tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25495909488508078782024-02-20T18:55:02.955-06:00Blindbeard's Multiple Sclerosis BlogAtaxia Through HellUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger343125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-15639457183135645422015-07-24T10:10:00.000-05:002015-07-24T10:10:24.335-05:00Tecfidera; Notes From The Lobster PotMultiple Sclerosis sucks, but these MS disease modifying drugs are the bane of my existence. I started Tecfidera in April after trying and failing the 3 times a week Copaxone. I swear I am more old injection site lumps and dips than woman. It makes those shots such a hoot I wasn't sure how much more fun I could handle in my life and found myself "forgetting", skipping, and finally downright unwilling to do it to myself anymore. (Also I think the 3x a week Copaxone stings more.) As much as I would love to -- metaphorically speaking -- skip off into the sunset DMD free forever, I realize that is not a wise choice, especially after 10 years of being diagnosed, and increasing lesion burden in my spinal cord and in between the two hemispheres of my brain, causing cognitive problems. I had to choose between irreparable brain damage and, ugh, a DMD, there was no third door with a donkey and a cart behind it to choose instead. <br />
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As I said above, I started Tecfidera in April. My neurologist went over all the things I needed to know to get me started like, in her words, possible "brutal" nausea, and the flushing side effect. She told me taking it with rice was supposed to really help with nausea, which happens to be one of my favorite foods. My sister made me rice puddings for a few weeks because the fact that there was a kitchen in my house that actually had <em>food</em> in it made me want to throw up and die. I had read online that a big ol' greasy cheeseburger was actually best for the nausea but not ideal for anybody's diet especially as you take the med twice a day. Honestly, it was all just a matter of degrees. I would start feeling human again, think that maybe I could go and nibble on something, and that thought wasn't horrifically revolting, then see the time and it all made sense. I only had a few more hours until I had to take my next poison pill. I would stuff myself to the gills, take my pill, and hunker down, preparing for that nausea to hit, to make my whole body, down to my DNA, want to turn itself inside out to dump out any food that ever touched my insides. I've never been pregnant, but my sister had terrible morning sickness with both her pregnancies, and she and I were discussing nausea and it sounds like they are pretty comparable.<br />
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You know what got me through Tecfidera's mind numbingly, at many times completely debilitating nausea? Marijuana. I have done search after search to see how many people have used marijuana to get them through it and I have not found many who have said they did/are. I realize not everyone can do this, and I'm truly sorry for them because you don't have to suffer. You also don't have to pull out the six foot purple bong with Jimi Hendrix on it and start taking huge hits like you're a kid again. All things in moderation. When I start feeling the beginnings of the horror starting, I take a puff, sometimes two off a small pipe. When you take something for medicinal purposes like this, you really don't get "high" like you do if ripping off Jimi's purple haze. I can tell that I smoked, but I can still function. I go outside with my dogs and water my plants, etc. My head may be fuzzy around the edges but it's not in the toilet, and I can live with that. I knew I didn't want to sit around smoking pot forever, this was just temporary. I was keeping my eyes on the prize.<br />
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Tecfidera has cleared up my mental fog. I feel like I can think clearly again. There was <strong>NO WAY</strong> I was going to let the temporary nausea win -- it usually only lasts about six weeks. (Also I am not doing injections again, at least for awhile, a <em>long</em> while.) I don't want this mental clarity to go away. I feel like it would be a Flowers For Algernon situation. This is why I made the choice to smoke marijuana to get me through the nausea, and even smoking, my mind was more clear than it has been in a long time. Of course my neurologist was thrilled when I told her I was smoking to deal with the nausea. <br />
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Neuro: How have you been doing with the nausea?<br />
Blindbeard: It's horrible. I started smoking pot because nothing helps.<br />
<em>Neuro almost falls off stool. Blindbeard watches passively, making no move to help. Neuro rights herself and Blindbeard is secretly disappointed she didn't hit the ground. Conversation continues as if these two women like each other.</em><br />
N: You should really try to stick to the rice. That seems to be doing the trick.<br />
BB: I've tried everything. Nothing works. <br />
N: Well, the rice is what they recommend.<br />
BB: I'm going to stick with my six foot purple bong. You want to take a hit and go get cheeseburgers? <br />
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The next major side effect of Tecfidera is the flushing. Oddly, my neurologist was much more interested in driving home the point that the flushing is really uncomfortable but temporary. Maybe some people get scared when their body starts feeling like they have <em>the worst</em> sunburn of their lives spreading its nefarious burning heat over your ears and cheeks, down your chest and back. Those 15-20 minutes sure do seem a lot longer when your arms are on fire and you have all your frozen vegetable tied to your face, ears, chest, and shoulders with those resistance bands you knew you were keeping around for some reason. When that flushing comes on, that's when I start feeling like a lobster in a boiling pot. When I was searching for others' experiences with the flushing, I came across one review where they said Tecfidera improved their hemorrhoids. Mental clarity and improved hemorrhoids, what can't Tecfidera do?! <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-28400554582825787372014-03-13T14:50:00.000-05:002014-03-16T07:27:57.799-05:00Guide For The Newly Diagnosed: Pay No Attention To The Man Behind The CurtainAnd that man is usually a member of the general public spouting tired cliches mostly found on Facebook posts with cute kittens. You know, the kind of sh*t you see and think, "that is true... Ha ha! My ex slipped on the ice and broke his fat ass! That's the most uplifting post I have ever seen on here!" You are going to hear a criminal amount of stupid crap, useless platitudes and general bad advice. Refer to the good advice in the title of this post. Depending on the source and my mood I have different ways of handling these sages.<br />
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The Slow Blink</div>
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Some one just told you, "None of us knows what tomorrow brings!" and goes skipping off to take a jog before they make dinner for their family. You are dealing with an attack that has you staggering like a drunk and barely able to stay awake until dinner. Their words are hanging in the air... waiting for a reply... wipe your face of <i>all </i>emotion... now... b...l...i...n...k. It's true, none of us do know, but to say something like that when the odds for <i>your </i>tomorrow are sooooo much better than <i>my</i> tomorrow is really a poor choice of an empty platitude. On the way out of the store grab some cheesy quotes book so you will be better prepared next time, or can at least hit me with something I don't hear as much. I really like Benjamin Franklin or Winston Churchill is good too.</div>
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The Lost My Patience</div>
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I'm actually a pretty patient person, so when I do lose my patience, you pushed me pretty good. Grocery shopping a bit ago, a woman was using a motorized cart. I could not possibly care any less if someone is using a cart, wheelchair, cane, iditarod dogs, etc. She and her husband came up behind me while I was pondering which spaghetti sauce was truly as delicious as it claimed to be, when he loudly said, "<i>EXCUSE</i> US! She's in a <i>cart</i>!" I no longer cared about spaghetti sauce. I told him, "I don't care if she's in a cart! I have to use them sometimes too because I have Multiple Sclerosis!" I think I may have dropped the F bomb in there too because that kind of attitude really pisses me off. I wasn't blocking the aisle; it was earlier in the morning so it wasn't busy; and why should anyone roll out the red carpet for you because you are in a cart? I had my cane in my shopping cart and no one was walking in front of me loudly informing people of it. "Here she comes! She has a cane! Mush, you little peons! And some one grab her some spaghetti sauce because in all that brouhaha she forgot to grab some! There she goes! She has a cane!" </div>
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The F*ck Stick</div>
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This is for when you have really, really pissed me off. You know that old adage "beware a patient man's anger," well I am that patient man. My mom <i style="font-weight: bold;">HATES</i> the F word. She hates it to the point that if you use it it has to be in the most extreme situations, and even then... Talking to her on the phone I slammed my finger in the door and took a big chunk off my finger, blood all over, and I said f*ck. My mom was more concerned about my language than my finger. My mother is what inspired this last one, and inspired it is! She really got me livid one day. I haven't been that furious in a long time; I was so angry I told her I wanted to beat her over the head with the word F*CK. I didn't necessarily want to kill her, so I wanted to get a foam stick and carve the word F*CK (I would censor it for the kids' if they saw it) into it to beat her with. For non-human uses I want to get a punching bag to hang in my garage and go out there and beat it with my f*ck stick when I get really mad. I have an old cane with F*CK written on it and there really are not words for the release I get from beating on an old pile of rugs in my basement when I feel the need. </div>
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I know -- or at least I think -- people mean well, but sometimes I wish they would mean well somewhere far away from me. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-21536811477236045782014-02-24T12:07:00.000-06:002014-02-24T12:07:14.303-06:00Guide For The Newly Diagnosed: The AnswerThis is an idea that I have been mulling over for awhile now. Next month will be my 9 year anniversary (cue the circus music) of being diagnosed and I have learned an obscene amount about MS since then. A truly tantalizing ton from tomes, and a lewdly large lump of life lessons. Think of how many little nuggets that we have learned the all too often (very) hard way, and think of how many things we would have liked someone to tell us when we were newly diagnosed. So, because where I am at in my disease course is a total snoregasm (from Bob's Burgers, I wish I'd made that word up!), I'm going to share some things that I have learned during this long strange trip. <div>
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<b><u>THE ANSWER</u></b></div>
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My diagnosis came out of the blue. I fell down some icy steps, left leg went numb, double vision in left eye, go see doctor, usual tests, and within a matter of 2-3 days was told I had MS. My life was like a puzzle that I was orderly putting together, the way I wanted, the way I had planned. MS took that puzzle and threw all the pieces in the air, it even mixed a few other puzzles in with my original puzzle for extra wackiness. I was so shocked, lost, scattered, scared, confused, overwhelmed, every word that you can think of like that, I was, as I'm sure most of us are in the beginning. I went to the MS walks and support groups, I talked to as many people with MS as possible trying to find out how they were okay with having MS and I was a mess. I wanted to know their secret. I wanted to know why they cared more about what casseroles people had brought than the fact that they had MS and they are only going to become more disabled (I hesitated writing that. I don't want to scare anyone; after 9 years I just started using a cane full time.). I wanted to know the answer. And here it is. The answer is Time. That's it. On those days when everything is just too much, wipe everything off of your to do list and put on it "breathe in and out." That is what you are going to do, providing you don't have to take care of others. Sometimes I would just sit, stare out the window and breathe in and out, that was my task for the day because I was too overwhelmed to take on anything more. </div>
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In time you will start to care more about what casseroles were brought as you come to terms with having MS. At first I used to wear my MS shirts all the time so people knew what was wrong with me, now I <i>never</i> wear them. Why give away the answer when it's so much more fun to let them wonder? I even tell them when they ask that the answer is not as interesting as what they are imagining, because it's not. And, something I truly never thought would happen, I have even been able to put together a few parts of those puzzles that MS scattered. It has not been easy, sweet Mother of God it has not been easy, and The Answer is not an overnight cure, so it needs to be taken with 2 heaping tablespoonfuls of patience and I have been out of that since birth. While I'm waiting I'm going to go see what casseroles everyone brought. I hope one is that jello one with the pretzels and whip cream, I freaking LOVE that stuff!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-15428073289113775402013-11-14T14:43:00.000-06:002013-11-14T14:43:48.371-06:00Things I Have Learned From Courtney StoddenI have enjoyed Courtney Stodden for quite some time now. It started with an interview where she writhed around on a couch like she was on the verge of a heaving orgasm. That might have been the end of it, but she was a very determined young woman who went to a pumpkin patch to reenact the Kama Sutra with her sugar daddy for all the kids to see. Unfortunately, all the women were too jealous of how much their husbands were liking it, complained that she was too "sexy", and she was tossed out of there. The problem is that ever since she broke up with Doug, she has become a predictable bore. It has gotten so bad and soooo predictable that now she and I are going to have to break up. I am working on my "Dear John" letter, but until I am finished, here are a few things I have learned from Courtney.<div>
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No matter how bad things are, I have never been a mustache for a Santa suit wearing Doug Hutchison. Even on my worst days, it is a comfort to know that Doug's beady eyes have never looked out at the world from between my legs. Especially during a photo shoot that I was trying REALLY hard to be sexy at. Nothing ruins sexy like trying to pull away from creepy grasping Santa who wants to wear you as a too tanned mustache. Knowing that I never have been and never will be Santa Doug's mustache, well, that is something to write home about right there, folks.</div>
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"Dear Mom and Dad, </div>
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I got poison ivy on my butt from pooping in the woods but the camp counselor says I will be okay if I don't scratch it. It is really scratchy though!!! I got bit by a spider on my eye lid and it swelled so bad I couldn't see a thing and kept tripping over everything, I even fell in the shower and got a bar of soap stuck in my nose, now one nose hole is a LOT bigger than the other. But it's still not as bad as having Doug Hutchison's red beady eyes peering out of my crotch while he's dressed as Santa. HA HA HA!!!!</div>
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Love and kisses</div>
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BB"</div>
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Put words like "expressing yourself" and "not hurting anyone" together -- along with like statements-- and it will sound like you are deep and smart and stuff, <i>regardless of whether you live by such high flown words yourself</i>. For example, Courtney's recent response to whether she considered herself to be a feminist and her response of, and I'm paraphrasing here, "yes!!!!1!! to me it's dressing how you want, expressing yourself, as long as you are not hurting anyone and supporting other women!" And people acted like that should be Feminism 101. </div>
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Alex: "We're going to start this round off with 'Knowledge So Common, Even Your Dog Knows It' for $100. 'Dressing and acting in such a blatantly sexual manner to attract as much male attention as possible regardless of theirs or your relationship status, even to the point of ostracizing other women.' Yes, Blindbeard."</div>
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Blindbeard: "What is Feminism." </div>
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Alex: "Good job guessing the obvious."</div>
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And finally, for today, it's not for publicity/fame/attention as long as you can keep coming up with excuses to be noticed. Divorce is very painful, no question about that one. Even when it truly is mutual, it can throw you for a serious loop. My divorce was truly mutual; he bought me furniture when I moved out and even now if I needed help he would do it, even though sometimes we <i style="font-weight: bold;">really</i> hate each other, we do get along for the most part. Granted, I'm not a known "personality" so nobody was interested in my story, but I still don't think I would have tweeted <i>3 times</i> about my exclusive-tell-all-what-went-wrong interview. There is something rather... gross? Distasteful? Insincere? Really inconsiderate to Doug? Publicity-seeking-seeming? Attention-whoring-feeling-giving? And to tweet about your new crush when your ex is choking up during his interview done on the same day isn't that a bit... rude? Cold? Selfish? Insensitive? And to release <i>to the public</i> a separation agreement that lays out the sleeping arrangements is so stupid and unnecessary and attention whoring it should make the person who did it writhe in embarrassment. But it is not for publicity! It is an important document that the public really needed to see, because how were you supposed to get any sleep not knowing how Doug and Courtney were handling their sleeping arrangements? I know I'm sleeping better because of it, and I'm going to go tweet that a few times to prove it.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-38352099669198912052013-10-25T19:33:00.000-05:002013-10-25T19:33:13.492-05:00Things I'm Tired OfIn order<div>
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1. Cluster Headaches</div>
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These are the worst thing I have ever experienced. Period. Period again. Bar none, NONE. They make MS look like a fun and lighthearted day in the park. I am so tired of being in the grip of them, of being scared of getting one while in public, of being a prisoner to them. I'm taking a new medicine now that has really helped bring down the severity of the attacks. I still get a few breakthroughs that bring me to my knees, but for the most part it is helping. God am I tired of clusters.</div>
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2. My Ex</div>
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That man is going to be the death of me. And if that is the case, I better be the death of him too. We get along for a little while, then he pisses me off. I stop talking to him. He leaves me alone for as long as he can stand it, then little by little he starts texting me again until I cool off enough to start responding to him. We talk for a little bit until he pisses me off again, and then I ignore him and we wash, rinse and repeat many, many, many times. He pissed me off early in the summer, we were talking by the time I went on vacation in August. I sent him a "glad you're not here!" post card, and I meant every word of it. Sometime in September he pissed me off and I have not responded to any of his texts since. He has tried every tactic to get me to respond and I have come close, but I'm not ready to put up with his smug jackass self that makes me regret ever talking to him in the first place. Yesterday he was desperate because he was "in full hunting mode and I knew what he needed. All seriousness. No B.S. Just give him what he needs and that's all." What he needed was me to text "big bucks no whammies." That's it. That is his superstition about hunting. If I don't say that to him (or text it, whichever the case may be) he won't get a big buck, he will get a whammy. And it <i>has to be me</i>. I used to say it whenever he was going hunting and he said that it brought him luck, now it's my curse. I told him that I am not talking to him again until hunting season next year, I'm not joking. Big bucks no whammies. </div>
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3. Grocery Shopping/Being Mother Hubbard</div>
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I truly do not know which is worse because they both suck. I hate grocery shopping. I get so worn out from it and then don't get much else done the rest of the day. I make menus, I make a list, I buy fruits and vegetables, and try to keep a good selection of foods in my house, but many of those things get eaten fast or need to be eaten fast which then makes me Mother Hubbard again. I don't have a lot of junk food around so my cupboards really are bare. I need to throw away some old cereal boxes but, damn!, that will only make it look worse. I know it's good to not have a lot of junk food, but when you are really tired, a <i>little </i>junk food sounds so nice and quick and easy and... nice... mmmmmm....</div>
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4. Being Startled By The Sheriff At Your Door Looking For An Old Neighbor When You Look Ridiculous!</div>
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I'm working on some different projects around here so I'm wearing old clothes and a bandanna on on my head. I'm typing away when a sheriff knocks on my door officially startling me and horrifying me that I got caught looking like this! As soon as I hit "Publish" on this I'm heading upstairs to take a hot shower and put on pajamas. Instead of getting caught looking like a dumpy old housewife, I could have at least got caught looking like a clean dumpy old housewife. </div>
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You know what I'm not tired of? Right now I'm enjoying a version of Swan Lake from the 60's. The technicolor! The hairstyles! It's like Swan Lake meets Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It's so gaudy and bright and fabulously terrible that I can't tear my eyes away. I just wish I had some food to eat... maybe tomorrow I will go grocery shopping if I can't find <i>anything</i> else to do. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-23736475671069760082013-10-10T06:13:00.000-05:002013-10-10T06:13:33.551-05:00UnforgivableI'm a pretty forgiving person in general. I don't have too many things that are absolute deal breakers, there are a few, but not many, and even then with the right apologies etc. they can usually be worked out. This morning I ran into a total nonnegotiable. At 3 am almost to the minute, I was woken up by my cluster headache. This is the usual time so I just glance at my clock to make sure we are on schedule and to track the starting time so I know when to expect the end time, then play the waiting game. I recently started new meds so the severity of my attacks has really come down, so much so that I can play games as I wait out the 2 to 2.5 hours until the hot sledgehammer is done hitting me on the left side of my face/head. Sometimes, just to shake things up, instead of the hot sledgehammer to the side of my face, the cluster will take a pvc pipe and try to force it into my eye socket with the sledgehammer. It likes sledgehammers because they can really get some force behind them and they cause more widespread pain. But the cluster headache wasn't the problem, nor was the fire that was burning in my legs, thanks to my MS that wanted to remind me that it was still there in case I forgot, because when clusters are in town, I don't notice anything else. A pack of wild rabid possums could be gnawing off my leg and I wouldn't know it if I was having a cluster headache at the same time. But worst of all, stuck in my head was that Popo Zao (or however you spell it) song that Kevin Federline did. What in the name of tarnation was <i>that</i> song doing in my head, actually, just that one line, "let me see that popo zao." When was the last time you even thought of that song, or remembered that he did it? I can't remember the last time I thought about him, or the fact that he wanted to be a rapper and tried by making that one song that I think I listened to maybe twice on gossip sites years ago. I tried to think of every catchy song I could. Every song that when I think of it, it is stuck on repeat in my head for the rest of the day, all to no avail, even now that one line keeps popping up. I'm so ashamed. I'm ashamed that somewhere in a wrinkle of my brain, I stored a line of that song for <i>years </i>and it popped up to keep me company at 3 am along with my burning eye and legs. Why couldn't my MS attack that area of my brain? It's probably too busy destroying all my happy childhood memories to worry about silly things like useless snippets of obscure songs. It's unforgivable. <div>
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I'm bored stiff with MS, literally and figuratively, so I am going to start writing about other subjects that are of interest to me or going on in my little world. I just wanted to give the heads up so no one is surprised if they come to a MS blog and read about how my dog threw up under my bed, ate it, threw up again, and then I threw up. These are things that are so exciting that I could not possibly keep them to myself. Now I got to go get into the shower because if I get into the shower <i>just before</i> Princess's alarm starts going off, she will get out of bed faster than she ever has to come galloping in to make sure I don't use all the hot water, how long am I going to take, why couldn't I wait, etc. etc. and that is just too much fun for me to resist. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-29679538306451970402013-03-05T09:44:00.000-06:002013-03-05T09:44:24.868-06:00Birthdays, Anniversaries, and ArchitechtureToday is my little dog's birthday. A day of great joy and celebrating in my house. A celebration of 3 years of love, joy, and happiness! (Because it <em>is</em> his birthday, we are going to ignore some of his more irritating habits, like <em>not</em> waking me up at night when something is knocking on his back door. Love those morning surprises.) He has an under bite that makes his bottom lip stick out and I swear he dangles it in front of me hoping I will trip on it and cover him with kisses, all while pretending to want to get away from my loving embrace. I think he is just trying to save face in front of the other dog, that is why he runs away from the kiss storm as soon as he can wriggle away from me, but he has a head that is as soft as a velvet painting of Jesus and I cannot resist trying to cover it with layers of kissies. The other day I came home to find that my dogs had ransacked my potatoes. There were 4 of them scattered around the house. One in the living room, one in the kitchen and two in my bed. I threw away two of them and let them keep the other two because they were enjoying them so much (and had eaten half of them). They kept bringing them into bed with us and I kept pitching them back out. We kept up this charade until I gave up, as they knew I would, and I went to sleep with 2 dogs, 2 potatoes, one rope toy, 2 books, my 2 remotes, and me all sardine-canned in to a full sized bed. I should be embarrassed by how much I spoil my dogs, and I am a little, but I love those little sh*ts so much and I have never been a good disciplinarian. I set his birthday on the 5th on purpose, because I wanted something positive the day after something negative, which is the anniversary of my being diagnosed with MS. <br />
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Eight years ago yesterday I got the news that I got the MS from sitting on an infected toilet seat, probably at a store somewhere. I really should use those paper seat covers, but I didn't think I would ever contract anything. How naive I was, putting my bare arse all over toilet seats wherever I went, never for one moment stopping to think of the possible consequences! Nah, I just had to give the public what they want, a reason to treat me as a person with a communicable disease. The thing about having MS for this long is getting over having MS at all, whether that is good or bad, I leave to each person to decide for themselves. I'm not saying I don't hate it or get frustrated by it, but I no longer rage and shake my fist at my crappy immune system. In fact, I am not even doing any of the DMDs anymore. I remember in the early days after being diagnosed, whenever I heard of someone <em>willingly</em> not doing any of the DMDs, I thought they must be crazy. I never thought I would be one of those who stopped clutching my sheets with sweaty palms at night, worrying about not having that 30% (more or less) reduction in disease activity or whatever, but here I am not caring. I was getting so bad about giving myself my shot that I only did it once or twice a week, just to be able to show my family an itchy red welt to prove I still was doing my shot, kind of. I talked to my neurologist about it, we tested me for the virus (is it JCV, JVC?) that excludes you from taking Tysabri. I tested positive (good thing I quit doing Tysabri) so that was out, and she and I agreed to stop with the facade of doing Copaxone because there is no benefit to taking it so little, and just waiting for some of these new meds to make their ways down the pipeline. Now I have 3 months of Copaxone chilling out in my fridge, waiting for a good home. I would like to find someone who is really struggling with being able to afford it to give it to. It is house broken, crate trained, and ready to cuddle with its forever family. If interested, contact Blindbeard at Blindbeard's MS Medicine Rescue. <br />
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Lastly, I have a few words to say about architecture. The other day Princess asked me how it feels to play the same game that little kids play. She was talking about my enjoyment of Angry Birds. Yes, it may seem like a game for little kids, but that is only if you look strictly at the graphics. Those damn egg stealing pigs are architectural geniuses! Their structures are marvels of engineering! If we could build stuff as ridiculously strong and stable as they do, no tornado or hurricane could ever destroy any home or building, <strong>EVER</strong>! There is more to the game than just flinging birds at those irritating, albeit very cute, pigs. It takes some finesse and figuring to bring down those structures. I get so angry at those pigs, I swear I'm going to have bacon for my next meal. Princess hates when I say that because it makes her hungry for bacon. I'm just hungry for revenge and my eggs back! The only complaint I have, other than their building skills, is how they get black eyes and lose teeth. It makes me feel bad, but then they smile when I don't beat the level and I swear I'm having bacon as soon as I finish that level and go to the store, or they give me my eggs back, whichever comes first. <script src="http://beta.easyhitcounters.com/counter/script.php?u=katrinawog"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-8957165755840184412013-03-01T08:38:00.001-06:002013-03-01T08:38:39.709-06:00CritiqueAs if I didn't suck enough, I now have cluster headaches. I don't know if I wrote about my eyeball pain last year when it started, but I sure didn't hold back around here. I have done all the scans, went through too much none-too-cheap medicines trying to treat a sinus infection that didn't exist, pondered the possibility that 3 times <strong>EVERY </strong>day at the same time someone took a sledgehammer to the left side of my face/head and for some reason I didn't notice them sneaking up on me, because we all know how much that happens, and finally when all those possibilities were ruled out, cluster headache was the only thing left. I figured it out by myself, because lets face it, the doctors most certainly weren't awake with me in the middle of the night trying to figure out how that person with a sledgehammer got me again. I was looking up how painful gout is and stumbled across a list of the worst pain people can have. Gout is on that list, that list that has as the number one most horrid pain cluster headaches with a description that was exactly what I was going through. Since they hit at the same 3 times every day, I prepare for them as well as one can. I take pain meds at night that make me fuzzy around the edges and make my reading comprehension so low that it is pointless for me to try reading, so I have been watching movies. I am finally getting around to all those movies that I have been meaning to watch for years (and years and years) but just never got around to. I'm trying to stick with classics and any suggestions you may have would be greatly appreciated. Here is my critique of a few.<br />
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<strong><u>The Godfather</u></strong><br />
<br />
I have been meaning to watch this movie for years but never wanted to take the time to do it. I don't do good with too long of movies because I get restless unless they are excellent movies. The Godfather, as I'm sure you know, IS excellent. I have watched it so many times, and even now am thinking about getting it from the library again today. My first book is going to be "Things I Would Do Sexually To A Young Al Pacino". And there would be sequels. Many, many sequels. When my eyes first clamped on to him, my pants burst into flames and every time I see young him again my pants burn up. Too bad that I wasn't even born yet when that movie was made. Such a damn good movie and such a damn hot man. That is the definition of win-win right there!<br />
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<strong><u>Seven Brides For Seven Brothers</u></strong><br />
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Have you seen this movie? It is so ridiculous yet so much fun and the songs get stuck in my head. Even talking about it I get, "Bless yore beautiful hide, wherever you may beeeee!" playing in my head. I have watched is several times and have enjoyed it each time, damn it! It amuses me that women back when that movie was made sang at such a high pitch. One minute they are talking in a normal voice, then the next they break out in a song in a pitch that can shatter glass. <br />
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<strong><u>Some Like It Hot</u></strong><br />
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I LOVE LOVE LOVE this movie! I am going to have to buy it because I have renewed it from the library 3 times and that is the limit. Jack Lemmon as a woman is so friggin' hilarious, and how can you not love Marilyn Monroe in it? She is so cute and I love how she has curves, she's not built like a 12 year old boy like women in movies are now. The pointy boobs are really pointy and you can tell it's a different time by how the men pat the women on the butt and the comments they make that would get them in trouble these days. When Jack Lemmon gets engaged to that man is my favorite part and I have watched it and laughed at it over and over again. <br />
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I have more that I will add later, and, like I said above, I am open to any suggestions. There are a few that I really want to mention but I don't want to not give them the full paragraph that they deserve. (If there is anyone who is interested, I can talk more about my cluster headaches, or if you want to tell me about yours, that would be great too. I would love to hear how you deal with it.)<script src="http://beta.easyhitcounters.com/counter/script.php?u=katrinawog"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-4061605926417430632012-09-21T08:59:00.000-05:002012-09-21T09:00:22.731-05:00Happy Birthday To Sugarbowl<span style="font-size: small;">The main reason that I have not been blogging is because I feel like so much time has passed that I need to bring myself (and any readers I may still have) up to date. Honestly, the idea of having to bring myself up to date makes me want to go to bed with a hot toddy and an ice pack for my head. Not that there is one thing of any real interest, my divorce was finalized in July, I'm still a gimp, my sciatica is still a hot knife stabbing my right butt cheek/lower back, and yet I still feel like I should deal with these issues before moving on to new ones. But in honor of Sugarbowl's birthday, and my deciding to just start from where I am and pretend that I slipped into a coma for the last few months and just woke up from it, I am going to act like we were just talking yesterday, and here is what's going on today. </span><br />
<br />
So, Sugarbowl is 34 today and you would think that 34 is the most ancient age ever, that we would have to saw Sugarbowl in half and count her rings to ascertain her age, then do some carbon dating just to be sure. Maybe if she and I were not 4.5 years apart, I may have an iota of sympathy, but I don't. To a woman who <em>is</em> 4.5 years older, I can't bring myself to cry into my pillow over her hitting the big 3-4. She and I both had to have our driver's licenses renewed this year. Why is it so hard to take a decent picture for those things? Do they do it on purpose so that you don't want to get pulled over and have to show that picture to ANYONE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, thereby making you are a law abiding citizen? Since she and I both had to go through that hideous event this year, we have been debating whose picture is worse. Spoiler alert: Mine is. But let us start with hers.<br />
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<strong><u>Hers</u></strong><br />
<br />
Imagine if you will, a round, white face framed by about 14 chins, a luxurious blond comb-over-looking hair don't, and a look on the face like they just ate a stink bug. They didn't just, "GULP! I swallowed a stink bug!" They chewed that thing 20+ times and savored every bite, then CLICK! here's your driver's license that you get to carry for the next 5 years! She called me and said she wanted to cry and that she would pay me $100 if I could <em>honestly</em> say that mine is worse. (She refuses to accept my arguments regardless of the evidence staring her beady eyeball to beady eyeball, and steadfastly claims hers is worse. She still owes me $100.)<br />
<br />
<strong><u>Mine</u></strong><br />
<br />
I would like to pretend that I don't have a driver's license instead of admit that <em>that </em>is supposed to be me. What a sick joke! And the lady had the nerve to lie TO MY FACE and say that it turned out pretty good. I don't even want to think about what I must have looked like to her in person for her to open her mouth and fart out such a lie. But I digress. In my picture my hair is a curly mess that is flat on one side and caught in a wind tunnel on the other. My face looks tired and old, like I spent the last 38 years servicing men in a back alley for crack money. But all of this is nothing compared to my skinny, stingy, dried up old turkey leg of a neck. What was I craning my neck for? Did I want to see how long and stringy I could make it look? It's so horrible that I keep it covered at all times and live in fear of someone needing to see it. <br />
<br />
Even though it is her birthday and I should give her this day to have the worst driver's license, I can't honestly say that hers is worse. I'm going to go over to her house and clean, but I cannot lie and say that 14 chins are worse than stingy, dried up turkey leg necks. It's a toss up at best. There are no winners in these situations. Only losers, and there are 2 victims of the DMV right here. <br />
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<script src="http://beta.easyhitcounters.com/counter/script.php?u=katrinawog"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-55889270115473626952012-05-31T16:41:00.000-05:002012-05-31T16:43:26.760-05:00It Better Be Coming Around The MountainI'm so crusty and gross. I am going to be crusty and gross until Lord Lortab kicks in and I can stand upright without a hand on my back, grunting and shuffling along, like my ancient neighbor. Once I can stand, I'm taking the longest, most luxurious shower ever had by man or gimp. I'm going to scrub and condition and pumice like there will be someone else in my bed besides me and the dogs tonight. As it is, I feel my sciatica but not my lortab yet. And I still feel how crusty and gross I am. I have been working on restoring my bathroom floor (it dates from the 1880's) and it requires a lot of scraping and dust and particle flinging. Many nose blowings to see how black my boogers may have become in the 10 minutes since I last blew my nose. Many gouges and cuts on my hands. A blister on my left palm that burst and yet keeps oozing. Countless splinters in my poor arse. Glancing down after that last sentence, I saw my fingernails. Add them to the list of things that are not attractive. <br />
<br />
When I realized that my pain had taken over my ability to work, yet my pain meds had not yet given me the ability to lie down on anything I value, (this chair is from Goodwill) I decided to visit my poor ol' neglected blog. I keep telling myself that I need to get back on here, yet I feel like I have nothing to talk about. The only things going on in my life are things that are far too mundane and boring to talk about. Then a slide show of past blog posts plays through my mind and I realize I built my reputation on the mundane, inane, and boring. (I wanted another -ane there, but couldn't think of one that would work. Bane? Candy cane?) I have a few things I've been meaning to write about brewing right now. As I think I'm starting to feel the beginnings of pain management, I'm going to have to go and grab a very comfortable, very ugly, very sleep inviting pair of pants and shirt. I have a hot date with a pumice stone and a heating pad tonight. All this excitement on a Thursday too. Just imagine what my weekends must be like and then you will understand why I'm too busy to blog, I have the softest feet this side of the Platte river.<script src="http://beta.easyhitcounters.com/counter/script.php?u=katrinawog">
</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-33942178008300746502012-05-04T06:07:00.000-05:002012-05-04T06:07:10.013-05:00An Ode To Sciatica<span style="font-size: large;">Oh, Sciatica, I f*cking hate you. No, my most odious friend, I really f*cking hate you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You have turned my nights into a sweaty living hell. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sheets wrapped around my suffering hips, buttocks, and down my thighs.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Heating pad cooking my backside until my turkey timer pops.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Our last few months together have narrowed my existence into a small world of pain.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Walking hunched over like a little old woman, hand tightly gripping my right buttock,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And cursing my inability to find a comfortable way to have my body.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I pace, I lay down, I try to find a way to sit comfortably, but there is no getting past you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As long as you are in my world, I am unable to focus on anything else.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I notice nothing else when you throb in my butt cheek and down my leg. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You have become my life, and it has been an intense few months, maybe too intense.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">No maybe about it, you have ruined my enjoyment in my usual enjoyments, you greedy wh*re.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You demand all of my attention, keep my from being able to focus on a book, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Only able to watch tv that requires no thought processes, watching the clock,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Waiting for the time that my pain medicines kick in. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Your presence has made me more short tempered and forgetful, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Rendering me even less enjoyable to be around, amazingly.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">When you leave me, and you are going to leave me,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Do not bother to ever darken my door again, although that may be just a pipe dream.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I know that our relationship will most likely be an on off cycle of hatred and pain, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Mostly on my end, because I do hate you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Oh, Sciatica, I f*cking hate you. No, my most odious friend, I really f*cking hate you.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><script src="http://beta.easyhitcounters.com/counter/script.php?u=katrinawog">
</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-54860380483458226202011-10-09T06:45:00.002-05:002011-10-09T07:28:12.825-05:00How To Lose 200lbs Of Ugly FatIt is called Divorce. You may have heard of it. You may have already used it, successfully. You may even recommend it to friends who are wanting to lose their own mass of ugly fat. It is a painful, yet oddly freeing, diet. I am currently on this particular diet, needing to lose those last stubborn 200lbs because they are annoying, irritating, frustrating, discombobulating, infuriating, and, worst of all, tenacious. The only good thing about this mass of fat is how easily I can irritate it, having known it for 12+ years now, I know what buttons to push to make it just as frustrated as me.<br /><br />We finally decided that it was time to do this. Actually, he was pushing for it because the woman he was seeing, who turned out to be a real peach but more about that later, kept asking him how his divorce was coming along. Silly man, thinking with his twigs and berries instead of his brain, tried to work out a plan for he and I to get together and see an attorney to hammer out a deal and get this whole thing rolling. He has been so <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">gung</span> ho to get me there and pin me down (sadly, both ways that can be taken are accurate) that it made me suspicious. So this woman went and done got herself her own attorney. Said mound of ugly fat was <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">soooo</span> happy about that, he yelled, hooted, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">hollered</span> and boo <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">hoo</span>-ed to me about it for a good half hour, telling me how much he hated me and amusing me very much. We hung up, I went back to my book, and 20 minutes later he called me back, considerably calmer, to talk about it. Because neither he nor I give a hoot about the other's way of seeing it, we just stop as soon as we catch ourselves starting to <em>try</em> to explain how we see it. It's pointless. At this point, we cannot sympathize with the other.<br /><br />I was surprised that he called me back so quickly. I figured he would be digging up his jar of pennies and moving them to a new spot. But he wanted to call me to sing, "I just called to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">saaaaaaay</span> I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">haaaaaaaaate</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">youuuuuuu</span>!" at which point we both laughed and started changing love songs into hate songs. Don't get me wrong, we are both brimming with hate for the other, especially as it could have been so different if we had just made some different choices along the way. He is so irate with having to divide up the marital assets/money, that I can't resist messing with him. Case in point, I offered to go halves on a cabin with him once this is over. I think he popped a few blood vessels over that one, but it helps me deal with the stress of this all if we can at least joke about it a little. Like him telling me that if we can work out a deal and not have to fight this out in court, he <em>might</em> be willing to not delete my number and still be my friend. Gee, how can I not be thrilled with that offer.<br /><br />Lastly, this wonderful woman he was dating turned out to be seeing an ex of hers on the side. She has turned out to be the gift that just keeps on giving because it seems the whole town, except my ex, knew about it. So not only was she cheating on him, she pushed him into getting a divorce when I would have been content to just stay separated forever. Instead, he decided that he really wants to have to give me some of our marital pennies. The moral of this story, if it ain't broke, don't fix it!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-16808534576305347972011-05-23T07:06:00.002-05:002011-05-23T07:54:32.897-05:00What Color Is Swamp Ass?It is imperative that I know the answer to that burning question because I am trying to draw the Swamp Ass Swamp and can't seem to find just the right color. At first, I was drawing the swamp as the starting point for a game board to mark progress for my little sister, who has just started a vet tech program that is accelerated and promising to be an intense next 2 years. But then things took a turn that I was not interested in them taking, and now I find myself in that swamp with Sugarbowl, trying to navigate my way to the finish line. Why did I have to make such a long path to the finish? It wasn't so bad when I wasn't on that path with Sugarbowl -- I don't mind others' suffering, only my own -- but now all the obstacles that I have to go through seem very obstacle-y and long.<br /><br />Before I go into why I am now a player in that game, let me give a rundown of the board itself. I took Cookie Monster and Burt out of my Walk Along Sesame Street game, cut out pictures of my face and Sugarbowl's, and stuck them over their faces. I am Burt and she is Cookie Monster. We start out mired in the Swamp Ass Swamp, ride the Beginner's High roller coaster, which then plunges us into the Homework Ocean. From there we must navigate our way through the I Have To Stick My Finger Where forest. I'm looking forward to that forest strictly to enjoy Sugarbowl having to lift tails and insert her digits, and hearing how she deals with it. And that promises to be a great story, she having the most sensitive gag reflex of anyone I have ever known, and anal glands being the worst thing I have ever had the displeasure of smelling. From there we will mosey into the swirly twirly Slumpy Mountains. They being so swirly and twirly one must go slow through them, hence the hideous slumpy-ness of them. I fear those slumpy mountains because I really hate the slumps. If we make it safely through those, we enter the dark tunnel of Is There A Light At The End. If we can find the light, it is the light of our goals. It's going to be one heck of a journey and I most certainly was not interested in traversing this path, but traverse it I must, because. . .<br /><br />I found out earlier this month that my ex has started dating someone. The shock of that put me into a pity party in the middle of the Swamp Ass Swamp. It's not that I begrudge him dating, it's that I want to be able to go out and do those kinds of things that can result in meeting someone, instead of turning into a pumpkin at the hour when most people are gearing up to go out. And then my pity party really got rocking and rolling when I started thinking about who could possibly want to be with me. I have no money, no energy, but plenty of MS that promises more fun in the future. When I was saying this to Princess, she came and put her arms around me, told me that she wants me, and that she loves me more than I love her, which is not possible, but very nice to hear anyway. I have to be 100% honest and admit that the hurt of him moving on is at least equal to all the other hurt from not being able to go tear up the town myself. Why does someone getting over you hurt so bad? And why does it mire me so deep in that swamp? At least I have a game board to track my progress to my goal of. . . not sure what my goal is, but I will let you know when I figure it out.<br /><script src="http://beta.easyhitcounters.com/counter/script.php?u=katrinawog"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-56167462755078400562011-04-12T07:18:00.002-05:002011-04-12T08:09:36.889-05:00Mountainous Expanse Of White FleshPrincess came in, saw the title of this post and said, "You're writing about mom?" Sharp as a tack, that one. We just got through another fabulous blow out fight in our house. The best analogy I have that sums up Sugarbowl's and my relationship is to compare it to a pressure cooker, especially the old ones that exploded so easily. My mom said that growing up they had one and my grandmother forgot to let off the steam one time and green beans got blown all over the ceiling. The pressure builds up and we have to vent at the right time or risk a big explosion. We didn't vent soon enough this time and our relationship green beans got blown all over the ceiling. The reason for the fight is not particularly interesting, in fact I'm not sure what started it all, but once Sugarbowl gets mad/hurt/upset etc. her Borderline Personality Disorder comes out to play. I don't like that playmate. It really sucks, but someone has to stand up to its hideous bullying ways, and that someone is always me because I am the one person who can tell her to shut the hot hell up and knock her crap off and still be friends with her again. This time she disabled all her electronic stuff so no one could use it. She took all the cords to her TV, DVD player, computer, phone, the wii and so on. We all made up yesterday and she started to bring down the cords from her room and slowly put them all back. I didn't want her to know how much I was missing some of those electronic things, so I read my brains out the last 2 days, which is great but sometimes you just want to kick back with a movie. I took back my robe that she stole from me awhile ago and kept meaning to take back, but she is always naked when she wears it and until I can boil it I have no use for it. Last night I woke up to her naked in my room trying to set the computer back up because she wanted the wireless stuff back on. It would not have been so horrible if all the needed cords were in one area, but she had to go around my bed, plug this in, go back around and put this one here, apologizing the whole time for her nudity because she couldn't find the robe. I didn't bother to tell her it was stuffed in my closet. Some things are better left unsaid and I didn't want to extend the conversation any. I just wanted my room back so I could go back to sleep without the risk of waking up to that sight again. Things should be better soon because the neighbors in the other unit are moving out and she will be moving over there. So when we fight we can go back to our own side and beat on the walls to annoy each other instead of having to argue in person. The neighbors are moving out because they can never seem to remember to pay rent and are being evicted, which has made them very pissy. Not sure what they told their friends across the street, but I can feel the daggers being stared into my flesh whenever we see each other. We have given them so many chances and warnings to pay rent on time, even letting them get really far behind because they were having some financial problems, but it was getting ridiculous. Plus they have a very mean pit bull that scares me and they play their music really loud. All these things add up to me not caring how much the neighbors across the street may think we are in the wrong and hate us, and instead accepting it all as a good exchange to be rid of them. I <strong><em>really</em></strong> hate that dog and am hoping that when it does hurt someone, as it is bound to do, it is one of the owners and not an innocent person. I could be out working in my yard without my dogs, and it will try to charge me. You don't even have to be doing anything, just sitting on your porch, and it will try to get at you. I hope something happens to it before it can do anything to any other animal or person. Keeping my fingers crossed here. Other than that, my MS is as much of a hoot as always. Lately my legs have been feeling so weak and shaky, especially as the day goes on, that I feel like a newborn colt trying to get some errands done. It scares me to have these kinds of problems with my legs because I <span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>DO NOT </strong></span><span style="font-size:100%;">want to lose my ability to walk safely. In fact, I am more likely to take injuring myself over needing better support than a shopping cart or an arm can give. That will show you, MS, when I fall and get hurt instead of doing the smart thing! I hope it burns, because I can be a hardheaded ass all day long. I may need to stock up on Ace bandages while running errands today. It's worth it.<br /><script src="http://beta.easyhitcounters.com/counter/script.php?u=katrinawog"></script><br /> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-29955276468209297002011-03-17T06:35:00.003-05:002011-03-17T07:26:51.566-05:00Excuses, Excuses!Why has my usually overly verbose self been so silent of late? I have a whole plethora of excuses that no one will buy into, yet I offer them for your consumption anyway. Never mind the expired date on them, you won't get food poisoning, or lock jaw (keep your fingers crossed!).<br /><br />The main reason for my silence is because -- let me check the area to make sure no one is within reading range -- I have become something of a recluse. My family always accuses me of being one, and I always argue that I most certainly <em><strong>am not</strong></em>! Then I beef up the number of times I have left the house to make myself look like a social butterfly. Why have I been so reclusive and hermit-like? I was shopping with Sugarbowl a few weeks ago when I noticed that my right leg was shaking and feeling very weak, like a newborn colt's. My hands were shaking and doing intention tremors, making it very difficult to hold anything, take a drink from my soda, cross off things from our list, etc. etc. I was embarrassed to be out in public shaking like that, which may have fed into what happened next. I started having muscle spasms from about my Hug area up. My upper body would clench then release on a rhythmic cycle. I can't remember the last time I wanted to get home so bad. We were about 30 minutes from home, and I spasmed the whole way there. If you have never had repetitive muscle spasms, let me tell you how painful they are. My body hurt so bad that night and the next day, I lived on NSAIDs. I knew that my face had been spasming, to the point that my mom, who had not seen me for about 6 weeks, asked if I was having facial spasms or a seizure. (We were at Princess's basketball game and she was going to take me to the restroom to seizure in private if it was seizures.) I can feel my face contort, but I didn't know it was so obvious to others. I thought it was just a barely perceivable twitch, but Sugarbowl said I do this thing with my mouth and she can tell how bad of a day I'm having by it (how often it twitches, how deep of a twitch, and so on).<br /><br />The best medicine for my spasms is not a muscle relaxer, as one would think. Yes, it helps the muscle stop contracting so tightly, but it does not help that creepy crawly feeling I get when the next spasm is building up. It is marijuana. I have been blazing it up so much at the first sign of a spasm, that I thought this hideous sore throat I have right now may have been caused by it. I finally broke down and went to the doctor after suffering with a throat that feels like someone stuck a shotgun down my gullet and pulled the trigger, spraying shot all over my tonsils, for several days. I was afraid that he would look down my throat and tell me that a massive resin buildup was causing my throat to hurt <em><strong>so bad</strong></em> I would rather let my saliva build up to the point of overspill than swallow. I have tonsillitis and Sugarbowl has a great story to tell everyone for the rest of time. I suppose it is only fair because I have the story of her being full of sh*t, and that makes it worth it.<br /><br />I have done a ton of research into these spasms and was greatly relieved that they are not an attack, and are usually self limiting, so I can become the social butterfly I say I am to my family, yet have never been in real life! YEE HAW! Or maybe just go do stuff without worrying about the spasms starting up. As the day wears on and I start to get tired, they fire up, and I light up (not cigarettes; I am still smoke free). Something great came out of all this. I was getting tired of my usual movies and crap that I watch when in my down time, because keeping my spasms company is very boring, so I wanted to branch out into something new. I decided to try out The Office because I enjoy Steve Carell and had heard so many great things about it. You may now count me as a fan. A twitchy, spastic fan, but a devoted fan nonetheless. We have Netflix through our Wii, so I can watch all the seasons on that until I can buy them, and buy them I will! Along with a Schrute Farms Beets t shirt, because that is just too great to pass up. The only bad thing about it is that Princess likes it too, but she is not as far as I am so I have to keep all this great stuff to myself until she catches up. The strain of keeping my mouth shut hurts almost as bad as my resin coated throat. And that is saying something. <script src="http://beta.easyhitcounters.com/counter/script.php?u=katrinawog"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-84746966255682840762011-02-13T06:50:00.002-06:002011-02-13T07:44:34.898-06:00Today Is The 6th Day Of The Rest Of My LifeMy new life as a non smoker. That's right, I did it! I quit smoking 6 long, hard, stressful, frustratingly <em>slow,</em> days ago. Days where I had to just hold on and know that tomorrow would be a little less horrible than today had been. Riding out cravings that had me gripping white knuckled on to anything near me. Trying not to be too bitchy with anyone who had the bad luck to come in my path. Reading to rags <em>7 Steps to a Smoke-Free Life</em>, which is an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">excellent</span> book for any of you who may need a little help along your own obstacle course of quitting smoking. In fact, that book helped me not fall off the wagon during a very bad time in my house right now. It recently came to light that Princess has not been handling her stress in a healthy way: She has been cutting herself. Now, in case you missed it, for all my crabbing about her bitchy ways -- and they can be <strong><em>very</em></strong> bitchy -- that little girl is the light of my life. I would die for her without even having to think about it. She is the reason I'm still on this planet, because she is still on it and I know I can't leave her until she no longer needs me. She and her mother have a very rough relationship, to put it mildly. Very mildly. I know that somewhere under all the hurt, misunderstanding, and loads of hate they have for each other at times, there is a drop of love. It may not be much, but at least it is there, and I hope that someday, when Princess is older, they can try to build a relationship of sorts, because this one is not very good. They are such oil and water it stresses me out sometimes trying to keep the peace around here. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sugarbowl's</span> Borderline Personality Disorder makes things so rough, especially when she has not been taking her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">meds</span> (which she has not taken for a while now) that it can be a lot of work keeping her from going over the edge about a perceived slight. If you have ever dealt with some one with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">BPD</span>, you know how incredibly difficult it can be. When her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">BPD</span> is fired up (it seems like she is good for awhile, then it breaks down and she is ultra sensitive and ready to take everything the wrong way and go into a HUGE RAGE over it) I feel like I have try to keep their dealings as minimal as possible. I try very hard to say things with as little negative inflection in my voice as possible, and if she still takes it as an attack, I have to hold back my own temper, and explain that she has misunderstood what I was really saying. And even then there are no guarantees that it will stop a rage. They will cling to what <em>they think</em> you meant, regardless of what you did mean, and fight with you about how they took what you said. It does not matter how many times you explain that that is not what you meant, they have their <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">BPD</span> up and can't be rational until it calms down again.<br /><br />In all this <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">BPD</span> mess, I have a voice because I can lose my temper and throw down with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Sugarbowl</span> if she pushes me too far, which is saying something because I am <em>very slow</em> in getting to that level of anger. Princess can't say a word, or even twitch a facial muscle when her mother gets angry at her, and that repression is coming out in the wrong way. Communications came to a screeching halt for a few days because <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Sugarbowl</span> was angry at me (and indirectly at Princess too) because I told her that Princess is cutting herself because of her mother. I should have made it more clear than that because <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Sugarbowl</span> took that to mean that it is her fault, which is not what I meant. I meant that the problems she and her daughter have are not being handled in a healthy way, and I was trying to give her a heads up before Princess goes to counseling (she has an appointment) and she hears all this from someone else. I'm hoping that we can get through all the ugly that is on the horizon for us and come out the other side with some healthier ways of dealing with each other. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Sugarbowl</span> is going to look into counseling, but I would rather she take her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">meds</span> on a regular basis, if I had to choose. All the counseling in the world is not going to change how she acts when in a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">BPD</span> rage. I accept that she has Borderline and gets angry easily, but I do not think that is a free pass to do and say horrible things to people and not be held accountable for it. She may not be able to control the shortness of her temper, but she <em>can </em>control the words that come out of her mouth and her actions when angry. Princess does not have the luxury of being able to stand up to her mother like I do, so I have to run interference when <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Sugarbowl</span> is raging. Right now <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Sugarbowl</span> is upset about being told that Princess is hurting herself because of her mother, and doesn't want to say anything to Princess in case it adds to the problems she is having -- also as a passive-aggressive way of punishing Princess because her feelings have been hurt because she doesn't want to admit that she has hurt her daughter that deeply. I am the go between and the tension in this house is through the roof. I would rather we all not talk to each other than have any raging fights. As stressful as not talking is, the rages are a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">bajillion</span> times worse. I think I deserve a HUGE pat on the back for not starting smoking again in the midst of all this crap. But I already broke my arm patting myself on the back, so I'm good. Besides, my focus is on Princess, and knowing that she is going to need me for some time to come makes me want to quit because I'm going to need all the time on this earth that I can get. That is helping me resist the sweet siren call of cigarettes. And what a sweet siren call that is! Darn you, cigarettes! Why do you have to be so delicious?! I look forward to the day that I no longer enjoy the smell of cigarettes. Pray for me.<script src="http://beta.easyhitcounters.com/counter/script.php?u=katrinawog"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-78209947526513762832011-02-06T05:31:00.002-06:002011-02-06T06:10:59.735-06:00Gonna Pound This Out Even If It Kills Me!And it just might. With all the laptops gone to technology hell, we have been reduced to using this old behemoth of a desk top. I'm glad we still have a computer, but, dagnabbit!, does it have to be such a monstrous ancient dinosaur? It takes up my whole room and heats it up by about 50 degrees. Good thing I keep my bedroom so cold, so now it is about 70 in here. And don't even get me started about everyone junking up my room with all their crap! Every day I pull out cups and food wrappers, I try to organize all the papers they leave all over, and resist the urge to practice some redrum on their arses. I've been using a laptop keyboard for so long, this old, stiff keyed keyboard seems harder to use than I remember them being. It makes me think of typing on an old typewriter, where you have to really hit the keys for them to work. I only have this decrepit old computer chair that you have to balance your weight on <em>very carefully</em>, or it will dump you out because the back is no longer interested in supporting anything, especially fat hags who bitch about it. Okay, moving on.<br /><br />We all were sick for about a week there. The joy of the flu makes me question my decision to <em>not</em> get a flu shot this year. I can always come up with a plethora of reasons to not do it, but when good flu bugs attack, I can't remember any of those reasons, besides me being an idiot. Speaking of good reasons, I have been fighting against doing my shot, because I can think of a <em>veritable plethora</em> of reasons to not do my shot. I'm so tired of needles and shots and itchy injection sites, oh my!, that I am starting to think there is something to be said for going Secondary Progressive. When I mentioned this to my family, it went over like a herd of lead balloons and started a fight that will rage until I no longer have to do any shots. I have not been good about doing my shot every day, and even skipped as many as 4 days a few times. It is getting to be that time that I am scheduled to reorder, and I still have a whole box left. I am pondering whether I should tell them that or just keep it to myself. If I keep up this futile resistance, I'm going to amass a ton of Copaxone that I DO NOT want. Due to the fact that I am not the fighter my mom and sister are, I'm going to have to keep half assing doing my shot, because they are keeping a sharp eye on me to make sure I am as lumpy as I should be if I'm doing my shot everyday. In winter, being lumpy is not as bad, but in the summer, it SUCKS! Has anyone else on Copaxone noticed that the lumps get worse in the sun and heat? I go to the beach and become a mass of distorted injection sites that swell and disfigure my body. I'm not interested in attracting anyone, but I certainly am not interested in repelling everyone. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a few standards, they are just well hidden.<br /><br />Until the day I can retire all needles, I'm going to be a big pin cushion, like one of those tomato pin cushions, which would be a lot cuter than the lumpy body I am. Ah, dare to dream of no longer having to do any shots. . . The sweet, sweet siren call of Secondary Progressive is hard to resist. (For the record, I know going Secondary Progressive is serious, but so is my desire to not have to do any shots anymore. Although the treatments for SPMS are pretty crappy, too. I've done Novantrone and <em>that</em> is an injection that I REALLY do not want to do again. Good ol' MS! It really knows how to suck the joy out of life.) Now I have to go avoid my shot. Toodles.<script src="http://beta.easyhitcounters.com/counter/script.php?u=katrinawog"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-81055192190623597652011-01-19T06:51:00.005-06:002011-01-19T07:28:37.944-06:00New ClubI am now starting a new club, the I Hate Princess Club. We are not exclusive, we will take any who want to join -- which will probably be anyone who has met her. We will be meeting at 4am in her bed every morning. Bring all the noise makers you can find, and crumby snacks will be provided in abundance. Our motto is going to be <strong><em>the loudest </em></strong>belch you can muster, so fizzy drinks will be provided too. She runs a heater full blast in her room all night, no matter how hot it gets in there, so wear your summer clothes and be prepared to sweat. Hopefully you do not mind washing your hands with cold water, because wherever Princess is using water, there will never be any warm water left. And I hope you don't mind drip drying after going to the bathroom, because there is nary a scrap of toilet paper to be found in any bathroom she uses. Odds are the sink will be backed up from all her hair balls that she leaves in there, so you may want to bring hand sanitizer just to be on the safe side. Do not bring anything you value, because she does not understand personal possessions and assumes everything is there for her use. And she will not warn you when she uses something up, so be prepared to get a nasty surprise when you go to use whatever it is. Bring a flashlight, because her room is a hodgepodge of clothes and other teenager crap that must be spread across the floor, not put away, and I don't want anyone to impale themselves on her stuff. When using the bathroom, be prepared to have the door flung open on you without so much as a knock to warn you, so don't be doing anything you don't want an audience for. If she should wake up during the course of the meeting, be ready for a steady stream of negative, snarky, rude comments meant to show you how hopelessly uncool and uninformed you are, so be sure you have a thick skin before you join. This is not a club for the faint of heart; you must be a secure person, confident in the fact that you are not as uninformed as 7th graders think you are, or you will be eaten alive. We will be discussing, among other things:<br /><br />1. How does anyone survive their teenager years without an adult killing them?<br /><br />2. Should raging, unchecked hormones be illegal?<br /><br />3. <em>Is it</em> impossible to talk to someone in a normal tone of voice?<br /><br />4. Should I see if the neighbors would like to use my stuff too? Maybe the public in general would like to use my stuff. Maybe I am being selfish by not sharing my pit juice with the world.<br /><br />5. Will I ever be as cool and smart as a teenager, or is that just a ridiculous pipe dream?<br /><br /><br />Any topics that you feel need to be addressed will be added. If you are unsure of what would be a good topic, come spend a few minutes with Princess and your ideas will flow from you faster than you can write them down. Now I will close this announcement with our motto:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>BELCH!</strong></span><br /><br />See you at 4 tomorrow morning.<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:180%;"></span><script src="http://beta.easyhitcounters.com/counter/script.php?u=katrinawog"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-41461408699308048032011-01-15T05:51:00.003-06:002011-01-15T06:14:30.392-06:00APBWe got an APB out on one Blindbeard. That's one Blindbeard. She was last seen traipsing through Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado in an embarrassing pair of spotted pajama pants, looking like the frumpy tourist she is.<script src="http://beta.easyhitcounters.com/counter/script.php?u=katrinawog"></script><br />We have reason to believe that she changed her clothes in Colorado, where she stopped for the night, and is now wearing something more socially acceptable, but don't count on it. If you see her, contact her family immediately so they can hide from her. She is not considered dangerous, just crazy -- and hopelessly uncool -- so they would rather not be seen with her as she will only ruin what fragile hopes they have of not being uncool by association.<br /><br />She was traveling in her sister's car, which is a traveling trash heap, so keep your eyes out for a mobile dump. You will hear her bitching about the condition of the car and her sister telling her to shut her dirty pie hole about it. This conversation will be heard for miles around and will give a good idea of the general vicinity of her whereabouts.<br /><br />She usually wears a stocking cap in winter, but if she does not have a hat on, you will know her by her mane of woolly hair that resembles a camel's butt. She has a distinctive walk, dragging her right leg along, and crabbing about how everyone walks too fast and she can't drag her leg that fast, so slow down, bitches. She tends to need to urinate more than the rest of her party, and was spotted using the men's room <em>3 times</em> during this trip because women are <em>so damn slow</em> in the bathroom, and she would rather have her family embarrassed when she comes out of the men's room than wet her pants.<br /><br />There is no reward for finding her, but her family will be eternally grateful to whoever finds her because they wouldn't know what to do with themselves without her to bumble around and embarrass them, making them look better -- if they don't decide to go into hiding. Please keep your eyes peeled and avoid her at all costs, or she may try to adopt you and ruin all your hopes of being cool.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-9508085927104756082010-12-30T07:33:00.005-06:002010-12-30T08:16:27.536-06:00Treacherous Roads Part 2: The Arizona EditionSo here we are in sunny Arizona, enjoying the 50-60 degree weather while the old people freeze, thinking it the equivalent to an arctic storm. Yesterday it was raining. Not torrential rains, but you would never know that by the way everyone was driving, with their wipers on the highest setting and racing around, switching lanes without using their turn signals because they all opted out of the newfangled gadget option. Or maybe they just need to refill their signal fluid. It could happen. Yesterday Sugarbowl and I were driving around, listening to the radio, and laughing about how they kept warning people about the roads, just because it was raining, until we saw all the wrecks and people in ditches. Then watching the news, we were even more shocked by all the wrecks and people in ditches that we didn't see. It's amazing to us, who are used to much worse weather than this, that people would have a hard time driving in such un-treacherous weather. My dad told us that they get about 10 inches of rain a year here, so for them <i>it is</i> hazardous driving. Hope we will be able to brave this weather and get out of Phoenix safely. We have more to worry about from the other drivers than rain, who are more hazardous than an arctic storm. <div><br /></div><div>Other than that, our vacation is going good. We have seen the sights, destroyed my dad's house, and lost several valuable possessions. Sugarbowl lost a stuffed cat that she has had for 7 years and sleeps with every night, because she can't sleep without a stuffed animal. She has called the hotel, where we last saw him, several times and has even offered an award if they find him. She is heartbroken and I feel bad for her. My loss is a little less sentimental and much more expensive. My laptop got stuck under the rocking recliner and got mashed, breaking the screen and rendering it useless if you want to see anything, which I generally like to do. Now I'm wondering how nice I'm going to have to be to my ex to get a new one. Much nicer than I care to be, you can bet on that. Maybe I can be half as nice as I want to be and he will go halves with me. . . hmmm, that may be a better option because I don't think he or I would know what to do if I was too nice to him. </div><div><br /></div><div>I will be glad to be home and sleep on a bed instead of an air mattress -- my back is killing me! I will be <i>thrilled </i>to see my doggies again, because I don't sleep well without a living animal pressing me down into a <i>real</i> mattress. Sure, I have my littlest billy goat gruff with me, but 13 lbs is nothing compared to 40 and 80 lbs. It will also be nice to have my own room and not have to sleep in the kitchen. I always thought sleeping in the kitchen would be nice. I could eat my cereal in bed and go right back to sleep. I was wrong. It sucks. Princess and I are sharing the air mattress and she is blocking the cereal cupboard, so I can't eat my cereal in bed. Another loss on this trip. Hopefully that will be the last loss we have. I'm not sure how much more we can take. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-26000541399779552942010-12-24T05:41:00.002-06:002010-12-24T06:10:51.290-06:00Treacherous RoadsYesterday, talking to my mom about the snow we are supposed to get, she told me to be careful running errands because the roads are supposed to be treacherous. I asked her where they were going to be that bad, because I hadn't heard, and she said in Iowa. In Iowa! And she was concerned about driving to work and she lives 2.5 hours from Iowa. I live .5 hours from Iowa and I'm not worried about the roads. But that is my mom. The woman drinks a glass of wine and won't drive for a year. If it is snowing in Antarctica she won't drive, unless <span style="font-style: italic;">maybe</span> if she has a 4 wheel drive with chains on she might venture out, but only in case of an emergency. I know she is so worried because we are leaving for Arizona tomorrow to spend some time with my dad. I won't go near Arizona anytime except in the winter and Sugarbowl won't go on any trip unless there is the possibility of bad weather and a difficult time getting there. She is so stubborn and impetuous (and nihilistic), there is no talking her out of doing <span style="font-style: italic;">anything</span>! I wasn't going to go at first because it is going to wipe out my meager funds to kennel my dogs, but I would never be able to live with myself if I let her go on her own because I didn't want to spend the money and something happened to her, and Princess, and Jabber. Money is not worth my family, so my meager funds will be drained.<br /><br />We are leaving early tomorrow and I am 100% <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> ready to go. Instead of starting all the things I need to do to go on vacation, I chose to hit the peace pipe, watch Mystery Science Theater 3000, and ingest all the chocolate donuts yesterday. Today I'm going to pack and clean my house, because I <span style="font-style: italic;">absolutely, unequivocally, will <span style="font-weight: bold;">not</span></span> come home to a dirty house. That is unacceptable. And I also <span style="font-style: italic;">absolutely, unequivocally, will <span style="font-weight: bold;">not</span></span> leave the littlest dog behind. He must come or I won't go. It would stress me out to think of him being kenneled. The other dogs are old and tired, but he is young and energetic. Sugarbowl isn't thrilled about him coming with, but she knows that is the only way I will go, so she accepts it. I got him a new sweater for the occasion, and he is packing his dog toys and chewies as I type. He has been wanting to see the country, so he's ready to hit the road. He probably won't be able to get a minute's sleep tonight, along with Sugarbowl. I can sleep because long drives don't exactly thrill me, and I can always sleep, if only for a few hours, but that is a full night's sleep for me. My only worry is the treacherous roads in Iowa, because we are going <span style="font-style: italic;">nowhere near</span> there, so we need to be very careful <span style="font-style: italic;">not </span>driving through Iowa. Thank goodness my mom is watching the road conditions for us. We may not know what the roads will be like where we ARE going, but we will know the road conditions for where we are NOT going. My mommy is the best!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-80206904107792679222010-12-17T06:49:00.002-06:002010-12-17T07:30:07.465-06:00Why Am I So Slumpy?I just can't shake the slumps right now. Is it holiday non-cheer? I do tend to get that a lot, especially when thinking of all the things to do to make it a good holiday for others. Is it the nagging feeling that I keep churning out rugs and forcing them onto people and then suspect that they may not really want them are are just being nice? That's silly! When have I ever cared what others think? They will take my rugs and keep being nice because I have no intentions of stopping until we can all play the Princess and the Pea on piles of rugs instead of mattresses. Maybe it's MS related slumps. Just when you think you are coming to terms with this disease, it pulls out something nasty to remind you why it is so hard to accept it. And am I the only one who gets worse in the winter? It seems most of my attacks have been in the winter, and my symptoms get worse in the winter months, too. My TN first kicked up in January a few Januarys back, and now I dread January 'cause I don't want my TN to get any worse. My hug first started in March, and now March is a worrisome month for me. I don't want my hug to get any worse -- even though some days that is hard to imagine, but MS has a very creative mind and can be very devious. It is best not to underestimate its diabolical-ness. Maybe it's because I can't get any sleep yet am still dead tired all the time. Oh, MS, why must you be such a devoted minion to Satan? I've been up for longer than I care to admit. I was falling asleep on the couch last night, so I figured I would get a good night's sleep. I had taken a muscle relaxer because my hug wanted to snuggle, so sleep and I should have skipped hand in hand for 8 hours at least. Har dee har HAR! I turned off my light at 9:30 and woke up at 2:30 am. In those few hours, my bed turned into a slab of concrete that made me ponder getting a pile of rugs to sleep on. Even with a pea hidden in them, they would have been more comfortable. I forced myself to lay there until 3:30 -- my new 4 am, which used to be the earliest I would get out of bed -- then bitterly raised the white flag.<br /><br />The day is yawning open in front of me with the promise of nothing to do to make time move along, little doggies. Sure, there is plenty I could/should do, but who wants to do any of that? Not me, that's for sure. I'm far too slumpy to find any interest in <span style="font-style: italic;">anything</span>. That's not 100% true. I do have a deep interest in Mystery Science Theater 3000 right now. If anything can help the slumps, it is that show. It is the only thing I have found that gives me any relief, and with so few side effects, too. Sore cheeks and chest muscles from laughing are a small price to pay for the slumps to recede for a bit.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-44420429587711953682010-12-11T06:32:00.002-06:002010-12-11T06:55:57.991-06:00Baby, It's Cold OutsideLast night Sugarbowl told me that we were supposed to get some snow today, FINALLY! (My finally, not hers. I enjoy snow.) She didn't mention there would be blizzard force winds that swirl around your face and drive the snow into every slight crack in your clothing, so I was unprepared for what awaited me just outside the back door. The dogs and I tumbled out the door and got the stank blowed off us, a phrase my ex always used and I always found funny. What is it about days like this that make me want to get in the car and drive <span style="font-style: italic;">anywhere</span>, because there is absolutely nothing I need and I don't need to go get it, but I must get out of the house <span style="font-weight: bold;">NOW</span>! I'm trying to justify my need to leave the house, wracking my brains to think of <span style="font-style: italic;">anything</span> we need around here, coming up with nothing, and fighting the urge to race to my room to bundle up to go try to find something I may have forgotten the last time I went shopping. I'm sure we need more waxed paper, or maybe some freezer bags, because we rarely use them but we may find we need more on hand. Maybe I should get some donuts or more soups, because cold days do make you want to eat warm stuff. I think the dogs may need some more chewies, because I need to step on them and see how long I can hop around on one leg before falling over. We could always use more pit juice around here. That is one thing you will always need, unless you are like my father-in-law who doesn't ever use such newfangled products, enjoying his stank over freshness. He made beer in his bathtub one year. I think that sums up how much he thinks of personal hygiene better than any words I could use. When he and my ex go fishing, my ex is always careful to make sure that he is upwind of his father. And while they are driving to their fishing hole, my ex keeps a window cracked -- or more than cracked until he's used to the stench -- no matter how cold it is outside. One time we went to go get some watermelons from my in laws, and when my father-in-law lifted the watermelons into the car, we all slipped into unconsciousness until the odor started to dissipate. Hmmm, thinking about all this makes me think that we really do need more pit juice. Even though I use my bathtub for things other than making beer, I don't want to knock people out when I lift my arms. Now I must race off to my room to get dressed so I can get more pit juice. It is <span style="font-style: italic;">very important</span> that I go <span style="font-weight: bold;">RIGHT NOW</span>! I couldn't possibly wait another day; it is imperative that I stock up today.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-133338555036033182010-12-10T05:16:00.004-06:002010-12-10T06:15:38.795-06:00GrudgesI don't have too many grudges, not being a person who can hang onto anger for very long. That and I have a thing about excess baggage. Carrying a grudge can get heavy, and I'm too lazy to want to carry anything heavy for very long. But for all my high minded words, I have 2 grudges that I am not quite ready to let go of.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rebif</span><br /><br />That's right, I have a grudge against Rebif because it happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or was it diabolical enough to put itself there? I'll let you be the judge. Right after I was diagnosed, I didn't want to read anything more about MS because everything I had read about it up to that point was not anything I wanted to hear. I wasn't ready to research any deeper than the most basic information, and even that was too much. After a period of avoidance, I decided to try reading a magazine I had gotten in the mail, figuring it wouldn't be too overwhelming. I took the magazine into the bathtub with me and got trapped in the tub with a magazine that turned out to be one long advertisement for Rebif. I wanted to read about MS and the different treatment options out there for me as I was still trying to decide which medicine to go with, but I obviously got a magazine that was funded exclusively by Rebif. I stalked out of the bathroom, and as soon as my foster daughter and husband saw the look on my face, they grabbed some popcorn, propped their feet up, and sat back to watch the show. I threw the magazine against the wall, was unsatisfied with that so I threw it into the fireplace, and ranted and raved and frothed at the mouth about how it told me nothing about MS, only propaganda about Rebif. That started my deep antipathy for Rebif, and I swore then and there that <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">nothing</span></span> would ever induce me to take it. And I still hold with that position. I don't care if God Himself comes down and tells me to use it, I will have to decline as politely as possible and pack my bags for hell.<br /><br />The icing on the cake came in the form of a representative for Rebif. I liked her personally, I just hated what she was representing, and representing she did with gusto. One day, at a MS walk, I was talking to someone who was hoping to go on Rebif. I said how much I hated the interferons -- I had been on Avonex and didn't enjoy the experience -- and wasn't hip on doing them again (I didn't tell him about my grudge against Rebif). We were talking about the side effects, and I said how higher doses of interferons means a higher risk of neutralizing antibodies. He, all pompous and holier-that-thou, pooh poohed my statement with a, "Oh, I don't know about that." The rep came over and we asked her, she admitted that it was true, and I was big enough to not yell, "CHECK and MATE!" in his face. He lost all interest in continuing the conversation, and I lost all interest in having any more conversation with his pompous self.<br /><br />The only Rebif I will touch is my Rebif pen, because I like the way it writes and the general public doesn't know what it is. They would probably think it was some medicine that stops bladder leakage at the cost of the rest of your organs. The day someone knows what it is and comments on it, is the day I throw it away and use a pen that doesn't write as well, but that is a sacrifice I am willing to make.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">That "Brave" Woman</span><br /><br />I had met this woman when I first started Tysabri, and she had just started too. I saw her years later, after I had gone off of Tysabri due to the higher risk of getting PML the longer you are on it. She asked me if I was still doing Tysabri, and I told her what I just wrote. She, still doing Tysabri, said, in a voice one would use to talk to a slow child, "I'm not scared of dying," like I was one of the cowering masses who live in fear of death, which I am not, death seems like blessed release to me. She was walking away, head held high like the superior person she is could not possibly be seen talking to a coward like me, when I told her that I am <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> afraid of dying, I'm afraid of <span style="font-style: italic;">living</span> through PML and what it could do to me. She actually slowed her walking away, and got a frown on her face as she processed that answer. She lost all interest in ever talking to me again and still doesn't have too much to say to me whenever I see her. Maybe because I didn't have the proper awe for her and her blithe disregard for death? Maybe because I had a point and have blithe disregard for death, too? Who knows? And I have no intentions of having further conversations with her, not enjoying being talked down to. It actually gets my hackles up and doesn't cow me the way I feel like they are intending it to.<br /><br /><br />Even though I don't like holding grudges, these are 2 that I have no intentions of letting go, they having offended me to the marrow of my bones. It is rare for me to be that deeply offended, so I'm going to enjoy these grudges to the end of my days. Some baggage is worth carting around.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2549590948850807878.post-78703816413878683002010-12-01T04:48:00.002-06:002010-12-01T05:14:47.226-06:00I've Got Kennel CoughThat's right. I've been lying with dogs, 3 in my bed each night and the middle sized one holding down my feet, cutting off the circulation as I type. I would rather have fleas right now. I could give myself a flea bath and feel better, instead of pondering calling the vet and having myself euthanized. I feel so rotten that Sugarbowl and Princess are irritated with me because I'm being too nice, not my usual crabby self. You would think they wouldn't look the sick gift horse in the mouth, but they have pried its mouth open and are nit picking every tooth. All I want is a little kindness, someone to listen to me bitch and moan about how awful I feel, but all they can do is bitch and moan about how I'm being too considerate and nice to them, and they don't like it. It isn't me and they think there may have been an alien invasion and want me to see if I have had an anal probe. Beings as I am only feeling rotten from the lungs up, I'm confident in saying I have not had an anal probe and there are no crop circles in the massive clothes pile in my room. I wouldn't care if the aliens did come take me away right now. Nothing they could do would make me feel any worse.<br /><br />I stepped in dog poop this morning. The littlest dog pooped by the back door. I didn't see it and squashed it flat and dragged it all over the place. Good thing I can't smell anything. I'm sure it reeks, but I can't be positive. I'm just guessing from experience. I've never known poop to smell good, and I'm sure everyone else will be able to smell it when they drag their lazy butts downstairs. Do I care? Not one whit. Let them inhale the sweet sweet aroma of dog feces while I sit back and smell nothing. I can't taste anything either, which really sucks. I'm not one of those lucky people who lose weight when sick. If my stomach is not upset -- and I have a cast iron stomach that rarely gets upset -- I <span style="font-style: italic;">cannot stop</span> eating. You would have to board up the kitchen to keep me out, and even then I would chew my way through the barrier just to get at food I can't even taste. I've been eating the spiciest foods I can find, trying to bust open my sinuses. I like spicy food anyway, but have been adding blackening spice to everything. Even the dogs won't touch my leftovers right now.<br /><br />Today I'm going to lounge in pajama pants on the couch, boo hoo about how awful I feel, and eat everything I can with as much spice as I can pile on it. No one else will be home, so those scurvy dogs that gave me kennel cough will have to listen to me. I hope this makes some sense. I'm feeling feverish and out of it, and the day is still young. It's going to be a very long day.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2