Le monde de fromage de Kate

It’s just SO amazing that I decided to insert my finger INTO the sewing machine while making a hat from this fabric:

Rather than THIS fabric:

That’s how I roll. Each heavily bleeding wound should MATCH the material with which you are working.

ADDENDUM, January 12, 2012, 4:07 a.m.:

Grateful I sewed the BYU hat FIRST as the blood would not have been hidden as it was in the University of Utah crimson. And when it comes down to it, TOTALLY worth it:

"I like it so much."

And the other half of the cutest in-family and in-State rivalry:

"I really like it! Thanks, Aunt Kate."

I cannot BELIEVE that I published the previous “post” – nay, one more attempt at the Great American Novella – in the wee hours of the same day I ended up with copious hematomas, unsightly bruises, a broken big toe and my right arm in a sling AND a splint. When my typing powers are back (ouch for now) I shall have to elaborate.

In the olden days I regularly posted to my blog even when my life had gone all pear-shaped. And the pear had gone rotten. And someone then stepped on the rotten pear. And then the rotten pear was tracked out onto the dirty streets and distributed to the vultures and ravens and those greasy mean birds whose name I forget.

I should make a disclaimer: I am pear-shaped. SO pear-shaped. And I take comfort in the fact that it’s more healthy than being apple-shaped. But one’s OWN shape is very different from the shape of one’s life.

Many things have happened and not happened. Now don’t think I’ve lost my profound edge. Many of these events, however, deserve to be revealed with lovely pictures and poetic words. And as my computer is… hibernating, I cannot do such entries justice. Oh – IT IS NOT DEAD! I just have jiggled the power cord input into a mess and haven’t yet had the nerve to attack the thing with jeweler’s screwdrivers. And a mallet. And unlike when my motherboard AND hard drive crashed, removing all the keys and cleaning out the feline hair with compressed air doesn’t seem like the answer.

And on a completely unrelated note, SHEESH! You could hang meat under this desk!!! I’m going to get hypothermia. (Stupid Windows machines.)

Let’s just cover something stupid I’ve done, then. There is ALWAYS a plethora of blunders from which to pick. And if my life’s misadventures entertain even ONE person, my mission is complete. Or something.

As evidenced by the fact that I have an ENTIRE category entitled “I fell down,” those who know me well are aware that I am capable an impressive variety of mishaps. This one is new. And for the sake of argument let’s rate things by the standard of “better than a poke in the eye” or NOT. This is NOT.

If you’ve not stopped reading already, I shall end the suspense and let you know what I did:

In my defense, organic tortilla chips are DANGEROUSLY SHARP! And please consider the alarming sensation of the salsa that smothered the offending chip. ¡AY, CARAMBA! Nevertheless, I shall NOT write a strongly-worded letter to the organic tortilla chip people, because then they’d have to put a WARNING on the bag about the fact the chips should not be used as weapons, and it smacks of the kind of warning my mom and I were discussing the other day. She’d been reading the safety precautions for a hairdryer and one of the warnings was, and this is deadly serious: “DO NOT USE WHILE SLEEPING.” The thing is, they have to put these disclaimers because SOMEONE ACTUALLY DID WHATEVER THEY MENTIONED. So, no, I do not want to be the “BEWARE THE KNIFE-LIKE EDGES ON OUR CHIPS” person.

But here’s where I got into a quandary (mild, I will say, but a quandary nonetheless). This wound is NOT a cold sore or a fever blister. However, as it is right on the corner of my mouth, thus:

1. You cannot really bandage it.
2. Typical first-aid salves are not appropriate as they are not to be ingested – even accidently (in fact, POISON! POISON!!!).
3. The sore constantly gets wet because one must STILL eat and drink.
4. It still LOOKS like freakin’ herpes!

I tried a variety of remedies: Unrefined shea butter (lovely stuff, but better for HEALED wounds), Smith’s Rosebud Salve, a Burt’s Bees® “protective” product that evidently they don’t make anymore (never knew its intended use – the packaging is VAGUE, making me wonder now if it is intended for one’s – em – nether regions), Neosporin® Lip Health™ Overnight Renewal Therapy™, and no doubt I threw some Bag Balm® in there somewhere. I realized that over-moisturizing of the wretched sore was NOT really helping. I needed antiseptic. Or a face-lift.

I broke down and went to – you guessed it – the cold sore and fever blister section in the store. I shall restate that one. I sought out the CURES for cold sores and fever blisters in the store. I have NOT been suffering the “pain and itching associated with cold sores” so that wasn’t really any help; an analgesic wasn’t the point. I didn’t need the surprisingly expensive “quick” treatments with the “serious medicine.” And forgive me, “Herpecin-L” folks, but it seems like we’ve moved AWAY from naming the CURE after the DISEASE. At the very least you could append an “ANTI” to the beginning. I’m just not inclined to purchase, say, “Mysterious Rash or Boil” cream. I might be SLIGHTLY more likely to purchase “ANTI-Mysterious Rash and Boil” cream, but OY WEH! [DISCLAIMER: I have not purchased any variety of cream or salve in that category. Recently anyway.]

Anyhoo, this is what I finally chose:

It’s inexpensive, it’s antiseptic, and I smell faintly like a ninety-two-year-old dowager. More importantly, it seems to be working. So HUZZAH for Campho-Phenique®!

Ooooh. That reminds me of my fondness for Tiger Balm Sports Balm (ULTRA-strength non-staining!). I carry oodles of tension in my shoulders and neck and I’m crooked (my BODY is crooked, this is NOT a statement of my ethical propensities… oh, never mind). I used to slather the stuff on. Suffice it to say it’s STRONG-SMELLING. One might say über-fragrant, in fact. This was NOT a popular choice with my erstwhile spouse. I personally think that sleeping in the same bed with someone who reeks so strongly of sinus-clearing vapours might be a GOOD thing, but I guess NOT.

Last night I ran – yes ran – into a tree. With my head. It knocked me off my feet.

After a lifetime of contusions, bruises, rashes, scratches, cuts, abrasions, sprains, bumps and boo-boo’s, I’ve actually BROKEN SOMETHING. Yup, I have an oblique fracture of the fifth meta-tarsal. If the X-rays would scan, I’d show you (yes, I had copies made – ‘CAUSE HOW COOL). And what’s more, the physician, who was an expert in sports medicine, who just happened to be doing his one night of the week at the InstaCare, called me a “Stud.”

I think perhaps that should be a synonym for “Really Stupid.” In the first place, this injury occurred last Tuesday evening, right before I went in to teach my Tuesday night musical theatre class at the Barlow Arts Conservatory. I will talk about the Conservatory soon at which time I will praise and commend it at length. And I may even mention my upcoming guest appearance in the Annual Super-Duper Barlow Arts Conservatory recital in which I will be playing Miss Hannigan.

Anyhoo, I had donned my ballet slippers, as one wears dance shoes on the expensive dance floor; it’s the respectful thing to do. Besides, it places me in ridiculous Amazonian contrast to the wee tiny ballerinas in their pink slippers and matching ensembles. From the tiled lobby to the dance floor there is a difference of an inch or two between which there is a lovely sloped threshold. It was upon this threshold that, during a moment of “warm-up” – OKAY – horseplay, I fancied that I’d toss a lil’ jeté into my day. At this point I – and beware of this fancy medical vernacular – royally smushed my foot to bits (pronated it to pieces?). It wasn’t one of my weak ankles, as usual (which is why I own more than one ankle brace). It was my left foot itself.

The best part is that I just started that class and walked on my foot for at least half the time. I somehow managed to avoid the most strikingly painful moves. But when I removed my slipper (which ended up acting like a compressive device of sorts) I knew I’d done a doozy. I worked in health care long enough to learn my “R.I.C.E.” – Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation – so I iced, rested and elevated for a couple of days, limped on the thing to tour some potential short course venues, and then rested it some more… And OHHH the cool and migrating bruises.

Today, I taught my Monday musical theatre class in a grandly gimpy fashion. Then the ballet Moms scared me. They regaled me with tales of injuries of dancers who thought their breaks were just sprains, and then weeks later… Long story short (yes, too late as usual), I decided that I’d best get my foot checked out, especially since I am only insured until June 1st. Therefore, after x-rays and examination, I was deemed a stud for walking on a substantial break for almost a week. And were I an actual DANCER who had any excuse to be doing fancy-schmancy moves, I could take great comfort in the fact that this is one of the most common “dance” injuries. But I’m there as the VOCAL expert. So just call me Stupid Super Stud in my “Walking Boot.” Oh – and Clinton and Stacy would NOT approve of this footwear (particularly the fact that I own clunky enough shoes to match the height and chunkiness of the medical boot. Oh well.

*In Junior High it is extremely likely that I cracked my tail-bone (dancing in the garage with a bucket – SHUT UP), but one cannot do anything about that, so I never had it verified. I did sit funny for a few years…

That should probably be a category all on it’s own.

Did a bunch of this and that this week. Including, yes, a fair portion of self-abuse. I twisted my right ankle last weekend (not too badly).

I got an EXTRA helping of bruises as I climbed over my mountains o’ crap (DETRITUS!) looking for a stereo that I knew was there and the speakers. Turns out that the speaker was packed in one box, one speaker was packed in the humidifier box (I’d found the humidifier earlier and it was in something else’s box). The last speaker was the sneakiest component. I KNEW I’d seen it…SOMEWHERE. And boy howdy (that’s an expression – or it should be), I often wish I had a Sherpa to guide my through the piles of “SOMEWHERE.” Of course it was in the last place I looked (sheesh – what a ridiculous saying).

When my right ankle was feeling pretty much normal, I twisted the left one and hit my knee. This was one of my special “falling up the stairs” tricks. I’m so cool.

Oh, but, I’ve left the best for last. Last night, as I was maneuvering through my boxes and piles and such in the “pizza vomit carpet” storage room, I invented a spectacularly painful move. You see, you have to step/leap with a very wide stance (I’m uselessly limber, remember) over the big box of Tupperware. This puts you RIGHT ON the old doctor’s scale (you’d have to ask Charles how we managed to obtain that vintage piece). It does work – rather well, surprisingly – so if one is feeling saucy or daring or self-punishing (?) one can weigh one’s self that very moment.

Whether or not you’ve taken the time to determine your mass, you are now close to the tool box. This was what I wanted (not that I remember WHAT I WANTED FROM IT’S DEPTHS).

So I was back standing on the scale, and I went to take the giant step over the Tupperware box onto the tiny space of somewhat bare floor right in front of the door. Somehow, I lost my balance (everyone simultaneously in amazement – well, in my dreams). I did a lovely firm biff of my right shin on the edge of the Giant Tupperware Box of Death, and somehow that just threw me off my feet and forward. As there is not very much BLANK FLOOR SPACE, this means that I hit the door with my face. Yes, my FACE. At least I was wearing contacts; I just got my glasses fixed from the electronics flinging head-smashing debacle. Specifically, I hit my left cheek. HARD. Today it’s puffy and red. I don’t know if that’s because I prevented actual bruising when I iced it, or my self-abuse if sub-consciously designed to make me look as hideous as possible. Hard to say.

My Powerbook is sick – VERY ill. It happened last night so suddenly; one minute my baby was perfect (as usual) and then – BLACK SCREEN. A spontaneously black screen on any computer is very disconcerting, needless to say. I won’t go elaborate on all the things I attempted to get it going again (switching batteries and power sources, etc., etc.).

I will say that Kate Logic™ (remember – like standard logic but with half the fat) dictated that since the screen was black (I could still hear a slight noise when I booted up that indicated SOME sort of processing – but no comforting boot-up “bong” – like that has anything to do with the keyboard), I removed all the keys and cleaned out as much cat hair and as many lint balls as I could. I got several bloody wounds in the course of this endeavor (what a surprise). This did not fix it. Even my life-blood did not fix it. The LIFE-BLOOD from MY VERY BODY.

It looks like the image above, incidentally, except with a few lil’ dings and scars and such. Oh – and it doesn’t have the posh Intel Core 2 Duo processor in it like the newer models. This does not mean I love it any less.

And just so you know, I have NOT dropped it recently. The Guru’s reply the that statement was, “Recently??”

Speaking of the Guru, he has taken my precious baby home with him to try and fix it (because I cannot imagine that he has anything better to do). Bless him (again and again).

When I ponder this serious problem, I wonder if it has something to do with Murphy’s Law or Karma or wretched irony. Why? Because just the other day I was thinking, “I haven’t backed up my computer in a long time!” See?

Please, people around the World who may read this blog (even if it’s just two or five or nine of you), pray or meditate or send positive energy to my beloved Mac (whichever method floats you boat). I love it so (too much, no doubt – though I DO love my Kitten Children more)!

This entry was typed with much resentment towards Windows on a wretched PC.

I’ve already managed to make the “side-bar” the “bottom bar” and since there is already supposed to be a “footer” this mucks up EVERYTHING. Ugh.