Category Archives: rant

How’s Your Day?

So the phone rings earlier. The real phone. I cringe like I always do. But I answer it anyway.
A man named Danielle (I swear) says he’s with Window’s something or other. His English is so sketchy I can barely understand what he is saying.
“Do you have computah?”
And I think, I don’t have time for this nonsense so I say “I do not.”
Couple seconds of silence.
“Do you have laptop?” Sounded like he said “Le Pop” so I say “Pardon me?” and he repeats it. I say, “No, I don’t.”
So he says “What do you have?” I’m tempted to say “I have a vibrator” but I do not. I figure if I say I have a smartphone, I’ll be on the line longer, so I say, “I have a cellphone.”
Danielle (?) chuckles and says, “Oh my gootness!” and then there’s a couple seconds of silence, another chuckle and then a click.

Boo Spam

Sadly, I’ve had to disable the page I had on my blog all about one of my favorite bands.  It seems to have turned into a spam magnet. 94 hits this morning. It makes me mad. Why can’t life just be simple without all the little headaches? They seem to multiply day by day and contribute to one big headache.

Oh, how I long for the simpler days gone by… I don’t think I’m cut out for living in this age.

Going to try a little experiment. I’m posting a video of the band and see what happens. This post may or may not be here tomorrow, depending.

The Joy of Detox

Things have been a little hairy at our house lately. The kitchen renos have come to an abrupt halt due to the fact that PD is dealing with some issues.

In case you don’t know, my husband suffers from Meniere’s Disease. He was diagnosed, if I remember correctly, in 2003.  He’s been a Bilateral Meniere’s patient since 2000.  He’s on a pretty good selection of medications for the dizziness and other symptoms that go along with the disease.  He’s had surgeries that were temporary fixes.  Meniere’s isn’t a well-known disease and there is not a lot of research being done.  There is no cure but it can go into remission.

Sleep disturbances are a big part of life for PD.  He’s was on 4 medications alone to deal with that issue.  We’ve been trying to get him off some of his meds which don’t seem to be helping and/or are not covered by his medical insurance plan.  One of those meds is Clonazepam (Klonipin) and he’s been taking it for about 10 years.  After discussing it with his doctor, he followed her instructions for weaning off the drug.  That was three weeks ago and he’s been having a terrible time since.  It breaks my heart to see him come downstairs, bleary-eyed and edgy from spending hours trying to get some sleep. I now know first-hand what drug users must go through in detox, except without the benefit of other drugs to help with the withdrawal.  He’s adamant about not going back on the Klonopin and is limited in what he can take to ease the symptoms because of the other drugs he must stay on.  Just today I came across this article and will be giving it a good read.

I’m not only concerned about the hell he’s going through, as the days go by I’m getting more and more irate with the non-chalance with which some doctors prescribe these drugs.  From all the research I’ve been doing it seems to be a common problem.  I’ve also learned that he probably should not have been taking the drug for as long as he has been.  It was a low dose but taking it for so long has made the withdrawal that much more difficult.

I could make this a more lengthy diatribe on the insensitivity of the medical community but I won’t.  And don’t even get me started on the negligence of drug companies or the FDA.  What I need to stress to you is that before you start taking any medication, please please please discuss it in depth with your doctor and do some research.  Often times the “fix” is more dire than the actual problem.

And if you are so inclined, a prayer or two for PD would be much appreciated.


If I don’t I’ll burst.

Conversation going on in the change room at work today…

Keep in mind, the room is about 20 by 40 feet.  At any given time there may be up to 50+ people in there, scrubbing up and/or changing into clean room gear.  There are racks of uniforms, hair covers and shoe covers, stainless sinks, loud Dyson hand dryers, a large table and four stainless benches.  Sound carries…

With that many people all trying to talk over one another, you hear many conversations, most of them loud.  Pretty much impossible not to overhear.

You may recall the woman I’ve told you about who I have a problem with.  The one who has the problem with all other races, creeds, sexual preferences, etc.  Well.  Today I found out she has a problem with “Artsy-types.”  Yes, you read that correctly.  And you may also assume that I took that very personally.  Not a lot more than any of her other prejudices, which I find offensive- but in a more personal way.

You see, there is a guy we work with who is nothing, if not colorful and interesting.  Literally and figuratively.  This week his mop of thick black hair is accented with a beautiful bright patch of neon turquoise.  The woman in question was giving him her standard third degree… What made you decide to do that?  How much did it cost?  Does it wash out?  Yadda yadda yadda.  I just rolled my eyes and gave him my “poor you” look.  I’m one of the few people who has taken the time to get to know him and actually have real, meaningful conversations with the kid.  Most of the women I work with are either intimidated by him or repulsed by his style.  They’ve never taken the time to find out that he’s really nice and funny and a great conversationalist.

As soon as Mr. Prettyhair left the room, she started.  Keep in mind, she “hangs” with a group of older and judgemental women who go to church functions and pride themselves in their quote Christianity unquote.

After pretty much dissecting the poor kid and his wardrobe, jewelry and hair, she proclaimed that his need to “express himself” was way out of whack.  Or something to that effect.  And she added, “My daughter-in-law is one of those artsy types, so you can imagine how I worry about how my grandson will turn out.”  Then, if that wasn’t enough, she went on to describe an “artistic” boy who works at the grocery store.  Don’t get her wrong, she stressed, he’s a nice kid and all, but…  To which one of her cronies replied, “Did you say autistic or artistic?”  and they all hooted and hollered in laughter.  I thought I was gonna go ballistic on each and every one of their asses right then and there. Of course I was not part of the conversation and to intercede would make me as rude ok not AS rude as they are.

You know me well enough to know that just about all of my personal principles were offended and slaughtered to shreds in that short period of time.  Rather than cause a scene, I quickly left the room and returned to my desk and seethed for about 10 minutes and did some deep breathing exercises.  I also vowed that, given the opportunity, no, wait.  I will try not to say it.  But in my head, I’ll be saying, “You know, your own personal brand of narrow-mindedness is WAY more offensive, shocking and down-right dangerous than any sort of artistic expression I have ever witnessed.”

Man, when I think about it, going off on her (and her friends)  would be the ultimate masterpiece of  artistic expression.


(If you came here looking for anything slightly resembling humor, encouragment, enlightenment or something of merit,  do yourself a favor and shoot yourself in the foot instead.  Consider yourself warned.)

I noticed recently that the fact that I’m feeling very restless and unmotivated  could very well be the direct result of not having written much here in the past months.  Too much baggage in mah head.  I’ve totally lost sight of the reason I started blogging in the first place.   This therapeutic cleansing of the clutter clogging up my skull was the coolest cure I could come up with. (check out the alliteration, literary bitches!) And I’m still not exactly sure why I’ve quit slowed down to almost a trickle.  Yeah, I’m addicted to the instant gratification and the convenience (not the word I want) of places like Facebook.  It’s quick and easy to jot off a few words off the top of my head a few times a day as opposed to sitting in front of this BIG white box screaming at me to fill with whatever is swimming around in my brain. I come here at random intervals and am filled with a compassion much like sitting facing an old dear friend who says nothing but whose eyes are filled with a look of questioning.  I’m not sure what my friend needs or wants me to say and not sure what I’m willing to share.  Maybe not so much willing but wondering if what I have to say is what the friend wants to hear.  Is this what writer’s block feels like?  I’ve been blogging nine months short of 5 years and don’t recall ever being at a loss for blog fodder.  That really doesn’t sound like such a long time.  In reality, though, it has felt like such a big part of my life for so long that it seems much longer.

This could also be explained by the fact that my life feels to be at a standstill.  The winter thing… not just the season of the year but nearing the “winter” stage of my life.  Many things that have happened during the last year or so have forced me to slow down, made it necessary for me to let go of some “things” that kept me going full force.  We all age.  Normally it’s so gradual that we barely notice the changes.  Being that I’ve never been one to do things in a normal way, (and not always by choice) it so happens that my “gradual” was more of an instantaneous thing.  Not that it happened overnight, of course.  A bunch of events occurring and overlapping created a kind of chain reaction which resulted in a kind of head-on collison.  Much like a snowball rolling down a hill into a brick wall.  Working all that gawdawful overtime for so long caused me to get behind on so many things and that shit doesn’t just go away.  It accumulates and that glob becomes a mighty big monster.  And working long hours for a year without good sleep takes a toll on a body.  I’m not even going to address how it affects one’s state of mind.  It’s all connected.  Throw in a broken bone, a kidney stone and a drop in income (post OT) and see that glob monster?  It still doesn’t go away.  Then, gloriously, up pops a major holiday that you’re not entirely prepared for but welcome the festivities for the mental and emotional boost it provides.  Then the holiday is gone like the wind and what you’re left with is basically, a big mess,  a financial dent and an empty quiet house.  Which I could handle, as I do every year except that this year there’s an added anti-bonus.  A ton of snow and little or no sushine. (my other god.)   So if you’re reading this and “seeing” me devoid of most of what I need to get by, your picture is accurate.

Okay, so I’m experiencing a low point.  Maybe I just miss my kids.  Maybe I am just completely pissed at myself for lighting a cigarette after 6 days of cold turkey.  Maybe I simply need a new haircut.  Maybe I can’t force myself to take down my Christmas tree. (I know…)  Maybe I need medicated.  Maybe I wish that was me snowboarding in the Olympics.  Maybe I should replace my favorite jeans that are falling apart.  Maybe I should just shut up.

(I hope none of this shows on my face. I have to get my driver’s license photo taken in the morning.  Ha!)


I woke up at 12:48 am and thought I was going to freak out.  I’m not sure if I can explain this but I couldn’t find my reality.  It scared the crap out of me. I had been having a dream but I can’t remember it so I don’t know if that had anything to do with it or not.  I spent the rest of the night waking up almost every hour bathed in sweat.  Was hellish. I never realized that your wrists, elbows, fingers and ankles could sweat along with every other part of you.

Sometimes when I don’t have a grasp on things, it comforts me to know that other people share my experience.  This morning at 12:50 when I was trying to calm down I thought, “What are the chances of someone else lying in bed like this spazzing from not smoking and feeling like they could lose their mind?”  I decided the odds weren’t as high as I would have liked.


Friday night I smoked the last cigarette.  Most of the people close to me are already getting used to watching me shove copious amounts of small candies into my face (of the M&M, Tootsie Roll, Buttered Popcorn-flavored Jelly Belly varieties to name a few.)  I’ve developed a fondness for a Rainbow trail mix into which I have just dumped the Jelly Bellies and more raisins and sunflower seeds.  Before I’m finished there may be everything but the kitchen sink in it.

I cannot believe the intensity of the cravings I’ve been experiencing.  Being that I’ve spent the last month or so tapering off, smoking only all-tobacco cigarettes, I assumed that the chemicals I was used to ingesting in my old regular brand were what would keep me addicted more strongly than the actual tobacco. I would have thought that at least a month would have been sufficient to get all those chemicals out of my system.

Poor PD, I didn’t realize he was standing two feet behind me just a little while ago when I yelled, at the top of my lungs, “I want a cigarette!” I probly scared him. But you’re right, yeah, no more than usual.

I have done absolutely not one constructive thing this entire weekend. I had planned to fill it with activities to leave no room for my brain/body to even think about how much it would enjoy lighting up. I can’t concentrate on anything long enough to accomplish anything. That makes me angry. Angry enough to want to light a cigarette.  In fact just about everything makes me want to smoke.  Here are a few things today that triggered an intense craving:

  • Having a cup of coffee
  • Writing out a birthday card
  • Composing several emails
  • The washing machine going off balance
  • Finishing lunch
  • Answering the phone

There were a ton of other things but just sitting here thinking about them is proving difficult.  So I’m going to stop for now.

Oh yeah, one other thing I’ve noticed… I can’t type for shit anymore.  Every third word or so I end up correcting.  Unnerving?  Yes!  Enough to make me want to smoke?  You bet your ass.  But I won’t. I’m going to go scream in the basement now.


I didn’t.  I had a broken foot, couldn’t drive for a month and a half, had a kidney stone and a job that demanded I give up most of  my life for the last year.  I am bitter beyond belief but I will not belabor that on the blog. . .  I did not wear a bathing suit ONE time this year.  Wearing one isn’t looking good for next year either, considering that I’ve been sitting on my ass for an average of 10 hours a day for what seems like eons.  My body will never look the same.  But enough of that…

I despise pretentiousness.  Unless of course it is being delivered by a bonafide pretent.

(don’t bother looking that up, I just coined it.  From this day forward, snooty people who are full of themselves will be referred to here as pretents.  And the cool part is that they won’t know it’s derogatory.  Pretentious people usually refuse to see things like that anyway.)

Using “vaca” up there reminded me of that.  I detest certain word slaughters such as: veggie, burger, fries, (merely a coincidence that those are all foods) info, def, “congrats,” gynie, (pretent talk for gynecologist in case you didn’t know…) lingo– which is a bad shortening of language anyway and sounds particularly pretentious.

I’m not particularly fond of  demo, but I can stand it.  I’ve only recently begun to refer to my phone as my “cell” and I think that’s merely because I’ve been too damn tired to speak in multiple syllables.  “Mac” is fine because MacIntosh sounds entirely like something a pretent would brag about owning.  “Beemer” is ok with me because I think it’s funny.  B-Em-Dubya takes too long to say and reminds me of George and who wants to do that?  “Harley” is fine.  Besides, pretents don’t usually ride motorcycles.  I guess I could have used “bike” here in that case, huh.

I’m guilty of using “probly” exclusively but just because I like it.  Some people use “prolly” which I like too.  Mostly because NO ONE I know ever says Prob-ab-ly.  It’s like February.  Too hard to say.  I don’t personally have trouble saying Saturday but I know many people who insist on calling it Sair-dee and that kind of makes my skin crawl.

It’s funny that we’ve gotten either too busy or too lazy to say entire words.  In some cases, I understand it’s necessary, such as when you are Tweeting and it’s hard to fit all you want to say in 140 characters.  But otherwise, we tend to use shorter words to convey our thoughts and ideas.  But some of them just sound too pretentious.

Texting is a whole ‘nother subject with a whole ‘nother language.  But I’m not getting into that…

I’m not saying I don’t use chopped-up words, I do.  Sometimes it’s just for effect. It’s just that some of them sound stiff and snotty to me, that’s all.  I have more words- or parts of- to say and more to say about them but I’m getting kind of tired italicizing.

I will talk to you all at a later time.  Good bye 🙂


I just spent about 20 minutes writing a newsy, introspective, albeit ranty post full of all the juicy categories you see up there.  I had just finished when the phone rang.  It was Juju and I was excited to talk to her, being that she and Mr. Juju were in Toronto last night to see U2 (and Snow Patrol.)  As we started our conversation I’d realized that I’d not published my post.  I clicked something- which I thought was Publish and sat back to enjoy the conversation.

Now I see that I did not click Publish.  Dagnabbit anyhow.  It’s G.O.N.E., GONE.  And of course the title makes no sense whatso EVER.

Excuse me while I go find a pigeon to kick.


So I come on here this morning and I had some mail to read.  There were a couple of weird things in my mail which turned out to be invitations to be friends with people from that nablopolamalooza thing that I attempted and failed at last month.  Firstly I thought, geez, people you’re a little late, that was last months news.  Anyway, I clicked on the invites and they were some of those weird people who claim to make tons of money on the internet doing weird things and I followed my usual impulse to click the delete button.  There was a bunch of negative people also leaving weird religious messages about tragic crap and of course they were followed by comments such as “get a life” and crap like that by people who piss me off by using the internet to spew their weird psychotic tendencies because they have nothing better to do with their life.  I realized that I’d wasted 5 minutes of my precious morning and just went on the nablopolamalooza site and spent 5 more precious minutes trying to find out how the hell to be an unmember of the whole stupid thing.  But I got out of there and deleted my badge which never showed up correctly on my sidebar anyway.  So don’t look for me to be signing up for any of that weird crap in the future.

So there.

Anyway… it’s a beautiful morning and I’m waiting for PD to wake up so that we can get on with our day.  We’ll most likely attend a huge annual Labor Day celebration at a park near our home which we usually attend.  There are rides for the kiddies, pretty good food which is bad for you, a giant flea market, music, sometimes a celebrity or two, a petting zoo, some artists displaying their work and some nifty port-a-potties with running water so you can actually wash your hands.  It’s all sponsored by assorted Labor Unions.  More often than not, we get sunburns and end up buying a bunch of stuff we don’t really need and seeing a few people that we haven’t talked to in ages and get some exercise walking the whole length of the park to search for wherever we left our car.  But it’s fun and it’s a tradition.  Oh yeah, they have all-day Bingo too, for those people who think that’s what celebrating Labor Day is all about.  Which I’ll never understand, but who am I to judge?  The sunburn thing makes more sense to me.  What’s a good holiday without a sunburn?

You enjoy your weekend and be safe.