Tecfidera; Notes From The Lobster Pot

Multiple 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.

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 food 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.

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.

Tecfidera has cleared up my mental fog. I feel like I can think clearly again. There was NO WAY 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 long 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.

Neuro: How have you been doing with the nausea?
Blindbeard: It's horrible. I started smoking pot because nothing helps.
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.
N: You should really try to stick to the rice. That seems to be doing the trick.
BB: I've tried everything. Nothing works.
N: Well, the rice is what they recommend.
BB: I'm going to stick with my six foot purple bong. You want to take a hit and go get cheeseburgers?

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 the worst 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?!

Things I Have Learned From Courtney Stodden

I 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.

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.

"Dear Mom and Dad, 

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!!!!

Love and kisses

BB"

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, regardless of whether you live by such high flown words yourself. 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. 

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."

Blindbeard: "What is Feminism." 

Alex: "Good job guessing the obvious."

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 really 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 3 times 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 to the public 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.

Happy Birthday To Sugarbowl

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.

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 is 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.

Hers

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 honestly 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.)

Mine

I would like to pretend that I don't have a driver's license instead of admit that that 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.

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.

Mountainous Expanse Of White Flesh

Princess 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 really 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 DO NOT 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.

Where Was I?

Oh yeah! I think I left off with something about root beer, right? No. . . maybe it was all about ingrown toe nails, not that I get them, but those around me suffer from them. Who knows? Not me, that much is certain. I need to bring us all up to date on the saga of my very boring life then hopefully I can continue to plod on in the same old ruts as always. Everybody strap yourself in for the wild ride.

*Trying to let my knee heal, which is taking its sweet ass time, I have been trying to stay off of it as much as possible. Taking it easy is very boring. I needed a hobby BAD! I was looking on line for different ideas when I stumbled across making rag rugs. I get a bunch of old sheets from Goodwill and rip them apart, braid them, and sew them back together. I have never been much of a sewing type gal, but have discovered a deep love for making rag rugs. The area around the couch is a heap of material and rugs in different stages of the process. I'm making rugs for everyone in my family and anyone I happen to meet when I do venture off the couch. I have been toying with different names for my rug company and so far have not hit on just the right name. Knotty Gimp? Not very melodious. Better Than Drugs? Closer, but not quite. Rugs Are Better Than Drugs? Too long. Sigh. I will have to sew and think some more. Oh darn.

*After 6 months of glorious supporting someone I cannot afford to support, Acorn had to move back home. She did not get a job after much lackadaisical trying. I love her and hope she gets the lead out and gets a job, but I cannot afford myself, much less someone else too. I kept hoping she would get the anchors out of her pants and get a job -- after dropping many not-even-slightly-subtle hints -- but it didn't happen. I finally had to tell her she had to have a job by the 1st of October or she would have to move out. She put in an application, it didn't pan out, and she had to move. I tried, but you can't make anyone do anything they don't want to do, and obviously she thought I was able and willing to support her. And obviously her family thought nothing of it either because they never offered a dime to help me or her out. I find it all rather irking.

*Sugarbowl, who's engagement fell apart (did I mention that yet?) was all boo hooing about never going to meet anyone, always going to be alone, unloved, a dried up old lady at 32 because we all know that is so old there is no hope of ever finding a significant other, met a guy. On her birthday she went to the casino. Earlier that day she had attacked a bag of dried apricots and ate too many. She was playing Black Jack and had to keep getting up from the table to go to the bathroom and fart because the apricots had given her such bad gas. She was drinking, so she said it didn't look so odd that she kept running to the bathroom to massage her stomach (to move the gas along) and rip huge farts. She says that they were HUGE farts, some she thought went on for 20-30 seconds. In between all her running back and forth, a guy at the Black Jack table asked her for her phone number. It took her by surprise because her guts were so bloated and painful she was thinking more of getting to the bathroom to fart than about the other people at the table. Funny how things like that work out. Here this guy is digging her and she is peeling the paint off the walls in the women's restroom, regretting having eaten so many apricots. They have gone on a few dates now, but she stays away from fiber-y foods before their dates.

That should bring me up to date and ready to pick up from here. Here's hoping!

This Post Is Brought To You By:

The letter Z and the number 1, as in 1 enormous painful Zit. It started this life as an itchy red bump on my chin. I noticed it as we were heading to the lake and thought nothing of it. Heck, how many times have I had an itty bitty red bump of a zit, scratched it and never had any trouble from it again? Too many times to count. Little did I know that the simple act of scratching at it would cause it to bloom into a huge cauliflower-like thing. And how was I to know that nobody around me would bother telling me that I had a huge cauliflower on my chin that needed my attention NOW! Or stopped me from going out to chat with the neighbors with that thing taking over my face and resembling a parasitic twin sprouting from my chin. The poor neighbors! They probably had a hard time finding my eyes with my zit blocking my whole face.

I was hoping it would be a lot smaller this morning, but when I woke up and could hardly lift my head off my pillow because of its massive weight, I knew I was going to have another day of dragging it around with me. Hopefully I will be able to keep mountain climbers off of it, because I have things I want to do today besides chase yodelers off my humongous zit.

Nobody around me has any sympathy for me because I have such dry skin that I almost never get zits. Everyone else has oily skin and are always boo hoo-ing about some zit, so they think the behemoth on my chin is nothing. They won't think it's nothing when I get mistaken for the elephant man and they have to explain that I am not an animal, I am a human being. Or try to tell people that I am not growing a prize cauliflower on my chin, I just have a "little" zit. It's going to be a long day, dragging this growth around. I hope my neck doesn't snap under the weight of it.

Just Not Feeling It

And what is that "it," you ask? Well, let me shed some light on "it". I am just not feeling a blog post that is one subject of any interest to anyone, even myself. All I have is a bunch of little nothings that have nothing to do with anything, of interest or otherwise. I am going to post those nothings so maybe, just maybe, I can clear up the air and move on to something interesting. (No need to point out that I rarely have anything interesting to say, but thanks anyway, Alfred Vaginastein.)

*At the library yesterday, I was reminded of how many people do not know to BE QUIET there. I have always made the kids that accompany me be quiet, but too many adults didn't get that memo. There was a woman loudly talking about people who have abortions. I'm not going to give my opinion on the whole abortion issue, but I am going to say that no matter what my opinion is, I wouldn't yell it out in the library, a place where most of us are taught to be quiet out of respect for others trying to read. I am also going to say that others' opinions are not likely to be changed by you yelling about it in a place where others would appreciate you shutting your dirty pie hole.

*Why do people feel the need to consummate their love at the lake? Do they not have a bed at home? Or even a back seat in their car? Heck, they can use my back seat if they are that friggin' horny that they cannot wait until they get out of public. It's gross and ridiculous. Maybe it is a rite of passage that I never felt the need to do? I must have missed that memo. I don't feel like I have missed out on anything by not humping someone in a lake while there are people -- and KIDS -- all around me. How romantical can it to be to bump uglies while keeping an eye out for dead fish? I'm so tired of seeing people humping that I no longer give them a wide berth. I will swim near them if they are in an area that I usually like to swim in. I have found that it is a great way to make them move along and ruin the obviously overwhelmingly romantical mood that attacked them against their will.

*This morning, while having my smoke and watching the dogs pinch off some loaves, I was trying to keep the mosquitoes from draining me dry when I had a thought. If smoking while pregnant can cause health problems in the baby, would my blood make the mosquito babies have similar problems? Are there a bunch of mosquitoes out there that were hatched with low birth weight or other developmental problems? And if so, wouldn't that be a boon for the creatures that mosquitoes like to feast on? I'm not sure if this subject has been studied, but it would be interesting to know.

Now you can see why I haven't been blogging too much recently. None of those topics are something I can really expand upon and are not things I think anyone wants me to expand upon. The moral of this story is to shut the mother truckers up when at the library, keep it in your swimsuit bottoms at the lake, and if smoking will negatively affect mosquito babies, then smoking does have some positives to it. I know, I know, I'm a regular Alfred Vaginastein myself.

Hey You Guys!

I have been dying to use that for a title since I started blogging. Growing up I loved LOVED LOVED The Electric Company, and the Super Friends, The Muppets, Slim Goodbody, and 3 2 1 Contact. But all those will have to wait their turn to be used as a title. Today I need the Electric Company to round everyone up for me. I need your opinion.

Last night we were all playing Scattegories. Me, Princess, Acorn, Sugarbowl and Sugarbowl's fiance Vanilla (we call him Vanilla because he can be so bland -- but that is another blog post). If you haven't played Scattegories before, I'll give you a quick rundown. You have a list of topics, like Song Title, Famous Female, Things Found At The Beach, Pizza Toppings, etc etc and you roll a big dice with letters all over it to see which letter you have to start all your answers with. Well, for World Records starting with the letter A, Princess put Armpit hair. Sugarbowl hotly argued against it and Princess had to cross it off her list, even though I agreed with Princess because everything is a world record these days. We were doing our next round, and for Things That Jump/Bounce starting with the letter B, Sugarbowl put Boogers. And with that answer an argument was started that may never be resolved.

Sugarbowl claims that almost all boogers bounce. Acorn agreed that her boogers bounce, too. Princess and I, who apparently have very sticky boogers, disagreed. Boogers do not bounce, they stick. Vanilla wouldn't take a side in the debate so we were at an impasse. To prove her point that boogers bounce, Sugarbowl picked her nose, got a booger and started rolling it between her fingers. She said she was going to bounce it off of Princess to prove that boogers bounce. I told Princess that she needed to pick her own nose, get a booger and fling it at her mother to prove that boogers do not bounce, they stick. If they are so bouncy, why are there boogers on the wall by kids' beds? If they bounced they wouldn't stick to the wall, you could just vacuum them up. Sugarbowl says they are on the wall because kids wipe them there. And I can't disagree with that, but I still say that a lot of them are there because they were flicked and stuck.

We argued this while I looked up records for armpit hair. There is a record -- 32 inches in case you wanted to know. I tried to look up boogers bouncing, wording it every way anyone could think of, and I got nothing except a blog site called Boogers Don't Bounce (I didn't go to the site so I'm not going to link it here, even though I'm sure it is a great site). We continued to argue it as we went outside to smoke and Sugarbowl continued to pick her nose clean to prove her point. I pointed out several great instances of her boogers most definitely not bouncing. Like the time we were driving and she had a booger stuck to her finger that she couldn't get rid of and I was laughing at her getting a booger stuck to her that morning from a towel. A booger that we didn't know where it came from. Or who it came from. YUCK! (http://blindbeardsmsblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/boogers-bitches-and-blindbeards-blues.html) Then there was the time at one of Princess's basketball games that Sugarbowl's nose turned into a magician's handkerchief and she had a big runny booger that just kept on coming out of her nose. We didn't have any Kleenexes so she was wiping it on the bottom of the bleachers. I'm pretty sure those boogers didn't bounce off of the bleachers and are still stuck right where she wiped them.

Anyway, what I'd like to know is if you think boogers bounce. I told her I was going to ask you all -- not that she will ever admit defeat if you do agree with me -- and she was okay with that. You may comment anonymously, I don't care, but please tell me if you too think boogers bounce. The decision of who won the game is in the balance here.

Sucked Out Of My Head

I was going to blog about my new puppy. I was going to talk about how my family got me this new little chihuahua Manchester terrier mix because in my grief I wouldn't sleep in my bed because there was no littlest dog to hold me down all night. They talked me into it because they said that a puppy would give me something to love and help heal my bleeding heart. Not a dog to take my other dog's place, but a bandaid of sorts to slow the bleeding. They were right. I still miss my dog, but I am sleeping in my bed again with my new puppy pressed up against me all night. I always say that I can love a million dogs, and there are so many animals out there that need a home, so why not love one more. And I am loving one more. I love that he is not like my other dog; he is his own little puppy. I liken it to my other dog was a circle and my new dog is a triangle. Or a square. Or even an octagon. How about a trapezoid? You can choose your own favorite shape. He's just different, which is exactly what I wanted. I was not looking for the same dog, knowing that that will never happen and I would never try to make one animal be like another. I want them to be just what they are. And he is.

I was also going to blog about the flea market and how great it was. How I got some really good deals. Like an old school desk, the kind from the old school houses that were nailed in place, for $10! I also got this really cool old collection box for missionary work from the 1850's (the dates are on it) for $5. And an old toy horse for $1, and on and on. And how on the first day, as I was dragging my tired arse back to the car, a man asked me if I saw the handicapped sign in front of my car. He said it so friendly-like and I was so tired that I thought he was pointing out how great our parking was, he being parked in handicapped, too. I told him yes, I had my hang tag hung up and he said, "Oh, you seem so able." I told him I have MS and am not always so great and asked him if he had a hang tag. He said he did because "he is like me" about not always being so great. Getting into my car, my little sister was FURIOUS that he had the nerve to be the handicapped police and judge who was disabled and who was "able." Her window was open about an inch and she loudly said, "That is F*CKING BULLSH*T!" And driving away she put her window down, put out her arm and, with a gesture, showed him how she felt about him. I wish I hadn't been too tired to process the whole exchange fast enough because that man would NEVER say something like that to anyone ever again. My little sister ranted and raved and foamed at the mouth. Driving out of the parking lot, I kept asking her if she wanted to go back and "talk" to that man because I felt he should get an ear full. She didn't want to because she didn't want to punch an old man in the face and because she was unable to say anything without obscenities as every other word and she wanted to be coherent and a little more classy than that. That old bastard got lucky. The next time anyone says anything like that to me, I will be ready. And if that old bastard has the bad luck to ever see me again, he will not enjoy it. We kept our eyes open for him the next day we went because we had some choice words for him. He must have sensed the murderous feelings in the air, or he parked elsewhere when he saw my car, because we did not see him. And everyone knows that the second and last day of the flea market is the best time because everyone is willing to cut a deal so they don't have to haul their crap home.

I was going to blog about all this stuff, but this morning I found a tick in my hair. A TICK! I always joke about buying ticks at the flea market, but I didn't know it was an option. I haven't had a tick on me since I was a kid and I was hoping to keep it that way. That tick sucked all my ideas right out of my head and I can feel the Lyme disease a-brewing in me. I feel so dirty, I think I need another hot shower.

2 For 1

I have 2 completely boring things rattling around in my mostly empty head, so I am going to give a 2 for 1 special at bargain basement prices.


I Hate Being Poor

Looking at houses has been a reminder of exactly how incredibly poor we really are. Within our price range is a lovely selection of the most hovely hovels in all of hoveldom. The very first house we looked at was so incredibly horrible that the only good that came from it was the knowledge that it can only get better from there. The realtor that was really trying to get us to buy also owned their own construction business and if we bought that house and had them "flip" it for us, they would give us a great price! Any electrical and plumbing that they did would come with a lifetime guarantee and they would fix any problems in the future for FREE! Damn, baby, where do we sign? Never mind all the holes in the walls, the broken, splintered stairs, the suspicious holes cut out of the carpet when the carpets are so disgustingly dirty it makes you wonder what had been so bad that they needed to cut out just those areas. It wouldn't have surprised me if there had been chalk outlines of bodies and they had just cut along the dotted lines in those carpets, so odd were the shapes of the chunks taken out. When we left Princess said it looked like a mass murderer had lived there. And that sums up that house perfectly.

Another house, which we really liked besides this one little flaw, had floors that were dangerously sloping into what I can only assume was a massive sink hole that is about to swallow that house. As much as we would have loved that house, we aren't quite desperate enough to be sucked into a sink hole, never to be heard from again.

It just goes on and on and on. I can understand being poor, but do you have to be so filthy? After looking at some of these houses I just want to come home and soak in a hot bleach bath. *Sigh* Our search continues and our bleach supply dwindles.


Is That A Hint?

I accept that the dogs like my room so much that they must drag all their toys into my bed, chew up everything under my bed, and regurgitate those things that didn't agree with them all around my bed. But lately they have been dragging a hair brush into my bed. I keep putting it away and it keeps finding its way back into my bed. I know my hair is a wild mop, but if I brush it it becomes all frizzy and even wilder. I explained this to the dogs and they kindly dragged a little gardening rake into my bed last night instead of the hair brush. They finally realized that this steel wool pad on my head needs more than a hair brush and I feel lucky that they didn't drag a bigger rake into my bed. The hair brush will never get to run its bristles through my luxurious locks, but I may start using the gardening rake. I could plant some seeds in the furrows and grow a new chia hairdo. I think the dogs are on to something...

Before I Forget

I had a day yesterday; maybe I should say day because it was... something. Before it all gets lost on my slippery memory, I have to share it. No need to thank me, even though I'm sure that was the first thing you wanted to do.

As I was getting ready to head to the shower, my ex called me to see if I wanted to switch cars. I wanted the truck because we needed to haul some stuff that just won't fit in a car, that and I was sooooo ready to have my truck back after driving his old road car with almost 350,000 miles and hardly a scrap of paint left on it. Plus, it is impossible to be sylin' and profilin' -- whatever that means -- in such an un-stylin' and profilin' car. So I skipped my shower, which I rarely do, tossed on some grubby clothes that I reserve for cleaning days, and headed out to meet him halfway, about an hour's drive for each of us. Princess went with me because she wanted to see that ghost town that I had taken pictures of and it is over that way. We switch cars, and I head back for my hour's drive home, taking a detour to the ghost town, and dreaming of the shower I am going to take as soon as I get home. But the gods of boob sweat had other plans for me.

When I get home, Sugarbowl wants to go pick up Princess' new bed. (Sugarbowl's ex took back his bed, the one Princess was using.) I decided that since we have to go that far down, might as well go even further and pick up the scripts for meds at my shrink's office. To say my shrink's office is in the ghetto is an understatement that defies an adequate comparison. I pick up my scripts, and at a stop light a homeless man comes up to my open window and asks for 30 cents. I give him 35 because I couldn't find a nickel and what is 5 cents between friends -- I would be homeless if my family didn't take care of me. (What the heck is 35 cents going to get him?! I would have given him more, over Sugarbowl's protests, but I only had change handy. And he told me he was homeless, I'm not just making assumptions.) So we leave that part of town without having any caps popped in our wigs or having our shizzles nizzled, again, whatever that means, and go to pick up Princess' new bed.

On the way back up, my bff from elementary/high school called to cement our plans to get together this weekend (she's moving and I am going to be the cheerleader to their huffing and puffing -- move it out! Shove it out! Allllll out! -- as I did for our recent moving adventure). While yukking it up with her, Sugarbowl says I took a motorcycle path in my truck at 80 mph, running so many people down I had to use my windshield wipers to get them off my windshield. I most certainly did not (I'm sure I never went over 65)! I found this very hypocritical from the woman who drives like she has a spiked ball up her anus that she cannot remove until she reaches her destination.

We get Princess' bed and head to Wal Mart to get my prescriptions filled and some flea and tick shampoo to add to our arsenal of weapons against the raging flea war we are in. At this point I feel so greasy, grubby, sweaty, dirty and every other -y that denotes that horrible feeling of I-shouldn't-have-skipped-my-shower-this-morning, that I am ready to give myself a flea and tick bath.

We finally get home and have to huff and puff and sweat even more to get Princess' bed up the stairs to her room. Then Sugarbowl and Princess gave all the animals -- no small task for our petting zoo -- a flea and tick bath. I really did not want to hop into the shower after all that crap was scattered all over the tub, so I feel ever grosser today. By the end of the day only the pets were fresh and the rest of us were left feeling dirtier and smelly-er than ever.

Today I only have my exercise class on my agenda. I am going to see what I feel like doing, if anything, after that. Yesterday was such a fun fest, I'm feeling all funned out. And like I may never be fresh again.

Peppermint, Pests, And Procrastination

Peppermint

Last night Sugarbowl and I were sitting on the porch listening to the kids fighting in the house, hence why we were outside. We heard Jabber doing the laugh that usually precedes him crying, ie the laugh that he does when he has Princess in a lather and imminent doom is upon him. Sure enough about 2 milliseconds later there was a loud thud and he started crying. He comes boiling out of the house and starts telling the neighborhood, in the loudest possible voice his lungs could support, that his sister's pits smell like peppermint. She takes after him and he yells, "Don't you like peppermint?" Sugarbowl and I agreed that if someone announced that our pits smelled like peppermint, in the dead of summer, after sweating all day, and having your pit juice run out on you early, we would not be too sad about it. We would be flattered and would not seek revenge. For some inexplicable reason, Princess was not flattered. Maybe because she uses some of that teen pit juice that is in "Pop Star" scent and would rather he announce that her pits smell like a pop star. The last time she went out of town she took my pit juice by mistake and I had to use her's, and I can honestly say I would rather have peppermint pits than pop star.

Pests

Last night, while lying in bed reading and idly petting the little dog -- the ever-alert defender of my chastity, he won't let anything get in bed with me -- I found a tick on him. I was on the verge of sleep until my fingers happened upon that abomination. We are currently fighting off a flea epidemic, so I was none too happy to learn that ticks had joined the fight too. I burnt the tick and it exploded inches from my face like a nasty kernel of popcorn and I KNOW that it sprayed tick powder all over my face. I spent the next 20 minutes scrubbing the skin off my face and hands before returning to bed where I woke up throughout the night to scratch my head and check for ticks. Ewww! Even talking/writing about it is making me itch and I foresee more skin scrubbing in my near future.

Procrastination

I am banning myself from any more blogging until I catch up on your blogs. I have been procrastinating too long due to raspberries, my love affair with the riding lawn mower, and that damn game, Bubble Town, that has taken over all my short attention span. Now I must go boil myself and get ready for my exercise class. As Tigger would say, "TTFN."

Sore

I don't think there is a place left on my body that is not sore. If there is, I have no doubt it will soon get hurt and join it's brethren to make me even more miserable.

My right foot is sore because Sugarbowl and I were shopping the other day and she dropped this big hard purse thing on it. Of course it fell pointy side down and bruised my foot. I was holding a wallet and whacked her with it when it happened. She had the audacity to ask me why I hit her. Maybe because I was limping even more through the store than usual and wanted her to feel my pain. Misery does love company.

My arms and guts are sore from that damn exercise program. I have to do it all over again today and am hoping we are not doing any more arm and gut exercises today because I will be even more of a wimp than I already am and I do not want to let on that I am that big of a wimp when everyone else acts like it is the easiest thing they have done all week.

My head is still sore from when I nearly decapitated myself on a low branch while mowing. I have a nice big crusty lump from it that I have to check every few minutes to see if it still hurts. It does.

My heart is sore because I am reading Remembering Slavery right now. It is a selection of readings from the Slave Narratives that I like to read about once a year. It really puts life into perspective for me and if you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend you do so ASAP. It makes me feel like all the crap I am going through is small potatoes compared to what those people went through, and they have a much better attitude about it than I do.

My ears are sore because Jabber sat next to me yesterday and barked orders into my ear about what I needed to be doing in my game, even though he has never played it, he still knows more than me about it.

My eyeballs are sore from playing that damn game so much. I finally got past level 7 but can't get past 8 now. I have been going at it like it is my full time job, hoarding the computer and bitching and moaning about how ridiculously hard level 8 is.

My hands are sore from all the splinters I keep getting from the raspberry bushes. I can get most of them out but some are so stubborn and I keep forgetting about them until something touches the place they are permanently lodged and I curse those delicious fruit bearing brambles that I must rape and plunder.

My butt cheeks are sore from Sugarbowl punching me in the arse whenever I say something rude. I told her she had a fat zitty ass the other day and she got mad and punched me in the butt. She can really nail the muscle there and has great upper body strength. She said she was going to take a nap the next day and I thought she was really going to take a nap. I wanted to tell her something so I go to her door to open it and it is locked. Being the slow thing that I am, I didn't register the fact that she had a buzz saw going in her room while having a locked door. I asked what she was doing and she yelled out, very cranky-like, "I'm BUSY!" The pieces of the puzzle fell into place and I was scandalized that she was doing that while I sat out here just steps away. She was mad that I interrupted her. I told her that if she wasn't so busy pawing at her crotch all the time, we wouldn't have this problem. She punched me in the butt cheek exactly where she had punched me the day before. I am not one to let sleeping dogs lie and like to make references to her always pawing at her crotch, which she always rewards with a solid punch to the ass. My butt is so sore it hurts to sit. You would think I would learn, but it is too much fun to get her all worked up.

Ramblin's

I feel like it has been forever since I've been on here. I have to ramble for a while to catch myself up, so buckle up for the wild ride.

*Sugarbowl, Princess and Jabber went up to my mom's for the 4th and for a court date Sugarbowl has with an ex for child support for Princess. The man is a unrepentant alcoholic and is trying to say it is a disability -- he will probably get disability before me too -- and therefore should have to pay next to nothing in child support regardless of the fact that he gets over $1200 a month for being a veteran. I cleaned the house and have been reveling in cleanliness and quiet, caught up on my reading and have a passel of books I've requested from the library and am waiting with bated breath to get that phone call that says they are in.

*While fighting with the raspberries on the 4th, I was subjected to an experience that I hope does not repeat itself again anytime soon. The neighbors were trying to recreate a Hallmark moments style holiday, which I can forgive ("Awww, you are so wonderful!" "No, you are!" "Let's all group hug!") but they were blasting Country music while doing it, which I cannot forgive. I can handle some Country, but only a little. It is so maudlin and depressing it makes me feel like I should be moping, crying, and pining for an ex when I do not want to do any of that for any of those cornholes.

*Speaking of choices in music, I was again fighting with the raspberries when I found out that we live near a hot spot for teens embarking on a weekend of wackiness. I noticed that a gaggle of girls would go by blasting things like Alanis Morisette's song about how she couldn't help falling in love with some guy and it was all his fault. The boys would be blaring some rap or hard rock. I pondered how if they would both change their expectations a bit -- the girls give up the pipe dream of some boy sweeping them off their feet, and the boys relinquish the hope of just getting laid -- they could all be happy. But what do I know? We used to listen to Motley Crue while trying to net some boys and I'm not sure what that says about our expectations.

*My farmer's tan is coming along nicely. I have a lovely brown spreading over my arms and legs while my torso is still an albino white. How sexy is that? I'll answer for you: very!

*While mowing the lawn, I nearly had my head ripped off by a low branch. It grabbed my head and right shoulder and jerked me back, nearly taking me off the mower -- I think I got whiplash from it. Before I checked my wounds, I had to look around and make sure no one saw that. Priorities, people, priorities. It's all fine and dandy to make an ass out of yourself but just as long as no one sees you doing it. I didn't want anyone to see me getting my scalp and shoulder ripped open when a blind man could have seen that branch.

*Speaking of mowing, I ran over a garter snake and nearly vomited when the chunks flew everywhere and the dogs acted like it was a smorgasbord. And why do dogs feel the need to lay a fresh stinky in the path of where you are going to mow next? I get so tired of running over that and having it stick to the wheels to perfume the hot air around me for the duration of my mowing.

*Speaking of dogs, mine rolled in something dead and rotten and I didn't see them do it. Well, I saw them rolling in the grass but thought they were just enjoying the mowed lawn after the rain forest we had going. When we all piled back into the house I smelled this horrible smell and thought that some animal died in the heating and cooling ducts and the odor was circulating through the house. It took me longer than I care to admit to figure out it was the dogs. We all got washed with the hose and fresh air was restored to the house.

*I need to catch up on all your blogs. I have been so busy vacationing that I haven't got on here like I want to. I have found the time to play Bubble Town but can't get past the 7th level, and it's not from lack of trying. Darn you, sleeping bubble heads! Why can't you wake up and help a girl out?

*Speaking of Bubble Town, I need to go play it and see if I can't get past the 7th level. Tootles.

Fresh Fish And Violations

If you hadn't noticed, I'm enjoying putting several different subjects in the title of my posts. It keeps me on the path of what I intend to write about so I don't go off into no-man's-land -- even though that is a great vacation spot, so much better than hell.

I went to that damn exercise thing yesterday and I lived. I didn't expect to survive it, so it was an unexpected surprise that I wasn't carried out in a coffin. They pounced on me like I was a fresh fish entering a prison that was dying for someone new to violate. They circled their wagons (or assistive devices) around me and pelted me with questions in auctioneer style rapidity:

Them: What's your name?
Blindbeard: Blindbeard.
T: Are you married?
BB: Going through a divorce.
T: How long were you married?
BB: 8 years.
T: Would you ever get married again?
BB: No.
T: Do you have any kids?
BB: No.
T: Do you want kids?
BB: No, I couldn't anyway, I had a total hysterectomy almost 8 years ago.
T: Are you upset about not being able to have kids?
BB: (Feeling like nothing is sacred.) No. I never wanted my own kids.
T: How long have you had MS?
BB: Almost 4 and a half years.
T: What medicine are you on?
BB: Tysabri.
T: Do you like it?
BB: Yes. Love it.
T: Are you from here?
BB: Yes. I grew up here.
T: Where did you graduate from?
BB: I graduated from _______.
T: Who's your doctor?
BB: ______.
T: Do you like her?
BB: Yes, it took awhile but we are starting to understand each other.

And so on. I wish I was making some of those up, but I'm not. I felt like my brain was thoroughly picked and was mentally fatigued before we even started the exercises. I'm glad that they embraced me and were glad to have a fresh fish amongst their midst, but, DAMN! They seemed to be satisfied with my answers and decided that I was okay because they asked me to enjoy a cup of coffee with them after the torture was through. I threw the coffee down my throat, burning my tonsils, and left before the Spanish Inquisition could start again. I was afraid things would get even more personal and I didn't really want to get into how often I shave my legs, if my bowel movements are regular, what is my favorite position during sex, etc etc. A woman must have some mystery about her.


The vanilla-as-an-insect-repellent is working great for me. But those mosquitoes are sneaky little boogers and get into my clothes and bite me in places they should be washing their mouths out with soap for having gone there, or at least bought me dinner first. I had to get some of that After Bite for all my pre-vanilla bites and those that are in places it is illegal to scratch in public. I now douse myself much more thoroughly and as close to my unmentionables as I can. Now if I could find something to stop all the splinters I get from the brambles, life would be great.

Thanks For The Memories

*Update: I forgot to add 2 more positive things about my ex, then I have nothing else nice to say about him -- don't want him to know I kind of enjoy his antics. Recently he helped me out of a monetary bind. We had an unfortunate incident where the dogs decided to chew up my big sister's pool. Nobody was interested in helping me pay for it because we could not decide which dog had done it, even though the vast majority voted for the little dog, which is not mine. My little sister got that dog for her daughter so I thought she should help pay for the pool. She said that she would have got rid of him long ago but I wouldn't let her because I do not believe that animals are disposable. The only time I get rid of an animal is when there is something absolutely unacceptable about it, like biting or too much aggression, and even then I try to work out the problem with it. So the whole amount of replacing my big sister's pool fell on me and my ex stepped up and helped me pay for it even though he didn't have to. Lastly, when I gained all that weight from doing the steroids, 55lbs in 10 months to refresh your memory, I was concerned that he would no longer find me attractive so I told him I was going to go on a diet. He told me not to do that to my body because it had been through so much already and to let the weight come off naturally. I was floored that a man would be so kind as to say that to his once-thin-wife, and truly mean it. There, I am done being nice to him. Whew! Glad that is over. Being nice is not my natural state and I am not very comfortable with it.


This morning, getting creamer for my coffee, I was unpleasantly surprised to find a thing of meal worms on top of our strawberries, right next to the sandwich cheese. I have a strong aversion to having anything like that in my fridge where I keep food, but it is a great diet tool. I go to forage in the fridge, see a vat of worms and loose my appetite. It never fails. In the early days of my marriage my husband and I went a few rounds about bait kept in the fridge. He had always kept it in the same fridge he ate out of and I could not tolerate it in the fridge I wanted to find only food in. We got a second fridge in the basement and he put his bait in there because I warned him that I was going to throw it out if it didn't get out of my fridge and he knew I meant it.

Recently my ex father-in-law was diagnosed with prostate cancer. My ex husband called me to ask about a good place to get a haircut, to make sure they were not too expensive and whether they did a good job or not. We yakked for a little bit about nothing of importance, and hung up. He called me back a few minutes later to tell me his dad had prostate cancer. He was so blase about it and I wasn't too upset either. When you spend your life as a drunken ass, you can't expect people to boo hoo about your cancer too much. Now that my ex is no longer at the mercy of his father's drunken rages, they have been able to form a kinship of sorts. They go hunting and fishing together. I asked him (my ex) if he would be too upset if his father died and he just said that he would miss having someone to hunt and fish with.

My ex, for all his asinine ways, has a core as soft as the inside of a milkweed. On our very first date he impressed me by stopping by his house because he had forgotten to feed his wild cats. Any man who would care about a bunch of rag tag cats like that was a-okay in my book. He works for UPRR, rides a Harley, is an obsessed outdoors man and looks like a rough and tumble kind of guy. I call him Pollywog, give him wedgies, pinch his chubby cheekies, give him facials, manicures and pedicures, kiss on him like he is an adorable child and the man loves it (he would probably die of embarrassment if he knew I just wrote all that). Because he looks so rough and tough, too many people in his life have treated him like he is rough and tough not knowing that he is a big softie who folds like origami at the first sign of tears, especially from me. He never puts on any kind of airs, he always is just what he is and I have a deep admiration for that.

He has been fishing a lot lately with his father. His father is not big on personal hygiene. The man used his tub to make his own beer in for a long time, has no teeth, doesn't bother to wear his dentures except on special occasions, and never uses pit juice. To say the man is ripe is a HUGE understatement. My ex called me yesterday to tell me that on the drive to the lake they were going to fish at, he had to keep his windows down the whole time because his dad smelled so bad. Later, in the boat, they got rained on and my ex was glad that his dad finally got a shower and was hoping he would be able to drive home without the windows down. They are fishing again today and my ex hopes they get rained on again, just to make sure. I told him he needed to throw some degreaser on his dad before it started to rain so they could have a pleasant drive back. He wasn't sure he brought any with them but thought that his car cleaning chemicals might do the job.

Ahhh, so many great memories brought back by the sight of meal worms in my fridge on the strawberries I was going to eat later today but now couldn't possibly. Guess that puts me on a diet whether I want to diet or not.

Unfresh

*Update: Princess is home from the hospital! YEA! This house stayed way too clean without everyone going behind me and messing it up. I didn't know what to do with such a clean house, besides enjoy it -- very odd! My stress level has returned to normal, which is good. I smoked myself completely retarded and my MS Hug held me in an even tighter grip while I worried about her.


Sorry for my prolonged silence. Believe it or not (great show!) we have not been having computer/Internet problems. I know, I know, how shocking. I wish it were that. Princess is in the hospital for a cut on her leg that went awry. She scraped both legs in basketball practice about a week before all this hullabaloo, one leg healed up, the other... well, not so much. It kept getting worse and Saturday she spiked a temp of 105, scaring the turds out of us and insuring herself a tepid bath. It took 45 minutes in the tub before her temp came down. Sugarbowl took her to the doctor the next day and they admitted her to the hospital right there. She is on IV antibiotics and has not been responding -- or her leg to be exact -- to them. They are now trying a drug that is not FDA approved for children, only adults, but Sugarbowl decided to do it because something needs to be done. The good thing is that while on this drug, and participating in this study to help get it FDA approved for children too, the costs for administering this drug and her care are covered. She has been in the hospital since Sunday and her earliest release date is Friday, if they see some great improvements, and even then she will probably still need IV antibiotics and home health to do those. It kills me to see her go through all this and I now understand my mom wishing she could take MS from me and go through it all herself. I would take this in a heartbeat if I could; I would take it before giving it to any of my family. But, alas, I can't.

Why the title of this post? So glad you asked! Let me tell you all about it:

*While we have been spending an ungodly amount of time in the hospital, the dogs have been left alone. The little dog apparently doesn't like to be left alone. The first day he got ahold of a decorative couch pillow and ripped all the stuffing out of it, making the living room look like a snow storm struck in just our house, and making me soooo happy to come home to that. I didn't learn my lesson and put him in the kennel the next day when I left, so he decided to move on to bigger things. He ripped off a huge chunk of the linoleum off the bathroom floor, exposing a serious mildew problem under all that hideous 70's flooring. I removed as much of the linoleum that I could without the proper tools for the job, and have been letting it dry so we can put down new linoleum. I hate that musty, unclean, unfresh smell of moldering ugly linoleum that has taken over the bathroom. After seeing all that, I couldn't help but think that that may be helping Princess have a putrid infection in her leg. I hate sub-par housing and am so glad we are moving next month -- after replacing the flooring, of course.

*My dog had a seizure, just before all this happened, that went on for almost 30 minutes. I gave it a chance to quit on it's own, but when it didn't I had to do something I really didn't want to do: I had to administer Valium rectally. I put on cleaning gloves because I didn't have any latex gloves, which I have now invested in for future use, and lifted his tail. I felt so dirty having to do it, but it was a labor of love. We keep track of his seizures to see how long they last, how often he gets them etc. And on our chart of Gussy's Seizures, Princess wrote how long it lasted and that I put "medicine up his butt." Glad we will have that charted for posterity.

That is my update for now, I will keep you informed of how everything goes and if I have to lift my dog's tail again. I really hope not.

New Club

Due to popular demand, I will now be taking applications for the I Hate Sugarbowl Club. I'd like to let everyone join, but fear that there will not be enough room at our meeting place. We will be meeting on her side of the bed at 5am. I had to break up the I Hate My Husband Club due to my escape from his evil clutches, but that is a small price to pay for my freedom. In addition to meeting at exactly 5am, please bring snacks -- preferably things that are noisy and messy, like crackers or chips and dip. Also, there will be bonus points for anyone who remembers to bring incense because it gives her a raging headache to get even a whiff of them. We will discuss a number of topics and take suggestions for future topics. On the agenda so far is a widely varied list of topics that are of immediate importance. I will be printing up this list but until then here are a few topics that need to be canvassed. They are not set in stone and will be reorganized if there is a more pressing topic that needs to be covered first.

*Why does she have to eat in every room in the house? Does she enjoy roaches and other assorted vermin, because I do NOT! She leaves a trail of wrappers and dishes that is infuriating because I either have to pick up after her or ride her arse about doing it herself. I don't care to play Hansel And Gretel because I know there is no delicious candy/cookie house at the end of her trail.

*She has selective vision. She can see food and anything else pleasant, but not notice the overflowing garbage, the sink stuffed full of dishes, or the mountain of laundry that is forming snow at it's peak.

*Her utter inability to understand that when she drives my car she needs to put gas in it every time! I have made my desire to never have the tank go below a fourth very clear, yet she will still run it down below that level and when I need to use it, hand me the money to put in the tank because it was so cold she didn't want to do it. It's okay for me to freeze, but not her precious pelt. She will tell me that she didn't put gas in it "because it was so cold, but here is the money for gas," without batting an eye. When I point out that it will be just as cold for me and that I will not tolerate any more excuses, she acts surprised that I feel that way, even though I have... politely and calmly told her how I feel about it a million times and threatened her life if she didn't start treating my truck with the respect I expect if she is going to use it.

*Why does she have to drive like an asshat in my car when she has her own crappy, beat up car to drive like that in? I saw her rip out of the driveway one day and nearly busted a vein in my head. She drives like she has a spiked ball up her ass and can't take it out until she gets to where she is going. I don't care if she wants to drive her car that way, but NOT MY CAR! Her car is beat up and crappy because of the way she drives and I am careful with my truck. I like having my car not look like a sh*t mobile but she is having a hard time grasping that others could feel that way when there is road to be torn up.

*How many pets does one person need? I am so sick of animals I could puke all over her. I love animals, but that doesn't mean I need to adopt a million to prove it. Everywhere I go I'm tripping over cats and the dog she brought in, even though I didn't want another dog and was going to take a break from dogs after mine has passed. I clean the cat boxes because if I left it up to others, they would never get done and the smell would take over the house -- unacceptable! She has 2 cats (was 3 but we gave one to my older sister), 2 gerbils that run on their squeaky wheel all night, a tree frog that does nothing but cling to the side of it's cage but needs crickets that have their own cage and sometimes escape, and she brought in another dog. We are so overrun with pets it makes me feel claustrophobic and like the house will never be clean again.

*Be careful what you lend her, it may not survive. She has a bad habit of letting her CDs run wild in her car, getting scratched and ruined on a regular basis. So far she has had to replace my Simon and Garfunkel CD, an Eminem CD, and my Veggie Tales CD (I listen to a little of everything). She lost my Winnie the Pooh tape that I like to watch when I'm too stressed or worried to sleep -- it always lulls me to sleep. She lost the start up disk for the Internet that I need to get my desk top hooked up to the Internet, so we are stuck with only laptops, hence why I haven't changed any pictures for a long time: they are all on my desk top. And, to top it all off, she gets mad when you mention that she did it! Others may not want to argue with her, but I have no such reservations and will not hesitate to let her know that it is all her fault and no, she can not borrow _____! She still doesn't understand why I don't want her touching any of my stuff because "if something happens to it she will replace it." Which leads me into the next topic.

*She can't have a dollar to her name without having to run out and spend it. So it takes a long time for her to replace something, and I am not a patient person.

There are more topics in the works, these are just the most pertinent ones right now. Eventually I'd like to discuss her lack of organization, how she just puts stuff anywhere and wonders why she can't find anything; her hairballs that are stacking up on all her stuff in the shower; her room that hasn't been cleaned since she moved into it, et cetera et cetera. And, of course, I am open to any other topics that I may have missed. I will be sending out applications soon...

It Feels Sooo Good To Be Back!

*Author's Note: I adore Welcome Back, Kotter, so that song in Lisa's comment made my day. I hadn't thought of that song forever and can't find Welcome Back, Kotter anywhere on TV anymore... or Mystery Science Theater either, both are a huge loss for the TV watching population to miss out on.


Wow. Being without internet for a week or so makes me really appreciate having internet again and showed the depths of my addiction to it. How could I possibly know what is going on in the world without it?! Its not like I could watch the news or buy a newspaper; that would be too logical, and logic and I do not necessarily go hand in hand. I am thrilled to be back and look forward to catching up on your blogs to find out how you have fared in my absence -- hopefully better than me in my padded room, rocking in the corner, chanting, "it gets the internet once again or else it will need the hose again!" Now that I am back from the dark hole of no internet, I will not fear having no internet. It will lead me by glorious headlines and maketh me crave all gossip. Okay, enough sacrilege. I don't want to upset any that are more faint of heart than myself. I'm going to give a quick update so that I can get back to my regular blogging. You know, to bring myself back up to speed and show how truly boring my life is. So strap yourselves in for a wild ride.



*We had a round of sickness go through the ranks, nearly decimating the troops. Only a few of us were left well enough to care for the sick, but we did finally pull through and were able to defeat the hideous marauding mess piles.



*I burnt my leg on the space heater. It is one of those standing ones that looks like a radiator and we like to stand over it to warm our legs. I leaned back on it, laughing at my little sister's joke, and burnt the back of my fat thigh, in a place that I can't see well or get to easily. Others have had to dress my wound, which they are thrilled about dressing a wound inches below my arse. Having decreased sensation in my legs, plus my damaged nerve pathways and my poor plaque encrusted brain made the "THAT'S FRIGGIN HOT! Move, B*tch!" message too slow in it's journey to my brain. It took awhile to find a nerve pathway that it could get though on, then bounced around on all the lesions before it finally got to my consciousness. Alas, it was too late. I've got a good burn that hurts like hell and is keeping me from properly exfoliating my leg or shaving for that matter. My legs need to be shaved so bad that I fear a logging truck may be necessary when I am finally able to run a sharp object over my legs again. I'm past the braiding stage and into the dreadlocks stage now, but it is just going to have to keep growing for a little bit longer.

*Still loving the Ritalin here. I have been able to finish things that I started long ago but didn't have the attention span to complete. I haven't been napping as much -- I do doze off between doses sometimes -- and when I do nap it is an hour at most. A huge improvement over several hours and it lets me sleep better at night. I saw my shrink again and we are going to try the controlled release tablets to see if that helps me more because I am so tired and so ADD it is ridiculous and embarrassing. I know that these drugs are not for everybody, especially anyone who is/has struggled with addictions, but I am not a person who has that problem. I smoke, yes, but I don't drink and I have never had a drug addiction problem... not saying I've never tried non-prescribed drugs (whistling and looking off in another direction) but I was not sucking d*ck for them, which is always my barometer for my dependence on something. I've been taking Xanax for over 7 years now and have never upped my dose. In fact, I have been going down lately, so I think I can handle my controlled substances regardless of how controlled they are. And controlled Ritalin is! My shrink can only write the prescription for a month at a time and I have to pay for it at the pharmacy, there is no taking it to a checkout and paying for it there even though it would be on record that I did pay for it. But I am used to strict controls on my meds: I've been on Tysabri for 2 years now.

I'm sure there was more but the kids are awake now -- we have Jabber with us this weekend -- and I can no longer put together coherent thoughts. Jabber is sooooo obsessed with what is in his nose that we are talking about staging an intervention. We have even started our letters to him, and anyone who watches Intervention will recognize the beginning of these letters:

Dear Jabber,
I have seen your addiction affect your life negatively in the following ways:

Your hands are toxic waste sites that I don't want near anything I may ever think about eating.

Your hiding under the blankets to take a jackhammer to your nose without being observed makes me sick and not want to touch the blankets until they have been soaked in hot water and bleach for hours.

And so on. Sorry, I can no longer think when I am being buried under a mountain of words. Until next time...

Of All The Disgusting Things...

*Update: It appears that my wound is healing nicely. I really dodged a bullet this time. (So much for my plan of having a hook for a hand. Maybe next time.)


Yesterday I was flea combing the animals to make sure there were no stragglers left. We had a flea epidemic that lasted too long thanks to the cats that just don't want to part with their new found friends. That and the cats never go outside so the fleas don't get frozen off like they do on the dogs. I have given the dogs flea baths and it is a chore I don't care to repeat too often. The big dog turns into a pile of jelly and won't move a muscle to help me get him in or out of the tub, so I have to do it one leg at a time. The little dog fights tooth and nail against getting a bath, which covers me in nasty flea shampoo and the water that is tainted with flea shampoo and any fleas that fell off. I won't bathe the cats. That is my little sister's job. The cats fight with every ounce of their rotten selves and shred anything they can get ahold of, so Sugarbowl emerges from the bathroom covered in bleeding scratches and tatters of skin barely attached. Anyhoo, after flea combing the animals and removing any guests that have over stayed their welcome, I stabbed my hand with the flea comb. A dirty, nasty, not-sterilized flea comb! It ripped a hole in my hand, causing me great panic and forced me to run to the bathroom and wash my hands with antibacterial soap under hot water until my hands cracked and bled. I almost grabbed the bleach, but had second thoughts about the wiseness of that plan of action. I swear I can feel it rotting. I can feel the infection seeping into my blood stream. I don't want to overreact, but I think an amputation may be in my future.

Adding to my deteriorating health, I swallowed a gnat this morning. I didn't check my coffee in time and down the hatch it went. Goodness only knows where that thing has been. I can't stop the visions of it hanging out on a dog turd in the backyard and getting tired of the cold so it wanted to warm up in my coffee! Or buzzing around in my gorgeous hamster's cage, feeding on his poop and pee saturated pine shavings only leaving to share my coffee with me. I probably have the plague festering in me as I type. Maybe I should make a will...?

Lastly, I am at war with all the hair that everyone sheds around here. Last night in bed I pulled a long dark hair out of my mouth. I have short blond hair. Sugarbowl's bf/f is dark haired and sheds almost as bad as the rest of the things in this house. He also will shave and trim his goatee and not notice the thick coating of hair left all over the sink. I don't know how many times I have grabbed a towel getting out of the shower and rubbed myself down before noticing all the dark, curly, (hate to think of this) probably pubies, hairs clinging to me. We usually have our own towels in the bathroom and they know how anal I am, so it bothers me to think that they are using my towel to wipe down their... unmentionables (read "genitals"). I have warned my little sister that if she does not start taking her hairballs out of the shower -- because it makes me sick to have to remove others nasty hairballs clogging the drain -- I am going to start putting them on her side of the bed. She knows me well enough to remove her hairballs, but sometimes she forgets. When she forgets, I take the hairball and put it on her face cleaner's spout so that she has to touch it to dispense her cleaner. It has really slowed down the amount of hairball buildup.

I feel so dirty, diseased and hair covered. Be glad that I may be quarantined soon so that I can't spread the germs.