spookyevilone: (Default)
If you don't live in MN, you've probably never heard of Fitgers Brew Pub. If you haven't been there, or if you have been there and not had their Harvest Moon burger, I weep for you. I truly do. Even obligate carnivores chow on this wild rice veggie burger with open glee. It's that good. Fitgers confirmed that the burger is not gluten free.

Sadly, Fitgers is 3 hours away from me, and they steadfastly refuse to mail me boxes of frozen Harvest Moon patties. Bastards!

I decided to try and make my own. I looked online and several people have tried to replicate the burger, using Saltines and egg and wild rice. That didn't seem accurate to me, so I decided to experiment.

Attempt #1 - Result: Tasty veggie burger, but not Harvest Moon.
2c. uncooked Wild Rice (cooked up to about 5 c. - I let them sit in the fridge a few days to dry a bit.)
3c. cooked/canned Garbanzo Beans, smashed(Note: Didn't use all of them, and also tried to squish them in a blender but that didn't work so I smashed 'em with a grid-style potato masher.)
1/2 c. Oat Bran
1/2 c. Almond Meal (cheap, skin-on almond flour, not the retarded expensive skinless blanched kind)
3 eggs
1 T. minced garlic
Dash of cumin
Dash of salt

Mix wild rice with oat bran and almond flour until well incorporated. Add garlic and cumin and salt. Begin adding garbanzo bean paste until it almost holds together as a patty. Then crack in the eggs and knead until well incorporated.

Fry on griddle or in pan. Makes roughly 18 burger-size patties and a few smaller ones. They held together fairly well, and they are damn tasty.

Notes for next time: Try black beans instead of garbanzos - Fitger's burgers are darker. Also maybe add another egg because they might hold together even better.

Gluten free, chemical free, vegetarian. You could leave out the almond meal and use more oat bran, or sub corn meal, if you had to avoid a nut allergy. Could possibly use whisked flax seed meal with warm water to produce a binding agent if you had to avoid eggs.

I don't know where it falls on the carb index, but wild rice has more protein and less carbs than brown rice, and between the wild rice, oat bran, almond meal and eggs, it's chock full of protein and dietary fiber.

But screw all that - it is tasty! I would happily eat this instead of a Boca/Morningstar farms "burger" any day of the week, and I am not just saying that because I made up this recipe. I ate one today on an Udi's Gluten Free hamburger bun with smoked Gouda cheese, catsup, mustard, and pickles and it was tres yum. I am going to force That Guy to eat one and give me his opinion as well. Will report back on that later.

Want another one, but they're so filling I don't have room.

WHYYYYY???

Nov. 4th, 2011 01:24 am
spookyevilone: (deathstarcouplepaymentsonmycar)
Last week, I read an interesting study about the species of wheat that is currently in.. everything. And how it's basically Satan. The coached it in scientific terms like, "directly linked to Type 1 Diabetes", "leading cause of IBS and inflammatory issues", "morphine-like euphoric effects on the brain". But, basically, wheat is the new Satan. Just like carbs were two years ago. Only this time, with actual data. Also, I suppose, since wheat are carbs, they're Satan2.

I was going to try going low-carb for a bit again anyway, but I decided to try going low-wheat instead. I thought that would be easier.

It isn't. Wheat is in bloody everything. Counting carbs? Easy-peasy. Tracking down food that isn't corrupted by wheat? Try it some time. I've become used to reading labels due to my dietary issues and those of others around me, so I've seen the bizarre fuckery of things wheat and carbs have crept into. Chocolate, for instance. Or peanut butter. Neither of which need wheat as an ingredient for anything, ever.

I knew better than to go no-wheat. For one, it would require diligence I just do not have the energy for. For two, I found TimTams at Target and you can take away my TimTams when you pry them from my cold, dead hands.. and even then, look out, because I will replace the TimTams you have stolen with your living, pulsing brain! I've allotted myself one TimTam a day. The only other wheat is what is in soy sauce, because if I have to choke down rice, there is by gods going to be soy sauce involved.

Charting my food on Livestrong tells me that I'm hitting about 750 calories a day, which is way below that 2k daily dietary requirement and still about 200 calories more than I normally eat unless I'm binging on junk food. (Please note: I eat. Oh, boy howdy, do I eat. Vegetables apparently have no calories worth counting, so on calorie counts, I look anorexic.) I feel full. I don't have times during the day when I am actively hungry. I'm not tired or lethargic.

However, I also now think there is something to this 'wheat as addiction' thing. Because I am in the throws of withdrawal. More like a nicotine fit than junkie jonesing, but definitely something physical. Headache above/behind left eye, crabby enough to punch out a nun and steal her communion wafers, the constant desire to be chewing on something - preferably something like a croissant or bagel - even when I'm so full I couldn't eat another bite. It's very much like having a hypoglycemic episode - except the blood sugar monitor says I'm well within normal and I'm not shaky like I get when I haven't eaten. My nutrition is spot on with the right amount of carbs, protein, fats, sugars, etc. There's no physical reason for me to feel like this. Except I totally do.

I've been a vegetarian for years. Going off meat wasn't nearly this hard. Possibly because I could replace the meat with pasta. Replacing pasta, however.. Ugh.

So far, I have noticed absolutely zero positive effects of this dietary restriction - but it's been less than a week. I was skeptical of the people who were all "I lost two pounds in the first three days!" because really, if that's true? They're full of crap, one way or the other. I'm not doing this to lose weight, so that's a non-issue, but it was noteworthy. "Watch the pounds fly off!" Yeah, no. "You'll feel healthier and have more energy!" Well, if by 'healthier' they mean 'irritable as hell' and by 'energy' they mean 'enough rage-fueled aggression to go knock over a pizza delivery guy', then sure. "You'll sleep better!" Well, it's 2am and I'm wide awake so, not so much.

Mostly, I wanted to see if I could do it. Then it became a challenge. This is very akin to when I gave up caffeine. I dislike addiction and won't tolerate it, except for books, so at this point it's become a contest of wills between my 'goddamnit, woman! feed me bread products!' side and my stubborn, ornery side. Normally they are one and the same, so this is..interesting.

It is reaffirming my position that if I ever develop a wheat or milk intolerance, in addition to the meat intolerance, life will have become meaningless and devoid of joy.

Because holy gods in all the heavens, this sucks so fucking much I can barely stand it! And I could stop any time I want. There's no reason I have to do this. Except re: stubborn, ornery.

Nun punchery, more than just an emo band name.
spookyevilone: (keeses)
And then I share it with you, Intardnetzwebz!

Last week sucked, and my birthday is coming up, so I bought myself a present - a couple pairs of very cheap "circle lenses". They're contact lenses with bigger iris diameter than normal, and they're all the rage in Asia to make eyes look "bigger". They looked fun and creepy, and they were cheap.

They arrived today. Apparently my eyeballs are small, or these were bigger than I thought, because on me, they almost look like full sclera lenses. Which is an awesome, unintended effect! The colours are so dark, you can't really see what colour they are even on my light grey eyes. Oh well. Freaky contacts = good. The "mirror" lenses I got are not much different than the "white-out" lenses I've had for ages, but whatev's.

So I have a pair of freaky big-eye lenses in. I am dressed in nothing but a towel, because I'm home alone and the towel was a concession to not dripping saline solution all over me.

There is a knock at the door. I'm expecting another package, so I rush to the door and open it. There's a nicely dressed young lady with an equally dressed young man standing next to her.

Her, beaming and excited: "Hi! Have you heard the good news?!"
She sees the contacts, and her smile starts to slip. The young man looks a little discomfited by my attire, or lack thereof.
Me: "Yes! The world didn't end in a firey ball of wreckage on Friday! It's awesome! I had a party on Saturday!"
Her: "I.. what? I'm sorry, I meant God's great good news. If you have a minute, we could come inside and .."

And at that point, my towel slipped free. I managed to pin it to my side, so they didn't get full frontal, but the tatas? They were all up in their faces. Thankfully, I have this congenital lack of shame.

Me: *calmly nodding* "Sure, I have a few minutes. Would you like to come in?"
Her: ".. Maybe we could.. come back another time when you're not..erm.. so indisposed. When would be a good time?"
Me: "Oh, well, let me think.. Today's Monday, so there's the sex therapy group tomorrow afternoon, an adult movie night on Wednesday, body frosting tasting on Thursday.. Friday? I think Friday's free; does that work for you?"
Her: *strangled* "Thankyouyeswe'llcomebacksomeothertime - thankyouagainforyourtime.. Icanleaveyouwithsomeliterature.." *frantically poking a Watchtower and some other pamphlet at me*
Me: *steps back; horrified look* "That's.. paper. Do you have it in electronic format?"
Her: "Nobutwereallymustgonowthankyousomuchforyourtime.."

And she and her cohort left. Not just my apartment, but the building.

Dear Neighbors: You're welcome!
spookyevilone: (Default)
My debit card was hacked. The good news is that my bank's fraud detection department totally earned a raise this year - they caught it before I did and squashed all but the first charge. Sadly, this meant I had to rush to a bank last night to get a replacement temporary debit card, and will now have to change all my damn autopay information.

It was weird, how I found out. There was 'strange activity' on my account two weeks ago, stemming from my cat's ass cancer and the flurry of large amounts of money going into and then back out of my bank account, so they put a "watch" on it. Physical checks got paid, deposits were credited but not processed, and my debit card was put on lockdown. I haven't used it in awhile anyway, so I didn't notice. I needed to buy a rice cooker last night, so I logged into my bank account to check the balance and saw this retardedly small, weird charge.

"CHKCARD MICHAELRJORABurleyMTUS - $7.78"

I immediately called the bank. "Hey, we're glad you called. We tried to contact you, but your phone was off. We've locked your debit card because about $200 worth of fraudulent activity was logged yesterday.."

The only thing I did yesterday was pledge on a Kickstarter, which went through Amazon Payments, who have that debit card on file and I clicked 'Yes, I want to use card ending in ****'. Amazon sent a $1 charge, which I assume is one of those 'is this a legit card? it is. ok.' things, and minutes later, the $7.78 charge is listed, and minutes after that, the more expensive charges tried to get racked up but the bank stopped them.

It's a minor annoyance to replace the card and try to memorize another g'damn PIN, but what is really, really bugging me is..

WHAT THE FUCK DID THE THIEF BUY?!

$7.78 is such a weird amount! It had to be an online payment for something, because the actual debit card was in my possession. I tried to track down Michael R. Jorda(n) in Burley, Montana, but that doesn't seem to exist. Burley, Idaho does but it's actually nowhere near Montana. There's a Burley Mt. in Washington, but it doesn't look like anyone lives there, unless they are Grizzly Adams pioneer types and in that case - the fuck, they have internet? I could be wrong about the name. It could be Michael R. Jordache or Michael R. Jordalopski for all I know, but Jordan seems the most likely name.

I really, really want to know what it was the thief bought. I'd like it even better if I could track down this seller and get the item shipped to me, since I paid for it. Sadly, not being able to trace that name and location is seriously hampering my ability to accomplish this. I used to do skip traces for a living, so my inability to find this person is driving me fucking crazy.

A google search for the $7.78 amount tells me it could be any of the following:

AV cable for iPod.
3/16" Straight Router Bit.
Madhava Light Organic Agave Nectar (46 oz bottle).
Axe Shower Gel (Thai Massage).
SE Military (Prismatic) Lansatic Compass.
4-Pack 6 Foot HDMI Cables.
1 lb. Misty Mints.

Thus I conclude: THE THIEF IS CLEARLY A FUCKING HIPSTER!

An iPod-wearing, Agave Nectar sipping, minty breathed hipster who reeks of Axe Shower Gel (Thai Massage), never gets lost, & works with wood.

I object to the "Straight Router Bit". I hope it goes flamingly gay and tells him what terrible goddamn taste he has and that he fails at life.

(I secretly want the mints.)
(Not so much a secret now that I have told the entire goddamn internet.)

Today is Day 2 of Project MintStalk - the bank is waiting for the $7.78 charge to clear so they can do a traceback. They offered to refund. Said I want the mints. This confused the poor phone person, so I had to explain. That confused her even more.

Then I thought, maybe the thief needed them. Like, maybe he's protesting OccupyEverywhere somewhere and doesn't have a toothbrush, just his iPad.

I mean, you don't want disgusting breath when you're chanting outraged slogans at people. That's a total turn-off. They won't listen to you.

OK OK OK! So if this is a hipster, it's probably not an iPad, but some tablet I've proably never heard of. The fact remains: did not have toothbrush, needed mints.

Armed with only a tablet PC, the thief was forced to forage for himself (or herself) the only way they could - hacking my card to buy mints.

Sure, they could have pan handled, but that would infringe on their moral superiority while protesting banking handouts. Wouldn't want that.

But I still want those goddamn mints! Or whatever it was. It's almost better that I don't know. If I could get ahold of the seller and have it shipped to me, it'd be like a present! A present I bought myself but totally have no idea what it is! (contrary to popular belief, this doesn't actually happen to me as much as you'd think it might)

[edit]
Ishara: They'd want to be mints that give you superpowers for that price ;)
Me: Which means THE THIEF IS GETTING MY SUPERPOWER-GRANTING MINTS! Goddamn them! Goddamn them to hell! I WANT THOSE MINTS!
Ishara: Of course now the thief is a super-villain, and they have your superpower granting mints, so I hope you have a lotta gadgets

No! They don't have them yet! There is still time for me to track down MICHAELRJORDA!

Because if anyone is going to become a mint-powers-granted-supervillain, it is gonna be this girl right here!

AUUUGH!
spookyevilone: (Default)
I received an email this morning, in response to this post, accusing me of "sexualizing" my godsdaughter because "five year olds shouldn't know what genitals are."

By that age, they already know what genitals are, but may not know what to call them and wind up making up words like "hoo hoo" or "pee pee". E.'s parents made the decision not to retard their daughter's language skills, and taught her proper medical terminology when she began to ask about body parts. They also decided to make an effort not to instill her with any sort of sense of shame or embarrassment about the human body. Which is the right and proper way to raise a child.

The amount of stupidity in that email has surpassed my ability to deal with it in a civil manner. So I'm not answering it. I will, instead, create a list:

Other Things Bug Has Been Taught That Five Year Olds "Aren't Old Enough To Know"

The difference between pie and pi.
The digits of pi to six places.
If you can't prove it, it isn't fact, it's faith.
... Just because it's faith doesn't make it "wrong".
How to cold process and hot process soap.
How to make homemade noodles.
The difference between factory farming and ranch farming.
What arthropods and isopods are.
Proper taxonomic ranks of scientific classification.
... That butterflies and moths are in the Order Lepidoptera.
The difference between the Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous periods.
... That those three periods make up the Mesozoic Era.
Closet monsters can be slain with a high powered LED maglight.
...and if the beam of light doesn't kill it, bashing it over the head with the maglight will do the trick.
Why you use cold butter in pie crusts but softened butter in chocolate chip cookies.
What Dios de las Muertos is.
Potatoes make vodka.
... Vodka makes ink and medicine.
Soylent Green is People.
... Soy Sauce is not made from Soylent Green.
... Planting soy beans will not make a baby grow.
Penicillin comes from bread mold.
Why Dr. Elizabeth Garrett Anderson was awesome.
Sin lies only in hurting others unnecessarily. All other "sins" are invented nonsense. (-Lazarus Long, Robert Heinlein)
Keep your booger hooker off the bang button.
... Reaching out to insolently touch a gun will still get your hands slapped hard.
"Fuck" can be an adjective, a verb, or a noun - and it is never polite to say, though sometimes it is necessary.
... Words like "Nigger", "Spick", "Wetback", "Chink", "Redskin", "Faggot" are bad words and Mama, Papa, and Aunt T will come down with the thundering wrath of pissed-off gods on you or anyone else they hear saying them.
Homosexual != bad, sinful, wrong, unnatural - but bigotry is.
Going to Hell doesn't happen by accident - you have to work at being a really, truly awful person to go there.
Sometimes, death has no reason, it just happens.
Praying: Can't hurt, might help.
... I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

There are more. This is all I can think of, off the top of my head.
spookyevilone: (Default)
It's Thanksgiving in Canada today, and in honour, I am posting the most recent spate of stupidity that's come my way.

"What does a vegetarian eat for Thanksgiving?!"
"Whatever the hell she wants!"
I was informed last year that it has now become an Ancient and Honorable Tradition* to have squash risotto for Thanksgiving. Last year, iirc, we had risotto, spiced chunked multicoloured potatoes, bread, and salad. So we had starch with our starch and some starch on the side, and weeds. And it was fantastic!

"Ohh, you're Native American. That means you can't have pumpkin!"
"What?"
"You can't digest it. I read that somewhere."
"What?"
I most certainly can eat pumpkin, and you can take my pumpkin pie away when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers! And even then, I am more likely to come back to life and seek your brains because there is some shit up with which I will not put, and taking away my pie is one of them. This is particularly dumb since pumpkins are a new world food and us injuns were most certainly eating them long before those white people in funny hats showed up in a leaking boat on the East Coast. Besides pie, my favourite pumpkin recipe is sliced pumpkin basted with rosemary-infused olive oil, dusted with sage and sea salt, and baked into "fries". You know.. just the way my ancestors ate it.

"How do you thank someone for a bountiful feast in Cherokee?"
".. Wa'do." (Literally: thanks)
"No, I mean, isn't there a phrase for it? I mean, like in the Thanksgiving plays?"
"You mean the Pilgrim plays, written by white folk for kids?"
"Yeah!"
"..No."
We did one of these plays when I was in first grade. I asked my grandmother about it afterward, because I was confused about that whole "Thank you for inviting us to your bountiful feast" thing, and she snorted and said, "You want to thank a Cherokee woman for a bountiful feast? Get in the kitchen and do the dishes afterward for her so she can rest." In all honesty, I've never seen anyone say more than "Thank you", because it's more often said with actions. People would gather, and most of them would show up with food or beverage. Not necessarily pot-luck style, just "We had extra and thought you might like some." The men would go outside to help with some chore - usually chopping wood, because there's always a need for more chopped wood, or hauling hay/straw. The women would congregate in the kitchen and dining room and help set up, help finish cooking, or just chat. Children were put to work or sent outside to keep them out from underfoot. At the appropriate time, everyone would come inside and eat, and then they would sit around telling stories or jokes, or singing, or other pastoral things that are so homely that it makes my pancreas want to curl up and die just thinking about it.

I've had "feminists" tell me this is "completely sexist". One of my regrets is that I never got to see anyone say that to my grandmother's face. If you were in her kitchen, you made yourself useful or you GTFO. There was definitely sexism going on: My grandmother's view was that men were completely useless in the kitchen. My grandfather and uncles and cousins could cook, but she claimed they couldn't cook properly.

"Your people must be so thankful that the Europeans showed up and brought civilization and culture to them!"
"Yeah, only we called it 'uh yu gi'."
"What's that mean?"
"Disease."

"Happy Columbus Day!"
"Happy Thanksgiving!"
"It's not Thanksgiving!"
"It is in Canada."
"Well, I'm not Canadian."
"Well, I'm not related to a Spaniard who got lost."
"Half of you must be. I mean, you're white."
"Yeah..my mother came to the States in 1956. From Canada."

And it's only Monday..



* Ancient and Honorable Tradition = SCA speak for "We've done it this way for two years, so it is now retroactively the way we have ALWAYS done it and is now the way we must ALWAYS do it!" Though, in this instance, it is more a matter of That Guy being a huge fan of this risotto recipe and claiming it at least once a year.
spookyevilone: (Default)
My godsdaughter is 5. I keep thinking she's 3 because I have no sense of time and she's still a wee little bug, and then I talk to her and wonder if she's secretly much older than her birth age. She started "real school" a month ago. She got sent home from Kindergarten today and it's my fault.

"So what happened today, kiddo? I heard you got in trouble."
"NO! I got sent home. I said a bad word."
"Uhoh. That sounds like trouble to me."
"NO! One of the boys in my class is a turd."
"Is that the word you said? Did you call him a turd to his face?"
"No, but I should have! He was meaning up on my friend."
"What'd you do?"
"I told the teacher."
"Did she stop the meaning?"
"Yes, and then we had to talk about why it was bad to mean on people and call them names."
".. What name did you call this turd person?"
"I didn't call him ANYTHING! That would be just as mean as he was, and *I* am not a turd!"
"No, you are not, and it's very awesome that you realize you shouldn't fight namecalling with more namecalling. Quit trying to kill me with curiousity, Bug. How'd the bad word come into play?"
"Welllll, the teacher made us all talk about why it was bad to mean on people, everyone in a circle, and when she came to me I said it was bad to mean on people but maybe turdface - I didn't call him that! I used his name! Honest! But he IS a turdface, really - I said maybe he didn't try to be bad but really just felt small and hurtful inside because he had a small penis and had to mean on other people to make himself feel big and important."
".. You got sent home for saying 'penis'?"
"No. Got sent home for arguing with the teacher, cuz she says it's a bad word and I wanted to know what I should call a penis, then. She sent me into the hall and then she called Mama."
"She says this is my fault?"
"Cuz when Mama asked me why I said that, I said cuz you said that about the man who yelled at Mama that one time and when I asked what was wrong with his penis that you would say sorry to him about it, Mama said you meant it was small. He was a big man, though, and not a little boy, so I thought maybe it was a birth defect and he had been teased about it and it made him mean to people cuz he felt all bad inside his ownself. Isn't that what you meant?"
"..Can I say yes because your version is much nicer than what I meant when I said it?"
"No, because you're not a liar. So you should tell me if that's not what you meant."
"That's not what I meant, Bug. The man said a bad word about my friend, so I insulted him back, which wasn't very nice of me. I'm not always such a nice person, especially when someone means up on my friends. You're more awesome than me, and you should stay that way forever."
"Oh. But you were not-mean enough to not use a swearword at him, which is pretty awesome for you that you remembered I was there enough to not say a *really* bad word at him. You just said 'penis', which isn't a bad word, even though my teacher thinks it is. Why does she? I don't get it."
"I think she just means you shouldn't be talking about other people's penises in class."
"Well I can't talk about MINE! I don't HAVE a penis!"
"You sound awfully sure of that."
"I don't! And I tried to pee standing up like Daddy when I was little and even you said I had to sit down to pee because I was a girl, and girls don't have penises so I can't have a penis, because I'm a girl!"
"I said you had to sit down because otherwise you'd pee all over the seat."
"BECAUSE I DIDN'T HAVE A PENIS AND COULDN'T AIM! You said that, and you know you said that!"
"Alright, fair enough. You don't have a penis. Not even a really really small one."
"See?! I TOLD you! And it wouldn't be small because I am not all hateful inside, so if I DID have a penis, I'd have a really BIG one! But I'm a girl, so I guess I have to have a vagina instead. I think they only come in one size, vaginas. Nobody ever says 'Sorry about your small vagina'."
"No, but now I'm filing that one away."
"AUNT T! You don't get to say sorry about someone's vagina!"
"I don't?"
"NO! .. Because when I'm big enough to tell off mean big people, I'm gonna say it to them and it won't be new if you start while I'm still a little kid! No vaginas, Aunt T!"
"Ok. No vaginas. Can I still use 'sorry about your penis'?"
"Until a teacher tells you not to, I guess. Kinda wish one would. Then you could tell them they're stupid for thinking a doctor word is a bad word."

Her Mom: "What the HELL are you two talking about?!" And then she took the phone away.

Apparently E. got sent home for being "disruptive" because she got into a discussion with the teacher about what to call a penis, if "penis" was a bad word, and the discussion apparently involved a lot of "Stop saying that!" and "Why can't I..?" Really, the teacher's had E. in her class for a month now. She should know better by now.

Kel and I got into an argument whether it was my fault for saying the 'sorry about your penis' line in front of E., or whether it was Kel's fault for explaining what I meant by it. I'm happy to take the blame on this one, though.

tl;dr - My godsdaughter is made of win and kittens, and I am doing my job.
spookyevilone: (bruegel-death)
So, Whitehouse.gov now has a petition area. There were all sorts of 'Legalize Marijuana!' and 'Remove God from (vehicle)' petitions and the obligatory 'Free Leonard Peltier' petition, but there wasn't one for the Right to Die / Death With Dignity / Doctor Assisted Suicide.

There is now.
http://wh.gov/gpI

It needs 150 signatures before it goes public, and 5000 signatures by October 23, 2011 before it.. I honestly don't know.. wins a doorprize? Gets the attention of the Pres? Gets me put on an FBI watch list? Let's find out!

A Right to Die federal law would supersede state laws - currently only Washington, Oregon, and Montana support the right for doctors to assist terminally ill patients when they choose to end their life. The only vehicle doctors in other states have is what's considered 'passive euthanasia', where they withhold fluids and nourishment and the person literally starves to death. This is not a slow process. It is not a painless process.

Death with dignity should be the right of all people. When animals have terminal conditions and/or degenerative pain, there's a point where it's considered humane to euthanize and cruel not to, yet there is no such legal vehicle for human beings when they get to that point. In many states, even suicide is illegal (if you survive it), and most methods of suicide are painful and undignified.

My mother died of complications from Alzheimer's - she developed aspiration pneumonia and because she was not mobile, her lungs wouldn't stop filling with fluid. "Pallative care" in Minnesota equaled withholding liquids and nourishment, providing morphine to ease the pain and suffocation feeling as her lungs filled with fluid. It took over a week for her to die that way. We were lucky - her heart finally gave out from trying to breathe. If we'd had to wait for her to starve to death, it would have been drawn out even longer. That doesn't do a damn thing to ease the pain of watching my mother slowly smother to death.

I swore then: That will never be me.

I had a brain malfunction a year and a half ago. For a brief and terrifying time, I lived with the possibility that I could have Alzheimer's - and while it turned out that I don't have it now, there's no guarantees I won't be right back in that terrifying time at some future point. I made the decision that I would not die the way my mother did. I would not put anyone I loved through the horror of watching my personality slowly seep away. If my brain had started to ossify, I'd pick a date, do all the things I wanted to do, have a big goodbye party, and end my life. On my terms, without pain, with as much dignity as I could muster.

It lead me to the realization that I had to quit my job, because not only was the job the root cause of my brain malfunction by making my blood pressure so high I threw a clot and had a stroke - but I was not happy, and life is too goddamn short.

I got lucky. My brain's malfunction was a temporary thing and the side effects I'd been noticing were actually not from the malfunction itself but from the repairs my brain was doing to ensure it never happened again in that blood vessel.

Should the day come when I have to pick a date, I want to be able to go to my doctor and outline a Final Plan. I want to have medical support so my life ends peacefully and painlessly. I want my family and loved ones watch me go to a peaceful, painless end. The fact that this isn't already an "unalienable right" is a criminal shame that should be rectified post-haste.

tl;dr - Go sign my petition. Pass the link on. 150 signatures before it goes public, 5000 before we find out what happens to petitions that get more than 5k signatures.
spookyevilone: (Default)
S: I do not need more banana bread.
T: Yes you do.
T: Because I don't have any, and must vicariously enjoy it through you.
S: HEE!
S: But I already had two slices today!
T: No such thing as too much warm banana bread, S.
T: Quit being a fucking philistine and go have a piece of bread.
S: hahahah
S: Wait, how does me not eating bread make me a philistine?
T: You are undervaluing the beauty that is the perfection of banana bread.
S: hahahahahaha
T: YOU ASKED!
S: I thought you were implying I was a descendant of an Aegean tribesman, which would just not be cool at all.
S: I mean, Aegeans, really?
T: Would I do that to you?!
T: I mean, really. Aegeans?!
S: That's what I said!

Cut/pasted from the IM log.
spookyevilone: (Default)
$Oldest_Cat went to the vet today to have a potentially cancerous ass lump removed. He had an anal sac explosion on the other side in July, so I thought this was another anal sac abscess but it couldn't be expressed.

Nothing says "You are the most important thing in my life" like trying to squeeze rotten stenchy ass-pus from a cat's anal sac for half an hour. And then the vet responded to my "Where do I lance this safely? I don't want my cat losing control of his ass sphincter and dripping shit all over my apartment for the rest of his life. Which will be short, because dripping shit is not to be tolerated, no matter how much I love him." with "Hey, probably a hideously aggressive form of ass cancer. Bring him in."

That phonecall established (as if it was in any doubt) that Bad Shit Happening To $Oldest_Cat is my emotional Kryptonite.

So today he went under the knife. Well, first he went under an ultrasound and so many needles that his cream and white fur was polkadotted red all over, which was actually pretty cool as a fashion but not so cool that it meant my cat had just had tiny bits of him ripped out with an aspiration needle. I may have to recreate the fashion with something slightly more hygienic, like a Sharpie. Or catsup. Because it has the word 'cat' in it, and it is red, and I can totally find a way that it's beneficial to his fur on some granola hippy blog somewhere. AND YOU THOUGHT I WAS KIDDING! But first he'd need chlorine damage. I can justify that. He's going to need a bath before he comes home, and there's chlorine in city water, and he's used to bathing in his own spit so tap water is probably pretty harsh on his fur. Thus, catsup. Totally.

My vet is awesome. She let me watch the surgery. I don't think she wanted to leave me alone in her waiting room when I was this hopped up on caffeine and anxiety. Leaving me unattended in this state often has interesting results, so she put me where she could see me. And also possibly knock my ass out with a surprise hit of Ketamine if she felt it necessary. Apparently I wasn't that obnoxious. Must try harder! So I got to pet my beloved cat's head while the vet removed a tumor the size of a shooter marble.

So that's what cancer looks like. Fuckin' ugly little bastard. That was the only thing I could think. I expected it to look like a water balloon made of glistening innard tissue, but it looked more like some sort of fucked up cauliflower floret made of skin.

Yes, of course I came home and aggressively ate a huge bowl of steamed cauliflower and pretended I was masticating the everlovin' hell out of potential ass-cancer. It's like you people don't even know me! Or maybe you do, because at least one of you imagined I would do something like this. And I did!

The vet would not let me keep the tumor. I begged, I pleaded, I offered to preserve it myself if she would only turn it over to me because hey, all those biology classes on dissection had to pay off somehow. I tried to argue that since it had come out of my cat, it was kind of like a kitten, only made of tumor, and that the little tumor-kitten belonged to me. She countered with things like "biohazard" and "proper disposal of medical waste". I think she just wanted to keep it for herself. I called it Terrible John the Bastard King of Assholery.* Except I shortened it to "Fuckin' ugly little bastard". I hope she keeps the name, at least.

I said we needed to cut it open to see if there was a hideous symbiotic twin hiding inside, and she did. Because my vet is made of awesome. Also, she needed a slice of it for the lab. But she totally did a dissection on the thing and let me watch. Sadly, nothing as neat as a wrinkled little face belligerently swearing vengeance was inside. That made this whole ass-cancer thing a lot less interesting than it could've been. Probably a good thing - if it'd opened eyes and started swearing at me, she'd have had to let me keep it.

The cat is staying at the vet overnight, because he is not waking up from the anesthesia as quickly as the vet would like, which wasn't really unexpected. She says 13 is geriatric for a cat. I told her I fully expect him to live forever, so that's like, zygote stage in the grand scheme of things. She then said something about his prognosis looking good but we won't know for certain until the biopsies come back and blah blah blah. It's like she didn't even hear the 'I expect him to be immortal and never die. It was in the contract!" part.

On the way home, I decided it would be a good idea to have a crappaccino. It was possibly not such a good idea. My soul is vibrating like a tuning fork, my speech has gone nearly Codeine-level incomprehensible, and I can't sit still. Synapses are firing so fast that it's very hard to construct a full sentence of text without chasing all the pretty lights of other subjects that are littering my head.

This is a preferable state of being to the sobbing wreck I was yesterday. Trust me.

Stupid cat. Stupid potential ass-cancer.





* The Bloggess. Read her.

Crepes.

Sep. 16th, 2011 04:35 pm
spookyevilone: (Default)
I have a thing for crepes. My mother was Canadian and when I was growing up, crepes were the weekend thing. She'd make a big batch Friday night with various things to fill them with, which let me fend for myself while maximizing the amount of time I spent outdoors running amok.

As an adult, I've really come to appreciate the amount of time my mother put into making crepes from scratch - because I am inherently lazy and very rarely willing to go to such trouble for myself. Also, I am incapable of cooking small amounts and would wind up with a freezer full of crepes, which is what happened last time I made them. We've recently had a spat of Creperies open in MN, but their crepes have been flavourless and boring.

A friend recently asked what she could keep in the house that I could eat, so when I was over she didn't feel bad that I was stuck with cheese sandwiches. I was touched that she would ask but the answer made me realize that we had little common ground. I'm a pastavore vegetarian, she's a gluten intolerant paleo. In a very weird turn, there was nothing I keep on hand that I could feed /her/, other than a salad or veggie stir-fry or hummus. But without pita, hummus is worthless.

Looking online, I found a gluten-free pirogie recipe whose pasta recipe didn't immediately make me gag. I'll be trying that later this weekend, I think. I happened across a gluten-free crepe recipe and was very skeptical about it. Mom-style crepes take awhile to prepare and cook, and this recipe looked too simple to work.

I tried it. I was absolutely blown away. It produced tasty crepes. They're more like Russian blini than French crepes in texture, but they're tasty.

The recipe:
2/3 c. milk
1/3 c. corn starch (I substituted a 1:1 mix of tapioca starch and flax meal to make up the 1/3c.)
1 egg
Pinch of salt

The recipe said to drop into pan and swirl into a circle. This absolutely doesn't work. While the recipe produced a very runny batter (to the point I was worried it wasn't thick enough), the starch binds almost immediately upon contact with the hot pan and I had funny looking non-circular crepes. I wound up doing it the way my mother would - pour a bunch into the pan to coat the bottom, wait a moment, and then pour out the excess. Perfect round crepes every time. The recipe made 4 8" crepes. The flax meal doesn't appear to have done anything for the consistency, but I added it for the Omega-3 factor anyway. The tapioca starch helped prevent the dusty starchy taste that I've come to expect with massive amounts of corn starch. It is absolutely not low carb when done the way I do it - tapioca starch is mostly carbs - but it is gluten free and dead simple to make.

The filling I used was a canned apple pie filling. I may try a savory filling of shredded cabbage and carrots sauteed in salt/ginger/lemon juice/sesame oil. If I wasn't a vegevore, I'd do a savory with cubed chicken breast sauteed in olive oil, sea salt, and rosemary.

Yum!
spookyevilone: (Default)
Mel gets a pass. I don't know why; possibly because she likes Care Bears. Or because I like her more than I like you. Or because you have kept this particular aspect of yourself on the dl and I highly appreciate the ignorance you have left me in. Also possibly because I would be surprised if Mel was /not/.

"I started watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.."
"Do not tell me of your filthy, perverse deviance."
"I only watch it for the stories!"
"Which line is it that men have been using to justify their porn for as long as men have been able to find porn in convenient, take-home packages? I forget."
"No, really!"
"You could let this whole subject drop right now and retain some dignity. But I know you won't."
"It's awesome!"
"Yes. I am filled with awe that adult males, formerly believed to be members of the human race, watch a cartoon about giddy ponies."
"Oh, so now we're subhuman?! Harsh, dude!"
"Ah, so .. you don't call yourself a 'brony'?"
".... ..... IT'S JUST A NAME!"
"I see I was right on the money with the dignity comment."
"Only because you feel the need to mock a sweet TV show."
"Funny; I thought I was mocking you."
"For watching a TV show."
"Hm, and here I thought it was because you don't seem to grasp 'do not tell me' and 'you could let the whole subject drop' as indications of which direction I'd prefer the conversation went."
"I thought that no meant yes."
".... This is me, letting you think about what you just said."
"Not like that! I meant, I thought you were being tetchy just to get a rise out of me about a show I like."
"Wait - you like Babylon 5."
"Don't even go there!"
"Oh, I'm not.. but JMS also brought about He-Man, She-Ra and The Real Ghostbusters, so it ties in rather nicely to your creepy cartoon fetish."
"Why do you know that? You can't hate him that much."
"Have you met me? Anyway, putting aside the issue of whether or not I could hate him that much - I don't hate him. I do my research - when I say 'Such and such sucks', I like to be prepared with cites that make my opinion understandable to raging fanthings."
"I am not a raging fanthing!"
"'Brony'?"
"SHUT UP!"

At that point, the subject was, thankfully, changed to the much less controversial topic of whether the Oslo Bomber Dude wore boxers, briefs, or went commando.
spookyevilone: (Default)
Went to a party this weekend, where a very drunk man took one look at me and blurted, "Your face is so beautiful! That is the most beautiful face I have ever seen on another human being! If your face was ice cream, I would eat it right up and lick the bowl!"

This isn't even in the top 10 list of weird things that have been said to me by strangers. Most of which pale in comparison to the weird shit that is said to me on a daily basis by people I know and love. It was, however, adorable to have a giant drunk biker guy thinking my face was delicious ice cream.. and not try to lick it.

Tornado.

May. 23rd, 2011 02:01 pm
spookyevilone: (Default)
Spent the morning helping a friend of a friend (who I had previously not met) clean up tornado debris that took a bite out of their house. Driving to the house was an adventure, because whole blocks are closed off and police checkpoints due to looters and unsafe conditions.

Part of the hazard of living in MN is tornadoes in the spring and in the fall. I lived through one in the 80's that ripped half the roof off our trailer and threw it in the street. This one was different. I don't know how to describe it, but the damage it left behind is different. The neighborhood hit is not one of MN's more affluent. It was just starting to turn around as first time home buyers scooped up and rehabbed the foreclosures from two years ago. Unlike the MO tornado, which pretty much splintered everything and left sawdust behind, the one that hit MN uprooted fully mature trees and threw them at houses, so things are smashed and crushed instead of splintered. Any tree over 10' in height is either snapped off or uprooted entirely, and usually sitting on or in someone's house. It's a very concentrated area - two blocks from the path, all looks well. And then you see the barricades, the police check points, the emergency services crews and electric company all frantically going door to door shutting off breakers/gas/water and checking for people who might still need help. The roads are mostly no longer blocked by trees because chainsaw crews worked from dawn this morning to clear some space. The asphalt is carpeted with smaller branches and roofing shingles and broken glass. Many of the cars that had been parked along the streets were severely damaged if not outright crushed. There were people standing on the corners with signs saying "Food and Water Drop Off Zone" or "Need Food and Water". Gas stations and stores were closed, if they were still standing. Police were boarding up windows and doors that had been smashed in and it was impossible to tell whether the tornado did the damage or the looters.

I am angry that there was looting. I am of the opinion that looters should be shot on sight. This is in part an opinion formed due to being inside a store as it was being looted after a crisis, when I was a teenager. I think it's one of the lowest, most vile forms of theft.

There were a lot of people out today, helping clear stuff off of houses and cars. There were also assholes driving around or walking around and excitedly taking pictures and commenting on the damage and not actually pitching in to help. There were asshole contractors going door to door handing out cards to people who can't even think past which branch to saw next. There were others who had gloves on and tools, pitching in and helping. If it was my house, I know which companies names I'd keep around. People were taking in stray animals. There were some stores open, two little cafes that I saw, that were giving out salads, sandwiches, baked goods and water that would just otherwise spoil due to lack of electricity to power the chillers. There were little kids with coolers on wheels pulling them up the blocks and offering water to the help gangs.

When I left this morning, I stopped at the store and bought a bunch of 24-packs of bottled water to bring with. All but one were given away as I drove toward the house I was helping. The other, we wound up not needing and I gave it away on my drive out.

Have let the owners of the house I was at know that I'm available all week if they need more help. I'm at home, chilling with my neck massager and some cider, waiting for the mental numbness to fade. My brain hit the saturation point of destruction witnessing on the drive out. I remember what it felt like, when it was our house, but that was different, too, because we went in with equipment and stripped everything out and put it back together. I was doing something. I was fine, today, while doing stuff - it was after, on the way home, that my brain shut down, and all I am is a witness to this one.
spookyevilone: (Default)
I've figured out the secret to newer, younger looking skin that dermatologists don't want you to know about. It's simple and you can do it at home with ingredients you probably already have on hand.

1) Go out into the sunlight. You have to go outdoors, into actual sunlight. This works best if you have a beach and a large body of water nearby to help reflect the solar rays directly to your face.
2) Stay outside until you have at least a first degree sunburn on your face. Then go inside, or cover your face in some other manner. If you get a second or third degree burn, don't worry! You can still do this dermabrasion, but see step 3 for more info. Also: Please go see your doctor because anything past first degree is hideously painful.
3) Wait at least 2 days for the burn to settle and begin to peel. If you've over-charred yourself, you may need to wait as long as a week for the blisters to fade - do not try this with blisters or seeping skin!
4) Once the burn has begun to peel, mix up a facial scrub with a 1:1 mix of sea salt and baking soda. This is simple: Dump ingredients in a ziplock bag and shake.
5) Sprinkle your scrub on a warm, damp face cloth.
6) Begin working this mix over your face in a circular pattern, starting with your forehead and working your way down to your chin.
7) You will notice your skin starting to sting. Ignore this - you can take the pain! You will also notice dead skin beginning to clog up your face cloth. Rinse with warm water, sprinkle on some more scrub, and continue.
8) Really starting to feel that sting now, huh? As you peel off layers of dead skin, the new skin underneath is revealed. The salt and baking soda mixture will burnish it tight and shiny, removing any hint of pores you might have had. This might be due to the mix burning them closed like a chemical cautery lance. The things we do for tight, young-looking skin, right?
9) When you stop seeing dead skin on your washcloth, or, if you notice blood on your washcloth, congratulations! You're done! Now you can begin rinsing. You will need to rinse your face numerous times with clear water to remove any remaining salt/baking soda mix. You may be inclined to fill the sink with ice-cold water and plunge your face under. Go ahead! It won't help.
10) Once the burning has subsided, you will have new, very pink, shiny, tight skin! You may be whimpering and/or sobbing in pain, wondering what on earth possessed you to do this, or losing your faith in God(s), but remember: The end result is beauty!

*Brought to you by the 'what the gibbering fuck was I thinking, using a scrub on a burned face!' files and sponsored by the 'if you actually do this, you are as big an idiot as I was this afternoon and deserve the hell you've just unleashed on your face' corporation.


**Seriously, don't do this. No, really. Just don't.
spookyevilone: (Default)
For those of you playing the home game, or who may have missed my first encounter, let me introduce you to Crazy Oreo Man. I'm temping downtown again and saw him again today and he remembered me.

‎"Girl, I ain't seen you in a coon's age! *pause* I'n say that, cuz I'm black. We jus' live longer than you white folks. It's a fact, is all it is. Y'all got vices. Where you been? Or is it, you tell me, you gotta kill me?"

"I stopped working downtown for a couple of years. I'm on an assignment for a week or two now, though. You'll probably see me around."

"That's good, that's good. You one'a the nice ones. Some people, they ain't so nice, you hear me? You are, though. I 'member you. You're so pale, you're hard to forget. Like a vampire, only in the daytime."

"I hear you. Thanks, man. Gotta catch my bus. Later!"

"Later days, pretty not-really-a-vampire-cuz-she-don't-burst-into-fire-in-sunlight lady! Hey! You come find me on Thursday, 'round abouts the Farmer's Market. I'll buy YOU a cookie this time! One'a those big ones from the bread lady!"

"No lard?"

"HELL NO, no lard in it! Sheeyit, lard. That shit will kill you dead! No, no lard! Just a good goddamn cookie! Cuz you're not a vampire; you can have a cookie. You come find me, ok?"

"Alright. Bye!"

-----

I still have no idea if he meant, "You're not a vampire, you don't exist solely on blood, so you can eat this here cookie." or whether he's trying to reward me for not being a vampire to encourage me to continue to not be a vampire.

Either way: I get a cookie.
spookyevilone: (Default)
When last we left our intrepid heroine, she'd given up on $Youngest_Cat, after spending roughly $1800 in veterinary fees for every test under the sun, as well as about $200/month on various specialty cat foods due to some sort of absorption issue that was causing the cat to waste away to nothing. To be told that there was nothing medically wrong with the cat - all tests came back "normal". Except the cat was literally wasting away. At his worst point, he was down to less than 1lb in weight, weak enough that he was sleeping all the time and could not walk without stumbling. He was still eating but meowing all the time as though he was starving - because he was, and nothing in veterinary science could figure out why. In the words of a sibling, "That cat is fixin' to die." Having decided that the $200/month cat food bill was ridiculous, since the cat wasn't gaining any weight back - although he wasn't losing any more, but that might have been because there was no more to lose unless he liquified his organs - Our Heroine said, "To hell with this." $Youngest_Cat was put back on Iams, which, while not the crappiest cat food in the world, is also not the $50/bag super primo no-additives, limited-ingredient raw cat food he'd been on. Because if the cat was fixin' to die, be damned if Our Heroine would let him go out feeling like he was starving.

Proving that the cat is indeed in the most perverse, contrary creature known to man, the little bastard not only failed to die, he actually gained weight back. He's still underweight, but he's up to about 3lbs right now and gaining. He does appear to have a legit allergy to something in the food because he has resumed pulling his fur out on his hind end. However, I would rather have a bald-assed live cat than a fully-furred dead one. Also, both cats now have decomposing fish breath that could stun a maggot at 50 paces. I can live with that, also. To be fair, $Youngest_Cat has always had kitty halitosis. Now his brother has it as well and it's enough to make your eyes water when they yawn.

At this point, I can only assume that I have put any listening gods in mortal fear of my wrath. No other explanation makes sense. The only thing that changed in this entire fiasco was the brand of cat foods, and the cat was not failing to eat - he was eating a lot but seemed to get no benefit from the foods. His brother, same parents, earlier litter, has had no such problems with any of the foods. It remains a mystery.

Regardless, I am thankful that the damn little cat didn't die on me. Live forever, you contrary little bastard.
spookyevilone: (Default)
Minicon 46 are graciously allowing me space to set up the first official fundraising presence for Team Discworld. I've set up a Facebook Page for the Team, so if you have a FB, go forth and click the 'Like' button. If you'll be at the convention, stop by. I'm not sure exactly where they'll have me set up, but just look for the short redhead in the bright purple "Alzheimer's Walk 2009" shirt.

I'm super excited about the table at Minicon. In 2006, Sir Terry was a Guest of Honor and I had the chance to talk to him about his work with orangutan sanctuaries. He spent a good deal of the convention just walking around and mingling with people. It was awesome. I'm just thrilled beyond words that I'll be able to kick off this project at this particular convention.

EEEEE! :D
spookyevilone: (Default)
In honour of the government not shutting down over the GOP's most recent attack on women, I bought a Diva Cup. Talk about girlybits )

So far, so good. I put it through its paces on the first day.

You see, I bought a bike. It's a 2007 Trek Lime, men's version, and it is weird as hell. It's got a 3 speed internal hub automatic shifter. You pedal. The bike makes arbitrary decisions on what help it thinks you need and shifts for you. It's actually quite intuitive, but it takes some getting used to. Back when I last rode a bike - and we're talking early 1990s here - it was a standard 10 speed and I think I changed gear all of twice in the entire time I had it. Which was why my original goal was a cruiser until realization that I am chubby, older, and haven't been on a bike in 20 years and hey, maybe some help pedaling uphill would be a good idea. The Lime is helpful. Oh, so very helpful. I'm just not used to shifting this much during a ride. It was also being very strange and almost backward on the ride today - I'd pedal faster to gain speed to go up a hill and the bike would upshift to a harder gear. I realized after the ride that the bike is meant to be a cruiser and maintain a level speed, and must be gauging shifting with pedal rotation. More rotations = it thinks you're going downhill and shifts you.

We hit two used bike stores before I found this, and by then I was happy to find something close to what I wanted. It sounded simple: Affordable 3-speed, internal hub so it has coaster brakes because nerve damage in hands != trust for handlebrakes, cruiser or mountain tires. I could find all that.. just not on the same bike.

The first store we went into.. Ok, let me express this first: bike people are nuts. I knew this before I began the quest for a bike. Bike people are fucking obsessive crazies over all aspects of their bikes and it loops their brains. It's like talking to a Martian. Usually, a condescending d-bag of a Martian that I'd kick off this planet as an insult to their species. There is a difference between bike riders and bike people. That being: bike people are nuts.

So, now that you understand my baseline for bike people, let me state: Dude at Store #1 was utterly mental. The used bikes were in the basement. The basement was at the bottom of narrow, poorly-lit stairs with no handrail. Dude hops in front of us to guide us to where the 'for sale' bikes were stored, which was appreciated because there was a shitton of 'bikes the store is being paid to work on' bikes in front of that area. Then he took us through the Wall of Stuff. Hubs, tires, gear thingies, other random bike parts, more bike parts, yet more bike parts, shut up about the fucking bike parts you are speaking Martian and I just want to BUY A BIKE, and more bike parts.

We find the used bikes. He points out some of the neat bikes he's worked on - and they were neat, no lie, Dude does faboo work with spokes and customization. But Dude is also, as I stated, utterly mental. He's talking a mile a minute and hopping from topic to topic, so in between showing us bikes and telling me I will never find the bike I want at the price I want because they sell like hotcakes when they get them in, he would mention how he was in a war in Thailand and when he saw The Enemy bringing in a huge gun on the back of an elephant, he waited until they were asleep and sawed the legs off the elephant and knocked the gun into the river and watched for a week while they retrieved the gun from the river.

Yes. Because telling the animal-loving girl in front of you who has actually been to Thailand and to elephant sanctuaries how you killed one? Gonna get you a sale right thar. But then he segued into another bike rapture and from there to telling us how he gave an expensive bike to his friend the dope dealer and hoped he wouldn't get his 80 year old mother's door kicked in a third time. His esteem went up in mine eyes at that, lemme tellya.

Another customer walked in behind us and was politely informed by dude that he was in the 'bikes to fix' and not 'bikes to buy' area. Customer asked where the line was. Dude said "Just come past the ladder." What ladder? "That ladder right there." There was no ladder. None. Nowhere. Unless it was under a giant pile of rusty bike carcases. We suspected he was having some sort of war flashback. Maybe it was a ladder on the elephant, leading up to the giant gun.

That Guy and I fled. Quickly. So as not to get our legs sawed off.

Bike Store #2 was more my style of store. Used bikes out for view, friendly, helpful sales clerk who pointed out that they didn't have anything like what I wanted but offered options on how to turn one of the other bikes into what I wanted for a fairly reasonable fee. When she went downstairs to see (and I digress enough to note, THEIR basement stairs were well-lit, and they did not make me go down them) whether they had a wheel that would work, she found the Trek Lime and brought it up. I took it for a spin. I did not fall on my head, which is more impressive than it sounds considering I had not been on a bike in over 20 years. The bike was a little more than I wanted to pay but under the amount I thought I'd wind up paying. I had them put a rear fender on it and bought it.

Meanwhile, That Guy found a Giant Black Iguana so that if the radiation from Japan gets as far as Minnesota, he can upgrade to Godzilla.

Went for lunch, brought the bikes back to his place, and then took them for a break-in spin.

9 miles later.. I had no idea we'd biked that far. I had also forgotten about my new silicon friend. No discomfort, no other problems. The only discomfort was to an entirely different part of my anatomy and I didn't notice until after I got off the bike. I'm pretty sure there's a bike seat-shaped bruise on my ass.

According to the calorie counter, I burned 299 calories on that ride. That writes off 1.5 slices of pizza out of the 3 I ate for lunch. It also means I'd burned off 1/3 of my total daily caloric intake. I'm pretending the asscheek pain is the death agony of those calories. I am honouring their memory by having a cookie.

The ride was as fun as I remember bike rides being, only with more "AAAGH! It's shifting again!" moments. Now that I think I understand its mentality, I'm going to try it again tomorrow. If my bruises let me.
spookyevilone: (Default)
In 2009, I did the Alzheimer's Memory Walk and the team I was part of raised nearly $3k.
In 2010, my mother died of Alzheimer's and I didn't do the Walk.. or anything, really.. for the remainder of the year.
In 2011, I am sponsoring a team for the Alzheimer's Walk for a Cure.

In honour of Sir Terry Pratchett, one of my favourite authors, who was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 2007:

Team Discworld

Where: Bloomington, MN
When: Saturday, September 24, 2011
What: Walking the 1 mile or 3 mile course
Cosplay? Cosplay or jeans and t-shirts. It's all good. I'm going to be dressing as Beggar Queen Molly.
I wanna join the team! Click HERE and sign up.
I wanna support the team! Click HERE to make a monetary donation. If you can't throw some spare change our way, please help by spreading the word. I would love to have a huge crowd of Discworld fans show up for the walk.

I'm working with some MN SF/F conventions to see about getting space to pimp the team, but I'm starting late in the game for convention season, so we'll see what I can pull together.

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