Ornaments!!

I've got a Christmas ornament monkey on my back and I don't want to shake it! I love them. My tree is as completely tacky and reflective of Curmy and me as you would expected a tree in Baile an Buzzardbilly to be!

I had to go to the pharmacy to pick up thyroid medicine for Catgirl. She's got a hyperactive thyroid. It's tuna flavored, but I haven't started her on it yet. But, while I was at Trivillian's (a locally owned pharmacy where they mix specific stuff for the docs), I saw four big displays of Carlton Heirloom Ornaments.

Every year I buy all the Harley ornaments that Hallmark does annual or special editions of as well as the Star Trek ones that include light, motion, or sound, and whatever else strikes my fancy. I buy the annual stars from Swarovski. This is this year's, thought no picture is going to capture the sparkle of these gems:

I get the annual snowflake from Baldwin Brass. This is this year's, though again nothing is like the glint of light that you see in real life:

And, I have a wide variety of fancy schmancy WV glass ornaments including Pilgrim Cameo glass, Pilgrim glass snow drops to name a few, and Gibson Glass Christmas balls that are gorgeous. Both of those companies have gone out of business and their work now becomes more scarce and more valuable. I guess it's time to take those off the tree and move them into the display safe with the Pilgrim Cameo vases and stuff. At least I loaded up on Gibson's snakeskin glass (only they made that type of glass) before they closed their doors. Here's an example of a blown glass Christmas ball similar to Gibson's, though they came in several colors and styles (and my favorite was the ribbed balls):


I guess it's time to take a trip to Buckhannon to hit Hinkle's for new tree ornaments. Ron Hinkle's detail in art glass is superior. Take Mom to visit my uncle, go shop at Hinkle's, and maybe even finally get to have lunch with Janis. Sounds like a great day to me.

Anyhow, now for the wonders of new tacky ornaments. Glitz and shmaltz go together in my world and on my tree. These are the gems I found at Travillian's yesterday. All are Carlton Heirloom Ornaments, so they're annual editions.

Gold lame Elvis with a wreath that lights up as Elvis sings:

The Family Guy's Peter Griffin who says "Merry Christmas, now shut the *bleep* up."

James Dean and his motorcycle to go with Curmy's motorcycle ornaments (which outnumber my fun ones):

And, a Stargate SG-1 ornament that says six different sayings (again, for Curmy):

And I couldn't resist buying a Godzilla that lights up and makes Godzilla sounds and a Dracula that says "I never drink wine" for a friend of mine who is the horror fan extraordinaire. He's a friend extraodinaire, too, and his lovely wife is just as into the horror fun as he is. I'm not including their pictures because they'll see those when they get there in the mail.

So, how do you do the tree? Or are you like Angry Beaver and do up to eight Christmas trees?

The Peruvian Human Fat Ring

I thought the story about the sex farm incest family (that is NOT a WV story) was bad enough (and it is, so don't click if "sex farm incest family" is a big red flag that the story's going to put you off your supper...unless you're dieting or simply like repeating the phrase "Oh my God, those poor children," over and over again).

But, no, then I see that CNN has an article on the break-up of a Peruvian human fat ring. I have some fat I could do without. I thought, "Hey, the Peruvians have found a way to break down the old spare tire effect," so I clicked in hopes of easy trimming.

I was shocked and disappointed.

It's a story about people who were killing people to sell their fat on the black market of human body harvesting.

Ewwwwwwwwwww! Makes ya wonder how many dead Peruvians there are in Courtney Love's lips, doesn't it?

Who knew that human fat is worth up to $15,000 per liter!?! My ass is indeed golden!

Oh, I hope that since the copper thieving market has gone dry we don't become overrun with human fat harvesters.

Gives a whole new meaning to having to watch your ass, doesn't it?

Clinical Depression Rule 1

When I first started seeing my psychiatrist for clinical depression over a decade ago, we discussed how clinical depression can either be physical (meaning your genes leave you not making enough of something your brain needs) or situational (meaning that one of those water-dropping helicopters they use to fight forest fires accidentally loaded its bag full of shit and then dumped it on you, leaving you to have to try to figure out how to dig your way out from under the shitpile).

Only time will tell which type you have, but the first thing she gave me to do for homework was something I grew to call Rule 1. I find Rule 1 to be a great rule for virtually anyone. Okay, maybe psychotics and sociopaths might not feel the groove of Rule 1, but otherwise normal folks would. Not that I'm normal. I know I'm weird. I know weird is attracted to me like stink sticks to a bong. It is a simple rule.

Rule 1 states: Cut the negative people from your life.

Oh, so much easier said than done. How do you know a person is a negative person? Everyone has a bad day. Everyone must bitch at some point and do so righteously.

She said, pay attention to how the people in your life treat other people. It's easier to see what they're doing when you aren't trying to look at how you think they treat you.

Are they happy for other people when something good comes the other person's way or do they make fun of it, talk shit about it, or decide the race is on to outdo the other person?

Are they sad when something bad happens to another person or do they seem so to that person's face, then get the giggles over it as soon as they are out of earshot?

Those two questions were all that mattered to start. It wasn't anything like I expected it to be. I expected questions like: Do they put other people down? Do they make fun of other people? Do they hurt puppies and kittens?

None of those things mattered because they were covered by the two questions.

I pondered and thunk and watched and listened. I found that there weren't that many negative people in my life, but the ones who were there had to go.

People, I was so deep in the well of depression that I would've shucked anything and anyone if I thought it would make me feel better. I shucked Evil Granny for a number of years. At one point, I got so shuck-happy with the easier living that comes from not having to care what someone was going to say behind my back because I knew they were good people who wouldn't secretly get a kick out of me being down that at one point I was down to only Grasshopper and Sugar Bear that I trusted.

I knew there were other great folks in my family and in my past whom I could have contacted and trusted, but for a while the comfort of not socializing with anyone who couldn't love me as I came each day (and many days I came real ugly: could be pissed and railing to beat the band, could be sorta normal but not really happy, could be the tears that flow from the fears that grow from not being able to really feel the way I used to feel...in other words, it was a crapshoot with a 2 out of 3 chance of getting crap).

As I got better, it was hard to start getting in touch with folks from the past whom I knew I could trust. No one wants to answer the question "What have you been up to?" when what you've been up to is nothing but trying to squeeze your shit firmly back into one sack. Needless to say, I put it off. I did not want to tell people that my life sucked so hard I had to take medicine just to live it.

And, that's how I looked at it, too, as if it were some failing on my part that led me to fall into the well of clinical depression.

That's not how it works. On this, we are like snowflakes: Each of us who's been through it or continues to deal with it came to it in his or her unique way.

With the strides I've been making lately, I have come to believe that my tendency to face hardship or hurt as if simply living beyond it would leave me with no emotional scars was a big factor. I simply spent my life stuffing a lot of really bad things deep into the crevices of my brain as if I couldn't feel the trouble left in their wake if I didn't think about the bad thing that happened.

As I faced them and felt stronger with my med changes this year, I've found myself getting back in touch with loads of old friends I've missed dearly. You know what? A lot of them were going through something just as bad in our down time. They could totally relate.

But, it takes time to get there and lots of talking and thinking, too. Still, no matter how good you feel, you cannot underestimate the importance of Rule 1. Ignoring it just lands you in under a brand new shitpile.

If anyone remembers the movie "What About Bob?" with Bill Murray and Richard Dreyfus, then you'll understand my mantra throughout the fight to feel better has been, "Baby steps, Bob."

Fourteen Claws of Fury

Yesterday, I had to take Curmy's cat (named Cat, which I made into Catgirl as we moved her from Massachusetts into our happy hillbilly home, as it only seemed fittin') to the vet. She's a Hemingway cat, which is the general name they use for cats with extra toes because Hemingway left his house in the Florida Keys to his polydactyl (extra-toed) cats and their offspring in perpetuity.

It must rock to be the descendants of Hemingway's original cats because they are born into a life of cat luxury with caretakers, a fancy house, and tourists who fuss over them endlessly (some even steal them, which isn't cool).

This is NOT Catgirl, but it'll give Four Dinners's Maximus Spittimus an idea until I get batteries for my camera or get Catgirl to cooperate with the camera on the laptop:

Generally, a polydactyl cat has two extra toes on each front paw, but as genetic defects tend to do some have one extra toe and Catgirl has three extra "thumb" toes on each front paw. This makes her have fourteen claws of fury.

I noticed a red place between her sixth and seventh toes on Monday night. I had a right poutfest over my poor mothering skills when I found it, too. You see, the claw on the seventh toe had grown round into the toe pad. I was so afraid that at 18 she was going to have to have one of her "thumb toes" amputated. And, I figured the vet was going to be all, "Now how did you not notice this?" The vet didn't bat an eye. Apparently, it happens with polydactyl cats quite a bit. Who knew?

She's such a happy cat (as those be-thumbed cats tend to be) that the vet had to try several tricks to get her to stop purring long enough to be able to listen to her heart. Our happy old gal has a heart murmur. She also has some bad teeth and gum disease.

The vet asked whether Catgirl is vomits fairly often. OMG! We've suspected that she's some Roman from the Vomitorium reincarnated. (For those unfamiliar, there were Ancient Romans who loved to eat so much they would do so at the Vomitorium where they could binge, puke, and eat some more to start the cycle again until they were happy with their evening's binge.) By feeding her the Purina's One Indoor Advantage and adding some cat treats that have the stuff that makes grass green in them, I've gotten her puking down to a minimum, but still she pukes. So, I had to answer, "Yes," to the puking question.

I wish I'd lied and said, "No."

They whisked her off to draw blood for a battery of tests to see how her innards are working, to fix the bad claw, and to trim all of the others. She also got a shot of antibiotics and the always embarrassing thermometer up the cat ass.

She still came back purring. She's a happy cat who still has a great quality to her life. Tests should be in Friday, but regardless of what they say as long as she's happy, bright-eyed, and enjoying her life of ease as a spoiled indoor cat, she will not be put down. But, after having Ruby (my original cat) until she was 24, I know this is the beginning of the slide.

For now she's happy and at peace, so I will join her. When she's not happy and not enjoying life, then we'll talk to the vet about whether her time has come or not.

By the time I finished with all of the vet experience, I didn't feel like hitting the doc-in-the-box for me. I'll be going tomorrow for sure. Infection is definitely still roaring out my nose.

Them Crooked Vultures

Yesterday I walked into the record store to pick up a CD for a friend and I saw a CD by Them Crooked Vultures sitting on the "new arrivals" rack. I scampered straight to it. How could I not? I'm Buzzardbilly and they're Them Crooked Vultures, surely it's worth the price, right?

I picked up the CD to see a sticker on the cover that says "Dave Grohl, Joshua Homme, and John Paul Jones" on the CD. Wow! I was piqued; I purchased; I plunked it in the player and off I drove. Alain Johannes from Queens of the Stone Age also plays rhythm guitar. Don't know why his name wasn't listed on the sticker.

So far, my favorite is "Elephants"


This is "Mind Eraser (No Chaser)"


This is "New Fang"


I am loving it! Your thoughts?