Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

I Become Even More Continental

While researching Gary's interest in light Swedish literature, I facilitated my search for an FHM cover by changing my Google language perference to Swedish.

I noticed when I changed back that one of my language choices was "Bork bork bork."

"Well, that's stupid," I thought, then I went to my preferences to change it back.

Of course then I wasted an hour testing out all the languages. Some languages take you seriously and customize everything: even the confirmation messages in the old language after you select a new language. 

But some are just silly.

If you decide to waste valuable remaining 2012 time with this, go to your Preferences, Language, and change the box that above says Ewmew Fudd. If your preferences suddenly disappear completely, as they did for me (and I'm sure someone programmed that in) go to http://www.google.com/preferences#languages .

And remember, in the bottom right of the Google home screen it always says Google.com in English, because believe me, if you switch to Hacker language you won't be able to read any words.

UPDATE! I lose all Continental Cred:

I watched The Queen today, nursing my Downton Abbey buzz, and every time they talked about the palace flag at "half-mast" I countered with "half-staff." Of course, in the US half-staff would be correct, but IMDB just told me the UK has its own rules and that I am a condescending snob.

We Are Very Continental

This morning I:

Ate English muffins and drank English tea.

Watched Downton Abbey.

Went online and ordered Swedish cheese and French butter (and Belgian butter and Spanish saffron, German bread, and Italian Guanciale).

Of course, Gary is enjoying the continent as well. He has left Maxim behind in favor of a "Swedish magazine."

Click here for the cover.

"All the text is in Swedish!" he said, excitedly. That way I suppose he won't feel guilty for not reading the articles.

I think he believes that FHM is a Swedish magazine, and the Americanisms (like the title being "For Him Magazine") are a poorly-translated affectation to make it seem exotic to the Swedes.

But, who am I to stand in the way of his beliefs? My tea and muffins were made in the US, I am sure.

A Loss for Words

Ugh, nasty day. I woke up with a headache, then the blender flung boiling potato-leek soup on my right boob and arm. (Gary's reaction when he heard: "BUTTER! Put butter on it right now!" Luckily he was not home at the time, so it's faded to just two small blisters. And my boob isn't buttered.)

I took to my bed shortly after the scalding and tucked in for the day, so nothing much happened, and what happened I documented in photos.

This is the best thing to happen since the iPad arrived. We have gone from this:

 

to this:

My pallet of Christmas gifts arrived on a forklift:

and, this was strange, gMail gave up on trying to sell me things in that advertising space at the top of their page.

Queer, isn't it? But, that's over now. Now they want me to buy Hartford AARP insurance, bastards.

A Christmas Miracle

I brought Gary to the Home Depot where I showed him the shelves I have lusted after for over a year. He also fell in lust and a three-way with the shelves is planned for this weekend. Or, a seven-way, because we got five sets of shelves.

Boring, you say? No. Imagine them on wheels, baby, because that's the plan, giant shelves on five-inch wheels so if the basement walls spring a leak we can just run everything to the other side of the basement.

So, 2013 is the year of the Basement Purge, the Basement Gutting, and the Basement Roll-o-rama Redecoration.

Shelves on wheels, bitches.

Of course, part of the Christmas gift is also helping me with the gutting and purging. But with five shelves, we can just shelve everything.

(Gary made so many references to putting dead bodies on the shelves that the Home Depot delivery scheduler threatened to make a note of it in the memo field.)

Christmas Gift From Gary

Well, the day has passed without an actual gift. He suggested a gift of Technology, but I refused to let him buy an Apple TV. I fail to see the purpose for an Apple TV if I have a TiVo. Movies? I can download any movie from Amazon right to the TiVo. I understand I can see my computer monitor on the TV, but frankly my monitor is right here and the TV is across the room.

So, I'm in trouble. I am pleading for shelves for the basement, delivery of the shelves, assistance in putting the shelves together and in cleaning up the basement. Gary wants rolling shelves like his computer cabinets at work. Techno cabinets. Of course.

So, gift negotiations continue. I'll keep you updated.

 

Christmas Gift for Gary

Long ago, a few years after Gary bought the Fit, he saw the steering wheel showed some wear. He called our Honda dealership and they said that particular steering wheel, the one that came with the red trim package, was custom, and if he wanted a new one he'd need to buy a whole new steering wheel.

This year he hinted he'd like a new steering wheel for Christmas. And I know, everyone just said, "just buy him a steering wheel cover," but as I explained to the guy at the only Honda dealership in Saint Louis that answered their damn phone, I want the best for him because he always gets the best for other people.

So. I ordered a new steering wheel that day. That evening I realized I forgot to specify the special red and black steering wheel. When I next had occasion to look at the steering wheel, I noticed it was carefully sewn around the edges to look exactly as if a red and black steering wheel cover had been applied.

Either he had a fancy trompe l'oiel steering wheel or the "custom steering wheel" was custom bullshit.

Damnit. I called the nice Honda man back. He confirmed there are no custom red and black steering wheels, happily cancelled the order for the 500.00 dollar steering wheel, then he even researched the name of the person who originally applied the wheel covers for our original Homda dealership AND gave him my name AND he would be contacting me soon AND thanks for doing business with Frontenac Honda.

Guy never called, of course, because this has been a month of people refusing to do business with me. Missouri Baptist won't schedule my MRI. Amazon won't ship my gifts. Lenova was perplexed I wanted to ship a laptop to my brother in New Mexico, that can't be right, cancel the order.

I eventually ordered my own wheel cover and I intend to stitch it on MYSELF the Wednesday after Christmas, but I wanted Gary to have something. Instead, I got his car detailed. In preparation I ripped apart the old wheel cover myself so I could throw it at his head to punctuate my tale of humiliation.

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Honda Has A New Car Just For Women

Just a Link, Really

I read an article on Cracked last week that I enjoyed immensely. I'm not the only one: it has become one of the week's trending posts.

I recommend you read the whole article here, but you could also read the outline below. The outline doesn't have the excellent Cracked writing style or the videos of the best scene in Glengarry Glen Ross. Or the tremendous cursing. I've deliberately made it dispassionate so you'll be motivated to follow the link. It is called:

Six Harsh Truths That Will Make You a Better Person

(And it is haaaarrrrrrrsh. Trigger warning for harshness.)

Thesis: It doesn't matter who you are, it's what you do. 

#6 The World Only Cares What it Can Get From You

This sets up the premise that the World needs help, and if you aren't there to do something helpful; the World doesn't care if you're a nice guy or not.

#5. The Hippies Were Wrong

Containing the Glengarry Glen Ross "COFFEE IS FOR CLOSERS" scene, this section posits that "You are not your job" is a false premise. You are what you do for others, and that's usually your job.

#4. What You Produce Does Not Have to Make Money, But It Does Have to Help People

For the men: women expect you to be nice. What else do you bring to the table? (Specifically, can you play the guitar?)

#3. You Hate Yourself Because You Don't Do Anything

This contains a video even I found distasteful. (Bye! NOW you're clicking that link up there!) However, the premise here is that one must DO something, even if it is flapping ones junk while wearing a cape distasteful.

#2. What You Are Inside Only Matters Because of What You Do

It matters who you are inside, but only because it makes you do good works. The writer quotes Jesus a few paragraphs after "What [does] the collective power of 'good thoughts' provide? Jack fucking shit."

#1. Everything Inside You Will Fight Improvement

... in which the writer checks off every rationalization his premise makes you feel.

As I say, follow the link for the good stuff. And yes, I get the irony that by leeching off his article I'm not doing anything myself.

 

Rage

I stepped off the elevator at work and I could hear Marcia hollering about something. Stomping. Cussing.

Marcia's been counting down to January 1st, when we both hit our fifth year and earn three weeks of vacation.

This morning the boss of all bosses sent an email announcing that starting in the new year, people with only three years service would earn three weeks of vacation.

Marcia did not take it well.

Ancestry

A wild hair tickled me and I got the free subscription to Ancestry.com.

Is it just me, or is geneology depressing?

The first set of relatives I looked for was Jerry the Dead Technical Father and his kin. And how';s this for a commercial, I looked on the family tree and there I was. I didn't realize I would be on the family tree. I'm just an unnamed female profile because I'm not quite dead yet, along with Dave and the half-siblings Ive never met.

Also depressing? Ancestry.com thinks Mom is still alive. Suzan my short-term stepmother must be dead though: her generic female profile has a name.

From there, I looked up Jerry's grandfather the opium addict. I found him but no mention of his sons tying him to a tree to detox. So, that was sad. I thought about adding it, just as a sort of tribute.

I searched for one of Gary's great-aunts who had been entailed. I found his grandfather, along with loads of information. For example his grandfather owned a radio at one point. It's there in the summary. Other than that, Gary was familiar with all the grandfather information. No news there.

That seems to be the issue, either the person is a mystery or you already know all the details. Plus, little things bothered me. For example, someone listed Jerry's father by his nickname and had him married to my grandmother's identical twin sister. So, not only do I not know the man, other people don't know him either. Kind of sad.

Gary's Taste In Magazines

Since he got his own iPad, Gary's magazine selections have morphed from Life & Style and Us Weekly to Maxim.

Sadly, he was only a Maxim man for a few short weeks, during which he told me dirty jokes he had read in Maxim and showed me several erotic photos of cheeseburgers and martinis.

This past week he subscribed to Elle and Vogue. I think this is to throw me off the Maxim scent.

Is this typical of male menopause? A sudden interest in haute couture?

Concert

A slightly freaky thing happened at the concert last night.

Gavin DeGraw, who we agreed was the most engaging of all the acts, got teary musing on stage about the Connecticut killings.

He said how outraged he was. The crowd applauded in support.

He said he was angry. The crowd applauded in support.

He said "I consider myself a Christian." And after a moment the crowd applauded. In support? It was weird. It sounded like: Clap if You're a Christian. (Jesus will come back to life if you all clap really hard.)

He went on to say again how angry he was, and just left the Christian thing out there. But it felt like when New Jersey is mentioned on Letterman, and everyone from New Jersey applauds. "I consider myself a Christian." "WOOOOO! Christians!"

Now they have camera blocking white lights too

Duuuuude.

I didn't even know there was a sublingual pot spray for MS. And now I can't use it. Damn.

LONDON (Reuters) - There is little evidence to back the use of a cannabis extract spray made by GW Pharmaceuticals for spasticity in patients with multiple sclerosis, according to a... report in the Drug and Therapeutics Bulletin (DTB).

Sativex is sold as a prescription drug in Britain by GW's partner, German group Bayer.

Well, it's for spasticity, so I couldn't use it anyway. If I hadn't fixed that frozen shoulder I might have passed that off as spasticity.

GW Pharma said the article contradicted the opinion of 22 separate national authorities in Europe and around the world that have granted approval for Sativex. ... The drug is currently sold in Britain, Germany, Spain, Denmark, Norway, Canada and Israel.

Can you imagine? Pot, but you don't have to smoke it or ruin a good batch of brownies.

Brothers and Sisters

I think of my brother every day. Mainly because he calls me every fucking day, but on days like this I think of the brother I had when I was young.

He was four before they began trying to determine what was wrong with him. He met with some specialist who was so impressed with Dave's dyspraxia that he published an account.

In kindergarten he was diagnosed as "hyperactive." (No one used the initials in the early 60's.) 

In grade school they pegged him as learning disabled. On top of that he could not control his temper, or any emotion, really. He was scary, especially in my emotionally repressed household. No one could tell when Dave began drinking at fourteen. I don't think he was an angry drunk: he was an angry sober. In junior high he began attending a special school for the emotionally disturbed.

He began bringing home the friends he made at the School for the Disturbed, and his friends were scary. One tried to break our front door down once when Mom and Dad were out.

The new school lasted a few years until Dave hit high school (and one of his friends asked me if I slept naked). Then he went to a day program at Our Lady of Grace, a local child center for emotionally disturbed kids. They use the term "psychiatric care" now, of course at the time there were no drugs for emotional problems. We had six months of family therapy visits. I only cried once. The doctor wanted to discuss what was wrong. Really? My brother has no emotional self control and you want to analyze my feelings? Really?

Then he got violent, ran away from home (yay!), found Jerry, threatened a family friend, was thrown out, lived in his car, sobered up, moved back, got married for six months until he was diagnosed as manic depressive and she got a restraining order.

"So then I'm manic-depressive?" Dave asked his doctor. "I'm not learning disabled or hyperactive or emotionally disturbed?"

Sorry, the doctor said, you're all those things. Plus, manic-depressive. Full-on, the hard-core delusional type. Paranoid delusions. It was nice that he turned his anger on the spies at the Phone Company who were bugging his apartment, because until then I was sure he'd be coming after some member of our family. Sure. We all were sure.

Eventually, after years and years of self-medicating and prescription medicating he found a drug that seems to work. (An Abilify-based cocktail of meds.) He still loses his temper (he just cussed out his insurance agent) but his anger is moderate and directed at actual slights, not perceived slights, or perceived murder attempts by the upstairs neighbor.

The sad thing is, on days like today, and so many other days this year, people think, "Why didn't the family do something? Surely they must have known." And of course they did know, and surely they did something, there were probably special schools and counseling and family therapy. Like any other illness, you have to be sick enough to be diagnosed, and with mental illness that means sick enough to kill your mother and a classroom of children.

WARNING: DISTURBING IMAGES OF AN EYEBALL.

I left at three to take the dog for a checkup. (FYI, the dog is skinnier than he has been in years; maybe his butt just looks big because the rest has shrunk.) I stopped off to say good bye to Marcia.

This is Marcia, in case you haven't seen her in the last one hundred plus pounds:

"Bye Marcia, I'm taking Mac to the vet."

I felt strangely patriotic looking at Marcia's eye red white and blue eye. "Uh - what's wrong with your eye?"

"Oh," she said, "You mean this?"

Yeah, the blood dripping inside your eyeball? That? YES THAT. (Ignore the manicure. She regrets it. I thought it was festive.) I had to look away. Then I had to take a photo.

I KNOW. She called her eye doctor's receptionist, who blew it off, and so Marcia blew it off. She said she was blow drying her hair last night with her head hanging down, that's what must have done it.

Yeeks. I'd be at the doctor's office demanding to know what had impaled me in the eye.

Alanis Jilts Gary

Sometime this summer I asked Gary, "Hey, do you want to go see Alanis Morissette in December? She's playing a show with Train and other people."

He responded, "YES YES WE LOVE ALANIS!"

"Even since she sold out and stopped howling her songs?"

"Yes!" And then he downloaded one of her concerts and played it obsessively, like he played the Music Man last year.

Well now she's canceled!

And oh, talk about howling. Gary caterwauled when he heard. "What? How can she do that?"

I don't kinow, Gary. She just played a boycotted show in Tel Aviv. Maybe we were too dull after that?

I still want to go, even sans Alanis, but Gary may be too hurt. They still have Train, Gavin DeGraw, Grace Potter, and Tristan Prettyman.

Passage of Time

Mac the Dog the last time you saw him:

Mac the Dog today:

He's an old dog.

Now, I know that's a unflattering view. He's pissed at me because I stayed late at work and Gary hasn't even started for home yet. His butt says I CAN'T EVEN LOOK AT YOU.

That makes his butt look smaller, but now you can see his neck wrinkles.

Poor old dog.

Colonoscopy Update!

Two things.

One. I knew that polyp looked to angelic to be cancerous. It is offically non-cancerous, just as it looked. I think my colon was just bored.

Two. I mentioned to Gary this morning that after five days, the Colon Factory has resumed normal operations and is again producing poo, so, "My colon isn't pink and perfect anymore. It's all mucked up again."

A realization crossed Gary's face. "Oh, no," Gary said, drolly. "I missed my chance to put my penis up there."

Yeah, you did fella. And that window won't be open for ten more years.

A Reasonable Person

It's nice to know that the "reasonable person standard" is used to make decisions in many areas of life. I'm happy that when a court has its final say, ultimately every delicate flower is supplanted by a stodgy reasonable person.

You know what isn't reasonable? Killing yourself because you got punked.

"A nurse duped by a prank phone call at the hospital treating the pregnant Duchess of Cambridge has died in a suspected suicide."

I know we all should be sad sad sad about this nurse's death. I heard Piers and Anderson immediately take pains to haughty it up and say how the prank wasn't funny. I heard how the DJs facebook pages were filled with "BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS" comments.

But there's no way this nurse was a reasonable person. No blood on anyone's hands as far as I can see.

Cootie Pits

Today I was able to fit in my 2 minute shower after Gary's 45 minute shower. I showered while he was toweling off. In fact, he'd just finished toweling off while I applied some deodorant.

Then, instead of capping the deodorant, I handed it to him because he needed it next.

"AARRRGGHHH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!" That's exactly what he said, and he cringed to get as far away from the deodorant as possible.

What I SHOULD have done was turn the little dial on the bottom, ratchet up some deodorant goo, and swipe it all over his face. Instead I backed up and put the offensive deodorant down.

"What is your problem?" I asked.

"What do you think you're doing, handing me that thing right after you used it? Put the cap back on and I'll get it later. It needs to ... cool off," he finished lamely.

So. This is why they make women's deodorant. Because of the hot armpit cooties.

Waking Up

I love Propofol. One second you're having a pleasant conversation before your scopage with the nurse anesthesiologist, and then the very next moment you're waking up in recovery next to your husband.

Now, the first few conversations I had after coming out went directly to dreamland. I asked a few nurses "HEY DID I JUST ASK YOU FOR A MUFFIN AND YOU SAID YOU DIDN'T HAVE MUFFINS? AND DID YOU SAY YOU LIKED MY SOCKS? DID WE JUST TALK ABOUT THAT?"

At some point I got my mind right and the doctor came by. My colon was very clean, yes, he encountered the loop by my navel I warned him about, and when I asked if I was boisterous during the procedure, he said,

"You were fine. You were a lady."

I hooted. I wasn't a lady before; I can't imagine the anesthetic would have made me more polite.

But, is this not the most luminous and clean colon you've ever seen?

ACTUAL PHOTO

Yes, that whitish flat thing at the bottom is a polyp, and it has been removed. (Oh! I just remembered! I asked the doctor if I could have the polyp in a jar and he thought I wanted to make jewelry out of it.)

That polyp looks too pure and clean to be pre-cancerous, so no more colonoscopies for me for ten more years.

Live Blogging the Colonoscopy prep!

6:00 - First dose of the MoviPrep bowel purging solution. Happily, I cannot imagine there is anything inside my colon to move: on Becs' advice I have eaten very lightly the last two days, and in addition my nervous colon has been amped up by the prospect of special attention. Nothing is in there to move out since the Gatorade left at 5:00.

Oh, Pro tip:
1) You are encouraged to drink Gatorade the day of the prep.
2) You are cautioned against the red fluids.
Do not add 1) and 2) and drink the BLUE Gatorade. It will mix with any nervous watery yellow colon contents and emerge a plastic Shrek green. And it will TERRIFY you.

6:15 - Not even percolating. The prep fluid isn't bad. There is a taste, but it is far superior to the GoLYTELY gallon of salty strawberry swill I had to take in 1995. Plus, as a co-worker pointed out, you had the shame of toting that obvious gallon jug through the Walgreens.

Pro tip: drink it cold and take the anti-nausea medicine before you get nauseated.

6:26 - I'm just now taking the dose I should have had at 6:15.  I had to call the hospital pre registration number. I warned her I was prepping for my visit and might be abruptly called away.

6:45 -  third dose. I'm a little afraid. 3/4th of the first liter has gone in and nothing has come out. I am a ticking time bomb of poo.

Pro tip: the MoviPrep container is marked with lines indicating the four doses. You have to drink down to the next line for each dose. It goes a lot faster if you drink it with a straw in front of the mirror.

7:11 - done with last dose of this liter. I have to mix up the liter for my midnight dose.

Pro tip: Know that if your appointment is at 6:30 am, and you have to take the second liter 6 hours before your appointment, that means you'll be in the bathroom all night starting at midnight.

7:12 - No action. It has not physicked me at all. 

7:13 - Maybe?

7:17 - Yes.

7:27 - Well, that was a satisfying ten minutes.

7:35 - I just thought "what's for dinner?"

12:30 - It has been like having contractions, only in reverse: the time between the spasms get longer, not shorter. Of course I aimed for fluid clarity, achieved it, and then flecks of detritus began to show up. What is it? I can't even imagine. Seeds shaken out of some diverticuli? Polyps fleeing in fear? Peculiar. Anyway, time for the midnight liter.

1:15 - So I will not get any sleep tonight. And after getting "clear" (Scientology shoutout!) I am back to a shade I call Mountain Dew.

3:24 - I feel guilty. All this flushing is keeping Gary and the dog awake. I had plans to spend the wee hours making chili, but that just seems very off-putting right now. I remember after the last colonoscopy I snarfed down a muffin and immediately regretted mucking up my colon again.

Pro tip: If you are to have a colonoscopy, be sure to do it in the 2010s when they give you Propofol, instead of the 1990s when they give you the dread Versed.

3:52 - Gary's got the alarm set for 4:30. There's really no point in even trying to go to sleep now. Besides, I am so close to total clarity again.

What IS THIS?

It's going to be 73 on Monday? What is this horseshit? Is this not the Northern hemisphere? Is this not December?

My pear tree has BUDS ON IT. I just bought a winter coat. How am I supposed to get in the Christmas spirit when it's as hot as a black leather steering wheel in a car that's been parked on the top floor of a parking garage on the surface of the sun?

Blue Man Group [SPOILERS]

This was the stage before the Blue Man Group show.

This is key: I read as far as "Whether it's a meal," then I got bored.

About five minutes later, Caroline said, "We need a spontaneous dance party."

"What?" I asked.

"A spontaneous dance party. We need one."

"Uh, okay. When?" I thought there might be a spontaneous dance party at Marcia's, perhaps.

"Don't know."

"Sooooooon?" What the hell. Caroline usually isn't this cryptic.

"Maybe soon. Maybe later."

I assumed she was challenging me to a dance party, so I stood up and shook my boobs vigorously. Then I sat down. Then I read the rest of the message above.

[SPOILER BEGINS] As it turns out, the finale of the BMG show is a spontaneous dance party, and you don't shake your boobs at all, your shake your butt / twin hippos / bandonka-donk (I could go it, they went on for fifteen minutes).

While you are dancing, a dozen massive balls float out into the audience ("It's Rover!" I thought when I saw the first one). The Rover Invasion was accompanied by giant toilet paper streamers, small streamers, and strobe lights.

So I looked up into that uproar and shook my ass for a good ten minutes before I became disoriented and fell into the ass of the man standing nearby. And it was a slow fall. Picture it in strobe light. "Oh ... oh, that feels like a seat against my right hip. Huh. I don't seem to be stopping. Oh, here's this nice man's ass. I seem to be lying sideways on his chair with my face in his ass. I'm glad he stood up and danced, otherwise my face would be in his lap, and that would be awkward. Ah, now he's helping me up. He doesn't seem to feel embarrassed."

It was a good time. I was expecting drumming, but I wasn't expecting as much droll humor and physical comedy. Hah. Gary missed out, though to be fair if the strobe lights messed me up he'd be messed up too.