The Familyhood of the Traveling Nutjob, Part 1
The Familyhood of the Traveling Nutjob, Part 2
After 24 water-logged hours, each and every one of us was done. DONE. We have breathed in so much chlorine our arm-hairs were growing in a bright orange color. Our suits had deteriorated to mere elastic-bound hunks of Lycra scraps. Each child had a red ring around each eye, faces puffy from lack of sleep, too much salt, and an overabundance of forced cheeriness.
We soon parted ways in the parking lot, the cousins having to go back to school. We took to the freeway, heading towards Puyallup where some of my college friends lived. We planned to see much of Seattle, and spend time with several old friends. In 2 and a half days. Piece of cake.
On the way to Puyallup, I had no idea what to do for meals, so we had to grab something based on yelp. Fortunately, we ended up in a dive bar that had amazing fish and chips. Back to the freeway we headed.
We passed through Olympia, where I had spent about 4 years as a young child. I don't have many memories of this time because I had been so young. However at one point we are driving toward the Capitol Building, and I spy a lake. I grabbed the phone and called my Dad: "Hey, did we go watch fireworks at the Capitol Lake, one year? And we set up a tent???"
Turns out, yes we did. Once filled with a memory of a place I had forgotten, it was off the find the home I remembered from pictures. We drove and drove, turning here and there, going strictly off the memory of my parents, and not having exact addresses. Ultimately, we did not find my childhood home. But the quest had been a fun diversion, as our next host was not home from work yet.
As we arrived to visit with T, we got settled in for a few days. Our kids began playing with her pets, and enjoying all the snow she had just gotten. We cozied up with glasses of wine and Indian take-out. I needed my strength to tackle the next day. I had plans.
The next morning it was a whirlwind of Pike Place Public Market, the first Starbuck's, the downtown Nordstrom where I talked myself out of a pair of new boots for the 12th time at Nordstrom, (but my resolve would not last through the month), and a ride over to the Space Needle.
Anywho, T was a wonderful chaperone, taking us all over the city. We got tons of amazing shots, like this one:
Later that day, we meandered back home, and collapsed on the couch, despite my desire to hit a place on my list that was supposed to have an amazing dinner. We were due to meet some other friends for dinner, and choices had been made. WITHOUT consulting me. Instead of throwing a tantrum, I sucked it up, and ordered a bucket of margaritas. And dessert.
The next day, we had our GPS, and set out for the Museum of Flight, for a day of staring at planes. Everyone was excited, except for me. But I was holding out for the next meal. My palate had an itinerary, and things were getting out of hand.
After the museum, we headed towards the Bizarro Italian Cafe. Which was closed for lunch.
Things were not going well.
We rerouted, and headed toward south of Qwest Field. Slim's Last Chance was, well, my last chance to turn this day around.
Slim's was reported to have amazing chili verde. And you could have it served over jalapeno mac n' cheese. Normally, things like this would not appeal to me, but Guy Fieri had me hooked. I had to have it. So when we pulled up to Slim's, I was sad to see that it was a bar, 21 and older.
I was sad the kids would have to wait in the car. That couldn't be illegal in Washington State, could it?
All of a sudden, Sky King got all responsible on me, and dragged my broken soul toward the car. MY day was ruined. My vacation was ruined. My life was ruined. A broken woman, Sky King slowly led me to the car.
Just then, a lady at the cafe next door came out, and redeemed everything. She said, "Hey! We have a great menu, and we can order everything from Slim's, too! So the kids can come in, and you can still get Slim's food!"
Faster than you can pour a mini-bottle of Ernest and Julio Gallo Red into a juice glass, I was seated, and dreaming chili verde dreams.
I relished each bite, and had a hard time when Sky King wanted a bite. However, we traded, so I got to try other things as well.
Slim's chili verde was truly a work of genius.
Later, we will off to the Fremont neighborhood, to see the troll under the bridge, and to take in some of the local art culture.
But it was cold. Windy and cold. Wrapped-up-in-scarves-jackets-and-gloves,-wishing-we-had-hats-and-a-hot-cup-of-coffee cold. We were wandering up and down a deserted street, our California dispositions shaking like a chihuahua on meth. We were silently hoping something would grab our attention that was decidedly NOT hypothermia. At this point, the very sweet, very precocious Princess, all of 6 years old, says:
"Hey! I have an idea. Let's stop freezing our asses off, and head to the BEACH!"
Once we recovered from our fits of giggles from Princess using "ass" is such an appropriate, yet inappropriate manner, we decided she knew of which she spoke, and we headed back to the car, to meander towards our next set of dinner plans.
Our dinner was to be with another family we hadn't seen in ages, also mothered by a friend I went to college with.
We had an awesome time, offering to host the family on their next trip south. The kids had all gotten along well, playing RockBand, and running around like crazed animals. So pretty much like a casual night at home.
The next morning, Sky King was planning on taking us all the way from Seattle, to our home in the Sacramento area. A large nasty storm was on its way, and we didn't want to get stuck with having to buy chains for the Swagger Wagon.
We woke around 7, and got ourselves ready as quickly as possible. We repacked the car and coerced the children into warm clothing so they could transfer their slumber to the warm nests we had created in the van. I was still bitter with the realization I had missed several of the stops I had wanted to make, and Sky King was exhausted, focused only on getting home so we could sleep in our own bed.
About 2 hours into the trip, giaganto-sized coffees in hand, Sky King and I recapped the trip.
Me: It was a good trip, but I'm really bummed we didn't make it to some of the places on my list.
SK: Are you kidding? We would have needed another WEEK to see all that stuff. You're insane.
Me: It would NOT have taken a week, had everyone been on board. What a waste of a trip. We could have seen the Experience Music Project, could have taken a ferry, and hit a couple more restaurants, all if the weather would have held a day...:::shaking my head:::
SK: :::incredulous look::: you are a freaking nut. You are serious, aren't you. Thank God I shut that shit down the first day. No one likes those kind of trips.
Me: They will thank me later-they will be all, "gee, we did so many amazing things in Seattle! We saw like 12 museums, 9 restaurants, tons of other things. Their friends would be all, "did you spend the summer there?" and our kids would say, "No, my mom's just an awesome vacation planner. We do more by 9 am than most families do in 3 days." And their friends would be jealous, clamoring to get invited on the next trip.
SK: :::dead silence:::
Now we have to go back, before some of the restaurants are gone. Or change their hours.
Showing posts with label the crazy in my head. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the crazy in my head. Show all posts
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
Now, Pinky, We Take Over the WORLD!
Am I the only Pinky and the Brain fan? Okay, am I the only 39 year old Pinky and the Brain fan? Thought not. Weirdos.
But why, you ask, [while you lay around surfing the 'net reading awesome blogs (like this one) while you sport your Old Navy jammie pants eating Eggos dipped in a pool of syrup while you let the kids run loose on a Saturday with Ragamuffin hair in saggy underpants, eating straight from the cereal box watching marathons of Wizards of Waverly Place and Regular Show] would i be raving about taking over the world? (That one hurt my brain to write, so I can't imagine it was easy to read. Sorry, I've been selling Girl Scout cookies (read: trying desperately to not choke necks of said Girl Scouts who refuse to cooperate while reining in the one agreeable child who will not stop folding each dollar bill into a teensy little ball, all while trying to unload a bunch of freaking cookies so I can go home and drink like all the other parents) (Damn, lost you again, didn't I?))))) (Is that enough parentheses? I think I messed up. Could someone correct this blog in red, and get back to me?) (Why do I think I could possibly take over the world, when I can't even get a coherent thought across?)
Where was I?
Oh yes, my plan to take over the world.
Why am I qualified?
You might remember that I've won many prestigious awards in my lifetime. First, there was the Golden Shoelace in first grade. Then, in my tweens, I won a Pepsi contest to fly to LA to see Michael Jackson on the Victory Tour. I won The Corey Hart Album (when it was an album). And a few months ago, I won $5 on a Lottery scratcher.
But today, my friends (because haters don't read me-they are too intimidated), I have outdone even myself. I have won a MAJOR AWARD.
Sadly for Sky King, it is NOT a leg lamp. Hell, even Monkey Boy would like a little leg-lamp action these days.
I won a Liebster Blog Award!!!!
Woo hoo, me!!!!!

I am very very excited!!!!! What is a Liebtser Blog Award?
Well, I'll tell you. The Liebster Blog award is all about honoring blogs that have less than 200 followers. But still kick ass. Which is so me! I know that 31 of you have committed to follow me, embraced me with all your bloggy love. And until another 169 of you come over to the dark side waiting for me to be committed, I will graciously accept this award from my guy. WilyGuy. He's from It's MY Mind! and he is a perfect stranger, in that I have never met him in the real world. He stumbled across my blog (He may have been drunk) and he has been following me ever since (it can't be stalking, if I know he's there, right?) commenting and urging me on. I really do love all the love and adoration I get. From my friends and family, who are as painfully honest as I can be, it means a ton. But when I inspire/amuse/happily shock others who keep coming back for more, it's incredibly affirming that I not only do this for myself (because, well, I'm still a totally selfish egomaniac, after all) but others get something from my writing as well. So, thank you, WilyGuy. Truly, I have been blessed with many riches this past year, and your support is one of those riches.
There are rules to this award. Strings attached, if you will. Not nearly as deflating as those crappy awards where you have to send them $75 for the plaque (my business "Won" one of those just recently...). I didn't have to subscribe to any magazines to increase my chances, either (Suck it, Ed McMahon. Wait, is that bad? To tell a man that has since died to suck it? Either way, I entered every year since I was, like, 8. And nada. Bupkis. So I'm still a bit bitter. Moving on...) The rules are that I must tell you, and award, as a newly-self-important award-giver, 5 other blogs that I think are fab. Here they are, in no particular order (I have always wanted to say that...)
1. My friend through thick and thin (who am I kidding? We are both pretty thick)-Jennie, at Preteens, Toddlers, and Newborns, Oh My! -she has introduced me to more snarkiness than I thought I could ever find. She inspired me to start not one, but two, blogs. (The other fizzled. Yep-this is as good as it gets). I would wax poetic about all her other amazing things like bringing me flowers and 4 more able bodies as well as helping me move, but I will stop here and urge you to go check her out. But not in a creepy jar-of-fingernail-clippings-gift-wrapped way. More of the wow-she's-a-great-writer-and-doesn't-overuse-"fuck"-like-Aimee kind of way. She's funny and smart, and got me to do this (envision sweeping arm movements to indicate all the words on this page). Either she's inspiring, or possibly should be brought up on charges. Or both.
2. Mrs. One Day-She's over at One Day I'm Gonna... and she found me somewhere (once again not sure where) and started following and laughing and commenting and linking and supporting me with her blog love. She's funny, too. I enjoy her humor (I need lots of humor in my life-don't we all?) and she's a fellow Spoonie suffering with some painful bullshit. She deserves love for that alone.
3. Julia from Reasonably Well-she is also a Spoonie, dealing with Sjorgren's. She's a trooper, and didn't even get a restraining order when I suggested she turn her Easter bunny plate collection into a Bunny Zombie Apocalypse. Although to be fair, the paperwork may still be pending. She's pretty informative, funny, and sweet. Basically the complete opposite of me. So when you read her, substitute all the "doctor" references with "fuck" and all the "Sjogren's" references with the word badass, and you pretty much have me. But with more random examples of misdirected punctuation.
4. Carolyn at Bamblue Sewing Blog. I don't really sew. I mean, I can put two pieces of fabric together, especially if it involves a trashy Halloween costume (okay, maybe back in college) but I am not particularly crafty in the sewing world-I think I need more patience. But Carolyn? She is amazing. She sews amazing things for herself and her children (and not crappy handmade stuff like matching polyester Christmas outfits that friends will mock, but badass things I wish I could make/buy at Nordstrom Rack). And she happens to be a dear friend that I have known since forever. She sells fabric online, and just might sew something custom for a brat or two. I dunno. Check out her mad skilz and find out.
5. Last, is Julia. A different Julia. Still a sick Julia. She's at My Fight Against Lyme Disease. I found her after being told to drink lemon water, and then Googling "lemon water lyme disease" so I could remember why. Turns out, it's good for your liver, and a bunch of other stuff I still can't remember. But anyways-Julia. When I got my Lyme diagnosis, it was very scary. New diseases added to the pile always are. And reading her struggles gave me a realistic picture of what I may be up against. She's honest-which you all know I LOVE. She doesn't swear enough, but I'm willing to forgive her, because she has sent me down the path to more information about my health.
What these 5 amazing ladies now get to do, is send out their bloggy love to their 5 faves.
The whole idea is to give blog love, but to also open people's eyes to all the amazing blogs out there-people like you and me that put their crazy down on Internet paper. People that need to be heard, have something to share. Please check out these amazing people-I love them all, even the ones that may not know me. They have all inspired me one way or another.
One last shout-out---
To Jane Juska, twice-published author, former Creative Writing teacher at Ygnacio Valley High (among many thankless jobs)
Jane, I love you, I am inspired by you. You took an angst-ridden 16-year-old and turned me into a writer. You demanded a lot of me when I felt like I had nothing to give. And you did the same for countless AP English and Creative Writing students. Then you went out into the real world and got some shit published like a badass-stuff about late-in-life sex. Your books rock, your life is full of amazing stories, don't stop telling them.
And you, my readers? Click on a "follow" link on the left side, right here...
<----------------
...and then leave comments, meant to inspire, encourage, or even correct my horrific misinformation. Blog comments are like a tall glass of water in the desert-wanted, needed, desired, and full of love. They keep us bloggers going, remind us that there are people listening.
BTW, I've had too much wine to proofread-us award winners can be super casual about that kind of shit. It's the Internet equivalent of trashing a hotel room. Deal.
Kisses,
Aimee
But why, you ask, [while you lay around surfing the 'net reading awesome blogs (like this one) while you sport your Old Navy jammie pants eating Eggos dipped in a pool of syrup while you let the kids run loose on a Saturday with Ragamuffin hair in saggy underpants, eating straight from the cereal box watching marathons of Wizards of Waverly Place and Regular Show] would i be raving about taking over the world? (That one hurt my brain to write, so I can't imagine it was easy to read. Sorry, I've been selling Girl Scout cookies (read: trying desperately to not choke necks of said Girl Scouts who refuse to cooperate while reining in the one agreeable child who will not stop folding each dollar bill into a teensy little ball, all while trying to unload a bunch of freaking cookies so I can go home and drink like all the other parents) (Damn, lost you again, didn't I?))))) (Is that enough parentheses? I think I messed up. Could someone correct this blog in red, and get back to me?) (Why do I think I could possibly take over the world, when I can't even get a coherent thought across?)
Where was I?
Oh yes, my plan to take over the world.
Why am I qualified?
You might remember that I've won many prestigious awards in my lifetime. First, there was the Golden Shoelace in first grade. Then, in my tweens, I won a Pepsi contest to fly to LA to see Michael Jackson on the Victory Tour. I won The Corey Hart Album (when it was an album). And a few months ago, I won $5 on a Lottery scratcher.
But today, my friends (because haters don't read me-they are too intimidated), I have outdone even myself. I have won a MAJOR AWARD.
Sadly for Sky King, it is NOT a leg lamp. Hell, even Monkey Boy would like a little leg-lamp action these days.
I won a Liebster Blog Award!!!!
Woo hoo, me!!!!!
I am very very excited!!!!! What is a Liebtser Blog Award?
Well, I'll tell you. The Liebster Blog award is all about honoring blogs that have less than 200 followers. But still kick ass. Which is so me! I know that 31 of you have committed to follow me, embraced me with all your bloggy love. And until another 169 of you come over to the dark side waiting for me to be committed, I will graciously accept this award from my guy. WilyGuy. He's from It's MY Mind! and he is a perfect stranger, in that I have never met him in the real world. He stumbled across my blog (He may have been drunk) and he has been following me ever since (it can't be stalking, if I know he's there, right?) commenting and urging me on. I really do love all the love and adoration I get. From my friends and family, who are as painfully honest as I can be, it means a ton. But when I inspire/amuse/happily shock others who keep coming back for more, it's incredibly affirming that I not only do this for myself (because, well, I'm still a totally selfish egomaniac, after all) but others get something from my writing as well. So, thank you, WilyGuy. Truly, I have been blessed with many riches this past year, and your support is one of those riches.
There are rules to this award. Strings attached, if you will. Not nearly as deflating as those crappy awards where you have to send them $75 for the plaque (my business "Won" one of those just recently...). I didn't have to subscribe to any magazines to increase my chances, either (Suck it, Ed McMahon. Wait, is that bad? To tell a man that has since died to suck it? Either way, I entered every year since I was, like, 8. And nada. Bupkis. So I'm still a bit bitter. Moving on...) The rules are that I must tell you, and award, as a newly-self-important award-giver, 5 other blogs that I think are fab. Here they are, in no particular order (I have always wanted to say that...)
1. My friend through thick and thin (who am I kidding? We are both pretty thick)-Jennie, at Preteens, Toddlers, and Newborns, Oh My! -she has introduced me to more snarkiness than I thought I could ever find. She inspired me to start not one, but two, blogs. (The other fizzled. Yep-this is as good as it gets). I would wax poetic about all her other amazing things like bringing me flowers and 4 more able bodies as well as helping me move, but I will stop here and urge you to go check her out. But not in a creepy jar-of-fingernail-clippings-gift-wrapped way. More of the wow-she's-a-great-writer-and-doesn't-overuse-"fuck"-like-Aimee kind of way. She's funny and smart, and got me to do this (envision sweeping arm movements to indicate all the words on this page). Either she's inspiring, or possibly should be brought up on charges. Or both.
2. Mrs. One Day-She's over at One Day I'm Gonna... and she found me somewhere (once again not sure where) and started following and laughing and commenting and linking and supporting me with her blog love. She's funny, too. I enjoy her humor (I need lots of humor in my life-don't we all?) and she's a fellow Spoonie suffering with some painful bullshit. She deserves love for that alone.
3. Julia from Reasonably Well-she is also a Spoonie, dealing with Sjorgren's. She's a trooper, and didn't even get a restraining order when I suggested she turn her Easter bunny plate collection into a Bunny Zombie Apocalypse. Although to be fair, the paperwork may still be pending. She's pretty informative, funny, and sweet. Basically the complete opposite of me. So when you read her, substitute all the "doctor" references with "fuck" and all the "Sjogren's" references with the word badass, and you pretty much have me. But with more random examples of misdirected punctuation.
4. Carolyn at Bamblue Sewing Blog. I don't really sew. I mean, I can put two pieces of fabric together, especially if it involves a trashy Halloween costume (okay, maybe back in college) but I am not particularly crafty in the sewing world-I think I need more patience. But Carolyn? She is amazing. She sews amazing things for herself and her children (and not crappy handmade stuff like matching polyester Christmas outfits that friends will mock, but badass things I wish I could make/buy at Nordstrom Rack). And she happens to be a dear friend that I have known since forever. She sells fabric online, and just might sew something custom for a brat or two. I dunno. Check out her mad skilz and find out.
5. Last, is Julia. A different Julia. Still a sick Julia. She's at My Fight Against Lyme Disease. I found her after being told to drink lemon water, and then Googling "lemon water lyme disease" so I could remember why. Turns out, it's good for your liver, and a bunch of other stuff I still can't remember. But anyways-Julia. When I got my Lyme diagnosis, it was very scary. New diseases added to the pile always are. And reading her struggles gave me a realistic picture of what I may be up against. She's honest-which you all know I LOVE. She doesn't swear enough, but I'm willing to forgive her, because she has sent me down the path to more information about my health.
What these 5 amazing ladies now get to do, is send out their bloggy love to their 5 faves.
The whole idea is to give blog love, but to also open people's eyes to all the amazing blogs out there-people like you and me that put their crazy down on Internet paper. People that need to be heard, have something to share. Please check out these amazing people-I love them all, even the ones that may not know me. They have all inspired me one way or another.
One last shout-out---
To Jane Juska, twice-published author, former Creative Writing teacher at Ygnacio Valley High (among many thankless jobs)
Jane, I love you, I am inspired by you. You took an angst-ridden 16-year-old and turned me into a writer. You demanded a lot of me when I felt like I had nothing to give. And you did the same for countless AP English and Creative Writing students. Then you went out into the real world and got some shit published like a badass-stuff about late-in-life sex. Your books rock, your life is full of amazing stories, don't stop telling them.
And you, my readers? Click on a "follow" link on the left side, right here...
<----------------
...and then leave comments, meant to inspire, encourage, or even correct my horrific misinformation. Blog comments are like a tall glass of water in the desert-wanted, needed, desired, and full of love. They keep us bloggers going, remind us that there are people listening.
BTW, I've had too much wine to proofread-us award winners can be super casual about that kind of shit. It's the Internet equivalent of trashing a hotel room. Deal.
Kisses,
Aimee
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
My Oven Has PTSD
We just moved. It was delightful. Actually, it was hell, but made marginally tolerable by a large group of awesome people that helped, schlepped, built, shuffled, and relocated all day, for only crappy pizza. We are very fortunate to have so many awesome friends.
As we settled in, we did the whole, "shit that don't work" list.
Then it got longer.
And longer.
Finally, I sent an email with my demands. Our new oven will be here tomorrow, along with a new dishwasher and a new water heater. The hot tub will be fixed soon, and filled with hot watery wonderfulness. The blinds will be able to twist, the door bell will do its doorbell-y thing, and the side gate will no longer be electrified. Yes, electrified. (Keeps the stray cats away!)
But in the meantime, I have bananas that need a new home, fast. I gathered up my handy dandy Pinterest, and smacked the shit out of the oven until it turned on. It took 7 good hits, and I started the pre-heat. While I mixed ingredients, it got to 350. At some point, it shut off.
This is where I lost my shit.
I cussed the oven out, and explained that the ingredients were waiting. I tried verbal assault, I tried reasoning. Then I proceeded to knock it around some more. When my hand was throbbing, it turned back on. I noted the "sweet spot" with a Sharpie, and threw my concoction in.
I had a few more talks with it. At one point, I said, "when you act like a lazy bitch, I replace you".
I'm hoping Sky King doesn't follow that same philosophy. If he does, I may need some more help moving. Soon.
As we settled in, we did the whole, "shit that don't work" list.
Then it got longer.
And longer.
Finally, I sent an email with my demands. Our new oven will be here tomorrow, along with a new dishwasher and a new water heater. The hot tub will be fixed soon, and filled with hot watery wonderfulness. The blinds will be able to twist, the door bell will do its doorbell-y thing, and the side gate will no longer be electrified. Yes, electrified. (Keeps the stray cats away!)
But in the meantime, I have bananas that need a new home, fast. I gathered up my handy dandy Pinterest, and smacked the shit out of the oven until it turned on. It took 7 good hits, and I started the pre-heat. While I mixed ingredients, it got to 350. At some point, it shut off.
This is where I lost my shit.
I cussed the oven out, and explained that the ingredients were waiting. I tried verbal assault, I tried reasoning. Then I proceeded to knock it around some more. When my hand was throbbing, it turned back on. I noted the "sweet spot" with a Sharpie, and threw my concoction in.
I had a few more talks with it. At one point, I said, "when you act like a lazy bitch, I replace you".
I'm hoping Sky King doesn't follow that same philosophy. If he does, I may need some more help moving. Soon.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Head Case or Drunken Post. Your Choice, Really.
Very rarely do my therapy sessions make for interesting posts. You would think that would not be the case, but sadly, my normal musings are way better fodder for laughs, scoffing and general amusement. Whoda thunk it?
Many of you may know that i was diagnosed with Major Depression. Turns out, that is doctor talk for "we don't know what's wrong with this whiny bitch, so please dope her up before we give a shit". It's also insurance talk for "give this bitch tons of therapy, because she is a certified hot mess". Which works out great for me, really. Why? Because I am depressed. But only because I'm in chronic pain. Pain can be a wee bit depressing. Subsequently, my insurance can't cut me off after 8 introductory sessions that give me some half-assed coping skills, Instead, I'm stuck with M every Thursday at noon.
And if you believe in the universe giving you exactly what you need, if you think kismet has anything to do with the world, if you know that things happen for a reason, then M and I are meant to be together.
Why? Because she recognized symptoms in me, and urged me to get tested for Lyme Disease. After a year, I listened, and the rest is history. or a bunch of blog posts. Whatever.
Anyways, I wanted to tell you about my session today.
I was there, kind of thinking, "what the hell are we going to talk about today?". usually, we work on things like:
Yep. I said that. Those of you that are all Maslow-self-actualized will be all, "what is she talking about?" and to that I say, fuck you, and your lack of therapy need.
The rest of you know what I am saying.
And M helped me. She said, "So, not having your symptoms get worse, is not getting better?". She said it with that "Are you fucking kidding me" voice that I know so well. I have seen her 52 times-I know her pretty damn well by now.
So we chatted. We ruminated. We went back and forth about me accepting this whole "sick" persona.
I thought I was cool. I really did. I stopped planning heaps of shit, I try not to sign up for stuff.
But then she asked, "What if things never get better than today?"
WOW.
What if things never get better? That is an actual possible outcome. One that my overly optimistic husband won't hear, but still. It's possible.
So I am chewing on that. And I thought maybe I would challenge you all to do so as well. All 29 of you (and the hundreds of lurkers. Seriously, people. Stop stalking. Follow publicly. Shout it from the rooftops. Own it.)
What if-Nothing about your life would improve beyond what it is today? How would you change your outlook?
I'm just starting to work on that.
What would change for you? Would you do anything different, or look at today with a different lens?
Many of you may know that i was diagnosed with Major Depression. Turns out, that is doctor talk for "we don't know what's wrong with this whiny bitch, so please dope her up before we give a shit". It's also insurance talk for "give this bitch tons of therapy, because she is a certified hot mess". Which works out great for me, really. Why? Because I am depressed. But only because I'm in chronic pain. Pain can be a wee bit depressing. Subsequently, my insurance can't cut me off after 8 introductory sessions that give me some half-assed coping skills, Instead, I'm stuck with M every Thursday at noon.
And if you believe in the universe giving you exactly what you need, if you think kismet has anything to do with the world, if you know that things happen for a reason, then M and I are meant to be together.
Why? Because she recognized symptoms in me, and urged me to get tested for Lyme Disease. After a year, I listened, and the rest is history. or a bunch of blog posts. Whatever.
Anyways, I wanted to tell you about my session today.
I was there, kind of thinking, "what the hell are we going to talk about today?". usually, we work on things like:
- Me accepting my illness
- Me doing less to reduce stress
- Me accepting I have to do less to reduce stress
- Me not looking to the future for what-ifs
- Me not focusing on others, but putting myself first for once (weird, because this blog is all about me me me and I don't even give two shits about you, but in real life, this is a struggle. Really.
Yep. I said that. Those of you that are all Maslow-self-actualized will be all, "what is she talking about?" and to that I say, fuck you, and your lack of therapy need.
The rest of you know what I am saying.
And M helped me. She said, "So, not having your symptoms get worse, is not getting better?". She said it with that "Are you fucking kidding me" voice that I know so well. I have seen her 52 times-I know her pretty damn well by now.
So we chatted. We ruminated. We went back and forth about me accepting this whole "sick" persona.
I thought I was cool. I really did. I stopped planning heaps of shit, I try not to sign up for stuff.
But then she asked, "What if things never get better than today?"
WOW.
What if things never get better? That is an actual possible outcome. One that my overly optimistic husband won't hear, but still. It's possible.
So I am chewing on that. And I thought maybe I would challenge you all to do so as well. All 29 of you (and the hundreds of lurkers. Seriously, people. Stop stalking. Follow publicly. Shout it from the rooftops. Own it.)
What if-Nothing about your life would improve beyond what it is today? How would you change your outlook?
I'm just starting to work on that.
What would change for you? Would you do anything different, or look at today with a different lens?
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Health update vol. #156038569.A-The Luscious Lyme Edition
Okay, my hang-on-my-every-word peeps. (You do do that, don't you? DON'T YOU???)
It has been a busy coupla days.
After we went to the actually-fairly-interesting-but-super-technical talk about Lyme Disease and treatments, Sky King and I came home and decompressed.
Then, it was off to Dr. M bright and early to get my final FINAL FINAL results from all the poo, urine, spit and blood I've been handing out lately. Good thing I'm not a dude, or I might have been asked to step into a room with some dirty mags, and fill a cup. Unless that's a fun thing to do when a nurse is waiting right outside for the specimen. The pressure must be intense.
So there we are, sitting in our little doctor office, and Dr. M shuffles in (he wears Birkenstocks, and the only way to walk in them is to shuffle). I had already decided that I had multiple co-infections. That way, if I only had one or two, I would be all, "Awesome! I only have two other diseases to combat! Fuck YESSSSS!" (which might be why they always close the door extra tight when I'm there-all the emphatic cussing.)
I DON'T have parasites. Yay!
I DON'T need a major overhaul OR a rebuild on my thyroid. Awesome!
I'm NOT completely overrun by a massive yeast infection called Candida. Can I get a Booyah!
One of the nastier co-infections is Babesiosis-NEGATIVE, bitches!!!!!
The ONE I tested positive for is Bartonella. It is known in the disease world as an opportunistic pathogen. So, you know when there's a hot guy at the club, and all the bitches are strutting their stuff all in front of him in order to get his attention? Bartonella is his mildly not-repulsive friend that's going to hang around and try to get the hottest chick talked into a threesome.
And the talk on Sunday gave us a little bit of info on how this bastard gets ahold of you. Remember when I talked about the little critter that bores into your red blood cells, splits into eight, then waits for the cell to die off to find eight more red blood cells to penetrate? That's my little bugger.
So the way Lyme treatment works is like this:
First, once you figure out the co-infections, and usually go after those first. This is the part where I try to explain the space-time continuum--oh wait, no. This is the part where I explain why I have to be in treatment for this disease, and the treatment is talked about in terms of years. YEARS, people. Like, batten down the hatches, it's going to be a bumpy ride. By the time I'm rid of this shit, we could be able to teleport. Cancer might have a cure. Our nation could be debt-free. THAT long.
When Dr. M talked to us, he basically gave us some choices. He only works with oral antibiotics (that means "in pill form", you pervs). Which means, if I want IV meds, or I get to a point when I stop responding, I need to go to Palo Alto to the Dr. that does that. I would have to travel, and have a PICC line, and self-administer.
I decided that, while I've always been intrigued by IV drug use, I would save that little treat for a special occasion. So, we left with our lists of stuff to do, and stuff to not do, and off to the pharmacy we went.
Here's where I tell you the importance of shopping around, especially for drugs. Wal-mart wanted $160 for a month's worth of Doxycycline, and $289 for a month of Azithromyacin. Ouch. Costco, on the other hand, was looking more like $70 per month, for BOTH. Even I can see the value in that math. Off to Costco went me and my Princess.
At Costco, they got me all hooked up with their super-drug-user-saver card. This brought it down to $46 per month, once I explained that it really did say 60, and not 6. The pharmacist was perplexed, and expressed concerns about my impeding gastrointestinal situation. I can only imagine what he's going to say when he sees me next month...with scrips for the same pile o' pills.
The only downfall was the wait-35 minutes inside Costco. In actuality, the cost of the pills will need to be figured out with the addition of the crap I bought waiting for the pills. This is how that might look:
Wal-Mart Costco
Cost of meds-$459 Cost of meds-$46
cost to my psyche-immeasurable Cases of trail mix, chips, granola bars, jerky, cereal bars,
shampoo, Ibuprofen, a 2-pack of wool socks, a 2-pack of capri leggings for Princess,and a 25 pound bag of
tortilla chips-$128
Total cost-Infinity Total cost-$174
Costco is the clear choice. Next month-just for shits and giggles-I might try to run it through my HMO.
Fortunately, I will be moving to a PPO in a couple months-April at the latest. One of the many good things about owning your own business is the ability to make my own insurance decisions. And in this case, my decision won't affect my employees either, so all's good.
Once I got home, it was time to sort. What I had to do was take my list of current medsHarumph. And to think I was overwhelmed when I had to start using a pill sorter in the first place...
Picture some hot chick dressed in the latest style leaning up against the wall smoking, saying, "You've come a long way, baby".
And just like all those ads that were devised to encourage women to be independent through the constant inhalation of carcinogens, I have graduated to a bigger brighter larger pill storage system. Let's call it the BBBPPS for short. Or shitballs. One of those.
Now I have 3 things along with a glass of water on my nightstand. Then in my lunchbox (foodbox?) I have breakfast and lunch and snacks for the day, along with that day's breakfast and lunch pills. All because I brought these cool pill sorters that pop individual days out for taking along. I bought two: one green and one orange. Green for breakfast, orange for lunch. I didn't want to have to write on each little pod, so I figured I would use them alphabetically. That way when my brain fails me, I can at least ask people what colors they are, and which one comes first alphabetically. Almost Aimee-proof, I tell ya. I then converted the AM/PM one to Dinner/Bedtime with my handy dandy Sharpie, and voila!
To quote Huey Lewis (I have been wanting to say that for like, forever!) I gotta new drug. Or two. A new diagnosis (dx, for you medically literate geeks). All I need is .....a new attitude? No, that was Patti LaBelle. I know...I was told I need a new name, that Fearless Fibro Warrior doesn't exactly cover my situation.
I guess I was a little short-sighted when I named my blog. I posed the question to the ever-helpful world of Facebook, and it seems as though I need to use Luscious. Lyme, of course, which one pal pointed out could also be indicative of a love of margaritas. And Goddess, rather than Warrior, to be powerful, yet uniquely feminine. (Man, should I write ad copy, or what?) I heard some serious shout-outs for Lymbrolicious as well. I dunno. Maybe I should stick with my old name. I mean, just because a little baby girl is named Candi or Bambi, doesn't mean she has to change it to something else when she does not grow up to be a stripper, right?
Stay tuned for the dramatic conclusion, "What will those antibiotics do to Aimee's bowels?" on the next episode of FFW...
It has been a busy coupla days.
After we went to the actually-fairly-interesting-but-super-technical talk about Lyme Disease and treatments, Sky King and I came home and decompressed.
Then, it was off to Dr. M bright and early to get my final FINAL FINAL results from all the poo, urine, spit and blood I've been handing out lately. Good thing I'm not a dude, or I might have been asked to step into a room with some dirty mags, and fill a cup. Unless that's a fun thing to do when a nurse is waiting right outside for the specimen. The pressure must be intense.
So there we are, sitting in our little doctor office, and Dr. M shuffles in (he wears Birkenstocks, and the only way to walk in them is to shuffle). I had already decided that I had multiple co-infections. That way, if I only had one or two, I would be all, "Awesome! I only have two other diseases to combat! Fuck YESSSSS!" (which might be why they always close the door extra tight when I'm there-all the emphatic cussing.)
I DON'T have parasites. Yay!
I DON'T need a major overhaul OR a rebuild on my thyroid. Awesome!
I'm NOT completely overrun by a massive yeast infection called Candida. Can I get a Booyah!
One of the nastier co-infections is Babesiosis-NEGATIVE, bitches!!!!!
The ONE I tested positive for is Bartonella. It is known in the disease world as an opportunistic pathogen. So, you know when there's a hot guy at the club, and all the bitches are strutting their stuff all in front of him in order to get his attention? Bartonella is his mildly not-repulsive friend that's going to hang around and try to get the hottest chick talked into a threesome.
And the talk on Sunday gave us a little bit of info on how this bastard gets ahold of you. Remember when I talked about the little critter that bores into your red blood cells, splits into eight, then waits for the cell to die off to find eight more red blood cells to penetrate? That's my little bugger.
So the way Lyme treatment works is like this:
First, once you figure out the co-infections, and usually go after those first. This is the part where I try to explain the space-time continuum--oh wait, no. This is the part where I explain why I have to be in treatment for this disease, and the treatment is talked about in terms of years. YEARS, people. Like, batten down the hatches, it's going to be a bumpy ride. By the time I'm rid of this shit, we could be able to teleport. Cancer might have a cure. Our nation could be debt-free. THAT long.
When Dr. M talked to us, he basically gave us some choices. He only works with oral antibiotics (that means "in pill form", you pervs). Which means, if I want IV meds, or I get to a point when I stop responding, I need to go to Palo Alto to the Dr. that does that. I would have to travel, and have a PICC line, and self-administer.
I decided that, while I've always been intrigued by IV drug use, I would save that little treat for a special occasion. So, we left with our lists of stuff to do, and stuff to not do, and off to the pharmacy we went.
Here's where I tell you the importance of shopping around, especially for drugs. Wal-mart wanted $160 for a month's worth of Doxycycline, and $289 for a month of Azithromyacin. Ouch. Costco, on the other hand, was looking more like $70 per month, for BOTH. Even I can see the value in that math. Off to Costco went me and my Princess.
At Costco, they got me all hooked up with their super-drug-user-saver card. This brought it down to $46 per month, once I explained that it really did say 60, and not 6. The pharmacist was perplexed, and expressed concerns about my impeding gastrointestinal situation. I can only imagine what he's going to say when he sees me next month...with scrips for the same pile o' pills.
The only downfall was the wait-35 minutes inside Costco. In actuality, the cost of the pills will need to be figured out with the addition of the crap I bought waiting for the pills. This is how that might look:
Wal-Mart Costco
Cost of meds-$459 Cost of meds-$46
cost to my psyche-immeasurable Cases of trail mix, chips, granola bars, jerky, cereal bars,
shampoo, Ibuprofen, a 2-pack of wool socks, a 2-pack of capri leggings for Princess,and a 25 pound bag of
tortilla chips-$128
Total cost-Infinity Total cost-$174
Costco is the clear choice. Next month-just for shits and giggles-I might try to run it through my HMO.
Fortunately, I will be moving to a PPO in a couple months-April at the latest. One of the many good things about owning your own business is the ability to make my own insurance decisions. And in this case, my decision won't affect my employees either, so all's good.
Once I got home, it was time to sort. What I had to do was take my list of current medsHarumph. And to think I was overwhelmed when I had to start using a pill sorter in the first place...
Picture some hot chick dressed in the latest style leaning up against the wall smoking, saying, "You've come a long way, baby".
And just like all those ads that were devised to encourage women to be independent through the constant inhalation of carcinogens, I have graduated to a bigger brighter larger pill storage system. Let's call it the BBBPPS for short. Or shitballs. One of those.
Now I have 3 things along with a glass of water on my nightstand. Then in my lunchbox (foodbox?) I have breakfast and lunch and snacks for the day, along with that day's breakfast and lunch pills. All because I brought these cool pill sorters that pop individual days out for taking along. I bought two: one green and one orange. Green for breakfast, orange for lunch. I didn't want to have to write on each little pod, so I figured I would use them alphabetically. That way when my brain fails me, I can at least ask people what colors they are, and which one comes first alphabetically. Almost Aimee-proof, I tell ya. I then converted the AM/PM one to Dinner/Bedtime with my handy dandy Sharpie, and voila!
To quote Huey Lewis (I have been wanting to say that for like, forever!) I gotta new drug. Or two. A new diagnosis (dx, for you medically literate geeks). All I need is .....a new attitude? No, that was Patti LaBelle. I know...I was told I need a new name, that Fearless Fibro Warrior doesn't exactly cover my situation.
I guess I was a little short-sighted when I named my blog. I posed the question to the ever-helpful world of Facebook, and it seems as though I need to use Luscious. Lyme, of course, which one pal pointed out could also be indicative of a love of margaritas. And Goddess, rather than Warrior, to be powerful, yet uniquely feminine. (Man, should I write ad copy, or what?) I heard some serious shout-outs for Lymbrolicious as well. I dunno. Maybe I should stick with my old name. I mean, just because a little baby girl is named Candi or Bambi, doesn't mean she has to change it to something else when she does not grow up to be a stripper, right?
Stay tuned for the dramatic conclusion, "What will those antibiotics do to Aimee's bowels?" on the next episode of FFW...
Saturday, January 21, 2012
The One Where I Meet My New Bestest Friend in the World, and Amazingly Don't Scare Her Away. Yet.
Sorry, I know it has been a while. And even more sorry, I can't stay long, as I have just returned from a very amazing, very intense training on incorporating children with special needs into traditional child development programs. Awesome stuff, and I will talk soon about it all.
But, I am truly exhausted and the taxation of a week of traveling, shmoozing, canoodling and networking has left me a wreck. I can be such a puss sometimes. So, I will give you another teaser of my wit and charm, all the while possibly alienating my new bestest friend in the whole wide world. (Not to replace ANY of my current bestest friends in the whole wide world-because, like in college when I needed multiple drinking buddies to keep up with me, I now need multiple bestest friends, because I am so adorably needy.)
Day 1
I get to my training. I, being a high-maintenance Diva, have special food needs. The ever-lovely Kay, purveyor of all that is edible, wants to touch base with me regarding MY special needs (irony NOT lost-turns out, this is the first of many lessons of the week about howfucked up particularly needy uniquely individual we all truly are.)
Kay comes up to me, as I am adjusting my name tag. This name tag is my key to the week: it hangs around my neck, complete with elastic cord. My name is on it, with my first name large so that it is as easy as staring at my tits to figure out who I am. Which is awkward enough in a field dominated by large older women, but that's another post for another, drunker, time. There it is:
Aimee
Walker
Also on my name tag is my city of origin. On the back, I can slip in my room key. Also, there is a slot to insert my special food needs, complete with color-coding-orange for NO DAIRY-NO GLUTEN. It's all very pre-school, which I appreciate. It would be even cooler if we could add scratch 'n sniff stickers. I would choose skunk. And vanilla. Damn, I already turned in my evaluation. Maybe I should email that.
Where was I? Oh yes. So Kay comes up and says, "Amy! Amy Webber!" I say, "YES!". "Wait, no. Aimee WALKER. Not Webber." I should have noticed she spelled it wrong when she said it the first time.
We had our conversation about my neediness, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered who this "Amy Webber" was. Do you do that? Concern yourself with other people with your name, wondering if they give you a bad rap? Me too.
There is one other Aimee Walker. She is a gymnast that is deaf. She has also been on TV shows. Then there is Amy Smart, Aimee Mann, Amy Adams (LOVE her!), Amy Grant. All upstanding Amy's. Amy Winehouse? Well, while drug-addled, she was amazingly talented, so she gets a "pass". So, all in all, pretty good.
I was super-bummed with the whole "Joey Buttefucco-Amy Fisher" mess, ESPECIALLY when she had her car custom-painted with MY spelling-AIMEE. Don't think I didn't notice. I was pissed-I took it personally.
Anywho...
So when I got to the conference and saw there was another Amy, I was intrigued. I was thrilled she was in Child Development, which meant she was borderline-awesome already. But. But what if she loved Circletime, the bane of all true child-developmentalists? What if she liked worksheets? Or, :::gasp::: desks lined in a row in order to encourage quiet acquiescence in young children because, well, they had to learn it someday. :::shudder:::
I forgot about these thoughts as the day went by. Why? Because I have problems with memory, don't you people pay attention!?!?!?
Day 2 was unremarkable, as it only contains stories about one Amy-me. I will bother you with those stories later.
Day 3
As is customary at these trainings, we had been shuffled into smaller groups. I schlepped my amazing, but VERY heavy, materials to the next room. I wandered up to the front. I plopped down, and proceeded to unpack. Pen, highlighter, mints, glasses, paper for notes. The chick to my left had removed her rings, and was putting lotion on her hands. This reminded me that MY hands were also parched, and remarked, "Oh, that's right! Lotion!" She offered me some of hers, and I said no thank you, whipping out a plastic to-go container of white goo, saying, "I have mayo. Much better for my hands". She said, "Awesome!" or something else equally *understanding. This was my first hint that she was cool.
*Sometimes, I say things that are slightly off, like putting mayo on my hands as a moisturizer, just to test the waters. If they do the eye brow raise with the eye roll and avoid contact the rest of the time, they are NOT my people.
Then, I see that she is left-handed. I am left-handed. Hmmmm. This means she's cool, just like me. Then, I see her name tag:
Amy
Webber
:::Gasp:::
I found her! I sneak peeks out of the corner of my eye, trying to judge how really cool she is.
Then, the most amazing thing happened:
We were chatting in small groups and we all had to share something personal, and something having to do with diagnoses came up for me. We got brought back to the larger group and Amy leans over, "What do YOU got?"
I proceed to write down my diagnoses, she looks at the list, points to herself, and whispers, "MS".
OMG. Ohmygawd
Anyways, we got together on the break, and at lunch. All of a sudden, I was a part of a two-person secret club. These are the kinds of convos we had:
New BFF:And don't you hate it when you are picking something up, like, hot coffee, and all of a sudden, your hand stops working, and you drop the whole thing, breaking your favorite mug?
Me:Yes! Or, you are filling your weekly pill dispenser, and your fine motor skills fail, and the pills fly everywhere!
NBFF: Yes, and then you realize you...
Me, and NBFF, in unison: NEED A BIGGER WEEKLY PILL DISPENSER!!!!
We laughed like old friends. We found many more similarities, including our love of twisted humor. This got us on the subject of blogging, and we swapped our faves. At this point, I tell her about my almost-inappropriate girl crush on Jenny Lawson, from The Bloggess. Amy has not heard of her. I say, You mean you have never heard of The Bloggess, and the 6 foot metal chicken, Beyonce'???
Amy's response? She texts me this:
This is her (obviously patient and loving) husband, with a 12 foot metal cock.
The obvious fate of the universe cannot be ignored any longer.
We then pledge our undying desire to keep connected through Facebook, and proceed to bond further over large amounts of pills chugged with cantaloupe martinis. Okay, she only had water with lemon, so I drank the martinis in her honor.
Best friends are awesome like that.
Oh, and we established a great new coalition to put an end to useless Circletimes, once and for all:
Women Invested in Non-Traditional Education, W.I.N.E. for short.
I can't wait until our first meeting.
But, I am truly exhausted and the taxation of a week of traveling, shmoozing, canoodling and networking has left me a wreck. I can be such a puss sometimes. So, I will give you another teaser of my wit and charm, all the while possibly alienating my new bestest friend in the whole wide world. (Not to replace ANY of my current bestest friends in the whole wide world-because, like in college when I needed multiple drinking buddies to keep up with me, I now need multiple bestest friends, because I am so adorably needy.)
Day 1
I get to my training. I, being a high-maintenance Diva, have special food needs. The ever-lovely Kay, purveyor of all that is edible, wants to touch base with me regarding MY special needs (irony NOT lost-turns out, this is the first of many lessons of the week about how
Kay comes up to me, as I am adjusting my name tag. This name tag is my key to the week: it hangs around my neck, complete with elastic cord. My name is on it, with my first name large so that it is as easy as staring at my tits to figure out who I am. Which is awkward enough in a field dominated by large older women, but that's another post for another, drunker, time. There it is:
Aimee
Walker
Also on my name tag is my city of origin. On the back, I can slip in my room key. Also, there is a slot to insert my special food needs, complete with color-coding-orange for NO DAIRY-NO GLUTEN. It's all very pre-school, which I appreciate. It would be even cooler if we could add scratch 'n sniff stickers. I would choose skunk. And vanilla. Damn, I already turned in my evaluation. Maybe I should email that.
Where was I? Oh yes. So Kay comes up and says, "Amy! Amy Webber!" I say, "YES!". "Wait, no. Aimee WALKER. Not Webber." I should have noticed she spelled it wrong when she said it the first time.
We had our conversation about my neediness, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered who this "Amy Webber" was. Do you do that? Concern yourself with other people with your name, wondering if they give you a bad rap? Me too.
There is one other Aimee Walker. She is a gymnast that is deaf. She has also been on TV shows. Then there is Amy Smart, Aimee Mann, Amy Adams (LOVE her!), Amy Grant. All upstanding Amy's. Amy Winehouse? Well, while drug-addled, she was amazingly talented, so she gets a "pass". So, all in all, pretty good.
I was super-bummed with the whole "Joey Buttefucco-Amy Fisher" mess, ESPECIALLY when she had her car custom-painted with MY spelling-AIMEE. Don't think I didn't notice. I was pissed-I took it personally.
Anywho...
So when I got to the conference and saw there was another Amy, I was intrigued. I was thrilled she was in Child Development, which meant she was borderline-awesome already. But. But what if she loved Circletime, the bane of all true child-developmentalists? What if she liked worksheets? Or, :::gasp::: desks lined in a row in order to encourage quiet acquiescence in young children because, well, they had to learn it someday. :::shudder:::
I forgot about these thoughts as the day went by. Why? Because I have problems with memory, don't you people pay attention!?!?!?
Day 2 was unremarkable, as it only contains stories about one Amy-me. I will bother you with those stories later.
Day 3
As is customary at these trainings, we had been shuffled into smaller groups. I schlepped my amazing, but VERY heavy, materials to the next room. I wandered up to the front. I plopped down, and proceeded to unpack. Pen, highlighter, mints, glasses, paper for notes. The chick to my left had removed her rings, and was putting lotion on her hands. This reminded me that MY hands were also parched, and remarked, "Oh, that's right! Lotion!" She offered me some of hers, and I said no thank you, whipping out a plastic to-go container of white goo, saying, "I have mayo. Much better for my hands". She said, "Awesome!" or something else equally *understanding. This was my first hint that she was cool.
*Sometimes, I say things that are slightly off, like putting mayo on my hands as a moisturizer, just to test the waters. If they do the eye brow raise with the eye roll and avoid contact the rest of the time, they are NOT my people.
Then, I see that she is left-handed. I am left-handed. Hmmmm. This means she's cool, just like me. Then, I see her name tag:
Amy
Webber
:::Gasp:::
I found her! I sneak peeks out of the corner of my eye, trying to judge how really cool she is.
Then, the most amazing thing happened:
We were chatting in small groups and we all had to share something personal, and something having to do with diagnoses came up for me. We got brought back to the larger group and Amy leans over, "What do YOU got?"
I proceed to write down my diagnoses, she looks at the list, points to herself, and whispers, "MS".
OMG. Ohmygawd
Anyways, we got together on the break, and at lunch. All of a sudden, I was a part of a two-person secret club. These are the kinds of convos we had:
New BFF:And don't you hate it when you are picking something up, like, hot coffee, and all of a sudden, your hand stops working, and you drop the whole thing, breaking your favorite mug?
Me:Yes! Or, you are filling your weekly pill dispenser, and your fine motor skills fail, and the pills fly everywhere!
NBFF: Yes, and then you realize you...
Me, and NBFF, in unison: NEED A BIGGER WEEKLY PILL DISPENSER!!!!
We laughed like old friends. We found many more similarities, including our love of twisted humor. This got us on the subject of blogging, and we swapped our faves. At this point, I tell her about my almost-inappropriate girl crush on Jenny Lawson, from The Bloggess. Amy has not heard of her. I say, You mean you have never heard of The Bloggess, and the 6 foot metal chicken, Beyonce'???
Amy's response? She texts me this:
This is her (obviously patient and loving) husband, with a 12 foot metal cock.
The obvious fate of the universe cannot be ignored any longer.
We then pledge our undying desire to keep connected through Facebook, and proceed to bond further over large amounts of pills chugged with cantaloupe martinis. Okay, she only had water with lemon, so I drank the martinis in her honor.
Best friends are awesome like that.
Oh, and we established a great new coalition to put an end to useless Circletimes, once and for all:
Women Invested in Non-Traditional Education, W.I.N.E. for short.
I can't wait until our first meeting.
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