Silly Name Meme

Some information has been edited to protect . . . myself.

1.YOUR PORN NAME: (first pet and current street name)
Suki Washington

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (grandparent on your mom's side, your favorite candy)?
Mary Gummi Bears

3. YOUR “FLY GIRL/GUY” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three of last name)
C. Mac

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Green Dog

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Alison Biloxi

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 2 letters of mom's maiden name, and first 3 letters of the town you grew up in)

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (“The”, your favorite color, favorite drink)
The Green Cosmo

8. Crossdressing Name: (The name of a pet you have now and the street you first lived on)
Trinity Pickett


Kitty Update

douilleplay.jpgThanks to everyone, Shae, Annie, Jay, Liz, and Katie, for offering inspiring and comforting words.
We just got back from the vet and the news is bad. I was preparing myself for feline diabetes, perhaps kidney problems or even hyperthyroidism . . . a few things his symptoms indicated when I looked online.

Andouille has cancer, a large mass that’s in his lower lymph nodes and pressing on his lower intestine, which is causing the vomiting. He also has a rather impressive bladder stone which is why he spends so much time in the litterbox – there isn’t a whole lot of space in there for pee so he has to go all the time. They’re giving us steroids, antibiotics, and putting him on a special “stone diet.” Basically the tumor is only going to get worse and they can’t remove it without taking out part of his intensines, spleen, and some other organs, as it seems to have spread and taken over parts of those.
So he’s coming home for a while and, sooner or later, we’re going to have to make a call to the vet to have him put to sleep.

So. That’s that.

Kitty Fears

Charlie just said “I really think we should take Douille to the vet,” which made my heart completely stop for a moment and then start beating really fast. My oldest cat, Andouille, will be 10 years old next year, I think. He's been throwing up a lot more than usual lately — more than just the typical hairballs. He's also lost some weight and spends most of his time licking his crotch or sleeping. He doesn't seem to get along with the other cat, but that's nothing new.

I think I've been putting off a vet visit because I'm really worried he has something serious (and they have to put him to sleep), or that he has nothing at all other than Older Kitty Problems and we walk away with a huge bill.

So actually having Charlie admit that he thinks there's something wrong just compounds my anxiety. I keep telling myself, if he's not acting any different, he's not in any pain. It's when his attitude changes that I need to worry, right? Right?

George Bush Doesn't Care About the Bible

As many of my history, literature, and art professors have had to point out, you can't really touch on the history of much of anything if you avoid reading things like the Old Testament or the Qur'an. Generally they have to say this because we live in a mostly-Christian country with people who are incredibly touchy about their religion. You can't just say “Now let's be objective about this,” you have to go on and on about historical context and how perhaps, just maybe, it's possible that some of this stuff either didn't happen or didn't happen the way Matthew, Luke, or whoever says it did. Especially considering King James quite possibly took some liberties when he had his versions released.

So last night I'm reading the section assigned from the New Testament for world literature and I come across a couple of passages that made me pause and consider current events. As a completely non-religious person raised in a completely non-religious household, with only a passing interest in history – no thanks to high school teachers who made me regurgitate pointless dates from ridiculously patriotic textbooks – I admit I really don't know much about Christianity. I took an introductory religion course at IUPUI my freshman year to fulfill a “humanities” requirement, but the course wasn't as exciting as it should have been. My professor was brilliant, dynamic, fascinating . . . a Harvard graduate with a friggin' PhD in religious studies, but surrounded by Hoosiers who had their own ideas about religion. While many heated arguments threatened to break out in our brief exposure to the New and Old Testaments, there were also many people who snickered and out-right laughed at some of the concepts we covered in Hindu people's religions, Islam, and African tribal beliefs.
I was frequently offended in the class and my fellow students did little the shatter the stereotype that many (not all, of course) American Christians are narrow-minded hypocrites with barely a glimmer of understanding of the history of their own religious beliefs, let alone anyone else's.

It wouldn't surprise me to discover that modern Christianity is the only living world religion that does not accept any other concepts other than their own. Referring to how Islam considers Abraham and Jesus prophets, in addition to Mohammed, or how Judaism accepts Jesus as a prophet but not a Messiah, or how Hindu people are actually monotheistic but worship many different incarnations of their god, or how Buddhists are really not so centered on theism at all . . .

Point being, reading the section from Matthew in the New Testament made me consider our current “leader” and his stubborn adherence to Christianity. One particular passage interested me:
“Ye have heard that it hath been said 'Thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy.' But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun rise on the evil and on the good . . . ”

In writing this I have to admit my prior ignorance to anything but a few of the ten commandments, and other than a few things I didn't really understand that we read from my intro to religion course a few years ago, total ignorance regarding the Bible.
The entire section taken from Matthew made me ask “How can Bush call himself a Christian if he hasn't even read this chapter?” It's important enough to be included in just a five-page summary from this literature textbook, so he must have read it before, right?

The Yakuza Go to Costco

I wrote an essay for my world civilization class about the art of Chinese calligraphy, dating back thousands of years, and how characters can be traced through time and are still recognizable as their original pictographs. The instructor requires that we “learn something” about the subject we write on every week and gives us complete autonomy. All we have to do is send 300-500 words each week that has “something” to do with the chapter assigned. The one requirement is that we have a section, however big or small a part of the essay, titled “Why This Matters” and outline what's important about the subject. Mine ended up being on Western body modification and how we bastardize the Chinese language with flash art taken off walls of tattoo parlors. The Chinese don't get tattoos, other than some punk twenty-somethings lately. Originally, a wen shen was a tattoo given (usually on the face) to a criminal so that he could be easily identified and exiled or ostracized by the rest of the community. To the moderate Chinese person, tattoos are not a form of artistic self-expression, but a scarlet letter. And while there are some younger people getting them, most of them are part of the gangs, Triad or Tong. Even their tattoos aren't as visible as, say, the Japanese yakuza, and they certainly aren't the characters for “love” and “strength.” They're usually dragons or other symbols.

So I was concerned. While I learned a lot and even became somewhat self-conscious of my own Chinese tattoos (despite the fact that I know without a doubt what mine say), I wondered if I'd strayed too far from the original subject matter. However, I just received my grade and “lecture” (the instructor emails you his thoughts on what you wrote in lieu of sitting in a class and hearing about since it's an online course) and he seemed really pleased. I got a “100” on the essay; my highest grade yet. Perhaps I'd entertained him a bit more than usual.

So I didn't actually go to Target today, but we did have coffee, found out Mitch Daniels came in to the shop this morning, dropped off all my crap at Goodwill (sorry clothes-traders – none of it would've fit you anyway), and made a trip to Costco. I saw a couple of Chinese families and was secretly glad it was chilly enough to wear a sweatshirt. Many of the Web sites I came across in my research on the essay were dedicated to awful tattoos and what they really say. Entertaining, yes, but one blogger wrote “If any of these people actually lived within a mile of a Chinese-speaking person, they might think twice about getting them done. Or they'd have someone to ask what they say.”
I was very entertained by Hanzi Smatter's Web site, but you have to scroll through a lot of pages to get through the monthly archives.

I also managed to fall off the couch yesterday. During one of the many football games Charlie and Cavan watched I must have dozed off. Next thing I know I slid right off and landed on my back. Really hard. Today I did my best to mop the entire house (there are no carpets other than a few area rugs so I have hardwood floor cleaner) and managed to make my back even worse. So I took four Ibuprofen and stopped. I didn't even vacuum.

Oral Manipulation – But Not What You're Thinking

I always think I would be a horrible manager and would hate to be in charge. I want too badly for people to like me and wouldn't want to be The Bad Guy. However, when not in a position of power I'm a really good motivator. I just managed to talk Charlie into cleaning up his “PlayStation Room” and, with my help, cleared the whole stinking room out, save for the entertainment center, futon, and some shelves. It was quite an impressive outcome for not much work. Since cable is run in to that room for the modem, he also has cable TV and watches football games in there. Penn State (the school he wishes he'd played for) has a game on right now, so I said “You can watch the game while I help you straighten!” Of course, it wasn't just “straightening,” but sometimes you have to use different words to get things done.

Since every girl I know wants to have a clothes-trading party I haven't given up all the crap I have stuffed into box after box, but I'm tempted to go straight to Goodwill right now, just to unload all this shit. Most of it doesn't fit me since I've lost some weight and, being about the chubbiest gal I know (sorry, but it's true), no one would be able to wear any of my stuff. Everyone's either way too tall, way too skinny, or even shorter than I am. And some of my pants I can only wear with, like, three or four inch heels to keep them from dragging on the ground.

Which brings us to the sewing machine that came in the mail on Thursday that I have yet to figure out. I've gotten the bobbin threaded, the top of the machine threaded, and even the needle, itself, with a teeny, tiny little hook and eye. But I can't seem to get the damn thing to put the bottom and top threads together to make a freaking stitch. The Other Liz (Annie's sister, not my long-time gal pal and former co-worker) called me today with an offer to show me how to do it. Now if I could only muster up the social skills to have her over.

Foul Mood

I was convinced I would wake up today and start anew. I thought it happened. But the foul mood from last night has returned for several reasons, including the fact that I got an email from my mom detailing my dad's latest selection of health problems. In addition to the benign tumor on his optic nerve and the Hep C he got when he was, like, 20 years old and didn't discover for decades, he's also got sleep apnea and has to be on an oxygen machine and has a polyp on his colon that he needs a colonoscopy for. I guess he's going to be knocked out for it and my mom will have to be with him all day. So they don't know if it's malignant yet.

Then there's the fact that I couldn't sign on to the campus web site all day and, when I finally did, found out all my assignments have changed, including “skipping” a couple of readings (that I've already finished) because my instructor needs to catch up on her grading. So, she said, this week is a “free week” for us. Except I've been sweating this whole week waiting for her to post the discussion questions.

Then I found out there's more secretive, shitty B.S. going on at work with people who don't know how to keep their huge mouths shut and gossip has gotten around the entire neighborhood about a former employee who may or may not be considering trying to sue the company for defamation of character or something . . .

I don't want to go to bed and just start all over tomorrow, but I'm considering it.


I’m tired but I can’t help thinking I need to get something out. I’m really frustrated with the way people behave today – you can take that literally or figuratively, but I really just mean Thursday.

I was at work for barely five hours and managed to have my entire day ruined by an older couple who apparently see nothing wrong with being so petty they have to try and make the Person on the Other Side of the Register feel like shit. The details aren’t really important. It’s just one of those things where I’m barely a face to someone else and I hate it. I don’t like being ordered around by someone who doesn’t have the decency to wait until I’m done with the last thing they ordered me to do – they just bark at my back and I pretend not to hear them.

I hated working at the bookstore because every day it was a challenge just to try and keep from pissing off people who sold books to us. I took it way too personally, which explains why I’m not there anymore. Being behind the counter to try and make offers to forty-something housewives for their ten year-old Danielle Steele paperbacks covered in cat pee and roaches was always the most loathesome hour of my day.
Working at a coffeeshop in an older, expensive neighborhood isn’t nearly as bad, but occasionally you do get treated as though you’re not a real person. You’re just the gal who gets the coffee, takes the money, and tells someone to have a nice day. Assuming they’re not so wrapped up in their cell phone conversation that they never even realize you’re actually breathing.

Add to that a link here and there through other people’s blogs and I happened to get wrapped up in one particular gay man’s rantings for twenty minutes. I didn’t even realize he was gay until about fifteen minutes into my reading. I was so absorbed in the guy’s unbelievable hatred for others (especially, it seemed, for the mentally handicapped), that I just assumed he was a straight asshole. Not that gay guys can’t be assholes, but I admit I attribute “bitchiness” as an attitude more often than “prick,” which is generally reserved for heteros.

What I’ve discovered today is perhaps a bit more pessimistic of me than I like to admit; a great many people seem to believe that, as long as you can accuse others of somehow persecuting you for whatever reason, or as long as you’re really wealthy, you can freely express distaste for others based on their religion, mental ability (or lack thereof), sexual preference, gender association, race, financial status, political affiliation, area of residence, place of employment, education, choice of transportation, or hair color. I’m sure I missed a few things.

Ah, well. Tomorrow’s another day, right?