Oy vey. Facebook, Facebook, Facebook. You are Meme City, and you know how much I [don't] like memes. It is an endless.stream.of.annoying.crap*. I've made it so I don't see the stupid game updates, like "Sandy (or whoever) has just found THREE MAGIC EGGS in their (sic)** backyard in Farmville!" **How much do I hate those mismatched pronouns? Sandy/their?????? FFS.
Over and over and over again.
Also, the ads: Nurses are In Desperate Need! Teachers are in Serious Need!
Of what? I have wondered time and time again.
"We desperately need 50-year-olds to test the new iPad, a pair of Uggs, an orange Macbook (they must have mined info that my favorite color is orange). Sometimes they REALLY show how smart they are by saying, "We need 50-year-old Vermonters to test" ... blah blah. WOW! That's ME! I should jump right ON this! (This is a come-on to get you to sign up for some service.) The best one yet is "Free Food For Seniors! 50-year-old Vermonters, sign up to win free groceries."
Now I'm a senior.
I repeat, oy vey! I can't deal with it! But Facebook has its good points, I have come to acknowledge. I had to search hard for them, but they're there. Perhaps. Not sure. Maybe.
I must admit, the latest meme in there (or is this "so yesterday"?) had me a bit interested: Go to urbandictionary.com, type your first name into the search field, and post the first result in your status.
I saw all these ones, like "a name meaning beautiful goddess," blah blah.
A bodacious beauty with full lips, luscious locks and dark mysterious eyes. Most Teresas are sensitive, caring listeners, but they also have their mischievous, fun-loving sides. A great girl that any one would be lucky to have as a friend or special someone.
In Ireland, this is a name given to someone that makes you laugh alot. "I was laughing all day because of a Victoria I know."
Norma: A blonde moment; including, but not limited to: stating the obvious, trying to relate things that can't be related, pretending to understand when there is obviously no understanding, not understanding in general, etc..If u dont understand this its a Norma. Basically, anytime one says something stupid.
As I'm typing this, I've got a raging headache. (I don't think it's related to the meme, but maybe.)
The cleaning lady is here, and she usually incites Mr. Jefferies to too much excited barking. But this morning, I said one word to him: "Enough!" and bam. No more barking. (It's been an hour so far.) Some of you have said this, and I think you're right -- I hope I only use my power for good. (And Mr. Jefferies is one helluva dog.)
Headache notwithstanding, I must go do some more organizing while I have someone here to help move furniture and stuff.
Joan just sent me a notice about the indoor farmer's market upcoming at Fletcher Allen, and the part I can't get over is they even allow payroll deductions as a form of payment. Now that's progressive! Of course, it doesn't affect me, because I'm not an employee of anyone except Uncle Sam, so my "payroll deductions" would be from my own checkbook. But given the fact that I sometimes can't even get a shop in New York City to take a credit card, I think it's pretty cool.
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA! Some people asked if that photo the other day was my entire stash. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA. Hell no. This is but the teeniest-tiniest appetizer. Just something to remind me that I am a knitter. Or am I? At last reckoning, I believe I have somewhere between 15 and 20 sweaters' worth, plus lots of random other stuff. At my present rate of knitting, it has definitely reached SABLE status -- Stash Amassed Beyond Life Expectancy.
I have been allergic to aspirin and ibuprofen for 25 years, since just after Abigail's birth. I was able to take them before my pregnancy for her, but I suffered three occasions of anaphylactic shock symptoms since that time -- two from aspirin and one from ibuprofen. Not fun, and the time I figured I was closest to actual death (this is debatable, because this is a lot like being "a little pregnant," I suppose) I was in England at a hospital with no ID on me and had been dropped off there by a cab driver in the middle of the night after a shift at work. My final thought just as two nurses caught me by the elbows before I hit the floor was, "I'm in a foreign country without ID, and nobody knows who I am or who to contact when I die." Thankfully, that did not occur. The young doctor there saved my life.
So you can imagine I have been fearful of NSAIDs since that time.
But there was a lecture given by a cardiologist in one of Ally's classes last year during which the doctor said that aspirin allergy can be "cured." I seriously thought she was full of shit. But I kept thinking about it and thinking about it, and there really are times, especially when I'm suffering this tendinitis that seems to be plaguing me more and more often, when I sure would love to be able to take an anti-inflammatory. So one day I made sure that David was home, I told him what I was going to do, and that the car had gas in it (we live about 4 minutes' drive, maybe less, from the hospital). I took a baby aspirin.
And I followed the protocol mentioned by above said cardiologist, and pushed the amount a little higher each day, and over time I have now taken the equivalent of two adult aspirin tablets at a time without a reaction. I've done it a few times now, so I assume I'm safe.
It has been several months now, and I've taken aspirin on and off during that time.
And so last week I really wanted to try the same thing with Advil. Long story short, I am still a little bit iffy on the Advil. I sometimes get a little red and a tiny bit of itch in my throat, and I know I still have to be very careful, but I have been taking some Advil on occasion, when I know that David is home in case I need to get medical attention fast, and it's been OK.
So I'm kind of cautiously happy about that. The tendinitis seems like it just will not go away without an anti-inflammatory, and I'm very glad that I can now take something.
LOST's new season started last night. I'm LOST.