In Addition To...

The most horrible feeling in the world as of right now is realizing that the demon you thought you had beaten so long ago wasn't beaten. Just beaten down.

You tell yourself "I did it! I beat you, and you'll never be back to bother me again!". And you convince yourself of this. And you convince everyone else around you.

"Oh, I don't need medication. I've recognized my triggers and can see when I'm going down a dark path. I just choose to turn around!"

You try to be positive and happy, and it works. For a while.

The problem is that it's all a lie. It's a false sense of security. Before you even realize it, you are in the tightest grip of all and you can't see any way out of it. At first, you blame family drama. And then you blame change in seasons, or monthly menstruation. Or you take it out on someone you think is after your happiness. And then you try to blame it on your feelings of rejection from the one you love the most.

But the reality is - depression never leaves forever. And you can't do it alone. And by the time you realize you're in it, you've made too many mistakes to say "I need this. I can't do this.", because then it just sounds like an excuse.

I'm going to take advantage of that EAP at work. I can't do this alone, and I've effectively caused my own rejection from the one I need the most because I made him feel as if I don't trust him.

I'm so tired of being sick and sad and in pain. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't function. I can't I can't I can't. And I need to. And I will. But it will take some time.

I guess I'll just sit and wait until I can come first. Or even second. I'll no longer complain, but I can't stop feeling this lonely.

Doh

Oh shit. I have a blog.

Why didn't anyone remind me of this?!

Useless.

"Where's Part Deux?"

I know, I know. You are all waiting for the second installment. I'll post it when you least expect it. Like...next Christmas.

Hey, these things take time!

Part 1: The Unseasoned Traveler (Needs More Salt)

This is the first post in a series of...a few... posts which will haphazardly chronicle my recent trip to New Orleans, Louisiana for the NO Marriott Shake Ya Brass! Jazz Fest Experience. I was blessed and lucky enough to have a good friend who is a travel writer and was invited to do a story on the NO Marriott. Or the travel company. I honestly can't remember which, so I'm not naming names. Other than the very important ones that you, dear reader, will need to remember.

I'll begin with Delta Airlines. More importantly, the airport in Akron, Ohio. This airport is the shortest drive from my home, therefore the first choice. That's the only reason I'll use it again. If it were a house, they would describe it as "Cozy and charming". They'd lie to you. Security was pretty lax and involved one disorganized line that wrapped around to the check-in desks. I would say it moved quickly, but I'm pretty sure that I dozed off while standing there.

I hesitate to call the biscuit tin with wings an airplane. I believe it was the Airbus, seating an estimated total of 140. It was straight out of the early 80's, complete with dilapidated seats and the stale smell of body odor and farts. It was grand. We were late on take off due to Akron having had to close a runway for repairs. My 7:00am flight turned out to be 8:00am, which made me late for my connecting flight in Atlanta by about 2 minutes. TWO MINUTES. Urgh.

The attendant at the arrival gate was reluctant to be helpful. I'm not sure I blame her, I'd hate that job. Do not rely on the Delta app to rebook your flight, I kept getting an error. Also keep in mind, the digital boarding pass on your Delta App is not available everywhere. Short version - I was booked on the next flight out which turned my 35 minute layover into almost 2 hours. Not terrible, as I've never had to navigate my way alone in that airport. Hell, I've never navigated alone in any airport. Tracie is not a seasoned traveler. In fact, this is her first flight ALONE.

*cue heartwarming music*

Enough with the whining about air travel. I got to NOLA safe and sound, and still before my travel partner. My driver (oooooo fancy!) was waiting by the baggage claim in Louis Armstrong with a sign with my name on it. I took his picture, because I'm a Yankee Yokel.

This is Bruce, possibly the nicest person I have ever met.

If you ever happen open the occasion that you would need a limo service in New Orleans, call up American Luxury and request this man. Also, tip generously.

We'll skip what happened once I arrived and checked in, because it pretty much involved de-stinking and a nap. I will tell you - the elevators in the NO Marriott are just nuts. There is a key-pad in the elevator bank with an LCD screen. You punch in your floor number, and it assigns an elevator, A - H. Very strange, and I had to have the lady checking me in repeat what I needed to do to get an elevator. I adapted pretty quickly, no mishaps there!

My friend arrived around 4 or 5 in the evening, and we had dinner at 6. I really can't give too many details about that because it involved neither menu, nor detailed itinerary for the evening - and my short-term memory is garbage. I'm the person that has to have pictures and souvenirs, or I forget the whole damned thing. Luckily, I have pictures! Not of the gumbo (picture my sad face).

What I can tell you is that Chef Mark Quitney is a genius in the kitchen. Genius may not even be appropriate, because what he does with gumbo is magic. My favorite food is Cajun food, and I was hesitant to like anything gumbo related that did not have pork andouille sausage. Chicken sausage is notoriously dry, but the flavor is unmatched. The chicken andouille sausage in this gumbo was not dry at all, and was magnificent! I died of happiness when I tasted this gumbo. And that's seriously all I remember from that dinner. I like to think it's because the gumbo was just that delicious. The salad was simple, but garnished with shallots. I had to ask what they were, and now I know why they're always raved about. Shallots are nummies. Yes, I said nummies. Somewhere, my friend is shaking her head in complete embarassment.

The woman I was seated next to - we'll call her Fork Lady - claimed to be a travel and food reviewer. Not only was she unbearable in conversation, but she had the audacity to request hot sauce for the gumbo prior to even tasting it. Chef Quitney is giving us a wonderful description of how he created his recipes, why he chose the wines and where they came from, and Fork Lady is just drip-drip-dropping glops of hot sauce into her gumbo. I was embarrassed. Aside from that, she was rude and bossy and continually interrupted the head chef during his monologue.

I digress, I'm not going to focus much more on Fork Lady. I just made a promise to myself and my friend that we would avoid sitting near her in the future. Instead, behold the fresh red fish.

After dinner, full and tired from the trip, we retired to our room to shower and rest up for the early wake up we were facing on Thursday.

Before I end this post, let me tell you that the lobby area of the NO Marriott is gorgeous. The Fahrenheit Lounge in the center was dim and luxurious with a full service bar. Easy navigation to the Starbucks and gift shop, staffed by the most helpful and polite people I've ever met working in a hotel. The room? Not as fancy. Very basic, and I mean very basic. Two double beds that were nicely made up, a desk and desk chair, an easy chair and a flat screen tv. The bathroom was like a closet with plumbing. I was told that NO Marriott had recently renovated the lobby area, so I am left to assume that room renovations will follow. At least, that's what I'm hoping. The magic of the hotel ends as the elevator opens to your floor.

Stay tuned for Part Deux.

On the finer aspects of woman-hood.

If you are a woman, have ever been a woman or are about to become a woman, or maybe you're just a man who likes to read things about being a woman and that blog about how horrendous the experience of reading such drivel can be, including the massive run-on sentences - continue reading.

No, today's topic is not about zombies or camping or rescue animals. Or camping with rescued zombies. It's about the menses. We all do it, unless you don't. Some of us start at very young ages (I was 10, aren't you enlightened?) and some of us start quite late. Some of don't start at all. However, the topic is going to be centered around SANITARY NAPKINS (ZOMGZ!) and the marketing.

I'm 32 years old, which means I've been a slave to the feminine hygiene industry for approximately 22 years. My daughter turned 10 years old yesterday. After I scraped myself off the floor and unfolded myself from the fetal position, I told myself "Self. Arm thee with knowledge, for thine clone shall soon be in the throes of puberty! GOOGLE!"

Now, don't get me wrong. I didn't google the phrase "first period" because I forgot what mine was like. Nor did I do it because I have no idea how to shop for things such as pads and tampons. I'm quite loyal to Kotex, and have been for quite sometime. I googled because sometimes, some places have these things called "kits" that you can either get for free because they are full of samples, or for a minimal fee.

I found a kit before I stopped looking. $19.95. Whut?! What in the fresh hell are they packing in these kits that is worth $19.95? Plus shipping and handling? Pain killers? Oh no, nothing that useful. No, it's a few booklets, a "heat pack" that resembles a breast implant, and some cheaply made change purse that they claim can be used to hold a pad INCONSPICUOUSLY. I don't know about you, or even the general male population - but even at age 10 I knew that a lilac colored pouch probably contained something for the bathroom. Save the twenty bucks because it can buy about four full sized packages of tampons. Or a two six packs of beer.

The thing that caused me the most shock, and a bit of indignant sputtering - was this marketing tagline: "Who says tampons can't be stylish?" found within this website: http://www.ubykotex.com/

Really, Kotex? Really?! U by Kotex is a line of feminine hygiene products that are marketed toward...I don't know, fashion forward women? Apparently the theory is that women who are conscious about their appearance will be delighted by products encased in neon wrappings? I'm only speaking for myself here, but the only time the wrapping of menstrual pad made my day was when they stopped with that loud cellophane plastic-y shit and replaced it with something that resembled fabric and made no noise at all when you shoved it in your pocket and raced off to the bathroom. THAT was genius. Why neon? Am I supposed to show this to my friends, hoping to make them jealous?

The important question is this: Will I now have to buy new shoes? And how come I can't buy a box solely in one color? Why not all hot pink? Or better yet - let's market to the goths. Let me buy tampons wrapped in black, the color of my soul.

Upon further investigation (you know, since I was searching for "first period" kits for my daughter) I found a section of the website under Products entitled "Tween". That's what I'm looking for! Since my angel baby is now a tween (picturing me falling out of my chair to a sobbing heap on the floor). So many products! So many options! Oh...wait...nope. There's regular and heavy. That's it. That's okay, BECAUSE THERE ARE PICTURES OF STARS AND HEARTS ON THEM!

Seriously! http://www.ubykotex.com/products/tween

I know there are other brands out there, but I've stated before - I've been loyal for almost 22 years. I could never find a product from another manufacturer that I preferred. But they kill me with the PICTURES on the MENSTRUAL PADS!

Newsflash: We bleed on those. Now, I can't speak for anyone else, but when you're on your period - do you really give a fuck what your pad LOOKS like? Particularly if you are within the ages of 10-12. Your world has been turned upside down. You've got boobs, your back and your stomach hurt so bad you just want to go to bed and die - but you should feel better because you have hearts and stars on the pads your asshole mother threw at you in the midst of your first PMS rage! Aw! Bonding!

Really? I mean, I could go buy those for my daughter. I could give them to her now and let her know where they need to be for when The Event occurs. Knowing her, she'd probably look at them and then look at me and say "Really, Mom? Really?". She is my daughter, after all. I suppose it could be worse. There could be a market for Justin Bieber Menstruation Blankets.

And don't even get me started on this: http://www.divacup.com/

"DivaCup is comfortable, Reusable." <---WHAT?!

Zombies: What Hollywood (and books!) Have Taught Me.

This post will delight and frighten you. It will entertain and enlighten you. And, no, you will not be getting the time back after reading this.

Anyone that knows me knows that I have this unhealthy obsession with zombies. The Hollywood glamourization (oh, I made a word!) of them, not the voudoun bit with drugs and mindless slobbering.

First, let's explore why they're so frightening:

1. They feel no pain.

I have never heard a zombie yell out "Dude! WHAT THE FUCK!" when you lob a brick at their face. What you get is more of a "Unnnnnhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnn", and they keep stumbling toward you with their mouth hanging open like a slack-jawed yokel. That's terrifying (the yokel, not the zombie). If you can't cause them pain, there's no hesitation. There's no "hey...maybe I should pull back a little and plan a way around that shotgun blast to my face". Just zombie mouth on your meaty bits.

Which brings us to:

2. Transmission is faster and more likely than contracting The Clap.

If Zombie Disease were an STD, all the Frat Boys would be nomming on each other. Every writer has their own version of transmission. The scene in 28 Days Later where Brendan Gleeson contracts the Rage Virus because a fucking ZOMBIE BLOOD DROP lands in his GD eyeball? What the fresh hell?! Now, you know to add goggles to your survival pack. Fucking goggles. Because your eyeballs are now vulnerable.

3. More zombies by the minute.

I've already mentioned that transmission is stupid quick. There's no prophylactic to bar against it. There's only duck and dodge. And hand grenades. So let's say at 9am there are 3 zombies milling about your house. By noon, you'll have 30. Have none of these people seen a movie?

If your neighbor comes stumbling over to your house with half of his face hanging off, and instead of dropping at your feet he dives at your face - what do you do? You do not help this man! No! YOU SMASH A BAT INTO HIS FACE. He is not coming to you for help, HE WANTS TO EAT YOUR BRAINS. This is why the zombie apocalypse happens in movies. They have no Hollywood History to go by. Because of that, they fall victim. Quickly.

Now it's 9pm and everyone in your town has succumbed to cannibalism, save for you and that other asshole with all of the guns.

4. Zombie Biology: How The Fuck Does THAT Work?!

Mmkay. Number one, you're dead. B, you're decaying by the second. What happens when you die? First and foremost, your heart stops beating. Which means blood is no longer coursing through your veins to all of your extremities and vital organs. Your heart and pancreas and liver are no longer filtering out the baddies and sending the blood straight back through clean. You. Are. Dead. First, you shouldn't be able to move after rigor mortis sets in. So as a zombie - you've got about a good 3 hours of chomping before you're easy prey to the living. Maximum stiffness (hardy har) takes up to 12 hours to achieve.

So, for 3 hours you're whooping it up. Brain party. Munching like a pothead at a White Castle. After that initial time, your muscles begin to stiffen. Why? LACK OF BLOOD FLOW. You know, because your heart's not beating. Your brain can only control so much. After that, for almost 3 days - you can't move. You're barely going to wiggle, let alone run after scream queens in the shopping mall. Assuming a zombie has any logic and reasoning skills, you may have found a safe place to hole up until rigor mortis passes. It's not like you're going to starve to death. All you can do is lean and "uhhnnnnnnn". God help the poor soul that finds you on day 4 and decides to poke you.

And now the last, yet most important point:

5. Zombies: Dey iz nut smrt.

This is a smart zombie:

He pumps his own gas, herds the other zombies to safety (and/or food), he even figured out DOOR KNOBS. Now you have the most dangerous animal on the planet. He feels no pain, doesn't get tired, can duplicate himself faster than amoeba, AND HE PUMPS HIS OWN GAS. He'd almost be the perfect man, aside from the whole 'wants to eat you' thing.

This is a dumb zombie:

My eyes are up here...

Hey...back here...hallooooo...

So anyway, zombie logic and reasoning. Does not exist. Even if George Romero created a zombie that relearned things like...hand eye coordination and pulling that trigger makes things go BOOM! And how did he figure out that the fire works were set off as a distraction? All of a sudden his decaying and dead brain is all "EUREEKA!! They're trying to TRICK US! THOSE BASTARDS!! ZOMBIE COUP!" and all of a sudden he's Che Guevara raised from the fucking dead? Nnnnnnno.

Which brings me to my closing (I know, I'm sad too). Every book and movie out there has tried to blame the Zombie Apocalypse on something rational. Science gone wrong, deadly pygmy monkey virus, sexually transmitted disease, etc. This does not explain how it can all break the basic rules of biology. It is physically impossible to become a zombie. There can be no zombie apocalypse if it were the fault of science.

Which only leaves one plausible answer: MAGIC!

This blog is currently under renovation...

Please check back often...

Or don't. It's all the same.

Raid on Cat Ladies Society by Humane Agents for Animal Charity

This continues to sicken me and break my heart. I'm copying this directly from the CLS web page. The link will follow.

"It’s been a week since our cats and kittens were ripped away from our loving arms by people who laughed as they took them away from us and our clean, beautiful shelter.

It is worse than we feared. Animal “Charity” “Humane” Society murdered 64 of our perfectly adoptable cats.

Each of these cats and kittens had a whole life to live. Each would have found a family to call their own. Some were completely healthy. Some had minor treatable illnesses, the equivilent of our common cold.

Keep writing your letters to the mayor, to the Vindicator, to Judge Belinki and the prosecutor, Paul Gains. If you can’t take time to write a letter or email, please give them a call. Contact info follows.

Judge Belinky, Probate Court 120 Market Street, Youngstown, OH 44503 (330) 740-2310 MCProbate@mahoningcountyoh.gov

Prosecutor Paul Gains 21 West Boardman St., Youngstown, OH 44503 (330) 740-2330

Mayor, Jay Williams, 26 Phelps Street, Youngstown, OH 44503 (330) 742-8701 Mayor@CityofYoungstownOH.com

Animal Charity4140 Market Street, Youngstown, OH 44512 (330) 788-1064

We miss our little friends so much and the silence echoes in our shelter."

http://thecatladiessociety.com/

http://www.facebook.com/catladiesytown?ref=search

I know many of the cats that were killed. I held them. I said their names, a few even tried to get into my purse. If I could have, I would have taken more. I even jokingly told Dave we had to get three. We were both being followed by groups, lol.

I wanted to take Rogan home. I LOVED HIM. He followed me from room to room, but another kitten named Thing 2 kept jumping in front of him and pushing him away. We couldn't take him because he was best with one or two people. This is his story:

This lovable, wonderful, extremely friendly pair of brothers were labelled “unadoptable” by Wayne County Humane Society in Wooster, Ohio. Why? What could they have possibly done? They didn’t want to be in a cage there. They wanted to be out so they could run and play. Little did they know that it would have such disastrous consequences. These two great kittens who want nothing more than to be petted and loved by their very own family found themselves on the euthanasia list with only days to live.

Lucky for them, a volunteer at Cat Ladies Society happened to see their photos on WCHS’ website and read their story. We called the humane society and made sure they were put on a much better list… the list of those taking a road trip to safety. Two days later, they were packed in the car and making the two-hour trek to Youngstown.

Since then, these brothers have shown us time and time again just how worthy they were to be saved. They run and play together, enchanting everyone with their antics. In fact, earlier today, they refused to get out of the lap of a visitor who was amazed that these boys could ever have been considered undeserving of a home.

Rogan was adopted this summer :-)

I had my eye on Gambit - for a long time. Every day I'd look at the website and see his picture. He was affectionate and gorgeous. We didn't adopt him because I just KNEW someone would snatch him up, so I wasn't worried about him not finding a forever home. This is his story:

Gambit is a mellow guy who gets along with everyone. He would love a forever home.

Gambit is a non-stop ball of energy, bouncing from one toy to the next, constantly playing. He loves jingle balls and scaling the huge cat trees in the Kitten Room.

Gambit is part of an interesting litter of kittens who were born at Schaefer Equipment in Warren. Their mother was abandoned at the industrial plant a few years ago. Eventually, one of the employees let her inside where she took up residence among the machinery. She continued to go outside regularly though, and before long, she became pregnant.

Over the course of a few years, she had litter after litter. The employees never considered it to be a problem because “we always found someone to take them,”….. until the one time they didn’t. The kitten who didn’t find a home? A female. She took after Mom, and soon found herself pregnant.

Faced now with two nursing mothers and 10 kittens between them, one employee finally said, “Enough is enough,” and called Cat Ladies Society for help. All of the kittens and moms were enrolled in our Wean & Return program to stop this endless cycle of kittens.

He was one of the 64.

Little did we know - we were adopted as soon as we walked in that door. Thing 2 had been there for almost a year by that time. He was abandoned on the front step of the shelter in a cat carrier with nothing but a Dr. Seuss toy (which is where he got his name). They pinpointed his birth date to be on or around the beginning of August, and he was less than a month old when they found him. He looooooooved me. And he loooooooooooved my purse. Anytime I'd kneel down to pet a cat, he'd jump in my lap. Or across my arms. He was coming home with us, damn it! We brought him home and named him Byfuglien, hoping that would make the Chicago Blackhawks win the Stanley Cup. They did - and then they traded Dustin Byfuglien... We didn't trade our Byfuglien. Was he completely healthy? No, he had an upper respiratory infection. Was he the only cat there sneezing? No. However - they were ALL receiving treatment. Not only was there a vet that regularly made the rounds at the shelter - they also would bring the cats to the vet if they needed immediate medical attention.

Fosters would come in and the owner would hand them prescriptions. If the cats were not completely healthy, you cannot place blame on the rescue. They were brought to them like that. They were brought broken, abused, dirty, neglected and yes - ill cats. Some were old, most were young and in litters. Some had missing eyes, and some needed eyes removed do to advanced infection. Some had missing legs, and one walked sideways due to permanent ear damage from an ear infection.

These were not show cats. These were not cats that were wanted nor loved by anyone other than the women that tasked themselves with nursing them back to good health - or as good as they could have. Each time I was there, at different times of day - someone was cleaning. Mopping, sweeping, cleaning out litterboxes - this was not a trash dump. Did it smell? Well yes - they had 80 cats! BUT IT WAS KEPT CLEAN AS BEST AS IS POSSIBLE WITH 80 CATS. Were they sick cats kept from the healthy cats? If it was a contagious infection? Absolutely. Unfortunately - as ANYone who has any CLUE about how infections such as URI are involved - transmission can and will happen BEFORE the carrier shows symptoms. So by the time the first cat gets noticeably sick - he may have already infected 3 others - Domino Effect.

Is Byfuglien sick? Yes. He started sneezing and becoming congested 3 days after we brought him home. The first night, he investigated everything. And rubbed his face on everything.

"Awww I looooove this chaaaair....MY CHAIR"

The second night, he investigated a little less, cuddled a bit more. By the third night - he was sneezing and flinging snot everywhere. We could have called CLS, but decided to take him into our own vet. We treat him for FLV, although I'm not convinced that's what it was since he had no other symptoms than snottiness and sneezing. He recovered quickly and is growing rapidly still. Should he have been slaughtered because of a sinus infection?? Had we not brought him into our family, I can guarantee you he would have been number 65. He was "unadoptable". He's a year old now, still has bouts of sneezing and still gets a bit snotty now and then. He's what the HSUS and Animal Welfare would consider unhealthy.

Want to hear the best part? Scarlett - our other cat - has absolutely no symptoms and never has. They have shared space, they have unfortunately shared water and food because Byfuglien is mostly cuddlebug, but part asshole. They play and fight and I can guarantee spit flies. They've drawn blood a few times. Scarlett is still just as healthy - and fat - as she always has been. And she actually comes out of the bedroom more.

Byfuglien is not unhealthy. He's just a snot nosed little brat. I can't think of what would have happened to him had he not said "Hey! You! YOU'RE MINE!" when I walked in that door.

Out of 80 cats stolen from these women, 64 are now dead. If this does not break your heart, you do not have one.

What is she trying to tell me?

"but I r ninja!"

I luv dis chair

Gambit - June 2009

Animal Charity Humane Society

http://www.animalcharityofohio.org/

This is the link to the website for the local office located in Boardman. Let's take a look at their poorly worded front page blurb - complete with missing words:

In regards to current media attention...

Our concern, as always, is for the animals, and always will be. We are doing what's in the best interest of these animals. We realize that there are comments being stated that would make you believe that are incorrect in our decision, but be reminded that we are a law enforcement agency, conducting an official investigation into this matter.

We are taking all measures to ensure the health and well being of all the animals at our facility receive the quality of life they deserve. All your questions will be answered as the prosecution of this case allows.

We appreciate your continued support and understanding in this matter.

Thank you.

This office slaughtered 64 cats that they removed from Cat Ladies Society. That's over 75% of the animals that THEY CLAIMED were too sick to survive. PETA Representative Stephanie Bell claims they went into the shelter and "found what we were looking for". What were they looking for? One visit to the shelter, and you can properly deduce that these cats were neglected and unhealthy? Really?

Joe Borosky, Humane Agent for Animal Charity - how do you sleep at night knowing you had a hand in this? Along with Youngstown City Prosecutor Jay Macejko. You all have blood on your hands. And to get the advice of a PETA representative - a representative of an organization who ROUTINELY "euthanizes" the animals that it claims to save.

Joe Borosky, Stephanie Bell, and Youngstown City Prosecutor Jay Macejko have not only slandered the people of Cat Ladies Society, but they are responsible for the unjustifiable killing of 64 cats who were waiting for adoption.

Write your letters of outrage. Demand that they be held responsible for their inability to uphold the law they claim their office is responsible for.

Animal Charity Humane Society may rescue animals from neglectful situations and abusive homes, but they overstepped their bounds on this and effectively burglarized a no-kill rescue shelter. Rescue Groups should be removing and rescuing animals from HSUS - NOT the other way around.

Keep writing your letters to the mayor, to the Vindicator, to Judge Belinki and the prosecutor, Paul Gains. If you can’t take time to write a letter or email, please give them a call. Contact info follows.

Judge Mark A. Belinky, Probate Court 120 Market Street, Youngstown, OH 44503 (330) 740-2310 MCProbate@mahoningcountyoh.gov

Prosecutor Paul Gains 21 West Boardman St., Youngstown, OH 44503 (330) 740-2330

Mayor, Jay Williams, 26 Phelps Street, Youngstown, OH 44503 (330) 742-8701

Mayor@CityofYoungstownOH.com

Animal Charity 4140 Market Street, Youngstown, OH 44512 (330) 788-1064

http://www.animalcharityofohio.org/

OOOOOOOHHH YOU MAKE ME SO MAD! AND SO ANGRY!!

Blog posts are missing. Some good shit, too. Like the Spider In My Face post. Bitchtits.

Well, we'll come up with something. We carry our notebooks now. We also talk in third person.

And we love cheese.

Sadie G.

She's crazy. See, that's what the white coats say.

And now, she's making a bid for parole after 40 years in prison for the murder of Sharon Tate during the Manson Family Rampage.

She has terminal cancer.

I don't feel sorry for her. If she had some vision into the future that told her she would suffer from terminal cancer someday, do you think it would have stopped her?

I am not a proponent of the death penalty. I am against it, however I've yet to come up with an argument in favor of housing these people for 30, 50, even 80 years at the expense of John and Judy Taxpayer.

I do think that once you are in prison *for life*, there should be no "out". I don't care if your mother died, I don't care if you are diagnosed with terminal cancer, AIDs, or any other disease that will kill you.

The very thought that someone should be granted parole to live the rest of their days outside of prison, after ending the life of someone else - well, it's more than ridiculous.

It's just fucking nuts.

Read more:http://www.myspace.com/monopolova/blog#ixzz0wV5YVajY

I'm just throwing this out there.

I don't participate in political discussions anymore. At all. Mostly because the ensuing arguments are never worth it, and partially because I just do not have the mental energy that those types of discussions demand.

However - in light of recent events, I need to get a few things off of my chest.

Mr. Sign-Holder on West Market Street in Warren. I see your sign says "HAITI - NO! LET'S TAKE CARE OF AMERICA FIRST" - let me ask you something: What do you do to take care of your fellow Americans? Do you work in soup kitchens? Do you volunteer time and/or materials to your local Habitat For Humanity chapter? What about donating food and/or items to the Warren Mission on a regular basis? Meals On Wheels? No? Pay your taxes? Oh, sorry. Ah, okay. Well, I pay taxes as well, and my delicate sensibilities and Liberal bleeding heart are offended by the notion that we should let 50,000 people die while we sit on our fat asses watching.

I'm quite certain you're the same type of personality that I encounter EVERY SINGLE DAY that seems to think that the government welfare system is flawed, and our benefits are too much. You may even think that anyone who uses it lives the high life while you bust your ass to get by. Let me tell you something - I must have done it wrong. I didn't have the imaginary Cadillac Escalades that you see driven by "Welfare Moms". I also never saw one ounce of help from anyone who wasn't responsible for my very existence. In fact, what I saw was disgust from people in the grocery stores. Help Americans first? Surely, you jest. It does not behoove the American Patriot at large to help his fellow man. What behooves him is to judge. We either judge those we should be helping, or judge others for helping them. Or maybe we feel sorry for them. A bit of sadness because we could be or have been in their same situation. Yet, just like now - we don't make a move to help. We just watch while they flounder. Refusing to help because that's OUR MONEY. It has nothing to do with who it is, and everything to do with selfishness. Change Haiti to New Orleans, and it's the same thing.

You are the same type of personality who claims that we just HAD to invade Iraq because the Iraqi people needed liberating, and didn't know what was best for them. Dictatorships are all they know, it was up to AMERICA to show them a better way, yes? And what happens when we've virtually destroyed an entire culture and country? SEND MORE TROOPS! SEND MORE AID! They need to know the virtues of a democracy.

In regards to the recent status I've seen floating around Facebook about the telethons. Does anyone here remember Hurricane Katrina? What about the World Trade Center? Don't you remember the telethons? The charity drives? THE MILLIONS OF DOLLARS IN DONATIONS?! Or do you conveniently forget this when another country needs our help? Not liberating. Not protection from a centuries old enemy - because we have something to gain. But a country who is DYING without our help?

Let me understand this - we only help those who don't want our help, because they don't know any different. But if NATURE has a hand in it, and NOT The Axis of Evil - we should do nothing?

For 31 years I have heard from people that our job as Americans is to be the "Big Brother" of the world. If we see some small country being picked on (Kuwait), we must intervene on their behalf. Wars are necessary evils. I get it. But we should only stick our necks out if we stand to lose something. Oil.

We went to Saudi Arabia to protect Kuwait from Iraq. Because they had oil. We went to Afghanistan to find Osama Bin Laden and make him pay for the attacks on American soil that killed thousands. How did we end up in Iraq? WMD? Really? Okay.

But we shouldn't help Haiti. Why? Because helping them doesn't reward us in any way. We don't satisfy our vengeance, our oil supplies, or any trade at all. Haiti's never done anything for us, right? Nor have they done anything to us, right? So - there's no reason.

How many countries sent aid during Hurricane Katrina? Do any of you remember the numerous telethons set up and hosted by the same celebrities - strictly to garner donations for the people affected by it?

I'm not sure about anyone other than myself, but I can't sit and chastise the Americans who DO donate time or money or items. I can't sit and watch the television reports or read the newspapers and see that TENS of THOUSANDS of people are dead and dying from this disaster and think that we are WRONG or MISGUIDED in even thinking about helping them.

I'm not really as angry as I appear to be, because I've long since become ambivalent toward such attitudes. You'll never change their minds, and arguing does nothing but fuel the fire. But every single day I have to drive past that sign. The sign that is posted in the front yard of a house that is in a low income area. An area that is rife with crime and poverty. Stores have closed in this neighborhood, to avoid the armed robberies that became pandemic. And living in the midst of ALL of this, they would wish to deny others of anything?

Meh. Rant is not over, but it's paused.

Replays and Redos

Since I'm in a creative (i.e. bitching) rut, I'm going to do some reposts of old blog entries. Mostly because I'm proud, and I like to have them as available as possible.

Also, cocks.

Ooooh and another thing...

On the topic of Proposition 8 and it's big HAND IN THE FACE from the California federal court judge.

Let me just say this to anyone who supported that dreadful bile:

The biggest threat to your heterosexual marriage is YOU. Saying homosexual marriage removes the sanctity of your heterosexual union is like saying my divorce impacts your children.

You, bigot-at-large, are a small minded fool. If you are a husband, your duty to your wife is what will make or break your marriage to her. The gay couple down the street isn't forcing you to raise your hand, or withdraw your penis. If you are a wife, no lesbian couple is going to tromp all over your doorstep and spit on your precious little marriage certificate. They're not causing you to become a frigid bitch, or drool all over the frat boys.

No, my little honeys. The biggest threat to your heterosexual marriages are heterosexuals. Those who are involved in the marriage, and those who have been or could be drawn into it. Homosexuality has nothing to do with your marriage. It's just easier to blame YOUR failures and shortcomings on someone who you assume cannot defend themselves.

I am a threat to your heterosexual marriage. A heterosexual woman. And I wouldn't even bother with you.

The cat is making that sound again...

I have some free time between now, and the moment that I reach "running late for work". I'm sure I could be spending that time doing something a tad bit more productive...like washing last night's dinner dishes, or folding some more laundry that I don't ever remember seeing in my life.

I'm pretty sure the dryer breeds clothing items. Mostly socks. Maybe if I sacrifice the cat, I'll actually get a matching pair.

I realized this week that I'm good at virtually nothing. That's not to say that I suck at EVERYthing, but there's no one thing that I can say "Hah. Look what I did!".

I made a twitter post that fed to my facebook that seemed like a cry for help, when really it was just an observation made on my part during a massive headache/pity party.

"It sucks when you realize you have absolutely no talent for anything."

Yeah, it looks pretty pathetic. It looks like I'm just sitting on my couch crying because I have nothing to show the world. But really, it was frustration at the fact that I can't crochet. Haha. That's it. I CANNOT FORM A SERIES OF FUCKING LOOPS TO SAVE MY LIFE.

Really? Crochet? It's not HARD. I've seen people who are borderline moron make some pretty awesome shit. My mother (for the record, NOT a borderline moron - she's pretty intelligent) makes the most beautiful shawls and afghans and what-not. She's left-handed, and she's been trying to show me. I am not left-handed. And of course my attention span is like... She shows me the looping what-ever, and says "Now you do it". So of course, I have to say "Omg I forgot, show me again..."

I feel sorry for her, actually. It's like I'm the dude from Memento or something. I should just start snapping pictures.

And knitting? HAH! We won't even go there. I'm more mentally equipped to stab someone in the eye than actually create something. And it's not that I have this raging desire to become that old lady that knits dishrags out of her cat's discarded fur. I don't. I just NEED SOMETHING TO DO.

So, back to the whole twitter/facebook update thingy. I got a lot of this "You're funny! You have sarcastic wit! You're not afraid to say anything!"

Really? Can I quilt that into a fucking blanket? Hm. What size needle do I use to embroider that onto a newly knitted pillow case?

Basically, what that all boils down to is this: Some of us are artists. Some of us are just assholes. I suppose I fall into the latter category. That's not going to stop me from destroying some more yarn. I have a shit-ton of skeins to terrorize.

But first - work.

Maybe I'll be back tomorrow.

These things.

Six years ago yesterday, I had a phone call at 2 in the morning from my best friend. She was miserable, had just had a fight with her boyfriend and felt stranded and alone in Alabama. I was exhausted. Fighting nonstop with my ex-husband, and really tired of healing her every time she called. I got off of the phone within 5 minutes because I had to work in the morning. Plus, I was not happy with having to listen to her problems every time she called. I had my own problems.

Six years ago today, she shot herself.

I miss her. Every single day of my life. Still - everything reminds me of her. She was my best friend. My sister. I can't replace her, and I still haven't.

For six years I blamed myself. If I'd have held on a little longer, she'd still be here. If I'd have called the next morning and checked up on her, she'd still be here. If I'd done anything, she'd still be here. I was sick with it. It shaped every life decision I'd made since. Some good, some horrible. Losing her had devastated me, and I'd let my guilt steer my course in life.

I always remember her birthday. March 18th. I always think of her, every day. This morning, on my way to work - I thought of her again. And I realized - somewhere along the way, I'd let go of the guilt but held on to her memory. I don't know when, but at some point I'd forgiven her for doing it. And I'd forgiven myself.

It still hurts. But it's a pain I can live with now.

Silently, We Move Forward.

Not even a week after celebrating her 11th birthday in a fashion that we have only ever dreamed about, Sara Lance passed from this world to the next. She was at home, surrounded by her family.

I can't wrap my brain around it, so there's nothing else to say other than:

http://www.cancerbackup.org.uk/Cancertype/Brain/Typesofbraintumour/Ependymoma

and:

http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/saral

She has a name, and she is beautiful.

In the midst of national and international tragedies, members of my family are not concerned with the death of Michael Jackson. They aren't worried about the makings of a civil war in Iran, nor do they think about the Hollywood Drama Du'jour that seems to be on everyones lips these days.

They're loving, and praying for, and taking care of their daughter. My cousin Dave, and his wife Linda have three children. Adam, at 17, is the oldest. He works part time, goes to school, plays guitar and writes so beautifully, it will make you cry. Elizabeth, their second child, is so sweet and quiet, and has the voice of an angel. And the youngest is Sara. Sara is my kind of kid. Full of piss and vinegar, has a wicked sense of humor, and is always quick to laugh.

All three children have always been completely inseparable. If ever there were a blood family comprised completely of soul mates, it would be them. Before Sara came a long, anytime you saw Adam, Beth would not be far behind. When Sara was born, she was everyone's baby.

Three years ago, Sara had flu-like symptoms. Body aches, nausea, but no fever. The symptoms persisted to a point when her head would begin pulling to the side. The doctor ordered an MRI.

What they found was ependymoma. Ependymoma is a type of recurring brain tumor that grows on or very near the spinal cord, in a manner of speaking. At the time, the tumor was very slow growing. They were hesitant to operate because Sara was only 8 years old. However, they were successful in removing it. She went into remission for a time, but the long-run prognosis was not good.

You see, ependymoma is a monster of a cancer. It can be slow growing, and it can be removed for a time. However, it always returns. It may not return for a month, a year. Even 10 or 20 years. But it always returns, and it returns pissed off.

Sara just celebrated her 11th birthday last week. She's been through surgeries, chemotherapies, radiation treatments, clinical trials including gamma ray procedures. All have removed most, if not all of the tumor. Her family, our family, has prayed it away. Wished it away, believed that someday Sara would live her life without pills and scalpels and shaved heads.

This time, it took away her smile. She's having trouble swallowing, trouble breathing, she's not able to walk on her own. 11 years old and she is now wheelchair bound with an oxygen tank to help her when she just can't quite catch her breath. Last Friday, her family was ending a road trip in a North Carolina Cracker Barrel. Sara started choking, and went into full cardiac arrest. She lost her pulse and her bowels, according to her mother.

Sara's died once already. Pediatric nurses were having lunch nearby, and some stranger in a gray t-shirt performed CPR on her. They brought her back. Even if she is to die, the God that my family loves so much would not let her die in a Cracker Barrel no where near her home.

I guess the whole point of this entry is that my daughter is the same age that Sara was when she was first diagnosed. I cannot imagine what Linda and Dave could possibly be thinking or feeling. A very selfish part of me is thankful for that.

Every day, I'm dealing with a shitty prima-donna spoiled-brat attitude, and it wears me down. I have two children. Abby is 8 and Andrew is 6. Between the two of them, I spend more time yelling and grounding than I do anything else. Somedays, I wish they would just sit down and shut up and stay that way.

And then I remember how Sara was. And I remember that no matter how annoyed I am, and how I wish they would just LEAVE ME ALONE...my children are healthy. As far as I know, that bastard known as Cancer - the ultimate in chaos, for there is no rhyme or reason to who it chooses in most cases- has not laid claim to my own. I cannot fathom looking at my child's eyes and not knowing if, when they close, they'll never open again.

Most of all, what completely mystifies me - is that through all of this - all of the turmoil, and tragedy - there are a lot of ups. They have a very happy family, in spite of it all. And they have an absolutely unshakeable faith in the Christian God and Jesus Christ. I don't consider myself an atheist in the text book sense, because it's not that I refuse to believe, nor do I demand proof. I just...lack faith. I lack belief. I've tried, I've pretended. But when it comes down to it, I just simply do not believe in any higher power/God/supreme being/supernatural presence.

They do. And when I say unshakable, I mean they watched their daughter slip away from them. They saw her leave - and yet, they still remained faithful. They never questioned why, the don't blame their God for damning them to this existence - destined to lose one of their own.

That, to me, is what's admirable. Not that they've been through all that they have. But that they've been through all that they have and continue to love each other unconditionally with such a fierce devotion, that not even That Bastard Cancer has broken them.

And here I sit, terrified that I'm gaining weight. Or that I may get laid off from my job. Or what if he never marries me?

I mean, really. My children are healthy. My children are ALIVE.

As long as I have that, the rest is just gravy.

If you're reading this, and you have a little time - please, read her story. See this beautiful family, and maybe pray for her. Send some energy to her family. Whatever your beliefs are, however you channel that positive energy to make good things happen, whether in the name of God or Yahweh, Allah or Buddah - if praying for a miracle and for Sara to live is out of the question, please give her and her family all of the peace and well being as they can manage.

http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/saral

Oh, nature...fuck off.

My boyfriend suggested we go camping a few years ago, so this weekend...we are.

(procarastination is thine middle name)

Since I'm blogging on the Dumbphone, I'm keeping this short and sweet.

I'm working AND camping. I'm that dedicated to him, and my paycheck.

Total hours of sleep this far-5
This includes dozing off at random intervals while at work. At least I don't do anything important at the hospital. Like patient care, or security...

Total racoons fed- 1
I wasn't fighting the little peckerhead for bacon ranch pringles. They were meh. I will eat his face if he gets in the beer.

Spiders killed - 3 and rising.
MY CHAIR BITCH.

Bands we have rocked out to- Otep (yay new single!!!!11wtfbbq), judas priest ( do you notice the semi-theme? One of us may have a secret...), Spacehog (we're aliens), and ol dirty bastard aka big baby Jesus. WTF? Yeah, idano either. He's Asian gangster.

Oh damn. Gotta go roast the weiners. @Trae_the_jaded if anyone reads this and wants to see boring proof that I'm not a princess.

Ugh.