celebrating the end of a stress-filled week with shots of crown royal with co-workers is probably not a good thing. i am fairly proud of myself though. after 3, possibly 4 shots of whiskey and at least as many hard cider drinks, i remained standing with any assistance from the wall or other objects. i managed to not get sick or start a fight. and that my friends is a beautiful thing.
they say everyone's true colors come out when they are inebriated. guards are let-down, internal walls and self-censoring mechanisms are broken, true intentions become self-evident. if this is true, then by my very nature, i won't go down without a fight.
some people get giggly and laugh a little too loud over stupid things. this is not me. i will laugh but more often, i will just spray whatever it is that i happen to be drinking -- red wine, white wine, hard cider -- when caught off-guard with something funny is said in my buzzed presence. last night, it was the announcement that "everyone knows butt babies don't live" in a conversation about sex that caused me to spray lisa down with a mouthful of cider. come to think of it, it was lisa's mention of vibrator-as-homing device at another restaurant that caused me to spit wine, not only over most to the guests seated at our table, but also at the table behind us. i have exceptional aim when i choose to, obviously.
my drinking downfall (besides the spitting) is that i get beer muscles from drinking too much wine. i get argumentative and ballsy. if threatened, my goddess, you better come strong or don't come at all. i have thrown trained punches at a friend's head, knowing i did not intend to hit it but still unnerving him by the swishy feeling of air at the nape of his neck as hit expected a blow to the back of the head.
seriously though, i have been in more fights when sober than drunk and far less in my late twenties than in my early twenties and teen-age years. still though every time, i go to a happy hour or other drinking occassion, i worry that the she-devil in me will awaken, and that she will uncork all of those things i keep hidden inside, exposing my secrets like opening pandora's box.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
capitalizing on a good book
imagine how this must sound in a staff meeting: “the lord is my product; there is nothing i shall want.” what is seemingly at odds here is the intersection of religion and commerce as it relates to the large number of and variations of bibles sold in the marketplace each year.
strangely enough, i stumbled across of all things – a bible store – recently when shopping at the outlets nearby. mam and i joked about its close proximity to the nine west store where we were heading.
“close enough,” he said, “that he expected its customers to be the husbands of the shoe-shopping wives next door praying to avoid bankruptcy.” (my brave, dear husband preferred to do battle against the evils of nine west directly – by pouting in the aisle, watching me hunt for and try on new boots.) so when cindy crosby’s article “not your mother’s bible” in the october 30, 2006 edition of publishers weekly came across my radar, well, i knew well enough to acknowledge divine inspiration when it presents itself.
in today’s marketplace, the same mentality that gives rise to many different pairs of brown boots available at nine west exists for bibles sales as well. while a relatively stable market exists for bible sales, selling the “good book” may be more difficult than one would think. as the article points out, in most cases, the very people who are buying bibles already own between three and 10 copies. (note to self: must remember this argument for next shoe-shopping excursion.) how can an industry expect sustainable margins from sales on a product that people already own? while content will be the same in most cases, the key differentials between bible a at home and bible b on the shelf will be two of the four p’s of marketing lingo – packaging and positioning.
but it’s not as simple as changing the color or heel height of its current product to focus consumer attention on the new product. as the ms. crosby notes in the article, there are pratfalls lurking in this market: “wrapping your arms around this market is like hugging an 800-pound gorilla – it’s huge, it’s intimidating, and it can turn on you.” publishers must handle with sensitivity any changes to what some consider “a life manual divinely inspired by god” to avoid alienating its core audience. when changes are made to the bible’s format, you will find changes to be lumped under one of four main categories: 1) readability, 2) portability, 3) usability, and 4) attractiveness.
by focusing on these areas, publishers have brought to market bibles with additional commentary for better understanding of the text, waterproof and pocket-sized versions as well as a host of other colors and cover styles. pink faux leather bible with matching prayer beads, anyone?
but as any good marketer realizes, even with a divine “product” and audience-approved packaging and positioning, price is still a factor. for publishers, this most often means outsourcing production to keep already slim margins from disappearing like meatless fridays after vatican ii. another oddity mentioned as specific to the bible industry in the article is the missionary angle of spreading the good news. one publisher mentioned donating nearly 26 million copies in 2004, a factor that surely impacts the bottom line. (what, you thought those bibles found in hotel nightstands just appeared there magically?)
but despite all of its possible pitfalls, publishers who heed the call to makeover the bible for consumer consumption have realized steady sales. while readership is generally nudging lower each year, the number of people professing to read the bible is growing with latest figures noting about 96% of evangelical christians admit to having read the bible in the last seven days. (what's scarier - the fact most people don't read daily newspapers anymore to keep abreast of current events or the fact that they read a book written 2000 years ago at least once a week?)
with a readership this large, capitalism is happily answering the call of christianity by offering a diverse product lineup designed to fit every shape and color. just like the two new pairs of brown boots i scored that fit over my fat calves. hallelujah!
strangely enough, i stumbled across of all things – a bible store – recently when shopping at the outlets nearby. mam and i joked about its close proximity to the nine west store where we were heading.
“close enough,” he said, “that he expected its customers to be the husbands of the shoe-shopping wives next door praying to avoid bankruptcy.” (my brave, dear husband preferred to do battle against the evils of nine west directly – by pouting in the aisle, watching me hunt for and try on new boots.) so when cindy crosby’s article “not your mother’s bible” in the october 30, 2006 edition of publishers weekly came across my radar, well, i knew well enough to acknowledge divine inspiration when it presents itself.
in today’s marketplace, the same mentality that gives rise to many different pairs of brown boots available at nine west exists for bibles sales as well. while a relatively stable market exists for bible sales, selling the “good book” may be more difficult than one would think. as the article points out, in most cases, the very people who are buying bibles already own between three and 10 copies. (note to self: must remember this argument for next shoe-shopping excursion.) how can an industry expect sustainable margins from sales on a product that people already own? while content will be the same in most cases, the key differentials between bible a at home and bible b on the shelf will be two of the four p’s of marketing lingo – packaging and positioning.
but it’s not as simple as changing the color or heel height of its current product to focus consumer attention on the new product. as the ms. crosby notes in the article, there are pratfalls lurking in this market: “wrapping your arms around this market is like hugging an 800-pound gorilla – it’s huge, it’s intimidating, and it can turn on you.” publishers must handle with sensitivity any changes to what some consider “a life manual divinely inspired by god” to avoid alienating its core audience. when changes are made to the bible’s format, you will find changes to be lumped under one of four main categories: 1) readability, 2) portability, 3) usability, and 4) attractiveness.
by focusing on these areas, publishers have brought to market bibles with additional commentary for better understanding of the text, waterproof and pocket-sized versions as well as a host of other colors and cover styles. pink faux leather bible with matching prayer beads, anyone?
but as any good marketer realizes, even with a divine “product” and audience-approved packaging and positioning, price is still a factor. for publishers, this most often means outsourcing production to keep already slim margins from disappearing like meatless fridays after vatican ii. another oddity mentioned as specific to the bible industry in the article is the missionary angle of spreading the good news. one publisher mentioned donating nearly 26 million copies in 2004, a factor that surely impacts the bottom line. (what, you thought those bibles found in hotel nightstands just appeared there magically?)
but despite all of its possible pitfalls, publishers who heed the call to makeover the bible for consumer consumption have realized steady sales. while readership is generally nudging lower each year, the number of people professing to read the bible is growing with latest figures noting about 96% of evangelical christians admit to having read the bible in the last seven days. (what's scarier - the fact most people don't read daily newspapers anymore to keep abreast of current events or the fact that they read a book written 2000 years ago at least once a week?)
with a readership this large, capitalism is happily answering the call of christianity by offering a diverse product lineup designed to fit every shape and color. just like the two new pairs of brown boots i scored that fit over my fat calves. hallelujah!
Saturday, January 20, 2007
oh george!
sorry for the delay in posting about this week's grey's anatomy lesson, i am now watching the repeat episode on friday evenings since i have class on thursday nights. bless you, american broadcasting company!
okay, this week's lesson is about family -- as in how to be part of one, how to create your own family, and when to let go. *spoiler alert*
how to be part of one
oh georgey! we finally see you step up in the eyes of your rambunctious brothers and your mother when they tearfully ask you what should happen with your father. your father told you "you were a good boy, georgey" before the surgery and now, in the scene where you shave your father and confess your childhood disgression, well, it had me close to tears listening to you talk with pride in how your dad and your brothers took up the battle and defended you against the neighborhood bully.
meredith, however, was more upset in realizing her relationship to the bumbling man who shared half of her chromosomes. (something i can wholeheartedly relate to.) both she and mcsteamy, the dirty mistresses are loners, not feeling the connection to a family, or really, even the need for one.
how to create your own
by now, everyone at seattle grace must be aware of the simmering competition between burke and christina in getting the other one to speak first. everyone knows the game and continues to refuse to play along in passing information about one of them to the other. christina in this episode goes so far as to try to withhold burkes' food until a nurse steps in to ask if she should alert security. as petty and childish as it may seem to outsiders, this is burke's and christina's relationship to the core - competitive and passionate. anyone else would have booted to the door with that behavior.
and izzie! poor izzie, i should stop calling her that now that she has deposited the $8.7 million dollar check denny left her in the bank (which was a great scene in part one). izzie is still searching for her family -- not literally, mind you -- but in terms of where she fits in. she is the den mother of the house with the baking and scrubbing of the bathroom floor just in case george needs to lie on it. her moment when she tells bailey that she is both, a surgeon and someone who will get involved with her patients, my heart beamed. i've always loved izzie for her strength and ability to stand up and fight. in some ways, she's a symbol of the new feminist - smart, beautiful, tough. go izzie!
when to let go
addison dropped a bomb in this episode, telling callie she aborted mcsteamy's baby and that this would have been her due date. (on a sidenote, i really like that callie is getting more story lines than simply being the dark, sexy chick who dances in her underwear.) addison knew that she wanted a baby but she also realized all the things wrong in her situation -- mark would be a horrible father, her child would only be a source of competition between mcsteamy and mcdreamy, and she didn't want to go it alone. yes, she wanted a baby, but she wanted it with derek in her old live. and that folks, takes guts to realize.
of course this post needs to wrap up with george, this was his episode all along. at the table in the conference room, we saw george step up and be the source fo strength his family needed. this time, he was the one to help rally his family in helping them realize that the man laying in the hospital bed with tubes, that wasn't their dad. the spirited man they knew and loved wasn't going to recover and it was time to let him.
goddess, i love this show. even if i have to watch it as a repeat and pray i don't get snippets of what happened before i can sit down and watch. this is not masterpiece theatre, you can guesss what's going to happen moreorless in each episode that's not the point of the show. the show is about how the characters relate more so than the actual plotlines. still if mam drops a plotline bomb on me again, i swear i will cut out his tongue.
okay, this week's lesson is about family -- as in how to be part of one, how to create your own family, and when to let go. *spoiler alert*
how to be part of one
oh georgey! we finally see you step up in the eyes of your rambunctious brothers and your mother when they tearfully ask you what should happen with your father. your father told you "you were a good boy, georgey" before the surgery and now, in the scene where you shave your father and confess your childhood disgression, well, it had me close to tears listening to you talk with pride in how your dad and your brothers took up the battle and defended you against the neighborhood bully.
meredith, however, was more upset in realizing her relationship to the bumbling man who shared half of her chromosomes. (something i can wholeheartedly relate to.) both she and mcsteamy, the dirty mistresses are loners, not feeling the connection to a family, or really, even the need for one.
how to create your own
by now, everyone at seattle grace must be aware of the simmering competition between burke and christina in getting the other one to speak first. everyone knows the game and continues to refuse to play along in passing information about one of them to the other. christina in this episode goes so far as to try to withhold burkes' food until a nurse steps in to ask if she should alert security. as petty and childish as it may seem to outsiders, this is burke's and christina's relationship to the core - competitive and passionate. anyone else would have booted to the door with that behavior.
and izzie! poor izzie, i should stop calling her that now that she has deposited the $8.7 million dollar check denny left her in the bank (which was a great scene in part one). izzie is still searching for her family -- not literally, mind you -- but in terms of where she fits in. she is the den mother of the house with the baking and scrubbing of the bathroom floor just in case george needs to lie on it. her moment when she tells bailey that she is both, a surgeon and someone who will get involved with her patients, my heart beamed. i've always loved izzie for her strength and ability to stand up and fight. in some ways, she's a symbol of the new feminist - smart, beautiful, tough. go izzie!
when to let go
addison dropped a bomb in this episode, telling callie she aborted mcsteamy's baby and that this would have been her due date. (on a sidenote, i really like that callie is getting more story lines than simply being the dark, sexy chick who dances in her underwear.) addison knew that she wanted a baby but she also realized all the things wrong in her situation -- mark would be a horrible father, her child would only be a source of competition between mcsteamy and mcdreamy, and she didn't want to go it alone. yes, she wanted a baby, but she wanted it with derek in her old live. and that folks, takes guts to realize.
of course this post needs to wrap up with george, this was his episode all along. at the table in the conference room, we saw george step up and be the source fo strength his family needed. this time, he was the one to help rally his family in helping them realize that the man laying in the hospital bed with tubes, that wasn't their dad. the spirited man they knew and loved wasn't going to recover and it was time to let him.
goddess, i love this show. even if i have to watch it as a repeat and pray i don't get snippets of what happened before i can sit down and watch. this is not masterpiece theatre, you can guesss what's going to happen moreorless in each episode that's not the point of the show. the show is about how the characters relate more so than the actual plotlines. still if mam drops a plotline bomb on me again, i swear i will cut out his tongue.
Friday, January 19, 2007
the "talk"
when i was ten years old, my mother sat me down for a little discussion about "the birds and the bees". i remember she gave me this little book to read. it was obviously purchased at the pharmacy on the corner to be used to facilitate ushering their young daughters into womanhood. after handing it to me with a stern, reprimand NOT to show it to my younger brother -- only one child can hit puberty at a time in our house - she told me to come to her if i had any questions. needless to say, thank goddess for girlfriends and planned parenthood.
now, as a married adult woman, it's my time to have a little talk with my mother.
"i talked with mom the other day," i said to my brother on the phone, "she didn't seem too excited that i was coming off the coumadin when i told her."
"yeah," he replied, "i talked to her before she spoke to you. she thought you were going to tell her you were pregnant. she said you had left her a message that you had good news from the doctor. she was disappointed."
oh great. i thought she had gotten the hints i have given her for the last, say, 15 years of my life that she probably should not look to me to reproduce grandkids. i am not exactly "kid-friendly". my uterus is a no-fly zone for sperm. for crissakes, i never really played with dolls and truth be told, i only wanted a barbie doll so that i could have an excuse to get the barbie townhouse to decorate and give them wicked haircuts.
sometimes, i think there must be some sort of genetic switch not turned to the on-position on my double XX chromosome. the very thing that turns adult women into smiling faces and all "cootchy-coo-coo" makes me feel icky and grossed out. frankly, the cute baby thing is lost on me, too.
now, my nephew is starting to be a cutie. at 18-months old, the little towheaded bruiser is developing his personality and you can see a person in him now. sorry, to say, my 6-month old niece is still in the guppy-phase to me. sure, she's all chubby-cheeked and starting to get a dimple, but she doesn't seem like she's a person yet. babies, in my opinion, are a bit like blank rounds of clay. there's plenty of potential for beauty in there, it just hasn't revealed itself yet.
my niece still has a penchant for oozing awful smelling substances from her mouth unexpectedly, and in great volumes. this causes me some alarm. no creature should be able to propel so much fluid out of their bodies without first:
a) being exposed to a parasitic stomach virus in a third-world country; or
b) having a spent the prior evening downing multiple bottles of wine with adelle.
either way, it's not going to be a pretty sight.
which leads me back to my current frustration with my mother these days. she knows how i feel. as you can imagine, i am not shy in voicing my opinion on the topic that abortion is still legal in this country and dammit, more people should be using it. but i digress because the point should be clear -- a breeder, i am not.
when we had first gotten married, the swarm started buzzing. "when will they start a family?" "they'd have such a beautiful baby." "oh, you guys will change your mind, you'll want kids some day." granted, the swarm consisted of mostly people who missed out on my hairy, feminazi days and really didn't get a true taste of the bitch-on-wheels that had joined the family. it grew old and i grew bitchy trying to find ways to tell them to politely stay the fcuk out of my bedroom.
my family could plead no such ignorance; they were all too aware that my first car proudly displayed a u.s. out of my uterus bumpersticker. they lived with me when i protested my catholic college's refusal to let me do my *required* community service program at planned parenthood. (i forced them to relent and got credit for my service. hah, take that, crappy college!) my family knew of my failed attempts at domesticity and the babysitting jobs i detested. no, ignorance would not play in their favor.
my mom, though, is getting of a certain age. all her friends' kids are doing it. peer pressure is causing my mother -- who i had always looked up to for her ability to perservere in the face of being a single-parent -- to turn into this whiny, sniveling mess because she's not allowed to "play grandma" like the rest of her friends and coworkers her age.
"well, why can't i be a grandma?" she whined pitifully, seated in the booth next to me in a buca di peppo's restaurant where everything is oversized, making her seem that much smaller in comparison. i look pleadingly across the table at my husband and brother to give me strength to not kill her in the restaurant full of witnesses and to possibly provide a quick change to the topic of conversation that's brewing. "chuckie (you know i call my mother chuckie), we've been through this before. you're just not going to get a grandkid out of me. you're best hope is that michael knocks someone up and you get occassional visitation rights out of it."
but she continued to sit there, childlike herself with arms folded against her chest, legs swinging back and forth in the booth because her stubby little legs were too short to reach the floor, pouting. i knew i needed heavy artillery at that point.
"would you jump off a bridge because your friends were doing it? you have two beautiful grandpuppies that won't ooze weird substances from their orifaces, need college funds or require diaper changes or round-the-clock feedings." (sidenote: i'm pretty sure that my dogs would eat round-the-clock if i let them or if they could figure out how to open the fridge. my argument only holds true on that point until that day arrives.)
my dogs, my girls, my furbabies -- them, i understand. running my fingers through their fur, breathing deeply into their necks, feeling the warmth from their big body curled against mine as i sit at the computer. that's love, man. that's what warms my cold, cold heart.
will someone help me explain this to my mother now?
Monday, January 15, 2007
stupid people
after my "writing as therapy routine" in my last post, i forgot to add one additional insight gleaned from my doctor's appointment today.
stupid people really can elevate your blood pressure!
sitting in the waiting room waiting to see the doctor, i sat across from the only two people in the room not hacking and sneezing, a middle-aged couple. while trying to enjoy my house beautiful decorating magazine for a few minutes, i got sidetracked by the assinine conversation taking place across from me from the only non-sickies in the room. figures, at least the sick people are quiet if you discount the coughing.
no, these brainiacs enlightened me with their conversation about "how them doctors really do have a cure for cancer but there's too many people who would lose their jobs otherwise if the cure for cancer was made available -- because we all know there is ONLY one type of cancer out there for researchers to crack the code on -- like the oncology doctors, researchers and most of all, the drug companies. cancer has been around for ever, didn't you know? they should have the answer by now."
arrghhh, are you kidding me? conspiracy theorists listen up, let me introduce you to the inevitable fault most people share -- EGO. trust me, if some researcher caught wind of how to cure THE cancer, that doc's name would be PLASTERED on every surface possible. hell, it may be a requirement that in order to get the cure, you first had to tattoo the doc's name on a body part where THE cancer had taken hold.
then, as if my blood pressure wasn't already beginning to climb, they began their discussion of gardisil, Merck's human pampilloma virus (HPV) vaccine that offers protection against the virus that can later cause cervical cancer.
(before anyone thinks these people really are bright and educated, their conversations stemmed from the televisions in the doctor's office that play health-related programming.)
"they just know all those young girls -- and why do they have to be young girls -- will have problems later on trying to have children." again, the evil drug companies are trying to thin the herd by obviously sterilizing the youth of america. c'mon.
if that were true, i'd have a list of people to stick in the arm. while drug companies do have their faults, let's give them some credit as to whether or not they plan for world domination.
so thankfully before the brainiacs got too deep into their discussion of HPV (the guy actually said nothing more than what? during his female companion's rants), the nurse called me back to the office.
"let's take your blood pressure today." (yes, this is the same witch who made me get on the scale a week ago. and yes, she made me do it again today.) "wow", she remarked,"your blood pressure is high today, it's 136 over some number i never remember."
"it's probably because the people out there were killing me with their stupidity," i said. "can we check it again after a few minutes? i need to cool down from biting my tongue for so long. it's very traumatizing for me to keep quiet."
the nurse looked at me and nodded, "yes, it's probably best if you don't cause a riot in the waiting room." this kind of disturbed me thinking back because i'm not sure if she was kidding or if she really thought i could have browbeat that couple into submission.
after drawing my blood, she retook my blood pressure: 118 over that number that i never remember but is good.
"see," i told her, "stupid people are dangerous to your health."
stupid people really can elevate your blood pressure!
sitting in the waiting room waiting to see the doctor, i sat across from the only two people in the room not hacking and sneezing, a middle-aged couple. while trying to enjoy my house beautiful decorating magazine for a few minutes, i got sidetracked by the assinine conversation taking place across from me from the only non-sickies in the room. figures, at least the sick people are quiet if you discount the coughing.
no, these brainiacs enlightened me with their conversation about "how them doctors really do have a cure for cancer but there's too many people who would lose their jobs otherwise if the cure for cancer was made available -- because we all know there is ONLY one type of cancer out there for researchers to crack the code on -- like the oncology doctors, researchers and most of all, the drug companies. cancer has been around for ever, didn't you know? they should have the answer by now."
arrghhh, are you kidding me? conspiracy theorists listen up, let me introduce you to the inevitable fault most people share -- EGO. trust me, if some researcher caught wind of how to cure THE cancer, that doc's name would be PLASTERED on every surface possible. hell, it may be a requirement that in order to get the cure, you first had to tattoo the doc's name on a body part where THE cancer had taken hold.
then, as if my blood pressure wasn't already beginning to climb, they began their discussion of gardisil, Merck's human pampilloma virus (HPV) vaccine that offers protection against the virus that can later cause cervical cancer.
(before anyone thinks these people really are bright and educated, their conversations stemmed from the televisions in the doctor's office that play health-related programming.)
"they just know all those young girls -- and why do they have to be young girls -- will have problems later on trying to have children." again, the evil drug companies are trying to thin the herd by obviously sterilizing the youth of america. c'mon.
if that were true, i'd have a list of people to stick in the arm. while drug companies do have their faults, let's give them some credit as to whether or not they plan for world domination.
so thankfully before the brainiacs got too deep into their discussion of HPV (the guy actually said nothing more than what? during his female companion's rants), the nurse called me back to the office.
"let's take your blood pressure today." (yes, this is the same witch who made me get on the scale a week ago. and yes, she made me do it again today.) "wow", she remarked,"your blood pressure is high today, it's 136 over some number i never remember."
"it's probably because the people out there were killing me with their stupidity," i said. "can we check it again after a few minutes? i need to cool down from biting my tongue for so long. it's very traumatizing for me to keep quiet."
the nurse looked at me and nodded, "yes, it's probably best if you don't cause a riot in the waiting room." this kind of disturbed me thinking back because i'm not sure if she was kidding or if she really thought i could have browbeat that couple into submission.
after drawing my blood, she retook my blood pressure: 118 over that number that i never remember but is good.
"see," i told her, "stupid people are dangerous to your health."
welcome back, klot-ter
some gentle truths i have come to realize in my 30 years of playing the game of life:
enjoy the highs when it comes, but always be ready for a bitchslap on the way back down; every life experience - both good and bad - present opportunities to learn more about yourself and what it is you really want (it's your responsibility to act on these insights); nietzche was dead-on with "that which does not kill us makes us stronger" line.
joyfully, and with some trepidation, i get to come off the blood thinners i have taken for the last 6 months to help my body avoid another bloodclot after getting one this past july. i am excited to resume some normalcy after the roller coaster ride this past half year has been, but i am also scared to have my security blanket taken away from.
i am a worrier by nature; worrying helps me plan, stay on top of my game by always anticipating every angle and possible outcome. that's very much a function of the analyst in me. nights i spent laying in bed, having trouble falling to sleep when the worries that swirled in my head refused to allow sleep to come, well, i could recite my mantra: "i'm taking bloodthinners, there is nothing that can harm me now" to help me create a safe place in which to let sleep enter.
every morning was greeted with relief that i hadn't succumbed to a wayward clot that lay hidden inside me and shot off to my brain or my lungs killing me in the process. every weird ache or pain is suspect, i was caught offguard with the first bloodclot, i will not be caught offguard again. each twinge or pain is analysed by my brain and categorized - possibly lethal, non-lethal origin identified, or normal dumbass.
i worry, therefore i am. sometimes i feel i teeter on the edge of being a hypochondriac.
how could i have known in september 05 when i created multiplicity that it's meaning would crossover into so many different - and relevant - facets of my life? i couldn't have possibly known what lie ahead. i created multiplicity as a way to capture the stories of the "creative girl living in a buttoned-up world" who just is "too uptight to live 100% in the creative world". how could i have guessed that it would also come to capture my medical dramas as well? the girl who a decade ago was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder for being unable to clot is now the same one who worries her blood will clot too much. i feared bleeding to death a decade ago; in some ironical way, i now fear clotting to death.
before, with my autoimmune disorder ITP (idiopathic thrombocytopenia purpura), i knew its origin was unknown and unpreventable. somehow, this not knowing was more soothing to me than knowing a list of possible source.
with my bloodclot in my leg -- my minor DVT -- as the doctors refer to it, isn't so neatly disclosed as to the source of its origin. it could have been the birth control pills i had taken for the last 12 years of my life. it could be the long 8-hour car ride i had taken days before in combination with air travel a day or two before that. or, it could have been the genetic factor discovered in the blood tests taken at the hospital. factor V leiden is inherited, one of my parents gave me this lovely gift like they gave me blond hair and blue eyes.
it could have been one of these or it could have been all of these. the doctors are unwilling to assign a guilty plea to any of these culprits individually. in the meantime, i have stopped the birth control pills, avoided long periods of inactivity. i have even altered my diet to avoid futures episodes but the one thing i cannot change is my genes. that which makes me who i am and i cannot escape me.
so welcome back, klot-ter. the drugs may be gone but surely there is something that i have learned in all of this. i need to get busy living. just in case i die trying.
joyfully, and with some trepidation, i get to come off the blood thinners i have taken for the last 6 months to help my body avoid another bloodclot after getting one this past july. i am excited to resume some normalcy after the roller coaster ride this past half year has been, but i am also scared to have my security blanket taken away from.
i am a worrier by nature; worrying helps me plan, stay on top of my game by always anticipating every angle and possible outcome. that's very much a function of the analyst in me. nights i spent laying in bed, having trouble falling to sleep when the worries that swirled in my head refused to allow sleep to come, well, i could recite my mantra: "i'm taking bloodthinners, there is nothing that can harm me now" to help me create a safe place in which to let sleep enter.
every morning was greeted with relief that i hadn't succumbed to a wayward clot that lay hidden inside me and shot off to my brain or my lungs killing me in the process. every weird ache or pain is suspect, i was caught offguard with the first bloodclot, i will not be caught offguard again. each twinge or pain is analysed by my brain and categorized - possibly lethal, non-lethal origin identified, or normal dumbass.
i worry, therefore i am. sometimes i feel i teeter on the edge of being a hypochondriac.
how could i have known in september 05 when i created multiplicity that it's meaning would crossover into so many different - and relevant - facets of my life? i couldn't have possibly known what lie ahead. i created multiplicity as a way to capture the stories of the "creative girl living in a buttoned-up world" who just is "too uptight to live 100% in the creative world". how could i have guessed that it would also come to capture my medical dramas as well? the girl who a decade ago was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder for being unable to clot is now the same one who worries her blood will clot too much. i feared bleeding to death a decade ago; in some ironical way, i now fear clotting to death.
before, with my autoimmune disorder ITP (idiopathic thrombocytopenia purpura), i knew its origin was unknown and unpreventable. somehow, this not knowing was more soothing to me than knowing a list of possible source.
with my bloodclot in my leg -- my minor DVT -- as the doctors refer to it, isn't so neatly disclosed as to the source of its origin. it could have been the birth control pills i had taken for the last 12 years of my life. it could be the long 8-hour car ride i had taken days before in combination with air travel a day or two before that. or, it could have been the genetic factor discovered in the blood tests taken at the hospital. factor V leiden is inherited, one of my parents gave me this lovely gift like they gave me blond hair and blue eyes.
it could have been one of these or it could have been all of these. the doctors are unwilling to assign a guilty plea to any of these culprits individually. in the meantime, i have stopped the birth control pills, avoided long periods of inactivity. i have even altered my diet to avoid futures episodes but the one thing i cannot change is my genes. that which makes me who i am and i cannot escape me.
so welcome back, klot-ter. the drugs may be gone but surely there is something that i have learned in all of this. i need to get busy living. just in case i die trying.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
the great escape
it was only a matter of time, really.
the devil dogs were at it again. this time, chloe and sadie managed to "liberate themselves" from the crate they reside in when we are not home to supervise, i.e. worship them. their crate is really an indoor pen that takes up roughly a third of my family room -- plenty of room in which to provide them with all of the comforts they should desire through out the day -- a bed to lie on, toys, water, snackies. it's like daycare without having an underpaid teenage girl around to watch jerry springer and make phone calls all day.
honestly, though, i'd gladly remove the monstrosity from my family room and regain the 10 square feet it consumes. but as long as miss chloe has a taste for wood, paper and electrical cords, she will be confined for her safety. (yes, she's chewed through 3 PLUGGED in electrical cords already. if she were a cat, she'd be missing a few lives. as a dog, we're not sure how she's managed to survive thus far.)
mam must not have fully closed the latch on their crate door before heading back to work after lunch. normally he comes home at lunch, lets them out to do leave little elephant-sized presents in the backyard, and bundles them back up in crate before leaving.
imagine our surprise when we arrived home that evening to discover both of them sitting and wagging their tails at the backdoor waiting for us, door to their crate wide open.
what an even bigger surprise to STILL not have come across anything that was destroyed!
hippie chick
my buddy flug-i-licious is into completing all of these "who are you" type of quizzes, i guess hoping to gain deeper insight into who he is. (considering he's a psychologist, i hope he doesn't use these with his patients.)
anyhoo, i usually troll around his recent quiz sites to see what, if anything, i can glean into my personality (beyond that i am a bitch, some things are just self-evident) from these quizzes given that i don't have a masters degree in clinical psych. turns out i am mostly a hippie chick with a dash of nerd and goth thrown in for good measure... sounds pretty close to the mark, except i would never wear those pants!
anyhoo, i usually troll around his recent quiz sites to see what, if anything, i can glean into my personality (beyond that i am a bitch, some things are just self-evident) from these quizzes given that i don't have a masters degree in clinical psych. turns out i am mostly a hippie chick with a dash of nerd and goth thrown in for good measure... sounds pretty close to the mark, except i would never wear those pants!
 | You scored as Hippy.
What type of girl are you?!! created with QuizFarm.com |
Sunday, January 07, 2007
OhMiBod
finally, being a bad girl has paid off!
i know i get snarky during the holiday season. there must be something about the gluttony and the greed of the season that pushes my buttons and sometimes allows me to produce some funny rants. (or at least i think they're funny.)
every so often though, a well-intentioned gift or event manages to break down my bitter walls. this year it was two things that touched me:
1) a donation made to the aspca in lieu of a gift;
2) and, oh my goddess - an OhMiBod vibrator!
seriously, apple should have thought of this one years ago. i'm not sure if my death of a pocket rocket rant inspired my husband or my none-too-subtle bitching did the trick, but mam outdid himself this time.
tune in, turn on is right. all little jokes aside, this new incarnation of pinky can not only be synched to your ipod (and now that mine received a new battery from santa as well, works good as new) but can work, ahem, alone as well. (rubber veiny sleeve sold separately.)
just think about this for a minute.
do you need a little "mood" music to get you going? now, you can listen to and FEEL barry white's barritone growl. if r&b isn't your style, i know a little electronica with it's steady thump-thump rhythm might do the trick. the only music style i can't imagine being too receptive to use is country. honestly, how does one consider a pick-up truck and your cousin-sister-bride leaving you a turn-on? then again, if you drive a beat-up pickup truck and have a cousin-sister-bride, there probably isn't an ipod or a vibrator in your life. wow, that thought is sad on sooo many levels!
i promise this will be my last holiday post for at least 300 days. we had our final holiday soiree last night at renee's holiday re-gifting party which was a great party to end the season. on the drive to her house, mam asked me what i considered the best gift i received this year considering we had spent the afternoon debating the truly horrific gifts and which one was most worthy of being re-gifted at the party.
("thanks, nan, i loved the mint green pearl necklace and earring set. yes, of course i wear them all the time. why didn't i wear them today? they, uh, didn't match my outfit... because how freakin' often do i wear anything that warrants mint green pearls?!?" mam chose the bottle of manischewitz, the plastic sumo wrestler and the two sleeves of pink golf balls as his gifts to part with.)
without a doubt, my new pinky is the best christmas gift i ever received. simply, it's the gift that just keeps on giving.
i know i get snarky during the holiday season. there must be something about the gluttony and the greed of the season that pushes my buttons and sometimes allows me to produce some funny rants. (or at least i think they're funny.)
every so often though, a well-intentioned gift or event manages to break down my bitter walls. this year it was two things that touched me:
1) a donation made to the aspca in lieu of a gift;
2) and, oh my goddess - an OhMiBod vibrator!
seriously, apple should have thought of this one years ago. i'm not sure if my death of a pocket rocket rant inspired my husband or my none-too-subtle bitching did the trick, but mam outdid himself this time.
tune in, turn on is right. all little jokes aside, this new incarnation of pinky can not only be synched to your ipod (and now that mine received a new battery from santa as well, works good as new) but can work, ahem, alone as well. (rubber veiny sleeve sold separately.)
just think about this for a minute.
do you need a little "mood" music to get you going? now, you can listen to and FEEL barry white's barritone growl. if r&b isn't your style, i know a little electronica with it's steady thump-thump rhythm might do the trick. the only music style i can't imagine being too receptive to use is country. honestly, how does one consider a pick-up truck and your cousin-sister-bride leaving you a turn-on? then again, if you drive a beat-up pickup truck and have a cousin-sister-bride, there probably isn't an ipod or a vibrator in your life. wow, that thought is sad on sooo many levels!
i promise this will be my last holiday post for at least 300 days. we had our final holiday soiree last night at renee's holiday re-gifting party which was a great party to end the season. on the drive to her house, mam asked me what i considered the best gift i received this year considering we had spent the afternoon debating the truly horrific gifts and which one was most worthy of being re-gifted at the party.
("thanks, nan, i loved the mint green pearl necklace and earring set. yes, of course i wear them all the time. why didn't i wear them today? they, uh, didn't match my outfit... because how freakin' often do i wear anything that warrants mint green pearls?!?" mam chose the bottle of manischewitz, the plastic sumo wrestler and the two sleeves of pink golf balls as his gifts to part with.)
without a doubt, my new pinky is the best christmas gift i ever received. simply, it's the gift that just keeps on giving.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
sucker punch
with all of my medical melodramas that i have encountered in my ... ummm, 29B years, i can usually tell when i am on the road to recovery -- my doctor's office staff stops treating me like a princess.
yup, no more spur-of-the-moment appointments, no more just-go-right-back,-the-doctor-is-weighting-for-you greetings and certainly no frequent stepping on the scale routines. i usually attribute this to the "why torment the sick and dying anymore than we need to" mentality?
but today, folks, i must be healthy. not only did i have to wait a week?!? to get an appointment for bloodwork, the nurse who would be doing my lab work asked me to step on the scale.
"'scuse-ez moi?" i asked innocently, pretending not to hear her as i drop my work bag into the chair in the examination room.
"let's just step over here and get your weight." she tried again.
shit, i looked right at her as she said it while i'm thinking i have a good 6" over her and i'm not wearing heels. i can take her down pretty quickly, without needing to sit on her. if i pretend not to hear her again, she's going to fit me for a hearing aid before i leave today.
inside my head i rage a great conversation with all the reasons why that might not be a good idea; my favorite one involved me telling her to just punch me in the stomach instead -- either way, if i stepped on the scale or if she slugged me in the gut, i was pretty much assured to feel sick to my stomach and angry for the rest of the day.
instead, i gulped, slid out of my fuzzy, no-name wannabe uggs clogs. i stepped up. and before i could let the air naturally fade from my lungs, it hit me...
oy.
turns out 12 days of potato really did add 12 pounds of blubber to my growing spare tire in the belly since i last stepped on the scale sometime in august.
it's a good thing my course of treatment should be wrapping up soon, she pulls another stunt like today and the sucker punch may be for her.
yup, no more spur-of-the-moment appointments, no more just-go-right-back,-the-doctor-is-weighting-for-you greetings and certainly no frequent stepping on the scale routines. i usually attribute this to the "why torment the sick and dying anymore than we need to" mentality?
but today, folks, i must be healthy. not only did i have to wait a week?!? to get an appointment for bloodwork, the nurse who would be doing my lab work asked me to step on the scale.
"'scuse-ez moi?" i asked innocently, pretending not to hear her as i drop my work bag into the chair in the examination room.
"let's just step over here and get your weight." she tried again.
shit, i looked right at her as she said it while i'm thinking i have a good 6" over her and i'm not wearing heels. i can take her down pretty quickly, without needing to sit on her. if i pretend not to hear her again, she's going to fit me for a hearing aid before i leave today.
inside my head i rage a great conversation with all the reasons why that might not be a good idea; my favorite one involved me telling her to just punch me in the stomach instead -- either way, if i stepped on the scale or if she slugged me in the gut, i was pretty much assured to feel sick to my stomach and angry for the rest of the day.
instead, i gulped, slid out of my fuzzy, no-name wannabe uggs clogs. i stepped up. and before i could let the air naturally fade from my lungs, it hit me...
oy.
turns out 12 days of potato really did add 12 pounds of blubber to my growing spare tire in the belly since i last stepped on the scale sometime in august.
it's a good thing my course of treatment should be wrapping up soon, she pulls another stunt like today and the sucker punch may be for her.
friggin' reruns
okay, while trapped in the circuitous route known as the "holiday party" scene, i was relieved that i wasn't missing any new episodes of grey's anatomy. as much as i needed a shot of mcsteamy (yum!) and mcdreamy (hmmm, good hair!) during the month of december, not having to race home or feel guilty for missing my one-feel-good-hour each week relieved some of my anxiety.
mam has even learned to keep his big mouth shut while we watch. most of the time. the rest of the time, i need to flash him the universal "zip it" motion in sign language before screaming - okay, lunging at him, "you! no talk-y during grey's anatomy! shush!"
(you can feel my perturbance -- there's freakin' exclamation points everywhere in that sentence.)
but, hello, it's january already. bring on the new episodes. 'specially now that i scheduled a class for thursday nights (very reluctantly, i'll tell ya). i registered late and had a choice of a professor that i had 3 semesters ago and vowed to NEVER waste my time with again, or miss "grey's anatomy" for 15 long, miserable weeks.
of course, all my decision really did was speed up the inevitable -- we are now getting comcast's (otherwise known as satan's contribution to cable television) version of tivo so that i can record the episodes and watch them when i get home.
if i'm lucky, my digital-video-recorder will break just goddess girl liz's did when she first got hers -- it got stuck on the mcsteamy shower scene. not a bad place to break down if you ask me. or her.
(see, i told you comcast was the devil.) save me from my lusty thoughts, mcdreamy, and bring on the new episodes!
mam has even learned to keep his big mouth shut while we watch. most of the time. the rest of the time, i need to flash him the universal "zip it" motion in sign language before screaming - okay, lunging at him, "you! no talk-y during grey's anatomy! shush!"
(you can feel my perturbance -- there's freakin' exclamation points everywhere in that sentence.)
but, hello, it's january already. bring on the new episodes. 'specially now that i scheduled a class for thursday nights (very reluctantly, i'll tell ya). i registered late and had a choice of a professor that i had 3 semesters ago and vowed to NEVER waste my time with again, or miss "grey's anatomy" for 15 long, miserable weeks.
of course, all my decision really did was speed up the inevitable -- we are now getting comcast's (otherwise known as satan's contribution to cable television) version of tivo so that i can record the episodes and watch them when i get home.
if i'm lucky, my digital-video-recorder will break just goddess girl liz's did when she first got hers -- it got stuck on the mcsteamy shower scene. not a bad place to break down if you ask me. or her.
(see, i told you comcast was the devil.) save me from my lusty thoughts, mcdreamy, and bring on the new episodes!
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
un-christmas
now that we are firmly apres-christmas (ljam, that means after, not before), i am ready to un-christmas my house. i know that once that is done we can march firmly into the doldrums of january and into my most favorite time of the year -- organization season.
organization season marks the time of year, when after receiving lots of christmas doodads, tchotkes and clothes you discover you didn't really need or want, you need a place to stash your christmas booty. this should not to be confused with your christmas "bootay", the ultra-fine, rap-model's girlfriend's posterior you developed during your 12 days of potato feasting. although finding a place to park that these days can be problematic as well.
thankfully, i am starting to un-christmas as i write this. the stock market is closed for a national day of mourning because an ex-president has died, enabling me to enjoy an unexpected vacation day. i'm telling ya it's the best thing republicans can do for me these days is to keep dying. c'mon bush senior -- you're about time, aren't ya? momma needs a holiday!
in the meantime, i am going to work on dismantling the dying tree that lay in my family room, festively decorating in cheap pieces of glass and ribbon and lights that mythbusters swear won't catch on fire unless i heavily loaded the sucker with extension cord after extension cord of c9 bulbs. i'll put away the fake pointsettia plants i use to save li'l miss chloe from a certain death if she went crazy chewing the leaves on the real plant like she did on the plastic.
i'll put away the stockings that were hung by the chimney with care so that i can now use my fireplace without worrying about my living room going up in flames. the nights will be less bright now that the army of inflatable santas, rudolphs and homer clauses will be put away until next year. maybe the stupid people who designed them will come up with a valentine version like "cardiac my heart" with little replacement valves and cholesterol that float about inside the bigger heart that will beat bloody red. of course, you'll probably just find ones with insipid teddy bears instead with the words, "i wuv you" on the side. blechhh. how corny. let's ban them like trans-fat in a new york deli.
c'mon january, be still my organizing heart!
organization season marks the time of year, when after receiving lots of christmas doodads, tchotkes and clothes you discover you didn't really need or want, you need a place to stash your christmas booty. this should not to be confused with your christmas "bootay", the ultra-fine, rap-model's girlfriend's posterior you developed during your 12 days of potato feasting. although finding a place to park that these days can be problematic as well.
thankfully, i am starting to un-christmas as i write this. the stock market is closed for a national day of mourning because an ex-president has died, enabling me to enjoy an unexpected vacation day. i'm telling ya it's the best thing republicans can do for me these days is to keep dying. c'mon bush senior -- you're about time, aren't ya? momma needs a holiday!
in the meantime, i am going to work on dismantling the dying tree that lay in my family room, festively decorating in cheap pieces of glass and ribbon and lights that mythbusters swear won't catch on fire unless i heavily loaded the sucker with extension cord after extension cord of c9 bulbs. i'll put away the fake pointsettia plants i use to save li'l miss chloe from a certain death if she went crazy chewing the leaves on the real plant like she did on the plastic.
i'll put away the stockings that were hung by the chimney with care so that i can now use my fireplace without worrying about my living room going up in flames. the nights will be less bright now that the army of inflatable santas, rudolphs and homer clauses will be put away until next year. maybe the stupid people who designed them will come up with a valentine version like "cardiac my heart" with little replacement valves and cholesterol that float about inside the bigger heart that will beat bloody red. of course, you'll probably just find ones with insipid teddy bears instead with the words, "i wuv you" on the side. blechhh. how corny. let's ban them like trans-fat in a new york deli.
c'mon january, be still my organizing heart!
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