Gonna get eight inches tonight..

...and I don't mean in the good way

Day before yesterday, it was 68, sunny and gorgeous...they even had the damn air conditioning on at work! Yesterday, it hovered right around 60 and rained off and on...felt just like a mild, spring day. Today? 20's. Freezing rain. Sleet. (Isn't that the same thing?) And tonight/tomorrow? Anywhere from 4 to 12...yea, TWELVE...inches of snow. On top of the freezing rain that's coming down right now.

I went out this morning to go to work and didn't think I'd even get in the car. The car was covered in a layer of ice and the door was frozen shut. Finally got in the car, only to discover that my ice scraper was in the trunk...which was also frozen shut...and there was noooo gettin that thing open. So I sat and waited...and waited...and waited...for the defroster to melt it enough for me to see where I was goin.

I really, really hate winter.

The only remotely good thing about tomorrow is that I might not hafta work at all. And maybe I'll get eight inches...in the good way.

Awwww...ok. Six. And a half.

Happy Birthday, Punkin!

We love you!

WCF Smackdown!

That'd be "Weasel/Cat Federation".

And to think...I was kinda worried about Lizzie, aka Elizabeth Ferret Browning, hurting Elwood, aka Big Head Ed. Hell, he gnaws on her like a pit bull gnawing on a leg bone. She makes noises that I didn't even know ferrets made. She hisses, even.



Lizzie is such a sweet-natured animal. She's all about play and sleep. El, on the other hand, is the demon spawn from hell. She wants to play...he wants to kill.



It's funny, though...as bad as he beats her up, she's always back for more. She's like the chick that gets beaten to a bloody pulp by her boyfriend that says, "But I looooove him!" Once in a while, she gets a good lick in and nails him on the nose or right square in the ass...he jumps away and looks highly offended.



When she's had enough, though, she hides either under the chaise lounge or the ottoman (you can just barely see her nose poking out from the giant, square zebra). He's too big to get under the ottoman, but he can still squeeeeeeze under the chaise. Fortunately for Liz, once he gets under there, he's too constricted to do much harm. He hasn't yet discovered that it's really just a set-up on Lizzie's part. She lures him under there and then gives him a much-deserved nip that he can't avoid.

It's been a loooong time since I've been owned by a kitten, but I don't remember them being quite so damned....mean. Oh, when he's sleepy, he's all lovey-dovey. But if he's had a nap, like I said...he's the demon spawn from hell.

Little does he realize...come February, he'll enter permanent eunuch-dom.

Ever see a ferret laugh?

Overheard conversations

"But his tail's wagging...that means he's friendly, right?" she asked as we faced a flimsily-chained, barking, snarling, slobbering pit bull with a head the size of a regulation basketball.

"Yea, well his ass might be friendly, but his other end tells a different story."

Let's play a game...

...of "Where The #$%&! IS It?"

I've lived here in Peoria for nearly six years now, and have never been to the

Fesitval of Lights

. Always wanted to go...just never got there.

It was such a nice day today (up to 67!) that we decided to take advantage and take a topless cruise around town...and try to find just exactly where the drive-through portion of the festival is. Just in case we decide to go some evening we won't be fumblin' around, tryin to find it in the dark on unfamiliar streets, ya know?

Soooo...where the #$%& is it?

We followed one sign down Washington in E. Peoria...only to find a sign pointing us in the opposite direction. Then we took Meadows cleeeeear the hell to Morton. No sign. Then we took Eastside Drive, up through the sports complex...nothin. No friggin signs. Not even a hint. We saw exactly two contradictory signs for an event that supposedly draws thousands of people, which leads me to believe that the City of East Peoria doesn't really give a shit if they draw thousands of touristas or not.

Well, fuck a buncha lights, anyway.

So, we're comin back over the river and gonna try out the newly opened 74/University Street exit...and we see not one, but two signs for "Shea Stadium". WTF? I thought Shea Stadium was in New Yawk?? We drove all the way out University to Pioneer and didn't see any damn Shea Stadium.

Soooo...where the hell is Shea Stadium?

Can anyone answer my questions?

Bueller?

Bueller?

Oh, and just as an aside, there's just something kinda....surreal...about pulling up to the Sheridan Road Florist/Nursery...in a convertible...with the top down...and buying several bundles of different types of evergreen boughs to decorate our planter boxes...for Christmas.

Tomorrah...a'hl think about that tomorrah...

I'm in the midst of "watching" Gone With The Wind for the fifty-eleventh time. I quoted watching because I don't actually hafta "watch" it anymore...after the fifty-eleventh time, I mean. I know most of it by heart.

I absolutely adore it. I mean, it's got everything. Love, romance, war, political intrigue, action, comedy...it's like the movie to end all movies. And, think about it...the breadth...the very largness of the movie. In 1939, no less. And that technicolor! Pretty amazing stuff for back then.

'Course, as with most movies that are based on books, the book was better. I've read it fifty-eleven times, too. But, still...it's Numero Uno on my list of most-loved movies.

And it's not just that it's got everything that a good movie should have. It's got one thing that no other movie has. Scarlett O'Hara. As crazy as it sounds, I identify with Scarlett. No, I am Scarlett O'Hara. Or she could be me...my psychic twin...sorta.

I know...you're laughin your ass off at that thought. Lemme see if I can explain.

Yea, I'm about as far from a "Southern Belle" as one could get. Wasn't born in the South. Wasn't born to a wealthy family in the 1800's. Not beautiful by any stretch of the imagination. As for the sixteen-inch waist? Aaahahahahhahaha! I'm pretty sure my damn thigh is bigger around than that.

So, at face value, there's not anything that should make Scarlett and I alike. But we're so much alike it's scary.

She prefers to think about the bad things "tomorrah". She's strong-willed and stubborn as a mule. She's feisty and outspoken and, at times, downright rude. It's like...she knows the rules...just prefers to ignore 'em, especially if they don't suit her. Yea, she's a conniver and a schemer but she's also pragmatic and logical...well, except where Ashley is concerned. That's the one area where we drift apart a little and I wanna smack some sense into her.

I wanna shout, "Ashley's a blue-blooded, poetry-spouting, inbred FOP, you stupid bitch! Rhett's your man, honey."

For all her practicality and stubbornness, she still thinks she needs a man to "rescue" her. I don't think I needed a man to rescue me...but they're still awful nice to have around.

Now, you might think that Gone With the Wind doesn't really have a happy ending. After all, she finally figures out that Rhett is the man for her, but she's driven him away. Who can forget that smirky "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn" line?
No, it's not a "happy" ending, at least in the traditional sense. Scarlett and Rhett don't wind up in the "happily ever after" situation.

I choose to think that it is a happy ending, though. She doesn't think she can bear Rhett leaving...but she'll think about that...tomorrah. See, it leaves the door open...just a crack. If I know Scarlett...and I should...after all, she's me...she'll figure out a way to get Rhett back. Or she'll finally figure out that she doesn't need a man to rescue her at all. Either way, it's a happy ending, right?

Now if I can just figure out a way to get Ziggy to sweep me off my feet and carry me up a looooong flight of stairs...and still have enough stamina left for a night of passion. (sigh)

Ah well...there's always tomorrah. A'hl think about that tomorrah.

Thankful

It seems like I'm always bitchin about something, but despite a few relatively minor (but still highly irritating) health-related issues, there are things that I'm thankful for.

I'm not talkin about the major things that people usually talk about on Thanksgiving...the fact that we live in the land of the free and the home of the brave and yada yada yada. I'm thankful for that every day. Even though it seems like there's a lot wrong about the US right now, there's a lot more that's right. It's relative, really.

Nah. I'm not talkin about that. This is from a purely egocentric point of view. It's all about me.

As I was sitting here, having my coffee, the very first thing that popped into my mind that I was thankful for was the fact that I don't hafta work today. OR tomorrow. As someone who's been in the medical profession for quite a few years, believe me, that's a big deal. I'm thankful for those that are still there, in the trenches...'cause it'd really suck if I were sick on a holiday and there was no one to take care of me.

The second thing I'm thankful for is Ziggy. I know it's sappy, but there are times that I still can't believe that we found each other...even though it was 25 years after it should have happened. I'll never forgive Dame Fate for that. Bitch.

Of course, I'm thankful that I have a beautiful, healthy daughter and an equally beautiful, healthy granddaughter. Despite my shitty parenting skills, my daughter grew up to be a nice person. Without too many emotional scars. I hope. I love them both madly.

Then there's the myriad of little things that I'm thankful for that are sometimes taken for granted. A nice home. A decent car. Plenty of food to eat. Nice clothes. Friends and loved ones in my life. In my present job, I've seen some that don't have all those things...and more than one who doesn't have any of those things. If even there'd been one little glitch in my life along the line somewhere...just one wrong turn somewhere...one quirk of fate...well...it could be me.

You could drive yourself crazy thinkin about that, couldn't ya? The whole existential "in the greater scheme of things, how the hell did I wind up here" kinda thing.

Anywho, I'm thankful that I wound up here. And not there.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care

Ooops. Wrong holiday.

Sausage balls, pickle wraps, cheese ball, hot wings, rumaki, shrimp and veggie tray all made and chilling in the fridge, awaiting warming up and/or plating tomorrow. Check

Various dips and sauces for above-mentioned goodies created. Check

Final trip to the Seventh Circle of Hell, aka the grocery store (it was especially delightful this morning...NOT), for those pesky things that didn't make it onto my first list. Check

Vacuum run and general spiffing up done. Check

And all this completed....BEFORE noon today!

I must be sick. No, what I am, is ruined. After just under two months of getting up at 6:30, three times a day, I'm ruined. I fear my days of sleeping til 10 or 11 am are over...not by choice, mind you. By habit. Dammit.

Actually, I probably wouldn't have been up quite so early today, but the Zigster is on days this week and his alarm woke me...at 4 freakin 40 am. 'Course then I hadda pee and then...well...I was awake.

Just as well, I suppose. At least I was productive. Probably a damn good thing, too. I have a feeling that my wayward bitch of a uterus is about to throw one of her hissy fits, rendering me pretty much useless for a day or two. I'll just grit my teeth and bide my time, though. I don't think she's gonna be around much longer.

I think I'll throw her a Bon Voyage party.

If I was a smart woman...

...I would have written something like this:

Bottom line; spirituality is not the patented invention of Christianity, and intellect is not the sole proprietership of atheists. If someone wants to wall off an area of irrationality in their lives where they choose to believe in a god, that is their right as free men. I am more concerned that they agree to our secular compact for society. The Christian’s right to swing his religion around ends at my tax dollars, which is to say at the boundary of our schools, our courthouses, our laws, and our science. The founding fathers made no mistake when they made no mention of God in the Constitution. But they again made no mistake by guaranteeing the freedom to practice individual beliefs.

This would be a good time for atheists to come out of the unbelieving closet. Let our Christian neighbors see us as the individuals they have always known. Staying hidden only lets the perception of atheism fall to the loudest, and in many cases the least palatable, expressions of what should be a humanistic way of being.

We are going to be together on this Earth a long time, we atheists, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, and Buddhists. For thousands of years we’ve been killing one another over our disagreements. Let’s stop doing that, and stop compelling thought, speech, and personal taboos of one another. We can discuss and persuade one another with safety only in a society where everyone is free. The next few centuries might make all the ones before - even this one - seem like a dark age.

I don't check out

his

blog nearly often enough. I need to change that.

You like me! You really like me!

Yea, I know that line from Sally Field's Oscar win is ooooold. So'm I.

I've been honored with three...count 'em...THREE...local blogger awards by one of my favorite local bloggers,

Scott O'Brien

.

Ok, so I didn't win any prizes. No award bucks. No golden statuette. Nevertheless, it does mean a lot to me. There are a lotta great Peoria bloggers.

Oh, I'm not one of 'em...I'm just sayin. I'm flattered to be mentioned among the First Annual PeoBloggies Award winners.

Wanna see my win list?

Blogger With Best Ability To Take A Complex Subject And Turn It Into An Interesting, Readable Entry With A Folksy Slant

No contest - Lollygaggin. And this is not to say she "dumbs" down complex topics at all. What she consistently does is take a complex topic and put a human and common sense touch on it and make people go, "hm, never thought of it that way."

Bloggers Who Would Probably Be The Most Fun To Have a Beer With

Scott Janz and Lollygaggin.

Group of Bloggers To Have a Backyard Crabfest With

Lollygaggin
Scott Janz
Krisser Prisser (only if loud music is played)
Chef Kevin
Willy Nilly
Emtronics

Anywho, thanks Scott! It was great fun reading your awards list.

I won't even mention his name

Frankly, I don't wanna even give the sorry excuse for a human being that much recognition.

I'll just post the link to the

website

that I found via

Christine

, who speaks very eloquently about the subject.

I'll defend anyone's right to freedom of speech, anywhere, anytime. He has every right to write this horrific book and give interviews until the cows come home. He even has the right to profit from it.

But that doesn't mean any of us should contribute to that profit in any way, shape or form. It doesn't mean that any of us have to patronize any store that sells it or any company that advertises during the interview on Faux News.

It would be nice, however, if we'd all sign the petition that's featured on the website and write to each company that's listed as a purveyor of this garbage.

Some things are just....not right.

This is one of them.

Update Well, it looks like Rupert Murdoch's ole bag isn't completely dried up. He pulled the special that was supposed to air on Faux News and has halted the publication of the book, stating, "I and senior management agree with the American public that this was an ill-considered project. We are sorry for any pain this has caused the families..."

My ass. I'm sure what he's really sorry about is that he won't be making a fucking fortune on the backs of murder victims and their families.

I'm sure my scathing letter to Faux News this morning had something to do with it. (Ya know, it's hard to type when my tongue is planted in my cheek.)

Traditional?

Well, no. Not exactly.

The Princess Grandchild will be spending the upcoming holiday with her Dad and his family, and while I'm always tickled to see the Queen Daughter...well...it's just not quite the same without all of our teeny little family together. Jules went ahead and made some Thanksgiving plans of her own, so that left the Zigster and I to our own devices.

We decided that we'd invite some good friends of ours to join us and I'd planned to do the whole "traditonal" thing...turkey, dressing, etc. But the friends thought they had other plans. Ah well.

Since it seemed as though it was just gonna be us, I suggested that instead of the whole big dinner, howz about we do a "I-could-make-a-meal-outa-that-stuff" day. Ya know? Appetizers. Snackies. Horse's ovaries...uh...I mean hors d'oeuveres. Zig was all down wit' dat. So it is written. So it shall be done.

Fortunately, our good friends' plans have changed, so they and their daughter will get to join us. That just tickles me...I loooove to entertain and don't get to do it nearly often enough. Unfortunately, we'd already decided to do the appetizer thing and I'd already bought most of the ingredients. Fortunately, they love that kind of stuff, too. (Just another reason I adore these people)

As it stands now, the menu will consist of

Sandy's recipe

for Sausage Balls, Dill Pickle Wraps, Shrimp Cocktail, Hot Wings with various dips, Rumaki and my world-famous Cheese Ball with an assortment of crackers.

Oh, and to top off our decidedly non-traditional Thanksgiving feast, Pumpkin Cake...not pie...with whipped cream. I was gonna do cheesecake, but I figured that'd just be silly.

Yea, I know. I probably oughta have AMT on standby, defibrillator at the ready.

Just so we have something reasonably healthy, I'll probably fix up a fresh veggie tray of some kind, too.

That oughta appease the heart attack gods. A little.

Ahh...now I remember

Doncha hate it when you're not around the computer, think about a post...almost write the whole thing in your head...then when you do get a chance to post, you've forgotten what the hell you were gonna write about, and the harder you try to remember, you just cant?

But I love it when it just pops back into my head. Kinda makes all that frustration worth it.

Aaaanywho,

Sandy's post

is what gave me the idea. She and I think a lot alike on this subject.

I've been at my new job now for nearly 2 months. In the process of getting to know me, some of my co-workers have expressed a normal curiousity about me and my life. Ya know? Stuff like where I live and am I married and do I have kids and just the sort of "general" type stuff ya ask when you're getting to know someone.

Now there are only two other women that work in the same office as I do that also work part time. All the rest are full-timers. Some work full time out of necessity...they're single mothers and just need to work full time.
Some of them...well, honestly I have no idea why they work full time...or even work at all, to tell ya the truth. A few are already retired from somewhere else and this is just sort of a...I dunno...hobby...for the lack of a better word, for them.

The rest are obviously fairly well-to-do with long marriages to successful men. In other words, they don't need to work. They do it because they like it...I guess. Though ya sure couldn't tell it by hearin 'em talk.

That last little group is the one I have a problem with.

There have been at least four of 'em that have said to me, "Boy, your hours are great! I wish I could just work part time."

Uh. 'Scuse me?

Bein the new gal on the block, I'm not familiar enough with 'em to just come out and ask 'em just exactly why they don't work part time. The fact of the matter is, I don't need to ask 'em.

I already know why they feel like they have to work full time.

They all live in extremely nice homes. They all drive new, fairly expensive vehicles. Most of 'em have a standing weekly manicure appointment. Most of 'em shop at expensive places. They go on cruises. They have mortgages and credit cards and keeping up with the Joneses to contend with.

Now, all that stuff is great...if that's whatcha want. But those things just aren't high on my list of life priorities. In fact, I've never felt a burning desire for a manicure...not ever. Never had one. Don't intend to start now.

We have a great home in a nice neighborhood and we don't hafta worry about property taxes or upkeep. If something breaks, the landlord is here within an hour to fix it. We don't have any neighbors named Jones and even if we did, I wouldn't give a rat's ass about keepin up with them.

My car is 5 years old and was the cheapest thing I could find at the time. It's certainly no luxury car, but it's still more or less dependable and gets me where I wanna go in relative comfort.

We have things like steak and shrimp pretty much whenever we're in the mood for it, but if we feel like eating out, we eat out. I do check out the ads and buy stuff when it's on sale, but I don't not buy something we want if it isn't.

I like nice stuff as much as any other woman. But "nice" doesn't necessarily always mean "expensive". I don't do trendy shit...well, except for the "Crocs". I don't do fancy clothes. I like classic, good quality things that never seem to go out of style.

The other day, one of those particularly annoying, keeping-up-with-the-Joneses gals said to me...again..."I just don't know how you do it...only working part time."

I looked at her, smiled sweetly and just said, "I have a very generous boyfriend."

I think I might've put that subject to rest. Permanently.

#%^&$%@#$!!! I cannot get that damn "show/hide" thingy to work. Sorry.

So good I had to steal it...

...from

Maricopa Mark

.

Study this

At any given point in time, there are 246,496 medical "studies" going on here in the US and elsewhere. Ok, I don't really know the exact number, but I'd be willing to bet it's close.

And, of those 246,496 studies, about half will completely contradict the findings of the other half.

I'm firmly convinced that most studies are skewed in the direction that the researchers would like them to take, even though they'd deny that until the last drop of grant money was dried up.

I take most of the results of these studies with a grain of salt. I figure if I wait a few months, the results will change. But I've heard the results of two studies just this week that reflect some of my own personal lifestyle choices.

The good news is that my risk of Alzheimer's is low because I take fish oil supplements.

The bad news is that my risk of breast cancer is increased because there's nothing I love more than a big slab of red meat.

So if I do develop breast cancer, unfortunately I won't forget it.

Now of course if, in a couple months, the results change...again...I won't get breast cancer. But then again, I won't remember than I don't have it, anyway.

Disclaimer Before anyone jumps on the "how-dare-you-make-fun-of-breast-cancer/Alzheimer's bandwagon", save your breath. I'm not making light of either of these two dreadful diseases.

Cuteness.....ad nauseum

Yes, that's my neck he's suckin on. In fact...and I know this sounds disgusting...it's a mole on my neck. It's a pretty piss-poor substitute for a kitty titty, huh?

Product pimpage

Let me preface this by saying I'm not a big sweet-eater. Oh, if it's in front of me, I'll nosh. But sweets aren't my diet downfall. I could probably count on one hand the number of candy bars I've eaten in the last year.

And I'm a darned good cook, but as far as baking goes...well...there are a lotta things I do a lot better.

Having said all that, though, there are those rare times that I, being a hormonal woman after all, crave something sweet. Chocolate to be more specific.

Not just any chocolate will do, though. It's gotta be dark chocolate. None of that namby-pamby milk chocolate, thank you very much. DARK chocolate. The darker, the better. One of my favorites has always been Hershey's Special Dark. Preferably those BIG bars.

Unfortunately, they had 'em on sale when I went grocery shoppin yesterday.

But they also had something else. Hershey's Special Dark Espresso. It's called a "Limited Edition", so I suppose that means I won't be able to find it the next time I'm feeling extra-hormonal. Bastards. I hate it when they do that.

But it's like......heaven. It's like...dark, dark coffee-flavored chocolate heaven. Imagine taking a cup of really strong espresso...and melting a bar of dark chocolate in it. Oh. My. Gawd. Two of my favoritest flavors in the whole, wide world...coffee and chocolate...together in one decadent...almost obscene...bite.

Like I said, I suck at baking. But I'm thinkin about warm Toll House cookies using bits of this instead of chocolate chips. Can you imagine?

I just might hafta fire up the ole oven and DO it.

What? Me...normal?

Not even close

I know the word "normal" is subjective. In most cases, normal is whatever's...well...
normal for YOU. But I'm not normal. Or maybe it's just that I'm gettin old.

I've become a homebody. Actually, it's more like I've become a recluse.

And that's just not normal...for me.

I can't think of one, single place I'd rather be than home. Well, except maybe sittin on a beach somewhere with my fat little fist wrapped firmly around a Corona.
But in general, home is where I wanna be.

My whole life, I've always been one who's ready for anything. Ready for new experiences and adventures. Ready to go somewhere. Anywhere. At just about any time. Shopping? Great! Weekend trips? You betcha! Visiting friends? In a heartbeat. Parties? Just tell me where and when and I'm there. Vacations? I'm already packed.

Now, though? Not so much.

Take today, for example. It's a reasonably nice day, sunny though a bit chilly. We're not gonna have many more days like this, and I know that. We were invited out to lunch with some great friends of ours...people that we love to spend time with. And we turned 'em down.

Ok, so I don't feel great today. That's part of it, certainly. But the fact of the matter is, even if I had felt good, likely as not, we'd have turned 'em down, anyway. And I hate that.

The unfortunate thing is that Ziggy is pretty much the same way. Left to his own devices, he'd just as soon live in a remote cave somewhere and never see another person (except for me) as long as he had internet access and cable tv.

The thing is, though...he's always been kinda like that. And I haven't.

I asked him this morning if he didn't think maybe we were too...I dunno...attached, maybe?...to each other and to "home". It's like we don't need anyone else in our little world. I mean, I don't think that's exactly normal. Or not exactly healthy, maybe.

Maybe it's just because winter is coming and we're kind of in a "nesting" phase. Maybe it's just because we're gettin older.

But maybe it's because we're turning into recluses?

Awww, hell. I'm not gonna worry about it until we start wearing Kleenex boxes on our feet, not bathing and letting our fingernails grow six inches.

Uh. Wait. Ziggy was on vacation this past week and he didn't shave for four days.

Maybe I oughta start worrying like...now?

Techno-tard question

Does anyone have any idea why the "hide-post/show-post" tags won't work if you have other links in your post? Well...sometimes it doesn't work. Sometimes it does.

I worked with my previous post until I was ready to throw the computer out the window and STILL could not get these friggin tags to work.

Do they get screwed up somehow if you cut, copy and paste them where you want them to go? Is it something I'm doing wrong, or is it some quirk in Blogger?

Sometimes it's hard...to be a woman

According to Tammy Wynette, anyway



Yup, that'd be a uterus. It reminds me of one of those goofy Japanese "anime" things. I was googling for a picture to accompany this post, stumbled across this and it was so strange...well, I hadda use it, right?

Anybody remember my

send my uterus on vacation

post?

Well, I think it's time to start thinkin about pastin up the ole Paypal button.

I had the dubious pleasure of undergoing a

transvaginal pelvic ultrasound

on Friday.

Really, it wasn't so bad. I had a fantastic radiology tech named Cindi. While we were chatting, we discovered we had a mutual friend, so that was nice. Made me feel a little more...ah...comfortable...in a distinctly uncomfortable situation.

I mean, I'm pretty sexually open, but I'm just not used to strange women...even very nice ones...sticking cold, hard things up my...ah...well...I did say "transvaginal", didn't I?

Though I'm familiar with an ultrasound machine and what they do, I'm not familiar with the pictures they produce. I mean, I can read an x-ray pretty accurately, but ultrasound pictures just aren't my forte. But I'm watching the little screen while she's doing it, anyway.

Hell, I dunno why...my poor uterus hasn't seen the light of day (or the light of an ultrasound machine, for that matter) for over 30 years... so I thought maybe vagabonds might've taken up residence there. Or maybe a family of Lower Slobovians.

She seemed awfully interested in a couple of areas, and though I know it wasn't fair of me to ask her about what she was seeing, of course I did, anyway. After working with various radiology techs for years, I know that they know just about as much about radiology as a radiologist does...sometimes more.

She was, of course, hesitant to say anything. But when she said that she needed to go get the radiologist to have him take a look at it, I said, "Ok, now that you've raised my suspicions, ya just KNOW that someone's gotta tell me somethin today, right?" She laughed and said that yes, the radiologist could tell me something.

Lemme tell ya...that five minutes that she was gone was the longest damn five minutes that I've ever spent. All these things nasty thoughts like uterine cancer and ovarian cancer were flashing in front of my eyes like neon signs.

Sometimes, it sucks to be a nurse, especially as far as our own health is concerned. We know too much.

I was even more concerned when the radiologist walked in. He was accompanied by three other docs, a couple of residents, four or five nurses, the janitor and one of the cafeteria workers.

Damn.

I wondered if Ron Jeremy was waiting somewhere in the wings. I started looking all over the room for a camera.

Ok, so it was just the doc and a resident. (Hey...it's called "poetic license", ok?)

So the doc goes pokin (no pun intended) around with the...stick...or whatever the end of the thing is called. He finds the two areas that the tech was concerned with, frowns and a lot of "hmmmmmm-ing" ensues.

"Ya know your head is within kicking distance, doncha?" I ask. "And you need to tell me what you think you're seeing or I'm gonna be testin that out. I absolutely will NOT wait two weeks for my GP to tell me that I have a tumor."

He laughed. Which made me feel a little better. I mean, if a doc's gonna tell you you have ovarian cancer and you're lookin at three months, he prolly wouldn't laugh first, right?

So anywho, it wasn't a tumor. He was pretty sure, anyway. It's a big cyst on my left ovary. It also seems as though a fibroid has taken up residence in my uterus.... leaving no room for even a small family of Lower Slobovians. I also have a small hemorrhagic cyst (whatever the hell that is) on my right ovary. My fallopian tubes don't look so perky, either.

I think it's safe to say my reproductive days are over. Thank gawd.

Beeeeecause....my doc drew some blood a couple weeks ago and did an FSH...follicle stimulating hormone. A normal range is like 12 - 15. If you're in menopause, (which I THOUGHT I was) it should be somewhere around 50. Mine was 12.5. I'm NOT in menopause. Not even close. Dammit.

If I were in menopause, the fibroid wouldn't cause me any more problems...not enough estrogen to feed it. As it stands now, though, it IS causing me problems.

Now I need to decide if my uterus should go on a permanent vacation or just in for an overhaul.

Who knew being a woman could be so much friggin fun?

I've said all along....

Possums

are danged smart critters. Terry sums up my take on yesterday's events far more eloquently than I ever could've.

1) I think this pretty much sinks George Bush's chances for a third term.

2) We have finally determined exactly how incompetent Republicans must be for Democrats to be able to win anything.

3) The Democrats who DID win are there only because Karl Rove wants them there. They need to watch their attitudes.

4) Murderous terrorists and their enablers/defenders will finally have something to be happy about, at least for a little while, and goodness knows they need something to be happy about. I predict that for the next few weeks, car bombs will be loaded not only with nails and ball bearings, but candy and flower petals, too!

5) The flying monkeys released from Pelosi's office were a bit of an overkill.

6) John F. Kerrydy pronounced Teddy Kennedy the greatest Senator of all time, which I think probably is his way of saying he wants to be his running mate in '08. They'd make a lovely couple.

I'm almost smack-dab in the "middle of the road" as far as politics are concerned. But I've gotta admit....especially after today's news...I'm a little 'skeered' right now...and I ain't skeered a nothin.

I fully expected the Repubs to get a little well-deserved slap on the pee-pee for a few things. But I didn't expect 'em to get it whacked off completely, a la Bobbitt.

I think I'll buy a gun before the trouble starts.

The last ride

Unless we get lucky.

It was gorgeous here today...sunny, dry and up in the low 70's. One of those rare gifts of late fall.

Since Ziggy is on vacation this week and I had today off, we decided to take advantage of the day and take one last topless cruise.

The "perfect" convertible-driving temperature is about 80-85 degrees....any hotter than that and your brains feel like they're boiling. Anything below about 75 degrees and it can be downright chilly, especially if you're out on the road.

This past New Year's day, it got up to about 65...so we put on our coats, jumped in the Cruiser, put the top down, cranked the heat on 'high' and took a spin around town...just to say we did. Yea, people looked at us like we'd lost our mind. But hey...how many people can say they took a convertible ride on New Year's day...in Illinois?

There's just something special about 'going topless' when it's cool (below 70), though. You wear a jacket and you turn the heat on. I know...it sounds dumb. But it's a fantastic feeling. The closest I can come to describing it is sitting outside in a warm hottub on a cold day. It's almost sensual...nearly decadent.

We didn't take a long ride today...just across the river to the Burger Barge for a late, late lunch/early supper. But it was awesome.

On the way home, the sun was a deep, reddish-orangey-gold (yes, "orangey" IS a color) and was just starting to set. It turned the remaining now-brown leaves on the trees of the bluffs an intense shade of burgundy/purple. Coming back across the river, bellies full, feeling warm and cozy despite the chill, the water sparkled and shimmered like an unrolled bolt of silver-colored silk.

I wish I'd thought to bring the camera, but even with it's digital magic, I don't think it could have captured the exact colors. I think the only way to do it would be to paint it. Even then...even though I can still see the colors in my mind...I'm not sure I could get it right.

I think ya hadda be there. And I think you hadda be in a convertible with the top down to really see it.

We saw several other 'verts out on the road...but only one other "open-air worshipper" like us. When we see another 'vert out on the road on a gorgeous day with the top up, we call 'em pussies. There are a lot of 'em out there, too. I've never understood that. They'll buy a convertible and rarely ever put the damn top down. Why is that? What the hell is the point? Just to say they have one? Whoopee.

Pussies.

Just remember...if you happen to see a couple of whack-jobs in a convertible with the top down some unseasonably warm day this winter...be sure to wave.

It'll be us.

Fangs UP!

I've mentioned that I'm a big fan of horror flicks. Monsters, zombies, slashers, psychological thrillers....bring 'em on. But I'm kinda picky when it comes to my choice of horror/thriller movies. I want great special effects. I want a plot. I want a good story. I want it to make me jump at least once. And I loooove "twists".

Don't gimme no low-budget, plotless drek that makes no sense, whatsoever. "Campy" horror is a whole 'nother genre.

And I usually don't like remakes. No matter what genre, but especially in horror/thriller movies. They very rarely surpass the original and almost always leave me disappointed. I can count on one hand the number of remakes that have been as good or better than the original. "Cape Fear" is a good example.

Ziggy (who's not a big horror fan, but indulges me) and I are both a bit under the weather this weekend. Not sick, but neither of us felt like doing much of
anything. So during my weekly grocery-shopping adventure yesterday, I stopped by
our friendly neighborhood video store and snagged a few DVD's. Not having my fill of horror movies during Halloween week, I grabbed three current horror flicks and...uh....

Over the Hedge

.

Ok, so I like animation, too. It's like having a little dessert after the heavy meal, ya know?

I was doubtful because...well...it's a remake. But I grabbed

The Omen

.

This remake is a definite "Fangs Up". Way up. Though it wasn't a huge part, Mia Farrow (yes, Mia Farrow) as Mrs. Baylock, the nanny, was brilliant. Just seeing the contrast between her obviously-pulled-too-tight face
and her old woman hands was creepy.

I can't believe no one's thought of "hand lifting".

The special effects are waaaaay cool
(especially when the photog gets decapitated) and the whole tone of the movie
just gives you a sense of impending doom.

The other movie that we watched last night was a subtitled, South Korean
production of

Red Shoes

("Bunhongsin"), which were actually a nasty shade Pepto-Bismol pink...never DID figure out the descrepancy...red shoes are supposed to be RED.

I dunno. I'm kinda gettin into Japanese/oriental horror. I loooved "The Grudge" and "The Ring". Japanese horror is usually very interesting, visually. Lots of contrasts and great use of black and white...along liberal splashes...and gouts...and fountains...of red. They also tend to use lots of symbolism...maybe that's why they used pink shoes instead of
red ones?

But this one...well...I'm still sorta in the "Fangs Neutral" position about it. There were things I liked about it, but it was kinda hard to watch the movie and read the subtitles at the same time. I think dubbing it would improve the
experience.

The third horror selection?

Silent Hill

. That's on the agenda for later this afternoon.

An anniversary missed

Halloween, 2001. I can't believe I forgot.

Women aren't supposed to forget anniversaries. But then, I do tend to think more like a man. Hey, I took the test...I have a mostly "man-brain".

Anywho, it was six years ago yesterday that I met the man. The man with whom I can carry on entire conversations without saying a word. The man who knows me and my body as well as I do...maybe better. The man who holds my hair and brings me cool, wet washcloths while I'm busy puking my guts out. The man who's first gift to me was the most beautiful bunch of purple grapes that I'd ever seen. The man who has helped me and supported me and loved me despite my various illnesses, hissy fits and general bitchiness. The man who I should have met 30 years ago.

The man who lied about his real name on that fateful Halloween, six years ago.

Guess he was worried about me being a

Fatal Attraction

. Let's face it...Glenn Close, I'm not. I've set my ferret on fire, but I'd never boil his rabbit.

I love you, honey.

I swear I'm not turning into a "cat blogger"

But....just damn! Have you ever seen anything more precious? Elwood (or "Big-Head Ed" as I call 'im sometimes) has discovered that he just looooves to "help" me blog.

When not helping me blog, he likes to repose upon his leopard pillow in a manner befitting the King of Knoxville Avenue.



Big-Head Ed and Lizzie are becoming friends, but at this point, it's still a bit of a love/hate relationship. They drive each other to distraction, swiping and nipping at each other's butt, but when she's snoozing in her cage, he sits on top and pokes a paw down through the grate, trying to wake her up to play.

They've discovered that a cardboard box makes a fine playground, and will spend half an hour taking turns being the "inside guy", while the other plays sentry.



Not being owned by a cat for quite a few years, I'd forgotten a few things.

Like, why is it that a teeny-tiny little kitten feels like a rampaging bull on your bed at 3 am?

And how on earth can such noxious, rotting-cadaver smells come out of such a small gut? He eats the exact same thing Liz does (Purina Kitten Chow).

I had to laugh...Elwood's former owner and I were talking when I went to pick him up. I'd told her that I had a ferret and she made the comment that she'd love to have one, but didn't think she could handle the smell.

Uh...excuse me?

I know that ferrets can smell "musky" if they haven't been spayed or neutered, but if you purchase one from the pet store (like we did Liz), that's already been done. And as for her litter box...hell, it smells like friggin flowers compared to his.

And she doesn't fart.