Vulnerarium®

Shit Girls Say - Episode 1

2011-12-14T19:20:00.000-05:00

This is why I don't hang out with chicks.

It's been a while

2011-11-14T21:32:00.001-05:00

I thought maybe I would start blogging again, and now I am, if only this sentence. Tweeting is easier. Coming up with 140 words or less... brevity is the art of wit. Oops, I went past that sentence.

Spike!

2009-08-17T13:14:00.002-04:00

Squeeky!

2009-07-15T20:34:00.002-04:00

Finally

2009-05-01T18:34:00.001-04:00

I found a man to love

Backin' mackin' & attackin'

2009-03-17T19:58:00.003-04:00

I'm going after a new bachelor degree.
Yes, it is "bachelor," not "bachelor's," believe it or not.
'cause you can't go straight into an M.S. in Computer Science in the States, folks.
Web. Design.
Yeah, that's right.
But, I'm still an amateur. So, bear with me. Critique me. Learn WITH me, not AT me.
Oh, wait, that's LAUGHING.
Ha. Ha, ha.

Anyhoo (what a stoopid woord), I have a boyfriend & insurance exams to pass & college courses & hamsters (long story) & career & car payment (I love my RAV4) & so much to talk about but so little time to type.....
....... & awareness that nobody reads this 'cept for me and maybe a few unlucky Googlers, but if everyone else gets to revel in his/her narcissism -- SO DO I.

I can't emphasize this enough

2008-07-28T22:13:00.002-04:00

This is not one of my tattoos.

On the table

2008-07-06T19:50:00.001-04:00

So now it’s Dante and Savannah . . .

2008-06-01T14:59:00.000-04:00

Did someone hex my cats?

Seriously, folks, this is getting ridiculous. Dante has a urinary tract blockage that's kept him hospitalized since Friday, and Savannah apparently cut her tongue on something and started digging at the side of her face because it hurt. So, now her left cheek and ear have been scratched completely raw and bloody. She's had a steriod shot, and she's on antibiotics, but it still looks GROSS. And, she doesn't want to eat because her tongue hurts. She's gone from 7.4 lbs. to 6.8 lbs. in the last month. I'm trying to get some Vitacal down her throat, but it's not easy.

A-a-a-and then there's the thing with Dante. Yes, he took after his brother Snickerdoodle and blocked. Woo hoo. Struvite and calcite crystals apparent in his bladder. Yanked his catheter out twice by rolling around and around in his cage. Great.

Dead cat, sick cats, old dog, school crap, work. I don't even want to get up in the morning.

Oh, and tomorrow is my birthday. 29 years. Happy friggin' b-day to me.

The gods themselves

2008-05-23T11:12:00.001-04:00

Report: New Zealand man tries to buy snack with pot
Man accused of handing pot to court security
May 20, 1:53 AM EDT

WELLINGTON, New Zealand (AP) -- A New Zealand man who offered to pay with marijuana when he did not have enough money for a snack was caught by a police officer who overheard his unusual proposal, a news report said Tuesday.

Wade Churchward, 28, went to a service station on March 22 in the capital, Wellington, where he picked up two packets of M&Ms candy and some potato chips, the Dominion Post newspaper reported.

Churchward, who had been drinking, began snacking on the goods while standing in line at the cash register.

But when he reached the cashier, he realized he did not have enough money, and instead offered a container with 0.042 ounces of marijuana and a pipe for smoking it.

Churchward failed to notice a patrol car parked outside and a police officer standing behind him in line - who promptly arrested him.

He pleaded guilty Monday in Masterton District Court to possessing marijuana and to several unrelated charges, the newspaper said.

Masterton police prosecutions section staff were unavailable Tuesday to confirm the details.

Churchward was released on bail and will be sentenced on July 3.
Marijuana possession is usually punished by a minor fine in New Zealand.

© 2008 The Associated Press.

Stevie-bob is gone.

2008-05-18T11:43:00.001-04:00

Yesterday afternoon, Stevie-bob’s breathing became labored. I rushed him to OSU, and he was taken back to the ICU, but nothing would stop his respiratory arrest. His poor little heart was just too weak. Before they could bring him back to me in the exam room to say goodbye, he went into cardiac arrest. He died while being held and petted by an intern and a tech that had been working with him on previous trips to OSU and to Capital Veterinary Emergency Clinic over the past two weeks, so he felt safe and happy. He was purring and “mushing” with his paws up until he stopped breathing. Five years was too short, but we got so much out of that time.

I’m so grateful for these past two weeks I had to come to terms with his terminal illness (hypertrophic cardiomyopathy). I thought I’d have at least a few more months with him, but I lived in the moment with him nonetheless. This past week, had he rallied and seemed to be back to his old Stevie-self, playing with toys, running out the back door when I let the dog out (and being caught immediately and carried back in), hanging out with Dante, eating with gusto, getting into the trash when dinner wasn’t enough, and cuddling in his favorite chair. And, of course, being petted and snuggled by yours truly. The last picture is Stevie-bob “singing” yesterday morning after breakfast. Even with Snickerdoodle and Dante yowling sporadically, it’s so quiet without my Stevie here. He loved everyone and everything. He even got over his fear of dogs eventually and accepted Whiskey as his “buddy.” Stevie-bob didn’t hold grudges, didn’t hold back from exploring and playing, didn’t hold back affection, played with the “little boys” when they were 2 months old and he was a “big boy” at 6 months, and took life as it came. It sounds trite, but it’s true: we can all stand to live a little more like Stevie-bob did.

For five years, the universe chose to perceive itself through a little gray-and-white fuzzball who grew into a handsome, cuddly, feisty cat. Stevie-bob is gone, but he’s not gone. That’s Soto Zen. Read up on it.

Be kind to animals. Be kind to each other. Be kind to yourself. Thanks for taking time to read this.

-Bez-

And you thought I was nuts?

2008-05-11T23:43:00.003-04:00

This woman went to her crazy place and lost her way back.

When little Stevie-bob is in an oxygen chamber...

2008-05-08T06:58:00.000-04:00

... you find out who your true friends are.

He has hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, and we're going to the cardiologist again this morning. He might have a few years, a few months, a few weeks, but nothing like the 10+ years I thought we had left. He'll be in heart failure the rest of his life.

I discovered this Sunday when he almost died. Everything was fine, then suddenly he was convulsing and spewing up fluid from his lungs. He was blue on the way to the emergency vet clinic. If I didn't live 2 miles away from one, he'd be dead. He had minutes left.

He still has a mass that could be clotting in his heart. If it breaks free, he'll die slowly in horrible pain unless I can get him to the ER in time. He'll likely still die, but at least he won't be in agony. No matter when it comes, I hope for sudden death. No thromboembolism, no CHF. I don't want him to suffer.

I'm giving him injections of Heparin three times a day. Someone has to be home with him at all times. And that is where the "true friends" thing comes in. It's amazing how many people have stepped up to help me or simply offer words of support.

"It's just a cat. You have more." Oh, really. Don't you have more than one kid? Oh, only one? Well, you can have another, can't you? That's harsh? Damn right. Fuck you. They're my babies. Sorry if you haven't any compassion for living creatures who can feel pain.

He purrs and makes "happy paws" while everyone pokes and prods him. He purrs and purrs.

Stevie-bob is dying

2008-05-04T20:52:00.005-04:00

Today, my little Stevie-bob collapsed and began frothing at the mouth. His lungs are full of fluid. He might not make it. He's at the emergency clinic in an oxygen tent. It's probably his heart. He was playing and purring all day today, then suddenly...

I feel empty, but my head is full.

After weeks and weeks, down to hours and hours...

2008-04-27T11:28:00.002-04:00

... I finally got a new set of wheels. Now I need to get a ramp for my dog. The costs just keep adding up, I tells ya.

RIP Little Girl 1991-2008

2008-04-23T17:21:00.006-04:00

Date: Wed, 23 Apr 2008 07:48:54 -0700
From: admin@bezumiye.com
Subject: Little Girl
To: anyone@anywhere.com

My family's 17-year-old cat, Little Girl, (who was my cat while I lived at home from age 12 to 18 and then part-time until I graduated from college) lost her battle with renal failure and heart failure yesterday. Mom thinks LG might have gotten some of the poisoned food last year, but that was because Mom was trying all sorts of different foods to try to get LG to eat because she was losing her appetite, so who knows which came first. Last January (2007) we took her to the vet, and LG was diagnosed with kidney failure and heart problems. At that time, Mom decided to support her at home rather than doing dialysis or something that would stress her heart even more by scaring her - she feared car rides and vet visits more than any cat I've ever seen. Some of us might go further with medical interventions with our own pets, but Mom did for Little Girl what she has asked us to do for her. That's just how my family is.

My brother kept her water fountain clean and full of cold water, which kept LG drinking on her own up until a few days ago. We've probably given her every brand of cat food or human food during the last year to keep her eating, in addition to giving her a high-calorie, high-vitamin nutritional paste. Mom gave her a low dose of aspirin per the vet's suggestion to combat LG's joint pain. On Monday, Little Girl stopped being able to walk at all - she was too exhausted and was having neuro symptoms like twitching and jerking - and stopped eating or drinking. The earliest we could get a vet appointment was yesterday evening.

When I saw her last night at the vet's, she looked horrible - down to about 6 pounds from her original 16 a few years ago, unable to walk, having trouble breathing, completely unaware of what was going on around her. Her legs were swelling - a sign of congestive heart failure. The vet was surprised she'd made it more than a month from her initial visit in 2007, let alone more than a year. She was just too sick for any treatment to make a difference or give her any quality of life, so we made the decision to end her suffering. She's now buried next to our dog Sparky, who was her best friend until his death in 2000. She was a feisty, spoiled, cranky thing, and she'll be missed. But I find comfort knowing that she had a very comfortable life surrounded by people who loved her.

-Bez

Going somewhere?

2008-04-18T11:42:00.002-04:00

Check this out.

My finished tattoo

2008-04-13T19:58:00.004-04:00

You can see my finished tatt at myspace.com/thrillvuture on page 3 of the Naomi album. Here it is unfinished so you'll know what to look for.

So many things

2008-04-02T21:02:00.002-04:00

Things to write about
The power of the written word
The power of the TV judge
The power of the CNN HLN commentator
The power of 10 to the ninth

But until the gavel comes down
Silence

Yeah, I've been slackin'

2008-03-22T17:21:00.001-04:00

... and that's pretty much all I've been writing about.

This might make up for it.

I'm not dead yet

2008-01-31T21:05:00.000-05:00

New job
New meds
New hair
New major

What's next?
New eating habits
New stainless steel appliances
New counter-tops
New vehicle

But no new cats. Dear God, no more cats.

So I'm friggin' lazy and

2007-12-04T22:29:00.001-05:00

uninspired
un-creative (except in making up new words)
drained
pressed for time
suffering from a cold going on 3 weeks now
needing clumping kitty litter for the kitties who won't use the pine stuff
hating my job
needing some sleep

What are YOU gonna do about it, huh?

I got yer thanks right here, pal

2007-11-22T06:21:00.000-05:00

Happy Tofurky Day!

All is well

2007-11-14T06:47:00.000-05:00

Just busy.

I finally got something done

2007-10-12T06:47:00.000-04:00

My Naga Kanya tattoo is finally finished! I'll post pictures when it heals.

They never write, they never call

2007-09-20T20:29:00.001-04:00

That's my lawn cobra. You know how people name pets based on physical attributes, like a Persian cat named Fluffy, or a freakin' ugly dog named ... Ugly? Well, this is Deadly. Deadly the Lawn Cobra. He's made of concrete and painted gold, bought at a roadside shop off state route 23 in the middle of nowhere. And yes, his tongue is red.
Now, I realize that he isn't REALLY "deadly" since he's not technically alive. But don't tell him that. I don't want to hurt his feelings. Someday I'm going to make him little outfits, like the ones for those stupid goose statues. "Dress my goose." Where's "Dress my cobra," huh? It's discriminatory, I tells ya. He could have a Santa Claus costume with a little hat. I can't make shoes for him, what with no feet and all. But maybe a tail warmer. I think he's a cross-dresser at heart, so I can put him in a frilly Easter dress in the spring. I don't think he'll mind.

Bloodletting

2007-08-28T20:39:00.000-04:00

This spring, there was a new face among the feral cats my mother feeds at the rural township office where she works evenings and weekends as the elected fiscal officer. He would dash in and snatch food after the other cats finished eating, running off into the dense scrub surrounding a nearby property. Soon, he became less timid. Then, he became downright aggressive. The six-cat colony moved to a barn next door. Only one, Daisy, dared to cross the little gray-and-white cat's path. In fact, she downright ignored his hissing and posturing while she leisurely snacked at the feeders.

When Mom finally trapped him so that we could have him neutered and returned to his reign of terror, we decided to name him Grayguy. As he recuperated in my parents' garage, he didn't cower like a feral cat. Instead, he meowed and rubbed against the bars of the cage. After he was released, it became clear that this was no feral cat. He had been socialized at one point, then unceremoniously turned away from the only home he'd known. Wandering through the countryside, he probably never had a mama cat to teach him not to cross the road in front of cars. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

When my mother would drive up to the feeding stations in the rear of the property, Grayguy would come running to rub against her legs. He followed her around from feeder to feeder, tugging at her pants. She would stop and pet him, then set off for home. He often ran after the car, as if begging for her to take him home.
I spent months looking for a suitable foster home. Given his aggression towards cats - and his unknown FeLV/FIV status, for that matter - I wanted to get him into a home where he would be the only feline. Neither my mother nor I could take him, given our own living situations with multiple cats. None of the foster homes for the animal rescue/welfare organization I work with were open. I hoped that he would be safely inside before the winter.

Yesterday, I got the call that every rescuer dreads. A township trustee found a tiny, bloody body crumpled in the middle of the high-speed main road in front of the township building. As a farmer who is by trade familiar with death, he assured us that Grayguy's unceremonious end had been instant. Our little Napoleon was buried behind his beloved shed, close to the feeders he had claimed months before.
Sometimes, your best isn't enough. You tell yourself that you've saved so many... I still see his face, looking up at me trustingly while he rubbed against my legs, pleading with me, "Take me home!"

Mom and I talked last night. The other cats have begun venturing back. Grayguy had a good life, short as it was, eating all the other cats' food, chasing birds, greeting visitors. The end was quick. Painless. That's my mom, always rational.

...

That is, until she got to the township building for the evening feeding, and only Daisy was there waiting. No little masked bandit, scheming for his take. That's when she cried. Me, I started when I got the call, and I haven't stopped since. Sure, there have been breaks. I'm holding it together at work. But then I get home and see my little gray-and-white Stevie-bob, and it all rushes back.

In the end, it comes down to eight little words.

I tried.

He died.

Time heals.

Goodbye, Grayguy.

जोबुलितिस

2007-08-08T21:27:00.000-04:00

Everything I type is being converted to Devanagari. I can't figure it out. The title should read "jobulitis," which isn't a real word. At least, not until I made it up two minutes ago. But now it's in another freakin' alphabet, and whatever that says probably doesn't mean anything in Hindi, or any other language written in Devanagari script, for that matter. Dude. Tragic.

Iron sharpeth iron.

2007-07-15T22:27:00.000-04:00

"Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword." Jesus, Matthew 10:34

You know, there is some scary shit in that there book.

I'll write more later, okay?

2007-06-08T05:18:00.000-04:00

I been bizzies, aight?

In the meantime, enjoy theses lovely satirical pieces.

Who's listening?

2007-04-22T23:24:00.000-04:00

Who's reading?

Let's talk about starting school over again.

Okay, not "over again." Just "again." Getting my computer science B.S. in addition to a psychology B.A. Hoping to finish by 4/2011. Going on to a master's in computer science.

Will we have a big yard before Whiskey passes?

I'll either find him dead or hold him while he dies. That's reality. Reminding myself to live in the present & love him in the moment. Hugging my sweet pup as his tail wags, wags, wags. What a wiggle-butt.

Don't get me wrong. I love my cats. But worry times eight?

Oh, right, the number eight. Savannah turns 8 in May. Bece might be even older. When will they go? The younger ones could go first. A stroke. Diabetes. Cardiac arrest.

Or will it be me?

Penelope sits with her tail curled coyly around her body. Abandoned in an apartment complex when her owners moved. Probably bottle-raised... she doesn't know she's a cat. Cat etiquette is alien to her. She angers the others when she's just trying to escape.

They don't read her cues. She doesn't give the right ones. Pets are like their owners, their owners like their pets.

Oh, I apologize, not "owners," "guardians."
They are my children. I am barren. Not biologically - emotionally.

Drunk blogging. Why drink? Fear. Loneliness. Alienation. Going BACKTOSCHOOL.

Saw a movie last night - "Cursed." Christina Ricci acting her B-movie best. What happened, girl? Give me some "Ice Storm" already. Joshua Jackson. Werewolves.

I miss Buffy. Watching "Drive" for my Nathan Fillion fix.

Using too many gerunds. Is that what those damn things are called?

[whatwouldhappenifyoujusttyped?]

Yeah, that's right, a shout-out. Shout-out for common sense, for an awakening, for Gay Wa D. A traitor by any other name smells just as

They thought I was going to be a writer. Bez, the future English major, the one whose books would hit the Top 10. Did I disappoint? Perhaps. But most of all, I let myself down. Is that why I mourn? Why I eat? Why I lie? Why I lie there?

Can I ever let a man touch me again? It wasn't me with the - you know who. Inked up to his neck. Beautiful boy. Traumatized girl.

Ricci. Lolita.

I am sensuous, although all today's models don't match me.

Renaissance woman. Resume. Editing.

Too many periods. Speaking of which, I'm on mine.

Will I ever be able to close my eyes without expecting to open them, unable to move, with that thing on top of me? That slime mold masquerading as a man?

Will I ever love? Who will love me back?

Meow. The cat lady has a name: Eleanor.

Stephen King. Skeleton Closet. "Do you love?"
[theratstheratstherats]

Tidbits

2007-04-10T22:30:00.000-04:00

I told my mother about my tattoos.
What the fuck was Imus thinking?
I'm leaving for Massachusetts tomorrow on my Very First Business Trip.
I found a cat that had been hit by a car when I was in The Sticks to take my dog to my parents' house so my brother could dog-sit and now her name is Moxy and she's at one of the board member's houses & she's going to the vet tomorrow so they can fix her leg.
Where am I going?

I can't sleep

2007-04-01T00:52:00.000-04:00

My dog never seems to have insomnia.

Whazzup wit dat?

Words of wisdom

2007-03-25T15:55:00.000-04:00

Just because a bar is trying to get rid of their Wild Turkey because they're discontinuing it & therefore offering Wild Turkey with 7-Up for $2.00 doesn't mean you should drink 4+? of them, along with a hard cider, a vodka cran and a pineapple upside down cake. Not that I'm speaking from experience.

Ready to go

2007-03-24T21:19:00.000-04:00

Poked and prodded

2007-03-20T18:37:00.000-04:00

All by myself.

2007-03-18T10:16:00.000-04:00

And loving it.

Why do people have a pathological need to find dates for their single friends?

Yes, I am single. I am happy that way. I have yet to meet a man who adds value to my life. All they do is cause me more stress.

I.Am.Not.Looking.For.A.Man.

I'm trying to finish a few AICPCU designations before I go back to class in the spring for a BS in Computer Science. That'll be a second bachelor's degree under my belt, all on the way to an MSCS. I have nine furbabies to care for. My house needs a total makeover. I need to start exercising again. I barely even have time to see the people I love. There is no time left to meet people just because my friends want me to. I don't WANT to make time because I don't WANT to deal with dating. Not now, perhaps not ever again. But the important thing is, not now.

My best friend keeps trying to get me to go out with a hospital orderly who is allergic to cats.

Remember, I am The Cat Lady. I have eight of the little fuckers in addition to a dog. I have said time and time again that I will NOT even consider wasting my time dating someone who is allergic.

Another thing: call me a snob, but I will NOT even consider wasting my time dating someone who makes less than I do. Period. It always becomes a problem. I don't need someone sponging off me. Addition of value, not subtraction.

Third problem. I have an IQ of ... well, let's just say I won't be eligible for the Special Olympics any time soon. If you aren't too bright, what the fuck are we going to talk about? All the shiny things you saw today? If you're working as an orderly, you're either not too bright or not too motivated.

Which brings me to another important criterion for a potential date: MUST BE HIGHLY DRIVEN TO SUCCEED ECONOMICALLY. I've seen the misery of my friends who have to push their husbands to look for work, let alone to accept a job offer and then actually show up at their new workplace. I will not go down that road.

And, statistically speaking, he's probably not an atheist, which is mos def on the must-have list. Not that a lazy, half-witted atheist would be acceptable to me.

"But, Bez, you're fat and not too attractive, so shouldn't you settle for any loser who comes along provided he's willing to go out with you? You should be desperate! Everyone wants to be half of a 'couple'!"

Naw, it ain't like that. Too bad, so sad.

Of course, then my well-intentioned friends/coworkers/acquaintances are offended by my refusals, no matter how gently I try to let them down. They were just trying to help. I'm "ungrateful." I'm "afraid to be hurt."

"But, he's a nice guy!" They're always "nice," no matter how lazy, incompetent, dimwitted, allergic, etc. Yeah, that's right, I'm an uppity bitch. I know what I want, and "nice" doesn't even make the list. That's a no-brainer. Most guys are "nice." That's not enough.

So back to the allergic, minimum-wage dimwit. I thought I nipped this in the bud back in December. Then, as I was driving home from a wake with my face still swollen and my gums still oozing from the surgery, exhausted from the two insurance exams I'd taken in the past 9 days, worrying about getting my taxes done and my dishes done and my catboxes cleaned and how I was going to make time to pick up some cat food this weekend, my cell phone, which had been off during the time I was in the funeral home, chirped as I plugged it in to the charger. Voice mail. Guess who called my friend again asking about me. And, guess who really REALLY thinks I should go out with him?

How desperate is this freak? Another thing I can't stand: neediness. How clingy would he get if I actually met him? A stalker is not what I need right now, or ever, for that matter.

So friends, Romans, countrymen: let me lick my wounds in peace. And I am literally licking them - it's hard to keep your tongue away from a big hole in the roof of your mouth and lumpy gobs of tissue sprinkled with stitches. If you care about me, please don't make me explain my lack of excitement every time you come across an unambitious simpleton who is so desperate for a date that he's willing to go out with someone with eight cats even though he's allergic.

I know you mean well. I love you for wanting to make me happy. My contentment with the single life is so alien many, but being able to do what I want, when I want, all the time, is my utopia.

You may find that strange, but then again, so am I.

[]flavours[]of[]pain[]

2007-03-17T20:13:00.000-04:00

Gum graft tomorrow

2007-03-12T19:40:00.000-04:00

Two gum grafts, in fact.

Two subepithelial connective tissue grafts, if you want to be all tek-nee-col and stuff.

That isn't my mouth, BTW. Yet.

At least I get drugs afterwards.

No longer an unfriended-on-Myspace virgin

2007-03-03T21:15:00.000-05:00

Yah, someone dropped me as a friend on MySpace. OMFG. Whatever will I do?

Laugh my ass off, 'cause I been a drankin'!

No, actually, I was laughing my ass off prior to my first beer.

So I haven't been writing much lately. I think it's because my soul is being sucked out.

That's a metaphor. I don't believe in souls.

But I do believe that I am being drained of everything ME. All the tatts in the world can't save me now. Can't make me care that my waistline is expanding. Can't make me care that my house is a wreck. Can't make me care that I haven't done my taxes yet.

What can make me care?

Love is all you need.

Just when I thought nothing could surprise me anymore

2007-02-24T17:08:00.000-05:00

Someone googled "i wee on the floor when am drunk" and landed on this blog.

Missing

2007-02-17T20:27:00.000-05:00

I miss having a life.
Okay, that's a lie. I never had a "life" in terms of a social life.
(unhappiness comes from comparing what is to what you wish it would be. enjoy reality)
I know, I know, I know.
No, I don't. I know my life would be easier if I believed in the words of the Zen masters.

But I don't.
I don't have a zafu. That's my excuse.

I'm not being a good friend.
I'm not losing weight.

I shouldn't want to lose weight. I should enjoy who I am while working towards that goal. But when I don't eat, I want to smoke. I can't smoke. I promised.

I keep my promises... just not to myself.

Younger Bez promised current and/or not-as-young-as-younger Bez that she would be an 11/12 by now. She would be beautiful. Somehow, her hair would be black & wavy without perms or coloring. Her skin would be even whiter, smoother. She would be loved, wanted, needed.

Reality does not match fantasy = unhappiness.
I am my own unhappiness. My mind doesn't reconcile with my heart.

I am my own auditor. Internal and external.

I can't acheive the full lotus and my skin is going to hell.
I am starting too many sentences with "I."

Outside "I," she is bleeding.

How much is me and how much is the sickness? How much ME comes in a pill?

But, put another way, how much ME is released by a pill? Freed? Does it lift the grayness, or just ward off the blackness/whiteness?

I miss the white, but fear the black, because someday, it will be stronger than I. Stronger than she.

...

Yes, yes, I miss the white.

Snow

2007-02-13T18:35:00.000-05:00

12 inches of ice-sealed snow.

"If I still had balls, they'd be frozen right now."

Early AM 2-13.

Afternoon 2-13.

Early AM 2-13.

You know, I learned something today.

2007-02-09T17:54:00.000-05:00

Okay, actually it was Tuesday.

I'm an ENTP.

beetch beetch beeeetch

2007-02-04T15:53:00.000-05:00

Just when my mind started to recover, my body gets hit with some sort of bug. Ugh. Office life - one person gets sick, we all get sick, thanks to the non-existant ventilation and air circulation.

The good news is, it's not too late to watch Puppy Bowl III! Too cute. To effin' cute. And don't miss the kitten half-time show during that super-thingy everyone's so excited about.

Oh, wait, that includes me. Go, Peyton!

quickly

2007-01-31T22:37:00.000-05:00

I'm in pain.
I'm crying every night.
I'm fighting to keep from breaking down at work.

...

Why?

Genius has its limits

2007-01-25T05:34:00.000-05:00

Sex offender posed as 7th grader at two schools
PHOENIX, Arizona (AP) -- A convicted sex offender attended at least two Arizona middle schools, sat through seventh-grade courses and turned in homework as he moved around the state pretending to be 12 years old, officials say. Authorities in Yavapai County have accused Neil Havens Rodreick II, who is really 29, of assaulting a girl. They are not releasing details. more

Whoa whoa whoa - hold on. Just a minute.

The sheriff's office there said Rodreick conned two men he was living with and having sex with into believing he was a young boy.

What? WHAT?

He came to class from time to time, attending about 50 days until November... .

This guy could not pass for 18, let alone 12. He has creases in his skin that no 12-year-old has. And what about his voice? I haven't heard it, but no way he sounded like a child.

A spokeswoman for the Yavapai County sheriff's office, Susan Quayle, said, "This is the weirdest case I've seen in 18 years. If it wasn't so sad it would be funny." Amen, sister.

So besides the two men he was living with, how many idiots do we have involved in this scenario? Obviously, there is an entire charter school in Arizona staffed and run entirely by clueless morons.

Stiffler and Robert James Snow, 43, "were very upset when the detectives told them they had been having a sexual relationship with a 29-year-old man and not a pre-teen boy," Quayle said.

That's a brilliant thing to tell police. Instead of, "Oh, we knew he was an adult," "We weren't molesting a child? DAMN!"

This is truly scary. Nobody knows their neighbors. Nobody wants to get involved. It's "none of my business." No questions asked. It's Milgram all over again. If the birth certificate he's 12, golly, that's a 12-year-old, all right!

If it's in the papers, it must be true.

Naga Kanya tattoo: second sitting

2007-01-18T06:26:00.000-05:00

Shouldacouldawoulda

2007-01-16T22:41:00.000-05:00

The windows are drafty but the furnace works so & it's cold and hot at the same time

I'm annoying when I'm drunk - I even annoy myself - and I'm drinking too much when everyone else isn't

I need to clean my house ... always need to clean, never get it done

My prescriptions are more expensive or not covered at all since we switched health insurance companies at work

I should be exercising every day, walking the dog, lifting weights, anything

thinkhappythoughts

Clothes are bagged, haven't taken them to Goodwill

Dishes are in the dishwasher, haven't started it

Gotta buy more kitty litter

Must study for INS 22 and AIT 31 - hafta schedule the exam dates

Starting bachelor's degree #2 in April

Turning 28 in June

New state implementation on Saturday

Gotta pee now

Apocalypse Wow

2007-01-14T05:58:00.000-05:00

Ever heard of the Doomsday Clock? Well, now you have.

"Why all the doom and gloom, Bez?" 'cause I read the news, that's why. Time may run shorter on 'Doomsday Clock'

(Speaking of "da Clock," as the kids say, feast your eyes on a lesson in doubleplusungood web page design and downright wackiness: WILL THE FIRST RAPTURE AND THE TRIBULATION START BEFORE
JUNE 12 2007 AD?)

Okay, enough silliness. Back to the Clock o' Doom. Part of me says it's simply a subjective, meaningless artifact of the Cold War. But the other part knows that just because the post-Boomer generations didn't grow up with the threat of global annihilation - and therefore have limited to no understanding of what the Doomsday Clock meant to our parents - doesn't mean that the moving of the hands has no significance.

Hiroshima and Nagasaki might have company before all is said and done.

New URL - Please update your links

2007-01-11T06:21:00.000-05:00

blog.bezumiye.com has replaced bezumiye.com/blog/blog.html

Best new search that landed someone on my blog

2007-01-10T06:42:00.000-05:00

"Sneeze cold shit"

Sent to me with the subject, "Sadaam's cat"

2007-01-06T16:20:00.000-05:00

That is what a cat would do, you know.

Love me, love me

2006-12-30T20:28:00.000-05:00

I went with my mother to take her older cat to the vet this morning. "Little Girl" was MY cat when I lived at home. Now she's 15. She has an A/B block and a heart murmur. Since it's a holiday weekend, bloodwork wouldn't get done until Tuesday, and a sample drawn today would have gone bad, even in the fridge. Mom is a fed, so she has Tuesday off. She's taking Little Girl back then for bloodwork. They could do her blood sugar onsite... 92, perfectly normal. LG went from 15 lbs to 9 in less than a year. My baby girl. It'll be rough on Mom to lose her, since LG bonded with her when I left home. Time flies. She was six weeks old when we got her. A Himalayan got out and got knocked up by a big ol' tomcat, and LG was among the litter. I was twelve.

Knocked up - an accident - we all know too well.

Where did the time go?

My mother's back is getting bad. Now my hands look like the ones I held as a toddler. I can't be the last of the line, insanity/obesity/high blood pressure or not. Another daughter. Someday. I promise. I promise.

I've had a few hard ciders, a few glasses of wine. Before, in the afternoon, windows open, I began cleaning my closet. Eight trash bags for Goodwill thus far. A few more to go. Anything I can't fit and won't want to wear in a year. I found a shirt I'd forgotten that hugs my breasts, skims my curves. Maybe for tomorrow, for the new year, if there will be a boy around. No, for myself, boy or no boy. For myself.

Five pounds a month, and I'll be down around 200 in a year. Will I? I can. But will I? So much to love, but can I love myself? I say I do, and moments later, I don't. Such is being bipolar. Being a Gemini. Being a Fat Girl in 21st century America. Two centuries ago, and I would be the subject of paintings, envy, lust. Time. It flies, whether or not you're having fun.

Saving, saving, saving the money. A degree, computer science, second bachelor's, then an M.S. Maybe then the Money. Then the house. Then the daughter. Accelerated only by love. If. If.

Repetition. Repetition. My mind is loose, my fingers looser. Letting go.

Today I drew a card (my best/friend got me a deck for xmas). It was about living in the moment... tell yourself, "My life is perfect." It's the hardest thing for me to admit. Is it true? It must be. Everything I wanted... a car that got me from point A to point B, my own place, lotsa cats, a good job, a faithful dog, wonderful friends, independence. Perfection.

What next? 1+ infinity is.......

A crash involving alcohol

2006-12-29T16:01:00.000-05:00

Some circumstances/societal institutions/previous commitments are larger than individual desires; some stands can only be for one night. The other party's wishes afterward, even if known (which they aren't in this case), are irrelevant. In such cases as this, however, one can reasonably infer that the future holds only memories. Wanting things that cannot be brings pain, but knowing what cannot be and savoring what was... a delicious indulgence.

So, indulge me.

There are beautiful men, not in a "pretty boy" kind of way, but beautiful in the way that they make your heart leap and your breath stop when you look at them. Never in a million years would I have expected to share a bed with an Adonis.

Yet there I was. There we were. Skin against skin, ink against ink. Lean muscles to ample curves. Gentle, confident caresses, making me forget those that were not-so-gentle in my past. I felt safe. Warm. Healed.

Early the next morning, I dressed in the dark, certain that he would wake up and look at me with shock and disgust. Instead, as I sat on the edge of the bed fumbling with my shoes, he reached out, and as I laid back, drew me under the blanket.

If only I didn't have to let the dog out after being away all night, maybe I would have stayed. If only I didn't have a family gathering, maybe I would have gone back. But maybe is an ugly way to look at the world.

I drove home ondering if I was, perhaps, somewhat-almost-not-as-ugly-as-I'd-thought.
Maybe.

Now I write this knowing that I am beautiful.

She's so tired she can't sleep

2006-12-26T22:46:00.000-05:00

The Tarot does not predict the future. The cards do not come to you for a purpose. You draw, you assign meaning, you give your subconscious an excuse to tell your heart what your brain knew all along.

You see, I set off on the journey but skipped the sixth card. Now it's time to face Death, the Devil and the Tower again.

Bring it on.

Merry Xmas

2006-12-25T07:09:00.000-05:00

Everything in moderation, or else you might end up like this.

Just so everyone knows

2006-12-24T09:13:00.000-05:00

I. Am. A. Pimp.
Period
point blank!

Drunk blogging X2

2006-12-23T23:16:00.001-05:00

Well well well
Girl you know it's true
Yes, that's Milli Vanilli

I want to say
I want to say
I want to say

What is she saying?
Yeah, these are the best shoes
They are so nice
If you get used to them right away
But I bought a size bigger
No, Sandra bought a size bigger
But I wear a size 9 1/2
No John wears a 10

I have the best friend in the world

Fun with forwards

2006-12-22T05:09:00.000-05:00

The Graduate

Reaching the end of a job interview, the human resources person asked a young engineer fresh out of MIT what kind of a salary he was looking for.
In the neighborhood of $140,000 a year, depending on the benefits package."
"Well, what would you say to a package of 5-weeks vacation, 14 paid holidays, full medical and dental, company matching retirement fund to 50% of salary, and a company car leased every 2 years...say, a red Corvette?"
Wow! Are you kidding?"
"Yeah, but you started it."

The Gambler

Steve, Bob, and Jeff were working on a very high scaffolding. Suddenly, Steve falls 50 feet to the ground below and he is killed instantly.
After the coroner leaves with Steve’s body, Bob volunteers to inform Steve’s wife of the terrible news. Some two hours later, Bob returns to the work site with a six-pack of beer under his arms.
"Say, Bob, where did you get the six-pack?"
"Steve’s wife gave it to me!"
"What! You just told her that Steve died and she gave you a six-pack?"
"Well, before I broke the news to her, I asked her if she was Steve’s widow. And, she said she wasn’t, so I said I'd bet her a six-pack she was!"

The Office Christmas Party

December 1
TO: ALL EMPLOYEES

I'm happy to inform you that the company Christmas Party will take place on December 23rd at Luigi's Open Pit Barbecue.

There will be lots of spiked eggnog and a small band playing traditional carols...feel free to sing along. And don't be surprised if our CEO shows up dressed as Santa Claus to light the Christmas tree! Exchange of gifts among employees can be done at that time; however, no gift should be over $10.

Merry Christmas to you and your family.

Patty Lewis
Human Resources Director

----------------------------------------------

December 2nd
TO: ALL EMPLOYEES

In no way was yesterday's memo intended to exclude our Jewish employees. We recognize that Hanukkah is an important holiday that often coincides with Christmas (though unfortunately not this year). However, from now on we're calling it our "Holiday Party."

The same policy applies to employees who are celebrating Kwanzaa at this time. There will be no Christmas tree and no Christmas carols sung.

Happy Holidays to you and your family.

Patty Lewis
Human Resources Director

---------------------------------------------

December 3rd
TO: ALL EMPLOYEES

Regarding the anonymous note I received from a member of Alcoholics Anonymous requesting a non-drinking table, I'm happy to accommodate this request. However, keep in mind, if I put a sign on the table that reads, "AA Only," you won't be anonymous anymore.

In addition, forget about the gifts exchange. No gifts will be allowed since the union members feel that $10 is too much money.

Patty Lewis
Human Researchers Director

----------------------------------------------
December 7th
TO: ALL EMPLOYEES

I've arranged for members of Overeaters Anonymous to sit farthest from the dessert buffet and pregnant women closest to the restrooms. Gays are allowed to sit with each other. Lesbians do not have to sit with the gay men; each will have their table. Yes, there will be a flower arrangement for the gay men's table. Happy now?

Patty Lewis
Human Racehorses Director

----------------------------------------------

December 9th
TO: ALL EMPLOYEES
People! People! Nothing sinister was intended by wanting our CEO to play Santa Claus! Even if the anagram of "Santa" does happen to be "Satan," there is no evil connotation to our own "little man in a red suit."

Patty Lewis
Human Ratraces

----------------------------------------------

December 10th
TO: ALL EMPLOYEES
Vegetarians - I've had it with you people!!! We're going to hold this party at Luigi's Open Pit whether you like it or not, you can just sit at the table farthest from the "grill of death," as you put it, and you'll get salad bar only, including hydroponic tomatoes. But, you know, tomatoes have feelings, too. They scream when you slice them. I've heard them scream. I'm hearing them right now...Ha!

I hope you all have a rotten holiday! Drive drunk and die, you hear me?

The Bitch from Hell

----------------------------------------------

December 14th
TO: ALL EMPLOYEES

I'm sure I speak for all of us in wishing Patty Lewis a speedy recovery from her stress-related illness. I'll continue to forward your cards to her at the sanitarium. In the meantime, management has decided to cancel our Holiday Party and give everyone the afternoon of the 23rd off with full pay.

Happy Holidays!
Terri Bishop
Acting Human Resources Director

If Santa Answered His Mail Honestly

Deer Santa,
I wud like a kool toy space ranjur fer Xmas. I'v ben a gud boy all yeer.
Yer Friend, Billy

Dear Billy,
Nice spelling. You're on your way to a career in lawncare. How about I send you a book so you can learn to read and spell? I'm giving your older brother the space ranger. At least HE can spell.
Santa
*******
Dear Santa,
I have been a good girl all year, and the only thing I ask for is peace and joy in the world for everybody!
Love, Sarah

Dear Sarah,
Your parents smoked pot when they had you, didn't they?
Santa
*******
Dear Santa,
I don't know if you can do this, but for Christmas, I'd like for my mommy and daddy to get back together. Please see what you can do.
Love, Teddy

Dear Teddy,
Look, your dad's banging the babysitter like a screen door in a hurricane. Do you think he's gonna give that up to come back to your frigid mom, who rides his ass constantly? It's time to
give up that dream. Let me send you some Legos instead.
Santa
*******
Dear Santa,
I want a new bike, a Playstation 2, a train, some G.I. Joes, a dog, a drum kit, a pony and a tuba.
Love, Francis

Dear Francis,
Who names their kid "Francis" nowadays? I bet you're gay. I'll set you up with a Barbie.
Santa
*******
Dear Santa,
I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots for your reindeer outside the back door.
Love, Susan
Dear Susan,
Milk gives me the shits and carrots make the deer fart in my face when riding in the sleigh. You want to do me a favor? Leave me a bottle of Scotch.
Santa
*******
Dear Santa,
What do you do the other 364 days of the year? Are you busy making toys?
Your friend, Thomas

Dear Thomas,
All the toys are made in China . I have a condo in Vegas where I spend most of my time making low-budget porno films. I unwind by drinking myself silly and squeezing the asses of cocktail waitresses while losing money at the craps table. Hey, you wanted to know.
Santa
*******
Dear Santa,
Do you see us when we're sleeping, do you really know when we're awake, like in the song?
Love, Jessica

Dear Jessica,
Are you really that gullible? Good luck in whatever you do. I'm skipping your house. Santa
*******
Dear Santa,
I really want a puppy this year. Please, please, please, PLEASE, PLEASE could I have one?
Love, Timmy

Dear Timmy,
That whiney begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap doesn't work with me. You're getting a sweater again.
Santa
*******
Dearest Santa,
We don't have a chimney in our house. How do you get into our home?
Love, Marky

Dear Mark,
First stop calling yourself "Marky"; that's why you're getting your ass whipped at school. Second, you don't live in a house, you live in a low-rent apartment complex. Third, I get inside your pad just like the boogeyman does, through your bedroom window.
Sweet dreams,
Santa

Aspirin, anyone?

2006-12-19T20:00:00.000-05:00

I returned home minutes ago with these three little bastards after a fun trip to the vet:

Kismet

Dante

Snickerdoodle

Can you tell which one is the cockiest? Hint: he has stripes.

All inherited their mama kitty's set of pipes. And let me tell you, she is very, very loud.

It's a half-hour drive to the vet's office. We got underway during rush hour.

"Meow! Meow! Yowwwlllll, yowwwwlllll! EEEEEEYOWWWWW! Rowr, rowr, mowwow, rowr..." Times three, but in different pitches.

But I love them.

Bleeding you

2006-12-16T11:24:00.000-05:00

Only I may speak my name aloud.

If it's a duel you want, so you shall receive.

But remember: my draw is the quicker, my hand the steadier, and my aim... well... I never miss. Which you, my dear, cannot truthfully claim.

You can only win if you aren't afraid to lose (sometimes you find yourself by losing everyone else). I lost my fear long, long ago, a moment you missed. Too bad, so sad. What a beautiful horror that was, and then - free-fall.

There's no hitting the ground when you're falling up, you know. The wind is still rushing past, the air getting thinner, my body lighter, no more clouds, stars are brighter, farther and further, closer and nearer, clarity and purity and no more pain.

Red, red wine

2006-12-14T21:48:00.000-05:00

As one of my coworkers so elegantly put it when asked if he drank, "Only with other people or by myself."

I made ravioli/pasta salad and reverse chocolate chip cookies. You know, with chocolate cookies and white chocolate chips? Go, potluck-at-work. We're wrapping presents for the family we adopted. Oh, that poor single mom, we nice officefolks are being charitable, aren't we grand (Even so, I bought the little girl a beautiful coat - took 2 hours to pick it out).

Penn Jillette was on Glen Beck. Glen ranted about that Iranian president, Amahabajihadwaddagoatfucker. Whatever.

Drunk-texting is the new drunk-dialing. Good thing my cell phone is circa 1987. My thumbs ain't sore, biatch.

I was thinking about how I hated my breasts as a "tween." As a teen. As a woman. As a twenty-something, even. They were never perky. Oh, no, they grew straight down. D cups by the time I was twelve, and it didn't stop there. But they are more than a mouthful. More than a handful. An armful. Get out a wheelbarrow. They are natural, not silicone, pendulous, but they will make you weep with joy when you bury your face between them. I am no longer ashamed. Bow down, boys, and worship these girls.

Why do I hate my belly? Look at all those bountiful beauties in the artwork predating the 20th century.

I am ready to trust, to be open. Bring it on.

Alliteration abomination

2006-12-12T19:24:00.000-05:00

I am a sad and lonely shade.
That's not an affirmation but a transient truth.
Stop stealing my sorrow and subverting my suffering.
Try saying that 3 times fast.

Or maybe you're misappropriating my misery.
Or purloining my pining.
Taking my torment.
Looting my lamentations.
Absconding with my agony.
Gankin' my groaning.

This is my pain. Cease and desist.

U menya nyet prostudi

2006-12-08T06:34:00.000-05:00

I think the cold is gone. Nobody tell it I'm here, okay?

In the meantime, check this out. Damn monkeys.

How's the arch support?

2006-12-04T18:44:00.000-05:00

I still have a cold, and it's pissing me off

2006-12-03T12:38:00.000-05:00

I am one with my feelings. I am feeling that this lingering respiratory virus sucks.

Sure, it's not knocking me on my ass like it was a week ago, but c'mon, I got places to go, things to buy, kitty boxes to scoop.

While my physical health could be better, on the emotional front, the hippie meditation/affirmation crap seems to be working. I'm getting along better with people at work. Of course, that could be because they won't come near my desk while I'm honking and hacking through several boxes of tissues and bags of lozenges each day.

Normally I would call this a "spiritual" reawakening. But that connotes some sort of religiosity and/or metaphysical hoo-hah (that is the actual scientific term, yes). People don't tend to grok things like "cognitive realignment" or "rational-emotive behavioral modification," though. I can be calm and content without praying to Jesus / Buddha / Allah / Diana / Satan / Karl Rove / Krishna / Jehovah / Yahweh / the sun / etc. or channeling pixies from Zeta Reticuli; how do I describe it in five words or less?

P.S. I haven't gotten laid in almost two years. Can't a bitch get a little love?

Calling Obvious-Man

2006-11-30T06:49:00.000-05:00

1 in 5 parents say kids online too much
Here's a thought: don't let them spend so much time online. Yes, that's right, parents, you can actually tell your children to do things (or in this case, NOT do things) and they are supposed to listen! If they disobey, there's this thing called TAKING AWAY PRIVILEGES. I know it's old-fashioned, but hey, we're talking about little Dakota's future here.

Do I have to bless myself when I sneeze?

2006-11-26T13:24:00.000-05:00

I have a cold. No, wait, I should do an affirmation: I do not have a cold. I am getting over a cold. Oh, shit, or should I be enjoying the cold? You know what I'm going to do? Sit around in my fuzzy slippers and comfy fleece robe, read the paper, watch TV, and not think about thinking about my cold. Yeah.

Naga Kanya tattoo - fresh from under the needle

2006-11-25T17:05:00.000-05:00

Lil' bit of Buddhism

2006-11-25T10:22:00.000-05:00

The Four Sublime (Uplifted) States
1. Metta — Friendliness, Loving-kindness;
2. Karuna — Compassion;
3. Mudita — Joy, Gladness. Appreciation of good qualities in people;
4. Upekkha — Equanimity, the peaceful unshaken mind.

Mudita may be the most challenging to me: seeing the good in a person instead of the multitude of ways in which that person can harm me. But as Louise Hay points out, "Every thought I think is creating my future." So, here is my affirmation: When I go back to work on Monday, I will see only the good in my colleagues.

Notice that doesn't stop me from being a smartass, as long as I am friendly, kind, and compassionate about it. That's part of the joy, after all. I will poke fun at situations, not the people who created them.

Now, for those of you placing bets on how long the kinder, gentler Bez will last... I forgive you and bless you. Not without snickering, but I still forgive you and bless you.

Maybe I can pull this whole happy thing off. No, wait: I am happy. I choose to be happy. I'm laughing derisively as I type that, but dammit, I am typing it nonetheless.

Stupid hippie crap

2006-11-24T06:58:00.000-05:00

ili, bolshaia spasibo, bZerC

Is there a way to radiate happiness, calm and contentment, and still retain a cynical, skull 'n crossbones, dry-humor kind of personality? 'cause I'm really not into that whole kurta-wearing, crystal-loving, anti-science, la-de-da New Age hippie crap, but I want to be more forgiving, loving, expressive, self-loving (not the masturbation kind, the "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me" kind, you friggin' perv), self-accepting, and peaceful.

But listen: I don't want to be flaky about it. This cannot become a "Book of Mormon" commercial. I work in IT - I have to have that sarcastic, realist edge, and besides, that's a deep part of my personality. Yet I finally see the need to channel this intensity inside me as something other than anger and resentment.

Where do I start? When peeling back all these layers, what happens when I strip myself down to the bone? What's left? Where does the disease end and the self begin in the manic-depressive mind? Is there truly something beautiful at my core?

Can I accept that?

Do I honestly want that?

Am I ready?

Will I ever be?

Here goes nothing.

In lighter news, I'm going to get my Naga Kanya tattoo linework done tomorrow. It's going to cover the area of my right calf and ankle. Should be a long, painful day. Yippee!

She lives

2006-11-22T06:44:00.000-05:00

Here's the real story, the one they never told you in school: Stheno and Euryale sneak up on Perseus after he falls asleep on the couch watching Monday night football and snatch their sister's head out of the bag. Being the resourceful immortals that they are, they stitch her head back onto her lovingly-preserved body, utter a few incantations (as those ancients knew how to do so), and presto! Back she came, mad as hell, never to sleep without one eye open ever again.

Acceptance

2006-11-20T19:52:00.000-05:00

First Monday
When the fog slithers back into the Scioto
Eyes dry and wide
Fragile to other eyes for the first time
Mute among mutes
Counting contusions
Lacerations
Teeth or nails?
Wading through the day
Fingers ooze melodramatic cliches
...
So sorry, but pus has to drain
Maggot debrasion
Eats me clean again

Flames burn, purify or galvanize
My flesh will not apologize

post scriptum - fact or fiction?

No fate

2006-11-18T07:11:00.000-05:00

I go by numbers, not voodoo. I had an ex-boyfriend who was certain that if a coin had landed heads-up several times, it was more likely to land tails-up on the next toss. I hate to break it to the lady-luck types, but the odds are 50/50 every time.

Ohio State is #1.
Michigan is #2.
It's going to stay that way.

I'm going to be watching the game with one of my best friends, who is a die-hard Michigan fan (she's actually FROM Michigan, so that's okay). I'm an OSU alum, as is her husband. We're in Buckeye country. I wonder if she's going to wear her Michigan shirt to work today... she won't get any tips if she does.

Seriously though, this rivalry thing is out of control. I am actually worrying that people may try to do severe physical harm to Michigan fans who managed to get tickets to this game. Grow up, people. This is supposed to be fun. People on opposite sides are supposed to be ribbing each other and laughing their asses off, not throwing bottles at the other teams' fans' heads.

Oh, well, this is going to be an interesting one, and not just the game, but the aftereffects.

What a rush

2006-11-15T23:13:00.000-05:00

Never have I wanted so much to be a hottie. I would totally rob me this boy's cradle. Aw, yeah. James effin' Laurinaitis. :::slobber slobber droooool:::

Almost Thanksgiving already?

2006-11-14T20:35:00.000-05:00

I was trolling through my archives when I came across my goals for 2006. Let's review.

I will lose that 30 pounds I gained, and then some.
Try 3 pounds. That's right. 3 pounds. Next year: LAP-BAND. Seriously, this fat thing is getting ridiculous. It's been 20 years of dieting and enough is enough.

I will get a raise.
CHECK! Boo-yah!

I will swear vociferously, and often.
Fuck yeah, motherfucker.

A Republican senator will be involved in a corruption scandal.
Did I ever call that one. Boy, oh boy (no pun intended, Mr. Foley). Although I think he was a representative. Does that one from Texas count? The one who looks like a Keebler elf? DeLay? Or did that kick off in '05? Damn, dude.

One of my cats will vomit. I will step in the still-warm, gelatinous lump. I will scream loudly. My dog will eat what is left of it while I am preoccupied with finding paper towels to clean that crap up.
Nailed that one. Several times. Also slid in a pool of cat urine on a tile floor. Bad kitty. No more wee wee on the floor, okay? I know who it was, too... KISMET.

I will get another piercing and/or tattoo.
Flowers on my ankle, Kali on my thigh, hope to start the Naga Kanya before year's end.

I will learn to shoot a gun.
Shit, I'll have to carry that one over into 2007.

Bring Your Parents To Work Day

2006-11-12T06:30:00.000-05:00

'Helicopter parents' try to help their kids land jobs
Eileen Tarjan, a human resources specialist at NCH Marketing Services in Deerfield, Ill., says she gets tired of making offers to students, only to hear them say, "Can I have the weekend to talk about it with my parents?

Google "helicopter parents." Read up. You will no longer think that people aren't going into teaching because of the pay. It's the bratty kids. Parents, listen up: your kids are never going to become independent unless you let them. BACK. OFF.

Of course, there are always going to be those lazy bastards that don't want to leave the nest. They're never going to fly unless you give them a reason. KICK. THEM. OUT.

I went to college when I was 18. After I graduated, I got a job. I got laid off. I didn't move back to my parents' house... I got another job. Sure, it was for a temp agency, and I had no money for several years, but guess what? I did my own job hunting. I didn't have my mommy calling for me.

The scariest thing is, employers are HIRING these little monsters by including their parents in the process! Check this out: Helicopter Parents Now Hover at the Office

Please, don't let one of them wind up in my office. I think our HR director is too smart to let that happen. But what if...? ::shudder::

Where are these brats going to be in 10 years? What will they do when their parents become elderly and infirm? We won't have any more problems with "sandwiched" families, that's for sure. The parents will be in nursing homes and the kids will be out on the streets, stumbling around, crying for mommy and daddy to help them. They'll be jobless within days, homeless within weeks.

I'm going to be laughing at them. I'm a bitch like that.

Can't we all get along?

2006-11-07T17:31:00.000-05:00

Ky. Poll Worker Charged With Choking Voter
No Details Released About Motive

LOUISVILLE, Ky. -- A poll worker in south Louisville was arrested Tuesday morning and charged with assault and interfering with an election, an official said.

Paula McCraney, a spokeswoman for the Jefferson County Clerk, said the poll worker was accused of choking and pushing the voter out of the door. Election officials called the police and when an officer arrived, the voter wanted to file charges, McCraney said.

"That about tops off the day," McCraney said.

More details about the incident and the name of the poll worker were not immediately available. more

My leg at last

2006-11-07T06:41:00.000-05:00

This was taken by Naomi Fuller of Thrill Vulture immediately after she finished the tattoo. I will post a picture of the fully-healed end result as soon as my leg... um, fully heals.

Countdown

2006-11-06T20:11:00.001-05:00

Less than 24 hours until...

NO MORE CAMPAIGN ADS!

Mud enough for a million pies

2006-11-05T11:50:00.000-05:00

I'm glad that the day after tomorrow is Election Day. If everyone hates campaign ads so much, why are those ads still saturating the airwaves (or should I say the fiber-optic cables)? Our local paper had an excellent article this morning by Joe Blundo on what could be done with all the money wasted on candidates' smearing each other.

Last week a friend asked me if I planned to vote. When I replied that I did, she asked, "Why?"
Why?
If this had been anyone other than someone dear to me whose background and opinions I respect, my answer would have been something that would be "bleeped" during prime time, or any other time, for that matter. So for a few seconds, I felt like I was on the spot to come up with an actual answer. Upon further reflection, it boiled down to this:
Because I want to.
Because I can.
Because millions of men worldwide think I shouldn't be allowed to.

And of course, once that first point is offered up, no further justification should be necessary.

We agreed to disagree like the reasonable adults we are. Me an' Doo-doo Head. Nyah, nyah nyah, nyah, nyah!

Combating obesity in America

2006-10-29T09:10:00.000-05:00

...or not.

Fried Coke a hit at fairs
Abel Gonzales, 36, a computer analyst from Dallas, tried about 15 different varieties before coming up with his perfect recipe -- a batter mix made with Coca-Cola syrup, a drizzle of strawberry syrup, and some strawberries. more

'Freshman 15' really 5 or 7, but the gains don't stop
Possible explanations include more drinking... more

Being overweight tied to poor memory
It’s possible, according to Cournot’s team, that excess fat cells have some direct effect on brain function. more

Getting over yourself and others

2006-10-24T21:22:00.000-04:00

"I took the book from him reverently, and I gazed at these forms incomprehensible to me, but which revealed the immortal thoughts of the greatest shatterer of dreams who had ever dwelt on earth."
- Guy de Maupassant, Beside Schopenhauer's Corpse

When I was a first-year student at OSU, my dorm had an "open mic" night. Maybe it was called Coffee House. We'll call it Coffee House. There was a guy who always read his poetry. It was exactly what you'd expect from an 18-year-old suburban high school graduate whose parents made sure his self-esteem was high enough and his creativity was never stifled. Drivel. Pure and simple. Bland, generic, stale, lots of "darkness" and "emptiness" and such. Bad, bad poetry.

He called his opus "Immortal Thoughts."

His twin brother was named Rod and was a fairly talented artist. Rod didn't talk much. Make that, "at all." Immortal Thoughts boy had that covered. That was how we referred to him, "Immortal Thoughts boy."

One of my roommates took an introductory poetry writing class as part of her English major. Guess who was there?

Guess who dropped the class after the first workshop session, where people evaluated his Thoughts? His Immortal Thoughts, at that?

We surmised that he had never before received any honest criticism. He couldn't handle it. No, no, wait - we couldn't handle him. We were jealous, see? Someday we will recognize his genius and grovel at his feet. We simply were not prepared for those Thoughts.

Did I mention the Thoughts were... Immortal?

People who say they don't care what anyone thinks care more than the average bear, believe you me. Of course, sociopaths know that they don't care, but they are all about pretending to care so that nobody figures out that they're uncaring sociopaths because then they couldn't take advantage of said care-ers.

Sometimes we are forced to confront our caring, perhaps even our lack thereof, about others or about ourselves.

Embrace your mediocrity, for you are unique, just like everyone else.

Me, too.

With a rebel yell

2006-10-20T20:26:00.000-04:00

My Kali tattoo is finally done. I don't have a picture yet... I'm still oozing... it's burning... I LOVE IT.

More, more, more!

So tomorrow is Diwali. According to Wikipedia,

Diwali is celebrated for five consecutive days in the Hindu month of Ashwayuja. It usually occurs in October/November, and is one of the most popular and eagerly awaited festivals of India. Hindus, Jains and Sikhs alike regard it as a celebration of life and use the occasion to strengthen family and social relationships. For Jains it is one of the most important festivals, and beginning of the Jain year. Jains celebrate Diwali because Lord Mahaveera has gone to Moksha. It is also a significant festival for the Sikh faith.

My limited research suggests that it's a festival of lights which celebrates the triumph of light over dark. Strange to have such a celebration as the year approaches its darkest point (Winter Solstice). Some Hindus are really offended by the use of firecrackers to celebrate Diwali.

The victory of knowledge over ignorance is also a deeper meaning of this sacred time for Hindus, Jains, Sikhs, and Buddhists. Interesting that this falls just before the elections in November.

Never has this nation needed to banish ignorance, hatred, and darkness more than now.

Okay, maybe during the civil war.
And some other stuff.

Dammit, we need light now, no matter how dire the straits have been in times past!

Bottom line: Diwali, good. Ignorance, bad.

Here in my car

2006-10-17T18:16:00.000-04:00

My mother and I switched cars last week so that I could use her van to transport trapped feral cats to and from neutering appointments. When she returned my oh-so-luxurious '02 Hyundai Accent, she informed me that the "check engine" light had come on. So, today, I took it to the dealership so they could run their magical little diagnostics on it. Turns out that when she filled up the gas tank, Mommy dearest forgot to screw the cap on tightly. This cost me $125.00.

Of course, if I'd consented to the nearly $1,000 of bullshit services that were mysteriously omitted from the owners manual, that would have been $1,125.00. I might not know cars that well, but some of the things the "service writer" suggested sounded a bit iffy. I do need to replace my timing belt, but why the hell would I pay three times what my dad's mechanic will charge me? All I wanted to know was why that stupid light was on, and if it was something serious, to have the problem corrected.

I hate having my car worked on because I feel powerless not knowing if what I'm being told is accurate. Therefore, I assume that it is NOT. Unless they say I don't need to buy/fix/replace something. Then I believe them.

This is my next car (and if you think I'm kidding, just wait until you see me on the 6 o'clock news, bitches):

News quotables

2006-10-12T22:13:00.000-04:00

Teddy bear is a killer
"They might save your teddy bear, and keep it from becoming a killer." Full story

Controversial tree gets police protection
"It is not a matter of chopping down the tree but this is to counter a popular belief such as if [we] touch it, [we] will get sick or your cleaver will break." Full story

Spilled Cans Of Baked Beans Close I-4
"There are hundreds of cans of baked beans on the road." Full story

Canada troops battle 10-foot Afghan marijuana plants
"[A] section of soldiers that was downwind from that had some ill effects and decided that was probably not the right course of action." Full story

Talking about it

2006-10-11T10:24:00.000-04:00

National Coming Out Day
No, Bez is not gay. But since the National Coming Out Day theme for 2006 is "Talk about it," she figured she'd jump on the bandwagon.

In 1987, half a million LGBT folks marched on Washington, D.C. demanding equal rights, which may sound like a no-brainer for those of us who aren't religious zealots trying to ram our narrow dogmas down the throats of innocent bystanders, but in most of the world, being openly gay can lead to being openly dead.

I have never (and likely will never) understand why there are people who think they have any business telling the rest of us how to live our lives when these choices in no way cause harm to another's property or person. However, they are out there, and in this country, "they" are more powerful than ever, smothering our society with a blanket of hatred. Get with the twenty-first century, people. I find busybody proselytizers offer much more offensive content than two people of the same sex engaging in whatever non-violent, non-destructive acts they deem fit.

So why do I care about LGBT rights if I'm happily hetero?

Maybe the question should be, "Why the hell shouldn't I care?"

Maybe it's about compassion. Empathy. Freedom from tyranny by the majority and tyranny of the state. As cliche as this sounds, it's still true: when some of us are not free, none of us is free.

Visit Soulforce to learn more about the struggle for freedom from religious and political oppression of LGBT folks in the US.

why you should read the fine print

2006-10-10T12:49:00.000-04:00

"you cannot post a comment on a non-beta blog"
GAAAHHHHHH!

Bear with me

2006-10-07T15:44:00.000-04:00

I'm giving this beta thing a go. So if things get weird for a while, please don't leave me.

Sad/true

2006-10-06T17:18:00.000-04:00

Questions

2006-10-01T18:48:00.000-04:00

What did I do last night?
How did I get home?
When did I get home?
Did I have fun? 'cause I can't remember anything after 21 to 10. Next thing I knew I was on my couch with my skull splitting and a bucket by my side at 11:30-something with that damnable sun in my eyes. Pretty sure I crashed on a couch and drove home in the A.M. in a soberly fashion, but the trip itself is gone-daddy-gone.

I hope I didn't break anything.

Good thing is, I've remedied the problems below... except the whole car bomb thing. What the fuck was that all about?

No more Jack Daniels. I'm too old for this. Binge drinking is classic bipolar I behavior, and now that I can admit that this is what I've been doing on occasion - this is Blackout #2 - I can (WILL) make that the last blackout I'll ever have.

But speaking of Orange County, now I'm thinking I need to start planning my next trip to the home of my favorite expatriate Ohioan, the notorious S to the A to the V to the O to the U to the X.

remember when?

2006-10-01T00:30:00.000-04:00

...drunk blogging was dangerous?
...we were so crazy we would give up our best friends to keep ourselves safe?
...we lusted after married co-workers?
...we were only honest after car bombs?
...car bombs were not so politically incorrect we wouldn't blog about them?

Someday we will all die.
There is no ever-after.
That's why we give up our keys.

And someday, we will meet our heroes in O.C. after 2manE drinks.

Ruminations

2006-09-27T21:58:00.000-04:00

I wish I was this funny. Check out the archives. Example: Nothing can burst your fatherly bubble faster than hearing your daughter come home from a date and saying, "Some nights I don't know why I even bother to wear panties." (Dave Henry)

Also, the Top 30 Dick Cheney Huntin' Songs? Ah-oo! Cheney's Got a Gun. Love it, love it, love it.

Glurge-esque, but worth remembering

2006-09-24T09:40:00.000-04:00

5 simple rules can lead to richer, happier life
Sunday, September 24, 2006
HAP LECRONE

Q: Your readers might enjoy this powerful story because the five rules it includes can be applied to anyone at almost any age.

A: I agree and will pass it on.

A 92-year-old man, who is dressed each morning by 8 with his hair combed and face shaved, even though he is legally blind, moved to a nursing home.

As he maneuvered his walker to the elevator, an aide described his tiny room.

"I love it!" he said.

"Mr. Jones, you haven’t seen the room," the aide said.

"That doesn’t have anything to do with it," he replied. "Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not doesn’t depend on how the furniture is arranged. It’s how I arrange my mind. I already decided to love it. It’s a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice; I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do.

"Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open, I’ll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I’ve stored away."

Remember the five simple rules to be happy:

• Free your heart from hatred.

• Free your mind from worries.

• Live simply.

• Give more.

• Expect less.

Can't sneak past a geek

2006-09-17T13:08:00.000-04:00

Security Analysis of the Diebold AccuVote-TS Voting Machine

The AccuVote touch-screen voting machine has been hailed by many Bushites as the final solution to election fraud: a fail-safe, perfectly secure paragon of democracy in the 21st century.

Right.

Some true patriots (and I write that without sarcasm) at the Princeton University Center for Information Technology Policy write that "Our demonstration vote-stealing applications can easily be generalized to steal votes on behalf of a particular party rather than a fixed candidate, to steal votes only in certain elections or only at certain dates or times, to steal votes only or preferentially from certain parties or candidates, to steal a fixed fraction of votes rather than trying to ensure a fixed percentage result, to randomize the percentage of votes stolen, and so on."

Read the full text by Ariel J. Feldman, J. Alex Halderman, and Edward W. Felten here.

FYI

2006-09-15T17:30:00.000-04:00

There is an actual town in the state of Washington called "Humptulips."

Dissent = patriotism

2006-09-11T17:21:00.000-04:00

Five years ago, we received an outpouring of good will from the world after facing a tragedy outside the scope of most Americans' comprehension.
Soon thereafter our alleged president squandered that good will, along with his warmongering staff and political party.
Now, the Bill of Rights is being stomped on by the NSA, and the CIA isn't even ashamed to admit it's running secret (illegal) prisons for "terror leaders."
True, freedom isn't free, but soon we won't have much left to protect.
Yo, non-Americans: don't burn my flag. An effigy of a certain political leader, however... I'll send you some matches.

My team is also a delicious candy

2006-09-09T09:50:00.000-04:00

I'm a rare breed: an Ohio State fan who actually went to and graduated from the Ohio State University. I hated OSU football while I was there due to the traffic nightmare home games caused, but now that miles safely away from campus, well, I, too, am living vicariously through 20-year-old, 300-lb, 2-digit-IQ'ed boys in scarlett and gray on autumn Saturday nights. So choke on these poisonous nuts, Longhorns!

Crikey

2006-09-04T13:41:00.000-04:00

"Crocodile Hunter" Killed By Stingray
I think Nigel Marvin said it best, "To be killed by a big crocodile or bitten by a snake, you'd have believed it. But a stingray?"
Yes, the man whose show inspired Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny to go hunting for crocodiles, leading them to instead discover a "prehistoric" ice man, was stabbed in the heart by a stingray barb. Stingrays have only killed 17 people in the world previously, according to Marine-Medic.com.
Godspeed, Crocodile Hunter. We promise not to remember you by the dangling-your-baby-in-front-of-the-crocodile-you're-feeding incident, but by your zest for life and all things wild.