Sunday, August 24, 2014

Fibromyalgia sucks balls

I've been out of one of my medications for about a week now. My rheumatologist retired and the woman taking over her practice is out of the country. Her assistant and the pharmacy are supposedly working to get my prescription filled but so far, nothing. This medication isn't a narcotic or anything. It's an antidepressant called Savella. It helps my brain function and without it I feel especially crazy. Most days I feel mostly sane but when things like this happen, I have a hard time. In addition to keeping my brain working, Savella also keeps the worst of the pain and chronic fatigue at bay. I'm really angry at the doctor, the assistant and the pharmacy right now. I'm sure none of these people have any idea what this is actually like so they can't know how debilitating it is. I want to yell at them and try to make them understand how difficult it is to cope with this shit with the medication and how completely impossible it is to be without it. Going off antidepressants cold turkey is always a bad idea. I know they know this. The boys start school in a couple of days and there are things I need to do to help them get ready and I can't. My brain is full of fog.

Saturday, November 16, 2013

So, my niece/BFF Jamie wanted me to write 15 things I've done that I should be embarrassed about but am not. I know I've embarrassed myself a lot but I'm not sure I can come up with 15. She wanted me to do it on facebook but I wanted to give people a chance to not have to read this if they don't want to so I'm going to do it here instead. Besides, it's going to be much too long for facebook. A lot of these things were embarrassing to me at the time, because when I was younger I got embarrassed quite easily. Now, it would take something like explosive diarrhea in a public place to embarrass me. I hope I didn't just jinx myself.

1. When I was in High School, my father had a habit of bringing stuff that tenants had left in his apartments home with him. Apparently, some of this stuff was infested with cockroaches. Soon, our kitchen was also infested with cockroaches. If you left the lights on, they would stay hidden so one night, I was hanging out with my friends and we decided to go do something at my house. I called home and told them to make sure they left the kitchen lights on so my friends wouldn't know that we were dirty, nasty, cockroach-having people. When we got there, all the lights were off. As soon as the kitchen lights were turned on, you could see cockroaches running for cover. It was horrible.

2. Also when I was in High School, my friends were in a musical and after the musical, I went backstage with some of my other friends to congratulate them and tell them what a good job they did. I was standing on some prop steps and my friend Darin approached and gave me a hug...and basically motor-boated me. It was unintentional and I think he was a lot more embarrassed than I was. Honestly, I quite enjoyed it and it was the only action I'd ever gotten and was all I would get for a few more years.

3. When I was an exchange student in Germany, on our first day there, Spencer Smith and I went on a long and arduous (for me anyway) bike ride with our host brothers. When we got back to my host family's house, my host brother was showing us his train set and I farted. I'm not sure the verb "farted" adequately describes it. It was the longest, loudest, most horrible fart in the history of farts and I have blocked from my memory whether or not the smell was as bad as the sound. They probably thought I had shit my pants. I wasn't sure that I hadn't. None of us said anything. They stared at me in horror and I stared back, unable to even say "excuse me".  The worst part of it was that I had a huge crush on Spencer. Luckily, he was the nicest person in the world and never mentioned it.

4. When my friends would come over to my house, we'd go hang out in my room in the basement. When they left, they would always see my dad's pants on our kitchen floor, next to the table. He has an odd habit of taking them off there and leaving them there. My nephew has dubbed this the Puddle of Pants.

5. Growing up, my house always smelled. It smelled of old people, because my parents were, and still are, old people and it also smelled because our fridge was always full of food that needed to be thrown away but couldn't be thrown away without pissing off my dad.  Everyone in my family knew not to open the fridge more than a crack. You open it, you take out the milk or the juice, and you close it as quickly as possible. But my friend Jon would come over, open the fridge, look for something to eat that wasn't rotten (this was a waste of time, unless it was milk or juice you were looking for), leaving the door open for several minutes, then telling me that I had a stinky fridge. Yeah, I know. Get out of there. Maybe he was hoping to find food that wasn't cockroach infested.

6. I've met a lot of celebrities and I almost always get verbal diarrhea when I talk to them. I tell them all kinds of unnecessary, embarrassing, useless things. I know that I'm doing it and I can't stop. Now that I know it's something I do, I've made an effort to keep my mouth shut and have been able to keep mostly quiet with a few people lately. Oh, the things I told Ben Affleck! David Schwimmer ran from me after hearing me scream "ROSS!". I told Toni Collette that I almost didn't recognize her because she'd been so fat in the first movie I saw her in. I can laugh about all of this now but I'm pretty sure Jamie is still embarrassed by me for all of the times I did this in her presence. I did keep myself from chanting "Rudy! Rudy!" at Sean Astin when I saw him at Disneyland.

7. When I was younger, it wasn't unusual to have a toilet or two sitting in my front yard. They were waiting to be installed in one of my dad's apartments so they weren't there to be used or anything but it would have been nice if he'd kept them around back.

8. Also related to my dad and his apartments, if my dad needed to move a mattress, he'd make us all get in the car and be human bungee cords. He'd put the mattress on the roof and we'd all put our arm out one of the windows and hold onto the mattress. At the time I was mortified. Now I think it's kind of genius.

9. When my nieces/BFFs and I were younger, we would make a game out of pissing off as many Cache Valley Mall employees as possible. We were very, very good at it. Once, when I was in my 20's, I ran into a woman who looked familiar. I couldn't figure out how I knew her so I asked her. She was one of the many mall employees I'd pissed off and she remembered me perfectly. Oops. Sorry all you Cache Valley Mall employees! Also, sorry to the woman at ZCMI who overheard us mocking a pair of shoes for being hideous, who apparently had purchased said shoes and wanted to know what we found so wrong with them.

10. This is something I've never told anyone. This is not only embarrassing but truly horrifying. Apparently, when my mom was pregnant with me, I ate my own twin in the womb. Bones and all. All that was left were bits of his....okay. I didn't eat my own twin. I can't think of anymore. I'm sure that some of the people reading this can tell me things I did that made you embarrassed for me, so feel free to add anything I've forgotten.


Thursday, August 8, 2013

Hold the Happy Ending, please

The first time I had a massage, I think I was about 16 years old.  There was a massage school in town that did insanely cheap hour-long massages and I decided to give it a shot.  They told me to wear shorts and a t-shirt, because, at this school, everyone worked in the same room and there were no fancy beds with sheets and whatnot.  So I go in for my massage and this wee girl is my masseuse and she starts giving me a massage and I have nothing to compare it to so it's fine...until she starts massaging my stomach. Now, when I was younger, I had a very doughy stomach. It was my absolute least favorite body part (now it's my collection of chins I hate the most) and if anyone tried to touch my stomach, they would immediately realize they'd made a mistake because I would react swiftly and violently, usually with an elbow to the face. But I couldn't elbow the masseuse in the face and as far as I knew, massaging the stomach was a normal part of a massage.  I was so upset that she was touching my stomach that tears welled up in my eyes and when the masseuse noticed and asked what was wrong, I was able to ask her to please focus on my back. Even though my first massage experience was not optimal, and even though I've had some pretty effed up massages in the last 20+ years, I still get a massage whenever the opportunity presents itself.  

My next massage was even worse than the first. It was probably about a year later that I booked my next massage. I can't remember how I came to find this particular woman and I don't know how she dared charge people for her crappy massages.  First of all, her place of business was in a small, SMALL office near my dentist's office. It was actually just one room. When I arrived and tried to open the door, it was locked. I waited outside until she finally arrived, bringing with her a teenage daughter and a preteen son. She apologized for being late and unlocked the door and I walked into a single room, empty except for what looked like a gurney or perhaps an autopsy table.  She asked me to lie down on the table (again, no fancy sheets, no removal of clothing) and she told her kids to wait outside. It was early in the year, March at the latest, and there was still snow on the ground. It was way too cold to be sending your kids outside to wait for an hour. So, being the incredibly kind and compassionate person I am, I told her she could let them stay, though, I was sure they would be much more comfortable at home, hint, hint. They kids took off their coats and sat on the floor and the woman, while giving me a weak and useless massage, talked to me about the fact that her daughter (the one sitting on the floor) had just gotten her first period and how it was such a difficult time.  She continued on with that topic for quite sometime, despite loud protests from her daughter and complete silence from me.  I prefer my masseuses to talk to me as little as possible and, if they absolutely must talk, I would prefer not to talk about one's daughter's menstrual problems.  The rest of the massage is a blur. I'm pretty sure I didn't tip her but I can't be certain. I may have given her a tip because I felt sorry for her and her kids.

All of my massages since then have been much better but there are a few that stick out because of other odd things.  My husband and I like to get couples' massages.  He finds deals on Groupon or Living Social and books them and sometimes they turn out to be really amazing massages and sometimes...
...you get a creepy massage from 2 creepy dudes, leave without tipping and the receptionist runs after you, demanding a tip.
...you get a woman who isn't actually a licensed masseuse but an woman that gives facials and is trying to make more money by branching out. She lifts your back up off the table and, when she puts you back down, your head is resting on her voluminous breasts. She leaves your head there while she puts her index fingers in your ears and swirls them around, for God knows what reason. She told me I was very soft and she told Dave he was very hard.  Keep your adjectives and your boobs and your index fingers to yourself.
...you get an older hippy couple doing the couples' massage and after the massages are done, they tell you how comfortable they feel with you and your husband, how they feel a connection to you and think that your and your husband a good "fit".  They then tell you that you are their last clients of the night and ask what your plans are for the evening. Ummmm....my only plan now is getting the devil out of here.
On our honeymoon to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, we were on the pier after a grueling day of hiking and zip lining and saw a sign that advertised a one-hour massage for $20.  For $20 an hour, we were ready to book them for the rest of the day. We tried to get a room together for a couples' massage but they didn't have those so we entered adjacent rooms, and I stripped down, hunkered down under the sheet and waited. My masseuse came in and gave a decent massage. It wasn't great and it wasn't awful and for $20, I really wasn't going to complain.  What I learned later from Dave is that he entered his room, stripped, got under the sheet, and waited. When his masseuse entered, she immediately ripped the sheet off, put her hands on his ankles, and ran them all the way up his legs and didn't stop when she got to his butt.  Her hands grazed his nuts and came uncomfortably close to his bum hole.  She then asked, in universal sign language, whether he fancied a bit of oral pleasure.  I like to think, as he assures me is the case, that it wasn't just because his new wife was in the room right next to him that he declined. When he told me all of this, I was angry at the woman that would attempt that when I was right next door and I also felt a little bit cheated.  Why hadn't I been offered a happy ending? ;)

It's been a while since we've had anything unusual happen during a massage, although, the other day I had to concentrate really hard to keep from farting.

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Just a random thought

There are some seriously ugly babies out there! My mom says that all babies are cute but she is so wrong.

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Writing

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a writer. I have always loved books and loved reading and have wished that I could create something like the books that I love so much. What holds me back from actually trying to write an actual novel is the fear of failure and a feeling that what I write won't be good enough. I'm fairly certain I could write something that would be referred to as chick lit, something that I wouldn't want to read and would be almost ashamed to have written. Would it be better to write something, anything, just to get started? I have drawers full of ideas for novels, along with the first two or three pages of books I've started to write, ideas that I like until a few days later when I read it again and it sounds trite and stupid.  Am I letting my perfectionism and my desire to write something that emulates my favorite literature keep me from writing at all? I can't decide if I should just write something just to have written or if I should keep discarding these scribbles until I create something truly worthy of being published.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Mary Pooped Her Pants

Mary Pooped Her Pants is the name by which one of my brother Craig's former girlfriends is known in my family. She is known as Mary Pooped Her Pants because she did, in fact, poop her pants while in my brother's presence.  She was at our house and the two of them were doing homework together, when all of a sudden, she jumped up and ran out, telling him she had to go home because she forgot something.  At the same time, he said he noticed a smell worse than any he had ever encountered outside of a bathroom with a backed up toilet. As soon as she was gone, he came to my room and tried to get me come to his room to be a witness to the smell and I, of course, refused.  I am not someone who enjoys bad smells.  He kept going between my room and his room,checking his room for the smell and returning to tell me that the smell hadn't dissipated at all, and trying again to get me to come to his room.  At least half an hour had passed and
Mary had not yet returned, though she only lived a few blocks away.  In her absence, we were making jokes about people who poop in their pants and Craig would return to his room periodically to check the smell level, which, according to him, had still not changed.  Eventually, Mary returned and heard us laughing hysterically.  She had been gone almost an hour and had changed her clothes.  She walked in and said, "What's so funny?", to which we could only laugh even harder.  They didn't date too much longer after that but I don't think it was because she pooped her pants in his room. I think he broke up with her because she was kind of fake and wore too much make up.

Saturday, June 15, 2013

My religion

I was raised in the LDS church. My ancestors were pioneers and my great-great-great-(great?) grandfather was pals with Brigham Young and had a surfeit of wives and a billion children and all of that early Mormon pioneer business.

As a child, I HATED church. I had a hard time sitting still, I was bored, and the only way to make me behave was the possibility of candy from the primary teacher.  As a teenager, I still didn't like it but my friends were there and it made my mom happy for me to go to church, so I usually went.  As I got older, I realized that sitting in church gave me a serious headache. I hated it. I went for a while without really questioning anything but never having a belief of my own either. Having doubts and questions about the Mormon religion is not done. The answer seems to always be that the prophets knew what they were doing and if church doctrine changes over time, that is how it is meant to be. If God told Joseph Smith he needed to marry more than one woman, it's not for us to question. There weren't as many worthy men and the women needed to be married. One of Joseph Smith's wives was already married? Well, you don't question the actions of the prophet.  When Utah was unable to get statehood unless polygamy went away, polygamy was no longer part of church doctrine.   Black people weren't allowed to have the priesthood? It just wasn't the right time.  Brigham Young taught that the only way black people would be allowed into the celestial kingdom is as the servants of white people?  That, as they accepted the gospel and lived righteously, the skin of their descendants would become white and delightsome and they would eventually be white.  No, he never! Yes, he absolutely did. These are some of  the things I questioned, the things I got unsatisfactory answers to. 

I am not writing this to offend anyone. I'm not writing this to try to change anyone's mind about their religion. I am writing this to tell you what I think is important and what I want to teach my children.  I haven't always held these beliefs and it's not always easy to act on them but I believe that doing so makes the world a better place so I will do my best.

Most of my beliefs can actually be summed up in a primary song.  "I want to be kind to everyone, for that is right, you see. So I say to myself, remember this: kindness begins with me."  

So, I believe in kindness. I believe in standing up for those that can't stand up for themselves, I believe in doing what I can to help those in need, I believe in doing whatever I can to alleviate even a tiny bit of  the suffering that is so prevalent in the world. I believe in teaching my kids about equality, about the evils of bullying, about doing the right thing, even when the right thing isn't popular.  I believe anyone doing the best they can in life, doing no harm to others, should be loved and accepted and not judged. 

There are exceptions to this rule. I believe that people abusing power to control others, to manipulate or subjugate them, are evil and must be destroyed.  Governments, police officers, church leaders or others abusing their power, I absolutely will judge.  Rapists, pedophiles, misogynists, racists, homophobes,  those who are cruel to animals, children or the elderly,  are people I would like, at the very least, to punch in the throat. 

So I will do my best to be kind, to be helpful, to ease suffering and if you want to think that because I don't go to church on Sunday I'm in a back alley somewhere shooting up black tar heroin with Satan, go ahead.