Saturday, October 31, 2015

gee, my hair smells terrific

(For you young'uns or non-Americans, there was an obnoxious commercial on TV years ago for 'gee, your hair smells terrific' shampoo.)

There I was last night in class, working out, laughing, straining, and sweating.  Sensei came around to each of us to stretch our chest muscles, with our hands clasped behind our heads.  Like this picture, except we were standing.  Anyway, his face is up against my hair, even though he's standing several inches behind me, or maybe more accurately, my hair is against his face because my hair is voluminous.  And he's all, wow, your hair smells great, what did you use?  Wouldn't you know, it's something that I just fkn used up this morning.

After class, I went shopping and got all kinds of looks in the grocery store.  I'm still not sure if it's because my hair looked good or if I looked ridiculous in my karate t-shirt and baggy workout pants.  I'm going with the latter, although I was having a good hair day.  (The cashier even said she liked my hair, especially the color, which is magical.)  I had varied my routine a bit and gone to the snooty part of town.  It's too bad the staring fkrs didn't get a look inside my cart.  That really would have made their eyes bug out.  My shopping cart was stacked with organic apples, organic greens, organic cream, and 739 kinds of meats, mostly organs.  I returned their stares with big smiles, as I'm wont to do.

Speaking of snooty people and cashiers, this store offers carryout service by the grocery bagger.  These two women (the cashier and the bagger) were having a marvelous conversation, and I didn't want to be the cause of them ceasing, so I declined assistance.  Plus, I had just made a special effort to get exercise.  It seemed idiotic to forego a serendipitous exercise opportunity by not carrying my own groceries out.  I don't understand people who do that.

I came home and fried some beef liver, chicken hearts, greens, and a smidge of bacon for flavor.  I know it sounds disgusting, but it was quite tasty actually.  I would have eaten it in either case because I desperately need the protein and minerals.  While it was cooking, I threw some raw pieces on Kitten's plate for second dinner.  She kept coming over and sniffing my food as if to say, why the fuck are you eating my food mom, and why are you ruining it by cooking it?  However, I'm not hardcore enough to eat it raw.  Yet.

I suppose I made mealtime easier for both of us if we're now eating the same foods.  Most of the prepackaged baggie (I separate the meats into variety packs and freeze them) goes into her plate.  A few pieces go into the skillet for me, along with some coconut oil and a bushel of greens.  Yum? 

Friday, October 30, 2015

hair today, gone tomorrow

While I was engaged in the time-consuming task of washing and taming my hair this morning, I started thinking about all of the different products and techniques I've used over the years to assuage the wild beast that is curly hair.  At this point in my routine, I was softly smoothing Moroccan oil through my hair, which is very zen and gives me time to ponder life.  It's a soothing activity, feeling good to my fingers lightly raking the silky substance through my hair (but not enough to displace the curls, such a fine balance) and feeling good to my head on the receiving end of the gentle motion.  It feels even better when someone else does it, but alas that was not an option today.

I've accumulated copious amounts of hair products, like my most recent purchase of Kinky-Curly Curling Custard Gel.  I get bored of my previous purchases before I use them up, so there are many half-empty bottles and tubes under my sink.  I've been forcing myself to use some up before buying new ones, but I keep hearing about the next best thing for my hair, which I HAVE to try.  And they're never as good as what people rave about, except for the Moroccan oil.  That has certainly lived up to the hype, and is even healthy for me, with no toxic chemicals.  Therefore I ended up buying a zillion bottles when it was on sale because it's stupid expensive.  Allegedly, one only needs a small amount.  Horse pucky.  I use a metric fuckton.  I've tried substituting coconut oil instead, which also feels and smells nice and is much more reasonably priced, but regrettably it doesn't work as well. 

Having long, curly hair is both a blessing and a curse.  (Emma Peel knows all about this.)  I love it, but I hate the never-ending consumption of hair products trying to civilize it.  I love it, but I hate the many vacuum cleaners I've worn out trying to keep my home tidy.  I love it, but I hate that when one single hair falls on the floor, my house looks trashed.  I love it, but I hate that when I cut it, I never really know what it will wash and dry into next time (talk about shrinkage).  I love it, but I hate how hard it is to give it some semblance of professionalism.  I love it, but I hate missing out on riding in convertibles at greater than 5 mph.  Who am I kidding?  I love it.  :)

Thursday, October 29, 2015

the path to enlightenment is paved with tears

Or at least my path is.  My former mother-in-law asked me to meet her for lunch.  I'm excited and terrified to see her again.  I love and miss her so much, but I know it will be painful.  And there will be crying involved.  On my part.

I held off seeing her for months to give myself time to heal, but now I think I'm not healing properly by staying in denial.  I still don't think I'm ready to hang out all the time, but I'm hopeful I can manage lunch.  Or dinner as it turned into.  Lunch was just too tricksy to coordinate with both of us working.

I'm extremely nervous so I'm not posting this until it becomes fait accompli.  We're meeting at a French restaurant, so I'm practicing my prodigious French vocabulary  -- all three phrases.  You'll get all of the nervousness and anticipation with none of the wait, plus immediate gratification of how it turned out.  You're welcome.


Dinner was fun and delicious.  I forgot how much I like her company.  We went a bit early for Europeans, so we had the restaurant to ourselves for a while.  Until the loud Americans showed up.  The owner and the waitress both remembered me from at least a year ago.  It was the hair.  They said so.  I could shave my head and disappear in plain sight.  But I digress.

We caught up with life's news, although I didn't go into much detail into how hard it's been for me, because what's the point.  I kept it fairly light and cheerful, despite my burgeoning migraine.  I took only one Excedrin before I left home because I wanted to be able to drive.  That took a little of the edge off, but it started hitting pretty hard as we were wrapping things up.  Getting a little teary-eyed probably didn't help matters.  Mostly it was the storm-front blowing in that triggered this migraine, probably with a healthy side of anxiety thrown in.

I've really missed her level-headed perspective.  She's one of the closest people to enlightenment I know.  She's taught me so much over the years, how to better control my emotions or at least to realize it was in the realm of my possibilities.  She is tiny and one of the strongest women I know.  She has shown me time after time how to persevere in the face of adversity.

I made it almost all of the way home before the wracking sobs hit me.  Once I got home, I took more potent migraine meds, snuggled the cat, got the ice pack, and went to bed.  And slept eight glorious hours.

Today is gray and misty.  I like to think the heavens are respecting my lamentable mood; giving me a moment to reflect before telling me to pick myself up and stop feeling sorry for myself.  She's only out of my life as much as I choose to push her.  She asked that we make this a monthly occurrence.  I'll take one day at a time and see how I do.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

wakey wakey

Yes, I'm still eating bacon (without nitrites or nitrates), even after the World Health Organization's announcement.  Quality matters.  Buy meat from healthy, pastured animals.  Pay the extra and put good fuel in your body.  It knows the difference and will reward you with less hassle and pain later on.  If you can't afford the quality meat, eat less of it.  It's supposed to flavor your meal, not be your meal.

/stepping off my box of soap now

Monday, October 26, 2015

amazon is a little bit stalkerish

I'm too lazy to log out each time I do an Amazon search, so it keeps my history and tries to know me and my needs better.  I suppose some people like that and maybe feel flattered.  I'm just creeped out and ready to get a restraining order.  And lethal force.  Does Amazon sell that, too?  :)

I did laugh when I searched for a Valentino bag (not for me, fkrs), and it assumed I meant Valentino Rossi.  It does know me a little too well. 

Recently I searched for a crock pot, and it wanted me to register for my upcoming nuptials.  Sigh.  Way to rub salt in my wounds, Amazon.  Make sure to sell me the salt first, though.  Fooled you, I buy it elsewhere.  Because I'm a salt snob.  Or connoisseur.  Both are correct.

Saturday, October 24, 2015

Stop the world, I wanna get off

Do you ever get tired of being you?   Sick of your unique life problems?  Sick of your health problems?  Sick of your work problems?  Sick of your social issues?  Sick of how your brain processes and reacts to so-called negative stimuli?

I feel like I'm on a treadmill and can't get it to slow down.  Or figure out how to step off and break the cycle.   In essence, I want a vacation from being me.  I want out of my skin, but not in a creepy "it puts the lotion on" kind of way.   I was talking to a friend who said he doesn't let adversity change his outlook because it doesn't help.  He's right, but I need lessons in that, although I fear it's an innate ability I don't possess. 

And then I hear from my friend who's battling cancer and is more cheerful than I.   And I feel like a self-entitled, pathetic loser, crying alone in my bath.  Not even the ylang ylang is working its magic tonight.

Logically, I know everyone has their own demons to battle.  Why do mine feel more vicious and feral?  Duh, because they're personal and so fkn enduring.  Decades of this shit.  Which is why I want a mini-vacay from me.  Is that so much to ask?

I know all of this, and yet...

Please stop the world because I wanna get off.

Friday, October 23, 2015

call or text Gramma

I regularly visit with my elderly neighbor.  Even my cat wanders over on her morning rounds to peek in her windows and visit.  Because she (my neighbor not my cat) doesn't drive anymore, she is reliant on people coming to her.  She has friends who come by and take her shopping or out to dinner, but mostly she stays home and watches TV.  As you might imagine, that can get dull.

I like to regale her with all kinds of gossip about my friends and family.  (Sorry, all, but it's for a good cause.)  She knows about most of you, and if you've been naughty or nice.  I share photos that people have texted to me.  Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on one's point of view), no one sends me dick pics, so I don't need to worry about her scrolling through.

Sometimes we talk about current events and her opinions on the state of the country or the world.  Someone who has lived through World War Two has quite a unique perspective. 

She tells me about her family, none of whom live locally.  Usually, while I'm there, I text one or more of her grand-kids and ask them to send photos.  Yes, she has a smartphone and mostly knows how to use it, although texting can be a little confusing to her. She gets so damn excited to see new photos of her family, even if they're just silly pictures of the dog.

I no longer have living grandparents, but if you do, please, please take two minutes out of your day to send a message or a selfie.  It can really brighten up the day of some lonely senior citizen.  If Gramma or Gramps doesn't know how to text, email them.  Even if they can't retrieve the photo right then, inevitably they will have someone come over who will be more than happy to help them retrieve and see your photos. 

If you don't have a living grandparent (or don't like yours), find and adopt one.  There are too many old people who sit home alone all day.  Being nice to someone works both ways, it makes them less lonely and makes you less lonely, too.

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

"up his nose"

I like catching up with old friends, but sometimes I hate when I know them well enough that I have to tell them the truth.  I've had a shitty year.  I can't gloss over that like I usually do when people ask how I am.  There's just no good way to say my long-term relationship is over.  Or that my vision is worse after a painful and expensive surgery.  Or that my migraines are better but certainly still debilitating on bad days even with the new clinical trial drugs.

As you might have surmised, I had lunch with an old family friend who I hadn't seen in a year.  There I was getting teary-eyed in the foyer of an upscale restaurant, while we're waiting for our table.  I already didn't fit in well because I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and this was the business crowd, all in suits.  The only concessions I was willing to make in attire were to add some jewelry, polish my boots, and leave the lesbian shoes at home.

Once we got my bad news out of the way, I had a great time and gorged on BBQ ribs and kale salad.  He was a lot of fun, so we laughed about various personal and family antics and enjoyed ourselves.  I suppose I can serve as an example to others.  I'm 100% sure he left appreciating his relationship with his wife even more.

While I was face first and elbows deep in BBQ sauce (because fuck those people in their fancy clothes, I want to savor my food), I was remembering a conversation with a friend of mine about lunch meetings.  Or more specifically, the dreaded lunch interview.  He has one today (I'm sure you did well!), and I was trying to make him feel better with lunch interview horror stories.

I told him my humiliating tale, so I might as well tell the world.  It was pretty funny, although I was mortified at the time.  I went to take a sip of water from my straw and completely misjudged my proprioception.  You guessed it, straw up the nose, which reminded me of that old Cheech & Chong skit, "doctor, everything, it goes up his nose".  I tried to laugh it off at the time, but it took a lot of fortitude not to start crying right then.  Perhaps it made me memorable as my friend said, because I did get the job  ;)

Monday, October 19, 2015

refreshing beverage

Today is a much better day.  No rum needed in my coconut water; and only one umbrella required for the fun factor.  The migraine is gone.  YAY!  We won't count the empty sumatriptan wrappers all around the house, mainly because I started opening them up ahead of time and storing the pills loose.  The packaging isn't easy to open, and it's even harder when in pain, with neurological impairment.

For those of you wondering why my clinical trial meds aren't working, they absolutely are.  I used to be much worse off, as hard as that is to believe.

I even managed to wash my hair this morning.  Yippee for clean, semi-controlled hair.

Sunday, October 18, 2015

brought out the big guns

(No guns were harmed or fired in the making of this post.)

I didn't sleep well Friday night.  Not sure what caused what or if only correlated or not at all related.   The wave of depression hit me soon after I woke up (or maybe it had been building all night), and it started dragging me down.  Maybe the previous day was too happy, and Saturday had to be down to balance the natural order of the universe.  Or I just suck.

I reached out to a friend, but got no response.  Didn't feel like trying another.  I hate admitting I'm down for no apparent reason.  It's such a silly weakness.  I shut my phone off and hid away from the world.

I went outside to get some sunshine and vitamin D.  There I was, lying down amongst the palm trees, tears leaking down my face, and the sun disappeared into the clouds, just to match my mood or to say hey, whatcha' gonna do now, Wendy?  I stayed out for 30 minutes and finally gave up.

I came in and made myself a pretty umbrella rum drink.  It was after 12pm, and fuck it, even if it weren't, it was Saturday and I rarely drink, so it could have been 6am for all I cared.  I put in TWO umbrellas just to punctuate the fun-factor.  And only a splash of rum because I never drink and have no tolerance.  It was mostly coconut water.  Ssshhh, let me pretend.

Then, it was time for the last double-barrel.  That's right, a Dining Room Dance Party.  I cranked up Adele, 90s Madonna, Nine Inch Nails, and so many others.  That helped with my mood, but I was dumb and forgot that depression is sometimes a precursor to migraine.  The food cravings later on should have aroused my suspicions, but I was still trying to claw back the darkness and fed my body whatever it wanted, without thinking too clearly about why.

The pain started around 4pm, but it was mild, so my denial stayed strong.  I finally caved at around 8pm and took meds, passing out and getting a couple of hours of sleep before waking up in pain again.  I worked up my fortitude at 5:30am, after lying awake for hours listening to my audio book, to get up to take more.  I'm a dumb-ass and keep meds by my bed, but (here's where the dumb-ass part comes in) they were on the OTHER side of the king, which is miles away when moving even a millimeter comes with excruciating pain.  Usually, I sleep in the middle, which means they aren't convenient to either side.  Dumb-ass.  This time, Kitten was in the middle, so I was on the side, the wrong side. 

It's Sunday morning, and I'm functional, but still hurting, doing the bare minimum for both Kitten and me.  She may have to eat her shitty standby food.  And by shitty food, I mean her high-end kibble, instead of her organic raw food.  I probably won't wash my hair today.  It's a voluminous project on a good day.  That's why ponytails were invented.  I'll probably eat my standby food, too.  I have frozen meals stashed away for just such occasions.

I hate that I have to plan for incapacitated days, but not planning would be so much worse.  This is why I don't want to survive the zombie apocalypse.  I can barely survive now some days with all of my modern-day creature comforts, including TWO ice-packs, so I can switch them out when one loses its mind-numbing capabilities.  Mmm, comfortably numb.

Saturday, October 17, 2015

vivid dreams

Apparently migraineurs have more vivid dreams and more night terrors than the average population, so I will consider myself lucky that I don't have more of the latter.  I'll keep my banana dreams and be happy with them.

Recently I've dreamed about but not limited to:
  • Falling down on old-fashioned roller skates and hurting my coccyx.  How is that not a common dream?  But that was all I could find after one whole minute of searching.  Unsure of my direction in life and affected by the past.  Tell me something that doesn't apply to fkn everyone.  Show me someone who is sure of their life's direction, and I'll show you either a liar or someone in deep denial.
  • An excess of q-tips, which seemingly means I have a severe need for healing and cleansing.
  • My family, which means I'm feeling particularly secure and loved right then.
  • Gdam bananas again.  No comment.  ;)
  • Laundry, but I don't remember exactly in what context.  Let's just assume my secrets are safe.
  • And that I was as cranky as a bear.  I guess I'm the only one who dreams about being cranky because no one has bothered to pretend to know what that means.

Friday, October 16, 2015


No, not the famous address.  It's my 1600th post.  Apparently I talk a lot.  ;)   In that spirit, this one will be extensive.

Speaking of talking a lot, there are two women sitting near me in the waiting room at the doctor's office.  They've had a lengthy conversation regarding Fall fashion, modified for south Florida.  I haven't picked up any pointers yet, but I am dying to see the one woman's shoes because they had an exhaustive discussion about them.  Wedges of some type, in case you're curious.  I could just walk over and ask, but then I'll be stuck talking to her.  I can sort of make them out between the chairs if I lean over.  They don't look as spectacular as they inferred.  Not to be mean, but they really talked them up.  Plus, I'm not a fan of beige, taupe, or any related shade. Then they went on and on about how they can't wear boots down here.  Fkn amateurs.  I wear boots year round, when I'm actually making an effort to dress up.  It's not like you have to buy fur-lined boots ffs.

Two doctors' offices in two days is two too many.  Yesterday was my clinical trial visit.  Which was fkn awesome.  Even if it sucks to get there.  And they took more blood.  And will tell me I'm anemic (I've been stuffing myself with red meat and dark greens the past 2 weeks in anticipation).  But I got my monthly shot, which will help me minimize my migraines for the month.  YAY!!!

My ECG was normal *for me*.  What do you suppose that means?  She started to tell me, but she got distracted after saying something about sinus waves.  I'll have to look further into that at some point. Although now that I think about it, they've had problems getting a good read on me since I started there because my rib cage is too small to space the leads properly.  Sigh.

Also, she asked if I was alive when she went to take my blood pressure.  I had driven at breakneck speed for 50 minutes to get there and was practicing biofeedback to lower it.  Just in case.  That sounds fancier than it is.  I imagine myself snuggling with Kitten, while she's purring.  Apparently, I lowered it too much.  Oops.  I thought about work real quick to attempt to raise it.  It went up two points.  Go me.
I lucked out and got the good nurse.  I didn't even feel the needle stick to withdraw blood.  And more important, she does the injection the best.  If it's not done at a precise speed, it burns like 1,000 fire ants stinging in one coordinated nuclear attack (I'm looking at you, impatient-nurse-from-last-month).   I'm not sure how well an injection like that will translate to home use.  I wonder how many times I'll persuade myself that I'm fine and postpone the injection to avoid the pain of it.  That's not even factoring in the cost of a brand new patented pharmaceutical, which we all know will cost the bank, and will help the decision to delay the monthly shot.  

But that was yesterday, and here I am today at the eye doctor, getting my checkup with my original surgeon from four years ago.  Who I like better.  Much better.  She confused me by personally coming to get me from the waiting room and putting me in an exam room ahead of everyone else. Then she did the dilation that the nurse usually does.  She is so much more thorough than my current surgeon.  It's why I prefer her. 

She seemed surprised and concerned that my vision isn't improving.  She administered the vision test herself, too, instead of the nurse.  And noticed that my scar wasn't as remarkable as he thought.  She saw tiny imperfections and is putting me on anti-inflammatory drops to see if that helps.  And even picked a generic to make it less expensive.  I have such a platonic crush on her.  She's smart and competent and efficient and considerate.  And and and.  :)

She did agree that I can go full on with exercise and weightlifting now.  Sweet.  I still may go a little light, but I won't worry (as much) now if I feel like going heavier.  And by heavier, I mean squatting with the bar plus 10 pounds hehe.  /flex

When I went to check out and make my next appointment, the receptionist commented that I had received the VIP treatment from my doc.  /swoon    You'd better believe that all of my future appointments will be with her if at all possible. 

I decided that if she was making so much effort to get me better, then I would make it a priority to get my eye drops ASAP.  So I stopped at the pharmacy and waited for my Rx to be filled.  Which I never do.  I lucked out and got the lesbian pharmacist with the lip piercing and the full sleeve tattoos.  The old people looked slightly intimidated by her, but I gave her a huge smile and was rushed through.  She probably noticed I was wearing my comfy shoes, and no makeup.  I'm so gender-fluid I probably confused her.  But the poor dear seemed so stressed.  I just wanted her to relax and feel good for a minute.

     *beams giant smile at you*
I'm having a great day and hope y'all are, too!  Thanks for stopping by.

Thursday, October 15, 2015


As a follow-up to last week's post, I bring you this article, which explains why having technology in one's vagina is a silly (and perhaps painful -- yeowch!) idea, in case you didn't immediately grasp that from my facetious post.  Thanks to one of my alert readers who brought it to my attention.

Kids today (hehe I love saying that) think more technology everywhere is such a fantastic idea.  Here's a tip from your Auntie Wendy, more isn't always better.  Sometimes it's just plain silly (see above).  Other times, it's dangerous and a potential distraction.  Look at most major brands of new cars these days.  Why do we need such complex computers WITH TOUCHSCREENS FFS while we're driving?  I like being able to reach over and fiddle with the a/c buttons or the radio buttons without having to look, just by touch and muscle memory.  I can't get that same level of confidence from a touchscreen.  Mostly, I just want to concentrate on not barreling thousands of pounds of metal into another object, especially at high speed.

Plus, it's just one more thing to break or to be hacked (fuck you, Internet of Things).  If my laptop or smartphone can't last more than 2 years, why would I expect the computer in my car or household appliances to last longer?  Except these are usually quite a bit more expensive and more of a hassle to replace.  It's much easier transferring data from one laptop to another than moving out an old refrigerator and putting in a new one.  I just want an appliance to keep my food cold and safe, so I don't need to text Einstein with even more food safety questions, not to track my eating & shopping habits.

And while I'm on a Luddite-esque rant, let's talk about how all of this technology has degraded our social skills.  I'm not talking about people like me who are introverts, have social anxiety, and prefer interacting with strangers over technology.  I'm referring to friends and family who can't eat a meal together without being on their phones.  Or texting someone who isn't there.  Be in the now, fkrs, talk to your companions and experience your meal.  You can text, tweet, blog, or post about it later.  Your memory should be able to retain pertinent details for a few hours.  And if you can't remember, just embellish it like I do.  ;)  Just kidding.  Maybe.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

5 guys, it's all in the name

After my morning coffee and FedEx delivery, I worked a bit, speaking LOUDLY into the phone over the din of my laptop and the landscapers.  For lunch, I rewarded myself with a nice workout with my gym buddy, aka my Sensei.  We laughed and panted through our workout as usual.  And compared migraines from the previous day.  Mine hit at 4pm, his at 5.  And both of us asleep by 9.  I guess a cold front came through.  It was a brisk 72 degrees this morning.

We also chatted a bit about The Martian.  He was surprised that it was so funny.  And also that at times, it seemed I was the only one laughing in the whole theater.  (I don't think he noticed that I cried during parts of it, ssshhh.)  He said he looked around and noticed people smiling but not laughing out loud.  When did people forget that laughing was fun and good for us?

An older Italian gentleman at the gym has taken a liking to me over the years because I remind him of his granddaughter or niece or someone.  He always comes over to us and chats a bit when he sees me.  Today was killing me because he had cigarette breath.  Ugh.  I tolerated it though because he's a sweet man.  And I like when people laugh and smile, so we included him in some of our jokes and banter.  And between sets, I looked at photos on his phone.  At a certain point, I was looking for any excuse for a rest.  ;)

Sensei said his painful knee felt better after we worked out.  He also fixed my shoulder.  Again.  I really need to go to the chiropractor and massage therapist, but I've been procrastinating because of all the ophthalmologist appointments lately.  One doctor at a time is more than enough.  That's my motto.

We decided to grab a quick lunch since we both had time.  I wasn't able to work much while I was migrating hundreds of GBs of data from my old laptop to my new.  (So I'm a digital pack-rat, so what?)  We went to Five Guys, which is a burger chain, for those of you unfamiliar.  The employees at this location are super friendly and efficient.  And the burgers are tasty, although I'm aware they aren't grass-fed or organic.

I noticed while we were eating there, that the clientele and employees were predominantly (entirely?) male.  Maybe that location has a 2 female limit at any given time.  There were some rough-looking characters there, but I knew Sensei could handle whatever, so I wasn't worried.  A police officer was there for a bit, too.  And people are always happier with a full belly.  Does every other woman know something I don't about this chain?  Are they misogynistic?  Am I supposed to be boycotting them?  Is it just the scary clientele?  Do women not eat burgers?  Wtf?

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

tailless cat

I had a horrible fucking dream last night that Kitten had lost her tail, which was sitting on my bathroom counter mocking me for being a bad owner.  I'm scared to look this one up.  She seemed calm and fine, which was weird.  And then my brother, who doesn't live here, grabbed the keys to my convertible Ferrari, which I sadly don't have (although anyone who knows me knows I would never own a convertible because of hair issues), and raced to the vet.  Without me, and without the cat.  Wtf. 

I'm pondering all of that while drinking my coffee.  I started a new brand today, ground from beans because I'm pretending to be a coffee snob.  I suck at changes, even though I know they're beneficial, so I force myself to face small ones.  The coffee is actually quite tasty, but I miss the Vietnamese blend, which smelled better somehow. 

While I'm enjoying my morning quiet time and coffee, I'm listening to the dulcet sounds of my laptop's fan grinding away and hoping that FedEx gets here with my new laptop very soon.  To add to that cacophony, the landscapers are here with chainsaws, mowers, blowers, and various other loud machinery.  Ahh, who doesn't love peaceful mornings?

I got brave and looked up the tailless cat dream.  Why does everything have to be about sex, Dr. Freud?  Although it also says a loss of independence.  I guess I can afford to lose a little because if I am any more independent, I'll be on my own planet like the Martian

Monday, October 12, 2015

Ooh-oo child things are gonna get easier

This is my all-time favorite theme song.  Pretty sure I don't have to explain it much.  The lyrics kind of sum it up:

Ooh-oo child
Things are gonna get easier
Ooh-oo child
Things'll get brighter
Ooh-oo child
Things are gonna get easier
Ooh-oo child
Things'll get brighter
Some day, yeah
We'll get it together and we'll get it all done
Some day
When your head is much lighter
Some day, yeah
We'll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun
Some day
When the world is much brighter
Ooh-oo child
Things are gonna be easier
Ooh-oo child
Things'll get be brighter
Ooh-oo child
Things are gonna be easier
Ooh-oo child
Things'll get be brighter

Sunday, October 11, 2015

who else wants to meet a Martian?

Or be one?

I saw The Martian yesterday, and it was fantastic.  Bring your tissues.  Or maybe that's just me.  The 12 year old girl sitting next to me didn't seem like she was crying.  Maybe because she had so much snackie food!  Omg, I could smell all of it with my migraine superpowers -- mint chocolate, regular chocolate, popcorn.  I almost asked her for some.  She seemed pretty cool and probably would have said yes.  I wonder where that falls in the Stranger Danger spectrum, seeing as how her mom was on the other side of her.

I won't say much more about the movie, so I don't accidentally give anything away.  I didn't see it in 3D because of my eye.  I wasn't sure how much I would enjoy the 3D experience with one weak eye. I also pre-medicated because long movies in dark theaters give me migraines.   My head only hurt a little after.  Yay.

And yes, the book was better, but the movie was still outstanding.  I loved that it made space exploration and nerds cool.

Saturday, October 10, 2015


Sooo tired.  I stayed up too late, talking to both of my sisters on the phone.  Separately.  It was nice to catch up with each of them, though.  Somehow it's different on the phone than in email.  I still managed to get 7 hours of sleep, somewhat interrupted when Kitten kept coming up to snuggle.

And that was after workout class.  My legs are aching nicely.  Fuck you, squats.

I'm about to drink my Wendycoffee while watching F1 Qualifying, taking place at the Russian Grand Prix.  I put extra cocoa powder and 2 eggs in my coffee this morning because my body needs fuel.

Hmm, after stirring up my coffee, I think my arms are aching nicely, too.  I always forget exactly what we did in class.  It never feels like we did much because we always laugh and talk.  It's more like a kaffeeklatsch than a workout.  Minus the coffee.  It's very misleading.  When we get new people or visitors, they underestimate it, until the next day when they're practically crippled.  I barely remember more than 2 exercises we did.  Fuck you, squats.  I do remember those because I have a love/hate relationship with them.  I love what they do for my body, but I hate the aches and pains.

I skipped dinner afterwards with everyone because I wanted to get groceries before it was too late and I became too tired.  Although it's never smart to buy food when you're hungry, I did avoid buying anything bad for me.  I do admit to being tempted by the peanut butter cupcakes. 

Watching the ultimate race-cars speed around the track and each other is not helping me wake up.  It's not as if I'm feeling the adrenaline rush behind the wheel.  The coffee isn't helping either.  Maybe I need a nap before I start my day.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

happiness is a long, hot bath (unless you're a cat)

I'm amassing quite a prodigious collection of aromatherapy essential oils for my bath.  No, I don't claim any magical powers from them, I just like how they smell sometimes.  I'm very particular with odors, especially when I have a migraine.   At times I like spearmint, which smells like chewing gum (even though I don't like chewing gum).  Other times I like peppermint, which is same but not same.

My current fave is ylang ylang.  I used to want my own ylang ylang tree like a friend of mine has, but it's messy as fuck, and I have a hard enough time keeping my pool clean.  So I decided against it.  Even though it smells angelic.  Damn, now I want one again.  One more reason to get a pool boy ...

I just bought cedar, and now that I smelled it, I'm not sure why.  It's supposed to be soothing, but it smells like dirt.  I'm practicing my mixology and combining two or more together, like lavender and cinnamon, which was meh.  If anyone has any recommendations, please let me know your favorites.

My friend, Emma Peel, gave me a fuzzy bath pillow years ago which I still use and love.  Speaking of Emma, her Scottish boyfriend sent me a voicetext saying hello.  (I'm such a sucker for Scottish accents.)  I'm glad he was there taking care of her, as she is a bit under the weather, and she deserves the best.  /wave Emma & BF

Kitten is not a fan of bath time.  WHY WOULD YOU SOAK IN IT?!

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

They're calling from inside your vagina

[Who knew I could sort of re-use this title again so soon.]

Men may want to skip this post, although the techies out there might be morbidly fascinated.  And actually many of you are affected by it, too.  Your wives, girlfriends, sisters, daughters, co-workers, etc. all encounter this ferocious foe.

As many of you are aware, women have a monthly alien invader, aka the Uterine Fairy.  This may not be exactly how you remember it from school, when the boys and girls were separated into different rooms and taught about their bodies.  Trust me, though, it's exactly what happens.  These fairies aren't very content with their lives and like to wreak havoc on those women they visit.  Sometimes it's in the form of a good prison shanking, over the course of several days.  Sometimes it's in some mood-altering shenanigans, migraines, or bizarre food cravings.  Other times it's in the form of a nice humiliation, whereby she drops by unexpectedly and tries to ruin your clothes with permanent color, in front of as many people as possible when you're least prepared.

Which is why we have the woman code of ALWAYS help another woman out when the Uterine Fairy pays a visit.  No matter how much you may not like the other woman, you always help her out.  Because we've all been there unfortunately.

Women have been waging war on this alien invader for eons.  And subsequently have won a few battles and lost a few battles.  Mostly, it's been a stalemate.  Some men help women out in our ongoing battle, contributing ammunition or moral support.  Others profit from it by selling us overpriced products that are deemed essential to temporarily defeat the fairy.

The future is upon us, and now we will have a device that can communicate with us while spying on the Uterine Fairy in her natural habitat.  A tiny agent infiltrates the enemy encampment and sends radio signals back to the main base.  Typically, the fairy is busy draining energy and life-force from the host body, so she may not pay attention to the radio signals.  This will leave the woman exhausted but with better SIGINT.

I doubt this is encrypted, so use at your own risk.  Beware who else might be in possession of this vital information.  I wonder what the NSA can do with a server farm full of Uterine Fairy Intel.  That should scare you as much as it scares me.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

crunchy spiders get their sexy back

Doesn't he look like a proud samurai warrior?  He's usually known as the spinybacked orbweaver.  I also call them the crunchy spiders because my brother and I used to feed them to his turtle as kids, and they made a pleasant crunching noise when being eaten.

They're as ubiquitous as palm trees here.  My yard is littered with them.  I typically only knock away the webs that obstruct my path.  Maybe these fkrs saved me from the Chupacabra-esque, papaya-sucking, flying zombie stalkers.  They must be getting lots to eat as there seem to be hundreds of them.  I try to thank them, as I walk along, for keeping my yard relatively bug-free, although I did get a few mosquito bites when I was out watching the lunar eclipse last week.  So they're kind of slacking.  Even if they technically aren't supposed to eat mosquitoes, they could still try harder.

I'm feeling refreshed after 6 hours of sleep, which appears to have alleviated yesterday's migraine for now.  I had what I thought were regular dreams, but when I looked them up, they seemed awfully personal.  Who knew bananas indicated sexy times?  I wonder if this merits a random text to Einstein, my Food Scientist Expert.  How would that imaginary conversation play out?

Wendy: "Are bananas inherently sexual?"
Einstein: "Um, what?"
Wendy: "You're my food scientist, and bananas are still a food, right?"
Einstein: "Yes?"
Wendy: "Maybe I need to stop consulting you about food if you're unsure of that fact."
Einstein: "Did you really wake me up to ask me this?"
Wendy: "Someone was stealing my banana trees, but the samurai spiders slowed them down."
Einstein: "You don't have any banana trees.  And I'm pretty sure the samurai spiders don't leave Japan."
Wendy: "Okay, thanks, go back to sleep."

And that's how crunchy spiders got their sexy back.  They became warriors and started guarding 'bananas'.

Monday, October 5, 2015

my brother is trying to kill me

Sure, he pretends like he's looking out for my best interests, but what's the end result?  I might be dead soon, that's what.

Allegedly, he had a papaya tree that got infested with some nasty Chupacabra-esque, papaya-sucking fly.  Allegedly, all of his fruit were rotten, and he had to chop his whole tree down because they now know where he lives and will always return.  Like flying zombie stalkers.

He stopped by my house yesterday and started coveting my papaya tree.  And then had to ruin my joy telling me about his alleged infestation.  As soon as he left, I went out and picked my best papaya to check for maggots.  Ewwwww.

Ewww, nothing, it was perfect inside.  Except that it wasn't ripe.  His girlfriend suggested that I could make a papaya salad with it.  That looked like way too much effort, what with the pounding and whatnot.  So I skipped most of that, sliced it up, and added fish sauce.  And even more salt.  It's very crunchy and not bad at all.  But who knows if it will kill me.

According to the University of Florida, the unripe papaya juice is fatal to the Chupacabra-esque, papaya-sucking, flying zombie stalker larvae.  Now I'm wondering if I ate the papaya before it was infested or if I just ate dead larvae.  Oh well, extra protein, right?  And it's all organic.  Let's hope the unripe papaya juice isn't fatal to Wendys.

I decided to consult with my food scientist friend, who's not actually a food scientist by trade but for some mysterious reason likes to cook and knows everything about food.  Pretty much he knows everything about everything, but not in an annoying way.  In fact, henceforth, he shall be known as Einstein on these pages.  Anyway, Einstein is now my go to Food Scientist expert.  I text him randomly and ask if what I just ate will kill me, like when I ate slightly old pork tenderloin that the cat rejected.  I can't see his face when he gets these random texts, but I imagine a long-suffering yet amused sigh, and a slight smirk.  Or maybe that's just me.  I'm never too worried because my family has been trying to kill me with food for years.  As you can see, they haven't succeeded.  Yet.  I have a pretty strong constitution at this point.

In that same vein, I gave a different brother a short list of people to notify if I die.  [He's never tried to kill me with food.  Only motorcycles and cars.]  These people might otherwise think I just became a snooty bitch who stopped responding to their texts and phone calls.  Maybe one of those people would be so kind as to post a comment here, letting you guys know.  Or you can just happily assume that I'm taking another 7 year hiatus.  Upstate.  On a farm. 

I'm not planning on dying soon, but as Jim Morrison said, no one here gets out alive, especially if they eat green papayas, which may or may not be infested by Chupacabra-esque, papaya-sucking, flying zombie stalkers.  I might be paraphrasing a bit.

Sunday, October 4, 2015

fuck you, Dyson, for making me feel weak

I have an old handheld Dyson vacuum that I use for everything, from cleaning the stairs to chasing down rabid ants.  Lately though, it hasn't been holding a charge.  I bought a new battery to rectify that issue.  I even had one of my electrical engineer friends assist me in the battery selection.  [Yes, I have more than one EE friend.  Because I'm (not so) secretly a nerd.  And I like smart friends.]

The battery arrived, and I was all excited to swap it out and see if that fixed my problem.  Because I like clean stairs and hate ant swarms.  Except I couldn't pull off the old battery.  I pushed and pulled and yanked and tugged.  Nothing.  I experimented with several pairs of pliers.  Nope.  I searched online to see if there's a trick.  Zilch.  Finally, I called Dyson, who has amazing customer service, even if their products are not as good as they used to be.  The woman put me on hold while she got a model to try.  She told me there is no trick, just push the release switch and pull.

One broken nail and a numb thumb later, I conceded defeat.  I brought it with me to my workout class and asked the strongest man there for assistance, hating the fact that I felt like a weak female.  Even though I am.  I started feeling better when he was having difficulties.  He examined it a bit more to see if there was something he was missing.  Then he asked the next strongest man there to grab one end, while he held the other.  They both pulled while the class now was raptly watching and asking wtf was going on.  I had disassembled it and brought in only the handle attached to the battery pack.  There were many guesses as to what the device was.  Finally with a loud POP, it came apart perfectly.  No broken pieces.  I brought it home and easily slid the new battery in and placed it in the charger.

I haven't tested the new battery out yet.  I'm scared after all of that, it won't work.

FUCK YOU, DYSON, for making me feel weak.  Or maybe thank you, Dyson, for giving me a lesson in humility.  Thank you for making me remember that I need people in my life to help me.  Thank you for forcing me to ask for help, when we all know I suck at asking.

How's that for reading waaaay too much into an inconsequential event?

UPDATE: I tested my handheld with the new fully charged battery.  OMG, I'm in love with my Dyson again!

Saturday, October 3, 2015

close encounters of the female kind

Martial arts conditioning class wasn't as good this week as last week's class.  Different people in the class, different moods, different dynamics.  Also, I was recovering from a migraine, so I tried to take it easy, which in the end proved to be futile.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It was still fun, don't get me wrong.  I laughed a lot, but not as much to make my abs ache.  And a two-day-Hurricane-Joaquin migraine had zapped my energy, leaving me barely able to train the full 90 minutes, even with lower weights and lower reps.

A few of us decided, as is becoming traditional these days, to go out to eat after.  Again, different people, different dynamics.  And, another chain restaurant.  Sigh, I used to eat so much better before I became single.  Before you start with the lectures about how every restaurant has at least one healthy option, I must remind you that not all ingredients are created equal.  I typically eat organic, grass-fed, hand-petted beef.  Not dropsy cows hauled off to the abattoir.  Most chains don't offer that.  But I was starving for food (and good company), so I ordered the antibiotic-riddled burger and hung out with my friends.  Which was entertaining and informative.  I heard from my German friend what Germans are actually saying about the migrants/refugees in Europe.  SPOILER: It's not what we hear on the news.

My burger was tasty, and I was able to substitute asparagus for french fries.  And a box to take home the other half I couldn't finish.  Not enough calories burned.  The waitress was pleasant and efficient but called everyone 'sweetie,' which reminded me of the South Park episode where they spoofed Hooters.  And right at the end, she somehow casually mentioned a double-shift and a 3 year old daughter.  Guess who got LARGE tips from all of us?  Did I mention my party was mostly women, and lesbians at that?

And speaking of lesbians, one brought her sister to class and to dinner.  And she came out to her about being gay as we were walking to our cars.  That was my first time being a part of that.  The sister was very supportive but said she already knew.  And the rest of us just made jokes to try to alleviate some of the awkwardness.

Everyone left except for one other woman and me.  And we chatted a bit in the parking lot, which turned into a serious heart to heart for almost two hours.  We had some personal shit to reconcile from years ago that we both (mainly me) had just glossed over.  A few cigarettes (her, not me) and some tears later, we had buried the hatchet.  I hope.  It was now past my bedtime.  She had tried to blow the smoke away from me, but I'm hypersensitive.  And some came my way.  Add in some emotional issues and a hurricane, and it was a recipe for the migraine to return.

I sped home and jumped in the shower instead of a long soak in the bath.  And right to bed.  I skipped the meds because it was borderline, and I thought maybe sleeping would abort it.  Dumbass.  I woke up in pain, took meds, let the cat out, got the ice pack, and went back to sleep for a couple hours.  That did the trick.  For now.  The hurricane is still right off the coast, so I'm not sure how long that will continue to affect me.  Luckily, it's Saturday, and I have no plans except to read and eat.  And maybe some pool time if I'm not too photophobic.  The weather outside is gorgeous.  You wouldn't even know a deadly storm lurked offshore.

Thursday, October 1, 2015

wearing my war paint

My pool is no longer green, and I have cream (instead of ice cream) in my coffee.  I can almost pretend all is right with the world for this moment.  I'll just ignore the migraine beating me up care of Hurricane Joaquin.  Fortunately, my house won't feel the physical effects of the storm, just my head.  And my body.

The meds are coursing through my veins like lead until I can barely lift my arms.  And there's an elephant sitting on my chest, until I can scarcely breathe.  But I need to soldier on like a good Migraine Warrior.  Put on my smiling face and do my job like a professional who isn't screaming inside.  No one will know that I just want to slam my head against the wall until I pass out.  That I've lost several IQ points because it's not just the head pain, it's also a neurological hurricane storming through my synapses and turning me into a literal drooling idiot.  Not sure why my mouth leaks sometimes.  Or my eyes.  I'm just happy there's no projectile vomiting this time.

I imagine my war paint looking similar to Daryl Hannah's character in Blade Runner.  That's how I feel inside, I want to go Berserker on someone.  But I won't, because I have years of practice of being a phony, an actor who plays the part of normal.  Wish me luck in fooling everyone for just one more day.  And then one more.  And another.