Archive for the ‘Suckassiness’ Category:
It’s For Your Own Good?
In New Jersey, children who attend preschool or daycare will soon be required to have annual flu vaccinations (most of which DO contain mercury), despite protests from many parents who don’t think the government should be able to tell them what substances, toxic or otherwise, they must inject into their children.
Of course, I find this reprehensible because while it is in the public interest for all people to be vaccinated and I did choose to have my kids receive the normal childhood vaccines, having the government tell you can’t refuse something you feel could be irreversibly dangerous to your child is actually pretty scary.
I wonder how many people will object when they mandate that we must all be microchipped because it’s in the public interest?
But I digress, because what I really wanted to touch on besides the forced flu shots is water fluoridation.
If you want to talk about having something dangerous forced upon you without your consent, you need only turn to you kitchen faucet. In most counties, townships etc. in the US, water is fluoridated without the consent or permission of those who have no choice but to drink it.
So what’s wrong with fluoride? For one thing, it’s not medical grade fluoride. It’s actually a by-product of the phosphate industry that is considered toxic waste until they put it in your drinking water.
Additionally, fluoride is a cumulative poison. On average, only 50% of the fluoride we ingest each day is excreted through the kidneys. The remainder accumulates in our bones, pineal gland, and other tissues.
Is this bad?
Well, considering that fluoride is directly linked to thyroid disease, damage to the male reproductive system (and we wonder why male sperm counts are down 50% in the last half century?) and a whole host of other potentially dangerous health problems, I’d have to say yes. It’s bad.
Shockingly, the US Public Health Service first endorsed fluoridation in 1950, before one single trial had ever been completed.
Have you ever read your toothpaste tube? The directions state that you should NOT swallow toothpaste. Why? Because it’s NOT meant to be ingested — and yet we drink it in our water everyday.
The dental community acknowledges that fluoridated water does little or nothing to stop pit and fissure cavities, the most common kind of tooth decay and too much will actually cause dental fluorosis where the enamel of the tooth is eroded.
Both of my children’s baby teeth came in with enamel hypoplasia where the enamel was already damaged or missing. The dentist speculates that it’s actually dental fluorosis from drinking so much fluoridated water when they were in utero. Nice. Think my county water department will pay our dental bills?
Oh, and it’s totally in your breastmilk, moms. Your babies are being fluoridated whether you like it or not.
FLUORIDE WARNING FOR INFANTS
Does your drinking water contain added fluoride? If so, keep it away from infants under the age of one. This directive was issued recently by an unlikely source: the American Dental Association (ADA). Read the whole thing and see why fluoride is also now being considered a neurotoxin that’s dangerous to developing infant brains. It’s horrible.
I could go on and on and on about water fluoridation because the facts are really, REALLY jaw-dropping but in the interest of brevity, you can read about it at the Fluoride Action Network if you want more information.
Cross-posted at Moms Speak Up
The Evilest Van of All Times
The title of this post is credited to my daughter who, when she was younger, proclaimed her newly mobile baby brother “The Evilest Baby of All Times” after he wrecked something (or many things) of hers.
But alas, the “evilest” title now belongs to our van. Yeah, remember that fantabulous piece of crap that was forced upon us by my mother-in-law (backstory here)?
Well, that freaking albatross ruined my vacation. RUINED, I SAY! We didn’t even get an hour away from home when the engine, with no warning whatsoever, started ticking on the interstate.
Since I’d never actually driven it on the the highway in the whole six weeks I owned it, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. But as it got louder, I suddenly remembered that it’s the exact same sound your car makes just before the engine is about to crap the bed. After blowing up a couple engines in my early twenties, I now know these things. Am SMART.
So we pulled over and only after I put the car in park does the “low oil pressure” light come on. Gee, thanks for the WARNING!
Long story short, it took us SEVEN GODFORSAKEN HOURS to get home from 45 minutes away. We were at the dealership in Sarasota for hours waiting for someone with a big car to come get us and all our shit. We were going on a nine hour drive and a five day vacation; we had a LOT of stuff and there it sat out on the sidewalk in front of the service department. We looked like the Beverly Hillbillies…minus the truck, of course.
The engine is, in fact, history and it will be $6000 to replace it, which we aren’t doing. For the record, it was not my fault this time. The car had oil, water, coolant…whatever it needs to make a car not blow up. It was some other pre-existing problem.
The good news is my mother-in-law is giving us our money back. The bad news is that it’s not enough to replace the perfectly good momvan we had to sell when she thrust The Evilest Van of All Times upon us and seriously, this had to happen RIGHT before Christmas? Effing piece of crap.
I KNEW accepting that van (that wasn’t even free!) was a bad idea and I even told my husband we shouldn’t. I had an icky feeling about it and I ignored it in the interest of diplomacy and politeness. The moral of this story? Always trust your gut feeling and for the love of Emilio Estevez, DON’T do something you don’t want to do simply out of politeness.
Anyway, our vacation didn’t happen. My daughter sobbed inconsolably when she finally realized we weren’t resuming our trip after our degrading stay at the dealership. My husband was livid. I was just sick over the whole I-have-NO-car-anymore thing. And little P? He was the only one who was happy because he doesn’t even know what a lovely, relaxing vacation in the Keys is or how much it sucks to have one snatched away from you.
So I’ve been home since Friday night but because I had some fabulous guest posters to cover me for a few days, I used the time to look for a new car, catch up on a lot of design work, look for a new car, relax a little, look for a new car and start a new antidepressant. I’m now on Wellbutrin while tapering off of Zoloft, which still sucks, by the way. I feel like Speedy Freaking Gonzalez…
Let me just tell any of you out there that are feeling burned out on blogging or feel like you have writer’s block etc. — taking a little intentional vacation from posting can do wonders. While I still feel really anxious about not having any wheels and I dread the whole car shopping thing, the blogging and writing part of my brain feels much more relaxed and I’m looking forward to getting back to ye olde blog.
It’s back to car hunting now. If anyone knows where they’re keeping all the non-American, super-reliable, low mileage, bargain-priced cars, PLEASE TELL ME. I can’t seem to find them anywhere…
(On an unrelated note…WHO is buying all those “Big Daddy” shirts from my Izzywig shop? Whoever you are, thank you!)
Little Black Clouds: An Exercise in Self-Pity
Do you ever feel like there are little big black clouds following you around?
Of course you do. We all have bad days.
But what about bad months? Like several. In a row?
That’s how I’m feeling lately.
If you hate whiny, self-pitying posts, you should probably leave now… You were warned.
It occurred to me last night, as I got ready for bed, after a few frustrating hours of trying to solve a Wordpress mystery (which I totally solved and then somehow unsolved) that life has been just one big exercise in frustration since late August.
Even though my husband and I have since worked through our problems and are doing better than ever, it started with the betrayal.
Then my father-in-law passed away in mid-September and my husband just hasn’t been himself ever since.
After he died, my mother-in-law decided to give us his newer-than-ours minivan but see, it wasn’t really a gift because we had to sell ours and give her the proceeds. And? I wasn’t given the option to refuse. It was like a “gift” from the Godfather…
So, of course, just days after we sell our very reliable minivan with incredibly low miles, multiple things start going wrong with the new-to-us van. For example, now my keyless entry doesn’t work and no, it’s not the batteries or a fuse or anything else that would be easy and inexpensive to fix. It is, according to the dealer, probably going to be about $500 to replace the computer chip. Arrrrggggghhhhh!
Don’t even get me started about the gas mileage. This thing guzzles gas like a drunk on St. Patrick’s Day and given my love and devotion for all things eco-friendly, it just eats me alive every time I have to manually unlock my car and drive somewhere. Going to the gas station is enough to make me cry…
Then came the ants.
And then I unwittingly screwed with my antidepressant medication.
And since my kids have started school, they have been continuously sick. As soon as one gets better, the other comes down with something. My son, over Thanksgiving break, has turned up with the painful, awful, terrible, never-stop-whining-and-fussing and totally-sleep-destroying “hand, foot and mouth” virus (Coxsackie virus). The poor little guy has been absolutely miserable.
He’s home again with me today which means that all the money I’ve paid for him to go to his morning program this week and last week was for nothing and I’m, quite frankly, losing my mind here because he’s now just well enough to wreak havoc but not well enough to handle any sort of upset, resulting in lots of tantrums and gerneralized fussing and freaking out.
On Monday he went for a head and sinus x-ray for this mysterious eye pain that’s been plaguing him and taking a sick toddler to a walk-in only X-ray facility to wait and wait and wait? NOT FUN. Even worse, the results yielded nothing which means the next test is an MRI. I’m starting to worry.
Yesterday, my daughter started complaining of a headache and sore throat which means she’s probably catching the same virus and we can look forward to a week or more of additional misery and her trademark shitty attitude that always rears it’s ugly head when she’s getting sick — just in time for our much-needed vacation next week, which will probably be canceled.
My workload is piling up faster than I can get to it, I haven’t had any time to blog, I have Christmas-related things that I need to do NOW that I haven’t been able to do and honestly, I feel l pulled in a thousand different directions, that everyone needs me for something and it’s always critical. Nothing can ever wait.
Oh, and the guilt. Everyone loves to heap on the guilt when you can’t stay for the Girl Scout meeting or volunteer at school or don’t want to buy a ticket for the the annual auction or don’t have the ability to do any of the other school-related crap that you thought your exorbitant taxes were supposed to take care of but apparently don’t (like volunteering to make copies for three hours week. WTF?)
I recently checked out mortgage interest rates because I’d like to roll our home equity line into our regular mortgage (hello variable rate from hell!) and now I have a bazillion different lenders blowing up my home and cell phone every day because I haven’t had time to call them back. I’m afraid one day I’ll open the blinds and see them in my yard — an angry mob of desperate mortgage people carrying torches in one hand and a huge stack of papers requiring my signature in the other! And yes, I COULD be calling them back right now but my poor neglected blog needed me and I needed it….to vent.
These are just the highlights. Nothing and I mean NOTHING has gone my way in months. Everything I try to do has been an uphill battle with no end in sight. I just want to curl up and go to sleep and if my son had gone to his program this morning, that’s probably what I’d be doing because I’m sooo very tired of it all.
The only bright spot is a very extensive horoscope sent to me by my friend and fellow Virgo, Jennster when I was having a rough time back in late August. If I recall, it said that 2008 is going to be a great year for us. Well, I hope that’s what it said and that I’m not just confabulating* the whole thing out of a mix of desperation and wishful thinking…
I know when a person is complaining about life, that in a misguided attempt to help said person see the bright spot, people like to tell them all the ways in which their life could be worse. They bring up all sorts of scenarios and comparisons and yes, it could always be worse. But it doesn’t make said person feel any better. It just makes them feel like a big crybaby that’s not allowed to vent. Please, I beg of you…allow me the tiny amount of pleasure I get from venting. And if you’ve made it this far, thanks for listening.
*Confabulation (n) - A fantasy that has unconsciously emerged as a factual account in memory. A confabulation may be based partly on fact or be a complete construction of the imagination.
We’re Under Attack!

About a month ago we started seeing a few ants in the house. You know, one here and one there and seeing as I’m not anything close to a Buddhist, I would squish them without hesitation.
I did feel a tiny bit bad but guess what, little ants? This is MY turf. If I was in your territory, you’d probably bite me or something, right? Indeed, you would.
Well, a couple ants turned into a few and then a few more. Then one night my daughter had a dream that her room was overrun with ants and another day our brick-paved area out back was covered with red ants and I started to freak so the huz and I decided this weekend we would really go on the offensive and try to get rid of them; the black ones, the red ones, the tiny ones, the big ones, the ones that are now in the bathroom and the ones that have had the nerve to crawl around on my desk. ALL OF THEM!
Let me tell you…those little bastards must be psychic or else they speak English because this morning? My coffeemaker was swarming with black ants. I mean they were all over it. And in it. EWWWWW!!!!!
If their goal was to ruin my morning, then mission accomplished because hello? NO COFFEE!!!!
My husband grabbed the coffeemaker and put it outside and I’ve been too grossed out to go check and see if they’ve vacated.
I mean really, ants in a coffeemaker? — WTF?
Why me? What’s so appealing about MY house? It’s not that dirty!
In any case, I’m starting to think it’s personal. You know, like payback for squishing their friends or something. Ughhhh.
And now I’m scouring the internet looking for a secret weapon because nobody keeps me from my morning coffee and gets away with it *carefully applies waterproof, smudgeproof, non-toxic warpaint*
It’s ON.
(Anyone know of a natural way to get rid of ants so I don’t have to use poison???)
I May Very Well Be the Stupidest Person on Earth
Blech. I feel like crap. Actually I’ve been feeling like crap continuously since the beginning of the week when I made a very stupid decision.
It all started when I realized I only had two Zoloft left. I knew my doctor’s office wouldn’t order a refill for me without seeing me because that’s what they told me last month when my scrip ran out and they so kindly called a new one in for me. I know. So irresponsible. Can you believe they let me raise children?
So, I make an appointment and go in last Friday and when I hand them my insurance card, the girl at the little window informs me that the practice has been sold and that they no longer take Blue Cross.
Of course, I’m like “WTF????”
And she says I’ll have to pay $70 for an office visit.
And I proceed to tell her and some doctor who has wandered in that they should have informed me of this change by mail or at the very least, when I called to make my appointment and that I’m not paying $70 for a doctor to ask me how I’m doing on Zoloft and scribble out a new prescription for me.
And the doctor mumbles in his very poor English that if he performs a service, somebody has to pay for it.
And I say “I’ll pay you what my co-pay is, which is $10. The other $60 is not my problem. You’ll have to absorb that since you couldn’t be bothered to notify me that you were no longer taking my insurance.”
And he tells me that I have no relationship to this office or to any doctor there and he’s not going to help me.
And I tell him that if they have my file over on the wall with all the others, with five years of my medical history in it, and that they called in a prescription for me last month, I DO, in fact, have a relationship with this office.
And then he goes on again about getting paid for his services and how he’s not the owner of the practice and all this crap, to which I reply that he needs to take that up with his bosses, not me.
And then he tells me to call Blue Cross and find another doctor.
And I say “I have TWO pills left and it’s 4pm on a Friday. You’ve GOT to be kidding me.”
Now sufficiently worked up, I continue on to tell him that he is he’s useless and greedy and uncompassionate and to just go away.
Much to my irritation, he doesn’t go away.
So then I bring out the big guns and tell both him and another woman who has joined our little pow-wow that they will be 100% responsible for whatever happens to me if I don’t get my medication.
The look of panic in the woman’s eyes as she glances at the doctor doesn’t escape me.
She suddenly gets up and fetches my file and begins reading the notes from when they called in my scrip the previous month. She whispers something to the doctor and he says something back and then they write me a one month prescription.
I write them a check for $10, thank them and snatch my scrip before they can change their minds.
Victory!
Except I really didn’t want Zoloft.
My plan was to talk to my REGULAR doctor who apparently no longer works there (thanks for telling me, betch!) and ask her to switch me to Wellbutrin or something that is less toxic to my sex life because I’ve been on Zoloft for about a year and I can’t take the frustration of, you know, reaching the big O, only about 20-30% of the time. It’s maddening, particularly when that area of my life has improved vastly in recent months. But alas, with no actual doctor to see, my plan was totally foiled…
So, I dropped my prescription off at CVS. I took my two remaining pills and still hadn’t gotten my new ones yet. A few days passed and I felt FINE so I decided I would just go off the Zoloft for a few days longer so I could have the pleasure of a proper and hopefully mindblowing um, you knowwww.
And I did and it was awesome…but then idea of going BACK on the Zoloft and going back to the complete opposite situation was so unappealing that I opted to stay off of it altogether.
When I started feeling like shit this week, I thought I was getting sick. I’ve had muscle aches and nausea and headaches and dizziness and this feeling of something heavy and leaden perched on my forehead, which I attributed to a virus coming on. Drug withdrawals never even occurred to me because I’ve never had them before.
But today I had one of those freaking lightbulb moments that Oprah loves so much and decided to look up the withdrawal symptoms of Zoloft and uh…I think I facked up REALLY bad when I decided to forgo my medication in exchange for some great sex. *sigh*
Now I’m positive that the awful symptoms I’ve been experiencing are from not properly tapering off the Zoloft. All I want to do is sleep because I feel so crappy and ill. Fortunately, I don’t happen to feel depressed which seems like a total bonus given everything else I’m dealing with.
But now I don’t know what to do. In the past, I’ve quit Zoloft cold turkey and never had anything like this happen.
Do I ride it out for another few weeks to a month (NOOOOOO!!!) or do I start taking it again and then taper off the way you’re supposed to? I’ve read some really horrible scenarios on a depression medication message board about withdrawals and I’m now paralyzed with indecision.
Maybe if I had a facking doctor to advise me, I’d KNOW what to do. But alas, I was once again irresponsible and didn’t tend to that during the week because I was too busy feeling like holy hell in a handbasket.
Make no mistake. Depression is bad. Horrid. Crippling. But being continuously ill for an undetermined amount of time is depressing in it’s own right. DO NOT WANT!!!
So, it’s many hours later from when I started writing this post and in that time I broke down and took half a Zoloft, which is 50 mg. I don’t feel 100% but the 500 lb anvil that was camping out on my forehead seems to have gotten a lot lighter. I’m also feeling less fatigued and the muscle aches are almost unnoticeable, relatively speaking. It worked THAT FAST — and I’m glad — but it’s also scary as shit to think I can’t function without it.
How the hell am I ever going to get off this stuff?









