Sunday, September 28, 2008

trike hate

required cycling attire
Born to be wild

This is not a story about how cute he is. HE IS, okay, but this is a story about Trike Hate, as in, I HATE this trike.

That thing at the back? Is a STICK, so there's NO parental steering and the only way to steer the fucking thing is to take the steering lock off and yell "RIGHT!! LEFT!" at your hapless not-even-three year old (which, actually, he is surprisingly good at) or put the lock on and dislocate your shoulder trying to veer off in a semblance of the right direction.

Any guesses who bought it?

My mother.


When did she buy it?

When Daniel was, like, eight months old.

EXACTLY when did she buy it?

The day AFTER I thanked her for the idea but no, thanks, please don't buy it yet. Ear mark it for another year or so because a) "Ages 3+", b) no where to store the it for the next 28 months, and c) we'd know more of the features we need when Daniel can actually SIT on it without breaking his face on the unintentional dismount. Oh, there's a seatbelt, but he was EIGHT MONTHS OLD, so you know how sometimes people tie a pair of shoes together and throw them over powerlines and they hang there FOREVER? Yes. That.

But she went ahead and bought this cheapass trike, and I've had to HIDE it for THAT long in the spare room under a cashmere coat I bought from the thrift shop that would have been SUCH a bargain if I'd actually ever, you know, WORN it.

When I brought the trike out of hiding, Daniel about plotzed, and then we went for a tortuous push around the neighborhood and The Hate was born.

I've managed to push him around one (single solitary) time more and, thanks to the dlight I experienced last time, he, uh, CRIED when I suggested we go again, all "NO NO BIKE NO!" and then he SOBBED.



It looks like I scared him into learning left from right really well THAT time because THIS time, when I removed the steering lock and pushed him around yelling directions at him like a drill sergeant, he didn't steer us into trees and retaining walls and I didn't corkscrew my arms into some kind of wicked mean anatomical origami, and I hated the whole adventure a little less the second time because I only (ONLY?!) had to struggle with the height (or lack thereof) of that ridiculous stick at the back there.

No kidding, you'd think the trike was built for one of the seven dwarfs. I mean, I'm not tall (quick aside, everyone [EVERYONE!] always goes on about "but you're SO TALL", so I have a complex about being SO TALL when I'm only 166cm SHORT - and that's on an Exceptional Posture Day. I used to work with this girl, Linda, and trained one of her clients one day, and said client was all "Linda is SO tiny, but you, you're SO TALL". Newsflash, dipshit, Linda and I are the SAME HEIGHT, but thanks a bunch for reinforcing my delusions of giantism) but you'd have to be SERIOUSLY short to not develop some kind of wicked good hump worthy of a few bell rings at Notre Dame after pushing this thing.

And yes, it IS a cute picture of my ridiculous son in his riding gear, swimming goggles and bucket NOT optional. The freak.


Thursday, September 25, 2008

my son, the Roman emperor

dressing for the occasion:

which was:

Tuesday, September 16, 2008


I recently bought some shoes from

Y'all are probably "ooh, shoes!" with images of heels and tippy tapping around and shit, which they do sell and which, yes, I LOVE THE TIPPY TAP, but me + heels = is she drunk?

So check out my new treads:

Yes. Sexy. Also stable and close to the ground.

But how AWESOME is that flash flare? THIS MUCH? OH YEAH!!

The purple (PURPLE) soles not so much so - BUT, the service was great, all clickety click and quick and easy with no bullshit at the checkout, and so far no one's ripped my credit card details and bought a shitload of stuff that I want but can't afford (which would be the REAL piss off about that situation: some other fucker living the life I want with MY money), and my shoes got to me HERE from THERE in less time than it took the shoe store HERE to get a pair in HERE in my size.

The Best Thing Ever though, was that ShoeBuy sold me my shoes for a full hundred and thirty bucks CHEAPER that what they sell for here, and that's WITH international postage and insurance.

Two thumbs up, ShoeBuy.

The point of all this is that, apart from practically GIVING me money to buy new shoes, ShoeBuy offer excellent incentives to spend money so you can save money.

Because they're kind and that's how it works.

If you save a hundred and thirty bucks, then you have a hundred and thirty bucks MORE than you had before because ShoeBuy GAVE it to you. Which may be why I, despite being a mathematical genius (true story), failed basic accounting FOUR times before being WALKED through the fifth test paper, question by question, to finally score a basic pass (also a true story).


If you're a new customer, you get 10% off your first purchase. If you're a new customer who's been referred by an existing customer, you'll receive an additonal $10 coupon for that same first purchase. Then, when YOU'RE an existing customer and five of YOUR referrals buy shoes, YOU WIN a $75 coupon for your NEXT purchase.


Their current promotion is, as well as the 10% off plus $10 off your first purchase, if you pay using PayPal, you get $20 off any order over fifty bucks, with free shipping.

They already have free shipping and returns though, so that Free! Shipping! thing is kind of a big, seductive lie.

The point of all this ShoeBuy Love is that I'm an existing customer, duh, so if anyone wants to be referred, email me your email address at aibiffity AT gmail DOT com, and I'll refer you and SHOE MAGIC will happen in the form of free shoes. FOR ME! Yay! I'll get a $75 coupon, but it's NOT all about me because when five of YOUR referrals buy some shoes, you'll get free shoes and then THEY'LL get free shoes, and on and on and on and ON.

So really, it's just like a chain letter. With SHOES!

edited to add: apparently there's this thing called a "Personal Invitation Link" which works the same way but bypasses the personal interaction and LOVE we could share when you email me and I email you back via the referral thingummywhatsit.

So, you have a choice. Work it yourself by clicking this link, or indulge in a global warm fuzzy by emailing me so that, together, we can share Shoe Love.

Additional note: the invitation text BLOWS and is IMPOSSIBLE to edit, so when you get a cheesey invite from me, remember that it wasn't ME who wrote it.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

how many?

SEVEN operations, people, since March last year. MY GOD. And don't even get me started on how many came before that. If I hear another doctor tell me "it's just one of those things" again, my head will explode, which OF COURSE, would need another damn operation to fix anyway. GAH.

so I'm spending this evening hoping I don't die tomorrow, which is something I do for the days prior to every operation I've ever had. This time I'm REALLY scared though. Which is what I say before every opearion too.

People DO die from every day, run of the mill, no complications surgeries, and I reckon I'm pushing my luck now with the ridiculous number of them I've already had.

Thing is though, I CAN'T die, because if I DO die (which sounds like a song involving a bucket full of beans) (and I'm as serious as a heart attack when I say I'm scared)(OMG note to self: don't say "heart attack" when referencing fear of dying)(you idiot), there's no one to take care of Daniel.

His father smokes (way too much) weed and his guardians (ie my brother and sister in law) (which, "guardians"? *laughs bitterly* wtf planet was I on when I thought THAT would be a good idea?) don't know me so have nothing to teach him of me, which is as important as feeding, watering, and the provision of shelter. Moreover, they don't even LIKE me so what they DO teach will be biases AGAINST me, even if they try to be all "oh your mother was SO GREAT". Which I doubt they'd do anyway. They'd be all "Who? Oh, her. Well...". Moreover, part again, and more importantly, they've shown zero interest in Daniel beyond "when you call us we'll tell you to bring him over at our convenience and then we'll gaze at him like he's a POSSESSION but we'll NEVER call, visit or ask about him otherwise" which, fuck that shit.

I'm freaking out here because I've not amended my will to say he'd be better off in state care, which, sadly, I now believe he would be, and I've not amended it because I feel bad about thinking it because, jesus, STATE CARE??

So I'm all fretting because what if I die and he goes to one of those other idiots because I never made it known that a foster family would be preferable in the event?

This whole will/can't ever die thing stresses me out, not just now but ALWAYS. I worry each day about what the day could hold and what would happen to Daniel if something happens to me. I can't die, but things like car accidents, random acts of god and general SHIT happen.

Reading all the shit I write lately, I'm thinking it's hard to believe that a) I'm a pretty together person, b) I'm not clinically depressed, and c) I think life really IS a bowl of cherries.


I've been out of circulation requiring more than staring dully at the computer screen and clicking mindlessly through pages. I've got to have ANOTHER operation this Thursday and even my doctor says SO MUCH shit comes my way. I'd asked him if maybe I felt overwhelmed becaus I'm a pussy, but he said uh NO. You feel overwhelmed because *lists the seventy billion me related shitstorms". Then a friend of mine said "gee, you're pretty unlucky, you know that?".

Which rated a "....".

So this week I've got to have my frontal, ethmoid and sphenoid sinuses cleared. They are completely blocked and no fucking wonder I feel "tired". Which is what I thought explained the pressure around my eyes and they heaviness in my head that NEVER goes away. What it is though, isn't snot, which I thought sinus disease was, but crap the consistancy of freakin' steak filling your (MY) sinuses when they should only hold AIR.

Uh, tmi?

Anyway, google the damn sinuses I listed. They're the ones closest to your BRAIN and behind your eyes and shit. Risk factors include puncturing your skull and having the fluid your BRAIN sits in leak out OMG.

Seriously, man, I keep wondering how much more shit I can handle. Like when I got this diagnosis I was all *weeps* because, FUCK, yannow? How much more, oh lord? Now I'm all, meh, get the surgery over. If I feel okay now, imagine how GREAT Im gonna feel once that sixteen kilos worth of CRAP is removed from my head.

In other oversharing news, I got my period yesterday, First one since the miscarriage, so I'm THRILLED that my body has recovered so well. The heart, not so much so. No one can tell (I think) because I SEEM to be my usual self, but inside I', I guess, in so many ways. Then sometimes, like yesterday for instance, I feel the loss of all that hope so keenly.

But I digress

Point being is that this means the timing of the BRAIN OMG surgery is perfect, especially since I got in on a cancellation yesterday after originally scheduling it for late October, which would have meant (assuming my cycle is back on track, I'm doing IVF again when my next period arrives) I'd have had to wait another month to do all that needle jabbing shit which, with the unit closing over Christmas for, like, EVER, I would have had to wait until February NEXT YEAR to go the whole shebang again.

So yes, I AM going to do IVF again. BUT FIRST, enormous amounts of I have NO idea what, will be removed from my close to my brain sinuses.

And then I'll be an air head again.

*boom boom*

Monday, September 08, 2008

september 8

My dad died fifteen years ago today, and it's usually just a day, this anniversary, and it isn't a bad day, it's just A day that happens to be the day my dad died.

Today sucked though, awesomely, with work I was supposed to do being canceled because the person who asked me to do it FORGOT, and then a letter arrived advising me I'd defaulted a payment on my credit card for the first time EVAH in, what? Twenty five years of credit cardage? And when I called the bank to tell them I'd just fixed it up, some quasi adult LECTURED me about my responsibility to them and, oh, just fuck off, and despite my automatic assumption that I HAD forgotten due to being busy decompensating because the last month or so has been SO trying, but NAY. I fucking PAID the ENTIRE debt off a little over a week ago, except the teller put it to the WRONG account. And there I was putting up with this proverbial finger wagging and feeling Less That Perfect because my once perfect credit rating now has this default PERMANENTLY on it. Then all morning there was all this other stuff coming at me with cheques not arriving and invoices needing to be reissued, and angry text messages being sent back and forward between me and Forgetful Person because, seriously, NOW you tell me the agreed fee has been reduced by twenty five percent? It's not the money, it's the PRINCIPLE, teach your own class, etc, GAH, and all these other pissy little annoyances that did. Not. Stop erupting that made the day blow and that made losing a (not "a", MY) pregnancy all fresh! and new! again, and THAT blew, and then suddenly the whole day blew spectacularly more because it WAS the same day my died, fifteen years ago.

I miss him.

me and dad, exactly half my lifetime ago

He's been gone so long though, I don't remember how it feels to have a father.

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