A Ceramic Fish Joint

The new season of Toddlers and Tiaras started last night. And if there’s something I like watching, it’s a train wreck of human behavior. Pageant reality shows are a goldmine! I was barely one minute into the taping when I heard the GEM of the show. A pageant coordinator was doing the little interview thingy and she helped break any stereotypes of both southerners AND beauty queens and their lack of intelligence.

Our theme’s in Paris. So many people love Paris. They would love to see Paris. And, Louisiana, French. It all goes together. That is our native. You know. That is our… language… here.
(pause)
We would like to get them a taste of Paris.

Seriously. Miss South Carolina couldn’t have said it better.

Wow, I never write anymore. Even this post – it was started at the beginning of the month. And all I managed was a title, which I deleted. I totally rock. (And I just looked – it’s been nearly two months without words.)

Oh – hah. Eharmony, the site that originally *rejected* me (and a bunch of others) just sent an email with tips to know you’re dating the right person. Since I haven’t had a date in two years – and haven’t gotten laid in about a year and a half – it just makes me giggle a little. Dating the right person. Eharmony, you didn’t even want me as a member back in 05 and now you want to help? (I really only tried to sign up last year or so to see if I could get in yet…if I was “dateable” material in their eyes. No clue why anyone would be so desperate to pay 60 bucks a month.

As an aside, I’m watching A Clockwork Orange for the first time in years and it’s just gotten to the scene where Alex is waving the giant sculpted cock around. Seriously – Anthony Burgess was a genius in writing the book and I don’t think there could have been anyone better than Kubrick to bring it to the screen. Also, I think it says something about me that I catch myself reciting the lines along with the movie. As a teenager I probably rented it a few times a month before finally buying it on tape in college. Nevermind the copies of books I have had over time. I think I only have one or two now, but I always tried to keep one of the original US editions (missing the 21st chapter, just like the movie) as well as a full copy.

Which, really, is kind of typical. I love, love, love having random editions of books. I have the totally awesome red edition of A Catcher In The Rye (bought for a quarter at Goodwill with a bunch of other classics) and four or five copies of Mrs. Dalloway. I sleep with a copy of selected poems by William Carlos Williams beside me and giant wobbly stacks of books on the ledge of my bed. It’s probably the best addiction I’ve ever had. The only downside is when I move, those suckers are heavy. Which reminds me of one time that Wes and I moved apartments in Tampa. It was ridiculous. We had an entire wall with boxes of books:

This is sad. I don’t have much to say anymore.

The priest in this movie reminds me of the psychiatrist in Office Space for some reason. Maybe it’s the pattern of speech…not sure.

Hmm, what else. Oh, I got a new car. But since I’m a Florida resident living in West Virginia and purchasing in Maryland they couldn’t collect taxes or order tags and whatnot. So I had to wait until I got the title – which came a week and a half ago. And then, I just kind of forgot about it. So I have temp tags running out in three weeks and no way to get new tags before those expire unless I either a)transfer the ones from my old car (which I kept) to my new one or b)get everything in West Virginia. I mean, I guess option C is that when my tags run out I drive my old car until I get tags but I don’t wanna. My new car is kind of amusing – it’s sort of a mom-car. I think it’s classified as a MPV (multi-purpose vehicle) which essentially makes it a cross between a station wagon, van and suv. Way less awesome than the cross-overs that are half car/half suv. Though I honestly almost bought a cross-over (Pontiac Vibe) but, all things considered, this was a much better purchase. It’s a Kia Rondo (here:http://www.nextcar.com.au/pl.kia.rondo.08apr.grey.u.640.480.JPG) which I got nearly brand new. It was an 08 with just over 20k miles and cost just over 11k. That last part was a bit of a stretch because it put me way over budget…and it doesn’t included the taxes and everything. That will be another 800 or so. Still, the car was bought in late 08 and it has a full warranty, including roadside assistance, for five years from purchase date. Which is pretty cool. The other downside is that it’s an automatic which I really especially didn’t want. I didn’t even look at automatics but when I went to the dealership where my dad got their car back in February, the guy showed it to me and it kind of fit. It was rough – they had a Mini Cooper that had just come in, was in my price range and was totally absolutely awesome. And I really, really like them. But – for moving this is perfect. And even though it’s a V6 (and freaking hauls on ginormous mountains) it’s really good on gas. It lists being able to go about 400 miles on one tank of gas but I can get to Baltimore and back (about 350 miles) for just over half a tank. So, yay for that.

Other things I’ve been procrastinating include getting my eyes checked and going to the damn dentist. My health insurance through COBRA runs out at the end of the month and I desperately need new glasses/contacts. And then there’s my stupid teeth. Yes, yes, I grew up and live in West Virginia. And I have bad teeth. It’s hereditary. Thinking back, I can remember going to the dentist as a kid and having more than 10 cavities even though I had regular visits and did all the brushing and crap. Now my teeth are literally crumbling. I have…FIVE broken teeth. FIVE. This after I had one super duper broken one pulled. Hi, I’m Heidi. I’m white trash. I have a feeling, though, that they are getting really bad and soft now because the stupid stomach thing I have (gastroparesis) can cause acid reflux. Then there’s the whole not being able to keep food down lots of times. My esophagus has tears all through it. So I’m thinking my back teeth are getting to be like a bulimic’s teeth. It doesn’t make it any easier that I’ve developed this huge fear of dentists. Oh well.

A final note: I really had forgotten how the imagery works so well in this movie. Also, I want a lavender wig. Actually, I think I want all the wigs. And one of the nekkid statues that serve milk via their nipples (when you pull on the giant phallus they hover over.) And, of course, the wobbly cock sculpture. Really, how can you not love A Clockwork Orange?

I am oddly conflicted right now. Well, maybe not so oddly. I don’t know.

Okay, so here’s the deal. I moved back to West Virginia with my parents after losing my job. Not only had I lost my job, but I had been in a serious car accident with some pretty substantial injuries (which I still suffer) a few months prior. And had spent about six weeks total in the hospital because of weird gastrointestinal attacks that also aren’t entirely resolved, but are partially helped by getting botox injected into part of my stomach.

I lost my job in November. I was actually recovering from surgery. When I wasn’t in the hospital I was seeing doctors five to six days a week for different types of therapy to try to help me walk normally and not be in excruciating pain. Painkillers helped, but that luxury was taken away when I moved. In any case, I was in no real position to look for serious work – at least nothing that could support me. My lease was up in just over two months. My mom had been living on my couch (she came down when I first got sick, we had the car accident and she refused to leave. It was super duper awesome. I actually flew my dad down twice to try to get her to go home…of course that’s when I started getting really sick again.)

Okay. So I moved here. I thought – I’ll go to school! I’ll just finish school and maybe have a better chance at getting work in a shit-ass economy. Well, first thing was trying to find a pain management doctor. I’ve gone to six and been refused by two more. I was taken off of painkillers right after moving back. I cannot express how much it hurts to have a herniated disc, a tilted pelvis, three bulging discs and a spine completely out of placement. I couldn’t finish all my therapy in Florida and am unable to find anyone who will continue the treatments I was getting. Instead, I got to have terrifying procedures where nerves in my back were burned. While I was awake. Laying on my stomach on a very small gurney. Sometimes the electro-current would cause me to involuntarily jump – which would cause me to get reprimanded as it was dangerous. You know, because a tiny needle was threading through a bundle of nerves to get to the right one…hitting the wrong one could have really, really bad effects. So it was scary when I would feel my entire leg burning when it shouldn’t. Or have random shooting pains in my ass/hip area. I did this four times then was told that I was either just faking my pain for drugs (six months after having them stopped) or that I’d never be better. Other doctors said it was because I was overweight and despite the incredible amount I had lost even while injured – either I would have never been injured in the first place had I been thin OR it would have healed quickly. Which, the first statement is bullshit but the second may well be true. But that pesky gastrointestinal problem? Really, really gets in the way when it comes to losing weight. I can’t have gastric bypass because my problem, essentially, is that I don’t digest food anyway. It stays in my stomach too long then, if I’m lucky and it goes to my intestines, it stays there too long. Again, botox helps but isn’t perfect. And I’m losing health insurance in two months. Wheee!

Okay, so there’s all this. I came back and was going to go to school in the summer. Then I got sick again which took me out of commission about a month total, including the week in the hospital. Then Mom had a stroke. And it’s been downhill ever since. After 5 weeks in the hospital because of the stroke, she was home less than a month before an infection sent her back. And back. And back. I think we’ve figured that she’s been an inpatient nearly 6 months since last July. She needs a lot of help. And, a few months ago, my brother moved back with his…uh…wife. Which, yeah. That’s just too long a story. Anyway, it’s either me or dad here to take care of her.

Meanwhile, I had been planning on moving this summer. I was waiting on a settlement from the car accident for fundage, which I got in late January. Now I feel a huge amount of guilt over leaving. After each hospital stay, mom is much weaker then gains a bit of strength back and is able to be pretty independent. And by that I mean she can get out of bed onto her bedside toilet, take her meds/eat/drink/etc if it’s within reach. She can’t get up and go to the kitchen. She can’t go to the bathroom. She can’t go to the other side of the room without help. And, if she’s still groggy from sleep she is very likely to either have an accident and/or fall while trying to get to the toilet. And a fall? Well, it takes two people to get her back up. Not only is she still a pretty large woman but when it happens she’s almost worse than deadweight. And lifting deadweight is hard. It’s like she works against you because she doesn’t understand and is being hurt. And the hurting part can’t really be helped. She’s so sensitive because of being mostly bedridden, which causes weakness and atrophy. Being sick so much makes her hurt. Her infection is caused by a cyst in her liver and her liver hurts. It doesn’t help that she has two giant drains with two giant tubes sticking in her stomach. And finally, some of her meds, especially the ones to thin her blood, make her bruise easily and just sore. So having to lift her with force is going to hurt.

So, yeah. I feel bad about leaving. I feel a sense of obligation to stay. I actually agreed to be a paid caregiver for a certain amount of time – roughly 40 hours a week at just below minimum wage. Which pretty much equals what I got from unemployment. Or, not a whole hell of a lot of money. Outside of the preset times when I watch her and handle everything (cleaning, food, all of her needs) I also take over during the shorter periods when he has to leave for whatever reason. I mean, this lets him go out to make some money but I certainly can’t take it all.

Okay, so there’s that. Then there’s some other things. First – I’m not entirely certain where I want to move when I do it. Second – I’ve worked in IT for a decade but have been out of the game for way too long now and I know it would be a hinderance. I wanted to take the time to get a couple certifications to make me look a little better on paper but just can’t seem to concentrate to do it. And there’s the whole moving to a new city and finding a job quickly before I spend all my money part which scares the crap outta me.

Then, there are a couple other things that have come up. First is an opportunity to take classes to become a casino dealer (on any table game – there are different classes for all of them and you have to train in at least two.) This is something that honestly interests me. I love poker. I grew up around this kind of stuff. But, admittedly, I am very nervous when dealing in live games – even super casual ones. Doing so in a casino setting would not be casual at all and there is no guarantee that I would be hired. You have to “test” for the job by dealing a set number of games successfully and I’m sure there would be a lot of wonky weird things thrown in. Still, something about dealing appeals to me. Especially the second game I’d be choosing, craps. It’s a very difficult game (and the class is actually almost twice as expensive as the others) but far fewer people can be dealers. But, if I were to go this route and succeed it would take roughly 6 weeks and about 2 grand. And, while dealers are paid low wages the tips are extremely high. At even smaller casinos a poker dealer can expect between $20-$30/hour in tips at the lowest stakes games; significantly more at large stake games. The downside (other than uncertainty) is that the place is about an hour away. But, at its worst, my commute in Tampa was nearly 90 minutes even if the distance was much shorter.

The other thing is going back to school. Again there would be a distance factor since the “local” university is insanely expensive. I want to finish school. There’s just some part of me that feels a failure without a degree. And people have begun dangling med school in front of me again. As much as I get frustrated taking care of my mom it’s oddly weird to be so in charge of her care and to know more about her specific situation than most of her doctors – especially new ones. It’s hard to explain, really, but I am so good at the whole medical side of things. Like, more than just nursing. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve figured out weird random medical whatever that countless specialists couldn’t. And I’m so comfortable being thrust into those situations. We’ve talked with Mom’s home health nurse a couple times because she’s always absolutely amazed at my ease in taking care of critical things (like a PICC line or Hickman port – both special long-term IVs that require pretty intensive care.) And, apparently she’s always worked in home health care – never in a hospital or nursing home setting. Never dealt with someone who has coded or a death. I have. No biggie, honestly. I know what to do and when to do it. I was actually working with my mom when I had my first death to deal with and she was the only one there who knew it was my first. And she, with 30 years of experience, couldn’t believe how easily I handled it.

I’m not trying to say I’m something super great. Just, I think I’m kind of a natural at it. And the stuff that freaks most people out doesn’t bother me at all.

Now, all this said – I am going a little crazy here. I hate West Virginia. I hate the cold. I hate living in a partially finished basement where I don’t even have a dresser for my clothes. I hate how the damn cold of the basement makes my back hurt and the wee waterbed with a wee crappy mattress gives me little room to sleep and makes me wake up unable to move. I hate the doctors here. I hate that I have to travel 2 – 3 hours to see a specialist. I hate that my friends have all moved away and I’m socially retarded and afraid to meet new people. I’ve spent a year completely alone, except for my family. I turned 30 with my cat in my parents’ basement. I’m “that girl.”

So I really don’t know what to do. I know that I truly am needed here and appreciated. I finally don’t have to share my car but it almost doesn’t mean anything because I rarely leave. I’ve actually even put off buying a new car, which was something I wanted to do right away, just because I don’t feel like dealing with it. Though, I think that might change. I’ve been peeking online and have found a couple I like. Actually, I believe I may go out today to test drive two cars and perhaps buy one. There’s one close to DC that I like also but that will be a pain to get to.

Conflicted. I’m completely conflicted. I want to be somewhere else but there’s something holding me back and I’m not sure if it’s legitimate or a product of my panic and fear. (My panic is named Pip, after the character from Great Expectations. Because I hate him so fucking much. Stupid Charles Fucking Dickens. I forget what fear is named. I’m pretty sure Wes’ fear is Fred. Probably I just named panic since the fear always leads to panic. Fucking Pip my Panic.)

While digging up information on the type of infection that my mom has, I discovered something really cool. She has an infection called Serratia and is noted for its reddish tint. The most common variant of the bacteria also has the ability to grow on bread, among other things. It’s actually been used as a “natural cause” explanation for Medieval claims of blood on the Eucharist by Pope Urban IV.

Science: 1, God: 0

Learning is fun!

So it seems like my legal battle over the car accident I was in during the summer of 08 is finally winding down. The guy’s insurance has already settled for the maximum amount. His employer (he was driving for a pizza company when he hit us) has finally stopped trying to get around it by saying he wasn’t clocked in/off the clock (but doing their work off the clock and representing their business with one of those handy plop-on-roof things.) And by being off the clock – or having someone else clock him in, they’re not responsible for his actions while he was being paid. And while his shift manager gave him orders to complete.

Now, my mom had far fewer injuries than I did. She also didn’t miss any work, while I missed a couple weeks from the accident along with a few hours here and there to see doctors. Which ultimately put me on a thin line that, once I got really sick and was in need of abdominal surgery/lengthy hospital stays, it gave my employer just the excuse to fire me. Of course, there were no contractual obligations to keep me employed, it’s a right-to-work state. But what I had been told by HR prior to my dismissal and what I was told when I was dismissed (including the letter I got) said that they wouldn’t honor a request for a medical leave of absence.

At the time that this was happening (and some of the threads HR made to before I was let go just didn’t seem altogether legal. I had been keeping copies of emails between me and HR/Management as it went down a slippery slope…but since I was in the hospital recovering from surgery when I was fired, my emails were all destroyed.

I have another legal team working on the medical side of things (completely unrelated to the car accident, it’s the random, not entirely understood illness that afflicted me which caused the lengthy stay in the hospital, surgery, then scrambling to figure out why I was getting worse after surgery.) Doctors in Baltimore are still trying to sort it all out. But I have a separate legal team investigating it, though that’s just started.

Anyway, in my car accident there are a total of 4 different cases being presented. There’s one from each person in the car (my mom and me) to the driver’s insurance company and then his employer. The insurance company had a state minimum cap on their relevant portion. My car insurance also paid into my own doctor bills, as did my health insurance in some cases. In any case, between my insurance and the kid’s insurance, I had well-surpassed the maximum available – much more when considering any moneys collected from the other party have the lawyer’s chunk of 1/3 cut out first. I believe before the lawyer’s chunk, I still have between 10-15 thousand dollars of medical bills not covered. Not including lost wages, reimbursement for meds and travel and all that fun stuff. Somehow even with the self-insurance and insurance of the other guy, and legal fees, my mom already has a sizeable surplus. Both of our cases were presented to the company who employed the driver with a demand for an outlandishly huge amount to provide bargaining room. Thus far, though negotiations continue, she has been offered 1/4 of the amount demanded. For some reason, I can’t get in touch with the lawyer to see what’s happening on my end since my bills are so much higher, as are my losses.

My mom may actually wind up with more “free” money than I do based on how my bills have been paid and/or kept out of collections thus far. I’m not sure though. In my mom’s case she was told to accept anything the second company offers because of certain little things in her case. I don’t know. Again, I haven’t talked to the lawyer in nearly two months.

Now, back on to the positive side of things. As the case is in the final stages of wrapping up, it seems – mostly waiting on all of our authorization to collect x amount and finishing negotiating for x+n to yield the highest amount for all involved. My mom had joked (I thought) that she would pay for certain things when she got a settlement from this. Among those things are: paying off fines for my brother, getting his license reinstated, buying us both cars. Mind you, the car part? Not going to be buying snazzy, brand new expensive cars. Just decent and affordable used cars. With my current one getting signed over to my dad. She can’t drive now, and likely won’t be able to drive again as she physically deteriorates from the strokes and on-going infections and liver problems that keep her either in the hospital or on bedrest at home. She hasn’t been able to go to physical therapy since June and has lost a lot of muscle tone as well as the memories of how to use certain muscles. Point is, she isn’t in need of a car because she can’t get outside without a lot of help. And I doubt she could make her legs understand how to use the gas and brakes again.

So, there’s been this talk for months now about her buying me a car. And Jeremy, cause he totally deserves it. It’s not like he gave up his car so that it can be used for everybody whenever they need it. Which really just means that Dad runs everyone to their appointments, work (when they had it) and where ever else. Then he does errands. And does his own thing. I drive the car, at most, twice a month. In just under a year, he has put nearly 40,000 miles on my car. Which accounts for half of the existing mileage when I came here. Me? I had driven under 5,000 (even with the 1100 mile move) between July 08 and Feb 09. I have absolutely no qualms asking or getting another car. Actually, right after I came back there was already an agreement to get another car for me that I didn’t hate and transferring the title of this one to my dad. Crap happened so it never came into play. Much like me never going back to school because of taking on the role of babysitter.

So, flash forward to now. It’s been almost a year. Which is just about the amount of time I can live with my parents. Plus, the year prior, either one or both of them stayed in my condo for 10 out of 12 months. My wee little condo. (Where I again shared my car with my dad.) It’s not been pleasant. So I’m obviously itching to move. I have been for a while. I thought I could save money easier, but it seemed like there was always a need to borrow my money. And while I’ve saved, there were some expensive things I’ve paid for (like health insurance coverage, doctor’s co-pays and medicines – all cost a hell of a lot.) I bought a couple of “me” things, only one totally necessary (the new phone, aka the $320 I’ll never see again…) Looking through bank statements I’ve done really well. And mostly my savings runs low when I’m not getting any income – big surprise. I can built it back up some afterwards, then it drops again when unemployment drops off before going into a new phase. I’ve actually been 4 weeks without any unemployment now, even though I’m qualified for it and it should have been set up – something is very wrong with the claiming system in that it won’t let me claim. And finding a job here has been a nightmare. I mean, the nearest job that is anywhere close to something I could do is at least a 2 hour drive away.

But, I understand I’ll have to move. I want to move. I hate it here. Not many people around here understand just why I hate living in a small town so much. But when I’m here, I am more easily guilted into doing things that I don’t want to do – like babysitting my mom. Or seeing the same people who hated me in school and who never got away from here. Not that fun to run into these people. I do have this nagging thought that I should finish school. Or something. As a FL resident it is immensely cheaper to go to school there. But will take a while to finish up what I need to finish. I wonder if I should invest a little money into certifications – like CCNA, HP-UX SysAdmin, Linux+ or even MCSE (or MCP.) All are more money out of pocket since I can’t get a student loan for them, but take less time to do so I could get it out of the way and into my repertoire to help in the job search. So that I don’t have to work on low-paid help desks the rest of my life.

Sigh. Don’t know what to do, don’t know what to do. I really want to move by late spring or early summer. Although I adore Tampa, I am not so sure it has what I need. The job search I’ve been conducting there is not promising at all. Austin has pretty good options there but part of me is still weary at living in Texas. I love Austin – plus Amber is there and a bunch of people had moved to the Dallas area (while I realize it isn’t close it doesn’t require booking a flight to see them.) Then there’s Seattle. The jobs there seem mostly to be contractual, which is a little scary. Especially for someone who needs steady work and good health insurance. But there are so many choices. And more of my friends have migrated there than any other place. One of them told me I should go where my posse is, which clearly is in Seattle. Mind you, I’ve never *been* to Seattle before. And am mostly going on the info from people I know there and their insistence that it’s the place for me/I’d be very happy there, etc. I mean, part of me is pretty sure my happiness increases with each mile I am further from my family. Even if it’s a short-term trip. Getting away has always been good. Seattle? Nobody in my family would ever go there. My parents love Tampa now and the long-term goal is to get my mom stable enough that they can go back. So, if I’m there…there’s always a chance they would show up. And then there’s Austin. Which is totally surrounded by Texas, freaking me out a bit. It’s suffocating sometimes. Awesome city, an oasis from Texas but still…sometimes Texas creeps in. Like when you drive past a random parking lot and some guy has giant longhorns just chilling there. That’s when Texas is scary. Cows with huge horns? Not quaint at all. But still, I do love Austin. I’m guessing that the best job where-ever will motivate me more to that place. No clue.

I just don’t know if I should spend any money on preparing to embark on this new job search to not start at the crap end again, even if it would mean me moving with much less money than I could be. Cause the classes for those certifications? Expensive. Also, the tests are expensive. And I no longer have an employer to pay for them…what with the one who agreed to firing me and all. Plus even though I decided to buy a new phone, I also need a new laptop. Stupid electronics and their love of death.

Hopefully I’ll be able to reach my lawyer on the car accident stuff this week. If everything goes as it should, I believe the settlement will be transferred to me around my birthday in March, maybe sooner.

Aye! I really don’t like making decisions. Too much at play. Not enough constants. I need Regular Expression man to swoop in and figure this out for me. (And if the “Stand back – I’m going to do SCIENCE” man decides to stop by, I wouldn’t complain. Science man is HOT. Regular Expression man just makes me feel inadequate, like my penis is too small. But he’s still totally helpful in the penis-undermining kind of way.)

Oooh, aren’t there “professionals” to tell you what to do with your life now? Life coaches or something? I bet I’d have to not lie in order for it to work, though. I tend to not be totally truthful to therapists and psychiatrists that are attempting to help me. Too much truth makes my (non-existent) soul itch and burn and I don’t like it.

The Christian Side-Hug. Gimme. Words, words, words. Filled with Christ’s love.

Sorry. This video is so weird and so creepy. Now it’s bad to “front hug” if you’re not married? Isn’t it worse to coin terms like “front hug” and “Christian side-hug”? Apparently baby Jesus cries when unmarried genitals are near one another or something. And these thugs? They’re getting that hot, hot shoulder action.

But, seriously. Christian rappers? I liked it when my rappers were represented by Death Row instead of the Holy Spirit. It’s creepy! Also, what the hell were those guys doing in the background? Increasing the demographics? (There’s the asian kid, the two girls – they needed to reach more people.) Also, in the very beginning, those guys in the back? Totally did a Tough-Guy Front Hug! OMG!!!

And the sirens are a little distracting. Unless it’s meant to draw attention to the bad moral choices brought up, it’s off-putting. Then again, I hear it when they’re talking about the Christian Side Hug. So, I’m confused.

In the sorta-running section of suggested topics of discussion, I’m going to tackle animal cruelty. This is an interesting one. Mainly because some of the super vocal groups (ahem) claim that there is animal cruelty occurring in instances where it just isn’t.

Now, I love me a furry little fluff-ball as much as anyone else. I have seen true animal cruelty up close on multiple occasions, and it makes me sick. My brother crushed his black lab’s leg by stomping on it because the dog got into his pot. Which, jee, you get the dog high multiple times a day then wonder why he eats the weed? Sense, you have none. He also killed a baby bunny, who was completely house trained and tame, simply because it was annoying him. He threw it against a wall.

Yeah. That’s animal cruelty.

He’s also been too lazy to get Actual Water for the dog we have now, instead giving him soda and beer to drink. And we wonder why a beagle weighs over 70 lbs. That’s cruelty. Or refusing to take the dog outside to use the bathroom then beating him when he relieves himself on the bed. Cruelty. (A side note, this poor dog has clearly been abused his entire short life. If you move your foot anywhere near him he jumps. If you yell at him for getting in the garbage he will hide or run away. And roll in poop. Just to show you. But he has so many neuroses now, made worse by my nephew and then my brother. It all started with his first owner, though. That’s how you find a pedigree show beagle at the pound.)

Okay, this isn’t about how my brother is a psychopath, but I hope it illustrates the people who are truly abusing animals. I am absolutely sickened by the claims made by PETA that greyhounds and racehorses are abused. And, unlike those making the claims, I’ve actually spent a great deal of time around these poor abused animals.

Which leads me to say, these animals are treated better than most beloved pets. For one thing, they are incredibly expensive animals and the owners want them to be happy and perform well. Secondly, their nature is to race. If you go to thoroughbred training farm, horses naturally race one another even when they’re not training. They are intelligent and they know when they’re doing well; they certainly know when they’ve won. Everyone involved with these animals: the owners, trainers and jockeys with horses are intimately involved in the well-being of their charge. Any trainer worth taking your animal to knows them intimately and knows what their limits are. As a general rule, owners love the sport and by extension love the animals; they would never allow their horse or dog to race if it weren’t in the condition to do so. That’s why there are so many scratches in any given day on race cards. The trainer and owner consult one another to determine whether it’s safe, reasonable and responsible for the animal to run. Finally, the jockey (on horses) is one of the most careful person. There have been many claims that jockeys simply beat the horse to get them to run. In reality, the whip is used to both guide the horse and to invoke an instinctual response to go faster. Jockeys are trained extensively when and how to use their whip; many forego it for most races. And, they get to know the horses they ride (a single jockey will ride at least 1/3 of the races in a day, so they cycle through a few horses…some of the more prevalent jockeys will have specific contracts to always ride X horse and come to know them well.) There are horses who will damn near stop if so much as touched by the whip, others won’t run without it.

But the important thing to consider in horse racing is that jockeys? Weigh around 100 pounds. A horse? Weighs a lot more. If they aren’t careful, if they don’t treat the horse with respect, if they are not acutely aware of what’s happening between their legs (heh!) and all around them, not only can the the horse get hurt…or die, but the jockey can as well. So, you know, they’re pretty in tune with what’s happening on the track.

Now to go even further, horses and greyhounds are indeed an investment. A beloved one, even. They are treated better than traditional pets. Well, unless you’re a bajillionaire with a staff to care for your animals. Although there are a few unfortunate exceptions, most race animals have fabulous and fun careers then are taken to pasture where they either are used for breeding or frolic amongst the daisies.

Now, let’s move on to other touchy animal subjects. Specifically, animal fights. See, with this I truly am torn. No, I don’t think that it’s super awesome to train your dog or cock (heh!) to be aggressive, angry and out for blood. And then throw them into a pen with one another to see who wins a fight. That’s pretty much not cool. But, you have to think about it a little. These are animals that naturally fight in the wild. Humans have domesticated (or segregated) them and bred out aggression. Though I haven’t slipped into movie quotes in a while, I can’t help but go a little Whedony here while taking a cue from Serenity; you can’t make people better. People are animals. Ergo, you can’t make animals better by weeding out aggression. It will backfire in some way. Maybe there won’t be Reaver dogs, but we’ve seen what selective breeding has done to animals (can you say Dalmatians and their many problems thanks to selective breeding? It’s like marrying cousins in West Virginia…doesn’t end well.)

But, the point is that there are animals that are naturally aggressive. Should we profit from this? I don’t know. I don’t feel entirely comfortable saying yes, but I would be lying if I said that there’s a way to make these fights disappear entirely. Hell, I live in a house with two cats and a dog. They fight. Especially the one cat. She goes outside and picks fights. We had an old cat that did the same. Our pets are not as domesticated as we want to believe. Plus, in the wild, most animals fight naturally. Maybe not slugs, but that’s likely just because they’re slow and couldn’t arrange a sneak attack. Then again, I don’t like slugs at all so I’ve never quite watched one. Usually I just shriek and cry. And take really high steps. Why yes, sometimes I do look like I’m from a Monty Python sketch. In any case, it just makes me wonder what right we, as humans, have to change the intuitive behavior of any organic system. I guess all this is to say that I don’t have a definitive answer for something like this. I’m honestly torn. One cannot suppress nature without disastrous consequences…but should we force laden traits out in the open? I don’t know that one.

Another area to ponder is culturally significant rituals involving animals. Say, bull fighting and/or the running of the bulls. The animals get hurt and killed. So do the people. But I have to admit that I simply cannot imagine a Spain without the bulls. It is so attached to the culture that it can be hard to separate the two. Then again, Japan has a bit of a history with killing animals ruthlessly. Shark fin soup, anyone? (Yes, they cut off the dorsal fin of the shark then throw it back into the water where it will inevitably die without its fin.) But then I have to think back to the animal world. Take dolphins as an example. Motherfuckers are mean! Gads of young women have these beautiful, friendly depictions of flipper permanently inked into their skin. But how many people know that dolphins are not only famous for being one of the few animals to have sex for fun, but also to rape for fun and…oh yeah…murder for fun. It’s not just a single group that learned the behavior, either. There’s currently a group of dolphins off the coast of Scotland and off the east coast of the US who simultaneously developed the desire to use their sticky-outy nose to beat other dolphins, especially babies, and porpoises to death.

Some might say that humans are more advanced and more sophisticated than their animal cousins. Some might also say that animals are in no way related to humans, but that just makes me guffaw. I personally believe we have way too much left to learn. Maybe one day we’ll realize that it’s just best to submit to our new insect overlords. Because, dude, ants are SMART. And totally my spirit animal. (Not really, it’s an old joke that means very little now. Still. Spirit Animal!) But how presumptuous to assume that we, as humans, are the most intelligent life form? I don’t buy it. We still have all this silly religious baggage we carry with us, causing insane wars over whose belief is right and whose dick is larger.

On a more personal note, I have no qualms with giving the dog a smack on the ass when he’s been horrible. I also tell him I don’t love him anymore and he’s not my friend. It totally offends him. The little panther? Yeah, when she’s bad, her punishment is being held. Corporal cuddling. As a general rule she’s pretty good, though, so I guess I just torture her. Ziggy gets squirted – a lot. He also gets to participate in corporal cuddling, but only when I’m trying to write or read or am otherwise occupied but he demands to be the center of attention. So I make him the center of attention until he gets all huffy and squirms to get loose. Then I continue a little longer before letting go.

Finally, this topic really struck me today when I learned a few new things about how vaccines are made. Did you know that the flu vaccines are incubated in a fertilized chicken egg? I’m not sure about other vaccines and am too lazy to do all the research. So, basically what happens is a fertilized egg aged ~9 days is injected with a live influenza (either the seasonal flu or current H1N1 pandemic flu) to incubate for up to 3 days. Then the virus is removed. And egg discarded, being all spoiled and such. Now, in the words of my Christian father, animals were placed here to be used by humans. For food, for labor, for companionship. Not to mistreat. And, well, Christian ideals are not always crazy. But it makes me wonder about PETA. And about the animal activists. Would they choose health over their belief that no animal should be harmed? I mean, we’re talking chicken abortion here.

Before I start, it looks like I’ve passed 500 posts on this here site. This doesn’t include the hundreds of posts I lost from my old domain or the hundreds on free sites. Still. 500. That’s good, especially considering I hardly ever write.

So, last week I asked a friend if I accidentally flirt sometimes. In short – yes. Apparently. Because my neighbor (who is older than my dad) started hitting on me. Well, I was confused at first – but I’m pretty darn sure he’s hitting on me now. Especially with the “if it weren’t for your father” *wink wink nudge nudge* statement last week.

Now, there’s another guy. Another guy my dad’s age. (Don’t get me wrong, I’m an equal opportunity fucker; it’s simply amusing that I’m now attracting men so much older than I am.) But yeah, my pharmacist. Well, pharmacist at the nearby pharmacy – the one I take my crazy drugs to so I don’t get questioned. He normally comes out to talk to me, like just chit chat and whatnot, but it was super busy today when I picked up my new antibiotics from the dentist (eeeeee! broken tooth!) But then I had to ask about another prescription that I only received a partial prescription of since they were out…then there was confusion. And since the little patches come in boxes of 4 but I’m prescribed 10 patches per month (and they don’t open the boxes there) somehow they worked with the insurance company. In the end, I wound up with 2 extra patches AND an extra refill. I’m still a little confused.

Anyway, once John the Pharmacist realized I was there he RAN out to hug me. And whispered in my ear that had he known I was there he would have come right out because I give the BEST hugs. All while his lips were literally touching my ear.

What’s going on here?

Also, let’s hope the antibiotics don’t take away the hurty in my tooth because then I’ll need a root canal AND a crown. I’m pretty sure I don’t because it’s only hurty along the gum line where there’s a shard of tooth poking my gum. Then there’s a lump in the roof of my mouth, which apparently needs to be seen by an oral surgeon. Mind you, I’ve had this lump (associated with a wonky tooth whose filling broke off) for nearly a decade. Usually it goes away with antibiotics but not anymore. And with the tooth all not an issue anymore, it should have gone away. I asked if I could put it off for a little while. Dentist says I need to go to oral surgeon right away as it looks like an infected taste bud. Did you know you have secondary taste buds on the roof of your mouth? I’m all about stupid human facts and I didn’t know that. Anyway, I’m kinda broke so I’m not going to go just yet. 2010 looks better for weird lumps.

Speaking of weird lumps, I am supposed to go back to the dermatologist next month to see about the not-cancer that was removed from my back. Which, dude. The scar left from that is HUGE. Since I didn’t have cancer and they refused to really look at any of the suspicious moles I still have (it was an exam of lifting my shirt and moving around my skirt. Didn’t even look at my boob-mole) I don’t think I’m wasting the co-pay to go back. I’ll just assume that one day I’ll get skin cancer thanks to my albino skin and years in the sun. And the many, many sunburns I have.

So, in summary: Old guys want to fuck me, I broke my tooth and asked for a change in antibiotics since the normal ones make me sick – except the new ones have WORSE side effects (like I have from my stomach problems,) pharmacist had his lips on my ear (see old guys wanting to fuck me…wait…old married guys wanting to fuck me) and, uh, ignoring various doctors’ orders. Seems pretty natural.

Oh, and for a little hypochondria, I’m now having night sweats. Like. Out of nowhere. It’s weird and gross and I don’t like it. Every single time I sleep, which is often since I can only sleep 3 hours again so I tend to nap, I wake up drenched. I wonder if it has anything to do with the weird, rapid weight loss I’ve had in the past week. Somehow I’ve lost 12 pounds in 8 days. And it doesn’t seem to be stopping. And I’m not nearly as sick as I normally am when I have a weird tummy attack which causes the random weight loss. So, uh, yeah. WTF body? Also, if this weight is coming off my tits, Imma be pissed. (Actually, it’s not…none of my pants fit correctly again. Still. Boobs. Important.)

I have writers block. You know. On my blog. Which is really more like life block, since I’m talking about myself.

That’s really sad.

I got hit on by my neighbor again. The neighbor whose youngest son is 4 years older than me. I think I flirt with people without realizing, which leads to 60 year old guys hitting on me. And really, I’m not sure I mind.

Sorry, I’ve been over here being all crazy and forgetting about things like time, space and my website. Totally good intentions just sidetracked by a little crazy.

Seriously. Crazy. Know how I said I saw Zombieland? Well, afterwards (a Sunday afternoon) I ventured to the other side of the mall to visit Walmart. Not by choice, but because I had to do things like pick up my mom’s prescriptions, buy stuff and uhm food. Oh, right. I was getting food for dinner. You know, impressed by my ability to do things like shower and get dressed and state my desire to see a movie when I thought few other people would be at a movie (was wrong) I was tasked with errands. And Walmart. Because I can totally handle Walmart even when I’m sane.

Yeah. Not so much. I have always shopped in the middle of the night and still had panic attacks. I loved Target but when the panic attacks started to get bad – I would retreat to the bed and bath section, practically running from other shoppers by ducking into new isles and calling my parents to help talk me towards the front of the store. Because I was acting out a fucking horror movie wherein I retreat to the back – where the zombies/monsters/slugs can corner me and touch me and eat me alive. (Yeah, this is why I know it’s inevitable and I’ll just become a zombie in the zompocolypse and always say that I’ll take a bite early and do the zombie shuffle.) But in all seriousness, I have super ultra mega anxiety and panic disorders. I totally shut down and can’t breathe, get all claustrophobic (even though I’m not normally) and feel stuff all over me and am hot and holy crap who took all the oxygen. Then the paranoia sets in when I realize this is happening to me IN PUBLIC. Even though the whole “public” part set it off. So I run from people, looking all shifty and/or hurt so people try to help me. Well, sometimes. Like that once. Usually I just think people are either afraid of me or are following me or both. Which ups the panic. Then I have to make it out – past the people – to my car. And driving sometimes makes me panic. No clue why. It just does. So panic + possible panic trigger = FUCK. And so I start taking Xanax. But it never works fast enough. So I chew it. And take more. And then a little more. And wait here’s some more. Now a Klonopin. Because I reason that I should have taken it to prevent the panic. Then there’s a fight in my body between the endorphins caused by the whole fight or flight sensation and the sedatives. And a few hours later I crash.

That is me in public.

Now realize at this point also I hadn’t left the house in a month – or since the last time I had seen my psychiatrist. The next day, I saw him again. And was told I should never be going to Walmart or any large store. And really that most people shouldn’t anyway. Also, I’m being shifted to his PA. Fucking hell. I liked this guy. But uh, the point is, apparently…I’m a delicate flower and need to stay in a padded room. Or something like that. Oh and was told I needed to move as soon as possible, and to never give my family my address again. No lie.

I realized I needed to go back to therapy (because I’ve been lying for months about my inclusion of therapy in my treatment. Hell, I’ve been lying about taking my meds. Antidepressant? I haven’t taken that since the first month. Klonopin? I truthfully tell about the extent of my panic attacks but don’t really share how non-compliant I am with remembering to take my meds. If I just take the super big dose of Klonopin 3 times a day I mostly don’t flip out about stuff. But I don’t. I take a few at a time to sleep.) I flaked for a week, started actually taking my pills but then blew off therapy twice, the second time without calling. I suck. Also I stopped my meds again. I’ve decided this will just be a week to suck and I’ll try again next week.

Anyway, despite being told to avoid Walmart, I was feeling particularly good on Halloween. I don’t fucking know why. Maybe it was the awesome Threadless shirts I just got. Or taking pills for a couple days. Or maybe the whole part where I wanted to celebrate Ziggy’s 3rd birthday and get him a cat bed. Whatever. Not only did I do the whole shower and dress thing, I actually shaved my legs, put on make-up and looked cute. My red bloody mess girl t-shirt, a black skirt and my black with stars shoes. CUTE.

I was all super focused, despite being thrown off by running into an aunt and uncle and a cousin’s kid right inside the store. FOCUSED. I dealt with the pharmacy (or at least the putting-in of prescriptions) then went to get myself a prize (make-up) but there were a bunch of people there. So I grabbed a bunch of things I might have wanted and threw them in the cart. Found shampoo that makes my scalp not hate me (yay) and went to the pet section. I spent like 30 minutes looking at beds. Which ones would be too big for Ziggy. Which not soft enough. Which too expensive, cause I love him but am unemployed. I had the cart filled with pet beds while three people were cleaning up spilled pet goo and/or putting stuff away around me. I talked to my dad to get an opinion between two beds and put the others back. And went to the little toys (and flea/itchy stuff – the dog had a liaison with a poodle and got fleas and the treatment didn’t kill them so upstairs is flea haven.) Found jingly balls which are a huge hit. Then went back to the pharmacy area and took my blood pressure. Insanely high with a pulse nobody would believe. I started to stand in line to get the prescription when one guy asked if I knew the guy behind me. Because I was being followed and watched. Two other people said they saw it, too and were really creeped out by it. Mind you, I was being followed/watched with my back turned to an aisle, sitting in the blood pressure thing talking on the phone. I was taken aback by this, but figured it was a fluke until I saw the guy! I had decided to skip the pharmacy because of the line and went down the aisle where the guy had been. A few aisles ahead, he peeked out from behind an endcap – clearly looking for me – while on a phone.

I shit you not. I went back to the pet section because I had been told we needed rabbit food and told the manager guy that had been cleaning stuff up and now putting things in place that I was being followed, people were creeped out, I didn’t like it and if it was security to make them fucking stop because I had been in that section between 3 workers nearly my entire time in the store and had done nothing besides put stuff in and out of my car while trying to decide. I saw the guy a second later, nothing in his hands despite all the shopping he had been doing behind me in feminine products, razors and deodorant, Halloween and now cat food and toys. Oddly enough, after I talked to the manager, the guy disappeared.

But what reappeared was worse!

I went to a seasonal section near the back to use the price scan thing to see how much the make-up I had scooped into my car was and what I actually wanted. Halfway through doing this, a really rough looking woman in her 40s (I guess, though it was a hard 40 years) with who I assume to be her husband asked me if my hair was dyed for Halloween. I said no as they kept walking past me. She shrieked “That’s scary!” and I yelled “Thank you!” which apparently pissed her off. She went on a rant to her husband about me, which provoked me to say that I truly expected more from an adult. She walked away ranting.

Remember, I was being stalked moments before this. I quickly finished what I was doing, picking out a kickass nail polish that looks like Dorothy’s ruby slippers (that really belonged to the witch) and went to look for batteries. And found the lady again. Feeling up for the challenge I told her that it was sad to see the fine art of couth lost on people today. Her retort? Oh, it still makes me laugh. “Yeah, well you ATE couth.” You know, cause I’m fat. I laughed at her and the sad little mind that could only come up with fear as a response to colored hair and a fat joke when she didn’t understand what I was saying. Because her husband whispered what couth was. He was completely quiet to me the entire time. It’s so funny. When I said that it was sad she only had a fat joke to defend her immature, bigoted and classless behavior I was told I had no couth, FATASS and something something out of her face (I was walking away from her) or something something it was going to be on. Oh yes. She just served me.

I decided I would rather not stay on her level throwing off insults but thought to myself how funny it was that this adult – someone who could be my parent – was acting so childish. And then I noticed she had something I never expected. Beneath the bull-dyke haircut (yes, I said that) one could clearly see a visible tattoo on the back of her neck. Of a kanji symbol. The favorite of 19 year olds nation-wide. The irony really struck me – she was edgy enough for a visible tattoo of some kanji symbol (which, seriously, most middle-age people aren’t interested in) and yet she was scared by some Manic Panic hair dye? I mean, we actually had some solidarity in both of us having visible tattoos of language. I guess the gravitational pull of my ass bends the light around me in such a way that one can’t see my wrist – just a flash of turquoise hair dye and mass.

So anyway, I went on with my shopping. Got candy for trick or treating, which was a total fail this year. Also cold. It’s always held on a Saturday in October, usually mid October and usually early afternoon. And it’s always well announced. No announcement this year. Dad asked a neighbor – the guy next to Dead Guy. Who is actually friendly and talks to people, unlike us. He found out and came to tell us that it was 6 – 8. Then he and I start talking about something totally random and I think he hit on me. The guy kept saying how his wife had lost her memory, was so sick and stuff and for me to come talk to him, come visit, give him a call, etc. And I was asked if I was single and living here right before that. Yeah. I think he was totally hitting on me.

Anyway, I got lots of candy – including gummy body parts which suck to eat but look cool – and other random stuff and came home. I had called to tell my dad about the guy stalking me and the lady – when I ran into the lady one last time (and got to hear her disgust at me again) before I came home. We did the candy thing – 12 kids came. More were around – we could see the cars and hear the kids. 12 came to our house. Admittedly we are at the end of a dark, dead-end street. And there’s a bend in the street 3 houses up in such a way you can’t really see us. Except for how we had huge lights and were sitting in the middle of the road with cars shining their headlights on us, then turning around. Sigh. Last year nobody was there for Halloween, but we’ve always been a favorite house because we give out awesome candy and buy too much so every kid gets a bunch. And kids remember us, too. Maybe because my dad won’t hand over the loot without them saying “Trick or Treat” and I might demand poses for pictures when I’m there. Maybe. But 2 years ago there were 83 kids; this year there were 12. I blame poor promotion.

Anyway, that’s my story. How I went out of the house three times in 2 short weeks. And totally handled the second time (which had drama, loads of people and family) after blowing the first time. I didn’t have a panic attack until I tried to check out this time, even. That’s huge! Of course I’ve been hiding for a week since it happened. And am realizing I only have one more week to build myself up for the doctor. Then I get tummy botox the first of December.

Oh, lots has been going on at home as well but it’s not nearly as amusing as me eating couth.