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where've i been lately?

i got a nintendo DS, with SimCity, My Weight Loss Coach, and a totally reworked Final Fantasy IV.

mmm.. FFIV... never before has a game made me drool.. but the new graphics on this kind of do.

who likes scarves?

who likes and wears scarves?

what kind of scarves do you like?  thick ones?  thin ones?  do you like to wrap it around your neck a few times, or let it hang down, just hugging the back of your neck or shoulders?  do you like bold colors?  muted ones?  various combinations?  stripes?  patterns?   i've noticed scarves this season are getting made out of, basically, tshirt material.  i've also seen woven ones, too, with lots of fringe, and usually in plaid, that remind me of cowboys or old time bank robbers more than someone who wants to keep themselves warm.

why do i ask?

mostly, i like scarves, too.  i'm thinking of starting a support group.  haha

in honor of ani difranco

(and with one nod to the boy from bridgewater and his band setting the world aflame).

i guess i never really mentioned it on here before, at least i don't think i did, i have a youtube channel.  i hit a creativity spurt this week and posted a BUNCH of videos.  this is a relative term.  i posted two last week, and then didn't do anything before that for a few months.  four videos in a week for me is a new personal record, i think.

so for ani difranco's birthday i posted overlap, 32 flavors and out of habit.  i also posted brother of the mayor of bridgewater by world inferno friendship society.

i don't think i look good on any of them so don't watch.  scratch that - it's not that i think i'm an ugly girl, i just think i look awkward.  so just listen, don't watch.


i have a few other world inferno covers, some ukrainian stuff, some piano playing, one gutterbunnies performance and a few songs outta the great american song book.

firstly, i didn't think i would really write about this. i got bit by my dog. barely even worth a mention. however, the day was just so, i dunno. it just seems that things like this only ever seem to happen to me. read on, true believers.

so this morning there's the usual routine, get up, bring belle outside, feed her, go back upstairs, get myself breakfast, parents go to work, then it's just me and the dogs.

also this morning, i'm watching episode three. episodes 1 - 3 i like to consider "dramatizations" like on unsolved mysteries. you don't watch the person actually get abducted by aliens - you watch a "dramatization." i like to imagine that episodes 1 - 3 are just "dramatizations" and that out there, somewhere, there are three really good movies about the origins of anakin skywalker. It's like, be kind, rewind in reverse. where's jack black? ah, but i digress.

the movie's over and i'm thinking, hey i don't ever spend time with GG anymore because i'm always so preoccupied with the puppy. we just don't get enough anna/GG love time. so she's laying on the floor near where i am so i get down on the floor with her and pet her.

my first clue should really be that, hey, she's not rolling over to show me her belly. which usually happens. GG likes getting pet (Belle, by comparison, has not yet discovered that, hey, getting pet is awesome!) so this should be my red flag that something is wrong. nope. next thing i know, she has clamped down on my face, out of the blue, no provocation. i instantly cry. it's not that i'm in pain. i've been bit on the face by this dog before. last time she didn't even scratch. yet, five minutes later, i was crying. it was just the shock of it.

not this time.

instantly, tears. screeching, screaming, hyperventilating. i push the dog away from me and just sit there. i'm crying, a lot, into my hands and then i pull my hand away and OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD my left hand is all red. run to the bathroom. blood is literally gushing out of my face from my lip. my chin is red but my lower lip is a mess of brown and it's glistening. all the blood is coming from there and maybe it's an inch or two long or maybe it's miniscule and she just happened to hit a main line. but oh my god, there is blood everywhere. now i'm really freaking out. oh my god. blood. oh my god. i'm all by myself. oh my god. blood. oh my god. that damned dog.

tissues to the face, pressure on my lip. still bleeding but it slows to an ooze.

don't worry, that's about as graphic as i'm going to get.

i call sister yosophata at my mom's school and tearfully, oh so tearfully, tell her the dog bit me and mom needs to bring me home. even though i identify myself the first thing, before i actually start to cry, i get through my whole story and sister says, "anna? melanie's daughter, anna? oh my goodness!" and i'm thinking to myself, number one, i am the only person who is old enough to not actually attend that school who would be referring to one of the teachers as "mom" and, sister, you've known me, no exaggeration, my whole life. whatev. tell mom she needs to come home as soon as she can.

i do not beat up the dog while i'm waiting for my mother. but OH did i want to.

we get to jfk. i laugh a lot at my mother being silly, talking about the mice from fraggle rock that have taken up residence in a tree in our back yard. this is another story for another blog. i shouldn't laugh. i can feel my lip splitting open, and i kind of don't want that to happen. i'm not hurting myself, but i'm just thinking, hey, the less contact the inside of me has with the outside world, the better. i'm keeping an ice cube on my lip.

get to the emergency room. i check in at the pediatrics ER. wait in the regular ER. go for triage there. watch my mother get help with the coffee machine from a woman who is at least twenty years older than her. i find this incredibly funny and then remember that it kind of hurts to laugh. get a bed in the pediatric ER. look, i know i have bad acne and absolutely no makeup on (i did seriously consider putting on cover up while waiting for my mother) but c'mon! i'm almost 27. gimme a regular room. it's ok.. the doctor is a HOTTIE. of course i'm in no shape to be hitting on anyone (especially in front of my mother) but i'm enjoying the scenery. pedes it is.

doc comes in to check me out (meow! oh wait..). he gives one look at my lip and says, basically, i ain't touching that with a ten foot pole. the laceration (i giggle, i shouldn't giggle) is right on my lip. for a laceration like this (i giggle again, i should not be doing this), they need a plastic surgeon. unfortunately the plastic surgeon he suggests is still at her office in east brunswick and because of the lateness of the call (he called her at 9:45) she can't cancel her 10:00 or 10:30 patients so she has to see them, then she'll come in.

so we wait. and wait. hot doctor leaves. doesn't even come back to give me my tetanus shot (just a precaution because we can't remember if i'm up to date) or my motrin, a nurse brings it. i explain to my mother that i was nearly laughing everytime he said laceration because carolyn dachinger used to joke that she would "lacerate your face" if she was mad at you. it's a saying i've picked up using. so there, now you all know where it comes from. look at me now, carolyn! my face is lacerated!

an hour comes and goes. i call work because i tell them that i don't know if i'm going to be able to come in tonight and i want to let them know of the possibility early, but that i won't know for sure until at least noon or maybe even after 1, and that might be too late to get anyone. i didn't want to cancel, but i also didn't want to leave them in the lurch.

another hour almost comes and goes. she doesn't get to see us until almost noon. the nurse, in the mean time has told us she's a little eccentric, but she's a great lady. she comes in looking almost like a bag lady. or a voodoo lady. or both. she's talking about how mothers are wonderful people and will always be honest with you and always have your best interests at heart. she smells a little like cat food. i don't know why i know this because i am not a cat person, but i believe that's what she smelled like. she has kind of unruly hair which she tucks into a cap that has candy bars printed all over it. she's wearing her slippers. she also, seriously, could be wearing very nice pajamas, all black, kind of velvety. do voodoo plastic surgeons wear velvet pajamas? i don't know. i do know, that this woman can not possibly have one evil bone in her body. i feel like she should be stitching me up in the middle of her kitchen. and making me chicken soup. and sending me home with a strand of garlic or a wreath of hay and freshly picked wildflowers. to ward off evil spirits, of course.

she turns the light on for her to see better, and it's the kind of light they have in dentists' offices, and ERs i guess, too, and probably a lot of other places, and it is blinding. my eyes are closed through the whole thing, not that it matters, because i open my eyes once and it's so bright i can barely see anything else and on top of that, she puts a special napkin/faceguard/thing over my face so that the only thing exposed is my mouth. after the local anesthesia and before the stitching, as she's cleaning, or maybe she's already sewing i can't tell because the anesthesia is kicking in, i motion over to my mother to come and hold my hand. the dr., dr. parler (parlez vous? i am not surprised that my voodoo doctor has a french last name) asks me about four times in a row if i'm ok. somehow i actually manage to say yes. talking with a numb lower lip, with gauze stuck in my mouth, is much easier than i thought it would be. it's kind of like ventriloquism, since i basically can't move my lips. and don't you know, i wanted to be a ventriloquist? at the very least, when i was younger, i got a book or two out from the library on how to do the whole thing, how to talk, how to work the dummy), etc. i said, no, i'm ok, i just wanted my mom. i think about how with a gun in your mouth, you only speak in vowels, and with tyler's whole controlled demolition thing how clean is this gun? i think about how no one in the room will catch that movie reference. actually, there are a number of fight club references floating through my head, like my mother was basically feeding me lines while i was on the phone with my dad. or how much blood can i swallow before i gag? but i digress. no one in this room, save for me, would appreciate a good fight club referenence.

really, i realize, i wanted my mom to hold me down. i was being very fidgety. face it, i'm fidgety when i'm perfectly normal and fine. when someone is taking a needle and thread to me? not so much. don't ask me how i survived giving blood and getting a tattoo. i hate needles, i will never be a junky. she holds my hand. i can tell she is still standing, because of the angle her hand and arm are at. dr. parler tells my mom to pull a chair over.

"no thank you, i'm ok."
"that's what the new york city cop said. then he passed out."

i giggle. a lot. i outright laugh. dr. parler has to stop. apparently she had a patient she was working on in the emergency room and the father was an NYC cop. "sees a lot of bad stuff everyday but i guess when it's your own kid... the man passed out clean away, hit his head. the son was out of the hospital in six hours - the father was there overnight."

i am losing it. there is string hanging out of my mouth and my mother is poking at me to stop vibrating. i'm trying but that never works and we all know it. i laugh. and laugh. i calm a bit and she goes back to stitching me but then she keeps talking about it. bad move. i'm laughing again. this is not really why it takes a half hour to stitch my mouth shut-- i mean, stitch my lip up, but i'm sure it contributes.

no, what takes a half hour (and i will spare gory details), is that the dog succeeded in completely piercing my lip. i wanted to put a ring in it - mom advised that would just be something else for the dogs to latch on to. really, i think she just thinks it's not cool. i disagree, but we don't actually discuss this. not right now. right at this moment, while she is sewing me all back together, 15 stitches total, on the outside and also the inside of my mouth, i'm humming. mack the knife (first song the popped into my head, swear to god), my chopin mazurka - f# minor i think, my chopin waltz - c# minor, and reve ta stohne (which, shameless plug, you can hear me sing here) one of my fave ukrainian folk tunes. it centers me. i'm not thinking about the occaissional tugging on my lip which obviously i don't feel right where i've got the numbing agent, but towards my chin, and at my cheeks, just every so often. it's a weird feeling, to feel something, but not right where it's happening. i will not get too rhetorical here.

while i am humming, i am thinking about how my mother was explaining about our dog. gg doesn't bite unprovoked. gg doesn't really do anything unprovoked. you ever come to my house you don't even know i've got two dogs because the one of them, gg, the cranky old lady, is hiding. she hates everyone, is scared of everyone. typical small dog. to her credit, she came into this house as the third poodle. we had the two others who had very established roles in the house and gg had to find her niche. gg also had to constantly battle with dd over typical territorial girl stuff. so gg is a territorial dog. and very afraid and very defensive. she's only ever bitten me out of defense once before, and she didn't break skin or anything. she snapped at one of my baby cousins but didn't connect, and it's questionable as to whether or not she actually bit katherine's daughter (i base this on the fact that no one actually saw it and that she may have just bumped her head while she was lunging at the dog, who was already hiding from her between my parents. and definitely, the scratch that marianella got was nothing like any dog bit i've ever seen, and definitely nothing like this), it may have just been another one of those snaps. she doesn't attack humans. she's never gone after someone. but. get in her face? and you really will get snapped at. and it's usually just a warning. like today. a snap - a warning shot - and then she instantly backed off. my mother pretty much spent all day trying to get into gg's head, trying to figure out why she would do this.

and i realized, if you can figure a dog out, you've got much more insight into the human race than you may think you do. dogs, any animals really, are instinct. they aren't malicious for sport. that's complicated. instincts are simple. humans have that brain, too, we just layer other parts of our brain and our common sense (or lack thereof) and our conscience (or lack thereof) and our emotions and emotional baggage over it. my mother totally has the dog thing figured out. and you know what, mel does, too. so, really, the two people i know that really understand dogs, and therefor human beings, better than the rest of us, are a third grade teacher, and a french horn playing midget (no she's not really a midget, she's just very compactly built).

then i wonder how it is that the local anesthesia is making me loopy, but it is, apparantly. who thinks these things under normal circumstances.

dr. parler finishes sewing me up, and shuffles about collecting about a million little gauze packages, sponges, sterile qtips, bacitracin, all sorts of stuff. she puts it in a ziploc bag. everything this woman has in her suitcase on wheels is in a ziploc bag, including all the paperwork for her office. she gives us directions to her office, a booklet on scars and scarring that she put together herself, my appointment card, and a few sheets on dog bites. these sheets on dog bites? they include a maze and a word find, and pictures to color. i could not be more excited. are there stickers? no! damn! she folds everything from her office so it fits into the ziploc bag. her logo is on everything and it's some egyptian figure. the handouts on dog bites are not folded, i mean to thank her. who wants to color on a folded, creased and crummy piece of paper? she gathers up all her stuff and throws out all her needles, threads, syringes, whatever else it is that she used. writes out my prescription for pain killers and antibiotics. tells me to call her if i need anything, and she'll be calling me tomorrow just to check up on me. this woman may be the most fabulous doctor i've ever met. we joke about how she has everything in ziploc bags. mom tells her, who cares, you're organized and efficient! she laughs and reminds me if i need anything to just give a whistle. i tell her i probably won't be whistling for awhile because of my face so she says to call her instead. it's a deal.

by now it's 1:30. we head home. gg is very excited to know that we're home, until, of course, she realizes that it is *I* who's home. the tail stops wagging when she sees me and she cowers. mom wants me to make up with her. FORGET THAT. she has to make up with me. mom reminds me that gg doesn't know that, that right now she's afraid of me and won't come to me. whatever. i don't want to talk to her. i bring belle upstairs with me and somehow manage to have a few phone conversations with parents and with diane from the studio. IM a band manager about booking them in august (kat if i haven't talked to you about this yet, get at me!). IM christina who tells me i should go to the ER and get a plastic surgeon to stitch me up. because she wouldn't put it past me to be think "oh, i can take this." IM two of my cousins who are flabbergasted at my dog. write this entry. got an itching to watch midnight in the garden of good and evil (since there is a promoninent voodoo lady in that movie). maybe we'll do that. doctor says i need to sleep sitting up because my face won't hurt so much. i'm not looking forward to this, and think i might actually have to sleep downstairs in the living room tonight because it's the only place i'll be able to prop myself up well enough.

belle, she's an awesome puppy. she discovered the toilet paper dispenser can double as a toy. i swear it's like the dogs conspired to make my life crappy today.

what's really funny is that even though the awesome french voodoo witch plastic surgeon (i should not really call her a voodoo witch doctor person, because i don't want people to have negative ideas about her, she seriously is a gem) spent all that time stitching me up inside and out so that the scarring was minimal and to be quite honest, i don't care. what's a scar? scars are stories. i have a few. i've got about a billion you can't see, but those stories aren't fun anyway. ask me about my right elbow. or my left forearm. or my right knee. or the two on my neck. who cares?

this entry has gone on long enough. but i'll thank you for reading through to the end. the best part is... tuesday isn't even done yet! what else could possibly happen? who cares. i've got my pirate hat and the number of a great plastic surgeon.


im bored.  and gloomy.  and ive got nothing and everything to do.

i can't practice.  there's nothing new to read.  tv's not worth watching.  there's only so much cleaning i can do in my room because, well, the stuff that's out and cluttering the place up is out there because there's nowhere else to put it. i've played so much sims 2 that i'm bored with it.

sat upstairs in grammas apartment (which may/will probably be my apartment in the near future).  just sat there. trying not to cry. 

yup, melancholy.

now taking requests

pretend i've become a big ani difranco juke box.  i look like a regular plain old anna, with an awesome guitar named april, but now you can be like "hey, play my favorite ani song..." and i'll do it.

so.  what's that song?

absurdity rules

because my life has been so ridiculously uncool lately, i think im going to design my own flag.  i may even make it.  and put it in my car.


newsletter software

once upon a time i had a great little free newsletter making program on my computer.  i think it came bundled with some version of print shop that i had.

i also, once, even had adobe inDesign.  at this point in time i don't recall how i managed to get a free copy, but i'm pretty sure i got it at the same time that i got dreamweaver, fireworks, photoshop and image ready.

now, i can't find either of those things.  and i need to make a publication.  print shop is kind of ok, but not ideal by a LONG shot.  it's cool for right now, and i mean RIGHT now.  but i think as soon as i start to have to get serious about this thing (like, put together an actual issue and not just the mock up version), i'm going to need something better.

so, does anyone have any suggestions for cheap or (even better) free software I might be able to download from somewhere?

quote of the evening

quiet your mind and listen to your heart.

don't i give great advice?  i think it's about time i start following it.

my birthday

there are people who like to get me things for my birthday.  while i am not actually a big fan of telling people to buy me things, I do understand that a) people tend to like me and b) people tend to like to buy things for people's birthdays.

on my birthday I will be just as happy if you come out to the Cup in Linden to the rock show that Tigerlily is putting together, but if you are someone who simply just has to buy me something, I have a sephora.com wishlist, that I started keeping mostly because I browse the website and want to keep track of things I like (and at the time when I first put my wish list together, I totally missed the section where I could just put together a list of favorites, and not actually put items on a registry).

my makeup registry.

so yeah, i'm a bit of a makeup whore, i suppose. it's fun and sparkly and makes me smile, and who doesn't like a fun and sparkly and smiley anna lawrence?