I sit here writing at a quarter after 3 because moments earlier I just finished a book cover to cover.  Not sure if I’ve ever done that before except for maybe See Spot Run.

Left to Tell is a very painful, powerful, horrifying story of one young woman’s survival during the Rwandan Holocaust.  This courageous lady (Immaculee Ilibagiza) takes you through her life as a happy carefree child, but also determined to study hard and make her parents proud.  However during middle school she learned about racial bias and how being a Tutsi made her a second class citizen.

You’re stomach will roll and you’ll find yourself shaking after reading all the atrocities and horrors noone could ever imagine.  And when you turn to the pages showing the scant few pictures she was able to save, thanks to her lovingly detailed description of her parents and three brothers, you’ll find there’s no need to read the names underneath.

But this isn’t just about genocide and one woman’s story of survival.  While one of the bloodiest massacres is raging right outside a window of a tiny bathroom where 7 (later 9) Tutsi women are hidden; Immaculee Ilibagiza is opening herself up to an extraordinary spiritual journey.

I’m a cynical gal, but I believe in this book.  Don’t let the mention of God run you off or harden your heart.  Having faith doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with religion.  If you don’t have faith, then how can you choose to believe or trust in someone or something?  

Without faith; there can be no hope.

Molly is a compulsive licker; she never has a stray hair to brush she’s always perfect.  Consequently she has trouble with hairballs.  We feed her intensive hairball control food and give her that oily hairball remedy, but she still has problems.  Professional websites also say that cats who don’t’ get regular exercise develop compulsive habits, but we play all the time.  Mommy just got an order in from Dr. Fosters and Smith jammed packed with toys, scratchy cardboard, supplements to help break away plaque and tartar (they think it’s a goodie) and of course Fantasia catnip grown in the Cascade Mountains – only the best for my kids.  Anyway so if I’m not playing with them, they’re playing with each other or they grab a toy and make their own fun.  

The other day she was sitting quietly, looking a lil green around the gills.  Well her poor lil belly was hard as a rock most likely from gas buildup.  When Allie was sick we gave him Mylanta to calm his stomach, so what the hell?  Maybe it’ll at least give her a lil relief, and in about an hour there was noticeable improvement.  Unfortunately all these remedies overwhelmed her lil bowel system and she had an accident.  Poor lil lady was completely mortified.  We’re talking about the gal who doesn’t even like to shit at all; she is just appalled that something so vile would come outta her.

Although it was an incredibly cute story with Patches pulling a Lassie again, but I’m too damn tired to write that much.

Anyway, ever since the high ridge pressure system has moved in poor Lil Toot has scratched and gnawed himself raw.  He was on my lap the other night so I got a great view of all the bald spots, sores and beet red irritated skin.  I felt like the worst Mother in the world.  They have these anti-itch sprays for hot spots, but duh, it contains alcohol and that’s gonna burn the lil boy’s scabs.

I read on the net that a nice cool bath will soothe their skin.  After I got up off the floor from laughing fifteen minutes later I just said, ‘No.”  As far as I’m concerned a cat who took a three to four week bath has filled his quota and then some.  However I did read that Aloe Vera Juice would be very cooling, plus if he licked it off it wouldn’t harm him.  It’s best to come up behind him when he’s asleep, but for the most part he runs away wondering what the hell you’re doing to him.

So tomorrow both kids get to go to the vet.  Actually it really shouldn’t be that bad as having Molly close by always seems to calm Patches down.

That’ll be a load off my mind; finding out what’s wrong and getting the kids well.

Wow it's really great that Mother is no longer a slave to food, instead like every other post-op she's simply replaced it with another addiction.  While some people become alcoholics, pill poppers (*waving*),  ebay addicts, message board addicts, gambling addicts, exercise bulimics, ceramic poodle figurine addicts or fucks everything that doesn't run from them first; Mother's become a shopoholic -- thumbs-way-the-fuck-up.

Gee Mom, seeing as how you don't have a job right now or in the past 1 1/2 years, think it's a good idea to be buying more crap we don't need? 

Mother's new frothing at the mouth obsession are flowers and fucking bird and squirrel feeders -- we must have at least 85 by now.  The flowers are nice but she can't stop.  Once they're all planted she comes back with a car load of more flowers, pots and soil.  Hurray.

Meanwhile Russ frets morning, noon and night over money and constantly talks  about how we'll probably be forced to sell the house and move back to fucking Kansas.  Yours truly is expected to babysit my 59 year old Mother on her many shopping excursions.  So when she comes home with a bunch of crap I get a lecture.  I actually don't accompany her anymore for these marathon shopping trips.  I kinda don't think it's my responsibility and I'm tired of being dragged in the middle.

When confronted about her obvious problem she flies into a rage and becomes bitterly defensive, accusing me of attacking her.  OK, what the fuck, do what ya like.  I'm gonna go have a drink.  You see my pills and sponsoring kitties (which is tax deductable) are a lot cheaper than your daily shopping trips.  Or at least they used to be before my insurance ran out.  Yeah, did I forget to mention that? Good times.  When and if I get accepted there will be a 60 to 90 day pre-existing condition waiting period.  A pre-existing condition can basically be boiled down to:  If you are alive and breathing.

So now she's wrestling with putting together these bookshelves she bought, and she's getting all impatient and emotional about them.  She can't get down on the floor because of her knees.  I finally take the tools away from her, lie down on the floor and do it myself; all the while what I'd really like to do is smash bottle after bottle of wine in her face and asking, "What the fuck do we need these bookshelves for?  Where the hell are you planning to put them when we already have furniture chasing each other around the walls in this house?"

I don't accompany Mother to the grocery store either.  For someone who doesn't enjoy eating anymore she sure does bring a lot of crap home.  I've asked her before to please stop because all I do is inhale it.  Wonder if there's some sort of subconscious behavior of hers that prefers to keep me this way.

I've been in horrible pain the past few days, I'm sure it has something to do with me gaining 10 pounds in the last month.  I truly have stopped caring.  Do you know it's probably been almost six months since I took any of my vitamins?  Funny, I don't feel dead yet.

So I accompanied Mother to her one year post-op visit with the surgeon.  I seriously considered having her drop me off some place while she went to the appointment.  I always enjoy seeing doctor Swartz, plus this would be the appointment where she got to view her before picture in comparison, but let’s face it; I cannot handle going to that office.  Patients breezing in and out bragging how they’ve maintained for two years and how their life is so wonderful, and don’t forget the walls plastered with an inconceivable number of 100+ pound weight loss before and after pictures.  It’s enough to make me stab my eyes out or walk in front of a bus.

Mother’s lost a total of 140 pounds and got to take her cute lil after picture.  She mentioned to Dr. Swartz that she really doesn’t enjoy eating anymore.  She loves to savor the first bite or two, but because she can’t eat much the admiration is gone.  Suddenly a deep and wide canyon grew between us; I had wondered why she just opted for soup all the time but I had no idea that’s how she really felt.  This has always been one of our unbreakable bonds:  We heart food.  But now occasionally I need binoculars to see her and she’s drifted so far away – I haven’t shared this with her yet.

I still love food; damn, hell, ass love it!  Not just one particular dish or variety, but all types.  I still loved food when I was vomiting it up.  You’d think the opposite, but…  I did go through a period where I quit eating but that was just out of desperation.  My admiration is still glowing and fiercely loyal now just as it was before surgery.

So to add a bitter lil bing cherry on top of this fun filled visit, a man came skipping up behind me with the swelling of pride and dick-in-his-eye look of one who’s lost a great deal of weight and can’t wait to yap about it.  I was waiting for Mother to bring the car around and poked my damn eye out started a conversation.

DUMBASS OLD FART: So, you gonna have it done?

I turned to him with a deadpan face and the voice of a soulless possessed Linda Blair, “I had it done nearly three years ago.  It failed.”

CLUELESS OLD FART: Oh… well…  I was really lucky…  Although I was really sick in the beginning.

With the same voice and glassy eyed stare that bore through his faltering happy go lucky expression, “So was I.”

Now slightly terrified dumbass old fart is quickly shuffling away to his car, calls out but does not turn to face me for fear of turning into stone, “Well I hope things work out for you.”

I raised my voice just enough for him to hear, “I seriously doubt you give shit.”  Then I stared at the pavement and said, “I wish I was dead.”

As a gag, the night before, I made an annoyingly peppy cd for our lil trip.  When I opened the car door I begged, “Please, please stop the peppy music; I’m not up for it.”

You'll have to pardon the erratic behavior of this website and yours truly as I'm terribly busy having several emotional breakdowns a week.  The other night I honestly sobbed over some hokey, dripping with sticky sap, Lifetime original movie.  Any other time I would have made raucous fun of the pretentious crap while rolling around on the floor.

I am shamed.

Opening gunfire anywhere, except for insurance company locations or the Screen Actors Guild, is totally ungroovy.  Opening gunfire inna church is very naughty indeed, but opening gunfire while inna church on Sunday during services: You’re in trouble mister.

The original story received a big thumbsup from 80 viewers while the recent story of the assailant’s capture received a less than enthused rating from 45 viewers.

Note the viewers' response at the bottom:

Elvis' Legacy Joining Cirque Du Soleil

Sometimes the headline says it all:

Toni Braxton to Headline Vegas Flamingo

ie, because she’s unable to find work elsewhere.
 

French are rudest, most boring people on earth: British poll

This doesn’t even require a joke.

Germany sells all 640 World Cup tickets for blind fans

There are no words.

Am I the only woman left in the world who doesn’t think this is such a brilliant idea?

Read it and weep; then die laughing.

U.S. produces anti-suicide bombing ad for Iraq

I know you've all been asking and wondering but the wait is finally over.  After numerous problems and setbacks I finally received that revision I needed.  Unfortunately due to the insurance forcing me to change surgeons and opt for a much more invasive surgery, ridiculous as it sounds, I've actually become way too skinny.

I'm just gonna stop talking.

Stay the hell away from it.

Here’s the thing; I purposely avoided getting my back x-rayed because if there were something actually wrong with it I’d honestly be in more pain.  It’s that whole mind over matter crap.  Now I’m not talking about douchebag magicians, levitation or the nerdy movie Matrix, but there are certain things one can talk themselves into.

Scientist have proven that positive and negative reinforcement can affect the human body or outcome.  For example:  Take the truly Woe is me persona; most of their woes do come from poor choices but it does seem that they are a magnet for misfortunes, missed opportunities and general bad luck (yours truly included – I enjoy being miserable).  Does that mean if they were positive thinkers with a cheery outlook on life nothing upsetting would ever happen again?  Noooo, but a few things may turn in their favor.

Soooo, if I believe there’s no permanent damage and stretching and exercising will relieve my pain and increase mobility; there’s an excellent chance that’s exactly what will occur.

Anyway about the back surgery, it would seem that some naughty surgeons suggest this as a patient’s only option and never reveal they’re actually receiving kickbacks from the company who provides the titanium rods and so forth.  When in fact studies have proven that intense physical therapy (even including such forbidden things as purposely lifting with your back) will strengthen your spine and render you painless.  As opposed to opting for a dangerous invasive surgery that has left many disabled and wheelchair bound for life.

My chair's vibrating at this moment wanna come and sit on my lap?

Have no idea who the guy is, but figured ya gotta be purty ugly to get the 11:30 spot on Sunday night.  As we met the rest of Chris's panel my theories were confirmed; cranky old men and old hags with bad makeup.  Seriously, how bout a facial or possible nose job, and there's a certain point every woman reaches in her life when she must let go of that shiny beach blonde hair inna bottle.

I posted a new photo to Photos/Fleurs.

Documentary about Primordial Dwarfism.  Is it just me or was the British gal doin the interviews a condescending cunt?

Primordial Dwarfism is extremely rare, even more so now in modern times and is often not diagnosed until four or five years of age.  The average life span is about 30, although the oldest living Primordial Dwarf in the US is 43.  Once again like most rare diseases or afflictions doctors can only scratch their ass and answer most questions with: I don’t know.

I don’t know how long you’re going to live. 

I don’t know what sort of medical problems may arise in the future.

I don’t know if reproduction is possible.

I don’t know why this happened, etc etc.

This entry has to do with embarrassing feminine hygiene products; I just like saying it out loud.

Patches is the absolute smartest lil fart.  However sometimes his overwhelming curiosity gets the best of him; like sticking his head into a bit too small round cut onna cardboard box then wigging out when he realizes he’s stuck – that was really funny.

But seriously, lil booger has figured out how to open closet doors and not just any ol’ closet door; these snap shut.  He loves earplug hockey and as earplugs are wont to do, they often end up in tight corners or underneath something.  Instead of running to me and saying, “Mom I totally lost another earplug.”  He walks around the site, studying it from every angle and almost always retrieves it himself.  In fact if an earplug is dangerously close to a seemingly black hole, he always picks it up in his mouth, turns around and launches it the opposite direction.

Oh yeah, he is a fun lil toot.

But it gets even better:  As I’ve explained before he is completely in love with Molly.  Hell, Molly was one of the main reasons why he finally decided to come outta my room.  The way to a man’s heart is sometimes through another woman.  At times it’s a lil too much togetherness for Moll and she gets cranky – needs her me time and he’s starting to get purty good at understanding these piss off female signals.  Sometimes after a tussle I’ll find an earplug left in one of Molly’s favorite spots as a peace offering from Patches.  But most of the time he just buries his head in her long silky fur and like a good lil Mommy she starts cleaning him.  When she does this he has the most calm and happy look on his face; this cat can literally smile.  

Finally, here’s the really cool bit:  As Molly’s groomin for two now she unfortunately has an occasional hairball.  You can tell she has a tummy ache by her lack of tolerance for Patches and she tends to hide under furniture.  One night while doing the dishes Patches kept incessantly howling.  This wasn’t your normal come watch me play or be cute, it was distressed and urgent.  I go to him and pet him, sayin that everything’s ok.  Eventually I start to worry and begin feelin him around to see if he’s hurt or anything.  At last I give up and go sit in the living room with him, but he’s on the other side of the room staring under an ottoman.  Lil Molly was underneath curled up in her, “My tummy hurts position.”  Patches looked at me as if to say, “Fix it Mom.”  Now every time she feels bad or has thrown up a hairball, Patches always lets us know -- he even stops whatever he’s doin and runs to her if he hears her cry.

Is that not the bestest boy in the land or what?

I need some advice.  The vet thought it best to give Patches flea medication because of his super sensitive skin, but herein lies my dilemma:  Molly is the eternal Mommy; she grooms him from head to toe and he adores it.  This makes him feel peaceful and safe.  Unfortunately the package is filled warning labels and what to do incase of an accidental poisoning.  Well this is a problem.  

Anyone out there with more than one cat who needs flea medication?  If so, how do ya keep ‘em from lickin it off each other?  Also, did I forget to mention that Patches absolutely adores Molly and refuses to be away from her for more than five minutes?

I don't wanna go to my therapist's appointment today; rather go back to bed.  Besides I'm no longer insured anyways -- I'll explain that later, meanwhile don't start pitying me because it'll annoy the crap outta me.

I'm sitting here all dressed up and drugged up and I still just don't wanna go.

While watching Grey’s Anatomy last night I saw a commercial for some made for TV movie about the Avian Flu.

The only reason I’m watching Grey’s Anatomy is because I got sucked into that after the SuperBowl teaser about a Code Black.  What?  There’s a black guy in the hospital?  You’re just making that one up.  And then it ended up being a two parter which meant I had to watch the damn show again.  So you guessed it, I have another show to add to the line up; those bastards.

Now back to the annoying, up and coming made for TV movie and/or mini-series:  Your average American doesn’t know shit about this so called bird flu, or that most flu viruses come from goddamn birds anyway.  There are honest to God people out there who have stopped eating chicken ever since this new wave of terror popped up.  What a fantastic opportunity to cause wide spread panic and countless fetal positions (not to mention extra income for the pharmaceutical companies) by creating an Avian Flu movie filled with enough bullshit to squish between your toes.

I’ve already explained a bit about this virus and am not up to repeating it so go here.

That's the price of being a socially acceptable junkie.