My Maniacal Misfit Menagerie

Well, okay. Maybe not an ode. That suggests insightful poetry or epic story telling. This is not the place where you'll find that kind of writing. Let's set our sights a little lower. This will be more of an homage. Regardless, I'm not sure how I survived in the pre-Amazon days. I love being able to shop from home. Kids come home with an obscure book they need by the end of the week? Amazon. I know exactly what kind of sheets I want but I most certainly do NOT want to look all over America for them? Amazon. Bra shopping? I'd rather rub shit through my hair. My good friends at Amazon realize this. They even take the time to get to know me. "Based on your previous purchases, we think you might like the following items: ..." I do! I do like those items! Wait a minute. Aren't you linked up to my bank account? Oh Amazon. I'm pretty sure we both know I won't be purchasing any of those suggested items today. Let's create a wish list and call it "...

Remember that old Eddie Rabbitt song I Love a Rainy Night? God I loved that song because I absolutely agreed with him. What better way to fall asleep than to listen to rain falling on the roof with thunder in the background. There's nothing like a good storm to cleanse the soul. Except, I hate the rain now. I can feel it before it even gets here. All of my muscles start to stiffen. I begin to feel like I'm 90 years old hobbling around doing a poor penguin impression. The other night at work was the worst. We were half way through a biblical flood and I arrived feeling less than fantastic. By the time I was a couple of hours in, I thought I might become a patient myself. Sharp shooting pain was radiating from both sides of my spine down my butt and into my thighs. My hips felt like I had rocks in them. The skin around my upper arms, collar bone and chest felt like it was on fire. My feet felt like I had been running around in narrow heels 4 sizes too small for me. Let's no...

We got Winnie shortly after we lost our cat Larkspur. He was a lovebug and rarely got into things he shouldn't. Winnie is not cut from the same cloth. After posting about our loss on Facebook, a friend suggested Winnie might be perfect for us. I was reluctant, because it was far sooner than I was ready for. But it turned out to be just what I needed. I sometimes refer to her as my therapy cat. Not because she's well behaved, you understand, but because she is a great distraction. She is my shadow. Even now as I write this, she is at my side to "help". In the beginning, she was still in her tiny-kitten-sleeps-all-day stage. Coincidentally, I was going through yet another med change which left me inclined to sleep all day as well. We were soulmates. Because of my fibro and a side order of Reynaud's, I am always cold. Always. Even in California in August. Since Winnie has no body fat, she is constantly looking to snuggle, especially under the covers. As such, I br...

Just over a year ago, my husband took me to New Orleans for a surprise anniversary trip. I had never been and we were only going for the weekend, so I decided that we would need to average about 46.279 tourist stops a day to cram in a small portion of what I wanted to do down there. It was Friday night, so I figured Bourbon Street would be a great place to hang out. Saturday morning I wanted to wake up early and try this charming cafe that sold beignets. We got off the plane, checked into our hotel, and my downward spiral began. I felt like someone had attached a vacuum to me and sucked out all of my energy. Just moving was an almost insurmountable task. To be fair, I work nights, so I assumed I was just a little "off". No big deal. Bourbon Street would still be there tomorrow. We didn't wake up quite as early as I planned, but we still made it for my beignets. Holy moly. Well worth the trip! We managed to do a couple of things here and there, but not nearly as much as I...