ugh. ouchie.

So, ever feel like crap and groan to yourself in an overly dramatic fashion as you writhe on the bed in a decidedly unattractive manner while praying both FOR and AGAINST death?  Well, that’s how I spent my Sunday night; I can’t recommend it at all.  😦

Last night I went out to a business dinner type doo-dad even though my acid reflux was trying to eat the enamel off of my teeth and all I wanted to do was snuggle with dogs.  However, tired dogs are good dogs so I hooked them up and took Herbert (puppy) and Life (old girl dog) to the restaurant (I left Teak at home to give him a break from puppy)(yeah yeah, it’s st. croix–there are some dog friendly and some non-dog friendly; you just have to know which is which).  Ordered dinner which I picked at…just wasn’t hungry as I had a funny tummy for 2 days.  But I always have fun with the beasties because folks love to pet and play with my dogs so I was happy I went out.  The painful rolling nasty feeling woke me up around 11pm.  I ran to the bathroom in the hopes of…well, going to the bathroom; nothing happened.   So I went back to bed and I wished I could relieve the pressure and a stabbing pain in my belly.  Seriously, I would have given my pinkie toe for just a fart.  I thought I had food poisoning based on pain; thankfully I don’t think that is the case (ah, food poisoning–where you pray NOT to fart) but I am mortified (MORTIFIED) that I figured out what is wrong with me. With this one realization I now know with a certainty that I am incredibly old.  Cabbage.  Mother fucking cabbage is trying to kill me.  Once vegetables start kicking your ass you know you are one small step away from not being able to sit in comfortable chairs because you will be unable to get up.  Soon I will need to go buy a hard wooden chair or else I will end up trapped on my couch.   Fucking cabbage.  On friday night after class I was hungry but, well, it was like 9pm and I thought, I know…I will saute some cabbage for dinner; that will be tasty.  So I did and then ate a big old bowl of cabbage.  Didn’t eat anything too crazy on Saturday but Saturday early evening my stomach started aching pretty badly.  I attempted the bathroom manuever again with limited success but didn’t think much about it until the pain fest what was Sunday night.  On Sunday afternoon I ate a large coleslaw for lunch…dammit! more fucking cabbage. So, this horrible stomach roiling hellfest of doom that is my stomach is so ouchie and I woke up this morning certain of my impending death.  Then, thankfully, I farted.  Then I realized I wasn’t sick, got dressed and came to work. 

What you should have learned from this message is DON’T EAT A CRAP TON OF CABBAGE; IT WILL HURT LATER.


You know what I figured out today?

Why she is my bestest friend…?

Why is E my bestest friend? ‘Cause she is as nuts as I am. Please read the following information provided by her about earwax.  And what I am taking from this little snippet of earwax wisdom (copied below) is apparently I smell bad and am going to die early of either heart disease or breast cancer because when there is earwax in my head it is the brown sticky kind rather than the dry grey crumbly kind.  Well, fuck me sideways. 

Is earwax connected to heart disease?

Q. I heard somewhere that the type of earwax you have is linked to your risk of heart disease. Can that be true?

A. One part of that “connection” is correct — humans have different types of earwax, also known as cerumen (suh-ROO-men). Wet earwax, which is brownish and sticky, contains about 50% fat and 20% protein. Dry earwax, which is gray and flaky, contains 18% fat and 43% protein. The type of earwax a person has is genetically determined.

In the early 1960s, one small study demonstrated a connection between wet earwax and atherosclerosis. In 1993, Lithuanian researchers found that people with wet earwax were more likely to have higher levels of apolipoprotein B, a protein that travels with particles of LDL (bad) cholesterol, while those with dry earwax were more likely to live longer. These data aren’t nearly enough to be “a connection.”

In 2009, Japanese researchers discovered that the gene that determines earwax type also codes for a transport protein called ABCC11 that may play a role in breast cancer. Women with wet earwax were somewhat more likely to have breast cancer (and a stronger body odor) than those with dry earwax. The researchers suggest that earwax type could someday be a tip-off of breast cancer risk. Whether they are right, or whether there is an association between earwax and heart disease, remains to be seen.

— Thomas Lee, M.D.
Editor in chief, Harvard Heart Letter

Dammit – earwax?

Okay, we are all well aware there is a screw or seven loose in my brain, yes?  Some of you may even know my strange affinity of remembering obscure medical randomness.  Now, I am sure that I was supposed to have learned more than this weird earwax factoid in the last week–alas, last night I spent a not insignificant amount of time thinking about the fact that earwax-type production is genetic.  The dominant gene produces the dark brown sticky kind but the recessive gene makes a more gray crumbly type of earwax.  WHY DO I HAVE THIS KNOWLEDGE? This will serve nothing of purpose in my life.  Apparently the recessive gray crumbly earwax is only common in native americans and asian folks.  The europeans are more commonly sticky and brown.   What disturbs me more than anything is how easy this ridiculous bit of trivia is to remember; but for 3 days I had to use the dog door because I couldn’t remember where the hell I put the key to the padlock. 

shut up.  I know I’m weird.  ~sigh~

Do not swallow…

Haha! y’all thought this was going to be a dirty post-didn’t ya?

So, I bought a stylus for my phone.  It came with an instruction manual (of all things).  One of the SAFETY PRECAUTIONS they have written in bold all caps is as follows:


mmmkay then.  I bought the wrong stylus; I wanted the swallowing/stabbing kind.  dammit.



So, my world has been…challenging of late. I don’t know if everything made me feel so out of control and this is the way I am trying to regain some control. Or maybe I am just sick of eating crap. Who knows? Who cares? The point of this random little post is that I have just spent 5 hours shopping, organizing, doing dishes, and cooking.
And I forgot how satisfying planning a menu, cooking, storing, and eating delicious home-cooked food can be. Satisfying and exhausting.
Thus far I have a roast in the crockpot which is slowly turning into something similar to Chipotle’s barbacoa. Tomorrow I will be making the cilantro/lime rice and making some burritos and chimichangas. I am also making some amazing beef barley soup; the smell in my house is so good the dogs keep walking around and sniffing. Herbert who has never seen anyone cook looks so excited by the smells that he is vibrating.
Tomorrow morning I’m planning on making a ‘Dutch baby’ apple pancake…similar to what can be eaten at Walker Bros pancake house in Illinois. If it turns out I will probably just implode from the deliciousness.
I’m excited about the pancake. 🙂

In other island news tis the season o’ camping. Every year around Easter a large number of people move to the beaches, set up tents, and celebrate Easter in the most unique way I’ve ever had the privilege to observe. If anyone is familiar with Pennsic, it appears to be very similar…just on a beach with no medieval trappings. But the territoriality and clan/camp mentality is very similar.
It’s awesome and I love that it exists; but to be honest I have never gotten an invite or hung out on the beach with all the celebrants. It can be intimidating to walk up to a large group of people you don’t know to ask if I can play. 🙂
Anyway, off to make more food. 🙂 have a great night folks.

Spotlight: A Phyllis

I had a cat.  Her name was Phyllis. 


I don’t quite know how to say this, but I am *not* a cat person.  In fact, I get great joy out of chasing a cat around while saying, “kitty kitty kitty kitty…” in a very annoying Elmira off of TinyTunes kind of way.  I understand dogs, I get them.  I can communicate with them and I understand pack mentality.  Cats?  not a clue.  I’ve often had them; we just never clicked.  Then I got a Phyllis.  She came from the animal shelter and was delivered by a friend of mine who worked there at the time.  They had spayed her and that caused her to be all shaved from the waist down.  What no-one counted on was that when she was stressed out she dropped hair like a porcupine throws quills.  So, before she ever came into my house the little black cat was, well, nekkid on the whole bottom of her body.  From the top–fuzzy black kitten.  From the bottom–OMG WHAT IS IT?!?! KILL IT WITH FIRE.   She was a hideous package of ugly from her snaggle vampire-looking teeth to her nekkid underbelly. 





 I was instantly in love. 🙂  She took a much longer time to decide she loved me.  In fact, even when she slept on my pillow every night she pretty much informed me with many a’ disdainful glare that although she had chosen me as her person I was not to take her for granted and needed to remember she could have done better


This cat made me laugh every day of her life, which sadly lasted only one year and ended yesterday, April 4, 2012.  I held her as the vet injected the disturbingly pink fluid of euthanasia.  Why?  Because people don’t spay or neuter their animals and cats procreate like crazy and disease runs rampant.  Then some unfortunate stray with Feline Leukemia Virus infected Phyllis despite her being vaccinated (it happens) during one of the many random turf wars fought by cats defending or gaining territory.  Phyllis’ health has been a struggle for the past four months including infections, non-healing wounds, and respiratory problems.  She continued to decline and after many trips to the vet for fluids, vitamins, and antibiotics we finally tested her for FeLV.  Since she was vaccinated it had been considered unlikely and therefore wasn’t tested for during her initial treatments.  She was positive.  She was sick, not getting any better, and I had to make the shitty decision to kill my cat.  The only cat with whom I had bonded.  The cat I loved. 

My Phyllis, the creepy adorable fearless hell monster of my heart. 


Rest in Peace Pretty Girl; you were loved by many.