I’m here for the first time in months to post so, obviously, this is very important to me.

It’s been over 12 hours and I’m still completely giddy.

Look below for video of my closest companion and dearest friend running his 10 second turbo Civic.  It was his first time at the track with the car.  Drove it there with the slicks in the back - me in the passenger seat and all - ran 10’s and drove it home.  I was able to get some pretty sweet video and he threw it all together into a stellar YouTube presentation as soon as he was in front of his computer.

10 Second Turbo Civic

PA Announcer: 10.69 at a 133 mph … a Honda Civic? Holy Tomatoes!

You can hear the kids standing next to me while I’m filming from the bleachers talking about the car during the first run.  One of them says he’s seen it run 9’s.  Heh heh … the car has never run a nine, but, hey, perhaps this kid is clairvoyant!

• I wanted concrete floors and picked the wrong guy to install them.  Haven’t lived in my own home for over a month now.  This has been somewhat stressful but it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me by far and I’ve been handling it pretty well.  By that I do not mean internalizing it all and making myself sick (and stress is a definite trigger for my autoimmune woes).  I’ve actually been pretty cool about all of this.  In a few weeks, if I’m still not in my house, that will all change.
• In a few weeks, hockey season will be fully underway.
• Getting to sleep has never been something I excelled at.  Getting to sleep with six cats jockeying for the for the coveted “Denise’s Forehead” position is impossible.  At my house the cats may not enter the master bedroom so this part hasn’t exactly been exciting.
• An animal catcher had to come to my house to catch Misha before the failed flooring project began.  I’m talking about a real, honest to goodness wrangler in a khaki uniform with a name patch sewn over his chest pocket and everything.  Awkward.
• After a year of agonizing over what my heartbreak conquering big change should be, I finally have an appointment to chop off all of my hair.  I hope my Tuesday night isn’t spent with a bottle of wine in one fist and a two-foot long ponytail in the other while I’m babbling something about how I should have gone with the new tattoo.
• I’ve always bemoaned what I feel are deplorable driving habits exhibited by many those with “PINELLAS” embossed on the bottom of their Florida license plates.  This is, to my defense, a sentiment shared by many of my closest friends over the years.  After spending the last month living in the county where people get those license plates - a county I consider very much a part of my regular stomping grounds and the place that shaped me here at home in the Tampa Bay Area - I have absolutely no appologies for any of my past comments.  Any person who actually learned to drive here and then grew up and must now communte across the Bay should attend mandatory de-Pinellas-ing driving course.
• Zelda has been spayed.  I guess I have to keep her now.
• I’ve finally seen The Smashing Pumpkins in concert.  I’ve only seen one other concert (Coheed and Cambria, third time) and one musical (Mama Mia, second time) and two movies (Tropic Thunder and Pineapple Express) in the last month.  It’s been … dull.
• When a friend buys Rock Band, expect their house to be the new hang out for the next few weeks.  Thank God no one else ever wants to sing ’cause I just can’t get into the toy instruments.  Expect pictures of every dual 100% Eryn and I (aka: Dying To Exit) achieve.
• I need to buy a new outfit for Tuesday.  I mentioned that I’m chopping off all of my hair, right?  That’s kind of a major thing for me.  I actually had a nightmare about it after my consultation but I don’t think Angel will chop off most of my hair without looking, leaving 3 strands at the previous length and bleach it all blonde, ya’ know, unless I ask her.
• If you’re hard at work seeking a sense of normalcy, try to do it while living in your own home.  It’s not so easy when you’re stuck in “guest” mode for too long.
• I’ve been shopping for a new bicycle.  Something chill but not a “Beach Cruiser.”  Must have a few gears and no coaster brake! I’d like something crank-forward that I can ride even when I’m flaring as hunching over handlebars can be painful when I’m sick.  Anyone have an Electra Amsterdam or Townie they wish to opine on?  Or a Giant Suede?  Better yet: anyone have either that I may ride?!?!
• I can’t believe it’s September, 2008.  Time passing is both sad and really, really needed.

I know not all of you do it - but a lot of you do.

The light turns green.  You lift your foot from your brake pedal and immediately begin considering what your next move should be.  While you think, your car, which is perpetually “in gear” while set to “Circle-D,” begins inching - ney, MILLIMETERING - forward, red bulbs unlit, signaling your intent to move ahead.  Should you change CDs?  Should you add a new waypoint onto the map your GPS has so carefully drawn for you?  Perhaps you shoud call your mother and apologize for all of the terrible things you put her through during your teenaged years.  She’ll understand.  She was young once.  You were CONFUSED!  Your car continues millimetering.  You decide to press the accelerator pedal and think to yourself, “why does this damn car move so slowly on its own?  Must get a V8.”

Why does it take so long for many of you lazy cheaters to proceed from a stop?

Here’s the way you should be thinking: “Brake pedal makes car STOP.”  “Accelerator makes car GO.”  “Green light means GO.”

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, asshole.  GO!

You must know how … wait.  You don’t, do you?  You never learned to drive a car with a proper manual transmission.  I’ve been here this entire time with my gear selector ready to force first and clutch pedal depressed - separating my clutch from my flywheel thereby rendering my transmission and my engine two machines ununited -  and you have no idea what “D” even stands for!

I must utilize all of my limbs to successfully propel my vehicle where you may as well be at home while your car takes your dog to the vet on its own!

At least tell me you’re doing this purposefully.  Tell me that you laugh to yourself each time we’re ten-and-eleven back from pole and you see me mumbling obscenities to myself as the light changes from green back to yellow.  Tell me that you know how to drive, that you’re not a huge moron and that you are aware that we could all be making much better time if you would just remember what the skinny pedal on the right actually does when utilized.  Tell me you’re getting some sort of assholish pleasure from this and I, of all people, will understand - for I am a road-rager and I enjoy making other pilots cry.  But know - know with every fibre of your being - that I am ready to go medieval on all of your ignorant asses and … uh … lay my … hand upon … er … my horn … in vengeance!

Embarrassing VENGEANCE!

Learn to drive.

Everyone ends up a little down some days.  I’m not talking about the cry-for-help kind of near-suicidal thing - just the boo hoo, woe-is-me, I-miss-my-mommy, chronic-illness-has-me-down blues.  Of course, all reasons are understandable.  Job, family, money, love, worry over Vince McMahon’s health - everyone needs little pick-me-up sometimes.

I was in need of a little pick-me-up tonight … and I found it without having to rely on silly “friends” or pesky, person-to-person interaction.

If you ever find yourself needing a laugh, I wholeheartedly suggest reading the vibrator reviews on Amazon.com.

Stay with me, now!

Since it’s not a site dedicated solely to things adult, people tend to be a little … shy … with the language they use when issuing an amateur write-up.  Perhaps Amazon requires this - I wouldn’t know (yet) - but it still makes for a fun read.  That’s not all, though!

Take, for example, the reviews written for the most popular “massager” of all time (thank you, Real Sex), the Hitachi Magic Wand.

Now, don’t you ask why I was reading these in the first place - just come … *ahem* … join with me on this little fun-finding journey.

Firstly: I have never seen so many quotation marks in a product review and, to me, that, in and of itself, is hysterical.  Everyone that posts a review about this thing wants to make sure you know … that they know … what this thing really is.  It’s a great “toy” as well as a “fine” “massager” apparently intended for people who refer to themselves as “outies” - whatever that means.  It’s pure “magic” when used for “back pain and fatigue” and the occasional “crick” in the neck (wink-wink, nudge-nudge) - but don’t stick it in your “foxhole,” ’cause that shit would wake up the foxes (or “the wife“).

Secondly: Some people that review sex toys online admit to some pretty far-out things like insurance fraud for the sake of anal stimulation or toddlers putting on improvised shows with vibrating props.

Finally: There will always be at least one person (sometimes two) who has no idea how you are really supposed to use the thing.

Don’t “beat around the bush.“  Try it … the review reading, that is.  You’ll like it.  It really is great for a quick smile - at least it was for me tonight.  Come on, everything is funnier when it seems like it’s real so finding humor in people’s product reviews can’t be the biggest stretch.  It’s better than all the blog-reading and webcomic-perusing you’ll do with less time, less effort and much less pretending-to-find-things-funny.

Now, if I could just “find” my damn “credit card.”

So, my cat and I auditioned for a game show Saturday.

I keep giving that opening, hoping it sounds strange and interesting only to realize that nothing sounds either strange or interesting, anymore.

Such is life in the new millennium.

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- video of me being a tool interviewed on WTSP, Tampa Bay’s 10 -

- click here for a story with a huge picture of Laser and a quote by moi -

(I dug through all the rules trying to see if there is any reason I shouldn’t post this but, 1) see above story and 2) read my account of why it doesn’t matter!)

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But we did - we auditioned for a game show … hear me out though before you go climbing through all the channels in the digital tier of your cable package searching for the Game Show Network.

We didn’t do very well.

Laser, as it turns out, isn’t an extrovert.  At all.  In fact, she’s a wee bit shy.

When I heard that auditions for a proposed game show where contestants are paired with their cat were coming to Tampa I knew right away I’d be attending with Laser.  I didn’t think past the actual auditioning and, until I was asked during our screen test what I’d do with a million dollars (a question for which I was stumped and gave some corny - but true - answer about helping cats), I didn’t think about any possible prizes.  Being a crazy cat lady, all I thought about was doing something cool with my cat.

We cat people don’t get to show off our beloveds beyond the confines of our own homes very often.  At least I don’t.  I’ve never thought of doing the show-cat thing nor have I ever had the patience to teach any of my babes to enjoy walking on a harness and a leash - although, like any cat-crazy, I do own those.  I was so excited that I had a reason to actually take my favorite feline and best buddy Laser out of the house that I never considered that she was possibly the wrong choice out the … however many … cats that I cohabit with.  As soon as everybody started showing off their Maine Coons (of which I had two sitting at home being all long-haired and lovely) and Ragdolls and Bengals and Abyssinians who all, of course, walked right out of their carriers to explore the lobby of the Grand Hyatt Tampa Bay before setting up a game of kitty field hockey, I knew that if getting on a game show was the aim, I’d brought the wrong cat.

Laser and I do get each other - there’s no doubt about that.  My other cats, I love them dearly, but they are cats.  Laser is, as I’ve always said, a person’s soul trapped in a cats body - and she’s my best friend.

Hey, people say that crap about their dogs all the time! The precedent is therefore set and it’s not so strange, is it?  Think about it, dog-people!

Those shots you see on the video of Laser in her cage - that’s about as outgoing as she was all day.  She wasn’t difficult, scared or mean.  She was just extremely shy.  I pulled her out of the cage and sat her on my lap for the screen test and she was still there while I held her little paws but she didn’t climb up into my hair or knead on my leg.  She didn’t recite poetry or ride a unicycle.  She didn’t bat at the boom mic or smile at the panel of judges.  She just sat there and, in my poor little breaking heart, I knew that’s exactly what I should have expected.

There was a cat there who rides on a motorcycle with her owner!  I barely ever put Laser in my car - a car she’s RELATED TO by name!

I’ll admit it, though: I didn’t help much.  I came prepared for cat-Jeopardy! and everyone who knows me isn’t at all surprised by that.  I was ready to sit in front of a camera and be quizzed on cats in general - not the one beast I know the most about!  So when the nice looking gentleman behind the draped table asked me what strange things Laser does I had to mentally fumble for an answer.  I did do what any good stage trained girl without a script would do, though: I started talking.  None of it was interesting but instinct told me to make sure I didn’t appear to dry up.  What I was thinking was, “HELLO, she’s a CAT! She sleeps all day and sits under a sunny window in the afternoon while she licks her own butt. Then, exhausted from all the butt cleaning, she sleeps some more!”  I didn’t say that, though, as I wouldn’t want anyone to see how very rude I am in real life.  Instead I mentioned that she meows when I sneeze - which is true but not really all that interesting unless you see it and at that moment, I don’t believe Laser would have obliged.

Of course, now, as Laser is splayed across my chest clawing though my hair as if it’s going to drip milk for her, I can name about ten different strange things she does.

But what I said was true.  I wanted the experience with my cat, Laser, and  we’ve made a pretty neato memory.  As soon as we got the audition we were treated like friends of the crew.  The young, hipster guys travelling with the show were polite, kind and fun and Laser and I wanted to stay all day and play “Let’s Make a TV Show” with them.

Ok, I did.  Laser probably wanted to go lick her own butt somewhere.

So, my cat and I auditioned for a game show Saturday.  What did you and your cat do?

:)

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Our headshot.

Laser with her number. I really did dig the fact that she was given "234."

A kind gentlemen filming Laser. She gave him absolutely nothing to work with.

Laser and me hanging out in a hotel lobby. Not something I ever thought we'd be doing together.

Channel 10's website - Laser is the photo! She's a STAR!

I talked to Eddie Izzard - my all-time favorite performer - last night at Tampa Theatre.

OK, so by “talked to” I mean that I was able to ask him a question at one of his infamous Q&A sessions after the show - but still.

I have never been so completely star-struck. Actually, I’ve never before been at all star-struck. I’ve dealt with celebrities on and off for quite a while both in close partnerships and for brief dealings. It’s a necessary part of the life I chose for myself. Most of the people I’ve dealt with have been polite and personable but I’ve never been in awe of anyone - fame or none.  That is, until last night.

I even yelled back to him when he asked us all a question about what the name “Tampa” means.  I waited until everyone had finished screaming fallacies about cigars and strip clubs and the, from the third row I boomed … 

“Sticks of fire!”

I projected so well that I wish every past director and theatre teacher I’ve ever had was there to hear me.  Breath control exercises, my ass!

“Sticks of fire?” he repeated while pointing at me, before pulling out his iPhone to look it up on Wikipedia.  I got to provide a piece of the segue into the main part of his show.  I got to be “that one.”  I don’t think anything in the entire world could pull me down from my cloud!

During the Q&A I wasn’t polite enough to set him up for comedy - much to the chagrin of the 50 or so people packed into the lobby of Tampa Theatre last night. I asked him what I really wanted to know about - his dyslexia. It’s a subject that is so close to my heart and (conditions auto-immune aside) the one thing that helps shape everything I do so being able to ask him about it made an extremely special memory for me.

I attend an average of one major entertainment event per week (large venue - a ton more if you count small venue and local stuff - also, not counting work - I’m a very lucky girl).  No show - aside from shows I’ve toured with or performed in - has ever meant so much to me.  My jaw dropped farther, I laughed louder, I was more deeply intrigued, I thought more and I was put into an overall better frame of mind last night than I ever have been by any other performance.

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I’ve been both in a funk (for the last year, it seems) and pretty sick since last I wrote here. I received some questions about what I wrote about my health, medical tests, gastroparesis and the like and I do hope that I’m perking up enough to address those questions at the length I feel they deserve and to the best of my ability. I can’t find many personal accounts of people dealing with these same conditions and now I guess people are finding me when they perform a search. I’m more than willing to discuss my personal condition so feel free to drop a line. I’m no doctor but I can tell you what these things mean for me and I, as well as anyone, know what it’s like to make that personal connection concerning subjects that are usually written about in that sanitized medical jargon.

I really do hope to get to that soon.

I want to know everything. I’m not one of those “oh, maybe I’ll look that up when I get home,” folks. I usually attempt to find answers straight away via my PDA or verycleverphone and if that proves unfruitful I’ll make a note and continue my search when I’ve made my way home. Perhaps this doesn’t seem all that unusual to you folks inside my computer and others who spend a great deal of time managing connections to the Information Superhighway (Route 0001) - but I have plenty of wonderful people in my life who find it rather strange. That or they have no idea how to properly query a search engine and they rely on me to find things for them. I have one sweet friend who unintentionally mixes sayings up to tell me, “the best kept secrets are those Denise hasn’t looked up.”

So, it seems rather strange - even to me - that I had no idea that coconut oil was what made movie theatre popcorn such a delight.

See, popcorn is my favorite food and for years I’ve popped it on my stovetop with vegetable oil. Like any good Alton Brown loyalist I tried peanut oil but I wasn’t a fan of the taste and went back to my old ways. I was content with my popcorn so I never thought to look into it - until recently. I guess even our favorites can get dull and I wanted something closer to that salty pot o’ golden kernels we find at the multiplex. So, I looked it up … and there is was, everywhere: coconut oil. A couple of nights ago I popped the absolute best smelling popcorn. My kitchen really did smell like the AMC Theatre I grew up going to. I tasted it, kids, and saw that it was good.

Popcorn lovers: use coconut oil. The jar even says it makes a “soothing body oil” so if you don’t like the corn, it’s not money wasted.

I’m glad I finally looked this up.

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A few years ago the gastroenterologist I was seeing took a look at the results of my gastric empty study and said something resembling “well, like I thought, nothing wrong here. Look, you just need to calm down, I don’t see any reason you should be in the pain you claim you’re in.”

I hated this guy. It’s not like I was some crazy drug seeker or I’d surely pick an organ whose pain you could treat with narcotics. He talked to me like I was a huge baby that couldn’t take pain (and, yes, he had no idea of my non-gastric medical history - but this guy probably would have said that a shattered femur was nothing to cry over) and was of the opinion that Crohn’s was no big deal to live with. Turns out, though, after going over my records with other doctors, the only thing this gentleman properly diagnosed after endoscopies, colonoscopies and testing me using every which method radioactive material can be passed through the digestive system, was that I was lactose intolerant - and it was his nurse who performed that test and the results are pretty damn easy to read.

I trusted him, though. Perhaps it was the white coat, the way he chuckled when he looked at test results or the expert manner in which he talked down to me about everything from my health to the Tampa Bay Lightning - but I truly believed that he at least knew what the proper results should be from a test that he, himself, had ordered performed on me.

I trusted him so I never looked it up.

If a doctor ever tells you that 178 minutes is a fine number to have as a gastric emptying half-time, walk away and find another gastroenterologist.

I spent the evening crying like a baby … no … crying like my heart had been broken … when I was told what the acceptable numbers were and just how far off I was. Lifestyle change is now needed - even more so than I had to make for Crohn’s - and, with how bad my stomach looks, perhaps some drastic (surgical) measures. I’m not looking forward to these things but I’m so glad that I now know. I know the pain has an actual cause. The days and weeks where I simply couldn’t eat were not just because I was “stressed out” and needed to “calm down.” I’m so hurt that someone I trusted to know what was going on was just so wrong, and worse, hurtful about it. I’ve always dealt with the most wonderful doctors and always been so involved in my healthcare (be your own advocate - no one else knows you the way you do!) - in fact, I’m friends with some of the specialists I see and would never expect someone to be perfect because they held the title of “medical doctor.” I expect everyone with that kind of power over someone’s life, though, to be kind - even if they’re faking it. It’s a part of the job.

I don’t think I’m going to become a completely untrusting person now - but I’m going to trust myself a little more. I’m not ready to start self-diagnosing but I am ready to start looking things up right in front of my doctors and asking more questions. Afterall, I know how to do things politely and until recently I was paid to research but, most of all, I know how to uncover the best kept secrets.

When you’ve been stuck in bed - or at least around the house - for a week, things can get pretty boring.

Trust the sick girl on this one.

Now, I’m never really bored. My favorite thing to do when I need to relax is Wikipedia article hop - and I can get lost in that for hours - but this simply doesn’t cut it for an entire week.

Here are some things I found myself doing during this latest flare. Think: “limited mobility” and “nerd.”

• Organizing and updating my Outlook contacts. Now every person I know a birthday, anniversary, spouses name or nickname for has this information noted in my contacts on my computer and my phone.
• Learning to talk like the lady in my phone - MS Voice Command - so she’ll understand what I’m saying.
• Writing reviews for everything I own on Amazon.com. This way I’m helping humanity and my fellow consumer while I’m stuck under my laptop.
• Organizing and backing up files (mostly pics, vids and music) on my home server.
• More fun with Outlook - assigning pictures to contacts, ya know, in case I forget what they look like. This is something I always thought was silly but, hey, I had nothing better to do.
• Organizing my purse and laptop bag with smaller bags for everything inside.
• Researching sodas I’ve had in other countries or parts of this one and then order them.

Yup - I suck at finding things to do while I’m sick. Send me suggestions.