Guess what I get to do! I'll give you a hint.
Wheeeeeee!!! My very own colonoscopy. I'm so happy.
In the family tradition of asking physicians for leftovers from medical procedures, I'll see if I can get some snapshots for my Flickr photos.
It's been over a week since I started feeling crappy, and I'm no better. I treat the symptoms and they go away, temporarily but then come back the next day a little more vindictive than the day before. Nothing I do makes seems to a difference. I've made changes in my diet, let my body rest when it tells me to, and yet I still wake up feeling no different. At this point, I'm afraid to eat at all. All food seems like poison.
Tomorrow I see my doctor so maybe I can get some answers or at least a big ass bottle of pain pills, 'cause Papa needs him some pain pills NOW. I'll admit it. I'm a wuss when it comes to pain. I feel no shame in that statement. Now give me a percocet damnit.
Elliott has pretty much not left my side since this started. He has an knack of knowing if any of us don't feel well and wants to be with us. And since all I do is sleep, pretty much that's all we do. He still has the record in the house, but I definitely have second place bagged.
What is it about balloons that make even grown adults compelled to stuff them under their shirts and giggle like little girls?
Starting Thursday, the contemporary art museum I live near will be displaying a replica of the city I live in made entirely of Jell-O.
I. Kid. You. Not.
Now, I love art. Contemporary art in particular. But Jell-O? Really? I mean c'mon.
The "rendering" will only be on display for six days. After that Camelback Mountain starts to sweat and get runny.
When I was in second grade, I fell over onto my bedroom floor buckled over in pain. I think I may have passed out eventually. The next day I was in the hospital preparing to have my appendix removed. Even at the tender age of seven, I was completely mortified when my mother asked my doctor if my appendix could be put in a jar so I could take it to show-and-tell.
Fast forward to 2000, I was working at the Really Big Corporation® and putting in 14-16 hour days working for a boss I loathed with the intensity of a thousand white hot suns. I had abdominal cramping, fevers, body aches. The first thing my doctor said to me was, "it sounds like you have appendicitis." I told him it was impossible since I didn't have an appendix. He asked if I could get those medical records, so I called my mom.
"Well, you had your appendix removed, but you didn't have appendicitis."
Uh...come again?
She told me I exhibited all the symptoms so naturally they thought my appendix was about to burst, but after they cut me open and removed it, they found nothing wrong with it.
Oddly, I remember her asking if I could take an internal organ to school but I don't remember having said organ removed for no reason. Oh well. I got a nifty scar and two weeks out of school. Yay me!
Armed with this new info, the tests began. X-rays. Sonograms. Lots of peeing in cups for tests. Some nasty medications.
Fed up without being able to find an answer, my doctor sent me to see someone else. He looked at my chart, felt my aching stomach and then asked me the magical question.
"What's been going on at work?"
(My original doctor never asked me that at all.)
I told him all about the long hours, etc. He looked up and told me I likely have irritable bowel syndrome or IBS.
Yay! An answer (sorta) and an acronym too.
He gave me some pills, but by that time most of my symptoms were diminishing since I hadn't been at work for several days.
Ever since then, I've used my stomach as a barometer for stress and done so with pretty good success. At the first stomach twinge, I'm all, "Whoa Nellie, let's pull back."
Unfortunately for the last three days, it's been pretty unavoidable. Lots of pain and lots of cramping. When I describe my symptoms to a friend, she says, "Are you sure you don't have PMS?"
If I do, Aunt Flo is a most unwelcome, unpleasant visitor for sure.
I've been browsing through my Netflix account and realize that I watch a hella lot of television shows and documentaries and rarely actual movies.
Plus the movies I have rented haven't been that great. Fantastic Four for example. Jessica Alba...plays a scientist...need I say more? And while, yes, Chris Evans is very nice to look at, unfortunately he speaks a lot during the movie and that more or less negates any positive attributes.
So I'm going to put my Netflix queue in the hands of the people. Please recommend a movie for me and tell me why you think I'd enjoy it.
Pretty please with extra butter-flavored topping on top?
Jason: You don't want to use the Caribbean Jerk hot sauce you gave us for Christmas?
Me: No. That was a gift for you and Julie.
Jason. Oh, okay.
Me: And besides, I peed in it.
Yes. That is me from many moons ago. I can't remember how old I was. Probably three or four.
I'm just going to go ahead and say it. Damn. I was a cute kid. Too bad it went all downhill.
When I look at this, I think two things. First, I'd kill to have that hair color. (Hell, I'd love to have that hair, as mine diminishes on a daily basis.) Look how perfect it is. What would you even call that? Auburn? Chestnut?
And secondly, what the hell did my mother dress me in? Is that a plaid tunic? Jeez.
I don't know a lot about my family. I only met my father's father a couple times; once when I was five and another when I was in junior high. He died my freshman year in college. I knew he had a twin brother, but that's it.
Honestly, I've never been that curious about his side of the family, but this weekend Homer was asking me about them. He then put his genealogy hat on and started tracing my family tree. After a few minutes he told me my grandfather's father's name was Speed. Now that's a soap opera name if I ever heard one.
Speed is engaged to marry Dominique but is secretly having an affair with Jasmine who is married to his brother Lujack who is trying to take over their father's, Harlan, international consulting firm.
He found the above photo of my grandfather's brothers. There were nine of them. I'm not sure if he's in it.
Homer also found out my great great great grandfather died fighting in the Civil War. Fighting for the Confederacy.
*blank stare*
Sometimes ignorance is bliss.
I saw this on AfterElton.com. It's a delightful short film starring Lauren Graham of Gilmore Girls and written and directed by Jenny Bicks of Sex and the City. The film was sponsored by Glamour magazine as part of a short series taken from readers actual experiences that were developed into a film by professionals. It's such a sweet, funny and well made film and totally made me smile this morning.
Of course, now I want an empanada.
| This is Deek. Today is his birthday. He is one of the bestest friends a guy could have. He is super smart and has a very generous heart and spirit. He is also wickedly funny. We often end up giggling like little school girls. Plus, for sixty-four, he doesn't look half bad. Happy Birthday Deek! |
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Writing about those movies I've seen three times in the theater (three seems to be my cap) got me thinking about one of my favorite movies I saw three times in the theater: Mulholland Drive.
When I went to see it first, I hated this movie so hard. I thought it was the biggest piece of crap. It made no sense and just a big fucked up mess.
But I couldn't stop thinking about it. Its images stayed with me. It was alluring. I had to go see it a second time. Watching it again, it started to click and I saw it for what it was: visionary. It's surrealism that doesn't make me roll my eyes. It may be weird but it's totally mesmerizing.
If you are at all interested, here is everything you wanted to know about it. But I recommend seeing it for yourself first. Maybe a couple times. Maybe even three.
Looking through the drawers and cluttered top of my desk, I've discovered that I have a habit of not only keeping fortunes from fortune cookies, but also movie ticket stubs. Here are a few.
