It’s sort of been a tradition, except the years when it wasn’t, for me to take a look back at my posts from the year before and remember all the stuff that happened (or didn’t). I received the WordPress thingie that thoughtfully smashes your stats into a form letter every year, so I’ll start with that.
I have no idea why I got 324 views on December 10th. I’m not even sure if I posted something that day. Maybe the spambots were out in force on the 10th? My top post was written over two years ago, and continues to get comments. This is kind of cool – and a little unnerving at the same time, sort of like when I learned what my top search word was the year I covered 50 Shades (No more top search word, WordPress? Bummer!) Here is an example of a comment I received this year on the “I kill virtual people” post.
Next, WordPress pointed out my top 5 posts of the year, four of which were written before 2015. WordPress helpfully commented “Some of your most popular posts were written before 2015. Your writing has staying power!” – which is WordPress’s way of saying “No one read your blog this year.” I’m kidding, some of you read it, and I thank you all! Especially since in 365 days I only wrote 67 posts. I think 2015 was a rough blogging year for a lot of people, some of whom fell off the face of the blogosphere and got lives or something. Or maybe sometimes they had a fat pony sitting on them, as I did part of the year, or were dealing with the Sick, for which I have no representation. Except this.
For those of you who read and commented during that time, thanks, and know I always read my comments, even if they call me “evil rhymes-with-itch!”. Now back in time to 2015, the year I will continue to write on dates for the next three months.
I whine about cold weather, play with Frozen legos, discuss Sad Pony, and rejoice in cold weather, for it did giveth a snow day, which the Things and I used productively, as usual.
I ponder about the 50 Shades of Grey movie, and attempt to sarcastically express gratitude for 21 days for my group therapy (5 posts that month, so you can imagine how well that went). Mr. Sad Person blowing up Snow White got a good response, though.
I continue the gratitude thing by being grateful for mass consumerism in opening 12 blind boxes of Frozen plastic figurines with my kids, ruthlessly screw up grammar on National Grammar Day, gush about the new Cinderella movie (with Frozen short), review the love song Grenade!, and talk about all the crap we have in TEXAS and how it makes us better than everyone else.
I participate in Merbear’s Beatles contest (and lose), put up a tent in the desert of Depression, start covering hard-hitting Facebook News (example: Alyssa Milano’s stolen breast milk debacle!), and sing about mundane chores to Disney theme songs, because I could.
More posts playing with dolls, a horrific attempt to decipher the lyrics to “La Bamba” (turns out it is not about a bomb), and a Mother’s Day post with Disney princess dolls who all have dead moms.
I shop for frightening things on Ebay, celebrate the birthdays of my Things, and with them plan the Disney Hunger Games.
I conduct interviews for the Disney Hunger Games (yes interviews with dolls – what?), write a post praising Science Fiction (that does not involve J. J. Abrams), and another post discussing the history of the South (we don’t all wave Confederate flags).
More crazy Ebay finds (what is wrong with people?), a report on the breakup of two puppets, a post about cats, and the beginning of the Disney Hunger Games, with Merida’s triplet brothers axing Snow White. Yes, it’s other people with the problems!
Lots of fun this month! The seven dwarfs act disturbing at the mall, I advise how to cure Insomnia (never listen to me), create anti-memes, learn about how freaky people in the 1940s were, and report that more people die in selfie accidents than shark ones.
I ponder the meaning behind the song “Rain, Rain, Go Away”, introduce the “Diva Cup” (not what you think -probably), report on dogs shooting humans, get injected with radioactive dye, and dream about Jeb Bush. All in all an average month.
I find out my gallbladder is missing, have the missing gallbladder removed (see cartoon pictures!), see Thing One perform in a musical, record a Disney Thanksgiving with the Things, and plan for 25 days of hiding a stuffed snowman in December.
The Things and I start hiding Olaf in fun and disturbing new ways, I write a serious post about gun violence titled the same as another post about goofy Christmas songs from a year past (search carefully), Olaf is lost and goes on a rampage, Disney characters become political and post on Twitter and Facebook, I whine about being sick again, thoughtfully select Christmas gifts for the whole family (especially the gun toting family), sing about boar head, test if the War on Christmas is real (it totes is), put political candidates in a Hunger Games random generator (how politics should always be done!) and write this here post.
Whew. 2015 down. Bring on 2016. Just . . . slowly. I’m still catching up.
Happy New Year,
Stomach viruses suck. So do rotten stomachs, which is something I’ve had since I was a little kid. All my worry is processed in my stomach, so I often hear people groan “You and your stomach.” My depression wasn’t diagnosed until after they first performed a bunch of stomach tests including the “drink liquid chalk and let them take funny pictures of your insides with radiation and pretend they see something while hiding behind protective walls” test. They didn’t find anything with all the tests, so they said “Passin’ the ball to you, mental people!”
They do this a lot because it is well known, by doctors anyway, that the brain and other bodily organs have absolutely nothing to do with one another even though they are all part of the same body. Each organ should have someone different taking care of it, these people should not communicate, and if it happens to be something none of these specialists understand, it’s off the the psychiatrist. The psychiatrist being the one guy who does not issue funky tests unless you want to count the “Hey, try this drug. It probably won’t kill you.” test.
But, wait, Alice, you might say, isn’t there research saying there is a strong mind-body connection? Haha, don’t be silly. Where did you get that from? John Hopkins? Mayo Clinic? Frauds, I tell you! The majority of doctors are far too busy misdiagnosing people and making sure their malpractice insurance is up to date to look at stupid research.
Well it turns out I do have depression and anxiety which do affect bodily systems, like my gut. My GP ran some tests and informed me that my liver test wasn’t normal – it was like, way better than other livers! Like, go liver! Except that hey I still feel like crap. So he decided I would have a Cholescintigraphy (Also Called Gallbladder Radionuclide Scan or HIDA scan) performed. It’s a test that checks gallbladder function. And you read that right, boys and girls. It involves radioactive crap – only instead of just a scan, they shoot this little tracer thingy up into your veins!
I was super excited about this test, especially after the nurse said I got to be a super hero and just in time for Halloween! I always wanted to be Spiderman. Shooting webs from your hands and bouncing from building to building sounds like fun. Superheroes get all the perks. Like I bet Superheroes don’t have to work, not if they’re smart. Why blend in with the population when you can be totally famous just being yourself? Huh, Spidey? Enough whining about personal responsibility and crap. Have some fun.
So they injected me with the radiation, but I didn’t immediately get super powers. Instead they had me lie under this table with my arms held up in a sling and this scanner looming over me while they took pictures of my organs. I wonder if they saw my liver and thought to themselves – there is a LIVER. Give it first prize. I hope they saw my liver anyway. Because what they didn’t see was my gallbladder.
Yup, supposedly I was to lay there thirty minutes while they took glamour shots of my gallbladder, then they were to give me some other stuff, possibly nitroglycerin so I could explode my radiation all over the place, that was going to show them how my gallbladder functioned. This was all supposed to take an hour. Only they never took any pictures of my gallbladder because, after a lengthy search, they couldn’t find it. Yup, that’s right, they lost an organ. I’m pretty sure I’d remember having an organ out. Clearly these doctors could have used a good map.
I figured they were going to send in another tracer to help with the search party, or consult with a specialist like that dog from Blue’s Clues, but no, she just told me to go. So I asked like, “What was the doctor going to get from this if they didn’t find the organ?” “Oh, he’ll know something just by not finding it”, she said. Know what? She couldn’t say. Right. So after that, and a rather hefty bill, I’m left more confused than I was before the test, which I’m pretty sure is how they are designed.
But that’s okay, because according to the nurse, I am still radioactive for the next couple of days at least. Don’t mess with me. I’m the Nuclear Librarian, you guyz.