November Thunder & Fatt Cats

It's unusually warm this November.  I'm told because of El Nino.  We're under a tornado watch and there's distant thunder happening right now as the 60mph gusts and the thunder storm we know are coming blow in.  It's unsettling.  I'm talking about the weather because everything else seems so 'regular' that I don't have much to say. But now that I sat still and looked off into the lower left distance for a minute, I remembered that I wanted to say something about the lovely chicken salad sandwich I had at the Fatt Cat Cafe Rockton, IL yesterday.  It was on a very buttery croissant roll and it had fruit in it.  I ate the entire thing and the whole cup of soup they brought with it. I wanted to eat more, they have desserts and that was the whole reason I went, but there just wasn't room.   They had a bread pudding.  I swore I'd come back later in the week for coffee and bread pudding.

Frosty Grass

Toast is what gets me out of bed in the mornings and trying to quit toast was a total mistake.  I'm sorry toast.

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Being in love makes every song about you.

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If RuPaul can make this person look like that, then none of us should worry about how pretty we are on the outside again - work on the insides.

***

Here's a thing I made recently that I like...



Here's some more things I made on Instagram www.instagram.com/jenny1396

Madness

In America there are 112.6 guns per 100 people.

At 11:30am today, someone was shot on middle school grounds in my city.  The injured kid was then pulled into the school and a lock down ensued.  My kindergartner has practiced a hard lock-down more times than a tornado drill. I remember three kids from my own childhood had gun 'accidents', more than anyone hurt playing with matches, talking to strangers, or experimenting with drugs.

Getting Ready for Halloween!

I stubbed my toe three times today.  The same toe.  And it's not even like my toe grew and I don't know how to use it all of a sudden.  It's still a regular toe, it just hurts now.

***

I've been posting some art and stuff to Instagram.

***

I cleaned out the front hallway closet and the entry way to make way for winter junk.  Spent a lot of time matching gloves and emptying the hall bench of hats.  I don't know why I have 28 baseball hats, I've never bought a one (with the exception of the Superman one I bought for Jack at Metropolis.) Maybe they're like TV's or Stephen King books, they just appear.  If you don't have one, someone will incredulously insist you take one from them, there are three of them on the curb right now a block from here you can walk down there and get one.

***

We're having guests this weekend and I suddenly feel like we don't have any guest pillows in the house.  I need someone to incredulously thrust some wayward new pillows into my possession. Do people still put the guests towels out? Is it possible for people with children to even have nice towels? I'm forgoing the nice towels and spending the money on Mrs. Fischer's local potato chips and booze instead.  That's more like the kind bed and breakfast I'd run.  You get crappy towels but we make a good martini and then you no longer care about the scrabbly terry-cloth parts hanging down past your knees after you get out of the shower. We're all that and a bag o chips!

Ra Paulette Humble Sculptor

I'm watching this video make the rounds on Facebook today, in which a self taught sculptor is carving caves out of sandstone in New Mexico with his hand tools. The man's art is amazing.  The reporter makes sure to tell viewers he only makes $12.00/hour and his custom livable art homes sell for a million dollars.

Why?

What do we have against artists making a living?

Rollin' On The River

I've been skating the bike-path almost every day it doesn't rain and even once when it did.  It's 4.5 miles-ish and it's taking me about a half hour.  I enjoy looking at the river and seeing how the waves are.  Some mornings it seems to barely move, it's all reflective and glassy.  Other days there are waves and I know going into the wind is going to be difficult.  It'll feel like I'm a giant kite battling the wind with my legs and I'll hear my heart beating in my ears on those days.  I'm enjoying seeing the sames sorts of people each day.  There's the regular runners with workout gear and headphones moving on down the road.  There are the walkers in business attire and tennis shoes on lunch/break gabbing with each other in pairs and threes.  There are the new mom's looking frazzled strollering and pulling and adjusting their clothes uncomfortably.  There's a dog who always barks at my skates and at the other end of the leash a pet owner who looks surprised by the outburst. There are the fishermen/women sitting in folding chairs and pop-up tent shades along the banks, they smoke and have some sort of game their listening to and a five gallon bucket for the catch of the day. There is usually a biker looking seriously stoic under a helmet going by in a gust.  Then there's me, wearing all of my derby pads because if I fail to jump or dodge an erratic goose and I it takes me out, it'd be a long sore embarrassing walk home covered in scrapes and goose feathers.  I'm swish swishing along red faced, sweating and listening to Proud Mary, the Tina version of course.

Links!

Cause I'm too lazy to write something today:

http://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2015/10/the-odds-that-a-panel-would-randomly-be-all-men-are-astronomical/411505/

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marion-franck/what-you-need-to-know-about-6-foot-trick-or-treaters_b_6030982.html?ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000037

http://www.digitalartsonline.co.uk/news/illustration/british-library-offers-over-1-million-free-vintage-images-for-download/?utm_content=buffer93755&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook.com&utm_campaign=buffer

http://the-toast.net/2015/10/20/code-words-for-spinster-throughout-history/

It Could Get Grizzly

I have a really hard time not poking the bear. Especially when I'm right, even though I know the bear bites and has crazy huge teeth.  It's a life lesson that is hard to adhere to.  Sometimes it is important to stand up and fight and sometimes it doesn't really matter to anyone but me, but every time feels like the most important time to me. I lie awake at night obsessing about the perfect stick I could use for poking the bear and even wondering how small of a stick I can get away with before the bear notices me back there jabbing away.  Or what will the bear do if I accidentally drop the stick and it rolls down the hill and bounces off a rock flipping through the air landing pointy side down on it's butt?! I take specific delight in watching other people poke the same bear and then getting eaten, followed by congratulating myself for not picking up the trivial-stick at all.  What the hell?!






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make animated gifs like this at MakeaGif

Lookout! I'm Off My Meds - a Synthroid Saga aka I am not a number, I am a person.

DISCLAIMER: This is seriously long and probably boring to you unless you've been on this particular roller coaster and want to read someone else's story. It's like a birth story that way, you don't really care about until you care about it and then you want to read everything you can about such things.

***

I was on a very low dose of Synthroid while I was pregnant. My pregnancy was high risk.  I was over 35, had miscarried twice and was on a bunch of hormones and the like to keep things on track.  The generic made me itch, and Synthroid didn't- so I was on it. I went off about a month after the baby was born.

Two years later my doc found a goiter and put me back on it. She said if I took the Synthroid the goiter wouldn't grow and turn into cancer and I'd have more energy, probably loose weight, my dry skin would get better (I am a lotion addict) and my life wouldn't feel stretched so thin all the time.  Those seemed like wonderful things to fix with an easy pill, plus no-cancer! So I set my alarm at 4am every day and woke from a dead sleep to a tiny round tablet then back to dreamland while the Synthroid flowed through my body re-regulating everything.  Finding the right dosage was a slow dance of giving blood every three months and readjusting.

Sure enough I had a burst of energy at first and seemed super happy, then I gained weight and got tired.  I told the doc and she ordered labs and upped the dosage, wash, rinse, replete until I had gone from the very lowest dosage to the very averagest of dosages.   Over the next two years each time I went in I'd report another symptom or two; I was running/skating 15 miles a week and couldn't loose any weight, I had super dry skin, maybe brain fog, maybe irritability, maybe nervouse like I forgot something, crying at the drop of a sappy commercial, joint pain in my feet. Each time I was met with (in hindsight) a dismissive response;

"Your hypothyroidism will cause that, we'll adjust the dosage and see if we can get you on the right track."

"Well, you are in your 40s now and loosing weight is tougher. Here's an app you should use and track everything you eat"

"You should start walking instead of running, you have to let plantar fasciitis rest and heal."

"Take biotin for thinning hair and weak nails."

The symptoms continued to pile on and worsen, me and the doc talked about life stress - Yes, I was in the middle of negotiating a divorce and raising two kids, buying a house, starting a business and adjusting to a new city. Stress can be horrible on a body. Applied at length, it can cause your body to attack it's own thyroid.  This seemed to make sense to me.  Instead of upping the dosage again I decided to try to de-stress.  I started deep breathing, I put my business on the back burner, I made lists of things that are relaxing, I took note of when my mind was quiet.  I let things go, dishes pile up, laundry go unfolded.

The brain fog, the over emotional reactions, the weight gain were all still there.  The ritual offering of blood to The Lab continued - and the thing that made me absolutely panic, my hair, wasn't really recovering.  Trying to grow my bangs out was taking a year not just a few months.

I doubled down on de-stressing, made an appointment with an endocrinologist (six weeks out) and gave more blood to the lab.  This is when my insurance changed and I had to prove I was allergic to the generic.  So I switched to Levothyroxine and itched all over my whole body, then I switched to Levoxyl and itched again - even inside my ears!  I started paying for Synthroid out of pocket switching pharmacies every month to get the free $25.00 for switching. $50.00 every month was getting expensive.  I finally saw the specialist and she was alarmed to find the goiter had grown.  A lot. I scheduled an ultrasound and another biopsy.  I spent two weeks steeped in extra stress about cancer and extra stress about the extra stress.  I read everything on the internet about the four types of thyroid cancer and made a list of questions for each specialist. It was a mess of insurance red tape, worry, and bad sleep.

The biopsy was benign. Thankfully.

My specialist ordered the highest dose of Synthroid I'd ever taken and more labs, then an odd thing happened - the name brand also made me itch. It made my gums itch.  I'm sure I looked like a tweaker, scratching and twitching and brushing my teeth as often as I could - drinking water non-stop. The Endo wondered if I was allergic to the die they put in the higher dosage and we talked about maybe taking two pills of a lower dosage... then it occurred to me...

WHY AM I TAKING THIS?

Originally I'd never had a single symptom of hypothyroidism.  I was put on it to stop the goiter from growing and it grew anyway.

 WHY AM I TAKING THIS?

My family full of thin, hyper, stoic, carb eating Italians, who have always had a thick head of black hair far into their 80s had never had any hormone issues.  I  was sitting in a specialist's office pudgy, tired, irritable about having given up toast, crying that my hair was falling out, growing a goiter and trying to figure out why my body wouldn't cooperate with these meds.

I asked the specialist the single most important thing I've said in the last month...

"What if I didn't take anything?"

I've been off for 3 1/2 weeks.  I have to go get labs next week and of course we're monitoring the dreaded-goiter situation. She warned that I may get tired or gain weight and that if my symptoms got really bad we could try Armour Thyroid tablets (A natural med made from pigs and less reliable in the dosage measurements and so less prescribed.)  For the first few days I monitored everything including my pulse. I felt confident in giving it a try and monitoring how I felt.


How I feel after 25 days:

-I feel freaking great.
-Of course I stopped itching.
-I have energy.
-My pulse and blood pressure are way down.
-I'm more patient.
-I'm making less lists.
-I can handle multi-tasking again with lots of background noise.
-My joint pain is gone.
-Having a hard time sitting still (hyper just like old times.)
-Jumpy legs at night again.
-No sneezing hay-fever or snotty head.
-I look forward to skating/running/walking - its fun!


and some unexpected things happened:

-I stopped using my inhaler for the asthma I was diagnosed with about two years ago (the same time I started thyroid therapy.)
-I have more spit in my mouth than I ever remember having - like I could spit on the ground RIGHT NOW an not even have to save it up for a minute first!
-I find things funner and funnier than I did before.  The same old corny jokes and dancy antics we have around the house are super entertaining to me again.
-I'm not starving for toast all the time.
-My hands and feet are cold again - all the time.
-My skin cleared up and seems more elastic
-My face seems less puffy.


Some weirdo things that maybe happened - not sure yet:

-I'm wearing silicon contacts today - I thought I'd give them a try and see if they make my eyes itch as badly as they did last summer (I already paid for a month and couldn't use them because of the itching) and they seem just fine.
-I feel less like I'm hanging around above my body with a detached head as an annoyed observer and more like I'm in my body participating in life.
-Whole bits of vocabulary are making their way back into my brain.
-I'm finding life interesting again.  Like I suddenly wish I had a good book to read, I am painting more and HELLO BLOG!


When I was first diagnosed I spent hours reading about Hashimoto's and pregnancy and cancers.  I devoured everything I could find and especially liked first hand accounts and blog entries that talked about symptoms and dosages. This is my account.  Most of the symptoms I listed as better are things that would be better after alleviating a hypothroid situation.  Not the opposite.  However, it seems taking a dosage not really needed was actually causing my thyroid to under-perform making my symptoms even worse and my number to progressively worsen. Continually upping the dosage was creating a circular problem. I don't really know for sure - I could still be wrong, I have a few more days of 'detox' before I see if I crash into bed an exhausted mess, but right now that seems very unlikely.  

What I gathered from years of reading, is that this isn't an exact science yet - it can take years of adjusting to get people where they need to be and most of the symptoms are also symptoms of life and natural aging and stress.  They aren't imaginary symptoms however they aren't easily measured. It can also be a lot of pressure for a doctor to look at numbers in a lab test that seem askew and not want to make those numbers fit into a box with an easy pill.  Doctors need to listen to how a patient feels and see beyond the symptoms - see the forest for the trees and patients need to be their own advocates reading everything they can and trusting that subtle changes aren't in their heads.  I'm not saying stop meds, I'm saying your symptoms are real and there are many options and you have to keep reading and charting and working until you find what is right. Don't be reduced to a number.

Standard Momming 101

I got barfed on. At one in the morning I put a beach towel over the tiny spot that hit the sheet and went back to sleep.  Every time the kid rolled over or breathed different, I woke up and asked him if he needed to barf again.  He didn't but by 5am my tough little guy who normally rubs dirt in a wound and keeps running, was wincing with belly pains and I could feel the fever radiating off his back. So I warmed up the car and we went to the doc.  The nurse got us into a room right away because all the usual trouble makers one finds in a waiting room are still sleeping at 6am on a Saturday, leaving us lone writhing wolves, panting and half crying, to usher into an even smaller room and out of clothes (well, I got to keep mine on.) About an hour of crappy cable TV later a doctor entered in time to witness the very last belly pain of the morning and confirm I would be cancelling all plans for the day in lieu of getting pee on my hand, helping the nurse coax very good tasting medicine into a body, and the longest game of 'Eye spy with my little eye something blue that you're wearing' ever played.  Another hour, a can of apple juice, an anti-nausea pill, a Motrin, and a Popsicle went by. The kid slept and I read the entire internet on my tiny screen while sipping the bitterest burnt hazelnut coffee in Illinois. Then we went home with instructions for Acetaminophen and rest (neither for me, I'm sure.)

Did you know they have anti-nausea pills? I just always thought you had to ride it out and barf all the barfs you could barf - like a helpless shrimp, squirming on the cold tile floor of the bathroom.

Link telling you about all the things you probably don't have 

Autumn Again

It's Autumn again and the leaves are crunchy in the yard.  The giant spider web is up on the porch and the kids are planning and plotting costumes.  I'm doing the giant purge of things as the flip flops and shorts that will fit next year get packed up and the sweaters come out.  Likely this weekend I'll stand on a small ladder and carefully balance seven giant wooden storm windows into place and seal up the house for the winter, but I like to seal it up first smelling clean.  So I've begun the moving of couches to rid the living room of old Cheeto smell.  Next I'll slather all the woodwork in lemon oil and make it all slippery to the eye.

***

My ten year Blogoversary came and went. I don't know what to say about ten years.  But I keep going.  Markedly less because of my recent personal life changes.  I just didn't feel like I wanted to share anything during my divorce process.  There was plenty to say, but I spoke it out into the air where it would dissipate. This is the place for some permanence. (Unless of course the Internets implode and the Robots take over Earth and erase all previous evidence of human kind and my ten years of droning on about Cheeto crumbs and unmatched socks gets blinked out of existence, or if Blogger gets phased out by Google... whichever comes first.)

***

I'm soo out of style I can't care. It's only become apparent to me because I have a middle schooler in the house and she keeps getting taller and so I have to make trips out into the world and spend money on clothing in stores where I could also be buying flouncy sweaters with extra yards of fabric knitted in the front ready to billow out like a lovely fuzzy jellyfish if I choose to spin, arms outstretched to the world whilst autumn leaves fall all around my pumpkin-spiced knit knee-high socks barely peaking out of my slightly worn leather boots fashioned in which the fit forces me to continuously stand with my toes coyly pointing towards each other.  While this bohemian chic seems like something made just for me all flowey and cozy and comfortable and quirky, turns out I like jeans and a hoodie paired with tennis shoes and I like standing with my feet planted firmly under me and my hands on my hips like Wonder Woman.  It's efficient and also I am ready at any time for a child to fling themselves at me, or to run after a ball before it hits the street, and to shove my pockets full of phones and water bottles and stretchy gloves.  There's no catching a kid falling out of a treehouse in that flouncy sweater - we'll both be tangled in a boho nightmare of woolly yarn and leather buckles and choke to death in a snarling gypsy scarf heap.


***

My Gentleman Friend is taking me to see The Rocky Horror Play on Friday night.  I've never seen the movie or the play.  When I told our friend who is in the production this, they rubbed their hands together called me a virgin while cackling with anticipation.  I'm slightly nervous about this whole thing now... I feel like I am about to be the only person in the front row without a rain poncho while Gallager gets his Sledgeomatic out - only I've seen enough Rocky Horror pop-culture snippets to know the proverbial Sledgomatic could involve lingerie and or dancing.... or toast and I looooove toast. So it might even out.

Jack Says

"These Toys are Eat Soap Separately"
"I'm drawing skella-bones, they protect your heart"
"when you twist things beginst each other the get mixed up"
"EMERGENCY! Cold bread! Cold bread"

Children, Musicians, Hippies, Artists & Poets at Willow Creek

I painted things when my little ones were coaxed to the creek to catch craw-daddies and get mud behind their ears.  I had the sun on the back of my neck when I stretched it looking over the rise of the little road to see the corn reaching up from the glen with golden fingers into the August sky.  I rested my paintbrush in the dirt when my son ran back to camp with a tiny dead fish in his water wrinkled fingers.  He asked me to cook it for him. When I told him it was too small to cook and made him throw it back into the creek I saw him steal a taste.  He licked it's white belly and then threw it overhand into the clear water where I'm sure it settled to the bottom and found it's way into the bellies of the craw-dads.  All the while behind me, my daughter changed from her soaking wet mud-shoes into my dry sandals and was charmed away to another campfire by intriguing musical instruments. 

On Self-Sufficiency

I asked the kids to get themselves ready to run a few errands with me today.  A mere three hours later, my eldest had taken a full shower, was coiffed and ready to go.  My youngest was also dressed and ready making sure to wear his plastic fake monster teeth, an inside out long sleeve hoodie he's outgrown with the hood up, matching blue socks under flip flops, and plaid shorts.  Great job kids, thanks for getting yourselves ready. Yes, we went into the store like this, luckily he tired of the teeth.

"This Is My Ninjit-Suit"

I took the kids to see the TMNT movie in the park downtown last Friday.  To the disappointment of the people in the lawn chairs behind us, Jack rolled, kicked, ran and did somersaults for 90 minutes. I'm not even sure he actually saw any of the movie.

Thick Days

These are the thick days of mid July filled with humid sunscreen and stinging bug spray.  Every cool pool of water has tiny feet begging to sneak in, though the well worn swim suits, sun faded, stretched from chlorine and slightly grayed on the underside from lake mud are at home on the floor of the front hallway.  Left over fireworks and grilled beer soaked meats waft through the neighborhood replacing the tiger lilies and lilacs sweet redolence. There is barely time for the free waterpark ticket, the theme park coupon, the ten hour air conditioned sleep and the last canoe trip.  Back to school supplies loom in frigid grocery store aisles.

sky 2

sky

My Kid Sings

Link Storm Saturday

Saturday morning, it was overcast and beautiful for sitting at Sinnissippi Rose Gardens to paint watercolor roses with 317 Studio & Gallery.  When the air is thick and humid you can push paint around for a long time before it dries on your paper, it's perfect.  After class I meandered down to Rockford Vintage Market where we sat down over Vintage 501's hand cut french fries and heard Swingbilly RFD playing an earnest rendition of Folsom Prison Blues before stopping by Toad Hall's booth and picking up some superman comics for the kid and a Rockford Cabinet Company T-shirt from Bygone Brand's Booth.  Then we made a run for it through the light rain to the car and over to the Bee's Knees General Store, Yolo's Cupcake Shop, Salvanged by Sonya's & RAD. I ended up my day of local fun at Culture Shock looking to hear King of the Demons play some all ages goodness.

The Best Iced Cream I've Made Yet

Whipped Cream
Milk
Coco powder
Powdered Sugar
Brown sugar
Salt

Sunflower Update

I built a cage, they snuck in under to eat seeds and sproutlings.

Skateboard

Taping Hot-wheels to his toy-box lid.
#JackNeedsaSkateboard

Something At My Sunflower Sprouts

I put them in the dirt and it took three nights for something to come buy and eat them. I'll plant more, I want these flowers this year and last year I gave up too easily.  I'm off the get chicken wire.

My Ten Year Anniversary Is Coming up

Aug 11, 2015 Bombadee's Garden will be ten years old.  Ten years of posts, links, rants, photos, artwork, bad poetry, videos, books, lists, and comments.  I feel like there should be some sort of celebration.  Maybe cake, dancing and a top ten or something...or a bottom ten (haha!) I'll have to think about what such an events warrants.  Maybe I'll finally update my Blogger Profile Picture...

Sonflowers

I tried all last summer to grow giant sunflowers next to the deck.  I wanted the flower faces to be at eye level during midsummer dinners so we could watch the birds fly in and eat the seeds.  But some asshole from the neighborhood wildlife community kept creeping by in the middle of the night and digging up the seeds for a late night snacks. After loosing another row of seeds this spring I planted some in an egg carton in the house.  Every day I put the seedlings outside for a day of sun and then I bring them back in at dusk to keep them safe. They're a few inches high now and I think I have to put them in the dirt or watch them suffer from not enough root room.  I'm going to try to devise a screen or some sort so they don't get bitten off at the base and munched late in the night.  It makes me anxious.  It's scary to send my sprouts out into the backyard...  Imagine when I have to send my actual children out into the world!

The End of Preschool

He's going to be five.  I went to his preschool graduation today where he won an award for being among the top ten kids who've had the most books read to them over the last month.  Jack likes the same books over and over.

He likes:
I Will Not Ever Never Eat a Tomato
In the Night Kitchen
Ahoy Pirate Pete
We're Going on a Bear Hunt
Go Dog Go
Any Curious George
Any Sponge Bob
Roli Poli Oli
No David

I know most of these by heart, so does he.

It was an emotional graduation as it was a very tough year.  Jack will freely tell you he doesn't like school.  When I drop him off the teacher has to peel him off my hip or my leg and tell him he has to stay and he buries his face in his hands and sobs while I try to get out of the room as fast as possible.  It really puts anything I do while he's at school under a big wet cloud.  When I pick him up, he's happy, playing and smiling and runs up ready to go.  I ask him if school was fun and he says yes.  Sometimes I ask why he doesn't like school and he says he just misses me and being home.  I ask him if he played with any one and he always says "I just played by myself."  I know other kids like him and are happy to see him, as I drop him off and pick him up every day and I see their reactions.  The kids even recognize me now as "Jack's mom" - so he is not ignored or disliked, he just doesn't feel he has any pals at school and he doesn't look forward to it. Repeat this day 180 times.  So to see him today, march up and get a medal and wear his square hat and sit with his class was a joy and a relief.

I was relieved that soon I won't have to watch him bury his face in his hands anymore. I was relieved that they won't have to peel him off my leg anymore.  I was proud we made it - he and me. I have a box of Valentines he makes for me at school.  They each have a heart and say "Mom" & "Jack" on them, sometimes "Ella" is in there too. On particularly hard days, he'd make two for me at school.    This awful school year where we read together and worked on a little homework together and were separated fr a few hours each day and we lived.  We made it. He's taller.  He can write my name and his. He can speak better.  He can do his own seat-belt.  He knows the days of the week. He has life experiences that don't have me in them now.

I hope Kindergarten is better. I keep wondering what the drop off routine will be.  Will I have to walk him all the way to class? Will he like it? Will it be worse? Will he find a friend he likes? I have a good deal of anxiety about it.  I know there's nothing that I can do until next fall when we see how it will go. For now we just count down the last ten days of what I thought was the easiest part of a school career, but for Jack (and me) may have been the hardest.

How to Get Away with Everything

"Mom, you're my girl."

I don't know why...

The Addamses

Adult Wednesday Addams was a you tube hit that I liked.  I read today that the Addams Family Estate has sent Melissa Hunter a cease and desist and You Tube pulled all the videos.  Fans immediately re-posted them, so if you google Adult Wednesday Addams, you can still watch a host of these videos.  Some of the comments I read on Facebook regarding the quarrel:

M.N.  "Some people just don't understand publicity.  They wanna hoard their ideas and allow them to collect dust.  Ignorance and stubbornness are a toxic combination, yo.

H.R. "ridiculous... Others have posted season 1 and 2 but this isn't the first person to have their videos pulled for parody."

N.L. "This makes me very angry"

I'm appalled that people feel entitled to other's ideas like this.  I have great respect for the Addams Family and their Estate.  While I adore the Adult Wednesday Addams series, if the Addams Family feels the character is too true to the original version and isn't enough of a parody to be a departure then they are entitled to decide how the character is presented or not.  Perhaps the Addamses would prefer not to be exploited in fan-fiction like the Star Wars Empire or the Super Hero Complex because... well, I'd say they don't even need to give a reason, it's their right to decide.

While I understand once you send art out into the world it's hard to know how people will feel about it and who it will be shared and re-interpreted by, I stand with the cartoonist's family on this one, out of respect, adoration and some semblance of decorum and legality. Though I'd like to see more of the series - I understand why it's been locked down.  We are not entitled to be the voyeurs of Wednesday Addams or any other person in the family, fiction or non, just because we love it.

How Jack Yells It

Jack laying on the floor yelling "Emergency! Emergency COLD BREAD! COLD BREAD!"

grind

I recently almost had a list with everything crossed off of it.  It lasted about four minutes. Living at a break neck speed trying to stay in front of after school activities and homework and the odd jobs I take to make ends meet is aging me in a way I don't like.  I need a vacation, but then who will prepare for the vacation and really it would just feel like the same invigorating schedule in an unfamiliar place making it tougher to complete tasks.  It'd take a very long time to save up for the sort of vacation where people do things for you and bring you drinks while you lay on your back and look past your toes at blue waves crashing into the powder white sandcastles happy sun-screened children build.  Really I'd like to just save up enough to hire someone to come over here and help me get caught up on the day to day junk that piles up, then maybe I'd like to sleep in for two days in a row.  I need a clone or a robot or some extra money.

If you didn't get it the first time - now's your chance.

They went fast last time.  By the end of the summer we were desperately trying to hang onto five for our own bookshelves.  So here you are internets - The Toughskin Rhinoceros Wrangler Company 2015!  get one - or three :)

ipad white screen of death

from http://en.kioskea.net/forum/affich-123951-my-ipod-has-white-screen-of-death

lilk2300 - Latest answer on Jan 19, 2015 02:10AM
"Hello, my ipod has apples white screen of death but when hold select and menu it turns off and it's still white and then it beeps twice i did this exactly 18 times please help me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111"

ccln789 Nov 14, 2009 09:50PM "Hey i just learned how to fix the white screen of death all you do is hold the home button then while still holding down the home button hold volume up button then while still holding those buttons go head and hold the power off button and hold that until you see the apple sign and THIS REALLY WORKS SO TRY IT"

***

Just had to do this - totally worked.

That's how tired I am

I am so tired I fell asleep while wearing an itchy wool sweater, during the Sponge Bob movie, with a theater full of valentine's chocolate filled children, cheering at the very apex of dramatic cartoon crustacean action, nearly spilling the small bag of popcorn I was holding in the dark.

Groundhog

It snowed over the weekend.  The park ranger even sent the Girl scouts home from their camping/ski trip early for fear they'd have to stay until they were plowed out today.   Luckily I was the drop off end of the the carpool and didn't have to go out and get them at the beginning of the storm.  I spent a good deal of time yesterday digging out, but just like cleaning house before the kids are asleep, it just kept coming and by the end of the day I was under another foot mess.  It's hard to believe tulips will start poking up through silvery ice water in just six-weeks. But thus says the groundhog.

Surrealist Poetry by Siri

I sometimes tell my phone to write things down while I'm driving.  It doesn't always hear what I say correctly and I always forget to erase the note. If someone looked in my phone they might assume I keep a bunch of surrealist poetry in there. I present to you 5 lists I have very few clues to. I can tell you I think List #6 is likely a love poem.

List #1
Don't frack me bro

Luna film fest

Blue tape
Sort toys
Grocer

List #2
La vie en rose

When I'm small
Dancing rhinos
Minute man
Of very true

List #3

Ferrymen Antelope

List #4
Hungarian Raspsody

1141 Main
Wireless hifi please

Multivitamins full set of Autobons
Salmon yes, tuna & yellow tail no

List #5
Of Maillach and Sherman
Louis the magician 773822917
Popcorn

List #6
Ella
Jack 

Wednesday
Thomas' heart
Tim Stotz
Gulf Shores
Bikes

Jack Says:

Regarding the tag in the back of his shirt: This shirt has skeeto bites in it.

***

When my stomach was growling: Your body is telling you it's hungry.  Get a bread, I don't want to hear your body anymore.

***

Slow on the Draw

"GRESHAM, Ore. (KOIN 6) — A man practicing his open carry right was robbed of the gun he was openly carrying.

William Coleman III was robbed of his Walter- brand P22 just after 2:00 a.m. October 4 in Gresham by a young man who asked him for it — and flashed his own weapon as persuasion.

Coleman, 21, was talking to his cousin in the 17200 block of NE Glisan St., after purchasing the handgun earlier that day, when a young man asked him for a cigarette, police said.

The man then asked about the gun, pulled a gun from his own waistband and said “”I like your gun. Give it to me.”

Coleman handed over the gun and the man fled on foot.

The suspect is thin a black male, between 19 and 23 years old, clean cut with a small patch of facial hair on his chin, and short black wavy hair.

He is roughly six feet tall, wearing grey sweatpants, a white T-Shirt and flip-flop sandals.

The weapon he used in the robbery was described as a possibly semi-automatic, black gun, Gresham Police said."

***

Sledding

We stopped thirty-eight times to get the snow out of a wrist cuff and drink hot cocoa.

Waiting

I was watching snow fall to the left, swiftly change direction and flit right on the endless breath of wind responsible for the biting chill in my hands.  The old mechanic scurried to and fro past the open door, grabbing potions and oils, tools and rags while I rubbed my hands together trying to warm them.  Boat propellers and trap shooting trophies filled dusty shelves next to a pot of coffee I'm sure hadn't been washed since my last oil change. I spent a long time looking at the tall cardboard tube of Domino Sugar imagining it being grabbed several times a day dispensing into thick cups of burned and sour coffee.  It's letters rubbed off and the dark oil of machinery and human fingers layered into a fine shiny amalgamation across the side.  I recognized my car's engine running in the next room and looked up in time to see the mechanic rushing back and forth again, raising my hopes. It was another thirty minutes of watching the snow agitate through the glass and uselessly rubbing my hands together before I would make my escape.

We Are Not Singing This Year

Photo has nothing to do with story, I just liked it.

I always mean to make a great Christmas post but it doesn't happen.  The season is going so fast with such twists and turns that it's all I can do to keep from getting whiplash much less pausing to carefully write my thoughts on the season.  Just when the Holidays wrap up, it's my eldest's birthday which I always go to extra efforts to observe lest it be overshadowed by the above mentioned festivities.

This year we considered a sledding party until the actual snow came.  It was accompanied by negative temperatures and meaner wind-chill factors.  We opted for a good old fashioned house party.  We are in fact inviting boys to this one.  No biggie, they just happen to be friends that are also boys.  We also are not having cake... well, maybe cup cakes but they're going to be cool NOT cute. We aren't singing any happy birthday songs and mostly we'll just be hanging out and maybe playing some music.  Maybe we'll make a play list, and have some dub step, and maybe Uncle Joe will bring over his laser music light show and a black light and a disco ball, just in case anyone feels like dancing or something or whatever.

By February, I'll be officially ready for a couple chocolate hearts chased with a green beer.

The Zen of Beard Trimming

This is the cover art I was honored to do for C.J.'s book. There's only a week left to order a copy.

Order your copy of this book HERE

“The Zen of Beard Trimming: Stories of Punk Rock, Poverty, and the Search For Peace” the personal memoir memoir of speaker, writer, and activist C.J. Campbell. C.J. wakes up every day with the weight of the world on his shoulders; shoulders held up by a pair of crutches. The book is a journey of trying to navigate a world not built for him as walks through life with Cerebral Palsy questioning everything from Capitalism to the very existence of God. When Campbell is not looking for love with Scandinavian models and a good burrito. He looks to smash the social constructs and apathy by any means necessary. If it means putting his own body on the line by walking 75 miles. This irreverent, brash, and at times heartbreaking memoir also includes a foreword by co-founder of Invisible Children and creative force behind the infamous viral documentary “Kony 2012,” Jason Russell."

childhood idols

Gilligan was a pot head
Vinnie Barbarino is in a cult
Mork committed suicide
Fat Albert is a rapist
The ghost of Jack Tripper is all I have left

In which I also narrate something boring and mundane

My kids are addicted to watching other people narrate playing video games on You Tube.  My ten year old's aspirations aren't pop-singer or movie-starlet but to become a You Tube Vlogger.  My four year old opened his hand knitted Stampy Cat hat Christmas morning and exclaimed "I'm going to wear this ALL DAY!" While I get wearing a hat you love all day the watching of these shows... I just don't get.  I don't watch videos of people narrating drinking beer and playing cards. Though now that I type it I do realize there is a whole series of poker shows with announcers and card by card commentary and a whole industry of sports shows where nonstop barking about the exact actions you are seeing on the screen with your own eyes, is the preferred.  Why don't they just play the game? Why listen to people blab on about their virtual adventures? Why fill the house with an odd niche of voices having one sided conversations with themselves about mining and building and skins and esoteric nerd references that only I am old enough to get?

C.J. Campbell

Have you ever heard a song on the radio, gotten goose bumps and thought... that song is going to be big?

I went to my local story night.  I went by myself.  Just like the first time I went to roller derby, all the people I asked to accompany me backed out or got sick before I went, and I wanted to go so bad - I went by myself.  It was fun.  It's always been a treat to me to put my headphones in and cue up This American Life  to listen to before I clean.  I imagined some of the people would be good and some would be nervous. That was true, but I was not prepared to hear someone's voice and get goosebumps. I did.  This chap told a story that made me laugh, genuinely hard, and think, genuinely deep.  I was happy about having gone.

I went back the next month to hear more people and there was the guy again.  I was sort of excited to hear him tell another story.  I wondered if he was a one hit wonder or if his voice was going to hold and what would come out would give me goosebumps again.  This time he made me cry.  Sitting right there in the middle of the back row, trying to be all inconspicuous and cool, he said things that reached way down into the bottom of my belly and made me want to jump out of my chair and scream "ME! He's talking to me! That's me!" I couldn't wait to see the video later of the story he just told.  A week later I messaged the curator of the space and asked when the video would be up.  He said they had problems shooting and the videos wouldn't make it to the light of day.  I spent time trying to remember the story he told and no matter because it's the voice that does it justice.

There's nothing like watching an artist do what they do well, no matter how many time you re-sing it... you just want the artists' voice. So, I went and heard him tell stories a third time and this time I asked if he wrote them down. I asked him for a card, or a blog, a something. He did write. He has a blog.  He has a book.  That was the beginning of this...

   


I'm helping with this campaign and I am honored to say I'm making the book cover.  As you can see the project is fully funded and then some. So what.  Buy a copy.  It is really excellent art coming out of this desperate place here in the Midwest.  This is the flower that grows in the crack of the sidewalk, the beautiful that grey cement, empty factories and honking cars can't stop.  It's the guy that can make the most hardened middle-aged lady with mascara on, both laugh and cry in the middle of a small crowd of strangers. Go buy it.

***

The Zen of Beard Trimming: Stories of Punk Rock, Poverty, and the Search For Peace by C.J. Campbell

"Like a modern-day Candide, writer C.J. Campbell started his journey to achieve peace in the bosom of a safe environment with a well-meaning adviser to guide him, and like Candide, he journeyed out into a world where everything went wrong, sometimes in hilarious ways, sometimes in excruciatingly heartbreaking ways, but always in entertaining ways. Seven years of his travels are painstakingly detailed in his memoir The Zen of Beard Trimming. Punk rock meets leaving Christian Evangelism meets Scandanavian models meets a mismatched cast of unlikely characters and scenarios in a fearless, brutally honest chronicling of the time-honored search for (meaning, love, peace, an apartment, food, and a damn microphone that works)."

yep

http://www.lunarbaboon.com/comics/miracle.html

Mighty

Some days I feel like I kicked ass.  This day I managed to; get two kids to school and home safe and clean with homework done and snacks/lunches packed, finished an illustration of someone's house, calculated shipping to France, went to the dentist, got two fillings, hit the hardware store, the copy shop and the grocery with a numb face.  Cooked dinner, vacuumed, did a load of laundry all before leading a Girl Scout meeting while simultaneously entertaining a four year old boy at the meeting.  I'm still trying to catch up from when I was sick, so some some days this week have extra things in them, so they look like today but with added phone calls, errands, laundry, coffee and staying up late. Sometimes when people say I should sit down and try a new show on TV or I really should read the book their telling me about I feel like kicking them in the shins.

Human Limits

List of Minor Complaints

1. When your socks fall down inside your boots and bunch up on your feet.
2. Wind-shield wipers that only wipe a few stripes of clean.
3. Empty wiper fluid with salty roads means you have to get out and throw snowballs on your own wind-shield every stop.
4. Chapped lips.
5. Iced car door.
6. Snow in the sleeve.
7. Fogged up glasses

The Day After

I sat up late last night, like too many nights in my life, watching things burn on the television.  Switching between CNN and Fox News and C-Span, tabs open to Twitter, Livestream and Facebook, wondering if the chaos would come to our front door.  I remembered a time when we were at work, with radios on in offices, and televisions on in the break rooms, and loved ones on the phones, watching things crumble and trying to find out if everyone was accounted for.  This is how we are trained to find the truth now.  A press conference, and then we stick news channels in every orifice, and watch the live feed waiting for the anchor to confirm the the flames in front of our eyes.  

In the quiet morning over coffee, I look out to make sure the world is there and sit down to read what headlines were crafted while I dreamed away the smoke. We go on to work and school and sorting socks, the chaos at bay far beyond side-walks that need to be shovelled. We type thoughts out into the communal water cooler of the internet, and eagerly read through the sides of our eyes others' posts, all the while thinking carefully about the world.  We will talk about, how to talk about, how to talk about, how to talk about, why we stayed up late watching things burn, to our children.

***

Michael Whyte  · Rockford, IL · "Playing 'the race card'?" Dude, it's America. The "race card" is always in play. You're talking about a country that only exists because of the genocide of the indigenous people; that only thrived due to the slave labor of what was seen as an inferior race. This isn't ancient history.The Voting Rights Act happened IN MY LIFETIME, not in some distant antiquity. A black president is elected and America pats itself on the back for being able to count votes, pats itself on the back for being "post-racial," while a huge (HUGE!) segment of the white population very publicly loses its f'ing mind...even before the guy takes office. In the meantime, our worthless "liberal media" foments racial divide, the Congress treats the president with less respect than they treat the janitor, but no one is supposed to play "the race card" and we're all supposed to pretend to be be "color blind." What is happening in Ferguson, Missouri isn't about the killing of one young man. It's about what goes on when the cameras are off. It's about what goes on when the TV networks don't have a story to sensationalize. You don't know. You like to think you do, but you don't. That's what's on my mind, Facebook."

Dishes that take Days

Since it got cold I've been turning on the oven/stove more often. The usual banana breads and muffins and brownies are turning out good. I love a great soup, one you can simmer all day. It gives some humidity to the house and anticipation to your belly. Last week I made an unintended huge pot of chicken soup and had too many leftovers and not enough lefteaters. On Monday I got a request for mashed potatoes and suddenly something that hadn't occurred to me in in all my years of cooking and loving soups fell from the heavens and onto our plates.

Mad Gravy

I took left over chicken soup and made it into gravy. 

Some of you just read that and said "duh" and others of you gasped in amazement. I would've been on the gasping side had I just read that elsewhere a week ago.  So, I put potatoes in a pot and a container of soup in a pan.  I added flour and cornstarch a little at a time to the soup and by the time the mashed potatoes  were finished the soup was thick.  It was so good I was mad.  Mad that I had missed the opportunity to make this for the last twenty years but didn't.  Mad that nobody I knew made this. Mad that I couldn't fit more than two plates of it in my belly. 

It seems like all of my favorite foods involve multiple days of cooking and left overs.

Left over chilli = chilli mac, chilli cheese dogs, chilli cheese fries. 

Left over mashed potatoes = potato pancakes, twice baked potatoes, shepherds pie

Stale bread = bread crumbs for everything, bread pudding, great French toast. 

Left over whipped cream = on cereal, in coffee, folded into fruit and yogurt. 

Left over pancakes = jelly rolls, pb&js

Left over Asparagus = fancy omelettes

Left over fried rice = fried rice omelettes

Left over mostaccioli = baked pasta

Left over soup = Mad Gravy, pot pies

We Need to do Better for American Kids

what else is new

ESPN The Magazine Ignores Roller Derby Community by F'n EXpat - 42

*** 

Edit: The original artical posted was the following
ESPN Snubs Roller Derby In Spite Of Overwhelming Fan Vote

Change made after 1st comment below.

Let me Share the Awful.

Last summer I broke my leg.  On the eighth day of having a broken leg I got the flu.  I don't mean lay in bed with body aches flu, I mean jump up and run to the bathroom so your body can turn itself inside out flu. But I had to do that with a broken leg and I wasn't very good at crutches yet and every time I moved my leg fast it hurt. I had it for two days.  Every cell in my body was taxed so hard that on the third day even though I felt better all I could do was lay in bed and have Gatoraide brought to me.  Then, my body hurt from being in bed for so long and I had to flip over every few hours to keep from cramping up into a giant knot of hurt.  Flipping over is hard when you have a broken ankle and no reserves.

That's the whole story.  I got better and my ankle healed and there really isn't any point to this story other than it sucked, a lot and I was sitting here eating toast this morning and thinking "That was awful!" and then I decided to type it out and share the worst out here on the internet, where I will read back one day and agree... yep that was indeed awful. The End.

Rediscovering What's Good

I was trying to describe how loud my house is at any given time in the day to a friend today.  He is young and single.  In my home, about every five minutes someone beckons "Mom!, mom! mom, mom....MOM!" Overlay that with what feels like a continuous soundtrack of Adventure Time or Sponge Bob from the television and whatever You Tube thing is streaming from several personal devices hung from my children's faces and lace it with NPR droning away in the kitchen and the retired neighbour obsessed with leaf blowing and mowing. Throw in the stomping of little feet and laughter and fighting and whining and every five minutes "Mom!, mom! mom, mom....MOM!" and you almost have it.

In the last two days, since the weather cooled down, the kids have rediscovered the forsaken third floor playroom in our home.  Every toy they haven't seen since last spring seems brand new and they're enjoying avoiding the in turn response to "Mom!, mom! mom, mom....MOM!" which is "Did you get your homework done?" "Haven't you watched enough ipad?" and "Who's socks are these?"  Occasionally they sneak down the stairs and into the kitchen for juice boxes and pre-wrapped food to leave on the carpet. (Which reminds me: Ella told me the other day she doesn't like 'crumbly things for breakfast' any more, I have no comment about that I just wanted to note it)

So the last few evenings have been extremely quiet for me.  It's unnerving, having gone from constant noise to just an occasional rumble from the third floor. I feel like I forgot something important.  I keep looking around to see if I left the stove on and walking up to the playroom to peer around the corner at my busy children.  Even now, I have this uninterrupted time to type my thoughts and I keep stopping every few minutes and looking around to see if someone need me to wipe or pour something. I think I'll put the TV on for some noise.

Cue the neighbour's leaf blower.

Correctamundo Kid

Jack liked Halloween because "You can catch some candy and yum it down."

Clueless, Unfunny & Gross

So this comedian I sorta liked tweeted this stuff two days ago about a very nice African-American lady that works on ESPN

Artie Lange @artiequitter · Nov 4

After having 8 illegitimate kids together @CariChampion & I marry at The Knights of Columbus in Linden New Jersey. Prob with that?! F- Off!

Artie Lange @artiequitter · Nov 4

I attempt to whip @CariChampion cuz she disrespected the Jefferson Plantation but she grabs whip & beats me I cum like a fat founding father

Artie Lange @artiequitter · Nov 4

Hey @CariChampion lets me and you get busy!

Pretty offensive right? So people get mad, ESPN says he can no longer go on their network, cue thousands of internet trolls crying about freedom and comedy.  Then the comedian issues this asinine statement:

"I'm about to say a few things I can't believe have to be explained in a rational world. I observed that Cari Champion was a gorgeous lady. I then thought it would be funny to tweet JOKES about that observation. A decision which might be the end of modern comedy. I would rather load trucks for a living then ever apologize to one of these awful PC groups ruining the country. So that's a NO. But if it upset the lady in question that's another story. Let me say to Cari Champion if this hurt u in any way I'm sorry. I'm a comedian. Sometimes I'm funny! For the record my moms disgusted w the tweets. But if I based my humor on my mom I'd be broke.

They're now telling me I can't appear on @Midnight tonight cause of the pressure they're getting from these groups. But who cares. I love the show & it's my living but who cares. These groups have won again. All I care about is Cari Champion. Truly. But I'm sure you'll be ok. You're gorgeous & talented. I hope that didn't offend u. To the PC army. Congrats! U won again! Gluten free cake! I've been asked not to appear on @midnight & uve ruined any chance I had at dating Cari Champion (That was a joke). I'm not racist. I don't hate women. And to u PC groups that did this I wanna be clear. Go FUCK yourselves! Now get back to saving the world. Done. Peace."


I'd like to say: No worries dude, modern comedy will go on without you.

***

Best Holidays

Late October mornings are the hardest.  The days start grinding into gear before the sun is even up.  It's so hard, we decided we should all change the fabric of time, en mass to make it suck slightly less.  I'm for it, always have been. There was a time when that extra hour was a celebrated reprieve of bar time and the bonus magical hour on the dance floor.  It was an hour that appeared out of the sheer will of society and damn if I was going to waste it by not dancing and laughing under party lights and upturned Martini glasses. Making it the same weekend as Halloween was genius, ensuring it as the greatest of Party People's holidays.  Now it is the greatest of People Who Always Need Sleep holidays.

Don't Click Play at Work Mom!

Potty-Mouthed Princesses Drop F-Bombs for Feminism by FCKH8.com from FCKH8.com on Vimeo.

Science Kid

Ella opened her homework folder the other day and I heard her squeal with delight, she said

"Ooooooooooh!  Data compilation!"


That's my girl. She's amazing every day.

Two Birds with Gum-ball Machine Ring

Much like how sugar just seems to accumulate in our house from various well meaning bank-tellers and check-out-clerks we also have a good amount of small toys that just appear.  They come from prizes won at school, pridefully cherished right up until the moment my child gets off the afternoon bus and walks in the house at which time I find the "prize" next to the crumpled worn socks of the day in the front hallway.  They are hastily grabbed in a hard fought scrum of children scrambling for the innards of a pinata at a party. They are begged from the edges of parade floats and given after finishing one's nuggets and fries.  They spontaneously appear in the bottom of my purse and in the floor boards of my car, in the pockets of the children and underneath the couch; these hot wheels and whistles, tiny bottles of bubbles, Frisbees with insurance agents phone numbers on them, squirt guns, packs of just three crayons, maze books, necklaces, temporary tattoos, gum-ball machine rings, rubber lizards, inspirational wrist bands, plastic frogs, tops, fuzzy moustaches and various plastic eggs that crack open to reveal something gooey, sticky and guaranteed to dry into a giant crust of gross on your mother's carpet.

As I find these items I've been throwing them all in one place, along with the missing dice, legos, meeple, marbles and playing cards that will only be important when they are missed.  They go into one giant bowl in my dining room.  Twice this year it's overflowed and I dumped it into a grocery bag with the intention of handing it back to a teacher to give out as prizes again and then having it instead collect dust in the hall closet.  Upon walking past the overflowing bowl again today I realized the most incredible solution!  Halloween. If you get to my house to trick or treat this year, you could get a candy or you could get a little balsa wood plane, or Alvin the Chipmunk on a skateboard. I hope you don't get the goo filled egg.

Morning Alarm

This morning I woke up to PEEP....PEEP..... PEEP! I think the smoke alarm battery is going dead. And I get out of bed slightly and hear it coming from the left of the bed... there's no smoke alarm there, so I sit up wide awake thinking the neighbor's house alarm is going off. I go to the window and tilt my ear and look around furiously, then I hear it coming from the other window... it's really loud now PEEP....PEEP..... PEEP! Standing at the other window it sounds like maybe it could be driving around the neighborhood. I wonder if a small bulldozer is backing up somewhere... I can't really tell where it's coming from... I sit down on the bed and wonder if I should investigate further.  My young child rolls over, it is then I realize... it's his nose whistling while he sleeps.

That Natural Look

It's Halloween and of course I'm looking at a bazillion cool makeups that will end up melting into my contacts by the end of the night causing a dense fog no one should drive in.  I thought I'd try to test a couple out tonight and got the smoky greys and blacks out.  I gently traced the lids with a nice jet black and blended out into grey and then finally layered in a lovely blood red at the end in an attempt to match the red the derby team I'll line coach this weekend will be wearing.  It ended up looking like the coal miner's take your daughter to work day.  Ten minutes of soap in the eye later I started again with liquid liner, drawing the perfect cat eye, followed by another perfect cat eye on the left side.  I stood back and looked at two perfectly non-matching cat eyes. arg. Maybe people will only look at me via profile and nobody will notice. After more soap in the eye, I gave up.  I'm going for good lips.