... are the words I use at the laundromat

Our dryer died last week, so for the last 5 days we've been watching Mt. Laundry reach Everest altitudes while our underwear drawers were even running out of Emergency Undies rations.  So on Monday we decided to bring our enormous hamper full of dirty clothes to the laundromat. Dare I say it was fun?

We tossed the stuff into three giant washing machines and then went next door to El Diablo Burritos where I got myself three delicious chicken soft tacos and Matt got himself three steak tacos with this chili-lime sauce on 'em. SO GOOD.  When we were done nomming, it was time to move everything into the dryers. 

We filled the 40 minutes of dryer time with a trip next door (the other way) to the Hallmark store where we bought Mothers Day cards and Yankee Candles (because we're grandmothers, apparently).  We have a little Yankee Candle problem-- we keep one lit in the bedroom and/or the great room pretty often; it acts like a nightlight in the evenings. The problem is that no matter how well we trim the wick and use those little candle caps, the black waxy soot is on EVERY wall and ceiling, really amplifying every drywall nail in the ceiling. It's a great look... though it gives me something to obsess over when I can't sleep at night and am looking at the ceiling.  I can't but think "Jeez. If our walls and ceiling have this much black crud on them from just 2 years of burning candles, imagine the work that dude had to do as he cleaned the hundreds of years' worth of soot off of the Sistine Chapel frescoes." 
  

House stuff

My house needs a lot of love. In no particular order:
1) I need to fix the fence that got wrecked in the nor'asters. At the very least I need to replace the missing slats... at the best I need to replace the whole fence because it looks like crap.  That will not be cheap, but that's OK-- I am willing to pay good money to have a straight, even fence that will last.

2) I need to have a plumber come over and fix a zillion broken things.  A) The basement slop sink keeps filling with black bilgewater... that's not good.  B) The drain underneath the basement slop sink has a huge hole rusted out of it so I kludged together a replacement pipe out of duct tape (yes, really) and it's holding enough, but water + tape don't equal a long-term solution. C) They also need to figure out why my master-bathroom sink is dripping underneath it. (Stuff in the cabinet beneath the sink is wet, but I can't find where it's leaking.)  D) My kitchen faucet looks like shit and the adjustable water-spray can't decide what setting it wants to be on, so it just spritzes in get-all-over-everything mode. E) my hall bathroom toilet needs to have the guts replaced...  you have to hold the handle down to get a complete flush, and that only works 80% of the time... the other times you need a second flush. Annoying. 

3) I need to get the carpets cleaned. We had them scheduled but called them off because of one of the snowstorms.  I'll probably wait until July to get the carpets done at this point, mostly because we are having two Beatles rehearsals per week at the house and we have a zillion people bringing instruments and gear in and out of the house. No sense cleaning the carpets when I have a parade happening 2x/week.  Maybe I'll have them cleaned once the show is in production so we can have a cast party at our place after the closing night, maybe.

4) Landscaping. I would love to hire someone to trim my bushes that got obliterated in the snow last month. While they're at it, I would love to have them plant plants, put some mulch down, and have a yard that isn't a joke.  Then I would love to have someone turn my backyard into something not-embarrassing.  Yes, that means removing the Big Gay Purple Shed. 

5) I need to get the gutters cleaned, and while someone is up on the roof, they need to clean out the drain vents because I am sure they are clogged.  As much as I love my rare Redwood tree, it poops stuff for three out of four seasons and I'm constantly cleaning up after the damn thing. It's maddening.  And the stuff it drops is smaller than the holes on the gutter guards, rendering them completely pointless.  

Easter candy
In other news, I'm not all that into chocolate. But Matt's folks were in Connecticut for Easter and brought us each back a solid dark-chocolate bunny from this local magical chocolatier in Simbury, CT.  I devoured two chocolate rabbits by Munson's Chocolates in just 5 days. They were DELICIOUS. So smooth and tasty!

Yogurt: The struggle
Speaking of tasty things, I've been on a yogurt kick, but it is near-impossible to buy plain ol' full-fat yogurt in the store. There is Greek yogurt out the ass, and every kind of low-fat or fat-free yogurt everywhere. But I just want full-fat yogurt, made with sugar or some sweetener that comes from a damn plant or a bee.   I finally found Siggi's Icelandic Yogurt, but you have to look through the different kinds of Siggi's to find the full-fat stuff. It is deeelicious.  I also found Brown Cow brand yogurt, which is also full-fat yogurt and damn tasty.  But finding these is a feat and a half, and I have to make special trips to find 'em. Annoying. 

What else...

Hot Breakfast stuff...

Hot Breakfast has been taking a bit of a hiatus, but we're finally starting to fill up the ol' gig calendar. We've got a gig in Dover on May 4th, and then we've been asked to play the Wilmington Flower Market on the 10th and then a record-store event on May 11th.  We've got other stuff potentially coming up, too... so it'll be nice to play our own gigs for a change, since we've been doing so many tribute shows lately.

What else...

lipstick
I've been wearing this ridiculously bright hot-pink lipstick lately and I don't care how silly and age-inappropriate I look. It makes me happy. 

Birthdays
Today is my brother's birthday, and I posted a goofy photo of him wearing a leisure suit as a 4-year-old on Instagram.  I called him and we chatted for 20 minutes or so, which was delightful. I love my brother very much.

Tomorrow (Tuesday) is my birthday and we have nothing planned, just like the last zillion birthdays. Matt asked me if I wanted him to get everyone together and I said no thanks.  I don't need people to interrupt their lives and go through the hassle of leaving the house and fighting the social anxiety (or real anxiety) on my account. I don't need the validation. I already feel valid and loved, thanks. :)

If someone thinks of me tomorrow they can send me a text or a card or something. But I don't like obligation. Birthdays are not important to me. 

EDITED TO ADD: How could I forget! My beloved birthday pie turns 17 today, which means we're bringing it for its drivers test and license.  It's a little stressed about the junior prom considering how hard it is to find a date, but we are staying optimistic. I was telling Shelle via text that the closest prospect was a can of evaporated milk from 1995 that lives with my parents, but said can of milk is not interested in kid-stuff like the prom anymore. Shelle replied "Too milquetoast for dances?" And that is why I love Shelle Klein Houser ​​​​​​. 

OK, that's enough for now.

Mo Magee is the world’s sweetest cat. She is blacker than Dale Cooper’s favorite coffee, and very hard to photograph. 

Fortunately, she likes being in full sunlight.

She isn’t much of a lap cat. She follows me around and hangs out nearby, generally. She only likes to sit on my lap if I’m working at a desk. When I lie down for the night, that’s when the real demonstration of affection begins. 

She dances around in circles on my stomach and chest for a good fifteen or 20 minutes, banging her head into my hands. There will be no knitting, reading, or, God forbid, sleeping, until her needs are satisfied. I’ve cultivated a petting routine that starts off assertive enough to keep her attention, with lots of head scratching, then gradually becomes more and more gentle, until she curls up and falls asleep on my belly. 

The tragic flaw in all of this is that five minutes after she’s finally dozed off, I have a full bladder. 

I OWNZ U, HOOMAN. 

It's time to make camping swag again!

A week or so ago, I went with some campmates to the Renwick Gallery, which is part of the Smithsonian, in Washington DC.  The Renwick is currently hosting an "Art of Burning Man" exhibit. Highly recommended. Inspiring. (In case you are wondering, my camp is called Balls Camp. We favor Ball Gowns.)

I saw a trinket there that inspired me to make a more complex necklace for camp swag than I have in the past. Not saying the designs won't continue to evolve, but I'm pretty happy with it. . .and I'm starting to wonder what an acrylic version would look like. . .

warmer temperatures are intoxicating. 

Episode 7 is almost finished dialogue assembly. 

I made this for lunch and FUCK YEAH:

https://www.thugkitchen.com/roasted_chickpea_broccoli_burrito

I've had an extremely sporadic tachycardia/arrhythmia for as long as I can remember - I'll get was feels like a catch in my throat, notice that my pulse is racing (~200 bpm), get slightly light-headed, and then everything will go back to normal a few minutes later. I tried to track it down with medical services in college, but we couldn't catch it on a monitor. I've never been able to predict it or determine a trigger - not caffeine, not panic attacks, not even hormones. It will happen a few times a month, or not for years, or every few months. Since getting a smartwatch with heart rate monitoring, I've been able to track it more closely and this Spring I mentioned it to my new primary care doc during my routine physical. She wanted me to get it checked out, which, yes, is totally reasonable

Yesterday I went to a cardiologist. He had me describe the whole thing, including that it doesn't really bother me, but my doc told me to come in. He said I didn't have to do anything at all, but as the conversation progressed leaned heavily on how I should at least get an echocardiogram and oh would I indulge him and agree to an event monitor and by the way, really, only one cup of coffee a day is the best plan.

I... don't want to do any of this. I didn't want to go to the Primary Care doc, let alone the Cardiologist, and I definitely don't want to give up my coffee habit.

And also, I'm 46, and I want to be around for my loved ones for a good while longer and if my heart is likely to go kerblooey, but the kerblooey is easily preventable, maybe that's a thing I should find out about.

And I'm totally fascinated by what one can find out about bodies these days.

So, I'm getting an echocardiogram (in June) and an event monitor (sometime, through the mail) and I'm cutting back on coffee and I'm cranky about all of it, but doing it anyway and maybe we'll find out something neat. But also, maybe not, maybe the heart is unknowable. Sometimes signals just get crossed.

(xposted from DreamWidth)

My adventure in Bangkok has come to an end! I want to thank Jesse for the amazing opportunity to help him build the business. I've learned so much from him in the past three months. He's got an amazing team working with him and is about to launch something truly excellent.

Now I'm back in the States, helping Mom as she recovers from surgery, working on a new project and exploring some new opportunities. On to the next adventure!

I do so love patches. But I've never ever made one (or had one made). So I'm attempting to remedy this.

Last night, I made a design. Today, I'm going to find someone to make 100 of them for me. Hopefully this design is "patchable". And that patch makers are affordable.

UPDATE 4/17: The proof is here. Me likey!

Whoa, am I having a bit of an emotional day today. Bear with me, I'm trying to get the world framed right again. I think this particular time is the result of the prolonged bed rest (four weeks!) and a migraine last night followed by insomnia. I could ride it out silently, or I could write to you guys and maybe get a good process going.

I was in the middle of some paperwork I have to take care of once a year. This is the sixth year. It has to do with my work and health, so it's already a touchy subject. While looking through the massive pile of unfiled documents that is now my harddrive (thank you iTunes fiasco), I stumbled upon some emails I wrote to a very close female coworker, exactly 16 years ago today. We thought we were so clever and witty. We lovingly called each other bitch. I have to laugh. We were the youngest at Stanley Vidmar by 15 years in our respective departments, hers sales, mine engineering. I can't imagine what the others thought of us, and I'm so glad I didn't know.

But then I realized, 16 years ago today, I had a successful career, a very active lifestyle, a fiancé, an upcoming wedding, and had just returned from a trip to Jamaica. From where I stand right now, if I looked just right, it seemed like such a stark contrast to now.

I was looking out the bedroom window at another sunny day when the tears hit me. Lots of tears. So I wrote a long, private, journal entry to myself, outlining my woes today (thank you OPW), and then I went back and looked at more of the emails. And I discovered not a month later I was leaving Stanley during another sweep of layoffs.

And I remembered how stressed I was, with the axe dropping almost every Friday. And the three bosses, and the unending overtime, and the list of 21 open projects, each of them unironically labeled top priority. And the tears then, too. So many tears.

And that I started my housecleaning business not long after, and which then became my favorite job ever for the next ten years. A business that got me through a divorce, a health diagnosis, a lost beloved pet, and someone totaling my car. A business that found me a best friend, a bevy of new people in my life, amazing adventures, and eventually a wonderful man who loves me.

I've lived alone for 10 years, fiercely independent. I've had to give up the independence due to health, but I think I accidentally gave up the fierceness, too. And now I may or may not be on the cusp of giving up the alone part. (Or really, I already have and it scares the hell out of me.) On top of that, everything that's happened since last fall is still fairly recent. It really hasn't been that much time yet. I've since filled my time with a renewed relationship, a wonderful vacation, and more recently, back surgery that may improve my quality of life, yet here I sit suddenly reeling from the weight of loss and laughingly not knowing why. Oh, dear.

So, how do I keep my chin up? I'm prone to realism, not optimism. I can't change my stripes in that regard, so I have to work within the pattern. How do I frame this period of time so that I don't keep feeling so lost whenever I'm alone with myself, in this bed? Because I am definitely more than a little lost right now.

Thoughts on what the future might bring are great, but the days are long right here and now, and I'm pretty painfully chained to the right here and now. I've already made the first step by writing it all out and gathering my thoughts, but I could use some help, or just some connection from you guys, to ground me a little today. At the moment, it's difficult just getting up and making food, if that gives you an idea of my mobility levels. So, tell me anything, or tell me nothing at all. Just say hi.

Three and a half weeks out from surgery, and I feel a little like I'm waking up from a coma (again? do I use this description a lot?). It's been nice to read up on OPW after a long day of washing my bedsheets. Yeah, it took all day. Still gotta stop and lay flat down quite a bit.

Now if only I could reach my legs to shave them. There is nothing like freshly shaved legs on freshly laundered sheets. Amirite, girls? Girls who shave?

I'm off the percocet which means my mobility is a little more limited now, and that means a lot more time on my back than even the week before, but it's worth it to be able to kiss that medication and it's side effects goodbye. I was on pretty heavy doses this time, so I'm still sweating like a fat man. And the insomnia is pretty full-on without the help of Benadryl. We're all (middle-age-ish) grownups here so I CAN say how nice it is to be able to poop again. The mood swings can go fuck right off, though. It's only been a week, but that's by far the worst part.

I do want to say that if you're hearing less from me, its usually (not always, but for right now, yes) a sign that things are pretty decent. *Sigh* even good, though I feel like I jinx myself when I say that. I am unfortunately one of those journalers who usually only writes when something bad is going down. It's a good release for bouts of depression, but I forget to come back and here and let folks know my life is more than just these journal entries.

So, let's see. I have a good thing going with a great guy, and we are already doing that thing where we have so much fun together we end up just not ending the date. Let's go do nothing together, it's amazing. These things don't come along every day, so I'm thoroughly enjoying it and hoping the newness feeling stretches out for a good long time. I feel like a lucky girl. :)

What else. Well, I am 3.5 weeks out of surgery, which means I'm 2.5 weeks closer to taking the back brace off. And driving. And maybe doing some light, light, liiiiiight gardening. (How does one garden without bending/lifting/twisting? I shall find out.) That time went by a lot faster than I was expecting. I expect the next 2.5 weeks to go pretty nicely too. Still too soon to know if the surgery worked, so I can't answer that, but I look forward to Spring yard stuff to distract me until I do.

I learned that laughing really does drop pain levels. This has caused me to ask everyone around me for their favorite jokes. There are too many to repeat here, but here are two favorites:

Q: "What is brown and sticky?"

A: "A stick".  (This one makes me laugh before I can even finish it, because I'm a dork for stupid jokes like this. I just made you think of poop!)

Q: "What is the difference between pink and purple?"

A: "The grip." (Buwahahahah, naughty. Thank you Roger and Harold.)

The best was Roger's 80-year-old mother telling me a joke that involved her saying the word "testicles" several times:

A man is lying in bed in a hospital with an oxygen mask over his mouth. A young nurse appears to sponge his face and hands.

"Nurse," he mumbles from behind the mask, "Are my testicles black?"

Embarrassed the young nurse replies, "I don't know, I'm only here to wash your face and hands."

He struggles again to ask, "Nurse, Are my testicles black?"

Again the nurse replies, "I can't tell. I'm only here to wash your face and hands."

The ward nurse passes by and sees the man getting a little distraught so she marches over to inquire what is wrong.

"Nurse," he mumbles, "Are my testicles black?"

Being a nurse she is undaunted. She whips back the bedclothes, pulls down his pajama trousers, moves his penis out of the way, has a good look, pulls up the pajamas, replaces the bedclothes and announces, "Nothing is wrong with them."

At this the man pulls off his oxygen mask and asks again,

"Are my test results back?"

I will never forget my shock and joy at hearing the words "Are my testicles black?" come from her mouth. Ha! That made my back feel better for a good while!

Anyway, where was I. So, yes, nice to come back to earth and catch up with you guys. Thanks for the lovely prose. <3

Much love,

Your Biggest Fan,

Karen

p.s. - I'm forgetting myself and commenting on old posts. Oops!