Monday, November 30, 2015


I kind of assumed that the one upside of being dumped was that I wouldn't have to bother much with Christmas shopping this year.  My email inbox is getting plastered with pre-Black Friday deals, Thanksgiving deals, Black Friday deals, Small Business Saturday deals, and today, Cyber Monday deals.  I don't really need anything, so I've been deleting them by the dozen.

Eight purchases later, what the fuck just happened?  A couple are legitimate gifts for underage family members because kids deserve presents no matter how shitty I feel.  The rest are, um, I'm not sure.  I stocked up on my supplements because I'm terrified to be without CoQ10 or magnesium.  And then the rest were me being suckered in.  Dumb-ass.  So much for trying to save money now that I'm a one income household.

I may share with you my dumb-ass purchases as they arrive.  Or I may be too embarrassed that I succumbed to gdam American consumerism.  Remember how I was whittling down my hair product supply?  Yeah, that's right out the window.  I'd better hurry and use up a couple more before those (yes plural, dumb-ass) arrive.  I guess I'll be set for the next several months (years).  Don't let me buy anymore, okay?  No matter how highly they're recommended by women with the exact same hair as me living in the same humidity levels.

As an aside, I still have plenty of readers, so I guess that means I'm still a unicorn (not that kind).  Sweet!

Sunday, November 29, 2015

uh oh, having a fangirl moment

Yesterday, I tweeted about reading Luther Campbell's book.  And he re-tweeted me.  Squee!  Twice.  Squee, squee!  Okay, I'm done freaking out.  (It's just as exciting as when Steve Gibson wrote a lengthy reply to my DM on Twitter.)

I went digging through my old CDs (sigh, yes I still have a bunch) to look for my 2 Live Crew one.  I remember having to drive across town to a special store to buy it because it was banned in most stores.  This was pre-Internet.  Oh, the horror!  I couldn't find it amongst my other classics like Metallica: Ride the Lightning, so I texted my brother to see if he had it.  He said he only ever had the cassette, which he may still have packed away in a box.  Hehehehe.  It was a hot commodity back then, so I'm guessing someone 'borrowed' mine, and I never got it back.

I also remember when Luther's club on South Beach first opened, and I had no female friends to go with.  I happened to be dating a really, really white guy at the time who was super nice and offered to take me.  I think we were the only white people in the club, but I sure had fun.  :)  I dressed up in my hot-pants and thigh-high boots and grooved to great dance music.  I got a little nervous when I went to the ladies room and accidentally interrupted a drug deal.  I played it cool, did my business, washed my hands, fixed my mane of hair (black women, even drug dealers, understand that shit), and left with a quickness.  No one gave us a hard time though, which is more than I can say for the black clubs in New York City.  Not that it stopped me from going to those.  Because I was young and didn't care.

Reading book is similar to watching movies -- experiencing the real Miami that I grew up in, not the hoity-toity South Beach shit depicted today.  Miami was raw, raunchy, and fkn terrifying at times.  It was also exciting and an adventure every day, where I learned more than I did from my so-called formal education.  I probably can't list most (any?) of what I learned on my professional resumé though.

I stayed up too late reading last night, and Kitten woke me very early this morning (same as she always does).  I can't lie around reading all day because I have chores to do.  Also, I need to keep myself from full immersion in the book, so I don't trigger any childhood PTSD.  He does a pretty good job of depicting how it was when the Cuban boatlift came over, and the blacks and whites ended up as unlikely allies, in many, many turf and cultural wars.  Except now I get to hear it from the black perspective.  I'm still amazed that anyone was left alive, on any side.

Maybe I can play some 2 Live Crew to make me laugh (and dance) while I do my chores.  Such a hard life today lol.  ;)  After I watch the season finale of Formula One, of course.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

places I've been today

I've been so lazy today.  I watched F1 qualifying this morning.  Ate a bit.  Mostly, I've been reading Luther Campbell's new book, The Book of Luke: My Fight for Truth, Justice, and Liberty City.

And I have no idea where the day went.  Best kind of Saturday.

Friday, November 27, 2015

/adjusts my alicorn

Maybe we can place my respect for vultures into my Interesting category?  Anyone can love a kestrel or a penguin, but loving vultures takes contemplation and fortitude, right?  Right??

I thought about going the cliché route yesterday with a gratitude post, but I do those enough on regular days.  Besides, I figured everyone was jumping on the gratitude bandwagon yesterday, and you'd be bored to tears and need some eccentric relief.

Perhaps I should have focused more on my positives because I ended up throwing myself a PityParty, clowns and all.  I woke up feeling great, decided that I would do things that made me smile, and not focus on any negativity.  That lasted a few hours until I received an email from my former mother-in-law saying how much she missed and loved me.  Which on the surface sounds wonderful, but it made it tricksy to keep my denial in check.  :)  It was the balloon that broke the clown's back or whatever the appropriate metaphor would be for a PityParty Commencement.

At 2 pm, I forced myself out of bed and washed my hair.  At 3 pm, I was back in bed, with my eyes still randomly leaking.  One of my friends gave me a pep-talk / guilt-trip and helped motivate me out of my house.  Thanks!  In hindsight, the depression along with the leaky eyes may have been precursors to a migraine because I also had tingling and numbness in my extremities, which I conveniently ignored.  And fatigue which I attributed to depression and also conveniently ignored as a migraine clue.

The migraine was nice enough to hold off until the end of the evening, after dinner.  Probably the bourbon pecan pie didn't help.  But, oh my, that was fkn scrumptious!

I had a lot of fun seeing my family, arguing politics, discussing Genghis Khan and his absolute domination, analyzing Star Wars, and learning how to make yogurt.  We have great vicissitudinous conversations when there are a lot of us together, about all kinds of topics, which can be very overwhelming to new people.  (I think we may have slightly intimidated and then impressed my brother's friend.)  I'm really glad I ended up going because I rarely get to interact like that.

Today as I'm dealing with a migraine postdrome, not only is the glass half full, it is also a beautiful glass.  Because I'm choosing to be happy today, and my brain is cooperating.

Thursday, November 26, 2015

my favorite bird

No, it's not turkey, even though today is Thanksgiving, but rather a turkey vulture.  Happy Thanksgiving, all!

I don't mean favorite to eat, just in general.  This may be my batshit insanity moment for some.  I think I've already scared one of my friends with it, when I mentioned it to him the other day.   Oops, my alicorn is slipping. 

I love vultures.  I can watch them for hours, riding the currents way up high.  They're absolutely glorious to watch when I'm lying on the ground and looking up, much more fun than cloud-watching.  They're so majestic and soothing.  And when they land, they have the added benefit of being the cleaning crew.  Somehow that assuages my internal organizational needs.  

How cool is it that they have different terms for different activities?  
A group of vultures is called a wake, committee, venue, kettle, or volt. The term kettle refers to vultures in flight, while committee, volt, and venue refer to vultures resting in trees. Wake is reserved for a group of vultures that are feeding.

They're not much to look at when they land, but honestly who is attractive out of their element when they're stuffing their faces?  I certainly can't point fingers if you've ever seen me gorge on BBQ ribs or on Florida Stone Crabs.  Just saying.

They're one of the more intelligent of the bird species, which makes my Inner Nerd smile.

And then there's the whole Tibetan sky burial, which speaks to my sense of reciprocity and frugal nature.  It seems so wasteful to spend thousands of dollars to create landfill when we die.  I like the notion of one final act of generosity to feed living creatures.  Plus anytime someone sees a vulture, they can talk to their favorite auntie.

So in summary, I'm batshit crazy finally.  You found me out.  :)

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

the message

I recently listened to The Message podcast and didn't realize it was fictional entertainment until a few minutes into the first episode.  I apologize if I ruined it for you.  Spoilers.  :P

I was all excited to listen to nerds try to decipher an unusual message.  And then it turned into fictional drama.  It was still entertaining, and I listened to all eight episodes.  But I was disappointed.  Because of expectations.  As per usual.

Be honest, when you saw the title to this post, did you think it was some hippie type of thing like The Secret?  And weren't you vastly relieved that it wasn't??   :)

You know when you're first getting to know someone and you think they're perfectly awesome, and then they say something that is batshit insane?  And how disappointed you feel that your unicorn's horn fell off?  And how fast can you gracefully exit the situation? 

Fortunately, I haven't had that happen in a while.  Does that mean that my crazy-tolerance has increased or that my first-impression-meter has improved?  I'm guessing the former, because I'm consistently a terrible judge of character.  Is there a word for being character-blind?  Because I have that.  To the point where I usually ask someone else I trust to let me know if I'm making a terrible mistake.  In either direction.

I know you're wondering what my batshit insanity will be.  You'll just have to ride it out and see when my alicorn falls off.  How can I be so sure it hasn't yet, you ask.  You wouldn't still be reading my preposterous ramblings if it had.

Monday, November 23, 2015

how does she know??

The bitch is psychotic, I mean psychic.  Fkn Emma Peel.  Somehow she calls exactly when I need her to.  It's starting to be a little creepy ffs.  :)

No migraine this time, yay!

But, I was down all day and just couldn't scrape it off of me.  I had a dance party with old school Adina and Missy E.  I talked to my brother for hours, which helped.  I had a bag of potato chips I had been saving for an emergency.  And they didn't even taste yummy.   So I ate liver and chicken hearts instead.  Why waste crappy, yummy food on flat taste buds?

No matter what I did, the funk just slithered right back over me.  I talked to several of my friends, many of whom made me smile.  I didn't mind talking to others who were in a bad way, but I felt guilty talking to any who were in a good mood.  In case I was contagious.  I'd feel even lower if I spread my melancholy soul.  Which is fkn ridiculous if you think about.  Non-depressive people can't catch it.  They can't conceive of the tar pit engulfing them.  And depressed people completely understand what it's like to have a fucked up day for no apparent reason.  And yet logic can't seem to get a word in edgewise.  Breathe, Wendy.

I keep thinking I'll be mostly okay for the holidays, but if it's hitting me this early, I might be in for a rude awakening.  Or maybe it has nothing to do with the holidays, and it was merely a bad day to be Wendy.  My eyes kept leaking.  No reason.  I mean various small reasons, but nothing that a resilient person would let faze them.  C'mon, Wendy.  You can do it.

Breathe.  Stop thinking.  Step outside of your brain.  Just breathe.  Smile.  And count your blessings.  Or chickens.  Just count something.  Because math makes sense when emotions don't.  I have a roof over my head, food in my belly, and several good people who love me.

Sunday, November 22, 2015


I keep seeing more and more celebrities coming out with depression and anxiety.  Are they all genuine, or is it the latest way for them to get publicity?  Does it matter as long as it reduces the stigma?  It does a bit, and here's why.  People who don't understand the totally overwhelming and immersive experience will dilute the message.

It's the same as people who equate headache with migraine.  Yes, a headache sucks (or so I've heard because I get migraines not headaches), but a migraine is a whole neurological clusterfuck.  People who feel blue because their favorite character was killed off on a TV show are not the same as someone who can't leave the house or interact with people because of their issues.

Depression is a gradual graying out of life.  It's as if a matte veil slowly and inconspicuously blots out all happiness.  I don't always notice when it hits, I just stop feeling motivated.  I lose my vitality and joy.  And I don't think mine is even that bad as compared to others.  Not that it's a good idea to compare.  Ever.  Especially for men standing at urinals, which was another thing that was reinforced on my trip, over fucked up meal conversations.  But I digress.

Here's where emotional hygiene comes into play again.  I can either succumb (fuck that) or force myself to find and think about what brings me contentment.  To choose to embrace living, which as I mentioned previously is much tricksier than dying quickly.  I listened to the new Adele album and had to consciously stop so I wouldn't spiral into a depressive slipstream.  She has an unbelievably beautiful voice, but the emotion was too raw for me to handle yesterday.  I'm sure I'll try again at some point.

Tolerating and managing depression builds resilience.  And resiliency and happiness are closely connected.  Resiliency isn't an inherent trait, although I suspect some of us are better or worse at it than others.  But with practice, I can make myself better and train my brain to react differently.  To react better.  In the meantime, I hope I have as good of friends as Eeyore does.

Saturday, November 21, 2015

home again, home again, jiggety jig

So happy to be home in my own bed again, with my own pillows.  Call me a princess (okay, Princess), but I'm very particular about my sleeping arrangements.  I'm no longer 20 years old and fine to crash anywhere.  These days, I need soft sheets, copacetic sleeping temperatures, a quality comforter, and absolutely perfect pillows.  The first three are negotiable, but shitty pillows can trigger migraines.  Welcome to my fkn life.  I have a mound of old pillows in my spare bedroom from ones that I've bought, tried, and discarded.  I asked my sister when she visited last year if any sucked that I could throw away.  She said they were all fine.  I'm just a fkn Princess, trying to evade the eternal pea.

Kitten was very mad at me and equally happy to see me.  There was a lot of yelling snuggling.

And I can finally get back into healthy eating.  Sigh, I'm sure I've undone almost all the progress I made in the last month by eating animal organs and greens.  Also I had to text politely all week, and my phone forgot all the swear words I've taught it.  I've undone progress in many facets of my life. 

I bet you're wondering (or not) how well I did with my anxiety nonsense.  I was pretty good almost the whole trip.  I barely had to snap my rubber-band more than a few times a day.  But, I hit an emotional wall at the airport on my way home.  I drugged myself up to get ahead of the migraine.  I failed.  Not sure if the emotional wall was from my overexposure to what felt like millions of people or a precursor of the migraine.  Or both. 

My flight home was as entertaining as it could be with a migraine whilst trying not to vomit or cry.  The man next to me was reading Gun Buyers Annual 2016 magazine, while wearing a custom-tailored dress shirt. My curiosity finally got the better of me after I watched him read the whole thing cover to cover.  So, I started talking to him.  He was a very refined man who has a serious gun hobby, and his favorite is a Ruger 9mm.

Just when I thought my socializing was over, the woman on the other side of him started a conversation with our flight attendant about her shoes.  And swore up and down about how comfortable this brand was, while still being stylish.  Of course, I had to jump into a comfy shoe conversation because most women don't seem to value that as highly as I do.  She also promised me that their narrow was actually narrow and not the former medium in accordance with vanity sizing.  They both gave me recommendations.  And then the Ruger man jumped in, too.  We talked comfy shoes for a good 15 minutes.

And just when I thought my socializing was REALLY over, my airport chauffeur turned into a Chatty Kathy about race-cars, motorcycles, Formula 1, MotoGP, Dani Pedrosa, Lamborghinis, etc.  It was a nice distraction, rather than focusing on the pain I was in.

Friday, November 20, 2015

Day 3? 4? 500?

I can't decide if large company events are trying to inculcate employees by wearing us down, or if it's merely incompetent planning by party-type people who carb-load on pastries in the morning, along with heavy caffeine ingestion to make up for the insulin crash from the sugar excess.  And also because they stayed up all night drinking at the open bar.  Either way, it doesn't seem like an intelligent corporate strategy.   And yet, more companies than not think this is acceptable.  Dumb-asses.

Breakfast today was more of the same.  Except for the lively conversation from my Southern co-workers discussing deer hunting with a crossbow.  And then how to skin the deer.  I also learned about ghillie suits, and how to make them.  I loved moving from their table to my New England liberal co-workers' table and watching their shocked expressions of disgust when I shared my new knowledge.  It's good to find joy in the little things.  :)
Last day.  Yippee.  I hope my phone battery holds out through goofing off in the morning sessions and then all the time at the airport.   I'll have to search up an outlet somewhere.  Or God forbid, resort to old-fashioned daydreaming when I get bored.  I even have a ready-made daydream available -- yummy airport food.  Who thought that vision would come out of my brain?   Or maybe a daydream of a lovely warm Epsom bath?  I've been burning through magnesium like crazy here, taking 4 and 5 capsules a day.  Higher stress requires higher magnesium consumption.

Fortunately, I have a book to read on the plane.  I guess I can read in the airport, too, instead of whining to my friends and family via text messages and emails.  Nah, where would the fun of that be?   :)

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Day 2

I've lost all concept of time.  Nothing exists except now.  I feel like I'm being professionally indoctrinated with no sleep and positive corporate messaging.  Loud music, blinking bright lights.  A co-worker who is also USMC said it felt like boot camp with crappy food, no sleep, and no personal time.  He's not wrong.

We had an off-site dinner last night, which normally I would say was crappy sports bar food, but I raved about the food so much, that I went for thirds at the BBQ buffet.  That's how badly they've been depriving me here.  

Today I've started drinking the kool-aid, so their plan is working.  I'm all gung-ho, on board, with synergy for everyone.  Just kidding, I'm bored silly and writing this in one of my sessions.

It hasn't been all bad.  My co-workers and I got into a fun detailed analysis of powdered eggs.  We've bonded over the shared experience of days (feels like weeks) of shitty food.  It's been really nice laughing in person with people I typically only interact with telephonically.  I also made some new friends to laugh with from all over.   I probably also scared some away with my off-color humor.  Oops.  If we can't laugh at our social issues, then we're still too sensitive to start working on them.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Day 1

I hate wearing my name on my chest.  I could never be a rapper.  Plus, I'm not a large person, and I always have to adjust my lanyard to fit me better.  Obviously, I can adjust the length, but the badge size is the same for me as for the 250 pound man next to me.  Guess who is more uncomfortable having colleagues and strangers staring at their chest?

After a particularly creepy, unknown man said, "Hi Wendy" to me one year, I now remove my badge the moment I leave a work event.  I refuse to wear it in elevators or while walking to and from anything. 

This morning, I threw it in my purse like usual and was strongly reminded no less than 5 times that I needed to have it on to get into the first session.  

They didn't require it for breakfast, because no one in their right mind would sneak in to eat this swill.  It was better than going hungry, so I ate some.  Plenty of people didn't.  The food is usually better at these corporate events.  I would have packed more snacks if I had known.  I'm not desperate enough to order $20 room service eggs yet, but it's getting close.  They're not organic, high quality eggs either.

Here is a photo of my pitiful breakfast, including one defective eye with a twitch.

Unsurprisingly after eating crap for several meals, I developed a migraine.  Owwie.  :(  Fkn miserable with a big smile on my face.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

have rubberband, will travel

I debated back and forth over whether to drive myself to the airport or arrange for a shuttle.  Control issues vs. poor night vision (and probable migraine) when I return (fuck you, eye surgeon).  Plus the safety of walking alone in airport parking garages as a woman.  But is getting into a stranger's vehicle truly any safer?  Do they extensively background check their drivers?   (#YesAllWomen)  I'm assuming men don't have to consider being assaulted when taking any transportation other than one's own vehicle.  Every time.  But I could be wrong.

The limo driver certainly knew where the left lane was, and wasn't afraid to use it.  And we weren't in the slightest bit late.  Guess they drive fast in Ecuador.

At airport security, I made an aging lesbian happy.  She volunteered to give me a full body pat-down.  And said she was disappointed when I declined a private room.  One day maybe I'll be brave enough to see what those entail.  But I watch movies, so I know that's where they disappear you.  Some Eurotrash hipster (my favorite kind lately) gave me an ooh la la while he watched her feel me up. Pshaw, back of her hands.  Whatevs.

I made more friends in the gate waiting area.  Wall outlets are a wanted commodity.  An American hipster this time asked to share mine with his double outlet and higher amperage.  He was nice with a cute smile, so I acquiesced.   Then the fkr bragged about his longer cord.   Asshole.  :)

It's been about a year since I've flown last, and I swear the seats are getting tinier and tinier.  I'm sure as hell not growing taller.  And shut the fuck up about my ass getting bigger.  :)   It's solid muscle, well partially solid muscle.

Speaking of muscle, I'm missing my workouts this week.  I realize there is probably an adequate gym at the hotel, or even body-weight fitness I can do in my room.  But I've made an executive decision that hoisting my luggage and laptop around all week counts for exercise.  Plus the walking in the airports and all the fkn handshaking and smiling counts, too.  A smile uses a bajillion muscles or was that a frown?  What about fake smiles?  Do those use more or less than genuine smiles?  Do you suppose I can switch off shaking with my left hand, so that my muscles stay balanced?  That might be too much of an awkward explanation, so I'll deal with getting a GIANT muscled right arm.

I've also decided that sleep will be a scarce commodity and definitely takes priority over exercise.  What?  No, I always wake up at 5 am, and then stay out and about talking to people constantly until 10:30 pm.  Why would I want to be well-rested when learning new concepts?  This is where gratitude comes into play.  I'm happy to have gainful employment.  I'm grateful for fantastic co-workers and managers.  I'm grateful that I found shoes that mostly match my dowdy professional outfits and are semi-comfortable.

And I'm grateful that magnesium and a rubber-band keep my anxiety manageable.

Monday, November 16, 2015

suck it up, Buttercup

I used to travel a lot when I was younger, both for business and for pleasure.  I've always had some anxiety, but it's gotten worse.  Shouldn't I be older and wiser and less anxious?  And lest anyone think it has anything to do with fear of traveling because of assholes killing me, nope.  Fear of dying is way down on my list.  It's much more terrifying to live each day.

I need to remind myself not to overclock my brain.  Breathe.  Experience now.  Fuck yesterday.  Fuck tomorrow.  Right now is all we're guaranteed. 

Maybe I'm anxious because this is my first trip being single, which seems kind of a lame reason to have anxiety.  But that's what my gut is telling me.  I can't call home in a panic and know that someone will be there for me as their first priority.  I'm not anyone's first priority anymore.  Which should be fine.  I lived the first half of my life that way, because I was raised by wolves.  It's a familiar feeling and one I know how to do, just one I thought I'd left behind.  I guess you can never outrun your past.

I do have friends and family who would be there for me if I called in a panic, but I'm not the be-all and end-all for someone.  And really, I'm pretty fucking self-sufficient, so none of this will probably even matter.  And yet, it does.  Now.

Breathe, Wendy.

Here's where I give myself the first of many pep-talks. 

"Suck it up, Buttercup.  You're fucking fine.  In fact, you're almost living large, 13 days migraine-free and counting."  My friends' advice ranged from "start drinking heavily" to "better living through pharmaceuticals."  I'm leaning toward the old-fashioned method of aversive conditioning.  Yes, I did just add a rubber-band to my packing list.  For those unfamiliar with this method, it's pretty fkn easy.  Just snap the rubber-band any time you start doing something you'd prefer not to.  Also, if you need one in an emergency, they're pretty easy to find, unlike alcohol at 6 am.

I keep hoping that I'll run out of 'firsts' soon.  My first business trip alone.   My first birthday alone.  My first holiday season alone.  I may boycott Christmas this year.  Don't worry, it won't be in a chickenshit Starbucks kind of way.  I'll still wish you a Happy Christmas.  I just won't be buying and decorating a tree for Kitten and me.

[As you might have surmised, I had to take a business trip, which I haven't done in several months.  And because I'm a paranoid mofo, I'm posting this after I've returned, so no one breaks in and kills my house-sitter.  But I wrote all my posts in real-time, so just go with it.  And know that I made it home safely, otherwise I wouldn't have posted this.]

Sunday, November 15, 2015

serious injury, Charlie Babbitt

Have you ever gotten a peanut butter injury?   Because the jar was almost empty and you were too lazy to get up and get the spatula but there was still some delicious peanut butter left at the bottom of the jar?  So you reached your finger in just at the edges?  And licked sweet ambrosia of the gods off one finger?  But then you had a hankering for more scrumptiousness, so you thought maybe you could reach in a bit farther?  And that still wasn't enough to satiate your fix?  So you shoved your whole hand in because skinny hands come in useful at these times?  And as you were greedily getting every last drop of divine peanut butter, the fkn stupid edge of the godforsaken plastic jar cut your hand?

Yeah, me neither.

Saturday, November 14, 2015


People always ask why bad things happen, which is a really troublesome question to answer if one doesn't believe in a higher power and mysterious ways.  Politics aside, the best answer I've heard is that terrible things happen in order to give us perspective.  To what degree would we recognize how fkn amazing we have it right now if we didn't appreciate that it could be ripped away from us in a split second?

Sure, your job may suck at times (whose doesn't?), but it's better than not having a means of making a living.  Yes, your family is annoying, but for most of us, they mean well and love us.  And sometimes they even make us smile and laugh.  Or make us dinner.  :)

Gratitude doesn't mean we have to appreciate having a shitty day.  Rather, it's the conscious choice to focus on the positive instead of the negative.  Let go of your co-worker's bad mood and focus on the paycheck that allows you to feed yourself.  Or the sense of purpose that you feel after completing an intricate task.  Let go of your family's nagging about your life's choices and focus on the last time they made you smile.  Or expressed their love.

That's the world I want to live in.  I try very hard to let go of the difficult health hand I was dealt and focus instead of what is working well for me.  Sure, I have debilitating migraines, but not in 12 days, bitches!  Yes my vision has decreased from that surgery (fuck you with a sharp stick, doc!), but my mobility is great.  [Perhaps I'm having a little harder time letting go of the vision thing as of yet.  ;)  Especially when my family annoyingly keeps fucking asking me.  It's a work in progress.  :) ]

Gratitude is not an easy concept to embrace all of the time, which is why these horrible tragedies like what happened in Paris, can at least serve to remind us to acknowledge and be grateful for what we do have.  Emotional hygiene isn't a skill that is frequently (or ever) taught.  But it's undoubtedly important.  Just like we wash germs from our hands or brush debris from our teeth, we need to cleanse negative emotions from our heart or brain or gut, wherever you feel like they're stored.

Right this minute, I'm grateful for a roof over my head, food in my belly, and people in my life who love me.  My house isn't fancy, but it's safe and doesn't let in the elements.  The food isn't always tasty (have I mentioned I suck at cooking?), but it's nutritious and satiating.   My loved ones are far from perfect (QUIT ASKING ABOUT MY EYE FFS), but they mean well, love me, and frequently make me smile.

What are you thankful for?

Friday, November 13, 2015

Lost kitty, found kitty

I was relaxing upstairs, reading in bed, after my Jasmine-scented Epsom bath.  Next thing I know, Kitten is yowling like she's being tortured.  I ran downstairs to see what the fuck was going on, even though I had a pretty good idea.  You see, she only makes that noise when she sees another cat.  Because she's socially retarded and can't get along with anyone. 

There on my back porch is a cute orange cat looking in at us.  I tried to quiet Kitten down and reassure her, but she didn't fully calm down until he left, about five minutes later.  I had thought about feeding him, but I didn't want to encourage him to hang out and make her insane, which in turn makes me insane.

I went back upstairs and was just getting comfy again when I heard a commotion out the front this time.  People yelling something about an orange cat.  I ran back downstairs and carefully slipped out the front so Kitten couldn't follow.  The last thing I needed was a cat-fight.  I found the owners of the orange cat and told them I had just seen him. 

They went running into my backyard, but of course he was gone.  The wife told me that Kitten goes to their house some mornings and yowls at poor, old, decrepit Thoreau through the window.  Don't I feel like an asshole, the mother of a bully.  Neighbor lady seemed to think they're just chatty friends, so I didn't disabuse her of that notion. 

I went out back and peered into the bushes, half scared that the possum would come charging out.  No kitty and no possum (thankfully).  I left Kitten on guard duty for the night.  I knew she'd alert me if he came back. 

It turns out she didn't alert me, but the dog next door did.  There I was trying to fkn read again, and the yappy dog next door was going nutters.  I went out back again, and there was the kitty, next door.  His owner scooped him up, there was much rejoicing, and everyone lived happily ever after.  

Now, can I relax?

Thursday, November 12, 2015


I passed by a few Starbucks' drive-thrus and am puzzled by human behavior.  I'm not a genius in the kitchen by any means as you may have deduced by now, and even I can make delicious tasting coffee (most days).  Why the fuck would you wait in long lines to pay 13 times the price at Starbucks?  Also, if you're doing it for the caffeine boost, it's much more helpful to get that boost before you leave the house.  Even if you don't have a kitchen, all you need is an electric outlet and access to water.  Just saying.

It's always a crap-shoot when driving on south Florida highways what one might find on them.  Today's theme was nautical in nature.  I saw a boat canopy and boat stairs, separately.  I'm just glad they were already off their respective boats and on the ground when I saw them.  Ironically enough, I didn't see any boats, just one smallish yacht, even though today is a gorgeous day to take your boat out.

For the love of all that's holy and my sanity, if multiple vehicles are passing you on the right, you're driving too slowly in the left lane.  Move the fuck over.  I don't care if 75 or 80 mph feels fast to you, move the fuck over.  For anyone who wants to know who the worst offenders are, my unofficial poll was equal amounts male and female.  However, today they were all white.  Fkn white privilege.   #FastLivesMatter

I took my regular trek to get my clinical trial migraine shot, hence all the traffic nonsense.  The same nurse administered my shot as last time, but her chakras weren't balanced today or something.  She hurt me with the blood-draw, and then the shot burned like 5 Suns.  C'mon, Wendy, don't exaggerate.  Maybe only 4 Suns.  

On the way home, I stopped at the store to get some groceries.  I had used up the last of the heavy whipping cream for my coffee this morning and needed to re-supply.  It turns out it's eggnog season already.  That sounded much better than half-and-half (this store doesn't carry organic heavy cream).  I know there's sugar in the (organic) eggnog, but I can adjust the sweetness in my coffee accordingly.  Speaking of sugar, why are there 63 kinds of peanut butters and none there without sugar?  Remember when peanut butter used to be peanuts and salt only?  Now, I have to make a special trip to the peanut butter grocery store, a.k.a. Trader Joe's, who incidentally also carry organic heavy cream.

The cashier who was ringing up my groceries was very friendly.  I will not say flirtatious because he was very young, and I refuse to believe that.  Lalalala (hands over my ears), not listening.  Anyway, we got to talking about my t-shirt (it was Dumbo with his magic feather), my choice of coffee condiments (he prefers butter but seemed interested in the eggnog and the ice cream ideas), and how my day was going so far.  I was happy he wasn't observant enough to see the needle marks on my arm from the blood-draw.  I had ripped the bandages off in the car to attract less attention.  Somehow that was a very long conversation for only 4 items.  No one was behind me though; I checked because  #FastLivesMatter.

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

outside out

How is that Americans love sushi so much that there is a sushi restaurant on every corner, but they hate seaweed so much that every roll by default is inside out (rice on the outside)?  Back in the day, when one ordered sushi, one would have to specify inside out if that was the preference.  Now, I have to ask for outside out, and no one seems to understand me.  What the fuck?  Sushi used to be a healthy meal choice.  Now so many options are full of over-processed white rice and fried batter, with little to no greens.  Way to ruin nutritious foods, Americans.

Rant over.  On to the crazy dreams, some of which happened on good sleep nights, and some during very low sleep nights. Over the past few days, I've dreamt of a bite of perfectly ripe avocado, ice cream, and a greenish, yellow-orange snake jumping on my long-dead mom, although she was very much alive in the dream thankfully because that would have been creepy as fuck, otherwise.  I'm going to assume these were all positive aspects in my life.  Because I can.  :)

Sunday, November 8, 2015

the snowbirds are back

Traffic on the roadways has thickened with furriners avoiding the cold weather for a weekend or a season.  Ugh.  [Pro-tip: Stay off the roads at rush hour if you don't need to be on them.   And stay out of the left lane of the highway unless you're passing or traveling at greater than 80 mph.]  Reservations are now required days in advance for most restaurants.  It seems way earlier this year.  Or maybe I'm still cranky from the fkn time change.

I went out Saturday night and heard many different languages, which I didn't recognize.  Some were presumably even in English.  G'damn kids today with their stupid syntax and their silly music.  Get off my lawn!  And stop with the cigarettes in crowded public spaces.  Who cares if it's legal or not?  It's fkn impolite.  And you stink.  Same with you, Mr. Pompous-Ass-with-your-cigar.  And, you, Mr. I'm-so-sexy-I-wear-a-full-bottle-of-cologne-when-I-go-out.

Before you think I've turned into Negative Nancy, there were commendable highlights, too.  I saw three adorable elderly women who came up to my shoulder, all decked out and painting the town red.  Way past their bedtime, or at least way past mine.  I saw the potential for loads of crime, and yet no crime, except for crimes of offense, as mentioned above.  [Another Pro-tip: Don't leave your phone sitting on your table in easy reach of people walking by on the street.  You're not in Kansas anymore.] 

Chefs are now competing for street cred and have upped their game.  The food everywhere is exquisitely delicious.  The wait staff are hired for optimal efficiency and smooth manners.  It makes me want to try so many new restaurants.  Until I remember that more than 20 minutes in most people's company makes my teeth itch.  I'd rather be home eating four day old chicken and reading a book.

Thursday, November 5, 2015

remember, remember, the 5th of november

Remember, remember
the 5th of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.

I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot! 

Apropos of nothing, I was reading an article about how the the concept of love becomes harder as we age, which is a depressing thought if you think about it.  They claim that intelligent, independent people have an even harder time falling in love, presumably because we think too much and don't believe in magic anymore.

Fuck that.  I reject their premise.  They also say that the more independent one is, the more likely one feels suffocated by a potential mate.  However, wouldn't an independent person attract another independent person?  And wouldn't they both feel the need to have solitude thereby nullifying the suffocation feeling?  Or am I being hopelessly naive?

Whatever.  No matter how intelligent or independent I may be, I still believe in magic; hence my magical hair.  :)

Magic is all around us in everyday occurrences and objects, if we choose to see it.  How does my cat know how to find her way home every morning?  Why does a feral-born creature even want to come back to a human for snuggles?  She's very independent, so technically we don't snuggle on a daily basis.  I guess I'm independent enough to be comfortable with that.  :)

Science has all kinds of logical explanations about everything, but until these are known, the results seem magical.  The universe is vast and full of possibilities.  If that isn't magical, I don't know what is.  Maybe I'm being simple-minded or trying to rationalize, but I see magic everywhere.  In fact every day that I don't have a migraine, I call that a win in the magic column.

And to help everyone's quest for love, here are some questions designed to either make you closer to your potential mate or perhaps show you quickly that you're incompatible.  This question made me laugh:  30. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?  Anyone who knows me knows I've cried in the last week (or hour, who's counting), although I do try to be circumspect about crying in front of people.  Not everyone reacts well to tears.

Remember, remember.  Magic is everywhere.  Don't forget to notice it.

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

chicken poisoning

My Italian admirer was at the gym again.  He was very entertaining this time, dancing to Maniac, and regaling me with NYC Italiano crime stories.  I almost started dancing with him, but I could barely walk after working out.  I didn't skip leg day, bro

Starving after my workout, I came home and cooked up more chicken hearts.  And greens, of course.  According to Einstein, I shouldn't leave raw chicken in the fridge for four days.  I probably shouldn't have texted him with "I'm dying from chicken poisoning, how long do I have left to live?"  It's okay though, I sent him a pre-death photo and asked that he remember me fondly.

[Speaking of pre-death records, have you guys watched this video about the herpetologist who documented his own death from a snakebite?  It's morbidly fascinating.  I love that he slept well after being poisoned.  Who knew that's all it took to get good sleep?  The scientist in me wonders if he had taken clotting meds, would that have saved him?  Or did he absolutely need the antivenin that he didn't have access to?]

I feel fine at the moment.  But Einstein informed me I could still die in the next 48 hours.  See how smart he is??  :)  If I do die, it was nice knowing you.  Even if I don't die, it's been nice knowing you.  And stay away from four day old raw chicken, even if you cook it.

What are the odds that I'm fine and didn't learn my lesson from this incident?  I'm guessing that as hunger hits, as per usual, I'll get less strict about what I eat.  I've also learned that years of ingesting probiotics have helped me with my reckless meat storage and ingestion.  In other words, don't try this at home, kids.

Let me also reiterate that I hate time changes.  Kitten and I are all discombobulated and fucked up with our sleep schedules.  We keep waking at 5 am.  Of course, she starts yowling at me around 6 pm that it's time to go upstairs and get ready for bed and snuggles.  By 7 pm, she's lost her ever-loving mind if I haven't migrated upstairs yet.  Like I said, all fucked up.

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

birthdays and lizards

Happy birthday to two very special people in my life.  I thank you both for all of the support you've given me and the laughter we've shared over the years.

Okay, mushy stuff done.  On to the banal.

Have you ever bashed yourself in the throat with the vacuum cleaner so hard you choked while maneuvering it down the stairs?  What?  That's ridiculous?  Yeah, me neither.  I also don't have a GIANT bruise on my knee from a kitchen incident.

I think Kitten must have gotten tired of baby iguanas.  I've had one living outside my office window for a few weeks.  Now, there are two.  Kitten is totally slacking in her cat tasks, although she does hang out on the printer and watch them from time to time.  Sorry for the shitty quality.  The window screen, their natural camouflage, plus my lame photography ability hampers quality photos.  The left one is tricksy to see.  And the one on the right is totally looking in and mocking me. 

Monday, November 2, 2015

fkn hate daylight saving time

I woke up in the middle of the night on Sat/Sun, all kinds of grumpy, and couldn't fall back asleep.  I ended up texting with a fellow insomniac friend who made me smile until I could catch one last hour of sleep before Kitten's incessant whining penetrated my sleepy fugue.  Of course, she's all out of sorts now, too.  Kitten, not my friend.

How does a one hour time-shift (doesn't matter the direction to me) disrupt my sleep schedule for so long?  And the better question is WHY FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY DO WE STILL PERPETUATE THIS NONSENSE?

DST fucked up my sleep schedule, and maybe because of a weather shift, too, I ended up with a horrible migraine yesterday.  One of the worst I've had in months.  And I'm an asshole and picked a fight with a good friend because I was cranky, hurting, and just miserable with my life.  Why the fuck is it human nature to pull people down when we're down?  Emma Peel called me because her sixth sense told her I was in despair.  No idea how she knows, but I was so grateful she did.  Boy, do I love her!!

After she cheered me a bit (plus several doses of meds, including an injection), I gave myself an attitude adjustment and apologized to my wronged friend.  Fortunately, one of us was mature enough to accept the apology gracefully.  I still feel like a schmuck, so here is another (very public) apology.  I've been officially forgiven, but an apology never takes the full sting away.  I'm hoping several will have a cumulative effect.  :)

I'm sorry I was churlish to you yesterday.  :(

Fuck you, DST!

Sunday, November 1, 2015

"how many kids do you want?"

I met my family for lunch at a mall restaurant yesterday.  Back to the snooty part of town again.  My brother asked how my eye was and wasn't happy to hear it's no better.  Get in line, fkr.  My dad jumped into the conversation saying his eyes have never been better.  That's when I called dibs on them when he dies.  My brother spit out his water he laughed so hard.

I decided to go shopping in the mall afterward.  Because I haven't been there in years.  And because at lunch, I admitted to my family that I suffer from anxiety.  And because I feel the need to force myself past it sometimes.  And to show my anxiety who's boss.  Today, anyway.

And then I get rewarded with lame pickup lines from Eurotrash hipsters.  I was wearing my new Mars Generation t-shirt because Launch Support was my Halloween costume.    :)   Eurotrash Man asked what Mars Generation was.  Trying not to judge a book by its cover, I thought perhaps he was a space geek.  But eventually the conversation devolved into asking how many kids I wanted, which is when I bailed.  I didn't want to hear about my perfect child-bearing hips, so I ducked into an up-scale women's funky boutique to lose him.  Fortunately he didn't follow; however I was prepared to hang out by the lingerie for as long as it took. 

I probably could have picked a better day than a Halloween Saturday to push past my anxiety.  Oh well.  It was cute seeing all the little kids trick-or-treating in costume.   One little boy had on an inflatable fat Sumo wrestler suit.  It was adorable watching him waddle through the mall. 

I stopped in another store to admire a blazer, and a saleswoman pounced on me.  Usually, they turn up their noses in disgust because I don't look like their normal clientele.  Maybe it was my magical hair.  Or perhaps my Launch Support t-shirt fooled her.  She told me how fabulous the blazer was, and she wasn't lying.  It was very nice.   She started with a size 4 (too large on me) and worked her way down to a zero (too tight on my massive shoulders and triceps, massive I tell you).  I said to her that I was deceptively both bigger and smaller than I looked, which she decided was a nice problem to have.  She settled on a 2 that she scavenged from a mannequin.  I almost bought it out of guilt by that point.  

But I didn't love it.  And it was $160.  Turns out that was a bargain after seeing blazers in a few more stores.  I'm not a fan of double-breasted blazers on me though.  It will go out of style before I wear it more than a few times because it's too hot to wear jackets here much.  She told me that my form-fitting paper thin t-shirt with the cap sleeves was bulking up the jacket and making the shoulders tight.  I'd have to wear a camisole under it instead, meaning I couldn't ever remove it at a professional event.  Not very practical.  I passed.

I wandered around a bit more, but I was done in and desperately avoiding eye contact at this point.  I couldn't make strides back to my car fast enough.  And finally back home in my bubble.  Ahhhh.