Get down, Grandpa

Yesterday I took my grandfather to the doctor. It was the 3rd attempt this week, and almost successful this time. We made it all the way to the doctor's office and even waited outside for 20 minutes, but there seems to be no compassion for the ill in pain, and Grandpa decided to go home. He's been in so much pain lately as the cancer is now in his hip bones and it hurts to put pressure on his left side especially. Sitting in that chair was excruciating for him. Screw the fact that they gave him an appointment at 11:30, but let me know once we got there that it would be at least an hour before they would see him. And they couldn't help accomodate him by letting him wait on an exam room table on his side. Fucking assholes. They wouldn't even talk to the doctor to order labs, which is what he would have done anyway. I guess our healthcare system truly doesn't give a shit about a person's dignity. At least not in the Inland Valley. Do no harm my ass.

Well, I took Grandpa outside in the borrowed wheelchair and had him wait on the sidewalk while I went to get the car. Almost all the handicapped parking was open, so I was able to park the car slightly diagonal so that the transfer into the car was easier. As soon I got out of the car, an old man next to me starts yelling at me!!! Yelling about taking 2 spaces. I tried to ignore him after I asked, "Can't you see I'm picking someone up?" And then Grandpa pipes up with a number of comments, explitives and an "I can still kick your ass." Classic Tom.

That's about as angry as I've seen him throughout his entire illness. He was diagnosed in 1998, just after I met him. And he's welcomed me into the family with open arms. He always seems proud to call me his granddaughter and to introduce me to his friends as "the granddaughter I told you about." I don't think I can accurately or justly describe how he has dealt with the cancer in stride. I don't know if it's been easier for him because he worked in the ER so long that he appreciates the time he has to prepare and to spend with his family, or if he just somehow knew how to make it easier for the rest of us. What I do know is that he's okay with it and he's never nasty with us even when he's in pain. He can talk about it so openly. Even as I cry while he tells me how to take care of things once he's gone, who gets this or that and what to do with the rest. After I express my husband's sentiment of not wanting what's left because it'll mean he's gone. And he tenderly says, "Honey, we all have to go some time. You'll be okay."

January 24

Researchers say it's supposed to be the most depressing day of the year. Well, it wasn't for me, but today's off to a bangin' start. I'm supposed to be at Bootcamp right now. We're supposed to be meeting at Mt. Rubidoux to run hills and do all sorts of other fun stuff. I woke up late around 8:10, which only gave me 20 minutes to get all my stuff together and eat breakfast. Well, I managed. All I needed was my purse and my cell phone......

Where the hell is that stuff? and I tried calling my cell phone because that usually does the trick, and, nothing. So I called my husband, who says he saw it in his truck last night and forgot to mention it and meant to get get it for me but forgot. That's what I get for eating out last night! My hands were full of food, so I didn't realize that I was leaving my purse behind. And now my purse is at the train station & my classmates are at Mt. Rubidoux and my spirits are deflated.

Dammit!! I vote for January 25.

oh, the wind, the needles

I've been doing fairly well lately, with my allergies, I mean. I've hardly had the crazy sinus/allergy headaches, the ones that feel like I'm being poked in random places throughout my brain. I've had very few occurrences of the itchy eyes, even when I'm around the cats. And I haven't been all that plugged up, because I've stayed away from the cheese since the last incident. So I've been really pleased with my immunologist's treatments, that is, until Friday.

I went in for my twice a week allergy shot on Friday and there was a new lady named Carol. Carol, apparently, was filling in for someone on maternity leave. Carol seemed nice enough as we chit chatted while she prepared my shots. How nice. Then Carol turned on me and stabbed me in the arm with a syringe! What the hell? "Oh, Carol, why? Why would you do that to me? I hate needles and now I hate you! Connie and Contrissa don't hurt me like this! No wonder you're not a regular!" I swear--she stabbed me! "Oh, dear, what's the problem?" says Carol. "YOU FREAKIN' HARPOONED ME, YOU CRAZY. I DON'T ENJOY BEING HARPOONED BY NEEDLES, YOU CRAZY!" And things only got about 1% better for the other 2 shots as she pretended she would be gentle and she began by squeezing my delt in the style of Connie and Contrissa, only to once again stab the needle into my arm. (sigh in disgust)

I don't even want to go back there now. Even though it's been helping me feel better. And I know that I have to go back, but I will insist on anyone but Carol. I must. But I'm scared of the wind. It makes me itchy and dry and makes my face hurt again. My face hurt so much yesterday, that I opted out of outdoor Bootcamp today, so now I must go kick my own butt inside the gym. Will do. Oh, and, Bubba, why Bubba?

Reaction did not occur

Reaction did not occur. RDNO. Not a welcome message on the screen of your cholesterol machines. Especially not when you only have enough staff to handle a perfectly flowing program, not to mention 50 fewer capillary tubes because someone pushed the plungers all the way down and ruined them. So you tell your participant to drink more water because they are dehydrated and their blood is too thick to flow into the entire $20 a pop cassette. And when your blood's too thick, reaction does not occur. So part of the motto of this story is drink more water. And no, coffee is not water. Neither are Rock Stars, Red Bulls or Pepsi.

I always have thick blood when I'm not properly hydrated, but what about thick skin? What do I have to drink to develop some of that? Isn't it ironic that running health fairs that are meant to draw awareness to a person's health status: cholesterol, blood pressure, glucose levels, etc., translate for me into fast food and high cholesterol, an immediate all-day and then some rise in my blood pressure...and a day of no exercise--because like I always say, "Walking around at work all day doesn't do much for your heart! It's actually stress." But it's a killer on your feet when you're wearing masochistic heels. And like the other thing I always say, "Exercise DOES NOT come in a pill." So I end up with this pulsing in my brain from the blood pressure, and a tightening in my neck from the stress, and apparently, I look like I'm gonna blow.

Reaction did not occur. Reaction did not occur. Reaction did not occur. So Sybil-like, but it's not in my head. This is my life.

I just can't let go. Where's my RDNO?

And the only thing that gives me a little relief right now is that ducks do fly.

HOV

Those are the initials for the carpool lane: High Occupancy Vehicle lane. I've always wondered what it stood for and I finally found out this morning on Good Morning America. A pregnant lady in Phoenix drove in the carpool lane and got a ticket because she did not have a carpool. Of course. Makes perfect sense. She decided to contest the ticket and went to court to say that she did have a carpool because she is pregnant. Logically, her argument was overturned and she was ordered to pay the $367 dollar fine.

Really? Are you freakin' kidding me? You're pregnant so you think you can pass all the other drivers who also didn't take a car off the road? Come on, lady. Screw you. The carpool lane is meant to take cars off the road, you idiot. I couldn't swing by your house and pick up your "kid" along with my other riders so that you don't have to get on the road, can I? Well then you should stay the hell on the regular freeway. Once again, screw you.

Also, I need to address the supposed woman who called me yesterday to find out what business I had calling her boyfriend. First of all, I told her that I am his boss and was calling to offer him some work. Because of her accusatory tone I let her know the call was for him and not her business. So she called me a bitch!!! ????
Listen, girlie:
-I am a happily married woman and I have no romantic or sexual interest in your man, so back off.
-I have given him lots and lots of work with the intention of helping him put food in your baby's mouth.
-I have a lot respect for him tyring to do the best for his baby by putting up with your CRAZY self for so long. I also consider him a good friend and a great person and believes he deserves the best, so don't ruin things for him.
-A woman takes responsibility for her actions. You need to step back, take a look at all the things you've done and realize that you need to make a big change in your life. You're supposed to be trying to give your baby the best in life, and she's not going to get that with an unstable, unpredictable, jealous, swearing and screaming mother. What kind of person do you think she will grow up to be if you continue this way? Give her a chance. GROW UP and become a real woman.

Do ducks fly?

I really hope so. I was driving through the Riverwalk area on my way home today and I'm really concerned. You know Riverwalk if you live around here. It's very pretty, there's an actual fake river, picnic areas, fitness activity trails (which suck, huh Rusty?), a dog park, a stone monument (nickname witheld - contact me if you want to know), beautiful landscaping, etc. Well, there are ducks too. Herein lies my concern.

I was driving on Riverwalk Parkway and had just passed the Foster's Freeze turned Riverwalk Burgers turned Starbucks and was by the dog park and I looked down to my left and saw two beautiful white ducks. They were standing there on the median, still. Poor things, they looked scared or clueless. I'm not sure which, but they definitely looked stuck. And if you know the area, you know that cars drive very very fast through there, so if those ducks attempted to get back to their fake river on foot, they'd be gonners.

Why do animals in distress always cross my path? In just a span of 2 hours today, I saw 4 police giving out tickets. Where are they now? Who's going to stop traffic for these poor duckies? Well, I couldn't risk my life for these ducks. After all, I don't know them, even if Jonathan Livingston Seagull has a special place in my heart (and, yes, I know he's a seagull, but still.) And everyone knows I've done my share of animal welfare.

So I went over to the Riverwalk management office to advise them of the "situation" and a man there said that they'll be OK. He seemed so amused with my concern that I'm not sure if I believe him. Then I talked to my neighbors about it and they said they thought those ducks had their wings clipped. So I don't know. I'll cross my fingers and hope.

My OCD

Thursday, December 08, 2005

oh my... Category: Life OCD. I know people have mentioned it to me before. Just yesterday even. But really? Is it because I rearrange my Top 8 friends so that my page has better symmetry? Is that wrong? Does it have something to do with my need to containerize? To do certain things 'one way'? My way? The right way? So what if I have right and left socks? I knew of one guy who numbered his socks, so right-1 and left-1 were only worn together. You know what that means? Even wear. Genius! We do it with our shoes. Nothing wrong with that, right? I saw this poor lady on Ellen whose one foot grew 2 1/2 sizes larger than the other when she got pregnant. And it didn't shrink back so she has to buy 2 different sizes of the same shoe. More ammo for the not having kids argument. But back to the subject at hand, can you imagine the discomfort in her shoes if she mixed her socks? You know what I'm talking about...when your sock bunches up in the corner and it seems like you have a rock in your shoe. That happened to me at the gym once. I think I mistook a right sock for a left and ended up wearing 2 rights. I was trying to run but my stupid sock kept bothering me. I was wiggling my toes to try to fix it, I stopped and took my shoe off to try to rearrange, but it could not be helped. I had to cut my workout short before I lost control and flung my shoes across the gym in frustration. I try not to touch money. Do you know where it's been? All those nasty people touching gross stuff, themselves, kids. Yuck. Many men don't wash their hands after using the bathroom, and many women don't either. It happened the other day at Claim Jumper. I heard her pee and leave. Sick. So my deductive reasoning tells me that at least half the money out there has been in the hands or one of these pee and leave folk and that's just the bathroom dirties. Last time I was on my way home from Palmdale, this guy in the car next to me was on a dig...in his nose. I made sure to get his attention and offered him a look of disgust. And I see people touch it all the time. Especially at fast food restaurants....and then they use the same hands to put food in their mouths--without washing them first. And let me say--wetting your hands under the faucet for a second is NOT proper hand washing. Now you've just added a new medium for bacterial spread. Go wash your hands and come back to hear the rest of my spew. This brings me to the floor. All sorts of nasty stuff tracked all over floors everywhere. Especially in bathrooms. You know lots of us do the toilet squat in restrooms, and you know that not everything goes in the right spot each time. So why would you rest your purse on the ground? ILL! GROSS! Stay away from me! Well, I'm bored now. I think I have A.D.D. See you later. By the way--TP over or under? Over the top for me, thanks.

Would you move my cheese?

I've had my blog on MySpace for a few months now (I'm not ashamed), but I have some friends who won't sign up so I'm posting some of my previous blogs so that they can catch up on my life! Here's my blog from yesterday, Wednesday, January 4, 2006:

Most of you know that for the last 6 months I've been working really really hard to reach my health and fitness goals. Slowly but surely, it's been paying off. One of the things I had recently given up was my Diet Pepsi, mainly because of the increased risk for osteoporosis (you build bone density until about 30, then it's all downhill from there & those sodas rob your bones of all the good stuff). Anyways, I was proud of myself because I was down to about 1 or 2 a week from my 2 to 3 a day habit. Then one day, Jeremy mentioned that was good because he said that even though they're zero calorie sodas they bring on sweet cravings. Now sweet cravings aren't usually a problem for me. I don't like chocolate or ice cream or cookies or even snacking for that matter. The cheese is where it's at for me. The one sweet thing I usually like though, is Smucker's Seedless Strawberry Jam, which I can't eat very often anyway because it's either accompanied by peanut butter, which gives me heartburn, or cheese (that's right, cheese- cream, jack, heck-even feta) which I've tried to stop having around because of the cholesterol & fat factor. Well, all it took was a mention of the Diet Pepsi and I had to have some with my lunch that day. And sure enough, I had my stupid soda and wanted something sweet. In anticipation of an urge for PB&J, I had bought a sugar-free 10 cal jam which I paired with reduced-fat (and according to Nash, salty) peanut butter. Turns out that my plan to outsmart myself backfired because by the time I got to my second PB&J tortilla, I had a funny feeling on my tongue.

I didn't realize it at first. I had been reading Blink, and it had a section about these men who spent years analyzing and cataloging every facial expression - turns out there are hundreds and hundreds of them. So, of course, I was slightly more conscious of what my face was doing and I suddenly realized that my nose was crinkled and my eyebrows furrowed squinting my eyes. And I had that funny feeling on my tongue. It was tingly, numb, slimy and not pleasant like the full calorie PB&J. So screw 10 calorie jam and salty peanut butter. and Diet Pepsi. and bless Splenda.

Bless Splenda because that is one substitute that's my friend. It allows me to still have my mate cocido (Argentinian tea [pronunced mah-tay ko-see-doe]) without all those extra sugar calories. But those of you who know me intimately know that I have a hard time just drinking my mate solo. It is usually accompanied by a fresh loaf of french bread and a whole bunch of California Real Monterey Jack Cheese. (reverently) And I mean a lot of cheese. Probably the root of the 289 cholesterol last year. Anyways, I've been good about the cheese lately. I only had low-fat cottage cheese (still unopened) in my fridge and I've resisted buying the Jack on so many shopping trips....

until this weekend because I had my heart set on having turkey burgers for New Year's Day. And you can't very well have turkey burgers without cheese. So what did I do to prepare? I bought 2 POUNDS OF IT! I was, after all, getting a great deal. Buy in bulk for savings, right? Maybe if I was trying to bulk up--'cause that's what I did. I've eaten at least a pound of it, not to mention the 7/8ths french bread loaf (I guess I left the heel for posterity), countless turkey burgers & 150-cal buns and some Doritos, oh, and the strawberry Vodka. What a way to start off a new year.

Last week I heard Yoanna House (the model) tell a birthday girl to have a piece of cake for her. I thought it was kind of strange at first, but the thought lingered in my head and now it all makes sense to me. That's how you get that figure.... you have someone else have a piece for you. I doubt Yoanna sits down and eats a pound of cheese. So, please, have a slice of cheese in my honor-- if you can spare the calories.

Calorie primer:
1 pound equals 3500 calories
1 gram of carbohydrate or protein equals 4 calories
1 gram of fat equals 9 calories
1 gram of alcohol equal 7 calories
1 endless supply of water equals 0 calories

1 mile walked or run averages to about 100 calories

1 pound of cheese equals 17.6 miles

Not good considering the longest I've ever gone is 13 miles!