It's Called "Population Control," People

People with serious diseases are finding themselves getting handed the shitty end of the stick when it comes to insurance copays on their medications. The medication costs can be enormous, and the insurer wants the insured to foot a bigger portion of the bill than their previous traditional copays of $10, $20, whatever, to 20% to 33%. The list of diseases in this article just happens to include multiple sclerosis, which you all know is my newfound "friend." These people with severe and chronic illnesses are the ones least likely to be working and earning an income in the first place, so let's sockittoem.

In terms of cold hard cash: The Copaxone injections I use for my MS cost $1740.13 for a 30-day supply, of which I pay a $40 copay. Under this "tiered" system, I would pay anywhere between $348.03 and $574.24 a month for my medication. This is an 870% to 1435% increase in my out-of-pocket cost just for the medication. This does not include the cost my employer and I fork over to the insurer in the first place just to have coverage, said cost having increased many-fold since I started working at the company a mere 7 years ago. Also keep in mind: This is not a medication to CURE my disease, merely to "try" to prevent acute exacerbations. This makes just so much sense, really. They'll NOT pay for medication to try to PREVENT an exacerbation, but they'll cover the much larger bills associated with hospitalization and testing and inpatient medications administered, etc., for an acute exacerbation. Yeah. Kind of like not paying for birth control or abortion but paying for prenatal care, labor and delivery, and then yet another child that will be covered on the policy.

So my choices are:
1. Fork over the cash (which is almost a whole week's pay) to get the medication to try to keep from getting worse and ending up on permanent disability, foregoing those pesky incidental expenses like rent, groceries, and electricity. I'll be living in a box on the street, but at least I'll have my medication!
2. Use my cash to pay for those pesky incidental expenses (above) and stop taking the medication, progressing in my disease process until I "expire." (That means "DIE" for those of you who don't know that medical term that bothers me for some reason, like we have a fucking date stamped on our butt cheek like a gallon of milk.)

I'm not wealthy. I can't afford to buy these medications. So I will just have to suck it up, accept the fact that I am poor and destined to die quicker than a wealthy individual who has the money to buy them to prolong not just their life, but their QUALITY of life.

That's why it's called population control. I've seen it for years, known it was happening and tried spreading the word but just being called a fruitcake or conspiracy theorist for my efforts. I've seen a young woman die of a completely treatable cancer just because of her insurance carrier's "policies." I've seen another woman beg and plead for money to abort a deformed fetus that would not survive delivery and likely would have killed the mother during said delivery, because Medicaid, her only healthcare coverage, would not pay for it: Two birds with one stone?

Kicking Myself in the Head

Or I would, anyhow, if my leg reached that high but it d0esn't so I'll just imagine that I'm doing it.

I sooooooooo wish I had upgraded my RAM years ago.

I also wish I'd bought a wide screen monitor years ago.

I like the feel of my new keyboard, too, but neglected to pay attention to the "little things," like the hot key combination needed to switch between PCs with the KVM switch. . . DOES.NOT.WORK. on this keyboard. You have to push the button for the PC you want to use, on the switch itself.

Everything else is peachy, though.

Oh.My.God

If I didn't have a reason to love Tiger Direct before, I do now. I ordered my goodies on Sunday night. I selected ground shipping, 3 to 7 days. I expected my stuff around Friday. Today is Tuesday. My stuff was delivered TODAY. TWO DAYS.

If you need ANYTHING for your computer, go to Tiger Direct. GO. Just do it.

Now I'm off to go play with my new toys, and hopefully get them all hooked up so all will be right with the world.

What a Great Idea

Diesel has inspired me to a great idea [ALL. . . HAIL. . . DIESEL], but I think I'm going to take all the credit for it anyhow, because I'm entitled to be an asshole every once in a while. It's just a shame that the truly great ideas seem so few and far between. Then again, maybe it's all perspective.

I've gone all over the place here with everything from ranting and raving about stuff I see in the news to whining and moaning about my disease and personal trials and tribulations with a little humor and a whole lot of weirdness thrown in for good measure. After all, as the name implies, whatever floats my boat. However, I have a feeling it might be a source of morbid fascination for the folks who dare to come back for a second visit, let alone those who actually feel brave enough to add this site to their feed readers (amazingly enough, there are a few, you poor souls), to see what kind of crap comes out of my mouth (or keyboard) next. I think it's time to recover and clean up this train wreck.

Anyhow, Diesel was busy with one of his own little hoo-hoos, and he was throwing out ideas for blog names that might indicate something more impressive than your run-of-the-mill stuff that is in abundance all over the net and recycled ad nauseum and perhaps making more of an impression when applying to one of his other sites, Humor-Blogs.com. Go read what The Man has to say, since he explains it much better than I can, and at least he's coherent. Great post, Diesel.

Anyhow, I have no desire to just drop and run from My Boat, it's kind of like home, but I do have a new site in the making (thanks for the name inspiration, Diesel), Mainlining Mountain Dew. I have a URL but nothing's up yet, so give me time. THAT'S where I'll be concentrating my humor and witticisms, stupidity (i.e., Future of America), and the great emails and pictures people pass along to me that I want to share. There will likely be duplicate stuff there from here, since some of the stuff I've put up here was pretty fucking hilarious and deserves to be recycled.

Til then, lotsa love,
A.

P.S.: Dude, I'm totally stealing your idea and don't feel the least bit bad about it!

I've Finally Done It

I got so tired of this computer freezing up on me, even AFTER removing XP SP2, I finally broke down and ordered more RAM like the IT guy at work suggested I do years ago. I went all-out at Tiger Direct and ordered TWO of them, 256MB each, the maximum my HP Pavilion is configured for. Keep your fingers crossed that this is the cure for my computer's ills and I stop getting that irritating "virtual memory is too low" message when I open 2 or more applications or even just use Firefox. It seemed a good deal, $60 total, and that's a helluva lot less than a new PC would cost, which would probably have Vista on it, and I'm not ready to give up XP. I don't need another PC; I just need to make this one do the job it did when it was all shiny and new.

I could go wild on Tiger Direct, if I had the money to do it and no sense of self-control. I let slip a wee bit and ordered a few other things I needed/wanted:

• A 20" LCD monitor. I can't see shit anymore and the dude at Office Max (I detest that store but was in dire need of a new office chair and dragged myself in there Saturday. It's so comfortable, I could sleep in it!) said a bigger screen might help. I got a nicer monitor than the cheapest one ($200) they had, for the same price. I shopped around and found one I liked at another store for about $240, then found a similar one on Tiger for less.
  
• A Trulink USB and PS/2 KVM switch with audio. Keyboard manufacturers seem to have decided to stop making PS/2 keyboards and mice for some reason, since the stores only seem to sell USB stuff (unless you want a junk $13 PS/2 keyboard that lasts about 2 months) and I need a new one, but my Trendnet KVM switch (which I love), quite unfortunately, is only PS/2 and not compatible with a USB adapter. It's so sad. It's a good switch and only a year old, but I'll package it up and keep it just in case. (Pack ratting)
  
• A Logitech Wave USB keyboard. I saw one in Staples (another store I detest but drag myself into when I need supplies) and liked it. It felt good to my hands and wrists, which is obviously vital in my line of work. So now I will have a USB keyboard to plug into my new KVM switch. I didn't get a mouse, since I have a couple here that are relatively new, all PS/2, but since the switch takes BOTH, it's all good.
  

I'm excited. I can't wait for my stuff to come. I could have paid extra and gotten it next-day or 2-day, but it's a good lesson in patience to have it shipped via ground in 3-7 days. Gives me a couple of extra days of gooey anticipation about my new toys and time to collect storage boxes for my old equipment.

Now, don't think I'm a freak for keeping the old stuff. It's just that if it's not BROKEN (broken stuff goes in the trash) but maybe just getting a little worn out or I don't like the shape or feel of it (I'm really peculiar about the feel of my mouse to my hand, and I hate mice that have no scroll wheel, and sometimes my headsets smoosh my ears against the earpieces of my glasses in a way I don't like), I hold onto it in case of emergency. That way, if whatever I'm using DOES break, I have backup until I can get a replacement. I work nights, when the stores are closed, so running to Office Max at 3 a.m. is just not an option.

In anticipation of our "rebate" checks, hubby-man and I ordered a new bed (thank goodness some stores still have layaways). He's been harping for months about how bad our old bed is getting and yelping whenever the Tempurpedic and Select Comfort commercials come on. Those just seem like they'd be out of my league money-wise (I admit I've never priced them but have a vivid imagination). So we went into the local furniture store and he fell in love with a Simmons mattress they had, and it was on even on sale. This store, where we've bought a lot of furniture over the years, can put it in layaway for you at the sale price. They also have free delivery. It's a hometown store and they don't just care about moving merchandise but actually satisfying the customer. They're all-around good people and know us by name (they also have a Radio Shack in the store and I send hubby-man there to buy my equipment for work, and the woman there is learning sign language). A few years ago I bought a solid oak entertainment center and glass-doored bookcase there, none of that Sauder crap they sell in Wal-Mart and Meijer, and 2 matching recliners. They were even able to match the color and pattern of another chair (different name, even) that I'd bought years prior at a different store! I'm also excited about that.

I've had a busy couple of days, and it just keeps on staying busy. Tomorrow's my appointment with the surgeon about my gallstones. Ugh.

I've Decided I'm Just a Bitch

I am so tired of reading stories like this in the news. Maybe I'm just a bitch, but maybe it's just time for society to wake up and smell the coffee. If people like this want to do away with themselves, fine, LET THEM - the world and especially their children are probably better off without them - but they need to stop taking their children out in the process or instead of themselves. It makes me so angry that this woman took the coward's way out, resorting to suicide, but she had NO right to murder her children, who never asked to be brought into this world but most certainly NEVER deserved to die at their own mother's hands. She chose to bring them into this world, and she then chose to renege on her responsibility as a ward to God's gifts. That's right: Children are not ours, as so many in this world wrongly declare, but God's, and He allows us to have care and custody over them, raise them in His light. I know it's an un-Christian way of thinking, but I firmly believe that people who abuse, torture, or murder children should suffer the exact same fate they dealt out to the little ones. Andrea Yates? Drown her. Then resuscitate her. Then drown her again. And again. And AGAIN. And one more time for good measure, for each child she deprived of life. Susan Smith? Same deal. Dena Schlosser? Cut her fucking arms off and leave her to bleed to death. Maybe once parents realize there is a PUNISHMENT for their actions - and keep the bleeding heart fucking liberals out of it, letting them cop out of responsibility for their actions by claiming mental illness - THIS SHIT WOULD STOP.

Rant over.

Post #299 - Now if THIS Ain't a Load of Shit

I'm a caffeine drinker. I can't stand coffee, but I've been known to polish off between one and two 2-liter bottles of Mountain Dew a day. A DAY, PEOPLE. That's a lot of fucking caffeine. I should piss, shit, and BLEED neon yellow, I drink so much of it. I buy it 4 crates at a time (you know the blue crates Pepsi ships bottles in, 8 per crate???). I have to write Dew purchases into my monthly budget, to make sure I have enough to supply my habit. I don't bother with a glass, drinking directly from the mouth of that 2-liter bottle. I am a Dew addict. I need my fix. I didn't even curb my habit while pregnant with each and every one of my kids, and they should also shit, piss, and BLEED neon yellow after 9 months of continuous Dew infusion via umbilical cord. My kids are all above average in intelligence, motivated, and of the type to take a leadership role rather than that of a sheeple. I owe it all to the Dew. Look at that: Even my fucking CAT is addicted to this stuff.

Then along comes this study, claiming "Caffeine could protect against multiple sclerosis," which I would have to say based on my own real-life personal experience spanning 35 years , is a load of shit. I AM caffeine, I have been for years, and I still developed MS and it's still progressing. Give me some GOOD news, and let me know when you've really got something worthwhile, eh?

Researchers at Cornell University showed that giving mice the equivalent of six to eight cups of coffee a day protected them against experimental autoimmune encephalomyelitis (EAE), the animal model of MS. . .
Initial studies led the researchers to discover that mice lacking CD73, the enzyme necessary for synthesizing extracellular adenosine, were protected from developing the mouse form of MS (experimental autoimmune encephalomyelitis or EAE). Subsequent studies dealing with immune cells from such mice made them believe that normal CD73's ability to synthesize extracellular adenosine governed the development and progression of the MS-like disease.
Though this discovery did help the researchers to explain the presence of adenosine near the cells, but they were unaware of the mechanism that made the compound enter into the CNS cells. As adenosine is supposed to bind to its receptor in order to affect a cell, the researchers thought that adenosine receptor activation would have allowed for entry of immune cells into the brain and spinal cord and thus they turned to caffeine.
Caffeine's stimulatory effects on the CNS are mainly due to its ability to bind to the same receptors as adenosine, thus blocking adenosine's ability to affect CNS cells. When mice consumed caffeine in their drinking water, they were protected against development of EAE, the MS model.
Thus it was concluded that CD73 and adenosine receptor signalling are required for the efficient entry of immune cells into the CNS during the initiation and progression of EAE in mice and, quite possibly, during the development of MS in humans.

Finally. . . Rest for the Weary?

Saw my NL today, and boy am I glad I did. I love my neurologist. She's my favorite medical professional in the whole wide world and one of the few I would actually trust with my life. That number can be counted on my fingers with a few left over.

Last time I'd seen her back in January, we talked about burning pain in my muscles, worse in my shoulder girdle muscles, upper arms, back and neck but really in all the large muscle groups throughout my body, the same pain that put fibromyalgia into the differential before I developed optic neuritis and finally demyelinating plaques on my brain MRI, and hence, the MS diagnosis. She considered trying me on Lyrica at that time but opted to place me on Lexapro instead, since my "depression" (I've never been clinically diagnosed as having depressive disorder but was suffering from "situational depression") was causing my overall MS symptoms to worsen. I ended up taking exactly 3 days of the Lexapro and decided it wasn't for me: It made me so fatigued I could not function. It made me dizzy and nauseous and (even though it's supposed to be for treatment of depression) MORE depressed. That was enough for me. Ever since then, I haven't been able to shake this fatigue that puts me down for days at a time. She gave me the Lyrica today, so we'll see how that works out. She thinks it might also help with my migraines, which would be AWESOME. She also started me on Provigil today, to try to help with the fatigue, which she said was probably a symptom of the MS as well. I took one earlier today and I feel pretty fucking good, haven't looked wistfully at my bed for hours. . .

A lousy 3 months, and my health has definitely changed, some things better and some much, much worse. My "Health Shit Lists":

Positive Shit: I no longer feel depressed, and that's definitely a big fat plus. Unfortunately, that's about the only one I can come up with right now.

Negative Shit:

1. My pain has progressed to the point of affecting my quality of life, a my-body-is-on-fire-from-the-inside-out kind of pain. I bought some Ben Gay-smelling patches and wallpapered myself with them (not really, but it's a great mental picture, ain't it?). Please let the Lyrica work, since I'm allergic to Neurontin. . .
   
2. The vision in my right eye comes and goes, anywhere from about one-quarter to near-complete visual field loss, rapid fluctuations causing dizziness, inability to focus, or just plain not seeing shit and running into things. Thank goodness for drywall corner bead, or there'd be broken corners all over the house instead of black and blue marks all over my arms, legs, and head.
   
3. I can't remember things for more than a few minutes or sometimes even a few seconds unless I write them down, and there have been times I've forgotten what the fuck I was going to write before I even touched pen to paper.
4. My right arm is mostly useless and my right leg isn't far behind in function, affecting my ability to walk and my ability to communicate effectively with my family, who use sign language. This also makes for an interesting trip to the bathroom, which is upstairs, adding to my collection of colorful bruises.
   
5. I have just been found to have gallstones and seeing the surgeon (one of those few precious individuals above, heh heh) next week. In a way, I guess this could be on the Positive Shit list since it's relatively easily taken care of.
   
6. My bowels are disregulated due to MS. I either shit rocks (boulders and/or gravel) or I shit water. There is no in-between. I thought IBS was bad, but this takes the cake.
   
7. I am fatigued to the point of slumping over asleep in my chair for no apparent reason, even after TWELVE FUCKING HOURS OF SLEEP. The last time that happened, my (former) doctor kept barking NARCOLEPSY. He proved himself to be full of shit when he discovered it was pernicious anemia, NOT narcolepsy. My B12 levels are fine, so that's not it this time.
8. No one has any explanation for why my hair is falling out by the handful, my skin is turning to scales, and I've lost my "color." Once upon a time, I had beautiful honey golden skin, soft and smooth as a baby's, and a big thick ponytail. Then one year I turned green. GREEN-GREEN, like a fucking booger some kid just hooked out of his nose. After a couple of years, I was just white. Over time I've gotten more and more white, to the point people would ask how my moon tan was coming along. Now, I'm ready to just shave off what's left of my hair and scrub myself with a wire brush.
   

All in all, it was a productive day. I learned that my symptoms are part of the MS disease process and can come on at any time, or not, since each person's course is different from the next, and that progression to these symptoms is not necessarily an exacerbation. My January MRI was stable from the prior one, so for now it appears the Copaxone is doing its job. Now someone just needs to get to inventing a once-a-week or once-a-month injection instead of EVERY SINGLE DAY injection. Pills would be good, too.

Where Would We Be?

Had they not been stolen from us?

Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

If we cannot end now our differences, at least we can help make the world safe for diversity.
John F. Kennedy

Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.
John F. Kennedy

The Pincushion Look

My latest fashion statement is what I will call The Pincushion Look. I predict that it's going to be all the rage and particularly "sexy" come summertime when I wear shorts and everyone can see the remnants of my last 6 weeks' worth of Copaxone injections tattooed on my thighs. I bruise easily to begin with, and each subcutaneous injection leaves a nifty welt and a circular 2-inch purple-black bruise, which stays for weeks, even with rotation of injection sites to different areas of the body and rotation of specific sites at each location.

Just lovely. *This is me being facetious.*

I also have them on my upper arms, hips, and belly, but I won't subject any poor individual to the sight of my belly or hips - not even my poor husband has to suffer that trauma against his will. Thankfully, he's about blind without his glasses.

I'm tired of this disease and I'm ready to trade it in, ask for a refund, whatever. It's bad enough having gone slightly demented, blind in one eye, and hemiparetic from this shit, now I have to look at nasty blotchy bruises for the rest of my life. Someone needs to move their ass on finding a cure, already, cuz I don't think I can handle injecting myself for the rest of my life, however long that might be. The whole thing is just interfering with my life, and it's not something that can be "ignored" like my gallstones. And I don't just want something to HALT the progress of the MS, or "attempt to reduce the frequency of exacerbations," I want a CURE - I want restoration of my fucking ARM and my fucking EYE and my ABILITY TO DO MATH.

Yes, I'm in a kind of pissy mood right now.

Laughing at Myself

My Yahoo email used to be used for EVERYTHING, including my transcription business-related stuff. Now with all the great technologies available to me, I no longer use my email for that purpose, instead uploading a note on the server to be downloaded on the other end - or, miracle of miracles, FAXING it - and now my email just collects penis extender ads and shit like that.

And once in a while personal emails. I guess that's what it's for, after all, even though my friends who actually send me things can be counted on one hand with fingers left over. Another one of those side effects of withdrawing yourself from society, eh? I digress. . .

I haven't really used it that much lately, and I realized tonight that it still has my "signature" attached to it. Refresh my memory, what's it say. . .

NOTICE OF CONFIDENTIALITY:
The information contained in this email transmission is confidential and/or privileged and may contain confidential health information. This information is intended to be reviewed only by the individual or organization named as addressee. If you have received this transmission in error, please notify sender immediately and destroy all copies of this transmission and all parts included therein. State and federal laws including but not limited to the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA) of 1996 and related regulations protect confidential health information.

I just KNOW there are other "housekeeping" jobs I need to catch up on, too, but I just don't give a rip right now. I've got more important things to do than piss around with a signature line on my outgoing mail. And who really cares, anyhow?

What's Up With That?

I have very little interesting to say anymore. I know this, since it's the reason so many regular readers fled the scene months ago and just never returned, not even to rubberneck at the train wreck my life had become. Being so very uninteresting, I can't fathom why anyone would lurk around here for more than a couple of minutes, yet I find this on Site Meter:

Time of Visit		Mar 31 2008 1:17:09 am
Last Page View		Mar 31 2008 2:23:38 am
Visit Length		1 hour 6 minutes 29 seconds
Page Views		15
Referring URL

They read 15 pages, so I know it wasn't someone doing what I do from time to time: Visiting a blog and forgetting to close it out of my browser, walking away and coming back later to find it still there. (Sorry about that, if I've done it to anyone and they find it annoying.) I don't mind visitors, I really don't, but in 1+ hour of reading and 15 pages, you couldn't have said SOMETHING to me, not even telling me you think I'm weird? I like comments - they make me feel all gooey inside (except spam comments, which I've gotten a few of lately, here and on my recipes blog). And where'd you come from? People don't just magically appear on a blog site, yet there's no referring URL.

I'd love to hear from you.

Raising Awareness: Hands-Only CPR

In the event that an adult suddenly collapses in front of you, American Heart Association advises that Hands-Only CPR be administered, even if you have no formal CPR training. This involves chest compressions only, without mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and can greatly increase the victim's chances of surviving a cardiac arrest.

About 94 percent of sudden cardiac arrest victims die before reaching a hospital, the group said. Up to 80 percent of sudden cardiac arrests occur at home, it added. Brain death begins four to six minutes after a person suffers sudden cardiac arrest if no CPR or defibrillation is given.

What a Potty Mouth

Created by OnePlusYou - Free Online Dating

Around 100% of the pages on your website contain cussing. This is 1011% MORE than other websites who took this test.

I'm such a potty mouth!

On the Internet

In this world that breaks down into little more than digits flying through etherspace, we can be anything we want to be. So. . . I am as beautiful as Halle Berry. I am as wealthy as The Donald. I am as powerful as the Pope. I am whatever I want to be, and you won't know the difference, right? And. . . I can make YOU into whatever I want YOU to be also, and no one will be any the wiser, right?

So says the cyberstalker.

Check this out and tell me: Exactly what is this world coming to? Whatever it is, it can't be good.

"I've just learned that my stalker has taken harassment to the next level. It wasn't good enough to harass me face-to-face, even after legal venues were pursued to put a stop to that. It wasn't good enough to anonymously hide behind the skirts of CPS and file malicious complaints containing fabrications and outright lies against me, because the truth prevailed in the end. No, that just wasn't good enough. Now it's time to take personal grudges and a tightly woven web of lies to the "court of the internets," to be judged by individuals who know nothing more about me than what my stalker has told them - and they believe it. I am a 'hacker' for using Google to find information about my stalker and a 'fat, lazy cunt who sits on the computer 24/7 hacking into and stealing personal records' [MySpace is personal, if it's not set to private???], even though I am working 4 jobs to pay taxes to help support my stalker's lifestyle: Collecting a welfare check every month on top of food stamps and Medicaid, enabling them to have more time to 'testify to the court of the internets' about what a piece of shit I am. I never really thought someone could be this depraved, this malicious, this vindictive and spiteful, even in the face of all that's happened, and now I realize just how deranged this person really is and am fearful for my life, because I don't know just how much farther they are willing to go to try to destroy me."

Being Oblique - Or Obtuse?

If someone is pissed off at {you} for doing something, is there some reason they can't just come right out and say it in as many words instead of leaving you wondering if they're talking about you or someone else?

Let's say I inadvertently piss "Joe" off. I want Joe to come to me and say, "Look, you did {this} and I didn't know you were doing it until after the fact, and what you did caused me a lot of inconvenience. Would you mind not doing it again, or at least letting me know your plans beforehand so I'm not slammed at the last minute?" That was pretty easy to understand and even when you're stressed, tact does not, in fact, have to run fleeing from the building - even with me. I'm not always obnoxious. I want to know if Joe's upset at something *I* did so I can try not to do it again, rather than being told in a vague way that "some people" did such-and-such or abused a privilege or just plain hurt someone's feelings or whatever. I can't help what "some people" do, since I can't control them, but I CAN control what I do and want to know when I've done something, if not necessarily wrong, at least irritating, especially if I'm not trying to be deliberately irritating.

I really CAN work and play well with others, honest!

On The Warpath

Some people need to learn the hard way, after being shown the error of their ways in a polite manner 47 times and still not getting it through their thick skulls: STOP ABUSING THE LAW AND PUBLIC SERVICE AGENCIES DEVELOPED TO PROTECT SOCIETY'S MOST DEFENSELESS CITIZENS, WHOM YOU HAVE VICTIMIZED YOURSELF MORE THAN ANYONE. I'm pissed, I'm primed, and I have a raging hard-on for justice with the will as high as a mountain and a soul of unfathomable depth to persevere to the end and see that justice is served. These same morons who need this lesson are the very ones who taught me that I do have the power to prevail and that in the end, good truly does triumph evil.

My Conspiracy Theory

Microsoft and HP are in cahoots to rip off the average idiot (me) over a many-year period of time to force them to buy new PCs every 2 to 3 years.

In 2002, in dire need of a new computer after someone (a cousin of a cousin) managed to get some ilk on my other PC that tore through the hard drive like the fires in Michigan's Upper Peninsula last summer, I went to Best Buy with a pocket full of cash. Being not so computer savvy, I (stupidly) relied on the salesman to help me pick out what would be best for me, a capital investment to be made in my transcription business and something I would use for years to come (at least 5, since that's what the IRS allows for depreciation on equipment).

I walked out of the store with an HP Pavilion 310n with a 1.1 GHz Celeron processor and thought I was just the cat's shit. Not knowing what all the little numbers meant anyhow and not thinking they really mattered, I didn't care, took it home and set it up. That fucker booted in 28 seconds flat. It burned a whole CD in less than 3 minutes. I was in my glory with that 1.1 GHz over the 333 MHz that was in my previous computer. I could have wet myself.

After a mere 3-1/2 years of use and abuse, my computer decided to take a shit on me for some unknown reason. It wasn't pretty. I lost some unimportant stuff (I'm a freak about backing up things) but got out of it relatively unscathed. Getting back to work, of course, involved doing a SYSTEM RECOVERY. In the apparent great wisdom of the powers that be, recovery CDs are NOT made available with the purchase of a new PC like they used to be, but it's not a complicated process to WIPE YOUR ENTIRE SYSTEM and start over from scratch, especially if you've backed up your junk.

No big deal. I was cruising again.

For a while.

It was maybe a year and a half later. The computer started bogging down on everything. It took 10 minutes to boot up and 10 minutes to shut down. If you opened more than one application, the whole computer would freeze and everything would show "not responding," which is really a bitch when you need one program to LISTEN to the dictation and a second program to TRANSCRIBE the dictation, and let's not even talk about having open an internet browser to research terminology. Task manager would take 10 minutes to open. It was officially a pile of shit. Then I got the bright idea, "Well, system recovery fixed it before, maybe it will again!"

So I tried it, and IT WORKED! Only by this time, XP Home (the OS on this hunk of shit) required Service Pack 2 and about 4800 security patches, so it took roughly 9-1/2 years off my life having to sit through downloads and installations. And putting all my shit back on the PC again. But I was up and running again! FOUR DAYS LATER. . . I was right back in the same boat and in a fit of screaming expletives at the computer and threatening to tie it to the rear bumper of the car and take it for a ride, I reformatted it AGAIN. And reinstalled AGAIN. And put my shit back on the computer AGAIN.

Now another year later, my computer took a shit on me yet one more time, and it was a big dirty stinky one, too. Fortunately, I had backup CDs in hand and just said SCREW YOU as I gleefully hit the system recovery option.

Do you want to do a system restore or a system recovery? Fuck that, I want to wipe this dirty fucker clean and put it out of my misery. RESTORE. MY. ASS.

Do you want to do a non-destructive application recovery or a destructive system recovery? Huh? I thought I just answered that question.

I did it. I wiped my hard drive, user partition, whatever the fuck you want to call it, I don't care. This time, for the life of me I couldn't figure out why it didn't ask me to download and install SP2. The computer worked great without it, so who gives a shit, right? It was running faster than ever, I could open 45 applications if I wanted and nothing even blinked, and Task Manager opened in about a nanosecond. All was good. I was shitting rainbows and puppy dogs.

For TWO DAYS.

In reading about XP, I've figured out what the problem is. HP churned out about a gazillion of these piles of shit with only 128 MB of RAM, pre-loaded them with Microsoft's shitty programs, so in the end all you have is a big pile of shit. I found out that the minimum recommended RAM for running XP is 256, so why the hell did they build them with only 128? And why the FUCK does it now cost me now $44.95 per module (2 needed) to get maximum RAM (512) on this pile of shit that's already 6 years old?

During the last update, I finally saw the forest for the trees. This thing ran great when I got it, ran great for a while each time I "recovered" it (factory installation at that time did NOT include SP2), and started turned to shit immediately after downloading and installing SP2.

Incidentally, my very first computer was purchased in 1995, an Acer Acros with a 386 processor and loaded with Windows 3.1. And guess what? I still have it, and I STILL USE IT! And even though it has no ethernet connections (the reason why I upgraded to the computer prior to this one, also an HP Pavilion), it's STILL a better computer than BOTH of my HPs put together!

Is Your Vagina Depressed?

I had to. I couldn't help it. I was reading FOX News and saw this link, and I had to click it. It was an overwhelming, irresistible urge.

Is your vagina depressed? Here, I'm thinking someone's got a cure for not getting enough nookie, but it's Dr. Manny interviewing a woman and her doctor about vulvodynia (chronic pain syndrome involving the vulvar/vaginal area).

No, it's not a cure for a depressed vagina.

My Girl, My Heart

My daughter, age 3, cracks me up. She's a night owl like me, bless her little heart, and it makes for a rather exasperating bedtime routine when she has to get up for school the next morning.

"Go to bed."
"No way."
"Go to bed now."
"No way."
"You have school in the morning."
"No way, Jose."
"If you don't go to bed, then you can't go to school."
"NO WAY, JOSE!"

I just don't get it. When she was 2, she bugged me for a whole year to go to school and got PISSED when I told her she needed to wait until she was 3. She loves school. She loves the bus. She loves her book bag. She loves her teacher. She loves her friends. She loves drawing and coloring and counting and reciting the alphabet and writing her name. She just WILL NOT GO TO BED. Actually, I do get it but it's a nightmare of a story that no parent and child should have to live through but do, more often than you might think, let alone recite it.

It's 11:30 p.m. and she still refuses to go to bed after 3-1/2 hours of the above conversation. She is busy sharpening pencils for school, even though she won't go. I have an electric sharpener and a box of about 200 pencils for the kids for school, and she thinks she needs to sharpen each and every one of them. Now. Before bed. As though her life depends on each pencil being sharp. Or maybe she's just stalling.

She puts the pencil in the sharpener and grinds away. She pulls it out and sees it's just not pointy enough and puts it back in. More grinding. More checking. More grinding. When she's done, the brand-new, unsharpened pencil might be 3 inches long.

"Another," she says.
"No way," I say.
"Another."
"No way, Jose."
"ANOTHER!"
"NO WAY, JOSE!"

My God, I've turned into a 3-year-old. But you get the picture. She drew 14 E's on the bedroom wall with a crayon. She took the blue marker and "painted" her fingernails since I didn't get to painting her nails with polish in a timely manner. To top it off, she demanded that I let her help me do my Copaxone injection (she likes to push the button on the autoject device) then laughed when I said "ouch." She's not a beast, though, because it started bleeding and she started crying, grabbing for tissues and screaming "Momma owie bleeeeeeeeeeeeeding!" I think (I hope) she's not really laughing about the fact that it hurt but at the face I made when I said it.

Future of America

Still trying to figure out exactly what he's trying to prove. Maybe it's just me.



Yeah, I'd vote for him for President. He can eat powdered donuts without licking his lips. Wonder if he can kiss ass without licking them, too?

My Creative Juices Have Dried Up

I want to be funny. I used to be funny, and proud of every giggle, chuckle, smirk, and belly laugh I could elicit. I think my well has gone dry or something. Or maybe it's just the traumas I've suffered starting with the loss of my mother and ending with the confirmation of my longstanding suspicions that" something is terribly wrong" (documented by one of my myriad of doctors in a consultation note, in a sentence essentially seeming to dismiss me as a flake, when in fact there WAS something terribly wrong). Or maybe it's just due to my cutting back on Mountain Dew consumption.

Where did my funny go? Did someone steal it and sell it on eBay? Is it like the Detachable Penis: I left it somewhere and now I need to stumble upon it at a street sale, buy it back for $17, wash it off and put it back on? I can't believe that it's, like, DEAD or anything. That would just be wrong. That would be cruel. That would be the ultimate cosmic joke.

Something feels like it's missing, that's for sure. I'll look around some more, maybe put up reward posters or something. I'll let you know when I find it, or hopefully you'll just notice it on your own.

Ah, Fluck It

I've changed and rearranged AGAIN, but I'm not done. I need to put my blog roll back up. Maybe I'll get to it in my next life. Or maybe not.

Is THIS the Face of a CIC?

Well, is it? Is this REALLY the face of our nation?

(This collage is GREAT!)

Crooked Is As Crooked Does

I had a credit card issued by a company that shall remain nameless *cough Chase cough* some years ago, for several years. I missed ONE payment (being admitted to the hospital is no excuse for missing your payment, you know) and the APR jumped from 17% to 30%. ONE payment, mind you - no more, no less. On a balance of almost $7000, this was a huge hit to my wallet and the company REFUSED to budge when I requested a lower rate. The reason? I had canceled the card MYSELF previously. I've been paying 30% interest on this balance for almost 4 years now and haven't had a late payment since, yet they refuse to negotiate in any way, shape, or form. Period. End of story.

I put this into a financial calculator and found I would be paying on this stupid fucking credit card for the next 60+ years, to the tune of well over $100,000 (on $7000 "borrowed"). I almost had a fucking heart attack and a stroke all at once, right there on the spot. Talk about usury, but thanks to the Federal Government, those laws do not apply to banks issuing credit cards that have "National" or "N.A." in their name, blah blah blah.

Finally I had enough and said FUCK YOU. I went to CitiFinancial and applied for a loan. They gave me enough to pay off Chase plus a little extra for some medical bills headed into collections, so I could pay them off and protect my credit rating, which had finally started improving. Yeah, it was at like 25% APR, but it hands-down beat the 30% Chase was ass-raping me for and would be paid off in 60 months instead of 60 YEARS. I sure as hell ain't planning to stick around that long, especially not to fork over my cash to fuck faces like that.

I thought things are done, check in hand for the (supposed) payoff balance on the card. They tell me "Well, you see, the billing cycle's already started again and you'll have to pay the accrued interest." "Fine, how much is that?" I ask. "Well, I can't tell you that right now. You'll have to wait for your next statement." Four fucking days into a billing cycle and you can't tell me how much I owe you so I can pay you and be done?

Of course not, because that doesn't fit into their little game.

First day of the next billing cycle, I log on to my account online to pay the shitting balance. You know, the "accrued interest" for the 4 days of the previous cycle. $143.74.

WTF? For FOUR MOTHER-FUCKING DAYS?

Whatever. I pay it and once again think it's done.

But. . . of course, it's not.

I get ANOTHER statement from Chase with the next billing cycle. MORE accrued interest on the $143.74 for that single day. $1.00. ONE FUCKING DOLLAR? ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!?!

So next month I will have to pay you ANOTHER $1.00 for the "accrued interest" on that $1.00 - into infinity?

Oh, they were so kind as to "adjust" that $1.00 charge, of course. Not that it mattered, since I'm done with Chase. The day I paid it off, I took the check from Citi directly into the local Chase branch and bellied up to the counter. The gal who helped me asked me if I were interested in any financial services through Chase. I'm thinking to myself, "Uhhhh. . . I just brought you a check issued by YOUR COMPETITOR to pay you off, and you're asking me if I want MORE?" I told her "Not through Chase. I'll take my business to Citibank, since they didn't screw me for years without the benefit of a little Vaseline." It was mean, yes, and I know it wasn't HER fault, but I was pissed.

And We're Surprised . . . WHY?

Breaking news! (Wonder how long it's been kept under wraps before the media finally got hold of it, and how the media managed to get hold of it in the first place).

WHAT'S IN YOUR WATER?

Why, drugs of course. Yet people act surprised! The public education system in this country has somehow managed to fail to instill basic biologic processes about the human body and the fact that WHAT YOU CONSUME COMES BACK OUT OF YOU IN ONE FORM OR ANOTHER, AND THEN WHERE DOES IT GO? Lesson 1: You take prescription medications for psychotic disorder (neuroleptics - powerful mind-altering drugs), or any drug for that matter, including antibiotics and hormones. Your body does not metabolize the entire dose and the remainder is eliminated from your body (#1 is always cited, but I have to believe #2 is also responsible). These remnants are not 100% cleaned from the end product, your drinking water, as noted in this article.

Naturally, the first thing that came to MY mind when catching this and seeing that antibiotics are being found in the drinking water was: Drug-resistant bacteria. Seriously, think about it. More and more people are taking more and more shit for more and more ailments (or filling prescriptions and not finishing them, which also contributes to the problem, and flushing them down the toilet to be released into the environment). Am I the only one who's noticed the aggressiveness and increase in incidence of, oh, let's say MRSA (methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus)???

It's claimed that there are not enough data to make a determination about the long-term effects of traces of pharmaceuticals in our drinking water, but this isn't exactly rocket science. If "you are what you eat," then every time you chug down a glass of H2O full of sedatives, analgesics, anti-convulsant medications, anti-anxiety medications, antibiotics, and artificially produced hormones - the whole gamut of artificial, man-manufactured drugs - you're putting this shit into your body and even at low concentrations it has to have some effect, even on a cellular level.

This goes along with what I've tinkered with in my mind for ages: We're destroying ourselves as a species, in more ways than the obvious. We've implemented vaccines that, while they've saved lives, have allowed populations to explode where nature would have "culled the herd." We've introduced foreign substances into our bodies (drugs), leading to our loss of resistance to naturally occurring viral and bacterial species, which we then treat with MORE drugs. There are increases in disorders such as autism and autoimmune diseases and cancers. Maybe if we'd stop messing with Mother Nature, we wouldn't be in this boat.

Yes, it sounds cruel and heartless and I know I'm talking about human lives, but history has shown us that SHIT HAPPENS. As one example, think about the plague and it's long history in human society, the causes and effects - both positive and negative. Now we have modern plagues: Bird flu, AIDS, meningitis, MRSA, West Nile virus, and many others. It's only a matter of time before we vaccinate/medicate ourselves right out of existence.

Horror of Horrors

To be told by a 7-year-old child that her mother hits her on her knees and she is afraid of her mother (which the child has already reported to a CPS worker, who did nothing, stating she didn't feel it was "relevant"). When asked WHY the mother hits the child, the child's response: "My mom hits me so she can take pictures of me and make my daddy go to jail."

The same "mother" who has on 8 occasions filed malice complaints against the child's father (again, CPS workers did nothing, even though malicious filing is illegal and an activity to which the mother readily admitted in the course of conducting a custody battle) and then sent a Laf-O-Gram via instant messenger when CPS swooped in and took not only THAT child, but ALL the children in the home, including his WIFE'S children. The father and his wife have yet to get their names cleared from the Central Child Abuse Registry, where they were listed upon removal of their children - without a plea of guilty/not guilty, without a trial, and based solely on "hearsay" evidence.

People are sick, beating on their kids, but that's just EVIL to beat on them to try to build a custody case against the other parent. When she has accomplished her mission and annihilated the children's father's life, when the children are of no use to her anymore, what will she do to them then? Will we find them in tote boxes with their heads severed, beaten, tortured, and murdered by their so-called "mother"?

Almost - But Not Quite

My 1-year blog-iversary. But. . . I've allowed myself to become quite the slacker with regards to my posting and thought maybe I should do it now. . . Just in case. . . That's just the way I'm built.

Yes, I know I'm strange, so I don't need you to point out the obvious.

It's interesting to see how this little chunk of internet real estate has metamorphosed over the past year, both in appearance and in content. When I started, mostly I just wanted a place to spew some mental diarrhea. I used a canned Blogger template and let it be. I talked about what was on my mind and what I was interested in (hence, "what floats my boat"). Needless to say, I was a bit shocked that other people were actually reading it and coming back for more. I had "the funny" for a while and a lot of people were swinging by for a peek, usually courtesy of some fucked-up Google search string. I loved changing the "look" of the place, even though I know now that most people read these things in readers and probably don't see the "pretties." And, good grief, I could write about damn near anything and have a good time with it. I loved blogging. I loved it so much, I had 3 of the fucking things. It was glorious.

Then the shit hit the fan.

September 12, 2007: Not-so-random events occurred in the culmination of a plot devised by an evil witch that sent me into a downward spiral, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Many regular readers who used to come here (I imagine for the funny, which was now MIA) fled the scene of my trainwreck in progress, screaming and flailing their arms in horror. None of them even had the courtesy to dial 911 on their way out. Thanks. Maybe they'll be back, maybe they won't. In the meantime, I made changes that make my place a bit more inconspicuous on Google search so I don't get many visits from that end, either, and now my readers and I are a cozy community of, like, FOUR.

February 1, 2008: I was restored to my position as a human being in the eyes of the law, the shattered remnants of my life reunited to make a whole ME again. I won't say it was the best day of my life, since that honor is reserved for the days my children were brought into the world, but it was pretty close, and I no longer felt like I needed to crawl in a hole and pull the dirt in behind me. You can bet your bottom dollar I won't stand idly by and allow that walking, talking pile of feces try to destroy me again, though.

But back to the blog. . . Maybe I've found my funny again, which is really the important part to me anyhow. I didn't like who I'd become but now that things are better, I can dig around the recesses of the cesspool that is my mind, hose off what I want to keep and show you the gems that were hiding there all along.

Gross.

More of My Confusion

WHY do people ask for an explanation if they have:

• No intention of letting you speak more than 4.2 words before interrupting you because they already have preformed notions of what the answer will be, usually something that makes you look like a retard, a scam artist, or just a plain old jackass (even if their version of events is way off base).
• The ability to twist those 4.2 words to fit their own malignant schemes to purposely make you look like said retard, scam artist, or just plain old jackass.
• The inclination to misconstrue any information you might have imparted upon them, had they allowed you to speak your piece without interrupting and took what you had to say for face value rather than with the spin they were so courteous as to put on it for you.
  
• The need to act like the explanation, if and when you finally do get it out in its entirety and with any coherency, went in one ear and right out the other without sticking to SOMETHING in the space between?

Second, WHY do these people then tell you that if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask, when they have no intention in the first place of answering them - after all, they're the ones who have the right to question you, not the other way around.

YOU MIGHT HEAR ME, BUT YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO WHAT I AM SAYING.

Insanely Evil?

I don't know why I get such a kick out of this. Maybe I'm truly a meanie at heart?

Nah. It's just a commercial anyhow - it's SUPPOSED to make us laugh, especially when the guy gets his sack smacked.

What's Next?

Childhood Spanking Leads to Sexual Problems in Adulthood.

What's next? Hugs and kisses lead to sexual problems? Fatty foods? Carbohydrates? Owning a puppy as a child, or maybe NOT owning a puppy as a child? Not having enough coloring crayons in your box?

I'm so sick of the stupid shit money is wasted on to study. I've got a clue for you: What leads to sexual problems in adulthood? In most cases, a parent with a sexual problem. I know a story of a "woman" with two daughters who exposed them to and left them unattended with not one but TWO registered sexual offenders on different occasions during the children's younger years, had sexual intercourse in front of the children, attempted to coach one child to make accusations of sexual abuse against THREE different males when the mother did not get her way and as a means of revenge, admitted to routinely "examining" the girls' genitalia for "abuse," and was alleged by one of the girls to have been the perpetrator herself of sexual abuse against the child.

What did the authorities do? Nothing of significance - against the mother, anyhow.

I know this is not an isolated case, and knowing this, it's no wonder children grow up dysfunctional, not just sexually but psychologically, socially, and morally.

Email Curiosity

OK. . . I know, you're sick of hearing how I love email, spam and all, but I have a noodle-scratcher for ya: WHY is my spam email box filled up with shit dated January 18, 2038? Like 1450 of them.

2038? Fuck me. . . The last 35 years have been a bitch and I sure as hell don't plan on sticking around for another 30, especially if this is the kind of email I have to look forward to. Maybe they know that's when I'll need Viagra or a penis extender, even though I don't have a penis? Maybe by the year 2038 they'll have magic pills or a cream to hatch a penis of my very own? Maybe the spammers know I just don't have that many years left to give and they have to get their shit to me before I croak? It's worse than a post-dated check. Sorry, dude. If the MS doesn't get me first, the syringomyelia will nail me before I hit 50. Too bad, so sad.

Stephen is offering "high quality medications and natural weight loss." Thanks, but I got enough drugs now to choke a horse, Steve, brand-name, and the size of my ass is only going to be helped by REMOVING IT FROM THE CHAIR from time to time. Seriously, I have an ass print in my chair and if I sit in it wrong, I get a backache. What's worse, it's one of those chairs with heat and massage and now that the cushion is gone, those little doodads that vibrate poke my ass something fierce. Must be I don't have ENOUGH padding back there, so pass the Cheetos and Twinkies, my friend.

Amanda tells me "It's tough being 18 without a boyfriend, help a girl out!" Guess what, Amanda??? I was a teenager once. You couldn't pay me enough to go back there, and there ain't jack shit I can do to help you out anyhow. I got the wrong plumbing and I'm about 18 years too old for you, even if I did swing from that tree, which I don't. Besides, I have the libido of belly button lint, so I'm of no use to you. Go peddle your goods elsewhere.

Monica says "I'm tired of being single, you too?" What? I'm single? When did that happen? How could I miss THAT? Gimme the papers so I can unload this ball and chain I've been dragging around. Oh. Wrong person? Yeah, fuck you and your little dog, too.

Web Cam advertisement for "3rd grade teacher/sexually explicit." Uh. OK. Where the fuck did THAT one come from? That's certainly not a penis extender ad. Talk about barking up the wrong tree. Next, please.

Amanda now says she's 21. Let's pick and age and stick with it, child - 24 was nice. I'd go back there. But you're still not my type, even 176 emails later. And just a cotton-picking minute. . . if the email's dated 2038, whether you claim to be 18 or 21, you're not even jumping from nut to nut yet, little girl.

"Have you ever thought of being a police officer?" Why, yes, I have. In fact, I wanted to enroll in the Ferris State criminal justice program - 50 pounds, 4 kids, 2 blown knees, 1 chronic debilitating and incurable disease, and 20 fucking years ago. Thanks for reminding me of what WOULDACOULDASHOULDA have been, asshole.

Colon Cleanse will flush up to 20 excess pounds out of my body!!!! Well, as long as they don't come off my ass padding, I guess that would be all right. I'd gladly give up these watermelons that occupy the space where my nice perky breasts used to be. That should be 20 pounds, right? Maybe then I could find a bra that actually fits instead of mail ordering from Flint Tent & Awning with enough underwire to build an airplane hangar? Too bad there's not a direct route from my colon to my breasts, I'd just shit them off.

$250,000 life insurance policy for less than $10 a month!!! If they knew the condition I was in, they'd give me a $10 policy for $250,000 a month.

Free sample of Oreo Cakesters. Hmmmm. That might help me with my padding issue.

Singles over 40. Well, I ain't THAT old yet. And I ain't single. This is another of those curiosities like "How did Dick get my email address?"

Conquer hair loss for less!!! Fuck that. I chopped it all off a couple weeks ago anyhow and I don't go anywhere, so who gives a shit if I'm bald or not? Just let nature be, baby. It's only hair. Maybe someday nature will make it stop growing in my armpits like it stopped growing on my head, so I don't need to shave anymore. That'd be cool. Hate hairy, stinky pits.

Pablo is looking for me. Good luck finding me, dick head. I'm firmly rooted in my ass print in a chair in a 7 x 13 basement room with no windows in the middle of nowhere - FOR A REASON!

Amazing, Quality of Safety in Our Public Schools

Almost 5 hours after school was dismissed for the day, an automated call comes through on my cell phone from the district superintendent: Due to news reports this morning of an unapprehended criminal in our area, buildings went into secure mode until sheriff's deputies announced the criminal had been apprehended.

Nice to know that - FIVE FUCKING HOURS AFTER SCHOOL WAS DISMISSED. Not like they couldn't have sent these messages out hours ago, while the buildings were actually in lock down?

And people wonder why I can't stand the public school system and wish I had the time to homeschool my kids.

Anyhow, this is the story. Kind of scary, knowing these raids were going on within a few blocks of one of the schools and two others literally just around the corner from my home and near yet another school. Fucking morons, stealing shit - makes me wish we had the death penalty here in Michigan and the ability to fry these fuckers who steal guns with the intent to put them on the streets, where the intent would ultimately be to KILL SOMEONE, MOST LIKELY A COP.

Justice for Jessie

Justice for Jessie. Do I think it was accidental as he claims? Not really. Why? Because if it were accidental, being a police officer, his first response should have been to contact emergency personnel in an attempt to save Jessie and baby Chloe. That's his JOB, not just as a police officer but as a father. He admitted he was stressed about child support, so what better way to get out of paying for another one than getting rid of it. He couldn't have KEPT HIS PECKER IN HIS PANTS in the first place, right? And sitting in prison, his support obligations can be suspended, even if his parental rights aren't terminated under statute for murdering his son's mother (not sure if Ohio has that statute but probably so).

Rest in peace, Jessie and Chloe, and I'm so sorry for your losses, young Blake.

Children and Bodily Functions

WHY do kids think it's so funny when they fart or burp? There's always the inevitable giggle, chuckle, and, if its particularly loud, outright laugh immediately preceding the wide-eyed "excuse me" followed by uncontrollable laughter. I don't think it's just the current crop of kids, either, since I remember going through this with my boys, who still laugh if it's large, compete in belching contents, and know which brands of pop produce the best ones.

It's not just the kids, either, now that I think about it. I once had a friend who in her early 30s could belch in a manner reminiscent of Booger and Ogre in Revenge of the Nerds. It's kinda gross, but nothing I need to concern myself with anymore since she unloaded me like so much extra baggage on the sinking ship that was her life and, in hindsight, probably best for me. I hear about her occasionally and it makes me sad, my best friend for so many years, but I'd still take her back in a heartbeat, gross belching and all.

I had a great post all planned out, something to make you laugh so hard you would pee your pants (even just a little), but I caught this nasty stomach bug the kids have had all week and between that and my memory deficits (if I don't write it down, I forget stuff I would have remembered for an eternity in My Life Before MS), it's just gone. It was good, too, which really sucks.

Of Course, I'm Confused

My phone came unhooked, mysteriously (not really so mysterious but it sounds good), and I never knew it rang. The caller was directed to voice mail and later after I realized the phone was unhooked, I plugged it back in and saw a message waiting for me. Now, since my number's unlisted and the only ones who call me are the ones I actually give it to, it should be from somebody I want to hear from, right?. . . WRONG. I routinely get calls from credit consolidation companies and mortgage companies, and often I get calls asking to speak to the home owner. I tell them good luck trying to find him since I rent. They hang up. I get calls for all kinds of shit and tell them take my number from their lists (I know they're using auto-dialers) and they hang up on me before I get it out. Once I asked the solicitor for their name and home phone so I could call them in the middle of the night, being as I was as third-shifter and they were calling me in the middle of MY sleep time. I got an apology for that one, miraculously. Now, every day some asswipe calls me and asks for either myself by name or my husband by name. Strange, considering I obviously don't give my name and number out to solicitors and scam artists and my husband is deaf and can't come to my phone and, therefore, would NOT hand out my number either. Fuckers. Today, though, I had a surprise message. In between the 8 hang-ups my dad left (he refuses to leave a message), there was a message with people talking in the background, television on full blast, and someone breathing into the receiver. After reading some stuff online about that number that occasionally pops up on my screen, I figured it was just that fuck face again. Then I hear "Hello? Patty?" and then. . . disconnect.

Who the fuck is Patty? I've had this number for years, but I get her calls all the time. I had another line into the house for years, and I used to get Anna and Robert's calls and messages every day - 5 years after surrendering their number back to the phone company, they were still giving it out to everyone, including their BANK and a local car dealer who notified me that they were approved for the loan on the vehicle they wanted to buy. I had conversations with Anna and Robert's family members, to whom they gave MY phone number. Maybe they just didn't want to talk to their relatives, but I sure don't want to talk to them either. I don't even know these people. That in itself is a chuckle, since our town is so small that our whole residential phone book comes to about 3-1/2 pages, but I don't have a clue who any of these people are and why they're giving out my number.

It Can't ALL Be Just Me

Problem: 2-year-old male child constantly goes into the bathroom and turns on the water faucet, leaving the water running and flooding the floor.

Mom's solution: Close the bathroom door since he's too short to open it by himself.

Dad's solution: Turn off the water valves under the sink so no one can use it.

Seriously, it really CAN'T be all me, can it?

If Only We All Were 3 Years Old

How much simpler would life be, how much more. . . everything wonderful that makes up and follows in the presence of a 3-year-old child, if only we could all be 3.

"Me love you so much, mommy."

My heart stops in my chest now every time I hear that, having gone so many months without hearing it at all and facing the possibility that I may never hear it again. I've spent the last 8 days breathing in and out, amazed and stunned and relieved and ever so thankful to hear those words whispered in my ear, tiny arms wrapped around my neck and baby kisses on my cheeks.

"Me missed you, mommy."

"Why you crying, mommy? Me hug you. You better now."

It takes my breath away. I can't stand being away from my kids for a week, a day, or even an hour and to know that 4-1/2 months passed by, violently and needlessly carved from our lives and nearly destroying me in the process, makes the knowledge that I came through it not just for me but for THEM that much sweeter. Now that the sky has cleared, life moves forward, but at a slower pace, not just due to my multiple sclerosis but more so due to my appreciation for what could have been lost forever.

How Weird Is That?

I had a glass of Mountain Dew on the desk. I went to the restroom and came back and the glass was gone. I looked around and found it on the floor on the other side of the room, Dew spilled on the floor and the cat licking it off the floor. Seriously, if she wanted some she could have asked, she didn't need to steal it. I think my cat is nuts - what kind of cat drinks Mountain Dew? Or eats green beans and broccoli and even tomatoes but turns her nose up at pepperoni? I probably shouldn't question; after all, this is the same cat that catches chipmunks, blackbirds, and snakes outdoors and has been known to go "fishing" (and gotten a few) from the opening at the top of the aquarium and drinks out of the toilet like a dog, sneering at the fresh water in her bowl time and time again, and sleeps under the covers on the bed with her head on the pillow, pushing me if I take up too much of "her" space in the bed. I think she thinks she's a dog or something. Or a person. Or some kind of super-hybrid catdogperson. She's weird. . . but she's mine.

On the 143rd Day

I thanked God for His blessings and my friends and family.
I saw how deep my love for my children ran and how being a mom defined who I was.
I understood that truth and justice ultimately DO prevail, with help from Above.
I woke up from my nightmare and realized vindication.

February 1, 2008, the 143 day, was a day of second chances as well as new beginnings, and the day I finally became right with the small corner of the world I occupy. Two halves reunited to form the whole with a little extra added in to improve the "recipe": Some humiliation, some understanding, a lot of appreciation, and an entirely new perspective on my faith.

I'm back, and better than ever, baby.

I'm So Awesome

Which Great US President Are You Most Like? created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Abraham Lincoln 16th President, in office from 1861-1865 Born: 1809 Died: 1865 (assassainated) Abraham Lincoln 83% Theodore Roosevelt 81% Woodrow Wilson 74% Dwight Eisenhower 71% Franklin Roosevelt 64% Thomas Jefferson 64% John Kennedy 62% George Washington 55% Ronald Reagan 52% Lyndon Johnson 45% Harry Truman 33%

Untitled Email

I know I've mentioned it before, but I love some of the junk that falls into my email box. I'd turn off spam blocker merely for amusement purposes if I had time to sift through 4.5 million spam messages a day, but I don't and I can't so I won't. No matter how hard spam blocker tries, though, occasionally one slips through and rear its ugly head in my Inbox.

I know not to click untitled email from Harry Longshank or email entitled "Hi" with no sender listed. Even though Snopes debunks many of those telling me not to click on Liberty Torch or Friendship, I have "better safe than sorry" burned in my mind and just don't. Then there are insurance quotes and other stuff I know I didn't solicit but have managed to deceive spam blocker. These all get a ticket from me for operating without a valid license on the information superhighway in my jurisdiction and have a nice day, ma'am (yes, I have a thing for cops, too, once a little bit TOO much--something about a man in uniform carrying a big gun, or was it the siren and flashing bubble light on top of his car???).

I get a cackle out of penis extension emails promising to grow me up to 2 inches, although what I'd do with an up-to-2-inch penis is beyond me--I don't think that's even long enough to write my name with in the snow, a feat I'd always secretly envied men for, being of the female persuasion and hearing what I believe now to be tall tales; somehow, though, I've managed to go 35 years without ever even having seen human-yellowed snow, let alone someone's name sketched merrily across the landscaping. I even find subtle humor in the scads of emails from debt reduction companies, probably owned by the same company owning the credit card that was so kind in assisting me in getting into trouble in the first place.

My favorite emails, though, are of two sorts: First, the inspiring (generally Christian-themed) emails giving me a message that I probably really needed to hear that day and not telling me I need to secure my blessings by passing it on to at least 8 people. I know my blessings come from above, not from the Ethernet, but I also know the person on the other end of the Ethernet was probably asking Him to help me. This is one of my ramblings making little sense, but that's just me, like it or leave it. Second, I love GOOD jokes. They're usually dirty or at least slightly off-color, but they give me the best kind of medicine I need: Laughter. I ain't shitting you that Laughter really IS the best Medicine. . . after all, you're my favorite turd. And I'm as serious as a heart attack, or was it a rubber crutch?

Back to the point. Some while ago someone here on the Internetz (don't ask me who, because my memory's gone down the pipe and there are at least 65 posts in my reader every day--keep up the good work, guys!) posted a picture of 3 somewhat older topless ladies who'd been "decorated" with frog faces. It grossed me out then. . . and today I got an email from a friend I haven't heard from in ages with the same picture. . . and it still grosses me out. But in a morbid kind of way, it IS amusing - if wrong - on a number of levels.

Anyhow, vaguely titled emails sent to me from someone I love dearly are also good medicine for me, and here's another classic. Although it's an oldie, it's still a goodie and made me laugh today just like it did years ago:

Three women, two younger and one senior citizen, were sitting naked in a sauna. Suddenly there was a beeping sound. The young woman pressed her forearm and the beep stopped. The others looked at her questioningly. "That was my pager," she said. "I have a microchip under the skin of my arm." A few minutes later, a phone rang. The second young woman lifted her palm to her ear. When she was finished, she explained, "That was my mobile phone. I have a microchip in my hand." The older woman felt very low tech. Not to be outdone, she decided she had to do something just as impressive. She stepped out of the sauna and went to the bathroom. She returned with a piece of toilet paper hanging from her rear end. The others raised their eyebrows and stared at her. The older woman finally said. . . "Well, will you look at that. . . I'm getting a fax!"

And this, entitled "A Blonde's Year in Review":

January: Took new scarf back to store because it was too tight.
February: Fired from pharmacy job for failing to print labels. . . . HELLLLLOOOOO!!!!! . . . . bottles won't fit in printer!!!
March: Got really excited. . . . finished jigsaw puzzle in 6 months. . . . box said "2-4 years"!
April: Trapped on escalator for hours. . . . power went out.
May: Tried to make Kool-Aid. . . . wrong instructions. . . . 8 cups of water won't fit into those little packets!
June: Tried to go water skiing. . . . couldn't find a lake with a slope.
July: Lost breast stroke swimming competition. . . . learned later other swimmers cheated. . . . they used their arms!!
August: Got locked out of car in rain storm. . . . car swamped because soft-top was open.
September: Capital of California is "C". . . . isn't it?
October: Hate M&M's. . . . they are so hard to peel.
November: Baked turkey for 4-1/2 days. . . . instructions said 1 hour per pound and I weigh 108!
December: Couldn't call 911. DUH. . . . There's no "eleven" button on the stupid phone!

And finally:

A man was in his front yard mowing grass when his attractive blond female neighbor came out of the house and went straight to the mailbox. She opened it up then slammed it shut and stormed back into the house. A little while later she came out of her house again and went to the mailbox, again opened i and slammed it shut again. Angrily, back into the house she went. As the man was getting ready to edge the law, here she came again, marching to the mailbox. She opened it and then slammed it closed harder than ever. Puzzled by her actions, the man asked her "Is something wrong?" To which she replied, "There ceratainly is! My stupid computer keeps saying "YOU'VE GOT MAIL!"

Road to Recovery

A small part of my life was restored to me today, for which I will be forever grateful to my Lord and my friends, but we're still facing some major hurdles in the coming months. Thank you again for your thoughts and prayers and all your support during these past few months, and with good Grace we will be "brought back in from the cold."

Hugs to all,
A.

An Honest Laugh

I've learned some interesting math, or else reinforcement of the adage "appearances can be deceiving." I already learned that lesson the hard way September 12, a day holding far more pain for me than September 11--the day my entire world, my reason to continue breathing, my life and everything I've worked for, was shattered because of another "person" (I use that term loosely, since it's still undetermined whether they are, in fact, human or just a reasonable facsimile) and their web of deceit, which became too heavy to support itself and I "just happened to be in the way." I think it's called collateral damage in the military, but I have no idea what it is when it's a civilian pursuit causing destruction. Life's just shit, now. I no longer feel any reason to get out of bed, no will to function, and certainly no desire to laugh--not a REAL laugh, anyhow--and I force myself to go on day by day, minute by minute, second by second, all the while withering away inside to a dry and brittle shell of myself, awaiting the final hammer stroke that will pulverize me into dust.

For the first time in 137 days, last night I had my first real laugh. Sorry that it had to be at the expense of my husband, but I'm cautiously optimistic. Since my ultimate annihilation as a "person" is still underway, I don't want to bring my mental state too high or it will just have that much farther to fall and crash on the day my destruction is finalized, the day my world is crushed beyond any hope of repair and probably the end of me as I know myself.

I made the mistake of venturing out in public for the first time in a long time, to a restaurant. I can't deal with public places because there are invariably children in public and it nearly brings me to my knees in emotional pain seeing other people's children. I did it, though, because it's not fair to my husband that I completely close myself off from the outside world when THAT IS NOT THE PERSON HE MARRIED. I know he's experiencing the same pain that I am, that his life is being destroyed in the same way mine is, and that after it's all said and done, we will only have each other. So I did it. We only went to Ponderosa, but baby steps are important, I guess.

I ordered two dinner buffets and we sat down to eat. At the end of the meal, I glanced at the receipt and noticed that one buffet was given a senior citizen discount. I couldn't control myself. I started laughing, and it felt GOOD. Husband's face corkscrewed up, looking at me with head cocked, "What's so funny?" I showed him the receipt and a smile spread across his face, as well. He signs to me, "I'm old man. Are you happy, $1 off dinner?" I told him that maybe the cashier (who was a young kid) thought I was a good daughter, bringing my old daddy out to dinner. Husband snorted. "Why you not wear wedding ring?" I realized I'd forgotten to put it back on (I can't type with them on since they get in the way, so I take them off while working). Oops.

What's so funny about it, in retrospect, is that my husband is only in his 30s. He doesn't have an "old" face, but his hair and beard are white as a result of Waardenburg syndrome--which also causes his deafness. So, appearances really CAN be deceiving--just because he has white hair doesn't mean he's old enough to qualify for a senior citizen discount. Or maybe it's the new math?

Shocked

All my life, people have been shoving their opinions down my throat and up my ass, oftentimes the former and always the latter without my consent. I'm obviously quite the pushover since people have been running roughshod over me quite regularly for much of the last 20 of the 35 years of my miserable existence, making it that much more miserable. I ASK for opinions, and what do I get? Not a peep. This little nibbet has been bugging me since I first crossed paths with it, and I just would like some confirmation as to whether or not I'm seeing what I think I am. Maybe it was just too vague in its "depersonalized" state last time? We can try, try again and seriously, I really want to hear your thoughts on this:

how does it feel now, huh? how does it feel to have the county rip your kids right out from under you? if what "B" says about "F" touching her is true, and i know it is so don't you DARE sit there calling MY daughter a liar!, then your sons are the worst i have ever met in my life! you and "E" are THRU making my life a living hell! god-willing you will NEVER see "B" and "J" again!

Come on, people, tell me what you get out of this! Again, PERSON-X sent this to PERSON-Y, after PERSON-X called CPS for the 8th time against PERSON-Y and mere hours after CPS took custody of PERSON-Y's children, PERSON-X having willingly admitted to CPS that they were making these complaints maliciously in an effort to conduct a custody battle (over "B" and "J.")

My Stairs

Oh, am I getting excited. We have the lower staircase in, awaiting the rail and the "finishing touches" that I have yet to get off my large ass and take care of, and then the upper staircase. Yeah. I was taking photos through the process, so I can giggle over how horrid the temporary stairs were. The new ones feel sooooooooooo good on my feet - 11-inch-wide treads instead of 8 inches, correctly spaced so that you don't fall on your ass as you step off the bottom stair, and oh so purty. Photos soon, as soon as my computer stops bitching and moaning. I really think it's time to invest in a new one, but first THE STAIRS! :)

Y'all Got Quiet

Where'd you go?

Opinions Sought

What's your take on this?

PERSON-X messages PERSON-Y, hours after PERSON-X learned that CPS had ripped PERSON-Y's children right out of their arms (action known to PERSON-X because they had registered said complaint with CPS against PERSON-Y, along with 7 others over the course of the prior 18 months, even after admitting to CPS that they were done out of malice, in the course of a custody battle):

how does it feel now, huh? how does it feel to have the county rip your kids right out from under you? if what ##### says about ##### touching her is true, and i know it is so don't you DARE sit there calling MY daughter a liar!, then your sons are the worst i have ever met in my life! you and ##### are THRU making my life a living hell! god-willing you will NEVER see ##### and ##### again!

Or how about this one? PERSON-M messages PERSON-N at the request of PERSON-X:

Look motherfucker, I hear of it again, I will come kill you...I know where you live.

Or this one, conversation between PERSON-X and PERSON-N:

N: the children live with me.
X: oh, that'll change, don't worry.

Whatcha think?

The Cat's a Freak

I think my cat is depressed. When there was a herd of kids chasing her, she played hide and seek to her heart's content. She ran and played and jumped and snuggled with a different kid every day of the week (almost). Now that it's just me here, I've had to take her affections alone, in all their brute force. She won't leave me alone. I go to bed and she curls up beside me, under the covers, head on the pillow beside mine. I sit down to work and she lays on my foot, even though I'm working the foot pedal to do my transcription. I go to the bathroom and she forces the door open and sits there eyeballing me as I'm on the toilet. I venture out of my rooms and she follows me or, more often, leads the way, as if she knows where I'm heading. Sometimes I'm suspicious that she's on a suicide watch, but then if I leave for a doctor's appointment, she sits at the door waiting for me to come home and then wraps herself around my legs as I try to go down the stairs, almost like she's trying to kill me for leaving her alone.

Yes, I think she's depressed. We make a good pair, depressed and lonely, dying inside from missing our babies. So much for the myth that there's a law against "cruel and inhumane" punishment being inflicted upon the residents of this country, but then, I'm not a "criminal" so I don't really count--and obviously neither does my cat.

The Simple Things

Amazing how a few (relatively) inexpensive doodads can spice up a house, look sharp, and give the place some character. One of these days I'll post some photos so you can see what I'm all excited about. Still kicking myself in the ass for not taking photos before we started this project, which has really been quite a nightmare. The house is only 30 years old but had very little maintenance during that time and suffered from severe lack of TLC (and somewhat of a lack of imagination in the planning and finishing). Being forced childless, I have a lot of attention to focus on this place and A LOT of ideas swimming around in my head to make it somewhere I'll actually be able to stand being imprisoned for the next 40 years or so.

Maple Syrup

Back in the day, when I was still a real person and not a quivering blob of flesh afraid of being attacked from all quarters, I was young and healthy and actually saw that big yellow thing in the sky that I hear tell is called "the sun." I grew up on a farm, outside all day working in the fields, and I had beautiful bronze skin that was frequently marred by that notorious farmer's tan: Noticeably darker on the tops of my arms and legs and across the bridge of my nose and cheeks. Then when I was 16 (fortunately before my senior photos were shot), I became ill with SOMETHING (no one still knows WTF it was) and my skin turned green. I looked like a fucking Martian or something. I was green and when my oldest son was born he was yellow from jaundice, so we were a rainbow-colored family. We both lost our respective odd colorings, the boy with treatment and myself with time. After that, I was just white. Painfully white. Glaringly dead-fish-belly white. This became known as my "moon tan." Now, I'm so frigging white that I'm worried soon I will be transparent, although that might end up being beneficial to my herd of doctors. I tell ya, I hated that farmer's tan when I was forced to live with it, but I'd give my left nut to have it back. Unfortunately, since I have no nuts at all, left or otherwise, I'm stuck with being white--I don't tan anymore since whatever it was that made me turn green.

Anyhow, I only mention this because I happened to notice today that my white is getting whiter and my veins look bluer and now I can actually see arteries, and it's really kind of freaky.

As for my staircase, I am finally ready to rip out the old ones and put in the new ones now that the bulk of the remodeling work that could have damaged them is done. I'm excited, too, because now that I'm a gimp, I'm reduced to exercising my "creative mind" and managed to come up with some real doozies for the new stairs going in. I can't wait to see my mental picture take shape in physical form. I remembered to take some "before" pictures this time.

Sad, when I've been reduced from being excited over my babies achieving their next developmental milestones and learning new words and skills to getting excited over some fucking stairs. My life sucks.

Oh, and I seem to have developed an aversion to maple syrup. Don't ask me where the hell THAT one came from.