Jesus Gets Another Kitty (and Other Short Stories From Behind the Locked Door)

A few years ago, a coworker with a dark sense of humor retired.  Her dream following retirement was to write a short book and title it "Jesus Gets Another Kitty" since so many of the kids we see have maimed so many kittens.  Its not uncommon to hear about how a kid nuked a cat in the microwave or have otherwise tortured the poor souls. 

When this coworker retired, I had a crazy notion to help her get started on her book, and I had a head full of ideas about some of the illustrations.  My problem:  I can't draw.  Therefore, I enlisted the help of my friend, Amy, to draw the ideas that were circulating in my head.  She captured them purrfectly.....uh, perfectly. 

Enjoy the visual experience of Jesus Gets Another Kitty (title by Annie, Ideas by me, illustrations by Amy).......

The Cover.  Here we see Jesus with his new unfortunate feline......

Our proud hellion nuking the poor cat.....

The precocious unsuspecting cutie sending the cat off to space.....

The emo teenager just giving the pussy a ride.....

In the end, the cat gets revenge.... 

My Little Secret

I now know why Superman wears his underwear on the outside of his clothing:

He swaggers down the street with a calm confidence.  He is definitely "all that and a bag of chips".  His shit certainly does not stink.  And nobody is gonna mess with a dude like that.

I get it now.  I really get it.

One of the best things I did on my vacation was to purchase new underwear.  I cannot stop talking about my undies.  I'm telling coworkers, men and women alike, all about how I have robots on my butt.  They are so fun and, like I do with most new things, I have now become obsessed with my panties.

I get out of bed in the morning with a bit of excitement for picking out a new pair of underwear to put on for the day.  As I slide them on, I peek in the mirror, say "oh yeah", and give my booty a love tap!  Oh, my God, I cannot believe I am blogging about my underwear.........times are slow for blogging topics I guess.

Still, my undies are on my mind all day long.  I choose my panty of choice based on my activity of the day.  For example, my favorite pair of underwear are grey with pink robots all over them.  I mindfully chose not to wear them to work one day in case I had to work on another floor.  I did not want to "waste" them on people I don't care about.  So I saved them for a day I was certain I would be working with my usual coworkers.  Does this sound a bit messed up to you?

Nobody sees them.  Or at least, they are not supposed to see them.  But that day I forced at least two coworkers to take a peek at my robot undies.  And last night at a bonfire, I showed the whole crowd (only they weren't the robot ones this time).  I was sober mind you.

Yes, this may seem all a little too obsessive and extreme, but wearing my novelty panties makes me feel happy.  I, too, walk with a little more confidence (I admit my shit does indeed stink, and I don't believe I come with a bag of chips....) all because of the simple pleasure of my little secret under my pants. 

OK, that sounded dirty.... ;)

Crazy Windy

Upon the advice of my friend, Beth, I ventured down to the Lake on this crazy windy day.  Spared by the threats of a major spring blizzard dumping 12-18 inches of snow on us, we lucked out with gusty 40-60 MPH winds.  I missed out on seeing the massive waves on our massive Lake yesterday because I was nervous to leave my house for fear the blizzard would magically dump all of the snow in just a matter of minutes.  This morning I awoke to find no more snow on the ground than when I went to bed (and the snow was not even measurable) and the winds were still whooping.  I didn't want another opportunity to pass me by to see the sights our Lake has to offer so I phoned up a friend and we braved the strong winds and cold air to see our Lake in motion.

We pulled up to the little beach I visited just weeks prior.  Immediately exiting the vehicle we felt the force of the wind.  "Its even a little scary", my friend uttered.  Scary but exiting and exhilarating to be out in such conditions.  We attempted to climb the tall ice mountains to get the full view of the Lake in all her glory.  We could hear the waves crashing against the ice-cliff fence, but we could not see over their height.  In our attempts to climb the mountainous creations, we grew a little hesitant.  Standing on icy footing, the force of the wind literally knocked us over on a few occasions.  Though it wasn't sunny, both of us wore our sunglasses to help protect our eyes from the ice and sand blowing at us.  Still, the icy spray pelted our faces with stinging sensations.  Our attempts were futile at best; we soon admitted defeat to the weather and retreated to our car.

Determined as we were to see the sights we so eagerly anticipated, we drove to a more accessible area.  We may have been chickens, but we were brave little chickens at least!  Walking up the path to the Lake, we were again met with the resistance of blowing ice, sand, and wind, but we had better footing which made us feel more secure.   So, we went to our Lakewalk where the wave action did not disappoint.  It was loud and crashy and amazing.  Though still pictures can't do the beauty and amazement of the real life picture justice, I am including a few below. 

An ice crusted bench from the spray Lake Sprays.

I Love Our Lake!

Things I Learned From my Mama

I don't have funny kid stories to share, but once in a while I do have funny parent stories to share.  We all learn a lot from our mamas who teach us some of life's most important lessons.  Here are just a few my mom taught to me.

• "You have to suffer to be beautiful".  My mom's version of "maybe she's born with it; maybe its Maybelline"  was one of the most common phrases uttered in my childhood.  Usually this could be heard over my whining when getting my hair permed by a do it yourself perm in the kitchen.  Also spoken when getting my hair combed or braided.  Unfortunately some of us  have to suffer more than others; I have suffered plenty and am still not beautiful.
• "Never tell a lie.  Unless you have to".  Another common mama phrase.  This lesson was first learned after I bought a toy "water wiggler" from a corner store.  Once I got that slippery gadget home, I accidentally got a hole in it causing it to leak water all over the place deeming it unfun.  Mom suggested I return it and prompted me to say it had a leak when I bought it.  She followed that up with the wise life lesson, and lo and behold, it worked.  I got myself a new water wiggler.



Water wigglers, though I think when I was young, they were called "snakes".

• "Your eyes look funny".  This was the single most commonly spoken sentence of my brother's adolescence.  Mom was, and still is,  the ultimate pot detective.  She knew immediately upon looking at my brother that he had been toking up.  Maybe that is why I never tried the stuff.  However, Mom was also a pro at noticing when I didn't feel well or had the flu.
• "Think outside the box".  OK, she never really said that, but she sure has demonstrated it over and over again.  Just a few years ago, she substituted her broken denture teeth with the white rocks from the fish aquarium.  They worked like a charm, her dentist was impressed, and they are so durable she still has them as a reserve pair in case her new dentures break. 
• Cookies make everything better.  Her cookie jar is never empty of homemade chocolate chip cookies.  Once in a while, peanut butter cookies or Oatmeal raisin cookies make an appearance, but my favorite is her chocolate chip ones fresh from the oven.  And they do make everything better!  She puts the Keebler Elves to shame.

Those are a few of my favorite lessons handed down to me from my mother.  Though I don't have children of my own, I hear myself telling the kids I work with about "suffering to be beautiful" when I am helping them untangle their knotted hair.  It feels good to pass on some of my  mama's wisdom, and now I shared some of it with you!

Orgasmic Pleasures

When I still lived at home, my mom and I would have little peanut butter races to see who could be the first person to dig their knife into that unopened jar of deliciousness.  Whoever was first would always leave a little "gotcha" message in the peanut butter itself.  A jagged "haha" or smiley face would await the loser.  There are few worse disappointments than opening that jar up thinking you were the first only to find that taunting message.  I don't have anybody to have peanut butter races with anymore, but there are a few other simple pleasures that bring about a similar feeling.

Its not often I get sunburned, and when I do get burned, it usually turns to tan.  How very fortunate I am.  Except, I love peeling off the dead layers.  The crispier the better!  Since I live in Northern Minnesota, it is a near impossibility to get sunburned 9 months out of the year so I would recreate that sensation with glue.  You've done it too, and you know it.  Elmer's Glue, on your hands, let it dry, and peel.  Its fun and it serves to clean your hands while you're at it.  I've even put Elmer's Glue on my face.  Fun times.  There is nothing quite like peeling dead sunburned skin. . . . .

. . .Except the feeling of pulling a stray strand of hair out of your nose or ear.  Ohhhhh, that sensation is glorious!  When I was younger, I would even put a single strand of hair in my various facial orifices just to be able to pull it out again.  However, that never had the same accomplished feeling as when one was a random menace.

For me, the most pleasurable feeling occurs when I am shoveling.  Not just any regular snowfall.  Digging the shovel underneath large plates of packed, icy, chunky chunks is so rewarding.  My neighbor and I would often shovel in tandem.  Her in her driveway and me in mine.  We both loved shoveling those big chunks that had been packed down by repeatedly driving on them.  To finally reach the bare driveway was....orgasmic.  Yes, orgasmic.  For real.

From peanut butter, to Elmer's glue, to hair in the nose, to shoveling chunky snow chunks......all simple pleasures of orgasmic proportions.

Breathing With the Lake

Winter in Duluth can get rather long.  To help curb the effects of Cabin Fever, a true Minnesotan will find ways to keep their sanity during the long, grey, cold winter.  Case in point, a friend of a friend made a luge run in their backyard.  It starts about 7 feet from the ground, features about 5 turns, and is as solid as they come.  Plus its bitchin' fun. 

There are the usual cold weather suspects: Regular sledding, ice skating, skiing (of the down hill variety or cross country kind), but something that goes unappreciated around here is our beautiful Lake.  Its perhaps even more beautiful in the winter; today a friend and I went on an adventure so see the ever changing landscape of Lake Superior.  Sure, it was 4 degrees above zero with 10 below wind chill factor, but a true Northlandian knows how to dress for the weather.  We even managed to break a sweat.   Taking pictures, however, was down right painful as my peach colored fingers turned bright red in a matter of moments.  I could not return my hands into their cozy mittens quick enough.  Still, I sacrificed my fingers in order to get some decent photos. 


It may have been sunny, but it was Cold.

  We ventured out on the mountains of frozen sand and ice, across all the "frozen cottage cheese" (as Beth called it), all the way to where the great lake opened up and allowed us to see her breathe.  Watching and listening to the frigid water rise and fall in sync with my own breaths made me realize that our Lake truly is Alive.  




Frozen Cottage Cheese

 I seldom take for granted the beauty that surrounds me everyday, and feel so fortunate to live in an area that experiences all the seasons of the year.  Sometimes, though, I wish that winter lasted a wee bit shorter.  We are in the unique phase of our winter (a phase Beth tagged as Winter/Spring) where hope abounds.  Hope for the warmer weather and longer days. 

A few years ago I captured some beautiful scenes of our gorgeous Lake in the heart of winter.  Seeing the photos are pretty, but seeing it in person is breathtaking.

If you listen quietly, you may just be able to hear her breathe with you.

After Work Follies

Sledding when you are in your 30's is quite different than when you were 10.  Still fun; just different.

I had the grand idea to go sledding after work the other night.  Yes, a midnight adventure on a golf course.  Our caravan of after work employees pulled up to our sledding destination with gusto.  We were donned in our best winter get-up including a makeshift, albeit brilliant, pair of "snow pants" fashioned out of a stolen-from-work garbage bag.  It was hard to distinguish if they were supposed to be snow pants or an over sized diaper, but since this particular friend is potty trained, its safe to say they were snow pants indeed.

With exuberance, we ran to get our sled on.  That run slowed to a dull trot and eventually ended in a slow, careful walk after about 30 seconds.  Huffin' and Puffin' we climbed the hill, rested to catch our breath, then took that exiting first trip down the hill in our sleds.  When you are 10, there is no fear.  But when you are mid 30's and 40's, sliding down that hill is rather frightening.  Not to mention we were under a moon-less, cloudy sky so it was rather dark.  The sound of coyotes howling in the distance gave the night the perfect flavor.

At 10, you don't go sledding with your insurance card in your pocket "just in case".  One friend did just that after a tragic sliding mishap a year ago left her with a bit of PTSD, she wanted to be ready this time in case a  trip to the ER was needed.  So, complete with our insurance cards in hand (pocket), and our garbage bag snow pants, we ventured down the hill in our sleds.  Not uncommonly uttered from our mouths were:  "I'm scared", "I have osteoporosis; I don't want to break a bone", "I can't go over bumps because I might break my tail bone.  They take a long time to heal", "Walking back up this hill is more work than I remember", I need to rest a minute". 

Yes, the dialogue may be different as we age, but we still had a blast.  With caution and appreciation of our able bodied selves, we probably had more fun than if we were 10.  And nobody had to go to the ER.

Blessed

Merry Christmas!  I mean that sincerely this year.  Most years when I am scheduled to work, the phrase becomes, "Merry Fucking Christmas", but this year it sincerely is a Merry one.

Even though I was scheduled to work the entire Christmas holiday from the two days prior, the days of, and three days post, I had a very enjoyable and fulfilling holiday.  We only have two kids at work on Christmas, which is both a good thing and a bad thing.  Two kids is better than ten meaning that most kids were home with their families where they belong.  Two kids could also lead to the dreaded floating to other floors or the blessed getting a no-pay-day.  Neither of which happened for me which meant I got to remain on the unit, with the kids I know so well, and with coworkers who are my second family.

My personal family celebrations went fine and dandy.  Some usual family drama, but a generally uneventful gathering.  For me, this year, my favorite time was spent at work and watching the two kids open up their gifts with sincere excitement and appreciation was so....fulfilling.

One little girl is 7 years old, wears the badge of abuse on her forehead by the hands of her own mother, and is in the process of being removed from her family.  The other patient is a 17 year old boy who still believes in Santa Claus and will not be returning home to his alcoholic mother after discharge.  Both opened up their meager gifts with such gusto and innocence.  As the little girl was putting on her costume jewelry and tiara, she looked up to the empty air and said, "Merry Christmas, Mama".  The three of us staff who witnessed this scene exchanged sympathetic glances at one another and quietly wiped the tears forming in our eyes.

Yes, this year I felt very fortunate to be at work.  Very fortunate to be a part of what was an otherwise unfortunate Christmas for those kids.  Very fortunate I could help make it a little more special and memorable for them.  Very fortunate indeed.

Elf-Stravaganza!

Tomorrow I am hosting my annual Elf night.  It is when the Christmas season officially begins.  Ever since seeing the movie Elf in the theater, my friends and I have watched it together every year.  The party keeps growing and it is possibly my most anticipated night of the year.  This year, I welcome a newcomer to Elf Night.  Hopefully she won't be scared off by my baking talents.

Rarely do I get the opportunity to bake or cook for more than just me.  Whenever opportunity knocks, I get a little bit excited....and a little bit nervous.  A lot of sugary goodness is on the menu for tomorrow night, and I started my prep work tonight.

Several months ago, I had a hankering for Angel Food Cake and picked up a cake mix only to come home to find I didn't have the appropriate pan but rather I had a bundt cake pan.  Years ago I did attempt to defy all odds and create the perfect Angel Food cake in a bundt cake pan which only resulted in an overflowing mess in my oven.  Lesson Learned.  So I shelved that box of recently purchased cake mix and waited until my Birthday wish for an Angel Food Cake pan was granted.

Since Strawberry Shortcake is on the menu for tomorrow, I thought it would be a perfect time to break in my new pan and make that cake.  All was going grand until it was time for the cake to come out of the oven.  I didn't have the recommended glass bottle in which to place the pan upside down upon so I used a long stemmed goblet.  All would have been fine had the balance not shifted resulting in the pan, and cake, fumbling to the floor.  Quickly I picked up the cake, rescuing it from doom.

Once it cooled, I removed the cake from the pan only to find a very lopsided delicacy.  

I should have my guests sign a waiver:
"Not responsible for choking on cat hair".


My friend said it perfectly when she said, "I'm pretty sure it will still taste delicious! Elf ate gum off of hand railings so a little cat hair Angel Food Cake will be just fine!" 

I'm glad she thinks so since I won't be making another one, and this one will be served along with some exploded mini molten lava cakes.

No special effects were involved in taking this photo.

These will also be served.  They taste delicious!  I should know, I had to eat the "mistakes" though you wouldn't know that only survivors are left.  They all look like mistakes to me.

I'm hoping that the attendees of my Elf party read this blog after Elf has been watched and the horrible food consumed.  One final photo illustrates the challenges of baking in a tiny kitchen with three nosy cats about.  And why I really hope you read this after our party.


I promise she did NOT lick the cake.  For real.



Butt Cracks and ECTs.

I kept a guy alive today. For real. It was a very bizarre feeling to say the least. Here is how it happened (be prepared for work lingo).

I floated to 4th floor today. On a 1:1 who goes for ECT treatments each morning. Since he was on a 1:1, I got to accompany him for his treatment. I have worked at my job for more than 12 years and have never seen an ECT treatment so I was a little nervous. They prepped him and began the treatment. The staff were amazingly nice, patient, and explained everything they were doing to me which was more than I anticipated. The RN who was handling the case explained the use of muscle relaxers which in turn paralyzes the patient for about 5 minutes. During this time, their lungs also become paralyzed so they lose the ability to breath. During the ECT process, the nurse has to breath for the patient by way of an "ambu bag". The RN summoned me to the head of this patient, and I got to breath for him. The importance of this did not register until the RN says:

"Ever kept someone alive before?"
ME: "No".
RN: "Well, you are now."

Wow! I had the power. I was God for one small moment. Well, not really, since if I did screw up in any way, there were several people around to make it right again. Sort of like Back Up Gods. Or maybe I was the Back Up God. Either way, it was awesome.....and scary. I believe I said at one point, "I don't think I should be doing this".

I was very afraid that I would pass out during the ECT procedure with visions of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" in my head, which is actually quite similar to what I witnessed. But it wasn't as horrific as my imagination. Its amazing how quickly the patient recovers and experiences only temporary confusion. The doctor in this case seemed a little too eager to press the ZAP button perhaps achieving a maniacal thrill from inflicting a seizure inducing electric shock to a trouble causing patient.

Not more than 20 minutes later, I was back in 1:1 land with this man with whom I shared an unforgettable experience. In between moments of me telling him to pull up his pants to cover his over sized hairy butt crack, I was thinking about how I had saved his life. Actually I didn't save it; I just sustained it. Just another day at work for so many people, but it was an experience I'll never forget. The ECT treatmet that is; I'm hoping to forget the hairy butt crack before too long.

Hot Diggety Dog

Because I work in the field of Mental Health, I find myself assigning a diagnosis or 2 to family members, friends, and characters in books or on the screen. This practice of mine has now spread like an infection to giving a clinical diagnosis to the animals in my life.

Take Polly, for example. She does not belong to me, per se, but she joins us on many a walk. Spend just one minute with her and, you too, will soon discover that this dog is one big case of ADHD. Hop this canine up on some Mt. Dew and she would expend more energy than the Earth spinning on it axis much like Hammy, the nutty chipmunk, in Over the Hedge.

Polly has a human counterpart in Robin Williams as well.








Both have annoyingly spastic energy with a douse of comedic timing. We refer to Polly as a little comedian as she constantly makes us laugh.

One would wrongly assume a lengthy walk would tire Polly out. Instead, it revs her up. She bounds in the house ready to play some more. Like the Energizer Bunny, she keeps going and going and going and . . . .

Polly's diagnosis: ADHD (with an emphasis on the H)
Mania (or excessive happiness a la Robin Williams
in Patch Adams)
Rule out Psychosis

Then we have Tiki. Her human recipe is one gallon Marcia Brady, add one Tablespoon of Cindy Brady, plus a Splash of Gladys Kravitz from Bewitched. Blend well.
PLUS
PLUS





EQUALS


Tiki is cute, adorable and innocent. Think of Cindy Brady asking "Thanta" Clause to help her mommy get her voice back so she can "thing" at "Christhmuth". How cute was that?

Much like Gladys Kravitz, Tiki sticks her nose in business that isn't hers resulting in a histrionic drama of epic proportions. Tiki's shrill yap is quite reminiscent of Gladys' equally shrill "ABNER!"

Marcia Brady's narcissism is evident in Tiki's doggie persona (Marcia also had a hint of histrionics as well). Tiki demands attention and covertly budges her way in to get the accolades she so deserves. She is beautiful and she knows it. Tiki takes serious ownership of her belongings just like Marcia treasured her prized trophies. Marcia wouldn't share with Jan, and Tiki makes it known she will not share her trophies either. Missy is probably secretly saying "Tiki, Tiki, Tiki!" You know, like Jan says, "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia".

Tiki's diagnosis: Narcissistic Personality Disorder
Histrionic Personality Disorder
Little Dog Syndrome

Oh, poor Missy is a clinical nightmare. She has all of the initials used in diagnostic labeling. Where do I start with this poor girl.

Her humanish counterparts are Eeyore, Droopy and Corky from Life Goes On. Obla Di, Obla Da.


I have heard it said that dogs are not stubborn. The quality of being stubborn suggests there is a willful deceit which dogs are supposedly incapable of. But Missy is the epitome of stubborn, or shall we say oppositional and defiant.

If Missy does not want to go for a walk, there is no way to force her. At times, she will refuse to even begin walking when we approach the trail head. She says to me with her doggie eyes:

"No, I don't want to go and you can't make me".

The more I insist, the more she resists.

"No, really. Go ahead without me. You don't really want me to join you. I'll just sit in the car. You'll have more fun without me anyway."

She is attention seeking in such a way that is self defeating. She enjoys hearing:

"Missy, we missed you on our walk. We wish you would have joined us."Her tail wags happily upon hearing this.

A friend recently described Missy as a "Bumbling kid with Down Syndrome". Rather, I see Missy as having qualities of autism. She has poor social skills and lacks the necessary tools to make canine friends. Choosing to be off doing her own thing instead of mingling with her buddies.

She also has incredible social anxiety. New people and new situations are hard for her, but once you win her heart, you'll have it forever.

Missy's diagnosis (in no particular order):
Chronic Depression
Boderline Personality Disorder
Oppositional Defiant Disorder
Social Anxiety Disorder
Reactive Attachment Disorder
Down Syndrome
Autism Spectrum Disorder
Rule out Prader Willie Syndrome

Whew! What Disorders affect your furry friends?

Failed Tomorrows

Every single day for me is yet another failed tomorrow. Each night when I go to bed, I tell myself my goal for the next day. It all started with that eye opening photograph of myself. After I saw those pictures, I was amazed that I didn't even look like myself. My face was filled out. My hips and tummy were wide. My butt gigantic. Sounds self defeating, but it was very weird to see those pictures and not even recognize the image I saw in the photo. I needed to do something and I would start.....tomorrow. "Tomorrow I will eat better. Tomorrow I will start to exercise more. Tomorrow....." For me, tomorrow never comes. Last night I had a grand plan. One I won't go into boring details here, but it was going to work alright. This time, this plan would be fool proof. But I have proved to be the fool once again.

I actually did very good until about 1:00 this afternoon. My self control was first tested when a coworker brought cookies to work. Oh, I did have one, but only one. I consciously decided I didn't like it very much and had no desire for a second, third or fourth. It was tested a second time when another coworker brought a box of chocolates to work. My goal was to not eat one. They sat staring at me, calling my name. I resisted and then proceeded to pat myself on the back.


Then I caved when a coworker offered me a scone at the end of a very hectic, unenjoyable day. The little thought went through my head, "don't do it.....don't do it..." But I did. I don't even like scones!! It was a HUGE scone at that. . . and I ate the whole thing. Its not all bad, though, because I did show SOME restraint in choosing the raspberry scone over the chocolate chip scone.


People talk about "mindful eating"; I even sat in on an hour long class on mindful eating once a month for several months. It is something I actually practice; though you wouldn't know it. For Example when that scone was offered to me, I mindfully said, "no, you don't even like scones. You don't need the scone. You just finished lunch and you're not even hungry". I took the scone anyway. Not only did I take it, but I ravenously ate the whole damn thing. With each bite, I mindfully told myself "This is not that tasty. Its a challenge to eat because you are so full. Don't eat anymore". Yet I continued to mindfully eat the rest of that scone. Ugh.

Tomorrow I'd like to try again. One of these days my tomorrow may actually happen.

I did accomplish one goal today, though, I never did eat a piece of that chocolate.

Taste the Rainbow

When eating candy that has various colors with distinctive flavors, it is imperative to eat them in a specific order. Since Easter just passed, you can practice at home with some left over Easter candy. Jelly Beans are perfect. Not all jelly beans are created equal, however, and you may have to do some of your own experimentation. For today's purposes, I will rely on the flavors of spice drops.

I have them laid out in the order in which I eat them. The exception in this case is the green colored spice drop. Since I was a cheapskate and bought the generic brand of spice drops, the green flavor is very nasty so I don't eat it. Actually I do eat it, but I don't want to eat it, and a few have even made the trash. Its seems a shame to throw away an otherwise perfect candy. But I digress.

On to the order. The rules of life clearly state that a person should Save the Best for Last. Delay that gratification as long as possible. The tricky part is that, with colorful candy, you need to save the best flavor for last, not the best color. In this case (and in the case of most jelly beans) I eat purple first. Its my least favorite flavor (not color) so it has to be eaten first. Next up is Yellow and Orange which are often times interchangeable, but not in the case of these generic spice drops. Upon first opening a bag of candy, be sure to test a few different colors to determine how you will eat them. It is OK to use prejudice from previous flavor/color candy experiences.

Almost always, Red is my favorite and, based on the "Save the Best for Last" theory, should be eaten last. However, in my Theory of Color Candy Eatin', White colored candy is often pepperminty/spearminty in flavor and will distort the flavor of the next few pieces of candy so white MUST BE EATEN LAST even if it is NOT the most favorite candy flavor. That is the biggest mistake people will often make, but now that you know, you are sure not to make that mistake in the future, right? OK then.

Above rules only apply when snacking solo. If sharing your snacks you may want to consider eating the Best candies FIRST to ensure you get the good ones. Unless you are a very kind candy sharer, which I am most certainly not.

If you get skilled at Eating In Order, then you can advance to Eating in Combination. Only the skilled candy eater can advance to this level. It involves very carefully mixing flavors of 2 or more candies in your mouth at one time. It can be fun, but it can turn toxic rather quickly as well.

Tune in when October rolls around for a complete expose on the differences in the layers of candy corn. Oh yeah, there are differences people!

Evolution of a Permed Mall Bang Addict

BEWARE: BLOG CONTAINS SCARY PHOTOS THAT MAY CAUSE PERMANENT EYE DAMAGE. VIEW AT YOUR OWN RISK!
As previously posted (I don't know how to link up past blogs yet), I have been pretty candid about my addiction with having mall bangs. Still to this day, I have those fluffy bangs. There have been many attempts to break the cycle of drying, curling and fluffing; but it never fails, I go back to my old ways within a matter of days.

Here is my evolution in pictures. The first few photos are not horrible, and some are even kinda cute. I can't say the same for the final few pictures so let this be your warning.


Here I am at age 1. Not adorable. In fact, my mom always thought I looked like I had Down Syndrome. I think I look like I have Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Either way, there appears to be a syndrome of some kind......


Age 3. Cute and adorable even with the owie on my chin. I fell off the counter helping my mom bake cookies. Don't we all have a scar on our chin?


Ok. Kinda cute here. Age 6. Donning a sailor dress and long hair. Mall bangs and perms have yet to touch this virgin hair.


First Haircut. Actually this was supposed to be a mullet cut, but the beautician did not understand my mom's instructions and gave me this short cut instead. I cried because I wanted long hair, but in hindsight, it may have been a blessing. No mullets for me!


My hair is growing a little at this point, and its almost long enough to get a perm....


Ahhhhh, there it is! My first Perm. That was either 3rd or 4th grade. Notice how much body that perm gave me? That was the beginning of the addiction.


Fast Forward to around the 8th grade. Oooff Da! This is what years of bad perms can do to a person. Look at that frizz! I look like a mature dandelion. Blow on me, and all my hair may scatter about. Actually, it almost did....


Complete with teenage acne and a butterfly necklace. Its a wonder I wasn't the laughing stalk of Jr. High.


As seen previously, this was my final perm experience. The many years of perms created brittle hair that broke off leaving an asymmetrical "cut". This picture was my first time wearing my hair down which brought attention to how fried my hair was. Better to have fried hair than a fried brain I suppose. I could have been an 80's TV commercial though: This is your hair. This is your hair on perms. Any questions?


Sadly this is my graduation picture. I clearly remember doing my hair that day. I actually lowered the height of my bangs for my grad photos.

One of these days may find me with a hair make over. I'm not there quite yet. At least I have given up on the perms.

Freak of Nature

Since I have revealed vajayjay issues and also revealed embarrassing Jr. High School pictures, I thought I'd stay on that train. While we're at it, I might as well walk you through the many afflictions that prove I am a freak of nature. Let the Embarrassment continue.....but its all in good fun.

First, I have super duper stretchy skin. Its stretchier than the average person. It affects my whole family and from internet research, we have diagnosed ourselves with Ehler-Danlo Syndrome or EDS. Usually our type is found in a circus pulling their bottom lip up over their nose, but we settled for quarters showing off our skin at neighborhood Tupperware parties. No lie. When I was just a wee gal, my mom showed me the neatest trick ever. She showed me how to bundle up my skin on my knee or elbow to make a penis!!

My stretchy skin has made for some pretty interesting conversations and people who may not necessarily remember me, usually remembers my stretchy skin. At least I am remembered for Something. Even if it is for a Penis Knee.

Affliction #2: My hands. My hands have a million bazillion lines in them. I call them "old lady hands". I have had old hands ever since I was young so it isn't something that just appeared. Years ago I went to a palm reader just for shits and giggles. She told me my palm was unreadable because of all the lines. Then she said I had multiple personalities. Maybe.

I just like to think that I have had many many past lives and they are all reflected in my palm.

Affliction #3: Eye strings. Sorry no real photo available at this time. I get these odd fiber like strings that appear in my eyeball and I have to dig them out! Its like a long strand of a very tiny hair encased with booger stuff. They hurt and make my eye puffy and red. When the occur, I get obsessed with them and must dig them out, but when I pull out those suckers, its immediate relief.


Affliction #4: Varicose Veins. Well, I used to have them. Thanks to my mom and grandma, I was blessed with the atrocity of varicose veins. Ugly, ugly, ugly. As I aged, they only got worse so I had a very minor surgery to rid myself of their presence. Only now I am left with something more disturbing. Now I have little brown holes all over my leg. Thirty-one holes to be exact.

My skin, being I have EDS, does not heal like most peoples' skin. Instead, it forms keloids, or fatty masses, when I get an injury. So now I have 31 little Keloids all over my leg which is just as, if not more, unsightly than those purple bulging veins.

Affliction #5: Clicky Hip. Sometime after age 30, I developed a new talent. When I walk, I click. Simple as that. It sounds horrible; I could probably have a conversation with a remote African tribe just from the sounds of my hip, but it does not hurt at all.


Oh, the embarrassment! Complete with pictures and all! What a lucky person you are to be privy to this circus-eligible resume.

All My Single Ladies....

.....Put your hand up! That's right. Put your hand up high and proud. Show off that bare finger on your left hand with pride! I am in my mid 30's, single, and proud of it! Not only am I single, but I am very single. Not even in a relationship of any kind at the moment. Oh, There have been dates, boyfriends, and short term relationships. There have been crushes and desires. Right now, though, there is nothing. And I like it that way. The longer I am single, the more difficult it is to even comprehend being in a relationship. It may sound selfish, but I only have myself to worry about.

Many of my friends still try to "set me up" with some random guy from time to time. They seem to think that I WANT to be married or WANT to have someone to share my hard earned material things with. I don't. I really don't. If there happens a time when my Knight in Shining Armor does appear, AND he fits perfectly into my little life I have carved out for myself, that is fine. But I am not going to go out of my way to seek that out. No more blind dates. No more online dating profiles. So I politely decline any match making offers and leave them thinking that I am missing out on something called marriage.

Marriage is not all its cracked up to be. Most marriages end in divorce, heart ache, and hardship. Some don't. But I am not good at sharing and in a marriage, you have to share. Share time. Share money. Share space. Share things. My time, money, space, and things are mine, all MINE! I need my space, and lots of it. Alone time is critical for my sanity and the thought of sharing anything with anybody for 365 days in a year 24/7 for what is supposed to be forever, scares the hell out of me. So I stay single and happy.

Sure there are those days that I yearn for some strapping fellow to wrap his arms around me,give me a hug, tell me he loves me and that it will be alright. Sure there are those very lonely moments where I wish I had someone to walk hand in hand with on the beach. Sure there are those occasions where showing up single is an embarrassment. But those days are occurring less and less. The older I get the more comfortable I am being my own date.

Now when I run into someone and they ask me if I am dating anybody, I no longer put my head down in shame. Instead, I hold my head up high and strongly state that I am single, happy, and proud of it!

Erasable Moments

You know those moments during the course of the day where you say something you regret almost instantly? Those Why-the-HELL-did-I-say-that moments that replay in your mind over and over again turning into an obsession all its own? Perhaps its a rude comment to a friend or maybe its a piece of gossip you should have kept private. More simply, maybe its just a remark that brings embarrassment to your own self.

I am going to be a billionaire one day because I am going to invent a big giant eraser that is capable of wiping out those moments. Capable of retracing each conversation throughout the day and simply erasing those things we wish we could take back. Erasing the hurt. Erasing the disappointment. Erasing the embarrassment. Until I do invent that impossible gadget, I am just going to do my best to live each day without Erasable Moments.

Decrepit Vajayjay

Yes, sorry folks, this is about my vag. V-a-g-i-n-a! My vajayjay has expired. All dried up....pun intended. Bid deal, you may think, its a part of life! True Dat. True Dat. However, I went through menopause when I was only 28 years old and was completly done with it by age 32. My whole life's ambition was to be a Mom. Yeah, yeah, yeah, "you can adopt", "you can foster", "there are many other ways to have children". But, I will NEVER feel another life move inside me. Ever. But its OK, I have dealt with it, and actually have come to accept my decripit 'gina.

You see, it kind of liberated me in a very bizaare way. It gave me a reason to stay single! I love being single, and there are sure to be many more posts regarding that subject. Despite all those soceital laws that mandate a 20-something MUST get married and have babies, I AM A REBEL!

Besides, I have a whole family of babies. I'm not just talking about my cats, either. The kids I work with are my children. My friends' children are my children...and let me assure you there are many! I'm surrounded by children and babies almost every single day of my life......so are mothers. But mothers are the sorry suckers who never get a break. Can't jump in the car on a whim and go shopping in peace. Not to mention that I actually HAVE money to go shopping with! Mothers are actually responsible for HOW their children turn out; for raising them! I get to just play with them, enjoy them, and send them home again so I can commence to blogging, hiking, skiing, or whatever my heart desires. Hopefully somewhere along the way, I will make an impression on one or two of those kids. I'm gonna need someone to visit me in the nursing home when I get older.

Would I trade that all in if I could have a baby? Oh sure. Most definitely. But if I can accept this then I have to say, Sorry, Mother Suckers!

Enter Wilson

I have never been one who names their plants. Stuffed animals? Of course. Dolls? Sure. Plants? Not so much. Enter Wilson. So named because he reminded me so much of the volleyball in Tom Hanks' movie, Castaway (Oh how I cried when that inanimate volleyball drifted off to sea).






My Wilson, the plant, was my consolation prize for having my hand touch my brother's urine. My brother let me take his plant home from the hospital after a mishap with his urinal....See blog titled "Pee Pocket". We instantly bonded, Wilson and I. He is adorable!

Its difficult to find a safe place for a plant to rest at my house. Cats are curious and we all know what happens to the curious cat, right? All the elevated plant appropriate places are already occupied by other unnamed plants, but I thought I could make room for Wilson. I wanted to make room for him.

Immediately I brought him home and sat him on the counter. Tino was the first to greet Wilson. Pretty benign sniffing and some dirt digging. I'm no dummy; I knew this could go sour fast, so up on the microwave went Wilson where I thought he would be safe. I leave to do some obsessive blogging....Only to return to find Muffin having an affair with poor Wilson. Raping him in fact. Being the hero that I am, I stepped in to rescue Wilson who escaped with a few minor injuries. He will recover and be just fine. Wilson now resides high upon another shelf in the kitchen safe from Muffin's lust. We will make it work. The cats and Wilson can, and will, live in harmony. Welcome Wilson!!!