I've got to unsubscribe

I like to pretend that I knit a lot, but I really don't. When I do buy yarn I buy it cheap, so a while ago I bought a bunch of skeins from Herrschners. The yarn wasn't bad, but I keep getting weekly emails telling me all about their specials. This is what I saw when I opened my email with this week's special deals.

As if that wasn't bad enough the ad also sports this sassy Santa. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe that he's giving me a "come hither, I've got a secret" sort of look.

slump

I thought things were going to change when Alex finished school. I'll even go far as to say I thought that life would get so awesome that it would blow my mind. I had a picture in my head of our excellent life, you know, the one where we would move into the city (any city), start having lavish cocktail parties, wear overpriced shoes just to look fabulous and never have to dust again. But none of that stuff is happening. Instead, my life is changing in a weird way. I'm realizing that although things have shifted they've pretty much stayed the same. We still live in University housing, we still have to save money and Alex is still busy at night reading stuff about eyes. Dinners are not lavish and I haven't bought any new shoes. At least now we're able to go out for dinner in a restaurant and not give each other guilty glances when the bill hits the table, which is a welcome change, but I thought that life would somehow become carefree, like I would be running on the beach a lot... or something like that.

One thing that needs to change for me to feel like I'm finally moving forward is the housing situation, I'm so done with the University Village. We thought about buying a condo, but that requires some long term, hard core saving, so we decided that moving to another apartment might be the right thing to do. On Monday night we set out on our new housing journey and decided to look at two apartments which have cheaper rent than what we're still forking over to the University. Obviously, there was a reason why these apartments were so cheap. I ended up looking at the first apartment by myself because Alex's last patient was late. (oh, being married to an O.D. is sooo hard. bitch, moan, etc..) The apartment was in downtown Oakland, not a great part of downtown Oakland, but it wasn't too shabby. The building itself was kind of cute, it had a courtyard and the lofts there, which were already rented, looked nice. But the apartments for rent were awful. Awful is an understatement, I'm just going to cut to the chase here and tell you that they were shitholes. I knew it was destined for failure when the dude showing the apartment apologized for the loud music across the hall from the apartment I was viewing. The apology went a little something like this,

Allow me to say I'm sorry for the loud music. There's an unknown tenant in that apartment. I think there was a divorce or something and now there's some strange person in there. We're not sure what's going on. It's like a nightclub!

Here's a little tip for anyone showing an apartment: Don't admit to prospective renters that you have no clue, nor are you willing to research what goes on in the building for which you are claiming responsibility. It just doesn't sit right. Unless I want to live in a nightclub, then by all means, tell everyone to rock out even if you have no idea who the hell they are.

I looked at a one bedroom unit first, one with a "remodeled" bathroom. This meant that the shower stall had been cleaned, there was a new shower curtain and toilet paper was on the roll. Otherwise the bathroom was craptastic, complete with mildew in the corners and a sink which dripped. Slumlord then showed me what he called a "spacious two bedroom." It was about 800 square feet and had an even worse bathroom, which stunned me, because I didn't think that was possible. All the floors were covered with stained, brown carpet that smelled like a litterbox. The kitchen was so small that it had a Barbie stove and a mini fridge. The only heater was in the living room, it was about 40 years old and it took up half the space in there. No daylight came through any of the 4 windows, each was blocked by another wall from another building. It was the most depressing thing I had ever seen. I thanked Slumlord for his time and exited as I heard 50 Cent's In Da Club, which was actually Slumlord's phone ringing.

When I left the building I got a call from Alex, who had finally made it to a BART station close by. I said I would come and find him, but I don't really know my way around that neighborhood, so it took me roughly 30 minutes to find the corner where he was standing. Needless to say we were both quite cranky by the time Alex got in the car. But we forged onward to look at one more apartment. We drove over to Lake Merritt to look at a one bedroom apartment with hardwood floors and a walk-in closet. ooooh, aaaaahhhh. Unfortunately it was being shown by the same management company, and not surprisingly, no one was there to let us in when we arrived. We made some calls, left some voicemails, waited for 20 minutes and eventually gave up and drove back to the Village. That building actually looked pretty nice, so I was a little disappointed that we weren't able to see it, but I suppose it just wasn't meant to be, at least not this week. Maybe not this month. Maybe not this year. University housing really isn't that bad. After looking at what hovels I could live in, I was pleased to return to our spacious, free utilities and DSL, two bedroom habitat.

Maybe the kind of change I need is something more like getting a new kitten. Good thing I'm getting one on Saturday.
Now I will observe a moment of silence, because my little kitty went through his orchidectomy today. He never even had a chance to live it up. Poor little guy. At least he'll have a big, non-moldy apartment to call home.

mmm, bananas

Ape Escape is a pretty awesome game, but not as awesome as this ad.
click on the 2nd ad down in the right column, the one with the two guys facing each other... yeah, the one with the mound of bananas in between them.

photo friday - candid

This is my entry for this week, you can click on the picture if you'd like to see a larger version. I took this at the Oyster and Beer Festival in April.

up the river (a post I meant to write a long time ago)

Many moons ago, about three months ago, I went on a rafting trip. It was the second annual 'Greg's Birthday' rafting trip. Last year was pretty rad, we had beautiful weather, went down a fairly easy fork of the river and I didn't have a vestibular disorder. This year proved to be a little more challenging for me with a chill in the air and some rain, class V rapids and spending a lot of time trying to convince myself I wasn't falling out of the boat when that's exactly what it felt like.

It's funny the little things I forgot about rafting after a year; things like how much work it is just to get into a rented wet suit and then realizing how much back fat I actually have once I finally cram myself into the wetsuit. And just because I paid to go rafting doesn't mean I'm going for a pleasant cruise down a river, there's some work involved. The paddling can be hard sometimes, but what's even harder is carrying the boat and paddles in and out of the water. This may not sound hard, but believe me, if you're weak and wimpy like me and wearing a wetsuit, helmet, jacket and life preserver, it is.

We camped the night before, so that always means that I can count on a solid 2 hours of sleep accompanied by 4 hours of tossing and turning. On top of being tired we had an hour van ride down windy roads to get to our starting point of the river, so I was pretty loopy by the time I disembarked from the van. I don't think I need to describe in detail what a lame ass I looked like in a wetsuit and rubber booties trying to stay steady on downhill gravel while attempting to hold my portion of the raft up over my head. I was sweating and it wasn't even hot out. By the time we got the boat into the water I was whimpering like a big baby, but once we got to paddling I tried my best to keep a stiff upper lip. Let me stress, tried, because the reality of it was that salty tears dribbled down my face over the sheer frustration of being dizzy and I wanted out when the guide said "waterfall" and "straight ahead." Sitting on the edge of a moving, bouncy, air filled vehicle probably isn't the best way for someone with balance issues to spend a Sunday, but gosh darn it, once you start a rafting trip with 14 other people it's not okay to say "hey, I changed my mind. Do you mind if we go back?"

I did much better the further we went but besides battling balance problems I had to deal with much more serious issues, like figuring out if I was on the right or left side of the boat when our guide yelled out commands. This was hard not only because I'm directionally challenged (and when holding a paddle it's hard to hold out your hands to see which one makes the 'L means left' shape), but also because our guide was from New Zealand and when he said left it sounded like lift and paddle sounded like peddle. Yeah, I know you can't peddle or lift in a raft, but that's what it sounded like and it confused me. Even though I knew what he meant and I kept repeating "you're on the left, you're on the left" in my head, it took a long time for me to process the information... and then about 25 minutes into the trip the guide asked me to move from the from the left side of the boat to the right side. Great.

The waterfall turned out to be not so big and pretty fun and once I got past my panic, I had a great time. The next big challenge was stopping for lunch. With the kind of vestibular damage I have the weird thing is that I'm okay once I get moving, like driving 65 on a freeway, but once I stop it still feels like everything is moving for awhile. So basically it was like eating at 40 mph. Even harder than eating was navigating my way up a hill to use the small tower of PVC tubes and bag that the rafting folks like to call the toilet. With some help from Alex working security for me at the makeshift restroom, I was able to pee in peace and make it back to the raft in one piece. The last part of the trip was really easy, we had been through the bulk of the rapids before lunch. The hardest part of the end of the trip was riding back to the campground cramped in a van with a bunch of other wet, exhausted and sweaty people. Steamy windows had new meaning.

So next year when April rolls around, chances are I'll forget about all the things I bitched about and get all giddy while raving about the mind-blowing water extravaganza I'll be attending. If I happen to get in your face regarding any sort of rafting experience please feel free to tell me to shut my big yap. Or shove me. Either one should work just fine.

Here's a picture of most of the rafting crew. See, I'm smiling, I did have fun, I swear.

without a tripod

I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who took some great photos of fireworks. I, on the other hand, took crappy photos like this.


At least we could see the fireworks this year, which was so much better than last year when we hoofed down to the Albany Bulb in the cold and wind only to realize that fireworks under cloud cover just look like you're in some sort of war zone. This year it was still cold and windy, but we were able to see about 5 different shows. Although Berkeley is the closest and the one we had the best view of, it was unfortunately the lamest show. I guess whoever does the fireworks for them doesn't realize that it's fucking freezing out and you can actually speed up the show by sending up one explosive while another is already in the air. Five seconds in between small fireworks is actually annoying and the show lasted for more than a half hour. Completely unnecessary.

My favorite part of going to the Albany Bulb every year is the heavy cop who stands at the entrance to the park and says the same speech to each group of people entering.

Welcome to Albany. We only have two rules here; no alcohol and no fireworks. Okay? Because if you are caught with either you'll be spending the night in the Albany jail. Okay?

And then I guess you're supposed to say okay back or give him some sort of sign that you understood him, because he keeps looking at you until you say "yeah" or give him the thumbs up or something. I just think it's funny that there are only two rules, I suppose crack pipes and guns are okay as long as you don't have any beer or roman candles. Richard and Wil joined us at the Bulb where we found a good spot without too much wind and nice place to enjoy our refreshments.

grrrr...

I just found out that I have to work tomorrow, which totally makes me want to punch someone in the face. And he knows who he is.

Since I have to do all this last minute stuff for tomorrow's shoot I don't have time to write about what I wanted to write about, which was a fire that destroyed the scene shop for Berkeley Repertory Theatre. I'm sure that it's going to be a hard summer and next season for them because of it, and I'm sitting here complaining because I have to go to a concert tomorrow and get paid overtime. I'm such a jerk. Anyways, here are some pictures I took the day after the fire. (click on the photo below for a slide show)

happy birthday, Travis!

If I could give you a website for your comics I would, but I can't, because I don't know how to do that sort of stuff. So instead I'll just wish you a happy birthday and say thanks a bunch for all the new music and comics you sent me. I can't promise I won't stop listening to Justin Timberlake, but I will listen to more Sleater-Kinney.

I miss my Dad

If my Dad were still alive, he'd be 61 today. It was my Dad who inspired my quirky sense of humor and love of slapstick. I also, unfortunately, got my temper from him. Even though Dad had a knack for being goofy it was never a good idea to laugh at him when he lost his temper, no matter how funny it was. And even worse than laughing at him would be to tell him to "calm down." I learned that one the hard way. I guess because he knew I shared in the love of all things rage-like he would frequently fly off the handle when it was just the two of us. It was kind of like two kindred spirits of suppressed anger seeking comfort in each other's company. I liked to stomp up stairs, he liked to throw tools. Ahhh, the magic of family.

One of my favorite stories to tell about my Dad is the one where we were driving to the grocery store to pick something up for my Mom. I was living at home right after college, so my relationship with my parents was a little strange, but I still liked hanging out with my Dad, especially if he was just looking for company on a ride and I got to control the radio. He had finally stopped driving the Dodge Ram van (yes, it had carpet inside, even on the walls) and was cruising down the streets with class in his fairly new Grand Marquis. We headed down the long street of Hyde Park Ave. and as I was obsessively changing the radio stations I noticed my Dad getting upset about something. I thought it was my failure to pick and stick with something on the radio, but his increasing blood pressure was caused by two young hoodlums on a small worn down motorbike. They were both probably about 12 years old and were driving about 10 miles per hour down the middle of the street. Obviously this made Dad mad for a number of reasons, all of which he told me all about: first of all, these kids weren't even old enough to be driving that thing, second, the vehicle was unregistered third, it was unsafe for them and for other drivers and fourth, they were going way too slow for his liking. Dad started beeping and they ignored him. So he really laid on the horn, which sadly resulted in the moped going even slower. These kids obviously didn't know who they were messing with. A vigilante in a giant green car meant business; Dad rolled down his window and told them to get the hell out of the way, the kids laughed, swerved and gave him the finger. This made Dad furious, the only way to deal with these bad seeds now was clear... it was time to scare the crap out of them. I hadn't been driven around in the Grand Marquis too often before that day, but it was on that day I realized that 8 cylinders is a whole lot of car, more car than a moped can handle. Good thing those kids were thinking ahead and were able to get next to the car instead of under it. But these 12 year olds were fearless and even though they had almost been run down they had enough balls to take out a key and ran it down the entire passenger's side of the Grand Marquis as they rode next to us. I made eye contact with them and shook my head in disbelief, somehow trying to side with Dad, yet give them some kind of warning to back off, please, for the love of god, back off. This was one of the three times in my life I uttered the words "calm down" to Dad. I probably squeaked them out and they weren't even audible, but I felt like I had a civic duty to say something. I looked over at Dad and the expression on his face made me hope that he hadn't heard me after all. I decided that no matter what happened at that point, I would keep my mouth shut.
As the kids came closer to the car, Dad would swerve towards them, trying to run them off the road and on to the sidewalk, the kids would get on the sidewalk for a minute, then back onto the road to torment the Grand Marquis with the key. This went on for a few minutes, the kids would get closer to the car, Dad would get closer to the kids, a key would come out... you get the picture.
We finally came to the stretch of the road with the police station, so we were soon followed by flashing lights and sirens. I breathed a sigh of relief as I hunched over in the seat, trying to look like I had nothing to do with any of this. We ended up pulling over across the street from McDonald's where a barefoot woman with curlers in her hair came running out, shouting "I saw the whole thing! He totally tried to kill those kids! I saw it! He was gonna run 'em down!" Apparently we had drawn all sorts of attention in Clearly Square, even from crazy people who should have been wearing shoes while dining on a Big Mac. The police officer told her to step aside as Dad calmly rolled down his window. I was certain that Dad was going to jail and I would have to take the bus home with this barefooted bitch who was saying my father was a killer. The police officer asked what the problem was and Dad replied in his best Boston accent,"These kids ahh bein' ahhhhsholes." I'm not sure why this happened, but that was all Dad had to say, the officer took the kids and the moped away and Dad and I went to the store.

We never talked about the incident again, because I know it wasn't one of my Dad's proudest moments, but also because there was no need, I understood. I told my Mom about it after Dad passed away, she didn't believe me.

I miss you, Dad.

photo friday - orange

I entered this photo for this week's challenge.

If you want to check out about 500 other orange photos you can go here.

I'm not that into your germs

Hey you, yeah, you with the cold,
If I give you the box of tissues from my desk I'm giving it to you for good. Please enjoy them down to a nub. I want you to fill each and every tissue with your own phlegm, but I don't want to be a part of it.
Not only was it obvious that you needed a whole box, but I was tired of you popping your snotty face in and out of my cube EVERY time you needed a tissue. I'm not sure why you couldn't take more than one tissue at a time or better yet, go up one flight of stairs to get your own box, because the supply room has many boxes of tissues for the taking. That's right, they're FREE! But when I gave you that box it wasn't a loaner for you to get all germy with and then return it half full, it was yours for keeps.

wheeeee

Last Saturday I met up with Wil and Richard and was treated to a breezy ride in Wil's new convertible. It's not a new car, but it's new to Wil, and fun for me, because I had never been in a convertible before. We drove over to the Castro to check out Alex's new work digs and then get some dinner. Richard let me sit in the front seat for the ride into the city, which was very nice of him. I felt quite sassy with my hair blowing in the wind. When we got to the Castro Wil had a milestone moment with his new car... it's very first time parked on a steep hill. I felt honored to be a part of all the glory.


We stopped by For Your Eyes Only (feel free to hate me if you have that James Bond song stuck in your head now) to visit Alex and tried on lots of fancy eyewear. Alex still had about an hour of work left so Wil, Richard and I headed over to Metro City Bar for some margaritas and people watching. If you're ever in the Castro just remember that the Metro has the best seats on the patio to see stuff like this.


But beware of anyone there wearing a t-shirt that says "Rimming is the shit."

Alex eventually joined us, right in time for the Finlandia promotion they were doing that night. After filling out index cards with fake names and addresses we all got free tank tops, buttons that light up and tiny little bottles of flavored vodka. We also met a guy named Ira who was there because his lady friend worked for Finlandia. I let him use my zoom lens to check out other ladies (not ones with goatees) in the street while he told me all about his girlfriend being sunburned. We finally got to meet his girlfriend, who immediately revealed to us that Ira's nickname for her is CCT, Candy Cane Tits. Ira explained that this was because her boobs and pelvic area didn't get burnt, but everything else did. See, get it, Candy Cane Tits? ha ha ha. She never told us her real name, so I guess if I ever run into her again I'll just have to ignore her.

We finally bid farewell to Ira and CCT, gathered up our free Finlandia crap and walked over to Catch to have a very trendy and delicious dinner. They have a piano player there who sits in this little crow's nest type of thing and plays some tunes on a baby grand. I actually spent a fair amount of time feeling bad for him, he looked really cramped up there. That and he had leather pants on, but he did that to himself.

Even though it was a little chilly we took a drive up to Twin Peaks with the top down and watched the sunset.


I will attest that riding in the front seat of a car with no top is much less windy than riding in the back, but the back seat has it's own perks, it's where you can see how crazy you look with your hair blowing in the breeze.

someone help me

Please tell me that I cannot get another cat. Even if he's the cutest thing ever. Even though he looks just like a mini-Zach and likes to pet my face in the same exact way Zach does. Even if he came right over to me and clawed his way up my leg so I would pet him. Even if he was found in a shoe box in downtown Oakland, therefore making him a hip and trendy urban cat.
Please tell me that I don't need this kitten.

what Costco is NOT good for

I heart Costco. I think it's one of the coolest places to go shopping. Where else can you get 46 ounces of salsa in a two pack, paper towels to last you a millennium and a mattress pad all at the same time? But I have to draw the line somewhere. Alex went to Costco on Monday without me and got some good stuff, but mixed in with that good stuff was a multi-pack of Pringles. That's six giant cans of Pringles joined together by a mess of shrink wrap. I think Alex might love Pringles more than I love Costco. I don't love Pringles, but they are a snack food so I'll eat them if they're around. Pringles are weird though, they aren't potato chips, they're potato crisps, which to me taste like someone made a bunch of instant potatoes, formed them into these wafer things, baked them up and slid them into a can. And I think that getting chips from a can is wrong, but not as wrong as getting Cheetos or Funyuns from a can. (Note to society - please stop trying to drink or inhale your solids, there are plenty of snacks for everyone, no need to rush.) But my big problem with Pringles is that there's nothing easier than opening the pantry door, grabbing a tube of chips and ripping off that plastic lid. What could be more satisfying and take less effort than getting home from long commute and shoving a bunch of Pringles in your face?

Alex bought this massive quantity of potato crisps on Monday, it's now Friday morning and there are only three cans left. This can't be good.

it's only Wednesday

Did you ever have a dream that it was the weekend and you wake up all excited that it's Saturday but then reality gives you a swift kick in the pants and tells you to get dressed for work because it's really only Wednesday?

The week after a vacation is the most unfun week. What makes it even harder to stay motivated is my boss being out for most of the week. It's a recipe for disaster.

The one thing that does kick ass about this week is that Alex started his new jobs. Two part time jobs in San Francisco, jobs where people call him Doctor. I think that's so crazy, I never imagined I would be married to a doctor. Maybe it's time to quit my job and start volunteering with some society women and taking tea with the neighborhood association ladies. Or do spouses of optometrists not do that sort of thing?

the juice is on the loose

My trip to Boston was wicked pissah.

We kicked off our week long trip with a drive down to Cape Cod for my cousin's wedding. The weather was beautiful and there was never a dull moment during the car ride, because both my mother and Nana were in the back seat. At one point Nana talked about someone who retired with a 'silver hand,' but what she really meant to say was 'golden parachute' and eventually my mother was all about correcting her... once she figured out what a silver hand was supposed to be. I think that gives you a pretty good idea of how that portion of the trip went. After a little over an hour of listening to Nana's awesome Boston accent (mine = my-uhn, fire = fi-ahhh, etc.) we met up with 9 other relatives at the hotel and proceeded to head out to the 99 for a dazzling meal of burgers and fries. I like hanging out with my family every once in awhile, even if it means we have to frequent the likes of Applebees from time to time. Eventually we all went back to the hotel to get ready for the wedding and that's when things took a turn for the worse. I put on my new blouse. I had never done the "sit down" test in the dressing room before I purchased. Bad move. It turned out the shirt liked to spontaneously slide open and slip off my shoulders once I was seated. Luckily I was able to get all MacGyver on it's ass and realized that two small, well placed diamond earrings would prevent any family members from getting a flash of my tragically un-hip bra. You see, it was important that I looked my best for this wedding because not only was it was at a high falootin' golf club on the Cape, but O.J. Simpson would be attending. Doesn't everyone want to look their best for the Juice?
My cousin Brian was kind enough to catch this once in a lifetime moment of Alex and I dancing while the gloveless O.J. serenaded the crowd with his very own version of "It's a Wonderful World."


If that picture doesn't make you weak in the knees then you might want to check this out.


yes, my friends, a chocolate fountain. There was something so disturbing yet compelling about it. I didn't eat anything from the fountain, but I shoved plenty of stuff in there. That's when I decided that I want that to be my job, chocolate fountain dipper. Get a stick, stab something, put it under running chocolate and then serve it on a plate. Voila. All I could think of was Augustus Gloop, I got really excited for the new Willie Wonka movie.

Alex and I (along with my Mom) left the Cape on Sunday, dropped Nana off and moved on to our New Hampshire portion of the visit, which was largely spent playing Hot Potato with my nephew Matt. I'm not sure exactly what the rules are for Hot Potato, but it involved me sitting in one place and pretending various items were Hot Potatoes, once it got away from me Matt would find the item and return it. Oh sure, I know what you're thinking, Hot Potato sounds like fun and you wish you could play it right away, but let me tell you, it doesn't always end well. Matt got too excited somewhere along the way and woke up the next day with some sort of playtime hangover. If you and your pals every decided to hunker down for a round of Hot Potato heed my warning, please remember to take it slow, it's just too damn exciting for some people. Our playtime with Matt only brought on a morning filled with a groggy haze of nausea followed by many sippy cups of water and books to be read aloud. By the end of the day though we saw the return of Matt's rosy cheeks and a smile on his face. It was a miraculous journey of a toddler who started his day clammy, wan and barely able to move end his day by transforming into an eating machine able to hold down watermelon, four whole mini bagels and a half sleeve of crackers while asking when we would play Hot Potato again. Behold, the wonders of Carb Boy as he flies to his little sister.


After our 3 day stint in NH we headed back to Boston where Alex and I parted ways with my Ma and took a mini vacation, no family allowed. We stayed at the Royal Sonesta and took advantage of everything included in the price of the hotel. We made up for not taking any getaways for the past 2 years by spending our first day there swimming, using the hot tub, getting free ice cream, taking a free boat ride on the Charles, dinner in the hotel restaurant and watching some HBO. I love hotels. We stayed there for 2 nights and also did touristy things like shopping for things we don't need and visit to the Museum of Science. The butterfly exhibit there was small, but worth the price of admission.

We also got to see Lisa and Ben who were having a yard sale and are closing on their new house today, so to them I say Mazel Tov!

Now I'm back to the regular life of working for a living and cleaning up the trail of ants leading to the cat food. You know, the usual.

God, I miss O.J.

I am so out of here

Tomorrow morning Alex and I head out to the land where leaves change color in the fall, snow comes down in the winter and thunderstorms happen in the summer. I'm visiting Boston for a wedding, but I'm staying a whole week for the thunderstorms (and to see my sister and her kick ass family).

I've been so stressed out all week trying to finish up everything at work, cleaning up after 9 days of house guests, saying goodbye to some friends who are leaving the state for good and then for some reason I put all this pressure on myself to find some fabulous outfit for this wedding on Saturday. Truth be told I don't really care what I wear, but I can't wear any of my old clothes because I've gained over 10 pounds since October... sitting around feeling sorry for myself and my busted vestibular system. look out, here comes the whaaaaa-mbulance.

I went shopping today at Anthropologie which is actually a store for wealthy, tall, sultry, anorexic ladies, but I gave it a shot anyways. The store itself is pleasant enough to be in and the staff is very attentive to customers who are using the dressing rooms. I'm not used to that kind of attention and it makes me a little uncomfortable. I think that when I'm trying stuff on instead of the gracious employee asking me "How's it going in there?" or "do you need a smaller size?" she might want to try "How's your low self esteem doing?" or "Are you feeling fat and dumpy enough yet?" Buying clothes for a specific event at the last minute never really pans out, does it?

So off to Boston I go, with a smile on my face and song in my heart, for I am now about to pack way too many clothes so I can try them all on everyday and annoy Alex by wailing out "does this make me look faaaaaat?"

5 years later, just as goofy

Alex and I have been married for five years today. I can't say it feels like it was just yesterday, because it really does feel like five years. I think his time in optometry school had us counting down the last four years on the calendar. So I guess now starts the time when I sit back and let time fly.

I'm not going to get all sentimental or anything, everyone knows how much I dig being married to Alex. But I am going to post this picture... a picture which I thought would never see the light of day, but now I'm ready to share it because it's been five years and it's so hilarious. Please note the following things for maximum amusement:
* I'm wearing a tiara
* Alex is sunburned
* My eyebrows and lips are penciled in, much like those of a crazy person
* The pose we are in is so lame, yet showcases Alex's wedding band and conveniently leaves out my tattoo
* Remember that background from your thrid grade class photo?
* Nothing makes a photo more classy than making it all frosty and blurry looking.

where would I be without TiVo?

As it turns out Ray and Alex's mom really enjoy Saturday Night Live and the Daily Show, so I feel very fortunate that we have about 3 weeks worth of both shows saved up on TiVo. It will be a lovely Bon Voyage evening.

In other news, there was a barbecue at work today. I ate a cheeseburger, salad, potato salad and an ice cream sandwich. Then I went back inside and painted my nails with Liquid Paper so it looks like I have a French manicure.

survived

I made it through E3 and Alex's graduation weekend. The in-laws are still in town (9 days never seemed so long), I've got 2 more days and then I win a million dollars or some free time. Either would be swell.

My experience at E3 just made me want to take a hot bath, especially when I think of all those gaming bastards who inadvertently elbowed me or smashed their steamy, game lovin' bodies into me. I know they didn't mean it, but spending three days there helped me realize how important personal space is. I wasn't officially ready to punch anyone in the face until about 3:30 on the first day; it was then that some douchebag swung his backpack around to put it on his oversized, sweaty back and in his haste he included me in the process and gave me a nice hearty bruise on my arm. I had been at the Convention Center since 7:30 in the morning that day, so it was bound to happen at some time. I was very proud of myself for not getting my panties in a bunch for the first 8 hours I was there. Speaking of panties, there were some booth babes who were only wearing underwear. I tried to get a picture of them but my dignity got in the way and I couldn't muster up the strength to point my camera in their direction. I did however take some pictures of the Anti Booth Babes.


they rock my world.

I got really dizzy, I looked at lots of video games and I went to the fancy pants PlayStation party and got to see Jimmy Eat World, Camp Freddy and the crappiest band which had the potential to be the best band, Mini Kiss.

Then I came back home and tried my best to put on a happy face, despite being a mess from airline travel and a convention center full of moving lights, because Alex's family was all in town and in my living room. I won't go into details about entertaining family because I'm sure everyone understands and writing about the past 7 days wouldn't really make for compelling reading. Let's just say I'm thankful that I don't have enough vacation to actually take this week off.

I do however wish I had more time to write more about a GAP member who confessed having a crush on me, dinner with my friend Beret and her son Jack, visiting my old pals at CTG and how I realized I forgot the tickets to Alex's graduation after his mom, Ray and I were already on campus and how Julianne and Max saved my ass, but now it's time for me to fix the coffee for tomorrow... Ray made decaf instead of regular yesterday and OHHH THE HORROR. To quote Ray himself "WHA? What the HELL? WHAT the Hell?" (proceed to smash cup on counter)
I leave you with this picture of Ray taking a picture of me taking a picture of Ray.

110 and tennis courts

Here I sit in the Marriott Los Angeles awaiting a big day of shooting (with cameras, not guns) at E3 tomorrow. I think that the nerdfest convention would be a lot more fun for me if I wasn't coughing up a lung or could breathe through my nose.

From my window I can see the way to the 110 and a bunch of tennis courts.

unfortunate

Due to some sudden and unavoidable addictions to Katamari Damacy, Ape Escape and It's-It ice cream thingys I just haven't been posting at all. And there's been some pretty good stuff to write about, like the woman who sat behind us at the theatre and cleared her throat for the entire 2 hours and 30 minutes. But I don't have time to tell everyone about some crinkly, dry old lady who needs hard candy when there are monkeys on the loose!

However, I did find time to dig up a photo for this week's Photo Friday challenge - Space.

I never got around to posting my photo from last week's challenge on here, but it was Action. You can check it out here (I'm somewhere around 500). Heck, you can even cast a noteworthy vote for me.

Someday soon I will stop eating ice cream and playing video games, then I'll start a bonfire and y'all can gather 'round while I tell you about my rafting trip, my very first attempt at Shinteki and how very excited I am that we are only days away from Britney Spears' UPN debut. I am shivering with anticipation.

coffee break

Today was the first time in about 6 months that I had coffee at work. What made me sad, besides the fact that I have to drink decaf, was that I had to go all the way to the other side of the building to get milk. Free milk. But what made the walk worth it was this sign on the free milk fridge:

Do NOT take milk cartons from this refrigerator.
Continuing disregard for this policy will result in the discontinuance of free milk.

But then I found a better sign in the kitchen where I brewed the coffee:

Please turn off the coffee pot when there is a small amount of coffee still in the pot. This will prevent the bottom of the glass pot from burning up or the glass flying into someone's eyes should it burst.
Also, don't forget to turn off the toaster oven. We don't want a fire!
Thanks for helping out with this!

I don't know who put those up, but they are right, we don't want a fire... we want a toaster oven. I couldn't find one anywhere.

photo friday

I'm always lurking on Photo Friday, so I figured it's about time I submit something. This week's challenge is 'fancy'

happy birthday, Ben!

Remember in art class (in 1988) when we had to do self portraits? There's nothing like having a room filled with oil pastels being driven by teen angst. I hope your birthday is lots more fun than that.

plus some black jellybeans

I was looking for patterns for a knit doll online and came across the Poopy Sheep.

Do you have a sense of humor? Poopy Sheep is crocheted and filled with black jelly beans which "poop" out the back hole.

I do have a sense of humor. I guess I just don't think a poopy sheep is funny. On the other hand, the people who think the poopy sheep is hilarious probably wouldn't find my recent posts very funny at all.

as long as I've written about Nazis once...

I figure I should just get this one out there, too.
This weekend on our way to a rafting trip in Coloma, Alex and RM started talking about potential names for Alex's practice once he's a real live optometrist. We've discussed this many times before and decided that hair salons and vision care places have some pretty bad names. In the past we've come up with "the EYES have it", "EYE can help" or "EYE, EYE, captain" but this one took the cake:

Alex: Maybe I should just call it the Third R-EYE-ch
RM: Yeah, and then your slogan could be "Because even a Nazi shouldn't not see."

I will admit it took me a long time to get the Nazi/not see part. But that was okay because when I finally did get it I realized that I had actually extended the life of the joke, providing myself with laughter even while alone.

“You can not dress a horse like a Nazi”

but apparently monkeys will do just fine.

at lunch

I learned two things from Paul:

1. Someone had the brilliant idea of editing the entire NWA album, Straight Outta Compton... keeping only the explicit lyrics. Excellent.

2. Fried is okay again. I have always been and always will be a big fan of fried, but now I don't have to be ashamed to say it anymore. I'm also extremely jazzed to meet the new Colonel.

happy birthday, Greg!

I almost forgot to post this today. Because I was so "busy" at "work".

Without a friend like you I would never have a kick ass job, play so many board games or scare the crap out of myself by going white water rafting.

please don't make me watch UPN

Britney, Britney, Britney.
I'm so sick of her that when May 17th rolls around I'm not watching this.

Britney stated "I am so excited about the series... As I mentioned before, I am now going to be expressing my personal life through art. This series will show us falling in love and all the adventures that went on overseas during the European leg of my Onyx Hotel tour. It's going to be an exciting ride." Kevin feels this project will speak for itself. Simply put, he says, "It is a documentation of love."

oh, who am I kidding. You know I would totally watch it, but it's on at the same time as the Amazing Race. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, the Amazing Race may have it's final episode before May 17... so never mind.

That new Britney Spears show is going to be awesome. But not as awesome as this.

happy birthday, Mindy!

Growing up with a sister only 11 months older was wicked awesome. You paved the way and I was always right on your tail, annoying the crap out of you. Because we were forced to share a room we ended up sharing clothes, magazines and albums, for better or for worse. We got into some decent fights over the sharing, and once again I'll take some time to say sorry that I pulled your hair out, scratched your face and bit you. But that's what you get for even thinking about wearing my Star Wars pajamas. We can look back at those times and laugh now, right? Right?
There were some good times, too. Like the time we agreed what a loser the family therapist was and the time we pooled our money together to buy as many black rubber Madonna bracelets as possible.
I have to admit that the moment which best defined our sisterhood for me happened last week when without more than four spoken words between us we both confessed and understood the shame of having participated in the viewing of Behind the Camera: Mork & Mindy, the unauthorized story.
Maybe we felt compelled to watch it since I spent a good amount of my childhood being called Mork, while you were always being asked where Mork was. At any rate, I'm glad you're my sister and I love you.

oysters, ice cream and the masked luchador

It's important to remember that San Francisco has much to offer, so that's why last Saturday Greg, RM, Alex and I attended O'Reilly's Oyster & Beer Festival. Beer and oysters? In a festival format? Free admission? okay.
I thought that it would be a lot more festival-y, as in there would be games and fried dough, etc., but it was basically a big open space lined with tents for oysters and tents for beer and a big stage where Irish step dancing and Irish music happened. We got there pretty early and left before it got too crowded. Out departure was prompted by a band who labeled their style as a fusion of Jazz and Celtic music. Unfortunately that meant we missed the shuck and suck contest. damn. But we did have some beer and oysters. Here is a picture of Greg and RM drinking 6 dollar beers while we looked for a place to sit. Let it be known that a $6.00 beer will make RM angry.

As long as I put a picture of beer (and it's drinkers) up here, I might as well bust out some of the oyster biznazz.



I'm not a big shellfish fan. I also don't like slimy food, but I was feeling the pressure since it was an oyster festival, so I finally gave in to a small oyster. It wasn't so bad. I loaded it up with horseradish to be on the safe side so basically it ended up being an experience about chewy horseradish. I can't say I would make a habit of eating them, but I tried. I had a bite of a fried oyster later on in the day and HATED it. But not as much as Alex hated opening the door to an unlocked port-a-potty to find someone already in there relieving himself. I didn't know what happened until afterward, but I heard Alex say "you know, these things do lock" and I was all "yeah, duh, I know" but it turns out he was talking to the peeing stranger.

With the Oyster fest port-a-potties behind us we ended up being tourists for the day and walked over to Ghirardelli Square for some ice cream. Alex ordered something called the Warm Cookie Bottom sundae, it sounded dirty to me but I ate some anyways. Oysters and warm cookie bottom, I told you San Francisco has so much to offer. After our throats hurt from ingesting so much sugar we headed down to the Musee Mecanique.

It was in this museum that I found out you could watch a mini execution for a quarter, mechanical bowling is awesome


and although Alex was defeated, Greg is one serious arm wrestler... strong enough to take down the masked luchador.

rehab, vestibular stizzy

Looks like I'm an A+ patient in my vestibular rehabilitation therapy. I've been doing my exercises everyday and it seems to be paying off, I'm noticing some relief of my symptoms and my balance is getting lots better. I can even walk a (sort of) straight line with my eyes closed. I can't believe I'm in my 30s and I'm bragging about being able to walk. The thing that sucks about VRT is that it takes about an hour out of my day... everyday. When I have an appointment with the physical therapist I can kiss another hour goodbye. I'm not going to get bitter about it (like everything else) because I'd rather give up an hour of each day doing weird crap my eyes closed and turning my head quickly in various directions than suffer with dizziness for the rest of my life. And sometimes the exercises are fun, especially when Alex helps me out; while I balance on one leg on some foam he times me and even catches me when I start veering off to one side. Isn't that sweet? I can't wait until he gets to push me around in my wheelchair, it's like a window into the future. I've also done some fabulous redecorating all around the apartment by taping up focal points for exercises. These are some fancy focal points consisting of a single letter written on the back of a business card and hung at eye level using only the finest of Scotch tapes.

Today I did some rehab when I got to work by repeatedly walking down a long hallway while turning my head to each side. This wasn't too embarrassing, because no one ever walks down that hall. VRT offically got fun after lunch today when I got some of my coworkers to do the hall run with me. Not only was it hilarious, but I was able to find some comfort in the fact that one of them felt just as bad as I did when we finished. Sorry, Sean.

me not good at thinking

Yesterday, being April Fool's day and all, I thought I would play a joke on Alex. My joke was to put a rubber band around the squirty hose thingy at the sink so when he would turn the water on in the kitchen, instead of having water come out of the faucet as expected, he would be left in shock and awe of his mysteriously soaked shirt. The problem with this joke was that hours went by and nothing Alex did had anything to do with the kitchen sink. I eventually decided that while he was in the bathroom I would empty his water glass as well as the mostly full Brita water pitcher... forcing him to fill up something. As I'm emptying these things I notice some stray coffee grounds in the sink that really bother me, so I decided to rinse them away. ha ha. Now I'm standing at the kitchen sink with a soaked shirt feeling like a big idiot. I was able to escape from the sink and change my shirt without Alex noticing, however I'm not convinced he wasn't aware of my uncontrollable bursts of laughter. About a half hour later Alex needed water and decided to fill up the pitcher. I didn't figure on this, but did you know that when you flip the top of a Brita water pitcher up to fill it you are completely protected from the spray of water coming from the squirty hose thingy?
If my practical joke failure isn't enough to convince people of my lameness, try this one. We lost power yesterday while I was talking on the phone with Wil. I'm still chatting away telling Wil all about our power going out when I start wondering why I don't hear Wil on the other end. Then I realize the POWER WENT OUT so the phone just isn't going to work. I pick up my cell phone to call him back and discover I only have his cell number stored on my cell phone, so I pick up the home phone to look up his home number. I start pressing buttons and wondering why I can't see anything. That's right, I picked up same phone that I had just put down less than 30 seconds ago, there was still no power, and I was still stupid.

I'm addicted to lines. LINES!

Last Wednesday I stood outside the Metreon for a good portion of the day with some of my coworkers and a camera crew to cover the launch of the PSP. I would never make fun of the 500 people who waited in line to get the PSP at midnight, I'm especially not going to mock the first 10 guys in line who waited anywhere from 18 to almost 48 hours in the rain and cold.


These people are the fans I won't poke fun of (except the guy who wouldn't sign an image release and freaked everyone out). Not only do they guarantee I'll still have a job, but once I got to talking to them I found some weird place in my heart for them. Over the 14 hours I spent with these dudes I got kind of attached; with some it was much like that dysfunctional love/hate relationship between a kidnapper and his victim. With others I found a genuine respect for their gusto, because it was fucking cold out there. This is Dan.


His girlfriend brought him warmer socks and shoes in the evening. She also brought him some dinner. Dan was actually in the store doing some stuff with PR people when his lady dropped by. Oh, Dan. Hope things are going okay for you.
The first guy in line, Richard, was pretty cool. Here he is contemplating a hot dog.


He had a handmade hat and scarf set created with some army camouflage yarn, we talked about it for at least 10 minutes. That was the point where I realized I might be a bigger geek than anyone in the line. He was so tired of people asking him what he was waiting for that he started answering people with "Tickets are going on sale for the Backstreet Boys reunion" or "N'Sync is doing a free performance." I was only there for a fraction of the time he was, and I was pretty bored with answering the "what's all this about?" question as well. The best conversation regarding the line was between an insanely enthusiastic older gentleman and my boss.

old man: Say, what's this line all about?
boss: It's the launch of the PSP.
old man: Now what's that again?
boss: At midnight a handheld device, the PSP, will go on sale.
old man: So it's a sale?
boss: Well, these people will be the first to get the units, but they cost the same as they will in other stores.
old man: So they just want to be first. What does it do?
boss: You can play games, watch movies and listen to music with it.
old man: And how much does that cost?
boss: Around 250
old man (while smiling and nodding): Oh, what people spend money on these days! Good for them! You know, I should get in this line. I'm addicted to standing in lines.
boss: You're what?
old man: I'm addicted to lines. (then screaming at the top of his lungs) LINES!

This giant PSP was across the street from the line and the screen was counting down how many hours and minutes were left until purchasing time. Add Dick Clark and we would have been all sorts of compelling to millions of Americans. or not.

I left at 11:45pm, before the first sale, but I bet Mr. 500 had to wait a pretty long time before he actually had his hands on a PSP. I wonder if he actually got his PSP before the Circuit City opened the next day.

remember me?

I used to write in this thing about some stuff and sometimes I put pictures in here, too.
This past month has been all about my vestibular system... doing research, going to rehab and doctors and acupuncture and finding support groups. Now I think I'm ready to let it all take a back seat and try to get on with my life, dizzy or not. But let it be known that if you have any questions about the inner ear or vestibular disorders, I'm your gal.

And on that note, let the blogging begin.

Today, during a trip to the ladies room, I noticed a sheet of paper in the stall. I actually couldn't help but notice it because it was typed in a GIANT font and taped to the door in such a way that I was forced to read it while peeing. It went a little something like this:

To whom it may concern:
It seems incomprehensible that you can't manage to flush the toilet, remove your paper, and show a little respect for the other people using this bathroom.

As a result, we have deemed the last bathroom all yours. We will be removing the toilet, since you have no regard for it's use, and drilling a hole in the floor.

Perhaps you'd be more comfortable using that since you're obviously not use to the luxuries provided here for your use.

Thank you.

I took it off the wall so I could share it with you, but not to worry, the filthy people will know what stall to use because there were plenty of copies of the same letter taped up all around the restroom.

Here are some points I would like to bring up about the note:

I was never asked if it was okay to give the last stall to the "offenders" and I'm not okay with that. I like the last stall. It's the first stall that's got to go.

If you remove a toilet would it really be necessary to drill a hole? Because from what I understand there should already be a hole there.

I'm not sure if I would include toilets as a "luxury" in the workplace. The espresso machines, maybe, I might even say that the subsidized candy machines would qualify, but I'm pretty sure a toilet is one of those things a place of business is forced to provide.

who will sass the Donald?

I'm not sure, but now I'll have to tune in next Thursday to find out. And then afterwards, my trusty pal TiVo will capture what could either be a totally rad or a massive failure of a show. I heart Steve Carell and the original Office, so my fingers are crossed.

hey

I just remembered I have a blog and I should put some things in it.

I went to Yosemite with 10 friends and saw some snow and trees.



Then I had a birthday and went to lunch and dinner and got all sorts of flowers and cakes. I also had a hearing test where I found out my hearing is back to normal. Then I had a party and asked people to bring mix CDs with them so we could all exchange and get some new tunes. I made a CD called Completely Inappropriate Songs for a Blind Date, it included the song Cameltoe by Fannypack. People gave me extra copies of their CDs, and that kicked ass. I also got an umbrella, some bath stuff, the first season of Arrested Development on DVD and a gift certificate to a spa.

I'll write more about all these things someday. Someday when I'm not so dizzy.

Dinky Hocker

Since this whole inner ear thing started I've not only had problems balancing, but reading is a chore. Periodicals are pretty easy, it's the books that make me feel impaired. It's hard to focus on a page, let alone remember the last paragraph I read. So I decided that I needed to re-train myself how to read with some easier books. Lemony Snicket has done me right (thanks RM); the font is big, it's easy, witty and just plain good. Then I decided I would pick up one of my favorite books from 4th grade, Johnny Tremain. It's a history lesson about the beginning of the Revolutionary War with a hint of after-school special thrown in for good measure. I loved it so much back then that I had to have my own copy. I remember having a crush on Johnny Tremain when I originally read it. (please note that other childhood crushes involved Grover, Shaggy of Scooby Doo fame and the rabbit from Captain Kangaroo. I had a thing for non-human and fictional dudes.)
As I was close to the end of the book this morning I flipped to the last page to get my bookmark and noticed this:


Dinky Hocker Shoots Smack!? The copy of Johnny Tremain I have was printed in 1978, I had no idea that smack was so popular back then. I feel so cheated because I never knew this book existed.
People on Amazon have nothing but great things to say about it. I think I just found my next easy read.

that's right, I watch American Idol

I like to TiVo all three nights of American Idol and watch them all in one big chunk. This way three hours of crap over three nights turns into one sitting of an hour and a ten minutes of hilarity. Through the magic of skipping commercials, lousy recaps and information on how to vote for my favorite idol contestant, the show is kind of watchable.
I noticed last week that American Idol is not even remotely based on finding the best singer, it's about cringing during the worst performance. It's about Paula Abdul's jewelry and clothing line. It's about Simon Cowell making even Alex feel uncomfortable by announcing to an attractive yet uninspiring crooner that he would like to come back in another life as her microphone.

Here's Fox's winning formula: Monday the gents sing, then Tuesday is the ladies' chance to shine, finally on Wednesday they find the most humiliating way to eliminate four young hopefuls throughout the hour. An hour. An hour of tears and embarrassment. The elimination information used to be tagged on to the end of whatever show was on Fox at 9pm the night following everyone singing their guts out. But now it's an hour. It's a circus of degradation with Ryan Seacrest as the ringmaster. Last week he was the ultimate puppet master as he had all the contestants stand up, then sit down, then get in line single file, then sit down again... all the while giving them the illusion they weren't getting the boot. Then just as some sucker started to crack a smile of relief, Ryan would pounce on that sucker and tell him his career was done.

Once super-glamorous Ryan tells someone they're eliminated he follows up by getting all up in their face and asking them how they feel. Obviously, it doesn't feel good, so we get to hear (through choked back tears) about how shocking and sad the news is. Then the worst part comes, he asks the derelict to sing the song that got their ass voted off. "Just one more time, for your fans." Never have I seen such sad performances. There's nothing like watching some bitter young woman try to squeeze out the lyrics "So twiddley dee, twiddley dum / Look out baby 'cause here I come" through her misery. Now that's good watchin'.

Here are five songs which I would really love to hear on the Idol, but probably never will:
Bad Girls - Donna Summer
Maneater - Hall and Oats
Get Out of My Dreams (and Into My Car) - Billy Ocean
Hell is for Children - Pat Benetar
Love in an Elevator - Aerosmith

the ENT, my ENG, etc.

On Thursday morning I found out from my ENT that my ENG was normal, which means... I actually don't know what it means. I was too busy weighing out the options of insanity being offered to me instead of asking all the appropriate questions.
Since my balance is getting a little bit better, the tinnitus is gone and my hearing seems to have improved I was hoping I would get some sort of answers regarding what's been keeping me dizzy for the past 4 months. Instead I was told that I was getting a diagnosis of vestibular neuronitis, which the ENT then called a "wastebasket diagnosis," meaning I have something wrong with me that doesn't fit into any other category. Then he offered me a referral for a consult to chemically destroy one side of my vestibular system.

That's right, he suggested destroying half of my vestibular system, with chemicals.

Perhaps the doctor noticed the look of panic on my face which is what led him to suggest his next option, which for some reason seemed perfectly normal to him; he would cut a hole in my ear drum, put a tube and sponge all up in there and then drip steroids right onto the nerve every other week.

That's right, he said he wanted to cut me and put steroids into my head.
I started getting a sneaking suspicion that he was trying to scare the dizzy right out of me.

I finally got my wits back and asked for a referral for some vestibular rehabilitation therapy and another hearing test. These things I can handle. So now I just wait for the okay from my insurance to go into rehab.

I just like saying I have to go to rehab.

happy birthday, Dawn!

I know we haven't talked in ages, but that doesn't mean I don't think about you all the time. I wish we still worked together, because you made it possible for me to do things like this in the office:

happy valentine's day

I'm thinking about you...

FYI

At my last job there was this awesome guy on the facilities staff named Johnny and he loved to chat. He'd chat you up in the courtyard, at your desk or even when you were leaving for the day. Johnny especially loved to chat when Alex would come by to pick me up or have lunch with me. One conversation went a little something like this:

Johnny: In the summer tigers used to walk through my village. So we would kill the tiger and eat it. We would all eat the tiger.
Alex: Really!? What does a tiger taste like?
Johnny: You know. Like tiger.
Alex: Actually, I don't know. What does it taste like?
Johnny: Yeah. Like tiger.
Alex: Yeah, I don't know.
Johnny: You know. Like cat.

But the conversation that I think of most was one that took place when Alex was sitting at my desk waiting for me to finish my day. Johnny walked into the office and stood next to a table which was always a mess with stacks of papers. On one of the stacks was a sticky note that said FYI. Johnny scanned the papers and then pointed to the sticky note and started to chuckle and nod in disbelief.

Johnny: FYI. You know what that stands for?
Alex: ummm... for your information?
Johnny: No, they think we're stupid. You know what FYI means?
Alex: For your information?
Johnny (tearing off the sticky note and furiously stabbing it with his index finger): No, it means Fuck You Idiot!
(maniacal laughter)

I just can't stop writing about my ear!

Last Friday I had an ENG, which is short for electronystagmography, which is a long word for things that make you want to puke. Julianne was nice enough to accompany me on my journey to nausea, which I am most grateful for, because I really didn't want to do it alone.

When my ENT gave his approval for this test a few weeks ago, he said that I would have to go to Stanford to have it done. But it turns out his office in Oakland had just got some brand spankin new equipment for ENGs and I got to be one of the guinea pigs. This was good for me because I didn't have to go somewhere unfamiliar, but bad because the woman being trained and administering the test was one nervous newbie who was easily flustered. Her name was Shirlee, and I'm not sure if that's really how you spell her name, but the permed hair and fan shaped cloisonne earrings lead me to believe I'm right. Shirlee was being trained to use this equipment by a man whose name I don't remember. I do remember that he looked like Tony Robbins though, so that's what I'm going to call him from now on, and he's going to like it.

To take these tests I was suited up with some spectacular goggles. The right eye of the goggles was left open, so I could still see around the room and the left eye was always covered, that was the camera-hog eye, the one on the TV. Of course, the first thing I did once I had the goggles on was look at my eye on the TV monitor, which was pretty kick ass. You haven't really seen your eye until you've seen it six inches tall, looking right back at you. I had to overlook the fact that it made my mascara look totally clumpy. I may be dizzy, but a girl still has to look good.

For the first part of the test I sat in front of a laptop where I watched red and green triangles go back and forth, then watched them jump from left to right. Next came the tongue depressor test. There were no real tongue depressors involved in this, but on the screen hundreds of lines, which looked like tongue depressors, would scroll by vertically and I was asked to count the ones in the center. I felt like I was doing it wrong, but Tony Robbins assured me I was doing a great job. After that I was told to look at a light which was on the top of the computer and turn my head right to left (as if I was saying no) along with the beeps. For some reason this confused me, because I wasn't sure if it was BEEP, right, left or BEEP right, BEEP left. Shirlee asked if I understood and for some reason I said sure, but when the test began I admitted my confusion and was then startled by Tony Robbins, who grabbed my head from behind with both hands and manually made my head turn to the beeps. Uncomfortable, yet hilarious. Once that was done I had the pleasure of doing the same exercise, but nodding as if to say yes. This time I did it all on my own, like a big girl, but I couldn't keep up with the beeps, which got faster and faster as time passed. There were a few things holding me back from the fastest nod possible; I thought the goggles were going to fling off my head and I felt uncontrollable laughter coming on. The last test in this section was the most fun, I got to spin from side to side while sitting and looking at the light. Wheeeeee. Through all of these tests Shirlee never really got the hang of when she was supposed to click on pause or next to record my eye movements. I don't think she was supposed to click either one of those. It was an uphill battle for Tony Robbins.

After the first round of tests was complete I was moved to a chair much like one for a patient at the dentist's office. For the remainder of the tests my right eye was also covered. Total darkness + listening to Shirlee ask the same questions over and over + knowing Julianne was thinking the same thing I was and looking at me and my ridiculous goggles = hard to not laugh out loud. I can't say I remember all the tests in the second round because they all seemed the same, I was supposed to look straight ahead while I was being tipped backwards, twisted to the side, sat back up, etc... it's all a blur.

Then came the caloric test. This was the one I feared. This test involves filling the ear canal with cold air and then warm air to track nystagmus, and amazingly enough the eye movement can tell if there is nerve or brain damage. I was reclined back and Shirlee put a tube in my right ear for about a minute, filling it with the cold air. I started thinking "hey this isn't so bad after all, I'm just a little more dizzy than before" but then 20 seconds passed after the tube was removed and I was in vertigo agony. I felt like I drank everything behind the bar at a Knights of Columbus meeting. This would be the time when Tony Robbins asked me if I wanted a bucket, to which I replied "not yet." Julianne told me her shoes were vinyl, so it would be okay if hurled. And then, for some reason, Shirlee stopped recording my eye movement, and when Tony Robbins asked her what she was doing I could sense the frustration in his tone. Being so dizzy and in the dark I wasn't able to voice my concern about the accuracy of the test now that Shirlee had clicked incorrectly. But luckily there was Julianne, the master of tactfulness, who was able to ask the question that was on my mind. And not only was she direct about it, but she asked the qustion in the most polite format I've ever heard. I'm not sure if Tony Robbins was throwing us a bone or not, but he told Julianne that everything should be fine. At this point I was still reeling and I just wanted out, but I figured if I hadn't puked yet I was good to go for the rest of the test. Cold air in the left ear was next, and I don't know if the air never got down there or if I have such severe nerve damage that I didn't react at all, but I felt nothing and was pretty thrilled to leave the land of vertigo... until Tony Robbins put the warm air in each ear. damn. It's amazing how air in the ear can really fuck you up. I feel like I should open up some sort of air bar and tell everyone to skip the middle man and get all crunk with air. Go from sober to sick in 80 seconds. I think I'm on to something.

Now I wait for two weeks to find out what the tests reveal. Until then I've decided to give up on finding a way to cure my vertigo, but instead I'm looking for a way to inflict it on others... if they're willing, of course.

insightful SPAM

Today I got some SPAM from Christian Mortgage people and the Christian Debt Helpers informing me I could eliminate my debt the Christian way. They quote Matthew 6:12, Forgive Us of Our Debts. delete, delete.

But then I saw a nice one from order_followup@americangirl.com. The title was denied! Of course I didn't open the zip file, provocatively named my date, but right before the attachment it says

you are a bad writer

Who are these American Girls? and when did they meet my 7th grade English teacher?

my immune system, the ignorant over-achiever

Once upon a time I graduated from my MFA program, had my mom staying in my apartment, had a wedding dress made, drove to Las Vegas with Alex (and my mom), got married, drove back from Las Vegas with Alex (and my mom), went on a honeymoon (without my mom) and got the job offer of my dreams all within a three week span. As you can imagine, all of this was quite stressful, so in return for this generous helping of stress my body gave me the gift of hives. Chronic hives. 8 straight weeks of hives. My immune system was attacking an imaginary virus, which it apparently thought was all over my entire body. For two months I lived in itchy misery, sometimes my eyelids would swell up so much that I couldn't see. Other days I couldn't tie my shoes because my feet were abnormally large with hives. Eventually this came to an end, with the help of time and a little acupuncture. But my immune system warned me then, it would do anything for me, even if it meant it had to hurt me in the process of trying to protect me.

It seems, after consulting with my ENT for the third time, that almost 4 months ago my immune system took an offer it couldn't refuse. It took a hit out on virus in my right ear. Not only did my over enthusiastic antibodies kill the virus, they destroyed some nerves in my ear as well. Nerves which are irreplaceable and I was quite fond of; the ones for balancing and hearing. Most likely my body will compensate for the loss over time. How much time is the big question.

I think that today might be an appropriate time to have a little chat with my immune system and outline what kind of destruction is appropriate. I'll probably open with "Let's work smarter, not harder."

right said, fred

Over the past few days these very excellent exchanges took place:

while working at the Iron Puzzler at Endgame -
me: Greg, your pants are too big
Greg: I know.
dude(to Greg): Excuse me, where's the restroom?
Greg: Straight down these pants. STAIRS, stairs.

while in a basic stringing class at Baubles and Beads -
me: Why can't I get this thing over my needle? I think my fingers are slippery.
Julianne: I told you to stop eating so much bacon.

while watching Alex take an allergy pill -
me: Dude, you're addicted.
Alex: You're a dick head!

temazepam induced memories

Trying to remember a time when I wasn't dizzy has become my favorite hobby. It's probably not healthy, but it's what I do. I came up with these two precious childhood moments last night.

When I was about 7 years old, my dad came in from work with a new phone for the apartment. I always thought this phone came from his place of employment, but chances are it was someone's old phone, someone who realized the joy of touch tone phoning 10 years before my parents. It was a kick-ass black rotary phone with a clear plastic dial. This was a big improvement over the other black rotary phone we had, because the dial on that one was metal, and when I would play with the phone (or on the 4 occasions I actually had to dial a number) I remember the weight and sharpness of it digging into my frail fingers, any number with a 9 or a 0 was out of the question. Before my dad set up the new phone in the hallway, my sister and I had a swell time using it like a toy; living the exciting life of a secretary, the hectic day of an operator, and ultimate dream ... taking personal calls. At one point I decided I would do an impression and picked up the phone pretending to be my dad. I think my dad worked for the government at the time, and when he answered the phone there he would say his name, followed by the name of the department he worked for. I recall him saying "interstate". Now that I think of it, he most likely did not work in the middle of a giant highway, but it sounded like interstate to me. With both my parents proudly watching, I picked up the receiver with great enthusiasm and in my best man voice I said my dad's name followed by the word "intercourse." Awkward silence was followed by my mom asking "You do know what intercourse is, right?" And even though I wasn't completely sure, I was positive it was not a phone appropriate word. I looked my mom square in the eyes and blurted out "YES!" I then swiftly escaped to my bedroom, opened a Richard Scary book to the middle as if I had been reading it for hours, and tried pretend the whole thing never happened.


One weekday afternoon (after we had the new phone) my sister and I were doing homework, or rather, my sister was doing homework, and I was taunting her. Although there would be the occasional brawl following the taunting, afternoons like this were usually very quiet, because my mother worked from 11 p.m. - 7 a.m. and slept in the afternoon. On this particular afternoon there was a knock on the door. This was odd for a few reasons, the main reason was that we lived in a three story apartment building and you couldn't get to our apartment on the second floor without having been let in through the main door on the first floor. The other reason was that we had no guests in the afternoon, or any other time. This knock perplexed and intrigued me, so I stopped my taunting and went to the door. Although I had been told to never open the door for a stranger I deduced that no stranger could get to the second floor, clearly this had to be a neighbor, and neighbors aren't strangers! Through the glass and lacy curtain I saw a silhouette which looked very harmless, so I unlocked the deadbolt and turned the knob. An old man towered over me, I noticed that his coat was dirty and his hat was plaid. "I'm your grandfather!" he slurred as he stumbled over the threshold. This man was not my grandfather, or a neighbor. At this point my sister was at the door with me and we looked at each other with fear and sadness. What had I done? There we were, two small girls in awe of a tall, drunk imposter. My sister tried with all her might to push the man back out into the hallway as he continued to assure her that he was our grandfather, she was actually just holding him up. I, on the other hand, walked into my parent's room where I calmly sat beside my mother, shook her awake and let her know a guest had arrived for her. Then I went into my room, opened an Encylopedia Brown book to the middle as if I had been reading it for hours and tried to pretend the whole thing never happened. It turned out the old man was the grandfather of the people upstairs, I was in a lot of trouble and I still can't believe I deserted my sister.

a shower by candlelight

sounds relaxing and perhaps enjoyable. But it actually sucks when your power goes out at 7:00am and all you can find are 3 tea lights and a candle that smells like a giant tomato. Even all together this sad votive grouping could not illuminate my cavernous, windowless bathroom.

favorite lyrics of the day (vol. 4)

from That's What I Love About Sunday, Craig Morgan

I stroll to the end of the drive,
Pick up the Sunday Times, grab my coffee cup.
It looks like Sally an' Ron, finally tied the knot,
Well, it's about time.
It's 35 cents off a ground round,
Baby. cut that coupon out!

Let it be known that the CD player in my car is broken and I was forced to listen to the radio. In my pursuit of a tune to rock out to I came upon this gem.

it's not a tumor*

But I am now the owner of some pretty sweet pictures of my brain.

Here's the rundown of what's been going on with my ailing ear:

Before Thanksgiving I saw my ENT twice. I thought he was cool the first time I met him, but after our second meeting I came to the conclusion that he's kind of a meanie and doesn't seem to like to deal with the mysterious. He was very impatient while I was trying to describe what kind of dizziness I was experiencing and told me that he didn't understand what I was talking about. At the end of our allotted 10 minutes together he was quick to give me all sorts of medications, tell me "it will go away soon" and send me on my way. Since then I've called his assistant 9 times to only have received one return call, in which she told me to come in the next day. When I arrived on that next day, both the assistant and the doctor were in surgery, unable to see me. I had an auditory brainstem response test on December 15, and I'm still waiting to hear or see the results. I called his assistant twice regarding the outcome of the test, so I could find out if any of my nerves are damaged, but apparently she must keep deleting me off her to do list. The soonest appointment I could get with the ENT is on January 25. ahhh, health care.

In the mean time, I switched my primary care physician and have seen a nurse practitioner at the new practice who I really like. She not only dried tears from my soggy eyes, but also referred me to a neurologist, who I saw last week.

I really dig this neurologist. After introducing me to his 2 pound dog, which was in his office, he assured me that we would figure out what is wrong with me. He spent 30 minutes listening to my history and symptoms. He was shocked to hear that I hadn't been sent in for an MRI yet, and said he wasn't sure what was causing the dizziness, hearing loss or tinnitus, but those things are all signs of an acoustic neuroma, and wanted to rule that possibility out as soon as possible with an MRI. Then he took me into another room where he did a series of tests for balance and hearing. At the end of all this he told me that he noticed I was breathing funny, lots of deep breaths and sighs. He told me I was overbreathing, which is a sign of anxiety. At this point I was thinking "yeah, because I'm in a neurologist's office and you just told me I might have a tumor." He then demonstrated how to hyperventilate and asked me to do it. While taking in way too much air for 30 seconds he asked me to take note of how my dizziness felt before, during and after. I thought nothing could feel more humiliating than a command performance of hyperventilating and feeling like I was going to pass out in front of a stranger (even though he was a doctor), but then he gave me my prescription. Written on a piece of paper were these three things: more aerobic exercise, discontinue overbreathing, try my paper bag theory. Then he gave me a paper bag to breathe into. He instructed me to keep it on hand and breathe into it when necessary, even though it seemed so cliche. He noted that the bag won't help with the hearing loss or the tinnitus, but it would probably help a lot with the dizziness. So off I went to schedule my MRI and breathe into my bag. (I have to admit, I've tried the paper bag a few times, it hasn't done a thing for me.)

I had my MRI this past Sunday and I decided to take an anti-vertigo drug before I went in. Not because I had vertigo, but I was counting on it to calm me down, or knock me out, either one was fine. I figured 25 minutes in an extremely loud and tiny tube which would reveal if I had a tumor might make me a little antsy, or I could overbreathe, and I was pretty sure they wouldn't let me paper bag it in there. It actually wasn't so bad, I didn't freak out when the buzzing and clicking was going on, but the silence was what got my imagination going. I pictured earthquakes, power outages or technicians going out for a smoke and me stuck in a tube there was no way of getting out of. I think the key was to realize how ridiculous these imaginary events were as well as never opening my eyes to see how cramped I really was in that tube. Once I was done I waited with Alex in the lobby for 5 minutes and then some dude handed me a bunch of pictures of my brain. We then promptly drove to Max and Julianne's for coffee, panettone and a viewing of my brain photos. After that we went home and I slept for the rest of the day, while visions of tumors danced in my head.

I found out today that the results of the MRI are normal. I'm glad I don't have a tumor, but part of me was hoping that this would have been the end of ear mystery and I would have some answers. So now I wait for January 25 and another meeting with Dr. Li to try to figure this whole thing out. Until then I'll just keep doing my aerobic exercise with my paper bag handy...


*for this title to have it's full effect, think back to a time before Schwartzenneger presented awesome budgets to all the girlie men of California, but was just a mere Kindergarten Cop

out of commission

My inner ear (or something in my head) is still broken and making everything I try to do all sorts of difficult. So instead of writing about how frustrating everything is, I will lamely put links to some of my favorite old entries... enjoy, won't you?

I tried to buy pants

then I tried to buy a bathing suit

top 40 music makes me feel uncool

I was never meant to be a bridesmaid

why I quit my last job

toys I'll never buy (but my mother will)