Friday, April 30, 2004

I generally get along well with the people at work. There are a few, however, who get under my skin. One of them is the P.I. of another lab that we cooperate with. He walked in today, and started telling me how I needed to combine specific treatments in an experiment we ran. He tells me to pull up the data on my computer so he can point it out to me. Excuse me? Do I work for you?

My issues:

He didn't bother to ask if I had time to deal with his problems. He just assumed I did. Luckily for him, I wasn't working on anything pressing.

He was rude about the whole thing. I didn't label the treatments and I don't even know what all of them are. You want them grouped together, you make sure your people label everything uniformly.

He told me to pull up info on the computer. How about a request starting with "please"?

I also got a call this morning from our safety officer wanting to speak to my supervisor. Apparently something's up with my lazy coworker (as in some sort of problem). Now I'm all curious.
Hubby and I made our peace and are back to normal. (Well, until the next round...but no relationship is perfect. And neither am I.) We went out to dinner last night and had a very nice time. We had good conversation and eavesdropped on the table next to us. They were talking about smoking pot, whether or not it made them paranoid, why they smoked it the first time... He and I just smirked at each other a lot because he knows if it was legal, I'd smoke it. But I'm too damn paranoid about getting caught, and he's a cop, so it's really not a good thing for me to do. But it's way better than a drunk buzz and there's no hangover. So he picks on me about it and we laugh. I haven't touched the stuff in years, even though I'd love to.


OK, I don't want to jump the gun, but I have to get this out! My basal temps have been up for 15 days now, and didn't go up until 2 days after ovulation, which would put me at 17 days past ovulation. The suspense is killing me. I think I'm going to by a test tonight, and if my temp is still up tomorrow morning, I'll take it. I've been having mild cramps, though, which is normal for me for a week or so before my period starts, but my average luteal phase is only 12-13 days. And now I'm stressing abou eating sushi last night. The only raw thing I had was spicy tuna, and I rarely eat any fish anyway, so I don't think mercury is an issue, but what if it was crawling with nasties like Listeria? Deep breath. I knew I probably shouldn't have ordered it, but I saw it as my last oportunity for a while.

Thursday, April 29, 2004

I'm having another grumpy, shitty day.

For starters, we now have yet another dog using our yard as a big ole fucking latrine. He's been making multiple appearances every day. I took Lily on her leash in our backyard for morning piddles and the little fucker showed up, pissed on every plant in the yard, took a squishy dump smack dab in the middle, then started jumping at Lily and smellling her ass, which got her so worked up she dragged me all over. I told the little fuck to go home with no results. I tried putting a collar on him so I could grab him, with no luck. I finally decided to walk over to a house that I know has a dog like him, with the hopes he'd follow me and lead me to his home. He followed to their house, then took off after a lady walking her dog down the street.

I'm pissed enough to write a letter to the homeowners' association and cc to all the "officers". Our president is an owner of a dog that looks suspiciously the same as little fucker, so maybe it'll work. But at least one or two other families have the same breed of dog, so it may not be his. I'm thinking of something like "We have at least 3 neighborhood dogs which regularly come into our yard to potty. They are urinating on our landscaping, which can kill the plants, and defacating all over our yard. Our county has a leash law which requires all dogs to be leashed when loose and under the control of their owners. We ask that the neighborhood obey the leash law and show consideration for their neighbors."

Hubby is also considering writing notes and putting them in the mailboxes of our other 2 neighbors whose dogs we know, and who potty in our yard. Something along the lines of "We think your dog is really cute, and we understand that sometimes dogs get loose, but we'd appreciate it if you'd keep him out of your neighbors' yards. We like your dog, but not his poop. Sincerely, Your Neighbor" Since he's a cop, he'd rather do it anonymously then stir up the shit. Lots of folks despise the cops, so he's not real big on doing anything direct.


Last night, hubby and I got into a big argument, which I instigated. We're both feeling stressed at work, which we carry home, and we've both been feeling blown off by each other. When I feel ignored, unwanted, uncherished, I pull away and get snarky. It's part pride and part self-preservation. I dated several assholes before hubby, and the more they pushed me away, the clingier I got. Something in me finally gave, and now when I feel taken advantage of, or unwanted, I pull away. Period. It's something I've tried to work on, but when you go through the same cycle over and over again, it's difficult to change.

Hubby has gotten back into martial arts, which I'm very happy about. He's been feeling down about not exercising and is unhappy with the weight he's put on. What I hate are the phone calls when he's driving home. The "I miss you" phone calls. They seem so disingenuous to me. Either go and enjoy yourself, or stay home if you feel so shitty about being away for 2 hours. But don't call me and expect me to have a conversation with you while you're driving home. If you want to talk to me, sit down with me when we're together. Then there are the video games. Friday and Saturday nights from 10ish to 2-4 am. Don't tell me the next morning how tired you are. And don't whine when we don't get intimate on the weekends. Try making an effort to come to bed at a reasonable hour, and don't get frisky when I'm getting half asleep. Approach me at a time when we're both awake and feeling good. Don't grope me and expect it to turn me on. It won't. I'm not a piece of meat.

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

Frequently I'll have a converasation, witness something, or hear a tidbit on the news that I find interesting and stash away in my memory for later blogging. It'll be one of those "I HAVE to blog about that" things.

I can't remember ANY of them. I know I have a few locked away in my brain somewhere. But I don't know where. I'm blaming it on raging PMS.

Speaking of PMS, these are lifesavers. I keep one in my desk just in case unexpected cramps strike. The menstrual heat pads seem to keep warm longer than the 8 hours on the package. I've had some go as long as 12 hours.


Since I couldn't think of anything much to write today, I decided to update my links. I generally try to get the bloggers' permission before posting links, but some don't have e-mails, some I haven't heard replies from, and I'm damn lazy. My apologies to anyone who doesn't want me posting a link. I'll be happy to remove it, just let me know.

Monday, April 26, 2004

The molecular research we do in the lab involves materials and chemicals with cool names. Stuff like: Taqman (tm), Sybrgreen (tm), DNA, RNA, RNase away (tm), cocktails, master mixes, magnesium chloride, probes, and primers. I can think of all sorts of alternative uses for the names, relating mostly to band names.

Taqman and The Primers could open for Probe at MgCl2, the hot new club where all the uber-cool people go.

DJ MasterMix would spin tunes on college night.

The club would serve all sorts of spiffy drinks like Sybrgreen, DNA, and RNA in those test tube shotglasses. The bartenders and servers would wear lab coats complete with pocket protectors.

Yep, I'm a big dork. :p

Thursday, April 22, 2004

At lunchtime today, somehow the topic got onto worms. Flatworms (Platyhelminthes) to be exact. You may remember Planaria from high school science. In a college parasitology class, I also learned about parasitic flatworms and liver flukes come to mind. Nasty fuckers. In addition there are free-living terrestrial flatworms. Once, back in my days of living alone, I found one on the kitchen floor in a gob of slime. I had never seen one before and got seriously freaked out. Not because of the slimy, nasty thing on my floor, but because I was convinced it was an intestinal parasite that had either crawled out of the cat's butt, or had been puked up. I debated taking it to the vet for identification, but felt silly, so I grabbed it in a wad of paper towels and threw it in the trash. I've seen a few since, always outdoors, and am glad I didn't take it to the vet's office. They probably would've laughed their asses off at me.

Tonight as I was getting ready start the car and leave work, hubby called. I noticed a sqirrel rappelling along a phone line and had to stop hubby to interject a "holy shit!" Hubby asked what was up and I explained. The squirrel was not running along the top of the phone line in normal squirelly fashion. He was hanging onto it upside-down and scuttling along like a soldier on a covert operation. It was awesome. I couldn't believe how fast that little fucker was. Hubby made a "hut hut hut" comment, which led to visions of squirrel infantry armed with acorns and sharp teeth.

Wednesday, April 21, 2004

Do you ever have a day when you just love your job and feel excited about it? I'm having one of those today, although I'm sure that by tomorrow I'll be back to my usual humdrum neutral feelings. I just came back from a very interesting seminar and it has me all agog with good, warm-fuzzy feelings. In a nutshell, the researcher was discussing an experiment studying the effects of elevated carbon dioxide and/or ozone on trees and their associated fungi. As an aside, he mentioned some other neat things like changes in insect populations on the trees due to the environmental effects, and changes in fungi associated with neighboring species of trees. I love ecological stuff and really should have pursued a career in that field. I enjoy the work I do now, but it involves agricultural crops which are less interesting to me. My grad research was on forest trees which I loved, but couldn't find any jobs in that area when I graduated. Sometimes I think my true calling is in ecology or ethnobotany. Who knows, maybe one day I'll change career paths.

Last night I watched a cool program on the National Geographic Channel about animal behavior. Back in the 60s, behaviorists believed that humans were the only animals capable of creativity, and that the ability to be creative was one of the major behaviors separating us from animals. A female researcher who was studying dolphins disproved that belief (which in itself was fucking awesome - I'm sure she heard a lot of patronizing bullshit in her day). Each day she'd reward a dolphin for a new behavior. For 12 days, the dolphin would exhibit a different behavior each day - all of which the researcher had seen before. On the 13th, 14th & 15th days, the dolphin repeated these behaviors, but got no rewards and became visibly agitated and almost despondant. Over and over again she offered the behaviors which had gained rewards in the past. On the 16th day, an exciting thing happened: the dolphin presented several new behaviors that had never previously been witnessed and was rewarded for each one. It was groundbreaking research. I can't even imagine how exciting it would be to be involved in something like that.


The other night hubby flipped to The Swan. If you haven't heard of it, it's a show that involves plastic surgery and is leading up to a beauty pageant. Each week, two "ugly ducklings" are selected, undergo plastic surgery, fitness training, and counselling, and after 6 weeks, are presented as "swans". One "swan" is selected to advance on to the pageant, and the other is excused. In this week's episode, one contestant had saggy breasts and excess skin on her belly from pregnancies, as well as a "witch nose". The show frequently referred to these flaws and they loved to mention the nose. The other contestant was 15-20 years older, had also had children, and was "showing her age". The older contestant declined some of the plastic surgery offered to her, much to the chagrin of the doctor and host of the show. In the end, she lost to the former witch nose woman.

Hubby and I were disgusted by the show, but it was a train wreck we couldn't tear away from. We both figured the woman who went with less surgery would lose since they made such a big deal of it. I personally gave kudos for her to not being talked into a bunch more potentially dangerous surgery. We also were surprised at the amount of fitness training the two women endured - the first woman definitely had a tummy tuck (and the other may have as well) and were working out with personal trainers shortly after the surgeries. Aren't there health risks involved? How rapidly does a body heal from such surgery and does all that working out slow healing, or even re-open wounds?

I also was thouroughly disgusted with how the breasts and belly skin were focused on. That body nourished life and was reduced to something spent and ugly. What the fuck is up with that? Talk about an illustration of how women are judged every day and how we are (de)valued by our appearance.

Tuesday, April 20, 2004

I have been in an on-and-off-again foul mood since this weekend. Well, today I'm just in a foul mood.

Hubby started having spells of vetigo yesterday. He and I know it may be nothing but are both worried since he recently was in the car crash. The doctor couldn't find anything, suggested that it could be a viral infection affecting the inner ear, and prescribed an anti-vertigo medicine aptly named Antivert. Hubby goes back in a week for a followup. My immediate question was that if he's on this medicine, and he's feeling fine in a week, it could just mean that the medicine is masking his symptoms. If the symptoms are still there, hubby will need an MRI in case there are brain issues that the CAT scan from 3 weeks ago didn't pick up.

And even with all this going on, I've still been a bear to hubby. Last night he kept pissing me off. I don't know if he meant to be snotty or was just tired, but he had an annoying tone whenever he'd answer a question. So I'd jump all over him, he'd get pissed, and say that he hadn't meant anything. I feel like shit for going all postal on him, but I'm still cranky enough that I'd do it again. Arrrgh.

Then there are the minor annoyances that keep coming. Like my co-worker (the lazy one who disappears for hours at a time and seems to live on the phone in the mostly unoccupied lab) who complained to me yesterday that he got yelled at for washing the lab vehicle behind the shop. He told me about it and I had to clamp my mouth shut to avoid asking him why the fuck he was telling me this and why should I care. I'm sure there's more to the story. Maybe the shop guys were just being assholes (it's very likely) or maybe it's because he's gone there and used other stuff he shouldn't have. Or maybe it's because he just assumed he could use the hose without asking first. Anyway, I really couldn't care less and don't whine to me about it.

Then there's the ongoing mysterious order for lab items that the vendor can't find. When I place orders for our employee who works at an off-campus government lab, this company gets all shitty because we have contract pricing, so they don't want to ship anywhere else. Which means I can't simply call it in our use their website. I faxed an order last week, received no confirmation even though I specifically requested one, so I called a couple days later. The rocket scientist I spoke to could find no record of said order and told me to e-mail a new one. So yesterday I e-mailed the order again, specifying that it had been previously placed and again requested confirmation. Nothing. So I called again today and spoke to someone who actually had 2 brain cells to rub together. She couldn't find any record of the order, even though it has already been received by the other lab. I called the other lab, and it turns out they received an invoice by fax last week. So why the fuck can't anyone find the freaking order? And I just know they're going to ship it again, so I told my guy not to accept the package and send it back. Which means I have to do all sorts of extra bullshit paperwork for my business office.

The icing on the cake had to be this story. I realized that it would be fluffy since it was on MSNdotcom. But I figured that it was good they were drawing attention to the fact that women on average do make less pay than men. Then I came to the end of the story. Apparently all that doesn't matter, because women are more likely to be satisfied with their jobs, regardless of the pay inequality. Yay, I'm a little lady and I'm happy with my job. Why, maybe I'll go find one that pays even less, and be even happier. Hahahaha. Who says a woman is never satisfied, my ass.

I need a fucking vacation.

Monday, April 19, 2004

Hubby and I finished out the annual pet vaccinations with the mother and daughter cat duo. They're always a struggle because they're both timid, and the daughter is semi-feral. Momma cat is friendly and loves to be petted, but she can't stand to to picked up. She's certainly not a sleep-on-your-chest-and-purr-in-your-face kind of cat like the demoncat is. Daughter cat likes to be petted on her head and back, but if you reach around for her belly or she even thinks you might be trying to pick her up, she tears ass outta Dodge. Hubby managed to shoo daughter cat out from under our bed, and I pounced on her to grab her. She gave me a quick hiss, but otherwise was fine. Momma was curious about the carriers (nobody said she was the sharpest tool in the shed), and had her head end already in one, so hubby gave her substantial fanny a push, and she was in.

The ride to the vets was actually the worst part. Normally, momma cat loses control of all bodily functions, and she had ammo'd up on cat food just before being wrangled, so we expected the worst. She only peed and drooled all over herself. Daughter cat surprsingly was the poop culprit this time around. They were very nice and calm for the vet and went right back into the carriers after the shots, and a nasty sebacious gland lancing for momma. Daughter cat has adjusted so well to housecat status, that she even let us pet her again on Sunday. In previous years she'd take about a week to warm back up to us, still with a distrustful glint in her eye.

The whole process of forcefully taking the cats to the vet, and the whole prodding and poking got hubby thinking. "Maybe alien abductions are real. Maybe they're just trips to the vet for humans. Ya know, they grab you unexpectedly, beam you up to the spaceship, observe you, anal probe you, then send you back home." I think he might be on to something.

That evening we took Lily for a walk after dark. At one point, all the street lights went out. As we were looking up, we saw a shooting star. Coincidence? Aliens?

Friday, April 16, 2004

Sometimes I wonder why hubby and I shell out so much dough for cable when we have plenty of free entertainment.* I'm talking about the dog and cats. Actually, the dog and one cat in particular. Out Siamese mix, the clown of the group, is the one cat who likes the dog. We even refer to them as boyfriend and girlfriend because they will cuddle up and groom each other. It's adorable when they do. But, as with all animalsl, or even children, playtime eventually gets rough.

This weekend the dog and cat were hanging out together on one of the porch lounge chairs. Lily started doing a the nibbly-groom thing on the cat's head and neck. He looked like he was in kitty heaven. When Lily stopped, he licked her face. This went back and forth a few times until the cat started getting riled up, so he gently bit Lily's cheek. So, she put her mouth around his head, which led to him biting her cheek again. By that point Lily got wound up and started parrying with her mouth and snorting excitingly. So the cat kicked her with his hind leg. More parrying. So the cat pushes with his leg. It was adorable and hilarious at the same time.

I swear I heard him say "Stop touching me. Hey, the dog won't leave me alone."

*Well, almost free. We do pay for catfood, dogfood, litter, toys, treats, vet bills. Wait, that's not even close to free.

Thursday, April 15, 2004

Yesterday, right at 5pm, hubby called me at work. The first thought that went through my head was "Oh shit, he's serving a warrant or somesuch and won't be home till late. " I couldn't have been further from the truth. The conversation went something like this:

Him: "Hi, I just got a call from R. He says Chili's has an overstock of beer that they need to get rid of. He also found out that the movie Hellboy is doing poorly at the boxoffice and needs our support. Do you mind if I go."

Me: "" I mean, how could I say I minded after he came up with all that?


R also works for a police agency. He was filling us in on the dirt before he and Hubby went out. He's trying his hardest to find a job somewhere else because his agency sucks. They treat the community like shit and they treat their officers like shit. The other night he went into the station around 1am and was stopped by a dispatcher. She had received a call at approximately 10:30 pm about a missing girl, went on her smoke break immediately after the call, and forgot to dispatch it. (What, smokies couldn't wait 2 minutes for her to dispatch?) So R called his sergeant, and was immediately dispatched. Luckily, the girl was home - her mom found her at her boyfriend's house. Did the dispatcher receive any sort of reprimand for carelessness? Of course not.

Wednesday, April 14, 2004

Woot! The ultrasound came back fine. No more cysties!! Last night I asked hubby to have a stern talking to the ovaries. He looked at me like I had cracked, then put on his best drill sergeant voice and told those little pansy-assed ovaries to get their shit in gear and do their damn jobs. They better listen, dammit.


I've had the Cops theme song (ya know: bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do...") for the past couple of days. Why? Because Sunday night I witnessed hubby assisting in arresting a drunk driver.

We decided to go out for a cup of coffee in our personal vehicle and saw a pickup cut off a semi truck...I mean it was reaaaaaally close. The the pickup started bouncing around from shoulder to other lane, back to shoulder.... We passed the pickup and I got a good look at the driver. He looked totally fucked up. He pulled into Mickey D's drivethru, nearly backed into us because he swung too wide and had to back up, and at that point hubby phoned dispatch and asked for a marked unit. We got behind the pickup again and followed him to his house. He nearly missed hitting a couple more vehicles along the way. Lucky for us, he either missed his driveway, or was purposely going to back in, which gave hubby the chance to block the driveway, hop out, and badge the driver, who at that point didn't want to stop because he was already in front of his home. Hubby finally convinced him to turn off his engine when a marked unit pulled up. During the whole time I was sitting in our car watching.

They got the guy out of the pickup and he had to lean against the it to stand (hubby also said he had to hang onto the doorframe to get out of the pickup which I was unable to see). When they did the nystagmus test (however the f*ck you spell it), his head moved to track the pen (your head should stay still, while you track the object with your eyes). When they attempted to have him do the 1-legged stand, he wobbled all over the place and hubby had to help keep him from falling. So at that point, the deputy hooked up the driver and arrested him. He became very angry since he was practically home, yadda yadda. The clincher: he's a firefighter licensed to drive emergency vehicles and had a prior DUI. If anyone should know the consequences of drunk drivers, it's him since the firefighters often are the first responders to accidents.


Thanks to Brent for posting a link to The Squirrel Incident. I showed it to hubby last night and he nearly pissed and crapped himself simultaneously from reading it.

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

I got all excited this weekend over nothing. As I've mentioned before, hubby and I want to have a baby. So, I started charting my cycles again: taking basal temps, checking cervical position, and checking cervical fluid. Last month I didn't have a thermal shift, which means I didn't ovulate. It's possible that the digital thermometer was going fritzy, but I doubt it. So this cycle I switched to a shake-down basal thermometer. Saturday I woke up with spotting and a fairly open cervix. On Sundnay, I could barely even feel my cervix - wide open. But no damn thermal shift. Tomorrow I go in for the follow-up ultrasound and I'm debating whether or not to mention the ovulation question, or if I should wait a few more cycles.


Another weekend gone...back to the grind. I shouldn't complain too much since it was a long weekend. But as always, it went by waaaaaay too fast.

The demoncat survived her visit to the vet and came home with the diagnosis of ear infection. We have to put antibiotic drops in her ear twice a day. Ha. We're lucky if we make it once a day. If she even thinks I have the bottle in my hand, she gives me a sassy "myeh" and runs like hell. I've managed to surprise her a few times and resorted to brute force for a couple of doses.

The in-laws arrived Friday afternoon and stayed all the way until the crack of dawn on Sunday. They decided not to stay and have Easter dinner with us so they could be back home by Sunday night. We figured they'd cut the visit short, but really hoped they'd at least stay for dinner. C'est la vie. Of course, before they left, they asked several times when we're coming to visit them and not to wait too long. This is only the second time they've visited in the 6 years we've lived here, and they didn't bother coming to our wedding since hubby's mom and stepdad were there and they couldn't bear to be in the same room as them. His parents have been divorced for about 15 years, so you'd think old wounds would have at least partially healed by now.

We did have a nice, but short, visit to Sea World on Saturday. The animal shows are truly amazing, although I can't help but feel sorry for the dolphins and whales. Sure they get lots of attention and easy food, but I'm sure they'd like a home that's not a tank. Pets Ahoy is my favorite. Many of the animals in the show are rescues from local animal shelters, and they make a point of telling that to the audience. Why can't our dog and cats be that well behaved?

Thursday, April 08, 2004

I have such a case of spring fever. It's a beautiful, sunny day and I don't want to be cooped up at work. I'm can't wait for the long weekend. Hubby's dad and stepmom arrive tomorrow, and we have 4 days of fun-time coming up.

I had the chance this morning to chat with a coworker that I rarely get to see. She's a lively, funny, smart women and always a trip to talk to. She's looking into buying a dome home and I can't wait to hear about it.

This morning the demoncat took another trip to the vet. We survived the water and food-free night (she couldn't eat or drink anything after midnight, which meant all the cats were deprived). This morning, everyone let us know how hungry they were, but I'm grateful they didn't pester us in the night. One of the cats likes to nibble fingers to wake us up if he's hungry. We tried to be as calm and gentle as possible so as not to freak out the demoncat, but she was on to us. She got herself so worked up that she puked as we were trying to catch her. Poor little baby. The vet better take good care of our high maintenance little monster. I hope she'll come back home tonight.

Wednesday, April 07, 2004

Way to go UConn!


The fighting in Iraq has once again intensified. (But the war is over, right?) I feel bad for the soldiers who are caught up in it, and who don't know if or when they'll return home. I feel sad for their families and loved ones who are worried and missing them. And I feel especially sorry for the Iraqi people who are now free of Saddam, but living in a battlefield.


Yesterday's mail brought an Easter card from BF (best friend). I should clarify and say that is was a spam Easter card.

It went something like this:
Happy Easter to you and hubby. I'm begging friends to donate money to X charity that I've told you about already. Please get as many people as you know to donate, too.
Love, BF & family."
OK, well it didn't go exactly like that, but that's the general idea.

I'm really tempted to send a card back with:
"Happy Easter. I already gave money to your charity 2 weeks ago. The fact that you informed me of it twice already, because apparently I didn't donate fast enough for you, so you felt obligated to send me a reminder, really put me off wanting to donate at all. But I did anyway because it's a good charity. I already told you I don't know anyone else to ask and I'm not comfortable begging money off my family/friends/coworkers for you. If you want a list of their names and phone numbers I can point you to the white pages. I already told you I'd put a flyer up at work if you provided me with one, but I guess you'd rather torture me by attempting to make me actually go and physically beg for the money, rather than taking 15 minutes to fabricate said flyer on your computer. It's not gonna happen. Please stop spamming me."

Hubby suggested a much more tactful way off putting it, and I think I'll take his suggestion:
"Happy Easter. We hope our contribution helped in your money-raising effort. We're sorry but we don't know anyone else who's interested in donating. Good luck with the fundraiser.
XOXO Selzach & Hubby."

Tuesday, April 06, 2004

I'm pooped today. This time change is kicking my ass. Sunday night I didn't go to bed until roughly midnight - 2 hours past my worknight bedtime, but I knew there was no way I'd fall asleep any sooner. I got a good night's sleep last night, but I think the previous night's shitty sleep caught up with me.

We and the kitties survived the vet's office. The demoncat was in her usual form, so getting her into the pillowcase proved nearly impossible. Hubby has the scratches to prove it. We tackled her first, which got the other two good and torqued up. I think democat gave herslf an ear hematoma from the ordeal which means ANOTHER effing visit to the vet to have hear ear fixed. How do I know this? Because the 2 boys had haematomas within 6 months of each other. Yet another of our kitties will have a lumpy, droopy ear. And in another 2 weeks, the remaining 2 cats have their annual visit.

Saturday night we went to a friend & co-worker's house for a cookout. We had a blast. Hubby was in rare form and kept blaming it on his "head injury". I think my co-workers saw a side of me that most haven't witnessed before. Hey, once the margaritas start, the mouth gets running.

Sunday, hubby and I went to Target to buy some new bedding for the guest bed which turned into bedding + curtains + Easter stuff for the parents + an outdoor fireplace. $450 down the drain. Yep, owning a house sure is expensive with all that stuff you "need".

On a final note, the ospreys have a nice new nest platform. I saw momma bird up there rearranging and fixing branches on the nest. I'm hoping there will soon be babies.

Friday, April 02, 2004

TGIF! I’m soooo ready for the weekend, even though I know tomorrow will not be a relaxing day. Three of the kitties go to the vet for their annual exams & shots. I’m already dreading rounding them up and stuffing them into their carriers. One in particular turns into demoncat when the carriers come out. You can’t simply stuff her in because she sprouts extra legs with razor claws. No matter how you try to shove her in, she manages to resist, all while flailing those razors around shredding any clothing or flesh that end up in their path. We have to stuff her in a pillowcase, then drop the catsack into the carrier. One year the vet gave us a sedative. I waited until too close to vet time, so it hadn’t taken effect yet. By the time we got back home it had taken effect, proven by her crazed drunken wobbling. When I picked her up to comfort her, she went rigid stopped breathing. I was convinced I gave her a heart attack and killed her. Hubby made a panicky call to the vet, who said the cat probably went unconscious from panic, and to leave her alone until she came down from the drugs. So no more scary kitty sedatives.

Next on the docket will be shuttling Mom around on errands. Including trips to the pharmacy, grocery store and a trip to Sam’s Club. I hate Sam’s Club. We will be there forever while she peruses. Did I mention that I hate Sam’s Club?


For some reason, I’ve been cranky this week. Actually, I may know why: I think I forgot a dose or two of my Paxil. I swear that stuff makes me stupid, and I’m only on a low dose. It beats the anxiety attacks and chronic mild depression I used to have, but I’m uber-forgetful these days...which includes forgetting to take the damn medicine, even though it sits on the bathroom counter right by the sink so I see it morning and evening when I brush my teeth. I had a couple of twitchy, funky days which makes me think I forgot a dose or more. I can only imagine how I’ll feel someday when I go off the stuff. I can’t even imagine the side effects people on higher doses get when they wean off.

I think hubby’s bonk to the noggin rattled some sex center in his brain. Several nights this week I’ve awoken out of a sound sleep to him groping me. It used to happen all the time when we were first dating, but I guess being together for 10 years kinda tapers things off. (Which I really don’t mind because it used to be a nightly occurrence.) So, I’d move his hand, roll over, and go back to sleep. I had completely forgotten about it until he asked me this morning if he had gotten all Russian-hands-and-Roman-fingers on me last night. Which he had.

Thursday, April 01, 2004

Yesterday started off as a big ole clusterfuck. I took Mom to the imaging place for her upper G.I. X-rays. She forgot to bring the scrip with her (oopsie). After sitting there for about 10 minutes after signing in, and not being called up to fill out paperwork, she went back up to the desk and spoke to the receptionist. They didn't have an appointment for her and THEY DON'T EVEN DO UPPER G.I.s. It's possible that Mom got confused. It's also quite likely that her kooky doctor told her the wrong fucking place. Thankfully, the imaging place is across the street from the hospital, so we zoomed over there, and yes, they had her appointment. After a phone call, they were able to get the scrip faxed and all was OK.

While we were waiting for Mom's turn, we saw possibly the world's cutest little boy. He was probably around 5 years old and was very talkative. He was sleepy and kept asking his mom why he can't fall asleep at night. After being asked several times and answering several times, she said "Well, you should try to go to sleep instead of playing with your truck." His eyes must have popped out in surprise because she continued on "You thought I didn't know about that?" To which he replied "Talk to the hand. Close your mouth and talk to the hand." I nearly died he was so cute. Mom and I just cracked up.

After taking Mom home, I went home and crashed on the spare bed in our pretty sagey-green spare bedroom. I *love* the color we chose. The dog and various cats cuddled with me as I dozily listened to Dr. Joy Browne. Later I sat on the porch and read some more of "The Beauty Myth".

I waited around for the cable guy, who didn't even show until about 5:30, but it was great anyway. I was so relaxed, I even cooked a real dinner: marinated, breaded chicken breasts, fresh green beans, mashed potatoes, and salad. I wish I had the energy and time to cook like that every night.