About Me

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Juneau, Alaska, United States
Not too much about me to describe. I'm pretty boring, funny, but boring...

Friday, November 5, 2010

Things I Expect to Work That Just Don't

The first thing that springs to mind is my leg, for obvious reasons, to anyone who knows me. I am sure we all know that feeling of missing a stair when we are walking. Well, my steps are all like that. But I remember a time not too long ago when it wasn't like that.

About five years ago I used to jog, everyday, for about a mile. There is nothing like the sound of shoelaces zipping together to tighten running shoes. Then the feeling of your feet furiously hitting the pavement. Your breath heaving from your chest. Your blood pumping through every limb, so fast. The feel of the icy air prickling your hot flesh. Just feeling fit.

Now, I am lucky if I can walk from my car into the store without having to stop to catch myself. There is nothing more embarrassing than walking in the store, taking just one more step and finding yourself on the floor, for no good reason at all, with a crowd of helpful people asking if you are ok and need help. It is also sad that the only thing people notice about me now is whether or not I am walking with my service dog or my cane. They don't know how much it stings when they smile and note that I don't have either of my walking assistants with me.

Oh or like when I was sitting with a friend in a restaurant/bar setting and some guy came up and was hitting on me. The compliment is always nice, but I was trying to politely to let him know I was not available. He kept hitting on me, but I had to pee. So I told my friend I would be right back. He watched me get up and pick up my cane. The look on his face was embarrassment mingled with contempt. He walked away without a word. Interested or not, that one stung.

I don't know but lately it feels like everything I look forward to doesn't work out real well. Like studying for tests, knowing I know the material (because you could ask me anything and I could answer it correctly) and then I get to the test and none of the questions even remotely look like what I studied. Or like planning to go do something fun and having it end up sucking because the sound system guy can't seem to get rid of the feed back on the mic of the woman I have waited years to see in concert. Or having surgery to fix something and waking up with all the skin on the inside of my lip missing because I've bitten it off in my anesthetized state.

I suppose life is full of it's ups and downs, but I find it sad that I watch people just walking and feel envious that they can do it without looking like a hunched back duck. Staring longingly as they bend over to pick up something they've dropped without wincing on the upswing. I hate taking 30 minutes to get out of bed, only to hobble over to my pill bottles so I can walk for the rest of the day. I don't like pitied looks, dirty looks and feelings of inadequacy. I really don't like people treating me like I am lying because I am too young to have these problems. I hate that I have nothing more interesting going on in my life than my new surgical consort or some new fangled test I get to go through. Where did all the fun go? Where did all the friends go? And why can't I "Go take a hike?" I would love to be able to actually do it the next time some ass tells me to.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Not Again

Monday is creeping up on me faster than I thought it would. There are several things that I do not look forward to, one of which is being cut open. I ask myself why I let doctors talk me into "procedures" and the answer I can give me is that I hate pain. This in its self is ironic, given that the cutting makes the pain worse.

Looking back in my life I realize that prior to 2000, I was never in the doctor's office. I hadn't even ever had stitches. Since that time however I have had at least 13 surgical procedures. I can almost pin point the day that everything went wonky.

My mom was the choir director of our church. I was a high saprano and the soloist. Currently my moms little arms were lifting and falling rhythmically, vainly trying to get the rest of the room to follow her lead. Everyone was standing, except me. I was pregnant and needed to be down for a bit. Currently my belly felt like my skin and muscles were suddenly too small and could no longer stretch over my son. That sensation would last for a few moments and then the muscles would relax. I thought my little mister was simply rolling around in there. Unfortunately, my back started to hurt too when the muscles tensed with his roll, so I had to sit.

The pain seemed to be getting worse. I signaled my mom for a break and went to sit on a pew. She stopped the choir and came to check on me. I told her what was happening and she told me I was in labor. Panic struck me at that moment because I was only 6 months into my pregnancy. Needless to say we stopped singing and went to the hospital. Sure enough mom was right (DUH). I was dilated to 6cm and progressing. My son felt like he was ready to come out, the doctors did not agree with him. Flat on my back, monitors hooked up, IV started and a worried Dr. Richard Welling. I heard words like "too soon", "Magnesium", "Trebutaline", "heart  rate", "fetus fatigue". I was terrified for my son. So like a good girl I laid in my hospital bed for three months and tried desperately not to have my kid until they said it was ok. Apparently those three months were harder on me than anyone realized until later.
Day One

Anyway, Monday will mark the 14th surgery since 2000. That is a hell of a lot of anesthesia. No wonder I can't  remember anything anymore. After my operation Monday, I will have more pain, swelling bruising, loss of use of my right arm for at least a week, post surgical depression (it's real don't laugh http://harvardmagazine.com/2000/07/an-understandable-compli-html), and loss of brain cells, which at this point I definitely notice. This is going to be a major disturbance in my life. I will miss school, I will miss all the things for my son, I will miss my nieces first concert, I will miss a shower for 3 days.

Day Three Showering
All this being said, the gains will be nice too. I will be able to grip things without pain and or dropping them. I will be able to bend my arm for longer than a few seconds without pain too. You never realize how much time you spend with your arms bent until you can't bend one without pain. This particular surgery I had performed in March of this year on the other arm. It was not fun, I can only imagine that this one will be worse since it is being done on my dominant arm. So far i have had to chat with professors, who don't like disruptions to your learning on a good day, and I have a party scheduled for the 31st that all the invites went out already. So I had to get people to help me set up and cook now. Stupid shit anyway.

Day Four
I will also have to deal with people who don't understand that the effects of surgery last more than two days. It seems there is a threshold of how long people can handle you being out of commission and needy. I can honestly tell people that the effects of this surgery can be felt for up to 12 months. It has been 7 months since my other elbow was worked on and I can still feel the repair healing.
Day Six

I think I will close by saying I would not wish this shit on anyone.
Day Eight

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Thriller...and maracas?

    I'm gonna do it this time. I'm gonna be the best race car driver ever. "Ladies and gentlemen! It's Ricky Rudd." Watch me race my car from the closet to the bed. My room is Nascar, my bed the winners circle. But wait I've won and now they are asking me to dance. On my chubby toes I twinkle across the winners circle to my stage.
     My fingers clasped around green and yellow fisher price maracas, keeping the rhythm for my transformation from Ricky Rudd to Coco. "Remember my name. Fame. I'm gonna live forever. I'm gonna learn how to fly High. I feel it coming together. People will see me and cry. Fame. I'm gonna make it to heaven. Light up the sky like a flame. Fame. I'm gonna live forever. Baby, remember my name. Fame." Crouched ready for the finale of my dance and I am struck down. Flat on the floor with my maracas rolling slowly away. 
    I am dead and yet I rise, slowly, my dead flesh reeking and my tousled hair splayed across my sweaty face. My skin is ghostly, my eyes sunken into their sockets. Black circles encasing their empty greyness. My jaw is slack; my fingers curled into claws. My arms suddenly alive again raise up toward my face. They hang there as my body rocks back and forth. "'Cause this is thriller, thriller night and no one's gonna save you from the beast about strike. You know it's thriller, thriller night. You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight."

    I am standing in the gym my mom and I rented for my sweet sixteen. My boyfriend is standing behind me with his strong arms wrapped around me. My brain was wandering to how much I liked it when he hugged me and how much I would rather be making out somewhere than in a crowded gym with my mother watching us. We are chatting easily with Kai. He was known to every other girl in school as Dreamy McHot. He had long beautiful black hair and a KILLER smile; always had a string of gooey eyed girls drooling at his backside. But I liked my poofey haired dream boat with big arms, wide smile and a sweet nature.
    Suddenly my wandering mind found a sound distracting. It almost sounded like maracas. I looked up at my mom and she was positively beaming from the side of the sound system. My face dropped its smiling mask and donned on of shear terror as I heard my sweet three year old self announcing proudly "Ladies and Gentlemen! It's Ricky Rudd." 
    Blood rushed to my face giving me the countenance of  an over ripe strawberry. Everyone was quiet. They all were listening to this tape and watching my face perform its Technicolor light show. I turned into my boyfriends chest, trying to bury it in the folds of his shirt. Unfortunately for me instead of a reassuring hug all I got was shaken like Polaroid picture, in the ripples of his laughter. Jerk.

Monday, October 4, 2010

My change in view of mittens

Disclaimer: I've been trying to think of a personal blog or a story of the self to share one here like I'm supposed to,  but I am trying desperately to avoid myself these days. At least the inner workings of my brains. Confessional poetry and story writing the self is definitely not where I wanna be right at the moment. I also don't want my personal stuff or stories of myself out there for just anyone to read. If this were a private class discussion board rather than a world wide blog site, I would have an easier time opening up. My stories of me and personal stuff is for me and my friends, not for some stranger.
    Having said that, I am reminded of something I told my best friend today. You have to look at it from a different angle and then it doesn't seem so bad. I hate it when my own advise bites me in the ass. So I ask myself how do I look at this another way? I could see it as therapeutic, a way to get things off my chest as it were. I could see sharing my stories as a way to help others who maybe are going through the same thing. Maybe my words could encourage someone. On that note, I am going to have to find something to share with the world. I suppose I will start small, with something not too close, but still a story of me.

     I loved those mittens. My mom made them for me. Sturdy fire engine red yarn crocheted to fit snug around all my digits. Even when they were soaking in icy water from playing in the snow, my hands stayed warm. I was sure my mom was magic and had put a warming spell on them. I was grateful for that today, I had big plans.
  Clad in my mommy made mittens and one piece snow suit, I lurched myself onto my sled. My cousin Kevin jumped in behind me, while my sister Katie and Kevin's brother John watched us prepare for our slide. It was exciting sliding down this hill. The end of the hill marked the beginning of a cliff perched above the Atlantic ocean. The only thing between us and it was a chain link fence that was cemented to the ground. Each point of the end links was submerged in the hard concrete, rendering it very sturdy. The trick was that when you got to the fence you stop yourself by slamming your feet onto the crossbar of the fence.
    So there we were ready for our dive down the snowy adventurous terrain.
    "You ready Kev?"
    "You bet."
    I pushed off with my red mitted hands and we began our decent. Wind from the sea pummeled my face. Snowflakes felt like little knives poking my cheeks and we sped by. It was a short run but very fast. As we approached the bottom I lifted my legs to get my feet positioned for the knee killing stop. As soon as my feet hit the fence I knew something went wrong.
    My feet had not hit the solidness of the cross bar but rather the springy chain link. My plummet was not arrested as I thought it would be, instead my feet broke through under the fence. Kevin jumped off and I could hear panicked footfalls coming down the hill. I frantically reached for the fence in front of me, but my red super mittens wouldn't allow my fingers to grip the chain link.
    Under I went, finally stopping when the points of the fence gouged my chest. I pushed on the crossbar but couldn't get free.
    "John go get Auntie Terri." My sisters voice sounded miles away. John ran screaming into the house.
    "Auntie Terri, Kris is gonna die!" Terror griped me as my fingers kept sliding in futile attempts to grasp the fence. I felt the snow give way a little and began to slip farther. My sister grabbed my hand  and Kevin grabbed the sled. They pulled and pulled trying to get me out. I heard the back door of the house slam open and my mother yell my name. Just as she was about to reach me Katie pulled me free from the fence. I clutched her like a drowning man holds a log.
    As soon as I had my feet back under me instead of flailing off the cliff, I ripped my favorite red mittens from my hands and announced that I would never wear them or any other mitten again. And so I haven't, to this day. I tried a couple years ago, but my chest closed up and I panicked just sliding them on in the store.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Things that make you go hmmmmmmmm........

What is the difference between a normal candle and a soy candle? 
How do you make shampoo without soap?
Why is it always corn?
How much wood could a woodchuck chuck?
Why did the chicken really cross the road?
What is the point of decaffeinated coffee?
Meatless meat?
Why do dogs chase their tails?
Why do we cry when we feel things?
White with black stripes or white with black stripes?
Undead... wouldn't that be alive?
Red Sox or Yankees? DUH!
Where did they get the name platypus? And while we're at it what the hell is it?
Why can't lions purr? (I actually know the answer to that one. Thank you Discovery Channel)
To be or not to be? OR Too be or not too be? OR Two bee or not two bee?
Why are their foods that we can't resist?
Why do we look up when we are trying to spell something?
Why do people have to touch fresh paint?
Who the hell are they and Murphy? And why did he get to make all the rules?
Why is the word penis funny?
Why do we laugh at fart noises?
Do farts have lumps in them?
Was it really the dog?
If cat's are connoisseurs why do they lick their butts?
Why does cheese have power?
Where is the beef?
What if beef isn't what's for dinner?
What if the hokey pokey is what it's all about?
Why are farts wet?
Does a bear shit in the woods?
What do you get when you cross an elephant with a prostitute?
How do you make a whore moan?
If you choke a smurf what color does he turn?
Why is a raven like a writing desk?
Where is the end of the rainbow?
How fast is God speed?
How many is a handful?
Do monkey's really understand sign language?
Can you ever just be whelmed?
Why are people surprised when their pet's hair gets tangles?
Why  is everything part poodle but no one likes poodles?
Do bald men wash their head with soap or shampoo?
Why is the man who invests all your money called a broker?
Why are the obituaries found in the living section of the news paper?
Do one handed people get offended if the police ask them to put their hands up?
Where do people in Hell tell other people to go?
Why is a person who plays the piano called a pianist but a person who drives a race car not called a racist?
At a movie theater which armrest is yours?
Why do doctors leave the room when you change?
Where does the toe tag go if you don't have toes?
How far east can you go before you're heading west?
If girls with large breasts work at Hooters, do girls with one leg work at IHOP?
If pro and con are opposites, wouldn't the opposite of progress be congress?
If a kid refuses to sleep during nap time, are they guilty of resisting a rest?
What's the difference between normal ketchup and fancy ketchup?
If a transvesite goes missing, would youu put their face on a carton of Half and Half?
Are eyebrows considered facial hair?
Is there a time limit on fortune cookie predictions? 
Why is sandwich meat round when bread is square?
Do they have the word "dictionary" in the dictionary?

Why is vanilla ice cream white when vanilla extract is brown?
How can something be "new" and "improved"? if it's new, what was it improving on?
Why is it that when we "skate on thin ice", we can "get in hot water"?
If laughter is the best medicine, how do you die laughing'?
If money doesn't grow on trees then why do banks have branches?
Do siamese twins pay for one ticket or two tickets when they go to movies?
Why does caregiver and caretaker mean the same thing?
How fast do hotcakes sell?
Do prison buses have emergency exits?
If a stripper gets breast implants can she write it off on her taxes as a business expense?
Why do we put suits in a garment bag and put garments in a suitcase?
Do you wake up or open your eyes first?
Why do overalls have belt loops?
Are children who act in rated 'R' movies allowed to see them?
How much deeper would the ocean be if sponges didn't grow in it?
If you get cheated by the Better Business Bureau, who do you complain to?
What do people in China call their good plates?
How do you tell when you run out of invisible ink?
Why are the numbers on a calculator and a phone reversed?
Do butterflies remember life as a caterpillar?
How important does a person have to be before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered?
And finally...
What is another word for "thesaurus"?

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Random things you find in couch cushions..... or not

    Ever been cleaning the house and decide it is time to vacuum the couch? ok you know what? I was gonna write about that but now I am irritated at the spelling of vacuum, and decided to rant about stupidly spelled words. Such as ROADS... What the fuck is a RO ADD? And who the hell decided it was a good idea to spell beautiful   with an E and an A? Why does kitchen have a T in it? Why are there three ways to spell to, too, two? And which is it dessert or desert? Why do they insist on making the English language so ridiculous?

    And while I'm at it for those of you who decide to give me massive amounts of shit for pronouncing "barrette" as its spelled, piss off!  It is not a burrette it is a barrette. The correct phrase is "all of A sudden" not "all of THE sudden" Stewie you're the man!

    Why are they called appartments when they are all stuck together? Why do we drive on parkways and park on driveways? Were the English just so keen on being the best that they had to tweak their language so no one but them could figure the freakin' thing out? Surely no one has that big of a superiority complex? 

    They're, there, their... four, four... eight, ate...through, threw, thru.... Light, lite... eye, I...bear, bare...flower, flour and then there are words that are spelled the same but mean different things. Such as file, pen,  nail, pound... 
    And then we add slang words. Why do we add more when we can't even figure out the ones we have? Take for example the word dude. Depending on the inflection of your voice that word can mean anything from "Omg there's a scarey ax murderer" to "Freakin sweet you got an Ipod." 
    My favorite word of all... FUCK. There is a diverse word for ya. That one can mean "having sex" or things like "you are not a nice person" or "you did that wrong" or just a basic exclamation of frustration or elation. Consider the line from Boondock Saints "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" If you have seen the scene (see there it is again) the word "fuck" refers to like seven different things that had happened in the room. To which the man's counterpart replies "Thank you for demonstrating the diversity of the word". 

    When did we decide that "like" was an all encompassing word. It gets used as a preposition, an article, a noun, a verb and a God knows what else. Listening to kids talk, and I have heard myself do it too (and that pisses me off), "like" comes out every other word, right next to "um". That wasn't even a word to begin with. It is the demise of our society when Valley Girl speak and Homer Simpson's "DOH" are what mark our language. 

    I suppose the rant about the couch cushions will have to be postponed for a later date, because now I am too pissed at the English language to even bother typing.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Writing is really hard sometimes...

Trying to write another one here. I wanted to talk a bit about what I used to do when I was allowed to work and what I would like to do if I am ever released back to work.

"Look...I decided to switch the heads too so now it's Luke."

I used to work as a dog groomer. I loved that job, very rewarding. There is something therapeutic in brushing, bathing and drying animals. Sure the job has its hazards. For example, picture a little black and white toy poodle. His name is Rufus, but i call him Squishy. Every time he comes in, directly after his bath, he throws up on me. It's always hot dogs. Why can't people understand that there is a difference between people food and dog food? I digress. At that job I was bit, squished, farted on,

"Would this be fun to fly upside down?... probably like goin on a roller coaster... you go up you turn and then go like that... but you turn slowly.. oops the hatch opened..Vrrrrrooooooooommmmmm"

puked on peed on pooped on and scratched. Even though all those things occur, the job is still the best one I ever had.

"This should be in the sports closet."

Aside from the animals, the boss was great. No we didn't always agree, sure we argued a few times, but working for her proved to be a life changing thing for me. She is now my best friend. We are tightly joined and no one better fuck with either of us or they will feel the wrath of the other one, most ardently.

"Let's go...pheeew. Run or they'll get you"

I still spend Saturdays there with her volunteering my time to help answer the phone and take money from clients. But it's just not the same. I almost feel more useless when I go to "work", because she is so busy and I am just sitting there like the wart on the big toe of life.

I want to be a veterinarian, but I don';t see how that is going to happen in my current situation. The doctors aren't really encouraging either. I keep hearing words like progressive and deterioration. My hopes for a speedy recover got dashed in the second year of post surgical back pain, but now, I fight everyday to hang on to the thread of dashed hopes, so I don't fall into the abyss that is yawning so attractively at my rear. I fight it off the best I can by telling myself I am strong and that I will get through this. I keep the image of the Vet that I met in Tufts university outside Boston, Mass.

We stood outside the OR of the vet hospital and our tour guide perked up as a man came around the corner. My eye immediately fell to the silver legs that attached to him just above the elbow. He introduced himself as a Doctor and I almost started to cry. The hope rushed so hard into me that my breath caught in my chest. If he can do it with only one leg, then fuckin' A you bet your ass I can do it with two shitty ones and a cane.

"What? What? Can you tell me a story huh huh? Come on I don't have all day. Tell me a story. You gotta go potty? He usually wags. when I come back and I wait for him to bark, or do his thing, I will look at that Halloween magazine we found in our mail today, cuz I don't know what's in that. Didn't we plan on having a Halloween party thing? Oooh sweet a box of bones. To hold soda so your hands don't freeze off we can  buy these things.. Oh look goodie bags. Hehehe thats awesome little teeth. Oh cool flexible skeletons to throw at the wall and watch them fall... only 8 cents. I was also thinking we could get a bag of bones for the decorations. Don't worry I don't let him go til I wipe his feet. I smell poop."

Every time i get down about my situation I think of that doctor and my bitterness and sorrow melt into...

"So you just have a few more errors to fix right?"

Into hope. Damn it! I think this will be the end of this blog. I have to go look at Halloween decorations and make a snack and play a board game and watch a movie and tuck him in and then... then if I have anything left, I will tackle my math homework.

A attempt to catch up....

I figure I am a week behind on this and should probably write a second blog. Oh joy. Rapture. Given that I am not feeling overly wordy at the moment I decided to personify a bit and write something from Ajax...

    I was at the store with my owner today and a little girl came running up to me to pet me. My owner told her no because I am working. The little girl got mad and the lady with the child gave my owner a dirty look and called her a name.
    I wish that people had more knowledge of appropriate action regarding working animals. I mean you should never run up to a strange dog anyway or try to pet one without asking its owner first. Doing that can get you bit. But it is very hard on us working dogs when they run at us or even just talk to us when we are working.
   Another example is when we are walking in the store together and people make tongue clicking noises at me or smooch sounds. That is very distracting to me even though they are not touching me.
   When I am working my owner needs me for balance and support, if I get distracted she could fall. I don't have to say how bad that would be. Even people that know me and know the correct approach, still distract me when I am working. It's almost like they think since they know me and my owner its ok for them to pet and talk to me whenever they like. 
   We ran into one of my owner's friends at the store and he didn't ask to touch me just bent down and started patting me and talking to me. My owner had me on a balance command and when he started to pet me I tried to back up so he couldn't because I am not supposed to. Unfortunately in doing so I caused my owner to lose her balance and she almost fell down.
   A good way for EVERYONE to think of it is, if you aren't holding my leash leave me be. Also, only my owner and I know when I am on a command. All it takes is a simple question, "May I pet your service animal?" That gives my owner the opportunity to say yes or no depending on weather I am on a command at that time. This, will prevent my owner from potential injury, and me from getting in trouble for succumbing to proposed lovies.

    And now back to my owner for some final thoughts...

    Final thoughts he says. Hmmm. Having a service dog is rewarding and challenging. I feel bad when I have to tell people they can't touch Ajax. I mean look at him everyone wants to touch him and give him treats and things. Not to mention the heinous gas if his diet is altered even a little bit. I'm not kidding here, he's rank! I mean you can even hear them from a different room sometimes. And screw ceiling fans by the way. They only perpetuate the cycle. 

My first blog is against my religion

Blogs are a literary voyeurs wet dream. I swore to God and everything I hold dear to NEVER write a blog. I feel like blogs are personal publicity stunts where we become our own paparazzi. I am pretty sure that is one aspect of celebrities that none of us envy and yet we have no problem putting our innermost thoughts and feelings on display for Jo Blow to get his rocks of with. I prefer to share those feelings and events with my friends. Don't get me wrong, if you like that kind of sharing, be my guest.

I want to see the whites of the eyes when people share their joys and pains with me. Nothing is more frustrating that reading on Facebook (or someother public domain) that one of my best friends spent the night crying. It denies me, as a friend, the ability to really share the emotion with them and the opportunity to comfort them. That sharing is a pivotal part of being friends.

I read an article in USA Today on my way home from a recent trip. The title jumped at me from the page: Thanks for Over-sharing? The article talked about how experts are saying that social eavesdropping may not be that bad after all.  I am under the impression that the reason for some of our feelings of entitlement with regard to other peoples lives is due to the fact that our "privacy" is portable. People on cell phones in public talking like they are in their living rooms. Knowing all these personal details of strangers leads way to feeling like we have the right to know. The right to know can lead to things like a reporter trying to get a picture up Katy Perry's skirt, which lead to her fiancĂ©e smashing his face.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think it is all bad. Blogs on issues like pet health or politics or automotive problems definitely serve their purpose. The blogs I am referencing here are the ones detailing peoples day to day living down to what they ate, complete with pictures and what sexual position they like the best. I am not saying I have never done this. I post on my Facebook lots of things like that. The difference for me is that everyone on my friends list i know personally. I block my profile from everyone but my actual friends. This makes it more like my Christmas news letter than a desperate attempt to be noticed by everyone.

All this technology sharing feels like hiding in public. Throwing yourself out there but still having the protection of no one really knowing you or being able to really be close to you. So enjoy your close but still at arm distance blogging friendship and the anonymity it provides. Me personally, I don't care what random Suzie had for dinner, or who unknown Jeff is boning, tell me to my face how my friends are doing. Bring back the phone call instead of the text, or God forbid the face to face meeting. Stop denying me hugs!