And So This is Easter

And so this is Easter, huh?

Best Easter Bunny EVER courtesy
Awkward Family Photos

Really, the only point for us is a candy bar and an excuse to eat ham.  Except we don't have any ham.  We have a spare turkey hanging around in the freezer downstairs, but I think I'd rather have hot pastrami with melted provolone.  That's like ham, right?

Ish?

Came across an amazing advert in my old local rag yesterday--a breathtakingly gaudy thing, calling folks to Easter Services at the "Old Catholic Church."  The building used to be Emmanuel Baptist--I remember that because the old joke always was, "Who is Emmanuel Baptist and why does he have a church?"  I visited the website, and find they refer to themselves as an "American Catholic Church."  A little more digging?

The Pastor/Reverend (not priest) is a gay  man who is married to his partner of 30 years.  A gay man who always, since childhood, wanted to be a priest.  A Catholic priest.

See, I copied their advert because the picture is so garish and the image of Christ so . . . I don't know, oddly expectant, with a strange bit of shyness or embarrassment?  Oh, and he looks like he's got a lip full of chaw.  Like a vaguely ashamed Buddy Christ with a tobacco problem, you know?  I was going to make fun of the picture, and, in fact, I AM doing that, but I'm also impressed that this gay preacher from Texas had the stones to found a "Catholic" church in the heart of Mormonville.  You know me, I don't think ANYPLACE needs MORE religion, but in a place already swimming in it, I do think it's nice to see something different, something a little more kind and accepting, move in.

Oh, here's the poster:

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So, I wound up part of some Facebook group dedicated to my graduating class.  Had to go down my block list and remove half a dozen people I really think are crusty wounds just to make sense of the conversations.  There's one skeezy creature I WILL not unblock because she is incapable of being around anyone who doesn't share her teabagger ideas without sliding in with as many digs and dull-witted insults as she can.  Because she was very popular in school, she actually still has little groupies who follow her around and soak up her every bigoted word (and yes, she is astoundingly bigoted--of the "papers please/build a wall/armed civilian patrols/blame the Mexicans/our President is a MUSLIM/why should homosexuals get to be married when their leaders SUPPORT MURDERING BABIES" variety), meeting each sick political spray with sycophantic cries of "YEAH!" and "OH, MY GOD, I'LL PRAY FOR AMERICA!"  It makes me want to scream.

But instead, I keep her blocked.  She was the one that really broke me on the "give folks a chance--just because they were scuzzy morons in high school doesn't mean they haven't changed for the better" thing.  Turns out most of them are just the same as they ever were--like high school ended and they decided that was it, that was the end of learning, growing, developing, changing, etc.  The majority of people I went to high school with still write like . . . well, like below-average high school students.  A lot of their/there/they're mistakes, almost universal pluralization vs possessive issues, and a near-uniform inability to look at anything from a logical or scientific viewpoint.  A lot of woo and "natural news" and "water has memory" and "share this idiot meme and good things will happen, don't and your heart will be broken" sort of crap.  

It's depressing.  Even more depressing is the number of these people I thought were smart back in high school.  I thought they were a lot smarter than me.  Some, in fact, WERE, and some of those STILL ARE, but the majority?  Not really.  So either I was wrong about them then or they've all suffered serious brain injuries over the intervening years.  And before you get on me about the brain injury crack, I am the product of a wowser brain injury thanks to having my car wrapped around a tree at 60+ mph.  So blah.

I don't know how long I'll make it in that group.  Maybe I'll just hide notifications and pretend I'm there.

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Speaking of that group, have you ever been momentarily stunned by a  name on your computer screen?  I was last night.  There's not a thing I can do about it, but I'm shaken just the same.

You see, back in junior high, there was a vicious rape.  It happened down in the girl's bathroom near the gym.  Three boys followed a girl into the bathroom and raped her.  I know about this because I was in the nurse's office, trying to nap off a migraine, when they brought the girl in.  I heard everything, the cops talking, the cops questioning the victim, the nurse and the cops discussing it, the principal weighing in.  I didn't know the girl, but I knew the boys.  All three of them.

They were tried as juveniles, did their juvenile stint, and by high school they were back among us.  Something that always left me nervous.  They were, after all, rapists. 

Well, one of them is in the above-mentioned group.  I saw his name and felt that immediate jolt.  I took a look at his profile page, and it's all "Jesus" this and "God" that.  And hey, maybe that keeps him in line.  But I sure am glad that group is virtual and not real.  

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We went for a drive last night--looking at a house I'd found a lovely story about online.  Had you asked me to describe my dream house, it probably wouldn't be this, and yet you know what?  It's my dream house, absolutely.  Here's a real estate listing for it, and here are some photos I took.

 There were more--pictures of the horses, pictures of the stable, pictures of the solar panels, etc.

Yeah, solar panels.  This place is totally off the grid.  There's a swimming pool, Jacuzzi, eight stall stable with interior corridor, guest house, barn, run in shed, tenant house, etc.  Radiant heat, heated floors, lovely gardens, and over 17 acres with streams, bridges, beautiful trees, and varied wildlife.


And the asking price?  Around two-and-a-half mil.

That actually makes it markedly cheaper than some of the gigantic places around there.

I know, barring a lotto win (hard to do when you don't play the lotto), nothing like this is ever going to come our way.  But wow.  What a lovely place.  Not too palatial, not too grand, not snobby and grotesque in its opulence.  But real.  Seems a like a place real people could live real lives.

It didn't occur until late last night that we had just gone traipsing all over these people's property.  No, we didn't get out of the car and snoop about, but we did traverse little side roads and check out the stables, barn, guest house, etc.  In our 2009 Sonata, I'm sure no one mistook us for potential buyers, A gentleman who clearly works there did come over on his four-runner and ask if we needed help, and we blithely smiled, said we were good, and thanked him.  He nodded and moved on.  That was when I had the first, "Um,  maybe that was code for 'get lost?'" thought, but it wasn't until we got home that I really realized that we were being rather . . . oogy.  Ill-mannered.  To my credit, I'm pretty sure the home is unoccupied, and we did just follow the Sotheby's signs to the site.

I swear, I used to be classier.

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The arm is still unhappy when I use it or twist it, and it still looks like it's going to be a pretty solidly disfiguring scar--all pulled and puckered.  Not at all what I was expecting, but certainly too late to do anything about it now.  I've got a gang of pictures, but I'll wait until the stitches come out to post a series.  No pictures of the actual cutting--I didn't think anyone would appreciate that.

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So, Happy Easter--or if, like me, you don't list that way, Happy Rene Descartes' Birthday!  And if that doesn't do it for you?  Happy Passover!  And if THAT's not your gig, either?  Well, just have a beautiful day, huh?  Be happy, it's spring!

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

Making Candles and Crappy Keyboards

Went to the craft store last night.  They don't have much of a selection, scents and wax-wise, but I did pick up a couple of pounds of palm wax, a couple of pounds of beeswax, some wick, and some color.  I'll order the scents online, I have a few sites to check, including some Heather suggested.  We made three "dregs" candles (candles made from the old wax of burned down candles around the house), and they turned out a pretty orange-ish and they smell nicely cinammon-y.  Hubby was a great help, and I love him.

Epinions appears to be blowing up.  Looks like my happy increase in pay is about to get yanked because some folks lost pay.  The way of the world, huh?  It's a great site, and I'm proud of the work I've put into it, but some folks sure can get spleeny when they feel like their boat's being rocked.  The really high-earners have taken to spouting "Les Mis" lyrics (LOL) and painting themselves the downtrodden masses rather than the aristocracy they really are.  Hope it works out in a way that doesn't toss me (and those like me) back into the slag pile.  It was nice, opening up my profile and seeing I wasn't being abused for once.  I'm not feeling optimistic, though.  For as strongly as I feel, fact is I have never mastered that entitled yell that gets things done (and undone), and even if I do pipe up, I'll likely just end any shot I have at doing better.  So I'll almost certainly come out on the losing end here either way.  What else is new?

Typing on a new keyboard--a Dynex, and boy, what a piece of garbage this thing is!  The shift key doesn't work more than maybe one out of ten tries, so it makes typing an adventure.  If that's the term you want to use.  Reviewed it on Epinions today.  It goes back to the store tonight.

Still sick. Boogery and headachy.  I suppose that, at some point, I should see a doc, but I'm holding out for news on the new skin cancer-ish spot.  Then I'll decide where I want my copays to go.  In the meantime, it's me and Nyquil, and we're getting along just fine.

Probably more later, after this awful keyboard is gone.

Basal, Squamous, Actinic Keratosis, or What?

Okay, so I have a spot on my right arm.  On the other side from the weird, fleshy dent.  I don't really know how long it's been there--seems to me, it started as a small ingrown hair or something that I picked at.  It healed, but the redness never went away.  Then, a few months ago, it started flaking.  Not oozing or healing then reforming, but flaking.  Sometimes redder, sometimes paler, but always a little bit of flaky skin.

Understand, I am a mound of flaky skin--I have some freaky psoriasis-type thing on my scalp during the cold months, I have some red, angry, crusty stuff that forms around my nose in the winter (responds to Metrogel, so I'm going to assume it's rosacea).  But I've also had a squamous cell carcinoma on my face (right side of my nose, up near the eye).  So, after obsessing and gnashing my teeth for a few months, I bit the bullet and went to the dermatologist.

Not the same dermatologist as last time.  That woman came across as nothing more than a day spa diva who does a little half-assed dermatology on the side.  She just came across as . . . incompetent?  Inattentive?  Her whole office was full of nothing but adverts and displays for wrinkle creams, fat creams, massages, and mud baths.  Made me sad, because she was heavy, and very accepting of my weight--I felt comfortable allowing a full body check.  But she and her office staff . . . well, let's just say that, if I found out she'd been faking the medical degree, I wouldn't be surprised.  To be absolutely frank, she didn't come across as particularly well-educated.

So, they did a biopsy today.  The new, fascinatingly Ashkenazi-Armenian, dramatically more competent, intelligent, and "doctorly" seeming physician (yes, a physician, not a PAC like back in Utah) examined me, said she thought it was a basal, but couldn't be sure, so she was going to biopsy it and I'd have an answer in five days.  If it's basal or actinic keratosis, that's good.  We like that.  If it's squamous, we don't like that, but it's very small (somewhere between an eighth and a quarter of an inch across) and likely easily handled.  It doesn't look like anything Merkel or melanoma-ish.  Makes me sad, though--I'm tired of this, and I get the feeling I'm going to be paying for childhood sun exposure for the rest of my life.  Parents?

Put sunscreen on your kids.

On the bright side, they did manage to fit me in the day after I called.  That's super-helpful.  Cuts down on the paranoid waiting time.

I just squashed a "mosquito hawk" (you may know it as a Crane Fly)  Bugger's been in the house for weeks now.  Seriously, I didn't think they lived this long, but it's been around since before Christmas.  Hung out in the kitchen, up near the ceiling, so we left it alone.  But tonight it burst up from under/behind my monitor and right into my face.

Bye-bye, mosquito hawk.

Still sick.  Things are loosening up a bit, but that's not really such a good thing--that just gives me the hideous post-nasal drip throat itch that leaves me hacking.  Hate that.

Got Charlie some Dentastix "fresh" this time--he still loves them, but I don't notice any difference in his breath.  Speaking of Charlie, I think we have finally found a food mixture that he really, really likes--a mix of Castor and Pollux grain-free and Kirkland grain-free.  He doesn't just eat it because it's what there is, he seems to truly relish it.

I'm back on the Builder Bars.  Trying to get myself back into that groove.  The mint ones, of course--they satisfy the choco-candy bar craving.  If you haven't tried Builder Bars, you should--they taste a whole lot better than most of the energy/protein-type bars, and they're low glycemic, which means they don't spike my blood sugar.

I've come to like my new, big bottle of Boucheron eau de toilette.  See, I've been nursing along a very small bottle of the eau de parfum, and absolutely adored it.  Ordered the eau de toilette for Christmas and found the scent markedly different.  A high, soapy smell that really interfered with those opening notes.  Not sure what's happened, but either I've become accustomed to it or it's stopped doing that, because now I smell those opening notes.  And I'm in love again!



And that's it for now--off to Costco for stewed tomatoes, frozen strawberries, and other assorted sundries!  If the dog ever stops ringing the bell to go outside, that is.