So, the other day I was catching up on all the D-List episodes I missed while I was at my folks' house and I noticed that the lead-in to the show features Kathy saying, "Ok, here's the thing. . ." And while this has been a verbal crutch of mine for quite some time, I can't be sure I didn't pick it up from Ms. Griffin and don't want to be a copycat or a plagiarist or whatever, so I changed the blog's title. It links up better with the URL now anyway. Of course, I swiped that particular gem from a t-shirt that my brother's co-worker said made her think of him, but that's different. I don't know why, but it is. Shut up. It is.
I do lurve my Bravo shows wholeheartedly, and while discussing recent episodes with some friends, one of them remarked to Jason, "Your wife sure does watch a lot of Bravo. I think she may be a gay man in a woman's body." I loved it and thought it was a great compliment, right up there with when my friend Story told me that the sweater I was wearing made me look like an angel, but really I was the devil. Aw, shucks, y'all say the sweetest things.
Ok, so I have the attention span of a drunken gnat.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Meme from Creth
1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Yep. My middle name, DeAnn, is for my dad, Dean. See how they did that?
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
July 14.
3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
Intermittently.
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Would tuna fish qualify?
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
*smirks while grabbing crotch* Not that I know of.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Um, hell to the yeah. I think it's a pretty well-established fact that I am enamored with myself.
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
Um, duh.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
I would assume so. I've not as yet woken up in a hotel bathtub with any part of my body packed in ice.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Let me make this simple for you: NO.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Froot Loops. But they hurt my tongue. And are very bad for me. So I usually have Kashi Go Lean Crunch or Honey Nut Cheerios.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Not if I can avoid it.
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Sometimes I think I am, sometimes I know I am, and sometimes I know I'm not. Ooooh, deep.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Plain ol' chocolate frozen really, really hard in a glass with milk poured over it. So good you'll slap your mama.
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Whether or not they're laughing at my jokes. Or their shoes. I mean, I notice their shoes, not that they're laughing at their shoes. Although sometimes they should be. Ok, rambling now. Next!
15. RED OR PINK?
Red, bay-bee. Have we met?
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
Laziness.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Ninny.
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
Yes, both of you.
19. WHAT COLOR SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
I don't wear shoes in bed. Were you raised in a barn or something?
20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
How embarrassing. Whatachik'n with cheese, no tomato, fries, and a DP.
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
The ceiling fan.
22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Cornflower blue.
23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Bread baking, the ocean, cilantro, clean sheets, rain, fresh-cut grass, honeysuckle, Christmas trees.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
Uh, I give up. Maybe Jason? No, I think it was Mom. No, Dad. Hell, I don't know. I've spent way too much time thinking about this, but after chronologically reconstructing my day, it must've been Shane.
25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
Ya. I wish she thought she was as cool as I think she is.
26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Baseball. And we're done.
27. HAIR COLOR?
Dark brown, but soon to be Féria 74, Copper Shimmer.
28. EYE COLOR?
Pale blue to gray.
29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
Nope, but I found some awesome glasses frames the other day that makes me want to buy them without a prescription real bad. I looked a-freaking-dorable, I tell ya.
Can you buy just the frames? How much does it cost just to put clear glass in?
30. FAVORITE FOOD?
Mexican, Tex-Mex to be precise. And fried catfish with hush puppies and green tomato relish.
31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
I just say no to scary movies.
32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Elizabeth.
33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Um, it's a kinda fuchsia-y pajama top.
34. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer. In Oregon, not Texas.
35. HUGS OR KISSES?
Well, that all depends on the recipient, now doesn't it?
36. FAVORITE DESSERT?
Hmm, tiramisu?
37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
You.
38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Me. ('Cause see, I already did.)
39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
A Voyage Long and Strange: Discovering the New World by Tony Horwitz. Yes, I'm a geek.
40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
I'm on the lappy, so no pad of the mouse.
41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT?
Elizabeth.
42. FAVORITE SOUND?
Babies laughing, waves crashing, pane-rattling thunder, Milo snorfling.
43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Da Beatles.
44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
India.
45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
I like to think I'm a pretty good actor. And I can twirl a baton. And I flirt real good.
46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Good Shepherd Hospital, Longview, Texas.
47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Both of yours.
Yep. My middle name, DeAnn, is for my dad, Dean. See how they did that?
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
July 14.
3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
Intermittently.
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Would tuna fish qualify?
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
*smirks while grabbing crotch* Not that I know of.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Um, hell to the yeah. I think it's a pretty well-established fact that I am enamored with myself.
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
Um, duh.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
I would assume so. I've not as yet woken up in a hotel bathtub with any part of my body packed in ice.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Let me make this simple for you: NO.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Froot Loops. But they hurt my tongue. And are very bad for me. So I usually have Kashi Go Lean Crunch or Honey Nut Cheerios.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Not if I can avoid it.
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Sometimes I think I am, sometimes I know I am, and sometimes I know I'm not. Ooooh, deep.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Plain ol' chocolate frozen really, really hard in a glass with milk poured over it. So good you'll slap your mama.
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Whether or not they're laughing at my jokes. Or their shoes. I mean, I notice their shoes, not that they're laughing at their shoes. Although sometimes they should be. Ok, rambling now. Next!
15. RED OR PINK?
Red, bay-bee. Have we met?
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
Laziness.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Ninny.
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
Yes, both of you.
19. WHAT COLOR SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
I don't wear shoes in bed. Were you raised in a barn or something?
20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
How embarrassing. Whatachik'n with cheese, no tomato, fries, and a DP.
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
The ceiling fan.
22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Cornflower blue.
23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Bread baking, the ocean, cilantro, clean sheets, rain, fresh-cut grass, honeysuckle, Christmas trees.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
Uh, I give up. Maybe Jason? No, I think it was Mom. No, Dad. Hell, I don't know. I've spent way too much time thinking about this, but after chronologically reconstructing my day, it must've been Shane.
25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
Ya. I wish she thought she was as cool as I think she is.
26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Baseball. And we're done.
27. HAIR COLOR?
Dark brown, but soon to be Féria 74, Copper Shimmer.
28. EYE COLOR?
Pale blue to gray.
29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
Nope, but I found some awesome glasses frames the other day that makes me want to buy them without a prescription real bad. I looked a-freaking-dorable, I tell ya.
Can you buy just the frames? How much does it cost just to put clear glass in?30. FAVORITE FOOD?
Mexican, Tex-Mex to be precise. And fried catfish with hush puppies and green tomato relish.
31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
I just say no to scary movies.
32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Elizabeth.
33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Um, it's a kinda fuchsia-y pajama top.
34. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer. In Oregon, not Texas.
35. HUGS OR KISSES?
Well, that all depends on the recipient, now doesn't it?
36. FAVORITE DESSERT?
Hmm, tiramisu?
37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
You.
38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Me. ('Cause see, I already did.)
39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
A Voyage Long and Strange: Discovering the New World by Tony Horwitz. Yes, I'm a geek.
40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
I'm on the lappy, so no pad of the mouse.
41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT?
Elizabeth.
42. FAVORITE SOUND?
Babies laughing, waves crashing, pane-rattling thunder, Milo snorfling.
43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Da Beatles.
44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
India.
45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
I like to think I'm a pretty good actor. And I can twirl a baton. And I flirt real good.
46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Good Shepherd Hospital, Longview, Texas.
47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Both of yours.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Hoopty update!!
All right, so I'm not the world's best photographer, especially by camera phone from a moving (nonhoopty) vehicle. Check this beauty out, though.
That right there is the mother of all hoopties, my friend. Look in awe.
That right there is the mother of all hoopties, my friend. Look in awe.Thursday, July 17, 2008
Two Weeks in Texas
So, two weeks ago last Tuesday (July 1 for the math challenged), I received a call from my parents telling me that tests showed that my 93-year-old grandfather's carotid artery was 95% blocked. He also had at least one mild stroke about a month ago. His doctor recommended surgery despite the risks and told my family that a decision needed to be made immediately and that they needed to call his office first thing in the morning to let him know what was decided. My folks told me that the decision was made to go ahead with surgery and they expected it to happen within the week. I got off the phone with them and immediately bought an open-ended plane ticket home to Texas for the very next day.
You know you wanna be me. But you can't. The position is filled. That's it, yeah, let your envy flow in my direction, let it wash over me, I bathe in it, I glory-- *ahem*. Sorry. Got a little carried away there.
Anyhoo, despite the situation that brought and has kept me here, and despite the workload that has kept me plenty busy, we have managed to get out and do a few fun things and this has given me ample opportunities for observation. And ok, here's the thing: Texas and Texans, I love ya. I really do. I spent the first thirty years of my life here and I wouldn't change that for the world. Well, I'd omit a few of you, but I'm not going to get into that right now. In any case, even though I love you--nay, because I love you, I have to say that in my absence over the last eight years, y'all have all done gone and lost your minds. Now, Texas has always been a bit different and prides itself on it: It's a whole other country and all that jazz. I'm pretty sure no other state in the nation sells bathroom accessories imprinted with the image of its flag--everything from shower curtains to soap dishes to toothbrush holders. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But that's not what I'm talking about. No, I'm talking about the hoopties and the deranged lizard mascots and the Julius Caesar cast costumed as 1950s engineering nerds.
That Thursday (July 3), we took PaDad in for an arteriogram and waited all day to get the results. Apparently, the doc usually calls them around 5:30, but when 5:00 rolled around on the day before a holiday, I suggested that my dad go ahead and call the doc's office before everyone took off early. Too late. The receptionist was still there, but the doc and the surgeon had both left early to enjoy their 4th of July holidays, leaving my family swaying in the wind with zero information over the long weekend.
On Monday (July 7), when we finally managed to reach someone at the doc's office, they told us that the arteriogram confirmed the 95% blockage but that the surgeon could not see PaDad until July 14. It was at this point that it dawned on all of us that maybe I should not have rushed home based on the doctor's say-so since he doesn't get to dictate the surgeon's schedule. However, the doctor thought this was too long of a delay and they tried to get our appointment moved up. No luck.
So, finally, this past Monday (July 14), the surgeon assessed my grandfather's mental acuity and quality of life and scheduled the surgery for Friday, July 18 at 1:00 p.m.
[insert standard rant about health care system here]
So, I've been cooling my heels in Tejas for the last two weeks. Although cool is not really an appropriate adjective to use to describe anything about Texas in July. Fortuitously, I developed some kind of blockage in my right ear the second day I was here and have not yet managed to clear it, despite 10 days and $120 worth of medication, so it's not like I can fly anyway. And I can't hear a blessed thing either.
But it's not been a vacation. My job is portable and I brought plenty of work with me and have had to scramble several times to make deadlines. There's been a lot going on around here and focusing has been a challenge. Plus, my mom wanted to take me shopping. Who am I to disappoint her? And, drumroll please, I now present the newest selection of my OMG-aren't-they-just-the-cutest-things-you've-ever-seen-in-your-life shoes. Envy me.
You know you wanna be me. But you can't. The position is filled. That's it, yeah, let your envy flow in my direction, let it wash over me, I bathe in it, I glory-- *ahem*. Sorry. Got a little carried away there.Anyhoo, despite the situation that brought and has kept me here, and despite the workload that has kept me plenty busy, we have managed to get out and do a few fun things and this has given me ample opportunities for observation. And ok, here's the thing: Texas and Texans, I love ya. I really do. I spent the first thirty years of my life here and I wouldn't change that for the world. Well, I'd omit a few of you, but I'm not going to get into that right now. In any case, even though I love you--nay, because I love you, I have to say that in my absence over the last eight years, y'all have all done gone and lost your minds. Now, Texas has always been a bit different and prides itself on it: It's a whole other country and all that jazz. I'm pretty sure no other state in the nation sells bathroom accessories imprinted with the image of its flag--everything from shower curtains to soap dishes to toothbrush holders. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But that's not what I'm talking about. No, I'm talking about the hoopties and the deranged lizard mascots and the Julius Caesar cast costumed as 1950s engineering nerds.
The little corner of Texas that I call home has always had its share of tricked-out trucks and souped-up cars and general attempts at oozing machismo out from under the hood. And oh, by the way, fellas, I refer to any sort of oversized, lift-kit fitted, ginormous-tire sporting, obvious attempt at stating your manhood sort of vehicle as a teeny weeny peeny machine. We all know you're compensating, but consider not advertising your shortcomings in such an obvious way, mmkay? But to get back on track, what got my attention this time was the new (to me) phenomenon of putting tiny little tires with great big wheels on cars, trucks, and SUVs.
Yes, that's a Cadillac. An older model, admittedly, but I've seen these ridiculous-looking things on every kind of car you can imagine, from pickup trucks to compact cars to my personal favorite, a brand new Lincoln Navigator. I don't even know what to say about this. It's nuts. It's ugly. Stop the madness.
On a positive note, Kilgore has a new baseball team, the Kilgore Pump Jacks, and they play in the Texas Collegiate League. For those of you not up on your oilfield terminology, a pump jack is one of those old-timey mechanical devices for drawing oil out of a well . They kinda look like a hammer balancing on a triangle and rocking up and down. If that awe-inspiring descriptive imagery isn't doing it for ya, Google Image Search is your friend. A fitting name for a team in an old oil boomtown. But what to do about a mascot? Well, a pump jack is also sometimes called a nodding donkey. So there you go: Boomer, the donkey. Makes perfect sense. Until some nimrod decides that there should be two mascots. Now Boomer is joined by Derrick the dinosaur. Because of fossil fuels, ya know. Right. Whatevs. The only trouble is that a dinosaur mascot costume is a little tough to pull off. And if you're not careful, he might just end up looking like. . .
. . . a deranged lizard. Um, creepy. And I'm not even a masklophobe. At least I didn't use to be.
Another good thing that Kilgore has going for it is the annual Texas Shakespeare Festival. According to TSF's promotional materials, it has been referred to by the Austin American Statesman as "indisputably the best Shakespeare festival in Texas." My parents don't usually attend, but my mom was willing to go with me, and to my utter amazement, my dad agreed to accompany us after some initial hesitation. Come to find out, he was mainly interested in seeing the elaborate sets and costumes. Whoops.
Somehow, I don't think that's what Dad had in mind. It really wasn't that big of a deal although it threw me at first. But I got used to it and ceased to notice after a while. What was much more distracting were my parents giggling like schoolkids every time one of the actors sprayed a little spit. I wanted to smack them--in a loving way, of course. The weirdest thing about the production for me were the dance numbers that opened and closed the show. The opener featured the nerd chorus (costumes complete with black-rimmed glasses) running in place and then striking a pose, running in place and then striking a pose, ad nauseum. Strange. And the closer was a little rythmic jig where they all chanted several times, "Caesar Augustus, Caesar Augustus, Caesar Augustus, unh, unh, unh!" I don't know. I actually came home and looked up the ending to see how Shakespeare treated the Octavius becomes Augustus bit because I couldn't remember. He didn't. So, uh, I don't know. But, it was a good show and I enjoyed it and am glad we went. Kudos especially to the actor who played Brutus. My playbill's all the way across the room right now so I can't tell you his name. But he did a fine job. Look him up and send him a telegram of congratulation, why don't you?
So, Texicans, in conclusion, I think I have effectively proven that you're all a little bit whacko. However, as we all know, I heart crazy. So do me a favor and don't ever change. Unless you want to get a little bit nuttier.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Down the Rabbit Hole
I'm feeling quite guilty for being ever-so-neglectful of my poor little bloggy for the last couple of months. But I've been crazy busy and chasing my ass in circles and, oh yeah, I'm still sick. Color me not happy. But I do have two new coloring books. Yay!!!
I don't have any fresh ideas or anything I particularly care to rant about right now, at least not in a public forum where people who I am not terribly fond of at the moment might recognize themselves. Ahem. So, instead, I shall regale you with the tale of the most bizarre dream I have had in quite some time.
In this dream, my lifelong friend and former schoolmate, Dee (Hi, Dee!), was pimping a hookup with a mutual friend--let's call him X (because I will not be sharing that identity here, un-uh, no way, forget it). Now X is not someone I've ever thought about in a sexual way. I mean, I'm sure he's perfectly capable, or a dynamo, or dear God, what horrible road have I wandered down? Never mind. Argh. Anyway, purely platonic. Period.
I'm not quite sure what my marital status was within the dream because Jason was neither seen nor directly referred to, but judging from the furtive, illicit nature of the liaison, I'm guessing my troth was indeed plighted. But the secrecy surrounding the assignation could also have been attributed to my parents staying in the same hotel (in Dallas--apparently, this was an integral detail of the dream because that was, unlike my wedded state, quite clear). Luckily, they were on the 5th floor and I was on the 8th. Whew. Crisis averted.
However, the course of true hookups never did run smooth. Power outage in the hotel. Oh dear. Confounded by the accidental release of some of the caged wild animals also resident in our hotel. This made navigating the hallways quite an adventure. Luckily, the lions and tigers (no bears, oh my) were agitated and you could hear them growling in the dark corridors well before they got near you. To avoid them, you simply climbed up the wall and perched high up out of their reach until they passed by. Yep. What? You were expecting something logical?
After a long and arduous trek through darkened hallways populated by prowling wild beasts, I make it to my 8th-floor room to prepare for the tryst. The power has returned and as I am getting ready, I notice and hazily recall that my goddai friends had all signed my boobs the night before in celebration of my 6-month boobiversary (which really was Friday--happy boobday to me!), clearly accompanied by vast quantities of margaritas, hence the hazy recall. Naturally, the ink will not come off and I am obviously quite discomfited and embarrassed by this because I'm going to have to explain to X why 20 or so of my closest friends have autographed my breasts. Oh well, onward and upward. Winners never quit and oh, never mind.
I would now like to take a moment to thank Jesus, Mary, Joseph, all the saints, Buddha, Hanuman, Krishna, and whomever or whatever else might have contributed to the filter that cut the next scene either from my dream, or blessedly, from my memory. The next thing I remember is clearly after the deed had been done. There was some cuddling (aww, an extramarital sex dream with cuddling--how sweet!) and then I simply kissed him and said goodbye. And that was that. As far as you know.
THE END
I don't have any fresh ideas or anything I particularly care to rant about right now, at least not in a public forum where people who I am not terribly fond of at the moment might recognize themselves. Ahem. So, instead, I shall regale you with the tale of the most bizarre dream I have had in quite some time.
In this dream, my lifelong friend and former schoolmate, Dee (Hi, Dee!), was pimping a hookup with a mutual friend--let's call him X (because I will not be sharing that identity here, un-uh, no way, forget it). Now X is not someone I've ever thought about in a sexual way. I mean, I'm sure he's perfectly capable, or a dynamo, or dear God, what horrible road have I wandered down? Never mind. Argh. Anyway, purely platonic. Period.
I'm not quite sure what my marital status was within the dream because Jason was neither seen nor directly referred to, but judging from the furtive, illicit nature of the liaison, I'm guessing my troth was indeed plighted. But the secrecy surrounding the assignation could also have been attributed to my parents staying in the same hotel (in Dallas--apparently, this was an integral detail of the dream because that was, unlike my wedded state, quite clear). Luckily, they were on the 5th floor and I was on the 8th. Whew. Crisis averted.
However, the course of true hookups never did run smooth. Power outage in the hotel. Oh dear. Confounded by the accidental release of some of the caged wild animals also resident in our hotel. This made navigating the hallways quite an adventure. Luckily, the lions and tigers (no bears, oh my) were agitated and you could hear them growling in the dark corridors well before they got near you. To avoid them, you simply climbed up the wall and perched high up out of their reach until they passed by. Yep. What? You were expecting something logical?
After a long and arduous trek through darkened hallways populated by prowling wild beasts, I make it to my 8th-floor room to prepare for the tryst. The power has returned and as I am getting ready, I notice and hazily recall that my goddai friends had all signed my boobs the night before in celebration of my 6-month boobiversary (which really was Friday--happy boobday to me!), clearly accompanied by vast quantities of margaritas, hence the hazy recall. Naturally, the ink will not come off and I am obviously quite discomfited and embarrassed by this because I'm going to have to explain to X why 20 or so of my closest friends have autographed my breasts. Oh well, onward and upward. Winners never quit and oh, never mind.
I would now like to take a moment to thank Jesus, Mary, Joseph, all the saints, Buddha, Hanuman, Krishna, and whomever or whatever else might have contributed to the filter that cut the next scene either from my dream, or blessedly, from my memory. The next thing I remember is clearly after the deed had been done. There was some cuddling (aww, an extramarital sex dream with cuddling--how sweet!) and then I simply kissed him and said goodbye. And that was that. As far as you know.
THE END
Saturday, June 14, 2008
A Banner Health Day
Or not, as the case may be. I woke up yesterday morning with a raging respiratory infection that seemed to have morphed overnight from the sore throat I'd had since Tuesday. I conveniently already had a doctor's appointment scheduled for midmorning due to the abscess on my scar from surgery six months ago. I know I shouldn't be getting abscesses this long after the surgery, but someone forgot to tell my body. Apparently, I'm stitch-absorbing challenged.
Anyhoo, so doc appointment goes fine and he writes me a prescription for cough syrup with codeine so I'm not up all night coughing. The wound has pretty much self-healed (I'll spare you the gory details and you're welcome), so we're just going to keep an eye on it and forego the antibiotics for now. Ok, fine, sure. So, I spend the day pretty much feeling like shit-on-a-stick and popping ibuprofen left, right, and center and a generic dayquil thingy at about 3:00 or 4:00. Typical sick day, right? Ah, a hasty conclusion, my friend.
It gets on toward evening and I'm planning on hitting the sack soon, so I spoon myself up some cough syrup. About an hour later, around 9:30, I get hit with an esophageal spasm the likes of which I have not felt in years. Now, for those of you unfamiliar, an esophageal spasm causes a "squeezing type of chest pain that feels just like heart pain (angina)," to put it mildly. I end up kneeling on the floor with my forehead pressed against the floorboards, whimpering, and endlessly repeating, "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God." Poor Jason has never actually witnessed one of these attacks before but luckily, by the time he heard me and came to check on me, I had enough of my breath back to at least give him an idea of what was going on. Unfortunately, the spasms just kept coming. I managed to get back in bed for the rest of them but this just leads to me flopping around like a fish out of water trying to find some position, any position, that might alleviate the nigh unbearable pain. I tend to curl up in a ball around a pillow and try to get my chest higher than my head--I don't know why, it's just what instinct leads me to do. And I endlessly repeat either the "Oh God" phrase above or "No, no, no" or "Why, why, why?" or some such inane idiocy. I did have the presence of mind to avoid "Help me" and "Make it stop" because I knew poor Jason could do neither.
I think I must have had about five episodes within the space of an hour and because of that damned codeine in the cough syrup, I couldn't take a muscle relaxer and didn't know if I could take a painkiller or not. Jason was starting to freak and I was as wrung out as a dishrag, so we called the hospital to see if there was anything I could safely take. They were unwilling to suggest anything on the phone because of the possibility of an allergic reaction (and also a liability issue, I'm guessing) and recommended that we come in to the E/R. Several hours, an EKG, a chest X-ray, a couple of valium, and a late-night episode of What Not to Wear later, I was released on my own recognizance and into the care of Bossy McBosserson, the alter ego of my mild-mannered husband. One, ok two, little sedatives for me and my, but doesn't he feel awfully superior all of a sudden. I think he's just envious that he doesn't share the same strength of character (read: mind-altering drugs) that enables me to happily be seen in Safeway in the middle of the night in my pink Supergirl pajamas while still wearing my hospital ID bracelet. Party on, Wayne. And a happy Friday the 13th to you all.
Anyhoo, so doc appointment goes fine and he writes me a prescription for cough syrup with codeine so I'm not up all night coughing. The wound has pretty much self-healed (I'll spare you the gory details and you're welcome), so we're just going to keep an eye on it and forego the antibiotics for now. Ok, fine, sure. So, I spend the day pretty much feeling like shit-on-a-stick and popping ibuprofen left, right, and center and a generic dayquil thingy at about 3:00 or 4:00. Typical sick day, right? Ah, a hasty conclusion, my friend.
It gets on toward evening and I'm planning on hitting the sack soon, so I spoon myself up some cough syrup. About an hour later, around 9:30, I get hit with an esophageal spasm the likes of which I have not felt in years. Now, for those of you unfamiliar, an esophageal spasm causes a "squeezing type of chest pain that feels just like heart pain (angina)," to put it mildly. I end up kneeling on the floor with my forehead pressed against the floorboards, whimpering, and endlessly repeating, "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God." Poor Jason has never actually witnessed one of these attacks before but luckily, by the time he heard me and came to check on me, I had enough of my breath back to at least give him an idea of what was going on. Unfortunately, the spasms just kept coming. I managed to get back in bed for the rest of them but this just leads to me flopping around like a fish out of water trying to find some position, any position, that might alleviate the nigh unbearable pain. I tend to curl up in a ball around a pillow and try to get my chest higher than my head--I don't know why, it's just what instinct leads me to do. And I endlessly repeat either the "Oh God" phrase above or "No, no, no" or "Why, why, why?" or some such inane idiocy. I did have the presence of mind to avoid "Help me" and "Make it stop" because I knew poor Jason could do neither.
I think I must have had about five episodes within the space of an hour and because of that damned codeine in the cough syrup, I couldn't take a muscle relaxer and didn't know if I could take a painkiller or not. Jason was starting to freak and I was as wrung out as a dishrag, so we called the hospital to see if there was anything I could safely take. They were unwilling to suggest anything on the phone because of the possibility of an allergic reaction (and also a liability issue, I'm guessing) and recommended that we come in to the E/R. Several hours, an EKG, a chest X-ray, a couple of valium, and a late-night episode of What Not to Wear later, I was released on my own recognizance and into the care of Bossy McBosserson, the alter ego of my mild-mannered husband. One, ok two, little sedatives for me and my, but doesn't he feel awfully superior all of a sudden. I think he's just envious that he doesn't share the same strength of character (read: mind-altering drugs) that enables me to happily be seen in Safeway in the middle of the night in my pink Supergirl pajamas while still wearing my hospital ID bracelet. Party on, Wayne. And a happy Friday the 13th to you all.
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