I've converted to Doctor Who and I still don't understand why

It finally happened. I have converted to the cult of Doctor Who and I'm still not sure why. I'm eons behind the rest of the world, but since it's a show about time travel, I think I'm off the hook.

I really have my cousin to thank. Granted, most of my friends call themselves proud Whovians, but she's always seemed more into Doctor Who than most. And I've given episode one (the 2005 version) a shot a few times and just couldn't get into it. I tried, really I did, but episode one was just so hokey that I couldn't stick it out. I resigned myself to never being into this pop culture phenom and assumed I just didn't understand its purported brilliance and that was that.

Fast forward to the last few weeks and the Black Death. After almost a full week of hacking and dying, I drug my sorry ass to urgent care where I found I had viral bronchitis and was told not to work for a few more days lest I infect the whole of my coworkers with the Plague. I complied, seeing as I felt like proverbial, not literal, shit.

But, seeing as I'd already been sick for a week, I was already getting a small case of cabin fever on top of my physical fever and so I was quite feverish and no amount of reading or SVU on Netflix could fix it (even though I do love Olivia Benson so, I can only watch so many rape stories. you understand.).

So naturally, I turned to my old friend the Facebook and asked for some suggestions of Netflix or Hulu shows that a sick, couch-bound girl could binge on and which I hadn't seen before. Of course, I received lots of recs for shows I already love or already hate and two recs for Doctor Who. Again, I thought, I want to like it, but I just don't think it's for me.

But my brilliant cousin, knowing me as well as she does (we're a lot like sisters, you know), suggested I not start with the first episode. She recommended one I'd like, which I did and which happened to be a two parter so of course I had to watch the next one, and then I decided to go back and watch from episode 2 forward and the next thing I knew? I was hooked.

It's been almost 2 weeks and I'm almost finished with season 2 and I can't stop. But I still don't entirely get why!

I did really like Christopher Eccleston and I really like David Tennant (even though it was hard at first not to picture him as Barty Crouch Jr.) and they're funny funny as all hell, which is really refreshing when you're watching a show about murderous aliens and the like. And don't anyone dare tell me what future Doctors are like. I'll find out on my own thankyouverymuch.

And it's certainly entertaining. It's funny and sad and sweet and sometimes a little scary. But it's also not that great. It's not particularly well done. Outside of the Doctors and a few characters here and there, the acting is really meh. And it's hokey. It's cheesy and the effects are rarely very good.

Also, Rose drives me bonkers. There are times I like her, but mostly I just find her annoying. Like, how many tubes of mascara did she take on the Tardis?

Oh and I did wonder, for most of the first season, why everywhere they went in time was either in the future or past UK or the people/aliens had a British accent, but then Rose explained that the Tardis translates any language, so it would make sense that they'd hear in an English accent. And then I saw the episode that was sort of in 18th century France, so that fixed that.

I also find it funny that many episodes are about mind control or world domination through television or technology - this from a television show. Ah well. Irony.

So why do I like it so much? It's 2014. I shouldn't like a cheesy, hokey show about time travel and rubbery aliens. But I do! I can't stop watching.

The only conclusion? Subliminal messaging. They're brainwashing me to like this show! It's the only explanation as to why it's so damned addictive. No wonder there's been so many episodes about mind control. They're practicing!

I kid. I kid. I love Doctor Who. Sure, I figured it out after everyone else did, but I'm making up for lost time. I should be all caught up in the next few weeks.

No spoilers please.

I have the Black Death

Once upon a time, someone I once knew that time once told me that sick Andrea was the funniest Andrea. I suppose it's probably true. When I'm sick, this dark, sardonic side of me comes out that I can usually suppress the rest of the time, when I'm a fucking ray of sunshine, all perky and bubbly and make people barf with the sweetness of my smiling disposition.

It's true. Don't laugh.

But I'm not sweet this week. I'm sick. So sick in fact that I have stayed home the last two days from work. I can't recall the last time I took two days off in a row that wasn't for a planned vacation, and I admit that being sick is such a waste of time off that seriously grinds my gears. Nonetheless, I'm home. Because I walked into the office morning whereupon my boss saw that I was the walking, coughing reincarnation of The Black Death and she promptly sent me right back home.

I'm not complaining, mind you. I looked like Death and I felt (feel) like Death. I probably sounded like that opening scene of Outbreak when some sap is hacking away and you're wondering why everyone isn't running for their lives because pretty soon they're ALL GOING TO DIE.

I really did everyone a favor by going home. I'm sparing the world an outbreak of The Plague. Or maybe TB. I've heard it's making a resurgence. And this cough is so bad, I do feel like Doc Holliday minus the jaunty mustache and deathly sex appeal. So at least there's that.

But if I have to die of Tuberculosis alone at home, at least I have two cats that are trying to heal me with their purrs. If it works, I'll market them to the naturopaths of the world.

Though, with as fat as Hobbes is, I'm not sure if the weight of him on my hacking chest is really helping. 

I do find it interesting that I've been wanting to blog for weeks now and even have a nice list of blog ideas, but have been entirely too busy to do so, and once I have time, it's because I'm sick so all I can talk about is phlegm and snot. 

Yay. 

4 hours until my boyfriend gets home. Must hang on until then. At least I have Netflix to sustain me, as I left my current book on my desk at work.  Again with the previously mentioned life ruling. 

And oh yeah. It's Christmas next week and I still haven't posted photos from Thanksgiving. I rule at life. 

If I live to Christmas. I've heard you can live quite some time with Tuberculosis. Send Robitussin. 

My Doctors Always Suck, otherwise entitled Why I Hate Kaiser

I've met people who like Kaiser Permanente. They're real people out there in the world and they don't hate their healthcare. Weird, I know.

Backstory. I have yet to have a great experience with a doctor.

Wait. That's a lie. I have had one great experience with an ear, nose, throat specialist who, after my 6th sinus infection in a row, told me I have a deviated septum and changed my life with a little invention called saline. He also told me to not let any doctor bully me into surgery and that it was my choice and surgery doesn't always fix things and to do my research first. And then I asked him to marry me.

And it goes without saying that I have had nothing but wonderful experiences with Planned Parenthood, though you only see a nurse, but that nurse and the staff are all welcoming, wonderful people who listen to your needs and see you as a human being.

And then there was that time in Marseille when I got horrific food poisoning and a doctor came to my hotel room, examined me nicely, gave me magic pills that made me better, and never charged me a thing. Go France!

Other than that, doctors have been not great pour moi. I have friends and family in the medical field and I have to assume they're nice and talented and treat their patients well, but that just hasn't been my personal experience with my own doctors. If I tell you all my stories, this post would be a tome, so I won't.

Suffice to say, I hate going to the doctor and do so reluctantly and only when necessary. I am all about health, but have figured out the hard way that the only way to be healthy is to be my own advocate and, often, to treat myself.

Cut to this morning. No, wait, I should back up. I have had chronic UTIs, otherwise knowns as bladder infections, for the last year. I try to treat naturally with water and cranberry juice and good hygiene, but I keep getting them. Last October, I got a vicious one and had to go to a Kaiser clinic because my primary doc is always booked up and they did urinalysis, confirmed the infection, and treated me with antibiotics.

So, yesterday I came down with another infection. Not wanting to fuck around and, after talking to a friend in the medical field and learning that sometimes chronic UTIs can be a sign of a kidney infection, I got an appoint for this morning, but with a new Kaiser doc because, again, my doc is always booked up.

I got there early, peed in the little cup, and waited to meet this new doctor and find out what's the deal. This doctor, she, well, she was awful. She went into the room with all these preconceived notions of who I am and how I take care of myself and didn't listen to a word I said. She looked at me like I was making up my symptoms, which is especially insulting because my mother is a true hypochondriac, and told me that it probably wasn't a real infection all these times and I probably just don't eat well.

And then she went on a rant about how Americans eat and I just can't eat all that processed food and that's why I'm overweight (!) and that the bad food inflamed my bladder and made me think I had an infection.

All the while, I'm trying to explain to her that, while I'm not perfect, I do try to eat well and I always read ingredients because of my food allergies, and I gained weight this year because my exercise changed, etc etc etc.

And she didn't hear one word I said. I tried asking her about my kidneys but she wouldn't hear it. She looked at me like I was this fat slob who overate and didn't watch what I ate and I deserved to be getting this symptoms and I'm pretty dumb to think it's a real infection. She also told me that the doctor I'd seen in October overreacted and I didn't have much (!) of an infection and I probably didn't need antibiotics.

I explained that if that were true, I'd be upset because I try to not take antibiotics if I don't need them and why would a doctor say I had an infection when I didn't?

She said I didn't have an infection this time and I was fine. I told her I drank a ton of cranberry juice yesterday and maybe the infection has cleared up already. Again, she wouldn't hear it, just kept telling me how passionate she is about eating well and health and told me she just cares about me and wants me to be healthy.

I finally talked her into at least doing a blood panel to look for food allergens, because I've been trying to get a Kaiser doctor to do that for a year as well and because it was the only reason she'd concede to be why I keep having these symptoms. And I won't get the results for a week. And then I was sent on my merry way, still having symptoms, and feeling the most judged and the most unheard and unseen I've felt in a long time.

First of all, even if food can cause those symptoms, it's an awfully large assumption to make without talking to me and letting me explain my eating habits. She just assumed I didn't know what I eat when the exact opposite is true. I do a ton of research on what I eat because eating is so perilous for me already. Yes, sometimes I eat bad foods and, yes, I eat too much even of good foods. But I am not unaware of what I eat.

Second, even if food is the cause of my symptoms, looking at me like I'm a horrible, stupid, and naive person is not her job. It's her job to help me figure out the problem and solve it. Instead she basically told me I was too fat and couldn't take care of myself.

Never mind that I'm not fat. I gained 25 pounds this year, sure, but before that I was a good weight and I've already lost five pounds and I'm working hard to find my exercise routine as an adult that doesn't have 5 dance classes a week. I'm not unaware of my weight gain and I've never struggled with my weight before now. I'm just older and figuring things out and a little compassion would be great. But she just assumed she knew who I am and how I live.

Third, what if it isn't food? She just refused to entertain any other options. What if it is a kidney infection and what if it continues untreated? I don't know what it is and it isn't really my job to find out because I didn't go to medical school. And it is her job! But I don't think she ever planned on exploring what was my issue. She is obviously on a crusade for health food, which isn't inherently a bad thing, but if I came in with cancer warning signs, would she send me on my way and tell me to eat more tomatoes? At some point, a doctor who works in traditional medicine has to actually practice tradition medicine!

Yes, wellness is important. Of course it is. Yes, I need to lose weight. I'm working on it. Yes, we all need to know what we're eating, but I do! If all I needed was a nutritionist, why am I paying insurance premiums to get shuffled between doctors and get told I'm a stupid, fat, American and not worth listening to? Why ever see a doctor at all?

That said, I'm at this very moment trying to get into my primary doctor. Because I think I should get a second opinion. Also, because I still feel sick and she didn't give me any guidance whatsoever on how to feel better! And I feel like I spent my entire morning and paid $20 to have a highly paid professional tell me how bad a person I am.

If I don't get in today, I am canceling my insurance. What good is it? What the hell am I paying for? If I just wanted to be berated, I'd befriend Jillian Michaels.

I guess, at the end of the day, I just wanted to be heard. I am my own advocate. I do take my health seriously. I do know how to listen to my body. And I just wanted my doctor to give me the chance to explain that.

I just wanted to not be treated like I'm my mother, a drug addict hypochondriac who, by the way, is always able to bully doctors into whatever pills she wants and whatever diagnosis she has in mind. Hell, maybe my mom is on to something there.

Is...how you say...freezing!

It's been colder than Santa's balls here in Portland the last few weeks. I assume Santa's balls are cold on account of the North Pole being pretty chilly and he doesn't look like he gets much action. So, as you can imagine, pretty damn cold.

We've gotten a little snow here and there, though nothing to brag about, but it's mostly been just damn cold and clear and icy and foggy. Most Portlanders would kill me for saying this, but I can't wait for the rain to come back. But that will warm things up a bit! Yikes it's cold out there.

So last weekend, Eminem and I drove a good three hours out of Portland to a cabin his folks have and then I promptly started to get a cold, which made me, per usual, a cranky, dramatic pain in the ass. But, my man handled it like a champ. As he always does. Which is why I love him.

But, even though I was getting sick, I refused to drive all that way just to watch football and movies and eat enough gluten free cookies to last me through the apocalypse, so I drug our freezing asses outside and we walked around a frozen lake and I got some great photos out of it. Totally worth losing my nose to frostbite, but that's what committed photographers are all about.



Then I came home to a week from hell. Between this cold that threatened to be the flu and feeling some immense stress from work and then some other shit which I just can't talk about, it was hard. Super hard yo.

Then a friend told me (so, you know, a very reliable source) that historically, that's the most depressing week of the year. Something to do with it being fucking freezing and everyone's stressed from coming off the holidays, blah blah blah. So that made me feel better.

And Saturday I got to go to my very first Trail Blazer's game. And even though they lost and even though I thought I might get into a LA girl throw down more than a few times (because that's how California girls do it. so don't fuck with us.), I had fun!

Still, even though it was freezing all night, a great reward for trudging along in the cold to do something with your guy that he genuinely loves is always cuddling with a human radiotor that makes you tea and breakfast in the morning. In case you missed it, my boyfriend is a human radiator. The man emits heat that could cure a hypothermia victim. Hospitals should keep him on standby.

As one parting thought, I've never liked the term "pussy whipped" for what I hope are obvious reasons. It's a horrible term. But I now own apparel for pretty much all of my boyfriend's favorite sports teams (except the Pats. because I'll always be a Niners girl).

So you tell me who's whipped.

there and back again

Oh, Internet. I’ve given up at this point trying to post every week. Every two weeks feels about right with my insane schedule. And I have several posts going in my head all the time, but finding the time to sit down and write them is proving problematic.

And it’s not like my schedule is even that insane. I don’t have kids. I don’t have to cook or clean for anyone but myself. But between how tired I am once I get home from work, social commitments, and trying to have some kind of enjoyable personal time, I just don’t write much. But I think that’s okay for now. I’m navigating this part of my life and I think the best thing is that I’m kind to myself through it. We all know what a perfectionist I can be, perfectionist bordering on masochist. So whatever happens, I just want to be less hard on myself.

Anyway, here I am, finally writing. I’ve yet to find a coffee shop in my neighborhood I really like so I’m installed in a Starbucks for the time being. It’s not ideal of course. It’s so corporate and the paper cups just aren’t as conducive to creativity as huge, funky mugs are. Does that make sense? There’s something about a cozy little neighborhood shop with its quirks and oddities that make my brain flow. But oh well. First world problem. Shit, plenty of writers pen their greatest works in annexes and bunkers and shacks. I should stop complaining about the Starbucks.

And, hey, I love how Starbucks is supporting women’s and LGBT rights. So there.

It’s been a crazy time, Internet. First, I had the Black Plague for a whole week. Otherwise known as bronchitis. And it knocked me on the ass. Not being able to breathe properly will do that to you. I finally drug my ass to the doctor, which we know I’m loathe to do because of my hypochondriac, drug addict mother.

When I was a kid, she drug me to the doctor for every damn sniffle, had them put me on antibiotics (the woman knows how to get her way), and kept me home for inordinate amounts of time (and trust me, I would rather have been in school learning and playing with my friends).

So anyway, I go to the doctor and describe my symptoms and tell him I just want to make sure I don’t have the plague. He listens to my lungs and tells me I have bronchitis and then looks at me disapprovingly and tells me it’s viral so I can’t have antibiotics. Like I had asked for them. I hate that fucking look and I get it all the time because of people like my mom who just want their Z Packs so they can get all better. I’m not that way, though. I’d rather my body fight it off if possible, but if I’m sick for a whole week and can’t breathe, I do want to make sure it’s not serious. I don’t really want the drugs, doc! Ugg. Pisses me off.

Fucking doctors. Fucking hypochondriacs.

Then I finally got better and Portland got a little bit of sun for two whole minutes, two whole minutes of glorious, glorious sunshine. I went running and I walked around downtown and it was AHHH! Then it was shit again. Fuck this, weather, Portland. Fuck it. It’s April. I do expect a little rain still because, face it, it’s Portland, but this freezing cold muck is making me insane. We even had snow a couple weeks ago. True story.

You’re really testing my love for you, Portland. It’s time for Spring already.

It’s time for ballet flats and lighter jackets and flowy scarves. It’s time to get outside and run and hike and take photos of flowers. I took a chance today and went out to take photos. I got about 10 minutes in and the heavens opened up and dumped the sky upon me. My poor camera just couldn’t brave it.

Sigh.

I really wish I could afford a weekend in SoCal right now. I’d get to see my friends and fam and get some Vitamin D while I’m at it. But I am going down to Humboldt Easter weekend to see my cousin and her immensely pregnant belly. There will be a photo shoot. Oh yes. Expect lots of photos.

I wasn’t going to share this next bit of news, but I think I have to because it’s just too delicious. I saw my ex last weekend. And while it was only minimally awkward, mostly because he tried to talk to me a couple times and I just didn’t have anything to say to him (I just don’t want to tell him about my life and I couldn’t give a flying fuck about his), I did feel a little good about myself. Like, let’s face it, I looked good. And he, well, he looks...different.

Ahem.

But more than that, he was the same old idiot asshole and, not that I needed any reminding (I honestly have been thanking my stars that ending for quite some time), but every time he’d say something asinine, I’d just feel such a huge wave of disgust. Disgust for him and disgust for myself that I ever found that guy attractive (I wanted to write man, but let’s be honest. He’s not a man). And it just felt like I’d dodged the biggest bullet ever, the bullet of an asshole idiot lush. Just saying.

And the guy who would’ve been my date couldn’t be there and that’s okay I think. I was awesome all on my own and that’s that.

You may at this point be wondering who my date would’ve been. And I confess, I’ve been keeping the best for last, Internet. I’m sure you’ve been wondering about Eminem. And that’s still going. Going really great actually!  It’s nothing like my last relationships. It’s easy and fun and full of butterflies and laughter. I know this probably seems obvious but I forgot what it was like to date someone you just get along with so easily. We just get along so well and make each other laugh and eat lots and lots of really yummy food.

This is the best, people. Of all the things to have in common, I’m so glad we both enjoy food. Seriously. I’m talking about truly enjoying food.

Yesterday, we were eating at this amazing Greek place in NW Portland and as I was eating these melty, zesty, zingy, heavenly potatoes, potatoes that were making my tongue orgasm, I realized that moments like that are just what I love about life and it’s so nice to have someone who gets that and to share that with.

We have a longass list that is still growing of places we want to eat together. It’ll be a miracle if we don’t both get huge. This is another reason I need spring to get here. So I can go running and counteract all the gluttony. That and all the sex. Sex is a great workout.

Any to the way, my point is that it’s so far so good. I’m understandable cautious. I don’t have the greatest track record after all so I’m just taking one day at a time and seeing where it goes. And thus far, it feels really good.

I have a couple cool things in the works for myself, like voice lessons (eek!) and possibly starting yoga again. So stay tuned!

It's ALIVE!

I am alive, Internet. Alive.

This is gonna be a short post as I'm still recovering and I'd love to joke about how sick I was, but I can't yet because it's still so fresh and horrible.

And now I've scared you. Hah! Well, I had a nasty ass case of food poisoning. Miserable, praying for death food poisoning. I never did go to the hospital but somewhere between midnight of Tuesday night and yesterday evening, I seriously considered it.

I was sick. Sick as a dog sick. And I am looking so effing skinny (it's not normal how skinny) because I literally lost all the water in my body. Ew.

I haven't been this sick since I got food poisoning in Marseiile in 2006, but then, through the magic of the French healthcare system, a doctor came to my hotel room, checked me out, and gave me magic pills that made me all better by morning. Oh, and he didn't charge me a thing. Go socialism!

Last night, a nice cold bath finally broke my fever and I was able to drink some gatorade this morning and I even ate some bread and rice today. Hooray for small victories!

So at this point I'm rocking the exhaustion and still taking it easy on my stomach. I'd really like to go back to work tomorrow, but I'll see if I have the energy in the morning.

Ugg.

sick. again.

Can you believe it, Internet? I am sick again. Sick. Again! I don't even want to think about how little time it's been since the last time I was sick. You must think I'm either some sickly type or a first rate hypochondriac. I assure you I am neither. Though lately, it's hard to be sure.

So, that bug I picked up in New Orleans. Shouldn't have carried it on. I should have packed that bitch in my checked luggage, because I am positive that 3 or so hours on a plane is enough to incubate a bitch foreign bug into death itself. Pee Ess, took me like 5 minutes to spell positive correctly. And I'm not that medicated. My head is just fuzz to the zee, yo.

Anyways, even though I spent just about the entire weekend in bed, reading and catching up on my Hulu (Oh Hulu, how I love you. Where have you been all my life? Why anyone pays for television anymore when there is this magic place called Hulu is beyond me.), I still woke up today hacking up my left lung. I tried to purchase a new one on Facebook Marketplace, but no dice. Shoulda tried EBay.

I worked half a day today (I do still have work to do, peeps!) and drove my now skinny ass (I'll get to that in a sec) to the urgent care. Turns out I have bronchitis. Lovely. And it's viral so antibiotics won't do this lady lady one damn bit of good. Joy. I just have to wait this one out. Did I mention I have a lot to do? And have to work next weekend? There could not be a worse time to be sick. Well, when it comes to my life, there's just no good time to be sick, but whatevs. I'm being dramatic. Go with it.

And truth be told, I'd rather tough it out than go on antibiotics anyway. Because, when I was little, my mom scooted me to the doc for every tiny thing and had them pump me full of antibiotics, I'm wary of drugging up as a first resort. I'm convinced that's why my immune system was shit as an adolescent and I've spent the last ten years eating (mostly) well and taking vitamins and only taking antibiotics when necessary. My M.O. is to wait things out and if I don't get better on my own, I med it up. But that's what I've been doing since last Tuesday. So you can imagine how frustrating it is that I may have another week or so of this ahead of me.

Now, don't think I'd forget to tell you about my skinny ass, Internet. Not that this applies to my ass itself, necessarily, and more so to my weight overall. I hate being weighed at the doctor. Hate it. Mostly because I don't believe in using scales. I'm a big believer in using my jeans as a measure, or how I feel in my skin. Besides it's all about health, not a number. And muscle weighs more than fat, so when I'm more active, I weigh a little more. Plus, as I mentioned, I like my ass on the rounder side, yo.

You may remember all that food I ate in Nawlins. I ate more than a human should eat. Really, but life is about enjoying the moment and the opportunity for quality Cajun food only comes so often. So I ate. I ATE. I even took my fat jeans so I could eat in comfort. Eating is just that important to me.

But what do you think happened at the doctor today? Remember that I was sick like a month ago and was weighed then? So I do have a recent basis of comparison, despite not owning a home scale. Get this: I weigh less today than I did before I left for New Orleans. Less. LESS.

I'm not sure how to feel about that. I realize that I was working on houses and walking around the city. But still. Did I mention how much I ate? Should I be elated that I can apparently eat the average body weight of a Clydesdale in food and metabolize that shit like gangbusters with just a week of painting and caulking? Should I be bummed? I did just write a manifesto to my ass. How does Buttina feel about all this?

Either way? My ass has entered a twilight zone vortex of some kind. Or maybe this guerilla New Orleans virus also causes weight loss. If that's the case, Buttina should be scared as hell. I know I am.

On a literary note, I am thinking of adding book reviews to this blog. After all, I was a literature student, so it seems only natural. What do you think? Would you like to read reviews of books as I read them?

codeine induced

Internet, old buddy, old pal. How the hell are ya, you old bastard? Me? I'm still sick. But I did see a doctor today. Uh huh. I did. And so now I might be just a tad under the influence of codeine. Cough syrup. Yup. Great stuff, cough syrup.

But nevertheless, I am still able to recount two completely awesome events of the day.

My dad, awesome dad that he is, he is, drove me around today, to the doctor and to drop off my prescriptions. It's worth noting that my dad was a crazy driver until I started driving. And now he drives like an old man. So as he was driving 15 under the speed limit, making the driver behind us hate life, and then he made a left turn only halfway in the turn lane, I laughed at his old man driving skills. To which he replied, "when you ride with me, you ride with danger."

And that sent me into an endless laughing fit, which was not good because of the sick I mentioned earlier. You know, the coughing and wheezing. I mean, that's just the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!

Then we went to pick up my prescriptions from the pharamacia only to be greeted by a line of no less than 57 people. Okay, so maybe it was more like 10 people. But that's still a long ass line. And at the end there isn't even a ride with fast cars or even animatronic characters. And why was this line so long, you ask? Oh I will tell you why. I will tell you why.

There was a very angry lady at one of the only two windows open holding up the line and berating every poor employee within a fifty mile radius. And even though there was a sign clearly asking other customers to respect patient privacy, I think she waived that right when she broadcast her extremely profane message from here to Cleveland. I'm pretty sure they could hear her in Japan. Therefore I have no hesitation in sharing this tale.

I really wanted to pull out my camera and record the whole thing, but I was afraid she was a biter. And I'd like to keep my hands thankyouverymuch. But seriously, this woman was utterly horrid. And I'm pretty sure she's either an addict or a drug dealer. In between shouts of, "DO YOUR FUCKING JOB" and "YOU'RE GONNA GET ME 4 PACKS OF MY PRESCRIPTION AND I'M GONNA PAY FOR 2," she also claimed that she was a pharmacist and that at her pharmacy they would never fuck up this much, that this happens to her ALL THE TIME.

Um, what now? Am I really the only person for whom alarm bells were sounding? If she's a pharmacist, why doesn't she go to her own pharmacy? And I doubt she is even a pharm tech, but if she is, I'd assume she's stealing from them or has multiple prescriptions there too. And what's worse is that after all that, the pharmacy gave in. Proves you can just yell loud enough and even potentially illegal behavior is juuuust fine.

Now I was raised by a first class prescription drug addict. So I've watched this behavior first hand. I've watched the begging, the threatening, the ultimatums. I've seen it and I'm telling y'all now, it sho ain't pretty. But this should be one of the most regulated industries and, in my opinion, it isn't. It's easy to con doctors out of scripts, or even steal script pads. It's easy to have multiple prescriptions at different pharmacies. And you can always con the pharmacist into thinking your bottle was a few pills short. Every month. I watched it happen.

In my opinion, you only get the benefit of the doubt once. Once. Then you don't get any more chances. And when I got to the window (finally!) at the pharmacy today (and the  femme horrible was still there), the pharm tech said she's ALWAYS like this. They know her by name. Doesn't that seem problematic to anyone? Look, I don't want to get all Big Brother (from 1984, not the lame ass reality show), but there has to be more regulation here. It's too easy to get all the drugs you want.

Anyway, it was amusing. And disturbing. Two of my favorite things.

Aaaaaand I'm still a sicky lass. Send soup. But not codeine. I have enough of that.

wheezy and coughy and gross oh my

Well welcome, March. First March day and I'm dying. No, not dying. But I am going to hack up my right lung like a hairball. It will be very attractive. This is why I'm so popular with the boys, you see.

So yeah, sicky sick sick. Blech. And I think I mentioned a lung issue a couple weeks ago and I think that was an early symptom. I'm wheezy and coughy and gross. And so I've spent most of my day curled up like a dying fetus.

I did manage to drag my sick ass down to the CVS this morning to buy sicky supplies. And I found everything I needed and then stood behind a manicured, vapid woman for a good 15 minutes in line as she went on about green m&ms. Seriously, lady? I don't care if you can't find the damn green m&ms. Can you not see the dying woman behind you? She was probably contracting my germs with all the inhaling she needed to do to talk so damn much. Really, if she'd just looked behind her, she'd have seen death incarnate, my face looking like the Jabberwocky's ass, my hair shoved under a hat, in my pajamas and flip flops, wheezing like an 80 year old man with emphysema.

The rest of the day I spent sleeping and watching Heroes season 4. Ohemgee is season 4 good! And then I watched NeverEnding Story. Because that's what you do when you're sick. You watch the crap you loved as a kid and feel nostalgic and therefore better about your sorry ass that isn't being productive in any way at all.

But, dudes, did I LOVE this movie as a kid! I loved it. Except I'd fast forward (for you younguns, that's what you do to videotapes. what are videotapes? I don't have time for this shit.) through the parts with the evil wolf guy. He was fucking scary, man. Still kind of is. He has blood stains all on his mouth. Kids today do not get the same violence I watched as a kid. Anyway, I loved it.

Also I wanted to be like the empress. My favorite part was always when Atreyu finally meets the empress, partly because I had a huge crush on Atreyu and partly because I was in love with the empress. I used to wear this peach nightgown and put a necklace on my head and pretend to be her. Never could figure out why I didn't look just like her. Maybe it's because I didn't have a pound of makeup on and lighting designers.

And there are a few things I always wondered about this movie. One, so the idea is that Bastian identifies with Atreyu and follows him through the story. So what if a girl reads it? Is it a tough ass chick on a quest to save Fantasia? And what about the old man in the beginning? The one who was reading it when Bastian steals it? Does he follow an old man warrior? That's just...well it's lame.

And where was the damn luck dragon when Artax was dying in the swamp? Or do you only get one pet at a time in Fantasia? And if the pretty necklace Atreyu wears can actually guide him (which you don't discover until the end) why doesn't he use it AT ALL throughout his whole damn quest? And why does Bastian's school have a creepy attic with a stuffed wolf head? Did your school have a creepy attic? Mine certainly did not. No it did not.

Plus, why the hell couldn't the empress just tell everyone she needed a human to give her a new name from the start? Wouldn't that have saved some time? And what if he gave her a lame ass name? Like Talulah. Or Wadine. (I apologize if that's your name). And back to the old man. When he reads the book, does he meet the empress in the end just like Bastian? And then can you picture (I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS IMAGE) the old man squatting down with the preteen empress, giving her a new name, she tells him he can have as many wishes as he wants...

OKAY, I can't do that anymore. This game just got uber weird, yo. And insanely disturbing. I apologize.

Moving on.

Yeah so I'm sick. But I did jazz up this site a little this evening. There are a few new pages, things in different places. Check it out. Tell your friends. Leave me comments.

in hot water

When did I post last? No clue. But I believe I was still sicky sick sick. I battled this Evil Cold for about a week, tried to work on Tuesday until I threw in the towel and succumbed to my illness. But Tuesday is about when my water heater decided to go on strike.

Let's see. I think it was Tuesday night. After the shortest shower ever (not counting my 60 second power showers at Camp Hope in New Orleans), I checked my water heater to see why I ran out of hot water. And just to get the full effect, picture me: hacking up a lung and kind of dizzy. Pissed and breathless from the shortest shower ever. And wearing a mish mash of post-shower clothing: flip flops, sweat pants, a towel around top and a robe that I couldn't find the tie to (which is why I still had the towel.) Oh, and wet hair.

So the pilot was out. I had lit the pilot on a water heater before, but that was like 8 years ago maybe and I didn't totally remember. So after squeezing myself into the inexplicably small space they wedge water heaters into, I managed to read the directions and get it re-lit. But then I didn't think anything of it.

Wednesday I stayed home from work and when I went to take a nice bath for my poor sicky sick sick self, guess what? No hot water. Yup. As you can imagine, I was overjoyed by this point. Over the goddamn moon with happiness. Checked the water heater. Pilot out. Again. I try lighting it again but it won't stay lit. So, I call my pops for advice and he says try some different things. Long story short, I get it lit, but it only stays on for an hour or so before going out again. I call my land lord, but they can't send someone out until Thursday evening or Friday and I'm like, I just want some hot water!

But I had gotten it on long enough to heat water for a short shower, so I showered it up and went to work on Thursday. Side note: by this point, I had cabin fever so freakin' bad that I was deadset on being sick no longer. I just refused. No more sicky sick sick. Nuh uh. Nope. Done. Plus, there is only so much Internet TV you can watch before you run out. The last straw was watching an exorcism on some ghost watchers show. I just couldn't handle the idiocy any longer! So off to work I went.

By Thursday after work, I couldn't even get it to light any more so my dad came over and banged around at it and replaced the thermal cupola something somethingorother. Whatever. It worked! It was on and the water was making heating sounds. Happy days are here again. I may have even sung.

But oh wait, a couple of hours later and it was out again. Mother fucker. I did have enough hot water for a short shower on Friday morning and I went to work. I called the landlord again at 9 am (pee ess, who opens at 9? What year is this?) and they promised to send someone out to fix it. They must have sensed I was at the end of my hot water rope, because when I got home on Friday...drum roll please....I had a brand new water heater!

Now, the dude left a huge mess in my house and my cats were seriously traumatized by the STRANGER, STRANGER IN OUR HOUSE! The world is ending and children are dying in the Sudan, but there was a STRANGER. IN. OUR. HOUSE! (poor Hobbes was hiding under the covers until this morning. poor fat cat doesn't realize people can still tell he's there.). And this morning I have no water pressure in my kitchen sink. But who cares? I have hot water! I can wash dishes in the bathtub if I have to. It's all gravy, baby, because I have hot water. Hot water! Hot. Water. Aren't we all excited?

I really wanted to write a blog today about the new breast cancer screening recommendations. And I know I still owe you the geisha story. But this was much too good of a tale to pass up. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to take a very long, very hot shower.

she's alive!

Where do I even start? I realize I haven't posted in a while and that would be because I've been hacking up a lung. Well, that's not entirely accurate. I've only been coughing a little. I've been sick. Bleh. Sick.

And I am not the type to run to the doctor for every runny nose or dry cough. Not me. You've got to understand, I was raised by a first class hypochondriac who would rush me to the doctor for every tiny thing. Don't get me started on her own "illnesses," but for all of my life, the only positive attention I got from her was when I was sick. You might think that would breed a second generation hypochondriac, but instead it's given me an aversion to needless medicine. I'll go when it's necessary, but I'm a big believer that it's usually not necessary.

Anyway, I'll climb off my soapbox now. The point being is that if I go to a doctor, it's for a good damn reason. Thursday I felt pretty damn sick and left work a smidge early and even after sleeping like 16 hours, I still felt crappy Friday morning so I took the morning off. I had some work stuff that I had to do on Friday though, a couple of deadline type things that I could only do from my work computer so I drug my ass to work after lunch. I know what you all are thinking. Swine Flu! Swine Flu! Run for your lives! She WENT TO WORK with SWINE FLU! Ok, did you get that out of your system? Better now? Okay, then shut up. First of all, I did not have Swine Flu symptoms. Secondly, shut up.

Moving on.

By midday through the afternoon, not only had my cold symptoms persisted, I felt more exhausted than I had after a ten mile hike and my head was throbbing with the power of ten thousand suns (points if you get that reference) and my neck was feeling sore.

Okay, so at this point, I'm bummed. Not because I'm sick, but because I had been planning to go to this Happy Hour thing that a bunch of my friends were going to. This had been planned for a while and I was super stoked to go. But I knew that not only was I not going, but that I'd rather tear off my feet, cook them in a stew, and feed them to geese before I was going to stand up for a few hours, laugh with other humans and possibly consume some sort of alcoholic beverage. I felt so crappy that I couldn't even consider the scenario with club soda in my hand (and I love club soda). I really just wanted to go home and die.

And the sore neck really concerned me. I'd normally try to ride out a cold or flu and let me immune system do its job and strengthen itself in the process, but the neck thing really concerned me. I knew a guy who had a bad cold one day and the next had died from Meningitis. It's a really serious disease and is really checked out because it mimics a cold. Except for a sore neck. That's the tell.

So I called my pops to see what he thought I should do. I should mention that not only do I trust my dad completely, but he's a former Fire Captain/EMT and I trust his judgement of medical whoseewhatsit questions. Plus he's not a hypochondriac. He was very concerned and jumped in his car right away and drove the hour to my house to take me to the Urgent Care. Cue: AW. Isn't my dad great?

At this point, I'm worried. And I just want to get checked. Make sure it's not something life threatening. And go home. That's the plan.

So. Urgent Care. Long story short, we get there about 45 minutes before closing time and they rush me to the nurse, who is concerned, but my HMO (stupid effing HMO) hasn't gotten back to approve seeing the doctor and there's a 50/50 chance I'll get stuck with the entire bill just for seeing the doc, let alone if I have something that requires more care. I opt to fuck that shit and leave, so my dad then takes me to the ER, which, btw, in my fuzzy state, I couldn't remember how to find even though it's right near my house.

Half an hour longer than it takes, we arrive at the ER where two very nice nurses take me in before a long ass line of people (must be my winning smile), a loverly doctor nicely checks me out and pronounces that I will not die. At least not yet. I have a respiratory infection. If I had meningitis, I'd be in a lot worse shape (good to know, cuz I felt pretty damn bad. still do), and gives me a prescription for pain meds for my massive headache (which is causing the neck pain) and a decongestant. I also love that she didn't throw antibiotics at me. I'd like to see my immune system try its hardest first.

I'd also like to point out that she started reassuring me that I didn't have the flu without me even asking. I said that I wasn't concerned about that and she looked me dead in the eye, cocked an eyebrow, and in serious sarcasm font said, They always are. Every runny nostril and they're worried about H1N1. Good god I love that doctor. Made my whole damn day.

After that, my wonderful pops drove me to get my scripts and he took care of me this morning too. I still feel pretty damn shitty, but I'm coughing less and the motrin keeps the headache/fever at bay. I'm just so damn exhausted though! I've just been vegging all afternoon, watching my Hulu (sweet, sweet Hulu. how I love you.), and resting my sick ass.

Side note: thanks to all of the incredibly sweet friends of mine who have wished me well. I despise being sick and you make me feel better. ♥

I've really been wanting to write about the most delicious conversation that I had with Mo the other day too. And at the risk of giving away a most wonderful and new inside joke, I think I'll have to. Another day though. I'll give you this: there's a geisha. Oh yeah! Now you're intrigued.

Literal Hurl

So.

So, I awoke violently this morning at about 2:30 am feeling like my stomach was eating itself. The pain was excruciating. I can't even. So I noshed on some dry wheat pasta (because that always settles my stomach) and fell asleep out of pure exhaustion about an hour later, but still feeling queasy. Nonetheless, I still drug my ass to work today and muddled my way through a queasy haze until almost 2, when I gave up and went home. Defeated by the quease.

So I have been curled in bed since then, nibbling on crackers and watching Hulu and Watchmen (so not the movie I thought it would be! GREAT political satire!) and am still pretty queasy. What gives? What the hell is up with my belly? Is it something I ate? Couldn't be. I can't think of anything crazy or new that I ate that would make me sick. Or maybe it's stress, except what the hell do I have to be stressed about? My BIG EVENT is over, my car is in the shop, money is a little tight, but I'm managing. So what the hell? Or maybe this is latent stress? My stomach wanted to be sick 2 weeks ago and is giving in now. That makes sense. Once I calm down, then it hits. Fucking typical.

Or maybe I've caught a little bug of some kind. Ugg. I despise being sick. Besides the fact that my mother is a crazy hypochondriac who drug me to the doctor for every tiny thing and thus making me hate medicine and doctors and hospitals, I also feel weak and out of control when I'm sick. And for an admitted control freak, that's the worst feeling. It takes me out of the driver's seat of my life and puts me at the whim of whatever sick is plaguing me. And that pisses me the hell off. I like to drive, dammit. Me. So there.

I just hope that after a good night's sleep tonight, I'll feel better and can work work work tomorrow and then have a fabu time this weekend. Did you forget what this weekend is?? How dare you. You couldn't have. It's Halloween! Woohoo! I can't wait to post pictures of my costume. I am a Halloween genius. Or a Halloween goddess. Either one. Or both. Whatever.

Don't laugh. You love it.

all the single ladies

Hoo boy am I feeling crappy today! Between stress, the suckiness that comes with being a woman (I swear, god, when I die, you and I are having a little chat about that), the ri-goddamn-diculous heat, and a headache and nausea from what I assume is a side-effect of a flu shot (more on that in a bit), and the debacles of this afternoon, I am like the the ambassador of crap. No, the president of crap.

Yeah, so, flu shot. I have never, ever, had a flu shot in all my life. Between having dubious opinions about vaccines and also believing that human beings are supposed to get sick so that we can survive in this germ-filled world, I've never gotten one. But, with my BIG EVENT coming up, I figure I just can't get sick. I don't have time to be sick. No way no how, dude, can I get sick between now and the middle of October. Not happenin'. So, I caved into peer pressure (which, by the way, I totally survived in my teens, but I cave as an adult. WHAT is that about?) and followed two coworkers to get shots like lambs to the slaughter. But, now my head feels like Nine Inch Nails has taken up residence and feel like my stomach is hosting a miniature Cirque de Soleil. And my arm kinda hurts too, you know, where they stabbed me with the death juice.

And maybe it's not side effects. Maybe it's all psychological and the headache and nausea are one more thing I'm bringing up with god when I finally meet her, or him, or it (see my last post). Whatever god is, I do not approve.

But, enough bitching. I had intended to post something relating to the title of this blog, I really had. I know you are all going, what is UP with this crazy batshit woman?, so I'll get back on subject. I was going to say that when I feel like shit, I like things that make me laugh and since the world seems obsessed with one music video by one Beyonce, I'm going to share some fabulosity with you.

And okay, I realize that just posting a ton of videos is a complete blogging cop-out. But, you know what? Too bad. Do you really want to hear more about digestive pyrotechnics? Didn't think so.

I promise, even if you hate Sasha Fierce, you will find milk shooting out of your nose watching at least one of these, even if you don't drink milk. Really. That doesn't happen to you? Hrm, sounds like a personal problem.

First, a classic. I loves me some J.T.

And now some very sophisticated choreography that I think is really an homage to Miss Knowles and her dance stylings (this kills me):

And last, a little bit of genius. (and if you don't watch this show, OH MA GAH, you should):

And with that, I say adieu.