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.

I make no apologies for yesterday's entry.
Matter of fact, I don't care. I TOLD you people not to look, and you did, and that is SO your fault.
And at the risk of losing anyone who DOES read this: this blog is, and always will be, first and foremost a diary for me. The useless facts in Prove Me Wrong? I would've just scratched them down on a scrap of paper if they weren't in here. The fact that I SOUND like I'm talking to other people? Yeah, I'll give you that. I am a press whore. I konw some of you read that last entry and lost your lunches, but hey I TOLD you, I think it's something that I should put in my diary. Lord knows I'll want to remember the pain and agony of this surgery, along with it's aftereffects, because this is sort of a turning point in my life for reasons I dare not explain.
So yeah, I write for you out there, but mainly? I'm writing for ME. SOrry if I pissed anybody off.
And to that guy who just happened to stumble upon my blog and read below the CAPITAL LETTERS his first time out? You're a jackass. No seriously, it's all your fault for wanting to go back in time and tear your eyeballs out. At least everyone else who reads me more than once knows they're taking their lives into their own hands. Sheesh.

Nothing to say, Not a Damn thing
Now Playing: Insensitive, Jann Arden
Did NOTHING.
NOTHING.
Want ta know why?
Because it's cold and rainy and windy and the weather in general just SUCKS right now.
However, I did get some positive feedback on the Book. The hub-unit's friend, we'll call him Batman, was given a copy purely for entertainment value, but I included a red pen just in case I missed something. So far, he had to say that he is absolutely in love with my main character. His only gripe, however, is that he would rather see her in a stand-alone story as opposed to being thrust into the middle of the Buffyverse. While I understand this, I must maintain that it was not my fault. These things pop up where they feel like it. I am merely a chronicler of these things, and they have a life of their own, as every writer knows, they tend to evolve on their own as they mature and develop as characters. But then, that's my ONLY defense.
AND SINCE THIS IS MY BLOG I MUST POST THIS AND IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE TO GROSSNESS YOU WILL NOT READ PAST THIS BIG SENTENCE OF CAPITAL LETTERS BECAUSE I ASSURE THIS IS BEYOND YAKNESS GROSS AND IF YOU READ IT IT'S YOUR OWN FUCKING FAULT.

I'm OOZING.
The doc said that there would be a sort-of smell and such while I was healing, but I'm not really one for listening to the doc (see previous entries). Unfortunately, as of Friday, he was right. See, my body is sloughing off the burnt coagulated tissue from my cervix while it's healing, plus the coagulant they used to bring about the non-bleedingness of my junk. So friday morning I wake up and OMYGOD I'M OOZING BLACK SHIT.
It looks like they gave me a charcoal douche, and it's not going away. And the SMELL? Like rotten burnt coagulated flesh. I am oozing burnt tissue and black clotted blood and BLACK SHIT and it smells like burnt tissue and black coagulated blood. It's like I have a walking dead pussy. Seriously. I have Night of the Living Dead Junk happening in my pants. It's so bad I have to take like three showers a day. I don't know how the hub-unit can come near me. I can barely stand myself. It's embarrassing. BLECH.
Right, I'm glad I got that out of my system. Jebus, I hope I heal soon. SOON.

Prove Me Wrong 4 Answers
Now Playing: Hold Me Down, Gin Blossoms
Topic: Prove Me Wrong
Bastardized Heathen made a good point, for half a point. While conventional ovens cannot reach 600-800 degrees centigrade, this is also probably why most manufacturers don't worry about people dying when they start to heat up a teflon pan. Why the fuck would you put a teflon pan in the oven in the first place?
But yeah, that's about as close as any to finding a flaw for the last PMW.
And for those of yall that wrote about loving the pans, I feel ya. I don't know what I'd do without some nonstick in my life.

Prove Me Wrong 4
Topic: Prove Me Wrong
Teflon is a trafemark for polytetraflouroethylene. It is a polythylene plastic in which all the hydrogens have been replaced with flourine. It is a solid and ususually inert.
However, if Teflon is heated between 600 and 800 degrees centigrade, it depolymerizes inyo perflouro-isobutylene, a highly toxic gas.
There ya go kids. Prove Me Wrong.

2:39 AM
Am bored.
Am bored because sleep is elusive.
<---- Am jackass for sleeping all day while hub unit was at work.
However? Am LOVING the Mows. Why, you ask? Because if you're a cat owner, you will want to read all of them and then sign up to read them in your email.
Which leads me to a random muse thing...
I wish I were a dog person. Dog people are very nurturing, because dogs need lots of love and attention and vet visits and toys and belly scratches. Dog people have the makings of fine parents and babysitters. Cat people do not.
Why am I saying this?
Because it's very early (or very late), and I have idiot cats that have taken over my house and are running things the way they like it. Let me re-introduce you to my own mows:
Pigwidgeon: The first cat. My cat. Had her since (literally) birth. I was there when she was born. She traveled with me all the way to Florida and back, s you'd think she would be the alpha. She's not. She's dainty and she makes this dainty little rolling purr-squeak noise all the time, and she's a dirty slut for a belly rub. If you're anywhere near, she just falls over and purr-squeaks until you bend over and give her some lovin. If you don't, she will get up and follow you the three steps away that you took and fall over again. Also, she like shiny things. She will steal your pretty shiny things and stash them somewhere that I have yet to find.
CASE IN POINT: She saw me leave the bedroom to make hot cocoa, she SAW me. That does not stop her from running into the bedroom, flying onto the bed and trouncing the hub-unit, all the while purr-squeaking and getting a freak attack because I'm not there and she was a nap. But she SAW me leave. Even followed me into the kitchen.
Hobbes: The second cat. Got her at four weeks old out in front of WalMart on a rainy day while the hub-unit was in Japan. Thought she was a boy and that the hub-unit would enjoy another boy in the house. I was wrong, but it was too late to rename her. She is the youngest, but she is the head kitty honcho. Refuses to be touched unless it is one AM and she damn well feels like it. Also, has pathetic hollow mrowr thing she does when frustrated. Also? Is a bitch to other kitties unless she damn well feels like it.
CASE IN POINT: Pig steals fuzzy mouse from string in cat's room (YES, they have their own room). Takes it up onto daddy's side of the bed and sits on it to see if more mice will hatch. Hobbes jumps up on the bed, growls at Pig with all the force of a fucking mountain lion and waking up BOTH of us with a jump, and steals the mouse back. What does she do with the mouse? She drags it to her special hiding place, which is actually behind the water bowl and not really a hiding place at all even though she thinks it is, and guards it all night like some fuzzy gray leprechaun.
Augustus: Our newest member of the family, and the oldest cat at two years. Has a funky tattoo of a three in his ear from the pound, and he's white so it really stands out and makes him really butch. Like twinkies, and shares them with daddy every chance he gets. Eats french fries like they're special treats from kitty heaven. Matter of fact, he just noses up to the table and steal things with his lightning-paw, which was apparently bestowed upon him by the feline gods, along with his noxious gas. He jumps in your lap, gets all relaxed and noodly, then he farts. Gas-fabulous. It's really funny, unless you're the one getting butt-dusted, believe me.
CASE IN POINT: Actually, there are none for Augie. He just sleeps and cuddles with you and farts and steals stuff from the table. Not much else; he's pretty nutshelled for a cat.
Right now they're all running around like chickens with no heads, and in aobut five more minutes they'll all be passed out in their respective nappy-places until I go to bed, and then they will follow me in and spread out all over on top of me.
Why? Because I'm the mommy, that's why.
I'll be back in five with a new Prove Me Wrong.