How Many Miles To Babylon?

I CONTEMPLATE MY JOB, IT IS LONG

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 02:28:50 GMT

You know I'm not really too upset about losing my job. It's embarrassing, but I am mollified.

THE BAD THINGS ABOUT WORKING IN A GROCERY STORE:
1) No weekends off
2) You have to work holidays, and I didn't get holiday pay
3) They kept giving me 36 hrs a week, the bastards
4) Minimum wage
5) Physically demanding job
6) After traying, baking, and packaging something like 15,000 cookies, they will start to haunt your dreams

THE PERKS:
1) Free cookies! But wait I don't really like cookies
2) You get to make cakes! But I suck at this and hate cake. Seriously. Cake can suck my balls. Similarly, icing makes me gag. I once ate an iced cupcake at work (it was extraneous! And the light-brown icing looked delicious!) and I felt sick for the rest of the work day
3) ???
4) PROFIT!!!

I mean, it wasn't really my thing. And I'm not kidding about the sucks-at-cakes thing. Every time I got near a cake it was a cake wreck. It's not because I don't have any training, it's just a fundamental aspect of being me. I'm - I can't - When I'm - I'm a little dyslexic, okay? So this one time (and it was only the second time I wrote on a cake, because I avoided doing it at all costs) I had to write "Happy Birthday" on a cake and as I was doing it I got so caught up in forming the letters and making sure I got them in the right order that I switched from cursive to block lettering without realizing it. Can you even write in block lettering with icing? Well, I did. And half were caps and half were lower-case.

Which isn't a disaster on the scale of Happy Falker Satherhood but it looks like crap, especially if you consider that the spacing was all wrong and then I couldn't really fit the person's name on the cake. (It was a small round layer cake.) I know y'all are thinking, "WTF? Why would a person do that?" I know it's weird, but a typical page of my handwriting looks like three or four people wrote it because I switch styles so much. (Alternately, like I'm channeling dead folks.) And if you're like, "Well, just don't do that" or "Try harder" ... it really doesn't work for me. There's a part of me that is fundamentally sloppy. This doesn't stop me from making art art, but it's how I know I will never be a professional draughtsman or a graphic designer.

Or a cake decorator.

Anyway. Also my boss was crazy. In the 50-odd days I worked there, the sub-boss, the assistant manager I guess, transferred to another store in order to get away from my boss. When my coworkers finally let me in on the gossip, I learned that the position I had filled had opened because the person before me had also transferred to another store right after training to get away from the boss, as had someone else in the Bakery/Deli, and I think some other people had quit. I'm not kidding when I say that every single person in the Bakery/Deli department, every. Single. Person. Disliked working with the boss and had a horror story about her, which they delighted in sharing with me.

Thanks to a particularly gossipy cake decorator (she was so friendly when I met her that I pegged her right away as a cheerfully back-stabbing malicious gossip which she so was) I learned what my boss was saying about me in the last week or so, which must have been when she and management made the decision to let me go during the probationary period rather than keep me on. Specifically, that I was scared of her. I really was, but it wasn't because of her exactly. It was because she looked, in the face, like my mom did before she would haul back and whale on you. There was an incident early on, involving a huge full sheetcake that had the wrong color icing on it, and while the boss and the gossipy cake decorator argued over whether the missing order form had said white or chocolate icing, the boss snapped out, like it just sprang from her lips and she couldn't stop it, "If it says chocolate, I'm gonna get you."

Which is totally what people from my family would say right before there was a serious thrashing. Not my mom in particular, but you know, in general. The fact that the boss has the same Atlanta/Alabama accent of my parents didn't help things anyway.

So yeah, when she appeared suddenly, or I asked her a question and she was like "WHAT!" I'd cringe. I wasn't exactly afraid of her, it was just a reflex, really. It was such a bizarre problem to have, even weirder than my telephone phobia or my crappy cake-writing skills, because I couldn't explain it at all without seeming completely and utterly bat. Shit.

And my mom hasn't hit me since, well I don't remember when it happened but it was a while ago, and I messed up and missed a babysitting job and she went ballistic and hit me with a wooden spoon. But that was a while ago. And it's been years, maybe a decade, since she stopped spanking, so ... your guess is as good as mine why that happened. I think I'm just still crazy.

That's kind of how the whole job went, actually. I kept having problems and I couldn't really explain them or excuse them. I think part of my bad performance review reflected my boss's neuroses about stuff, but part of it was accurate and I cop to it. I don't really listen to instructions. I try, but it sounds like "Wah wahwahahwa wah" to me. I forget things as soon as you tell them to me. The best thing is to write it down, and then I'll be okay - unless I forget the list. Halfway through my shift my blood sugar would drop precariously, I would break out into a cold sweat, I'd get nauseated, I'd want to puke all over the cookies, and I'd feel fatigued as fuck, and they're like, "What's wrong? Your blood sugar is low? You're diabetic?"

I can't be like, "Well, I've got PCOS, supposedly, and I'm taking metformin which is a diabetic drug and it's totally making my blood sugar drop but the doctor's like 'Metformin can't make your blood sugar drop!' and I'm like but it totally does to me, but I didn't get a real chance to talk to him about it because my parents were there and things are weird between us, my parents and me, I mean, and my mom's convinced I am already diabetic which is kind of weird, and I'm not even really sure that I have PCOS, you know? I just don't know who to listen to or who to trust anymore and my favorite doctor ever of all time is having a BAY-BEEE and I can't reach her and I ran out of trazadone, and I can't sleep without trazadone because the RLS I get from my Effexor just kills me! And my psychiatrist, who I don't like, wants me to step up my Effexor dose and I'm willing to give it a try but I really can't sleep without trazadone and I've tried to get an appointment with the doc who prescribed it to me but she's having a BAY-BEEE and she's not available until, like, never. So basically I'm just going to stop taking metformin without consulting a doctor, even though that's super stupid, because I can't really do anything else and I can't get any appointments and I can't pay for anything and I think my parents are abusive and I need to go back to therapy, but I really can't afford it because it's like $60 a session and I can't borrow money because I have no credit, because my parents forbade me from getting loans when I was in college even though I wanted one and also I think I might have ADHD but testing for it costs like a thousand dollars and you know there's no way I can afford that. I'm in a quandary!"

It's just ... it's frustrating.

In my experience, people generally understand if you say you're depressed but you're taking antidepressants and going to therapy. People don't understand at all if you have on-going health and mental problems but you aren't doing anything about them. Any excuse you make about not getting treatment will sound like the insanity it is.

If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 16:51:57 GMT

BUTTHOLE

What a to do

Tue, 30 Jun 2009 02:33:30 GMT

Things I need to do:

- call insurance and find out if ADHD testing is covered
- when they say no, call psychologists and find out what they charge, pick cheapest one
- find new therapist
- schedule appointment for Thursday, only day off
- call pdoc, reschedule appointment for ... well, Thursday, only day off
- schedule post-surgical follow-up appointment to find out what happened during surgery, better make this one next week or so
- find new job
- get new career STAT
- move to other side of continent
- kill self

I got a negative performance review at work. I'm stressed. I started crying when she gave it to me, not because it alone upset me but because I've been a bit highly strung.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do about this doctor's appointment. I might be able to reschedule but my doctor is going on medical leave soon and then I won't be able to see her! For months! So I guess I have to see another internal medicine doctor or something, but they won't be as awesome as Dr. Awesome. I just need some trazadone, so I can sleep.

I don't feel like I can take off more time because I got dinged for attendance because I called out twice and left early once for illness. I'm having trouble working this much though. Even if I don't get fired I will have to quit because this job is too exhausting for me. Plus my boss scares me and that stresses me out.

Oof: second day hurts more

Wed, 24 Jun 2009 17:07:06 GMT

All in all, I am grateful I had the (apparently unnecessary) surgery. This is my first experience with general and narcotics, and you guys know I love experiences.

Slept on the couch last night because I didn't want to walk up the stairs (I can and I have, I'm just lazy). I usually sleep on my side, so I wasn't comfortable. I slept until 2 o'clock with my hands on a pillow on my abdomen, then I woke up when my sister was leaving for the airport. My arms were cold and semi-asleep. I moved my arms under my pillow and slept until 6, when my dad got up. By then I was getting sore and in pain again but I couldn't sit up to reach my pain pills and didn't have any water to wash them down. But it didn't really hurt, though. It's just uncomfortable and I can't really use my abs at all, plus my stomach is bloated in weird places so I can't really bend in the middle either, so it was more that I couldn't sit up rather than I was in too much pain to sit up.

My little brother Ben visited with me and insisted on borrowing my pillows so he could "warm up." (I put my feet on him, he was freezing.) I asked him to get me a drink of water, and he yelled, "Mom, can you get Rebecca a drink of water?" Ben! I said. You are so naughty. I took one naproxen sodium 550 mg and two hydrocodone-APAP 5-500 mg (generic Lortab) and my brother helped me sit up and prop the pillows behind me. One Lortab doesn't do much more for me than regular Tylenol, but two make me feel kind of pleasantly drowsy, but not at all buzzed. I was shocked to find out it was like 8 o'clock because I figured it was about 12. Whatever.

Also, I'm totally hungry all the time but I figure it's better not to eat. It's hard enough to pee and I don't want to even think about having a bowel movement.

I have either a much higher tolerance for pain than I expected, or I grossly overestimated the amount of discomfort I would be in. I've had menstrual cramps, gas pains, sinus infections, and burns that hurt worse than this. However, I'm immobilized to a surprising extent, though still not as much as I've been laid out by gas pains, which are my IMMORTAL ENEMIES. They give you kind of a stabbing pain in the abdomen and you CANNOT MOVE. I hate that!

On the other hand, though, I am mad that I had the surgery because my boss is, by second hand account, totally pissed at me for missing work. She's kind of a mean boss, I'll admit, but I'll still be as fired regardless. It's frustrating because when you're ill, you really cannot do anything about it to make yourself more of a valued worker. My parents kind of brought me up to be the kind of person who believes if one fails, one should just work harder to make up for it, and nothing short of the best is acceptable, and it kind of kills me to realize that I can't live up to my expectations for myself no matter how hard I try. I literally can't work; and I know that there are laws protecting me from, like, discrimination and shit, but they are also kind of useless. I'm stuck in that three-pronged situation that most people with chronic diseases in America are stuck in: can't focus enough on health while working to recuperate, can't stop working because then I can't pay for healthcare, can't get better job because I'm sick.

It's not as bad as it sounds, though, because honestly, my health is actually pretty good and I am blessed with many resources to help me with these problems. It's hard to feel sorry for myself when I know there are other people, some of them my friends, who are much worse off than me. Right now I just want to take care of myself so that I can eventually help them out. I figure it's the least I can do.

(If this seems kind of loopy, well, I am on painkillers.)

My troubles, they have no end ...

Wed, 24 Jun 2009 03:06:51 GMT

I don't know for sure because anesthesia and Valium does weird things to a person, not to mention hydrocodone, but I think that what happened in surgery today is that when they looked inside my ovary, they found that the cyst had gone away on its own. So I'm kind of bummed about that.

I feel kind of like someone was punching me in the stomach all morning, but I'm not in very much pain. They only made two little incisions.

bye for a while, not that I've been around much

Tue, 23 Jun 2009 04:25:56 GMT

I'm drinking Pellegrino mineral water. This is the last thing I'll consume before I go under the knife in about nine hours.

I'll probably have a wicked headache tomorrow, from the lack of meds, caffeine, and the food I normally consume. I'm not looking forward to this whole thing, but I might as well get it over with.

The operation is this: they will put me to sleep, insert little cameras on sticks, puff my abdomen full of air, and poke at a little cyst in my left ovary until it disintegrates. Then they will sew me up again. My doctor said he had "no intention" of removing my ovary, as I'm "young", but it's a remote possibility. I would not be too upset if I lost an ovary. I have two and anyway, they weren't really doing anything.

I don't know what I'll do post-operation, though. I guess I'll sleep or read a book or something. I expect my mom too be mean to me about this, but whatever, hopefully I'll be anesthetized for that too.

Flakey

Mon, 22 Jun 2009 03:31:54 GMT

I guess this feeling of indecision, uncertainty, making it up as I go - it never really goes away. As a kid, I thought adults always had it together, that they mysteriously knew what to do in every situation. I didn't know that when I grew up, I would still feel as unmoored and directionless as a ghost ship.

My cousin Steven got married yesterday. This is my cousin who is almost my age exactly, just one month younger than me. We even look a lot alike. I identify with him strongly, and we were best friends when we were 10-13. I feel weird that he's married. It just seems to grown-up for him. He's a kid! He still looks like a kid and everything. Oh, I know that he's old enough to do it, and I don't doubt his maturity or sense of responsibility, but beyond anything I know that I'm not ready to get married. I don't know if I'll ever get married, and I walked around sad for a while wondering if anybody would ever throw a party for me if I don't get married. It seems pretty random. I'm not less a person if I remain single, am I? Yet nobody would spring for me to get a DJ and a sweet dress and a catered meal. Maybe I am less a person if I remain single. I made the wedding all about me and was in a bit of a funk, but that was mostly because I realized I would probably get to talk to Steven for all of forty seconds and I haven't seen him in ages. I mean, I know him well enough to realize that my being there or not being there would matter to him, but I've seen him so little lately that I'd met his fiancee like once before so it didn't really matter how I acted at the wedding because no one was paying attention to me. I was right about how much I got to speak to Steven, but I managed to talk to the bride. ("Hi," she said. "Hi," I replied.)

My point is that I'm realizing how much my path is taking me away from the stuff that the rest of my family seems to be doing - early marriage, college degrees, fancy churches (you should have seen this motherfucking church), getting a "good job" (earning a middle-class income workin' for The Man!). I'm not saying that I'm a special snowflake or anything, but I've always been the odd one out and I still am. I don't know if they'll accept me. It makes me sad.

My grandmother in particular kept talking to me and she was full of advice. I was telling her that I don't want to live in Murfreesboro, that I want to move to California, and she said I shouldn't go. Things cost too much over there, she wouldn't get to see me again, etc. Okay, thing is, I don't really know what I want to do. I have some ideas about what I don't want to do. Everyone has advice for me, saying do this, don't do that. I don't really trust what they say. I can't listen to anyone. All this talk from other people has drowned out my voice, and even I can't hear myself anymore. I don't know what I want anymore. I can't remember what are my fears and what are others.

But in a way that's normal, right? I'm confused and conflicted, but heck, who isn't. I have some ideas about what is important to me and what isn't and what I'm willing to risk, and maybe I shouldn't talk to anyone about anything because it confuses me. I'm beginning to realize that I'm never going to have everything figured out, and that if I try to wait until I do, I will wait forever and never do anything.

(Regardless I think I need to do a few sessions of therapy. I've got a lot of issues to sort out and I'm getting the feeling I should talk to someone professional. *Sigh* It's unfortunate that good therapists are so difficult to find, not to mention that the crappy ones are just as expensive.)

Typoes abound again

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 01:15:13 GMT

I think I'm going to go red. With blonde highlights. This red, which is described as "copper shimmer" but does not look like copper to me. Well, red hair is really orange in color, not red.

Today I went to the doctor's for the pre-op stuff, and I remembered that I promised myself I would make enough money to dye and cut my hair by the operation, you know, in case I die so I can look pretty in the casket. I am happy to say that I have earned enough, but I don't think I'll go to the hairdressers. I probably don't have time! I'll just use the box dye, once I've got over my hesitation. (You've always got to get used to the idea first.) I'm not sure how I'm going to do the blond highlights though. I know I can use foil to partition dye, but I'm not sure I can do that on myself and I don't think any of my siblings would help me. Because they are crappy!

I shaved the cat a little yesterday, to everyone's consternation. Most of all to the cat's consternation. I'd like to finish the job but she's hiding from me (big surprise). I wasn't hurting her at all, she just found it uncomfortable and expressed that by chewing on my fingers. It's not so much that I can't afford to take her to a groomer as it is that I don't have time to do so! My schedule is inconvenient. And no one will do anything about it! Mom promised me she'd take the cats to the vet, but she hasn't bothered. It's really starting to bug me. I know she's quite busy, but you've got to make something a priority before it gets done.

I do not know who will drive me home from the surgery. Mpom says she might be gone by then, and dad is working, and Susanna will be ona tryip with mom. Those are the only drivers in the house and I don't have any friends to ask. I think I may have to hire a propstitiute off Craigslit.

I think I will go buy that hairdye now to cheer me up. I wasted my day off waiting to see a doctor who never showed up. I think he was delivering a baybee. Stupid OB/GYN.

Warts and all

Mon, 15 Jun 2009 00:02:43 GMT

My molluscum contagiosum has gotten all inflamed and gross. Check it out. It's really itching, too.

My sister the fading flower told me it was REALLY REALLY gross, but she's exaggerating. I think.

Just got home from an eight-hour shift.

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 02:05:31 GMT

GDI I really want the Sims 3. Or a copy of the Sims 2 that works.

Ben is crying because he can't have ice cream. I don't care why he's doing it, it still makes me feel bad for him. Bon-Bon has glasses now ~~and I wish that I could post of photo of them because they are awesome frames, but I don't have the camera fired up.~~ I got the camera out.

My Fafa is here tonight. He's taking one of the girls down to AL for a weeklong visit.

Still feeling sick. Sinusitis is absolutely ridic. There's no reason for it to suck this much! But I think I will sleep better tonight because I still have a couple sleeping pills left. I wish I made more money so I could afford better healthcare.

Flower pics I took last night

Sat, 06 Jun 2009 20:10:53 GMT

I don't really believe that beauty is anything other than a way of looking at something. Dying flowers aren't very pretty in gardens, until you really look at them. They're so complex, drying and decaying a little, the colors fading and re-blending, and the thing I like best about them is the veins in the flowers become clearer. They somehow look more living as they're dying.

In other news, our garden needs more work, and flowers are super-easy to photograph. Just fill the frame with the flower, squeeze the shutter, and boom. You're done!

That last picture is a prickly pear blossom and you can't really tell in that picture but there is totally a bee in that flower.

It's either sleeping or dead. I have no idea, but it was just nestled in there and that's really cool.

Writer's Block: It Sounds Better When You Say It

Sat, 06 Jun 2009 19:50:25 GMT

No matter what language you speak, you've probably come across words or phrases in another language that sound better than their equivalents in your native tongue. What's your favorite word or phrase in a foreign language?

View other answers

ときどき, pronounced /tokidoki/ (rhymes with "Okeydokey!"). Means "sometimes" in Japanese. Actually a lot of Japanese is like that, it creates new meanings by repeating root words instead of adding suffixes or prefixes like English does. Gives Japanese a real sing-song feel.

CAPSLOCK

Fri, 05 Jun 2009 02:22:40 GMT

I MADE THIS FOR DINNER AND IT WAS AWESOME

IT'S CHICKEN, Y'ALL!

GRILLED CHICKEN WITH STRAWBERRIES AND NOODLES TOSSED WITH BUTTER, PARSLEY AND/OR CILANTRO, PARMESAN, AND YOUNG BASIL LEAVES, TEA WITH MINT, BEER

DAY BEFORE YESTERDAY, I MADE THIS

CHICKEN

WITH BARBECUE SAUCE I MADE MYSELF, WITH PASTA, ARUGULA, PARMESAN, TOMATOES, LIME, AND ICED TEA

IT WAS AWESOME

I AM AN AWESOME COOK

I EAT ON THE COFFEE TABLE

I WENT TO WORK AND THERE WERE SOME WEIRD CLOUDS IN THE SKY AND I TOOK A PICTURE WITH A STREETLIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF IT

THAT ... ISN'T SO AWESOME REALLY

BUT I BOUGHT AN ICED COFFEE MOCHA CREAM DARK AND WHITE CHOCOLATE FROZEN WHIPPED THINGY ON THE WAY TO WORK LATE SHIFT

AND IT WAS AWESOME!

In which I show buttcheek

Wed, 03 Jun 2009 05:03:28 GMT

Every single person in my family is on vacation or in some other ridiculous situation, and I am home alone. I've been by myself since Friday, and I'll be by myself until this Friday. I have made a few observations about being alone.

a) I think that without having anybody to take care of, I obsess over the cats. I bought them a catnip mouse, got them new beds, flea collars, etc, and have been petting with them and playing with them constantly. They showed their appreciation by peeing on a bedspread and then pooping in the corner. *sigh* OKAY I CLEANED THE LITTER BOX! SEE? ALL NEW LITTER! YOU CAN POOP IT THIS - WAIT - HOLD ON - WHAT THE HELL - SEE THESE BLOODY TATTERED REMAINS? THEY USED TO BE MY LEGS! I KNOW YOU DON'T LIKE TO BE PICKED UP BUT I WOULDN'T HAVE PICKED YOU UP TO SHOW YOU THE LITTER BOX IF YOU HADN'T oh forget it, poop wherever you want, you incontinent kitty, I'll just clean it up like I always do

b) I can get so much more done when I'm alone! Does this happen to y'all too? Tell me the truth because I don't know why this is. Today I did the following: Mailed two books that I sold on Amazon.com, called for a doctor's appointment and found out that Dr. Candy Cane, aka Dr. Awesome, is booked til July 17, what the -- made dinner, changed the cat's litter, washed and dried a bunch of comforters as part of my attempt to rid the house of fleas, transferred money to savings, and even bathed myself. I mean, I'm wearing makeup and a complete outfit. Even a bra! Look at what I'm wearing:

There's no way I would have been able to do this if my family was here.

So, you guys - does productivity nosedive for you when you live with a bunch of people?

Because on paper it doesn't look like I do much for them - pick Ike up from school, do supper dishes twice a week - so I'm not sure why that is, but I've noticed it before.

c) I've reverted to my college schedule. I generally keep later hours, getting up later and going to bed later, and though I've been lectured on this a hundred times about how it's a bad habit, etc., at this point I really believe this is my natural rhythm. I'm able to get up early whenever I want, of course, but I naturally tend to be a night owl. I don't want to beat myself up over it.

d) Since I found a camera - more pictures:

When I took the picture of my wounded finger, I was shocked to see how much it's healed in the last day. It's much less red than it used to be, and a significant portion of the skin has grown back. The redflesh bit has scabbed over, I guess, because it's not sticky the way it used to be. I added the dotted line to show how much I originally cut off. You can't tell the depth of the slice from this angle, but it was about the thickness of a carrot peel.

Beg pardon for the ugly picture, butt (heh) here it is anyway:

A mysterious bruise appeared on my butt/thigh/hip conglomerate this morning. I have no idea where the hell it came from or why it's on my BUTT of all things. It looks like somebody hit me with a poker, but that didn't happen. I'm so clumsy (see finger above) that this happens a lot. Shoot.

c) Speaking of the camera, my mom said to me a couple weeks ago that she thought the pictures I took of the Grand Canyon were awesome and she wanted to know more about the camera I took them on. I was kind of speechless for a minute, because I took them on the extremely crappy camera I was borrowing from my little sister, because they wouldn't let me use their much, much better camera, claiming I would drop it or that I take too many pictures of stuff or something. So she had just inadvertently complimented my photography skills in overcoming the natural limitations of that particular digital camera yet still expressing an artistic vision that was compelling enough to make her view them as higher-quality images than the ones she and Daddy had taken. But she had no idea that she was saying that. It was weird.

I tried to say that it was the photographer, not the camera, but I realized that would be really rude considering she was the other photographer, so I stopped halfway through and made a gurgling sound.

Okay, the crappy camera? 2 Megapixels. If you don't know what a megapixel is, this is not very many megapixels. This camera also tends to reproduce colors incorrectly and only works well in outdoor lighting. Also, the memory card only holds like 24 pictures. It was very tricky to get good pictures with it. I had to review and edit them as I took them, deleting the ones I didn't want, so I didn't use up all the space on the card. At night I emptied them into the computer, and that's the first time I could really see if they were crap or not.

I don't know, it's kind of emotional for me, because everyone hates on my occasional photog hobby and I'm often officially banned from using the equipment, but I guess that mom does like the pictures after all.

d) I won't be talking about the Tiller thing. I will tell you some memories I had, when I was about six or seven, participating in an pro-life picketing: It was hot. The sign read "Abortion Kills Children," and it got real boring holding it up.

EDIT: The Grand Canyon pictures, which I took on the 2 megapixel camera.

Sun, 31 May 2009 16:37:01 GMT

Man I have been so stressed out the last two days. Yesterday I had a freakout over one of the cats disappearing. But she spends a lot of time outdoors, she's an active cat, I had no reason to freak. I'm stressing for no reason.

I seriously have to get a doctor's appointment.

I cannot stop spending, I am ridiculous

Sat, 30 May 2009 03:38:01 GMT

I got my paycheck today, and since I was out of a bunch of shit I've already spent $25 of it. $132 for a little under 20 hours of work. I did some math in my head and figured it was for four days of work, and I will probably make more this week because I'm working like six days out of seven, but then I got confused about what week my paycheck is for and gave up. Even now I'm just staring at it, not making any sense out of it. It's a weird sensation, feeling stupid and frustrated with an undercurrent of disbelief because I know I'm smarter than this. I felt like that when I took math. Any math. Also globalization and most of economics.

Anyway, I bought a lot of combs that I realize, in retrospect, were probably intended for black chicks. It's called "Amber Waves," for one. But it's a comb, you know! Why are those race -- racially -- race-coded or whatever. You know, the racial equivalent of "gendered." I wanted a wide-tooth comb and it was literally the only wide-tooth comb available in the store, for $3.99, in a pack with a comb type I already have (but who cares) and a weird kind of pick/narrow tooth comb that I'll probably use for parting. I'm actually pretty excited about this, considering it is just a bunch of combs. It's "ionic anti-static" and supposed to reduce frizziness and prevent breakage.

The combs are something I actually need. I've basically stopped combing/brushing my hair altogether unless I have to go to work, and then I wander around looking for someone else's comb/brush to borrow. Sometimes I can't find one. My combs have all disappeared into the Void. This $3.99 purchase doesn't count as a splurge to me. What does count as a splurge is the face massager-cleaner thingy I bought. A strange device, battery powered, that holds a little pad velcro'd to it, and you're supposed to clean your face with it. I picked the Dove SkinVitalizer and then there was a bottle of face wash next to it that I also picked up (needed item), so that altogether cost me $25.

Revlon Amber Waves ionic combs
Dove SkinVitalizer facial cleansing massager
Dove Gentle Exfoliating foaming facial cleanser

So, yeah. I spent $25 on soap, combs, and a vibrator. Kill me dead.

Blood!

Thu, 28 May 2009 01:22:25 GMT

I cut of a good bit of my finger today. I was making ginger tea, which in this case means I was putting fresh sliced ginger to steep with the tea, but instead of actually using a knife to slice the ginger, I was using a peeler to make thin slices of it because the increased surface area would allow more ginger flavor in infuse with the tea. Well, we have this fucking peeler that has the blade perpendicular to the handle instead of parallel, and it's really sharp and peels pretty well but I have cut myself with it many, many times. I tend to accidentally peel my knuckles along with the carrots. (But then I'm generally clumsy. I also grate my fingertips and slice my thumb.)

Well, this time, as I sliced off a bit of ginger, I also sliced off part of my left index. It didn't hurt - I didn't even feel it - but immediately after, I felt like stop. Rewind. Undo. Go back, I've changed my mind, I'd really rather have that flap of skin attached to my finger. Then I thought, Where did it go? It's not on the peeler, not on the stove - where did it go? My finger started oozing blood and then it started bleeding quite heavily, so I grabbed a napkin (the last napkin) and held it in my hand, so it would catch the blood but not rub against the skinless part. I remembered first aid class and held it above my head.

My laptop was on the counter and I had been talking with cheapriboflavin before I started making tea.

Megan: well we arranged it ahead of time, so it was kind of a silly question

but the look he gave me was half-worried half-curious

2:28 PM Anyway, I thought it was a funny story. :)

2:32 PM So, how is the pink eye?

2:34 PM me: i just sliced

large part of my finger off

2:35 PM Megan: oh jeez!

It's not as dumb as it sounds to chat about it. Nobody was around in my part of the house. The little kids had a friend over and they were playing with her - not that they'd be any help. The teenagers, Suki and the flower, were upstairs or something but I intuited they wouldn't be helpful either anyway. (I turned out to be right about this.) To get their attention would take either a lot of yelling or a lot of walking and I didn't want to do either. I was trying to figure out if it was bad enough to go to the ER or not. ER was the obvious choice but could I afford it? Our insurance has a $0 copay for ER visits, but then my parents would probably kill me if I ran up an ER bill of a couple hundred dollars. I could go to one of those pharmacy walk-in clinics with a nurse-practitioner - yeah, I could do that but I would have to pay right away and I don't know how much it will cost or if I can cover it.

I had a thought and looked back in the tea I was making, and sure enough, there was the bit of finger I had sliced off. The water was hot and it looked like it had instantly cooked. It was a little white thing that had curled up on itself. I didn't believe it entirely until I fished it out and saw that it had part of my fingerprint on it. I was grossed out/fascinated/giggling.

2:36 PM me: it landed in the tea

heeeee

Megan: ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

desicration

2:37 PM me: this is funny

not painful but I may have to go to the ER

tell robert what happened

Megan: If you're losing a lot of blood

(I already did)

try stopping the flow and call someone!

2:38 PM me: one handed

Megan: get help then

Is anyone there?

me: sure

not the car?

2:39 PM Megan: Can you drive one-handed while losing blood?

How bad is it?

me: I think it's stopped bleeding

Megan: oh good

me: I'm holding it above my head

Megan: good idea

And then I was like umm -- what do I do now? I called Suki down, she's my eighteen-year-old sister, and she rolled her eyes and told me to put a band-aid on it. I was like I don't think that'll work (it was bleeding too much). Would you please call mom for me? Ugh, Rebecca, you're fine. She's germaphobic so she didn't want to touch me. Then mom drove up, and as everybody ran downstairs to say hi to her, they saw I had gotten hurt and told mom "Rebecca chopped her finger off." "Which finger is it?" mom said. "An optional one?" She went upstairs without checking on me.

And then .. well I already told cheapriboflavin what happened, and I don't feel like typing it out again with my sore finger:

me: no I'm not surprised

by that or the way she treated me this afternnon

but it's still upsetting to me

Megan: How did she treat you?

4:36 PM me: Oh she took me to a walk-in clinic first, some place I've never been

Megan: That's not so bad!

me: oh wait first I should tell you that when I told her about the injury she said "Rebecca, I don't have time to deal with your shit today!"

4:37 PM and she acted all agrieved

Megan: Well, she is your mother... she's been acting aggrieved about everything from tornados to dryer lint for ages, right?

me: the first place took forever to fill out the forms, and she was complaining the whole time about how expensive it would be

4:38 PM Megan: Hmm.

me: after a long time, they had finished contacting the insurance (it's a pay upfront place) and we hadn't met our deductible (duh) and so it would cost us 70% out of pocket and the office visit would cost over a hundred, so we'd have to pay like $90 upfront

Megan: Okay.

4:39 PM me: It was like $130, I wasn't really paying that much attention because I haven't eaten anything all day

Megan: That's not good.

me: so anyway she said it was too expensive and she said we had to leave

Megan: sigh

me: and she said that when she took Mary Grace there for a check-up thing it was only $30

4:40 PM and I was like "You were complaining about spending $30?"

so she drove to the MMC walk-in clinic, this is the big hospital-y place where I see my primary care, but they had closed early today

Megan: strange

4:41 PM me: yeah, it was

well, it closed at 3:30 so if we had gone there right away we might have made it in

anyway, she asked at a desk and they told her that they have another walk-in clinic near MTSU so we drove there

4:42 PM the whole time she kept telling me that I should have just put a band-aid on it, that it was fine, that she didn't want to waste money on it, stuff like that

she really didn't want to take me to a doctor

4:43 PM so finally we got to the MMC walk-in clinic and the receptionist said that she'd have the nurse-practioner check out the wound to see if they could do anything for it before checking me in

which is awfully nice of tem

4:44 PM the nurse practitioner said that she couldn't suture it, which I could have told her because there's like a square centimeter of skin gone, you know, it's too wide and shallow to suture

4:45 PM She said she could see me and give me medical advice or a tetanus shot, or both

4:46 PM There was a big to-do here about whether I was due for a tetanus shot or not

Megan: uh huh

I bet.

4:47 PM me: I told them right away that I was since I haven't had any shots since I was like 12, and the nurse practitioner pretty easily figured out that I hadn't had the shot I was supposed to get at 18 so I needed one anyway

And mom was like ok, whatever

4:48 PM She doesn't need stitches, let's go

I said I wanted to be seen anyway

and she said okay, but you're paying for it

I said You suck

Megan: I see how this must have gone.

4:49 PM me: I got a tetanus shot for $80, mom wrote a check for it and said I could pay her back

Megan: That's kind of insane.

me: this is a shot I was supposed to have at 18 anyway, mind you

yeah ...

anyway I think I can actually pay her back right now, but you can see why I'm upset

4:50 PM Megan: I can't remember if I got my shots at 18... I think I did, but didn't get the boosts I was supposed to get afterwards.

Yeah, I can understand now.

It finally stopped bleeding after like an hour or too. It's only hurt intermittently, though, and pressure seems to help. I put some anti-bacterial stuff on it and a band-aid. I had held my arm up for so long that it got very numb and cold.

The cut itself, like I said, is about one square centimeter in area, and in depth - well, it's about as deep as a carrot peel. Because it was a PEELER. So not too big or anything, but the biggest I've had. Also I saved the little bit that I cut off because, you know, it's the first piece of my flesh that I've accidentally cooked. In ginger tea. I may post photos later.

Anyway, if any of you doctor-types want to give me free medical advice you're welcome too.

Attractiveness comparisons

Mon, 25 May 2009 01:40:03 GMT

Am I really pretty or not? It's a hard question to answer, isn't it. The answer will probably not make much difference in my life because I am already intuitively aware of how many social boobie points my looks can get me, if you pardon the expression, and I know that physical attractiveness doesn't seem to really have any major effect on one's chance at romance, intimacy, and breeding. But still, I dwell on it.

I think I figured out why listening to this TED talk. (By the way, what a terrible acronym!) Delivered by Dan Ariely, whose scars make him look bad-ass, the lecture explained why having a less attractive person near one can make one seem more attractive. I've encountered that idea in fiction before, in a short story called "Complements" about a service that provides unattractive female escorts to accompany more attractive stylish ladies around Paris, so I'm going to call the slightly uglier in this situation the Complement, ok? The Complement has to be less attractive, but not that much less attractive. And the Complement needs to resemble the Attractive. In those circumstances, the Attractive will look a lot better than they do on their own.

I think this was basically my problem in my teens. I was uglier, though only slightly, than my sisters. I mean, that's not really the right way to put it, I was less attractive than they were and it's still true today, but I also highly resemble them. Now, if somebody, like a dude, was interested in a Johnson girl, he would be presented with several options. And naturally nobody's going to go for the ugly sister. They all would rather waste their time throwing themselves at Itty-Bet, and it's too bad for them because the large selection presented to her has made her really picky. Meanwhile, I got no action even though I was hungry for it. Now the same thing is happening with Suki at her school, but that's more about her friends than her sisters.

Anyway, I'm just saying I was hit on a lot more at Memphis where my only familial competition was totally engaged. Even when she wasn't, she was. Dated the same guy for like eight years before she married him. So, one of the benefits to moving out will be that I will become hotter by comparison!

Puberty Kit

Sat, 23 May 2009 20:52:30 GMT

The other day I was reading about early puberty and the deleterious mental effects it has on girls. I was thinking about ways to make early menstruation easier for girls, including giving them a little kit or basket well before average age of menarche (maybe around ten) filled with little stuff they'll need like tampons, pads, razors, whatever, maybe one of those little books about menarche written for girls, when suddenly I realized that I should totally do that for my sisters. I, excited, promptly told K. about the idea, and she scrunched up her nose, shook her head, and said, "Nah."

"... But why not?"

"Rebecca that's GROSS."

"No, it's not, and the idea is they can keep it and use that stuff whenever they need it so they don't have to be embarrassed by asking for it. And you know Mom, she won't just drive to the store and get anything if we're out of it." (I once ran out of pads so I passed menstrual blood into a cloth diaper. TRUE STORY. But I didn't leave the house that particular time or anything, I just hung around and eventually we got some more pads.)

"No. No."

"And also so they can try both tampons and pads and see which they like better or --"

"STOP TALKING! Aaaah!"

So she's a little ... I was going to say sensitive, but I think squeamish is the right word. But whatever, I'm totally doing it myself. I got my cusp-of-puberty 11-year-old sister small packages of the following: tampons, pantie liners, pads (with wings, cause the ones without wings suck), and moistened wipes. I was going to medicated wipes but they cost too much. I left it on her bed and according to her and her roommate, she was initially surprised/embarrassed but she's cool with it, and she'll definitely use it if she needs to but she doesn't really need to yet. I count that as success!

I'm not done yet, though. I think I'm going to buy the hair removal paraphernalia, but I'm not sure what exactly to get. I don't think I'd buy her those cheap one-bladed disposable razors, because those are the only kind I've cut myself with. I cut my ankle quite badly once, and I still have the scar. I also want to get her a book of some kind, sort of a book on puberty, menarche, and maybe body image for girls, but I don't know what yet. Also a red pen to mark a calender so she can track her cycle.

What else should I put in the kit?

Also: first menstruation story to get it out of the way, because I know everyone has one. When I first got my period, I was too shy to tell anyone for three days. I stole my sister's tampons, but I didn't know how to use them, so I sort of spread them out and used them like pads, to catch the blood.

EDIT: I bought her The Period Pocketbook which met my criteria: it has drawings and diagrams, information on anatomy of boys and girls (which I know my sister needs in particular), lots of practical how-to stuff about periods, not too much information on sex or anything overwhelming for the 10-14 crowd, and absolutely nothing on weight loss or exercise. There were a couple others to choose from at B&N, but the weight loss thing knocked a lot of books out; I just feel that 10-14 is way too young to worry kids about their weight or body shape.

Full of awe

Sun, 17 May 2009 00:39:34 GMT

I was standing next to my car, keychain embroidered with my name in my hand, when I saw the clouds. The backdrop dome of the sky was white glowing overcast. Toward the east sunbeams poked a few holes in the cover, far away from me. The clouds were black.

It was break time. As I did for all my breaks, even during high school, I headed for my car so I could sit still for fifteen minutes and be alone. A moment to catch my breath. Indulge in solitude. I feel uncomfortable around people all the time, their glances are sticky, eye contact exhausts me, my thoughts get tangled up. Besides, they make us help customers who approach us during break, and we're wearing uniforms, so it always happens. I'd sat down, scrounged around for some change while wondering if it was worth it to spend a dollar on a bottle of water, and listened to the classic rock station. A woman wearing the uniform dark collared polo shirt was parked a few spaces from me, smoking with the window cracked.

I stood up to go back into the store when I saw the black clouds in the sky. Filling my entire range of vision. In a way, larger than anything I'd ever seen. Varied with gray patterns, complex shadows, swirls and counter-swirls. In the distance, lightning struck silently. The clouds visibly writhed in the wind, slowly crawling forward, disgorging over the green landscape I knew was behind the grocery store, out of my vision.

As tormicious as they appeared, I felt unthreatened by them. I could read the clouds, and I read that they wouldn't spin out a tornado, just rain and thunder. I wasn't afraid of the clouds. I realized I had been staring at them slack-jawed for longer than was reasonable. If anybody saw me, they must think I was simple.

A heavy drop of water wet my hair. I locked the door to my car and jogged back to the store. A cloudburst was coming and I didn't want to be stuck in it. I had my calm restored, though I was about to go back into the closed-in bakery. I'd just seen one of the few sights in my life that encompassed the true meaning of the word awesome.

I have no idea what my body's doing anymore

Sat, 16 May 2009 05:32:03 GMT

While at work today - and by the way, the guy I was working with kept dropping shit on the floor, and by "shit" I mean "a unwrapped loaf of bread, which he then picked up, blew off, and put on the shelf." I haven't decided if I should turn him in or not because, in all fairness, I kept working with a papercut, but I swear I didn't get any blood on the food or near the food - I started to feel really bad. I had eaten before I got to work (an omelette) and I took my metformin then, as is my wont. So I wasn't hungry or lightheaded from that, but I felt the symptoms of hypoglycemia anyway. A terrible feeling just came over me like a wave. My skin was clammy, my brain slowed down, and my hands were shaking so badly I could barely put the labels on the cookie baskets. (Yeah, this is when I gave myself a paper cut.)

I ate a cookie or two to maybe help out, but it didn't help right away, and I felt like I was having a low blood sugar attack from when I arrived to after my break, so that was from 5 to 8. During my break I bought a 40 cent bottle of water and drank it all, and then I did feel a little better. By the time my shift was over and I drove home, I felt tired but pretty normal, but I did ask Dad to take my blood sugar, and it was 85, which is kind of on the low side, so I don't think I was wrong about what happened.

I am definitely going to make an appointment, because yeah.

"Understanding the Times" again

Fri, 15 May 2009 20:25:11 GMT

Well, this is the rest of the Psychology stuff, detailing the non-Christian psychology or whatever. Here's a pull-quote: "The Humanist consistent with his worldview must embrace behaviorism. If the supernatural does not exist, then one must practice a psychology that only admits the natural. Logically, Humanists should be behaviorists."

I also like their broad declaration that this philosophy is unscientific, without really bothering to prove it. They just assert it.

It's not so much a bakery as it is a reheatery.

Fri, 15 May 2009 18:54:09 GMT

Do you know why they use firing squads instead of a single gun to execute a condemned man? It's to diffuse responsibility. Traditionally, they'll load one rifle with a blank, and the rest with bullets. No one on the firing squad knows if they got a bullet or a blank, so they'll never know whose bullet really killed the guy.

ANYWAY ... I think looking at pictures of girls from ANTM deflated my sense of self-worth. Sure, most of them have buttfaces, but they all look pretty good in bikinis. My butt and upper thighs are the biggest point of contention with me. I've never thought they look good, and I have trouble wearing anything that shows them off. Also, cellulite apparently runs in my family, and that's probably the widest part of my body, too. My butt, I mean.

Of course, the fact that I'm living at home may have something to do with it. My 18- and 13-year-old sisters particularly like to call my body "gross." I mean, that's probably bad for my self-image, right? Also, can one's thighs seriously be gross?

Speaking of gross, now that I'm working in the deli/bakery section of the grocery store, I never want to buy anything from that part of the store ever again. In fact, I was thinking yesterday that I should take up subsistence farming just to ensure nobody touches my food but me. Yecch. I mean, I didn't see anything worth calling the health department over; I just noticed that they kept the raw rotisserie chickens next to the mops. And that the icing is left out in these big buckets. And the lady I was working with made a cake puppy with her bare hands. I'm just saying.

That's probably a normal reaction, though. Right? So far the only good thing about working the bakery is that we get to give free cookies to kids. Now there's a job I could do all fucking day. Cookies! Have cookies, kids! (I was alarmed over how many kids didn't have their parents with them. It was weird.) Also this high-school aged girl called me amazing after I got her a cupcake out of the display case. Newsflash: no, I'm not.

ANYWAY anyway, the real reason I'm updating is to say I'm going to do more scanning of that weird book. I figured that I can batch upload to Flickr, which would eliminate the most tedious part of the process. I'll probably do that this afternoon, because I'm working the 5-10 shift so I have the afternoon off anyway.

PS I love the sign above the bakery that announces that they make French Bread "Fresh" every day. The scarequotes are quite apropos, because pretty much everything is frozen and reheated. That doesn't count as fresh in my book, but it might count as "Fresh."

ANTM Finale was AWESOME!

Thu, 14 May 2009 18:21:23 GMT

Number 2!!!!

By the time the America's Next Top Model finale rolls around, I usually don't have anybody to root for anymore. My favorites usually get eliminated about halfway through the show. So this year I was very, very happy that Allison Harvard, aka Creepy Chan on the Internet, lasted as long as she did, even though everyone knew that Teyona was going to win. My other favorite was Celia, who was eliminated for being 25 and not Benjamin Buttoning.

I know I don't get points for this because I didn't write it down before hand, but I was predicting that Aminat would eliminated, then Allison and Teyona would battle it out on the runway with Teyona being the ultimate winner, and I was right, though it wasn't really hard to predict. This was also the scenario I was hoping for. I don't care much for Aminat, who takes bad pictures and is a wart, and though Allison is my favorite, I didn't want her to end up stuck with the "prize" of ANTM, which is basically a year of purgatory. Let Teyona do the time while Allison start working as an actual model. Buuut anyway ...

This show is rigged! Wait, that's blatantly obvious. It's rigged by design. What I mean was, if you go by the "rules" of the show, where the two finalists are evaluated based on their performance on the final runway + their portfolio of pictures, Allison should have won. Seriously, compare their pictures. I was surprised by this myself, but Allison's are better.

The problem with this "competition" is that it's looking for the wrong thing. The competition is designed to ferret out the best editorial model, with runway being a far less important element. Contestants have been eliminated for being too "commercial" - yet that's what Covergirl is all about! The winner's job is going to be shilling for overpriced goop, shooting commercials for overpriced goop, and taking a lot of pretty commercial pictures.

Allison is a great editorial model, but can you image someone who once posed for this picture telling preteens they should smear Covergirl all over their faces? On the other hand, she'd probably make a good spokesmodel for Emily the Strange.

Anyway ... so we get a boring winner once again. But Allison did well, so I'm happy for her. She's a nice person.

Also, LOL at Tyra making Allison one of her improvement projects. "Look at you now! You're not the same strange nerdy girl who walked in here!" Sorry, but she totally is. Allison didn't need a self-esteem boost, Tyra, because she was already famous and awesome before your show. Ha on you.

Oh, PS, I'm totally going to try out that lip stain stuff once I get my paycheck. That'll be my "treat." Well, that or facewash. Maybe both.

EDIT: Oh guys I forgot to tell you! Allison is into blood ("I'm really interested in hemophilia.")! And this blog is cool! Check it out!

Now I've got to figure out how to use a fountain pen

Tue, 12 May 2009 19:49:59 GMT

Among the old stuff we got from the estate: old paper and matching envelopes. I'm in love, y'all.

I don't know if I'm allowed to use it, but ... check this out! I could write a letter using antique paper on an antique desk with an antique fountain pen ... by the light of an antique lamp or something ... with ... an antique hat on. Yeah! Wearing old jewelry or something.

asakiyume particularly would like a letter on old paper.

Come to think of it, this paper could have been purchased like a year before Alverda's death ... hmm. But it still belonged to her, which makes it precious.