Funny Father

My dad had to mail me a check for the new car over the weekend, and inside the envelope I found this:

I had to admit, I laughed.

Stuff

It seems I've spent the day doing minutae that isn't very interesting, so here's a couple of doodles of nekkid women. People like looking at nekkid women, no matter what gender or sexual orientation said people are.

I Went and Dood It.

You're now reading the blog of a so-far happy PT Cruiser - Touring Edition owner.

The car looks almost exactly like the photo I posted in a previous entry, except with different hubcaps. It has a 6-CD stereo, manual transmission, a display that tells me what direction I'm going in, what the temperature is outside, and how many miles I have left before I run out of gas. The seats fold all the way down so that I can carry buttloads of stuff. The engine is tiny! yet has a decent amount of torque to keep me calm. The footroom and headroom is beautious, and I have power mirrors ready to reveal where I've been at a second's notice.

The husband has been going ape looking for PT Cruiser accessories. He wants to put runningboards on the damn thing.

In other news, I got a voicemail from the chick-who-hit-me's insurance company. They say that there's a "question about coverage", hinting that they won't cover the damage done to my dearly departed car. I do believe I have uninsured motorist insurance, but I'm going to have to double-check tomorrow. Ugh.

Shopping

In a weird, rare blend of wanting a cool-looking car and practicality, I'm looking at getting one of these babies:
Yes, a PT Cruiser. There's some that even have a manual transmission. Oh yeah!

Shopping commences this afternoon.

Total Loss

Just got a call from my insurance company.

My poor car is going to be put out of its misery.

I liked that car. I really did. Overall it served me well. It carried my Big Lebowski and Derby Doll bumper stickers well. The spiffy antenna ball looked good on it, too.

Goodbye, dear peesachit car. I'm gonna miss you.

Saturday night the husband and I got out of the house and checked out a small, cozy, yet dirty SRL show in Chinatown. Basically it's a group of people from the Bay Area who build machines that involves fire and noise and destroys their own stuff. It was cool! They did a mini-presentation in a parking lot that was adjacent to the art gallery that they were having a show at. Usually they start the fun about 2 hours later than the stated start time. Punctuality is optional when you're setting stuff on fire, apparently. But they were almost on time, especially since they did this particular show without any sort of permit or notification to LAPD or LAFD. Their instructions to the audience included, "If the cops show up, distract them!"

This is a picture of a pulse-jet hovercraft that they blasted the audience with. It would've been fun if the damn thing wasn't kicking up a LOT of dirt that was in the parking lot.Ear and eye protection is almost mandatory. I forgot eye protection and was miserable.

They also doused a bunch of little fabric dolls in water and threw them out into the audience. I don't know what that was supposed to signify, but I was able to grab one.

After the show we went to Little Tokyo and had a great dinner. I never thought I'd enjoy something called, "Spicy Tuna Tower", but I did.

So far...

...in the past 24 hours, nothing horrible has happened to me.













HOORAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




Edit: this was just an excuse to post the kitty photo. I think it's hilarious. And I got into a verbal arguement with the redneck neighbor. Jeezus, I'm not getting a break.

Dude, Where's My Car?

It's moping in a yard in Chatsworth right now. Poor thing!

In a Mood

The below is a doodle I've posted before, but it suits my very very bad mood right now.



A word of advice...

When someone is in a car accident, don't yell at them about contacting the other driver's insurance company until their own insurance company at least gets a look at the damn car.
The person who was in the accident is enough of a basket case as it is already. Don't add to their stress.

Thank you.

The Fun Just Keeps on Comin'...

I hate whiners. I feel like I'm beginning to sound like a whiner, but here I am, about to whine. You know what? Right now I don't care if I sound like a whiner. So there.

The Derby Dolls refer to people who have a streak of bad luck as paying a visit to Misfortune Mountain. The name comes from a Fantasy Island board game, I believe. Well, the way my luck has been going, I'm now the newest inhabitant of Misfortune Mountain. Here's why.

Tonight I was on my way to a derby-related meeting. I was going in the wrong direction past where I needed to be, so I decided to turn around and go back from whence I came. I put on my turn signal, get into the turn lane, come almost to a complete stop in the intersection to wait for traffic, and BOOM! I get hit. What the...?! I think to myself. I seem OK, but the car isn't. I manage to pull forward out of the intersection into the center divider of the street I was on. The car that hit me is also in the center divider. I call 911 immediately to get a police car out to take a report. Even without getting out of the car, I knew my car was wounded, because when I pulled forward, it wouldn't drive well. Crap!

After getting off the phone, I gather my wits and license and go exchange information with the girl who hit me. That goes uneventfully, and after about 20 minutes a police car shows up. It takes another 20 minutes for the cops to ascertain that no one needs an ambulance and to assess the damage to both cars. They have to push my car from behind to get it out of the center divider and to the side of the road. More talking, and a report is taken. One of the cops didn't think the stories added up, but oh well. Finally, my car gets towed and I'm able to snag a ride from a fellow Derby Doll to practice. I'm shaken and a little stirred.

I'll get the dubious fun of dealing with my insurance company tomorrow. Oh joy. The car might get totalled, as it's almost 12 years old and isn't worth a helluva lot of money. The husband is already car-shopping for me.

I'm going to go curl up in a ball and whimper now.

Annoyed

When I look at my blog on my Avant web browser, I have to scroll down to see the entries. I know it's not just me, as several people have mentioned it. However, when one looks at my blog with Mozilla Firefox, it all looks good.

So if you can't see the entries without scrolling down, then switch to Mozilla Firefox, 'cos I'm no html whiz and can't figure out how to fix my stoopid blog.

Argh

My surgery to get Lulabelle removed is set for Feb. 16. The only other date I could get was Jan. 26, but nooooooooooooo, there's a big ol' derby meeting that I have to attend, or my team gets screwed. I hate it when crap like that happens.

I'm not feeling inspirational, so here's an ugly doodle:

**whimper**

It's cold. Damn cold. Well, cold for LA, at least. And windy. I hate wind more than anything weather-wise.

I'm nursing a hangover that occured when the husband and I managed to meet up with a couple of the TXRD girls who were in town doing additional publicity stuff for the Rollergirls show. We ended up being slightly obnoxious in the hotel lobby with Cha Cha, Witchbaby, Muerta, and Lux. Chola was supposed to be there too, but she managed to over-indulge earlier in the evening and was passed out by the time we got a hold of Cha Cha and met up with the crew. The original plan had been for a few of the Derby Dolls to meet up with the TXRD girls and go to a bar or two. That of course fell through, so Tawdry Tempest was the only other LADD representative for the evening. Oh yeah, and Skateomasochist from the Bay Area was having fun looking eye-to-eye with Witchbaby(both of them are over six feet tall). The bartender and other bar patrons were thoroughly harassed, but I think the bartender liked the abuse.

A lot of strange conversation was going on, as was things like everyone(guys and girls)gathering in the bathroom at one point, as well as Witchbaby flashing the bar. Ah yes, good times. We went to another bar just before last call and got a round, then headed back to the hotel for more abuse-giving at the hotel bar(which was thankfully closed). By 3am the husband indicated that it was time to go, so we went. I shudder to think what could've happened after we left.

I have to get off my tuchus and do more art. Something better than this:

Latest on Lulabelle

Just got a call from Dr. W about Lulabelle.

Luckily, Lulabelle's a benign tumor. However, she needs to come out, as she won't leave on her own accord. So on Tuesday I get to schedule the surgery for her removal. I get to look forward to an overnight stay in the horspital, a week to ten days off from strenuous exercise, and a cool new scar to impress the chicks with. Uh, damn, I'm heterosexual.

I'm kinda breathing a sigh of relief.

No News is Good News?

Still no news on the results of my Lulabelle biopsy. I'm going to call this afternoon after I get back from dim sum. Mmmmmm, dim sum!

This week has been killer in the derby practice department. The coach was having us do drills of falling flat on our faces and then getting up and skating as fast as we could. My arms and legs are about ready to fall off from scrambling around on the ground like an upended crab. Apparently I was getting weak!

I've been having problems sleeping lately. I have a hard time getting to sleep and then feel like I'm hung over the next morning. I hate it when that happens since I've been trying to cut down on both alcohol and caffeine consumption.


Gosh, I really don't have much to say. I'm almost finished with two new toilet seats. Revisions on Chicken Little is on hold for me until February. I need another job as a result. Crap.

Sometimes I just want to run away:

Freaky!

Did everyone see this pic of the mutant one-eyed cat with no nose? Apparently the poor thing died the day after it was born, according to Yahoo! news. Cute in a gruesome way nontheless.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...

Yesterday was eventful for me.

I went to get my lump, Lulabelle, checked out. I went to the UCLA Medical Plaza in Westwood, and was surprised when I managed to actually get where I needed to go with a minimum of hassle and screaming on my part due to traffic, etc.

I meet with the doctor and she checks out Lulabelle. She thinks Lulabelle isn't on my lymph node, but could be a salivary gland gone awry. She also says that I need a biopsy so that they get an idea of what Lulabelle is; cancer is the worst case scenario and since I used to smoke, it's a possibility. I'm not really freaked out by any of this, as it's not shocking news to me.

So they move me into a different examing room and two very nice pathologists, Dr. R and Dr. M, come in, sit me down, and explain to me that they're going to be doing a needle aspiration three times on Lulabelle. There could be discomfort, so they're going to give me a shot to numb the area, as well as spraying topical numbing stuff on the skin. Good idea, I say. Dr. M gives me the numbing stuff, and when that sets up, Dr. R goes in for the first sample. I feel discomfort, but no real pain. Hey, this isn't so bad, I think to myself. Dr. M goes in for sample number two.

That's when things get ugly. Dr. M goes deep with the gathering needle, and manages to hit a nerve in my jaw. Not once, but several times. The pain is bad; achey and sharp at the same time, but there's a special electricity to the pain that adds an extra component of true discomfort and I start squirming around in the chair. "You're doing good." muses Dr. M and keeps digging around behind Lulabelle. He pulls out the needle with hardly a decent-sized sample and starts squirting it onto several slides. I sit with my line of vision looking towards one corner of the room. I notice a weird whirlwind effect of what looks to be uncooked wild rice swirling in around my peripheral vision. I mutter, "I'm getting really light-headed." and WHUMP! I pass out in the chair.

I'm not one for passing out. The only other time I've done it was, go figure, the last time I got a biopsy, which was about 15 years ago. When that happened the docs had smelling salts on hand to snap me back. This time they didn't have that, so surreality time came in.

I remember a loud rumbling, like machinery running. I felt like I was being bent backwards with my feet being pulled down while my midsection was pulled up. There was some weird tugging at my neck in the Lulabelle area, as if I were plugged into an electrical outlet without the electricity. Over and over again my mind screamed, "Where am I? Where am I? WHERE AM I?"

Next thing I knew, I came to when Dr. M put a damp paper towel on my forehead and asks, "Are you OK?" Uhhhhhhhhhh, I think so, I shakily reply. I notice that they don't have any more needles sitting out, so I asked if they were done with the sample-taking. For the moment, Dr. M replies. They have to see if they got decent-sized samples to run the tests with, and they may need to take additional samples to make sure they're good to go. Ugh. They get me a cup of water and I sip away as I recover. I notice that I'm all sweaty, shaky, and the chair I'm sitting in has been reclined back a bit. Hmmmm.

As I came to, I figured out that the loud machinery noise I heard when passed out was the pathologists reclining the chair that I was in so that I don't slump to the floor. They then took the last sample while I was still passed out, hence my feeling that I was plugged into an outlet or something. I haven't drawn the vivid image I have of what my body looked/felt like; I'll do it soon.

I'm left alone while they check out the samples they've drawn. I didn't know if I could go through another biopsy if they didn't get what they needed. After a nerve-racking five minutes Dr. R and Dr. M came back to tell me that they got everything and that I'm good to go. YESSSSS! I sit for a few more minutes and then weakly walk out into the gathering darkness of outside and go home.

So what do I do after that? Most people would take it easy for the rest of the day. Not me. I'm an idiot, so I go to derby practice two hours later. I did alright, except I had to stop a few times when I got dizzy and light-headed. I had the best excuse of the night when I told the biopsy story. I should find out by the end of the week what the test results are.

Here's a close-up of Lulabelle:

Here's a double-whammy of doodling stupidity of me and my lump:


I keep drawing the lump on the wrong side; it's actually on the left side of my neck, as in the upper doodle of the double-whammy of ugliness.

Aaaaand another doodle of me, now that I'm fatter than I should be due to alllll the eating I did in December:


Oh yeah, I caught the second episode of Rollergirls...DAYUM! So much better than the first...I wonder why they didn't start the series off with this one as opposed to last week's. More skating, more focus on the sport, more about the teams...really great to watch!

What's up in the Attic?

This morning I finally got through the mind-numbing phone system at UCLA Medical Plaza and got myself an appointment to see a doctor about Lulabelle the lump. Breathe huge sigh of relief here. The maiming spree is postponed for now.

Yesterday I heard distinct scratching and scurrying noises coming from the attic. Critter noises. What type of critter? By the way they were scratching and scurrying, it sounds like squirrels. There's something cute about the noises they're making. The husband and I discussed what to do. Call an exterminator? Crawl up there ourselves to make sure what's living up there? Wait, not "ourselves"...me. I would have to crawl up there, since the husband won't. Hmmm.

We decided to not call an exterminator right away. I might still crawl up there to see what critters made themselves a home up there. Hopefully they're not vicious and won't take a flying leap at my face. If they're squirrels I wouldn't be too creeped out by them. If they're rats, all sorts of freak-out will happen. I don't want to kill whatever's up there, though. Live traps or something would be much preferable to deal with the new tenants. Though I could catch 'em and use 'em for kitchen utensils:

I hate doctors

Last week I went to my primary care physician to have her look at my fuxxed up knee. I also had her take a gander at a weird lump-thingee that's on my neck, just under my jaw. She said I need to get a biopsy of that sucker ASAP. The specialist she recommends doesn't take insurance. Dammit. So I go to my health insurance website and get a list of some specialists that supposedly take my insurance, fax the list to my doctor, and she called me back with a couple of recommendations.

First choice is a guy at UCLA Medical plaza in Westwood. I've called about four times now and haven't been able to get through. First time I called was last week; the office was closed for the holiday season. I call around 12:30pm today; they're closed for lunch. I call at 3pm today; I manoever through their automated answering system and end up getting disconnected as the phone actually rings to a real person. I call at 3:10pm and get a recording saying that they can't answer the phone right now because I'm calling during a peak hour. WHAT THE FUXX?!?!?!?!??!?!?!

Edit: I just called them yet again. Got through the automated system, the phone rang. And rang. And rang. And rang. Fuxxing UCLA BASTARDS.

Second choice is an extremely old doctor in Santa Monica who the husband went to eight years ago when the husband was involved in a minor accident where he hit the back of a Volvo with his motorcycle and cut his nose open at the start of a July 4 weekend. His regular doctor was out of town, and he tried getting a hold of several other specialists and was S.O.L. due to the holiday weekend. Eventually the husband found this doctor who is seriously ancient, but he patched the husband up pretty good. I call and find out the person who takes appointments isn't there on Wednesdays. ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If I wasn't broke, I'd just go to the specialist that my doctor recommends. I seriously can't afford it, and my frustration level with trying to get this weird lumpy-thing taken care of is making me want to strangle people.

So unless you know of a good ear, nose and throat specialist on the Westside who isn't a fuxxing pain to get in contact with, you might want to stay away from me. I'm as angry as this baby:

Rain, rain, and more rain...

For the first time in about seven years, we didn't go on a New Year's Day motorcycle ride. Kinda a bummer, except that the rain would've made it a whole lotta non-fun. So we went to the husband's parents' house and ate a ridiculous amount of latkes for Hannukkah instead. Mmmmm, latkes!

I usually don't do New Year's resolutions. This year I kinda resolve to lose the weight I've gained in the past month. 7 pounds...ugh! I see a steady diet of Boca burgers in my immediate future.

Tonight is the Rollergirls show premiere. The reviews have been very mixed, but I'm looking forward to it.

Now I'm going to watch the rain. I love watching rain...it makes me envision that I'm in a different place than LA.