Okey Dokey, Smokey

Yeah, the iPhones are cool, but I think I can live without one. I like my 5-year old Toshiba cell phone just FINE, thank you very much.

I can live with the fact that some people gotta have new gadgets with all the bells and whistles, willing to line up and wait for hours before the store opens so they can get one. My favorite story, though, has to be the one of this lady who paid $800 to a man to get his spot as first in line, planning to buy thousands of dollars' worth of iPhones and sell them on E-Bay. Unfortunately for her, she neglected to read the rules: One iPhone per customer.

It is priceless at the end of the clip, when the reporter comments to the man that the woman was not very happy with him. She really had no reason to be angry at him; he was not the one walking around with a "money talks" attitude (yes, she really said that), flinging money at someone who sat there and waited rather than dragging her ass out to stand in line and wait like everyone else. Had she read and followed the rules and not considered herself above sitting 12 hours on the pavement like those other people did, she could have saved herself those 8 crisp, pretty $100 bills. That dude got himself a free iPhone AND all the bells and whistles.

Raising Awareness: Potential Cure for HIV

Potential Cure for HIV Discovered

How wonderful for the millions of people around the world afflicted with this virus to have some hope. While I keep my fingers crossed that this pans out and could potentially lead to the complete eradication of HIV around the globe, I fear that treatment protocols will be commandeered by the pharmaceutical industry and the only ones able to get it will be those who have the money to pay for it while the poor continue to contract it and die. Population control in evil form.

I feel that since HIV/AIDS is a worldwide problem, treatment for ALL people is of utmost importance, and profits should not be made in the face of people suffering and dying once a cure is achieved. I understand that money is being spent to research, test, and develop treatments but after (legitimate) expenses are recouped, cost for treatment should not be an issue in ensuring everyone is able to be treated.

I Ain't Eating THAT

Veggie Booty has been recalled because of possible salmonella contamination. This stuff has, like, spinach and other vegetables in it, which would battle for supremacy with the liters of Mountain Dew and tons of nicotine running rampant in my system. If I did happen to eat it, I would probably end up with the symptoms of salmonella even if it were not contaminated. No, sir, I ain't eating that.

Now, I really do like veggies and fruits and they generally like me (with the exception of Roma tomatoes, which give me hives from head to toe), I just like them FRESH and not powdered onto whatever it is these things are made of. Give me a nice bowl of steamed veggies any day. If I am going to eat something that RESEMBLES a chip or something of that nature, I am just going to go all out and eat the chip. At least I know up front it is not the best thing for me to eat.

This information is available on Veggie Booty at The Vegan Store online:

Ingredients: Organic rice, corn, organic soybean flour, expeller pressed canola oil, (whole
food concentrates) spinach, kale, cabbage, carrot, broccoli, green tea, parsley, and sea salt.

Nutritional Information:
Serving Size: 1 bag
Calories: 140
Carbohydrates: 17g
Fat: 6g
Sodium: 130mg
Sugars: 0g
Fiber: 0g
Protein: 2g

On the other hand, this is the nutrition information off the back of the bag of my favorite snack, Better Made Barbecue Flavored Potato Chips: (and I can interpret this however I want to, dammit!)

Ingredients: Potatoes, cottonseed oil, salt, seasoning contains: Dextrose, sugar, salt, color (turmeric extract, annatto extract, paprika extract), powdered onion, citric acid, powdered garlic, canola oil, spice extract, maltodextrin, natural smoke flavor and silicon dioxide and tricalcium phosphate as anti-caking agents.

Nutritional Information:
Serving Size: 1 oz.
Calories: 160 (Fat calories: 90)
Carbohydrates: 14g
Total fat: 10g (sat fat 3g, trans fat 0g)
Cholesterol: 0mg
Sodium: 210mg
Sugars: 1g
Fiber: 1g
Protein: 2g

Growing Older and Somewhat Wiser

Oh yeah, I feel myself getting old. I can no longer run and keep up with my kids. It's all good, though, since the little ones seem to think I make a pretty good jungle-gym (well, it's all good until they yank a big handful of my hair out as they climb on me).

Things I have learned over the years, having a herd of kids running around here:

1. Never let your guard down. They are watching and waiting for you to turn your back so they can crayon/marker/finger paint the walls.
2. Never leave anything valuable (especially something of sentimental value) in a place you think is remotely safe from little hands. It is not. The only safe place is Fort Knox. If you have no access to that, you might just as well hand it over to them right now or throw it in the trash and skip the middle-man.
3. No amount of money you spend on a toy is ever worth the joy a child gets out of playing with the box the toy came in. Save your money and go to the store and get boxes for free.
4. Always wear a bra if you are not willing to sacrifice a breast to the cause.
5. Always wear a ponytail or keep your hair cut short if you are not willing to sacrifice it to the cause.
6. Always keep your legs crossed if you are not willing to sacrifice THAT to the cause.
7. Always paint with semi-gloss and keep extra gallons around for those spots that just will not come off with a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.
   
8. Always keep extra Band-Aids on hand.
9. Be willing to share everything or be prepared for wails of extreme anguish when they see mommy using the foot spa, remote control, etc.
10. Never, EVER buy light-colored furniture, rugs, towels, or clothes. NEVER.
11. Wait to shampoo the rugs until your kids turn 18 and move out.
12. Always keep extra night light bulbs on hand.
13. Always keep extra baby wipes on hand.
14. Always remember that Kool-Aid, Pop Tarts, and Popsicles should be kept hidden and doled out carefully as rewards when they are good and not as an everyday expectation.
    
15. Enjoy every minute while they are little because they just do not stay little long enough.
    

How Could You NOT Be Intrigued?

Disease Mongering

This spoof takes a poke at disease mongering in this country, and it is actually really funny; on the other hand, one cannot help but stop and consider the serious side to what is going on in the medical profession. You can check out this, this, and this, among others, if you want to know more.

I am afraid that someday we will see Big Pharma sitting back, laughing and pointing at us, for some of the fast ones pulled on us over the years, especially on little ones who cannot defend themselves like Rebecca Riley.

Another New Award

OK, I just cannot bring myself to actually make a Head Up Your Ass Award, but I have been thinking of a few politicians, etc., I would love to give a different kind of "award" to:

The You're a Maggot Award:

Yes, I am probably the only one that thinks this is funny, but DAY-AM, I just can't help it!

Oh, My

I was over visiting at Zero Boss and couldn't help but chuckle over his "G" rating from Mingle. Just for shits and giggles, I had to check it out myself. Of course, I have a potty mouth so I got this:

Mingle² - Online Dating

The justification? I said "shit" 9 times (oops, now 10), "hell" 4 times, and "bitch" 2 times. I also said "dick" 1 time. I had to stop and think about that, where did I say "dick"? Why, in my post about Dick DeVos, of course, past gubernatorial candidate here in Michigan. Does that mean any site Dick might have would also get this kind of rating? I bet his site would say "dick" a lot more than once.

Good grief. I notice, though, I didn't get any marks for posting the "BIG F" word. I actually ranted and raved and didn't say that word? Something must be seriously wrong with me!

Finally Some Justice for the Little Guy

I have confidence that someone has given Lady Justice her blindfold back!

Dry Cleaner Wins Missing Pants Case

Hooray for the Chungs! I was pulling for you from the moment I first read about this case, and I hope this decision has restored some of your faith in the American justice system. As for Judge Pearson who decided to fight this atrocious battle, I hope you are sanctioned outside of the $1000 of court costs!

I Need A Clone

I just do not have enough of me to do all the stuff I want to do. I need a clone, or maybe twelve. Then I could get enough accomplished in a single day to satisfy even me.


Just imagine the grocery bill, though, feeding 12 clones. And the toilet paper bill after consuming said groceries. Good grief.

A Rose For You

I was recently bestowed the Thinking Blogger Award, and in trying to try to live up to what "I" feel this means, I am going to try to move onward and upward in what I spend my time thinking about and, in turn, stick out here for you to read.

I get tired of seeing the cruddy things people do to each other in this world but have come to grips with the fact that a Band-Aid and a mommy kiss will not make it better. Something I would love to change, even just a little bit, is people going out of their way to belittle others in an attempt to glorify themselves, stepping on an entire range of human emotions along the way. This is my attempt at a Band-Aid for the soul. Much of what goes on in the world makes no sense, but until each of us steps up and touches someone else's life in a profound and meaningful way, things will never get better. It does not take an act like moving a mountain: A kind word or a smile can have the power to change the course of someone's day and maybe even their life.

I have always been one of those loner types, few friends but the ones I did have were special. Some attribute this to being a trait of a true Scorpio and this could very well be true, but I think it is mostly a self-preservation instinct: Being burned and learning to fear the fire. Growing "older" now, I see that the types of friendships I have now have evolved and the quality has improved as well, even though the quantity is still small. I guess that is one of the benefits of getting older: We learn to choose wisely. So, in honor of new friendships, I am creating my own "award" and giving it to those I've encountered out here in the world-wide network, who have made even a small dent in this armor I carry around:

Thank You For Being My Friend, This Rose is for You

My first rose goes to Jo. You give me smiles and make me proud to consider you my friend.

The only "rule" is to pass this rose on to someone who has made a difference in your life, made you feel better just for a moment or for a day, someone who maybe needs a little boost. Sharing our friendships with each other will go a long way towards making this world a better place to be.

The Best Moments of My Life

I feel the need to share my funny labor stories (funny now, not so when they happened; good thing I have a hearty sense of humor). These should be in some kind of record book or something.

I would love to hear some of your great birthing stories, too, so bring 'em on!

* * * * *

My OB has a great sense of humor and not afraid to show his human side, and that really came out the day my daughter was born. This was a scheduled induction, set for a Friday afternoon so I could work on Monday (don't ask). As we were walking out the door to go, the phone rang. It was the hospital, telling me I could not have my baby today because the hospital was full and there was no room for me. I worked for this hospital, for pity sake, and I was pretty bent over the way this was conveyed to me, so I complained to my boss. The shit hit the fan and spattered far that day. My point: What if I had not been an employee, and how would this have made a non-employee patient feel (maybe like they were just not welcome)? What if I spontaneously went into labor? Where would you suggest I go? Oh, a competitor hospital, you say???

Anyhow, Monday morning I had my induction. They put me in that oh-so-modest child-birthing position (you know the one): Hubby-man on one side, patiently awaiting a baby; nurse on the other, gripping my hand (I really do not like people touching me and told her so, but I could have sworn she was being sucked up in a twister, my hand the only thing holding her here; it hurt more than the delivery and she spazzed when I tried to shake her off but held on like industrial-strength duct tape) and yelling "PUSH, PUSH, PUSH!" I calmly said, "I am pushing." Doc is sitting on his stool at the end of the table trying not to laugh (and not doing a very good job of it), then almost fell on the floor laughing when the nurse barked back "No, you're not!" Two non-pushes later, holy hell, there is a BABY! Gee. She later apologized (not for touching me but for going all rat terrier on me). "You didn't make any noise. I didn't think you were really pushing." Honestly, woman.

Then along came my boy. Around 7-1/2 months, I got whooping cough (yes, I had been vaccinated - do not let them fool you, they do not tell you that DTPs wear off after a few years *SCORE POINT FOR JO*). The constant body-wracking coughing and whooping (you really do make this sound, if you have never heard someone in the throes of an attack) eventually sent me into premature labor, so we rushed to the hospital. Hubby-man is driving 90 down M-52, not a cop in sight until we are nearly there. We finally see one going in the other direction and he just keeps right on going. (So much for the myth that cops will escort you in an emergency.) I get onto the unit, into a bed and hooked up to monitors. "Can I have some cough syrup?" "We have to ask doctor." "Can I have some ice chips?" "We have to ask doctor." Two hours later, still no ice and no cough syrup, but she did call him to let him know I was there and set in motion the process to try to stop the labor. An hour into this, I tried telling her my contractions were stronger but she never checked me, only checked her monitor. "Well, the monitor shows that your contractions are becoming less intense." As she walks away, I try to explain that this was probably due to the fact that the monitor had slid up under my tits because I WAS COUGHING and was not on my belly, so no wonder it looked like they were getting less intense! Another hour later I tell her, "I'm ready to have my baby NOW." "Oh, no, you must be mistaken." Yeah, like I don't know my own body after THREE DELIVERIES! Out she goes again. Stricken with yet another coughing attack I could not stop, out plops a baby right onto the bed, delivered all by my own-some (as in no nurse and no doctor yet because she never bothered to call him to come in because I was "mistaken"), hubby-man running around and screaming like a loon trying to get her attention.

This was not even the final kick in the head, though. I got bills! One from the doctor for the delivery and one from the hospital. I bumped into the doc in the hallway and told him there was no way I was paying, since I did my own damn delivery. He just chuckled and said, "Okay." I never got another bill from him for it. The hospital, on the other hand, refused to write it off even after I explained what happened and told them I would have been further ahead and gotten the same service for free had I just sat out in the parking lot. I saw the doc a couple months ago with my miscarriage and told him that next time, I was not coming INSIDE the hospital, I was just going to shit my kid out in the parking lot so the hospital did not charge me again. Of course, he told me not to do that, but just to deliver at home. I think I might try it.

Out of My Funk Now

I feel better now, having been in a bit of a snit the last few days, and it's not even that time of the month. Sheesh! Anyhow, I'm over myself now and in the mood for something fun. After all, I actually enjoy changing my drawers because I peed them from laughing so hard, ESPECIALLY when in a bad mood - the best way to get out of it!

This made me laugh. A lot. A mental picture I will carry to the grave and beyond. I will still be laughing about it when standing in line waiting for my Judgment. (That will be me over there in the long, slow-moving line, since the shorter, faster-moving one kind of makes me pee my pants for an entirely different reason: It scares the bodily fluids right out of me. Nothing good ever came out of a short, fast-moving line in THIS lifetime, it is NEVER the right line to be in anyhow, so just exactly where is that one leading to???)

Anyhow, this kind of reminds me of when I worked for this doctor who would hurry to get to the office so he could tell me all the good dirty jokes he heard in surgery that morning at the hospital (yes, people, some surgeons stand there telling each other dirty jokes while they are up to their elbows in you). He never got them right, but it was all good since the way he told them actually made them that much funnier.

What's the difference between a snow man and a snow woman? Snow balls.

What did the snow man ask his wife to get for him? A snow blower.

Old, I know, and only mildly dirty but funny anyhow when you stop to consider where I got them.

Case In Point

Some more medicalizing of human behavior, be it considered normal or abnormal by some, in an attempt to justify shoving more drugs down people's throats, imprisoning them against their will through use of involuntary commitment laws, and possibly even giving them ECT therapy (I highly recommend this site, as it explains the origins, nature, and effects of electroshock therapy, IMO putting modern psychiatry on par with Nazi Germany):

Video Game Addiction: A New Diagnosis?

"The telltale signs are ominous: teens holing up in their rooms, ignoring friends, family, even food and a shower, while grades plummet and belligerence soars. The culprit isn't alcohol or drugs. It's video games, which for certain kids can be as powerfully addictive as heroin, some doctors contend. A leading council of the nation's largest doctors' group wants to have this behavior officially classified as a psychiatric disorder, to raise awareness and enable sufferers to get insurance coverage for treatment."

This just goes to prove my point that every human behavior, feeling, emotion, and action is a target for being classified as a "mental illness." Read between the lines: "Enable sufferers to get insurance coverage for treatment." Let us talk about money and psychiatry, folks, when we have more time.

It is amazing to see the evolution of the "Bible" of psychiatric disorders, the DSM-IV, and some things that are considered to be mental illnesses, including:

• Alcohol and substance use, dependence, and withdrawal (to multiple drugs including amphetamines, forms of which are prescribed routinely by psychiatrists)
• Hallucinogen persisting perception disorder (flashbacks)
• Body dysmorphic disorder
• Pedophilia
• Transvestic fetishism
• Gender identity disorder
• Sexual dysfunction, hypoactive sexual desire disorder, female sexual arousal disorder, male erectile disorder, female orgasmic disorder, male orgasmic disorder, premature ejaculation, sexual aversion disorder, fetishism
• Alcohol intoxication
• Nicotine dependence
• Stuttering
• Rumination disorder
• Impulse-control disorder including pathologic gambling, kleptomania, pyromania, and intermittent explosive disorder
• Conduct disorder
• Selective mutism
• Reading disorder
• Mathematics disorder
• Disorder of written expression
• Neglect, physical abuse, or sexual abuse of a child or adult
• Partner relational problems
• Noncompliance with treatment
• Parent-child relational problem
• Sibling relational problem
• Bereavement
• Phase of life problem
• Academic problem
• Religious or spiritual problem
• Malingering
• Disruptive behavior disorder

At one time, homosexuality was also listed as a mental illness in the DSM before finally being removed. Every choice you make in life, every emotion you feel, every thought you create, can be pigeon-holed into a particular complex, syndrome, or set of symptoms signifying you have a mental illness. In seeing some of the above, how could anyone think anything other than every single person on the planet is mentally ill?

I am not a Scientologist, but I think these people are on to something here. They have a very interesting site regarding fraud in health care by the psychiatric "industry," (quite a bit of this information can be verified with outside sources). Quite an eye-opener: Up to $40 Billion per Year in Psychiatric Fraud

Failed By Modern Medicine Again

IT IS SO very interesting to read your medical records. You can find out things about yourself you never even knew (besides just a "diagnosis") and things you may or may not have said and the manner in which they were interpreted.

I recently had the pleasure of reading through my own records sent with me down to Cleveland and, boy, was I surprised. I learned that it was "I" who requested a visit to a neurosurgeon and that even though it was believed my syrinx was not the cause of my issues, the request would be honored (I actually asked what my options were, and neurosurgery as well as physical therapy were offered, so I said I would like to pursue both). I also found out that a diagnosis of fibromyalgia was being considered, which for the life of me, I cannot recall ever being mentioned to me before. So nice to know.

Now, I understand these reports are dictated after the patient leaves, but if this possibility crossed her mind AFTER I left the office and while dictating the note, wouldn't it make sense for someone to pick up the phone and call me with that information? If I had not read through the notes, I never would have known.

That is not really what makes me feel I have been failed, though, and truly just could have been an oversight; or maybe she really DID say it and I just did not process it (some of the symptoms I suffer from are intermittent confusion and disorientation along with memory difficulties). I am not going to nit-pick over it, especially knowing that if it IS fibromyalgia, there is not a whole hell of a lot they can do.

No, what makes me feel as though I have been failed is the constant "I don't know." "I don't know." Fine, you "don't know," but YOUR JOB is to find out the answer - not just roll your eyes at me when you think I am not looking, tell me it is all in my head or that "there's no indication" for me to have a certain disease process, that my symptoms do not correlate with my exam, or (the worst transgression of all) tell me that I am faking.

Oddities like mine come up rather more often than most physicians seem to be able to accept, or there would not be shows on TV like "Mystery Diagnosis" or "Diagnosis Unknown." In so many of the cases profiled on shows like this, the patients were told these exact same things, living with terrifying and horrifying symptoms for years before, finally, the 75th doctor they have seen actually LISTENS to what the patient is saying and sees that 2 + 2 really does make 4 and not 3.6.

In my opinion, the biggest part of the problem stems from:

1. Every doctor is a specialist. No one sees anyone for a variety of symptoms, only a specific symptom, and many disease processes manifest in ways that affect multiple organ systems and showing by some symptoms or not others.
2. Everyone is mentally ill these days, so when someone complains about a vague symptom and there is nothing clinically to show what the cause is, it is too often written off as a "psychiatric" issue. This disturbs me to no end, with new and more exciting psychiatric "diseases" falling off the shelves at an astonishing pace, many of which are normal human functions. It is almost as though they are trying to define our entire lives as a disease process that needs to be treated with drugs.
3. Insurance companies frown upon doctors running "too many tests," so tests are not run that might have been - had the insurance companies not been interfering with the ultimate diagnosis and treatment of a patient, again, just because they have vague symptoms. I have seen cases where preventative, diagnostic, and therapeutic treatments were denied payment only to result in the patient's condition worsening into a crisis, hospitalization in a critical care unit (which costs the insurance carrier a HELL of a lot more than that other stuff would have), or even death. Not only is it wasteful, it is unconscionable.
4. Some diseases or conditions are rare and ruling out more common possible causes always comes first; but when those common causes are dismissed, even though a rare condition may be considered in the differential, it is difficult to follow those other things up, sometimes because of #3, other times because it is hard to think outside the box and accept that a rare condition may have been presenting or even some variation or combination of rare disorders.

Now, I know I do not have all the answers and I really am trying my best to be patient, but after a while one becomes more than a little perturbed. What we do at that point is up to us and how hard we are willing to fight to get an answer, or are we willing to be a sheep and follow along, maybe take some happy pills to cover up the grief suffered for a life and lifetime lost unnecessarily, and try to live out what is left to us with some dignity and then give up?

I may be an iceberg and may be destined to a rather unspectacular end, but until I do, I believe it is in my destiny to strike a few Titanics along the way.

Here You Go, Jo

There. It's done. "Another Damn Meme": I hope you're getting all this down, Miss Thang! ROFLMAO (please see post below)

Instructions: Remove the blog from the top, move all blogs up one, add yourself to the bottom.

Sleepless in Cologne, Spaghetti Harvest, The Mommy's Getaway Blog, Life with Heathens, What Floats My Boat

What were you doing 10 years ago? (5 Things)

1. Huh? Ten years ago? I hardly remember TEN DAYS ago, and you want me to remember TEN YEARS ago? Are you completely off your rocker?
2. *Blank stare*
3. *Another blank stare*
4. *Eyes rolling to the back of my head*
5. *Saliva dripping from the corner of my mouth*

What were you doing 1 year ago? (5 Things)

1. I was able to walk, play with my kids, and move from the bed to the chair to do my job with no difficulty.
2. Drinking A LOT of Mountain Dew. Oh, wait, I was doing THAT ten years ago, too!
3. Trying to quit smoking.
4. Working, working, working.
5. Telling my uterus to shut up for a little while and leave me alone since it had only been a year since it squeezed out a boy and two years since it squeezed out a girl (it tells me it wants to squeeze out another girl next).

Five Snacks You Enjoy:

1. Mountain Dew (lots of it)
2. Fudge (only my own fudge, which my grandma taught me to make - don't you wish you had some?)
3. Cheez-Its
4. String cheese sticks
5. Pickled bologna

Five Songs That You Know The Lyrics To:

1. Take On Me by a-ha
2. Broken Wings by Mister Mister
3. Spongebob Squarepants theme song

That's pretty much it. I love music but mostly listen to stuff with no words, like Tchaikovsky or Mozart.

Five Things You Would Do If You Were A Millionaire:
Give it away.

Five Bad Habits:

1. What bad habits? I am perfect so I have none!
2. Yelling at everyone for taking my remote.
3. Running my big mouth, even when I know it's going to cause me trouble.
4. "Playing" on the computer when I should be working.
5. Not shaving my legs until I need a Brush Hog to do the job.

Five Things You Like To Do:

1. Read, read, and read some more.
2. Make fudge (cooking in general, but specifically making fudge).
3. Run my big mouth, even when I know it's going to cause me trouble.
4. Braid the hair on my legs (not really, but it sounded good, right?).
5. Do stuff with my kids, even if it's just veggin on the couch watching a movie (or more likely Spongebob).

Five Things You Would Never Wear Again:

1. A bra. I've been sneaking them in the trash can for years and hubby can't figure out where they have all gone, and he gets freaked out every time he sees my gazongas swinging about if I need to go out of the house but I don't give a shit - Thank goodness I don't go out in public much!
2. Shoes (except when forced to, stinkin' stores and restaurants and their silly rules).
3. A swimming suit of any kind. Being mostly naked would be dangerous to the entire neighborhood, including anyone driving by, what with my skin blinding everyone. I might cause an accident and would have to live with that trauma for the rest of my life.
4. A paper gown at the OB/GYN office. I'd rather sit there buck naked than wear a Kleenex, which is just not big enough to cover my fat ass and looks completely ridiculous. I have no modesty anymore (I've given birth 4 times, there is no modesty after that) so running around naked doesn’t shame me, and maybe if I blind the doctor he'll be too busy thinking about that to send me a bill.
5. Blue jeans that I have to lie down on the bed and suck it up to zip. If they don’t go on over my hips, they don't go on at all and I'll wear scrub pants.

Five Favorite Toys:

1. My new KVM switch with audio. It's the next best thing since sliced bread and made my life so much easier. I was totally geeked when I hooked it up and started using it.
2. My chair. It has heat AND vibration. Ooooooooooooo.
3. My office air conditioner. I am stuck in a 7 x 13-foot room all day every day, in a basement, with no windows, and this bad boy made my day. It's portable so no need for a window!
4. My Bonneville, even though I don't drive much anymore. It's got wicked-awesome seat controls, dontcha know.
5. My hubby. *evil grin*

Five Things You Hate To Do:

1. Wear shoes.
2. Poop in a public restroom.
3. Listen to people who tell me I "can't" do something.
4. Suppress my opinions. They're mine and I have a right to them, even if they are a little weird. I'm not a frigging sheep.
5. Explain to people why I think it's more important to do silly things like pay the rent or buy groceries instead of using my money to buy a set of dentures.

OK, now I'd love to send this thing on it's merry way to some of my blogger sisters:
Evie (Sprite) of Homespun Honolulu
Kim (Domestic Slackstress) of 8 Centimeters Deluded
Bonnie Wabbit of Inspirational Awareness
Becky at Tall Cool Drink of Water
Katie at Katie's Crazy Ride

All just cuz I love their sites and think you will, too.

Simply Amazing

Got an email the other day that I found really, really awesome (especially considering some of the junk I usually get, but this was no spam; from a good friend of mine who usually sends me a gem or two in between the usual chain mails). It was about a man by the name of Don Marco, "Mr. Crayola," who creates the most amazing artistry with - you guessed it - Crayola crayons.

This is literally only a smidgen of the pictures that were attached to the email, and more of his beautiful work can be found at Don Marco, The Master Crayon Artist. What talent!

Google Me This

Google is a wonderful place for finding stuff. I love Google: Google search, Google news, Google images, everything Google. I have even heard tell that Google is God. I also love funny pictures, and Google is a great place to go to find them. A win-win situation. My favorite picture of all time has got to be the one I have here with the dude with his head up his ass, sent to me years ago by a buddy of mine who truly understood my love of funny pictures. It used to have a caption that I eventually trimmed off before posting it on my Yahoo site: "#1 Work-related injury: Cranial-rectal inversion."

Did you know: You can Google "head up ass" in image search and there are dozens of sites that use this same picture? I truly did not know that, but it just never crossed my mind until tonight to Google that particular phrase. It is even on You Tube! I really liked the use of the picture with the Head Up Your Ass Award at The Pestilent Fishbowl. This guy seriously needs to update his site; he has some pretty good material but has not blogged there for many moons. To carry on this tradition, I think I am going to find another picture of similar nature and start a "Pokey Award." Heaven knows, I will NEVER run out of material with all the politicians and stupid celebrities we have in this country!

There is so much stuff you can Google; and the weirder it is, the better chance you have of landing at my site! According to site meter, "why does shit float" and "she shit her pants" searches have turned up results including this site. Today it was "www.poopycredit.com", which made me chuckle after that billboard I saw yesterday; I ran the search myself and found that I'm not the only one out there pissing my pants laughing after seeing it!

OHHHH, My Achin' Brain

That goes with my achin' ass from sitting in this chair all the time. Maybe if I stuff my head up my ass it would only hurt half as much? Knowing me, I would just pull a muscle and hurt somewhere else, too. And just imagine THAT emergency room visit, doctor trying to extricate my head from my ass. I know doctors pull some interesting things from people's asses, but I truly believe this feat would make a medical journal somewhere. Just don't bring out the Jaws of Life.

* * * * *

I no sooner finished expending great gobs of brain juice trying to come up with some witty stuff to tell you about myself for the 8 Random Facts Meme I was tagged with by Dawn at Twisted Sister, took a deep breath and started drinking liters of Mountain Dew to generate some more brain juice, and was tagged again (out of revenge) by Jo at Life With Heathens for "Another Damn Meme." Thanks, Jo. Now we know who the REAL heathen is in your family!!!!!

Sister, you're gonna have to give me some time to regroup the troops. The pressure is just too much! I have to think of creative and interesting things to say so y'all don't think I'm boring (like my boys tell me routinely) and on top of all that, y'all want stuff to "make you think." This takes work, people! Let me down a couple more 2-liter bottles of Dew and I'll be ready (should take me about 18 hours - ha ha - I'm with you, Jo, I drink way too much of this junk).

Seriously, though. It's funny how I got into this to have a place to sit and spew when I was bent out of shape about something (hence "bitchbox"), but I never really expected anyone to READ it, let alone leave me wonderful comments like you do and tag me like you have, actually wanting to know MORE about me. It makes me feel all gooey and stuff. Almost BUT NOT QUITE gooey enough to share my grandma's fudge recipe with y'all. Butter me up a little more, and I might let it leak one of these days, even though it's probably safer for the blogosphere if it never hits the ether, since we'll then all be making fudge and weighing about 600 pounds and not blogging because of it's chocolaty, creamy, yummy goodness! There's half a plate left in the fridge (from the 4 I made) and I might just have to go have some now. . . Wait a minute, let me call Richard Simmons first and see if he can talk me down.

Just What Exactly Were You Thinking

When reading my blog, or would we be safer not to know?

Imagine my surprise (and admittedly pride) at being tagged by Christy over at Christy's Coffee Break for the Thinking Blogger Award! It does my heart (and ego) good to know that in between occasional creative velocities and miscellaneous rantings and ramblings about sometimes off-the-wall stuff, I made someone think! Thank you so much, Christy!

In turn, I would like to follow by tagging some really great writers from some really great blogs:

• Shannon at Charming Bitch
  
• Phil at Thought Sparks
  
• Karen at A Deaf Mom Shares Her World
• "Forty-Two" at A Weapon of Mass Disturbance
  
• Crime, Interrupted
  

These are the rules:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think;
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the "Thinking Blogger Award" with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).

Congratulations!

I Need to Get Out More

Had my visit to Cleveland Clinic today. Of course, hubby-man KNOWS how to get there, so I need not worry. "It's only a 3-hour drive, we don't need to leave the night before." This actually turned out to be a good thing, since I had sent him to get my records from the neurologist's office on Thursday and he got something else from my boss at work, which I realized at the last minute. Go figure.

Anyhow. Cleveland is not a 3-hour drive but a 6-hour drive by the time you factor in ROAD CONSTRUCTION on every Interstate and highway in Michigan.



I was late. Of course. But they still saw me, thankfully. More on that later.

I saw many interesting things today and made several very important observations:

• I need to go outside once in a while, or at least buy some bronzing lotion. I have a moon tan. Seriously. I am so dead-fish-belly white that the sun glaring off my arms was blinding other motorists. I was afraid I might kill someone with a brain hemorrhage and cause a 117-car pileup on the freeway, making traffic that much worse.
  
• People, places, and things look so much better in THREE dimensions than the two I look at 16+ hours a day, 7 days a week while chained to my desk, staring at a computer. It took me a while to adjust and focus on things and realize they were NOT attacking me just because they appear. . . well, round.
  
• Billboard messages are way out there: Auto financing at www.poopycredit.com. Talk about blunt. That is even more blunt than *I* would dare to be on a billboard, promoting a business, and I have a pretty large set of cohones. (Figuratively speaking. As you know, I have no cohones at all, or a penis, neither of which would be remedied by the enhancers advertised in my email box every day. Oh well.) Who thinks this stuff up? How many people pissed their pants laughing on their way into Flint on I-69?
• I saw several license plates that made me grin but only one that modestly disturbed me. Someone out there has an even more demented sense of humor than I do, clearly evident when they chose "LECH" as the identifier they wanted posted on the ass-end of their automobile. Do NOT park next to him in the parking lot - he might try looking up your skirt. People pay for these personalized plates, you know. I would have chosen something classy, like "JUGS" or "FMJWAPS" (fuck me jumping with a pogo stick).
• New cars are ugly. Not just ugly, but FUGLY - in size, shape, and color. And, they look like they are made entirely of plastic (greatly increasing my fear of the consequences of blinding other motorists). How do people survive collisions when they are not surrounded by classic Detroit Iron? But, Lawd, are they ugly.
  
• Kids love riding in cars until the temperature peaks at 100 degrees and there's no air conditioning.
• The Ohio Turnpike beats the Illinois Tollway any day of the week. Whoever created the Illinois Tollway is the Anti-Christ.

Anyhow, I have had an overwhelming day and need to re-adjust to a two-dimensional reality. My eyes feel like someone has gouged them out with plastic spoons, covered them with peanut butter (not Jif, of course), and stuck them back in their sockets upside down and backwards.

I'm An Emotional Freak

I have been doing transcription for years, but I still get bothered by some of the stuff I have to process in this head of mine. Death summaries are the worst - I get upset because someone I never had the chance to know has passed away. I wonder if it might be because of the terminology some doctors use: "The patient expired." Expired? I know what it means from the medical standpoint and know that it is being used appropriately, but it still bugs me. Sounds like we have dates on us like gallons of milk. It just seems so.... clinical.... and sterile.... and it really gets to me. The tear-jerk comes when the doctor is one of those tender beings walking this planet that closes the report with "May her gentle soul rest in peace" or some similar blessing wished.

I am then reduced to a blubbering, quivering pile of flesh.

Lawd, I hate IE

I cannot stand Internet Explorer. It sucks. Plain and simple. Sucks just like a Hoover. Even after upgrading to IE7 it still sucks, yet strangely it blows at the same time. But....

How many computers are churned out every year with IE on them? A gazillion.

How many people know there are browsers out there that are BETTER than IE? Twelve.

I love Firefox. Firefox rules. Firefox FLOATS MY BOAT. FIREFOX GETS MY ROCKS OFF. Not really, but damn close.

I first fell in love with Firefox's tabbed browsing and the tons of add-ons and extensions available to customize my browsing experience. I loved having skins to choose from instead of the same standard shit everyone else was using, just because BoBo at Microsoft thought it "looked good" to him. I squealed in delight that I could use Ad-Block and never see those annoying ads in Yahoo Pool that always seem to refresh just when I am releasing the cue, making me miss my shot. I double-pumped my fist in the air when Down-Them-All allowed me to click ONCE and mass download all the .wav files I needed to download to do my work in a single step instead of having to individually download every single file like I did in IE.

Seriously, the difference between Firefox and IE is just like the difference between Jif (Firefox) and store-brand (IE) peanut butter. One is just brown shit in a bottle and the other one makes a damn fine PB&J sandwich.

Getting Ready for Battle

Cleveland Clinic on Monday. Taking off Sunday night (crikey, later tonight???) to get down there on time, since hubby-man never follows the directions I give him (even if they are from MapQuest, which he requested). He is such a dingleberry sometimes. I admit to being a wee bit nervous but hopeful that I will finally get some answers about what this shit is that has been plaguing me for TEN FRIGGING MONTHS and getting worse by the day. I hear tell this doctor actually LISTENS to her patients (if so, then she is one of only four doctors on the planet who do so) and works the problem until she finds an answer. I consider myself an expert on doctors' bedside manner, having seen it from both sides (as a patient and as an employee), so we will reserve judgment for our own eyes.

That is all I really want: An answer. Even if that is "I am sorry, but you have {XXXX} and there is no cure, you are going to be miserable to the end of your days, and those days are numbered," I would much rather hear that than "I don't know" and/or "It's all in your head, you need to see a psychiatrist." (Fuck your psychiatrist, lady, which you probably already have and that is why you are sending all your patients to him.... but anyhow). It does not bother me to hear "I don't know," as long as it is accompanied with "But I will find the answer" (which I almost never hear). I mean, really, why the hell else am I paying (between my insurance payment and co-pays and deductibles) $200+ a pop for an office consultation? Surely not for a blowjob and a lollipop.

I am gonna beat this, one way or the other. I WILL WIN, BECAUSE I SAID SO AND I AM THE BOSS SO WHAT I SAY GOES. I have people who count on me every day for not only a means of support but mommy love, and I intend to stick around to give out as much of that as I can. My uterus is screaming incessantly "Fill me up, bitch!" but I really need to take care of this other thing first. It is really a pain when you cannot even enjoy yelling at your husband because you are unable to pick your arms up to flail them wildly at him, let alone enjoy holding, snuggling, feeding, and changing a new baby who smells so good and tastes so yummy when you kiss their tiny little heads.

Yes, I look forward to ALL of it: Gaining another 4000 pounds (someday my ass will be as large as my mouth), puking and puking until I can't puke no more and then puking some more anyhow, ankles as thick as most people's waists, stretch marks you could fill with water and drive a yacht through, watermelon boobs, hemorrhoids the size of Texas, and even labor and delivery but ESPECIALLY reveling in that miracle that is a tiny, perfect little person, with every atom in your body, watching them grow and learn (and then wondering where the hell your sweet baby went when they turn 12 and start mouthing off but you really love that, too, even if you won't admit it). Next time, though, I will not be making the mistake of going to the hospital to deliver. Alas. . . That's a story for another day. You'll like it, though (my obstetrician can finally chuckle about it, 2 years after the fact).

HIT AND RUN!!!!

Yup, I have been hit and run, and now I get to do the same!

I have been tagged by Insanity Suits Me at Twisted Sister in the Eight Random Facts Meme.

The rules to play:

1. Players start with 8 random facts about themselves.
2. Those who are tagged should post these rules and their 8 random facts.
3. Players should tag 8 other people and notify them they have been tagged.

Now, to be perfectly honest, there is just not that much interesting about me to fill up 8 whole random facts. I am really kind of a bore - just ask my teenage boys! I will do my best, though, so here goes:

1. I used to be painfully shy as a youngster--so shy, in fact, that I would cry when directly addressed. I got over that quickly when the varsity football team nick-named me "Tits." THEY got over that just as quickly when I started weightlifting with them. :)
2. I grew up on a farm and used to help milk the cows and bale the hay (which explains the above).
3. I have wet dreams about John Cusack. Hubby already knows he's hittin' the curb the day John knocks on the front door (but hubby just cackles when I tell him this).
4. I have 3 sons and 1 daughter and 2 step-daughters but my uterus is screaming at me that it wants to squeeze out at least 4 more.
5. My husband, youngest son, and one of my step-daughters are deaf and we use sign language to communicate. They use ASL but I pidgin, and they don't care.
6. I work about 100+ hours a week as a medical transcriptionist but have a deep-seated desire to be a full-time mommy to my herd.
7. I live in the middle o' the mitten but someday want to move to Marquette on Lake Superior so I can freeze my tits (and maybe some of my over-sized ass) off in the winter time.
8. I am totally a cat person. I tolerate dogs but can't stand when they lick. I have to wash my hands until my fingerprints come off when a dog licks me. A cat can lick me and it doesn't bug me, though. They don't slobber.

And now for the final drum roll, it is my distinct pleasure to torture. . . I mean, tag:

Christy at Christy's Coffee Break

Jo at Life With Heathens

Ev at My Life is Murphy's Law

Jenny at Flawed and Disorderly

Karly at Wiping Up Snot

Paisley at Why Paisley???

Em at Two Write Hands

Diamondssaphire at Nonsense, Fun, Tears, Happiness and Anger all Rolled Into One!

Great Messages From Extraordinary People

I was watching a program on TV last night, "The Half Ton Man," and it really got to me, on a lot of levels. I was sorry, I was sickened, and I was angry.

I know there are a lot of reasons leading to obesity, including genetics, other disease processes, but most of all environment and lifestyle choices. Some insist it is ALL genetics because their mom and dad, brothers and sisters are also grossly obese; but, there is likely also a huge environmental factor. If your family's regimen is to sit and eat large, rich, high-calorie meals on a daily basis and not get out and burn off the calories you consume, eventually you are going to get fat. Ask Richard Simmons! Personally, I do not buy it. In my own family, I have a sister who is very obese, yet the rest of the family is normal to only slightly overweight, so it can hardly all be genetics. If you watch, you can see her pack in an entire bag of potato chips, a whole box of donuts, and a 2-liter bottle of pop in a single setting. Diet pop, of course, to justify the reduced calories but ignoring the fact that she is still consuming 8 servings all at once. If you keep watching, you can see that the only time she gets up from her chair is to use the restroom, telling everyone else around her to "get this" or "do that." Eating 3 times the normal daily required calories then sitting in the chair is certainly not going to go unnoticed by your body systems.

From Mount Sinai Hospital's website regarding obesity and surgery:

"A healthy BMI is 19-24, with obesity beginning at a BMI of 30, morbid obesity at a BMI of 40, super morbid obesity at a BMI of 50, and super super morbid obesity at a BMI above 60. Health risks increase as BMI values rise above 25. Medical conditions related to obesity, also called comorbidities, which might make you a candidate for weight loss surgery include: diabetes, high blood pressure, joint problems, circulatory problems, heart disease, sleep apnea, polycystic ovary syndrome, urinary incontinence, and infertility."

Back before the advent of TV and video games (and even computers, sheesh), people were active because that was part of their lives and lifestyle. Many worked strenuously doing hard physical labor. Now that so much of what used to be done by hand is automated and there are so many more recreational opportunities not involving physical activity, we are becoming a society of overweight people, evolving into a super-morbidly obese society.

You go, Richard Simmons, and keep spreading your message of hope to millions!

Melodies in Motion

I did not realize how pretty this looked but how difficult it was to actually read the text. Sorry about that. In any case, this is an itty bitty ditty I conjured from within this sawdust-filled head of mine and gave to hubby-man a mere 3 months after we were married, which I had penned onto a poster I drew of the ASL sign for "music" as a faint background. I even framed it.

Unfortunately, even if the poster had not had an unfortunate "accident," it would not fit into the scanner, so I nosed around Google Images for a while; unable to find anything similar to how it was originally presented, I stuck it on a sunset instead. I like sunsets. I like sunrises, too, and rainbows, butterflies, dolphins, elephants, dragonflies, roses, and snowmen. You would never have guessed I was so weird, right?

Anyhow,.... What it says is this:

Seeing your hands in conversation

Is witnessing the most beautiful symphony ever composed.

A world full of words

Dancing gracefully from your fingertips . . .

Music in motion,

A melody I see with my eyes and hear with my heart. . .

And having listened, I now know the meaning of harmony.

I love sign language. I love to watch it, especially when performed by a prelingually Deaf individual whose primary language is ASL. I love to try to do it, but mine is only a poor imitation. I love to watch my babies use it and know that they are bilingual at an age when most hearing children are struggling to manipulate a single language.

Junk, Junk, and More Junk

I cannot help myself. . . I MUST satisfy this morbid curiosity that has always driven my spirit: I MUST scan the titles of junk emails I get that are not filtered out by the spam blocker before I banish them to the ozone forever, or at least until they concoct a new way to infiltrate the system.

A good portion of these are from debt management companies hawking their wares, offering their help to get me out of credit card debt: They will work with my creditors to reduce or even eliminate my finance charges and maybe even the amount of money I owe. In exchange, I only need to pay them a 45% administrative fee every month for the next 24 to 48 months. What a bargain!

I have a deep-seated suspicion that these companies are somehow, in some way, hiding under the giant umbrella of the banking industry, holding hands with the same financial institutions that gave out the damned credit cards in the first place. It is a tidy little process they have going on here:

• Give the customer a high line of credit and low APR to tease them in and tickle them for a few months with minimal or deferred finance charges.
• Hopefully the customer runs up the full line of credit either through purchases or balance transfers, and this will be a fair-sized amount. After the tickle period is over, poke them for a while with a slightly higher but still manageable rate. Poking is certainly not tickling, not painful but merely irritating. Most customers will shut up and pay.
• If the account balance goes higher or changes very little (more money going toward finance charges rather than balance due or some crisis occurred and the customer was forced to rely on the card for shit that does not really matter, like food), do a "periodic review" starting with running a credit report. Send the customer a notice stating that 1) We have done a periodic review of your account; 2) Your balance is high with our financial institution; 3) Your balance is high with other financial institutions; 4) You have had numerous inquiries into your credit rating (most people are unaware that every time an inquiry is made, it is noted on their credit report). All of these factors lower the customer's overall credit score, thus proving the customer is at "high risk" for bad debt and clearly violates the original contract the customer entered into when obtaining the line of credit, thereby justifying an increase in APR. This process occurs over a several-month period and takes a while, so you have to be patient. Ignore the fact that the customer has never been late in paying, just that they are in violation of the fine print of the contract requiring them to maintain a satisfactory credit history.
• Continue to do periodic reviews as often as necessary until the APR reaches the default rate (most institutions = approximately 30%), until the customer is unable to pay more than the minimum payment, covering only the finance charges plus 1% of the balance due as required by federal law. Deflect all pleas from the customer asking for a lower rate; they violated their contract, after all, and the reasons for not paying more than the minimum are not your fault but entirely their own. NEVER negotiate a lowered APR with the customer directly. NEVER.
• When the customer has finally passed the point of sink or swim and asks what to do to fix the situation, offer them the name of a credit counseling company, who will be more than happy to collect their information (and add yet another review stamp to their credit report) and see if they can assist in any way.

I also get a lot of crap telling me how I can lower my mortgage payment. I am still trying to figure out how THOSE came to be routed to me, since I have no mortgage payment to lower, do not want a mortgage payment PERIOD, and certainly would not use an Internet company (probably in cahoots with the fellas above) to be raped further in my financial hoo-hoo when my local bank would serve my needs much better if I ever did choose to go that route.

I got a cute one today, telling me to "stop being losing hair." How did they know my hair was falling out in great gobs? Somehow I don't think a magic cream or spray or whatever they are offering (I didn't open it up, of course, to find out) is going to help until after the medical condition causing the hair loss in the first place is corrected. delete delete delete....

My absolute favorite junk email, though, are the ones telling me they can help me with penis growth. I really do not need (or want) any help with that, since my husband, my physician, and most especially myself would be thoroughly confounded and absolutely disgusted if I suddenly sprouted and successfully added inches to my penis after 34 years of not having one.

Dirt Don't Hurt

It is quiet in the house. Finally. I go peek outside to see what everyone is doing, and there is my tiny boy speeding around the yard, touching flowers, pulling grass, running sand through his fingers, all the good spring-time stuff little ones love to do after being cooped up inside for the winter. I see hubby in a chair (exhausted from chasing the boy around since the boy is very busy and wears us old folks out - ha ha ha), the boy with a suspiciously black-looking face. I get closer and see the boy seems to have sprouted a beard. Of dirt. I have a pretty good idea of how it tasted since he left such a wonderful trail of mud down his chin, stuck in the cleft. "Why are you eating dirt?" I ask him. I get a huge shrug of itty bitty shoulders.

Of course, he loves giving mommy kisses when he's got milk beard, cereal beard, peanut butter beard, and now dirt beard. The older boys just say, "God made dirt and dirt don't hurt," like that is a consolation, seeing the boy eating dirt after he has just gotten done eating dinner.

Wonder which tasted better?

I Am an Iceberg

After years of trying to figure out why people generally misunderstand me, I have finally decided that it is because I am an iceberg: There is more beneath the surface than what is visible to the naked eye, and it takes some effort to find out what is down there. Too many people just do not bother to take the time to do that.

I like being an iceberg. I can be as cold and desolate, as ragged and lonely as I want to be, or I can be as graceful and beautiful as my heart desires, all the while drifting in the current and being dragged ever onward to a rather unspectacular end, spreading mystery, instigating quests for deeper knowledge, giving joy, and causing fear along the way. It's all good.

How Long Are We Safe?

Sometimes you just have to stop and wonder.

Verichip

This remarkable device appears to have its origins in providing health care professionals a means of accessing a patient's medical information in a manner that was never before possible. For example: You are in a horrible accident and unconscious, transported to the emergency room for attention - unable to communicate to staff the fact that you have an allergy to a certain medication or that you have a particularly noteworthy bit of medical history that may alter the course of treatment you would receive. VIOLA! Verichip technology allows the staff to scan you and bring up that information, no matter what hospital in what city in what state you happen to be. They treat you accordingly and you make a speedy recovery and do not die because they gave you something you should not have been given.

There are financial institutions interested in this technology as well. Store your bank account information in a handy-dandy chip in your hand, swipe your hand on the scanner, and it deducts your purchases directly from your account. You never have worry about someone stealing your purse or wallet again (just that they might cut off your fucking hand and steal that). You can shop anywhere Verichip is accepted, just look for the logo.

HOWEVER, as with any new and wonderful technology, someone has to come along and tamper with it, try to figure out a way to 1) Turn a huge profit from it, and 2) Use it as a means to monitor the public: Where you go, what you do, where you shop, what restaurants you eat at, and all manner of customer preference data - you name it, they will track it.

THEN THE GOVERNMENT STEPS IN AND TAKES OVER, claiming they need it as an anti-terrorism measure, a way to track and prevent terrorist activities. You can bet every person in America will be implanted and they will be snooping on everyone implanted, and implantation will be a requirement from birth. Privacy will become a thing of the past, and Democracy and Justice will evolve to have ever more ominous meanings. There will be no protection from those pretending to be acting in our best interests when they are truly acting in their own - the political "elite." It will be a grasping effort made by a failing bastardization of our system of government that wants absolute power over and total control of its citizenry, ready to penalize activities that may in reality be benign but twisted so as to appear to be evil. Again, it will be required to be implanted and will, of course, be provided to us at our own expense, under the guise of being "for our own good."

I have a hard time making the stretch some religious folks are making, the mark of the Devil and all that, but I do not know everything (yet).

There are other ways to keep an eye on what people are doing and/or curtailing privacy, some of which many people do not even know about, like the fact that RFID tags in New US notes explode when you try to microwave them and that there are RFID tags on electronic equipment.

Maybe it is just me, but this seems like a huge step in the direction of living in a police state, a step towards undermining the Constitution of the United States and Bill of Rights, a means to the end of society as we know it (it will take a while to do that, but we are already well on our way to fucking it up royally).

Raising Awareness: Deaf or deaf?

What is the difference between deaf and Deaf? Is there really a distinction? Why, YES, there is!

I could not explain it any better myself than does the Wiki article on Deaf Culture, but in a nutshell, "Deaf" is a means of identifying oneself with the Deaf Culture, regardless of your hearing ability, and "deaf" refers to the medical delineation of hearing loss.

There are many terms floating around in our society, used mostly because of lack of knowledge, that are highly offensive to many Deaf individuals:

• Deaf and dumb (or deaf/mute): "Dumb" means an inability to speak, i.e., mute. Most Deaf are indeed able to speak, and many do so very well.
• Hearing impaired: Impairment refers to disability and has negative connotations. While hearing people consider deafness a disability, it is ONLY a disability because we as hearing individuals force it to be so. We fail to learn to communicate with Deaf individuals (but we will take a French or Spanish or German class in school), we refuse to give them jobs because we will need to ensure they have accommodations for their differences, etc. The only thing that makes Deaf people different in most cases is their means of communication; they are not freaks. After all, would you consider a visitor from a foreign country who speaks no English to be impaired or disabled just because of a language barrier?
• Deaf = mentally retarded: I ranted about this elsewhere, but all Deaf people are not cognitively impaired, nor are all cognitively impaired people deaf, so one does not equal the other. It is a stereotype that we need to toss out the window.
• Deaf = hard of hearing: Deafness in and of itself generally refers to a range of hearing loss that is severe to profound and may (but more likely may not) be "corrected" with the use of hearing aids. Hard of hearing individuals, on the other hand, generally have a range of hearing loss that is mild to moderate and CAN supplement their residual hearing with hearing aids.

There are other misconceptions regarding Deaf individuals and how to interact with them when their world touches ours, especially in health care. Many health care providers are unaware of their responsibility to ensure they effectively communicate with Deaf patients, preferably via a certified sign language interpreter. Many believe they can get away with "writing notes." This is a faulty assumption in that many hearing individuals fail to realize that ASL (the primary language of most Deaf) is NOT equivalent to English and that the average Deaf person reads at approximately a 4th grade level. Therefore, one cannot expect to effectively communicate an INFORMED CONSENT to someone who is not operating on the same communication level, if they refuse to use a sign language interpreter and ensure that the other party is truly understanding and giving consent to what they understood the information to mean.

The same goes for lip reading. While some Deaf can do this, many cannot. This is a skill that takes years to master and even then can lead to misinterpretations of what was said because of how the speaker moves his/her mouth, whether or not they have a beard and/or mustache, etc.

A great article explaining some of the common misconceptions regarding Deaf can be found at Where do we go from Hear? I particularly like the title, "Deaf People Are Contagious."

Learn Something New Every Day

And today is no exception. Stopped into Petsmart today and got the kids some rats (yes, rats - 2 of them) and had to stop by and look at the kitties since I am totally a kitty person . . . cats and rats . . . do not go so well together but we shall see. Anyhow, I stopped dead in my tracks at one of the meow-meows staring back into my face as I looked at the cages full of cats for adoption, and there was one that could have been a clone of my Alley Cat. I remarked to the woman from the shelter who was packing them up to go back for the night, and she told me it was a "tuxedo cat" and that they are fairly common. So now I know that Alley is a tuxedo cat and I just have to convince her of that fact. Usually she thinks she is a person (she sits in the chair to watch TV in a very human-like position), sometimes a dog (she asks to be let out to go potty and does not use a litter box), occasionally a raccoon (she sits up on her haunches and spins her head around, very reminiscent of the Exorcist).

I don't know, but I just don't think she'll give a rat's ass one way or the other that she's a tuxedo cat. For more information about tuxedo cats, please visit Oreo's Tuxedo Cat Club or check out the information on Wikipedia, including some famous tuxedo cats like Sylvester, Felix, and of course, Dr. Seuss' Cat in the Hat.