The Murder Saw

So, in spite of this blog's title, I almost never post about my actual job here, mostly for liability reasons.  It's so much easier to deny you said something about your employer if you don't put it in writing.

But today, I have a story from work for you.  And a text conversation with my husband prompted by this which has to be shared.  And it's lighthearted and funny enough that I shouldn't get in any trouble for sharing it.  (Which is a legit concern, given that I friended my boss on on FB.  But I don't think he was my boss then, and he'll probably get a kick out this.)

So, at work I have the pleasure of running the newest lathe in the shop.  It's shiny and clean, it has live tooling, and at this point, it's only been crashed twice (not by me).  It runs great, and I have zero complaints.  I love running this thing.  But.

I have to cut all of my parts on a saw before I can run them on the lathe (aka "Baby").  And the saw I have to use is...everything the lathe is not.  It's at least as old as my father, loud enough to cause hearing damage (and getting louder as various bearings go out on it), and it won't hold tolerance for shit.  I couldn't get you an actual picture, but here's a similar one I found online:

This looks newer than the one I use.

It's about 300 times cleaner.  Imagine the base being solid instead of having legs, it being white and rust colored, and covered in gray sludge and you've got a good idea of what we're working with.  This thing is janky as hell.  You can set the stop, cut three parts, and they'll all be different lengths.  It has an oscillate setting that you can use for thicker stock--the first time I saw it, I ran for my group leader because I thought the thing was broken.  One time the blade suddenly started bouncing up and down and wouldn't go back up--the piston rod that moved it up and down had fallen off in the back.  The fine adjustment for the stop is a hammer.  A filthy, old hammer.

 

Fine adjustment.

This thing is janky as fuck.  In fact, I had been referring to it as the jankyass saw.

However, yesterday, it tried to kill me.  The blade blew apart, which is not unusual, that being the nature of abrasive cut off wheels.  However, it blew apart in such a way that it knocked the access door/guard on the side of it open and chucked a hunk of saw blade straight out the front.  It was a triangular piece, about 3-4 inches on a side. Lucky for me, the control to drop the blade down is off to the side, and where I'm left handed, I actually stand even farther over.  So I was actually a couple feet to the right when it chucked that piece out.  Which is really good, because it landed a good three or four feet away from the saw.  It scared the crap out of me.  My awesome boss documented it, and we found a way to more securely latch the door, so it shouldn't happen again, thank goodness.


But because of that, I've decided I'm going to start referring to it as the Murder Saw now.  It did try to kill me, after all.  Which brings us to the text conversation I must share.  See, I was texting the husband to tell him that I'd finally got a new time frame for when the Murder Saw's replacement is coming in.  They got approval for a new saw earlier this year, and it's been coming in six to eight weeks since February--now we're finally only two or three weeks out.  I think that near miss may help a little, since they love me and nobody wants to be responsible for resetting the no lost work day accident counter at this point (2000+ days).  But anyway, it prompted the following exchange.

 

And lest you think I was slacking, I have some downtime while the machine is running.

Management is going to love me for the next few weeks. 

Nightmares vs Nightmarish Content

So, it's been a while since I talked about dreams here.  Mostly it's been a time constraint thing--when you dream like I do, writing about them can be rather time consuming.  Plus, most of them haven't been that epic, anyway. (Well, except that one where I climbed that rack at work to get away from the raptors, fell to my death, and the credits rolled.  That was pretty epic.)  I've also been making an effort to remember less, in order to preserve my own sanity.  For a while I was keeping a dream journal and it got to the point where I was remembering like 5-6 dreams in detail a night, and it just got overwhelming.  Now I usually remember just a couple a night, and that's a lot more bearable.  I may recall fragments of others, but the current level of dream recall works well--I still get to remember some fun adventures, but it's not overwhelming.

Which brings us to today's topic.  One of the things that never fails to amaze me is the dreams I have that somehow AREN'T nightmares.  See, I don't know about you, but I define a nightmare by the emotional content.  So, basically, if I don't wake up crying or really upset, I don't consider it a nightmare, regardless of the content.  This gives some...interesting...and strange results.  Based on this definition, the aforementioned dream with the raptors and me actually hitting the ground and dying? Not a nightmare.  But the one I had a few years back where I was at my mom's house, looked out the window and saw three huge, dark, mangy looking rabbits running in a circle around a tree? That was so terrifying it still haunts me to this day.

Yeah.

Falling to my death because dinosaurs were trying to eat me? Not a nightmare.  Actually, it was kind of fun.

Rabbits running around a tree? A nightmare so vicious it'll probably follow me to my grave.

And of course, then there was last night's adventures, which are what prompted this whole post.  The cat woke me up midmorning from a dream where I was running from zombies (not a nightmare).  Shortly after I woke up, I remembered the dream before that one and was promptly horrified. Not because it was a nightmare.  But because it should have been and wasn't.

I was at work.  We were having some power fluctuations, with the lights going off and coming back on.  During one of the outages, this evil spirit came up behind me and started trying to get me to cut my hands off (not with a saw, or any of the dangerous equipment at work, mind you, but with like a machete or something). I fought it off and the lights came back on.  Later, it found me again, this time while possessing someone else.  I looked at it and was all, "I know who you are.  You have no power over me."

Now, logistical and realistic issues aside--when we have power issues at work everyone goes to the cafeteria until it's resolved, we don't stay at our work stations; also, how the fuck do you cut both of your hands off with a machete?  Seriously--this should have been a nightmare. I mean, I'm really attached to my hands.  The idea of losing my hands is honestly terrifying to me, because I wouldn't be able to do like 99% of the things I enjoy.

But it wasn't a nightmare.  To be honest, it was pretty average--just Tuesday, as the husband and I like to joke.  And what made it not a nightmare was the emotional content.  Instead of being absolutely terrified in the dream, I was fighting.  I had control.  I was all, I got this.  And I think that's what makes the biggest difference.  What makes a nightmare a nightmare is never the content--it's that sense of powerlessness. 

And I can't help but wonder...is that dream confidence related to my real life confidence?  Because my current job has made me a lot more confident in general (maybe not at work, but in the rest of life, for sure), and I've noticed I don't have as many nightmares anymore.  I've also noticed that the people I know who have nightmares frequently, tend to not have as much self confidence--that's not a judgement, just an observation.  And it makes me wonder if there's anything to that.  Do more confident people have fewer nightmares?  Thoughts? 

Aren't Those Free?

Tonight I had an extremely bizarre experience that I just have to share with you all.  Don't worry if you miss something the first time, because we'll be going over it in excruciating detail in a bit.

So, I'm in Barnes and Noble.  The husband and I are both total bibliophiles, and usually wind up there every weekend.  Anyway, the husband is off looking at who knows what, and I'm wandering over to stationary and getting ready to look at the rack of random doohickeys leftover from Christmas when this woman stops me and asks, "Do you have a library card I can borrow?"

Now, this strikes me as a bit odd, and I sort of cock my head a little in confusion and reply, "I'm pretty sure they give those out for free."  I have a brief moment of panic after saying this because I remember they ask for an address and maybe they wouldn't give her one because she's homeless or something.

"Oh, I'm from just over the Tennessee border and they said maybe if I could borrow one...."

At this point, I just shake my head, politely decline, and carry on my way.

I wander briefly through stationary, but the more I think about it, the more wierded out I get.  I grab the husband and insist we leave, because there's only so much weirdness I can deal with in any given location.  I tell him I'll explain in the car, because I'm worried she'll overhear me.  Although, as I check out and we leave, I scan the store vigorously and she's nowhere to be seen.  It's like she disappeared into a pocket dimension or something.  When we get to the car, I tell the husband what happened, and the more I think about it, the more WTF the whole thing was.

First of all, WE WERE IN A BOOKSTORE.  Why do you need a library card in a bookstore?!  What the hell?  Just buy the damned book!  Maybe she meant the discount card and just used the wrong word.  But if that were the case, her being from Tennessee wouldn't matter because B&N's discount card is good in all fifty states and I'm pretty sure you can sign up for it at any store.  Also, if that were the case, she would've corrected me when I made the "they give those out for free" comment.

Second, WHO BORROWS A LIBRARY CARD?!  They're free!  Even to the kiddies!  On a related note, who would loan one?  What if the person you loaned it to never returned the books?  You'd be on the hook for the replacement cost (which could potentially be really expensive if they borrowed something rare or out of print.)  And I'm not even going into the logistics of getting the card back.

Third, WE WERE THREE MILES FROM THE CLOSEST LIBRARY.  That's not exactly across town, but it's quite a ways away.  I mean, there were a lot of closer places and shopping centers she could have gone to.

Fourth, EVERY SINGLE LIBRARY  IN TOWN CLOSED AT 5PM.  It's Sunday, the library closes early.  I can't give an exact time for the incident, but it was just past 7:45pm when we got to the car, so basically the library had been closed for over two and a half hours when this happened.  Had she spent the last two hours looking for someone to loan her their card?  WTF?!

Fifth, WHERE THE FUCK DID SHE GO?  Maybe she went to the bathroom, or was in a different aisle.  But the fact that she just disappeared afterwards is super suspect.

And finally, THE LIBRARY'S NOT EVEN OPEN TOMORROW.  I noticed this when I looked up the hours online.  Tomorrow is MLK's birthday, so they're closed.  Was she just going to take my card for like a day and a half or what?  What.  The.  Fuck.

Given the location of our B&N, we're thinking her plan was to borrow someone's card to checkout some books and then maybe try to sell them back at the nearby used bookstore.  If that was the case, I'll at least give her credit for not using her own card, like the guy who got caught trying to sell library books while I worked there did.  But still, there was absolutely nothing about whatever she was trying to do that wasn't sketchy as hell.

Doughnuts Are Not the Solution

Growing up, I had never really thought of Kentucky as being in the Bible Belt, even though I know it technically is.  I mean, there are churches pretty much everywhere, but when you grow up with that, you think it's normal--plus it's waaaay worse further south.
But since we moved into our house a few years back, it's been a lot more obvious.  There's been a steady stream of door to door evangelizers, although we haven't had any at all this year--perhaps my no soliciting sign accompanied by me saying, "You're selling Jesus.  That counts," did the trick there.  We also routinely get mailers from area churches and flyers left on our door.

Now, typically the flyers are either friendly and welcoming, or tracts demonizing Catholic.  There was also that one time we were greeted by a choose your own adventure style copy of the Gospel of John (Read verses 32-34, then turn to verses 2-6, etc).  That was amusing.  Also, if the author didn't leave directions, you should probably assume that the book was meant to be read in the order it was written.  Just saying. 

The mailers, on the other hand, are pretty much always invitations to come to services.  I have no problem with this approach--it's less invasive than coming to my door, and it's super easy to just toss them in the recycling bin.  But every once in a while, one comes in that is just so misguided and insulting that I kind of want to scream.

Like this one:

 

Because nothing brings people to Jesus like coffee and donuts.

On one hand, I can kind of see the logic.  Everyone likes coffee and donuts.  Services are usually in the morning, so it makes it easier to get up if you can get breakfast while you're at church.

On the other hand...this is your big draw?  I should come to your church for donuts and a Starbucks card?  I'm not sure whether to be insulted that you think I'm that stupid, or sad that you're that out of touch.  It's a church for crying out loud.  People should come to it because of the message you're preaching.  Christianity is about faith, not material things.  They should be coming to your church because they believe in your religion, not for fucking doughnuts. 

But hey, people are leaving Christianity in droves.  Maybe this will help get them back?

You have got be fucking kidding me.  If you honestly think that doughnuts and coffee will get people back into the church, I've got a fantastic bridge to sell you.  People are leaving the church because it lacks substance.  They're leaving because they have questions that aren't getting answered.  They're leaving because of inconsistencies between doctrine and scripture.  They're leaving because they're tired of hypocrisy.  They're leaving because what they hear in church is inconsistent with what they know in their hearts.  What's coming from the pulpit doesn't jive what their personal experience of God.  In fact, their personal experience of God is usually written off--scripture is more important.  People are leaving because the most vocal Christians are also the most hateful.  People are leaving because they're tired of serving a church that doesn't serve them back.

Having a flashy band and special effects isn't going to fix any of that.  A pastor with jeans and tattoos isn't going to fix that.  Sending out mailers to let people know that, "Every Sunday is Casual Sunday!" (the last one we got from this church) isn't going to solve the problem.  Bribing people with doughnuts and Starbucks cards sure as shit isn't going to solve the problem.  At best, you'll get people who just show up for that.  Personally, my time is worth more.  Literally.  An hour at work will get me a lot more than a doughnut and $5 at Starbucks.  If churches want to get butts back in the pews, they're going to have to admit to themselves why those butts left in the first place.  And it wasn't because they didn't have doughnuts.

It's also not because we don't know what doughnuts are.

Awkward Work Dreams And Other Stories

So, let's get back to our roots here--I mean, dreams are in the subtitle of this blog, and I have them like every night.  Plus, why waste a good ready made story, especially the one I had last night?

Since I started my current job, I've had a lot of work dreams about it.  Like an unusual number, for me at any rate--generally my dreams have been more adventure oriented.  I blame the excessive input of science fiction, fantasy, and superhero books, TV, and comics.  Most nights I'm saving the world from the whatever, or being chased by the whoever.  But lately, there've been a lot of work dreams.  Current job work dreams (as opposed to OMG WHY AM I BACK AT FAZOLI'S??!!).  These range from pleasantly bizarre (the one where half of the machine shop was a Chinese restaurant), to annoyingly ordinary (I feel like I should get paid for putting in a shift in my sleep), to well, last night.

Last night involved dinosaurs.  At work.

Have I mentioned that I work as a CNC machinist, not a paleontologist?  And yet, somehow, last night they were excavating three baby t-rexes near the store room. 

Three live baby t-rexes.

 Baby T-Rexes.  The fact that this is a picture of velociraptors is not lost on me.

One of them was going to be donated to a museum or a zoo or something for the science, and we were going to keep the other two for...something....  I don't know what.  In real life we make pneumatic cylinders.  I have no idea what possible application dinosaurs could have to that.  Anywho, the first one sort of starts running around, and I'm like, wow, this cannot end well, I'm getting the fuck out of here.  So, I run through the stock room, and I realize, I'm not making it out of here before those things get to me.  I looked around at my options, and immediately decide that the shelves are my best bet.  Sure, they might be able to climb up the chain link fence (even in the dream I wondered why the store room shelves suddenly had fencing in front of them all the way up--I guess Dreamlands work had been having shrinkage issues or something), but they would go after the easy prey on the ground first.  So I climb the fence.  Partway up, this black guy from the office sees me, and thinks I have the right idea, and he starts climbing, too.  We make it to the top and start clambering around on boxes.  He just sort of collapses on a couple, and then falls.  (We're talking about like 20-30 ft racks.  He did not survive.)  I'm like, damn, and I settle in behind some boxes and lean back to get comfy, at which point I discover that the boxes behind me are much, much lighter than I thought and I go down, too.  At some point in all this, the thought crosses my mind, "Well, I suppose it's better than getting eaten by dinosaurs, right?" 

Then boom, I hit the ground with a resounding thud, breaking every bone in my body and, well, I died.

And then  everything went white and the credits started rolling.

And then I woke up.

On a side note, I think the credits may have been in Japanese and may have included God and at least one of the archangels (St. Michael, specifically).  Also worth noting is that this somehow did not have the proper emotional content to qualify as a nightmare.  It doesn't count as a nightmare unless I wake up crying and/or whimpering.  I actually wouldn't even consider this a bad dream.  But the one the other night where I was being given free kittens and then this giant bug (imagine something somewhere between a shrimp, a chest burster, and a really big, brown silverfish and you've got the idea) ran across the floor and then it was on my arm and I couldn't get it off, that was a nightmare. 

Giant bug on my arm=whimpering and clutching the husband for emotional support

Actually falling to my death=Tuesday

Sweet dreams, everybody!

Various Updates And A Story About A Camel

Hey kids!
So, it's been forever since I posted anything, and while I generally prefer not to do the whole, OMG, sorry for not posting in forever posts, I feel like it's been long enough to warrant it in this particular case.  So this one may be a little whiny and annoying, for which I sincerely apologize.  Feel free to skip to the bit about the camel.

I've been pretty busy with work (for those who don't know, I started my first "real" full time job around a year and a half ago), and my schedule has been kinda bizarre.  It's been a regular bizarre, at least, unlike retail (where a schedule that involves clopening is a real possibility), and I've had my weekends off, but second shift is a struggle, let me tell you.  I would also like to point out that you can, indeed, get used to anything, to the point where my scheduled work time of 3:18-11:48 seems perfectly normal now (there's a lot of industry in the area, and apparently all the businesses got together to stagger their start times).  Anywho, this leaves me with the awkwardness of either having all my free time before work, which makes it hard to enjoy, having it all after work, when everything is closed, or splitting it up and never being quite right.  I have opted for the latter, mostly because the idea of sleeping until 2pm everyday just seems wrong.  Either way, I haven't had a lot of free time, which means some of my hobbies get neglected more than others.  Couple that with the sheer exhaustion of actually working 40 hours a week, much of which is spent standing on the hardest concrete you've ever seen (no, seriously, the concrete floor where I work is harder than the one where you work.  Pretty sure it has to be to support the weight of all the machinery and forklifts and other crap), and most of the week I'm too tired to do anything.  I now have a better understanding of the phrase "working for the weekend" than I ever wanted.
In addition to the time issues, I also have additional social awkwardness in that, while all of my coworkers are wonderful people and very much like family, they're also all from a very different background, so there's not a lot of common ground.  It's a little isolating.  Couple that with the actual, physical isolation of the work itself (back in the machine shop area we're all pretty much in our respective corners running our machines), and my social skills--and verbal acuity--have taken a bit of hit.  When you're not using words all the time, it can get hard to string together a cohesive sentence.

The other reason is actually fairly ironic.  I've noticed an increasing toxicity on the internet, and it's really not something I want to contribute.  I'm saying things have to be rainbows and butterflies all the time, but there is a crap ton of negativity, and I kind of noticed a lot of my posts kinda heading in that direction.  While I like to think I'm vaguely entertaining in my snark, I'd like to have a more positive focus (or at least a more thought provoking one) and well, most of my stories lately are either really boring or kinda bitchy.
I do have a number of topics I'd really like to cover that I can do so in a manner consistent with the direction I want to go, but they're pretty massive subjects, and getting started and keeping them somewhat concise has been a little tricky--if you're curious about some of the somedays, they include but are not limited to: sexism (what it is and is not), women in STEM (this is actually kind of personal, as machining kinda falls under that umbrella and there are very few women in the field), Christian fundamentalism and witchcraft (It's only been fairly recently that I've been exposed to fundamentalism and it is bizarre and baffling.  Of particular note is how disturbingly misinformed this group seems to be about what witchcraft actually consists of), and the value problem in the arts (we love nice art, and music, and TV, but we don't want to pay for it and thus allow artists to afford to continue making it).

That said, I appreciate your patience with me, as always, and hope you'll continue checking back from time to time.

THE BIT ABOUT THE CAMEL

I promised you a camel, and gosh darn it, you're going to get one.

The other night I had this dream. (You should have expected it to start this way--how else am I going to have an entertaining story about a camel?)  And in this dream I was running through this palatial maze-like house (a common theme, actually), and I was trying to find my way out.  The owner was going to do something bad to me, like evil science experiments or something.  Anyway, I find this door and I go through it, and find myself in this petting zoo.  Well, it's still on the estate, so I go running through it, trying to find my way out, and there's like sheep and stuff all in these pens, when suddenly, I feel this tug.

A camel is eating my panties.

While I'm wearing them.

And not in the sexy way (which would just be weird and definitely verging into nightmare territory), but in an I'm a fucking camel and I'm going to give you the worst fucking wedgie of your life because I'm an asshole kind of way.  Seriously, I was still wearing pants.  Asshole camel.

"You ate her panties?  Dude, that's hilarious!  Wish I'd thought of that!"

Endometriosis Awareness Month

So, normally, I really hate awareness campaigns.  I mean, let's be honest, most of them are for things that everyone is already aware of (like breast cancer) and, generally speaking, our time and money would be better spent looking for solutions to the various problems we're supposed to be aware of.  Seriously, buying something pink for breast cancer awareness is kind of stupid when you could just donate that money to an actual cancer research fund (I have a friend who recently kicked some breast cancer ass who agrees with me on this).

But, every now and again, you do get something that the majority of people don't know about, and in those cases an awareness campaign can be helpful.  After all, you can't fix a problem if people don't know it exists.  And this month's awareness topic is one that I'm more familiar with than I'd like to be--Endometriosis.

Endometriosis is one of those problems that's not widely known.  I mean, it should be--since I was diagnosed with it, it seems like everyone I know knows another woman who has it.  But there's no cure, they don't know what causes it, and, frankly, the available treatment options suck balls.  We're not even sure exactly how many women suffer from it because the only way it can be definitively be diagnosed is surgically.

Here are some of the few things we do know about endo:

• Endometriosis is when, for whatever reason, the tissue that normally grows inside the uterus and sheds every month grows outside of the uterus instead. 
• The most common symptom of endo is pain, typically in the pelvic region.  The amount of pain appears to be unrelated to the severity of the disease.  This pain occurs mostly frequently during a woman's menses, but can happen at any time of the month.  It can even be constant instead of only being for a few days at a time.
• There is no cure.  Many endometriosis cases end in a hysterectomy, but it is possible for it to recur if all of the endometrial growths are not removed.
• The "gold standard" for treatment is laparoscopic surgery. This is often follow by hormonal treatments (i.e. birth control or other medications) to prevent it from coming back.
• Endometriosis can cause infertility--in the same vein, many women who suffer from it can still have children with few or no complications.

Like many "invisible" diseases endometriosis causes a host of other problems for those who suffer from it.  There are the typical emotional struggles anyone who suffers from chronic pain experiences--depression, despair, and hopelessness--as well as increased absences from work or school.  Worst of all is probably the way in which endometriosis symptoms tend to be trivialized as "girl problems."  Indeed, there is nothing quite as awful as being in excruciating pain and having it brushed off as PMS.  Personally, I've been fairly lucky--at the same time, I have a very limited number of personal days--for more than that, I have to have a doctor's note.  For endometriosis related issues, this is, frankly, ridiculous.  There's not really anything a doctor can do about it other than give me pain killers (which will either render me insensible or not touch the pain) and look at me like I'm crazy for wanting a doctor's note for menstrual cramps.  Once I've been there a year, I'll be eligible for additional days off through FMLA, but, in the meantime, I just have to hope that my monthlies stay bearable.  And I'm lucky.  There are women out there who can't work at all due to the pain.

Endometriosis is a very serious, and very real problem that most people don't even know about.  By increasing awareness about it, we can make life easier for those who suffer from it and hopefully increase funding to research so we can find a cure for it.  This is not something anyone should have to deal with, and if we can prevent future generations from suffering like this, then maybe our pain won't be for nothing.

Linkfest for more information:

Mayo Clinic fact sheet on Endometriosis
Endometriosis.org
Endometriosis Foundation of America
Endometriosis Research Center

 

Getting To Know You....

So, a buddy of mine recently nominated me for a Leibster award. Long story short, it seems to be a sort of pass it along, let's increase your traffic sort of thing.  Which is kinda cool (Thanks, Debi!).  Of course there are rules for accepting your award but I'm lazy and withdrawn so I'm not really up to following them.  However, among these rules was answering a series of questions posed by your nominator.  Well, my nominator came up with some pretty darn good questions and I thought it might make for a nice little random facts about me post.  So here goes!

1. If you could vacation anywhere in the world, and money was not an issue, where would you go and why?

 I would go to Europe.  Firstly for the obvious reasons--the art, the architecture, the history, and the castles.  High points would include Pompeii, the Vatican, and of course the Louvre (I'd buy my way to the front of the line).  I would also try to get in as many concerts as I could--many of my favorite bands are from Germany, Finland, Norway, Spain and the like, and they don't often make it to the states.  I'd also like to visit Nitra, Slovakia--my great great grandmother (maybe three greats) was from there and it would be neat to see where my ancestors were from.

2. If you had a time machine, and could go to any time, past, present, or future, when would you go and why?

I have to pick one time?  Just one?  I don't know if I could do that.  I mean, I'd love to visit ancient Greece, or even Rome to see all  of the cool ruins while they were being used.  It'd also be really interesting to see how similar/different the people were. I'd also like to visit the 1930's-1940's for the fashion.  And, on a lark, I'd like to go really far into the future, maybe like a million years, just to see what's there.  Will we have destroyed the planet?  Will humans still exist?  What will the dominant life form be if we don't?

3. Do you have any phobias?

I'm pretty severely claustrophobic.  Like, not just small spaces phobic, but being trapped phobic.  It's why I don't do well in large crowds and why I usually try to sit on the end of the row at the movies.  Even though I know I won't need to escape, knowing that I can makes a world of difference.

I'm also not real great around bugs, although I've gotten much better about spiders since they infested my bushes this summer and started stalking me.  (It was a living in terror or learn to  love them sort of thing.)  Oogie Boogie from Nightmare Before Christmas is and always will be one of the most terrifying things EVER.

4. Who is your favorite author?

Again, just one?  So hard.  I have a lot of favorites, but if I could only read books by one author, I'd probably go with Andre Norton.  She wrote hundred of books in multiple genres, mostly scifi and fantasy, but she also wrote for younger readers and did some gothicky type stuff, too.  A legend in the field and one of the first women to write science fiction, she knew how to write a good yarn.  Many of her books have a central character who doesn't really fit in, which is definitely something I can relate to.  If I had a bucket list, one of the things on it would be to acquire all of her books.  If I count my mom's books (which will one day be mine), I'm less than 20 titles away.

 5. Who is your favorite artist?

I know it's kind of sophomoric and common, but I love Vincent Van Gogh.  I like a painting you can feel.  And because I have no respect for numbers, I also have a great fondness for Alexander Calder, who not only made some of the most amazing mobiles, but who also did some very nice jewelry work.

6. Where is your favorite place to spend time with friends?

Based on where I currently spend time with my friends, it would seem to be restaurants or my house.  I like hanging out over a meal because you have something to fill in the awkward spaces and if you get tired you have a good excuse to leave.  

7. What makes you weep with laughter?

 I'm not really sure.  Usually I weep out of despair, not laughter.  It does happen, but the source is fairly random.  Usually the stuff I get the biggest laugh out of is witty, smart, and kind of absurd and over the top.  The type of humor in shows like Better Off Ted is the closest thing I can think of, as well as situational humor where it's only funny if you were there.

8. What is the first thing that you notice about someone that makes you want to know them better?

I don't notice what I notice.  I tend to function pretty intuitively, so it varies wildly.  Sometimes someone will look really friendly, or it'll be something they said, and sometimes they just feel like they might be a kindred spirit.  I think it really depends on the person.

9. What skill that you lack, do you most wish you had?

 This is a hard one.  I have a lot of skills and an alarming knack for picking up new ones--if I want to do something, I just learn how.  I have noticed that physical skills, like dancing, are a lot harder for me to pick up, but I'm not sure if that's a most desired skill for me.  Maybe something more practical, like time management?  Or maybe something that better compliments my other skills, like woodworking (as many media as I work in, wood is my kryptonite--it just doesn't work right for me).  Or maybe a more intrinsic skill like not being so damn anxious all the time.

10. Do you like to cook, and is there a favorite dish you like to make?

Not really.  I like the idea of cooking, and I enjoy making things, but somehow, when I have to make it to eat it turns into work.  However, I will occasionally go to the effort of making potatoes au gratin with ham, which is my favorite food.  And I'm not talking about the crappy kind in a box, either.  I'm talking, peel the potatoes, make the sauce from scratch potatoes au gratin.

What Do You Do?

So, the other day I had a conversation with one of my coworkers that resulted in mutual pity for completely different reasons.  I usually try to avoid conversations with this particular lady because it rarely ends well, but there's only one vending machine with Dr. Pepper in it, so sometimes it's unavoidable.  Anyway, her end of the conversation ended with pity for me because I have no maternal instinct and can't see the joy in having children.  I ended up pitying her because she cannot believe that a woman can have a fulfilling life without having children and that she apparently has no curiosity about the world at all.  In my defense, I pointed out that there is a whole world out there to explore--I was rebuffed with, "You're working here."

"I'm only here 40 hours a week," was my response. 

And that's the thing--a lot of my coworkers (not just this one) love to take advantage of overtime because, "What else am I going to do?"

What else aren't you going to do?  We have such a wealth of culture and history.  We have thousands and thousands of years to look back on and explore.  Don't like history?  That's okay.  We have a vast natural world that you can explore with billions of plants and animals.  Think nature's messy?  Explore the city.  Mankind has built so many amazing playgrounds (I use that term very loosely) with massive buildings, roads, and other oddities.  Want to escape from reality?  We have thousands of years worth of stories that we've been telling ourselves.  You could spend a lifetime hearing, reading, and watching them.  More interested in other people?  You could spend another lifetime watching them and trying to figure out what makes them tick.  Want a more active role?  We've developed a gajillion different sports that you can play with others or by yourself--you could spend your time finding the limits of the human body.  Are you a doer but not into sports?  As a species we've figured out how to use a wide variety of tools.  Why not pick up a new skill?  You can go for something practical, like cooking, knitting, or woodworking, or you can go for something more expressive with the arts.  Add some beauty to the universe by learning to play an instrument or learning how to paint.  Does life somehow seem like it's not enough?  We have untold religions and spiritual viewpoints that you could explore.  Find out what life's really all about--are there really astral planes to explore, or are they all in your head?  And how does your head have that much room in it, anyway?

The point is, I have always been an extremely curious person.  I want to know everything  (even though I know there are some things I'm better off not knowing).  And I realize that's a little out there.  But how can people not want to know anything?  Even if it's just learning new recipes and reading harlequin romance novels, how can a person not want to know more about something?  This is the 21st century.  We've got most the basics covered--you no longer have to spend all day hunting for food and finding shelter.  How can you confine yourself to the basics of work and sleep?  And I get that taking care of your family is hard work, too--but why not bring them along for the ride?  I'm not saying you have to have wacky adventures every day, but maybe, every once in a while, instead of staying in with the kids and inactively watching TV (because you can actively watch, and you can just veg out) you could take a day trip somewhere--hiking, a boring historical site, even just out miniature golfing.  Even if you're not up to going out after a long day's work, read a book, or do something quiet.  Do something more than just exist.  Even a movie as dysfunctional as Fight Club gets it--"You are not your job."

I was reading The Black Iron Prison the other day, and there was a comic in it that touched on this subject perfectly:

So, this year do yourself a favor and think on it.  What do you do?

Depressed? Here's Some Stuff To Cheer You Up.

So, life can be a lot of work, with jobs, and school, and families, and all of the other people and things we occupy our time with.  Some of us can juggle all of it better than others--some of us can't juggle it at all.  And the rest of us, well, we do what we can and get bogged down from time to time.  We all have different ways of coping--one of mine is to keep a folder of web pages, images, and other bookmarks of things that make me smile or bring me comfort no matter what.  In an effort to help out other folks who might be feeling down, I thought I might share that list, along with some honorable mentions.  Please note that these are in no particular order.  So, without further ado....

Miss Linda's Happy Stuff Linkfest!

 Yes, Buzzfeed has gotten really annoying of late.  But their image lists used to be quite good.  This one is among my favorites--no sponsor, and the pictures of Kim Kardashian crying are far more effective than they have any right to be. 

 Cornify is a fun and bizarre site that lets you add rainbows and unicorns to all your photos.  Who doesn't need more rainbows and unicorns?


So, there's this letter on the internet that's been attributed to Stephen Fry.  Not sure if he actually wrote it, but it is one of the most wonderful responses to depression I have ever seen.  Whenever I'm down, this never fails to put things back into perspective.  I might still be down, but, well, it will be sunny one day.

 

Sorry, another Buzzfeed list.  But don't we all need something to restore our faith in humanity?

 Animals sleeping with stuffed versions of themselves. 'Nuff said.

 Calming manatee randomly generates an image of a manatee with a friendly caption.


There are no words to describe the joy that is Cat Bounce!  No, really.  And don't worry, no cats are harmed.  They actually seem to enjoy it.


Here is a random tumblr post reminding you that being depressed is really hard.  You should stop being so down on yourself for not being superhuman.


Another random blog post I happened upon.  A good read if you're on the bathroom floor with a kitchen knife--more people care about you than you think.

 Bunny Island.  The best collection of Bunny Island pictures I've ever seen.  I want to go to Bunny Island soooooooo much.


All right, I saved my current favorite for last.  Seriously, I cannot sit through this video without smiling.  You probably can't either.  While theoretically safe for work, you probably don't want to explain this to your boss.

Thank you, Japan, for all of the bizarre things you give the world.

Honorable mentions:

The Blogess is an amazing woman.  She treads a fine line between funny and serious, and often has resources for those who battle depression and anxiety.  Her obsession with taxidermy is both funny and creepy, and she has one of the most useful phrases for dealing with depression, "Depression Lies."  The only reason she's in this section is because she's also a big Amanda Palmer fan.  While I won't deny that Palmer is talented, her music brings me down.  Admittedly, I find techno and metal calming, so that might just be me. 

 Hyperbole and a Half is hilarious. It would be in the list if it were updated more often (the writer is working on her book and has had some personal trouble, so we'll let it slide).  It's just in a different bookmarks folder.  It's hard to pick a favorite post, so you should read them all.  I keep meaning to print out a copy of the better pain scale for the next time I have to rate my pain for the doctor.

I Can Has Cheezburger? is one of the oldest places to get your lolcat fix.  Originally, they were just cats, but they have a massive network of meme related sites, some of which are healthier than others.

So, there we are.  I'm sure I missed a few.  What are your favorite corners of the internet to cheer yourself up at?  Share in the comments!

Millinery Basics and Tips

So, I've been looking for a variety of millinery supplies online--mostly because I'm poor, and I can't afford to buy supplies from the usual online supplier.  In the process, I've happened upon numerous blogs and forum threads from people looking for both traditional and alternative materials and tools.  A lot of the questions I've seen have been pretty simple, even for someone as inexperienced in millinery as I am.  So, I thought I'd be nice and put together a brief guide for aspiring hat makers.

I got started with a workshop I took in grad school (it was the highlight of those horrible two years).   The workshop was taught by a lovely lady named Jan Wutkowski (link goes to her blog, which includes a schedule of her classes), and most of what I know came from there.  The rest came from the primary source book for millinery, From the Neck Up, by Denise Dreher.  There are a few tips I have that are from my own experience, too.

Let's begin with a brief overview of how hat making works, for those in the audience who are totally new to the subject.  Generally speaking, hats are made from a firm material that will hold its shape (we're skipping over the whole knitted/crocheted thing and going with more traditional methods).  This material is usually stretched over a block in order to form it into its final shape, and then embellished.  Typically, the foundation material is wool, straw, or buckram (there are others, but these are the most common).  If you're using wool or straw, the material is nice enough that you don't need to cover it--you can just sew on whatever feathers and other embellishments you like.  Buckram, on the other hand, is ugly, and needs to be covered.  On the plus side, it's also cheap, and very stiff--you can get shapes with buckram that you can't with wool.  The other thing you need to know is that, although hats come in a million varieties, there's really only two hats.  You have (as my teacher said) fitting hats and sitting hats.  A fitting hat is one that comes down over your head, like a fedora, or a cloche.  A sitting hat is one that just sort of balances up there, like a fascinator. 

Fitting hat--actually, the one I made in that workshop.

Sitting hat--easier to model on a real head.

So, now that we know a little more about hats, where do we get what we need?  There aren't a lot of suppliers.  Hats by Leko is probably the best--nobody else has the selection they do.  Judith M also has a decent selection, although I've never ordered from them.  Suppliers for theatrical costuming will also carry a limited selection of hat supplies, but if you're just getting started, I'd go with Leko.  They're pricey, but they also have everything you could possibly need, as well an excellent supply of buckram frames (I highly recommend covering a few premade ones before you tackle making your own--it can be trickier than you expect).  

That said, traditional supplies are expensive.  A good hardwood hat block will easily set you back a couple hundred bucks, and you usually want at least a couple.  The enterprising do it yourselfer might attempt to make one.  This is my favorite example of what can happen when you go that route.  I generally wouldn't advise it unless you're an experience woodworker, or have other skills (if time permitted, I'd use the model stock we have at school, and run a couple of hat blocks on the CNC machine).  But all is not lost--while I can't save our example person all that time and effort, I can help you with one little link.  Frank's Cane and Rush Supply carries sturdy, polyurethane hat blocks for next to nothing (Thank you, Ms. Wutkowski!).  I haven't found anywhere else that carries these, and they are great to work with--I have two myself.  Depending on what you're doing, you can improvise, too.  While felt and straw hoods will require steaming (which means your block needs to be heat resistant), buckram doesn't necessarily have to be heated to be formed. It will shrink a little, but as long as you can pin the fabric to hold its shape while it dries, you can use whatever will fit your needs.  In my own first steps to making buckram fascinator frames, I've had remarkably good luck with a styrofoam head from Hobby Lobby.  I wouldn't use it for a fitting hat, but for just getting a curve, it's great.

Styrofoam head in action!

 

Moving onto materials, unfortunately, you will have to go with a millinery or costume supplier for pretty much every foundation fabric other than buckram.  Buckram can be had at some fabric stores, but it's pretty lightweight, and more expensive per yard (but you can buy just one yard, so you don't have to hit the $38 minimum with Leko's).  However, if you're just looking for a small quantity to experiment with, it'll work.  I picked up a little over a yard at JoAnn's for about $5.  I did a couple of tests, and while one layer sorta works, two layers of it gives the stiffness you really need.

 

 

 Two layers.  Trust me on this

Now you can't make a good buckram frame without millinery wire to hold the shape.  Or can you?  This has been my most recent avenue of inquiry.  For my first two hat frames, I saved some pennies and used memory wire.  You'll find it in the beading section of any craft store--it's basically spring steel, so it holds its shape.  The memory wire works well for small, round frames, but it has a tendency to warp and curve once you reach a certain size. I soldered the ends together, but you could also using cheap tubing.  I don't recommend trying to bind the ends--you'll wind up with a lump, and they might still come apart.  Traditional millinery wire is covered with thread or paper, but I question how necessary that really is.  As best I've been able to find, steel wire is going to be your best bet, around 20g (#19 is the preferred size, but I'm not entirely sure that's the gauge).  Make sure whatever you get won't rust and damage the fabric.   My time's been a bit limited so I haven't yet determined the best alternative for larger frames.  I will say, florist's wire comes up frequently as an alternative--the important thing is that it will hold whatever shape you put it into.

Most of your references will say to sew the wire to the edge of the buckram--I've found it's much easier to sew it onto the curve, them trim it away.

And trim it as close as possible without cutting your stitches.

Here's a close up of the soldered joint--it's a quick and dirty job with an iron, but it's going to be covered anyway.

 

The last thing you'll need to put together a nice frame (and let's face it, an ugly frame is going to make an ugly hat), is something to cover the wire.  A traditional frame will use crinoline--again, something that can be hard to find.  I thought about it and thought about it, and you know what I discovered?  Single fold bias tape does the job beautifully, and for a fraction of the cost.

 

I opted for 5/8".  Initially, it felt a bit narrow, but it really does make for a nice finished edge.

 

 Tada!  Finished frame for a fraction of the cost!

The final thing you might need is some light padding to cover up an irregularities in the surface of the frame (which you'll find even in premade frames).  Traditionally, you'd use domette, but quilt batting works just as well, and is much easier to find.  A baby blanket size package will last you forever.

I'm assuming if you're handy enough to get this far, you can do the design work and figure out how to cover and embellish the frame.  Hopefully some of that will help if you're looking to get started with hat making on a budget. 

No, Really, Please Stop. Hell Is Only Five Minutes Away.

First off, we really are going to get back to the bike path series.  Eventually.  There was the whole sick for months thing followed by OMG school and work.  So, once my health and time are back up to it, we'll return to that one.

As for today, I'd like to preach to ya, brothers and sisters.  Yeppers, we're coming back around to the Jesus train.  No complaining, it's not a subject I hit often ( I believe the last time was here), but every once in a while, I have to get it out.  I actually have a pretty serious spiritual life, in spite of never going to church and the amount of swear words that come out of my mouth.  And in spite of the various bizarre paths I find myself on, I consider myself a Christian, because I attempt to follow the teachings of Christ.  Now, don't run away, because I promise you, I'm not going to tell you about how you're going to hell for not believing.  I honestly believe that none of us really have the full story here--we've all got part of the puzzle, but each part is mixed in with some other puzzle pieces and we don't even have all of the pieces for the one we're actually trying to put together.

But before I get carried away with espousing my own beliefs, let's get back on topic.  Today's post is for all you evangelicals out there (atheists, agnostics, and others who have been burned, feel free to sit back with some popcorn).  Yes, you know who I'm talking about.  I'm talking about those of you who go door to door to talk about Jesus, and you cunt monkeys who litter tracts on the vehicles of innocent bystanders.

Sorry, I probably shouldn't have called you cunt monkeys.  Not very Christian of me.

At the same time,  I really don't appreciate finding tracts under my windshield wipers when I come back out of the new age bookstore.  I mean, it's better than finding out my car got towed because I parked in a staff lot for the university, but when I was gone for like 20 minutes and looking to see what books they had on chaos and sigil magic,  it really feels like you're stalking me.

Furthermore, when your tract gets oddly specific, it kinda makes all the rest of us Christians look bad.  For example, the one I found on my car most recently discussed what happens five minutes after you die.

This is what happens when I try to take detail photos with my phone. 

 For those of you can't cross your eyes sufficiently, the pertinent part is, "Unless you have prepared for your eternity in this life, five minutes after you die you will feel the flames of an eternal Hell for ever and ever."  

Ignoring the fact that you'll be in "an eternal Hell" as opposed to "THE eternal Hell" (because you'd think if they only believe in one god and one heaven, they'd only believe in one hell, too), how, HOW do they know it takes five minutes to get to Hell?  Seriously!  I mean,  pretty sure there's nothing about that in the bible (most of the time spans in there are pretty vague.  I think the three days it took Jesus to come back to life may have been the most specific), so how did they find this out?  Did they send researchers out on this topic?  How did they get back with the data?  What's going on during that five minutes?  Are you being judged?  I'd like to think God takes more than five of our minutes to make that decision.  I mean, usually we're told that right after you die (if you've been good, that is) you go straight to heaven.  Why is there this delay in getting to Hell?  And how do they even know that time passes at the same rate (or at all) in the spiritual realm?  Seriously, I genuinely want to know how they came to this conclusion.

I even went so far as to go to the website of the tract printers ( http://www.gospeltractsociety.org/ ,if you want to get in on this) and I sent them an email asking how they knew this, but either they don't work weekends or they assumed I was trolling (I kinda am, but I really do want to know).

The point here is, throwing shit like this out there for the anti-Christians to find is like giving North Korea nukes.  You're just doing their work for them.  

Fire and brimstone doesn't work anymore.  Fear is never the best motivator, and telling people to believe or else, well, you catch more flies with honey, ya know what I'm saying?

I get that you're genuinely trying to do the right thing here.  I mean, after all, if you believe that your religion is the only way to not suffer for all eternity, then it's only right to get as many people to join as possible, so as to save them from that dreadful fate.  At the same time, just going around telling everyone is maybe not the most effective way to spread your message.  After all, what about all the other Christians out there?  They've already heard the word.  No need to preach to the choir, so to speak.  I mean, you've never met me.  Why automatically assume I'm a Satan worshiping heathen?  Is it because you don't know me?  I've gotta tell ya, if that's it, well, generally speaking, if only the people that you know are the ones who believe what you're preaching, chances are good you're probably in a cult.  Seriously, there's billions of people on this planet.  If you've really got it right, there's almost certainly someone you don't know who's in on it.  Personally, I find it rather offensive that you assume I haven't heard the message of Christ (which, for the record, was much more about love and forgiveness than about going to Hell, and that whole born again thing is in Paul.  Paul never even met Jesus, and he was an asshole).  You've just met me, and you already think I'm so horrible that I'm going to Hell?  Not cool, man, not cool.

Long story short (if any of you evangelicals are even left to read this after I called you cunt monkeys), going around and shoving your religion in other people's faces is a really horrible way to convert them.  Either you're preaching at (and pissing off) the choir, or you're openly insulting people.  No one wants to hang out with sanctimonious assholes, brothers and sisters.  By calling yourselves Christians and "preaching the word,"  you're making the rest of us look bad, and driving away everyone who used to be on the fence.  There's a lot of people out there who would be Christians, if somebody would take the time to seriously answer their questions.  And there's so many others who have been driven away from the church by the people in it.  I've heard horror stories about churches performing exorcisms on rebellious teenagers, the pedophiles in the Catholic church (it's really not all the priests, I swear), not to mention the sheer number of atheists, agnostics, and pagans I know who used to be Christians.  Heck, one of the most die hard atheists I know grew up in a family of Jehovah's Witnesses.  If I grew up with that, I'd be an atheist, too.

So, what's my actual point here?  I guess it's that people need to stop assuming that their religion (or lack thereof--atheists, I'm looking at those of you who think people who believe in God are stupid, that's just as bad as the fundamentalist Christians) is the only way.  That they're the only ones who are right.  And that you have to unthinkingly follow the decrees of that religion or you're going to hell.  Cut other people some slack, for the love of god.  Ask questions--unless I seriously misinterpreted something, the whole reason God gave us free will was because He (or She, if that's your pleasure) wanted us to come to Him on our own.  He wanted us to choose to love him.  How do you make that choice without asking questions?  You can't.  So stop expecting other people to just accept your word for it that your religion is the only path to God, and start justifying your beliefs.

(I'm sure Jesus loved the dinosaurs, but let's be honest, it doesn't help our credibility to say so.)

Endometriosis Sucks

So, as some of you may be aware, I've had some health issues the last six months or so.  I've not gone into much detail, mostly because I figure ya'll don't really want to know, especially since it's girly reproductive system stuff.  WARNING: This is ranty and depressing, so you might want to give it a miss.  If I post this at all, it'll mostly be for chicks with endo on google, looking for someone to empathize with the hopelessness of their condition.

But I'm really frustrated, and I just need to get this out, so bear with me. 

Last fall (late summer, really), I went off birth control.  Not because I want kids (as fucking everyone tends to assume), but because I had long suspected there was a hormonal component to my issues with depression and I was sick and tired of the birth control screwing with my head.  Having been on it for around 14-15 years, it took a few months to get out of my system, and those months were pretty rough.  But, by mid October, moving into November, I had reached a point where I was pretty well normal--no random screaming/crying fits (think like a seizure, only conscious and with less twitching), my periods weren't hurting like they had been those first few months, and I was the most emotionally stable I have quite possibly ever been.  Midway through my cycle in November though, I started to hurt.  I initially thought it was normal--since going off the pill I'd had some mid cycle pain (mittelschmerz)--but then it was still there the next day.  And the next.  After a few days of this, I went to my GP, who did a urine test and drew some blood, declared no sign of infection in said fluids, said it was probably a pelvic infection, gave me some antibiotics and told me to use a heat pad.  I'd like to point out that at this time, I was in some pretty serious pain--moving around hurt, as did sitting in certain positions.  But hey, it got better with antibiotics, so I figured all was going to be well.  But as soon as I finished the antibiotics, the pain came back, with a vengeance.  After a second batch of antibiotics and my third visit to my GP (who is no longer my GP because of all this), I finally got referred to an OB/GYN.  By the time I saw her in mid December, I had been in pain for the better part of a month--and we're talking, I can't sit up straight, standing up long enough to shower has me in tears pain.  The GYN did a pelvic exam and a pap (which at no point did my GP do, nor did he even ask when the last time I had had one done was) and finished it off with an ultrasound.  When she hit a certain spot in the pelvic exam, it hurt so much that I think I actually blacked out for a second.  The ultrasound revealed oodles of ovarian cysts, and a laproscopic surgery to remove them would have to be scheduled.  By this point, it was almost Christmas, so it was January before they could get me in.  Again, for most of this time, I'd been in pain severe enough that the closest I could get to sitting up was mostly reclined--I actually had to call into work, because I could not sit upright for three hours (which is the most physically strenuous thing required of me there).  Early January saw me in surgery (the day after my birthday, I might add), and immediately afterward I felt better, except for the pain caused by the surgery.The good news was that she didn't have to remove an ovary--the bad news was that I have endometriosis.

 For those of you who don't know what it is, you know how every month a lining grows in the uterus in preparation for a baby, then it sheds out (i.e. Aunt Flo)?  Well, with endometriosis, some of that tissue somehow gets outside of the uterus and does its thing in other places of the body.  And because there's no place for the crap it's shedding to go, bad things happen.  There is no cure. 

The primary treatment is (wait for it) birth control. 

So, when we discussed this at my follow up after the surgery, I pointed out the massive emotional issues I've had while on BC (prior to going off it, I'd've said 40-60% was hormonal.  Now? 80-90%).  I went over this list of formulations I've tried, and her response was, "So, pretty much everything."  There was one left that I hadn't tried, mostly because it's less effective for the preventing pregnancy thing.  But, because of previous issues, I refused to go back on it without anitdepressants to act as a check.  Because of my history, she wasn't willing to prescribe them, so I had to find a shrink.

I eventually did find someone who wasn't crazier than I am, and started on Prozac two weeks before my next period so that it would be in my system when I started the pill (you start the pill either on the day your period starts or the Sunday after).  Those two weeks were less than pleasant, because I didn't really need the prozac, and being on too high a dose of that stuff makes me jumpy as hell.  But I got through it, and started the pill.  I started it late on Friday that week, and by Monday night I was curled in the fetal position (as much as I could curl, anyway--when those fits hit, my movement is kinda limited) sobbing and screaming, and trying to figure out why it wouldn't stop.  The husband beared with me (bless his heart), and we both decided that I should stop taking it.  Within a few days, I was back to normal (I also quit the prozac, since I didn't need it).

I finally got around to calling the doctor to figure out where to go from here, and it was singularly unhelpful.  They asked if I'd found a new GP yet (no, because I haven't been sick, and can't afford to seek medical help recreationally) and how bad the pain was, and then basically set me loose.

I actually did have a couple pain free weeks in February, once I'd healed from the surgery, but it's been slowly coming back.  Mostly just annoying, but I've been having to take painkillers for most of March.  To be honest, I'm home right now because I hurt (it still gets worse a bit before my period and during the monthly massacre in my pants).

The horrifying thing is that you can surgically remove the lesions and whatnot caused by endometriosis, but it comes back.  And there's no telling when--it could be a couple years, it could be a couple months.  The uncertainty, the, "Should I plan for that or will I be in too much pain to follow through?" is agonizing.  Never knowing when I'm going to be in too much pain to live my life.  Seriously, I'm almost done with school--am I even going to be able to hold down a real job?  And there's nothing I can do.  I can take painkillers, but nothing really kills the pain, and I can't take anything more than naproxen without impairing my mental faculties.  Looking at support groups and resources online really just makes the situation more bleak--it's all about how birth control can keep the pain from coming back.  But what if you can't take birth control?  Just suck it up and deal?  "Oh, use relaxation techniques, get plenty of sleep, and switch to the endometriosis diet (which ranges from vegetarian to outright vegan)."  Riiight.  I'd love to get plenty of sleep, but I have shit to do, like class and work.  And I'm not giving up meat, cheese, and chocolate (aka. the food that makes life worth living).  Can I get some practical solutions here that don't feel like a fucking bandaid?  Can I get a practical solution that I can actually life with?  "Women who identify with the disease experience less pain."  I'm sorry, but I don't want to be defined by what's wrong with me.

And the support groups?  When it's not, "I've had six laproscopies and the pain's gotten worse after each one," it's all about the infertility aspect of it (endometriosis can cause infertility).  I'm not really that interested in having kids--can I get a support group for women with endo who don't want to breed?  Because the focus on fertility is really awkward, because it makes me feel like I should care when I don't.  Thank you for the reminder of that.  Seriously, looking at support groups only makes it more depressing.

Yeah, sorry to be such a downer.  There is no happy ending for this story.  I figure I'll probably have a couple more surgeries and have a hysterectomy within about ten years.  This isn't based on anything my doctor said, but on the basic trends associated with this disease.

But I did find one bright spot in my internet searching, and I would like to share it.
At least I'm hot.

Never Ask a Woman If She's Pregnant, And Other Faux Pas

So, a friend of mine from undergrad has been horribly pregnant (she's having the pregnancy I always imagine I would have) for a while, and I recently discovered she's been keeping a very thoughtful blog about it.  Anywho, last week she had a post about how she was out and people were asking if she was pregnant and while it was cool that people were interested...what if she hadn't been?

This struck a chord with me, a big massive terrible rage-a-riffic chord.  Because I've never been pregnant.  And I've been asked that.

This happened while we were living in North Carolina (for why that should explain everything, refer back to here).  I was heavy--I topped 200 lbs at the time, and while I carried it well, I was very sensitive about it.  It was even towards the end of our stay there--I think we only had a month or two left, which was a good thing, because the incident in question was one of those, "We can't come back here again," incidents.  The hubby and I had innocently gone to the mall food court for lunch, and while the dude at Sbarro was putting together my salad and pizza, the woman in line behind us asked me if I was pregnant (apparently I was glowing or some bullshit).  I exploded.  I tried to be civil, but I was seeing red, and I think I responded along the lines of, "You don't ask a woman that.  I mean, I know I'm heavy, but that's extremely insulting."  And, because this was Greenville, the woman didn't say, "Oh, my bad.  Sorry." No, she reacted to my outrage with utter bafflement.  She honestly couldn't understand what was wrong with her question, and she proceeded to call to her nearby friend and MOCK ME for being upset about being asked if I was pregnant.  It was the closest I have ever been to a fight, and if the hubby hadn't intervened I would've taken a swing at her.

So, for those of you who still don't understand why it's wrong to ask a woman if she's pregnant, I'll attempt to explain.  Please keep in mind that I have difficulty understanding how anyone could ever think that's okay, so coming down enough to clarify it may be tricky.  Fundamentally, it comes down to body image issues.  Women in our country are constantly being told (overtly and subliminally, through pretty much every media outlet) that you can never be too thin.  And by that, I mean that we have it shoved in our faces that we are always too fat.  This results in some pretty poor self images, not to mention a variety of eating disorders.  And, with America's ever increasing girth, we grow even more sensitive about our size.  "Fat" has become a new four letter word.  You wouldn't walk up to a woman and say, "Wow, you're fat!" she'd deck you. 

When a woman is pregnant, she gains a lot of weight--her body stores extra nutrients to feed the baby, you've got the baby itself, and her boobs get bigger because they're getting ready to spurt out milk.  Even the smallest woman in the world gets pretty huge when she's pregnant.

So, if you ask a woman if she's pregnant, you're implying that she looks big enough to be pregnant.  Which, if she's not hauling around a baby inside, means that all that extra size is made up of fat.

That's right, asking a non pregnant woman if she's preggers is the same as calling her fat.

And it can be hard to tell.  Here, look at this picture I found on the internet:

Pregnant, or overweight?

Now, given that I found the picture on a site dedicating to helping obese women with their pregnancies, and the crib in the background, I think it's safe to say she's probably pregnant.  But if you saw her on the street, would you be able to tell?

When we're overweight, we know it.  And, usually, we feel awful about it.  Every time we look in the mirror and see that extra chin, we call ourselves fat.  When we're talking to our adorable skinny friends, we feel like fat cows.  And the bitch of it is, our adorable skinny friends probably feel the same way when they look in the mirror and talk to their even more adorable and even skinnier friends.  For the love of god, don't ask us questions that imply that we are just as big as we feel!

But that's actually not the worst emotional baggage you can bring up by asking a woman if she's pregnant.  What if she recently miscarried?  What if she's been trying to get pregnant, but can't?  Congratulations, you just reminded her that she doesn't have the baby she so desperately wants.

While we're on the topic of kids, let's talk about the other big faux pas people make when asking women about their reproductive history.  Don't ask a woman when she's going to have kids.  Just don't.  Wonder to yourself, ask her mom when she's not around, but don't ask a woman when she's going to have kids.  Those of you who know me will assume that it's because some women don't want kids, which is true.  Personally, I think I can live a fulfilling life and die satisfied without ever popping out another human being.  But that's a topic for another post (yes, I have that many reasons for not having kids). 

No, the primary reason you don't ask a woman when she's going to have kids is this: infertility.

See, like I just mentioned, there are plenty of women out there who want kids, but for whatever reason, they can't have them.  Maybe their hubby's shooting blanks, maybe they have endometriosis or some other disorder, maybe their health and lady bits are such that having a baby would kill them.  Doesn't matter.  What does is that they can't have a baby of their own, even though they want one and would be the most awesome mom in the world.  Just imagine yourself in their shoes.  I expect the internal monologue runs along the lines of, "When am I going to have kids?  Never." Cue tears and sobbing.  Knowing that there are women out there who want kids but can't have them kinda makes me feel guilty about not wanting to have them at all, and often has me hoping that I'm infertile myself.

On a similar note, when a woman tells you she's pregnant, don't always assume it's a good thing.  Most times it is--a majority of women do want to have kids.  But there are a lot of circumstances under which pregnancy is not good news.  If they've been trying, by all means, congratulate them and ask for updates periodically.  If you don't know, well....  I know for a fact that if I peed on a pregnancy test and it came out positive, the first words out of my mouth would be a string of expletives.  Watch their body language and tone when they announce it, and respond accordingly.  If you're still not sure whether congratulations or condolences are in order, ask (politely).

I guess the whole point of this rambling quasi rant comes down to this: a woman's reproductive capabilities are none of your business (unless you're her fella or her OB-GYN).  Don't ask.  It's a sensitive subject.  I'm not advocating political correctness but basic human sensitivity and a respect for other people's privacy.  You don't have a right to know what's going on in my uterus.  If you think I'm glowing, then just give me a compliment, "You look amazing."  If you think I'd be a great mom, put some kids near me and tell me how good I am with them.  We women have to put up with so much crap from our bodies, we don't need you giving us more. 

Worry about your own reproductive parts, and keep your nose out of mine.  If I want you to know, I'll tell you.