It's my blog in a box

Christmas...Blog in a Box

Arbor Day...Blog in a Box

I just love pop culture.

Ok, so about a week ago, I wrote a really long detailed blog (with bullet points and everything). And then I accidentally deleted it. Which led me to post the previous blog where I basically told the entire world to F itself. A little dramatic? Maybe so, but like I said, I had bullet points, people.

I'll be honest...I have not been in the mood to blog lately. I don't really know why. I have lots to blog about, like how my Mom buying pies for Thanksgiving almost sent me into a deep depression, how Rumpelstiltskin awoke from his 100 year nap and promptly ran his Honda CRV through our yard taking out a dogwood tree, a 2-car carport, and a section of chain link fence, how Chris started a letter writing campaign that fed us for almost a month, and how my Jeep is like a really bad lesbian relationship: I let her move in after only one date, she treats me like shit, but I love her anyway. Maybe it's lack of discipline. Could be writer's block or performance anxiety. Who knows.

I will try to do better in the New Year. Until then, Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

hey world

GFY

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A River Ran Through Me

The following is a little something I wrote after Chris and I went white water rafting in October 2002.

“I fully understand and acknowledge that outdoor recreational activities have: (A) inherent risks, dangers and hazards and such exists in my use of rafting equipment and my participation in WHITEWATER RAFTING activities;(B) my participation in such activities and/or use of such equipment may result in injury or illness including, but not limited to bodily injury, disease, strains, fractures, partial and/or total paralysis, death or other ailments that could cause serious disability..”

Does that sound like a good time to you?? I didn’t think so. That is an excerpt from the waiver I had to sign before my whitewater rafting adventure. I hesitate using the word “adventure” because it gives the impression there was enjoyment involved. There was not. In fact, it was the opposite of fun. Let me just say this, prior to this trip I was unaware that the road to hell was paved with whitewater, but believe me, the devil is alive and well and living in Ocoee, TN.

I’ll start at the beginning. As with most cases where adventure and I collide, it was not by choice. I’m not an adrenaline junkie who feels the need to hurl myself out of an airplane or rappel down a 10-story building. Adventure for me is going inside McDonald’s instead of going through the drive-thru. It is buying a pair of Levi’s without trying them on first. Get the picture? So this latest meeting with adventure originated with Chris. Chris’ birthday was coming up, and she said to me one day, “Let’s go whitewater rafting!” I’m thinking, “Oh Lord, maybe if I stand really still she won’t see me and will drop the subject.” It didn’t work. Me, being the open and upfront person that I am, voiced my concerns by saying, “Sure, that sounds like great fun!” Honestly, I thought that she would forget about it, that it was an impulse statement, and that nothing would come of it. Wrong. The next day in my email inbox I had a message from Chris linking the website of OAR (Outdoor Adventure Rafting) in Ocoee, TN. This was not going away. I checked out the site, and it actually looked like fun. They had pictures of smiling happy rafting people. I thought, “I can do this! It’s just like those rides at Six Flags where you get in the big round boat, and some people get wet, and then you go through the cave, and the big mechanical bear jumps out at you! Fun, fun, fun!” So, I said, “Let’s do it!” We got a nice cabin not too far from the river, and were set to go.

We arrived in Ocoee on a Friday evening. Despite being located in the midst of deliverance country, the cabin was very cute. I thought to myself, “This won’t be so bad!” We were supposed to be at OAR at 8:30 the next morning to begin our rafting expedition. As Chris and I fell asleep, it began to rain. It rained and rained and rained and rained and rained. It was still raining when we woke up the next morning. We got to OAR and found out that it had rained 6 inches the night before, and that the river was running “a little high.” This meant nothing to me at the time. It soon would. The OAR people outfitted us with helmets and life preservers and had us sign that aforementioned waiver. We also met the other people we would be rafting with. It was four other girls who were all Army Rangers. They seemed nice. They loaded us into a bus and took us up to where the chaos would begin. As we’re driving up the mountain, the guides are looking out the window at the river and saying such reassuring things as “Oh my God” and “I’ve been here for four years and I have never seen the river like this!!!” This is not the kind of thing you want to hear from your guide, but I took it in stride. We got to the starting point, and after a brief safety talk we were off.

The river was pretty rough in the beginning, but nothing too severe. It was actually pretty fun getting splashed around and the scenery was beautiful. We went down this one little incline and, I got tossed out of the boat. It was no big deal. The guide grabbed me, and I was back in the boat before I knew it. See, I had been telling Chris since this trip was planned that I was going to fall out. She kept saying that I wouldn’t. “Oh, I’ll fall out alright; the skinny girl always falls out.” I was right. But I thought, “That wasn’t so bad. I got the “falling out thing” over with.” I was so naïve. So, we continue down the river having a grand time. Then the guide says that we are going to pull over so that he can look at this one rapid that we were about to go through. So we pulled the raft to the side and walked over to look at this “monster.” They categorize rapids Class 1-5 by their size and difficulty. This one was a 4, and it was massive. I thought to myself, “There is no way he is going to take us over that. Surely we’ll go around it.” Wrong. We went back to the boat and the guide gave us some last minute instructions, had us tighten up our helmets and life preservers (should have taken this as an omen) and off we went. Here was the game plan: we weren’t going to actually go through the rapid. We were going to veer to the left and catch just the edge of it. Good game plan, but not what the river had in mind. We head for the rapid and try veering to the left, but it doesn’t happen. We end up in the dead middle of this Class 4 rapid, and the raft dumps everyone out, except for the guide, of course.

What I remember next is being under water, then seeing sky, then being under water, then sky, then water again. It was like being in the rinse and spin cycle of a very angry washing machine. When I finally got my bearings I started looking at the sides of the river. I saw people standing their looking at me as if to say, “Glad I’m not her.” I kept thinking, why aren’t they trying to save me?? I kept waiting to hear cheesy synthesizer music and for David Hasselhoff to swan dive off the bank of the river with that red floaty thing behind him and whisk me to safety. It didn’t happen. As soon as that thought popped out of my head I saw one of the Army Ranger girls floating my way. For some reason I grabbed onto her. I guess I was thinking there is strength in numbers. Bad move. Army Ranger was panicking. She was screeching for help and gulping in water. I’m like, “shut up and you’ll stop taking in water.” So, I’m trying to calm her down. This is an Army Ranger. Don’t these people defend our country or something?? Aren’t they trained in all forms of combat and survival?? Shouldn’t she be able to create a floatation device out of her bra or something?? Apparently not, because she just cried and screamed. At this point, I had gone about 200 yards down the river and I was exhausted. The guide had told us that if we fell out of the boat to float on our backs so we could get air. Army Ranger was doing this, but she was also holding on to the top of my life preserver for dear life and was dragging me face first down the river. I told her, “I have to let you go, I can’t breathe.” So we separated. About this time I spot another raft to my right and try to make my way over to it. They pull up beside me and drag my lifeless wet body into their raft. There were 6 manly looking men in the boat. I just curled up in the bottom thinking that I had never been so happy to be in a raft in all my life. The guide asked if I was ok and told me to just hang on, that she was going to take me back to my raft. Well, guess what was between us and my raft. Yep, more rapids. So here we go down the river, hitting more rapids, with these 6 manly men screaming, “Woo hoo” and “Hell, yeah” and high-fiving each other, while I’m lying half dead in a fetal position in the bottom. Finally, I got back to my raft. Chris’ face was the first one I saw. She had a look of fear in her eyes. Looking back, I don’t think she it was concern over what I had been through. She was afraid of what I was going to do to her. So I flop over into my own raft. While I was sitting there, I looked down to see my legs were all scraped up. I hadn’t even noticed. I felt no pain when I was going down the river. I guess I was just focused on trying to breathe. They pulled the raft over to a tree line so that they could tend to the wounds of the injured. Even though the whole boat flipped, there were only two of us that were physically injured. As I’m lying there getting bandaged up I start looking around to see where the EVAC helicopter might land. It seems that a scraped knee is not grounds for such. Apparently, what they do for people who are injured but still have capabilities in most of their limbs is to give them their oar back so they can continue to raft down the river. Here’s the good thing, we didn’t have that much further to go, and no major rapids, so I consented. We were supposed to break for lunch, then after lunch we had a whole other section of river to raft. Not I! I was done. All of the Army Rangers decided to quit too. Apparently, the 6 weeks of basic training they went through didn’t prepare them for commercial rafting. They loaded all of us back on the bus, and we headed back to OAR headquarters. On the drive back, panicky Army Ranger was telling her buddies how I was so reassuring when we were being drug down the river. She said, “I thought I was going to die, and her voice was like the voice of God.” I started to scoot in from the edge of my seat, afraid that Army Ranger might hug me. When we got back to the OAR office, they filled out an accident report and had me sign it, probably saying that we wouldn’t sue them. As our consolation, we got free T-shirts. Almost drowning…free T-shirt. I think it balances nicely, don’t you?

Chris and I spent the rest of the afternoon buying up the first aid aisle at the local Piggly Wiggly and calling everyone that we knew to tell them that we had almost died. Chris was a little upset that she had no scars to show off. Admittedly, I had some trouble feeling sorry for her. My legs weren’t much to look at before and now they looked like they had been attacked by a cheese grater. Of course, now the scars have all healed. Chris has mentioned wanting to go back to Ocoee and rafting again. Obviously, Chris has issues, or perhaps she is just trying to increase her wardrobe by getting another free T-shirt. These days, I pass a flushing toilet and break out into a cold sweat, so I don’t think I will be braving the rapids again anytime soon. Adventure and I just don’t mix. Some people are meant for the fast lane, but let’s face it, people like me should stay in the drive-thru, no matter how long the line is.

traffic

My girl, the artist, wrote this a few years back. We found it going through random floppies last night. I think it deserves more of an audience than that.

traffic stops when traffic starts. all the cars are interlinked to each other, sensing each others moves and zigging and zagging accordingly. until one gets pompous and thinks it should go first, first before everyone. or thinks that they will move out of his way and then in an instant glass and scraps of metal lay on the road scattered like broken bones while the rest of the traffic creeps by in awe at the failure in their sweet system. in the distance, there are wails and whoops of approaching authorities on their way to pick up, reassemble, and reprimand the aggressive one. we are cars. careless in our actions and confident in our immortality. we can last forever...forever is such a short time. we are not steel reinforced, we do not have roll bars or shatter proof windshields. we can not see in the dark. and we control ourselves, sometimes just as foolishly as we control our vehicles. as foolishly as we try to control each other. we are monsters of the dark ages. our horses are shinier and less fleshy, but our egos are just as solid and unweilding. if only we would learn to respect the signs of our times, stop, yield, slow. then perhaps we would learn to respect ourselves. and we could see all the danger and all the possibility in the simple word: go.

Halloween

I had a scare this morning unrelated to it being Halloween. I saw a really bad wreck on my way to work. I was scooting down the left hand lane of the interstate and I see in my peripheral vision what looks like someone in the median crossing from one side of the interstate to the other. (I hate when people do that by the way...go up and exit and turn around for crying out loud.) I soon realize that this person is not slowly crossing the median but flying out of control and heading my way. I quickly get over a lane and see this SUV hit the dip in the median and start rolling. Thankfully, it came to rest in the median and did not cross over onto my side of the interstate. If it had, I think it would have hit me. It was too close. And you always get that weird feeling after you see a bad wreck or have a close call. You slow way down and really start paying attention to every little thing. I was sure that the person had died because the car came to rest on its roof, but I checked online and didn't see anything. I hope that person is ok. It's one of those things that just makes you stop and think. It freaked me out a little.

In other news, it's Halloween. I don't remember Halloween being a huge deal for me as a kid. Of course, I dressed up and went trick or treating in my neighborhood. That was back when you actually knew your neighbors' names. Sure, there was that one house you avoided because you were convinced the widowed lady that lived there was a witch. And the house you tried to go to twice because you remember that they handed out full size Hershey bars last year. I don't think kids even go trick or treating anymore. I heard something on the radio this morning about trunk or treating. That's where groups of people get together and park their cars in a parking lot, decorate their trunks, and the kids go from trunk to trunk to get candy. What the hell is that about? Sign of the times, I suppose.

Embarrassing fact about me: the last time I went trick or treating, I was 14. That's right, I was in high school. No, I was not very popular in high school, why do you ask? I went with a friend of mine who lived down the street, who also thought it was completely appropriate to trick or treat at 14. Of course, I found out years later that that free-spirited attitude and eccentricity I admired in my friend was actually schizophrenia. True story.

Until next time...

Throwing up is hard to do

Well, after only a few blogs under my belt, I am long overdue for one about throwing up. I had my most recent experience yesterday.

Some background, earlier this summer I was diagnosed with endomitriosis. It's a fun disease that causes really painful periods. I had surgery back in the summer to remove most of it, but I take birth control pills to help prevent new growth. A lesbian on birth control...it just ain't right. That reminds me of a hilarious exchange I had with the anesthesiologist during my surgery. I'm in the pre-op area hooked up to IVs and such. Both Chris and my Mom were back there with me, and the anesthesiologist walks up to ask me the standard questions...allergies, past experiences under anethesia, etc.

Anesthesiologist: Is there any chance you are pregnant?
Me: Uh, no.
A: Well, it's really important because the anesthesia could harm the baby. I mean, you may not even know that you're pregnant.
Me: Really, there's no chance.
A: We may need to do a pregnancy test...
Me: Look, there is zero chance...this is my girlfriend. I'm a lesbian.
A: Well, she doesn't know what you do when she's not around.

Freaking hilarious.

Ok, back to the point. So, I take birth control for the endo. and I take Celexa for anxiety. Actually it's the generic version thanks to the blood-sucking insurance company. Bastards. And I don't care what they say, the generic formula is not the same as the name brand. Case in point, and the original subject of this post...the generic makes me sick to my stomach. The name brand does not. Explain that people! The birth control does the same thing. So, I have to remember to take both with a meal. Well, I forgot to take my birth control pill Saturday so I had to double up on Sunday. Not fun. I felt ill all evening. I feel better if I eat something, but good lord, that's the last thing you want to do when you're nauseous.

"Hmmm, I feel as though I am going to empty my stomach of all of its contents. But boy, a turkey sandwich sure sounds good right now."

I think not, my friends. Chris was a trooper and followed me into the bathroom with the wet washcloth, held my hair, and rubbed my back. I appreciated her efforts although, I am not one that wants an audience when vomiting is a possibility. It's just one of the most vile of the bodily functions. Absent of a life-threatening situation, what other bodily function do you pray to get out of? "Please God, don't let me throw up. Really, whatever you want. I'll go to church every Sunday, I'll start doing charity work, I'll return that highlighter I stole from work on Friday...you name it, I'll do it!"

We humans should give ourselves some credit though. We are somewhat couth when it comes to these things. We at least excuse ourselves to the bathroom or hang our head out the window of a moving car or something. Animals? Not so much. Cats, especially, will go to the most inappropriate places. If you have not a stitch of carpeting in your house, your cat will find your bathroom rug. Don't leave any important paperwork out either. An original copy of your birth certificate apparently offers some comfort to the cat with a tummy ache.

Speaking of animals, our cat, Jack, waltzes into the bathroom. It's not that he was concerned about me, he just wants to be wherever Chris is. We actually have a picture of Chris doing a recent home improvement project, painting with one arm and holding Jack in the other like a sack of potatoes. Jack sits in Chris' lap, and I swear, I feel him making biscuits on my back as I'm kneeling on the bathroom floor. Then our dog Abba comes to the door, wagging her tail as if this is a party she wants in on. Privacy does not exist in our house. While all of this is going on, I'm still trying to come up with something that trumps what I promised God I would do last time I felt like I was going to throw up. Apparently what I prayed for, the big G liked, because the clouds parted, the animals scattered, and my stomach settled. And for that gift, all I have to do is adopt a baby from a third world country a la Angelina Jolie.

I think it was a fair trade. Don't you?

The Importance of Oral Hygiene

This is an email I sent a few days ago:

Dearest Family and Friends,

I went to the dentist today. The last time I went to the dentist, George W. Bush was governor of Texas, the world was bracing for Y2K, and I was years away from 30. Ok, enough suspense...it was 6 years ago. And I'm bearing my soul (and puffy gums) for your people to illustrate a point. If you haven't been to the dentist in a while...GO. NOW. Stop what you're doing and run to the nearest dentist's office. I don't know what happened. As a kid and all through my teens, I went to the dentist religiously 2 times a year. (Maybe that's because my Mom drove me there...hmmmmm.) It was sheer laziness. I don't have dental-phobia, in fact, I used to love going to the dentist when I was a kid. I distinctly remember making Valentine's Day cards for Dr. Hamilton and Sue one year. The dentist was fun...I got to pick out a plastic ring from the treasure box before I left, and three words...Mr. Blue Nose. For those of you who didn't go to Dr. Hamilton in Huntsville, AL, Mr. Blue Nose was actually the machine that dispensed Nitrous Oxide. Good stuff. I am scared of many things, but the dentist isn't one of them.

So, to recap, laziness has prevented me from the dentist's chair since, well, the 1900s. It was time. My appointment was this morning, and I was a little nervous last night. Chris has been to this particular dentist before, so I grilled her for information. Chris put me at ease. She said, "she will ask you if you floss, but she admitted to me that she doesn't floss every day. Just be honest." So, I was honest...when filling out my questionnaire it asked, "How many times a week do you floss?" I put 1-2 times per week. Ahem. Hey, it could happen. So, I fill out all of my paperwork, and I'm greeted by a very pleasant hygeinist named Linda who leads me to the chair. First of course come the X-rays. People, we can put a man on the moon, but we can't get someone to measure the inside of a human mouth and realize those things are too big? It's like putting poster board in your mouth. And should I be concerned that she put a huge lead apron over me? So that is over and done with, but now the real fun begins. Lovely Linda then spent the better part of 20 minutes wielding dental instruments like a pick ax. I am trying to focus on the easy listening being piped into the room, and the "Hang in There" poster on the wall with the kitten dangling from the tree limb. "Screw you kitty, when you get your teeth cleaned, they put you to sleep!" Meanwhile, Linda is trying to strike oil between my first and second bicuspid. Finally, she finishes with the scraping and polishes my teeth. Then she flosses. Oh my Lord. Linda grabs the floss and pulls off what I swear is yard of string. And away she goes, all the while explaining that it's really important to get underneath the gum. I'm nodding furiously, "Yes, yes, under the gum, of course, absolutely!" Linda termed it "aggressive flossing" and assured me that after a few days, my gums would get used to it, and the bleeding would stop. I kid you not.

So then, in walks the dentist, Dr. Greissinger with my X-rays. We exchange pleasantries, and she says, "So, you floss 1-2 times a week, huh? Should be more like 1-2 times a day." Wait, where is cool hip, Dr. G who told Chris that she herself doesn't floss everyday? But before I could protest, she says, "Well there are 5 areas that I'm concerned about." I'm sorry, did you say 5? 1-2-3-4-5? Yep, five. F-I-V-E. I'm getting 5 cavities filled. And there must be a limit on how many they can do per day, because it's being spread over two appointments. Linda could see the horror on my face and said, "Just look at it this way, it's almost one for every year you didn't come to the dentist." Gee, thanks, Linda.

Go to the dentist, people. Now, I'm not one to preach, but I remember a picture that used to hang in Dr. Hamilton's office. It was of this old man displaying a huge toothless grin. The caption was, "If ya got 'em, floss 'em." Amen, brother...Amen.

Old Blog

I found my old blog, and I have added those posts with the original dates here. Check them out to see how much I've changed over the past year.

web find o' the day

online pumpkin carving

all the fun of pumpkin carving without the mess and the risk of stabbing yourself with a steak knife.

I'm bringing blogging back

I am giving in to the overwhelming demand to start my own blog. And by overwhelming demand, I mean two people. And by demand, really, it was more like me saying "Hey, wouldn't it be awesome if i had my own blog?" and the reply being "Yeah, whatever. Paper or plastic?"

So, like I said, by lukewarm demand at best, I am officially a blogger. Truth be told I started a blog about a year ago, but I quit after 3 days. Too much trouble. This time will be different. I'm going for 4.