Since When Am I A Uterus With Legs?

So, I landed myself in the hospital. Not exactly news worthy unto itself, I am very much acquainted with those hallowed halls of healing. But now, with the FDA pushing their ridiculous pre-pregnancy treatment, it's become quite an ordeal.

I honestly don't give two flying fucks about keeping my body in the optimal health for childbearing. I will never bear children. I don't want to, and besides that, I can't. My body is much too screwed up for me to be able to go through a pregnancy, let alone a birth. Now let's put that aside and look at the fact that my uterus is malformed. Okay, so what have we got here? Malformed uterus, no desire to have children, physical conditions that essentially prevent a successful pregnancy. I'd think this would be a simple thing for doctors to understand.

But no! I have a uterus, and therefor could become pregnant! And I must be given medical care to ensure that when that happens (because obviously, everything with a uterus gets knocked up) I'm in the right health for my non-existent fetus!

My medications have been changed, since one of the ones I was on can cause birth defects. I'm being bullied into quitting smoking. My medicinal marijuana? Bye bye to that, even though it's the one thing that stops my seizures! Screw me and my pain, we have to protect that magical and non-existing fetus!

This is insane. When the hell did we go back to being nothing more than walking uterus's? When did life that doesn't exist yet become more important than life that already exists?

I am not my uterus. I am not just a vessel for some future spawn. I am a human being, and I am in pain, and I want to be treated for myself - no one else.

This? This is why I have so many issues with pro-lifers. Life doesn't even begin at conception anymore, it begins at the mother's puberty, apparently! I have no words to explain how fucked up that is.

Oh, America. Where are you going, in your big shiny car?

I'm Not Dead!

Just so sick that I may as well be.

Tis the season and all of that. And by season, I mean flu season. Between stress and germs and existing conditions, I have been knocked on my ass. Solid food? I vaguely remember it. Getting out of bed? But a passing memory.

When I have finally shaken this infernal bug I will return with witty tales of the ER, medication, pre-pregnancy treatment, Why I Can't Stand My Cat When I'm Sick, and other such fun stories.

By the way, would anyone care to buy my uterus? It's only slightly used, I swear.

You Have a Right To Your Opinion. I Have A Right To Think You're Nuts

Today's word is: medicaster. Noun. A charlatan. A mountebank. A peddler of suspicious wares! Note the inclusion of the word 'medic' there. Coincidence? You be the judge.

The internet is full of crazy people. And I'm sorry, but some people really do deserve to be called crazy on a public blog. Such as... oh, I don't know. Anyone who tries to convince anyone else that they're really truly an anime character and can shoot fireballs out their eyes and turn into an elephant. Or whatever's popular these days, I don't keep up with the trends.

And then, of course, after posting ten page essays on how they can transform into Super Sparkly Powder Princess or whatever, these people are surprised when they get made fun of. Really now, what do you expect? The internet doesn't even let Scientology go unmocked, and that's technically a recognized religion. You think you're delusional, grade-school fantasies are going to be taken seriously?

They call themselves Otakin, and hold the belief - supposedly - that they are the reborn souls of characters from Japanese anime. Swear to god, you can look it up if you don't believe me. They're trying to make it a religion, or something. I don't know, I usually have to wander away and have a lie down whenever I read about these people. They go on about past life memories, mystical powers, magic items....

Now, I don't think these people actually believe any of what they say. They probably want to believe - hell, I still wish I had magic powers! - and they want to draw attention to themselves. Especially since Sailor Moon's soul has apparently been split and reborn in the bodies of about fifty different people. There's nothing quite like reading a heated forum debate about who's the real Queen of Crystal Tokyo. It's better than Jerry Springer.

It all goes back to attention. But come on! There are ways to get attention without portraying yourself as a candidate for the loony bin. And I'd think those would be the things you'd think of first. You know, 'I'll start a website'! Not 'I'll start a website about how I'm Warrior Queen Fukifyia The Third Really And Seriously!'.

I just don't get it. I may have hoped that I was really a Caller from Final Fantasy and that someday the monsters would come take me, but I was eleven. Not in my thirties. I sometimes wonder how sad these people's lives have to be, that they're willing to humiliate themselves like this.

See parents? Letting your kids watch too much TV is dangerous.

Money Makes The World Go Round....

And that is the crux of the matter.

Clearly, my sporadicness in both my blog and other places I frequent has been noticed. I am dealing with some financial struggles. For the past week I have been trying to gather up a couple hundred dollars to help out my sister, who is in dire need of the cash. This year has hit her hard, and unlike me, she has a family and dozens of bills and a vehicle and all those things that prey on one's wallet.

This is why I advocate a more simple existence. Really, who needs the worry and fuss of all that stuff if you don't have to have it? I've been called immature and irresponsible for not wanting to bravely forge my way in the world, but come on. Do we really need to add stress related illness to my long list of medical woes? I think not. I'm nto avoiding responsibility, I'm avoiding stress. It's a preemptive measure.

My sister and I are close. despite our ten year age gap, she is my best friend. She's the only person who ever climbed out of a shuttle bus window for me - not an easy task. It's a long story, involving a Bryan Adams concert, lots of drinking, a scary migrant worker and a locked shuttle bus. We'll save it for another day.

So off I go, into the Big Bad World - or close enough - to scrape together money. And what a hassle it is! I only have so much to sell, after all. And now that I've depleted my fancy perfume oil stash and my fancy bath product stash, I'm stumped. I could sell my old autographed Star Trek photos, but really, how many people will buy autographed pictures of Wil Wheaton these days?

I maintain we go back to the old system of bartering. Along with that whole 'we take care of our sick and crippled' thing, that was a good one. ;)

One of these days, I'm going to fuck off and go be a hermit.

Happy Sadist's Day

When I was a younger woman, still in the grips of those horrible teenage years, my best friend and I hated Valentine's Day. We hated it with a passion. Why? Why, for the same reason every single, teenage girl hates Valentine's Day. It was a reminder that we were single and therefor unpopular and so obviously losers.

We dubbed the holiday Sadist's Day. We even made up a song. We wore all black and rented horror/slasher films and were generally your average over-dramatic sixteen year olds. Looking back, I laugh.

I still refer to the holiday as Sadist's Day, out of joking deference to my silly younger self. And so does K, who is still one of my best friends, even now. We don't get all dolled up in black and we don't sing angry death metal anymore, but it's our own little joke that has survived along with our friendship.

These days, I just don't care about Valentine's Day. I find it a silly holiday, with little actual meaning or depth. It's about candy and flowers and if you're very good, getting laid. The romantics like to dress it up, but all it is is a competition of affection, a celebration of worth and monetary expenditure. And don't we do that every day?

I'm not bitter. I'm not some desperate single who feels jealous. I'm single by choice, and if I wanted a girlfriend I'd have one in an instant. I like my own company and I like living my life by myself. It makes me happy. I just think Valentine's Day is silly.

The only thing I like about Valentine's Day is the day after. Or, as I call it, Candy Day. All the candy you can eat for half off? Now that's something worth celebrating.

Political Correctness And You!

Today's word is: sevidical. Another adjective, meaning: speaking cruel and harsh words; threatening.

Today's word relates to my post topic for the day! Political Correctness. It's everywhere. We have it shoved down our throats every day. What we can say, what we can't say, what harmless word is now considered taboo. I don't even know what it's okay to call myself these days. Or if I can call myself whatever I want. Or what the rules are for who can call who what.

I'm fed up with the whole thing. And I have my hangups about it - my friends can call me a gimpy dyke all they want, but if someone I don't uses those words, I lose my shit. Why? They're the same words. Is it a comfort level thing? Is it a safety net? These words are all well and good when in a controlled environment, but letting them just run about loose? Words need to stay in their cages, where they belong. Apparently.

It's a constant shifting flow, and I'll admit that I've given up being able to keep track of it. I wonder sometimes, who gets to decide what's PC and what's not. Is there a PC committee? How does one get on it? Where do you apply? What are the qualifications? What brilliant minds came up with 'handicapable'?

I don't deny that words have power. I know all too well the power of words. But where do they get that power? Who instills it in them? Oh, the shiny happy answer is 'we all do!', but that's bullshit. We are not a united people, we never will be. And the whole PC craze? Not helping.

I don't know much when it comes to this tangled web of words and intents. I really don't. But what I do know is that assholes are assholes, no matter what they say.

Words don't make people assholes, assholish tendencies make people assholes.

On Words....

One of my favorite sites is back online.

The Phrontistery. This is a site dedicated to the English language in all of its glory. As you can imagine, it is a much underrated website. Americans? Caring about the language? Absurd! What is this world coming to, when the uneducated youth of our fine country goes out of their way to expand their minds!

Luckily, I doubt any of America's bright young examples of ineptitude are reading this blog. If they are, I pity them. And offer them a dictionary and a quick course in reading comprehension.

While this hallowed hall of wordsmithing is up and about, I offer you a word of the day. Just a bit of long forgotten knowledge that may bring a smile to your face or a new wrinkle to your brain. We can all stand to learn a little something new, after all.

Today's word is: murklins. Murklins: An adjective that fell out of use around 1675, meaning 'in the dark'. What a fun little word, murklins. Fun to say, fun to read! It brings to mind small, furry, under-earth dwelling creatures, doesn't it? The murklins, a fabled race of tunnel dwellers! Tell your children of the long forgotten murklins and their vast underground cities! Remember the time when mankind clothed himself in murklin skin! (And now you know why they're not around anymore. Poor little fictional buggers were hunted to extinction.)

I can see much potential for this little bit of lost English.