I was told this story is blog-worthy.

I have come to agree with that assessment.

The other night, I did my customary picking-up-of-Jillian. I will force her to love me. You'll see. She was surprisingly receptive to my advances, and didn't start squirming until I had been holding her for a minute or so.

I tried to readjust her, at which point she FLIPPED OUT. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" She became a flying puff ball of claws.

-- Two things. 1. When I said Jillian says "no" I meant that in the most literal sense. She literally says "no". Literally meaning "literally" and not "figuratively". 2. None of the kids have ever scratched anyone on purpose, and most accidental scratchings have been under control since they were maybe six-ish months. Jillian.

She flew and crashed into the bedroom and up into the ceiling cubby. (Fig. 1) This caused Penny to freak out and jump up there, too, growling and hissing. This caused Jack to be freak out, because he is always upset when Mommy gets upset. (BECAUSE HE IS PILOT.) I tried to comfort him, but he wouldn't even let me pet him. Sammie and Bowie had been napping peacefully on the bed, but they scrambled under it. Henry wasn't around when this happened, but he wandered in shortly after, seeing everyone freaked out and wondering what the yotz was going on.

Then, Jillian poked her head out of the cubby, and happily surveyed my now bleeding finger. She then hopped down and started batting a toy around while the other cats remained traumatized.

The cat used me to attention whore.

No one is D'Argo, thank goodness.

You guys, I just realized that instead of trying to explain the personalities of my cats, I could have just told you which Farscape character they are most like. This is alarmingly accurate!

I suppose I could do the same with other ensemble shows, but so far none have worked as well. Maybe Angel.

Sammie is Aeryn.
Bowie is Crichton.
Henry is Rygel.
Jillian is Chiana.
Jack is Pilot.
And Penny is Moya. Poor Penny.

Now which one do you want?

Wowie, Harry Potter!

I liked the new Harry Potter movie, you guys.

[Begin Spoiler for The Deathly Hallows, .5 — Highlight to view]

I mean, don't get me wrong. I will nitpick the hell of out it. However, contingent upon the second half maintaining and hopefully surpassing the quality of the first half, this is the best Harry Potter movie. BETTER THAN AZKABAN, OKAY.

This is due, in enormously large part, to the pacing. In that there is some. I think what made HBP suck so much (ps you guys HBP sucked quite a lot) is that it had slow, plodding scenes connected by quick transitions. It was like: Scene.Scene.Scene.Scene.Scene. It doesn't matter how good the scenes were (some of them were okay), that's not a movie.

This is a movie. Just like a real movie! And not a visual SparkNotes. A couple bits were a little Yates-y (i.e. slow to the point of being uncomfortable), like Dumbledore's will unfolding or Xenophilius drawing the Deathly Hallows symbol or ... well, we'll get to the dance. But mostly that crap was kept to a minimum. Atmosphere was attained! Themes were developed! Emotions were evoked!

This is sounding like a lot of backhanded praise. Honestly, though, one of my major feelings is relief that this picture didn't suck when I could easily imagine the ways in which it would suck. So, there's that. On top of that relief, I enjoyed the movie quite a bit, but that was maybe a given. I mean, I don't know if you've noticed this about me, but I like Harry Potter.

Now, here's some shit: That dance was stupid, David Yates. I read a review already that said of it, "it's supposed to be tender and heartfelt but comes off awkward and forced in". Or, you know, sentiments to that effect. So true. And I was already annoyed by that point because of the following anecdote I'll relate.

On Thursday, a certain comm I'm in posted an early review that called HP "just like Twilight" because of the love triangle and whatall. Everyone laughed because clearly that writer is unfamiliar with either story. Then I went and I saw the movie, and it dawned on me, "Oh shit, that guy is kinda right. They're even in a tent!" In the book, it's clear (to the literate) that it's Ron and Hermione, and that Ron's romantic jealousy is a manifestation of the fact that he's insanely jealous of his best friend and maybe he should deal with those issues. Not because there could actually be something there. But in the movie ... are they trying to make me think there could be something there? It seems like they are. I mean, not that Harry has any romantic chemistry with Hermione, but he doesn't have any chemistry with Ginny, either, so what message am I getting?

Sidebar: I can't pretend anymore. I wanted to deny. Harry and Ginny have zero chemistry and it's horrible. And I sorta-ship it! And I adore Bonnie Wright. She's gorgeous and I want to smish her. And it's not her fault! She had beautiful depth of emotion when she turned her back to him. Anytime they're facing each other, though, it's like a kid playing with Barbies and making them kiss. I'm terrified for the finale, because how can I suspend my disbelief long enough to believe these people made three kids??

Harry doesn't say anything to Ron after the locket thing. Awkward city. That locket scene in general was just a mess. Anyway. It really does feel like they threw in a last minute love-triangle subplot. I blame Steve Kloves.

Disappointing: Xeno was a bit of a creepster. I didn't get the emotions out of that scene that I wanted. Ditto the Hermione torture. She was good for her part, but Ron needed to freak out more. And ... some other things I forget.

Neutral: I really wanted to see a snake rip out of a corpse, but at least they kept the blood on Hermione's hands. The animated part was okay.

On the plus side: The Snatchers were effectively creepy. The Ministry scenes were excellent. Helena Bonham Carter makes up for most things. Neville is in this movie for two seconds and those two seconds are bad-ass.

And ... I cried over Dobby. I don't even know how! I assure you I kept my heart as stony as possible. He's a CGI bat for goodness sake! But then he's going on about how happy he is to be with his friend Harry and ... oh fuck, there's a leak in my face.

And then ... we paused the DVD to hit the lavs and get a snack. Seriously. The most evident problem with Deathly Hallows: Part 1 is that it's only half a movie. It is not the first half of a two-parter and it is not, as I have seen spouted in many places, a "setup" for Part 2. It's literally the first half of a movie. And sometime in July, we're going to hang up the phone, realize we left that movie on pause, and sit back down to it.

I HOPE IT'S AWESOME.

[End Spoiler]

Great news!

The house opposite my house is for sale! YOU SHOULD MOVE IN THERE!

In fact, there are no fewer than five houses for sale within a walking block of my domicile. TRY NOT TO THINK ABOUT WHY THAT MIGHT BE! JUST MOVE IN!

You're welcome!

Happy Halloween!

Death is not an option?

I submit the following Radio Choices for your consideration. Assume that the other presets were playing commercials, because they were.

Station 1: "Tears In Heaven" - Eric Clapton
Station 2: "All My Love" - Led Zeppelin

And, go.

And Penny you know.

Millimeter by millimeter, we're getting there.







Penny loves her babies.

I mean. You know. Most of the time.

Meet Bowie!

Bowie is the baby.

I don't play favorites, but I'm telling you upfront so there's no snags later: You can't have Bowie.

Bowie is physically incapable of doing anything that is not adorable. She stands against your legs, and then hugs them. She pets her brother. Pets him.

She is easy-going. Nay, she is unflappable. Once, I accidentally dropped a metal bowl in front of her, and she watched it bounce and clang and come to a halt, then beamed up at me. She's a follower. Whatever you want to do is okay by her!

She loves her brother Henry the most, because he is the funnest. She really really wants to play with the boys, but she is only a fourth of their collective size. Whenever everybody is running around crazy, she checks in with Mommy to make sure she's okay.

Bowie's favorite toy is ribbon. RIBBON.

Meet Samantha!

Samantha is number Four.

Sammi was the first baby to open her eyes. As she stared calmly at the rest, blindly squiggling around, she knew someone needed to be in charge of this crew, and it had to be her. That's why she looks so serious; she has a lot of responsibility.

She's not a baby. Never has been. She always eats when everyone else is finished, because she doesn't like eating with the babies. She doesn't like playing with them, either, most of the time. Unless it's to wrestle the boys. She's a tomboy like that.

She's also very girly. She does not like gross things. She will look at you pleadingly until you make the gross go away. Being praised makes her feel special. You never have to tell her something twice.

Half her face is 90% eyes.

Samantha's favorite toy is anything she can chew on.

Meet Jillian!

Jillian is your quintessential middle child.

Jillian is not an ordinary cat, because Jillian can talk!! Unfortunately, she can only say one word, and that word is "no." Before we knew that the twins were a boy and a girl, the easiest way to tell them apart was to pick one of them up. If the kitten seemed relatively relaxed, it was Jack. If it started squealing "Nu! Nu!!! Nuuuuuu!!!" it was Jillian. Or as she was simply known then, "The Whiner."

We usually call her Pillian.

Jillian doesn't want you to touch her. We're not sure where things went wrong. It may have been that time when they were very little and she managed to crawl away from the heap, to a dusty corner where she cried for possibly up to an hour before I came and found her. Her mother, I should note, showed no indications of going to get her. 4 out of 5 is still a B, I guess.

There's one thing that Jillian loves more than anything, and that's Jack. It's a good thing that Jack likes her too, otherwise she would be his stalker. She's always trying to get him away from the other kittens to play with her alone. She hides and watches when he uses the litter. She has boundary issues.

When she's not busy being a total weirdo, she can be pretty adorable. She plays with her toys not by batting them, but by pushing them along the floor like a kid with a diecast car. Plus, she easily provides "Hey, there's two of them!" photo ops.

Jillian's favorite toys are the puffy balls.

Meet Henry!

Henry was born second.

This information is irrelevant, because Henry is first in life. And while I don't feel qualified to permanently settle the nature/nuture debate that has intrigued Man for generations, I will tell you this: Henry was born that way. You could tell the way he slap-fought his brother over milk before his eyes had even opened.

He also liked to push heads and hog water and generally commandeer every new experience. This did not make him popular. But then, Henry discovered that he was a Lion. And part of what lions do is protect everybody. That's why he's the first to investigate every scary noise and count heads afterward. Lions also don't cover their business. Someone will get that.

Henry is even bigger than his brother. He has huge paws and jackrabbit feet. He still looks unfinished, like the gangly and awkward teenage boy he is. He likes to chase Jack around so they can do Man Things together.

While this all keeps him very busy, he will always, always take time out for hugging and cuddling. There's nothing more important.

Henry's favorite toy is water.

Meet Jack!

Jack is the eldest.

He weighs 11 pounds. He's broad and stocky. He doesn't realize any of this, and thinks he is still a tiny baby, so he crashes into things a lot. He's a total marshmallow and a sweet, well-behaved little boy. ... At least when he's not hanging out with his brother.

He's scared of a lot of things, but not vacuum cleaners. He is very shiny because he takes grooming very seriously. When he uses the litter, more or less all of it winds up in a mountain covering his business. He does not like stinky things. He is conscientious.

He loves his mommy, and is usually found with his twin sister following a few feet behind. But he really loves the moments he can get alone with people.

Jack's favorite toy is the scratching board.

Remember that time I had six cats?

Here's the thing ... I have six cats.

You may recall, back in the days when I occasionally used my blog, when I told you about this cat I took in that wound up multiplying. You may also recall that I said I wasn't going to keep all of them.

I am untrustworthy.

It's not that I didn't try. I tried very, very hard. But you can scarcely imagine how undesirable adorable tiny fluffy kittens are until you're trying to get people to take them. Of course, let's be clear. I'm not a complete incompetent. If my only concern were getting the kittens out of the house, I'm sure I could have done that. My real concern, though, was with finding them homes. Good homes with decent people where I wouldn't have to worry about what fate I'd consigned my babies to. That particular quest was full of many misadventures. One person only wanted kittens that were 5 weeks old. (Why?) One applicant wanted a cat with a predictable personality. (She wanted a dog.) Two sets of neighbors took kittens home and brought them back within a week. (And one set hasn't been seen since.) Then there was the charming if batty French lady my sister's mother-in-law knows from church. She is a lover, and collector, of animals, and swore that she had a good friend who was in want of kittens. Three months later the conversation was veering off in directions like, "Well, I met this couple in the bagel shop, and they seemed pretty nice. They were there putting up a missing poster for the second cat they've lost this year. Want to give your kittens to them?" I've stopped calling her.

So I have six cats. I guess haven't completely abandoned hope of homes. I'm still crossing my fingers on my Auntie Pat, who gushes about how gorgeous one of the kittens is and how much she wants her, but won't take her for reasons it would take a map to get to. Plus, I mean, would you like a cat or two, Internet? It's cool, I trust you.

But anyway. I figured I should tell you about my cats. The first step is admitting you have a problem. My next trick will be devoting an entry a day to introducing the little darlings. Then you'll know everything there is to know about the last six months of my life. And then? Who knows, my friends. Who knows.

Watch this space!

P.S. I also have a Secret Exciting Cat Project that I've probably already told you about. Full disclosure if it turns out not to be an epic failure.

MYSTERY CAR: THE RETURN!

You remember that time I saw that car with a weird "R" logo that I couldn't identify?

No? THAT'S WHY I LINK YOU.

Thrilling update! I saw it again! And I still have no idea what it is! But I took a really crappy picture of it with my cell phone. Look!




WHAT IS IT.

Not a paid sponsor.

Do you have cats? Do you have many cats? Are your cats pretty gross most of the time?

Me too. As you may recall, I have six cats. (More on that at some vague point in the future.) They live mostly in the poorly-ventilated basement and they are tiny-to-medium sized factories of gross.

How often do you smell things, would you say? I am constantly smelling things. I believe that I am a very smell-oriented person. One time, I took a tour of the Fragonard Perfume Museum, and a smarmy perfumier explained that they employ super smellers, who are usually dudes. He gave me the eye as he said this, and I have no idea why. But the feeling it produced in me was one I would later come to identify as "I will cut your face!"

Anyway, you know what my favorite smell is? Nothing. I love the smell of nothing. I love it when my hands smell like hands and my bedlinens smell like air. One time, staying over someone's house, I spent a good ten minutes wondering if they had given me unclean sheets to sleep on. That seemed very unlikely! In fact, they hadn't. They just didn't use dye-free perfume-free everything-free detergent. So I wound up smelling all night. It should probably go without saying that I am not a fan of air fresheners. They generally smell like cheerful chemicals and give me headaches. I will use scented candles, if they're good quality. But I have to light them and blow them out near a vent or open window.

What was I talking about? OH YES: MANY CATS. If you have stinky cats, I am about to save your life: I picked up this can of stuff at my local supermarket because I figured, "... Eh!"

IT IS MAGICAL, OKAY. IT IS MADE OF MAGIC.

It got rid of the impossible-to-locate pee smell of cats long dead, okay. It made my basement smell like there was not a herd of cats living in it. It even made my exterior garbage can smell like ... well, like maybe we were throwing only the biological refuse of one cat in there, as opposed to six. Plus, I swear it makes the litter less dusty. And then when the gross smell is gone, it doesn't smell like anything! (After a fashion. It has a vaguely ozone-like smell for a few minutes after spraying.)

I considered the option that maybe I had just gotten used to the awful funk. (It's possible!) But then we ran out of spray on Monday and holy cats I had to go buy some more because it was incredibly, horrifyingly apparent how well it had previously been working.

Nothing works, you guys! Nothing! When is the last time something actually did what its manufacturers claimed it did? I mean, aside from ... spoons, and things like that?

That is all. If it's the early morning hours for you, and you have insomnia, please make sure to read this entry three times in a row before humming the national anthem.

I write like

For some reason I see that title as something to permute and play with. I write? Like. I write "like". I write-like.

Anyway! Apparently I write like any number of people at any given time. Going backwards, my entries that contained at least a paragraph were said to resemble: Charles Dickens, Margaret Atwood, Stephen King, and James Joyce. (The Joyce, naturally, was the entry about my eyeballs.)

Then 5 more entries were labeled King. Yay!! (And also two as Dan Brown, but let's not talk about that. Everyone has those days.)

ETA - after inputting a work of original fiction, I was told it was Vonnegut-esque. I like this meme.

Stephenie Meyer : inspiration to millions.

This is just a caring, periodic reminder to all my aspiring/frustrated/undiscovered writer friends: you can do it.

You can get a book published or a screenplay purchased. You really, really can. Even if it's terrible. Even if it's the worst thing you've ever written and the embarrassment prevents even you from reading it. Even if you drop acid beforehand and forget to write a conclusion. Even if you just print out pages from your blog and bind them.

You can.

You can because this woman did.

Fun fact: she published this book with the intention of donating a portion of the proceeds to charity. Then offered it for free on the internet. Of course, I'm sure many will still dish out some cash for the opportunity to capture so rare a gem as this and fund another measure like Prop 8. (Probably.)

Photo Friday.

While my father is convalescing, I'm taking the opportunity to clear out his apartment. Among such sundry items as tape deck wipes, expired batteries, neck weights, old shoes, and 20-cent stamps, there are some things worth finding.

Happy Easter!

Or: This is now a baby blog, but with kittens. Sorry!

Last year on Easter, you may recall, my beloved cat died and it was very terrible and sad. This year, we decided to go, instead, with a box of kittens. Upgrade, basically.



Box of kittens. The smears you can see on the sides are from their eye medicine. Their eyes look pretty good!




This is tabby and the girl black one. We call the black ones "the twins" even though they are no more twins than the rest of them. Tabby is a girl.




The twins. The girl is biting her brother, but normally they love each other. They stick together most of the time. He has a few white hairs on his chest, and they both may or may not have eyebrows.




This is gray. She is kind of a loner. Also these next pictures are post-eye goo.




This is orange. This is the clearest picture I could get of orange, because he is bad. He likes to fight with his siblings. But he also loves to cuddle, and will bite his siblings until you pick him up and cuddle him.




He fights with gray a lot.




She does not take his crap.

And no, they don't have names beyond their color designations, and a few nicknames (such as "Pretty Face" or "The Whiner"). Three or four of them will eventually be living elsewhere, and there's no point in calling them something so that I can get annoyed when their new families give them far stupider names. Probably.



... And oh, right! My father. He's doing very well, thank you. I am going to bring him some colored eggs tomorrow. On Monday he will find out if they will admit him to their affiliated rehab clinic. He'd stay there for about a week. That may not sound desirable, but it totally, totally is. If you'd like to cross your fingers for anything, be it for not sending him home soon. He really needs to be monitored and worked on to get him on his feet again, and if they send him home it will be very difficult and frustrating. For him, but, I mean, for me.

Also all my bills are paid up for like, the first time this year! Holy shit, I hope the irony fairies aren't gearing up for something.

So.

The kittens have colds/eye infections. All of them. The colds have just about run their course, but the eye infections necessitate eye goo. Penny is not thrilled about this turn of events, but she needs to get used to it, frankly. They're old enough now that we don't need to stress about them getting cold, so tomorrow we'll move them all out of the furnace room into a place that's actually clean and acceptable for kittens. Penny.

Oh, and also tomorrow I'm escorting my father into town to get a little spinal surgery.

You could say that I'm feeling anxious and that would not be inaccurate.

Kitten piles.

Halfpennies!!

So you'll recall, about a month ago, I acquired a cat. My household has had a long and illustrious history of acquiring cats, stretching back before I was born.

As a bit of trivia, we've never managed to acquire one that was knocked up, even though apparently cats are knocked up all the time. When Penny showed up, though, the sentence "I hope she's not pregnant!" was introduced almost immediately. I don't even know why! She didn't look at all pregnant. But the what if was overwhelming.

I checked in with Stephanie, because I know she's had a couple cats show up with a surprise inside. I asked her how to be sure if a cat is pregnant. Her reply was pretty much, "When kittens start coming out of them."

Oh man, you guys. By that definition? My cat is totally pregnant.

I'll have to get back to you on this.

Kitten tally = FIVE PENCE!!!!:
1. All black
2. Orange
3. Penny-colored (tortoiseshell)
4. Gray tabby
5. Dark gray? Black? It's getting hard to tell at this point. Tabby!

They are, of course, adorable, but we told Penny that's quite enough out of her.

VISUAL AID!

I feel so bad putting up this picture of Penny, because she looks like she's made of pure evil. She's actually ridiculously sweet. I just interrupted her five-second meal break to get this, and the babies were all crying. So she was like, "Look what you fucking did." Also: Jesus hell, all those were inside her yesterday.



L to R: black (?) one, back of other black one's head, orange one, gray tabby, regular tabby (last baby)

LATER!



You can only see maybe two and a half in this one, but they're all in there. Plus omg look at tabby baby. Penny is still looking a mess. She is very tired and has not had a bath.

Am I a narcissist? PLEASE COMMENT.

Man ... pretty much. Poor Robin Quivers, though.

lol irl

BREAKING NEWS ON BREAKING DAWN!

Guys. You guys. Guys. It's official. It's been confirmed.

It will be two movies.

You know what this means, right? (Actually, I hope none of you have read it so I get to horrify you right here and now.) In order to get even one movie out of this god-forsaken aborted mess of a book, they will not only have to keep in everything, they may have to extend some parts. EXTENDED PREGNANCY/BIRTH SEQUENCE MAYBE?

I am trembling in terror and excitement.

PS - fingers crossed that "high-end director" means Uwe Boll.

Cat photoshoot!

With bonus vistas of my basement floor.


Blurry


Arty


Pissy
(I didn't know the flash was on. Sorry cat! I colored in her pupils with photoshop, hence their lookin' all funky.)



Done with this.

Cat!

In a relatively recent development, I have a cat. Or rather, I have a cat in my house. I hesitate to claim any ownership, authority, or kinship, because she doesn't seem entirely thrilled about her circumstances. At least when she's not getting tuna.

Let's backtrack! Shortly after Christmas, my neighbor asked if we'd seen a little cat hanging around in back of the houses. I said "No," while mentally amending "...yet." Because, seriously, if there's a cat nearby, you can bet it will come to my house.

And so it did! She showed up a couple weeks later with that "I heard this was the place" look about her. We gave her some food. A lot of food. Then she would come back every few days or so. One time she brought a friend: a tom cat who has been around for a couple years. Only I don't actually know if they are friends, because she wouldn't let him eat anything, and he eventually went under the car and waited until she finished. We hope he's not her baby daddy.

For the past few months, it's been consistently below freezing. And this poor girl is seemingly terrified of everything in life. She was scared of a plane flying overhead. So, this sealed the deal on moving her inside. She'd been taking her meals on the porch, which is enclosed, but still well chilled. And the only napping I'd seen her do was scrunching up her eyes while sitting tense and contracted.

On Thursday evening, we decided to move her into the basement. This involved a carrier and no small amount of ingenuity. Unfortunately, it was completely traumatic for the cat. Like, "curling into a ball and shaking" traumatic. But, you know, at least she's not going to freeze to death. Which is progress.

So now she's in the basement. And she's not entirely convinced that we don't plan to eat her. We've made slow but sure progress in building a little trust back (food helps), but it's totally weird because I've never had a hiding cat before. Of course, the other cats I've had have either been from shelters/other homes, very young when we found them, or in Bert's case, special. Apparently this is not atypical. But seriously cat, when are you going to start doing cute crap?

I'll try to take a picture in the next few days, when she's in a relatively gregarious mood.

She's a mostly black tortoiseshell, with little bits of white on her eyebrows, front paws, and chest. Her name is Penny.

(PS Stephanie - I don't want to comment on the litter situation, because apparently there is still a learning curve.)

Part 3.

Isn't it crazy how much I'm posting? All on the same thing! I haven't even told you about my cat!



Katherine was right to assure me! Turns out I have an ordinary (though sizable) chunk of whatnot floating around in my vitreous humor. Nothing is torn or sagging or broken or otherwise in danger of blinding me. So for the next several months I can just expect a little extra bling in my visual field. Optical razzle dazzle, if you will.

In other eyeball news, I mentioned that I was concerned that my vision has seemed less sharp in the past few years, since all the thyroid stuff. The doctor was very nice, but he glared at me through his spectacles with an "i hate you die" vibe that I have gotten lots of times in the past (and which, actually, I'll probably be getting from you in a moment!), before telling me that my vision is 20/15. Yay!! (Sorry.)

Then he got up in my grill about my scleral show. Not saying that there was anything of concern, just that it was weird. And man, whatever. Haters gonna hate.

More on all that.

Today I am out:

[-] One-tenth of a unit of blood.
[-] More bucks.
[-] Of patience with the doctor I saw today. His parting suggestion to me was: "Why don't you try losing some weight? That should make you feel better." He means the weight that I gained after he lowered my thyroid dosage to an amount that he doesn't even remember, which I reminded him of several times, probably. WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT EVER. He also asked how things were working out ("Good?") with the medication that I stopped taking over a year ago, because it was completely ineffective. I tried to be helpful by bringing in a typed list of my symptoms and complaints, and he told me he didn't have time to look at it. Gotta bounce! Call me next week sometime!


But I am in:

[-] An ophthalmology appointment tomorrow morning! Woooooo!!

A day in the life.

A while back I wanted to write something conflating the state of health care in the United States with my personal health care and insurance experiences. It was godawfully depressing, so I scrapped it. TL;DR: Health care reform doesn't only benefit the uninsured.

Anyway, here's a story.

Yesterday (It's Groundhog Day!) was my father's birthday. Just for reference. Shortly after waking up, I noticed a gray spot floating in my vision. If you'd like to help diagnose me, I will tell you that it's in the middle and slightly to the outside of the field of vision of my right eye. The best way I can describe it is that it looks like a sequin. It's perfectly round, with a hole in the middle, and sort of blinky. I can also see it when I close my eyes. My vision is not otherwise affected. I waited for it to go away or develop into a migraine or something, but it just kept on as is.

I hit the internet and learned all about floaters. From what I could tell, I was either perfectly fine and had nothing to worry about, or my retina was about to detach -- a completely painless process that might cause me permanent blindness. I think this is not likely based on what I've read, but you never know.

The best idea would be to call up an ophthalmologist. But of course, it is generally hard to get an appointment with a specialist in short order, which I figured is what I would need if something gruesome and irreversible were happening to me. So I opted to make an appointment with my primary care physician, who could at least let me know if I should start panicking and seek urgent care, or calm down and wait it out.

My doctor, it turns out, is on vacation for the next several weeks. I was able to secure an appointment instead with one of his associates. While this fellow may not have been the tooliest tool who ever tooled, he was still a real tool. I told him I had a spot in my vision. He then immediately told me that there was nothing he could do for me.

"Why didn't you go to your eye doctor?"
"Um, I don't have an eye doctor."
"Oh, so you need a referral."
"I don't know what I need. That's why I came here."

Before he scuttled out the door I asked if he could at least tell me whether or not my retina is detaching, and he told me know he has no way of knowing that. I did not, at that point, ask if I could have my money back. I should have though, because, seriously.

The referral actually came from the girls at the reception area. And, they are nice, but they are not doctors.

"Do you want someone in [the town where I live]?"
"Uh. I want someone who's good."
"Oh, they're all good. Here, this one's in [the town where I live]."

So I called this guy for an appointment when I got home. His receptionist kept trying to get me to specify a time window, and I tried to get her to specify a date. I mean, I can guarantee that I have more openings in my schedule than a doctor's office does in theirs. So you tell me what you have available, and I'll see if I can make it then. (I mean, seriously, is it me? With these people?) Anyway, the earliest appointment I could get is two weeks out. Which I now have, tentatively, booked.

Tomorrow I'm going to look for someone else who may have a closer appointment available. I called a place today called Retina Associates which seemed like a good bet, but was informed that, despite the fact that all the doctors there are listed as ophthalmologists, none of them are actually ophthalmologists. They deal exclusively with retina and inner eye issues, so unless I already know that's where the problem lies, they are not my best bet.

I'm seeing my endocrinologist tomorrow, and I'll ask him if he knows anyone, on the off-chance. Endocrinologists usually know people, I've found. He called me this morning to ask if he can bump my appointment up an hour. I agreed to it, but ... hell. That throws off my whole morning.

Basically, multiply this day by every 4-8 weeks or so, and you have what I do with myself all the time and where all my money goes.

Oh, right, my blog!

So, I made sauce today. It's quite good. I mean, I think it is. As far as I can tell it is. It's sort of hard to taste.

Incidentally, it's almost the 17th of January and I have not been well a single day this year. Impressive! I currently have a sinus infection, which came at the behest of a strangely intense flu. I don't know if it was the swine flu. Maybe! And this was after I rang in the new year with crackers and ginger ale for stomach virus.

There are things that I was going to say! About what I've thought about television shows, or the cat that doesn't want to be our friend (yet), or the stuff I've made with my hot* little hands, or ... well, probably not that, or Comcast, or this and that.

Hi, internet.

*my hands are usually cold.