Chirky

I just received an email from Katie. We were discussing how women sometimes read into things, and I answered her in such a way that caused a speculative response. I told her not to read into things, and this was her response:

"Not really reading anything in to it, like that you two have some secret conversation going on where you tell Sassafrass what I tell you and she tells you what I tell her and then you have the CIA and the aliens following me so I wear an aluminum foil hat when Im on the phone with either of you to block the transmissions. Yep, Im not that crazy."

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(taken from AP Mon Nov 28,11:54 AM ET)

SAGUENAY, Quebec - A 15-year-old girl with a peanut allergy died after kissing her boyfriend, who had just eaten a peanut butter snack, hospital officials said Monday.

Christina Desforges died in a Quebec hospital Wednesday after doctors were unable to treat her allergic reaction to the kiss the previous weekend.

Desforges, who lived in Saguenay, about 155 miles north of Quebec City, was almost immediately given a shot of adrenaline, a standard tool for treating the anaphylactic shock brought on by a peanut allergy, officials said.

An autopsy was being performed. Dr. Nina Verreault, an allergist at the Chicoutimi Hospital in Saguenay, declined to comment on the case.

The symptoms of peanut allergy can include hives, plunging blood pressure and swelling of the face and throat, which can block breathing.

Peanut allergies have been rising in recent decades. The reason remains unclear but one study found that baby creams or lotions with peanut oil may cause children to develop allergies later in life.

About 1.5 million Americans are severely allergic to even the smallest trace of peanuts and peanut allergies account for 50 to 100 deaths in the United States each year. Canadian figures were not immediately available.

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Thankgiving is always a time that I have been surrounded by my family. And lots of food. And expanding thighs.

I usually don't take advantage of the opportunity to highlight those who are often overlooked. Cast aside. Sent to the doghouse.

Literally.

Please meet Hobo:

And Khaki:

And Tubby Jo:

And The Gorilla:

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"Your hair looks pretty, Sweetie."

"I look like Cousin It!"

"No, you don't. You look a lot sexier than Cousin It."

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Sometimes I stare at myself in the mirror, right between the eyes. And when I do this for long, uninterrupted periods of time, my face morphs into that of a penguin.

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Friday evening, my voice started getting husky.

Saturday, I couldn't talk. I COULD, however, cough up my body's weight in phlegm. Isn't that something you wanted to know?

Today's Sunday. It's starting to look a lot like Saturday.

* * * * * * * * * *

It's so quiet around our home without me talking. And when Roger says something, I CAN'T EVEN TALK BACK. I CAN'T HAVE THE LAST WORD.

Yesterday he showed me a sore on his abdomen, and then said it was just a scab.

"That is NOT just a scab." (in a whisper)

"You're momma's a scab."

AND I COULDN'T DO ANYTHING EXCEPT GIVE HIM "THE LOOK," BUT HIS BACK WAS TURNED AND HE COULDN'T EVEN SEE ME GIVING HIM "THE LOOK."

I would make a terrible mute.

edited 1:50pm: I just tried to take a nap, except I couldn't, because of the incessant coughing, which sounded less like coughing and more like a seal barking for food while writhing around on a sun-baked rock, dying. DYING.

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edited 11/18/2005 at 1:18 pm:
For Katie, the unbeliever.

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1. Wake up early to cook a dish for today's Thanksgiving luncheon at work, only to discover that THIS DISH IS GOING TO TAKE AN HOUR LONGER THAN I HAVE TO SPEND ON IT, making me late for work.

2. After applying glitter! to my eyelids, turn the cap over to screw on to the jar. Except forget that the cap is in my right hand, and dump the jar over instead. All over myself. I'm VERY sparkly today.

3. Take a bite of oatmeal and sit helplessly as it dribbles down my chin instead of going in my mouth. And then look down to discover that it has dripped onto the contracts that I'm reviewing.

If this morning is indicative of the day, this list may be growing as the day trudges on.

Edited 1:33pm
4. While trying to cut a crust during the aforementioned Thanksgiving luncheon, apply such force that half the crust catapults from my plate and skids across the table, and the other half ruptures into half a million tiny granules as they spray across my sweater. And then listening to everyone surrounding me saying, "whoopsie!" nearly in unison.

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I was recently talking to someone about those who follow the teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Otherwise known as Mormons. Otherwise known (in underground China) as MoMos.

This person, we'll call him "Drew," not because I'm trying to protect the innocent, but because that really is his name, was telling me how MoMos make excellent salesman.

I shot him an inquisitive glance and asked what he meant.

"Well, because Mormons have spent two years of their lives selling God. After that, they can sell just about anything. That's why we like to hire them!"

I thought about this, laughed, and considered what he had said about "selling God." Is God someone or something that we can sell? Can he be bartered with or for? Is he just a regular commodity?

And then I started thinking, "I wonder if any MoMos read my site?"

So, if you do, please reveal thyself. Inquisitive minds want to know.

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Roger called to ask me to do a little research on a cleaning product he saw on TV. He described it as a tablet that you dropped in water, and it dissolved all the dirt and grease off of pans, etc.

Since it was an infomercial, I headed straight to AsSeenOnTV.com. The homepage displayed a plethora of products, and the very first jumped out at me. That could have been because it was called Urine Gone. Works Great! Just $19.95!!!

First, how awkward.

Second, who developed this, and how many times did it take them to get it right?

Third, did the inventor urinate on products himself? (I'm assuming this was a he, since I can't imagine a she inventing such a product.) Did he lock his dogs and gerbils and lab rats in a small area, on a piece of cloth or carpet until they had no choice but to wet themselves? Was this tested on the inventor's son, who perhaps was a bed-wetter?

Fourth, did this infomercial run during the day or in the wee hours of the morning when perhaps mothers were cleaning up after their children, or when drunkards lost control of their bladder after all that alcohol? Alcohol goes straight through me, so I'm assuming it does the same to everyone. Or, perhaps it is just because I can't hold my liquor.

So many questions to be answered! I must click! I tried to will my fingers off of the mouse and away from the Urine Gone. Works Great!, but my curiousity overcame me.

The bottle looked normal enough, and the description of the product couldn't keep my attention past the first five words. I was just about to hit "back" when something caught my eye. The Urine Gone. Works Great! was a package deal!! For the low, low price of $19.95, you NOT ONLY get the Urine Gone, BUT ALSO get a blacklight for detecting stains!

Sweet! A blacklight. I would totally buy this product, if only to get the light! They use it on CSI all the time, and I could use it to see stains and blood and other things that may be in my apartment! In the carpet! What if a previous tenant was murdered in my apartment, on my floor, and I had no idea until I used my new blacklight?

Or, I could hang it on the ceiling and invite my friends over. And I'd tell them to wear white and we'd dance all night long, in the glow of the blacklight.

Remember that ride at the state fair when we were kids that was like an indoor vomit ride that flung you all over the place, and it was dark inside and they played a lot of Guns n Roses REALLY, REALLY LOUD and when the ride started, the whole place lit up in blacklights, and even the cave-looking walls lit up in blacklights and the paint on the cave walls glowed in florescent colors? Yeah. I'm totally having a flashback right now.

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Today I went home to eat lunch, looking forward to pita bread and hummus, and thinking how I want to take Roger to the Roti Grill down off Knox-Henderson. I love pita bread in Mediterranean and Greek restaurants - always so crisp, in perfect triangles, and the hummus! Sometimes I think I could live on hummus alone. But then I eat at the Vietnam Restaurant, and I realize that no, I can't live on hummus alone. But I could live on Hummus and Bun Thit Nuong. (That's vermicelli noodles with veggies & thinly sliced grilled pork, for those who can't understand Vietnamese.)

I popped my pita bread in the toaster oven and went to the computer to check my calendar. My car has suddenly started flashing the "ABS - BRAKE" lights at me, and dinging with a very high pitched noise. I want it fixed IF ONLY to make the noise stop. Every time it comes on, I panic because I think that I've run out of gas. If I were 80, it might possibly give me a heart attack. So I checked my calendar to make sure it was all clear, in hopes of making an appointment with the dealership for this Saturday. Which reminds me, I need to call to actually make that appointment, because the conversation I had with myself OUT LOUD in the car while I was driving back to work, the conversation wherein I played the role of BOTH PEOPLE on the telephone, THAT IMAGINARY CONVERSATION WON'T BE ENOUGH TO ACTUALLY MAKE THE APPOINTMENT. So, I must call and talk to a real person now, and I can only be one person when I do it.

Have you already forgotten why I started this entry? Yeah, me too. Which is why when I smelled something odd, while I was sitting at my computer in the office checking my calendar, I nearly tore up the carpet running into the living room so I could dive over the bar to get into the kitchen and rescue my pita.

My pita! Inside the toaster oven, I could see flames licking my pita, and smoke had started to sneak out of the oven door. I just stared at it, watching it burn, and in those milliseconds I thought to myself, "Should I open the door and take it out? Or will that give it more oxygen and make the fire even larger? If I throw water in there, I would probably ruin the toaster. Hmmm. And the toaster's plugged in. So...not a good idea." Smoke was pouring out more steadily, and soon the toaster oven window was black. I had no idea what was going on inside!

I slowly opened the door, allowing smoke to billow out and engulf the room with its haze. I started half-jumping up and down and half-running in place, crying, "Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh gosh, Oh, goodness!" I ran to the sliding glass door in another room and flung it open, hoping the smoke would aim itself out the door. It didn't. I ran back to the kitchen, turned on the oven fan, flung open the kitchen window, and began fanning the smoke with a book. NOT. HELPING.

Next I ran into the living room and turned on the ceiling fan, and then ran into the bedroom, and turned on that fan. Smoke covered the top two feet of the ceiling in our home, in every room. I reached into the toaster oven with tongs, pulled out the charred pita, and threw it in the sink.

The water from the faucet nicely calmed the raging fire, and I realized my calling as a fireman. Firewoman. It's because I'm so fast-acting and attentive! With cat-like reflexes! So rarely distracted!

My eyes are still burning from the smoke. My skin absorbed the smell, as did my clothes. I smell like a dirty cigarette. Let this be a warning to you all: pitas expand when heated. And if it touches the heating components of the toaster oven, it will catch fire! Beware! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

When Roger found out what had happened, he responded, "You make my life so much more exciting!"

AND, what could be even MORE exciting?

I'M COOKING THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY!!!

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I've been emailing my friend Nicolle about certain things I think she should do while working for a certain airline that is headquartered in the general region of Dallas/Fort Worth. I'm not naming any airline names, though. You'll just have to figure it out for yourself.

For example, I think she should somehow rig all of their contests so that I will win. Doesn't that seem logical? Doesn't that seem like something she should do for me? I mean, HELLO! After all, it is ME that we're talking about. And SHE can't win because she works for This Certain Airline, so WHY NOT ME??

She politely declined, stating that my luck with the contests was unfortunate and that she wouldn't rig any such contests. She also told me that she can't just go to the Advertising VP of This Certain Airline and demand the winnings to be directed to me.

I agreed. But, wait! There's more! I told her that instead of going to the Advertising VP, why not just go to the top? I WANT HER TALKING TO THE CEO of This Certain Airline. I did a bit of research about the executives of This Certain Airline, and lo! The CEO! He is such a friendly looking man. I am sure he would consent to my whining and manipulation!

I thought, "So friendly, is he. I am sure he wants to help charitable causes that cannot be written off as tax deductions. Who is he? What makes him tick? And how did he become CEO of this certain airline?" He is relatively young, having been born only ten years before my mother graduated high school!

What? Don't you know what year your mother graduated high school? Oh, please. Don't pretend that you never marched around in her old drill team uniform, twirling batons to "Wild, Wild West" and dancing in the backyard while the feather on your head bobbed up and down.

Just for kicks, I researched other folks too, on this website: NNDB - Tracking the Entire World. A Database of Notable Names. For example, let's just say we're talking about American Airlines. Just for kicks, and to lead you astray! Maybe.

The CEO of American Airlines is Gerard Arpey. So many interesting facts listed about this man. And, surprise! Even his sexual orientation! BECAUSE IT'S THAT IMPORTANT.

Why? Why did this database find it necessary to list the sexual orientation of each individual included? And how can I get in this database, so that all of you would know that I, too, am straight?

And why does Herb Kelleher NOT have his sexual orientation listed? He is, after all, the founder of Southwest Airlines. NNDB put his picture up, and told us that he was a male. But! Of all things, not his sexual orientation.

And Aurelian! He was assasinated! He was the emporer of Rome! His face was etched on coins! And yet, no sexual orientation.

It's unjust, really. If I founded an airline, or had my face etched on coins, I would want the world to know that I am straight. Straight, and yet, curvy, because I am female. My heritage would be this:

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A month after Roger and I were married, we visited some of my family for dinner. My brother-in-law looked at Roger's left hand, and said, "What, are you already "allergic" to your wedding ring?" - implying that he might already be "allergic" to marriage! Marriage! To me!! AS IF THAT WOULD EVER HAPPEN.

Roger looked down at his hand, laughed, and said, "Yes, actually."

He clarified that he was, in fact, allergic to his wedding band. When he wears it continuously for longer than a week, a rash encircles his ring finger, underneath the wedding band. For the last year and a half, Roger has come home and taken off his ring until the next day. He only wears it when we go out, and then, only if he remembers. Half of the time we walk out the door with the ring on my thumb, and it isn't until I prompt Roger with, "Did you forget anything?" that he remembers, and by then we're usually already in the car and ten miles down the road. Thank goodness I have a thumb.

Roger and I each have white gold bands. I'm not allergic. He is allergic to yellow gold, but didn't think he was allergic to white gold. Now we're thinking about a titanium ring. Is there ANYTHING that won't give him a rash? Should I knit one from yarn? Weave one with twine? Take him to Obscurities and have it tattooed on?

Don't think I haven't considered it.

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I get an uncanny amount of delight from posting things that hold such a poignant message.

This, my dears, is the reason why every person should eat. Eat healthfully, and exercise, and be sure to include butter and chocolate in your diet. For the love of all things Good and Holy!

This picture makes me sad. It makes my heart ache. It makes me yearn to know her. Who is this woman? And what has happened in her life that would cause her to resort to such desperate measures?

Anorexia is often method of trying to control life, to control our surroundings. This is a woman who does not understand that some things in life just cannot be controlled. Some things are better left unsaid, undone, unattended, unattempted, uncompleted. Some things should be left in the hands of One who heals, completes, empowers, guides and comforts.

I want to find this woman. I want to help her get the medical care that she needs to overcome this disorder that has obviously bridled her life for a long, long time.

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In all the tests I have taken to determine my spiritual gifts, mercy has always found itself in last place. That bothers me somewhat.

Recently God has taught me so much about why it is good that I am not Him. When I feel unloved, my flesh wants to hurt the offending person just as I feel I am being hurt. When I feel unpursued, my flesh wants to entirely withdraw from the person who does not pursue.

These responses are not Godly, because they are not how God responds to us. His creation is marked with those who do not love Him, do not pursue Him. His creation is marked with those who do know Him, and yet still find themselves trapped in a lifestyle that is not beneficial to their growth as His children. And yet He still loves us and pursues us. And forgives us.

If I were God, I would want to smite those that I created, those who know me and yet turn their backs, pursuing other things in this world, loving other things of this world. God has so much mercy! And patience! How does He do it?? I know that he is not tainted by the things of this world, as we are. He does not struggle with the flesh as we do. But at one time, He did. And still, Jesus held himself together, was a perfect picture of love and tenderness and mercy.

I think it's a good thing that I'm not God. We'd all be in trouble.

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Roger prepared his own lunch this morning. This consisted of pulling one sweet potato out of a grocery bag and setting it on the counter next to his keys and wallet.

"Babe. Is that ALL you're taking to work? And do you realize that it's not even cooked?"

"What do you mean is this all I'm taking? It'll be plenty. And I can cook it in the microwave."

"Roger. These things are SO hard to cook. They take like twice the amount of time as a regular potato. You're going to have it in the microwave for half an hour!"

"No I won't. You just poke holes all over it and zap it."

"Whatever. Your mama zaps it."

After lunch today, I received this email from Roger, complete with all caps:

From: Roger
To: Jes
Subject: My yam was quite delectable!
Date: 11/03/2005 11:59 AM

STEP 1: Stab raw yam many times all over with metal fork or sharp knife. (This is important so that it doesn't explode.)

STEP 2: Place raw yam in microwave and cook on high for 7 minutes.

STEP 3: Cook for an additional 2 minutes, or until yam is soft to the touch.

STEP 4: Slice yam lengthwise and let cool for 30 seconds.

STEP 5: If you are not counting calories, apply butter, brown sugar and craisins to enhance taste.

STEP 6: Using a spoon, scoop delectably moist and tender yam out of skin one bite at a time.

(And to think, my wifey didn't think I knew what I was doing...oh, WAS SHE WRONG!)

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The canker-sore in my cheek.

When i bite my lip while i'm chewing food.

The hangnails that cause me to run my pantyhose. i think i'm going to start wearing gloves when i put them on, or something.

My chapped lips & inability to go for longer than 1 hour without putting on some sort of gooey lipgloss.

(this list may grow as the day goes on.)

edited @ 2:24pm:
Smudgy fingerprints on my computer screen, left by those who CANNOT KEEP THEIR FINGERS OFF.

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