mrtl

Gonna Have to Face It, I'd Rather Be Addicted to Drugs

How long does it take to form a habit?

Googling is useless, and I don't care enough to dig deeper. The length of time I've allowed has far surpassed any of the results listed.

At the beginning of March, 2009, I started taking medication for ADHD. I'm still sorting through my thoughts about the pros and cons of my treatment, but one immediate and much-appreciated side effect has been with my weight.

I've talked a lot on this blog about my struggles with weight loss, no surprise being someone who loves taste, lacks focus and follow-through, and is more driven by being comfortable than by goals. The medication that cleared my brain managed to suppress my appetite so much that I had to make a conscious effort to remember to eat. Suddenly I could relate to people who see food simply as fuel. I stopped getting excited about flavor and indulging. Alas, even pie no longer excited me. Meh.

My weight dropped drastically; at my lowest I was 8 pounds lighter than when I graduated from high school.

::intermission to laugh sarcastically and get a tissue::
...and acknowledge that there are worse problems to have, I know. I'm the first to credit the medication for my inability to remember to eat and lose weight effortlessly.
::end intermission to laugh sarcastically and get a tissue::

Our move to Virginia posed a dilemma. I am allergic to the air in the mid-Atlantic region, and I'd already learned from our visits home that allergy medications unfortunately don't play well with my ADHD prescription. I'd worked with my doctor to tweak the medications, doses, and scheduling to no avail. The drugs aren't supposed to conflict, but I'm apparently an exception. Whatever the ADHD medication does, every allergy medication I've tried cancels it out. Adding insult to injury, the allergy medication doesn't do anything about my allergies when it's inhibiting my ADHD script.

Just when I learned that the choking coughing fits I get sometimes are allergy-induced asthma. Just when I discovered that using my inhaler -- which also conflicts with my script -- stops them and lets me breathe to the point that I have a burning desire to take up running. I lasted a week in Virginia before become insane enough from the excess of snot, coughing, and aching itchy eyes that I decided I'd rather have a muddled brain and stopped taking my prescription. Besides, I WANT to run and be active, so I'll keep my weight in check with that, right? FML

So much for habits forming. You'd think that after living with a reduced diet for 26 months, my body would have adapted to the new eating routine. Being off my ADHD script for about a week now, I am a bottomless pit of mindless eating. It's like I'm making up for 26 months of eating so little. I feel physically awful, sluggish, and exhausted by the thought alone of having Jem full-time with me until she starts kindergarten in the fall. The weirdest thing is that I feel *huge,* even though I'm still lighter than I was at graduation and I'm carrying more weight in my boobs than I was then. Looking at old pictures, I'm shocked at how much bigger I was (25-30 pounds heavier) and remembering my mindset not being very panicked about it in comparison to how I'm reacting now.

I took my ADHD pill today and have added tissues to the shopping list. I'll use my neti pot religiously and see if allergy eye drops pose a problem.

I haven't been compelled to eat anything today (but will make myself after posting this - again, conscious eating), where for the last several mornings I HAD TO have something to eat while making Bug's school lunch.

I don't want to rely on this medication. I certainly don't want to be taking it for the rest of my life.

::sigh::

On Parenting

I'll start this by saying that I don't make a practice of judging other people's parenting choices.* Being a parent isn't easy, and the reality is that more often than not our choices as parents are more influenced upon what we learned from being parented than any amount of book-learned best-practice hype could drill into us. Our childhood is our foundation.

What we take away from our childhoods is a crapshoot. Siblings can grow up learning very different lessons from the same parenting experience. For instance, one child with alcoholic parents may grow up to drink moderately or avoid alcohol altogether, while another could end up struggling with the addiction as an adult. Yet another could hokey pokey between the two. As much as we swore as kids that we would never repeat our parents' "mistakes," they are ingrained in us and will attempt to at least undermine, if not control, who we are as adults.

::tangent for judgment asterisk*::
Believe me I have spent plenty of time judging other people's parenting. Me on my high horse and with a variety of childhood education and entry-level psychology courses in college, I traced every characteristic of mine that I deemed negative back to what my own parents did to screw me up. My six years as a teacher also provided an excess of opportunities to make tree-to-apple observations. When mister mrtl and I decided to start our family, I read the books and took the classes, putting that high horse on a circus highrope platform.

Then I became a parent.

Nothing humbled me -- nothing shut me up -- faster than becoming a parent, from seeing first-hand the tree-to-apple connections for which I was responsible.

We do our best. Sometimes we fuck up and things still work out, and sometimes we fuck up and the consequences are painful. The best we can do is to learn from the mistakes and apply those lessons as necessary.
::end tangent for judgment asterisk*::

That said, let's get on with the intended story here.

I don't hit my kids. I can't wrap my head around what I see as hypocrisy, doing something that I wouldn't ever want them to do.

::tangent on my childhood::
My parents weren't big spankers. I remember my mom threatening a wooden spoon a lot, but don't recall ever getting hit with it. More often we were sent to our rooms. Not a bad lot.
::end tangent on my childhood::

Still, in my weaker moments, I say I can relate to those who do spank. I have felt the frustration that takes my patience away. In those weaker moments, I think I understand the instant of satisfaction that may come from it.

I reached that point once with Jem, giving her a smack on her bottom. It wasn't satisfying at all. It was a disturbing, reflexive action that made my stomach turn. In retrospect I should have just let her scream in her room rather than try to address the situation while I was still angry.

I'm writing about this because I needed to remind myself how that felt today.

My patience is being tried. I had let my guard down; mister mrtl returns from his weeks-long trip today. Bug -- her ear tubes were removed and hearing just checked a couple weeks ago -- now has an ear infection and a ruptured ear drum. I'm worried about her.

And Jem. Jem left the pamphlet that came with her dentist care package in the middle of the hallway, crumpled up. I dared assume it was trash, putting it in the bathroom trash can and pushing it down into a soiled nighttime pullup, rendering it Most Definitely Trash. I was washing dishes when she made the discovery upstairs and started screaming like a banshee. You'd think I'd given her a puppy and then given it to that boy in the class that she doesn't like because he's so bad.

When I started feeling that weaker moment coming, I started writing this.

After a few minutes at the computer, Jem brought over a book she had just bought at her school's book fair, asking if I'd read it to her. I almost sent her away so I could get this out, but I'm glad I didn't. I put down the laptop, got her cuddled up in the chair next to me, and read about SpongeBob playing baseball. It cracked her up.

I love the sound of her laugh.

In Which I Expose Truths, Fears, and Keen Observations, and Save the Economy!

Note: Please be sure to comment to let me know you've read through this monstrosity! Not to bribe anyone, but a merit badge will be awarded!

How exciting it is to get my laptop fixed!!

::tangent to self-aggrandize and celebrate just a little bit::
It's a miracle! I don't know how I performed this miracle, but I did. I am miraculously amazing like that! And humble. Don't forget humble!

For future reference (in case it happens again, because of course my blog will be the first reference I use for guidance), it was an unmountable boot error. I had given up all hope and was going to reload the OS. After partitioning I put in the installation disk and somehow got to a C: prompt where I ran a chkdsk and fixboot and OMG it started up AND all my files and settings were still there and OMG OMG OMG I couldn't back it all up fast enough. WOOOOO!!
::end tangent to self-aggrandize and celebrate just a little bit::

Forced brevity by phone blogging was taking its toll. Spending the last week abbreviating myself -- oh how I hate typing on my phone -- was killing me since I had so much I wanted to say on some very important current events. I'll get right to that.

• Miscarriages = Murder WTF?
• WIC is up for cuts.
• Rape is being redefined.
• Planned Parenthood may lose funding.
• The U.S. economy still sucks.
• New product: Breast milk ice cream is here!

Seeing the article on miscarriages got me thinking about the slippery slope such a law change could create. What if the rights of fetuses turned into the rights of reproductive elements such as eggs and semen? What if every sperm were so sacred it were a crime to waste any? What if our lawmakers were to make male masturbation illegal? How about the approximate 400,000 eggs each woman's ovaries form? Would periods be a crime?

Now, noone wants an Orwellian government, right? But what if we try to see positives? Jonathan Swift was totally on track with this in his "A Modest Proposal" of 1729. In this essay, Swift recommends eating orphans and making gloves from their hides as a solution for resolving hunger, reducing the burden of children on poor families, and removing the excess of papists in Ireland.

::tangent for vocabulary lessons::

papist: noun a Roman Catholic.

satire: noun the use of irony, sarcasm, ridicule, or the like, in exposing, denouncing, or deriding vice, folly, etc.

::tangent for random comments about this tangent::
Having been raised a Roman Catholic, I can understand how too many of them around can have a negative impact. For instance:

• Their propensity to provide refuge to child molesters.
• The physical exertion of the weekly service (e.g., kneeling, standing, sitting) is a strain on the knees and thighs, and can be dehydrating, especially since the only liquid made available is alcohol.
• Oh, PARDON ME, it's not alcohol; it's the "blood of Christ." It was during my blogging sabbatical that I had the disturbing epiphany that the practice of pretending to drink blood makes Catholics vampire wannabes. It was during a discussion with a woman who is married to a preacher. Not a typical preacher's wife, mind you, but one who is totally open to entertaining a discussion about such things.

It's more disturbing to consider that priests (aka molesters in some cases) feed their congregations alcohol-but-not-really, suggesting that it's not wine, it's BLOOD! Totally won't get you drunk, but will take away your sin. We're not sinning here, folks! It's all good. The accompanying lines are burned into my memory: "Take this, ALL OF YOU, and drink from it! It is my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It has been shed for you, and for all men, so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in memory of me!" Now that's just fucking creepy. I want to believe that this insanity was brought in to convert pagans and not something anyone actually believed Jesus to be saying. You want to drink blood? We have blood in our ceremonies! Sure!!! Jesus wants you to drink HIS blood! He's cool with it!

If Jesus really did say these things, let's consider how it would go over in today's society. As I suggested to the atypical preacher's wife, if some do-gooder came up to you, offered you a drink, and suggested that you imagine it's his blood when you drink it, you'd be fucking freaked out, as would most every person out there (save maybe people who practice hoodoo... and vampires), and thinking twice about that person's character. And if "good Christians" are supposed to truly emulate Jesus, there'd be a variety of flavored bloods in the grocer's aisle. But Jesus was smart and did this with a crowd. Sure people were all WTF, but the mob mentality worked in his favor. I'm so glad the host isn't referred to as the brains of Jesus, because zombies freak me out a lot, too.

::end tangent for random comments about this tangent::

::end tangent for vocabulary lessons::

::new tangent to share shock over extreme fear that I haven't blogged about yet::
SHOCKED! How can this be? I've scoured looking for some mention of this. Hell with tangents. This gets a story.
::end new tangent to share shock over extreme fear that I haven't blogged about yet::

Story Time with mrtl

Once upon a time, when mrtl was smaller and impressionable and living with her big brother, she became very fearful of vampires. You see, Big Brother told smaller mrtl about rats biting toes off while children slept and bats biting necks. The bats may have entered Big Brother's Sack-of-Scaring-Smaller-mrtl Tricks after watching Brahm Stocker's Dracula, of which mrtl can't remember watching the entirety.

Effects of this sibling abuse:

• mrtl cannot fall asleep unless her toes and neck are securely covered by blankets.
• Bunnicula, the children's story about a cute little bunny rabbit that sucked the juice out of vegetables, caused nightmares. Attempts to cure this fear by purchasing the tamer pop-up version of the story as an adult were unsuccessful, worsening the images with a more actively vicious popping-up bunny.
• mrtl has never been able to watch a vampire movie all the way through:
  • This is a reason why none of the stars of The Lost Boys are on her childhood list of dreamy boys.
  • And although Jim Carrey's eyebrows were a delightful distraction in Love at First Bite, mrtl's eyes were closed and ears tightly covered during key moments of the film.
  • Even Brad Pitt's Interview With a Vampire couldn't cure her.
  • The current vampire craze of "True Blood" and Twilight have been completely lost on her, driving her to numb her brain on "Real Housewives of XXX County."
• People with pronounced canines still freak her out. Jerry Seinfeld's hand obsession has nothing on me.

Just writing this list is causing heartburn and a lump in my throat.

So... Is it really any wonder why, as a young girl, I subconsciously started having a world of doubt about my faith?

End Story Time with mrtl

Let's get back to Swiftly saving our economy.

If our government were to implement new laws to not let any human reproductive output be wasted, it could have an extremely beneficial impact on our economy. Unused eggs and sperm could be harvested and utilized to start a trend in human-based food products! Entreprenuers could set up collection sites to provide the drive-through harvesting of sperm. No need to worry too much about storage facilities; assistive reproductive technology could be used to incubate and raise babies for our food industry. (Bonus: Less emotional attachment to test-tube infants!) Milk-producing women could supply milk for making cheese and other dairy products if Swift's idea for growing babies to yearlings before being offered as contributions to our nutritional demand is utilized. Just think, PETA with its annoying commercials would be defunct.

Names for businesses are running rampant:

• Planned Unparenthood and Orphan Bistro (organization)
• Happy Endings (sperm collection)
• Lecter's Table (restaurant with all dishes served with fava beans and a nice chianti)
• Heads, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes Steak House
• Nothing But the Breast (branding for dairy products)
• Baby's Butt (clothing line with jingle: "There's a reason it's this soft!")
• Fingerlickins' Bar-B-Que (jingle: "We'll never tell you to take our fingers out of your mouth!")
• One Potato, Two Potato (jingle: "Fisting at its best with a side of fries!")
• Man Flan and Boob Cream (dessert shop serving sperm flan and breast milk ice cream)

Please pray that my laptop never dies again.

Heading Back in Time

Since March of 2009 I've been taking medication for ADHD. It's been a lovely ride, and I've welcomed the clarity it's brought, but new physiological developments are hindering the effect of the medication. My doctor told me today to stop taking it until these new developments are under control.

He thinks it's my thyroid. I've heard a lot about thyroid issues, but always thought sudden weight gain was the key ingredient. Apparently not. Talking to friends who have thyroid issues, I'm learning that HYPOthyroidism results in the weight gain; it slows everything down. HYPERthyroidism is the opposite, speeding up the metabolism.

Also, I was told that thyroid issues are common in women who've had two or more children -- one woman out of every four suffers.

If my blood tests do come back positive for this, it's possible that treatment could clear up the ADHD symptoms. Hopefully I'll get these results soon; I'm freaking out about running into the mrtl I once was. I'm not prepared to be that mrtl again. She had built quite an elaborate scaffolding of filters for everyday social use, more likely to not say anything lest say the wrong thing. Granted, these filters made me less authentic since the censors sometimes took a beat to approve output. It took YEARS of practice to have those filters in place. Who knows how long I'll have to adjust to being the old mrtl before new medications kick in, if they help at all.

I'm not saying that I didn't like myself before meds. There's a lot about her that I miss. She was more spontaneous and social, willing to put herself out there to engage with others. With the foggy mind, though, she was really flakey and tended to miss a lot while digging through the mess to get her thoughts straightened out. Delayed processing was also really conducive to writing so tangentially; clarity of thought leads me to wander less. Not so surprising a correlation that my time on meds ended up being a hiatus from blogging (and for the most part from making any efforts socially).

How about that? I started writing a post to freak out about going off meds and ended up realizing I don't want them.

Urges

guilt: "Mrtl, dear, shouldn't you get up and [insert any of a number of projects needed to be finished before the house goes on the market in a couple weeks]? Aren't you feeling stressed about that? However are you going to get it all done?"

mrtl: "I'm feeling stressed, guilty for procrastinating so long, and ashamed over wasting so much time. Usually the stress drives me, but I think I procrastinated too long."

procrastination: "You know you love a challenge!"

mrtl: "Shut up, bitch. You held out on me too long this time, and it's atrophying. If I were a penis, I'd be well beyond the four-hour window of opportunity and forced into retirement, and not a pleasant type that involves any happy ending."

self-loathing: "Cry me a river. You brought this on yourself, insisting that you were so HANDY that you were capable of getting all this done on your own."

guilt: "Which, if I may remind you, should have been much closer to being done by now. You stopped working in May, and you planned to do some part time work. Didn't you also join a gym? You're lucky Sugar Daddy is so patient and understanding of your 'issues.'"

self-loathing: "Tsk, tsk, tsk... Why do you have to be so... so... chemically-resistant ADHD?"

mrtl: "I know. Too bad excuses aren't fairies and gnomes."

creativity: "But really, if you're sitting on your ass anyway, why not get something else done? It's been ages since you've blogged, knit, or made a pie. Those things have made you so happy in the past."

socialization: "And how about talking to your friends? When's the last time you spackled your cracks?"

::tangent to explain crack spackling::
"While [busy women who have time for friends] also have limited time to devote to pals, they spackle them into the cracks of their lives. They realize friends are essential to a solid foundation, a necessity, not a luxury." -Marla Paul, Making and Keeping Friends as an Adult
::end tangent to explain crack spackling::

guilt: "You've totally neglected your friends, not returning messages or checking in with them on Facebook. When was the last time you checked in with the mom group? You should at least go to the site and turn off those annoying email reminders."

self-loathing: "Damn those things. I bet everyone who gets them hates you, or has filtered your email to spam."

mrtl: "I'm feeling worse. Thanks."

creativity: "Writing will help you work through those feelings. Don't consider it wasting time; consider it multitasking laziness."

pie optimism: "Make a pie. Pie Day is this week. Taste success. It will motivate you."

mrtl: "Creativity and Pie Optimism, I like how you think."

mrtl goes to Typepad and, even though it's been over a year since she last signed in, she gets the password on the first try. This never happens. [insert happy dance]

Kooking the Kooky Kookiness Kookierly

Sorry - didn't want to stop at 3 K's.

Apparently I'm ADHD. Doc said the meds wouldn't work if I'm not, and they're working. It's pretty fucking amazing. There is clarity that wasn't there, that I don't think I've ever known. The window to my real self is open wide now, and I'm finding my real self is much kookier.

It will be an adjustment, since the many filters I've had in place as adaptation strategies are wonked up. I'm afraid I'm going to scare people away without that protection.

The newly-found kookiness has been hindered a bit this week. While I want to revel in my glee and spread the kooky love, I can't. However, it's good practice to switch things up, and the clarity helps with the serious stuff, too. Hooray!

Also new this week is the end of furlough. I'm excited to get back to work and test the focus factor. How much will be the meds and how much the awesome nature of the tasking I won't know, but who cares. It's WORK! I did get a bit done here at the house, though there are still many other projects on my list.

No home projects today except straightening up and baking pie. Yes! I said PIE. Tomorrow is Pi Day, and the Rack of Moms is going to join me in celebrating. I may have to decree that no one enters the house without elastic-waisted pants.

---

On a separate note, I let the cake do the talking the other day. The Slava Memorial turned into a luau of sorts, with ukelele, grass skirts, leis, an ipu and toy microphones. CG brought her guitar and we played through the Slava Butthole song twice. Yes, we were in public and yes, it wasn't just two of us. Five Racks were there. AND CG made me another giftie.

Apologies for not making a proper introduction, but I have no idea what the hell to name her or her parasitic twin. Not shown in this picture are her dryer-lint leggings, third ass cheek/skull (as if there's not enough WTF here) and thong. CG said she was inspired by my telling her I dressed up as Starchild once.

Oh, hey! Flotsam and Jetsam shirt! ::singing:: Pick a window! 'Cause now you're leavin'!"

Anyhoo, I'll have to find to unbury Pupif so they can hang out together.

  

Should I be disturbed that people give me this kind of stuff?

Processing, Part II

Speaking more of the "sensitivity to outside influences," I'm pretty sure I have ADHD. I've scored high on various online tests -- if that can account for anything, -- and the more I read about it, the more convinced I am that it's my primary affliction. I'm hoping that this is the case and that treating it will help me conquer the depression. What's more depressing than being an anal organizing type not being able to keep her shit in order?

I wish I had more control over my reactivity to things. I wish my mind didn't so easily slip into haunting daydreams of the perils that will surely befall my life. I say I won't accept drama and toxicity in friendships, but it's rampant in my head. Give me the inkling, the start of the story, and I will write out the most insane plot to denouement. This last week in particular has been rough, getting to sleep nearly impossible. It's when I lie down that the imagination goes insane. I could probably make millions writing plot lines for soap operas.

Tomorrow is my first appointment with a psychiatrist. I've seen a psychologist already; he was cool and all, but I was a little impatient with the process of behavior modification, waiting for some grand enlightenment to possibly help me retrain my brain. Honestly I think the retraining is out of my control; so much for optimism.

I just want to be happy, to appreciate all the wonderful things in my life. I want things to fall into place and stop cluttering my brain with nonsense.

Processing

This new person has come into my life like a whirlwind. It's insane to think that I met her less than two weeks ago. She is insanely creative and high-energy, and a risk-taker. She's incredibly fucking perceptive as well, or at the very least she's one of those rarities to let her perceptions be known (just one example of the risk-taking). Either way, she's got me thinking, processing, digging, introspecting if you'll allow me to verbatize some wordage.

She's dancing with me, and I get that. Voicing directly to me what she had to say was certainly crossing a boundary, a face-to-face conversation most likely awkward. Putting it down for me to read would be better. Good call. Cyber-distancing allows that chance to think before responding. My writing this post is engaging in the dance.

::tangent for forewarning::
Verbal diarrhea ahead. Please excuse more mixed metaphors that will appear.

p.s. And whining.

::tangent on postscript in forewarning::
I realize that this is definitively incorrect. I'm over it. Please join me.
::end tangent on postscript in forewarning::

::end tangent for forewarning::

My mind is flooded. I love it when someone makes me think, gives me that kick in the ass I need to engage my brain, but I feel overwhelmed and don't know where to start. The brain has done some atrophying over the last several months. Even blogging daily for some time didn't do it for me. Nor have other things, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Of the thoughts blogged by... I suck at third-person writing... What to call her?... More brain drain... Crafty Girl - CG... k, let's continue.

Of the thoughts blogged by CG, several warrant response. Primarily was the following:

there is a sadness I feel in them and it’s not really my business to ask yet

The quick and easy answer is that CG has a beautiful 6-week-old son, and the timing for being near that sweetness is a little too close.

The longer answer isn't one I have yet but am working on with help. I've started to write a post about it, and that's probably how I fell off the wagon in the first place. I didn't know how to address it, so I let it go. Let it all go. ::sigh::

What I do need to make clear is the answer is not God. I've already forwarded my Examination series to her. (Note: Part IV isn't linked to the rest.) It's depression, a funk that settled on me once we got here that hasn't quite lifted. I blame South Carolina and my sensitivity to outside influences. This place sucks and the adjustment has been very hard, especially after enjoying Alaska so much. I've been trying to get over it, focusing on meeting people through Rack of Moms and enjoying my family and what South Carolina has to offer (which mostly involves lengthy car rides - ugh). If anything, God is too prevalent and... segregating?... here. While I've finally gotten to a point where I can say without shame that I don't go to church (in response to that church home question), I feel very judged by it. Again with the organized religion preaching loving everyone, when really it only means if they believe in the same God you do. Jesus would totally not approve of that, so I'll just keep my Jesus to myself.

I also realize that this is our first move that wasn't followed by an immediate pregnancy. Nothing like hormones and house preparation to distract one from anxiety. Mister mrtl and I are pretty sure we don't want such a South Carolina souvenir, which is probably why I considered getting a cat.

There's more here, but it's lunchtime. Gotta feed the spawn, which should stop Jem from scratching up the coffee table with her Filipe Handy Manny screwdriver.

Heartburn

I've had heartburn since Monday. I've had heartburn before, but only when I was pregnant and carrying too much weight. No, I'm not pregnant, and having weighed myself and knowing that, despite munching off of four pies over the last week, I haven't gained such a significant amount of weight to bring on the heartburn, I can only contend that this heartburn is my body's involuntary, sympathetic reaction to the horrible event that occurred earlier in the week.

A friend in Alaska lost her baby to SIDS on Monday. He was beautiful and new -- just 5 weeks old -- and even though I never had a chance to meet him, I could practically smell his fuzzy little head through the pictures on my monitor and feel his soft, chubby cheeks. He'd been planned, prepared for, long in the making, anxiously awaited and adored by this loving family. And just like that, he was gone.

It's hard to imagine being in her shoes. I remember very well those first weeks, falling in love, the hormones so strong, the presence so surreal. The crushing blow it must be conjures an old lyric, "Take my heart! I want to lose it."

The little comfort I can find from my distance is knowing that my friend is surrounded by the most incredible group of people. I know that they're going to do all they can to support this family and help them live with this pain. I'll offer my hugs from afar and make a little list of reasons why I've said that she is one of my favorite people from my stay in Alaska.

- More Cowbell!

- Extending her friendship and introducing me to her insane circle of friends. This eclectic and diverse group had all shapes and sizes, colors, backgrounds, economic statuses, sexual orientations, religions and politics. No holds were barred; there were lively debates in this tribe that could -- and did -- turn into hostile arguments, but love and mutual respect were always there and hostilities never lasted long. If this invitation hadn't have happened, none of the following would have either.

- Dorkiness: Matching t-shirts for celebrations, and occasional matching outfits with her BFF.

- Entertainment: TMI at the sex toy party. Seriously, the lady could have been a little more discreet when asking which dildo our host recommended for anal during double penetration.

- Conviction: "I sing like an ANGEL!"

- Lack of Inhibition: Best karaoke I've ever witnessed was her rendition of "My Humps," sang full out and with unrestrained (and possibly choreographed) dancing.

- Honesty: When she realized that a blog she'd been reading belonged to someone she knew, she called me to let me know.

- Restraint: She didn't throw up in my van when I was DD for her BFF's birthday celebration.

- Encouragement: Weight loss group.

- Craftiness: Fellow knitting addict.

- Emboldening: My first karaoke.

- Fabulousness: Gay bars. I frequented a gay bar a couple years out of high school. It had been too long.

- Sweetness: Seeing the love between she and her husband.

- Recommendations: Best haircuts I've ever had.

- Randiness: Alaska State Fair Lumberjack Lust

I'm sure there's more. Many happy memories here. I could go on about the various personalities in the tribe, but that would take away the spotlight.

R, I love you, girl!

Einstein Head

Jem's trip to the emergency room at the end of October was not her first. Amazingly enough, I blogged about the earlier incident on her site.

The most curious thing was realized during the more recent visit. The scar from November's fall is no longer on her eyebrow but now is in the middle of her forehead. How can that be? While it's great to think that these two scars may eventually recede past her hairline, it brings to mind several questions: How did just the scar move and not anything else? If she had a piercing, would it have traveled to be stationed like a bindi between her eyes? And do such skin shifts ever stop?

I discovered the unfortunate answer to this last question the other day when I found a pube in the middle of my forehead. It was about a quarter-inch long, gray and gnarly. Definitely not an eyebrow hair.

I have nothing else to say.