Saturday, December 25, 2010
Monday, December 06, 2010
I might be unreasonable about this. But I think if you can't work a freakin' coffee carafe, don't drink the coffee.
Now I have something related but new to complain about. You knew I couldn’t go a whole week without complaining about something, right? And yes, this is coffee-related.
Lately, whoever has been making the coffee has been, instead of putting it into the carafe to keep it warm and toasty, leaving it in the coffee pot sitting on the hot burner. You know how I feel about this. This used to happen occasionally, but now it happens every single [gosh darn] day. More than once. Why the face, y’all?
Someone does not understand the concept of a carafe. I really, really want to put a sign on the carafe that says, “Hint: I am not for decoration.” Or “if you do not understand how to use this complicated piece of equipment, someone can explain it to you.” Or maybe, “Put the [farking] coffee in the [farking] carafe, you inconsiderate [beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep]. I hope that coffee has formed a solid and you choke on it.”
Yeah, I get a little bit coffee rage-y sometimes. I realize it’s inappropriate. Obviously I can’t say at work what I really want to say, so I vent here. No worries, I will not be blogging in the near future anything that starts with, “so, I went all ‘Falling Down’ at the office yesterday.”
Speaking of Michael Douglas, don’t you just love him as an actor?
Anyway, possibly part of my problem might be that I suspect who is doing it, and this person is an "I am above doing things I don't want to do and my way is always right" type, and I'm not overly-fond of her, and this is just one more thing about which I can say, "well of course she does that." But I do not like to chew my coffee. And anyone who won't pour that [bleep] coffee into the [bleep] carafe either doesn't actually like coffee or is just lazy and inconsiderate and is basically flipping all of us other coffee drinkers the bird. So. Result: coffee rage.
Sorry about that.
Saturday, December 04, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Not that I don't like Scott McCurry. I do. But this one song always makes me expect someone else.
Seriously. Listen to "The Stuff,"
And then listen to "Don't Do It" (from Like the Sun). (sorry I don't have an embeddable clip for that one).
Can you hear it, too? No? Just me, then? Ok, fine.
I'm hearing musical similarities all over the place these days. The first thing I thought when I heard "Allison" by pop-punk band The Burning Hotels was, "that music sounds exactly like 'A Hundred Hearts'" (which is a great song by The Swimmers from an album of good songs--you should buy it). And then I thought, "I really dig this song." And then I decided it's not exactly like "A Hundred Hearts."
The more I listen to "Allison," the more I like it, and the less it reminds me of The Swimmers.
But judge for yourself. Here is "A Hundred Hearts."
And here's "Allison":
The music is very similar in one part, really almost exactly the same. And I know that's not just me. But both great songs! Support your local indie band!
And on that note, I'll end this with a song that doesn't remind me of any other song (and totally unlike the songs I mentioned above). The Orbans are a Fort Worth band. Buy local, right? If you don't like this band, there might be something wrong with you.
Friday, November 26, 2010
So now we know what we're doing next year. Try not to be too jealous.
I hope everyone's Turkey Day was fabulous!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
I assume most if not all Americans are aware that the war between North and South Korean never officially ended--they just called a truce. If anyone wants to know more about the craziness (and huge, huge problem) that is North Korea, I suggest you start here (even if you only have time to watch Mr. Hong's presentation and not the whole video). If you don't have time to watch that eye-opening talk but want to read more, go here, here, here, and here (to see video from the Vice Guide to North Korea, go here). It is almost unbelievable. If you want to help out North Korean refugees (who, if they are caught in China, are usually sent back to North Korea to be put in Nazi-like work camps or executed), you can start here. This is what South Korea is dealing with, and, really it's a problem of the whole world.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
And then she made more cookies.
And then of course she had lots of leftovers, which she brought home.
And then she left me unsupervised for several hours.
So it's mostly her fault.
Today, I am going shopping with RR and our friend MJ, and they are two of the tiniest people I know, so I will get to feel extra fat. It will be kind of like the time in 10th grade when a friend I'll call Shanna went shopping with me and RR. At that time, I could have stood to lose maybe five pounds. Shanna, how to put this, Shanna was not a small girl. When RR tried on a dress, I thought, "oh, that looks nice on her," but Shanna said, "gosh, you make [JLR] and I feel like a couple of whales." "Uh, only one of us is a whale," was what I did not say but definitely thought. I get mean when I get insulted. But at least I only thought it, unlike Shanna, who felt free to speak for me the thoughts she assumed I was thinking. "Your tininess only serves to emphasize the hugeness of both me and your fat, fat sister, who, in my head, I refer to as Humpty Dumptiest."
Today, however, that statement would be kind of true. Standing next to RR and MJ, one cannot help but feel whale-like.
Last week I went shopping with my mom. I love my mom, I love spending time with her, and sometimes I even like shopping with her. But oftentimes, shopping with her can be an excruciating experience. When we made plans to go, I told her that I didn't want to be leaving the mall at 9:00 p.m. (when it closed), and she swore she was too tired to stay that late anyway. I guess she was right because we left at 8:50, and I really don't think she could have made it those last ten minutes.
It's my fault, I guess I should have been more clear. I should said, "I don't want to be leaving the mall at 9:00 p.m., and please take that not literally but in the way that you know I meant it, i.e., I don't want to be there for more than one or two hours, and any departure time close to 9:00 is too late."
My dad had been there with us for the first part, but he had to leave after about half an hour. I want to think that it's because he had gotten up really early that morning and was dead tired and not because at the Origins counter, my mom announced loudly and insistently to the lady working there that my dad was "obsessed" with getting rid of his blackheads. I think my dad really appreciated that.
Besides being mildly embarrassing, it's not a completely accurate statement, or at least I don't think so, because in my mind "obsessed with getting rid of blackheads" is not the same thing as "fascinated with pores and also with the way Biore strips work." My dad, my sister, and I are all very interested in things that other people seem to find mundane. We're a little bit like Rain Man, I guess.
Anyway, good ol' mom was on a roll that night. She also told the employees at every skin care/makeup counter we stopped at that I had The Rosacea. "AND SHE HAS TO BE CAREFUL ABOUT WHAT SHE PUTS ON HER FACE BECAUSE SHE HAS THE ROSACEA. YOU KNOW, THE ROSACEA. ON HER FACE. MAYBE I SHOULD SAY THAT AGAIN BUT LOUDER." And then I'd do a little half-hearted wave, to acknowledge that "yep, that's me. I'm defective."
Mom is not normally the type to attempt to embarrass her loved ones in public. Quite the opposite, in fact. But then again, Mom knows no secrets. By that I mean, she doesn't see the need to keep personal details private. She is not embarrassed by the whole world knowing everything about her, so maybe it doesn't occur to her that her children and husband are the complete and total opposite.
Turn about is fair play, though. I am pretty sure that I embarrassed her by my abrupt-to -the-point-of-rudeness treatment of the lady at the Lancome counter who was trying to put the pressure on Mom to buy me something that I had only casually mentioned that I was considering buying one day. I don't like pushy people.
I never buy Lancome anyway because in my mind, fairly or unfairly, I think it's for old ladies. This may be because my grandmother uses it. I am about ready to be upgraded to "old lady" status, though. I turn 35 next year, which I don't think makes me old, but let's face it, I've been an old lady inside for years now. And now my feet also smell old. Let me clarify. My feet do not smell like they've been around for sixty years. They smell like the kind of ointment that old people supposedly use. And they smell like that because I use Badger Balm, which smells like the kind of ointment that old people supposedly use. I started using it one day, and then I got used to it, and now I can't not use it. I don't know what it is about me but once I start using some kind of product, if I use it for more than a few days, it becomes mandatory. Years ago, I made it a habit to put on hand lotion before handling paper because I found it cut down on paper cuts, and now I cannot force myself to touch paper if my hands are not sufficiently moisterized. If someone tries to hand me paper when I have dry hands, I just stare at them.
So now I've gotten so used to that stupid Badger Balm that I can't even just put it on at night anymore. I now have to use it in the morning, too. If RR tries to talk to me before I have applied it to my feet, then all I can think is, "I CANNOT HEAR YOU MY FEET ARE DRY," or, sometimes, a more calm but still crazy-making "dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet." So I accept my fate of old-lady-smelling-feet.
Actually, I think old ladies tend to use perfumed lotions, so probably I smell like old man feet.
And now I will go eat some more cookies.
Sunday, November 07, 2010
If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all, which is why I can't talk about work sometimes
So I will just say that sometimes I really think my boss is just messing with me.
On a happy note, today I am going to the store to buy these rice puffy things, the name of which I do not know, which makes it difficult to ask for in the store. We went to one store to look for them yesterday, but they didn't have them. It took a while to figure that out, though, because we don't know what they are called, and "rice puffy things," accompanied by hand gestures approximating their size, is apparently not that descriptive.
So we are going to a different store today. And then we are going to Central Market, which isn't anywhere close to the first store or our home. But we like cashew butter on the rice puffy things, and all other cashew butter pretty much pales in comparison to that of CM. That's a lot of grocery stores. And driving. But I am terribly excited about it. It's going to be the highlight of my day. Sad, but true.
We'll probably have to swing by the parents' abode to say hello, which would normally be fun, but the whole time we're there, I'll be thinking about those rice puffy things just sitting in the car, waiting to be et.
Let's see, um, I finally joined the rest of the world and downloaded Skype. I did this so that RR and I could talk to each other without having to shout if one of us was upstairs while the other was downstairs. That is some serious pigritude, but I am unrepentant. But here was the cool part. I look terrible on the webcam (no surprises there), BUT my eyes show up as this really odd blue color. This was like, crayon, colored contacts, laser beam blue. If my eyes were this color in real life, NO ONE would mess with me. Because I really looked like I might be (a) a supernatural being, (b) possessed, or (c) a robot. It was awesome.
In other News, I am considering adopting old-fashioned Rules for Capitalization. Said Adoption might be accompanied by adoption of old-timey Spelling. No Reason, just sounds fun. And confusing. And slightly nerdy. In other Words, Me.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
It made for a moment of disbelief on my part when we had that conversation, and it became clear that her worries were more for our cat than either of us. I guess I see her point. If a wasp came inside, I'd avoid it, but Wally would go after it and probably find a way to either get stung or just make it really mad and then be totally ineffective at killing it. But I'm not crazy about the idea of having to avoid whichever room the wasp decides to go in until I think it might have died of natural causes. And there's no way I'd be able to get to sleep at night.
Anyway, point is, we're pretty sure we need to Take Care Of the wasps before the situation gets out of hand. For about a week now, every morning as we're about to leave for the day (with RR checking out the window to make sure no wasps are right by the door, then us dashing out, me gently shutting the door and locking it while RR keeps a lookout for trouble), we say, "ok, for real, tonight, we have to spray the wasp nest. For real." But every night we manage to not make time for it. Because spraying wasp nests makes us feel like murderers. Because that's what we are. Wasp killers.
Meanwhile, the nest gets bigger everyday.
In other news, my friend at work is leaving at the end of next month. Sad! Who will be my sushi buddy now? Mmm, avocado rolls. Is there anything better than rice and avocado put together? And also, I will miss her lots. *sniff*
In other other news, we're currently on an experimental homemade marshmallow kick. It's fun, though fattening. And it's cool. It's SCIENCE! (said in best Bill Nye voice)
And I guess I'll end on this little gem. I have finally figured out the one thing that could cure me of my Nutella addiction: throwing it up. Why didn't I think of that before? Yummy.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
I had thought that maybe my killing Mystery Bug was balanced out by the fact that just a few minutes before, I had seen a tiny beetle-type bug scurrying across the kitchen floor, and I decided to just let it be. I mean, it seemed either scared for its life or very purposeful, either way clearly in a hurry to be somewhere else, so it seemed like the right thing to do let it go. And I found out later that RR had seen the same bug and had also opted to let him alone (at least, I hope it was the same bug). But then after I killed Mystery Bug (which, by the way, was difficult to kill, and I felt like a terrible person repeatedly clobbering it with a shoe, WHOMP [lift shoe] “still not dead” WHOMP [lift] “still not dead?” WHOMP [lift] *sob* “still not dead”—at least I didn’t have to use a hammer), I went back down to the kitchen only to discover that a spider had found Mr. Beetle, and unlike me, spider dude was not willing to live and let live with the beetle. RR and I were horrified. We acknowledge that spiders have to live, but it still made us feel like, at a minimum, bad hostesses. “Feel free to live in the kitchen, don’t mind the murderer over by the pressure cooker.”
Saturday, June 26, 2010
RR and I just rewatched the old Comedy Central Presents episode with Mitch Hedberg. Man, he was funny. No matter how many times I watch his shows, they still crack me up.
And since I don't really have time to do a full post right now, I thought I'd type up a few of his jokes.
If you have a few minutes and need a laugh, you should check out his bit about restaurant wait lists, which never fails to make me laugh out loud. And it will give you something to smile about the next time you have to wait for a table.
I don't have a girlfriend, I just know a girl who would be really mad if she heard me say that.
[on playing golf] I never got a hole in one, but I did hit a guy. And that's way more satisfying . . . You're supposed to yell "fore," but I was too busy mumbling, "there ain't no way that's gonna hit him."
Wearing a turtleneck is like being strangled by a really weak guy all day.
I bought a donut and they gave me a receipt for the donut. I don't need a receipt for a donut. I'll just give you the money, you give the donut. End of transaction. We don't need to bring ink and paper into this. I just cannot imagine a scenario where I would have to prove that I bought a donut. Some skeptical friend? "Don't even act like I didn't get that donut. I got the documentation right here."
Monday, June 07, 2010
Ninja Assassin wins! Rain still looks hot. In other news, the sky is still blue, water is still wet.
I think we should start calling him the Ninja Ab-sassin. Ha! I am so good with the puns.
Anyway, I don't want to be that ripped personally, since I'm a girl and all, but I would like to be closer to looking that toned than to what I am now, which is someone comprised almost entirely of bones and fat. Like good soup stock material, actually. Yet another reason to stay out of hot tubs.
I've never wanted to be famous. In fact, my goal is to try and get through life largely unnoticed by most of the world. I like being able to walk down the street without anyone knowing who I am. Nobody needs to follow me around the Central Market bulk foods section, watching me buy large containers of cashew butter, and then blog about it. ("JLR buys out entire section of nut butters at local upscale grocery store") But I'm beginning to think that I need someone whose job it is to follow me around all day, knocking peanut butter cookies out of my hand and telling me to hit the treadmill. So maybe I need to become famous so that I can justify (and afford to pay for) having someone like that around.
Anyway, congrats, Rain. Even though you are six years younger than me and look even younger than that, if you knocked a peanut butter cookie out of my hand, I wouldn't even get mad at you (note to anyone else: do not even attempt it).
Because you are hot. And even though you are a pop singer, when you can move the way you do, and when you look that good, neither RR nor I will ever mock you for referring to yourself as a "bad boy." Also: like the suit. But don't think I'm going to go see the new Karate Kid movie just because your song is on the soundtrack. That's all about Jackie Chan, who I adore. Hils saw him at a subway stop once and called RR to tell her, but RR couldn't understand her whispers and thought she was saying "something about your hand?" It was a very Chandler-in-the-vestibule-with-Jill-Goodacre moment, which made me love Jackie Chan even more, even though he really didn't have anything to do with that story other than that his name was involved.
On an unrelated note, today at lunch, I took the cap off of my container of coconut aminos (not the bottle it came in, the container I used to transport some to work), and it let out a pop of air, sprinkling the aminos onto my hand (and onto who knows what else that I haven't discovered yet). I hope that it's a sign that I had the lid on really tight and not a sign that the aminos have fermented or something bad, like that time BF/R left pineapple in a tupperware container, unrefrigerated, for so long that the bacteria that grew on it off-gassed enough to blow the lid off the container. But it's hours later now, and so far, so good. Yea for not getting botulism!
Speaking of tupperware containers, right after getting aminos on my hand, I then poured the aminos on the broccoli in my tupperware-knock-off container, put the lid on it, and shook it to toss, and OF COURSE, despite me really believing I had the lid on well, I wound up tossing broccoli right onto my pants. OF COURSE.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
So, I think some small animal met its untimely death on the top of my car. I didn’t notice it when I put my bag in the passenger side, but when I walked around to the driver’s side, I saw a sizeable pool of blood on the top of my car. Not person-sized, but definitely more than you’d see if maybe two animals got into a fight. Then I noticed that the windshield, hood, and side of my car had blood splatter all over them. It was disgusting, and for me, it was almost unbearably sad.
Obviously, I had to go get a car wash, although it almost seemed disrespectful to whatever it was that died. Driving the car . . . well, I don’t know if you’ve ever had to drive a car splattered with blood, but I wouldn’t recommend the experience. I couldn’t turn on my windshield wipers because I was afraid that, instead of cleaning the blood off the windshield, it would just smear it. Then I wouldn’t be able to see, plus I’d look like I’d been in some sort of hit and run accident. So I just had to peer through the blood pattern. I also didn’t want to drive too fast for fear of causing the blood on the top of the car to fly off and hit other vehicles on the road. Fortunately, the car wash wasn’t far.
The car wash experience wasn’t exactly cathartic. I went through one of those touchless/brushless car washes at the gas station. I don’t know how other people would feel watching blood wash down their windshield, but I felt pretty awful. I thought for sure that I was going to either cry or throw up in my car, but I managed to not do either. Of course, the car wash didn’t get all the spots off, so I still had to go use one of those scrubber/squeegee tools at the gas pump. The whole experience was just . . . it was gross, of course. But it was mostly just depressing. Heaping a final bit of indignity on the late whatever-it-was by scraping its remains off with a squeegee so I could go to work and get on with my life.
I wanted to find the humor in it because that’s how I normally deal with unpleasant situations. Even if I’m complaining, it’s usually really just an offer to others to laugh. That’s kind of the whole point of my blog. If I can make myself or other people laugh at a situation, then I don’t mind it, it’s not that bad. But I couldn’t laugh at this. I accept the whole cycle of life/food chain part of living in theory. I get it. But in practice, I’m just not that comfortable with violent death, be it a person, an animal, or even an insect. Don’t get me wrong, I will kill any bug that I think might kill me or that’s carrying disease (looking at you, evil roaches), but I still feel bad about it.
And then of course, all my food seemed disgusting to me after that because everything reminded me of the blood all over my car. It didn't help that I have OCD (ok, self-diagnosed, but . . . trust me), so all day, it's all I could think about and picture in my mind. Buckwheat muffins? Yep. Yogurt? Yep. Grapes? Yep. Tomatoes? Well, obviously. I couldn’t bring myself to eat the tomatoes.
I feel a little bit better about it today. I just keep telling myself that this really is just how life is, and we can’t all live to be really old and then slip away peacefully in our sleep. But I still don’t think I’ll get to the point where I can laugh about it.
Instead, I’m distracting myself by being irritated at a coworker who SAYS she had food allergies but then eats all the stuff that she says she can’t have. And then offers it to me. And then I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying, “No, I am ACTUALLY allergic to that, and since I don’t feel like stabbing myself with my epi pin today, I’m going to pass. And if you eat that donut in front of me, if you talk to me about eating that donut, if I can smell the sugar glaze on your breath, I SWEAR I WILL KILL YOU.” I find a little bit of irritation goes along way in distracting me from sad stuff. So that’s what I’m going with.
And I recognize that I'm talking about killing someone after whining about the sadness of some animal's demise. Whenever I threaten to kill someone (pretty much daily), whether out loud (other drivers on the road) or in my head (to my coworkers), to use one of my favorite lines from a t.v. show, "that is what is known as an 'empty threat.'" But it does make me feel better, so I don't know what that says about me.
Monday, May 03, 2010
But today it’s not just that the weather was nice (before the clouds and tornado-like winds blew in) and I’d rather be hanging out on a patio with my friends, sippin’ a tasty beverage. Today it’s not work in general, it’s the specific work that I had to do. It’s that my work required me to come up with a very basic explanation for a concept that I’ve already explained, thoroughly, in writing. So it was basically a “this concept for dummies” explanation, complicated by the fact that (a) the person I had to explain it to is higher up than me on the work ladder so deference was required and (b) the person is not actually a dummy (quite the opposite), and I didn’t want my explanation to make it seem like I think she is. I don’t know how to take an explanation of a concept, which I already thought was pretty clear, and make it even more basic in a way that does not come across as patronizing. So I spent two hours writing and rewriting two paragraphs. TWO HOURS. Then I took a break, and then I worked on it for another hour. Maybe if I had more coffee, I could better walk the line between enlightening and insulting. But for me, it was difficult.
So that was my morning. My afternoon wasn't much more productive.
So that was my day.
I wish I could say that I had an eventful weekend, but I didn’t. I went to a housewarming party for a friend of mine, and that was fun, but that was about all I did. RR bonded with a coworker’s girlfriend because they both name their plants. And this morning, that coworker brought me in some tomato plants from his girlfriend, so that was kind of awesome.
Yesterday, we went to my parents house for a little while, and I got to be the insensitive, terrible daughter who tells her parents that she won’t take vacation time to help move furniture out of her grandfather’s house. We’ve been planning to take a family vacation the last week of May, but we never got around to planning anything, and now my family wants to use that time to go clean out my grandfather’s house (he just moved into a nursing home). But I have work stuff going on that week that can’t be rescheduled, so I would have get people to cover for me on some stuff that no one wants to cover for me on, and I hate asking people to do stuff for me that I already know they don't want to do. I would do it if we were taking an actual family vacation, which we haven’t done in a long time, but this is something we could just do on a weekend, so I don't see why I should take vacation time for it.
Plus, and I didn’t get into this with them, but it does seem like whenever RR or I (or my brother for that matter) have time off from work, it becomes “help the family paint the living room,” “help the family put in new flooring,” “go on a road trip to visit family,” etc. It’s to the point where, if my mom asks one of us if we have [whatever the next upcoming holiday is] off from work, we are really tempted to lie and say we don’t. Because if we say yes, there’s at least an 80% chance that we’ll get conscripted into spending it doing something for a family member. And I kind of resent that it’s just a given that it’s my job to do this stuff, instead it just being a favor that I’m not actually obligated to do. And it bothers me that my family seems to feel not at all guilty about it.
Which is not to say that my family isn’t great, because it is, which is why I feel bad for having told my mom so bluntly that I just wasn’t taking vacation time. And now I’m annoyed because I know that I’m going to cave and end up going on that road trip to move furniture. This is why I want to move to another country. Stupid law school debt! If not for you, I could move to Taiwan, get some random job teaching English or cleaning houses or whatever, and marry Jerry Yan.
I kid! I would never marry someone who has better hair than I do. Or who was thinner than I am. Or someone who had been in a boy band. And he is all of those things.
But I would happily be the hair stylist to someone who has better hair than me, because I think that would make my job easy and thereby give me immense job satisfaction. Plus, being a hair stylist is a great excuse to do funky things to your hair, and being a lawyer is kind of the opposite of that. I just don’t see there ever being a time in my career where I could get away with dying my hair blue, and that just makes me sad.
Dear Jerry Yan [or anyone else with good hair and lots of disposable income],
I’m very accomplished with the blow dryer. Just ask what little hair I still have that has managed to stay attached to my scalp despite me attacking it daily with a round brush while I’m attempting to persuade it to be straight instead of curly. Also, the flat iron is my BFF. I do not actually know how to cut hair, as you can tell from looking at my bangs, which I tend to trim on my own rather than trek to the stylist because I am cheap and lazy, even though that makes my bangs look wonky.
So if you have need of someone to blow dry your hair but not actually cut it, and you are willing to compensate me highly for that service, you just give me a call. As an added incentive, I will tell you that I'm very good at listening to other's peoples woes with sympathy, an important skill for a hair stylist.
In fair warning I should tell you that, as my sister will confirm, if the hair stylin’ starts going awry, I have a tendency to just walk away and leave you to fend for yourself with a half-done hairdo that can’t really be salvaged into anything presentable. But one time in college I pulled myself out of bed even though I had the worst hangover ever [WORST.EVER] and managed to fix my friend's hair for a dance she was going to. I don't really drink anymore, so there wouldn't be the danger of me skipping work because of drink-induced vomiting, I'm just telling you that I can play through the pain, so to speak.
But please note that I don’t do shampoos.
On a side note, why is my hair getting so thin lately? I’m not THAT old.
I can see that this post isn’t going anywhere, so I’m just going to end it here.
*I'd like to give credit to whoever took these photos, but I have no idea who that was. But these pics came from JY's facebook page, if you want to see more pictures of awesome hair.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Isn't Tigger cute? I love the blue colors, and I love Tigger (cause Tigger's a wonderful thing). This is very much a mug I would have bought for myself or been happy to receive as a gift. But I didn't buy it for myself, and I didn't get it as a gift. I do not know how I acquired it, actually. My suspicion is that it belonged to crazy girl Leeann, and Kara and Valerie wound up with it. Then when I lived with them in Austin, somehow I wound up with it when I moved back to Fort Worth. But it doesn't matter, because I have adversely possessed the mug for the statutory period, and he's mine now. Adverse possession, baby!
Sometimes I actually like being a lawyer.
But you know what I'm not happy about having? This:
It's the cover for a Type O Negative cd. Don't get me wrong, I liked "Black No. 1" as much as the next alterna-girl college student in the '90s, but I don't know any of the band's other songs, and I didn't buy the cd. I might have been ok with it winding up in my cd collection, though, except that I don't have the cd. Just the cover. Not sure how that happened.
The cover does have a cd in it, but it's about as far from Type O Negative as you can get. Take a guess what band it might be. Just guess. Can't guess? I'll show you:
Yep, Duran Duran. I don't know why I kept this cd once I discovered that it was living in the Type O Negative cover. Maybe it's because I used to think that I liked Duran Duran. Then a few years ago, I realized that if I changed the radio station anytime one of their songs came on, that probably meant I wasn't a big fan. (I do like "View to a Kill," though.) Anyway, although I don't know why this cd is in that particular cover, I do know that I did not buy this cd, and I do not know how I got it. Or why it's still living in my home. I think neither RR nor I want to take responsibility for it, and we just pretend that it's not there.
Here's another cd cover of mysterious origin.
Now, I do like Shostakovich, so I would have been happy to have this cd in my collection. But I don't. Once again, we have an odd couple match-up. If you hear Shostakovich playing, you don't think, "WTH is this? Turn it off!" But that is what I think when I hear this group:
Again, not sure how we acquired this. No offense to UB40 fans out there, but ugh, I would never have bought this. Sure, "Red Red Wine" is fun to listen to while you're getting ready to go out on the town, but . . . no, I would not have bought this. Ever. EVER. And I don't know which of my friends or acquaintances is guilty of buying this and leaving it at my house, but whoever it is, he or she had better not speak up, because you can be sure I will think less of them.
And that reminds me of the time in high school where a classmate said she liked this song as it was playing on the radio, and I said, "I don't like reggae," (because at the time, I didn't like it) and she said, "this isn't reggae, this is UB40," which was unintentionally hilarious, because I know, right? I will never think of UB40 as real reggae. But she thought "reggae" was the name of a band that I was confusing UB40 with. It's petty, but at that moment, she sort of killed any chance that we would become better friends. Because I love music, and I am just that petty that I cannot be good friends with someone who doesn't love music enough to know what reggae is. Or to keep your mouth shut when you don't know something lest you sound stupid. So. Yeah. At least this cd makes me laugh when I see it.
I really want to get rid of these cds, but I don't want to throw them in the trash, but I don't see what cd resale store would take them without a cover. Right now my plan is to wait for RR to move out one day, and I'm just going to slip them in with her stuff. I guess it's possible that we still have them because RR secretly likes them. In which case, RR, I still love you. You are still a great sister. But we will not be listening to these cds on any road trips.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
[picturing myself waving]
No, that’s awkward.
So I’m trying to avoid it. I’m hoping he’ll just leave, and then I can send him an email later telling him what a nice coworker he’s been so that he doesn’t leave here thinking, “well that was weird” and having that be his last interaction with me.
But right now I really need more coffee, so instead of thinking of what a nice guy he is, I’m thinking, “hurry up and leave already.”
This is why RR is known as “the nice one.”
If you are wondering why I'm not getting work done today, it's because I have a bad headache, and all I can think is "coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffeecoffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffeecoffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee," which is not helpful when trying to do lawyery things.
coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffeecoffee coffee coffee [infinity]
UPDATE: he just stopped by to say goodbye, and it was every bit as awkward as I'd feared it would be.
Yes, I was thirsty.
If you write the same word over and over again, it will start to look strange, and, if you are like me, you will start to wonder if you are spelling it wrong. So I started questioning myself, as you can see here:
Yep, I had to write out the word "thursty" to make sure that "thirsty" was correct. And then I decided it was weird that some "thir" sounding words are spelled t-h-i-r and some are spelled t-h-u-r. I made a note of some of them.
If you can't read that, it says "thirsty, thursday, thirty."
So that's what I did yesterday. My life, it is fascinating.
Monday, April 26, 2010
I can only blame myself for spotting the problem under the surface anyway. Nobody else involved in the matter brought it up. But I spotted the problem, and now I’m obligated to address it. This afternoon, when I went by the office of the senior attorney I work with and told her, hey, I think I spotted a problem, and told her what it was, she said, "yep, that's a problem," and then she looked at me and said, “why do you keep doing this?” Like it's my fault!
But it feels like it is. Because I keep spotting problems that are, shall we say, challenging to solve. I spend weeks working on it, then I give up and go talk to the senior attorney, explaining why it's so difficult to me and hoping she, in her wisdom and longer experience, can give me some guidance, and she inevitably says, basically, “I don’t know what to tell you.” And then we go have this conversation with our boss, and at the end, she’s like, “hmm, yeah, that’s a thinker.”* And then we sit there in silence until someone comes up with something else to talk about, and they think about (I'm guessing) how glad they are that someone else is taking care of that problem.** And I go stare at my office walls for awhile until I come up with a plan. Which I always do. But not before thinking at least once that I'm just going to walk out right then and never, ever come back.
And then I find a solution and everything is great. Until the next one.
So, anyway, I’m a little irritated with myself because if I had not spotted the problem, probably it would never have become an issue to not address it, but now that I’ve spotted it, I have to take care of it. Also, I’m irritated because earlier when I was complaining to my friend and said, “My stupid brain!” I knocked on my forehead with my fist as I was saying it (because that made it more dramatic) and gave myself a headache, which I still have, hours later.
And right after I did that, I dropped applesauce into my computer keyboard. Fantastic.
I really shouldn't be surprised at the way work goes. I've been, for years, the person in the group that ruins everyone's fun by shooting down someone's great plan with a "that's never going to work" and then an explanation of why this person's bright idea is doomed to fail. As you can imagine, I am very popular at parties.
On a brighter note, RR and I were cracking ourselves up today via email over the idea of peeling bananas. We were talking about peeling fruit to reduce allergy reactions, and I told her that I kept picturing myself peeling a banana. Not taking off the banana peel, but getting a vegetable peeler and scraping off the outer layer of the part you eat. For some reason, this was hilarious to me. RR, being RR, thought it would be an excellent idea if I did this at work one day to see if anyone said anything. And I told her that was an excellent idea, but I needed to come up with something to say if anyone did say something. The best scenario is to not explain, but obviously if someone asks, I cannot say, “I just wanted to see if someone would say something.” So far my best suggestion is to say, “I just don’t like the bumpy part.” I think I could say that with a straight face, and RR and I thought this would be very funny.
I think maybe RR and I need more sleep.
*Don't think badly of them for leaving me to fend for myself. The reason they don't have an answer for me is because there is not one.
**Do not think badly of them for that, either. We all do that around the office. There is always, always at least one project that someone else has that you are at least secretly, but usually openly glad that you don't have to deal with. I think the unofficial motto of our office is, "dude, I feel bad for you, but better you than me. Have a donut."
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
So if you walked into my office wanting to hire an attorney, you would have a lot of confidence that the person behind the desk was someone who lives in her car and who is only in the office because she broke in to use the computer to troll the comments section of online news articles.
Well, I take it back. For the few hours of every week that I have to be in court, I look reasonably close to “like a lawyer.” I say only reasonably close because let’s be honest, it’s me, and if I remembered to put on eye shadow and lipstick or woke up in time to do my hair, it’s a minor miracle. I’d like to think that if I actually had to interact with the public every day, this would be a different story, but I really can’t say that with any conviction.
As an aside, I might need to hire a lawyer later today because the document I’m trying to read and summarize is propped up on my laptop/docking station, and it keeps sliding down toward me, and I push it up, and it slides back down, and I swear if it doesn’t stay put then I WILL KILL SOMEONE.
I would totally hire someone that looked frumpy, though, because even though I look like I don’t have my stuff together, lawyer-wise, I’m actually kind of awesome.* The appearances, they can be deceiving.
*when I’m not having focus issues, and if it doesn’t involve me getting out of my chair.
Time frame: last 30 days
On the way down the stairs in my townhouse, I missed the last step and fell. When I was on my way out of town for a conference. And was running about two hours late. Hurt like heck, but I persevered, got on the road, and got to the conference just in time to miss the sessions that I wanted to see that day but right in time for the tour I didn’t want to go on.
This month, I got stuck in my office not once but twice, though neither time was really my fault. I don’t mean “had too much work to do and couldn’t leave,” I mean literally trapped inside my office. I had this felt Easter basket full of coworker bribery (a/k/a kit kats and peanut butter cups) hanging on my door. When one of my coworkers came in to talk to me, she shut the door so we could talk confidentially (because we were talking confidential lawyer stuff and NOT because we were talking about one of our coworkers). Part of the basket stuck between the door and the doorjamb, and this somehow made it impossible for us to open the door from the inside. I had to call a coworker to let us out. And then, not being one to learn from our mistakes, I didn’t bother to move the basket and the same thing happened again a few days later.
By the way, you just don’t know how stupid you can feel if you’ve never had to call someone to ask him to come open your door for you. And then have to call again a few days later.
I dropped oatmeal on my pants two days in a row. And on each of those days, it happened twice. Went to take a bite, somehow missed my mouth, poured oatmeal on my pants, swiped furiously at my pants with a napkin, and then freakin’ did it again with the next bite. This was in the presence of the same coworker with whom I’d been stuck in my office, so I’m thinking that something about her aura makes be even more of a catastrophe than I usually am.
Spilled coffee on my pants one day, tea on a sweater the next day, and the managed to get a mystery item on my cardigan the day after that.
I'm really wanting to try working out using a kettlebell, but I'm terribly afraid I will drop the darn thing on my feet or accidentally fling it at my cat.
On a non-incident-report note, I am the Mr. Rogers of the office. On days that I don’t wear a suit, I almost always pick out a cardigan to wear that matches my outfit, in case my office is cold that day. But once I get to work, I always—always—take off the cardigan I wore in and put on my "office sweater," a large, soft, cuddly sweater that I keep in my office. And then when I leave, I change back. And I also usually wear a one pair of shoes to walk in from the parking garage and then change into fancier shoes when I get here, and then change back when I leave. I have no plans to change this behavior pattern. But I will accept the mocking comments of my coworkers.
Monday, April 19, 2010
I almost left work early today because I have a strict rule that when I run out of kleenex, I go home. I draw the line at having to use the incredibly thin toilet paper or the prison-issue paper towels.* I barely made it through with just the one box.
I also drank lots of water and hot tea, and I have a thing about only using public restrooms so many times in one day before the OCD takes over and I CANNOT do it anymore. Plus, I just know that the guy who has the office across from me counts how many times I go to the bathroom. He’s never said anything, but I just know it. He must because after awhile, it would be noticeable to even the most unobservant person. And I have to stop making trips before I think he’s reached the point where he’s thinking, “damn, woman, maybe drink a little less of the water, or maybe get medical help.” It’s kind of like the time we were watching television at our friend’s house, and he said, “hey, it’s been an hour, and [RR] hasn’t had to go the bathroom yet.” I don’t want that happening to me.
You know what I think would help me today? Ginger chews. Not for any reason other than I can’t stop eating them, and now I really want some, so I will come up with a rationalization for buying some. This is strange to me because up until a month or so ago, I couldn’t stand the taste of ginger. Like, drinking a ginger ale when I was nauseated was not a good idea unless I actually wanted to throw up. But these days, there’s not a lot in the candy department that I can have, so I started eating ginger chews, and now, I loves them. I’m still not a ginger ale fan, but I have a feeling that’s before too long. This just goes to show that taste buds really can adapt. Like, not long ago I bought a jar of Jif peanut butter, which I used to have in the top five of my list of Best Things In This World, and now I think it’s too sweet and not peanut-y enough. I was kind of sad to find that out, but also glad because now I’m not tempted to eat it by the jar like I used to sometimes do (ha ha, just kidding, I would never eat a whole jar of peanut butter in one day and then, hypothetically, have my face swell up ). This makes me wonder if I wouldn’t like Twinkies now if I ate one. I almost don’t want to know. Because Twinkies, though not really fit for human consumption, are awesome.
And since I’m whining about allergies, I will add one more complaint. , we are having a going-away lunch for a coworker. It’s at a Tex-Mex restaurant that I used to love. And there is literally nothing on the menu that I can eat. So I will have to eat before I go and then sit there while everyone else eats some of my favorite food right in front of me. Suuuuuucks. But it will be worth it to show my support. And also, I should rack up enough pity points that it will get me out of several group lunches in the future, so there’s that.
Let’s end on something positive. Staples now sells argyle file folders (at least in the store I was in recently—I don’t see them online). And we all know that I loves the argyle. And I love office supplies. It’s hard to be unhappy when someone has put those two things together. They are so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking some up.
*I joke about our paper towels being like something they’d use in prison, but our hand soap is actually made by prisoners, so I’m not sure that these paper towels aren’t actually the same ones they use, if not in prison, then at least in the county jail.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
I had to take some time away from work today to blog because I needed some distance from it. I really need to get some perspective on what I’m working on right now. What was an almost finished document draft is now morphing into a never-gonna-end treatise on the subject. I can’t seem to stop myself from adding more info. It will surprise no one when I say that I suffer from what I call “over-explaininess.” I’m not as bad as some people out there, but I do tend to go a little long. It's not just the blog posts, folks! It happens at work, as well. And my coworkers appreciate just as much as you do.
I don’t really have much to talk about because I don’t do anything interesting at home and I’m hesitant to talk about work too much for fear of getting discovered and then fired. Not that I would talk about anything confidential, but there are definitely some people here who are a little on the sensitive side. As far as I can tell, they do not actually have a sense of humor. But what they do have is the ability to fire me. So. I don’t talk much about work.
But there are some topics about work that I do feel reasonably safe talking about. They aren’t very interesting, though, but that’s what we’ll be talking about today.
(same old coffee rant)
I would first like to spend just a minute to remind the people I work with (who don’t actually know about my blog, so, yes, this is just me venting) that if you leave the pot of coffee sitting on the burner all day, it congeals into something disgusting. That’s why we have a carafe. Please use it. I love coffee, and, what’s more, I need it, so please don’t ruin it for me, and don’t force me to drink gunk. It’s not like we start with high quality stuff to begin with here, so the experience is already pretty much downhill from the moment the brewing starts. Also, I would like you to take a moment to read up on how the coffee brewing process works, so that you will understand that (1) if you don't use enough grounds, the coffee will be bitter, and (2) when you put your cup under the drip to take the first part of the pot of coffee as it brews, you are taking the part that tastes the best and leaving less of the flavor for the rest of us, because (especially when you don't have enough grounds) the part that comes out last is the part that's bitter. So thanks for that, all of you. You should know that for a few seconds of every day, I hate you just a little bit.
(/same old coffee rant)
I managed to get our of our work group lunch this week. Victory! I won’t get into why that makes me happy (see coworkers with no sense of humor, supra). It just really, really does.
[warning: nerdy legal writing discussion begins here]
And continuing on the topic of talking about work without really talking about it, one of my coworkers edited something for me today, and he tried to tell me to change a citation from something that was correct to something that was wrong. Look, dude, I know you don’t know this about me, we’re not that close, so let me just tell you this now---do not mess with me on the Bluebook. The BB is my BFF. We’re tight, man. But he totally had me doubting myself, because wouldn’t he make sure he was right before telling someone else that she had made a mistake? I should have known better. This is the same guy that once tried to change my “Id. §” to an “Id. at §.” You do not “id. at §” statutes, dude, you “id. §” them. Sheesh. I admit to accidentally making BB errors sometimes, so I’m not going to judge if you forget to italicize “see” or occasionally forget your pinpoint cite. It wouldn't be right for me to judge you for your mistakes considering how lazy I’ve gotten about proofreading my own writing. But if you are going to tell someone she’s wrong about a rule, shouldn’t you make sure she’s actually wrong? So that kind of bothered me. This is just another reason why I don’t like editing anything for most of my coworkers. I spend soooo much time making sure that I’m right about anything before I’ll tell anyone to change something that it takes me way too much time. But apparently some people do not feel that pressure.
[end of nerdy legal writing discussion]
Now let's talk about coworkers and binge eating. I’ve noticed something about my coworkers and myself when it comes to the matter of free dessert.
About my coworkers:
Let’s imagine that somebody brings in some dessert for everyone to share. Let’s say it’s a cake. At first, everyone comes in and takes some, so a good portion of it is taken pretty much right away. But then people start coming in to the break room for seconds. But nobody wants to look like That Person, the person who eats all the cake, so people just take a little bit, or they don’t take any but keep coming in to look and see how much is left, only taking some if it looks like it’s going to be all gone soon. So the day goes by, and after the first round of snacking, the amount of cake that’s been consumed stays pretty stable, riiiight up until the end of the day. Then, suddenly, around 4:30, all gone. It's like there is this collective agreement among all office workers that whatever is left at the end of the day is fair game, and you can't be judged for taking whatever you can get your hands on, so everyone rushes in to grab some as soon as it's late enough to qualify as the end of the day. You could go in at 4, even 4:15, and they’ll be pretty much the same amount as there was after lunch, but by 4:30 or 4:45, no cake. Well, I say no cake, but sometimes there’s a teeny, tiny piece left because nobody wants to take the last piece (and note that this piece will be left, sitting on a table, uncovered, all night, and yet the next morning, someone will eat it). But basically, it’s gone. Which means that there are people who are sitting around their offices spending the day planning out when would be the best time to take more cake, judging what time to go into the break room so as to be able get the cake before someone else does but not so early that they look bad. I’m not judging because I’ve certainly done that myself for really fantastic dessert before. I’m just saying that it’s apparently really common.
I am petty, and I like messing with people. This is what I’ve learned about myself. Because if I am the person that brings the food, I sneak into the break room about 3:30 or 4:00 and take everything that’s left back to my office to take it home with me. Even if I don’t really want it. And if anyone says anything about, “oh, is the [fill in the dessert here] all gone,” I either make vague, noncommittal, “oh, I don't know, is it?” comments, or I outright lie and say it’s all gone, even though I’m usually very uncomfortable with telling lies.
I don’t do this every time, but, yeah, it happens. Because there’s a part of me that thinks, look, if you want to be the person that eats several pieces of cake in one day, I’m cool with that. It’s not a good idea, but I’m in no place to judge. I have, on more than one occasion, consumed an entire large bag of Reese’s peanut butter cups just in the time it took me to drive from the grocery store to my house (for obvious reasons, I’m not allowed to eat these anymore). But you gotta own it. Just be that person. I’m just not going to help you if you want to pretend that this isn’t what’s going on, that you aren’t obsessing over food–food!!—and getting really weirdly possessive and predatory about eating way too many empty calories. Especially if you are going to then tell me that I don’t get enough nutrients in my diet and proceed to give me advice on eating a balanced diet. Not that that’s ever happened. But if it did ever happen, that might make me enjoy messing with you by taking your food away and then denying it, which you can't challenge me on even though you want to because that would basically be an admission that you have food issues. Hypothetically.
So that’s basically work these days. I don’t want to give the impression that I dislike my coworkers, because I actually really, really like 95% of them. Just not the 5% who don’t know how to make coffee.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
(1) "Home," Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes. You can listen to it on their myspace page. Yes, they are a bunch of hippies, but that doesn't bother me (and no, Deals, not because I'm one of them---still shaving! still bathing! don't wear patchouli!), and I hope it won't bother you.
I don't know where I was when this album came out last year because I totally missed it. But I'm trying to play catch-up---I've had this song playing more or less constantly for the last month.
Not your style? Try this one:
(2) "Down The Road Tonight," by Hayes Carll.
I just love Hayes Carll. I'm a little sad I didn't go see him when he was in town recently, but the show didn't start until 10pm. 10pm!! I'm old, y'all. I can't stay up that late.
I'd also recommend "Bad Liver and a Broken Heart," "It's a Shame," "Good Friends," and "Beaumont," but they don't fall into the "pick me up" category. If this song doesn't make you bop around your house, you must be dead inside (or at least you must be in the throws of depression).
Want something a little bit more smooth? Can't go wrong with Robert Cray:
(3) "24-7 Man" and "All the Way," by Robert Cray.
Take Your Shoes Off may be one of the most perfect albums of all time if you like your music with a dash of the blues. Well, even if you don't. When it came out, "24-7" was on rotation at our house pretty much, well, 24-7. "All the way" is slow, not at all bop-around-the-house music, but it's got soul, man. As RR said, "if it's a nice Spring day, it's sunny, the house is clean, and I've got nothing to do, this is the only song I want to listen to."
I hope these songs help you forget that it's Sunday, which means we all have to go to work tomorrow.
Friday, January 22, 2010
In other news, let’s see, what’s been going since last we met? Hmm. Not much. The holidays were pretty uneventful.
Oh, yeah, I haven't talked about The Incident yet. Cheese and crackers, y’all, I owe RR big time. BIG TIME. If it weren’t for her, I might be dead.* (link contains NSFW language). Ok, I may be exaggerating slightly. But here’s what happened.
See, because I am sick and tired of feeling like dirt all the time because of my allergies, I signed up to get allergy shots. You know, you go to your doctor and get injected with minuscule amounts of what you are allergic to, and then when your body gets used to that, you start getting injected with slightly less minuscule amounts of the allergens, and so on, until eventually you have trained your immune system not to freak out that "holy moly, it's duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuust!!!!!"
On a side note, I hope it helps with the cat allergies soon because Wally has started doing something RR and I call “upcreep.” He used to sleep down by my feet, and, in cold weather, behind my knees (or, if I made the mistake of sleeping on my back, then on my knees, and if you’ve never had 10 pounds sitting on your knees, pressing them slowly but persistently backward in the direction that knees do not bend, be glad). But lately, he’s started creeping upward in his quest for prime cuddling real estate.
It started when the weather got colder. He’s always turned into velcro when it’s cold, but this year, man, I have one leg under the covers, and he’s already trying to climb up the sheets that I’m holding up to get under. It’s very pitiful. So, I guess the knees don’t generate enough heat, and maybe he was informed that women have most of their heat not at their extremities but to keep their innards warm, because he started creeping up to sleep on my stomach. Which, hey, great, let’s just think of that as a diet aid because you can’t eat too much at night or too close to bedtime if you want to get any sleep with ten pounds standing on your stomach and if you don’t want to, you know, throw up, or, best case scenario, spend the night with excruciating acid reflux. And if you think I can just roll over and get him off of me, you are mistaken. He’s very good at shifting his weight.
Anyway, then he started creeping up to “the girls,” if you will, which also, DON’T WANT TEN POUNDS PRESSING DOWN. If I slept on my side, he creeped up to my upper arms, and ten pounds on arm=arm falling asleep. But now he’s almost to my collarbone. I think he’s either trying to get to my axis of snorgling, or it’s part of his master plan to suffocate me one night. Either way, he seems pretty pleased with himself.
So, on the Monday before Christmas, RR and I had taken the day off because we had not done one bit of Christmas shopping, and we wanted to knock it all out in one day. RR agreed to go with me to get my allergy shot first. By now I’ve worked my way up to only slightly diluted shots. I didn’t feel great that day, and they say don’t get your shot if you don’t feel well, but I’d done it before, and it was on my to-do list. So we go, wait the 15 minutes they make you wait after your shot, and leave. So far so good.
Then we go right around the corner to get Einsteins coffee, where this incredibly rude couple practically slams the door on us going in and then takes freakin’ forever to decide on their bagel order, because oh, I don’t know, maybe I want to breakfast bagel, do you have any more of the plain ones? just the plain ones? like in the back? hmm, I don’t know, so, hmm, and SWEET BEANS AND RICE I JUST WANT COFFEE. So, hated them.
Anyway, we go a few minutes up the road to our first shopping destination. While we were there, I started coughing a bit. No big deal. But I kept having to cough. And I kept coughing for longer, and it was like one of those coughs where you get into a loop, and the more you cough, the more you need to cough. And I thought, what the frak is going on here? And then it dawned on me, thank God, that maybe there was the sliiiiightest possibility that it was in some way related to my allergy shot. Not wanting RR to be alarmed, but thinking it might be a good idea if someone else knew what might be going on, I nonchalantly mentioned to RR that I could maaybe be pooossibly having a bad reaction.
She, of course, was exactly as alarmed as I thought she’d be, but I insisted, hacking all the while, that we go to the store next door because they had candy. RR looked skeptical but agreed not to drag me bodily to the car, keeping her eye on me the whole time. I agreed to let her drive when we left, though. You know. Just in case.
So as we were leaving the candy store, the coughing got worse (this whole period since the coughing began in earnest probably wasn’t more than 5 minutes or so?), and then the wheezing began. Wheezing that started out sounding like an asthma attack and then moved into wheezing that made me think, “crap, was that me that just made that sound?” RR wanted me to use my epinephrine pen. Me: (cough) No (wheeze) I’m feeling better. RR: [Skeptical look]
RR said she was driving me straight back to the doctor. I said she wasn’t. She reminded me that she had the keys, and I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I didn’t want to look like one of those people who assumes she’s about to die when she gets a paper cut, so I asked if she’d just call the doctor’s office, and if they agreed that they needed to see me, then we’d go. So she talked to them and, yeah, they made me come back.
The whole drive there, I was all, “I'm feeling better!” and "I don't want to get on the cart." RR: [not buying it]
I really did seem to be wheezing less, or at least, the sounds started to sound like wheezing and not non-human sounds. So I fully expected the doctor’s office to be all, “well, let’s take a look at you, hmm, yep, sit here for a few minutes, and if it gets worse, we’ll do something.” Instead, I walked back to the nurses’ area and said, “my sister just called about —“ and before I could get any further, the nurse cut me off, said, "Yep, let's go," and took me into the little evaluation area, where three nurses started taking my vitals and asking for details (maybe it was a slow day at the office). My doctor, who I love, was out on vacation, but her practice partner, who is also great, was in the office that day. He came in and asked me about exactly what happened, and when I told him about it, he asked if I’d used my epinephrine, and I said no, and he and the nurses said, exasperated, basically, “FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, WHY NOT?” And I tried out my “feeling much better” line and said I was just waiting to see if I got to where I couldn’t get in any air, because surely that is when I could be certain I was having anaphylaxis. And the doctor’s kind but firm response involved the phrases “by the time” and “would be dead.” So, basically, DON’T wait until you actually cannot get any air in to use your epinephrine. It maybe will not go well to try and use your epinephrine after you've passed out.
So then, yeah, I started to cry. I just felt so, so stupid. Plus, I felt like crap. You know, from the anaphylaxis. And stupid. And then they all looked like they felt really bad for me, the poor crying stupid woman, and one of the nurses handed me a bunch of tissues with this "there, there," pitying look. They were sweet. It was so embarrassing.
Somewhere in all that they gave me a shot of epinephrine, and then they kindly but firmly reminded me that taking your epinephrine when you don’t need it won’t cause any health damage but not using it when you DO need it will.
Then the doctor asked if I needed a breathing treatment, and I said, “No *wheeze* *sob* *wheeze* I’m feeling better.” Seriously. What is wrong with me? But he just gave me a look, kind of like the look your parents give you when you’re a kid and you say that yes, you did brush your teeth, when really you hadn’t. And I said, ok, yeah, maybe, treatment, yes. And so they gave me a breathing treatment and some other kind of medication. And after the breathing treatment, the doctor asked how I felt, and I said much better, and he said, “See, now I don’t believe you.” Which, of course, I deserved. But I DID feel better. Shaky from the epinephrine and the breathing treatment, still a little reaction-y from the shot, but no longer like I was facing (bum-bum-bum) Certain Doom! After making me sit there for a little longer, and pretty much every nurse there coming to check on me (they are all so sweet), they finally let me go.
The positive that I’m taking away from the experience is that I feel like I have permission to take a bad reaction seriously and not feel like I’m a hypochondriac for using the epinephrine. The lingering downside, however, is that RR was right. And everyone at the doctor’s office told her so. And, in front of her, asked me, wasn’t I glad she was there with me? Which I was of course. But now I will never get to be in charge of my own health again. Anytime I think I don’t need to go the doctor, this is going to come back to haunt me. She’ll be all, “you’re not alright, you had a ‘sode.”
But I’m glad that she was there and that she’s all paranoid about my health, so I guess I’ll just have to take it. And also, this past week, the shoe was on the other foot (how's your finger, sis?), so there's that.