From: Neuro Squared
To: Me
Subject: Re: Any results yet re: paraneoplastic labs from Mayo?
Great news - they were negative!
Showing posts with label My random life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My random life. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Full Circle
Today is the first day in a number of days that I can SEE (!) And after sleeping for the past thirty-six out of forty hours, I do not feel as if I am circling the drain, for the very first time in weeks. I'll take it.
I wish I had some *great* news ... but I am still not sure WTF is up. The working concept right now is that there *may* be a problem with my brain ... causing all sorts of other stuff . I have a Monday morning date with the brain MRI device and some contrast dye (was due for next one in two months, but they are bumping me up now).
After doing increasingly scary things to me over the course of two weeks ("Has anyone stuck pins in her eyeballs yet? NO! Well then - let's TRY it! And get the BIG pins. We want her to FEEL it!"), the neurosurgeons are back at this novel theory:
Huh. So she cannot see, she cannot think, and she feels awful? Here's a crazy idea to consider: What if it is that TUMOR in her BRAIN causing BRAIN problems that are making the rest of her body weird? Could be tumor growing? Could be bleeding? Could be increased pressure from tumor? Could be inflammation? But - cognitive problems + transient visual disturbance + crushing exhaustion + known brain tumor = maybe we are on to something! Maybe it is her BRAIN.
Dude. Really. We are here again?
But that is Monday *(I have strict instructions to return if vision gets worse before then - cannot recall the last time I got a full weekend to just enjoy without that caveat. My marching orders on Friday afternoons are, "Rest, relax, and enjoy your weekend, but if you have ANY strange medical symptoms, call 911 and immediately get an ambulance back to Hopkins. OK - have fun! See ya Monday!")
Am doing my very best to enjoy. I am enjoying the sunshine - and my laptop! I can read! - in front of an open window, watching our pond ( I think I see a baby goose!) ... and soaking in Spring. From inside, of course; not really an outdoor gal, pollen makes me sneeze.
In one hour, I plan to have 1/20th of a beer while watching the NCAA game to celebrate with people that do not have on white coats and/or plans to to stick me with needles (or worse) in an attempt to "harvest" various types of "fluids." Unless the party gets really wild, in which case maybe I spoke too soon. We've all heard that urban legend about waking up minus one kidney in a scuzzy hotel bathtub full of ice.
I apologize - many times over - if I have not replied to any personal email messages or phone messages yet. I hope to get there soon.
I wish I had some *great* news ... but I am still not sure WTF is up. The working concept right now is that there *may* be a problem with my brain ... causing all sorts of other stuff . I have a Monday morning date with the brain MRI device and some contrast dye (was due for next one in two months, but they are bumping me up now).
After doing increasingly scary things to me over the course of two weeks ("Has anyone stuck pins in her eyeballs yet? NO! Well then - let's TRY it! And get the BIG pins. We want her to FEEL it!"), the neurosurgeons are back at this novel theory:
Huh. So she cannot see, she cannot think, and she feels awful? Here's a crazy idea to consider: What if it is that TUMOR in her BRAIN causing BRAIN problems that are making the rest of her body weird? Could be tumor growing? Could be bleeding? Could be increased pressure from tumor? Could be inflammation? But - cognitive problems + transient visual disturbance + crushing exhaustion + known brain tumor = maybe we are on to something! Maybe it is her BRAIN.
Dude. Really. We are here again?
But that is Monday *(I have strict instructions to return if vision gets worse before then - cannot recall the last time I got a full weekend to just enjoy without that caveat. My marching orders on Friday afternoons are, "Rest, relax, and enjoy your weekend, but if you have ANY strange medical symptoms, call 911 and immediately get an ambulance back to Hopkins. OK - have fun! See ya Monday!")
Am doing my very best to enjoy. I am enjoying the sunshine - and my laptop! I can read! - in front of an open window, watching our pond ( I think I see a baby goose!) ... and soaking in Spring. From inside, of course; not really an outdoor gal, pollen makes me sneeze.
In one hour, I plan to have 1/20th of a beer while watching the NCAA game to celebrate with people that do not have on white coats and/or plans to to stick me with needles (or worse) in an attempt to "harvest" various types of "fluids." Unless the party gets really wild, in which case maybe I spoke too soon. We've all heard that urban legend about waking up minus one kidney in a scuzzy hotel bathtub full of ice.
I apologize - many times over - if I have not replied to any personal email messages or phone messages yet. I hope to get there soon.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Twenty-Five
I was tagged on Facebook many times, and finally gave in. Here is my list:
1. Coffee is an elixir of the Gods. Red wine is a very close second.
2. My first love was named Annie. She was a grey pony who was wider than she was tall.
3. My second love will remain unnamed, but he was taller than he was wide.
4. My son did not have a name for four days after he was born. Had my in-laws not shown up to the hospital when they did, there is a good chance we would have let him pick his own name when he was a toddler and he would now be called Juice Box. So I am glad we ended up selecting Ethan, although Juice Box [Last Name Deleted] would be an awesome name to say on ESPN.
5. I try to practice “good enough” mothering and hope for the best. For example, I refused to child-proof my toilets. And I am happy to report that despite my cavalier attitude toward the dangers of modern plumbing, Ethan has never once had a near-drowning experience while attempting to tinkle.
6. Which reminds me, I have my own dramatic near-drowning story: North Shore, Hawaii. November and two-story waves and lifeguard warnings. I survived. Had it been a toilet, however, instead of the ocean? Well, I shudder to think ...
7. I love me some potato products. Atkins did not work out for me for this reason.
8. I was a vegetarian for seven years, until one night when my college roommate convinced me that I wanted a hot dog. I never looked back.
9. I was thisclose to entering a Psychology PhD program but ended up in law school after flipping a coin – fewer years in school, higher projected starting salaries – what can I say? I like to shop … oh, and help the disenfranchised with my legal talents. That too.
10. I have had the pleasure of the full complement of rabies antiserum due to an unfortunate stray cat adoption gone wrong. If you ever see me foaming at the mouth, I suggest you call Animal Control.
11. I did not change my name when I got married. I tried to hyphenate but it did not stick.
12. I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt when I first meet them. I think people are, in general, good, and for the most part, nice. Unless said person has ever dated my husband. Because then I will automatically and arbitrarily determine that they are a troll-faced hooker who hates puppies and rainbows.
13. I can type the words craniotomy, subependymoma, syringomyelia and meningioma without having to spell check. Though I wish this was knowledge I did not have, I am grateful I can still type those – and other – words.
14. I hold it together pretty well, except when I don’t. And then I fake it.
15. When shopping, I am drawn to anything metallic, animal print, or painfully shiny. There must be a trashtastic fifty-three-year-old cocktail waitress alter-ego inside of me that wants to come out. Or it might be the rabies.
16. I am better on paper. Despite the rigors of Socratic training (or perhaps because of it), public speaking makes me nervous.
17. My closest friend in the world has been my best friend since I was four. We used to eat paste together and now she is a surgeon at Harvard. We have only had one major disagreement in thirty-some years and that was over a riding helmet when we were eleven. She won. I am still a little bitter.
18. My dad double-majored in theology/biology and seriously considered becoming a Catholic priest. Now he is a dentist. I feel like that option worked out much better for me and my younger brother.
19. My favorite food is lobster. Childhood summers in Maine mean that my favorite food is lobster that was caught one hour before and is still damp from the ocean when it goes into the pot. And, no, they do not scream when you cook them. (But ... my husband ... he does scream when we get the restaurant tab and I have ordered lobster. Ba-da-bump! Don't forget to tip your waiter and try the veal!)
20. I like peonies (pink) and ponies (dark bay, four white socks and a blaze).
21. A big regret? Not moving to California after college. Sunshine and the beach may have made law school that much better … but probably not.
22. I find writing on my blog entertaining and therapeutic. Many people have told me they enjoy reading it and that I should consider writing a book. Hey - I just had a crazy idea! Maybe I should write a book?!
23. The perfect martini – Dirty. Grey Goose. Extra olives. Blue cheese. YES!
24. The best sound on the planet? My son’s laughter.
25. If there was one thing I would like people to say about me, it would be that I care about other people and that I am kind. Or, that I have a really nice ass. Your pick.
1. Coffee is an elixir of the Gods. Red wine is a very close second.
2. My first love was named Annie. She was a grey pony who was wider than she was tall.
3. My second love will remain unnamed, but he was taller than he was wide.
4. My son did not have a name for four days after he was born. Had my in-laws not shown up to the hospital when they did, there is a good chance we would have let him pick his own name when he was a toddler and he would now be called Juice Box. So I am glad we ended up selecting Ethan, although Juice Box [Last Name Deleted] would be an awesome name to say on ESPN.
5. I try to practice “good enough” mothering and hope for the best. For example, I refused to child-proof my toilets. And I am happy to report that despite my cavalier attitude toward the dangers of modern plumbing, Ethan has never once had a near-drowning experience while attempting to tinkle.
6. Which reminds me, I have my own dramatic near-drowning story: North Shore, Hawaii. November and two-story waves and lifeguard warnings. I survived. Had it been a toilet, however, instead of the ocean? Well, I shudder to think ...
7. I love me some potato products. Atkins did not work out for me for this reason.
8. I was a vegetarian for seven years, until one night when my college roommate convinced me that I wanted a hot dog. I never looked back.
9. I was thisclose to entering a Psychology PhD program but ended up in law school after flipping a coin – fewer years in school, higher projected starting salaries – what can I say? I like to shop … oh, and help the disenfranchised with my legal talents. That too.
10. I have had the pleasure of the full complement of rabies antiserum due to an unfortunate stray cat adoption gone wrong. If you ever see me foaming at the mouth, I suggest you call Animal Control.
11. I did not change my name when I got married. I tried to hyphenate but it did not stick.
12. I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt when I first meet them. I think people are, in general, good, and for the most part, nice. Unless said person has ever dated my husband. Because then I will automatically and arbitrarily determine that they are a troll-faced hooker who hates puppies and rainbows.
13. I can type the words craniotomy, subependymoma, syringomyelia and meningioma without having to spell check. Though I wish this was knowledge I did not have, I am grateful I can still type those – and other – words.
14. I hold it together pretty well, except when I don’t. And then I fake it.
15. When shopping, I am drawn to anything metallic, animal print, or painfully shiny. There must be a trashtastic fifty-three-year-old cocktail waitress alter-ego inside of me that wants to come out. Or it might be the rabies.
16. I am better on paper. Despite the rigors of Socratic training (or perhaps because of it), public speaking makes me nervous.
17. My closest friend in the world has been my best friend since I was four. We used to eat paste together and now she is a surgeon at Harvard. We have only had one major disagreement in thirty-some years and that was over a riding helmet when we were eleven. She won. I am still a little bitter.
18. My dad double-majored in theology/biology and seriously considered becoming a Catholic priest. Now he is a dentist. I feel like that option worked out much better for me and my younger brother.
19. My favorite food is lobster. Childhood summers in Maine mean that my favorite food is lobster that was caught one hour before and is still damp from the ocean when it goes into the pot. And, no, they do not scream when you cook them. (But ... my husband ... he does scream when we get the restaurant tab and I have ordered lobster. Ba-da-bump! Don't forget to tip your waiter and try the veal!)
20. I like peonies (pink) and ponies (dark bay, four white socks and a blaze).
21. A big regret? Not moving to California after college. Sunshine and the beach may have made law school that much better … but probably not.
22. I find writing on my blog entertaining and therapeutic. Many people have told me they enjoy reading it and that I should consider writing a book. Hey - I just had a crazy idea! Maybe I should write a book?!
23. The perfect martini – Dirty. Grey Goose. Extra olives. Blue cheese. YES!
24. The best sound on the planet? My son’s laughter.
25. If there was one thing I would like people to say about me, it would be that I care about other people and that I am kind. Or, that I have a really nice ass. Your pick.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Regroup
The month of January and early-February, in review:
1) My husband's grandmother passed away (she was very old, and sick ... but still ... )
1) My husband's grandmother passed away (she was very old, and sick ... but still ... )
2) I went blind and was on house arrest (and then regained sight, miraculously! Praise Jesus!)
3) My father impaled himself with a yard instrument and suffered life-threatening injuries (and is still recuperating, but expected to make a complete recovery).
4) I have brain issues (not new news, but I feel like the karmic bullshit factor of this statement should exempt me from all other problems in life. If you follow this blog, you have learned that it does not).
But first, pleasantries and salutations: You may be bored of reading the following statement, but I assure you that while the words may seem stale and tired (much the way I feel right now), the sentiments are not. On that note: thank you, friends and family, for being so incredible. The prayers, thoughts, and babysitting assistance ... holding it together without your help would be next-to-impossible.
Regarding the father: My dad is now home from the hospital. We were fortunate to be able to celebrate my mom's birthday at my parents' house, with a last-minute Giant-brand cake ("Terrible!") and jokes about Cialis and four-hour erections, while my dad puffed into this hospital-issued plastic device that looked not-unlike a bong. You know, normal family time.
My dad asked me to select a card for my mom when I went to pick up her cake. Since he'd been all busy schlepping around tubes and struggling to breathe and not die for the past week, I felt like he had a proper excuse for not taking on the task himself (and I did not even charge him extra for my time or gas for my car, because I am selfless like that.)
But first, pleasantries and salutations: You may be bored of reading the following statement, but I assure you that while the words may seem stale and tired (much the way I feel right now), the sentiments are not. On that note: thank you, friends and family, for being so incredible. The prayers, thoughts, and babysitting assistance ... holding it together without your help would be next-to-impossible.
Regarding the father: My dad is now home from the hospital. We were fortunate to be able to celebrate my mom's birthday at my parents' house, with a last-minute Giant-brand cake ("Terrible!") and jokes about Cialis and four-hour erections, while my dad puffed into this hospital-issued plastic device that looked not-unlike a bong. You know, normal family time.
My dad asked me to select a card for my mom when I went to pick up her cake. Since he'd been all busy schlepping around tubes and struggling to breathe and not die for the past week, I felt like he had a proper excuse for not taking on the task himself (and I did not even charge him extra for my time or gas for my car, because I am selfless like that.)
The grocery store greeting card selection was sorely lacking. Seriously, who writes these cards? Or perhaps the true question might be, who buys these cards? All the cards either had goopy poems that made my eyes itch or some sort of scraggly animal accompanied by not-so-funny bodily-function humor. Neither seemed appropriate.
I ended up choosing a card for my dad to give my mom that "sang" Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" when opened, which reduced me to tears, even after the tenth time. Actually - scratch that - ESPECIALLY after the tenth time. My laughter tends to reverberate and I think it may have scared the cats away. Sadie (the agoraphobic feline) is probably still hiding under the wet towels in the linen closet, covering her ears with her paws.
And now, Dad, a word. In the future, if you want your own private TV for Superbowl viewing, I feel like there are easier ways to obtain that goal. I am more than a little worried what you may do to yourself during March Madness to secure some non-Lifetime Channel-interrupted sports viewing. As a preemptive strike to any sort of monkey shines, why don't you just put it on your calendar to come over to our place? You can have the non-sticky chair and I'll order enchiladas! With olives!
Oh - and for Father's Day - instead of the traditional ultra-deluxe set of golf balls and a tie with Jerry Garcia's illustrations of clouds silk-screened on it, Scott and I are going in on a gardening service. Given what you managed to do to yourself with a seemingly innocuous yard tool, we do not even want to imagine what sort of chaos you could inflict if you got your hands on a bag of mulch and some rose shears. You might lose your spleen trying to harvest that American Beauty flower, and nobody wants to see that.
As per usual, after periods of stress and challenge, I always take a moment to re-examine my own life and ask The Big Questions.
Just last night, I took a deep breath, looked around my house, at my family and found myself pondering the following: Can anyone tell me why there is a can of chili sitting on the couch in the living room?
Monday, February 2, 2009
When It Rains, It Pours
Many of you know that my dad is currently in serious condition at Howard County General.
He fell on the ice Saturday afternoon while carrying a sledgehammer. He was trying to break up the ice on the back deck, when he slipped and landed on the stick part of the sledgehammer. A freak thing. He suffered blunt force trauma to the chest, resulting in three broken ribs. One of the broken ribs punctured a lung.
A chest tube was put in, surgically, on Saturday night to reinflate the lung. It is still in and will be removed once his lung can sustain breathing on its own. X-rays every day have been tracking his progress to see how the chest tube is working to correct the lung trauma.
He was improving until he spiked a fever last night. I.V. antibiotics were started and the fever has started to go down, as of today. At this point, his temperature is almost back to normal, which is a good sign.
If all went well, he was slated to be released on Tuesday. However, infection/fever are considered a major complication, so right now, we are not sure when he will released from the hospital or when the chest tube can be removed.
He asked for ice cream, which I take to be a good sign. Will keep you posted.
PS My life? I mean ... you CANNOT make this s--- up. I told my brother I am waiting for it to start raining frogs on my house. Hello, Universe? A little less drama. Um-kay? Maybe for just a week.
He fell on the ice Saturday afternoon while carrying a sledgehammer. He was trying to break up the ice on the back deck, when he slipped and landed on the stick part of the sledgehammer. A freak thing. He suffered blunt force trauma to the chest, resulting in three broken ribs. One of the broken ribs punctured a lung.
A chest tube was put in, surgically, on Saturday night to reinflate the lung. It is still in and will be removed once his lung can sustain breathing on its own. X-rays every day have been tracking his progress to see how the chest tube is working to correct the lung trauma.
He was improving until he spiked a fever last night. I.V. antibiotics were started and the fever has started to go down, as of today. At this point, his temperature is almost back to normal, which is a good sign.
If all went well, he was slated to be released on Tuesday. However, infection/fever are considered a major complication, so right now, we are not sure when he will released from the hospital or when the chest tube can be removed.
He asked for ice cream, which I take to be a good sign. Will keep you posted.
PS My life? I mean ... you CANNOT make this s--- up. I told my brother I am waiting for it to start raining frogs on my house. Hello, Universe? A little less drama. Um-kay? Maybe for just a week.
PPS Thank you for all the prayers and thoughts.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
The Girls - Update
LIFE HAS BEEN CRAZY. Here I go with the caps again. In real life, I tend to speak in ALL CAPS punctuated by wild gestures which have been known to send objects within a three-foot radius flying (watching myself on video can be painful). One of my best friends banned me from red wine at her wedding reception for this reason. She wisely realized that the equation of wild hands + Merlot + white silk gown = potential unpleasant outcome.
As for this latest medical blip, I think it will probably be fine. The odds of me having breast cancer at my age are pretty low. But since my body seems to enjoy flashing the Big Middle Finger to medical statistics - with this one in two million brain thing! - it is certainly not something to ignore.
I saw the nurse practitioner at Hopkins Breast Center on Monday. She was not sure. So the Breast Cancer Tumor Board (bet that is one wild bunch!) reviewed the films. I just heard back that they would like me to come in for a "second look ultrasound" next week and then plan a course of action. Right now, the jury is out on whether to biopsy or not.
The mass is very, very small (@ 5 mm) so if it is something bad ... breast cancer at an early stage is usually treatable, so that is positive. The surgeons do not seem overly worried. I have experienced a "worried" doctor before and hope never to again. Last year when I got THE brain scan reports my then-neurologist cancelled her medical school lecture and all her other patients so she could get me into her office, the day before Thanksgiving. She also gave me her home and cell numbers during the appointment - it was at that moment that I realized, "Oh my, this cannot be good ..." Before I ever knew the rest of the grim facts, I found that singular act alarming.
At this point, I am viewing this latest medical blip as more of a hassle than something to stress intensely about. Not to minimize breast cancer; it is a terrible disease. I lost an aunt to breast cancer just a few years ago. I recognize it is serious - I mean, it is cancer. But I think once you find out that something is wrong with your brain, problems with other areas of the body - even serious ones - seem manageable. It may sound odd, but I am almost relieved that there may be a medical problem that I can actually DO SOMETHING about. Biopsy? Hell ya! Cut that lump outta there! It is a much better place for a Type A individual to be mentally than the watch-and-wait tumor approach.
Speaking of As ... I told Jeff that if I do need replacements, he should be prepared for me to go full-out with the double Ds (for some reason, he did not seem displeased by this prospect). I have always wondered what it would be like to be part of the traffic-stopping cleavage club. Might as well have big loud ta-tas to go with the rest of my ALL CAPS persona.
I saw the nurse practitioner at Hopkins Breast Center on Monday. She was not sure. So the Breast Cancer Tumor Board (bet that is one wild bunch!) reviewed the films. I just heard back that they would like me to come in for a "second look ultrasound" next week and then plan a course of action. Right now, the jury is out on whether to biopsy or not.
The mass is very, very small (@ 5 mm) so if it is something bad ... breast cancer at an early stage is usually treatable, so that is positive. The surgeons do not seem overly worried. I have experienced a "worried" doctor before and hope never to again. Last year when I got THE brain scan reports my then-neurologist cancelled her medical school lecture and all her other patients so she could get me into her office, the day before Thanksgiving. She also gave me her home and cell numbers during the appointment - it was at that moment that I realized, "Oh my, this cannot be good ..." Before I ever knew the rest of the grim facts, I found that singular act alarming.
At this point, I am viewing this latest medical blip as more of a hassle than something to stress intensely about. Not to minimize breast cancer; it is a terrible disease. I lost an aunt to breast cancer just a few years ago. I recognize it is serious - I mean, it is cancer. But I think once you find out that something is wrong with your brain, problems with other areas of the body - even serious ones - seem manageable. It may sound odd, but I am almost relieved that there may be a medical problem that I can actually DO SOMETHING about. Biopsy? Hell ya! Cut that lump outta there! It is a much better place for a Type A individual to be mentally than the watch-and-wait tumor approach.
Speaking of As ... I told Jeff that if I do need replacements, he should be prepared for me to go full-out with the double Ds (for some reason, he did not seem displeased by this prospect). I have always wondered what it would be like to be part of the traffic-stopping cleavage club. Might as well have big loud ta-tas to go with the rest of my ALL CAPS persona.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Zen
One would imagine that with the big drama cropping up my recent life, I would be all zen and whatever about life's minor annoyances. Well, I am not. I just gave a 90-year old woman the finger while driving to the office. Yes, THAT finger; the significant one. Please don't judge me! She totally deserved it for cutting me off and for being so ... wrinkly. While I do have many fine attributes, being calm and low-key, even under normal circumstances, is not something I excel at. If I were a dog, I would be a poodle. I know stress is bad for you and have tried remedies ... yoga ... deep breathing ... meditation ... but they all end up stressing me out more because I am so unnerved by trying to sit and quiet my mind. Just a little background to understand how this weekend has pushed me to the brink.
Exhibit A: Thursday. Evacuated to work stairwell because of tornado. While hiding in the stairwell, a giant branch falls on my car. Which could be worse, my parents' house had an entire giant tree fall on it. I make the mistake of telling Jeff this fact in front of our (neurotic) son. During more storms later that night, Ethan is panicked that "a tree will crush our house." I assure him not to worry, this is what insurance is for so if a tree DOES crush our house, we can get a BETTER house and all new toys.
Exhibit B: Early Friday. Our bank account numbers are stolen and mysteriously used, even though we still have the cards. We are forced to close all accounts and order new cards. In the meantime, we have no forms of currency (I just bummed $20 from my mom, which at the age of 32, is simply embarrassing). Jeff recognizes that a $400 charge to the account is fraudulent, not because I would hesitate to spend $400 in one store -- that is elementary shopping; at this point in my life, I have earned a retail doctorate -- but because the charge was made at some low-rent store that Jeff realizes I would not have entered on my own volition.
Exhibit C: Late Friday. Bad news: Our AC unit breaks. Good News: The record heat wave is only supposed to spike temps to 100 degrees this weekend, as opposed to some places of the US where it will reach 115 degrees, such as the Death Valley desert.
Exhibit D: Sunday: Unable to withstand the face-melting heat at our house for one more second, Ethan and I evacuate to my parents' place (now, complete with one full roof). Ethan spends the night kicking me in the head because there is only one small bed in the guestroom and we have to share. Also, he snores. Jeff stays put at our house because there is only one bed in the guestroom. Plus he is too stubborn to admit defeat and concede that the heat has won.
Exhibit E: Early Monday. I got about 3 hours of sleep last night (see head-kicking). In addition to dark circles, I awoke this fine morning to find that my eyes had swollen into little slits due to my recently discovered cat allergy. Jeff and I "donated" our kitties, Sadie and Felix, to my parents when an infant Ethan developed an allergy to cats. Now, I am the one who cannot be around them without feeling like I am suffocating and turning into one big itchy hive. So I am distressed to see Felix sleeping on the "stuff" Jeff brought over last night for Ethan and I. On closer inspection, I see that my bag of "stuff" contains no make-up, toothbrush or shoes. However, he did bring me something to wear to work: a hot pink lace bra and a sheer white shirt. Um? Because he thinks that I now work at an escort service? So in lieu of wearing ridiculously inappropriate clothing to work, I am currently wearing my mom's leopard-print dress. She has 'normal' black pants, but she is five-four and I am five-eight, so they looked absurd. And while the dress sounds bad on paper, did I mention that it also has big fuchsia hibiscus flowers all over it? No, I did not. So you see? Much better! At least it deters from the hot pink bra.
Exhibit F: Still early Monday. Attempt to drop Ethan off at summer camp/preschool. One of their AC units blew also, but only in one part of the building, so I do not feel too bad about leaving him there while I FLEE to the glorious glorious air of my cold cold office. Except it took me an hour to leave, because he is hot and tired, and judging from all the resultant kicking and screaming, also possessed by Satan.
Exhibit G: Monday, again. Phone call. AC guy can fix our unit (hee, unit!) for the bargain price of $1,500. In two weeks. OR ... we can buy a whole new unit and have it done by Wednesday of this week - for $5,000. I offer to pay him $10,000 AND show him my boobs if he can fix it tomorrow. No dice. Apparently my boobs,while real, are not spectacular.
Exhibit H: Still Monday. Drive to work. Ms. Old Lady, please meet the acquaintance of Mr. My Finger.
Exhibit I: Monday ... for the LOVE OF GOD! Seriously, how is it STILL MONDAY?!!! Walked out of ladies room with leopard-print hibiscus dress partially tucked into my underwear. Luckily, underwear does not match the bra so I am spared the humiliation of flashing hot pink drawers. Instead, they are white and cotton and gigantic. That was one hour ago and I think my receptionist is still on the floor, laughing.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Patron Is Not My Friend
I am currently awaiting service for a restraining order. Yet another unfortunate event occurred during my trip to Florida. I drunk-dialed many, many people. Which is kind 0f cute and funny when one is twenty years old, but thirty-two -- not so much.
In my defense, I have a strong argument for involuntary intoxication, which negates mens rea, thereby providing a defense to virtually all serious crimes, such as overage drunk dialing (citation: Legally Blonde, The Movie). It was my first night in Florida. My brother, his better half and I headed out to dinner. I was still pretty mellow from the tiny taste of Ativan I had on the flight. Since I white-knuckle it on planes, I am not above purchasing some pharmaceutical cojones to make my travel a sunnier experience. The prescribing doc assured me that wine with dinner would not be a problem, if enjoyed in moderation. Moderation - got it. No problem. I can do moderate!
Dinner was enchanting - a little seafood, a little Chardonnay. After dinner, we all headed back to bro's place to continue the conversation over a little more Chardonnay. My brother retreated to his kitchen and returned with a glass of wine for me. Such chivalry! It tasted a bit off, but I just assumed that little bro buys the cheap stuff -- perhaps even my old college friend, the delectably portable wine in a box. I politely drank what I presumed to be my glass of Boone's Farm while we sat and chatted. Turns out -- little bro had pulled a funny and filled my glass with 3/4 tequila topped with just a splosh of wine -- he later claimed he thought I would spit it out and not drink it. Since I DID drink it, he and his girlfriend sat there while I consumed God knows how many shots of tequila and then laughed and laughed and laughed at the drunkity, drunk-drunk older sister. I assume this is payback for all those times growing up when my best friend and I would make him eat things like cat food mixed with playground sand topped with wood shaving sprinkles. In any event, he did not confess his backroom bartending until the next morning when I called him to ask why my head felt like it had been turned inside out. And what is with the fifteen voice mails on my phone?! Who the hell did I call?! It was like college hangover bad; except now I am old, so it was a hundred times worse.
So ... I went back to my room and was bored and lonely. My husband was not answering the phone and I felt like chatting, so first I went down my cell phone list. Once I had exhausted that directory, I called 411 for some reinforcements. At some point during this process, I called my college ex who now lives in Atlanta - I cannot recall whether I left a message or not - and then I feel asleep.
Later that night, I awoke to my cell phone ringing. I answer in confusion to a stern-sounding female voice demanding to know who I was and why I was calling her house!? Somehow I deduce who it is, introduce myself and ask (nicely, but sloppily) to talk to my ex. She asks WHY I want to talk to him and I think I manage something coherent like, "I have a brain tumor and just want to apologize to him." This does not go over well as the implied meaning behind my statement is: "I am sorry I ruined his life, left him distraught and therefore he had to marry you as a back-up plan. Now I am calling, ten years later, to atone for my horribleness."
Which is not really what I was getting at. At all. I have no delusions that he is not now fine or that he is harboring any smoldering feelings from a relationship that ended ten years ago. I have heard lovely things about his now-wife and have heard he is very happy; which is fabulous. He was (and I assume - still is?) a wonderful person and I cannot think of a single un-nice thing to say about him. Except perhaps that he now, in our respective thirties, does not enjoy drunken phone calls from slurring women he used to date.
Her response is to tell me that they heard about the brain tumor from one of my college sorority sisters. [Yes, I was in a sorority in college. Dear Internet, Don't let that fact get out. I will be disbarred.] But they heard I am now OK. I tried to explain that, in fact, I may NOT be OK and that is why I am now calling in the middle of the night! Don't you see? Very Important Discussion. So could I please talk to him now? At this point, deep in some vestige of my tequila-soaked brain, I realize that I was mortified and this should be over. Wife told me - none too warmly - that "she trusts I will not be calling there again." Seriously. So that ruined my fun.
You may be wondering what my husband's response to this debacle was. Most husbands would not be psyched about booze-soaked telephone calls to long-ago paramours. However, MY husband found it hysterical. He could not stop laughing when I reported the entire, humiliating transcript of events. He has put up with me for going on ten years now, so he gets an A+++++ for being the most patient person ever, with the possible exception of Gandhi.
So ... I went back to my room and was bored and lonely. My husband was not answering the phone and I felt like chatting, so first I went down my cell phone list. Once I had exhausted that directory, I called 411 for some reinforcements. At some point during this process, I called my college ex who now lives in Atlanta - I cannot recall whether I left a message or not - and then I feel asleep.
Later that night, I awoke to my cell phone ringing. I answer in confusion to a stern-sounding female voice demanding to know who I was and why I was calling her house!? Somehow I deduce who it is, introduce myself and ask (nicely, but sloppily) to talk to my ex. She asks WHY I want to talk to him and I think I manage something coherent like, "I have a brain tumor and just want to apologize to him." This does not go over well as the implied meaning behind my statement is: "I am sorry I ruined his life, left him distraught and therefore he had to marry you as a back-up plan. Now I am calling, ten years later, to atone for my horribleness."
Which is not really what I was getting at. At all. I have no delusions that he is not now fine or that he is harboring any smoldering feelings from a relationship that ended ten years ago. I have heard lovely things about his now-wife and have heard he is very happy; which is fabulous. He was (and I assume - still is?) a wonderful person and I cannot think of a single un-nice thing to say about him. Except perhaps that he now, in our respective thirties, does not enjoy drunken phone calls from slurring women he used to date.
Her response is to tell me that they heard about the brain tumor from one of my college sorority sisters. [Yes, I was in a sorority in college. Dear Internet, Don't let that fact get out. I will be disbarred.] But they heard I am now OK. I tried to explain that, in fact, I may NOT be OK and that is why I am now calling in the middle of the night! Don't you see? Very Important Discussion. So could I please talk to him now? At this point, deep in some vestige of my tequila-soaked brain, I realize that I was mortified and this should be over. Wife told me - none too warmly - that "she trusts I will not be calling there again." Seriously. So that ruined my fun.
You may be wondering what my husband's response to this debacle was. Most husbands would not be psyched about booze-soaked telephone calls to long-ago paramours. However, MY husband found it hysterical. He could not stop laughing when I reported the entire, humiliating transcript of events. He has put up with me for going on ten years now, so he gets an A+++++ for being the most patient person ever, with the possible exception of Gandhi.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Are You Kidding Me?
This morning while exiting my car in front of my office I slipped on a discarded banana peel and fell a$$ over teakettle in the middle of the lot. Seriously, who DOES that?! - unless, of course, you are a cartoon character and then it happens several times an hour.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
SARS
My immune system is not what it should be. Every year, right around this time of year, I come down with some sort of full-on bout with something gross. Not the common cold, mind you, but a "sleep for 48 hours, cannot crawl out of bed expect if bed has actually burst into flames around me" sort of affliction.
I come down with this despite the fact that I am an avid hand-sanitizing geller and am borderline compulsive about hand-washing after "anything yukky" (define as you see fit). My husband, in contrast, probably drinks out of the urinals at work as a passive-aggressive display of control against my "it is cold and flu preventative hand-washing/gel season!" campaign of mild insanity. And ... who is the one that gets sick?
On Monday, I woke up and knew my pre-Christmas illness had arrived, like clockwork. 102 fever, chills, aches. I think I have SARS. Last year, I believe it was the the bird flu. Year before, Ebola.
So, Ethan dressed himself (plaid pants and striped shirt complemented nicely with plastic camo army boots, which he BEGGED for - nice, very nice) and we proceeded to school. Actually, first I called my dad and begged and pleaded with him to please please please pick up Ethan for me and drop him off at school because I, literally, did not have the strength. His response, "Sometimes as a mom, you just need to suck it up." Thanks, Dad! Your awesome Christmas present that I spent way way too much on - going back.
Normally, at our house, there is breakfast for Ethan and toothbrushing and other grooming and a bunch of general merry-making because I am so FUN in the mornings (or so it goes in my shiny, glossy fantasy world). This particular Morning morning, I simply threw a handful of dry mini-wheats into a Ziploc bag and grabbed a juice box, which I tossed to Ethan in the backseat before we started the drive to school.
I wish I had a photo of his face:
"This is breakfast???!!!! But ... but, I wanted pancakes....."
"That is breakfast - now eat it or you will be hungry."
And ... cue whining ... you would think I had run over the kid's puppy right in front of him. Or - ha! - set his cat on fire (only funny if you have read previous post).
So I convinced him that it was an extra-special breakfast because we are having a car PICNIC - which is super great fun!!!! He totally bought it. Which cracked me up. Then I went back to sleep, for two days.
Mommy: 1
Cranky Preschooler: 0
I come down with this despite the fact that I am an avid hand-sanitizing geller and am borderline compulsive about hand-washing after "anything yukky" (define as you see fit). My husband, in contrast, probably drinks out of the urinals at work as a passive-aggressive display of control against my "it is cold and flu preventative hand-washing/gel season!" campaign of mild insanity. And ... who is the one that gets sick?
On Monday, I woke up and knew my pre-Christmas illness had arrived, like clockwork. 102 fever, chills, aches. I think I have SARS. Last year, I believe it was the the bird flu. Year before, Ebola.
So, Ethan dressed himself (plaid pants and striped shirt complemented nicely with plastic camo army boots, which he BEGGED for - nice, very nice) and we proceeded to school. Actually, first I called my dad and begged and pleaded with him to please please please pick up Ethan for me and drop him off at school because I, literally, did not have the strength. His response, "Sometimes as a mom, you just need to suck it up." Thanks, Dad! Your awesome Christmas present that I spent way way too much on - going back.
Normally, at our house, there is breakfast for Ethan and toothbrushing and other grooming and a bunch of general merry-making because I am so FUN in the mornings (or so it goes in my shiny, glossy fantasy world). This particular Morning morning, I simply threw a handful of dry mini-wheats into a Ziploc bag and grabbed a juice box, which I tossed to Ethan in the backseat before we started the drive to school.
I wish I had a photo of his face:
"This is breakfast???!!!! But ... but, I wanted pancakes....."
"That is breakfast - now eat it or you will be hungry."
And ... cue whining ... you would think I had run over the kid's puppy right in front of him. Or - ha! - set his cat on fire (only funny if you have read previous post).
So I convinced him that it was an extra-special breakfast because we are having a car PICNIC - which is super great fun!!!! He totally bought it. Which cracked me up. Then I went back to sleep, for two days.
Mommy: 1
Cranky Preschooler: 0
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