26 September 2014

Walking things.

Yes, walking things.

Up until now, training has been hit and miss; a few miles here, a few miles there, but I’m ramping up in earnest. It’s not the number of miles I think I need to worry about—I can cough up 10-12 right now without any worry, I think—but toughening up my feet a bit. I’m slower than I’ve been in years past, but this isn’t a race, so that’s all right. I don’t need to be one of the first done every day but I don’t want to be the last either…and that only because the last walker of the day is celebrated: everyone rushes out of the dining tent and gathers around the flagpole and cheers while the last walker raises the flag.

It’s a special position, meant for a special walker, but I would be about 5 kinds of uncomfortable, I think. I’m an attention whore, sure, but the idea that 2000+ people will be watching me shuffle in and then raise the flag is a little more that my attention whorishness can handle.

So I want to walk at a reasonable rate, but not drag. I was a little freaked out about it in 2010…this year it’s a very mellow feeling. I’ll walk what I walk at the rate I walk; I’ll take care of any blisters along the way, I’ll listen to my body, and I will not forget to stop for lunch again.

What is a big deal for me this time?

I'm flying to San Diego. Alone. I do not fly well, as evidenced by my meltdown in the LA airport late May 2013. Granted, the stress level was much higher then—my mother had just died and we were on our way to her funeral—and the 3 Day is not stressful, just fun. I didn’t make it to my mom’s funeral (and I’m pretty sure she would have forgiven me for that) but I’m pretty sure I’ll be all right for this. It’s a short flight, I made sure to get a nonstop flight, and I paid extra to be sure I was on the plane in the first group so I can get my chit stowed in an overhead bin and get my asterisk into a seat before the throngs of people that might make me a little more nervous.

I kinda need to do this alone.

This is taking me so far outside my comfort zone that it’s a Big Freaking Deal. It’s shoving into my face more than one thing I hate: flying, flying alone, going somewhere new for the first time, going there alone, getting from point A to point B, alone.

The worries aside from my phobias, cortisol and blood sugar, I’ll just have to deal with. I’ll have a blood sugar monitor with me and hope that I don’t have an overly stressed response.But I want this to go smoothly, mostly because I would like to hop on a plane in the not too distant future to go see my sisters.

(My sisters who, BTW, are apparently walking machines as evidenced by the numbers being racked up on Fitbit. I am so lame by comparison right now. But I’ll show them. I’ll win.)

(It is a contest, right?)

Ahhh…and speaking of contests. You wanna know who wins, right?

But first...another prize has been added.
Five prizes, actually.
Five identical prizes.

Five people are getting one of these spiffy goodie bags; I gave a couple away a few years ago and people seemed to like them, so  I've added five of thee hard-to-find Komen string backpacks, and contained within are useful things. Pink things, but useful nonetheless.

And here we go.

Winner of the Samsung Galaxy Tab 4
#191 Jeff Blackshear

Winner of the Soleus Go Activity Tracker
#150 Caroline Hendrix

 And winners of the Goodie Bag:

#214 Eileen Hendrix
#223 Susie McGavin
#78 Mark Halfpap
#40 Brenda Mendes
#85 Joan Durbin

I'll be contacting each of you via the email you used when donating, so keep an eye on your email. Prizes will be mailed out as soon as I have confirmation of your mailing address.

Now...there may be ONE MORE PRIZE, but I have not yet firmed things up with the donor. I'll ;et ya know!



23 September 2014

So the collective is losing its chit online because the President saluted a couple of marines with a coffee cup in his hand.

The horror.
So disrespectful.
He's a horrible, horrible man.

(Yes, this is dripping with sarcasm.)

So tell me, how did you feel when President Bush saluted with his dog awkwardly pressed against him? Horrified? Disgusted?

The President, while Commander-in-Chief, is not required to salute at all. We can thank Regan for the change; he started doing it and it's one of those things hard to get away from. The President doesn't have to so much as blink at the marines who stand at the ready.

But Obama and his cup and Bush and his dog...neither is or was being disrespectful.

They're a couple of men who are taking a moment to do something they are not and were not required to do, by statute or even long-held tradition: acknowledging those who serve at their orders and for their needs.

They don't have to, but they're both good guys so they probably always will.

People need to get getting so butt hurt over stupid things. Cripes, we're bombing Syria. Pay more attention to that and less attention to the little things that don't matter at all.


22 September 2014 - b

Goal reached.

Fully funded.


22 September 2014

A guy or reddit, /u/Worldsday, created and posted this, and I have spent way too much time just staring at it.

You're welcome.


19 September 2014 close.

As of 8 pm, I am at 88% of goal, so just $270 shy of y'all getting to see me don the spandex and sing. Which, after having given some singing a go this past week, is a kindness to you all. It was bad. Really bad.


All is not lost. You still might get something out of it!

Everyone who donated is in the running for a couple of really cool prizes. For every $5 you donated, you get a shot at winning. And it's not over--if you haven't yet donated you still can.

What's up for grabs?

Soleus Go Activity Tracker
It's a fitness watch band that you can connect to your phone via Bluetooth, and it has a 3D accelerometer, step counter, rechargeable battery, shows calories burned, sleep pattern tracking, fitness goal tracking, and has vibration alerts. And yes, I am holding it with my feet.

Samsung Galaxy Tab 4 7-inch tablet

An Android tablet running Kit Kat 4.4 OS with 1.2 GHz quad-core processor,8 GB Flash Memory, 1.5 GB RAM Memory, 2GB of memory available through a microSD slot and 50GB of free Dropbox storage, and it comes with over $300 in content and services.

There may be a few more smaller prizes up for grabs, but hey...these are pretty spiffy. 

Let's make this a quick one. Deadline to have a shot at one of these is 8 pm Pacific time, September 26th. And so you don't worry about that one huge donation that got me started...half of that was a cash prize I won, and the other half was a Pay Pal donation from someone who took herself out of the running for anything right from the start (but is demanding pink hair), so all those five dollar increments will not be included.

I only have $270 to the minimum I need to raise in order to be able to walk. Let's do this!

Donate $5! $10! $15! However man chances you want!


18 September 2014

There are at least 13 people who are trying to use my email address for various things. Most of the time it's clear they just simply forgot a digit or two when giving it to people--for their kids' activities, one to a Realtor who keeps scheduling appointments via email, a couple for school and I now know their grades--but tonight I got one that was clearly not meant for me.
I'm sorry, but I can't be friends with you anymore. You know why.
It's not from anyone I know, so I'm pretty sure I'm not being dumped by a friend or even a casual acquaintance.

So I replied.
I'm sorry. Who are you?
I doubt I'll get a response, but I'd like to think I helped whomever it was intended for get a bit of a dig in. If not, well...really, who the fark are you?


16 September 2014

Oh, yeah...there will be
Details forthcoming. And don't worry, if you already donated, you're already entered.


14 September 2014

See this guy?

He totally just won the 2014 Arty for Best Supporting Actor for his role as Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet.

I *TOLD* you my kid was an amazing actor!

He owned that role. Fark yes I'm proud.


12 September 2014

There are 70 days until the San Diego 3 Day.

There are 6 days until online check in begins.

I am a little more than halfway to reach the amount raised that will allow me to walk.

I have spandex.

I have a low threshold for embarrassment, but I'm willing to go there for this.

Spandex. Colorful spandex. What I have here are spandex tights with matching tank tops. Clingy, clingy articles of clothing.

I am not a small person.

I am, in fact, quite chubby.



So... Here's the deal. I have $1015 to raise still. If I hit that by 19 September, 8 p.m. Pacific time, I will don said spandex, grab a guitar, and I will sing. In spandex. And there will be video.


If you guys get me to goal by that deadline, not only will you get me to do something I truly will find embarrassing, I will fully fund DKM's walk.

So what you're getting:

Me, in eye-blinding spandex
Me, singing, while wearing eye-blinding spandex
Video of my singing while wearing eye-blinding spandex
And two walkers fully funded for the San Diego 3 Day

It's all to save the boobies, people.



7 September 2014

All righty.

It's going to happen. There are about 75 days until the San Diego 3 Day, and I'm pretty determined to get there and walk.

The intestinal issues that have plagued me in the past couple of years have been addressed (it was simple...cola-based soft drinks apparently hate me. This was discovered by accident when I stumbled upon Snapple Diet Raspberry Tea and stopped drinking Diet Coke and Diet Pepsi, and bingo...misery cleared up) and my foot is 99% better. I have splints and special tape to use on the foot to get me through training, and I don't think it'll be too much of an issue.

I will get fit with new shoes soon.

Walking has commenced; I can still do 10 miles without problems, which is about 23 kinds of spiffy. We've gone to SF to walk around and are planning on heading that way this week to pound out a few more miles on the hills there, because it's far cooler in SF than here, and here is pretty flat and boring.

There will surely be pink hair, because what's a walk without pink hair now?

The downside to that is that my hair is no longer an effective fundraising tool. I still don't have any great ideas for that, but there is new spandex on its way so I might use that somehow...just not sure how.

I'll figure it out.

I am prepared to self fund it, no worries about that. But if you want to grab a charitable tax donation, I have a spiffy page where you can do just that.

Think I suck? You can always donate to DKM, who is doing the walk with me, and with our team The Pink Slips. We each have to raise $2300...right now we're both sitting at exactly zero.


3 September 2014

A couple of weeks ago I traded in the pretty blue motorcycle on a pretty red one. It was a little more complicated that normal; the dealership has sold their last red one earlier in the month and all they had on the floor were a couple of fugly weird gray-green models.

Added to that: I needed the low suspension version, because my lower back no longer allows me to get on and off a taller bike without issues.

So the sales guy called around, and by the day after we asked, he'd located a single red F700 GS with a factory lowered suspension in the LA area, and they were willing to trade bikes.

Yay for me.

It got here about a week before my birthday, and I've been having some fun on it.

Now, with it being lower--only a teeny bit higher than the seat on my last bike--I didn't think I would have any problems getting on the bike or getting off of it.


There's this little knob on the pillion grip bars; it's there because it's a fix-point for BMW's hard cases (saddlebags, which I do not yet have because they are freaking spendy).

While we were taking a break from a mediumish-long ride (70 miles...long for us, short for most riders) I attempted to get back on my bike to move it forward in the parking space...and did not swing my leg up high enough to get over that low height seat, and slammed it right into that freaking small knob.

That freaking small knob freaking hurts when you slam your freaking leg into it.

This is the end result, several days later. It's about the size of my palm and while it's healing quicker than I normally do, it's still very ouchy.

Still...ouchy aside, this new bike rides so smoothly, is so well balanced, and stops so much easier than the Bonneville that I'm already convinced it was the right move. I don't miss the Bonneville, even though I thought I would, probably because the ease and smoothness of the BMW overrides the prettiness of the Triumph.

Whoever winds up with the Triumph is going to love just wasn't the right one from me.

And the most important thing...the new bike matches my car.

Hell, yes, that's more than half the reason I wanted the red one. IT MATCHES MY CONVERTIBLE.

Priorities, people. I haz them.


1 September 2014

I woke up at 4:20 this morning with--surprisingly--no help from Max, mostly due to the weirdness of a dream I'd had, in which I had been arguing loudly with someone about the pronunciation of the word "meme."

I contended it's pronounced "meem" because that second 'e' elongates the first. They contended it's "memm" because...reasons.

I don't know who won, but just before I woke up I called them a Farking Flaming Bag of WonderSnot. Only it wasn't "farking."

No, I didn't eat anything weird before bed.

Max was thrilled I was awake, because this meant he didn't have to work hard to get breakfast. It did mean he had to wait until 7 a.m., but he seemed all right with that.

I was up until 8:30, when the sleep bomb went off and I had to crawl back into bed. I have no idea what I was dreaming about when I woke up later, other than I had just saved the world from a contagion of evil that was turning people ginger.

Redheads, I apologize.

I don't think you're evil. At least not consciously. Well, not all of you. There was that one guy I dated just after high school...

'Course, now I won't be able to sleep tonight because I didn't get back up until almost noon, and I have to be up tomorrow because for Bast knows what reason, the insurance company is sending someone over to evaluate our house for replacement costs. We haven't had a claim, ever. We don't anticipate a claim. The only thing we can figure is they were notified of the permits pulled for the kitchen re-do. The county tax assessor wanted an itemization of costs for it, maybe the insurance company got the notice, too.

Well...I suppose I don't have to get up. She can assess right over my sleeping body, I suppose. That would assure she'll also be taking pictures, right?

Maybe I'll make the cover of USAA magazine.


28 August 2014

All righty.

I tapped 3 people for the ALS ice bucket challenge, all 3 followed through. Sandy and Curt actually dumped ice water on themselves--and Sandy went big, she got a bunch of her students to do it, too, and Ian donated $1000.

Since they ponied up, it's only fair that I do, too. So tonight the Spouse Thingy pulled out the clippers, and went to work.

I started out with a nice blue was really stylin', too.

When I looked down...all may hairs. Well, almost. He buzzed it, he didn't shave it.

And's about an eighth of an inch long. And I look like a serial killer here, cripes.

There is video, but it's almost 3 minutes of a haircut. I'm going to see if I can figure out how to edit it down, and then if it's even worth seeing. Probably not. But here are the results, which is what matters, I suppose.

And the Spouse Thingy did his challenge tonight--the Boy got him--and he even did his with real ice cubes. There's video on Facebook and it's public, so anyone can see it. I'll share it to my wall, so just pop on over there if you want to see it and hear me laugh at him.


25 August 2014

All righty... I have been tapped twice to do the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge, by Roberta Harris and by my sister Mary. Because of health reasons I can't drench myself in ice water (the sudden, biting cold has too high a chance of sending me straight into the flare from hell), but I could certainly make donations, so I've donated $100 for each of those challenges.

Now...I'm supposed to challenge three people, so I'm tapping Sandy Swartwood, Curt Thompson, and Ian Murphy (which is why I'm doing this on my blog and not of FB, because SOMEONE can't remember his FB password, but I knows he reads this.)

Here's the deal: For Sandy and Curt, if you do the ice bucket, you only have to donate $10 to the ALS Association. If you choose to pass, it's a $100 donation.

For Murf, since I know $10 is like Kleenex...if you do it, you only have to donate $100. If you pass on it, you need to cough up $1000.

This my serious face cuz I'm serious.'s the kicker. If all three of the people I've tapped follow through, I'll do something I've done before but really don't enjoy.

See my messy blue hair?

I kind of like it.

I kind of don't like not having hair.

But since I can't do the ice bucket, if Sandy and Curt and Murf follow through, I will buzz that hair down to stubble. And we'll find a way to record it for proof.

Tomorrow is my birthday, peoples.

All I want for it...take the Ice Bucket Challenge or donate.


16 August 2014

I am in line for the self checkout at Walmart. Behind me is a guy that's practically followed me up and down the aisles, and near him is a woman I've seen around a lot, mostly at Starbucks. The guy apparently thinks I'm totally deaf.
Him: Fucking faggot freak.
Her: Huh?
Him: I hate faggots. (I can see him out of the corner of my eye, he nodded in my direction)
Her: Wow. Her husband is going to be surprised.
Me: snickers audibly.
Random asshole stomps off, presumably to another line. Yes, I thanked her. No, it's not the first time someone has brought up my marital status when countered with someone being a bigoted assmunch. I really don't care if people assume I'm gay; so what? I don't care if people think I'm different; I probably am. I do care about the underlying anger when someone says it that way, and I appreciate how other people can drop them like flies with just a simple sentence.

Not sure what I would have done if he'd said it to my face.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

 Asked by a friend:
The Parkinson's angle; if you suffered from something--not necessarily that--that locked you into your body, would you still want to live?

Barring anything else...yeah, I think I would. If I still have my mind, I think I'd be okay with being stuck inside my body if I'm not in additional pain. My brain is a freaking fun place to be most of the time; I might not be able to sit and write, but if I can still create those things in my head? Of course I'd want to live. I'd feel bad for my caretakers, but I would want to live. And they damn well better know that I want to watch Doctor Who.

Pretty much...give me a TV tuned to what you know I like, music you know I like when that's not possible, audio books, and chocolate every now and then, and I'll be okay. There are about 200 worlds spinning inside my brain, and I'm comfortable there.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

It's another one of those days...

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

I should go clean the bathroom, but...meh. I need to mop the kitchen floor, but...meh. 

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

My birthday is in 10 days. Hopefully this will end this years' How freaking old am I? mindfark. I get confused a bit every year, because most of the time the Spouse Thingy and I are the same age, but for 4 months he's "older" and I start thinking of myself as the same age, and then my brain trips on itself and I have no idea how old I am.


It makes sense to me.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

I really need to get up and do something. My ass is starting to hurt from sitting here.


15 August 2014

From a friend:

He sat there with the bottle in front of him for hours and says that he knew if he opened it and took just one drink, that was it. He was a dead man. He wouldn't stop until he was dead. We asked him if he'd thought about the damage he would leave behind, how many lives would be broken because he'd killed himself, and he said something I'll never forget: I thought I would be doing all of you a favor. You'd never have to deal with my shit again. Killing myself would be like doing something good for anyone who cared about me.

He's been sober for what, three or four years? He seems happy and healthy, but we will always worry. It will only take one thing, it could be something big or something small, and he might bypass the drugs and alcohol and go straight to ending everything, and in his mind he's giving us the gift of him being gone. It doesn't make sense to us but it makes sense to him, and that's terrifying.
I've never had depression issues; I've never had suicidal thoughts. I've had anger issues, self-worth issues, body image issues, chronic pain issues, issues about my ability to keep writing anything worth someone else reading, issues about a plethora of other things that I'm sure I share with a majority of the world, but I don't think I've ever really been depressed and I know I've never felt suicidal.

So is it puzzling that I understand what he was saying? I get the point he was trying to make?

The discussions opened this week about depression--true depression, not the sorts of sadness or the blues that are a part of being alive--are already dying down. It's like, yeah, sure I get it, now let's move on.

Not everyone can.

I've been metaphorically holding my breath the last couple of days, hoping to not find out that a few friends who do teeter on the edge have had triggered, hoping to not realize that a few who struggle hard with depression are slipping deeper into it. I don't know whether the open discussions that have been going on have been helpful or harmful to them, if it's giving them a line to grab onto or if it feels like someone is trying to shove them under and hold them there.

But I do get what my friend's brother-in-law was trying to say.

It's scary. I'm sure right now he grasps the concept of suicide being a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but I get it.


11 August 2014

Only a short time since the news hit that Robin Williams is dead, and quite likely by his own hand, and the shame-blame games have begun.

He committed the ultimate sin.



And that's utter bullshit. Suicide is not undertaken because someone is weak or selfish or flipping off God and "sinning." Suicide is the last hope far too many people have for ending pain.

Many, many years ago, a very gentle soul known online as Boston Bill, someone to whom I had spoken and had gotten good advice over the chronic physical pain that had consumed my life, became one of Jack Kevorkian's last patients. He made a conscious, deliberate decision to end his life because the only thing he could see ahead of him was unrelenting, unforgiving pain. Pain that narcotics couldn't even touch, even if his doctors would have given them to him.

He was not weak; he had endured more than most could ever fathom. He wasn't selfish; he spent hours upon hours helping others, even when he couldn't help himself. He didn't commit some grievous sin; God's a better man than you, you know. If anyone understood, He did.

The only thing to blame for Bill's choice was the overwhelming pain that had grabbed hold of him and refused to let go. He couldn't take it anymore, so he chose his own way out.

Many of you remember Hoss, that wonderful, spirited, incredible soul who spearheaded Oregon's Right to Die efforts and chose assisted suicide in the end. He knew when his time was done and he wanted to go out on his own terms. I still miss him. I will always miss him.

I have known far too many people, most of them online, a few in person, who saw no other way out. Unlike Bill and Hoss, who left for reasons that are easy to touch upon and understand, most of them suffered from depression. It varied in degrees from day to day or week to week, but the undercurrent was always there for them. It was always the shadow in the hallway, one that could jump out and strangle them at any time.

No one chooses to live that way. There's little to be gained in blaming someone for their depression and so much damage to be wrought.

Blaming someone for having depression is like blaming someone for having diabetes. Blaming someone for needing medication to control it is like blaming a diabetic for needing insulin. We don't choose the diseases that invade us, and no one should have to defend the medications that control them.

And yet, that's what happens.

The cold hard truth of it, too, is that even when you understand that on a very fundamental level, it doesn't mean you're going to be any good at dealing with someone who has depression. Chances are, you're not. It's not because you're thoughtless or dismissive; you just don't know the right things to do or say. Listening doesn't seem like enough, so you spout off these platitudes that you've heard online or on TV, not realizing that not only are you not helping, you're hurting.

Chances are, too, you don't realize that what you're seeing is depression. 

I learned a long, long time ago: I am not the person to whom someone struggling mentally or emotionally should turn. It's not because I don't care or want to brush it off, it's because I am not good in any situation in which I don't have the time to self-edit. I go quiet while I'm thinking; I'm panicking because I don't know if what tumbles out of my mouth will be the right thing or something monumentally stupid that will make things worse. Quiet is often interpreted as not caring. And that helps no one.

I suspect most people are a lot like me; they might want to have the coping mechanisms that a friend with depression needs, but want those tools does not equate having them.

Depression is a stone cold, black-hearted, mean little bitch.

If you suffer from depression, you already know that more friends than not are a lot like I am, and the things they say not only don't help, it often hurts. It doesn't help that you know it's not intentional; you're backed into a corner where nothing is really helping. Those shadows get darker, thicker, and it's just so hard to see anything where the light is, and it's so incredibly fatiguing to keep trying.

But I'm begging you: reach out.

Find those who DO know what to do, and who know the right words and the order in which they should tumble out of one's mouth.

It might not be a friend--it probably won't be a friend, because we're up so close that we can't see the bigger picture, not really-- but try to reach through that thick molasses of fog, the one that makes your arms feel like they weigh a ton and a half, and pick up the phone.

Check out the International Suicide Prevention Wiki. Bookmark it. And please don't be afraid to use it.

In the U.S., if you don't want to wade through the Wiki, call 1-800-273-TALK (8255). They also have a website.

Believe me, this world is so much better with you in it than not--more platitudes you don't need, I know--and there are people who have been trained, who know how to help you cope, and will never, not ever blame you. It's not your fault, no more than it's my fault for having a bad back or for having had that tumor.

Shit happens, and it feels like it splatters really good people the most; your friends might want to be the ones to clean you up and be some magical fairy like ray of sunshine in your life, but the reality is that they will unintentionally say some really stupid things. So please, reach out. Call one of those numbers.

I don't want you to die. I desperately, truly do not want you to die.

And if you're one of those people who think depression is weakness, selfishness, and something that a good attitude check will fix...fark you.

Depression is a disease. Blame doesn't help and can only make things worse.

So don't be a dick. Try being understanding and compassionate. It might not help, but it at least won't hurt.

...and I'm rambling because I honestly don't know how to end this, because all I really want is for the people I love, the people I care about, the people I know only peripherally, and the people I don't know at all to be okay.

Bookmark those sites.

Call if you need to.

It's okay to call.


2 August 2014

Oddz N Endz #812,432,126.x2b Part 99

♦ Mister Max has been--again--waking me up every morning between 4:30 - 4:45. Unlike previous weeks-longs stretches when he seemed to do this because a neighbor was either coming home from or going to work, this time I think he's decided I need to pee. I do not know why he thinks so, but he won't leave me alone until I get up and go. I appreciate his consideration, but I would really like to sleep straight through the night.

♦ Because it's been so freaking hot, I have not yet geared up to start 3 Day training. Tonight the Spouse Thingy hooked up the treadmill TV for me again, though, and I cleaned up some Goodwill-destined piles of clothing to make room for the treadmill's track, so I can start inside.

Has not helped
♦ Level of difficulty: I've been battling plantar fasciitis for a couple of months, and all the usual things that help haven't been. I can't sleep in the night brace so I wore it while sitting around doing nothing; didn't help. I sucked it up and started wearing orthotics in my shoes like I'm supposed to; didn't help. An ortho boot didn't help. Icing has not helped. I bet if I dropped 90 pounds of ugly fat, that would help.

♦ Since the brace and ortho boot didn't work, and in the past high-topped sneakers have, and because I had a coupon, I ordered a pair of bright red Nikes. They should be here Monday...if I can keep the foot at 90o without wiggling it like crazy (because the brace drove me nuts) maybe that will help. I'm starting to grasp at straws here.

♦ The shoes are kinda custom. I don't know why I was then surprised that the shipping notice shows them coming from China. I have no idea why I just assumed they'd come from somewhere in the U.S. I know better. Any guilt I have over that will be nullified if they work.

♦ A couple of weeks ago we ordered a new kitchen table and were told it would take about 6 weeks to get here. Happily enough, it arrived and was delivered yesterday. Someone discovered it pretty quickly, and claimed it as his own.

♦ Since he can no longer get to the top of the refrigerator, and thus the top of the cabinets, he's lacking a definitive UP spot. I think this week we'll pick up a shelf to go up high in my office and perhaps a couple of smaller ones, so that we can create a path for him to be able to look out the high window, and get to the top of the bookcases. Because he really does need UP.

♦ This lives in my bathroom now.

♦ What? You don't have a gnome-nomming Godzilla in your house?

♦ He was a lot smaller than we thought he would be; he was intended for the yard but he's too small, so in the bathroom he went.

♦ No worries; if you come over, he totally can't watch you pee.

♦ I think.

♦ It's 11:30 p.m. and Mister Max is bitching at me to go to bed. When he decide to become my mother?


30 July 2014

All righty.

I'm going to go for it again.

Three days, 60 miles, this time in San Diego.

Why San Diego? Well, San Francisco no longer has a 3 Day and even if they did I might be more apt to walker stalk or crew, because that's a ton of fun. San Diego is now the closest, but more important...friends.

Yep, DKM is walking, as well as some of my team mates from Atlanta 2011, and it'll be a blast to meet up with them again and pound out some miles on the pavement.

Yes, I am immature enough to have hanging with my friends as a reason to go.

But the biggest part of it hasn't changed since I accepted that first invitation to walk. I know too many people who have had to face that battle, and some have not survived. I think often about my friend Anne, who died when everything she wanted in life was right there at her fingertips; she was the friend with whom I share a birthdate, and I don't get through a birthday without thinking about her. I also think about Bridget Spence, who battled the disease nearly her entire adult life, and who just wanted to make it to age 30. She died a few months short of that, and that sucks.

There's also Heather, a woman I met at McDonald's about a year and a half ago. I haven't seen her since, but she crosses my mind every now and then, especially when the Komen-is-so-worng discussions begin. The two things she said that still stick with me:
“Komen kept me alive. That’s the bigger picture. I’m alive.”
“I wish they’d get over it, because there are things more important than their offended sensibilities.”

This walk matters to people for whom waking up in the morning is more than just a matter of course. It matters to people for whom that is not a certainty, and the organization as a whole--no matter what wrongs they may have committed--makes a difference every day.

And there are the personal things...I need something to get me off my asterisk again, and training for this walk will do it. I've been fighting a horrible case of plantar fasciitis which will probably make training all kinds of fun, but I'm hoping some new shoes and some KT Tape will help with that.

So. Yeah. I am walking again.

What weird things do you want me to do for donations? 'Cause y'all know, I will do just about anything legal.


26 July 2014

♦ All right, this is where I admit that the Spouse Thingy was right, and going ahead with the kitchen was a good idea, even if it did make me nauseated to drain that much from savings. It occurred to me tonight while I was making dinner that I didn't mind that I was making dinner; I didn't have that twitchy, claustrophobic feeling I always got when I was trying to cook before.I didn't even realize I had that feeling, until I no longer had it.

♦ This evening Max was on my lap and in order to give him thorough chin and neck skritches, I took his collar off; this is nothing new, I do it frequently. But when I started to rub my fingers through his fur I realized he had a spot where the fur had rubbed off. I wrapped it around his neck to test how it fit, and it wasn't tight but it also wasn't as loose as I would like and I suspect the spot has been bothering him some. He hasn't been bitey or shying away from being petted, but he has been a bit grumpy lately. So we'll see.

♦ He sat on my lap while I perused Amazon for a new collar and ignored me while I pointed out options...until I got to a spiffy hot pink one and then a red one. He pointedly looked at the screen then, so I ordered them both, plus one I like, and he can pick when they get here. Shut up, he will, too.

♦ Yes, we then checked Buddah's neck to make sure his still fit right.

♦ I dyed my hair blue. I do not like it. I suspect it's the length as much as the color, so Monday the Spouse Thingy will cut it for me, and we'll see. I was hoping for neon blue and this is really dark. It makes me sad.

♦ In another First World Problem; I've been seriously considering trading my bike in on something with ABS. I know the one I want, but I kept not going up to the dealership to test ride it. And now it's been sold. Yeah, no, don't feel sorry for me, it's a toy. Another toy will come along. But there was a lesson learned there...

♦ Man, if it were not so late, I would totally bake a cake. No reason.


23 July 2014

Overheard at the ‘Bux today:

If you’ve had 3 divorces you just don’t give marital advice. If you have just a toddler, you don’t give parenting advice. And for fuck’s sake if you’re a lifelong vegetarian, don’t try telling me how much better a sirloin tastes than a ribeye.

I know it’s not true that we only use 10% of our brains, but I swear to God, she only uses about half that amount.

Shut up. I’m old. I’ll fart in public if I want to.

Why are there so many kids in here? Why aren’t they in school? I don’t care if it’s summer vacation; I want peace and quiet while I sit here making fun of all the people with their Apple computers.

No, he’s your son today. He licked the floor, that’s why!

Fuck off.

Enjoy today because by Saturday Satan will be belching ghost pepper fumes all over the damn place and we’re all going to melt.



19 July 2014

This is why I'm not a huge fan of text tattoos. You can stare at a stencil for 10 minutes and your brain keeps telling you "Yep, this is fine," no matter how well you can spell in any other situation. But once that mistake is on your skin, chances are it's there for good, because fixing it? Not as easy as getting it.

Hell, I am frequently guilty of typing "loosing" when I meant "losing" and I rarely catch it (it even made it into a book...the print version.) It's easy to gloss over "then" when it should be "than." Some of the brightest people I know type out "to" when they meant "too" and hit enter before realizing it.

This chit's permanent, people...find an image to symbolize your favorite quote. If you really, really, really want that quote, proofread, get a friend to proofread, get another friend to proofread, and if you don't have the spelling and grammar skills to put something on your skin forever, find someone who does. And then proofread again.

This rant brought to you by having to tell someone today that their tattoo of "This to shall pass; I would rather suffer then live life statically" was not quite right. Luckily, it's a tattoo big enough to fix, I think. I hope, anyway.