A Ceramic Fish Joint

Yeah, yeah…I knew this one already. I mean, the fights every year between me and my mom, my mom and my brother or me and my brother are a constant. My dad just takes all the blows and resents everyone more and more as time goes by. Dysfunctional? Hah. We are a fully-functioning dysfunctional family.

Anyway. About two weeks ago, my mom went to the hospital to have another drain placed in her liver as the cyst she has was growing. This time, they realized that it had turned into an abscess. Meaning, a giant glob of infection. So she was admitted to Ye Olde Hospital (of the formerly Catholic persuasion. There are still nuns wandering the halls offering prayers.) Now, the hospital systems (there were two hospitals that had merged into one administration like 10 years ago or so and a new hospital was built to hold everyone) were working towards the move. Patients who couldn’t be released by Friday evening were going to be taken by ambulance with a paramedic and nurse or nursing assistant. Mom was convinced she would be coming home prior to the move; that didn’t happen. Instead, she was moved to Swanky New Hospital.

I had visited her once at Old Hospital, but once my toxic aunt arrived I made an excuse to leave. Of course, it’s never that easy with family and I may have told her off, but whatever. I also visited once at New Hospital and had to deal with Other Toxic Aunt (and husband!) where there was another argument. Seriously, these people thrive on causing problems! It’s their crack.

But, I was still playing good daughter – making the phone calls and whatnot. Mom said she wanted Actual Thanksgiving Dinner. Of course – one car, her demanding my dad be with her all day every day (he would leave before noon and come home after 3am) meant I had to rely on him to buy stuff. Which didn’t happen until Wednesday evening. And I was pretty much over the idea of doing anything, but was guilted into going out with dad to buy crap. And then I woke up at 3am to start cooking so he could take her some stuff up early. I made breakfast for her. I made a mimosa for her. I made snacky foods for her until everything else was ready – so he could visit in the morning and come back to bring her dinner.

At one point, in the midst of everything, dad was on his way up to the hospital. Mom got angry that he wasn’t there yet so started making calls to everyone demanding to know where he was. (She couldn’t call our cell phones because they’re long distance.) Eventually I got a message from my aunt, called mom to see what was wrong – in case I could get one of the nurses to fix it or help until he arrived. She was having problems getting to and/or using the restroom. She can’t walk and has a hard time standing up without help, especially since she’s been sick. I told her that dad was on his way with x,y,z that I had sent and asked if she put on her call light.

Of course she didn’t. She wants family there 24 hours a day so that we can do everything for her. Because “they don’t help out here.” Bull fucking shit. I worked for that hospital system as a nursing assistant and she worked as a nurse for a very long time and we both did that crap. It’s what they’re paid to do. Especially the nursing assistants. If they’re not doing their job, then they need to be called out on it. Mom said that Toxic Aunt Number 2 had called the nurses station already over something and it really pissed her off. Because, let’s not make anyone work, right? So when I said that if it hadn’t worked to get someone to help her, I would be making a call. And if the nurses station didn’t cut it, I’d talk to administration.

She flew off the fucking handle. Then said I needed to stop putting my nose in other people’s business like my brother (wha?) As best anyone can tell, she really meant like her sister…still. I resent being compared to any of them. Because the help she needed? Without it she could have very easily fallen. She does fall. She is a high fall risk. And, dammit, it’s not reasonable to expect my dad to stay with her 18 hours a day and do all the work so that the nurses or CNAs don’t get overwhelmed or mad that they have to help. Fuck that. It’s their job. Again, I did the same job. And mom worked in a unit that didn’t have CNAs for a long time, she she did it along with all the nursing stuff involved in ICU.

Uh, yeah. So I told her fine and to have a nice life, then hung up on her.

And called dad and told him that if he wanted to eat, be prepared to visit the cafeteria.

Of course, after a few hours of being all angry and drinking a lot and taking a few Xanax, I finally decided to finish making dinner. Of course, I refused to eat. Because…that’ll show ‘em! Gawd. I swear I have the mentality of a 4 year old sometimes. Dad came home, ate, then went back to the hospital (without taking any of the food that I had spent 12 hours preparing – and had only agreed to do so because my mom wanted it.)

Since then, he has spent most of the time at the hospital. He left yesterday at noon and just got home a few minutes ago…24 hours later. Of course, as soon as he got home, she called and wanted to talk to me. She was lonely and wanted me to visit. And actually pulled the “weren’t you lonely when you were in the hospital” card. Uh, yeah. And you know what? I stayed lonely because I was alone. I didn’t have anyone staying there. When my parents were both in Florida, they would visit for an hour or so and leave. When it was just my mom? She just wouldn’t come. Completely refused. When I was in the hospital in Maryland right before easter, my mom visited once during a 5 day stay. She came with Toxic Aunt Number 1 and stayed for an hour. My dad came every day for a little while, then went to work. I got to have lots of fun procedures all by myself. I’ve had 2 EGDs completely alone. A barium enema alone. A colonoscopy alone. Nobody back in the room waiting on me. Nobody there prior to me going to calm me or ease any fears. Nada. And when my gallbladder was removed? My mom was there. Asleep in a chair. Thanks, mom.

So now she wants me to visit. And, honestly, I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to speak to her. I don’t want to be near her. I’m through with it. I hate how she treats me. It’s as though I’m simply here for her own amusement and to do her bidding. Dad might be okay with it; I am not.

Then there’s the whole part where she is likely getting discharged tomorrow, and they’ve (mom and dad) have decided she’s going to come home rather than a nursing home. Which, whatever. I just hate that it means dad will go out and I’ll have to take care of her. Then there’s the whole deal where I am scheduled to have belly-botox on Friday in Baltimore at Early o’clock (with a 3 hour drive to get there) and somebody will have to be here to take care of mom. That means either Jeremy will have to come out – and the thought of him having to help out because of me makes me want to puke. Or one of my aunts will have to come, though I seriously doubt either will be too apt to come out at 4am and stay until the afternoon. Especially since it’s kind of uncomfortable here. So it makes me wonder if I should just cancel the procedure, forgetting about the chance of having a normal stomach for a few months, just to avoid someone else having to help because of my own needs. Because it’s pretty blatant that nobody here actually cares about my needs; I’m beginning to wonder why I bother.

Anyway, beyond all that, Thanksgiving reinforced a couple things for me. Holidays suck, I hate my family, I am thankful for sedatives and alcohol and I am never celebrating another holiday again. Ever.

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.