Weird


Well, I got in the tube thing for my pulmonary function test. I will find out what’s causing my shortness of breath at the beginning of January.1 I watched as the chart filled in and the numbers popped up. I assumed that black numbers were normal and red were abnormal. There were quite a few red ones, which isn’t that weird since I have asthma. What was weird was that my breathing got worse after they gave me a nebulizer treatment. They give patients a bronchodilator to see if it improves the breathing, which is the expected result for anyone who takes a bronchodilator. Hell, even being ineffective but not worsening it is an expected result. Paradoxical responses are, well, paradoxical. They aren’t expected because they’re the opposite of what is supposed to happen. It’s kind of like if a mug of pens fell and the pens floated to the ceiling. Okay, well, not really because that might mean that the universe is broken, but it’s freakish. There is one instance where the reaction makes sense: if the test was done with theophylline. It used to work fine for easing my breathing issues, but, as my caffeine allergy worsened, my tolerance threshold for theophylline got worse and worse. Theophylline and caffeine are both types of xanthines. Theophylline doesn’t always cause the allergic angina, but it does cause a headache, paresthesia/buzzing, and some other unpleasantness. Today’s treatment caused all of the non-angina unpleasantness, so I guess that’s what they used. If it is, that was pretty shitty of them. I mean, seriously. It’s like if I told them that I definitely had a penicillin allergy and they injected me with penicillin without telling me what it was.2 And the results could have been just as severe. It only worsened my breathing, caused a headache, and caused neurological symptoms. It could have killed me. When I say it was pretty shitty, I mean it was fucking dangerous as hell. Eventually, I’ll find out the results or my doctor’s office will kill me. Fingers crossed, right? Unless I find out sooner. ↩I have had doctors prescribe penicillin even after I told them I was allergic, but no secret injections. ↩

Who Needs to Breathe?


I write a lot, not as much on here as I used to, but I still write a lot. For better or worse, most of the writing tends to be on Twitter, though sometimes it is on Medium or Tumblr. Occasionally, there’s a Facebook post thrown in there. Can you digress in a first paragraph? So Twitter is a major platform for me to express myself. Sometimes I make pithy polls. Typically, the polls get between 2 and 20 votes. Lately, they’ve gotten a few more. When I responded to a person claiming that the Hamilton cast’s rebuke of Mike Pence was a vicious attack, the popularity of my pithy poll was easily attributed to Elon James retweeting it: Which is more vicious:@Sanrenkay @elonjames @maggieNYT — Janet Morris (@janersm) November 19, 2016 Last night, I stumbled across this response on Medium by Tom Steele to a post on New York prisoners being allowed (on average) 11 pads or tampons per month for use during their periods: One has t0 wonder if there is more to this story. 2.8 pads per woman per week, if I read that correctly, is 11 per month which seems like a lot. Some women would be expected to need less and it is hard to imagine many women needing more than that. I fully support providing the basic hygiene products required, like food, clothes, toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, towels, tampons, etc… I responded with an explanation of why 11 is an unfathomable number of pads. I followed that up with a screenshot and a pithy poll. Raise your hand if you have ever needed more than 11 pads or tampons for a period. pic.twitter.com/fA38Oeq222 — Janet Morris (@janersm) November 30, 2016 #period #periods #livetweetyourperiod #feminism #reprohealth (please RT) During your period do/did you typically go through: — Janet Morris (@janersm) November 30, 2016 I thought the maximum number of votes would be about 20. As of this moment, there are 8,937 votes in that poll. My mentions have been filled with stories by people who have (or have had) periods of all sorts, whether they’re long, short, or regular in length; heavy, light, or medium in flow; or occur regularly or irregularly. I’ve learned about supportive friends, clueless relatives, and how many people are frustrated by how little they’ve been taught or that they know about their own bodies. I understand all of that because I’ve experienced some of it, and because I’ve seen others go through similar struggles. I’ve gone through moments where I was excited because so many people were sharing their stories1 to moments where I just wanted to throw my iPod at the wall because so many people were sharing their stories. I wanted them to feel free to share them. I love the joking. But I’m confused about how to deal with all of it. When people ask questions, I want to be able to answer them. When they say something funny, I want to be able to laugh with them. When I empathize with something they’ve been through, I want to express it. I’m worried that I’m being rude if I don’t respond. I’m also worried that all I will ever be talking about again is periods. I know it’s only been like 24 hours, and that this will die down. But this experience is just a bit mind-blowing. I worry that Mr. Steele, as annoying as I find him, will be harassed. I worry that there might be other repercussions, and I feel guilty about that. It’s a little weird when I wanted a boycott over his reaction to emotional abuse and bullying, but I don’t want him to have any personal suffering over this stuff.2 He seems like he would be the kind of guy who would laugh this sort of thing off, and maybe he will. Or maybe he’ll learn a little from it. I can hope that’s what will happen, but I will always worry about the possible negatives because that’s what I do. I worry that maybe his Christmas vacation will be spent trying to ruin my Christmas dullness. As I typed that paragraph, 34 notifications piled up on Twitter.3 This is new. This is different. This is weird. This is life with social media…and I really need to learn to stop doing my pithy polls. When Mara Wilson shared it, I fangirled out. Gayle Forman commenting about it made me fangirl a bit, too. I think I have all of her books. ↩What I truly want from both is for him to learn the facts and not promote ignorance. ↩Oy with the poodles already. ↩

Accidentally Popular




For people who have known me since childhood, this isn’t an unsurprising revelation. It was when I first told them. My friends would always ask me why and it was difficult to explain. It wasn’t a religious thing. It wasn’t that I hated Halloween — I will always love Halloween. It was more a habit born out of a lack of safety in the neighborhood I had once lived in. Before I was 8 years old, I lived in a rather unsafe neighborhood. Gang fights on my corner were not unusual. If I was out after dark in our neighborhood, both of my parents were with me. My dad wasn’t typically home early enough to go trick-or-treating, and my mom did not feel comfortable taking me out without him. So we gave out candy to the few kids who decided to brave it. Usually, we were done by about 7 because it just wasn’t a big deal in that neighborhood. Right after my 8th birthday, my parents and I moved into the house with my grandfather. He lived in a safer neighborhood, so it would have been fine for me to go — I could have even gone without my mom. But I didn’t. I handed out candy. All of my friends who lived in my neighborhood seemed to come by my house, and I got to see all of their costumes. It was pretty awesome. I never felt like I was missing out on the fun. If we had candy left over at the end of the night, I could pilfer it. (We typically didn’t.) The only time I really went out trick-or-treating, I went as a chaperone for my foster sister. I was fifteen and she was twelve. We only walked down our street, but it was fun. I still didn’t get candy — since I wasn’t really going out for that. I did get some money from one of the neighbors. Instead of candy, he was giving out coins for people who could correctly answer math problems. I had always been in advanced math classes and was in Algebra II that fall, so racking up money was pretty easy. Regardless of where we lived, I dressed up every year until middle school and once as an adult at a church dance. One year I was a purple bunny. Another I was a ballerina. I dressed up in an antebellum-style dress the year that I discovered the movie Gone with the Wind. I even dressed up as a clown one year. My favorite costume was when I dressed up as Maleficent, my favorite character from Sleeping Beauty — actually, she’s my favorite from any Disney movie. My mom made my costumes and didn’t seem to mind that I always wanted to dress up in fun styles, even if I didn’t go out asking for candy. I’ve attended events that were Halloween-themed, as a child and as an adult. I’ve been to haunted houses and mazes, which weren’t all that thrilling. (I don’t get scared when watching thrillers and horror films, so that makes sense.) I’ve gone to autumn festivals at school. When I was 8, I had a Halloween party and three or four friends came over. It was actually the day after Halloween, which made getting food and stuff a lot easier. (Yay, post-holiday candy sales!) We had a cookie cake and used toilet paper to turn each other into mummies — you know, without the wire hanger up the nose and the organ preservation. (Yeah, I went there.) Being the day after also meant that we didn’t dress up for the party, which was probably a good thing since it was a rainy day and everyone had walked over. When I was 24, I went to a Halloween Young Single Adults (YSA) dance with other 18–30 year-old members of the LDS church in my region. I dressed up as a hippie that night and won the costume contest. I also lost one of my favorite earrings in the world on the side of I-65 that night, so there were good times and bad ones. I didn’t enjoy the good as much as I should have because I had already had a bad month — one week earlier, my friend’s car caught fire when I was in it, then I sprained my ankle later that night — so losing my earrings just added, for lack of a better phrase, fuel to that fire. RIP beloved earrings. Anyway, I digress. I know that for people who aren’t from the United States that missing out on something like trick-or-treating might seem like it isn’t that big of a deal, but it sort of is. It’s a part of our culture, especially if you’ve been privileged enough to grow up in a place where it is safe to go out. So not having that experience did sometimes make me feel like an outsider, but I didn’t really feel safe enough to have that experience — even when it actually was safe. It’s weird that I do sort of regret not having the experience. But I’m also okay with not having it. I guess that’s one of those complicated things about being an adult — coming to terms with the stuff that you experienced or didn’t experience when you were younger. But I hope that if I have kids some day that I get to take them out trick-or-treating or, at least, let them dress up like their favorite characters because I think that getting that night of fun and make-believe is really important. Happy Halloween.

I Never Went Trick-Or-Treating As a Kid



I opened a FetLife account one night almost two years ago. I won’t link to it here or explain why I joined. I will say I quit using it not long after because of behavior, unrelated to kinks, by some users that I found alarming. Before tonight, I had only signed in to stop receiving regular emails from groups I had at one time thought might interest me. Since that time, I had not signed in, nor had I thought about signing in.1 Tonight, though, tonight I signed in and deactivated my account there.2 On my FetLife account, I do not recall ever linking to this or any other blog I have ever used. I was warned about maintaining anonymity by a user that I once knew from church.  34 I didn’t use images where I could be easily identified. I didn’t use any identifying nicknames. I used my first name once, but no more than that. I’ve also never linked to my FetLife account on any social media or on here.  I’m stating this because I felt, I don’t even know how to describe it, when I got a notification of a private message. The subject line was “Hello Janet” and the body of the message was:  Hi. You have a very interesting net presence. Your blog shows that you think deeply about a lot of things. Let me know if you’d like to chat some time and see if we can have a conversation that interests you.  I’m guessing that whoever wrote this is probably reading this right now. That creeps me out. It has taken me a long time to feel truly comfortable talking about my life here or anywhere. And now it feels like that comfort, that ability to express myself freely has been taken from me. I don’t appreciate that. I shouldn’t have to feel uncomfortable talking about myself on here. I shouldn’t have to worry about how a total stranger managed to track my blog down from the one time I slipped up and used my first name. I shouldn’t have to worry about what all that stranger might have been trying to find out about me.  I guess I do have way to describe how I feel.  I’m scared.  I’m disgusted.  I’m absolutely fucking pissed off.  I understand that we as a society Google everyone and everything. I understand that privacy is something that barely exists in today’s world. But I also understand that this was something that should not have happened. This was too much for me. I tried so hard to maintain anonymity because I felt that would keep me safe. This ripped away any safety I might have felt on there, on here.  I’m out of FetLife. For now. Possibly for good.  Photo credit: breathtakingly via VisualHunt / CC BY-NC-ND I hadn’t wanted to sign in. I like who I’m currently involved with and feel happier with them than I ever thought possible. I don’t talk about this person or what we do on here because I want to maintain his privacy. ↩I had to reset the password to do so. ↩Who knew Mormons could be kinky? ↩He is part of why I quit the site. I found him on a dating app, but didn’t know who he was—he didn’t include a picture—but I thought his profile sounded interesting. He knew the whole time who I was. When he finally told me, I pulled away. I didn’t particularly like him before the encounter. I liked him less after, especially considering I met him while I was doing my prospective member lessons before I was baptized. That lesson was done at the apartment he shared with his then-wife and his son. We had a history that I didn’t want to relive.  After I made it clear that I didn’t have an interest in engaging in anything with him, he started popping up on other websites I used saying how surprised he was to run into me on them. He accused me, in jest, of stalking him. ↩

Safe-Wording


I walked to the yard of Barks While He Twirls again today. A house away, I pulled my hoodie’s sleeve up, but it didn’t matter. Apparently, BWHT’s family was dog-sitting1 today because there was a big old dog in his yard. This dog also had a big bark & attitude. He seemed to terrify BWHT & TPS, and I realized quickly that he was not the type to socialize.2 He also wouldn’t let the other dogs get near me. It was a bit sad because I could tell that they wanted to be petted. I also wanted to pet them.3 But I’d rather be able to pet them some other day than get a big dog pissed off at me. Who knows? Maybe one day I can convince him that I’m a good person & he will let me pet him as well.4 I “walked” Amy twice today in addition to my walk to BWHT’s house. She actually walked about a tenth of a mile during one walk today, which is a lot for her.  When we headed home, there was a guy running down the street. She started to bark at him56 before she realized she was outside.7 Then she stood there and watched him run by. When she realized he paid her no attention, she hrmphed at him.8 After this slight, she headed back in rather quickly. I guess she was frustrated or embarrassed. And she needed to pee.9   The only other “major” thing I did today was cook. I made Confetti Chicken ‘N Rice for the second time. I had to halve the amount of red pepper in it because the original was too hot for mom.10 It was much cooler & she tolerated it well.11 It’s weird how pretty mundane things can be important in a day.  I use this term loosely because they barely provide adequate care for their own dogs. They have no dog house outside for either dog. They are never outside with them either. If they go out to the yard, the dogs are not out with them. ↩There aren’t many dogs—or other types of animals—who won’t interact with me, so that shocked me. ↩And I wanted to convince the big old grumpy dog to like me. I apparently have puppy pleasing tendencies in addition to my people pleasing ones. ↩Need approval, I do. ↩No one had told him that he needs Amy’s approval to run in her neighborhood. ↩A bossy one, she is. ↩She’s braver in the house. ↩If you go down her street, you have to at least acknowledge her existence. Otherwise you’re being rude. ↩She only knows how to use puppy pads. She will not use the bathroom outside. At all. ↩Because my mom had severe dry mouth—associated with diabetes, kidney failure, etc.—so long, her teeth and tongue are very sensitive. Her tongue used to have cracks in it because it was so dry & damaged. She also used to LOVE spicy food—she introduced me to the joys of Szechuan style food cSo I believe her when she says eating spicy food hurts too much. ↩Yay! ↩

Another Day, Another Dog



I am having trouble falling asleep,1 so I went on YouTube.2 I checked my notifications and found out that I am apparently a truly awful human being.3    I didn’t like a music video, so I can’t appreciate real music.     Flower graphics symbolize pure beauty and that sexuality doesn’t have to be raw and raunchy.4 Oh and nude5 women, including ones portrayed in sexualized situations aren’t being objectified.6 But we’re back to my bitterness and that I’m a hater.        If you don’t agree with Marina or mandyy, don’t express yourself. And I don’t know who told these folks that the women weren’t being sexualized or objectified, but they were wrong. I love that they needed to tell me it’s my opinion. I bet they don’t realize there are non-One Direction fans that disliked the video.     I stand by all of my remarks—including the MySpace comment.  I think I may be able to sleep now. Thanks, Zayn stans.  Because of the overdraft issue. ↩The best cure for insomnia. ↩It’s not the first time that’s been suggested. ↩Unless it’s done right. ↩Except for the hearts and flowers strategically placed later. ↩I guess it’s like if a tabloid puts a bar across a celeb’s boobs. They’re preserving the pure beauty of the boobs. ↩

I Guess My Ass Is Bitter


3
I like Zayn.1 I hate his “Pillow Talk” video & don’t really like the song. He looks bored and the video is just 100% tacky.2 Who thought it was a good idea to put flowers over her genitals and hearts3 on her nipples?456789 Whoever it was should be fired.10 And the random lesbian scenes, what’s that about? There are people who had LSD trips that weren’t as bizarre as this video.11 This was the music video equivalent of a MySpace profile with glitter graphics and auto-play songs. It’s just…a tacky vomitfest.      It’s obvious that he’s trying to prove he’s not just Zayn Malik of One Direction, but I feel like he’s trying too hard. The video looks like it was supposed to be artistic, but it was just kaleidoscopic, over saturated, exclusion/difference layer12 obsession weirdness.  Gigi Hadid is gorgeous, though.  No judging. ↩I’m being nice here. ↩These reminded me of some holographic heart stickers my mom used to order from Oriental Trading Company. I would stick them on my Valentines. ↩No, really. ↩  ↩ ↩    ↩   ↩I. TOLD. YOU. SO. ↩A floral pillowcase should cover their bosoms to mark them for this unforgivable sin. ↩I am still being kind here. ↩Actual Photoshop thing. ↩

Review: “Pillow Talk”



If you considering seven years a long time, then I’ve been using Twitter for a long time. Even if you don’t, that’s longer than most people have been on the site. It’s probably longer than the user @AdmForrestal has been using it, but he’s brought the weirdness in a major way. I would applaud his weirdness or laugh at it if it wasn’t so ridiculous and, to some degree, frightening. This racist human being1 has decided that I defend the opinions that I have so vehemently because I’m working for someone. That’s right. I have a particular opinion because I’m a shill for some company or government agency. Yes, just what any contrarian would do with their life: conform to a particular idea to make money. Because contrarians are all about the Benjamins and not about the whole thinking-for-themselves thing. Uh-huh. But really this guy claimed I’m a shill. @janersm You clearly have been told to ind this post on the internet and make shit up who do you work for? — JamesForrestal (@AdmForrestal) November 9, 2015 And why did he do this? Because he’s nuts. No, I shouldn’t say that, especially since I would chide anyone else who promoted stigma when they were encountering someone who behaved in a difficult manner. His reason was that he believed that I lied about my experiences in hospital emergency rooms. He said that patients don’t get visitors until they’ve been stabilized. That’s not always true. One of my examples of that not being true was back in July of 2012 when a mound of fire ants decided to make me their bitch. I was at the park with my mom and my dad waiting between doctor appointments. We sat under a shady tree because it was hot as hell outside and we happened to sit next to a fire ant mound. We didn’t know that my predisposed-to-atopy2 body had decided that fire ants were just so out of style and that it wanted nothing more to do with them, so it just had to respond with anaphylaxis. Clearly, no other reaction would have been appropriate for that situation. My parents, as witnesses to my fall and the first people that I mentioned the ant bites to,3 were essential to my care that day and to keeping me alive. They were the ones who told the doctors about my medical history. And they were the ones who eventually told the doctors about the ant bites. Before that happened, they thought that my fall and my two fainting spells were a result of the heat4. But the fainting, the hospital visit, and everything associated with that day was all clearly a part of a conspiracy to upset @AdmForrestal. When I mentioned before I “fainted” that we were hanging out at the Park, I was clearly just setting up this ruse. Dad decided we could spend some time under a tree at the park; so did the birds http://t.co/ujNyLHij — Janet Morris (@janersm) July 24, 2012 The geese in the picture included with that tweet were clearly provided by PETA and were part of a liberal media conspiracy to upset this one random Twitter user over three years later. The original caption for that faked picture was “More lazy geese”, which, again, was all part of my clearly faked fall. No one in their right mind would ever insult geese by calling them lazy.5 My first tweet from the ER? Clearly, it was also a big old hoax. I know absolutely nothing about having anaphylaxis. Took 7 or so sticks to get IV started. Pulse being monitored. It was 139 at the park. — Janet Morris (@janersm) July 24, 2012 Obviously, I’ve never ever talked about being a hard stick over the last almost 15 years of having this website. And I’ve never mentioned that I have tachycardia. Those were all totally new occurrences and haven’t happened since. Except on that one day. That’s how you can totally tell that I’m a shill. Because that isn’t an ongoing issue for me. @janersm Idiot, the shock of hives and vomiting is not life threatening after stabilization them bringing them into a room after that haps — JamesForrestal (@AdmForrestal) November 9, 2015 If I did know anything about anaphylaxis, I would have vomited instead of just fainting, having my heart rate go up, developing hives, and being extremely dizzy. And my life wouldn’t have been in danger even when my parents were in the room with me. And when I mentioned that I hadn’t been tweeting during the rest of my visit? Clearly, that was me covering my ass. I must have needed some time to come up with the whole story. I wanted to update when I got discharged but my phone was completely dead, so it's been charging for a few hours. — Janet Morris (@janersm) July 25, 2012 When I talked that night about how hard my father took the trip, I was obviously continuing the hoax. When he had to be hospitalized the next day for stress that included that ER visit, I was also continuing the ruse on this poor Twitter user that I wouldn’t talk to for another three years. Other than that, I'm itchy, sore, have a headache, and have been trying to reassure my dad that it isn't his fault this happened. — Janet Morris (@janersm) July 25, 2012 When I talked about the people who helped me after I fainted, I must have been making that up, too. Oh, and when I fell the principals of Ed White & Hampton Cove did the first aid while Dad called 911. They also helped keep me from — Janet Morris (@janersm) July 25, 2012 getting up. I was stubborn enough that I kept thinking I was okay to get up. The four of them managed to keep me still. — Janet Morris (@janersm) July 25, 2012 I mentioned two random schools in Huntsville in my shout-out for shits and giggles. […]

A Conspiracy of Ants


When I went to study for the driver permit exam over a week ago, I realized I was missing something very important: a pair of glasses. Thanks to myopia in both eyes with an astigmatism in one of them, I had a vision restriction the last time I tested for my my permit. I figured that I probably needed to get glasses if I wanted to get a new permit/license or ever use it to drive. I did the typical poor girl with bad eyes thing & ordered discount glasses from Zenni. Their glasses are typically pretty awesome.  This time? Not so much.  I’m not sure what happened. Maybe my prescription has changed? Maybe I typed in the wrong value for something? Maybe they screwed up when manufacturing them? Whatever happened led to a pair of glasses that have a totally screwy left lens. That lens causes my vision to double. Oddly, the right one was perfect.  When I talked to my family about the issue, I told them that it was almost time for an optometrist appointment & I would get a new scrip. A couple of hours later, I got an emai from the optometrist telling me that they’d scheduled an appointment for me on the 27th at 1pm. I had to reschedule it (to this coming Monday) since I already have physical therapy scheduled for that exact date & time. If I were a Canadian singer-songwriter with a poor understanding of irony, I could probably work it all into a song; and four versions of me (sort of Orphan Black-ish)1 could awkwardly act out the music video in a car. Alas, I’m just a weird American.23 Woe is me.  Oddly enough, Tatiana Maslany, of Orphan Black fame, is Canadian. Maybe acting like four different people at a time is a Canadian thing, like socialized medicine, being overly kind & apologetic, loving curling, or gravy on fries—what’s that about? ↩Yay, let’s have more pollution from fossil fuels because America. ↩That was a joke. Obviously an asthmatic with a fear of humanity being destroyed by tragedies of a scientific nature who finds the very idea of fossil fuels to be gross and has a penchant for run-on sentences is not pro-pollution or fossil fuels. Ew. ↩

Myopia Dystopia