Friday, February 29, 2008

a typing attempt

If I look kinda toward the right side of my screen I can see OK, but my eye is really milky and blurred. I'm doing just peachy with the keyboard, though:) Apparently my LiveJournal voice posts only worked for a precious few people, so I'll revisit the updates made there.

I have a tear on my right cornea that is probably a reopening of an old wound inflicted by a very happy and excited Dharma dog a few years ago. Right now there is a contact lens bandage on it and I have to keep my pupil dilated (looks very Delirium to have only one dilated pupil.) Monday the doctor will recheck me and if it's healing he'll replace the contact and if it looks bad I may have to have surgery to re-abrade the broken piece and there was some mention of strategically place holes and then I stopped listening, thinking it was better to just stick my fingers in my ears and go "LALALALALA."

My gut feeling is the increasing milkiness is actually good, being like dead cells that are coming off onto the lens as shiny new cells form beneath. I'm trying to visualize it healing and radiate awesome hippy mama no-surgery vibes but am having trouble focusing (haha!) on meditating. I've called in the big guns- a Reiki master Wiccan preistess friend is coming tomorrow to help:)

I'm summoned for num-a-nums, so I'm off to attend to La Birdy.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

actual improvement

I still look like I got punched in the eye hard, but the swelling feels like it's down. The pain is almost totally gone- oh the squee! Can see keyboard pretty well- and the screen for short bursts. The light is an issue- I have to dilate that one pupil so it doesn't jump in and out of focus and get strained.

There's a pretty blanket of snow, so work's closed anyway. I'm pretty sure I'll bew fine to go in tomorrow. The snow worries me, though, as Bu has to drive home from Pittsburgh.

The most pressing issue now is my utter lack of caffeine in the house. As soon as the Bird awakes, Papaw's going to run me to fast food joint for breakfast & coffee. And my eyes are wiped out now.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

more voice

Bloody effin' hell. Back to the doc. Corneal boo-boo worse. They may have to brillo pad the motherfucker. Funtastic, baby. Clickie for full story.

Monday, February 25, 2008

voice post!

OK, now I'm leaving the interwebz like a smart person and reasting my eyes. Am bloody bored & uncomfortable. Meh.

Why is the rum gone!?

quickie update- eyeball OK:) and dorky humor daisy is back

No virus. It's the old scratch in my cornea (thank you hyper lovin' Dharma Dog) reopened. Will heal on it's own or there are options. Goal now is to prevent infection.

Le whew!

Also, the office visit was $40. Sweet. All my drops and goop are OTC, under $20.

Argh, me hearties. Off to find patch so's I can drive. Gifts of rum are appreciated, as it would go well with my new piratey attitude as well as the fact that I've earned it;)

Sunday, February 24, 2008


I spent three hours of my crazy busy day at the Health Plus clinic. That annoying blurry eye thing plus painful feeling like something was lodged in my eyelid was really really bad today. My internal radar was beeping really loudly this weekend. So I borrowed money from Papaw and went to the doctor.

I seem to have a virus eating my fucking cornea, so it's very good that I listened to my internal beeps. Doctor says I need a specialist, like right now. I ask him if he knows if I go through the low income clinic to get a referral or... and he cuts me off to tell me "No. First thing tomorrow. I'm making the appointment right now." "But I don't have insurance." "Dude," says the doctor, "it's your eye. You like having two of them, right?"

So I have droppies for tonight and an early appointment and a small but manageable amount of fear that my eye is REALLY FUCKED. He said it was bad, that I've already lost vision in a tone that made me thing that vision isn't just slacking for spring break and will be back soon but is actually gone gone.

I am as freaked out (and probably more) about an opthalmologist's bill than I am about an eyeball virus. I am uncomfortable that there was an implication of my having less than two eyes but am comforted that the eye doctor who fit me in early will make it better. And then I am uncomfortable again that I can't pay and that this is an expensive problem.

It is also annoying that- although I looked smokin' hot in my fancy dress and nekked of hair legs- I had no smoldering sexy eye makeup to enhance the hotness.

Saturday, February 23, 2008


Whoever showed up here after googling "wiccan p0rn," did you find any? Was their hot Dionysos worship? 'Cause I always meant to write that but never have.

Sleepy now. Post-a-thon finished.


Joss Whedon. New show. ZOMG. Scifi premise. X-Files + X-men + Matrix + Eliza Dushku = Daisy writhing in fits of mad, gasping-for-air, undiluted squee.


And can I say "rock on" to a dood whose fan base is so rabid they have a blog up & running immediately- before the 'sodes are even written?

Friday, February 22, 2008

the first nursing home visit and then a sharp curve into kittenish territory

It was not as bad as I'd thought. Aunt Pea told me there was shit smell in the halls and her roommate was a semi-vegetative skeleton, in only slightly more euphemistic language. It is rather hospital-ish, and the food is nauseating. (I tried a rubber tater tot. Tator tot?) The roomie is older and spacier, but she was coherent and thought my name was pretty. Hers is too: Ocie. Made me think she was a sea nymph back in the thirties:)

Grandma was much more with it than she was last night at the hospital. She was doing loop conversations, but she always does that. And she thought I was Laura once but then was OK.

(Here's where I do a 180 and get giddy and excited about girly junk.)

Speaking of Laura. Two Lauras are rocking my world today. Laura W sent me a really snarky fun baby book with bonus awesome goodies (le uber squee!) and Laura Beth is going to come visit OMG and stay here and I'm so excited I'm going to bake bread and dust.

Also rocking me is the credit card Aunt Pea gave me to get a spiffy dress for the fundraiser gala, and the grandies who are keeping the baby tonight.

I suppose I have no choice but to shave my luxurious mammal-goddess leg fur. Bu and I have an annual date with weirdly naked-feeling and therefore highly erotic smooth legs that make me feel like I'm in drag. There will also be panty hose and hopefully some sensibly low kitten heels. Haircut tomorrow, too. The pixie has grown out into The Messy Emo Shag Thing which is not cute or at all perky.

Thursday, February 21, 2008


I'm really raw and scattered and all over the place. So. 

Aunt Pea just called to tell me they took Grandma straight to the nursing home from the hospital. An ambulance moved her apparently. I'm confused; the plan was to take her tomorrow.

Pea is hysterical but didn't want to talk. I'm upset too... I called and Bu is on his way home from smoky garage band beer fest.

I didn't expect Aunt Pea to fall apart, I guess. But it really sucks. I feel like we have all failed her and I can't stop thinking how alone she must feel and how disoriented. Last night the Birdy and I went to see her and she thought she was at home. She told me about my mom seeing her the previous day and what they had fixed for dinner. I corrected her because someone told me that was a better plan than just humoring her. That seems cruel? Condescending. But it is not fun to remind her her daughter, my mama, is dead and that her brain is broken and that she isn't home in familiar comforting surroundings.

I was going to try to take off work tomorrow but I can't. Too much prep for the gala. But we can spend the evening with her.

I hope she isn't angry, but I'd rather see her pissed at us than sad.

This all drug out forever, and she fell 100 times and all I wanted was a safe place for her. Now it seems like it smacked us in the face and we weren't ready.  

Pea was crying so hard I thought Grandma had died suddenly.

Molly says Dahn-Dah for  Grandma. Sounds identical to her "Dharma Dog."

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

i have to get something off my chest

It's a twenty pound toddler girl child who is driving me fucking insane. The night weaning? It's over. I royally screwed up last week when she went through the 2 a.m. wake up and play spell, then with the flu... Someone tell me what the hell I was thinking? I am the poster child for short sightedness.

So we nursed about every 30 or 40 minutes all bloody night long and every waking minute every day since Saturday and holy Mother of God make it stop. I was lying in bed last night with the ravenous little demon creature and I was positive we won't make it to two years. Possibly because I will have all the life force sucked out of my body and soul and the baby will grow huge until she pops in a horrific mess of milk and fish shaped crackers.

But, I'm off to drown my sorrows in pop culturey goodness- Idol viewing party with my bee eff eff and other fine ladies.

Monday, February 18, 2008

a new guy for my favorite artsy blogga!

Oh, *swoon* Newborn babyness!

Keri Smith had her baby boy.  Her blog, Wish Jar and website are such brilliant creative pieces. She never turns on comments for her entries, so that she is free of the gushy lurve I and others like me would probably post. But she has a guestbook for the baby.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

t to the m to the i

I'll just erase any remaining boundaries here by regaling you with bodily woes. Happily, I'll spare you the details about the flu we had, and just tell you that Bu's involved puking. Mine did not.

Instead, I'm taking the opportunity to enjoy my password protection and bitch about my body's ass backwards reaction to orgasms lately. They used to send me into a coma like guys on sitcoms have after they come. Insomnia? No problem... just pop in a Pirates DVD or revisit scenes from Secretary and- squee! then 30 seconds later, snoozes. 

Annoyingly, however, the last two times I have masturbated to try to put myself to sleep I wind up totally wired. It's fucking ridiculous. Also, it's harder to get there and that is highly annoying. I usually can get off really easy without the distraction of another human being.

Meh. I'm going to attempt to go to bed, then probably lie awake for a while worrying about whether it's stupid or unempowered of me to lock a post about masturbation. Whatever. Oh! A yawn. That's a good sign.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

the land of the living

Had a double-plus ungood vacation from reality Friday. Bu and I caught Molly's tummy flu and were home-bound. I had a cleverly worded slick and funny post in my brain yesterday. Fun little mislead about my hot day in bed with Bu then I zing ya with how it was really a feverish, too sick to move day. I don't feel witty today, but I do feel freakin' awesome. It was like a 12 hour thing I guess. By last night we were eating again (yeah, toast, but still) and had both showered. The grandies kept the baby an extra night so we could recoup.

Today is very sunny and nearly 50 degrees. I feel the light coming in the windows is burning out the sick, stagnant xi in the house. It hasn't been cleaned at all since I've had the cold so it is a massive chaos thing. (Bu too busy to do much too this week.)

My eyes are doing that unsettling blur thing where  I can barely read, so I'm going to catch up with on Google Reader later or tomorrow. An eye exam would be really fucking nice. Can't find my reading glasses but I am afraid I need an actual prescription. Do eyes do that when they get old? Intermittent blurriness instead of gradual? Or do I have something wrong? *Sigh* I need to get back to the doctor. At least I can have the visits for $15 or so. There's a totally free clinic too, I have put off calling them because I hear the wait is ungodly and I fear our actual income is too high- if expenses are disregarded.

Anyway, it's a strain to type/read and the Bu & Boue are napping so I'm going to clean my smelly kitchen.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

valentine's day card 2008


Bu's Valentine's Day card. I'm feeling really self-satisfied right now and am enamoured with my own cleverness.

Edit: I hope Bu isn't freaked out:) I have never gone humorous with the Val Day card- I usually go the metaphysical Rumi-quoting route. I had a great one a few years ago with a human heart and ribcage with layers of thick red peeling paint texture over parchment with a Rumi poem but I can't find it. It was gorgeous. I'm sure he'll dig my snarky fun. I did write very emotively on the inside. We are a fine wine, Bu & I, I wrote. Seven years together this June- is that long enough to say we are wine? Does it sound like, "Jeez we have been together soooo long..."?

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

bothersome ideas about ppd

OK. I read on Hathor about this bill wherein the US government is apparently going to grant doctors the ability to practically, if not literally, force new mothers to take SSRIs if they "fail" a mandatory PPD screening. Well, yes, as this is clearly a disgusting travesty of Big Brother Evil, I got all ready to repost and get infuriated.

I clicked her link- and was really getting fired up, and then I read the actual text of the bill.

Applied brakes, then reread the bill.

There is no mention anywhere of anything resembling forcing women to take drugs or accept care they don't want. Here is what it says:
If the results of such screening provide warning signs for postpartum conditions, the new mother shall be referred to an appropriate mental healthcare provider.

Horrors! Appropriate mental healthcare referrals. Great Mother of God, this is a good thing. I can't count how many moms I read or know who have suffered through PPD or PPA (which, yes, I know now is a real thing.) Some of them need medications and have great health benefits. Some don't, like me, but find that naming and understanding the anxiety is a great help. The article at Unite For Life suggests that there's an undertone of paranoia about the relatively few cases of homicides and suicides from post partum psychosis. That may truly be alarmism, but there are so many women who are functional good moms but are miserable and at risk of getting worse who could really use a boost of education and support (and maybe medication) and Goddess knows there are still assholes who don't even believe PPD is a valid diagnosis.

So yeah, I'm on board. And Obama is apparently a sponsor. Funny how I was going to refer to that as another indecision maker, but after reading the bill for myself am happy with him and thinking he rocks my socks. I also read a great piece in Ebony today about him that made me tear up.

I feel icky about indirectly snarking at Our Lady the Cow Goddess, because she is such a groovy crunchy presence on the net, but I still wanted to repost after disagreeing with her. You know how a day or two a week the Artsy Slacker Spazzed Out Mommy Blog likes to play dress up as a birth activism rant platform:)

status report

We slept in 20 minute bursts last night with a perfect rhythm of sleep--- baby vomits--- throw towel in ever growing laundry pile--- give baby water in sippy--- sleep--- baby vomits, ad nauseum. Literally.

I'm recovering, because I feel better than I'd expect after that night. She's recovering, because she's having fishy crackers and water with her Papaw, who is now called, adorably, Bobbaw. She's talking a lot and learning really cute ways to say stuff. My favorite is Wah-Yee for water.  And also Love You, which comes out different every time and only when prompted but has exactly the correct inflection to convey unconditional toddler love.

Since I'm on a major roll with the mama gush, let me say that having an asthma episode is really sweet with a bouncy little pixie on my lap holding the breathing tube for my nebulizer and making funny gestures about the mist that look like she is miming somebody doing bonghits.

Monday, February 11, 2008


If you chat, especially if you have time today, add me.

On meca: gothippy
On aol: roxydaisybones
On msn:
On yahoo: mollys_momma
ICQ: 473154529 (daisybones)

because IV tubing and shiny machines (ping!) are too dazzling to compete with actual evidence

Despite mountains and mountains of evidence supporting not only the safety of homebirth, but its superiority over hospital birth with regards to normal pregnancies, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists has issued a statement condemning births that take place at home.

Clearly we could be doing more as a country to make sure that we have an even higher C-section rate, even scarier infant and mother mortality numbers, and much, much more fear. Without fear, there are so few epidurals, and without epidurals, well gosh- we might have smaller bills, and fewer interventions. The OB's would starve.

The best thing about being a mommyblogger and not a reputable news source? Free and copious use of snark. And I can just tell you to google home birth is safer or somesuch and get on with my life in lieu of providing refuting evidence.

Now a raging sinus infection? That's a potential need for a doctor. And there's my segue to tell you I have an actual fever, and am taking a sick day- again- and to warn of a probably orgy of posting.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

old school sketch

I found an old drawing when I was sorting paper piles yesterday. Click thumbnail. It is a thank you present to your eyes for letting me whine in that last post. It was a study for a book of linoleum block prints about dreams that I never made. I slacked pretty bad in ceramics, but I was pathological in my printmaking classes. Fun trivia? It took me 11 years to get my bachelor's degree. I had 30+ hours more than I needed at the end. I had "concentrations" in drawing, painting, printmaking, ceramics, and art history. Not design.


i'm clevernessless. consider it untitled.

This morning, in the space of two hours or so, I went from feeling peachy keen, well-rested, hot coffee, life's a singsongy bunch of sunshine to shit-on-a-stick, half dead, can't breathe whining pool of misery.

I'm congested and drippy at the same time and my eyeballs hurt. My bones feel cranky and cold. Why is this the winter of repeat-o-colds and allergy hell? When will it end? Why did I do eleventy thousand loads of laundry during my feel good morning that I now have to fold and put away during my craptastic whine-o-rama evening?

Oh. Whine-O-Rama. That'd have been a good post title. Warn you, so you knew the muck you to which you were about to be subjected.

It is "feed a cold, right?" 'Cause I've thrown down about 10,000 cookies. I made peanut butter oatmeal, to try to tempt the pixie with hidden plant based fats. Um, no. She spit them out. Leaving me a bunch of yummy, extra fattening delicious cookies.

But, lo! She slept last night. It was much better. Totally back to normalcy. (Which adds credence to my"period hormones wreaking havoc on her or my milk for some strange reason" theory- a theory I didn't divulge here but did present to my LiveJournal people.) And I got her vaporizer misty little frog dude to work, so that'll help tonight.

Saturday, February 9, 2008

one trick pony

nursey.jpgnursey.jpgThe past week, Molly is waking at night, and she is pissed. Nothing works except to get up and watch a movie, or to nurse. I am almost resolved to un-night-wean. I will get more sleep that way. I honestly may see what happens if she just cries and throws a fit for a while. It hurts, though. It makes me so upset I almost feel hysterical myself. I have two things my gut tells me. One is make the child stop crying for goddess' sake, woman. The other is you are teaching her to wake up and cry and make demands and that she will get whatever she wants if she holds out long enough.

I don't know about letting her cry... as adamantly opposed as I am to CIO for infants, I think there's a toddler age when it is appropriate. I'm not sure 20 months is that age, but maybe it is. Whatever happens, I'm reminding that little inner voice that I can't fail night weaning. Or mothering, for that matter. Life with babies is fluid, and sometimes plans backfire.

I have other tricks. I sing, I snuggle, I pat belly and back. I have a noise machine. I have Bu. But nothing works like the num-a-nums. Maybe she's telling me she changed her mind, and she does need her sleepy milkies still. Or it could be a phase.  Here's to trying to go with the flow when flow is not so much my thing lately. (Haha. Unless you mean my boobs.)

Thursday, February 7, 2008

more on the psych stuff

Groovy: Zen Habits has a guest post up about the Albert Ellis techniques I was talking about the other day. (The Rational Emotive Behavioral stuff.) This is a Sure Sign from The Universe, via synchronicity, that it must be truly awesome.

Post author is Urban Monk, whose own blog looks very cool, too. I am becoming a self-improvement junkie. This is the same as a self-help junkie only 1) we use slightly newer buzzwords, and 2) we hang out on blogs about home organization and productivity and spiritual growth instead of in bookstores in the self-help aisle. We may be frightfully similar in that we tend to spend too much time reading about improvements and too little time making them:)

snapshots of my day

My day began at 4:00 a.m. when the Birdy woke up screaming for Da! Da! which I thought meant Bu*, but found after trying to tucker down in Bu's bed, actually meant "downstairs." We read books and played and cried (that was me) until 6:30, when Papaw swept her away, I called in for a mental hygeine day, and crashed until eleven. I adore my director. She is fabulous with the "Flexible schedule is your perk! Sleep today! Feel better!"

So I'm home.

A client-friend called to ask me to fix some typos she just found on her artist bio page. We talked about her standing offer to let me hook up my idle, sad kiln at her stained glass studio for a test firing. She gently prodded me to make some fucking pots** or something. 

My plans are to do my Friday design work, or part of it, today. This includes a Grass Ninja drawing for Bu's buddy who does landscaping. A grass ninja, for those of you who are thankfully not in Bu's brain, is a baddass goat in a ninja suit. Riiight;) Not my shining moment of logo design, but they boys like it.

His friend's biz is called Arrowood Landscaping, which makes me think of Legolas crafting arrows for his bow. Legolas reminds me of Raft Guide Living in a Tent Bu, who had a glorious blonde ponytail. And was hella buff. Alas, I have only photographic evidence of this, as all I got was a lingering farmer's tan in a new Suit Guy haircut. (He quit guiding to be a software instructor the fall before we hooked up.) And now he is the Bu of me, and I make him goat drawings.

*and since I haven't locked a post in a while, I'm adding juicy real life details, just for you:)

**I refer to making pots, although I was a sculptural ceramicist, not a functional potter. I did have an obsession with pinched out bowls, though. They are like negatives of the moon. Here is my favorite series, from my LiveJournal.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

compact florescent lightbulbs and mercury

I just learned today that CFLs have mercury. Just a wee bit, but the official instructions are to try to ventilate your house if one breaks. Zow. It's less than a household thermometer, anyway. The big problem is getting them recycled. Most places don't make it easy at all- IKEA has a take back program, apparently, but we have no IKEA.

We haven't switched yet, because we keep seeing the cheap old fashioned kind right there and the price tags override our green intentions- which are lame as hell if you average them together. I care this much: "OMG Save my Goddess-Mother!!!!!!!!!!!!! Buy cloth everything* and clean the house with baking soda! Eat vegan and read by soy candle light!" and Bu cares this much: "meh."

When we get some, I'll have to figure out what to do with them after use.

Some links:

NPR article
GE's FAQ about the bulbs and their mercury content
EPA Statement about CFLs (pdf)

*I said I care that much, not that I've done all this yet. (Thinking guiltily of my Pampers...)


House spoiler after le jump: 

atheism & wicca

I cannot even keep track of my own contradictions and the myriad culs-de-sac in my brain. I am loving all over this incredible Julia Sweeney monologue, (thank you Eden, this is so smart!) and I'm trying to figure out about my involvement in the pagan circle at church. I had a big heart to heart with Blue and told him I wasn't in, wasn't coming to the organizational meeting Thursday. Then I had a whim and emailed him and the informal leader of the group and said I was coming. That I need to make my spiritual well-being a priority and blah blah blah. Now I'm regretting my RSVP and thinking I'll just keep having these reservations about the group and Wicca in general and I should bail. But these are friends... I'll go, it's not a commitment to participate from here on out.

Fuck. I can't even get my ass in gear to get to church ever.

I don't know. On one hand I'm really feeling athiest at my core- believing and cherishing the metaphors of all my beloved myths and Goddesses but not believing per se in any literal way at all. But that doesn't take away the power of ritual. It feels so primal and ancient, and even if that connection is only with primitive human beings, so what? That's an unbelievably important connection- to feel rooted in the wonder and magic we created out of not knowing why and how the universe is and works.

And I see Molly learning about the Goddess as she grows, I want to teach her this. Meh, I'm overthinking again. I'd love so much to be able to just be tired and go to sleep like my husband and daughter. OK, she fought it some tonight. But Bu just lies down, and zip-pow: snoring stillness. A brain that feels like a weird clovkwork machine should have a weird clockwork off switch.

Waiting for Benadryl to knock me out.

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

pre-spring rain

there is a warm rain today. huge drops like the last few tears dropping onto a small child’s cheek after you’ve already made her laugh.

i wore a three-quarters sleeve shirt today, my favorite: exactly the length to fit my small arm and not bunch or roll or need to be folded under.


Originally posted at Tumblr, where I outlawed capitalization. Then I thought I was being ridiculous, that no one needs Tumblr and Twitter and WordPress and LiveJournal MySpace and Facebook and good gods. I'm spazzed out on the netz. OD on connectedness? But Tumblr's so cute. Can I keep him? Or no more metaphorical puppies?  There's too much to do online- it's like an infinite number of pushers with an infinite number of drugs and I have an infinitesimally small ability to focus.

Monday, February 4, 2008

rational emotive

Laura freakin' rules. She turned me onto this Wikipedia article about Rational Emotive Behavioral Therapy. It's brilliant. And this Ellis cat designed it just for me. Look! He talks about people who "think about their thinking and even think about thinking about their thinking."

I'm still studying up on the article- which is terribly written but informative. But the gist of it is this.

A= activating event, (or adversities, but I like the former better. Less judgy.)
B= beliefs
C= consequences

And AxB=C.

So even if A is little (my inability to find my favorite hat this morning,)  if B is big (like my PMS ridden brain believing I would be uncute and uncomfortable all day in a lesser hat and my hair was horrible plus the rain, agghh!!!!) then C is bigger than if B were a smaller rational belief.

So you introduce D, and dispute the stinkin' thinkin' thing.

Groovy. Also, they dig not so much the dwelling in the past and wondering why we have teh crazy. We just do, so we fix it. Interesting.

hillary v. barack and a feminist stream of consciousness

Apparently, I share a brain with a woman named Rebecca Traister who writes for Salon. Here is exactly the conundrum playing itself out in my brain about this election. Thank goodness we don't have our primary until May. Her story about being in the booth with her dad and pulling the lever for Geraldine Ferraro made my tear up... which made me notice I'm extra sensitive on day one of my cycle... which made me hear imaginary male voices insisting that women are too emotional to be president... which made me remember the teary Hillary and how I wanted to kiss Obama for his wonderful "no comment" that contrasted so in his favor against Edwards' bullshit asshatery... and then I thought how tears and passion =/= weakness which is just such a huge bullshit myth of the patriarchy... and then I wanted to kiss, and vote for, Hillary again and flip the bird at the patriarchy.... then WTF? vote for her based on her gender only? um, no.

 So yeah... I'll be reading a lot in the coming months and trying to be pragmatic. It's a very complex thing... was talking today with Laura about the role of race, after I mentioned the plethora of racist slurs that I heard at the Super Bowl party. I don't know... Traister mentions how Obama is seen as an exceptional black man, so I guess that's non-threatening or whatever? I wish we didn't have to wonder about the importance of race or gender here, but ignoring the fact that it is still an issue to voters would be pretty ridiculous.

I suspect there will be Obama bandwagon jumping-upon very soon in my life, but I Just. Don't. Know. Couldn't we just appoint Dennis Kucinich the Emporer of America for life and not have to fuss with all this for a while?

Sunday, February 3, 2008

"fuck football; it's all about teh snackage" superbowl sunday broccoli cheese poofy things

An invention!


1 head fresh broccoli
3 cups self –rising flour
1 tsp salt
1 cup milk
1 large egg
2 oz (1/2 stick butter, softened)
1 ½- 2 cups shredded cheeses (I used cheddar & Monterey jack)


Heat oven to 400 degrees (Fahrenheit, obvy)

Steam broccoli, or prepare as indicated on package. Cool, chop to bits or process in blendy thing or choppy thing. Or don’t cool and hurt yourself a tiny bit, depending on what time the party starts and how later your toddler went down for her nap.

Dump flour and salt in large mixing bowl.

Separately, whisk egg and milk.

Add butter and cheese to flour bowl, mix with hands until crumbly and well-mixed. Add chopped broccoli and mix in.

Fold in egg stuff carefully. Be gentle and fluffiness shall be your reward.

Form balls, roughly golf-ball size. Wonder if you should flour your hands or suggest that to your blog readers. Shrug and deal with teh sticky.  Drop them an inch or two apart on well-greased cookie sheets. Curse yourself for forgetting garlic. Garlic woulda been rockin’ in  these babies. Damn. Breathe deeply, say “whatev” and move on*.

Bake 20 minutes or until golden brown.

Makes fortyish poofs.

*Do add some garlic or something. These are yummy but would be drool-worthy with some spice:)

i broke down

And I'm adding teh lolcats to my reader. This has me in an asthmatic spasm of crazy-person guffaws. I has teerz even:

funny pictures
moar funny pictures

 Oh thank you Cheezeburger peeps, for now I have little digital feline snark company for when my lame ass boos crash before I am even a little sleepy. And the snuggly small one never wakes up needing the mommy when I am bored. Oh no. Only if I am busy.

And look- LMAO:
funny pictures
moar funny pictures

K srsly? Needs my inhaler.

Edit: Now I'm officially in insomnia territory- making lolcats.

Saturday, February 2, 2008

because my family falls asleep at freaking nine o'clock

And I'm insanely bored. So I am stealing a meme from Eden. No "tag, you're it." I just stuffed it in my backpack and walked casually out of the store that is So Anyway. What're you gonna do, bust me? Ha! I knew I'd get away with it:

1. I love to eat:
Bread in almost any form except nasty fake Wonderbread type bullshit. And also cheese. And now you know why I'm so thrilled to be down to 190 lbs.

2. I hate to eat:
Well, meat. Also green beans. And reheated pizza. But cold pizza rocks.

3. I love to go:
To the movies, to the beach, to the mountains.

4. I hate to go:
Anywhere smoky. I'm a hater on the smoking, sorry. It's stinky. And it no longer matters whether it's legal smoke or that formerly so exciting reefer, it just smells.

5. I love it when:
Great songs come on the radio when you need them.

6. I hate it when:
Molly gets really whiny and I snap at her like an asshole.

7. I love to see:
Bu play crazy daredevil games with Molly and she gets a huge squee overload and laughs so hard she's in tears.

8. I hate to see:
Wall decor that hangs crooked. It makes my whole soul just cringe. How can people not notice there are no right angles happening? Right angles are glorious! All hail the perfectly positioned 90 degrees to the ceiling picture frame.

9. I love to hear:
British & German accents.

10. I hate to hear:

Celine Dion's voice. Better to just jab hot pokers into my ear drums.

one hundred ninety and a weight loss rant

I just weighed in, and found that I'm ten pounds lighter than my weight when we conceived and after my giant-blimp-water-retention-borderline-pre-eclampsia weight dropped.

Oh my Goddess the squee!

I'd set a goal of losing 20 pounds before my clinic's big fundraiser gala on February 24th. So I'm halfway there and honestly, if I went crazy and dieted and junk I could probably hit that goal. Hoooowever, in that direction lies the yo-yo and flirting with badness and also risking the production of skim milk for my itty pixie girl, and none of this at all furthers my actual weight loss goal. My real intention is less to do with looking hot in a formal dress and more to do with feeling energetic, having a strong back, and enjoying better overall health. So if some more comes off before the party, so much the better. If not, I have a great start and feel excited to lose more. The goal was more a motivational positive fun thing than a "OMG I have to fix my fatness or I can't be seen" drama queen thing. And it seems to have subconsciously worked wonders, because there has not so much been effort spent. Pretty much none.

The number is a lovely motivation. I feel like a strong beautiful goddess this morning- a coupla cups of mondo strong coffee are helping fuel my fantabulosity as well- and I am eschewing my cheesy-to-death omelet plans for some oatmeal. The grandies stocked our kitchen for us, and there are salad fixin's up in here too. I am a creature of much joy today. [Here's where I make a sharp U turn. I'll be back, really. --->]I slept in too, as last night was Ye Olde Weekly Throw the Child to Her Elders night.

Lexie, if I had cash, I'd fly my darling in-laws to Alabama and hook you up with the weekly night off. As weird as it may get occasionally to have the Mormon church and the old mountain grammar in our lives, they are such a giant blessing and are so filled with love for us. [OK, I'll be back 'round to topical after the jump.]

My Gods am I still typing? I'm really wordy today. Here, let me give you an out:

Friday, February 1, 2008

i feel a letter to the editor coming on

From my local paper today:
The report blamed another 188 deaths on sudden infant death syndrome. More than half of those deaths were attributed to such risky behaviors as adults sharing beds with infants or mothers who smoke.

Fuck. I'm too lazy to write a letter to the editor and too pissed off to not. For the record, safely co-sleeping REDUCES the risk of SIDS. Safely means keeping pillows and covers away from the boo, and being sober when you crash with the baby. The carbon dioxide mamas exhale helps regulate baby's breathing and breastfeeding (often linked to cosleeping) reduces the risk further.

Edit: Here is the link to the article. So, I wrote an email and sent it. Here is the text:

quickie toddler nap post

Watched 'Candy' last night and had to stop midstream to sob hysterically. There is a scene that was so hard to watch I just can't imagine anyone seeing it and not breaking down a little. Heath was brilliant, and it was nice to take a couple of hours to appreciate his craft. It was a brilliant movie, just very difficult.

Had a fabulous day at home with the baby. Let her sleep in with me this morning even though I knew I was sabotaging any chance for a good nap. She crashed about 45 minutes ago. We did some more sorting in my studio then took the recycling to the drop-off and my donations of old junk to the thrift store. Picked up some new junk, including a teeshirt for a much older Molly that has a bunch of white male historically famous artists' signatures in white on black. It's adorable.

I talked for a while with an old friend from artsy & pagan stuff. My old Wicca group is trying again to get their shit together and I told him I was really wishy washy about it and was probably not going to get back into it, but that I desperately need to reconnect with my art peeps. We will hopefully get a girls night out together soon. (He's a very feminine soul, is my friend Blue.)