Skip to content

Argh! The Smell!!!

I am on the third “odor-destroying” product on the family room carpet. It didn’t seem like it was the carpet was the only culprit, because the cat pee smell in the room was still strong, but not over by the treated area as much as the rest of the room. I had already washed a bunch of fabric that had quite obviously been peed on, but just in case, I started checking some of the other pieces. Yep. The ones that didn’t smell like pee smelled like they’d been in storage too long, so I started pulling everything down and sorting it to wash.

The prospect of washing all that fabric is daunting enough, but when I started realizing that I had three loads, at least, of cold wash just in reds, I started re-evaluating my hoarding habit. I really should look at these more critically. Lots of that fabric makes me feel inadequate, because it’s one more thing that I haven’t finished staring me in the face. It’s supposed to be there to inspire, to play with, but instead it’s driving me away from sewing entirely. Yeah, there’s going to have to be some garbage bags next to the hampers. Sorry, fabric, but if I can’t see myself wearing you soon, you’re outta here.

I’d sell it, but that would keep it in my house even longer, and turn it into yet another thing I have to do. Almost all of it was cheap or free, and if there were a formula to figure depreciation of its worth over time, most of it would have reached a negative value. Let me go find those garbage bags. . .

I Can Hardly Wait for Surgery.

A couple of months ago, I found a lump in my breast. I wasn’t really worried, because it was one that had already been identified (along with several hundred others) as a cyst - it was just a lot bigger than it used to be. So I pulled out the number for the place where I get my mammos, and whaddaya know, I was a year overdue. So, I made the appointment, got exactly the diagnosis I expected, had a couple of cysts aspirated, and all was well and good.

Except for one thing - when they tried to fax the info to my ob-gyn, they said that I was no longer a patient of theirs. News to me! Yeah, I was overdue for that appointment, too, but come on! I had to pay a huge chunk of change to get my records transferred down to them when I moved, and now they have nothing on file? WTF?!?!?

Well, I had intended to change doctors anyway, so I made an appointment with one who’d been recommended to me and got the mammo records sent there (other records are still MIA, but that’s another story.) At the exam, the doctor was astonished at the size of my uterine fibroids - as was I. He wrote the scrip to send me for an ultrasound, and I joked with him “ooh, does this mean I can get the hysterectomy I’ve been dreaming of?” and he chided me not to jump to conclusions.

I went a couple of days later, and things had gotten so much bigger that the tech couldn’t show the student I’d agreed to let practice on me any of the markers to indicate what she was looking at. I joked that she should look at the ovaries, too, so the student could see what polycystic ovaries looked like, too. That wasn’t on the scrip, but after she saw them, she took images of those for the doctor, too. I asked her how many fibroids she thought I had, and she said at least six, but a couple were so big that she couldn’t tell if any others were hiding. Oh, dear!

Sure enough, at my followup appointment the doctor said that surgery would be a really good thing for me. Everything’s coming out on June 18th, and I’m thrilled. Moreso today than since this whole diagnosis thing started, because I’m so uncomfortable and crappy-feeling. I couldn’t wake up this morning for anything. When I did, it felt like someone was stabbing an ice pick through my left ovary, in through my abdomen and out through my back. Even now that the pain has abated, the pressure is interfering with blood flow through my left leg. I feel like there’s a stiff tube instead of a femoral artery running up my inner thigh and into my groin. My left foot keeps getting tingly, my left knee is numb off and on. I’m wishing this trip to the hospital were happening even sooner.

If I weren’t aware of this, I’d be concerned enough to go to the emergency room - it’s not my imagination going wild. The cysts and fibroids in my breasts got bigger, the cysts and fibroids in my uterus and ovaries got bigger, and the lipomas in my legs got larger - I even found some new ones (OK, probably not new, just undetectable before), so something’s going on that’s affecting all of them. I would guess it’s hormonal, so this surgery should help all of it. Too bad I couldn’t get a doctor to agree to do this before, but better late than never.

Oh, Dear.

This Speaks to Me, too. Well, the first image spoke to me last night, so technically that’s not twice in a day.

fail owned pwned pictures
see more pwn and owned pictures

This Speaks to Me!

No Time to Post!

But I have so much to say. . .this covers a lot of it, though:

Buy TFD Stock

Ugh - catching up.

Schools were closed for two days because of snow. Delayed opening for the high school for the next couple of days because of HSPA testing. Badly-needed dentist appointment missed because of snow, hair appointment missed because of lost track of time because of days off because of snow. Gotta reschedule those, have to schedule mammogram because those lumps are probably the same old cysts getting bigger from hormone changes, but it doesn’t pay to take chances. Edit and email minutes, meeting for a different group tonight, gotta type and print stuff for that, still need to hit grocery store and restaurant supply store and get back in time to take kids to music lessons. Desk is overrun with receipts to be recorded and filed, other papers that need calls, letters, or filing, still figuring out the new bluetooth headset as well. Lots of clay to condition and bake, rugs and floors that need vacuuming and washing, laundry in both machines and more in baskets waiting for washing or folding. Two new cats that need intensive socializing and six litterboxes that need cleaning. Did I mention that I don’t work? Heh.

Thank You, Buddy Amato.

What follows is my own opinion and reflects my personal feelings. It is not a statement representing any of the groups involved, and nothing I say should be construed as originating from said groups.

Everything was under control with this rescue, but Mr. Amato, who has no jurisdiction in Ocean County, decided to stick his nose in. The report on News 12 quoted him as saying “All the animals should have been removed. . .then you get them adopted. You don’t just leave them there.” Yes, Mr. Amato, simple as that. You take 44-plus cats, all sick, flea-infested, and emaciated, and easily fit them in a shelter that has only about a dozen cages. The shelter will find a way to fit them all in, even though they’re so antisocial that almost all of them need to be caged separately. The town council will feel so bad that they all need to be spayed and neutered, that the females that are too pregnant to be spayed will give birth to sick kittens that will need veterinary care, and that they’ll need other expensive treatments and individual attention before anyone would want to touch them, much less adopt them, that they’ll give the shelter all the money they need to rehabilitate and house the cats. And, after the shelter miraculously becomes larger and acquires at least ten more cage banks, people will pour in from all corners to adopt them, even though there were already plenty of good-looking, healthy cats being put to sleep after too long a time without being adopted. In fact, the shelter administration will get so much money, so much space, and so many clients, that they will no longer have to decide that a cat is too expensive to treat, or that one cat is more adoptable than another, and opt for euthanasia. Oh, no, every cat that comes in will be taken care of, no matter how much it costs, no matter how difficult it might be as a pet, and live out its days in comfort until it finds a home! Does it work that way in Monmouth County, Mr. Amato? Lucky you!

Unfortunately, it’s not that way in any town or county shelter I’ve ever heard of, and not that way in Toms River. That’s why the cats were going to be removed in stages by the rescue group. Tails With Happy Endings took out as many cats as they could house, and began getting them the veterinary care they needed, paying for it with its own funds, swallowing the costs for food, litter, bedding, additional cages. The idea was that since the town shelter would have had to put them all down, the rescue would take them in stages and get them adopted when they were healthy and well socialized, and the town would monitor the whole situation. Yes, it meant that some would be left in their same situation for a while longer, but they’d have a chance for a better life.

I doubt that Mr. Amato bothered to find this out before issuing his judgment. In fact, I doubt he bothered to find it out at all, because he apparently exerted his influence on certain officials of Toms River to have
Animal Control go back into the house and remove every single remaining animal.

In Buddy Amato Fantasy World, he’s a hero to these animals. Here where the rest of us live, their last memories before they die will be of having been captured ungently in a place of fear and filth. The shelter is already full of cats that have all their fur, that come forward in the cages to be petted rather than cowering and hissing, that are pretty and healthy and adoptable. None of them will be displaced by the “rescued” cats. Perhaps being dead is a better alternative to living the way they did, but it’s not a better alternative to the way the first batch will end up - the way they, too, would have ended up if Mr. Amato hadn’t swooped in to save the day. Bravo, sir.

Of course, now that the town doesn’t have to spend anything to care for all these animals, maybe they can purchase a vehicle for the same purpose. Outfit it with multiple gas chambers, capture animals in crates that fit right in, cold storage in the back, and they don’t even have to go back to the shelter. It could say in big letters along the sides “Buddy Amato Mobile Euthanasia Truck,” so he could get the recognition he deserves.

Here’s something fun:

See how well you do at putting colors in order of grade from one to another. I scored 16, which is pretty good, weaker in blues and greens than other colors, which I suspected.

http://www.xrite.com/custom_page.aspx?PageID=77

Toy Food!

From Neil Cicierega, whose videos I’ve embedded here before, another work of genius. I think you’ll agree, it’s quite a catchy tune. Heh.

Something about Hacking.

We had what appeared to be an emergency last week, when one of the girls was told by someone she was IMing that he might have transmitted a virus to her that would completely wipe out her computer. There was much scrambling around for blank CDs to copy her files onto, hubby checked every possible way for a virus to get in as well as ran a regular virus scan, and I had to calm down a justifiably upset daughter. She does everything on that machine, and it would have meant losing art, writing, photos, tutorials, correspondence, and homework. Fortunately, it turned out to be a false threat, but it got me thinking.

You see, this young man and his friends enjoy hacking, creating and combating viruses and worms, challenging each other by passing them around (or teaching those less computer savvy a “lesson”). However, they don’t seem to think things through to all their possible outcomes, a typical hazard of, well, being a teenage boy. It brings me back to the early BBS days, when I had to deal with teenage boys who didn’t understand that they couldn’t have everything their own way, and couldn’t do things to people in real life to “teach someone a lesson” for something they didn’t like online. And, just as it was then, this young man simply couldn’t understand why my daughter was upset, why his offer of a rebuilt gaming computer and a half-hearted apology would not have been sufficient had she really lost everything. Then, as now, the ability to understand and empathize isn’t a well-developed trait in this demographic.

The problem I have is that I wish I could get these boys to really understand, not to punish them or work out my anger, or anything like that, but just to get it, because I know several of them, and they’re decent kids. If hubby wasn’t a computer genius, if he didn’t know how to safeguard the computers and fix things in case something went wrong, it could have been a huge-ass deal, indeed. 15 years worth of digital photographs. Downloaded programs, and programs we’d have to search through thousands of discs to find again. All the tutorials and game mods I’ve ever written, handouts for classes I’ve taught. Plus, since hubby works from home, all kinds of confidential information and work for clients could be compromised - the kinds of things a person could lose his job for. Of course, this is why he’s put in all kinds of protection, but there are some people out there with just as much to lose who are vulnerable. Were they to be hit, they would certainly not appreciate a cavalier attitude, nor would they let these kids off because they were just playing around. I don’t think, though, that they’d understand even if the ramifications to others or the consequences to themselves were outlined. It hasn’t happened so far, so it’s not going to, right?

I don’t know. Would they understand it if it were put in a more personal perspective? Say, oh, what if some kids were playing around with a slingshot or BB gun, and that car you’ve been restoring for years got messed up. Would it be OK if they offered to lend you one of their bikes? After all, they were just fooling around. And they’re sorry, geez, chill! What if someone found the case of CDs your band made and played frisbee with them all, leaving them scratched and broken all over the parking lot? Well, they didn’t know how hard you worked on them, and they can’t afford what you paid for the studio time, mixing, art, or production, but what if they feel kind of bad and give you a stack of blanks from Staples? That’d be OK, right?

Nah, that probably wouldn’t work, either. But at least I’ve said it and gotten it out of my system.