I just discovered Guns & Ammo TV on the Outdoor Channel. That can’t be good.

1099s are due today, right? i seem to remember that from my CPA years.

so… 1099s. i guess i need some kind of software for that… TurboTax it is.

i’m sure all the IMAO guys would like to get paid their CafePress money for the past three months sometime in the near future as well. ugh. i hate the CafePress accounting, because they don’t have a download to Excel option, and the copy/paste thing does not work at all. i can’t even do a text to columns fix on it.

oh, and i’m about 10 days late filing my sales tax report for the last quarter. and a month late filing my 2553 with the IRS. I need to call them about that, because i really don’t want to be a C-corp for one year and then switch to being an S-corp.

i think i know what i’m doing for the rest of today.

sometimes being a business owner really stinks.

yesterday beat me down. today has to be an improvement over yesterday. i was so whipped at the end of yesterday that i was falling asleep during 24.

you see what happens when you don’t listen to your wife?

i love you anyway, goofy goof.

I swear, she would yell things like, “You’re a VERY BAD DOG!” and “NO NO!” and “GO TO YOUR ROOM AND DON’T COME OUT FOR A WEEK! I SPIT ON YOU!” not to mention “CHASING KITTIES IS BAD! DON’T YOU EVER DO IT AGAIN, YOU BAD BAD DOG!”

All the swatting and swiping that she does would turn into finger wagging and alpha rolling. She also might smack Rowdi on the nose. A lot.

I wish we had a camera crew on staff to follow Minerva around and record all the times when she tortures Rowdi. She provides me endless enjoyment. Thursday morning was no exception.

I was sitting on the couch, checking email, eating Doritos (one of the gluten-free flavors). Typical morning stuff. I saw Rowdi bolt into our bedroom, where she is not allowed without an adult present (I don’t want that stupid dog rubbing her dirty dog body up against my comforter — she does that when she’s unsupervised), so I knew that she must have run in there after a kitty. So I sprung off the couch and sprinted into the bedroom, where I saw that Rowdi was already at the far end, in the bathroom, with her attention focused on the ledge. Sydney must be on the ledge (Minerva stands her ground on the floor and starts tearing flesh off Rowdi’s nose if she gets chased, but Sydney goes for higher ground).

I sprinted through the bedroom and saw that dumb mutt do the little back-and-forth jump to provoke Sydney. Bad dog, you are so getting rolled. As soon as I got to the bathroom door, Rowdi ran into the shower. Mommy won’t find me in here!

I followed her into the shower, but I was so out of breath from that short little sprint that it was hard for me to roll her. Plus — we were in the shower. And not half a second after I arrived in the shower, Minerva was right behind me, standing on the bath mat outside the shower, hissing and spitting. “It’s ok, Ma, I’ll take it from here. YOU ARE SUCH A BAD DOG!” So that made it even harder to get Rowdi on the ground — she usually goes down very fast and easy with me, because she respects me and I roll her very calmly, but with Minerva out there yellin’ and cussin’, Rowdi was trying to turn around and see what Minerva was trying to do to her.

I finally got Rowdi on the floor of the shower, but she had worked her way around so that her head was on the border between the shower and the tile floor of the bathroom so she could see the AlphaKitty. I held her neck down for a few seconds, and during that time, AlphaKitty walked to the middle of the bathroom, between the shower and the door to the bathroom. Rowdi seemed to calm down, so I stood up and let go, but Rowdi popped right back up and walked out of the shower immediately, and not calmly, so I flipped her again and said, “Grounded,” very calmly. She was now on the bath mat outside the shower.

Rowdi calmed immediately, and Minerva planted herself between the bath mat and the door. She lay on her side in all of her fat-cat glory, facing Rowdi, staring at the dog, licking her paws, as if to say, “You’re not getting out of this room without going through me, Fido.” I stood up, and Rowdi stayed down. I petted Sydney, who was still up on the ledge but perfectly fine. I walked over to Minerva and slid her across to the far side of the bathroom so that when Rowdi left the room, she would have enough clearance to walk by Minerva. But as soon as I let go of Minerva, she stood up and walked back to the middle of the room and watched the dog. I was trying so hard not to laugh. I knew she was doing this for the purpose of torturing that dog, who deserved it for chasing Minerva’s best friend and little sister.

I knew that if my dog were to survive (this is how y’all know I love the dumb mutt–I actually want to protect her from the cat now), I would have to pick Minerva up and hold her until Rowdi was out of the bathroom. So I picked up the AlphaKitty and held her snugly so that all paws were ensconced beneath my arms. She could not tear flesh from the dog’s hide. Then I snapped my fingers and told Rowdi to go. She hopped up and trotted out of the bathroom, turning around to check her six o’clock occasionally to make sure she was safe.

Now. When Rowdi was about halfway through the bedroom, so a good twenty feet from Minerva and me, I went ahead and let Minerva down, thinking the incident was over. AlphaKitty was not done. She sprinted for Rowdi, spitting and hissing until she was almost caught up with Rowdi, at which time she also commenced swiping at Rowdi’s hind legs. Rowdi was now galloping to get away from Minerva. I promise you, if Minerva could have yelled, it would have sounded like, “DON’T YOU EVER CHASE SYDNEY AGAIN! THAT’S MY LITTLE SISTER! I’LL KILL YOU!”

Minerva chased Rowdi all the way out of the bedroom, Rowdi tucking her tail stub under as far as it will go and turning her head around every few seconds to keep an eye on her attacker. Rowdi ran into the livingroom and under the pool table (the same place she goes when I yell at her), and Minerva ran to the bedroom doorway and stood guard so the dog could not return.

I cannot tell you how much I love cats.
(more…)

TMI ALERT!! LOOK AWAY, MEN! LOOK AWAY!

Alice is here, and she’s only been away 5 weeks this time. last time it was 10 weeks. that gastro who says i’m having no progress can kiss my big lilywhite pinkytoe. even my amenorrhea is improving tremendously.

Some days, gluten free is easy. Just use no grains, lots of fish, meat, veggies, and fruit, or use the GF mixes that Bob’s Red Mill puts out. Or use the grains I know, like rice and corn. But on days when I want more than that, it’s trickier. And learning to cook all over again, when I’ve known how to cook practically my entire life? Not so easy. Not hard, just time intensive. I feel like I have to crash-learn it all in about five minutes when I’ve been picking up tips and tricks here and there from parents and grandmothers and friends and cooking shows my whole life. Because I did not get to gourmet-ish cook at thirty to have to start all over at boiling water. If I’m starting all over, I want to be able to make souffle, bread pudding, and fettucine alfredo again right away. None of this waiting to learn that in ten or twenty years. Skip to the end, please.

Well, I’ve been putting off re-learning how to cook. Mainly because I want to reorg my kitchen and get everything ready. I want all my tools lined up for the process. Where’s my apron, let’s get down and dirty. Get rid of the stuff I don’t need, because I’ll need more storage space for my GF flours (most of them, I learned last night, keep best refrigerated, so I need another refrigerator for that!).

I finally just bit the bullet and decided to stop waiting and short-cutting with Bob’s mixes. Reorg or not. Bob’s mixes are good, but first off, I have a cookbook that uses GF flour mixes containing no bean flour, and I would like to try those for variety (even though the bean flours taste much less like beans once cooked than you would expect and do not provide that gassy aftermath that I would expect). Plus, I’d like to start baking GF breads so I can have garlic bread, and I’d like to make a GF na’an on Indian food nights (ugh, if I can tolerate tomato sauce — is it just fresh tomatoes, or the sauce too?). I also want to make GF pasta with my new KitchenAid attachment that my in-laws got me for Christmas. The GF pastas are great, but they’re also very expensive (about 3-4 times as expensive as wheat pastas), and if I make them myself, they will be so much cheaper.

A big flour to use for GF cooking and baking, I’m learning, is tapioca. Ok, so I went to the health food store. My massage therapist recommended one that I had previously thought was just a vitamin store, and they have most of the things that Wild Oats has, but with fewer hippies and lower prices. Here’s how little I know: I saw tapioca flour (not Bob’s, which I know doesn’t give me any trouble) and pearl tapioca (Bob’s). They didn’t have Bob’s tapioca flour. So I agonized in the aisle for literally five minutes over which one to buy, because I truly knew nothing about tapioca. Does tapioca come out of the tapioca bush (haha) in little foam-looking pearls that are later made into tapioca flour? I was asking myself. Seriously, this was the conversation. Well, I can grind it myself into tapioca flour, because my KitchenAid pasta maker attachment came with the food grinder. But this crazy tapioca flour on the top shelf is some Asian brand I’ve never heard of, I guess for putting in your green tea.

So the nice man came over and asked if he could take some items off my hands for me, because I was overloaded with bags of potato flour, potato starch, white rice flour, brown rice flour, and Bob’s gluten-free brownie mix (the best brownie mix ever). While I had his attention, I asked if he knew anything about tapioca flour. Like can I grind pearl tapioca down into tapioca flour, or am I thinking about this all wrong? And he had a kind of glossed-over look for about a half second before I said, “You don’t know,” and laughed. He laughed, too, and said, “No. What exactly is tapioca?”

Yeah. So I took a leap and bought the pearl tapioca, figuring that I could look it up and, if nothing else, try some pudding or something. It’s GF, so hey, why not?

Well, I looked it up, and wow. I learned anything I ever wanted to know about tapioca. And it turns out that pearl tapioca is tapioca flour cooked with water.

So I don’t have all the ingredients I need to start baking and making GF pastas and sauces. But that’s ok, I still have mixes until I get back to the health food store (which is not far — I’m making it sound like it’s an hour away or something when it’s right by the post office). At least I’m learning, and I get to learn how to make tapioca pudding.

And for added variety, I can always eat naked. If you know what I mean.

thanks again, kris!

This morning, I was standing in the front yard with Rowdi, waiting for her to puke (she’s sick), when Frank left for work. I kissed him in the yard, waved sweetly while he drove off, and waited for the dog (to no avail) to make with the sick.

When Rowdi and I finally gave up, we walked back to the front door, only to discover that my Sweetie McMonkeyface had locked us out. Let me see… no purse, no gun pouch, not even my keys in my pocket.

Before we left on our Thanksgiving trip, Frank and I were the only two with keys to the house, but I finally got around to making a spare and giving one to the neighbors right before we left for Texas. That came in handy this morning. I’m just glad I had put on my IMAO tracksuit and wasn’t still in my pajamas without my bra on or something. Seems like something I would do.

I think Frank should spend some of his allowance to make up for this. Don’t y’all?

I’m liveblogging it over at IMAO.

UPDATE: This is the most brilliant auditions night this season. You must come see the liveblog. Please. I beg.

I fear that I have a tomato sensitivity. It seems that when I cook with tomatoes, I have major gastric issues for days, plus migraines and seizures, fatigue, and that muscle burning where my arms burn from the inside out… and the hand pain and foot pain…

This is not acceptable. There has to be a vitamin that can fix this. Or a combination of vitamins and minerals. Or vitameatavegamins. Like maybe a combination of oregano oil and fish guts in the morning, pomegranate skin plus buffalo liver in the evening, and a whole pod of garlic encased in a papaya stuffed inside a gluten-free ham if you get up to pee in the middle of the night.

Tomatoes are HUGE to me, people. Cutting tomatoes out of my diet is way worse than cutting out wheat, rye, and barley; it’s like Hillary Clinton having to stop eating people’s souls for breakfast.

My neuro says that if I’m sensitive to tomatoes, it’s possible that I won’t be sensitive to them after my small intestine normalizes and heals from the gluten intolerance; book says that, too. But I will have to cut them out until I’m all fixed and then see if I can handle them again.

I think I’ll keep a food diary for a couple of months and eat them sparingly during that time to see if they really are the trigger that’s causing these setbacks I’m having.

Oh, I’m still having a hard time finding sea salt that doesn’t have the anti-caking yellow prussiate. I did find an iodized sea salt, but I was in a rush, so I didn’t get to check out the ingredients. I’ll follow up on that. In the meantime, the coffee grinder Angela sent me has been wonderful for me. When I have a hard time even spreading refried beans on a full tray of corn chips for nachos without my hands severely cramping, it is so nice to know that I don’t have to crack the peppercorns myself! And I looove the fresh cracked pepper. So I’ve been grinding my white pepper and black pepper in that for now, since I have no sea salt to grind.

Anyway. No tomatoes would be bad. Because this intestinal healing thing, considering that I’ve progressed to the point of seizures, can take anywhere from six months to two to three years, in my non-board certified opinion. Man, I sure wish I could get a board certified doctor to give me one of those. If only doctors weren’t such gigantic prats. Oh well. When I’m all fixed up, at least I’ll be able to add back tomatoes and Cokes at the same time. I’ll have a big plate of fried green tomatoes and a case of Cokes, please. Hold the nutrition. And the gluten.

two days ago, to Ashley of synchronous snapshots and her hubby Aaron! may you have a hundred more blessed years together.

Over at IMAO — I’m blogging and updating it right now.

they mentioned (very briefly) at the end of their show today that Elisabeth has the disease, and they’re going to do a segment on it next week. hey, that was my idea! i’m so glad they’re using it.

now. if only i can get a gastro to pay attention to me. harumph.

It is criminal that my insurance company paid $158 and I paid another $20 to that joke of a gastroenterologist that I saw last week. That man couldn’t find a colon with two hands, a rectum, a roadmap, and a flashlight if he was staring right at it. And the entire appointment was him trying to bait me into a peeing contest over who knows more about the gluten-free diet.

And he is so sure that I don’t have celiac disease (my neuro, Dr. Wonderful, said he would be this way and not to let him talk me out of it, because he won’t even do an endoscopy unless he’s 99% sure a patient has the disease), yet he was so into his ego that he forgot to try to offer an alternative or even feign concern that I’ve had chronic diarrhea for three years. You don’t think this is my problem? Perhaps you should tell me what you think the problem is. Or, I don’t know, MAYBE STICK A SCOPE UP MY BUTT AND TAKE A LOOK AROUND, YOU DINGUS! He didn’t even think of that. Not that I would trust him to do such or ever go back to him. You’ll see why in a minute.

For one, there’s his inability to do simple math. No solid poo for three whole years. Zero. Seriously. Then, in the last six weeks since being gluten free, I’ve had solid poo 10-12 times. He says that is not the slightest bit improvement. I said, “Um… that’s not improvement?” He said, “No. I thought you said you had improved. I misunderstood you. So you’ve had improvement with the migraines and the seizures, but not the diarrhea.” And I said, “I’m sorry, but how is that not improvement?” “It’s just not. But then again, I’m the one who has twenty years’ experience treating patients, and I’m the one who went to medical school, and I’m board certified.” Yeah, well I was a CPA for seven years. Do you wanna whip out ten keys and see who can add the best? It won’t be you, Mr. Can’t-Do-Math. I’m not a doctor, but I’m also not a gigantic tool. I said, “Yeah, I get it, you’re the doctor. I’m not trying to get all up in your face here, but I don’t see how that’s not improvement. It’s not at all?” Because when I had my first solid poo, I practically did cartwheels. You have no idea. I wiped first, though. “Nope. But I don’t want to belay the point.” Big words from the little man. Suppose he meant belabor?

I don’t think I needed to relay to him in exact words that I’ve had it up to my cowlick with arrogant doctors who think they are gods. I think he got it by the way I didn’t just accept what he told me. I don’t fear doctors anymore, and I know that I am as smart as most of them (you know, without the Topamax). If I’d wanted the extra debt and the extra school, I could have been one, too, except that I’m human and have compassion, and I don’t know if they allow that in most doctorin’ skools. Unfortunately for me, this means I have a much harder time saying “yes doctor” and “no doctor” and “whatever you think, oh ye god,” so if I have any chance of being treated with kindness (and with most of them, the cynic in me is saying I don’t anyway, so maybe this is no big loss), it goes right out the door as soon as they start talking down to me and treating me like I’m five. Because you see, I’m thirty. And yeah, most days, I look about twenty-two, twenty-three, but really. I’m an adult, and even if you think I’m barely legal, you need to treat me with respect and dignity, because we’re both adults, you’re supposed to be a professional, and you all seem to be forgetting who is paying whom. I don’t pay you to treat me like dirt. And why are you asking my date of birth on my chart if you’re just going to judge me by the size-up anyway? Not that they ever read the charts. Dr. Arrogant, after he’d run a ton of tests for Lupus, actually was surprised when I told him I had seizures. He had never even looked at my paperwork.

So when this doctor, who had even Dr. Arrogant beat in the ego department, was doing my exam, he was still trying to quiz me. “So what do you know about the gluten-free diet?” I told him to be more specific with his questions. I said it very nicely, but seriously. I said, “What do you mean?” “Just that. What do you know about the gluten-free diet?” “Well, that’s a very broad subject. You’re going to need to be more specific with your questions.” I mean, seriously. What do you want me to say? Go off on the whole spiel about no wheat, no rye, no barley? Oats are actually probably okay except they end up being cross-contaminated because of where they’re grown, and some people are sensitive to them and some people aren’t? Of course, I’m suspecting I know more about it than he does, because when I told him that I’ve finally lost weight for the first time in three years, this man told me that it’s because I’m doing a no-carb diet. Ummm, I can have rice, potatoes, corn, beans, a ton of non-wheat flours, not to mention all that carby fruit and sugar I can have. It’s very far from a no-carb diet. But hey, he’s the one who’s board certified. Far be it from me to belay the point.

[UPDATE: I totally forgot this part. He changed the subject right after I told him to be more specific. He asked me if my neuro, Dr. Wonderful (whose real name is Dr. Mazo), had any scientific explanation for the diet helping my migraines and seizures. Actually, Dr. Wonderful and I had so much to talk about during my appointment, what with improvement in all of my symptoms (five or six things, including the solid poo, which Dr. Wonderful congratulated me on), plus med changes, my nerve conduction and muscle studies, my MRI results, and the pinched nerve in my back, that we hadn’t gotten all sciency. But I was thinking about the book I’d read, and I’d picked up stuff on vitamin absorption from that. Oh yes. Earlier, Dr. Ego had asked where I had gotten all of my info on celiac disease. “Did you get all of your info from the internet?” “Well, I’ve read pretty much everything out there on the internet about celiac disease and the gluten-free diet. I also read the book by the dr. at Columbia in New York.” He looked surprised and a little crestfallen. “Oh. So you read the book.” He knew which book. “Yeah, I read the book.” This was right before he told me which one of us was board certified. And right before I realized which one of us couldn’t do simple math.

So here when he asked about the sciency stuff, I said, “No, he didn’t say. But maybe it’s because now I’m able to absorb my vitamins better.”
Said Ego, “Your medicines?”
Said I, “My vitamins.”
Said Ego, “Your medicines?”
Said I, “No. My vitamins.”
Change of subject. They don’t like it when they try to correct you and you correct them back.]

And then came the moment when I had enough, and I achieved the opposite ending of my appointment with Dr. Arrogant. See, with Dr. Arrogant, I stormed out crying and told him I couldn’t see him because he wasn’t taking me seriously. Well, I was sitting on the table, and when I told Dr. Ego that he would need to be more specific with his questions that I can now absorb vitamins a little better, he changed the subject.
“How much caffeine do you usually have?”
“I stopped drinking caffeine, because of the epilepsy–”
“Caffeine is in coffee, tea, cokes…” Oh no he didn’t just list the sources of caffeine for me. What. I live under a rock? I don’t suffer migraines? I’ve never heard of caffeine at the age of thirty? Tool.
“And I’m not a dumb person, and you don’t need to talk down to me.” I said it so much more calmly than my brain was thinking it.
“Ok. That’s it. Heather will be back in in a minute to tell you about your test.”
And he stormed out and slammed the door. Apparently doctors don’t like being told not to talk down to their patients.

The test he is sending me for is the genetic marker (DQ2/DQ8) test for celiac disease. He’s such a pinkytoe. It won’t do anything but rule out celiac disease. So if the test is negative, there’s something like <1% chance I have the disease, but if it’s positive, it proves nothing, and he said he would do an endoscopy. No, Dr. Ego, another doctor can do that, because you and I will never meet on purpose again. When he told me he would send me for this test, he told me, “It’s just a blood test.” I said, “That’s fine.” He was telling me like I was asking for crack or something. “Ooh, doctor, please give me that yummy endoscopy, it will make me feel sooo good. I’ve been waiting for that good invasive endoscopy. I wants it, doctor, I gots to have it. I need to feel that burn, doctor, please, doctor, please. And not just one. How ’bouts two? I’ll show you a little bit of thigh. Good cracky biopsy. I wants it.” Pig. And he said it in the course of our conversation four times. He would bring it up again, while I was trying to move on to the subject of my colon and the blood in the poo, he would go back to the blood test, and “it’s just a blood test,” and the fourth time he said it, I finally rolled my eyes at him, to his face. Like, I get it, ye god. Can we talk about my colon please, before I laugh in your face and skip out of here like the little girl you think I am? Prat.

And when I told him about the blood in the poo, he said, “Well, that could just be internal hemmorhoids.” Could be, yeah. But could not be, too, right? See above screaming where I mention sticking a scope up there. And could you be less concerned about my large intestine?

I wouldn’t be surprised if Dr. Ego (whose real name is Dr. Turse — don’t go see him; after working with colons for so long? he stinks, and I’m going to write the board that certified him a nice long letter about all that negligence I experienced) and Dr. Arrogant (real name Dr. Del Rosario) are golf buddies. They get together on Thursday afternoons to talk about all the patients they didn’t treat this week. Ratfaces.

Gil Cates kept looking over at Salma Hayek with a look of amused bewilderment on his face. That was funny.

I was wondering why they didn’t get someone who can speak English (yeah, she’s only been here for a decade or so, why bother?) to help with the nominations, but I guess they needed someone who could say “Guillermo” twice and “Peter” once during the “Foreign Film Language” — that’s what she called it — category.

And when they announced Penelope Cruz as a Best Actress nominee, she got all excited and screamed, “Jess!” More amused bewilderment from Cates, who had to continue announcing nominees for the category.

They should have Salma Hayek do the nominations every year.

So Jennifer Hudson, yay for her, right?

I’ve made a rule that evil companies trying to steal our money are not allowed to call our house before 9 a.m.

So AT&T called just now about that $17 we don’t owe them and will never ever pay them. Ever.

AT&T [call center in India, no doubt]: Hello, is Frank there?
SARAHK: It’s before 9 a.m.
AT&T: Yeah. So?
SARAHK: Don’t call here before 9 a.m.!

And I hung up. So now I’m sure they’ll call me back at 09:00:01.

Oh, yesterday they called while we were eating linner (they call about four times a day masked as various things — Cell phone, themselves, etc.), and I went with Rachel’s tactic. Usually, I don’t answer the phone. But yesterday, I answered and said, “Your call is very important to us. Please hold for the next available representative,” and put the phone down facing the TV. They apparently don’t like the Simpsons, because they hung up within fifteen seconds.

I just broke 200 on the WiiSports bowling game! I only had one frame where I didn’t have a strike or a spare, and that was when I had 9 because of a 3/4 split. My game improved 79 points over my previous game.

It’s the best game thrown on our Wii yet!

Yay me!

Anyone else out there bawling your eyes out watching Oprah today?

Yeah, me too.

i mean, i do know quite a bit, but these were the easy questions, and some of them were impossible to answer wrong. it’s a fun quiz, though. i got it from Rachel.

My mother called me when I was in Boise for Christmas. “Sarah. You have to go to JC Penney for me and get Frank a present. I’ll send you the money for it, but you have to do this.”

“What is it?”

“They’re these Aquaman pajamas with feet, and they’re the funniest things, and when I saw them–” she’s laughing now “–I thought Frank just had to have them. But they only have large here, and they’re way to big. Go to JC Penney there and see if they have them.”

“Oh good grief. Alright. I’ll do it.” Because I knew, y’all. I knew she was right. He had to have them. I mean… it’s Aquaman.

So I went with Frank’s mom on the 23rd, or it might even have been Christmas Eve, I don’t remember. We went to Penney’s, and I looked for the super-secret present that I had been instructed to buy. Unfortunately, they were out of the Aquaman footed pajamas. But they did have Aquaman boxers. My word, I actually stood on line to buy Aquaman boxers. My MIL bought him some Homer Simpson boxers for his stocking, too.

So these things were on clearance for six bucks, because let’s face it. If your willy is in trouble, do you really want to entrust it to Aquaman? Help me, Aquaman! Ask a fish to swim my wee to safety! Not so comforting knowing that AC’s got your back(side), right?

Anyway. Other than his Dubya-2, guess what his very favorite Christmas present was. Yep. Those six dollar Aquaman boxers. The first day he wore them, he was practically giddy to put them on. Like suddenly his wang could talk to fish now. And then the next day, I saw him putting on his jeans, and he was still wearing his Aquaman boxers! I said, “Sweetie, you can not wear those boxers!” “Why not?” “Because you wore them yesterday! You put on clean boxers!” And the look on his face. Like a little kid whose toy was being taken away at playtime. He said, “But they’re mine!” He took them off anyway.

He is so cute, y’all. I’m telling you, I just don’t know what to do with him. Last night, there he was, getting ready for bed, and there was Aquaman, on those bright green boxers. I forgot to check and make sure he wasn’t trying to wear them again today.

I have noticed that when they go into his drawer, they are the first ones that come out the next day. Like they’re his best new clothes now.

I love that man.

funny the things that all get thrown in the same box on moving night when you’re in a rush and someone says “just grab a box and throw everything that’s left in the same box!”

and this is from more than one move ago. i’ve never opened this box.

all of my old abstract art drawings. all in pen, all shapes and forms, all one blob. not a scene or figures. well… abstract. and i found them, all in one folder, including the original, which i had silkscreened onto a t-shirt for my h.s. artist boyfriend (the irish one who my mom later termed “the greasy-haired one”) for Christmas. i can’t believe i found all of them! and they’re all in plastic sheet protectors, like i knew back then that i would want to know that i had taken care of them, that i’d kept them in good condition. good past-tense sarahk! i’m so proud of past me. i still doodle them today. mostly in church during sermons. :-) they keep me focused.

in the same portfolio with them? this is great. my TI-82 calculator instructions. not the booklet, the one-page cheat sheet. the official one, though. hole punched and in the portfolio that zips closed. LOL, right there in the front. i laughed when i saw it right in the front of all the art. i mean, i still keep all that kind of stuff, but in the hanging file folders under “manuals and warranties - office”, not with the art.

in the same box was my Dorothy Shaw Bell Choir notebook.

also my personal income tax class notebook. and my semester project. i got a 95 from Professor Quintero. haha, my balance sheet didn’t balance, but “otherwise, great work!” my balance sheet didn’t balance! how did i ever make it as a CPA? this is why you go through at least two reviews before any financial statement or tax return goes out the door. i’m gonna throw that one out now, it’s lived long enough.

that’s the same box that contained my Ruben Sierra baseball.

hey, cool! i just found my Ruben Sierra baseball. i was a freshman in high school (90-91), and i went to the Texas Rangers game with my dad (and this is an unimportant detail, but my freshman bf). the Rangers played the Seattle Mariners. and i think they were my dad’s boss’s tickets, and we were behind the 3rd base dugout, and Sierra hit a foul popup that bounced once in front of the dugout and then into my hands.

i wish i’d been brave enough to go over and ask for an autograph. i was a big chicken.

anyway. you can see on the ball where the bat struck, and it is an official ball and all that. i guess i’ll put it with the puck i got from a Stars game.

my blog is experiencing all kinds of it. that’s because my house is experiencing less of it. i’m finally unpacking the rest of the boxes that have been sitting in my garage since i moved here two years ago. yeah, um, there are six or seven of the seventy-five boxes i brought (i’m not exaggerating — my stepdad counted them when he loaded them on the truck because he was baffled by the sheer volume of stuff i owned) still sitting in the garage. i’ve been making significant progress, though.

once the garage is cleaned up (so much trash went out today, and so many boxes have been going to my friend at church, and i have items i’m taking to the church building tonight for donation, and more for my friend, and so on), we’ll actually have room to organize the tool bench again. and the wall next to it. and i’ll be able to move Big Whitey (the big white cabinet) to the garage from the kitchen. and i’ll have room to set up a sawhorse and cut down plywood for the attic space (which is teeniny). then i can put all the attic stuff into the attic. after that, i can paint the garage, including the floor, and start on the inside of the house.

and eventually the outside of the house.

so you see. i am working hard at ignoring you.

oh, plus there is this stupid doctor i saw yesterday who decided he would rather have a peeing contest with me over who knows more about the gluten-free diet, him or me, than actually figure out why i’ve had chronic diarrhea for three years.

other than my neuro, i’m pretty much losing faith in doctors. so it looks like i’m going to schedule some time at the Mayo Clinic after all. because i want to make sure i’m doing the right thing. i want a positive diagnosis. i want the biopsy to make sure that i do have flat villi in my small intestine. if not, if i don’t actually have celiac disease — and wow, the improvement is remarkable, so it’s unlikely that i don’t — i want to know what i DO have so i can get better. i’m pretty sure it’s in my bowels, and i’d like a gastro to get on board with me who wants to figure out what’s causing everything. if i have celiac disease, i want a doctor to tell me that that’s all i have.

what’s it take to get a stinkin’ endoscopy and colonoscopy in this geriatric haven? they don’t have those in Florida? dadgum, just run some tests, ok?

there’s more to that.

anyway, i have to get back to neglecting y’all. :-) sorry.

my 24 and American Idol stuff is over at IMAO.

oh! oh! but i’ve started to injuring myself already with the house projects, so i’ll have that kind of blogging to do. i already bludgeoned my arm today pulling silk flowers out of a box. pulling flowers out of a box, i can injure myself. just you wait until i use the jigsaw. i’ll lose a limb, i tells ya.

More to come on this subject.

there may be a trip to Mayo in my future after all.

so… the big shocker tonight. do y’all think a nuke is going to go off? or will it be worse? like Audrey comes back?

6 a.m. to 7 a.m.

7 a.m. to 8 a.m.

by Taylor Hicks.

Love it. Love it. Love it.

I love the whole CD, actually (buy it), but that’s the one. That’s the song that sticks with me all day and runs through my head. It’s the one they should never release as a single so they can’t ruin it.

This is why I don’t listen much to the radio. They ruin too many songs with their formula.

What was I saying? Oh yes. “Places I’ve Been.” That’s the one.

UPDATE: Umm… When we were coming home from worship this afternoon, I was reading the CD sleeve and I realized two things. 1) Taylor Hicks didn’t thank his AI fans (nor the judges, nor the AI machine — just a blanket thanks to everyone in Fox television — lazy and snubbish — but wait, lemme get to that in a minute). 2) I blogged about the wrong song. Don’t get me wrong, “Places I’ve Been,” the Diane Warren song, is beautiful and probably my second favorite on the album, but the song I meant to blog all warm and fuzzy about was “Just to Feel That Way.” But I’d just heard “Places I’ve Been” and got all confused.

“Just to Feel That Way.” That’s the one. The one that sticks with you and plays in your head over and over blah blah blah. Love it, love it, love it. Piano, vocals, drums, everything. Mwah. Oh, and the songs with the harmonica solos and the bari sax (pretty sure bari, and I love me some bari sax) are so much fun.

NOW. Taylor. Let’s talk about manners. AT the very least, Taylor, you should have thanked your fans. I’ll just come out and say it. You hurt my feelings. I walked into Publix all mopey and smushy-faced when I did my after-church grocery shopping this afternoon after I read your lousy excuse for thanks in your liner notes. Listing your webpage and your myspace page are not enough, Mr. Gray Charles.

Ok, so I didn’t vote for you every single week. But I voted almost every single week. And multiple dials! Not to mention the near-constant blogging. I don’t expect a “thanks SarahK, U R teh kewlest!” but come on. Not the tiniest mention of your fans who voted for you for months? Or even “to my fans” in general. Not even an overall “fans” umbrella. Not even your fans that listened to you in the bars over the last decade or so? How many years did you do this before American Idol made you into a smash hit? Yes, you are outstanding. You deserved to win. But you’ve been at it for more than a decade without going global, and after a few months of being dialed as the fan favorite, you are a star for as long as you choose to be.

I’m sure there will be a second album. Your first is a great start to what I know will be a long, successful recording career. Especially since you left off that terrible forced AI song. You’ll only get better, but you’ll do better to remember the people who help you get where you go.

And the whole AI machine. Ok, I don’t know all the behind-the-scenes action that occurred when you made your CD. I know you were not the chosen one, the pimped one. They didn’t groom you to be their winner, because AI didn’t figure they could sell you, and they were wrong. But look what happened with Chris Daughtry — they started trying to groom him to be the winner, and every time he sang out of his own style, people stopped voting for him (of course, that was, IMO, the best thing that happened for him on the show and for his career). Simon didn’t get you and didn’t really go for you most days — he’s a businessman in the business of teenypoppers, so he didn’t see dollar signs with you. I understand you not thanking him. Randy and Paula? Come on, they were mostly with you and gave constructive criticism when they weren’t “yeah-yeah-dawg,” and even Simon had tips for you along the way — and he wasn’t always against you. And the producers and the whole AI machine — to throw out a blanket “Fox television” thanks is so all-inclusive that it’s under-inclusive and underwhelming. And ugly.

Maybe the myspace page has an explanation as to why you forgot us. Me. Them. Our fingers. I hope it was an honest mistake and not a deliberate snub. If a snub, boo. Hiss.

Either way, bad form.
(more…)

get ready…

24 starts tomorrow night, and the DVR-delayed live-blogging will begin! now, it starts at 8p.m. here, and we’ll be home from worship by then, but we’ll want commercial buffer… are they doing it commercial-free again this year? they usually do that…

oh, and i’ll be doing the liveblog over at IMAO, so if you come over here and wonder why i’m not here liveblogging, that’s why. go to IMAO for your livebloggage.

and don’t forget…
AMERICAN IDOL IS BACK TUESDAY NIGHT!
oh yes.

see, this is why blogging has been light. i’ve been resting my metacarpals.

which is directed by J.J. Abrams.

so… i wonder if, at the end of the movie, we’ll have any idea what’s going on…