6:51pm

Me: Stackhouse is going to bring me Wendy’s. I already have diarrhea so I might as well go for a caramel shake.

Co-Worker: Haha!!! Yum! Good thing you have the bathroom all to yerself.

8:26pm

Me: I am in hell.

CW: Yeah? Well, I’m covered in baby barf and just found out that boy wet the bed last night and doesn’t have clean sheets.

Me: I have diarrhea and strep throat and probably Mr. Higgins but you sort of win.

CW: Did I mention the dog pee?

10:02pm

Me: Still here. Still pooing. Throat sore. Do you Vitamin C? (Editor’s Note: Clearly Vitamin C is like a dance move).

CW: Want me to bring some airborne in the morning?

Me: If you have it on hand.

CW: You need to get on outta there!

Me: Not even close.

CW: Airborne is in my big red bag. Want me to bring coffee in the a.m.?

Me: Just bring me fresh underwear.

(I posted this around 11:30 on FaceBook: “I’m still at work because ima professional procrastinator. I will have to be here at least 14 hours. I also have diarrhea. Somebody help me. Bring sweatpants.” Fortunately, several work people saw this post and were commenting on it the next day. This was terrific justification for not being at the 7am meeting registration. Unfortunately, they were talking about my butt hole, really.)

1:40am

I am dead. In hell, everything smells like hot printers. If you have any Imodium D, I would appreciate it and so would my pants.

In this photo there could be up to and including three (3) felines. 1 (one) is half feral and two (2) are from Seattle, and 1 (one) is morbidly obese. Also, there is no point to that door on the left. None. I wish it didn’t exist. In addition, I’m not sure the rosemary will live even though it’s supposed to tolerate this environment. I hugged them with gunny-sacks upon advise from a woodland nymph.

Even in the freezing weather, a down coat and fleece cap are just fine for the morning winter sun. And good tunes through the glass. I’ll take the sun.

This is what I do each year – compile and deconstruct, then re-construct and do it over again, then search the sky and the earth and then surprise! Because I’m connected to music more than anything else in this world. When the time comes, I cannot possibly put it together and then it comes together impossibly. I have to do this thing, this agonizing and good thing each year to stay connected. And it means a lot to me, whether it’s 5 people who appreciate it or 22 people by proxy who hear one of the songs and think it’s rad, it matters yet it doesn’t matter. It’s my bookmark each year. A challenge that I actually need.

Anywhoodles, I just brushed up against this and it’s just awsomery.

I’m totally suspended in gaffa. Also, when I die I will meet Kate Bush, Mozart, and all my cats. So I realized that as the Yule Mixes have progressed, they have become “harder” for lack of a better word. I believe it’s because of the time of year, which coincides with winter. It’s wise to do this exercise this time of year for me, because winter brings a general discontent (I’m talking about seasonal affect something disorder or whatever). The music I lean toward(s) is heavier because I need it. Rhythm-Centric, someone once said. I was offended because they didn’t understand. Then I was all, I am a pretentious artist – why am I not making money then. I don’t need sad music, yet there’s sad -ish music that reaches out and chokes my chest. It’s the type of music that acknowledges, gazes into, and fully understands. I never know how to incorporate it in the mix. There should be two mixes each year, really. Parallel.

I suddenly remembered how much joy this video brings and had to share it with yer mom. I hope you enjoy it too.

Except I do feel feel bad about the baboons. I’m sure they took the blue screen to the sanctuary.

Parker is 14 years old, has had each of his back knees fused with steel plates, has the biggest fatty tumor on earth, and has arthritis and hip dysplasia. He is happy as can be, and recently started spacing out in a really fun way (we call it selective hearing, or “Gotdamnit Parker Come Here Please”). Since he can still get up and enjoys small walks and has his faculties intact, we roll with the changes. We aren’t at all close, but know the time will likely come sooner rather than later.

Also, he wants to hump all the cats (and two almost let him), and he REALLY likes male humans. In the crotch. Without shame. His brother from another mother, Forrest, died tragically several years ago from bone cancer. Parker took it in stride and has turned into a powerhouse of contentment.

Somebody needs to tell me why every (all 12) breweries use sorghum as the base for gluten-free beer. It kills it dead. It’s a terrible base. But! These local folks also added buckwheat and oats. I need to march down there and give them a high-five, and they even had it tested by a lab for parts-per-million-gluten-misery-protein-effers (also, buckwheat isn’t a part of the wheat family. I love English).

It’s habitable.

p.s. Please put more hops in, IT WOULD BE SO EASY, they’re right there hanging out for your real beer. Maybe it would kill the base better. What do I know, thanks Table Rock, Boise.

p.p.s. I’m just going to channel my inner Ripshitty Picket and brew my own gorram beer. Winter project/obsession…?

Since finally being diagnosed as gluten intolerant and eliminating gluten from my diet early this spring, my body has changed – mostly for the better. The pain is gone, I’ve trimmed down in a way that goes against the dreaded mid-30’s metabolism changes, and my body feels more connected to the rest of me, like, you know, my soul. I’ve never had a weight problem though, and I’ve eaten good quality food for a long time, but whatever. My little angry soul.

Here’s the thing – I’ve turned into more of a bitch. I’ve done the research and it seems like this is a common side-effect at first. I believe it’s related to hormonal changes – my progesterone bottomed out. But, I’m dealing with the new changes and will continue to adjust. I also believe that completely changing what one puts in their body is A GINORMOUS THING TO DO. Especially when one doesn’t like cooking and the grocery bill is suddenly so big the budget has to be re-vamped…For things that taste like shit. That one doesn’t care about making. Every day forever.

The low-down:
1)    Wheat and/or malt (barley) is in nearly everything, turns out.
2)    Gluten Free food tastes like sandy butthole.
3)    I don’t have that thing in me that wants to be in the kitchen cooking. Just, at all.
4)    Since I don’t cook a bunch, I buy some packaged Gluten Free food (for example, cookies, pizza, lunch-type food).
5)    Most packaged GF food has no “unnatural” preservatives, considers other allergies like nut or dairy, and a fair amount is organic (see #2).
6)    All GF food is 40% more expensive than its equivalent.
7)    Even if I make my own flour/stuff from scratch or buy GF ingredients in bulk, it still costs more than even all-natural ingredients.
8)    The latest fad of putting the GF logo on food that was ALREADY gluten free and jacking up the price is making me STABBY.

Conclusion: Wheat is cheap and I hate my food. Reality – I’m not going to wake up one day and like to be in the kitchen or show pictures of food on FaceBook (which is so weird). I might someday just cope better and stop hating it on the outside as much.

Also:

9)   Suggestions offered fall on tired ears. I do not care if (____) Bakery/restaurant/your sister offers GF (X), see #2. Do they really have a dedicated cooking line in a separate room? No? Then it’s not truly GF. I can’t even have traces of wheat, barley or rye anymore. Traces! Fairy dust. And, they probably didn’t realize wheat is in their chocolate chips. There’s no trust here.

10) You had that GF pizza once at that place and it was pretty good? Awesome for you! Just pretend that you can never have (X) ever again and that you’ll only be able to eat the GF version of (X) forever and ever along with another million things you won’t be able to eat or drink again and their equivalents taste like #2. Cuz no. Did you have that awesome new brew at that place that you had the GF pizza? SCREW OFF.

11) The sorrow from never being able to have good beer again is overwhelming. DON’T get me started on the GF beer.

12) Some say, It wouldn’t be so bad to just eat complete protein, veggies, and fruit from traceable sources. And, you can have corn and rice! Sounds ideal! Not so much for someone who dislikes the kitchen and it feels forced, like being painted into a corner with no drinkable beer to wait until the paint never dries. All the time, forever every day.

13) I’ll never have my mom’s cooking again. Suck on that. Orange rolls.

Disease + Diet Change + Feel Better = Angry Sigh

I know there are way worse things in this world and it’s all a matter of perspective. But I’m okay to be the only honest gluten intolerant person in the world and say this sucks ass and anyone who says different is selling crappy gluten free cookies or are choosing to eliminate wheat from their diet or actually like cooking. Hugz.

This one recently grabbed my earholes and instantly made me pop a lock and rat my hair. I remember my sister had the LP, and if you don’t know the tune I trust we won’t be friends anymore. After hearing it again I was all, like it’s WHAM!, right? (And the cat said nothing). After research, I still couldn’t pin down who the voice was. The programmer/keyboardist was a songwriter for Depeche Mode, the laughing in the beginning was his Yaz partner. But who was the dude singing? For heaven’s sake, dude is the lady.

But because I’m working very hard to become a cat lady in a trailer, I like to round it out by helping non-humans in need. Humans, no. They are terrible. Animals, yes. I am compassionate.

And because this was Veteran’s Park, there were a coupla guys stumbling over. One was saying that he saw this squirrel earlier, and he was bringing his friend to take a look at it. Maybe he was a vet vet. When my lady friend came back from dumpster diving with two box lids to make a squirrel sandwich, they helped by lifting the critter up by the same painful area he was struggling with. I cringed. The one guy said, “There are 135 squirrels in this park. Why do you want to save this one?” I was all, “So why did you help then?”

During a lively walk back to the house with a tail sticking out of the box lids and two extremely interested dogs on their tip-toes, my cousin called my cell and asked if we were hooking on the corner. She was standing out front the house waiting for us so we could commence the rest of the evening’s events which included Mayweather being very unsportsmanlike, but that’s another story, nevermind.

After offering my cousin a fur hat, we piled in the car and headed for the small critter rescue place. However, it had closed 15 minutes earlier. So we headed to the veterinary place that takes them over night for the rescue facility. We all walked in and explained to the people at the desk what happened. They were about to take the squirrel into the back and asked if that was all. I said, “…I’d like to see him one last time.”

Really?! Everybody whipped around with that look on their faces that was like, she is one inch away from being that one person. No wait, she is that person.

The lady unveiled the squirrel, and we pointed to his indented middle region. Silence fell on the gathered crowd, and suddenly, that little effer jumped up a foot in the air and we all scattered to the corners of the room screaming.

I don’t know if it made it or not, but damn it, squirrels can really put fear in your legs when you’re within inches of their face.

However, we have a different “rescue” problem to deal with now. It includes two mated critters, and a pile of shit so thick and huge in the attic above the scary shop we have purchased a HazMat suit.

Game of Thrones is rad. Just. I can’t.

Recommended Cocktail While Watching Game of Awesome:
4 ice cubes
Bourbon
Cold ginger ale

Directions – Put the ice cubes in a large drinking glass, then put in 2 fingers of bourbon, and 2 1/2 fingers of ginger ale (Colonel Tigh style). Stir gently with a butter knife. Prop the knife somewhere accessible. You will want this drink to be small with full-on ice because you will be sitting very still for an hour and will only remember to sip a few times. When the episode is done, you will take the remaining drink into the kitchen and fill up the glass all the way with the above ingredients. Trust me, you’ll need and want it.

Because this is the shit.