Ed & Lorraine Warren & More Ghostly Stuff

I loved several of the movies based on the cases of Ed and Lorraine Warren – A Haunting in Connecticut, The Conjuring, The Conjuring 2, Annabel… I haven’t seen the Nun yet, but I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.

The problem is I don’t believe in Ed and Lorraine Warren.  Not because I don’t believe in the paranormal, but because often times, the research done by the Warrens was faulty.  And there was no corroboration on their cases except the people it happened to.  Except I can tell a good ghost story too and it wouldn’t require verification by Ed and Lorraine (although both are now deceased, so maybe I should be concerned about labeling them terrible witnesses and investigators of paranormal/ghostly phenomenon).

The one I believe in the most is The Einfield Poltergeist, the subject of The Conjuring 2.  What convinces me there was something going on is the witnesses that weren’t the family and weren’t the Warrens.  The scene with the police going into the house, was giving dramatic license for the movie, but it did happen.  The police did investigate and they did conclude that they could not explain how Janet was causing the events that happened to them while in the house.

Paranormal investigators and debunkers came to investigate the Einfield Poltergeist, beyond the Warrens.  Most walked away convinced Janet was pulling the strings on a massive hoax, but couldn’t figure out exactly how she was doing it.

Janet was a pre-teen with a bit of trouble in her past, which seem to be the perfect circumstance for a poltergeist.  Would it surprise me to discover it was a hoax?  No.  Would it surprise me to learn that it was real?  No.  Do I think Janet was involved?  Oh yes, either as the battery for the activity or as the perpetrator of a hoax.

But no matter how much independent research I do into the Einfield Poltergeist, I’m with the others that investigated, I can’t explain how it was done if it was a hoax.  And I’m still not completely convinced it was real.  The hardest thing to prove in history is a negative.  It was one of my first lessons when I began to formally study history.  I can’t prove that Hitler committed suicide in his bunker in Berlin in the last days of the war.  I also can’t prove that he didn’t.  I can have an opinion and I can conform to accepted historical opinion, but they can’t prove it anymore than I can.

History is full of these paradoxes: unable to prove it did happen, unable to prove it didn’t.  It’s a strange thing to deal with, especially when writing fact oriented papers.

Proof in history does not require a photograph or video (although those do help), they require reliable witnesses and something tangible to accompany the witnesses.  In the case of the Einfield Poltergeist, the fact that even the debunkers and professional skeptics could not figure out how the hoax was perpetrated gives a great deal of sway to the argument that it wasn’t a hoax.

Interestingly, bias and this historical paradox will make it so neither ghosts or the paranormal can be proven.  There will always be something that leaves it unproven.  In the case of the Einfield Poltergeist, that reasonable doubt comes from the circumstances of the family.  They lived in a council flat (for Americans think subsidized housing and/or Section 8).  The family was not in a good way and the mother had asked to be moved to a different house before the poltergeist activity began and was denied.

Which makes one wonder was the Einfield Poltergeist a hoax to try to get a better council flat?

Exploding Head Syndrome – Generalized Panic/Anxiety disorder

When I talk about my anxiety disorder, I leave a lot of stuff out.  And I recently realized I was doing a disservice to all the mentally ill people that I love and support and all the people who aren’t mentally ill who love someone who is.  I have generalized panic/anxiety disorder.  This means I’m often irrationally anxious over things.  I’ve been dealing with it for 23 years now.  Sometimes it gets a little better, sometimes it is crippling, literally.

Things that make me anxious for no reason – a ringing telephone.  My phone lives on vibrate simply because I can’t handle it going off all the time with news alerts, phone calls, text messages, SnapChats, weather alerts, etc.  It annoys J that I won’t turn my ringer on, ever, but that’s because he doesn’t understand.  And I get it.  There are mental illnesses that even as someone who is mentally ill, I don’t understand.

Other things that make me anxious: the sound of the wind, falling asleep, knowing I’m going to dream when I sleep, large groups of people, doing something new, going somewhere new for the first time, meeting someone knew for the first time, publishing a book, talking to my pain management doctor about changing some of my meds, beyond the Ketamine change.  Life, life makes me anxious.  And any of these things can cause me to have a panic attack.  But there are a few on this list that are not normally found in generalized panic/anxiety disorder.

When I was 18, I went through a period of time when I slept in hour or two hour chunks of time due to my anxiety.  I’m a lucid dreamer and it’s hard to tell my dreams from reality, even after I have woken up, and I have Exploding Head Syndrome with auditory hallucinations when I am very stressed out.  I know a bunch of people just said “what the fuck is Exploding Head Syndrome?”  When I am very anxious, I hear what sounds like explosions in my head, usually when I’m trying to fall asleep.  Sometimes the explosions are quiet enough they sound like gunshots, sometimes they sound like cannons, sometimes they sound like the neighbors house has exploded.  The sound is loud enough, I will jump, and it will startle me into being fully awake if I was on the verge of falling asleep.  Thankfully, my Exploding Head Syndrome symptoms are usually confined to when I am falling asleep.  To accompany this, when I’m very stressed, usually as I fall asleep, I hear a man with a very deep voice call my name.  Deeper than James Earl Jones even.  And while I “hear” it, I also imagine I “feel” it, as if it were on the same frequency as a roar from a big cat.

Oh and I have nightmares, a lot of nightmares.  And before you start telling me to lower my caffeine intake and stop watching/reading so much horror.  I’ve done those things in the past without any change in symptoms.

I’m afraid of sleep, no, not just afraid, phobic of it.  I have a phobia of dreaming.  Since being taken off my Clonazepam in February, I have started drugging myself with Benadryl or Tylenol PM at night.  Because both of these cut down on the number of dreams I remember from the night, and they help me not wake up because of a nightmare.  Which is what my clonazepam did for me.  On it, I might remember three or four dreams a week.  I remember more than that on the OTC drugs, but any decrease is good.  And when I do have several nights of dreaming that I remember, my body causes panic attacks when I enter that almost asleep stage to wake me up.

Sleep phobia, Exploding Head Syndrome, auditory hallucinations, and the panic attacks when I am nearly asleep, these things are not common with Generalized Panic/Anxiety Disorder.  These symptoms are more consistent with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome than generalized anxiety/panic disorder.  My psychiatrist in the 1990s told me this as we embarked on the quest to find medication that worked for me.  3 months and 11 medications later, all of which made me crazier than I already was, and we settled on Clonazepam.  Clonazepam (Klonopin) is actually really good at treating PTSS as well as generalized anxiety/panic disorder.  Considering I don’t handle medications that mess with my brain very well, it was a good choice and fit for me. And I used it as prescribed for 19 1/2 years.

In February 2018, I was given a choice, treat my pain or treat my anxiety.  Clonazepam can cause you to metabolize hydrocodone exceptionally fast, which is why I was only getting a half hour to an hour and a half of relief from the medication.  And here’s the really fucked up part, the Brand name Vicodin was more effective than the generic Hydrocodone.  Brand name Norco is not as effective as Brand name Vicodin when I was taking Clonazepam.

Now, I still think I metabolize hydrocodone too fast and I still need to get the test to prove it.  But symptoms of Exploding Head Syndrome have returned.  As have my panic attacks.  I’m not sure I want to go back through the trial phase of medications to see if they help.  At one point I nearly had a psychotic break in the first set of trial and error anxiety treatments.

Where I failed to help my fellow sufferers of anxiety: I have never mentioned that my generalized anxiety/panic disorder has elements consistent with PTSS (formerly PTSD).  I’ve never mentioned Exploding Head Syndrome, which is rare, but more likely to happen in people with severe depression and severe anxiety.  And I’ve never mentioned the auditory hallucinations which again are rare, but can affect anyone with severe depression or anxiety.

For the record, my first psychiatrist was amazing.  He and I discussed whether to list my anxiety as generalized anxiety/panic disorder on my medical charts or whether to list it as Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.  In the 1990s, it was rare for anyone but a combat veteran to be labeled with PTSD and for the sake of not being treated like I was a fruit loop for the rest of my life, we went with Generalized Panic/Anxiety Disorder.

But I am a fruit loop.  And my anxiety is not generalized.  I no longer mind people thinking I’m crazy.  I am.  I often consider walking into mental health facilities and asking them to hold me for 72 hours and please oh please make the dreams stop, make me stop worrying that if I leave my house, it’s going to burn to the ground or get hit by a meteorite, or that I’m going to be burgled.  Or any one of a million scenarios in which seriously bad shit happens.  J tells me not to think about them.  Which is all well and good for him, but I can’t stop my brain from thinking about them.  I can’t just magically turn it off.  If I could, I would sleep better.

I also know that at least a dozen of you thought “why would she have PTSD?”  My psychiatrist and I went through my memories looking for a cause and found several possible triggers for PTSD.  We’ll start with my first memory, ever.  But before we do, I want everyone to realize I love my parents very much, they aren’t perfect people and at the time of my first memory, my father was a heavy alcoholic who drank nearly his entire paycheck every week.

My first memory ever, I was maybe 3, maybe 4.  My father was not abusive towards me or my sister.  And he was an emotional, crying drunk (sorry dad).  It was evening and my father wanted to go out drinking.  It had been a bad day for him, he’d been required to be a father and take care of me and my sister.  I had a fascination with taking things apart.  I got hold of a case knife (a butter knife) and managed to take the oven door off, because my father was drinking in the living room, not paying as much attention to me as he probably should have been… for the record, in the 1980s, when a father took charge of the children for a while, he was said to be babysitting.  My dad was not a good babysitter.  And my father could not get the oven door back together or on, oh and I didn’t just remove it from the stove, I dissembled it once it was off.  He had to wait for my mom.  An argument ensued.  My parents fought, but for some reason that night, the fight was different.  Maybe I expected my already drunk father and my totally sober mother to beat the crap out of me (for the record neither of my parents ever beat the crap out of me) and despite the problems, I grew up in a house where I knew I was loved.  Anyway, during the fight, I crawled behind the couch and hid.  My mom wasn’t mad at me, she was mad at my dad, because everyone was aware I did this kind of shit, I had dissembled a half dozen tricycles and my sister’s brand new 10-speed by this time along with other stuff.  My psychiatrist told me that since that was my first real memory with detail from my childhood (there were others much later), it may have left an emotional scar.  My mother did eventually get the oven door put back together and on the stove.  But I refused to come out from my hiding spot and actually fell asleep back there for a while.

Moving forward, I was 7 when I was sexually abused by my 16 year old step sister.  I point out her age, because she was definitely old enough to know what she was doing was wrong.  As an adult, I can say that I believe she was probably molested or sexually abused as a child if she was an abuser at 16.  I don’t have a lot of memories of the abuse.  I actually don’t remember being 7 hardly at all.  I don’t even remember what teacher I had in school.  It’s not uncommon for people who have been sexually assaulted or abused to have gaps in their memory.  And while I had never fully forgotten that I was sexually abused by my step sister, it took my psychiatrist realizing that I had a huge memory gap before I would talk to him about it.  The sexual abuse is another possible source of my anxiety disorder.

Move forward another year and I knew of a kid my age that had been murdered.  Thankfully I didn’t have the details at the time, I just knew that my father who had been in AA for a while by then, told my step mother about it, she was the daughter of a friend of his in the program.  The little girl had been abducted right out of her front yard.  And I learned that her abductor had sexually assaulted her before killing her.  It was hard for me not to connect her to my own experience with my step sister who had once told me if I didn’t do what she said, she’d have her friend kidnap me, assault me, and kill me.

So there’s another possible trigger.  I didn’t tell either of my parents about the abuse.  I was scared.  I was ashamed.  I felt guilty.  And I felt it must have been my fault.  I refused to go to my father’s anymore after that.  I would have a full on meltdown when they would try to make me.  The only thing I ever told my parents was that my step sister was mean to me.  And after learning my step sister was being mean to me, which my mother assumed was kicking, biting, hitting, because I did occasionally have bruises I couldn’t explain, she stopped making me go.

I was 11 when I accidentally overhead my dad on the phone with the grandparent of the murdered girl.  He was his sponsor in AA.  She had been raped, beaten, and then hung from a tree with barbed wire and that hanging was what killed her.  Mark that down as a possible trigger.

Oh and my real sister who is also mentally ill, had let her friends torment me when I was very little, one of them sat on me and forced me to watch a Nightmare on Elm Street, I was younger than 5, because when I was 5 we moved to an apartment and my sister moved in with the family of a friend of hers.  Another possible trigger for PTSD.

Or it could have been all of it together that triggered PTSD.  This post has gotten very long.  However, all of this information must be included if one is to understand why I am mentally ill and how I have not been faithful to the concept of helping change the perception of people with mental illness.

And while my mental illness was triggered by external factors, my psychiatrist told me that I probably had been destined to have generalized panic/anxiety disorder, even if these things hadn’t happened, because worrying about things like meteorites hitting your house if you leave, belongs more in the generalized anxiety/panic disorder than PTSD.  Even if my life had been absolutely perfect with no emotional traumas beyond the norms of childhood, I would still need to be medicated for an anxiety disorder.

I referred earlier to my anxiety being crippling at times.  What does that mean, how can anxiety cripple someone?  There are times when it hurts to breathe I am so stressed out.  And it gets much worse if I am supposed to mail something.  I don’t know why the mail triggers me to be anxious, but it does.  My editor is waiting on me to send her some Scentsy Car Bars.  Every time I try to put them in an envelop to mail out to her, I feel like all the oxygen is being sucked out of the room.  I even see spots before my eyes and feel faint.  It’s stupid and I know it’s stupid.  It’s just mailing something, but even though I know it’s ridiculous, I can’t stop my brain from working itself into near hysterics over it.  I have a postal scale and still worry I’ll get the amount needed to mail said envelope wrong.  I worry my terrible handwriting will result in it getting delivered to the wrong place.  I worry the bars will break in transit.  I worry I’ll put them in the wrong type/size envelope and they’ll break a machine at the post office.  I worry the package will tear open and she’ll end up getting an empty envelop because the stuff fell out after it was torn.

All of this nonsense filters into my brain every second, of every day, and mediation only helps a little, because I am phobic that if I manage to stop thinking, I won’t be able to start again.  This has gotten much worse since I started on Lyrica.  And I’m afraid of being bored, because if I’m not putting information into my brain, then I am left alone to think about things like meteorites hitting my house.

And a side effect of the PTSD is that I can be very distant.  And sometimes, I struggle with feeling emotionally dead.  Surprisingly, writing helps.  It’s why I write.  I don’t fill my characters with my mental struggles, I am trying to escape those problems.  For a short time, I can be those characters instead of being me.  And even “being” the emotionally stunted Aislinn Cain is usually better than being me.

If you want more information on Exploding Head Syndrome, I’ve linked to WebMd for it because I couldn’t find it on the Mayo Clinic site.  Because much like CRPS, you’ve probably never heard of it.


Summoning A Demon

My interest in the demonic is mostly a thought exercise.  I don’t believe in it.  However, I have always had a fascination for religion and the paranormal and evil, and the demonic falls into all three of those categories.

The other day, The Onion (my favorite fake news site) ran an article about kids who learn Latin having an easier time of summoning a demon.  Because here’s the thing, if I’m wrong and the demonic does exist, it obviously isn’t that easy for them to cause mayhem or possess people.

Since we don’t deal with demonic possession frequently, it can’t be that easy to become possessed or summon a demon or it would happen all the time.  However, something I read recently stated that to become demonically possessed or to be able to summon a demon requires a desire to do so.  In other words, you would need to really, truly want it to happen, not just going through the motions because you are filled with teenage angst.  Which explains why everyone who dabbles in research of the demonic doesn’t become possessed and/or fails to summon a demon.  Maybe their heart isn’t in it.  I’m talking about people like me.

I don’t need or want to be possessed because I have enough problems in my life.  It would be rather redundant in my opinion.

Something else I read talked about needing to have something to offer a demon to summon it or entice it to possess you.  And apparently your immortal soul isn’t enough.  You need to have some kind of power.  In other words, I probably can’t become possessed or summon a demon because A: (see redundant comment) and B: What am I going to offer to write the demon’s biography?  I don’t have any real power or influence to offer.  Even knowing a smidge of Latin isn’t going to help me become possessed or summon a demon.

I’ve had someone point out to me that the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convinced people he didn’t exist.  But what if it’s the opposite?  What if the greatest trick ever pulled was convincing people that the devil does exist?

Just so we’re clear, I said I don’t believe in the demonic, but I do believe in the possibility of the demonic, which is why I haven’t cleared a spot on my garage floor to draw a summoning circle to offer my soul up in exchange for becoming an infinitely more marketable author or cure my CRPS.  I have been known to be wrong before and knowing my luck, if I did it to prove the demonic didn’t exist, they would in fact exist and I’d be screwed in the after life.  I guess you could call me an agnostic on the demonic and unwilling to be a guinea pig to see what happens.  I’ll leave that for someone braver than me.

Violence Doesn’t Do It

Based on the list of movies I posted the other day that I watch every October, someone asked me if anything disturbs me, because obviously I’m not shy when it comes to violence.

The answer is yes, I’m human, I have things that make me squeamish.  Violence just isn’t one of them.  Or not broken bones and gun shot type violence.  I spent several days stopping and restarting a scene in Under the Dome when I listened to it on audiobook recently, because King hit one of the things that makes me flinch.

In my head, broken bones heal, stitches eventually come out, and even gunshot wounds are survivable.  What I have trouble with is psychological violence, the stuff that leaves psychological wounds.  The scene in Under the Dome was the gang rape of Sammy.  Yes it was physically painful for her, it even talks about the blood loss that eventually causes her to pass out, but it was knowing the psychological trauma she endured that caused me to stop it, fast forward a bit, restart, realize I missed something important, go back, stop it for a few more days…

The times Harry D’Amour Clive Barker’s detective series hero has discussed the abuse he suffered at an all boy’s Catholic school, inflicted on him by the pet students of the pedophile priests has also bothered me.  I found myself flipping a couple of pages to get past it in The Scarlet Gospels, hoping he didn’t drag it out with more details than I could handle.

Which is weird, because the book started with sexual violence, but at the hands of the sadistic Hell Priest (Pinhead) on the witches he wanted their magical stuff from.  I mean brutal graphic stuff, but for some reason, that didn’t bother me the way the handful of lines where D’Amour talked about being abused at his school did.  Possibly because the sexual sadism at the beginning of the book was demon related.

But I also have trouble watching movies like PlatoonFull Metal Jacket, Apocalypse Now, and a few others of that ilk.  The psychological break down the soldiers go through is a touch much for me.  I don’t know if it’s my history degree or just my relation of those situations to the situations faced by my uncles during times of war.  However, war movies give me nightmares.  I can watch all the horror movies I want, but a war movie makes me toss and turn at night, which is a little weird, but I’ve already decided the brain is not a rational thing.

The Dysfunctional Mob

This is not a post about the novella I wrote, well novel really, but about the mob itself in our society or rather, all organized crime groups, because the dysfunctional niche they fit into blew my mind the other day.

In preparation for surgery on the 17th, I bought a physical book from a historical society.  The title is Crazy Cults and Secret Societies. Yep, sounds like my kind of book.  I was on chapter 6 when I was taken back for surgery.  Since I was the one going under the scalpel, I decided against my tablet and took an actual book instead.

However, it was chapter 4 when I made the stunning and startling revelation.  The Oxford English Dictionary gives the following definition for a cult:  A relatively small group of people having beliefs or practices regarded by others as strange.  We almost always think of cults in terms of religious beliefs, but shared beliefs is really the thing, shared beliefs considered weird by mainstream society that causes people to bond together is all that is required.

The Italian Mafia, the Russian Mafia, and even drug cartels in Mexico are in fact cults.  These groups have their own code of conduct and morality that it strictly enforces among those within the groups.  And even though today, most organized crime syndicates are no longer made up of members from a single family, they are still referred to as families, by both outside influences and the members, as a technique to make members feel obligated to follow the rules of the group.

Even as non-religious cults, organized crime does utilize brain manipulation techniques… what we would consider brain washing, to ensure that members remain loyal to them.  It is part of the reason I have always had some difficulty discussing and explaining the Russian mob in the Dysfunctional Chronicles.  The Russian Mafia is even less likely to be made up of family members and is even more fractured than the Italian mafia, which is the mafia group Americans are most familiar with.

Thinking about them as a cult, makes them easier to understand, and explain.  And to some degree, those that leave mob families do have to be deprogrammed, just like someone that leaves a religious cult.  This also explains why people don’t betray mob bosses more often.  It isn’t the fear of what might happen to them so much as an ingrained sense of loyalty created using the same brain washing techniques religious leaders use to keep their followers, following without question.

Next time you watch Goodfellas, keep this in mind and watch for the signs that they are indeed a cult.

Just Because You Disagree With A Cultural Idea Doesn’t Mean You Can Charge In and Demand It Be Changed

I don’t know if any of you have been paying attention to the latest “we must protect our children” social media craze.  It showed up a few days ago in my news feed.  Child brides and oh the outrage.

I get it.  As a white female raised in a westernized country, the idea of being a child bride is abhorrent to me.  So I have to look it at without those entitlement glasses.  Most westerners see child brides as sexual abuse.  The truth is more interesting and diverse.  Most child brides are business arrangements or to improve the standing of the family with the child bride.  Or both.

Improved economic standing is a huge motivator.  Most of the families are dirt poor.  Just a day’s wage from complete financial ruin.  Having children is a financial strain as is birth control, if their religions even allow for such a thing.  Securing your 12 year old daughter a husband, means she goes to live with him and seriously, you aren’t going to marry her to someone else that is dirt poor, so she sees a significant increase in wealth after being married and possibly social standing.  No more searching for meals or making due with moldy bread and water for dinner.  The family also finds financial relief because they have one less mouth to feed.

Then there’s the real business collateral that can be made from a child bride.  You own a store in a poor section of the town.  However, Mr. T comes along and tells you he’ll pay you to marry your daughter, not just pay you a one time lump sum of money, but two more stores in better neighborhoods.  Suddenly your profits have increased, as has the social standing of everyone in your family.

People often forget that until the 1950s, child brides were commonplace in the US and children were property to use as parents saw fit.  The majority of us have an ancestor or two that was used to improve the standing of everyone in their family and provide some financial gain.  So while we stand in judgment of places that still do this, we really don’t have any moral high ground to stand on.  Furthermore, is it really better to condemn the child to a life of poverty and possible starvation than to allow her to be a child bride?

And people talk about the child not being of age to consent… but a lot of these places, a female never reaches the age of consent, because nobody gives a damn what she thinks or wants anyway.  And we aren’t pointing fingers just at countries in the Middle East.  The video everyone is so outraged about comes from Latvia or Lithuania, one of those border countries of Russia… meaning Europe.  However, if you really wanted to make a list, France, US, Canada, UK, Australia, and Germany are the countries where women experience the most freedom.  Almost everywhere else, women are property, especially a female child.

I don’t agree with it, but I’m not willing to spout off about how wrong they are in their beliefs, because they could do the same about me.  Hell, some people do.  I didn’t change my last name when I got married.  My husband told me keeping my last name didn’t make me any less married.

The primary motivation was tedium and money.  I am technically a small publishing house.  I would have had to change all my business paperwork and that involved a slew of fees.  Not to mention filling out all that paperwork again just so it showed my new last name.  And while the practice is not unheard of in the US, I still get comments from people about it.  I can’t imagine what sort of comments I would get if I lived in a more traditional community.

Brilliant or Stupid – The Jury Is Still Out

During the weekend we spent at a dart tournament, I watched an infomercial for a product and I can’t decide if it is brilliant or ridiculous.  I feel it could go either way based on who you are.

Let me reveal a bit about myself so that my fence sitting makes sense.  I am a 38 year old woman with adult acne and all cleansing products make it worse.  I have tried them all, even Proactive, with terrible results.  Adult hormone related acne is common in women with poly cystic ovarian syndrome and my doctor told me to just stop trying to treat it with more than soap and water because it wouldn’t help.

J, my husband, likes to sleep with the TV on.  Normally once he’s snoring, I flip it to true crime and watch that until my meds kick in and I fall asleep, with an eye mask to block out the light.  However, this means once in a while, I get to watch an infomercial.

The product is called Derma Suction.  It is a vacuum cleaner for your pimples.  My initial reaction was “Holy shit, we are now creating vacuum cleaners for our face, seriously?”

My second thought was “do I need this?”  If I vacuumed the dirt out of my pores instead of just washing them with soap and water, would it counter balance the role my funky and confused hormones play in my adult acne?

Now, the logical part of my brain says a vacuum, even one for the face to remove pimples is not going to counter act hormones and all I’ll really be doing is risking face hickeys from a vacuum cleaner.

The illogical part of my brain, the one that squeaks up when I have to look at a pimple on my face says maybe we should try it?

I have no idea how much a face vacuum costs and I believe even if I did the logical part of my brain would slap the crap out of me for even considering spending money on it…

But I have to admit, I am intrigued by the premise.  And does it work on sebaceous cysts, because I keep one behind my right ear and no amount of soap and water removes it.  We’ve discussed cutting it open and removing the core, but they did that to one on my face and missed part of the core… now I get to monitor that spot for signs that it needs to be opened and removed again, leaving yet another small scar by my eye.

The point is, with this vacuum is it possible that when you get a pimple, if you run the vacuum over it, does it remove the build up, thereby shrinking the pimple in a matter of hours instead of days like soap and water?

If so, this could be a brilliant invention.  Of course, even if it does work miracles, I still have to wonder about humanity… we are so obsessed with the pursuit of beauty that we are now willing to vacuum our faces.  I feel that says something about us as a species and I’m not sure it’s positive.


If you look at the world from a single point of view, it looks flat. Does this mean the world is flat?  No it simply means I do not have a large enough view to see the curves, I cannot see the mountains and valleys, I cannot see the oceans, because one cannot appreciate the world from a single point of view.

The same is true of how we think.  A single point of view makes for a flat existence, because we cannot appreciate the topography when we are thoroughly entrenched into our single point of view way of thinking.

As adults, we should be flexible and receptive to other points of view, even when they disagree with our own, to help us keep the entire world in perspective, to keep it from being flat.

I do not agree with gun control.  Gun control doesn’t remove guns from the hands of criminals, it makes it harder for someone like me to own one should it become necessary for me to have one for protection.  Criminals are criminals.  If they obeyed the laws, they wouldn’t be criminals in the first place.

However, after the school shooting in Florida, my gun control beliefs needed to be re-evaluated some.  Should someone who has spent time in a mental facility be able to legally buy a gun?  It’s an interesting question.  Because most mentally ill people are not dangerous to society.  But there are always exceptions.  For instance, I am mentally ill, but I am not a danger to society.  Should my mental health history be held against me, should I decide to purchase a firearm for protection?

I don’t think so, but I don’t think so because it applies to me specifically.  What if it didn’t?  What if I couldn’t buy a gun simply because I was a woman?  That would annoy the piss out of me.  It would be arbitrary discrimination… is the same true if we make “have you ever been a patient in a mental health facility a deciding factor in gun ownership,” isn’t this also arbitrary since most of them are not dangerous?

I have never spent time as a patient of a mental health facility… So I waiver more on whether it is arbitrary or not, because it doesn’t apply to me.

Even as I write these words, I have no clear cut decision about it made.  And that’s okay.  Not only is it okay to be unsure about it, it’s okay if someone else disagrees with me and says it is absolutely not arbitrary, just like it’s okay for someone else to feel it is.  Those points of view are necessary for me as a person, because it allows me to see the topography because they are not my flat ambivalent point of view.

This is sadly my expectation of the world, for everyone to be open to thought.  To be open to hearing and thinking about a point of view that does not agree with their own.

I am big enough to admit when I am wrong and on this, I was wrong.  It would appear that lots of people enjoy the flat little world they live in, where they now nurture the tenets of the former Soviet Union; free thoughts are subversive and should be dealt with quickly and brutally to prevent them from spreading.

Because They Needed to Damage Their Credibility Some More

I was sent an article the other day regarding the FDA and their approval of an app.  Not just any app, but an app to help prevent pregnancy.  I guess the FDA decided they needed to damage their credibility some more.

The app is based on folklore, which in itself is interesting.  Folklore tells you that if you want to avoid pregnancy, track your body temp and don’t have sex on days when it is high.  This is what the app does, for $80 a year.  You get a cheap oral thermometer that sends data to the app about a woman’s body temp.  Based on how low or high your body temp is it tells you how close you are to ovulating.

For the record, the app makers are being sued because there are a lot of unwanted pregnancies associated with it’s use.  It is being marketed as an all natural form of birth control, but you’d be better off to find a smooth flat rock to shove in your vagina in front of your cervix which would be like an all natural diaphragm.  DO NOT DO THIS!  I’m sure this will lead to infection and probably unwanted pregnancies, so I repeat, do not shove a rock in your vagina and hope it works like a diaphragm.

So why did the FDA approve it for use?  I think simply because the EU did as well.  I am all about the digital age and think that most of the time it has made our lives better.  This is not one of those times.

First off, an app is not going to keep you from getting pregnant, not unless the app inserts a diaphragm or injects you with birth control hormones.  Second, cycle tracking isn’t even a terribly effective way to get pregnant, let alone keep someone from getting pregnant.  Third, science has debunked cycle tracking to prevent pregnancies a number of times.

Did you know that as you sleep your body temperature constantly fluctuates based on where you are in the REM process?  And not sleeping well during the night can raise your body temp just before you wake up?  While sleeping well can lower it just before you wake up?  Also, not everyone has the same body temp as the next person.  My average temp is not 98.6, it’s a little higher at about 99.4.  A bad night’s sleep can make me wake up with what appears to be the start of a fever at 100.3 or so.

Hydration levels also affect your body temp.  So if you have mild dehydration, it can make it appear you are close to ovulation. However, if you are like most people and almost always suffer from mild dehydration, then a day of hydration can create lower body temps the next day… and as a result of the lower body temp because you actually drank enough fluid that wasn’t alcoholic the day before, it can make it appear you are okay to have sex and that ovulation is several days away when in reality you are going to ovulate this afternoon.

So do yourself a favor and do not subscribe to this app unless you have this weird need to know what your body temp is every day.  And it certainly shouldn’t be considered an effective form of birth control, even if the FDA rubber stamped it because they wanted to be like the cool kids in the EU.

The Annual Governor’s Cup Dart Tournament

Every year, around my birthday there is a large dart tournament held by the Jefferson City Dart Association called the Governor’s Cup.  It’s a team event 8 men, 4 women, play for two days wracking up points for their team with each game they win.  On Sunday afternoon, after the singles event, they total the points and the team with the most points wins.

It’s a great tournament.  A couple of years ago the hotel that the Jefferson City Dart Association booked for the event closed down and there was a struggle to find a new one in Jeff City that would give us a deal on rooms, because this is a huge tournament even though it’s only Missouri dart players.

So it was moved to the Lake of the Ozarks to the Inn at Grand Glaize.  In the 1970s and 1980s the Inn at Grand Glaize was one of the premier resort hotels at the Lake of the Ozarks.  It has an interesting history.  It was owned by Stan Musial a famous baseball player who played for the St. Louis Cardinals.

Stan managed to transition from baseball player to hotel owner quite well.  And the Inn at Grand Glaize is proof that with a little will power and a willingness to learn things outside your comfort zone, you can succeed.

Unfortunately, after Stan Musial died, the property passed into the hands of a younger Musial generation, which is why it isn’t still one of the premier resorts at the Lake of the Ozarks.  It needs some renovations and updating.  A process that seems to have been started, but not finished because the younger generation can’t get along.  Their infighting has lead to lawsuits and a general decline of the resort.

However, the rooms are clean and even though some of the rooms need to be modernized, it’s still a nice place to stay.  It sits on a lovely cove at the Lake of the Ozarks.  It has boat rentals, jet ski rentals, a nice outdoor pool, and other amenities.  It is much nicer than the hotel we had in Jeff City.

I have two complaints about the Inn at Grand Glaize.  While the majority of the staff are amazing, there are a handful of front desk workers that act like every person that walks up to the desk is an inconvenience and when things break it may or may not get fixed, because they don’t actually have maintenance staff – they have Chris.

Chris is one of my favorite features at the hotel.  He has a lovely Jamaican accent, but it isn’t so thick he can’t be understood and he likes to talk to people.  I found out most of the history of the resort from Chris.  He is doorman, assistant, handyman, plumber, basically the hotel’s Jack of All Trades and every hotel needs a Chris, he’s just great to be around.

This weekend with my husband in a sling and throwing left handed because he still can’t throw with his right the one that had surgery, Chris has been a godsend.  We decided to go to the pool last night because there were blind draws but my husband didn’t want to play and I can’t.  The pool is at the end of a long walk down a lot of steps at the rear of the hotel.  Chris was lovely enough to give us a ride down on the hotel’s Mule so I didn’t have to walk down all those stairs…. because even though we only stay here 3 times a year, Chris remembers us and he knows I have a bum hip that causes me intense pain.

And this year, with J in a sling, Chris wouldn’t let either of us unpack our stuff from the cart that he filled with our stuff and pushed down to our room for us.  A service I appreciate more than words or money can say.  He also gave me his number so I could call him for a ride back from the pool.  And when Chris realized our room was more than half way down the hall from the elevators (I request a room as close to the elevators as I can get to cut down on the amount of unnecessary walking during dart tournaments), Chris tried to get our room changed.  But the hotel was booked solid.  I didn’t complain.  I didn’t ask Chris to check this. Chris volunteered to check it for a closer room because Chris is just an all around great guy.

I don’t know how much the Inn at Grand Glaize pays Chris, but it isn’t enough.  While most of the staff are friendly, Chris is the one that always goes above and beyond for guests staying at the hotel.

Tomorrow I will have a picture post.  I managed to get pictures of the resident ground hog eating a hamburger, little paws holding it as if he were human, but my phone died before I thought to upload the pictures to the Cloud so I could access them on my laptop. And let’s be honest, who doesn’t want to see pictures of a ground hog holding a hamburger.