WWJBD?

Well, it's 80 degrees out, sunny, breezy, beautiful start of summer day.

I SHOULD be perusing real estate, visiting condos and town homes, on the phone with the mortgage company. Instead of doing that, I'm packing up to go to the beach. That's right. We need a place to live by Tuesday, and I am mini-vaykaying to the beach until Monday. I really should stay in this land locked city and remain pasty pale so we can have a beautiful townhome, but the beach is calling my name. I can hear it from here.

At a moment like this, I can't help but wonder - What Would Jimmy Buffet Do?

He would most definately say Fuck real estate, i'll be here when I get back, and head to the beach, fishing pole in trunk, to drink beer and eat cheeseburgers, toes deep in the sand, just to feel the summer sun making the first pinchy sunburn on his shoulders.

And what's good enough for Jimmy is good enough for me.

Jaws was never my scene, and I don't like Star Wars

It's the truth. I hate Star Wars. Alot. This cracked my shit up though.

OO00oohh, they have the internet on computers now!

Some people should not be allowed to have internet access, because once granted access, they create god-awful websites filled with yabbering BS about their own psychotropic drug induced hallucinations (respectfully hold your tongues, please).

Bat. Shit. Crazy. There's my daily nod to Mike in the dialect.

For those of you who don't have time to peruse the entire article, it's a disseration of sorts about a majestic breed of people who lived like moles inside the Earth in such peace and harmony that everything was perfect. No fighting, no killing, just love. And darkness. And I'd imagine a fair amount of mold.

Seriously though. "These people lived underground 12,000 years ago, but no remains have been found because scientists were too stupid to see them right there in the middle of Northern California." Riiiiiiiight. "We kill animals and plants for our own consumption, never stopping to think of their potential role, or how wrong the killing of these innocent plants and animals is" Uh huh. Because if we don't eat plants, or animals, we would survive on......?

On this website, there is an artist's rendition of The High Prince of whatever they beleive, surrounded in an ethereal light and a Mona Lisa smile. Really, though, he looks like Kato Kalin. Now THERE'S something to be proud of.

This underworld population claims to monitor the "Love and Light" quotient of the surface people, and pegs us (and I use that term loosely) to be at about 65% love and light. Which, I guess, makes the other 34% fire and brimstone? Anyway. Maybe those northern Californians are sporting a hot 65. I think that the East Coast is hovering more like 25%, if you subtract the Carolinas.

And so, this nutjob who channels the spirit of these people who live in the Earth is saying that we're doing it all wrong. "Hello, People of Upper Earth? Yeah, It's me, YOU SUCK. I live in peace and love. Come to the dark side, Er, Light side, my side. And send a donation!"

100% Bat.Shit.Crazy.

I want...

- A 3 bedroom townhome in a nice area with a little yard for Guido
- It to cost under $350,000
- A puppy
- A lucrative writing job
- Any writing job
- To be done school
- My frog to stop eating my fish
- My husband to stop eating my cookies
- My mom's calzone recipe
- My mom to be well again
- One day where none of the phones I come in contact with to ring
- My iMail program to send outgoing mail without a song and dance
- To be friends with Cher
- To smell the ocean from my window
- A braid of fresh mozzerella from Vito's in Hoboken
- a TiVo. A REAL TiVo
- To win the lottery
- The burberry hat in Neiman Marcus
- An Oompa Loompa noooooooooow
- A shower head that doesn't just dribble water on your head while you're getting clean
- To make scarecrows of the children who live beneath us
- To like the taste of lobster, flounder, and shellfish
- To do away with Maryland, and most of its licensed (and those who aren't) drivers
- To be a princess
- To be a mommy
- To be as good of a person as my dog thinks I am

I want. I want. I want.

Whoohoo!

evangradschool
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Evan got his acceptance letter from George Mason Today! WHOOHOOO!!!!

Excuse me while I vomit

This disgusts me. It makes me physically ill.

I'm (surprisingly) for animal research and testing for legitimate reasons. Animal research has helped us develop cures for diseases, physical ailments and has let us know more about the progression of the natural body. If a few rats have to die to develop the cure for AIDS, or for breast cancer or ALS, then I'm very sorry, but so be it. It's one of those sad truths. I don't like it, I could never be the one to do the research, but, I see it's importance, and it needs to be done.

On the flip side, animal testing for cosmetics is horseshit. I see no need to subject animals to burning acids and chemical peels so my hair can be a little shinier, or so that my lipstick will last "8 hours longer, and won't rub off on him!" Puke.

These People have made a mockery of medical research. Under the guise of life saving research, this company has deliberately and intentionally caused unnecessary physical harm to these animals.

This is directly from their website:

1. We will treat animals in our care with respect. We honor the contribution that animals in our care make to lifesaving advances and will treat these animals with the respect that they deserve.

2. We will strictly follow all applicable laws and regulations for animal treatment.

3. We will employ alternative scientific methods to animal use where appropriate under applicable regulation and scientific validity.

4. We will minimize animal discomfort. We will work, consistent with the study protocol and good science, to reduce discomfort or stress to animals in our care.

5. We will take steps to ensure that our employees and processes meet these standards. We will train Covance employees who handle animals on proper procedures and techniques and will apply appropriate controls to ensure that these procedures and techniques and this Code of Respect are followed. We will encourage employees to report any misconduct or failure to adhere to this Code of Respect.

6. If we learn that we or any of our employees have failed to follow this Code of Respect, we will take appropriate remedial and disciplinary action.


Lying bastards. I'm writing them a letter. You should too.

Covance Inc.
210 Carnegie Center
Princeton, New Jersey
08540-6233

The only thing I love more than you...

Is me.

Cold. Hard. Fact.

I am completely enamoured with myself. Which, I suppose, is why I love my blog so much - here, it really IS all about me. It's my bitching, my writing, my opinion. A chance to air my dirty laundry for cyber-space-thought-voyeurs to take a peek in.

Does that make me snotty? Self-centered? Vain? Maybe. But at least I know who I am. And where I stand in my convictions and my faults. I know who I am outside of my life as a wife, a daughter, a friend, a lover, an enemy and an ex.

I know who I am.

Do you?

On the bandwagon.

Ew.
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

So. This is what Evan found in his Chocolate Milkshake from McDonalds today. He sucked it up through his straw and into his mouth. Upon feeling the lump, he looked at me, his skin sort of green, and I could see his body wretching, "What is this?!" he asked.

THIS is our new claim to fame, my friends.

What is it, really? I don't know.

But it's mine now. And I'm not giving it back - I don't care who it belongs to. M-I-N-E now.

Too bad we didn't see the Virgin Mother in our BigMac. We'd be unstoppable.

I would do anything for love...But I won't do that.

Late Saturday night, our friend Stevie was in an accident. A bad one. She was riding onthe back of her boyfriend's motorcycle, coming up on a toll plaza, when they were cut off. The motorcycle hit the lane dividers and Stevie was thrown off the bike.

And then hit by a car.

Every bone in both legs is broken. So his her pelvis. And elbow. Her face and bare belly skidded along the asphault.

Stevie is 17.

She'll be alright, eventually. She's a tough kid, but that's about enough to make anybody break. Her boyfriend walked away with skinned knees and palms. Makes me wonder if he'll be there for the next year of her recovery. If he'll be there for the tears, and the pain. He's young too, from what I gather. I wonder if he'll be able to look past the injuries to her face and body. I wonder if he'll love limping scarred 18 year old Stevie and much as he loved pretty 17 year old Stevie. I hope so. For both of them.

It reminds me of Candice Bendek Her husband is still by her side, and such support.

And while you're praying for Candice, make sure you throw one in for Stevie too.

Shakin' My Money Maker

You're Exotic Dancer Barbie. You have some moves,
and will do anything for a few bucks. Take it
off girl, but keep it PG-13 please.


If You Were A Barbie, Which Messed Up Version Would You Be?
brought to you by Quizilla

Just Two Lost Souls Swimmin' in a Fish Bowl (with Ich)

And i thought yesterday was shitty.

Introduce: Today.

Let's recap -
8am- realtor calls....ONLY 400k to get us in a house. Only. Ha.

9am- mom calls....She's visiting tomorrow. A quick survey of the apartment reveals a bong, a boot, much dust, heaps of laundry and a kitchen not fit for humans. Frig.

10am- Therapy. I loathe therapy. I was talking about school, and said "It's such a thorn in my side." and she responds with "thorn?" I nod, thinking maybe she didn't hear me. She continues with "what do you mean THORN?" sigh. I told her "It's a saying, you know, thorn in my side, pain in my ass..." and her response was "Why a thorn? Why not an ache?" GAAHH!!!!

11am- Home Depot. Went in for a Mother's Day gift certificate, ended up with 50 bucks worth of stuff from myself. And I was hit on not once, not twice, but three times. All were old. All were creepy. Only one didn't have a thick accent. They sounded like they were from Ghanna...the conversation went:
ME: Do you have this in a color that's NOT blue?
CREEPY GHANNA MAN: 'Old on a sec, lemme see fo' yo'
ME: < waiting impatiently for 15 mins >
CREEPY GHANNA MAN: We don' have none mo'
ME: Okie, thank you anyway
CREEPY GHANNA MAN: I work fo' yo'? I'd love yo' to be m' boos. I come plant yo' flowers? I plant something else?
ME: ............

I mean really now, WTF? Do I look interested? Evan has kindly planted the rock of Gibralter on my ring finger, it sparkles like..well, like a diamond. I KNOW he saw it. Obviously married. Wedding band, Eye rolls, wrinkled nose, and clenched fists are apparently not enough to deter some people.

1pm- Mom calls again. She's bringing a present. This can't be good.

1:15pm- Mom calls again. Is it going to rain here tomorrow? sigh...

1:35pm- Mom calls again. She hates T-Mobile and wants me to break our contract. I happen to love T-Mobile.

1:55pm- Mom calls again. Do we have a drill? Because we need a drill for the present. At least the present isn't alive.

3pm- Realtor calls. Can we do 425k?

5pm- Lupus is home. In an outrage about housing prices.

7pm- Venture to fish store to get new fish. Our fish are seriously lacking. We lost a bunch to a bad case of Ich. Now all that's left is Wannahockalugie, Feesh, Curacao and Pudge...and of course It'sPat, the frog, who, according to the pet store, will have a life span of 20+ years. By the rate of his growth, they figure him to be about a year. I will have this frog until i'm almost 45. Anyway. The fish store has ich too. Walk around feeling sad for the fuzzy fish. Evan once again denied me a parrot. I wanna parrot.

8pm- Beg to go to the carnival. Get denied again. Sulk incessently

8:54pm- Pull up to other fish store as the door locks.

9:30pm- Arrive back home. Kitchen is still condemned, but the rest of the apartment has somehow managed to get presentable throughout the day. Thank God for small miracles.

And so, here I sit, 11:33, blogging about my stupid day. At least tomorrow is Saturday. With our without my family's invasion.

The Top 10 Reasons Why I Should Be In The Guinness Book Of World Records

#10- Most text messages sent in one month: 3,748

#9- Most elaborate funeral held for a fish: Killer the Dog, January 23rd 2003

#8- Most articles of clothing for a dog: 8 shirts, 2 jackets, one raincoat, 4 sweaters, 3 sweatshirts and 4 snowboots

#7- Longest time spent sleeping with the lights on after reading a scary book: 3 months, 12 days, and counting...

#6- Largest collection of broken clamshells

#5- Most people that no one on Earth likes crammed into one room: My house, election day 1999

#4- Biggest fear of crickets

#3- Most money allegedly owed to Montclair State University in unpaid parking tickets- One thousand Two hundred and sixty dollars

#2- Phoniest fake ID: Kayla Johnson, from New Hamshire, D.O.B. April 20th 1976

And finally, the number one reason that I, Casey Burrows, should be in the Guinness Book of World Records- Most delusions of grandeur in one poem: 10

On Proper Pronunciation..

WATER~ Woo-ter. I don't want to hear any crap. That is how it is said. Woo-ter.
LIBRARY~ Lie-Brairy. Not lie-berry. This is very important.
WASHINGTON~ You'd think this would be easy. Wash-ing-ton. Note the lack of an R. It is not Warshington. Ever.
CRAYON~ Another "easy" one. Cray-on. Not Crown. Crowns are worn on the head, Crayons are for coloring.
ORANGE~ Arr-ange. I realize that some people may erroneously beleive that it is said oar-ange. This, however, is not correct.
ENVELOPE~ On-vel-ope. Not en-ve-lope.
CAR~ I can't even hyphenate this one. Kuh-arr, Maybe? It's not a Cahh, or a Caww; unlike Washington, this word does in fact have an R.
REGULAR~ Reg-you-lurr. It is never rey-gyoo-ler, or godhelpme, regg-uh-lur.
CARAMEL- I know, these silent letters get tricky, but it's Car-Mel. Silent second A.
NEW ORLEANS~ New-Or-Lins. In a pinch, I will accept Naw'lins. But not New-Or-Leans. And while we're at it, let's talk about:
NEW JERSEY~ New-Jer-Zee. Joisey is never acceptable.
CHRISTIANA~ I suppose this is a regional thing. Chris-tee-ann-uh. Why in God's name do people from DE insist on Chris-tee-na? Why? The A is not silent.

And there you have it. One dozen words. Learn to pronounce them correctly, so you can be my friend.

...and then I wonder why people think I'm a snotty bitch...

i will no doubt regret posting this....

...because someone's head is going to swell.

But here goes.

Last night Mike and I argued - not an uncommon occurrence, seeing as how we're both always right. But last night we argued about technology.

Specifically technology incorporated into the human body.

Mike thinks that we should use technology to allow the human body to do things that it wasn't meant to do - eyes that could see for miles, and in the dark; superhuman strength in our limbs; computer like minds that can retrieve and organize data in a split second. You get the point.

Why? Why do we need those things?

Call me old fashioned, but I like my memories repressed, and I like my comfort in the fact that there are things in the dark which I don't care to see.

Will geniuses be replaced by virtual walking libraries? Will those with photographic memories be replaced with someone with a SIM card inserted behind their ear? Will hand painted oils on canvas be done by someone with a mechanically precise robotic arm, specifically designed to render art? One machine can do the work of fifty ordinary men, but no machine can do the work of just one extraordinary man - are we really ready to give this up?

One day, will it come down to a reality that we as humans will no longer have to actively think about anything? Someday, will a machine automatically give us a response to the world around us? If we're having trouble falling asleep at night, will we literally be able to flick the switch to turn our minds off?

No thank you. I'd rather just live my life so that I don't have anything laying on my conscience to keep me up at night.

The Tip of the Iceberg

iceberg
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

This weekend I went home to see my family. It was bittersweet. It was wonderful, as always, to see everyone, I miss my family more and more everyday. Mom showed me all the new things she bought, and then drove me around to show me all the new things she's going to buy. I teased her about breaking the bank on her new motorcycle hobby, but she says she's just making sure that she enjoys all the time she has left.

My mother told me this weekend in no uncertain terms that she's dying. To look at her, from a stranger's point of view anyway, you may not get much argument. Her lips are cracked and blistered, white in color. Her skin tone, which used to be a deep Mediterranean olive, is now ashy gray, with patches of mottled purple and red, like a deep bruise that never goes away. The skin itself is like paper, like touching a very old cloth doll - it seems like at any moment the skin could tear and break away from the flesh underneath. Her gums have receded, leaving her smile toothy and open, like a skeleton, and her eyes have a foggy coating like cataracts on an old hound.

But still, she fights. She fought hard for the last two years. She says she's tired. She's tired of being sick, tired of fighting to be well, tired of willing her body to do something it won't.

When she was diagnosed with CML in summer of '03, her white cell count was so high that the hospital couldn't dilute the blood enough to get an accurate reading. The suspected somewhere between 300,000 and 675,000; Normal is 3-10,000, just so you get the idea. It was like having a fever of 6655.5 degrees. Her body was in crisis, and shutting down.

But modern medicine is really a miracle. Within a week and a half, her white cells were manageable, and for the time being, her chemotherapy pill had no ill side effects. Gleevec, a new drug kept it under control. It was a craps shoot, it could have helped her, or it could have made it worse. It bought her enough time to prepare herself mentally and physically for the bone marrow transplant.

But I don't think anything could prepare anybody for a bone marrow transplant. They drilled holes into her bones and sucked out the insides, to test for the concentrations of leukemia cells in the marrow, where the cells are made. They locked her in a room that was isolated from everyone, no windows, three doors, and a small bathroom. To get into the room, you first walked into a containment area. It was a small 4x6 room, and it was hotter than hell. Here, you stepped into surgical booties, a scrub gown, latex gloves, a bonnet hat, and a surgeon's mask. Once the room pressurized, the door to her room would unlock and you could enter. The room was dark, and had an unsettling antiseptic smell. She had two IV poles, each held up to 8 bags of fluids, and both racks were full, 16 wires flowing into gaping holes in her chest. You could see the tubing under her skin, running like veins up her neck, across her chest, directly to the arteries that fed her heart. We couldn't touch her for months. Just sit silently, watching her struggle to breathe, struggle to move, unable to speak, but she survived.

She had chemotherapy everyday for a month, and 2 hours of full body radiation twice a day for several weeks. The radiation caused her skin to die and turn black, eventually peeling away like charred ashes, revealing tender pink skin beneath. She lost every hair on every inch of her body. But she survived. She was lucky enough to have a match to her marrow, and she survived.

They brought her within inches of her life. More than once, the hospital in Philadelphia called in the middle of the night, telling my father "You might want to come down here, this isn't looking good." And he'd rush off, into the black of night; we could hear the tires of his SUV screeching to accelerate under the weight of his foot. It was nights like that when 40 miles to Philadelphia seemed like a cross-country trek.

They sent her home just before Christmas. She was small, and bald, and still toting an IV pole, but she was home. She had 43 different pills to take everyday, and 6 hours of IV medication, but she was home, and she was alive, and for a while, it felt like a Christmas Miracle. Mom was home.

Things got progressively better. She had serious cases of Graft vs. Host, a vicious disease that affects those who have had bone marrow transplants. When a person receives a transplant, say a liver, there is a possibility that the body will reject the liver, and it will refuse to nourish it, and the new liver will die. When a person receives a bone marrow transplant, the marrow will reject the new body, and refuse to nourish it. There is medication that can control it, but only to a certain extent. She is immuno-supressed. She has the immune system of someone in the advanced stages of AIDS. Chicken Pox, Mono, the flu, Pneumonia; any of those things can kill her. If she cuts her finger while chopping vegetables for dinner, the chance of infection forming is mind-boggling. But she had been two years without anything like that happening. The Graft vs. Host is creeping up though. Her body is killing itself. The marrow that saved her life is slowly tearing away at everything she is. The sores on her lips, the ashy color of her skin, it's her body killing itself.

The doctor, Selina Luger, a leader in her field, says it's a matter of time. A good time, several years, but a matter of time none the less. Someday, the marrow will settle in on attacking a vital organ, and there won't be anything they can do to counteract this.

So who knew? Who knew that the poison they pumped into her for months, and the radiation they shot at her, the drilling for bone marrow, the injections, the tests, the pain, and the sorrow, the dances we did when we found out she was coming home to us, and again when we found out she was in remission...who knew that all of that was just the tip of the iceberg?