The following events occured on the morning of April 16, 2011. Some names have been changed to protect the innocent.
11:29 am
I've been way too responsible this week. And I already did like two responsible things this morning. I gotta' rest....
11:47 am
Finalizing my plan for my life changes that I planned to implement in January before I lost my list of life changes I was gonna' make for 2011.
11:51 am
So, the mere prospect of rain makes me feel better about my plan to be irresponsible all day and I'm moving ahead with my plan to eat cereal until dark and watch cartoons and paint my toenails and draw pictures of things that make me want to stab people in their thoraxes. Oh..wait...darnitall...I see a ray of sunshine. Shoot. Now I have no excuse to be irresponsible.
1:21 pm
OMG. Daniel's just standing there staring at me. Why is he staring at me?
1:22 pm
So, now I'm hiding beneath my cloak of irresponsibility (woolly blanket), but apparently it doesn't make me invisible. And, beneath my cloak, I'm doing responsible stuff to counterbalance my irresponsibility guilt like researching innovative ways to make homemade candles and mentally making a plan to reorganize my closet.
1:33 pm
Daniel's looking at me like,"Are you just gonna' sit there all day?" I've gotta pretend I'm doing important work on my computer like researching instructionally sound pedagogical practices which impact linguistically challenged individuals or determining the outcome of using research-based strategies versus common sense stuff that works.If I'm quiet maybe he'll forget I'm underneath my cloak of irresponsibility.
1:35 pm
Daniel's still looking at me.
1:38 pm
So, I'm all snuggly and tingly and happy beneath my cloak of irresponsibility, mentally planning my week of leisure during Spring Break. Clams couldn't be happier. Until....Daniel comes back in the room and says, "What would you do if your baby was switched at birth?" Bummer. Now, my brain that's wired to think about 50 irrelevant things at once as a means of task avoidance has now left its happy place.
1:40 pm
Daniel's looking at me again. And shaking his head.
1:44 pm
Oh, and I just did my third responsible thing of the day. I ate a banana. I could've had a Nutty Bar. But, I didn't. I ate a banana. Maybe I could go to Target. That would be responsible. Or, I could knit a shawl for a homeless person or rescue some kittens from underneath a condemned house. But, then I'd have to get dressed. I'll do more responsible stuff tomorrow. I'm pooped.
2:04 pm
Geez, Daniel's in a mood. All I asked for were llama shaped pancakes, a chicken quesadilla, and a foot rub. Maybe I should do one more responsible thing today. Or, I could deflect and watch "Hoarders." Yeah, that would make me feel better.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Irresponsible
The following events occured on the morning of April 16, 2011. Some names have been changed to protect the innocent.
11:29 am
11:29 am
Now Where Do I Keep My Keys?
So, I recently modified a body part that has thrown off my equilibrium for decades. Let's call them smoobies to keep this blog kid-friendly. What I'm actually referring to are the two asymmetrical (yep) lumps of flesh and tissue which hang precariously beneath my chin and are above my belly button (unless I'm bending over). So, after endless appeals to the male-dominated insurance company that makes decisions about the female anatomy even though they have different parts, I decided to suck it up and fork out 7 Gs for a more proportionate pair. When my amazing doc was able to bend them in half to show what the end result would be, I was utterly convinced that I had made the right choice.
But, alas, I have a problem. Where on earth am I gonna' house my cell phone, keys, and tic tacs? I know what you're thinking and, no, that totally won't work as I've tried it. So, my dear friend Vanessa has suggested a new device. We haven't named it yet, but it's like a bra with little baby pockets and zippers maybe. I was thinking of calling it the "Brocket". Sort of like those pouches that some folks wear around their hips to make for a hands-free day of sight-seeing or shopping. Except, they won't come in neon colors and won't contain a large unipouch in the front.
So, the day of surgery arrived and I'm like, "What the hay?" As I came to from my anesthesia induced fog, I became immediately aware that things were, indeed, quite different. I refused to get in the car with Daniel, as I felt that he was way too irresponsible to handle my care and wanted to stay with the lovely nurses who had the pain meds. Plus, for a brief moment, I thought I was a Ninja and planned to use my saddled unicorn to fight off the random zombies that I might encounter. Days later, I began to enter that completely overrated place in the time-space continuum known as reality and thought, "Ouch. This hurts like the dickens." Refusal of additional pain meds so that I appeared in complete control of myself unlike the drugsters on Cops was not a great plan and one that I deeply regret to this day. I wanted to appear totally cool and collected, although my smoobies were screaming, "We have teeth and we are biting you. We can't punch you in the eyeballs when you run anymore, sister, but we will surely get back at you for the whole dismemberment trick you just pulled. We've got your number and we're DIALING!" Needless to say, I look like a Frankenstonian experiment gone terribly wrong, and was only able to milk being incapacitated for a week. But, my bikini top will never again resemble a pool tarp or tent for the 9th regiment. I'm excited about the new "me." I just gotta figure out what to do with my funnel cake change (that one's for you, Jen).
Kudos to the amazing folks at Wilmington Plastic Surgery and Dr. Morgan who rocks....and to my family and friends who had to deal with weeks of whining and flashing. I love you guys. Bless your hearts.
But, alas, I have a problem. Where on earth am I gonna' house my cell phone, keys, and tic tacs? I know what you're thinking and, no, that totally won't work as I've tried it. So, my dear friend Vanessa has suggested a new device. We haven't named it yet, but it's like a bra with little baby pockets and zippers maybe. I was thinking of calling it the "Brocket". Sort of like those pouches that some folks wear around their hips to make for a hands-free day of sight-seeing or shopping. Except, they won't come in neon colors and won't contain a large unipouch in the front.
So, the day of surgery arrived and I'm like, "What the hay?" As I came to from my anesthesia induced fog, I became immediately aware that things were, indeed, quite different. I refused to get in the car with Daniel, as I felt that he was way too irresponsible to handle my care and wanted to stay with the lovely nurses who had the pain meds. Plus, for a brief moment, I thought I was a Ninja and planned to use my saddled unicorn to fight off the random zombies that I might encounter. Days later, I began to enter that completely overrated place in the time-space continuum known as reality and thought, "Ouch. This hurts like the dickens." Refusal of additional pain meds so that I appeared in complete control of myself unlike the drugsters on Cops was not a great plan and one that I deeply regret to this day. I wanted to appear totally cool and collected, although my smoobies were screaming, "We have teeth and we are biting you. We can't punch you in the eyeballs when you run anymore, sister, but we will surely get back at you for the whole dismemberment trick you just pulled. We've got your number and we're DIALING!" Needless to say, I look like a Frankenstonian experiment gone terribly wrong, and was only able to milk being incapacitated for a week. But, my bikini top will never again resemble a pool tarp or tent for the 9th regiment. I'm excited about the new "me." I just gotta figure out what to do with my funnel cake change (that one's for you, Jen).
Kudos to the amazing folks at Wilmington Plastic Surgery and Dr. Morgan who rocks....and to my family and friends who had to deal with weeks of whining and flashing. I love you guys. Bless your hearts.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Gynecologist
From the muffled shuffling of files outside the door, to the pungent smell of alcohol---the gynecologist's office mantains a certain air of mystery. If you even hear your lady doc speak these words, run screaming from the building and never look back:
"Tonight, I'm wrapping up my last online class. As of tomorrow, I'll be an official graduate of JOCKS2DOCS online lab of simulated learning. This pap smear was for a grade. Would you mind scoring my rubric?"
"Darnit, Robin. You forgot to change the paper again. Mrs. Jackson appears to be stuck."
"We're gonna need a bigger speculum."
"Why do your feet smell like hand sanitizer and raspberries."
"Have you been using those scented bath salts again?"
"Don't mind those posters on the wall. I'm sure YOU'RE just fine."
"You know, good hygiene is the key to good health. Why don't we try to unlock that door, shall we?"
"Now, where did this come from?"
"Gloves? Hello? Can you say O-V-E-R-R-E-A-C-T?"
"So, a sperm and an egg walk into a bar..."
"Here's another one. What do you call a ring of red, inflamed pustules? I don't know either. Hang on a sec. I'm gonna google this one."
"If I promise to change your name, can I share this on Facebook?"
"Tonight, I'm wrapping up my last online class. As of tomorrow, I'll be an official graduate of JOCKS2DOCS online lab of simulated learning. This pap smear was for a grade. Would you mind scoring my rubric?"
"Darnit, Robin. You forgot to change the paper again. Mrs. Jackson appears to be stuck."
"We're gonna need a bigger speculum."
"Why do your feet smell like hand sanitizer and raspberries."
"Have you been using those scented bath salts again?"
"Don't mind those posters on the wall. I'm sure YOU'RE just fine."
"You know, good hygiene is the key to good health. Why don't we try to unlock that door, shall we?"
"Now, where did this come from?"
"Gloves? Hello? Can you say O-V-E-R-R-E-A-C-T?"
"So, a sperm and an egg walk into a bar..."
"Here's another one. What do you call a ring of red, inflamed pustules? I don't know either. Hang on a sec. I'm gonna google this one."
"If I promise to change your name, can I share this on Facebook?"
What Not to Say to the Highway Patrol
"Tag. You're it."
"I don't know officer. How fast were you going?"
"I may not be a lawyer, sir, but I happen to know what entrapment is. If I were you, I'd just step back to that patrol car of yours and call it a day."
"You really think that badge makes you tough stuff, dontcha' smokie?"
"Go ahead. Try to give me a ticket. I know people."
"I see what you're doing. Profilin'...white women in minivans...uh huh...that's why you're all up in my grill."
"Isn't the speed limit part of a continuum? I thought 55 was the lower part of the limit."
"As a matter of fact, I never speed. And, those children in the back seat are complete liars."
"I don't know officer. How fast were you going?"
"I may not be a lawyer, sir, but I happen to know what entrapment is. If I were you, I'd just step back to that patrol car of yours and call it a day."
"You really think that badge makes you tough stuff, dontcha' smokie?"
"Go ahead. Try to give me a ticket. I know people."
"I see what you're doing. Profilin'...white women in minivans...uh huh...that's why you're all up in my grill."
"Isn't the speed limit part of a continuum? I thought 55 was the lower part of the limit."
"As a matter of fact, I never speed. And, those children in the back seat are complete liars."
Centaurs--the Other Mythological Creature
So, riddle me this. What's so great about vampires? Everywhere you look, there goes another vampire signing a movie deal. And, what a large groupie following they have. Fan clubs galore, with women exposing their large jugulars left and right. I don't get it. Vampires are way too pale and must have the breath of Methusela with all of the blood drinking and their being dead for like a jillion years and whatnot. I've never seen a vampire brush his teeth. Have you?
And, hopping on the old gravytrain are the werewolves. But, I can sort of get the whole werewolf attraction, what with the body hair and those muscular hind legs and that bushy tail. But, I'm afraid to imagine what their feet must look like. I mean, if they're hopping from treetop to treetop in mist covered forests they must have some form of fungal infection on their paw pads. Plus, werewolves don't wear tennis shoes. What about all the forest poo out there?
So, in a nutshell, I think that the vampires and werewolves need to stand back and let the unicorns and centaurs have a chance at some press. Zombies, you've had your 15 minutes, so zip it.
Unicorns are just plain fancy, what with the glittery manes and fluffy tail and all. Plus, that singular banded horn radiating from their foreheads really sends a message. It screams, "Look at the horn. I don't need two horns to carry off my look...unlike the caribou and elk. I only need my unihorn. I can move mountains."
Which leads me to centaurs. Never have I seen a centaur snag a leading role in a movie or get a book deal. They seem to be nice enough---well-mannered and attractive considering they only have half a human body. Not quite sure how they wipe with the hooves and all. Not thinking about it, though. I'd probably go out with a centaur if I had the chance. I really would. My sister-in-law, Kiyomi, and I recently had a conversation about the virtues of centaurs and unicorns, but she's sticking with the vamps and werefolk. She finds the mystery of the aformentioned creatures of the night most appealing. How do you know, for instance, that the person sitting next to you is really not a vampire or werewolf? You just don't. If you were with a centaur or unicorn, it would be a dead giveaway. Your unicorn peeps would have, for example, a very tall hat and, well, the hooves...it would be nearly impossible to find a pair of shoes that fit.
Cyclopses? Can you say, "Ewwww?" That one eyeball in the forehead just throws off the symmetry.
And, hopping on the old gravytrain are the werewolves. But, I can sort of get the whole werewolf attraction, what with the body hair and those muscular hind legs and that bushy tail. But, I'm afraid to imagine what their feet must look like. I mean, if they're hopping from treetop to treetop in mist covered forests they must have some form of fungal infection on their paw pads. Plus, werewolves don't wear tennis shoes. What about all the forest poo out there?
So, in a nutshell, I think that the vampires and werewolves need to stand back and let the unicorns and centaurs have a chance at some press. Zombies, you've had your 15 minutes, so zip it.
Unicorns are just plain fancy, what with the glittery manes and fluffy tail and all. Plus, that singular banded horn radiating from their foreheads really sends a message. It screams, "Look at the horn. I don't need two horns to carry off my look...unlike the caribou and elk. I only need my unihorn. I can move mountains."
Which leads me to centaurs. Never have I seen a centaur snag a leading role in a movie or get a book deal. They seem to be nice enough---well-mannered and attractive considering they only have half a human body. Not quite sure how they wipe with the hooves and all. Not thinking about it, though. I'd probably go out with a centaur if I had the chance. I really would. My sister-in-law, Kiyomi, and I recently had a conversation about the virtues of centaurs and unicorns, but she's sticking with the vamps and werefolk. She finds the mystery of the aformentioned creatures of the night most appealing. How do you know, for instance, that the person sitting next to you is really not a vampire or werewolf? You just don't. If you were with a centaur or unicorn, it would be a dead giveaway. Your unicorn peeps would have, for example, a very tall hat and, well, the hooves...it would be nearly impossible to find a pair of shoes that fit.
Cyclopses? Can you say, "Ewwww?" That one eyeball in the forehead just throws off the symmetry.
I'm Gonna Live!
Hey guys. I am not dying. I'm thrilled, because I thought I was. Apparently, I have anemia which makes me feel like total poop. After the doctor explained how totally screwed up my red blood cells (or lack thereof) were, I thought she was gonna give me a yucky diagnosis like leukemia or something that would make my hair fall out (heaven forbid), so when she said "Anemia" I was like "Awesome." Well, my mom is convinced that I may have a terrible disease like leukemia (as she is an online pseudo medical researcher) and Jacob, who hears bits of conversations, thinks I have bulemia and is totally grossed out by it. Daniel has told his mother that they're draining all the blood out of my body to give me some that's fresh and healthy, so she's totally freaked out. My sister, the nurse, keeps trying to drag my limp body to the hospital because she thinks everyone is understimating the seriousness of my jacked up blood cells and I'm refusing to go. Fortunately, I am a mere lump of flesh and bones and she is too petite to get my dead weight into the car. So, if you happen to be in the greater Surf City area and see a mere shell of a girl laying in the yard, pick me up and throw me in your car so I may get a few moments of peace and quiet at your house. I promise not to fight.
So, the bad news is that I'm likely to get a blood transfusion in the next day or so and that's totally grossing me out, as it could be the blood of a raving lunatic or a Duke fan, whichever is worse I have no idea. The good news is that my brain and my heart and the rest of me have slowly been depleted of oxygen over the past several years and the surgery just finished me off. So, that means that my absent-mindedness and lack of clear and objective thinking has had a physical source. In three months, I'll be totally normal like you guys. YIPPEEEE!
I'd love to send a big thankyou to my GP---Heather Downs at Island Family Medicine in Surf City. She figured me out and actually thinks I could be normal. Imagine that!
I'd love to send a big thankyou to my GP---Heather Downs at Island Family Medicine in Surf City. She figured me out and actually thinks I could be normal. Imagine that!
Anyway, I'm having a strange craving to tackle a baby deer and eat its liver. Gross, I know, but I would prefer it (almost) over the transfusion. Now I know how the vampires feel. And werewolves, too, I guess. And, possibly the zombies as they always look a little pale and move way too slow. Thanks for all of your kind words and well wishes. I love you guys dearly and hope you have a blessed Easter and relaxing Spring Break. I am now going to go and take advantage of my incapacitated state with a chair in the sun and a David Sedaris book!
Sunday, April 3, 2011
My Brush With Catholocism: Am I Catholic Now?
My Catholic friend Rebecca has a Catholic kid who had to have a Catholic christening at the Catholic church on the Catholic beach (just kidding...the beach isn't Catholic). Anyway, I was under the naive impression that the christening would involve naming and God blessing the official Godfather of the Catholic kid who had to be a Catholic himself. I know that there are Catholic rules out there about who has an "in" and the whole Godfather business is serious. Apparently, the Godfather is an extension of the family, a sort of big daddy type who buys the kid presents and serves as the guardian, heaven forbid, should the biologicals make like a tree and leave. We Baptists do it the hard way, I suppose, by having legal documents like wills drawn up to determine who gets Dick and Jane. So, imagine my surprise when Rebecca asked my husband, the guy who is as far from Catholic as the ocean is wide, to be her son's Godfather. I wondered if they knew something that I didn't about my husband, like maybe he had a secret Catholic upbringing that he refused to let me in on. Either way, my husband (he has a name and it is Daniel) was completely honored to be little Garland's Godfather. I imagined him dressed in a pin striped suit, hair slicked back, looking slyly from left to right to see if anyone was tailing him. He was nervous about what to expect at the christening, but Rebecca assured him that he could follow her lead and that all the Catholics would just love him to pieces.
At mid-service, my saint straddling Baptist daughter decided it was time to go potty, so we snuck out the side door and carried on with our business. Upon reentering the church, I noticed a long line of folks with no Godfather or Catholic friend in sight. What to do??? Being a team player, I decided that the best course of action would be to join right in and get in line behind them. Being ever so observant, I watched as the priest placed a cookie in the mouths of the folks in line. This looked vaguely familiar to me, so I just did what the other, more experienced people in line were doing. Besides, it was almost high noon and my stomach was growling like a wild boar. Lindsay's bag of Teddy Grahams were history, so I was sure that having a little snack for her wouldn't hurt. As we approached the priest, he placed the cookie (which really wasn't) in our mouths and I attempted my best sign of the cross (still backwards because I hadn't learned the right way yet). Feeling as pleased as punch that I was really starting to fit in, I looked to my left and saw Rebecca. Her face was red and her head bowed low and I really thought she saw me wave (she didn't wave back). Only after the service did I realize that I did something really bad. I, a non-Catholic, accepted holy communion...and so did my Baptist kid. Apparently, this is a really big no-no in the Catholic circles. I kept my non-Catholocism on the down low the rest of the afternoon and ,when my daughter Lindsay did anything wrong, I responded with a loud, "Stop that Mary Catherine," just to be on the safe side.
At mid-service, my saint straddling Baptist daughter decided it was time to go potty, so we snuck out the side door and carried on with our business. Upon reentering the church, I noticed a long line of folks with no Godfather or Catholic friend in sight. What to do??? Being a team player, I decided that the best course of action would be to join right in and get in line behind them. Being ever so observant, I watched as the priest placed a cookie in the mouths of the folks in line. This looked vaguely familiar to me, so I just did what the other, more experienced people in line were doing. Besides, it was almost high noon and my stomach was growling like a wild boar. Lindsay's bag of Teddy Grahams were history, so I was sure that having a little snack for her wouldn't hurt. As we approached the priest, he placed the cookie (which really wasn't) in our mouths and I attempted my best sign of the cross (still backwards because I hadn't learned the right way yet). Feeling as pleased as punch that I was really starting to fit in, I looked to my left and saw Rebecca. Her face was red and her head bowed low and I really thought she saw me wave (she didn't wave back). Only after the service did I realize that I did something really bad. I, a non-Catholic, accepted holy communion...and so did my Baptist kid. Apparently, this is a really big no-no in the Catholic circles. I kept my non-Catholocism on the down low the rest of the afternoon and ,when my daughter Lindsay did anything wrong, I responded with a loud, "Stop that Mary Catherine," just to be on the safe side.
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