Niff.Dot

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bloody hell.

So, I’ve been tagged by Dariush, or called out, I suppose, to do the “meme”. I have no idea what the hell a “meme” is, but since I am such an uber-cool friend I shall cater to his whimsy and “meme” away. Here goes.

Tickle Your Pickle:
List seven songs you’re into right now.

* Waiting – Michael Tolcher. Heard it on an HBO promo and thought it was the coolest little ditty.
* Tangled – Maroon 5. Their “bitch go to hell” tuneage strums a chord in my vengeful lil heart.
* La Tortura – Shakira. Booty shakin’ is always a good thing.
* Geek in the Pink – Jason Mraz. I feel like Mrs. Robinson sayin’ this but this baby boy is cute as hell. (She can take her toys outta the drawer, then, cuz I ain’t comin’ home…) Brilliant.
* Don’t Dream it’s Over – Crowded House. Pure nostalgia.
* Enjoy the Silence – Mike Shinoda Remix – Depeche Mode. A kick ass rendition of some classic DM.
* In the Rough – Anna Nalick. One of my few indulgences in poppy chick music.

and one more just cuz Bry and I are Jammin’ to it right now:
* Come Baby Come – K7. Ya gotta gimme lovin’ and ya gotta gimme some…

Band for a Lifetime:
Choose a band/artist and answer ONLY in titles of their songs.

As much as I hate to admit it, Tori Amos.

1. Are you male or female?
Girl. Self-explanatory.

2. Describe yourself:
Sweet Sangria. Sweet indeed.

3. How do some people feel about you:
Strange Little Girl. Not so little, but it’s all I got.

4. How do you feel about yourself:
Little Earthquakes. Just unstable enough to be interesting…

5. Describe your ex-boyfriend/-girlfriend:
The Wrong Band Definitely.

6. Describe your current significant other:
Real Men. Hell Yeah he is.

7. Describe where you want to be:
In The Springtime of His Voodoo. Relevance = none. Coolness = 100%

8. Describe how you live:
A Sorta Fairytale. Although not so sorta.

9. Describe how you love:
Sweet the Sting. (devilish laugh)

10. What would you ask for if you had just one wish:
Snow Cherries From France. Well, why not?

11. Share a few words of wisdom:
The Power of Orange Knickers. Heed.

12. Now say goodbye:
Goodbye Pisces.

*whew*

I am done. All for you, Dariush. All for you.

I suppose this is like a chain letter type of system, so I must share the wonder that is the MEME with others.

Thus:

I hereby tag Shannon and Jason, since Shannon is on spring break and has plenty of time on her hands, and Jason ‘cuz he shall not escape the meme unscathed. Now GO, my young Padawans! Go forth and “meme” unto the world! (And no cheating! Keep your eyes on your own paper! And NO nook-ing!)

The Meme has you…

Voulez-voulez-vous meme

>I just realized what a depressing fucking blog that was.
What a pissy whiner I am. No wonder no one visits me anymore. I’d just turn them into a load of suicidal zombies. You are right to stay away from me! Get as far away as you can! Flee! Run away…run away!!!

Oh, you do love me. I knew you did.

Lucky for you I went to the gym and worked out my hostilities. Otherwise, the verbal lashing that may have ensued would have left you quite incapacitated and unable to prepare 23 baloney sandwiches for the Earl of Windsor when he decides to visit.

Exactly.

And in case you had forgotten:

The square root of 9 is 3
Red and yellow make orange
It is possible to walk and chew gum at the same time
and let sleeping dogs lie.

That is all. I bid you bonsoir, buenos noches, hugs and kisses.

Voulez-voulez-vous nitey nite.

I have sunken into a self-loathing funk today.

I do this once in a while. The fucked up thing is I don’t know what I’m in a funk about. I’m sure I do, on some subconscious level, but I don’t want to delve into that right now. I prefer deluding myself rather than coping with it and dealing with anything resembling reality.

Reality is overrated.

It’s a trade-off, this. I was on happy pills for 6 years. 6 years. Last July I just up and decided I didn’t want to be on them anymore. The thing is, they weren’t truly happy pills. They were ’emotional automaton’ pills. I did not feel depressed on them, no. I did not panic, I slept, I did not have chest-tightening anxiety attacks. Goal attained.

I also could not cry. I could not feel unbound joy. Anger eluded me. Romance was absolutely out of the question. I was nothingness…I was emotionless. I am not a cold, unfeeling being by nature. These turned me into something else. I did not like me very much.

So, I did a trial separation. Wanted to see if I’d re-engage in my self-loathing, destructive and panic-stricken behavior without excess serotonin flowing through my brain. If I did, I’d know I’d actually needed them.

Well, I was 90% right.

Today just happens to be one of the 10%. Like I said, it’s a trade-off. Payment due to the gods of non-chemical contentment. Bastards better appreciate it and not spend it all on weed again.

Besides, if people were meant to be happy and elated every minute of every day of every year, it wouldn’t be life. It’d be an episode of Full House.

*shudder*

So here I sit, in my glummy snit.

Side note: ever go through antidepressant withdrawal? It is good times.

I did some research whilst in the throes of the electric-shock sensations reverberating throughout my body and to my utter dismay and vindication (family was convinced I was exaggerating…) found that the symptoms of SSRI withdrawal are likened to heroin.

Heroin.

Observe:

The symptoms associated with heroin withdrawal that are similar to SSRI withdrawal are: nausea, diarrhea, vomiting, restlessness, and leg movements, or jerking. While heroin produces muscle and bone pain, insomnia, and cold flashes with goose bumps (“cold turkey”), which are not identical to SSRI withdrawal, the SSRI symptoms of headache, “electric shocks”, dizziness and hot flashes as well as psychotic mental state (violent anger/hopeless depression, unwanted suicidal/homicidal thinking) are similarly debilitating and certainly result in the return to the use of SSRI’s in the same way that heroin produces that result. Most experts agree that the major withdrawal symptoms peak between 24 and 48 hours after the last dose of heroin and subside after about a week. However, some people have shown persistent withdrawal signs for many months.

That’s the catch. The withdrawal symptoms are so debilitating and intolerable that you go back on them to make the nightmares, twitching, manic depression and blinding flashes of light to go away. The feelings of constant anxiety, panic and despair are so intense you believe that you do in fact need antidepressants. So back to the pharmacist you go.

I was determined. And just shy of psychotic. But my pride remained intact. I was not going to let a bottle of friendly-looking pink pills alter my brain chemistry and turn me into an emotional vacuum, which is what they did. I felt nothing. I had NO sex drive. I was a turnip. So, I flushed the fuckers down the toilet and plodded on. Granted the insomnia was unbearable, the random terror-induced sobbing fits freaked out my co-workers and the inability to form coherent sentences caused me to occasionally question my decision. But dammitall, this had to happen.

So you can see why I’m perfectly willing to endure the 10% just to feel human.

I shall sit in my cozy little funk here and reassure myself that the odds of having two 10% days in a row are highly unlikely.

Again, reality is overrated.

So, yes, I cry. I get angry, irrationally at times. I funk it out on occasion (10%). But I also laugh, make jokes, and find amusement in most facets of human nature. And the sex life ain’t too shabby, either. We got some lost time to make up for, after all.

 

>I have a blog? Holy shit!

Yeah, I know. Don’t start. I’ve had…stuff…going on.

Bygones.

Found myself in a bit of a pickle this morning. I got ready for work, walked out the front door, keys in hand, water bottle in tow.

Fiddled through the menagerie of keys that is my keychain, located the one with the black top and the Jeep logo on it, poised and ready to unlock the driver’s side door.

Alas, there was no driver’s side door.
There was no steering wheel.
Not even a drop of windshield wiper fluid remained.

Terror struck. My car was gone. Some piece of shit bastard had stolen my 1996 Jeep Cherokee with white latex primer spilled all over the rear bumper (don’t ask…) and a variety of hiking trail permits adhered to the windshield.

As I made preparations to explode in a frenzy of full-blown panic, a moment of clarity struck.

Cut to:

Last night, my apartment.

Bryan and I had plans to meet some friends for dinner. We were meeting them in Bellevue. Bryan works just a hop-skip-and-a-jump from our culinary destination so it was decided that rather than make the 30+ minute drive all the way back home to pick me up that I would drive to his place of employment, park in the employee parking lot, then leave for the restaurant together.

One problem.

The two of us failed to realize that when we left the restaurant that we were indeed in the same car. Hence my missing vehicle this morning.

As of 2pm I still have yet to retrieve my missing vehicle. I was home early from work, even. (Chauffeured to and from by my equally forgetful husband who decided to work from the ‘Snoqualmie Office’ today.)

I am, at the moment, cozied up at my computer clad in an interesting juxtaposition of my satin pajama top and plaid flannel pajama bottoms. I am uœber-hot. But now I must drag my sorry self up out of this chair, get outta my evil jammies, put some decent clothes on and leave with Bryan to retreive my vehicle. What a pain in the ass this is. I suppose it would be unfeasable for him to attempt this task solo. Thus I go.

Voulez-voulez-vous pain in the ass.

>My husband is the shiznit.

He calls me.

“Hi Zadough”

“Hi Schweets”

(Yeah, like we’re the only ones with goofy-ass pet names…)

“I got you a present.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s white, with some green…is wireless, plays DVD’s…”

“Oh you did NOT!”

“I did.”

“Dude, those things aren’t cheap!” (I was about to realize the ridiculousness of this statement…)

“But you’re Zadough!”

“How much did that set us back?”

“You’re gonna be mad…”

“Just tell me…”

“$800.00.”

(This is where the realization of the ridiculousness of my ‘cheap’ statement sinks in.)

Apparently he did not just buy any ole XBox. Oh no. He bought this.

Via Amazon.com:
Product Description
Are you ready for the next generation of insane gaming? Then dive into the Xbox 360 Pro Gamer’s Bundle and invite your friends over for some serious gaming. This bundle scores you the hottest gaming system around, the Xbox 360 System, two months worth of rentals from Gamefly.com (rental period begins when Gamefly.com rental card is activated, no additional purchase is required), a one-year subscription to OXM (subscription begins when Gamefly.com rental card is activated), and SIX of the most eye-popping “E”, “T” and “M” rated software titles to keep you busy until your thumbs go numb! Test your skills with these amazing games…Quake 4, GUN, Call of Duty 2, Tony Hawk’s American Wasteland, Ridge Racer 6, and Condemned.

Holy crap, man.

I assure you, he doesn’t do this all the time. But I’m not a fan of jewelry and clothes, so he’s gotta spend money on something.
The motivation for this grandiose purchase lies in a recent doctor’s appointment I had.
My doctor is in the process of trying to find the cause of my excessive bruising and nosebleeds. This has involved some blood testing (hence the blog about the inhumane band-aid/cottonball situation) and a great deal of worrying on my husband’s part. A great deal. He’s a sweet man…he just loves me very very much. So I think in an act of desperation and diversion he bought me this uber-cool get-well present in an effort to take some of the focus off of my medical situation, which in my opinion, is no big deal. But I digress.

Aside from the shockingly large price tag, this thing kicks ass. The major selling point for me is that it comes with Quake 4!!!!
I first became addicted to Quake when Quake III Arena came out for the PC in late 1999. It was the first online multiplayer first-person shooter I’d ever played, and it, too, was the shiznit. I was in college when it came out, which proved to be a problem. I spent way too much time fragging instead of studying. When I was feeling particularly ornery I’d hop into arena rooms, throw an all-caps “I AM A GIANT PURPLE BUFFALO!” into the void and bail just as swiftly. It was good times.

Ironically, after my husband and I finished college and moved out here, I didn’t play so much anymore, though I had much more time on my hands. I had discovered hiking, and felt that was far more fruitful than engaging in a testosterone-laden fragfest everyday. My priorities were all messed up.

We’ve had an XBox for several years, though in the past I never played it much. ‘Till he bought me Doom 3 last year. Holy shit. I played that game sooooooooo freakin’ much. It was unhealthy. Every spare minute, trying to get to Communications, Alpha Labs, get this PDA, find the missing scientist, find more shotgun shells ‘cuz the shotgun was my favoritest weapon ever…I played so much that I would dream I was in the damn game. (They should offer Gaming Therapy for this sort of thing). I still play it 2 or 3 times a week, but have hit a roadblock with which I am irritated due to the fact that I am having rocket launcher location issues. I can’t find the damn thing. I make it all the way to Hell, meet up with the Guardian, who is this guy:

And can’t do a damn thing about it ‘cuz I can’t find the rocket launcher. Chaingun, yep. Plasma gun…oh, sure. BFG even, hoo-yah. I even found a damn chainsaw. But it figures, the one weapon I need to defeat the Guardian and acquire the ultimate weapon, the Soul Cube, is frustratingly out of reach.

Y’all think you have problems.

It’s all good. To hell with Doom 3. (heh). As of tomorrow I will have Quake 4 and life will take on a whole new meaning. I have already set up my XBox Live User ID and will be ready to kick some ass when I get home from work. The challenge, however, lies in this: I have only ever played Quake on a PC. XBox controllers are slightly different than a keyboard. I have some serious training to do.

We should get together a blogsphere arena and get everyone on Quake 4 fragging the crap out of each other. Any of you fools wanna take me on…bring it. I’ll kick yo’ asses six ways from Sunday you sad-ass keyboard jockeys.

That is all.

>Nurses are sadists.
Permit me to explain.

Whenever I’ve had blood drawn, the nurse performing the procedure inevitably applies the “cottonball/band-aid” combo post-blood-letting, which, at the time, seems harmless.

It’s when I’ve gotten home and attempted to remove said “cottonball/band-aid combo” that the question arises:

why??

I swear they have a deal with the adhesive bandage industry to produce uber-sticky band-aids for blood withdrawals. Sick bastards. The removal of the bandage causes much more discomfort than the procedure itself. Even when they do miss the vein.

I’m tempted to just leave it there to fall off on it’s own accord. Who am I to interfere with the life-span of the average doctor’s office elastic bandage?
I have decided to let it be. Why not? It seems harmless for now. It seems happy. Perhaps later we can watch the “Blues Brothers” movie together. I am hoping that if I work on our relationship it will help to facilitate the ease of its removal. The breakup will be difficult, admittedly – but I feel that it is best for all concerned.

We certainly hope you all enjoy the show. And remember, people, that no matter who you are and what you do to live, thrive and survive, there’re still some things that makes us all the same. You. Me. Them. Everybody. Everybody.

Superbowl, fools.   Got my hat.

 

 

Gee has her hat.  Gee isn’t quite as excited.

 

This is just the coolest damn thing ever. Wow. 30 years, man. Seattle’s been waiting for this for 30 years.  I’m too stoked at the moment to give a rat’s ass about punctuation or grammar. This is unreal. Damn I wish I was downtown right now.
And or all you punks thinkin’ of rootin’ for the Steelers…well, watch your ass. I’ll have Gee bust out…

THE NOSE

 

And I gotta tell ya…bein’ goosed by this schnozz is uber-foul. You have been warned.

Go SEAHAWKS!!!

>
Dammit.

I am invincible. I am not supposed to be sick. Somebody did not get the memo.

This sucks.

This is all my husband’s fault. He did this to me. He was sick all last week…hangin’ around the house…breathing…

So here I am. Runny nose, sore throat and icky phlegm-hacking-coughs that hurt like a sonofabitch. I think I’m dying.

Fortunately, in a fit of nostalgia, I DVR-ed “Pretty in Pink” and “The Breakfast Club”, and “Resident Evil” arrived in the mail yesterday. The ailment-entertainment plan is secure.

Dogs are providing no moral support whatsoever. Duke’s only contribution lies in his attempt to consume my snotty tissues. I think his motives may involve some amount of selfishness, but, we haven’t discussed it yet.

Ugh. Got the skin-hurt-thing. Just what the hell is that, anyway? Anyone?

I am in no mood to be social. Go away.

When Cameron was in Egypt’s land…
let my Cameron go…

>you let sleeping…

dogs lie.

Damn I love my dog.

>I seriously think we are literally floating away.

The Seattle area is now on it’s 24th consecutive day of rain.

The national news came on this morning while I was getting ready for work and searching for my galoshes, and when rain in Seattle is in the opening lineup, that’s some serious damn precipitation. They had to close some roads here in town because they were full-on bodyboarding in the river. But it’s all good. Bring it. Drop this mess on us all day today, tomorrow…hell, even Friday’s cool with me.

But not Saturday.
Absolutely not.

Granted sports and rain in Seattle are common bedfellows, but usually only in college football. Why only college ball? Because up until about 2000 the Hawks played in the – granted, I give you old and decrepit – Kingdome, which was…well, a dome, i.e., covered. In Seattle, this is a brilliant idea. They kept this philosophy when constructing Safeco field, better known as home to the Seattle Mariners. Open field, yes. But with a retractable roof. Another exercise in brilliance, I felt. (Here I must make note of the amusement that was provided by the relative ease of finding a photo of the Seahawks playing in the rain. Took all of 5 seconds. That’s some funny shit.)

But then.
In 2002.

They opened Qwest field.
It is a beautiful stadium. I will give you that. But why, oh why, would you build an open-air stadium for a sport whose season takes place in the rainiest months of the Seattle calendar? Baseball, sweet. Summer sport. Rainfall…not so much. But the fall and winter…bust out your umbrellas, boys and girls.
Okay, so granted, last year was a bit dry, but that was atypical. We were on the verge of water rationing last summer, yes. But I gotta tell ya…this year is more than making up for it.

I suppose I’m just bitter that my first playoff game is going to be viewed from under a ballcap and a poncho. My feet will be soaked, my refreshments water-laden. Perhaps I’ll bring some Kool-Aid and some of those freeze-dried MRE’s to enjoy during the game. Gelatinous fruit cocktail and Seahawks football are pretty much one and the same. What a tit-baby I am. Poor me. I’m going to a playoff game and I’m bitching. What the hell am I bitching about? Some people you just can’t make happy.

I did, however, recently learn that our tickets would fetch about $750 on eBay. Heh. Season tickets, bitches. And I ain’t sellin’. I gotta get some use out of this damn poncho. It’s not as if it has any stylistic purpose outside of sporting events. I was totally gonna Seahawk-out on my ensemble, but with this lame-ass poncho it’s not like anyone’s gonna see it. But don’t think I won’t jump on it if I get to the game and they have Seahawks ponchos. Given the stadium/Seattle situation, they should be required to vend them. They should have had a meeting with the designers and engineers. “Dude, okay. We’ll fulfill your whole ‘open air’ vision with the stadium, but only if we supply the spectators with official NFL Seattle Seahawks ponchos. We’re not bending on this”.
I shall find out Saturday if I need to write a strongly-worded letter to Paul Allen.
I’d even consider loading up Office on my mac in exchange.

But only consider. I didn’t say promise.