Thursday 18 March 2004

Magic

Tuxedo fixed some display feature or other on my laptop, and now all the fonts and graphics look a trillion times clearer, more defined.  He didn't tell me he was going to do it, so the other day when I logged on - magically everything was different!  Everything looked better!  The fonts so much easier to read, so pretty!  Of course I thought it was magic, took a few days before I thought to ask Tuxedo if he'd done anything ... doh.  I guess I still find all this technology stuff somehow fantastical, it wouldn't surprise me at all if there was a bunch of little guys (and girlies) set up house in that little flat box, busy painting away all day.

Hi little guys! (and girlies)  Thanks for my new pretty display!

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Continuing on the magic front - this time the marvels of modern medical technology; also the introduction of RADIOACTIVE GIRL!  Today I had the isotopic bone scan, in which they inject a radioactive substance into your vein, and later when its swooshed through your system, take pretty 3-D pictures of (in this case) your back and neck.  It wasn't that unpleasant; of course I am pretty relaxed about medical procedures by now but still ... I was hoping it wouldn't be an enclosed scan, a la MRI, because that freaked ultra-claustrophobic and sound-sensitive me right out.  As in, screaming weeping mussed up hair freaked out.  Admittedly that was some years ago, and after they pumped me full of Valium I was kinda sorta maybe okay, but it was still an ordeal despite the woozy high.

Anyway the scan itself went fine, the doctor carrying it out was a very very dishy tall dark Dane, with a gorgeous soft sexy voice, and Mozart's 40th Symphony was playing in the background, so it was relatively easy to tolerate.  Hee. 

I get the results next Thursday when I go see Zeus for another prednisolone shot (plus some other goodies) so we'll see what we can see.  I'm interested in seeing how the neck is looking, it being about eight years since it was last properly scanned; I hope there hasn't been any further degeneration and the fusion hasn't compacted further.  Because that would suck.  It would also explain a lot, eg the intensification of pain and the flare-ups, but would still suck.

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Monday I had an appointment with Fifi for a bit of a de-fuzzing (eyebrows and upper lip - my hair is so fair as to be invisible but I know it is there and also if I wear foundation it gets all clogged up in the moustache) and she also gave me a free spray tan, because she needed the practice apparently (she's in a new job and is learning a few new techniques).  It turned out rather nice; more of a warm honey all-over glow than the dark browny-orange I was dreading.  It certainly makes one's legs look better, which is stupid of course, but there it is, they just look more toned and evened out and healthier.  Bah. 

Anyways Fifi and I were discussing how we're just really not the high-maintenance type.  Even given the opportunity (Fifi, working in a beauty salon, could have as many fake tans and facials and gel tip nails that she wanted, but chooses not to) or the money (if I had it) we just wouldn't go there.  Its not even the time it all takes, although that is a consideration; its simply not on our list of priorities or things to do. 

That being said, I do love messing about with make up; the adult female's version of playing with paints and colouring-in, maybe.  The other week Tuxedo and I went shopping for a bit of a treat for me (to off-set the new surround sound speakers he'd just bought - its all quid pro quo in this household) and ended up at the MAC Cosmetics Counter.  Siiiiiigh.  I had a good idea of what I wanted, and what my limit was so there wasn't much chance of my going mad and overboard but ... well not much of a chance.  Maybe not.  Then again ... Its all so tempting, the pretty colours and textures and effects.  After playing around with colours and having my eyes "done" by one of the MAC staff (who are always fun and competent, and willing to impart useful information) I ended up with two eye shadows, two kohl eye liners (weellll, maybe just a little overboard) and a luscious lipstick - a shade called "Carnal" which I feel is most appropriate.  I was very very pleased, and bounced around Tigger-like, and thanked my sweetie about a hundred times, and he was pleased to see me looking happy and feeling purty.  Everybody wins. 

So yeah; the facials and nails and skin treatments, not so much.  I'm happy with my basic (and cheap, and effective) skin care regime, and don't feel the need to take it further.  Mind you, if there are any more freebies in the pipeline I won't say no, just for the quick thrill of feeling like a monied lady of leisure for a short while. 

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And now for a kitty tale ... (there will be lots of these - we have the most gorgeousest, luxurious, chillingest, cutest cat in the whole wide world and you'll get to hear plenty from this Crazy Cat Lady In Training) ... driving into the carport following the aforementioned radioactive odyssey, I was followed by a speeding cat, fanging it down the driveway as fast as stumpy fluffy legs could carry her, making these pathetic little frantic mew-mew-mews, her bells (yes, bellZ, she's that kind of cat) on her collar jinglejinglejingling, then curling around my legs at the front door and prrrriping at me, asking to be picked up and snuggled ... so so cute.  She then followed me down the hall, and wound around my legs "talking" some more. 

She's been doing this a lot lately; a lot of following about and asking for love-behaviour, which is very very sweet and goes a long way to making up for those times when she stands six feet away from the backdoor at curfew time and will not come in, or wakes us up at 4 am, or makes vile stinkies when she's cross or is moved from her current favourite place on the bed, or ... She has also become most attached to her new toys - a pink and grey plush mouse with a bell inside it somewhere (good for savage kicking and biting) and some jingly glow-in-the-dark ping-pong balls which she chases madly around the house, slamming headfirst into walls and doors, then picking it up in her mouth before romping all over the bed with it.  She likes to sleep with the damn things ... you move your foot in the middle of the night and odds-on there's a plaintive mrrrrp and a harmony of jinglejinglejingles.

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