You know EVERYTHING...except...

One of my gay boyfriends tells this story about his mother. She patently denies it, but I'm going to attribute it to her anyway, because frankly? It sounds just like her.

Jeanie was at a bridge party and one of her table mates was a blowhard. Knew everything about everything. Well, Jeanie, not one to suffer fools finally turned to him and said "Between the two of us, we know everything." The man looked at her quizzically. She said "You know everything except that you're an asshole, and I know that."

Seriously? I can't believe no one ever said that about me. My mom claims "I know everything, just not all at the same time." I'm right there with her!

Billy Idol got a Michael Jackson nose job??

I saw him for the first time on December 30, 2009. In front of Starbucks. As I was walking to my car. Billy Idol. In an 80s miniskirt, leggings, 6-inch wedge platform shoes and a leather jacket. Not pretty. Needed SERIOUS makeup lessons. Even from Mary Kay.

No, it wasn't the REAL Billy Idol. And I don't take pictures with my phone (except to document the insane amount of crap I write on the boss's white board), so I was NOT prepared to whip mine out. And he didn't look like he'd be willing to pose for a fan picture. But seriously? Yikes.

I saw him again today. A little better look at his face. Of course, first I saw the black over-the-knees boots...but I didn't see anything else. Because his nose caught my eye. And by nose, I mean a little-bitty-used-to-be-a-nose. Like Michael Jackson. And it's not like you can get that nose in one surgery. Or at birth.

It's not my first brush with celebrities in drag. I did see the woman version of Joey Ramone at Whole Foods a couple of years ago. Seriously made the REAL Joey Ramone look downright sexy.

Anyway, maybe next time I'll strike up a conversation. I really am wondering WTF happened when he recorded this.

Where are those Con-Mints when you need them?

A mailing list I belong to is having a discussion about "Dragon Breath". The person who brought it up pointed out that it doesn't take much for her to be nauseous for hours after a particularly bad encounter.

Someone suggested Vicks Vapo-rub. Perhaps a change of clothes and a bath. Then our favorite Seattle Cop suggested a cigar, before she went on to describe some of the biohazards she encounters from time to time. So for some ODD reason, I brought up this recollection.

Once upon a time, I worked for a venerable gaming company called Wizards of the Coast. Yep, it's true. In fact, they're the ones responsible for starting me on the path to the computer professional I am today. Now my boss knows who to blame thank. I started after Magic: The Gathering became a world-wide phenomenon, but while it was still HOT! HOT! HOT! Yep, I was the coolest thing ANY boy under the age of 16 had EVER met.

We had a fun director of customer something or another. At the time, Starbucks had just released a mint that truly would combat coffee breath. It's main ingredient may have been some component of Agent Orange. Much stronger than Altoids. Anyway, he called them "Con-Mints". Because if you ate them consistently enough at conventions filled with the target demographic of Magic, you wouldn't actually smell them.

I thought he was kidding. I was wrong. One year, we held the World Championships at the corporate headquarters. These boys? STANKY!!! Woof. And one of my fondest memories of my time at WotC? The clip-on air fresheners clipped to every HVAC vent in the building. Not sure it helped, but it sure as hell didn't hurt.

Come to think of it, I worked with the guys who created these little gems. Not quite Con-Mint strength, but sugar-free AND caffeinated. Perhaps there was a small niche market that was missed?

Human salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted

Seriously? Martin Luther King, Junior spoke about me? A nice Jewish girl from a distinguished lower Alabama white trash background? Where we didn't have gay people? And I still heard things like "Salt and Pepper don't mix" from friends? He talked about me before I was even born? Huh.

I'd like to think I'm "creatively maladjusted". While I understand those I grew up with, I don't agree with them. I don't think them less intelligent...though I do feel like they don't listen to their rhetoric before they speak it. Of course, I can name just as many bleeding hearts who do the same. I like to challenge those I grew up with. Their reality is different from mine, though I suspect we're closer than our words would indicate. Of course, I'm the girl who asked her uncle what he'd do if I came home and announced I was gay. He'd told an anti-gay joke. Boy...talk about an uncomfortable family silence!!

What would MLK have done if he hadn't been made a martyr? And Malcolm X? And RFK? What would have been undone if George Wallace had become a martyr?

These weren't perfect people. King had mistresses. Malcolm was an ex-con. Kennedy? Well, he was a Kennedy AND a Joseph P.'s son. George Wallace paid a price for his views and recanted. Whether not he was sincere is pretty much between him and his maker.

I can't fathom what the world looked like even in the year I was born, 1971. While racism was alive and well in my childhood, there was no hitting or spitting or lynching. Amongst my school peers, I don't even remember it being a hard segregation. That wasn't true in the 60s. When American fought American over whether or not someone was inferior due to something beyond their control. Sad to see the hatred hasn't faded, just been re-focused for the most part.

I go back to Garth Brooks. I know. One day, maybe not in my lifetime, We Shall Be Free.

News Flash: Debi Sucks at Calm

For reasons that I shall no go into now, I am trying to be more calm. True, my theory has always been that lack of stress makes me tense, but still. I'm trying to lower the amount of cortisol racing around in my system. If it's catching? Several people are getting stressed off the fumes.

And seriously? The damned air card just ate my GD post. It died and now, the post is gone. I want somebodies head on a platter.

Well, as my friend Elaine just said: "you do tense hysterically". Damned right I do.

Don't Piss Me off...I have SOOOOOO many places to hide the bodies!

Things are going well at Rottenfield Manor. I swear I have a huge number of pictures to post...I'm not sure where my camera is, but I could probably find it. They're going well when it doesn't involve outside forces. This starts with the City of Seattle.

We spent a lot of money with an electrician, and one of the things we did was move the service from the street to the front of the house. Seattle City Light has its act SO together, that I MAY get it switched by next week when I originally inquired on the 17th of December. I have power, but the upshot is that Comcast can't run cable to our house until the service is switched because they have to ground to the new service (this house never had cable run to it). This means no internet and no phone. And I work from home 3 days a week. Now? I work from Barnes & Nobles three days a week:)

So, I checked out an AT&T Aircard from work for when I'm not at a hotspot. Go to install it? It disabled my keyboard and mouse. No kidding. Had to hook up to my docking station (after digging it out of some box). Ok, uninstalling didn't work, so LUCKILY I know enough to do a system restore. Hied off to B&N to use their wifi (and spent 2 hours on chat with Comcast trying to get access to my in-limbo VM). Tried to reinstall the aircard this morning, same thing. Accessed it through my dock, got the keyboard re-enabled followed by BSOD. No, seriously. Rebooted, Aircard starts throwing errors. Finally, after the umpteenth restart, the aircard seems to be playing nicely with the keyboard and mouse. Turns out it's a known issue with my model of computer...*sigh*

Monday started with someone at job who complained about me to someone at the corporate office. You know, one of those folks who I work with and have a very good relationship with...and our closest common boss is probably the CEO. Anyway, he was complaining that I wasn't responding quickly enough to his "simple" request for a report that was ANYTHING but simple. That he requested at the end of the year. When I was planning and executing an upgrade for 500 clients. Mandated by the federal government. That always happens at the end of December. And I took a week of vacation between Christmas and New Years in order to move. I was available to manage the aforementioned upgrade. He said the 5th of January was FINE.

I understand that I'm his sole resource for these numbers. What he apparently fails to understand that if he has an issue with me, he is WELCOME to consult with my boss or my director. And that when I forward the email string, he'll be ignored. And that he's now on the naughty list of the person he reported me to. That controls all our data systems. Sucks to be him, now. My final satisfaction came when my director said "The data Debi said wasn't in the system isn't in the system. You can come see me about it." Heh.

For those that don't know, Rottenfield Manor boasts and enormous amount of storage space. And a ravine in back. I'm not entirely sure there aren't already bodies in said ravine. Hopefully, by the time we clean it out, they'll have all decomposed. I WILL hide your body there. Seriously. Don't screw with me. I hold a grudge.

Calling Dr. Gorgeous

Saturday night in the shower, I happened upon a (as Eddie Izzard would describe it) a big f*ck-off lump. Not your average clogged pore, your average golf ball sized invader that hurts like hell. Between my legs. In that spot between the girl parts and where both buttocks meet. I showed mom and Mike in a pose that is often seen in the pages of Hustler. Mom said “You should call your doctor, that looks like a boil.” Useful suggestion at 9 pm on a Saturday night.

So, I called my doctor at 8:40 on Monday morning, and got an appointment for 9:50. Just enough time to get some tea, right? Well, I ended up being the tiniest smidgen late just because it was full-contact parking day. Doc took one look at it and said "I'm going to give you some antibiotics."

Um, didn’t come here for antibiotics. I came here to have the invader cut off my body. “Can't I have it drained?!?!?!?!" Apparently, most folks go pale at the suggestion, so she doesn’t make it. She said she’d see if Surgery could fit me in.

Um, surgery??? Yeah, apparently this isn't a little poke, it requires a scalpel. Off to surgery where they ushered me into a nice little room within about 5 minutes. A very nice older PA came into the room. Followed not by a medical assistant or a kindly nurse. Followed by SUPER-HOT resident. You know, the popular guy in high school you either wanted to be or date? Because he was SO nice and SOOOOOO hot?? Yep, he’s here to learn from my boil. Yay. I’m happy to help train the next generation of medical professionals.

I’m given one of those teeny-tiny robes, which was at LEAST enough to almost cover by butt in the back. And give me the highly sought after Brittany Spears look if I crawl out of a low slung car in it. I climb up on the not-so-comfy exam table on my tummy to wait for the inevitable re-entrance of kindly PA and SUPER-HOT. Apparently, I was exposing more skin than the PA was comfie with, because he used another gown to cover up my legs so I “wouldn’t feel so exposed”. Yep, bare legs are what have me feeling exposed. They return and there’s not a whole lot I can do in these situations besides crack jokes and laugh. Except when he shot me up with a whole bottle of lidocaine. That hurt, so I did some DEEP BREATHING. I think some of the office paint took flight and is still lodged in my lower left sinus. He sent me off with a prescription for Vicodin to match the prescription for antibiotics my doc had given me.

I was FINE for several hours. Lidocaine? GOOD STUFF MAYNARD. Then? Wore off. And pain commenced. MUCH more pain than when the invader and I had been one. Vicodin is reserved for EXTREME circumstances because I’m mildly allergic to it. So, I endured the pain. And endured. I emailed boss man and said that between a big infection, and not exactly being able to sit, I was going home and going to bed. His sole comment? “Yikes!”

So, today, Thursday, it’s finally feeling better. Mostly. I bought a foam pad to sit on (they don’t call them hemorrhoid donuts anymore). It worked until today when it started to make my coccyx hurt.

So there you go…hope you find joy and meaning in my festering boil. Happy New Year!