Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Sickness Saga Continues

I have been the healthiest member of my family for a long time. Mom of course started off post-polio. Dave's asthma started early and his learning and mental difficulties hit at puberty. Dad started his three forays into cancer in his early forties. I am familiar with the caregiver role. 

Gary is not familiar with the role of sick person. He's just a bundle of pride and pity. I was going to bring the microwave in from the car ala the Mom Method: keep the 50 lb box in the trunk where the store put it, dismantle it in situ, carve it down to the 33 lb microwave itself and cary that in, and, separately, the various accessories.

Gary argued about how stupid that plan was, angrily staggered out to the trunk and returned, panting, with the 50lb box on his shoulder. He wouldn't allow me to break down the outer or inner boxes, citing my physical and mental weakness.  Then he complained that he was too weak to do it, and that was also my fault.

I won't go through the rest of the conflict, but generally he was too sick to carry anything, and yet at the same time insisting he had to do everything, and also I was too stupid and weak to help. It was like watching a lame lion tell all the other lions that only he could take down the antelope, because they were all too dumb and weak. 

I can see why old men turn into grumpy old men. I don't want to be around for it. I also need to find a way to tranquilize my lame lion, or do things behind his back to save his pride. 

Microwave saga continues

So I woke up Sunday to Gary complaining about the microwave and how it was GOING TO BURN THE HOUSE DOWN ELLEN.

"No, it is not --"

"IT IS TWENTY YEARS OLD.”

And that's when I realized what Gary's "problem" with the microwave is. It's not what the microwave does or doesn't do, it's what the microwave is. It's an old microwave. It's not 70 year old microwave, like Gary, or a 62 year old microwave, like me, or 20 year old microwave like he claimed, but it is at least sixteen years old. 

"Well," I thought, "There probably have been some technological microwave advances in the past sixteen years." And then I found a combo microwave-air fryer-convection oven that did three times the work but only cost twice as much. 

I showed it to Gary, who gasped, "That's exactly the one I wanted!" So there you go, his fire concerns were all a scheme to turn me against our aged yet faithful microwave. So I called Williams-Sonoma to put one aside for me. 

When I arrived I found Gary isn't the only man lusting over this three-way microwave. The woman at the register said, “It’s a good thing you called. This was the last one. A man brought his wife back with him to see if she’d like it and I had to tell him you had snagged it. He wanted me to call if you didn’t come pick it up.”

So, sorry fella, my husband gets to paw at the microwave you wanted "for your wife." Shoulda put a ring on it, as they say. 

TWIL: What Street Corn Cheetos taste like

I brought Cheetos to trivia. It was going to be a Cheeto buffet:  Puffs,Cheetos-flavored popcorn (sadly, unavailable), and this new thing: Mexican Street Corn Flavored Cheetos.

I've had street corn. I remember it was tasty: corn dampened with a mild cheese sauce, a touch of spice, salt, and maybe a bit of lime. It tasted like 80% corn, 10% cheese, 7% spice / salt, 3% lime.

These Cheetos? 40% corn, 20% spice / salt, 20% cheese, 20% lime. The balance was all wrong. It tasted like cheesy foot acid. Over-salted cheesy foot acid.

I took a bite and advised against it. Then after seeing my face, three people tasted and made, yes, the same face. 

And you. You want to try it now. If you do, believe me, you will make the face.

More nonsense regarding Gary and cooking

“MICROWAVE IS BROKEN,” Gary said. “I JUST HEATED UP SOME SOUP AND IT IS COLD.’”

”Did the microwave make noise?” I asked.

“YES IT MADE NOISE AND TURNED BUT IT DIDN’T COOK. NOW I HAVE TO THROW THIS SOUP AWAY.”

(I know that sounds like I’m making this up but I swear I am not.)

“Gary, we have pots. You can heat up a pot of soup on the stove.”

“NO, I’LL JUST EAT IT COLD.” 

Gary actually likes to eat food cold. Pasta, usually, not soup.

--- Later that night ---

“ELLEN I HEATED UP THAT SOUP IN A POT AND IT WAS WAY BETTER THAN IT IS WHEN YOU HEAT IT UP IN THE MICROWAVE.”

“Gary, see this pork I’m eating? I heated it up just now in the microwave. The microwave is fine.”

“NO IT DOESN’T HEAT ENOUGH TO KILL THE BACTERIA YOU WILL GET SICK.”

“Whatever.”

“I AM NEVER USING THAT MICROWAVE AGAIN.”

--- The next morning.---

“ELLEN I NEED TO TELL YOU DON’T EAT THAT PORK YOU ATE YESTERDAY. I HAD SOME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND IT IS UNDERCOOKED. IT DIDN’T FALL APART. I HAD TO PULL IT APART WITH MY TEETH AND IT WAS STRINGY.”

“Because you ate it cold. Heat it up in --”

“I WILL NEVER USE THAT MICROWAVE AGAIN IT IS BROKEN.”

SO, I am actually heating the pork on low in the oven so that I can “prove” to him that it’s “cooked” now. I know anyone else would lie, “Oh, yes, I cooked that more when you were napping” but I don’t want to lie.  Just like I don’t want to argue. 

More worries about the LA fires

As long as I can change channels when people start to cry or shout, I've been fascinated by the coverage of the LA fires. The fire departments have bee battling them for days and still there's zero containment, what with the Santa Ana winds carrying embers to drought-dried shrubs. 

So now I'm worried about more combustible areas. What if an ember ignites the La Brea tar pits? That's only 14 miles away from Pacific Pallisades. The tar pits were closed today because of the fire. (I don't know what tar pits even look like. I've always pictured, well, pits, of tar, just simmering out in the elements with a path neaby and a rope you can hold on to. Are they enclosed? Air conditioned?)

Later: After checking the web site, it looks like there are exhibits inside and outside, and that there is an exposed outdoor lake of asphalt in which some current day animals get stuck. 

There's also an enormous oil field under LA. Almost every well is capped, but who knows if there’s a crack leading to some bottled-up gas ready to ignite?

Things are bad enough without any catastrophizing from me. 

 

Weekly Paint Progress: 1/9

This week the 2025 Croquet balls went from this:

... to this.

The wet paint on the balls isn't photographing well. It's better than it seems.

 

It's like a foreign language commercial

I just had to suffer through this commercial below. (By the way, I just upgraded to YouTube Premium, so no commercial for me, but that does mean I can't see to select commercial-free content for you. Apologies if you had to watch a commercial before watching a commercial.) 

Is it just me? I could not understand over half of this commercial, because I do not speak child. I could only understand the children listing the ingredients. "Appuz" = "apples." 

I feel like this commercial is specifically designed to play the competitive momming game. (If you don't feed your child dragonfruit, what kind of monster are you?) But then they bump up the game so if you don't understand what these children are saying, well, you are to be pitied, you probably don't even eat dragonfruit yourself.

God bless this commenter. What IS the last kid saying?

 

What do you want out of sex

I just began reading "Come Together," by the same woman who wrote "Come As You Are," and it asks an interesting question, which is: why do you want to have sex with others? What motivates you? 

She promptly knocks down the obvious answer ("Feels good") because you could also feel good by yourself.

So I thought about it, and what I kept coming back to was "To reward someone." Not in a transactional way, like, "You emptied the dishwasher like I asked, here is some sex for you." More like, "You have a good heart and are a good human and I think you deserve to have everything you want from me." 

But then I began thinking, what are some other answers for other people? Power, I guess, the power to elicit a reaction from the other person. Maybe validation that you are attractive? Maybe wanting attention just in general -- now that I think of that one I wonder why that was not my immediate answer, because it is my motivation in so many other things. 

I wondered if perhaps that was just a Gary-specific answer, and no, all the guys I wanted were pretty pure of heart (or presented themselves that way, I suppose). Before Gary, as a teenager, I thought more than once: "You are an honorable, non-grabby boy. As a reward, here are some of my grabbable parts, have fun, fella."

I don't know where I got this idea that I am the Jumbo Bonus Prize for a virtuous life. It's peculiar. 

Review: A Real Pain

This is the IMDB page for the recent Jesse Eisenberg movie A Real Pain. While it is a wonderful movie, the page below is not accurate.

Do you see at the lower left where it says "Buddy Comedy" - I say no. I mean, maybe the first few minutes might make you think that, but no. Speaking as someone with a similar walking wound of a sibling, no, not about "buddies." And as for comedy - the very end is just heart-breaking. 

And  --

[Suddenly Spunky Labia International Toe Porn Superstar grabs the iPad and types the remainder of this post with her toes.]

BUT JESSE EISENBERG'S FEET HIS FEET THEY WERE GLORIOUS AND GRACEFUL HE IS MY SOLEMATE.

TWIL: How to disable a Kenmore ice-maker

In this house we don't need ice: we don't use ice. We had to wait weeks for our previous fridge because we ordered it without an ice-maker. Ice-makers break. 

This time, we just decided we'd keep the ice-maker but turn it off. (They hum away trying to make ice, otherwise, deluded things, even if there's no water line hooked up.)

After timing how far apart the hums came (45 seconds) and doing some research, and watching one complicated YouTube video, I felt that I was equipped to follow the multi-step process to shut off the humming ice-maker. 

I opened the freezer to review the situation and saw the answer was obvious. 

In which we are both sick

My back went halfway out last Thursday.

Gary, of course, has the lock on illness because of the horrific rash.  I have had enough of saying “you poor guy” for the rest of my life. That, plus my sore back led to the following exchange.

Gary (Working up some sympathy from me): "I feel so bad, and there’s nothing I can do."

Me (mocking): “'I feel so bad, and there’s wah-wah mewl mee meeww.'”

Gary: “I’m sorry, I don't understand what you mean by,  ‘There’s wah-wah mewl mee meeww.”

And I tried to repeat it, but I couldn’t because I was laughing too hard.

My favorite hotel, threatened

There are very few hotels where Gary and I opt for a second visit. If we re-visit a city, the hotel with the best deal on the day usually wins. 

There are two exceptions: the Michigan Avenue Hilton in Chicago and the Bourbon-Orleans hotel in New Orleans. 

Per the latter: we stay on the side overlooking St. Ann, not the Orleans side, but still it was outrageous to hear the New Orleans terrorist put one of his explosive devices at the corner of Bourbon and Orleans.

I heard that individuals peeked inside the cooler to see if there was abandoned liquor inside, but were disappointed. But then ... I would think they'd say, "But that thing that is in there does kind of look like an improvised explosive device."

 

Weekly Paint Progress: 1/2

Well, I didn’t like the shadows were in the previous one so I changed the lighting and took the photo again.

… and here it is, already not quite right so I hope that makes it so I don’t get obsessed. 

The glass thing is so exaggerated in my head; yikes. Are my problems always on the left side? I should ask the neurologist if there's some kind of brain issue. I do have the optic neuritis in my right optic nerve. I doubt this will turn into some Monet thing where I influence a school of left-right wonkism.

2024: In Review

The worst first, followed by the rest.

The Worst: Gary's rash, and multple doctor’s visits, and his fanciful scientific explanations for everything. This morning, though, he said that while it feels just as itchy and even more painful, it’s getting better in some sub-cellular way that only he can notice.  

The Other Worst: Goldie the cat died, just when he was really starting to have fun: killing the mice, jumping at night. 

=============

Creative Pursuits: the Novel

After rearranging the whole thing and killing one entire chapter, I ended the year with no further structural changes, just line revisions. That’s very good.

Creative Pursuits: the Painting

This year I finished the mandolin, tongue Gary, grim Gary, Mom in a boat, Mom’s face in a boat, Goldie, cartoon Goldie, and the never-ending Granceil. (I am truly going to make one more swipe to lift her droopy eyelid.)

The Finances

Now that he’s 70 (good God), Gary has started taking Social Security. It is really hard for us to adjust to a spending versus saving point of view. Then again we aren't hit with thousands of dollars for medical insurance every month ... yet. He didn’t seem to have a problem buying yesterday’s refrigerator and a new dishwasher.

Me, Visiting the Outside

I attended a delightful cooking class with friend Anne. Anne was also my companion for the Opera season: The Barber of Seville, La Boheme, Julius Ceasar, and Galileo Galilei.

I went in to work six or so times and on two occasions my shoes disintegrated. First the black shoes and then the navy blue ones. 

I lost at triva twice: once for Habitat for Humanity and once for the Big TeddyJ Trivia, but I think we lost that time ‘because we were dazzled by the visit from the Head Honchess. 

I did spend a little time outside in the elements. I looked upward for the Northern lights, not once but twice, and I didn’t bother to chase the total eclipse a second time because I still remember the first time. The Christmas telescope was replaced by the emergency Christmas refrigerator, but I still enjoyed looking at the moon through binoculars any night it wasn’t cloudy.

The Outside, Visiting Me.

My attempts to bond with the crows failed, but the cicadas were all over me. And of course, this is the year we took the long-awaited video of the baby possums riding their Mom’s back. 

My Own Personal Body Nonsense

While Gary battled his rash, I battled my bladder. The first dose of bladder Botox was terrific, but the second didn't really satisfy until a few months in. Now it’s good, but I think it was too sedated before.

I had a little reproductive renaissance during this year's Hot Matron Summer. New toys, new books, new personal achievements unlocked. Is there something you didn’t think you could do? Maybe something you never wanted to do? Think again. 

In clinical trial news, I finished up the monoclonal antibody trial. (I am sure Europe thanks me.) Not only that, I horked up some DNA for the safety of future generations. 

Summary

While this year brought bad news for others on the health front, it’s been good news for me, not to mention that there is speculation that Ozempic could be used to help with MS inflammation.

I’m stepping out a bit more, though Gary isn’t, because he wants to be off the steroids for a few months. Grandceil notwithstanding, I think my painting is getting looser and I’m having fun with the book again. So, things are good for me from a selfish point of view, but of course they can’t be good because of Goldie and Gary. A pretty mixed bag of a year.