cruelty freeze

Now I know that i am loved and revered in the blogosphere b/c i take very few things seriously, and dis almost everything. Thus, the following post may lose me some of my vast readership. It can't be helped. Every so often, a grrrl has to go all preachy on her readers. Read on mcduff:

It is most difficult to be an animal rights supporter, and a cancer patient at the same time. Every 3 weeks I go to a cancer center that does a ridiculous and unnecessary amount of animal testing, and get pumped full of poison tainted further by the pain and blood of innocents. This is the conundrum I live in each day.

So... I try my damndest to minimize the harm I do outside of my every 3 week trysts with the needle and IV tube. I do not eat chicken, pork, or beef, and only eat eggs that are "certified humane" (which doesn't mean they are completely taint free, but it is the best bet).

Further, I do not use products that test on animals. There are some amazing cosmetics and "beauty care" companies (if you are into that sort of euphemistic appellation for things that some of us prefer to call "soap" and "lotion"), that are cruelty free (and there are some you think should be, but ain't ain't aint). PETA provides a great shopping guide to:

companies that don't test on animals
and
companies that do.

If you are, like me, usually pressed for time, here's a short list of good cosmetic/beauty companies that don't test on animals. With companies like Nivea and Prescriptives on this list, why do you need products from the LD50-loving companies?

Minimize your harm on this world. Lest I go all green/vegan/crazy on yo' ass...

(next blog, the trouble with Japan....)

presque normale

Well, i know i have been mostly a downer lately. After this last surgery, and the fever, it seemed as though the weight of every fucked up thing i've been through this past year (and the prior 2 years were no real picnic either), suddenly was too much for me. I just panicked. panicked. and panicked.

Today, however, I will treat you to a look at that exceedingly rare, and yet, not quite extinct, species: the upbeat abigail blog.

I just had my first shower and I look.....almost normal.

You normal types have no idea what this means to me. I have considered myself a freak my entire life, mentally and physically. Mentally, as i've said, i am aspergian, and while growing up, my odd combination of talents and disabilities resulted in my skipping two grades in school, and graduating high school at the age of 15; whilst in the meantime struggling to learn to tie my shoes, tell right from left, and tell time. Of course this resulted in mucho social anxiety and a well stocked menu of other assorted obsessive compulsive type mental illnesses.
Physically, I am a white girl with African American hair. In fact, I used to pass for African American. Believe it or not. Thus i did not fit into any recognizable category, and was bullied about it cruelly and endlessly. Further, I grew 6 inches in one year during high school, and thus wore clothing that was always too short, was too thin, and was constantly bumping into things.

and boobs??? well that's another story. after high school i suddenly developed breasts which i never liked at all because I'd gotten used to not having them (I was a dancer, remember?) Even they seemed abnormal to me.
fast forward...

Enter cancer, and the hockey pucks. Since I had very little vanity about my body (my face is another matter...) I didn't even really process how weird the hockey pucks were. I pretty much ignored them, although i did hide in the bathroom to change tops at the gym.

Now this. I took a look. My god. I look (again almost) like a normal woman.

In the scheme of things, this matters not a whit. But, I'm actually glad i did this surgery. wow. THAT's a novel emotion...

more merde

Well I may be being a whiney cry baby, but, since friday, when i had the surgery, I've gotten a fever, had the heating go out in my apartment, and, when i conscientiously checked in to my work phone, found a message from the office torquemada, wanting me to call him back on some job crappily done. I HATE my job. In fact, the word "hate" in the previous sentence should be red hot and dripping with toxins. I think my job is killing me.

So now i sit in a freezing apartment, because we had to open the windows due to the nasty gas smell from the blown heater, and, beside me sits a pile of work that i have to get done, which will probably also be below standards, and result in more torquemada calls, and all for what? I have to find a new job. I posted my resume yesterday on some of the lawyer sites. Since I can do little else, i guess I should just start looking now. I know a new lawyer job is probably and "out of the frying pan into the fire" thing, but, well, at this point I'm feeling kinda impulsive. I'd really like to get a non-law job, but don't really wanna go back to school, which I'd have to do for anything as lucrative as law. I mean, I like school, but I'd have to get another free ride, that's the only way i could justify it. And, what am i suited for? I mean, I know i am totally unsuited for an office job. Non office jobs tend to be either hard on the body or not very lucrative. I have no passions anymore, except for animals, and one PAYS to rescue/work with animals, one doesn't get paid, unless one is a vet.

Well, perhaps my 4.5 readers could offer me some suggestions. Given that I'm not young, not pretty, not a people person, and not likely to become one, absolutely not an office person or 9-5er, smart in an aspergian way and heavily autonomous, what do you suggest i do? (given the above description, about the only avenue open to me is "famous recluse"... how does one get paid for that? can ya help me out here?)

trade ya

surgery done!

It was short and early. I had to be there at 7am, which was, to my mind, at least as bad as scalpels slicing my flesh. They knocked me out again, despite the fact that I was a bit curious as to what local anaesthesia would be like, or, that thing called "twilight sleep" which sounds so interesting. But, curious as I am, I do not want to experience the vast varieties of anesthesia to the point where I would undergo many more surgeries just to sample them. curiosity and the cat, you know. (did you know that the incas used anesthesia?)

Anyway, after last time, when i was pampered and catered to most shamelessly for 2 days, i was a bit miffed that, right out of the recovery room, i was given my clothes and a page of instructions, and sent out into the cold cold world on wobbly legs and one small paper cup of apple juice. However, i am being cared for at home by, as the Ex puts it, legions of grim felines arrayed head to toe. These felines are, in fact, monitoring me closely, even abigail, who in general, retains her feral standoffishness as a point of pride.

The BF is also doing his part, foraging in the wilderness for foodstuffs and prescribed drugs with nothing but a bit of plastic in his gloved hands.

Oh and the boobs? well all i can tell right now is that they are softer, smaller and less protruberant than the expanders. woo hoo!

and on the subject of boobs, I have also to say, poor Anna Nicole. I'm not kidding either. People diss her for being ditzy and for marrying for money, but, those two things are kinda mutually exclusive no? And, neither one is so awful. Who are we to cast stones? She gave the old guy 14 months of happiness, and, if not, she paid for any transgressions with a lot of pain.

And, tops in my book (oh sorry, no pun intended and all that...), she helped animals. Thus allying herself on the right side of things in my opinion...

puck exchange

Friday is my exchange surgery. The day when the hockey pucks get swapped for something more saline. Actually, saline. Instead of rocks, I will be salt water. There's some kind of pun in there, having to do with rocks and the deep blue sea, but i am not equipped to figure it out.

at any rate, i will feel more anatomically correct at the gym.

oh, and the hair is growing back. And, it seems to be darkening....i hope