Ree 201.5

Yeah, yeah, yeah.  So I'm only posting to complain, but Matt's asleep, and he already knows most of this:

When last I tried to go to an appointment with my pain management specialist, they kept me hanging for an hour before they told me he had to cancel.  They rescheduled, then cancelled again.  I rescheduled, managed to get something within six months, and grooved on down there this morning, albeit twenty minutes late.  Now, I understand that the doc's time is valuable, probably more valuable than mine, but wouldn't you think that a three year relationship, at least three cancellations on their part after I'd already shown up, and a royal cock-up of their ability to bill my insurance would grant me some leeway?  We'd all be wrong.  Apparently, more than fifteen minutes late and you're shit out of luck.

So, I walked out of there.

Next step, get my family doc to prescribe the pain meds and try and find someone to give me the shots to my back.

I fucking hate the way a decent pain management clinic has been hijacked in the interests of office management.

I'm gonna say it, because I don't see it being said:  This whole thing with the "emo shorthand" for "depressed and possibly dangerous" is a little.... was a bit disconcerting at first, but has since become annoying.  Hey, I could get behind the whole Spiderman turns into Spawn emo thing (although I would've preferred it without the dancing, but what can you do?), and I can vaguely understand the use of this shorthand for Peter Petrelli, when he was being all torn and afraid he was gonna 'splode NYC.  But now we've got West, the Flying Boy of Heroes (rather than the Flying Politickal Animal or the Flying, hey, Emo Hero).  Lazy, lazy, lazy.

Of course, this is not the only example of directorial/production/ and/or authorly ennervation, but merely the most recent and blatant example.  I s'pose I should express gratitude they're over the whole Goth=Depressiveandpossibly/probablyadangertooneselfandothers (at least the ones who more generally follow the zeitgeist and are more up-to-date on their terms are).  What else were Dark Willow and Bad Faith but representations of that particular shorthand?

Those in charge of creating the entertainment we consume (especially in the more rarefied realm of fan obsessiveness and within particular genres) need to catch the clue that those of us who watch and obsess are, if not merely as intelligent as they are, very likely more intelligent than they are, and while visual clues, plot cues, and more subtle shorthand is appreciated, this heavy-handed bushwa is tiresome and unnecessary.

You know who I blame, mostly?  Costume designers. 

And, oh yeah, the Utah school system sucks ass.

Don't know what it is, or who I've caught it from, but I've spent a couple of days clutching my belly and lovingly bowed in front of the porcelain altar.  Word to the wise:  apple juice tastes the same coming back up, and the spew doesn't smell as bad as usual, either.  Just so you know.

I can only thank my lucky stars that I don't have to work tomorrow, although I do have guilt for being unable to do the laundry today, and even more so for not even being able to drive the Jeep this morning to take Matt to work.

There was more I wanted to say, but I think now is the time to do a jigsaw and then curl up on the bed again.  Or vice versa.

It's a philosophy to live by.

Went to see Voltaire last night - not nearly enough in the way of purchasable goodies, or even free swag, for that matter - and he was much less goofy than I'd anticipated.  Still funny, still musically entertaining, just not quite as goofy as Ooky Spooky would have me believe.

Not that I have a great Big Girl Crush on him, or whatever.

Woot!  Believe me or not, as you wish, but I actually have become regainfully employed.  Yup.  With the same people who brought you Eldest Son's current career in toting samples, the blood, urine, feces, and bone marrow searchers to the world.  Well, most of the US and Canada, anyway.

[All interruptions brought to you by my new obsession with Heroes.]

The nervous-making part, the part that's got me tossing and turning at night and would have me biting my nails if they weren't already shredded from doing dishes, is that I'm scheduled for graves.  Urgh.  I can barely get up in the morning as it is.  I will probably have to finally use the Lunesta samples I got six months ago (nasty-mouth notwithstanding) so I can make the adjustment.  I've never worked graves before, and this close to being 42 I think my body clock is pretty much set.  I can handle six months before I get to change, yes?

On the steep and steeped in glowing sunlight (cue choirs of angels), I will be actually earning again, and can save and plan for the longterm furniture buying strategy.

I plan on decorating entirely in Goth.

Matt mentioned that someone had brought up knitting?

So, did the marathon read of Deathly Hallows over the weekend.  Well, Sunday night, mostly, until I finished it at 3 am Monday morning.  Not to give anything away, but the plot leaps from crisis to crisis, with hardly any breathing room.  Then, cue the pathos.

On the whole, it is the best wrap-up of a series I've read.....although, I'm really glad I didn't read it when I was 12.  And I'm going to miss having more Harry Potter to look forward to.  I just hope there's a nascent story-teller out there, working on someting of similar calibre.

Hah!  Watching Doctorology (on Discovery Health Channel, my current fave) - with Leslie Neilson, of all people - apparently, the more pain a person deals with on a constant basis, the more adrenalin your body produces, causing high stress on your body because it's like revving the engine on your vehicle in the parking lot at ShopKo for ten minutes on a day like today.  Bad for your heart, blood pressure, and (as most people are starting to realize) mental stability.

I really must remember to call and make an appointment with the psychologist on Monday.  Just to make sure I'm not going to go ga-ga having a neurotransmitter implanted over my right hip.

The cure for Victoria Beckham:  Coming to America is the Soup.  And plenty of it.  OMFG!  Joel McHale just announced the Clip of the Week - from Love Me, Love My Doll, a documentary I watched on BBCAmerica on Sunday.  Heh.  Shut up.  I can crush on JM if I want to.  At least until Matt gets home.

Oh yeah!  Also, Transmet again cures what ails me, at least for a while.  I wanna grow up to be Spider Jerusalem....me and everybody else who's read Transmet, of course.

Spent my 'lowance on a groovy purple backpack with girly skulls on it.  On sale, of course. 

And back to knitting...Anyone know what kind of dye to use for a cotton/rayon/silk fiber?  I was thinking about selling the vintage repro singlet once I've, y'know, sewn it all together, but now that I've started in on a cardie and reacquainted myself with how much I love this stuff, and realizing that I'll never wear these things if they're au naturel, dyeing seems like a reasonable solution.  To me, anyway. 

.....end brain-thought mashup....

Ah scooby-dooby-doo.

You know what I'm sick of?  I'm sick of every time I go outside, for a smoke, to pet the landlord's cat (because I don't have enough of my own), to take out the garbage, to outmaneuver the cops in my highly illegal Frankie, whatever - every time I go outside, I get bit by something.  Not just a mosquito, oh no, that wouldn't be nearly aggravating enough.  No.  I get bit by some obscure insecty thing I've never even seen or heard of before - tiny red spider-like thingies with six legs.  Horse flies.  Invisa-spideys.  Whatever.  If it crawls, flies, creeps, or hums, I'm going to get bit by it, my leg (or wherever) is going to swell like a balloon (if I even think about scratching), and a deep, visceral burning will commence.  For crissakes, I even got something that bit the inside of my ear.  All I can do is stick triple-antibiotic ointment on a q-tip and excavate as far down as I can in hope of getting some relief.

Yeeerrghgh.

I really fuckin' hate summer.  And I really fuckin' hate that whatever these creepie-crawlies are that persecute me seem to think my blood and flesh resemble a gourmet feast.

A plastic-titanium skin is going to be so very nice.  Where's the nano-revolution I was promised?

Fair warning, bored means me writing.  At least until I get bored.

So, in a weak attempt to alleviate my boredom (because when I watch tv without doing anything else at the same time, say KNITgoddammit, I'm really scraping the bottom of the barrel), I'm watching the Girls Next Door at the same time it's recording.   Yeah, I know, huh?  Part of my study of stupidity and it's rampant failure to die the Darwinian death it so richly deserves.  How these girls remember to breathe is beyond my ken.  And my ken is pretty big, so you know it's a conundrum.

Anyway, so I'm watching GND, and I think to myself, hey!  Why am I watching this crap (besides the aforementioned anthropological study)?  Why, Dog, why?    Because, really, the study of stupidity can only go so deep.  Maybe that's why I rescheduled Dr. 90210 on the DVR.  Contrast and compare methods and means in the stupid continuum.  Which isn't to say I'm against plastic surgery (part of my  plan to live forever concerns a major surgical makeover for my eventual cyborg body), but more a commentary on my morbid curiosity about the half-life of Dr Rey's marriage.

I'm going to have to clench my fragile jaw and fill out a job application.  I just can't takes it no more....

I don't think people really understand how awful heat is.  I think there are too many people who, f'rinstance, are HAPPY the sun has finally come out to kill us all with hyperhydrosis and brain pan cooking (recipes available upon request).

It's so bad, not only do I feel like I can't breathe 90% of the time (don't blame the ciggies, I don't inhale enough), not only do I feel like my skin wants to slide off my frame, or that my brain is reaching Well Done in the oven of my skull, but I can't even effin' knit, goddammit.  So on top of the incredible physical discomfort, I'm fuckin' bored.

I've read all the Harry Potter Books (and will breeze through Deathly Hallows this weekend, which is not right now), I just finished the Baroque Cycle (prequeled with a nice peruse of Snow Crash and before that, The Diamond Age - I'm at the stage where I'll willingly read Cryptonomicon again, if you can imagine).   I'm just starting the Laurell K. Hamilton comic, so not gonna go over the books again at the moment (there's only so much of Creature of the Night-Fucking one can take;  I know, I know, hard to believe....)....Too soon for Jane Austen again, and I'm not particularly in the mood for the DiscWorld books at the moment (I blame the heat).

I've watched all my DVR'd shows (and I just culled through my list, because, really, one can only watch the same episode of Impact:  Stories of Survival so many times), and am half-way through last Saturday's ep of Hex when I had to stop because if it's a cliff-hanger (and I know it is). I don't want to be hanging a week or however long (I think they're threatening a hiatus, but I could have my dates confused).  It's the only show even close to replacing Bufffy.  And with, like, nudity and rude words! 

And could someone please tell me why E! cares about...oh, never mind.....

To meet the Zanzibarbarians.

I just thought it should be said.

be sorted @ nimbo.net

Apparently  my job loss has affected my spelling. 

Whot a shame.

Yeah, so, naturally I had to drive all the way the fuck out to the REC to pick up my last check and incidentally hand in my badge.  Silly me, I thought we could all act like adults about this, but clearly I was wrong.  They wouldn't even let me inside the building.  Not that I have that great an urge to go inside, but forchrissake, whathehell?  I mean, the USPS is supposed to act like a "real" corporation, not like some paranoid quasi-governmental agency.

Oh, yeah.  ;-D

Since I am, unfortunately, gainlessly unemployed, Matt has suggested I sell stuff on eBay.  I agree with him and have (and this is also Matt's idea, tho don't let it be known that I caved to pressure, because I think he's right, in this one, lone, instance) decided to make and sell incense.  I intend to open an eBay store (Ree's All Goth Shoppe) and to eventually expand to other things as opportunity/urge allows. 

So.  I am putting out the call to anyone who's interested in receiving, oh, say free incense for the duration, to design a logo, template, and so on for me, since I am that lazy, and I want to be at least marginally different from all the other gothicky eBay stores plugging the mercenary tubes.

Now, back to the stunning bitchiness now on view on Clean House.  And I don't mean Mark Brunetz.

End Trans

Wanna take away my caffeine?  Over my cold and twitching body.