Monday, March 26, 2007


**While proof-reading this entry I realized my grammar is pathetic, my sentence structure a crack-whore and my content a poor third-world country. I apologize but I'm tired and my brain isn't working and I haven't had chocolate in 4 days. I'm sure you understand.**

Well, I'm finally able to pronounce the letter "n" without sounding like I've shoved an entire box of raisins up my nose (not that I ever did that as a child) and I'm no longer going through a box of kleenex every 3 days. But my ears are hanging onto this shit like a pit bull with a tasty toddler in its jaws. Having my head ascend or descend any farther than a few feet makes me look like a beached grouper gasping for air while I try to pop my ears. Ah well, could be worse.

But never fear! I still have a lot to complain about so be gone nasty, snotting cold! I don't need you! I can bitch about traffic and my frizzy hair and my asshole, greasy-weasel boss who can eat the toejam offa my feet because you suck, you stupid fucker! You SUCK!


I'm getting ready for another (fucking) scan. Started the low-iodine all my food tastes like yucky shit diet last Friday and I am less than pleasant. I hate this diet. Hate. I can't cook anyway and trying to adhere to all of these food rules and create things that I can choke down makes me crazy. I'm trying to make the meals I've done in the past and improve on them so they're half-way edible but it's not going well. I want a salad with real dressing! Boo! I hate you olive oil! Boo boo! I can't have chocolate! Which goes right past boo and into someone might die territory.

Despite this shit diet I'm not too worried about the outcome of this years scan, and I totally appreciate the fact that I thought I was going to get to skip it this year so I haven't been stressing about it for the last 12 months. But it sucks anyway. It's stressful and the drugs they pump me up with aren't easy for my delicate flower of a system. Last year I was on the verge of hurling for about 10 days straight. So that was fun, she says with a saracastic grimace.

I took 3 weeks off last year to get through it all, since the ordeal takes longer than normal to deal with. 2 weeks of the stupid diet, the scanning schedule itself is 5 days, then letting the drugs dissipate takes even longer. It's just hard and fuck it, I don't need to try and be a trooper working through it all.

I did that the year before last and it sucked giant donkey balls. I didn't get paid for the one week I took off and I felt like shit working full-time for another 2 weeks and my company doesn't care, which they don't have to, but wouldn't be nice if someone said, hey, you look like you feel like hell, go home and rest. Which will never happen so, now I take 3 weeks off, which is hard for anyone to understand why it takes that long but whatever. I know what my body and brain can handle and needs and during this crap it needs naps and daytime TV and my blankie and my kitty and NO WORK.

I met with my HR rep last Friday who informed me that by law my company would have to keep a position for me but not necessarily my position. I knew that was the case but had never been told that before so it was nerve-wracking to say the least. But since my current job has turned into your typical shit-show I guess I don't care. I don't like who I'm working for and I'm not happy there. Whatever happens is going to happen. Aw well, it could be worse.

The house is looking great these days (grumble grumble have to pick up my dirty clothes every damn day) and it's been shown a couple of times but no nibbles yet, just lots of feedback about my decorating abilities. Great! Thanks! Now buy my fucking house! I'll throw in the couch!

My agent had an open house last weekend but I don't think she did what she was supposed to do since only 6 people showed up. Hopefully we can do it again because we are ready to get out of here. It's already hot enough to have the AC blasting almost every day and I'm not ready for that. Being Southern California we only have 2 seasons. 9 months of scorching heat and 3 months of not scorching heat.

We got some really cold days this winter but they only lasted long enough to kill the living shit out of my gigantic ficus tree. Yes, the one my mother has been trying to murder for years. Congrat's mom, you got your wish. And the first day of Spring brought temp's in the high 80's. It was such a drag. And don't you snow people roll your eyes at me, you'd get sick of sweating like a pig under a heat lamp too. Ah well, it could be worse.

We were super busy last weekend with our turbo-cleaning getting ready for the open house, my normal Saturday stuff then having to stay away so we didn't scare off the lookie-loos. I was crashed out by 5:00 both nights this weekend taking much needed late naps. We had a lot of fun browsing around a bookstore on Saturday. Something we don't get to do very often so that was fun.

On Sunday I met a good friend and her rambunctious (read: obnoxious) kid at the Wild Animal Park for some animal watchin'. It felt good to walk around a bit and to get my camera out after what felt like months. Even though it was fuck-ass crowded I only wanted to drop kick a few stupid people and we saw some type of scandal with a kid getting grabbed on arm by some guy and park security was called and people were wisked away and the cops were called. It was almost exciting.

Here are a few photo's I snapped and a link to some more I loaded on my flickr account. I'm tired and going to bed, so enjoy!

(click to make bigger)
wild animal park mar '070316
wild animal park mar '070269
wild animal park mar '070181
wild animal park mar '070012
wild animal park mar '070030

Monday, March 19, 2007

Friday, March 09, 2007

Blah and blah

Man, have I been bored.

Dragging my feet down the hallway falling onto the sofa with a heavy sigh letting my head fall back in dramatic fashion, my eyes slowly scan the room as I try to muster the energy to move one solitary finger to push one lonely little button on the remote so I can watch, eh, whatever. Oh look, it's the fishing channel. Sigh.

~2 hours later~

Standing in front of the fridge. Opening the door. Closing the door. Opening the door. Closing the door. Opening the door, taking out the cheese. Staring at the cheese. Oh no. I have to get a knife. And they're like, all the way over there in the drawer. Sigh.

~eats stale crackers left on counter~

Gets great idea to start a huge project sorting metric ton of paperwork, creating files, throwing junk away, organizing and processing taxes. Digs storage boxes from under the bed, has allergy attack from dust, dumps everything all over bed. Starts working. Gets bored after 20 minutes. Sigh.

~takes nap~

I. Am. So. Burned. Out. Tired of working on this (fucking) house. Dealing with shitholes at work. Feeling like crap and being ignored by Dr's. This crazy, schizophrenic weather that has us shivering and pumping the heat one day and sweltering under the AC the next. WTF, California? Make up your mind.

I don't feel depressed, per say, but just drained. I don't feel well and can barely face the small list of things to finish on the condo and a longer one of general crap that needs taking care of but I'm so over it! I break up with you, house! We're done! Get your shit and go! Wait, it's all my shit! I'm leaving! Well, hopefully. I did sign papers last weekend to put the house on the market but it can't go up until I'm done and give my agent the word.

Oh darn, now you're bored too. Sorry, there just isn't much to talk about that isn't lame and real-lifey and I don't have the brain-power to put together some of the stories I have brewing up here. So, I did what any other self-respecting whiner would do, I done stole a meme from someone who stole it from someone else. Heh. I hope it's at least mildly interesting because I'll have you know that I had to put a major effort to complete this and now I have none left over to bathe.


Seven Things To Do Before I Die:
1. Cage dive with great white sharks (I'll be in cage - stop freaking out!)
2. Visit all the countries of my heritage (providing someone will allow me to be unconscious for the entire trans-Atlantic flight.)
3. Meet my birth parents (well now, isn't that a can of worms?)
4. Own my very own horse (and have the cash to do so - those suckers are money-pits.)
5. Drive across the US in a pimped-out RV (god knows I'll need a toilet in the middle of every nowhere there is.)
6. Get the body I've always wanted (GAH)
7. Design and build my own home (you're all invited to the housewarming party. Bring dip.)

Seven Things I Cannot Do
1. Tolerate people who are assholes to animals (hate them, HATE)
2. Cook chicken (seriously - I don't want to touch or look at it or think about it raw and it always turns out tasteless and tough. Just like my Great Aunt Lil.)
3. Eat most veggies (my body soundly rejects almost everything in the veggie section of the food pyramid. It's not my fault I have to eat french fries and chocolate to live.)
4. Drink alcohol (I've developed quite the allergy to it. Quite the mothereffing fricking fracking being punished by God allergy to it)
5. Say the word literally(sounds like I have a mouth full of marbles)
6. Talk about the medical profession without my head exploding (self explanatory)
7. Totally get my shit together (at least it feels that way)

Seven Things That Attract Me to... (a man)
1. If he gets it
2. If he gets it.
3. If it gets it.
4. Not a serial killer.
5. If he gets it.
6. Nice ass.
7. If he gets it.

Seven Things I Say (on a daily basis, I'm not kidding)
2. My (insert momentary issue) hurts
3. OW!
4. Kee Kee Cat!!
5. Hey, baby.
6. Why can't I get my shit together?
7. I hate this job.

Seven Good Books (these are nothing spectacular like Anna Karenina but I liked 'em and they are just a few off the top of my head)
1. From a Buick 8 (love my Stephen King)
2. A Walk in the Woods (Bill Bryson kicks massive ass)
3. In a Sunburned Country (more ass kicking from Mr. Bryson)
4. Secret Life of Bees (hit me hard, this one, for some reason)
5. Running with Scissors (disturbingly hysterical)
6. A Girl Named Zippy (funny, funny)
7. Anything by David Sedaris ('nuff said)

Seven Good Movies (Again, just off the top of my head but you should see them!)
1. Dodgeball (never tire of this)
2. Parenthood (one of my all-time fav's)
3. Shaun of the Dead (now that's how you do a zombie movie)
4. Rear Window (effing classic)
5. Staying Alive (do no doubt me, just watch it, and you'll see...)
6. Sixteen Candles (I will marry Jake Ryan one day. Oh yes I will)
7. Raising Arizona (pure genius)

Seven Blogs To Tag (If you're not on the list don't be mad, I think you're all pretty)
1. (he makes me weep with laughter)
2. (my daily laugh)
3. (brilliant and evil)
4. (funny lady)
5. (could write about shoelaces and make it interesting)
6. (doesn't write often enough for my tastes)
7. (have to include my baby)

Alright, yous, chew on that for a minute while I cook something new up. (Not chicken.)

Thursday, March 01, 2007

It's not just for dinner anymore

I have an older brother. I don't talk about him much because, well, he's an asshole most of the time and we've never been close. We didn't hang out together growing up and we didn't do a lot of things as a family so my memories of him are slim at best. I do recall, however, several instances of us fighting in some capacity, and there was never any shortage of us fucking with each other if we could get away with it.

One of the most volatile relationships has to be the little sister/big brother pairing, coming in a close third to the sister/sister explosion-waiting-to-happen both of which are trumped soundly by the mother/daughter battle royale. Even so, if you are a little sister, or a big brother, doesn't the mere mention of the two bring you to eye-rolling groans? Can you imagine the mutual torture?

When I was still young enough to have a brain made of Swiss cheese, too green and stupid to be aware of so many things, and just beyond the age of eating paste for the taste, my brother had his dirty little hand in an unfortunate event that burned an indelible hole in my psyche that took literal decades to diminish. And let's just remember, this was not my fault.


It was the early 70's. Summertime. Hotter than a horny toad's balls dragging across the desert floor. Boredom already creeping in to our day and us working our mother's last nerve. She finally had kicked me and my brother out of the house and out from under her frazzled feet so she could get a moments peace with her Woman's Day and a Valium.

Despite my brother's pubescent protesting he was to be my charge for the day. Eight dramatic years separating our ages, him facing his freshman year in high school and me looking forward to first grade. A lethal combo, if you please, in his favor.

Our neighborhood was relatively new, our homes barely finished being built and our friendships with other kids on the street precariously fresh. Whatever ideas I had for wasting time were ignored while my brother contemplated our next move. He finally had the idea to check on the slightly older kid living in the house to the East and see what trouble they could, no doubt, get in to. I happily tagged along, eager to hang with him in hopes of appearing more grown up or just to bug the shit out of him. Either way, win-win for me. Or so I thought...

Our fences had yet to be completed but the pools were done so we walked into our back yard, each with bathing suits under our summer clothes with me sporting a home-made bikini lovingly sewn by my mother from scraps of scratchy polyester fabric left-over from some heinous jumpsuit she'd made for herself (it was spectacular), and my brother in a pair of Hang Ten trunks. With a flip of his bleached surfer hair and a loud whistle, he called to our neighbor, Phil. "Hey! Dude!"

Phil came out of his house and invited my brother to come swimming, then blanched when he saw my tiny 6 year-old frame standing next to my brother. My brother gave a grimacing nod in my direction and explained he had no choice. Phil opened his mouth to protest then changed his tune and with a lecherous grin said, "Hey, man, no problem, come on over." As quickly as the frown had swept across his face it was replaced by an evil smile. Ah-ha. the opportunity for some mayhem had approached.

We were soon splashing around having a good time when a couple more kids from across the street joined us. They were also older than me but younger than my brother and Phil. I was the ~cough~ poster child for innocence, sugar and spice, unaware of the nefarious nature of my kin and his new cohort. The 2 girls who were swimming with us seemed nice enough but dull in the personality department.

After a short while those corrupt, nasty boys cooked up an idea and made me a proposal I didn't have the brain cells to resist. We would play a game of Simon Says. Well, sort of. They would call out commands except in this little exercise I would be parroting a phrase or word of their choice instead of performing actions. Being the natural-born lazy ass that I am, not having to jump on one foot for 3 hours was very attractive. Their brand of sordid snake oil sounded good to me so I said let's start.

They put their 2 corrupt heads together and came up with my assignment. At first it was silly things like "butt" and "poop". Much giggling ensued. Then we moved on to riskier ventures like "ass", "fart" and the titillating "tit". I was a regular little mocking bird never tripping over a word and making the boys and girls roar with laughter. And this is where things go terribly wrong...

I was instructed to get a little louder. In fact, a lot louder. As loud as I could go. And in my excitement and from soaking up the attention like the chlorine we were bathing in, I eagerly complied. I was also born with a set of lungs and a penchant for turning up the volume to an uncomfortable level so my voice has a tendency to carry. Very far.

As I followed their directions I shouted "turd" and "crap" and "shit". Covering all the major excrement insults. Then came "damn" and "hell" And being the little performer I am, I could barely contain my joy from making everyone so happy and impressing new friends. Everyone was holding their sides from laughing so hard and I thought I was awesome.

Then, just as I thought this was going to be the best day ever in my life we got to the mother load of all mother effing words. I was once again fed what to say, of course not knowing what it was, and past my cherry-red child's lips, the mouth of a mere babe, did I scream at the top of my little lungs, "FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOOOOUUUUU!!!"

And that's when I felt the icy grip of my mothers hand grab the back of my neck like a giant raven's claw and lift me off the ground, whip me into the house in one fell swoop, drag my soaking wet ass across our brand-new green shag carpet, and shove an entire bar of Dove soap into my filthy fucking mouf.

Through my staccato hiccuping and crying I tried to explain I didn't know what I'd done and never once did she ask me where I'd learned that kind of language. (Duh, I wonder where.) And I was systematically marched across the street and forced to apologize to one the girls who'd been there when she wasn't even the one I was yelling Fuck You to.

I didn't get near a bar of Dove soap for about 30 years after that and I plotted for eons on how to get my brother back. Eventually I didn't have to since he got his and how and I learned a valuable new phrase that day, which I haven't stopped using since.