Angry.

I'm so angry right now. My sister is in the hospital, and I'm so angry with her. There's so much drama involving her, I sometimes wish it would just kill her and get it over with instead of dragging it out for years. Then, once I think this, I feel guilty, because I really don't want my sister to die...but hell, if she's slowly killing herself anyway...

When my sister was little, she was diagnosed with Glomerulonephritis, an acute infection in the kidneys. It affects children more often than adults. What causes the infection can be any number of things, a high fever, contamination by certain toxins. Forty years ago, it wasn't understood very well, and my sister lost one of her kidneys, and her other kidney was damaged. She spent almost a year in the hospital. I was born while she was in the hospital.

They told my sister that she should never have kids because she only had one kidney and her body couldn't take the stress. Well, she has three.

Eight years ago, the Glomerulonephritis returned and she was in kidney failure. We were all tested for compatibility for a kidney donation and my other sister was a perfect match. Six out of six. That usually only happens with identical twins. It took Julie almost two years to donate her kidney to Amy. Julie's very vain, has lots of issues, and it basically took threats of death for her to agree to donate her kidney. Six years ago, Amy got a new kidney.

I got the call at 10:30 this morning to rush to the hospital. I drop everything, speed through town to get to the hospital. This isn't the first time....it happens several times a year that there is some drama with Amy and her health.

And now....she's in rejection. Not because of the kidney, but because of Amy's lifestyle. She was told in order for the kidney to work well, she would have to take her anti-rejection drugs regularly, eat healthy, exercise, and quit smoking.
She does none of the above. She parties(i.e. drinks, and does recreational drugs), smokes like a chimney, eats when it's convenient, drinks regularly soda like water, and never ever exercises.

I think she's addicted to vicodin, but refuses to admit that she has a problem.

Today at the hospital, she tells the nurse she's in terrible pain, and the nurse leaves to get her a shot of morphine and Amy gets up, grabs her purse, and takes two vicodin pills out of a plastic baggie. Shocked, I ask her what the hell she is doing and she tells me that the morphine won't be enough, she needs the pills. I make her put them back then search her purse and find her stash. I confronted her about her addiction and she calmly tells me that while she loves me, she doesn't appreciate me invading her privacy. My mother just sat there, not wanting to believe that Amy has a problem, but upset all the same.

I gave her the baggie back. I told her if she wanted to kill herself that was fine, but do it quick and stop all the drama. And I walked out of the hospital.

Dammit! What the fuck??? I mean, we all do things that are unhealthy for us...but she is KILLING HERSELF!!!! Every year, more than 50,000 people are on the waiting list for a kidney transplant. Every year, more than 6,000 die waiting for a new organ.

To be given such a precious gift and throw it all away....I'm so angry. I'm so angry. I'm so fucking angry.

My horrible weekend.

Where to start....well, the beginning I guess.

BARK! BARK! BARK! Egads, dog, it's 6:30am Saturday morning. Can't you EVER let me sleep in? Sheesh...

Nala likes to sleep on the end of the bed so she can look out the window. She's learned to open the shutters on the window and will open them, then jump on the bed, positioned just right so she can survey her kingdom.

Of course, this is a typical experience on the weekends, and I will usually get up, let the dogs out, and then go back to bed for a few more precious minutes of sleep.

Except this Saturday, when I stumbled into the living room to yell at her to shut up, she stumbles into the living room as well, her hind quarters not cooperating with the rest of her. My first thought was that jumping down from the bed, or jumping on the one of the windows in the sunroom to bark at the cat that customarily sits across the street from my house to taunt my dogs, she hurt her leg. Then I realize, it's both legs. I make her lie down, and feel her back, worried that she hurt her spine.

I tell her to stay and proceed to the bathroom to pee(I mean, don't you pee first thing in the morning?). While I'm sitting there, taking care of business and trying to figure out if I can wait until 8:30 to take her to my vet, or take her right away to the animal emergency room, she wanders into the bathroom. She seemed ok, and confused, I go to let her out while I get dressed and brush my teeth.

At the back door, her back end stops working again and she stumbles sideways. Now I'm really worried. I help her down the stairs into the backyard because I figure that it will be easier to get her into my truck from back there. She takes a few crooked steps and lies down in the grass. I rush inside, dress and brush my teeth.

By the time I get back outside, she is in the throes of the most horrible grand mal seizure I have ever witnessed. She was against the side of the house and her whole body was slamming against the side of the house. Every muscle in her body, including her eyes and her jaws were frozen and twisting. You have no idea how scary this was. I run next door, pounding first on the front door, then the back door of my neighbor's. Mark was in his jammie bottoms and hurried outside to help me, as I was certainly not making any sense in my slobbering, sobbing, fit.

We run back over to my yard, where I run in the house, grab a blanket, and run out again to help him help me, get her in the truck(Jeep Cherokee). While trying to get her out of the herb garden, where her thrashing has tossed the rocks bordering the garden across the driveway, her body seizes and she raises up, coming down on her head. I thought I was going to throw up listening to her head crunch like a smashing pumpkin.

I lost it. I did some weird tippy-toe dance, screaming and turning around, not able to watch her hurt herself. Mark yelled at me to snap out of it, and I helped him roll her stiff body onto the blanket where we carried her to the truck. I told Mark he needed to come with me to help keep her under control as I was afraid she would hurt herself or me in the truck. I have to thank Mark for telling me to 'suck it up' and 'you have to do this'. I was so pisssed at him, I stopped crying long enough to tell him to fuck off and get out of my way. I gained control and we were on our way.

I called the e.r. en route, and explained to them the symptoms. They were waiting for me with a stretcher and helped me get her out of the car. Even then, thirty minutes later, she was still stiff and seizing. We rolled her in, and they pushed me out, to take care of her.

I love having the e.r. available, but they cost a small arm and leg to even walk in the door. Nala's worth it.

They do blood work, and decide to keep her for twelve hours for observation, promising me they will call if anything changes. They suspect epilepsy, and she's the right age for it to begin. I leave, go to my regular vet's office, which is open by this time, and tell him what happened. He's worried as well, thinking that the beginning wasn't typical of an epileptic seizure. He was so good, the voice of reason, and just talking to him calmed me somewhat. He's an amazing vet, having treated all of my pets for the past fourteen years.

I go home, crying the whole way, covered in piss, shit, and blood, from her struggle. She let loose her bladder and bowels during the seizure, and cut herself up pretty bad from slamming against the house and rocks, even biting her tongue. Man, all the bad things I've ever said about her comes back, haunting me like a curse. Oh God, please let her be ok, I promise not to yell at her ever again if you just let her be ok. Madchen is home waiting for me, worried about her sister, going to the back door, the front door, looking out for Nala. Whining, coming back to me I'm sure, to ask where her big sister is. I can't do anything. I lie on the couch, then the bed, not able to focus on anything, worried about my girl.

I call a few hours later, and they tell me they had to sedate her and give her medication to stop the violent vomiting. She was sleeping at the time I called. At six in the evening, I make the drive back to the e.r. and she's waiting for me, weak, but her stub of a tail wagging. She was so happy to see me. The vet and technician told me how sweet she was, so gentle, just snuggling with them when they would check on her.

They told me she would be fine, and they believed that this was the first epileptic seizure, and recommended that I put her on Phenobarbitol to prevent her from having any more seizures. I promise to take her to my vet on Monday and discuss it with him.

She slept all night, and all of Sunday. And on Sunday, still had some weakness on her left side. Today, she was still exhausted, not wanting to go outside or play with her sister. I took her to the vet this afternoon, and he suggested that we hold off on the medication. He isn't convinced that it's epilepsy, thinking that it may in fact have been a stroke, or even a brain tumor. The problem with either of these is this: there is no cure, and either will most likely kill her. I can take her to a neuro-vet, and pay $1200.00 to have an MRI done, but this will only confirm that there is nothing to be done. Even with chemo or radiation, it just prolongs their life, it doesn't cure them. If she has another seizure, we will start her on Phenobarbitol, hoping that it will protect her. If her symptoms get worse, we will know it's one of the other problems.

And as I type this, my sweet girl is sleeping on the bed, still exhausted....but she seems stronger. I can only hope that this was a one time thing and that she will be fine.

I certainly have a new found desire to keep her safe, and love her even more for her struggle this weekend. She's so sweet, and so gentle, I can't now imagine life without her. I can understand her exhaustion. I am still tired as well. Apparently losing your mind with worry and crying is very draining. And I have several bruises I'm not sure exactly how I got.

I love you Nala...please be ok.

Flirting

I love flirting. It doesn't matter who I do it with, it's a thrill. I love feeling the desire, or the attraction, or even the feeling of power. It's not a malicious thing....it's all in fun.

When my co-worker, Renee, whose cubicle shares a common 'wall' with mine, hears me on the phone flirting, she starts giggling. Then I hear her typing and I get that email 'Quit Flirting You Freak!'

I have to explain. I investigate child abuse for a living and work with law enforcement almost every day. And there's something about a man in uniform with a big gun that makes my heart skip a beat, and my stomach do a little flip. And there are several officers, deputies, and state troopers that call for various reasons and we flirt shamelessly. Needless to say, some are married, some are single. But it's all in good fun. We respect each other and the jobs we do. It's nice to talk with someone who understands what we do for a living. It always amazes me when someone in law enforcement that fights crime for a living, with a gun, tells me how much they admire the job I do. They say I put my life on the line more than they do because I can't carry a gun, or mace, or anything else to protect myself.

It's a thrill and an ego boost when these hunka-hunka burnin' loves flirt and say all the right things. It can perk up an otherwise dreary, depressing day filled with bruises, pedophiles, and crackheads.

I like who I am, and I am confident in who I am. I think I show it too. I'm not above anyone else, nor do I act like it. But I am their equal, and I let people know it.

So when a man flirts with me, I flirt right back. I deserve it. I enjoy it. And I'm not ashamed to admit it.

So if we ever meet, feel free to flirt away, you won't be disappointed.

Greek Tragedy

It is certainly a tragedy that all of the passengers were killed on the Cypriot jet that crashed near athens. My heart goes out to their families.

Having said that, I was reading a report today on the crash and Athens' chief coroner made the following statement:

Athens' chief coroner, Fillipos Koutsaftis, said he could not determine whether the six people whose bodies were examined were conscious when the Helios Airways Boeing 737-300 plunged 34,000 feet into a mountainous area near the village of Grammatiko, 25 miles north of Athens.
"Our conclusion is they had circulation and were breathing at the time of death," Koutsaftis said, but stressed: "I cannot rule out that they were unconscious."

I think most people are breathing and have circulation at the time of death....

Wasn't it Dan Quayle who said, "For NASA, space is still a high priority"?

Recouperating

Ahh....the weekend is finally over. Not that I didn't have a fabulous weekend, but I need to recoup!

The weekend began with the drive up north. Trisha was driving, I was in the passenger seat, and Joyce was in the backseat. I love Trisha with all my heart, but her driving skills leave a lot to be desired! Rides right up on people, THEN hits the brakes. And of course, we hit rush hour traffic so it was REALLY painful for me. Trisha and Joyce laughed at me the whole way up north because I kept riding my invisible brake and covering my eyes. (Why do we ride our invisible brakes? Are we not smart enough to know that it's NOT REALLY THERE!?!?)

We saw a giant Rooster, Horse, and an Elephant on the way up north. I'm not sure what makes those kooky northerners put giant animal sculptures in their front lawns, but they do. And I was sure that Trisha was going to choke to death as she's taking a swig of her diet coke and looks up to see the giant Rooster waiving at us.

When we finally made it to Caseville, which is right at the tip of the thumb(ok...I have to go off on a tangent here for a short minute. I think everyone is familiar with the 'Michigan Mitten'....where you hold up your left hand and it's shaped like the state. [it's so cool that we can do that!] ) and the cottage is probably not 500 feet from Lake Huron. It was beautiful....so serene, calm waters, and giant Pink Flamingos. Huh?!?

It was the Cheeseburgers in Paradise weekend....complete with giant pink flamingos to honor Jimmy Buffett. Every cottage on the lake had these giant aviary delights. And as we drove into the little cottage subdivision, you couldn't help but notice the sign nailed to the tree that said CAUTION~Drunks playing

just like a 'child at play' sign. (That should have been my first clue that we were in for a bumpy ride...)

Man...what a weekend. Drinking(Cosmopolitans and Appletinis), great food(grilled pork tenderloin with a honey mustard ginger marinade and browned butter & basil tortellini), wayyyyyyyyy too much sun(oh man, my back will never be the same but I can't figure out how one leg got sunburned and not the other one), swimming(Lake Huron is awesome!), and Saturday night, Karaoke at the neighbor's house(those folks can party all night!).

We never made it to the cheeseburger fesitival....and I don't think we missed anything. We had so much fun right there at the cabin partying that there wasn't even time to go!

But it's ok. I had a can of cheeseburger ravioli for lunch today.

WooHoo!!!!!

I'm so happy! I'm leaving in approximately 30 minutes to go up north for the weekend! Do other states have an 'up north'?

I'm joining some friends at a lovely house on Lake Huron. And interestingly enough...the very small town there is having a 'Cheeseburgers in Paradise' festival this weekend. Sort of a Jimmy Buffett Weekend....so I anticipate lots of Margaritas, cheeseburgers, and debauchery!!

Ah....can't wait to drink, sleep in, and lie at the beach. Now THAT sounds like a good ol' time.

Driving.

What do you think about when you are driving in your car? Do your thoughts differ if it's a short ride versus a long ride?

I have a fifteen~twenty minute drive home from the office. And yesterday I found myself thinking about the cars our family had growing up. I have no idea what stuck that thought into my head, but I couldn't get it out. I pictured each and ever car that I could remember, and then proceeded to count them. Why the hell would I do that?!? And even as I thought, 'what the hell am I thinking about?' it actually became a nice way to unwind on the way home.

I thought about my very first car...my 1974 Gremlin that my dad bought for me from the little old lady that lived two doors down. It was a purplish-blue color and cost $300 in 1984. Well, it cost that before we actually got the damned thing home and took it to the auto shop where $700 later the engine was overhauled. Apparently Mrs. Engle didn't know you needed to change the oil more frequently than say, oh....never.

It was a piece of shit, but I loved that little car. It was my vehicle to freedom. I could finally go shopping without having to ask anyone else for a ride. Of course, there was that incident of driving to Toledo to go Christmas shopping and getting two flat tires on the way there. Yeah, dad was REAL happy to have to come and get us. Or the time that my best friend, Renee, and I drove two hours to go to the Madonna concert, only to have to pull over three times on the way there as the radiator overheated. But man, do we look cool in the pictures from that trip. Hanging out with our Madonna garb on with the Gremlin in the background. (I have GOT to get a scanner! I think the pics here would have been hilarious).

I think my favorite car though was the 1979 Ford Thunderbird my father had. It was brand new when he got it...and man, in 1979, it was hot! It was the first car we had with air conditioning and a cassette player! We were stylin'! I learned to drive on that car...and I thought my father would kill me. He took me out to the church parking lot behind our house and after just one circuit(going ten feet, slamming on the brakes, then going another ten feet...you get the picture), ordered me to get out of the car and walk home. Really, I have improved since then.

The car I miss the most is the red hot Mustang I used to own. I loved that car, bought it used, drove the shit out it...and man, I thought I looked so hot in that thing! I 'sold' it to a very former boyfriend and he never paid me for the damned thing. Of course, we thought we were slick, putting on the title the selling price of $1.00 so he didn't have to pay the sales tax. Needless to say, he was the slick one....never paying me for the car. And of course, I had no recourse since I signed the title over for a buck. Karma is a bitch I guess.

Anyway, that's what I thought of on the drive home yesterday. Some days I just think about killing the slow asshole in front of me, but other days, I drift off and wonder how the hell I made it into my driveway.

The internet guy....an update.

Well. Hmmmm. Where to begin...

I previously posted that I accepted a date with a guy that I met on the internet. I set the date for this coming Wednesday to give myself some time to digest the fact that my intuition wasn't happy with this decision.

How many times have I told myself to LISTEN TO THE VOICES IN MY HEAD??? Clearly I should pay attention to myself more.

Last night, or should I say, early this morning, my phone rings and it's him. He's drunk and just came home from a bachelor party. I think any other guy would be calling because after having too many drinks, and too many lap dances, he wanted to talk dirty....but noooooooo not this guy. He wanted to vent about what a sucky time he had because he was the 'asshole of the party'. What does that mean? He was hard to understand, slurred his words, and went on to discuss whether Lance Armstrong was a hero or just a regular guy. Huh?!? I wasn't sure I heard him right so I asked him to repeat himself. That's when he hung up on me. For the first time. I roll over, thinking about the odd conversation I just had when he calls back. He wanted to talk about how his friends didn't understand him....he shared very sad news about his family....then he started rambling about what, I have no idea. I felt bad for him but this wasn't the time to talk. I suggested he go to bed and he got angry and hung up on me for the second time.

I stayed up for a while thinking about him and the second thoughts I had about him before this conversation. It bothered me that he seemed to have some serious issues he needed to address.

So when he called this morning, he didn't remember calling and was very hungover.(my snotty side says serves him right, but I wouldn't wish a shitty hangover on even my worst enemy.)

Was I insensitive for telling him I thought he had some things to work out before he dated anyone? Was it wrong of me to tell him that he hung up on me twice while bitching about his friends? Needless to say, we aren't meeting Wednesday for drinks.

I hate to think that this was because of his age(ten years younger than me) but I do believe that it has something to do with it. Is that ageism?

I debated about giving him a third chance, but I really think I'd be wasting his time and mine.

How much you want to bet I'll hear from him again in two months?

Blogs...to share or not to share.

So far my blog has been private, or at least I hope so. I mean, clearly anyone who'd like to read it may, but I haven't told anyone I know about it. The reason is this....I bitch about people I know on here! What if my friend Angie saw the post about being her labor coach? I think it would hurt her feelings. Or how about Dave, the internet guy, who by the way I have a date with Wednesday for drinks. (I needed time to get used to the idea of actually meeting him before meeting him. Oh, and he's not seven years younger than me, he's ten.) The whole point of my blog is to vent and to share stuff I think is probably too mundane to share with my friends.

I certainly wouldn't tell my family, they would probably never speak to me again. I can't tell co-workers, since I have written about clients(and THAT could potentially get me fired).

So whom do I tell? Anyone? or just the strangers who stop by to read my ramblings?

And what if I decide to share my sexual escapades? Believe me, I have some! I certainly would hate for the men I've slept with to read what I really thought about the strange faces they make while cumming. They may turn around and tell people about the odd things I do in bed. Face it, revenge is a part of humanity.

So....is there anyone I can share my blog with, without fear of repercussions?

I wonder if I can teach the dog to surf so I can at least talk with her about it.

Dogs...love 'em or hate 'em?

I love my dogs. They are so funny, silly, goofy, lovable, and most of all, they love me unconditionally. When I come home from work each night, they can't wait to see me, wagging their tails...or in Nala's case, her stub of a tail. Madchen's tail goes 'round in circles when she's happy to see me.

They are content to lie on the floor next to the couch when I feel like vegging...or run around the back yard with me when I'm working in the garden. Nala, being a rottie, is surprisingly(not to me) gentle, bringing me a baby bird in her mouth without hurting it, so Madchen doesn't eat it. Madchen loves to sit next to me when I'm on the computer, content to have me rub her ear...her eyes half-closed, her mouth part-way open...just enjoying the attention.

Then Nala will come over, shove her out of the way and command my attention. She's very greedy that way...like a child that wants your attention constantly.

Of course, it's not all roses. There was the day I came home and found the bathroom garbage strewn from one end of the house to the other....egads...did they have to do that the same week of my period?? ew. And how about the fact that I've probably spent over a thousand bucks doggy-proofing the fence because Nala is an escape artist and smarter than me...(my local police know her by name...it's a good thing she's friendly)... Or there was the time that Madchen had diarrhea and shit all over the carpet in at least 73 different spots.

My favorite of course is every night when I go to bed, they jump on the bed to sleep with me...I have to sleep on an angle because they take up at LEAST 3/4ths of the bed. And don't get me started on the dog hair. I brush them, and I brush them....and I still end up changing my sheets several times a week. I wonder if Mexican Hairless dogs come in extra large?

Did you know they are more expensive than kids? I took them in for their annual check-up. $382 later I have all their shots, heart worm medicine, flea goo, and a lecture from the vet that Nala is 9 lbs. overweight and wasn't I feeding her that special all natural dog food that will keep her from gaining weight like he ordered me to last year(and nine lbs. ago)??? Gee Doc, I do feed her the extremely expensive special dog food that must surely have flecks of gold in it to explain the price. They play outside everyday for hours...chasing squirrels, butterflies, toads, imaginary monsters, and each other. The only thing left to do would be to tie her to the car and go for a run. (Yeah, like I'd ever run with her....only after she learns to call 911 so when I collapse from exhaustion she can call me an ambulance to take me home.)

I play fetch with them...it's the funniest thing to watch...Madchen loves the game and will play for hours, while Nala chases her just enough to make her drop the ball...then apparently she has won, and goes off to find something extremely offensive to roll in. (why do they do that?!?)

But as I sit here, looking at Nala lying on the bed so she can look out the window, and Madchen curled up on the floor next to me with her head on my foot, I have to catch my breath....they are all mine, and they love me~even when I throw away that nasty garden glove Madchen stole out of the garage and has carried around for weeks, or when I shove those damn pills down their throats and clamp their mouths shut so they don't spit them back at me. They love me, and would defend me to the death. As I would them.

Now if I could only get them to brush their teeth...

Second chances??

Ok. So a few months ago I chatted with a guy named Dave on the internet....I think I met him in a big girl chat room. He sent a few pictures of himself, and he's cute(if those are really pictures of him, and of course, I like to see the good in people, so I'm sure they were...yeah, right.), but he's seven years younger than me. (I don't mind that he's seven years younger than me, if he doesn't act like it. I once dated a man that was 21 when I was 32. Huge mistake....clearly, there is a big difference in THOSE ages.) I send him photos of me and he tells me he's very interested in meeting me. A little too aggressively if you ask me.

He lives about twenty minutes from me, but from the get-go, I have an 'iffy' feeling about him. Not sure what it is, but I have learned over the years that I have a pretty fine-tuned intuition. So this 'iffy' feeling bothers me. We chatted for several days on the internet, then he gives me his number to call him. I am definitely a safety girl and block my number when I call him. He actually has the audacity to be offended that I blocked my number! But other than that, we have a very nice conversation. I call him a few more times, then don't block my number. Big mistake...he calls three, sometimes four times a day. What the fuck?

Now, if I got those tingly feelings for him, I would be flattered that he's calling that often...but as yet, I don't, so those 'iffy' feelings really start to sing. So when he asks me out on a date, and he has no clue where he wants to go, or what he wants to do, I said yes. Am I LISTENING to myself??? What was I thinking?? Here's a man that wants to take me out, but before I even meet him I have 'iffy' feelings. Clearly I am not drinking enough water and am dehydrated and delirious.

When he says he'll call to confirm and he doesn't...I'm actually relieved. I really didn't want to meet him anyway. And the next day, he calls and says:

'well, I guess we aren't going out since you didn't call to confirm.'

I very clearly tell him:

'no, you said you would call and you didn't. I assumed you had changed your mind.'

'Well, why didn't you call to find out why I didn't call?'

'I don't chase.'

'Can we try it again?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Well, I think we are both too lackidaisical about going out, and I don't think it will work.'

'see ya.'

I delete him from my buddy list, and life goes on....right? Well, I'll be damned if he doesn't catch me online tonight(Oh WHY didn't he delete me from HIS buddy list???) and tell me he's still interested in meeting me and can we try it again.

I said yes.

Somebody smack me really, really hard.