Finalists-Last Turkey Standing

Hey there-it's hard to write when you can't see over your gut. To say I was a glutton on Thanksgiving would not be true, but I overate and the last thing I could do was think. It's such a strange holiday. Isn't it? Annie and I woke up to squishy rugs in her basement apartment. Damp rugs on bare feet can produce the same effect as a mammogram (prior post)....a little pee due to shock. Seems as though the CONSTANT rainfall caused the old basement to leak and the poor landlord was not happy to get the 7:30 am call. All went well and help was on the way. We went over to a friends house (nine years in a row now) and had a fab time! It seems as though all I did most of the weekend was eat leftovers, watch tons of football and complain. Gratitude be gone!~ I should be thankful I'm not a turkey.

Mammy-O-Grammy

To have a mammogram or NOT to have your breast squeezed in a cold, hard, vice more powerful than George Foreman pressing down on a grill? The controversy continues and according to an independent group of researchers, it's ok NOT to get them checked until you are in your 50's. REEEEALLLY? That news could have saved me alot of bullshit over the years. I've gone to the mammologist five times in the last ten years and everytime it's as if I put all my chips down on the roulette table. It's the 21st century and I still have put "my hands in the air like I just don't care" in order for them to get a good shot of my headlights. When that machine comes down on my breast, its so cold, I feel inclined to pee............just a little, but I flex the ole' kegels and put on a smile. Olan Mills was a breeze compared to this. After that, there is the waiting while the doctor looks at the film. There should be posters in the room while people nervously sit on their hands. "Hey, don't worry about chemo, all the cool kids are doing it", or "Bald is the new blonde". Cancer doesn't run in my family, it sprints, and my job is to be accountable to my friends and family by trying to stay alive. I will continue to get them no matter what the doctors say because I don't want to be running around in a T-shirt that says, "Lymphnomaniac".

Stray

When my partner Annie moved in to her new apartment in September, she didn't know that the place came with a cat. We soon discovered an emaciated, little brown silhouette that would stare in the windows and then dash away. I didn't pay much attention, but Annie started letting it in through the bathroom window. Little muddy paw prints lined the bathroom sink, toilet, floor and shelves. If wanted by the FBI, we certainly had the proof. I call the thing "it", not to be disrespectful, I love cats, I didn't know what "it" was. Other times I called it "brown, brown", "brownie" or "little shit stalker" There was a day not too long ago when hail balls were being thrown at us and the wind was whipping and Annie couldn't leave it. She brought the little thing in from under the house. It was puffed-out, tiny, hopeful and starving, like a meth addict ready to go to treatment. Annie's mother came to town and told us we needed to accept the cat as our very own and after much discussion, we did. We looked her over and it seems like she has a vagina, but one can't be certain these days, after all, we live in Seattle. We are taking her to the vet to get her all checked out. The two other cats that live here are not fond of "Brownie" and they will just have to work that out. Cats howling, and hissing puts me on edge and I want to mediate and say, "Why can't we all just get along"?

Secret Love

I am a fan of Richard Attenborough. He is a terrific actor, but what I like best are his wildlife shows. Tonight I'm going to watch Whales: An Unforgettable Journey. I like to say it's an IMIN movie because I have a 25 inch screen and an old DVD player. The whales look like guppies, and Attenborough looks like Santa, but I dig it. The best movie I ever saw in IMAX was the eruption of Mt. St. Helens. You'd think I would recoil from Washington after seeing that film, but hey, we're all gonna be ashes someday anyways. Attenborough's enthusiasm is contagious and he can make a school of fish getting eaten by sharks seem like a beautiful crime scene on Law and Order. It's natures way of murdering, and that's ok. Along with my adoration comes shame. I don't go out and tell everyone that the latest flick I got on Netflix was Planet Earth: The Complete Collection. I believe there is some psychological link to Marlin Perkins on the Old Mutual of Omaha Show and Steve Irwin. Irwin was a dink and frankly he had it coming. Marlin just got the hell out of the way and made his camera man do everything. Chump. Attenborough does get close to the animals, but with his superior British accent, safari hat, or cute little polar outfit, the animals get a feeling he is almost too "good" to eat. The kingdom could get upset with the one who swallowed the director of the movie "Ghandi".

Websites, Peacocks and Parasites

Good morning. I was up early working on my website.
Comcast Cable is set to buy up most of NBC, but they seem to
have forgotten me. The wireless internet gal who is TRYING
to get crap done. My wireless has been disconnected several times
and if I have to call, email, reboot, unplug, or switch cables again,
I'm threatening to hang myself from a short chandelier.
Don't they know that it is my money (and probably
yours too) that will help them pay off Jay Lenos' contract for
his sucky new show? There is nothing more pitiful than a sick
unplumaged peacock. I recently saw one at a free petting zoo
outside of Leavenworth Washington. That coupled with the
aggressive, spitting El Paca caused me to skip the gift shop and tear up the highway. I hope they get new owners, and that Comcast is not interested.

Rainy Days and Mondays

always get me. Down. Yes. I should get up.
Percolate. Bite. Swallow. Hat. Umbrella Up.
Tilt head. Down. Drive. Run. Enter. Wet Soles.
Shuffle. Shuffle. Wipe. Shake. Sit. Down.
Always get me. Down.

Over it.

I am at a coffee shop once again because my connection
at home is a drag. Literally. I am over here in West Seattle
trying to figure out why I have two blogs. I have this one
and another one and who knows, there could be a third.
Four cops just walked in and I thought they might arrest me
for overblogging. It's not illegal yet, but I am thinking
it should be. Two coffees and a cookie later, I haven't made
much progress. I was too jacked up and paranoid.
Later.