Subject line says it all -- it's absolutely ridiculous, but there it is.

I undoubtedly picked up the H1N1 while at Scripps Clinic seeing a new doc regarding my blood pressure -- double irony there, I'd have most likely stayed healthy if I'd avoided the doc, and, well, it was *Scripps*, who we've been cheering for, since they pay Tam good money and provide her with awesome benefits.

Yeah, I've finally joined the ranks of the hypertensive, after having *low*-normal BP my whole life long, including periods when I drank, used drugs, and ate a high-salt diet. The first one to notice was my gynecologist -- I've been dx'd with "Post-Menopausal Hypertension." (18 months with no period, blood tests indicate I won't be having another one -- this was THE easiest transition of any kind I've ever experienced -- oops, except for that hypertension thing. Bah!)

The doc (Dr. Viktoria Shuffelton, the name sounds to me like a European dominatrix, LOL, but she was actually very cool) put me on an ACE inhibitor, "Lisinopril," 10 mg per day. So far, so good -- no noticeable side FX, at ALL, and the doc's hoping she'll be able to maintain me on the lower doses. We'll see what we see with that one -- I'm back to the clinic yet again to check blood levels and get a liver scan and such.

San Diego County has a Tamiflu shortage, with none currently available, so she's got me treating it like any old bug -- stay home, rest, lots of fluids. Keep taking the BP med, she sez, unless it makes me vomit which it came close to doing, but not so far. One last bit of irony: the County has an anti-viral shortage, but has *just* gotten in shipments of...more H1N1 vaccine. Y'know, when the one is too late to help, and the possibly helpful stuff is what's currently short? Heh!

Mainly it's "bleah I feel terrible," sudden unintentional nap on the couch, "UGH, I feel terrible," huddle on the couch wrapped in blankets shivering, staring at the teevee, "Man! I feel terrible," chug Sprite, prop tons of pillows up, go to sleep. Later, rinse, repeat! :o

So I'll be hoping no weird complications develop -- if not, I should be better in 7-10 days. So far, Hel seems to be avoiding it -- he's got one tuff immune system, and rarely gets sick -- he's fetching and carrying for me like Westley from the Princess Bride. "Farm Boy, bring me that humidifier...." Hee hee! ;->

I was planning another big gathering for Xmas Day -- I'm sure hoping this crap starts clearing up post haste!

D'oh!, time for more Sprite and blankets. Stay uninfected, if you can! :*:*

Well, apparently I've got a cat again...or two!

This is a definite surprise to me. We had A Plan, dont'cha know: pay down all credit debt (done!), purchase a four-wheeled vehicle, get a puppy. After Brandon the feral Tom became Brandon the feral housecat, he had a long and happy life with us, but it was a little rough toward the end, having to beg rides from folks to take him to the vet and such (he was asthmatic). After some thought, I decided it would be irresponsible to seek our our next pet until we had a 4-wheeled vehicle -- thus The Plan was born.

It looks like the universe had other ideas, which is so often the way it goes!

We started finding dead field mice in our yard -- there's a big open field right behind our house, with lots of critters living in it. Around that same time I also started noticing a small grey streak, flashing across the yard in the early ayem, every time I opened a door or window. The streak turned out to be a kitten -- catton? -- I'm not good at estimating ages with cats, but I'm thinking maybe 6 mo., very roughly. They could be younger, I'm not sure. They're out of the phase where they're All Eyes, and into the phase where they're All Paws. ;->

First time he let me touch him, I'd opened the sliding screen door, and saw him sitting there, licking the hose. Oh, ya want some water? He skittered away when I opened the garage and brought out a bowl, but when I didn't do anything threatening, he came close and drank deep. I tempted him with a piece of turkey, and he eventually let me pet him. He was still ready to shy, but hungry enough to take a chance. After he ate, he started playing, and ZOMG CUUUUUTE! :D Pouncing at shadows, chasing flies, sticking his paws through the back of the patio chair to swat at branches. When Hel came out, the kitty got skittery again and bailed, but came back later, and eventually let Hel pet him too. He balked hardcore at the idea of coming in the garage, though. I made beef stew that night, and gave him a big bowl of broth with a couple chunks of meat, and he was ecstatic! And yes, he stuck around. ;->

"I don't want another cat," says Hel ... and brings home a bag of cat food. Hahaha! He was so friendly after he got used to us, that I wondered if it was someone's cat, and we started looking for "Lost Pets," but saw nothing. The cat got into the habit of hanging out in our yard large chunks of the day, but he always ran off at some point and stayed gone for a while before coming back. When we found a dead rat in the yard, we surmised that he went out hunting out of habit, and were surprised that he was able to take on something that big.

And then...we started noticing a small black streak in the yard. Never on the patio, not too close to the house -- the black streak likes hanging out with the Rock People (the stone cairn sculptures we build in the yard). Hanging back far enough allowed us to see (eventually), what is obviously and unmistakably the grey cat's brother. Exactly the same size, and where "our" stray had a white underside and grey topside, the new guy had a white underside with a black topside, and identical circly marks on their chins. Definitely littermates, and they do seem to stick together -- which is great. The big dead rat makes more sense with two young cats taking it out!

Tam came by and the grey one let her pet him too, though his brother took off like a shot. "Awwww," she sez, "What's his name?"

Hel (firmly): "We're not giving them names. We don't want to get too attached."

Me (sheepishly) "His name is Eddie."

LOL! :->

Eddie got used to the garage pretty quick (except when the washer or dryer are on -- he's hypervigilant, as strays get). We've been taking him in the house for short periods; the first time, he followed me inside like an obedient duckling, but when his paws hit the rug, he freaked and ran back outside. (I'm guessing it's the first time he'd felt carpet -- not taking long to get him used to it, at all.) He lets us pick him up, although he doesn't like being held. He loves to play, has a loud purr -- this is definitely a cat that wants to be around the Two Legs.

Bro-Cat, OTOH, remains quite feral. I've tried to tempt him with food, as we did with Eddie, but he's still way too skittish. I got him to eat once, by tossing a piece of meat toward him, which made him freak and run ... then his nose started working, and he c-r-e-p-t back toward the food. I stayed still and didn't look right at him, and he crept up on the meat, then GRABBED it and ran a few feet away with it in his mouth, before he'd eat it (watched me the whole time -- I stayed frozen till he finished up).

I'm talking to some local feral cat folks, but this is half of a fait accompli, because by this point, Eddie IS our cat -- he's just not much of a house cat yet. ;-> I tried to dig my heels in -- Brandon was a special case, and I never contemplated getting another cat -- but then I remembered that some of the most awesome things I've seen, done, and experienced have been those little surprises.

The birds have abaondoned the yard since there have been felines hanging out, but Eddie is putting the feeder Hel made to good use -- an above-ground basking/lazing pedestal. ROTFLMAO! I've got a pic, and it's too dang funny not to share! :->

I'll keep my Journal posted about the Gain Feral Cats Trust (and then sneakily cut their nuts off!) project. ;->

( Cat-Bird Seat )

This was a new one on me. I don't know if it's a case where the whole world has already heard of this and I'm just late to the party, but -- I mean, Restless Genital Syndrome??? Seriously?!?

I admit my first reaction was -- Orgasm as a form of neuropathy? Jeeze, my neuropathy is always hideously painful. How'd these chicks manage to luck out?

Then I have to remember I've had serious problems that other folks laugh at, due to misunderstanding. The weight loss thingie would be the biggest: "Oh, you eat 5,000 calories a day and lose weight? Poor you, wish I had that problem!" Of course they really don't wish they had that problem, it's simply the frustrated cry of one who must work hard at something that comes effortlessly to another (even if the "other" doesn't want it, LOL).

Obviously, if one is constantly on the verge of coming, it would be a major distraction, and I'm sure it could be highly bothersome and interfere with one's life to a great extent.

Leaving the science aside for a moment, the way they describe the sensations reminds me of ye olde "pelvic congestion," the supposed clinical explanation for women whose sexual desire hits a peak during menstruation. Supposedly the blood in the pelvic region stimulates the vessels and "fools" the body into "thinking" it's a vescular rush initiated by arousal, and the bod reacts "as if." I do remember very fondly, that "right on the verge" feeling, how I could walk around all day long with a sweet secret, then jump the old man the second we ran into each other, come within seconds, and stick around for about twenty more of the same. Bask in afterglow, catch breath, lather, rinse, repeat. I don't know if "pelvic congestion" is or was the actual explanation, but Swadisthan-centric hot period sex was the norm for me, all the way up through menopause.

It wasn't too difficult for me to sublimate, in the sense that I'd go about my biz, and I got to be pretty dang good at moving around in a highly aroused physical state that I was able to successfully hide from others. The all-day buildup added some spice, and since meeting Helios I'd gotten used to having sex at least once a day anyway, so my experiences in that area were almost all positive with very few negatives.

Unremitting, intracable nerve burn, OTOH -- not so much.

So you betcha, I would trade "my" neuropathy for this type of neuropathy in a hot second. Of course, the woman struggling to lose that last 5 lbs. probably thinks she'd trade with me too, at least until she gets to the point where losing weight saps the energy instead of increasing it, and people's double-takes change from admiring/envious to slightly horrified. I'm sure there's a huge downside, and that I'd be schooled quick-fast-in-a-hurry if I actually did develop this disorder.

I wouldn't mind having a chance to find out, though!

( Article text )

Happy Birthday, fratertaltos! The very first O.T.O. member that I (knowingly) met in person, Lo! those many years ago. That's the kind of thing a girl never forgets. :D

Here's a heads-up for anyone deeply involved with a sub-cultural group: if you live long enough, you will become a dinosaur within that group.

I've been a dino in the "M.S. community" for years now. It has less to do with number of years since diagnosis, and more to do with dx arriving just prior to a big old crossroads in the medical community's ability to offer drug treatments -- aimed at either cutting relapses (mildly-to-moderately successful) or slowing the progression of disability (much less so) -- for the disease. The docs have something to offer, where they didn't before. Efficacy and impact on quality of patients' lives -- not to mention patients' ability to afford $1500-$2000 per month, each and every month, till death do you and your Disease Modifier part -- fade into the background, as clinicians rejoice at having clearly defined guidelines, with first-line treatments and a "whole lot" of "options" if those are "poorly tolerated." There's a definite one-size-fits-all mentality. My own questions and objections aside, the upshot is that I do now live in a world where "everyone" "knows" there are effective treatments for M.S., what they are, and how they should be used. It's extremely difficult to question something that "everyone" "knows," as everyone knows! ;->

And now, to my surprise, I'm find myself a dino in the "medical marijuana community." This past week's medpot dispensary raids, a joint operation of the San Diego County Sheriff and the DEA, are big news locally. Watching D.A. Bonnie Dumanis deal with the cognitive dissonance that comes from trumpeting yourself a proponent of medical marijuana, and then ordering the Sheriff to cooperate with the D.E.A. in raiding the dispensaries, has been interesting.

All the dispensaries. There are none left open in San Diego County. So, see, there was no way she could say the raided dispensaries were "bad apples" without admitting the entire barrel is rotten. So she went back and re-read the language of Prop 215, and stumbled upon the idea of ...co-ops .

Hey! I remember co-ops! In the early days after Prop 215 passed, I went through one of those heady-days-of-youth phases, thinking the world was catching up, people using their heads, laws getting less stupid. It's embarrassing to remembeThere were some fine folks around back in the day -- some of them dead now, some just gone, others still hanging around. Old-hippie types, working side by side with pain clinic nurses and even cops. Light some patchouli and wipe away a tear! But I learned how to grow my own plants at home from them. The cops hipped me up to the Feds' using our gas and electric bills as a clue to who might be operating a "drug cultivation center" in the home, so I decided not to go for indoor growing, but to use the natural light-dark cycles of our own awesome natural climes. So I learned how to plant seeds in big huge pots, and how to care for them -- hand removing pests, feeding them the proper plant food, taking the pots out back at dawn and bringing them back in the garage at sunset. The block was an awesome place then, with neighbors who knew what I was about and approved, and a law I was in total compliance with on the books. I grew, I harvested, I consumed. Wow -- for a citygirl like me, that was a real epiphany. ;->

And then the only real, true, actual, honest co-operatives were raided, back in '96. See, because they were operating exactly as laid out by the law -- one big growing space, rented out through the contributions of those using it, with older, sicker, or more disabled co-op members depending on the volunteer efforts of those who were less old, less sick, less disabled, for the actual plant tending. Nobody was making a profit. It was like Hippie La-La Land, a real feel-good enterprise for everyone involved.

But see, that also meant one convenient location, where both Feds and local cops knew for certain contained numerous pot plants. Oooooh -- a cultivation bust! With hundreds of plants = let's see, if we fudge it a little, we can make it out to have MILLIONS of dollar worth of street value! So that shithead Dan Lungren, CA's Attorney General at the time, ordered raids on all existing cooperatives. In a stunning bit of political misplanning, he alerted the media that the raids were going down. See, back in the earliest days, the only folks who would get involved with a co-op were...all pretty sick. So we, the public, were treated to images of apologetic-faced cops cuffing people in wheelchairs, hustling stick-thin AIDS patients into waiting cars, arresting old ladies with glaucoma who reminded the news-watchers of their Grandmas. "Dan Lungren is tough on crime!" Oh, man.

One step forward. Two steps back. One step forward again. Lungren runs for Governor, with his "tough on crime!" position, against the infamous Gray Davis. Davis trots out Lungren's own "publicity" photos of Grandma in cuffs. And that, boyz and girlz, is why California elected Gray "Little Wooden Boy" Davis in the first place. So in a funny way, Lungren is also responsible for Arnold Schwarzenegger's political career -- LOL.

The other bit of fallout is that for-profit dispensaries became the default, as co-ops continued to be raided. That's the way it's been for the last decade plus, throughout the Golden State.

Dumanis has always seemed to me the ultimate political animal. Sniffing the wind, drifting whichever way it blows her. Working overtime to think up rationalizations for her actions. So now it's "down with dispensaries!" while she tries to claim co-ops will be tolerated. Will they actually be, though? Probably, at first. Until the first whiff of backlash. Then I'm afraid it'll be like "Lungren '09."

When did State medical marijuana laws become a "Liberal" issue? State's rights over the Fed -- isn't that supposed to be the conservative rallying cry? Get the government out of my private life! Don't let them regulate something that should be between me and my legitimate, licensed physician...right? I guess those things are only true if...GASP!...drugs aren't involved?

I'm bummed on behalf of the straight-arrows in the County, who don't know any potheads or pot dealers, who have no room or resources to grow their own legal medicine, because that's who depended on the dispensaries. Dumanis' statement that "we absolutely are not targeting users" is bunk -- who's going to suffer? Users. Employees! Tam's been doing the recent-college-grad-on-a-job-hunt thing, and she sent resumes to a couple of dispensaries. People who had jobs last week are out of 'em now. And good fucking luck getting a paycheck, now that the County has seized all the assets. We need that money to replenish the County's coffers, recently emptied by the State in a vain effort to replenish its own coffers.

It has no impact on me, as I've never been a client of a dispensary. That's cuz I have other options. Those who did not ... still don't. I wish everyone would grow up. But the majority still seem disinclined. So I continue to roam the earth, one step from fossilhood. Just live long enough ... eventually you'll be a dino, too.

I switch on the local news in the early morning, and halfass pay attention while doing yoga on the floor in front of the teevee. It's the dorkiest of the local morning news programs, which is good, because light fluff that doesn't need close heeding is exactly what I'm after at Oh-Dark-Thirty. Yay, Little League! Yay, Missing Puppy Returned Safely! Yay, Street Scene! That kinda thing.

So this morning I go about my regular routine. Only this time, on the dorky local news show, they're interviewing school administrators about Obama's socialist indoctrination slated morning speech to the school kiddies, exhorting them to steal dad's wallet and pass out the contents to homeless folks work hard, stay in school, and take personal responsibility for the things within the personal responsibility realm.

Two local districts are refusing to air it at all. The others are showing the speech, but require parents to sign permission slips, allowing their kids to watch. News guys interviewed the parents dropping the offspring off at school. Nope, not signing that permission slip. Nope, nope, nope. Why not? Because they don't want their children being "indoctrinated."

Blah de fucking blee bloo blah. There are all kinds of parents, who believe all kinds of stupid things. It's not the school's job to educate people in their 20s, 30s, 40s...I get all that. What surprised me most was the way the school admin is falling in line, falling all over themselves to reassure folks that their kids would not learn anything their parents might disapprove of, unless said parents gave written permission for them to possibly do so.

Apparently, Obama is darker complected much more nefarious than Reagan or GHWB, because there was no need for parental consent involved when those Presidents made speeches to America's schoolkids, exhorting them to work hard, stay in school, and take personal responsibility.

This, for me, is ye olde proverbial peacock feather -- y'know, those light things that, when piled too high, can still break the axle of a sturdy cart. This is a deal breaker. I have no respect for anyone who nods wisely at this foolishness, mumbling about their kids being indoctrinated. Zero, zip, nada. I ended a real-life friendly relationship -- not a friendship, but a previously friendly acquaintanceship -- over this exact simple little thing.

You know where I do disapprove of schools' indoctrination of malleable children's mind -- the fucking DARE program. That expensive thing that's been proven time and again to have no impact on kids' future drug use? That program where the teacher encourages children to rat out their joint-smoking parents in the name of love? Y'know....that fucking INDOCTRINATION PROGRAM? Where was my permission slip when my kid was being indoctrinated? Where was my opt-out? Oh, that's right ... there wasn't one.

In 6th grade, my daughter was caught smoking a cigarette in a school bathroom with a couple other kids. The kid who snitched them out only recognized Tam, so she was caught. I'm not criticizing the school thus far -- she should not have been smoking at all, certainly not in school, and she knew the rules and broke them anyway -- yeah, consequences are called for. BUT! She was given a one-day suspension for the smoking itself. Then two days were added, for a total of three, because she wouldn't name the other kids who were smoking with her. Does it sound foolish to say that this interfered with my parental rights? Here's the thing.

I taught Tamara to take personal responsibility for herself and her own actions. I also taught her not to try to weasel out of said responsibility by spreading the blame around. Being a little snitch isn't a matter of telling an adult when something serious is going down, but the activity known as being a "tattle-tale" in my day. And the fact that someone's sentence would be cut simply because they were willing to rat out others -- spreading the blame around -- is gross. Also pervasive (See: Bargain, Plea for more details). But adding to the sentence of a kid who doesn't engage in that kind of weaseling? Shit, not even convicts face that. Just DARE kids!

So, if I disapprove of my child being indoctrinated into believing a parent who has a little baggie of funny-smelling green stuff is an addict who needs to be brought to the attention of the authorities before s/he winds up giving $5 blow jobs for crack, then I'm in the wrong (and obviously a druggie, or else why would I object?). But a parent who believes that the President of the United States is a socialist with a fake birth certificate, attempting to indoctrinate the kiddies into Black Liberation Philosophy is ... appeased. Played up to. Reassured that, no worries, no one will ever tell their kids anything that hasn't been pre-approved by them. "Whaddya mean the earth revolves around the sun!!!!! The Holy Bible says differently!!!!! Stop indoctrinating my kids to your godless communist agenda!!!!!!!!"

Schyeah. What a fucking world.

My maternal grandparents' names were Josef and Elzbjeta; my paternal grandparents were Patrick and Katie.

I get a ridiculously big kick out of that simple fact! :D

We live in a "3 bedroom" (it's actually one and two halfs! =D) 1.5 bath, 1100 sf crappy older house with extensive termite damage, in an "eh" neighborhood. It's not in the ghetto, but it is right next door. ;-> According to Yahoo (via Zillow) the property is worth $346K.

I'd say "for whatever that's worth," except we had it appraised at $340K not too terribly long ago. It was up over $400K during the craziest of the "housing market explosion" times.

$340K is, in my opinion, at least twice what it's worth. At least.

And here's the problem I have with the whole "housing market crash." Wall Street is apparently filled with hyper-vigilant, hyper-timid types who start wildly and run helter-skelter with every breeze and shadow. They would never survive in the wild! These unnatural creatures (who run our current economy) tell us that they won't be able to find their Happy Places till the "slide" is "further reversed," and my stupid house's "value" gets back closer to $400K.

It often seems like they won't be happy till nobody in California can afford to buy a house. In San Diego, low-income housing projects have been shelved, and apartments are at close to 100% occupancy. This obviously means that it's a landlord's market. There was supposed to be some low-income (it's Cali, so it's different -- more like low-to-moderate income. If you make $50K per year, you're eligible) apartment construction going on, but that's been shelved too. If you ask a local Congress-critter why this is, they'll tell you it's their "goal" to have "every American" "realize the dream" by "becoming a homeowner." Thus, apartments aren't going to be high on the Importance Meter.

Schyeah. Y'know, a huge part of our current poor state of the State has to do with those very homeowners, and Prop 13. It's a very "us vs. them" climate. Oh -- I'm not, never have been, and never will be one of "us," no matter how much money I've got or how many properties I own. That makes me one of "them."

Social justice? More like Just Us.

But the house thingie was fun, if a bit disturbing to realize how much info about everyone on the block is part of the public domain.

It was 106 yesterday, and the weatherguy says it'll go to 110 today. It's dry -- hello, fire season! It was just a few weeks ago that we had 80-90% humidity, and I'm reminding myself it really is worse when it's humid ... but it's not doing much good.

It's 6:14 in the ayem, and it's already 86 degrees! :{

My Kool Operator died a painful -- but hopefully temporary -- death.

Hel brought home a shop fan from work (he had permission -- it was broken till he fixed it) and set it up in the living room to keep me from keeling over while he works on the K.O.

Mother of pearl, man! That sucker blows!!! LOL. It's like conjuring tornadoes right in the house. So loud we have to yell to be heard over it. We keep it on low, because medium blows everything everywhere -- not just scraps of paper or magazines and whatnot, it blows Men's Size 13 Steel-Toed Work Shoes across the carpet too. Yowza. That's some power!

Except...I'm sitting there just dying around 9 last night, and practically getting blown right off the couch by the shop fan, which is gushing out nasty, hot air. It was like standing in front of an exhaust fan! Ugh. Ick. Argh.

But I reckon heated air is better than still air. Much better than hot wet air. When it's that humid I feel like I'm wading through surf just walking around the house/yard. The air gets thick, and you have to slog your way through. So yah, I do prefer it to the humidity!

Maybe I'll keep repeating "It's not the heat...." like a mantra, till I can trick myself into feeling more comfortable. Eh. Maybe "I love East County!" LOL.

At least the fires are far enough away so the air isn't totally choked with smoke. There have been a couple times this week when I've seriously doubted my ability to survive this...but so far, so good.

Ahhh, Nature! =:o

PANTERA chases the blues!!!! :->