember your favorite gift?
Last year The Husband bought me a pachinko machine. While it's not one of the old-fashioned ones and is instead very modern electronic, it still makes the same tink-tink-tink sounds that I'm addicted to from my childhood and I could play it for hours. There's also a whole story attached to it about how it finally got here that I'll share another day.
What's the most important thing about the holidays to you?
Being together with the ones you love.
What is your favorite holiday tradition?
Putting out your shoes for St. Nicholas on Dec. 6. Creeping out of bed in the wee hours of the morning to make St. Lucia rolls for mom and dad on Dec. 10. Midnight Mass. Shall I go on?
What tops your tree?
Well, I've never found the perfect star or angel, so right now a silly needlework angel that The Husband's grandmother made is on top of it. It helps him remember the good times with her and that's more important than something fashionable or outre.
Which do you prefer, giving or receiving?
Definitely giving. I'm not good at receiving gifts at all. Hate it.
Favorite Christmas song?
This is a hard one. I love Little Drumer Boy and Adeste Fideles. But I have to say that my favorite is Hark, The Herald Angels Sing. And only because we sang a kick-ass arrangement of it in my college choir.
What do you want for Christmas?
This year my list is topped by two things: a new tattoo and a new ear piercing(s). Body modification is the way to go for me this year. Hee! As much as I hate making gift lists, I sat down and wrote one out for The Husband to help him out. I've got a few books on there, a few DVDs (Gilbert & Sullivan and Dr. Who - never say that I'm not original!), and a few quilting books/tools. No clothes this year, thank you. Save that for next year when I'm (hopefully!) at goal.
20+ Holiday Questions
Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate?
Love them both. I make a great home-made egg nog, one that you can either spike or not (and more people than not actually want their nog un-spiked I have found). But I also love the store-bought thick crapnog and there's nothing better than a mug-full of hot chocolate to give you that special chocolate buzz with a hint of peppermint. Mmmmm.
Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree?
Wrapped. The only exception being the stuff that gets put inside the stocking. Or maybe a stuffed animal. Okay, both wrapped and unwrapped.
Colored or white lights on tree/house?
I don't care so long as it's one or the other. Nothing bugs me more than trees/houses with both white and colored lights on them. Coordination, people! Coordination! Oh, and no blinking lights! Especially when one strand blinks and then another. Have them go in running relays if you're going to have them blink. Ugh!
Do you hang mistletoe?
I'm not particularly fond of parasites, but mistletoe does have its uses. But to answer the question, no, not really. It's just another dead thing in my house.
When do you put your decorations up?
Here's where I become the Grinch. Christmas decorations (with the exception of the Advent Calendar and the Advent Wreath) do NOT go up until Christmas Eve. Decorations then come down on Epiphany, Jan 6. Period. End of Story. It's not Christmas until then, so why put up decorations until then? This is how we always did it growing up. From others I have spoken to, this is a German tradition, which makes sense for my family to follow seeing as how both sides are heavily German. I mean, when you have a town in Alsace/Lorraine that one of your family's names is from, hello! You're German! And no, I don't acknowledge France's occupation of that area. It's German, thankyouverymuch! But for The Husband, Christmas decorations should go up immediately after Thanksgiving. Ugh. Too much crap out for far too long, IMO. So, we've kind of come to a compromise on this. We didn't put up our tree until yesterday. I'll grumble about it, but I can live with it.
What is your favorite holiday dish (non-dessert)?
Hrm. This is a hard one. I think I'll have to settle for my mother's hearty winter soup. It's got keilbasca in it, and is definitely a great meal on it's own or a side dish.
Biggest Christmas peeve?
Again with the ranting here. I hate obnoxious Christmas music. Like the stuff all the modern musicians have done "jazzing" up all the old standards. It didn't need your help, buddy. Quit ruining the melody of Little Drummer Boy, mmmkay? You can't even sing along with them! Feh. And don't start playing that crap until the middle of December, either. When I turned on my radio the day after Thanksgiving and the station was playing some of the afore-mentioned Christmas tunes, I wanted to puke. Those that start playing it before Thanksgiving need to be firebombed. 'Nuff said.
What is your favorite holiday dessert/treat?
Aside from eggnog, I have to say the Busch d' Noel. Chocolate-y and creamy goodness all dressed up to look like a wooden log. Brilliant! I need to try to make my own this year I think. And if I could ever find them again, there is this bakery that makes these German anise-flavored cookies that are the cat's meow. My Grandfather was the one that always bought them and I never knew where he got them from so I'll have to figure out someway to get them. Kind of difficult seeing as how I don't even know what they're called. Aaargh.
Favorite holiday childhood memory?
The whole decorating the house on Christmas Eve day. And then the days when we would get to invite a friend over and we would either make taffy or make a gingerbread house. The best!
Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?
All gifts are opened on Christmas Eve in my family - again, a German tradition. Then Santa/stocking gifts on Christmas Day. For The Husband's family, they open one gift on Christmas Eve and then everything else on Christmas Day. So now we do the one gift/all gifts thing. It really makes no difference in the end, right?
Garlands or Tinsel?
Showy and overdone. Tinsel only ends up coming out of the butt of the cat and garlands are just overdone drivel. Now a string of pretty beads is okay, but the big frou-frou stuff has got to go.
Snow: Love or Hate?
Love it. Don't get enough of it. That's the problem with living in a desert.
Can you ice-skate?
Never attempted. Yet.
Do you remember your favorite gift?
Last year The Husband bought me a pachinko machine. While it's not one of the old-fashioned ones and is instead very modern electronic, it still makes the same tink-tink-tink sounds that I'm addicted to from my childhood and I could play it for hours. There's also a whole story attached to it about how it finally got here that I'll share another day.
What's the most important thing about the holidays to you?
Being together with the ones you love.
What is your favorite holiday tradition?
Putting out your shoes for St. Nicholas on Dec. 6. Creeping out of bed in the wee hours of the morning to make St. Lucia rolls for mom and dad on Dec. 10. Midnight Mass. Shall I go on?
What tops your tree?
Well, I've never found the perfect star or angel, so right now a silly needlework angel that The Husband's grandmother made is on top of it. It helps him remember the good times with her and that's more important than something fashionable or outre.
Which do you prefer, giving or receiving?
Definitely giving. I'm not good at receiving gifts at all. Hate it.
Favorite Christmas song?
This is a hard one. I love Little Drumer Boy and Adeste Fideles. But I have to say that my favorite is Hark, The Herald Angels Sing. And only because we sang a kick-ass arrangement of it in my college choir.
What do you want for Christmas?
This year my list is topped by two things: a new tattoo and a new ear piercing(s). Body modification is the way to go for me this year. Hee! As much as I hate making gift lists, I sat down and wrote one out for The Husband to help him out. I've got a few books on there, a few DVDs (Gilbert & Sullivan and Dr. Who - never say that I'm not original!), and a few quilting books/tools. No clothes this year, thank you. Save that for next year when I'm (hopefully!) at goal.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Again with the lateness on things. I was tagged.
Crimeney. Thanks, Alison. I think. Then again I did need something to jar me back into blogging more frequently - no Holidailies or NlahBlahPlahMlah for me!
Rules:
People who get tagged need to blog about 6 weird things about themselves. Then they need to list the names of 6 people they're tagging to do the same (I think I'm going to break this one. Heh!). They'll also need to leave a comment on the blogs of the the people they've tagged, telling them they're tagged and directing them to read the blogs to learn about the game (Breaking this one, too. Double Heh!). (Got that?)
6 Weird Things About Me (Can I come up with that many?):
Rules:
People who get tagged need to blog about 6 weird things about themselves. Then they need to list the names of 6 people they're tagging to do the same (I think I'm going to break this one. Heh!). They'll also need to leave a comment on the blogs of the the people they've tagged, telling them they're tagged and directing them to read the blogs to learn about the game (Breaking this one, too. Double Heh!). (Got that?)
6 Weird Things About Me (Can I come up with that many?):
- I know how to castrate a pig and have done so. Using logical extrapoliation, this means I also know how to castrate a human. Scary, no?
- I can recite all of the prepositions in the English language. This is thanks to my grandfather who had me memorize a poem with all of them in it when I was eight. I remember it to this day.
- I can read Gregorian Chant - and sing it to you if you like as well. It's not terribly dissimilar to modern musical notation but it just looks a whole lot more complicated than it is.
- I have had personal experience with the paranormal. And it's an experience I do not ever wish to experience again.
- I placed first in oration at Latin Convention in High School. I sang (in Gregorian Chant!) the Dies Irae instead of reciting something typical by Ovid or Caesar.
- I have a mole in a very, um, private place. If it was on my face, it would be in the perfect position for a beauty mark a la Marilyn Monroe.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
So, I'm never on time. Sue me.
Yeah, so, I'm not so good at posting when I say I will. What can I say? Life goes fast. I'm just trying to keep up.
Anyway, about that cute kitten story . . .
Since there was no mama cat with her nice, cozy box to keep an eye on the kitten, we had to improvise to keep the little guy safe at night. A laundry basket was way too easy to get out of. I didn't have a big enough box. But I did have a big stock pot!
Add a hot pad and some towels, and you've got a nice little cozy nest fit for a pampered kitten. It worked, and the little demon couldn't get out of it.
The Husband was not privy, however, to my ingenuity until he came in to use the bathroom. The kitten had been put in the stock pot and then the stock pot was put inside our large garden tub in the master bath. If for some reason he managed to get out of the stock pot, I figured there was no way he could make it up the slippery sides of the garden tub.
So The Husband comes in and uses the bathroom. He comes back out to where I am cooking dinner. He takes off my glasses. And then starts pushing and prodding the skin around my eyes - stretching it up and to the sides. Finally I ask him what in the sam hill he thinks he's doing?
"I'm making sure you haven't turned Oriental on me. You have a cat in a stock pot! Are you planning on having him for dinner?"
Hee! No, I have not turned "sranty-eyed" as one of my friends of Chinese descent calls it. Just being ingenious. I mean, really. What is more cute than a tiny kitten in a stock pot? Not much, let me tell you! Could YOU resist that sweet little face? Didn't think so.
We still haven't really decided if we're going to keep the little guy or not. If we do, he will more than likely be named Finster. When The Husband and I first got together, one of my cats was named Finster, but he got out one day and we were never able to find him. I miss that cat to this day. He was definitely one of the special ones. This little kitten may be able to take his place in my heart. It'll be good no matter what we decide to do. What's one more mouth to feed around here?
Anyway, about that cute kitten story . . .
Since there was no mama cat with her nice, cozy box to keep an eye on the kitten, we had to improvise to keep the little guy safe at night. A laundry basket was way too easy to get out of. I didn't have a big enough box. But I did have a big stock pot!
Add a hot pad and some towels, and you've got a nice little cozy nest fit for a pampered kitten. It worked, and the little demon couldn't get out of it.
The Husband was not privy, however, to my ingenuity until he came in to use the bathroom. The kitten had been put in the stock pot and then the stock pot was put inside our large garden tub in the master bath. If for some reason he managed to get out of the stock pot, I figured there was no way he could make it up the slippery sides of the garden tub.
So The Husband comes in and uses the bathroom. He comes back out to where I am cooking dinner. He takes off my glasses. And then starts pushing and prodding the skin around my eyes - stretching it up and to the sides. Finally I ask him what in the sam hill he thinks he's doing?
"I'm making sure you haven't turned Oriental on me. You have a cat in a stock pot! Are you planning on having him for dinner?"
Hee! No, I have not turned "sranty-eyed" as one of my friends of Chinese descent calls it. Just being ingenious. I mean, really. What is more cute than a tiny kitten in a stock pot? Not much, let me tell you! Could YOU resist that sweet little face? Didn't think so.We still haven't really decided if we're going to keep the little guy or not. If we do, he will more than likely be named Finster. When The Husband and I first got together, one of my cats was named Finster, but he got out one day and we were never able to find him. I miss that cat to this day. He was definitely one of the special ones. This little kitten may be able to take his place in my heart. It'll be good no matter what we decide to do. What's one more mouth to feed around here?
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
The Apocalypse Has Occurred. Husband Declared Insane.
We got back Saturday afternoon from our time with in-laws and out-laws alike. Trip was quick, we avoided most of the idiots on the road (Did you know that the vast majority of people on Highway 395 prefer to drive at or over 90 MPH? The speed limit is 65, people! I prefer to speed, but just not that much!), and we brought back a truck load of bounty from Schatt's Bakkery to share with all and sundry.
It took us about an hour to make the rounds of people who we were dropping off the goodies to before we could actually start heading for home. Our next-to-last stop was at the local Ace Hardware store. We had a coffee cake for the good folks there and The Husband got out to go give it to the appreciative audience.
He spends a few minutes inside the store, and I watched him through the window, chatting it up with our friends that work there. Then he disappeared behind the counter. When he next appeared at the door of the store, he had this wierd look on his face and he motioned to me to get out of the truck. So, I did.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," he said. "You can take it home if you want. People are so fucking mean."
And what, pray tell was "it"? A teeny tiny kitten. He and his siblings had been abandoned in a cardboard box in the desert to die. The poor things weren't even weaned yet, and looked to be about three to four weeks old.
As a bit of history here, The Husband and I used to have cats when we first got together. We each had cats separately before we got together. I love cats. I'm a cat person. The Husband likes cats, but is really more of a dog person. Over time The Husband decided that he was deathly allergic to cats (having your eyes swell up and water terribly after petting a cat can be a great indicator that you have developed this condition). So after our last two ran away/had to be put down, the proclamation went forth that there were to be no more cats in the SheepleRage land, so sayeth he. While a bit disappointed, but understanding that yes, allergies are very NOT fun (and neither are cat boxes, let's be honest!), I gave my consent to said decree forevermore or until the earth shall be split in twain, amen.
The result of this decree was the compromise that I would be able to get a lap dog. One specifically designed to do nothing but while his/her time away in my lap, adoring thing that it was. Which was why we got Jasmine, my Miniature Dachshund. She is my cat. Only she doesn't purr, which is a bit of a bummer but one with which I have learned to deal with. And she has a slavish devotion to me that sometimes gets on my nerves when I just want to be left ALONE, dammit! Cats understand these things, you know? Dogs don't. Especially dogs that are in love with you. And Jasmine is most certainly in love with me. *sigh*
Anyway, to basically be told that I could take a kitten away with me to bottle feed and love and snuggle kind of blew my mind away. I just didn't know what to say beyond "Buh?" which is not very articulate when you think about it, no?
Couching things in vague terms, it was decided that I would take one of the kittens, but only until we decided he was healthy enough to be turned over to our local cat rescue to be found a good new home. Then the minute we got home, The Husband started talking about keeping the kitten and making him an outside cat, but oh no, we have to look out for Skipper who has actually killed a cat before, and what about the birds? Again, I say "Buh?"
Holy crap, people. The man who said he never wanted a cat to darken our door step again all but thrust a tiny, shivering slip of kitten into my more than willing arms and is now plotting to keep it. He's even talking about NAMING it, while I'm still not allowing myself that little luxury.
Can somebody tell me what space aliens stole my husband and who in the heck they replaced him with?
So now I have a little dictator running my life. At the moment, he is curled up in the nape of my neck, cat napping. When he's awake, he runs around my desk, playing hide-and-go-seek in the cords on my computer. He is ravenous for food and is rapidly gaining weight. I've already started him on some baby food and will soon attempt to wean him from the bottle and onto regular kitten food. And I think he has learned to use a litter box, praise Jesus! Thank God my work doesn't give a rat's ass about me bringing him in - the folks around here love it. There's just no way I could leave him at home all day when he's not weaned.
Anyway, we may or may not have another pet. Only time will tell. I'm not really crazy about having an outdoor cat around here but having a mouser actually INSIDE the house means that he can keep up with them better than outside, 'cause there's no way in hell he can erradicate the entire population. He's only one cat, ya know?
We shall see what we shall see. I'll post a picture and a funny story about this little fuzzy thing later on tonight. Cute fuzzy things make the world a better place. Especially when they sleep all snuggled up on you.
It took us about an hour to make the rounds of people who we were dropping off the goodies to before we could actually start heading for home. Our next-to-last stop was at the local Ace Hardware store. We had a coffee cake for the good folks there and The Husband got out to go give it to the appreciative audience.
He spends a few minutes inside the store, and I watched him through the window, chatting it up with our friends that work there. Then he disappeared behind the counter. When he next appeared at the door of the store, he had this wierd look on his face and he motioned to me to get out of the truck. So, I did.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," he said. "You can take it home if you want. People are so fucking mean."
And what, pray tell was "it"? A teeny tiny kitten. He and his siblings had been abandoned in a cardboard box in the desert to die. The poor things weren't even weaned yet, and looked to be about three to four weeks old.
As a bit of history here, The Husband and I used to have cats when we first got together. We each had cats separately before we got together. I love cats. I'm a cat person. The Husband likes cats, but is really more of a dog person. Over time The Husband decided that he was deathly allergic to cats (having your eyes swell up and water terribly after petting a cat can be a great indicator that you have developed this condition). So after our last two ran away/had to be put down, the proclamation went forth that there were to be no more cats in the SheepleRage land, so sayeth he. While a bit disappointed, but understanding that yes, allergies are very NOT fun (and neither are cat boxes, let's be honest!), I gave my consent to said decree forevermore or until the earth shall be split in twain, amen.
The result of this decree was the compromise that I would be able to get a lap dog. One specifically designed to do nothing but while his/her time away in my lap, adoring thing that it was. Which was why we got Jasmine, my Miniature Dachshund. She is my cat. Only she doesn't purr, which is a bit of a bummer but one with which I have learned to deal with. And she has a slavish devotion to me that sometimes gets on my nerves when I just want to be left ALONE, dammit! Cats understand these things, you know? Dogs don't. Especially dogs that are in love with you. And Jasmine is most certainly in love with me. *sigh*
Anyway, to basically be told that I could take a kitten away with me to bottle feed and love and snuggle kind of blew my mind away. I just didn't know what to say beyond "Buh?" which is not very articulate when you think about it, no?
Couching things in vague terms, it was decided that I would take one of the kittens, but only until we decided he was healthy enough to be turned over to our local cat rescue to be found a good new home. Then the minute we got home, The Husband started talking about keeping the kitten and making him an outside cat, but oh no, we have to look out for Skipper who has actually killed a cat before, and what about the birds? Again, I say "Buh?"
Holy crap, people. The man who said he never wanted a cat to darken our door step again all but thrust a tiny, shivering slip of kitten into my more than willing arms and is now plotting to keep it. He's even talking about NAMING it, while I'm still not allowing myself that little luxury.
Can somebody tell me what space aliens stole my husband and who in the heck they replaced him with?
So now I have a little dictator running my life. At the moment, he is curled up in the nape of my neck, cat napping. When he's awake, he runs around my desk, playing hide-and-go-seek in the cords on my computer. He is ravenous for food and is rapidly gaining weight. I've already started him on some baby food and will soon attempt to wean him from the bottle and onto regular kitten food. And I think he has learned to use a litter box, praise Jesus! Thank God my work doesn't give a rat's ass about me bringing him in - the folks around here love it. There's just no way I could leave him at home all day when he's not weaned.
Anyway, we may or may not have another pet. Only time will tell. I'm not really crazy about having an outdoor cat around here but having a mouser actually INSIDE the house means that he can keep up with them better than outside, 'cause there's no way in hell he can erradicate the entire population. He's only one cat, ya know?
We shall see what we shall see. I'll post a picture and a funny story about this little fuzzy thing later on tonight. Cute fuzzy things make the world a better place. Especially when they sleep all snuggled up on you.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Turkey-lurkey day!
Well, tomorrow it is.
But today, we're going to begin the long and arduous trek to the in-laws house in Nevada. How long and how arduous is this trek? Well, let's just say we're breaking it into two legs instead of shooting straight through this time. We'll leave at around 3 p.m. today and then stop in Bishop to spend the night. Total drive time? Two and a half hours. Yep. You read that right. Two and a half hours. The second leg of the trip that we'll do tomorrow? That'll be about three hours long. We're not really into over-extending ourselves this year.
Hey, man. I'm only along for the ride. 'Cause I'm just here for the food. Whatever schedule The Husband wants to have, I'm more than game. I'm on freakin vacation, people!
Seriously, though, I understand why he wants to do it this way. He has been beyond stressed with everything going on with his knees and the way things are going at work. He's tired of management, HR and his crew chief spazzing out over the whole "can't crawl on his knees" thing, tired of things being discussed behind his back about his position, tired of things being discussed with other people who are not in a need-to-know position (HIPAA violation, anyone? Anyone?), tired of the whole song and dance. And so he just wants to have some fun. So, we will.
Plus, this way we'll get to make a stop at Erik Schat's Bakkerei for some good sourdough bread and other goodies to share with the family throughout the weekend.
It will be a good Thanksgiving. It's a miracle that my father-in-law is still alive and that somehow the chemotherapy has worked beyond all our expectations. I'll get to meet some of my sister-in-law's family for the first time. And my father will be joining us again this year as well.
< .rant >
Speaking of my father. I think it's really, really NICE that a man with four grown children can really only call ONE of those children to see if he can spend the holiday with them. Because none of the others want to speak with him. For no real fucking reason (well, I'll give one sister a pass there but only because of the situation surrounding that). Thanks, guys. Thanks for showing the love. Thanks for breaking my heart having to hear my father - hell, OUR father! - essentially beg to spend Thanksgiving with family. Thanks a whole lot. I hope you think about him at some point in time this weekend. Because we're going to be having fun with him. Have fun with Mom instead, mmkay?
< / rant >
Sorry. Had to get that out there. It was really effecting me more than it should.
Now. Back to the food.
I already had a bit of practice in how to deal with the Thanksgiving spread at our company's annual Thanksgiving lunch. Turkey is going to fill me up rather quickly, while the ham is going to be much easier on me. I think I'll stick to munching on ham most of the day and save the turkey with gravy for the actual meal. A little bit of potato and a bite or two of dressing and I'll probably call it good. It's actually going to be really easy to get in all my protein, so that will be a huge plus. And if I'm not full (really big if there), then The Husband and I will probably share a piece of the cheesecake that I'm bringing.
Anyway, have good fun tomorrow with family and friends. Don't eat anything bigger than your head (yeah, right, like that's an option anymore! Hee!). And don't let the crazies on the road ruin your weekend. I'll be back next week!
But today, we're going to begin the long and arduous trek to the in-laws house in Nevada. How long and how arduous is this trek? Well, let's just say we're breaking it into two legs instead of shooting straight through this time. We'll leave at around 3 p.m. today and then stop in Bishop to spend the night. Total drive time? Two and a half hours. Yep. You read that right. Two and a half hours. The second leg of the trip that we'll do tomorrow? That'll be about three hours long. We're not really into over-extending ourselves this year.
Hey, man. I'm only along for the ride. 'Cause I'm just here for the food. Whatever schedule The Husband wants to have, I'm more than game. I'm on freakin vacation, people!
Seriously, though, I understand why he wants to do it this way. He has been beyond stressed with everything going on with his knees and the way things are going at work. He's tired of management, HR and his crew chief spazzing out over the whole "can't crawl on his knees" thing, tired of things being discussed behind his back about his position, tired of things being discussed with other people who are not in a need-to-know position (HIPAA violation, anyone? Anyone?), tired of the whole song and dance. And so he just wants to have some fun. So, we will.
Plus, this way we'll get to make a stop at Erik Schat's Bakkerei for some good sourdough bread and other goodies to share with the family throughout the weekend.
It will be a good Thanksgiving. It's a miracle that my father-in-law is still alive and that somehow the chemotherapy has worked beyond all our expectations. I'll get to meet some of my sister-in-law's family for the first time. And my father will be joining us again this year as well.
Speaking of my father. I think it's really, really NICE that a man with four grown children can really only call ONE of those children to see if he can spend the holiday with them. Because none of the others want to speak with him. For no real fucking reason (well, I'll give one sister a pass there but only because of the situation surrounding that). Thanks, guys. Thanks for showing the love. Thanks for breaking my heart having to hear my father - hell, OUR father! - essentially beg to spend Thanksgiving with family. Thanks a whole lot. I hope you think about him at some point in time this weekend. Because we're going to be having fun with him. Have fun with Mom instead, mmkay?
Sorry. Had to get that out there. It was really effecting me more than it should.
Now. Back to the food.
I already had a bit of practice in how to deal with the Thanksgiving spread at our company's annual Thanksgiving lunch. Turkey is going to fill me up rather quickly, while the ham is going to be much easier on me. I think I'll stick to munching on ham most of the day and save the turkey with gravy for the actual meal. A little bit of potato and a bite or two of dressing and I'll probably call it good. It's actually going to be really easy to get in all my protein, so that will be a huge plus. And if I'm not full (really big if there), then The Husband and I will probably share a piece of the cheesecake that I'm bringing.
Anyway, have good fun tomorrow with family and friends. Don't eat anything bigger than your head (yeah, right, like that's an option anymore! Hee!). And don't let the crazies on the road ruin your weekend. I'll be back next week!
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Four months down, a lifetime to go
It's hard to believe it's been four months since I had my Duodenal Switch. But I have to say it's been one of the best times of my life. I feel better about myself than I have in a long time. I have more energy (even though I still prefer to live the life of a sloth!), my ginormous clothes are now hanging off my much smaller frame, and everybody notices the changes in me (more on that later).
Now how much did I lose this month, did you say? Twelve pounds. Not bad in my book. Only a pound less than the last two months. Total loss is 68 pounds - which is exactly what 11-year-old Thing One wieghs! I've lost a child! At 247, I weigh less than I did when I was pregnant with Thing Two. I really don't remember precisely when the last time I was this weight, but it was probably about two months or so after the birth of Thing Two - at least 7 years ago.
Changes for this month:
Well, aside from the mass suicide of my hair folicles (they must be acting like lemmings or something up there), everything on me feels much, um, softer. My stomach and pannus are no longer hard fat rolls, they're soft, droopy fat rolls. I don't even want to contemplate what my mons looks like after the glimpses that I got while taming the briar patch a few days ago. My inner thighs are turning into elephant ears - all soft and easily wrinkled. My bat wings are, well, getting more wing like every day. The breasts are getting softer as well, which is highly alarming to me. I will more than likely have something done to them within the next year. I don't give a damn. I love my breasts and I *will* have them, dammit!
Things that I'm not happy with:
This is hard to internalize for me. I'm very happy about the loss and how it is looking on me. What I'm NOT happy with is the constant comments about it from people. I know they mean well, and I know they're happy for me, but it gets tiring hearing the standard comments of "You're looking good! But how are you feeling?" I answer that question at least 20 times a day it seems. It gets old really quickly. While I'm a social person, I'm really more of a homebody. I don't like to be in the spotlight, and losing this weight has really put me in the spotlight. And I'm hating it. Half the time I wonder if it would have been better to Star Jones the whole thing. But then I think the questioning and exclamations over the loss of weight would have been worse.
Also, it's getting tiring always having to be "on." If I'm not smiling and radiant, obviously it means that this is a horrible thing that I've done to myself, I'm sick, I need to see the doctor, etc., etc., etc. Can I just have a day when I'm down for no particular reason? Can I PLEASE be moody for once? It doesn't mean the end of the world. It means that I'm being me for crying out loud. I have more hormones shooting around in my body on a daily basis right now than I usually do when I'm PMSing. I'm going to be moody. I'm going to be cranky. I'm going to get angry over little things sometimes. Get over it. Because I sure do quickly.
Things I would like to improve upon:
My temper. I've always had a short fuse, but with all these extra hormones, it's twice as bad. I don't like being angry over stupid little things, but I find myself in that situation more than I would like. On the other hand, for some odd reason having this surgery has given me patience in other arenas that I never would have dreamed. I just need to push that new-found serenity into the areas where I'm quick to flame up.
Supplement regimine. While I'm consistant during the week when we have a set schedule with work, school and chores, when it comes to the weekend, I'm not as good with my vitamins and calcium as I should be, and I have to kick myself in the ass several times to get things going. Because most of what I take is liquid, it's not like a pill box would help me. I'm going to have to start figuring a better way to do this to make sure I make a habit that lasts a lifetime.
Conclusions:
It's a mixed bag for me, but overall this whole process has been very satisfying. It's putting me in a place where I need and want to be insofar as my weight and controlling it. While I may get snappish at the little things along the way, at the end of the day I can step back and say that I did what was right for me and I'm reaping the benefits. What more can you ask for?
Now how much did I lose this month, did you say? Twelve pounds. Not bad in my book. Only a pound less than the last two months. Total loss is 68 pounds - which is exactly what 11-year-old Thing One wieghs! I've lost a child! At 247, I weigh less than I did when I was pregnant with Thing Two. I really don't remember precisely when the last time I was this weight, but it was probably about two months or so after the birth of Thing Two - at least 7 years ago.
Changes for this month:
Well, aside from the mass suicide of my hair folicles (they must be acting like lemmings or something up there), everything on me feels much, um, softer. My stomach and pannus are no longer hard fat rolls, they're soft, droopy fat rolls. I don't even want to contemplate what my mons looks like after the glimpses that I got while taming the briar patch a few days ago. My inner thighs are turning into elephant ears - all soft and easily wrinkled. My bat wings are, well, getting more wing like every day. The breasts are getting softer as well, which is highly alarming to me. I will more than likely have something done to them within the next year. I don't give a damn. I love my breasts and I *will* have them, dammit!
Things that I'm not happy with:
This is hard to internalize for me. I'm very happy about the loss and how it is looking on me. What I'm NOT happy with is the constant comments about it from people. I know they mean well, and I know they're happy for me, but it gets tiring hearing the standard comments of "You're looking good! But how are you feeling?" I answer that question at least 20 times a day it seems. It gets old really quickly. While I'm a social person, I'm really more of a homebody. I don't like to be in the spotlight, and losing this weight has really put me in the spotlight. And I'm hating it. Half the time I wonder if it would have been better to Star Jones the whole thing. But then I think the questioning and exclamations over the loss of weight would have been worse.
Also, it's getting tiring always having to be "on." If I'm not smiling and radiant, obviously it means that this is a horrible thing that I've done to myself, I'm sick, I need to see the doctor, etc., etc., etc. Can I just have a day when I'm down for no particular reason? Can I PLEASE be moody for once? It doesn't mean the end of the world. It means that I'm being me for crying out loud. I have more hormones shooting around in my body on a daily basis right now than I usually do when I'm PMSing. I'm going to be moody. I'm going to be cranky. I'm going to get angry over little things sometimes. Get over it. Because I sure do quickly.
Things I would like to improve upon:
My temper. I've always had a short fuse, but with all these extra hormones, it's twice as bad. I don't like being angry over stupid little things, but I find myself in that situation more than I would like. On the other hand, for some odd reason having this surgery has given me patience in other arenas that I never would have dreamed. I just need to push that new-found serenity into the areas where I'm quick to flame up.
Supplement regimine. While I'm consistant during the week when we have a set schedule with work, school and chores, when it comes to the weekend, I'm not as good with my vitamins and calcium as I should be, and I have to kick myself in the ass several times to get things going. Because most of what I take is liquid, it's not like a pill box would help me. I'm going to have to start figuring a better way to do this to make sure I make a habit that lasts a lifetime.
Conclusions:
It's a mixed bag for me, but overall this whole process has been very satisfying. It's putting me in a place where I need and want to be insofar as my weight and controlling it. While I may get snappish at the little things along the way, at the end of the day I can step back and say that I did what was right for me and I'm reaping the benefits. What more can you ask for?
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Parenting is hard
Note to the childless: Do not, I repeat, DO NOT envy your friends who have children. They are in a world of hell you cannot imagine and really don't want to experience.
*Sigh*
I love my kids, I really, really do. But sometimes you just don't know what to do.
It was report card day for Thing One and Thing Two on Monday. A day when every child who hasn't been up to scratch with their work trembles in fear at the reaction their parents will have to a slew of bad grades. A day when parents like The Husband and I dread with having to deal with children with grades so far apart a semi-truck could be driven through the gap, and do it in a manner that doesn't downplay one's achievement or unnecessarily torment the other.
Thing Two did it again. For the fourth quarter in a row, she has gotten straight A's. It would have been five quarters in a row, but the first quarter of last year she got a 91 percentage on something. And the girl's school gives the letter grades by a stricter standard than the usual 100-90 = A, 89-80 = B, etc. To me, it was still an A, you know? And this is pretty damn spectacular in my book. Hellfire, *I* never got straight As and I was a fairly good student. So yeah, we're pretty darn happy with the little blonde munchkin.
Thing One, unfortunately, has been having a really hard time of it this school year so far. She has chosen poorly when it comes to her homework and in studying certain things, trying to slip them past us because we didn't know that something was particularly assigned. She's dealing with a teacher that is much more exacting and picky (to the point of stupidity sometimes) than the two she's had before. She's starting to go through hormonal changes as she becomes a woman. And all of it shows in grades she got for the first quarter. The highest grade was an 87. A nice high B in my book. Then there were the Cs, the Ds and yes. A big, fat F.
Needless to say, the poor thing was in tears all afternoon over this. She felt like she was the biggest failure in the world. We knew that there had been problems with her work, and that she was sabotaging herself. We had hoped that changes had been made soon enough to get her a better grade than this in that particular subject. But apparently they weren't.
So on the one hand, we have the shining angel student that every parent dreams of, and on the other hand, we have the struggling, feeling like a failure student. Every word or action of praise that we give to one, feels like a nail to the heart of the other. Every word or action of discipline you speak to one makes the other feel subtly superior than her older sister. (Oh no! No sibling rivalry here at all. NOT!) But you can't NOT praise the one without making her efforts trivial, and you can't NOT discipline the other without making her bad actions and poor choices trivial.
It's not that Thing One isn't smart enough to get better grades. If that was the case, then we would deal with it by tutoring her or something like that. She's gotten straight As before as well. This was a case where she chose to specifically ignore work, ignore studying; keeping it all waiting until the last minute where of course there was no time to complete it or to get a good dose of studying in. The results were painfully obvious on both the work she brought home and in the report card.
But the one thing that this has taught me is that The Husband and I have drastically different expectations of Thing Two. I believe that a child her age and grade level (11 years, 6th grade)should be responsible enough to do the work expected of her without being hovered over. SHE is responsible to show me her completed assignments so that I can check them over for correctness. SHE is responsible for coming to me when she has a question about something. SHE is responsible to make sure they are done in a timely fashion. SHE is responsible for making time for studying instead of reading or watching TV or playing outside. This is not a hand-holding exercise for me. While I will happily give the daily questioning/warning of "Is your homework done?" the rest of it is up to her.
The Husband wants to take a firmer hand in the matter, that it shouldn't be left up to her entirely. Okay. Fine. Maybe she's not ready for that kind of responsibility. I can see that possibility. But what I don't agree with is that he thinks this is dropped entirely in my lap to deal with.
You, my dearest love, are entirely able to check her homework as well and to make sure that all assignments are completed. There are two parents in this household, last time I checked. Don't sell your intelligence short, and tell me that I'm the "smart" one here and you don't know what you are doing. I hoist the BS flag on this one. You want to lower the boom? Then you be the one to do it and I will back you up. We both work full-time jobs, and this is not about our usual division of labor. This is about our children. We're equals in this arena, with equal responsibility, babe.
It's going to be tough, this next quarter. Thing One has to bring up her grades. I'm not going to complain if the majority of them are Cs. Cs at this school are the public schools' Bs. But no more Ds, and certainly no more Fs. Priveledges will be curtailed. Life will not be all fun and games. But my little girl has got to know that responsibility for things in her life fall on her shoulders. It's the only way that we're going to be able to train her up to survive in the real world. We'll do her no favors by hand-holding her all the way through her senior year. At some point, it has to be up to her.
Good luck, sweetie. Mommy will be here to help you out. But I know you can stand on your own two feet. And you'll be good at it, I promise.
*Sigh*
I love my kids, I really, really do. But sometimes you just don't know what to do.
It was report card day for Thing One and Thing Two on Monday. A day when every child who hasn't been up to scratch with their work trembles in fear at the reaction their parents will have to a slew of bad grades. A day when parents like The Husband and I dread with having to deal with children with grades so far apart a semi-truck could be driven through the gap, and do it in a manner that doesn't downplay one's achievement or unnecessarily torment the other.
Thing Two did it again. For the fourth quarter in a row, she has gotten straight A's. It would have been five quarters in a row, but the first quarter of last year she got a 91 percentage on something. And the girl's school gives the letter grades by a stricter standard than the usual 100-90 = A, 89-80 = B, etc. To me, it was still an A, you know? And this is pretty damn spectacular in my book. Hellfire, *I* never got straight As and I was a fairly good student. So yeah, we're pretty darn happy with the little blonde munchkin.
Thing One, unfortunately, has been having a really hard time of it this school year so far. She has chosen poorly when it comes to her homework and in studying certain things, trying to slip them past us because we didn't know that something was particularly assigned. She's dealing with a teacher that is much more exacting and picky (to the point of stupidity sometimes) than the two she's had before. She's starting to go through hormonal changes as she becomes a woman. And all of it shows in grades she got for the first quarter. The highest grade was an 87. A nice high B in my book. Then there were the Cs, the Ds and yes. A big, fat F.
Needless to say, the poor thing was in tears all afternoon over this. She felt like she was the biggest failure in the world. We knew that there had been problems with her work, and that she was sabotaging herself. We had hoped that changes had been made soon enough to get her a better grade than this in that particular subject. But apparently they weren't.
So on the one hand, we have the shining angel student that every parent dreams of, and on the other hand, we have the struggling, feeling like a failure student. Every word or action of praise that we give to one, feels like a nail to the heart of the other. Every word or action of discipline you speak to one makes the other feel subtly superior than her older sister. (Oh no! No sibling rivalry here at all. NOT!) But you can't NOT praise the one without making her efforts trivial, and you can't NOT discipline the other without making her bad actions and poor choices trivial.
It's not that Thing One isn't smart enough to get better grades. If that was the case, then we would deal with it by tutoring her or something like that. She's gotten straight As before as well. This was a case where she chose to specifically ignore work, ignore studying; keeping it all waiting until the last minute where of course there was no time to complete it or to get a good dose of studying in. The results were painfully obvious on both the work she brought home and in the report card.
But the one thing that this has taught me is that The Husband and I have drastically different expectations of Thing Two. I believe that a child her age and grade level (11 years, 6th grade)should be responsible enough to do the work expected of her without being hovered over. SHE is responsible to show me her completed assignments so that I can check them over for correctness. SHE is responsible for coming to me when she has a question about something. SHE is responsible to make sure they are done in a timely fashion. SHE is responsible for making time for studying instead of reading or watching TV or playing outside. This is not a hand-holding exercise for me. While I will happily give the daily questioning/warning of "Is your homework done?" the rest of it is up to her.
The Husband wants to take a firmer hand in the matter, that it shouldn't be left up to her entirely. Okay. Fine. Maybe she's not ready for that kind of responsibility. I can see that possibility. But what I don't agree with is that he thinks this is dropped entirely in my lap to deal with.
You, my dearest love, are entirely able to check her homework as well and to make sure that all assignments are completed. There are two parents in this household, last time I checked. Don't sell your intelligence short, and tell me that I'm the "smart" one here and you don't know what you are doing. I hoist the BS flag on this one. You want to lower the boom? Then you be the one to do it and I will back you up. We both work full-time jobs, and this is not about our usual division of labor. This is about our children. We're equals in this arena, with equal responsibility, babe.
It's going to be tough, this next quarter. Thing One has to bring up her grades. I'm not going to complain if the majority of them are Cs. Cs at this school are the public schools' Bs. But no more Ds, and certainly no more Fs. Priveledges will be curtailed. Life will not be all fun and games. But my little girl has got to know that responsibility for things in her life fall on her shoulders. It's the only way that we're going to be able to train her up to survive in the real world. We'll do her no favors by hand-holding her all the way through her senior year. At some point, it has to be up to her.
Good luck, sweetie. Mommy will be here to help you out. But I know you can stand on your own two feet. And you'll be good at it, I promise.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Yesssssss!
I busted through. Two hundred and forty-nine pounds, baby! Whooo-hooo! And here I thought the scale was just tormenting me by hovering just above 250. Never even saw that number and just went straight on by. Ha!
I'll make another post probably this afternoon. Work has me swamped for once, but I haven't forgot y'all, Innernets.
I'll make another post probably this afternoon. Work has me swamped for once, but I haven't forgot y'all, Innernets.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Tagged. Again. *sigh*
- Explain what ended your last relationship.
Well, there was that whole thing about him cheating on me, and then not making up his mind about what he wanted even though I forgave him and eventually he decided that he wanted to be with a *different* girl and I ended up meeting The Husband when he moved out of my house and into The Husband's house. Heee! - When was the last time you shaved?
Yesterday. - What were you doing this morning at 8 a.m.?
Walking into work after dropping off the children at school. - What were you doing 15 minutes ago?
Wasting time online. - Are you any good at math?
Hell yeah! I am a "visual" mathematician. Drove my instructors crazy. My brain skips steps in complex problems. Can't show my work. - Your prom night?
Ahh, prom! I didn't go to my Senior Prom because my class were all wankers. But I did go to prom as a sophomore. Very fun. Stayed out really late. Went with awesome people. My date actually asked me in front of my then-boyfriend. Boyfriend gave permission because he couldn't afford to take me. Very wierd. He ended up going as well, but with someone else (we broke up for some reason). It was all good. - Do you have any famous ancestors?
None that I know of. We're all very bland. Although I have a cousin several times removed who used to be the head coach for the San Francisco 49ers. - Have you had to take a loan out for school?
Thank God, no. - Do you know the words to the song on your myspace profile?
I don't "do" Myspace. - Last thing received in the mail?
&*#*&!!## election thingies. - How many different beverages have you had today?
Two. Protein drink and crystal light. - Do you ever leave messages on peoples answering machine?
Yes, but I hate to talk to a machine. I never know what to say. - Who did you lose your CONCERT virginity to?
Heh, heh! Oingo Boingo's Day of the Dead concert in 1988. - Do you draw your name in the sand when you go to the beach?
Um, no. Why? - What was the most painful dental procedure you have had?
Toss up between braces and getting my cord cut. - What is out your back door?
Acres and acres of nothing. Then the mountains. Ahhhh! - Any plans for Friday night?
Umm, sleep? - Do you like what the ocean does to your hair?
Not particularily. - Have you ever received one of those big tins of 3 different popcorns?
Yes. They're disgusting. - Have you ever been to a planetarium?
Yes. The Griffith Observatory. Very nice. - Do you re-use towels after you shower?
Of course. It's not like I'm wiping dog poo off my body. It's water. The end. - Some things you are excited about?
Hrm. My fabric collection, my melting fat, my droopy clothing. - What is your favorite flavor of JELLO?
Depends on how it's used. Peach probably. - Describe your keychain(s).
I have far too many. They have way too many keys on them. One of them has a Coach snowflake pendant that The Husband spent way too much money on for a keychain fob. Another has a cheap-ass purple enormous safety pin (think four to five inches long) on it. A third has a small pink sting ray bean bag on it. - Where do you keep your change?
Either in the bottom of my purse or in a huge mason jar in the bedroom. - Do you sleep with the door to your room open or closed?
Closed. I'm paranoid that way. - Did you read this far? Consider yourself tagged.
I hate this. You can ignore it if you feel like it.
Election Day - It's over! Yay!
Praise Jesus and pass the potatoes! Election day is over. No more lying politicians gracing my TV screen, telling me that so-and-so is a retard or telling me that I *have* to vote for this proposition because he/she knows ever so much more than me. They're gone! Whoo-hooo!
I must say that I am spectacularly pleased at the huge number of people in this country that turned out to vote. Finally people are beginning to take their civic duties seriously! It's about damn time! I honestly don't give a rat's ass that the GOP lost their control in the Senate (House too? I haven't checked the returns yet this morning). It means that the people were out there, making their will known and it was a good thing! If I'm going to be outvoted on my candidates, it had better be because more than half of the electorate got off their asses and voted, rather than the piss-poor showing that it's been lately.
I had to stand in line for an hour last night just to get to a voting machine. And this is in a very small precinct. It was awesome! Usually, voting here was a breeze in and breeze out kind of a thing. But they had a line of at least 20 people all day long. No let-up at all. Now THAT's what I'm talking about!
But there is one thing that I'm still seeing when people vote and it's pissing me off more and more each year. The whole "well, I don't like either major party candidate, and the candidate I do like will never win so I'll just vote for the lesser of the two evils" thing. People. If you would realize that if you started voting for the candidate that you really believed would follow your personal ideals, then perhaps other people that feel the same way would vote for them too and maybe, just maybe, they would, I don't know, ACTUALLY GET ELECTED!
This whole thing really torked me off when we had the special election to recall Gray Davis a few years ago. The best candidate, hands down in my opinion, was Tom McClintock. He had run against Davis in the regular election, and lost. When the special election came up, his hat was in the ring again. The man is one of the true died-in-the-wool fiscal conservatives left in this country. While he may lie through his teeth on other issues like all other politicians, when it came to this area, there was no budging the man. And that's what people in California claimed they actually wanted. We're tired of governors pissing away our money. Which was why we voted to recall Davis.
But then Ahnold threw his hat into the ring. And all the people who were going to vote for McClintock threw up their hands in dismay, wringing them saying, "Well, McClintock doesn't have a chance of winning now that Schwarzenegger's in the race. So I'll just vote for him so that Davis doesn't get the spot back." And that, my friends, is how we got Ahnold with such a landslide victory - losing out on one of the few fiscal conservatives left in this nation, or whichever candidate you felt was right for the job. All because we "thought" he didn't have a chance. Well if you just CAST A DAMN VOTE FOR HIM, then maybe he would have won! And if he hadn't? So what? At least you voted for the candidate you wanted, instead of your "lesser of two evils."
McClintock got defeated again last night, this time for Lieutenant Governor. Who did we elect in his place? The former dirty insurance commissioner John Garamendi. And again we have that fucker, Jerry Brown, back in an office again - Attorney General this time. Didn't we learn the LAST TIME on both of these guys? Apparently not. The electorate has a very short memory it seems.
But at least people got off their damn couches and turned out and voted. In the end, I can't be upset at that, even if I am a minority in this very Blue state of California. At least my voice was heard.
I must say that I am spectacularly pleased at the huge number of people in this country that turned out to vote. Finally people are beginning to take their civic duties seriously! It's about damn time! I honestly don't give a rat's ass that the GOP lost their control in the Senate (House too? I haven't checked the returns yet this morning). It means that the people were out there, making their will known and it was a good thing! If I'm going to be outvoted on my candidates, it had better be because more than half of the electorate got off their asses and voted, rather than the piss-poor showing that it's been lately.
I had to stand in line for an hour last night just to get to a voting machine. And this is in a very small precinct. It was awesome! Usually, voting here was a breeze in and breeze out kind of a thing. But they had a line of at least 20 people all day long. No let-up at all. Now THAT's what I'm talking about!
But there is one thing that I'm still seeing when people vote and it's pissing me off more and more each year. The whole "well, I don't like either major party candidate, and the candidate I do like will never win so I'll just vote for the lesser of the two evils" thing. People. If you would realize that if you started voting for the candidate that you really believed would follow your personal ideals, then perhaps other people that feel the same way would vote for them too and maybe, just maybe, they would, I don't know, ACTUALLY GET ELECTED!
This whole thing really torked me off when we had the special election to recall Gray Davis a few years ago. The best candidate, hands down in my opinion, was Tom McClintock. He had run against Davis in the regular election, and lost. When the special election came up, his hat was in the ring again. The man is one of the true died-in-the-wool fiscal conservatives left in this country. While he may lie through his teeth on other issues like all other politicians, when it came to this area, there was no budging the man. And that's what people in California claimed they actually wanted. We're tired of governors pissing away our money. Which was why we voted to recall Davis.
But then Ahnold threw his hat into the ring. And all the people who were going to vote for McClintock threw up their hands in dismay, wringing them saying, "Well, McClintock doesn't have a chance of winning now that Schwarzenegger's in the race. So I'll just vote for him so that Davis doesn't get the spot back." And that, my friends, is how we got Ahnold with such a landslide victory - losing out on one of the few fiscal conservatives left in this nation, or whichever candidate you felt was right for the job. All because we "thought" he didn't have a chance. Well if you just CAST A DAMN VOTE FOR HIM, then maybe he would have won! And if he hadn't? So what? At least you voted for the candidate you wanted, instead of your "lesser of two evils."
McClintock got defeated again last night, this time for Lieutenant Governor. Who did we elect in his place? The former dirty insurance commissioner John Garamendi. And again we have that fucker, Jerry Brown, back in an office again - Attorney General this time. Didn't we learn the LAST TIME on both of these guys? Apparently not. The electorate has a very short memory it seems.
But at least people got off their damn couches and turned out and voted. In the end, I can't be upset at that, even if I am a minority in this very Blue state of California. At least my voice was heard.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
File this under: You paid HOW MUCH for that?
Dude. People on eBay will buy just about anything. And for WAAAAYYY too much money. Seriously. It's very, very scary.
Now, take this item here. It's a little insulated lunch bag made by Lean Cuisine. It was part of a promotion to raise money for the Susan G. Komen foundation. Cost to me? $10. I happened to get one because I thought it was cute. The one I got was the one in the front there - white with the pink and orange swirly thingies and the pink handles. When it arrived, I opened it up, and while yes, it was a cute design, it got a total "meh" from me. It's not all that, really. It's kind of an awkward shape for an insulated lunch bag and just wasn't something that I was going to use. And yeah, the handles just don't stand up like that on their own. The picture is way cuter than the reality. So I did what I do with things I buy that I can't return and want to recoup some of my money on. I put it up for bid on eBay.
It was a five-day auction that I started out at 99 cents.
Last night, after 18 different bids, that little $10 bag sold for - drum roll, please! - $80. And they already paid for it with PayPal.
Damn. I should have bought more of those suckers. 800% profit is nothing to shake a stick at. All I wanted was my $10 back, really.
Then again, who is STUPID enough to spend $80 on a promotional lunch bag? I guess because you can't get them anymore? Who knows why people spend this kind of money on things.
I think my local women's shelter is going to get a little donation today. It may not be much in the great scheme of things, but at least someone else's foolishness will help out someone in need.
Now, take this item here. It's a little insulated lunch bag made by Lean Cuisine. It was part of a promotion to raise money for the Susan G. Komen foundation. Cost to me? $10. I happened to get one because I thought it was cute. The one I got was the one in the front there - white with the pink and orange swirly thingies and the pink handles. When it arrived, I opened it up, and while yes, it was a cute design, it got a total "meh" from me. It's not all that, really. It's kind of an awkward shape for an insulated lunch bag and just wasn't something that I was going to use. And yeah, the handles just don't stand up like that on their own. The picture is way cuter than the reality. So I did what I do with things I buy that I can't return and want to recoup some of my money on. I put it up for bid on eBay.It was a five-day auction that I started out at 99 cents.
Last night, after 18 different bids, that little $10 bag sold for - drum roll, please! - $80. And they already paid for it with PayPal.
Damn. I should have bought more of those suckers. 800% profit is nothing to shake a stick at. All I wanted was my $10 back, really.
Then again, who is STUPID enough to spend $80 on a promotional lunch bag? I guess because you can't get them anymore? Who knows why people spend this kind of money on things.
I think my local women's shelter is going to get a little donation today. It may not be much in the great scheme of things, but at least someone else's foolishness will help out someone in need.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
A picture is worth a thousand words
But all I can say is Wow. No explanation necessary. Obviously the person on the right is me back in June. The person on the left is me now. I like the new me a bit better. Her skin feels much more comfortable to be in.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Month Three - It keeps coming off!
Despite my despair that I was at a "plateau" (Oh come on, now. Something that only lasts for a week and a half cannot be classified as a plateau no matter how much you angst over it. Twit!) I have managed to lose in my third month the exact same amount I lost in my second month - 13 pounds. When all added up, I have lost a total of 56 pounds. Not bad for a fat girl with an eating habit, eh?
I will be taking pictures this weekend, but until then, I want to share with y-all my virtual model thingies that I made up. This first one is how I "looked" at my starting weight of 315 pounds.
Now, this is pretty, um, generous. My arms were a whole lot more inflated, as were my thighs. My waist was a lot less defined, and putting in the "less defined" option made me look completely rotund - I at least did still have a waist. But I guess we can't expect a computer-generated "model" to actually reflect reality any more than fashion models reflect reality, right?
This next model on the right is how I theoretically look at 259 pounds. It's a bit better, I suppose. It's still a little bit generous on the size of the arms and thighs, but it's beginning to show more of where I've lost the weight. I have a little buddha-belly going on, though, as where my incision was doesn't seem to want to give up its real estate underneath. That's okay. It's not a hernia, it's just a jealous little bitch about what's going on in my face. It just can't STAND to see the thinness going on there.
The only thing this model isn't showing are those drastic changes in my face. But that's okay, we'll forgive it. We're just that type of people, right?
Our third model over here on the left, is where I should look once I reach 100 pounds lost, sitting at 215 pounds. NOW we're starting to get there, people! Hopefully the hips will be a whole lot slimmer like she shows, the arms will be a whole lot nicer and if I'm lucky, the girls will still be as full as hers. Needless to say I will be sacrificing the pure and unblemished lamb I have been saving for just this type of occasion to the all-powerful and mighty boobie gods in order to obtain this desire of mine.
The last model, again on the right, shows how I should "look" once I reach my goal weight of 150 pounds. This is of course not going to take into account the mounds of sagging skin that I'm certain to have. But that's what our friends the plastic surgeons are there for, no?
All in all, I think this is a fair assessment of what I'll look like. NOT! Reality bites, but at least this will give me an idea to shape my mind around and grasp at least partially the changes that will be taking place.
Excitement abounds!
Oh, and lest I forget to say it, I really and truly love my DS!
I will be taking pictures this weekend, but until then, I want to share with y-all my virtual model thingies that I made up. This first one is how I "looked" at my starting weight of 315 pounds.
Now, this is pretty, um, generous. My arms were a whole lot more inflated, as were my thighs. My waist was a lot less defined, and putting in the "less defined" option made me look completely rotund - I at least did still have a waist. But I guess we can't expect a computer-generated "model" to actually reflect reality any more than fashion models reflect reality, right?
This next model on the right is how I theoretically look at 259 pounds. It's a bit better, I suppose. It's still a little bit generous on the size of the arms and thighs, but it's beginning to show more of where I've lost the weight. I have a little buddha-belly going on, though, as where my incision was doesn't seem to want to give up its real estate underneath. That's okay. It's not a hernia, it's just a jealous little bitch about what's going on in my face. It just can't STAND to see the thinness going on there.The only thing this model isn't showing are those drastic changes in my face. But that's okay, we'll forgive it. We're just that type of people, right?
Our third model over here on the left, is where I should look once I reach 100 pounds lost, sitting at 215 pounds. NOW we're starting to get there, people! Hopefully the hips will be a whole lot slimmer like she shows, the arms will be a whole lot nicer and if I'm lucky, the girls will still be as full as hers. Needless to say I will be sacrificing the pure and unblemished lamb I have been saving for just this type of occasion to the all-powerful and mighty boobie gods in order to obtain this desire of mine.
The last model, again on the right, shows how I should "look" once I reach my goal weight of 150 pounds. This is of course not going to take into account the mounds of sagging skin that I'm certain to have. But that's what our friends the plastic surgeons are there for, no?All in all, I think this is a fair assessment of what I'll look like. NOT! Reality bites, but at least this will give me an idea to shape my mind around and grasp at least partially the changes that will be taking place.
Excitement abounds!
Oh, and lest I forget to say it, I really and truly love my DS!
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Well, crap. We knew it was coming sometime, but . . .
It still sucks when it comes around and smacks you in your face.
The Husband has an interesting condition. The bones in his kneecaps never fused like they're supposed to when you grow up - so he has a three-piece kneecap instead of a normal one-piece adult kneecap. This caused his knee to never quite align up with the other leg bones. Over time, he developed what is known as Bi-Patello-Femoral Syndrome - a condition that is often seen in runners - which has rapidly progressed towards full-on Chrondromalacia Patellae as he has little to no cartilage remaining in either knee. This results in bone-on bone contact occurring whenever he walks. It is especially painful whenever he gets up from a sitting position, as his kneecap can actually slide down the shin bone and has to physically be moved up into place in order for his knee to bend. And moving it back up is extremely painful. Not my idea of fun, let me tell you.
The condition reared its ugly head for the first time when The Husband was in the Navy on submarines. It seems that steel decks don't have any give unlike concrete or asphalt and on his second cruise at sea, his knees registered their opinion on the matter, swelling to the size of softballs. He was in constant pain but could only take 800mg of Motrin due to the restrictions of medication on board ships. When they got back after that cruise, he dutifully reported to the doctors to see what was up with the whole thing. When they took x-rays of his knees, they actually started questioning if he had signed up for the Navy while still underaged because his knees looked like those of a 12- or 13-year-old's due to them not being fused yet.
Once they got over their startlement and accusations, they started talking surgery. However The Husband ixnayed that when the Navy surgeon came in to examine the knee that was the worst (the left) and started talking about how he was going to make the cuts on the RIGHT knee. No way, no how was he going to be someone's guinea pig. So instead of surgery, the Navy offered him either a desk job at the drydock in Connecticut or an honorable discharge and a 5% disability. Since he'd been to war for his country (first Iraqi conflict), The Husband took his Honorable but not the disability and ran. Straight into my loving arms. Well, not quite, but close. That's another story for another day.
Anyway, back to the present. Or relatively near present.
Over the years, the knees have gotten progressively worse. They would flare up when he did heavy work, especially in the winter. I've gotten very, very good at giving knee massages as a result. Very sexy. I have begged and pleaded with him to PLEASE go to another doctor the whole way. But seeing as how he has an aversion to actually going to the doctor (he'd rather be shot), my words fell on deaf ears.
But on Monday, the straw that broke the camel's back (knees?) happened. He was working on his tank (steel deck again, anyone?) and stepped wrong, causing his left knee to wrench sideways. Instant pain, instant inflammation, instant limping.
His crew chief was less than sympathetic. It seems the chief, although being a good friend of ours, thinks that The Husband "gets injured" every time a big job is to be done. Hrm. Let's see. The LAST time The Husband got injured (over a year and a half ago) it was because he was attempting to keep a several hundred pound piece of equipment from falling to the ground from a height of about 8 feet. Said fall would have smashed the equipment into smithereens, and seeing as how said equipment is literally irreplaceable, The Husband considered a torn rotator cuff a worthy sacrifice, and so did crew chief at the time.
Oh, and at that time crew chief was recovering himself from emergency back surgery that took care of two discs in his spine that had disintegrated and were about ready to snap him in two and paralyze him for life. And that The Husband had literally bludgeoned the crew chief into making an appointment to look into his back pain because he was worried about him. Guess unintentional injuries are really "planned" or "faked," right? Ass. He's not getting Christmas cookies this year at all.
After he told me what had happened, I begged and pleaded with The Husband to finally go to the doctor. He could even go see the nice orthopedist that saw Thing Two for her arm the last two weeks. I about fainted when he said for me to call and make the appointment.
Well, I made the appointment and he went today. I didn't go because he said, and I quote, that "it would be easier to lie to you (me) if you (I) didn't go." I just had to sigh over that. He's gotten so good at lying about how much pain he's in and how bad his knees actually are over the years even though I know about it, that this is just par for the course.
He just called me on the phone, crying because the dreaded word has come up again. Surgery. He needs to have arthroscopic surgery on both knees. Because if he doesn't so the doctor can shave away some parts of the kneecap that are going bone on bone, he is "not going to be able to walk his daughter down the aisle at her wedding because he will be in a wheelchair." Somehow I don't think he's lying anymore about all of this.
This surgery won't be the end of it. It's only buying him time before both knees have to be replaced. If The Husband complies with the doctor's orders to immediately stop doing high-impact activities and goes through with the surgery, he will probably have about 15-20 years on the knees he currently has. If he continues the work he's been doing, he will get perhaps 1-2 years before full-on failure occurs. But no matter what, his knees will at some point end up being made of cobalt.
This is going to be a huge change for him. He's not going to like it. But in a way, it's been needed for a while. He hasn't been happy at his job lately because of crew chief's souring attitude - and just a year ago they were the happiest, most respected and envied crew on the range because of their camaraderie and expertise. Things needed to change, and this is giving him a valid reason to change besides "I'm just not happy."
So please, say a prayer (or swing chickens) for my wonderful husband. It's going to be hard, but I know that between him and me we can get through this.
The Husband has an interesting condition. The bones in his kneecaps never fused like they're supposed to when you grow up - so he has a three-piece kneecap instead of a normal one-piece adult kneecap. This caused his knee to never quite align up with the other leg bones. Over time, he developed what is known as Bi-Patello-Femoral Syndrome - a condition that is often seen in runners - which has rapidly progressed towards full-on Chrondromalacia Patellae as he has little to no cartilage remaining in either knee. This results in bone-on bone contact occurring whenever he walks. It is especially painful whenever he gets up from a sitting position, as his kneecap can actually slide down the shin bone and has to physically be moved up into place in order for his knee to bend. And moving it back up is extremely painful. Not my idea of fun, let me tell you.
The condition reared its ugly head for the first time when The Husband was in the Navy on submarines. It seems that steel decks don't have any give unlike concrete or asphalt and on his second cruise at sea, his knees registered their opinion on the matter, swelling to the size of softballs. He was in constant pain but could only take 800mg of Motrin due to the restrictions of medication on board ships. When they got back after that cruise, he dutifully reported to the doctors to see what was up with the whole thing. When they took x-rays of his knees, they actually started questioning if he had signed up for the Navy while still underaged because his knees looked like those of a 12- or 13-year-old's due to them not being fused yet.
Once they got over their startlement and accusations, they started talking surgery. However The Husband ixnayed that when the Navy surgeon came in to examine the knee that was the worst (the left) and started talking about how he was going to make the cuts on the RIGHT knee. No way, no how was he going to be someone's guinea pig. So instead of surgery, the Navy offered him either a desk job at the drydock in Connecticut or an honorable discharge and a 5% disability. Since he'd been to war for his country (first Iraqi conflict), The Husband took his Honorable but not the disability and ran. Straight into my loving arms. Well, not quite, but close. That's another story for another day.
Anyway, back to the present. Or relatively near present.
Over the years, the knees have gotten progressively worse. They would flare up when he did heavy work, especially in the winter. I've gotten very, very good at giving knee massages as a result. Very sexy. I have begged and pleaded with him to PLEASE go to another doctor the whole way. But seeing as how he has an aversion to actually going to the doctor (he'd rather be shot), my words fell on deaf ears.
But on Monday, the straw that broke the camel's back (knees?) happened. He was working on his tank (steel deck again, anyone?) and stepped wrong, causing his left knee to wrench sideways. Instant pain, instant inflammation, instant limping.
His crew chief was less than sympathetic. It seems the chief, although being a good friend of ours, thinks that The Husband "gets injured" every time a big job is to be done. Hrm. Let's see. The LAST time The Husband got injured (over a year and a half ago) it was because he was attempting to keep a several hundred pound piece of equipment from falling to the ground from a height of about 8 feet. Said fall would have smashed the equipment into smithereens, and seeing as how said equipment is literally irreplaceable, The Husband considered a torn rotator cuff a worthy sacrifice, and so did crew chief at the time.
Oh, and at that time crew chief was recovering himself from emergency back surgery that took care of two discs in his spine that had disintegrated and were about ready to snap him in two and paralyze him for life. And that The Husband had literally bludgeoned the crew chief into making an appointment to look into his back pain because he was worried about him. Guess unintentional injuries are really "planned" or "faked," right? Ass. He's not getting Christmas cookies this year at all.
After he told me what had happened, I begged and pleaded with The Husband to finally go to the doctor. He could even go see the nice orthopedist that saw Thing Two for her arm the last two weeks. I about fainted when he said for me to call and make the appointment.
Well, I made the appointment and he went today. I didn't go because he said, and I quote, that "it would be easier to lie to you (me) if you (I) didn't go." I just had to sigh over that. He's gotten so good at lying about how much pain he's in and how bad his knees actually are over the years even though I know about it, that this is just par for the course.
He just called me on the phone, crying because the dreaded word has come up again. Surgery. He needs to have arthroscopic surgery on both knees. Because if he doesn't so the doctor can shave away some parts of the kneecap that are going bone on bone, he is "not going to be able to walk his daughter down the aisle at her wedding because he will be in a wheelchair." Somehow I don't think he's lying anymore about all of this.
This surgery won't be the end of it. It's only buying him time before both knees have to be replaced. If The Husband complies with the doctor's orders to immediately stop doing high-impact activities and goes through with the surgery, he will probably have about 15-20 years on the knees he currently has. If he continues the work he's been doing, he will get perhaps 1-2 years before full-on failure occurs. But no matter what, his knees will at some point end up being made of cobalt.
This is going to be a huge change for him. He's not going to like it. But in a way, it's been needed for a while. He hasn't been happy at his job lately because of crew chief's souring attitude - and just a year ago they were the happiest, most respected and envied crew on the range because of their camaraderie and expertise. Things needed to change, and this is giving him a valid reason to change besides "I'm just not happy."
So please, say a prayer (or swing chickens) for my wonderful husband. It's going to be hard, but I know that between him and me we can get through this.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Links, links, we gotcher links! Hot, fresh links!
It seems like every time I turn around I'm finding a new site that is oh so freaking cool. Culminating with this one that has sent me into paroxysms of laughter while finally giving my brain a well-needed workout. So, I've made a few changes on the left and if you like I suggest checking them out. Because damn if they aren't the shit.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Why I had this surgery, Part 3,974 : From the mouths of babes
Back in early spring of this year, something happened that made it necessary to talk to Thing One and Thing Two about the changes their bodies would make as they grew up and became women. I explained to them that their breasts would grow and look like mommy's and that at some point they would get their period and not to be afraid but to come to mommy and that she would help them out with whatever they needed.
Thing One took all this information in stride. In their Little House on the Prarie-type school, she has noticed some of the older girls starting their period and luckily the school has some supplies on hand for these situations. She already had part of the information, and my talk with them just sealed the deal for her on the whole thing.
Thing Two, on the other hand, was a bit squicked out by the whole idea of "bleeding from the area where you pee" and was very thankful that it wasn't going to happen to her for some time. Then she made this comment.
"But will I get fat like you, mommy? I don't want to become a woman if I'm going to get fat."
Ow. That was a wound to the heart. Nothing like being told by your child that yes, you are fat and you look it, thankyouverymuch!
"No, sweetie. You have daddy's metabolism. You know your Auntie D and Auntie K? You'll look like them, honey."
She was very thankful for the information. Even at the tender age of 7, my child has picked up on the "badness" of being fat and wants to avoid it at all costs. Seeing as how she weighs a mere 49 pounds (with Thing One weighing in at a whopping 67 pounds - insert eyeroll), neither of my children are in any current danger of being obese. They look like tall skinny beanpoles - the exact way all of The Husband's family looks like. This is in contrast to my family, who while being tall are all at least slightly plump if not outright obese. Hardy Alsatian stock.
The children eat all the time. Seriously. For example, in their lunches today they had some lunch meat, some cheese, some baby carrots, some grape tomatoes, cheese and peanutbutter crackers and a juice pack. When they get off from school, they are so hungry they beg for a snack, and then they have full plates for dinner. I honestly don't know where they put all that food except that their legs are probably hollow.
In contrast to the average child today, my children get extensive time outside. They have their chores around the acerage to do, which includes feeding the sheep, two pens of chickens and four pens of pheasants. They have to feed the dogs, and are also constantly running around the property every few hours turning on and off some of the waterers for our bamboo. Then add in the trampoline for good solid fun and all the running and playing with the dogs that they do as well as recess at school, and they get well more than three hours of activity per day.
Another thing that we do is that we raise our own meat. Pork, chicken, lamb, turkey. Eventually we intend to do beef as well but haven't gotten around to it. We have raised it all throughout their lives and they appreciate the better taste of meat that is home-grown. No preservatives or antibiotics or growth hormones in our meat. No slopping the pigs. Just whole grain and grass food, Little House on the Prarie style. (Do you see a theme here? I always wanted to be Half Pint!)
Hopefully The Husband and I are setting them up so that they don't fall into the traps that I did that would lead to their becoming obese. I don't want either of them to have to resort to surgery to get their weight under control. Yes, they like their sweets just like any normal child, but hopefully we are teaching them restraint and control. Hopefully they will not become a statistic as many other children their ages are becoming.
I don't want them to get fat like me. I don't want them to face the shame you feel when you step on the scale and the numbers start with a "3". I don't want them to struggle with finding clothes that fit, or facing the subtle and overt discrimination that those who are overweight recieve. I don't want them to feel like less of a person because they are so large. I want to shelter them from the extra cruelties in life that can occur when you are overweight.
I don't want them to become the person that I was, but rather the person that I am becoming.
Normal.
Thing One took all this information in stride. In their Little House on the Prarie-type school, she has noticed some of the older girls starting their period and luckily the school has some supplies on hand for these situations. She already had part of the information, and my talk with them just sealed the deal for her on the whole thing.
Thing Two, on the other hand, was a bit squicked out by the whole idea of "bleeding from the area where you pee" and was very thankful that it wasn't going to happen to her for some time. Then she made this comment.
"But will I get fat like you, mommy? I don't want to become a woman if I'm going to get fat."
Ow. That was a wound to the heart. Nothing like being told by your child that yes, you are fat and you look it, thankyouverymuch!
"No, sweetie. You have daddy's metabolism. You know your Auntie D and Auntie K? You'll look like them, honey."
She was very thankful for the information. Even at the tender age of 7, my child has picked up on the "badness" of being fat and wants to avoid it at all costs. Seeing as how she weighs a mere 49 pounds (with Thing One weighing in at a whopping 67 pounds - insert eyeroll), neither of my children are in any current danger of being obese. They look like tall skinny beanpoles - the exact way all of The Husband's family looks like. This is in contrast to my family, who while being tall are all at least slightly plump if not outright obese. Hardy Alsatian stock.
The children eat all the time. Seriously. For example, in their lunches today they had some lunch meat, some cheese, some baby carrots, some grape tomatoes, cheese and peanutbutter crackers and a juice pack. When they get off from school, they are so hungry they beg for a snack, and then they have full plates for dinner. I honestly don't know where they put all that food except that their legs are probably hollow.
In contrast to the average child today, my children get extensive time outside. They have their chores around the acerage to do, which includes feeding the sheep, two pens of chickens and four pens of pheasants. They have to feed the dogs, and are also constantly running around the property every few hours turning on and off some of the waterers for our bamboo. Then add in the trampoline for good solid fun and all the running and playing with the dogs that they do as well as recess at school, and they get well more than three hours of activity per day.
Another thing that we do is that we raise our own meat. Pork, chicken, lamb, turkey. Eventually we intend to do beef as well but haven't gotten around to it. We have raised it all throughout their lives and they appreciate the better taste of meat that is home-grown. No preservatives or antibiotics or growth hormones in our meat. No slopping the pigs. Just whole grain and grass food, Little House on the Prarie style. (Do you see a theme here? I always wanted to be Half Pint!)
Hopefully The Husband and I are setting them up so that they don't fall into the traps that I did that would lead to their becoming obese. I don't want either of them to have to resort to surgery to get their weight under control. Yes, they like their sweets just like any normal child, but hopefully we are teaching them restraint and control. Hopefully they will not become a statistic as many other children their ages are becoming.
I don't want them to get fat like me. I don't want them to face the shame you feel when you step on the scale and the numbers start with a "3". I don't want them to struggle with finding clothes that fit, or facing the subtle and overt discrimination that those who are overweight recieve. I don't want them to feel like less of a person because they are so large. I want to shelter them from the extra cruelties in life that can occur when you are overweight.
I don't want them to become the person that I was, but rather the person that I am becoming.
Normal.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Well, lookee there! I can finally see it!
Guess what, Internet? No seriously. Just guess.
I'm smaller. And I can TOTALLY see it! Eeeeeeee!
Today was the first day that I looked at my naked body (more specifically my torso) and could actually tell that yes, this surgery is working and I am actually really and truly losing weight and it hasn't been a gremlin in my scale's computer fooling me with the numbers showing up there after all. Hot damn!
Previous to this, I could see my face slimming down. Whoopee. It does that all the time when I lose a few pounds. I started getting happy when my calves were noticeably smaller as well. Yay.
But for the torso? My god-awful midsection with the two rolls of blubber? It was never, EVER going to come off there, and I was doomed to be Violet Beauregard-ish - post Wonka gum but pre squeezing, all tiny legs and arms sticking out of this continually rotund middle. Oh, and minus the blueberry skin tone as well.
Nevermind that my weight jumped back up two pounds and has stayed there for over a week. The inches are coming off and it shows. My biggest pair of jeans now need a belt to stay on me and not fall off as I walk down the street.
I think I could actually get used to this.
I'm smaller. And I can TOTALLY see it! Eeeeeeee!
Today was the first day that I looked at my naked body (more specifically my torso) and could actually tell that yes, this surgery is working and I am actually really and truly losing weight and it hasn't been a gremlin in my scale's computer fooling me with the numbers showing up there after all. Hot damn!
Previous to this, I could see my face slimming down. Whoopee. It does that all the time when I lose a few pounds. I started getting happy when my calves were noticeably smaller as well. Yay.
But for the torso? My god-awful midsection with the two rolls of blubber? It was never, EVER going to come off there, and I was doomed to be Violet Beauregard-ish - post Wonka gum but pre squeezing, all tiny legs and arms sticking out of this continually rotund middle. Oh, and minus the blueberry skin tone as well.
Nevermind that my weight jumped back up two pounds and has stayed there for over a week. The inches are coming off and it shows. My biggest pair of jeans now need a belt to stay on me and not fall off as I walk down the street.
I think I could actually get used to this.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
This isn't going to be pretty
At. All.
My skin, that is. Weight loss is already not being very kind to it in any way.
It's only to be expected and is one of the biggest complaints people have post-op. Whether it be from the deficiencies in vitamins that makes our skin look terrible or from the shar-pei folds that appear in the multitudes as our battle scars from losing the equivalent of another person, it's going to show up in some way or another.
Some people skate away from these issues and are truly among the blessed. I'm not going to be one of them. Let's face it, when you've had children while being overweight, you're going to end up with problems in the pannus area. It's kind of a given. And it appears that this is where my problems are starting.
Ever since giving birth to Thing One, I've had this small fold of skin on the left-hand side of my abdomen. The bigger the fold got, the heavier I was. It's kind of my measure of how overweight I was. Unfortunately when I got my tubal ligation in 2002, one of the lap ports went right in that fold, and ever since then I've had problems with it getting irritated occasionally. It's a lovely place for sweat to collect. Just dandy all around.
As I got up to the weight I started at, beyond the occasional irritation and making sure to clean the area in the shower it was no big deal. But now that the weight is coming back up, that fold is actually growing again because of the loose skin that is gradually being generated. Which means more sweat stays up inside there and it never feels completely "dry." Ew.
This weekend, I went to dry the area and the towel came away with some light red streaks. Lovely. I have now rubbed it the wrong way and the skin is weeping a bit. And where precisely is it weeping? Right where the lap port was from the tubal ligation. Just special, isn't it? This means it will take some time to heal, but at least I can be thankful that this just means that I will likely have some good medical reasons to convince my insurance to help pay for some of the reconstruction that will be necessary once this process is done and my weight is stabilized.
The Husband and I have already started a savings fund for plastics for me once I get down to goal. The breasts will be lifted and possibly have implants - after two children and bad choices as a young adult regarding the lack of a bra, the "girls" are just not perky at all. I already have bat wings that I may or may not have done. A tummy tuck will be necessary at the least, and possibly a full lower body lift if my ass turns into a full-on shar-pei. Ugh. I know the end result will never be model-perfect, but I don't care. I'm not the type of person who can pour herself into Spanx day after day even though I know I will be using them until I get the plastics done.
Is it vanity? Is it trying to make myself look more "normal" so that my husband won't be disgusted in bed? Maybe a little bit of both. The Husband obviously doesn't mind me at the size I was but I don't know what his reaction will be once my skin pools around me as I lie in bed, trying to be sexy. Heck, I don't know what *MY* reaction will be when that happens. In the end, it's more about me not skeeving out over me than anything else.
There will be choices to be made in the years to come. Do I go back and see Dr. K to get the necessary surgeries done? Some of my friends here in town that had the DS have done so and are very pleased with the outcome. Do I go to Tijuana to get a good price? A fellow DS message board member went to see Dr. Fuentes and was very happy with the results. Or do I trek half-way across the country to Iowa City to be done by arguably some of the best body re-sculpting plastic surgeons in the U.S.? Again, another DS board member had spectacular results with Drs. Aly and Cram. Only time will tell, I suppose.
Until then, it's just me and my Gold Bond powder and a sailor's mouth cursing this stupid skin that just doesn't seem grateful for the load that I released it from. It should know better, dammit! Stupid epithelium.
My skin, that is. Weight loss is already not being very kind to it in any way.
It's only to be expected and is one of the biggest complaints people have post-op. Whether it be from the deficiencies in vitamins that makes our skin look terrible or from the shar-pei folds that appear in the multitudes as our battle scars from losing the equivalent of another person, it's going to show up in some way or another.
Some people skate away from these issues and are truly among the blessed. I'm not going to be one of them. Let's face it, when you've had children while being overweight, you're going to end up with problems in the pannus area. It's kind of a given. And it appears that this is where my problems are starting.
Ever since giving birth to Thing One, I've had this small fold of skin on the left-hand side of my abdomen. The bigger the fold got, the heavier I was. It's kind of my measure of how overweight I was. Unfortunately when I got my tubal ligation in 2002, one of the lap ports went right in that fold, and ever since then I've had problems with it getting irritated occasionally. It's a lovely place for sweat to collect. Just dandy all around.
As I got up to the weight I started at, beyond the occasional irritation and making sure to clean the area in the shower it was no big deal. But now that the weight is coming back up, that fold is actually growing again because of the loose skin that is gradually being generated. Which means more sweat stays up inside there and it never feels completely "dry." Ew.
This weekend, I went to dry the area and the towel came away with some light red streaks. Lovely. I have now rubbed it the wrong way and the skin is weeping a bit. And where precisely is it weeping? Right where the lap port was from the tubal ligation. Just special, isn't it? This means it will take some time to heal, but at least I can be thankful that this just means that I will likely have some good medical reasons to convince my insurance to help pay for some of the reconstruction that will be necessary once this process is done and my weight is stabilized.
The Husband and I have already started a savings fund for plastics for me once I get down to goal. The breasts will be lifted and possibly have implants - after two children and bad choices as a young adult regarding the lack of a bra, the "girls" are just not perky at all. I already have bat wings that I may or may not have done. A tummy tuck will be necessary at the least, and possibly a full lower body lift if my ass turns into a full-on shar-pei. Ugh. I know the end result will never be model-perfect, but I don't care. I'm not the type of person who can pour herself into Spanx day after day even though I know I will be using them until I get the plastics done.
Is it vanity? Is it trying to make myself look more "normal" so that my husband won't be disgusted in bed? Maybe a little bit of both. The Husband obviously doesn't mind me at the size I was but I don't know what his reaction will be once my skin pools around me as I lie in bed, trying to be sexy. Heck, I don't know what *MY* reaction will be when that happens. In the end, it's more about me not skeeving out over me than anything else.
There will be choices to be made in the years to come. Do I go back and see Dr. K to get the necessary surgeries done? Some of my friends here in town that had the DS have done so and are very pleased with the outcome. Do I go to Tijuana to get a good price? A fellow DS message board member went to see Dr. Fuentes and was very happy with the results. Or do I trek half-way across the country to Iowa City to be done by arguably some of the best body re-sculpting plastic surgeons in the U.S.? Again, another DS board member had spectacular results with Drs. Aly and Cram. Only time will tell, I suppose.
Until then, it's just me and my Gold Bond powder and a sailor's mouth cursing this stupid skin that just doesn't seem grateful for the load that I released it from. It should know better, dammit! Stupid epithelium.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
The comments are starting already?
Buh?
After church, we went to Wal-Mart to pick up a few things we're going to need before we bring home our new puppy next week. At the checkout, we ended up in the line of a lady we've gotten to "know" throughout the years. She was working at Wal-Mart when I worked there back in the early 90's, but we're really only one of those "Hi, how are you doing?" types of friendships. Surface only, but she does know about my surgery and is always asking me how things are going and congratulating me on my loss.
We greet each other like normal, and then the gentle lecture begins. "I don't want you losing too much weight now, you need to not lose too much! You don't want to get so skinny! We like you the way you are because it's your heart that matters."
People, I've only lost 55 pounds. I am still at LEAST 100 pounds overweight. I am in no way in danger of blowing away with the wind. Yet.
Now I know that she meant well and I'm not really upset at her. But come ON! Where have we as a society gone wrong where it has become OK to tell people how much they should or should not lose? And would she have made these comments to me if I was doing this the "hard" way just by dieting?
I guess that this is one of the things that I just don't "get" and probably never will. Unless I'm asked, I would NEVER presume to tell someone how much weight they should lose. I manage to hold my tongue pretty well in these sort of situations.
My real question is probably not about how we have gone wrong as a society blah, blah, blah. It's more something along these lines: By having a surgery, have we all of a sudden become public property? Property that is to be judged? Property that is to be scrutinized and examined and criticized? Where did this attitude come from?
It's an attitude that is akin to the one you receive when having a child, I suppose. Once you begin to show that baby bump, the whole WORLD thinks that they have a right to tell you things - most of them unsolicited and probably completely unwarranted and unwanted. And the irony is that most of the comments come from people who haven't the first clue about having a baby.
But unlike having a baby, this whole thing is going to last much longer than 9 months - this is going to be for the rest of my life. I just hope that people forget about the whole thing a whole lot sooner than that.
Fat chance, right?
After church, we went to Wal-Mart to pick up a few things we're going to need before we bring home our new puppy next week. At the checkout, we ended up in the line of a lady we've gotten to "know" throughout the years. She was working at Wal-Mart when I worked there back in the early 90's, but we're really only one of those "Hi, how are you doing?" types of friendships. Surface only, but she does know about my surgery and is always asking me how things are going and congratulating me on my loss.
We greet each other like normal, and then the gentle lecture begins. "I don't want you losing too much weight now, you need to not lose too much! You don't want to get so skinny! We like you the way you are because it's your heart that matters."
People, I've only lost 55 pounds. I am still at LEAST 100 pounds overweight. I am in no way in danger of blowing away with the wind. Yet.
Now I know that she meant well and I'm not really upset at her. But come ON! Where have we as a society gone wrong where it has become OK to tell people how much they should or should not lose? And would she have made these comments to me if I was doing this the "hard" way just by dieting?
I guess that this is one of the things that I just don't "get" and probably never will. Unless I'm asked, I would NEVER presume to tell someone how much weight they should lose. I manage to hold my tongue pretty well in these sort of situations.
My real question is probably not about how we have gone wrong as a society blah, blah, blah. It's more something along these lines: By having a surgery, have we all of a sudden become public property? Property that is to be judged? Property that is to be scrutinized and examined and criticized? Where did this attitude come from?
It's an attitude that is akin to the one you receive when having a child, I suppose. Once you begin to show that baby bump, the whole WORLD thinks that they have a right to tell you things - most of them unsolicited and probably completely unwarranted and unwanted. And the irony is that most of the comments come from people who haven't the first clue about having a baby.
But unlike having a baby, this whole thing is going to last much longer than 9 months - this is going to be for the rest of my life. I just hope that people forget about the whole thing a whole lot sooner than that.
Fat chance, right?
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Going to the Dogs
It seems that we did not get a new dog for our family when we got our newest Dachshund last Saturday. Instead, we purchased a dog for our dog. He is not our dog, he is HER dog. Let the eye-rolling commence!
Saturday and Sunday were days of getting Skipper used to us and our family and to try and ease the shock of him going from a clan of eight doxies down to our much smaller pack of little Jasamine and big Nikita. And Jazzy wasn't even around those days seeing as how she was at Skipper's old house hopefully getting knocked up, little tart that she is. Add to that Skipper's freedom to roam five acres of land (compared to a small fenced-in yard at his old home) and you get one mopey and depressed pup.
Skipper is terrified of Nikita, even though all she wants to do is play. The little guy has never seen a dog as big as she (she's an Akita) and seems convinced that this ginormous beast actually wants to eat him. So, he runs away from her. And seeing as how he doesn't really know *us* from Adam either, he runs away from us too. Luckily, a reddish-brown dog kind of sticks out amongst the bamboo so we can easily find him to bring him back to the relative safety of the house.
He's housebroken, which is a blessing, but we're having to crate train him at night and he's a little bit put out by that. Tough love, doggy. It's all tough love.
Jasmine came home from her first breeding foray Monday night. The minute she came in the house, Skipper was glued to her side. The reasons for this are probably two-fold. Jazzy is still in heat, although not accepting a male anymore, and since Skipper is, ahem, intact, this means he wants to get his crazy on. Secondly, he is only used to being around other doxies, and seeing one of his own has probably helped convince him that we're not all that terrible after all, but damn it he's sticking with his own kind, thankyouverymuch!
So now, instead of one small 10-pound doggie bouncing around me, begging to get up on my lap or be picked up (Jasmine considers me HER human), I have 40 pounds of dog weaving in and out around my legs (with Skipper chasing Jasmine everywhere she goes) when I'm trying to get anything acccomplished in the house. This is not good for one's sense of balance, and I have almost come crashing down several times these last two days while trying to avoid stepping on the masses of wriggling dog bodies that surround me. Because if there's one thing about Dachshunds that is true, it's that once you have more than one, it is like you add another ten dogs for every extra one that you have. It's sort of like working to the powers of 10. This is a bit of dog mathematical science that I tend to forget, seeing as how I'm only used to having my one doxie.
Suddenly I find myself hoping that Jasmine's breeding didn't take. Because what on God's green earth am I going to do with MORE doxies? Cause I'm not breeding her to sell the pups. We just wanted more doxies, and what better way to get more of them than to, um, do it yourself, right? Oy! Sometimes I don't think that I think things through.
Anyway, enjoy the picture of these newfound friends. Jasmine is telling Skipper to quit whispering sweet nothings into her ears because she just doesn't believe him. At all. Seriously! I mean, really. Just take a look at her face. You can see her giving him the stink-eye. I swear!
Saturday and Sunday were days of getting Skipper used to us and our family and to try and ease the shock of him going from a clan of eight doxies down to our much smaller pack of little Jasamine and big Nikita. And Jazzy wasn't even around those days seeing as how she was at Skipper's old house hopefully getting knocked up, little tart that she is. Add to that Skipper's freedom to roam five acres of land (compared to a small fenced-in yard at his old home) and you get one mopey and depressed pup.
Skipper is terrified of Nikita, even though all she wants to do is play. The little guy has never seen a dog as big as she (she's an Akita) and seems convinced that this ginormous beast actually wants to eat him. So, he runs away from her. And seeing as how he doesn't really know *us* from Adam either, he runs away from us too. Luckily, a reddish-brown dog kind of sticks out amongst the bamboo so we can easily find him to bring him back to the relative safety of the house.
He's housebroken, which is a blessing, but we're having to crate train him at night and he's a little bit put out by that. Tough love, doggy. It's all tough love.
Jasmine came home from her first breeding foray Monday night. The minute she came in the house, Skipper was glued to her side. The reasons for this are probably two-fold. Jazzy is still in heat, although not accepting a male anymore, and since Skipper is, ahem, intact, this means he wants to get his crazy on. Secondly, he is only used to being around other doxies, and seeing one of his own has probably helped convince him that we're not all that terrible after all, but damn it he's sticking with his own kind, thankyouverymuch!
So now, instead of one small 10-pound doggie bouncing around me, begging to get up on my lap or be picked up (Jasmine considers me HER human), I have 40 pounds of dog weaving in and out around my legs (with Skipper chasing Jasmine everywhere she goes) when I'm trying to get anything acccomplished in the house. This is not good for one's sense of balance, and I have almost come crashing down several times these last two days while trying to avoid stepping on the masses of wriggling dog bodies that surround me. Because if there's one thing about Dachshunds that is true, it's that once you have more than one, it is like you add another ten dogs for every extra one that you have. It's sort of like working to the powers of 10. This is a bit of dog mathematical science that I tend to forget, seeing as how I'm only used to having my one doxie.
Suddenly I find myself hoping that Jasmine's breeding didn't take. Because what on God's green earth am I going to do with MORE doxies? Cause I'm not breeding her to sell the pups. We just wanted more doxies, and what better way to get more of them than to, um, do it yourself, right? Oy! Sometimes I don't think that I think things through.
Anyway, enjoy the picture of these newfound friends. Jasmine is telling Skipper to quit whispering sweet nothings into her ears because she just doesn't believe him. At all. Seriously! I mean, really. Just take a look at her face. You can see her giving him the stink-eye. I swear!
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Them's the Breaks!
I have been inducted into yet another level of the Halls of Motherhood. I had to deliberately enforce high levels of excruciating pain upon one of my children, all in the name of healing her. I think I would have rather passed on this badge of "honor" and gone to something much more pleasant and useful. You know, like teaching my child how to field dress a deer without cutting herself or something along those lines.
Thing Two decided that late Sunday evening would be a good time to slip and fall on pennies in her room, banging her elbow against the corner of her dresser. She was in a lot of pain, but there was no bruising or swelling, so we gave her some pain medication and sent her to bed for the night.
Monday morning, we woke her up before The Husband left the house to see what was going on. Her entire elbow area was swollen and she was still in a lot of pain even though she had managed to sleep through the night. Great. One trip to the doctor coming right up!
The poor thing couldn't get dressed without help and the trip into town was a nightmare for her with all the bumps along the way. After dropping Thing One off at school and letting the teacher know what was going on with Thing Two, we made our way to our local Urgent Care center.
We sat down to wait but were called back up to complete insurance information. While there, one of the nurses noticed the pain Thing Two was in and asked the right questions about why we were there and immediately sent us to X-ray.
In X-ray, I had to torture my 7-year-old by making her move her arm in the right positions to get the pictures. Her screams of pain could probably be heard throughout the entire building, I'm sure. Then we went to see the PA who diagnosed a fracture in the head of the big arm bone (the name escapes me except that it's NOT the radius or the ulna. Tibia?) and it was right near the growth plate.
Finally after getting a prescription of Vicodin for my 51-pound daughter, multiple calls to The Husband at work, putting her in a splint (more screams and tears) and getting an appointment to see the orthopedic specialist the next day, we made our way home. My poor child was so doped up on the Vicodin, she could barely eat her lunch, and ended up sleeping away much of the afternoon. I was exhausted as well, and managed to take a nap.
All evening long, Thing Two kept complaining that the middle part of her forearm was hurting, but because of the type of splint she had on (made of this all-in-one fiberglass and padding thing) we weren't able to figure out what was going on. At least we knew that the splint was probably coming off at the doctor's appointment anyway so we could figure it out then. In the meantime, more drugs for my little darling so that she could actually sleep at night.
Tuesday morning, my little one is still in way more pain than she should be. We get to the doctor, and he lets us know that the fracture isn't as bad as the PA thought it might be and that her growth plate wasn't involved. Whew! One thing down. But why is she in this much pain and in an area that wasn't affected by the fracture? Doctor wants to put her in a different splint anyway, so away we three go to the casting room to figure things out.
We peel away the bandages holding the splint onto Thing Two's arm and between the nurse and I we manage to get the splint off. Again, much pain, much crying and many, many tears were involved. And lo and behold, there it was. On her forearm, there was a two inch long by half inch wide welt that was caused by the fiberglass of the splint buckling and digging into her arm. It was a HUGE bump (about 1/2 of an inch deep) to put against my child's arm and then be lashed tightly against it. No wonder we couldn't even touch her arm without her being in such pain!
The doctor gave the staff the best, most complete and most *respectful* tongue lashing I have ever heard in my life. They were to no longer use this particular product because it was trash and he didn't want to see ANYONE in a cast or splint that wasn't made from plaster instead of the fiberglass that they used on Thing One. Instead of just telling the nurses to make a new splint, he then proceeded to make from the plaster strips and padding strips a hand-made splint that goes down the back of the arm, holding it at a 90-degree angle. Color me impressed!
And wouldn't you know it, the pain level for my little one went down. Amazing what happens when a splint is applied properly!
I have to say that these last two days could possibly be described as the worst in my entire life. They say you always hurt the ones you love. But I would rather throw myself in front of a bus before having to hurt my child that way again.
Get well soon, Jitterbug! Mommy loves you!
Thing Two decided that late Sunday evening would be a good time to slip and fall on pennies in her room, banging her elbow against the corner of her dresser. She was in a lot of pain, but there was no bruising or swelling, so we gave her some pain medication and sent her to bed for the night.
Monday morning, we woke her up before The Husband left the house to see what was going on. Her entire elbow area was swollen and she was still in a lot of pain even though she had managed to sleep through the night. Great. One trip to the doctor coming right up!
The poor thing couldn't get dressed without help and the trip into town was a nightmare for her with all the bumps along the way. After dropping Thing One off at school and letting the teacher know what was going on with Thing Two, we made our way to our local Urgent Care center.
We sat down to wait but were called back up to complete insurance information. While there, one of the nurses noticed the pain Thing Two was in and asked the right questions about why we were there and immediately sent us to X-ray.
In X-ray, I had to torture my 7-year-old by making her move her arm in the right positions to get the pictures. Her screams of pain could probably be heard throughout the entire building, I'm sure. Then we went to see the PA who diagnosed a fracture in the head of the big arm bone (the name escapes me except that it's NOT the radius or the ulna. Tibia?) and it was right near the growth plate.
Finally after getting a prescription of Vicodin for my 51-pound daughter, multiple calls to The Husband at work, putting her in a splint (more screams and tears) and getting an appointment to see the orthopedic specialist the next day, we made our way home. My poor child was so doped up on the Vicodin, she could barely eat her lunch, and ended up sleeping away much of the afternoon. I was exhausted as well, and managed to take a nap.
All evening long, Thing Two kept complaining that the middle part of her forearm was hurting, but because of the type of splint she had on (made of this all-in-one fiberglass and padding thing) we weren't able to figure out what was going on. At least we knew that the splint was probably coming off at the doctor's appointment anyway so we could figure it out then. In the meantime, more drugs for my little darling so that she could actually sleep at night.
Tuesday morning, my little one is still in way more pain than she should be. We get to the doctor, and he lets us know that the fracture isn't as bad as the PA thought it might be and that her growth plate wasn't involved. Whew! One thing down. But why is she in this much pain and in an area that wasn't affected by the fracture? Doctor wants to put her in a different splint anyway, so away we three go to the casting room to figure things out.
We peel away the bandages holding the splint onto Thing Two's arm and between the nurse and I we manage to get the splint off. Again, much pain, much crying and many, many tears were involved. And lo and behold, there it was. On her forearm, there was a two inch long by half inch wide welt that was caused by the fiberglass of the splint buckling and digging into her arm. It was a HUGE bump (about 1/2 of an inch deep) to put against my child's arm and then be lashed tightly against it. No wonder we couldn't even touch her arm without her being in such pain!
The doctor gave the staff the best, most complete and most *respectful* tongue lashing I have ever heard in my life. They were to no longer use this particular product because it was trash and he didn't want to see ANYONE in a cast or splint that wasn't made from plaster instead of the fiberglass that they used on Thing One. Instead of just telling the nurses to make a new splint, he then proceeded to make from the plaster strips and padding strips a hand-made splint that goes down the back of the arm, holding it at a 90-degree angle. Color me impressed!
And wouldn't you know it, the pain level for my little one went down. Amazing what happens when a splint is applied properly!
I have to say that these last two days could possibly be described as the worst in my entire life. They say you always hurt the ones you love. But I would rather throw myself in front of a bus before having to hurt my child that way again.
Get well soon, Jitterbug! Mommy loves you!
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Diamond Dogs
Oh yes, Internet, diamonds are a girl's best friend, just like dogs are man's best friend. And guess what? We got one of each today! And neither were on the plan for today. At all. Wow.
The dog is the easiest for us to rationalize to ourselves. We were coming home and decided to see about a garage sale that was just down the street. Lo and behold, the sale was at a friend's house. A friend who just happens to breed Dachshunds. And for the past six months or so, we've been talking about getting another Doxie because just one (my little Jasmine) was not enough Small Dog for us. We walked away with a one-year-old standard size red male that weighs in at 30 pounds - so very not a Small Dog - and a stunned look on both of our faces. Oh, and did I mention that Jasmine is in heat? So we brought her back over to breed with our neighbor's miniature Doxie because apparently all of a sudden we have an obsessive desire to start our own small herd of stunted-leg dogs.
And the best part? We are also planning on getting an Australian Shepherd puppy (as a replacement for The Husband's beloved Sheba) hopefully next week. I think we've gone insane. Hold me!
Now for the diamond. :::sigh:::
When The Husband and I got married, we eloped. We did not have rings for each other, nor did we have the money at that time to get rings. We had rings at home at a jeweler on layaway, but that kind of doesn't count. Because we were very poor at the time I also never got an engagement ring.
The Husband and I have a habit of getting re-married every once in a while. The first time we did, he surprised me on a trip we made to Las Vegas with a proposal over the radio and we renewed our vows at the drive-thru of the Little White Wedding Chapel (I rate the drive-thru there at sunset an A+ experience). The second surprise of the evening was his presenting me with a diamond engagement ring. It was a very small one - perhaps 1/5th of a carat and commensurate with our level of financial stability at the time - but it meant the world to me.
Since then, we've never made big jewelry purchases a priority. Frankly, I don't care about the bling, but The Husband has always made noises about wanting to get me something.
The Husband had to get his wedding band sized up because he jammed his ring finger and now that the knuckle has healed, it is bigger than it was previously - rending the ring too small and painful to get on. We went back to the jewelry store to see if it was ready to be picked up and also to check out possible new wedding bands because ours are beginning to get really worn after 12 years.
Well, not only did we find new matching wedding bands, we started discussing possibly resetting my "engagement" ring to make it more flush with my hand. We were looking at different settings in the jeweler's book, when we found one that he had an example of. Oh, we should look at that! Need to know what it would look like, right?
The setting was much better than the Tiffany prong one that I had and I said that this would be perfect. Then The Husband got into the act. The ring I was looking at was a wedding set. The engagement part was a much bigger diamond than the one I already had. But the wedding part had a space for a smaller jewel that wasn't set with anything.
Before I know it, The Husband is singing the receipt for the wedding set, the jeweler has my engagement ring to take the diamond out of it to put into the other wedding band. It seems I now have a totally new wedding set. I think I have more wedding rings now than I have ring fingers, between the old wedding band, the new wedding band, and the new wedding/engagement ring set. And I'm supposed to wear them all how?
And they say that women are impulse shoppers. Hah!
The dog is the easiest for us to rationalize to ourselves. We were coming home and decided to see about a garage sale that was just down the street. Lo and behold, the sale was at a friend's house. A friend who just happens to breed Dachshunds. And for the past six months or so, we've been talking about getting another Doxie because just one (my little Jasmine) was not enough Small Dog for us. We walked away with a one-year-old standard size red male that weighs in at 30 pounds - so very not a Small Dog - and a stunned look on both of our faces. Oh, and did I mention that Jasmine is in heat? So we brought her back over to breed with our neighbor's miniature Doxie because apparently all of a sudden we have an obsessive desire to start our own small herd of stunted-leg dogs.
And the best part? We are also planning on getting an Australian Shepherd puppy (as a replacement for The Husband's beloved Sheba) hopefully next week. I think we've gone insane. Hold me!
Now for the diamond. :::sigh:::
When The Husband and I got married, we eloped. We did not have rings for each other, nor did we have the money at that time to get rings. We had rings at home at a jeweler on layaway, but that kind of doesn't count. Because we were very poor at the time I also never got an engagement ring.
The Husband and I have a habit of getting re-married every once in a while. The first time we did, he surprised me on a trip we made to Las Vegas with a proposal over the radio and we renewed our vows at the drive-thru of the Little White Wedding Chapel (I rate the drive-thru there at sunset an A+ experience). The second surprise of the evening was his presenting me with a diamond engagement ring. It was a very small one - perhaps 1/5th of a carat and commensurate with our level of financial stability at the time - but it meant the world to me.
Since then, we've never made big jewelry purchases a priority. Frankly, I don't care about the bling, but The Husband has always made noises about wanting to get me something.
The Husband had to get his wedding band sized up because he jammed his ring finger and now that the knuckle has healed, it is bigger than it was previously - rending the ring too small and painful to get on. We went back to the jewelry store to see if it was ready to be picked up and also to check out possible new wedding bands because ours are beginning to get really worn after 12 years.
Well, not only did we find new matching wedding bands, we started discussing possibly resetting my "engagement" ring to make it more flush with my hand. We were looking at different settings in the jeweler's book, when we found one that he had an example of. Oh, we should look at that! Need to know what it would look like, right?
The setting was much better than the Tiffany prong one that I had and I said that this would be perfect. Then The Husband got into the act. The ring I was looking at was a wedding set. The engagement part was a much bigger diamond than the one I already had. But the wedding part had a space for a smaller jewel that wasn't set with anything.
Before I know it, The Husband is singing the receipt for the wedding set, the jeweler has my engagement ring to take the diamond out of it to put into the other wedding band. It seems I now have a totally new wedding set. I think I have more wedding rings now than I have ring fingers, between the old wedding band, the new wedding band, and the new wedding/engagement ring set. And I'm supposed to wear them all how?
And they say that women are impulse shoppers. Hah!
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Fifty?
I hate it when I leave my blog for so long. Makes me feel like a slacker. Then again, I've been trying to stave off a sheep invasion of my eight beds of asparagus, keep the male pheasants from killing each other, and get the roof of my quilting studio shingled. Oh! And I've got my country's 500th anniversary to plan, a kingdom to run and my wife to murder. I'm swamped!
Anyway . . .
So the scale has been dangling a 50-pound loss like a carrot (steak?) in front of my nose these last few days. It feels kind of wierd to say that I've lost 49 pounds, but I don't want to cheat and round it up to the 50 when I really haven't. Lost it, that is.
Once I do reach the 50 pound loss, that will mean that I have 115 pounds to go to make it down to my goal of weighing 150 pounds. What *is* it with me and round numbers? Is there some reason why I can't pick, say, 147 pounds as my goal weight? Or is it because I want this to be all nice and tidy for me? Am I becoming obessive compulsive here? Could be. Or maybe I need to get back on the prozac.
This all leads me to the question of precisely how much I should weigh to be a normal person. And honestly, I don't know. I just picked the number of 150 because that's a number I've weighed previously. But is that really the weight that I should be shooting for?
When I weighed 150 pounds last, I was in high school. I was probably a size 14 then. I was definitely NOT skinny. But was I healthy? I suppose so. I had an active life, did a lot of physical things and such. But I always noticed that I didn't fit in because yes, I was bigger than most of the other girls. Heck, even some of the guys!
In checking out a link that Jen posted a while back, for my age and height it tells me that the average weight is 173lbs with a BMI of 26.4. Hrm. I don't know that I would be satisfied with that. It still seems fairly overweight for me in remembering how my body was at 173lbs. I weighed about that much when I met The Husband, and was wanting to lose some weight even then.
The link also says that my medical ideal weight should be 141lbs. Not bad, I suppose. A bit less than my "goal" but possibly do-able. Then again, it has the possibility of of being a weight that I would look skeletal at. I don't think I could handle the comments that would come with that - "Eat a sandwich, already!" "You're looking unhealthy!" "I'm worried about you, Sarah!" Feh.
In the end, no amount of obsessing or anticipating stupid comments from other people is going to help me figure out where I "should" land. Once I hit 180, it's going to be just a matter of figuring out what looks right on me I suppose. This is going to be one area of this where I just need to give up on trying to plan it all out. That should be fun. Or not.
Anyway . . .
So the scale has been dangling a 50-pound loss like a carrot (steak?) in front of my nose these last few days. It feels kind of wierd to say that I've lost 49 pounds, but I don't want to cheat and round it up to the 50 when I really haven't. Lost it, that is.
Once I do reach the 50 pound loss, that will mean that I have 115 pounds to go to make it down to my goal of weighing 150 pounds. What *is* it with me and round numbers? Is there some reason why I can't pick, say, 147 pounds as my goal weight? Or is it because I want this to be all nice and tidy for me? Am I becoming obessive compulsive here? Could be. Or maybe I need to get back on the prozac.
This all leads me to the question of precisely how much I should weigh to be a normal person. And honestly, I don't know. I just picked the number of 150 because that's a number I've weighed previously. But is that really the weight that I should be shooting for?
When I weighed 150 pounds last, I was in high school. I was probably a size 14 then. I was definitely NOT skinny. But was I healthy? I suppose so. I had an active life, did a lot of physical things and such. But I always noticed that I didn't fit in because yes, I was bigger than most of the other girls. Heck, even some of the guys!
In checking out a link that Jen posted a while back, for my age and height it tells me that the average weight is 173lbs with a BMI of 26.4. Hrm. I don't know that I would be satisfied with that. It still seems fairly overweight for me in remembering how my body was at 173lbs. I weighed about that much when I met The Husband, and was wanting to lose some weight even then.
The link also says that my medical ideal weight should be 141lbs. Not bad, I suppose. A bit less than my "goal" but possibly do-able. Then again, it has the possibility of of being a weight that I would look skeletal at. I don't think I could handle the comments that would come with that - "Eat a sandwich, already!" "You're looking unhealthy!" "I'm worried about you, Sarah!" Feh.
In the end, no amount of obsessing or anticipating stupid comments from other people is going to help me figure out where I "should" land. Once I hit 180, it's going to be just a matter of figuring out what looks right on me I suppose. This is going to be one area of this where I just need to give up on trying to plan it all out. That should be fun. Or not.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Hrmm. Below Average? Eh.
Alltogether, I suppose the test is not far off. It's far fewer questions than are on a regular IQ test, but I'll say it's a fair cop. I usually test out at five IQ points either way with other online tests. I much prefer being told that I'm a visual mathematician, though.
| Your IQ Is 140 |
 Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Genius Your General Knowledge is Genius |
Urge to Kill. Rising.
I think I'm going to have to kill my co-worker.
It is with great regret that I have decided this as he is quite a nice person. Well, at least when he's not being a curmudgeon. But damn, he is tap-dancing on my last nerve.
We both produce what are known as FRDs - Functional Requirement Documents. Very boring, very tedious, often complex. The problem is that *I* have become by default the software guru for Microsoft Office when I am nothing of the sort. When you can't make it work, run to Sarah! She has the answer!
Yes, I have been an teaching assistant in the various MS Office courses that are offered online at our local community college. No, this does not mean that I know every little nuance of these programs and am frankly often baffled at some of the things they do. I have never bothered to take the MSCE tests. Firstly because I think it's a crock of shit because you would have to re-take it every time a new version of Office came out if you wanted to really deserve the status and secondly because I know that I don't know enough to pass the damn thing. You would think this would give some people a clue, right? Wrong.
As part of our FRDs, we have what we call the "Tree." This Tree shows you the various parts of the document under its different functional headings. It's all very pretty and is very tedious to create and to update. And on top of that, it's a fucking eye chart no matter what you do to it or how big you make it. It is what it is.
To make the Tree work in the simplest way possible, I devised a system whereby it was created in Excel, and then imported into Word as an Excel document. This worked for quite some time. For quick fixes, we could click the Tree, edit a few things and all was right with the world. If we needed to do more, we would go back to the original Excel document and fix it there and then import it back in.
Then either Ehn-Ehm-Si-Eye or Microsoft started going screwey on us. All of a sudden, things weren't looking so nice when imported as they used to. The Tree was getting distorted, half of it would be blurry, the other half crisp - a total mess.
So I got the idea to copy the Excel document, and then paste it into Word as something special, like a bitmap or enhanced metafile. Viola! A perfect picture every time. Problem solved!
Not quite. My co-worker can't seem to understand that because we had to change the way we put the Tree in, that he can no longer click on it to make small changes. You have to go back to the original Excel file, and then re-paste it in there. A small inconvenience, but well worth it to have a better looking document, IMO. (And let me say here that ALL of our problems would be solved if the gummint would let us do this on Macs or if we could use different software such as Interleaf/Quicksilver, but noooooooo! Word is the best! Word is awesome! NOT!)
Well, co-worker throws a fit. Why can't you make this work? It used to work before! These aren't clickable! They need to be clickable! You're not doing your job! You're not helping me enough! I've got to get this out today! Wah! Wah, wa, wa, wa, wah!
Dude. If you would have listened just one of the multitudes of times over the last SIX years that I have sat down and told you about this and described how it works and how YOU CAN DO IT TOO, then maybe, just maybe, you could actually do this yourself instead of relying on me.
But nice gal that I am (he is my customer, after all) I attempt, yet again, to import the document in as a clickable Excel file. And once again, it doesn't work well. And this time, there's another problem. Not all of the file is showing up for some reason. You double click to edit it and try to move the border like you should be able to. It moves, but then snaps back to where it was. But going on the vertical instead of the horizontal, it works just fine. Wierd. And precisely the reason why we changed how we did it. But, he wants them clickable. Fine. He'll get them clickable. So I alter the one that's being the biggest piece of shit into a different configuration as a temporary stopgap. I figure this will do for now as neither of us can afford to spend ALL DAY LONG on the problem. And it's not as if this is the final delivery. The big-wigs don't mind when we do things like this as placeholders.
I e-mail them over to him to insert into his document. And again, they are screwed up. (Our other problem is that for some reason when we e-mail documents to each other, they often come out looking completely different even though we are both set to the same styles, fonts, font sizes, etc. Again, not something I understand, and something I have no clue on how to fix!)
But this time he doesn't tell me they're cruddy. No, he sits on it and waits until I come in this morning to jump on me about it.
These need to work! You have to get on this! :::sigh::: Why couldn't you have told me this yesterday? I have deadlines for different things going on today. What. Ever.
And now, he's ready to have them become bitmaps or enhanced metafiles. Finally! He sees the light! Now I can get them to him lighteing quick. Praise the Lord!
But I am sick and tired of having the same discussion (argument?) every month or so. Just beacause time has passed doesn't mean that our problems have been solved. And I'm sorry that I just don't know enough to fix this for you. How about you take a damn class or two in order to deal with this yourself? Technically, you're the lead here. Lead, dammit!
Oh but wait. You can't teach an old dog new tricks. Right. Jerk.
It is with great regret that I have decided this as he is quite a nice person. Well, at least when he's not being a curmudgeon. But damn, he is tap-dancing on my last nerve.
We both produce what are known as FRDs - Functional Requirement Documents. Very boring, very tedious, often complex. The problem is that *I* have become by default the software guru for Microsoft Office when I am nothing of the sort. When you can't make it work, run to Sarah! She has the answer!
Yes, I have been an teaching assistant in the various MS Office courses that are offered online at our local community college. No, this does not mean that I know every little nuance of these programs and am frankly often baffled at some of the things they do. I have never bothered to take the MSCE tests. Firstly because I think it's a crock of shit because you would have to re-take it every time a new version of Office came out if you wanted to really deserve the status and secondly because I know that I don't know enough to pass the damn thing. You would think this would give some people a clue, right? Wrong.
As part of our FRDs, we have what we call the "Tree." This Tree shows you the various parts of the document under its different functional headings. It's all very pretty and is very tedious to create and to update. And on top of that, it's a fucking eye chart no matter what you do to it or how big you make it. It is what it is.
To make the Tree work in the simplest way possible, I devised a system whereby it was created in Excel, and then imported into Word as an Excel document. This worked for quite some time. For quick fixes, we could click the Tree, edit a few things and all was right with the world. If we needed to do more, we would go back to the original Excel document and fix it there and then import it back in.
Then either Ehn-Ehm-Si-Eye or Microsoft started going screwey on us. All of a sudden, things weren't looking so nice when imported as they used to. The Tree was getting distorted, half of it would be blurry, the other half crisp - a total mess.
So I got the idea to copy the Excel document, and then paste it into Word as something special, like a bitmap or enhanced metafile. Viola! A perfect picture every time. Problem solved!
Not quite. My co-worker can't seem to understand that because we had to change the way we put the Tree in, that he can no longer click on it to make small changes. You have to go back to the original Excel file, and then re-paste it in there. A small inconvenience, but well worth it to have a better looking document, IMO. (And let me say here that ALL of our problems would be solved if the gummint would let us do this on Macs or if we could use different software such as Interleaf/Quicksilver, but noooooooo! Word is the best! Word is awesome! NOT!)
Well, co-worker throws a fit. Why can't you make this work? It used to work before! These aren't clickable! They need to be clickable! You're not doing your job! You're not helping me enough! I've got to get this out today! Wah! Wah, wa, wa, wa, wah!
Dude. If you would have listened just one of the multitudes of times over the last SIX years that I have sat down and told you about this and described how it works and how YOU CAN DO IT TOO, then maybe, just maybe, you could actually do this yourself instead of relying on me.
But nice gal that I am (he is my customer, after all) I attempt, yet again, to import the document in as a clickable Excel file. And once again, it doesn't work well. And this time, there's another problem. Not all of the file is showing up for some reason. You double click to edit it and try to move the border like you should be able to. It moves, but then snaps back to where it was. But going on the vertical instead of the horizontal, it works just fine. Wierd. And precisely the reason why we changed how we did it. But, he wants them clickable. Fine. He'll get them clickable. So I alter the one that's being the biggest piece of shit into a different configuration as a temporary stopgap. I figure this will do for now as neither of us can afford to spend ALL DAY LONG on the problem. And it's not as if this is the final delivery. The big-wigs don't mind when we do things like this as placeholders.
I e-mail them over to him to insert into his document. And again, they are screwed up. (Our other problem is that for some reason when we e-mail documents to each other, they often come out looking completely different even though we are both set to the same styles, fonts, font sizes, etc. Again, not something I understand, and something I have no clue on how to fix!)
But this time he doesn't tell me they're cruddy. No, he sits on it and waits until I come in this morning to jump on me about it.
These need to work! You have to get on this! :::sigh::: Why couldn't you have told me this yesterday? I have deadlines for different things going on today. What. Ever.
And now, he's ready to have them become bitmaps or enhanced metafiles. Finally! He sees the light! Now I can get them to him lighteing quick. Praise the Lord!
But I am sick and tired of having the same discussion (argument?) every month or so. Just beacause time has passed doesn't mean that our problems have been solved. And I'm sorry that I just don't know enough to fix this for you. How about you take a damn class or two in order to deal with this yourself? Technically, you're the lead here. Lead, dammit!
Oh but wait. You can't teach an old dog new tricks. Right. Jerk.
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