The Douchebags

I'm renaming the incredibly lame show "The Doctors" to "The Douchebags." Who's producing this giant turd? It's some of the worst television I've ever seen.

It's not good bad TV like The Hills, it's just terrible, useless and maybe even harmful. (Some would argue the same about The Hills - totally fair.)

I tuned in today because they advertised "the four Fs women fear": Turning Fifty, Fatigue, Forgetfulness and Fat. I was interested in what they might have to say about fatigue.

First - lots of Fs today - the plastic surgeon douchebag (PSD) can't keep his smelly botoxed mouth shut for any length of time, even if they're talking about vaginal discharge. Even the ER douchebag and pediatrician douchebag know when to shut up for five minutes.

So, they're talking about turning 50 and the things we should do to age healthily, such as weight-bearing exercise for bone health. The PSD butts in to start explaining how as we age, our bones which were solid become like a honeycomb.

No one interrupted to correct him. Three other douchebag "doctors" sat there and said nothing. Then the gyno douchebag (GD) went on and on about how great it is to go through menopause and not have periods while we pop pharmaceuticals to rebuild bone.

Everything I've read about bone-building Rx's tells me they're not as great as they'd like you to believe - they might actually be harmful. They tell the body to build new bone, but the old bone that must be reabsorbed/removed is not. This makes the bone, which is naturally somewhat flexible, lose some of that flexibility and is more prone to breaking. Hello?! But the GD thinks it's fine to recommend we start popping prescriptions as soon as we turn 50. Excellent work.

There was absolutely no mention of working closely with a *qualified* doctor to manage hormone and/or bone health, no mention of nutrition or any supplements that could be beneficial. Just "go for a walk when you can and take bone-building Rx's." Fugging quacks - all of them.

When they got to Fatigue, they profiled a woman in her 40s who's been complaining of extreme fatigue for years. They followed her to an endocrinologist's office where the doctor explained all the tests she would run to try to figure out what was going on, but that all her symptoms may not have anything to do with thyroid.

???

That is so ridiculous I don't even know how to describe how ridiculous that is, especially when moments later the very same doctor said her test results came back as HYPOTHYROID and that SHE'S BEEN HYPOTHYROID FOR YEARS. What the brackafracka?

So, they show her in the doctor's office with the doc telling her all her symptoms may have nothing to do with thyroid, then later it's the PRIMARY CAUSE? Douchebags! What is the fricking point of that?

The *one* thing the endo douchebag (ED) mentioned that I found interesting was B12. The fatigued woman was very low on B vitamins, so it was recommended she eat red meat more often and/or take supplements. The woman said after she had a B12 shot she felt better right away.

In the past week I started supplementing with B12 and it might be helping. I've also had steak a couple of times in the last week and I'm feeling much better now than I have in weeks.

But I lost 40 minutes of my life to this stinking dung pile of a show. Not only is the show totally disorganized and a stupid free-for-all with PSD constantly chiming in about shit he knows nothing about, they give out ridiculously incomplete information and cannot spend a quality amount of time on any one topic because they have commercial breaks every 45 seconds.

They're making shitloads of money on advertising but they're not supplying any useful information. It's one giant popcorn fart after another. They should all be fired. As in, lit on fire fired.

Adrenals Adrainals

So... I've been reading about adrenal fatigue. Why? I have that sort of free time. And I'm wondering why I don't have enough energy to make a maple syrup & bread sandwich, but if I did, I'd make and eat fourteen of them in one sitting.

A few weeks ago all sorts of shit started hitting a big frickin fan. I'll bore you with those details another day, but it was a giant stress shot in the ass.

It was a rough few days, but then things mellowed out somewhat. Now I'm dealing with its aftermath. It's like having a mild case of mono, which if you've ever had mono, even "mild mono" makes you want to sleep for a year.

Even when I get to bed on time or early, I wake up tired. After feeling OK for about an hour, I'm ready to collapse back into bed. When I get in bed at night, I lie awake trying to shut off my brain and it takes forever to get to sleep.

I spend all day dragging my ass wherever I have to drag it, and if I don't have to drag it anywhere, I park it in a chair or on the couch. I feel OK again for about an hour in the evening, then I can't wait to crawl into bed.

Even though the PMS has long since come and gone, I'm craving sweets & carbs like an addict. Way worse than usual. No amount of coffee makes any difference - no jolt whatsoever. And out of nowhere, I'm having trouble with hay fever. I haven't had allergy trouble in years.

The writing project I was excited about a couple of weeks ago is a distant memory. I tried to work on it yesterday and put in maybe half an hour before I had to lie down. I've had headaches - no migraines - but I'd been headache-free for many months. I haven't run in three weeks. Not even to the fridge.

So I Googled "constant fatigue craving sweets" and found a few articles on adrenal fatigue. It makes a lot of sense. After years and years of stress, it seems plausible that at some point the adrenals say Enough! and go on strike.

Then I thought about past stresstivals and how I felt physically in the weeks or months afterward. I remembered at least a few occasions where after dealing with enormously stressful events, there was a time afterward of feeling physically drained and generally unwell. The recovery period seemed to be proportionate to the stressful period - the longer/more stressful the event, the longer it took to recover.

The worst thing I read about adrenal fatigue... you have to avoid sugar and caffeine. How cruel. I'll get back on the Greens Today and keep napping til this passes. I suppose I could see a doctor, but they're full of shit. I bet they'd try to tell me Paxil's been approved for treating doughnut cravings.

More about adrenal fatigue:

• Adrenal Fatigue/Adrenal Exhaustion
• Liz Lipski, PhD on Adrenal Fatigue - Google video (part 1)
• Liz Lipski, PhD on Adrenal Fatigue - Google video (part 2)
• Adrenal Fatigue vs. Low Thyroid symptoms matrix
  
• Project Aware Adrenal Fatigue
• Adrenal Health in Women
  
• Adrenalfatigue.org

It's Not The Heat

It's the cacophony.

It's gotta be age. It's gotta be getting older that's made me less tolerant of certain things, like bullshit, onions, and noise.

I don't remember being so annoyed by noise when I was younger. But I drank a lot in college, so there's much I don't remember.

All week it's been one noisy assault after another and I'm ready to buy a high-powered rifle.

There's a house next door that's been under renovation since before I got here last year. It looks perfectly fine from the outside, but they've been slowly tearing its insides apart and putting it back together, one screw at a time, for an entire year. They must charge by the month.

Most of the work has been fairly quiet - pickup trucks coming & going, large trucks delivering appliances, nothing too disruptive. Then this week began Monster Renovation Week!!!

On Monday they brought out a power washer to strip the old paint off the front steps. A power washer so loud, it sounded like they were in my house power washing the shower.

In the backyard, another guy was running the weed eater. This went on for hours. Around noontime I walked over to ask how much longer I would be without the ability to hear myself think.

Power Washer Guy claimed to not know English. He walked me to the backyard to talk to Weed Eater Guy. WEG translated and mercifully, PWG said he'd only need about 20 more minutes on the front steps. Then WEG said after that, they'd have to do the back deck. Fucking hell.

It's the decibels and the endless onslaught and the constant RAWRR of the generator as he revs it up and down. It echoes off of every other house on the street - it's everywhere and it never ends.

I get it - the guy has a job to do. But would it be the *worst* thing to WORK QUICKLY with the goddamm head-rattling machine? He was moving at a glacial pace, happy to power wash the goddamm stairs all goddamm day.

They finally finished about an hour later and I was able to relax. It was quiet for a while until people started to get home from work.

I guess because it usually rains all the time, whenever it's not raining, people flock outside to do yardwork while they can. Every day it's not raining. Every goddamm dry afternoon you hear the goddamm lawn mowers, weed eaters, hedge clippers and leaf blowers start up all over the goddamm neighborhood. They keep going until it's dark, about five hours later. Every goddamm day.

If you're trying to watch the news or listen to the radio while enjoying a cool evening breeze from an open window, forget it. Might as well throw some marbles into your blender & fire it up.

Day after day, it's been one noisy project after another. Wednesday morning's wake up call was at 7:30 a.m. with what sounded like boulders being pitched into a giant dumpster.

So, so, SO annoyed, I screamed out the window, "IT'S NOT EVEN 8 O'CLOCK YET!" and it went quiet. It stayed quiet until 8 a.m. on the dot, and then the boulder pitching began again.

Later when I went out to run errands I saw they were tearing off the old roof to replace it. Awesome.

We endured More Boulder Pitching Thursday and then this morning began Electric Nail Gun Friday. The best part? They had to use our power for the nail gun.

New Roofer Guy came over early this morning just before 8 a.m. to sheepishly ask if he could "borrow" some power for a few hours because they blew the circuit yesterday.

Feeling generous, I told him he'd have to ask our landlord downstairs. She's usually not up until after 9 or 10 on her day off, so I thought she'd enjoy an early start to her day. She must have said yes, because the nail gun was rat tat tatting moments later.

If it's not one neighbor it's another making all sorts of goddamm noise and I don't understand why they have to do it so goddamm often. Is it because hockey season is over?

They All Grunt a Little

Woke up to very dark, overcast skies this morning so I crawled back into bed after feeding the lions.

I tried to sleep in but was already too awake, so I watched a little "Breakfast Television" - a local TV news show on Vancouver's CityTV.

Never tuned in before this morning. I hope someone else was watching.

The hosts are chatty and bubbly and annoying and at one point they were talking about female tennis players that grunt and make a lot of noise when they play.

They cut to the guy who's supposed to be the serious news anchor, supposedly a tennis fan, to help name some noisy players, and he says in all seriousness, "They all grunt a little after smoking the ball."

They cut back to the bubbly hosts - one was holding her head in her hands and her co-host sat staring into the camera wearing a frozen grin, unable to react to what had just been said on live TV.

They cut to a split screen with the hosts and the serious news anchor who desperately tried to distract us all from what he'd just said by babbling on about tennis as the hosts sat silently waiting for him to stop.

Thankfully, it was time to show us the clogged roads. I'm looking forward to tomorrow's show.

Doctors Suck

Happened to catch this show on TV yesterday, Mystery Diagnosis, and it made me angry at doctors all over again.

Most seem totally unqualified to be doctors and not even fit to be plumbers. Plumbers are much more thorough about finding and fixing the problem.

Here's a fantastic example of how doctors FAIL, and at something so simple. So simple they should be slapped so hard in the mouth they forget they're doctors and go become janitors.

A woman in seemingly perfect health goes from a size 2 to a size 20 in a matter of a few months with most of the weight gain in her abdomen. She has numerous other symptoms I won't bother to list, but all are completely abnormal.

She sees doctor after doctor after doctor who cannot figure out what's wrong with her. For seven years this goes on as she tries everything she can think of to deal with her symptoms, hoping on every birthday and Christmas that by the next birthday or Christmas someone will help her.

Totally fed up she decides to take matters into her own hands and gets a hold of her medical records. She reads through all the tests and results to see her cortisol levels are WAY too high - ridiculously high. It was right there in her records, but NO ONE SAW IT. Or more accurately, no one bothered to read her goddamn records that were right there in her goddamn file.

She goes online and starts to research high levels of cortisol. In five minutes she diagnoses herself with Cushing's Syndrome.

Seven years. Seven years she tried to get one doctor, any doctor, to help her, and none of them could. Five minutes with her own file and she diagnosed the condition. She was a flight attendant. No medical background of any kind. Doctors - FAIL.

How hard would it have been for one doctor, in the dozens and dozens she saw, to take five minutes to read her lab tests? What colossal lame bags of shit.

So they're not all endocrine specialists - fine. But if the patients can use Google, can't the doctors? Too busy golfing and writing out useless prescriptions?

ARGH! Makes me so mad!

I have to wonder, if we're trusting these people with our lives, why don't we require all doctors to take annual refresher courses and certifying exams to remain practicing physicians? Fail the course and you're on probation until you learn it and pass the test. Can't pass it within a required timeline? You lose your license.

Even my mechanic has to take ongoing training to remain certified to work on my car, but my doctor can graduate med school, complete a residency, then not take another course or exam for 20 years and still remain qualified to do the job? Hardly.

I Remember...

...I'm radioactive. - Steve Martin

We're in the thick of hairball season here in PoCo. Almost every day we find a large, slick, fuzzy casting in the middle of the floor/rug/carpet/hallway. The collection is impressive. They really soak up the varnish nicely.

What I really need is a house with all-tile floors and drains every few feet or so and a fire hose. I suppose that would mean having all plastic furniture. The static electricity in the winters would be brutal. Maybe rubber instead. Or silicone. Stain-free, odor-free, fire hoseable furniture. I like it.

Ooh, but the electronics... OK, all-tile floors with drains and a fire hose, all silicone furniture and electronics housed in waterproof, deep-sea-worthy cabinets. The walls we could paint with marine paint over Tyvek-coated wall board.

Here's a random solicitor for you... the other day I hear a gentle tap at the door, a friendly, sounds-like-your-neighbor-just-popping-by-for-a-quick-chat sort of quiet knock, so I go to the door & open it up only to see a somewhat frazzled-looking guy I've never seen around here before.

He's standing back from the door a few feet, which is good I think, because I don't know who the hell he is or what he wants, and he starts telling me, in a shaky, quiet voice, how he's run out of gas and his bank card isn't working, and might I have any bottles I could donate?

This is when I couldn't be happier about having lived in downtown Oakland and the TenderNob, where I wore a constant, stony expression of barely-restrained homicidal rage and almost-suicidal indifference. This is the face I wear every time I open that door.

Before he'd finished his ridiculous question I blurted out No and shut the door.

Any *bottles* I could donate? How are you going to get all these bottles you're asking for to the recycling center to get those shiny nickels to pay for a litre of gas when you've RUN OUT of gas?

Did he go to every house on the block with this idiotic story? Do most people in these parts say Oh sure and leave the door open while they go about collecting bottles and cans for the drifter at the door? Does he think I don't watch TV and know just about every trick in the book to gain entry into someone's house?

Wellllll mister, I do! I DO watch WAY too much TV and I don't care if you're bleeding out your eyes and have asked me for a tissue. Piss off! Don't make me get my bat! I'll give you something to cry about! Now get off my property! Well, actually, we're renting. Good luck with the recycling!

Catching Up With Your Past

There's really no escaping it, for better or worse.

Things I thought I'd dealt with and cremated are coming back to life almost in front of my eyes. This sludge bubbling up from the depths is making icky puddles in what I thought was a healthy patch of grass.

It's stuff I don't know what to do with. I've run out of mental cartons. Like the stuff that keeps piling up on my kitchen counter. I have no real place to put it.

I need to purge this crap from my head, but I'm not ready for a lobotomy. And there's no Goodwill drop-off for this kind of crap. What a sad thrift store that would be. Thousands of urine-stained mattresses.

The Universe has a way of forcing us to confront our issues. Change it or accept it and move on, but you won't be able to escape it. Not for long.

One thing, or person, I'm glad to have not escaped entirely just got in touch with me through ye olde past-facer, Facebook. He was a friend from my former life and when I left that life, I cut all ties to it. My own witness relocation program.

He happened to speak with the ex (after 12 years of cutting him out of his life) and afterward, felt compelled to track me down to tell me I'd done the right thing. That was great. It's been 13 years since we last spoke and after exchanging emails, it was like no time had passed. He's still a solid, good person and it's a pleasure to be reconnected.

As for the other crap, I expect The Universe will help me build the appropriate cartons to cram all that negative shit into and light it all on fire. But I need to do it quick because I'm running out of space.

Stayin Glued

I know my last couple of posts reveal that I'm coming unglued. I am. Or was. Today was better. Made good progress on one hurdle that I hope to clear in another week or two.

The intense leg workout I did the other day helped take my mind of things, giving me a whole new problem to focus on - walking properly.

The stress must have acted like PCP or something, making me immune to pain or fatigue. It wasn't the day after the workout that really hurt, it was the next. Sitting down and standing up have been difficult, as has not walking like a robot. I think you could bounce a bowling ball off my hamstrings.

And this morning I managed to sleep in until 9:30, which might as well be noon for me. Dawn here is at 4 a.m. I know this because my bladder is often done sleeping by then and forces me to get up and deal with it. I'm amazed at how light it is at FOUR IN THE MORNING.

(BTW, it does not stay light here until 10 or 11 p.m. Sun goes down around 9:15 and it's dark soon thereafter.)

After I had a pee, I went back to bed and slept 'til 7, when it's time to feed the lions. I woke up and noticed something on the floor near the closet. Two small brown items. Yup. Two tiny cat turds had been deposited on the floor on my side of the bed. How cute.

"Someone" obviously had trouble dropping off the last two kids at the pool so she left them with me.

Once the horror dissipated, I got up, found the rubber gloves and the Lysol spray cleaner with bleach and cleaned it up. Then I fed the lions, washed up and crawled back into bed.

With a little extra sleep, it felt like a better day. We had waffles, watched the French Open final and later I watched the Prefontaine Classic. Very cool. Got some laundry done and finally did a few days' worth of dishes.

While I was folding clothes, "someone" hacked up a ginormous hair ball. We almost named it. I put down the clothes, found the rubber gloves and the Lysol spray cleaner with bleach and cleaned it up.

There are days when it feels like I have kids, when I'm cleaning up poo one minute and barf the next. Thankfully I don't have to change their outfits every few hours when their diapers leek - I just change them for the fun of it.

I don't know how it's all going to work out, but I have faith that it will. It always does. Somehow. Say it along with me, 'It always works out. It always does.'

Is It Me?

Because if it is, just tell me. I can take it. Do I look like a total shit-for-brains idiot? Is "stupid" tattooed somewhere on my forehead where only others can see it? Am I signing "I'm a dumbass" when I talk expressively with my hands? Is it the rack?

Really. I really want to know what it is that makes some people assume that I take the short bus and eat mud pies while sitting in the front yard in my underwear.

I had to take Henry to an avian vet here yesterday, and even though he is a near perfect specimen of the Amazona aestiva species, at the perfect weight, perfect plumage, and in perfect health, the fucktard vet felt compelled to tell me how to feed my own perfect fucking bird.

The 11-year-old bird I have taken care of for over 10 years. The bird who in all those years has had no health issues, not one problem whatsoever. The bird who every time I take him to his usual vet who's known him since he was hatched, RAVES about his great health and feisty attitude.

Really? You think there's something I'm not doing right? Tell me what you think that is, and I'll gladly reform my ways. No? Nothing to say on that topic?

So tell me then, why the fuck do you think you need to stand there and tell me how and what to feed my perfect goddamn bird when you just told me you usually don't see birds in such good shape? And after I just told you I feed him the best food on the market, which you can't even get in this backwater country so I have to ship it in from the States?

It's one thing to remind me about what to do for his good health - it's another to stand there and lecture me like I just picked him up at a swap meet.

How dare you. You don't know my life. You don't know anything about me. You just examined a beautiful bird in perfect health and now you think you need to tell me how to take care of him? You pompous asshole.

Here's a tip - when your head is that far up your own ass, don't talk. Please. Just don't. Nothing you say will make a damn bit of sense with all that shit in your mouth.

And you know, except for this one thing, this one thing that got so far under my skin I'm twitching, he seemed like an OK guy. I'm sure he's a good vet and he does good work. But why the fuck does this happen? I'm so tired of it.

Should I be cold and standoffish instead of easygoing and congenial? Would that make people assume I'm at least intelligent enough to take good care of my pets? I'm starting to think that might be part of it.

Maybe because I'm nice, people assume I'm like the slow kid on the city bus who talks to everyone who gets on or off. I can be an asshole, believe me, it's no trouble. Lots of other people do it and perhaps they've achieved great success as a result. Maybe that can be my "something new" for June.

Or, perhaps I should embrace this as an opportunity. If I get people believing that I'm a total retard, maybe I can start taking advantage of them in all sorts of ways. That could be a solution to a few problems. Maybe I could qualify for disability. Get a scooter paid for by Medicare.

Holy Stresscape Batman

So... there's a lot going on right now. More than I can get into at the moment. Suffice it to say, life is extremely stressful. Stress like I've not known in some time. I feel ill-equipped to deal with it.

What is this panicky, heavy blanket of anxiety I can't shake off? Even if I could, where would I put it? What can I do with it?

The other day I went running for an hour in 80-degree, humid weather. I'm not even in shape enough to run for an hour, especially in stifling heat. The next day I lifted weights for over an hour. Now my left knee is not happy, but I don't know what else to do.

I could start drinking. A lot. But I have to make phone calls, write intelligible emails, use the car... so, that option isn't an option. But I fully understand the desire to toss back a few to just take the edge off so you can keep going. You'd think Jack Bauer would travel with a very large flask.

So now I'm doing what I usually do when faced with extreme stress... cutting scope and supplementing with copious amounts of carbohydrates.

In my former life as a producer, when the budget (time, money, or sanity) ran short of the desired scope, the red pen came out and features were cut to fit the withering budget. If I had extra sanity, I'd gladly spend it. If only.

I'd planned to drive down to Alameda next week to see my niece graduate from high school and help celebrate the parents' 50th anniversary, but there's no way I can go now. Nor can I even think about all I'd have to do to prepare, pack, etc. So, that's out. Bummer, but it relieves some pressure.

Also providing some relief - carbohydrates. Simple, sinful carbohydrates fulfill a critical role - soothing serotonin. This must be why diets like Atkins & South Beach never work long-term. Life happens.

When life happens, an egg white omelet is not going to calm anyone down. Giant bowl of cereal? YES. Chips & salsa? YES. Häagen-Dazs Raspberry Sorbet? YES.

I ate so many chips the other day I swear I was sweating corn and salt.

Naps help, too, once the serotonin kicks in and I can breathe. Feels like it's about that time right now.

Sope Baux - Bad Parents

Here goes:

I just read The Mommy Files blog on SF Gate about a mother who's upset about her kids being scared by the dogs in Pixar's new movie, Up!

Are you effing kidding me?

Her kids are six and four years old and were apparently terrified by the dogs chasing after the bird. Her four-year-old son actually scolded her for taking him to "an inappropriate movie." That's so ridiculous I don't even know where to start with that one.

It's not the children I have a problem with, it's the coddling, sniveling, spineless, self-involved parents raising children who not only can't handle a movie MADE FOR KIDS, but they're growing up thinking it's in any way OK to scold a parent. Totally totally TOTALLY unacceptable.

It's true I do not have kids. I would have eaten them right out of the womb. I spent many years as a babysitter and nanny to cousins, nieces and nephews.

The way I cared for the kids was exactly as their parents did - lots of love and fun activities, but as far as rules/behavior goes, no negotiation and no tolerance for bullshit of any kind.

Those weren't my rules, those were the rules of their parents, parents who wanted responsible, polite, respectful kids to grow into productive adults, not whining, insolent, ungrateful remoras.

The truth of the post is revealed when the author says:

"I was so desperate for a mellow outing that I didn't even check the reviews ahead of time to see if the movie was deemed appropriate for little ones. I longed to sit for an hour and a half, munching on popcorn and sipping diet coke."

Longed for a mellow outing. Hey, I know, HIRE A BABYSITTER and go to the library. Or, find an activity appropriate for the age of your kids, dumbass. A movie isn't the answer, regardless of its rating.

At the end of the post she reveals:

"My kids were both knocked over by a dog a few weeks ago and my son was bitten on the back. My daughter, who has always been fearful of dogs, was especially traumatized by the incident and has had a few canine nightmares."

I peed myself laughing at this. Not at what happened to the kids, but that she took her kids who were just attacked by a dog to a movie that has hundreds of attack dogs in it. And she wants to blame the movie?

The sad thing is, there are capable parents all over the country trying desperately to adopt children who need homes, having to clear myriad hurdles and approvals that take forever, but all this idiot had to do was get knocked up - no special test, no certification. Unbelievable.

And why would anyone take a four-year-old to a movie? A toddler cannot sit still long enough to pee properly on a toilet, let alone sit through a 1.5 hour movie. Evidently, she was too excited about popcorn and diet coke to think this through.

We made the mistake of going to an early show filled with toddlers. Toddlers who could not sit still and could not stop whining at their parents for one thing or another. Their parents have likely never used a play pen, said "No" and meant it, or enforced real consequences for bad behavior.

It was bad enough working with "kids" right out of college a few years ago who expect all the rewards & fat paycheck just for showing up to work, because they always got a trophy just for showing up to the soccer game - forget about earning it by winning. I can't imagine how much worse that sense of entitlement will be with the next generation.

I know parenting is the hardest job on the planet - that's why I opted for cats. But for christ's sake, if you're going to have them, do the job properly. If not, keep your legs closed or cut the vas deferens already.

BTW, we loved the movie and were not at all prepared for how deeply we'd be touched by the scenes of Carl and Ellie building a beautiful life together, her passing and his mourning. We both cried like whiny toddlers. The one problem I had with it was feeding chocolate to a bird. We had to wonder how many idiots are going to try that, because you know they're out there and they're going to do it.

Hippie Healthy

I don't want to alarm anyone, but I may be turning into a hippie.

It all started with the olive leaf. I'm still taking it, in small doses, working up to the recommended daily amount, but it feels like something's changed. It could also be age, the possible onset of perimenopause or overexposure to lawn mower fumes.

I found hemp protein at the Organic Market and thought I'd give it a try. Soy is purportedly bad for the thyroid so I'd rather avoid it. I read that some soy isolate powders are processed using hexane - an Erin Brockovich chemical! Gross!

Hemp seems to be an amazing super food. It has all essential amino acids, essential fatty acids, fiber, and it has the right type of branch-chain amino acids, the right ratios, blah, blah, blah... all good stuff - super good.

So far I've used it in fruit smoothies and as a "pesto" sauce on pasta and I love it. As I sit here writing this, I could be cramming blondies down my gullet but I don't want any. I just made them yesterday and they might as well be dirt clods.

I am trying to limit sugar overall and it's true that the less you eat it the less you crave it, but I'm not off it altogether.

The PowerBars, Kashi bars, etc. are all loaded with sugar, as are my beloved almond butter-honey sandwiches and the blondies I just made (I used xylitol instead of sugar, but they have butterscotch in them). But I'm no longer craving cookies & doughnuts like my life depended on them, which sometimes it does. Seriously.

I should add, I've not been drinking for some time - it's too expensive here and I haven't felt like it. Avoiding booze cuts out a ton of sugar & toxins right there, so that's always helpful.

It's like my body is weaning itself off anything unclean or unhealthy. Not going full-on vegetarian, but I'm eating less meat and I feel good. I think I'm feeling better than I have in a while.

Better energy, clearer thinking, and a reduced desire to pick fights with customer service reps. It's still too soon to know what might be going on, but I'm enjoying it whatever it is.

NOW I Get It

Sometimes I tune into Canadian News, especially when I want to really relax before getting some sleep.

I walked through the room as they were chatting about the deficit Canada is racking up, referring to Canada as a "banana republic."

Hadn't heard that in reference to Canada before, so I Googled "Canada banana republic" and found a number of results (after scrolling through the Gap-related links) to news articles where Canada is frequently referred to as a banana republic for myriad reasons.

Now it's all making sense. Soon after we got here I had to take my car to Canadian Tire to get the Provincial inspection for registration and insurance. I wore my red Banana Republic t-shirt - the one that says "Banana Republic" on it in white letters.

It's a great shirt. I like wearing it and have often worn it when taking care of Canada-related business, like when I've had to go down to Customs, or ICBC, or the Social Insurance office. I figured wearing red might subconsciously help me get better service. Funny, eh? But seriously, I think it works.

But as I was leaving the auto shop that day, the manager sarcastically called over to me, "You know, I HAVE been out of the republic before!" and I smiled and said "Great!" not knowing WTF he was talking about.

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Now I'm going to wear that t-shirt everywhere.

Dear Graduates

My niece Elizabeth graduates high school in a couple of weeks, which got me thinking... What would I tell a high school graduate?

The sunscreen IS important - that's a good one - but don't go loco with it. A little sun isn't going to kill you, but the cocoa butter and the spray bottle might.

But really... what have I learned in almost 25 years since I graduated high school?

• Always lean over the sink when you brush your teeth.
• Similarly, if you drink coffee, avoid wearing white shirts.
  
• Always blow your nose when you get out of the shower. Always.
  
• Girls, always keep a tampon in your purse, bag, backpack, car - everywhere. Also, always have quarters on you.
  
• Hide a $20 or $50 bill somewhere in your wallet where you can't see it. You never know when you might need emergency cash.
• Make a few sets of spare keys to your apartment and leave them with friends. If you end up out on the town too drunk to remember where you lost your keys, you'll have someone to call to let you into your place.
  
• If a weird guy (or girl) thinks he's coming home with you after a party and gets into your cab even though you've told him no dice, jump out of the cab a few blocks from home and run like the wind. He'll never find you.
• If you must cut your own hair, use photo references - lots and lots. Try to refrain from busting out the clippers. That won't turn out well.
• If you must vandalize your place of employment, admit it immediately if management busts you - it'll go a long way to helping you keep your job (ifin you want to keep your job).
  
• Don't smoke pot with your boss. Things get weird.
  
• If you end up passed out at a friend's house (or dorm room) and puke in the bathroom sink, have the courtesy to bail it out before you sneak off. It's OK to bail it out the window if that's your best option.
• Dry wheat toast and V8 is an excellent hangover cure.
  
• Take road trips. Often. By yourself and with friends.
• Live alone as soon as you're ready. For girls, never live on the ground floor, always go up.
• Go to parties by yourself and if you're nervous, assume the identity of a Martian on a fact-finding mission.
  
• If you don't have a power drill, use a small nail to pound a pilot hole, take it out, then soap the screw (dry bar soap) and it'll go right in.
• Before you move, spackle all the holes you pounded into the wall.
• If you have an annoying neighbor living on state disability for a bad back, sneak some photos of him using a pole saw to prune the large tree in his front yard.
• If you manage to get yourself arrested, do not sass and do not call anyone in uniform a Rookie.
  
• If you have no idea what you want to be when you grow up, welcome to the world - most people never figure it out, but they usually find something fun along the way.

Good luck, Graduates!

What Are Words For?

Words are critical. Words help me make a living. Words are one of my most favorite things. It pains me when there's a lack of words. Important words. Words like: "Note: rinsing the espresso machine will take approximately [time duration] and require approximately [number] of tank refills."

Yesterday the espresso robot told me it was time to decalcify. OK. I don't have any such solution on-hand, but I pushed the button to decalcify simply so the message would go away and I could move on with my life.

It went through its paces and then told me it was time to rinse the machine. I checked the manual and this is what it says: When the descaling cycle is completed, close the knob. Rinse out the tank and fill it with fresh drinking water. Press the button to confirm the rinse cycle. Open the knob. The machine will start rinsing. When the rinse cycle is completed, close the knob and load the circuit."

Nowhere does it say how long it will rinse, how much water it will use - nothing more than exactly what it says above. All the machine says while it's rinsing is "Machine is Rinsing." Informative.

I don't want to tell you how many times I refilled that tank and switched out Pyrex cups full of fresh water, or how long I stood there doing it, because I'm still feeling so stupid, I can't even describe how stupid I still feel.

And I can't tell you how long I did this because at one point I blacked out from blind rage and hopelessness that I would ever go back to living a normal life, a life not spent tending the insatiable water needs of a rinsing espresso machine.

I will tell you that I used up BC's water supply for the rest of this year and probably broke even on the cost of car insurance (we don't pay the water bill here ;). She may not be decalcified, but she's been rinsed better than any water-using machine ever invented since the dawn of man.

Would it have been SO difficult for the Saeco people to add one line of copy to the manual, telling me it might only take ONE TANK of water to rinse the machine? That I should just let the tank run out and that would be that? Would that have been so hard?

I still don't know if that's really how it works. When I've rinsed the machine before and the water tank runs out, it tells me to refill the tank so it can keep going - and it keeps going for quite a while until the machine tells you "Rinsing Complete."

There's absolutely no information in the manual that tells the user what to do or what to expect. How thoughtless and half-ass. It's more like whole ass. It's just a few words. Simple, clear, helpful words.

It could be a total coincidence, but today I didn't feel like having any coffee. I made a pot of tea. I have no taste for coffee at all. I don't know if it'll ever come back.

Steroids Shmeroids

As I sit here writing this, with an ice pack tied onto my left shoulder with a dish towel, I realize that if I had easy access to drugs that might help stave off age and rebuild muscle & tissue, I'd be scarfing them down like delicious little doughnuts. Chocolate-covered miracle doughnuts...

I read an article a while ago in Elle Magazine about steroids in track & field, how easy it is to get on them and stay on them.

They profiled a sprinter, Kelli White, who resisted for many years until she learned that all the agents treat their sprinters like horses, deciding amongst each other who's strong/fast enough to compete in which races. Some runners won't get the chance to compete, based on an agent's decision.

A talented, successful athlete, she was desperate to make a living and compete in races she knew she could do well in. She agreed to try "supplements" from Balco. She talked about running faster and harder than she'd ever run before, and how quickly she could recover after grueling workouts.

After reading that, I better understood how someone could go down that path. If I could feel that good when training and recover twice as fast, I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing.

Especially now. I've been a distance runner most of my life (off and on) and as I get older, it takes twice as long to get back into shape and twice as long (at least) to recover from harder runs or strenuous workouts.

And during this past weekend I injured my shoulder and aggravated a very old neck/back injury. I feel about 80 years old.

The shoulder will be fine and my neck/back will be fine once I see my chiropractor, but feeling like my active days are numbered is terrifying. I feel old and like it's all downhill from here. I don't really believe that's how it'll be, but it feels like it for the moment.

If I could head down to Shopper's Drug Mart and pick up some growth hormone and whatever else might help, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But I don't want to grow testicles or end up with bacne, so that stops me from going that route. I'm having enough trouble with the Portuguese Lady's Mustache.

But you have to wonder - is a small amount of HGH safe? Would just a pinch in my morning coffee stave off problems like this for many years and not cause any harm? Why don't we know the answer to that question?

Why isn't the quest for healthy longevity getting more mainstream research & attention?

What's interesting is yesterday, when the pain was pretty bad, I tried OTC muscle relaxants and Advil. Neither provided relief. Later I tried vitamin C and glucosamine and it seemed like it helped.

Vitamin C is a building block of all our connective tissue - skin, tendons, ligaments - everything. Glucosamine supposedly helps the body to rebuild cartilage. Couldn't hurt to try a truckload of that & see what happens. Lord knows the potato chips in my knees could benefit.

Maybe with the right, natural materials the body can successfully repair itself, it might just take longer than we want to wait. For now, the ice is helping my shoulder so much I don't want to take it off but I'm losing all feeling in my left arm.

Get Off My Lawn

What IS it with kids these days!? [Fogey Alert, but not really.]

Yesterday evening I had to pick up David from the train station, which requires timing it just right so I'm not waiting at the station forever, but I never want to be late, and then there's rush hour traffic... which means I never know exactly when to leave and I always end up rushing out of the house afraid I'm going to be late.

I had just gotten up from the computer to start the rush to get ready & run out the door when I heard the doorbell followed by a friendly knock. I though it must be our downstairs neighbor, so I was happy to answer and delay my departure for a few minutes.

I opened the door with my wallet, phone and keys in-hand to see two teenage boys standing there with binders in their hands. Fantastic.

Now, the door has a very obvious NO SOLICITING sign on it and to anyone with half a brain cell, it would appear that I am about to leave the house. But still, I cheerfully said, "Hi, what can I do for you?"

Boy #1 began his pitch, talking slowly, his voice shaking, telling me he's going to start dropping off a new, free newspaper next week so he can get credits that will go toward tuition at UBC next year. I told him I thought that was great, and then he interrupted me to tell me that he would just need me to cover the cost for weekend delivery.

I stopped him and asked, "So, you're selling me something, yes?" He emphatically said he wasn't, that he "didn't need any loonies or twonies today." I repeated the question in another way, explaining that if he's standing at my door, asking me to give any money to anyone or anything at any time, that's selling something, and the sign on my door means you cannot come here and try to sell me something. Don't come here at all, really, unless I've asked you to.

He became annoyed and tried to convince me that he was not selling anything, saying, "most of the houses in this neighborhood were built with those [signs], and it was probably there before you moved in."

Whoa, Betty, WHAT? WHAT the WHAT?

I laughed and told him maybe so, but I'd put the sign on the door myself, and if he's going to houses with those signs, he's not respecting the homeowners' wishes, which won't help him in his endeavors.

He continued to argue with me about this as I said "No thanks" and shut the door on him. I was amazed. I've done door-to-door sales, I know it's a shitty job, but his unabashed rudeness was incredibly irritating. Who does that?

If he does end up at UCB one day, he's going to need special classes, but I suspect he's going to end up at Horton's making the doughnuts.

ICBC = Imbecile C*nts Buggering Canada

(She's smiling now, but this ICBC customer is about to be in a great deal of pain.)

Just when I think I don't have much to complain about, a letter arrives from ICBC giving all sorts of purpose to my day.

ICBC - the Insurance Corporation of British Columbia - is the province-mandated auto insurance in ol' Skittish Cenophobia. There are no other insurance companies you can choose to buy your basic coverage from. It's run by the province and there is no consumer advocate/oversight. They charge whatever they want and you get to bend over and take it.

It's the most blatant racket I've ever seen wit mine own eyes. Criminal, really.

I've talked about the exorbinant cost before - we pay twice here what we paid in Alameda, and that's with a 40% discount. Think about that for a moment.

We used to pay about $1,600 a year to insure both cars in Alameda for typical coverage & a fair amount of driving each year. Thankfully, we've had no at-fault claims and Alameda is considered fairly safe.

Here, I'm paying $1,600 to insure my car and David's coverage is running about $1,500/year. Port Coquitlam's biggest crime problem is trashcan-raiding bears and we each drive about 50 miles a month, usually less. (They don't know I like to drive back & forth to California & Seattle as often as I can.)

We each get a 40% "good driver" discount. That means we've had continuous coverage for at least the past eight years and have had no claims during that time.

Without that discount my total bill alone for the year would be just under $2,500. For a '98 Volvo station wagon I drive to Costco twice a month. When I've asked why the rates are so high, they cheerfully smile and say "I'm not sure..."

No one seems to care that they're getting totally reamed by the government. There's no protest, no inquiry, no investigation. Everyone just willingly takes it up the ass and keeps taking it. WTF is up with that? Sound familiar? IRS?


Definitely - building trust. A big pile of trust. A big stinking pile.

I recently got a letter from ICBC letting me know my claims experience letter from USAA would only qualify me for a 35% discount. Why? The verbiage isn't quite right. The verbiage that they specifically requested be in the letter. Now it's not correct.

This morning I called ICBC to make sure they received the NEW letter from USAA that said exactly what they told me it should say THIS time. Got yet another rep who told me it's still not quite right.

It's a different mouth-breather every time with a different complaint about the letter. Had to call USAA for the twelfth time and ask for yet another letter that might appease these blood-sucking morons.

Now I get to wait and find out if this new letter will work. To date, I've had to have USAA issue at least six different letters saying basically the same thing in myriad ways to satisfy ICBC.

These are the things that make me want to soak the bat in linseed oil and use it on the brain donors at corporate. See how much more of a discount I can get that way.

Fun stories about ICBC:

• ICBC admits snooping into juror's private files
• ICBC rigs car auctions for its employees' benefit
• And they sell salvaged cars without disclosing them as such!
  
• ICBC changes renewal policy but doesn't tell customers - oopie!
• A whole website to help people battle ICBC
• ICBC makes $500 MILLION dollar PROFIT! Yay!
• Optional coverage company slams ICBC's fishy biz practices

UPDATE June 3, 2009:
I finally got a letter from the ICBC imbeciles - this last letter from USAA did the trick and my 40% discount was reinstated & retroactively applied.

I even got a reply to the email I sent to Premier Campbell (from his office, anyway) about dissolving the ICBC monopoly and letting other insurance companies compete for basic coverage in BC. I'm sure it won't happen anytime soon, but I expected No Reply. It's a small but meaningful victory. Thanks, Canaduh.

Olive Leaf Loaf

A friend of mine recently started taking olive leaf supplements and raved about feeling great (and looking great), so I decided to give it a try. I love olives, so why not try the leaves & see what happens?

Its purported benefits: fights colds & flu bugs as well as yeast and viral infections, powerful antibacterial (just the bad), keeps blood sugar stable, supports healthy thyroid function, reduces LDL cholesterol, lowers blood pressure, increases blood flow (by relaxing arteries), powerful antioxidant, anti-inflammatory, immune-booster and provides enhanced energy levels.

I even found chatter about its possible benefits in treating some cancers, but now I can't find that page. It sounds like a true wonder drug, eh? And if it's just olive leaves, it probably can't hurt me... too much.

And so begins the experiment...

I found a supplement at the store (Nature's Way) that supposedly has 470mg of olive leaf (olea europaea). I took one pill a day for a couple days, then two pills twice a day. I forget sometimes that I have the tolerance of a 6-week-old kitten.

The label says take three capsules daily at mealtimes. The internet says take it on an empty stomach. The internet also says it can irritate the stomach and to take it with food. I tried it on an empty stomach and with food - no difference so far.

I started taking it about a week & a half ago. The first couple of days were weird. Felt awake and alert and had pretty good energy, but I yawned a lot. All. Day. Long. I think I actually got tired from yawning.

Early this week I started feeling poorly. Almost like I had the flu. Went back to the interwebs to read about side effects. Some people may experience what's called the Herxheimer reaction or "die-off effect." From Wikipedia:

The Herxheimer reaction (also known as Jarisch-Herxheimer or Herx) occurs when large quantities of toxins are released into the body as bacteria (typically Spirochetal bacteria) die, due to antibiotic treatment or rapid detoxification.

Typically the death of these bacteria and the associated release of endotoxins occurs faster than the body can remove the toxins via the natural detoxification process performed by the kidneys and liver. It is manifested by fever, chills, headache, myalgia (muscle pain), and exacerbation of skin lesions.

Huh. I must be full of toxins - who isn't? But according to the interwebs, this means the olive leaf is working... it's getting into my cells, attacking the garbage living in there and killing it off faster than my liver and kidneys can shove it out the door.

It's recommended to drink a truckload of water to help flush the system and reduce the dosage until the fluish symptoms subside, then start up again at a low dose and gradually increase over time.

For regular supplementation use, it's recommended to take just 1000mg daily, though I suspect my sissy little system may not need that much.

The past few days have been less than great - headache, fatigue, nausea and what seemed like slight chills. The nausea affected my appetite, though overall my typical cravings for cookies and doughnuts is pretty much gone, and I'm in full-blown PMS mode. I should be shoveling crates of sweet, fattening carbs down my gullet, but I'm just not into it. Shocking.

It's also entirely possible that I was, in fact, fighting the flu. No way to know. But today I feel pretty good. I hope it *was* the O leaf killing off 42 years of crap and cleaning out my system. That would be nice. Internal spring cleaning.

I stopped taking it for now and will wait a couple days before starting up again. If it really does what it's supposed to do, I should be effing invincible in just a few short weeks.

Links to better pages I found:

• Olive Leaf - Wikipedia
• Olive Leaf - Drugs.com
• Olive Leaf Extract - CureZone
• Olive Leaf - herbwisdom.com
• Olive Leaf for Hypertension - WebMD
• Herxheimer reaction - Wikipedia

Old & Rickety

I'm not talking about the Coaster.

David and I ventured to Vancouver's Playland today. It's a cute little park - it means well - but at $29.95, every ride should come with space-age barf bags and personal attendants to clean you up. As David said, it's one step above a county fair, sans barn critters.

It's about as big as a Costco parking lot, with two tiny coasters, typical midway business and a half dozen puke-makers such as Hell's Gate, Breakdance, and Crazy Beach Party.

I wish I'd gotten photos of the murals in Crazy Beach Party - too much equipment and shadows in the way, but there was Hulk Hogan with a parrot on his shoulder, various muscle men in pose-down positions, babes in bikinis, and Arnold, our governor, in a t-shirt, in a beach shack ready to rent you a surfboard.

Now, why Arnold was working the shack and *not* on Muscle Beach a la Pumping Iron is anyone's guess. I don't remember Arnold being known for renting boards in Venice, but I wasn't there. But still, how is Hulk Hogan a better shirtless character than Arnold? Insanity!

The Coaster is great - a 50-year-old death trap that drops like a rickety little rocket and races down around and up and down its little course throwing you nearly clear out of the car as you crush your seat mate on every turn. That was our first stop and I totally OD'ed on adrenaline.

From there we went directly to the one other coaster, aptly named Corkscrew. Fairly harmless, but the spiraling started the stomach flipping. We tried another ride called Pirate! I'm putting exclamation marks on all the ride titles. Pirate! is that stupid ship that rocks back & forth. Looks harmless. It isn't. I did not feel OK after that.

Maybe I'm a little old for rides like Pirate! or Breakdance! (?), with little cars whipping around on arms that whip around a garishly painted "inner city" backdrop. That was the ride that turned mild nausea to full-blown I'm gonna hurl if this shit doesn't stop immediately. It could have been the murals...


Like an idiot, right after that, we got on another boot-maker, some crap called Enterprise. The cars look benign, like you'll just glide around in a nice, calm circle in your little pod. Nope.

The bitch goes up, sideways, down and the car rocks side-to-side. Jesus, please baby Jesus make it stop. Sitting directly in front of David, I dry-heaved cereal fumes. Had it not been several hours since breakfast, his hair would have been decorated with partially-digested shredded wheat. Delicious.

I thought I was a goner after that. I must have burped/almost-hurled fifty times and felt a flop sweat coming on. We made our way to the snack shack to get a soda. I thought it might help. What I really needed was a valium/dramamine cocktail. Next time.

Once I'd settled down a bit, we rode Corkscrew! and Coaster! a few more times, then tried the climbing wall. I thought it would be a cinch, but I got about halfway up and freaked out.

I kept thinking of the nightmares I've had where I'm climbing a steep rock face and it keeps getting steeper and steeper until I'm about to fall off. It wasn't the looking down that got me, it was the looking up.

After a last ride on the Coaster! I got a big slice of pizza, peeled off all the cheese and chowed that salty, doughy, soothing crust. If only they'd had corn dogs & funnel cake. Never too old for that.