You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘ew’ category.
So we’ve all heard “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” right? My kitchen was overrun with fruit flies. Like, Gregor Mendel would say, “dude, that is a LOT of fruit flies.” So I decided to catch (which is to say, kill) them. Ah, but how? Given how intrigued they are by my kombucha, both vinegary and sweet might appeal.
Only one way to find out! Science! Bowl of vinegar, bowl of honey, bowl of wine (just in case. And it’s pretty vinegary wine at that). They sat out all day:
Vinegar
Honey. Note the zero flies within.
Flies strained from the two bowls of vinegar. Julianna: Why are you straining that, mom? Me: So we can reuse the vinegar. I’m not made of money.
Wine didn’t catch as many, but made for a satisfyingly grisly looking photo.
So the lesson is, feel free to be mean to people to get what you want. Because that whole flies-with-honey thing is BUSTED.
…because seriously, I crack me up. In the Dr.’s office, giving them the new insurance card (no copay! woo! and yet I feel they’re gonna git me in some other way…) and I hear a little girl, about 3, saying “This is my lipstick. I only wear it to fancy dinner parties.”
I turned to look at her and smiled at the mom, “Have a lot of those?”
She shook her head, “Yeah, I don’t know WHERE that came from. She recently found my make-up, so I’m letting her play with it, A little.” She was the kind of hip mom that wears make-up sometimes but feels guilty about it and is conflicted by the twin desires to raise her daughter to know she doesn’t need make-up to be pretty and to see her adorable child playing dress up w/lipstick smeared over her face. I know b/c she was dressed like me.
The little girl held up a compact and peered into it. “I wear this to fancy dinner parties,” she told me.
“You look very fancy,” I replied.
She whipped a Christian Dior lipstick out of the bag. The mom looked mortified. “It’s the only nice make-up I have,” she apologized.
“It’s esspensive,” the girl told me.
“Yes, that IS expensive, ” I rersponded, “That’s why you should never put it on the dog.”
A pause, while I catch her eye.
“…no matter how pretty it makes her look.”
My work there done, I waved and said “Bye!”
———-
So, I was at the Dr. b/c I needed him to check on my finger. What was left of it, anyway. I seem to have sliced off the outside edge of my left index finger. If you have one of these:
keep an eye on it. ( I tried to make it have a mean face but I have no idea how to do that. So just thinking “I wish that had a mean face” didn’t work. And, to my surprise, a Google image search for “evil rotary cutter” did not yield the desired image.) I was cutting fabric for a bag when the knife jumped the edge of the ruler and went through my finger tip. I had that moment of “oh, that’s gonna hurt” and ran for the sink, afraid to look. Steve, luckily, was home that day, and able to run me to the ER. Much blood.
No, there are no stitches, as I didn’t bring the slice with me. Steve went and retrieved it when we got home. I didn’t want to see. And, frankly, was surprised the cats didn’t eat it. Now I’m bandaged up and on pain pills. Hooray for pain meds!
I went to the aforementioned doctor’s office to change the bandage and have it checked out. the nurse unwrapped my finger and I gently wiped some of the blood off, but it was still kind of zombie-finger looking. The Dr came in and recoiled with a “Urrg!” I said, “I think you may be in the wrong field,” and he said “Internal medicine!”
So now I’m typing and trying to sew with 9/10ths of my fingers. I’m part of a holiday show/sale on Dec. 2nd and I need more bags! Frustrating. I imagine this will be a slow heal. And I won’t post pics until it’s just a cool looking Extreme Body Mod.
This week’s source of mirth has been the pack goat vet care class Julianna took last weekend. The what? Pack Goat vet care class. Through 4-H. See, apparently you can take a goat hiking with you and it can carry some of your gear. I find it easier to just drive up to a campsite and unload from my car, but some people prefer to load up a goat. “But you don’t have a goat,” you say. That is true. However, in 4-H, you can lease an animal to train it and show it. So, rental goat. Julianna’s rental goat lives at a friend’s house. The friend’s dad is one of the Pack Goat leaders. Last weekend, they had a vet come out and show the kids (ha!) how to do some basic goat vet care stuff.
Turns out, step number one in all goat-related vet procedures is “Get enough people to hold down the goat.” This notion has amused the crap out of us all week. “So, what do we need to do first today?” “Get enough people to hold down the goat.” It’s like a 4-H minyan. Nothing is official unless you have a goat restraint quorum.
So she learned how to give a goat CPR…in case they OD or something. And how to bandage their legs. And, of course, how to take their temperature. Which is just what you imagine. Today the 4-H leadership group were writing 30 second radio spots. Julianna’s began “Have you ever had to stick anything in a goat’s butt?” and went on to say you get to do all sorts of things you didn’t think you’d ever do in 4-H. One of the other kids actually said that her opening line “didn’t make me want to join 4-H.” Seriously? Is your soul dead, child? Another pointed out–a valid point I think–that she never said exactly WHAT she was putting in a goat’s butt. So then we laughed about a project that just involved seeing how much a goat butt would hold.
I have trouble seeing how the actual hikes can be half as much fun as saying “goat butt” several times in one day.
So if you pmp when you lol, have we got an event for you! Apparently Poise pads is promoting itself through a “Ladies Who Laugh” home party…you sign up to, as far as I can tell, make your friends laugh so hard they pee themselves–on video–and then convince them to buy Poise pads?
http://www.houseparty.com/splash/ladieswholaugh
From the site:
If selected as a host, you’ll receive a FREE “Laugh Box”, which includes:
- Handheld digital camcorder, for host
- Costumes and accessories to help in creating your funny videos
- One month Netflix® gift certificate
- 10 Poise® sample kits including 1 Poise® Liner, 1 Poise® Long Liner, 1 Poise® Ultra Thin Pad
I didn’t think anything could seem more horrible than one of those “naughty” lingerie home parties, but I was mistaken.
What sort of costumes, do you think? Surely something HIlarious to induce in-the-pants-pee. Accessories include rubber sheets and kegelcizors. I get that lots of women have a bit of a “leakage” problem, particularly after having kids (not *I*, kegel-queen that I was), and sure, let’s not be all shaming about it…but a home party? really?
One host will win a trip to Chicago to see a concert by “a top recording artist.” Guesses?
Peete Seeger is probably out…Weezer, maybe? I’m sure it’s a Number One selling artist. Dont’ groan, urine no position to judge me.
There’s a 100% chance of snow tomorrow, according to weatherunderground.com. Doesn’t that seem a bit…bold? Seems like unless the snow is actually floating down around your ears you wouldn’t say more than 99.9% chance. Maybe the forecasters were hoping that by saying “Oh it is GOING to snow” they could tempt the snow into moving right along to some other state. Snow being notoriously contrary.
I hit Trader Joe’s this morning, since we were out of peanut butter and maple syrup. TJ’s has the best price on organic pb and it has the best taste, so I bought 4 crunchy and 6 creamy. So the snow can do its worst, we are ready. Ready to develop a severe nut allergy. I also got two containers of maple syrup, as TJ is a bit cheaper on that, as well. And, of course, an assortment of cheese and chocolates for teacher gifts (in case I don’t get around to making caramel corn, like I planned), and clementines, and chips, and these wonderful bags of frozen fire roasted onions and peppers (so good for omelets!)…and soon I had a cart brimming full. The store is only 20 minutes away, but b/c it’s in Montgomery County, it feels like I have to drive to the end of the earth, so I load up. Plus, you know, snow. Gotta lay in the stores in case we can’t drive for a couple of hours.
As I was in the cellar, putting away the raft of peanut butter and pallet of canned mandarin oranges, I noticed that the mice—perhaps the offspring of the mice that ate 10 whole boxes of ice cream cones and 6 boxes of pudding mix–had eaten a container of Crisco sticks. Empty plastic tub surrounded by shreds of foil and mouse poop. So I’m killing them. But sloooowwwly. Like Archer Daniels Midland is doing to us. I’ll slip some high fructose corn syrup down there next. Soon, I’ll have a generation of gluten intolerant mice with autistic pinkies. Mwahaha!
Holiday concert at the school in an hour. Should I rupture my eardrums now or let the recorder chorus do it?
Steve and I went out to dinner last night. Since there were no extra hungry mouths to feed, we went out for sushi. Those kids can run up one heck of a sushi bill. And given that they don’t even eat fish, you can imagine how much they put away. Sushi is a home dish only these days. We went to a place we’d never been to before, since the places we HAD been are decidedly mediocre. We got a bit spoiled, I’m afraid.
So this place had nice decor and the sushi was okay. But the waiter was creeeepy. I’m not sure how to describe it, but he was so unsettling I couldn’t look at him. He spoke in a weird stilted manner, like he’d learned Fancy Waiter Talk phonetically, but didn’t really know what he was saying. He had kind of weird teeth. He might have been stoned. He said things like “I trust everything is to your satisfaction” but in a way that suggested he was far, far more comfortable saying “DUDE, I just leveled up!” or, maybe, “and you will stay here in the dark until you can be Good.” We couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Left a good tip, of course, b/c he was absolutely going to follow us out and prepare us for the raw bar, otherwise.
I had another ANTM dream last night. For years now–13 cycles, which is like 5 Tyra years?–I’ve been having dreams in which I’m a contestant on America’s Next Top Model (for the record? The final three are Laura, Nicole, and Erin. Erin will probably win b/c Laura has that accent and Nicole sounds stoned. But Laura should totally win even though Nicole is the prettiest and best model. Erin is weird looking and I just don’t get it). When the dreams started, it was far fetched and fun. I’ve aged like 10 years in those 5 and now it just feels mean. In the dreams, I’m usually around 30, but know that I’m older. I’m usually pretty sure I’m about to be eliminated, but I have hung on far longer than I’d have expected. Last night, I was on my way to a go-see (if you don’t know what that is, I’m just sad for you) and realize that I don’t have good undies. I could only find Granny Pants, all the way to my waist, which I NEVER wear. And then, in the limo on the way to the go-see, I realized I hadn’t shaved. What if they want me to model a swimsuit? It would not be pretty. And then I woke up and thought “Really brain? Really? That’s our big hurdle to being a swimsuit model, a want of Nair? Really?” Stupid brain. Also, I had had trouble running in my stilletos and wondered if I could get away with a lower wedge. A problem I face so often.
In actuality, this is what is on my feet:
Oh yes, they ARE that awesome. Especially if I’m also wearing my kelly green cords embroidered with hot pink chickens. These used to be plain brown Birkis, but I seldom wore them (because brown? snore). Now they get a lot of wear, as long as it isn’t raining. I used acrylics and then used an acrylic spray, but I’m not sure how well they’d hold up to getting very wet. Not to mention that that tends to make Birks go stinky.
In health news, I was supposed to have my kidney stones blasted tomorrow but postponed. I realized I really had no idea what was going on or why or if it was necessary or if I could wait it out or what. So I want to chat with the doc first. My friend Janet said “So why don’t you cancel for now?” and it had seriously never even dawned on me that that was an option. I have such a need to be The Good Patient that I seldom question. Away from the doctors or if it’s someone else’s doc? I’m all “Screw those guys, you’re the customer, you have the power!” But in front of them, I’m all “Yes Docktah!” It took forever to work up the nerve to call and then I really needed a nap. Pathetic, that’s what I am. It’s likely that I’ll still get the procedure, but I want a better feel for what is going on with this treatment. Are more stones forming? Are some gone? Might they all go on their own? No clue.
Halloween is a week and a bit away. Julianna, previously planning to be a fairy, has decided to be Sgt. Pepper. I got her a green collarless jacket with a matching tank top at Goodwill. I used the arm area of the tank to make a Nehru-ish band jacket-y collar on the jacket and the remaining fabric from the tank (only the top 1/3 of it was the green, the rest was unusable, lame navy) to make those hairbrush looking epaulets. She has spent the last two afternoons glueing trim and sewing buttons and going to town on the thing. It’s looking pretty awesome, I must say. Ben wants to be Tom Baker as Dr. Who. We have a coat for it, I just need to find a super long stripey scarf. Target has some, but I’m hoping to get it cheaper. Lily has not settled, and has bounced from zombie to vampire and back again. I think she needs to roll with the Early 70s vibe of her siblings (yes, I know Pepper came out in 67. But Baker wasn’t Doctor until 74). Richard Nixon was a suggestion. I think an awesome one. Maybe Goldie Hawn on Laugh-in? I’ll send her out in a bikini and body paint. Your suggestions welcome…
Brief break before the last Camp installment. I wanted to update folks about my health or lack thereof. In the week after returning from Camp Bliss, I found out that I was both gluten intolerant and packing kidney stones. I’ve had ongoing GI issues which my doc’s office wanted to treat by giving me anti-acid drugs. I’m funny about wanting to know WHY there’s a problem before conceding to take drugs to mask the symptoms. Imaginary friends have been urging me to take a GI test from Diagnos-techs b/c it’s super complete and tests for everything from h. pylori to lactose intolerance to giardia. However, doctors have to have an account with them to order the test, so I had to cheat on my office and take up with a new guy. but I got my test, dammit. I pooped on plastic wrap and I spat into a tube and I mailed it off (bad job: opening those boxes).
Turns out I am gluten intolerant. And not just a little bit, like “hey, maybe cut down on the bread, dude.” I am tin shack in the back swamps of Mississippi intolerant. Deliverance intolerant. Also, I have but the tattered remains of an immune system in my gut. Whee! So I’m on a super pro-biotic protocol and avoiding gluten like the poison it apparently is. No bread, no pasta, no fun.
Then, as if that weren’t enough, I was up all night Wednesday night, moaning and shuffling from bed to toilet to couch to toilet. Terrible back pain, constant need to pee. Oh yes, kidney stone. Trip to the ER on Thursday, blessed, blessed pain meds, and….nothing. The scan showed that the stone causing the trouble is 6mm, which is like the Hope Diamond of kidney stones (I win at Calcium Deposits!) and that it was about 2/3 of the way down the ureter. I was to expect some more “discomfort” (oh, is that what we’re calling it?), and was given some lovely percoset. However, I was cured by diagnosis. I took some ibuprofen at home and that was it. No pain. Also: no stone. I’ve been peeing into a bucket ever since and nothing.
Saw a urologist today. When I said that maybe I’d missed it, he assured me that no, I’d know it if it passed and I’d “hear a ping.” But he also said that the opening to the bladder is only 4mm and he doesn’t think it can get through. So he started pressing on my back and my sides, clearly expecting me to wince b/c he said “doesn’t his hurt?” no. “Well, I don’t know WHAT is going on.” he says. Love that. Also, he said “how much soda do you drink?” None, ever. “iced tea?” Nope. I have one cup of coffee in the morning and a glass of wine some nights and other than that it’s water. “Do you drink a lot of water?” My pee looks much the same going out as it does going in. loads. “Then this should’t happen to you.” I couldn’t agree more. I told him about the gluten dx. “Ooooohhh, ” he said, “then that’s it.” The leaky gut, caused by the gluten, makes it so that my body does not absorb minerals correctly. Calcium meant to go elsewhere ends up forming stones (so I can now expect all my teeth to fall out and my bones to break, I assume).
So he sent me away for a week. Keep peeing. then get another scan to see if it’s still there. he doesn’t seem to think there’s any way it’s NOT there, but cannot figure out why I’m not all sore if it is. I’m hoping God has called it home. But if, when I go back, it’s still just squatting there, I will face a decision about whether to zap it and pass the bits or have him go in there and get the little devil (and its smaller friends). The second option apparently involves leaving a stint in my ureter which “will cause some discomfort for a few days.” Discomfort my hairy yellow butt.
so. I’m glad that my falling apart bits all seem to have one cause. And I’m annoyed that I didn’t get this test back in Feb when I first started noticing all the GI stuff. And I’m irked that it was such work on my part to get it in the first place. And I’m grateful for friends who told me what to do and pestered me until I did it. And for modern medicine, however flawed, that has diagnosed and given me pain meds when I need them.
So the bathroom in the church where the kids have play practice has this can:
In case you can’t quite make it out–shiny!–it says “Disinfects HIV-1 (AIDS virus), Polio virus Types 1 and 2, Influenza A2/ Hong Kong Virus, Mycobacterium Tuberculosis (TB), and Herpes Simplex 1 and 2…
Seems like sprayin’ folks down would be easier than all these vaccines… And further, what kind of nasty-ass church IS this? I was a little skeeved, frankly.
That’s Mother Of The Year, you know. Took Ben in for his first well child visit in…3 or 4 years? and as the nurse took his BP, she said, “How long has he had this rash?” This wha? Child is COVERED in a lacey red rash. huh. Ben says “Oh, I’ve had it for ages. About 2 weeks.” Thank you son. I smile and say “Once they pass the strutting around naked age, who knows what goes on with them?” Because I also clearly never even look at him. It’s a wonder I can even spot him in a crowd. My brain unfreezes a bit and I say, “You can’t have had it 2 weeks, I just did a tick scan on you last weekend and you didn’t have it!” (bonus points for checking for ticks, and for actually looking at my child at least once a week) And it’s then that I remember that he had a fever on Saturday, keeping him from the swim meet. It went away by that night so I ignored it. Fever + rash 3-4 days later= Fifth’s disease! Woo! I had it diagnosed before the NP even came in. I rock. At some things. Oh, and for those without kids, or with kids too young to have had this several times, it’s this benign virus that usually just causes a low fever and a scary looking red rash. Only contatious when you dont know they have it, so you can’t even get into trouble for spreading it. Once the rash shows, they’re fine.
My gross cat brought a baby bunny, SCREAMING, into the house yesterday. she then dropped it so that her stupid human kittens could learn to hunt by finishing it off. Instead, I chased the rabbit outside (to die, as it was clearly wounded). She despairs of us ever having meat. Then later yesterday afternoon, Ben is sitting in the family room playing with a dollhouse I found in the basement (more later) and Lily walks into the room and says “Dead bunny,” totally flat, like “whose shoe is that?” or “there’s something on your face.” I look and there’s this HUGE blood smear across the floor, right next to Ben, and a mangled bunny corpse (band name? nah) lying where the dollhouse was blocking his sight line. We know that he does not handle the grisly well. So I said, “Ben, look at me. Now stand up and walk toward me, looking at me the whole time. Now leave the room.” He said, after the crime scene had been tidied, “Yeah I saw the blood and wondered what it was.” Seems like a life skill one should have. If there is a big blood smear, do not play there. Maybe it needs a rhyme mneumonic: Pile of gore, play no more. or When blood is there, go elsewhere. Anyway, he was totally freaked out and wouldn’t go into the room and was generally being a loon. I wanted to shout “DUDE, you were practically walking your Playmobil guys on top of it! and now you can’t be in the same room where it once was?” bonkers.
So the dollhouse. Back when Julianna was 4 or so, I bought two rooms of the “Room-by-Room Dollhouse” from Discount School Supply’s clearance. It looked cool and was full of little fiddly things, which I love. Once it arrived, I remembered that my precious flower only played with chunky rough hewn wooden toys that refer to recognizeable objects, so as to not stunt her imagination. So I packed the rooms into the basement for a later date or to give to inferior, stunted children, and sent Julianna off to play with her stump and thimble. More children were born. We moved. Standards slipped. Playmobil and Lego took over my house. Then I was down in the basement earlier this week and noticed a wet box in one of the back sections of the cellar (if you’ve never seen my basement, think of the scariest, dankest, horror movie set you can imagine. Now add tubs of children’s clothes, spiders, and camping equipment). After determining ( I think. Hope.) that the wet had come from some spill from above (no subfloor, so anything spilled on the first floor goes into the basment. It’s a feature.) and not a recurring leak, I opened the box to find the dollhouse rooms. I figured Ben and Lily were perfect ages for them, and I was right. They’ve gotten my 20 bucks worth and more. I expect they’ll be forgotten soon, once the tiny ice cubes are gone from the wee freezer, but really, what can I expect with these stunted, plastic-infected attention spans. Julianna and Stumpy, though. They’re still best buddies.
Squid Ink 