Hot times

Ding dong, the heat is dead! After three days in the hubs of hell, we're looking at mid-80s today, max. I'm slowly rejoining the living and am ready for some serious Friday Rockin'!

This week's retro-pop-rock may cause some of my peers to experience serious whiplash, so take adequate precautions, please.



I had just started elementary school when this song came out, making this one of those long-term primal childhood tunes deeply embedded in what's left of my memory.

Hey, and it's Friday! Time for all you hot cats lookin' for a kitty to button up the Nehru jacket and have at it. Just be sure to look in every corner of the city.
 

Nope, still dead

We did indeed die again yesterday. The smell of pot roast has been replaced by the odor of burnt toast.





BTW, that's 105.9, and it's a temp, not a radio station. I want full credit for that point nine.

Official high was 104. Average high is 76. Today we might stay below 100. And by tomorrow I may be able to think about something other than the weather.
 

Excuse our dust

We all died yesterday and now there are huge piles of ashes everywhere, enhanced by a somewhat disturbing (yet still delicious) smell of pot roast. We will probably die even worse today. Maybe by Friday we'll be alive again.
 

Wolf!

I whine a lot about the weather on this blog. Too hot, too cold, too wet, too dark... waaah-friggin'-waah.

But this time, well, it's different.


OMFG!! We're all gonna die on Wednesday!

Yeah, OK, we're pussies. We know that. But I will have you know that 100 deg is the highest temperature ever recorded in Seattle, ever! So if the mercury creeps even one little bit higher, it's all over. We'll dissolve like slugs on a salt lick.

So if there's no posting tomorrow, I'll trust you'll understand.
 

The defense rests

So, after many years of frustration and toil and, as I understand it, something not dissimilar to indentured servitude, Mr B's nephew J survived his dissertation defense last week and is now swinging his bright, shiny new PhD around. His thesis was something relating to... uh... physics? Optics? Yeah, something super science-y like that.

Even better, he send us this vid of the last few moments of his defense.



Way to rawk it, J!

Oh, how I love the internets....
 

Makes me say oh my lord

This Fridays Rock! is dedicated to brandy-new Dr. Nephew J! w00t!! Schweeet!!

Less-than-optimal day at work. Massive traffic jam in town cut 20 minutes off my lunch hour. Heavy flow day, IYKWIM.

So I'm needing something FAB-ulous to Rock my Friday! In fact, I think I need two things.

Thing One:



and Thing Two:



I tell you, this shit never gets old. Another dozen viewings and my mind should be back to rights. More or less.

I really wanted to post the original, but The Man... well, you know.
 

IT-that-must-not-be-named

(Wow, that reminds me, the new HP movie is out! But that's a topic for another post.)

I wrote about IT the other day, and apparently IT has retaliated by turning its life-sucking gaze on me. What it this, freaking Mordor? Did I attract ITs attention by putting on the fucking Ring or something? I can't even write about my depression without IT kicking my ass? I mean, I know the post wasn't that good, but chris on a cracker, cut me some fucking slack.

Or did IT make me write about IT?

OK, that's weirding me out a little.

I give up. It's summertime in the PNW, the whole reason we live here. Sky is clear blue (most of the time), temps are simply lovely, and here I am drag-assing home from work, ignoring the seemingly endless tasks waiting to be completed, and immediately collapsing on the couch to stare at an endless stream of Star Trek: Voyager and Ace of Cakes episodes on the TiVo.

(BTW, anyone else think the ol' Eye up there is looking rather, um... nudge nudge, wink wink, "organic"? Or is that just me?)

I'm going to assume it's a result of being a woman in mid-life, subject to the whims of an endocrine system switching to All Bets Are Off mode, and that the wave will pass quickly.

Mr B best dig out the flack vest and survival rations, just in case.
 

Low life

A large percentage of my twelves of loyal readers know me personally and know that I've struggled with depression. Some may even know that I've been pestered by it since sometime in my teens. Problem was, I didn't know what the hell my problem was. There would just be these time when nothing was worth doing and there didn't seem to be any point to anything anyway so why bother? Laying on the couch was just fine, thanks. Everything was a h-u-g-e effort. Gravity was at least twice its normal strength. I was exhausted. Everyone around me was stupid and going out of their way to piss me off.

These periods would last for weeks, maybe a month or two, then very gradually things would seem to get better. Often the lows were followed by an extreme burst of Shiny, and a new project or hobby would become all-consuming. And I could do THIS, and also THIS, and wow! Does that look like fun!

It took a long, long while before I realized the pattern. No, my life didn't just go to hell all of a sudden, and I would recognize that THING again, and remember that it would probably pass eventually. That realization didn't make it go away but it did seem to help a bit, knowing that I (probably) wouldn't feel this way for the rest of my life. Because? Ugh. That would be really, really bad.

Oh, and being married and having a kid? Well, let's just say it wasn't easy on any of us, especially since we didn't know there was an IT, much less what it was. I just knew that there was something inadequate about me, that some significant portion of the time I was unable to do the things other people seemed to handle just fine.

Lovely Daughter tell the tale of one time when she was about 11. I was immobilized on the couch in the upstairs TV room, unable to reach the remote across the room. I actually hollered at her to come up from downstairs to bring it to me.

I know. What's sad is that at the time it seemed like a perfectly reasonable solution.

So more things happened and then it was early 1999. I had just turned 39 and we had just found out I was p... pr... PREGNANT, for cripes' sake. And you know what? Once we wrapped our head around the knowledge that this was indeed happening, life got better. Things I used to have to literally force myself to do (matching socks, emptying the dishwasher, changing the roll of toilet paper) came so easily that I couldn't even remember why it was ever a problem. I felt... normal, or at least how I imagined normal people felt. Daily life was almost effortless in comparison. I got shit done!

I floated normally along, all normal-like, all the way through until Young Son was almost two. Then one day I was staring at laundry that was glaring back at me, and I felt IT again, like a nearly-palpable veil of 'fuck it' settling over me, sucking the very energy of life from my bones*. My heart sank. I hadn't even realized that I had been above water all that time until I felt it close in over me again.

But this time, thanks to the seemingly hundreds of commercials on the TV, I thought I knew what it might be. I went in to my doc and he told me right away what IT was. And guess what? As the commercials had promised, there were now a whole raft of medications to try. I picked up my prescription and within a week I felt my world level out. I was one lucky girl, to get a workable med on the first try.

So the lowest of the lows are gone**. Life isn't always puppies and diamonds, but most of the time it's within a standard deviation of normal. I still have dips and occasional episodes of stupidity, and I still hate to empty the dishwasher, but I can change the toilet paper roll without engaging in a contest of wills with myself. And I can fetch my own damned remote, most of the time.

Except in February. Don't expect much from me in February. Don't say I didn't warn you.

* Dramatic, much?

** Along with the highest of the highs, but I'll take that hit.
 

Truth in advertising

If this outfit looks this bad on a mannequin, I'm screwed.


"By the way, this outfit sucks and it sure ain't gonna look any better on your fat ass. We just wanted to be upfront about that. Hugs and kisses, Old Navy."
 

You wouldn't understand. It's a summertime thing.

It's pushing 90 outside, it's almost the end of the workday, and it's time to Rock this Friday, summer-style.



I haven't heard it lately on the radio, and that's a damned shame 'cause it's one of my favorite summer tunes. Enjoy!