Breakfast of Champions

Nothing better than having a bottle of barium for breakfast.

And that yummy berry barium flavor. I'm still tasting it. Delicious.

Had me a CT scan this morning. The barium aperitif was to assist in the scan. And I had no idea that I was going to be injected with dye. At least I could have known ahead of time so I could have dreaded that needle last night. Could have been worse, though. Two lovely young men helped me out. I'm used to the hostile ladies with the "frosted" hair and tightly pursed lips. We're having a look to see if I have Conn's Disease. What's that?

The adrenal glands are located on the top of your kidneys, and produce adrenaline, cortisol, aldosterone, and other steroid hormones that enable the body to respond to stress. Conn's disease is a condition in which the adrenal glands produce too much aldosterone. It is frequently caused by a benign (non-cancerous) tumor of an adrenal gland.

If this is what I've got, there might be some surgery ahead. Nobody has cut into to me since I had my tonsils out at the age of 5. Except for those wisdom teeth.

So, I'll be hanging out at the house today and await the news.

I'll also be enjoying my barium. It's the gift that keeps on giving.

Aint gettin' old fun?

Artist vs. Housewife

I don't think I've mentioned my artistic slump lately. I do know I've talked about my failed housewifery, though. The housewife side of me has told the creative side to get her ass to work so she doesn't have to make any more excuses for her sorry housewifery.

So where to start. I've got to come up with some ideas. I need a kickstart.

I find it interesting when reading about how an artist begins a series. I’ve read of overheard conversations being a catalyst. Or maybe a life-transforming incident (or accident). Or even an ordinary household item seen in a new light.

What around my house could inspire a series:

Sick cat

Stinky hand soap

Dog drool puddle

Dust bunnies

Pile of sticky notes

Unidentified squishy things

Bathtub ring

Netflix envelope (love that red)

Bruised apple

Seems like the creative side cannot divorce itself from the housewife side.

And I hear a dirty bathroom calling my name. I cannot resist the call of the washing machine. Those siren dust bunnies are singing out to me.

My arm reaches out toward the Swiffer. I cannot stop myself.

Some Lovely Photos

So my new Uppercase Magazine arrived this week, packed full of stylish goodness.

As usual, it is full of luscious photos. And discussions of blogs which feature photography.

I am always impressed by someone who can turn a photo of a cup of coffee, gas pump, used condom, etc., into a work of art.

If a take a day of photos and hooch them up in Photoshop, will it make me a lovely and hip person too?

Doubt it.

Buy anyway, I ran around the house for 30 seconds with my camera and took a small handful of photos and piddled in photoshop (never done that before) and here is a look at my exciting day in the land of housewifery avoidance.


Laundry, with an added dollop of graininess and grit.


Very sick kitty. Can't remember what I did to this photo. Don't care.


Cure (ha) for migraine on large mottled leaf. I altered this photo, too. Don't remember what I did. Have headache. Don't care.

So now, I'm off to pop another pill into the cat, dress the resulting wounds, start the laundry, and pop another pill into myself.

And then I'll dream about my future in photography.

It was 21 years ago today . . .

that I and my big old permed head walked down that aisle and said "I do" to Grizzly Adams.

We've toned down on the hair since then.

Having dated, been engaged and lived together before this magic moment, we have been together for a total of 25 years. That's a quarter century of masochism for this man. I don't know how he has stood it. Checks and balances, perhaps. I'm not taking finances here.

I do recall after being together for about two years, but before our engagement, we had a discussion of who was going to do what in our relationship. He had just tossed his iron at the wall. I think I had just eaten my last meal in a cockroach-infested kitchen across town. He was never going to do laundry again, and I was never going to cook again. We've broken these vows just a few times. Once, after we had moved in together, he washed all of my nice white shirts that I wore to work (back in those office days). They turned out yellow. He's never told me why. When he went to get his doctorate and was gone a couple of evenings a week, I was forced have something on the table (food, not me) when he returned. Sheer torture. For both of us I think.

I've learned to change lightbulbs. He's learned never to turn on the clothes dryer when there's a bird stuck in the duct. He's never learned to rinse his cereal bowl. I'm forever clueless about what to do with shoes after I take them off.

I still get flowers though. From him. Sometimes they're yellow. I don't like yellow. I don't think he remembers. I don't think he ever will. And, frankly, I have no idea what color flowers he likes. Ah, the mysteries of marriage.

Hey, Nobody Interviewed me for this video

I don't think I could have added anything else. This sums it all up.



It's not my goal to be overtly political on this blog. I'm usually so into housewifery instead, but I cannot be held back this time.


And while I'm feeling outraged. How about that fire department in bumf*ck Tennessee that let a family's house burn down because they hadn't paid a fee ahead of time? What? Is the mob now operating down in bumf*ck Tennessee?

Good thing I wasn't there to be interviewed for this video. I guess I would have been too busy toting buckets of water, and afterward, kicking some crotch.



I'm just having myself an angry Wednesday morning. However not as angry a day as the Bumf*ck Tennessee (former) homeowner is having.

Excuse me, I'm off to have a brain hemorrhage.

Necessity is the Mother . . .

Let's talk inventions.

And not just the big ones. Sure, the airplane is pretty cool (or was). The cotton gin sure was a big deal. The wheel, yeah, yeah, I know.

It's the little inventions I want to talk about today.

Last night was just a bit chilly. I have yet to put on those yummy, thick, flannel sheets. To keep my toes from turning blue, I slipped on a pair of socks. Good heavens, they felt good. I thought that socks were quite an amazing invention. Then I started thinking about others:

Clothes dryers

Contraceptives

Toilet paper

Hole punches

Pill cutters

Those awesome wine bottle openers that allow you to remove a cork in a short series of fluid movements -- like a ballet.


What are your favorite not-so-big inventions?