My poor baby Effie

I don't know how many of you are out there in cyberland tonight, or how many of you are still reading my blog, but I need all the positive kitty energy I can get... or rather my 10 year-old baby kitty does. She's a sweet, special kitty and is loved very much.

She's been sneezing and her ears itching. We took her in for those two things, and to get her vaccinations. While there, it was established that she had a fiery urinary tract infection and was severely constipated along with the upper respiratory illness and a colony of bacteria in her ears. I had no idea. She is not a complainer. She eats well. I never knew she had anything wrong. I feel like such a heel.

But it got worse.

She was given medication, her ears were cleaned out, and they gave her a shot to rehydrate her. While in the office, she pooped blood. We were assured it was likely just from the constipation. She'd be ok.

We got home. She swelled up like a balloon and refused to eat, drink or use the litter box. She got progressively more lethargic and then just began slobbering with her tongue out. We just returned from taking her to the emergency vet, where they are keeping her overnight.

I am TERRIFIED of something happening to my furbaby. She and I need all the thoughts you guys have to give for kittykind.

UPDATE

Effie is a sick baby, but she is improving. They have her benedryl last night which helped the swelling go down. She still won't eat or drink water, but they think that because of the upper respiratory infection she has developed basically a sore throat and doesn't feel like swallowing (hence the drooling).

She is prescribed baby food (chicken no less) so that will make her a happy little girl, assuming she will eat. Also lots of antibiotics and kitty hugs.

Poor little girl. And just yesterday morning we were playing her favorite game of "slap mommy from behind the shower curtain." I had no idea she was so sick.

Last night sucked. Thank you ALL for the thoughts and prayers. I appreciate every one of them.

Upps, here it comes.

It's a Law in Physics: for every manically hyper upswing, there has to be an equal and opposite manic downswing.

The last two days I have been hyperactive. Crazy, bored and bouncing off the walls. I spent a good hour last night doing jumping jacks and racing up and down the stairs trying to work off some of the mania. Oh, yeah.. and the dance party. For those of you who came to my party, thanks. It was fun, huh?

But after an entire day of roller coaster mania, UUUUUUUP... dowwwwwn. UUUUUUP... dowwwwn. I am now at a lull.

I went out with Brad tonight. We hit Dailey's Martini and Cigar Bar. Didn't puff down a stogey, but I did think about it. I drank a few and proceeded to feel like holy wretched hell. We are now home and I feel like...

(You guys could fill in the rest...)

Yes, I feel like crying. Boo-fucking-hoo. The equal and opposite to crazy manic hyperactivity. It comes as either a chemical imbalance and as a form of traumatic exhaustion. Guess which one fits me?

I have one more week until I will get the much needed hope I have been looking for since before my last pregnancy. Next Friday is our consultation appointment with 3rd Opinion RE. I truly believe in "try, try again." If you don't like the answers here.. fuck'em. Look for answers elsewhere. I hope to have surgery. I hope to have HOPE. I hope to have someone look at me, say "I am so sorry, let me help." I need this, and it sucks that I need it. It sucks that I rely on someone so much to tell me things will be ok, because in all honesty, I lack the ability to tell myself this anymore.

Will things be ok? I don't know. If experience is all I have to judge by, then I'd have to say no. I sincerely hope experience isn't all that matters.

Come on, 3rd Opinion RE. Please be Gold.

MANIA!

Riddle: What do you get when you cross a hyperactive girl with stress and emotional upheaval?

CRAZY DANCE PARTY!!!!!

That's right girls and boys! Grab your boogie shoes and get ready to dance, dance, DANCE!! I am throwing a virtual party and all of you are invited!!

OH MY GOD! Like, what are YOU gonna wear to the party of the year? Like, I am totally wearing my hot pink footless tights, polka dot miniskirt, a totally bitchin' electric purple big sweater that falls off the shoulders and my totally awesome to the max double wrap belt! And what ensemble would be complete without my majorly hardcore bitchin' 3" pumps!?!?! WOOTWOOT WOOOOOOOOOO!!!

*skips in place doing the Molly Ringwald Breakfast Club dance*

Naptime Stories

In the beginning, Mom and Dad got it on. Somewhere between that moment and my birth, I was outfitted with a tricked-out uterus that had a slightly irregular shape. I guess you could say Mother Nature got my uterus at the Body Parts Outlet Mall. She picked it up, noticed an ink stain but rationalized that soda would take that right out, then decided it would be ok. She had a budget to keep.

After Mother Nature left the GapUte Outlet, she wandered into WestPoint Stevens Stomach Factory Outlet. That's where she picked up my digestive tract from the cutout bin. The stomach looked ok, but the matching esophagus was missing, so she went with a lesser quality and slightly-off esophagus from the cheaper aisle. The intestines she found at that department store Going Out Of Business Basement Sale would tie the whole system together.

The three fairy sisters, Nervosa, Compulsa and Worrywart dropped by to sprinkle a little magic onto Mother Nature's work of art.

"I shall bless her with the ability to become affected by everything that goes on around her," Nervosa declared. Shaking her little fairy wand guaranteed that eating would be either excessive or completely impossible, depending on circumstances.

Worrywart cocked an eyebrow and thought for a moment, then began to wave her wand. "I shall gift her with the inability to put away thoughts and events. She will fixate on everything to a fineness unmatched by all."

Compulsa paced manically, carefully avoiding cracks in the pavement. She knew her gift would have to outdo her sisters. Finally, it came to her.

"On this day, this woman will internalize every struggle, every joy, every event. She will replay these events until issues are solved. And from this day forth, germs are bad, bad, bad!!" The wand lit up like Chinese New Year.

Mother Nature approved of the gifts from the sisters. And my body was declared complete. But not before an evil darkness drew from the shadows to present its gift of Migrainous Brain to my skull. Mother Nature shook her head, but there was nothing she could do. The laws that she herself had put into place disallowed her from turning away gifts from anyone.

"That's the way I've done business my entire existence," she said with a shrug. "I am not willing to change rules now. The Migrainous Brain is allowed forth." The brain was laid in place.

"Anybody else? No? Ok then..."

And so I was presented to the world.

Grump.

Ever have one of these days?

Nothing works.
Everything sucks.
You feel like absolute shit.
Everyone/everything annoys you.
You can't get any sympathy.
Your belly aches.
You're hungry.
You can't eat.
You can't think.
You have no ambition.
Crying takes way too much effort.
Hitting the wall would hurt.
You are out of money.
You need ice cream.
Your dr says "no".
*Deep sigh*

Musings from the acupuncture table...

I love my Chinese doctor. She is a kind woman, very gentle. Cared enough about what I was going through to call me after the miscarriage to see how I was doing. I could hear sorrow in her voice as she spoke, telling me that I should take it easy, try to relax and let my body and mind heal as much as possible.

Today was my first appointment back to see her since the loss.  My asthma had returned with a vengeance and she said she could feel it. She knew I'd been cheating and eating lots of ice cream and spicy foods. Woops. Can't fool the doctor.

My treatment was more intense than in the past. Longer session, different needle points. I fell into a deep, heavy sleep-like trance within minutes. An hour and a half passed and felt like seconds.  During this trance, things popped into my head. (bulletted for your comfort)

• My acupuncturist speaks to me with more concern than my REs ever did.
• If I used yogurt instead of sour cream, enchiladas would be healthier.
• Tangerine roses and tiger lilies would look splendid in front of our vitamin-piss yellow house.
• I wish that I could save the world, like I was SuperGirl.
• If I had a uterus transplant from a cat (big cat), maybe I could have a litter.
• I think cinnamon highlights would be a nice complement to my cappuccino-brown hair.
• I should get weekly pedicures.
• I wish I hadn't opened that website that had real-time uterine surgeries.
• If Claude Monet was alive today, would he be that crazy dude at the beach with an airbrush t-shirt shop?
• The master bathroom should be painted terra cotta and slate grey.
• The winning lottery numbers will be 01 10 13 23 28 & power ball 13.
• Why did someone get my blog when they searched for "Marching Tacos"?
• Marching tacos, marching tacos, marching tacos.
• David Koresh liked tacos. Did his march? Is that why Janet Reno wanted him dead?
• Hostess HoHos taste better than Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls.
• My personality disorder quiz said I have high levels of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Neat.
• I should read "I, Robot" again, because I don't remember that motorcycle stunt in Asimov's work.
• The Geek Shall Inherit the Earth.

 
Next thing I knew, I was startled awake. I had drifted into some kind of alternate state of dreams. Very cool.  I felt cleansed. I felt revived. I had an almost Zen-like sense of my present and future. She had given me some kind of Eastern needle job where the right channel was jabbed, and made everything pure.

Then Brad and I went and had really greasy chili-cheese slawburgers at Ann's Snack Bar.  Belly Zen to complete my Brain Zen.

A Whole Lotta Nada

I really don't have a whole lot to say today. I am dumbstruck by the things getupgrrl has had revealed to her this week. Makes everything I am going through seem very trivial. I am wishing you a lot of emotional healing, a lot of peace and a lot of love, grrl.

So instead of my usual banter, here is another drink recipe:

White Russian Alexander

1 oz Vodka
1 oz Kahlua
Double Splash Brandy
Splash Marischino cherry juice (from the cherry jar)
Half & Half creamer to taste (I like the finished color to be the shade of "Halle Berry". If you get "Jessica Simpson", you've added too much H&H--add more Kahlua.)

Pour ingredients over ice, in order above and stir. Top with whipped cream and a cherry if you are feeling cheeky. You may ask yourself, "Why half & half?" Because it tastes better, a bit sweeter, than milk, dear friend. But use milk if you have nothing else.

Alternately, cut out the brandy for a pure White Russian.

Interesting Reading

Interesting for ME anyhow...

We got a copy of the lab report for the d&c. It included operating room notes made by the doctor. Overall, the reading was hard to read, at first, as you can imagine. But once I stopped reading it as a lost mother and put it into "interested scientist" perspective, it was really quite fascinating.

The majority of the notes were based on the actual reason for the d&c, the details of which I will spare you. But what piqued my interest was this:

Upon final inspection, it was noted that there exists a thickened mass in the posterior of the uterus. Possibly fibrous tissue. Patient had not communicated knowledge of existing fibroids, so proper diagnosis cannot be made at this time.

Note: I was losing my pregnancy, so fibroids were really the last topic of conversation at this ER visit. But I have been told repeatedly that I have them and that "they are nothing to worry your pretty little head over *pat pat*". I think they ARE, in fact, something to worry about. But I suppose I am no doctor... only a woman with multiple unexplained (did I mention UNEXPLAINED?) pregnancy losses. Lazy bastards.

Another possibility is that he was not in fact seeing a fibroid (as I have been told I have THREE tiny fibroids, not one large fibroid), but he may have been seeing the mythical SEPTUM. According to the notes, it is in the exact location that 2nd Opinion RE noted a possible septum at pregnancy u/s #1.

Either way, whenever I get the all-clear from my new RE, I am having WHATEVER IT IS removed. Get the hell out of my ute, you squatter!!

My weakness

It was the last store, and I went in to buy food. Nothing more. I was already making good time on my errands, as it took me a record ten minutes inside Container Store getting only what I needed: wine glass rack (check!) and plastic bin for cat food (check!) I managed to successfully avert my eyes from all the other glorious temptations in this store.
 
But it was that store that did me in.
 
She was near the front door. Large, just-barely crossed green eyes. Long, narrow face. Only 12 weeks old. And she was looking right at me. She wanted to play. I succumbed.
 
It was the crooked, kinked tail that really got me initially.  Otherwise a normal tail, but the last inch had an almost perfect 90 degree bend. Just below the bend was another, 15 degree bend in the opposite direction. There was no telling what had occurred in this little angel's 12-week history to give her this bizarre set of kinks. But you'd never recognize trauma in her mischievous face.
 
I was just about to tear myself away, regain my strength and continue my regularly-scheduled tasks, when she closed the deal.
 
She fell onto her side and reached her teeny little paw through the cage, successfully stealing toys, one-by-one, from the oblivious, sleeping kittens next door. HELL ON WHEELS.
 
In fact, she was the only kitten in all ten cages that was not only wide awake, but up to no good. How, I ask you, how could I walk away and leave this jewel to just anyone (or no one)?
 
I called Brad, thinking he might talk me out of her. No such luck. He left the decision up to me. I decided to go finish my errands and think about it. I don't recall what groceries I bought, or the half hour I spent going aisle to aisle tossing things into the buggy. I only remember the moment of revelation.
 
Mojo is hell on wheels, too. The other cats are mostly docile. Tweaker is the old lady, formerly hell on wheels, who sometimes exhibits kittenlike behavior. Effie is dense, a slow girl who often resorts to licking the head of her adversary rather than playing back. Nixon, the baby, is scared of toy snakes, and would rather sleep and eat than play Mojo games.
 
Mojo needed a soul mate.
 
One more call to Brad to verify my decision, and I couldn't get through the checkout line fast enough. I was going to get my baby. An hour later I brought her home.
 
She IS hell on wheels. More than she was allowed to demonstrate in that small cage with three other kittens. Nonstop energy, and loves to snuggle.
 
We named her Lola. L-O-L-A, Lo-ooola. "Kinks" in her tail, of course.

The Olivia Drab News

Study: Being a Human Being Is Bad For You
July 15, 2004

ATLANTA, GA - A recent study indicates that existing as a human being, and performing the necessary tasks to sustain life as a human being are in fact bad for you, a US researcher reported Thursday.

“It’s true,” Olivia Drab, founder of Mind of Olivia Drab in Atlanta, reports. “A human being requires oxygen to survive. However, our greatest source of oxygen, air, contains harmful materials that are mixed with this life-sustaining gas. So with every breath, we are effectively poisoning our bodies.”

Drab proposes a solution that would involve abstinence from breathing, therefore eliminating the toxins by avoidance. A similar study indicates that drinking water should only be consumed if it is packaged from a naturally occurring spring in the French Alps. Otherwise it contains either harmful bacteria or excesses of chlorine and other additive chemicals, “…and just tastes bad,” Drab adds.

A similar study from the Damned If You Do Institute for Human Survival Studies shows supporting evidence indicating that human beings should neither breathe nor drink water unless it is assisted by extreme measures, such as advanced filtration. However, these filtration methods can have side effects, such as toxins in the containment vessel.

“It is best to avoid drinking and breathing whenever possible, just to be safe,” claims the DIFYDI 2004 Report on Basic Human Necessities.


In Other News: Reproductive Technologies
July 15, 2004

ATLANTA, GA - In a sobering report from the Damned If You Do Institute for Human Survival Studies, couples who engage in reproduction may alter their lives forever, and not just by bringing home baby.

In 8 of the 10 couples surveyed in a completely non-biased blog study, babies are rarely made from love as once suspected. Often babies come from one of a few sources: crack cocaine, which has been well-documented as being bad for you; a night of athletic, x-rated drinking and lusting, which can lead to clavicle or pelvic injuries; prayer chains and "baby-dust positive-vibing"; going on a Caribbean cruise, particularly one sponsored by a famous celebrity; or through medical intervention, which as other studies have indicated, is potentially useless.

Commenting on this study was Dick Murkenberger of President Bush’s Reproductive Council.

“The hard truth is that medical intervention for reproduction is a disease,” Murkenberger says. “Women think they can control God, and that just isn’t true. If you can’t have a baby naturally the way God intended, perhaps you weren't meant to have children. And to try otherwise leads you to dance with the Devil, and that means you will rot forever in eternal hellfire.” Murkenberger went on to explain that through prayer, menstrual cramps can be eased and that the existence of in-vitro fertilization technology is a fabrication that was, “created by Satan to throw wool over the eyes of impressionable young people”.

Olivia Drab, of The Mind of Olivia Drab in Atlanta, countered the statement made by Murkenberger with, “Dammit, what the hell is wrong here? I mean, I go through two and a half years of the only reproductive technology made available to me and what do I have to show for it? HUGE BILLS and a load of BS from our government and insurance carriers, that’s what. ”

Drab, an advocate for advancements and reform in Assisted Reproductive Technology claims that her stepsister, who is an unpleasant individual, but who has repeatedly engaged in natural baby-making, has three children while Drab has none. However, earlier Mind of Olivia Drab research indicated that this technique is not always effective for those who have actually moved out their parent’s home and have lucrative careers.

*ahem* Announcement

I just made a very important life decision that I hope I can stick with. (No, I am NOT talking about the decision to start back on Weight Watchers, although I hope I can stick with that TOO.)

I just registered for my Fall classes this morning, a task of which I'd been putting off for some time now because I was losing my mind with indecisiveness. What caused this bevy of maddening emotions and decisions?

A. Do I stick with my current career of Graphic Design, of which I am bored and frequently claim is akin to a knife in my head?

B. Do I continue my educational career in Print Journalism and hope that someday I can be Ted Turner's bitch?

C. Or do I choke back my artery-hardening fear of failure and do what my heart and thinking brain REALLY want to do?

I chose Option C. Today I registered for a full load of Biology classes. My new major will be Molecular Genetics & Cellular Biology---first class "Genetics in Medicine". Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Ms. Drab may ONE day be Dr. Drab, Reproductive Biologist. That is, if I don't choke on the fear again.

[cue pep squad]

What I forgot to add was me, teary-eyed and smiling and saying YAAAAAAAY!!! I am excited, terrified, thrilled and nervous all at the same time. I really believe this is the right direction for me, especially since one day I will cure ALL infertility including miscarriages.

5th Anniversary Adventure

So yesterday, July 10, was Brad and my 5th Wedding Anniversary.

First, we woke to the chittering sounds of little chickadees outside our window. "Chirrup! Chirrup!" they said. Sounded a lot like "Cheer up," and I thought, why you silly birdies! I am not sad! Today is our anniversary!! Word leaked that it was our special day, so a neverending parade of kooky clowns and funny animals performed for us in a magically choreographed dance.

Then we ran naked through the woods, seeking the Magic Unicorn of Life. Instead of finding the Magic Unicorn, we found the angry Park Ranger who didn't know what anniversary traditions are all about. Boo-hiss!

Part I: Ok, what REALLY happened..
Five years ago, we woke up and went to my family reunion in Thompson, Georgia. It was a glorious time--we shared greasy, chicken and potato-based Southern cooking with my family. Then we all followed a processional to the church where Brad and I were united in Holy Matrimony. It was performed by my Uncle, who was very ill. Because of his health, we'd never rehearsed the ceremony so it was entirely impromptu. Really cool thing to do. Scares the infidelity out of your bones and makes you forget that you didn't get a veil so all the back fat from the last year of obsessively eating Oreos and Mexican food is showing from your low-backed wedding gown. The reception was marvelous though.. at least that's what I've been told. I was reaaaaaaaaally drunk at the time. *hic*

In keeping with nostalgia, we retraced the steps of our wedding. Our anniversary fell on the exact same day as this year's family reunion. So we did what any sane, romantic couple would do. We went to see my crazy over-religious family to share bad food!!

Mmmm.. Wal Mart chicken and some-kind-of-potato-salad.

Segue: The Reunion, and the Aunt Story...
My crazy family took turns sharing family news, podium style. My crazy-ass aunt explained the miracle that took place that week. It WAS a miracle, my friends. You see, there is apparently this gang of white-haired-good-Christian-lady muggers in Augusta. Oh yes. They are bad news. The chances of a sweet white-haired Christian lady being mugged at any given point of the day anywhere in the big evil city of Augusta stands just below 100%. At least that's the way I understood the setup to her story. So she goes to the hospital to visit her daughter. She calls ahead to ask the hospital to provide a security guard to PERSONALLY escort her to the door. They responded as if she was CRAZY!

WHAT?? Say it ain't so? *GASP!*

Yes, it is so. They said "Nay".

So she prayed and prayed that she would be delivered from the evil clutches of the whippersnapper muggers who haunt the hospital parking deck at 10am on a weekday morning.

She parked near the elevator and stairwell. Opened the car door. Stepped out of the car. And heard a voice.

"Good morning, Ma'am." It was a security guard, in uniform, complete with parking meter on his belt. She answered with a Christianly "Good Morning to you, too."

She walked the five feet to the elevator and when she turned around, the guard was GONE!!!

IT WAS AN ANGEL!!! A GUARDIAN ANGEL!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!! Sent from Heaven to watch over her as she walked from her car to the elevator!!! WOW!! It was a miracle sent from Heaven, praise God for this display of His MIGHTY justice and magnificence. We all clapped our hands and peed ourselves at this glorious tale of hope and splendor.

So, anyway... we heard more miraculous tales and overly-detailed stories of medical procedures (I could have topped 'em all but I might have caused a few of the older relatives to feel woozy had I mentioned the word "vagina") and Guardian Angel sightings (apparently the angel army has been hiring because they are in full force in the blue collar industry these days--keep a lookout for 'em girls!) We ate dessert, and left.

Part II: After the Reunion
In honor of our fifth anniversary--the Wood Anniversary-- we got each other two bags of wood chippings EACH to go around our pitifully-struggling hydrangeas who are being choked by damnable kudzu.

We finished off the evening with a FANTASTIC dinner at Fishmonger Seafood Grill in Midtown, Atlanta. Holy shite. That was some EXCELLENT lobster linguini and scallops. The entertaining waiter called me "luminescent". What a flirt. Then he brought us brownie a la mode in honor of our anniversary. We tipped well. I recommend that place to anyone looking for a really scrumptious, unpretentious seafood restaurant in Atlanta--we seriously lack them here.

All in all, it was a good day. I laughed a lot, which is always good. And it marks five years of making the best decision of my life. Can't go wrong with that, eh? Love you Booboobear. We will find that Magic Unicorn next time. Bugger can't hide forever.

Potential Good News?

In researching IVF, since that may very likely be the best option for Brad and I, I researched funding and organizations that offer the guarantee of refunds for failed cycles.

The first stop in my journey was this site, Integramed.com . Their program is the Shared Risk Program, where you pay for three cycles in advance (at a discounted rate, no less). If you take home a baby after one cycle, they keep the money (totally worth it if you ask me). But if you elect to stop treatment early or if you go through all three and the cycles don't take (no take-home baby), they refund the majority of the money you paid. Cool, eh?

The next stop, find out which IVF clinics in Atlanta participate in this fabulous dealio. I discovered that there is one clinic in AAAAALL of Atlanta that does this. I figured, "Well damn. With the luck I've been having, the referral I was given to a new RE is very likely NOT with this clinic."

The third stop was quite incredible. I looked down at the slip of paper where I'd written the name of the doctor to whom I was referred by my Ob/Gyn. I decided to look up this fella and see what kind of info I could collect. Turns out, he is one of the founding partners of the IVF clinic that participates in the Integramed refund program!!!

But wait, it gets better!!!

For the costs that you incur, plus the stuff that the plan doesn't cover (such as PGD and anesthesia), there is a finance plan.

How "HELL YEAH" is that?!

Of course, we will need to switch back to Brad's insurance since my shitola insurance doen't include the doctor in their network. But B's insurance DOES.

It may never even come to this, but I am thinking both the RE and the genetic counselor are likely going to say with my history, it is probably a genetic issue that needs to be addressed. I just like to plan ahead so that when the news comes down, I won't be floored. Ya know?

Scattered Storm Clouds...

It's been one of those days.

Gloominess. I am sure I am suffering from PMS, of the worst kind. The kind that brings along a whole new series of emotions because this is the first natural period since that day. The day I had to sign the paperwork that removed evidence of my daughter from my physical body. My PMS is amplified by the acid reflux that is boring a hole in my esophagus, no doubt a result of the aspirin therapy, the migraines and subsequent handfuls of medication, and oh yeah... the stress. In case we had forgotten about that.

But there is also a very real sorrow.

Another unfairness occurred in this universe. The news comes from a woman of whom, in a heartbeat, I would call "sister", even if she is not related to me (although we *unsuccessfully* attempted to find a link in our family trees once--turns out no one in our families are related, much to our dismay.) I have not heard directly from her in so many words, but from a very brief statement I gathered that her doctor appointment today did not fare well.

A month or so ago, she was given a preliminary diagnosis of Premature Ovarian Failure--a condition in which your body goes into premature menopause. Her doctor put her on hormone replacement therapy in hopes that the condition would correct itself. Her followup bloodwork was to be determined this week. Today, in fact. Her silence bodes ill. For the hell she is undoubtedly enduring, I am devastated for her. I cannot even imagine the sorrow she is feeling, and wish I could take it away.

I am devastated for all of my friends who have been given bad news about their fertility. I can only hope that each and every one of you finds peace and happiness.

I am thinking about you, T.

See John. See John and John. Run, Johns, Run!

Congratulations to John Edwards for being chosen as VP candidate to run alongside John "Save Our Asses" Kerry! Considering how incredibly well Fahrenheit 9/11 is doing in the box office, I am guessing that they will do very well come November. Just a guess...

I am just waiting for either John to come out and say he's in favor of Infertility Care Reform. Then I will make a John-John Love Book with glitter and hot pink hearts around their faces. I will do it, too. You just watch me!

Safe Takeoff, Safe Flight, Safe Landing.

Cliff's Notes version: We went to Chicago. It was good. We came home.

Full version: After a 1.5 hours of airborne shoulder tension, we landed in Chicago. What a GORGEOUS city. I dosed up on migraine meds, killed the headache, and was good to go. We wandered the streets until 2am, then made our way back to the hotel and slept like gods.

We walked many miles, and rode transit, which was delightful. We saw sights, a la Ferris Bueller. We ate damn good pizza and hot dogs. Overall, we had a GREAT time. GREEEEEEAT time. I can't wait to go back.

Cranky Points of Interest for the Chicago Travelers

Brad was almost the unwilling end of a fistfight because he dared to stand in front of some uptight macho cocko on the train, when ten other people were shoving onto the train and we had to get out of their way. I friggin' hate macho bullshit, especially unwarranted. I reeeeeally wanted to get all PMS'y on the guy. Brad handled the situation like a champ, though, simultaneously diffusing and embarrassing the hell out of Mr. Tough. Lots of attitude in Chicago.

Oh, and requiem for the women who work at Carson Pirie Scott. Ever since they had those massive, barbed sticks shoved up their asses, their souls have suffered a terrible and hideous demise. Go to hell, jewelry counter lady. And take the bitch from the petite dept with you.

We totally missed the fireworks last night because I picked up a bellyful of bacteria from one of the restaurants. No idea which one. But it wasn't a pleasant evening.

Flying Tips for the Aviophobic

1) If at all possible, fly AirTran. They have an affordable first class that I HIGHLY recommend, as it is both a smoother ride, and they give you free liquor.

2) Drink lots of liquor before and during flight. Each person has their own "comfort limit". Mine was three strong white russians over the course of an hour.

3) Find a chant/mantra and repeat it over and over again to yourself. It is calming and also forms a protective barrier bubble over the entire plane, and little cloud nymphs with SEVERAL flight hours are summoned to the cockpit to assist the already noble pilots.

4) Sleeping pills are money-wasting gimmicks, unless combined with a drink (don't overdo, however. Comas are scary.)

5) Always know where your flight attendant is. If their face appears calm and "business as usual" the plane is likely safe. Also, it is handy knowledge when you need a drink refill.

6) Clouds are pretty.

7) Devil-shaped clouds are coincidental and not a sign of pending doom.

8) Reading a good book will help pass the time, and take your mind off the turbulence. Yes, I was able to say that without laughing, although the quivering smirk might have given me away.

9) Don't read books with pending doom plotlines.

10) Don't vote for a Bush in 2004.

As great a time as we did have, I'd like to quote one of the greatest geniuses of our time, rest his soul...

Hey, it's good to be back home again (yes it is)...
-John Denver