He has his faults, no doubt, but when it comes to getting me awesome gifts, my husband fucking rocks :)
Click this. Then click on the link on the left-hand side that says G8
Notice how it talks about 888 limited-production models? I'm getting one of those :)
Another article on this beautiful piece of machinery
Corvette engine :) BMW suspension :) What's not to like?
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Lollipops and rowing eights
"Nico-Pops. 4mg. Roll sucker around in mouth when urge for cigarette arises and until urge passes."
These things are GOOD. I think I've found a stop-smoking that will actually work. They come with this nifty child-proof bottle and child-proof zipper pouch to store the suckers in-between licks. How many licks does it take to quit smoking? One, two-hoo, thrrrreee... yeah, way more than three.
I think I may have done too much today. I had math, which I didn't want to skip, so my friend Daniel picked me up and drove me to school. He even carried my bag for me. Aww, wasn't that sweet? Still, I hurt. Every bump to and from school felt as though my insides were in the ring with Mike Tyson. Now I can't get comfortable. I still feel bloated, and I'm a bit swollen.
I tried to read Great Apes by Will Self, a book Daniel thought I might enjoy. I didn't make it past the first paragraph before I had my first "what the fuck" moment. Maybe you can translate:
Simon Dykes, the artist, stood, rented glass in hand, and watched as a rowing eight emerged from the brown brick wall of one building, slid across a band of grey-green water, and then eased into the grey concrete of another building.
Say what?
These things are GOOD. I think I've found a stop-smoking that will actually work. They come with this nifty child-proof bottle and child-proof zipper pouch to store the suckers in-between licks. How many licks does it take to quit smoking? One, two-hoo, thrrrreee... yeah, way more than three.
I think I may have done too much today. I had math, which I didn't want to skip, so my friend Daniel picked me up and drove me to school. He even carried my bag for me. Aww, wasn't that sweet? Still, I hurt. Every bump to and from school felt as though my insides were in the ring with Mike Tyson. Now I can't get comfortable. I still feel bloated, and I'm a bit swollen.
I tried to read Great Apes by Will Self, a book Daniel thought I might enjoy. I didn't make it past the first paragraph before I had my first "what the fuck" moment. Maybe you can translate:
Simon Dykes, the artist, stood, rented glass in hand, and watched as a rowing eight emerged from the brown brick wall of one building, slid across a band of grey-green water, and then eased into the grey concrete of another building.
Say what?
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Chocolate Cake Recipe
From the Food Network. This cake is amazing.
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 3/4 cups brown sugar
3/4 cup cocoa
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups buttermilk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 eggs
4 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 cup boiling water
Confectioners' sugar
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Combine dry ingredients in large bowl and slowly whisk in wet ingredients. Pour into greased 9 by 12-inch baking pan and bake for 25 minutes. Allow to cool. Dust with confectioners' sugar and serve.
Now, I use this recipe for cream cheese frosting. I like it because you can control the amount of sweetness.
1/2 cup butter
One small package cream cheese
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 pound confectioners sugar
Mix the butter, cream cheese and vanilla extract together. I soften the butter and cream cheese in the microwave before mixing by hand. Stir in the confectioners sugar 1/2 cup at a time until you think it is sweet enough. Ice the cake and enjoy!
P.S. Keep this cake in the fridge, covered. There is nothing worse than warm cream cheese frosting.
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 3/4 cups brown sugar
3/4 cup cocoa
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups buttermilk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 eggs
4 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 cup boiling water
Confectioners' sugar
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Combine dry ingredients in large bowl and slowly whisk in wet ingredients. Pour into greased 9 by 12-inch baking pan and bake for 25 minutes. Allow to cool. Dust with confectioners' sugar and serve.
Now, I use this recipe for cream cheese frosting. I like it because you can control the amount of sweetness.
1/2 cup butter
One small package cream cheese
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 pound confectioners sugar
Mix the butter, cream cheese and vanilla extract together. I soften the butter and cream cheese in the microwave before mixing by hand. Stir in the confectioners sugar 1/2 cup at a time until you think it is sweet enough. Ice the cake and enjoy!
P.S. Keep this cake in the fridge, covered. There is nothing worse than warm cream cheese frosting.
So it's a Saturday
I'm laid up on the couch after having laproscopic surgery yesterday. I figure now is as good a time as any to start a blog.
I feel like tick that has indulged in a bit too much blood. Bloated and sore, all I can really do is roll from one uncomfortable position to another. If you've never been pumped full of air, you probably can't imagine what it feels like. The sheer pressure of it is painful in it's own right, then there are the incisions that hurt.
It's a good excuse to eat chocolate cake. Lots of homemade chocolate cake, with homemade cream cheese frosting. I'll post the recipe as soon as I make a section for that.
I have three finals left to take and then this semester is over. Algebra 100, Interpersonal Communications, and English 102. I did the University 101 final this morning. If you've never taken University 101, let me try to explain it. It's "how to succeed in college for idiots." I've have not come across a class so designed for imbeciles as this one. If you are in college and still do not know how to use a daily planner, write a resume, or take notes, learning to do those tasks are the least of your concerns. How a person like that made it out of high school is beyond me. That is definitely one textbook I will be selling back to the college. I can't believe I had to spend $80 on a book that tells me how to be a student.
I should go lay down. My abdomen feels as though a midget has lodged himself inside me and is struggling desperately to escape.
I feel like tick that has indulged in a bit too much blood. Bloated and sore, all I can really do is roll from one uncomfortable position to another. If you've never been pumped full of air, you probably can't imagine what it feels like. The sheer pressure of it is painful in it's own right, then there are the incisions that hurt.
It's a good excuse to eat chocolate cake. Lots of homemade chocolate cake, with homemade cream cheese frosting. I'll post the recipe as soon as I make a section for that.
I have three finals left to take and then this semester is over. Algebra 100, Interpersonal Communications, and English 102. I did the University 101 final this morning. If you've never taken University 101, let me try to explain it. It's "how to succeed in college for idiots." I've have not come across a class so designed for imbeciles as this one. If you are in college and still do not know how to use a daily planner, write a resume, or take notes, learning to do those tasks are the least of your concerns. How a person like that made it out of high school is beyond me. That is definitely one textbook I will be selling back to the college. I can't believe I had to spend $80 on a book that tells me how to be a student.
I should go lay down. My abdomen feels as though a midget has lodged himself inside me and is struggling desperately to escape.
Not my drug of choice.
I was wheeled back into the small corner of the pre-op/post-op room, with my husband by my side. I held a pillow over my now-deflated abdomen, the incision sharp with pain, a tribute to 35 weeks of hope and worry that have now turned to a future of uncertainty.
"Are you having any pain?" asks the nurse. Of course I'm in pain. I now know what it must have been like to be the live fish I field dressed, cut open and gutted, while they flopped on the warm rocks next to the lake.
I tell the nurse that yes, my pain is bad and I would like a painkiller. She returns with a syringe and administers the drug into my IV. "Here is some morphine," she says. "This should help with the pain." Within a minute, the fierce assault on my severed nerves subsides to a mere annoyance. I lay back and speak with my mother and grandmother who have just come from the NICU where my little girl is now resting after making her debut.
They gush about how happy they are that I had a little girl, and she's such a cute thing, but so small, and they are going to go back down to the NICU to see her again.
The bed is being wheeled into the elevator. The incubator with the 3.9 pound sleeping baby is perched on top of the bed. The elevator doors close as the bed is halfway in and instead of stopping they keep going, tons of steel crushing the bed, the incubator, the baby. Nurses scream and try to stop the doors.
My husband goes with my mom and grandma to see our baby and the pain is back. It's only been 15 minutes. I tell the nurse and she gives me another dose of morphine. I've never had morphine before today, but I've also never been cut open from hip-to-hip either.
A nurse that was in the operating room comes out and puts a container on my bed filled with a brown substance. "It's your placenta," she says, as if I should already know this. "The doctor wants to examine it." Then it's time to go back to my room, so the nurses wheel me and my placenta into the elevator.
We board the elevator and the doors begin to close, but the nurse that was moving my IV has left it outside. He comes in, and the doors close on the tubes. The IV, it's outside, but it's still stuck in me, the elevators doors are closed now, the elevator begins it's descent as I watch the tubes stay still while we are going down and then the IV is tugging on my arm, I'm ripped off the bed, the IV is ripped out of my arm and I'm screaming as the blood runs out of my arm to pool on the floor and the nurses are just standing there.
Back in my private room I am lifted onto my air bed, which is usually reserved for ICU patients who are immobile. Coma patients, paraplegics, people in full-body casts usually get this bed. I guess pregnant women who are on bed rest get the bonus of a bed that shifts air around everytime you move, waking you up at night when you roll over. But it is comfortable and I'm grateful because I've been in that bed for the last 161 hours and I have 14 more to go.
"I hurt again," I tell the nurse. She says I have to eat before I can take my pain pill, but here's another shot of morphine. They are liberal with the morphine here.
I lay back and try to rest and think about the chicken dinner I should expect any minute now. The food in this hospital is amazing, better than most restaurants. I want to eat and take the pain pill and go to sleep. I have been up since 4 am, put on display like a circus freak for the interns, filleted, and pumped full of narcotics. I haven't held my baby yet, I can't feel my legs and I'm peeing into a bag. It hasn't been a good day.
I close my eyes and I'm in the NICU. My daughter is in her incubator, so small and helpless. A nurse walks up to check on her and trips. She falls into the incubator, which falls three feet to the floor. It hits the tile floor hard and my baby hits with equal force. Every nurse in the room runs to the shattered plastic box and the baby inside that isn't crying.
I wake with a start. It was just a bad dream. What is wrong with me? These thoughts, these horrible images, they keep coming. This isn't how a new mother is suppose to feel. I spend the next 10 hours in a state of unrest. There are more visions of accidents, and when I do sleep I have nightmares.
It has been over five years since that day. I have since looked up the side effects of morphine and learned that psychotomimetic actions are common with this drug. It would have been nice if the nurses had warned me before administering a narcotic known to induce delusions and dysphoria. The next time a nurse asks if I'd like some morphine, I will politely decline.
"Are you having any pain?" asks the nurse. Of course I'm in pain. I now know what it must have been like to be the live fish I field dressed, cut open and gutted, while they flopped on the warm rocks next to the lake.
I tell the nurse that yes, my pain is bad and I would like a painkiller. She returns with a syringe and administers the drug into my IV. "Here is some morphine," she says. "This should help with the pain." Within a minute, the fierce assault on my severed nerves subsides to a mere annoyance. I lay back and speak with my mother and grandmother who have just come from the NICU where my little girl is now resting after making her debut.
They gush about how happy they are that I had a little girl, and she's such a cute thing, but so small, and they are going to go back down to the NICU to see her again.
The bed is being wheeled into the elevator. The incubator with the 3.9 pound sleeping baby is perched on top of the bed. The elevator doors close as the bed is halfway in and instead of stopping they keep going, tons of steel crushing the bed, the incubator, the baby. Nurses scream and try to stop the doors.
My husband goes with my mom and grandma to see our baby and the pain is back. It's only been 15 minutes. I tell the nurse and she gives me another dose of morphine. I've never had morphine before today, but I've also never been cut open from hip-to-hip either.
A nurse that was in the operating room comes out and puts a container on my bed filled with a brown substance. "It's your placenta," she says, as if I should already know this. "The doctor wants to examine it." Then it's time to go back to my room, so the nurses wheel me and my placenta into the elevator.
We board the elevator and the doors begin to close, but the nurse that was moving my IV has left it outside. He comes in, and the doors close on the tubes. The IV, it's outside, but it's still stuck in me, the elevators doors are closed now, the elevator begins it's descent as I watch the tubes stay still while we are going down and then the IV is tugging on my arm, I'm ripped off the bed, the IV is ripped out of my arm and I'm screaming as the blood runs out of my arm to pool on the floor and the nurses are just standing there.
Back in my private room I am lifted onto my air bed, which is usually reserved for ICU patients who are immobile. Coma patients, paraplegics, people in full-body casts usually get this bed. I guess pregnant women who are on bed rest get the bonus of a bed that shifts air around everytime you move, waking you up at night when you roll over. But it is comfortable and I'm grateful because I've been in that bed for the last 161 hours and I have 14 more to go.
"I hurt again," I tell the nurse. She says I have to eat before I can take my pain pill, but here's another shot of morphine. They are liberal with the morphine here.
I lay back and try to rest and think about the chicken dinner I should expect any minute now. The food in this hospital is amazing, better than most restaurants. I want to eat and take the pain pill and go to sleep. I have been up since 4 am, put on display like a circus freak for the interns, filleted, and pumped full of narcotics. I haven't held my baby yet, I can't feel my legs and I'm peeing into a bag. It hasn't been a good day.
I close my eyes and I'm in the NICU. My daughter is in her incubator, so small and helpless. A nurse walks up to check on her and trips. She falls into the incubator, which falls three feet to the floor. It hits the tile floor hard and my baby hits with equal force. Every nurse in the room runs to the shattered plastic box and the baby inside that isn't crying.
I wake with a start. It was just a bad dream. What is wrong with me? These thoughts, these horrible images, they keep coming. This isn't how a new mother is suppose to feel. I spend the next 10 hours in a state of unrest. There are more visions of accidents, and when I do sleep I have nightmares.
It has been over five years since that day. I have since looked up the side effects of morphine and learned that psychotomimetic actions are common with this drug. It would have been nice if the nurses had warned me before administering a narcotic known to induce delusions and dysphoria. The next time a nurse asks if I'd like some morphine, I will politely decline.
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