good amusing site to visit

I've not been around much lately...have been beading and working and hostessing one of the worst colds I've had in recent years. My snot trenches are pronouncedly dry and red, my nostril rims are numb to the touch, I can't taste anything (smell either) and I really just want to sleep. But I've been to work and back...which is enough, besides the beading. I now have 11 little bags finished, I'd like to get 30 or so done before I'm done with the beading.

Anyway, tripped across this little number and had to share...

http://www.lileks.com/

Check out the Institute of Official Cheer for the "gallery of regrettable food" and "interior desecrations".

xoxo
lili

hah!

Two boll weevils grew up in South Carolina. One went to Hollywood and became a famous actor. The other stayed behind in the cotton fields and never amounted to much. He was known as the lesser of two weevils...

Anyway.

I feel much better than I had the past two weeks. However, I've nothing to say now. :D

Am busy beading and getting hopeful for future craft sales and such. I meant to get the scanner going so I could show off some of my stuff, but not today. Maybe later today. Or tomorrow. Who can say?

xoxo
lili

don't tell my mom!!! psst...bread is dangerous!

Research on bread indicates that:
1. More than 98 percent of convicted felons are bread users.
2. Fully HALF of all children who grow up in bread-consuming households score below average on standardized tests.
3. In the 18th century, when virtually all bread was baked in the home, the average life expectancy was less than 50 years; infant mortality rates were unacceptably high; many women died in childbirth; and diseases such as typhoid, yellow fever, and influenza ravaged whole nations.
4. More than 90 percent of violent crimes are committed within 24 hours of eating bread.
5. Bread is made from a substance called "dough." It has been proven that as little as one pound of dough can be used to suffocate a mouse. The average American eats more bread than that in one month!
6. Primitive tribal societies that have no bread exhibit a low incidence of cancer, Alzheimer's, Parkinson's disease, and osteoporosis.
7. Bread has been proven to be addictive. Subjects deprived of bread and given only water to eat begged for bread after as little as two days.
8. Bread is often a "gateway" food item, leading the user to "harder" items such as butter, jelly, peanut butter, and even cold cuts.
9. Bread has been proven to absorb water. Since the human body is more than 90 percent water, it follows that eating bread could lead to your body being taken over by this absorptive food product, turning you into a soggy, gooey bread-pudding person.
10. Newborn babies can choke on bread.
11. Bread is baked at temperatures as high as 400 degrees Fahrenheit! That kind of heat can kill an adult in less than one minute.
12. Most American bread eaters are utterly unable to distinguish between significant scientific fact and meaningless statistical babbling.

In light of these frightening statistics, it has been proposed that the following bread restrictions be made:
1. No sale of bread to minors.
2. A nationwide "Just Say No To Toast" campaign, complete celebrity TV spots and bumper stickers.
3. A 300 percent federal tax on all bread to pay for all the societal ills we might associate with bread.
4. No animal or human images, nor any primary colors (which may appeal to children) may be used to promote bread usage.
5. The establishment of "Bread-free" zones around schools.

This article was written by B.S. Wheatberry in a desert after consuming mass quantities of yeast bread then realizing his canteen was empty. (seriously )

xoxo
lili

its, like, spirograph but not but wastes time anyway?

http://www.eigelb.at/HP/Links/SpecialEffects/Grappa/DelayedTrace/

yep. Have spent some time here the past little while...give it a go!

xoxo
lili

validation

Of course, Sunday was no better. I did get a little orange bag done - the first one I did will be ripped apart and reuse the beads as I didn't like how it turned out. The finished one looks like a little purse - orange and white, reminds me of a creamsicle, with a fringe on the flap. I was going to put a fringe on the bottom too but the beads connecting the bottom weren't straight so they weren't going to lay flat - I'll have to figure that out for the next one. In the meantime, its cute and brought a smile to my face when I finished it this afternoon.

I talked to the nurse at my doctor's office today. She thought that my blood sugar reading was good - good for being a diabetic and no cause for alarm at all - not like that Doctor from Hell had made out. I told the nurse of my most recent visit to the office and she was detachedly up in arms as much as I was. I explained the whole story to her and she "tut tutted" throughout. It was a relief of sorts, I mean, I knew death by chocolate was a slow process to begin with but she reaffirmed that, telling me that you don't wake up in the morning with bedsores, you don't lose your eyesight in the middle of the afternoon, your kidneys don't kick the can midstream.

Still fighting back the tears...this week is particularly stressful - test, then first day of job/returning to old job stuff if I don't pass. Today I was going through the old orders that we did 3 weeks ago and I dunno...I hope when the test comes I snap to it.

I have had some visions of self harm. I won't be doing anything in particular - or keeping my hands/mind busy, and there will be a flash, the movie screen in my head comes to life and takes over my clarity. It is a yardstick that tells me "where I am". Life is a YES! can mean so many different things...and yet I know this is my struggle - not anybody else's, and I can't expect anyone to care or make a gesture that they might even get it. My spiritual belief is the only thing that pulls me through but at times I scrape bottom and it can be so hard to...do anything. This time of day comes and I start to unravel...time for more tranks.

If I'm like this for another week and my doctor doesn't get back to me, I don't know what I'll do. I will call him tomorrow again...but I have very little faith in his receptionist as I talked to her again today and she was fucking up all over the place - didn't spell my name right twice etc. I'm not the only one but gawd, I'm not at the helm.

xoxo
lili

5:55 update

Thank gawd for Metallica. I forgot that I was alive...

S&M cd. Full blast. Tears are still trickling, but there is a spark, a small fire flares and recedes...promises of inner heat to radiate.

"dance little tin goddess..."

I have written, and others have read my words
I have created, and others have seen my creations
I have loved with my whole heart, and others have felt that
I have sheltered and been sheltered and the circle continues
Just as it is supposed to

And tears are just water and water and more water
I have enough water in me to produce tears
and it is more than many can say
and for that, I am thankful


xoxo
lili

multiple choice

I am sitting here waiting for the tranks to settle in ooze into my veins take over...had a small breakdown meltdown silent sob in the catbox room...which carried on into the bathroom, trailed me through the kitchen, and sat down with me on the chair here, where I opened a message board, a second message board, then this blank page. I care not what my counter says - I usually snoop, but really, it doesn't matter.
Yesterday while driving home from the Doctor from Hell, I thought to myself that after my youngest cat goes across the rainbow bridge, I shall follow shortly thereafter. They'd have had a good run, I'd have had a good run, and that is that. I understand that I don't solely exist to feed them care for them clean their catbox, but there is little else that I am contributing to anything. Period. I look forward to the time by myself, and then get lonely, and then am out with other people and while there, wish to be anywhere but there, wish to be at home, wish to be at ease. A few tranks slip down my gullet, and I'm "safe" for a while longer, and I get to this place - the yawning the openness of nothingness the indifference - and then, tears.
My friend Jacks says I should get out more...I question "where?" I've been where there is to be here, I know there isn't anyplace else to be - in the sense that if I were in another city, I could be someplace "new" - its all the same scene. There are bowling alleys everywhere, and I'm not interested. I can't afford to do anything - join a club with similar interests, nor do I care about the "similar interest" clubs. I find myself more and more without "interests" and if someone asked me what my hobbies were, I'd have to remain mute, for what I do doesn't carry any passion, anything more than one thing after the other, something to fill time. I exist day to day, trying to accomplish some small thing to keep my hands busy, to track the time, to stack beside. And its not enough to make me want to stay.
I was at my sister's today, brother in law's birthday celebration. All is normal. I come home, and whilst cleaning the catbox, I think about how there is nobody here to make me a tea when I'm done, or share in the taking out the garbage duties, or lean over my shoulder and ask me what I'm doing. I've nobody to eat with. I've got nobody to wait for me. Nobody is going to surprise me and do the dishes, vacuum, or ask me how I'm feeling. I could fall over dead right now and it would take at least a week for somebody to notice I'm dead - nobody drops by on a regular basis, and if the phone doesn't get answered or an email doesn't get a response, its no big deal. If I don't blog for a week, nobody will send out a search party. It's pointless. The cats might raise enough of a racket to alert my neighbors, after they weren't fed for a few days. They might. I sit here in my silence and listen to the life that goes on around me...the neighbors downstairs, average age of 17, and remember myself at 17...I don't think I saw myself HERE at comin' up 40. I think that, had I known that, I would have carried out on the various plans to end things fair and square.
I remember living in a house on Robinson when I was 18, and there was a woman there who had, after 25 years of marriage and three grown children, was reduced to living in a light housekeeping room. She would talk about her previous life as if it weren't hers, as if it were somebody else that had those memories, as if this living arrangement was a glitch in an othewise carefully planned full life. I remember thinking that "that's not going to be me when I'm that old...I hope." Yet here I go.

There is nothing and nobody. I care for my cats.

xoxo
lili

me'n'diabetes pt 2

Its my body.

Its my body.

Its my body.

oh, fuck it. I had things to say but really, there is nothing to say besides the fact that I went to get a refill for my diabetes medication and because my regular doctor wasn't there and I was very close to out of meds, I chose to see a different doctor...and she took it upon her self to tell me, AGAIN, and in quiz form as if I were a fucking child, what the degenerative parts of the disease are. I fuckin KNOW already.

I am writing the director of the health center I went to. I am more than my disease. Dammit.

lili