Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Bye Bye 2006

In keeping with recent holiday tradition some electircal item of mine poops out right about now. Last year-my computer. This year-my digital camera. Fortunately I think it is covered under warranty.

So today I bring you one of the very first photos I ever posted of Yoshi. Well before anybody ever came to my blog. It is my most favourite picture of her and I think a good way to end the year of head crushing.

My Very Own Kelly Rippa Moment

I watched a bit of The Rachael Ray Show today. It is the first time I have ever seen it. Does it make me weird that the first thing that struck me was that after she walks towards the stage kitchen, shaking audience member's hands along the way, she gets right into cooking without washing up?

Ew.

Whatever Humbuggery Is Called After Christmas

I got through the holidays. Heavily tranquilized, mind you, but I got through. I am a Christmas Survivor. I can even say I had fun. A sorta overwhelmed fun in a sorta over stimulated way. You know when you live a hermit-style life and all of a sudden you are eating dinner with 8 other people? People who actually talk to you and expect a reply? That sort of fun. I interacted! Go me! You see, Yoshi does not talk back to me nor does she require a response from me, for the most part, so this whole social interaction thang (beyond yelling at the TV) really threw me for a loop. Clearly I have to get over my anxiety issues and get out more.

Not so fast! While I may have been temporarily infused with Christmas Spirit I quickly reverted to my former curmudgeonly ways almost immediately upon return to my home base.

Here is what has been pissing me off lately.

-Christmas commercials after the day is over. So wrong. Very very wrong.

-that whole recap of every fricking gory detail of what happened in 2006. Been there, DONE THAT ALREADY!!!! I want to look forward to good things in the new year.

-creepy neighbours. Today I went to get my mail in the lobby and this guy did not get on the first elevator so he could wait for me to get my mail and ride up with me instead. Fortunately another person got on with us and saved me from the inevitable discomfort when I would be forced to shut him down before he got too personal. The weird thing is that this is not a romantic interest as he is very obviously gay. He just seems overly nosey but in a creepy way. I do not know what his thing is.

-Boxing Day (or plain ol’ after Xmas) sales. Shopping insanity and huge line-ups to get into stores to buy more stuff. Mother of Crap! When is it ENOUGH stuff? When?

Today I did a totally curmudgeonly thing and called the cops on somebody whose car alarm was going non stop for about an hour outside my window. The cops came about 2 hours later, waited until the person came to their car and personally handed over a ticket. It was AWESOME!!!! I was overly gleeful about it as I had been slowly going insane over the whole afternoon. Only now are my shoulders starting to creep down from my ears.

I am once again planning my Annual New Years Eve Boycott. So yet again it will be me, Yoshi, an indecent amount of take-out food, DVDs, a warm blanket, my PJs and my couch. This year, due to my summer sushi food poisoning, I will be avoiding the raw fish and going with very yummy well cooked Chinese food instead. I would appreciate any suggestions for ‘feel good’ movies that I can watch. No negativity or gore. I want to start 2007 feeling happy.

Am I alone with my year end grumpiness? Anybody else out there looking forward to a fresh new year?

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Christmas Edition

Susie and Sharkey suggested we dress up our furry friends for the holidays and post the results on our blogs. You know I am only too happy to participate in this kind of perversion. Mwahahaha!


While I did not manage to send out physical Christmas cards this year I did throw together a virtual one. Yoshi and I also want to thank you for the love and support we have received from all of you in your lovely comments and emails. We hope you all have a wonderful holiday with those you love and we cannot wait to read about your celebrations.

Yes, both Yoshi and I read your blogs and then talk about you afterwards.

Still In One Piece-One VERY Itchy Piece

Update on The Healing

The Problem-

On Friday I suddenly started getting a very red rash all around my incision sites. It looked like an allergic rash to me but when I researched on The Internets the one condition that kept coming up was Flesh Eating Disease. Fabulous. Just the words one wants to hear with the weekend coming up and no doctors in sight. I kept an eye on it and while it did get worse it didn’t seem to be acting like it was eating my flesh. It was just very bumpy, dry and itchy. Then I started getting low grade fevers and stomach upset. I started worrying about infection of some sort but it just didn’t make sense. I could see one area getting infected but not two separate ones very far away from each other. Not to mention 3 weeks after the surgery when for the most part everything is all healed up.

The Diagnosis-

Possible allergic reaction to the glue/adhesive on the steri-strips used to close my incisions. I have never had a reaction before on my other 3 surgery sites but such is the life of me. I am well known for having bizarre and unprecedented side effects and health issues out of the blue like this. Hell, being diagnosed with breast cancer at 35 was pretty much the highlight of my medical cursedness. If it is rare it is going to affect me somewhere, somehow. In fact the head pharmacist of the local teaching hospital knows me by name due to some strange side effects I had to some very well established and otherwise benign medications a few years ago.

The Solution-

The doc ripped off all the steri-strips (totally painlessly unlike when I tried to do it myself the other day. OW!!!!) which revealed an even angrier red rash underneath in the exact shape of the tape. Hmmmmmm… I have been given a cortisone cream for it. I am still very itchy. If this cream doesn’t work I have an anti-fungus one in the wings. Yes, that is right. I might have a fungy titty. Thanks Santa!

11 More things About Me If you Don't Flee Immediately

Way back when I started my blog I posted 50 Things About Me and have never added to that since. Today I am going to change that with a further 11 Things About Me for a grand total of 61. What a magic number. I will update you soon about The Healing. I have experienced a bit of a setback and am unsure if it is minor or serious. I go to the doc tomorrow and hopefully will find out then. When I know, you’ll know.

A Further 11 Things About Me

51. I don’t drink coffee but am totally addicted to tea. I do not, when at home, drink my tea out of any old mug or cup. I have a plastic thermos type cup I ONLY drink out of. I like my cup best because it keeps the tea hot longer. I love my tea hot, hot hot!

52. For the most part I am a ‘live and let live’ kind of gal. I may not agree with something but I don’t react too strongly because I think it really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things and that people are entitled to their own opinions, lives and personal tastes. However, there are a few things in the world that might be considered pretty innocuous by others that, well, make me fucking nuts. By fucking nuts I mean trigger such sudden and intense rage in me I can hardly contain myself.

-patchouli perfume. I know I have mentioned this before but I’ll tell it again. The smell of this stuff freaks me out. I HATE it. So much so that I almost transferred out of a college class because one of my classmates wore this scent. I moved to the polar opposite corner of the room and it turned out she didn’t wear it everyday. Thank GOD!

-whining and screaming kids. I cannot watch those nanny type reality shows on TV because when the kids throw fits my whole peace of mind is totally shattered. My stress level rises suddenly and violently and all I want is quiet right then and there. I avoid shopping on the weekends and in those types of stores where young children are likely to be because of this reaction. I literally want to run away. I love me some quiet and well behaved kids. Kids who shout and play don’t bother me. It is that tantrum screeching and horrible whining that freaks me out. Don’t worry. I am childless and have no plans to breed. This is a major reason why.

-that commercial on TV for Dr. Scholl’s Gel shoe inserts? You know it? When the character dialogue is so inane in order to rhyme with “gellin’”? “Hi! I am Helen and eat this melon. And by the way I am totally gellin’.” Oh fuck, this commercial makes me want to kill. I flip off (give it the finger…) the TV every time it is on and have to leave the room.

-certain politicians like George Bush or our Prime Minister Steven Harper or our Premier Gordon Campbell to name a few. All they have to do is come off as arrogant and unsympathetic then the hate-on begins.

53. I cannot dance. Like proper dance. You know. Waltz. Never had to. Never learned.

54. I cannot sing. Trust me.

55. I have not used a hair dryer since my hair grew back in after chemo.

56. I am totally against hunting but probably not for the reasons you’d think. It is not because I am a vegetarian. It is because it is totally unfair. I don’t understand why somebody would be proud and excited after shooting some poor animal when they used a gun or bow, probably with a scope, and were wearing camouflage and were using scents or special whistles not to mention possibly using a dog for their heightened senses. Jeeez, how could you NOT kill an animal that way? Now if you were naked and you hunted down and killed some animal with your bare hands then I would be totally fine with it. It only seems right.

57. I have been in a hot air balloon. It was cool.

58. I’ve had the same cell phone for the last 5 years. I am just not that into technology for the sake of technology and wouldn’t upgrade unless my old phone broke or something. It just seems wasteful to me. I have never text messaged either.

59. I have a box of Kleenex in every room of my apartment because I have a constant runny nose. Very grandmotherly of me.

60. My legs are always itchy. I keep a hairbrush next to my bed so I can give them a good scratch. They seem to be itchiest when I am tired. I have no idea why.

61. I love Wonder Woman and Hello Kitty. I can’t say I have official collections but I do have a fair amount of their stuff. Probably more than a grown-up should.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Saturday Edition

Preshus Kitten Yoshi in the Shunshine.

And my deepest apologies to Blogger because the fault was all mine with the photo posting thang. The file was too big.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Technical Difficulties-Please Stand By

Blogger won't let me post a photo!! BAAAAASTAAAAARDS!

I'll have a crushing photo up as soon as I can.

The Christmas Cookie Exchange - TOTALLY Cookie Free

Susie is hosting a fabulous party at her place and she asked us some probing holiday questions.

Favourite holiday recipes-

Ok. I am in an enviable position where I don’t do any cooking at all for Christmas. My mom does it all. I think this is a combination of the fact that I am single, I haven’t had much of a kitchen let alone a dining room for several years and that I am a lousy cook. I cannot even fathom organizing a food extravaganza on the level that my mom does every Christmas season. Honestly I can hardly manage to feed myself the rest of the year. Being vegetarian I have no clue how to cook meat. While I enjoy Christmas dinner I would be just as happy with a pizza or sandwich. (Don't kill me mom!) Anyway, so I just show up and eat and leave.

Special Traditions-

Once again I have to be the party pooper and say that my family doesn’t really have any hard and fast traditions. Some come and some go over time. Here are a few things that have been traditions in the past or are still going on for now-

-My mom rarely cooks a turkey for Christmas. We have beef. Or everybody else has beef. I don’t eat meat. It might be a roast or a Wellington but it is never a bird.

-I’d say over the last decade my mom has made rumballs and Christmas cake. I love the rumballs and usually eat more than my fair share but hate the cake. This is good for my dad as it is his favourite and he doesn’t have to share.

-Probably the only one real tradition I can think of is that my dad gets Christmas pudding with hard sauce for Christmas dessert. It is a British thing. And every year the rest of us have a different dessert of some kind because we think pudding and hard sauce is nasty.

-For several years I used a bowling trophy for a tree topper. I was poor and it seemed sparkly and festive so up it went. I now have a smaller fake tree and the trophy is too big. I still have it just in case I go ‘big tree’ again.

-My parents used to give my brother and me a giant Toblerone bar in our stocking. We have asked to end that tradition as we no longer have youthful metabolisms to process such a vast amount of chocolate.

-As kids my brother and I never really left cookies and milk for Santa because we lived in an apartment and didn’t have a fireplace for stockings etc. My dad used to say Santa came in through the key hole.

-We open our gifts Christmas morning and as kids my brother and I were allowed to open our stocking first (usually at the crack of dawn) while my parents woke up and got coffee ready. Then we would open gifts together as a family.

-My brother and parents often go for a walk after breakfast and gift opening. I stay behind and have a nap.

-I am so boring you (and myself) with these totally lame so-called traditions….

Favourite Gift to Give-

-once again I have to be the bah humbugger. Over the last several years the giving of family gifts has been fairly lacking in total surprise as we give each other lists of what we need. We try to give gifts that are useful and needed. As a result there are not a lot of fanciful or extraneous presents. For me, I love giving a gift that was very desperately wanted. Whatever that might be any given year.

What You Wear When You Don Your Gay Apparel-

-Oh jeeeez….we used to get dressed up for Christmas but now it is jeans and a shirt. Typically my parents are more dressed up than my brother and I.

How boring are we? But at least we are boring together.

Just Emphasising How Sad A Person I Am

I came to a conclusion today. I am bitter. It is true. However I am not alone in my bitterness as I have also realized that there have been those before me who were also bitter for the same reason. I believe there is a legacy of bitterness. Do you remember when you were a kid when your folks or relatives or some grown-up would say to you how lucky you were as when they were a kid they had it rough? Both my parents grew up in the depression/WWII days so I got lots of stories about how hard they had it. And they did. They legitimately did. And I had it easy compared to them. And so it continues…

I was talking to my cousin, LBo, the other day, and as always the topic of what her two girls, ages 17 and 18, are doing lately comes up. Inevitably she tells me that they doing something that incites intense jealousy in me. While I am so happy that they get to do such cool stuff there is a little voice in my head that yells, “OH MAN!!! We never had that when I was a kid! I'm so seriously fucking envious of these teenagers!” And then I feel like a nasty old curmudgeon shit.

So I realized that when those adults in my past who said I had an easy life were in actuality bitter. And I am bitter too.

My cousin’s kids went to summer camp and they rode horses and did archery and really cool stuff like that. When I went to camp we made crafts out of bark. We roasted weenies over a fire. Holy crap, that was exciting. A real fire. One not in a dumpster. (I was a city child) I can remember what a big deal a canoe was. We didn’t get to ride in one but there were some at the dock. But there were no horses or arrows or specially trained counselors complete with CPR training and early development education. Our minders were drunk teenagers. And there were no seatbelts on the bus either.

Kids now have teachers who care. They have teachers who know about ADD, ADHD, peanut allergies, learning disabilities, substance abuse, negligent parents, and childhood illness. Parents also are actually involved in their kids schooling and call and complain if there are any problems. Nobody did that when I was a kid. Kids with learning problems or behavior issues were just called bad and sent to the principal’s office. If you were not doing well in a particular class you failed and then took summer school. There were no parent/teacher conferences or special tutors brought in. You were just left behind. I had never even heard of a peanut allergy until I was in my 20’s. I guess my anaphylactic classmates just wheezed their way through lunch hour.

Nobody used to care if you were harassed by a bully. I know I never even bothered to complain about it as I knew there was no point. You had to suck it up and just run faster. Nowadays there are Anti-Bully Coalition Committees and videos and reading material and everything. Bullies are actually singled out and frowned upon. Other kids ‘out’ bullies to their elders. They are the losers opposed to the victims. Bullies are no longer cool.

I had an English teacher in high school who used to turn off the heat and open the windows in his classroom so we were all cold and therefore awake and paying attention. We were not allowed to wear our coats. Nowadays that guy would be stoned to death in the playground by angry parents. And then sued multiple times.

That kind of shit is no longer tolerated so yeah, I am bitter. My cousin’s kids go to a special creative high school where there are dance and TV production classes. Artistic ability and individuality are not only celebrated but encouraged. However, I was called ‘Drama Fag’ for my participation in school plays. When I was a kid the only thing praised in school was athletic ability. There were no such things as special high schools for creative kids. Coaches practiced such archaic methods like letting student captains (always the best jocks) pick their own team. If you were small and slow and nearsighted like I was gym was the ultimate humiliation. My gym teacher used to encourage the kids to tease me. He called me ‘useless’ himself. That never happens anymore. Now that is considered ‘unhealthy.’

Yeah, I am really bitter. Kids these days have cell phones and DVD players in the car and belly button rings and wear grown up clothes. I had the joy of my little brother’s company in the backseat of the family car and his only diversion was bugging me. We rattled around the back without seatbelts. I wore gauchos and the only body piercing I ever saw was on those National Geographic films. We had one phone in the house and one TV and we watched what was on basic cable and we were thankful.

Well, now I am not. Now I am pissed. Dooce even posted about it today. There are special flavored medicines. Not to mention online homework help and video games. Kid oriented TV channels and DVDs. We had Saturday morning cartoons and the Sunday night Disney show. Otherwise we were forced to read. An actual book. OMG!

Kids are now marketed to. Society rejects spankings. Children are considered more equals opposed to second class citizens. HEY! Admit it. Kids have it better now. Nothing is too good for them. Their opinions count. I don’t say they always necessarily have it easier. There are more pressures. Our big temptations were beer and maybe some hash oil that so-and-so’s brother got from a guy in some alley. Now there is meth and crack and manufactured thrills like that. Yet overall I think kids have it better. I think kids are encouraged more and have far more opportunities to express themselves.

So yeah. I am sitting here writing about how jealous I am of little kids. It is official. I’m old. Old, sick, bitter and twisted.

Are you envious of kids today? Or do you think life is harder?

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Hold Them Tight

Two people who are dealing with the loss of a dear pet right now. Go give them some love.

Michelle-my dear friend and next door neighbour at The Old House.

Twisted Uterus-had to make that terrible decision.

It's Official!

I just got off the phone and have received some really nice news. My brother and his long time girlfriend, Jen, eloped. They went to Hawaii, which we all knew about but just thought was a holiday, and got hitched on the beach. Coolio! I have a sister-in-law now!

The funny part is that they accidentally got married on my mom and dad's wedding anniversary. It also happens to be my mom's birthday too. Ooops! Easier to remember now, I guess.

Sneaking off like that and doing it on their own is soooo the way I would get married, too, so I think it is great. I can't wait to see the photos.

Yoshi is a little sad she didn't get to be a bridesmaid, though.

At Which Point My Husband (If I Was Married) Would Leave Me To Rot Alone

The Healitude continues and it is getting very outspoken. When I first got home I was in the very tender stage which meant a lot of quiet “eeeeeeeee-ing” and hissing when moving about. Having the one incision on my back and two incisions on my front means the rear loses and I lay on that owie pretty much all the time. Now I am less tender but more sore and stiff which means you hear a lot of “OI!” and “YIKES!” and “OOoooooOOOOooWWWWW!” when getting up and down and moving around to get comfortable. Yeah, comfortable….whatever that means. I haven’t felt that way since this whole thing started. It is more degrees of ‘less sore' than actual 'comfort'. To be honest I am pretty crabby.

Basically I have entered the Old Man part of my recovery. Shuffling around in slippers and an old ratty cardigan. Muttering under my breath and audibly creaking with any sudden movement. Leaving things unfinished when they become too overwhelming. Cupboard and closet doors stand open. Empty cups and half eaten meals litter my living room. Well, they do for about 20 minutes before my mom comes over and does her daily sterilization of my whole apartment.

My Mankitude also continues and it is almost becoming a source of pride to me how rank I am getting. My mom washed my hair in the kitchen sink so it really doesn’t seem all that bad now that the greasy bangs are out of my eyes and the oily swim-cap-hair feeling is gone. I figure this situation is not totally unlike the pride of men who go on long fishing trips in the wilderness. How long their beards are getting and whether their filthy jeans can stand up on their own, become a topic of some distinction. I am in the trenches and that doesn’t smell pretty. I have earned my right to offend. Kinda like crazy street people.

Today’s topic of Bitchitude is the nasty ‘hit-your-funny-bone-feeling’ that perpetually affects my right arm. Jeeeeez it sucks. Makes me quite whiney, frankly. This is probably swelling affecting some nerve or something. It hurts too much for me to research on the internet. I’d rather just awkwardly lie on my back and snivel about it. It honestly seems to help.

Let the party continue…

Stopping By To Stink At You

Still really sore. Still really tired. Covered in a huge ugly bruise and 8 inch incision on my back. Bruised and imagine an eye shaped incision the size of a boob (6-8 inches on each side) on my front. Resting, reading and sleeping a lot. Cat won't leave my side.

Doin' ok! Kinda smelly as I cannot bathe with my two drains still in. Too sore to lean over the sink to wash my hair. Totally scared the postman with my new hippie funk the other day. Cat doesn't seem to mind.

Thanks so much for checking in, y'all.

This Had Better Be The Last Apres Surgery Post

Hi Everybody

Everything is a success. I got home yesterday from my surgery and am feeling ok. There is pain and discomfort but overall it isn’t too bad. Thank so much for all your well wishes. They were a nice thing to come home to.

In all honesty the two days in the hospital were rough with all my anxiety and I was very happy to leave. Once I got home I noticed my pain improving immediately and I was able to sleep a nice deep sleep for a change. That is basically what I am doing now-a--days. Sleeping. Yoshi is always snuggled up nearby and tries to get in as close as she can without hurting me. She is mostly gentle with a couple near misses with running paws coming in contact with incisions. I don’t blame her since there are three of them and in different places on my body and she just gets so excited.

I’ll post more when I get more energy and the damned bed stops calling my name.

One More Day

The day. Finally just a day to go and I will be going in for my surgery tomorrow morning. Weird and wonderful events have been occurring. Last week it was wild wind and rain storms causing a boil water warning that is STILL in effect. Yesterday it was snow. And it is still snowing. HIGHLY unusual for this time of year so all sorts of new weather records are being made. I hope the weirdness does not creep into my procedure. I want nothing but normal there. Unless by weird I mean weirdly healing almost immediately and not having to stay over 3 days. Weirdly healing of my boob so no surgery is needed at all. Weirdly total completion of all my Christmas shopping.

As I mentioned, weirdness abounds and there was a full power outage today at the hospital where I am to be operated on resulting in all the surgery being cancelled. Things should be just fine by tomorrow but I am supposed to call in the wee hours to check if the operating rooms are working. Fabu. Weirdness continues since my surgeon told me I would be in the hospital for two nights but when I got my pre-surgery phone call I was told it would be three nights. THREE NIGHTS!!!!! Oh crap. I am not sure there are enough tranqs in the hospital pharmacy to keep me chilled out that long. Oh lordy. Thinking about two days was bad enough.

Today I am doing laundry, packing my bag and getting out everything Yoshi needs to stay here for three nights with minimal adult supervision. I had better not come home to high long distance bills or outrageous pay-per-view porn charges. The liquor is locked away along with the cat nip and Q-Tips. Gramma and Grampa will be visiting at feeding times and have even offered to sleep over if Yoshi gets too lonely. This is a potentially dodgy situation as they may never move out after sleeping in my fantastically comfy bed. Especially with the built in foot warmer. That would be the cat.

So yeah, I am nervous and scared but I also just want this over with. Just want these next few days to fly by so I can be home in my comfy bed with my purry foot heater. I want to read all the great books I took out of the library and look forward to Christmas and put this all behind me and get on with fun stuff.

Wish me luck.

PS-Opera Gal asked me to put this up. Sounds cool.

The Truth About Christmas

And oh yeah! I have been visiting blogs like crazy and want to comment but Blogger hasn't been allowing me. So know that I have been at yer place but just lurking in the background. Hopefully when I get out of the hospital Blogger will have figured its own self out and I can comment again.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-For The Love of The Kitten

Some of you asked for more kitten photos after seeing Yoshi as a wee one in her tragic intervention video. Here you go. Innocence at it's best.
Ah lordy! The ears....

The Scoop, The Poop, The Skinny, The 411

Well, it is official. I go in for my surgery next Tuesday November 28^th. Needless to say I am shitting myself, because, HELLO!, surgery but also because I have to think about getting all my holiday shopping figured out and done before I go in. I am totally uncertain if I will be up to shopping at all before the 25th. People are going to be getting some boring ass gifties this year. If I can'’t order it online then it is either going to be something out of my own closet or made up from surgical gauze and tape.

I am wondering if I should put up my Tree of Seasonal Angst early this year or if that is simply TOO MUCH SEASONALITY for November and just get my parents to put it up for me closer to the big day. I have thoughts of Christmas cards and stocking stuffers and holiday baking when all I should be thinking about is such fanciful things as America'’s Next Top Model. These thoughts are just TOO SOON!

What to do, what to do…

Did I mention that due to very strong winds and rain last week there was a series of mudslides which has caused my city's drinking water supply to become contaminated with such things like dirt and raccoon poop and pine needles? This is called turbidity. What it should be called is turditity because that is what the water looks like. Shit. So we've been on a boil water advisory since last Thursday. I am constantly forgetting and mindlessly rinsing my toothbrush under the tap only to have to boil it to sterilize it yet again. I was afraid to shower in this gunk with my compromised boob and got pretty manky there for a couple days. Germ fears overrode my sense of common olfactory decency. I have been assured that the water will not cause infection and I smell moderately better for it. Apparently it will only give you the runs if you swallow it. It also seems to be giving my hair more body and lift.

Yoshi has also developed a sniffle over the last couple of days. She is sneezing a lot which I have noticed, when she jumps onto my lap, causes her to be covered in a fine mist of her own spit.

An update on the whole Autumn debacle-I have The Shelves back in my possession. She still wants them and assured me she will be getting in touch with me this week when she has the cash. Yeah, right... I plan to be too busy to return her calls. I plan to never sell her those shelves. I plan to avoid her like the plague. Let's just see how she feels when the roles are reversed. *shiver*

The good times; they are a'’ rolling.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-A Serious Video

Things have been somewhat unsettled around here for the last few months and as a result Yoshi has slipped through the cracks.

You can see how here.

Flake Magnet

Just got off the phone with Autumn. I think I may need to bathe in Ajax and then rinse off in bleach because I feel dirty. Oh so dirty and not in a good way but in a corpulent pustular sort of way.

Oh, there were excuses. Such excuses. Tales of woe so weep-tacular they made the Titanic look like a Disney Line cruise. It was an excuse-a-ganza. A bullshit-a-polousa.

The Cancer Card was pulled again and that wasn’t the worst of it.

I am utterly disgusted. Here is why I haven’t heard from her nor received my money:

-somebody stole her bank card and withdrew all her money and they don’t believe her and have to investigate her at the bank. This happened yesterday which doesn’t explain why I haven’t heard from her in the last week.

-she fell and broke her nose and has to have surgery on it. Maybe. And this happened a week before she even contacted me in the first place.

-she is still waiting to hear about a possible surgery date for her cancer diagnosis. I’ve heard this from day one and still don’t know what it has to do with anything.

-WAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!

The shelves will be returned to me although she tried to convince me to let her keep them until she got money next week. Sadly she still desperately wants to buy them. The thought of having to deal with her again in the future makes me want to move out. Or barf. Or both.

When I explained to her that I was tired of her excuses she said that this whole thing was embarrassing for the both of us. The fact is that she really didn’t sound at all embarrassed. Not at all. It seemed like this sort of thing happens to her all the time.

And why should I be embarrassed? I’m not the train wreck.

What To Do When Crazy Leaves Notes On Your Door?

Well, I’ve been living here in the new digs for about 4 months now and have found my fellow tenants to generally be a happy and friendly bunch. Everybody has really banded together and there are all sorts of associations one can join if one is built that way. I am not a joiner by nature so the garden committee will have to do without my Black Thumb of Death for the time being. So far, for every holiday, including Halloween, there has been a potluck party one can go to complete with decorations and sing-a-longs. It is very sweet. It is also glaringly apparent that I am a total curmudgeon as I have not attended a single communal gathering either. Eventually when I am over my social angst and feel like joining the masses again I’ll break out my Famous Quinoa Salad and karaoke on roof garden with everybody else. Until then The Hermit shall herm.

So I was surprised to find a note on my door a few weeks ago asking me to call Autumn*, A Fellow Tenant ASAP!!!! at such n’ such phone number. It sounded very urgent and I was frankly a little alarmed since I didn’t know this person having never been to any social function where I could have met her.

And so I phoned.

I quickly learned that Autumn had been down in the basement where the storage lockers are located and had seen in my locker (the walls are wire) some furniture she was interested in buying if I was willing to sell. Well, what do you know? I WAS thinking of getting rid of that shelving as it no longer fit in my new space. Perfect. What were the chances…

Then her negotiating started. I immediately got the sob story how she was on her own and didn’t have very much money and couldn’t afford a lot. Well, I too am on my own and don’t have a lot of money so I could certainly understand her position but, frankly, I didn’t buy into the guilt trip and due to my abject aloneness and extreme poverty I wasn’t gonna just give it away either. But I wasn’t going to be greedy. I wasn’t going to ask very much for the shelving and I was even willing to give her a couple pieces for free. She was very excited and agreed to pay me $20 for two metal shelves and I would throw in a couple wood ones for nothing. I probably could have got a bit more if I had sold my furniture on Craigslist or something but I was glad I didn’t have to have strangers through my place for viewings etc. Yippee! Quick sale!

*insert dark foreboding cello music here*

When I was arranging with Autumn to get the shelves to her I told her I had just had surgery and couldn’t haul the VERY well packed shelving (think Tetris) out of my locker on my own but would arrange for my parents to get them out for her over the weekend. She asked me what was wrong with me and I explained that I was going through reconstruction due to having breast cancer.

Well, what do you know but she was just waiting to get a surgery date to be explored for breast cancer too. I instantly sympathized with her. We had a little chat about our situations, she just starting the process and me coming to the end of it, and she exclaimed brightly that she knew she would be “just fine” because she had a positive attitude and that if I had a positive attitude as well I would have NOTHING to worry about, too. I, the sick, bitter and twisted cancer survivor didn’t tell her what was really going through my mind; “Yeah, right. If it was only so simple.”

So my parents dragged out the shelves and she took them and said she would stick a twenty under my door.

Yeah, she did stick it to me in her own way. I didn’t see any money.

Four days later she called me saying that she hadn’t paid me as she had forgotten what apartment I lived in. I gave her that information again and she said she would get me my money right away as she didn’t like to be in debt to people and ALWAYS paid her bills immediately. However, she had spent the original $20 bill allocated to me on pizza so she would have to get to the bank machine again before she could pay me. She made it sound like a difficult feat which confused me since there is a bank machine located right next door to our apartment’s front entrance. I had my doubts I’d be seeing my skooties any time soon despite her perky assurances that she settled her accounts promptly.

Guess what! I am psychic! Spoooooky! One week later after not finding a crispy little cash giftie under my door I called her to see what was up.

WELL! Poor, poor Autumn had been sick. Very very very sick with a FEVER and everything. She had not left the house since our last week’s phone conversation and therefore had not made it to a bank machine. She was “terribly sorry,” she said. “Ok. Fair enough,” I told her. “If you’re contagious then you’re contagious.” I simply asked her, in the future, to let me know what was going on. “Don’t blow me off.” I explained that after our last conversation she lead me to believe that I would be getting my money within a 24 hour period and here I was a week later calling her up about it. I asked her to keep me in the loop and let me know what was happening and not to leave me hanging like that again.

She promised she would get a friend to get the money to me if she wasn’t able to get out of the house within a couple days herself. “Perfect,” I said thinking our conversation was finished.

Oh no it wasn’t. She then launched into a pity tirade about how hard it was for her since “she was all alone and didn’t have anybody” and that “she was waiting for a cancer surgery date and everything!”

Oh no she didn’t. She didn’t just pull The Cancer Card?!? To a person she knows has already gone through the entire cancer treatment process? Oh noooooooo…

Well, it is four days later and still no cash under my door. I am going to have to get nasty on her possibly cancerous ass and rip her a new one. But I will also give her some advice. Very important information that might help her in the future. Explain how The Cancer Card works. Explain that merely waiting for a surgery date might tweak the heartstrings of an uber softie (only found in a bright fluffy world where unicorns dance in the meadows and poop chocolate nuggets) but does not cut it with me, chemo soaked and overly radiated unfeeling bastard that I am. Hell, I’M waiting for a surgery date myself but am still managing to pay my bills on time. Last time I checked waiting for the phone to ring didn’t count as a disability. Now if she had recounted tales of low red blood cell counts and infections requiring hospitalization and blood transfusions I would have cut her all the slack in the world. Tell me that you are nauseous and dizzy and unwell after a chemo date and I will drop off homemade soup seasoned lovingly with my tears. Even a radiation cracked nipple would have extended her bill payment deadline indefinitely. Now that is correctly playing The Cancer Card. Legit use of The Card. Respectful use of The Card. But waiting for a surgery date? Oh no no no no nooooo! That is insulting. That pisses me off.

No more Miz Nice Kranki. The bitch is back.

*not her name

Crush Kranki's Spirit Friday - Fuckity Fuck Fuck

*Big Sigh*

I went to have my little procedure done yesterday and the surgeon looked and looked at the wound on my breast which had become even larger in the last couple days and said the words I dreaded hearing but somehow knew were inevitable;

“I cannot close it. I am not even going to try. The skin is too far gone. You are going to need surgery.”

Crap.

I am devastated.

Here are my three choices:

1. Get my boob rebuilt through a very involved surgery called a Latissimus Dorsi Flab.

2. Get the implant removed and the bad skin removed and be without a breast entirely on my right side.

3. Get the implant and skin removed now and have the Latissimus Dorsi Flap surgery at a later date.

I did not get my choice of just leaving things as they are and having no more surgery at all and never having to see another doctor ever again. No matter what I choose I have to have surgery of some type. I am freaking out.

I have a little bit of time to make this decision and this is a great gift as I am now operating purely on anxiety and fear and having to make an important choice while overwhelmed by these feelings sucks. The thought of having more surgery, my 4^th operation in the last year and a half, literally makes me nauseous. I only had my last surgery less than six weeks ago. I wish I could put it off for a while but it is one of those surgeries that has to be done very soon. In fact my surgery will bump others from my surgeons’ schedule.

The Latissimus Dorsi Surgery is about 4 hours long and will require me to stay 2 days in the hospital. I will have a few drains to deal with and about a six week recovery. The scaring with be extensive on my breast as well as on my back. You can read about the procedure here and here. Obviously nobody would really want to go through something like that and the whole thing triggers my anxiety disorder in a major way but the alternative is losing my breast and all that entails emotionally.

Interestingly I have had a lot of strange and conflicting thoughts about being without my breast. Part of me believes that if I was not a single gal and was, in fact, in a wonderful relationship where I felt loved unconditionally I might just say, “Fuck it!” and not have the major surgery but go the lesser implant removal route. The fact is that I do feel incredible pressure to fit into the beauty mold. I worry about how future potential boyfriends would deal with my lack of a breast. I know that a superficial guy is obviously not the right one for me but I am also brutally aware that guys are visual creatures and that I already don’t fall into the ideal deluxe package parameters. Do I want yet one more major strike against me? Guys think of their girlfriend’s breasts as ‘theirs’ and I can only wonder that unless a love bond was already there a guy might not want to ‘do without’. Why would they deal with all that when there are other fully boobed fish in the sea? Then I think I sound so shallow and that I should give myself and the male part of the human race more credit. I shouldn’t care what others think of me. Beauty is not all in the boobs.

The fact is that deciding whether or not to have a breast reconstructed is very different from feeling pressure to follow the latest fashion trend. There is a very complex emotional element to this. We are talking about a major part of the female identity. I honestly don’t think I have even ‘gone there’ as far as considering the entire emotional ramifications of being without a breast. I wonder if I am focusing on the superficial aspects because I don’t want to even go that deep. I honestly don’t know.

What I do know is that I am feeling very sad.

The doc expressed his remorse that things went this way as he too was also very pleased with the look of the implants. He assured me it was nothing I did and only that my skin was too damaged by all the radiation treatments. We had a great talk about my anxiety issues and how I say dumb ass things when stressed and he very kindly offered to do everything in his power to make whatever decision I came to as easy for me as possible. I can pick whether I have my surgery in the morning or afternoon. I can have a private room. I can even possibly go home a day early if my pain is under control. He is open to whatever I need. He was very sweet to me.

So no matter what my decision is I am feeling very anxious about it. At this point I am thinking that I will stay the course I started on and get the reconstruction done. I know I could always get it at the later date but that means 2 surgeries instead of the one and probably just prolonging my anxiety. But, fuck, I am really scared. Just scared. And second guessing myself. Even thinking about it…..*shudder*

Obviously I am a complete control freak because as soon as things go off course I am totally thrown for a loop. But when you go through months and months of nasty treatment which is very unpleasant and painful and uncomfortable and frightening and then you see the end in sight and you believe all the major stuff is over and finished with and you can FINALLY think about getting on with things it SUCKS ASS to suddenly find out that is, in fact, NOT THE CASE!

I am trying to keep things in perspective. This is not a cancer reoccurrence. This is not a life threatening situation. I’m going to be ok.

And clearly I must now be eligible for some really good happy drugs.

Seeping Beauty

I know I promised you all a photo of my new hooties (you bunch of pervs!) and I do intend on fulfilling my end of the deal (I am such a ho-bag!). Eventually. The truth of the matter is that I have been experiencing some complications from my surgery which have been very gross and discouraging. I am also a doofus.

The problem is that my skin on my right side (the cancer side) was radiated and therefore somewhat damaged. When I had the expanders in my surgeon was very pleased about how much the radiated skin stretched and how soft and supple it was. Basically he didn’t expect to encounter any problems. Famous last words. This summer, out of the blue, an open sore came up on my boob (and so the gross part begins!). I thought it was probably a skin infection and went to my regular family doc as my surgeon has a long wait time for appointments. I figured if it was something my surgeon should see I would find out then. My doc agreed with me that it was an infection and gave me antibiotic ointment which helped a lot but didn’t it heal up completely.

When my surgeon saw this little sore thingie the day of my implant surgery he said it was a hole in my skin due to the fact that the skin was so thin and damaged it was unable to heal. He cut that bit out so it had new clean edges when I went in for my last surgery and taped it up expecting it would heal up.

Well, it didn’t. As a result I have a bigger hole in my boob since my surgery. It went from under ¼ “ diameter to about an inch long. Then on top of it all this open wound started seeping (high gross factor alert) and I was forced to wear a bra 24/7 stuffed with Kleenex to deal with it. Along with this I have been feeling rather crappy and fluish over the last month too. I am a real mess.

So I called my surgeon’s office and they snuck me in and I had it looked at. The conclusion my surgeon came to is that my skin is just too damaged and thin and unable to do whatever skin does to close up and heal a wound. He said that this is unusual and concerning for him. FABULOUS!!!! I am on nasty antibiotics again and feeling less icky so I might have been fighting an infection. The seeping has stopped, which is nice, but the bad news is that I have to go into the hospital for another procedure this Thursday where, under local anesthetic, he will once again cut new margins and tape the wound up hoping that it heals.

There are good parts and bad parts to this. If it does manage to heal that will be good but I will not be able to have a nipple reconstructed there as everything is too delicate. That means I will be a one nipple wonder. If the wound doesn’t heal I will have to get another very major surgery done where they take skin from my back and bring it around to replace the skin on my front. This is very intense and painful surgery requiring 4 hours in the operating room. However I may be able to have a nipple reconstructed with the new skin.

I have found myself very upset and nervous about this new issue. I guess I just didn’t expect to get through cancer treatment with no problems only to encounter trouble on the reconstruction part. I have had three major surgeries and really don’t want another one. I hate that once again my body has failed me. I just want all this over and done with. I am sick of doctors and appointments and hospitals and all that nasty stuff. I don’t understand why the main implant incision which is just an inch above this wound healed just fine but this little thing won’t. It isn’t fair! I am feeling very picked on by the universe. Fuck, fuck FUCK!

Then on top of this I was a total ass at my appointment and completely embarrassed myself.

One of the many things I have learned over this whole cancer adventure is that I have a very hard time expressing to people that I am sad and afraid. I fall into this very glib and snarky mode when I find my heart and mind are racing over new stressful information or situations. I don’t know if I am trying to be funny or just don’t think about what I am saying and how I am coming off to others. Most of the time I come up with witty one liners but this time I totally bombed. I could say I didn’t know what I was thinking which would be the truth as my brain was just overtaken with thoughts of surgery and infection and blah blah blah. You know what I mean. I was not thinking straight.

So I was standing at the reception desk with my surgeon scheduling this new nasty procedure with his receptionist and I asked him if I could take an Ativan for the procedure. Well, that is what I really meant to ask. What I actually said was, “Can I take a whole shwack of Ativan?”

I should preface this bit saying that since I was diagnosed with cancer a pre-existing anxiety problem has gone through the roof causing bad panic attacks. When I was undergoing cancer treatment by docs recommended Ativan to cut down the anxiety. It really works wonders but in high doses can really zone you out. It is one of those drugs that one develops a tolerance to over time so I have always only taken one low dose pill and only if I was going to appointments etc so I didn’t build up a tolerance and have to start taking more and more for the same effect. I have found that one pill will drastically reduce the likelihood of a panic attack (even though I still feel anxious it just isn’t overwhelming) without sedating me at all. Anything over than that knocks me right out. The reason I wanted to take an Ativan for this procedure is that if I didn’t and had a panic attack I would get the shakes which is something not very cool when somebody is cutting you with a sharp scalpel. What I wanted to know was if taking a single Ativan would interfere with the local anesthetic etc. Pretty simple right?

Yeah.

The surgeon seemed taken aback by my question and said that I wouldn’t be able to drive myself home if I was under the effects of a lot of Ativan. And I said, in a smug and flippant way, “I can totally drive!” What I meant to say was that I can drive no problem if I take one Ativan. I couldn’t and wouldn’t if I took more. He then said in a very angry voice, “That is against the law!” and walked away from me.

So instead of saying I was only kidding (or more accurately sad, afraid and upset) I compounded my stupidity by turning to the receptionist and saying, “I guess he means no?” What I meant to say was, “I would never drive while stoned on tranqs. I am a very responsible and good girl.” The receptionist who is normally the most smiley and gregarious woman wouldn’t meet my eyes and with disgust on her face said, “It is really bad to do that.” And then turned away to ignore me rather than chat for a minute like we normally do.

It was only when I was in the elevator wondering what happened that my brain stopped freaking about my new bad news and I realized exactly what I said. I basically accidentally portrayed myself as an irresponsible prescription drug junkie to my doctor and his staff.

Great.

Now I don’t know why I can’t just laugh at my idiocy (it is not like I am never acted like a moron before) and move on. Instead I find myself very upset that I came off this way. I think the issue is that in reality I actually don’t do recreational drugs and I don’t drink alcohol AT ALL. I don’t even eat meat, for crap’s sake. My life is very boring and straight-laced. I would NEVER do anything so irresponsible. It goes against how I live my life.

So along with thoughts of upcoming medical procedures I have wondered if I need to dig myself out of this hole. Do I bring it up again at my next appointment and explain that instead of saying I was scared and upset I incorrectly stated that I basically was a drug fiend? Do I just let it go and pretend I never said anything so assholic?

So that is why you haven’t seen my new tits. Because I am scared and upset and icky and perceived as too stoned to hold the camera straight.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Postponed or Cancelled or Something

Yeah...well....ok...it was such a crappy rainy day and the light sucked and I am all posted out after the whole Halloween costume video thing and the day got away from me and sometimes I wonder if y'all are sick of my cat ALREADY and I just couldn't think of a way to crush her head and BLECH!!!

So there.

Thank You Very Much

Let the Halloween insanity begin!

Click here.

I Can't Quit You

/>Keeping up with my long standing reputation as The Last To Know Anything and totally out of The Loop I finally saw Brokeback Mountain the other night. I liked it. It was good. More than that it was very surprising. After all the fuss, outrage, hate, and boycotting I was expecting a very racy movie. And you know what? It totally wasn’t.

Yeah, yeah so there was a couple kissing scenes and a love scene that was more suggested than explicit but nothing that I could see that would cause such a ruckus.

I often joke that Canada is a pinko commie country but in fact it really isn’t. In reality it can be pretty damned conservative. So much so that The Conservatives were elected in the last federal election. Same sex marriage is still a hot topic and many remain vehemently against it even though it has been allowed for several months now and, as far as I can tell, the country has not land slid into Hell. Everything is fine. No biggie. Fortunately the government so far has maintained the position that it is not appropriate for citizens to vote on whether other citizens are eligible for basic rights. Lord knows if it was up to the general public nobody would be allowed to do anything with everybody’s own personal agenda being foremost in their mind. If I had any say it would be against the law to wear size 0 clothes and there would be mandatory daily minimums of chocolate consumption. I got my priorities.

Although I believe that Canada on a whole is pretty conservative I am unaware of this movie being banned anywhere in the country when it was released. I remember no outrage. It was just one of those things where if somebody didn’t want to watch content of that nature they wouldn’t go see the movie. Pretty simple.

I believe I am very fortunate that I live in a city where it is not at all uncommon to see same sex couples walk in the streets holding hands. It always makes me warm and fuzzy to see this because how cool is that? That they feel safe and comfortable enough to do that rocks. Yet I know that is not the case in most of the rest of Canada.

:-(

I have been told by Pablo, my bestest buddy, that I am actually a gay man in a woman’s body. Having been like this my whole life I can neither confirm nor deny that observation. I can say that seeing those two cowboys kissing didn’t bother me in the slightest. As I was watching it didn’t even really occur to me that this was “unusual” in any way. It was such a non-issue and that is why I remain totally puzzled over the whole broo-haha revolving around this film.

In all honesty I don’t know why people are so upset about two cute guys kissing each other and not all up in arms over sick-ass movies like Saw III. Now that is disturbing and weird and perverted. That makes my stomach turn.

Maybe I should picket outside the theatre: GOD HATES GORE!

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Calorie Crush

It has begun. My weight downfall dressed up in cute colourful packages.

Table For One

So for six and a half years I lived in a tiny 385 square foot apartment featuring a 2 burner hotplate and a toaster oven in the kitchen. There being no dining room I ate at my coffee table in front of the TV. I bemoaned my situation to anybody who would listen and many who wouldn’t stating that if I only had a real kitchen I would make wonderful meals and invite all my friends and family over for scintillating dinners filled with witty conversation and mouth watering food. I pictured myself in a fabulous frock protected with a cute June Cleaver apron. I had visions of artistic appetizers and lip puckering martinis along with laughter and gushing compliments. Basically I was going to be the hostess with the mostest putting Martha to shame.

Yeah…

I come by these delusions honestly as my mom is an amazing gourmet cook and throws successful dinner parties often. She makes food one only sees on TV or in world class restaurants. She has all the correct serving spoons and platters and bowls. She has “good” dishes and crystal wine glasses. She even has two sets of fancy flatware complete with sugar tongs and fish forks. My mom spends days in the kitchen putting together one of her parties. It is a lot to live up to.

Needless to say I haven’t.

So I have been in my new “grown up” 600 square foot apartment for 4 months. Have I had a dinner party? No. Not a one. I have a real stove and oven (self cleaning no less!!!) along with a huge fridge and cupboard space and a pantry and EVERYTHING. Even a fucking dining room filled with a table and chairs. Something I didn’t have before.

I have used my oven one time. Once. And I bought a frozen pizza, special, so I could try it out. I have only used 2 burners on my stove. The back two are pristine and remain virginal. My fridge is mostly empty. I only use my toaster oven. I have never eaten in my dining room.

Am I a looser? Perhaps. I think that it is more a function of that I am single. Brutally and undeniably single. I cook single food. I make single portions. I eat in front of the TV. Why heat up a big oven when the little convection one works just fine. Not to mention Ol’ Faithful The Microwave. How would I ever need to use four burners at once for little old me? Just not going to happen. In all honesty I am a reluctant and uninspired chef. I don't really like cooking. I suck at it.

It is embarrassing. Bitching about my old apartment all that time and pretty much falling back on the exact set up in the new place. Ooops. I probably shouldn’t have told you... Being single and all nobody would have even known if I had just kept my big mouth shut.

But I want to know. If you are single what to you cook for yourself and if you are not single what was your favourite singledom meal?

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-A Little Break

I am giving her a break this week as she has recently shown interest in helping with the laundry. Hopefully over time I can leave that job entirely up to her while I eat bonbons and watch Oprah.

He Doesn't Know That He's My Saviour

A few weeks ago I posted about my genetic counseling appointment. I learned more about the genes I knew increased one’s risk of breast cancer as well as a gene I knew little about that not only related to breast cancer but stomach cancer as well. Stressful times, indeed.

What I didn’t tell you about is that I had a brutal panic attack during that appointment and I am truly amazed I managed to retain any information at all.

There are several things that can make me anxious and prone to having a panic attack and that day a whole bunch of them conspired against me. The main thing is that I stupidly forgot to take an Ativan before I left home. I was running late and fairly frazzled and just plain forgot. Bad move. Right there I thought I might be in trouble but ever the optimist I decided I’d be fine as I was feeling ok driving there. No sweat, I thought.

Then I got to the medical building where my appointment was held and realized I would be forced to ride up in a packed elevator. This is nerve wracking for me as I feel trapped and surrounded by potentially sick and germy people. It is a medical building filled with doctor’s offices, after all. I was saved at the last minute when a lady with a monstrous baby carriage budged in front of me thereby taking up the last bit of available space. Another elevator arrived seconds after and with some very swift and frantic pushing of the ‘close doors’ button I managed to have it all to myself.

Waiting in the waiting room wasn’t too bad and the lady who eventually came to get me was very nice. We walked back through a labyrinth of corridors to the very depths of the office which started my anxiety beacon beeping again. I tend to get anxious if I don’t have a clear and well marked exit. I do not like to feel trapped. We walked into a tiny closet like room where there was a small table and a couple chairs and she closed the door behind her.

Big mistake!

Right then my stress went though the roof and all my panic symptoms came on in a rush

-terrible nausea
-sweating
-inability to keep still
-total brain function meltdown
-hot flashes
-the shakes
-compulsive swallowing due to the feelings of impeding pukage
-an overwhelming desire to RUN LIKE A MUTHERFUCKER AS FAR AWAY AS POSSIBLE.

Then to add to my agony there was no wastepaper basket to puke in. Sometimes I can calm myself down a little if I know there is a safe place to barf. I know that makes no sense but what can I say? Panic attacks are weird and wonderful things.

So picture me sitting there feeling like I am going to hurl ANY SECOND having to talk about stressful cancer type things stuffed in a little broom closet. I could hardly breathe.

After an hour and a half of this she asked me if I had any questions. I didn’t know what my name was at that point let alone being capable of forming a question. My lips were sealed shut with stress spit. All I wanted to do was GO GO GO!

I practically ran out of the office poking at the elevator button so I could get the hell out, run to my car and get home, my safe place, where there are such things like food, TV and my soft bed to distract me. Not to mention good drugs to chill me out.

The elevator arrived and, of course, it was packed full of people. I nearly waited for the next one but there were no guarantees that one would be any less full and at this point I was just desperate to get out. I took a deep breath and got on.

Anybody who has panic attacks knows that when you are freaking the fuck out there is a running dialogue in your brain that says all sorts of things like making deals with the devil, your god or your own body to just get through it. You promise yourself all sorts of things like new boots or chocolate or that you will never leave your house again if you can just get through it. You will say or do anything to just get through it. Basically you feel like you probably might die.

In my mental spasm I didn’t really pay any attention to the other occupants in the elevator and it was only when I had turned around to face the doors that I realized that somebody was singing at the back right behind me. A man. A full grown man. Singing out loud.

I looked over my shoulder to see a guy who was obviously mentally disabled singing a song AND doing hand actions to go along with it.

It went like this:

My mamma doesn’t wash me
‘Cause I can wash myself

Mamma doesn’t wash me
I can wash myself

My mamma will not wash me
‘Cause I can clean myself

This sweet man had one arm up in the air while he made washing motions in his armpits and chest with the other hand. And he had a big smile on his face because DAMMIT he was proud.

Oh my God.

My panic attack melted away and I calmly descended to the lobby and walked, not ran, to my car and went home. Singing the song out loud in my car the whole way.

Dude, thanks for saving my life.

Crush Your Cat's Head Friday-Her Luck Is Running Out

Yoshi has always loved sleeping under the covers and getting all snuggly with me. This little idiosyncrasy of hers has recently turned into a potentially dangerous habit. She has started weasling her way under the blankets on my bed, on the couch and other places where people plant their asses without too much thought. She is in grave danger of more than her head being crushed. I now have to check every time I sit down and I don't always remember.

Seemingly innocuous folded blanket on couch.

Actual gory crushing disaster waiting to happen.

Just Tell Me To Shut Up

It is that time of year when the holidays start cropping up and you get all those invitations for dinners and parties and other gatherings where food is offered and consumption is required.

I dread this.

The number one reason why is that with my ‘cancer journey enhanced’ anxiety problems any social interaction is terrible for me. Absolutely no fun and not to be attempted under any circumstances. I can do intimate family things with a couple Ativan under my belt but some loud and boisterous gathering is just impossible right now. It was doable in the past and I hope will be again in the future but just not right now.

Anyway….

But there is another major reason why this time of year is a royal pain in the ass. I am a very picky eater with all sort of opinions about how things should be, 'culinarily' speaking.

I can’t say that I am not an adventurous eater as I love sushi including the raw bits as well as curries and pad thais and other foods from far away lands. So I love those things. It is just that there are things I don’t like and I am pretty adamant about that. My reasons might not always be logical or even understandable but they are what they are:

-I hate squash. Any kind of squash. That includes pumpkin pie and other Halloween Era treats. I hate pumpkin scones, muffins, slices, Blizzards, cheesecake and lattes. That is fucking gross and that is all there is to it.

-I hate clams and mussels. They look ugly. Why would you want to put anything looking like that in your mouth? Seriously.

-I love stuffing but only if it is regular bread stuffing with celery and sage. Whatever you do don’t add any weird ass shit like figs or raisins or wild rice or truffles. God, just leave well enough alone.

-Meat. I don’t eat it. I love the smell of it cooking though. Except lamb. Didn’t even like lamb when I ate meat. Or duck. Or goose or any of those nasty greasy beasts.

-Pie. Ok. I LOVE apple pie. Just love it. Or apple strudel or crisp or whatever. I don’t like any other pie. I like all the fruit that goes into pies on their own but not in pie. Don’t know why.*

-I have a very strong opinion about nuts. They SUCK! Nuts should never be added to baked goods. Especially brownies. Sacrilege!!! ESPECIALLY walnuts. *gag* However, almonds or hazelnuts are ok in special circumstances. Like chocolate covered ones. It should be noted that I love peanut butter and any kind of chocolate bar with peanut butter. That is acceptable. Under no circumstances should nuts EVER be part of a salad or savory dish. I really mean that. Don’t mess with me.

-Most fish-just stinky. Tuna out of the can is ok and so is sushi. What can I say? I never said I would make sense.

-This saddens me a great deal and I hope that things will change in the future but I cannot stand the thought of mashed potatoes. I ate an indecent amount during my chemotherapy and it is not uncommon to develop a strong aversion to foods eaten during this time. That is what happened to me and it is a total tragedy. I love all other potatoes and can still eat them just fine. Except the mashed ones. *big sigh*

-I loathe cooked carrots. Love them raw but not soft and hot. Carrot cake is an abomination. Carrot soup is a travesty against nature. Don’t even talk to me about parsnips or turnips. The mere thought of cauliflower makes my sphincter shudder.

-Eggnog. Who the hell thought that was a good idea?

-Both my brother and I don’t like tomatoes but like tomato sauce on pasta. We were a united front against my parents about this and were never forced to eat tomatoes as kids. Woo!

-I figure a good general rule is not to mix sweet stuff into savory dishes and savory stuff into sweet dishes. None of that cranberry crap in gravy. Just say no to mincemeat pie. Just quit mixing that shit up.

-For the most part the desserts that make me happy have chocolate in them. Why waste those calories on lemon tart or fruit flan? If you are going to splurge just do it right. Don’t fuck up a good thing by adding something nutritious to it like fruit. People!!

-What in hell’s name is good about those blue and nasty stinky cheeses? You are eating mold and that is all there is to it. I believe a good rule to live by is that if it smells rotten don’t put it in your mouth. Goat cheese tastes like goats smell. Mmmmmm…appetizing. Why don’t we milk pigs while we are at it? Or dogs? Draw the line!!!

Now there is just a little taste of why I never get invited out anymore. In all honesty due to my vegetarianism and finicky palate my mom makes me my own special meal when we have a family dinner as I rarely can eat what everybody else is getting. Basically I am seriously annoying. Only because I am their child do I continue to be invited over. A parent's love overcomes a lot. Barely.

What makes you want to hurl?

*Poet moment!