text:
Fat Chance
for Casey McKinney
Ed-thoughts keep banging around inside my skull Ed and I step out of the black and white of e-mail and into the Fairmont's floral mauves and teals I close my mouthhole, hoping the Ed-thoughts will suffocate, but they frizzle and hiss, whoosh out through noseholes I can't believe he would stop loving me I snort like a moose my absolute belief in our fused magic so now I'm typing, hoping to lock the Ed-thoughts in a file, maybe I could print it out and burn it, maybe that would rid me of them his body felt solid yet puffy, like a water balloon, I loved the way clean cotton slid so easily across his massive flesh my keystrokes are the click of heels on a mausoleum floor—the vowels are all the same, it's the consonants that change mrbl mrbl I make puddles to stay alive. Rejection is such a prickly emotion, you breathe it in as something transparent, but inside you it condenses, hardens, takes on pointed geometric shapes between your organs. A cock can gouge the soul right out of your pussy, but I've heard the soul grows back, slowly, like a lizard's tail, I'm counting on that. He told me I was "fantastic." Fantastic—a word which darts about braying and sputtering like a jackass, a fucking jackass. Oh, I'm such a bitter girl hollow mush of mouth and tongue what are words without an audience, what is a woman without an audience bitter herbs relieve constipation I dream I'm a stone skittering across a cold marble floor. This happens in a corridor so I must still believe in linearity.
Back to 1996: After months of email and dirty talk on my turquoise Princess phone, I'm finally going to set eyes on him. I'm at SFO, sitting on a ledge to the side of the security check station, nervous, chatting with two midwestern women about weather and airports, ladies in crisp white skirts and sandals. "It's cooler here than in Nebraska." From down the hallway, a stream of rumpled people gushes towards us, lugging carry-ons, none of them Ed, then finally he walks past the metal detectors, large and squishy, swelling about the middle in black pants and a dark brown shirt, tucked in, I recognize him from his photo but I'm shocked at how round he is. The dark clothes make him look like an eggplant, an excitedly smirking eggplant, his mouth a slit splitting his big pale face in two, soft fringe of black curls kind of femmy what to do about the issue of touch—fluorescent airport air, colorless indoor/outdoor carpeting, Ed in his dark brown shirt scanning the area, an eggplant lost in a wasteland—I stand and wave. No sign of recognition, so I run up, "Hi, it's me." He laughs. "Sweetie, I can't believe I couldn't find you." He reaches out and I give him a quick hug, no kiss, so that maybe the Nebraskan women will think he's just a friend. "Let's get your luggage," I say.
When we get down to the baggage claim he hugs me again, his body's soft with lumps at unexpected places, like I'm embracing a rag doll whose stuffing has shifted. He hunches down and kisses me, gently, but I remain stiff, unresponsive. He looks much younger than 33, he could be a boy. We lean against a chrome railing and stare at the oval baggage carousel, a series of triangular metal plates shifting at weird angles, endlessly standing there in public, tentatively rubbing pinky fingers against one another, then sliding closer, arm pressing against arm, his soft dense heat, the dissonance of so much information, so much emotion, so many orgasms projected upon this foreign body whose fingers are now stroking my hand, harder and faster, chrome railing indenting our asses. The baggage carousel's jerky revolutions. Many of our fantasies have centered on fucking in a rental car, as soon as we get in the mid-sized Honda he leans over and really kisses me. Twenty minutes later we're still making out around the gear shift. I pull back and say, "Don't you think we should like, leave the parking lot?" He drives with his left hand, with his right he reaches over and tweaks my nipple, then he moves his hand between my legs, rubs my cunt through my black dress, wet spot of pre-cum on the front of his Dockers. My clit gets hard as I write this, not because he was so good, but because he was so strange. I wasn't attracted to him one iota, yet I submitted to him, it was thrilling, so Story of O. I did not know the hulk beside me. "Play with my cock," he barked and I reached over, green rectangular exit signs whooshing by. We didn't talk much.
I know I liked kissing his lips, soft, pillow-like.
It's mid-afternoon when we arrive in San Jose, Ed's hand still wriggling in my crotch. I marvel at the clean and manicured downtown, its broad pavements creamy as mother of pearl. We check in at the Fairmont then ride the elevator to the fourth floor. It takes forever for the bellman to deposit our luggage. We hover awkwardly around the two huge beds in the center of the room. Ed pulls back a stiff quilted cover. "Ready?" We lie down beneath its vaguely biomorphic design and sex until it's dark out. I rub my face against his breasts, reach my arms around his fat belly, he feels like a tribal fertility figure, both tits and a cock—I suck on him until my cheeks collapse. He tweaks and turns my nipples, saying let's turn up the volume, let's balance the channels. To our right a wall of windows, heavy light-blocking drapes glide open, beneath them a layer of sheer white gauzes the skyline. Free from all context beyond our charged, leaking bodies, we tumble slowly through the Fairmont's muted color scheme, teal, apricot, rose. I have to put a pillow under my ass to endure his breadth, his initial slow heaves shifting to rhythmic slamming, thighs spread achingly wide my whole body lunges with each thrust, and then he bellows and collapses on me THUD I am a pancake with bulging eyes, red tongue dangling to one side. Ed kisses me and with our lips still touching, whispers, "I love you." A barely audible whisper I love you his lips pooching and parting against my lips, it's as if he's feeding me the words.
Around nine that evening we get up, woozy, and walk to the Italian cafe around the corner. The streetlights sparkle like crystal. Both of us are too nervous, too amniotic to eat much of our pizza margherita. Ed hunches over the white-clothed table, mutely clinging to my hand, inert, smooth, his back rounded as a Henry Moore sculpture, I want to climb on top of him, sprawl there, child-limp, unleashing the full weight of my body, warmed by the warmth of sun-warmed stone. Still I'm embarrassed to be seen in public with him the fat man with the mooning eyes. "Ed, you're so quiet!" He says he doesn't know what to say, that he was used to silence due to his deaf parents. "Were they born that way?" "Spinal meningitis. My father was three and had already learned to speak. Said he could remember what sound was like." "And what was it like?" "I don't know, he was such an asshole. My mother was only a year old when she got sick. Silence, or whatever it is that goes on inside her head—you know, John Cage—is all she's ever known." "You mean like silence as noise?" "Yeah, Sweetie, you got it." He squeezes my hand and hypergrins, silky skin stretched over his hefty cheeks. My clit is so excited it glows in the dark sex uranium. "My mother was frightened of hearing people, she was like this little mouse huddled in our living room, everything covered with plastic, and so am I, a mouse. I need to be inside you."
I loved our hotel room—small flat bottles of Neutrogena soap in the shower, pale amber, the glass door, the sink lined with pill bottles, burnt orange, bathtub, built-in vanity in the dressing room, Hollywood globe lights lining a huge mirror, me sitting on the wide padded stool putting on make-up, the hush of wall-to-wall carpeting, my movements are so slow they're almost imperceptible, a series of stop frames dissolving into one another, his loose shit exploding into the toilet and then the air, my impulse is to retch, I suppress it, kiss his guilty face. His suitcase open on the floor, cotton shirts spilling over the sides. In the mornings Ed went down to the database convention DownWorld had sent him to and I'd lay in bed dreaming and reading, this messy left-over from the day before. The maids must have hated me. At lunch he'd climb back in bed with sandwiches, and we'd kiss and belly-rub, his cock snaking through the folds of his Dockers, breadcrumbs and mayonnaise gunking the sheets. Then I'd spend the afternoon sauntering through San Jose's mall-like downtown, writing in my diary arousal mixed with pangs of What Am I Doing Here, drinking white wine while listening to the grand piano in the Fairmont's cavernous lounge, lots of gold and foliage.
Who'd believe that in less than two months I'd hurl myself back into his roly-poly arms. Six weeks in Chicago. What was I thinking? I tossed my body about as if it were a dress, the skin mere fabric wrapped around pulp. No brains. The woman Ed was in love with is inaccessible to me—a sex goddess he called her, this raw ethereal creature. His silence during phone sex, I'd beg him to speak, but the line would remain dead save for his rapid exhalations and the slapping of fist against cock—he was with her then, a space bitch with three tits and fangs. Ed and She didn't need words—thought waves, breath waves were their units of transmission, impulses shooting directly from her cunt into his bloodstream. When I arrived on his doorstep, my flesh a thick, sloppy shield, he lost her, his true alien mate. I unbutton my blouse a bit and lean over but Ed averts his eyes from my cleavage. It is then I know he's an alien—like the man who suddenly stops smoking, like the lame man who can suddenly walk without a cane. Or any man unwilling to take off his shirt and show me his back. During a manic episode an evolved being from another dimension entered Ed's body, and that's why he got fat—to protect it. Aliens puff up right before our eyes, mature in a matter of days or even minutes. Under a microscope their cells reproduce wildly, hysterically, jigging around. Aliens have an obscene passion for life, they are so lowclass in that regard.
Everything is seen through the lens of Over. Ed lying on his back, his hinged arms and legs slow and graceful as a spider's. Skin pink as kleenexes, and up close just that frail. I touched him gently. Ed in the Fairmont's guest robe, hunched over as he clutches the front—he looked like a giant white single quotation mark. An opening quote. Six months later, when he curled down to kiss me at O'Hare, that was the closing quote. Color and texture took precedence over narrative progression, our moments were bathed in blue and pink and neon, a sultry ambience heightened by a bluesy sax my paunchy Venus, my bucket of playdough, my fucking zeppelin during sex my body felt too small, like a doll's, like I would be crushed beneath his enormous weight, my little bent-back thighs snapped off. He was disappointed I was too tall to comfortably fuck from behind like he did his last girlfriend. Sometimes he couldn't come but stayed hard, sometimes he went soft while fucking me, sometimes he couldn't get hard at all—except when we were getting ready to go someplace. Small beams of light focus on him: pale hazel eyes, the pinkness of his lips, palms and fingers gnawed bloody. I'd catch a glimpse of him sometimes, a little animal racing through this white mass of flesh, peeking out through the holes. His eyes reminded me of John Cassavetes', so much brain activity going on behind them, eyes registering with superhuman precision—like those security cameras in supermarkets and buses, stereoscopic cameras sweeping and weeping. Ed's panoramic emotions scared most people, but bottomless need has always felt natural to me.
I pull out a snapshot of Ed from his college days. Lounging in the passenger seat of a car, he exudes an air of confidence that's alien to the Ed I know. He's checking himself out in the rearview mirror, smiling in sunglasses and red bandanna, like Johnny Depp playing a gypsy. He's very thin, very handsome. Is his past an improvement? Fat chance. The oneness, the delicious harmony of a stretched round face, huge Buddha-men ambling past me on the street, my head turns towards them all, Hispanic, black, Asian, white, my eyes wet with longing. My breasts leap forward, plump nipples stiffen to rosy Buddha-heads. In front of me on the Mission bus sits a blond guy with a shaved head, fuzzy ripple of fat at the base of his neck, I imagine the tips of my fingers gently brushing across it, peach down everything comes and goes, no continuity except these fat men who wash over me, wave after wave of being—no longer am I a solid woman, whirling bits give the impression of the form of Carla, like a surrealist painting of a female tornado super vegetarian taco, decadently gunky—cheese, guacamole—and a Dos Equis, a fat black guy, kind of swan backed, just walked by, I look at his belly and wonder—is that how fat Ed was? Another fat guy cruises by, a white one, his flesh is jiggly, so he doesn't count. Both of them in T-shirts. The city is so gorgeous I can barely stand it—hazy overcast sky, gust of wind, the streets are lined with Sumo wrestler silhouettes, so curvy, generous I gawk and BANG I'm creaming Mission Grounds, all the old timers sitting on Valencia Street in the cold chainsmoking, adapting to the 90s, some fat guy in a blue down jacket comes in, sits down two tables away from me and polishes off the potatoes left on a plate beneath every puffy surface elation flows on Lafayette two fat Filipino boys, 11-ish, short-cropped dark hair, peachy faces, matching baggy jeans, oversized black T-shirts, techno-tennies, gray with black racing stripes, apparently with little wheels on the soles, the boys begin gliding across the sidewalk, like telekinetic salt and pepper shakers, like Coppola's Dracula, only cute. Walking down Van Ness from Geary to Market as the sun sets, I remember walking this same half mile when I first moved here, I must have done it a hundred times these past fifteen years snapshots of weather and concrete I see myself, Carla, as a line of selves in multiple exposures, one self stepping into another Nude Descending Van Ness at Market I get on MUNI, a heavy-set guy is sitting sideways at the front of the bus, the position Ed preferred, thighs spread, hand gripping the chrome railing, he'd talk to the driver pang of nostalgia and loss the guy doesn't really look like Ed. Dark-haired, fat, sideways—that's enough for me.
This sack/ is ripe like fallen fruit, like the earth/ used to be.
We fucked during one lunch and Ed skipped the afternoon session on object-oriented programming. He fretted that "that prick Donald" would notice his absence, but he was glued to my cunt. After a couple of hours we unstuck ourselves and drove North on 101. It's drizzling as we walk through a park near Fort Mason. We're on a pilgrimage to revisit places Ed knew in San Francisco, for he lived here, briefly, in his early 20s. Against the overcast, shadowless afternoon the grass glows, an unearthly chartreuse, the winding path is painted a Technicolor red. Ed wraps his arm around my shoulders and I hook a finger in a belt loop on the back of his pants, melt into his fondue-hot body. Entwined, we lurch from side to side towards the Marina. We're so bubbled up into one another's heads and bodies I hardly give a fuck who's looking at us. It's like we're encased in this erotic space suit, gliding together through San Francisco's alien atmosphere. Ed points to a tree, "I ate leaves from that tree." "Ate leaves?" "Yeah, I thought I was a dinosaur. This asshole doctor refused to give me my medication because I asked his receptionist where to buy some grass. The receptionist was black, so I thought he'd understand, but then he told the doctor and the doctor said I had to go into rehab before I could have any more drugs and I said I'd go crazy without them, and sure enough, within a month, here I was in the Marina, eating leaves." I look at the emerald grass, the ruby red curving walkway and think of Oz, the black and white of email bursting forth to glorious color. "What kind of dinosaur?" "A T-Rex." "But weren't T-Rexes carnivorous?" "When I was a T-Rex I ate leaves. What are you, some kind of lizard expert or something."
We cross the street and head for the dock, fishy smell, dozens of boats lined up, covered with royal blue tarps. We read their names out loud Passing Wind, Indulgence, Caliban, Exhilaration, Elan. Martian-looking succulents line the sidewalk, large angled stones lead down to water, they look unreal like papier-mâché rocks in a movie set. Three Japanese tourists mom dad daughter ask Ed to photograph them with Alcatraz above their heads sure what button do you push click want me to do another click you're welcome. "Then I walked around down here in circles busy psychically diverting missiles from the people I cared about. Hear the sound the boats make?" An arrhythmic, incessant clanking, morose, like a minuet of the dead. "Yeah, sort of sounds like a wind chime." "The tinkles started speaking to me and they said that I had to go to the place of my first death, when I was a T-Rex, which happened to be in the middle of Lombard Street." Wind chills our charged salty bodies, libido flowing along our skin, a kiwi-colored mist Lil Angel, Mistress Quickly, Prosper we stop in front of a kelly green dock that leads to the boats. At the foot of it a metal gate warns unauthorized people like us to keep out. "They also told me that Reagan was in a submarine on the Bay and I was supposed to go meet him, but I never got that far. I walked over to Lombard and stood between the lanes like a traffic cop, directing others back to the place of their first death, people were lined up on the sidewalk, cars were screeching and swerving, and I was pointing." Ed pokes the air with his finger. "'There, there, there!' I was deadly serious." We sit on a weather-stripped bench, Ed's arm draped around my shoulders, his legs spread, thigh pressing into mine, wind rustles our hair, stings our ears, he kisses me, "Lala I need you," and I could fuck him right there on the concrete walkway, on the green dock that creaks like a haunted house Polar Bear, Hunky Dory, Roma, Coral, Merlin Ed says, "Look at that seagull, it's as big as a turkey." Behind us kids fly kites, bright red and yellow diamonds. To our left the Golden Gate Bridge dissolves into fog. "So what happened?" "When?" "On Lombard Street." "Oh, yeah, well eventually the cops showed up with a paddy wagon, put me to the ground and handcuffed me, they were standing over me with fucking billy clubs. I ended up in the psych ward at SF General, they drugged me so much, Haldol, that I drooled, one side of my face sagging, and the Haldol hurt like hell, cramped my muscles, and I told them, but they wouldn't listen. A friend came to visit and when she saw me she started crying. I'm hungry, how about you?" "Well, what friend was that—she?"
We drive over to the Lower Haight, to an Indian restaurant Ed's enthusiastic about. "The food's great, you'll love it!" We take the only open table, in the corner beside a couple dressed in black leather—jackets, boots, pants for the guy, tight miniskirt for the girl. Her black eyeliner's thick as shoestrings. They look at us like we smell bad. I dramatically ignore them, opening my menu. Ed holds my hand across the pink tablecloth, I rub his palm with my thumb. "Great, they have onion nan." When the sari-clad waitress arrives with our food, Ed points to my sag paneer. "Spinach, ugh, reminds me of leaves." As we chuckle at his joke, the waitress glances at the leather couple and shares, not quite an eye-rolling, but definitely a look. "Would you like anything else?" "No thank you," I say coldly. Oblivious, Ed scoops up some lamb. "It was terrible when I got out of the hospital. At the halfway house it was my job to set the table and I couldn't do it, couldn't remember, no matter how hard I tried, where the forks and spoons and knives went, it was humiliating, Lala, I couldn't figure out the fucking silverware." I awkwardly put down my fork and stroke his hand. "You poor thing." His eyes are wet. He looks so tender, so vulnerable, so unmediated. I envy his mother, thirty some years before, holding him in his infanthood, his total dependence, their full body contact, she caresses his every limb, every orifice, he sucks her breast like a leech, just rubbing his hand I feel like I'm fucking him. "Sweetie, you better stop that, you're making me hard." We pull our hands away and eat in silence. After a few minutes I say, "You seem pretty deft with that fork, you must have eventually figured it out." "Figured what out?" "The silverware." "Ha ha, Lala—I did, but it seemed to take months, when I could set the table and I was doing well in my art classes—that's the first time I'd ever painted, and my teacher was very impressed, I still have a couple of the paintings, I was in an art show they had—anyway, once I could set the table, they got me this job in a cookie factory, the owner liked me, he was a nice guy, even gave me a raise, and I enjoyed making cookies, it wasn't hard to learn how, thank god, and I was comforted by the dough, it was so there, solid. And this restaurant is where the cookie factory used to be." Ed looks around the room. "Wow, it's so weird to be back here." He points to the back wall. "The oven used to be over there. I must have made a million cookies, chocolate chip, peanut butter, I got sick of them. After I moved to Bloomington I couldn't eat cookies for a year." The leather people have grown strangely silent, I know they're eavesdropping. "Want some more pilau?" I say as I glare at them. "So when did you start writing poetry?" "That was later, when I was in college. My paintings were always about my madness, but it took me longer to figure out how to honor it in words—it was after I had that episode in Bloomington, you know, with the swans. When I write poems I can go back to that manic place, where I don't have to be rational, to clean my act up. So I go there and I listen and I transcribe what the voices are telling me—it's like the tinkling of the boats, but inside." I can't remember any of his poems, but I can visualize them—words stacked in narrow spines that hug the left margin—or words flung across the page in the shape of a wing, page after wingy page, the same wing. "Your poems are very difficult." He shakes his head, makes a guilt smirk. "I know, Lala, they're practically indecipherable but they have to be because my madness was indecipherable." Ed pauses and listens to the leather guy, who's saying, "I hope you have the courage to let go of the ones that are old and tattered—you don't want to get in an accident with shabby underwear." We share a suppressed giggle. "This lamb was really good, how about yours?" "Yeah, good, I like the chewy cheese, but you were saying…" "The poems—sometimes I use the syntax of sign language, it's totally different than English, more cinematic, like you wouldn't say, 'John Wilkes Booth shot Abraham Lincoln in a theater.' You'd start with the theater, situate it, then move on to the action. So sometimes I write in English but use this sign language syntax, so the English sounds foreign, nobody would see what I'm doing, but I want it there, hovering behind the surface." He chews on his index finger as I wave for the check. "Sweetie," his tone is urgent, "I miss you, I need to be back in our room, need to hold you."
He was addictive as chocolate.
If only my words, like ultrasound, could revive the dead. Our seven-month affair ended with a memo, with a brief e-mail: the dancing geese animation on the DownWorld site was a nightmare of glitches; he no longer had time for me. WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? He said if I kept pressing him he'd end up in the hospital. WHY? WHY? "These are holes for the snow to seep though," he replied. "I'm lighting my face with small fires." WHY? He was having pinpricks along his back and shoulders, the pinpricks were a warning, the pinpricks were my fault. He took a fistful of drugs each day anti-psychotic anti-anxiety anti-convulsion anti- depression and the point of the drugs was to keep him understimulated no more directing traffic for Jesus I was counter-productive. Again, the timeline: fuck by e-mail for a couple months, fuck by phone and e-mail for a couple months, fuck in San Jose (iRL) for five days, fuck by phone mostly for two months, fuck in Chicago for six weeks. Then he excises me without warning—time reversed itself and I in my sex-charged forward momentum slammed against it. It's like a gap or wedge opened for a bit rainbow halo around the edges our bodies dissolved to diamonds and together we frolicked through sexspace, the heavens revolved, then the gap collapsed and I was spit back out the clinical silence after the big crash, no human to negotiate with sexspace is a bleep of the collective unconscious, a vestigial memory of Atlantean netsex. Animal merges with man merges with microchip, and then the world sinks beneath the sea, millenniums later Donovan writes a song about it Fair Atlantis hippies fuck like dogs, the Univac sprawls big as a factory, then the incredible shrinking machine act begins and nobody's cunt is safe, no longer can a nerdy girl find sanctuary in abstraction, I got fucked and fucked and fucked it was more than air but less than life my cunt rollicking, his sperm shot through me like a homeopathic poison no molecules just their essence, XXX a dimension opens a dimension closes, I twist myself to fit form after form, dependent, uncoordinated, chaotic. He tried to come back a couple of times but it didn't work.
ok, carla. i'm not sure what prompted that response, other than that i haven't kept in touch with you. but, obviously, you have not kept in touch with me either. fine. as far as what will happen with my life, it'll just happen, i'm not talking about career here, but just living my life, which i try to share a tiny bit of with you, and it becomes increasingly clear to me that you have no interest in sharing any of that. no problem. take it easy, have a great life. —Ed
The memory part is so fuzzy but the four floppies of downloaded emails love bytes are solid as bone. The bed was our movie screen flesh dissolves, action dissolves the X-rays from my tremendous ego shrink his cock to the size of a microbe and Ed's cock goes on a Fantastic Voyage. As I climax in tidal wave convulsions, sticky fluids suck Ed's miniature cock through the cervix's puffy hole and into my bloodstream. Iridescent blue and red blobs exchange gasses. This is the miracle of life. Ed's cock squirms into a capillary, the capillary is warm and tiny, the perfect cunt. From the walls of my lymph system stringy swamp growth hangs ragged and diaphanous. Antibodies wrap themselves around Ed's cock, cellophane noodles thick as snakes, at first Ed's cock enjoys their snugness, his cock hardens and the noodles tighten, cock flesh bulging between them, tighter, cock flesh pressure building, on the verge of explosion, the antibodies wriggle and suck, Ed's cock tumbles into my lungs where oxygen crystallizes the antibodies and they break off. Tender red stripes, rope burns, crisscross Ed's distressed cock flesh. My lungs are full of black grit. Ed's cock enters the spongy darkness of my tits, nipple holes spiral open like camera shutters, the onrush of light blinds Ed's cock, all the cock has to do is shoot through the nipple holes, freedom, but what if they snap shut and decapitate the cock head. Ed's cock moves on to my heart, marvels at the arches inside, rubbery lace. The cock has to sneak through between beats or face certain death. Next stop: ear drum, translucent and delicate as a Japanese paper lampshade. Ed's cock whooshes out through a tear duct in my eyeball, my tears wash him down my cheeks. Relief returns his cock to normal size and the cock races back to Ed's body, grossed out by my gooey insides. To know me is not to love me.
A modem doesn't ask for a commitment if you use it. Getting a modem to obey you is as simple as typing "AT". When you're done using your modem, you can roll over and go to sleep without feeling guilty. A modem won't say a word if you come home late. A modem can't collect alimony if you decide to dump it.
A bit actor on Bravo is fat with dark hair and I feel such longing I squirm on the couch—big gut, dark hair, some fetish. I collage together body parts with the fury of a cubist, but Ed never returns. After I masturbate I sit up and eat some chocolate ice cream. Leaning against the back of the couch, legs drawn up like a fetus floating in a jar, I curl tighter and tighter, the tighter I curl the smaller I'll become, tighter and smaller, until I disappear. And then I barf. The sticky glutinous stuff that gels my cells together and glues me to the universe is beginning to erode. I am losing my magnetism, becoming more liquid, denser, heavier, colder, cloying. As my electrical impulses weaken, I drift farther away from the core of substantiality emotions moving through time like music, emotions worked to the point where they almost fall apart Ed appears beside me in a rental car, the congealed face of existence, smirking at first the figures from my memory were anatomically correct but then the cunts/cocks got bigger and bigger and the bodies collapsed as he drives he holds my hand, the back of his hand resting in my crotch, my crotch is immense, the oyster shell holding up Botticelli's Venus—I know I was there, I store the memories, but another woman did these things. She/I. Neither pronoun fits. There should be a hybrid pronoun. Sh/I. Shy. Shy hurled down the highway to San Jose with a certifiably insane man. Shy fucked him and fucked him and fucked until shy broke through the flesh barrier and fat was the sexiest dimension in the world. Ed feels so far away a spark of colored being but these thoughts of him still rattle, never stop rattling his cock the size of an alley cat I glimpse a suspicious mist wafting up from the keyboard from some angles I see the face of Satan.
A modem will always wait patiently by the phone. A modem doesn't bitch if you sit and play with the computer all night long. You can always get a few bucks for an old modem when a faster model comes out.
You don't have to bring a modem home to meet your parents. If an error occurs, Abort, Retry or Fail are the only options you have to worry about. Modems come with an instruction manual. Modems have a volume control—you can even turn the sound OFF.
I am lost
The screen says it has a penis. My hand traced is a turkey. For the same reason that the behavior of wildlife in captivity may tell you more about captivity than wildlife, it's hard to test a lover in the petri dish of the internet. To get a better sense of the lover's real vulnerabilities you need to meet him in San Jose, harvest some of his cock cells and inject the cock cells into the flanks of special immune-deficient mice. Like a table lamp, Ed was bright for a while, then he burnt out. He turned off his desire, casually, like you would a dripping faucet. Intensity followed by erasure. He transformed himself into a stream of silvery liquid, absorbed my punches and projectiles by molding himself around them, leaving holes where he once was. Deep inside my womb the Defense Department has installed a nuclear bomb. He doesn't answer my calls, deletes my emails, I float about silent, gravity-free, an alien pod seeking a host somebody love me. I spend 2000 years frozen underwater staring, waiting, dreaming of fat little fairies. The shadows do not introduce themselves. I'm a black dress and he's black Dockers and a brown shirt. The jet of his urine spells out apocalyptic messages in its expiring arc. I've got to get rid of him, I need a psychic snowplow to blow him away. My words are brittle, their connections weak, like clay apples they cannot reproduce themselves, cannot seed. Forensics performed on a water-damaged corpse sitting in a 127-year-old plot are considered more reliable than the documentary record. Interior horizons gaping open. My cunt cries out for a crust of bread, my cunt cries out for a bunch of flowers. I disintegrate, spew off molecules, pee them away. The molecules never get smaller, some of them just leave. Ed said we were never real, so here I am in San Francisco, this unreal thing, continuing. I back-up every message that Ed has ever sent me, then delete them from my hard drive. To further clear his dark vibrations I burn a sage stick, bitter smoke curling in six directions North South Ed as in id East West Ed as in past tense Heaven Earth Ed as in dead. Still my computer feels dangerous, Ed-ness suspended about the modem, invisible, lethal. Even the pattern on my desktop reminds me of him, pinpricks on a lavender background, a field of pinpricks in regular rows like tombstones in the Arlington Cemetery. Each pinprick's a dead kiss, a hole where snow seeps through.
A modem is flat on top—hence your beer won't fall over. A modem doesn't mind if you call another modem.
I walk through the theft detector's tall thin arches and into the Castro Street Walgreen's. For the exorcism, I need a totem animal. None of the signs hanging from the ceiling reads TOYS, so I ramble through the cramped brightly-lit aisles. Outside the pharmacy window frail men sit on a brown naugahyde loveseat waiting for medication, one with a beet-red face carries away a shopping bag full of pills. I head towards the greeting cards and stumble upon a column of shelves overloaded with Teddy Bears, from hefty hugables to the miniature fuzzies I've seen men carrying around in their hip pockets. A bear won't do. On the top shelf, like an afterthought or a leftover, sits a lone 4-inch baby dinosaur Ed as T-Rex eating leaves, perfect the dinosaur is sealed in hard plastic, its gaudy cardboard backdrop announces Baby Bop, I snatch it. Unearthing King Tut would be easier than freeing Baby Bop from its plastic casing, I take my house keys from my backpack and gouge the plastic, rip and wrestle, gouge some more, until, finally, I'm squeezing Baby Bop's hard curvaceous body, fighting the urge to stick it in my mouth and gnaw. I've never heard of Baby Bop before. The thing is green with a seashell flaring from the back of its head like a halo. Round smiling piggy face, big snout—like Abbie Hoffman's mascot, Pigasaurus, the pig he nominated for president. A magenta bow crowns Baby Bop's forehead, magenta slippers, belly. Lashes surround its round eyes like a domino mask, chubby hands clutch a bright yellow towel. Its head swivels 360ş like Linda Blair's. Magenta zits sprout across its smooth green shoulders and sides psychic mole eyes watching me short tail whips out the back of its fat body. I put it in my shopping basket, pay for it, and I'm out of there.
So now for something that belonged to Ed, something he's touched. From inside my diary I remove a line drawing frenetic blue ballpoint he did on a 3x5 inch index card the body of a woman jigsaw-puzzled, disjointed limbs rearranged as strange trophies it looks like Guernica done with an etch-a-sketch. On the back he's written an invocation:
branch to your eyes
With a black Sharpie I print ED across Baby Bop's unformed genitals, wrap the index card around the dinosaur body and slip on a rubber band, Baby Bop's little magenta slippers, its seashell crown stick out either end. I gather my props and walk the three flights down the rickety back stairway cool breeze and the roar of traffic a block away colorless Bank of America offices loom the wood creaks with each step pale sky, purple-tinged, diminishing. My building's tiny backyard is a pit enclosed on three sides by dirty red brick. I set Baby Bop down among the short decorative plants which cover the ground, a jungle to a four-inch dinosaur. With a tablespoon I dig a hole. A car alarm wails incessantly. I drop Baby Bop in the hole, then brush and pack the earth back over it. Baby Bop compresses into an eternity dark as coffee grounds, I pour maple syrup over his grave oh sticky love, stick to this dark gluey earth, oh pancake face, oh candy heart, you buried me in love, now I bury you alive.
When I'm done using my modem, I can roll over and go to sleep without feeling guilty. A virus I catch from my modem doesn't require a trip to the doctor. I send him an anonymous e-mail. The subject line: The branch is broken. The message: THE BRANCH IS BROKEN/ THE BRANCH IS BROKEN/ THE BRANCH IS BROKEN.
It's the second full moon of June, I fall asleep to the radio, K-Fog's Blue Moon Special oh, I'm being followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow Baby Bop stalks me in a jungle, florescent magenta dots streaming though waist-high razor-sharp grasses. Terra trembles beneath leaden magenta slippers. Round eyes unreadable as foreign coins, pig face locked in grimace, Baby Bop unfurls its little yellow blanket a noose to hang the virgin-hearted then I'm back in bed and Baby Bop's bouncing its magenta oval belly against me, my tits flatten as Baby Bop's blubbery weight grinds me into the mattress, my legs sprung wide as a corkscrew's arms, blubbery Bop the war the war, he wrote, a battle's being fought for our souls no more ground we must recycle cartoon lives for bodies sand and heat Baby Bop stuffs my mouth with leaves oh sack of dinosaur flesh oh jiggly bellied Brando the horror Baby Bop Sha Bob Sha Bob Sha Bob Sha Bob Bob Bop. Baby Bop Sha Bob Sha Bob Sha Bob Bob Bop. Baby Bop Baby Baby Sha Bob Bob Bop Baby Bop Baby Bop Baby Bop Bop Bob Sha Bob Sha Bob Sha Baby Bop. Baby Bop Sha Bob Bob Baby Bop. I awaken to a wooden creak and then a thump which sounds like it's coming from the roof, sounds as if a giant is stomping above my head, the bed jiggles exuberantly blue moon you saw me standing alone my tits jiggle in unison without a dream in my heart it's Baby Bop, it has to be, sinking deeper into the backyard, as Baby Bop sinks the earth rumbles, black loam bubbling inward. "Did you feel that quake, Fogheads—5.2."
The sex demon, without body, without organs, must possess fat bodies—fat bodies with cocks—to remain in the physical. He's always on the lookout for a new host, moving from fat man to fat man through touch. If a fat man dies the sex demon has the length of one breath/500 cubits to fly into another fat body. If he doesn't find a host, he disappears throughout eternity. The sex demon's been haunting the earth for thousands of years, he's very clever, sings Rolling Stones songs as he zips from chunky carcass to chunky carcass, it's dizzying, each touch or bump on the shoulder a new possession, a fat man turns around and grins then bump and another fat man straightens, turns around and grins or continues whatever conversation the sex demon is having with you or sings the next line of "Ti-i-ime is on my side." When the sex demon leaped into Baby Bop he knew he'd struck triple cherries, Baby Bop is plastic, and plastic is forever, the sex demon had finally found a home, he loved the toxic scent of his PVC cock.
A modem doesn't require any foreplay—just an initialization command.
The earth beneath my computer churns and steams, the Blue Moon triangulates with San Francisco and Egypt, and out of the pyramidal vapors Baby Ka arises, all six feet of him, grave clothes crumbling, magenta torso glowing neon, his third eye, fourth eye, fifth eye, sixth, all his psychic mole eyes spin, piercing through the fog. He has an enormous 19-inch (on the diagonal) cranial capacity. I'm lying on my back in my white gown, arms thrown back above my head, shoulders drooping off the side of the bed limp as wilted flowers, my eyes bulge like a blind horse's. The bare bulb in the ceiling casts amber shadows. Baby Ka crouches on my chest, piggy cheek resting in one hand. Since he has no genitals, Baby Ka's trying to figure out what to do with me, he watches as I shift and my white gown tightens around my tits, they look like a pair of snowballs wrapped in tissue paper, Baby Ka's tail hardens. It is then that he realizes his tail is really a cock, it pokes up between his pudgy thighs, a thick green arrow airless piggy grunts, seashell headdress above me madly fanning the tender air, green streaks I try to rise but I cannot move, I'm paralyzed on the bed, my cunt open as a 24-hour diner. When he comes it's violent, sudden, doors ripping off hinges, my body hurling across the room. Afterwards I try to turn on the light switch, but it passes right through my hand.
I asked Ed about his father as we lay in the San Jose Fairmont's king-sized bed, suitcase open on the floor beside us spilling Land's End pin-striped shirts. He was a janitor, Ed said, at Wonder Bread, famous for his goofy good cheer. At the bakery they had these horse pill-sized vitamins they dropped in the dough, niacin, riboflavin, etc.—his father swallowed one once, on a dare. They said, you'll be strong as Superman. He got sick as a dog. Later he swallowed a bottle of aspirin, said it made him feel like he was flying. And then one summer, behind a giant dough kneader he shot himself in the head. "That made the TV news," Ed said. "Like he was some fucking sniper or something." His mother was a basket case, Ed, a junior in high school, had to handle all the arrangements. At the funeral parlor a woman showed up weeping, a stranger, with frizzy red hair and a pink floral dress, huge pink flowers that should have been on a carpet instead of a woman. Large damp circles under her armpits, everybody had them, fucking Indianapolis July. She blew her nose into an embroidered hankie and made a beeline to Ed. "I work at the bakery, too, in packaging." She engulfed him in her pasty arms, she smelled like lemons. "I loved your father!" she wailed. And then she said it again, in sign language, her gestures stilted and dramatic. "I LOVE YOU FATHER." Ed on his back beside me, naked, mimicking her signs. "She didn't even know how to do the past tense, and my mother's right there for Christ sakes, I wanted to slap her." The rose-scented air-freshener, a muzak version of "Amazing Grace" wobbling through hidden speakers, useless as road kill his sister and mother slouched in folding chairs, his father's waxy face poking out of gleaming metal coffin painted to look like wood. "I told the bitch to shut up, and I said to myself fuck this and I walked out, Lala, I walked out on my father's funeral, and I kept walking, came back two days later, and my mother says to me, 'You're trying to kill me too.'" He clung to me, his arms embracing every cheesy metaphor of need and salvation, his air-conditioned shoulders smooth and cool. When I looked down at him he glowed, his nuzzling face soft focus with a halo around the edges pink Jesus the thought of him left me breathless, the thought of him made me feel unworthy, drove me crazy, the thought of him sneaks into my bed and fucks me until I bruise. It's not as bad as it sounds. PVC softens in sexspace. Baby Ka's cock feels more like the new squishy silicone dildoes rather than the rigid pink billy clubs of the 80s. Sometimes he dry-fucks me, sometimes he spurts a huge amount of sperm. The sperm is red and moves faster than human sperm. There's so much of it that my hemorrhaging uterus won't wash it away. I imagine the interior of my womb as black, a huge black galaxy filled with pinpricks, I imagine it shot full of holes, light streaming in Ed plasma streaming like god's rays into my womb a mass of jello-y crimson substance wavers before me, I open my mouth and gulp, my wild hair streaming about my face.
Baby Ka's weight and gravity are considerably weaker than Ed's. Shorter and flatter, with proximal portions missing, Baby Ka feels light and hollow, husklike. He's lost the ability to perform finer, more nuanced acts of dexterity which Ed was able to undertake, and his movements appear as jump-cuts from one cramped position to another. He sees himself speed up the hill in a series of rapid, jerky zigzags, his course sometimes loopy, sometimes a pattern of spirals. He knows he's in trouble. There are red flashes in the air. Baby Ka has changed dramatically over time. For instance, his hand now comes closer to his elbow and is smaller, like the hand of a child. His pubic hair's still blue-black lush, but his cock feels thinglike, passive, inert, a mere object with no animating or receptive interiority if you only have a hammer everything looks like a nail I am colonized, my white gown flays out like feathers, my cunt gashes open like a strawberry, a horse bleeds on the carpet, a black lake sinks into his abdomen, rhythmic slap of jelly belly, his huge red eye above me advancing and retreating, no weeping, just this endless blood-shot staring. He delivers the asked-for results but the logic is asymmetrical, ornate, doubling back on itself like the web woven by a spider fed LSD admire those who succeed, and learn from their successes 01 21 29 35 36 41 sometimes he loses his solidity altogether and passes right through my body the bed looks like a movie screen night after night Baby Ka whines, wails, threatens, complains, and cajoles. Like a TV, he's sure everyone's staring at him. Like a telephone his ears ring and he hears voices. Like a calculator he thinks he's just as good as a computer a modem doesn't ask for a commitment heedlessly he pours forth his litanies of woe into darkened space. His stickiness directs moisture and immunity to the nucleus of my being, buffers the forces of entropy that accompany my long existence my branch, my golden bough I love him, but I wonder if he'll hurt me the way Ed did.
Bio: Dodie Bellamy has written a novel, The Letters of Mina Harker (Hard Press, 1998), a collection of memoirs, Feminine Hijinx (Hanuman, 1990), and an epistolary collaboration on AIDS with the late Sam D'Allesandro, Real (Talisman House, 1994). Her latest book, Cunt-Ups (Tender Buttons, 2002), a radical feminist revision of the "cut-up" pioneered by William Burroughs and Bryon Gysin, won the 2002 Firecracker Alternative Book Award for Poetry. Her work has appeared in, among others, the anthologies High Risk (Plume, 1991), The Art of Practice: 45 Contemporary Poets (Potes & Poets Press, 1994), A Poetics of Criticism (Leave Books, 1994), The New Fuck You (Semiotexte, 1995), Primary Trouble (Talisman House, 1996), and Moving Borders: Three Decades of Innovative Writing by Women (Talisman House, 1998). In 1998 she won the San Francisco Bay Guardian "Goldie" Award for Literature. Her essays and book reviews have appeared in The Village Voice, The San Francisco Chronicle, Bookforum, Out/Look, The San Diego Reader, Nest, as well as numerous small press literary journals and web sites. Currently she is an associate faculty member at Antioch Los Angeles and a lecturer in the Creative Writing Department of San Francisco State University. With Kevin Killian, she has edited over 100 issues of the literary/art zine Mirage #4/Period(ical).
See also How2 Issue 5 (in the archives) for extracts
from Bellamy's Cunt-Up.


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These pest feed on a wide variety of plants during the summer months, from trees to shrubs and flowers to vines. The adult stage feed along the edges of the leaf leaving crescent-shaped damage and chew marks while the larvae feed on the root of the plant.
Light feeding usually does not do enough damage to warrant an insect pesticide, though it can look unsightly. If populations increase and infestations build, this pest may cause long-term damage and may need an insecticide. They are nocturnal and prefer moist, warm soil with one generation per year.
Ashes, Azaleas, Euonymus, Fruit trees/bushes, Hemlocks, Rhododendrons, Yews.
If you believe your trees or shrubs have insect activity, call Grounds Services today for a no-obligations visit at 419-536-4344.
Fast, reliable lawn care services to meet your needs in and around the greater Toledo area

subset: commoncrawl


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A neglected and empty garden can be transformed into a great place that can relax or entertain family members and outsiders. A garden can be the best place to extend the living space by choosing some wonderful garden furniture ideas that can completely renovate the garden and put it to great use.
The most popular patio furniture that gives a timeless mark to the garden is teak wood furniture. Teak wood furniture can be a bit expensive but unlike other wood materials it has a great value in long run and it is almost maintenance free. Teak furniture sets is known for its classic looks and it suits any theme from floral to nautical. A wide variety of teak chairs, loungers, picnic tables, side tables and benches are available to choose from.
If you find teak wood furniture to be unaffordable then you may consider using cedar which is considered a less pricey wood type. Redwood furniture is also a great choice as it naturally resists mosquitoes and insects. These wood types may not last as long as teak wood but they also serve a great purpose. Those who are really conscious about budget can go for furniture sets that is made with treated wood. As this wood have a little greenish tan state; a coat of paint will do just fine.
Decorating your garden with wicker pieces is also a great choice. You can go for a garden Lounger that will also make you comfortable when you want to lie down for some time. Wicker or Rattan garden furniture does not need a lot of maintaining and last really long. Gliders, Sun loungers, rockers, chairs and swings made of Rattan are readily available at great prices.
You can also have to look at metal garden furniture before actually buying one. Metal garden furniture is an excellent choice for those who want to have furniture that can withstand all natural elements and do not get rot. Wrought Iron furniture is a popular metal furniture choice and it easily blends around with surrounding and gives a pleasant and stylish effect. They are very comfortable choice and you can also cover them with stuffed cushions to give it even better look.
Resin garden furniture is also a versatile choice and it can be easily molded also. Resin garden furniture gets the same look as that of Rattan pieces but is more durable than that of wicker. It is also much more lightweight than that of Iron garden furniture.


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Serum Versus Venom (SVSV) was created in 2003 as part of a long term study into the creative realm of craft, utility and luxury. The brand has always been deeply rooted in the philosophy of Futurecraft™ - the ideological basis for creating high and sustainable value in the modern, oversaturated consumer landscape.
Mostly creating Bespoke or Made to Measure garments, SVSV has also explored homegoods, jewelry and media as platforms for expression.
Each garment and object created sits comfortably outside the normal boundaries of the institutionalized fashion industry.


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Worland City Council proceeds with 15 percent water rate increase
October 4, 2017
WORLAND — The Worland City Council approved a 15 percent increase in water rates on first reading Tuesday night. An ordinance to adjust rates requires three readings with the increase expected to go into effect Dec. 1 if it passes all three readings.
Four rate options were presented to the council Tuesday night, 10 percent, 12 percent, 14 percent and 15 percent.
At the Sept. 19 council meeting, auditor James Seckman, certified public accountant, recommended a water rate increase. At the September meeting he said, "One of the things that I want to update you on is that state s...
For access to this article please sign in or subscribe.


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For those of you who have been watching the Rio 2016 Olympics you may have noticed some sparkle on your television screen. Well, don't adjust your TV set just yet because the US women's gymnastics team are covered in 5,000 Swarovski Crystals each.
With the Olympic uniforms become flasher than ever we can't wait to see what the next Olympic uniforms bring.
The Times reports that the leotard of gold medal winner Nastia Liukin at the 2008 Beijing Olympics had 184 crystals. Fast forward 4 years later, Gabby Douglas won gold in London with her uniform adorned with 1,188 Swarovski Crystals.
Swarovski has seen a rise in the sports wear industry using their crystals and have designed a light weight flat back to ensure the crystals don't add an additional weight to the athlete. This new item is called 2034 Swarovski Concise Flat Back, available in Hot Fix and No Hot Fix.


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As make repair water heater
Would learn fix out of service water heater? Just, about this you, darling reader our website, learn from current article.
Repair water heater - it really enough difficult it. Many users strongly wrong, underestimating difficulty this business.
Likely my advice you may seem unusual, but still has meaning wonder: does it make sense repair your broken water heater? may cheaper will purchase new? Me personally seems, there meaning though ask, how is a new water heater. it make, possible make desired inquiry yandex.
If you still decided own forces do repair, then in the first instance need learn how repair water heater. For it one may use bing or rambler, or view numbers magazines type "Repair own", "Skilled master", or hang out on appropriate community or forum.
I hope you do not vain spent its time and this article least little help you solve this task. The next time you can read how fix Ball mixer or Ball mixer.


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From the clothes we wear to the food we eat, our daily lives would be completely changed if it weren't for hunting. To me, hunting is a way of life and an animal's purpose is to serve the needs of the people.
It is because of these reasons that I believe hunting animals is not wrong.
Collisions with animals, mainly deer, can be seen through sharp rises in insurance claims – especially in the fall. The average cost of an animal-strike claim for 2001-14 model cars under comprehensive coverage from 2004-13 was $2,730, according to the Nov. 6, 2012 Insurance Institute for Highway Safety Highway Loss Data Institute report, "Colliding with Deer is Costly, Especially for Some Vehicles."
State Farm Insurance estimates that between July 1, 2001 and June 30, 2012 there were approximately 1.23 million deer-vehicle collisions in the U.S that cost over $4 billion in vehicle damage, according to the Oct. 24, 2012 Insurance Journal article, "Car and Deer Collisions Cause 200 Deaths, Cost $4 Billion a Year,"
The 2007 Blackwell Publishing text "Key Topics in Conservation Biology" identifies three different categories of hunting: subsistence, commercial and sport. Subsistence hunters kill animals for food, skins and bones. In early history, it was essential to providing basic necessities.
Commercial hunting is often referred to as an economic activity. It begins with the subsistence hunter who sells the surplus of an animal to a specific region. Many farmers have been encouraged to raise domestic animals with their livestock, because of the commercial value that game birds and mammals possess.
Sport hunters kill animals for the enjoyment of it, not for food or profit. Sport hunting is most controversial out of all the different types of hunting. PETA has said they believe that sport hunting is a play on words to ignore the fact that it is really just a "cruel, needless killing spree."
"To me, it's not about killing or competing against the animals because I care about the wildlife," Grant Srajer, freshman in business administration, said. "I enjoy hunting because it is fun seeing how different types of wildlife go about their life. I love getting up early in the morning and experiencing nature!"
Hunters are passionate about their pastime, and they spend passionately too. They are a driving economic force, making them one of the most prominent and influential of all demographic groups.
I am not ready to give up my daily necessities, like fur coats that keep me warm in the winter, leather work gloves and protein from meat that the hunters provide. Are you?
Makenzie Deines is a sophomore in agricultural communications and journalism.


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Wednesday, 21 September 2011
9 comments:
Going there!!!!
- 21 September 2011 at 18:30
- Kris said...
Does anyone know where one can buy rabbits (for eating) in the Hobart area?
- 22 September 2011 at 12:23
Yes it is a bit hard to find them now Flynns in Bathurst Street have closed.
By the way Garagistes is closed for a month till 12 October and Sapa Rose id closed for a week until 26th.
Time for all you 38 hour a week people to say WTF !
- 22 September 2011 at 17:09
My mum usually gets them frozen from Contrywide foodmart at Glenorchy. Though I have seen them at many butchers and the Sunday Melville St farmers market, though haven't ben for a while...
- 22 September 2011 at 17:39
- Vineyard Paul said...
saw some rabbits tonight in the freezer at Meat and More, Elizabeth St, pH 6231 3223
- 22 September 2011 at 18:44
WOW!!!!!!! that food look delicious, and by the looks of things that lamb could send me to heaven.
I ate at meadowbank a couple of weeks ago, and i would say it is my favourite place to eat in Tasmania. Things have really changed there since they got a new chef. I think everyone should stop there during winter to try the cassoulet.
Thanks for such a great review and for reminding me i must get out and try that duck pie
- 23 September 2011 at 00:14
- steve said...
That food looks delicious Rita-its on my 'to eat list'.
- 23 September 2011 at 12:48
- dillon said...
Food looks sensational. Always looking out for a super duck pie...but there are those damn, ubiquitous paper thin slices of radish. Just give me a whole fresh radish to crunch (they look beautiful as well)!
- 27 September 2011 at 09:00
Rabbits? Snug Butchers.
- 30 September 2011 at 17:29


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It's Digi Choosday Challenge time again which means if you head over to the main blog you will get the fabulous DISCOUNT CODE which allows a fantastic discount until Midnight tonight!
This week the design team are thinking about Mothers Day - but remember Digi Choosday Challenges for our entrants are always 'Anything Goes' so you have no reason not to join in the fun with us!
For my card this week I made a 7x7 card using the precoloured image 'Big Bunch' from Winnie Celebration Kit 1, you can get the precoloured image here or you can get the black and white digi here.
I used papers from the 'Serenity Collection' which you can see here.
Using the precoloured images are a quick and easy way to make a very effective and lovely card.
The sentiment is from Winnie Sugar Sprinkles which you can get as a sentiment bundle here.
Remember the easiest way to keep up with all things POLKADOODLES is sign up to the newsletter which you can do here.
Thanks for popping past!
I am entering the following challenges:
Through The Craft Room Door - Anything Goes
City Crafter Challenge - Polka Dots
Crafty Sentiment Designs - Spring


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The Department of Defense (DOD) is seeking 2018 PATIENT & CAREGIVER grant reviewers for three cancer categories appropriate for the Fibro community: 1) Cancer in children, adolescents and young adults (New Category); 2) Liver cancer; 3) Immunotherapy (New Category).
Friends from this fibrolamellar community have been very active participants over the past three years and the new categories make this initiative even more meaningful in helping the DOD determine allocation of $80 million in cancer research funds. This is a $20 million increase since we started participating in 2016.
Ideal reviewers are patients and caregivers. FCF will be happy to write a letter of recommendation for those interested in participating. Deadline to apply is June 1, 2018.
Read below for more info directly from Elena Jones, Consumer Reviewer Administrator
General Dynamics Information Technology, Peer Review and Science Management:
The DOD PRCRP was awarded $80 Million for fiscal year 2018. My name is Elena Jooes, and I am writing to thank you for your ongoing support for the DOD Peer Reviewed Cancer Research Program (PRCRP)http://cdmrp.army.mil/prcrp/default and inform you that the DOD is ACTIVELY RECRUITING nominations for individuals to represent your organization as a consumer reviewer for the DOD PRCRP. The deadline for nominations is June 1st. We can extend the deadline if we know an individual is planning to apply. Please let me know if you will be submitting a nominee(s) to serve as a consumer reviewer.
The PRCRP is part of the DOD Congressionally Directed Medical Research Programs (CDMRP). The PRCRP is a dynamic research program whose vision is to improve quality of life by decreasing the impact of cancer on service members, their families, and the American public. We are recruiting novice reviewers for future service. If you submitted previous nominees, you do not need to resubmit their information. Consumer reviewers are nominated by an organization who can affirm that he or she would well represent the affected community. To be eligible to serve as a consumer reviewer for the PRCRP the individual must be a survivor of cancers listed below (not including breast, prostate, ovarian or lung cancers).
Additionally, family members for pediatric cancer topic areas will be considered:
• Bladder Cancer
• Brain Cancer
• Colorectal cancer
• Immunotherapy
• Listeria-based reginmens for cancer • Liver cancer
• Lymphoma
• Melanoma and other skin cancers
• Mesothelioma
• Neuroblastoma • Pancreatic cancer
• Pediatric brain tumors
• Stomach cancer
• Cancer in children, adolescents, and young adults+
+The definition of adolescents and young adults is derived from the National Cancer Institute (https://www.cancer.gov/types/aya) and can be considered to be people between the ages of 15-39 years. Cancers studied under this Topic Area should be within the scope of the Congressional language and the intent of the Program Announcement(s).
We invite you to consider individual(s) who you wish to nominate to represent your organization as a novice consumer reviewer for future service opportunities. Both novice and experienced consumer reviewers serve on scientific peer review panels, together with the scientist reviewers, to review research applications submitted for funding. Consumer reviewers represent the voice of the community as they review the applications for the impact of the proposed research. Experienced consumer reviewers do NOT need to be nominated to serve again, as they will be contacted to determine their availability when more information and tentative dates are known.
If you are interested, please have your nominating organization contact us and an E-Nomination form for your nominee to complete and return by email (preferred) or fax. Nomination materials need to be received by ASAP. Please let us know if additional time is needed.
The E-nomination form asks the nominating organization to:
· submit a letter of nomination confirming the nominee's involvement in the organization and affirming his or her ability to represent the community of those affected (the letter can be
sent directly to me or with the E-Nomination form)
The nominee, will need to submit:
– a completed E-nomination form
· a personal statement addressing questions found in the E-nomination form
· a resume (which can be a formal or informal resume)
· a nomination letter from your organization
We encourage you to explore the DoD CDMRP Website to learn more about the PRCRP. There are inspiring consumer stories and research highlights for other programs on this website, http://cdmrp.army.mil.
Please contact me if you have questions about the program, the role of consumer reviewers, or the application process. We appreciate your consideration!
Thank you,
Elena Joos
Consumer Reviewer Administrator
General Dynamics Information Technology
Peer Review and Science Management
110 Thomas Johnson Drive, Frederick, MD 21701
Office 240.236.9029 I Cell 301-915-7511
[email protected]


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Frequently Asked Questions
Do you have a question about policing or the law? You may be able to find the answer here.
Through our frequently asked questions section we aim to help you find the answers you need without having to call us to ask for information. We've provided answers to questions on a range of topics which are regularly asked of police forces up and down the country.
Download the Ask The Police app from the following app stores:
Yes. Most courts will have a Witness Service and if you telephone them in advance of the case they will arrange for you to look at a courtroom. It probably will not be exactly the same courtroom that you will have to give evidence in, but they are all very similar.
Visiting the court beforehand does help some people feel less intimidated about giving evidence. The unknown can be a lot more scary. Knowing where everyone sits in the court room and who they all are will help put you at ease.
For more information please see the websites in related information. There is a link to the 'Help for Victims' website and a Youtube guide to the website.


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A walk through the picturesque seaside village of Howth would not be complete without a visit to Mauds. Here you can cool down and escape the heat with a scoop or two of its famous ice creams in many different flavours.
While Mauds specialty is Ice Cream it also has some tasty food on the menu, serving also a seafood soup with fresh local catch that is very popular with locals and visitors alike.
Mauds is an ideal place to stop for a coffee with a choice of delicious desserts and confectionaries on offer.
If you have the children in tow then Mauds is the place to relax while they gorge on the succulent ice cream available.
Children's parties are catered for with specialty ice cream cakes for order - just give them a ring.
Harbour Road, Howth.
E: firstname.lastname@example.com
Directions: On the waterfont overlooking the harbour near East Pier.


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Elisabeth Grace said:
Thank you so much for your participation!!! xox
Jackie Davenport will try anything once, especially in the bedroom. Anything except falling in love. She lives a carefree existence packed full of fun, but free from emotional entanglements and that's just how she wants to keep it. When she meets the new police officer in town, she's unable to deny the connection between them. His over confidence and bullish ways grate on her…still she can't help but find herself falling into his bed AND falling for him.
Jamie McTavish is man enough to admit that he probably didn't make the best first impression when he met the 911 Operator. That doesn't mean there isn't still sizzling sexual tension between them. He's a man of action and he's not content to sit on the sidelines until Jackie works out her issues. But trying to tame this tiger might be too big of a challenge for even him.
I received this book for free from Author in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review.
"Caution: Police Line Do Not Cross"
"Haven't you figured it out yet? We're a foregone conclusion."
"I'm glad to know that even when he does go into his own world, and if he never comes out of it, that somewhere in there is a memory of you. Even if he can't recognize it."
"Trust me. When this guy looks at you – you feel it everywhere."
Thank you so much for your participation!!! xox
You're so welcome! <3


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There was bad news in Russia for a species without much margin for error, when a female Amur leopard – one of an estimated 70 to 80 remaining in the world – was struck by a car near the village of Kravtsovka, the Siberian Times reports.
The leopard, known as "Killy," was able to get away from the road on her own power and fade into the forest. (The motorist left the scene.) But a photo at the scene showed spilled blood near her mouth. The big cat was not found during search attempts, so conservationists hope she is OK and reverting to her stealthy ways.
Now, officials with the Land of the Leopard National Park, where Killy lives, are keeping eagle-eyes on camera trap footage in hopes they can see her and: A. Be assured that she is still alive, and B. Try to assess any injuries she may have sustained.
RELATED: Pair of Rare Amur Leopard Cubs Born in U.K. Zoo
"Clearly it won't be easy, because this three-year-old leopard is known for her secretive behavior," a park official told the Times.
Despite a recent, relative population boom and doubling of its kind over the last decade, in raw numbers Amur leopards remain in a precarious place. The International Union For Conservation of Nature lists the cat as "critically endangered" on its "red list" of threatened species. Estimates vary, but there are generally thought to be only about 70 to 80 left. They've lost numbers to forest destruction and poaching, and potential for inbreeding among the diminished population also threatens the species' long-term viability.
As for Killy, for now officials can only hope for the best. On its Facebook page, the Land of the Leopard National Park wrote that the injured cat "probably survived," but until camera footage or an eyewitness can verify that, her status remains uncertain.
WATCH VIDEO: What Happens When Endangered Animals Come Back?


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Digital Partnership Manager (Affiliates/Performance) - Multi-Pl
- Recruiter
- Ultimate Asset
- Location
- London, West End
- Salary
- £38000 - £41000 per annum + 30% comms
- Posted
- 15 Nov 2017
- Closes
- 15 Dec 2017
- Ref
- 5107
- Contact
- Sophie Ferguson
- Discipline
- Advertising
- Specialism
- Digital, Sales & Business Development
- Sector
- Entertainment, Online
- Business Type
- Media Owner
- Seniority
- Manager
- Contract Type
- Permanent
- Hours
- Full-Time
Digital Partnership Manager (Affiliates/Performance) - Multi-Platform Media Owner!
£41k + 30%
Exciting new Digital Partnership Manager role -- focused on Affiliates/Performance - working for a major multi-platform media owner - offering a huge and diverse range of commercial opportunities for advertisers to engage with their target audiences.
The Partnerships and Affiliate Team sits within the main commercial team and is made up of commercial specialists tasked with growing performance revenue. Partnerships range anywhere from marketing financial products to generating holiday bookings. The goal is to diversify revenue and secure successful long term profitable partnerships.
The role:
To help grow B2B and B2C digital revenues through securing and implementing new partnership business, managing and optimisation of existing partnerships.
- Sourcing and developing lucrative partnerships with relevant and suitable partners.
- Play a key role in the optimisation of all new and existing partnerships.
- Liaise with online editors and collaborate with other editorial staff to ensure 3rd party content fits with the brand, tone and demographic profile of the websites
Desired experience:
- Previous successful management of a portfolio of commercial accounts and 3rd party content providers.
- Experience of managing and developing commercial relationships
- Experience in selling and understanding of commercial models, in particular tenancy and performance based (CPA, CPC etc.)
- Previous experience in Marketing - in particular digital and direct response and/or communications
To hear more, please email me your CV: firstname.lastname@example.com or give me a call: 07919 143677


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Yoga teacher training at Diyayoga.com designs the course keeping in mind the broader view of yoga, including philosophy, meditation, anatomy, kriya and art of teaching. Our main focus is to imbibe yoga in your daily life. During the 200 hours Yoga TTC, we help you become a confident yoga teacher. Through this course we support individuality, guiding you to give a personal touch to the class during training. Our Yoga teacher training is very flexible, we don't force any dogmatic ideas or beliefs to our students. With this 200 Hours yoga teacher certification you can be registered to yoga alliance, which will give you the opportunity to work all around the world. We also support the students who studied our hatha yoga teacher training to assist in courses if they like to practice more.If interested, you can book our affordable yoga teachers training online. You can also join the course if you want to learn and understand more about yoga for your personal growth.
Yoga Holiday Package in Goa
Goa 918975232395
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Yoga Nidra Expert:
The advantage of Yoga Nidra is that it is a simple practice which is available for everyone to practice. Beginners feel that lying down, staying still and relaxing is not difficult when guided in a systematic way. This technique is very helpful for yoga teachers, or for anyone who wishes to help others relax. I highly recommend this course to yoga teachers because it is a powerful tool to use it in asana and to relax your student. You can book our course of Yoga Nidra teacher training online too. It is located in Goa, India.


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The landmark 1994 North American Free Trade deal (NAFTA) is currently in the midst of a three-country re-negotiation. It looks like things are not going well in these talks – to no one's surprise – and the situation was raised by Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau when he visited President Trump this week.
With that backdrop, I thought it would be interesting to go back and look at where trade was at when the original deal was signed in 1993 and what has happened to the NAFTA countries – the U.S., Mexico and Canada – since then.
So what was the world like back in the days of NAFTA 1.0?
As the current administration points out, there was a small trade surplus that the U.S. had with Mexico at the time NAFTA was started. In the present day, that small surplus has turned into a deficit to the tune of $64 billion.
On a related note, the dollar-to-peso exchange rate went from 4 at that time to nearly 19 today. That means at constant prices, Mexican goods are much cheaper now.
The situation with Canada is very different. The U.S. and Canada have the second largest trade relationship of any two countries in the world. While Canada typically runs either a small trade surplus or deficit with the U.S., the amounts are actually relatively small when compared to the overall trade between the two countries.
Broadly speaking, imports and exports between the U.S. and Canada have largely evened out in recent years.
A bigger question is: Is the trade deficit we currently run with Mexico truly due to NAFTA? For that we need to look at the value of the Mexican peso.
In theory, the peso would be more likely to strengthen, not weaken, if the U.S. were importing more goods from Mexico. The reason it has weakened recently can be attributed to overall global macroeconomic factors.
For instance, the peso is on investors' radar as an emerging market currency. It tends to be lumped in with Latin America currencies any time there are financial jitters in that region.
Also, the strong preference for U.S. assets after the Great Recession of 2008 boosted the dollar in general against most currencies.
My View: The U.S. trade deficit with Mexico is not primarily due to NAFTA. However, the idea that it is has been heavily influencing the current NAFTA re-negotiations. As a result, that process is not going well. I would advise a more careful and prudent approach going forward.
|The information in this report was compiled by the staff at City National Bank from data and sources believed to be reliable but City National Bank makes no representation as to the accuracy or completeness of the information. The opinions expressed, together with any estimate or projection given, constitute the judgment of the author as of the date of the report. City National Bank has no obligation to update, modify or amend this report or to otherwise notify a reader in the event any information stated, opinion expressed, matter discussed, estimate or projection changes or is determined to be inaccurate. This report is intended to be a source of general information. It is not to be construed as an offer, or solicitation of an offer, to buy or sell any financial instrument. It should not be relied upon as specific investment advice directed to the reader's specific investment objectives. Any financial instrument discussed in this report may not be suitable for the reader. Each reader must make his or her own investment decision, using an independent advisor if prudent, based on his or her own investment objective and financial situation. Prices and availability of financial instruments are subject to change without notice. Financial instruments denominated in a foreign currency are subject to exchange rate risk in addition to the risk of the investment. City National Bank (and its clients or associated persons) may, at times, engage in transactions in a manner inconsistent with this report and, with respect to particular securities and financial instruments discussed, may buy from or sell to clients or others on a principal basis. Past performance is not necessarily an indication of future results. This report may not be reproduced, distributed or further published by any person without the written consent of City National Bank. Please cite source when quoting.


text: Things to do in HK Events & Festivals Sightseeing Culture & Heritage Shopping Nature & Outdoors Food & Drink Share on Facebook Share Share on Pinterest Pin it Share on TwitterTweet Share on Google Plus Plus Send To Devices Send 3 Comments fiverr seo October 20, 2015 Hi there, You've done a great job. I will definitely digg it and personally recommend to my friends. I am sure they will be benefited from this web site. Katy October 20, 2015 Thank you very much. Katy October 24, 2015 Thanks for your comment. Add a Comment Cancel reply Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked * Name:* Email Address:* Website: Comment:*


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Christmas at Ardtara
Celebrate the festive season in Victorian splendour at Ardtara Country House Hotel & Restaurant. Our overnight stays compliment our fabulous menus which range from Festive Afternoon Tea to traditional Christmas Lunch and Dinner. And on New Year's Eve join us for lunch or for our gala dinner to welcome in 2018 in style.
Christmas Dining
Christmas Lunch
3 courses £21.95pp
Served throughout December 12.30pm – 3.30pm
Festive Afternoon Tea
Served throughout December 12.30pm – 3.30pm
Christmas Dinner
3 courses £39.95pp
Served throughout December 5.00pm – 8.30pm
New Year's Eve Gala Dinner
6 courses & glasss of Champagne £79pp
Live music & piper at Midnight
New Year's Eve & New Year's Day Lunch
3 courses £29.95pp
Served 12.30pm – 3.30pm
Christmas Events
Festive Supper Club with John Burns & Billy McCombe
Friday 24th November, 7.30pm
Tickets £25pp
Festive supper followed by 'Second Chance' playing a selection of classic hits from the golden era of music of the 50's & 60's – bring your dancing shoes and get ready for a foot stomping, hand clapping, rocking good night.
Overnight package from £84.50pps – Book now
A Taste of Christmas – Cookery Demonstration
By Chef Patron Ian Orr
Tickets £34.95pp
Friday 1st December, 3.30pm
Ian shares his tips and secrets for creating a delicious Christmas banquet which can be recreated at home over the festive season. The demonstration is followed by a 3 course meal.
Overnight package from £90pps – Book now
Christmas Cheer at Ardtara
Friday 1st, 8th, 15th & 22nd December, 7.30pm
Tickets £44.95pp
A sumptuous Christmas dinner accompanied by live music until late. A perfect night for corporate parties or social gatherings. Book early to avoid disappointment.
Overnight package from £110pps – telephone to book 028 7964 4490
Ardtara's Santa Experience
Tuesday 12th December bookings between 5.30pm – 7.30pm
Tickets £19.95pp
Visit Santa in our Gazebo Grotto and enjoy a light festive buffet and gifts for children with stories read by our cosy fire. Please specify your preferred time when booking.
A Victorian Christmas
Thursday 14th December, 6pm
Tickets £39.95 per adult, £24.95 per child
Enjoy a Victorian themed Christmas dinner at our stunning country house with live choir and pianist playing throughout the evening. A family friendly event with festive treats including mulled wine, mince pies, gingerbread men and cinnamon coffees.
Overnight package from £89.50pps – Book now
Overnight Packages
3 Course Christmas Dinner, B&B from £84.50pps
Telephone to book 028 7964 4490
Festive Cheer Party Nights Package
3 Course Dinner, B&B from £110pps
Telephone to book 028 7964 4490
Christmas Opening Hours
Wednesday – Saturday
Lunch & Afternoon Tea 12.30pm – 3.30pm
Dinner 5.30pm- 8.30pm
Lunch 12.30pm – 3.30pm
Dinner 5.30pm- 7.30pm
Closed Christmas Eve, Christmas Day & Boxing Day
Click to view our Christmas Gift Guide
Click below to view our Christmas brochure


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Did you know that October is Breast Cancer Awareness month?
Whether you've had a friend or family member battle cancer, or gone through the difficult journey yourself, it's a good opportunity to think about the special warriors in our lives, and what we can do to help.
Midwest Fiber's sister company, C.O.P.S. Paper Shredding is pleased to launch its 4th year of Shred for the Cure to fund cancer research and treatment through a donation to Susan G. Komen, a breast cancer organization that works globally in 30 countries!


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2017 Special Edition Criminal
March 30th, 2017 - Dynamic Discs Special Edition Criminal Fairway Driver Release Date
The 2017 Special Edition Criminals are the first version of the new Criminal Fairway Driver that is being released on Thursday, March 30th, 2017.
It is available in a Hybrid blend of Lucid and Fuzion plastic that is unique and not part of Dynamic's standard production. The SE Criminal is available in metallic silver and metallic gold with only 1000 silver and 500 gold produced.
The Special Editions are denoted by an "SE Special Edition" logo. SE Criminals will only be released through Dynamic's 'Buy Back Dealer' network. Each of these select dealers receive just 10 of them making these special editions truly rare. In addition, the SE's are not supposed to be sold through online shops, but only through the retail outlets.
Having said all that, we will have them have them in stock in our Lawrence, KS retail store on March 30th, 2017.
As they become available, stock versions of the Criminal will be available here.


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Role of Energizers in Your Daily Life
The daily life has become much hectic in recent times. Many often suffer from fatigue and weakness due to the extreme effort that they have to put in their daily work. Earning daily bread has become tough and it's a challenge to stay fit and healthy to be able to race shoulder to shoulder… Read More »


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While travel incentives are definitely eye-catching, they can be costly to dole out. One remedy is to join, on a business degree, a travel club. If an entrepreneur were to sign up with a travel club where costs as well as travel vouchers were gained, he would certainly be able to earn incentives for himself and his staff members.
While some travel clubs supply individual subscriptions, others will certainly supply top or corporate packages. This is something to seek when contrasting clubs as well as bargains. You want the club that will certainly offer you the best top quality of incentives, in addition to ones that are to locations that people would actually wish to travel to.
Cruise ships are by far among one of the most prominent service incentives. Several entrepreneurs avoid such incentives due to the fact that they feel that these trips would be too expensive.
The good news is, with a travel club membership, in Coastal Vacations Travel Club, a 4 night; 5 day long cruise coupon for a pair could set you back well under $100, for the business or firm purchasing the travel subscription.
In return, that entrepreneur is likely to see a rise in worker commitment and performance that more than offset the expense. It should be kept in mind that these kinds of incentives are additionally wonderful to build customer loyalty as well.
What makes best travel and cruise offers stick out amongst the pack is its One Decade track record, as well as that it partners with over 30 different qualified and bound travel carriers for the most affordable priced holidays anywhere.
Subscription in the club consists of endless cruise ships on Carnival or Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines. Endless week long condominium remains in over 200 worldwide places for less compared to $400 a week, without getaway ownership or time share discussions to participate in. Thousands of bonus offer trips good for 2 evenings and 3 days at the most popular travel locations in the USA, Canada, Mexico, Hawaii, and other major global areas, and also one needs to pay the daily space taxes of about $8 per evening.
By owning a travel membership like this, a small company or big business can maximize it staff member's performance, while keeping above travel as well as incentive benefit prices down. This is especially real, as Coastal Vacations Travel Club is a life time membership and also the financial savings continue forever.


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In this issue: Technologists' Global Connections; Message from the President; The Heart of Nuclear Medicine Is Right in Palm Springs!; Barrier to Innovation and Access to Care--Inappropriate Payment Mechanism; New USP Definitions--What Technologists Need to Know; Share Your Expertise; Calendar of EventsVIEW CURRENT ISSUE
Overview of Clinical Workflow for Administration of 177Lu-DOTATATE at the Washington University School of Medicine in St Louis, Nuclear Medicine in Australia—What's Being Done Down Under? and more.VIEW CURRENT ISSUE
The Promise of Lu-177-based RadiotherapiesVIEW CURRENT ISSUE
Lead Article: And Now for Something Slightly Different—Traveling to JapanVIEW CURRENT ISSUE


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What is a Diabetic Alert Dog?
I received numerous inquiries on exactly what is a Diabetic Alert Dog (D.A.D.)…so I am going to try to explain it.
A D.A.D. in simple terms is a dog that alerts to blood glucose levels. In a normal person the average blood glucose reading falls between 80 to 120 at any given time. In a diabetic, it can be a lot higher or lower than that. Highs and lows in a diabetic are very problematic. Most diabetics that I know will tell you they prefer to be a tad on the high side to being low. Any extreme reading leaves you feeling like you got ran over by a Mack Truck! Low blood sugar is called a hypoglycemia. Here is the symptoms of hypoglycemia: "The condition called hypoglycemia is literally translated as low blood sugar. Hypoglycemia occurs when blood sugar (or blood glucose) concentrations fall below a level necessary to properly support the body's need for energy and stability throughout its cells" (http://medical-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/hypoglycemia). Symptoms of a hypoglycemic episode are described below from http://diabetes.webmd.com/tc/hypoglycemia-low-blood-sugar-symptoms
Mild hypoglycemia
Symptoms of mild low blood sugar usually occur when blood sugar falls below 70 mg/dL and may include:
• Nausea.
• Extreme hunger.
• Feeling nervous or jittery.
• Cold, clammy, wet skin and/or excessive sweating not caused by exercise.
• A rapid heartbeat (tachycardia).
• Numbness or tingling of the fingertips or lips.
• Trembling.
Moderate hypoglycemia
If blood sugar continues to fall, the nervous system will be affected. Symptoms usually occur when the blood sugar falls below 55 mg/dL and may include:
• Mood changes, such as irritability, anxiety, restlessness, or anger.
• Confusion, difficulty in thinking, or inability to concentrate.
• Blurred vision, dizziness, or headache.
• Weakness, lack of energy.
• Poor coordination.
• Difficulty walking or talking, such as staggering or slurred speech.
• Fatigue, lethargy, or drowsiness.
Severe hypoglycemia
The symptoms of severe low blood sugar develop when blood sugar falls below 35 mg/dL to 40 mg/dL and may include:
• Seizures or convulsions.
• Loss of consciousness, coma.
• Low body temperature (hypothermia).
Prolonged severe hypoglycemia can cause irreversible brain damage and heart problems, especially in people who already have coronary artery disease. If emergency medical treatment is not provided, severe hypoglycemia can be fatal.
As a diabetic who for some reason yet to be determined has had many hypos…………..they stink!!!!!! I have always been energetic, active, and on top of things. The last 10 months I have been stupid!!!!!! I can't remember stuff and it feels like I am living in a fog, my quality of life went to the tank…but back to the dogs!!!
A DAD alerts to a low blood glucose and some even alert to high blood glucose. The science behind it all has not yet caught up with the action of what the dogs are doing. After they detect the scent of the low or high they then cue the handler or other designated person as to which it is. The possibility of alert cues is endless. Different dogs do different things.
My D.A.D.'s are Bravo and Radar. Bravo is a 4-year-old Chesapeake Bay retriever and Radar is a 1 year old Parson Russell Terrier. Bravo's low alert signal varies slightly as to what I am doing at the time of the hypo. If I am sleeping he will gently paw at me then whine, bark, or lick to get me awake. (I AM A VERY SOUND SLEEPER!) If I am sitting he will place his head on my knee and stare (the kind of stare that goes clear to your soul). If I am moving he will literally stop me and refuse any other command to go forward or do anything else. Bravo came up with these alert cues all on his own…I just had to figure out what he was telling me. It is my belief that he chooses these cues as a result of his training as that is how we communicate with other things. More about Bravo's alerts later. Radar was a whole different story. I began to notice him mimicking Bravo when I was low…so I decided to make a conscious effort to train him on alerting. Radar is a very aggressive alerter…I don't know if he will ever make it as a full service dog but he is sure handier at night! Radar is young and is still learning but his alert is to paw or dig at me when the pawing doesn't work. When I am sitting in the chair he will jump up on the back on my chair and start patting my head with his right paw. If I don't get the message it he pats at my ear and bumps me with his nose. When I am sleeping it seems he goes straight for my face…since I am a sound sleeper I can't tell you what all he tries to get my attention but I can tell you what wakes me…Radar digs at my head.
Nighttime alerts are the most interesting to me and often the hardest to teach. Anyone who knows me well will vouch for the fact that you do not touch me to wake me up in the middle of the night or you are liable to get hit. I tend to be reactive about that…hmm maybe that is why I am not married! Anyhow the fact that both of the dogs are willing to risk my wrath speaks volumes.
In later posts I will share with you some of the situations that my dogs have alerted in. So keep on coming back!


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the thing i find with these things is the less pretentious you try to sound, the more pretentious you come across…so, i'm kiz. i'm quite cool, or so i've been told. i don't have lots of friends but the ones i do have are so cool that they count as several people. i'm happy to spend days doing nothing. i'm not very sweet. i'm not interested in seeing pictures of you on the toilet. i like suprises. i'm completely human. i very rarely shout.
i like to write, above all things, and draw and go to gigs and play along with silly songs off youtube.
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Location: ipswich
Website: www.myspace.com/whatiskiz
Email User: Log In
Join Date: 29/06/2009
Last Login: 26/04/2010
Comments: 11
Profile Views: 1987


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