Come for the politics, stay for the snark.
Take a moment and learn about hands-only CPR. One thing the video doesn’t mention: the recommended rate of 100 compressions per minute is approximately the same rhythm as “Staying Alive”.
Good news from Soonergrunt:
dont feel good at all. relly hurt but have good drug on cool iv button thing. doc said op went verry well and be happy. Also my phone im typing this on sucks. Will hae more 2morow when less stoned.
(The man is made of stern stuff. Worst I’ve ever had done to me surgically, knock wood, was an uncomplicated old-fashioned gallbladder removal, and I still don’t remember anything from the ensuing 48 hours or so.)
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From commentor Linda M:
The rescue of these two little girls was a happy accident. It had been about 9 months since we lost our previous cat, and I was just not ready to get into another relationship. My husband, who had just been rescued himself by a wonderful team: an oncologist, radiologist, and thoracic surgeon, was feeling spiffy and optimistic after surviving lung surgery. He was ready to take the plunge and go to the shelter to find one adorable fuzz ball to cuddle. One day I was informed that he was going over to the shelter, with or without me. Being the control freak I am, I couldn’t let him go alone, so I said I would go only to look.
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There were cages and cages of kittens in the lobby. Due to the cuteness factor, I think most kittens get rescued first. I love any size cat: kitten, adolescent, mature, elderly, but we have always made a point to adopt at least an adolescent. So, we went straight to the room where the “older” kittehs are kept. We worked out a plan that we would only stand in front of the cage and let the kitty come to us; if the kitty wouldn’t come to the front of the cage, it was a sign that there was no chemistry between the kitty and the human. As we stepped up to a cage where these two beauties lounged, they both came forward and rubbed against the door of the cage and looked straight at both of us. The tag on the cage noted that they were littermates and they had been in the shelter for six months. Awwww. These little girls were only 13 months old, and they had been at this shelter for six months—breaks my heart. And, oh, by the way, the cage tag identified them and Paris and Nikki.
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I opened the cage door and took them into the private room where we could all sit together and let our smells mingle. These girls crawled all over us, and we couldn’t keep our hands off of them. We decided that they had to go with us—immediately. There was no going home to think about it, no vacillating over should we get just one. This was it; we were in love! We filled out all the papers and got them out of there as fast as we could. When we got home and let them out of their carriers, they just trotted around as though they had always lived in our house—never once did they go hide or disappear behind the furnace—they were home and they knew it! Oh, and, by the way, name changes were in order. They are now Emily and Sissy. Two of the sweetest girls in the world!
Yes, I know the website is running slower than the 2008 primaries, and we are working on it.
Been a long, shitty day, and I’m wiped out and I think I am going to keep it light and frivolous tonight and watch My Lai on Netflix.
*** Update ***
The My Lai documentary was excellent, although very depressing. About half way through, I realized, that if the My Lai massacre happened today, no one would even react. Hell, as it is, we kill 90 people at a time with predator strikes (1/6th the death toll at My Lai), and no one even blinks.
Not to mention, Sarah Palin would probably go on Facebook and attack the people who uncovered any similar massacre as America hating troop bashers, and then David Gregory would ask his Sunday morning roundtable of Bill Kristol, Krauthammer, Haley Barbour, Newt Gingrich, and John McCain if Sarah Palin was right.
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Some of us haven’t been in elementary school for decades, and yet the First Week Back still sukks. Especially if (a) you’re trying to do five days’ work in four days; or (b) you only wish somebody was paying you to try that.
(Also, FYWP is dragging its feets for me today, so if I fail to respond in a timely fashion don’t take it personally.)
So my phone finally showed up, and I’ve spent the better part of the afternoon on the phone with Experian and other folks, trying to finally resolve my paypal issue. After a couple of hours, it is clear what the problem is.
I live in a town of 300 people that for reasons that I can not explain does not have mail delivery. Instead, we have a local post office. Thus, I have not only a residential address, but a post office box. Every day, after ten am, we trudge up the hill to the post office to get our mail and any packages.
The problem, however, is that Experian, paypal, and many other folks want a physical address, but they, for reasons I do not understand, only have my post office box. On my credit report, it has my type of residence as a post office box. I have no idea why that is the case, because I always include my physical address on everything. Now I get to spend the next two hours explaining this to multiple different people.
In what I thought would have been impossible just a few years ago, I have now made it an entire week without a phone thanks to AT&T’s “overnight delivery” promise for replacement phones. I’ve only talked on a phone once, and that was at my parent’s house.
I may honestly never go back. I still haven’t dealt with the Experian/Paypal stuff, but other than that, I am not missing a phone at all. I think my blood pressure might be lower. Now that I can stream videos via netflix and my Windows Media Center, I think the next step might be getting rid of cable. And then, inevitably, buying a goat, a generator, and moving to Montana.
Also, completely unrelated, but because of our commie socialist fascist Kenyan Muslim Preznit, I have had Stone Free going through my head for several days.
First things first — everybody send positive thoughts Soonergrunt‘s way, that his heart surgery (scheduled for this morning) is uneventful and his recovery swift!
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From commentor Daniel K:
Meet Tessie.
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When I found her six years ago, she was literally four days from being euthanized, and the folks at the shelter tried to talk me out of taking her. They said she’s nuts, shits and pisses like it’s her job, barks non-stop, etc. So I played with some of the other dogs at the kennel, but kept walking past her cage checking her out.
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When they agreed to let me play with her, she barked at me, took a leak on my shoe, and then ran in circles chasing her tail like a maniac. But then I thought, look at her – she’s a beauty! So I asked them if I could take her for a walk, and how far I could take her. They told me to leave my drivers license, and go as far as I wanted. And so initially she walked me, for a good 30 minutes, yanking and panting the entire way. Then she stopped, looked around, and realized she wasn’t at the shelter. I remember this look on her face, something like, holy shit I’m free. Then she looked up at me for the first time, jumped up, put both paws on my chest, and started to slobber all over my face.
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Aside from puking in the car on the drive home, she was the most amazing angel in the world. Loving, insta-house trained (literally no accidents evah), amazing disposition, fiercely loyal, snuggly. Here’s a link to a video I made of her (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOEt_kxjebY), introducing her to a friend’s 4-year-old son who lived too far away to meet her in person.
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About a year ago, Tessie developed a bunch of mast cell tumors. She put up a pretty amazing fight, but ending up losing the battle to cancer. Good God, I miss that mutt!