Mood:  blue
It's raining. HARD. The wind is blowing.
I am depressed, and will be taking a few days off from blogging maniacally.
I hate Mondays.

Prove Me Wrong 6
Now Playing: Anna Begins, Counting Crows
Topic: Prove Me Wrong
The human disease kuru, which is caused by a filterable particle, is found in the Fore speaking people of New Guinea. The disease is perpetuated through the practice of cannibalism. These people eat the bodies of their own dead. Because only the women and children eat the brains, kuru is usually not found in the adult male population. Kuru has a slow onset and is manifested by cerebellar signs and shaking ataxia. Death occurs with 18 to 24 months. Kuru is also known as "The Laughing Disease".

Eegah
I'm not good with pain.
Well, not good with pain that I didn't justly visit upon myself. For instance; my tattoos. I've got 12 of 'em. They hurt a wee bit, but since I paid for them it didn't bother me in the slightest. Same thing with my piercings. Or when I trip on something and slam chest-first into the doorjamb, which I have done on numerous occasions in our three doorjamb apartment.
But surgery pain, I have no say in. I mean, I could have said NO GET THE SCRAPER AWAY FROM ME, but then the hub-unit would have lost his everluvvin mind on a daily basis worrying that I would just up and DIE on him in a week, or worse yet get cancer and die slowly and horribly in a few years. Seriously, he was THAT nervous. How many times a DAY did I tell him, and yall for that matter, that it was a MINOR thing?
However, it doesn't FEEL minor. And better yet? It hurts worse with the monthly hoodang happening before I'm totally okay. OWOWOWOWOWOWOW. God bless Motrin. And not the skinny little crapomotrin that you buy at the store, I'm talking about the blessed ginormous 800 mg fuckers that the navy hands out like mini Snickers at every turn.
So I'm sitting here at the computer, trying to enjoy my onion bagel with salmon cream cheese (kiss me QUICK, right?) and my cup of coffee, and I am cramping so bad and my cervix is on super-retaliation mode because muscle squeezings are BAD for healing stuff, and I'm just a-waitin for the shit to kick in. And because I will have blessed non-pain, I will probably go back to bed because I have the sniffles and I woke up at 3 freaking AM all bubbles and brightness, which is slowly fading.
But first, I have some posts to post, know what I mean?

Now Playing: Pieces of the Night, Gin Blossoms
(cue neener-neener music)
We got the CSI Season 4, We got the CSI Season 4...
The reason I'm gloating is because yesterday NetFlix (love it, you must try it you must) sent me a notice telling me that I should check out the CSI Season 4 which they would add to my overbearing (okay, 271) list of movies if I wanted. I said YES! DEAR GOD I MUST HAVE THE CSI, I MUST HAVE GRISSOM BACK IN MY LIFE!
But then I realized that if it was on NetFlix, I could just go buy it at WalMart, which was probably more prudent, as the Halloween weekend was coming up and we weren't planning much from Friday on.
Thus began the Great CSI Hunt.
WalMart, KMart, Blockbuster, our local DVD section at the NEX.... Zippo. Nuthin. Nada.
Fuckers.
Apparently, the distributor didn't think that this damn Island was that important, because according to my sources in the DVD underworld, the fucking set was released on the 12th of this month. Not up here it wasn't. Fuckers.
That's okay though, that's what one-day shipping is for on Amazon.com, who I was boycotting up until I realized that they had CSI Season 4. But moving on...
I finally got my firt decent night's sleep last night. I woke up completely functionable and with wide eyes this morning, borderline perky, and so today I am CLEANING. Like, the major kind of cleaning that you have to do to the house after you've been sick for EVER and the shit has just piled up around everywhere kind of cleaning. And, must write out checks for bills. And should probably do laundry, as I have a party to attend this evening and have no clean fat clothes left to wear that doesn't have an elastic waistband and the woed DANSKIN across the butt.
Also? Am having a mom-panic-attack. She's coming up here for TEN DAYS, and while I'll be okay three or four days before she gets here, I am freaking out now. I'm SO afraid the house isn't going to be clean enough, that I'm going to be too fat, that my cooking is suddenly going to suck more than normal stuff sucks, that she's going to be bored, you name it and I'm LOSING MY MIND about it.
Don't get me wrong, Mom won't be disappointed with anything I do, simply because I am Married and a Housewife. I capitalize these things because to her, this is a Major Accomplishment in Queenie's Life. Sure. But that does not stop me from LOSING MY FUCKING MIND at this point in time. I'll be fine the day before she shows, but right now? Am going insane. I'll get over it.
Guess I should go find a Prove Me Wrong for this week.

Prove Me Wrong 5 Answers
Now Playing: King of Wishful Thinking, Go West
Topic: Prove Me Wrong
NO ONE WROTE IN!!!!
Guess what? They're all right. So, instead of awarding points to the NO ONE who wrote in, I'll try a different tactic: If you can find the articles where I picked up this info, send me the link and I'll give points to the one that's closest to where I found it. If not, TTHHHHHBBPPPT. Try again next time.

Bullshit Musings
Now Playing: Say My Name, Destiny's Child (SHUP)
DOT: So I have yet to post the answers to PMW 5. I'm just lazy.
DOT: I'm thinking of moving over to blogger.com, is there anyone that can tell me if it's any better?
DOT: Worst addiction EVER: Stumble Bars. I've said it once, and I'll say it again. It's like channel surfing but worse because the internet is THAT BIG.
DOT: Apparently, I'm pissing people off left ad right when they post to my blog. I actually got an email saying that I was "caustic". WHAT THE FUCK? That's almost as bad as calling me "visceral", for the love of Christ. AM I that bad, or does nobody but my loyal readership get me?
DOT: Speaking of which, if I went over to blogger.com would yall follow me or would I have to start over with a new bunch of 13 year old yahoos that think I'm "caustic"? And doesn't that mean something like "acid-like"?
DOT: I'm so lazy I can't even html the fucking bullets in so I'm putting in the DOTs. What a geek.
Guess I should go find those PMW answers and post em, since NO ONE answered those. Slackers.

Sunny Weekend, with a Drama Front Moving In From the North
Mood:  spacey
Am very tired. But it's okay, it's a good, I've done too fucking much kind of tired.
Friday night, we purchased the new CSI board game and invited Batman and Wendy the Witch (now shortened to Wendy forevermore, thank you) over to see how it all pans out.
If you're a CSI geek like we all are, you'll like it. The set up for the game is a little bit on the exhaustive side, but we then played just one case of the eight provided and it took us almost two hours to finish, and that was with Batman running the game like it was his bitch. Had he had the luck the rest of us had, that game could have rounded out at around three hours. So it was worth it. So B&W left around two or three, not quite sure when exactly, and Saturday we were up at ten thirty to begin yet another trek around the Island.
Washington has a SHOTLOAD of Wineries, and there are at least two on our Island. One particular place, located a scant forty minutes away, sells seasonal fruity wines every year that will rock your socks. The hub-unit and I, ever the frugal gourmets, purchased two bottles each of the blackberry, strawberry rhubarb, and cranberry wines that they only push around this time of year, and in limited supply. We figured that with the mom-unit coming up here in just under a month, wine was a good idea. I think we spent just over a hundred bucks on wine and wine accessories trying to look all cultured and shit.
Then on to Langley. Langley is a little town just farther south from everywhere else, and it's a lot like the other little towns on the island: artisan shops and galleries and restaurants, right on the water and very cool to go window shopping in.
AND I FOUND MY TEA SET.
It's blue with opalescent glaze of purple and green, and it's great chunky fabulous handmade pottery. I can't believe the hub-unit bought it for me, considering the hefty amount we had just forked over for wine merely twenty minutes prior, but he did. I think that maybe, despite his denial that it wasn't, he got it for me just to shut me up about fucking teapots, but nonetheless I am grateful. And then, after a lovely lunch on the water, we headed home.
Busy day, right? Then the shit got weird. Maybe not BAD weird, but weird anyway.
The hub-unit plays this online game with his buddies. They hook up online with their little headsets and run around shootin things. I figure, why put up with the hub-unit screaming into his headset all by himself when I can have a friend over and she can have HER man screaming into his headset too?
So Batman brought his computer over and while the guys "geeked out" (THEIR terminology, not mine), Wendy and I baked cookies. I'll get into the tragedy of the cookies at a later date. So a bottle of blackberry wine and a few movies later, things got strange.
But not strange ina an awkward way, strange in a "these events led into some strange shit" strange. The antibiotics I take for my surgery shit make me puke if I don't eat enough. So guess what? I puked. And not feeling so well, I also noticed that I was bleeeding from somewhere I should NOT be bleeding from yet, and figured I just overexerted myself that day and decided to call it a night. Not one to leave a girl hanging, I arranged for the hub-unit to drive her back to her apartment so she wouldn't be left sitting in my living room with two geeks screaming into their headphones. These so-called "geek nights" can last well into the wee hours, you see. So Batman, sensing that the hub-unit needed to make sure that I was all right took his own girlfriend home and returned a mere ten minutes later, a world record even for the short drive to their apartment from ours.
A scant half hour after returning, Batman leaves. I wasn't awake (well, I wasn't coherent) when it happened, but apparently his computer crashed and he said something like he had to go clear his head. He told the hub-unit that he was going for a short drive before home, and bid his goodnights. We finally crashed out around 4 am.
CUT TO:
Waking up around one PM and making plans to hit the bookstore down the street because I was bored. The hub-unit and I sat around like lumps for an hour, then at 2 PM, Wendy calls. Batman has YET to return home from the previous evening.
I don't want to get involved. I REFUSE to get involved. I don't wanna know. I REALLY, REALLY don't wanna know. Unfortunately, sooner or later I 'm gonna find out.
I need more friends.

"Thou Hast Created A Monster!"
Mood:  bright
So my husband's friend Batman has started a blg.. I'm pimping him out here because usually he has some informative (and YES entertaining) things to say. He's just starting out, but hey, didn't we all?
Bought Van Helsing last night. WOOOO!!!
A must see, everyone. And Walking Tall. Walking Tall was good. I'm actually going to be watching the original one here in a few days from Netflix.
But Van Helsing....
It could just be because I'm a Hugh Jackman Junkie.
I may have to start in internet fan club.
As yall can tell, today's a babbling day. Actually, I have plans for later involving a winery, so I'll probably talk about that.
I feel better today. No pain is GOOD.

Prove Me Wrong 5
Topic: Prove Me Wrong
A Rock and Roll Prove Me Wrong:

1. Ed McBain wrote "Fuzz" in 1968. The 87th Precint novel was filmed starring Burt Reynolds, Raquel Welch and Yul Brynner in 1972. Later, a young woman ran out of gas in Roxbury, MA. Walking back to her car from a gas station she was set upon by a gang of black youths who doused her with the contents of the can she had just filled and set her ablaze.
According to reports, they had seen this done the week before when "Fuzz" was shown on the ABC Movie of the Week.
2. In 1981, John Hinckley Jr. attempted to assassinate President Reagan to impress Jodie Foster. His inspiration was "taxi Driver", starring Robert DeNiro.
3. In 1984 Farrah Fawcett was in a TV movie about wife abuse called "The Burning Bed". The same night as the broadcast, a husband set his wife's bed on fire to settle a personal score.
4. In 1977 Gary Gilmore died in front of a Utah firing squad, the first man executed since the US Supreme Court had earlier struck down existing death penalty laws. Norman Mailer wrote about him in The Executioner's Song. Gilmore had once persuaded his girlfriend to join him in a suicide attempt. His inspiration was "Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult. "I'm almost glad it wasn't "Godzilla' by the same band.)
THere ya go, kids. Prove Me Wrong.

Agony, Reprise
Mood:  d'oh
Am in pain. AGAIN.
Dad called today, and with him being a man it was a short conversation. Apparently my younger sister (we'll call her Twink) called him and told him about my minor surgery, and he called to find out what the fuck's going on. Lasted about three seconds, because he's a guy and has NO grasp of the female body, even though he was with my mom for 20 some-odd years and had two daughters and now has a grilfriend with three sons. There's a WHOLE BUNCH of estrogen floatin' around, and I don't think he caught any of it. SO I told him what they did and when the results were coming in, and then he told me to get back into bed and then hung up. Gotta love my dad, he's to the point about everything.
MENTAL NOTE: call Twink and chew her ass for telling everyone in the damn family about this when I didn't want them to know. Biyatch.
And whatever Pain GOds are gazing down on me lovingly, STOP IT. I can barely get up in the morning, which leaves me in bed all day doped up, which means that when the painkillers finally DO kick in I'm up all night watching crappy adult cartoons or the Food Network (not so bad). Problem with this is, the hub-unit is sleeping at night. So I come to bed literally twenty minutes before he has to wake up, and I don't even get to wake up fully enough to give a kiss and send him off to work. This morning, he didn't even wake me up to say goodbye. Honeymoon's over, kids.
But anyway, I've gotta go hunt down another PMW. See yall in ten.