More iPhone fun

So after spending those bucks on all the photo applications for my iPhone I decided to take them on a test run. As I pointed out to Marty, you can use these applications to take photos or to edit existing photos on your device.

I needed some other entertainment while watching TV over the weekend. Natasha was nearby, looking oh so cute. Voila! End of boredom. This is the original photo taken.

First I opened CameraBag. CameraBag simulates the styles of photos taken by various cameras. I settled on 1974 for this one.

For my second edit of the original photo, I used Picoli to add a sepia tone.

This last image is courtesy of Photogene. I adjusted the color levels and added a frame. If I was into making my own lolcats, I could even add dialog balloons with this app.

I think the 1972 courtesy of CameraBag is my favorite of the bunch.

Oh, and Natasha would like to wish y'all a safe and happy Halloween -- or Samhain as we call it over in our place.

Update: Thanks to a suggestion from Fluffycat, the contest is on. That's right. I am willing to part with one of my bags of Halloween Circus Animals. (I don't really need them anyway.)

"How do I get my hands on a bag of that yumminess?" you ask. Simple. Come up with a caption for Ms. Natasha. She will be selecting the winner. Because it's her world after all.

iPhone addict

When I first got my iPhone, I told myself that I would be content with downloading just the free app's. Then something happened that made me pay for one. Slippery slope. Next thing you know, I was downloading all of the recommended photo app's -- recommended on the site iPhone Atlas. And they were right. These app's totally kick butt.

But right now I'm addicted to Photoboard. Natasha asked why she is not the subject. I mentioned her Greta Garbo tendencies. I think she's onboard now. Boris is thinking that he should go on a diet after being confronted with images of a more svelte him.

Porn pause

I had meant to post more food today. Then I got home last night and said, "Fuck it." I poured myself a glass of wine, dished out the short ribs, and kicked my feet up while I caught up on some of the stuff on the DVR.

But I do have a question for y'all. In all the family crap, I forgot about one thing. My dad has a great deal of social obligations. A couple of weeks ago, his older sister accompanied him to a formal event. When I was talking to my dad yesterday evening, he mentioned the holiday party that one of the organizations to which he belongs. Apparently I have been commanded to attend. And the event is black-tie.

I currently own only two formals in my closet. And I hate them both. Besides they might not fit now. I need to shop for a new one. But where? My mom says that I should mention to my dad that I need a new dress so that he will pay for it. It's how she got her mink coat. (And no, Neil, this makes me fortunate. Not privileged. But there will be a post on this topic next week. Unless I change my mind.) So perhaps I can spend a bit out of my normal comfort range.

I'd love to hear from y'all -- especially the local folks -- about where I should go to look for a dress. Or about some designer you totally love. I only wish he had told me this before Carolina Herrera was on sale on Gilt Groupe a couple of weeks ago. That's OK. One day I will own a Carolina Herrera. And maybe that helps y'all with my style.

The Bon Appetit Test Kitchen -- Part 1

Day one


Day two of Braised Short Ribs

I was going to stop cooking. Really. But then I received the November issue of "Bon Appetit" on Monday. I swear I'm going to quit just not now. No, really I swear I will. Soon.

I love braising stuff. This was another one of those multi-day dishes so I started it off on Tuesday. That's right on Tuesday, I managed to start this right before cooking up the mahi-mahi for dinner. All within an hour and a half. (There were at least another couple of food related tasks as well.)

How? When I am preparing multiple recipes simultaneously, I make a timeline in my mind. I msde a couple of other items, the end result of which you will see later this week. I put the mahi-mahi into the marinade. Next I started the short ribs. Once these were ready for the oven, I started cooking the fish. The fish required a higher oven temperature than the ribs did so as soon as the fish was done, I lowered the oven temperature. Once I finished eating, I figured that the oven had dropped enough and so the ribs went in.

By the time the ribs came out of the oven, the meat was coming off the bone on some of the ribs. This looked very promising. By the time they came out the second day, they looked more than promising. And what I tasted? Convinced me that this needs to be a part of my regular rotation of recipes.

And in case the food didn't appeal to you, I've thrown in a couple of photos of the Supermodel...

Another section possibly filled in

The weekend before I started tutoring again, I went to brunch with the foster parents of the girl I tutor. (They also happen to be family friends and I had to pick up my mother from their house.) During brunch they voiced their surprise at my relationship with their foster daughter. I was too mentally fried at the time to explain to them that she shows deference and respect toward me and feels safe in telling me the truth about what is going on with her at school because these are the boundaries I have set for her.

If you know me, then you know that I spent a lot of time thinking about that post a couple of weeks ago.

The first part of the thought process was looking for local volunteer opportunities. I think I may have found my match in a volunteer program through the local YWCA. The program matches women with young women who are about to age out of the foster care system. My mother -- typical of her -- thinks it's a horrendous thought. Of course it is. It's probably a little too personal for her. Her idea of volunteering is to dish out food at the soup kitchen. Oh, and she has also signed up to volunteer two days a week at the Democrat campaign office. Her neighbor has also signed up there as well as the Obama campaign office.

In toying with this idea, I had an epiphany. Of course, I have been feeling off-balance. Volunteering has been a part of my life for many years.

It all started when I was twelve or so. I joined the Red Cross club at my junior high. We made stuffed animals for hospitalized kids. At age 13, I put in over 100 hours volunteering at a local daycare center. At 14, I put in 50+ hours at the V.A. in Tuskegee, Alabama. That was definitely an eye-opening experience. The next thing that sticks in my mind was when I volunteered in pediatrics at the university hospital my freshman year. I learned that sometimes babies get horrible diseases. My job was to help them forget all of that. When I worked at the Death Star, they asked for volunteers. I helped to paint the dining room at a transitional shelter for families in the Haight.

What I realized was that when I started teaching, I stopped the volunteering. And that was OK then. I did still volunteer. I would sign up for committees and whatnot. But I'm not teaching now. And I realize now that by not finding some other volunteer opportunity has left a void in my life.

I worked for a non-profit briefly. I recognize the power in people giving dollars. But there is so much more in giving of one's time. Or at least that's what I think. For me, it started at a point of not having much money but wanting to help. Now I could write a check but that somehow feels lacking in my mind. Ten seconds to write a check? Is that really doing something? Yeah, maybe it does but I want to know firsthand that whatever I have done has changed the world in some way. And the best way to do this is to do things, interact with people. I was about to say that I am an introvert but then I thought that I should take a Myers-Briggs again. (I'm a ENTJ if you're wondering. Might explain my incessant list-making.) Apparently I am a "slightly expressed extrovert."

Hmmm. I really am an extrovert at heart? Might explain a great deal about my feeling of disconnect as of late. And why volunteering that allows me interact with others is so important to me.

And so today, I submitted my application to be a mentor. One more thing done. But I'm still not done reclaiming the old me yet...

Afterthought: If none of y'all hear from me tomorrow, please call the cops. I am afraid that Natasha is going to kill me in my sleep tonight. I went to Berkeley Bowl to pick up her favorite canned food. They were sold out because the friggin' stuff was on sale. So I tried out some other stuff since I refuse to go to Astronomico's or Whole Foods -- the only other stores that carry the stuff. I know that Astronomico's charges at least fifty cents more a can than Berkeley Bowl does for the stuff. Then again, maybe I should have spent it. My life is definitely worth more than that.

The definition of happiness

I've been doing a lot more reading over the last month or so than I have since ... Hmmmm. It would appear that the last time I did this much reading just may have been last summer.

I like to read mysteries but there's only so many dead bodies one can take in one week. Over the last couple of days I needed to switch over to some chick lit. No dead bodies and not a great deal of thinking to do. Or so I thought.

Nearing the end of the book, I came across this -- "...happiness is not getting what you want but wanting what you get..." I don't know about y'all but I had to let that one marinate for a bit.

How many times have we heard someone say, "I could be happy if only..." Oh, let's be honest. How many times have we said these words to ourselves? I know that I have too many times to count. I am also guilty of the variation -- "I can do these things once x, y, and z fall into place." Thing is those things rarely happen and so you end up in this continual holding pattern.

A few weeks ago, I questioned here what it meant to be living. That's because it's always been that happiness was this future thought. And now I'm starting to think that while I may occasionally think that here can suck at times, there is happiness as well. And it's time to start looking for it.

I love my job; it's my commute that gets to me at times. But my commute is going to improve before the end of this year since the company is going to move. I love coming home each night. Yes, Boris can be an annoying little arse. Then there are those times that I'll be reading a book and he'll curl up next to me. And then I remember why I put up with the other stuff. And it's not just my apartment. I love my neighbors, my neighborhood. I have a near impossible time imagining living anywhere else. And some days I am in absolute awe that the former nomad has managed to stay in one place for over three years now.

And then I think about the rest of my life. Sure I'm not dating anyone but I often have doubts that I'm the marrying type. Along the way, I have managed to assemble my own family though -- people whom I love and who I have never doubted love me. And some of them are y'all. The hard part has been in finding the balance between the family that I have created and the one that I was given by virtue of birth.

I do love my blood relatives; I just don't always like them. Probably because deep down inside, I like myself and just can't understand why they act like I should be someone else. I just don't like that person they seem to want me to be. Well, not quite my father. I know that he'd love for me to not be "his wild child" -- the person who can be brutally honest at times and who will do things like dancing because aren't we supposed to be having fun? My father almost never voices his displeasure to me though. He tells me that it's important to be true to ourselves because this is the only way that we can truly be happy. Who cares what other people think? You can't live your life for other people. I know it's cliche but it's so easy to forget along the way.

And so now I'm starting to think that this is all that it's supposed to be -- nothing more, nothing less. And you know what? "It's alright with me."

Thank you, Canada

Without those fine folks in Canada, this would not have been possible.

For quite some time, I have been hooked on the Persephone's Bees that they serve at Kitty's. Last night on my way home from work, I finally remembered to stop at BevMo to look for the key ingredient -- Pearl Persephone Vodka. (While mixing the drink, I checked out the bottle and discovered that it is a "Product of Canada.") And joy of joys, they had it. Oh, and in case you're wondering, Persephone's Bees is a mixture of Pearl Persephone Vodka, lemon juice, and honey. It went well with dinner.


Yes, I went with the duck.

Loved how the duck was cooked. The raspberry was a little too sweet for my tastes though. And I didn't get the joy of watching the guy cook because I had to get canned food for Her Royal Uppitiness and the Porn Star. (Some of you may refer to the pair as "Natasha and Boris." I live with them; I know their true selves.) And of course, while there I had to pick up the very necessary lemon juice.

I've always been against the whole moving to Canada thing because they have this thing called winter. But I think that the fine products from Pearl could help me get through that ugliness. I just don't know if Natasha will allow us to move.

Half-formed thoughts

I have flashes of thoughts that could possibly be posts but I just don't have the energy to flesh them out. It was a long week at work. Well, maybe the correct thing to say is that the week's commute has been extra hellatious. So here are my scattered thoughts.

1. I am still cracking up over the comment yesterday from Anonymous. Because all I can think is that if this person read this blog on a regular basis, s/he would know that there are other things going on here besides food. But that's not what keeps me laughing. Anyone who has ever met me knows why I'm laughing hysterically. Oh, and Anonymous? Next time don't comment from work.

2. It's probably a good thing that I haven't been going out as much as I used to. In the past, when things went out of whack in my world, I always knew the one thing over which I had control was my weight. I spoke to my aunt in Savannah this morning. She said, "You might finally be getting into that size 4/6 range?" When I told her that I never wanted to be a size 6, she asked a lot of questions. And I lied. Just like I lied to my dad in this past week when I said that I was perfectly fine. Because I know deep down inside that I'm not. I know that I have fallen into bad habits. I skip meals and occasionally I puke them back up. OK. That last part is most frequently unintentional. I have a low gag reflex due to years of actively making myself throw up. So I often accidentally make myself throw up -- think toothbrush. There is a part of me that also knows that if it was easy for me to gain weight, I would have gone to the other end of the spectrum years ago. And I know that I should probably go back to counseling. The thing is that Thrive only seems to have times available during working hours. And now that I've found the great job, I just don't know how to ask for the time to go to appointments. (And for those of you have seen me recently, don't worry. I have years of practice of covering up what I'm really going through. And years of practice of not trusting people completely.)

3. I am torn between what to do this weekend. Part of me wants to stick close to home and get a little partying in. But my dad is trying to lay down the guilt trip about my not going to Sacto last weekend. The thing is that this weekend is Mother's Day. And I have a psycho insecure mother who will be kind of pissed off with me if I spend the day with my stepmother. My mother told me, "You can go to Sacramento this weekend but just remind that woman that she is not your mother." Have I mentioned that my dad and my stepmother have been married for 22 years? Have I mentioned that my parents have been divorced for 34 years?

4. I was about to get into the whole thing of therapy in my early 20s there but decided to spare y'all. Bottom line is that at 30, when my mom threw a hissy fit because I cooked dinner for my dad for Father's Day and invited my stepmother to join us, I learned to start to set some boundaries. The result? My mother was ready to walk but after a few hours of tears, she came crawling back and stated that she would obey the rules. Occasionally I kick myself over this whole thing. Because she lied. She really wouldn't know a boundary if it smacked her over the head. They've always been kind of blurry for her. Since I recognize this, I try to be forgiving.

5. Sometimes I go through a "what if" scenario. Those of you with siblings never really understand the burden of being an only child. When mom or dad is going through something, there's no one else to whom you can pass the buck. It can be stressful at times. I think this is part of the reason why Marin and I became friends. We understand this because we have each had to live it. My "what if" scenario involves a husband and kids.

6. My father may be a little less delusional about my stepmother's condition. Last week she had to start wearing Depends. (And if I ever get to the point at which I have difficulty in getting from point A to point B on my own steam and I have to wear Depends? Well, I have one word for you -- euthanasia.) He was so freaked out over this that he wanted to admit her to the hospital once more. My father is generous only to a certain extent. Don't fuck with his routine. Because he loves his routine.

7. Speaking of routine, I am heavily into reality TV these days. I like to think of it as my weekly skank fix -- Flavor of Love, Beauty & the Geek, Farmer Wants a Wife.

8. And I've been busy to set up routine at work amidst all the craziness. Well, occasional craziness. And a lot of the craziness goes back to one of the guys. He's a widower who's not much younger than my parents. And kind of hot if you find white-haired men hot. He's completely old school. His computer skills go as far as reading email. He may occasionally forward them but I have yet to hear of him responding to one. But I was warned of this when I took the new position at work. He was a little worried at first but now I have become his personal OnStar. I kid you not. I get phone calls of, "I'm at such and such location and need to get to this place. How do I get there?" So I pull up Google Maps. And stay on the line until he has made the final turn. I also get phone calls for folks looking for him. He has a tendency to ignore voicemails. So I end up sorting things out. But that's OK with me because these are the kind of things that I'm good at. Just like I'm good at helping him to sort out the mountains of paper in his office. Really. Mountains. When I go in, I tell the receptionist that if I'm not out in a reasonable amount of time that she should send in a search party. But he knows what he's doing -- professionally (He brings in at least a third of the business, I have been told.) and on a interpersonal level. Because the Blarney runs deep in him. He will ask you to do something with that hint of a smile in his eye while he calls you "darling" and you feel compelled to help him.

9. I have been cracking up over Catheroo's post. I am trying to figure out where I could put a treadmill in my place.

10. What is up with Mariah Carey's marriage?

Feeling like myself again

Now that I seemed to have finally reached a "normal" sleep pattern, I'm starting to feel a lot like myself. Me without sleep? A real shrew. I still won't say "good morning" at work because I still believe that a "good" morning is one during which I don't have to go to work. Might be why the operations manager calls me a spoiled brat. I tell him that he can kiss my ass. My friend, Marin, tried to warn me a couple of weeks ago that I had not been around long enough to respond in that way.

Thing is I know his type. He likes to dish it out and anyone who can serve it back equally while doing his/her job competently instantly wins his respect. In fact, he was one of the folks singing my highest praises when I got my promotion. When I worked in his department, we ate lunch together almost every day. I know about his family and he about mine. He is the only person who actually saw me cry in the office after my stepmother was hospitalized last month. And I have learned that he and his wife are the parents of one child -- a daughter who turned 21 last week. She is in college in the San Diego area, as I was, and she can turn her daddy around her little finger pretty much like I could. The lunch time conversations that I have had with her dad have made him a little less hopeful. In a recent conversation, he asked me when I was really independent. When I told him mid to late 20s with the explanation that I chose to hide out in grad school after undergrad, he cringed. Apparently his daughter has been talking about going to grad school.

What really makes me happy to feel like myself once more is the fact that I have the energy to clean up my sty of an apartment. It could be better but unfortunately there is the change of seasons and Boris has been dropping his winter coat across the carpet like nobody's business. It is disgusting. Over the last couple of weeks, I just could not find the energy to deal with it all though.

And because I'm feeling more like me, I've also found time to listen to a lot more music. Like this one. It is a fave of mine from back in the day.



My favorite lines?

"And I can play some ole stuck-up rapper role
And get foul every time you lose control
But that's not my order of operations
So I should win an award for lots of patience
'Cause that's all a fella can have
With a girl who's shootin' up his world like Shaft"

'Cause I kind of have a temper. I've just learned to control it over the years. Really.

Of course, what I would really like to be a part of my life soundtrack is the following.

"Wait a minute...
Something's going wrong.
Someone's on the phone,
Three o'clock in the morning, yeah
Talkin' about how she can make it right, yeah.
Well,
Happiness is when you really feel good about somebody.
Nothing wrong with being in love with someone, yeah.
Oh, baby, love and happiness."

Because the Reverend Al, just like Stevie, can never steer you wrong. Why did I ever get rid of that guy who loved the good Reverend? Oh yeah. Because he treated me like a two-bit ho. Might be why I now have a problem when a guy tells me that my butt is cute (because it is). Good thing that I have control over my temper. Otherwise, there may have been a hot pot of grits involved.

New look

Not the blog, silly. My apartment.


This week I took the big plunge in my apartment redecorating. That's right. I finally got my new sofa and chair. Now I just need to either re-upholster my desk chair or get a new one -- in black. And I probably need some stuff for the walls as well. (Yes, that's a hint, Stacy.)

All in good time.

After talking to my aunt earlier in the week I realized that I needed to purchase the new cat tree as soon as possible. So Boris would have something else to claw besides my new furniture. This was the result of my shopping.





And because Saturdays used to be about quizzes, I leave you with this.

Your Slogan Should Be

Have You Ever had a Bad Time in Dagny?

The Slogan Generator

Getting positive

I felt bad about posting that negative post after the one about peace. So today, let's get back to the positive.

This past weekend did not suck completely as far as customer service is concerned. Actually, I've been meaning to write this post for quite some time.

As Zombie Mom stated in the comments to the previous post, I did stop by the Zombie household on Saturday night. With two bottles of wine. And the kids were asleep.

I must say thank you to Stephanie at the Andronico's on Shattuck. Stephanie is a wine steward in the store. (Yes, the store has wine stewards.) Frequently when I go in, she is patrolling the wine aisle. And she is always ready to answer questions and to make recommendations.

On Saturday, I was going to buy a pinot noir that she had recommended previously. Since she wasn't busy at the time, I decided to ask for other recommendations. Once I said that the wine didn't have to be from California, after telling her the most I was willing to spend per bottle, she quickly recommended a Spanish wine and a French one.

The Spanish one was good. The French one was fantastic. I think I wrote down the name of the latter. I hope I did. And each bottle was under $15.

So even though Andronico's can be a bit pricey at times, I continue to return because of Stephanie's wonderful recommendations. Oh. And because it is the only place that I can find the cat food that Natasha likes.

Oops! I did it again

So today at work, I found out that next week I will be getting a small raise. It's not much. To me it's all about the gesture. Because it was only about a month ago that I got the promotion with the huge raise. I called up my dad when I found out.

After making me repeat my news several times, he finally asked, "Didn't you just get a raise?"

"That was a month ago."

"What kind of scam are you running there?"

Yep. It feels really good to be appreciated.

Oh, and I've been meaning to post this for days.


Boris approves of the new rug as well.

Can't wait to see the cats' reactions when I get the larger rug for the living room.

Getting out of the rut

I have gotten into a rut at work as far as lunch is concerned. Earlier this year it didn't matter too much because I was doing a lot of cooking. I haven't really been cooking much since I laid in all those supplies for my dad last month. In fact I feel like I'm treading water around here as far as cleaning goes.

This week I decided to venture out. Since I now have an hour for lunch (because I have to come in at 8 instead of 8:30), I have been trying to find ways to kill time. Heading out in my car has been the solution. So yesterday I headed over to the Potrero Hills shopping center. The yummy stuff pictured above came from I Luv Teriyaki & Sushi. While I don't love teriyaki, I do love sushi -- and sashimi. And no I did not eat it all. About half of it came home with me to make a very yummy dinner.

Oh, and then there was the hellacious drive home. Around 3:00 yesterday afternoon, there was a major accident on the Golden Gate Bridge. (The bridge was completely shutdown for an hour or so.) After reading about the accident online (I start checking traffic conditions online around 3:00 every day. That's how bad it is around here.), I knew that my evening commute would be screwed. And then I thought to send a text to Zombie Mom. As it turns out, she was already stuck in the middle of the craziness. So I hit the East Bay later than usual but I decided to hit Target anyway. I have been needing a new rug for the kitchen for quite some time. This is part of the home redecorating wish list that I wrote back when I found out about the tax return/promotion at work. Oh, and the reason for the list is that while I do have one credit card, I always pay cash for these kinds of things.


Natasha putting her mark on the new rug. At least she's not rubbing her stank ass on it. Or was she?

And for a final note, here is a quiz that Buzzgirl posted on her blog yesterday.

I was Righteous!
I scored 100% on the

Take the 80s quizby SheGoddess: Quick Weight Loss

Love is

Note: If you're squeamish, you might not want to continue reading.

Tonight I discovered that love is owning a long-haired cat.

I was sitting at the computer when Boris started acting strange. Well, more strange than usual. It took me a few seconds before I realized that he was wiping his ass on the carpet! I quickly ran to the kitchen to grab the bottle of Nature's Miracle. That stuff, along with Clorox Clean-Up with Bleach, has become my best friend. Unfortunately.

Everything was cool but then I noticed that Boris had a dingleberry. There was a great deal of chasing and fighting involved. And there was a lot of me yelling, "But you have poop stuck on your ass!" In the end, I managed to cut it free. (I mistakenly thought at first that I'd be able to wipe it off with a tissue. Nope.) And then I disinfected everything.

I realized that this must be love because I was not grossed out. May I never have to do it again. Anytime soon.

Oh, and for something totally unrelated, I had to add this site to my feed reader tonight. Since that seems to be a major part of my dating demographic these days. Aside from the guys who are ten or more years older than I am. And maybe one day, I'll work up the nerve to sign up for Crazy Blind Date. But for now, I'll content myself with OKCupid.

Slacker of sorts

First of all, I would like to thank all of you for your comments yesterday. I know that I usually respond to each comment but I just don't have the energy. That's why I debated about even posting. And then I thought about closing comments but realized that folks would send emails anyway and then I would definitely feel like I had to respond. So thanks.

Where to start? I didn't go to Sacramento yesterday. While I completed yesterday's post, I sobbed. And then I called my aunt in Savannah (That's way too long to type repeatedly. She really needs a name.) and started to feel better. Then I called my dad's younger sister -- the one with cancer who lives in Oakland. She was talking to one of my uncles in Montgomery. She said that she would call me back and then asked if I was OK. My answer was, "Yes, I..." That's when I was suddenly wracked by another sob. I had mistakenly thought that they were done. She told me to stay on the line while she finished her conversation with her brother. In those moments, I knew that there was no way that I was driving to Sacramento alone. When she returned, she agreed. At least, she was not treated to the same level of sobbing that the other aunt had received.

And then I called my "real mom." She told me that she would call me when "dad" came home from his doctor's appointment. When she called around 1:00 pm, I told her that I had already figured that they weren't going to Sacramento.

So what did I do with my day? There were hours of intermittent sobbing which finally subsided sometime between 10 and 11. And then I felt completely drained. Boris suggested a nap. For once, I did not argue with him.

I finally worked up the nerve to call my dad around 2. He was still at the hospital and said that he would call me back. Here's the lowdown. His in-laws? Good thing I wasn't there. My dad said that he wanted to curse them out but he restrained himself. I don't have to. They already think I'm a bitch anyway. And right now I have half a mind to walk to Sacramento just so I can bitchslap a few of them.

My dad had to tell his brother-in-law to take my stepmother's mother home. Why? Because she was all hysterical in the hospital. Not that I'd expect anything different from her.

When the brother-in-law returned, he and his other sister told my dad that they would take over my stepmother's finances to help out. Huh? (This would be the point at which the bitchslapping would ensue. Friggin' ass vultures.) My dad calmly told them that as her husband, he would handle these things.

Then various friends stopped by, some of whom I know my dad can't stand. They wanted everyone to hold hands and to pray. My stepmother found this all perplexing. My dad told them that they were welcome to pray at home but praying in my stepmother's room just added to her confusion.

Onto the medical stuff. The MRI and the x-rays showed that there are now two new lesions on the left side of her brain. She periodically loses control of the right side of her body. Apparently late Sunday night she tried to go to the bathroom and fell. They know this because of the bruises -- and a little questioning. Now she's in a room closer to the nurses' station. A caseworker has been assigned. She gave my dad a list of home care providers as my stepmother will need 24 hour care. My dad has decided to use this in conjunction with his sister's help. (My dad's older sister has volunteered to come out from Georgia to help. She is well-versed in this as she was the primary caretaker for her husband as well as my grandmother for a number of years. I reassured my dad that this was OK with her.) My dad figures that his in-laws might not be happy with this but screw them. For right now my stepmother is on steroids to reduce the swelling. Today the oncologist and the neurosurgeon will come in to give their reports.

And then there's my mom. When I spoke to her earlier, she said that she had decided that I could only be so upset because of my thoughts of my father's state currently. It all gets back to the fight that I had with my mom a little over ten years ago, shortly after she was in the process of moving to Mexico. She said that she was afraid that my stepmother was replacing her (my mom) in my life. I told her then that this would never happen. It doesn't mean that once we got past our differences, that I did not start to care for my stepmother though. My stepmother may have all kinds of insecurities and she may not be the brightest in the bunch, but my dad loves her. And she has loved and supported him over the last twenty-two years during which they were married. Add in when they started dating and she's been around for thirty-two years. Not solidly for those first ten years but still. How could I not care for someone who has been in my life for that long? That would mean that I am one cold-hearted bitch. And I like to think that I'm really not. I so wish the bitch (my mother) would go to therapy. She likes to call out my stepmother's insecurities but I think my mother has just as many. It gets tiring to be trapped in the middle - and I tired of being in this spot years ago.

So now I'm just the chick with the dried-up tears on her face. Just trying to survive through life and hoping that no one pisses me off too much.

But pissing off? I'm warming up my hands for the ultimate bitchslap. My dad's in-laws also tried to make my dad feel guilty over some of the choices he has made recently concerning his wife. I told him that the last time I checked he was her husband and therefore her next of kin.

So with all the bitchassness going on in the place, my dad felt the need to escape. And that's why I'm kind of glad that I didn't go. My dad found the number of folks who showed up yesterday to be overwhelming. Of course, this is because he wanted to curse most of them out. Then again, maybe I should have been there. Because I would have cursed them out. Half of them don't like me anyway so I could really give a fuck.

And today I am going to work and going to try my best to hold it all together.

A partial equation

In thinking over my post about hormones and what not, I realized that I left out some key components to the equation. It was not just the surge of certain hormones that led to the 5150s. Instead it was a combination of three things -- hormones, lack of sleep, and poor eating. I know that I cannot necessarily control the first but the others I do. And this is probably why now in my life I have such an in-depth relationship with food, so to speak.

I normally sleep four to six hours a night. While I can survive on four hours a night for a few days, the practice starts to take its toll by the end of a week. In all of the times during which I felt suicidal, I had been sleeping four hours a night for at least three to four weeks. Almost hand-in-hand with the irregular sleep patterns went poor eating. Actually that first time, the poor eating was not necessarily of my choosing.

That time I had just lost my part-time job; they told me that they decided that they needed someone who could work full-time. Fortunately I was able to go back to one of my old supervisors and to get my old job back. (I was in college at the time.) My job paid for my monthly expenses outside of rent. And some of my books. My dad paid for tuition, rent and some of my other expenses. It was the beginning of the term and both were due. When I called my dad to ask where the check was, he said, "In the mail." I waited a couple of days and checked the mail. No check. I called to ask about the money and was told, "Oh, I forgot to mail it the other day. I'll put it in the mail today." This went on for weeks. (My father later told me that he was being audited by the IRS and so he didn't have much available cash. I told him that I wish he had told me this then. I guess he was ashamed. I was starving.) I was so broke eventually that Emerald and her roommate, my neighbors at that time, laid down a rule. Anyone hung out with them had to meet a minimum weight requirement. Every night they would knock on my door at dinner time to let me know that dinner was ready. (This is the point at which Emerald became my best friend for life. And in later years we bonded even more over her insecurities. She is one of the most beautiful women I know but she always felt inferior to me. Because I was the skinnier, more fair-skinned of the two of us. And that's probably part of my anger at the world. That they can't see how wonderful she is because of their narrow views of beauty.) Most days it was the only meal that I had. If they hadn't been feeding me, I probably would have lost even more weight. When I returned home, I weighed 110 pounds. I'm 5'10". Picture that in your mind. A year later my mother told me how frightening I looked when I stepped off the plane. (I told y'all that my mother had been there for me in some really bad times.) She made me go to a doctor immediately who told me that five more pounds and I would have found myself in a hospital hooked up to an IV.

You would have thought that that would have been enough for me but I kept going through the cycle until I did a full year of therapy. And it was shortly after this that I realized the combination of events. I also learned a great number of tools to help me cope when things are bad. So first and foremost, I make sure that I am eating well and that I'm getting adequate sleep. The latter can be a bit more challenging since I have suffered from insomnia since high school. But somewhere along the line, I bought into what the first therapist said -- I really wanted to live and I was just trying to ask for help because I didn't know any other way to ask.

And during these last couple of years was the first time that I have really felt like I wanted to live. Because one of the ground rules that I set down was that it had to be on my terms and not someone else's. Because I finally started to truly believe what others had been trying to tell me -- I am a wonderful person. And that I always have the power to define myself.

Oh, and these are for Jill. Because I know how much she loves to see B&N.





Oh, and I've come to realize something recently. I used to get upset when Boris would try to eat Natasha's food. What I have noticed is that she will sniff the food and then walk off. Boris will then eat a few nibbles from her dish. When she returns and sees that some is gone, she then eats the food. Silly me didn't realize that Boris is the royal taster.

Because Jill likes this kind of stuff

This pretty much sums up this past weekend. Boris would get closer to the heater but Natasha has already claimed that spot. All I can think is, "That can't be comfortable."

Happy New Year!

Some things are not meant to intersect

Friday I ended up following Pearl's example. This would have been fine and all if I hadn't had a 10:00 a.m. hair appointment on Saturday morning. And I had told my dad that I would come to Sacramento after the appointment to help him shop for Christmas gifts. But it was 2 when I left the appointment and I had to go into San Francisco before heading anywhere to retrieve my debit card. Don't ask. And then traffic sucked and I wasn't feeling particularly well. In fact, now that I think about it, I don't believe I consumed any solids on Saturday. So I went home and slept but before that I let my dad know that I would be up on Sunday morning.

And I did make it on Sunday. And there was lots of tension in the house. Per usual I thought that my dad was pissed off with me but he quickly set me straight on that. My 23-year-old cousin is visiting from Alabama for Christmas. She arrived on Friday night. And it seems that she met a guy on the plane. Because he came by my dad's house Saturday night after dinner to take her out. And my stepmother proclaimed that he looked like a thug. And they said that they were going to a movie. And she got home at 5:00 a.m. Well, she says that it was 4:45 a.m. My dad and stepmother, of course, were not pleased. And here's the real kicker. My dad asked me if he was wrong to be upset. Ummmm. Not sure if he was asking the right person there.

See. Part of the problem is that my little cousin has often said that she wants to be like me. And what would I have done in her situation? Probably the same thing.

So my dad had a talk to her and I think she started crying. On Saturday they had managed to buy all of his gifts except for the one for me. Because I had to be there. So while my cousin composed herself, my dad and I headed to Costco to pick up some new tires for my car. I had one with a leak that I was going to have patched but my dad thought that was a ridiculous idea. Something about after five years, how I needed new tires and not a patch job.

And then my cousin and I headed over to my stepmother's sister's house. Where there was baking and wine. And a much more relaxed atmosphere. And we decided that they could all use a break from one another so I told my dad that I would be taking my cousin back to Berkeley with me and that we would see him on Christmas day. (She's still asleep right now.)

How did I pull this off? By saying that my stepmother probably didn't need the stress right now. (She was probably more upset than my dad was.) And she doesn't. The doctors have stopped the chemo because it is not working. They will be starting a new drug therapy that fortunately because of my dad's health insurance will only cost $350 a month instead of $2,000 a month since Medicaid would not pay for the drug. And this stuff has a lot of unpleasant side effects so we'll see how it goes. And maybe I know why many family members have had a hard time getting into the whole holiday spirit this year.

Meanwhile I am going to try my best to not be jealous. Because Natasha has become completely obsessed with my cousin and doesn't like it when my cousin leaves her sight. Actually it's rather comical.

Foiled again!

Not me. Boris has been though.

I had reached my limit with his deciding that my prized LP's were a giant scratching post. I can barely look at them these days as the jackets are so damaged. I knew I had do do something before they were all lost. Especially after he added spreading the 45s across the floor into his repertoire. Yes, there have been times I have felt homicidal.



Do you know how difficult it is to find storage units with doors that look stylish enough to be in the living room? Oh, and said cabinets need to be large enough to house LPs. I have scoured the internet. There aren't many choices out there. Oh, and then most of them are either black or white. So not fitting with my idea of colors for the living room.

But I must say that I am pretty happy with this lovely modular set. Especially since the doors have magnetic catches thus ensuring that Boris will not be able to peruse the contents in my absence.

And that reminds me. Must get childproof latches for the kitchen cabinets. He has recently learned how to open those. Grrrr! He rarely tries to go in. Instead he likes the sound of the door banging shut. Continuously. As in for as long as it takes before you tell him to stop. And somehow he understands that direction, shouted from the living room, perfectly fine.

But back to the new unit. I like it so much that I think I will get more to house the stereo, TV, and other stuff. Kind of a cohesive entertainment center thing. But even more fun is that then I will be able to go shop for all the other stuff on my wish list.

Although I have selected the sofa sleeper that I will be getting to replace the futon in the living room. The only question is whether I should get the terracotta or the pale yellow. And do I get the matching chair? Or do I get this one that they had on display with the sofa in the store? Oh, and the chair in the store was in the leather, not the fabric.

(And no, Kapgar, I have not tied the remnants of the earbuds he chewed to pieces around him. Yet.)

Update: Apparently Boris is smarter than I have given him credit for being. He has now figured out how to hook his paw through the handle to open the doors. Obviously new measures must be taken.

Cannibalistic tendencies

As y'all know, I am a Cancer. Symbol? The crab. Friends have made jokes about how I love to eat crab -- eating my own kind and all that. But crabs do eat their own so I guess I fit right in.


Surf and turf.

Things started innocently on Saturday. I took a steak out of the freezer to defrost because I really wanted beef and hadn't had any in quite some time. I probably would have been just as happy with spinach. Because I learned long ago that when I crave beef, what I'm really looking for is iron. Because I can get a wee bit anemic at times. And when I have beef, it has to be bloody.

So while the steak defrosted, I headed out to do laundry (Yes, there is a single machine in my building but I had let things build up to the point that I suddenly discovered that I had four loads of laundry to do. And try fighting it out for that single machine when there are eleven other apartments.) and to do a little grocery shopping.

95% of the time, I shop with a list. I am not allowed to stray from the list unless I suddenly remember a very necessary item, such as toilet paper, that I have forgotten to put on the list. This is what allows me to go shopping when I'm hungry. Usually. The problem was that I needed to pick up some shrimp. And there they were. King crab legs on display, calling to me. So I just had to give in. My only other impulse buy was some Coke so that I could have a cuba libre with my meal. Because that's the only time when I drink Coke. If you give me a 12-ounce can of soda on its own, it usually takes me at least four hours to finish it. I think this stems from the fact that sodas were only available as occasional treats when I was growing up. I drank loads of milk, fruit juice, and water. And tea. When I was nine, I was allowed to add tea to the list of acceptable beverages.

And no, I did not eat all that meat in one sitting. I ate about a third of the steak and half of the claw. Until I went to put the leftover steak away. Then the claw beckoned once more and I finished it off.

All I could think about on Sunday was more crab. Luckily I was meeting a friend for brunch at Crepevine. (Can someone explain to me how their menu is so similar to that at Savor?)


And so I ordered the New Orleans.

But I still wanted more crab. And I needed to stop at the store for some fresh oregano. (The two other stores I had already visited over the weekend were out.) And I knew that there would be more King crab available. Alas, they only had clusters and I really did not want that much. Just a leg or two. And so I passed.

But I'm starting to think that Zoomie has created a monster. As I entered the store on Sunday, I thought of calling this post Bride of Frankenstein -- especially since some mornings, I can have really scary bed hair. But then I was thankful. Because now I don't miss the delay in the start of Dungeness season quite as much.

Oh, and I apologized to Boris when I got home last night. Because he was just being a silly boy cat and really didn't know any better. While I sat at work yesterday, I realized that with my angry shouting that I had scared the bejeezus out of both cats. So there were lots of hugs. And new toys brought out of the cabinet. (I always keep a secret stash of toys for them. Never know when I might want to treat them with something new.) And we tried to bond again. Because I also realized that Boris is probably just a bit confused. He had gotten used to my being around all day and now I'm gone again for hours on end. And then I get home and I'm too tired to really spend time with them. He was just a little kid acting out.