Oh My God.

So, It's Christmas! I tried, but never really got into the Christmas spirit this year. I think it was because we did absolutely nothing with family (or friends, I guess), and as Anton isn't big on celebrations, everything was just....meh.

I don't want to turn this into whine fest, so! I have absolutely no idea why I'm here. We're watching one of Anton's presents (season 2 of the Clone Wars) and as a birthday present to him, I'm doing my best not to criticize it. I like Star Wars proper, but I don't like the prequals at all. The series gets on my nerves, but. Birthday present.

I think I may have mentioned this a hundred years ago or so, but I think I have ADD- I had all the classic symptoms that girls present as kids, and I certainly have all the adult symptoms. Anton wants me to see a doctor to see if there's non-medicated way to treat it, but me sitting down, finding a doctor that treats adult ADD and takes my insurance and make an appointment with them is the same as tasking me to organize an expedition to the moon.

I've been trying to type up my NaNoWriMo story, but it's been slow going. Writing by hand is comparatively easy. I can change position and location quickly and easily. Typing in the same posture for hours is torture, especially considering I spend 8+ hours a day at work doing a similar thing. But I am going to finish before the end of the year-ish, so I can spend the early part of 2011 editing, re-editing and editing one more time, and seeing where I want to go with it from there. And starting a few more stories, too. My writing may be crap, but in it's rough form is still better than Twilight (hi, hubris!), so there's no point in being modest. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway. I know -these- posts are rambling and hard to follow sometimes (again, ADD. Writing on the computer is dumb.), but my fiction writing isn't- and even if it isn't the next Harry Potter (which it isn't), it's still better than Twilight. (Or Ballad, for that matter.) The only difference is they were published and I haven't tried to be yet. So. Yeah.

In other news, I have a migraine and this show is NOT HELPING. Off to smother some cats.

You may already be a winner!

So. It's December 4th, in case you don't have access to a calendar. Which means this year's round of NaNoWriMo ended 4 days ago. And guess who was a winner for the first time in 8 attempts?

If you weren't bombarded by my tweets and Facebook statuses, let me inform you that I, Jamie, your fearless blogger, finally. fucking. finished. a NaNo. FINALLY.

I'm hoping this weekend I'll finishing typing up the second of two notebooks I used during November. I'll have ample time- the husband is out visiting family in Arizona until next Friday, so no distractions other then then ones I make up myself, and, you know, work.

I managed to distract myself pretty well today. After waking up far too early to take Anton to the airport, I came home, decided that even though I haven't had my hair cut in nearly two years, now would be a fancy time for one. Once that was done, I went and got nacho fixin's and some Seagrams 7, came home and crawled into bed with the cats. I've nearly watched the entire season of Firefly, read a book and managed not to do any house work other then cleaning the litterboxes. I'll get to that tomorrow, but tonight I'm just worried about talking myself through my first night alone.

Since we moved in together, we have spent all but 6 of the last 1850 nights together. That's just WEIRD. It's like I've forgotten how to sleep on my own, even though I've slept on my own a lot more then 1850 nights. Thank the universe for 5 obnoxious cats that haven't left my side all day. Mad props to the people who have spouses who travel for work. I think it would drive me batty.

Worse, however, is now I think Anton really, really, really wants to move to Arizona. Rampant racism and no water? SIGN. ME. UP.

Birthday time again

I'm finding this hard to write because half of today's subject won't stop insisting that I rub her belly.

Kira and Annabelle, the only cats I have that came from the same place, are 8 now. MY CAT'S ARE GETTING OLD WHICH DEPRESSES ME. I may have to console myself with a basket of kittens.

It's not a great secret that 2001-2002 was pretty much the worst time in my life. I've had depression (been dealing with depression? Suffered from depression?) since I was 8-9, and received zero treatment until I was 19. That's... too long. 2001 was just a cluster-fuck in regards to my mental health and treatment. By summer of 2002 I had been cycled through 9 or ten different medications, none of which had worked very well for me. I went from a huge manic phase (my freshman year of college I was taking any where from 18-22 credit hours a semester, working several jobs and sleeping maybe 2 hours a night, if at all.) to a major depressive one- the medication made it so I slept...all the time. I barely passed winter semester that year- and was on my third college. I was back to living with my mom and her new husband in Port Huron, a town where I knew no one but.my mom and her new husband, and one ex girlfriend of my cousin's. She and I had a sort of friendship...we hung out at school and we both worked at the same store, and would go watch my younger cousin's basketball games back in Brown City. When my mom finally was fed up with me, Erika was the only person I had to turn to. I moved in with her, which was probably one of the worst things I could have done- I would have been better off living under a bridge.

Except for the fact that Erika tried really hard to bond with me for a time. We worked different shifts- I worked midnights and she worked days, and in between we had school, so the rare occasions we were both home, I was usually asleep. Her stealing my clothes and various things didn't really help foster the the sister-friend relationship she wanted. Her last ditch effort was to get a pair of kittens from another co-worker because she knew I liked cats. Really awful reason to get pets (kind of like- our relationship is on the rocks, let's have a baby to save it!), especially considering she'd never had an actual pet before.

Her father was like a lot of other men where we grew up- a total douchenozzle who hunts for fun. Her parent's house is one fucked up house of death, with stuffed 'trophies' everywhere. Bears, deer, pheasants, fish, bobcat...it's creepy. When their barn cat population got 'out of control' he would use the cats as target practice. Erika wasn't a hunter, but she had her father's detachment to the pain of living creatures. She had no idea how to care for cats, and wasn't interested in learning. Why she thought getting kittens would be super fun, I have no idea.

Did I mention the kittens were a surprise? And that they hadn't been socialized at all?

Our co-worker, Melissa, wasn't supposed to have cats because her dad hated them, so her cat was kept in her room at all times. Except that time she escaped while she was in heat. The kittens were kept in secret in her room- under her bed. They never saw anyone but Melissa, and when they were finally big enough to eat solid food, she got rid of them. I DON'T UNDERSTAND PEOPLE AT ALL.

So, these two pathetic black fluffs of fur were brought into our apartment, and hid under the couch for the first few days. They started to come out if I was home alone, but not if Erika was. She was fed up with the litter box existing after a week, and the fact that the kittens wanted nothing to do with her, and demanded I keep them in my room...

Let me explain about my room. Erika was in a one bedroom apartment when I moved in with her...into her boiler room. There was just enough room for a twin bed and a tiny white rack where I kept my clothes, and that was it. The kittens didn't seem to mind, but I felt bad about it and only kept them in there when I was at work.

I don't know how to explain how messed up I was at this time. During the months I lived with Erika I was on Lithium, which took my barely manageable depression and turned it into my own personal hell. I had started cutting the year before and that behavior hadn't lessened at all. I was a walking suicidal zombie. I had to drop out of school (again!) because I had lost all my financial aid when my mom got married, and was stuck working midnights in a grocery store where another employee was stalking me. Everyone thought it was funny. I was terrified. I had a falling out with my father the year before, and now my mom didn't want me around either- the reasoning for both was for something I had no control over. My father said my depression was a sickness that was going to infect his other kids (and then chased my out of the house with a knife and almost ran me off the road with his truck. True pillar of sanity, that one.), and my mom thought depression was something I was making up for attention (which is funny, since I didn't want to be around anyone, let alone draw attention to myself.), and that I was sabotaging her marriage.The only one who understood at all was my grandmother, but I wasn't about to move in with her unless I could be stable.

All I had at that point was those two kittens- Kira and Annabelle. They didn't blame me for anything, they just gave me undivided and devoted attention and love. I was the center of their world, and I truly believe that without them I was probably weeks from committing suicide, if that. The self harming behavior gradually decreased.  I started being able to push aside suicidal thoughts because if anything happened to me, I was terrified at what their future would be with Erika. They were completely dependent on me, and I couldn't go dying just because it hurt so hard to be alive.

My life started to get better little by little after that. I managed to make some actual friends that weren't just being pseudo nice to me to try to get back with my sleazy cousin. My mom took pity on the kittens having to live in that crappy apartment, and took them home with her. A few weeks later, she did the same with me. I got off lithium and stopped taking anti-depressants all together- I realize that anti-depressants help thousands of people. I wasn't one of them. (The only time antidepressants did anything positive for me was the first two weeks I was on Zoloft- after I had to sit and watch my apartment building go up in flames with my cats inside. After those two weeks, though, it was useless and I had to come back off it. My brain hates pills.)

After getting a new job and finding a place of my own, I was planning on just taking Kira, as my mom was very insistent on keeping Annabelle. She also told me if I didn't take Boyd, he'd find himself on a farm far far away. (Everyone says they love that cat, but no one likes to live with him.) After my first night away, I received a call to come get Annabelle, too. She had spent the whole night sitting at the door, crying for her sister.

Belle and Kira may be sisters from the same litter, but the most they have in common is their color and their love of Boyd.

Belle and Boyd

Boyd and Kira

Kira sleeps more than any cat I have, and is the biggest bully, too. The first time she met my mom's bully cat, Mia, she clocked her in the face and walked away- mind, Kira was about 3 months old at that point, and Mia was full grown. She puts up with no shit from anyone, but loooooooovvvveesss baby animals. Loves them. There was a bunny in our apartment for a day and she spent the hole day just cleaning him. A few months after I moved out on my own, my mom came home from a trip to her sister's with two kittens. She kept one and brought the other one over- a little gray blue kitten who I named Taran (because if I was already one cat over the 2 cat limit for my apartment complex, what was one more, right?). All three of my cats took too him, but he was Kira's little baby. There was never an acclimation time like there has been introducing any of my other cats to each other, they all took to him right away. I might write more about him later. After he died (he was a very sickly kitten), Kira herself fell into a deep depression. She wouldn't eat, she wouldn't drink, she just wandered the house looking for Taran and sleeping in his favorite spots. She lost half her body weight and it was a fight to keep her going (especially since the vet said there was nothing wrong with her). She pulled through, but she hasn't taken to any other animal she's been introduced to since.

Also, she loves water.

She's never been too impressed with other people, either. She used to sleep on the pillow next to me at night, but since Anton came along she won't get on the bed with him there- he apparently doesn't understand that's her side of the bed. She looks like a dragon, and while she's black, she has this warm chocolaty undercoat of brown fur that's almost red in the sunlight. She also has an obsession with water- the fresher, the better. She won't drink out of the same bowl as everyone else, so she gets her own bowl in the bedroom. Heaven help anyone who thinks they can go to bed without filling it.

She lay like that for hours.

Annabelle is a lover and a talker. She talks. A lot. I think her favorite time of the day is when everyone goes to bed- Boyd and Chester sleep in bed with us, and Kira and Eoywn sleep on either side of the bed. Annabelle takes that time to sing, in her fashion. Loudly. It's adorable. She certainly takes Boyd on a run for his money for goofiest cat, as well. When I get up in the morning, she's always found a new weird spot to sleep, and when I get home at night she's waiting by the balcony door asking to go out. Conversations usually go like this with her:

A: Out?
J: Not now.
A:....out?
J: Not now. Later.
A:...........now?
J:No, not now. Later.
A:..............................now?

I'm not one of those crazy people who think they hold conversations with their pets, really. I promise. But cats  have a wide range of vocalizations and can mimic human speech. Boyd and Annabelle love "out". They'll sit hopefully by the door and parrot it all day if they think there's a chance they'll be let out. Annabelle started with the "now" this summer. My mom's cat Mal will tell you "no."  Dogs, in comparison, have about 12 different vocalizations. Dogs are crap.

She's also crazy picky. She can't abide a mess. Just now, she came to sit next to me but the remote and my phone where there. Any of the other four would gladly kick the stuff out of their way as they jumped up, delighted to be inconveniencing me. Annabelle waits until you move it. She won't even step on rumpled covers on the bed- the blankets must be smooth or forget it. She's got several neurosis, and as long as you're prepared for them she's the best cat. If you try to change or fix her, forget it. She'll have none of it and will just make you miserable.

I love my girls. Happy birthday to the best little Halloween cats ever.

Personality Switch

I'll go ahead and say it: I'm ready for winter.

Why, I don't know. I generally hate all things cold and frozen and damp because they are miserable. But this year I keep looking out the window hoping for snow and leave the house bundled up even though it's in the thirties when I leave for work. Cool, yes, cold, not quite.

I really don't have proper winter clothes, so it's not like I'm trying to speed the seasons along to break out my favorite sweaters and boots. I just want to decorate for Christmas and snuggle in blankets with the cats and read and hole up till spring. I want to drink hot beverages and eat warm, hearty meals and day dream about warmer climes.

Anton is going off to Arizona for a week in December to see his parents while they're in the states. I'm staying home to tend the home fires and take care of the kittens. And work, boo. Next month I'm attempting for the, what, 8th? year in a row to participate in NANOWRIMO. I expect little but it's always fun to try. Actually, I think I'll be doing NANOFIMO* but, whatever. Still aiming for the same word count. Anton is signed up, we'll see if he plays along as well.



*National Novel Finishing Month

week full of memories

Last weekend marked the 4th year of having this little shit in our lives:

I honestly do not know what made Anton think that he was a good idea. We had four cats at the time: Boyd, Annabelle, Kira, and Eowyn. Anton was overwhelmed with them- "animals in the house" he'd always muse. When he was growing up, his dad raised birds, but they never had any of the fluffy, cuddly companion animals that I grew up with. We had just passed the sixth month mark on our marriage, we'd been through a fire destroying our apartment and meeting his family, so I guess we were due for a new challenge. 

We were up at my grandmother's helping her with a garage sale, and down the road several of her neighbors were also trying to take advantage of the holiday travelers. One of them had a crate full o' kittens, and Anton was enamored. By the time we actually went down to look at the kittens (because it doesn't hurt to look.) there were two left- a fiesty little tuxedo girl and a pitiful little lump of orange and white. We played with them for a bit and went back to my grandma's. To me, they were clearly too young to be separated from their mother, even though the owners insisted that all the kittens were litter box trained and eating solid food. Anton kept going on about how the little orange and white one was only just the ONLY CAT HE'D EVER WANT EVER. He was orange and white. He had star-burst blue  eyes! HOW COULD WE LEAVE HIM. 

The day were were set to go home, my Gram wanted to go down to see the other garage sales, so off she and Anton went in the golf cart while I stayed behind to man hers. I should have known better. 

Back they came, Gram cuddling that bastard little furball to her chest. 

"No. No no no no no. Absolutely not." I said over and over again. "Take him back. Take him back right now." Right up until my grandma shoved him into my arms and the furry little jerk has been with us ever since. 

His previous family SUCKED DONKEY DONG. Not only was he covered in fleas (the first thing we did was give him a bath. Way to bond!), he was not eating solid food. On top of that, even at 5-6 weeks, he was underweight and undersize. The first thing we should have been doing was getting his shots, but we had to weight almost two months until he was at a decent size. Even then, the vet wouldn't do bloodwork on him because he was so small. 

I can't say that everyone back at home fell in love with him right away. Eowyn kept trying to crush him. 

(omg. how tiny is he? How fat is she?)

Kira warmed up to him once she found out he got kitten milk, her favorite food in the whole world. Annabelle still hasn't warmed to the idea, and Boyd, the one I was most worried about (when we got Boyd, my mom's other male cat, Malachi, went so emo he still hasn't recovered) accepted his mini me without must hesitation.

I agonized over that little brat. I was on instant messenger at work sending Anton an endless barrage of worried questions about Chester's wellbeing while I was gone. More than once, I came home, couldn't find him, and would berate Anton for not watching him better, only to find him like this:  

It's still his coping mechanism. Whenever he's scared, be it from toddlers or noisy construction or sirens or sizzling pans, under the blankets he goes. It's adorable. 

The first few weeks he was a snuggly, cuddly, happy little baby. Then he turned into big ol' jerk face. And scratched and clawed his way into my heart. Bastard. 

  

And also he has mono. 

Seriously. Cutest. Kitten. Ever. 

Oh, Chester Lloyd Finneaus Suckbutt III, I heart you. 

This is long past teal deer, but Anton and I have been musing over our favorite stories from when he first came home with us.

~ I wanted him to be as comfortable in the car as Boyd is, so we would take him on little excursions around town. One trip took us to an ice cream stand, and they gave him a teeny tiny little ice cream cone that he got all over himself. This may or may not be why he's always stealin' my sorbet.

~ For the first couple months, we kept his litter box in the hallway, so we could make sure he was using it. He certainly was little box trained, covering his leavings was one of his favorite games. What we didn't count on was Kira thought having a litter box in the hall way was the BEST.IDEA.EVAR. She would happily use it, and he would angrily chase her off, and growl his little baby growl as he covered up whatever she left. He'd sit next to his box a good twenty minutes each time to discourage anyone else from trying it.

~ Whenever he ate his baby food, we started to keep him separate from everyone else, otherwise he'd stick his paw on the plate and growl as he ate. Angry growls. Growls that would get shelter dogs put down because they were food aggressive.

~I was scared of one of the cats getting too aggressive with him as we slept, so for the first few weeks he slept under a laundry basket (Boyd would sleep on top of the laundry basket. I'm not sure if this was to intimidate or to comfort him.) but eventually, he figured out how to get out, and would get in bed between mine and Anton's pillows and purr. For such a little baby, he had a loud, obnoxious, purr, and wouldn't stop until we let him know we were awake and cuddled him.

~ Now, when he wants me to get up, he doesn't go the obnoxious route that Boyd does (who headbutts and yowls until I get up). No, he cuddles. and snuggles. Then slowly moves closer and closer to my face. Then licks it. Then bites it. Wait. That's not cute.

~ Until he was about 7 months old, he could walk under Boyd. And did. All the time. It killed us each time. We are so easily amused.

I'm going to try something a little different today. I know that you know that I love love love to complain. LOVE IT. Only love it when the news is bad, only happy when it rains, that song may as well be about me. I don't mean to be, but I get a delicious sense of satisfaction when I get to be upset and rant about something. So tasty.

TODAY, however, my faithful minions  readers, I'll give a treat- Huzzah!- things that are making my cold heart warm and snuggly.

Numero Uno: The weather is finally acceptable to support human life. The humidity of the past two months has gone, as well as the need for the a/c. My asthma and electric bill are happy. 

Secondly: A Very Potter Musical and A Very Potter Sequel.  Holy shit, why did no one tell me about this earlier? The video quality is shit- you can't hear about 25% of the dialogue. Even if you aren't a HP fan, it's completely worth it to watch just for Draco. And it's made in Michigan! By people who look vaguely familiar to me! (And some of them are really starting to irritate me. I know I know Brian Rosenthal. I just can't remember from where. I was in the theater program at U of M, too, but 800 thousand years ago and a different campus.nnnnnnnnnn)

Trois: The very thing that lead me to AVPM and AVPS, Mark Reads Harry Potter.  It's a chapter by chapter review of the Harry Potter series by a first time HP reader. That site devoured my life  when I was trying to get caught up to this weeks reviews, since I only found it...this week. 

Vier: My new favorite cookbook, "Incredibly Easy Gluten-Free Recipes". HolyShitILoveThisBook.

I love cooking, I do I do I do. I hate most cookbooks I run across, especially those geared towards my dietary restrictions (For the record, I'm allergic to: Dairy, Egg, Wheat, "sensitive" to corn, and won't eat animal products. And I'm not a big fan of coconut.). I have several "allergy free!" cookbooks whose main agenda is apparently getting you to eat large quantities of meat. (Which, even if I wanted to eat meat, I'd have to avoid beef and chicken, because guess what! The protein I'm allergic to in both dairy and egg is found in the meat of the parent animals! So FU, idiot nutritionist my allergist wanted me to see!) 

Ahem. I'm also not the biggest fan of vegetarian cookbooks- vegan, yes, vegetarian, no. Mainly because the main ingredients used in vegetarian foods tends to be cheese and eggs. YUM. 

Back to this cookbook to end my need for more cookbooks: yes, there are meat recipes in it, but used in a way that tofu or some other food substance can be easily substituted, and all the recipes are mouthwatering. We've made two in the week we've had it and I'm itching to make more. It even has me excited to try quinoa! And I tend to avoid foods whose names aren't pronounced phonetically! 

Vijf: New musics! I think I'm finally starting to accept that there shall be no more Flickerstick albums, and probably no more Great Lakes Myth Society albums, the two bands that make getting up in the morning bearable. I'm not a book snob by any means- I'll give just about anything a shot. I am, however, a music snob of epic proportions. I don't mind this, though it drives my husband nuts when I'm always asking him to turn off whatever vile noise he has coming out of the speakers (of course, he just refers to me as a withered husk of a soul because I don't like angry yelly sexist crap music. Hmph.). In an effort to give myself something else to listen to occasionally, I've allowed the following bands into rotation:

The Black Keys: I first discovered them last year watching "Hung" (which takes place in Michigan! And the exterior scenes really are Michigan! Michigan Michigan Michigan!), and I less then three them even if they are from Ohio. 

Band of Skulls: you know, from that car commercial. Filmed in Detroit. Featuring the only non-Chrysler car I would willingly buy. I think I'm noticing a pattern here. Hey people that want me to listen to their music: make it associated with Detroit somehow and I will listen! 

It helps that both bands are actually good. 

Six: I received a lovely package from my step-grandmother, full of nice smelly things from Backyard Soaps, a company in, you guessed it, Michigan. They're in my adopted hometown of Port Huron and I love their stuff, but any place out here that sells it overcharges like woah, so Carol was nice enough to send us a box of bathbombs and room sprays.  

Annnnd that's about all the happy I can handle right now.

I'm related to who?

I don't even know where to begin. I am feeling a renewed desire to blog, not just for my personal enrichment, but to save any offspring the headache of trying to figure shit out about their family.

Not that everyone has a burning desire to know their family history. I always have, but I think that has to do with only having one parent growing up, so instead of focusing on the half that was missing, I threw myself into finding out as much as I could about my mom's side of the family. Being as close in age with my youngest uncle as I am, and being with my grandparents for a good chunk of my life, I tend to forget I even -have- another biological family.

I sealed my fate as family biographer when I was a preteen- my grandfather gave me a book that belonged to his grandmother, saying I'd be the only one to appreciate it's history. Then my grandmother did the same thing with her sister's books. And then, the pictures.

Oh. My. God. The pictures.

I come from a long line of shutter bugs. Which is awesome- I have a visual history of my family going back to the start of photography.Thousands and thousands and thousands of pictures. Actually seeing different features that we all have, and who had them them first is amazing. The problem? Well, problems? 1- my relatives didn't like to label pictures, so pinning down dates and names is...fun. 2- half of what's labeled is in Flemish, and in a beautiful but hard to read cursive handwriting. The Flemish I know isn't as helpful as I'd like.

This past weekend, my mom and her husband were in town- we spent the first two days in Boston, then he went to NYC, and my mom came back home with us. Sunday afternoon through Wednesday morning saw us  either pouring over pictures, trying to sort and label them, or trying to find evidence of my great-grandparents, from their gravesite to the houses they lived in while in Massachusetts.

We were able to label about 3,000 pictures. I have about 8 or 9 thousand to go. On top of figuring out who people are, I've been scanning them and putting them on Facebook for the rest of my family to see and enjoy.  As much as I may complain about it, I really love doing it. There's just a real sense of urgency since pretty much the only person who may know who some of the mystery people are is my grandmother, and she's several states away and recovering from back surgery so she isn't online that much at the moment. Mom took the Rosetta Stone of pictures home with her and is going to go visit Gram and see what she can find out. That just leaves the Belgian pictures. I'm not sure that any relatives are still around that may know who these people are (though, there has to be- my great grandfather was the youngest of 23. TWENTY-THREE. And he had a mess of nieces and nephews, so there has to be SOMEONE around who still knows these people. HAS TO.)

All our investigating left us with more questions instead of answering them. For starters- do you know how many of my forebears had children, then got married? Almost all of them. So much for this puritanical nonsense people are always going on about. One of my great-great grandmothers was 13 when she left Belgium for Argentina, and was 14 when she had my great-grandmother. Then moved back to Belgium and got married. Just. What. And I spent so much of my life feeling bad for being a bastard. Apparently we all are.

Hair hair hair update

Welp. That was interesting.

As far as my hair experiment, it's not going the greatest. Not that the baking soda wash/vinegar rinse doesn't work as advertised- it does. Anton tried too, and his hair was -amazing- afterwards. My problem seems to be I have too much frickin' hair. I tried doubling and tripling the recipe, but so far, no luck. The parts that do get cleaned are beautiful, but the parts I miss are noticeable. I think I'm going to put the experiment on hold until my next hair cut and get my hair thinned.

To give you an idea of what I'm working with, my hair hangs eleven inches past my shoulders, and when pulled into a ponytail it measures 4 inches around, not including the hair band. I wasn't allowed to grow my hair out until I was in JR high because my mom hated dealing with it, and kept making me get page boy hair cuts, and now it's hard for me to get it short because I have flash backs to this:

Yeah, it's cute on a 3 year old. Not so much on a 12 year old. Or a 28 year old.

This is from a few months ago (Now the line from my old dye job is to my chin. Again, I neeeedd aaa haaaiiirrr cuuutttt.) but gives you a pretty good idea on what my hair looks like as a grown up.

Not that I'm complaining about it- My gram and my mom both claimed to have hair just as thick that they lost as they had kids. My gram is almost completely bald* now and my mom's hair is thinning**. I just need to find way to manage- probably going to invest in some squirt bottles for better coverage and try again. 

*Okay, it chemically abusing her hair with dyes for 50+years and her blood pressure medication probably have more to do with hair loss then her five kids, but I'm not risking it!

**Same thing. Perms and hair dye since the 80's. 

I swear I'm not a dirty hippie

Being as independent as possible has always appealed to me- case in point, growing my own veggies. Screw you, corporate farms! And, also, screw you to the farm stands around here that claim to have farm fresh veggies, yet somehow all the vegetables have stickers on them showing they are from the other side of the country or South America. 

I'm also not a fan of chemicals or synthetics at.all. I haven't used your standard household cleaners since I moved out from my mom's. I get horrible rashes whenever I'm close enough to -smell- your basic bleaches and Lysol's and what have you, let alone if they actually make contact with my skin. I haven't used toothpaste in almost two years, and before that I didn't use fluoride toothpaste for probably 4-5 years. (But, unlike Jessica Simpson, I still do -brush- my teeth several times a day.) I haven't used tampons or pads in over two years (I use this thing instead, and I less then three it) I have to use organic (read: expensive) lotions and body care products because, again, conventional ones make me break out and whatnot, but I'm trying to get away from those as well. Christ. Typing this all out, I sound like a frickin' hippie, minus the patchouli.

So, one of the things I've been meaning to do for awhile is getting rid of my shampoo and conditioner. I was blessed (or cursed) with thick, thick, thick hair, and there has yet to be a shampoo and conditioner combination that was kind to it. I don't wash my hair that much- three times a week, unless I've been rolling in mud or something, and it always air dries (using a blow dryer every time would become way too expensive- not just the 1/2 hour + I'd spend drying it, but I have a tendency to blow out hair dryers) but it's still so. friggin. unhappy. 

Working a short week last week, I didn't really feel compelled to wash my hair on my normal 3rd day (Thursdays), and then I didn't feel like washing it Friday...or Saturday...and now I'm pretty sure I should wash it tonight before I go back to work tomorrow. Despite not washing it in five days, it's not greasy like I feared. Just soft, softer then it was when I washed it last. Weird. During tonight's shower, I'm going to try the baking soda wash/vinegar rinse method and see what happens. 

If it works, and works well, I'll probably see about talking Anton into trying it as well. Since he's been so keen on cutting back on things to save money, I can't see how this would be any different. We don't spend that much on hair care products a year, but still, 180 bucks on shampoos and conditioners yearly is still more then 50-60 bucks yearly on estimated baking soda and vinegar use.

ALSO- plastic. I hate plastic. And if don't have to bring any more in the house, then yays!

Gardening update number something or other

Sometimes I wish I had a big straw hat and overalls for my urban garden. Though- Gram used to garden in jean shorts and tube tops, so I guess there really isn't one set dress code...

It's still early in the growing season, I suppose- even though we did start in March- but we've learned lots of valuable lessons. Aside from "don't start in March."

For one- some things can be grown closer to their mates then others. Peas? Separate those fuckers. We ended up with only 3 pods before ripping them all out. We'll try again this fall once it gets cooler again. 

For twosies- do not start leafy things in the mini-greenhouse. Start them right in their pots or they get all sad and die when you transfer them. Wimps.

For three- Don't try bok choy again until you have a proper garden. Stupid bok choy.

For four- Don't worry about spending money on containers. The window boxes for our green leafy things are great, and we only spent about 25-30 bucks all together on planters, but the majority of our plants are in re-purposed juice and soda bottles, and they are happy and big and lovely. 

For five- Research your broccoli! Ours is so so so dumb. It's tasty! but dumb. The florets of ours don't get very big, and aren't really useful for cooking. Unless all you're looking for a nibble of broccoli.

For sixes- Kentucky Climbers are obnoxious. They are on notice until they produce me a crazy crop of beans 

There are few things as sublime as walking out into my garden after work, though. Everything right now is so green and lush, and watching wee little flowers turn into something edible is awesome. If you've thought about growing something but don't know what to try first, do cucumbers. They are prolific. We've already had two off the vine, there are about 26 more in various stages of growth, and 50 some odd flowers. All that from 12 plants. We definitely we'll be cutting back on how many cucumber plants we have next year. 

Now exclusive to you, until I get around to posting them on Facebook, pictures:

One of the few flower plants I have. It's a mandevilla (we call her Judy*), expressing her desire for light. 

Judy, repotted and moved outside. This was last weekend, and now she's doubled in size. 

One of our first harvests, which turned into...

...a lovely salad. The radishes were store bought, but look how lovely it all is!

A few of my cuke plants, attempting to grow -off- the balcony.

This is the closest I could get to a full shot of the garden. There's more behind me and hidden at the other end as well. 

My jerk Kentucky Climbers. 

*When I was growing up, We went to church with a lady named Judy Madeville. All my gram's mandevilla plants were always known as Judy from then on, and it still seems to fit.

Not dead. Yet.

Ha! Bet you thought I was dead.

I am not. I just haven't had anything update worthy. The older I get the less I feel I can get away with stream of consciousness entries, but I can not focus when typing on a computer. (Computers are so counter-intuitive to how I work, especially when it comes to writing. When I write on paper, I turn the paper sideways and have my hand perpendicular to my body. It has never felt natural to type on a keyboard, which only adds to my lack of focus when trying to write something.)

Anyway. So I've been trying to reduce my stress lately to keep myself from imploding, but it's not working out that great. My work days have gotten insane, with overtime every. friggin. day. And yet my paycheck is sad and pitiful. Spending 10+ hours, five days a week at work is killing me.

My family isn't helping keep stress levels low, either. Last Friday, my gram had back surgery- a surgery that was postponed for two years because her doctor wanted her hips replaced first to avoid any other complications. And she spent several additional days in the hospital because, surprise, she had complications. It's so, so hard to be away from her when she's going through these things. If she had asked, I would have gladly quit my job and moved in with her to take care of her.

Then, Sunday, Anton was staying late after work,and when he was about, oh, 528 feet from home, was rear-ended by a ditz from the next town over...who had her mommy call to see if she could talk Anton out of reporting the accident to the insurance company. Apparently, her little princess was going to lose her insurance if she was in any more accidents. I just...What the fuck? He's fine, the car should be back next week since it was mostly superficial damage, but...I mean, really? She called 5 times before giving up. Get your fucktard daughter some driving lessons or keep that idjit of the road.

THEN! One of my younger cousins was turning into his driveway Thursday on his motorcycle  and was hit by some moron. Now, I hate motorcycles because I see them as death traps on two wheels, and I think I've seen maybe 2 motorcyclists in my adult life that obeyed any traffic laws. However. My cousin is a safe driver, and he babies that bike. Babied. The bike is destroyed. At least there was no major damage to him but he's got a pretty bad case of whiplash and is all  bruised up.

I should say both accidents happened in broad daylight, and both driver's said that they didn't see the person they hit. Then maybe you need glasses and no license.

So. It's hard to relax when I want to cause severe bodily harm to people who insist on hurting my family. And to the people I have to spend my days on the phone with.  Sigh. This past week and the next two I have four day work weeks. Maybe the will help kick start some zen like atmosphere in my life.

Probably not.

At least I'm missing all the drama back home

Holy crap is stress a learned reaction with me. I gave myself a four day weekend this weekend, and Friday/Saturday? Great! Tonight? STRESSBALL, just like I am every Sunday night, despite the fact I still don't have to work tomorrow.

Anyway.

A few weekends ago, Anton and I went to the New Hampshire Renaissance Faire, about 25 minutes north of where we live. It was tiny, but still bigger then what I expected for what is a charity event. We caught a few shows, including the Corr Thieves Merchants, and a fighting demonstration by The Neville Companye. After the fighting demonstration we met Jeremy of Knightly Arts based here in Mass. Barring anything crazy, Anton and I are going to start taking sword classes this summer, then move on to medieval weapons. Both research and fun!

In an effort to be ready, I've stepped up my workouts. I'm not having an easy time of it, my stress levels have only gotten worse since changing my schedule. And I'm one of those people who instead of losing weight when they're stressed, I gain it. I've been tracking my calories, trying to get them around 1600 a day. Problem  is? I'm usually averaging about 6-800. So, my body thinks it's starving but between the pain I have from my maybe ulcer and my myriad of food allergies, there just aren't enough foods out there for me. And, I'd have to be eating from the time I got up till I went to bed, which. No. So.

I've started adding in some protein powder to my drinks to help give me an added boost in the morning. Vegetables need more frickin' calories.

Return of things I Hate Thursday

Hopefully followed by Things I Love Friday.

• Schedule changes. It takes FOREVER to adjust to new sleeping schedules and as a result I've been a veritable zombie at work.
• Speaking of. My new schedule is 8-5. I've been working 8-6 or later, which is more than 10 hours in that building EVERY DAY. It's miserable. 
• Birds. I fucking. Hate. Birds. Specifically? The ones who live in the vent outside my window and wake up at 3 AM EVERY. FUCKING. DAY.  And they won't stop till the sun is fully up which at that point, I can't fucking go back to sleep. Thanks, jerk birds! 
• Talking on the phone. More than just because I do it for a living, but I really, really hate talking on the phone, even to friends and family. It feels like a trap. Email me, text me, whatever, but don't make me talk on the phone unless there's no other option.
• Thursdays. They're just miserable. 

Adventures In Urban Farming

Right. So. You may remember that in March, Anton and I got wild hairs up our bums and decided we were going to make use of our long balcony with excellent afternoon sun exposure and grow vegetables, exercising our green thumbs and sparing our wallets the brutal pain of buying fresh vegetables at the grocery store for a few months.

You may also remember that I live in the Northeast which is always, always, always fucking cold. We didn't.

So, occasionally we have nice weeks and all the plants can stay outside. They love it, we love it, the cats love it. But, inevitably, we have to bring them all back inside and cat-proof them so they don't freeze to death or get blown to bits by the fucking gale force winds that seem to love this area.

It's all gotten to be a giant pain in the ass, and I've become more and more uncertain of any type of payout from this adventure. It's a lot of hassle to move 2 dozen planters in and out and in and out and to make sure that Boyd isn't going to crush them all while they're in the house. But today, while cleaning, Anton discovered this:

A mother-fucking actual vegetable.  It's teeny, yes, but it's the first actual proof that any of these plants are actually  vegetable plants and not some crazy green leafy weeds we just happen to be nurturing.

Weekend Update, Boring Edition

Holy. Bananas. I am still so, so tired. Also, I think I have an ulcer. (Not in my normal 'oh my neck hurts it must be meningitis" but....pretty sure it's an ulcer. So I think I'm just going to stop eating.)

Anyway. The past few weeks at work have been exhausting, but we are finally fully staffed (for the first time since January of 2009. Jesus.) I like the new people all so far- in fact, we finally have a group of positive people, instead of the whining, back biters that were peppered in before.  

BUT, the best thing is we finally earned a bonus for 1st quarter- the first time since I started working there. I wasn't quite sure -what- to do with all of my check for $17.34, but I managed to blow it at Bullmoose in a few minutes like a fool. Maybe next time I'll manage to invest it or something. 

Speaking of solid investments, Anton and I finally have life insurance (So if one or both of us go missing, suspect foul play) and accident insurance (for things like when Anton broke his hand on the Jeep). I have a policy through work too, so if I die in the next 20 years, Anton is set. Again. Suspect foul play. 

In keeping with being a grown up, I start a new shift on Monday so I'll be working at 8 AM like all those other fools. Anton's trying to get his shift moved earlier, too, so that we can start taking Kung Fu together because it would be awesome, motherfuckers. 

Yeah. That was boring. Sorry.  

Rusty wheels

What do you do to feel inspired?

Sometimes for me it's music, or going out for a nature walk or painting. But when I'm feeling a creative streak coming on, but joining it is a severe case of self doubt, I watch "The Muppet Movie."

Ever since I was little, this movie has made me believe absolutely that I can do anything I set my mind and energy too. Probably because Kermit was on Sesame Street,and if he said it, it HAD to be true. He may be one of the must trusted figures in my life.

I'm putting my shoulder to the wheel again. I've got a new program (yWriter) I'm hoping is going to help organize my thoughts- that's the worst thing about me sometimes. I'm so god damn scatter brained, it's really, really  hard to focus my attention on anything for very long. My current project is spread out in 4 different notebooks- not because it's filled  four notebooks, but because I get writing in one, then switch to another for something else and before you know it, everything is scattered and I don't know if I'm coming or going. This is also a major issue for me writing on the computer- it's so counter-intuitive to how I think it's nearly impossible for me to get something done. Stupid computers, all left-brainy. (For instance, computer keyboards make you write straight on,and when I write by hand I actually turn the paper 90 degrees and write so my thumb is parallel to my chest and my elbow is bent 90 degrees. If laptops allowed you to type that way it might feel like I was doing the same thing and maybe I would focus instead of staring off at other things -13 times- by this point in the paragraph. Make that 14. Gah.)

This is also while I'll never win any blogging awards. Everything is stream of consciousness for whatever I can manage to focus to write. Which, of course, makes me terribly interesting. 


Moving on. One of the best things about working on our own separate projects together with Anton is the bonding. The frustration and the elation, we get to go through it together. Doesn't help my extreme jealousy of  his natural creativity though.Holy hell, he can pull you in to his world in a few words. Amazing, natural, untapped potential there.

Hey Hey They Say It's Your Birthday

Happy 8th Birthday to the biggest cacahead in the entire world. My life would be so boring and empty without you. 






Not that he gets online or can read English or has concepts of birthdays.  

When I was a teenager, music was so important to me that I never thought I could date, let alone marry someone who had very different musical tastes  then myself. It's probably a good thing I got over that, seeing as I doubt I'd ever find anyone with the same taste in music as myself. 

Anton has the grace to accept that my music taste is finely honed and far superior then his own. I wish I could be as gracious about his taste in music. 

As much as I love the music and bands that I do, I don't think I could ever be as... devoted as he and his friends are. While driving to another state isn't out of the question for me to see a band I love (where I get my car towed and have to walk in heels across a town I don't know), I absolutely detest arena shows. That's partly because I was trampled at an Incubus concert during the second song and ended up in the first aid area for the rest of the stupid concert, meaning I really only spent money to see 30 Seconds to Mars (vomit) and be injured. But it's more because music is very intimate to me (not that it isn't to him) but sharing the experience of my favorite music, live, with thousands of people, isn't high on my list of things to do. 

I've been to a crap ton of concerts in my life, and the shows I love and remember fondly are the small venue ones. Like when Jennifer and I saw Flickerstick for the first time at St Andy's, (or any of the other subsequent times I saw FS.) or seeing Great Lakes Myth Society in a bar with maybe 50 people. Maybe. I want to feel like they're playing for me and that's a lot easier to imagine when there aren't hundreds of people in between you and the band. 

Sorry. You didn't notice because this isn't real time, but I just had to take a 20 minute dance break to listen to Flickerstick. 

Right. So. The point I was trying to get to was that as much as I absolutely love Flickerstick and GLMS and will drive many hours to see them, I'm can't see myself willingly handing over $100+ to attend a stadium show watch them from the nosebleeds and barely be able to make out who's who on the stage. (Now, since 'stick is disbanded, if in 10 years or so they did a reunion tour at small clubs? I'd pay pretty much anything because I know the experience is going to be intimate and I'm going to get to hang out with them after the show.) Anton, on the other hand, seems to think stadium tours are where it's at, and that 100 dollars is a paltry sum to pay to see a band THAT TOURS EVERY FRICKIN' YEAR and so it's not special at all, and you're sharing the experience with strangers. (there are no strangers at a 'stick or GLMS show. It's 80 people who feel like family during and after each show. I've never felt that at a stadium show, ever.)

Our discussion on him wanting to see the worst Canadian band ever this fall turn into both of us thinking the other had no soul or taste in music (I'm right). But, as I know my taste in music is niche and my enjoyment of things never includes large crowds, I guess I need to know what other people think. Just not people with shitty taste in music. 

Have you ever...

...done something that throws your whole week off? For me, apparently, hair washing is very vital to me being able to tell the day of the week. I normally wash my hair Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursday. This week I skipped Sunday and washed it Monday, making me mentally a day off and IT'S MAKING ME CRAZY.

FINE, KOOKY HAIR AND BRAIN GODS. I'll stick to my normal hair washing schedule. Guh. Stupid hair.

Day tripper

I think I've mentioned before that I want to do as much this summer around New England that we can, because once we leave I am never coming back. That, and if I have to be here, I want to enjoy myself and not just sit in my apartment grumbling about what a stupid state this is.

One thing I've found is too much planning ruins the fun. All we really need is an address to put into the gps and gas in the tank. Sure, I usually bring along drinks and snack bars in case a decent restaurant is hard to find, but the fun for us is the journey, not the destination.

Anyway. Yesterday I had intended that we go to an armory in Worcester, but while we were waking up in the morning, random Google searches (this is how I find EVERYTHING, I swear. I heart Google.) I stumbled upon  a free tour that the Anheuser-Busch brewery does- and even better, Saturday was Pictures with the  Clydesdales day, so we took off for Merrimack, N.H. instead.

I'm not that into beer- in fact, the only time I ever really drank beer was back when I smoked, and I think my lack of taste buds masked how awful beer tastes (too me, anyway). I'm much more likely to drink liquor or hard ciders- and, really, I'm not supposed to be drinking beer anyway. BUT. Shut up. I do what I want.

My real goal was to meet the Clydesdales, but since we were there, we decided to take the free tour, too. I think we both expected it to be boring and dull, but...we actually had a lot of fun and are considering going back to take the paid tour when my parents come this summer.  And, I really want a horse. Like. Really.

Another win yesterday was I finally figured out how to make curry from scratch. I absolutely love Japanese curry, it's turned into a comfort food for me. This winter when I was sick it was the only thing I wanted to eat. The only problem was is the pre-made cubes all had wheat* in them, and while I have curry powder, we haven't been able to find a recipe to make the roux. But feeling inspired yesterday, and with the help of a pretty decent recipe, I finally made a good, spicy curry. I can die happy.


*I know, right? I was just talking about beer and then I was all Ooohh can't have the wheat curry. I try to only have wheat every few weeks to avoid having any major symptoms. AND I really just want to know how to make curry without having the cubes, it's way cheaper.

Gardenin' ain't easy

So, remember how Anton and I got really excited about the one day in March where it was 90 degrees, and started a vegetable gardening project?

WE ARE SO DUMB.

We should have remembered that we live in Massachusetts, where the weather almost always sucks. Due to really shitty weather and poor management, we nearly lost all our cucumber plants (but lost only one) and lost all our corn. Everything except the cold weather loving plants (peas, spinach, broccoli, bok choy and Brussels sprouts) are inside and miserable. They are miserable and I don't blame them- I want it to be sunny and warm, too but nooooooooooooooooooooo. We live in fucking cold and windy and overcast crapachusetts.

The cool thing, though- our lettuce and spinach are starting to look like lettuce and spinach. A week ago they were still grass looking things, and now they resemble the things I'm going to eat in 4 or 5 weeks time. SO EXCITING.

The cats are more excited about the big box of grass we grew of them. One of them has to be in it at all times. I'm glad at least something is working the way it's supposed to.

What what, hey hey.

Sometimes I feel like King George.  I'm pretty sure I'm losing my mind. 

But let us talk about something fun. Like cats, and how cacaheaded they are. 

This cat is especially cacaheaded. He certainly loves getting to go where he isn't supposed to go. Lately, his favorite thing has been getting on top of the cupboards. We cleaned off the top of the fridge in anticipation of him continuing to do so. Shouldn't have bothered.

Wednesday morning, around 5 AM, Anton and I are roused by the sound of crashing and shattering glass. Anton ran to the direction of the noise while I tried to figure out if I didn't get up I could pretend like I thought it was a dream.  I had to get up though, when I heard Anton start bellowing. I found him in the kitchen with this face:

Boyd had managed to knock over the ONLY thing on the fridge, my french press,and shattered it allllll over the kitchen and the hallway. 

Probably the most exciting thing that's happened lately. 

Could I be more tired?

What is up, Bloglandia? I feel that I've moved from being a citizen to an occasional vacationer.

That may change in a few weeks. I'm moving to an earlier shift, so I'll have two hours at home before Anton gets home, and there's only so much plant checking and cat mushing I can handle.

I can sum the past few weeks up in three words: So, so tired. So tired I can't finish this, other then to say: I'm not dead.

TV sick

I am so very tired of television.

Monday through Thursday, we have a least an hour's worth of television on our "Must Watch" list, and I hate it. I'm starting to feel like our lives after work are ruled by TV. It may be because it's staying lighter later and I want to be in the sun, or because it feels like if we don't watch the planet will implode. We might miss something important! Or funny! We might be out of the loop when our co-workers talk about shows the next day!

So. We could get a DVR to watch our shows on our schedule instead of on their schedule. Or, we could just get rid of the cable all together. I'm not big into spending more money to watch tv, so come June when our current contract is up, I think we're just going to drop down to internet and get rid of our cable package. If we really miss watching certain shows, most are available online, or we can just wait till they're on DVD and get them from Netflix. I just...I have so many  books to read, and I want to spend more time out of doors this summer (providing it's not as moldy as the last two), and I miss doing crafts and just relaxing after dinner. Mondays are the worst- we rush home, rush through our workout so we can have dinner ready by eight so we don't miss anything....and then I just feel rushed all night, which doesn't help with my anxiety and inability to sleep.  And reducing my stress is always a good thing.

Oh TV, I can't say I'll really miss you. Most of the time, you're just filler, and I have music and DVD's for that if I need it. I survived perfectly well before I knew about any of these shows, and I'm sure I'll make it without watching them as they air again. (In fact, I think CBS is the only station that doesn't allow you to watch the show online. JUMP TO THE 21st CENTURY, CBS. JESUS.)

Self Sustaining

Like probably everyone else, we're trying to find ways to save money. A big reason that we've sat down and gone over the money we spend with a magnifying glass is we ended up owing on our 2009 taxes- awesome. Fortunately the government allows one to pay in installments instead of demanding the full amount by April 15th. 


After adjusting our withholdings yet again (We already both claim zero, but now have to take additional amounts out every paycheck. It's Fucking. Retarded.), we've found that the thing we spend the most on is food. That's not terribly surprising- when you're allergic to the things found in most prepared foods and have to make most of what you each from scratch, those raw ingredients rack up the grocery bill pretty quickly. I wouldn't be eating egg and dairy anyway, but not being able to include wheat in my diet is the real killer- it's used in just about everything as filler (and holy FUCK do I miss bread. I haven't found a decent wheat free bread yet, and it makes me crazy. You know how much cheaper my lunches were when I just made sandwiches? A LOT. An average of about 10 bucks a week if I got real fancy, and now I spend about 6 a day.).

So, in an effort to cut our grocery costs for at least the summer, we're attempting to turn our balcony into a garden. I grew up having all our of our summer fruits and vegetables grown at home, and I miss that. Three different types of pears, grapes, apricots, apples, melons, potatoes, tomatoes, beans, peas, zucchini, cucumbers, several varieties of squash,cabbage, lettuce, herbs galore....my childhood home was a veritable paradise.

Last weekend, inspired by the 71 degree weather, we loaded up on seeds and a mini greenhouse to get us started. We began with two different types of lettuce, spinach , green onion, green pepper, peas, cucumbers, chives, and corn (we thought it'd be funny, I don't know.). Yesterday, we moved over everything but the chives, green onions and green peppers to their new homes (the chives and green onion are growing sooo slooowly, and the green peppers haven't even started shoots yet), and so far, the cats have left them alone, and this morning everyone was still upright and perky. We won't be able to move them outside anytime soon, so I'm not sure why we thought March was a GREAT time to start growing things. They are taking up all available window space right now, and we aren't even done yet.

Buoyed by our early success at not killing the little tender shoots, we're still planning on getting more: tomatoes (but specifically Jetstar, because they're low acidic and I love them, but can only find them online so I'll wait till mid-April on those), a squash, dill, and carrots. We've run out of planters but have been turning juice bottles into self watering planters, and my gram gave us the idea to put some of them in hanging planters to give us more room on the balcony. We're lucky, in that our balcony is long, and we get afternoon sun (hot and happy for plants), we'll just need to maximize our space to give everyone room to grow.

I really hope this endeavor works out. I hope that we are so overwhelmed with successful plants that we end up having enough to give away. In fact, if it does work out, we've decided to invest on an indoor green house (something like this) so we can potentially keep some veggies going all year.We've thought about the air garden but...no. With all it's crazy chemicals and the size (we could seriously clear one of those things out in a day, so...) it just wouldn't be practical.