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.

Photo of the Day: Little Fish

This is another San Diego shot. I just love Koi and I think I keep taking pictures of them and this is the only one that has ever turned out decently. Maybe it's the clearer water or maybe this particular fish was more lazy than most Koi. Don't know, but I won't complain. I also love the dimensions of the shot. The sun reflected in the lower left corner and dissipating up to the fish in the upper right. Love that.

parental units

I was reading one of my favorite blogs just now, written by one of the funniest women on the planet, Heather Armstrong of dooce.com, and in this particular post, Heather describes how her mother has the shortest phone conversations ever. And anyone who knows my mother at all will at this point be smacking their heads and going, what a lucky lady!

This is because while Heather's mom may not be able to stay on the phone for over a minute, my mom holds the record for being the complete antithesis of that. Now, I must say at this point that I do not get along with my mom, haven't spoken to her in a long time, but that's not the point. So let's set all that aside.

My mom loves the phone. Lives for it. Call her at your own peril. I recommend that anyone calling her just start the conversation with "goodbye" or "gotta go." That will buy you an hour or so. Don't even attempt, "I can't talk long." She won't even hear it. She'll just keep barreling through so keep those goodbyes going as long as you can. And if all else fails, she doesn't really understand cell phones. Just pull the, "I can't hear you....are you there?...can you hear me?....if you can hear me, I'm hanging up now..." and just hang up. Thank god for cell phones. I don't know what people did before them. How did they ever end conversations with my mom?

She's also a salesman's dream come true. She's gullible and will buy whatever you're selling. So if you can imagine her two favorite mediums, shopping and the phone, coming together in a vortex with my mom at the middle, well, that's a phone bill I don't want to see. Salesmen (and women) beware. She'll buy your product alright, but at what cost? You may sell twenty subscriptions to Angler or 15 dog hair trimmers, but you'll lose twelve hours of your life. Twelve hours you can never get back!

Don't get me started on QVC. Before my dad cut up her debit card, I'm pretty sure the entire call center there knew her middle name. And my dad's. And mine for that matter. Because what else do you think she talks about.

Okay, okay, I'll stop making fun of mi madre. But, this is the easy stuff. The stuff you're supposed to make fun of. This is the stuff that sitcoms are made of.

To be fair, here's some quirky stuff about my dad. My dad has been a closet smoker his whole life. I think the only time he smoked openly was in Vietnam. I actually think he thinks no one knows he smokes. Hey, dad! We know. We know. He also looks like a mad scientist. Seriously. He's had this Albert Einstein thing going on since 1980 and I don't think he's combed his hair since 1973.

This works because he actually is a scientist. He works in a chemist lab and I hear that the younger techs like to give him that photo of Einstein sticking his tongue out. Perfect likeness. Oh I know. Did you ever see Willie Wonka? The first one? My dad looks like Grandpa Joe. Hold on, yes! Here's a picture . Do you see? That's my pops. Ooh also, my dad used to be a fire captain and the younger guys used to call him Many Moons. Love that. But he's got a great sense of humor.

I found this website this weekend whilst holed up in my house sick and I think I want to submit a pic of my 'rents. I have a bunch, but this one is a big contender:

That's me in the middle. I'm guessing this is early 1981 and you've caught my dad in a rare hair combed moment. This is also about one year before he started losing that mane of hair. Poor guy. Do you love their matching shirts? You know my mom made him do that. They have tons of pictures with matching shirts. I swear.

Today, halfway through the day, I realized it's my adoption day. It's the 29th anniversary of my adoption and we always celebrated with dinner and a small present. This year I forgot about it, but my dad did make me lunch on Saturday and bought me a much needed appliance for my tiny kitchen. I say success! But every year I've been less and less excited about this day. And that's complicated. Part of it the lack of relationship with my mom but part of it is that I just keep forgetting. And as I've gotten older, celebrating was put on the back burner. Some years I had to work, one year I was in France, etc. It's become not such a big deal.

Part of why we celebrated when I was a kid was that I shared my birthday with my mom. So instead of my birthday, this was my special day. And instead of a huge party (which my mom loved to throw for our birthdays and invite all of China), I just wanted a special dinner with one close friend. That's kind of how I still roll. But since then, I've made a bigger deal out of my birthday. I get a special day and don't really feel the need to do that twice.

Plus maybe that just shows how comfortable I am. So what if I forgot? I'd rather have quality time with friends on random days for no better reason than the pleasure of each other's company.

Well anyway, happy 29th adoption day to me. I may have been alive longer, but I've been an Andrea since November 17th, 1980. I was a Rachel before that. But that's a story for another time.

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.

Photo of the Day: Painted Lady

I took this in San Diego at a Bontacial Garden. I wish you could see the center more clearly, because there's water and little living things in there. But mostly I love that this plant is all sex. All lipstick and a mouth just begging for it. I could also give a more vulgar reference here a la Georgia O'Keefe, but I'll leave that to you. Go here to see a bigger version.

Photo of the Day: Stark Beauty

I took this shot this last summer in Yosemite. It was my first time there and I absolutely fell in love with the park. I took hundreds of photos, felt like Ansel Adams himself, but this one is my very favorite. In fact, if you come to my house, you'll find this framed on the wall. I love the contrasts of dead branch twisting against the bright blue sky. For the record, this isn't manipulated. The sky really was that blue. God I can't wait to go again.

wild things

I had an unexpected early day today (thanks, boss) so what was I gonna do with myself? I could do errands or get some cleaning done, but that's boring. I mean, when was the last time I had an afternoon off right? So I took my ass to the movies to see Where the Wild Things Are.

I had really, really been wanting to see it. Had been really intrigued by the mixed reviews and really wanted to do some judging for myself. Plus I love to go to the movies by myself and hadn't done that in a long time. Of course I was raised on the children's book by Maurice Sendak but I heard that the film was much darker. Resolved to have no expectations, I bought my ticket, my box of raisinettes, and settled in for an enjoyable afternoon.

First off, at the movie theater in my small town, there is this older man who takes tickets occasionally. And he is a sweet old lascivious old man, a shameless flatterer, a total flirt. It's sweet though. If he were any younger, it would be dirty and disturbing, but instead it just makes a girl feel giggly. It was a nice ego boost. Thanks, old movie theater guy!

Secondly, I get in the theater and it is empty. Hoorah! I love that. I love having my pick of the theater. Except what's that I see at the back of the room? A teeny tiny head with two pom pom pigtails and two big eyes peeking just barely over the seat in front of her. This little girl all by herself is standing alone in the theater, holding a box of popcorn and not sitting because she can't maneuver the seat while holding the box. Poor kid. And what was she doing by herself anyway? That, Internet, is a kidnapper's dream come true. Needless to say, softie that I am, I helped her into her seat and waited with her until her mom got there. Most disturbing moment, when a Twilight promo flashed on the screen, she announced to me that she had seen that! Wasn't it scary, I asked her. Nope. No it wasn't. What? She seemed about 5, if that. Uh huh.

Now it is at this moment that I remember that the film we are about to watch is not really a kid's movie. It's based on a children's book and it's about a child, but it is not for children. Seriosuly, do people not research a film before taking their child?

After the film started, two more families with VERY small children came in. One of which settled right in front of me. Seriously? There is a WHOLE big empty theater and you have to sit your three year old right in front of me? Your young child who screams at the scary parts and says mommy about 57 times a minute? That was your best option?

Despite the young children who were watching a movie that was not meant for children, I truly enjoyed the film. But it is not for kids. I might take an older child, but little kids? Nope. It's dark and emotionally violent. What I absolutely loved was the psychological realism. The film making itself was violent to reflect the turmoil of the characters. Story and acting aside, this film is truly a piece of art. The style at moments is incredibly quiet and reflective and quite beautiful and then next it is raucous and moving and you get sucked into the physicality of the action.

And of course the story is quite poignant and smart. It's extremely psychological and I could see how someone who doesn't appreciate the psychological perspective would not appreciate this film. But I just got lost in it. Despite the magical landscape of the film, the characters are incredibly relatable and realistic, adult in their voices but childlike in their cocoons of issues and neuroses. I absolutely enjoyed it and I can't wait to buy it and make it mine.

And of course, that leaves the best part. The soundtrack was absolutely delicious! I wanted to jump into the soundtrack and start choreographing. I was disappointed to find two different soundtracks available on iTunes from the different collaborators, but I may just have to buy them both.

Here's a great song from the film from Karen O and the Kids:

All is love. I love that. ♥