1 in 110

It happened. The hammer fell.

My sweet, beloved, 5 year old nephew Manny was officially diagnosed with Autism.

Fans of the blog know this was not a surprise: Nephew Talk, Manny, the Busy Busy Saturday Summary, the Saturday Summary and the Electric Mayhem, and Waiting... all give a snapshot of life with Manny and the tides of his disorder.

But now it's official.

After Manny started school his behaviors sparked an immediate response from the teacher and school, as we were afraid would happen. What was worse than that, though, was their complete bungling of the situation. They attributed his behavior to having not gone to preschool or, showing how shallow their observations were, his reluctance to tell his mother that he was misbehaving.

Of all the things my Manny is, he isn't a liar. If only because he has no concept of truth or deception. His mind just doesn't work that way.

So it was hard to accept the school's assessment. With this also came the nagging thought, though, that these people are professionals with advanced degrees working in a wealthy school district so wouldn't they, shouldn't they, know better than us? Maybe we were being too critical? Maybe we just babied him all of these years, assuming he didn't understand things or not asking enough of him? It was a scary thought.

So we trudged on through the weeks, waiting for his appointment with a behavioral specialist to give us the final word. Under-analyzing, over-analyzing, arguing, researching, waiting.

Last week Debra, Manny's mother and my brother Mick's wife, received a report from the head of the school's child study team. She had done her own observation after Debra expressed dissatisfaction with the CST's original report. The new report was 15 pages long and detailed every unusual behavior, every flick of his eyes and flap of his hands. It outlined, clinically, all of...everything.

So there was a flicker of hope that we weren't crazy, but we would have infinitely preferred to have been crazy.

The behavioral specialist gave the final word on Tuesday: Autistic with a severe Auditory Processing Disorder. He needs special education in a one-on-one or small group setting and speech therapy, as his speech is severely affected by his developmental disorder. He is extremely intelligent, but it's hidden behind his condition.

Now we do what we can to help him.

He is not one in a million. He is one in 110. One in 110 children are on the Autism spectrum.

Early signs of Autism

Mystery Diagnosis and Other Medical Issues

Bad news.

Really bad news.

I'm going to have to change my "Endometriosis" tag to "Mystery Diagnosis".

Why? Because I got a phone call from the gynecologist. My old general practitioner's (GP), Dr. J., office sent my most recent blood test results to the GYN, so with those and my ultrasound results he made a decision.

The decision that my problem was not gynecological.

So I guess it's just a coincidence that my pain is synchronized with my cycle. And apparently he doesn't care anymore that I said I think it's endometriosis, and that he agreed that it could be, and that he himself said the only way to tell for sure was surgery. But apparently none of that matters anymore because he had some kind of psychic vision that my problem isn't gynecological.

If it ends up being endometriosis I'm going to make an appointment just to punch him in the face.

I've got an appointment with the new GP, Dr. S, in about two weeks so he's going to get an earful about that. For sure.

--

One of the co-morbid disorders of fibromyalgia that isn't often talked about is AAIFS, or Annoying-Ass Ignorant Family Syndrome. AAIFS is almost never found in the fibromyalgia patient themselves but is actually found in the people surrounding the patient. Variations of AAIFS are AAIFS2 (Annoying-Ass Ignorant Friend Syndrome) and AAIAS or Annoying-Ass Ignorant Acquaintance Syndrome, often found in friends of friends or coworkers of the patient.

Symptoms of AAIFS, AAIFS2 and AAIAS include comments covered in What Not to Say, but also include a general ignorance, often with refusal to comprehend what's being told to them in response to their ignorant-ass comments.

Yesterday I was feeling pretty awful so I took a Vicodin and, for whatever reason, while I was showering an hour or so later I was overcome by weakness, dizziness, and nausea-- I really thought I was going to faint. I sat down for a little while because I was afraid that if I laid down I really would pass out, so I sat and waited it out. When it passed I was okay, but pale and shaky. I told my mother what happened and that I'd be staying downstairs for a little while afterwards in case I really did faint.

She started hemming and hawing about my eating habits (which are normal and haven't changed in months), then started in about how much I've been sleeping-- which I admit is a lot, 12 hours or more daily, but that's because of the change in medication and I may need a new sleep aid.

I tried to explain to her about how switching a major part of my medication (Lyrica now instead of Celebrex: New Doctor, New Methods) is going to mess me up for a while until we get it worked out, and how Dr. S. said he would normally see a person in my condition for whom he's changing a major part of their medicinal regime he would see once a week but because of our horrible insurance and financial difficulties I can only see him once a month.

Then she did her "I still disagree even though you had a logical and reasonable answer for each of the points I brought up" pursing her lips face (not to be confused with her "I want to say more because I think you're wrong and stupid but I can't because you're in no condition to fight" pursing her lips face) so I knew that was the end of the discussion.

It's so frustrating, and I don't know what to do. Arthur, Janet and I were talking about Arthur's, Mick's, and my fatal stubbornness that we get from our mother...I mean, we hang on to things that we think or feel waaaay past the time that everyone else thinks or sees that we should stop, but we either don't see it or don't care that it's there. Tenacity is a good thing, but we cross the line into obstinacy.

It takes a lot, a lot, to convince her to change her mind, and I really don't know what else to do. She has plantar fasciitis, so it's not like she's a stranger to chronic pain...but she just refuses to...or she can't...I don't know. I don't even know how to describe it.

Let's just say she's ignorant of the real situation but is too stubborn to see it differently and it annoys the crap out of me.

--

This situation sucks from about 15 different angles.

But hang in there with me, kids, we'll all get through it.

Waiting...

This thing, whatever it is, has made my daily life so surreal. And complicated.

I'm sitting here, waiting for the pain to start. Just waiting for the crippling pain to come, and I really can't do anything else. I've moved some things, made some preparations, because once it comes I won't be able to do anything at all...I can't look for a subbing job even though I desperately need the money, because who knows what condition I'm going to be in this week?

So I have to just sit and wait.

It hasn't started yet, and if it doesn't start tomorrow and it decides to start the 28th I may not be able to make it to my doctor's appointment, but I need to go because I need all of my many prescriptions renewed because my insurance no longer covers them under my old doctor.

I'm also out of the good pain pills my father gave me, and if he's out, too, I'm extraordinarily screwed.

Mick and Debra had their meeting with the child study team at Manny's school so we're all waiting for their call.

So I'm waiting.

Arthur's Christmas present last year was to be a Doctor Who-esque scarf that I never finished, so now that I'm going to see him Saturday and he's been complaining about his scarf-less-ness I'm trying to get it done, so I'm knitting while I'm waiting.

Did I mention I was waiting?

I'm already sore, and the whole deal has been making the fibromyalgia worse since it started, so I'm miserable, sore, knitting and waiting x 2.

Waiting sucks.

Saturday Summary and the Electric Mayhem

To those uninitiated to the Saturday Summary here at Salami & Orchids, it's basically just random things that occur to me or happen to me through the week before that aren't really posts in themselves, but are entertaining/informative nonetheless.

New Beginnings: The Food Network or "Background Music" launched a new show Thursday called "Sweet Genius"...basically "Chopped: Desserts". If you don't watch Chopped I insist you do so immediately, it's like Iron Chef turned up to 11. In each of three rounds (appetizer, entree, and dessert) a chef is removed from the competition based on the taste, originality, and plating of a dish made from 3-5 mystery ingredients introduced at the beginning of each round, starting the first round with 4 chefs. The mystery ingredients range from average fruits, vegetables, and meats to the craziest or foreign fruits, vegetables, and meats, or pre-prepared items like boxed Mac & Cheese, teething biscuits, Raisinettes, or hot cross buns. The chefs have to transform the ingredients and make them fit into their dishes seamlessly. The winner receives a $10,000 prize.

It's freaking awesome.

So Sweet Genius takes the same format (4 chefs; 3 rounds; mystery ingredients; $10,000 prize) and applies it to desserts. Unfortunately, it's not exactly the same. What they changed is kind of disappointing, they added strange gimmicks. The show is hosted and judged by one guy instead of three judges and hosted by Ted Allen of "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" fame. Instead of Ted and the judges explaining the more obscure mystery ingredients, the 2 mystery ingredients are revealed and described by a kind of creepy, disembodied, robotic woman's voice. The judge also gives the chefs an "inspiration" and only one of the mystery ingredients, then the second is introduced halfway through the round. It's pretty annoying.

And I wish there were more judges-- more judges means more opinions, and if you have a judges that doesn't particularly enjoy an ingredient a chef used (like on Chopped, judge Scott Conant hates raw onions) then another judge that likes them balance each other out.

Don't get me wrong, I'll still watch the crap out of it, but I won't be as happy about it as I could be.

--

Nephew Talk: Oh, the boys, the boys, the boys...

Deb and Mick's son Manny is still struggling in kindergarten, but nothing more than expected, really. He hasn't been to the behavioral specialist yet, but the school's child study team is meeting with Mick and Deb on Monday, so it'll be interesting. What we currently think is happening is mild to moderate Asperger's or high-functioning Autism with a severe Auditory Processing Disorder, but it's all speculation, we just have to wait. The waiting is frustrating, though, because the poor boy is being punished at school for not listening or following directions. The thing is, he doesn't care he's being punished-- he has no concept of being in trouble or doing anything wrong, he just floats through the day while his teachers cite him to his parents as being a behavioral problem...we're much more upset about it than he is. It's a strange situation.

Arthur and Janet's son Sean has started preschool, and after being sick only one day of his life he came out of two weeks of preschool with two ear infections, pink eye, and a cold. Poor little thing. We're going to see him next weekend because he's turning two on October 2nd, and I'm so excited. I miss his little face. We talk to him on the phone a lot-- Arthur and Janet put the phone on speaker so we all get to talk to each other and talk to him. It's interesting because we can actually talk to him and ask him questions about his day and he can answer, mostly "yes" and "no" but when he babbles he does it with purpose, he's trying to tell you something-- which is leaps and bounds from a conversation you have with Manny. Even when Manny is trying to tell you something most of what he says is gibberish.

Manny did tell me yesterday that his brain is in his head, though, so that's pretty cool.

--

Told You I was Bad: You know, or should know, that I want you all to learn from my mistakes (The Internship from Hell). Remember when I said I had $10 in library fines in Saturday Summary +8? Turns out it was actually $33 because they thought I'd lost the books. They ended up only charging me $15 because I "found" them...oops.

I got out 3, and I'll probably get all three done and reviewed before I finish Middlemarch because it's so enormous, so look forward to more book reviews coming soon.

--

Apparently nobody has an answer as to why people (like me) have vinegar cravings. That's really, really annoying...when I Google something random I want an answer, damn it. At least I got an answer for Why I Crave Junk Food When I'm Sick...apparently it's because getting sick as stressful to the body as emotional stress, the same emotional stress that also makes you want junk food. Interesting.

Oh my god, I WANT VINEGAR. I'm seriously considering just dumping a ton on my dinner...just thinking about that is making my mouth water. Or maybe for a snack tonight I'll roast some potatoes and dip them in some...

--

Finishing up today I'd like to say a great big Happy Birthday to one of history's greatest entertainers: Mr. Jim Henson. I grew up on Sesame Street, The Dark Crystal, Labyrinth, and The Muppet Show and it breaks my heart that he's gone, that there will never be anything new from him.

At least his spirit lives on.

Sleep well, Mr. Henson, and thank you for making me laugh, feel, and learn in my past, present, and future.

--

Upcoming Posts really do include Fight Club & Self Injury, as well as Chandler's and my review of The Lion King, the first appointment with my new doctor, and a pause in posting due to the return of the pain. And in lieu of next week's Saturday Summary I'll be posting all day from New Jersey to Maryland and back.

Remember to return any overdue library books!!

What Kind of Day Has it Been?

I love days like these...rainy, nothing to do, nowhere to go days. Tomorrow I should probably do a few productive things (defer student loans...order GRE study book...make doctor's appointment...work on room reorganization...shark substitute assignments online...), but not today.

I miss having days like this in college...the girls and I would drink coffee and play games. Those are the days I miss most. It's what we did when Gayle threw that party for Lisa a few weeks ago and it was the happiest I'd been in a long time.

Today was Manny's first day of school, hard as it is to believe. I got a little teary over the picture of him wearing a backpack and holding a lunchbox Mick posted on Facebook this morning. My mother was there when he got home from school...she said he was as unfazed about it as he is about everything...and he's been placed in a classroom with other special needs kids, with two teachers and an aide, but I'm still worried-- we don't know what Manny's place on the autism spectrum is and whether the school is equipped to deal with it. The whole deal is frazzling my nerves.

I've been distracting myself with Regretsy and Facebook games...A&E On Demand...and setting up another blog to publish a trashy novel I've been playing with off and on for a few years-- then maybe others, I don't know, I'll have to see how the first one does if I ever get around to biting the bullet about it. In the meantime I'm going to play with the design templates and ponder about whether to write one or two stand-alone "About" pages.

I'm watching Intervention and this 30 year old girl is sleeping with a 75 year old man that pays for her drugs. Umm...I can deal with that if somebody would pay my bills. How often can a seventy-five year old want it? Damn. Well...what, 68, technically, in my case? Shoot. Steve Martin's 66 and I'd totally hit that. Kevin Kline's 64. I'm game.

Old, wealthy men: pay my bills and I'll seriously consider dating you. Cute, old, wealthy men: pay my bills and I will probably date you. Cute, wealthy men: pay my bills and I will definitely date you.

Just putting it out there. Like that challenge to Microsoft that my 5 year old computer is waaaay better than anything new coming out now. Seamus the Lappy forever.

Today's pain has gotten harder to deal with as the day has gone on...I've got an ultrasound coming up on Thursday. I'd tell you to cross your fingers for me, but I don't know what to hope for. Especially since I don't understand what an ultrasound could see that a CT scan couldn't. If I've already had a more detailed test for the same person, why order the weaker test? Part of me just wants them to cut me open already and dig around to find out what's going on...be sure, whichever doctor I see first (my GYN or new GP), I'm getting painkillers at my next appointment. Be. Sure. I'm not going through another cycle of this pain, I'm not. I don't care what it takes.

And poor Herbert's so sick and nobody knows what to do with him...

Tension headache. Hahaha, this was supposed to be a relaxing post-- what happened?!

Aftermath

I got fewer pictures than I wanted with the worst of the storm hitting my area in the wee small hours of the morning. The storm itself was pretty boring though...boring enough I managed to fall asleep without drugs, so pretty boring. The aftermath was the most interesting part.

Mick & Debra should be getting power back today...a previously unmentioned friend of the family, Truck, is still without power as far as I know-- but everyone else's lives seem to have returned to normal, thank goodness.

While, compared to other people and other parts of the country, our overall experience is little to nothing, it's still the worst flooding we've seen in at least 40 years.

This is what it looked like at about noon.

This is what it looked like 4 hours later.

That is water making its way up my neighbor's driveway.

There was a bit in front of our house, creeping up along the curb, but that was as far as it got. By 7 o'clock, though, the water was waist deep in front of the trailer.

Public Safety Announcement: Ladies and gentlemen, while most flood water is fresh water from the storm, an amount is made up of sewer water, through which flows raw sewage. It's poop, people. And I know it makes you feel cool and important to walk around in it, but you're running the risk of developing serious infections (particularly women, since most of us have microscopic cuts on our legs from shaving). You are also at risk for electrocution as, with the constant wind and rain and the earthquake a few days before, the wires and telephone poles are under stress. Should a wire or pole fall, when you're knee-deep in water, you will not get out in time to avoid...you know, death.

Be smart, please, and be safe.  And don't stalk me.

Pre-Aftermath & Spoons

Apologies about the lack of posting, it's been a rough couple of days.

Janet and Arthur only ended up spending a couple of hours without power, but Mick and Debra lost power Saturday night and it hasn't come back on yet. They've been staying with Deb's mother, but they're coming here for dinner tonight.

My street experienced the worst flooding its had in at least 40 years, the water was waist-deep in some areas, I have pictures and will do a whole post on it later, but not today, I'll explain in a minute. We never lost power, and truthfully, the wind was at its worst on Sunday after the storm had already passed.

From the sound of it, Gayle and Mr. Yikes made out better than even we did.

As to why the real aftermath post will be later, I'm in a great deal of pain. 10 being excruciating, 0 being no pain at all, yesterday was an 8 and I ended up taking a Vicodin and spent the day slipping in and out of sleep. The pain's only a five/six today, but with Mick and Deb and Manny coming I need to hang on to as many spoons as I can.

This is the Spoon Theory and it sums up life with a chronic illness absolutely perfectly. 


Mick, Deb, and Manny are here, gotta go. Wish me luck.

Manny

I can not believe today's Manny's fifth birthday. 5. FIVE. Five years...he's starting school in September, I feel so old! It feels like it wasn't that lon ao I was giving him bottles and singing "Golden Slumbers" to him as I put him to bed...and Elton John's "Daniel"...and Fountains of Wayne's "Hey, Julie" but I changed the words to "Hey, Daniel" when I was feeding him because it was difficult to get him to eat unless he was distracted by something else. 


I lived with Mick & Deb & Manny from the time Man was 9 months old to his first birthday. 


Today he told me he was my #1 fan. And gave me a black eye. 


I had picked him up to give him a birthday hug and my father started tickling him over my shoulder. Manny wiggled and accidentally slammed his head into my sunglasses, which pushed them hard into the side of my nose and under my eye. It's bruising nicely. 


He doesn't really "get" birthdays and holidays. He knows exciting things happen, and he's excited other people are excited, but that's about the extent of it. 


Like at Christmas, he'd be as happy with 1 present as he'd be with 100. My brother jokes he takes longer than any other kid in the world to open his presents because he opens one, and he's thrilled with it, and then you have to remind him there's more. Woe to you if the second-through-the-last presents aren't as interesting as the first, because that's the one he'll keep trying to go back to. 


He doesn't understand games, either. I got him CandyLand a few years ago because every kid should have CandyLand. I shouldn't have even written "because" in there. So anyway, I got him CandyLand and he just doesn't...he doesn't get it. He doesn't understand following a set of rules to achieve a goal-- everything must be immediate gratification. His birthday last year was torture for him because he found out there would be cake and he couldn't think of anything else until he finally got the cake. 


He's totally obsessed with cars. And I mean obsessed. He knows every car on the road, make and model. It's given him a few cool chances, like when fancy car owners hear him get all excited over their cars they invite him to sit in it, but then he sits like a lump because he doesn't care to pretend to drive or honk the horn or anything. Then it's awkward for a minute but the owners are gracious about it...I guess they see something's wrong. And, the other day actually, Deb took Manny with her to go get a pinata for his party on Saturday and when he picked it the store associate handed it to him and Manny said, "Whoa, look at that Dodge Charger!!" Or Challenger or... Charlemagne, I don't know, doesn't matter, and the associate gave them a 15% discount on their order because of Manny's awesomeness. 


He's a sweet boy...I wonder what he'd be like if he weren't autistic/Asperger's. I wonder where he is under those layers of distance and detachment...I wonder who he is under it. 


Either way, the Manny I have is better than the Manny I don't, and I adore the Manny I have. 


Happy birthday, sweetheart. Aunt Joz loves you. 

Living on a Prayer

I have a weird sleep schedule. I suspect my days and nights are flipped as the most natural thing for me to do is sleep all day and stay up all night. I fight against this so I end up going to bed around 3ish and sleeping until noonish, so I end up showering around 1 or 2 in the morning. 

My parents sleep with the door open (don't get me started) and our bedroom doors are separated by a 2 square foot bit of carpet at the top of the stairs. The main part of our house, our bedrooms and the living room and kitchen beneath them are over 100 years old and were part of a farmhouse before the area was made residential. People that have been in my house would think this is weird considering that my house, along with a few other houses both on my street and in the surrounding area, is a duplex. The interesting thing about that is that all of the other duplexes are laid out exactly the same way, exactly the same as my neighbor's side of our house and Herbert's a few blocks away: a basement, 3 rooms downstairs, 2 upstairs with an upstairs bathroom, and an attic. 

But my house isn't laid out that way, and it's the only one not-- so basically things were built up and around these four little rooms. The point I'm trying to make is my house is old, and the stairs between my bedroom and my parents bedroom are old and creaky, and I have to go down them to get to the bathroom because our bathroom is tacked on to back end of the downstairs because our house was built without a bathroom. That's how old it is. 

So the point I'm trying to get at is I often wake my parents on my way downstairs to shower, so it's not unusual that I wake them, then they have to use the bathroom because they're really old and always have to go to the bathroom (Hi, Mom!). 

The other night this happened, so I wasn't surprised to see my mother in our living room on my way back upstairs after my shower. I was surprised she didn't need the bathroom...and I was even more surprised that she was crying. 

Like so many others, we're struggling right now, financially. We're only getting a fraction of what we should be because my father was forced out of a job when he retired from his union and they threatened to take away his pension and benefits if he took a position having anything to do with plumbing-- which is ridiculous and illegal and we can't afford to press charges. I'm not going to go into the levels of sick there. 

So now we're trying to find me a gynecologist, but since New Jersey raised the doctors' malpractice insurance rates to the highest in the country a lot of specialists left the state, so only the really wealthy could afford to stay, which means they're all at least twenty minutes away in the "old money" section of the state or in Pennsylvania- so I can't find a male gynecologist within a half-hour of my house that takes our insurance. Yes, male. I'll post about female doctors one day, but not today. 

And I have to leave my regular doctor. I stopped seeing a pediatrician when I was 6 when he almost killed my brother Mick. So I started seeing our family doctor, so now it's been-- what, 17 years? But my insurance no longer takes out-of-network doctors so I have to leave him. There aren't any in-network doctors nearby, so we have to go to an out-of-network doctor that at one time was a business partner of my now-ex doctor but they split up their practice after they got caught taking bribes from a  lab to only use that particular lab and then not claiming it on their taxes. So they broke apart the practice. Anyway, so we have to go to the other guy, but he charges 3 times his usual rate for the first appointment and we all need to go see him because our prescriptions are no good because they were written by the other doctor, so no longer covered so we'd have to pay full price for them. 

Full price for prescriptions. To put this into perspective, I take 11 pills every morning, and 11 pills every night. 

That's 77 pills a week. My stomach medicine alone, with insurance, is $50. Without insurance? $1500. 

The good news is if I do have endometriosis (that's the good news!!) I can stop taking those and go on a cheaper stomach pill-- but I'm going to need more medicine for the endometriosis. 

So you see why my mother was crying?  And why our family's theme song is "Living on a Prayer"?

God, I need a job. 

Nephew Talk

Nephew Time, Part I: The Storm


I can explain a bit about the crazy family thing that's been going on, finally. 


Debra had been babysitting a little boy named Keiran, who's 18 months younger than Manny, for about two years, since Keiran's aunt, Aunt Em, gained custody of Keiran from his mother. A few weeks ago Keiran's Aunt Em decided to put him into pre-school, and something went down between Debbie and Aunt Em, but I'm not sure what. Whatever happened, it lead to Aunt Em writing Debbie an email saying that Deb was doing my nephew a disservice by not getting him tested for Asperger syndrome or autism. Debbie went to her family and they were all, "Where would she get that idea?!"


A week or so later (July 28, Storm's Brewing) Debbie dropped off Manny at our house so Deb could go to the doctor, and when Debbie explained to my mother about the email the look on my mother's face said it all. We'd known for a little while but my dad wouldn't let us say anything because we didn't know how Mick and Debbie would take it.  I wish it had gone better than it did, but things are clearing up now. 


Manny's going to be starting school in September just to see how it goes, and while Debbie found a Behavior/Neurodevelopment Specialist she likes (that ended up on the phone with her for 2 hours exchanging information and videos), but there's a 3-4 month waiting period for new patients, and that's kind of rough, but there's really nothing else to do. Debbie showed the therapist a video of Manny and the therapist said it was an absolutely textbook case, but he does need to be formally assessed to find where he exactly he falls on the autism/Asperger's scale so they can figure out a treatment plan for him. 


The current family motto is "One day at a time." 


Also, "Pour me another glass of wine, would you?" 


--


The other nephew I haven't talked about yet, but he did something incredibly cute today and I wanted to brag. Mick is actually the younger of my 2 older brothers, but Manny is older than Arthur's son, Sean. Manny will be 5 on Thursday, and Sean will be 2 in October. 


Arthur's wife's name is Janet. Caught up? Good. 


Arthur and Janet decided to try baby sign language with Sean and it's pretty much the greatest thing ever- Sean makes a fist repeatedly when he's hungry, and waves "bye-bye" if he doesn't want something (it started off as being "all done" when he was eating, but it also became "no more" or "stop" when he doesn't like something or something scares him). They recently expanded this to include "tired" or "sleepy" by putting their hands to their forehead when it was Sean's nap time or bedtime. So today my brother was working on the computer and Sean went over to him, made the sign for "tired" and took my brother's hand. Arthur asked if Sean wanted to take a nap, and Sean said yes, then led my brother to his bedroom, picked up his blankie and stood by his crib to be put in. Isn't that adorable?


I've decided to try to end on a positive note more often. And be sure to check out Blanc's Tumblr here -- in addition to his supremely nerdy posts are some great and slightly less nerdy pieces he's written on stand-up comedy, voice acting, and...well...zombie movies. But they're still unique and interesting views on modern pop culture. 


Until next time. 

Do Not Touch the Baby

I played with the settings again today and so far I like it. Turns out, though, that I had commenting disabled unless people were members which is not what I wanted- I'm all for anonymous comments, especially considering the subject matter I veer into. I apologize to anybody who wanted to comment but couldn't because they weren't a member. My bad. 


So that's fixed. 


I've been taking a break from creating lately- besides this blog, I mean. I haven't been working on my novels, which you think I would considering I'm looking for agents (no new responses...) and I haven't been knitting, which you think I would considering I owe my brother a scarf for last Christmas and I have the materials to make 2 scarves for me- one to match my fingerless gloves and one to match my red coat. I haven't been tatting, either, and I owe my mother a pretty large doily from last Christmas. 


And my dad's birthday is coming up. Shit. 


I've also felt like drawing lately, which is unusual for me because I'm really bad at it. I had to take a drawing class for my degree so I've vastly improved but I still suck. I've been thinking about my style, which is basically teeny-tiny and very detailed, so I'm considering doing some teeny tiny little scenes about the size of stamps. I'm not one of those people that can write on rice, but what with sewing and embroidery I'm very comfortable working in a minuscule scale. For a while I was thinking about tatting tiny pieces for dollhouses...I still might one day. 


It is SO HOT here. According to the weather channel it's 95 degrees but feels like 107. I'm supposed to hang out with my buddy Four tomorrow, but goddamn it's supposed to be 101 degrees. Ick. I hate heat...so much so, in fact, I leave my windows open all winter.


Oh, Four. 


I'm friends with such amazing people I wonder why they bother with me. Four is a voice-over artist and comedian and a brilliant writer. One day I'm going to get to say I knew him when... He's pretty much the best friend I've ever had and I love him to bits. 


My parents, unfortunately, don't feel the same way. In fact, Four and I wanted to date for a while but my parents' reactions were awful and it was one of the worst times of my life as far as my relationship with them goes. My father, especially, is incredibly racist and proud of it and it breaks my heart. One of my parents' rationalizations for hating my relationship with Four and giving me such a hard time about it is that they're trying to protect me from "other people's reactions." 


I'm just going to say that after 10 years of hanging out with Four and being besties with him the only people who have EVER even given me a dirty look about it are my parents, so work out that logic. 


There was one time in my life where out in public, among strangers, I was given dirty looks and glares and stares was a few days after I came back from London a month before my 19th birthday. My nephew Manny (my brother Mick's son) was 3 months old at the time and my sister-in-law, Manny's mother Debra, and I went to the mall to finish up Christmas shopping. I was pushing Manny in a stroller, and Deb was walking beside me and you should have seen the looks. 


Stares. Anger. Fury. Disgust. People were looking at me like they wanted to run over and take Manny away from me. It was amazing. Debra and I were shocked. 


So I decided to play into it. At one point Deb was waiting in line to pay for something and I was standing with Manny a little bit away saying, "Manny, tell Aunt Debbie to hurry up, Mommy has to get home to do her algebra homework. Mommy doesn't want to work at McDonald's anymore. Tell her. Say 'Mommy needs to graduate so she can find a new job and meet a nice man to be my daddy. I wish I had a daddy.'" 


It was awesome. 


And can I just add, by the way, that if you see a little baby in the mall and it's not related to you, DON'T TOUCH IT? That was unbelievable. At one point I had to smack this guy's hand away. He talks to me for a second, "Oh, how old is he blah blah blah" and then he reaches into the stroller. So I say, "Please don't touch the baby." 


Then he reached in again! So I smacked his hand. "Do not touch the baby!"


AUGH. It's not your baby, people! Especially if you're out in public, who knows where your hands have been?! You could have herpes for all I know. Don't touch the baby. 


Like you always ask a dog's owner if you can pet the dog when you first meet them, to make sure the dog doesn't bite or have some kind of disease or is a seeing eye dog that shouldn't be bothered or what-have-you. Don't touch people's dogs, and don't touch the babies. 


You don't know what 5'2", 19-year-old, 130 lb. white girl is going to smack you for it. 


And if she does, you totally deserve it.