We only have one car. For the most part, this isn't really a problem. But now that we have Pepper, things are a bit more complicated. In order to get Husband to work and still arrange it so that I have the car all day, we all get up early and take him to work.
The first day we did this I decided to make the most of being out of the house by going to my favorite neighborhood cafe for some espresso and to read the paper. It felt so good to be out on the town with my baby. I was still significantly worried, however, about exposing my newborn to the public's germs. And, I think a substantial part of me was also worried that other people thought I was a bad mom for exposing my newborn to the outside world.
Nevertheless, I was thoroughly enjoying the experience of sitting in the cafe, reading my newspaper, drinking my latte, and rocking my baby. This lasted right up until I heard a woman ask another woman, "Is that a real skunk?" At that point, I looked up just in time to see a real live baby skunk peering out of the woman's handbag, about 4 feet away from me and my vulnerable baby.
What was I thinking? How could I take my baby out on the town without considering the possibility that people would bring their newly rescued baby skunks into the cafe with them. Just when I thought I had considered all the dangers the world presented, a woman takes her skunk out for coffee.
Showing posts with label Good Times. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Good Times. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Monday, March 19, 2007
St. Patty's Day Tumble
I meant to write this on St. Patrick's Day, but my energy level is so low that I don't do anything when I would like to do it. In 1998, on St. Patrick's Day, I took up a labmate's invitation to go snowboarding that night. The local ski resort was having a special night rate for the holiday and it included a free beer. It was a startlingly cold day, but there hadn't been fresh snow in over a week. I was desperate to assert my independence from then-husband, and show that I could go places without him, including snowboarding on my own.
However, that day, there wasn't a whole lot of snow, but plenty of ice. I am an intermediate level boarder, but had never been on my board without my husband until that point. So, Mitch picked me up and we made the 20 minute drive to the hill. Now, it is important to understand that it is possible to ski on ice, which is what Mitch was doing that night, but it is really quite inadvisable to snowboard on ice. Snowboarding requires that you be able to lean into the mountain and edge your board into the snow to maintain some control. It's likely that an expert would have been able to do it, but I was NOT an expert.
After a few sketchy runs down an intermediate run, I was feeling quite confident. Mitch was on another run, doing moguls I think. So, I was alone. On about my 4th run down that same path, I went full force, with incredible speed. Amazing how fast one can go on a virtually frictionless surface like ice. The problem is that without an ability to use your edge to slow down, you simply can't slow down without significant experience. Of course, the adrenaline I had going kept me from even considering the laws of physics. About 2/3 of the way down the hill, on the steepest part, I threw my back end around to grab the hill and slow down a bit. Well, the edge definitely caught, in fact it wedged itself in and I went literally head over heels, cart wheels down the mountain. Mind you, it's night, it's dark, and there was no one else on that run. Apparently I knocked myself unconscious for probably 5 minutes, not exactly sure though.
Eventually, I pulled myself up and snowboarded very carefully down the rest of mountain to the lodge. At that point, I couldn't really stand up straight because I was in so much pain in my upper body. I ripped the bindings off, threw the board against the wall of the lodge, and headed up for what I believed was a well deserved St. Patty's Day beer. After finishing my free beer, I promptly got up and threw up the entire pint in the bathroom. From there, I waited at the bottom of Mitch's run, until he showed up for his own beer. Just one glance at me convinced him I was done and ready to go. Sadly, when I went to retrieve my board, it was gone. Someone had stolen my board because I had failed to lock it up. Fuck.
The next day, I hobbled into a meeting with my advisor, determined to show my recent results. I couldn't sit up straight or move my head from side to side, but damn it I had science to do. The most senior grad student in my lab called the health center and made an appointment for me, whether I liked it or not. That afternoon after a series of x-rays and a CT scan it was determined that I had myself a fractured vertebrae. Really it's not as bad as it sounds. For your anatomy buffs out there, I broke my C7 spinus process. It was a stable fracture, so all of my movement didn't threaten my spinal cord. Regardless, when a bone breaks, your muscles freeze up to protect the fracture. I couldn't move my head around on my neck and my head felt so heavy. To add to the fun, I had a severe ice burn and scrape down one side of my face and post-concussive syndrome.
I spent the next 2 months on the couch waiting for my muscles to free up my neck again. I should mention that the first week, then-husband went on a week long snowboarding trip in Vermont, leaving me alone to fend for myself but unable to get off the couch for more than a minute or two. Good one, huh? Yeah, my family and friends were pretty impressed with him too. I should also mention that I drove myself to the hospital for the CT scan and every single physical therapy appointment. I am so glad that I upgraded.
However, that day, there wasn't a whole lot of snow, but plenty of ice. I am an intermediate level boarder, but had never been on my board without my husband until that point. So, Mitch picked me up and we made the 20 minute drive to the hill. Now, it is important to understand that it is possible to ski on ice, which is what Mitch was doing that night, but it is really quite inadvisable to snowboard on ice. Snowboarding requires that you be able to lean into the mountain and edge your board into the snow to maintain some control. It's likely that an expert would have been able to do it, but I was NOT an expert.
After a few sketchy runs down an intermediate run, I was feeling quite confident. Mitch was on another run, doing moguls I think. So, I was alone. On about my 4th run down that same path, I went full force, with incredible speed. Amazing how fast one can go on a virtually frictionless surface like ice. The problem is that without an ability to use your edge to slow down, you simply can't slow down without significant experience. Of course, the adrenaline I had going kept me from even considering the laws of physics. About 2/3 of the way down the hill, on the steepest part, I threw my back end around to grab the hill and slow down a bit. Well, the edge definitely caught, in fact it wedged itself in and I went literally head over heels, cart wheels down the mountain. Mind you, it's night, it's dark, and there was no one else on that run. Apparently I knocked myself unconscious for probably 5 minutes, not exactly sure though.
Eventually, I pulled myself up and snowboarded very carefully down the rest of mountain to the lodge. At that point, I couldn't really stand up straight because I was in so much pain in my upper body. I ripped the bindings off, threw the board against the wall of the lodge, and headed up for what I believed was a well deserved St. Patty's Day beer. After finishing my free beer, I promptly got up and threw up the entire pint in the bathroom. From there, I waited at the bottom of Mitch's run, until he showed up for his own beer. Just one glance at me convinced him I was done and ready to go. Sadly, when I went to retrieve my board, it was gone. Someone had stolen my board because I had failed to lock it up. Fuck.
The next day, I hobbled into a meeting with my advisor, determined to show my recent results. I couldn't sit up straight or move my head from side to side, but damn it I had science to do. The most senior grad student in my lab called the health center and made an appointment for me, whether I liked it or not. That afternoon after a series of x-rays and a CT scan it was determined that I had myself a fractured vertebrae. Really it's not as bad as it sounds. For your anatomy buffs out there, I broke my C7 spinus process. It was a stable fracture, so all of my movement didn't threaten my spinal cord. Regardless, when a bone breaks, your muscles freeze up to protect the fracture. I couldn't move my head around on my neck and my head felt so heavy. To add to the fun, I had a severe ice burn and scrape down one side of my face and post-concussive syndrome.
I spent the next 2 months on the couch waiting for my muscles to free up my neck again. I should mention that the first week, then-husband went on a week long snowboarding trip in Vermont, leaving me alone to fend for myself but unable to get off the couch for more than a minute or two. Good one, huh? Yeah, my family and friends were pretty impressed with him too. I should also mention that I drove myself to the hospital for the CT scan and every single physical therapy appointment. I am so glad that I upgraded.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
I love you guys.
Thanks so much for the well wishes, prayers, crossed digits, and meditations. They are gratefully appreciated. So, this morning I obsessively checked every possible excretion and so far it looks as if it has stopped for now. No blood, no pink, red or brown. And, so far still no cramps or back pain. The nausea seems to have ramped up a bit, and the other wonderful pregnancy symptoms are in full force as well. Didn't get much sleep last night though, as you may imagine. Called doctor and she seemed attentive but not at all concerned, especially since it stopped so quickly. She thinks that I may have had a stomach bug, because yesterday's fun was accompanied by a whole lot of pooping. Sorry for that tidbit, but I think it may be relevant.
I will be out of email and blog contact until late Friday. If anything horrendous happens, I may have a friend break into my blog and tell you all, but I am hoping that won't need to happen. You are all so fabulous and your words of reassurance and hope were infinitely helpful. THANK YOU!!! I will be back to update late Friday. Promise.
I will be out of email and blog contact until late Friday. If anything horrendous happens, I may have a friend break into my blog and tell you all, but I am hoping that won't need to happen. You are all so fabulous and your words of reassurance and hope were infinitely helpful. THANK YOU!!! I will be back to update late Friday. Promise.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Is that good news in your pocket, or...
So, after all the whining and complaining that I put you all through in every one of my posts, I thought you could all use some good news for a change. And hey, so could I.
I woke up this morning in a terrible mood. Terrible. Bad dreams really seem to set the tone for the day, even if I can't remember the details of those nightmares. Sometimes later in the day I recall something and am not sure whether it happened in the dream or not. Take yesterday for instance. I approached Husband and asked whether he told me to stop whining about being so tired all the time and to just keep it to myself. No, he did not tell me that in real life, it was indeed part of a dream. But I had so much trouble shaking the thought.
Anyway, I was equipped with horns this morning and not happy about yet another week of classes ahead of me. By the time I got to campus I was consumed by the knowledge that I had not yet heard back from the leg@l clinic I interviewed with last Monday, despite the fact that they said they would contact me by now. Sure that I had not received an offer, I pretty much stomped around all day wondering why the hell I was even continuing to go to class if I was unemployable. Hell, why did I even get out of bed?
And then a miracle occurred. At 4pm today, I got a phone call from the clinic and they offered me the summer position!!!!!!! I cannot quite contain my excitement. While the position is not paid, I will be able to get a public interest grant from my school to allow me to survive the summer, AND I will be doing the work that I really want to do. AWESOME!!!!
And because I cannot help but worry about the next thing, I leave you with my newest anxiety issue of the moment. How in the world am I going to give birth and care for a newborn in the first few months (assuming this pregnancy actually sticks and gives me one of those take home babies) while I am smack dab in the middle of Fall semester of l@w school? I can barely handle this stuff as is. Thoughts anyone?
I woke up this morning in a terrible mood. Terrible. Bad dreams really seem to set the tone for the day, even if I can't remember the details of those nightmares. Sometimes later in the day I recall something and am not sure whether it happened in the dream or not. Take yesterday for instance. I approached Husband and asked whether he told me to stop whining about being so tired all the time and to just keep it to myself. No, he did not tell me that in real life, it was indeed part of a dream. But I had so much trouble shaking the thought.
Anyway, I was equipped with horns this morning and not happy about yet another week of classes ahead of me. By the time I got to campus I was consumed by the knowledge that I had not yet heard back from the leg@l clinic I interviewed with last Monday, despite the fact that they said they would contact me by now. Sure that I had not received an offer, I pretty much stomped around all day wondering why the hell I was even continuing to go to class if I was unemployable. Hell, why did I even get out of bed?
And then a miracle occurred. At 4pm today, I got a phone call from the clinic and they offered me the summer position!!!!!!! I cannot quite contain my excitement. While the position is not paid, I will be able to get a public interest grant from my school to allow me to survive the summer, AND I will be doing the work that I really want to do. AWESOME!!!!
And because I cannot help but worry about the next thing, I leave you with my newest anxiety issue of the moment. How in the world am I going to give birth and care for a newborn in the first few months (assuming this pregnancy actually sticks and gives me one of those take home babies) while I am smack dab in the middle of Fall semester of l@w school? I can barely handle this stuff as is. Thoughts anyone?
Sunday, February 18, 2007
There's a pooter in my cooter. (now with a photo, per your request)
I have been really really struggling for the last week on how to post my news. And since I haven't come up with a good way to say it, I'll just get it out there. There is a pooter in my cooter, and that's a good thing. Let me explain...
Monday, AF still hadn't shown her ugly head, so I thought, "What the hell, might as well waste a stick." And because I have no patience, I interpret the results as soon as I see the urine do the capillary crawl into the test area. I know, I know, this is a big no, no. Of course, there was a brilliant control line, and apparently nothing in the test area. So I sat there contemplating my extended stay in Crazyville and then finished up. Right before I was about to throw it away, I looked at it again, and what do you know? If I squinted, I could see the faintest of lines. "Is THAT a line? Is that really a line? Is that what positive lines look like? Holy crap, I think that's a line." So I ran upstairs and stuck the urine soaked stick in Husband's face, and asked if he saw a line. He saw the line too. Then I ran downstairs and pulled out Friday's BFN stick from the trash, there were two lines on that one too. (Yeah, I know, that's another big no, no. But hey, I am past rational at this point.) Holy cow, I think I am pregnant.
Then I took a picture of it and sent it to 2 women friends for a second and third opinion. They saw the line too. Husband was still skeptical and tried to remain cautiously optimistic. In the meantime, I couldn't stop rolling the word line over and over in my head, all day long. I am sure it's the only day of this pregnancy that someone could say that I glowed. Not from the hormones, but from the shear excitement of it all. By the next day, I was sure I had imagined the whole thing and tried another stick. Another line, a bit darker than before, but not by much. As I repeated the test every 24 hours, the line got increasingly darker. By Thursday, I was convinced that I was pregnant.
By the way, with the first positive test, I started to freak out about the Ser0que1 I am still taking for sleep and sanity maintenance. I had successfully gone down from 300mg to 100mg, but any lower and I couldn't sleep at all. After consulting every possible drug and pregnancy database, I remained concerned about the drug's affect on my blastocyst. So, I made the unwise decision to go down to 25 mg on Wednesday night. I didn't sleep but maybe 2 fitful hours. Plus, the stress of being snowed-in, caused a flare up of my supposed interstitial cystitis, and then the nausea set in. On Thursday, I was a puddle of tears. A bawling, mess, who eventually threw a magazine across the room out of frustration.
Thursday night, I succumbed to exhaustion and insanity, and ramped my Ser0que1 back up to 50mg. That did the trick. I slept soundly and dreamed like crazy. I will skip the details of the main dream to get to the good part. In the dream, I am riding my bicycle while nursing my newborn. Oh, and my nipples were 4 inches long. My mother, on another bike, asks me what we named the baby boy. My response: Pooter. I named our child Pooter. I have no idea where in the world I came up with that name, but there it was. When I woke up, I thought, hey, there's a Pooter in my cooter. Husband does not find this nearly as funny as I do.
Ask and you shall receive...
As a side note, I am going to try to comment on the last post right before I write another post now. This way, I can respond to your comments. So, now you know, in case you feel like checking it out. Otherwise, just ignore me.
Monday, AF still hadn't shown her ugly head, so I thought, "What the hell, might as well waste a stick." And because I have no patience, I interpret the results as soon as I see the urine do the capillary crawl into the test area. I know, I know, this is a big no, no. Of course, there was a brilliant control line, and apparently nothing in the test area. So I sat there contemplating my extended stay in Crazyville and then finished up. Right before I was about to throw it away, I looked at it again, and what do you know? If I squinted, I could see the faintest of lines. "Is THAT a line? Is that really a line? Is that what positive lines look like? Holy crap, I think that's a line." So I ran upstairs and stuck the urine soaked stick in Husband's face, and asked if he saw a line. He saw the line too. Then I ran downstairs and pulled out Friday's BFN stick from the trash, there were two lines on that one too. (Yeah, I know, that's another big no, no. But hey, I am past rational at this point.) Holy cow, I think I am pregnant.
Then I took a picture of it and sent it to 2 women friends for a second and third opinion. They saw the line too. Husband was still skeptical and tried to remain cautiously optimistic. In the meantime, I couldn't stop rolling the word line over and over in my head, all day long. I am sure it's the only day of this pregnancy that someone could say that I glowed. Not from the hormones, but from the shear excitement of it all. By the next day, I was sure I had imagined the whole thing and tried another stick. Another line, a bit darker than before, but not by much. As I repeated the test every 24 hours, the line got increasingly darker. By Thursday, I was convinced that I was pregnant.
By the way, with the first positive test, I started to freak out about the Ser0que1 I am still taking for sleep and sanity maintenance. I had successfully gone down from 300mg to 100mg, but any lower and I couldn't sleep at all. After consulting every possible drug and pregnancy database, I remained concerned about the drug's affect on my blastocyst. So, I made the unwise decision to go down to 25 mg on Wednesday night. I didn't sleep but maybe 2 fitful hours. Plus, the stress of being snowed-in, caused a flare up of my supposed interstitial cystitis, and then the nausea set in. On Thursday, I was a puddle of tears. A bawling, mess, who eventually threw a magazine across the room out of frustration.
Thursday night, I succumbed to exhaustion and insanity, and ramped my Ser0que1 back up to 50mg. That did the trick. I slept soundly and dreamed like crazy. I will skip the details of the main dream to get to the good part. In the dream, I am riding my bicycle while nursing my newborn. Oh, and my nipples were 4 inches long. My mother, on another bike, asks me what we named the baby boy. My response: Pooter. I named our child Pooter. I have no idea where in the world I came up with that name, but there it was. When I woke up, I thought, hey, there's a Pooter in my cooter. Husband does not find this nearly as funny as I do.
Ask and you shall receive...
As a side note, I am going to try to comment on the last post right before I write another post now. This way, I can respond to your comments. So, now you know, in case you feel like checking it out. Otherwise, just ignore me.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Purty flowers.
For now, I don't have a whole lot to say, so I will post some pictures (again, from the camera on my phone, so sorry for the blur). Includes a rare photo of me, but it's from the back. I will likely take it down in a couple of days, so check it out now if you're curious.
This orchid finally bloomed and I am elated. The timing couldn't be better, during this dark and colorless Winter.
My favorite wedding photo of me from my own favorite wedding. ;)
Here's the main reason that I won't make it to school today. It will likely take the better part of the day to dig out. 10 inches in less than 12 hours, and counting.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Because I need to laugh, or something.
It's been a heavy week for my blog, and I think we all need to laugh. I can't guarantee that you'll laugh, but these things make me giggle a bit. Husband frequently accuses me of cracking myself up. He's right. I think I'm pretty funny sometimes. Funny looking too, actually.
So here's some rather funny (more the strange than the haha) about me...
So here's some rather funny (more the strange than the haha) about me...
- I pee with the door open. Most other things I do in the bathroom I do with the door closed, but for some reason I forget to close the door if I'm just peeing. Husband is totally grossed out by this bad habit of mine. I tell him, "Hey, I'm only peeing, what's the big deal?" His answer: "It's not the peeing, it's the wiping." Me: "Oh...I see your point."
- I have a blankie. It's not the same blankie as when I was little (I finally retired that one in college), but it serves the same function. And it's not nice and soft, it's crocheted from cheap acrylic yarn so the blanket is pretty scratchy. That's what the first husband used to call it, "Scratchy". He used to hide it from me, so he wouldn't have to sleep with it next to him. What an ass he was.
- I used to go places where it was customary to exist without attire. (Oh, Lordee, I hope that phrase was innocent enough not to bring certain goog.l.ers my way.) In particular there was a spa in Napa that I would go to with the first husband. Absolutely lovely natural hot spring that forbade any romantic displays of any kind, and it was strictly enforced. It was a very family place actually. Plenty of kids and babies. You always had to sit on your towel, and I found that comforting. The spa offered its patrons a string of beads to wear around the neck as an indication that that patron did not wish to be spoken to. Husband cringes when I talk about wanting to go there again. He loves his clothing and wants to keep it that way.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
I forgot clumsy
6. Clumsy
I forgot "clumsy" on my list of themes from yesterday. Husband thought I should add it. I had never considered clumsy to be one of my life's themes, but he's right, let's face it, it is. I am forever clumsy. My father used to tuck my long hair into the back of my shirt so I wouldn't dip it into my food during meals. I was never allowed to eat or drink anything while on any carpeted surface of my parents home. I should own stock in Resolve for how much I buy the stuff. My husband's favorite clumsy story is the one about the first time we met. It's a classic example of my clumsy theme.
My husband and I met at a local festival here in town. There is no purported reason for the festival other than the interesting fact that it is usually held after all of the students leave for summer break. My town is a college town so the departure of the students can be bittersweet. For all intensive purposes, despite my current status as a student, I consider myself a "townie". Some use this term with derogative implications, but I wear the townie badge with pride. After all, this is the longest I have ever lived in one town and I tend to feel like I belong here. Anyway, it wasn't but a few months after my first husband and I separated when the festival occurred. So, I was doing just about anything to keep my mind off of the divorce. Thus, I took up a friend's offer to go to the festival for the day.
It was an up day for me at the time, in fact, looking back, I was probably hovering in the realm of hypomania. Nevertheless, I was having a great time and felt very energized by the street music, the arts, crafts, and herds of people. My friend and I saw a friend and her husband while they were listening to a local band perform. After some chatting, I finally noticed that the friend and her husband were towing behind them a friend of theirs. I had no idea who this guy was, and in my mood, I decided to find out, pronto. Oh, boy was this guy cute! The first thing to draw me to him was his necklace which consisted of brown wood beads of uniform size with the main bead being a ceramic fish. Then, his t-shirt caught my eye, a Phish t-shirt.
In the same way that you can tell certain things about a person when they have a Grateful Dead sticker on their car, you can read certain things into a person when they wear Phish paraphernalia. For those who don't know who the hell I am talking about, Phish is a music jam band with a similar following as the Grateful Dead. With my first husband, we used to follow Phish around on tour. We were never the cross country followers, but we did coincide our move from California to New York with Phish's tour along the same route. We also were one of the die-hards that sat in line in our car on a Florida highway for 12 hours just to get into the Phish concert for New Year's 2000. 12 hours to travel less than 30 miles! So, when I saw his t-shirt, I knew we had something in common, something fun. It would be my "in".
Somehow, we all agreed to meet later that evening at a local beer bar. Another link- he likes beer, I like beer. So far, so good. I was feeling especially sparky that day with my overalls on and a slightly tighter shirt than normal. When we all met at the bar, we were all feeling pretty lively from the day's festival. We all ordered beers. Now this is where the details become important. The bar is set up with benches and long tables and therefore, even if you aren't at the same table as another person, you can still be fairly close to the person sitting on the same bench or in the same row. In my high mood, I was busy telling stories to entertain my friends and this new guy. It should be noted that a full pint of beer was sitting in front of me on our table, and I am not sure whether I had already drank one or not, but I was definitely not inebriated. When I tell stories, I use my hands to an annoying degree. This tactic gets me in all sorts of trouble. So as I told the story with my hands, I inadvertently, clumsily, knocked the entire beer over, spilling the whole pint onto my overalls. I was soaked in beer. Because I do this kind of thing all of the time, I was prepared to laugh at myself.
Sitting there covered in beer, I am laughing with friends when the girl sitting diagonal from me at an adjacent table leans over to the friend across from me at our table. The girl asks my friend if she could try to keep me under control. Now this is where you have to picture a tiny waifish college girl foolishly telling a friend of mine to keep me under control. Oh boy. Apparently, some of the beer I spilled all over myself must have splashed up and dotted her table. Crisis. Once the three women at my table realized what this girl had just said, we just stared at each other while I schemed. I have to admit that the three of us are sizable women. While not fat, we were tall, large boned, sturdy women. I would like to think that most skinny, waif-like girls wouldn't risk picking a fight with three women of our stature, but apparently we were sitting near an exception to my assumption. One female friend finally leaned over to the waiflet to ask her to repeat what she had said. On that note, I promptly got up from the table, went into the bathroom, and unrolled a hefty number of paper towels. Upon my return to our table, I slammed down the paper towels on the waiflet's table and said, "Here you go", and then sat down at my table. The laughter was difficult to suppress, but we continued on with a rather fun night. And no, I didn't go home with Husband-to-be...
...well, not that night anyway.
That was Husband's first impression of me. Good one huh? I am so smooth!
I forgot "clumsy" on my list of themes from yesterday. Husband thought I should add it. I had never considered clumsy to be one of my life's themes, but he's right, let's face it, it is. I am forever clumsy. My father used to tuck my long hair into the back of my shirt so I wouldn't dip it into my food during meals. I was never allowed to eat or drink anything while on any carpeted surface of my parents home. I should own stock in Resolve for how much I buy the stuff. My husband's favorite clumsy story is the one about the first time we met. It's a classic example of my clumsy theme.
My husband and I met at a local festival here in town. There is no purported reason for the festival other than the interesting fact that it is usually held after all of the students leave for summer break. My town is a college town so the departure of the students can be bittersweet. For all intensive purposes, despite my current status as a student, I consider myself a "townie". Some use this term with derogative implications, but I wear the townie badge with pride. After all, this is the longest I have ever lived in one town and I tend to feel like I belong here. Anyway, it wasn't but a few months after my first husband and I separated when the festival occurred. So, I was doing just about anything to keep my mind off of the divorce. Thus, I took up a friend's offer to go to the festival for the day.
It was an up day for me at the time, in fact, looking back, I was probably hovering in the realm of hypomania. Nevertheless, I was having a great time and felt very energized by the street music, the arts, crafts, and herds of people. My friend and I saw a friend and her husband while they were listening to a local band perform. After some chatting, I finally noticed that the friend and her husband were towing behind them a friend of theirs. I had no idea who this guy was, and in my mood, I decided to find out, pronto. Oh, boy was this guy cute! The first thing to draw me to him was his necklace which consisted of brown wood beads of uniform size with the main bead being a ceramic fish. Then, his t-shirt caught my eye, a Phish t-shirt.
In the same way that you can tell certain things about a person when they have a Grateful Dead sticker on their car, you can read certain things into a person when they wear Phish paraphernalia. For those who don't know who the hell I am talking about, Phish is a music jam band with a similar following as the Grateful Dead. With my first husband, we used to follow Phish around on tour. We were never the cross country followers, but we did coincide our move from California to New York with Phish's tour along the same route. We also were one of the die-hards that sat in line in our car on a Florida highway for 12 hours just to get into the Phish concert for New Year's 2000. 12 hours to travel less than 30 miles! So, when I saw his t-shirt, I knew we had something in common, something fun. It would be my "in".
Somehow, we all agreed to meet later that evening at a local beer bar. Another link- he likes beer, I like beer. So far, so good. I was feeling especially sparky that day with my overalls on and a slightly tighter shirt than normal. When we all met at the bar, we were all feeling pretty lively from the day's festival. We all ordered beers. Now this is where the details become important. The bar is set up with benches and long tables and therefore, even if you aren't at the same table as another person, you can still be fairly close to the person sitting on the same bench or in the same row. In my high mood, I was busy telling stories to entertain my friends and this new guy. It should be noted that a full pint of beer was sitting in front of me on our table, and I am not sure whether I had already drank one or not, but I was definitely not inebriated. When I tell stories, I use my hands to an annoying degree. This tactic gets me in all sorts of trouble. So as I told the story with my hands, I inadvertently, clumsily, knocked the entire beer over, spilling the whole pint onto my overalls. I was soaked in beer. Because I do this kind of thing all of the time, I was prepared to laugh at myself.
Sitting there covered in beer, I am laughing with friends when the girl sitting diagonal from me at an adjacent table leans over to the friend across from me at our table. The girl asks my friend if she could try to keep me under control. Now this is where you have to picture a tiny waifish college girl foolishly telling a friend of mine to keep me under control. Oh boy. Apparently, some of the beer I spilled all over myself must have splashed up and dotted her table. Crisis. Once the three women at my table realized what this girl had just said, we just stared at each other while I schemed. I have to admit that the three of us are sizable women. While not fat, we were tall, large boned, sturdy women. I would like to think that most skinny, waif-like girls wouldn't risk picking a fight with three women of our stature, but apparently we were sitting near an exception to my assumption. One female friend finally leaned over to the waiflet to ask her to repeat what she had said. On that note, I promptly got up from the table, went into the bathroom, and unrolled a hefty number of paper towels. Upon my return to our table, I slammed down the paper towels on the waiflet's table and said, "Here you go", and then sat down at my table. The laughter was difficult to suppress, but we continued on with a rather fun night. And no, I didn't go home with Husband-to-be...
...well, not that night anyway.
That was Husband's first impression of me. Good one huh? I am so smooth!
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Meming me.
The Six Weird Things Meme
So these are Six Weird Things about Me (Husband's comment on my request to help me think of six weird things about me: "Only six huh?...Well, I'm not taking that bait." Smart man.) :- I hate it when my toes are squished together. HATE IT! If my feet are in close toed shoes that are a bit tight, I spend an inordinate amount of time spreading my toes out as far and flat as they will go.
- I simply can't eat an animal that I saw, recently, in its house. Thus, if I eat shrimp, my husband must do the peeling off of their houses, alone, I can't even peek or else I won't be able to eat them. Lobsters are only acceptable if they come evicted, therefore I can only eat lobster tail. No clams, oysters, snails. Eeew.
- I feel guilty when a store or restaurant goes out of business. Yes, I am self centered enough to think it is all my fault. If only I had gone in there to shop or eat, then they wouldn't have had to close up shop. It's not that I think that they were waiting for me, but I still think I could have done more to help.
- I want to tell everyone, everything, all of the time. But it, uh, kind of puts people off, including Husband sometimes. Poor guy. He puts up with a lot.
- I like to garden, but not with plants. I prefer rocks. All types of rocks. I just stack them up, build walls, lots of walls. Good times.
- I like to say "I" when I write my blog. Fun. In all of the other writing I have to do I can't say I. So I take great liberties when it comes to my blog ramblings and the use of the word "I". More good times. Oh, and using the word "you" is an additional good time.
Tag your it, Veronika, Barbara, Sara, TheTwoWeekWait, Mary Taitt, Dino aka Katy.
Aurelia tagged me first, so you know who to blame ultimately.
By the way, here are the rules...
RULES: Each player of this game starts with the weird things about them. People who get tagged need to write on their blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says you have tagged them in their comments and tell them to read your blog.
For those I didn't tag, feel free to comment with at least one weird thing. Don't make me be weird alone...
Friday, December 29, 2006
And then a miracle occurred
Last night was very rough indeed. The sandman was apparently having an affair with someone else because I didn't catch a single wink last night. I finally fell asleep on the couch after dawn and after a double dose of Seroquel. Didn't wake up until after 1pm today. Groggy, but finally rested.
A few minutes ago, I was surfing my life away and then a miracle occurred. Husband stands up and says to me in a sincere tone, "Have fun blogging, bloghead." So I ask where he's off to and he replies, "I'm going to clean the kitchen." Long pause now for the breath of air I am trying to catch as he walks toward the kitchen. I am all a flutter. Goosebumps as well.
Happiness is a clean kitchen in the land of Crazyville. He's going to be able to milk this good deed for awhile and I really don't mind. Crazyville is on the red level of the terrorist alert scheme when the kitchen has been taken over by other kingdoms, families, and genus. Yuck. When feeling heinously hypomanic-- which is my least favorite section of Crazyville and where I currently hang out--I am in a state of heightened alert, a montage thought pattern bombarding me with organized mayhem. I become an impatient toddler with obsessive tendencies. The carpet really NEEDS to be vacuumed so that all of the vacuum lines in the rug are parallel and the individual fibers all tilt the same direction to make it look the same tint. The knick knacks, scattered across tables and other surfaces, always NEED to be rearranged. And yes, it all has to be done right now. "NOW!" I tell you. This is a really bad part of town.
But, I seem to be able to focus on at least one thing for any duration. I blog and blog and blog til my head transforms into a more amicable pattern. It really works. And so I am left alone to blog while Husband cleans the kitchen. Awesome.
A few minutes ago, I was surfing my life away and then a miracle occurred. Husband stands up and says to me in a sincere tone, "Have fun blogging, bloghead." So I ask where he's off to and he replies, "I'm going to clean the kitchen." Long pause now for the breath of air I am trying to catch as he walks toward the kitchen. I am all a flutter. Goosebumps as well.
Happiness is a clean kitchen in the land of Crazyville. He's going to be able to milk this good deed for awhile and I really don't mind. Crazyville is on the red level of the terrorist alert scheme when the kitchen has been taken over by other kingdoms, families, and genus. Yuck. When feeling heinously hypomanic-- which is my least favorite section of Crazyville and where I currently hang out--I am in a state of heightened alert, a montage thought pattern bombarding me with organized mayhem. I become an impatient toddler with obsessive tendencies. The carpet really NEEDS to be vacuumed so that all of the vacuum lines in the rug are parallel and the individual fibers all tilt the same direction to make it look the same tint. The knick knacks, scattered across tables and other surfaces, always NEED to be rearranged. And yes, it all has to be done right now. "NOW!" I tell you. This is a really bad part of town.
But, I seem to be able to focus on at least one thing for any duration. I blog and blog and blog til my head transforms into a more amicable pattern. It really works. And so I am left alone to blog while Husband cleans the kitchen. Awesome.
Monday, December 18, 2006
If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit next to me.
Love that quote from Steel Magnolias. I have desperately tried to memorize my favorite poems and philanthropic quotes but all I seem to be able to remember are lines from movies and TV shows I have seen hundreds of times, including Caddyshack, Fletch, Simpson's series, South Park, Monty Python's movies, all of the Vacation movies, and many other classics. Nothing ground breaking, only sarcastic remarks.
So, to stay with the theme, I will tell a tale of craziness contributed by my family. One of my mother's brothers, D (actually all of them start with the letter D but that's a whole other story entirely), has a lot of cats. So many cats, that there is never a current count that can be relied upon. D and his family are not of wealth in any arena except for pets. When D and his wife went away one weekend, they asked D's mother (my grandmother) to stay and watch their kids (4 in total). Despite the abundance of kids, their refrigerator is stocked with nothing but 2 liter Pepsi bottles. Grandma really didn't know what to feed the kids out of this well stocked fridge, so she resorted to the freezer to try and find something nutritious.
The freezer was well stocked with lots of foil wrapped things. After rummaging through its depths, she finally found what she was hoping would be a roast, it was the right size after all, what else could it be she thought. As the children stood around drooling, she carefully began to unwrap the item. At last, it revealed itself. It was not a roast, it was a frozen cat! The children looked unsurprised and just blinked at their grandmother as she screamed. The oldest one finally fessed up, "Well, grandma, what else are you supposed to do with a cat when it dies?" They ordered out that night and she never opened the freezer again.
Why was there a cat in the freezer? Well, the cat had died right before they left on vacation that weekend, and my uncle wanted to have it autopsied to discover the cause of death. So to preserve it for future discoveries, he wrapped it in foil and tossed it into the freezer until he could get to it and had the money to have the procedure done. Well, of course, that is a perfectly reasonable solution, after all, there wasn't any food in there anyway.
So, to stay with the theme, I will tell a tale of craziness contributed by my family. One of my mother's brothers, D (actually all of them start with the letter D but that's a whole other story entirely), has a lot of cats. So many cats, that there is never a current count that can be relied upon. D and his family are not of wealth in any arena except for pets. When D and his wife went away one weekend, they asked D's mother (my grandmother) to stay and watch their kids (4 in total). Despite the abundance of kids, their refrigerator is stocked with nothing but 2 liter Pepsi bottles. Grandma really didn't know what to feed the kids out of this well stocked fridge, so she resorted to the freezer to try and find something nutritious.
The freezer was well stocked with lots of foil wrapped things. After rummaging through its depths, she finally found what she was hoping would be a roast, it was the right size after all, what else could it be she thought. As the children stood around drooling, she carefully began to unwrap the item. At last, it revealed itself. It was not a roast, it was a frozen cat! The children looked unsurprised and just blinked at their grandmother as she screamed. The oldest one finally fessed up, "Well, grandma, what else are you supposed to do with a cat when it dies?" They ordered out that night and she never opened the freezer again.
Why was there a cat in the freezer? Well, the cat had died right before they left on vacation that weekend, and my uncle wanted to have it autopsied to discover the cause of death. So to preserve it for future discoveries, he wrapped it in foil and tossed it into the freezer until he could get to it and had the money to have the procedure done. Well, of course, that is a perfectly reasonable solution, after all, there wasn't any food in there anyway.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Chainsaws and Butter Knives
Husband and I had quite a row the other day over something of great importance. About a year ago, I clamoured for a chainsaw. With all of the dead wood on our property, we have some great potential firewood. I even shopped around for one that I could use. My husband hated the idea and fought hard against it. He won that round and I never bought a chainsaw. Not because I ever listen to him, but because we ran out of money and I couldn't justify buying a chainsaw when we were eating rice every night.
A few days ago, I asked him what he told his mom we needed as Christmas gift ideas. At the top of his list was a chainsaw! Incensed, I told him that it was just like him to turn around and want something once I had let the idea go. He protested vigorously and revealed that the reason I was not "allowed" to have a chainsaw was because I would surely cut my leg off. And, he asserted that if his mother did buy us a chainsaw, I would not be "allowed" to use it! Not sure where he got the idea that he was "allowed" to tell me what I could and could not do. There really is no better way to get me to do something than for someone to tell me I am not allowed to do it. If I want to cut my leg off with a chainsaw, that's exactly what I am going to do. He continued to review evidence of my propensity for accidents and injuring myself with dangerous tools in error. Nevertheless, I let the topic drop for the time being.
Yesterday, I was rinsing our butter knives before putting them in the dishwasher. Husband left crusty cake on a butter knife and it had turned to cement. Vigorously scrubbing that knife and muttering under my breath about people who couldn't seem to rinse their own silverware, the sponge slipped and I sawed into my index finger producing copious amounts of blood. Cursing myself while trying to keep the blood off the dishes, my husband looked over and asked what was going on. I cut myself with a butter knife! Instantly, I thought of the chainsaw discussion. I was sure he was going to bring it up, but instead to make me feel better he showed me a divet on one of his fingers. He had injured himself with one of his own fingernails. Neither of us should be allowed to use or have fingernails or butter knives much less chainsaws. Discussion over.
A few days ago, I asked him what he told his mom we needed as Christmas gift ideas. At the top of his list was a chainsaw! Incensed, I told him that it was just like him to turn around and want something once I had let the idea go. He protested vigorously and revealed that the reason I was not "allowed" to have a chainsaw was because I would surely cut my leg off. And, he asserted that if his mother did buy us a chainsaw, I would not be "allowed" to use it! Not sure where he got the idea that he was "allowed" to tell me what I could and could not do. There really is no better way to get me to do something than for someone to tell me I am not allowed to do it. If I want to cut my leg off with a chainsaw, that's exactly what I am going to do. He continued to review evidence of my propensity for accidents and injuring myself with dangerous tools in error. Nevertheless, I let the topic drop for the time being.
Yesterday, I was rinsing our butter knives before putting them in the dishwasher. Husband left crusty cake on a butter knife and it had turned to cement. Vigorously scrubbing that knife and muttering under my breath about people who couldn't seem to rinse their own silverware, the sponge slipped and I sawed into my index finger producing copious amounts of blood. Cursing myself while trying to keep the blood off the dishes, my husband looked over and asked what was going on. I cut myself with a butter knife! Instantly, I thought of the chainsaw discussion. I was sure he was going to bring it up, but instead to make me feel better he showed me a divet on one of his fingers. He had injured himself with one of his own fingernails. Neither of us should be allowed to use or have fingernails or butter knives much less chainsaws. Discussion over.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Thanks, I needed that
Thanks to my new web friends I was spurred on to exercise for 25 minutes yesterday. I am hoping that my heart rate improves though. Seems that 160 beats per minute may be a bit high. Exercising daily should help to reduce that rate. At the ripe age of 32, I think it's time to start listening to my body. My family health history demands it. As a little background, my father passed away at 34 and all of the men in his family tree never made it to 40. We are the lucky holders of genes that give us the ability to hang onto the bad cholesterol like a chipmunk stores acorns. The women in his family never make it to 50. Thankfully, due to being off my meds I am starting to lose the weight that the Depakote put on. Cholesterol reducing medication doesn't work for our syndrome, so that's out. I don't eat a lot of meat because my husband is a vegetarian. However, vegetables are so tasty battered and fried. As far as I can tell, exercise is really my best option if I want to make it to retirement.
Speaking of chipmunks, we finally figured out why the fan in our car sounded like it was about to disengage and take flight on its own. Our friendly neighborhood chipmunks decided it was an excellent place to keep their Winter stash. While I love the return of a quiet fan, I feel a little bad that their stock room was cleaned out. There is no acorn deficit in our yard, however, and there is still a perfectly good storage place to be had in the Jetta that serves as our driveway ornament.
Last night my husband and I drove our friends to Syracuse to see Carlos Mencia. I would have let her or her boyfriend borrow my car, but for some reason my insurance has a prejudice against insuring blind persons to drive my car. Geese. Both of them have little to no eyesight left and since the buses stop running so early, they wouldn't have been able to get home without a ride. Consequently, my friend A. bought us tickets to the show too. As I told A. after the show, I never would have been motivated to go see this particular comic. While I originally thought he was entertaining, I didn't think he was $40 worth of entertainment. Amazing how things turn out though. He was an absolute riot and I could hardly stay in my chair for laughing so hard. It was definitely a mutually beneficial agreement in the end, as usually proves to be the case. She and her boyfriend got a ride home, and I got some badly needed comic relief. Thanks A., I needed that a lot more than you needed a ride home.
Thanks to all of you, I needed that.
Speaking of chipmunks, we finally figured out why the fan in our car sounded like it was about to disengage and take flight on its own. Our friendly neighborhood chipmunks decided it was an excellent place to keep their Winter stash. While I love the return of a quiet fan, I feel a little bad that their stock room was cleaned out. There is no acorn deficit in our yard, however, and there is still a perfectly good storage place to be had in the Jetta that serves as our driveway ornament.
Last night my husband and I drove our friends to Syracuse to see Carlos Mencia. I would have let her or her boyfriend borrow my car, but for some reason my insurance has a prejudice against insuring blind persons to drive my car. Geese. Both of them have little to no eyesight left and since the buses stop running so early, they wouldn't have been able to get home without a ride. Consequently, my friend A. bought us tickets to the show too. As I told A. after the show, I never would have been motivated to go see this particular comic. While I originally thought he was entertaining, I didn't think he was $40 worth of entertainment. Amazing how things turn out though. He was an absolute riot and I could hardly stay in my chair for laughing so hard. It was definitely a mutually beneficial agreement in the end, as usually proves to be the case. She and her boyfriend got a ride home, and I got some badly needed comic relief. Thanks A., I needed that a lot more than you needed a ride home.
Thanks to all of you, I needed that.
Thursday, December 7, 2006
Mom and Paunchy
Today I am studying for finals. Thus, I am particularly interested in tracking my blog and other people's blogs. Why study when you can wander aimlessly through the internet?
Recently we had to buy my husband a new cell phone because his old one sounded like it had a cold when it would ring. I am not much of a technophile so I rate going to buy a new phone right along with having to purchase tampons. I am overwhelmed with the choices and just want to buy something that will do the job. This attitude elicits a considerable amount of disdane from the salesman at our cellular service outlet.
My husbands attitude is pretty close to mine and we both hate having to learn the workings of a new cell phone. We are especially bitter about all of the options for messaging someone. Of course, we are probably just jealous of how the children of our friends deftly code messages using their phones at lightning speed. Why call someone when you can send cryptic messages with grammar and spelling that would cause my high school English teacher to wretch? To add to the pain, my youngest sister who is well-skilled in the art of text-messaging cannot seem to write a regular email message without resorting to all of her usual text-messaging idioms and acronyms. It's all I can do to not correct all of her spelling and grammar and send it back to her to make the revisions, telling her that I will reply when she starts typing in English.
New phone in hand, my dear husband was struggling with his new phone and trying to overcome the auto-text functions while he programmed in all his phone numbers from his old phone. As he attempted to type in "Mom and Paul" his phone tried to anticipate his entry. Upon typing in the "u" for Paul, his brilliant phone offered up the word "Paunchy". PAUNCHY?!?!?!? Is this such a common term that a phone needs to introduce it for you? So there it is, the phone number for our greatest and dearest family members, "Mom and Paunchy". We'll call soon, Paunchy.
Recently we had to buy my husband a new cell phone because his old one sounded like it had a cold when it would ring. I am not much of a technophile so I rate going to buy a new phone right along with having to purchase tampons. I am overwhelmed with the choices and just want to buy something that will do the job. This attitude elicits a considerable amount of disdane from the salesman at our cellular service outlet.
My husbands attitude is pretty close to mine and we both hate having to learn the workings of a new cell phone. We are especially bitter about all of the options for messaging someone. Of course, we are probably just jealous of how the children of our friends deftly code messages using their phones at lightning speed. Why call someone when you can send cryptic messages with grammar and spelling that would cause my high school English teacher to wretch? To add to the pain, my youngest sister who is well-skilled in the art of text-messaging cannot seem to write a regular email message without resorting to all of her usual text-messaging idioms and acronyms. It's all I can do to not correct all of her spelling and grammar and send it back to her to make the revisions, telling her that I will reply when she starts typing in English.
New phone in hand, my dear husband was struggling with his new phone and trying to overcome the auto-text functions while he programmed in all his phone numbers from his old phone. As he attempted to type in "Mom and Paul" his phone tried to anticipate his entry. Upon typing in the "u" for Paul, his brilliant phone offered up the word "Paunchy". PAUNCHY?!?!?!? Is this such a common term that a phone needs to introduce it for you? So there it is, the phone number for our greatest and dearest family members, "Mom and Paunchy". We'll call soon, Paunchy.
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