Well, I’m Glad THAT’S Over!

2023 was…well, insane. I had the stupid pipe break under my kitchen sink and flood roughly half my apartment, which then resulted in the complete and utter shitshow of the most incompetent ‘repair’ work humanly possible. During the MONTH it took for them to tear apart my apartment and supposedly defeat the mold that had taken hold during the 4 days after the pipe burst when they did absolutely nothing, I was forced to stay in a hotel with my poor, confused dog. The entire time, my dimwitted apartment manager insisted my disaster zone of an apartment (which stunk of sewer thanks to a pipe the workers left uncapped), that didn’t have a kitchen as it was literally torn apart while they tore open the walls to get to the mold. My kitchen sink was in my yard for over three weeks and for a while my bathroom was also torn apart while they ripped apart the wall between the bathroom and the kitchen. So for at least a week I the only running water in my apartment was my bathtub–and my manager was continuously insisting the apartment was absolutely livable. On top of all that, I discover my renters insurance doesn’t actually pay to replace the items destroyed like I thought it did. Instead, it pays what the item was worth when it was ruined, then reimburses up to what they feel is fair after I replace the item. Which would be great and all if I had the money to replace everything and wait for reimbursement, which of course I didn’t. It took what felt like forever, but I finally got my apartment put back together and and much of my stuff replaced as I could. Then my dad died and I had to deal with all that went with that. After that I got sick for, like, two and a half months (creeping crud, walking pneumonia, and then freaking Covid). It was not a barrel of laughs.

This year is off to a much better start though. I got a new car! Like, we’re talking almost brand new. It’s a 2023 Subaru Outback and I’m it’s first actual owner and it only had 6,700 miles and it’s super fancy (to me) and it has heated seats and everything works! It’s very pretty and fancy and shiny and kinda terrifying cause I’ve never owned anything even remotely this nice and I sort of feel like maybe I shouldn’t have such a nice car since I’m rather less than fancy myself, am, in fact, something of a hot mess. It is an awful nifty car though. And I sure do love having heated seats. So I guess, whether I feel I deserve such finery or not, my warm tushied self will drive her till I can’t drive her anymore. Actually, between the car and my new fireplace/heater/tv stand and my smart tv, I am starting to feel a smidge more bougie…ish.

Randomosity:

Omg, I almost forgot to brag about the upcoming birth of my great nice or nephew!!! So freaking excited!!! Had a great time at the reject Christmas party with the cousins–can’t wait to make next years party even better! For those who are curious, reject holidays are something we started doing this year for those in our family who are banned from, unwelcomed at, or otherwise excluded from, other family holiday celebrations. I have a TEN FOOT blanket y’all, and it is amazing. In fact, I may have accidently kept another one that was supposed to be a gift so that I actually have 2 of them now. Some of the nifty stuff I got for Christmas (and a couple early birthday presents): $40 JoAnn gift card, pink fuzzy heated blanket, little ceramic pot with a face, a suncatcher kit, hand painted sloth canvas bag, foldable wagon, village firehouse, rechargeable batteries with charger (for Wii remote), Wii remote with num-chuk, an adorable Santa projector decoration, 2 film collection dvds, Starbucks cup, super cool new pink wallet, I Love Lucy tin wall sign, hilarious fridge magnate, candy, my fave (and frustratingly hard to find) pudding, adorable little whacky dog ornament, vanilla gift card, and other stuff I can’t think of right this minute. I think it’s rather cool that we went to the Wahlburgers that is the one near Donnie Wahlberg’s actual residence, and I totally dig my new DW Christmas shirt, but I can’t believe we missed him by a week, and I’m extremely disappointed in the lack of return visits. How am I supposed to see the man in person, freeze like a deer in the headlights, and embarrass myself horrendously if we don’t go back and manage to be there when he is?? My feet are cold. I’m pretty sure the description Prime gave for this movie lied to me–it does not appear that it contains a robbery, Donnie Wahlberg, John Leguizamo, or that annoying red-haired guy from CSI Miami. He was (is?) a terrible actor. I think I might be hungry, but I’m not sure. The baculum is the fancy name for the penile bone. Violent Night was a pretty freaking cool movie. Some bad guys just showed up in this movie but they are definitely not any of the above mentioned actors. One of them is Ice-T, which is okay since he’s not a bad actor. Not sure if I’ll actually watch it though since apparently it’s just about this dude and his gf hiding from the bad guys, who just killed the guys entire family, while the bad dudes steal some paintings or something. And they talk a lot. Apparently, Sephi has to go potty, so I better wrap this up now.

Peace out, scout!

Doctors and Scary Movies and Such

I’ve had the creeping crud for a month and a half y’all. A MONTH AND A HALF. In other words, I’ve been coughing and having issues with my asthma for a month and a half. I have gone to the urgent care once, the ER twice, my doctor’s office three times, and a pulmonologist’s office once–and I still feel like crap. And after the experiences I had last week with my GP and the pulmonologist, I’ve decided I’ll just deal with it and let whatever happens, happen. You see, my delightful doctor and the pulmonologist both treated me like I was not only garbage, but ignorant garbage that was wasting their valuable time. I went to the doc on Wednesday. Walking from the lobby into the room and talking to the nurse made me get all out of breath and wobbly. So the doc came in, cause I looked like death warmed over and she figured she should check me out right away. I was sitting in the chair, hunched over, panting/breathing like some porno reject cause that’s what my body does to get air when it’s struggling to freaking breathe. The nurse put the pulse oximeter thing on my finger and the oxygen level read, like, 97 or 98. Now, this shouldn’t be surprising since I was literally sucking in air like I was drowning (I was told this is called compensation breathing). My oh so awesome doctor, however, saw this and immediately decided it meant I was fine. She said it seemed like it was more likely to be anxiety since my oxygen level was fine. I explained that I was not feeling any anxiety (a bit of irritation at that point, but not anxiety). I had gone to the doctor because the things that normally make the creeping crud go away haven’t worked this time. Since my body is an asshole and will not tolerate oral or inhaled steroids (which is the go to medicine for this sort of issue), but it will tolerate IV steroids or shots. I don’t know why my body is like this. I really wish it wasn’t. My life would be soooooooooo much easier if I could just take the stupid pills without the horrific side effects like tachycardia, extreme fluid retention, passing out/fainting spells, etc. I also discovered it can lower potassium, which I already have a big enough problem with. Anyway, I wanted help trying to figure out what to do. Instead, my delightful doctor first tried to say I was having a panic attack, then she rather snarkily accused me of ‘refusing’ to take inhaled steroids. When I explained that it’s not that I won’t, it’s that I can’t, that I end up with severe thrush that takes months to go away. She responded with, “call me crazy, but if I had to choose between thrush and breathing, I’d choose breathing” in a super sarcastic tone. I have to wonder if she’s ever had thrush? Ever felt that oh so delightful feeling of something constantly gagging you, like a small piece of food caught way in the back of your mouth, right at the top of your throat 24/7 for two or three months. It’s super awesome. Anywho, so then she said they’d give me a steroid shot but that there was nothing else they could do for me. Then, just to drive home how truly amazing she is, she asked me one last time what the lowest pulse ox numbers were I’d been getting at home (91/92), looked one more time at my pulse ox from when I arrived, and said “well, I mean, it’s not like you’re going to die from this”. Her bedside manner is astounding folks. The pulmonologist was also a complete and utter jackass. He informed me I don’t have asthma (apparently all other doctors are idiots), then said if I do it’s not a problem. He told me my allergies are my problem (no argument that they are a huge problem) and that I need to be on shots. Well no shit Sherlock. Tried to explain to him I was on shots but had to stop temporarily because I got sick but it was like talking to a wall. Then he said it was my fat belly making it hard to breathe. Then smoking. Then vocal chord disfunction. When I told him I’d already been through the whole VCD thing and the (stupid) therapy for it and that it wasn’t the problem, he blew it off and said to do it again. He told me my pulmonary function tests came back perfect, with no signs of any issues. He also informed me that steroids are basically snake oil. I was so angry I actually ended up crying through pretty much the whole appointment. Thank goodness Nate was there. He was great. He spoke up for me when I just couldn’t. I had reached my limit. I was truly afraid if I tried to deal with that doctor, I would either punch him or just start screaming at him. Needless to say, he wasn’t super helpful. I was even more disgusted with him when I got home and saw the results of my pulmonary function tests and his comments, which totally contradict what he said. They show poor lung function and significant reaction to the bronchodilator (inhaler/asthma medicine), which is an indication of asthma, and includes notes confirming breathing issues and the need for a more extensive breathing test to assess restriction. Great Doctor, that one. Even before those two though, I wasn’t really getting anywhere. Every doctor kept saying pretty much the same things about how my oxygen levels weren’t below 90 so I was okay really. The problem is that I wasn’t, and I’m not. The fact that I’m still sick should, in my opinion, signify that maybe, just maybe, what they’ve been doing isn’t working and they should try something different. But what do I know, right?

Onto a much more fun topic–horror movies! I love horror movies!!! Everything from the original Night of the Living Dead to Black Phone, and countless others. Even though I very rarely even get so much as a little case of the heebie jeebies from them anymore, I still watch them with the same enthusiasm as when they scared the crap out of me. I love the movies themselves, of course, but I also love trying to assist the various characters in their endeavors. In other words, I like to tell them how stupid they’re being or tell them not to do this or that, and sometimes I root for the killer/monster. There is one thing I tend to do during horror movies that isn’t as fun. I notice things. Things like the fact that no one wondered how the girl managed to put her head through the screen of the tv in the 3rd Nightmare on Elm Street movie– it’s not like it’s super easy to get your head through one of those old tv screens, especially one several feet in the air! I also noticed in the 4th Freddy movie that not one single person wondered how the kid got INSIDE his completely sealed waterbed. And in Pet Sematary (the original), when the little boy comes back, he looks completely like he did before he got hit by a SEMI. I’m just saying, sorry to be a downer and all but, if a toddler got hit by a semi, he’s not going to be looking exactly unscathed. I notice when people don’t wipe before pulling their pants up after using the bathroom or when they put something one place and it appears somewhere different moments later. It can be a bit frustrating to notice these things all the time since I tend to fixate on them a tiny bit.

Randomosity:

Why is it that most movies portray the high school outcast as a girl who is actually quite adorable once she’s given the simplest of makeovers? Is this ever the reality of the outcast? My dog is a weirdo. She sleeps all curled up one minute, the next minute she is over there with her paws straight up in the air, then she’s sprawled out like she’s posing for playdog. I wonder how someone decides to try to grow the biggest pumpkin for a contest. I found out some very exciting news but I think I’ll wait until next time to share it. Cause I’m kind of an asshole. My niece is getting kittens and she slow danced with the boy she likes at homecoming so she is loving life right now. Got to spend some time with my buddy Caron and her Bill and we got top have some funnel cake, and then I went to a parade with the boys, so all around a great Saturday even if I did feel still feel crummy and move slower than a herd of turtles in peanut butter. I will also write about taking Sephi to St. Louis Pride Fest thingy next time. Hopefully. In case I forget, it was fun, she did really good, I gave her doggie CBD treats to help chill her out, think it helped, me and the boys had fun, they were all holding hands and being adorable and such, and it was a good weekend. I gotta wrap this up so I can take Sephi out now.

Peace Out!

This Could Get a Bit Blogged Down Y’All

I am aware I haven’t blogged in an appallingly long time. To be honest, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew what I had to blog about, and I just plan couldn’t face it. I finally decided that enough time has passed, and enough note-worthy events have occurred, that I just have to suck it up and get it over with.

My aunt Virginia took me in when in the late 1990s when I had nowhere to go. She did it without hesitation. I lived with her and uncle Ron and their dog Pugsley. She introduced me to I Love Lucy and My Fair Lady and making up words for silent movies until you laugh so hard you’re crying. She helped me heal while we sat on her back step, staring up at the stars, listening and comforting me as I talked and cried and raged through a lifetime of trauma, abuse, and loss. She included me in her Christmases and Easters and such without a second thought. Even as the years passed and I moved from place to place, she was a constant presence. I called her for advice or comfort or to share big news or, most often, just to talk. She was like my second mom. For more than 20 years, she told me I was her fourth kid. She told some of the best stories, loved to make people laugh, was generous and caring, and was hilarious. In May 2022, mere months after my uncle Ronald, my aunt Virginia died. Losing them was absolutely gutting. For over 20 years, they had both been such a huge part of my life, especially Virginia and our countless calls and talks. I was so completely destroyed and felt so alone. I still miss her EVERY SINGLE DAY. I wish I was doing a better job on this, but I still cry every time I try to write much of anything. Hopefully I’ll be able to do her justice at some point, when the pain’s jagged edges smooth a bit more.

This Memorial day weekend, a pipe burst in my kitchen. Without going too far into the whole story, it turned into a total shitshow. I ended up being displaced from my apartment for almost exactly a month due to truly pathetic incompetence. Also had a bunch of stuff get damaged/destroyed, which is when I discovered my renters insurance doesn’t cover replacement costs. So out of the books, laptop, bookshelves, DVD shelves, records, and various other items that got ruined, I had to choose which where most important to replace because I wouldn’t be able to afford to replace everything. The insurance would pay what the stuff was worth at the time of the destruction up front, then they would pay the rest of the estimated value after I replaced the item. Ummm…riiiight. That would be great…if I had the money to replace the stuff and wait for reimbursement. Which I don’t cause I’m a broke bitch. If I could afford to replace shit, I’d probably be replacing cooler shit that wouldn’t include things like a media shelf made of freaking particle board! I also found out my insurance company sucks. They refused to send anyone out to do anything and then they got all snippy if I didn’t give them the exact item info the exact right way (while I was still trying to deal with all the apartment stuff and staying at a hotel with Sephi). Needless to say, I will be switching companies as soon as I finish the claim. I should be sending them my final info on damaged items in the next week or so of all the stuff I found while putting the apartment back together. After the whole flood fiasco, I did another major purge of stuff. I made so many trips to Stuff that I should have gotten some sort of frequent consignor points or something.

My dad stopped speaking to my brother and I over 20 years ago. That’s also when most of that side of my family stopped talking to us as well. I guess it was in solidarity or something, though I have never understood it. My dad was always a different sort of guy. When we were kids, he let us do some of the coolest stuff! We got to play with fire and candle wax, eat Donut Land late at night, make fake casts, listen to Dr. Demento on the radio, and learn to appreciate epic films like Empire of the Sun and The Last Emperor. I have a lot of good memories of my dad. Unfortunately, I also have a lot of unpleasant ones too. My dad had a lot of mental health issues that could make him irrational, cruel, paranoid, and/or unpredictable. I loved him but I wasn’t allowed to be a part of his life. From the moment he decided I was an enemy, there was nothing I could do to change his mind. Even my beautiful, amazing nieces went unacknowledged. By this summer, I hadn’t seen my dad in over 20 years, and had only spoken to him once in the last 10 or so. Yet when I was told he died, my heart still broke. All the good and bad memories swirled around and around in my mind, fighting for space. It took days for it to settle down enough for me to finally understand that having, and losing, a loved one with severe mental illness is hard and confusing and sad and painful and so many other things. I loved my dad, yet I didn’t fight to be in his life. I couldn’t stand the thought of facing his hatred, his cruelty, again. Or of making his paranoia worse and witnessing the fear and anxiety that could cause him. Since I didn’t see him, I worried about him pretty much constantly. Asking about him was not well received by the relatives as they still see me as a terrible human. I couldn’t even ask where he lived, so I would just find myself searching faces at stores and such. So now, I’m sad because I’ll never have the chance to see him again and have him give me his goofy half grin, even if that was pretty damn unlikely anyway, I always kinda hoped he’d forgive me someday for my perceived wrong doing. But I’m also, as awful as it may sound, relieved. I don’t think life was enjoyable for my dad anymore. His paranoia had grown and he had virtually shut himself off from the world. I do wish things could have been different though. And I definitely wish I could have seen him just one last time before he died.

Sorry kids, no randomosity tonight. I just don’t have it in me right now. I promise some epic stuff next time though. I’ll also add pics of the apartment during the shitshow mentioned above.

Peace Out.

Memories

Ever since my mom died, I have said that nothing could ever come close to being as awful as losing someone to suicide.

It wasn’t meant to be a fucking challenge.

I was wrong. Watching someone you love being devoured by the vile evil that is dementia/Alzheimers gives losing someone to suicide a run for its money. In a way, it is just as bad. Each is life-alteringly destructive in its own way. It is awful living with the knowledge that my mom chose to leave us behind, but watching my beloved aunt leave us this way is devestating.

My aunt Virginia has been my rock for a long time. She kind of stepped into the role of surrogate mother over the years. I lived with her and my uncle Ron twice, for about 6-8 years total. Though we at times drove each other crazy, I loved both of them fiercely, and know they loved me too. Virginia has always been able to help me through tough times–she was one of the first people I would call when I needed a shoulder to cry on. She was also one of the first I would call with good news. It was her I was most homesick for when I lived in Illinois, and it was her that didn’t hesitate to tell me, when I called frantic because I wanted to come back to Iowa but had nowhere to live, “of course you do, you know you can always come home”. Those words, which may seem fairly innocuous to most, still make me cry as I type them today. You see, since my mom died, I’ve never really felt like I had that–a home base. I’d hear people say they were going home for the holidays and I’d feel a hollow ache in my heart because I didn’t have that. Don’t get me wrong, I had places to go and loved ones to celebrate with and holidays were good…but I still missed having that sense of going home. In that one sentence, Virginia filled that hollow space once and for all…until fucking dementia came along.

Over the past few years, I have watched as this vile disease has eroded away the amazing woman I love so much. Her sense of humor, her wit, her kindness, her life stories, her silliness–bit by bit it is being stolen away. She can no longer enjoy her favorite movies because they confuse her. She forgets names and places and favorite things. She has trouble doing some of the simplest things. She can’t remember who is alive and who isn’t-except my uncle Ron, she almost always remembers he’s gone and misses him desperately. She often becomes angry and lashes out cruelly, even violently, at anyone and everyone–something so out of character it is beyond devastating to behold. She is often paranoid and convinced that she’s going to be killed or that she has killed. She strings together words that make no sense.

But

Sometimes she returns to us. We get glimpses of the humorous, silly, smart-ass woman we love. The gleam returns to her eye, and for just a little while we have her back. In those moments, we laugh with her again like we always have. And sometimes, we cry with her as she mourns. We live in the moment, whatever it may be, because she is in that moment with us. Until she isn’t. And that is what is the kindest cruelty of this fucked up bastard disease. Those moments where you get them back, only to have them yanked away again to that dark place where you can’t reach them. You’re grateful for those moments, live for them, but they are cruel because they make the bad times hurt even more.

I miss my aunt so much. And it hurts to see her slipping away. But I will be there every chance I get, waiting for those moments. And holding her hand in the darkness.

Fuck you dementia

RIP Uncle Ron

Cancer sucks. Yesterday it stole another amazing person from the world–my uncle, Ronald May. Uncle Ron was funny and helpful and loyal and kind and good and ridiculous and generous and he liked watching racing and he loved trains and he was great with cars and he loved his family and we all loved him. He used to walk around the house singing obnoxious little ditties cheerfully and rather horribly, delightfully doing a little jig or ending with a big flourish just to make my aunt laugh or roll her eyes in exasperation at his antics. He and I once drove her crazy by repeatedly bursting into song every time the word ‘sign’ was mentioned on the entire drive to and from Tennessee, doing our very own howling rendition of the song “Signs” over and over until Virginia nearly throttled us. He never once yelled at me for always pestering him when something went wrong on my many cursed piece of crap cars. Time after time after time, I’d call him up and utter the famous “Oh Uncle Ronald” in a distinct sing-song way that signaled I was calling to bather him AGAIN. And he always did what he could. He would patiently check and see what was wrong and either fix it or tell me what I needed to do…every single time. Considering the number of cars I’ve had that went to crap over the years, the man was my patron saint of cars. But he was also fiercely loyal and generous and…well, he was just an amazing man. I have so many stories, moments that I hold in my heart, moments of laughter and tears and happiness and even times he drove me crazy. He wasn’t perfect, but he was one of the best men I’ve ever known, and I’m going to miss him. And cancer can just fuck all the way off.

I’m Fairly Certain September Tried To Kill Me…

September was not my month, to put it mildly. On September 13th, I was walking Sephi, stepped in a hole, fell with all my (rather considerable) weight on my knee replacement knee, then continued forward onto my hand, then my cheek hit the sidewalk. It was all very graceful and delightfully painful and terrifically, horrifyingly embarrassing and I was pathetically grateful there were no witnesses that I am aware of. Sephi was super sweet and kept circling around me and whining and giving me kisses and was just very concerned about the whole situation. Luckily I had my phone with me (it is completely irrelevant that the only reason I started consistently remembering to take my phone is because I started listening to audio books during Sephi’s walkies!) and was able to get Robby to come take Sephi home and my cuz Jaime came and took my sorry self to the ER to make sure I didn’t wreck the new knee or anything (thanks to my awesome cuz!!!). After a check over and x-rays and such, was told I just sprained the knee and my ankle on my good leg (cause of course I did). So I hobbled my ass home. That weekend, I got sick with the creeping crud. For anyone who knows me or has read this blog, the creeping crud is my long-time nemesis. I used to get this, like, allergy/asthma/bronchitis/sinus/misery making crap pretty much every fall and spring, and sometimes randomly in the winter or summer too, just for fun. It is uniquely my creeping crud. No one has EVER caught it from me, nor have doctors ever seemed to agree on what, precisely, it is. I have dubbed it the creeping crud and, since it is mine, that’s what it shall be. Anywho, then the creeping crud apparently morphed into a bit of pneumonia. Got that cleared up with some antibiotics, but the creeping crud wasn’t ready to quit annoying me yet, so I was still having issues with my asthma and coughing and such the last week in September. Then, on the last days of the month, I started to feel worse. As October started, I felt worse and worse. Finally went to the ER on the 3rd and found out I’d caught Covid, because of course I did. Added bonus? Due to the fact that I was already sick when I caught it, I was much sicker than I probably would have been otherwise. Yay. I was told I was extremely lucky I had gotten the vaccine as it was most likely the only reason I didn’t end up in the hospital. I did end up getting the antibodies treatment, having to monitor my oxygen level annoyingly frequently, and being unbelievingly, completely, utterly, miserably, sick for what felt like forever. I seriously have no memory of ever feeling that awful at any other time in my life. I’m so lucky for my amazing bff/cuz Robby, who came over pretty much every day to check on me and make sure I ate something and he took Sephi for walkies–he was a life saver!! And my sis and my bffs Caron and Tom continually texted or messaged or called to check on me pretty much every day, which was super sweet and a nice pick me up on those miserable days! Covid did leave me with some long haul issues with asthma and coughing, but at least I no longer feel like a truck hit me, so there’s that.

In other news, my dog’s still as adorable as ever, my back’s now bullying me daily, my car had to go to the doctor, my Christmas village might have to wage war with Caron’s village cause her village has cool stuff mine wants, and I’m actually sewing a crap ton of Christmas presents this year! Like, we’re talking a LOT of them–I’ve already done most of the work on over 50! And yesterday I hand sewed and fixed a hat and a pair of socks–I’m like Martha fucking Stewart or some shit!

Randomosity:

Laters

My Brain Is Rather Bursting To Blog

I feel it only fair to warn you that this may be a very bizarre blog. My brain is all kinds of full of random thoughts that apparently want to escape the dark confines of the cranial prison they currently reside in. In other words, buckle up kiddies, this could be one very bumpy ride.

I was watching a documentary the other day about a group of Syrian citizens who were fighting against Isis by reporting their atrocities to the world. They record the executions and the food shortages and the child soldiers, and they do this even though they will be executed if they are caught. Many of them have had to flee their homeland due to being identified, moving from one ‘safe house’ to another, from one country to another. They continue showing the world the atrocities even as their family members or friends are found and killed as retaliation for their actions against these terrorists. These brave men are risking everything, have given up everything, to show the world what is happening to the innocent citizens of Syria. They are constantly at risk of being located by Isis and murdered. I truly admired their bravery and determination to fight. So when the documentary showed German citizens staging a protest against immigrants and refugees and chanting for them to be deported, I was absolutely appalled. Deport them?? Really? It would be kinder to just shoot them, since deporting them would be a guaranteed death sentence. It made me think about how people all over the world are all anti-immigration and, as usual, I got all kinds of disgusted. How can people be so cold and uncaring? Especially in America? We are literally a country made up of immigrants! How on earth can people now say we don’t want immigrants here?? It is mind-boggling to me how people can see what is happening to innocent civilians under Isis, but refuse to help them. Or see the desperate situations of so many others around the world. Sometimes, I truly don’t understand humans…and sometimes, I just don’t like them all that much.

My Sephi Rae turned one at the end of August! She is still very much a pup, but she is pretty much done growing I think. She is so adorable and sweet and silly and smart and cuddly and funny and cute and she’s a total mini moose and I wouldn’t trade her for anything. I sleep so much better since I got her, even if she is a total bed hog. She makes me smile every day and snuggling up with her on the couch is kinda my favorite thing.

I can’t believe summer’s over already. The Minnesota trip was beyond awesome and the Garth Brooks concert was amazing. Went to the park with Robby and Sephi a few times and let Sephi play in her pool a few times too. Anytime she’s in water, Sephi’s happy, so I tried to make that happen as often as I could, though I feel bad it didn’t happen more often. The river is too high to take her now, but hopefully it goes down enough to let her swim at least once more before it gets too cold. Can’t lie though, totally looking forward to thermals and hoodies and all that!

Dementia and Alzheimer’s and cancer can fuck all the way off. They creep in like some kind of vile ninjas, slowly, silently, insidiously invading loved ones and stealing bits and pieces of them away, gradually at first, so you barely notice anything is amiss. Then, suddenly, they spring from the darkness all at once, ramping up their attacks to devastating levels. All the while, you can do nothing but hold tightly to your loved one, trying desperately to hold their rapidly disintegrating self together, knowing you’re not enough, but refusing to let go. Often, cancer can be beaten back by medicine, medicine that is itself a necessary attack on your loved one. The others? They always win. We will inevitably lose our loved one to the hungry jaws of the memory monsters. I fucking hate them.

I’m reading a book about folks that have, through choice or circumstances, become modern day nomads. They live in vans or trailers or RVs or whatever and they travel from place to place for work and what not. On one hand, sounds kind of neat–no rent, see lots of cool stuff, traveling is cool, etc. On the other hand, and this is a biggie, I LOVE MY STUFF! My books, my movies, my oddities, my yard stuff, MY BOOKS, my dolls, my old suitcases, my snarky tees collection, my books, etc. My one bedroom apartment barely has room for my stuff (books), where the hell would I put all that in a van?!? I mean, some of these folks have storage spaces they rent by the year, but that would kinda defeat the purpose in my opinion. I mean, maybe if it was one of those bigger, fancy RVs with all the hidey hole storage spaces….maybe. I have an awful lot of books. And my Christmas ornaments don’t fit on my tree now, they definitely wouldn’t fit on a smaller tree! Yeah, don’t see it working out for me.

Randomosity:

I have a lot of magnets on my fridge and I still want more, which is probably weird. I’ve never actually seen a rat ‘in the wild’, which is probably good considering my reaction to mice and bats. Rat-hunting dogs are rather small…probably so they can go where the rats are? EEWW! I definitely do NOT want to teach Sephi to catch rats–that is totally awful! In case you’re wondering, I’m watching a VICE news thing about rat hunters in New York. Well, Sephi is whining to go outside, so I better go. TTFN!

Peace Out Scouts!

Mickenzie

Here I GO Again On My Blog…

Sorry it’s been so long, I totally suck, I’m fired from blogging, blah blah blah.

Okay, now that that’s out of the way, I’d like to introduce y’all to the one and only Persephone Rae Guccilatte Marchelle Novella (Sephi or Sephi Rae most of the time)! I adopted her from a rescue in Missouri the weekend before Halloween–she was 7 weeks old when I brought her home. She is smart and silly and lovable and sweet and goofy and, currently, obnoxious as hell. She just started her official training today to learn manners since right now she is pretty much a mini moose-zilla (fuck off spell check, that is totally the only word to describe her), mowing down everyone with her enthusiastic adoration/attention whoring. She is my emotional support dog and she has truly brought so much light and life into my world, I don’t know what I’d do without her.

“Paint me like one of your French girls”

Here she is a couple weeks ago at her favorite perch, leaning on the arm of the couch and keeping watch out the window.

So I had a super exciting thing happen in my usually not exciting life! I am constantly entering the giveaways on Goodreads–I mean, c’mon, it’s free books people! I never win, of course, but I enter the giveaways anyway. Call me an optimist or maybe an idiot, whatever. Anyway, when I saw that they were doing giveaways for the Bloggess’ new book, I entered them every chance I got. AND I ACTUALLY FRICKING WON!!!!!!! I won Jenny Lawson’s new book Broken!!!!! I not only finally won a book, I won my favorite author’s book!! And it actually already came in the mail and I’m almost done reading it and it’s amazing and EVERYONE ON THE PLANET SHOULD READ HER BOOKS!!

Next week I’m going in for a new procedure and I have to admit I’m a bit nervous. See, I have this issue with my lower back where it basically kinda aches all the time, especially if I stand too long or sit still too long or walk too much or, you know, live. Then, sometimes, just for kicks, my lower back just loses its fucking mind and completely freaks out and hurts so bad that breathing is painful and it goes on for a day or two days or up to a week and it sucks utterly. I have been trying trigger point shots and different meds and such but nothing really helps except the couple times it was so bad I actually went to the ER and they gave me, like morphine or something, but that’s not exactly something I want to do every time my back tries to kill me. So my pain clinic and my doc recommended I get an epidural…you know, the big ol’ spine area shot the give ladies when they’re in labor?!?! Yeah, it’s like that, except apparently it’s not the same medicine…but it’s still a needle IN MY SPINAL AREA! Now, I am totally not someone who has an issue with needles. I have absolutely no issue with needles 99.9% of the time. It’s just, well, IT’S MY SPINE! I will of course do it, it’s just a teensy weensy bit nerve wracking. Cause it’s my spine.

Randomosity:

I would TOTALLY attend a duck fashion show and it would be ah-mazing, because the ducks are waddling around in little dresses and hats and that is a level of adorable that would make my whole year. It’s a little disturbing how excited I was to discover that Discovery+ has EVERY SINGLE episode of Toddlers and Tiaras. I know most folks ranted and raved about how awful that show was, but obviously people watched it since it lasted so many seasons. I’m just being honest about the fact that it is a guilty pleasure of mine. I find it beyond entertaining–it’s like Rupaul’s Drag Race in miniature…only not. Also, if folks were fair, there were a lot of kids who honestly loved getting all made up like a princess and doing the pageants, and some of the parents weren’t crazy or pushy or any of that. Granted, most of the parents they showed were bat-shit, since they make much more entertaining TV, but not all of the parents were that way. Admittedly, I find the whack-jobs beyond entertaining, even when I find their behavior utterly reprehensible, if for no other reason than I can sit and scornfully mock and belittle them while feeling delightfully superior, which is probably wrong and such, but it is totally true. That’s one of the best parts of watching many of my favorite shows actually–Cops, Intervention, Hoarders, Beyond Scared Straight, Toddlers and Tiaras, etc. I mean, how do you not feel better about yourself and your life choices while watching someone insist the drugs a cop found in their underwear aren’t theirs or when someone’s home is so stuffed with crap that a shovel is needed just to unearth the floor? Okay, maybe if you’re a really good person, you wouldn’t sit there feeling all better about yourself, but I’m okay with the fact that I’m a rather snarky, judgmental bitch. I came up with a new word recently, well I think it’s new anyway. I noticed a fella had installed a hook and eye latch to hold his trucks tailgate in place and I thought to myself that he must have been very impressed with his own redneckery, but spellcheck isn’t telling me it isn’t a word so apparently I totally did not invent it. Which makes sense because it seemed like a word that should already exist since it was a super fun word and very appropriate. I should really go pick up Sephi’s poo while she’s sleeping cause then it’s easier to go outside without her wanting to come out too, which I totally do not want her to do since she is super unhelpful in poo pickup. It would be neat if I had a service monkey to pick up the poo for me. Oh! And the monkey could ride around on Sephi’s back and play fetch with her (if she ever figures out that she has to let go of the toy she wants you to throw in order for you to throw the darn thing) and they could be BFFs and my pup would totally NOT eat my monkey because she’s going to be well-trained by then, and it would be AWESOME.

Peace Out, Girl Scouts!

Suicidal Spiders And Other Annoyances

So, I’m pretty sure a cult of suicidal spiders has moved into my apartment. See, I always make it a point to periodically announce “if I don’t see you, I don’t squish you spiders!” throughout my apartment, giving spiders plenty of warning about how things work around here. I feel this is incredibly thoughtful of me, considering spiders give me the heebie-jeebies. However, they also devour bugs, which I also loathe, so they have that going for them whereas most bugs are just creepy little icky things that just need to go away. Which means I don’t really WANT to kill spiders…but…well, they were warned darn it. The past week has been particularly spidery and it is becoming exceedingly annoying. I have had to squash 3 spiders in my bathroom and 2 in my bedroom! Seriously y’all, I think I have some sort of suicide spider cult on my hands! I mean, I have clearly warned them–repeatedly and in an increasingly shrill shriek–what will happen if they cross my path! yet they continue to prance right on out into the open, heading straight for me and, ultimately, their demise. And every stinking time I am forced to squish one of these kamikaze spiders, I stand there waving the instrument of squish and hollering, “Damn it, I said if I don’t see you I don’t squish you!” at the stupid thing. As thought this will somehow make him see the error of his ways. Like he’ll suddenly stop, smack his tiny spider forehead (do spiders even have a forehead?) and say, “Oh! You’re quite right! I am dreadfully sorry, it simply slipped my mind! Won’t happen again!” before turning and politely getting the hell out of my apartment. Somehow, don’t picture that happening.

I start my self quarantine tomorrow. For the next 2 weeks, I am totally going to hermit myself off from the world as much as possible. Absolutely no unnecessary trips to the store, no visits with friends, no polite chatting with the oh-so-friendly neighbor—nothing. If I do have to go to the store for some unavoidable reason, I will don the gloves and mask ensemble. In other words, I will actually do all the stuff they have been suggesting we all do anyway that I have only sorta done. All so I can go see the niece and sister and the Steve. Since my niece has a weaker immune system, she is in the high risk category for Covid (which I am as well, I just don’t worry about me so much). I refuse to take any chances with her health, so I am going into social lock down for the 2 weeks proceeding my visit to do my best to ensure I don’t do anything to inadvertently endanger her.

I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that they are starting to reopen stores and such. On the one hand, yay for shopping! On the other hand, the number of cases is increasing every day. People are all kinds of eager to holler about their rights and how this is ‘Merica and no one can keep them from their freedom to shop and whatnot. I totally get the folks who are out of work wanting to reopen so they get their jobs back, but the folks hollering loudest aren’t those folks–nope, they’re the douche canoes that just don’t like being told they can’t do something. Kind of like when you tell a toddler he can’t touch a hot stove and then that becomes that which he most wants in the whole world. And I really don’t get warm fuzzy feelings when they start talking about how it’s mostly ‘just people with pre-existing conditions’ that are hardest hit, that are dying. First off, that’s not entirely accurate as there are tons of instances where someone was perfectly healthy before contracting Covid and they still died from it. Secondly, folks should take a minute and think about the people that fall into that category. It isn’t just frail old people in nursing homes. It’s me. It’s my 12-year-old niece. My friend’s 11-year-old son. My bff/cousin Robby. My little cousin who was born premature. The list of people I love who fall into that category is long, and I’m willing to bet it is for most folks if they actually think about it. Guess we’ll just have to go with the flow for now and see how everything goes.

Randomosity:

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I was watching some videos of actual 911 calls and I decided it is a really good thing I never tried to do that job. I have little to no patience for stupidity, nor could I pretend to have sympathy for someone who just slaughtered their family/lover/friend/etc. One video in particular left me absolutely bewildered. A man called 911 when he somehow drove himself into a lake. He was still in the sinking vehicle when he dialed 911. He told the lady where he was and what had happened and when she asked what kind of car it was he answered’ “a brand new Cadillac”…that’s right kiddies, he went to the trouble to point out that his rapidly sinking vehicle was brand new. He and the dispatcher went back and forth a bit and the call abruptly cut off. The man was found dead in his fully submerged SUV. The dispatcher was reprimanded because she never told him to exit the vehicle. *stunned silence* Y’all, if you are in a vehicle that goes into a lake, why the hell would you need someone to TELL YOU to GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE GD CAR?!?!?!? Seriously?!? NO one would need to tell me this. I would definitely be able to figure that one out all on my own. Shit, I would of been scrambling out Duke boy style as soon as the car hit the water! No way in hell would I be waiting in there for someone to TELL me to get out!

My buddy Desi has decided that from now on, anytime I tell her a story, she’s going to record me. Apparently, she is convinced my weirdo story telling would be amusing to people on the internet. I personally think people would find me beyond whackado and rather obnoxious. But what do I know, people find it amusing to watch grown folk pee on themselves on purpose so there’s that.

I hope I get to plant my flowers today. And make hamburger surprises! If I do, I will post pics and the recipe for surprises (one of my fave foods ever).

Laters Gators!

Another Blog! Already!

It’s totally crazy cakes, right? Two blogs in the same month? Just nutty! Even weirder, I don’t really have anything in particular to blog about. I guess I could grouch about the fact that I still haven’t received my COVID-19 stimulus check. Starting to think my bad luck fairy has decided to rear her ugly, evil-assed head to somehow screw things up once again. I have no choice but to wait and see if the darn thing ever appears, since I have no control over it at all. Siiiiiigh.

I have three appointments this week, aside from my usual PT and counseling. I will be seeing my foot doctor, my pain clinic, and the balance therapist. I still find it a bit amusing and slightly disconcerting that my balance sucks enough that they decided I need specialized testing to pinpoint the issue or issues causing the problem. I mean, I’ve always had sucky balance and issues with vertigo, and the whole stupid foot/leg thing has just made it even worse. But I didn’t think it was THAT bad. Okay. maybe I did know it was pretty bad, but I just figured it is what it is, right? Anywho, I managed to get all three appointments scheduled on the same day, since they’re all in the same clinic. Three appointments all in one trip!

Randomosity:

The documentary I’m watching has these titles/descriptions throughout, basically simplistic introductions to each item of discussion. I’m fine with that….except that they frickin’ misspelled YACHT. YACHT, y’all. They spelled it YATCH! Good grief.

I really need to get a little garbage can to put next to my little work area/kitchen table. Ooh, and blackout curtains for my living room windows so I can watch TV from my work area without the giant glare.

A huge thanks to T and J for being amazing!!