Stupidest sex-related malady YET
Jul. 25th, 2022 12:21 amOkay, so. Belovedest and I are in a relationship, and the terms of ours includes sex. I am also surgically postmenopausal. After discussion with my GYN, I am supposed to shove lady cream twice a week, plus swipe it onto any problem areas regularly. If I miss a day, I should double up so I at least get the whole dose in the week. And the best time for me to shove the lady cream is after sex, to promote repair of anything that got overstretched.
I had missed a dose recently, because the ADHD makes it hard. I was also nearly at the end of the tube. I squished the rest of it into the applicator.
I have also acquired enough leg stamina that I can put in actual clockable time on the foot fidgeter, which is cool. I observed last night that I had done two days in a row with more than an hour, so I might be sore.
I woke up this morning with a rectangle of agony in my pelvis, from the top of my hip bone down to the joint, and in between. Grumbling, I took the muscle relaxer and the antispasmodic for my innards, because I couldn't even discern what was hurting. I tried to find a comfortable position. There was not one.
Six hours of Fucking Ow ensued. I couldn't focus on anything for long. Eventually I ate, with the additional barrier that I had trouble identifying food. I grabbed an ice cream bar from the freezer but by the time I sat down with it and opened the package, it had become not-food. Belovedest decided that they didn't want to leave me (and I was going nowhere and didn't have the brain to game), and started playing games remotely.
Another few hours of woe. For the sake of entertainment and ruling things out, I searched up the symptoms of appendicitis. The pain was in the wrong place: too low, and not enough of the other symptoms for me to worry. "If I still had a uterus, I'd almost think this was cramps," I said to myself, and immediately facepalmed.
I had taken lady cream. More than usual. I looked up that and stomped out to the living room to grab some ibuprofen.
In about ten minutes the pain had receded enough that I fell asleep.
I had missed a dose recently, because the ADHD makes it hard. I was also nearly at the end of the tube. I squished the rest of it into the applicator.
I have also acquired enough leg stamina that I can put in actual clockable time on the foot fidgeter, which is cool. I observed last night that I had done two days in a row with more than an hour, so I might be sore.
I woke up this morning with a rectangle of agony in my pelvis, from the top of my hip bone down to the joint, and in between. Grumbling, I took the muscle relaxer and the antispasmodic for my innards, because I couldn't even discern what was hurting. I tried to find a comfortable position. There was not one.
Six hours of Fucking Ow ensued. I couldn't focus on anything for long. Eventually I ate, with the additional barrier that I had trouble identifying food. I grabbed an ice cream bar from the freezer but by the time I sat down with it and opened the package, it had become not-food. Belovedest decided that they didn't want to leave me (and I was going nowhere and didn't have the brain to game), and started playing games remotely.
Another few hours of woe. For the sake of entertainment and ruling things out, I searched up the symptoms of appendicitis. The pain was in the wrong place: too low, and not enough of the other symptoms for me to worry. "If I still had a uterus, I'd almost think this was cramps," I said to myself, and immediately facepalmed.
I had taken lady cream. More than usual. I looked up that and stomped out to the living room to grab some ibuprofen.
In about ten minutes the pain had receded enough that I fell asleep.
Garbage Quilt
May. 11th, 2019 09:04 pmToday's impromptu project: a cover for the cat cage.
Yellface is scheduled to get a spot of radiotherapy in a few weeks. She'll remain isolated while she cools down. To that end, we ordered a reasonably sized cat cage. Belovedest assembled it today. It's down in the basement.
It doesn't quite fit the litter box we thought it might (corner unit, covered). It does fit a low sided bowl thing (the one we got when we thought the pee spots outside the box were because she thought the covered box stinks). Unfortunately, we then discovered that Little Miss Filthy Bachelorette Cat doesn't deliberately pee outside the box, it's just that she doesn't always bother to sit down.
Cats.
So obviously the litter area in the cage needs a splash shield, so the entire basement doesn't get hosed down with radioactive cat piss.
Enter the Garbage Quilt.
Most of our old sheet/blanket collection is being used for other things -- there's a lot of making sure that Sewzb0t Parlor doesn't have a direct line of sight into the, er, more NSFW corner, for example. (We prefer to not expose our housemate to things they can't unsee.) But there were some smaller rags in my sewing bin.
"Let's see if I can see some of these together," I said, then disappeared into the depths of Sewzb0t Parlor, to emerge at intervals with a maniacal cackle and an increasing number of contiguous square feet of assorted cloth.
The thing is not pretty. The cloth is mostly on its last legs. There's no discernable pattern. The thread doesn't match any of the cloth except the underwear section, which is some of the most gonzo sewing I've ever done (it's a mostly straight piece with a slalom seam down the middle). None of the types of fabric match very well, except most of them are jersey knits. You can see through the purple section that used to be my favorite nightgown 15 years ago.
I called the project before I finished on account of dinner. It's fastened to the cage with magnets.
I love it already.
Yellface is scheduled to get a spot of radiotherapy in a few weeks. She'll remain isolated while she cools down. To that end, we ordered a reasonably sized cat cage. Belovedest assembled it today. It's down in the basement.
It doesn't quite fit the litter box we thought it might (corner unit, covered). It does fit a low sided bowl thing (the one we got when we thought the pee spots outside the box were because she thought the covered box stinks). Unfortunately, we then discovered that Little Miss Filthy Bachelorette Cat doesn't deliberately pee outside the box, it's just that she doesn't always bother to sit down.
Cats.
So obviously the litter area in the cage needs a splash shield, so the entire basement doesn't get hosed down with radioactive cat piss.
Enter the Garbage Quilt.
Most of our old sheet/blanket collection is being used for other things -- there's a lot of making sure that Sewzb0t Parlor doesn't have a direct line of sight into the, er, more NSFW corner, for example. (We prefer to not expose our housemate to things they can't unsee.) But there were some smaller rags in my sewing bin.
"Let's see if I can see some of these together," I said, then disappeared into the depths of Sewzb0t Parlor, to emerge at intervals with a maniacal cackle and an increasing number of contiguous square feet of assorted cloth.
The thing is not pretty. The cloth is mostly on its last legs. There's no discernable pattern. The thread doesn't match any of the cloth except the underwear section, which is some of the most gonzo sewing I've ever done (it's a mostly straight piece with a slalom seam down the middle). None of the types of fabric match very well, except most of them are jersey knits. You can see through the purple section that used to be my favorite nightgown 15 years ago.
I called the project before I finished on account of dinner. It's fastened to the cage with magnets.
I love it already.
When your friends can look at something that's going on, and go "uh friend. FRIEND. This current thing. If it becomes a pattern, that's going to be a problem later on."
And you go "... uh. Oh. Crap. Yeah. Thanks. Shit." and then you busily get about the business of making it not be a pattern.
In related news: I am certainly not my worst enemy. Nor am I their direct opposite. And I should stop compulsively contrasting myself with them, except as contrasting myself with them is helpful. Which it won't always be. In fact, it might not often be. I'll need to check with the other stakeholders.
And you go "... uh. Oh. Crap. Yeah. Thanks. Shit." and then you busily get about the business of making it not be a pattern.
In related news: I am certainly not my worst enemy. Nor am I their direct opposite. And I should stop compulsively contrasting myself with them, except as contrasting myself with them is helpful. Which it won't always be. In fact, it might not often be. I'll need to check with the other stakeholders.
Dinner & fruitcake
Dec. 16th, 2014 12:27 amFriday -
Turned my alarm back on for the weekday. Got coffee, went to Costco, renewed my membership, grabbed pizza because I knew I'd be late for lunch and Purple would be Out, refueled.
Purple was Out because he'd given his backstage pass to Murraya, and she'd said that she owed him lunch somewhere nice. Then she'd rejected a reasonably nice place he'd had his eye on as insufficiently Nice. Apparently the lunch they did have was pretty fantastic.
Later in the afternoon, lb grabbed me for a hot chocolate run. We chatted helldesk among other things. He'd tried to prepare his gutters for the onslaught, but the corner of his roof where one angle met another turned into a waterslide with water flying down and missing the gutter entirely. Not much of his garage got soaked though.
I ran across some photos from workplace events past. There was in fact a picture from the Halloween party where I stood and talked to Purple for a couple hours despite how much it hurt to stand at that point, which was one of the first times I did that. It would be far from the last. There's lens flare, so we're standing under a rainbow, near a Princess Leia and a pair of Organa-Solo twins.
Purple negotiated dinner with Ms. Antisocialest Butterfly, then asked whether I was up for that. ( Dinner. )
I stopped by Sprouts on my way home to see if their brownies were as good as I remembered them being. Yes. Possibly better.
18:55 Sunday, 14 December, 2014
Fruitcake, which I may or may not make this year:
( Read more... )
23:03 Monday, 15 December, 2014
Today I fucked up. It was relatively minor and the situation is resolved. And I'm feeling secure about not continuing to fuck up going forward, and that it was minor and stopped before it got to be a big thing. But still I'm feeling like I ought to do some form of penance. ( Read more... )
In contrast, the rest of my workday felt like unexpected competence, with intermittent chocolate. Unless, of course, it felt like screaming frustration -- I did brave the helldesk training videos for the new features, and they were kind of fucking useless on the front of exactly how you duplicate the one thing in the other method. Also they broke direct linking, which is just great.
Tonight's iteration in the department of things which retail workers have mistaken for my name: Anne. (Don't call me Shirley. :-P )
Everyone involved has a bit of a busy week lined up.
There is a fuck o'clock meeting for my greater department tomorrow, followed by a "thank you for being awesome" lunch for the emergency response people.
Wednesday is Purple's team's lunch-and-Hobbitry excursion.
Thursday is a conference committee tour of some on-campus facilities, followed by my A-Team lunch-and-White-Elephant.
I haven't fully assessed Friday yet.
Turned my alarm back on for the weekday. Got coffee, went to Costco, renewed my membership, grabbed pizza because I knew I'd be late for lunch and Purple would be Out, refueled.
Purple was Out because he'd given his backstage pass to Murraya, and she'd said that she owed him lunch somewhere nice. Then she'd rejected a reasonably nice place he'd had his eye on as insufficiently Nice. Apparently the lunch they did have was pretty fantastic.
Later in the afternoon, lb grabbed me for a hot chocolate run. We chatted helldesk among other things. He'd tried to prepare his gutters for the onslaught, but the corner of his roof where one angle met another turned into a waterslide with water flying down and missing the gutter entirely. Not much of his garage got soaked though.
I ran across some photos from workplace events past. There was in fact a picture from the Halloween party where I stood and talked to Purple for a couple hours despite how much it hurt to stand at that point, which was one of the first times I did that. It would be far from the last. There's lens flare, so we're standing under a rainbow, near a Princess Leia and a pair of Organa-Solo twins.
Purple negotiated dinner with Ms. Antisocialest Butterfly, then asked whether I was up for that. ( Dinner. )
I stopped by Sprouts on my way home to see if their brownies were as good as I remembered them being. Yes. Possibly better.
18:55 Sunday, 14 December, 2014
Fruitcake, which I may or may not make this year:
( Read more... )
23:03 Monday, 15 December, 2014
Today I fucked up. It was relatively minor and the situation is resolved. And I'm feeling secure about not continuing to fuck up going forward, and that it was minor and stopped before it got to be a big thing. But still I'm feeling like I ought to do some form of penance. ( Read more... )
In contrast, the rest of my workday felt like unexpected competence, with intermittent chocolate. Unless, of course, it felt like screaming frustration -- I did brave the helldesk training videos for the new features, and they were kind of fucking useless on the front of exactly how you duplicate the one thing in the other method. Also they broke direct linking, which is just great.
Tonight's iteration in the department of things which retail workers have mistaken for my name: Anne. (Don't call me Shirley. :-P )
Everyone involved has a bit of a busy week lined up.
There is a fuck o'clock meeting for my greater department tomorrow, followed by a "thank you for being awesome" lunch for the emergency response people.
Wednesday is Purple's team's lunch-and-Hobbitry excursion.
Thursday is a conference committee tour of some on-campus facilities, followed by my A-Team lunch-and-White-Elephant.
I haven't fully assessed Friday yet.
Tuesday 2/15
A long commute during rush hour means that I don't always have a friend with spare time to call and chat with during it, which tends to wind up listening to commercial radio. This means getting to know the commercials. This means punching the radio (to change the channel or turn it off) when one of those goddamn smug bottled water commercials comes on. Guys, if tap water does not CATCH ON FIRE or contain contamination sufficient to make one sick, you're better off than fucktons of people.
The ##chatfish have taken the Jamie-and-Mae-dance thing very seriously.
[17:21] <Eveandriss> I don't dance.
[17:21] <Eveandriss> :)
[17:21] <Eveandriss> it is a widely known and accepted fact.
[17:21] <Caecandy> But we know so many places you could learn!
[17:21] <Eveandriss> ...I've always wanted to learn how to waltz though.
[17:21] <Eveandriss> Come to think of it.
[17:22] <Eveandriss> anyway, never mind that.
[17:22] <Eveandriss> I am a sidelines person.
[17:25] <Play> I learned to waltz to a three four beat/ The perfect rhythm for dancing feet/ Danced through the corridors, danced down the street/ And that's where I learned to dance
[17:29] <Caecandy> I learn to dance with my friend Cae/ She proved me wrong from when I would say/ I'm never dancing, there's no way/ and that's where I learned to dance.
A long-standing LiveJournal community problem had been that any one maintainer of a community could decide to kick out any and all other maintainers. To resolve this, LiveJournal rolled out an "owner" status, to make the original (or nearest approximation, if that information hadn't been saved) maintainer unable to get booted.
I went over to my aunt's. She showed me a book that an acquaintance of hers had written. She'd been at the library, and the acquaintance was there, and the acquaintance proudly showed off the book she'd written, so my aunt checked it out. I looked at it and determined that it was terrible, and furthermore it was published by an outfit that had been listed by "Writer, Beware". My aunt had been afraid that it was going to be terrible, and admitted that the acquaintance had given her a card and offered to email her the sequel. I "lost" the card, because my aunt wants to maintain friendly relations with this woman.
Wednesday 2/16
Twitter informed me that Justin Beiber does not support abortion for any reason whatsoever, with the "everything happens for a reason" platitude. I can't bring myself to care when bunches of teenagers go gaga over a performer with horribly insipid music, but I do not take it well when people in positions of social power deny c'thia.
It was also a day of work productivity. Yay work productivity!
Evening was spent shopping with Tif.
Thursday 2/17
I misheard lyrics as "I want a wiki for your dreams", and yes. Yes, I do.
The Decemberists have a song, Down By The Water, with Peter Buck (from R.E.M.) as a guest on guitar. So good. That and a conversation with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nadyne about The Decemberists covering R.E.M. resulted in me getting earwormed with (an entirely nonexistent) R.E.M. cover of "It's Raining Men". ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jld and amalnahurriyeh were both sadly disappointed that it was only inside my head.
One of the local Targets had a Red Ring of Death. It was awesome.
I did get the holiday box from my parents. It had packages labeled for almost every late-December holiday that I celebrate, and some I don't. One of the things in the package was a very nice pair of long black stretchy silky thermal pants. Nice.
( And a bit of woo. )
Friday 2/18
I wore the slinky thermal pants to work, under one of the slinky black skirts. In the parking lot, as I walked vigorously in the direction of the door, there was a sudden breeze and my feet became entangled. I noticed with some chagrin that the skirt was in a puddle around my ankles (and the nice treads on my sneakers had caught up in them, so it was a bit of work to get it pulled up again), as there was not sufficient friction between the skirt and the thermal pants to keep the no-really-the-skirt-waistband-was-not-designed-for-your-keychain elastic from slipping down over my hips.
It was the sort of absolutely hilarious humiliation that I couldn't wait to share with the internet, and I did have to roll a will save to keep from sharing it with my department, because it was just so goddamned funny.
A long commute during rush hour means that I don't always have a friend with spare time to call and chat with during it, which tends to wind up listening to commercial radio. This means getting to know the commercials. This means punching the radio (to change the channel or turn it off) when one of those goddamn smug bottled water commercials comes on. Guys, if tap water does not CATCH ON FIRE or contain contamination sufficient to make one sick, you're better off than fucktons of people.
The ##chatfish have taken the Jamie-and-Mae-dance thing very seriously.
[17:21] <Eveandriss> I don't dance.
[17:21] <Eveandriss> :)
[17:21] <Eveandriss> it is a widely known and accepted fact.
[17:21] <Caecandy> But we know so many places you could learn!
[17:21] <Eveandriss> ...I've always wanted to learn how to waltz though.
[17:21] <Eveandriss> Come to think of it.
[17:22] <Eveandriss> anyway, never mind that.
[17:22] <Eveandriss> I am a sidelines person.
[17:25] <Play> I learned to waltz to a three four beat/ The perfect rhythm for dancing feet/ Danced through the corridors, danced down the street/ And that's where I learned to dance
[17:29] <Caecandy> I learn to dance with my friend Cae/ She proved me wrong from when I would say/ I'm never dancing, there's no way/ and that's where I learned to dance.
A long-standing LiveJournal community problem had been that any one maintainer of a community could decide to kick out any and all other maintainers. To resolve this, LiveJournal rolled out an "owner" status, to make the original (or nearest approximation, if that information hadn't been saved) maintainer unable to get booted.
I went over to my aunt's. She showed me a book that an acquaintance of hers had written. She'd been at the library, and the acquaintance was there, and the acquaintance proudly showed off the book she'd written, so my aunt checked it out. I looked at it and determined that it was terrible, and furthermore it was published by an outfit that had been listed by "Writer, Beware". My aunt had been afraid that it was going to be terrible, and admitted that the acquaintance had given her a card and offered to email her the sequel. I "lost" the card, because my aunt wants to maintain friendly relations with this woman.
Wednesday 2/16
Twitter informed me that Justin Beiber does not support abortion for any reason whatsoever, with the "everything happens for a reason" platitude. I can't bring myself to care when bunches of teenagers go gaga over a performer with horribly insipid music, but I do not take it well when people in positions of social power deny c'thia.
It was also a day of work productivity. Yay work productivity!
Evening was spent shopping with Tif.
Thursday 2/17
I misheard lyrics as "I want a wiki for your dreams", and yes. Yes, I do.
The Decemberists have a song, Down By The Water, with Peter Buck (from R.E.M.) as a guest on guitar. So good. That and a conversation with
nadyne about The Decemberists covering R.E.M. resulted in me getting earwormed with (an entirely nonexistent) R.E.M. cover of "It's Raining Men". jld and amalnahurriyeh were both sadly disappointed that it was only inside my head. One of the local Targets had a Red Ring of Death. It was awesome.
I did get the holiday box from my parents. It had packages labeled for almost every late-December holiday that I celebrate, and some I don't. One of the things in the package was a very nice pair of long black stretchy silky thermal pants. Nice.
( And a bit of woo. )
Friday 2/18
I wore the slinky thermal pants to work, under one of the slinky black skirts. In the parking lot, as I walked vigorously in the direction of the door, there was a sudden breeze and my feet became entangled. I noticed with some chagrin that the skirt was in a puddle around my ankles (and the nice treads on my sneakers had caught up in them, so it was a bit of work to get it pulled up again), as there was not sufficient friction between the skirt and the thermal pants to keep the no-really-the-skirt-waistband-was-not-designed-for-your-keychain elastic from slipping down over my hips.
It was the sort of absolutely hilarious humiliation that I couldn't wait to share with the internet, and I did have to roll a will save to keep from sharing it with my department, because it was just so goddamned funny.
Dishes and glitter
Jul. 5th, 2005 06:12 amIn the search to make my perhaps not-so-humble abode more pleasing to me, I hit upon the adding of glitter to the inside of my translucent yoga ball computer seat as a capital plan. I could just pull out the plug and pour glitter in!
One problem with this did not become immediately apparent to me at my late-night clue-deficient state of brain: the inside of the ball is at significantly higher pressure than the inside. Cheerfully idiotic, I prepared the glitter to pour, and pulled out the plastic plug ... and spat glitter as the escaping stream of air scattered the fine metallic squares all over my face, my nightgown, the beanbag chair, the rug, and anything else within range.
Undaunted, I found the little hand-pump that had come with the exercise ball. I studied the parts, then unscrewed the plastic tip, and poured it full of the fine green glitter, then screwed the pump back together. I pulled out the exercise ball's plastic plug again, and stuck the hand-pump in, and proceeded to pump in what I fondly hoped to be be-glittered air.
Sadly, I could feel an obstruction in the flow of air, and I saw the shadow of stuck glitter in the white plastic of the pump's nozzle. I pulled the pump free of the ball, put the plug back in, then turned the business end of the pump towards my face and gave the thing a good hefty pump to see if I could dislodge the glitter.
This time, the stream of green and sparkly air hit me square in the forehead, instead of square in the mouth.
...After a few more rounds with the exercise ball and the green glitter, I elected to unpack that box of dishes that was sitting on one of my pantry shelves. This went much more smoothly and at least somewhat according to plan. I found that I had a lot more bowls than I counted on, as well as more shotglasses than someone like me can make use of under any normal circumstances.
Perhaps fortunately, I've been plotting about what I'm going to pack for the upcoming cons, with a mind towards clothing of equal utility and beauty, and I've decided that I'm probably going to bring some of the Blood Cordial, mode of transit permitting.
One problem with this did not become immediately apparent to me at my late-night clue-deficient state of brain: the inside of the ball is at significantly higher pressure than the inside. Cheerfully idiotic, I prepared the glitter to pour, and pulled out the plastic plug ... and spat glitter as the escaping stream of air scattered the fine metallic squares all over my face, my nightgown, the beanbag chair, the rug, and anything else within range.
Undaunted, I found the little hand-pump that had come with the exercise ball. I studied the parts, then unscrewed the plastic tip, and poured it full of the fine green glitter, then screwed the pump back together. I pulled out the exercise ball's plastic plug again, and stuck the hand-pump in, and proceeded to pump in what I fondly hoped to be be-glittered air.
Sadly, I could feel an obstruction in the flow of air, and I saw the shadow of stuck glitter in the white plastic of the pump's nozzle. I pulled the pump free of the ball, put the plug back in, then turned the business end of the pump towards my face and gave the thing a good hefty pump to see if I could dislodge the glitter.
This time, the stream of green and sparkly air hit me square in the forehead, instead of square in the mouth.
...After a few more rounds with the exercise ball and the green glitter, I elected to unpack that box of dishes that was sitting on one of my pantry shelves. This went much more smoothly and at least somewhat according to plan. I found that I had a lot more bowls than I counted on, as well as more shotglasses than someone like me can make use of under any normal circumstances.
Perhaps fortunately, I've been plotting about what I'm going to pack for the upcoming cons, with a mind towards clothing of equal utility and beauty, and I've decided that I'm probably going to bring some of the Blood Cordial, mode of transit permitting.
Not a proper update, but...
Jun. 28th, 2005 02:41 amErrands went smoothly.
Headed out late to pick up V from the airport.
Airport is very confusing to drive in. I drove out by accident.
Finally found the right combination of streets to get back in. Picked her up. Had trouble getting out of airport again. Promptly got lost in Paradise Valley. Clonked the curb pulling a U to get un-lost. Tire flattened within 1/2 mile. Baka Loony. General exhaustion, prompt rescue by USAA-sent tow truck tire change gurus. Yay cellphones. Back home. V crashed on my floor. Yay futons. Yay floor.
Animation Acolyte is coming over tomorrow to inspire me to plug in and properly install crapness for the *$*#(*$ scanner.
Headed out late to pick up V from the airport.
Airport is very confusing to drive in. I drove out by accident.
Finally found the right combination of streets to get back in. Picked her up. Had trouble getting out of airport again. Promptly got lost in Paradise Valley. Clonked the curb pulling a U to get un-lost. Tire flattened within 1/2 mile. Baka Loony. General exhaustion, prompt rescue by USAA-sent tow truck tire change gurus. Yay cellphones. Back home. V crashed on my floor. Yay futons. Yay floor.
Animation Acolyte is coming over tomorrow to inspire me to plug in and properly install crapness for the *$*#(*$ scanner.
