Tuesday, March 20, 2012

CSI: CF9

AKA CSI: Cheese Factor 9000

I guess this is the problem with us old farts: we start watching a show when it comes out, and it's really good, unique, captivating. We get atatched to the characters as if they're real people. Then a decade goes by. There're three spin offs and a hundred copycats. Instead of letting the show die a noble healthy death the networks keep flogging it along. Now the CSI techs have make believe computers and their lab work takes 3,000 times less than reality, denying the actual physics upon which the show based its integrity.

So: you stop watching. You get over your trepidation and pull up the BBC. You have to get used to a lab scene without 2-4 split screen windows and techno music. And you hit paydirt.

IF YOU ARE NOT WATCHING LUTHER YOU ARE FIRED.

Amen.

Monday, March 19, 2012

I have Peeves

And I'm finding them hard to control.

I am not the Hermitgrrl you may know and love. I cannot stfu no mo. Do not tread further if you want to keep me in the same light. I'm serious, and I'm sorry, but I'm also free.

I used to always just try to be really nice. Polite was number one; even if I couldn't stand someone I'd try to be polite. I figured that's what set me above the sociopaths. You call black people coons and Mexicans animals? I'd widen my eyes in incredulity and fill my mouth with beer so I wouldn't say what I was thinking, namely: You racist F**k!!!!!

Yeah... So I kinda broke that mental handicap. I'm in a 'writing group' (using the term loosely here as I agreed to not break confidences and I GASP!!!!!!! take my word seriously!!!!!!!) and anyway this is a 'trade piece for critique' agreement situation. I try to be super kind and helpful with my opinions, not like I'm any better than the next person or anything, just tryin' to be a positive influence. This young guy comes in with (and I looked up the actual dictionary definition and it is dead correct) his manifesto. I hear manifesto and I think unabomber. But anyway this was all about how he'd seen the light and cured his womanizing booze filled ways with JEEZUS.

I have nothing against finding enlightenment and happiness. I do have a problem with blaming women. To read it, it souned like if women (and girls, 12 years old and up) would just cross their legs he wouldn't be such a loser. It was really hard to keep quiet when he described 6th grade females as "little miss easy mcsleazy". I did find merit in some of his views (like why tf would you ever ask someone what they do? would you ever ask someone how much money they make?) and I tried to point out the positive aspects of his manifesto more than the negative. But something really huge has changed for me.

I stopped blogging for two reasons: I couldn't bear to pretend to be happy anymore. I actually AM really happy, but I get mad and am grumpy just like anyone else, and after the not being able to walk for 6 months and 3 times under the knife... well, the world is just different looking.

The other reason is that NASTY BITCHES read this blog and use the info to call the fish and game on me as well as the county for my SUPPOSED (and false) building violations. These are LYING TREASONOUS FUCKWADS WHO LIE TO JUDGES AND MAKE UP RANDOM SHIT FOR THE SOLE PURPOSE OF HURTING OTHERS BECAUSE THEY ARE SOCIOPATHS!!!!!!!! OH BUT I FORGOT I LIVE IN A COUNTY WHERE THE REQUIREMENTS TO BE A FEDERAL JUDGE DO NOT INCLUDE A LEGAL DEGREE!!!!!

Oh and guess what. I'm naming names. The following people are SELFISH SELF-CENTERED SOCIOPATHIC USERS:

DAVID HARDER : MAKES UP RANDOM LIES TO GET PEOPLE ARRESTED AND CRIES TO JUDGES AND LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICIALS

KAT SHARROCK : OWES ME 200 DOLLARS ( and refused to mail me a check) FOR WEEKENDS WORKED AT HER DEFUNCT RESTAURANT

ANASTASIA CONNELLY; FICTITIOUS ORATER TO COPS, JUDGES, "FRIENDS" AND FOE

I WILL NOT BE HARASSED AND LOSE MY BLOG TO ASSHOLES.

IF THESE PEOPLE ARE NOT PSYCHOS THEN I WILL HAVE NO TROUBLE!

IF I HAVE TROUBLE THEN THEY WILL HAVE PROVED ME CORRECT.

I will keep you posted, and hope to go back to being able to blog in freedom from fear. This IS the land of the free... right?

Forever a patriot and truly yours, Hermitgrrl

Sunday, October 16, 2011

consolations for an empty lap

the air that is warm on my arms seems
chilled where it touches my freshly bared thighs
my living heater is heeding a more important call than comfort
can opener in action
a few stray bits of fur float down
left by his passage
more lonely than me
they too are discarded, a new feeling,
less terrible than the shivering fate
that awaits them
huddled in corners
clinging to memories
of silken tongue washings
and a warm body that held them.
collecting dust
the last sound they hear will be
a vacuum cleaner.
the can opener was worse.
i am lucky.
my furry blanket will come back for me
my body then acclimates
perhaps i don't need a substitute blanket
his striped and spotted coat is fickle
like dappled shadows dancing
i smell his fishy breath returning
but the burn in my chest proves
i love my cat

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Some Things

Just some things one thinks about at 12:48 AM

Pheonix's contributions: I am very proud of my hunter boy. I appreciate him contributing to household expenses by catching and eating mice. But which is worse: a steaming pile of bloody mouse guts (and often other less delectable parts, usually feet and/or tail ) or a mouse hiding, out of sight but not sound, gnawing and chewing incessantly and loudly, and leaving little turds hither and yon in one's abode? Cat food bill (gladly paid), or valiant killer? Is the latter an oxymoron? Is the whole dilemma an oxymoron??

Fridge lights: I'm sure I am far from the first person to ask this question, but I still seek the answer- Why does my my fridge have a light while my freezer does not? A conspiracy, I'm sure.

Walking (jumping out of bed), refined ankle story: Ah, a two parter. I woke up to the dogs barking as if the hounds of hell were at our doorstep. Peering sleepily ( and perhaps a bit disgrunteledly ) out my window I saw a woman taking pictures of our house, from her car, in our driveway. I leaped out of bed to defend my territory, completely forgetting that I had a broken leg and ankle. Le ouch. (And oh boy is THAT another story)

Part dos ( I wanted to type duex, or however the french spell "2", but I am taking spanish now and must remember that "je suis" is now "yo soy") anyway! Part dos: My new "how I broke my leg" story is this: There were bobcat kittens in a den halfway up an avalanching and fire lit cliff, mewling in terror, their mother crumpled in singed death at the bottom, and I had to climb up and save them. It was all happily ever after except for the part where I lost my footing and slid into a rock crevasse, the meaty splintering snapping crunch of my bones breaking echoing through the valley. The kittens were fostered and counseling was available for them. I am currently gimp hopping away from my crutches a few minutes at a time.

Sleep paralysis: It is a real, physical, medically acknowledged phenomenon. It could happen to you!!! I hope it doesn't though. You wake up- or think you do, anyway. Your dark room looks exactly as it should. But something is wrong. Not the fact that you cant move; your arms are tied down in straps of lead weighted molasses, yes, but far worse is the sense of a presence. It may be perched on the foot of your bed, or it may be whispering by your head. You try with all your might to reach for the light, dispenser of boogie monsters, but you can't, and you hear voices whispering.

"She can't!" "She can!" "She can't!" "She can!" They whisper but it is loud and scratchy.

You finally CAN, turn on the light at least.

The next time, you just hear just one throaty whisper in the blackness. "Don't tell her."

When you think you're reaching for the light that is inexplicably yanked from your grasping fingers, you feel something close around your throat and you scream- a real scream, that jerks you awake and finally frees you completely to grasp for the light that has not actually gone anywhere ( during that second you are talking out loud, self reassurances, like a nervous whistling Ichabod Crane) and then there is false sunlight, beautiful human made light, killing the darkness, and you put the wall to your back and face the room.

Haha, silly girl, you think. But you leave the light on until the sun breaches the horizon.

Anyway, I think parenthesis are the great crutch of literature (or maybe just my crutch, haha, see how I exploit them?).

As George W. Bush said, "I don't mind a little self defecating humor". He really did; I heard it. On NPR. And you know they swore to "treat evil people and republicans equally". So I will continue to exploit parenthesis, to swap "bien" with "bueno", to answer the call of my bleeding heart syndrome and hop along gimpily, and, hopefully, create a cure for sleep paralysis.

It will be the best thing since sliced bread. Which, by the by, I have been doing. Slicing my own bread, that is. But it is worth it, 'cause it's a sesame french roll and it makes for some dang good sandwiches. I didn't make the bread. But I would have if it wasn't $1.60 at wally world.

You know it's bad when houses for sale use " only 8 miles from costco" as a feature. But like my wallmart reference, it happens, despite the despicableness. I saw it on the 'net, so it must be true. I cannot believe I just jokingly compared the 'net to NPR. Revoke my literacy license (I have one, I can tell the difference between "their, there, and they're").

Yo soy... tired now. I think that's plenty of stuff.
Love to all, sleep good (ignoring the ideas about all the mites in a person's bed).

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Be The Best You Can Toad... Or Frog?


I had watched my last netflix* and was wondering what the hell to do next when I caught movement in the corner of my eye. Not another mouse, I hoped. I've been mouse free for several days now. One of the giant beetles that have been crashing around in here? That seemed more likely, as I could now detect a repetitive thumping to the movement. It's been so hot by day that at night I keep my door open well past midnight, hoping to catch and store some cool night air for the next day, albeit with no screen door to serve as bouncer for the unwelcome masses. And the masses abound. Shiny green beetles, dressed for a rave, bumbling heavy set beetles in pinstripes crashing into things and looking for the brandy and cigar crowd, and dragonflies of the night dressed in their delicate diaphanous lace looking for a date with my desk lamp.

But when I looked into the shadows, there was the last thing I'd expected, nor would have even guessed. An adorable prince of a frog, though I doubt he was looking for kisses. More likely a way out. I scooped him up and plopped him in a cup, probably ALSO not what he was looking for. The poor thing was covered in cat fur, a fate unavoidable in my castle. Of course I wanted to keep him; visions of terrariums swam in my head, lush, green, moist sanctuaries for the osmosis clad crowd. I certainly have plenty of food flying around to serve up as delicacies for his type. But hey, wait, I'm a woman in a wheelchair who struggles just to get in and out of her front (and only) door- not exactly his type. Besides, what do I know about keeping amphibians? ( See that right there, I didn't have to try to identify him as frog or toad, though I'm pretty dang sure he, or she, was the former.)



Anyway, I had to rinse him off, so I put a little water in the cup and swirled him around with no regard for his dignity at all. After the dry spin cycle I put a cover over the cup and sat to ponder. While he hopped at the ceiling of his impromptu quarters, I had to strategize. It's only 6 feet from my door to the closest patch of garden. Just six short feet of igneous ( or is it metamorphic? I need to get back in school) scorria the size of misshapen golf balls, hardly wheelchair accessible, or flip flop accessible, for that matter. How to get him to safety?

I formulated a plan. I'd need to go with my crutches, obviously, but that meant no hands free. So how to carry him? I don't have one of those little dog carrier/ purse things, sized for frogs or otherwise. I suppose I could have substituted my purse, but for one thing, it was full, and even if I dumped it out there would be leftover debris to ruin his fresh bath. Besides, my purse hangs just under my arm and I wouldn't want to squish him OMG in my armpit. That would be one crappy way to go. So, and this sounds TERRIBLE, I put him in a plastic ziploc baggie. It was only for two minutes, max. I made sure it was way poofed up like the new packaging alternative to styrofoam peanuts, and put him in the pocket of my hawaiian shirt. I hopped out to the garden, gravel slipping, sliding, and churning on the tiny slope - everything takes on completely different proportions when you're "differently- abled"- and balanced carefully while I gently shook him out into the grass and sleeping flowers.


I made it safely back to my house and hope he made it to his. Kiss or no kiss, likewise with princes, it was a happy ending. Even if it took an hour. I did the best I could, and that's that.

Except it wasn't an ending. I KID YOU NOT, as I was typing this, I happened to see a spot of movement off to my left.
A frog.
This girl needs some bouncers. Not a screen door bouncing off my wounded leg or crashing against my wheelchair. Air conditioning would be good. Haha, nah, I much prefer the sweet fresh summer air. I suppose for now this club is open till last call in autumn.

*Don't get me started on my "insta watch netflix options". The really good stuff is almost always only on disc. The boredom may have surpassed the pain now.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Nothin' Exciting To Report

There was an awesome thunderstorm tonight. We even lost power for about 15 minutes, which is rather laughable because back in Cali it would have been at least 4, 6 hours... or days. It was loud and bright and the dogs were terrified (poor things) but at least I know I don't have to worry about my garden getting watered ( my kitties were very brave, Pheonix took a nap while cannons boomed overhead). I spend about 2 or 3 hours outside my door every evening, enjoying the summer breeze and the sunsets, but tonight I had to watch nature's cinema, including hail ( in July!!) from inside.

Oh, here's a gorgeous picture of my foot. It's only about half that swollen now, and it was twice that before this photo. I had a cabbage patch kid foot:


There was something else... but I can't remember so it must not be noteworthy. Yep, like I said, not much happening here. Here's a little something I jotted the other day- please ignore anything that sounds whiny. Pain doesn't make the best narrator.

"My outside enjoyment/ adventures consist of a 20 by 4 foot strip of concrete. I am reading 5 books concurrently. I am writing, drawing, counting hours, stretching out the time, longer every day, pushing the pain back. Testing out my crutches, at which I am currently far from adept. My internet, usually a great source of escapeism, is down, and who knows when the repair man cometh?

Boredom is a competitor for the pain, and the 3rd runner up is the lack of independence. When can I eat? The guilt builds as I bark backseat cooking orders to my mother, captive nurse. She may be more captive by my needs than I am by my wheelchair. It is summer and I am missing it. I can't fill the bird feeder. I can't check my garden. But oh, so negative. Beyond the pain and dependence and - gasp - lack of internet, lol, there are many positives. Some wonderful get well cards, which I hadn't even expected, the bright future of school, and the extreme generosity and help and caregiving."

End quote. It got a little rocky when I got an infection in the incision. WARNING: Gross leg picture! I won't tell you the gory details, and it doesn't matter anyway. I got some antibiotics and everything was A-OK in just two days.



My mom took this picture of me (below), and said, "this is what happens when you have surgery". I thought, what, you turn into a stir crazy lunatic? I think I would make a good poster figure for hospitals across the nation, don't you?




My foot was BIGGER THAN MY HEAD! LOL. Well, it sure felt that way. And I'm still supposed to keep it above my heart. I thought size 10 was big before, whew. Ooooh, wait till you see my boot. The only shoe a girl can wear for a fabulous foot like this. It's very Frankenstein-ian. Maybe it can be a fashion statement- heck, I don't have bolts in my neck but I do have screws in my leg! Oh dear, if one or two get loose, along with this photo, I'm in trouble. Or maybe it's too late already. Cabin fever without even being snowed in.

Must stop rambling, no witty final remark I'm afraid, 'cause like I said... nothin' exciting.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Broken Ankle X-Rays: Post- Op

Some pretty pictures for you!

That is inside of me. That is my new leg. Had my post op review last Friday, and the nurse took off my soft outer cast, slapped a bandage over the staples, and gave me a "walking boot". A torture apparatus hidden by deceptive soft material and velcro straps. When the nurse bent my ankle up to a 90 degree angle to fit in the "boot" (iron maiden for my leg) it didn't hurt much at first- a quick gasp of pain was all for the first 15 minutes. What had hurt worse was the swabbing of my cut and staples, like I suddenly had a million new nerve endings in my leg and even the brush of a downy feather would have made me grit my teeth. But I got my boot, an extremely brief chat with the Doc, about 3 minutes, and then it was off to the payment and checkout counter.



That's when the band started tuning up, stealing my breath and blurring my vision with involuntary leakage. The Snazzy True Blue Screws played a good set that day, but what really got me down was learning that somewhere between 8 and 12 weeks after my surgery ( that's 6 1/2 to 10 1/2 weeks from now) they're going to cut me open again and remove the biggest screw. Apparently if I try to walk with out my special boot I can snap the damn screw, so to be truly ambulatory the biggest screw has got to go. I'll have seven left, lucky number seven.


I can put pressure and some weight on my foot, but I am NOT to walk without the boot until after the screw. I'm mostly still wheelchair bound anyway- my foot is still supposed to stay up as much as possible. Plus my ankle is sprained as well as some big tendon that's torn- I asked the doctor what it was called and he even spelled it out but he talks way too quick. He records his session notes on a little voice recorder, and he speaks so fast I told him he should be an auctioneer. Another doctors visit this friday, when hopefully he isn't running an hour and a half behind schedule so I can get a little more time for detailed info, and then I'll be free of him (hopefully) for 6 to 10 weeks.

Well, thats the boring story and fascinating pictures. Next time I'm putting up pictures of my stapled skin!I I'll chat first so you don't have to scroll down to see them if you don't want to. I ( well actually, my mom) re-bandaged it this morning and I almost lost my breakfast. Oh boy :D!

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Broken Ankle X-Rays: Pre-Op

The pictures are from before my surgery, basically just look at the skinny bone. I wish I had an X-Ray of it PRE break to compare, because it doesn't look all that bad to my untrained eye. The story is a direct transcription from "The Broken Ankle Book" in which I keep track of my pills, pain, and travails. The following excerpt is the 30 hour time period encompassing the immediate before, during (obviously was not awake for that) and after hours of my surgery. AND before you get all judgemental, because I am going to be completely honest, I never took the prescribed amount of Hydrocodone (20mg every three hours) because I was trying to be "tough" instead of a "druggie". So if it seems like I took a lot of pills to you, ONE DAY after surgery resulting in EIGHT screws and a plate in my leg... Please do come over and let me take a sledge hammer to your ankle after which we can discuss the merits of painkillers. I mean that with the same purely good intentions as the people who warn me about addictions and tsk tsk at my needing anything stronger than ibuprofen at all. :) Oh, and by the way, while I "censored" the swearing, I said I'd be honest and I meant it.



10:15pm thursday, july 7th
No food allowed after midnight so I ate a huge dinner. No Ibuprofen allowed either so I'm taking 10mg Hydrocodone (HC) instead of 5. Not just because of the Ibu- a mouse just jumped onto my wrapped up ankle and I instictively jerked and twisted my ankle to get it off. Oh S#$^ the pain. Maybe I at least undid any knitting my bones have done in the 3 days since the 3 breaks. Am scared that I am already healing wrong. One hour 15 minutes 'till I cant eat or drink anything but clear liquids. After 9am not even a drop of water allowed.

Surgery is at 3pm but we have to get to hospital by 1. Procedure is an hour and a half and supposedly I can check out by 6pm. HC is not only good pain relief but great for anxiety- I may be getting a plate and screw in my foot (aw, how naive) but I'm not even scared. We'll see how lovely I feel this weekend though, eh? Must note pill count throughout recovery- no addictions for me, betch. (Please watch the "Shoes" video by Kelly on youtube for correct pronunciation and usage of this hilarious word.)



8 am, Friday, July 8th
15mg HC and a gatorade to last me until 6pm. AM SO DAMN HUNGRY ALREADY.

7 pm
Home. 8 screws and a plate in ankle. No food yet. A little sleepy but will eat 1st. Must keep foot above heart for 72 hours- 5pm Monday. :( At least am totally numb from a pain block they gave me and amazingly painless.

10 pm
Numbness fading pain intruding... a lot... taking a 10mg HC and hitting the hay.

11:15 pm
O god the pain sleep impossible taking 15mg HC can feel every screw in bone trying to breathe except then I would cry. O god OW O F@#$ OW O GOD F@#$%

11:45 pm
Still O F@##$% If this monstrous pain doesn't subside in another half hour then F@#$% the rules I'm either having another pill or a F@#$%^& beer. Maybe both.

12:05 am
OK I cried a tiny bit. The HC is making me sleepy, as is the time, and the pain is no longer crying pain. It's as painful as you can get without actually hitting the crying level. It is bite your lip try to breathe pain. It is rub your face because you don't know how much more you can take pain. It is there-is-a-giant-metal-screw-through-my-ankle FOR REAL pain. So what if the HC makes me sleepy because this pain would only let me sleep if I was dead.

12:20 am
OMFG I forgot I can take ibuprofen now ooooh S@#$$. O GOD CRY I can't get to it F@#$%^ me.

12:35 am
OK had to cry for about 10 minutes. Managed to move easy ( haha not so easy under the circumstances) chair to get ibuprofen. Got ice for foot. Back to lip biting stage but I can mostly breathe.

12:52 m
I know it's too soon for hope of ibu kicking in but now I'm getting stabbing throbs up my shin. Also I keep realizing I'm tensing my foot and I CANNOT stop. Every time I relax I find it tensed again.

2 am
OK hell with it I'm "sleeping" in my chair tonight. Think I just got about 45 minutes. OW crap I'm taking another 10mgs. It's been 3 hours so F@#$% it.

3 am
Pain scale...16 or 17 out of 10. Tired as hell. Can't sleep. I can close my eyes and "listen" to the pain, though. A sharp searing here, a dull throbbing there, a dancing mix of the two across my ankle. The searing shoots up my shin like a squealing saxophone or an 80's hairband vocalist, the bass thuds in my foot and the dancing mix is more like drums-maybe cymbals wrapped in a layer of felt. A 3 piece band of pain.

THE SNAZZY TRUE BLUE SCREWS

Here is a visual I made to go with the sounds.

3:30 am
That's right. Am taking another 10mg before it gets worse again. Pain, pills, and insomnia. What better party could a girl ask for? Why, music, of course. Her own personal live band, playing very, very locally.

4:19 am
Will try one more time to sleep in bed. Luck to me. Got hour and half ish of sleep (not all at once) in chair.

6:09 am
Pain woke me took 10mg of HC, attempt sleep.

7:30 am
Got an hour of pain laced sleep, had to pee, 10 more mgs. Mom's making me pizza and Ima have a beer with it DAMMIT. And an Ibuprofen.

9:08 am
20mg HC. 1st time I take actual prescribed dose.

10 am
One ibuprofen.

11:47 am
Got another hour and half of sleep. Pain worsening. 10 minutes and and I can take my next dose, 1 minute till I start crying. However I might have slept longer if neighbor hadn't come over calling, "helloooo, hellooooo". I didn't answer.

Moral of the story: actually I kind of hate projected morals, I say get whatever YOU want out of something, so this moral is the lesson that I learned, and you don't have to take anything from it at all. What I came away with from that most painful night of all the moments since the break, even more painful than the actual break, is to follow doctor's orders. He SAID that the first 3 days would be the worst and that's WHY he prescribed what he did. By taking only two thirds of the HC (85mg out of 120) I did not get a badge of honor, a purple heart or silver star or least of all quicker healing. I got precious little rest- one of the most important factors in healing, and agony that stretched minutes into days. I did get a pretty picture and a cool band name. But when the doctor says drink plenty of fluids and get lots of rest, you don't sprint a mile with no water. Five days later and the pain is less; so are the pills. There IS no "tough" or "druggie" the day after surgery, there is conscious, careful, thoughtful healing, and a great thankfulness to those who help you through it all.

Next time I promise much happier update, PLUS the exciting "after" X-Rays! Pretty Cool!!!!

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Yes it was just a fall. Ker- snap!



Okay, listen up peeps. Something like 60% of deaths in the home are caused by FALLING DOWN. All I did was break my ankle in 3 places- so really, I'm lucky that I didn't hit my head or neck and DIE. I'm sorry I don't have some awesome story about how I was mountain climbing and I slipped, my foot went into a crevice sideways and snap goes the ankle. (And yes that will be my story from now on.) Please witness exhibit A:


This is the heel of the shoe I was wearing. See how the right side is waaaay more worn down than the left? Thats the side my ankle rolled on. I clipped a big rock on that side and slid down the rock, which started the ankle roll. Then onward into the loose gravel that took my falling twisting momentum and curved may ankle deeper sideways into the rocks until a nice gooey crunching sound happened and I was on the ground. It sounded just like when Pheonix is eating a mouse; skin, tissue, bones and all in each bite. Crunch crunch smack.



Exhibit B: These shoes were, obviously, past their prime. They were extremely loose and my feet were always sliding all over the place in them anyway. Lastly, (and apparently walking and texting is actually illegal in some city, I forget where) I was looking at my phone.

So, Ladies and Gentlemen, let us review. Of the five defendants; Big Rock, Gravel, Bad Shoe, Phone, and Miss Fortune, who plead not guilty, has the jury reached a decision? What's that? A MISTRIAL!?! An accident you say? Unable to prosecute Miss Fortune, sister of Lady Luck, due to clauses in her job description? Then this court has no choice but to dismiss the case. WHAM! *Banging Gavel*

Moral: accidents can happen from a collection of seemingly small and insignificant variables coming together just wrong. Ah well, spilled milk and all. I'm not in much pain unless I touch the dang leg anywhere from the knee down. I have to say I wish it happened in winter, but I plan to be on my crutches ASAP. I ain't missin' my summer! I'm supposed to keep my leg up for 48 hours, so only 12 more to go. The wheelchair is pretty handy though. And tomorrow it's off to the doc to see if I get to have some metal in there. "Ah vill be da tam-en-atah" (bad Arnie impression translating to "I will be the terminator"). LOL. Updates soon, and hopefully some pics of my x-rays, too! Squeamish be warned.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Sugar Pie Honey Bunch



You know that I love you, I can't help myself... When I see your face I get all choked up inside...
Yes, I almost cried when my boy came home after my trip. I pet about a pound of winter fur off him as hew meowed and purred and rolled all over. Honestly, I could have stuffed a pillow with all that extra fur. My prince, he knows he is loved. But he knows it so well, that I have to tell you a strange story, and a funny one about our reunion.



While I was gone, he was glimpsed only twice. Mom would come over to feed the fish and kitties, and he was never here. In fact, she was worried enough to get a can of cat food ( a treat, he usually has dry food and pack rats, though I'd say he gets about 4 cans a week) and she went looking all over for him, hoping to lure him with the scent. She didn't want to stress me, so she downplayed it a bit, but I did lose his sister when I left for a week. And the day that Genevieve disappeared, I knew in my heart within 5 hours that she was gone, and she was. I'm very aware of my cats patterns, and I know that occasionally Pheonix has a 2 day walk about, so that's what Mom and I were both rooting for.



Now, I'm sure you've heard stories of lost pets traveling thousands of miles to find their human families- this is not what Pheonix did- but still, after six days of being all but nonexistent, the day I flew home he was in back in my house all day. As if he knew I was coming home through some animal sixth sense. I was about an hour later than I thought I would be, and he apparently gave up waiting.... just barely an hour before I got home. I'm sure it's all coincidence, but it's still kind of weird. I went walking around, calling for him- he always comes when he's called if he's in ear shot ( contrary to popular belief, dogs are not the only animal to do so, although cats come to the sound of a can opening as readily as their name) but I didn't find him, so I went home to wait. He came back a few hours later for the aforementioned love fest, but then, after about fifteen minutes of this, he took off outside. I was slightly indignant. Didn't he want to hang out?

Oh my dear sweet baby, you know what he did? He went out and got me a gift rat. The entire time I'm gone, not a single bloody carcass (usually a daily or semi daily event), and as soon he finds me home, he runs out to get me a welcome home present. Yes, a gross one, but still. He really loves me. And he has not left my side since. Including taking up the whole dang bed, a magic trick whose secret is known only 16 pound furry bodies. But hey, if he can make my heart take up too much room in my chest, he can have all the bed space he wants. My spoiled beloved prince booger head.



This one's for you, Robin, thanks for jump starting me ;)

P.S. My trip made me feel as loved as Pheonix. I am so lucky. And I got way yummier meals TO SAY THE LEAST. lol.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

I guess jewelry is universal


Kay, this photo doesn't do it justice, but this is a BEAUTIFUL piece. Silver surrounding a giant hunk of turquoise mixed with lapis and malachite. It's never leaving my body. I'll be buried with it. Nah, that would be wasteful. Besides, I don't want to be buried. Anyhoo, all the jewelry I have is meaningful to me. I almost never buy my own; in fact, my most precious adornments are gifts from loved ones. Mom, sister, Nana, Gromma... is it a female thing? I hate being stereotyped, but... omg I almost forgot to mention the awesome necklace an awesome girl made me. I wear it pretty much every day. It has a tiger's eye in it, a favorite stone of mine. And a .45 shell. It is so... running out of good adjectives here. Don't make me grab my thesaurus. I just never appreciated jewelry as much before. But having it connected to great people adds so much meaning. I'm a lucky one.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Woohoo 47 degrees

It is so blessedly warm out. I can actually stand outside and not be cold. Last night I had no kitties under my covers. It is just so amazing to not be COLD. The nasty ugly black road ice is dropping from my car. Yesterday I wanted to power hose it off, but it was way too cold to be fiddling with water outside.
Such a difference from tuesday. It was awful driving home from school that night- near white out conditions, ice coating the INSIDE of my windows... it took 80 minutes to make the 45 minute journey home, and I was white knuckled the whole way. I am never going to make it to summer. I want it to be spring RIGHT NOW. Shorts and flip flops. Auuuugh.

Last night my neighbor Ranger and I were at my mom's house. I was coloring a faux stained glass picture for the back of my fish tank and mom was doing needle point. Yeah, I'm 3- "28", and I color. In coloring books. And I like it. Anyway, Ranger asked me how I like hanging out with "older people". My best companions are 50 -60 plus, Ranger being in there somewhere. I said, I love it, even prefer it, except for the hearing problems. For some reason almost every one of them has something wrong with their hearing, which can make for some interesting conversations.

Me: "Mom, do you have any scotch tape?"
Mom: "Wine? The wine's right there."

But that stuff is entertaining. No, I told Ranger, the only times I really don't enjoy are the hour long, boring as hell, discussions about medication. All in technical terms, not, "my pain meds are working" but "have you tried prednisone? It's great but you cant mix it with loratadine. Oh, yes, the whothewhatsenol, that's good but your doctor wont prescribe it with thatotherstuffazine."

I know someday I'll have more intimate knowledge on the subject, but for now im good with : headache? tylenol. sore muscles? ibuprofin. long day at school? coors light.

Gotta enjoy the simplicity where and when I can.

Monday, January 24, 2011

omg ice

So the ice got its revenge. I was standing one second and in the next the horizon had changed. Oh the pain. My head hit once, rebounded, hit again. But the worst is my arm. Aaaaugh the arm that I messed up before. I am such a complainist but OMG the pain. Ow. I am ready for summer. oh gawd the pain. Pain. From ear and jaw to neck to fingertips. Not cool, man. Not cool. Let's all vote 4 summer. Ouch.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

ice ftl

Ice... sucketh. I chipped at my ice covered driveway with my pick mattock till my hands couldn't clench anymore. It's beautiful out, though. Easily 50 degrees. I sat out in the sun and it was wonderful. Made me some vitamin D. But that darn ice... still learning abut life in snow country. Shovel immediately! Don't let that puffy white snow turn into compacted, slippery ice!!!

(Digression. Some people call that tool a "pick axe", but I promise you it's a pick mattock. Worked better than the baseball bat, but not by much.)

Anyway. I love the heckfire out of school, but I just realized that I miss hermitdom. Being out in the beautiful yard, on a beautiful day, healthy work to do and the only sounds: birds and me. Going to school is dealing with traffic and people everyday. I like it, but I'm still hermitgrrl at heart. Today I' just enjoying the sun, music, driveway clearing, and solitude. But just so you know, when I'm enjoying my solitude, I'm thinking about the good things in my life, and number 1 is all the people I love. I am SO LUCKY. So many loved ones.

(Digression; Take 2: It is so quiet here that an airplane passing overhead wakes me up in the middle of the night. Yowza)

I sincerely hope everyone out there is as lucky, blessed, and happy as I humbly am. Even if you're testing baseball bat vs. pick mattock on your driveway... /salute.

Friday, December 24, 2010

If a Crow can use a crosswalk...



That should be a joke, but I'm afraid I haven't a punch line for it. Since I've already established that I'm a "well crafted ranter" (oh wait that was my teacher) for animals, a sufferer of Bleeding Heart Syndrome in my own terms, let me tell you: man, do I miss my furry kids. It's been 9 days since I've seen them, 9 days since anyone dragged a string for them or coaxed them out of trees onto their shoulders.

The home trip from CA to AZ has been longer than anticipated thanks to my BHS. 'Course, my traveling companions weren't adverse to the detour, on the contrary actually. It started when we saw a dog limping across the highway. Black with a white ruff, it didn't spare a single glance to the cars honking at it... just stumbled along in a stupor. I demanded we turn around, and the vote was unanimous. When I tried to approach it, it shied away, but I got close enough to see the blood running down its leg. Long story short, we trailed it until it took shelter in a small rock outcropping. Then we called every 411 number we could get our hands on for Humane Society, animal control, etc. No one answered, though I dialed every minute for 16 calls. Mom called 911 and was admonished- not for animals, yo. Not even for a bleeding, dazed, "man's best friend". I get it, I guess. I mean, I'd put my family over my furry kids, as I believe this trip has proved, but I just can't stop caring.

Well, after the calls failed us, we flagged down a car. The driver just happened to have a son on the town council, and that fellow finally got the ball rolling. A guy came out, and from then on it rested in his hands. We did what we could. Where exactly IS the line between human and animal life? Maybe it's different for everyone. But for me... a bloody, shell shocked dog needs a helping hand in SOME form.

When these kittens were born, (in this photo they were less than a day old) I couldn't tear my eyes from them. It's been a year and a half and I still mourn them. Life is precious and beautiful. I have to help where I can. Even if they all died, I did everything I could, because in my opinion, if you do nothing you might as well be hindering.

The manager of the hotel I'm typing in right now cut me $20 bucks slack after he asked why I was traveling and I answered truthfully- I'm a crappy liar. Then I found out his 4 year old cousin was on her 3rd bone marrow transplant for leukemia. I prayed for her. I don't know if it will do a lick of good, but we gotta care. We just have to. It's not what separates us from animals, it's what separates us from a crappy world. I'm sure as heck fire no saint, but in my peasly opinion, we have to care for all life. Because the opposite of life is death.

I guess I mentioned the crow because I believe that animals aren't as different from humans as some would like to believe. They have smarts, and they can suffer. I would make a shitty researcher because I would interfere to help instead of just observing. Those mean birds that kill their own chicks.. I know that's life, but... Hell, Star Trek made it clear that to best observe new civilizations you can watch but not interfere. But just the act of observing something changes it. Anyway.

I guess my sleep deprivation is fumbling my words and their intent like a poorly thrown football that hits the ground instead of getting caught, so I'll stop soon. I just want some answers. I donate to animal saviors whenever I can, (from PETA to WWF) but where were they when this poor dog needed help? I know it's a hard world. If only my heart were as concrete. Every one and every thing dies. I know that. Yet knowing that will never stop me from trying to help. Perhaps that is why I don't have children. BHS may be just as bad a genetic trait as cancer- certainly something I wouldn't want to pass on.

I'm not gonna stop caring though. I can't.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Semester complete


I got an 85% on my paper. "A well crafted rant". The 30% of my grade paper. 225 points out of 300. Cool. My ego needed that. Actually, I'd prefer a lick on the forehead from Clarence. Animals are medicinal NOT for research but for companionship. They never lie, and their deepest ulterior motive is food. And they never hurt you emotionally, except when they die. PHYSICALLY... I cannot deny that, being a bridge/ transporter/ elevator/ defender against dogs, there may be some scarring. But the love and loyalty is unmatched. Even if they take up the whole dang bed. All 8 pounds of them. It's 8 pounds of pure heart. And soft cozy furry warmth.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

What a Day


It's my big lil' bro's birthday, and my dad had successful surgery. I've been gnawing my nails all day, trying to be big strong etc. Bravado doesn't do much for the appetite though. Or self recriminations. Finals on thursday. The big big 30% of our grade paper was due last week- I have no idea how I did and I don't know if I'll even get more than the final class grade, sans the particulars. I don't feel great about this paper but I still want to know what grade I got. Escapeism ftw. PainterLady told me about this video you can watch on youtube "da vinci machine origami" that illustrates the accuracy and amazing proficiency of this particular surgical device... But if you watch it (there is NO gore btw) I can honestly say that I have crafted, twice in my life, smaller cranes than that. With my bare hands and no glasses, magnifying or otherwise. I was twelve, so my hands were smaller, for sure, but still. I always called em my "smaller than a booger" cranes. N E way.

Here's my paper if you're interested. It's really long and meandering which is why I'm worried about my grade. Uggghhhh I can't even read it again. It's way too personal and and at the same time too general. Why couldn't I just make a good strong point and argue it? though, I must say, worrying about it is much better than worrying about loved ones. My lil bro isn't even having a nice birthday dinner and my dad is spending the night in a hospital. Crapola. Well, here is my bad paper.

Freedom for Funktionslust

Could you kick a one year old in the side, knocking her down, break a couple ribs? Not morally, I’m sure… and definitely not legally- wouldn’t that earn you a jail sentence and hopefully an unfriendly welcome by your new inmates? Sorry, but it’s completely legal. For non-human victims, that is. The Animal Welfare Act of 1966 is the strongest law in existence to prevent cruelty to animals, yet it only applies to pet cats, dogs, and guinea pigs (why that last? I have been unable to determine that seemingly random addition). Pets, remember. Not test subjects, and certainly not food (farm) animals. So let me rephrase: could you kick a 1-year-old calf, break a few ribs? Would its cries be just the automatic reaction of a biomachine devoid of feeling?
I love a tender skirt steak marinated in teriyaki and roasted over open coals. I’m also a sucker for chicken chalupas at Taco Bell. My palate is a far cry from my previous six years as a vegetarian. Yet I will still spend seven dollars on a six oz. can of tuna, fish that was caught with lines instead of nets to incur no collateral damage. I still donate to People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA). I know I do these things out of guilt. But where does this guilt originate, and why? Because I believe that animals have feelings and emotions, as do we. Empathy is one of our greatest and most painful of those.
So why aren’t I still vegetarian? It wasn’t hard, but then, I wasn’t the real deal: I had that line caught tuna as my one “they live free” excuse for the protein I needed. I also added more cheese and milk to my diet. When I really started to examine my decision I realized that it was based on the idea that animals should be allowed the freedom to realize their place in the natural scheme of things, a.k.a. “cage free”. Calves should frolic in meadows, chickens should enjoy a good roll in the dirt (mine are particularly fond of “dustbowls”), and their lives should end without horrible pain, suffering, fear or cruelty. But something like 95% of cheese must be made with rennet. Rennet (also called “enzymes” on the ingredients label): the stomach lining of a baby cow, because what could render cow milk better than the very creature the milk was designed for? And inevitably the stomach lining, or rennet, has come from veal calves; the epitome of the animal cruelty I was trying to protest with my dietary decisions.
Seems I had the dreaded disease of Anthropomorphism- insufficient diet? No- before you run off to your doctor because you’ve had too much brie with your wine lately, let me put it in laymen’s terms: bleeding heart syndrome (BHS). How was I to live, healthy AND guilt free?
I turned to nature for answers. Agriculture has been around for maybe 10,000 years. But nature, organisms, life on this planet has not only existed but thrived for exponentially longer. It is a perfect balance of cycles, a turning, unbroken ring, not a chain with humans as the end link. In fact, let’s look at the part of the cycle with humans first instead of ending with them. A human dies. She is eaten by worms, which cast off rich droppings. Flies lay eggs in her so that their larvae can hatch into an abundance of food. Grass grows in the enriched earth, drawing rabbits, and the maggots feed chickens, which humans hunt and eat. The humans die of old age or accident (or misadventure, earning a “Darwin Award”), history repeats. Obviously simplistic, but it is a cycle. Humans claim to be at the top of the food chain. Ever seen one of those bumper stickers, “I didn’t fight my way to the top to eat veggie burgers”? Anthropocentrism (interpreting reality exclusively in terms of human values and experience) is a disease far more harmful than BHS in my opinion.
I would hope that most people at least know, if not agree with or understand, the quote, “With great power comes great responsibility”. If humans are the monarchs of the animal kingdom, what sort of rulers should we be? I think we would want to sustain our position, and thus need a sustainable base. I would no sooner ask a cheetah to desist dining on it’s favorite meal, the tiny Thompson gazelle, than I would ask King Henry the 8th to please push aside his turducken for the Brussels sprouts and asparagus. However, cheetahs do not confine their prey to immobility in tiny cages, and Kings relied on hunting parties for their meat.
I see hunting to feed your family no different from a hunter shooting a deer than to a falcon feeding its nestlings. Unfortunately, the vast majority of hunting by humans is for sport and not food. This is a major issue where we have not accepted our responsibility as so called “top of the food chain”. It isn’t just the waste of a food source, it is the culling of the biggest, strongest, and most viable specimens a species has to offer. If the leader of a herd of elk is killed to decorate a human lodge, it will not be able to pass on its superior genes. A weaker bull will take its place, not only as procreator but also as the next trophy. Thus the gene pool of the herd is eroded, relying on weaker and smaller animals to pass on their traits. If humans were to consider hunting the smaller and weaker animals of a herd, we would actually be raising the value of our food source instead of decimating it.
This is the natural role of a predator. Yet once again, we must step in, and step up. In the 1800’s especially, natural predator population declined severely. Bears, wolves, pumas, as well as scavengers and smaller animals- vultures, wolverines, foxes: they were all put on the human enemy list. I can argue that it was another one of many bad decisions by humans to all but eliminate them, but that won’t change the fact that it’s already happened. I’d rather look to remedy than the mystics of bending time.
Valley forge, Pa. You can see easily between 50 and 150 deer in one day. I stopped to take a picture of a newborn fawn not 4 feet from the roadside. Barely bigger than my 14-pound cat who rules some 16ish acres where I live, the fawn shared a short moment with its mother in study of our car, and then they slowly ambled into the woods. They are so overpopulated due to lack of predators that they are almost tame. So, the kill allowance was increased for the hunting season. Humans took responsibility for the predators whose roles needed filling, and still, our source of meat was free to eat tender shoots of fresh spring grass in the sunlight. Most chickens you eat will have lived their entire lives in darkness.
That is my omnivore excuse. We can’t just hop off the Ferris wheel whenever we choose, anymore than we can get rid of wolves and bears without upping our hunting limits. I would like to point out that herbivores, like horses, have all flat teeth. Carnivores, like lions, have all sharp teeth: even their molars have jagged crowns. Then there are humans. Omnivores. We have some teeth for chewing, and some for tearing. And I feel that it is not our design to change, at least not entirely. But neither were animals meant to change to the mere products they have become.
The whole food cycle is more than just a natural relationship. It also has the more subtle inclinations towards vetoing the ability for animals to feel, let alone have souls. Animals are our property, to eat, experiment on, kill for pleasure, or fetch us our morning paper. I say if your dog loves to grab the paper or your kitten likes to sleep under your covers, great. But even better is the freedom of choice they have. Does a veal calf even have the choice to turn around? Does a monkey have a choice in whether or not to receive anesthesia while being tied down and cut open, fully conscious and alive? Vivisection: another legally sanctioned form of torture. And torture can flow with the cycle and hurt us, too.
The most deadly form of E. coli bacteria exists purely because animals do not have freedom and are subject to unnecessary cruelty. Did you know that the standard strain of E. coli can be defeated by a human’s stomach acid, with no medical assistance? Normally the bacteria live in an extremely neutral ph, for example, a cow’s stomach. Moving from there to my stomach would be like putting a cartoon character into Dip, or, if you haven’t seen Who Framed Roger Rabbit, stick your hand in a boiling deep fryer for comparison. A normal cow, a ruminant, lives on grass, not grains. But factory farmed cows are not fed grass, they are fed corn, mixed with antibiotics, protein supplements, and liquefied fat. Cow fat. Feeding unused, rendered cow parts back to cows seemed like another cash shortcut until all the mad cow disease bad press. “The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) ban on feeding ruminant protein to ruminants makes an exception for blood products and fat” (Pollan 76). So cows are still eating cow blood and fat. Their stomachs bloat and grow acidic; it is a diet that cannot be sustained for longer than 150 days due to liver disease, ulcers, feedlot polio, and more. Even if the threat of mad cow disease is lowered, the cow’s stomachs are now as acid as ours, and the bacteria E. coli has adapted to strain Escherichia coli 0157:H7, a strain that swims happily in the oceans of human stomachs. And all we have to do is put the cows back in the pastures. They live happy and healthy, as do we, and 0157:H7 is off the menu.
But what about research on animals? Exempt. Cartesian scientists nailed dogs down to boards by their four paws and then cut them open to study the circulation of blood. They claimed that the cries of the dogs were but the noise of a spring that had been touched, like a spring in a clock. A Greek named Galen who experimented with monkeys had already undertaken vivisection in Rome. Yet “it was Leonardo da Vinci, founder of the modern science of anatomy, who discovered that Galen’s anatomical descriptions were incorrect”(Briggs 9). Centuries ago, people of high intelligence found animal research to be inadmissible for humans. The feelings of animals were not at the center of the debate, if they were in it at all. Still, the proof was in the pudding- and yet animals are used for research exponentially more than ever before.
The most basic study in animal research is called LD50 (lethal dose 50 percent). A product is introduced to rats, mice, rabbits, monkeys, any animal. The product, be it a new floor cleaner, blood thinner, or lipstick, will be injected, smeared into the eyeballs, or force-fed to the test subjects. Painkillers cannot be administered because they might interfere with the chemicals being tested and interfere with results. After 50 percent of the animals die, the project is considered complete and the toxicity level determined. Sounds like cruel and unusual punishment to me- but was their crime? Being non-human.
In terms of new furniture polish, that will regulate the warning labels. If the test material is medicinal in nature and it lengthens human lives, it is considered productive research. According to neurologist Aja Octar, only 8 percent of medicinal products tested on animals are viable for humans, and half of those are recalled (30 Days). Simple use of human skin cells, harvested and grown with no harm or pain to anybody, are far more accurate depicters of human and drug interaction. Consider this: Aspirin. One of, if not the most, widely used pharmaceuticals. Yet it is deadly to felines. What if our intrepid researchers had tortured hundreds of cats and determined aspirin to be unsafe? There are numerous alternatives to animal testing, and they are far more accurate. “In vitro research uses cell and tissue cultures in a test tube or Petri-dish, and one of its uses is drug development” (Willams, DeMello 203). I know I’d prefer a plastic dish to a screaming cat if I were a scientist in a lab.
That dreaded term, anthropomorphism, rears its head again. “The old German term funktionslust refers to pleasure taken in what one can do best- the pleasure a cat takes in climbing trees, or monkeys take in swinging from branch to branch. This pleasure, this happiness, may increase the animal’s tendency to do these things, and will also increase the likelihood of its survival” (Massson, McCarthy 13). Biologist Marcy Cottrell Houle observed a pair of peregrine falcons raising five nestlings. One day the female did not return, and the male doubled his efforts in search of food. On the third day of the female’s disappearance, “Arthur (the male) uttered an unfamiliar sound, a ‘cry like the screeching moan of a wounded animal, the cry of a creature in suffering’”(Masson, McCarthy 91). The fourth day Arthur never left his perch, and three of the five nestlings died. On the fifth day the male resumed his hunting. Was this a faulty creature? Just a failed spring in the machine, hindering its species survival? Or was it displaying an emotion?
Jane Goodall is one of the worlds leading researchers in the behavior of apes. She observed an 8-year-old male chimpanzee sitting at his dead mothers side, occasionally tugging her hand. As the days past and he failed to eat, he became increasingly lethargic, only once leaving her body to climb a tree and stare at the sleeping nest he had shared with his mother. Within the month, he died of gastroenteritis. [Goodall’s scientific conclusion was: “It seems likely that psychological and physiological disturbances associated with loss made him more vulnerable to disease”] (Masson, McCarthy 74). A fellow scientist said simply, “he died of grief”.
Do animals feel? Does it matter if they do? What if the Animal Welfare Act was literal and all encompassing, making cruelty illegal for all creatures, from food to fur, research to companions. Then we could eat all the meat we wanted, pop our aspirin, and cozy up in vests made of recycled water bottles. I’m not trying to convince anyone to go vegetarian or stop wearing leather. I AM trying to stop people from using animals as research. I am trying to stop cruelty. If humans are the kings, shouldn’t we be just and fair? Maybe wear a faux fur lined robe instead of one made of anally electrocuted and skinned alive chinchillas? I heard this quote somewhere: “It takes 40 dumb animals to make a fur coat but only one to wear it”. If we are so superior, shouldn’t we be benevolent as well?
I believe it is time for humans to actually accept the responsibility we’ve claimed. I’m going to try to kill a turkey this year, but I don’t know if I can do it. I’ll be drinking out of my Nalgene water bottle and eating potatoes from my garden, petting my cat on her head and maybe tossing her an entrail or bloody feather. But at least I know these turkeys led good lives; I raised them. They lived cruelty free; got to scratch at the dirt, fly out of the pen (the buggars), and show off their full plumage when they were feeling particularly full of prowess. At least until that final deathblow, which I hope will be quick. I’m part of the food circle, not the cruelty cycle.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Hermitgrrl revealed



I always wanted this blog to be anonymous, but that is silly since the only people who scope this know me. So here's a cool pic of me being a glow stick version of the statue of liberty. Oh dear. I suddenly sense hidden meanings which I did NOT intend. I am no statue of righteousness. LOL. Wearing a necklace my sistah got for me in PA. Love it. Mac's kick ass. They have this built in camera thingy that has all these awesome effects, like "thermal" which is what I used. It really brought out the glow sticks, which I obtained at a party next door. A lot of people were happy to donate their glow sticks to my hair, and, silly as it sounds, I felt kinda like a princess. Girl stuff, I guess. Ha Ha funny green alien girl princess. Anyway, a girl's allowed to show off her plumage once in a while, right? Shrug. Who knows? :)
Love to all.

P.S.

I'd like to give a shout out to my Granny, who just turned 80, and grew up in the south yet refused to allow racism to permeate her or her kids minds, one of whom, obviously, gave birth to me.

Happy Birthday Awesome lady!

This week, to he@# with "should"

It's been a long week. I guess, it being Sunday, I should say "last week". But I'm kind of over 'should'. Like, I 'should' have left those babies to die. I 'should' have done so many things. We all have those thoughts- I'd make that a question, as if seeking affirmation, but like I said I'm casting aside the 'should' 's. Of course we all have regrets- hindsight is 20/20. I don't regret taking those babies in, nor do I regret turning them over to a rehabilitation center. I miss them, of course. Little Elvis, who always wanted to leave the building and /or sing (scream). Rocky, who was good at the bottle, Consuela who would fall asleep with her head tucked under herself in my arms. I did the right thing. I saved their lives, and turned them over to people who could further assist them in their reintroduction to nature.

However.

Did you know that computers have "fingerprints" and "DNA" just like us? It's called an IP address. Traceable. You can put it in a data base, compare it to, say, emails you've received. Well. I had many a person warn me about rabies, etc. And I cared very much that people were worried about me; hell, I felt loved. But the other day I encountered a full uniform, shiny metal star on chest, AZ wildlife fish and game man. My gate was locked so he actually walked up my long, long driveway to find me. This wasn't an act of love. It was pure malice. So I started digging up IP's.

To digress, (my favorite way of telling stories, John would be proud) I have tried to walk the silk thread line between supporting my mom and not messing with other people. "Other" meaning the ones against her. All I want is for every one to be happy- haha, yeah, I'm an idealist, I know. But when "some one" reported me for 'harboring wildlife', I had to consider: who had I told? Who knew (and thought it bad) that I had rescued babies with the sole intent of saving them, rehabbing them.

I traced the IP addresses. Sure, I know who reported me, or at least have a good bit of connective evidence, but revenge? An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind. I'm sure as hell no saint, but I wish people could accept that instead of directing their hate at a random whipping boy they could spend their energy on making their own lives good. Why spend all your energy trying to hurt others, when you can spend that energy on making your life, and the lives you care about, better?

I heard a story on NPR once, told by a holocaust survivor. She went through mucho therapy and she came out with this: "I have the power to NOT forgive the Nazi's". That alone gave her strength. Because who doesn't want forgiveness? For even the tiniest thing, like, when I was 18 my Mom threw me a party, with actual "you're 18!" napkins and plates and I blew her off to go hang out with my friends. I've apologized for this many a time- for being a selfish, stupid teenager, and she has forgiven me again and again. She understands that I was just a, well, teenager. Full of self righteous independence.

What if my Mom had closed her door to me, not accepted my apologies? I would have withered inside, just like the Nazi's who found regret, not to mention self hate, and couldn't even seek redemption through apology. That is why it's so important to just let go of the hate. The self loathing. It's a slippery, down hill slope, self loathing. But if you keep giving out your love and kindness, instead of hate and revenge, maybe... we could all live happy?

yeah, it sounds like crazy talk. but isn't that sad? that it could be considered 'crazy' that i want everyone to be happy? Like i said, I'm no saint. I'm probably a big fat sinner. My intentions are good, though, and I think that is a goal worthy of striving for. Good intentions and happiness for all. Dang. I got all maudlin, didn't I. Like I said I'm an idealist. I hate drama, and I hate hate. See, I'm just as bad as the next guy. F#$@ hate. I'm starting to think that maybe all anyone needs is a big effin' hug and love. Wouldn't the world be better?

I'm thankful that my parents raised me, to not be in any way shape or form, racist. Or elitist. Or hateful in any way. I mean, I encountered the most racist man I've ever met, and I didn't engage in argument (or clock him over the head with a crowbar) I just pulled the "live and let live" card. Heck, maybe that makes me a pansy. But what if every one did that? What if he did that? Had his opinions, but went with the card I pulled, and kept up the exterior politeness?

Don't know.

I read an article about how people migrate towards 'like' people. But that's another tirade at another podium for another day.

I can honestly say that I wish all people well. If everyone was happy they would have no need to bring others down, so that is my wish: Happiness to everyone.

Even Gandhi had his bad moments. He said mean things to his own children. No one will ever be perfect, and I am far from there. But I still wish the best for everyone. Even those who wish me ill will. If they were happy they wouldn't want to hurt others. Damn I'm so bleeding heart syndrome. Well, that's all I got for now. I'm kind of still a "young'un" myself so you all may have already figured this stuff out. But i must say, I stick by the "can you look at yourself in the mirror and feel okay?" diagnostic. You know I don't mean your exterior. I'm going to go check right now.
Love to all,
Hermitgrrl