Oh, Demerol...how I've missed you...

I ended up at the ER tonight...well, actually I guess it would be technically last night since it is now the wee hours of the morning, but since I have yet to sleep, we're going to call it tonight. Back off, okay, bitches? I'm on drugs...

Ahem...where was I? Oh, ER...that's right.

So, I awoke this morning feeling like roadkill, and not even fresh roadkill, more like two day old roadkill. Upon entering the bathroom and inspecting myself in the mirror (which, I now admit was a really bad idea) I noticed that apparently someone had filled me up like a water balloon while I was sleeping. My entire self was puffy...it was not pretty.

I noticed right off the bat that my hands were in more pain than usual and the knee pain...well, if I tell you that it took me about five minutes to get up the courage to stand up, would that give you an idea of how much pain I was in? Not pretty.

But, I'm a lone wolf these days...single caregiver of a Type 1 child. That means sticking it out as long as I can. I called and made an appointment with my doctor, but the earliest he could get me in was on Thursday and he didn't want to prescribe anything without seeing me. Fair enough, but I was in motherfucking pain.

Now, if you're new here, and you got here by googling "snake poo" you probably don't know (or care) that I have a host of health issues. The bottom line is that my immune system is a lifelong charter member the I Hate the Queen of the Universe fan club. It doesn't like me much and for reasons of it's own it attacks perfectly healthy tissue, pretty much at whim. It's already claimed my thyroid, wreaked havoc on my intestines and done irreparable damage to my knee joints. Basically, my immune system is an asshole.

What that means is that an infection...any infection...is going to fuck up my entire body. A normal person gets a cold and their immune system happily sends out little cold specific antibodies and that's that. My immune system goes haywire and while it fights the infection it also fights the healthy tissue. Like..."Hey, her bladder has bacteria and we should do something about that..and while we're at it, let's take out this tissue here, because it is totally time to remodel."

At about five this evening it became apparent that whatever was going on was going to need intervention, preferably intervention that involved a morphine drip and a bottomless margarita.

My regular doc (who is totally pissed at me because I've been very remiss in regards to my own health because of the midget's diabetes) was not going to do anything, so I called my cousin, and she came and drove the midget and I to the hospital where a very nice doctor took one look at me and said the most beautiful words a girl can hear.."would you like a pain shot while we wait for test results?" Um...does a motherfucking bear shit in the motherfucking woods? Hell yeah I want a pain shot...and can I get a couple in a doggie bag?

So, an hour and a bit of demerol later, the results came back that I'm suffering from a particularly nasty UTI (which, by the way, I had no symptoms of) and the resulting inflammation from my very over active immune system.

The nice doctor man, who at that was kind of fuzzy around the edges and who totally deserves some kick ass theme music...I'm thinking "Chariots of Fire"...gave me antibiotics and prednisone and percocet. I left the ER actually smiling and not in pain. I then went to Taco Bell and had the best motherfucking quesadilla ever.

It was decided by all present (meaning me, my cousin, the midget and my four year old niece) that it was probably not a great idea to send me home alone with the midget while I was hopped up on demerol, so I'm staying the night at my cousin's house and Charlie is totally fucking bent out of shape and keeps trying to get me to go home.

Of course, it doesn't mean that someone else is doing middle of the night checks for high blood sugars, no that's all me...but at least if she is high or low, there's another adult around who can supervise me and make sure I administer insulin, instead of say...vodka...which is also a clear liquid, but would be considerably harder to draw up into an insulin syringe...

Ah...it's 2am at last which means it's time to test the midget and then, hopefully, get some sleep. I sincerely hope this post makes sense...if not just disregard it, and I apologize for the five minutes of your life you wasted reading this. Five minutes that probably could have been better used watching internet porn or trolling Craigslist for meth or goats or hookers or some combination of the three...

Exciting? I'll pass....

What's that saying about the worst thing you can do to someone is wish them an "exciting life?" Yeah, I tried to google it, but google's being an asshole and gave me NOTHING. It kind of fits in with the theme I've got going on this week.

Recent Events (in no special order, because that would require brain function I just don't have):

My Mom has been diagnosed with a Thymoma (tumor of the Thymus) and is now awaiting her appointment with the surgeon so they can cut open her chest and remove it.

The midget has been ill and has accordingly had the worst blood sugar readings she's had since diagnosis, including a meter reading which said HI...and yeah it said it all cheerful, like with big letters like it was an old friend I hadn't seen in a long time. Glucose meters are kind of assholey.

My younger sister had a birthday party at her house which I did not get to attend, due to the midget's illness and the havoc it's wreaking on it's illness.

I have been dealing with difficult blood sugar readings and am trying to complete three Excel spread sheets in four hours but due to my sleep deprivation, I keep surfing the web like a squirrel on crack.

Charlie erased about half of one the spreadsheets I was working on. Charlie's kind of an asshole sometimes...

I have become addicted to the show Veronica Mars three years after it was canceled thanks to the beauty that is Netflix.

I've discovered, through the aforementioned Veronica Mars addiction, a fantastic band called The Dandy Warhols and am currently obsessed with their music.

The midget's father has decided (finally) to go to AA and stop drinking. Said decision came the day after I spent an hour on Facebook chat trying to talk him down while I waited for the midget's blood sugar to drop under 400.

I didn't take my antidepressant for a day and I missed a dose of my thyroid med, too...and I was a total asshole for the subsequent two days, much to the dismay of everyone around me.


So, yeah...I'm kinda flailing here at the moment. I'm hoping this bug, whatever it is, that has the midget's numbers all wonky will resolve itself quickly.

Anyway, here's the song that got me hooked on The Dandy Warhols. You must love it, as I have loved it, and there will be joy.

See...I'm paraphrasing The Princess Bride. Clearly a sign of sleep deprivation.

We Used to be Friends-The Dandy Warhols

Charlie Bit Me

So...the other night, I spent ages and ages combing burrs out of Charlie's fur. He didn't like it...he really didn't like it. Now, usually when I comb him out, there's some growling on his part. Basically it's grumbling that lets me know he doesn't like what I'm doing. This time, however...he was super matted and despite my best efforts to not inflict any pain, there was a fair amount of tugging and hair pulling. And...the little fucker bit me.

He felt bad about it right away, and hung his head and everything...But...Charlie bit me. It was shocking. And slightly funny. Because I'm weird, and I maybe think a bit too much about our relationship, I couldn't get over the whole "Charlie bit me" thing...and it made me think of this video on Youtube that I saw a while back.

Dogs, Dogs, Dogs

I may have mentioned my obsessive and totally requited love for this thing

at least once or twice on this here blog thingie. We love each other. I'm not embarrassed to tell you that. Sure, other people have fulfilling relationships with human beings, but that rarely works out for me, so I'm sticking with this guy. He's cute, cuddly and jealously posessive. Not in a creepy "If I can't have you, no one can" kind of way, but in a really cute "I'm going chase away all the other dogs...and WTF, you got another dog?!?" kind of way. And only rarely does he change the channel when I'm watching the Discovery channel.

Now, just because I love him, that doesn't mean there isn't room for other dogs in my life. It's not like my obsession with Coke (no, not coke as in the white powder, but the brown carbonated stuff that comes in the red can, and No, I will not allow you to substitute Pepsi, what kind of girl do you think I am?), I love lots of dogs...I mean there's this guy:

And now, the newest member of my family...


This is Chewy. Chewy is a seven month old Chihuahua mix. He's actually not my dog, he's the midget's dog. Of course, that hasn't stopped me from stealing him and cuddling him and holding him and giving him kisses, much to the dismay of Charlie and Ellwood. They don't dislike him, not at all...they play with him and Ellwood lets him cuddle and everything. But, Ellwood and especially Charlie, are not thrilled about my affection for this little guy. They are of the opinion that two dogs ought to be quite enough for me, and they appear to feel that I should pretty much ignore the new puppy.

We're going to have a group therapy session next week...you know, so I can reassure them of the love I have for them, and we can talk about any other issues that may be lurking just beneath the surface of our happy home...like Ellwood's need to vomit on my bed at one in the morning...

Why I Love to Cook

Last night I had an urge for banana bread, and an hour later there was banana bread in my kitchen. Not instant gratification, no...but good enough, especially since I get it warm and soft right out of the oven...and bonus: my house smells like banana bread all night.

I had been perusing food blogs, as I tend to do...if it's not food blogs, it's sex blogs...but that's another story, and perhaps another blog. I came across a recipe for breakfast pizza that looked interesting, except that having breakfast pizza would involve me being up early in the morning, which I had no intentions of doing since it is, after all, the midget's spring break and I am going to take every opportunity to sleep in.

So, instead we had pizza for lunch, and the only thing it had in common with the recipe that inspired me was bacon. I ended up with this lovely pizza....



First, I sprinkled some drained diced tomatoes, followed that up with feta cheese and Parmesan cheese. Then I broke out the artichoke hearts (YUM) and broke up the bacon I had just fried up and sprinkled that on, threw some more tomatoes on and added a bit more Parmesan cheese. Oh. My. God. So good. The only thing I think I'd change if I did it again is to add some diced garlic, because garlic makes everything better.

I had some left over bacon and there were these two dogs...well, could you resist this?


It would take a stronger woman than I to resist those faces...and they were so sweet about it...but, then the bacon got the better of Ellwood and he completely forgot his manners...


Charlie, however, behaved like a complete gentleman...


My dogs love that I can cook, too...

That's MY Cookie

Warning...the following picture is so cute, it may hurt...



Now, normally, when the boys get a cookie, Charlie scarfs his on the spot, and Ellwood does a victory lap around the house, grunting all the way, and then settles down to gnaw on his. Today, for some reason, after his victory lap, Ellwood laid down and basked in the glory that was his cookie. Charlie, having already devoured his, came to investigate whether Ellwood had left any crumbs he could steal. When Charlie spied the while, uneaten cookie, he tried to steal it, which wasn't at all surprising. What was surprising was Ellwood's insistence that he wasn't giving up his cookie. Not only did he not just walk away from it, he actually barked. Barked. At Charlie. I'm not sure who was more shocked, me or Charlie. Charlie, attempted his theft again, and AGAIN Ellwood barked.

Charlie was so bewildered that he backed off and laid down on the floor below where I was sitting on the couch. Ellwood went back to loving his cookie. He eventually scarfed it down, but the two of them stayed like this for about a half an hour...



Charlie looks so forlorn. Who knew Ellwood knew how to stand up for himself?

Furry, Floppy Love

This is my sweet boy...Charlie. He makes everything better. He protects me from all the bad things in the world. True story...The other night when the munchkin was off at her dad's, I was watching a special on NatGeo (geez...I'm a nerd) and was surprised by a particularly traumatic scene and started crying and Charlie went nuts...barking and running around trying to figure out what was making me cry because he was going to kill it, dammit!!



Charlie, like me, is a huge drama queen. He is good at pouting and whining and letting the world know just how miserable his life is. As sad as this picture is, it's nothing to look on his face when I gather my things because I'm...leaving the house...There is nothing worse in the world than when I leave the house. And if I'm gone overnight? The moping is ridiculous. He won't eat, and just lays around feeling sorry for himself.

But as far as Charlie is concerned, that's nothing to the horror that is this guy...



This guy has no concept of "personal boundaries." He doesn't seem to know or care that I belong solely to Charlie. This guy thinks it's a good day if there is never a shred of sunlight between us. Charlie tries to keep Ellwood in line, he really does. But Ellwood is stubborn...and stupid...which means that Charlie has to tell him again and again to MOVE!! Or to stop chasing the damn laser light or any number of other things that Ellwood does that Charlie does not approve of.

I think Ellwood's really starting to grow on Charlie, though...either that or he's decided that Ellwood is just too dumb to take care of himself. See, while Charlie is a very verbal dog and lets you know if there is an intruder or just a stray falling leaf that offends him, Ellwood never barks...well, unless he's chasing cats...but that's a whole other subject... Since Ellwood isn't standing up for his rights at the top of his lungs, Charlie's decided that's his job. He's taken to whining at the door if Ellwood wants to be let in or let out or to look at the business section of New York Times...






I love this dog. I really, really do...and he loves me...he really, really does...

Queen-Sized?

I have a queen size bed. I bought it about seven years ago. The exgirlfriend and I had been sleeping on a futon. A horrible, tiny lumpy futon. That first night in the queen bed...it was such a luxury. I could turn over and not get an elbow in the eye.

The ex has moved on, but I've still got the bed. You'd think I'd be feeling lonely in this big bed all by myself. But...uh...I'm not sleeping by myself. I've got about 30 pounds of canine cuteness sprawled out beside me. These two are small dogs. I keep telling them..."You're little dogs, you don't need that much space." They're not buying it.


Before Ellwoood, Charlie was not a cuddler. But Charlie's such jealous lump that he has to be closer than Ellwood, and since Charlie has a tendency to snap at Ellwood if Ellwood dares to touch him while he's sleeping, I end up with one on each side of me. I think I need a bigger bed...