Differences of Opinion

Classic metal: Some people get it, and some really... don't. Two recent Ignitor "Road of Bones" reviews for your perusal (the bad one had me LOL'ing all day):

****** The "REALLY GETS IT" Category*****
Thank you for your boner, Mr. Bergman. You are dead on and I appreciate it!

From Blabbermouth.com - Keith Bergman

A confession: even if I wanted to, I don't think it'd be physically possible for me to give a bad rating to a band featuring an ex-member of AGONY COLUMN. Stuart "Bat Lord" Laurence was part of that criminally underrated Texas band of the late 1980s, whose freaked-out peckerwood dirt holler goth/thrash flew right over the heads of just about everyone at the time. Surprising to see him show up nearly 20 years later in this traditionally-minded, riff-tastic, utterly mighty and righteous dungeon-metal act — but a pleasant surprise, to be sure. (Payola time: send me a copy of that third AGONY COLUMN CD and I'll give the next IGNITOR a 12, man…)

Anyway, on to the business at hand: IGNITOR doth indeed verily fucking rock. After all, they're part of Cruz del Sur's increasingly impressive roster of bands who mine metal's past glories without ever coming off as ironic, tacky or nudge-wink retro. And if you've fallen under the spell of SLOUGH FEG, PHARAOH, or BIBLE OF THE DEVIL's vinyl-and-denim aroma, IGNITOR is definitely gonna be a band you shit your pants over. Vocalist Erika (formerly of AUTUMN TEARS) has a great combination of range and rage, able to deliver power, attitude and melody in equal doses. In a just world she'd be mentioned in the same breath as Doro Pesch — she's no fainting Goth-metal wisp or operatic diva, this chick's got some damn grit to her voice!

Musically, these guys mine all the primal metal influences, and are performing the same alchemy in 2007 that bands like METAL CHURCH and ARMORED SAINT did over 20 years ago – that is to say, they're crafting American power metal in the classic sense, the kind that straddles hard rock and never forgets the hooks and the memorable melodies. And IGNITOR keep things lean, mean and crackling with energy — songs like "Broken Glass" and "March to the Guillotine" are like audio caffeine, hard-charging and triumphant, never opting for sedate metal grandeur when they can play insistently and pack dense riffs full of fierce downpicking and well-placed triplets. It doesn't generally gallop in that European way, but the music still pushes forth inexorably, with an infectious enthusiasm that'll be hard for any true metal fan to resist.

To say "Road of Bones" would have fit into any record-store metal section in 1985 is no insult; IGNITOR's songs have that timeless feel about them, and the band doesn't use their proud traditionalism as an excuse for mediocre rehashing. This is the energetic, lusty sound of a new and eager band who are ridiculously fired up to be alive, no matter what the decade.

******The "DOES NOT GET IT" category******

I almost feel bad for this woman - she's so far off the mark I think we need to send out a search party for her before the poor thing gets eaten by coyotes or something:

From HardRockhaven.net by Hannah Zimmerman
If you like an extra helping of cheese with your music then you will love the uber cheesy Ignitor. Their second album Road of Bones is a hard to swallow mix of Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Spinal Tap.

The overtly busy and screeching guitar riffs seem like they were plucked right out of the eighties heavy metal era. The heavy vibrato found in singers who have sang too long makes you wonder what ever happened to Whitesnake. One listen to the repetitive drum beat and you’re in the line at Wal-Mart buying aqua net and eyeliner. If you can accept Ignitor for all the wonderful falsetto pitched screams and silly guitar riffs then you can have a good time with it, and realize that if this was 1986 then they would be considered decent. Too bad it is 2007.

A song that is just waiting to inspire a good time would be “Death on the Road.” On top of the wonderful music that follows this intro, “Road of Bones,” it also has the sounds of a sword fight, wind, yelling in Russian, AND a gun shot! This is just the start to this flash from the past album.

“Castle in the Clouds,” has a nice bass solo in the beginning, but then the power chords come in on the guitar and lead vocalist Erika comes in a bit flat and singing/talking about things only a Dungeons and Dragons fan could love. Yet, it is one of the better songs on the album.

If you want to reminisce about the good old days while listening to heavy metal band just to put you in the zone, then check this album out. But if you prefer to look forward rather then back, Road of Bones is not suggested.

Posting for the Sake of... Posting.

I finally launched my website http://www.skullgal.com! Hooray!

Not much really to report other than Drifter had a somewhat lame show on Saturday up at The Rock Room in Round Rock. There wasn't much rockin' going on that Saturday eve. We do have some badass gigs lined up so make sure you check the calendar on my site or at www.drifterlive.com for locales and times.

I did unveil my "Hand Of Metal" gauntlet and "Piece of Mind" Dickinson outfit at the Sat. gig - will "re-unveil" it Nov 9 when we play with Love/Hate/Love, Sad Wings and Big Balls so more than 13 people see it.

I'm debating posting about my latest medical miseries... they enter into a realm that is somewhat taboo for posting: i.e. girl bit problems. Of course, you shouldn't be surprised - nothing else works right on me, so why should my girl bits be any different? Let's just say that I've had issues for a long time (most of my life) but now they are getting worse and I'm collecting more fun diagnostic experiences and potentially more surgery. I guess I cursed myself when I wanted UHC to pay in spades for the hell they put me through with the coverage for my hip repair. They pay... but I have to pay, too.

Well, like through all the rest of it, I will soldier through. We metalheads don't know how to stay down!

Time to Move!

Welcome to my new blog! No more actively blogging on myspace - it's just too unstable because of their clogged servers. I've copied over all my myspace blog posts to here and will use this site from now on.

Have a bunch of Blogs which need posting; need to finish Skullgal.com first. I'm about 60% done... painful painful. But I think you'll like it. ETA is sometime this evening to launch the site with all pages functional... maybe not totally finished, but there will be at least a little something on every page.

If anyone wants to journey up Round Rock way next Saturday, please come check out Drifter at The Rock Room at 8pm! We'll be busting out the Maiden classics, as per usual! Rumor has it Eddie might make an appearance, too!

Originally posted: Wednesday, October 10, 2007 - Pool Casualty

One gecko, 2 inches long, deceased, in my lane.

Of course, this sad sight necessitated me thinking "I'm sorry" to the poor lil' feller each time I swam over him. Every time. For 30 laps.

I'm going to the pool tomorrow; I hope he'll be gone by then. That pool needs a vacuum, big time!

Originally posted: Saturday, October 06, 2007 - www.SKULLGAL.com

Hey everyone:
I'm FINALLY starting my own website. Myspace is great, but from a use point of view it kind of sucks after 5pm and all the kiddies and pedophiles start logging in and clogging up the server. Therefore I am unveiling www.Skullgal.com!

I will be posting:

Photos (of Ignitor, Autumn Tears, Drifter, and various personal pics I deem worthy of sharing)
Bio
Blog
Music (or links to it)
Videos
Artwork and leatherwork
Creative writing samples
Causes I feel strongly about

If anyone has any brilliant suggestions regarding content, please send me a message. Please keep it respectful and mature - stupid messages are and will be instantly deleted, rude messages will also be deleted but your identity will be noted for use on the day I finally go off my rocker and decide to have a killing spree.

So that's it for now, keep watching the site over the coming weeks as I add more content. And thanks in advance to all those who visit - I appreciate your interest!

Originally posted: Wednesday, August 15, 2007 - Grabbing for the Wax Ring

Anybody who owns a home or who does home/apartment maintenance knows what this title implies.

As the rain this summer has tapered off and the heat has ramped up, we started noticing a noisome yet subtle stink emanating from the master bath. Over the last few weeks, I've been mentally assigning the stink to various aspects of the toilet, the sweaty tank, the bowl when it needs cleaning, and most notably the rust stain at the bottom of the bowl which I battle yearly with a bottle of CLR. I'd just erased said stain a few weeks back but like mildew in a shower it was starting to creep back, insidious and relentless. It's ugly and looks like it should smell, so hence, my inappropriate assignment of stench to the rust-spot.

Well... Sunday morning dawned bright and hot and sunny and the reek penetrating the master bedroom and yours truly wrapped in her duvet was undeniable. An idea was dawning on me as to the cause, but it was so ugly, dirty and involved that I just couldn't bring myself to accept it. However after a quick jaunt online, I was forced to admit:

It was time to replace the wax ring on the toilet.

Instantly, visions of water spewing wildly everywhere in my bath filled my head. Toilet accidentally dropped and shattered into pieces on the floor. Irreparable damage to my cherry cabinetry. Filth everywhere. Jeff running outside to turn the water off. "Emergency Service" bills.

However, thanks to a great step by step website I found (http://www.hammerzone.com/archives/bath/fixt_repair/toilet/wax_ring/replace.htm - this man deserves a MEDAL), I felt empowered. Calling a plumber and forking out huge bucks to have some guy with an exposed butt crack come in my house and still potentially drop my toilet into my cherry cabinets just to replace a $2.50 part hurt too much to consider. So... Jeff and I tackled it.

The actual process was not a big deal - nothing beyond Jeff and my combined skill sets. But one must wonder, as one is scraping off poop-encrusted wax from the open sewer hole in your bathroom floor, WHY HUMANITY, IN ALL ITS WISDOM, CAN'T COME UP WITH SOMETHING LESS GROSS TO SEAL A TOILET? Wax is nasty to begin with. It's sticky and gets all over everything. Poop-encrusted wax is a creation of Satan. To further complicate this, the flange on which the toilet sits was probably the most complicated piece of iron in a 10 mile range, which I had to pick and tease wax from for an hour. OF COURSE the johnny bolts in the flange were utterly jammed and given they were totally slimed with wax, required me to wrestle with them and befoul every pair of channel locks I own before they gave way and came out. God. FILTH. I feel like myself and all my tools need to be bathed in muriatic acid then scorched with a flamethrower before we're all clean again.

I'm not an engineer, so I can't really propose any solutions. But really, there HAS to be a better way! Can't someone come up with something infused with bacteria that will biodegrade the dook and keep the wax from turning BLACK?

Anyhow, the end of this story is I learned a new skill, the stink is gone, the toilet is cleaned, caulked and happy, Jeff has a sore back, and the rust spot is still growing (and secretly I think it still smells).

Oh yeah, I got my pathology report and my lipoma was just that: fat. "Mature adipose tissue" it read, which of course had the effect of making me feel old. But no cancer. Thank you. And UHC got a bill for $1650 and mine was $0. Ha!

Originally posted: Friday, July 27, 2007 - Cue the Knack, please

And let's sing "My Lipoma" to the tune of "My Sharona"... everybody, one two three!

Oooh when I first noticed you, noticed you
I said "what is that great big lump? Holy mola!"
Made an appointment with the doc, with the doc
He took one look and said to me "A lipoma!"

He said we'll take you out, take you out
Through a one inch cut. And send you off for biopsy
To make sure that you are fine. My my my i yi woo! Muh-muh-muh my lipoma!

So I went to surgery, surgery
The nurses they were oh so nice to me, lipoma!
The doctor came and wrote on me, drew on me
With his pen he outlined you, my lipoma!

Then they hooked me up, hooked me up
To the old IV and gave me a big shot
Which made me silly and loopy! My my my i yi woo! Muh-muh-muh my lipoma!

When it was all said and done, said and done
They told me you had tried to fight to stay, lipoma
But the surgeon didn't lose, didn't lose
And now I have a 2 inch scar to prove, lipoma

They did take you out, take you out
Sent you to the lab, and now I wait to hear, wait to hear
If you're good or bad. My my my i yi woo! Muh-muh-muh my lipoma!

On a more serious note, everything is fine, it's 11:30pm now and I had my surgery today at 9:15am and only now is it finally starting to hurt (no pain meds since I left the clinic). I'm going to take some ibuprofen and go to bed. I'm glad its over. I really don't think the lipoma was cancerous, and so I'm not going to worry about it.

Enjoy the before and after pics:
BEFORE:


AFTER:

Originally posted: Saturday, July 07, 2007 - The Funniest Pap Smear Ever

This actually happened over 18 months ago but it's still funny and always will be.

My ob-gyn is this super sweet Chinese lady named Wendy Cutler. She's awesome. Thinks out of the box (go ahead, LAUGH). She's always happy, very straightforward, doesn't treat you like you're a moron and is very caring. Has a bit of an accent but it just makes her sound charming. She likes hearing stories about Ignitor and what we are up to.

So, as we're preparing for every woman's favorite yearly exam, she asks me what the band is up to. I'm already feet in stirrups at this point with the sheet over my knees. I rattle off, "We just got a new member, we're working on the new album, and setting up a tour in Germany for the spring."

She pops up over the sheet with the speculum in her hand, grinning hugely. "WOW! How awrsome!" she exclaims. Her accent is suddenly thick, probably from excitement. "What do I hav' to do, to hav' a life like you? All I do is sit in heerrr arr day and look at VA-GYE-NAH!"

Never have I laughed so hard in a gynecologist's office.

Dr. Cutler... you rule.

Originally posted: Saturday, July 07, 2007 - Fuck you, United Health Care

I hope United Heath Care hates me. I sure hate them.

The hell they put me through when I needed my surgery for my hip was inexcusable. The fact that they couldn't provide an in-network trauma specialist was inexcusable. The fact that one of the "care coordinators" (who seem to be the equivalent of Tier 2 customer support) thought she'd muted me and then called me a bitch when I told them they had to give me a coverage exception due to the lack of providers was inexcusable. And the coup de grace, the fact that they said they'd cover all my surgeon's fees and then DIDN'T, was totally and completely IN-EX-FUCKING-CUSABLE. We fought it for 6 months but they wouldn't budge. I now owe and am paying off a shitload of money. Thanks, fuckers.

But... revenge has been mine, to a degree. My two trips to the emergency room while I was recovering cost UHC somewhere around $13,000. No one ever wants to go to the ER under scary auspices, but getting that hospital bill and seeing that your 10 minute contrast dye CAT scan cost $4500 and you paid nothing and they paid ALL sure is satisfying. Add in the doctor's fees, Xrays, labs... Eat it, UHC, eat it.

Since then I've racked up quite the billage with them from visits to the PT, the ob-gyn, my primary care doc, the cardiologist, and the orthopedist. Now... I get another piece of revenge:

I have to have surgery AGAIN.

It has been decreed that my six-pack's seventh member (my semi-large lipoma) must go. My family history of illnesses/cancers indicates it would be prudent. Once again, I'd like to state: THANK YOU MOM AND DAD. The procedure will be minimal, at a day surgery clinic, with just local anesthesia. I'm sure it will be at least a grand. And... it will be completely covered. Mind you, I'm not excited to have another scar and another owie, however temporary. In fact, I am really sick of having something new wrong with me every three months. But... if I have to put a positive spin on it, at least I'm getting my money's worth from my heath insurance and MAKING THEM PAY.

Pay, bastards, pay!

Originally posted: Tuesday, July 03, 2007 - My medical case file groweth

My medical case file groweth
Current mood: silly
Category: Life

Hello friends and freaks:
I've had 101 blog ideas as of late and no time to write. Blogs with the title of "To Eat or Not To Eat... It's Fucking Annoying Staying Slim!", "How Yoga Saved Your Stupid Kid," and "Watain and Emperor: Ceremony of Opposites." Alas, due to many work and band projects I just haven't had the time.

Due to an abruptly ended conference call I now find myself with 25 minutes and that's enough time for a new health update!

The hip: seems to be doing fine. Still is stiff and slightly weaker than the other side. Hurts like all get-out if I jump up and down on it. All in all, vastly improved from six months ago!

The heart: also seems fine. Still beats weird sometimes but I can ignore most of it.

The blood pressure: Back to normal. Wooo! Bring on the salt.

The new additions:
Arthritis toe: Guess what? I've got arthritis in my left big toe. Hurts like a motherfucker if I step on it wrong. Doc says he can feel bone spurs. I can SEE the bone spurs just by looking at the joint. I blame three months of having that be my only weight bearing foot. I know that didn't help. Sucks. I basically have to live with it until it gets too painful to take, then we start with the cortisone shots. Ugh.

Osteopenic bones: Had a bone scan today to check my bone density. Spine looks great, hips have mild osteopenia (thinning of the bones), particularly in the trochanters. Thank you genetics. There will be another blog sometime titled "I'd like to thank my mother and father...". You'd think, for how active I am and how well I care for myself that osteoporosis would be far far in the future. Nope. Apparently, I don't do enough walking and I need to get more Vitamin D to increase my Ca absorption (I ingest frigging 1750 mg a DAY - I must be pissing it all out). Well, easy enough to remedy and it's good I caught it early. Duck pond, here I come.

Tumor on torso: Yes, boys and girls, yours truly has a tumor. It's probably a lipoma, which is a benign encapsulation of fat. I've probably had it for years but for some reason just noticed it on Saturday morning. I've been doing situps and was scrunching up my abs in the bathroom mirror, admiring my vain-ass self, when I finally acknowledged that my six pack had a seventh member. On my right side, over my ribs, there is an oval mass about the size of an egg. No, fuckers, I'm not talking about my boobs, they're a little bigger than that! It looks like an ab muscle when I'm scrunched over, but when I stretch out, you can tell that ain't no muscle. It's this mooshy, painless 5cm x 4cm lump. Not exactly tiny. Yug.

So off to the doctor who gives me a referral to a surgeon so I can get a biopsy done. Unfortunately, I had a first cousin who died from liposarcoma, so it's best if I get it checked. I'm still trying to decide if I want an incisional biopsy or an excisional. If they excise the whole thing it will be gone but I'll have a big scar. I'm sick of scars. Oh well, my appt is Friday so I'll know more then.

So that's it.. three new health issues to monitor! I'm a mess! My genes suck! Thanks Mom and Dad!

Have a safe and happy Fouth of July everybody!

Originally posted: Wednesday, June 06, 2007 - Metal to the Bone

I like to refer to myself as being "Metal to the Bone." See x-ray proof below!



The two circles on the film below are metal eyelets on the shorts I was wearing that day. They are not inside me!! Two screws and a plate is ENOUGH. I am eternally creeped out by how long those screws are.

Originally posted: Sunday, April 29, 2007 - It's good to be a fan...

Went to San Antonio yesterday to see Celtic Frost, as I missed them when they came in Oct 2006 due to my injury. I was slightly bummed about this show because they were not headlining, but playing in support of Type O Negative, a band who I do not like at all. The only good thing would be that we'd vamoose after Frost left the stage which would mean a slightly earlier drive home.

We got to the Rabbit and were immediately told some great news: Type O cancelled and Frost would be headlining! Wooo hooo! I felt like this would give me the chance to make up for missing an amazing show back in the fall.

And it was amazing... Tom, Martin and crew put on a great 90 minute performance. As I was standing in the crowd singing along and throwing the horns so hard I was hurting my elbows (and smacking the head of the girl in front of me), it stuck me how good it feels to just be a fan sometimes. Yes, it's great to be onstage, but there still is and always will be something incredibly special about engaging in the group hero worship that always takes place so enthusiastically in the first three rows. You fixate, you forget yourself, you become the servant of the musicians onstage. You scream when they command. You seek their eyes, their recognition, and when you get it, there is still the thrill of "I was seen!". You cease to be any particular age or station in life and just become the ardent fan. It's cleansing, purifying - and honestly, I don't know if many other genres of music give this kind of pure experience. I guess they do, but metal never fails to deliver. It's always transcendent to watch a band you really like. I am so glad I can still enjoy this as much as I did when I was 16, before the weight of life was laid upon me.

So, with all of these things solidly in mind, I'm ready to give some of this back next Friday, May 4 at the Red Eyed Fly in Austin when Ignitor plays at midnight. See you all then!

Originally posted: Sunday, April 01, 2007 - What a Weekend!

For all of you expecting some long description of crazy partying and wild antics on my part, please prepare youselves to be disappointed. But it was a great weekend - because it marks the point where I know I am fully recovered.

I've been working out stiffness and mobility issues in these past months, and now that it's spring, I have been looking forward to my annual ritual of house projects. I have all these unfinished projects started before I got hurt that are needing completion. The kitchen is the most major: I spent from Dec 26, 2005 to September 9, 2006 faux finishing my kitchen cabinets to look like red mahogany. Yes, you read the timeline right. Nine months. Ridiculous. Jeff already has informed me that should I attempt the oil paint faux finish technique again he will instantly divorce me.

Marital discord aside, the cabinets look bad ass. They should; I spent 4 years in art school so the least I should be able to do is paint my cabinets to look like wood grain. But cabinets alone do not a kitchen make: you need nice appliances (working on it), nice countertops (got those) and a nice paint job to pull everything together. And thus, this weekend was earmarked the "Weekend O Painting".

I love painting, but I hate it, too. It's tiring but it can make such an instant difference to a room. I struggle with choosing colors. Therefore, I prefer to paint when Jeff is out of town. Currently, he's on tour with his band, so I have multiple weeks to try out terrible paint colors in the house with no one but me to say the dreaded words, "Oh... god, what was I thinking?"

So, Friday night I bit the bullet and dove into the project, wondering how my hip and leg (and waning anxiety issues) would deal with the abuse that is part and parcel of painting a kitchen. I am happy to say I pulled all the needed exercises off with no problems! They were:

1. Removed old and installed new range hood with no panicking over electricity or wiring (I always envision death when I have to do anything which requires turning off breakers)
2. Repeatedly stepping up onto a chair then onto the kitchen counter to paint that god-rotted 12 inch length of wall above the cabinets
3. Climbing up and down a ladder (which involves rotating my hips while stepping, which was very uncomfortable just a few weeks ago)
4. Sitting crosslegged on the floor (to paint the baseboards). Couldn't sit crosslegged at all a couple weeks ago.
5. Repeatedly kneeling (my knees finally feel all right and no longer feel like they're going to tear when I bend them sharply).
6. Painting using a roller - which requires lots of upper body pushing (at least the way I do it, it does!), which up till now would cause heart palpitations.

And, to add a little interest into the mix, I also lugged 24 huge bags of mulch back and forth between Home Depot cart to my car then car to garage. That's next weekend's project, in addition to "Shower CaulkAThon" and "Home Office Redeux".

I know to some of you, these might seem like dumb things to be happy about, but I really am thrilled. There were times when I didn't think ANYTHING was going to be the same as it was before the injury. It took time, it took patience, and it took hard work, but I can finally stop wondering if I'm going to be able to do this or that, Ahhhh, it's good to be back 100%!!!

Originally posted: Saturday, March 24, 2007 - Random (and hopefully humorous) observations

I wonder about my fellow man, sometimes, you know. Actually, almost all of the time. We humans are strange, strange creatures.

Random Observation #1: People Leave Weird Shit Behind
Take the women's locker room at the gym. It's quite a nice locker room, all brand new with stainless fixtures, marble counters, faux cherry lockers and tasteful tile. Very neat and tidy. Easy to keep track of your stuff, or so one would think.

The other day I came marching in, like I usually do, at 5pm or so, ready to swim my 36 laps and then GTFO (or get the fuck out, for those not in the know). On one of the small countertops in front of a mirror is a balled up, peach-colored bra. Looks like one of those expensive Victoria's Secret jobs. C cup or so - it's not small by any stretch of the imagination. I pass it by, and don't give it much thought.

After 40 mins of swimming, I stagger back in, dripping, swim shoes slapping like seal flippers. Sir Bra is still on the counter, looking lonely. I think, "Huh. Well maybe its owner just forgot to put it in her locker and is still working out." So I shower and change, and another 20 mins pass. Sir Bra is still hanging out on the counter. Huh. Ok, whatever, somebody's having a long workout.

The next day, Sir Bra is still there, albeit folded up more neatly, probably by the cleaning lady. Clearly, it has had a sleepover at the gym. Sir Bra has been abandoned. So here's where I start wondering - how do you forget your bra? I mean, when you're like me and nature has seen fit to damn you with the figure of a 12 year old, you can forget the old boob holder on occasion, mainly because you have no boobs to hold. But the owner of Sir Peach Bra - her rack surely was missing its support! How in hell do you leave that bad boy just bunched up on the counter? Did she not notice an unusual sense of "freedom" as she left the gym that day?

At the gym on Friday, another strange abandoned garment: a rather large pair of purple undies left in the only open shower stall. They were functioning as a bathing repellent; all other showers were occupied, so the purple britches and I got to interact. They looked almost brand new as I carefully kicked them out of the way (hooray swim shoes) so I could wash off the barnacles and the chlorine. Again, I must ask: Didn't someone, upon putting on their skirt or pants, ask themselves, "My, this feels a little more ROUGH and CHAFY than usual, I wonder what is wrong? Oh, I know! I done left my new purple britches on the shower floor - I should go get them!" But no, their owner clearly had abandoned her britches to their cold, damp, and certainly hopeless future in the Hesters Crossing Gold's Gym women's locker room.

I can't imagine what gets left in the Men's Locker Room.

Random Oberservation #2: Big Box Retailers and Anesthesia
I was in both Home Depot and Lowes tonight, I think they pump anesthetic into their air circulation systems. As soon as I walk into either store, I become the walking dead. My IQ drops by at least 30 points: I begin staggering, I cannot make decisions or remember the reason why I am there. Reading labels is nearly impossible. Any sales person inquiries are reacted to with no less than a 5 second delay. My husband gets it, too. Walking somnolence. What is up with that?

Maybe they think if they sedate you, you'll be likely to spend more money on things you don't need but in a half-doze sound like great ideas. You're there for a box of nails but the trip turns into: "Tile... cleaner... we need... that...don't we? Shower... curtain...rod... yessssssssss. Motion-sensitive... exterior liiiiight... ohhhh area... rug....soft...squishy... must buyyyyyy". Then you stagger out with your $200 worth of unnecessary shit, get into your car, and then proceed to nearly run over six or seven people on your way out of the lot. I swear, maybe they have a gig with the insurance companies or something.

Random Observation #3: Buil In Housewares Shop Syndrome
Any time I go into Bloodbath and Beyond, I knock something down and/or make a huge noise. Every time. Without fail. See, I never get a cart, because I'm always just going in to "look." Next thing you know, I'm taking out a display of memory foam slippers with the curtain rod I've found. Tonight, I took out a display of stainless steel utensil holders with a mere touch of my magically powerful elbow (powered by the stupefaction of my visit to Lowes not 5 minutes before). Kaaaaa-rrrrash! My GOD do those make a clatter when they go down. I'm sure I didn't help matters by observing loudly, "Well, THAT was LOUD, wasn't it?" Slowly, like an 80 year old lady, I got down on the floor and picked up the holders before an employee could humiliate me by asking "Do you need some help?" "No, I'm doing just fine fucking up your store by myself, thank you."

Random Observation #4: Your Injured Leg Hurts? Wear Better Shoes!
I'll make this one short: people don't seem to put two and two together when it comes to "I just broke the fuck out of my foot/leg/hip so maybe I should wear supportive shoes for the next few months until I'm healed". This one comes from my last visit to Dr Badass. While sitting in the waiting room which was full of much sadder sacks of guts than I, Random Observation #4 stole over me like a fog over a shore on a damp spring morning. A young man was complaining about how badly his leg was hurting. He'd suffered a terrible injury in June 06 - multiple compound fractures of his right tibia and fibula (motorcycle accident). Two plates and 15 screws to put Humpty Dumpty's leg back together again. He had a cane and was clearly uncomfortable. And what was he wearing? Flip flops! Not even molded orthotic sandals, noooooooo, he had on the Walgreens $9.99 FlipFlop special, complete with the Texas Longhorn symbols on the straps. NO SHIT your foot hurts - you can't even stand correctly with those useless things on your feet!

A woman piped up after hearing his groans to mention how much her leg was hurting her. She'd suffered a gruesome injury where her femur snapped in half unexpectedly when she tried to catch herself after slipping. She had a 15 inch rod in the bone holding it togther. And what is she wearing? Payless (or Target, or Walmart) plastic pointy flats with tiny peg heels. She could barely stand, let alone walk, on those wobbly tiny heels. Again, NO SHIT YOUR LEG HURTS.

I'm sorry, but you're idiots. I know how painful it is to recover from an orthopedic injury. And I know it sucks to wear dumb shoes. Yes, I too tried to return to my previous footwear my first day back to work. By noon, my leather slides nearly had me in tears; my feet felt broken, my back hurt, and my hip was hollering something fierce. As much as I didn't want to, I had to shove aside what tiny, infestisimal sense of fashion I have and break out the running shoes, in all their clunky blue-white ultra gayness. I received comments about how "matronly" the sneaks made me look, and how "strange it is to see you wearing sneakers, Erika!." I wanted to disappear each time in mortal embarrassment, but still, the thought of being in ABJECT PAIN was enough to get me to endure those matronly but oh so supportive sneakers for a good eight weeks. And you know what? I recovered faster and with very little pain.

So many times people are the source of their own misery, and they don't even realize it, either out of ignorance or just willful and ridiculous adherence to social norms.

So that's it for now: people leave the weirdest shit behind while being stupefied by big box anestheia and because they have to avoid the disasters I create in certain stores, all the while complianing their lower limbs hurt and not realizing its their fricking flip flops that are the cause.

Originally posted: Wednesday, February 28, 2007 - When did stop signs become optional?

A friend once told me a story about a guy who was learning to drive and failed his drivers test because he'd been told the stop signs with white borders are "optional". Think about it. The sad thing is regardless of this being fact or fiction, Texas seems to have adopted this as fact.

When did stopping become optional? I don't mean California stops. We've all done a California stop or 200 in our lives. I'm talking about "Approach stop sign at 35 MPH, tap brakes to flash lights (but do NOT slow down), then blow through intersection and pretend you don't see all the other cars lurching to a halt to avoid hitting you." What the hell, people? Why are you in such a hurry? Starbucks will still be there 10 seconds from now. Your lame ass tech support or phone center job will DEFINITELY still be there 10 seconds from now. Your sig other who you're not all that happy with because you got married for the wrong reasons will be there and so will the kids you resent, and I bet they'll still be screaming because they don't want to eat their veggies because all you feed them is McDonalds.

I think the American mentality has become too dull to fully grasp the concept of stop sign etiquette while simultaneously operating a 3000 lb vehicle, talking on a cell phone, and jerking off. It's not that hard - repeat after me: "Whoever stops first has the right of way. If two cars stop at the same time, the car on the right goes first." Write this on the blackboard 75,000 times and MAYBE you animals will remember it next time you and I end up at an intersection together.

I can't decide what pisses me off more: the "Go ahead" wave that completely confuses everyone at the intersection or the large trucks who consider themselves exempt from concepts like braking, yielding and stopping. I would like to offer this bit of advice to the givers of the "go-ahead" wave: Make it look authoritative. Don't limply flip your fat mitt at the person whom you want to go. They don't know if you're waving at them or shooshing a gnat away from your Big Gulp. Point at them and move your hand sharply, like a traffic cop. Put on an expression of "If you don't go, I WILL get out of this car and KICK YOUR ASS for hesitating." It works for me. Of course, someday I'm going to snap and I AM going to get out of the car and kick the other guy's ass for hesitating. "I told you to GO, goddammit!" (BOOT BOOT BOOT)

This is why I cannot carry items like tire irons or baseball bats in my vehicles.

The truckers also never fail to get my goat. To get anywhere from my house, I have to pass through a 4 way stop intersection. Truckers from the Berger Transport company are always running it. They see you coming and slow their truck 30-50 feet from the intersection and then barrel through. Sometimes, they even do it with one finger raised. One guy stuck his tongue out at me and Jeff. That nearly pushed us over the edge. Someday, I'm going to follow one of those MFers and drag him out of his cab when he pulls into the Berger lot and pull a Rodney King on him. I'm sure I will die in the process, since most of those drivers look methed to the gills, but I'll at least get in a few solid swings before he crushes my skull.

And for those of you who are thinking, "She should call Berger and report them!" Well, I did. And I reported the assholes who pull up at 6:30am or 1:30am from long hauls with their souped-up stereos blaring and proceed to let them go for hours and wake up everybody on my street. You know what? Their Ops manager doesn't give a shit. Neither do the Austin cops. Are you surprised?

Writing this, I have realized there is another stop sign runner I detest more than the wishy-washy wavers and twitchy truckers. It's the mom in the unwashed Japanese compact sedan with one or two occupied child seats in the back, who does the "tap and blow" (this could be some kind of perverted Kenner board game "Tap and Blow: It's good family fun! Johnny - you tap, Mary - you blow!"). But back to the reality at hand: I want to scream at these people: Lady, you've got your KIDS IN THE CAR! You're not just endangering yourself but the kids you tell everyone you love so much. If you want to ram into me and injure us, fine - but think about your kids and slow the fuck down! And, if you don't want your little crotch pods, then hurry up and run the car into Lake Travis with them strapped in (but fucking stop properly at all the stop signs while you're on the way there, please). You'll wash the car, end your responsibility as a mother, and get a lifetime of free room and board, all the same time. I consider that pretty efficient.

Parking lot stop signs... forget it. No one can handle these. "I'vegottagettoFrystobuyGearsofWar!" always takes precedence over safety. Always. Without fail. My job site is particularly bad. Tech agents panicking because they're late to log in on their phone - I almost got rammed a couple weeks ago. The only thing that stopped me from chasing the girl to her parking space and screaming her out in the parking lot (and making her really late in the process) is that I wasn't sure if I could keep it to just screaming. Thirty-five years of anger and frustration at my fellow man, and you're the lucky winner! Thank god I have self control or else I'd have put Eileen Wuornos to shame 10 times over already.

Stop lines: again, total failure to grasp the concept. I can't help but wonder if there's a correlation between this and people's inability to correctly use and spell the phrase "Toe the line." If I see it spelled "tow" once more... that's another blog.

When I would go out jogging... oh my god. People's days RUINED because I crossed in front of them at a stop sign. I took a whole 5 seconds off their life, 5 seconds which could have been better used doing... what? None of you idgits are going to figure out a solution to global warming or how to stop the Japanese from raping the oceans for the sake of cultural tradition.

I fully understand people make mistakes sometimes and don't see the stop sign. I have run several stop signs in my life. Notice - I remember them. I cringe when I recall my error and the screeching tires one of them caused. I FEEL BAD THAT I MADE A MISTAKE WHICH COULD HAVE KILLED OR INJURED ME OR OTHERS. Why do I feel rare for feeling that way?

Yes, I'm a judgemental dick. I know that. I believe if a human can have a drivers license they should remember the basic rules of the road. They should take responsibility. They should remember that the stop signs with white borders are NOT optional. And if they can't, then they should be fed to bears, a la Timothy Treadwell.

Go type in "eaten by bears" into Google Image search and you'll see what I mean.

Until next time, pals.

Originally posted: Thursday, February 22, 2007 - A Good Birthday Present

I just turned 35 on Wednesday (christ, where do the years go?) and was very glad I lived to see this one. It's been a crazy 6 months with lots of ups and downs.

I got a very nice present today: the results of an echocardiogram I had on Feb 12 were pretty much normal. I've been quietly soiling my thong since getting it because of all the wanding around and whispering the technicians were doing while they were conducting the test. Usually, I don't worry too much about the structure of my heart, but with my elevated blood pressure as of late, I was fretting that they'd found something bad. I had to wait until today (11 days) to get the results and it was a loooooong wait.

My right artium is still enlarged but not as much as it was a year ago, which is good news. Got some thickening of the mitral valve, not unusual for someone with mitral valve prolapse. That little sucker was flopping around real good during the test so if my primary care doc has any doubts about the reality of my MVP, she just needs to have a look at this last echo and all will be clear. Other than that, nothing was wrong. Blood was going in all the right directions. No backwashing into the left atrium. All the other bits are healthy and normal.

The doc also doesn't think my elevated BP is much of a worry. It's not into the true hypertension range, and it's stable. Occasionally, it comes down into the normal range. Maybe now, since I have been relieved of the worry that my heart is turning into some baggy football in my chest, it will come down even more.

Going forward it's an echo a year with a bi-yearly visit to the cardiologist to keep an eye on things. I really like this doc. He's forthcoming and not condescending at all. He even brought me back into his office to view the echo. I appreciated the willingness to share.

I also learned last night that chocolate fudge ice cream from Baskin Robbins should not be consumed unless I want to have 3 hours of "Heart Imitates Jackhammer." Does it have that much caffeine in it? I guess so. This really means that the flame I was holding for some day being able to drink a Diet Dew again needs to be snuffed out for good. That mostly un-drunk 12 pack is getting brought to work tomorrow and put in the breakroom for tech nerd consumption. Oh Dew, it was good while it lasted.

I feel like an idiot for being so freaked out in the past week. The good thing is I feel really relieved, and I've actually been feeling pretty well these past few weeks.

Oh yeah, there's a fat guy at the pool who swims laps using a snorkel and swim fins.

Tune in next time for Erika's rant on "When Did Stop Signs Become Optional?"

Originally posted: Thursday, February 01, 2007 - Where's the Justice?

Hey everyone,
I had a great show with Drifter last Saturday. I felt great physically, my voice held up, the Drifter guys were so pro and kept their cool during some technical difficulties and the crowd was just AWESOME! So much fun, except for the freezing-my-ass-off part, but hey, gotta take the good with the bad. It was like a little family reunion for me - all these faces I haven't seen for almost six months. You guys know how to make a girl feel loved (warm fuzzies all around). Eeeeee.

Ignitor has its first show next Tuesday at Emo's, opening for Metal Church. I'm hoping that one will go as well, although I admit I've been struggling with the Ignitor material. For some reason, I'm really having a hard time singing the songs. I have lost the comfortable place in my chest from which I used to sing. Intensely frustrating and incredibly uncomfortable. I'll just have to soldier through and hope I find the sweet spot again soon.

The spiralling weight gain which started once I got back into exercising has leveled off (ah, at least I got back into those size 2 cire pants one last time... heh). I'm up to 32 laps at the pool (22 of crawl) and 45 minutes on the bike at my pre-injury resistance level. Feeling very strong aerobically. No more drowning and no more thinking I'm going to die on the bike while watching TV with the last thing I hear being Rachel Ray going "Yum-O!"

So why is this blog titled "Where's the Justice"?

Because... despite all the exercising, the meditation, the decent eating, the sleeping good, and the general great recovering... I'm now facing down the specter of high blood pressure.

Last few times I've seen the doc my BP readings were a bit high. I chalked that up to the fact that I hate my primary care doc and just haven't had the gumption to go see a new person so I'm all tense and pissed off when I'm at her office. At work, we have a BP machine. Before I got hurt, my readings would be 105/65 or thereabouts. Great. Perfect. Now, it's 127/81, 134/76, 140/70 and so on. Today, I felt as calm and loose as a toddler doped on Benadryl and still it was 134/72. Taken 7 readings so far this month, not a single one within normal range. What. The. Fuck? Really. WHY?

I guess my cardiovascular system is still freaked out from my injury and the long recovery. I still have bouts of breathlessness, yawning, and anxiety, but it's getting less and less. As I write this now I'm having chest pains, which I have been having for days, and have been told they're just my mitral valve prolapse. But now I wonder? Are my little arteries getting all stiff and that weird burning sensation I've got going on is not benign but my heart muscle dying? I don't really think so, but these are the things you wonder when you're me and a closet hypochondriac. It doesn't get worse when I exercise, so that's good. And in November, I had a contrast dye cat scan which was normal. Good, too. But what the hell is up with the blood pressure?

I'm under a shitload of stress from a couple work projects which are eating up all my relaxing time due to evening phone calls with people in Asia. I'll say it now: Indian people are some of the smartest and most hardworking folks I've ever met but they are frustrating as hell to deal with sometimes. I'm sure that's not helping. Today, I tried to do a long meditation when I got home but Pandora made that somewhat difficult by trying to insert her entire body into my right armpit as I lay on the floor. The meowing/creaking into my ear every 10 minutes didn't help, either.

I guess what I'll do is monitor for one more week and if I don't start getting normal readings then back to the cardiologist I go, probably for medication. Great. Just what I did NOT want: more pills with side effects.

This is a disappointing counterpoint to my elation over Saturday's show. Buh. This road, she ain't all smooth asphalt...

Originally posted: Saturday, January 20, 2007 - Water Attracts Weirdos (Including Me)

During the months of September, October and November, while I was becoming one with the couch like the Space Jockey in Alien became part of his chair, I wondered many a time how I would adjust to life as a swimmer rather than a runner. My enjoyment of running always surprised me; I really looked forward to getting out there at 7am, smelling the night flowers' final breaths, and saying hello to all my cranky Muscovy duck pals down by the pond. But alas, my regrown cartilage on my femoral head will not tolerate running, so I have bid the wee duckies and occasional snapping turtle goodbye and said hello to the vortex of disease known as the Hester's Crossing Gold's Gym Pool.

Mind you, I'm a Pisces, and I've always loved the water. I have memories of being three or four and trying to "swim" in the bathtub. One of the best presents I ever got as a child was swimming lessons - I just could not get enough of diving underwater and pretending I was a dolphin, or a shark. I spent my pre-adolescent summers swimming in a creek, coming home every day waterlogged, exhausted, and ravenous.

Somewhere at about age 20, I started hating swimming. When you're twenty, you can't pretend you're a dolphin or a shark for hours any more, and on most days, you put on that swimsuit and all you feel like is a big ol' whale. You also give a crap about your hair turning green, and getting a sunburn... blah blah, and the next thing you know, you're 34 and you don't even have a swimsuit.

So now here I am, back to swimming for fitness. Four times a week I trek on up to Hester's Crossing with my backpack and a healthy curiosity of what is going to be swimming in the pool when I get there. I didn't realize that a pool would get so much use. But it does. And only 5% of the users are normal.

The first thing I noticed is that many more men swim than women. The pool at the gym can support 4-5 swimmers comfortably. Usually, there are two or three guys splashing like elephant seals up and down the lanes. And looking like elephant seals while they're at it - flabby, hairy and ugly. I spend my swim time trying to get my laps done while maintaining maximum distance from the closest Homo Pinnepedus which usually means I'm about 0.01 inches from the side of the pool. My greatest fear is that one of these guys will accidenally brush me with his pudgy toes when I pass him on a lap. So far that hasn't happened, because if it does I will have to leap from the pool and run screaming through the gym until someone throws a medicine ball at me and puts me out of my misery. My second biggest fear is that one will try to talk to me. That HAS happened. It was a socially awkward moment.

If there isn't a bunch of guys in the pool, then it's the dreaded water aerobics ladies. Ok people, here's a bit of advice: don't bother with water aerobics. If the whales that take this class are any indication, water aerobics does NOT WORK. I swear to god, when these women got in the water the pool lost half its volume over the side. I never did my laps so fast - I was convinced any moment a Japanese whaler was going to burst through the wall and fire off a harpoon, the Japanese having relaxed their whaling restrictions this year and all. I did not want to be caught in the middle, because I knew Greenpeace would be close behind, scudding over the spa and into the pool on one of those rubber dinghys with their bullhorn and outboard motor.

And... after sprinting through my laps, then taking a long HOT shower to wash the whale lice and baby barnacles off me, I looked into the pool area on my way out and the whole pod was arranged in a circle in the middle of the water, doing their aerobics, SUPPORTED BY FOAM POOL NOODLES.

Ladies, really, each of you is approximately 3.5 feet in diameter. The pool is 4 feet deep. You don't need a noodle to stay above water.

Anyhow...

The debris on the bottom of the pool is quite interesting, as well. Huge clots of black hair (I don't believe any other color of hair forms clots), rocks, sand, white string (who's having a hard time fishing out their tampon, hmm?), hair ties, pieces of swim goggles, little pieces of paper that look like price labels, and the worst of all, band-aids. They make me want to scream. I see one band-aid and my feet will not touch the bottom of that pool for the entire swim. I know it's the hairy elephant seals dropping those - probably off of warts or open wounds or bot flies or something utterly foul. Usually by Friday, that pool bottom looks like a fairground after closing night. On Saturday, it's neat and clean and ready for the next round of nastiness.

There are two more things at the pool which weird me out. One is what I call the "Save the Dolphin Sling". You can just see it to the left in this photo.
It's this swing arm with a chain holding a vinyl sling with holes at the bottom for arms or flippers. I know it's for handicapped people. But I fully expect to see someone from Woods Hole Oceanographic lowering a bottlenose dolphin into the drink some afternoon. Maybe we could get someone from the Monterrey Bay Aquarium to bring a baby great white shark during water aerobics... the chlorine would kill it quickly, but not before it took a few pounds off those wrinkled whales and their fluorescent pool noodles.

The second thing that utterly grosses me out is the spa. You can just see it in the picture on the left side of the pool, behind where the wall juts out. I've been in it twice. It's really quite nice, and all the bubbles prevent me from seeing what mank might be hiding at the bottom. However, it attracts the strangest collection of people. I have to ask, are these overweight, middle aged couples actually working out, or do they just have a gym membership to use the spa? I never see them in the gym proper - just the spa. And oh, are we swimmers in the pool of great interest! It's like being bugs under a microscope. The worst is the lone guy just hanging out by himself, staring. Thinking. Planning his next murder. Buh.

And why is it, that the spa can be un-used during an entire 40 minute swim, but when I get in it, I have 2 minutes of relative peace and then some guy shows up and saunters in? Of course, there's the 30 seconds of desperate praying "please, don't talk to me or sit near me" with the requisite diverted eyes. This happened tonight. I was doing ok until this guy meandered over to where I was sitting and turned his back to me. I glanced up and for a second thought I was imagining some horrible photo from a dermatology textbook. But no, it was just this guy and his acne conglobata (look it up, bitches). Luckily, he hadn't submerged his lesions giving me time to unsubmerge myself and get the F out of that spa.

Sooooooooooooooo frigging nasty.

So anyway, that's my take on the pool. It attracts gross, weird, socially awkward people who lose lots of hair and band-aids and have bad skin conditions. But it's my source of exercise, and I'm paying for it, so I will continue to gird my loins and thank the gods for that wonderful chemical called chlorine.

Originally posted: Monday, January 01, 2007 - Here's to a Normal New Year!

Thought I'd let you all know how I'm doing...

Slowly, normalcy is creeping back into my life. I'm probably going to jinx myself by writing this but I haven't had a proper panic attack since Thurs 12/21. I really hope I go for a lot longer before having another one. I'm being realistic - I'm sure they're not completely gone, but as long as they start coming fewer than 1 a week, I'll know I'm improving. They really are the worst. I was reading online about how the chemical and physiological changes which occur during an attack are faster and more intense than the changes occuring in many cases of trauma or poisoning. Hell yeah, I can second that... it's like being poisoned by your own body for anywhere from 5 minutes to 18 hours of shaking, heart-racing, dry-mouthed fun.

I will admit, since the first big attack on Nov 19, I developed some really retarded phobic reactions to things. That first one hit while I was quietly watching TV. So, brain instantly became afraid to sit quietly and watch TV. Must... always... do... something! The second one hit 20 minutes after I popped a lorazepam. So... no more lorazepam, or if my brain had its way, any pills at bedtime. It took me about a week after that one to feel okay just to take my calcium tab at night. Like I said, RETARDED - it's a calcium tablet, it's NOT GOING TO MAKE YOU HAVE A PANIC ATTACK.

Stupid brain.

By far, the worst phobia that started was over being alone. I started leaving the door unlocked, so that EMS wouldn't have to kick it down if they had to come. The cell phone went with me everywhere, even next to my hand while I lay on the floor to meditate so I could grab it at a moment's notice. I didn't want Jeff to go out and leave me by myself, and went bedtime came (we have different schedules), I would get very anxious if he wasn't ready to sleep yet and wanted to stay up on the computer for a while.

Now that things seem to be normalizing, the phobias are letting up. When I felt them setting in, I promised myself I would not allow them to grow and take me over. No way. Understand where it comes from and fight it. The worst fight was when I had a panic attack at the Alamo Lakeline during the first 15 mins of Casino Royale. All that Le Parkour jumping about at dizzying heights had me ready to scream. I actually had to cover my face at one point (when they were on the cranes, I think). Someone else might have run out of the theater but I knew if I did that: 1) I would fall flat on my face because I was shaking so hard and probably knock out all my teeth or something, and 2) I would have taken the first step towards giving up, not going out, not living life. I did, for a few moments, wonder if I was going to spew partially digested popcorn all over the guy in front of me. Luckily (more for the guy than me, it's easier to puke it out than to clean it up), that did not happen. Public barfing is not a favored pastime of mine, as opposed to other people I know. I've only done it three times, all from sudden onset stomach flu, and I'm still sorry about the Trans-Am which was the recipient of the second Public Barf-Out. At least I had the presence of mind to note how nicely restored your car was, dude, as I was launching a gutful of acid and banana all over the spoiler.

Anyway, enough of panic attacks and puking, however entertaining they may be. Here are my latest accomplishments on my recovery:

I'm swimming between 20-22 laps 4 times a week, 14 of those being crawl and the other 6-8 being lame backstroke. When I started on Dec 2, I could only do 7 laps and all backstroke. Crawl required putting my face in the water, and wow, imagine this, I was afraid to do that. Does anyone sense a theme, here, or is it just me?

I am up to riding the stationary bike for 40 mins at a time with light-to-medium resistance. When I started, 10 minutes on light resistance made me want to vomit. It still makes the operated side of my ass hurt like a pirhana is biting it, though.

I can balance on my operated leg to put on my pants (this is a MAJOR accomplishment)

I can put on my shoes and socks without looking like some failure from the Cirque De Soleil contortionist department (particularly helpful while at the gym cause them skinny locker room benches don't leave any room for errors in balance)

I can now walk fast enough that I once again get pissed off being stuck behind slow people in stores.

I can get in and out of Infin without setting off my sciatica (another landmark in eliminating social embarrassment).

I can laugh without feeling like I will pass out. I am not kidding - after the big attack, when I was on the beta blocker, hard laughter lowered my blood pressure so much that I'd get nauseous and feel very faint. That SUCKED. Being worried about laughing? Come on! So I tested how that had come along by watching Jackass 2 this weekend. I can happily say, no problems, not even from "love note boxing glove" or "medicine ball dodgeball in the dark".

So, zee recovery, she is coming along.

I am hoping for a nice, normal, healthy 2007 with no injuries, no drama, no bad surprises, just success and happiness. Cheers!

See you all onstage Jan 27 at Red Eyed Fly with Drifter!

Originally posted: Friday, December 08, 2006 - The World's Biggest Faker

One of the activities I missed most whilst being trapped on the couch was driving my car. I have an Infiniti G35 coupe in Serengeti Sand color (i.e., gold) and I love it. It's just fast enough to thrill me, but practical enough (has a trunk, backseat) to not seem like a complete waste of money every month. It is, however, very low-slung and the heavy doors do love to swing back in and whack you on the ass/knees when you're trying to get in or out of it. Not a good combination for me in my current physical condition.

I was not to be denied my return to the road in Infin style... on Saturday, 12/2, Jeff and I decided to get me my road chops back. I'm a horrible driver (which when combined with 280 HP sports car is a terrifying concept), and 2.5 months off the road made me leery to just jump in the ol' deathtrap and go battle with traffic. So, we decided to start slow, and drove around the neighborhood for a while.

Quickly, I felt confident, although I still had not gotten the seat adjustment right (there are only 750 seat adjustment buttons on the G35, and it takes me about 2 weeks to get it right once someone changes it). So, whilst looking through the steering wheel, we decide to head on over to the Arboretum and Williams Sonoma.

Anyone who lives in Austin knows the Arboretum area is a nightmare in regards to driving. Labyrinthine parking lots full of vision-blocking landscaping and trees, stop signs, speed bumps, and white-collar soccer moms in Muranos and RX300s who are more concerned with getting their next Starbucks fix than with the fact that you're currently in their path of travel. Now, add in the Christmas shopping season. OK everybody, just listen up: Fence off the whole area and slap a "Insane Asylum on Wheels" sign on the gate, lock it up, throw away the key, and just let everyone inside kill themselves trying to find a parking spot on their quest to get just the right overpriced doo-dad for that special person. You'll do Austin a favor. The Arboretum in December is NUTS.

And so, yours truly, driver extraordinaire, decided to go there on her first day behind the wheel.

Yes, I know what you're all thinking: You crashed the car and hurt yourself even more, Erika, you stupendous dumbass. Not true!!! Gladly, I must report that myself, Jeff, and Infin all arrived in the Williams Sonoma section of the parking lot with little issue.

Ah ha, open handicapped space! It's a real treat to actually get to use my blue $10 "I'm a temporary cripple" placard because the spaces are usually full (and that's another rant for another day). We pull into the space right in front of the store. It only takes me two tries to get in between the lines (since I can't see over the hood of the car, see "seat adjustment" discussion earlier in the blog.) The fat 20-something slob with glasses, scruff and a poorly-fitted button down shirt smoking in front of the store gets to watch my struggle to park. Entertaining, I'm sure. The show got even better in the coming seconds.

I'm excruciatingly aware of this fat fuck looking at me while I'm putting the placard on the rearview mirror. Sports car, young woman, handicapped placard? Something is rotten in the state of Denmark here, people. I feel like the world's biggest faker. The scrutiny makes me hurry. Mistake Number 1.

Mistake Number 2 occurs when I try to open my door. The Infin is a 2-door, so it needs a bit of room. My spectacular parking skills (which bear no resemblance to those possessed by Ace Ventura, now there is a parking MASTER) have placed my tires directly on the white line to the left of me, leaving about 10 inches of space between me and the nice shiny black 4-Runner in the other spot. I open the door a few inches, stick out my left leg (the unhurt one) to brace it open and then begin to slowly twist around to bring the right leg out of the car.

Remember, I'm in a hurry, feeling Piggy's eyes on me. I'm also not used to getting out of a car this carefully and slowly, and not from the driver's side. Plus I only have about 7 inches of room. Were I unhurt, I'd just weasel my ass out into the gap and all would be well. But I can't, so I grab the wheel and LEAN and PUSH to the left...

Mistake Number 3. Leaning to the left puts tension on the tissues on my right side. One of those tissues is my sciatic nerve, also known as God's Little Built-In Torture Device. I give myself a push and the tension hits the nerve. BLAMMO! Excruciating agony shrieks up my lower back and down my right leg. It's cold, it's hot, it's all-encompassing and makes me cry out while pulling all these wonderfully expressive faces. Jeff is already out and almost to the store's entrance, unaware of the drama unfolding in the handicap space. I'm paralyzed and in agony and the only witness is Pig-O-Rama standing there with his filthy Marlboro dangling between two sausage fingers.

I now know I have cemented my spot as the world's biggest faker in the eyes of Pig. "Look at that chick making a big deal out of getting out of her car, like we all don't know she's faking it. She's not handicapped, just entitled and lazy. I bet that's not even her car, probably Mommy's. Handicap sign must be Mom's too."

Mortified, I haul myself out, straighten up (sciatic shuts up, thankfully), and gimp into the store, not daring to acknowledge the gaze of The Great Slovenly Smoking PigDork. Never mind me, I'm just an asshole.

Ah well. I know that guy probably didn't even notice me. His thought process whilst smoking was probably more along the lines of "Man, I hope Rachel can take my shift at Banana Republic tomorrow because I totally want to play Ultima and hook up with that Dark Elf I met last night, yeaaaaaahhhh. She was hawt." But anyone who knows me understands I can be quite self-conscious at times.

And that was one of those times. BUH.

Needless to say, it's been almost a week since then and I'm walking and getting out of the car quite well. Parking isn't much better, but that has nothing to do with my injury. Seat's still not right though, so next time you see a gold G35 which appears to have no one driving it go blasting by you on Parmer lane, that would be me.

Originally posted: Thursday, November 30, 2006 - Two Feet Forward!

Today was the day - the surgical evaluation... and I passed with flying colors!

I don't really know what to write. I'm giddy, I'm amped, and I'm free. I've been hobbling about since 3pm and loving it. My leg is rubbery and weak but it can support me. Not with much grace, but I can shuffle short distances without the crutches. I know I'll have some major muscle soreness tomorrow, but it's all worth it. I am on two feet again.

The fracture has completely healed. Dr. BadAss was very pleased. When I stood without support after getting off the table, my head just swam. It's been 79 days since I stood on both feet like a normal biped. 79 days!

Now I have to unlearn all the habits I've developed since being on the crutches: the leaning to the left with all my weight on my left leg, using my arms to pull myself up and lower myself down, not bending too far forward or crossing my operated leg over the midline of my body. In just 8 hours of walking on both feet my gait has improved tremendously. I start physical therapy on Tuesday of next week... a few weeks of that plus swimming and walking and I KNOW I will be back to normal.

I also will be working on mediation to manage the anxiety I've developed over my cardio-pulmonary issues (which thankfully have been very good since Sunday, just constant yawning because I still feel like I'm not getting quite enough air). My motivation is really high. I just want to get back in synch with my body and feel in harmony with it again. We really haven't been the greatest of friends over the last few weeks!

Thank you to everyone who has given support and encouragement over the past 11 weeks. You've helped brighten my days when crying inconsolably seemed the only option, you shared your own stories of injury and helped me know this wasn't going to be forever... you believed in my strength, you propped me up - when I get the Metal to the Bone song written, it's going to be dedicated to all of you.

Thank you, good night!

Erika

P.S. I'll still keep blogging my progress, but there probably will be more rants interspersed, since I'm back on the road to recovery AND ranting! Wheeeee!

Originally posted: Monday, November 27, 2006 - Beta Blockers = rough stuff

So I didn't really "tally ho" anywhere after the last blog. In fact, I continued to feel like shit. I know I said I was feeling better but I wasn't feeling good. Still had lots of chest pressure, air hunger, inability to concentrate, no appetite, general blue feelings and an incipent sense of panic.

After tossing and turning all Sunday night because I refused to take a lorazepam (wanted to see what the tickeroo would do without a sedative), I called the cardiologist and told him about how I was feeling. He recommeded I quit the Toprol beta blocker "that can be a hard medicine for people" he said, no shit) and touch base with my doc on Monday.

After 20 minutes of bawling in fear that I was going to have an attack like last Sunday if I DIDN'T take the meds, and then bawling in fear that I was going to continue to feel so ill if I KEPT taking it, I decided not to take it. And what do you know?

By 2pm, I was feeling SO MUCH BETTER. I felt like I had blood pressure and a real pulse.

By 6pm, I had my first hunger pangs since Nov 19. I actually wanted to eat. When I did eat, I wanted the food and ate with pleasure, rather than for function.

9-11pm came and went without the nightly 2 hours of struggling for air, constant pulse checking, weakness and overwhelming sadness and fear.

I did take a lorazepam to sleep because I knew I'd get wound up once I laid down, since going to sleep tends to be stressful since I have such difficulty with it. It took me a while, but I did sleep, and here I am today.

I'm waiting to hear back from the cardiologist, about my discontinuing the beta blocker and also about the chemical stress echo, which if I could get out of having, I would be so happy.

I bought some swimsuits, goggles and swim caps on Saturday in anticipation of going for a swim next weekend. I got 2 relatively un-gay looking Speedo suits that do nothing to cover my scar (I guess I dont really care - at least until I catch someone staring at it and then I'll cry about it for a week). The suits also have the added plus of making my butt look mega flabby (which, in truth, it is). Will serve as inspiration to unflab it as fast as possible. I also joined Gold's Gym, since the pool in my neighborhood sucks (it's outside, has limited hours and probably is full of kid pee.)

I'm hoping this dreadful period is over.

Less than 3.5 days till my surgeon's appt. Countin' the hours... 74.5 to go!

Oh yeah, mixed 8 songs for Road Of Bones last night with Stu. It's ALMOST there... sooooo freaking close. Tuesday might be the finish. Eeeeee!

Originally posted: Thursday, November 23, 2006 - Turkey, Stuffing and ... a Diagnosis!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

I'm feeling ok today, which is a vast improvement over last night. Trip Number 2 to the ER for pressure and burning in my check, shoulders and neck plus general feeling of unwellness. AGAIN. I narrowly avoided the indignity having to call 911 to have EMS take me (and therefore become a neighborhood spectacle) thanks to Annah being nearby - buddy, you're so awesome, there just aren't words!

I got a contrast dye CAT scan to look at the vessels in my heart. I was a bit of a whinebag over the dye. Jeff had gotten there by that time, so he held my hand while the CAT scan tech put in the IV. The needle was enormous - 2.5 inches long at least! The actual CAT scan is no big deal - not like a claustrophobic MRI. They take a picture first without the dye. Then they push the dye. The thing holding the dye looks like a prop from a bad 1950s science fiction movie - it's a clear cylinder about 2 inches in diameter and 5 inches long, with a coiled plastic tube dangling from the end. It's completely filled with clear liquid. The whole rig is mounted on a swing arm on the side of the CAT scanner. This somewhat archaic looking thing bolted to the slick, plastic scanner is a pretty striking visual contrast, and in my state of mind last night, worthy of inducing tears. They have you put your arms over your head and then the tech says, "Ok I'm pushing the dye now."

Suddenly, this blast of inferno level heat starts in your shoulders, goes through your heart (which begins to flap and trip like crazy since the dye pushes all the blood out of it for a few seconds), then blazes down to your nether regions. It's crazy intense and a bit freaky, but it doesn't last more than a minute. They take a couple pictures during that minute and then you're done. It's not the worst test in the world, but I'd rather have blood drawn any day.

It took about 5 minutes for my heart to stop flipping around. I got some more blood drawn for more enzyme tests. Some poor woman was wheeled into the room where we were, retching her guts out and moaning in pain. Disturbing to listen to her - she was really sick. Later we heard the doctor telling her family that she had bilateral kidney stones, a haemorrhagic cyst in one kidney, as well as failure in one kidney (the cysty, bleeding one, I bet) as well. I felt bad for her and her family. They're not going to have a good Thanksgiving at all.

The doctor came back after a while and told me that the tests were all normal. That was good to hear, even though I was still feeling kind of bad. He said I have Mitral Valve Prolase Syndrome, which is actually an imbalance of the autonomous nervous system that often accompanies patients with MVP. Common symptoms in addition to cardiac issues are anxiety, temporomandibular joint dysfunction (TMJ), endometriosis, tinnitus, PMS, fibromyalgia and a number of other issues. I have the first 4, plus all the heart related symptoms.

While I'm not thrilled to think that my nervous system is out of whack, I can certainly understand why. I've always been a stress bucket; this had made me a stress resevoir. All this inactivity and stress over my future set me off.

The doc gave me the option of being admitted to the hospital and having a stress echocardiogram in the morning, or going home and having one on Monday. I opted for Monday. I didn't want to deal with the health insurance bullshit that certainly would have arisen, plus I just couldn't bear the idea of spending a holiday in the freakin hospital when there was no danger to me to go home. So home I went, and actually I felt a lot better! I sat with Jeff while he edited his radio show, and we went to bed at 2am. I didn't get a racing heart when I laid down, and actually felt really comfortable.

After a good long sleep, we got up. Unfortunately, the beta blocker's still making me shitty nauseous, and appetite free. I'll do my best to eat the yummy Thxgiving food Jeff got at Central Market, and just relax. Overall, I feel ok today - tired, some tightness in my chest and a couple instances of the burning, but pretty calm. I'm trying to ignore any flips or flaps and just go with the flow. Jeff's brother Mike is coming to visit tomorrow, while Jeff is at work. It will be nice to not be alone, and to see at least some of the family that we're missing today.

So, I got a diagnosis and I feel better for it. Now I can just move forward. Tally ho!

Originally posted: Wednesday, November 22, 2006 - 9 Days, People

I moved my surgery checkup to November 30. 9 days away. A couple weeks back 9 days would have seemed like nothing, but right now 2 hours seems like an eternity.

I've gone from warrior to wuss in the last 3 days, and I hate it. I can't distinguish which med is causing which side effect, or whether what I'm feeling is just naturally coming from my mind or body. My chest is tight and burning. I'm nauseous every 10 mins and if there is one thing that reduces me to total wimpitude, it's feeling sick to my stomach. I'm also exhausted from not sleeping and not eating enough. I'm trying, guys... this has just become really hard all of a sudden.

Last night we worked on final vocal mixes for ROB... that went well. Friday, we'll work on some more, then take what we finish to be mastered for the PR company. Then it will be time to finish up the rest, master the whole thing, and off to the CD duplicators...

Which means I need to work on the layout of the tray card and booklet over the weekend so we can start production on those as soon as possible. Lots to do still.

My goal is to deal with my physical issues as best I can (meaning not panicking/giving up and running to the ER again), and be productive regarding band stuff. Also, to eat more. I'll probably not post until after the weekend unless something of significant medical interest happens, and I'd really rather not have that occur.

Have a great Turkey Day everyone!

Originally posted: Tuesday, November 21, 2006 - The Heart of Rock N Roll is Still Beating

I figured it was only right to let you all know:
1. I'm alive
2. I don't seem to be having an adverse reaction to the beta blocker - anti-anxiety mixture.

I do feel odd - like a shark that has to keep moving or die. I think I'm really used to being able to feel my heartbeat without touching a pulse point, and now that it's so soft and slowed down, not being able to feel it seems bothersome. I can feel it when I move around, so I've been finding excuses to get up a lot today.

It's clearly not lowering my blood pressure too much because I'm not dizzy when I stand up. I did seem to sleep pretty well once I fell asleep - when I went to bed, I got really cold because everything slowed down even more. That made me tense, and then my heartrate shot up and got irregular again, but the beta blocker kept it from spiralling out of control. It was preventing me from falling asleep so I took a lorazepam and after 45 mins or so that knocked me out.

I did stop the anti-anxiety today though - it's completely killed my appetite and eating has been difficult. Yesterday it took me 30 minutes to eat 1/2 a sausage and 1/2 a pita. I was gagging all the way. Even water makes me nauseous. Since Friday, I've dropped 2 pounds I didn't have to lose. But I force myself to eat as best I can. I can't afford to get weak two weeks before I get back on mt feet again. And furthermore, in two days, SEASONS EATINGS commences! One of my favorite times of the year. I better get my appetite back fast! There's tamale stuffing and twice baked potatoes to be conquered!

Originally posted: Monday, November 20, 2006 - Some Enchanted Evening... Spent in the ER...

Or... otherwise known as "What the fuck else can happen to me between September 6 and December 5th, 2006?"

Ohhhhkay boys and girls, faithful readers, all 5 of ya or how many there are ;), strap yourselves in and get ready to ride the Palpitation Predator! It's 7+ hours of racing, pounding and skipping heartbeats, sweaty palms, tingling and numbness in the hands and uncontrollable shaking! You've never been on a ride like this and you never will again!

So here's the deal. Anybody who's read my blogs knows I've mentioned my issues with heart palpitations. I've always had them (since age 18) and they wax and wane like some big moon controlled by the fetid tides of personal stress. They were waning until I fell and busted my hip. Since then they've been waxing like Ralph Macchio with Mr. Miyagi breathing down his neck and snapping curtly, "Wax ON! Wax OFF!"

I finally couldn't take them anymore. The gothic shine of having to ask myself every night at bedtime: "If this is the night I finally croak, am I happy with the life I've lived?" had worn off.

So I went to my primary care physician who perscribed an anti-anxiety medicine for me. I've been resisting this for a good 8 months now, but I have to admit: When you're afraid to go to sleep and you're getting afraid to be alone ("what if I start to pass out and can't dial 911 in time?"), and you can't meditate because you're so FREAKED OUT about what your ticker is doing in your chest, it's time to go rebalance some brain chemicals, no matter how much you don't want to.

I'm no stranger to anti-anxiety/anti-depressant medicine. Zoloft got me through some of the shittiest times on my life up in Massachusetts. And gawd, who wouldn't love Wellbutrin, which is like drinking 15 cups of coffee all at once and then...yougeteverythingdoneinonedaythatwouldhavetakenyousevendayswithoutit! That shit's like perscription meth, without the rotten teeth and social stigma.

But you can't stay on those forever, and I've been doing pretty well for the last 7 years without them. But now it's time again... and so, I spent the weekend feeling pretty quiet. Slept real well. The screaming whirlwind that is my mind was downgraded from a Category 5 to a Category 3 Cyclone. Not unpleasant.

Sunday night rolls around and Jeff and I are just hanging out on the couch, watching this show about Iran. At 9:45, this overwhelming sense of wrongness comes over me. My heart skips several beats and then ROARS into overdrive. Dizziness washes over me. I force myself to breathe, not to panic... but my palms and feet suddenly spawn this greasy coating of sweat and I can't sit still. Jeff holds me as my legs start to shake uncontrollably. I can barely think. We surmise it's the new anti-depressants, but this is really profound. I cannot get my heart rate to slow, and its bouncing like Father Karras on his way down to M Street. My chest feels heavy, like I cannot get enough air.

Needless to say, after a call to the night nurse at the Austin Diagnostic Clinic, we're on our way out to the car at 10:10pm to head to the ER. We get there, and realize it's "self service wheelchairs" only. I remember the day when the nurse who knew how to work all the thingamajiggers and levers on a wheelchair would bring one out to you. Now, you get to fend for yourself on the curb, in your Hello Kitty pajamas, all the while trying to simultaneously breathe, manage crutches, not vomit, and not shake to pieces and not re-break your hip trying to clamber into this shit-for-nothing wheelchair.

Jeff and I make the grand entrance: He's wild eyed, I've got my head in my hands, I'm twitching, panting, looking like some drug addict going through withdrawal. My unwashed hair completes the picture in all its sordid beauty. They take me in, hook me up to the BP and pulse oximeter. BP 145/87 and a heart rate fluxuating from 95 to 130. Yeah. Not good. But we have no rooms for you. So, out you go to sit in the lobby and shimmy-shake for the entertainment of everyone waiting out there.

So I shimmy and shake and pant and sweat for about an hour more before they call me in. The good thing is I don't die in that time, and by the time they call me, I can walk in, crutchified, under my own power.

Out comes my friend, the EKG machine. Oft used, never resulting in anything other than a completely normal sinus rhythm. Well, today's my lucky day: abnormal, FINALLY for the first time ever! I've known something is abnormal since 1990 and NOW I HAVE PROOF!

Not that I should be so happy about having an abnormal finding in my heart rhythm, but I've had about 7 EKGs, 2 echocardiograms, a 24-Hour Holter monitor, and a stress test in the last 16 years and never once, never ONCE did my heart flop and pound during those tests. But now it did. I'm actually stupid enough to look at the doctor when he tells me the EKG was abnormal and go, "Yay!"

So why is the EKG abnormal? Why am I panting and shaking and feeling generally awful (thought not AS awful as I felt out in the lobby)? Dr says, "You're at risk for blood clots due to your hip surgery and immobility. I don't THINK you're having a heart attack, but we'll take some blood and do an enzyme test to find out."

That sobers me. A heart attack? I'm 34! Up until 2 months ago I ran 12 miles a week! My mother had a heart attack (at age 68) so it runs in the old Kmart-quality set of genes I possess. So what happens? My heart rate soars up again and makes like Michael Flatley, everyone's favorite arrgoant alcoholic Irish tap dancer. Ba-dada-ba-dada-ba-da-ba-da-BOOM!

A man comes and takes an Xray of my chest, and the very nice nurse puts a hep lock in the back of my hand and takes some blood. It's not bad. I take 2 baby aspirin. And... I'm still not dead yet, so it's all good.

Jeff and I then spend then next 5 hours freaked out, freezing, and completely lacking in information.

The good thing is they don't come running with the heparin to push a bolus of it through the IV - clearly, they don't think there's a clot. They don't come running after they get the enzyme screen - they're not seeing any muscle breakdown. They just let me lie there, in the cryogenic chamber that is every ER ever constructed, and let me and my husband slowly freeze to death.

At some point they thaw us out and give us instructions to go see a cardiologist in the morning. It's 5:30am, we're $50 lighter in the wallet (I am getting my money's worth out of UHC this year), I'm in slightly better shape, and in possession of copies of two EKGs. I note with humor that the second EKG was done with my age entered as 34 months, and therefore came out as a Pediatric reading. Thanks for that attention to detail, guys!

We get home at 5:45am, and are off to bed by 6am for 2.5 of sleep until Jeff has to call in to work and I need to email work people and call various doctors. I don't sleep at all. As soon as I lie down, everything starts slamming around again. I keep reminding myself that I'm not dying. It doesn't help. I get an appointment with a cardiologist for 10:20am today. Good.

Dr turns out to have a crazy case of vitiligo, but it doesn't change the fact that he LISTENS TO ME. He explains to me that my original echocardiogram which diagnosed the Mitral Valve Prolapse was correct, and my subsequent one which didn't show it was because valves don't prolapse all the time. Sometimes the heart might look and act more normal than others. VERY Interesting. Explains a LOT!

He puts me on a beta blocker which will slow and lighten the force of my heartbeats. It's a little scary (actually it's a lot scary - I was offered a beta blocker a couple years ago and said HELL NO I AINT TAKIN THAT.) But - I'm really still feeling bad and it's not good for the old tickeroo to be banging away for 12 hours straight. So I take my samples and off home we go.

Then... I do the dumb thing. I pop my anti-anxiety med and the beta blocker at the same time (since the dr didn't seem to think anything of taking them both together), and then ruin myself by going online and checking the contraindications. Yep, you guessed it. The anti-anxiety can magnify the beta blocker's effects. So now I've got both in me, there's nothing I can do, and I'm waiting to die once again, this time from a heartbeat that's too slow instead of too fast.

But I feel okay. For now. For a while, I hope.

What a ride. Want to go again?

Originally posted: Friday, November 10, 2006 - 25 Days to Go + Funny Story

Oh my freakin god. Get me off this couch. Please...

Less than one month to go and I am really, officially, completely out of patience with this. I'm done. I'm all in. I'm tired of hauling myself up with my arms. I'm tired of my blue foot. I'm tired of my slowly-stretching incision. I'm tired of dropping rice on the kitchen floor and being unable to pick it up. I'm tired of the act of showering feeling like some sadistic balance beam exercise.

Ugh. Sorry.

This recovery is an interesting juxtaposition in opposites. It's terrible but then again, it's not that bad. It's terrible because I am so limited in what I can do, but it's not that bad because I have no pain and in the end very little discomfort, I *can* move about.

This is funny; somebody's bound to get a laugh out of this:
Two weeks ago I was on a conf call. I'm sitting in the dent I have made on the left side of the couch. I have a dining room chair placed to the front-left of me on which I have my water bottle, box of papers and work bits, headphones, skin cream, lip balm, pen, etc. I have bare feet because it's almost impossible for me to get a sock on the operated-side foot.

Pandora (my cat) is sitting under the dining chair, about three inches away from my left foot. I'm listening to people yak about work stuff on the phone and then I hear the tell tale "guk guk guk guk" of a cat about to expel its stomach contents.

I wildly chat a co-worker, "Uh oh! Cat puking! And I can't pick it up!" just as Pandora yorks up her entire, nearly undigested dinner of Wellness or whatever high priced kibble we feed her not two inches from my toes. My co-worker LOLs at me as the smell of warm, wet cat food wafts upward, and the heat from the puke pile begins to penetrate the 5 little piggies so close by. Good gawd. I lean over. The pile is huge. It's wet. It's brown. My carpets are white, mind you. Look at the clock: 5:30pm. Jeff won't be home until 8.

Sighing, I accept my fate of having to endure nearness to cooling, congealing cat puke for the next 2.5 hours. Visions of Jeff come to mind, ticked off and on his knees with Oxyclean bowl and toothbrush in hand scrubbing out the heinous stain that is most certainly setting into the carpet. Conf call goes on. Pandora jumps up next to me and starts gazing at me with blackpool eyes full of "Wouldya feed me please?" She keeps licking her lips and blowing puke breath on me while I'm trying to talk about software.

After a while, the work conversation gets so intense that I forget the impending disaster near my foot. Pandora, ignored, neglected, has gone elsewhere during the conversation. I finish the call, take a deep breath and decide it's probably possible to take a dish towel with my grabber and at least pick up some of the barf pile.

I look down. Blink. Look again. Look around. Pristine white carpet looks back at me. WTF? Blink some more.

Puke's disappeared like it was never there.

At that point in time, Pandora jumps back onto the couch and offers me a satisfied look of, "Well, you're a shitty mom who wouldn't feed me, so I helped myself." Then she burps. GAWD. It was kind of like double-baked potatoes. Double-eaten puke. Betty Crocker's "Suddenly Vomit": just eat, regurgitate, let cool, and enjoy!

Pets, you gotta love 'em!

Originally posted: Saturday, October 28, 2006 - More than half-way there!

It's been almost 7 full weeks I've been on this couch. Hard to believe it. The days often go slowly, but strangely enough, the weeks have gone by fast. As of Tuesday (Halloween), I'll have 5 weeks of non-weight bearing to go. So, I'm past the half-way mark! Not much else to report about my physical state, other than my operated leg seems to have some circulation problems. My foot turns blue after I've been standing up for a few minutes. That's a real delight to look down and see a healthy pink foot on the left and a purple-blue one on the right. My surgeon doesn't seem concerned because it goes away when I put my foot up. So, one more incentive to stay on my ass. Man. The body does such strange things when you don't use your parts normally for a few weeks. It's fucking creepy, regardless.

Ignitor continues to work on the Road of Bones mix. We're all really sick of listening to the songs but we're getting closer with every version. We're going to enlist the help of a pro PR company to shop the album to labels. That's a relief to know we'll be delivering it to some awesome pros and just letting them do the work. The company is called Just Rock PR, and they got my husband's band their record deal, so we know they deliver results.

I've been working from home a lot, which is a fantastic distraction. I'm so fortunate to have such a great job and great co-workers who can handle me being out-of-sight for so long.

Well, I need to go cull some band photos for a badly needed website update, and work on some sound samples for the beginning of Castle in the Clouds... have a great one, everybody!

Originally posted: Thursday, October 19, 2006 - The Truth About Cable TV

There are only 6 shows per channel and 12 commercials for ALL channels. How do I know this? After 4 weeks in front of the TV, I have seen them all. Every single one. Twice. Maybe three times, if you count that goddamned annoying midget show that I can't help but watch with sick fascination.

And the Little Mermaid commercial has been usurped as Supreme Hated Commerical by that Texaco one where the dude throws the lug nut and all those morons go chasing after it. I'm going to Shell from now on.

Where's the Geico Caveman stare-down when you need it? Always funny. Always.

Originally posted: Tuesday, October 17, 2006 - Disappointment

Hey everyone:
I've decided I can't perform on Nov 4th at the Accused show at Emo's. As I was lying in bed last night listening to my good hip scream because of all the abuse that leg is taking to support my weight, I realized there's no way I could possibly stand onstage for 30-40 minutes. I can't even stand for 5 minutes at the stove to make myself soup without enduring nuclear bolts of pain. I don't want to find out how much my stamina has waned in regards to lung capacity.

I think it's just wiser and safer for me to call this one off. The Zippo Hot Tour show was easier in so many ways - at that point I'd only been on crutches for 3 days, I still had wind, and most importantly, it didn't matter if I leaned on my broken hip because I couldn't really break it WORSE. But now - if I stumble or fall, I'll be back in the hospital again and that is bad bad bad.

I'm very disappointed in myself even though I know this is the smart and reasonable thing to do.

Buh... there's a lot of stuff that's weighing heavily on me now... I don't want to get into details just right yet. Let's just say I'm disappointed about more things than just cancelling this one show.

Anyhow - anybody who wants to check out some amazing vocal music should pick up Azam Ali's "Portals of Grace." Fabulous vocalist. I must send shouts to Tanner for introducing me to her music.

Cheers, All.

Originally posted: Wednesday, October 11, 2006 - Saving Money on Gas (however unwillingly)!

... By not being able to drive until December. Ugh!

There's good and bad about that - no buying gas, putting miles on the car, going for oil changes or car washes. But it's still a bummer. I totally understand why they don't want me to - god only knows if I got into an accident I would be f'ed four ways to Friday. So... house arrest continues. I'm going to buy Jeff a chauffeur's hat and some driving gloves.

On the healing front things are going pretty well. I was so stupidly excited on Monday when I sat down and got up from my bed with no assistance. I was wobbly, so that precludes sleeping in said bed, lest I topple over during the night because I'm sleepy and disoriented, but at least it's another new entry on the list of "Old stuff I can do again!"

I still haven't made it a whole day in an office chair. That still hurts too much. I have slept on my side a little, but it's not the pain that makes it tough, it's the pressure on my heart. Makes me feel like I'm drowning. Doesn't help that my palpitations are back with a vengeance from stress - every night it's the mental game of "Will my heart stop for good tonight?" Hard to believe they are benign - but after 4 cardiologists, umpteen echocardiograms and Holter monitors, and the fact that this has been happening for 14 years now and I haven't yet died - I have to trust I'll wake up. For all of you with tickers that beat nicely in rhythm - count your damn blessings!

I've found all my parts of my Bruce Dickinson costume for Drifter - hi top wrestling sneakers, spandex pants, Eddie belt buckle, gray spandex snakeprint shirt, tube socks. Any idea how hard it is to find gray snakeprint spandex and tube socks with semi-decent colors? Everything's all overdone now. I don't need "pink hologram nuclear glitter anaconda snakeprint spandex" and I don't need "lambswool 14 color tartan stripe" tubesocks. I want a gray shirt and socks with ONE BLUE STRIPE. Would that I had known I'd need these things when I threw out all my 80s clothing in... the year 2000, HAHA

The Ignitor Mix is coming along. We triggered the kick and snare last night on the drum trax to solve some long standing issues with the sound. I haven't heard it yet but Annah and Pat said it really cleaned it up. No one can say we haven't put in an assload of time on this!

Other than that - been doing my PT. Working 12 hour days from home and feeling productive. Listening to Maiden every day and working on memorizing lyrics. Retouching some long overdue wedding photos, with Ignitor band photos next in line. Wanting to throw a fucking brick through the TV every time I see the commerical for the DVD re-edition of Disney's "Little Mermaid". Trying to stay positive and not worry. Some days are better than others.

Ok, back to the grind... well, I mean the couch.

Originally posted: Tuesday, October 03, 2006 - A Chair Never Looked So Good

Hey Everyone!
So I got myself some good news from Dr BadAss today. Actually it was Dr. Other Badass who saw me, but that doesn't really matter. They both worked on me together. Both of them so young (1 year older than me) and cute. You know you're getting old when you think your doctor is cute. Buh.

Anyway, Dr. said everything is healing well, as far as he can tell.

They took Xrays to evaluate my progress and they were shocking! I thought the plate and screws were small. Um... NO! The two screws are three inches long apiece, and the plate is about 2.5 inches long and 1/2 inch wide. What a jaw dropper to see that get shoved up on the viewer! It shocked me so much I forgot to ask when I might be able to drive again!

The steri strips came off and the incision really isn't bad. It's long, but it's thin. I'm not a vain person but nobody wants a big ugly scar on their bum, no matter how much they say they don't care.

But the good stuff is that I can now sit upright in a CHAIR. No more leaning back! Couch be gone! Hooray! I'm so happy! And I can sleep on my side. Thank gawd. The back sleeping has been torment. I'll tell you, it's the little things in situations like this that make your day sometimes.

The only unfortunate thing is a large portion of cartilage was knocked from the head of my femur during the injury and they don't know if it was from a weight bearing part of the bone or not. If it came from a non-weight bearing spot, I'll probably be ok. Weight bearing area will cause bone erosion and arthritis, possibly severe.

Sadly, there is absolutely nothing I can do about it but think good thoughts, stay healthy and cherish each day I can move without pain. Hopefully I'll have a lot of those days once I'm back on my feet, and by the time it starts getting bad, maybe technology will have advanced so that a total hip replacement won't be necessary.

So, I am now metal inside and out. There's got to be a song in this somewhere.

Metalcrutchmistress 5000 will be up onstage Nov 4 at Emo's, when Ignitor plays with The Accused. Can't miss this one!

Originally posted: Friday, September 29, 2006 - Not Much Ado about Anything!

Just a quick update:

I'm sick of being on the couch 24-7.

I want a piece of goddamned Niki's pizza from the Dobie Mall.

My leg is a lot stronger.

I pretty much feel normal, which means I've REALLY got cabin fever from being stuck in the house for a solid 10 days.

I'm anxious to hear what Dr. BadAss has to say on Tuesday about more PT exercises, and what my next 4-6 weeks will be like. I really want to know when I can drive again, so I can get back to practicing with the bands. I also want these disgusting Steri Strips off my incision so I can get an idea of what it really looks like. Hopefully they come off Tuesday.

I'm excited to hear the latest mix of Road of Bones... Stu's been hard at work on it.

And that's all, Folks!

Originally posted: Sunday, September 24, 2006 - Ok, I'm ready to be well now!

I continue to improve. Every day something is a little better. Today it's my mood. Yesterday it was my appetite. Pain has been getting less and less with each day - I'm staying off the Narco until bedtime because it helps me sleep in my least favorite position - on my back. Tylenol about every 6-7 hours keeps the incision from smarting too much.

The biggest drag is the fact that I cannot move my operated leg to the side without an inhuman amount of effort. I'm pretty sure Dr BadAss had to cut loose the glute and abductor on the right side to get to the joint; neither of those muscles really work any more. I'm being diligent with my PT but it's very difficult. I stare at my foot like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill when she's trying to move her toes in the back of The Pussy Wagon and I will it to move. I can do it, but after a whole day of being up awake and wriggling around, it just doesn't work any more. Hard not to get discouraged when that happens. We're not used to our bodies refusing to perform when we ask.

But I'll get there.

Tomorrow I'll go back to working from home - that will be so nice, because I am done done done with episodes of Dirty Jobs, Mythbusters, Trading Spaces, Rachel Ray and Forensic Files. All great shows, but you know you've been in front of the TV too much when you start seeing them repeat later in the evening.

Everyone has been so generous with well wishes - I'm soaking them up like a sponge. They mean so much. I know a lot of people are counting on me to be back on stage as soon as possible, and so knowing that, how could I let them down?

Cheers all.
E

Originally posted: Thursday, September 21, 2006 - Thoughts from the couch

Well, here I am, my first full day home from the hospital.

The surgery wasn't too bad, I guess. It's a good thing to not have a lot of similar experiences to compare this to. I went in to the OR at about 8am, was back in my room at 10:30am. I remember very little of that part. My throat was a bit scratchy from the breathing tube and of course my right leg was very sore. I was on a PCA (patient controlled analgesia) which would give me morphine every six minutes if I wanted it. After throwing up three times, I stopped with the morphine and felt a LOT better.

Jeff came and sat with me until 7:30pm. He was so good to stay for that long; he'd gotten no sleep the night before. It was reassuring to have him there. He was a sweetheart and got me some bottled water and soup from the small cafe downstairs; the hospital water tasted like it had been bailed from the toilet and the food they served was ridiculous - enchilidas and then gristly fatty beef stew! Hello people!?! WTF! I just had a 7 inch incision made into my thigh, two muscles cut away from the bone, two screws and a plate put into my pelvis, my hip joint taken apart and washed out, and everything put back together again and you think I could eat that shit? How about some Jello? Maybe a pudding cup? Fuck no, you're on the REGULAR DIET, beeyatch!

After Jeff left, I watched the Steve Irwin memorial show on TV and bawled, especially when Brino loaded up Steve's pickup truck one final time. I thought a lot about Steve and other tough people whom I admire and promised myself that I would be like them throughout this ordeal.

I had these retarded compression booties on my feet that were to help prevent bloodclots, so those f'ers kept me up all night. The nurse gave me a pain pill which made me sleep a little but also made me sweat like the devil. Whatever, at least the pain was less.

Anxious to go home the next day, I did my best when it came time for bandage changes and the first round of PT. When the dressing came off, my leg looked like it had a football inserted under the skin, from the swelling. Somewhat horrifying. PT was hard. I had to get up and walk about 10 steps. It hurt a lot and I was really dizzy. Then I had to get back into bed and do some small exercises. I can't imagine how someone without good upper body strength could go through this - it takes all my strength for me to pull myself up so I can leverage myself to stand. Ya'll can imagine what doing the other necessaries of life are like right now. I guess this is why hip injuries tend to herald death in the old.

At least I'll have killer arms when this is all done.

After what felt like an eternity I was cleared to go home. Got home around 4:30pm, just in time for my pain pills to wear off entirely. Waiting for Jeff to get my pain pills was the longest hour EVER. Utter agony. But they kicked in about 45 mins after I took them, thank god.

So Jeff and I are staring to get a rhythm down regarding eating, getting up, getting down, doing PT, etc. It's hard - we're both strung out and exhausted. But we'll make it.

Oh yeah, and United Heathcare says they'll pay. WHooooo HOOO!

One last thing before I go - my surgeon, Dr BadAss, is a real hero. He said he would have done the surgery for FREE if UHC hadn't paid. There are still some good folks here in the world.

Ok I'm done - time to rest.

Originally posted: Monday, September 18, 2006 - ONWARD, INTO THE BREACH!

So, the timeline got shorter - my surgery is TOMORROW at 7am. Oh UGH. We still don't have the health insurance situation straightened out but Dr BadAss doesn't want to wait.

I did get to see Dr BadAss today. He was one year older than me, youthful, confident and cool. He referred to the health insurance people as Nazis without batting an eye. He likes Ozzy and Black Sabbath. He, his partner Dr. Other BadAss, and my opened up hip will listen to classic heavy metal in the OR tomorrow.

The great thing is the operation should only take about 1 hour, I will only be in the hospital overnight, and I will be able to go back to work (albeit from home) on Monday 9/25! The scar will only be about 8 inches long, and he said he'd try to make it as nice as possible, since the damn thing is on my butt. I know Jeff says he doesn't care, but how could you not... just a little, you know?

I will be unable to put weight of any kind on my leg for 10 WEEKS. That's a bit upsetting. By Christmas I should be able to walk without crutches again. That will be a great Christmas present. In a year, he said I could resume normal exercise. He had a patient with a similar but more serious injury who is working on a triathalon, so he has full hope I will make a complete recovery.

Goddammit, I intend to. We metal fuckers do NOT stay down.

My goal will be to post a blog as soon as possible when I get home.

Originally posted: Saturday, September 16, 2006 - Progress + Zippo Hot Tour show

Yesterday was an insane day. The vast majority of it was spent fighting with United Health Care to get them to consider coverage for the services of the trauma surgeon I need for my surgery. Can you believe there are only 2 orthopedic trauma surgeons in all of Central Texas? Of course they're not in the g-d network. Ruthless, evil health insurance company refused to consider my case until I called HR and they gave me a SCRIPT to read to the UHC rep! Good god! You have to say the exact proper words to get these soulless $8.00/hour robots to help you.

Thank goodness HR understood the severity of the situation!

Anyway, in the afternoon Mr Trauma called me. I think we'll change his name to Dr. BadAss. He was super confident that my injury would repair well and that I'd be ok. I kind of need to hear that a lot right now. He promised his office would help me beat the insurance company into the ground. That was good to hear, too, because otherwise, the costs for this would ruin me financially.

So, I meet him Tuesday and will have my surgery on Wednesday or Thursday of next week. Part of me dreads it, because it's going to hurt so much more than I do now. I'm actually not in a lot of pain, thankfully. We'll start making up for that in spades come next week.

The Zippo Hot Tour semifinal show went well - I did not fall, pass out, or vomit on the folks in the front row, although I felt like doing all three of those activities throughout the set. It was great seeing people going crazy even though I was all crutched up and gimped out on stage. You guys are all so great. Even though playing exhausted me, seeing and talking to you all really raised my spirits. It was a very metal 30 minutes and I'm glad I did it.

Another good thing: Drifter still wants to keep me as a vocalist. Thanks guys! At least now I'll have plenty of time to memorize every Iron Maiden lyric ever written!

Metal on, everyone!

Originally posted: Friday, September 15, 2006 - One false step and everything changes

I don't usually post blogs, but the last two weeks have been exceptionally odd, and I need to make sense of it somehow.

Most of you who know me know that I run for fitness. I started a year and a half ago when I had such profound jet lag from traveling to Asia that I would wake up every day at 4:30am and be unable to get back to sleep. Running was a way to handle how my body clock had suddenly changed (I became a morning person instead of a night person).

I didn't become a jogging nut, and I never ever wanted to run a marathon or even a 10K. "Too hard on the knees" I would say if someone asked me why I wasn't interested in anything longer than a 4 mile stint. I was just happy at how running had improved my stamina, particularly up on stage, and I didn't want to overdo it.

Last Wednesday, Sept 6, fate decided to overdo it for me. I was running briefly on the sidewalk to avoid cars parked in the bike lane in my neighborhood. I hate running on the sidewalk because I know it's dangerous. I was also wearing brand new shoes which I think contributed to me catching my toe on an uneven piece of concrete. Down I went like a sack of bricks, WHAM! My right hip made the most hideous ripping sound as I fell; I was sure it wouldn't support me when I tried to stand.

The leg worked; I walked home, bloody and shaken. Determined to tough it out, I cleaned up my wounds and set to working from home. Then I bent over to pick up something from the floor and my hip subluxated (i.e. partially dislocated).

Thus started the next 7 days of wondering what was wrong. My husband and I went to an urgent care center and I was Xrayed. They saw nothing, and were disbelieving that my hip subluxated upon bending over. Still so shocked over what had happened, I didn't want to press the subject - I couldn't explain what was happening, but they reassured me to dislocate your hip you need to have been in a motor vehicle accident of some kind. I was just going to be sore and unhappy for a while.

I hobbled around for days, in fairly severe pain. On Friday, the hip does that thing again. On Monday, it does it while I'm sitting on the floor at home. I call on Tuesday and get an appointment to a friend's orthopedist on Wednesday.

That's when the shit really started to come down. The doctor asked me to show him what I meant when I said "it really feels like it comes out of the socket." So I did, at great expense, physically and emotionally. My hip snapped out of the socket with a sound like a wet phonebook striking a hard floor. The pain was overwhelming and reduced me to a blubbering, pathetic wretch. I'm still having flashbacks about it.

At least it convinced the nice doctor that I wasn't some dumb hypochondriac (I'm a smart one!). My hip bone was, without a doubt, subluxating in a rearward direction from the socket. Then he said the really bothersome thing: "I think you have broken a piece of the back of your hip socket off." His profound disturbance when talking to me was very frightening. I could see how puzzled and disbelieving he was, yet he had no choice to to acknowledge the reality of what had happened. Yes, it usually takes a long fall (say from several stories) or a sudden deceleration in an auto accident to cause this... but it seemed I'd done it by simply falling wrong on concrete.

So the next morning I get an MRI. Not a particularly bad experience, as long as you're not claustrophobic. I'm not... really. When they put me into the tube I started to freak out, since the ceiling of it was about 2 inches from my nose. Luckily my head stuck out a little bit at the end so I could see the ceiling and part of the wall. After about 5 minutes I calmed down and then it was just loud and boring. Both my arms fell asleep; my legs started to twitch from lying still, and of course I had to pee. But 20 mins later I was done and Jeff and I were driving home.

At 3pm we went back to get the MRI results. Again, Mr Nice Doctor of the Great Puzzlement Over My Injury asked me if I'd ever been in a car accident. No, dude, I just f'ing fell, PLEASE stop asking me that - it would be so much more easy to understand IF I'd been in a car accident! He shows me on the MRI how my femoral head is all banged up, the joint's full of fluid (indicating severe injury), and there seems to be a small chunk of bone knocked off the socket. Seems that when I landed from my fall, the attitude of my leg was thus that it smashed my femur into the back of the hip socket, causing a posterior acetabular fracture.

GREAT.

The he tells me about the surgery.

The surgery is massive, but it's probably the only way to stabilize the piece of bone so it grows back in the right spot. If they mess it up, my hip will continue to snap out of the socket, causing major damage to the femoral head - not to mention the mental and emotional trauma I go through when it happens. Enough damage and I'll end up with nasty degenerative arthritis, which could result in a hip replacement in the future. Recovery time from the surgery is 6 weeks on crutches, then walking and swimming for three months minimum. No more running, ideally. The doc's demeanor was, "Smart people would not run after this injury." Bike riding is ok.

So he sends me for a CAT scan and gets me in touch with one of the best trauma surgeons in the city. I make an appointment for Tuesday of next week. Problem is, Mr. Trauma not part of my insurance network and if he's not part of the network, the insurance won't cover his fees.

GREAT. Even better. Keep 'em coming.

Oh I will, life says - the insurance company's site and phone tree is completely down yesterday. Neither I nor Mr. Trauma's assistant can call to even start the negotiation process to see if we can use this guy without putting me in the poorhouse for the rest of my life.

At this point, I'm alternately blubbering, hating the world, freaking out or just being numb. I get home and have a conf call for work; I joke and refer to my injury as "the most retarded injury ever", which kind of helps me deal with it for a while. All I can think of is, "What am I going to do? Ignitor's got a show TOMORROW, I just joined Drifter, and I'm on frigging stupid crutches and afraid to move!"

So here's what I decided:
I'll play the show with Ignitor crutches be damned. It will not be the most exciting of shows since I won't be able to move much, but it's going to be the last one I can do for a while.

The dudes in Drifter can let me go if they want and I will totally understand.

I'll try not to spend the next 5 days flipping my lid until I see Mr Trauma.

And I'll try to keep ya'll updated via this blog. It's been very touching how many people have reached out in kindness - thanks everyone. It does help.

See ya.