Wednesday, September 29, 2010

wanna bump droids?

*I am a nerd because I find this hysterical

'Ol Red finally ate it. Hardcore. We had a good long run. I have run over her. Doused her with vodka. Dropped her in multiple puddles. I've done everything short of duct tape her together to keep her in my life, but sadly she is no longer with us. [Tangent: Ps. Ol' Red was my cellular telephone, lest you think I throw vodka on an elderly relative or duct taped a dog.] I've had my grieving period (2 hours) and decided to find another love; and new love- thy name is droid. maybe I don't NEED a droid, per say- but I WANTED one...maybe because it is the closest thing to a robot that still reasonably fits into my "out on disability" budget. There is a small part of me, not unlike anybody my age, that has longed for a robot since childhood. [Tangent: Next to aliens (ALF, ET, Mac and Me et al), robots were the cat's pajamas in the 80s. They were the vampires of my era: Transformers, R2D2, Robocop, Johnny 5, VICKI (see below). It was embedded into me that I needed some sort of minion to talk at me in a weird "speak and spell" kinda voice and do things for me that I didn't even know were possible...preferably even one that I would consider "family."]

They were everywhere, and I was jonesin' for one to call my own...but all I got was Alfie, the educational robot. This plastic playmate taught me about colors and shapes, but he was a bullshit excuse for a robo-friend. I wanted one like Kevin, Screech's robot butler. Alfie didn't even move, or know my name. [Tangent: Nor did he aid me in my magic act during the Miss Bayside pageant or help me tutor Kelly Kapowski for the big chemistry test.] What the hell, Alfie?

What I wanted...

 What I got....

Thankfully, 20 years later, I have enough disposable income to afford my own android, and he is BAD ASS! It's a good thing I waited. [Tangent: I come from a family baffled by technology. My Granny stored bread in her microwave for several years, because the technology of heating something through waves of heat was a very overwhelming concept to her- given, she was 88 at the time. When one sees me fumbling with my new fancy phone like someone that requires a helmet and a bib, it proves I am definitely of her lineage.] Now I have this tiny black box that can store books and scrabble boards and emails and likely some sort of murder weapons. Pictures and contact info can be transferred droid to droid with a simple bump.  It even possesses the creepy Steven Hawking robot voice that alerts me when I have a new message. Dark magic must be involved in some capacity; of this I am certain. So now after all this, I'm positive you wanna buy one...and then we can bump droids. [Tangent: I am not even sure what that entirely means yet, but it is laced with double entendre, so I am on board!]

Saturday, September 25, 2010

you don't have to be a hooch...

Its September 25th, and I am already stressing about my Halloween costume. This seems like an unnecessary stress, and it is completely self-inflicted. It's imperative that I have a good Halloween costume, there are no exceptions to this. If only I could take the easy chick way out and dress whorish, but I refuse. [Tangent: I get it, ladies... its liberating to let your inner 'tute out one day a year, when you can't get judged for it. I have bought a pair of thigh highs or two at the Halloween store. I get the allure, I just feel there must be a point where it becomes excessive. Last year, while driving home from the Halloween Avett Brothers show downtown, I saw a girl in a belly-less corset and cheeky panties. The thermostat was topping out at 40 degrees, and she was the sole lady in a sea of "gentlemen". Not to be cynical, but there might be a roofie tinged gang bang in her future. Either that or someone stole her clothes, and she was left with simply undergarments. Only, she didn't seem too upset by that situation.] If possible, the costume manufacturers have sexy-fied every seemingly innocent character. Exhibit A: The "Sexy Care Bear" costume. These looks give Bedtime Bear a whole new connotation.
*Since I don't have the boobs or daddy-issues needed for these looks, I will have to be creative.

Since first grade when I was Punky Brewster, I have had stellar homemade costumes that don't revolve around tatas and animal ears, [Tangent: That's not completely true.  I was a puppy in second grade, but the costume was sweatsuit-based as were most of my childhood costumes. I am certain it was in no way scandalous.] so I can't drop the ball now. I have finally settled on my Halloween costume, to be revealed in a later blog...but not before learning lessons from Halloweens past. 

Masks without mouth holes are completely impractical, especially if you plan to imbibe. 

*Yes....I am wearing a mask that has likely been tried on by many Walgreen's patrons. I claim insanity.

Have a goal in mind.
Ex: "I want to wear a ridiculous amount of makeup, and possibly Lee Press-on Nails." 

Work with your flaws. 
Ex: A wheelchair is a hard thing to decorate around sometimes...but sometimes it comes in was the case with Wheelchair Barbie. 
...SUB- LESSON: Invest in a wig cap. They are $2 and keep that "I want to rip my scalp off" feeling at bay.

Repurpose and Recycle!
Ex: Old Fry box + little boy tie + shirt I've had forever + Zorro costume = HAMBURGLAR
 ...SUB LESSON: Make sure you straighten your accessories before photogs catch you disheveled. 

Be comfortable... and if it's cold- DON'T DRESS SLUTTY!
*This is likely my favorite costume ever and was constructed very last minute and free. 
Thanks internet for the printable ET mask!
Just because you own a wig cap, you don't have to wear a wig!
Ex: I had short hair and was very tempted to wear one, but I opted to embrace the bob. 
If you feel that you want to be scandalous and be a Skank McGank, think "What would Audrey do?"
*apparently, Audrey would hang out with Tina Turner.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

I'm a gleek.

Music is one of my passions, and I know a lot of song lyrics, yet I am a terrible singer- an unfortunate catch-22. This dichotomy within leads me to secretly despise people that harmonize and sing full voice along with the radio, while I just mouth along enthusiastically [Tangent: This is an advantage to me during "Its the End of the World as we Know it," because I can just "watermelon ...watermelon ...watermelon...watermelon" after hearing Michael Stipe yell "LEONARD BERNSTEIN!"]. If I opt not to lip sync, I run the risk of sounding like sandpaper and thumbtacks running through a food processor, while Fran Drescher, Bobcat Golthwait and Gilbert Godfried hum in unison. 

Despite my jealousy of good singers who like to showcase it, I am a huge fan of the show Glee. That doesn't quite add up, because the show could easily be renamed "Show offs," and I would still loyally watch. I would then DVR aforementioned episode and watch it again the next day sans commercial breaks, and then rewatch the musical numbers until I had them committed to memory.[Tangent: Then, of course, I would buy all of the songs from the episode off itunes, and rock out to them in my car with the window down while outside a hipster music venue, drawing scornful looks from the parking attendant as I fist pumped to Mercedes's cover of "Bust yo windows." Yeah...that happened. Couldn't make that up].

It is not a mystery why I like the show. Despite being straight, I am a magnet of gay culture, and nothing is gayer, or more worthy of a "You go, boy," than Kurt singing Rose's Turn. Plus, wheelchair people are on it [Sidenote: When Artie is featured in some kind of handicapped dilemma, it always make me cry.]. As anyone who has seen their jazzy take on Gaga's Poker Face can attest, songs are covered in awesomely ridiculous ways. On top of all these arguments, the writing is funny and they have absurdly random guest stars. 

Also, as many might find odd: I was in middle school [Tangent: "Why not high school?" you may ask.  The answer is simple; At my high school, you had to try out. In middle school you did also, but I found a loophole; I started mid-year.]. One day a week, I stayed after school to polish my dazzling rendition of "Purple People Eater," complete with hand motions, while adding various other hip tunes to my repetoire. As I recall we did the the annual Christmas concert and along the way did the standard song featuring sign language. [Tangent: I think the only American sign language I know/remember is from choral performances over the years. When encountering someone who is hearing impaired, I don't know how much the words "love," "music" and "friendship" will come up, but I guarantee its a starting point for some breed of awkward conversation.] As moving as I was after being watered down by 30 other middle school voices, I doubt I would ever reduce anyone to a mound of tears and goosebumps with my cover of Journey's Faithfully, like the Glee kids did to me...but I put in a valiant effort.
I was the girl version of this, but with more horrific looking glasses and gelled bangs.

Monday, September 20, 2010

The Most Wonderful time of the year.

Yesterday I was driving to Sportsman's to show everyone that I was finally  on the road to feeling better, and on the way there (which is a 3 mile drive at the most), I passed not one but two gratuitous displays of Halloween decor. I am not simply referring to a jack o' lantern or even a flag with some kind of jolly vampire on it, that was likely purchased from a Lillian Vernon catalog. [Tangent: I am not even sure if those publications still exist...but the obnoxious seasonal flags do. I do know my mom got them religiously because once she ordered ballerina jewelry boxes out of them for me and my sister. However I think they really cater to the grandmother set who enjoyed buying their loved ones things they neither want nor need if they are over the age of 10, all with your name embroidered on it. i.e. color blocked thermal lunch tote (personalization optional); throw with gorgeous running horses (personalization optional);  matching his and hers beach towels (personalization optional).] The displays I encountered included lights, ghosts hanging from trees and blow up pumpkins with Snoopy atop them. The latter of which enrages me. I am not a fan of inflatable seasonal decor, but the rest is fine by me.

I started to get really excited, I mean, Halloween is my favorite holiday. [Tangent: This will become painfully evident in future blogs before October 31st.] I pictured leaves falling and me in a scarf and some really cute stocking and boot combo, drinking cocoa on a hayride and then scrambling around to get the pieces for a perfect costume. All the while, I would be breathing in that burning pumpkin and dead leave smell that for some reason I find some intoxicating. [OK, lets be honest, this scenario is fictitious- who opts to wear a skirt instead of pants when going on a hayride?]

Nevertheless, I was excited and immediately started narrowing down my three costume options that I have concocted since November 1st of last year. I then I realized that its still mid-September and still 90 degrees. I was suddenly pissed at the people in my neighborhood for giving me false hopes that Halloween is around the corner, when in actuality, its hypothetical blocks away. The good people at Target share my resentment for making me look at pet costumes for 15 minutes today before realizing that I have several weeks to make the tough decision between dressing Newman as a hot dog or a turtle. [Tangent: No,  before the judgement that I am a weird dog lady sets in, Newman will likely not don a costume this year. He doesn't even like wearing a harness. Newmie's a nudist and will not be rocking these looks below, much to my disappointment.]
I guess the way I will truly know the joy of Halloween is upon us is when my next door neighbors begin their display, which if history serves will be the first of October. They make gigantic spiders out of leaf filled garbage bags and drainage piping and hang life-size witches from their trees. Its like a mash-up between old timey Salem and the awful David Arquette abomination of a film, Eight Legged Freaks. Its very jarring. My father thinks their lack of taste boils down to them being Republicans (that's daddy for ya!). At least they aren't rushing the season.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

"Look out Music City...because I'm here now, and I ain't never leaving?"- A thing called love.

At my job, I don't have a whole lot of things going on that I truly enjoy- but for some reason I LOVE writing the daily email. My friend Alex [Tangent: see the blog Who's 'That Girl'?] has taken over during my hiatus, but its actually something I miss. Its stupid and usually gets insta-deleted by most of my coworkers, but I tirelessly allot 30 minutes of my daily production to putting together a hodge podge of interesting facts and quotes and pictures and things to clog their inboxes. There is a point to I was remembering that one day, the "Fact of the Day" was that 50% (I believe that's the percentage) of people live within 50 miles of their birthplace.

At first, I thought, "Jesus, thats depressing," then I realized I AM THAT PERSON! In fact, I live even closer than that. I live in my childhood home. Gross. To my defense, I have moved out for 4 and a half move roughly 30 miles away. Disgusting. Only to move back in with my parents. Tragic.

Well, I am being melodramatic...I actually love my city and my inability to leave it is completely self-imposed. When I was little [Tangent: By little, I mean being a melodramatic and angsty awkward middle schooler.], I was not the biggest fan of Nashville and thought it was super lame and hick-ish. As I have grown up (growing especially strong in the last year, because I have had the beauty of driving around our fair city's lovely streets) I have fallen head over heels in love with my town. I have come to fully appreciate the magic of seeing an amazing live show at some random bar or driving the Natchez Trace in the springtime when everything is like the jungle green marker in a box of Crayola Bold markers.

Then the other day I was reading my friends Amber and Tyler's blog and felt further inspired by Nashvegas. [Tangent: I have known Amber and Tyler for probably 10 years and last week they left for their 2 year journey to teach overseas...where may you ask was their destination? SAUDI ARABIA. That's not playing around. They didn't pick Bali or the French Riviera, they chose Saudi Arabia (WHOAH!), which I think is awesome. Their blog is fascinating and my daily dose of humor and culture. Check it out...after you check out mine of course.] Tyler, upon leaving, reflected upon the things he loves about our hometown...and I thought I would share it below. Aside from the love of Karl Dean, it closely mirrors my own feelings.

From Tyler's Blog: 

I love lower Broad. I love the Titans. I love Karl Dean. I love country music (seriously.). I love the Flying Saucer. I love the neighborhoods. I love the hipsters in East Nashville. I love the weird restaurants that think they're in Portland. I love Baja Burrito. I love how Old Hickory Blvd. is one road, but really is like 10 different ones. I love how all the roads have 3 different names, but are all actually the same road. I love Brentwood High. I love Vaughn's Gap. I love that the Parthenon is made of concrete. I love that you can drive 20 minutes in any direction and end up in the country. I love the Ryman. I love that my AP English teacher sang for the Opry. I love that my friends came here from all over and all of them love it. I love the name Nashthrill. I love the Batman building. I love the concerts on the river. 

His series of observations reminded me of something that I have known inherently for years,  that I should my status as a native Nashvillian as something of a badge of honor and not a cross to bear. It also inspired me to write my own love letter to the city. Thanks Tyler for letting me rip you off. 

I love Franklin Rd, the fact that it can take you from downtown Franklin into downtown Nashville, and takes you by all the McMansions and the farms. I love hipster watching in Fido on Sunday afternoons. I love the sound of banjos and mandolins.  I love hearing people's 2010 flood stories. I love losing myself at McKay's used bookstore.  I love that Sportsman's Lodge is my Cheers. I love that every store on Broad has a buy one pair of cowboy boots, get 2 pairs free sale year round. I love The Nashville Scene, and the You're so Nashville If... I love when people have Southern Pride without being ignorant hate-filled racists. I love neon signs on Broadway at night. I love that I know Demetria Kaladimos shops at the French Shop. I love the appearance of a Hatch Show Print. I love the little old ushers at the Ryman who have worked there for decades and the fact that some wear both ear plugs and hearing aides. I love discovering new areas. I love the Beer Seller, the Flying Saucer and Broadway Brewhouse. I love the Greek Festival. I love watching the Brentwood fireworks at the end of my driveway every 4th of July. I love how passionate people are about music. I love local commercials. I love a patio downtown in the spring. I love Lightning 100. I love the fact that famous people wanna live here, and when you see them they aren't assholes. I love meeting other native Nashvillians. I love that I have less than 6 degrees of separation from anyone else that has lived here any length of time.

Friday, September 17, 2010

You have drunk my kool aid.

Lately I have really been scrambling for blog fodder because my daily life is fairly hum- drum...unless you want another blog about me watching television all day and waiting for my trach site to heal. [Tangent: This might be a little too much info so "earmuffs", but I consider it educational. Trach sites heal from the inside out- trachea to outer neck skin- and heal fairly quickly, however, not fast enough for my liking. I had it removed last Thursday, and I still regularly whistle out the pin-sized hole that remains in my neck. Call Barnum and Bailey and get me in a circus post haste. I have a limited window on this novelty parlor trick.] Because I am trying to deviate from the banality that is blogging my daytime activities, I want to take this opportunity to reflect on this whole blogging thing. 

As you all might know, I started blogging again because I had writer's block. My book that I have been working on for about 3 years has been stuck in park for about a year at the 54 page mark, and I thought "Well, hell, maybe I will just blog." People seem to enjoy it. I know this because I just checked my "stats," and it says I have had 3,132 views (63 of which were today, and its only 1 pm!). WHAAAAAAA? That's madness. [Tangent: OK, confession...many of these views are probably my own. I tend to over analyze my writing and check/recheck for errors because I am tremendously untalented at self proofreading, and coincidentally, many of my friends are grammar Nazis.]

Another lame thing I got really excited about is: I have 26 followers, 2 of whom I have never met. Its one thing to have your mom follow your blog, but to have strangers subscribing is a far bigger accomplishment. Followers make me happy. It makes me feel like a cult leader [I say that with the best possible connotations, as if being a cult leader could have good connotations.] or at the very least the popular girl in high school, which I really wasn't.

I also found many other interesting statistics on this previously unviewed stat page. For example, many people didn't intentionally want to read my blog, but stumbled upon it while googling something else. The page even shows you what their google search term was. These were the standouts:

theraflu = zombie

"crapped her pants" [<---Note the quotes. They wanted specifically that and that only.]
cake like a wheelchair
unintentional  pregnancy doggy style [<----I kinda wish this was a WebMD query]
a picture of that so raven having guilt

[Tangent: I really wanna know the back story on the last two, but I imagine that if you hit image search, you would find the following picture for the last one.]

The fact that these search terms yielded the end result of my blog makes me feel infinitely classy. [Tangent: Of course, the fact that I am wearing an airbrushed Tazmanian Devil t-shirt with a gravy stain and some ripped Umbros isn't helping matters. Just kidding I only pull that ensemble out for church.] Other terms like "dancing girl in wheelchair" lead me to believe that some confuse my blog for some kind of weird fetish porn site. These individuals will be highly disappointed...unless they are into some weird niche blog market, that I didn't even know that case read on perverts. Lets make it to 5,000 views!

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Mr Big is only good as a late 80s band

I am still off work recuperating and living off my FMLA and disability for a couple more weeks till I am ready mentally and physically to jump back on that hamster wheel that is my day job.  This means my free time runneth over. Because of this, I pretty much sit on facebook, play online scrabble, try to gain back the few pounds I lost by inhaling food, and watch movies all the livelong day. Due to my sloth, it makes me very happy that HBO has obtained a whole new crop of movies during my 5 week absense to keep me in my new hermit lifestyle. [Tangent: For some reason, my penny-pinching family has every HBO, Showtime, Encore and Skinamax known to man. I am not complaining. Trust that I love and take full advantage of it, but my father only watches MSNBC, CBS and The Western he really is overpaying.]

This morning, nothing was really on, so I opted to give something that I loathe a second chance. I am about to make a statement that I know many will disagree with: I don't like the Sex and the City Wheww....there I said it. That was so hard, I almost feel as if I need a chaser. Every girl I know thinks I am an elitist [Tangent: Clearly I am not, You've Got Mail and Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead are among my favorite films.] and/or emotionally stunted due to my feelings toward this movie, especially since I like [notice I said "like" and didn't say "am obsessed with"] the television show as well as its PG rated cousin in syndication. Even my best friend, who isn't generally a girly-girl, loves the movie and doesn't understand why I don't. Many of my friends sported heels and went to go see it in groups, all gussied up, I just had no interest.  It seems like something that should appeal to me: I like perverted conversation. I like fashion. I write a blog. I want an Asian baby and a Jewish husband. Seems like a big pile of WIN.

Maybe I had been too hasty in my initial assessment of needed a second viewing with fresh eyes. My new review: Slightly less terrible, but still not what I would call enjoyable. And this time I watched it from beginning to end and not in segments over time. [Tangent: Segments were necessary. This movie is long...I mean really really ungodly long. I thought it was almost over so I clicked the guide button to see what was coming on next. Only 54 minutes had transpired. To me, a movie should be epic to deserve a time frame of 2.5 hours. This was no Saving Private Ryan.]

Part of my problem is I have grown to hate all the characters. Miranda is a cold bitch. Samantha is a turbo slut. Charlotte is a moron. When I used to play the old "which Sex and the City characters would we be game?"  [Tangent: Every girl my age did in college, If you didn't you are lying to yourself.] I always saw myself as the Carrie. Despite her affinity for deliberate visible bra strap, I've always enjoyed her. She seems like she has more than one dimension.  

Because I have always kept Carrie on a bit of a pedestal, I hate this movie. Or wait- that's not fair, because I think Big is a douche and Carrie is a douchette for loving him, I hate this movie. 

WARNING: Prepare yourself...I am about to do something I do quite frequently. I am about to pretend that fictional characters are real and get on my soapbox about it.

Big, nee John James Preston, is a tool. He even has a horrible nickname with semi perverted connotations, as if he was a frat boy or a Jersey Shore housemate. [Although I think The Situation is actually a more clever name.] True he has money, so much so that he can afford to call off a obviously expensive New York wedding. That might appeal to some demos...just not this one. 

If I was the moron, the cold bitch or the turbo slut- I would not have embraced him so warmly at the film's ending. WHY? Despite his via email apologies and plagiarizing of  famous love poems to Carrie- what had he really done to win them all over? Had the film already exceeded the allotted 2.5 hours, and the producers had no time to tie up all these loose ends? I probably could have done without a 10th "trying on clothes montage," if someone would give me 4 minutes of us explanation on that matter. 

If I were her friend, I would have said, "Carrie, remember that charming wood worker you used to date, maybe he is the more stable choice." Or maybe a sexy voice, the ability to craft things with one's hands and a baseball and beer kinda attitude are not things that appeal to someone I thought I was akin to. In that case- more Aiden for me. We'll always have United State of Tara.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Inpregnito and other daily offerings

While I was couped up in the hospital, I had a lot of free time...and by a lot, I mean 24 hours. [Tangent: You may ask, "Weren't you sleeping 8 hrs?"...the answer is a deafening NO! Blood pressure checks, temperature checks, beeping machines, intercoms, doctors popping by at 4 am....yeah it will cut into your sleepytime. No amount of celestial seasonings tea or Ambien for that matter could remedy that] What do you do when you can't leave your room...or talk...or eat? You watch daytime TV, of course.  [Tangent: This is something  haven't done since middle school when I got heavy into Passions and Days of Our Lives. Yeah...I was "that girl."]

At Vandy, for some inexplicable reason- they get only about 15 arbitrary channels. Basic local TV stations and then TLC, Discovery, CNN, ESPN and Disney. Because of these limitations, and the fact that I am spoiled with my 500 channels, I created my daily  daytime TV schedule, which was as follows:

7:00-9:00 - The Today Show
9:00-10:00 - Regis and Kelly
10:00-11:00 - The View
11:00-12:00- The Doctors [Tangent: Perhaps the most aggravating show on any station, anywhere. First off: They cover about 20 topics an episode..which is great theoretically, but they don't really cover them fully. Ex: This guy in the audience had questions about his back acne. The  "sexy lady doctor" said it might be his hair conditioner. And...on to the next topic. It was never addressed if he even used hair conditioner. Secondly, none of these people are ready for TV.  Although, I did once harbor a crush on  the main doc, Travis Stork. (Unprecedented Sub-Tangent: This was before his debut as the Bachelor, he was my ER doc at Vandy once and may have seen me naked.) The swooning has halted. He is terrible at reading off cue cards (like Anna Nicole bad). ]
12:00-12:30 -  Who Wants to be a Millionaire? Meridith Vierra edition [Tangent: The answer to the question is "none of the people on this show." They also have far too many lifelines. They have 4 nowadays... back in my day they had 3 lifelines..and a host with early signs of dementia. Sorry, I will get off that little soap box and outta my front porch rocker now. ]
12:30- 1:00 - Let's Make a Deal [Tangent: Costumes and Wayne Brady are of course I am, too.]
1:00- 2:00  - Family Feud aka "The Feud" [Tangent: I love this show and am unashamed of my excitement level from Fox airing two episodes back to back. (Why are things so much more exciting when they are back to back?) I may have even lost a night or two of sleep deciding who from my family we would have to kick off the team, because we are a family of 6 and there are 5 slots. My mom and myself are automatically on the squad. I will let her have team captain because she's the matriarch and maybe a bigger fan than myself.]
2:00- I grow tired of it-  TLC progamming... chiefly I Didn't Know I was Pregnant [Tangent: There is too much to say about this show to capture it all within the brackets of a Kimmie I will have to move on to a new paragraph or multiple paragraphs.. BRACE YOURSELVES!]

Although some days this show isn't on, and instead they show Cake Boss (the terrible guido's version of Ace of Cakes) or The Little Couple (adorable show about little people married with tiny dogs. Its as if there was a sale on cute and they cleaned up.)- its a special treat when TLC airs marathon episodes of my cleverly acronymed IDKIWP, which my best friend refers to as "big girls in denial." I love this show, mostly because I can't believe that there are enough people that will actually admit to being inpregnito to constitute a show...especially one with multiple seasons.

The best part of these shows are the re-enactments, which will either feature the mother themselves doing some Oscar- caliber acting or an actress that TLC has clearly randomly hired. The latter is my favorite because sometimes the mother-to-be will be (SURPRISE!)  slightly trashy, and you can tell they couldn't even find an out-of-work actress unfortunate-looking enough to portray her. [I don't think "Meth Face" is an adjective I'd put on my acting resume.] 

This 30 minutes of sheer WTF? has made me think that if I have indigestion and/or cramping, that I am giving birth to a child. My favorite was the lady who thought she had crapped her pants, and instead of finding stains in her sweatpants, she found a baby.

Taking honorable mention is the woman that had her baby on the toilet [Tangent: I have never had a baby, but if its as easy as having a large bowel movement- I have no idea what all those women are complaining about!]. That alone would not earn her the title, but the whole delivery went down while her boyfriend was in the next room. Instead of alerting him that something was amiss, she took the baby, still attached via umbilical cord, into the shower with her. Perhaps her logic was that if the baby was not all goo covered, it would be easier to explain. Either that, or it was a Crying Game moment, where she thought she could wash the shame away of being another statistic of big girls in denial.

Monday, September 13, 2010

girl vs. MICU

Been absent from blogging for 5 whole weeks.  I know, I know. I have let you down. I better have a good excuse-  unconsciously kidnapped by Russian spies and whisked away by thieves wearing Nixon masks.  [Tangent: That would have been far to practical, although it might have scored me my own episode of 48 Hours Mystery.]  Instead I was unconsciously taken into a car by my loved ones and whisked away by doctor's wearing surgical masks. [See...not as fun!]

At 11:30 pm on August 7, I was out with my sister, my best friend, her boyfriend and my other friends at Sportsman's.  Last I recall I was sitting, talking to my friend at the bar when I began having trouble breathing. All my many visitors in the hospital asked the same thing: "What happened?" The most irksome thing about this whole unintentional stay-cation is that I have no idea what happened. I do know when they did the X-ray at the ER (which I don't really recall because I went limp on the way there, but was told later) that I had aspiration pneumonia and a collapsed lung. What came first- the liquid or the lung? The world may never know.  Everyone, including my doctors, have their own theories.

But, while spending 2 days at Williamson Medical, 3 weeks in Vandy's MICU (that's Medical Intensive Care for those not as acclimated to hospitals as I am) and almost 2 weeks at a medical rehab center, I came to a startling and kinda egotistical conclusion about myself : I AM A BADASS. [Tangent: I know this is a very narcissistic statement, but for those of you that read my fear blog- you know I am scared of a lot of ridiculous things that have maybe a .1% chance of harming me.  I was pretty much in the lion's den, and I didn't stop to worry or get scared of this huge thing that was a 100% threat to me. I knew I was going to get better,despite chest tubes and trach tubes and tubes in every orifice.]

Amid all this, I feel like I found commonality with someone I admire, maybe even one-upped them. As a lifetime fan and stalker-from-a- distance from my outdoorsy Euro boyfriend Bear Grylls,  I may have trumped him in badassery. Truth be told I have never had to eviscerate a camel and then sleep inside his empty carcass or eat larvae for sustenance like my Man, who likes to go Vs. Wild. However, I have had to endure the following things which I dare my boy Bear to endure on his show and that I never want to revisit:
  • Having tube feedings for 2.5 weeks [which means a honey-mustard like substance going up a tube up your nose and into your belly,  and not being able to eat actual savory deliciousness liquid or solid] while your friends and family eat McDonalds
  • Due to the glory of being intubated, not being able to speak for 3 weeks, other than things jotted down on dry erase boards or words exchanged via the ancient art of lip reading. This included being in the same room with your brother for the first time in 8 months, and not being able to say hello.
  • Being tied to a bed, even though I had no intention of putting up a fight- I am a 85 lb girl with MD....really medical professionals??? REALLY?!?!? [Big ups to my night nurse that finally untied me day 4.]
  • Having to make the really difficult decision to get a temporary tracheotomy [which means a little throat hole] despite being vehemently against it. 
  • Not conventionally showering for 4 weeks or shaving. [I know-TMI.]
  • Hating drugs, yet being on so many that you can barely move and are hallucinating to the point that you are seeing babies by your bedside and horses made out of spaghetti in the corner. To many this would be a plus- not to me. 
  • Finally getting the OK to drink liquids and having the ugly adjective "Thickened" added before it on my medical orders. This means adding thickener so your beverage is motor oil consistency [Tangent: To be honest- thickened water wasn't half bad. Thickened Coke was. ]
  • Having a needle injected in your back and then seeing that about a half a liter of liquid the color and consistency of apple juice had been removed.
  • Having no cable. Yeah...I said it. That sucked.
I'm on the mend and all of these things are now remedied [including shaving which was order of business #1]. No new accessories that I didn't have on Aug 7 at 11:29 pm had to be added to my menagerie of durable medical equipment. Praise baby jesus, Jah, Allah,  Buddha, Vishnu, Scientology guy....and anyone else that had a hand in that.

I could have written my bold return to blogging a couple weeks ago once the hallucinogenic drugs were no longer being ordered, however I didn't know where to begin. I do know though, this is where I will end...until tomorrow...barring a medical emergency. Too soon?
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