Today while we were doing some stuff around the house, cleaning up and getting ready to take Ronin to his dad's place for the night, I heard the cat absolutely yowling from the living room. I ran in there to find out what was up and found him tangled in the vertical blinds. Somehow, he had managed to get one paw caught in one of the tiny chains that connect the bottom of the panels, then proceeded to get himself even more tangled up in his panic to escape. There were chains and strips of the blinds wrapped around all four legs and his neck. I seriously have no idea how he got like that, but I'm just glad it happened while we were home and able to help him so he didn't choke himself.
So, I'm trying to get him untangled and he's fighting and panicking, biting and scratching the crap out of me. Ronin is next to me, crowding in and trying to see what's happening, freaking out, crying and yelling. I'm alternately yelling at Ronin ("That's not helping, either shut up or go into the other room!" Because, you know, it's hard to keep your cool with a psychotic cat and a screaming kid.) and at the cat ("I'm trying to help you, stop scratching me!"), both of which I'm sure were really helping the situation. After I nursed my kitty wounds and comforted first Ronin, then the cat (who was cowering in terror and staring at the blinds like they were going to run across the room and attack him), I dismantled the bottom chain connector thingies. The blinds are a bit floppy now, but at least they won't kill the cat.
Seriously, how does this shit happen?
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Real Men Do Terrible Things.
And so do real women.
I've gotten a lot of Facebook invites lately for the "Causes" application, specifically the cause called "Real Men Don't Hit Women" or some such. While I appreciate the intent of the app, there's something about it that doesn't sit right with me. It's the use of the word "real." Authenticity is not something that can be determined this way. Melissa over at Shakesville explains it better than I ever could, 'cause she's crazy smart like that. (Follow the link to her letter that's in that post-it's also amazing.)
Real men do all manner of things, both good and bad, and so do real women. The use of the word "real" in this context has always bothered me, in many different circumstances. It bothered me when I was thin and struggling with the "real women have curves" claptrap that gets thrown around as a poor substitute for size acceptance. It bothered me when I was a single teen mom and heard the owner of the daycare my son was in making a distinction between teen moms and "real moms." It bothers me when used as a tool to enforce gender stereotypes and heteronormativity, as in "real men don't cry" or "real women know how to cook" or any one of a million phrases like those. And it bothers me to see authenticity used in this context, however well-meaning.
I've gotten a lot of Facebook invites lately for the "Causes" application, specifically the cause called "Real Men Don't Hit Women" or some such. While I appreciate the intent of the app, there's something about it that doesn't sit right with me. It's the use of the word "real." Authenticity is not something that can be determined this way. Melissa over at Shakesville explains it better than I ever could, 'cause she's crazy smart like that. (Follow the link to her letter that's in that post-it's also amazing.)
Real men do all manner of things, both good and bad, and so do real women. The use of the word "real" in this context has always bothered me, in many different circumstances. It bothered me when I was thin and struggling with the "real women have curves" claptrap that gets thrown around as a poor substitute for size acceptance. It bothered me when I was a single teen mom and heard the owner of the daycare my son was in making a distinction between teen moms and "real moms." It bothers me when used as a tool to enforce gender stereotypes and heteronormativity, as in "real men don't cry" or "real women know how to cook" or any one of a million phrases like those. And it bothers me to see authenticity used in this context, however well-meaning.
Monday, January 26, 2009
When life is stressful...
...watch these videos. Seriously, you can't stay upset. You'll be too busy making little squeaky noises.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Hey, I have kind of a strange question...
It's, um, kind of an ADULT question. That I'm asking for no reason, especially no reason having to do with writing erotica on LiveJournal.
Okay, so....
Have you ever had sex in, say...an alley, or a parkade? Is it a logistical nightmare? (I mean, assuming reasonable weather. Obviously you don't want your bits out in -50.) And how could this be accomplished by a hetero pairing if the woman is wearing pants rather than a skirt? Just, um, curious. Message me if you have any thoughts on the subject.
Carry on.
Okay, so....
Have you ever had sex in, say...an alley, or a parkade? Is it a logistical nightmare? (I mean, assuming reasonable weather. Obviously you don't want your bits out in -50.) And how could this be accomplished by a hetero pairing if the woman is wearing pants rather than a skirt? Just, um, curious. Message me if you have any thoughts on the subject.
Carry on.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Yes You Can!
Bush's last day. Thank God.
Melissa over at Shakesville covers it nicely.
I'm hoping Obama can do something ASAP about that HHS rule and ensure that shit like this is properly dealt with. Assault based on imposed morality and disguised as medical treatment would earn someone a good kick in the cunt if I had my way.
To the Americans reading this...I hope you choose to have a fetus donut tomorrow. Eat some abortion sprinkles for me!!
That's about all...just wanted to congratulate the US on the end of this horrific era.
Melissa over at Shakesville covers it nicely.
I'm hoping Obama can do something ASAP about that HHS rule and ensure that shit like this is properly dealt with. Assault based on imposed morality and disguised as medical treatment would earn someone a good kick in the cunt if I had my way.
To the Americans reading this...I hope you choose to have a fetus donut tomorrow. Eat some abortion sprinkles for me!!
That's about all...just wanted to congratulate the US on the end of this horrific era.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
MRI
So, I had my MRI last night.
It was horrible.
I considered taking a Lorazepam (anti-anxiety meds) before leaving the house, as I had read that some people find mild sedation to be beneficial during the procedure. I decided against it, however, since nothing had actually been mentioned about it when the appointment was made and I didn't want to be sedated if I wasn't supposed to be. I figured, "I've had a CAT scan before, how much worse can this be?" Turns out it can be a lot worse.
I initially went into the room alone with the technician. Chris had come with me to the hospital, but he stayed in the waiting room. I don't know if anyone reading this has ever had an MRI, but it's not a fun experience. You lie flat on your back in a tiny little tube, with a your head essentially locked in place by a plastic cage apparatus. You've got industrial noise-blocking earphones on, with wiring running into them to play music and allow you to hear the technician's voice. You have to stay in place for a bare minimum of fifteen to twenty minutes, while the machine makes noises that even the music and headphones can't block out. And the magnetic field is palpable...it's like standing directly in front of the speaker at a club, only the sensation goes all the way around your body.
I lasted about a minute and a half the first time I was put in the tube before I had to be pulled out, shaking and sobbing, by the tech. We talked for a minute, and when I told her I had considered taking a Lorazepam, she said that someone should have mentioned that doing so would have been perfectly fine. Apparently, people with no history of anxiety have had the same reaction I did, so for someone with my history a dose of Lorazepam could have been a great thing. Eventually we decided that we would bring Chris into the room, with the hope that having someone there to comfort me would relax me a little. The tech told me that we wouldn't be able to talk or anything, but he could sit at the end of the bed and she could attach a mirror to the plastic cage around my head that would allow me to see him.
The tech got Chris set up in a chair with another set of headphones, and put me back in the tube. I spent the next twenty-five minutes or so alternating between praying, staring in the mirror at Chris, and squeezing my eyes shut so I at least couldn't see where I was. I somehow managed to lie still for the whole thing, though a few times I thought I would just lose it and try to rip the stupid cage off my head myself. I didn't realize how tense I had been until it was all over and I sat up. Once my muscles started to relax, I almost fell over.
Now all that's left is to wait for the call from my GP's office to tell me what the results are. Hopefully it's nothing major, but I'm still absolutely terrified.
It was horrible.
I considered taking a Lorazepam (anti-anxiety meds) before leaving the house, as I had read that some people find mild sedation to be beneficial during the procedure. I decided against it, however, since nothing had actually been mentioned about it when the appointment was made and I didn't want to be sedated if I wasn't supposed to be. I figured, "I've had a CAT scan before, how much worse can this be?" Turns out it can be a lot worse.
I initially went into the room alone with the technician. Chris had come with me to the hospital, but he stayed in the waiting room. I don't know if anyone reading this has ever had an MRI, but it's not a fun experience. You lie flat on your back in a tiny little tube, with a your head essentially locked in place by a plastic cage apparatus. You've got industrial noise-blocking earphones on, with wiring running into them to play music and allow you to hear the technician's voice. You have to stay in place for a bare minimum of fifteen to twenty minutes, while the machine makes noises that even the music and headphones can't block out. And the magnetic field is palpable...it's like standing directly in front of the speaker at a club, only the sensation goes all the way around your body.
I lasted about a minute and a half the first time I was put in the tube before I had to be pulled out, shaking and sobbing, by the tech. We talked for a minute, and when I told her I had considered taking a Lorazepam, she said that someone should have mentioned that doing so would have been perfectly fine. Apparently, people with no history of anxiety have had the same reaction I did, so for someone with my history a dose of Lorazepam could have been a great thing. Eventually we decided that we would bring Chris into the room, with the hope that having someone there to comfort me would relax me a little. The tech told me that we wouldn't be able to talk or anything, but he could sit at the end of the bed and she could attach a mirror to the plastic cage around my head that would allow me to see him.
The tech got Chris set up in a chair with another set of headphones, and put me back in the tube. I spent the next twenty-five minutes or so alternating between praying, staring in the mirror at Chris, and squeezing my eyes shut so I at least couldn't see where I was. I somehow managed to lie still for the whole thing, though a few times I thought I would just lose it and try to rip the stupid cage off my head myself. I didn't realize how tense I had been until it was all over and I sat up. Once my muscles started to relax, I almost fell over.
Now all that's left is to wait for the call from my GP's office to tell me what the results are. Hopefully it's nothing major, but I'm still absolutely terrified.
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