Death Pot Pie

My friend, Bob Woodshed, is in a band called Death Pot Pie, which is very serious business.  They currently have three albums, and are pressing a fourth, Jiu Jitsu Rampage, which they may lose in the shuffle.  They’ve had two recent shows, the first on 6/21 at the Chateau de Drunko in Corvallis, and tomorrow, 6/28, at the Philly Dome in Philomath.  They have about two dozen interchangeable members due to the low standards for membership (you just have to look good in leather pants, apparently, and like Miller High Life).  This is seen as a good thing, according to the web site, because this, “gives us more time for hookers and UFC. We like hookers.”

If you’d like to giggle/stare in shock for a few minutes, please visit http://www.bobwoodshed.org/dpp.  If you’d like to read about microbrews, which is what Bob actually does with his time, then please just visit http://www.bobwoodshed.org.  “Bob” and I attended OSU together until 2007, when he graduated and moved to Pulman, WA for grad school at Washington State.

Self-imposed isolation is kind of nice.

Yeah, you heard me. I don’t have to entertain, or put the kettle on, or dress “nicely” (like what I wore to church yesterday… gorgeous, french striped boatneck 3/4 tee, denim trousers, grey cable-knit 3/4 sleeve sweater, green patent-leather ballet flats, with a red patent-leather skinny belt… oh yeah, it was sexy), or put the snake away. I have a pet snake. No, it’s not a lewd term for masturbation, even though I could totally do that as well, if I did. (eew).

I can take ninety-thousand baths a day. I can wear my doggy jammies. (Idea totally stolen from someone else’s blog because they sounded comfy… and they are). I can even listen to Journey, loudly, on my computer, while singing along into a brush in my boxers and a wife-beater, with a David Bowie wig. Not that I’ve done that, but I could. (Ashley visualizes everything I tell her, no matter how retardedly disgusting.)

I need to make a list and go shopping. Like, shaving cream. Believe it or not, I’ve not lost ALL my hair – they aren’t doing blast radiation, thank you. My leg and arm hair are still going strong. Oooh, and bar soap. I don’t use it, but you never know when you might get that Irish Spring feeling, and you just NEED to use bar soap. Usually I buy fancy Suisun Bay Handmade Soap (see picture) from back home in California, but I was recommended Slab Soap Company by Sean, up in Salem. Suisun is really nice if you like olive oil soap, and I usually purchase the Wine Bath scent. Oh, heavenly GOD does it smell good. The quote from the website says:

The Wine Bath Soap from Suisun Bay Soap Co. is an olive oil based soap that has a variety of skin-soothing ingredients including jojoba oil, grapeseed oil, glycerin, and apricot seed oil. However, the thing that makes this product a real stand out is the completely delicious, elusive scent: a blend of white wine, port wine, bergamot, rose, geranium, vanilla, and ylang-ylang.

See? Genius. All of my favourite things in a soap. And, it’s one of the few they make without almond oil, which I’m allergic to. Yeah, that was a surprise when almond lotion was rubbed on my face one day during a facial. I mean, I knew I was allergic to them when ingested (marzipan is a no no), but I had the WORST hives on my face. I wanted to put a bag over my head for a few days. I think I ended up not going to school one day because my face hurt so bad.

Back the train up. What does any of this have to do with self-imposed isolation? Absolutely nothing – I just like to ramble. My cold has petered down to an annoying cough, and my sore throat is 80% gone. I just need to kick the cold this week, stay away from sick people, sleep a lot, and get ready for chemo NEXT week. Yeah, I’m a month off of my schedule. I’m still taking my prednisone and neosar tablets, and whatever else they’ve given me (anti-get sick pills, anti-pain pills, anti-everything pills… but only when I need them). They suggested I do some shot for red cells, but they gave me shots for white-cell and red-cell growth when I was at the hospital last time… and they make my hips hurt for some reason. Did you know cyclophosphamide is a nitrogen mustard alkylating agent… meaning, mustard gas/chemical warfare? Sweet. At least, I don’t think they mean the stuff you put on sandwiches… or sausage, in my case. I made sausage the other night, and I ran out of mustard halfway through, so I had to walk ALL the way to Safeway to get more. Safeway is about 800 feet away, because it’s 350 feet from my door to the end of the street (says Google Maps), and it’s about twice that distance from the corner to the doors of the store.

Hey, I have LOTS of time on my hands. So, I’m allowed to talk about things like sausage and soap. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that 🙂

Sumi brush painting

Ok – so, Sean is in a Drawing class at LBCC, and his teacher (I’ve heard she’s kind of… well, you fill in the blank) thought to inflict Sumi brush painting on the class. So, if you want to read a very humorous rendition of a drawing class for graphic design majors, please click here. If you want to read his blog proper, the link is here. He has a very dry, sarcastic sense of humour. When you read, just remember that this is the lovely boy that’s been taking care of me when I need it 🙂

What to do with an Overly Proud Sister: You Know Who You Are.

Ashley here, I’m back, with my first real post!

Let’s say that one has a sister. This sister is in a situation that most would consider difficult, painful, and altogether one of the most unpleasant experiences possible, and all at an age that it is unusual to face this at. Now make this sister a very proud, independent individual. When this supposed sister is feeling especially unwell one has a series of options. Which option is best on any given day is as random as a dice roll…

1) Ask said sister how she is doing and what is up. This can illicit three responses:

a) She blatantly lies to you, and tells you that she is “great”. While this is a response she usually saves for the parentals, 800 miles away, you know it to be so, because, really, there are no “great” days.

b) She tells you exactly what last night was like, in dulled down detail. She spent the night on the bathroom floor like a drunken college student. While the latter part of this description would be accurate (college student) the former is not. When you offer to come over next time she feels like that she snaps at you, insisting she doesn’t need to be taken care of. Although most sane individuals beg to differ.

c) She gets mad at you for asking. At which point you ask about footy, and insist that you are an Arsenal fan (mortal sin) because she is in an argumentative mood and she can get out her anger without actually treading into any illness related areas.

2) You do not ask, instead you ask about the new illness inspired purchase. Result is universally:

a) “How dare you ask about my new Sony Bravia 46″ HDTV. Don’t you care about me? I mean, really, I’m your sister, you are supposed to care about me, not my new Sony Bravia 46″ HDTV.” Face it. There is no way to win this one.

3) Joke. Like option 1 this has 3 options

a) She is in a mood to joke, and you have a pleasant conversation about the humorous side of it all, all while making anyone in earshot incredibly uncomfortable.

b) She is in a lack luster mood. It doesn’t result in any anger, but it kinda fizzles and dies. Conversation becomes awkward.

c) She is angry. Run. Hide.

As you can see this can be a total crap shoot. When hormones, and states of feeling, can vary greatly within hours, one never quite knows what to do. So one tries to be patient, and dances to the mood, hoping for what is most likely given the day and time.

P.S. These are solely the humorous observations of one that loves a beloved sister. And are in no way meant to be a “poor me” sob fest.