Well, I guess it's that time again, isn't it?

2011, amirite??

I really don't have whole lot to say about the past year, to be honest. I spent most of it just kind of laying low and enjoying life. There were a few high points, such as my trip to the Dominican with two girlfriends back in January and my trip to quebec with my girls in September. I got to go to a few concerts, including Finger Eleven, A Primitive Evolution and a few more from The Schomberg Fair - two in one week from those guys.

Although, I did date a bit, and had fun while I was at it, I spent 2011 pretty much single. I've spent a lot of time sorting out my issues in the aftermath of most-recent-ex, whom I had made one final attempt at friendship with before deciding it was best for everyone involved if we just cut off all contact. Not easy, but I'm working on it.

My car got written off but it was a situation that ended up working out well for me as it allowed me to get out of my car loan.

Compared to last year, spent most of this year on the periphery of other people's excitement - some good, some bad. For myself, in retrospect, the year was kind of mundane and uneventful.

Maybe that's a good thing.

2012 looks like it could potentially be quite the roller coaster. That is, if we aren't all blinked out of existence by mid-December. However, I'm sure that much like Harold Camping's prophecies of doom this Mayan calendar issue will likely turn out to be just a lot of hooey.

Please feel free to make fun of me for using the word 'hooey'.

As I was saying, the coming year already holds a lot of promise for excitement and/or crippling anxiety... Wheee!

This year's to-do list includes:

• Buy a house. Yup, that's a big 'un
• learn my ukulele
• compete in the Warrior Dash
• find a way to make some money with all this writing
• keep working on staying in shape
• My kickboxing instructor has thrown around the idea of holding some demos, in which case I want in on that. Yeah, I've been doing this for over a year now, and still love it

So I guess that's my year end wrap-up. Time to start getting myself dolled up for this evening's festivities. Cheers, y'all.

Friday Music Lurve: The Mountain Goats

So the comp is pretty much pooched at this point. My boxing day miracle was short-lived as a software update required me to restart and it just never came back. So after 6ish years I am faced with the prospect of computer shopping. Those who know me well know that big-ticket purchases generally make me itch and/or hyperventilate. I can put it off for a bit because my company was nice enough to gift us iPads for Christmas this year. A friend of mine came over to finally set up the router I was given, after I spent a few weeks struggling to figure out the bloody thing myself. So I'm all wifi'd and working from the iPad. I feel like I should name it. Maybe Jerry.

So onward and upward. I've been listening obsessively to The Mountain Goats for the last week or two, as those on my Facebook and my cubicle neighbors at work already know. I became aware of them a year or two ago after hearing 'Cubs In Five'. I thought it a quirky lo-fi tune and a great little passive-aggressive fuck you.

And the Chicago cubs will beat every team in the league
And the Tampa bay bucks will take it all the way to the top
And I will love you again
I will love you like I used to

Now, I'm no expert on baseball, but I'm pretty sure this is the equivalent of saying "yeah and monkeys might fly out of my butt."

(I really wanted to include a picture of Mike Myers as Wayne Campbell here but I haven't figured out how to scam pictures with this thing. Use your imagination. )

I started listening to them more this year as I discovered tracks off of The Sunset Tree and Talahassee. The last couple of days I've been setting up playlists of five or six albums and just listening for hours at work. I love the themes of encompassing passion and self-destructive love that seems to pop up. I don't know who writes the bulk of the lyrics but there's a feeling of not-quite-impotent rage that pops up again and again... The feeling of someone about to burst out of their shell and go absolutely apeshit on the place.

As someone who fancies herself both a bit of a musician and a bit of a writer, I've always been drawn to powerful lyrics. Here's a few samples of lines that have been running through my head.

From 'Up the Wolves'

I'm going to get myself in fighting trim
Scope out every angle of unfair advantage
I'm gonna bribe the officials
I'm gonna kill all the judges
It's going to take you people years to recover from all of the damage

From 'No Children'

I hope when you think of me years down the line
You can't find one good thing to say
And I hope if I find the strength to walk out
You'll stay the hell out of my way

From 'This Year'

Then Kathy showed up and we hung out
Trading swigs from the bottle all bitter and clean
Locking eyes, holding hands
Twin high-maintenance machines

Again, still getting used to this iPad. I wanted to link to all these songs, but i'm sure all my readers are savvy enough to know how to go to YouTube and look them up.

I highly recommend you do.

I almost forgot. This is super-cute.

Mountain Goats sing The Mountain Goats

Post X-mas Round Up

My computer is pretty hit-and-miss right now.  I was able to get it started up and it's not freezing on my every 15 seconds.  It's a Boxing Day miracle.

A quick run-down on Christmas this year:

Both my grandmother's are in decent health after a pretty rough year, one having recently had hip replacement surgery and a weird intestinal thing that caused her to drop 30 lbs but has gone away as mysteriously as it started, and the other having fallen while cleaning her refrigerator last spring, breaking herself in many places.

Picture me knocking on the nearest piece of trim.

For all their weirdness and foibles and pre-adolescent moodiness my kids are pretty damn awesome.  They were gracious receiving their gifts and remembered all their pleases and thank-yous.  They are also coming to the age where they are thinking of others and made hand-made gifts for both grandmothers, my parents and I'm guessing they must have asked their dad for a little money because they got me a cute little necklace.  It has Snoopy on it.

They also got me a DVD player, as my Playstation has been doing a fine job of destroying most of my movies, but I have a hunch that *may* have actually been from my parents.

Quite honestly, all the kids were well behaved.. my sisters' kids are all pretty nice kids as well.  They all seemed to like their gifts as well. 

My haul included the aforementioned DVD player, necklace and... a Ukelele! So I have a new instrument to learn, as I was not aware that the Uke works on entirely different tuning and chord patterns.  I love getting stuff for Christmas that I would have a hard time justifying for myself.  I know other people like practical stuff, but my thing with practical gifts is, if I haven't already bought it for myself it's probably because I don't feel like I really need it.  So this was an awesome gift.  (In all fairness, the DVD player was pretty cool too, because that was on my list of things I WAS going to buy for myself, out of necessity, and now I don't have too).

Today consisted of some visiting/procrastination as I took my cousin back over to my parents (they were short on room and she loves spending time with my girls) and then stopped by my sister's place.  My youngest nephew is absolutely adorable and starting to speak in full sentences.  Amusing as all get out.  Coming home I got on taking down the tree, as my house is entirely too small to keep it up for long.  There was also the matter of putting away gifts and doing about two and a half weeks worth of laundry. 

We set up the newish Wii that was gifted to the kids from Nanny.  Well, technically.  December 1st my Nan usually sends me a check for each of the girls and instructions to get something for them from her, because God love her, she's getting old and has a hard time getting around and quite frankly, has better things to do with her remaining years than shop for kids, especially when she doesn't know what to get them anyway.

What this has resulted in is that in our house, Santa doesn't bring the really cool gifts... Nanny does.  I can picture the day when we finally have the Santa talk (which won't be long now, I think) and the question will be "Okay.. but Nanny's still real, right?"

I've mentioned a few times today that I count myself lucky that I don't dread family time.  My biggest worry when we all get together is.. "Oh man.. it's gonna get so LOUD".  Because it does.  Get loud, that is.  But if that's worst that happens, I think we're doing okay.

Hope everyone else had a lovely Christmas, or a satisfying secular Sunday.

Someone get me a priest, I have a Grinch that needs exorcising...

*sigh*

I love Christmas.  I really do.  I love spending time with my family.  I love spoiling my kids (within reason, anyway).  I like watching A Christmas Story and National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation over and over again.  I love relearning O Holy Night and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen on the guitar.  I love playing Euchre with my dad and sister and grandma and uncle.  I even love washing dishes after dinner.

I love the fact that my family is pretty functional and my kids are usually grateful for whatever little things I can scrounge up for them.

But I'm so stressed out right now.  The weeks leading up to Christmas, with all the shopping and running around and constant barrage of consumerism can fuck right off.  I feel like I haven't been able to take a breath for a week.  

If I had my way, I'd sleep from December 1st up to the 23rd, only waking for the occasional Christmas party and concert.

I can't wait until tomorrow when I can just relax and actually enjoy the holiday. I'll snap out of it.

This may be the last post for a bit.  The comp is on the fritz again.

Merry Christmas, folks.

On the subject of boundaries and courtesy.

Read a post on Feministe today about an advice column on Slate.com that questioned what to do when your seat-mate on a flight pulls out a lap-top and starts watching hard-core porn during the flight.  The letter-writer in this case was a grandmother travelling with her daughter and small grandchild.

Not surprisingly, a lot of people's response was "Oh hell, no.  Call the flight attendant on that shit," because that's a pretty blatant broach of other passengers' personal boundaries, natch.  Regardless of the age of your seatmates, I would think it's safe to say this is never cool.

If you're ever wondering if it's appropriate to watch porn on an airplane, well, unless you are chartering your own private jet, one should usually err on the side of "Porn on an airplane? What the hell is wrong with you?"

A few people asked the question 'Okay, well where do you draw the line? What if it's not porn per se, but a movie or show the occasional scene of graphic sex or violence such as Dexter (which I use as an example, because it generally has a fair amount of both and I'm not really familiar with a lot of other shows).

It's hard to draw a line in the sand, because different people have different tolerance levels and are triggered by different things - imagine if you will, having trauma-related PTSD and finding  yourself with a seatmate watching a movie with a graphic rape scenes like The Accused or Precious.

I'm not sure about everyone else, but if it were me, I'd rather go a couple hours on a plane keeping my viewing at a PG-13 level or lower, than ask someone who may be easily triggered to just get the hell over it and let me watch my movie in peace, especially when considering that in most economy flights, you're practically sitting on your seat-mate's lap.

But where to draw the line?  What can be considered acceptable and what is not?  It's virtually impossible to tell these days what one may find acceptable for public viewing and what one may not.. especially if you get kids involved.  (Again, if it's porn on a plane, just don't.)

What surprises me is how few people consider simply asking their seat mate "Hey, I was thinking of watching this movie but it's kind of graphic in parts.  Would it bother you if I watched it?"  Worst case scenario,  seat-mate might actually say "Actually I'd really appreciate if you didn't."  Or they may say it's okay but decide since you have spoken to them that they want to be your bestie now and chat you up when all you want to do is watch your movie.

In the name of courtesy though, I'd be willing to take that risk.

As a society we seem to be developing a phobia of actually talking to people and creating dialogue.  We'd rather draw hard and fast lines of etiquette in the sand than actually reaching out to each other and creating dialogues around personal boundaries.  Respecting one's boundaries is a way of being empathetic.. to say "Hey, I get it, you're not cool with this and I respect that."

Another post having to do with boundaries I found interesting was in regards to not forcing children to hug and kiss relatives and friends at Christmastime or other gatherings.  We've all known a kid that doesn't like to hug or be hugged, and it's common for such a child to be admonished for being rude to not accept hugs and kisses from family members.  However, in trying to prevent abuse it is important to teach a child that their body is their own and that no one is allowed to touch it without permission.  So I think it would stand to reason that it might be confusing to a child to encourage bodily autonomy while simultaneously say 'but you still have to kiss Grandma'.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think rudeness is acceptable and if my kid refused to hug or kiss someone, I'd let them know that they still have to say hello or thank you or the appropriate acknowledgement.. but if they don't want to be hugged, that's okay.  Some people are very uncomfortable being touched.. whether it is tied into psychological issue or a physical issue - some are very sensitive to touch and it can be over-stimulating.

Respecting a kids boundaries also teaches them to understand and respect the boundaries of others.  Paying attention and respecting a child's boundaries can also help a parent be aware of issues.  My oldest daughter, as a toddler/preschooler was ridiculously affectionate.. WITH EVERYBODY.  She even wanted hugs from strangers.. anyone who made eye contact with her, pretty much.

I remember her running up to an elderly lady pushing a walker and exclaiming 'Up! up!'.  Another time in a bank, she ran up to a young boy who was probably no older than eleven or twelve and threw her little arms around his legs.  This poor kid looked like he was going to die of embarassment on the spot.

Being such an affectionate little thing, I paid attention when she didn't want someone to hug her.

There was a time when the ex-hub and now-wife had some company over including one or two people they didn't know.  My usually exuberantly affectionate preschooler refused to give this one guy the time of day. Instead of vying to have attention lavished on her, she quietly guided her sisters into another room, away from the company.  I don't know the details, but this one guest ended up later saying things to now-wife that had crossed a few of her boundaries and left her quite upset.  I have little doubt that T. picked up some kind of vibe from this guy.

I think small kids can have the ability to read adults better than we can of each other, because they have not yet been socialized into prejudices about different people, and may be able to better follow their instincts when it comes to getting 'bad vibes' from someone.

Just like we should listen to those around us in order to show courtesy and respect boundaries, with kids while there are times to teach, there are also times to listen.

Sorry.  Couldn't Resist.

Christopher Titus, I am disappoint.

Some of you may remember a short-lived but hilarious (if you share my own sick sense of humour) sit-com a few years back by the name of Titus, based on the real life upbringing of comedian Christopher Titus.

So I'm a fan of his page on Facebook and I came across this post.  When I first read it, I honestly thought it was satire but as I read on I realized that it was written in seriousness.  I think.  I'm not sure, actually, the whole thing is kind of muddled and incoherent.  I don't even know where to start with the whole 'Negro Greetings' thing... I'm pretty sure I'd find it offensive if I could figure out what the fuck his point is on that one.

Anyway, I'll let you read the post for yourself.

Transcription:

This is a repost.
I'm getting tired of atheists bitching about Christmas, first of all you're an atheist, why do you care who believes what? How can someone who believes nothing believe in nothing so much that you want everyone else to believe in nothing or make fun of the non non-believers. Sounds like a cult. I believe that Jesus Christ walked the earth and he was a good man, like I believe that Ghandi walked the earth and Martin Luther King also. That's why it's called Martin Luther king day not "Negro greetings". Christmas celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ which is why it's called Christmas and a manger scene has people dressed in robes of the time and lambs and whatever.Theres no aliens. (I'm looking at you Scientology.) Guess what there is a ton of mythology about Ghandi and MLK too so step the hell off atheists and keep your believing in nothing to yourselves. I'm tired of you forcing your non beliefs on me. I love how people bitch about their civil rights until they start infringing on others. You think I'm pissed? Listen to blah blah blah shameless self-promotions etc etc etc...

Really what?

I read some of the comments but then stopped after I found that the stupid was beginning to burn, so I went on to post this response:

I've never heard an atheist bitch about Christmas. I've never heard a Muslim bitch about Christmas. I've never heard a jew bitch about Christmas. I've never heard a Hindu bitch about Christmas. I've never heard a Pagan bitch about Christmas. I've heard a lot of Christians bitch about a war on Christmas, which could be true if you consider war to mean 'the suggestion that one might acknowledge that there are other holidays in the month of December.' But myself, I've always thought 'war' involved a lot of guns and death and stuff. That I've yet to see, outside of Weird Al Yankovic's "The Night Santa Went Crazy."

Those who have been reading this blog for a while know that I have very little patience for the "War on Christmas" crowd and that personally I find the idea that by simply acknowledging the varying beliefs of people living in North America we're contributing to the downfall of Western Civilization to be at worst, a xenophobic and dangerously bigoted idea and at best, just fucking ridiculous.  Saying Happy Holidays to someone instead of Merry Christmas isn't a big slap in the face to Jesus Christ.. in fact, from what I know of him, he would have encouraged it.  It's my understanding that J.C. was very into all that "Goodwill toward man" and "Loving thy Neighbour" stuff.

Take a look around you... the only people waging a war on Christmas and it's true meaning are the advertisers, the corporations and the grinding gears in the machine of greed.  If anyone forgets the 'true' meaning of Christmas, it won't be because a few people say Happy Holidays.

As for the original rant, I think Titus needs to do some research on Atheism and what it entails.  It's not a belief in nothing.  It's a movement toward rational thought and critical thinking instead of blind faith.  A lot of Atheists still celebrate Christmas, but may center it around celebrating family.  Hell, I consider myself an Atheist but I still think that it's possible that Jesus Christ existed, and I celebrate Christmas because I have respect for the ideas that Jesus espoused (that stuff that I mentioned above.  Love, and such).  No, I don't believe in the Resurrection.  I don't believe he was the Son of God.  But I respect his ideas.

I wish more people would.

I'm Pretty Sure June Cleaver Never Dealt with This Kind of Self-Doubt.

It starts with a phone call or a paper invitation sent home in a school backpack.  The birthday party.  Some small child in your own progeny's class has decided that your kid needs to be at their birthday party.

And it's good.  Who doesn't love knowing their kid isn't a social pariah?

I sometimes wonder if maybe I'm a bad parent because I don't immediately wonder if the parents of these children are derelicts or Satan-worshippers or sociopaths.  You want to take my kid for 3-4 hours and feed them sweets and pizza?  Is it bad that I'm totally okay with that?

Whether one is prone to excessive paranoia or not, etiquette and basic safety rules dictate that you meet the adults to whom you will be entrusting the life of your little one.

There is little in the world to make a parent feel more inadequate than the prospect of meeting another child's parents.

I'm lucky in that I have a few close friends who are in similar situations as myself and have kids in my girls' age cohort.  But meeting parents outside of my social circle.. it's harrowing.  You may have been there, yourself.

It starts with a phone call.  An invitation.  A time and an address.

Dropping your child off at the address provided and realizing it's in a rather posh area of town.  These parents, they aren't renting an apartment in that sprawling century home.  They live in, and may even own the whole thing.

As you're invited to come in, suddenly you become hyper aware of your own tiny dwelling, and even though you're not there, you feel a little ashamed of the dust in the corners and the old futon on the front porch and the dirt and gravel driveway, as though each dust bunny, each unmade bed, each fingerprint is written on your face.  Walking into an immaculate kitchen, you think of the unwashed dishes in your own sink.

Was her coat that dirty when we left? you wonder as you try to casually run your fingers through your child's hair, using a seemingly-affectionate gesture to hide the fact that you're really just trying to get it to look neat as suddenly it seems impossibly messy.  And in need of a trim. You find yourself wishing you had some scissors.

You see the fridge with the professional portraits of each child taped neatly to the door and think of your own fridge, with pictures of your kids from five years ago and a number of magnets with off-color jokes and advertisements for fast-food restaurants.

You make idle chit chat with this parent who is the same age as you, looks five years younger, but seems so much older, so much more put together, so much more... grown-up and you take off your hat and realize.. holy shit, I'm standing here talking to this totally-put-together parent who is making fruit smoothies for her kids SNACK  - meanwhile your kids had a handful of goldfish crackers in the car -  and I have pink hair.  Pink fucking hair.  What am I, 15?


Feeling ridiculously uncomfortable, you just thank Gord that your Shut Your Whore Mouth or equally inappropriate T-Shirt was in the laundry today.  Standing there in your coat, you wonder when you should excuse yourself.. too short, and you might appear rude.. overstay and you might appear.. well... still rude, not to mention over-protective.  This is part is especially fun for the socially inept like myself.


You find yourself comforted when you realize that Ms. Other Mom is talking a mile a minute and it dawns on you that perhaps, just maybe, they are just as intimidated meeting you.  After all, you're entrusting your child's well-being to them.

Maybe one day I'll get over the nerve-wracking experience of meeting other parents.   More likely is that I'll be that parent who has a near-coronary when one of the girls wants to introduce me to the parents of their significant other.  Such is life.

Conversations with my Kid: Deprivation, and the Grass is Always Greener.

I'm pick a chocolate chip of my oldest daughter's cookie while she grabs a glass of milk.  There were just enough cookies left for each kid to have three (or each of us to have two, but I really don't need them).

T: Hey!

Me: What?

T: Are you picking a chocolate chip off my cookie?

Me: Yeah, of course.  Hey, Wait! Are there any in the bottom of the cookie jar?  Sweet, one.. *nom*  two *nom*

T:  Aww.. Lucky!

Me: Says the kid with three cookies to the woman who just fished errant chocolate chips out of the jar.

"Lady, Are You On Glue?"

Cross-Posted at MyFitnessPal.com

"Are you on Glue?"

That is what my inner sloth said to me when I decided yesterday that I was going to sign up for this year's Warrior Dash.

I'm laaaazy. And I'm not in awesome shape. Oh, I'm in better shape than I used to be (I can do pushups! and FULL SIT-UPS!) but on the whole I don't tend to think of myself as athletic, or even particularly fit. Hell, at time I've revelled in my own non-athleticism.

In high school, those who took phys ed had to, twice a year, run a 2400m race. At the beginning of grade nine, I was the kid who half-ran, half-walked, red-faced, huffing and puffing and in tears by the end of the run. At the end of grade nine, I was the kid who stolidly refused to run, and walked, head high and throwing glares at the Phys Ed. teacher, the entire distance to finish dead last with a time of roughly 23 minutes and 18 seconds.

I had my compusory gym credit, and I never took it again after that.

So needless to say, signing up for something like this is rather out of character for me. I mean, seriously? climbing? Fire-jumping? CLIMBING? (I have a wee fear of heights.. and climbing)

I don't know. I feel like challenging myself.

I can't actually register until the 13th, when I get my baby bonus so I have time to back out, if I want to. But really, what do I have to lose? I have two friends interested in signing as well, one a mom who has taken up running and wants to get in (better) shape, and another who will be roughly 17 months post-transplant when the race comes around and is also looking for a challenge. Not to mention my kick-boxing instructor and some women from that class may be signing up as well.

This could get interesting.

The Tip of my Tongue.

When I was growing up in Aurora there was a restaurant down the street from my uncle's place, in a plaza (some may know them as strip-malls) on the Southeast corner of Murray Avenue and Yonge Street, at one point the longest street in the world and the eventual route that would take my family on our short but life-altering pilgrimage from Aurora to our current home on the Georgian Bay.

My memories of this establishment are fuzzy yet curiously vivid as well.  Glaring yellow signage ran the length of the outer end of the building - it was the last unit and faced the traffic of Yonge street.  I recall caricatures of old comedy acts such as Laurel and Hardy and W.C. Fields gracing either end of the stylized lettering, now blurred in my mind's eye.

It was a fairly large, licensed establishment, specializing in Italian fare - a family restaurant, before we became inundated with proto-family-cookie cutter chain eateries.  Upon entering, one would walk into a sparsley furnished, harshly lit entranceway with a small counter for picking up takeout orders.  In contrast, the main dining room was lush and romantically lit, a sea of dark wood, leather and tiffany lamps.  As a small child I would swing my feet from the huge bench seats of the booths and look around curiously, in my own world, ignoring the chatter of my parents and sister.

What stands out in my memory, clearer than anything is the Pac-Man game.  The PacMan game sat in the entryway, close to but not quite in the dining area.  It was one of those table-top arcade games where two players could sit on either end and play head-to-head games of Pac-Man.  Occasionally I was lucky enough to be given a shiny quarter to play while we waited to be seated, but even when no quarters were available I was content to sit hunched over the bright flat screen and trace my fingers along the plexiglass, following Pac-Man's gluttonous feast.  My little brain, just then learning to read, would watch as the screen flickered and switched from the demo to the menu screen and mouth along as the rival ghosts were introduces.. Inky, Blinky, Pinky and...

and...

What was the last one's name?  I can never remember.

The last time I was there, I was seventeen.  My friends and I had embarked on a road trip to the city for some reason or another and I, being full of ideas, suggested going to Aurora and driving by my old house.  We stopped there for lunch and it was as I remembered it, mostly.  I don't recall now if the game was still there, but the food and the atmosphere was as I remembered.

That was nearly fifteen years ago.  The restaurant has since been shut down, re-named, under new management.  It's funny though, that with all that I can remember of that place, of the details in the decor and the food and how my child-mind perceived eating in a  big, grown-up fancy-pants restaurant with china and cloth napkins and where I was even allowed to order a Shirley Temple and felt very grown-up doing so... well, with all that, to this day I cannot recall it's name.

Funny, that.

UPDATE:  So, I was at work and standing in the bathroom washing my hands and out of nowhere, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Barrel Pizza.

A rare MFP Monday post

So not much to report on the MFP front.  Progress, as previously mentioned, has been slow going.

This week I decided to try something new.  In the years I was in Weight Watchers, I refused to weigh more often than once a week.  Even if I had to go to the doctors office, if they wanted my weight they got what I had recorded at that week's meetings.  I also didn't own a scale at the time so it was easy to stick to.  I always figured that it was better than weighing every day, as daily fluctuations would drive me nuts.  Since roughly Tuesday, I HAVE been weighing in every morning. And it's been good. I have recorded at least some loss every day this week, up until this morning. I actually have a number on my ticker again!  This morning's gain was a mere 0.6 lbs.  Manageable, definitely not worth melting down over.

For gains (which fortunately there haven't been any, but this IS the weekend) I figure this.. It may be less frustrating to have a good day and record a gain of 0.2 or 0.3 lbs than to go a whole week and find I'm up 1 or 1.5 or even 2 lbs. A fraction of a pound is easier to deal with, psychologically, and in the course of a day it is easier to pinpoint what may have been the weak point of the day. When it comes to my period (which always results in a major fluctuation) I may be able to 'head it off at the pass' as it were, as I'll notice the gain earlier as it starts to come on.

I'm also finding that it fits in with the 'one day at a time' and 'every little bit counts' philosophies. I wake up, weigh-in and see where my day is going to go from there.

I hope this isn't what they meant by 'Seven Year Itch'.

I'm irritated as all hell right now.

Quite literally.

Over the last week I've developed some kind of allergic reaction that at first had all the look and appearance of run of the mill poison ivy.  And if ANYONE is going to get poison ivy at the tail end of November you can bet it's me.

You know that wive's tail about how if you get poison ivy seven years in a row you become immune?

Possibly the most enormous pile of steaming hot bullshit ever served.  I'm going on 20 straight seasons now and dammit, if there was every a qualification for some kind of poison ivy immunity idol, then I should have won that challenge ages ago.

This has been a rather sadistic case and for the last week I've been living on cortizone cream and antihistamines.   I had already been using a cream my friend gave me.  The cortizone cream was a slightly stronger one recommended by the ER doctor when I decided to go because I couldn't face a day of work when even wearing pants was difficult.

There was light at the end of the tunnel as poison-ivy itch turned to 'Holy-fuck-my-skin-is-dry-as-hell-from-this-cream' itch.  But as I weaned off the antihistamines the rash is coming back as more of a heat-or-excema type thing.  I think the culprit may be cheap laundry detergent.  My brother-in-law Frank suspects airborne chemicals.

(That link isn't actually about airborne chemicals, I'm just doing some pimping like good-sisters-in-law do)

All I know is I would cut a bitch to immerse myself in a giant vat of aloe vera right now.  I'd wear a gown of aloe vera leaves.

Tucker Max, You'll be Happy to Know They DO Serve Beer in Hell, I've Been There - OR - Texts from Last Night: Legion Karaoke Edition

(705):  God help me.  So drunk guy tells me his friend likes me* and wants to dance... I say sure if he wants to come ask me I will dance.  No, dude is 'too shy' and won't come ask**. End up dancing w/ drunk dude who is currently sporting a pretty wicked asscrack.  I'm in hell.

(705): Oh and now drunk dude has requested I sing "18 and Life" by Skid Row.  I can't even make this shit up.

My milkshake totally brings all the drunks to the fucking yard.

*having never previously met, spoken or seen me.
**I'm expected to go ask him.  Apparently I'm in grade seven.