Thursday, December 30, 2010

What Goes Around Comes Around. (well sorta)

A couple a things here.  I just now realized that I have had my couch that I paid $800 for; well, I hate to admit it but, I've had that damn couch for longer than any car I've ever owned.  I think that is just sad.  Other than that I am not sure what else to say about that.

The other thing is that I have discovered a "dog-whisperer" moment that I had without even anticipating or manufacturing it.  You know when your dog is a puppy and it chews on everything?  And do you also remember that it was one of three things?  Shoes, underwear and the remote were the three in my house.  And the usual reaction on my part was grabbing the item being chewed on and whacking the pup in the butt or on the nose with the said item.  (That last sentence was the part that gets all the hate mail going; telling me what a bad dog owner I am.  I would love to know if those same people ever laid a whack on the butt of a two year old when they were doing something wrong.  Same shit, different species.)  So because of my remote-control-nose-whacking I have discovered that if I just lay the remote(s) on the seat of the cushion of the couch when I get up for something, I don't have a dog I have to tell to get down.  They don't go near the remote, so they don't go near my spot.

I remember when I was a kid, that whenever we got up off of the couch or a chair, we had to say, "I get my spot back." or someone else would snag it.  (You gotta realize that I come from a family of 10, so actual places to sit while watching TV, that did not involve the floor, were at a premium.)  Oh, and you never got in "mamma's spot". Ever.  The other day the kid tried to snag my spot on the couch and I just looked at him.  He moved with a sheepish grin. It was just then when I realized that I have the power now.  I'm the momma and that's my spot.  Move it or lose it.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Turn Around and Say Hello to Yourself

Do you ever feel like you have several different sides to you?  You know, different parts of your personality that you show to different people?  I know that I try to "keep it real" and be true to myself, but what does that really mean?  Does it mean that I have no filter and just say everything that pops outta my mouth at any given time?  It sure used to.  And guess what?  It's not the coolest thing in the world to be like that.  The other day the hubby decided that he didn't feel like having a filter, and all I wanted to do all day was pop him in the mouth or slap him upside the head at any given moment.

I seem to have learned to ignore all the "devils" that sit on my shoulder whispering in my ear at any given moment.  I have also learned (probably with age) that sometimes it's more entertaining to sit back and watch people as if they were my own personal TV show, instead of me being the star of the show.

For instance, I was at my hubby's company Christmas party and in the past I would have been one of the people who drank too much, and danced too flamboyantly and ended up on YouTube.  Instead, I allowed others to take the limelight that used to be mine.  And guess what?  That light isn't as bright as I used to think.  I watched, and I actually didn't even think it looked all that fun.  I had more fun playing Wii Disk Golf off in the corner.  I left early, the hubby came home at 6:30 in the morning and woke up feeling like shit.  His problem of his own making.  Me, I had a good day baking and watching movies while making absolutely no effort to be quiet so he could sleep.

I use to try to get people to see things my way all of the time.  Now I don't care.  Now don't get me wrong.  I still think I am right and everyone else can screw themselves.  But I no longer think it's important to make sure everyone else thought that way too.  They can think what they want, I know that I am right, and I no longer feel the need to shove it in anyone's face anymore. Or maybe I just don't have the energy anymore, it's hard work trying to get people to see things my way.

I am no longer going to argue with someone about there actions when I think they are doing something that I deem "wrong".  First of all, who am I to judge?  Secondly, why do I care about what someone else is doing?  I do care if you are hurting yourself, but if you are going to do it anyway after knowing how I feel about it, who am I to stop you?  It's just exhausting.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Hiding in Plain Sight (a series of Western haiku with photos)

up at 6 am
meow now meow 
kick the cat

back door open
the still rain coming down
the dogs bark
rooster crows
rubber boots on the feet
chickens eat

step over shit
cat can't find the damn box
"no one" sees 

water gurgles loudly
pot brews hot
cup fills nicely at last

refill the cat again
another mess
soon to clean up today

wet dogs muddy prints
towel dry
why no matter at all

computer runs
the lifeblood of the lonely
could be worse

he talks now
only one hour to go
'til the silence

less for me
nothing but the excuses
more for them

wait for later
four walls closing in
door stays shut

no one calls
the lives of many rule
long ass day

Invisible life
fly in the soup you watch
drown for ever

birds fly in
eating seed as being watched
Oh to be free of it

dogs out soon
coming back in again
always again and again

rim of round
circles of travail never ending
make it stop

no control
existing as it is told 
smothers her

hunting now
searching for the release
still hidden

time for bed
tomorrow is another day
to replay

Sunday, November 28, 2010

I seem to have all my deep thoughts while sitting on the john.

What is this?  Is it pain?  Is it joy?  This holiday time of year can bring many different types of feeling erupting forth.  For some it is a time of renewal, times a-changing along with the new year.  It's funny how a flip of the calendar page can direct your heart and brain into either new directions or further down the hole you stepped in earlier in the year or even the year before.  I'm not sure which way I am going yet.

However, I have finally come to a conclusion.  I am not in charge.  Yes, I said it.  I am not in charge.  I suppose that it should make me feel better to get that off my chest.  Like a weight being lifted.  I no longer have to be the strong one or the one with all the answers.  Now, I know that no one ever said I did either.  There was no rule written somewhere that said "Kimberly is the one in charge here.".  But I always felt like I had to live up to that.  I guess that is my fault for being so so-called "strong willed".  I cast my opinion around and expect people to respect it, obey it like I am Moses/Kimberly/Charlton Heston standing on the mount with two bio-degradable-made-with-100%-recycled-paper tablets stating all that I decree as law.  My way or the highway so to speak.

This past Thanksgiving at my mom's I was talking to one of my many brothers about this son.  Key words here:  His son.  Not mine.  His.  I was telling him how to feed him.  His son is picky. Very.  I, as holier than thou can be, was telling him how to handle the eating situation in his household.  I, in my infinite wisdom, chose not to listen to my brother when he told me the reason behind what he and his son do, is because his son is slightly autistic.  He said it, and I glossed over it with a wave of my hand.  I see my nephew maybe three or four times a year, but apparently I know everything.  If this is how I am to everybody around me, I'm surprised that I have any friends at all.  So, brother, if you are still reading thus far, I am sorry.  I'm not a groveler, but I am very and sincerely sorry for not listening to you and for acting like I know everything.  I and the Lord knows I don't.  And if it makes things any better,  I feel like shit about the whole conversation.  It just took me a few days to realize what a complete jerk I was.  Anyways . . .

How are you, dear reader, at taking advice?  I take it all the time.  Sometimes just so I don't have to think for myself.  Except usually I bash the advice as stupid and wrong and do what I want anyway. But I think that no human being who has ever lived in this world has ever taken good advice. Millions of people, however, have gladly, and gratefully taken bad advice, foolish advice, pop advice, and glib advice. Why is this?  No doubt it's partially because of the perversity of human nature.  This notwithstanding, the other part, I believe, is because of the sanctimonious, constipated, pompous, smug, and self-righteous way that good advice is usually given.  (somehow I see myself here)

So from this day forth instead of preaching what I think is right, I will change my ways.  From this day forward, I am going to cleverly couch everything I deem to be good advice within a deviously designed delivery system, i.e., humor, misdirection, and of course lots and lots of bullshit.  I have come to believe that good advice, or bad, like ragtag, weatherbeaten human wisdom of any kind, can only be delivered or received obliquely, accidentally, intuitively.  Few of us want the hard truth these days anyway.  Mankind has never wanted to deal with that.  So if you want a piece that still makes you think you are a good Christian even though you own ten homes and fifty cars, you've come to the wrong blog.

I and my blog are turning over a new leaf.  Catch ya later.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Pot-latch, Potluck, Second-hand Christmas, You Do What You Gotta Do

Tomorrow we will be going over the river and through the woods to my son's grandmother's house for Thanksgiving.  My mom's house that is.  It will be all my brothers and sisters, and all of our kids and spouses.  As for almost every one of late, it's been a lean year for various reasons.  

We are having a potluck at my mom's like we have had for a few years now, but I wonder if any one really knows where the meaning of "potluck" came from.  It's funny how it ties into Thanksgiving and the "Native Americans".  

The word "potluck" comes from the native word "potlatch".  It is a festival ceremony 
practiced by indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest Coast. The actual  word comes from the Chinook Jargon, meaning "to give away" or "a gift". It went through a history of rigorous ban by both the Canadian and United States' federal governments, and has been the study of many anthropologists.  I did notice that the word "potluck" literally means "the luck of the pot" in European terms.  I laugh when I think about that.  I have personally tasted some pots that might have been considered "unlucky".  

At a potlatch a family hosts guests in their house and holds a feast.  They do this mainly to redistribute wealth that was accumulated through out the year.  I see this to be very similar to our family's gatherings.  Although we all live in a 40 mile radius, we only seem to ALL get together at Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve.  We bring what we can and distribute it among each other.  On Thanksgiving it is food and stories, on Christmas Eve it is gifts and food.  This Thanksgiving it will be the news of the sex of my parents first great grandchild.  This year at Christmas we will be continuing a new tradition that we started last year; A Second-Hand Christmas.

Coming from a very large family of five brothers and two sisters, and we all have kids and spouses it has become economically impractical to give presents to all of us at Christmas.  We used to give only for the kids, but that is not feasible any more since all of our kids but two are adults or almost.  So last year I came up with a plan. 

Knowing your own family members and their likes and dislikes (at least generally) is helpful when doing a "Second-Hand Christmas".  Basically you give away things you already own.  That's the first rule.  Also, it can't be crap.  Although last year one of my brothers gave away fake dog poo.  That was funny.  I still have it. Anyway, the idea is to think about that person, and about what you think they would like out of the stuff you have in your house or garage.  Let's face it.  We all have too much stuff.  Why not get rid of some of it and at the same time make your mom happy because you know she's been coveting it every time she comes over.  Or whatever.  And save money at the same time.  I know that I like getting presents.  And as long as it's something that I like or could use, I don't care if it's new or not.  

Well enough for my holiday blog post.  Sorry if it rambles a bit.  I had a train of thought that got derailed a few times by the hubby and the dogs, but I think I made the point I was going for. 

 This lean, broke-ass year, be thankful for your family, the roof over your head, and the food that your sister didn't burn.  Be thankful that you are alive, breathing and aware that you have things to be thankful for.  You could be in a coma.

Christmas 2009  Some of us, but not all.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

I woke up this morning to a little bit of snow on the ground.  It was the chicken's first snow.  Anyhoo I made this video.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Facebook Is My Own Personal Crack

I was randomly looking at my blog when it occurred to me that I had not written in quite a while.  So, in the tradition of my 19 year old son, I have came up with a list of shit I was doing instead of writing in this blog.  (The tradition being procrastination and excuses, in case you didn't pick up on that.)

Official List of My Excuses For Not Writing--I Blame:

  1. Facebook.  I completely and totally, almost fully blame Facebook.  Specifically the game called "Cafe' World."  That shit is like crack. (This is where I was going to beg for Cafe' buddies, but I thought it would be crass.)
  2. Laundry.  The never ending pile.  
  3. Geriatric cat, Werther P. Smaug who seems to be continually shooting liquid-fun-in-a-cat anywhere he damn well wants to.
  4. Facebook.  I told you.
  5. Walking the dogs in between durations of rain, hail & wind storms.
  6. Wondering why the Man-Boy is suddenly doing chores when not asked.
  7. Spying on said Man-Boy looking for weird differences that might prove that he is actually an alien that switched with the real Man-Boy when I wasn't looking.
  8. Laundry.
  9. Fucking cat.
  10. Being the only one who EVER cleans the bathroom or the laundry room (cat boxes) or anything for that matter.
  11. It's Fall, so I am in baking mode.  Made cake, cupcakes, zuchinni bread, butterfly cake, etc.
  12. I started doing my landscaping thing again.  Concentrating on seasonal wants.  So needless to say, but I am going to anyway; I am raking a lot.  I don't use blowers since I am trying to be the "green" one that makes the leaves go away instead of the loud fucker at 8 am that doesn't speak English.  Sorry, not PC enough? My bad.
  13. Cafe' World catering challenges.  Bunch. Of. Fuckers.  They have got to know it is way too addicting!
  14. All the new Fall shows.  I must also equally blame Comcast On Demand, and the DVR thingie.  I go to sleep early while all "my shows" record.  (I feel so old by the way saying "my show".  It reminds me of my mom [sorry, Mom] when she wants to get off the phone. "Sorry, Kimberly but I gotta go. My show's on." Sigh . . .)  Then I watch them the next day while folding laundry and wiping up cat-butt spew.
  15. Laziness.  
  16. Very good books.  I've been reading a few lately.  Um, The Shack by W.M Paul Young.  Awesome by the way.  Read that one if you want to just feel good and cry a lot about feeling good.  And Running With Scissors by Augusten Burroughs.  It's a memoir (I've been strangely into those lately) that is horrifying (as in "Are you kidding me?  He did what?!?!" OMG) and hilarious at the same time.  Also just finished the autobiography of Sharon Osbourne.  She is one tough chickie. 
  17. MS blows big-time, hairy , chunks sometimes.  It's a bitch to physically type when a person can't feel half of their left hand or not be able to see completely out of both their eyes.  I feel kind of like Michael J. Fox with an eyepatch.  Pretty screwed, ya know?
  18. Facebook.  Specifically "Family Feud".  Again, the Facebook crack/game dealers have found another good one.  Along with Bejeweled Blitz.  Can I get a witness people!?!?!
  19. Burning illegally in the barrel in my backyard.  I had to get rid of the debris my Man-Boy accumulated in his latest spurt of irregular, alien-like activity; he whacked down most of the blackberries that were threatening to swallow the yard. Burning also involved throwing a lid on it every 15 minutes or so and running in side (and I use the term "running" very loosely) when Mother Nature decided to throw some hail and nasty rain down.
  20. And last but not least:  I frankly have no life at the moment so I really did not have much to write about as you can see by above.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

NyQuil is based on lies, I tell you! Lies!

The Hubby, this week, has one mother of a head cold.  It just popped up outta nowhere two days ago.  He's the one that is sick, so why is it that I have the persevering headache?

The first night of him hacking, coughing, sneezing, roller over and over and over, blowing his nose (used up almost a whole roll of Toilet paper, NO LIE!), getting up to get something to drink, and so on left not only him, but myself as well, very tired the next day.  I don't know about him, but I felt like I was waking up from the mother of all parties but couldn't remember if it was fun or not.  Not cool man, absolutely not cool.

Something some people might not know about The Hubby is that he hates, absolutely hates taking over the counter medicine.   Shit, he hates taking any medicine.  He has not actually been to the doctor's office as a patient in the decade or so that I've know him.  Ever.  So after that first night, I begged him to take something for his cold so he could at least sleep.  Oh, and me too, I would like to sleep also, if that would be all right with him.   I told him it was ok, if he wanted to be a martyr, but he would have to do it on the couch, I was fucking tired.

On his way home from work last night he stopped and bought some NyQuil.  Boy, when he falls off the non-medicine wagon, he doesn't mess around.  This stuff claims to be "The Nightime, Sniffling, Sneezing, Coughing, Aching, Stuffyhead, Fever, So-You-Can-Rest Medicine.".  Too bad it doesn't last the normal 8 hours or so that a person might want to sleep.  Too bad that it is not the stuff it used to be, the stuff Denis Leary used to sing praises about. 

Dennis Leary - NyQuil - watch more funny videos
Instead, it lasts about 4 hours, then *poof* nothing. Around 3 AM, the Snot Monster awoke and I had to whine, cajole, wheedle, beg, and threaten just to get him to take some more.  He finally took some when I  played the martyr card. "It's okay," I sighed and said.  "I understand that you think OTC meds are bad for you.  I will just lay over here on my side of the bed, trying not to disturb you.  You just try and get some rest honey.  Maybe I will just take a nap sometime tomorrow."  He just kept looking at me hard, the crystallized snot on his mustache twinkling in the light of the bedside lamp, his cheeks rosy with fever.  After about a minute of him staring at me, while I looked like the proper martyr I was attempting to be (Joan of Arc could not of done a better job.) he finally stomped like a toddler into the kitchen and took the NyQuil.  Hurray!  By the time he came back into the bedroom, I was halfway to Snooze-ville.

I get why he doesn't want to do the meds thing.  I really do.  I am all for homeopathic treatment and all.  He takes a multi-vitamin every day only because I found him one that also has a bunch of herbs and shit in it too.  Yesterday he was dragging hind tit so I gave him one of Super-B vitamins that I take.  Halfway through his workday, he called me to ask, "When does my pee stop looking like Tang? Is it going to stay this way?"  Apparently he was standing at the urinal at work, when a dude that was at the next urinal, glanced down as men do but will always deny, and asked with genuine concern, "Dude, are you okay?"  Mild side affect, I told him.  Nothing to worry about.

I am praying that this cold will die a quick death.  I, myself have built a large barricade of antioxidants around myself; a wall of healthiness so to speak, to block all the phlegm and nasty mucous-i-ness that is currently floating around my home.  I walk around my house with a holster on my hips, whipping out and spraying Lysol every where I go, with a magnificent twirl of the fingers worthy enough to impress a gunslinger, a cloud of ozone-layer thinning, aerosol germ-killer aways in my wake.  

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Super Congress -- Up, Up, and Awayyy . . .

Ah, Fall is upon us. So I want to know why I am still harvesting tomatoes.  And I just had a cucumber salad for lunch.  Fresh out of the garden.  And I live in zone 8.  And if you don't know what that means, ask a gardener.  This just shouldn't be happening.  Welcome to global warming folks.

People all over really need to educate themselves a bit on this subject.  It's nice that everyone is enjoying the nice weather and all, but does any average person wonder why the temperature is 10 degrees above normal for this time of year.

A reason to get yourself educated about this subject among others is so you don't embarrass yourself like this woman did when she took it upon herself to write a letter to the editor of her local paper with her concerns.  Too bad she didn't do some homework first.

I was unaware that congress had so much power that they can control the amount of daylight hours (insert eye-roll here).

Saturday, October 02, 2010

I Love My Ducks (Return of the Quack) - Supwitchugirl

I don't know why, but I love these guys! Just good.

The Endless Sea of CDs

Last night I decided that this weekend I would clean, and re-organize all of The Hubby's CDs. Anyone who loves and knows the man I married, also knows that he is very eclectic and at the risk of being redundant, very diverse, when it comes to not only his music but lots of things.  He also never puts things back where he found them.  Ever.

So when I say "re-organize", I am actually trying to find the right cases for some and just a plain old case for others.  He pulls a CD out and will just ram it into any case that might be nearby.  I found two or three CDs all crammed together in one case more than once.

But I also thought that since I have all the CDs out I might as well burn them to the hard drive and make it so much easier to load my iPod thingie with tunes.  Did I mention that between the two of us, we have about 1000 CDs?  It should take me about a month, I think.

Oh and by the way.  I have discovered that The Hubby has entirely too many BaHa Men CDs for a normal person to have.  I didn't even know they made more than one!  And if it wasn't for Shrek and Alvin & The Chipmunks, they would all probably be washing cars about right now.

As a matter of fact I think that whoever came up with the song montage for the Shrek karaoke scene must of been looking through our CD collection because I think we every single one of these songs on CD somewhere.  Pretty sure, although I am only about 1/10 of the way through.  Wish me luck as I wade through Ani DeFranco, The Grateful Dead, Cher, Chris LeDoux, B.B. King, James Brown, Joss Stone, Peter Gabriel among others and . . .  *GASP*  Yanni !?!  WTF?  I can tell now that he and I need to have a talk.  A wife has to draw the line somewhere. Right?  I better not find Michael Bolten in there.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

The Fall Off the Vegan Wagon Was Not As Painful as One Might Think

I know I have not written about my "vegan challenge" since what, the sixth day?  Well, that is because I was riddled with guilt when I fell off the wagon, so to speak, on the eighth day or so.  I tried.  I tried really hard.  But there were two things standing in my way, and that also got in my face.  Cheese and oysters.

Yes, I said cheese and oysters.  When the hubby and I went mushrooming up near Alpine, we got skunked (no shrooms to be found), so we decided to stop in the teeny tavern in the teeny town of Alpine.  Well, lo and behold it was the annual Alpine Oyster feed and Potluck.  We walked in, saw this, looked at each other, and walked back out to the car and came back in carrying the chips and salsa that we never got around to eating that we had brought as a snack.  We were officially in.  We were now part of the potluck.  Hurray!

Tons of smoked oysters with Gouda cheese on top.  BBQ oysters on the half shell.  Oyster shooters.  I just couldn't help myself.  Oh and someone in Alpine makes the best damn cheesecake in the world.  After the cheesecake, I knew I was doomed to be just a lowly vegetarian who occasionally eats non-vertebrae mollusks.

I'm not sure how I feel about this.  In this day and age when everyone seems to have a label for everyone else, I am going to give myself one.  I am officially a "Mollusko-vegi-tarian."  What do you think?

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Bear? What Bear?

For those of you who may not know, my husband and I are avid mushroom hunters.  We enjoy slaying them every chance we get.  Last week, the hubby was informed by someone supposedly "in the know" that there were chanterelles  growing in such abundance up by the Erma Bell Lakes that we would need a ton of bags to carry them all.

So we packed up the rig, and set off for the Erma Bells.  The hubby drove.  I wanted to stab myself in the eye just out of sheer boredom.  The main part of the drive is about 40 miles on a scenic byway.  For some reason because there is no speed limit sign, he seemed to think that he needed to go 30 mph on this paved, two lane road.  For 40 miles.  We finally made it to the turn-off and went 10 mph for 4 miles on a very nicely graveled road.  Oh how I wished I was driving.  I remember driving up and down McGowen Rd (miles and miles of twisty gravel, sometimes paved, logging roads) in my younger days, probably going too fast for the comfort of others, but I was just fine at those speeds.  Anyway.

At the end of the gravel road is a campground and trail head.  It is 2 miles to the Lower Erma Bell, 2.5 to the Middle and another mile or so to the Upper.  Not a bad hike all in all.  Except for one thing.  I noticed a sign at the trail head warning of a mama bear and her two cub seen in the area.  Lovely.  And all I had was my 3 inch bladed, mushroom slaying knife with the paintbrush taped to the end (for on the go cleaning) for protection. Oh and the hubby, of course.  He had his pocket knife out, which he kept flipping open and closed for the entire hike.  I'm not sure who he was trying to impress; me or the bears.  I kept envisioning him and the bears in this weird dance in the style of West Side Story, circling each other in a patch of chanterelles.  

Don't get me wrong though.  I was not unafraid of the possibilities of bears wanting to eat me.  I was fully prepared to pee my pants upon introduction to the pissed off mama protecting her young, and then high tail it outta there. I just didn't see the need of the constant click of my husbands puny knife.  Yes, we made other noises to alert the animals of our presence, but after the first mile of "flip-click-smack-flip-click-smack" I was ready to stab him myself.

Since you are reading this, we are, obviously still alive.   We saw no bears, chanterelles either.  Although I will admit that it was awfully hard to watch where I was walking, look for 'shrooms and look out for bears at the same time.  Better luck next week when we go to our usual spots.

Friday, September 10, 2010

5th Day of Vegan Challenge

Ok, here I am.  I am still alive!  Yesterday was a good day.  No problems.  But then again, I didn't leave the house, so there were no temptations.  It helps that my cherry tomato plant is finally ripening, so every time I walk through the kitchen I pop one into my mouth from the bowl on the counter.  Funny, I wasn't "hungry" all day long.

Tonight will be my first big "challenge".  I'm going over to my friend's house for a girl's night in and I'm sure there will be stuff for me to drool over.  I am bringing my own snacks so hopefully it wont be too hard.

Day 5 weight:  168

Wednesday, September 08, 2010

Day 3 of my Vegan Challenge

First of all, I found this video this morning and I wanted to share.  Some might call it propaganda, but I just think it's funny; and it's written by the dude that does the cartoon, Bizarro.

It's funny, but I thought I would be hungrier.  I think that it helped a lot that I already don't eat meat.  And the egg part is not that hard because I started straying from those oval-shaped orbs when we got the chickens.  I felt like I would be eating Lady Gaga's (one of my chickens, not the actual Lady Gaga) babies. The warm, fresh out of her cooch feeling was not exactly appetizing for me either.  Not eating cheese might get more difficult if my husband buys some of my used-to-be-my-favorite-but-now-I'm-vegan stinky cheese.

Anyway, yesterday I made a huge pot of vegan black bean chili and I'm going to have some for lunch this afternoon.  Dinner is still up in the air though.  I wish I had a husband like Mr. Awesomecool.   He is Superfantabulous's husband and does all the cooking.  I hear he is an awesome chef and he is also vegan so there wouldn't be any arguments on what he is cooking.  But then again, since my hubby works a weird mid shift almost every day, I would probably starve since he wouldn't be here to cook for me.  Well shit, I guess I can't have it both ways.

I am off to the grocery store this morning to read labels and eventually buy something to sustain myself.  I already went through my cupboards and was appalled at how many things have milk or a milk product in them.  Shit that has no business having milk in it like canned chili.  Who puts milk in there chili for fuck's sake? That is what got me making my own yesterday.

Day 3 weight: 170 lbs

Monday, September 06, 2010

I Got the "Bitch" Part Down . . .

This is the first day of the vegan challenge and I am doing good.  Of course all I have had to eat so far is coffee.  And I've only been up for about three hours. Yes, I know the Skinny Bitch book people say that coffee is a crutch, but fuck it.  I'm handicapped.  I need a crutch.  I didn't use milk like I always do. That's good right?  Although I did use chemically laden non-dairy creamer if you must know.  Baby steps right?

So the challenge people are sending me a daily email with menu suggestions, hurrays, and you-go-girls.  I have to say though, that after perusing the menus, I don't even eat that much on a regular basis.  But I am thinking that maybe I will eventually want to eat the amounts they are suggesting because in a few days I'll be starving.  Hell, I don't know. 

My husband thinks I'm crazy.  But I am just sick and tired of feeling like crap all the time and I'm running out of shit to do about it.  So, here I am.  Updates (not that you care) will be posted periodically. 

BTW are Twix bars vegan?  Probably not.  Dammit, now I gotta find a homemade Twix bar recipe.

Day 1 weight: 174 lbs

Friday, September 03, 2010

It's the Vegan Challenge

All right here I go.  I've been vegetarian for some time now, and have been thinking about going whole hog so to speak.  VEGAN.  To some, its a dirty word.  I wasn't sure how to go about it, so I asked the only vegan I knew, "Superfantabulous", to be a sort of sponsor.  You know, like in AA.  She agreed.  I originally met her while working at a grocery store and we got to talking about how to be a "Skinny Bitch".  She apparently was one, so I pretty much knew I had an expert in my corner.

Well, the concept of Skinny Bitch is to go vegan, I just couldn't do it at the time. Or maybe I just couldn't give up cheese. But after a few years of vegetarianism under my belt, I think I am ready.  And fortunately for me it is the time of year to start the "21 Day Kickstart Challenge" 

This "diet" is based on research by Neal Barnard, M.D., one of America’s leading health advocates. This program is designed for anyone who wants to explore and experience the health benefits of a vegan diet.

I start Monday.  If you cross my path with a plate full of good, stinky goat cheese I may have to beat you with it. Sorry in advance.

Sunday, August 08, 2010

Food Choices

For the last few years or so, I've been a mostly vegetarian.  I ate fish.  However, I am thinking about trying my hand at being vegan.  Now I am not usually one to care about what other people think, but I guess I do kind of care when it alters my life in any way, shape or form.  Why can't people just mind their own business and let me live my own life the way I want to?

Reasons that eating vegetarian or vegan around other people can be a trial:

 Most people don't know what it is and can't pronounce it. Or they don't know the difference.

 It's hard to get a decent meal in a regular restaurant.  And that is important when you are a foodie like me.

People who've heard you're a vegan or vegetarian expect you to be really thin when they meet you. Sorry!  My genes don't seem to work that way.

People expect you to be humorless, strident, and out to convert them.  I really don't give a shit what you eat.  I think everyone should think exactly like I do, however I know that is unrealistic.

People automatically think you're a radical, tree-hugging peacemaker, which maybe you are, but still....

Your in-laws think you are strange. Hell, even your own family thinks you are strange!  It's possible that this was true even before I became a vegetarian.

Your friends tell you that a cheese-less pizza is not really a pizza and will not split one with you.

When you tell someone that you're a vegetarian (because they asked!), they tell you that they really want to eat healthier and then go into all the reasons(i.e., excuses) why its too hard and they can't. But you weren't interested in having the conversation go that direction, and you can't seem to get them to get off it.

It's really tiresome the billionth time somebody asks you, "What do you eat?" with that you-must-be-crazy look on their face.

The food you pack for meals becomes the topic of conversation...EVERY DAY!

Others feel driven to point out that vegetables are alive too! (insert huge eye-roll here)

People will never believe (no matter how often you tell them after they brought it up) that you eat this way all the time, even at home. (After all, you can't live without meat, can you? *snicker)

When people find out you don't eat meat, they jump to conclusions and automatically have the argument, "If we didn't hunt, more deer would die from starvation, and anyone who thinks differently is IGNORANT."  I personally don't care that you hunt and eat what you (hopefully) humanely killed.  Who said anything about hunting?  I didn't.

People assume you'll be offended by every little thing.  Look, I honestly do not care what you put into your own body.  Some people might preach to you, but don't assume all vegan/vegetarians are the same.  Do all black men play basketball?  Do all Asian woman give great messages?  Do all Native Americans wear feathers every fucking day?  Quit stereotyping!

Due to your vegan, non-violence philosophy you must restrain yourself from strangling your "friend" when he tells the "screaming tomatoes" joke for the fifteenth time.

People assume you are vegan because you are trying to lose weight. Then they say, "lean chicken is the ticket! Remember, lean chicken!"

 Your spouse becomes an instant expert on vegan-ism (after all, they know YOU right?) and try to order for you in restaurants.(I will not discuss the eggplant parmigiana incident at this time.)

If I hear that I am taking food away from the bunnies (lettuce) one more time....

People think that you must be anemic or have some other sickness if you're vegan. You just can't be getting proper nutrition! They keep pointing out, "You look kind of pale today" or "You look tired" or "Are you feeling okay? Are you really feeling okay?"

People assume that being vegetarian means you don't do anything unhealthy, like eat chocolate or drink, so when you do those things, they act all shocked. They do make vegan beer and wine you know. (But no one is shocked when your meat eating friend smokes...Hmmmm...)

People you eat out with get exasperated when you try to determine what exactly is in the food you are ordering. (If it were an allergy, it would be fine, but since it's a choice, it's weird.)  This really pisses me off.

It's tiring that your vegetarian lifestyle being the big topic of conversation at EVERY social dinner you attend.  (this blog is different, it's mine and I'll discuss anything I want to.)

When a person you are just introduced to hears that  you are vegetarian, he says,"Oh, what about your husband. Is he normal?"  Wait. What?

When I steal a line from Phoebe on "Friends" and  tell someone that I don't eat anything with a face and they sarcastically reply "well potatoes have eyes and lettuce has a head."  I love that.  Never heard before either.

Being told "You can pick the meat off." In exasperation, I once replied,"Well, for me that would be the same as if I crapped on your food and told you that you could just pick it off. Would you?"

How many omnivores get asked what their typical meals are? And how many of them are quizzed on their balance of nutrients or eating ethics?

And last, but not least:

I hate always having to answer the question, "Why don't you eat meat?" In spite of all the reasons I could cite, the truth is that I just don't want to, and I shouldn't have to justify it every day of my life.

Sunday, August 01, 2010

Love Is a Dog Named Daisy, That Pulled At Your Heartstrings One Petal At a Time

For the last month or so, I noticed that Daisy, our Lab/Airdale had been losing weight.  She also had a cough for a while now.  We had taken her to the vet about the cough previously but was told that it was from hair in her throat since she licked her paws habitually. 

At first I thought it was worms, so I treated her for that.  She starting eating better for a few days, but then Friday night she didn't want dinner.  Nor would she eat breakfast the next morning.  I couldn't even temp her with a hot dog.  Off to the vet we went.  By the way, Banfield Hospital at PetSmart takes walk-ins and are very nice and courteous.

To make a long story short, and because the best story is her life, not her death; my beloved friend Daisy had her pain humanely eased yesterday evening.  Unbeknown to us, she had been quietly suffering through the end stages of lung cancer.  She was so much stronger than I, I think. 

As I write this in the very early morning hours of my 37th birthday, I don't bemoan the fact that this happened so close to what normally would be my day. My day, my way, everything I say day, is what I always liked to call it.  I think that this was God's way of showing me what a wonderful gift I had in her.

We (I should say I) got her from the Humane Society when she was 11 months old.  She had been there a few weeks already after her owners had surrendered her because she ate the siding on the house while she was tied up all day while they were at work.  Lovely reason huh?  Anyway, my son and I (the hubby didn't want to go, thinking he would want to take them all) had went up there to find a companion for Harpo, our at the time, 2 year old Kelpie. 

We had walked in to the shelter and I remember thinking that there was no way a person could really evaluate whether a dog was for them in this environment.  There were about twenty people milling around, looking at the dogs.  The dogs were all jumping up to the wire that separated them from us.  They were running in circles, some pacing and whining.  But then I looked to my left and there sat my delicate, little flower, Daisy.  Although at the time her name was Phoebe.  She was skinny as a rail, and you couldn't see her eyes because of the hair hanging over them.  She looked like a straggly Ewok. My friend Sonja reminded me yesterday that when she had first seen her she had asked, "What the heck is that?"  I just replied, "That's Daisy.  Isn't she awesome?"  Eventually we did start getting her groomed as you can see by her different hairdos.

She had sat in her kennel, as regal as a princess.  Just patiently waiting, with only her tail wagging; waiting for me to find her.  We took her home that day. 
I could not have asked for a better dog.  Harpo was great, but he was man's dog.  He obeyed the hubby more than I and he was just not snuggly.  He was always on the go.  I wanted a dog that would let me love on them and hug them, and kiss on them.  Daisy was mine, through and through.  She didn't chase the cats, she never peed in the house, and always obeyed every command like she was born with an instruction booklet on how to obey your master. 

Daisy truly showed her worth a few years ago when I was diagnosed with MS and she became my service dog.  Even in her middle-age, she did well by me when I needed her.  I relied on her for balance and strength.  Now I rely on a cane when I need it.  Not as cute, but it works.

I could not have asked for a better friend in a dog than her.  I miss her.  This morning I instinctively moved to step over her when getting up this morning, since she, without fail, slept next to my side of the bed every night.  I put down three bowls instead of two for breakfast, before I remembered.  I went to let the dogs outside and stood there waiting for her to come to the door before I remembered. 

Daisy will forever be the flower in my heart.  And was the best dog ever.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Birthday Pondering

This year I will be 37.  I know that everyone says this but, I can't believe how time has flown.  I keep telling my son that before he knows it, he will be my age and wondering where the time has gone too.  He just laughs.  Whatever.

So I was thinking about what I wanted to do for the Ole birthday.  I'm thinking about doing a throwback and having a skate party at Skateworld like in the old days.  I hear that on Sundays nights they have 80's tunes.  But then I start freaking out like a kid giving out the invitation to her b-day party.  What if no one comes?  What if that just proves how delusional I am in thinking that I actually have more than one friend?  I think throwing yourself a birthday party is just too stressful.

I guess  will just stay home like I have the last few years and just wallow in my old age-ness.  Fuck it.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

To The Trees! To The Trees!

Last night my chickens decided that they needed to roost in the trees/blackberries.  Now, I am a new chicken owner and this new development also came right after Reba (one of the Rhode Island Red/Cochans X's) decided to start making this god-awful racket.   She sounded like she was dying.  I was busy checking the Internet (to later find that she was probably getting ready to lay an egg or something), when the rosebushes began to shake, and the rooster was making a racket trying to get his girls up in the rosebushes with him. 

I was able to go outside and shake them down, but then a few minutes later the rooster, Jay-Z, managed to convince Reba and her twin sister Lucille up in to the arborvitae that also has a few blackberry vines wound through it .  Lady Gaga, the bantam-frizzle-cochan was the only smart girl and was happily roosting in her regular spot up in the coop.

Admittedly, I had, by then, had a couple of glasses of wine, so when I went out to try to get them down, the only thing I could think of that would reach them was my extend-able loppers that I use to prune with.  (For some reason the garden hose, or a rake perhaps did not even enter my mind.) I can only imagine the trauma that they went through last night when the one human in the whole world that they trust, went at them with a pair of pruning loppers, while shining a flashlight in their faces, when all they were trying to do was sleep.

It didn't work by the way.  I ended up just saying fuck-it, and praying that they would all be there when I awoke.  They were.  I guess I should just trust Jay-Z's instincts and let nature take care of my chickens (to an extent). 

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Panty shields up, Captain! We’re rebooting the Ovarian Operating System . . .

I know that just the title alone might make you want to just skip this particular posting, but you should just wait a sec, you might learn something or at the very least change your mind about some things.  I know my mother is probably thinking to herself, "Oh, Kimberly what are you writing now?" with a big sigh.  But even she can't help herself and is still reading as of right now.  Right, Mom?

So back to the subject at hand.  A few things I want to mention.  Periods.  They suck.  Yes, we all know that.  But I am wondering what happened to the glory and fame that women used to get when they had them?  Some might not know there history about it, or even ever wanted to know, so I will tell you anyway.  In some cultures way back when, and maybe in some even now, but probably somewhere in the wilds of Cuckoozumfukaway, when a woman is menstruating, she is revered. She is worshiped as the "mothership" of mankind so to speak.  In some Native (American) cultures a special place was built just for them to live in because they were so "holey" and "sacred" at that time.  They were so awesome that no one else was allowed to even look at them. They built huts and red tents and spas for this exact purpose. To wear pampers or to be pampered. Whatever.

But no, now in this day, we are supposed to outwardly celebrate our periods.  We are no longer worshiped, but are brainwashed into thinking that we should just make the best of a bad thing.  It's a "have a happy period" campaign. A campaign from a company that stupidly chose their brand name to be “Always.” As in, “I’ll ALWAYS bleed, and I’ll ALWAYS wear these things.” At least Kotex, Tampax, and Playtex (all with –ex as a suffix to mean “out, from or away”) sound almost medical or medicinal. And it’s not ALL feminine hygiene, even wounded soldiers are prone to use a tampon (French for “plug” or “stopper”) to halt bullet wounds from weeping. “Always” doesn’t seem to imply medical or even chronic, instead, it implies a life sentence. Doesn’t your uterus protest? Well it should. War is hell and there’s a war in your drawers and the sick folks at Always were also responsible for aerodynamic panty-liners and pads. That’s right – they got your code red covered in homeland security and you can feel secure each month knowing there’s a little, white F-16 in your pants.

But I began to think.  There are people out there that try to get people to put the cloth diapers on their kids to save the environment, but what about the panty protection industry?  Why aren't we trying harder to protect the Earth from the Big Red Flow?

Your average lady uses 16,800 tampons in her lifetime, that’s 250 to 300 pounds of tampons and applicators. Tag on a few thousand pads and panty liners, and your ecological footprint is looking more like Sasquatch. Of particular offense are the plastic applicators some tampons are encased in. They are casually tossed into wastebaskets where they later escape the curb trash or landfill, trotted off by animals, resurfacing in parking lots and playgrounds and a host of other locations you’d rather not see them appear.

So, a little research . . .

O.B. tampons: small box, no applicator. Compact, simple cellophane wrapper covering them, easy to use, and take up very little room in your purse. It is unfathomable, but some women simply aren’t down with getting that up close and personal with their own lady bits. Come on darlings – this is no time to be prim and squeamish. If you haven’t seen it in a mirror to understand how it goes together and pushed the buttons to see how it works, you don’t deserve to have sex and should just hang an “Out Of Order” sign over your girdle loop. Get over it. Get into it. It’s yours. Deal.

OG-style Tampax: wrapped in paper, cardboard applicator that breaks down relatively quickly if they happen to get loose in the environment. Preferable to the Pearl brand, which has an indestructible plastic applicator strong enough for shotgun shell casings and is then further wrapped in coated paper. Awesome. Go ahead. Try running them over with your car. You can’t destroy them. They’ll only get dirty . . . and more angry. That plastic rocket launcher is just one more wasteful obstacle between you and your nana. I don’t even want to go into the perfumed varieties. Now on top of your plastic fetish, you’re going to open a vapor-impermeable pouch and stick this vulcanized, alcohol soaked albino vampire into your hoo-ha where no one and nothing but your senseless cervix can smell it? Well it doesn’t work and now you smell of lightly talcum-ed meat. Fail. p.s. Talc is closely related to the potent carcinogen asbestos and talc particles have been shown to cause tumors in the ovaries and lungs of cancer victims. So hey – go easy on sprinkling the Johnson’s about your leaky basement. It’s a safety hazard. You’ll slip and fall. No need to announce “clean-up on aisle one.”

Natracare and Seventh Generation: chemical-free, non chlorine-bleached, simple packaging which means even less waste. Eco-conscious enough with all the key ingredient and disclaimers including no animal-testing and skin-tested only on fellow humans. You can sleep well in the knowledge that no bunnies had to hop about with a maxi pad strapped to their fluffy bums and instead, some nice lady in a lab got itchy a few times. This is still within the normal scope of your monthly cycle.

: natural tampons inspired by the traditional use of sponges by menstruating women of ancient times. So if you want to bleed like Cleopatra, this is your bag. The Egyptians invented the tampon too – so you can thank them for that little wonder. Sea sponges are available in Teenie, Regular, and Large and you precision(?) fit to size by trimming the sea sponge and experimenting with insertion. Wow. Try not to think about doing dishes or wiping counters or a nice hot sponge bath because really, I can’t see how this is either sanitary OR relaxing. So Sally, if you’re worried about sullying up the seashore, (welcome to my new menstrual tongue twister) this is all the rage amongst mythological aquatic creatures. Apparently, sea sponges are what mermaids use.

Menstrual Cups – i.e.: Diva cup, Mooncup, Instead Softcup, Lunette, Keepercup, LadyCup, Femmecup, Miacup: Ok. Here’s where I drawn the line. This ain’t a Dixie Cup, or a Sippie Cup, a Tommee Tippee Cup or an Ice Cream Cup. This is none of those fun, sweet, childlike associations. But I trust you probably got over that the first time you sprung a leak and wrecked your favorite Underroos or your expensive lingerie for failing to count the days. Maybe I just haven’t been brave enough to go with a new, miserable experience, but let me get this straight . . . I fold a plastic, rubbery cup into a jelly roll, insert this, it pops open like a tulip, I “stir” it around to make sure the umbrella’s been fully deployed, which may take some coaxing and pushing and twisting, and then I pull it out by its dangling tail at intervals, wash it and reinsert it like tiny, portable Tupper Ware?!?!

Oh, hell no!

I am not about to wash my "snatch basket" in the sink (and carry special, mild, perfume-free, hypo-allergenic fem soap) in between classes or you know, when I take a restroom break to freshen up while out to dinner. I mean, how does one do this discreetly? Oh, and once a month, I get the distinct displeasure of a 5-minute boil for my little traveling jellyfish at the end of the cycle in some dedicated kitchen equipment that never sees food. Or, hey, I can use rubbing alcohol (and not hydrogen peroxide) to sterilize it. But I have to be extremely careful not to soak it too long and allow it to dry completely and not degrade the integrity of the plastic and rinse the residue so I don’t fuck up my vaginal pH.

O.B. tampons sounding better all the time, huh? Can you imagine wringing out your sea sponge? Wouldn’t you rather “touch it” now?

So, there I was on a Tuesday night, standing there in the supermarket isle, paralyzed by too many choices and horrible, far-reaching consequences of those attempts at informed decision. There I was: hungry, cranky, wanting ice cream and a heating pad at the same time, thinking about plumbing, and ocean waters and marine life and cancer of the Yoni.

I turn to the woman next to me who is clicking and sucking at her teeth in audible consternation, just like me, and we both smile nervously, amazed at the mini internal crisis over what we’re going to buy. Neither of us will move first, both seem to be wondering how the other will select, looking for a brave trend to follow. Somehow, there’s a preposterous sense of worry over being  judged, like bringing a film or a music CD or a book to the checkout clerk, the fear of choosing poorly, unwisely, without taste or sensibilities. “Hmmm,” the other lady in the isle says. “Yeahhhhh,” I mutter slowly and drawn out. And we both start giggling.

My cup of joy is overflowing

I consider my internal flowchart for assessing absorbency needs:
junioraww, isn’t that cute, you inked!
light – Miss Kitty has a nose bleed.
regular – oh, ya. my period’s back.
superomg that’s a lot of blood.
super plus – Jesus, maybe you should go to the hospital!
ultra – ugh, I think that blood clot just asked for a cigarette.

I am looking for regular. Just something in between, just a few tampons, a starter pack, a holdover since I don’t see any of my normal go-tos. And all they have is “a mere scratch” or “Carrie – Prom Scene” size.

So I think of the dolphins and the salmon and the seabirds and I grab the 10-pack with the small, recyclable cardboard box and no applicator with the green looking package and Eco-claims to fame and the woman next to me does the same. Just enough to soldier on.

It’s all I can do, really. If I don’t want to leave with anymore acronyms. Say, add PTSD to my PMS. Christ Almighty in a hybrid – I can’t even BLEED with out feeling guilty about it in my new sustainable world concept! I leave with my chlorine-free, biodegradable, non-applicator, no plastic, rayon-free tampons and my razors (which are free from animal testing) and a pint of, yes, sorry, blood orange sorbet, and it’s a good thing. While I’m happily eating my cool treat, I don’t need to imagine poor, naked bunnies hopping around with razor burn and nicks with only a maxi-pad to keep them warm. And after all this guilt, I just want to sandwich a washcloth and tuck it in my drawers or just sit on a sock and call it good.  The things a girl does to stay "green" and save the planet.  Jeesh.

Friday, July 09, 2010

I started my internship at Lane County Animal Services yesterday.  They are over flowing by the way.  Several things I noted that I never knew before.  Maybe my eyes were just closed for a while.  Not anymore.

At the end of my shift, on my very first day, I held a beautiful black lab that had apparently been hit by a car, while she was humanely euthanized.  She was a very sweet, gentle girl.  I think she was very well taken care of at one time, but she looked like she had been suffering in the field where she was found, for about a week.  She was severely dehydrated and obviously had not eaten for days.  Her back was broken.  I hope that the person who hit her didn't know they had.  And if they did, and left her to die . . .well, I wish the same on you.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

     I am sitting here at this ungodly hour because of my rooster.  Well, technically he is a cockerel but I don't like to say that in mixed, polite company because well . . . look at at the word will ya?  Unless you speak farm-girl, you might think I was saying something about his doo-dad.  But Since everyone, knows what a rooster is, this is what I am sticking with.  Anyway, I now have to save my cool "Little Women-esqe" names for my next four hens, because we are down to one rooster and one hen.  We have re-named them Lady Gaga and Jay-Z.  The first because it just fit her and her frizzle-ness, the latter because he's black and I wanted to keep going with the popular singer theme and to be honest with you, I don't know of many of the popular black artists, so my choices were limited.  Sue me.  Wait.  Don't sue me if you are either of these people in real life.  I will change them if it offends you and your famousness.

     So I got to thinking about how I had thought I was so smart "sexing" these chickens at the little backyard homestead that I received them from.  I thought I had learned everything I needed to know about chicken sexing from Mike Rowe.  How hard could it be?

Well, it is.  Hard that is.  Although at the time I made it look easy, I realize now that all I was doing was looking a little too close at a chicks poop chute. 

     And what got me thinking about my habit of playing god, was my first read of the day from  my friend over at the Superfantaboulous Blog, which I read every chance I get.  Something she said struck a note in me: " . . .I was forced to come to the realization that I don't have to completely, continuously control the universe with my iron fist of in-human stubbornness."

     That about says it all.  I will suffer through my cockerel/rooster every morning this summer at around 5:23 am.  Me, in my martyrdom will not even think about taping his little beak shut when he does his thing.   Then, next spring or whenever, I will have some baby chicks (maybe, still thinking about that).


Thursday, June 17, 2010

Early morning awakenings . . .

At 5:32 AM this morning it became apparent that one of my girls is actually a boy.  I sleep with the window open and the coop is about 15 feet from my bedroom and I heard this strange sound.  It was reminiscent of a squeaky wheel.  Sort of.  But it was intermittent, so I thought it was my window fan at first.  I turned off the fan, and listened . . .nope, still there.  And yes, it was coming from the coop area.  I threw some shoes on, went outside and stood next to the coop.  Yup, definitely coming from inside.  I open the coop, but I couldn't tell who was making the noise, but I think it's the one now named Jo.  Oh well, it was bound to happen.  He's the big white one in the middle.  But now I have to say after going outside to take that picture, I think they are all roosters except the white frizzle.  Crap. I can't get everything right the first time I guess.