Wrap your head with this material...

I had my first seizure when I was 21. I didn't know it was a seizure at the time. It just seemed all foggy and confusing and then I could hardly move. For hours. I went to the ER hours later because of how I could hardly move. I couldn't walk on my own, really. I was too weak. We waited in the ER for a long time when I unexpectedly felt fine. We went home. Over the next several months I went through MRIs, EEGs, EKGs, glucose tolerance testing and much more. I was diagnosed with epilepsy and put on meds. I lost 1/3 of my hair. I had seizures 3 and 4 times a day. Even on meds. Which made me feel drunk and on an emotional rollercoaster. Oh, and did I mention I was 21 and losing my hair? Cuz being a bald woman is something that is bigger and scarier than it sounds. Is it as bad as being quadrapeligic? Of course not. But its no small thing. I tried different meds. My hair stopped falling out. But I was still an emotional mess and I still had seizures. After months ...

My hommie Dean called me and left a message once with another friend of ours singing "Let's go surfin' now." I still have it saved. This weekend he turned 30. He left me a message saying "Karin. Its Dean. I'm turning old this weekend. Yeah, 30. I'm gonna need to see you this weekend and throw water baloons at you. I've got goals, Karin. Goals." I met up with him on Sunday. We saw Pato Banton (see also kickass Reggae,) for free in the beautiful sunshine. Pato dedicated a song to the preggos. And I stood next to some deaf folks and got to thinking how they must experience the vibrations of a concert. Made me really feel connected to the parasite. I started thinking about that song dedicated to shim and how it was all bouncing around in fluid to the vibrations of reggae and it just felt so good. Next thing you know the show's over and Dean's running around in the snow trying to fly a kite. Afterwards a bunch of friends played...

Here's some advice I plan to follow with regard to giving my children things to drink. Give water. Nurse. Feed fruit. Rinse. Repeat. No juice. Never. I mean it. Not until the kid's old enough to decide to spend pocket change on a chocolate bar vs. soda vs. juice vs. all the other things they shouldn't be having but we all do. Meaning, when my child is old enough to have pocket change. To go to the store and spend it and make change and make bad decisions they have to begin living with all on their own. In other news, I felt the parasite move. MOVE! It was the most excitingest thing ever. Seriously, I couldn't focus on a thing afterwards and just kept coming up to Rob (who was trying to play his banjo) and saying "The baby moved, Rob. It MOVED!" Wander the house, attempt to read, rinse, repeat "The baby moved, Rob. It MOVED!" It was so awesome. Little thumps, not rhythmic and I don't know where they come up with flutters, thumps. ...

I saw Santa walking with a walker yesterday. Only instead of a walker, it was giant antlers. And they were black. What animal has black antlers that if you held up would be just the right size for Santa to use? I wanted to yell, "Santa, it is NOT ok to do that to Rudolf. I don't care what he did to your favorite pair of red velvet pants!"

Know how I know? I don't know why, but whenever I see shoes like this I think, "I want to kick her/his ankle." Its sort of like sticking your finger in someone's mouth while they're in the middle of a yawn, or pushing your index finger into the middle of a person's bruise, or when someone's squatting on their haunches pushing them over. And I do all those things. I guess, I'm just an asshole. Although, for the record, I've never kicked anyone's ankle. We all have certain destructive thoughts. Most of us want to knock down a tower of blocks, and have thought of smashing someone's face into a cake or smashing our computer monitor. The ankle kicking thing is like a cross between the yawn-thing and the desire to drive into the median. We just have destructive, mean thoughts sometimes, I guess. Or at least, I do. I get a cheshirecat grin thinking about it too. That's prolly where it crosses the line into me being an asshole.

"Pink makes me want to chop off my hair and hit people. The color and the person. Oh, and pepto. That shit's gross." "Q-tip + ear = No-no, but it feels so yes-yes!" "Jogging with a dog makes so much sense. But walking in high heels while carrying a dog? I don't get it." "There's something about waiting in a principal's office in a kiddie chair that makes me want to write the F word on the wall in smelly marker." "It's very clear to me that everyone celebrates my birthday with humping." "With my son, after he dropped he kept getting the hiccups. It felt like my vagina was burping all day." "Whenever I have to go to the court, "we're off to see the wizzard" starts going through my head."