Stinking Foot Disease

My feet stink. They stink really badly all of a sudden. I swear it’s so bad I think something must be wrong. Stinking foot disease. It smells like I’m rotting away feet first. I also have a deep, painful crack in the crease of the skin on my little toe.

Last night I bought myself a cute pair of strappy sandals on sale for $44 at DSW. This morning I showered and scrubbed between my toes with Dove, put on my brand new sandals... and by my 8:45 am staff meeting, I could smell them!

I rushed back to my cubicle after my meeting and dowsed my feet with the tiny bottle of hand sanitizer I got in a little gift bag from our insurance provider.

Pee-Whew!

The stuff smelled like vodka! So between the foot stench and vodka hand sanitizer smell, I had some major reeking lingering in my cubicle all morning.

I’m getting me a bottle of Selsun Blu and scrubbing those tootsies at least twice a day for a week. A co-worker once told me that in Vietnam, the service men all suffered from serious foot-rot and that Selsun Blu would kill any sort of nasty fungus that grew.

I hope I can save the sandals!

Tonight

It is a beautiful hot June night here in Pennsylvania –


All haze and fireflies and a waxing moon that will be full this weekend.


The painting is not set in Pennsylvania, but it gets the quality of the sky just right, so I'm posting it.

Pavor Nocturnus

Night Terrors…Yes, on top of all my other issues. I get night terrors. Any one else out there in hypochondria land suffer from night terrors???

I’ve been experiencing these at irregular intervals since (the earliest I can remember) 1990 ish. It’s got to be a little unsettling for BF, (and my ex-husband before him, and my previous ex-boyfriend, before him) since I wake up yelling my fucking head off. BF tells me there are times when I go through bouts of night terrors and wake up yelling almost every night during the week. I honestly don’t remember it EVER happening that much. Thank God for small favors!

I know it happened two nights in a row last week though. I began taking my Prozac again as a result.

Its’ like WHAM!! There I am in the face of mortality. Wide awake and yelling. It doesn’t involve specific disease fears, just my fear of death. Even death by old age…but it’s like suddenly I’m 90 and it’s an immediate reality. It’s like the Grim Reaper scene in Monty Python’s “The Meaning of Life.” The vision of the death approaching in film edits before the family dies from eating the tainted salmon casserole is truly one of the most frightening movie images ever!

Yes, it was probably just spoofing Bergman. But that doesn’t matter, it’s still scary!

The passing of time frightens me just as much as any illness out there. The passing of time IS the ultimate disease. It may not be the BEST reason to start going to church, but it is definitely in the top ten.

Wowie Zowie!

Sorry I disappeared there for a bit. It’s been a crazy week. My big news is that I received and accepted a job offer from an agency I interviewed with last February. It’s a real job in my field with the organization I most wanted to work for! Hooray! I start mid-July.

Candy Cigarettes

So candy cigarettes are linked to smoking. I can just imagine the academics groveling for money to fund that study. If the study DIDN'T prove that candy cigarettes were linked to smoking, careers were on the line.

Hell! Stay away from the gummy worms!

Alli

Gas, oily discharge and an inability to control bowel movements is a small price to pay for 50% more weight loss.

Alli, the new fat-blocker just hit the shelves and I got LAST package in the local drug store. Sales here indicate I’m not the only brave soul.

For $59.99, it better be EVERYTHING it promises and more. I'll keep you posted.

Greek Frittata

1/2 cup chopped spinach (not cooked)
4-6 medium eggs
1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
2 scallions, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
1 Tablespoon olive oil

Blend eggs with a fork in a medium bowl. Add feta, scallions, dill, pepper and the spinach; mix gently.

Set a rack about 4 inches from the heat source; preheat the broiler.

Heat oil in a cast iron nonstick skillet over medium heat. Pour in the egg mixture and tilt to distribute evenly. Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook until the bottom is light golden, lifting the edges to allow uncooked egg to flow underneath.

Place the pan under the broiler and cook until the top is set, 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 minutes.

Frittatas are so good and so easy!

The above recipe served with a Greek salad was dinner on Monday. This morning I made a different variation with bacon, provolone and no dill.

Mommy Dearest

This post is dedicated to The Perfect Hypochondriac.

Ever since BF and I have been working full time, my Mom has been coming over for about an hour each day to watch Mr. Twister. She’s so kind and generous. She gives him (and our antisocial cat) fresh water and takes him outside to go potty and then plays tug with him until he’s tired.

It’s been a blessing and a curse. A blessing for the dog, a curse for ME.

Mom is disappointed in me. Yes, “disappointed” as in “I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.” The words that reduce most 12 year-olds to tears still have their power over me, even at 43.

I’m overweight, I’m a procrastinator and I’m a bad housekeeper. It’s 100%n TRUE.

I’ve kept these things from her for 16 years while I was away, but now she’s horrified. What really hurts is she’s right! I am a bad housekeeper. I suck!

I can do many things wonderfully, but I can’t seem to keep up with the normal, mundane shit, most folks do as a matter of course. She’s terrified that other relatives will come over to see the “progress” BF and I have made on this old house and see the squalor we actually live in. Truth be told, BF and I are quite happy with life here (usually).

Today she really got to me though. I stopped over to see her on my way home from work (so she can see me in business attire) to visit today and she was in rare form. She announced in tears that she didn’t want to come over any more because if she had a stroke while playing with Mr. Twister, emergency workers would come and would see my house and it would be condemned. Yes, “condemned.”

Ok, it’s true, I’m not a good housekeeper, but no one is going to condemn my house! I’ve still got enough of a grip on reality to recognize this. Comments like this have been a regular occurrence since BF got a job though and today it really felt like she’s wearing me down. I love her and won’t giver her shit back although she’s actually ENCOURAGED me to do so!!! I have this horrible vision of myself saying something smart to her and then having her die before morning.

Orrery

I forgot to mention that I got BF an Orrery at the great sale today.

CRA-AZY Saint John Slashes Prices!

I know I’ve posted before about one of my favorite dreams, the one where new rooms appear where there were none before. I then get to explore the new spaces and all the great stuff stored in them. Well, today I got to do it for real! Wow! Was it fun!

Quite by accident, I found out that one of the old, Catholic elementary schools that closed some time ago and the attached convent was having a sale.

It was an EVERYTHING goes sale that included furniture and architectural scrap. Basically, even if it was nailed down, if you could get it out, you were free to make an offer…cabinets, old wood work, stained glass windows, desks, books, teaching tools, podiums, etc…all circa 1920-1970.

We’re getting a few of the old steam radiators. One of our bedrooms (that we’re using for storage now) has no radiator, just a pipe in the floor where one should be. We’re also going to replace at least one other radiator that’s painted over. BF is getting a fantastic old, slate blackboard for his office and two cabinets.

We’ve got to line up a truck, tools and manual labor one night this week to claim our treasure. I’m almost tempted to get a couple more of the radiators and radiators covers to resell. Period hardware is a desirable thing. Probably a BAD idea…I would just end up with old radiators in my basement. There are also some awesome, built-in, wooden cabinets that would just rock in the kitchen, but I’d need a serious craftsman to get them out properly.

There were also a lot great religious items that were already promised to another church…a kneeler with screen for confessions, wooden pews and a stunning set of stations-of-the-cross done on wood. I want it all. I’m going to go to bed tonight and dream about my day.

Barborella

Full Throttle Energy Drink + Tequilla = The Barborella

A delicious summer drink over ice. Full Throttle and tequila really go smashingly together! I recommend Sauza Gold. It’s a great deal for the price.

It was so hot here today. I think it got up to 92 degrees and was about 80% humidity…pure barometric valium. About an hour and ago a thunderstorm rolled in and cooled things down to a comfortable sleeping temperature. BF conked right out. We went out tonight for Indian food. I agreed to let him order whatever he wanted from the menu instead of arguing for my favorites. We had the hottest Sag Paneer I’ve ever eaten in my life and Achari Goat. The goat was really good/complicated. It had pickled lemon rind in it. I should have tasted it first, because it turned out to be the more mild but sophisticated of the dishes. Once the hard burn of the sag paneer kicked in, my taste buds were pretty hashed. Now, it’s midnight and I feel like I swallowed a rock. We packed up quite a bit of food to take with us, but I still feel like I ate too much.

Welfare Island

This whole TB scare got me thinking about my Dad and Aunt and what an impression TB made upon them when they were young. It was much more prevalent during the 1930’s and 40’s. It was something I remember them talking about and was clearly something they feared. When I was about 25 years old, 5’7”, about 100 lbs. and in full party mode, Dad took me aside and warned me that TB was never eliminated completely and if I didn’t take better care of myself, I’d be at risk.

I kind of suspect that my Dad and Aunt both had hypochondriac and depressive tendencies but they are both gone now, and neither were willing to talk about it when they were alive. I’m not sure they were able. They really were from a different generation and didn’t have the self-help vocabulary I have today, or the relative comfort I have discussing such matters.

Before he went into the service my Dad was a bartender in a place that was owned by a couple who was infected with tuberculosis. While bartending, he was grateful not to be working in the mines, where his brother died, but when he was drafted, he was grateful to be away from the TB carriers.

My Aunt also had more than a passing encounter with TB. She worked as a nurse on Welfare Island and spent time in the TB ward. She had many stories about her time there, most of which were indelicate, to say the least, and were told over the table during holiday dinners. (If anyone is interested, I found a very nice posting by a woman who shares her memories of Welfare Island. She has kind words to say about the nursing care given to indigent patients. She makes me proud that my Aunt was there.) My Aunt told stories of impacted stool, swallowed chicken bones and TB patients. “Patients in the TB ward were very sexual,” she recalled, in her own vague words to that effect. She remembered that point and talked about what she perceived to be an expression of “life force.” I wish I could remember more, but I can’t. Maybe, it’s better. This way, her memories are not trivial or mundane to me – instead they are big and dark and important in ways I don’t understand.

The bottom line is that my Dad and Aunt lived pretty close to the disease and were not infected. Although TB is very contagious, coming in contact with carriers is not an automatic death sentence. If itwere, I wouldn’t be here blogging today. Cough –
This year’s summer reading list must include Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann.