Kitta

Dr Confession

I never thought I would say this – it’s so ludicrous and I cannot even believe it myself. But I feel it needs to be said publicly…

I have become a Dr Phil viewer.

This past week I have been overcome by severe illness. It all started late one night with a tickle in my throat, while I slept the tickle swiftly turned into strep throat (Streptococcal Pharyngitis). I was subjected to 40°C fever and chills. I dehydrated to the point where my family begged me to let them take me to the hospital. Delirious and stubborn, I managed to fight off dehydration and my families plea. But I’m not sure how I did so, my brain seems to have locked away the memory in the ‘lets not go there’ section. I do remember my legs aching and telling my mother that I wanted “ice melted”… I meant water.

As I was recovering from asking for melted ice and a fever, my chest become jealous of the attention my throat was gathering and decided to become infected. Chest forced me to cough every few seconds, just to let everyone know that chest is hardcore and that throat better not fuck with chest.

Yes. I am medicated while writing this.

Then my sinuses finally decided to join the infection party. What ensued was days of, “is your nose still running?” jokes from my mother who has been caring for me. I felt totally lady like laying in bed with tissues stuck permanently in my nose. I’m slowly recovering, very slowly, which is aggravating. It’s not being sick that aggravates me. It’s the not being able to care for myself or do anything. My room is a mess, I haven’t done laundry or cooked myself a proper nutritious meal in over a week, a bracelet I was making is left uncompleted, I have a mountain of errands, friend to see, pancake craving to quench, plans and events to attend, zombies to kill, and I haven’t even been feeling well enough to game. I think the latter annoys me the most, as gaming is the what I look forward to most when I’m sick in bed. It alleviates my daily frustrations.

Dr Phil

This is why I have been reduced to watching Dr Phil.

Maybe it’s the medication. Maybe I have residue delirium. Maybe it’s boredom. Maybe I suspect Dr Phil is operated by the Daleks and someone has to watch what those exterminating bastards are doing. Maybe I hope he’ll make a point instead of sound bite. Maybe I just used the word ‘maybe’ too many times in one blog post. I’m convinced – after a good weeks worth of forced research – that daytime TV is the root of all evil. But the root of all evil has been my only source of entertainment. The TV shows I normally enjoy are all on break, so I bow down to evil daily until I can get out of bed and return to the living.

I told friends about my Dr Phil – Philly, as I like to call him – addiction and I think they are now planning an intervention. Which is awesome. I hope they bring some DVD’s and pancakes.

Day At The Kit Fair

I attended the Craft & Quilt fair on Saturday and went to see Indiana Jones on Sunday. It was the first weekend in months that I’ve gone somewhere that was fun and not stressful.

As I walked around the Perth Convention Exhibition Centre I listened to the crowd, overhearing bits of conversation amongst strangers, people say the funniest things when they assume their conversations will be lost in the noise.

“I tried lampworking once and burnt off my eyebrows.”

“There are a lot of men here today. They’re either gay or selling something.”

“Someone should make a quilt to put in her mouth.”

“I loved my last enema.”

“If I buy this I won’t be able to pay for my weekly erotic massage and bottle of wine.”

“Before we go I want to check out the stall with the crap bags”

I noticed that most items for sale at the fair were in kit form; bead kits, quilt kits, teddy bear kits, knitting kits, kit kits, kitted kit kits, etc. In amongst the craft stalls was the token guy with the iron shoe that no one pays attention to. I was saddened at the lack of creativity. Sure, it’s creative in a sense. You are making that quilt or beaded necklace. But the pattern isn’t yours, and I personally wouldn’t feel a sense of accomplishment that comes with creating something unique that is a reflection of your creativity.

I started beading when I was ten. Back then there were no kits for sale, I learnt how to string a simple seed bead bangle from a friend and was hooked. Soon my friend and I had our own store at the school fete, our items – although simple and cheap – sold amazingly well and we made hundreds of dollars during those years. Which is large sum for a ten year old. The only problem was that all proceeds were meant to be donated to our school, a rule which I decided to bend, because I didn’t feel our hard work should go unrewarded. When the vice principal came over to collect our takings – much like a pimp – I handing her a jar containing $20 of coins and kept the notes that added up to $100 hidden away. She was surprised. “Oh no” I thought, “she knows and I’m going to have my kneecaps broken with plastic baseballs bats hired at lunch time!” Then she said, “you’ve done well, $20 is a lot of money!” I nodded and smiled. Later that day I went to the local store and bought as much junk food as my $50 cut could buy. It was delicious.

I tell you this devious story not because I want you to know I was once a kid who totally owned my pimpish vice principal, but because it was my grounding in beading. Where my love for beading blossomed and was allowed to take form without the need for a kit.

No photography was allowed at the fair, which struck me as odd rule for an event which is meant to inspire. Why is no photography allowed when kits and patterns are for sale? I was personally inspired quite a few times, not by an entire work, but by little things. The way a clasp was attached or a stringing method. But the inspiration was lost amongst the cluster of everything I saw that day.

A few items and products did stick in my mind…

Microwave kilns – They entice me to finally purchase a lampworking kit and try making my own lampworked beads.
Shop in a Qube concept store – If you want somewhere to sell your products, check it out. It’s quite an interesting concept.
Beading supplies – I purchased some interesting glass beads and some half price gemstones.
Clover wonder knitter – It looks like a toy, but once it was demonstrated to me I had to have one.

Before I left I decided to buy a late lunch, as I had been walking around for a good two hours while my stomach protested every few minutes. The best option for a cold winters day was hot chips. Alas, the chips tasted like six month old oil, looked like deep fried carrots, cost $6.90 and were possibly the worst food item I’ve ever consumed. At least they weren’t selling them in kit form.

Found

Amongst all the chaos of the last few months; the break-up, tears, arguments, unwarranted weight loss, depression, headaches, death, cancer, life changes and challenges…

I seem to have found my creativity again.

A week ago I stumbled upon a box full of findings and beads on sale. I dug around the box, found a few items, and decided to buy them without intention to use them. “They’re cheap and I might use them one day,” I assured myself. Then my creative energy flowed and during a five hour beadathon yesterday I created an array of bracelets.

My new found creative energy could be linked to the fact that a dear friend of mine suddenly found out some devastating news regarding the health of her baby, news that took me days to comprehend and acknowledge. Her beloved seven month old baby boy has numerous incurable cancerous tumours all over his body. Four in his brain, one wrapped around his heart, another wrapped around his windpipe and spine, no major organ is free from the cancerous tumours. I cried for days. The entire situation seems so unfair and surreal. His mother celebrated her first Mother’s Day by his side in hospital, hoping for a miracle and asking for resolve. Weeks earlier the young family had moved into their new home, they were looking forward to a holiday and planning a first birthday later this year. This week doctors and family prepare for the inevitable. When I first heard the news it felt like a bad dream, because I never knew such an aggressive cancer could attack a baby in such a manner. It’s everywhere. The doctors are performing chemotherapy not to cure the cancer, but to possibly shrink the tumours and make him more comfortable, he is in pain, pain that he cannot vocalise given how young he is. A miracle has been questioned, as everyone involved clings to hope, doctors are regrettably confident that even if all of the multiple tumours could be shrunk and/or surgically removed, the cancer would return within months given it’s aggressive nature.

Aggressive. I hate that word.

The recent events have made me realise how cruel and unfair life can be, forcing me to contemplate mortality in great detail, leading towards sleepless nights and rumination.

“To die is poignantly bitter, but the idea of having to die without having lived is unbearable.” – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Easter Fireworks

There are a few things you do not expect to say while watching a supposedly controlled and family orientated Easter fireworks display.

One of these things is, “I’m not staying here, I’ll probably be killed” or “too dangerous” you also don’t expect to turn around to find a distressed mother trying to find the first-aid tent to treat her young son who copped a firework to the face, causing his cheeks to welt and his cries to recoil in pain.

Unless you attend a supposedly controlled and family orientated Easter fireworks display in Rockingham…

When you hear me say “ow” or “fuck” it’s because I was hit by bits of fireworks, and yes, I do believe I was entitled to the swearing, Mum. When you hear the kid in front say “ow fuck” it’s because a smouldering amber hit him in the leg. When you hear various crowd members scream, “ow fuck my eyes” as fireworks that make a ‘sizzle’ sound are launched, it’s because the crowd was treated to a good old fashioned carnival eye burning. And when you hear me say “too dangerous” it’s because I finally realised how foolish it was to be that close, and promptly moved away, only to nearly be hit again by a large searing remains of a firework while standing under cover at a showbag stand.

Sorry for my Cloverfieldesque camera work, It’s hard to capture decent quality video when your eyes, skin and throat are burning. I was trying to hide under my hoodie for the duration, meanwhile, my friends decided to move away to a safe distance because they’re not big on having their flesh burnt.

After nearly being killed, we perused the rest of the carnival, I bought fairy floss and we were pleased to see the ‘hot sweet & juicy’ corn van and freaky clown games involving balls were present and accounted for…

The towns slogan should be changed to, “Rockingham, if our bogans don’t kill you our fireworks will.”

Paused

My life has been set on pause for the last few months.

Every day I have been waiting; waiting for the nurse to return my call, waiting while driving an hour to the hospital, waiting for the doctor, waiting for a lift, waiting in line at the café around the street because the hospital has banned my beloved Coca Cola, waiting for the night to end without receiving an urgent call about her condition, waiting at a specialists, waiting for a time machine to be invented so I can go back to last year and prepare for said waiting.

My grandmothers health has been poor since late last year. A late night trip to the hospital last August revealed a long sinus pause in her heart, the doctor was slightly concerned and referred her to a cardiologist who performed various tests. One of the last tests he ordered was a holter monitor in February. After wearing the holter monitor for 24 hours she was told that the cardiologist would take a look and get back to her in a few days. She strolled down to the bus stop and decided to stop in the city to do some shopping before returning home. Just as the bus pulled up to the stop and she prepared to board, she heard someone screaming her name. It was two nurses, running in her direction and screaming her name, followed by another nurse with a wheelchair. When they finally reached her, they told her that there was a serious problem, that the cardiologist wanted to admit her so he could assess her situation. My grandmother, stubborn at heart, asked them if she could come back later, as she wanted to do some shopping. Five minutes later the nurses finally convinced her that it was urgent, then a few hours later my Gran was on a ward, hooked up the heart monitors, having her blood pressure taken hourly and still unsure what all the fuss was about.

The fuss was about a three second sinus pauses during the day and a six-ten second sinus pauses at night time. She was kept in hospital for over a week in late February. Treatment was a pacemaker, but her doctors were concerned about her high blood pressure, various clotting medications and low white blood cell count, they decided to postpone the procedure for a week and try to stabilise her blood pressure and blood count. My Gran spend her days in hospital protesting politely. She is very independent and despises anyone making a fuss. She told the doctors to just get on with and and not worry about her, as she was sure they had more important things to do, they laughed and pointed out that worrying about her was their job and she was their most critical patient in their care.

When I visited her in hospital, I first noticed that she was hooked up to monitors and looking quite sickly and tired, the first things she asked me was “who won the cricket last night?” I laughed, she told me that her motto is ‘nothing in life is more important than lotto, cricket and football’. After I found out the cricket scores from another patient, I went to find a vase for the flowers I had bought her. I found a vase near the nurses station, as I snipped off the stems the head nurses said, “your Gran really scares the night staff” in a serious tone that caught me off guard. I asked why – given that she in her late 80’s and doesn’t own a gun – he replied, “her sinus pauses at night, they’re becoming too long, they sit watching the monitor ready to page the doctor.” After that confession I no longer slept well at night either.

Coke

During another visit I stopped by her unit to gather some of her belongings. Betty, one of my Grandmothers friends, met me outside and inquired about when she was coming home. I told her I was unsure, then she asked if I would pass on well wishes to my Gran and that she missed gossiping with her. I replied, “of course, I’m sure she misses your company and can’t wait to see you again” with a smile. Betty was pleased. She bid goodbye and proceeded to walk away. Then she suddenly paused and turned around to say possibly one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever received, “you remind me of my granddaughter, she always looks me in the eye when she talks to me and has such a warmth about her. You don’t see that in a lot of young people these day. Your Grandmother is lucky to have you.”

I must say, RPH have fantastic staff. I am astounded by their professionalism and friendliness. You simply look confused in a corridor and a orderly appears – as if by teleportation – and asks you if you need some assistance. It’s sad that the government plan to close such a historical hospital.

My only gripe – a frivolous one at that – is there seems to be a ban on classic Coca Cola at the hospital. Upon consulting the nurses, I found out they score a hit of Coke from the dealers down the street and I then started buying Coke in bulk for myself and the day nurses.

My grandmother was discharged from the hospital two days after they put in the pacemaker. She then stayed with me for a week so I could keep an eye on her and while she watched the cricket. Apart from some bruising and the pacemaker needed it’s pulse/speed changed, she is feeling dramatically better. She has returned home to gossip with her friend Betty and is quite perplexed as to why she feels a tad weak when walking to the shops. Her doctor says it will take six-eight weeks for her to fully recover and for her to take it easy.

Alas, easy is not how my Gran rolls.

Kit Without The Kat

One of my boyfriends highly professional workmates purchased a KitKat at work, and to his amazement, it had no wafers present amongst the chocolatey goodness. Shock and horror was felt among the workers to find a waferless KitKat. As my boyfriend likes to fight against evil doers and injustice in the workplace – occasionally when I forget his job description, I just say he works for Torchwood – he decided to call Nestle and transcribe the entire conversation, and then email it to me for my perusal and enjoyment…

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Well, I just had a disappointing experience with one of your chocolate products.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, which product was it?”

“The KitKat.”

“Was that a standard KitKat?”

“It was branded as such, but I soon discovered it was substandard.”

“So what was the problem with the KitKat?”

“I guess you could say it had no Kat in it.”

“No cat in it?”

“Yes, it was missing the delicious chocolatey wafer Kat centre.”

“Oh, that definitely would have made the experience less enjoyable.”

“Definitely. It was a disappointment to find the absence of the wafer inside. I mean, I would say that would be the whole point of the KitKat, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Sir. We will have a refund out to you with an apology letter as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, I trust that my experience with your confectionary in the future will be much more satisfactory.”

True to their word, Nestle sent a $5 cheque in the mail for the anguish caused by the Kit being Katless and they have yet to figure out how to spend the immense sum. Another injustice solved.

Sexiest Geek

According to Wired’s third annual Sexiest Geeks list, I am one of 2007’s sexiest geeks.

I’m unsure what one is meant to say when they receive such a prestigious and esteemed nomination.

Every year, Wired nominates the smartest, sexiest and most Wired men and women of the year. I’m up there with the sexy greats; Danica McKellar, Kary Byron, Amber MacArthur, Kary Byron (her clone), Morgan Webb, Olivia Munn, Leah Culver, Veronica Belmont, Felicia Day, Leah Culver (another clone), Kristen Bell, Alyson Hannigan and Joss Whedon. Who sadly seems to be the last man standing in the top-rated list. Whedon must possess some awesome fanboy powers or have hundreds of monkeys to do his evil biddings.

And then there is me, somewhere in the middle of it all, with 830 positive and 476 negative votes. Accompanying my photo is a short description which claims that I possess “mad CSS skillz” and that I enjoy playing WoW. Mad CSS skillz, that is such a nice thing for you to say… I mean, my code is really depreciated. I know, I’ve been wanting to release my re-design into the wild, but I’m trying to overachieve with it, do something amazing, which is a bit like trying to bend a spoon with your mind when you have no mind to bend it wit… Wait a minute.

Since when do I play WoW?

I’m pretty sure I have never played World of Warcraft, as I prefer FPS over MMORPG’s. So unless my WoW playing friends have drugged and kidnapped me for the horde or someone is posing as me on WoW (which would be a new level of weird that has yet to be achieved by my fakers/posers), I’m pretty sure I have never played WoW.

Does this mean you were lying about the “mad CSS skillz” too?

Update…

I have been cloned. There are now two of me present on Wired’s Sexiest Geeks of 2007 list. Can you pick which one is the cyborg?

2008 Predictions

I’ve never been a fan of resolutions made hastily while celebrating the start of a new year. Why not embark on resolutions throughout the year, instead of making unreachable resolutions to cease bad habits, then proceeding to give them up before the Easter bunny is due? I prefer predictions.

So ladies, gentlemen, drunk people who are waking up from NYE induced paralysis, ninjas, and pirates; here are my 2008 predictions for your perusal…

Imitation beer flavoured Coca Cola; no alcohol, no sugar, no fat, no point.
An American man tries to eBay his wife’s brain. He claims she no longer uses it.
Cookie Monster comes out of the closet and admits he really loves brownies, not cookies.
Amy Winehouse is arrested for kidnapping a four year old boy. She maintains the boy curled up and fell asleep in her beehive hairdo, and that she was too drunk to hear the screams of terror upon his waking in the darkened beehive of doom.
Signs used during the writers strike announce that they will be striking until demands of better hours and conditions are met. One sign says he was left on the side of the road while a writer went for Starbucks. The unnamed sign now suffers from PTS (Post Tarmatic Stress).
An American lady tries to eBay her husbands penis. She claims he doesn’t know how to use it properly, and she would rather it be owned by a more experienced user.
Britney Spears starts her own blog. The tag line reads, “Dis iz ma buloowwg ya’lll” and confuses readers with her intoxicated ramblings.
Google releases a ‘Britney to English’ translator.
Oprah starts Twittering.
President Bush is excited when he finds Bin Laden. The joy is short lived when his advisors point out that he has found Wally, not Bin Laden.
Twittering is finally acceptable at the dinner table because Oprah is doing it.
Apple releases the iSuck. A vacuum cleaner that analyses your household dirt to alert you of any pathogens lurking under your feet.
2-girls-1-cup; the musical.
A young man in England discovers a hidden achievement for Guitar Hero 3 on Xbox Live after his girlfriend smashes his guitar during the 759th performance of ‘Through the Fire and Flames’. He said he was shocked to see “Achievement Unlocked: Owned :p” appear on the screen.
Humans now cooler than Ninjas and Pirates combined.
Paris Hilton and Kevin Federline hook up. Oh… Wait, too late.

Ho, Ho, Holdup

As an intuitive reader of my site, you may have noticed that I haven’t blogged in over a month. Which is about four months in blog world. Some of you may have even emailed me, questioning if I was…

Dead
A zombie
Joined a cult
Killed by one of the people using my photos on profiles sites so they could use my skin during a date to be me in reality

It warms my heart that you all care for my well being and skin. It really does.

Don’t worry. The last time I checked I wasn’t dead, and given my undead state, I cannot possibly be a zombie. I’m also not into drinking the koolaid before flying into a volcano with Tom Cruise, and given the current state of scientific and medical advancements, there is no way the skin trick could work.

The main reason I haven’t blogged is because my website was moved to a different server, which resulted in some downtime and instability. It’s all fixed now thanks to the glorious people at Contrast Hosting.

The other reason, which many of you can associate with at this time of year, is that I have been busy. Busy buying meaningful presents on a limited budget, catching up with friends, wrapping my families presents because they’re too inept to do so themselves, seeing friends off at the airport, sorting and replying to over 600 emails residing in my inbox, stopping Bruce from trying to commit suicide again, dealing with family members who decide to get back together instead of divorcing, eBaying my possessions for money to pay bills, convincing the boyfriend not to buy another car because he has a perfectly good car, sorting out my study plans for next year, trying to stop everyone from feeding the dog fries when they know that I have her on a diet, learning to drive, re-designing this blog, trying to find the perfect cuban heel seamed stocking that matches my skin tone, playing xbox on my shiny new LCD TV that the boyfriend gave me for christmas, and trying to reset my sleeping pattern which has slowly dilapidated after illness and stress.

Updates will recommence shortly. Until then, follow me on Twitter for daily updates.

Wrongfully Single

Another day, another person stealing my photos and posting them on a dating website.

This time, it’s a dating advert on Craigslist, entitled “Beautiful Girl Needs Someone!”

At least this time I’m not into group relationships or grannies. This time, I desire quiet evenings in front of the fire cuddling and watching a movie, I lust after someone who will go on a bike with me and allow me to cook a real meal for them. I’m not sure what I mean by ‘real meal’, possibly I was into imagining food at some point, and have since moved onto real food.

“I enjoy having a good time am told that I am a lot of fun to be with. I like to be spontaneous and spur of the moment is ok with me. I like to do crazy funny things.. Yet, I also like quiet evenings in front of the fire cuddling and watching a movie. Would like to meet someone of same interests, Someone to go on the bike with, someone to cook a real meal for, someone to just spend time with and hang out and talk with.”

I’m sure the flock peeps will love the free publicity. Myself, on the other hand, hope that I don’t have to post an entry entitled ‘wrongfully engaged’ after a reader emails me about my photos being used on a Russian mail order bride website.

Thanks goes out to a secret ninja, who prefers to remain stealthy unknown, that emailed me about the Craigslist advert. I shall sleep sound at night knowing there are ninjas in the world protecting the internets.