Bad Things That Happened To Me Today

7:45 AM Wake up. 'Nuff said.

8:50 AM Walk out the door. Ow. It's fucking cold. And Bob Dylan's Return To Me is playing on my iPod because God knows why I have it on there and it sucks and my hands are too cold to take out of my pocket to skip the song.

8:57 AM The PATH platform is shoulder to shoulder. Police Action and 20 min delays. I am suffering from slight claustrophobia.

9:25 AM I finally get on a train, but I am stuck in the middle of the car with nothing to hold on to. Luckily, it is so crowded that I can just crash back and forth into people's shoulders with no fear of falling down.

9:45 AM Walking to work. Ow. It's fucking colder.

10:15 AM Spill glass of water all over my desk, keyboard, notebook, shoes, and pants.

10:30 AM Realize headache and lack of coordination is most likely result of glass of paint thinner aka eggnog I foolishly drank last night.

11:00 AM Wish boss would stop being randomly snippy. Understand it is not actually directed at me, but still. Is annoying.

12:00 PM Look at NYNZ and back at my own post-in-progress and realize that I too suffer from a brain that has been exposed to too much Bridget Jones. Realize that I had already realized that this morning as I walked to the bathroom thinking "Resolution Number One: drink less."

1:00 PM Go to get my unexciting lunch of leftovers from yesterday's lunch out of the office refrigerator, only to discover that someone had eaten most of it, but put back the three or four bites of rice they didn't want. Very thoughtful.

1:02 PM Send mildly nasty email round the office, receive many queries of what exactly it was that I had planned on eating for lunch, as well as offers of someone to walk with while I buy another lunch.

1:15 PM Eat someone else's food that was in the refrigerator as surely this is the Karmic thing to do (but only after ascertaining that it is indeed up for grabs).

1:30 PM Post complaints on Blogger in hopes that day will turn around once I make my unhappiness known to the universe at large.

A Christmas List

This has been a stupidly hard week.

Monday: Clean office in preparation for construction of office. Get many papercuts. Listen to people complain about how they're getting screwed and their desks are getting smaller. Tell them gently to suck it up. Refrain from pointing out that I too am getting a smaller desk and somehow managing to not have (or be) a cow. Do not sleep well.

Tuesday: Office party. First party I have planned that wasn't thrown at my house. Call restaurant at 4:00 to confirm for the eleventh time that all is well. "We'll see you at 7:30!" they say cheerily. "5:30! 5:30! Are you setting up? 5:30!" I now have a cow. I rush over to the restaurant an hour and a half early--only to discover that all is well, and I have to sit and chit chat with the only other person who for reasons unknown arrived early--the hands-down scariest person in the office, who has never managed to figure out who I am among the other peons. Others finally arrive, and party is widely hailed as best party office has ever had. Get very drunk at party. Do not sleep well.

Wednesday: Am horribly hungover. Give in and take sleeping pill.

Thursday: Am hungover from sleeping pill. Everyone in office suddenly decides that today is asshole day. Fit-pitching over desk-downsizing reaches astronomical level. My attempts at placation backfire. Try and hide, but feel very exposed and frankly just want to crawl under my desk while it's still big enough for me to fit under it and listen to the new PJ Harvey on repeat until everyone goes away. Day lasts forever, and does not improve. Watch Grey's Anatomy as closest thing to Enchanted and discover that so close is still so far. Cannot sleep, get up and take sleeping pill, which does not work.

Friday, i.e. Today: Hungover from sleeping pill which did not make me sleep. Really desperately do not want to be here, even though everyone's mood seems to have improved. Need to make a new list. Things that make me happy list.

1. Sweeney Todd got good reviews, and I shall go see it this weekend. Although that probably indicates that therefore I cannot see Enchanted, so strike this one.
2. Period is arriving, so this feeling of weepiness and nausea will pass soon enough. Although then period will be here. Strike this one as well.
3. Office closes today at 3:00.
4. Christmas is four days away, and I need to be here in this office for none of those days.
5. Christmas is four days away.
6. I really like the presents I got Guy. And he has to share them with me because I live there too.
7. We've decided not to make a turkey for the four of us at Christmas as that would be insane.
8. I love the Christmas tree in the PATH tunnel.
9. Our Christmas tree is still standing. And still green.
10. I got the Enchanted soundtrack on my iPod last night. Didn't even have to wait for Christmas.
11. I got a bigass TV and didn't even have to wait for Christmas.
12. I am comfortable with my commercialism and the fact that sometimes things DO make me happy.
13. The mexican restaurant in our neighborhood now serves Tortilla Soup.
14. The kids are happy that they're spending Christmas with us.
15. I'm happy that they're spending Christmas with us.
16. They're going to be so psyched about their presents. That'll be fun.
17. Guy takes and is going to take good care of me. I bet he'll draw me a bath if I ask him to. Although not tonight, because no bath is relaxing when the kids keep knocking on the door to see if they can come in or if I'm done yet.
18. I finished all my Christmas knitting weeks ago. This still makes me happy.
19. I bet the kids would want to go see Enchanted again on Christmas Eve. And so would Guy, because whatever everybody thinks about how he's super self-sacrificing and good to me and yeah, sure, that's all true, but the fact is he loves the movie too and won't take much persuading.
20. People love me even though I'm delusional and insane. That's nice.

On Love

Since I first heard of the concept love, I’ve dreamed of it. So I must have been, what, six? Seven?

As I got older, my daydreams changed from going to the movies and long, closemouthed Disney kisses to banter, adventure, and sex. They were always complicated and heavily-plotted, though—sometimes at recess, instead of going out to play, I would sit with my head on my desk and dream up some wildly romantic get boy-lose boy-get boy back story. I learned to tell my teachers I was tired and needed a nap.

This continued through high school and college and even after—and it got a lot more active. Instead of sitting or lying in bed with my eyes closed, I would go for long walks and meet and talk with the imaginary man I fell in love with. Or sometimes I would spend an entire day alone in my house (or dorm room, or apartment) not alone, but blissfully kept hostage by evil orcs/mobsters/vampires and—sigh!—being rescued. Or just talking and laughing with someone I loved.

This may sound very lonely and Miss Havishamy, but it wasn’t. I oftentimes couldn’t wait for family and friends and even boyfriends to leave me alone so I could get back to my daydreaming. It made me very happy, and I miss it terribly.

Because you see, I can’t anymore. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ll go on a walk, and I’ll bump into a stranger, and it’ll be some miraculous connection (you know the scene) and I’ll start talking to him and it’ll be just like old times…except, my brain will skip forward and I’ll think about what will happen when I get home and how will Guy feel and my heart will break and I so don’t care about imaginary stranger man and poof! He’s gone.

This is very frustrating. I’m just trying to have a harmless little daydream. It’s how I used to occupy my unoccupied time. I am now unable to have impure thoughts.

I’ve tried getting around the heartbreak by first imagining Guy having an affair, or suddenly turning into a bad person, which would thereby free me up to fall in love with that man who really needs a place to hide for the night because he’s Johnny Depp and the paparazzi are after him, and he and Vanessa split up, didn’t I know? But instead I’m so angry and hurt at the idea of being cheated on that I can’t keep Johnny from poofing either.

I suppose this is all very romantic. I am so in love with Guy that I am incapable of even thinking about possibly loving someone else.

It’s still fucking annoying though.

As If I'd Be Done Complaining About This

So. The Beesting.

It occurred while backpacking. Boy and Girl had such a splendiferous time that we decided to go again, and this time take along Boy's Awesome Friend. BAF is sweet, smart, and easy-going. She rules.

The hike itself was great--again, since the kids were so excited, Guy got all excited, and went out and bought them real live hiking gear. They have matching boots, and Boy has an honest-to-goodness internal frame pack. Which we loaded the hell up, let me tell you. BAF marched along, laughing not complaining.

We got to camp, and Boy and Girl ran down to the water to go throw rocks at it. BAF, this being her time camping, stuck around to watch Guy and me set up the tents.

Guy fed me a pole, and as I was inserting it into the sleeve, I felt a poke in my pants.

"Hold on a sec." I reached back.

"Come ON," Guy said impatiently.

"Um, it's a bee." I did not panic. "There's a bee in my pants."

Guy scrambled across the flattened tent and fished the bee out of my pants.

Now, you would think that would be the end of it. But no. Guy is talented. He somehow managed to get the bee out of one pantleg AND INTO THE OTHER. WHERE IT PROMPTLY STUNG ME.

Then I panicked.

Motherfuckerohmygodohfuckowshit.

I jumped up and tried to take off my boots so I could take off my pants. Guy tried to take off my pants. I fell down. I stood up again, Guy got my pants down.

I glanced up to see BAF staring at my bare ass. Stupid thongs. I should really stop wearing the damn things.

But then I felt the bee crawling around my ankle and returned to panic. OFFPANTSPANTSOFFNOWOFFFUCKFUCKFUCK.

BAF elected to go discreetly down to the water to throw rocks at it.

After the pants were off--and promptly stomped on--I calmed down. Our First Aid Kit was somewhat depleted, and we didn't have Benadryl, or really anything at all. But, while it twinged slightly, the beesting felt fine and I was able to walk, sleep, and hike out the next day without a problem.

Until. When we returned home on Sunday, I took a much-needed bath. And it made the beesting insane.


Besides turning red and splotchy, it also became hard and puffy. And over the course of the next two days, it doubled in size. And turned purple and veiny.

And hurt. A Lot.

Suffice it to say, I seem to be allergic to beestings. I have an Epipen prescription in my purse. Which is, you know, almost as good as actually having the Epipen.

Sleep & Me

I didn’t sleep much at all during the months of June and July. I would be awake for hours every night, and the lack of sleep would build and build until I would panic and cry hysterically and wake Guy and then neither of us would sleep. It was ugly.

By August 14^th, I gave up and sought help. I was put on both anti-anxiety and sleep medication. First I tried Ambien, which didn’t work. Lunesta, the green butterfly, couldn’t keep me asleep. Then I tried Seroquel (which is apparently used for people in comas or with multiple personality disorder or something equally scary.) The Seroquel works. I take it, I start to feel sick, and then I pass out.

Believe you me, at first I was all over this. Hell, I was sleeping! What more could anyone ask! Sure, the feeling sick and the never having sex at night anymore weren’t my favorite things in the world, but Sleep. It is good and important.

Lately, though, it’s starting to take a toll. I’m starting to feel more and more hungover in the mornings, and for the first hour or two that I’m at work I’m confused and sleepy and have trouble remembering which author goes with which book and what their particular contract issues are and what the hell was this manuscript I’m reading about, anyway?

And at night…I’ve been having these long, vivid, incredibly intricately plotted dreams… I’ve always had weird long dreams, but the Seroquel is making it so that I have them every night. At first it was awesome—an adventure every night! But I’ve noticed a pattern….they’re all nightmares. Sometimes they’re fairly simple. I dreamt that I was having dinner and Guy walked into the restaurant and we made eye contact and he moved along. I had all the memories of our relationship, but he didn’t. He felt nothing.

Others, they’re a little more complicated. Grand, dystopic universes in which I’m trying to save the world but must abandon my husband and child and get raped for my trouble.

So yeah. Kinda over the Seroquel. But recently I skipped taking it, and surprise surprise, I couldn’t sleep. I know I need to get my act together and get a new shrink (at some point along the way, the psychiatrist I’d seen all of two times told me Guy doesn’t love me and I have no self-regard but that hey, I really was going to be a great mom! Getting a new one) and get some new medication or do something differently, but I gotta say I’m not really looking forward to putting myself through the emotional (not to mention financial—all these different meds aren’t exactly cheap) rollercoaster-that-only-goes-down-
really-fast-and-did-I-mention-I-have-motion-sickness-and-also-fear?

Color Me Bewildered (And Annoyed)

Okay, so just last night, I commented to Guy that hooray! The bleeding seems to have stopped, nothing for days now, isn't that swell, and ironically, just as I am about to enter what should have been the bleeding period, which begs the question, will I bleed once more? Can there possibly be any more blood in there?

Why yes. Another watercolor in my underwear. Lovely.

Because We Haven't Talked About Bodily Functions For Days Now

So my period is a source of near-constant aggravation for me. Sure, it really only comes once a month, but there's the week before of sore nipples and weeping, plus the pain. Hello the pain.

I've tried several different brands of birth control pills. The very expensive Estrostep, with it's varying geometric pills, seemed to increase rather than solve the problems. And now my gynecologist recommended I try Seasonale.

Let me tell you, those first two months flew by--ahhh, what joy! No mood swings! No nausea! No bleeding nipples! No smell of rancid chocolate in my underwear! (For that is what my period smells like. Rancid chocolate blood.)

But then, less than halfway through the third month, I started spotting. And then I started bleeding in earnest. (Sort of. More on that in a bit). It was as though my uterus was so full of blood it simply overflowed. Although, if I understand these things correctly, birth control pills are supposed to make my body think it is already pregnant. So what is this? The world's most drawn out miscarriage?

For it is incredibly drawn out. Three weeks later, I still bleed. Sometimes. Really, only when I decide "hey, this pad's been clean for the whole day, maybe it's stopped finally, I think I'll take it off, whew!" That, of course, is when I start leaking like a sieve. And am reduced to stuffing my underwear with toilet paper. Scratchy toilet paper. Because I'm at work. Of course.

In reality, I suppose it's working out about the same, three months, three weeks of period. (Although, this is looking like it's going to work out to be four-five weeks, so maybe I'll have to retract that statement). But the cramping is less, I haven't cried not even once (AND I watched The English Patient, so honestly) and I have no unbearable cravings for steak and red wine.

Plus, I'm afraid to go back to my gynecologist. She's super nice (if a little scarily anti-male--she has a "Boys Suck" poster on the wall in her office) and straightforward, but her staff only speak Chinese. Which makes making an appointment a little challenging.

Things That I Have That Are New*

*This is not a complete list.


1. For my birthday yesterday, I received two books: Knit Two Together and Still Angry Little Girls. So I want to make the world happy with knitting, but I'm really pissed off about it....

2. Three very large and painful blisters, because I wanted to wear cute shoes to go with my cute dress. Today, I'm wearing the only shoes I have that do not rub against that particular area of my feet--sadly, they rub against another area. Tomorrow I may go barefoot.

3. The memory of scallop and watermelon ceviche....mmmmm....

4. Beachcomber shirts! May the daily surfwear continue! (Day 5 and counting....today we have Roxy)















5. The image of BirkenCrocs. After the unholy union of Crocs and Maryjanes, I thought the worst was over. But no. While these are, technically, less ugly than the CrocJanes, they are evil. They are a combination of my two shoenemies. They are what popped out after Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange got down and dirty in the Malfoys' master bedroom.*


*Anybody who comments on the fact that I have blisters and yet hate Crocs and that maaaaybe there's a connection between the two will find their comment deleted, as this is not a new thought and therefore does not belong.

Guy and I have decided to give up cable.

Our reasons for getting cable in the first place were, if I recall correctly, Studio 60 and the Yes Network. Since both Studio 60 and the Yankees have kind of sucked out, we took a moment to reassess whether we really need cable.

Cons:

1. The aforesaid Yankees. Guy doesn't mind as much, but I wince every time he wants to watch a game, and because I'm a spoiled brat we usually just watch either Buffy or whatever we have from Netflix. We watched more earlier in the season, but now I just find it depressing. Even when they win.

2. The old adage "there is never anything on" is so completely, entirely, totally in every way true.

3. While it is nice to have shows available—shows like Heroes, for example, and Coupling—I could so totally rent those and frankly would rather do so because then they wouldn't have commercials and I could watch them in a row instead of waiting for SIX WEEKS WHICH IS NOT HEROIC AT ALL SYLAR COULDA KILLED HOW MANY PEOPLE IN ALL THAT TIME.

Pros:

1. On the other hand, it is nice to have shows like House and Who's Line Is It Anyway available, because those aren't really renters but Hey, I kinda feel like watching a crabby doctor whose American accent still freaks me out a little. But actually now that I think about it, I watch Who's Line Is It Anyway for hours on end so really it does fall into the rental category and I heard House is completely, insanely inaccurate which kinda spoils the fun. So really this entry belongs under Cons.

2. On Demand, though. On Demand is good. We watched Die Hard With A Vengeance the other night. Just doesn't get better than that.

3. The kids really like them some America's Funniest Home Videos. And Hannah Montana. And The Naked Brothers. And Fairly Odd Parents. And Drake and Josh. And Zach and Cody. I have the sense that the Disney Channel is visual crack. I don't know how else to explain High School Musical.


So. It was a difficult decision. But then we saw something that made our decision so clear, so right, it was like the clouds parted and the angels above sang out the answer in ten-part harmony.

We watched Animal Planet's Chased By Sea Monsters.

Not something we would ordinarily have watched, but having scrolled through the channel guide and discovered that (surprise!) nothing was on, we felt that a show with the words "sea monsters" in the title deserved a closer look.

Now I'm not sure what this show deserves. The guillotine would be too kind.

"Naturalist" Nigel Marven goes diving with the sea monsters. He and his crew go out on a boat, and sail around with their radar until they find something scary, and then he puts on his scuba gear and tries not to get killed. Fair enough.

But the monsters are prehistoric.

They are CGI.

And yet he tracks them on radar and swims away quickly in case the scary computer graphic bites him in half.

It would of course be one thing if this were a Magic School Bus-type kids show. But it's not. It was on at 9:30. The tone was adulty, or at the very least teenagery.

Nigel scanned that radar. Would the Mosasaur be swimming in Hell's Aquarium? Would it??? It would! Hooray! But it is far, far too dangerous to go diving in these dangerous waters. Nigel can't risk it. Even his smell suit wouldn't keep him safe.*

Oh, but Nigel can't resist.

And in he goes! I'm so surprised! How thrilling! Uhoh--watch out! And elasmosaur is attacking the giant CGI turtle Nigel is riding! And now a bunch of them are attacking the boat! And at the end? Nigel and his crew die, asleep in their bunks, killed by a swarm of Mosasaurs.

And the colored angels sing: Doo, doo doo, do-do-do, doo, doo doo, doo doo, do-do-do....Goodbye, Cable!




*Yes. Nigel wore a "smell suit" to survive swimming with Dunkleosteuses. When one came to attack him, he released the odor of rotting reptile into the water.**

**I would go into how retarded it is to release the odor of rotting reptile when one considers that at the time, they were busy attacking Nigel and another rotting reptile***, but that would presume some sense of logic in a show that is honest to God featuring a man in scuba gear swimming with dinosaurs.

***I would go into how bad the CGI effects were, to the point where the rotting reptile looked like a stone statue dinosaur that was crumbling into dust, but that would presume some sense of anybody caring about this stupid ass show enough to do a decent job on the special effects.

Dear Woman On The Train:

Is the press of people is making you feel, psychically speaking, as though your hair is being flattened? It is indeed quite crowded, so much so that I am pressed between you and Asian Gentleman, and Old Woman Who Almost Made Me Miss The Train. Given these conditions, do you think you could FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP TOSSING YOUR HAIR? The girlish hair flip is wasted in such close quarters. I am getting hair-flicked in the shoulder every ten seconds. I am not impressed.

Also? There is such a thing as Too Much Product. When the smell of your hair makes me dizzy, you have crossed the Too Much Product Line. When your hair looks wet with lard, you have crossed the Too Much Product Line. When my shirt is oily and smells like YOUR GODDAMN HAIR, you have crossed the Too Much Product Line.

Nauseously yours,

Cordelia

grrrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrrr

Dear Standpipe,

FUCK YOU! Is there any earthly reason to have so many freaking pipes sticking up out of the ground? I have never in my life seen a single one of you in use! Are you there merely to trip up unsuspecting women who are just trying to walk up Broadway without getting ashed on by Eurotrash? If so, well done! Mission Accomplished!

With skinned knees on the day I wore practical shoes,

Cordelia

PS No one even knows what you are!

grrrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrrgrrrrrrrrrr

Dear Mystery Stole 3,

You have caused me unnecessary aggravation, and I don’t even have the yarn yet.

You call for 1,200 yards of laceweight yarn, but then elsewhere you call for 780 yards of laceweight yarn. That’s a lot of unused yardage. You were supposed to be my Zen-like escape from working on Butterfly.* I needed this time to recover. But what do you do? YOU GO AND HAVE NO PATTERN ONLY CHARTS.* I do not like charts. I do not like them on a plane, I do not like them on a train that has stinky-haired women on it.

Two clues behind already,

Cordelia

*Perhaps more accurately: from fucking up Butterfly. Never knit lace from a chart using mohair while suffering from a migraine. Is a good way to fill up your wastebasket with unfroggable yarn.

*Nobody go and tell me I should have figured this out before signing up because HELLO? SECRET INFORMATION NOT AVAILABLE TO THOSE WHO DIDN’T SIGN UP. And also nobody go and tell me I could just not knit it because I SIGNED UP ALREADY AND THE SIGNUP SHEET OR INTERNET PAGE OR WHAT HAVE YOU IS THE WORD OF GOD.

Pitch & Decibel

This weekend, I hung out with Guy's nephews. They are squeezable and big-cheeked and squeaky-voiced and I'm always very excited to see them.

As I was holding one of them and chatting with bigger, less-huggable adults, said little boy held up an unflattering mirror. As children are prone to do.

Cute small child: Your voice sounds different from how it usually sounds.

Cordelia: Oh? How does it usually sound?

Cute small child: EEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeee!!!!

Cordelia: Shut up, kid.

Venue Whore

Guy: "Hey, is it cool if I go and play a gig in August?"

Cordelia: "Of course. When is it?"

Guy: "Oh, you don't have to go."

Cordelia: "Well, I may not. Is it the same Rolling Stones crazy cover band thing?"

Guy: "Um. Not really."

Cordelia: "Oh, you're playing something new? Well, then I definitely want to go! What is it?"

Guy: "We're playing Joe's Pub."

Cordelia: "Wow! That's great. What are you playing?"

Guy: "I've never played Joe's Pub before."

Cordelia: "I know. What are you playing?"

Guy: "I've always wanted to play Joe's Pub."

Cordelia: "Guy. What are you playing?"

Guy: "They're paying me..."

Cordelia: "Ahem."

Guy: "We're playing The Who."

Cordelia: "The Who??? The Who who we hate and their songs are dumb and boring and we hate them?"

Guy: "It's at Joe's Pub."

Cordelia: "I don't think I'm going."




No one knows what it's like

To feel these feelings

Like I do

And I blame you

And they say Christmas is commercial....

I got up really goddamn early this morning. I decided it was imperative that the kids wake up and go upstairs and find eggs that were hidden last night. I can no longer remember why.



However, the kids certainly seemed to appreciate it. Guy and I decided to break from tradition, and not buy Willy Wonka death-in-an-egg, but give them a Jacques Torres chocolate in each egg. Very popular move. And I borrowed Kat's pattern and made chicks for each of them. And when they found the chicks they got a matching box of Peeps. Because I am a huge dork.

And it was honestly adorable.



I was much less enamored of the whole thing on Friday though. Guy is no longer allowed to shop at Jacques Torres without me, because without proper supervision, he has been known to spend hundreds of dollars. On chocolate. That's just ridiculous. He was under strict instructions to buy a box of 25 chocolates and nothing else.

Cordelia: You spend how much at Jacques Torres?

Guy: $38. Totally reasonable.

Cordelia: On Easter candy?? Those boxes are $27--where did the other ten dollars go?

Guy: Well, there were these beautiful little robin's nests...and I got eggs, because they're not getting Cadbury Creams, and...

Cordelia: You know, I already spent, like, two and a half bucks on those Peeps. We're not made of money, you know!

Guy: Who bought shoes today?

Ahem. Yes. The real issue was that I'm a selfish shoe whore. I had just purchased Geox Kink 9's* (because I'm jealous of Girl's boots and these were the closest I could get). And I need (want) a new bag. And new earphones. And I got this 20% off card from Aerosoles....

Guy: So you're blaming me for your buyer's remorse?

Cordelia: Candy doesn't last! Shoes are forever!



*Found by Guy, who spent hours searching around Zappo's and Nordstrom for me. XOXO.

Phantom Pregnancy: A Tale of Woe

Last week, apropos of absolutely nothing relevant (except choice of birth control. So I guess that's kinda relevant) my sister asked me if I were pregnant. Or rather, she shouted excitedly "Are you pregnant!"

The answer was--and remains--an emphatic NO. I am not pregnant. (Hear that, Hannah? NOT PREGNANT.) But the conversation seems to have infected me with the symptoms of early pregnancy. This has happened before.

This weekend, it started when we stopped to pick up a loaf of pepperoni bread for lunch (Boy and Girl and Guy and I were going hiking). Guy came in from the bakery, dropped the freshly-baked, still-warm loaf on my lap, and I suddenly had to hurl.

Bread! It is the strongest smelling thing on earth! And I was trapped in a car with it! I made like a dog and rolled down my window to hang my head out--which in the narrow streets of Jersey City risks decaptitation. I didn't have any bread for lunch.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted and crying at any little thing that went wrong. Guy beat me at cribbage! Is so unfair!

And after a bad night's sleep, I woke up to freshly-risen bread dough, and Guy, on his way out the door, instructed me over his shoulder to place it in the oven.

Ahem. Baking bread smell permeating my entire house. I stuck my head out the window.

One would HOPE that Guy will be more supportive when I really am pregnant. I guess phantom fetuses don't deserve the consideration that real ones do.

Making fresh bread. The nerve.

Dentistry

So I think I'm somewhat more justified than most people in thinking that dentists are evil, and here's why:

When I was little, I sucked my thumb. I remember very clearly the feeling that there was nothing in the world more comforting than having my thumb in my mouth, and sometimes I miss it, though not so much the ever-wrinkly thumb or, come to think of it, the bacterial-farm thumb. It was very difficult for my parents to get me to stop--they tried putting tobasco sauce under a bandaid, which got in the papercut that was never allowed to heal because it was always in my mouth. I screamed. They tried this special vile-tasting nail polish. I chewed it off and carried on. They consulted a dentist.

The dentist put in a wire basket that cut into the roof of my mouth and my tongue, but made it impossible to fit my thumb in there. Food would get trapped in the basket but my thumb stayed out of my mouth.

Of course, all those years with my thumb made my teeth crooked. The orthodontist determined that I had too many teeth, and four molars needed to be removed. I was sent to a dentist I'd never been to before. He gave me laughing gas--which produced not the slightest chuckle, by the way--told me to lie down, and strapped me down like Frankenstein's monster. I kid you not. They gave me the novocaine, and proceeded to pull. And pull some more. Apparently, my "stems were crooked" or something like that, and they couldn't get them out. They tugged and wiggled at all four teeth, injected more novocaine, while I cried and strained against my bonds. IT HURT. Eventually the teeth came out, and they sent me home with a prescription for super painkillers, and while my mom was in the pharmacy, I was clawing the car seats in pain.

And now the orthodontists could get to work. They moved my jaw so that I couldn't close my mouth. My mom bitched them out. They put it back--mostly. I still have to work a bit to keep my mouth closed, and my chin still wrinkles slightly. And it's prone to pimples, but that may not be related.

Meanwhile, I went to the family dentist for my usual cleanings and cavity-fillings. Of which there were many. This frustrated me because, although I was very fond of candy, I took pretty good care of my teeth. The dentist would tell me I should floss more. I would say I floss every day. He would look at me and shake his head and say "really? every day?" And I would think back and hey there was that one time when I slept over at a friend's house and didn't floss because I didn't want to miss too much of Beverly Hills 90210, but I really didn't think that was the answer. But the cavities kept piling up, more with every visit.

On my last appointment, he told me I had eleven. Eleven cavities! That was the rest of my teeth! I'd had it. I was on my way to college, the chin was wrinkled but the braces were off, I needed some time off from everyone fussing over my teeth. So I ran away from the dentist and didn't make any appointments for fillings and never looked back.

And now, eight years later, I've gone back. Guy, horrified at my dentistry-free living, insisted I go to his dentist. I have two cavities. Two. Did the other nine just go away?

My mom still goes to that family dentist, and when she reads this I bet she'll remember things differently. But this is how I remember it--and I still floss every day.

Things That Annoy Me Today

1. I had to get out of bed. Granted, this is something that annoys me every single day and has for many many years. When possible (i.e. on weekdays when we don't have the kids) I delay the getting out of bed by enticing Guy to have sex with me. And yes, not getting out of bed is my first motive for this, though it does change into having sex for sex's sake quickly enough. But eventually--and usually quite soon after, since I insist that Guy not wake me until the last possible moment, and so things are perforce kind of rushed--I do still have to get out of bed.

2. I went to a school play for Girl and that's 40 minutes of my life I will never get back. In my defense, I actually want to go to these things, at least more than I don't want to go, and I do actually enjoy them and she's supercute and it's exciting and fun to watch her doing her thing and going to school and getting older and generally being her. However, that only lasts for about ten minutes, which really is as long as kindergarten school plays should last. At Girl's school they last thirty. And the other kindergarten class went first. In true Teletubby fashion, they did the same thing over and over ("Down came the toys, and around and around they danced, and careful Spiderman Toy Boy, try not to kill Scooby Doo Toy Boy!") and then it was time for Girl's class to do the same thing. Again. That would make like fifty times I heard the phrase "down came the toys." At this point, Guy and I had reached saturation point, not to mention the point where we were really late for work, and so we had to leave before Girl's class was done with even one repetition. Which kind of sucked for her.

3. My conversation with the clever folks at PW.

Cordelia: I'm calling because we didn't get this week's issue?

Customer Service Lady: What's the name on the account, and the zipcode?

Cordelia: Park Literary Group, 10010.

CSL: What's the last name?

Cordelia: Uh, Park? Or Group, potentially.

CSL: Park Literary Group?

Cordelia: Yes.

CSL: So what can I do for you?

Cordelia: We didn't get this week's issue.

CSL: We show you as being expired.

Cordelia: We should have another year left.

CSL: Oh, Park Literary Group? You expire in September 2008.

Cordelia: Okay. Great. So can we get this week's issue, then?

CSL: You would like a replacement issue? (Incredulous).

Cordelia: Yes.

CSL: Oh. Well, okay. I'll have one sent out.


What annoys me about this exchange isn't so much the runaround and repetition, as that's sort of expected with customer service lines and I'm mentally prepared for it and have the solitaire game going on my computer to get me through it. I'm annoyed by the "oh, would you like to actually receive the magazine for which you have a subscription? How strange!"

Evolution Schmevolution

There are times when I think the intelligent design folks have got it right, because there's just no way on earth that it made any sense, evolutionarily speaking, for certain animals to develop the way they have.

I'm speaking, of course, of cows and koala bears.

Koala bears are notoriously grouchy creatures, and if you ever saw any pictures of them from the waist down, you'd understand why. Koala bears can only eat eucalpytus or similar leaves, which are very fibrous and hard to digest. Very hard to digest. They only absorb about 25% of the fiber, and the rest their stomachs just can't handle, and they get diarrhea. Constantly. They are covered in their own feces. You'd be grouchy too.

Now, how on earth does it make sense to only be able to eat something that makes you sick?

And can somebody explain to me why there are so many animals who thrive on grass (horses, sheep, goats, etc.) but cows are famous for having to digest their food in one part of their stomach, vomit it back up so they can chew it some more, and swallow it back down, and repeat the process several times. I'm betting they always have such stupid expressions on their faces because their bodies are too busy trying to keep track of which stomach to send which masticated food chunks to.

Of course, this doesn't really leave a lot of room for intelligent design either. Maybe prankster design or drunken frat boy design.

Electrocution

So a week ago I hurt my shoulder. I did this by falling off the bed--and no, I didn't roll off the bed in my sleep, I crawled off, caught my foot between the mattress and the frame, banged my hip, and landed on my shoulder. It was a Chevy Chase-type fall.

Anyway, the past week has me bummed and in pain. Today I went to the chiropractor, and she did some adjusting and basically told me she can do nothing, but gave me some stretches.

But before she came to this conclusion, she electrocuted me. I've always wondered why I have to hold the round metal bar...now I know. It's to keep the current grounded.

So the assistant lady (I couldn't see her, I was face down on a ring of plastic that was numbing parts of my face) hooked me up, and told me I was going to feel shocks, and that they would increase in intensity, and I was to tell her when to stop turning it up.

I get the feeling I said stop a little sooner than most people because she kind of laughed when she said okay.

But it was really unpleasant! My shoulder seized up, and I was literally unable to move them. The feeling at the electricity points themselves wasn't that bad, although it didn't exactly feel good, more like lots of pins scraping across my skin but not actually poking through. If there'd been poking through there's no way I could have lasted five minutes.

But the unable to relax or move AT ALL shoulders thing was not cool. At all. There should be more explanation for what you will be experiencing.

So anyway, I have post-electrocution-stress disorder now, which manifests itself in making me really grouchy.

I bought some Sour Brite Crawlers to cheer me up.

Guy's Affair

Guy has a relationship that baffles me. He has this fascination, and this neverending faith--seriously, it never wavers, despite countless failures and disappointments.

This relationship is with the weather service.

For example, we had playoff tickets last night. Guy brought a raincoat, because he read that the rain was going to start at 11. When we got some slight drizzle at 8, and when folks on the field started rolling out the tarp, Guy (and everyone else around us) was quite annoyed: "It's not raining. Didn't they read the weather reports? The rain doesn't start until 11!"

The game was eventually cancelled.

I present for you the stages of reasoning Guy undergoes in similar situations:

"Goddamnit. They said 11. This is three hours early!"
"Guess they got it wrong."
"It's really hard to predict the weather."
"I have to remember to check the reports for tomorrow."

And that's where he loses me. It is hard to predict the weather--I cut these guys a lot of slack, and don't hold it against them when they're wrong. But since they are wrong so very often, I don't really depend on them. I bring umbrellas when it's raining. I wear a jacket when it's cold. Planning your life around what the weather service says, and then feeling betrayed when they're wrong, and THEN going back for more, is like an abused wife who stands by her husband.

Guy: "But they're right 65% of the time!"
Me: "If your accountant were right 65% of the time, you'd fire him!"

I'm debating performing an intervention. But weather reports are much harder to avoid than drugs--they're free, and they're everywhere.--elevator conversations, strangers on the platform, salesmen, coworkers. Addicts, all of them.

Rational

So yesterday morning, I was sitting quietly and thinking to myself about the Peruvian mermaid girl, cause that's interesting. And then Guy says "Hey, did you hear about the little girl in Peru with mermaid syndrome?"

What the hell?

And last night, we watched the Season 1 Finale of The West Wing, because one Aaron Sorkin show at a time is not enough. And before the teaser is even halfway through, Guy asks "Is the President going to get shot?"

Now, for those of you who haven't seen this--or haven't seen this recently--it is entirely unclear that any shooting is going to occur until the moment before it does, because it's all relaxed and hey they're doing the wacky hip-hop gesture signal thing and Charlie's all proud of himself and the President's taking off his jacket. (Was the jacket-removal some sort of indication of vulnerability?) Also, we don't even find out that the President got shot until the Season 2 Premiere!

Okay, and just now he emailed me saying I look very pretty right now. He's across town. I could've been sitting at my desk making monster faces. I do that sometimes.

As previously stated, I don't hold with feelings and mind-reading and premonitions. My belief in these things lasts only as long as it takes to watch a Buffy episode. And Guy is a rational-type person. I would not be living with anyone who practiced tarot or kept a Ouija Board next to the Yahtzee. But he claims he's a sensitive guy and just picks up on stuff.

Humph.