Any Second Now, Two Minute Warning

17 11 2016

Depeche Mode is indirectly related to why I do not know Algebra or Geometry. I wish I was joking, but sadly, no. I spent most of my time in Algebra I and Informal Geometry, either having lyric reciting contests or song title contests with a friend of mine. (The rest of my time was spent passing humorous notes back & forth with my best friend – who is now my Spouse – and smoking a cigarette after I was dared to). All Depeche Mode songs, mind you. She (my friend) was kind of amazed at my dedication to them too, after all I was not the long time fan she was, I only discovered them early on my Sophomore year. She knew more about the actual band members than I did, but I have 6 albums worth of their songs permanently etched into my brainmeats.

Recently I found the remastered version of the entire A Broken Frame album on youtube and had to listen. The songs all came flooding back and I can still recall all the lyrics, like old friends.

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Me…Fighting!

29 10 2016

For weeks now I have been sucked into watching various Asian dramas. Taiwanese, Korean, a few Japanese and one Chinese one. It’s become my obsession. I have even watched various forms of the same manga-based shows just to compare. It’s become so commonplace for me to hear Korean, Japanese or Mandarin spoken (and I can tell the difference between the three) that I think if I heard one of them spoken while out & about I would expect subtitles to pop up in front of my face for me to read. I have started to pick up some Korean & Mandarin words as well. I already had some Japanese stored in my echoey brainmeats from years of watching anime. I should start reviewing some of these, but I am completely ashamed of some of the ones I get really hooked on. I mean it’s not like any of them are bad, but I tend to pick some based upon the actors involved – and yes I have my favorites…ones that I don’t want to reveal here – but I am sure anyone who reads my blog ever can guess at least one. *cough*

So yes, this is what has been occupying most of my time for the last 3 weeks or so. I have become very anemic of late so this has kept me planted in front of the tube as well. The anemia has nary a thing to do with the TV watching, but the TV watching is a direct symptom of the anemia. No energy = me slothing out.

I think next on my watching agenda will be a period Korean drama (Daebak), if only because the hats that men wore in the Joseon Dynasty are just so damned awesome…and, you know, the men are totally hot.

jackpot

Seriously. Made. Of. Win.





Mocked on the Internet Playground

22 10 2016

Pinterest is evil. Not only does it make me shriek my frustrations to the nine netherhells when I Google a thing and get a Pinterest page (I really have no words for how much I loathe this), but they like to ‘read’ what web pages you happen to visit and then ‘surprise’ you with suggestion emails for pins you might like. After signing up at the Spouse’s insistence a couple of weeks ago, I got my first email from them earlier this week. “10 actors pins you might be interested in!” Hmm. I am constantly looking up actors on imdb when I watch TV so this didn’t shock me too terribly much, but I was curious as to who they would have as suggestions. Unsuspecting, I clicked. I immediately blushed and began cursing, calling Pinterest an invasive pile of camel shite. There in that email were 10 pins completely dedicated to Jiro Wang, like an enormous snicker at me for being a wee bit obsessed with one of the songs he sang for a Taiwanese drama I watched. “Ha ha ha! You liiiiiike him! You want to maaaaaaaarry him! Here’s 10 piiiiiiins of him!”

Then? To add insult to injury, I notice I have a new email from them today…a couple actually. One was of funny gifts people have bought and was innocuous but vapid. The other? “10 drama pins you might be interested in!” Now I know I can just choose to not click, I can just send these to the ether, never to view them again…but I am compelled to see what they think I might be interested in. It’s like those lucky egg vending machines…the ones with the clucking, rotating chicken? (what’s not to like about a fake chicken, gyrating and clucking that then drops a surprise egg. there could be anything in there! I know…I have issues) So, boldly I clicked, unable to stop my curiosity. Guess what? I bet you can guess..come on…TRY. Yup. That’s right. 10 more fucking pins of Jiro Wang. Well played Pinterest, you insidious fuck. Well played.

(How happy was I to see you can turn those notifications off)





Cheeseball Roulette

12 10 2016

I love playing PC video games…especially MMORPGs. I don’t mind subbed ones but the free ones, when they are good, are a great waste of time. What I really love is the ones that have those daily prizes. I love looking forward to whatever digital garbage I am going to get because sometimes they give rare awesomeness.

*CLICK* Yay!! I won a free bubble of orc splooge! Huzzah! *CLICK* Awesome!! Two tickets for some PvP gear that I need to PvP a million hours to obtain more so I can get an outdated helm. ROCK ON! At least it was FREEEEEEEE! *CLICK* Oh look!! A love token good towards any pretend internet gaming marriage because I am playing some obscure Asian game that makes marriage a part of leveling! Super! AND FREEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Yup. It’s like that. Because mentally I am just a 5 year old with a roll of coins standing at a bank of gumball & prize machines, and I really REALLY think I might get that sparkly, velvety, rainbow unicorn sticker if I want it bad enough!

Just one more quarter…

 





Introducing…My Ass

28 01 2015

I debated whether I should post this or not. Not only am I exposing my soft underbelly to humiliation, but it’s a decidedly gross tale. However, I decided to bite the bullet, suck it up and forge ahead…for the laughs.

I had a second surgery on my arm today to correct some issues with my vein access (for future dialysis…technically it’s called a fistula, but I refuse to use that term…it’s fucking gross). The surgery took no time at all, and I was actually under anesthesia longer than the time it took to correct the issue. Upon waking up, I had my usual lizard-brain reaction to the oxygen mask on my face, which always prompts the folks in the recovery room to assume I am momentarily insane and unaware of my surroundings. Nope. I am always completely aware, just pissed to have that fucking thing strapped to my face. We hates it, we does.

I must pause for a moment in my story to mention something else. I realize this is making things out of order, but I felt it needed saying. Apparently all females ages 10-55 are subject to a urine pregnancy test prior to surgery. I was no exception. I am also no stranger to urine tests. As a person who suffers from chronic kidney disease, urine tests are fairly routine. What does happen, however, is I am never able to give much of a sample. This has little do do with my output and everything to do with my shitty urine collection skills. Seriously. I have always been shit at it. You’d think after 43 years I would know where my piss hole is, apparently I do not and each time it’s like a blind man trying to hit the broadside of a barn with a tank and still plowing through the chicken coop to the north. Never have I wished more to have a penis….okay, to be honest the only times I ever have wished for a male appendage have been urine related. Peeing in the snow, peeing with convenience out of doors or in the woods without fear of a vegetation induced rash…laugh if you must, but I would be totally thrilled to be able to directionally piss on a jellyfish sting victim. Best. Vacation. Ever. But I digress…

So there I was, waking up from surgery, a little surly and groggy-high as fuck. Now the last surgery back in November, I woke from the anesthesia feeling completely lucid and alert if maybe a bit loopy. What got me was a lack of coordination with my limbs. Today was no different except for the urgent need to void my bowels. When I say urgent I mean ‘do something now or all of you nurses fluttering about me will have a really bad day’. I managed to croak out the word ‘toilet’ while gesturing vaguely towards my midsection with a flailing, IV linked arm. They actually asked me if I thought I could make it to the toilet itself or if I wanted a bedpan. Really? I can barely flop my hands about and you want me to walk? I opted for a bedpan, which is the absolute last thing I would ever wish to use, but at this point I didn’t care. After some floundering about on my part, the nurse slides the pan under my arse, but I can already tell it’s a no go. Well, it would have been viable if I voided from my tail bone, but the position where she placed it made the odds of me hitting the actual pan much like the barn/tank scenario. I finally waved her off and said I would just wend my listing way to the toilet, with a nurse on each side keeping me upright. Now let me mention here that this ENTIRE time I was pinching my arse cheeks tight enough to make diamonds, which I feel is quite the feat since I was tripping balls. We meandered our way through a pack of medical personnel because OF COURSE we would have to to get me to the toilet while I am wearing an ass exposing hospital gown.

I make it to the restroom with no accidents, much to my relief, but then I am faced with the dilemma of wiping (yes, I said it…fuck off) while one arm is gimped and the other hooked up to an IV…AND I am moving like a drunken sailor with dropsy. I won’t go into the nitty gritty here because no one needs to know the specifics, suffice to say I was camped out for a while and many paper towels were made use of. That alone is gross enough, but honestly it was more because I am a bit fastidious about such things and my impairment made it quite the task. Washing my hands was a fun exercise in frustration too, but I managed that better than I expected and made my way to the hall. I had to lean against the doorway while I waited for my nurse escorts to come back and fetch me, but they didn’t take long. As we were lurching back – me lurching, them trying to help but finding me less than willing to be led – I mentioned my flapping free nethers. One of the nurses said “oh, let me close that as you walk”. “s’okay” I slurred, “we are under no illusions here…I gives nary a fuck.” and I made my way back to my recovery bed, affording the 3 people who had not seen my ass previously, a full show.

Good times.





Wollycobbled Fizzbang

22 01 2015

Lately I have had this burning desire to write, however, I have absolutely nothing to say. So I looked up some writing prompts and found a few that sounded fun, but then my sloth genes took over and I failed at those. Okay, the Letter to a Loved One sounded promising but I didn’t feel like paddling down that river of sadness and so I am putting that one off for a few months. There are a few people I would really love to address such letters to, but again…river of sadness, me in a mesh canoe and a slotted paddle…not a pretty thing. I look terrible and even more so when I have been crying.

Moving on, I think I will just write whatever comes into my head. Just spew forth some mental vomit on the digital page. On second thought, no one wants to really see that. I realize that it seems like, in the past, I have willingly purged loads of my brain goo all over this blog, but rest assured, all of my cerebral musings have been carefully controlled. You really do not want to know what my brain can hurl towards your unsuspecting eyeballs at approximately 56 mph. Trust that it would make me look like a complete obsessive freak…no, really. More so than I already let on…it’s a bit scary, to be honest. As an example, let me post a conversation I just spewed at a good friend in an IM:

Me: no one wants to read a soliloquy on David Tennant’s ass…see? I should never speak
Me: I blame spouse…he wanted to watch all the episodes of Doctor Who before they take them off of netflix
Me: now we are out of the Tennant years though, so I think my obsessiveness can rest
Me: Matt Smith is just meh
Me: (shutting up now)

See what I mean? And please do note that this is all me rapid firing posts to him before he ever posts back. This happens frequently, but those who know me well accept it as one of my many, many foibles. Well, they accept it and probably mock me behind my back…which is fine, I am quite aware of how ridiculous I am.

I just thought of something to write about. Things I will admit/cop to:

I like Coldplay. I know, judge away, I care not…I really do like them. Hey, it’s not like they are Nickleback or something!

I don’t care what anyone thinks about me, the new gerber baby freaks me out. I have only seen the one photo, but it’s clutching its wee hands under its chin, looking right at the camera and smiling like a fucking cherub and it gives me the creeps. Pings that uncanny valley feeling in my mind and makes me shudder.

I really like McDonald’s fries and small cheeseburgers. The fries must be eaten fresh though, let them sit for a bit and they are ruined. The cheeseburgers must be eaten with no pickles or salt on the meat…yes, I piss off drive through people by ordering this way. I like pickles…like them quite a bit, actually…just not on a burger.

Okay, I lost my steam on that one. I am currently cooking while I write this and the constant stopping and checking on the soup made me lose my train of thought. Honestly, it doesn’t take much for that to happen these days. I forget what I am doing mere milliseconds after thinking it. My life largely consists of me wandering about trying to recall what I was in the process of doing when my brain apparently checked out to play hopscotch. Or two-square. I am not really sure what my brain is off doing but I am convinced it is some sort of Laura Ingalls-style recess game.

On another note, I am making a soup of various bits and pieces of produce that I had lying around and I am a bit worried that it will come off tasting like burnt radiator fluid. It certainly smells that way, but that’s probably because I cannot rid my hands of the smell of celeriac…which reeks like burnt radiator fluid to me. I have read many things about how celeric is a great sub for potatoes with less starch and more fiber, but I really hope the flavor is transformed as the smell while I was cutting it almost made me vomit. I really don’t like celery. I will cook with it, but it is not even in my top three least favorite foods. It ranks right down there with lima beans, canned peas and mackeral. My nightmare meal would be a trifle made of celery, lima beans, mackeral and canned peas…topped with chopped black licorice. Yes, I also abhor black licorice.

Getting back to my cooking, the soup was a lovely mix of potato, onion, kale, celeriac and fennel…tastes quite spiffy too. I am not sure I will make the exact thing again, but I was pleased to know that celeriac does indeed taste far better than it smells raw. With that, I am ceasing this useless prattle so I can shovel food in my gullet and I apologize for the useless drivel.

 





Smothered in the sympathy you bleed

21 01 2015

Yeah, the last two post titles have totally come from songs on Aztec Camera’s album High Land, Hard Rain. I am currently listening to it on repeat while I reread old blog entries like some sort of obsessive troll. I plan to keep writing/reading/listening until I get sleepy…only pausing to whisper-sing along with We Could Send Letters…I adore that song. This could take awhile.

I think I forgot to take my nightly meds and here it is 2:40 am. I am dithering about taking them now or just waiting until I wake up at 8:15 and downing them then. This is assuming I even sleep tonight. The meds I take are all for lowering my blood pressure as my failing kidneys cause it to jack high. I do not feel like my blood pressure is over the top right now though, even after a cup of fully leaded coffee, but I checked my pulse anyway. Of course the pulse I always check is on my left wrist and that is now forever tainted by my fistula. Fistula is such a gross word, I need to come up with a new name for the access vein a surgeon created in my wrist for future dialysis. When I say tainted I mean that the usual pulse point now sports a lovely inch long scar and no pulse can be felt there, but if I run my fingers about 3 millimeters to the left of it I get a buzzing sensation from the access vein. I think it’s ridiculously cool except when I am trying to sleep, have my hand & wrist resting on the cat and I can feel it buzzing against her fur. That is unsettling.

Back from a potty break (because yes, I do urinate!) and I have to mention that we subscribe to Popular Mechanics. We also leave all magazines in the bathroom, because Spouse likes to camp out there. Anyway, this month’s issue was sitting face up on the counter and I had to angrily turn it over…as I do every time I use the toilet these days. Why? Because Olivia fucking Munn is splayed all over the cover and fuck all if I am going to go about my bodily ablutions while she stares on. Fuck her. And honestly it’s not because I am ‘jealous’ at how ‘pretty’ she is or whatever. I am secure enough in my own wildebeestness that I don’t exactly feel that way about other women. No, she just annoys the ever living shit out of me. Now if it were Kristen Bell or Oliva Wilde I would be totally fine. Those two can watch me pee all damn day.

I just logged onto amazon to play some streaming music, but then was sidetracked with buying socks. I am not making this up. It took me 10 minutes and $16 to completely forget why I was there. My brain is seriously fucked these days. On that note, I think I need to end this and go channel my energy into playing Skyrim or something. I have to because this is rapidly becoming a complete clusterfuck of a post.