All I'm Saying there's a joke in here somewhere

Well, Matt went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago to get some tests done on various things (thyroid, for one), and it turns out he has a gluten allergy.

I realize it's not exactly a cancer diagnosis--not by a long ways, but...DAMN.

I am extremely proactive about dietary stuff. I read all the time about Omnivore's Dilemma this and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle that, and incorporate a lot of really good stuff into our daily diets. It's good for us and good for the environment. But I have always said that gluten-free would be one of the very hardest things to do. (Sugar-free being the very hardest, I think.)

And yet, it looks like we're heading that way. We went down to the local co-op and stocked up on GF (see how I sling the lingo) pasta and bread mixes, and will focus otherwise on whole foods. Freya and I are as yet undiagnosed, though I do think we'd better have her tested for gluten allergies, and so for the short-term at least, we'll be able to eat foods with gluten. But I don't want to make Matt suffer if we're chowing down on chocolate cake while he gnaws a rice cracker, so we'll be helping him along as much as possible.

I found one really impressive website that has already helped a lot, but would be really interested to hear of some other resources if you or loved ones have gone gluten-free.

You may be happy to know that the incomparable Mel has fixed the issue with my comment page. You can now select to have my page remember your information, and it really should remember you now.

I think there were a couple of other comment issues that got cleared up at the same time, so please, comment with reckless abandon. (Except you thrice-cursed comment spammers. You people can slide naked down the razor-blade bannister into a pile of salt.)

Chris has a post up today about finding a notebook from his school days. It contains excerpts of his literary aspirations. I personally can attest (and certain readers of this blog can verify--Leilani) that there is almost nothing as painful as
looking back and reading stuff you wrote back when you dreamed of writing professionally (i.e., fourth grade through about age 16).

My aforementioned best friend from school days and I cooperated on many writing projects, notably "Bridgette," the young-adult romance novel about a farm girl in Illinois. I can't really remember much about the actual story besides something about how her hair spread around her as she lay back in the grass studying the clouds. Or something like that. I have saved books of poetry I wrote too, which is extra painful because I have a really hard time reading poetry now at all. I find so much of it to be truly awful, and mine is right in there with it. If not worse.

Anyway, Chris's excerpts reminded me of the annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. Bulwer-Lytton was a nineteenth century author who wrote the famous line that begins, "It was a dark and stormy night." The whole text of that line is, "It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."

Not the best line in literature, is it? So the contest is to write the worst piece of prose you can think of, keeping your entry limited to fifty or sixty words. I entered it in high school, but am not sure how it turned out. I'm pretty sure I didn't win. This year's winning entry was written by Garrison Spik, of Washington, DC. Here's his entry:

"Theirs was a New York love, a checkered taxi ride burning rubber, and like the city their passion was open 24/7, steam rising from their bodies like slick streets exhaling warm, moist, white breath through manhole covers stamped "Forged by DeLaney Bros., Piscataway, N.J."

I guess now that I've come full circle, I can at least put professional writer on the resume. After all, blog revenue brought in enough money lastyear that I had to claim it as income on my tax refunds. Look out, Stephen King. I'm an up-and-comer.

Check out the other winning entries, if you like. My personal favorite?

The KGB agent known only as the Spider, milk solids oozing from his mouth and nose, surveyed the spreading wound in his abdomen caused by the crushing blow of the low but deadly hassock and begged of his attacker to explain why she gone to the trouble of feeding him tainted milk products before effecting his assassination with such an inferior object as this ottoman, only to hear in his dying moments an escaping Miss Muffet of the MI-5 whisper, "it is my whey."
David Potter
Nagoya, Japan

We went out to Vietnamese tonight to celebrate the Chinese New Year.

We really had the best of intentions to actually go eat Chinese food, but then got derailed by the fact that we had to drive past a really great Vietnamese joint to get to a mediocre Chinese place.

Here's Wikipedia to tell you a little more about the Year of the Ox:

The Ox is the sign of prosperity through fortitude and hard work. This powerful sign is a born leader, being quite dependable and possessing an innate ability to achieve great things. As one might guess, such people are dependable, calm, and modest. Like their animal namesake, the Ox is unswervingly patient, tireless in their work, and capable of enduring any amount of hardship without complaint.

It is important to remember that the Ox people are sociable and relaxed when they feel secure, but occasionally a dark cloud looms over such people and they engage all the trials of the whole world and seek solutions for them.

Sounds like just the jolt this economy needs, eh?

A girlfriend and I went to see Clint Eastwood in "Gran Torino" today. I had zero interest in the movie, but my friend really wanted to see it and I'm usually up for whatever. I didn't know what it was about--I'd just gathered there was a lot of Clint looking steely-eyed at carloads of gang-bangers. I do that sometimes myself. (*cough* deathwish *cough*)

Essentially, the movie is about Walt, a former First Calvaryman during the Korean War, who is recently widowed and whose home is in a neighborhood that has recently become primarily a Hmong community. Frankly, about every 10th word out of his mouth is a racist expletive. Through one event and another though, he ends up being a huge part of the life of a brother and sister who live next door to him. Despite his crustiness and unwillingness to be a normal, social human being, they make him a part of their community. And then the gang-bangers do something horrible, and Walt is the only one who can bring justice to the situation.

It was a damned awesome movie. I was so impressed. The ending is astonishing. There is definitely a moral to it, somewhat predictably that Walt finds that his neighbors are as good a people as any he's known, and he rewrites his personal creed to make them part of his life. But what also really struck me is that his Hmong neighbors stick with him in spite of his thorny attitudes, and the fact that he calls them pretty much every racist epithet in the book. It's a study in how not only do the racist white old men have work to do, but that it cannot be done if the community just gives up and writes them off.

I thought it was a wonderful movie. Go see it. Do NOT take your children.

I had a package in today's mail from a rarely-seen aunt. I opened it to find a DVD labeled, "Nana." I came upstairs tonight and put it in the computer and found that it was a slide show movie of old photos of my grandmother. It was wonderful.

Nana died in 2003. She'd had Alzheimer's for about 8 years, and for the last 2 years of her life she had no idea who she was, nor who anyone around her was. In the photos of her in her last years you can really see it in her face. There's one of her looking at my aunt with an expression that says, "Who the hell are you?"

Alzheimer's is a dreadful disease, obviously, and it's so hard for the caregivers and family. We tried to laugh as much as we could about the things Nana did that were funny. By the time things quit being funny she was gone, though her body lived on. It was so strange, because we grieved her while she was still living.

I thank her for her support to me--it never wavered. She loved me for who I was, not for what I could bring her or how I made her feel. She just loved me. And I loved her back. Still do.

So remember my facial on Monday? It was kind of weird because the aesthetician didn't have me fill out any forms talking about my skin, what medication I use, anything in particular I put on my skin; I've had to do that at the other facials I've had. I made sure to tell her I use Retin-A occasionally and she said okay, and then I told her that I hadn't used it much this week because my skin was getting really dry and flaky on my chin.

At one point she said to me, "This next product might tingle a little bit on your skin," and I asked her what it was. She said it was glycolic acid for my chemical peel (which I hadn't ordered, but figured must be a normal part of the facial). I didn't think Retin-A and chemical peels were a good combination but knew I'd told her about the Retin-A and figured, "Well, she's the professional, she must know what she's doing."

Not.

I woke up today and my face felt like armadillo hide. It's red, bumpy, puffy and peeling like a sunburnt Komodo dragon.

I went to the dermatologist who agreed that Retin-A and glycolic acid definitely do not go together, but that I'll be all right in a couple of days. In the meantime, I'm supposed to put a cortisone cream on it twice a day and wash it in an extremely mild cleanser and use lots of moisturizer.

Also in the meantime, I have a call in to the spa to discuss the issue and hopefully get some of my money back. I should probably charge them the copay amount for the dermatologist visit too.

See what I get for being so vain? Let this be a lesson to me!

If you've been with me a long, long while and you have the memory of an elephant, you will recall me blogging (so long ago I can't even find the post) about a class action lawsuit against the big cosmetics companies--Estee Lauder, Lancome, L'Oreal, etc. I can't even remember what they did, but there was supposed to be a settlement at some date in the future. I added my name to the e-mail list and promptly forgot all about it.

I got an e-mail a week or so ago saying that the suit had been settled, and for those people who had purchased products from the defendants, there would be a settlment of one free product per claimant, starting today. I didn't quite believe it completely, but remembered that today was the day it was starting and decided to hie myself over to the mall after work.

And it's true.

Macy's had a big set-up near it's entrance to the mall where you could look at a list of available products as your settlment (or you could research them yourself at the lawsuit's website), and you just walk up, identify what product you want, then sign your name to a paper attesting you are a claimant of the offended group. (Which means you purchased a product from the defendants during the specified period--check it out on the website for more details.)

So now I have a free Lancome mascara. Sweet! Oh, if you're wanting to claim your free product, you better shag ass on over to Macy's or Dillards or wherever (only certain retailers are participating--again, see the website for details) and grab it because there were a fair number of people in line when I was there and the giveaway is only good until the limited number of products are gone!

You get so much out of reading this site, don't you?

Oh, one more thing. Goodbye, Duck Face!

Helllooooo, Barack!

It's been a damned good day. (Images via Serephin at 43rd State Blues.)

Matt got me a gift certificate to a local day spa for Christmas. I don't go to this place all that often, but it's been my day spa of choice here in Boise on those rare occasions when I'm in the market for such.

I decided to go all out and blow the whole gift certificate, as well as some cash, on a never-before-experienced luxury package. I got a 90 minute massage, a facial with glycolic peel, lunch, and a manicure/pedicure with paraffin treatments. It was pretty damned nice.

This morning before I left, I asked Freya what color I should have my toes painted. She said purple. I suggested pink might be better, and she said that would be fine too. Then she wanted to know what color I would get my (very short) fingernails painted. I explained that I never get my fingernails painted*, and she accepted that. But then I saw that they had a pale metallic pink, as well as a totally over-the-top sparkly purple color, and decided to go whole hog. Now Freya keeps making me take my slippers off so she can check out my toes. Then she says, "I really like your pink fingernails, Mama." So I guess that makes it all worth it.

*Although way back when I was single and working in the woods for the Forest Service, I had rather long fingernails that I always kept painted in dark red shades. Why? Because I'd had long nails since about the 7th grade and that was just my habit, and the dark color kept people from being able to see how much grime I usually had under my nails. That's life in the woods for ya...

Back in June I made a post about one of my closest friends being diagnosed with breast cancer. She's a mother of three, and has had her share of hard times over the last few years.

She had a double-mastectomy and received what her doctor referred to as "the surgical cure," in that all the cancer was cut out of her system and hadn't spread anywhere. It was a wonderful diagnosis, but she's spent the last six months dealing with recovery from the first surgery, as well as two additional surgeries for reconstruction, plus issues stemming from a bacterial infection contracted after the second surgery.

Well, today she and I went out for coffee. She's coming back to work on Tuesday, and she's entirely done with the cancer treatment and recovery. (Physically. Emotionally she's still pretty shaken up but getting better.) As we were sitting there gabbing, it struck me: She made it.

Seriously, guys. She. Made. It. Had they not performed the surgery when they did, had it spread into her system, the doctor said she'd have had 18 months to two years left to live. But they caught it.

I made her give me a big high five in the middle of Starbucks and we both just stopped what we were doing for a minute. She's completely on the other side of this--the place where, six months ago we weren't even sure if she'd get to.

She made it.

In a desperate attempt to combat my weather-related foul mood, I went to A Prarie Home Companion, Pretty Good Jokes to see what humor there was out there. Here's a few for you:

A blonde went to an eye doctor to have her eyes checked for glasses. The doctor directed her to read various letters with the left eye while covering the right eye.

The blonde was so mixed up on which eye was which that the eye doctor, in disgust, took a paper lunch bag with a hole to see through, covered up the appropriate eye and asked her to read the letters.

As he did so, he noticed the blonde had tears streaming down her face.

"Look," said the doctor, "there's no need to get emotional about getting glasses."

"I know," agreed the blonde, "But I kind of had my heart set on wire rims."

**************************************

A chickpea walks into a bar and the bartender says, "Chickpea, why do you look so sad?"

The chickpea replies, "I falafel."

**************************************

Two guys are out ice fishing, just quietly fishing and drinking beer. Almost silently, so as not to scare the fish, Bob says, "I think I'm gonna divorce my wife. She hasn't spoken to me in two months."

Earl continues slowly sipping his beer, then thoughtfully says, "You better think it over, Bob. A woman like that is hard to find."

Things that have irritated me today (short list):

1. My bra is a nice one with a front closure. Probably paid more than is strictly necessary, which makes my problem twice as annoying--it keeps popping open. We were loading our stuff onto the conveyor belt at the cash register at CostCo tonight, and SPANGGGGG, helzapoppin'. I made it through my transaction without anyone noticing, I am sure, but I kept my elbows pretty close to my body. Stupid bra...

2. While at CostCo, I was searching for "my destiny," which is essentially whatever item I want to treat myself to at that point in time. Usually it is a new top or some camisoles or something. And I couldn't find anything. Matt got some new sweat pants and Freya got "The Little Mermaid II," her first Disney video ever, but I couldn't find nothin'. And I was paying, and that definitely makes it worse. Everyone got a present but me.

3. Finally, and I feel bad for even mentioning this, I am already irritated with "The Little Mermaid II" for the simple fact that Freya has kept up a running dialogue for the entire 10 minutes it has been on, and it's full of questions. "Mommy, what's the name of that fish? Mommy, who is that baby? Is that the baby's daddy? Who is the Little Mermaid Two? Mommy, what is that creature? It's a shark? Is it bad?" This irritation with Disney movies is only going to get worse, isn't it? I'll know every word of each movie by the time she's seven, I suppose.

4. Finally, and this is probably the source of my irritation on account of my Seasonal Affective Disorder (seriously), it has been foggy here all. damned. day and I really hate not being able to see the sky.

Okay, pity party over. Tomorrow will be a better day.

You people are anti-pole dancing lurkers, aren't you? I mean, I write you a nice post all about possible injuries sustained by exotic dancers and then show you a cartoon about a man exposing himself, and you've got nothing to say? So much for Delurking Day!

So I'm sitting here while Freya is napping, watching a couple of Britney Spears videos on YouTube (shut up), and then I remembered back that one time I took a pole dance fitness class that the instructor mentioned there were some good videos of people taking bad pole dance falls on YouTube. And I decided to go look them up. Yes, they probably hurt. But the one that really got me was the one embedded below. Remember how I told you about when you slide down the pole wrong and it makes a sound my instructor called "The Devil Screech"?

This lady demonstrates it perfectly. My thighs cringe.

In spite of that, I still think I might go try the class again. Nothing is more effective on your upper body.

Also? Monday is Delurking Day, and since this is essentially the only post between now and Monday night, you better get after it. Delurk, and tell me how you feel about pole dancing.

I'm looking for resources, people, and I want you to help me out.

My office is going to be going through "seismic renovation" next winter, which, in our context, means that basically the whole thing is going to get torn apart, with the exception of the exterior walls and the roof. The floor and interior walls are gone, daddy, gone, and will ultimately be rebuilt and anchored better in case of earthquake. *eyeroll*

Part of the deal is new carpet and paint (yay!), but as I was driving to work in the dark yesterday morning, I caught sight of the inside of another office building and saw their cubes and the rectangular flourescent lights and thought, "Yeeuck. Why do we do that to ourselves?"

I mean, eight point five hours a day, five days a week, I'm in this office. It's sort of a habitat for me and my coworkers. So why do we box ourselves up and make it so aesthetically unpleasant? So, as usual, I had an idea and took it to my bosses. They were all in favor of me doing whatever I could (within fiscal reason, which means on the cheap) to come up with some creative space solutions for the place. I want to make it more environmentally friendly, and already have plans to bring in low-flow bathroom fixtures and low VOC paints and carpet.

But I'm a crappy design person and am looking for some ideas. Folks in the office say they want to have their private space, so I can't really do away with a cubical set-up, but is there a nice alternative to a cube? What color schemes are nice? It needs to be something masculine-ish, but not overly so. I'd like to make it seem a little more...organic, and could use color to bring that in somehow. And how about lighting? We'll still stay with a flourescent concept, but I could totally get rid of the boxes and maybe bring in some actual fixtures, like lamps or something.

Anyone? Anyone?

So it has snowed a fair amount more in Boise than normal lately. We've had a number of storms, some consecutive, that dump 3 inches or more, which is a big deal in Les Bois. The car I currently drive was purchased when we lived in Cascade and had the worst driveway in town, but I never managed to get it stuck. (Well, there was that one time I unwittingly drove it on a snowmobile trail outside of Sumpter, Oregon and really pissed off the locals, but that was totally my fault and not the car's.)

I don't even keep snow tires on it anymore, but it's all wheel drive, which is usually a little bit of overkill for this area, except on morning commutes like Monday and Tuesday of this week.

Anyway, I was at a light behind a 20-something in a probably late-90s model Camaro the other day. He took off through the light, and his stupid, expensive, wide-ass racing tires were throwing up a ginormous rooster tail of snow and slush behind him. He was doing the best he could, but was still only able to make about the same amount of headway driving as if he'd just gotten out and pushed.

When able, I zinged around him and carried on, but I must admit I sneered at him as I passed and thought, "Who's got the badass car now, beeyotch?!"

I think he felt it.

I went to see my crunchy, semi-holistic doctor today to do my yearly check-up. She's always a hoot to visit with, especially because I'm crunchy and semi-holistic and it's just fun to have someone to talk to sometimes.

We got going on this enormous discussion of how I'm trying to really focus on what I eat and how I'm having a hell of a time getting enough protein into my diet, and then that ran down into a discussion about serotonin levels and amino acids and 5HTP. So then she told me about this urine test I could take and that she strongly hoped I would do, but the catch is that insurance doesn't cover it and it costs over $200 out-of-pocket. I'm very much thinking about it because it would be great to know what, if any, amino acids I am deficient in and how to correct that for overall systemic health. So I told her to get me the kit and I'd work out how to budget it in.

I was expecting a little pee cup. Instead, she hauled out what looks like a two-quart orange jerry can. Evidently, I have to capture every drop of urine I excrete for a period of 24 hours and mail it off to the laboratory. I can't wait to fill out the package form:

Contents: One smallish jerry can full of piss. Value: What's it worth to you?

Also, this is another case of a male designer not factoring in the female urinary needs. (Reference my much earlier post about how pregnancy tests should be the size of a ping-pong paddle so you don't end up weeing all over your hand.) The opening is plenty large enough to stick a willy down inside and tidily tinkle into. For those of us internal types...I have totally not figured out the logistics yet. But you can bet I'll do a post about it when it happens. And that day? It'll be on a weekend, I can assure you of that.

As you're all aware of by now, Israel is bombing the living hell out of Palestine in retaliation for years of Hamas rocket attacks that have killed seven Israelis over a period of years. In the last few days, the Palestinian death toll is somewhere over 500.

I've been doing a lot of reading lately and have learned that Gaza (the area getting bombed) is about the size of the greater-Nashville area, and has a population of 1.5 million people. It is one of the most densely populated areas in the world. It is bounded on two sides by Israel (not a great escape option), Egypt to the south (not allowing refugees), and the Mediterranean on the fourth. I've been hearing people say, "Why don't the Gazans just leave? Israel dispersed handouts saying that Gaza would be bombed to eradicate Hamas..." And my only reply is, "Yeah, just like why didn't the poor people in New Orleans hop in their cars and drive to a nice hotel out of the wind and rain when they got word a hurricane was coming?"

We cannot imagine the conditions the Palestinians have been living with, particularly now. I don't know if anything will bring peace to the area, but I did find one reputable organization (among many, I am sure) giving aid: United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East. You can turn on any news channel and hear reports of:

Gaza Hospital Fills Up, Mainly With Civilians
Aid Agencies Say Gaza Needs Food, Medicine--And Body Bags
Lack of Food and Medicine a Catastrophe, Say Aid Groups

So, I decided to try to help this reputable organization fund relief, whether it is medical or getting food to people trapped in this bombardment. Whether you are comfortable donating money to an organization or not, it behooves us all to read up on the Israel/Palestine conflict and learn what it is all about. There is no hope of peace unless many more people learn and try to help.

Matt's parents just sent us their itinerary for their upcoming visit--they are making a tradition of being here on Freya's birthday, which is nice. On the other hand, they stay for a bloody long time, which I know I have mentioned before, and they're high maintenance.

They cc'ed the message around to all of Matt's siblings, including his sister in Denver, who they are visiting earlier in January for 3.5 days. They're staying with us for 9 days.

I feel so...blessed...or something...

A friend of ours loaned us the Cranium Cariboo game for Freya. She loves it with a love that will never die. We've probably played fifty rounds of it since we picked it up Tuesday.

It's pretty basic: you take turns drawing cards that have either a shape, number, letter or color on them, then the player turns to the game board and selects a compartment with that item on it. Using a special key, the compartment moves aside to reveal (or not!) a little rubber ball. Once collected, all the rubber balls fit into a compartment that triggers a little plastic treasure chest to open up and reveal a purple jewel inside. It's nice, it's non-competitive, and it is a learning game.

And lordamighty, I am tired of it. But I'm keeping it in perspective--we'll be playing ten thousand games of Candyland before too much longer, I think.