If you aren't familiar, Ashley Disease is a mysterious collection of symptoms whose only connection is that Ashley has all of them. It is characterized by headaches/migraines, nausea, lactose intolerance, non-specific pain, nose bleeds, hyper-flexible joints, teeth that eat themselves, general clumsiness, etc.
But lucky for me, I get to add a new symptom to my list. I have Temporomandibular joint disorder or TMJ (I guess it is really a bundle of symptoms, but whatever). Basically it is another one of those horribly debilitating ailments that can't be fixed. Yay.
Apparently this is something that my dentist figured I always had, but since I never complained, he never said anything. And then, almost a year ago, while getting one of those teeth that ate itself crowned in the way way back of my mouth, there was a pop and some real discomfort. But I didn't complain. Apparently, I should have because I had dislocated my jaw, which, over the next eight months would crack and pop and grind and hurt and build up loads of scar tissue in my face until I finally complained.
Since then, I have seen three specialists, gone to physical therapy on a weekly basis and been put on an all liquid diet. They have told me to try and not talk, given me loads of drugs and tried to get me to drop two grand on a mouth guard that "probably won't work."
But there was one thing that they all swore would cure me: eliminate stress. Are you effing kidding me?!?! What? Quit my job and hire a personal assistant? Too bad if I were to do that I would be stressed because I don't have a job and have to pay my personal assistant.
Showing posts with label medical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label medical. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Let Me Tell You What it is Like to Have 17 Bug Bites on One Arm
It sucks.
Beneath my sleeve lives an angry colony of bumps that constantly remind me of their presence. And for some reason, they decided to concentrate themselves only on my right arm. I have a total of 18 mosquito bites at this very moment and all but one are located on my single arm. And really the annoyance of said bumps is not the worst of it.
Having a mess of bug bites on your arm is something akin to having leprosy I am finding. I tried to wear a short sleeved shirt to work yesterday for easier itching access, but all I found were looks of horror at my bare arm. “It is just a bunch of bug bites,” I would tell them as they backed away nodding and running out to get a fresh small pox vaccine. Seriously…its not my fault. I can’t help it if my blood is so nutritious and delicious that bugs come from miles around to suck it. It isn’t an STD that I am wearing on my arm here. I guess the incessant scratching is a problem too. Apparently people have a hard time focusing while someone is itching the flakes of dry skin off their body and into your morning coffee.
You try having SEVENTEEN MOTHER-EFFING bug bites on a single extremity and see if you can resist the urge to scratch! Gosh.
Beneath my sleeve lives an angry colony of bumps that constantly remind me of their presence. And for some reason, they decided to concentrate themselves only on my right arm. I have a total of 18 mosquito bites at this very moment and all but one are located on my single arm. And really the annoyance of said bumps is not the worst of it.
Having a mess of bug bites on your arm is something akin to having leprosy I am finding. I tried to wear a short sleeved shirt to work yesterday for easier itching access, but all I found were looks of horror at my bare arm. “It is just a bunch of bug bites,” I would tell them as they backed away nodding and running out to get a fresh small pox vaccine. Seriously…its not my fault. I can’t help it if my blood is so nutritious and delicious that bugs come from miles around to suck it. It isn’t an STD that I am wearing on my arm here. I guess the incessant scratching is a problem too. Apparently people have a hard time focusing while someone is itching the flakes of dry skin off their body and into your morning coffee.
You try having SEVENTEEN MOTHER-EFFING bug bites on a single extremity and see if you can resist the urge to scratch! Gosh.
Monday, August 18, 2008
What A Weekend
Let me tell you, because I know you are DYING to hear all about it.
On Friday night boyfriend and I decided to take my parents out. We bought them dinner and took them to see Journey to the Center of the Earth 3-D! Other than Captain EO, 3-D kinda sucks balls. It always gives me an immense headache and then you try to take off your nifty space-age plastic glasses and the triple-vision of the screen without them is even worse. I have to tell you though; they have made some technological advancements in 3-D technology. You still have to wear those sexy glasses, but the lenses aren’t blue and red, they look fairly normal (for a cheap version of a blues brother). Also, they saved the really crazy pop-out stuff for special occasions, and the movie looked pretty normal the rest of the time. I was pretty impressed, how could I not be with a Brandon Fraser movie?
Saturday was my pseudo-aunt’s 30th wedding anniversary, so the most awesome Boyfriend ever flew the four of us up to Napa for lunch. While they went off and have there romantic lunch, Boyfriend and I sat at the bar and ate…a lot. We watched all the Olympic skull racing that one would want to see (and more…considering that nobody would really want to watch skull racing) and hung out for a few hours. It was nice, our waitress was a spaz, but that was ok cause she kept filling up my diet coke every time I drank more that an inch out of the glass. She was my favorite and got a big fat tip.
We got home from our bay airplane tour (which made me appreciate not living in SF all the more, because lets just say that all we could see of SF was the tippy top of Sutro Tower and as fluffy as those clouds looked from the top, they probably just made things cold, sad and depressing gray below) and began to pack for our next prospecting mission (next weekend). We packed our backpacks and went over our scenarios of “what if we see a bear” or “what if I fall down” and the rope tied around my waist and the large machete that Boyfriend is bringing along ended those conversations quickly.
On Sunday, we woke up at the buttcrack of dawn…make that more like the taint of dawn, because there is no light to be seen at 4 am. We drove in sleepy silence to the Santa Cruz harbor to go fishing. Aboard a friends fishing boat, I quickly found cover from the cold in the cozy little cabin. I napped until it got warm…that took awhile. When the sun came out, so did I and I actually caught TWO fish. One was too small and I released him back to his home. The other one was not the biggest, but he was the prettiest, and in my world of non-fish eating…that is way better. I got sunburned on my face…again…proving once and for all to me that the sunscreen that I have used on the last three outings is ineffective. Burn me once…shame on you…burn me three times…I need to buy new sunscreen.
On Friday night boyfriend and I decided to take my parents out. We bought them dinner and took them to see Journey to the Center of the Earth 3-D! Other than Captain EO, 3-D kinda sucks balls. It always gives me an immense headache and then you try to take off your nifty space-age plastic glasses and the triple-vision of the screen without them is even worse. I have to tell you though; they have made some technological advancements in 3-D technology. You still have to wear those sexy glasses, but the lenses aren’t blue and red, they look fairly normal (for a cheap version of a blues brother). Also, they saved the really crazy pop-out stuff for special occasions, and the movie looked pretty normal the rest of the time. I was pretty impressed, how could I not be with a Brandon Fraser movie?
Saturday was my pseudo-aunt’s 30th wedding anniversary, so the most awesome Boyfriend ever flew the four of us up to Napa for lunch. While they went off and have there romantic lunch, Boyfriend and I sat at the bar and ate…a lot. We watched all the Olympic skull racing that one would want to see (and more…considering that nobody would really want to watch skull racing) and hung out for a few hours. It was nice, our waitress was a spaz, but that was ok cause she kept filling up my diet coke every time I drank more that an inch out of the glass. She was my favorite and got a big fat tip.
We got home from our bay airplane tour (which made me appreciate not living in SF all the more, because lets just say that all we could see of SF was the tippy top of Sutro Tower and as fluffy as those clouds looked from the top, they probably just made things cold, sad and depressing gray below) and began to pack for our next prospecting mission (next weekend). We packed our backpacks and went over our scenarios of “what if we see a bear” or “what if I fall down” and the rope tied around my waist and the large machete that Boyfriend is bringing along ended those conversations quickly.
On Sunday, we woke up at the buttcrack of dawn…make that more like the taint of dawn, because there is no light to be seen at 4 am. We drove in sleepy silence to the Santa Cruz harbor to go fishing. Aboard a friends fishing boat, I quickly found cover from the cold in the cozy little cabin. I napped until it got warm…that took awhile. When the sun came out, so did I and I actually caught TWO fish. One was too small and I released him back to his home. The other one was not the biggest, but he was the prettiest, and in my world of non-fish eating…that is way better. I got sunburned on my face…again…proving once and for all to me that the sunscreen that I have used on the last three outings is ineffective. Burn me once…shame on you…burn me three times…I need to buy new sunscreen.
Monday, July 28, 2008
500 Degrees
This past weekend had an unintended theme: Burned
I would say that 85% of my body is covered in various flavors of burns.
It all started Friday night at the pizza spot when Boyfriend answered my starving plea to FEED ME with a steaming hot slice. As he reached across the table to serve up the pepperoni yumminess, I should have brought my plate up, but I was too hungry to lift my hand. It was slow motion as the piece of pizza reached my plate and slipped off the side and onto my arm…face down. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have 500 degree cheese and sauce gooped on your forearm? Let’s just say, it doesn’t feel so good. So as I jumped around on one foot (after falling from my arm, the pizza fell on to my flip-flopped foot) I watched the blisters pop up on my saucy arm.
Saturday’s activities included dressing my wound and stuff.
Sunday, I went to the lake with Boyfriend and Gus. It was super fun and I donned my 45 SPF lotion that was purchased less than a month ago. Boyfriend even helped me reapply after a few hours in the sun. But apparently that wasn’t enough. I am now my favorite Crayola shade of Lobster Red. Luckily, since I burned myself on Friday, I didn’t get sunburned in the large rectangular patch on my forearm where my bandage rested.
I would say that 85% of my body is covered in various flavors of burns.
It all started Friday night at the pizza spot when Boyfriend answered my starving plea to FEED ME with a steaming hot slice. As he reached across the table to serve up the pepperoni yumminess, I should have brought my plate up, but I was too hungry to lift my hand. It was slow motion as the piece of pizza reached my plate and slipped off the side and onto my arm…face down. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have 500 degree cheese and sauce gooped on your forearm? Let’s just say, it doesn’t feel so good. So as I jumped around on one foot (after falling from my arm, the pizza fell on to my flip-flopped foot) I watched the blisters pop up on my saucy arm.
Saturday’s activities included dressing my wound and stuff.
Sunday, I went to the lake with Boyfriend and Gus. It was super fun and I donned my 45 SPF lotion that was purchased less than a month ago. Boyfriend even helped me reapply after a few hours in the sun. But apparently that wasn’t enough. I am now my favorite Crayola shade of Lobster Red. Luckily, since I burned myself on Friday, I didn’t get sunburned in the large rectangular patch on my forearm where my bandage rested.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Hell On Wheels
Uncoordinated. Disoriented. Unbalanced. Anxiety-ridden. Injured.
These are just some of the adjectives that can be used in concert with the thought of Ashley on a bike.
Saturday was a day of miserable chores and errands and accomplishing things…everything that a Saturday shouldn’t be. So to get work-happy Boyfriend to let us stop raking, I knew I had to find something ultra-fun and wacky. I suggested a bike ride. It might not seem wacky to the average human, but to those who know me, suggesting physical activity is seriously out-of-the-box for me.
I donned my newly-purchased helmet (which I have contemplated just wearing all the time) and hopped on my sister’s bike (which I stole) and we were off. Well…Boyfriend was off…it took me awhile to get going. We took the back roads as long as possible…but the moment came where we had to ride along the busy street for like a block and a half. Illegal or not…I rode on the sidewalk…because I don’t have a death wish and prefer to live thank you very much.
TEN MOTHER-EFFING MILES LATER…we returned to this busy section of road on the way home. I cautiously led the way along the sidewalk, trying desperately not to fall as I bumped over the canyons that city officials would call sidewalk cracks. I looked ahead and noticed that the sidewalk narrowed in front of me as there were a bus stop. I started to “eeeeeee” quietly in a high pitch to myself and tried to focus on going straight. Just then, a beastly bus jumped out of nowhere (well…not nowhere…he was slowly pulling to curb for the last block…but scared the poop out of me nonetheless). I visually measured my handlebars. I visually measured the sidewalk between the bus and the bus stop…and with my constant swervy path, I was not going to fit. I stopped quickly as I sidled up alongside the bus. But when I went to set my left foot down I tipped and stepped off the curb. Simultaneously, I attempted to throw my other leg over the bike to steady myself. But my foot (those of you who know me also happen to know that I have very large feet that are a huge tripping hazard in the most normal situations) got caught on the center bar and I turned toward the bus to catch my falling self.
The resultant position involved me, one leg off the curb, the other folded up under me, with my knee wedged between the bus and the bike, both hands slipping down the side of the bus while my face (and particularly my nose) smushed against the window.
Needless to say…it was neither comfortable nor fun. What it was…embarrassing…as the passengers gawked at me and the driver asked me if I was ok.
Yeah…I suck at bikes. Boyfriend and I are going to stick to places from now on where I can’t run my face into parked buses.
P.S. I realize that my description may be lacking, so I drew a little illustration to clarify. Enjoy.
These are just some of the adjectives that can be used in concert with the thought of Ashley on a bike.
Saturday was a day of miserable chores and errands and accomplishing things…everything that a Saturday shouldn’t be. So to get work-happy Boyfriend to let us stop raking, I knew I had to find something ultra-fun and wacky. I suggested a bike ride. It might not seem wacky to the average human, but to those who know me, suggesting physical activity is seriously out-of-the-box for me.
I donned my newly-purchased helmet (which I have contemplated just wearing all the time) and hopped on my sister’s bike (which I stole) and we were off. Well…Boyfriend was off…it took me awhile to get going. We took the back roads as long as possible…but the moment came where we had to ride along the busy street for like a block and a half. Illegal or not…I rode on the sidewalk…because I don’t have a death wish and prefer to live thank you very much.
TEN MOTHER-EFFING MILES LATER…we returned to this busy section of road on the way home. I cautiously led the way along the sidewalk, trying desperately not to fall as I bumped over the canyons that city officials would call sidewalk cracks. I looked ahead and noticed that the sidewalk narrowed in front of me as there were a bus stop. I started to “eeeeeee” quietly in a high pitch to myself and tried to focus on going straight. Just then, a beastly bus jumped out of nowhere (well…not nowhere…he was slowly pulling to curb for the last block…but scared the poop out of me nonetheless). I visually measured my handlebars. I visually measured the sidewalk between the bus and the bus stop…and with my constant swervy path, I was not going to fit. I stopped quickly as I sidled up alongside the bus. But when I went to set my left foot down I tipped and stepped off the curb. Simultaneously, I attempted to throw my other leg over the bike to steady myself. But my foot (those of you who know me also happen to know that I have very large feet that are a huge tripping hazard in the most normal situations) got caught on the center bar and I turned toward the bus to catch my falling self.
The resultant position involved me, one leg off the curb, the other folded up under me, with my knee wedged between the bus and the bike, both hands slipping down the side of the bus while my face (and particularly my nose) smushed against the window.
Needless to say…it was neither comfortable nor fun. What it was…embarrassing…as the passengers gawked at me and the driver asked me if I was ok.
Yeah…I suck at bikes. Boyfriend and I are going to stick to places from now on where I can’t run my face into parked buses.
P.S. I realize that my description may be lacking, so I drew a little illustration to clarify. Enjoy.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Nothing Like It
There really is nothing like stepping into a warm pool of vomit. Really…I would know…I just did it. Apparently Talulah’s stomach upset from the other night has continued. I just walked around the corner to fill the doggie water bowl and like a horrible car wreck…it was all slow motion. I lifted my foot and was in the process of setting it back down when I noticed the damp and chunky look of the linoleum. I couldn’t stop it…it was already in motion. I landed my foot square in the middle of the puke and splashed it all up my other leg.
Awesome.
I have to go take a shower now before I go see my celebrity sister in her show.
Awesome.
I have to go take a shower now before I go see my celebrity sister in her show.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
My Arms Might Fall Off
No…its not the leprosy. I went snowboarding last weekend.
There finally was enough snow…just as I was beginning to panic that my season pass was going to be utilized by going to the resort and building mudmen.
The slopes were in pretty good shape for the first big weekend, but my physical condition…that is another story.
I learned to snowboard last season…not well…but well enough to not fall down every five feet. So apparently snowboarding is not like riding a bicycle.
You might wonder how a person’s arms would hurt from snowboarding. “Don’t you use your legs?” you might ask. “Well, yes you do,” I would respond. “But when you fall down you have to lift your fat ass off the snow…over…over…and over...your arms begin to tire.”
So yeah…I have also disproved that rule about only hurting for a couple of days after using new muscles, because it is Wednesday and my arms still feel like death.
But I have a pretty new snowboard and I just bought this hat which fills me with much joy and anticipation for its arrival.
There finally was enough snow…just as I was beginning to panic that my season pass was going to be utilized by going to the resort and building mudmen.
The slopes were in pretty good shape for the first big weekend, but my physical condition…that is another story.
I learned to snowboard last season…not well…but well enough to not fall down every five feet. So apparently snowboarding is not like riding a bicycle.
You might wonder how a person’s arms would hurt from snowboarding. “Don’t you use your legs?” you might ask. “Well, yes you do,” I would respond. “But when you fall down you have to lift your fat ass off the snow…over…over…and over...your arms begin to tire.”
So yeah…I have also disproved that rule about only hurting for a couple of days after using new muscles, because it is Wednesday and my arms still feel like death.
But I have a pretty new snowboard and I just bought this hat which fills me with much joy and anticipation for its arrival.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Hey Baby…This is Barry White
Ok fine…there isn’t much of a physical resemblance, but my voice right now…wow…it is sooooo sexy. It would make even the most fridged bitch weak in the knees. Two people have called me on the phone today and when I answer they say, “Oh I have the wrong number,” only to call back 30 seconds later after they realized that it was, in fact, the right number and that Ashley had obviously undergone an emergency gender reassignment procedure.
So apparently amongst all the lack of sleep, singing my lungs out and the icy chill of Chicago…I managed to develop a cold. I know mom…I shouldn’t have stayed out so late and I should have brought a warmer jacket, but at the time I wasn’t really thinking that far ahead. Last night was a different story…as I almost died from choking on my own snot…my life (ok fine…my trip) flashed before my eyes and I reevaluated my plans for the next week. The plan had been: work, play, sleep, work, play, sleep, work, play, sleep. Now the plan is more like: work and play while you sleep.
Here I sit at work, hacking up a lung with my glassy sad eyes and used-tissue barricade that warn people to stay away. The people in the office seem to get it and are steering clear for the most part. The people who are emailing me with all sorts or ridiculousness...not so much.
So apparently amongst all the lack of sleep, singing my lungs out and the icy chill of Chicago…I managed to develop a cold. I know mom…I shouldn’t have stayed out so late and I should have brought a warmer jacket, but at the time I wasn’t really thinking that far ahead. Last night was a different story…as I almost died from choking on my own snot…my life (ok fine…my trip) flashed before my eyes and I reevaluated my plans for the next week. The plan had been: work, play, sleep, work, play, sleep, work, play, sleep. Now the plan is more like: work and play while you sleep.
Here I sit at work, hacking up a lung with my glassy sad eyes and used-tissue barricade that warn people to stay away. The people in the office seem to get it and are steering clear for the most part. The people who are emailing me with all sorts or ridiculousness...not so much.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Yep…I’m A Cutter
Don’t worry…no need for an intervention…it isn’t that kind of cutting. I am a graphic designer with horrible overuse of the die cut. Odd shapes…unexpected cutouts…I am all about them. My problem is that when I create such diecuttie creations…I have many many drafts. This wouldn’t be a big deal (unless you are one of those…paperless people) for most people, but for me, as a cutter, it is quite painful.
You see, each draft needs to be cut out. How can anyone viewing my draft see the true brilliance of the piece if it isn’t cut out? Hence my strong attachment to my scissors and other cutting paraphernalia.
Today I am working on what can only be described as a giant doily…and as such…has required me to spend my day hunched over the cutting mat with my exacto knife for basically five hours. My neck hurts and I have blister on my finger and I have at least 10 versions of this thing cut out on my desk now…on second thought…maybe I do need an intervention.
You see, each draft needs to be cut out. How can anyone viewing my draft see the true brilliance of the piece if it isn’t cut out? Hence my strong attachment to my scissors and other cutting paraphernalia.
Today I am working on what can only be described as a giant doily…and as such…has required me to spend my day hunched over the cutting mat with my exacto knife for basically five hours. My neck hurts and I have blister on my finger and I have at least 10 versions of this thing cut out on my desk now…on second thought…maybe I do need an intervention.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
I Can Think of Nothing Worse
Do you remember that horror movie? The one where some guy is walking to his car and there is a bad guy lying under the vehicle who slashed his Achilles tendon? It was a sucky movie…don’t even remember which one it was…but that scene is etched in my mind.
Kinda like the scene this weekend.
Boyfriend and his brother-in-law join a soccer league. Woo fun! They aren’t very good yet…but most of them haven’t played since high school…so they will get better.
Anyway…I was watching* from the bleachers, at least 15 feet from the sideline. And about three quarters of the way through the game, Boyfriend’s bro goes to start running and I hear a SNAP, CRACKLE, POP. It was more just a pop…but it was freaking loud. At first I thought he kicked his cleats together…but then he went DOWN. The man severed his mother-effing Achilles tendon. WTF? He was just running? Can that really happen?
I got him ice and touched the back of each ankle…left side normal…right side…holy squishy grossness Batman!
Stuff like this is the very reason that I avoid physical activity. My ankles hurt just thinking about it. I think I am going to get me a rascal and just forgo the possibility of injury altogether. You never know what risks will arise as you walk…anywhere.
*I don’t play…apparently I never learned to run right. No seriously…apparently this freak doesn’t know how to do the thing that every moron with legs can handle. I am working on this…but with my whole hatred of physical exertion, it is kinda hard to work on my running technique since I kinda like to stop and rest after 20 feet.
Kinda like the scene this weekend.
Boyfriend and his brother-in-law join a soccer league. Woo fun! They aren’t very good yet…but most of them haven’t played since high school…so they will get better.
Anyway…I was watching* from the bleachers, at least 15 feet from the sideline. And about three quarters of the way through the game, Boyfriend’s bro goes to start running and I hear a SNAP, CRACKLE, POP. It was more just a pop…but it was freaking loud. At first I thought he kicked his cleats together…but then he went DOWN. The man severed his mother-effing Achilles tendon. WTF? He was just running? Can that really happen?
I got him ice and touched the back of each ankle…left side normal…right side…holy squishy grossness Batman!
Stuff like this is the very reason that I avoid physical activity. My ankles hurt just thinking about it. I think I am going to get me a rascal and just forgo the possibility of injury altogether. You never know what risks will arise as you walk…anywhere.
*I don’t play…apparently I never learned to run right. No seriously…apparently this freak doesn’t know how to do the thing that every moron with legs can handle. I am working on this…but with my whole hatred of physical exertion, it is kinda hard to work on my running technique since I kinda like to stop and rest after 20 feet.
Monday, October 22, 2007
U is for Uterus
Ok…if you are a squeamish male, I encourage you to cover your eyes and ears simultaneously and scream “lalalalalalalala,” for the duration of this post.
Holy hell! I have cramps. I’m talking junior-high-mom-needs-to-write-you-a-note cramps.
Last night, while trying to relay the type of sensation that menstrual cramps entails to Boyfriend, I could not find a good comparison. It isn’t like a broken bone, or getting kicked in the balls. It is incommunicable to males. The only way that I could really get the feeling across was to describe what is actually happening to a woman during “that time of the month.”
It is the ripping disintegration of the soft bloody tissue that lines the uterus, sound fun boys? No it doesn’t. It sucks.
So yeah…give me some Midol and a heating pad…I’m going back to bed.
Holy hell! I have cramps. I’m talking junior-high-mom-needs-to-write-you-a-note cramps.
Last night, while trying to relay the type of sensation that menstrual cramps entails to Boyfriend, I could not find a good comparison. It isn’t like a broken bone, or getting kicked in the balls. It is incommunicable to males. The only way that I could really get the feeling across was to describe what is actually happening to a woman during “that time of the month.”
It is the ripping disintegration of the soft bloody tissue that lines the uterus, sound fun boys? No it doesn’t. It sucks.
So yeah…give me some Midol and a heating pad…I’m going back to bed.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Eh?
What did you say? Are you mumbling? Speak up!
Ok…so its not you…its me.
You know when you are on an airplane and there is that poor annoying kid, shrieking at the top of their lungs because their precious little ears can’t take the pressure and they have no other way to communicate their pain than to scream bloody murder? That was me today.
I have been off the plane for hours now, but my ears don’t seem to grasp that fact because they still hurt like hell and the world sounds like I have stuffed large cotton balls into my ear holes (which I don’t remember doing).
I have tried all the conventional methods…swallowing, yawning, plugging my nose and blowing, jumping up and down on one leg while yanking on my ear lobes (yeah…I had never hear of that one either, and they were probably just trying to see if I would do it, but I am desperate and am ok with a little ridicule on the off chance that it might work).
And I get to go on a plane again…any ideas?
Ok…so its not you…its me.
You know when you are on an airplane and there is that poor annoying kid, shrieking at the top of their lungs because their precious little ears can’t take the pressure and they have no other way to communicate their pain than to scream bloody murder? That was me today.
I have been off the plane for hours now, but my ears don’t seem to grasp that fact because they still hurt like hell and the world sounds like I have stuffed large cotton balls into my ear holes (which I don’t remember doing).
I have tried all the conventional methods…swallowing, yawning, plugging my nose and blowing, jumping up and down on one leg while yanking on my ear lobes (yeah…I had never hear of that one either, and they were probably just trying to see if I would do it, but I am desperate and am ok with a little ridicule on the off chance that it might work).
And I get to go on a plane again…any ideas?
Monday, October 1, 2007
Kinda Like Hot Dog on a Stick
I feel like puke on a stick. Good visual...just think about it and try not to throw up a little in your mouth.
Anyhow, I am not sure what is wrong with me. It could be the fact that I sat in the sun for two days straight with no hat or sunscreen. It could be that I slept in the freezing cold outside. It could be that I ate way more than my fair share of mountain man food (MEAT!). It could be that I drank enough Coors in a can to drown a mini horse. It could be one of those things…but chances are that it is all of them coming together to create a perfect storm of yuck in my system.
Anyhow, I am not sure what is wrong with me. It could be the fact that I sat in the sun for two days straight with no hat or sunscreen. It could be that I slept in the freezing cold outside. It could be that I ate way more than my fair share of mountain man food (MEAT!). It could be that I drank enough Coors in a can to drown a mini horse. It could be one of those things…but chances are that it is all of them coming together to create a perfect storm of yuck in my system.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Next Stop...Loonytown
I do not have any problems with my craziness. I have embraced it over the years and I have come to truly believe that “normal” people are one of two things:
1) boring
2) fooling themselves
I agree that there is a certain level on the crazy scale where crazies no longer are quirky and odd but become downright scary, but I pay special attention to my own crazy to make sure that if I ever notice myself climbing the scale, I know to go seek professional help.
Lately I have noticed things in myself that do indicate an increase in crazy, but they can’t possibly foretell any crack-up or postal moments, can they? I should probably go to a professional, but I feel like my seven loyal readers understand my mental state much better than any shrink can…so help a girl out…here are my symptoms:
The other day I was sorting post-its (yes the project in itself sounds crazy, but it was an actually demand of my job). I have seven different colors of post-it pads that needed to be grouped into packets of seven with each color represented. I carefully made four even stacks of each color in rainbow order and began to pick one color up at a time to put into the set. After about five sets, I realized that one of the four stacks in each color was getting lower than the others. This made me twitch a little. I quickly reorganized the stacks and changed my pick up pattern so that I took one from each pile each time to keep them even.
Today I went to the bathroom. I saw the two rolls of toilet paper that were exposed for use. The top one was nearly empty, about an eighth of an inch of paper left on the roll. It would make sense to use that roll up so that the roll could be replaced and nobody would risk being without paper…yes I know…I am over thinking the toilet paper…but I couldn’t do it. I had to even the rolls. I even took more paper than was needed to equalize the rolls a bit faster.
I just threw away six pieces of note paper with the exact same things written on them. I wrote the note first quickly to get the thoughts down. I copied it a second time but missed a word. I copied it a third time, but the ink from my pen made a little smear. I copied it a fourth time, but I didn’t like the way my printing looked. I copied it a fifth time, but I wrote too big in cursive and it didn’t fit on the paper. I copied it the sixth time and I finally got it right…just then the person that I was writing the note to, came over and I just told them what the note said and threw all six copies away.
So…thoughts?
1) boring
2) fooling themselves
I agree that there is a certain level on the crazy scale where crazies no longer are quirky and odd but become downright scary, but I pay special attention to my own crazy to make sure that if I ever notice myself climbing the scale, I know to go seek professional help.
Lately I have noticed things in myself that do indicate an increase in crazy, but they can’t possibly foretell any crack-up or postal moments, can they? I should probably go to a professional, but I feel like my seven loyal readers understand my mental state much better than any shrink can…so help a girl out…here are my symptoms:
The other day I was sorting post-its (yes the project in itself sounds crazy, but it was an actually demand of my job). I have seven different colors of post-it pads that needed to be grouped into packets of seven with each color represented. I carefully made four even stacks of each color in rainbow order and began to pick one color up at a time to put into the set. After about five sets, I realized that one of the four stacks in each color was getting lower than the others. This made me twitch a little. I quickly reorganized the stacks and changed my pick up pattern so that I took one from each pile each time to keep them even.
Today I went to the bathroom. I saw the two rolls of toilet paper that were exposed for use. The top one was nearly empty, about an eighth of an inch of paper left on the roll. It would make sense to use that roll up so that the roll could be replaced and nobody would risk being without paper…yes I know…I am over thinking the toilet paper…but I couldn’t do it. I had to even the rolls. I even took more paper than was needed to equalize the rolls a bit faster.
I just threw away six pieces of note paper with the exact same things written on them. I wrote the note first quickly to get the thoughts down. I copied it a second time but missed a word. I copied it a third time, but the ink from my pen made a little smear. I copied it a fourth time, but I didn’t like the way my printing looked. I copied it a fifth time, but I wrote too big in cursive and it didn’t fit on the paper. I copied it the sixth time and I finally got it right…just then the person that I was writing the note to, came over and I just told them what the note said and threw all six copies away.
So…thoughts?
Friday, September 14, 2007
Molting.
The seasons, they are a changing. I know this for several reasons:
I sit, talking to coworkers, and casually laugh and run my fingers through my hair…snag…and my fist pulls out a chunk of detached strands…I nonchalantly throw it on the floor as coworker look on in horror.
I stand, trying to find the phantom hair that is tickling the back of my arm, with a wild look in my eyes like I am trying to catch the purple elephants flying around my head.
I hopelessly lint roll my fleeces trying to remove the hairs that have woven themselves into the fabric of my wardrobe.
So…yeah…too much information?
- First, it is getting darker earlier…and that is lame. I hate feeling like it is bedtime at 6:30.
- Second, it is staying dark longer…how am I supposed to find my socks in the pitch black of 6 am?
- Third…I am shedding like a sheep dog.
I sit, talking to coworkers, and casually laugh and run my fingers through my hair…snag…and my fist pulls out a chunk of detached strands…I nonchalantly throw it on the floor as coworker look on in horror.
I stand, trying to find the phantom hair that is tickling the back of my arm, with a wild look in my eyes like I am trying to catch the purple elephants flying around my head.
I hopelessly lint roll my fleeces trying to remove the hairs that have woven themselves into the fabric of my wardrobe.
So…yeah…too much information?
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Your Corndog is Made of What?
I have a friend, bless her heart, who has a very sad illness. Actually, I don’t know that she is sick, but she has one symptom in particular that really does worry me.
She can’t taste.
Today she told me about this wonderful healthful “peanut butter” that is made from sunflower seeds instead of peanuts (so it is really sunflower butter) that “tastes great.”
When she talks about this type of healthy “just like the original” replacement food, I take it with a grain of salt…or whatever she uses instead of salt.
Splenda, veggie burgers, dairy-less cheese...nonsense! This girl eats soy corndogs…I mean…wtf? There has got to be something wrong with her…right?
I am starting a charitable organization (still working on a name…thinking something like For Crying Out Loud Give that Girl Some Flava…ok…I like one…we will go with FCOL GGSF) to collect junk food and supplies to help cure this horrible disease.
Together we can help stop the madness and give the gift of flavor.
She can’t taste.
Today she told me about this wonderful healthful “peanut butter” that is made from sunflower seeds instead of peanuts (so it is really sunflower butter) that “tastes great.”
When she talks about this type of healthy “just like the original” replacement food, I take it with a grain of salt…or whatever she uses instead of salt.
Splenda, veggie burgers, dairy-less cheese...nonsense! This girl eats soy corndogs…I mean…wtf? There has got to be something wrong with her…right?
I am starting a charitable organization (still working on a name…thinking something like For Crying Out Loud Give that Girl Some Flava…ok…I like one…we will go with FCOL GGSF) to collect junk food and supplies to help cure this horrible disease.
Together we can help stop the madness and give the gift of flavor.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Help! I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up!
I seriously think I might be in the market for one of these bad boys.
This morning I went to take my shower like usual. I shampooed my hair like usual. I looked down at my beastly unshaven legs, and while I contemplated just letting my inner tree hugger out, I decided to tackle the task at hand. I bent down…bad move. My muscles went into immediate spasm*. The ouchiness forced me back up, but a little too quickly because I bumped my head on the shower door and took a slight step back.
soapy foot + wet tile + sleepy disorientation = bruised tuchis
I lay there for a moment…on the shower floor...trying to decide if I should just go back to bed, because there is no way that a day that starts out like this one could be good, right? But on the other hand, it can only go up from here, right?
*The cause of my muscle problems is not sheer weakness and out-of-shapeness (although those are definitely contributing factors and I would not be surprised if I fell down only on account of those) but it is because of my heroic physical exertion over the weekend. Ok, it might not be heroic to most people, but I was my own personal hero…so that is good enough. I ran 2 miles on Friday, ran/walked 2 miles on Saturday (hey, I was tired…you try not running for 7 years and then going 2 miles…it will kill you), and took a 2 mile hike on Sunday. All of these places were hilly and I didn’t puke or pass out! Yay me.
This morning I went to take my shower like usual. I shampooed my hair like usual. I looked down at my beastly unshaven legs, and while I contemplated just letting my inner tree hugger out, I decided to tackle the task at hand. I bent down…bad move. My muscles went into immediate spasm*. The ouchiness forced me back up, but a little too quickly because I bumped my head on the shower door and took a slight step back.
soapy foot + wet tile + sleepy disorientation = bruised tuchis
I lay there for a moment…on the shower floor...trying to decide if I should just go back to bed, because there is no way that a day that starts out like this one could be good, right? But on the other hand, it can only go up from here, right?
*The cause of my muscle problems is not sheer weakness and out-of-shapeness (although those are definitely contributing factors and I would not be surprised if I fell down only on account of those) but it is because of my heroic physical exertion over the weekend. Ok, it might not be heroic to most people, but I was my own personal hero…so that is good enough. I ran 2 miles on Friday, ran/walked 2 miles on Saturday (hey, I was tired…you try not running for 7 years and then going 2 miles…it will kill you), and took a 2 mile hike on Sunday. All of these places were hilly and I didn’t puke or pass out! Yay me.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Comin’ at cha from the Doctor’s Office
I have some time to kill as I sit here at the doctor’s office…actually more than some time. I have a lot of time, because an 11:40 doctor’s appointment means that you get to sit amongst the other waiters in the waiting room looking at stale crispy copies of Field and Stream, Family Circle and Highlights for at least a half hour. Then the clock continues to tick as nobody is called in and the smell of spaghetti being heated up in the lunchroom reaches your nose. At which point the army of pharmaceutical reps march in with their PDAs and rollie suitcases and somehow all get to see the doctor before you. And you know what will happen next:
They will call you in and you will utter “finally” under your breath as you go in and sit on the crunchy paper. And then…you wait some more, but you are never sure how long because, like the casinos, there are no clocks in the exam room and you politely turned off your cell phone.
So until they call my name…oh they just did…too bad in the past fifteen years every parent of a blond child has decided to name it Ashley. Because I am not the Ashley they were calling, and I just had a fairly awkward moment staring down 12 year old Ashley.
Ooo…Us Magazine from November 04…I wonder if Brad is cheating on Jen…
P.S. It went pretty much like I thought…but when the man-nurse took me to get weighed…he first tried me in the 100-149 lbs. range before moving the scale to the 150 group. Silly man-nurse…you flatter me so. Anyway the scale was at least 10…closer to 20 lbs. off so my doctor thinks I weigh almost what it says on my driver’s license now and that makes the whole visit worth while.
They will call you in and you will utter “finally” under your breath as you go in and sit on the crunchy paper. And then…you wait some more, but you are never sure how long because, like the casinos, there are no clocks in the exam room and you politely turned off your cell phone.
So until they call my name…oh they just did…too bad in the past fifteen years every parent of a blond child has decided to name it Ashley. Because I am not the Ashley they were calling, and I just had a fairly awkward moment staring down 12 year old Ashley.
Ooo…Us Magazine from November 04…I wonder if Brad is cheating on Jen…
P.S. It went pretty much like I thought…but when the man-nurse took me to get weighed…he first tried me in the 100-149 lbs. range before moving the scale to the 150 group. Silly man-nurse…you flatter me so. Anyway the scale was at least 10…closer to 20 lbs. off so my doctor thinks I weigh almost what it says on my driver’s license now and that makes the whole visit worth while.
Monday, August 27, 2007
The Itchy and Scratchy Sho-o-ow
I am tired and grouchy and itchy. So don’t mess with me.
I had possibly the worst night sleep last night due to a random and inexplicable allergic reaction. I have been researching possible causes for all over itchiness without any sort of gross rash and so far either I am in end-stage liver failure or I have unknowingly started taking the meth.
Either way I have problems.
I had possibly the worst night sleep last night due to a random and inexplicable allergic reaction. I have been researching possible causes for all over itchiness without any sort of gross rash and so far either I am in end-stage liver failure or I have unknowingly started taking the meth.
Either way I have problems.
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