processing

I think I'm processing, but I don't think I'm doing a good job of it.  I'll see if I can explain or at least lay things out so that I can look at what's going on.

My dad has cancer.  He got diagnosed in August or September and they tried to surgically remove it in October.  It's in his bladder.  They (The doctors and medical idiots) then had to wait for him to heal properly to see if they had gotten all of he cancer so in November they told him that they had not.  They were not successful and the cancer that he has is an aggressive form.  So they gave him a choice, he could get his bladder surgically (obviously) removed and either have a bladder made of his intestine (!) or live with a pee bag or he could get chemo and radiation thereapy and try to kill the cancer.  He had an appointment at the cancer centre on Wednesday to learn about the options and make a decision.  I went with him and so did my mom.

Anyway, in spite of the fact that his siblings and his wife (my mom) all wanted him to remove the bladder and subsequently all the cancer, he opted to try the chemo and radiation therapy and try for bladder preservation.  So that's where he stands now.  On Friday he went for a scan so they could plan the radiation attack and now he has invisible ink tattoos that the radiation will be aimed at for 30 minutes a day 5 days a week.  Or will be once he gets the call to get it all started.

What I'm processing is life and death.  I've never put much value on my life, I have never been afraid to die but I have always been very afraid of dying in an agonizing manner.  I think about suicide evey single day, I like to always have it as an option.  So my dad's decision to not get his bladder removed is exactly what I would have decided.  I do not believe in life at any cost.  The indignity of the things one would have to undergo to live like that is not worth it to me.  I require autonomy and so does my dad.  He's pretty much the most classic case of a guy with Asperger's as I have ever seen.

At the cancer centre we had a lot of time to wait between visits with the different doctors and we joked around.  We're not really the heavy, deep, meaningful conversation kind of people, nor are we affectionate or touchy feely. The only time my dad and I hug is when my mom forces us and it's very awkward.  But we understand eachother my dad and I.  All we want is for people to love us and for people to leave us alone.  I have 3 siblings and my dad loves nothing more than having us all over at his house, and then he buzzes around doing his puttering or sits in another room. 

My dad likes to walk between 5 and 10 kilometres a day.  It was after one of these walks that he noticed blood in his urine for the first time and he sought medical attention.  They did a few random tests and told him he was fine.  3 years later and the blood in the urine was till happening only now it was heavier, finally he was diagnosed with cancer.  My dad only goes to the doctor when somethig is wrong and he is always correct, there has never been a false alarm.  I'm the same way.  In both of our experiences it takes extraordinary measures to get the doctors to listen to us, or to hear us properly.  I think this has to do with Asperger's but I don't know what the remedy is.

Anyway, at the cancer centre my dad asked one of the docors if he could continue his walking, and they gave him permission.  "You already have cancer, so what the heck" is what the doctor said "You're not gonna make it worse."  That makes me happy because the one thing that will kill my dad for sure is being an invalid.  Look at that word INVALID, he would be in-valid, without validity.  What a horrible fate.

I don't think I have my head wrapped around anything yet, but it's always good to try.

All that jazz

I listen to jazz.  I love jazz.  Especially the chaotic, instrumental kind.  I like the unpredictable mess of sound.  Sometimes the crazy, cacophony and randomness of sounds reminds me of the mess inside my own head.

A couple of years ago I went to a jazz club with a friend.  The club was a club in the sense that it had members not in the night club sense.  It was an uncomfortable experience going in.  As guests and not paid members we had no clue what was going on or the protocol required.  We made our way to a table for 2 and sat for a bit before we realized that we'd have to go fetch our own drinks.  One of us went up to the bar while the other held the table. Finally drinks secured we sat and waited for the performance to begin. We were sipping our drinks when a rude man who acted like we were idiots came and told us that we were sitting at Joanne's table and we'd have to move.  We embarrassedly shuffled to the only seats we could find which were cheap folding chairs at the back.  But then the music started.

I was transformed.  It was crazy, all over the place and absolutely perfect.  My friend hated it.  We left.  But my life was changed forever.  That friend and I no longer speak.

seven steps to the wall

Found it!  And to my great chagrin the lyric is "he" not "she" but it's a good song from the eighties.  I stalked Jane Siberry for a few summers back then.  She was pretty cool.
No actual video though, sorry.

A little agitato

There's a line from a Jane Siberry song that goes through my mind every now and then, pretty often actually.  It kind of sums up a feeling that I get from time to time.  I don't remember what the song is called and I'm not in the mood to hit up the Google machine right now, so I'll just tell you the line:  "She wants to write something down, she wants to sing a song or paint something".

I get that feeling of pent up creativity or art bubbling up inside.  And then what?  So many times I stifle it and stomp it down because life gets in the way.  I have too much drudgery to slog through before I can play.  I've always dreamt of going completely off my rocker so that the bonds that tether others to conform with society would no longer hold me and I could go off on the flights of fancy that beckon.  But I am a drone.  As much as I hate schedules and obligations I cannot escape them.  Now I suppose it's about balance. 

My quest is to find that ellusive balance.  Balance is not easy for me, I'm an all or nothing kind of chick. 

I hate my blog

Actually I don't hate my blog.  I hate myself for not being able to express myself properly on here.  I have a bazillion things going on inside of me and nothing comes out right.  I end up sounding whiny and/or sarcastic and bitchy.  I may have some of those qualities, but there's more going on in here than that.

Right now I am stressed to the gills by the fact that I haven't done my taxes in two years.  I keep returning to that panicked state of anxiety whenever I think about it.  And when I'm not thinking about it, the panic and anxiety are there, hovering.  When I am not thinking about my taxes it is only because I am not allowing myself to think about my taxes, so I'm really still thinking about my taxes, you know?  Probably not.

I'm wearing a bracelet that through the course of the day has become opressive.  It's bugging me.  But I can't take it off because I'm at work and I don't want to leave it here.

I really just want to go home, but it would be easier to stay here because if I go home there's too much to do.  Plus, I can't just go home, I have to stop at the grocery store and I should really go to the bank.  I can talk myself out of the bank because theoretically I could do that tomorrow.  Will I really do that tomorrow?  Who knows?  It kind of depends on a kajillion factors all of which are milling about in my head right now.

I am in constant negotiations with myself.  I have brought procrastination and justification and inertia to a whole new level.  For the last three days all I have done is play tetris.  Well mostly....I also did Mother's day at the ancestral home, walked the dog numerous times, cooked meals, did dishes, attended a theatrical performance as well as the daily drudgery of work.  I always go to work, no matter what.

There, that was a minute in my head.  Lucky you.

I am being used as a cautionary tale.

I have a  terrible habit of putting on shoes in a hurry and not wearing socks.  Usually I just think that I am not walking far so it won't matter and then I end up walking for an hour with dire consequences.

In the spring summer and fall I always have cuts or blisters on my feet.  The winter is so cold that my disregard for socks is over ridden by my quest to not die of frostbite.

Anyway, my 7 year old niece apparently has the same issue with socks.  I think we just don't have patience.  If we want to go, we want to go NOW.  I was at my parents for dinner on Sunday and so were my niece and her parents.  My most recent not wearing socks injury was very apparent as I was wearing cropped pants and flip flops.  Both of my ankles have big scabs on them from a rainy evening last week.  I came home from work and changed my clothes, then I decided to go outside and play with the dog.  I popped on a cute pair of ankle height rubber boots (sockless) and went outside.  It was so nice that I grabbed the leash and ended up taking the dog down to the river and back.  A trek that takes about an hour in total.  My ankles were bloody by the time I got home.  I was drenched to the skin, even my underwear was rain soaked.  It was an awesome walk.

My sister called my niece to her side and pointed at my injured ankles.  "Look at Auntie Penny's ankles, that's what happens when you don't wear socks."  My niece didn't really seem too impressed so my sister continued "Those scabs will probably get infected and then Auntie Penny will have to get her feet amputated, so you better wear socks from now on!"

My niece skipped away, hardly affected by the terrifying consequences that her dear Auntie Penny might be faced with.  I, however, was somewhat weirded out.  Sheesh.

Saturday

People act like Saturday is such a big deal.  Not for me, I always have to work so it's just another day.  So I'm sitting here at work just playing on my computer and texting with my sister.  Nothing is going on here yet I have managed to kill 7 hours.  Time just gets eaten, I don't know where it goes.

This time thing is an issue a lot.  I have no concept of how much time has passed or how long any activity will take.  It's funny because if I'm at an event or in a situation where I am not either in control or fully enjoying myself then time crawls.  But when I'm by myself, doing what I want or just going about my business, time slips away.  When I am out or shopping or doing anything away from my house or work I have to check my watch constantly just to stay on track. 

Apparently this time issue is an aspergers thing.  Weird, it's been a problem my whole life and I just thought it was my personality, only now do I discover that it's part of a wiring problem in my brain.  But in reality, whatever the reason, it's very annoying.  I wish that I didn't have to adhere to any schedule other than my own.

so tired

I'm exhausted.  I shouldn't have drank an entire bottle of wine, but I did.  That coupled with the fact that I have been setting my alarm for 7:00 a.m. so I can walk the dog has combined to make me one very tired Penny.

Oh well. onward and upward.  I have finished a huge bag of broccoli, so that challenge is done.  As for the salmon, I have indeed been eating it daily, but I'm getting tired of it.

I'm sucking on a nicotine lozenge, blech.   Why do I have this addiction?  Smoking is a terrible thing.   

The stench

I took the bus to work today.  The bus that I catch is always busy, you're lucky to get a seat.  I usually stand.  I absolutely hate it.  I can walk to work but the weather and my time management skills (actually the lack there of) conspire against me so I end up on the bus in spite of the torture that it is.  Today was no different except that I spotted a seat as soon as I got on. 

So I plopped my butt down in the seat, gathered my shoulder bag onto my lap and stared straight ahead while tensing all of my muscles so as to in no way touch the passenger next to me.  I barely looked at him, naturally he was bent over the tiny screen of a cell phone.  Then it hit me, the stench.  A smell so horrifying and cloying that my nasal passages began watering immediately, probably trying to rinse themselves out.  I was afraid to breathe through my mouth because as awful as the smell was I just knew the taste would be worse. I swivelled my head in the opposite direction trying desperately to find a breeze or an area of freshness all to no avail.

The most terrifying part of this brief encounter was the fact that this smell was familliar.  I had suffered this assault before.  I turned my head slightly to steal a glance at my seat mate, who was still engrossed in his phone (thankfully!).  My suspicions were confirmed, I had met this dude before.  He's actually a very cute boy in his early 20s, he dresses well and looks fine.  But the smell, oh the smell.  He had come in to my place of work a few months ago looking for a job.  We chatted by the door for a moment and when I brought him in to grab his resume and get his number I was clobbered by a stench that was so strong I thought I could reach out and touch it.  Suffice it to say that no matter how desperate we are for staff there is no way in hell that this kid has a chance.

I wonder what's wrong with him?

Maybe it's the vodka...

So, yeah, the vodka could be a factor here but I got it into my head that salmon pizza sounded like a pretty good idea.

Now before you get all horrified, just relax, this is in the hands of an expert. I have the dubious credentials of a pizza pro. I was in the pizza biz for a long time. At the tender age of 18 I worked in the phone room for Pizza 73 , which was a big deal in the olden days. It might have been the first pizza place in Edmonton to have computers and a central phone room and all that cool stuff. We wore headsets and had big, beige computers, it was awesome. After graduating from that school of hard knocks I moved on. All the way to Ontario where I dabbled in a series of hilarious jobs that I'm sure will come up at a later date. But anyway, I knew I had hit a home run when I ended up at Fat Alberts/Ralph's. Fat Alberts was the restaurant and Ralph's was the lounge, class all the way! Such a great place that my (then) husband and I bought a franchise. We quickly went broke, but damnit I know a shitload about pizza.

From there we moved to Calgary, just following the Canadian dream I guess. I landed firmly in my place with a stellar job at Pizza Hut where I finally achieved my status as a pizza pro. So if you doubt my prowess whipping up a salmon pizza I challenge you now.

See, the real quest for yumminess comes after you've worked with crappy pizza for a few years. It hones your taste buds and refines them to the point where ordinary pizza tastes like pure crap. I, my friends, am a connoisseur.

I'll let you know how it works out.

Oh the torment

I upgraded (ha) to the new google plus or whatever the hell it is and suddenly I was unable to post.  So then I had to install google chrome on my work computer no less.  This better not screw up anything else I have on here or weirdly sync everything so that it's all creepily connected.  Yikes, there are things on this computer that I just plain old cannot have attached to my silly blog!  Sheesh!

I didn't post again last night because I didn't cheer up until after midnight and although I wanted to write a quick little something the wireless internet does not extend to the bedroom in my palatial 1000 square foot mansion.  strangley though I can access my home internet from the bus stop which is 3 doors down from my house.  Will wonders ever cease?

Now I am heading out of work to go meet my brother for an evening of improv and drinking.  I will be in the audience, not on the stage.

Already a failure

I already missed a day of posting.  Does that mean that I have to post twice today and bore the world extra?  My blog, my rules.  I will decide later. 

But I did all of the other stuff that I have to do every day.  I can certainly tell you that I'm getting a bit bored with salmon and broccoli.  I'm trying to see if it really does make a difference in my skin.  Not that my skin is bad, it's actually quite nice, but as a woman of a certain age the quest for a youthful appearance is never ending.

My gentleman companion is away this week.  Hence all the dog walking.  It's hard to work as much as I do and walk the dog a minimum of  an hour a day.  But it's good for me, I need to lose weight.  Plus, I acyually like walking.  The problem is the tremendously horrible weather.  This morning before work I had to shovel snow.  It's cold and wet and although this winter has been relatively mild, it's been long.  I haven't worn anything other than boots since October. 

This is a whiny post.  I will cheer up later, possibly with the aid of a few vodkas.  Then I will post again.

More salmon

Seriously.

Here I am again

Yup, the big three days in a row.  How long does it take to form a habit?  21 days?  30 days?  The struggle continues.

I ate salmon, I drank water and the broccoli is there, languishing in the fridge waiting to be cooked and eaten.  I suppose I could eat it raw but I'm not going to.  The dog will be walked when I get home.  as usual I am still at work so no dog walking can occur until I leave.  Just 30 more minutes.

Will I get a ride home, will I eat my broccoli, will I have a lovely evening all to myself?  All of these questions beg to be answered, and they will be.  It just takes time.

I brushed my dog for 20 minutes yesterday and as much hair was coming out at the end as at the beginning.  I did it outside so all the hair is blown into the corners of my yard.  Every bird in my neighbourhood is going to have a nest lined with the downy undercoat of my lovely dog.  And when the birds lay eggs they will be coddled in the cozy warmth and softness of my dogs fur.  Then when the eggs hatch my cat Spencer will kill the chicks.  It's the circle of life.

I did a lot today

The dog and I went to the river

He was very tired when we got home

I ate salmon, drank water and then took the cats to get shaved.  They look insane, I will try to get some pictures to capture the ridiculousness of how they look.  I went shopping with my sister a little.  And then I came to work.  Now I am posting.  What else did I say I would do every single day? 

Yup, I'm gonna do it.

I'm going to post every single day for a while.  I have to get in the habit.  It might be boring to read, but whatever, right?  Nobody has to read this anyway. 

My legs are stiff from walking the dog up a very steep hill every day for 3 days.  In order to walk him up the very steep hill every day I must walk him down the steep hill every day, so maybe my legs are stiff because of that.  I'm also going to eat salmon and broccoli every day.  I'm an every day kind of person, I need habits and routines or maybe just silly personal challenges.

I suppose I should drink water every day too.  I had one glass today, gross.  I hate water.  It's like a punishment to have to drink it.  All that I drink every day are two cups of coffee and a few vodka and sodas.  Sometimes I will have a cup of tea in the evening.  Apparently that's not enough even though I think it is and as I have mentioned in the past, I am ragingly healthy.  I think this eight glasses of water per day is a hoax.  But I guess I will add water to my every day list, gross.

Sometimes I'm mean

Sometimes when I read Asperger's blogs I can't help but think that these people are pansy ass whiners.  Yes, you have a disorder or a difference (which is how I prefer to think of this), but fundamentally you are fine.  Sometimes better than fine.  If you have the skills and a computer to start a blog to whine about how hard done by you are that is proof that you are absolutely not hard done by.

So get your head out of your ass, get a job and contribute to the world.  It's nobody's god given right to be happy.  You do not, by virtue of being born, deserve anything at all.  Some people die as soon as they are born, some people are born in horrible war torn countries.  They don't grab a stick and spend their time writing about how sad they are in the sand, they get up and try to survive.  If you are alive then that is what is required of you!

Not really a review

My sister made me buy this book.  She told me it has a main character with asperger's and that she wanted my take on it.  My sister has a special interest in asperger's because her 11 year old son has it.  He has it in the absolute classical sense.  He's a little genius who can't look you in the eye.  He's awkward and formal and everything else that you would discover if you googled asperger's, I love him.  So the fact that I have it too but was not diagnosed until later gives me an insight that she, as his mother needs.  Or it should give me an insight, I try my best.

So I bought the book and powered through it.  It was good.  Absolutely not useful in a "I want to learn about asperger's" kind of way, but a good novel.  This would be the sort of book that I would suggest giving to somebody who is afraid of the label asperger's.  I don't know who that person is since I don't hang around with idiots much, but I'm sure they exist.

The main character didn't have much character.  A person who has ASD might present a bland facade, but I know for a fact that there is a hell of a lot going on under the surface.  This was not reflected at all.  In my experience people with asperger's inwardly struggle with things in a way that was not even hinted at in this book.  Like a swan placidly gliding on the surface of the water but frantically paddling beneath where nobody can see.

I just finished reading the book, so perhaps my opinion will change upon rumination, I'll let you know.

Tuesday, the most unloved day.

I feel bad for Tuesdays, I have a thing for underdogs.  Tuesday is the poor cousin of the rest of the week.  The only reason people do anything at all on a Tuesday is because of the deals.  Every 2 for 1 or discount deal is on a Tuesday just to drum up some kind of business.

Today is Tuesday and it's March 6 which happens to be the 100th anniversary of the grossest cookie out there, the Oreo.  Oreos happen to be vegan.  They have absolutely no nutritional value and they don't even taste good.  I will celebrate the 100th anniversary of the oreo by not eating one.  In fact I'll eat the opposite of an oreo, which I have just this very second decided is:  A grilled cheese sandwich!  Hooray for grilled cheese sandwiches, natures perfect food and an excellent delivery system for ketchup.....or catsup.

Good but not great

My doctor's appointment was on Wednesday.  I went with some expectations, silly me.  My problem is I'm too good.  I'm too good at being easy, breezy, funny and fine.  And my outrageous physical healthiness just adds to my facade of being fine.  Which physically I am.  I told her at my initial appointment that I am unbelievably healthy and that I'm aware of that fact and obviously thankful for it, BUT that I am interested in getting my head on straight, because it is defiantly askew. 

While I was sitting in the tiny examination room with the doctor and she was going over my glowing test results with me I floated outside of my body and watched the scene unfold.  I could see myself looking casual and relaxed, asking questions and engaging in an apropriate manner and I could see her trying to get this appointment done and over with.  I asked about anxiety medication and she gave me something that most people take for high blood pressure.  I don't have high blood pressure.  She offered me anti depressants, I am not depressed.  But, trust me, I'm getting there.

I wonder what I have to do to get taken seriously?  Should I just let go and freak out and cry and act like the maniac that sometimes bubbles below the surface?  What I truly feel in a situation like that is not to freak out but rather to shut down completely.  I just want to go to sleep.  Next time I'm going in drunk, it's much easier for me to talk honestly that way.

On a more exciting note, it's the 108th birthday of Doctor Seuss.  I love his books! 

Doctor's appointment tomorrow, hmmmmm

Okay, so I had my initial appointment with my new doctor in January.  She gave me reqisition forms for a bunch of tests which I underwent last week.  The mammogram was weird and the blood tests were traumatic, I also had to do the pee on demand thing, woohoo.  Anyway, the results are in and I have an appointment tomorrow.  I'm not worried about the results but I am curious.  When I watch shows like dr. Oz they talk about things like cholesterol numbers and stuff, so now I will know what mine are.  I have confidence that my numbers will be fine, but I still want to know what they are.

What I am really interested in is her take on my insanity.  I told her before that I do not want any drugs but now I am rethinking that.  What if there is something that can normalize me?  Wouldn't it behoove me to take such a drug?  Will my life be better?  Will I get a handle on my lack of focus etc?  I really want to know.  This is pretty much the first time that I have ever been honest (any dishonesty is only by ommission)with a doctor.  I know that I am currently physically healthy and any health concerns that I have are the consequences of the stuff that I am doing to self medicate.  Does that make sense?

Every tme that I have sought treatment or help in any way pretty much nothing has been done.  I know that Asperger's is a condition for which there is no cure but wouldn't it be nice to be able to relax once in a while?  Perhaps without having to drink myself into oblivion.  I've been diagnosed and medicated for depression many times, but I am not depressed, I'm exhausted!  And antidepressants make me feel like I'm slow, wrapped in cotton and very boring.  Is that the trade off that I have to make?

I really hope that she has some concrete answers for me, I don't know how much more my liver can take.

I would like to think that you are always honest.

"To be honest"  I seriously cannot stand when people say "to be honest".  To me it implies that everything else that person has said has been a lie.  I was trying to explain that to my 6 year old neice A. last week.  I think she totally got it.  Now I feel kind of bad for telling her not to say it, she was pretty cute as she was explaining something to me and interjected the phrase "to be honest" into her ernest explanation.

Why do people say that anyway?  Is it supposed to make the listener feel special, as though they are being taken into a confidence?  As soon as I hear that phrase I assume that I am about to be told a lie, or something super bitchy.  The super bitchy part I am pretty cool with, but the lying?  Not so much.

useless day

I'm at work, I have been since 10:00 this morning.  It is now 8:22 in the evening.  I don't have to be here but I'm waiting for a ride.  This day has been a complete and utter waste.  nothing got done, and everybody has been in a pissy mood all day.  I don't know if it's the weather as I have been trapped here in a windowless basement all day.  My hair and body transformed themselves into a fat and greasy mess at approximately 3:00p.m. and that's when I decided to pour a drink.

What to wear?

I'm so tired of winter.  I'm so tired of the way I have to dress in winter.  I look matronly and well upholstered in my winter clothes.  I was going to use the words "winter finery" but that's just a straight up lie.  This is the time of year when I customarily dye my hair an outrageous colour, but I've heard that I'm too old for that now.  What am I going to do?

I bought a really cool pair of tuxedo pants.  They are slightly cropped, or at least that's what I'm telling myself, as I am somewhat tall.  Anyway tonight I'm going out to a semi-hip kind of place and this is what I am wearing:  Tuxedo pants tucked into boots that should be over the knee but are just at my knee.  Did I mention that I'm somewhat tall?  On top I'm wearing a mostly white tee shirt with some kind of anti aids logo on it.  I am anti aids after all.  And then over the shirt I've got a black jacket.  But in order to go out into the world I have to throw my grey overcoat on, it's not fair.  I hate that coat!  It was sort of expensive and it's got a designer name, but it makes me look like an old person.  What am I going to do?

Now don't get me wrong, I realize that I am not in my 20s or even my 30s, but do I have to dress like somebody's mom?  Right now I am on the very brink, the ultimate precipace if you will, of being one of those crazy women who dress like maniacs.  I'm on the fence really, it could go either way.  I might end up dressing like a total freak or else I'll just give up completely.  What am I going to do?

Stay tuned for the decision!

Maybe I want my poetic license back!

So many blog idiots write deep, introspective, suposedly meaningful poetry on their blogs.  As soon as I see anything like that I just click "next blog" and move on.  It's not that I have a problem with poetry per se, but my taste runs more to the Dr. Seussian school of rhyming or the "there once was a man from Nantucket" style.  And so it begins, my foray into the world of silly poetry.

There were mice in my place of work
I killed them 'cause I am a jerk

Then Dave from down the hall
Came and got rid of them all

Do you think there are more of them lurking?
To distract me when I am working

Will they haunt me for the rest of my life?
Causing distress and strife

Or am I finally free of the critters
That cause me such stress and jitters?

It's Friday, but whatever.

Friday arrives and idiots all over are high fiving eachother and planning after work drinks.  Bastards.  I'm in the service industry and there are no weekends for drones like me. 

I did, however, make a special stop at the convenience store this morning on my way to work for the express purpose of buying a lottery ticket.  I don't usually buy lottery tickets, then the lady behind the counter asked if I wanted the extra I had to ask her what it is.  Her answer didn't help me at all, she said "it's 2 dollars".  Hmmmm, I got it anyway.  My reasoning for buying a lottery ticket was to get money, pretty straight forward, eh?  At the beginning of 2012 I put my intentions out to the universe that I want more money so I bought the lottery ticket so the universe can give it to me.  Simple plan I figure. 

The orange people are taking over

The orange people are everywhere.  I admit that I do buy minutes at a tanning salon and do occassionally partake in a few minutes of tanning.  I mostly do it because it helps my skin from getting itchy during a freezing cold, Canadian winter, but a little colour on my skin is a welcome benefit.  But I am not orange nor do I ever want to be orange.  Some of the girls (yes, girls) who work at the tanning salon I go to are the colour of gingerbread it's terrifying.  They appear to be in their mid to late 20s but they're probably 18.

I think this is hilarious!

I just have a mental picture of the real estate agent bringing somebody dressed as Goofy or Big Bird in to view this office space.

Asperger's related idiocy

I'm a wingnut.  I take a lot of stuff literally without even thinking about it.  That doctors visit that I had the other day is a case in point.  I was talking about the visit with my sister and I told her that perhaps the doctor wasn't as great as I thought because when I told her that I had been diagnosed with Asperger's she asked me how long I have had it.  I immediately thought that she was stupid for thinking that I had acquired Asperger's at a random time and that maybe she wasn't the doctor for me.  So I answered her that I have had it forever.  Anyway, my sister laughed at me and told me that the doctor had meant how long have I had the diagnosis.  Oh.  Why didn't she ask me that then?

This taking things literally thing has come up time and again throughout my life.  It's embarrassing, but in my defense I'm really quite clever.  When I was eight years old my Mom was pregnant with my sister, we didn't know it was a sister yet because it was the olden days when people just had to wait to see what gender their baby was, but I digress.  While my Mom was pregnant my Dad told me that 1 in 3 children born were Chinese.  I was 100% convinced that my new sibling was going to be Chinese.  After all, there were already 2 caucasian children in my family so statistically I just didn't see how the next one wouldn't be Chinese. The time came for the baby to be born, and it was a girl!  When I went to visit the new baby in the hospital I peered at her, searching for her Chinese characteristics.  The next day at school, my new baby sister was my "Show and Tell", she just happened to be the New Year's baby so her picture was on the front page of our small town newspaper.  I brandished the paper in front of the class and explained that you could barely tell that she was Chinese.  Oddly enough, nobody said anything about that statement to me.......  I stopped mentioning it after that.

Went to to the doctor today

I haven't had a family doctor since a few years ago.  I had a really great doctor up until then but he died.  Since then I've only been seeking treatment when something is wrong, so I figured I had better find myself a new one and get a file going that is all in one place.  So a new practice openned and I made an appointment.

The doctor is really nice, she's around my age and from Pakistan.  I asked her about the process of getting certified here and she said it took her ten years and cost thousands of dollars.  Crazy!  Aren't we in desperate need of doctors?  Why on earth should it take that long?  Even she admitted that the process of standardized testing is necessary, but the time and the expense?  All a complete waste.

Anyway, I explained to the new doctor that I don't like doctors, so when I come in I will not lie.  If I say something is wrong with me then something is.  I am not an attention seeker, at least not in that regard.  I showed her the big long diagnosis letter and explanation from the psychologist who I saw regarding my asperger's and gave her my medical history and family background info.  I explained my health concerns to her and she is sending me for a big, long battery of tests including a mammogram (dear lord!).

My main concern is anxiety, other than that I am in crazy health.  I need to quit smoking and cut down on my drinking too, but that's all anxiety related.  I explained to her that I do not want to be medicated.  In my mind medication should only be used to treat a sickness and I am not sick, I'm just crazy.  So she promised that I would be her homework and that she would see what she could find out for me.  She also wrote down a homeopathic remedy for me to try.  It's something called Aconite and she wrote 30 behind it.  Has anybody heard of this stuff?

All in all a good visit in my mind.  Hope she's "the one"!

Art and ego

So every Monday evening I go to DieNasty.  It's a live, improvised soap opera and it is always funny.  During every episode there are countless hilarious lines that I would love to repeat, as I'm watching I'll make mental notes to remember certain lines or phrases, and as soon as it's over they are gone.  Poof, just like that.

So that got me thinking about ego and confidence.  Are improvisers more confident?  They are able to turn out a product that is a ghost.  One moment in time it exists and then it is gone.  Are they so confident in their ability and hilarity that everything they do and say can be a throw away because they have faith that they can do it again?  Maybe "throw away" is the wrong term.  Actually no maybe needed, throw away is not what it is.  It's performance art, you just have to be there.  If you are not there, then for you that art did not exist, and those who are there to witness it are richer for it.  I have just come to the conclusion that improv and other performance art is in a completely different category.

Writers want to record everything.  They are afraid of loss.  Every idea or flight of fancy must be transcribed and saved.  Nothing ephemeral with that lot, it's all got to be concrete.  They want to be able to show something for their work and time spent.  "Yes, I was busy all afternoon.  See?  Read this!" 

So who has the bigger ego?  The people who want to save their work so they can show you?  Or those who entertain for a space in time and then it is gone?  It's like comparing artists who work in chalk to those who work in oil.  Is something temporary less valuable than something everlasting?  Or perhaps it's more valuable because it's only around for a short time?  In my mind all art is of value and it all has it's own beauty, but it's the artists who I am thinking about now. 

There is arrogance in either camp.  The casual confidence of somebody who can do something brilliant and has enough faith in their abilities to know that they can do it again, differently and maybe even better.  Or the pride in doing something and saving it so that they can show people what they have done.  Do I have to come to a conclusion?  Because I just don't know.

Commercials for gum

How weird is it that there are commercials for gum?  Gum costs less than a dollar and there are tons of commercials for it.  They must sell a shit load of gum in this world to justify the expense of not only making the commercials but paying to have them broadcast.

And gum commercials are pretty good.  They probably cost a lot of money to make.  Very strange.

That's really all I have to say on the topic of gum commercials, so perhaps the title of this post is misleading.  Oh well, onward and upward.  Must update the world on the state of the mouse infestation here at my lovely workplace.

So far there have been two dead mouse bodies found.  A cat was brought in but proved useless.  The traps are working, hence the dead bodies.  Two blocks of vitriolic, green poison have been placed in my office.  Both blocks have been nibbled at, in fact one of them was so voraciously gnawed upon that it was shifted approximately a foot from it's original position (approximately, as if I'd measure).  The poison is strategically placed at the spot we believe the mice are using to enter our lovely domain.  So if they've been consuming the poison and then going back to whence they came, there may be dead bodies that we cannot see.  I am traumatized still.

It's Sunday, I'm only at work for a little while and then I have Monday off.  Hooray!

Interesting theory

A meme ( /ˈmiːm/^[1]) is "an idea, behavior or style that spreads from person to person within a culture."^[2] A meme acts as a unit for carrying cultural ideas, symbols or practices, which can be transmitted from one mind to another through writing, speech, gestures, rituals or other imitable phenomena. Supporters of the concept regard memes as cultural analogues to genes in that they self-replicate, mutate and respond to selective pressures.<sup>[3] 
The above definition is from Wilipedia!

So memes have been on my mind.  Or if you subscribe to this theory on memes, then memes have been in my mind since day one.  Is language a meme?  Is everything that we do after our first primal cry as air hits our lungs based on memes? 

If I can create a viral meme that spreads through the culture like a rampant germ, can I garner power or fame?</sup>

Sad loss today, RIP Etta James

Rethinking scarves, not really.

I wear scarves, I have to I live on the frozen tundra of northern Canada.  But every time I wind one around my neck my thoughts go to the tragic tale of Isadora Duncan.  She was a dancer in the olden days, which back then probably meant she was pretty out there.  Anyway in the 20s , while in France, Isadora Duncan put on a scarf.  A handpainted scarf which she had received as a gift from somebody who was proabably a lover of hers, at the very least he was an admirer.  Apparently she was known for wearing scarves all the time.  An affectation?  Perhaps, but I'm sure she thought nothing of it that morning.
She also probably thought nothing of it when she jauntily jumped into her friends vehicle for a ride.  It must have been very glamourous and chic.  Not everybody had a car back then.  But Isadora could never have imagined what happened next.  Somehow her long, extravagent scarf blew out behind her and got wound around the wheels of the vehicle.  She was thrown from the car and either died from the impact of being hurled onto the road or was strangled.  Pretty horrible, eh?

So when you don your scarf, whether it be for style or warmth, remember Isadora and her untimely end.

Mice, seriously?

If you saw me rght now here at work, you would probably be jealous.  I have my feet up and I'm screwing around on the internet doing non work related stuff.  But take my word for it when I tell you that I am in massive stress and turmoil.  There are mice here, or at least mouse.  I can't explain why this is so horrible for me but it is.  My fear is 100% irrational and knowing that still doesn't help.

I brought my cat to work with me yesterday and he stayed over night but there is no evidence of any life or death struggles and no dead bodies laying around (that I have seen anyway).  There are also 2 traps that the guy down the hall set for me.  The traps are behind closed doors in case you wre wondering about the safety of Spencer the hired killer cat.  One of the traps has been set off and is flipped over but I am not going to turn it over to check.  I will await the arrival of the guy from down the hall, he used to live on a farm so he is tough.  He said he'd be in around 1pm, so I will commence hanging out in the hallway at approximately 12:50pm.

Even as I write this I realize that being afraid of a mouse is crazy, but I just am.  I used to be irrationally afraid of cats too, and now I have 2 of them as pets.  There is no way in hell that I will ever have a mouse as a pet!  I also used to be afraid of dogs, which I don't consider irrational, dogs are scary.  I have a dog now, so I got over some of that fear I guess, but I'm still scared of random dogs. 

AAaaaaah (that's a scream) as I was writing the last paragraph I heard the trap by the microwave snap.  I can't look!  My lovely and equally paranoid coworker sort of looked but the velocity of the snapping must have moved the trap and now it's probably under the microwave cart thingy.  We are not going to search.  We need a man.  Yes, I am a liberated woman, I can do whatever I want and I expect equal pay for my work etc. but some things just require a man, or at least a tomboyish woman.

Now I'm hearing things and my eyes are darting about scanning my surroundings like I'm under sniper fire.  This is not cool. 

I need a drink.

UPDATE
It is with a drink by my side that I write this.  So 1pm rolls around, still no Dave, he's the guy from down the hall.  So I leave a note on his door reading:" Dave!! Your assistance is required down the hall. Thanks, Penny".  Around 2pm he showed up.  One of the traps had been set off but there was no dead body in it.  The second trap was ricocheted under the microwave stand and there was indeed a dead critter in it.  Dave disposed of the body and reset the traps.  One down. 

You can understand how a drink was necessary.  Aaaaargh.

Same picture twice? Sorry, still figuring this stuff out!

Bed time again

You ever slide into bed beside somebody who's been sleeping for a while? Yuck, just slack jawed, open mouth snoring, grunts and bad breath. I want my own room.

Home at 9:34 pm!

My new years resolution to work less must be working!  Here I am happily behind the computer in my home office at just after 9:30 on a Tuesday evening.  Unheard of!  I also had all of yesterday off and only slipped once and called them, luckily there was no answer.  I might just get the hang of this yet.

Hooray!

I don't wanna go to bed!

Why do I fight against going to bed every night? Is it because I don't want to spend the time that it takes to remove my makeup? Or maybe because I don't want to shuck my daytime clothes and slip into my bed clothes? Probably just lazy.

When I do haul my butt to bed (at last)I will listen to my hypnosis app so that I can sleep rather than obsessing over every single detail of the day and or my life.

Once I am warm and sleeping it is sheer bliss. But worse than going to bed is waking/getting up. Hell on earth, being dragged from my stupor and thrust back into wakefulness. I imagine that it feels like being born. I'm glad I don't remember being born. Can you imagine?

Asperger's is going to be obsolete

So instead of having Asperger's I will now have high functioning autism.  Sounds worse, doesn't it?  Now people are going to think that I am in and out of fugue states with a tendency to bang my head against walls and all manner of other stereotypical autism stuff.  Sheesh.

Not that a lot of people even know that I have Asperger's but still.  I would like to be able to tell people if it comes up or if I feel it necessary, now I will have to think three times instead of just twice.  Most people don't really think that there is anything wrong with me, beyond being vaguely weird that is.  I present very well, even the psychologist who diagnosed me didn't think there was anything wrong with me until I did the testing.  After 8 hours of testing my Asperger's was showing.  I was overwhelmed, overstimulated and fed up.  That combined with all of the test results proved what I had known all along:  I'm not crazy but I am also nowhere near normal.  So the diagnosis was good and I have mostly come to terms with having Asperger's but I am certainly nowhere near coming to terms with having autism.  I know it's just semantics but that is how I feel.

Dumb, eh?  I can't believe this is even taking up space in my head.  What a waste.  I will instead concentrate on going out for dinner tonight.  I shall begin the preparations now with a glass of wine.  Ooooh, I almost typed "a glass of whine" bit of a Freudian slip?

Wee update

It's 1:20am, I just installed the blogger app on my iPod touch, now I can blog anywhere, anytime. As long as there is an Internet connection. Side note: the iPod auto magically capitalizes itself as well as the word Internet. That's weird.

I just had to give you the promised update about the high end consignment store that I was nervous to go to before. Well, it's a nice store and it's got a buzzer by the door. So I buzzed and the lady was a total sweetie.

Too tired to write more. See ya tomorrow!

I need to make more money!!

Remember all those bullshit books from a few years ago?  Books like "The Secret"?  They all pretty much said that you could have whatever you wanted as long as you made your intentions clear and put it out into the universe.  So I'm doing it.

The intention couldn't be clearer.  MORE MONEY, please!  I am tired of working all the hours of the day for a substistance amount of money.  I want to work less hours and have more cash.  There I've said it.  Now what?

While I wait for that answer I will carry on as usual I guess.  I am at work now, it's Friday.  I have been here since 10am and I imagine that I will be here until at least 10pm.  I went for a seven minute tan before work to get a dose of vitamin D and keep the winter itchies away.  I must remember to go again on Monday. 

There is a bottle of chilled white wine just languishing in the fridge here at work.  I keep thinking about having a glass but I must restrain myself....at least for a while.  This evening after 5 I will allow myself to delve in.  What the hell, right?  It's still practically the holidays.  Hah, as if I've ever needed an excuse.  I have managed to work drinking into every job that I've ever had starting with the european deli that I worked at when I was 14.  We sold Jaggermeister there as a stomach remedy and my coworker Carolyn and I quickly discovered that it was more than just medicine.  Or maybe to me it is medicine, liquor that is.  I feel much more normal, friendly and relaxed when I have had a few belts.  It works for me.  I wonder if I could get a prescription.  Imagine having your booze covered by your benefits!  Bliss I tell you.

There is a store down the street that I think I might sneak out and visit.  It's almost never open but over the past few days I have seen their open sign displayed.  It's a high end women's congignment store that you have to buzz to get into.  I wonder if they will let me in?  Let me describe today's beautiful outfit to you: faded baggy jeans, turned up to capri length, scruffy black boots, fuschia cardigan, knee length black leather coat with patched areas from where my dogs claws tore the leather.  I don't exactly look rich enough to shop there, do I?  Let me work up the energy to get my ass moving and I will go check it out, update to come later.

2012, so far.

3 days in and I think I'm liking this new year.  I started off with no hangover, that in itself was a new experience for me.  Instead of drunken revelry or drunken depression, on new years eve we went out for a fabulous dinner and then dropped by my parents place to toast the new year.  Very mature, very civilized.

Then the next day we tidied up the house, ate some food and played Uno.  I won, which is a totally new experience for me.  On the 2nd I went shopping with my sister