Everything on the interwebs is always in extremes. You must hate this, we must stop that, we have to stand up for/against this. The problem with being moderate is that I disagree with all or part of almost everything. My parents are Very conservative, my […]
Here is something funny I have learned about myself: I’m not great at processing fear or anxiety in a reasonable way. If something scares me or causes internal turmoil, I don’t cry, I don’t yell or get angry. I shut down, put on pajamas and read a book. If I’m in a REALLY bad way, my husband will find me in the fetal position laying in my closet staring at a wall or reading. This all waits until I get home. This doesn’t happen in public. In public the most you will notice is that I am not as focused and I’m quieter than usual. My husband doesn’t fear sobbing or a quivering lip. He fears the silence. Not the everyday quite of inactivity or sleepy puppy snuggles after work. Rather the silence that surrounds someone who has vacated reality for a time. I haven’t succumbed to the closet monster since we moved to California. I have read a about a hundred books though.
Reading was an incredible struggle for me as a child (between having the attention span of a hummingbird with a cocaine addiction and enough dyslexia that I still misread things in very amusing ways). My mom spent countless hours reading to me or having me read to her before naps or bed. I honestly don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have this literary escape. If I wasn’t able to put reality on hold for enough time that my brain is able to sort through whatever feelings I don’t have the courage to face head on. This is how I cope.
Lately I’ve read a lot. Specifically I have reread books that I love. I am doing this because they are a guaranteed escape that I will enjoy, in a world I already know, with characters I already love. When I get to part of the story that I know will pull at my heartstrings.. I skip it. because that’s what I am avoiding now. feeling.
Several years ago a doctor stumbled upon an anomaly on my kidneys. After some extensive testing, I was told I have a some benign growths on my kidneys that would have gone unnoticed until someone performed an autopsy on my very dead, very old body. I was advised that I should consider getting them checked every couple of years just in case.
This year I remembered that I am actually almost an adult and I should really get those looked at. My last ultrasound of the area was in 2006. So I went in, explained to my doctor that my kidneys have polka dots and that she should take a look at them. So she did. and she asked me to have my records sent over. So I did. and she said “hmmm….”
I can say definitively that this is not a sound you want to hear from your doctor. It seems that my polka dots decided that color blocking was all the rage in Kidneys this season. The largest spots were much larger.
She sent me to a Urologist. This was probably one of the more amusing doctors visits I’ve ever experienced. Mainly because I walked into the waiting room and a dude with a piss bag strapped to his leg was just chillin in the corner. Before you get all huffy that I am making fun of someone who is clearly sick and suffering, know that it was 55 degrees outside and he was wearing shorts with his bag hanging out in all of its urinary glory.
He owned that bag.
He ROCKED that bag.
He is my ZFG hero. Believe me when I tell you that trepidation about a doctors visit will be cured by the site of an old guy who doesn’t give a single fuck that his piss bag is showing.
They promptly took me to an exam room to wait for the doctor. I guess it never occurred to me that men frequent Urologist more than women as this little gem was hanging on the door.
There is nothing more reassuring than the site of a flaccid penis on the door and flyers for Cialis on the counter. You could say it warmed my cockles.
When the doctor came in, I assumed he had only recently earned the right to buy cigarettes and drive alone in a car. (I found out later that the adage about Asians not aging until the day they just deflate into something closely resembling a raisin is entirely accurate. It turns out the doctor was in his 40s.) I’m pretty sure he learned bedside manners from Dr. House. I found his straightforward lack of empathy strangely reassuring.
These positive feelings were somewhat diminished when he actively googled my condition on his phone while we were talking about it.
He explained that the growths were quite large, and let me know that there were options available to prevent further growth. He mentioned the results of one of these little bastards continuing to grow involved words like Hemorrhage and kidney failure. I asked he what he suggested I do given the size of the growths. He said that the choice was mine. This is not the answer I expected. I tried to explain to him that I am not a doctor and I haven’t even taken a biology class since high school. I really didn’t feel qualified to make decisions about the future of an organ whose use I couldn’t define outside of it had something to do with pee.
He mentioned a procedure that involves cutting a hole in your artery and shoving a tube inside to snake into your kidneys to blast a couple of mini silicon balls to block the blood flow to the growths. Apparently this is totally normal. My other option was to just wait around until they burst either from trauma or they grew so large then started to affect the function of other organs. But he stressed it was entirely up to me because clearly I know enough about this to make an educated choice. Obviously I would like to avoid the side effects mentioned.
The urologist then told me to talk to a more special specialist at another facility to schedule the procedure. This guy was kinda cool even though he totally name dropped during our phone consult. He basically told me that if I’m not a pussy I should be up and moving fairly soon after the surgery and that I would only feel slightly shitty. He seemed pretty relaxed about the whole thing.
In these last few months, I quickly learned that after each doctors visit I was basically rendered useless for about half a day. My brain would shut down because mortality isn’t something I like to address. It seems to take me about that long for my brain to freak out and recover. In that time I would bury myself in a book while to help distract from the reality of life. I let all of this information process. I would eventually fall asleep and be good to go by morning.
At times I have trouble reminding myself that it’s not that big a deal and that I will be fine. But my greatest issue is talking about it. You see, I don’t like to telling people stuff like this. For some reason I am afraid my friends will think I am just looking for attention and sympathy. This is not the case, in fact I would rather not mention it at all to anyone. But if they found out later they would be pissed I didn’t say anything. I don’t like the look of sympathy, like I’m some sad Sarah Mclachlan commercial. I’m fine, I need you to think I’m fine, so I can actually convince myself that I am fine, and everything will be fine. There are people who are diagnosed with cancer and horrible disease and they battle on like the bad asses that they are. I don’t feel I have the right to be concerned about something so minor. I know it makes sense that I’m having a bit of a moment about it because this is happening to me and it sounds scary. It’s just easier to ignore it by running away in a story and going on adventures where kidneys don’t exist and I can still be an assassin mage princess ninja.
Lately it seems that if you want something to go viral make it a Disney princess mashup. Like most american girls, I was brought up watching Disney movies. I had every princess movie, I played dress up and make-believe. I went to Disney World several times […]
I was in Wyoming for work last week.
Before I get started with my review of this experience, I feel that I need to air out my misconceptions concerning this state. This will give you a better understanding of my response to the experience.
What I expected:
Sheriff Longmire in a hat, on a horse, in about 10 feet of snow, or 100 degree desert weather.
A waffle house, general store, and someplace famous for their chili that is run by a lady named Miss Patty.
Native Americans EVERYWHERE.
At least one buffalo.
What welcomed me the first day:
Not a single thing on the list above because Longmire lied to me.
6 “Asian” restaurants and 1o Mexican places
The Walmart where every single People Of Walmart photo was taken.
While we were driving to Rock Springs, Wyoming from the Salt Lake city Utah airport (a.k.a The land of numerous wives), I observed that the landscape looked similar to West Texas. Dry, covered in dirt, with sad little scrubby plants, and a few out of place flowers. It looks like a desert. At any moment you expect a band of cowboys to come riding down the ridge to attack a wagon train or some crap.
On our first full day we started to notice some storms off in the distance. A phenomena I haven’t witnessed since I left the flat lands of Florida. And then it started raining and raining some more. In fact, it did not stop raining for two days. Yet for some unknown magical, mystical, middle of nowhere, bullshit reason my lips chapped and the inside of my nose crusted over with a blood infused cement booger hybrid. Every morning I woke up and praised Jesus that I didn’t asphyxiate in my sleep.
We had asian food, steak, sushi (because it was different than the Asian food place) and the free dinner the hotel provides. Much to our surprise we didn’t actually die from eating sushi and it was the place everyone recommended when we asked where to eat. The steak house was a steak house, there was booze, meat, 70’s wood paneling and the necessary taxidermy that provides just the right amount of testosterone overload to season your steak. This was the nicest place around. Everyone that worked there wore bow ties and looked appropriately miserable.
We stopped at Walmart for snacks and at some point we were transported to middle earth. It was like a strange middle america petting zoo filled with normal creatures dressed exotically. It’s like the Fashion train stopped at the Little House on the Prairie and everyone got the hell off. I learned at lot about the possibilities of layering. For example, I was unaware that one could layer various pieces of leopard print lycra with intermittent layers of bright red lycra that had been sold by the acre. They didn’t really have a “No Shirt, No Shoes, no service” policy so much as a “Cover your naughty bits ’cause Jesus is watchin'” policy. It seemed to work for them. I’m pretty sure that everyone has a plaid couch and a deer painting somewhere in their house.
What they lack in current fashion options that aren’t plaid or camo, they make up for by being just about the nicest people on the planet. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone one say anything stronger than “well they’re somethin’ else, I guess…” as a negative remark. Though that could be the midwestern version of “Bless their heart”. After three days I started to recognize people, by day four we all started to say “Hi” to each other. I think it’s the water. The urge to start teasing my hair grows with each passing moment and I considered buying aqua net on more than one occasion. If I pickup a three wolf moon picture I give you permission to cut my hand off and ship me back to California.
Other than the Walmart, there was a strip club somewhere that I was never able to locate called the “The Bareback Saloon” and oddly enough, considering the name, was suppose to be mostly naked ladies not dudes. There wasn’t much in the way of entertainment other than a few bars and a drive thru liquor store. I don’t drink anymore so bars turn into a weird exercise in freaking out social drinkers by ordering a coke and watching them try and figure out if I am a recovering alcoholic or pregnant. The answer is neither by the way. I just can’t drink alcohol in any amount without getting migraines.
As if the rain wasn’t enough of a pain in the ass, at some point during the week the temperature decided to dip into the 20’s at night and maybe squeaked into the 50’s and 60’s during the day. I had exactly one jacket. Im pretty sure it saved my life. I didn’t realize until I walked to the car one morning that I had on brown steel toe boots, brown man-pants, and my brown jacket. I looked like a giant walking turd. My options were continue to look like a poop or freeze my tits off. I chose warmth. On the topic of freezing to death, we were informed that it can snow 12 months out of the year in Wyoming and the question still remains, why do people live there? We finally had to ask what all the weird fences were next to the road. It turns out they require fences to stop the snow drift from closing down roads. These are not temporary structure brought out in the winter. These are permeant fixtures because the frost giants like to visit year round.
The day we drove to the airport to fly home, we stopped at Little America (combination truck stop, diner, motel and final resting place of your last scrap of dignity if you sleep there) for breakfast. It was the only place with trees for about 300 miles. They have road signs starting from 100 miles away and they are posted just about every 50 feet in case you missed the last one because you were distracted by the splendid vistas.
Road sign 600 of 900000.
look at this picture, now imagine this but for hundreds of miles with the occasional Butte thrown in for variety.
Little America was built whenever classic diners were just diners. All the buildings are brick with colonial white columns. The whole place looks like a slasher movie set in the 1950’s. Except there is a dinosaur in front of the restaurant and the random nightmare penguins on all of the roofs.
We enjoyed a decent meal and completed out 3 hour drive to the nearest international airport that happens to be in another state.
We arrived home safely and my body is happy to be at sea level. My skin is eternally grateful for the humidity. My brain trembles at the possibility I will be returning to Wyoming in the near future. Next time I will know to bring a parka, a teasing comb, my hair spray and a bottle of angel tears to moisturize my skin.
I imagine we have all seen articles that definitively state a number of things we should start or stop doing right this minute, or things we MUST try before we die or places you MUST see before you’re __ years old. I hate this trend […]
I remember getting embarrassed about EVERYTHING as an adolescent. I couldn’t even walk past the bra section in a store with out turning 10 kinds of red. (Fortunately I was flat as a sheet of paper until college.) I was obsessed with what people thought of me, how I looked and if people liked me. Typical teenage girl neurotic bullshit. Which was made worse by the fact that I was growing at all times and my arms and legs were unpredictable in their movements. This caused me to trip, fall, knock shit over and break things constantly.
I have noticed that as I grow older, I care considerably less or not at all in some cases. Most people assume that I am awash with self confidence. Which is not entirely true (I do trust in my abilities and judgement when it comes to things I’m knowledgeable of). Most of the time what people see isn’t self confidence but a total lack of Fucks to Give in any situation I may be encountering.
I have spent much of my adult life standing in front of groups of people ranging from children to grown ass adults and instructing them on a wide variety of bullshit. This is not an example of my confidence, this is an example of how good I am at pretending I am super excited to be there. Whenever I start to get nervous and start to think “oh sweet fucking christ Im going to fuck this up and they are going to laugh at me and I am going to die.”
I stop myself and remember that I really don’t give a shit what these ass-hats think of me, I just need them to soak in the epic knowledge I am about to blast all over their
faces brains. So far it’s the most effective teaching tool on my box. (yeah I just wrote that.)
I have come a long way from the child who would rather die than talk about human body functions. I hope that this is just one of the graces of growing older and more experienced in life. There are many life examples that I have lead me to believe that the fucks given only go down from here.
Think about the elderly people you see around you. They don’t give a shit about anything that doesn’t make them happy.
You are driving down the road and they need to be in your lane, well you better hit the brakes motherfucka because Aunt Bea is commin over.
You go to a restaurant and notice a group of elderly ladies sitting at a table, and they run out of butter or something, they don’t wait for the server to come back, hell no that hand is up in the air and they are waving the empty butter thing around.
You are in the farthest stall in 4 stall restroom trying to covertly poop in a hellhole public restroom, Grandma is too old and too tired to worry about stall spacing etiquette, hell no, she’s taking the stall right the fuck next to you and she’s gonna blast ass like she’s at home. Why? because when a good bowel movement hits she’s gonna take advantage of whatever bathroom she can find. If she wants privacy, she can turn her hearing aid down. You get to sit there in abject horror debating if you should wait for her to leave for follow her example.
Think about any public locker room ever. All the naked people who don’t even bother with a towel are older than dirt. You don’t see the young fit people rolling out in the buff, nope they change in the stalls or in the corner of the locker room at lightning speed. Old people Air Dry. Because. They. Don’t. Give. A. Single. Fuck.
I say we get this party started early and stop giving a shit about what other people think. Boom instant happiness!