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)

is there a doctor in the house?

Alex and I are about to leave for our Christmas trip back to Boston. While packing I couldn't believe I had to dedicate an entire bag to this


Sadly, none of that stuff is helping the dizziness. However, I will be attending my company's holiday party tonight anyways. I figure what the hell, I'll just blend in with any drunks.

allow me to apologize

to the 4 people who read this blog, but I just don't have anything to write about. I've been laid up in the land of the undiagnosed vertigo and nausea all week, feeling extremely sorry for myself.

Let it be known that I am getting up off my ass today and attempting to have a "normal" day. Maybe something funny will happen, like everyone at work will think that I'm a drunk because I can't walk a straight line and I'll miraculously get fired.

for lack of something better to post

My inner ear is officially making my life miserable. But I can always count on Alex to attempt to cheer me up with plenty of delicious dinners.
I wasn't able to enjoy this last night, so instead I will share it with everyone.

Behold, the magic of meat.

reality check

Does Jeff Probst feel like as big of a jerk as he looks like when they film those crappy little segments of him getting the jury votes from a remote island to New York or Los Angeles?

Last night they had Jeff leave the tribal council area with the tub of votes and a machete, where he then proceeded to travel all night throughout the jungle, cutting any vines blocking his way to freedom. As it turned to daylight, he came to a clearing with a helicopter, which then took him to an airplane. Once on said airplane, he turned to the pilot and announced "here's where I get off," and magically suited up and jumped from the plane. He then parachuted safely to the middle of nowhere, where a kick ass motorcycle waited for him. This motorcycle even had a nifty locking rack system on the back for the all important tribal council votes. There was a close up of Jeff putting the votes safely onto the motorcycle, mmmm.... riveting television. Manly Jeff then drove the motorcycle through the mean streets of LA where he proceeded to enter the studio with his tub o' votes to let us all know who would win a million dollars.

It was just so lame.

happy birthday, Ella!

I haven't met you yet, but I already know I love all 7 lbs. and 7oz. of you.

favorite lyrics of the day (vol. 3)

From Christmas in San Francisco, performed by Vic Damone

Christmas in San Francisco
Looking like some fairy land
People with gifts in the crispy air
Giving old Saint Nick a hand

Let's take a peek in Chinatown
Eating lychee nuts and barbecued boar
What can you say about the Golden Gate
That hasn't been said before

minimal decorations = maximum creepy

Last night while Alex diligently studied for the National Board Exams in Optometry, I put 5 Christmas decorations out. My sister gave me some elves a few years ago, ones that looked just like the kind we had when we were growing up. Instead of hanging them on the tree, my Mom would always hang them from the lamps in the living room. It never seemed out of place to me... until I did it in my own home. Now I realize that it's kind of weird to have some little Snap, Crackle or Pop guy all up in your grill while you're trying to unwind on the couch.

I can't stop

eating these

steroids and needles and tears, oh my

The past five weeks have been a pretty big drag for me (and most people around me), since whatever is happening to my inner ear won't let up. I'm not sure if this is some devious plan that fate has cooked up for me to miraculously feel better at Christmas so I will realize I should never take anything for granted, especially my health, ever again. Or maybe I'm just genetically inferior and I will have to learn how to survive the rest of my life feeling as if I just stepped off a giant amusement park ride with a wad of cotton shoved in my right ear. Which ever one it is, this dizziness and hearing loss is starting to make me lose my mind, a little at a time, everyday.

I finally dumped and filed a grievance against my primary care physician, because honestly, no one should have a doctor who tells you that you shouldn't be coming in for a visit once a year, but only when you have an "issue" to deal with. The wacky thing about this guy is whenever I did have an "issue" he would tell me to wait two weeks to see what happens. When push finally came to shove with this whole ear thing, he flat out refused to give me a referral to a specialist. So adios to you, bad healthcare provider. I did find out that I am not the only person who was treated this way, so let's keep our fingers crossed that he retires soon, because no one should be subjected to his kind of treatment.

The ENT and I went head to head last week for round two of me trying to explain my ailments. Attempting to describe what kind of dizzy I am experiencing has turned out to be a exercise in patience, and the results have not been very good. You can't just use the word dizzy or lightheaded with this ENT, and if it's not vertigo he can't help you out. After ten minutes of trying to explain myself and deciding against saying "well, it kind of feels like I'm drunk all the time, except I don't want to make out with everyone," I ended up in tears. He handed me a tissue and we pleasantly decided to agree to disagree. Then he wrote me 4 prescriptions, one of which was for Prednisone, and told me he's pretty confident these symptoms will stop soon. I have more tests next week.

I also started acupuncture treatments. I figure that even if it's not proven to work at least I'll be in an exam room for an hour where someone actually listens to what I have to say and is committed to helping me. That's got to be worth something to my psyche.

I don't know what else to do. Sometimes I think about suing the pants off of the two guys who rear ended me, because it would be so much easier to have some sort of explanation of why this is happening to me. And a big wad of cash sure would be pretty sweet right now.

laundry room haiku

sticky things and food
should not be inside a vat
meant to clean my clothes

happy birthday, Matt!

Since you're only 2 years old today you are probably having some trouble reading this, but I'm sure your Mommy will help you out.
I hope you know that even though you are little, you have a very huge place in my heart.

happy birthday, Beret!

It's an honor to be welcome in your brand new home for Thanksgiving!

now I'm one of those people

The other day out of sheer desperation for some nugget of hope that something good was going to happen to me, I read my horoscope. Now I can't stop. I read it everyday, not just the one in the paper, but also the one on Yahoo. Sometimes I even read the one for the next day, too.

The plus side to this new unhealthy addiction is that I don't read all the comics anymore, I'm able to ignore the lame ones. There's no time for Beetle Bailey when excellent insight into my future is on the very same page!

stop the room, I want to get off

Okay, so when I said that Meniere's Disease wasn't as bad as it sounded I didn't know how bad it actually was. I spent many hours this weekend flat on my back, staring at light fixtures trying to regain some sense of non-movement. I also got some drugs to help me out, which actually just make me feel like someone blew a bunch of helium in my head and then put a powerful spell on me, forbidding me to hold up my own head or move my lips. I know I should probably enjoy these drugs and just relax and zone out for awhile, but I really hate the idea of not having control of my own body.

I had a nice big pity party for myself all day on Sunday. All of my guests were via phone, except for Alex. First I invited my friend Lisa, who was a great guest when it came to making me feel justified for wallowing in my own self pity. Then Rachel called, because we were supposed to knit together yesterday. Unfortunately she caught me at the height of my Meclizine induced haze, but I recall the conversation as a nice one. My Mom also called during the party, unaware of the festivities going on, and I could tell she didn't stay long once I started bawling about how scared I was. It was as if she kept looking around the room to pick up any stray cups or make sure the punch bowl was still full. Alex was my favorite party person, even though he had a lot of studying to do, he would come out of his cave periodically to check up on me. He made sure I was comfortable, then he would cock his head to one side, make a super sad face and ask me if I needed anything.

I'm not saying that the pity party was all fun, and I don't want to have another one anytime soon, but I really needed it.

at least I have two

I went to the ENT today to find out once and for all what is going on with my right ear. My right ear... so crucial for phone calls, hearing passengers while driving, listening to music on headphones and all sorts of other fun hear-y kind of things, including balance. It turns out that I do have partial hearing loss in my right ear and no one knows why it happened or how to fix it.

Dr. Li, who had the cutest little earring in his left ear lobe, was very kind and thorough when explaining what may have possibly caused this dizziness and hearing loss. I'm either looking at a something viral that happened to my inner ear and did some damage (maybe permanent, maybe not) or I could have Meniere's disease. And even though Meniere's disease isn't as bad as it sounds, it was really odd to hear (with my left ear) that I may have a disease and then get in my car and drive to work like any other day.

Why didn't anyone warn me that my body would start giving me trouble when I got into my 30s? I totally would have requested a different model.

happy birthday, Keith!

you sure do work some magic with crap from Home Depot

got to believe it's getting better

I hardly ever do this, but I thought today might be a good day to check out my horoscope:

The turmoil and drama of recent events will fade, and your life will suddenly be grounded, stable and secure. There. Now take a deep breath, pat yourself on the back and allow yourself to enjoy what you've accomplished.

I hardly ever do this either, but I decided that today would be a good day to treat myself to a Pumpkin Spice latte (everyone has been saying that I just have to try one) at Starbucks. So I ordered the smallest size and the barista then informed me that I should just get a venti because it's the same price no matter what size I get. Yeeee haaaa. I'm all hopped up now on spices and such. (To tell you the truth the Pumpkin Spice latte is not that great, I give it a C-, but this could be because I opted out of the whipped cream.)

But don't worry about me getting too giddy, I figure if I get my hopes up too high I can just take a gander at this:


You may notice that screw just sticking out of the bottom there. That would be where the other half of the bumper would go.

dude, why my car?

You may know that not too long ago I was involved in a rear end collision. I will add at this point that I was only joking about that whole neck brace for a Red Sox victory thing. I will also add that the World Series is over and the Red Sox won.

The damage to the car from the accident on that fateful day wasn't so bad, but it was definitely a pain in the ass to deal with insurance, have numerous calls with adjusters, take the car in, wait for it to get fixed, blah, blah, blah. But luckily last Friday we got the Matrix back, with a spankin new bumper, all shiny and new. I even got some new stickers in the mail last week from Positive Negative for my magnificent new bumper. Alas, it was not meant to be.

I carpooled in with Greg today, because my bum ear makes driving a little rough. But as the day wore on I realized that I was feeling pretty wonky and probably wouldn't be able to last the required work hours, let alone the gym. (And Greg's simply had to go to the gym, Urban Challenge is this weekend!) So I gave Alex a call and asked if he would drive all the way out to San Mateo to pick up a dizzy lady like myself. Being the fantastic husband that he is, he arrived promptly at 5:35. With a hatchback full of groceries we headed back to the East Bay and on our way Alex told me about an accident which happened earlier on the bridge, how the sunset made the bay look extraordinary on his way over and that we would have macaroni and cheese for dinner. All of a sudden the conversation came to a complete stop, just like the traffic. I noticed more than one car slam on their breaks. Alex followed suit, and I have to admit I did the patented pessimistic double handle grab I learned from my Mom. As we finally rested safely behind the car before us and I began to release my white knuckled grip on the oh shit handle, I noticed Alex looking in the rear view mirror. I sensed his fear and then realized it was all over. The new bumper, gone. About a half mile from where I lost the last one.

Unfuckingbelievable.

We got out of the car to look at the very badly damaged front end of the Lincoln Towncar behind us. I was pretty nice to the last guy who smashed up my car, but this dude never had a chance. Before I even turned around to see what kind of car it was or who was driving it I was already slamming my door and muttering the word fuckface. When I finally did look at him I saw that he was a chauffeur who had some passengers in the back; a nervous looking woman, a man with tinted glasses and a dog. The man in the back seat was holding what looked like a prize winning dog and the woman was gathering up a dog bed and trying to reestablish passenger safety. After I checked out my ruined bumper for the second time in less than a month, I diligently wrote down all our insurance information (most of it now memorized) on one handy sheet of paper. In return the chauffeur grabbed about 7 years worth of paperwork out of his glove box and said "here" as he handed it to Alex. This wad of papers resulted in the three of us standing near the concrete barriers on the freeway, in front of fuckface's car, which he didn't even bother to pull all the way into the breakdown lane, trying to find insurance information by the light of the Lincoln's dismembered headlight. This proved to be more difficult than I had imagined because the chauffeur didn't speak English very well and kept pulling out the registration for the car. Alex and I also asked to see his driver license numerous times, but he never produced one, he just kept pointing at the name on the papers. Then the chauffeur answered his phone and wanted Alex to talk to the livery boss who was currently on the line. He handed his phone to Alex, without unplugging the earpiece, and Alex USED it. (I think that might have been the most scarring part of the entire experience for both of us.) It turned out that livery boss was pretty serious about not going through his insurance. He said we should call him later and he'll take care of everything. The most educational part of this phone call was the part where Alex and I noticed that the livery boss and the chauffeur had the exact same name. The jig was up. I asked the driver to spell his name for me. He was clearly irritated and quickly shouted out a bunch of letters in my face, then he said sorry as he gestured to what used to be our bumper, got into his car with the prize winning dog and drove away.

Alex and I finally made it home, an hour and a half after he came to pick me up. I did some Google searches on the limo company and the insurance information they gave us while Alex called the shady livery boss, who said he has a great auto body shop that will do whatever we want. Alex promptly hung up and placed the claim with our insurance company.

The interesting part about this whole car being marred or stolen crap we keep going through is the pattern Alex noticed tonight: First the Saturn was stolen when I was alone, the next time we were together. Then I get rear ended in the Matrix alone, then Alex and I get rear ended together. Both times the car was stolen it was near a Barnes and Noble. Both rear end collisions happened on the same stretch of road. These incidents happened during even numbered years. What does it mean?

Alright, I admit that isn't really interesting, and I'm pretty sure that it doesn't mean anything. But at this point I'm going to pretend it means something, because otherwise I'm just unlucky, and that's too much of a burden for me to bear. At least I'm not in it alone... I insist on dragging Alex down with me.

what?

I've taken my hearing for granted for the past 33 years. Now that I can barely hear anything (except an annoying hum) in my right ear I realize how awesome it was to be able to hear with both ears. I knew I was in trouble yesterday when Greg and I drove into work together and I out of my mouth flew the sad words, "Sorry, I'm having trouble hearing you, you're on the side with my bad ear". Needless to say, today I'm feeling a little decrepit.

I've been to my doctor twice about this and he's referring me to someone else, finally. This comes as a great relief to me; last week I was stunned when he looked in my ear and said it looked great and then told me to take a Sudafed and "see what happens". What really got me was when he tried to comfort me by saying "Hey, at least you got two ears, right? Just use the good one for phone calls".