Wednesday, November 30, 2005

And people wonder why I don't allow peanut butter in my home.

Girl dies after boy's peanut kiss

Associated Press
Published November 29, 2005

SAGUENAY, Quebec -- A 15-year-old girl with a peanut allergy died after kissing her boyfriend, who had just eaten a peanut butter snack, hospital officials said Monday.

Christina Desforges died in a Quebec hospital Wednesday after doctors were unable to treat her allergic reaction to the kiss that occurred the previous weekend.

Desforges, who lived in Saguenay, about 155 miles north of Quebec City, almost immediately was given a shot of adrenaline, a standard tool for treating the anaphylactic shock brought on by a peanut allergy, officials said.

An autopsy was being performed.

The symptoms of peanut allergy can include hives, plunging blood pressure and swelling of the face and throat, which can block breathing.

Peanut allergies have been rising in recent decades. The reason remains unclear but one study found that baby creams or lotions with peanut oil may cause children to develop allergies later in life.


When Christian and I were first dating, he ate a PB sandwich and then kissed me, not realizing that food allergies didn't just make one daintily sneeze into a delicate lace hanky. Fortunately, I only got fashionably pouty lips.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

The laws of the universe state that....

despite the fact that only two other people are left in the office on the day before Thanksgiving, both of them will walk by your chair mere seconds after you just couldn't contain that tiny fart any more.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Fuzzy chestnuts of wisdom.

Cousin Stephanie and I went to see Jarhead on Saturday. Another cousin, Aaron, is in the movie, but apparently not recognizable as we couldn't find him despite our combined effort.

It was a good if slightly frustrating movie (too many unanswered questions), but one scene in particular (a shower scene, of course) did provide the answer to at least one oft-asked question, albeit not one I think the film intended to ask: the question of why there is so little male full-frontal nudity in mainstream Hollywood films.

I have no need to see that many dangling testicles in such vivid and, well, enormous detail. Ever. Again. Please.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

That line is busy. Please try your call again later.

Christian and I went to a movie last night with my sister, Tina, and we were chatting about her recent long trip to South Carolina, where she visited a friend she hasn't seen in a while, and Florida, where she apparently went to a psychic. I mean, the point of the trip was not to see the psychic, she was just incendental. But a psychic? Tina???

Anyway, Fred, Tina's boyfriend, has a second home near his family in Florida, and when his sister and mother were visiting, they went to this psychic who, according to Fred's mom and sis, gave them some shockingly accurate information and predictions. Tina, being adventerous, said that she'd like to go, too, and was told to bring photos of those about whom she had questions. She brought a picture of her friend Deb who recently passed away from ovarian cancer, and, as many things have come out in the past few years about my grandfather on my Dad's side of the family, she brought a picture of both my grandfather and my long suffering grandmother, who, according to her children, was an amazing parent and obviously quite a saint for staying with my asshole grandfather and not poisoning his soup.

When the psychic was "reading the pictures" and telling Tina about other people whose pictures she brought, the psychic spoke in the terms of "so and so wants me to tell you," or "so and so says." But, when Tina asked about our grandfather, the psychic only commented on his personal tendencies, like stubbornness and thrift, and didn't have any interesting "messages" from him to relay. This left Tina wondering, and I quote, "does this mean he's roasting in hell and unavailable for comment?"

God, I hope so.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

It hearkens me back to days of yore.

Despite the fact that, as a teen, I never went to any formal dance other than the one I attended with my father (it's not like it sounds), I still fostered a longing for frothy dresses like the ones the bitchy girl tried on in Pretty in Pink. I wanted tulle and ribbons and yards and yards of lace. I remember when a Gunne Sax dress was the height of Spokane couture and the girls with the shimmery white dresses with matching white satin pumps were the envy of all the poor girls whose moms only shopped the sales.

Since those halcyon days, however, I have developed scorn for most formal wear manufacturers. Most gowns are cheaply made with easily torn seams, frail zippers and insufficient lining. Shopping last night for a gown for New Year's Eve was an interesting lesson in "what the hell were these people thinking?" It seems that every dress this year is in the style of the dreaded mermaid tail. Cut on the worst line possible, the dresses accentuated my hips and had too little fabric to suitably cover my bust. And really, on stage, there is nothing more hideous than a dress that looks like a tube that flares out at the knee. Pretty.

Imagine my shock when I saw a glimmer of a dress hidden behind the rack of tried-on clothes that had a fitted bodice with a full skirt and a matching bolero, in the highly coveted brown satin. And I was even more shocked when it was Jessica McClintock, that bastion of 80's prom wear. Huh, I though. Can this be? Can the stronghold of all that is the 80s have a pretty and well-made dress? Of course, they didn't have it even remotely in my size, but when I looked it up online, they had it in the closest approximation of my massive bosom's measurements, but, alas, with no bolero. However, I found a fabulous fabric last night with which to make a jacket, so all I need to do is send a pattern and the fabric to my mom.

That wind you feel whistling past your window? That's me breathing a sigh of relief.

Of course, it might not fit. Gack.

Monday, November 14, 2005

It's not Photoshopped, it just looks that way.

From our fabulous vacation last week:

All of us in the 50th Anniversary Teacup:

The 50th Anniversary Christmas Tree:

Me and me lad in front of the castle (it only looks like a pastiche-we really were there):

One, two, and she's down for the count.

As if coming back from an excellent Disneyland vacation with some kind of illness wasn't bad enough, I found out on Friday that offers went out for a production for which I auditioned in June and not only did I not get the lead, I didn't even get the secondary role which I would have sung the shit out of. I had a good audition, am ideally suited for this rep and know the GD personally. It's totally ridiculous. For Pete's sake, I've been singing this rep for ten years and I kick ass at it. The GD actually applauded and said "bravo" after I sang. Like I posted in an earlier tirade, I just don't run with the right crowd and don't suck up enough. Either that, or I'm too fat.

The only thing I'm trying to remember is that, every time I haven't gotten something I really wanted, something better came along. I'm hoping this is the case this time, as I'm pretty depressed.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Why is the cafeteria trying to kill me?

Today's menu:

©Chicken Barley Clam Chowder ¨Vegetable Gumbo
Swimming Rama-Thai Chicken in Peanut Sauce with Jasmine Rice
¨Rama Tao Hoo-Thai Tofu in Peanut Sauce with Jasmine Rice
©Salmon Fillet with Dill-Cucumber Sauce, Red Quartered Potatoes, Broccoli & Julienne Carrots
Gyro Sandwich Halibut Fish & Chips
Cobb Salad Cheesy Cobb Salad Shrimp Caesar Salad

If you knew me, you'd know why this was funny. What did I ever do to the cafeteria to make it want to bump me off? It's not a beneficiary on my life insurance.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

He really does love his little brother.

Can you tell that Jayden decided what he and his brother, Kyan, should be for Halloween?

Jayden does look awfully proud of his newfound authority:

But is this the face of a criminal?

I think not. Just look at those little squishy cheeks...I just want to bite them!

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

No violence will be necessary at this juncture.

On Monday afternoon, I left work early due to a skull-cracking headache, and came home to this:

The Oxacan pottery from Mexico finally came (YAY!!!), packaged in its own little custom crate. I pried the cross-bars off with a hammer (with many splinters resultant) and opened the box:

to find much packing material, including shredded newspapers, all in Spanish, bubble wrap for later enjoyment:

and the first two (thankfully intact) items on top were the teapot and creamer:

For a minute, I was ramping up to be seriously pissed as I thought we had been sent the wrong items, as I remembered that we bought the blue pot and accessories, but Christian reminded me later that WE wanted the yellow as it reminded HIM of the sun and his Mexican ancestry. He really just wanted his way.

All complete, the set looked spectacular, and slightly Italian, which makes sense, due to the Mediterranean influence from the Spaniards:

I shall now be able to drink tea and remember the terrifyingly aggressive ware hawkers who were like gorillas in that, if you made eye contact with them, they charged. So very much worth the wait.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

I sense a longing for seed....

My bird has bested me, and now she has injured her one and only love (she bruised Fritz's foot, his tiny and precious little footsie) and drew blood from MY NEPHEW, so to the bird behaviorist we go. Yes, I know. Bird behaviorist? Why don't I call a pet psychic while I'm at it? I was already the crazy lady on the block strewn about with snakes and frogs and turtles, but now I'm teetering precariously close to being profiled on Animal Planet's Barking Mad. I used to truly scoff at people who spent hundreds if not thousands of their slave wages on their pets, but now I truly understand. I have been deeply hurt by my bird's rejection of me and my offering of love, and I want to know WHY. Why will she seem to love me one minute and attempt to rip my arm off the next??? Why does she injure Fritz when she obviously adores him? I don't want to come home one day to the sight of carnage, so I shall nip (har) this behavior in the bud.

Progress reports shall be forthcoming after the visit on the 14th.

Fun Fur doesn't kill people...

people who knit with Fun Fur get killed for using it.