A couple of years ago I had a physical and the doctor found that my cholesterol was a bit high (234 I think). So, being the nerd I am, I started reading all I could about this. I read one long article on WebMD and it had an interesting final sentence that said something like “there is no statistical link between high cholesterol and heart attack.” Hmmm.

I got my blood tested again recently and was thinking all would be good. I have been on a low carb diet for months now, lost lots of fat and was thinner and eating much better. Well, my cholesterol was now 269 and all the results were in the “very high” range, except for blood glucose. I have not had any sugar in a long time, so, that should be low. Now the doctor is saying that I may need to get on medication for my cholesterol.

So I did more reading and now I am fairly convinced it is a lot of crap. I read this article which sums up a lot of things. Basically, the cause of heart disease and heart attack and stroke isn’t cholesterol, but stress. The emphasis on cholesterol is perhaps more about selling you a drug you must take every day for the rest of your life.

Study after study shows no link between a low fat diet and lowered risk of heart disease. Study after study shows that lowering cholesterol does not lower the risk of heart disease. But it sells a lot of pills! If cholesterol was bad for you, why does your body make it? New studies are showing serious risks with the extremely low cholestrol levers due to statins. Low cholesterol used to mean under 400.

Stress causes heart disease. That seems simple right? The C Reactive Protien is the better indicator. It also explains the “French Paradox.” This is the fact that although French people eat way more fat and have higher cholesterol, they have a lower incidence of heart disease. The cholesterol obsessed Americans decide this was due to their consumption of red wine. The real truth is that its due to their relaxed lifestyles. Two months of vacation a year. Shorter work weeks. More sick leave and fully insured. Less stress is the answer. The simple and obvious answer.

The other thing that was interesting to discover is that the optimum amount of exercise to strengthen the heart is 8-12 minutes. That’s right 8-12 minutes! Exercising a lot more is stressing your body, which is harmful. But that’s the American way. If 10 minutes is good 3 times a week, 2 hours twice a day is better! Wrong!

I am not going to worry about my high cholesterol. Unfortunately, this myth is so prevalent that my life insurance policy ended up at a much higher rate due to my cholesterol level. I wish I could get a lawyer to sue them over that! Class action!

So, after the boy’s football game Friday night, I’m tired and I feel just nasty. I was full of Italian Ice, as I had engulfed like 5 during the game trying to cool of. I’d had sweat running from my neck, down my back, directly down my butt crack. 

That, my friends, is not a nice feeling.

Even with feeling grody and tired, I still hoped to go home and get a little lovin’ after a nice cold shower. Know what I mean? I think ya do.

But, no. 

Why is it that I can never seem to get rid of both of teen-aged-mutants at the same time? 

Amanda, my girl, was spending the weekend at Jessie’s (the child that claims me as her other mother).  But, the boy couldn’t stand it; he had to stay home.  Worse yet, he had to stay awake.  So, we get home, I go take a shower and I go to bed…. to sleep.

Hell if I didn’t wake up early, before the boy.  So, I poke Anthony and told him wake up and GET ‘R DUN!!! 

Door was closed and I was under the blanket.  I got too hot, so I go and throw/kick/pitch/toss the blanket in the floor.

Well, Anthony’s cell phone was in the livingroom.  His phone rang.  Matthew decided to answer it.  Matthew decided that he would just bust into MY bedroom to tell his dad that Mario was on the phone. 

BUSTED!

Sweet Jesus.  Now up until that point in life, I don’t believe anything has ever both made me absolutely furious and at the same time nearly given me a heart attack.

This non-knocking problem we are having is getting a little bit on my nerves.
Admittedly, I am most likely the most sexually natured person I know. I dig it.  I want it.  I just can’t help it. 

But even my horns are nipped in the bud, knowing that kid is in the house lurking.  There have been numerous times I’ve just decided to forego play time just because I’d hate to think about anybody else in the house knowing.

GRRR!!!!  Can we say frustrated???

I mean, I swear, I think he has a sixth sense when it comes to knowing if and when we may be even considering having sex.  It’s like he goes that extra mile to keep trying to drive a wedge of any kind between me and Anthony.

Makes me nervous to have anything in my room, let alone my happy drawer.

Then this happened:

So, I get started to get over getting busted by the boy.  And I go outside to start working on the cleaning out of the shed.  This shed is barely a shanty.  It is missing the bottom boards on the walls, so it’s wide open to anything and everything that wants in.

Ok, now there is a reason that shed was in the shape it was in.  I don’t dig going in it and flat refused to go in it for three years.  Not to mention the fact that I’d seen various critters and rodents zipping in and out of there.  *shiver*. 

But, the time had come.  We have a week to be getting all of my crap up and out of the house, which means the shed had to be cleaned too.  I get the broom, the hair spray and my lighter and head out back where the shed stands. 

I stand outside, looking to see what sort of arachnid may be lurking up above my head or down below my feet.  Ewwww!  Dark, scary and spider infested.

So, I finally take the broom, poke it inside the shed and start swingin like a wild woman at whatever might be in my path.  When I didn’t feel that was enough, I took the hairspray and lighter and started blow torching anything that appeared to be an insect of any sort.  The smell of sizzling spiderwebs is a lovely one.

My spider problem apparently taken care of, I forged ahead.  Looking at the piles of shit that were tossed into this shed nearly three years ago when I moved into the house, I decided that if it had been there for damn near three years and not missed, that it wasn’t ever going to be missed.  Rahter than digging through the boxes, I hauled them right out to the bed of the truck.  Locked and loaded for the Knox County dump.

I had gotten most of the crap out, when I thought I heard something.  It was a rustling around sound.  I stopped and assessed what it might be.  I didn’t see anything.  So, I turned around to get another box and IT ran over my foot. 

Well, I’ll swear I thought it was a two-foot rat.  After nearly having the second heart attack of the day and hearing IT run into a window thinking it was a way out of the shed, I saw it.  A baby rabbit.

Still when I’m confined in an icky space where I’m already paranoid, I don’t even want the cutest of furry woodland creatures hippity-hopping over my foot.