Bullfrogs Just Happen

My Bullfrog Friend
Saturday of Memorial Day weekend, the weekend of my moving-to-Kansas anniversary (#5 this year), and the Hub and I are taking it easy. We were going to go to the Top-Fuel drag races this year, but the cost of the tickets outweighed my overall interest, so we decided to stay home and enjoy the beautiful weather. Fully sunscreened and bug-sprayed, I headed outside where the Hub was already firing up his Allis-Chalmers D-14 tractor and getting ready to do some mowing. I had some plants to put in my flower garden, as well as some horticultural rearranging to do, and it was warm enough to put one of the lizards in the play pen to get some sun, so I settled into that. Floyd got to hang out with me on that particular day, so he nestled down in the grass and soaked up the sunshine while I proceeded to transplant mint into another garden and replace it with some of the new plants (lavender, moonflower, hibiscus, and for shits and giggles, one tomato plant). After a little while the Hub went inside to find that his mother (Belle) had phoned and invited us to go fishing that night. She and my father-in-law (Jack) were going down south to Louisburg to fish with her brother Joe at a secluded lake where they had had lots of previous success in supplying what we're hoping will become the annual family fish-fry. In any case, my Hub has been wanting to go fishing practically all year, and I'm always up for a spontaneous change in plans, so we accepted the invite and rushed to get ready to go.
After a dinner at Hillsdale Bank Barbeque (which is one of my top 5 favorite BBQ joints around KC) we made it to the lake to meet Joe, who had with him his wife Shirley, their youngest son Alex, and two of Alex's friends. Since last summer, the lake had fallen victim to some moss around the banks, so the best place to cast was off of the dock or the bridge across the dam. Eventually we all ended up on the dam bridge, where you could face the lake on one side and the approximately 25-30 foot drop to the concrete slope of the dam itself on the other side.
My father-in-law Jack and my Hub were reeling in fish after fish, mostly Blue Gill and Crappie (I love that). Once dusk began to fall upon us, things slowed a bit, and our attention was averted to a wrack of commotion from Alex and his buddies.
The three boys ran across the bridge, yelling and laughing, and holding something at the end of Alex's fishing pole. It was a giant bullfrog, alive and squirming, hooked through the mouth.
Now, I know that boys will be boys (or men will be men, for that matter), but I was pissed. Perhaps a double standard since we were out there fishing, but my heart was ripped with the cruelty of the boys and the pathetic and vulnerable state of the frog. Joe and the Hub and I immediately set to freeing the big guy. The boys were cool about us rescuing it--I think they were more into showing it off than torturing it--and they went on about their way, muddy and aloof. The frog struggled in the beginning, but as I supported its legs and my Hub gingerly removed the hook, he calmed down and settled into my hands.
I was instantly in love. Not only was he slimy and green, but we had rescued it (which is important, since I'm the constant nurturer that I am). As Jack and Joe chuckled about the possibility of having frog legs at the fish fry, I was pleading with the Hub to let me take it home. Okay, so it was half-hearted pleading. I knew his place was there at the lake, but to think that he could be in the terrarium in our living room and I would get to see him and hear him sing every day was like a fairy tale. Granted, he could stretch out and touch both sides of that little terrarium. It's not like I would have taken him home if the Hub had said yes. Okay, I would have considered it.
Anyway, I held the frog and we got some pictures, and he was as docile as he could be as I cooed him and cleaned his mouth and feet of moss and debris. Belle and Shirley were getting a kick out of him, too, and I opened my hands slightly so they could see him and the Hub could pet him. He just laid in my hands peacefully--until, of course, the Hub touched him.
It was at that precise moment that he lunged from my loosened grip--off of the wrong side of the bridge.
I screamed and immediately burst into tears, not even hearing the thud as he landed upside down on the concrete below. The Hub grabbed me and hugged me, holding me away from the scene of the crime so I couldn't see the frogs twisted body down below. Feeling like I had been punched in the stomach, the tears flowed down my face, expecting the worst. I looked over the side of the bridge and saw him, stretched out and distorted like a child's rubber toy.

Nature has a funny way of keeping you in check.

The guys were talking about what a fall the frog had taken and naturally, the noise he had made when he hit the concrete, but my father-in-law interjected, "I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if he bounced back. We used to shoot those things with 22s when we were kids, and they'd still be hopping all over the place. They're tough."
As Jack was giving him an indirect pep-talk, my mother-in-law Belle took to trying to revive him by tapping him with her lure. When she was finally able to brush it against his belly, he woke up and flipped over to right himself, dazed and likely concussed, but alive. I nearly passed out in a wave of relief and emotion. He was alive. Not altogether well, but alive.
We were all amazed, except maybe Jack, who just smiled to himself. He's funny like that. He can be as ornery as any little boy out there, but he has a kind heart deep down that he thankfully passed on to his son (though my Hub's is not as easy to get to).
The frog finally took a couple of leaps down the side of the dam in the direction of the creek below, and I knew he'd be okay. We all adjourned to Joe and Shirley's house for a campfire (and marshmallows!) shortly thereafter, leaving my frog to complete his recovery in private.

At the end of the night, when it was long past everyone's bedtime and the Hub and I were driving back to the homestead, we got to talking about the pond that the Hub wants to dig in our back yard. We have 10 acres, and a portion of that (our current camping area) is on 100-year flood plain, so he's thinking that a 2-or-3 acre pond would be perfect right there. We've talked about it on numerous occasions, and if we decide to stay in our house, the Hub would like to have it dug at least by his 30th birthday.
We threw ideas back and forth about the different kinds of fish and other creatures we'd have in our pond, when the Hub said, "You know, one of my uncles told me that there's not a pond out there that doesn't have bluegill in it. When the birds and other creatures travel from one pond to the next, they bring along all kinds of things--from fish eggs to plant seeds."
"Bullfrog eggs?" I asked.
"Yeah. Bullfrogs too. You don't stock a pond with bullfrogs like you would catfish. Bullfrogs just happen. Their eggs get transferred from pond to pond like anything else."
"Bullfrogs just happen," I repeated, pleased.
He smiled at me, "Yep, they just happen."

Computers Aren't My Thing

Dora Maar
I'm finally beginning to figure out this Hello photo thing. I still haven't been able to put this damn picture on my profile here, but I figure this is good enough for now.

D-Day: July 21, 2005

My Cooterologist's office called today to schedule my hysterectomy.

I Knew Her Back When....

Successful at whatever she loves (and has the energy to persue), I can honestly use the phrase, "I knew her back when," with my old friend Kaelan. Another buddy I met at nerd camp before senior year of highschool and a friend all through college, she's another person I love dearly and never want to lose touch with. Read any of her adventures, and you're bound to understand why.
Since she's a lawyer in Washington, D.C., now and I'm doing the domestic-meets-mad-scientist thing here in Kansas, we haven't been able to fully catch up in a while, and I miss her tons. However, I will glow in fame vicariously through her for a moment, as I introduce some of the greatest pieces of Horse-Racing literature since Charles Bukowski:
{Caution: Please make sure you've gone to the bathroom before reading either of these articles. Otherwise you might piss yourself with laughter.}

Infield or Clubhouse: A Kentuckian's Advice on Throwing a Derby Bash

You Shoulda Been There: Heart of Preakness

Kaelan, you make us Kentucky girls proud! And goddammit, when's the book out?

What a Beautiful Morning

Kansas sunrise

I love Kansas.
I know it may sound strange, especially to those who knew me prior to moving here, but it's the truth. Kansas feels more like home than anywhere else I've lived, and though I never thought I'd even visit this state, I love it.
This morning I woke up in time to see a breath-taking sunrise, which is pretty much par for the course around here. A beautiful sunrise and a gorgeous sunset--you can almost bet on it in Kansas. I've always appreciated the natural beauty of the sky and have been interested in meteorology, and Kansas is a haven for the weather-friendly.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a big fan of how hot it can get here in the summer time, but there's something about that fire of a sunset that follows those July days that makes up for the trouble. Winter skies are even better, when the trees are naked and the rays of color stream through the bare branches. Every open, snow-covered field reflects the hues of pink and indigo and seems to take on the waves of clouds, drifting and floating and blurring the horizon.
This morning was cool but humid, the blanket of clouds insulating the moisture of the early dew. Once the sun was up and it was (past) time for me to be leaving for work, the colorful beams of sunlight had submitted to the clouds. Every shade of gray mixed with hints of violet and blue laid in ripples and rivers running through the atmosphere. It was one of the most spectacular cloud formations I've ever been privilege to see--like heavy meringue, or the ocean's tides, pooling in shallow areas and flooding over with circles and waves of current. I was mesmerized and doing all I could to keep the car on the road.
Dammit! Where's my camera when I need it?
There aren't many things to look forward to when you've got an hour-long commute to work, but the clouds made my day. At least until that bitch cut me off at the toll-plaza when it started to rain.
Goddammit, I hate people sometimes. They ruin everything.

So let me clarify: I love Kansas. I don't love most Kansans, I don't like Kansas politics, I really can't stand Kansas morals/values/religion, and I'm embarrassed by some of the backward shit that goes on (and people joke about the South?). I do love the hills, the prairies, the streams and rivers, and the sky. I love my family here, and I like my job.

So, if you have a problem with my living like a hermit crab, doing my best to ignore Kansan society and all of its rancor (okay, I still vote), go fuck yourself. If you understand and agree, I have a guest room anytime you want to come visit.

I Got Mail!

I love mail. Admittedly, I have ordered things from catalogs, eBay, and countless other internet sites, mainly just to get that special feeling of having a present show up at your door. Pathetic, I know, but true.
Last night I got home to see that I had received a package--yay! I hadn't ordered anything (the Hub's got the credit card in check since I had to put my ticket to SF on it), so even better. The return address was in Richmond, Kentucky, where I went to college and some of my best old friends still live.
It was from Jean, my old roommate and still close girlfriend. One of the most unique people I've ever met, I consider myself lucky to have Jean as a friend. She was able to come and visit me back the first week of March (on her college spring break), and I last visited her in Kentucky last November around Thanksgiving.
The yellow envelope was large and flat, giving no hint to what was inside, so I opened it with gusto to reveal a white padded envelope inside. The Hub was watching me in amusement, as I reached inside the white envelope like a little girl on a pagan holiday.
When I visited Jean last November, she and I tried to stop by the Student Store at EKU to browse for some alumni stuff. Unfortunately it was closed, but lo and behold, months and months later, Jean had remembered what I was looking for.
Inside the white envelope was an Eastern Kentucky University Alumni license plate and an EKU Alum sticker for my car. I squealed with excitement and did a clappy-clap (very fast clapping of hands), followed by the happy dance (called the retard dance by the Hub). Not only was I thought of by someone special, but she also remembered what I had wanted after all this time!
Thank you, Jean! I love and miss you!

By the way, the Hub is also grateful for the gifts. To this point, the license plate on the front of my Honda says "WICKED WITCH" and has the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz on it. Because of this, the Hub is always a little self-conscience of driving my car if I'm not with him. Problem eliminated!

Fiona is Floyd

Floyd's baby pic

{For those who are just starting: Fiona is my smaller, 6-month-old, female bearded dragon. Herbie is my 9-month-old fatass male beardie. See Herbie the Horny.}
All was good with the kids when I returned home from my weekend jaunt to San Francisco, so the Hub didn't let me down in tending the flock (he never does let me down in this respect--he's a great Dad--but I had to get that out of the way).
Monday night, I noticed a piece of tomato stuck to Fiona's butt, and since she still had some tomato in with the salad in her food dish from the morning, I didn't think anything about it. She ate some more greens from my hand, and then about 10 vitamin-dusted crickets, which is pretty normal. After feeding Herbie and turning all of their lights off, that was it for the night.
Tuesday morning I looked in on everyone, turned on the basking lights, dropped some fresh salad in for both Fiona and Herbie, and consequently noticed that the tomato was still stuck to Fi's rear-end. Once I picked her up to remove it, though, I realized I was horribly, horribly wrong.
That was no tomato.
Instead of something stuck to her ass, it was something protruding from her ass--something that looked very much like a giant hemmorhoid. I had left my best Bearded Dragon manual at work (lunch-time reading), so I decided not to panic just yet. I misted her with some water and put her back into her tank, worried but determined to figure out the exact problem.
At work first thing I looked up her ailment in the book. Then I was really worried. From the description and the picture, Fiona likely had a rectal prolapse, which is basically like a hemorrhoid, but can certainly be life-threatening if not treated. Knowing my regular vet (in good ole Tonganoxie) doesn't treat reptiles, I turned to the yellow pages to look for an exotic-animal vet in Topeka, the city in which I work. I knew of one in Lawrence, the town in-between home and work, but I figured if I could find one close to work I'd be able to take her in the next day on my way in.
After a couple of phone calls, I found one who made an appointment for Fiona that Friday. The man I talked to on the phone told me that in the meantime, I should clean the affected area, pour Karo Syrup onto the prolapse to reduce the swelling, and then use a lubricated Q-tip to try to re-insert the bulging tissue back into her body. All of this but the Karo Syrup sounded reasonable, so I figured I'd give it a try that night when I got home. (I mean really, Karo Syrup?)
In any case, Fiona didn't seem out of sorts at all that night, so I placed her in a warm bath to clean the bulge. After it was cleaned, it started to bleed slightly and I could see the degree of inflamation, which broke my heart all over again. I drained the water and refilled the tub with about a half-inch of cold water, hoping to reduce the swelling. Splashing around and trying to escape, she seemed to be more bothered by the temperature of the water than she was by her affliction.
Once she was dry, I took her into the other bathroom and proceded to lubricate her butt, the bulge, and a clean Q-tip with Bacitracin Ointment. On an even closer inspection, I started to become a bit suspicious. The bulge was definitely to the left side of her cloaca (opening/vent), and seemed to be rooting from beneath the opening. Because Fiona doesn't have a tail, there really didn't appear to be any room in her little body for the bulge to fit back in, since it was needing to go below the cloaca. In tears, I managed to poke the prolapse back into her body, but only for a moment. It popped right back out with her squirming and trying to get out of my hands, and the bulge was starting to bleed a little more.
Disheartened, I placed her back into her tank. Laying in bed, my head was racing. Why would a rectal prolapse appear to be coming from the side of her vent? It was obvious that there was no room beneath her cloaca for the tissue to be housed, but a rectal prolapse would generally be re-inserted to the area above the cloaca. I know that male bearded dragons have two hemipenes, which are held inside their bodies in-between the cloaca and the base of the tail, but for Fiona this shouldn't be an issue. She was young when I got her, but she was sold to me as a girl. Could it be?
Following another restless night, I was back at work on Wednesday morning when my phone rang. It was the vet clinic where Fiona had her appointment on Friday, calling to let me know that I needed to take Fiona in immediately for medical attention. The woman said she had talked to the vet about the situation, and that he had said that Fi couldn't wait until Friday; unfortunately, though, they weren't going to be able to get me in that same day. I thanked her for her update and hung up.
No choice but to call the clinic in Lawrence, Gentle Care Animal Hospital. They agreed that it was an emergency situation, and I felt my blood pressure increase. How could I have been so stupid? Their main Herp-Vet wasn't going to be in until that afternoon, but they told me to bring Fiona in as soon as I possibly could to go ahead and get her looked at. They could prep her for surgery while they were waiting for the vet to arrive. I let my coworkers know what was going on and I headed on home to pick up the baby (that's been the fastest commute to date). She seemed okay, but a little stressed out. We made it to the animal hospital in good time as well, and they were able to go ahead and take a look at her.
The vet we saw said that she looked dehydrated, and that they were definitely going to have to do surgery to correct the problem. She printed out an estimate of the likely cost of the procedures that they were probably going to have to do, and I called the Hub in tears. Surprisingly enough, though the sum of money required was going to be a big one, he was okay with it all.
He told me, "I know how much the kids mean to you, and I think we should do what it takes to make sure they're healthy. I also know that if I had to get my motorcycle fixed, you wouldn't have a problem with my spending that much money." I was shocked that he was taking it so well, but he made sure to add, "But this is it. No more animals!" We exchanged I love yous and I let him go.
Back out in the lobby I told the Vet that he had agreed with me that they should do whatever it was going to take. I kissed Fi goodbye before I left, and they headed back to set up a tank for her.
Once I had returned to work, I was still anxious but somewhat relieved. I managed to get some things done for the next few hours, and then my phone rang again. My stomach jumped up in my throat when I saw it was the clinic calling; thankfully, they were only letting me know that the Herp specialist wasn't going to be able to make it back from Kansas City that afternoon to perform the operation, but she was scheduled to be taken care of first thing in the morning.
I did sleep slightly better that night, but was eager to check on Fiona in the morning. I waited as long as I could (until about 10:30) before I called the vet, not wanting to be a bother but anxious to find out the status of my baby. They told me that the operation had been a success and that the vet was currently doing some call-backs, but he'd be calling me soon. Assuring me that she was okay, I hung up the phone and waited for the vet to call so that I could get the details.
About an hour later, I picked the phone up on the first ring. The vet who had done the surgery was Dr. Rausch, and he said that all was now fine. There was only little snag--Fiona's affliction wasn't a rectal prolapse. It was a penile prolapse.
Fiona was Floyd.
Honestly, I was so relieved and happy that everything was okay that I didn't even care about anything else. Dr. Rausch said that they wanted to keep him overnight to make sure he was making progress before I took him home, but I should be able to pick him up the following day. Friday morning went a lot better, to say the least. I was supposed to go to the Hub’s cousin’s (my friend Taylor)’s graduation from Vet School that afternoon (how ironic), but because of missing hours running from Topeka to Tonganoxie to Lawrence to Topeka, I wasn’t going to be able to make it to the commencement in time. Having already worked late every other day of the week, though, I was still going to be off a little early, so I was able to get to the clinic to pick up Floyd with enough time to talk to Dr. Rausch.
As I waited for him to get done with an appointment, they brought Floyd out to me, who was awake and alert and I assume ready to go home. When Dr. Rausch stepped out, I shook his hand and thanked him for everything, and we discussed some of the issues at hand:
Floyd is definitely a boy (or now an it), I was going to have to give Floyd medicine for coccidia and pinworms for the next week, and the prolapse was physiologically inevitable due to Floyd’s lack of a tail.
He agreed with me that there was no room in Floyd’s body for the hemipene to be stored; he said that as Floyd was growing and maturing, his hemipenes were also growing, and in-effect out-growing the limited area they had in Floyd’s body. Had Floyd been Fiona, it wouldn’t have been a problem. {As far as the coccidia and pinworms go, I knew beforehand that beardies always have certain levels of coccidia and pinworm eggs in their systems; like yeast is a natural part of a woman’s system, coccidia is part of the natural flora of a bearded dragon’s system. When the lizard gets sick or stressed, the coccidia and the pinworms reproduce to the point of an imbalance in the g.i. system, thus resulting in Coccidiosis and a pinworm infection (like an imbalance in the woman’s system would lead to a yeast infection). For both, the trick is to keep the levels balanced, because you’re never going to be able to completely eliminate either. }
In any case, I wrote the check for $221.46 and took my baby home.

Looking back, I’m wondering what the deal was with Herbie. I thought at the time that he was just a pedophile. Now it turns out he’s gay, too.
I wonder if he’s catholic?

Abortion Truck

Abortion Truck
Click on the picture to see a better view.
Gross!

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig (SF vol. IV)

How much more could we pack into one weekend? Well, it wasn't over yet. MJ and I both woke up a little late on Sunday (I with amazingly no after-effects from the previous night), but got right to it. After getting clean and beautiful, we headed out for breakfast and the beginning of the final day of my visit. I don't even remember the name of the place we went to, but it was a little bagel shop down the strip from a Peet's coffee. MJ got a bagel, I got a grilled panini and a Martinelli's apple juice. First intrigued by the neat bottle, MJ gave me a "Welcome to California!" when I took my first sip. It is the most delicious juice I've ever had the luck to experience--like poking a straw into a fresh apple that I would pick off of the tree in my front yard. We headed to Peet's once our bellies were full, mainly to pick up a souvenir for the Hub. Not really knowing for sure what to bring him back, hearing MJ talk about how delicious Peet's coffee is, knowing how much the Hub loves his coffee, and, sadly, attracted by the name (remember, my beloved feline-son Peter), I decided that some freshly-ground house blend was the way to go. The very helpful, very friendly little guy behind the counter assisted me in figuring that the house blend was probably the best way to go for my Hub, and he gave me a complimentary cup, to boot. My friend MJ does not lie. It is the best coffee I've ever had. Out the door with the Hub's gift, we decided to go ahead and take care of some more sight-seeing. First off to the Golden Gate Bridge, which is by far more picturesque than I had ever imagined. MJ waited patiently for me while I snapped pictures of the bridge, the passing sailboats, the surrounding areas, the water and sky on the horizon, the breakers on the rocks, and everything else. The salty air was like home, comforting and enveloping and reaching into the furthest depths of my being.
Noting the time, I surrendered to the car and we drove out to Lombard Street. The most crooked/curvy street in the world, it's touted. MJ again waited for me while I acted like a tourist, getting the best pictures after I scaled a little half-wall and teetered precariously at the top. Rejoining MJ, we made our way down the street, her driving skills never failing, but my abused stomach growing a bit testy. More pictures from the bottom, and we were off again. This time to North Beach, which was the setting of a large portion of the Beat movement back in the 60s. We saw City Lights Bookstore and Jack Kerouac Alley, where I hopped out to again take more pictures, including one shot down the alley which was completed by the homeless man laying on the sidewalk. We didn't have time to go into the bookstore, so MJ circled the block and picked me up at the corner of the alley and Columbus. While waiting to get back onto Columbus, I looked up to see two big box trucks (like Ryder Moving trucks) that had "Stop Abortion Now" messages written on the sides, complete with real photos of aborted fetuses. Gross, yes, but naturally, I had to get some pictures of them. Again, could I use that damn Hello thing or figure out some way to post my photos, you would be able to see them {Update: Still working on the photo program, but I was able to get one Abortion Truck picture up}. Anyway, I was still needing to pick up some souvenirs for some of my friends, so we headed on to Chinatown. MJ parked the car and we walked up and down the streets of Chinatown, being accosted on every corner by little Asian women advertising Dim Sum. I eventually found all of the needed goods, and though we could have walked around a lot longer, the time was not permitting. On the way out we hit a Chinese market, where I picked up some real Chinese candy for the Hub (he has since eaten it all but the Super-Ume "It's so good candy", which I guess was really sour). He was especially a fan of the White Rabbit cream candies, in case you need a recommendation. The trip back to the flat to grab my bags and then the following drive to the airport were just like any other drive we'd taken over the weekend--it was as if it hadn't really sunk in that I was leaving already. Such a short trip, but so incredibly rewarding. When MJ dropped me off at the airport, I had tears in my eyes. We've known each other since we were 17, and though we have both gone on with our separate lives, we are very much kindred spirits. I said it to her over the weekend and I'll say it again: you never have friends who know you like the ones you had in college (though MJ and I met sooner, we were friends throughout our college years; I even still have her college graduation announcement). Something about the people who knew you when you were first becoming who you are today. They're irreplaceable. Getting home at almost 2am on Monday (Kansas time) thanks to United Airlines, I was wiped out. I had a doctor's appointment that afternoon, so I had already made accommodations for work, but I called them around 7:30am and let them know that I for sure wouldn't be coming in. Let the dogs out to pee, turn the lights on for the lizards, and it was back to bed, this time curling up in the nest that the Hub makes in the pillowtop of our mattress. Something about that spot for me is golden, and I was out again until after 2pm. My appointment ended up being cancelled (not bad, since I've only had it since February), so I loafed around with the kids for the rest of the afternoon and reflected on how lucky I am to have the friends I do and the life they've been a part of helping me create.

MJ and Dora

Haight-Ashbury

Music and Whiskey and Vomit, Oh My! (SF vol. III)

So MJ and I are all dolled up and ready to head out to the American Head Charge show at the Warfield in San Francisco. She in a hot-hoochie-mama-pink dress, fishnets, and big black boots; I in jeans and a black sleeveless shirt to show off my tattoos, and of course the super-kick-ass-but-goddammit-the-blister black and white shoes. MJ stopped along the way at a liquor store so I could hop out and buy some whiskey; we figured we'd be hanging out with the guys on their tourbus (uh, their current home), and you can't very well do that (unless you're a groupie) without bringing thanks-for-the-hospitality-and-putting-us-on-the-guestlist gifts. MJ had a big container of the afore mentioned cookies, and I got the 5th of Jim Beam.
We got the car parked in a reasonable area (though none of the club-surrounding-areas were very good) and headed on into the show. AHC was one of the openers for Mudvayne, who I also like pretty well, but MJ and I had already discussed the possibility of abandoning the show after AHC's set and hitting a karaoke bar or something with the guys.
It was an energetic set, including songs from their previous and current albums, all much appreciated by the audience. I thought they got a good response from the crowd, who moshed and screamed and put up the devil-horns whenever appropriate. Their last song, "Seamless," was especially intense, as Martin (their vocalist) made a comment that I read as somewhat of a dedication to their recently departed guitarist. Live and on their albums, their grinding, throbbing metal sound is musically balanced and contoured by the keyboards; the result is a concoction of melodic trance, driving rhythms, heart-ripping chords, and technical composition. Yes, I'm a weirdo. If you love music, sometimes you have to dissect it to see what makes it work, you know?
Anyway, like I said, it was a great set. Afterwards, MJ and I milled around for a bit, taking in the Warfield Theatre and the various characters in attendance. Finally we decided to go ahead and take the chance of leaving (no re-entry) to see if we could find the bus.
Lighting a clove cigarette as we walked outside, we discussed our options and decided to venture around the block (MJ remembered a guy talking about running into the Mudvayne guitarist back there, so we thought we'd give it a try). We walked around the corner and almost immediately saw Justin, the keyboardist, who was one of my favorite guys in the band from the last time MJ and I hung out with them at Ozzfest way back in 2001 (my bachelorette party, of all things). We talked awhile and convinced him to be the token male to walk us back to our car so we could get the presents (it's amazing what dropping the homemade-chocolate-chip-cookie phrase can do).
Back to the bus with the cookies and the booze, we boarded and I immediately felt like I was imposing on their space. No one did anything to make me feel that way, but it's just a matter of invading someone's personal territory--an already too-small living area that they're already having to share with too many people. Justin and their replacement guitarist Benji did their best to make sure MJ and I felt welcome, though, noshing on the cookies and thanking us for the gifts and coming to the show. When Sir Banks, the bassist, appeared from the back to greet us and confiscate the cookies and the Beam, it all felt a little more comfortable. He showed himself as being as nice as he was before, and we all started talking more with the opening of the whiskey. MJ and I soon met a couple from the SF area who were also visiting the guys and hanging out. Kat and I almost immediately took up telling dog stories and laughing about our respective goofballs. Sir Banks, seeing there were enough people to play a game, brought out a small contraption with 4 joysticks attached. Only they weren't joysticks. They were conductors.
He told us the gist of the game and he, Daniel (Kat's boyfriend), Kat, and I took a joystick. Daniel was the first to go down, as the electric shock brought him to his knees with a pseudo-mammalian cry of surprise. And again. And again. Round after round, Daniel kept getting shocked while the rest of us and the quickly-gathered audience roared with laughter. Finally, Kat traded joysticks with him to see if it was a set-up, but to no avail. Not only did he get shocked the next time, but Kat and I did, too. Let's just say that I'm glad I didn't have to pee at the time.
Martin eventually made his way to the front of the bus, mainly to get his dinner, and as usual didn't say much. A very nice and intelligent guy, his mantra is "Don't speak unless absolutely necessary." Whatever the case, he's a cool cat and when the night was over, he was my new favorite of the group.
Some more whiskey and cookies and coming-and-going later, MJ informs me that we're all going to Zeitgeist (the very same bar she and I went to the previous night). We all loaded up on the trolley-car and descended upon the bar with various forms of ID and cash. A round of drinks purchased, bartenders tipped, and we headed out back to the patio area, taking over the table to the far side of the yard.
More conversation and laughter, another clove cigarette, and someone from a nearby table passed over a different kind of smoke. Eventually, it ended up in my hand, and I thought, "What the hell? It's not like I'm going to go have to get tested or anything." What I should have been thinking is, "Well, you've not had a lot to eat all day, and you've been drinking, and you haven't smoked pot in almost 10 years, and you remember what happened the last time you tried to smoke and drink at the same time..." Strangely, none of those thoughts entered my head until later, so I took a puff and passed it on. Yes,--I've said it before--I'm an idiot.
It didn't take long before I had my head down on the table and knew I was fucked up beyond belief. I tried to talk to MJ, and though my words were incoherent, she knew I was sorry-assed-out-of-it. Martin went to the bar and got a grilled cheese sandwich, which he brought back and shared with me. All the while I'm struggling with the cottonmouth to get a bite down, Justin is across from me saying that the cheese and the grease are really bad for me in that (and any) condition, and that the cheese is going to clog my valves. Clog my valves. Clog my valves.
I didn't even get my head all the way under the table before I projectile-vomitted a stream about 3-feet out. Somehow the bench beside me was unoccupied, so none of the high-velocity chunks became part of the apparel of anyone in my immediate area. MJ and Martin were up without delay, MJ bringing me a wet towel and Martin handing me a glass of water. My valves were not clogged at all, and with the fire-power I possessed, I even managed to avoid puking on my shoes. I was still somewhat bent under the table, trying to expunge the evil demons from my being, but almost instantly feeling better. Not normal or sober, but better. I was still fucked up, mind you, but with the emptying of my system I was once again functional. We stayed a little longer, but I knew if I was going to revive any more I was going to have to walk this one off. And walk we did.
We made it out of the bar without any further incident (I think my spewing foamy whiskey and chewed-up grilled cheese was by far enough), and we began the hike back to the bus. I don't know how long a walk it was exactly, but it for sure wasn't a short jaunt around the block. With MJ and Martin steadying me occasionally, I was able to pull myself together and walk with the group at a good clip all the way back.
We arrived back at the bus and hung out for another little while, this time joined by the busdriver and a couple of roadies. MJ got the brilliant idea to drunk-dial Waveline, so we pulled the busdriver in on the voicemail message to personify Waveline's good friend Jim Beam. Somewhere in the mayhem, the band's other guitarist, Karma (who had not joined us on the night's adventure), appeared with another guy who I think was either a roadie or a friend of his. MJ and I sat across from each other at a little table, a guy and a girl sat on one of the benches further into the bus (drinking Captain Morgan's and chasing it with Coke), the guitarist Benji and his groupie were making out across from the guy and the girl, the strange roadie J-Rock was sitting next to MJ, Karma was standing in the aisle of the bus, and his friend was sitting next to where he was standing, eyes glued to Karma. I was still pretty fucked up, but nicely so (meaning, I was able to enjoy the state of being), and all of the layers of interaction in that one little capsule of an environment were insane. Watching the guy and the girl sit and take shots of rum and then chaser, I realized that they were in their own little world. As were Benji and his groupie, who was then on his lap straddling him (they soon left our area for the bunks, where I assume he got a blowjob). J-Rock the strange was hitting on MJ and trying to see if she and I would partake in some girly action. Karma, standing in the aisle at the front of the bus, was doing his best to try to be witty, but sounding more to me like he was reciting jokes from some stand-up comedian he'd seen; his friend, who I presume had some sort of man-crush on him, just sat there mesmerized, chiming in occasionally to further pad Karma's ego (calling him "brilliant" and the like). These two in particular were amusing me in my non-sober state; as Karma did his best to appear intelligent and cynical (but came across more as being insecure, ever the showman for any attention), even making sarcastic comments to we un-famous-non-musicians (for all he knew); his sidekick lovingly looked on, laughing at all of the punchlines and egging him on to further his performance. What a pair, these two. I wonder if Karma employs that guy to be the Robin to his Batman, or if the guy just wants to blow someone in a band (I guess groupies come in all forms, right?).
In any case, Benji and his girl had moved on back to his bunk, and some of the other guys had returned to to the bus to get ready for that night's travel. Sir Banks made a detour to the pisser on his way through the bus, and found, much to everyone's dismay, a big wad of toilet paper thrown into the toilet (a big no-no in a communal, mobile commode). Raising all of hell with his angry shout, Sir Banks let us know that whoever was responsible for the tp was going to have to go fishing for it, because he wasn't going to do it. I was a little impressed when Benji's groupie readily admitted to the error and reached in (with a toilet-paper-covered hand) and removed the bothersome matter. Benji, meanwhile, was sitting up in his bunk with his pants half-way down, but his girl never missed a beat--she discarded the tp in the trash outside and promptly rejoined him, closing the door that led to the bunk area on her way back through.
A little more time passed before they (and we) had to depart, but when the busdriver made his final call of the night we knew we must adjourn. Walking back to the car, MJ said she couldn't believe how resilient I was, and was happy that I had rebounded the way I had. A "Rock Star," she called me, which made me feel a little better and a little less embarassed by my behavior. I suppose if there was a group of people who could understand, it would be those guys, but I don't particularly like to be a burden.
MJ drove back to the flat and we got ready for bed. When I went back to thank her once more and tell her goodnight, she was working on a puzzle (MJ, do you ever freakin sleep?), so I went on and crashed. A gentle rain was tapping on the window and the balcony outside my bedroom, and I was grateful for the peace that concluded the night.

Again, I have to give a huge thank-you (again) to both MJ and to Martin. I am extremely fortunate to have had such caring people around me, and I appreciate your help more than either of you could know! Next time, I'll be the babysitter and you crazy kids can have some fun.

Chinatown

Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair....(SF vol. II)

The Hub called Saturday at about 10:20 am Kansas time (which is a painful 8:20 am San Francisco time) and woke me from my exhausted slumber. It took me a moment to figure out where I was and what I was doing on the phone with the person I normally wake up with, but just a brief moment--I was excited to start the day!
{Side note: On Thursday night before leaving for SF, the Hub and I discovered that one of our snake-children, Stewart (my Anerythistic, or Black Albino, male), was missing. Gone without a trace, he didn't even disturb the lid to his tank. We turned the kids' room upside-down looking for him, to no avail. Feeling desperate, I turned to the almighty, ever-truth-telling Eight Ball and asked, "Will [Hub] find Stewart this weekend while I'm gone?" I was relieved when the response was, "It is certain." Sure enough, Hub was calling me on Saturday morning to let me know that he had found Stewart, who had been hiding in the closet of the kids' room, down inside a bag that contained a peat brick. The Hub also informed me that he had caught another snake outside (this one a rat snake), as well as a male box turtle to put in with our female (who lives outside right now). A few minutes after hanging up, my phone rang again, and it was again the Hub. This time he treated me to a play-by-play of turtle-porn, as within minutes of putting the male in with our female, they were already locked up. Aaaahhhh.....Kansas entertainment.....}
Finally able to drag myself out my cozy cloud of a bed, I noticed that MJ was awake and talking to her Grandmother at the front door. Once her Grandmother left, we talked about plans for the day, got in our respective showers (oh shit, we forgot to turn the water-heater on!), and got ready for our next adventure. We began the morning by walking down to one of MJ's favorite Chinese bakeries to get some Dim Sum take-out (instead of sitting, you go through a line and select your items) for our breakfast. Dim Sum was a new experience for me, but MJ was a pro--she even ordered the items by their real names, instead of in English. I was impressed, but how, you ask, was the food? Well, the first thing we got into was the sesame balls, and I must say, that little round orb of sweet deliciousness was one of the best things I've ever had. The crispy outside and sweet, warm, doughy inside about had me falling on the sidewalk in ecstasy. We kept walking, trying to find a public-transit stop that had a map posted, and MJ handed me a barbeque pork bun (roll?). As I nearly collapsed in orgasm from the heaven that had just crossed my palate, we came upon (no pun intended) a trolley map. We realized that we weren’t too far from the Haight-Ashbury District, which was our next destination. We took off in the direction necessary and, a few blocks later, saw Golden Gate Park. A detour through Golden Gate Park appealed to us both, so we set to it.
{Side note: Before leaving for SF, the Hub and our kids gave me a Mother’s Day gift—a pair of shoes I’ve had my eye on but wasn’t willing to pay the dough for. Excited and eager to show off my cool new kicks, I wore them on my trip, and, because I flew United and didn’t want to check a bag, didn’t bring any other footwear. Yes, I’m an idiot, and no, I don’t claim to have a lot of common sense. During our walk, MJ and I had to stop at a drug store and get some bandaids. What I got instead, lucky me, was a package of Band-Aid bandages for blisters. They’re awesome—I was instantly without pain from the freshly-open blister on the back of my heel. Worth every cent of that $4.99.}
Walking, walking, walking through Golden Gate Park. It was absolutely beautiful—snowy blankets of tiny white flowers, symmetric balances of landscaping and natural beauty, and tons plant life that I had never before seen. A Horticulturist’s wet dream! Aloe trees--yes, trees--taller than even MJ, gardens of foxgloves and patches of nasturtium, which we helped ourselves to (MJ informed me that the flowers are edible, and that they reportedly taste like radishes; after eating one, we both agreed that they have a spicy radish kick, but are much sweeter). Lost in the spectacular scenery and absorbed in the conversation, I didn't even really notice, until MJ started laughing, that we had walked in a complete circle through the park. A 3-and-a-half-hour circle, approximately, but the weather was mild enough so I didn't end up sweating like a fat-hairy-man-swine-beast like I normally do (a trait given me by my Mother). We changed our path and headed to our destination once more. (Mind you, I'm a shutter-bug. The entire trip, I was taking photos like a Japanese tourist in Washington D.C., and MJ was patient enough to just let me go to it.)


View from Golden Gate Park, Nasturtium

Venturing onto Haight was an experience in its own. We walked along, noticing the people (and I noticing all of the dogs--"Oh look, there's a Bernese Mountain Dog--hey, there's a Standard Poodle--oh, wow! A Landseer!--Check out the little Shar Pei mix.....!" {sorry about that, MJ; I know I'm annoying} Anyway, we peeped into a couple of stores and found a little boutique with handmade, very SF, skirts and blouses. If I were a man, I'd be a premature ejaculator; I blew my wad (at least all the $ I had put in my pocket for that little walk) in that 2nd little boutique we went to. However, I did get a fabulous maroon silk/polyester skirt that has enough material to make a hot-air balloon (the little Asian guy called it a "dancing skirt"). Nevermind the bullocks, that baby had to be mine. And so it was. Now with no dough, we decided to keep walking anyway and just see what we could see. Lots of little shops, plenty of pan-handlers, and a couple of intersections later, we came to the Goodwill Store. Who wouldn't go into the Goodwill Store on Haight? I'm a sucker for 2nd-hand goods anyway, so we commenced to the investigation of what people in San Francisco don't want anymore. We looked around a while, and I found MJ over at the dress rack admiring a black velvet shirt. Oh, wait...it's on the dress rack...it must be a dress, right? Well, MJ is 6'3" and has the legs to pull it off, so it was a short black velvet dress. She tried it on and it looked fabulous--she commented that coupled with a pair of nice undies and some fishnet knee-highs with garters, she'd be set (and I believe it!). While waiting for her to change, I found a killer faux leopard fuzz coat that fit perfectly; the collar hugged my neck, and cut like an A-line, it bloused out roundly at the bottom. It was destined to be mine. Alas, being the impulsive/compulsive person that I am, after buying my dream skirt within the first 15 minutes of being on Haight, I had depleted my on-hand funds (and borrowed a couple of bucks from MJ to cover the tax on the damn thing), so we had to leave our treasures at the Goodwill. Dammit! With 3 $1 bills left betwixt us, I suggested we ride the cable-car back to the flat. My legs were pretty tired, and we still had some time left before we were supposed to go to the American Head Charge show later that night. We got back MJ's place and rested for a few moments before going upstairs to visit with her Grandmother. I did my best to hide my tattoos for the introduction, but I think she was more aghast at my admitting I'd vote for Hillary in 2008 than any of my body art once our conversation progressed. To be in her 80s, she looks good and is more with it than I've ever known my Great-grandma to be. We all chatted it up for a while and then MJ and I made it downstairs, where we progressed to getting ready for our Saturday night out.

You're Not In Kansas Anymore

It's Tuesday, and I'm still recovering from what was one of the best weekends I've had in a long time, flying to "SF" and visiting with my old friend MJ. She and I have known each other since nerd camp in Kentucky (http://www.kygsp.org/) the summer after our junior years of high school. MJ is a magnificent creature, all in all, and I will say one of my favorite human beings, and it was so good to see her again.
The time change kicked my ass from the beginning. I arrived in SF (which is what the hipsters call San Francisco, I learned on the flight out there) a little before 9 pm, which would be 11 pm Kansas time, on Friday night. I was exhausted, but from the time MJ picked me up, I was exhilarated and ready for anything. We drove to her folks' house in Redwood City (I think that's right) and I chatted with her Dad (about the evolution of god and how ridiculous the bible can be--see Leviticus), she made the Nieman-Marcus recipe chocolate chip cookies (yum!), and we discussed what was on the docket for the weekend.
When MJ's cookies were done, we packed some up and hit the road again to SF, to a club called Zeitgeist. After hitting the bar for a beer, we walked outside to the patio area and almost immediately began talking to a cat by the name of Kool Kyle. MJ first complimented him on his hat, and we all just ended up conversing from there. He's in a pop-punk-rap group called Inspector Double Negative (http://www.koolkyle.com), and we talked for a while about the fusion of the three types of music and such. He and his pals left, and MJ and I just took to people watching. I learned pretty quickly that while a lot of the folks in SF are super nice, there are some who just try a little too hard on their image. But I guess that's the case everywhere.
In any case, following Zeitgeist we migrated down to a Karaoke club called The Mint. The list was closed, but we hung out for a little bit and did some more catching up, and listened to other people do the entertaining. The people in SF must take their Karaoke pretty seriously, because they were all pretty good--even the little balding white guy who sang Purple Rain.
We were both fading, so we headed back to MJ's (future) flat, which is spectacular! Just up a little ways from Presidio Heights, the building (and I'm assuming the entire row) was built after the big SF earthquake in 1906. The architecture is amazing, down to the details of trim, hardwood floors, a balcony overlooking the city and the Masonic temple, and a textured design on the plaster hallway walls. There are even crystal doorknobs on the bedroom doors. MJ's Grandmother is a San Francisco native (which never even struck me as being possible), and she owns the building; she lives in the flat upstairs, MJ's flat is in the middle, and there's a "Garden Apartment" below. MJ hasn't moved to SF just yet (that's supposed to happen this fall), but her Grandmother was kind enough to let us stay there for the weekend.
It was sleep time, big time. And Saturday was a long and overflowingly-wild enough day to deserve its own entry, so this will have to be continued...

Psycho Fair

It's been a little while, but I've been busy as hell this week.
Instruments at work don't want to run right, so I've been working on the same two sets of samples for almost two weeks. Thankfully, they're on my bosses desk right now, waiting final review before I enter and report results.
But enough of that.
Last weekend was a good one. The hub and his Dad went on a motorcycle trip to southern Illinois, so I was alone for a couple of days.
Dessa, Tricia and I went to the Kansas City Psychic-Fair on Friday night. I've been looking forward to it for a while, as I'm very much into the metaphysical and paranormal. Let's just say that the folks there weren't normal, but they didn't seem paranormal, either. All in all it was pretty good, but I was a bit disappointed with my reading.
We walked into the convention center and immediately into the vendor area. The area with the psychics and readers was sectioned off, so on Dessa's recommendation, we went ahead into the reading area and got our names on some lists. Each psychic/reader had a waiting list outside of their little table, and after searching around and making eye contact with as many as I could, I put my name on the list of a psychic named Aluuna. She was relatively normal looking, but something about her and her (presumably Wiccan) name struck me. At the fairs, readings are really inexpensive; I paid my $8 and took a seat to wait.
Dessa got in with a woman named Nicki, who was one of the strangest human beings I have ever laid eyes on--more on that later. Des said her reading went really well, and, though short, was seemingly accurate and to-the-point. Tricia waited with me to try to get in to see a man by the name of Don-Don, who was supposedly a Native American "seer." I personally had never heard of a Native American named Don-Don, but Tricia was intent on talking to him.
Hours went by, we all toured the vendor booths, had aura photos taken, and Tricia and I were still waiting to see our respective psychics. We found out that Don-Don wasn't taking any more people, but Tricia wanted to hang out and see if he could fit her in; Aluuna was taking a long time with each person (which is what I wanted, as well), and I was still so far on down her list that it didn't look like I was going to get in with her (it ended at midnight).
Finally, Trish went over to Nicki, who had done Dessa's reading, and got right in. Upon returning to where Des and I were sitting, she seemed really pleased with her reading and happy with how Nicki related to her. So, thinking what-the-hell-I've-already-paid-my-fee, I stood up and went over to Nicki's booth.
Des had warned us both that Nicki was an odd bird--perhaps albino, nearly blind, snow-white hair, and wandering eyes. Yes, eyeS. I sat down across from her and was immediately baffled by what was before me. She seemed nice enough, and we started the reading with some shuffling of tarot cards and my 3 questions. The entire time, her two eyes are twitching and spinning in two different directions--when she had them open. I don't know if it was painful for her to open her eyes, or if she was just trying to be discrete about the fact that they pointed in two different directions, but even under her eyelids you could see them twitching--especially the right one. Like a doll with loose googly-eyes, she was scanning the entire room at once with her white/blue orbs looping and swirling around. Let me state this plainly--her eyes were not crossed together, they were splayed, each one looking at a different wall of the building. The entire thing was utterly amazing.
My reading, however, left something to be desired. My first question was dealing with some health issues I'm having, and her response was, "What kind of health issues?" I was thinking that I shouldn't have to tell that to a psychic, but whatever. The other questions she answered with pretty generic replies, but for some reason, my eyes filled up with tears and I started crying. Nothing she said was earth-shattering or emotional at all; I just felt my face get wet all of a sudden. I think my eyes were having sympathy tears for her, since her eyes were so fucked up.
In any case, it was a great night out. I was tired as hell when I got home, but the time spent with my friends was well worth it.