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Friday, August 23, 2013

GMO alert: Chobani

I know some of you here in the States may eat Chobani yogurt.  It is advertised as "natural" and healthy.  This is a bit disturbing after what I've just read.

If you do consume this product (and eat it up in bulk from Costco), you should know that the milk they use, although it is non r-BST, comes from cows who eat GMO corn.  (Why they would pursue the one and skip the other is beyond me, but hey.)

If you'd like to have your yogurt and eat it too, I suggest you call Chobani and tell them that you would love it without the GMO, or just skip them and choose another yogurt.  (You do know that if it's certified organic, they can't knowingly have any GMO crapola in it, if you want to be safe.)

Not to stir anything up (ha!), but I thought you should know.

Peace, love and let's go for non-tumor forming yogurt yummies,
Ms. Daisy

Monday, August 19, 2013

The wild wide world

Howdy, partners!  As I sit here and soak my foot to remove glass shards, I'd like to talk to you about expanding your world.  (No, these are not really related.)

Wherever you are on this blue-green earth, it seems like it is a rather human thing of us to do to feel that where we are is pretty much how it is (or how it ought to be) everywhere else.  Now if you ask anyone the question, "Hey, do you think life is the same all around the world?", I think they'd say no.  But if you tweak the question a little bit and say, "Hey, do you think the way you live and who you are is fairly average?"  Most people would say yes.

These cannot both be true.  Alas, cognative dissonance.

We all are human, yes.  (Well, except for those cyborgs.)  We all basically want the same things, sorta.  But everywhere around this globe there are so many fascinating, different things that we may never pay attention to.

This makes our mindset quite small.  This is especially true for the U.S. of A. where all of our news is broadcast to us in a format that pretty much only informs us of anywhere else that has an impact on us.  What's wrong with that?  It makes your world small and your perspective quite filled with robust amounts of self-importance.  That's not such a lovely quality, is it?

Oh, bah, what to do, what to do!

This may seem a bit silly to you, but unless you're quite filthy stinkin' rich and can travel everywhere all over the globe at the drop of a hat, perhaps you could consider reading about other places.  I know, it sounds quite elementary.  But it teaches you that you are not the only one to think x, y, and z.  It teaches you that your scenery can be vastly different from what someone else would take for granted on their point on the globe.  If you'd like to expand even further, take a few steps out of our time (something that all of us share right now, right here) and see what was going on before you got here.

May I encourage you also to help your offspring to do it, too?  Just a thought.

Peace, love and oooh, baby, baby it's a wild world,
Ms. Daisy

Friday, August 16, 2013

Driving, Media, and the Soaring Heights of Being Pathetic

G'day me lovies!  How are yas?  I am a little...well...disturbed.  Let me tell you whyfor.

So, when I am in the car at 5:00 a.m. driving to go for a swim, I need to get all pumped up, right?  You can't just sit there too quietly or the lull will put you back to sleep.  In order for me to get my blood pumping and really get blisteringly fired up, do you know what I do?  Why, I listen to National Propaganda Radio, of course!  (That's NPR for the rest of you.)

Some of you are wondering how this possibly could get me fired up to go swimming and I say to you, HOW COULD IT NOT?!

Sometimes there are interesting things on there, personal interviews and what not.  I like how I can tune in to a station near my college town and hear all about the fun things going on at the library (not that I can attend since it is so far away, but I still get the station in and this makes me feel cozy in the land of happy memories) and at other good-times places.  

But then.  Oh, then.  Then there are times when they are speaking on such fantastic topics that I must yell at the radio and flail my arms around wildly screaming, "What are you THINKING?!  Are you even kidding me right now!?"  I can pretty much swim as fast as dolphins after an episode like that.

One of the more recent episodes that got my blood all pumped up before the workout had to do with the pathetic youth of society today.  Obviously, not all youth are complete dingbats.  I'd say a lot of them will turn out just fine.  But those kinds of people aren't going to get interviewed on National Propaganda Radio, let's get real.

The interviewer was asking 16-18 year olds if they had their driver's licenses.  All but one of them did NOT have a license and didn't care that they didn't.  This was a little pathetic, but their reasons for not having one was exponentially more pathetic and was the reason I felt compelled to begin yelling at the radio.  

Ready for this?  They said that they didn't need to go and hang out with friends because they had social media (facebook, Skype, etc.) instead.  They also said they didn't want to do something with people unless it was media-worthy (a.k.a. to take pictures of themselves pretending  to be hilarious and casual and hysterical and put it on facebook on their timeline).


They don't want to hang out with real live humans and have face-to-face contact with them, they want to hook up into their matrix instead and rock out.  This is so head-slappingly disturbing.

Basically, what has been created is a culture of completely self-absorbed people who truly believe that most of their life is on a stage.  Any other non-stageworthy aspect of their life is pretty much a pile of dung and not worth the effort.  Do you know what this says?  This takes people from the belief that MOST of life is work, MOST of life is everyday, day-to-day humdrum, and turns it into MOST of life ought to be on a stage or skip it.  This is so mental!  

Most of life IS work.  All of those things they don't show on TV or movies is the bulk of life.  You've to got to brush your teeth, take care of others, go to the grocery store, call to sort out things.  What a horrid shock it would be to live thinking the other way around!  Vacation is not a way of life.  It is a piece of life.  A teensy shrivel of it.  If you live seeking thrills, vacation, parties and the like, how seriously disappointed you must be.

This is how the next generation is being built.  Their poor little faces screwed into screens, thinking they should just forget about hanging out with their friends because they'll probably just sit around and talk (and probably not even break out the flourescent wigs and go-go boots, so what is there even to take a picture of for instagram anyway?).

The interview concluded with a dude who admitted that he mostly gets around because his girlfriend drives him around.  He commented, "Twenty years ago that would seem pretty pathetic, but that's just the way it is."

Indeed.  Yes, that is pathetic, little man.  Please, you need to learn how to drive so that you can go to your next party when  you live in a van down by the river.  It's gonna be real, yo.

Peace, love and look up, my friends,
Ms. Daisy

p.s. Just heard something else while on the way home - Disney is making a new toy/video game called "Infinity" (live forever in your avatar, LIVE!) targeted at little kids.  They plug a character toy into the video console and it pops up on the screen.  The toys interact with each other and with the child.  They concluded, "It will probably forever change how kids play."  Great.  Obliterate imagination and free thought at the root.  It is much easier to control a  society living in a quasi-reality, so let's start 'em young, baby!

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

1 gallbladder + 2 gallstones = surgery? Part 2

This is Part 2.  If you missed Part 1, please go here.

So after I nearly exploded from the irreprehensible behavior and carelessness of the surgeon, Dr. Stupidpants, I took a deep breath and got ready for the other end of the spectrum - a naturopath.

Have you ever seen a naturopath?  Rather, have you ever gone to a naturopath for health matters?  If you said no, well, I think you ought to try it.

Here's the thing.  You know how doctors now actually have no idea what is the original cause of your problem and they just want to give you prescription drugs to mask your symptoms?  Yeah, naturopaths don't do that.  They try to find out the source of what's wrong in your body and actually FIX it.  So weird, right?  I know.  It's like the hard work of being a detective and finding out what is wrong with individual people has gone by the wayside (isn't that a great phrase?  "The wayside".  Wow.  I bet there are whole piles of things on that wayside by all the talk I hear with that phrase!) and in its place we see roulette wheels of multicolored prescription pills.

When the prescriptions screw you up, you can get another prescription to fix the symptoms that were caused from trying to mask the original symptoms.  Wow.  It makes so much sense, doesn't it?


Anyway, back to the naturopath.  Some naturopaths do weird things, unconventional things...and these weird things strangely work.

For example.  Okay, you know how everything in the whole earth has some charge on it (positive, negative or neutral considered a charge?  Anyway, you know what I mean.).  And our bodies are made up of chemical and electrical charges and flows - well, some people swear they can kind of tell what's going on somehow (I don't understand this science, so its all fuzzy from here).  (Not by boiling toads or doing weird witchy things.)  

ANYWAY.  I'll have to read more on that and report back to you some other time.  

My hubby had this constant smell of garlic in his nose.  (I thought he must have had some weird sinus infection or something.)  The naturopath said he was looking for phosphorus.  He took a liquid phosphorus (food) supplement for about 4 days and then one night the weird garlic smell went away.  The next morning he was going to take his supplement and he almost barfed.  His body got what it needed and told him in body language it was done with taking that.  He went in and asked her about it, she said the same thing.

In regards to the gallbladder, right now my poor hubster is eating a diet that he considers some kind of horrid sick torture.  It is a celiac vegan non-fat diet.  Basically, the poor guy can eat fruits, veggies...and quinoa.  My hubby is a foodie.  Steak, bacon, coffee, and cooking on the Big Green Egg are PASSIONS for him.  Now the poor guy has water and quinoa for breakfast.  It's a hard knock life.  But he's resting his gallbladder and his liver and getting stuff back into balance.

It's a heck of a lot better than the Dr. Stupidpants and his passion of slicing and dicing live humans in their gut regions option.

Keep your organs, peeps!

Peace, love and feel free to send any non-fat, vegan, celiac recipes right this way,
Ms. Daisy

Monday, August 12, 2013

1 gallbladder + 2 gallstones = surgery? Part 1

Howdy doody, m'peeps!  What I'm about to tell you here is some crazysauce with a cherry on top.  

It began like any other normal day...well, sorta.  For me.  For the hubby, it was a different story.  He woke up and went to a golf outing (please pity him for his unpleasant job).  Because my dear hubby is on an I.C. diet - that is, whatever "I see, I eat", he had a busy time of chomping it all up that day.  High fructose corn syrup cinnamon rolls made of 2198712 ingredients, inhumanely killed nitrate filled luncheon meats wrapped up in (I FREAKIN KID. YOU. NOT.) American "cheese" (which is pretty much the definition of our country's food ideals in all of its sick an vulgar glory being that it is NOT FOOD and is neon orange), antibiotic-injected ammonia washed diseased beef steaks, and the list continues.

Well for some reason (re-read with eyeballs bulging and the most sarcastic look on your face you can muster), he felt slightly unwell that evening after he came home.  The pain was severe.  He thought he was having the worst case of heartburn anyone could ever imagine.  He made me go to the store at 10:30 at night and buy poison for him, and by that I mean Tums and Pepcid, even though I was doing accupressure on his feet and offering him fennel tea.  (I returned the Tums and Pepcid, by the way, just in case you were wondering.)  Nothing helped.  Not even a little.

The next day (after sleeping very little), we had made plans to hang out with friends.  These friends are sweet and they made us a meal.  This meal included steak and a myriad of other things (including my homemade berry pie).  Being on the I.C. diet, he had a bit of everything.

And then we went to the E.R.

He was acting as if a sharp-clawed alien was crawling through his bellybutton and eating his organs from the inside out.  

They suggested he may have gallbladder issues.  But since the awesome ER was so busy, they couldn't see us and we ended up going home before being seen.  WAY TO GO.

The next day was Sunday and we called the on-call doctor.  She said that he sounded as if he may have gallstones and to make an appointment for the following day to come and get an ultrasound.

We did.  The ultrasound confirmed the presence of two gallstones.  The doctor (TOTALLY LIED) said we should talk to this surgeon, not because he would need to have surgery necessarily, but because this guy was a gallbladder specialist.  (LIES TO THE EXPONENTIAL MILLIONTH POWER.)

Today we went to talk to the charlatan surgeon.  Remember the time I found out my Dad was spraying mercury on his throat and I was about to invent new swear words?  Chalk this up as a similar day.  

I have to tell you this because I am about to die of implosion if I don't.  This guy was the maniac psycho that L.L. Cool J must have been talking about in Mama Said Knock You Out.  Yep, f'realies.

We go in.  We sit in A CLOSET.  Yes. Not kidding.  It had a mini-exam table in it and a bi-fold door and made you feel like a very important person NOTATALL.  Dr. Surgeon McStupidpants comes in, shakes our hands and asks my husband how old he is.  He looks at the form my husband just filled out for him and remarks, "You're healthy!"  He draws a picture of a liver, a stomach, a gallbladder and a pancreas.  He points to the gallbladder and says, "This, you don't need this.  It's for nothing.  Lie down."

My husband lays back on the table (as we play Twister trying to get around each other in the closet to trade places).  Dr. McStupidpants pulls up his shirt and says, "I cut you here, here, here and here.  Very easy.  You be back home - one day!  Here, do the paperwork."


I interrupt Dr. Stupidpants, "Excuse me, Dr. Stupidpants (I only thought that bit), what percent of patients still have gallstones after their gallbladder is removed?"  (I have been researching, my peeps!  It happens.  The liver takes over your gallbladder's function and you can get them again, except for now, you're totally screwed since if you take out your liver you instantly die.)

Do you know what this joker says?  "ZERO PERCENT!  Gallbladder all gone, goes to gallbladder heaven, ha ha ha!  Keep in a jar, ha ha ha!  Say, 'Look! Big gallstone!'"

This dorkface had now lost all credibility possible.  My husband had to ask him to look at the ultrasound pictures (which he could not figure out how to open) to see his gallbladder to see if we may determine a) how many gallstones there are and b) what is the current state of the gallbladder and c) if there is anything of note we should be aware of.  

Did he talk about the function of the gallbladder?  No.

Did he ask us if we had any questions?  No.

Did he offer any options besides "I cut you here, here, here and here"?  No.

Did he look at my husband's anatomy before deciding on surgically removing his gallbladder?  NO.

Did he tell the truth about possible complications post-surgery?  No.

Did he put us in a closet?  Yes.

If I would have looked at him pensively and asked him to take out my gallbladder too, would he have?  YES.

Did he have awards on his wall saying he was a great doctor?  Yes.

Was his mom apparently on the council that decided to give him that award?  Who knows, she's probably dead, he probably took out all of her organs and threatened the others who were voting on it, "You say no, I cut you here, here, here and here!"

Yep.  Next time, I'll tell you what we ended up doing.  Let me give you a clue: it wasn't getting surgery with this joker.

Peace, love and I punch him here, here, here and here,
Ms. Daisy

Friday, August 9, 2013

GMO passion: O'Leary makes golden calf of Monsanto, girl gets bullied for not joining him

Holy smokes.  Have you heard of Rachel Parent?  She is a 14 year-old activist who took on O'Leary (a CBC TV host) regarding GMOs.  She has founded her own organization to fight to get GMO products labeled, does speeches and is passionate about young people having a voice about where their future is going (not to mention the future of the earth itself).

She is intelligent and well-spoken.  She is bullied and O'Leary tries to shove her into a corner and trick her but she slides out from under his Monsanto-loving finger pointing looking thoughtful and poised.  He, however, looks like he needs to pick on someone his own size.  It's really sick.  

She has a website

I don't know what else O'Leary stands for (besides being in mad love with GMOs), but this interview makes him look like a cross between a bully, a buffoon and a dufis.

A 14 year-old is changing the world.  Check it out.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

The weirdest thing EVER

So are you ready for weird?  I do not know why this happens, BUT.  Apparently it is rather common.


What's 4+3?

(Please tell me you said seven.)

Okay, now please name a random tool.

Okay.  This may be less random than you think.  Apparently it's like 99% that most people in the world will say (or think) the word "hammer".  Did you?  If you didn't, you're probably a sociopath and you should go get psychotherapy or something OR you just HATE to conform and you guessed in your head that people would say hammer so you said size 7 allen wrench or something random just to show 'em.  

Show who?  Oh.  Yeah.  Them.

Good idea.

Yes, this is short and it contains pretty much zero percent information that you can use, but at least you have something to do today as you walk around and randomly test it out on friends, family and if you're that type, strangers.

Is it because a 7 looks kind of like a hammer?  Like if I would have said, what's 0+1 and name a tool, would you have said flat head screwdriver?  One cannot really tell.

And this reminds me of the other thing you do (yes, admittedly when you're about 8):
What color are clouds?
What color are your teeth? (Please say you have white teeth?)
What color is a piece of plain printer paper?
What does a cow drink?

And people say milk.  But they don't.  Unless they're itsy bitsy teeny calves, they drink water.  (I suppose this would not work on a farmer very well.)

Is it possible that summer vacation is rotting out my brain?

Peace, love and happy birthday to about 10 of my friends today,
Ms. Daisy

Monday, August 5, 2013

Feeling sorry for those who feel so sorry

This could also be aptly named, "En Masse Horrification".

Oh boy.

So, what's your latest hobby?  Mine is a cross between eating bok choy (I AM OBSESSED) and horrifying people into a semi-coma state of oblivion.  And not on purpose!  (Not this time, anyway.)

So here's the deal.  I have had a handful of miscarriages (3) and most recently I had a stillbirth (+1 = 4).  (Please do not become one of those that I horrify en masse, just stick with me and read along.)

When you have an early miscarriage, you may have told a few people that you were pregnant.  Perhaps you told your parents and your siblings and your best friends.  When you go through a miscarriage at the early stage, yes, it stinks.  It stinks a wholloping cow poo, but at least you haven't been on the stage with your pregnancy.  Do you know what I mean?  Do not think for one moment that I am downplaying the hardship for any of you in the loss of a child, but the fact is that it is more protected emotionally and physically when you have to go through it on the early side of things.

Then, if you've had one before, the next time around (if you get pregnant again), you are so much more careful about everything and you have this lingering thought in the back of your mind that it could happen again.  You hope it doesn't, but you know it already did to you, so it may happen and you have that little nagging thought going on in the back of your head.  When it does, you can feel the huge sense of "NOT AGAIN!" but the actual shock of it isn't what it may have been the first time around.

Let's say you get to have three miscarriages in a row.  The shock factor is replaced by the expectation of having a miscarriage and things ending not well.  I know for some of  you this is rather pessimistic, but I would just like to acquaint you with what for some is more along the lines of actually being realistic.  Your expectations are that you perhaps won't have a successful pregnancy.  Some people continue on carefully, some people say, "Who gives a flying crap, anything I do isn't going to matter anyway!  I may as well just (let's say for example) edge the grass and rake leaves."

Now if you're noticeably pregnant, things change.  You've got this giganto belly that is sticking out in people's faces.  You have to change your wardrobe.  You have to change how you reach for the glasses in the cupboard and how you maneuver around the chairs.  You are clearly pregnant to the natural observer.  Children notice you are pregnant.  People ask you if you know whether you're having a boy or a girl.

If you have a miscarriage/stillbirth at this point, things get a little more dramatic.  More people know that you are/were pregnant.  People at your favorite grocery store see you as pregnant.  The librarian you see each week notices you are pregnant.  It's everywhere.

But you don't talk to all these people in an in-depth manner and so...

These poor sweet people ask about you.  They ask about your baby.  Oh gosh.  "So, you were pregnant (and they can see that you don't look pregnant anymore), and so you had your baby?"

This is the horrification.  Immediately this surge of dread comes upon you.  What are you going to say to make this person NOT want to melt into the floor right now?  Is there any salvageable way to get through the next fifty seconds with this person without them changing colors from ghastly white to entirely red?  No.  Not really.

This is me.  I get to tell this to people pretty much on a weekly basis.

I am on a first name basis with 50-75% of the local Trader Joe workers.  One girl likes to run and we've discussed marathons and training before.  She comes up to me and says IT.

"So you had your baby?  You were pregnant, right?"

My brain cringes for her.  Poor, sweet person.  I hate this.  I step toward her to tell her in a not so loud fashion, "Yes, I was pregnant, but I ended up having a stillbirth."

Then it repeats itself in front of me.  The expression on her face is complete horror.  Her eyes are nearly twitching in disbelief that she could possibly have gotten into this situation and now what to say!  She offers a hug to me and I accept it.  She feels so bad, she says, she feels so so bad.  Terrible.  I rub her arm in a reassuring way, telling her it is okay, everything is going to be okay.  "I can't believe I said this and now I feel terrible!" she is nearly wishing that there would be a Trader Joe emergency where she would have to run full speed away.  I console her and tell her that yes, it stinks, but it's okay.  (I wonder if she thinks by merely asking that I will somehow implode or burst into tears at the thought of some sweet person's asking after me.  I already lived through it.  A question isn't going to hurt me.)

I never see her for the rest of the shopping trip.  I tried to make her life feel a little less like she was drowning in Sheol and changed the subject as quickly as possible to ask her about her running.  Next time, I hope she doesn't see me walk in and hide behind the samples counter.

When you go through some rough times, hopefully you have come out with your character built up.  Hopefully you have learned something.  Perhaps you realize that this life is fragile, that you are not in control of it.  In this, you are thankful that you came out the other side.  In this, you feel sorry for those who may look at you and feel like your load was too heavy to bear.  You never know what you can do until you have to do it.  It's a heck of a workout, baby, but you can't get biceps by laying around and  drooling on your couch.

So hey.  If you ever have to be on the other side of that conversation and you wish you could rewind and suck your words back in to avoid what you think may be causing pain to someone else - hopefully you are speaking to someone sane.  If you are asking after them because you care, hopefully they can recognize that for what it is.  And if something horrible has happened to them, don't melt into the floor.  Give your love to them and don't treat them as if they had changed from human status to plague status.  

If you're on this side of it, try to keep it all in perspective.  Whatever crazy thing people say to you is likely their only way they know how to communicate love and sympathy to you.  Don't be all offended.  You are strong enough to realize that in the whole scheme of life, it's not a big deal if someone says something wacky.  

And for those of you who are in this fairly small boat of RPL (repeated pregnancy loss) and stillbirth, I am sorry.  I know how you feel.  I would give you a hug if I could reach you!  It is hard.  I don't know why you have to keep going through it, either.  But the hope is not on this side of eternity, the hope is on the other side.  Your little one matters and so do you.  You are not alone.  I'm at this party.  I brought the salsa.

Peace, love and together we can stop floor-melt,
Ms. Daisy

Friday, August 2, 2013

Running Fat, Post-Pregnancy

Go faster!  Ruuuuun!
 Ello, lovies!  Yes, that's right, the title isn't Running Fast, it's Running Fat.  Ah, the joy.

Some of you are svelte, elite runners.  Some of you were svelte, elite runners.  That is, until pregnancy hit you.  I fall into the latter category at present.

I put on a dress today that I was contemplating wearing.  


Until I looked at myself and wondered what those floppy grossies were that were seemingly hanging from the saddlebag region of my leg.  SO GROSS.

Who ARE you?  I wondered to myself.  I am the Flabmaster, my self answered.

Me and Flabmaster scheduled a run post-lunch today.

I have been doing a few runs here and there (combined with swimming thrice weekly and a bike ride once a week) and it was just recently that I have felt a bit more human while doing so.  When I first tried running, I could not even get through a one mile run without stopping.  I didn't know why - I thought that it was because I was so horridly out of shape (which I'm not denying), but there was another component there that I failed to realize: blood loss.

Ew, ew, ew, ew, ewwww!
 I lost quite a bit of blood and I was reading up on it at first.  Some people were saying that it took them four weeks or so to come back to normal levels.  I was so desperate and weak at first that I even made myself eat liver.  Some of you are like, "Wha?  Liver is delicious!"  Yeah, no.  Not so much.  It was my first time eating liver and I consumed it as if it were medicine (I actually think I just started swallowing pieces whole without tasting them after four or five bites).  

My legs would not lift up off of the ground.  They burned like I had been doing thousand pound squats after running for a city block.  I remembered about the blood loss and thought through what could possibly be happening.  What I think was going on was that I didn't have enough blood to carry oxygen to my muscles, thus the burning.  I could be wrong, but I was trying to piece it together.

Lately I've been able to (hopefully) get back up to normal levels and run like a human again (albeit a wimpy human).  I was working on one mile runs at first, and a couple weeks ago I went up to a 5K (or just above a 3 mile run).  Today I took the Flabmaster out for the first (almost) 5 miler post-pregnancy.

Flabmaster was working on all cylinders and my times were not where they used to be.  I did hit my 3 block mark at 2:07 (which I usually do), but then it dropped off after that.  At my halfway point, I am usually around 18 minutes.  Today was closer to 20.  The whole (almost) 5 miles had me home around the 40 minute mark, 4 minutes above what I'd consider a good time for myself.

Yes, it's pathetic, but the truth is that all these little pathetic-isms are the building blocks for excellence.  You've got to get out there and build the foundation so that you can get back to where you once were.  You've got to fast forward in your mind to your future fit self and cheer yourself on.  You tell yourself to keep going.  You tell yourself to c'mon over here, keep working - every step is money in the bank.

So push it.  Even though you know you aren't at top shape yet, you're on the path and going in the right direction.  Don't give up.  

If you're feeling uninspired, put on that tight dress so you can scream in horror in the mirror.  Works every time!

Peace, love and maybe Flabmaster can be my new rapper name,
Ms. Daisy