Monthly Archives: April 2011

Where Have the Electrolytes Gone?

I have spent the last 3 hours writing and re-writing one of my most incoherent posts. For the last week I’ve been sick with a stomach virus that has left me a hollow shell. Before my demise, I would like to leave some sort of end-of-the-week post so my blog hasn’t been empty for two weeks straight (other than peanut butter). I’m not completely scrapping the one I just wrote, but it will have to be looked at when I’m not trying to drink a gallon of Gatorade per Dr. Sexy’s official orders. Since my body is wasting away, I figure this comic is apropos:

Via Buttersafe

Imperfect Strangeness

I grew up with a love of peanut butter that was not quite on par with other children’s, but there was one man who changed my outlook on that creamy, gooey substance. One of the many shows I was allowed to absorb as a child was Perfect Strangers. Now, to explain further what I’m about to relate to you: I also loved and watched over and over again a recorded tape of an androgynous Peter Pan T.V. movie (which I cannot find anywhere online mysteriously) and during one of the commercial breaks this appeared to me:

Mark Linn-Baker changed my view forever on peanut butter and from then on all I have ever loved is that sugary, iconic staple.

Unhappy Noise Time

I know I’ve featured random crap from The Oatmeal before and this may seem like a lazy post. It is. I’ve been experiencing beclouded brain issues which I’m seeing (finally) the doctor for today. I’m also packing and it’s off for a week to Mom’s. I don’t have any posts preset for this week so it’s another vacation week for the blog, although I might update here and there if I feel like it.

Today’s post comes from Oat’s newest strip Minor Differences 3 (I recommend checking out all three of them if you haven’t):

Approval Face

This is why I follow @simmonpegg on Twitter:
Vodpod videos no longer available.

You Don’t Insult The Cos!

I’m going to get somewhat serious & political in today’s post. I have been trying to keep this blog fairly clean of personal stuff, but this week I’m overriding that. I heard this morning that Donald Trump insulted Bill Cosby and that cannot go unanswered.

Admittedly, Bill instigated it a bit. Bill Cosby and Donald Trump were on Meredith Vieira’s show on the same day. Trump went on the show first. His presidential run must have been mentioned. Cosby reacted, but not in a way that I would consider hateful, just frustrated:
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Honestly I am hearing, ‘Shit or get off the pot, Donald.’ Which isn’t saying anything about his political views or how Bill Cosby may feel about him personally (although he probably doesn’t like him now). It’s basically saying you need to make a decision because you are showing you aren’t a decision maker; you can throw your hat in anytime and it doesn’t/shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t seem like Cosby has faith in Donald anyway. He’s no Ahhnold. He’s no Reagan. Being rich and famous doesn’t automatically get you a seat at the White House. Donald Trump doesn’t have the charisma and seems more like a Ross Perot. Okay, he has charisma, just the wrong kind.

He may be especially doomed if he’s saying this kind of shit about a beloved human being like Bill Cosby:
“In any event, as I watched the show, the subject of Donald Trump came up. I was surprised to hear him blabber, somewhat incoherently “you run or shut up.” The hatred was pouring out of his eyes when he said this. As I am sure he must know I cannot run until this season of Celebrity Apprentice ends. I know that he has taken a lot of heat over the years in that he seems to be talking down to the people he’s talking to and purportedly trying to help. Actually, based on the way he acted, things are not looking too good for Cosby. I wish he would be more honest, and if he doesn’t want me to run because he’s obviously an Obama fan, he should state the reasons and not come into my “green room” in front of numerous witnesses and treat me like his best friend, only to denigrate me when I’m not around. Sadly, he got more attention talking about me than he did on the merits of his own appearance–maybe he is not as dumb as I thought.”

Maybe there is some truth. Perhaps Cosby was mentioning Trump in order to bring light to his message at the end, but instead of questioning him on that, Trump reacts vehemently. Any people who loved Cosby and grew up with him (I did, I don’t know about the rest of you heathens) are now at odds with Trump. Although, anyone who grew up with The Cosby Show probably isn’t a fan of Donald’s politics anyway.

Confession: I am biased on this. I have seen almost every episode of The Cosby Show. It was almost bread and butter in my family growing up, like Seasame Street. Also, Sarah has been buying seasons and we watched the episodes together so I’m caught up on my childhood. Here’s a reminder on why we love and support Bill in these times:

(Yay! Another now-defunct website I have located in the annals of Internet Time.)


In other news of the weird: In doing research for a Trump/peacock/NBC allegory ~which didn’t pan out~, I wound up on Wikipedia and found this:

“Melek Taus (ملك طاووس – Kurdish Tawûsê Melek), the Peacock Angel, is the Yazidi name for the central figure of their faith. The Yazidi consider Tawûsê Melek an emanation of God and a benevolent angel who has redeemed himself from his fall and has become a demiurge who created the cosmos from the Cosmic egg. After he repented, he wept for 7,000 years, his tears filling seven jars, which then quenched the fires of hell. In art and sculpture, Tawûsê Melek is depicted as a peacock. However, peacocks are not native to the lands where Tawûsê Melek is worshipped.”

I don’t believe this applies to Trump in any way. I feel this is more applicable to other major NBC players, like Alec Baldwin. I adore that man. ALEC BALDWIN FOR PRESIDENT 2012! Hell yeah.

Yessir Yessir, Nine Vials Full

Warning: If you are disturbed by mental imagery of blood, needles, stories about nausea, angry lesbians, waiting rooms, or you just hate my personal medical stories you may want to skip this post. The final hurdle of the neurological exams was blood work.

When I first received coverage, my insurance informed me that I had to get a doctor’s recommendation to see a neurologist. The general doctor (who was obscenely adorable) requested more blood work than I thought necessary, but I haven’t had a basic check-up in several years and had no recent records. I didn’t do the requested exams right away. I hate blood work. Also, my first priority was what I had come to him for. Off to the brain doctor was I.

The neurologist had requested all the previous tests I’ve described: two EEGs and an MRI. Then he wanted some blood levels tested for my medication. I made an appointment for Quest Diagnostics to get this all done plus the previous doctor’s requests and figured this could all be done with the same blood. Maybe a vial or two. No biggie. (I be dumb.)

Did I mention I had made an appointment? I did. I went onto Quest’s website, as was recommended, and set it up, but the office was packed with walk-ins. I stepped up to the desk and signed in. There was no receptionist so all I could do was sign in. I couldn’t ask about time or paperwork. I had to wait and then harass a nurse. It was frustrating.

So I waited and waited in the room with a strange smell full of strange people. They were being called up in order of arrival. There was no regard to my appointment time. I hate getting blood work done. I hate waiting rooms. I hate strangers. Plus one guy obviously had brought in some sort of “specimen sample” case.

Finally I was brought in and found I had the angriest lesbian** nurse I have ever met. She looked at my orders and was, to put it mildly, consternated. Their computer systems were down so she had to look up several items by hand and wasn’t positive where they all were so it took awhile. At one point I had to go to the bathroom and she said, “Hurry up!” If you say that to someone and you are angry about it, it makes your subject nervous and tends to have the opposite affect. She also asked me if I had been fasting. This was around 1pm. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to fast so I didn’t eat that morning, but told her I had dinner. She said that was fine. This is an important detail for what comes next.

So I’m all seated and ready to go. How many vials did she just pull out? Five, six, nine??? For all the tests requested between the two doctors I saw more vials than I had ever seen requested for one go. I was full of utter dread. Some of them were smaller than others, but that doesn’t make much of a difference. On goes the tourniquet. (I don’t mind the needle so much. It’s the tourniquet that brings on the misery.) Needle in… and go. And go. And go… feelin’ woozy. She actually asked me if I was alright and I told her sort of. She kept encouraging me by telling me how many left. She was like, ‘just a couple more!’ ‘Only two more!’ ‘Okay, this one’s just a little one!’

When it was finished it took a second for it to hit. I was down. Thankfully I didn’t completely black out and I was still in the chair, but I was so sick and so dizzy that I couldn’t move. As the nurse was attempting to move the patients in and out quickly, frustration seemed to return to her. She was kind enough to bring me water and a wet cloth, but she wanted me out quickly. She showed mild concern and when I improved she asked if I had gotten my “sea legs” back and asked if I was good to go.

It took about two or three minutes, but when I finally got it back together, I stumbled out. I managed to walk outside where Meg was waiting patiently. She had a look of utter shock and horror. My face was white as a ghost. I ate Wendy’s on the way home and then slept for about three hours. I still didn’t get my strength back to full until this morning.

So that’s my terrifying bloody experience. This is why I don’t give blood.

(Via an ehow Health article. The blood tests defined in it are probably what I was getting.)

**Fairly positive: short hair, dressed in a masculine way, deep voice, listening to an all-sports radio channel.

Bear Throne

As you all know, I love bears. I found a bit of a bear-themed obsession on Boing Boing surrounding this one, weird hunter from the 1860’s that I thought I’d share. It started with a picture of the man in his beautiful bear chair:

And then goes on to feature the chair on it’s own:

You may say the chair is morbid or tasteless, but I find it unique and quite charming. It looks comfy. Although it might be comfy in a way that you think it might grab and eat you while you sit in it. Like Chairy from PeeWee’s Playhouse.

Who is the man behind the genius of the Bear Chair? His name was Seth Kinman and you can read all about the crazy old coot if you click on that first pic and visit Boing Boing’s bizarre showcase on him.

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