tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73760615940079519992024-03-12T22:14:57.059-04:00On the Plus SideI used to be thin and strong. Now I am neither of those things. Let's see what I can do by getting some form of exercise every single day and eating only local foods and produce. If I'm still fat, I don't care. If I can't climb a mountain, I'll be very very angry. And nobody likes me when I'm angry.onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.comBlogger137125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-66798818805376381062014-03-27T15:13:00.000-04:002014-03-27T15:13:32.106-04:00On the Plus Side Has a New Home!Hi there.
I have moved the blog to a new URL.<br />
<br />
Come on over and see what we've been up to:<br />
<a href="http://plusside.bangordailynews.com/">plusside.bangordailynews.com</a>
onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-24442112096434909222014-03-02T15:20:00.000-05:002014-03-03T08:05:36.260-05:00C-Bone skis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8dNIK7i5mSU/UxOP_v1oe0I/AAAAAAAABf8/G6Vv3M75HYw/s1600/1976.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8dNIK7i5mSU/UxOP_v1oe0I/AAAAAAAABf8/G6Vv3M75HYw/s1600/1976.jpeg" height="320" width="254" /></a></div>
I was at a party this winter that included both adults and kids. I don't have kids, but I like watching them do kid things and I like talking to them about inappropriate subjects so the car ride home is uncomfortable for the adults. It's a long-game prank and typically I don't get to see the parents' reactions but it still offers me some level of satisfaction to picture my friends when their little girl says, "Daddy, what's a uterus?"<br />
<br />
At any rate, I was watching the kids sledding--<a href="http://youtu.be/-2cdw3AX_co">it never gets old</a>--with some new acquaintances when our conversation turned to my <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/12/recovery.html">recent back surgery</a>. I'd like to think one of them noticed the scar on my neck and asked me about it, but it's more likely I dragged them into a conversation about me and my life and my world.<br />
<br />
I explained that a surgeon carved into my neck to gain access to a disc in my spine that was pressing on some nerves and making my left hand numb and tingly. The surgeon scraped out the naughty parts of my disc and replaced it with a cadaver bone and bolted it all together with a plate and some screws. It's a common procedure, but I love telling that story, because invariably I get stopped the moment I say "cadaver bone."<br />
<br />
I know I could easily say "piece of bone," but come on. There is no fun in doing that.<br />
<br />
<i>Where did the cadaver bone come from?</i><br />
I don't know.<br />
<i>Do bodies ever reject the cadaver bone?</i><br />
I suppose so.<br />
<i>Was it from a murder victim?</i><br />
I don't know.<br />
<i>Are you having crazy dreams?</i><br />
No.<br />
<i>Do you think there are parts of that person's body in other people's bodies?</i><br />
I suppose so.<i> </i><br />
<i>Wouldn't it be cool to meet other people who have pieces from the same body?</i><br />
Yes. Yes it would.<i> </i><br />
<br />
And so on. It's a show stopper, much the same way telling someone you've never had mayonnaise before is a show stopper. That's an old trick I use to get out of conversations. Three people standing together, one is a bore, one is the patsy, and me. I will jump in when the bore stops to take a breath and say to the bore about the patsy, "Did you know [patsy] has never had mayonnaise?" Everything grinds to a halt; the bore is fascinated; and I get to walk away. It also works if you say "Did you know Applebee's is [patsy's] favorite restaurant?"<br />
<br />
Try it sometime. You can say anything you want, but it always gets you out of the rope-a-dopes. Cornered at an art opening? Go with: Did you know [patsy] <a href="http://youtu.be/SacAtnVccpI">grew up with John Waters</a>? Someone talking at you at a sports bar? Go with: Did you know [patsy] has never seen a baseball game ever, even on TV? I reserve the mayonnaise comment for pass-around hors d'oeuvre cocktail parties. The Applebee's comment is best for foodie events, like if you're at a fundraiser at <a href="http://www.hugos.net/">Hugo's</a>. (Ugh, that sentence says more about me and my farmers market NPR I'm a vegan who lives on the coast in the summer life more than anything else. <a href="http://youtu.be/8AYImHkCQNU">I'll throw a dollar in</a>.) But, you have to make it up to the patsy later. Buy that person a drink or offer to be the patsy for them sometime.<br />
<br />
Back to the cadaver bone. While talking about myself and my shiny new bleached cadaver spine and some of the restrictions I've been under, such as no skiing, no running, no sledding, no heavy lifting, somehow the ladies I was chatting with started calling me C-Bone. As in C-Bone don't sled. C-Bone don't run. C-Bone don't kick.<br />
<br />
Well? I met with <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/12/off-drugs-high-on-life.html">Dr. Nice</a> (he really is such a likeable guy, not just a likeable guy for a surgeon) the other day and guess what. C-Bone runs and kicks and skis and lifts and walks and dances and sleds and has a good time. I am off restricted duty with one caveat (a cadaver caveat, if you will): No falling. Pretty sage advice for anyone, really, so I'm going to assume C-Bone can do what C-Bone wants to do.<br />
<br />
I am currently waiting for the temperature outside to climb back into double digits at the very least before subjecting my nearly atrophied muscles to that kind of torture. And, yes, after no lifting for almost a year, my arm muscles no longer exist. It is going to be a long road back, but it will be a fun road.<br />
<br />
Did you know I have never been on a long <a href="http://youtu.be/HNfciDzZTNM">road trip</a>?<br />
<br />
Discuss amongst yourselves. I'm going for a walk.<br />
<br />
[3/3 Edit: Scratch that. I'm going <i>skiing </i>right now!] onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-10424959394491965452014-03-02T00:34:00.001-05:002014-03-02T00:34:57.462-05:00The 45<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uCOK5pB76RE/UxJbeTTHeWI/AAAAAAAABfs/gh_Fwq0dzB0/s1600/1976+1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uCOK5pB76RE/UxJbeTTHeWI/AAAAAAAABfs/gh_Fwq0dzB0/s1600/1976+1.jpeg" height="320" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even then, my hands were huge.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I turned 45 today. I'm not all that freaked out by that. I mean, getting out of bed is a little more difficult and I use more concealer than ever before--the bags under my eyes reach about mid-cheekbone, much the same way my butt is creeping down to rest comfortably above the backs of my knees--but I just repeat my morning mantra: Who's looking at me?<br />
<br />
I celebrated by having dinner with a friend last night and eating a banana for breakfast this morning before buying my first-ever pair of skinny jeans. Note to self: I cannot wear skinny jeans. Those threads are fighting for their lives right now.<br />
<br />
I was talking to this friend last night and she told me a story about a woman who got bonked on the head and was knocked out. When she woke up in the hospital, she told the doctors she was 16 weeks pregnant with her first child. She was a young woman: idealistic, easy going, and fresh.<br />
<br />
She wasn't. In fact, she had three nearly grown children and was divorced from her husband. She couldn't remember the last 20 or so years of her life. In her mind, she was still in love with her husband. She didn't know age had made her driven, distant, and cruel. Sadly, she had to brace herself to look in the mirror.<br />
<br />
I would have had the opposite reaction. If I woke up today thinking I were still 25, I would be mean-spirited, distant, and in love with nobody but myself--and that was a love/hate relationship at best.<br />
<br />
Either way, I still have to brace myself every time I look in the mirror. Don't we all, though? Aren't we all just little tweens running around trying to make sense of it all? Granted, I don't feel justified every time I get angry or sad like a tween does because they really are just figuring it all out. But, otherwise, I feel young on the inside and all that nonsense. I suppose the difference between 25 and 45 is the difference between a boat with its sail up but no rudder and a boat with no mast but a sweet little tiller. I'm still incomplete. I'm just moving <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/04/alot-is-better-than-you-at-everything.html">a lot</a> slower and have a tiny bit more control when I bash up against the rocks.<br />
<br />
With that in mind, I have come up with a list. Who doesn't love a list, right? At 45, I have learned....<br />
<br />
1) We are all going to die. I've always known this. Heading into Boston one morning when I was a kid, my dad looked over at me in the passenger seat and asked if I understood what death meant. I suspect he was trying to figure out whether <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/05/lifesaver.html">I understood how ill my mother was</a>. I told him yes. I completely understood that we all die. At the time, I was maybe 10 years old. But, come on. One of my first memories is the day my dad couldn't find a parking space on our way to a wake and he got so frustrated he sideswiped a telephone pole in our brand new <a href="http://yvincent.chez.com/photo/ford/intermediaire/1975_gran_torino_wagon.jpg">Gran Torino wood-paneled station wagon</a>. A man on the sidewalk slowly bent over and picked up a broken piece of the faux wood paneling and handed it to us through the open car window. Then we all crawled out of the clown car and kneeled in front of a dead body in a coffin. That was the day I discovered the fine art of laughing at funerals. Death doesn't scare me. Pain, however, does.<br />
<br />
2) You have to pick your battles. The moment I hear someone say, "I just want to remove all the drama from my life," I know to stay away from that person. A person who complains about too much drama is typically the person creating all the drama in the first place. The difference between 25-year-old me and 45-year-old me, other than the larger clothes and droopier bosom, is that when I get angry or frustrated, I try to think about what it is that frustrates me. The other day, Groom was trying to convince me to create a video for something. <a href="http://youtu.be/lTJj4wbmAhk">The details are quite inconsequential</a>, but he kept pushing this idea for a video and I was getting so hot. Finally, I shouted, "If you say video one more time, I swear to god I am going to hit you. Why are we still talking about this stupid video? No!" I wasn't mad about the video. What a dopey argument. Now, when we're having, shall we say, a miscommunication, Groom will smile and say, "Video."<br />
<br />
3) I will still be late for your dinner party if I catch someone having an epic meltdown on social media. I have nothing more to say about that.<br />
<br />
4) I have no business browsing the junior section at department stores. I have come to accept that the clothes I wore ironically when I was 25 (blousy tops, sweater sets, and corduroys) are now simply my clothes. See "skinny jeans" above.<br />
<br />
5) Reality television is vacuous and dumb but I cannot stay away from it. Though I am a veteran of the reality revolution--from <a href="http://youtu.be/5Ef4xFSmLuo">The Real World</a>, which I would watch in my college living room in '92, to the <a href="http://www.salon.com/2011/04/26/10_year_time_capsule_writers_strike/">writers' strike leading to shows like Survivor</a>, which I would watch from my tiny little house up in East Nowhere, Maine, when I was trying to have a career in the early 2000s--I can acknowledge that reality television sucks. Having said that, I am always addicted to at least one reality show. These days it's <a href="http://youtu.be/PdR3phPARDQ">Shahs of Sunset</a>. I know. I <i>know</i>!<br />
<br />
6) Yes is the better option. When I was 25, women were learning to say no. We were slowly climbing out of the "Say No to Drugs" era and entering the "No Means No" era. It was around the time <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/1993/10/11/opinion/ask-first-at-antioch.html">Antioch College came up with the "Ask First" rules</a> that were so ridiculous. This business of saying no? It turned into empowerment. "I say no because I can." Stop being a dink and say yes every now and again.<br />
<br />
7) It's easiest to be a good friend. I'm still shocked to discover which friends stuck around and which ones slipped away. I have a handful of people I can really be myself around. They are funny, interesting, smart, engaging people and I have so much fun near them, I don't even think about the fact that my stomach is totally rolling over my belt while I'm with them. But, I worked hard for these friendships. There's no secret to it. Listen, nobody wants to go to that fundraiser next week, but the friend who asked you to attend? She helped you move last year. Just be a good friend, for crying out loud, and go to the fundraiser or awkward dinner or performance art show. Trust me. You'll probably have a great story to tell. And, you will feel so lucky when you discover who is still standing behind you 20 years from now. <br />
<br />
8) Bathroom humor will always be funny. If you want to make me laugh, tell me about the time you defecated in your trousers. I have heard stories about men who crapped when they got pulled over for speeding, men who crapped as they ran up a flight of stairs, a guy who ended up having to wear his mother's yoga pants, a woman who peed in her airplane seat, and a guy who has crapped his pants so many times, you have to be specific when you ask him to relay the story about the time he soiled his trousers. I am one slice of bread away from sneaking gluten into a friend's gluten-free diet just for the story later.<br />
<br />
9) Kindness and forgiveness are not weaknesses. Ugh. Sorry. I had to sneak this one in here. My 25-year-old self is rolling her eyes right now. Ah. Who am I kidding? She clicked out of here after the phrase "At 45, I have learned...." I had no patience for people who smiled too much or were pleasant. I was all about truth, which for me meant anger and yelling. What a load of crap (in my trousers). <a href="http://youtu.be/PuvONUFArdI">Be sweet</a>. (Yes, I linked a death scene there. I wonder what I'm revealing about myself.)<br />
<br />
10) I still want to meet Stephen King. I think I would enjoy a dinner with him and that thought hasn't changed since I was a child. And this makes me not so unhappy about getting older. No matter how much I've changed, I'm still that me I was when I was sitting alone in my room reading <i>Salem's Lot</i>. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Spring is not the finest season in New England—it's
too short, too uncertain, too apt to turn savage on short notice. Even
so, there are April days which linger in the memory even after one has
forgotten the wife's touch, or the feel of the baby's toothless mouth at
the nipple...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">But when fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it
always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays
awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an
old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe
and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has
been and things he has done since last he saw you....</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Thin clouds form, and the shadows lengthen out. They have no breadth, as
summer shadows have; there are no leaves on the trees or fat clouds in
the sky to make them thick. They are gaunt, mean shadows that bite the
ground like teeth. As the sun nears the horizon, its benevolent
yellow begins to deepen, to become infected, until it glares an angry
inflamed orange. It throws a variegated glow over the horizon.</span></div>
onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-39821008097409257132014-02-14T14:54:00.003-05:002014-02-14T16:47:30.130-05:00The Other Door<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Im260RxCUZs/Uv5Yq4JZJoI/AAAAAAAABeY/HcUFVL54kf4/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Im260RxCUZs/Uv5Yq4JZJoI/AAAAAAAABeY/HcUFVL54kf4/s1600/photo.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">inside the other door</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If you'll indulge me, I'm going to talk about <a href="http://youtu.be/ILY2pdHUWco">my damn dog</a>. This post is self-indulgent and overwrought. You can't say I didn't warn you. <br />
<br />
Groom and I took our beloved almost 12-year-old dog to that other door at the vet this week. The room with the separate entrance so nobody has to see you cry.<br />
<br />
When Heebie, short for Herbert, was four, he was diagnosed with thyroid cancer and was given a life expectancy of about two years. But, the vets told us, very few young dogs are diagnosed with that type of cancer, so the prognosis was based on an older dog's life span.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bduHFbnOSpw/Uv5XLNlCm9I/AAAAAAAABdk/Se5YlVbRnHU/s1600/IMG_0080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bduHFbnOSpw/Uv5XLNlCm9I/AAAAAAAABdk/Se5YlVbRnHU/s1600/IMG_0080.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a><br />
We opted to treat it.<br />
<br />
While he was getting his chemo and his radiation, a tech noticed one kidney was much larger than the other. Upon further inspection, it was noted the kidney was full of urine and could burst at any time. We would have to remove it. Neither Groom nor I felt it made sense to spend thousands of dollars on chemo treatment to then let him die from a burst kidney a month later, so we had the kidney removed.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1Ir3uZQVcXk/Uv5XQ5WrBNI/AAAAAAAABd0/6Q3Y5qJf6_A/s1600/IMG_0446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1Ir3uZQVcXk/Uv5XQ5WrBNI/AAAAAAAABd0/6Q3Y5qJf6_A/s1600/IMG_0446.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a><br />
And thus began Heebie's life as a miracle dog and nearly a decade of our keeping him happy, comfortable, and relatively healthy.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J9tH-rCRthA/Uv5XN5KHSsI/AAAAAAAABds/G9WOoCgfhlU/s1600/IMG_0437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J9tH-rCRthA/Uv5XN5KHSsI/AAAAAAAABds/G9WOoCgfhlU/s1600/IMG_0437.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a>Over the years, he has fallen prey to hypothyroidism, canine papilloma virus, seizures, mange, hepatitis, food allergies, repeated sprained tail, Lyme disease, acid reflux, exocrine pancreatic insufficiency (for which we were required to feed him ground up beef pancreas ordered through some special farm in California or some such place), ectopic cilia (where the eyelashes grow into the eyeball), and chronic ear infections and chronic pneumonia. He went nearly completely deaf, was totally blind, and started to lose much of his mental faculties. He had been hit by a car, eaten rat poison, and devoured a bottle of Advil. He had numerous ultrasounds, MRIs, and surgeries. He was on 17,000 different types of medication and required near constant care. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k8eyVYDpJio/Uv5Yd-e0JhI/AAAAAAAABeI/VpG1mizfEEc/s1600/IMG_3853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k8eyVYDpJio/Uv5Yd-e0JhI/AAAAAAAABeI/VpG1mizfEEc/s1600/IMG_3853.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a>But here's the thing. He never whined or complained or even limped. He had been sick for so long, he didn't know that he was sick. He was sweet and affectionate and curious and snuggly and quirky and funny.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFNGfve5kHU/Uv5YTdHN5fI/AAAAAAAABeA/RLJaozmvGqY/s1600/IMG_3451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFNGfve5kHU/Uv5YTdHN5fI/AAAAAAAABeA/RLJaozmvGqY/s1600/IMG_3451.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a>I don't get attached to things or beings. And, if I do, I have a tendency to remove them from my life. I had a cat when I was in my early 30s. I adored that cat. I worried he'd be hit by a car. I worried he'd be eaten by coyotes. I worried he'd get locked in someone's basement and starve to death. I couldn't even name him for fear I would grow even more attached so I called him Black Cat.<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-62r61QAmAqY/Uv5Yjr04rFI/AAAAAAAABeQ/nohi0EFyZ0o/s1600/IMG_5231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-62r61QAmAqY/Uv5Yjr04rFI/AAAAAAAABeQ/nohi0EFyZ0o/s1600/IMG_5231.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><br />
I gave that cat away to an acquaintance and never saw it again. For all I know, he's still alive and meowing at the window.<br />
<br />
Christ, I was dating my now husband for five years before I would even admit I had a boyfriend. It took 15 years for us to finally get married. <br />
<br />
So, yes. I tend to keep things at an arm's length, which might be the reason, partially at least, for my ability to write such personal things in a public forum. I can't see your face. And, frankly, I don't want to. I don't require your sympathy and I don't want you to approach me after a few cocktails to talk about loss. It was a dog. Plain and simple. But he was our dog, our constant and cheerful companion, and I adored him.<br />
<br />
As I remember our little friend, I cram my brain with other things to keep me focused on what I need to do rather than indulging in self-pity. Oddly, <a href="http://youtu.be/AB-MOLBRuig?t=26s">commercial jingles</a> and <a href="http://youtu.be/qrO4YZeyl0I">pop music</a>
squeeze out the image of my dog on the cold, hard floor at the vet--the
last thing we saw as we closed that other door and walked back into the
icy parking lot.<br />
<br />
Mourning is boring. It's boring for the person experiencing it because it is both all-consuming and painfully empty. It's boring for the person's friends because after a while, hearing about loss gets really old. How many times can you say you're sorry about a dead dog before it's okay to go back to talking about the fact that Jody in accounting is totally sleeping with Chris over in marketing?<br />
<br />
(That isn't a real scenario, obviously. Everyone knows accounting will never be in bed with marketing. Ever.)<br />
<br />
(Ever.)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HbWABhWPqOU/Uv5Y0xXKkoI/AAAAAAAABeo/2VrWZfcc0Us/s1600/IMG_5781.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HbWABhWPqOU/Uv5Y0xXKkoI/AAAAAAAABeo/2VrWZfcc0Us/s1600/IMG_5781.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a>When you mourn, everything seems to have weight: the gray day is gloomier; the crying baby at the grocery store is louder; the salt and dirt on the cars is darker; the icy parking lot is suddenly colder, meaner, scarier; my head is heavier on the pillow.<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1pTfqrd8a_Q/Uv5XmxiHKKI/AAAAAAAABd8/77pv665jdUk/s1600/dock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1pTfqrd8a_Q/Uv5XmxiHKKI/AAAAAAAABd8/77pv665jdUk/s1600/dock.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a><br />
I have chosen to be happy in my life. I realize this oversimplifies and probably trivializes the chemical happenstance that occurs in the brains of people who suffer real depression. I cringe to think people might live like this every day. Getting out of bed is nearly impossible. Cleaning the house seems pointless. Going for a walk, albeit really good for every single person in the world, feels too active.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ns7B1jKbukQ/Uv5t8xQy6kI/AAAAAAAABe4/5zNGSBivaO4/s1600/IMG_2652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ns7B1jKbukQ/Uv5t8xQy6kI/AAAAAAAABe4/5zNGSBivaO4/s1600/IMG_2652.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a>Heebie's collar sits lifeless in the back of our truck. His leftover food and pancreas sit on the shelves and in the freezer. A chewed dog toy rests beneath the couch. Slowly, I've been packing things up. I've noticed my husband has been packing things up as well. He matches the can of food I tossed into the trash by removing the dog bed from my home office. A bag of meds hangs from a hook in the kitchen, ready to be donated for those who can't afford to treat their own dogs. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X48MS55s3Dw/Uv5uFndavkI/AAAAAAAABfA/NizIjbulTrg/s1600/IMG_4690.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X48MS55s3Dw/Uv5uFndavkI/AAAAAAAABfA/NizIjbulTrg/s1600/IMG_4690.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a>What do you say as you drive toward that other door with the dog panting in the backseat? This animal who trusted us to do what was best for him, trusting us to the end to make the right decisions. And, in the end, his body was just giving out. He was quite simply very sick and he would not be returning to his normal self. This was it. <br />
<br />
Emotions, like smells, can trigger memories and other emotions. The smell of pencils reminds me of the days when my sisters would return from St. John th<span id="goog_1972581832"></span><span id="goog_1972581833"></span>e Baptist School, their plaid uniforms thick with the smell of graphite and wood shavings. Lemon Pledge reminds me of Saturday chore days when my four siblings and I had specific cleaning tasks--dust the living room, vacuum the dining room (or dying room to match the living room), clean the woodwork around the doors. Pungent cologne reminds me of those moments on Sunday mornings when I had to shake hands with the fat guy in the pew next to ours while my father hissed "peace" at the church ladies who whispered about my mother sitting in a wheelchair near the choir so as to be closer to the handicapped ramp the church invested in once her battle with MS rendered her unable to walk.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iaH5rezmwiI/Uv5W3WhrYRI/AAAAAAAABdM/zc2rZ9mNtMU/s1600/15733_1256046837228_5737844_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iaH5rezmwiI/Uv5W3WhrYRI/AAAAAAAABdM/zc2rZ9mNtMU/s1600/15733_1256046837228_5737844_n.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a>Gun oil draws me back to my then-boyfriend's now husband's farm in
college where he would sit at the table and fill shot shells while his
roommate cleaned the guns. I was reminded this week, through this mourning, of a time when Then-Boyfriend's sow gave birth to a litter of piglets. It was a difficult birth for this 400+ pound Mama Pig and some of her piglets were stillborn. I stood to the side in the barn, watching this unfold. I couldn't help, other than to grab towels or water if someone shouted that necessity.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_vWORbDgpag/Uv5W1FZ1sGI/AAAAAAAABdA/0ib-g__aivI/s1600/15733_1256046957231_3852777_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_vWORbDgpag/Uv5W1FZ1sGI/AAAAAAAABdA/0ib-g__aivI/s1600/15733_1256046957231_3852777_n.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a>Then-Boyfriend delivered some of those piglets to the kitchen to keep them warm in the oven (yes, people do that), but he cupped the runt in his hands, kneeling next to the panting Mama.<br />
<br />
It was so clear to me that the little piglet would not make it through the day. Then-Boyfriend refused to give up, kneeling there and stroking the near-lifeless tiny critter in his gloved hands. Finally, he rested the piglet in the hay and stood up.<br />
<br />
"It's over," he said.<br />
<br />
I had known him for less than a year at that point and I knew I wanted him to be around me for the rest of my life. That tenacity and focus up until that acceptance of loss. It was stunning to me. <br />
<br />
These emotions now. I mourn every loss at once, pain triggered by pain. The wind outside during today's winter blizzard reminds me of the solitary breeze that lifted my hair at my mother's graveside. My phone buzzes and I think back to the phone calls I have received over the years in regard to friends and family members who were taken either by disease or some other means.<br />
<br />
The timing here makes me question whether someone really is in charge. My father died the first week in February. My husband shattered his leg the first week in February. My favorite dog has died the first week in February. If I were to live by the rules of three, I could feel assured my next February will remain disaster free. <br />
<br />
On February 10, 2014, to borrow from <a href="http://ladyfest-ro.pimienta.org/weblog/wp-content/uploads/ladyfest-ro/2013/04/The-God-of-Small-Things-by-Arundhati-Roy.pdf">Arundhati Roy</a>, we walked through that other door to leave a Heebie-shaped hole in the universe. As Groom stroked his head, I stood up.<br />
<br />
"It's over," I thought.<br />
<br />
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<br />onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-34349636737638232282014-02-08T16:09:00.001-05:002014-02-08T16:09:37.276-05:00new device<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vA2M5p6uI_E/UvaT6ygs8bI/AAAAAAAABcM/YYooS_aearA/s1600/fitbit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vA2M5p6uI_E/UvaT6ygs8bI/AAAAAAAABcM/YYooS_aearA/s1600/fitbit.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a>I have never been what one might call "on the cutting edge" of technology. I did get an <a href="http://youtu.be/mE_bDNaYAr8" target="_blank">iPod in late 2001</a> and was the talk of the <a href="http://youtu.be/yPVJubIA1N8" target="_blank">itty-bitty small town</a> I was living in at the time, and I have relied on those moments since as my example of being "timely" with my gadgets.<br />
<br />
And the iPod was a Christmas gift.<br />
<br />
I didn't join Facebook until 2008. Twitter came to me in 2011 and I still don't <a href="https://twitter.com/DevlinSarah" target="_blank">Tweet</a> with any regularity--I think I have maybe 10 followers. I am on <a href="http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=23929429&trk=nav_responsive_tab_profile" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a>, but it still lists a job I left about three years ago. I finally joined <a href="http://instagram.com/devlinsarah#" target="_blank">Instagram</a> but I can't get out of the annoying habit of posting images to both Facebook and Instagram. I got my first iPhone <i>juuuuuust before</i> iOS 3 was released and I have been playing catch-up ever since. I'm trading in my iPhone 4s for a 5s as <a href="http://www.techradar.com/us/news/phone-and-communications/mobile-phones/iphone-6-release-date-news-and-rumours-1099865" target="_blank">rumors swirl about an iPhone 6 getting released in late 2014</a>. I still use my first iPad. I drive a 2004 VW. And as much as my fantastic hairstylist works otherwise, my hair always defaults to something akin to what <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y--z9ZV9wDc/UGSpKnXdtDI/AAAAAAAALuk/9kWnzdzbfoo/s400/marthaplimpton1.jpg" target="_blank">Martha Plimpton</a> wore in <a href="http://youtu.be/OnrORwEG4lQ" target="_blank">The Goonies</a>. I can't even have a hip retro haircut.<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d9DVTG6uGPU/UvaMyr7toYI/AAAAAAAABbs/ZqoJEdgTWYw/s1600/steps.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d9DVTG6uGPU/UvaMyr7toYI/AAAAAAAABbs/ZqoJEdgTWYw/s1600/steps.tiff" height="200" width="196" /></a><br />
This past week, I saw a device I had never seen before and I thought, HUZZAH! I'm going to be ahead of the curve. A woman I was working with was wearing it on her wrist. I thought it was a watch, but noooo. It tracked her walking movement and her sleep patterns. While we were together, she had walked nearly seven miles a day, and since we spent most of our time together, it meant I was walking nearly seven miles a day. But she had <i>proof</i>.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jtZO6-KLKqc/UvaMyTSSlWI/AAAAAAAABb4/j3mBoBgeaG4/s1600/Distance.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jtZO6-KLKqc/UvaMyTSSlWI/AAAAAAAABb4/j3mBoBgeaG4/s1600/Distance.tiff" height="200" width="199" /></a>This woman, by the way, is a hummingbird of a person. She's tiny and has the most enviable arms--much like a bird might have if it were transformed into a person. They're well shaped and strong. So, of course, I noticed this little black wrist band.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2014/02/calling-ace-spade.html" target="_blank">As I mentioned, I was traveling last week</a> and I was traveling without workout clothes or sneakers. (Do we call them sneakers? Running shoes? Workout shoes?) Anyway, due to circumstances beyond my control and due to a story way too long and a little too private to tell here, I was without warm-weather clothing for about a week.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LaLT3bVcuf4/UvaMyTclC7I/AAAAAAAABbg/ug34OSm84SE/s1600/chart.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LaLT3bVcuf4/UvaMyTclC7I/AAAAAAAABbg/ug34OSm84SE/s1600/chart.tiff" height="152" width="320" /></a>I worked my way to a sports attire shop to buy some walking (?) shoes and as I was standing in line and making fun of the impulse purchase aisle--the aisle they make you stand in while you wait for a cashier, the aisle with water bottles and workout journals--and declaring, "What kinds of things do the shop owners think people will buy and who impulse purchases things--hey, there's the wrist band Rachel was wearing!<br />
<br />
I had an audience of cashiers as I went through my "impulse buys are stupid I think I'll buy this ridiculously stupid item on a whim" routine. And, as I put the $100 wrist band on the counter, the cashier maintained her poker face until I finally said, "Can you believe what an asshole I am?"<br />
<br />
She laughed. Thank god.<br />
<br />
In short (or long, really), I bought a <a href="http://www.fitbit.com/flex" target="_blank">Fitbit Flex</a>. It's a bracelet you wear all day/all night with a small interface with little LED lights. When you get up in the morning, you tap it twice and see that you have only one light flashing. At the end of the day, the goal is to have five solid lights. <br />
<br />
The Fitbit syncs with your phone (well, not my phone until I get that cutting edge iPhone 5s and upgrade to iOS 6) and tracks your walking steps (goal = 10,000), your sleeping patterns, and you can use the online tracker to record food and workouts and such. You can set it up to buzz at you as a reminder to get up from your computer and walk around the block or just stretch, which I definitely need. It's pretty cool.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mDt04scNXcQ/UvaU5mS-OEI/AAAAAAAABcU/sfhNXpMliWI/s1600/glasses.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mDt04scNXcQ/UvaU5mS-OEI/AAAAAAAABcU/sfhNXpMliWI/s1600/glasses.JPG" height="129" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dali Museum. Very Serious.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, I laced up my new walking/running/workout (seriously, what should I call them) shoes, donned my linen work skirt (no warm weather clothes means no shorts), and took a 40-minute walk along <a href="http://www.thegetinshapeworkoutplan.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/bayshore1.jpg" target="_blank">Bayshore Blvd. in Tampa</a> while my sister and my brother-in-law went running (<a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/12/recovery.html" target="_blank">I'm still not ready to start running</a> but <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10151927462322876&set=vb.52540077875&type=2&theater" target="_blank">good god am I ready to start skiing again</a>). A quick trip to the <a href="http://thedali.org/home.php" target="_blank">Dali Museum</a> in St. Petersburg, and I had accomplished all 10, 000 steps. As someone who never reaches a goal, I was mildly disappointed. If I can reach this goal, I thought, it's not much of a goal at all. It's about an hour's worth of walking. I felt cheated and more than a little smug.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mLcdhnt3rx8/UvaT5g6x_XI/AAAAAAAABcE/2o61I9NSwdQ/s1600/Sleep.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mLcdhnt3rx8/UvaT5g6x_XI/AAAAAAAABcE/2o61I9NSwdQ/s1600/Sleep.tiff" height="153" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I need to get more sleep. Noted.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Then I came back to Maine where it's cold and snowy and icy and I hate walking outside. Yesterday, I was thrilled to see I had achieved four lights on my little Fitbit. Today, I have achieved one single light. Smug be gone.<br />
<br />
And, to add to my humility, the FitBit products have been around since 2008. The super new gadget I'm wearing? May 2013. The super newest gadget that everyone is wearing now to be au courant? That's called a <a href="http://www.fitbit.com/force" target="_blank">Fitbit Force</a>, but people apparently are getting burns from the new gadget. Mild consolation when I find myself, yet again, just slightly behind the curve.onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-44921032483000968352014-02-06T16:29:00.003-05:002014-02-09T12:33:45.912-05:00 calling an ace a spadeToday, I found the answer to the question I have been asking myself for years. Who the hell is sitting at <a href="http://www.shipyard.com/verify.php?return=/" target="_blank">Shipyard Brewing Company</a> outside security at the <a href="http://www.portlandjetport.org/" target="_blank">Portland Jetport</a> and why is there even a need for such a thing?<br />
<br />
I will offer you my response in two parts. A) Me. I am sitting at the Shipyard Brewing Company outside security at Portland Jetport. B) Because Groom doesn't get out of a meeting in Bethel until 3:30 and my two-day late flight arrived today at 2:30.<br />
<br />
I always thought it must feel lonely to sit in this weird little spot at the airport. But, after sitting for only a few moments, I decided it was actually kind of cool, with a view of the happenings on the tarmac and such.<br />
<br />
Then, I heard <a href="http://youtu.be/phT_E33RaQo" target="_blank">"Daddy!"</a> from over the partition as some super sweet loving Portland family reunited at the bottom of the escalator. Did I mention the little brewpub is located at the base of an escalator where families reunite? Yeah, that doesn't sting. (To find that "Daddy!" link, by the way, I spent about 20 minutes watching footage of soldiers meeting their families in airports so now I have the added embarrassment of actually crying while sitting in this weird little brewpub at the base of the escalator on the outside of security at the Portland Jetport. Fabulous.)<br />
<br />
I've been traveling for about two weeks and if I've been a <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2014/01/youre-fraud.html" target="_blank">fraud</a> at any other time, there's no time like the past two weeks. I was staying with my sister in Florida for some of those travel days (with a bonus two extra days because of all the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10151927462322876&set=vb.52540077875&type=2&theater" target="_blank">freshie pow pow falling</a> in New England--and, yes, <a href="http://youtu.be/krwxrdMzCm4" target="_blank">I owe a dollar</a>). Sister--the one who runs, not the one who swims--was really careful about the kinds of food she offered me. It was so nice and so thoughtful and I felt like such a hypocrite because all I wanted was cheese and meat and more cheese and maybe some cream. Fried cream. Why doesn't that exist? <br />
<br />
<a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2014/01/defining-disappointment.html" target="_blank">I've mentioned it before</a>, but I have lost sight of my goal of living the vegan life. I'm starting to identify myself as an occasional vegetarian, which basically describes every single person on this planet. Did you have oatmeal and yogurt for breakfast? (Ha! You are a vegetarian.) How about a nice grilled cheese for lunch? (What, you have a problem with meat?) And, for dinner, let's just eat some pasta with cheese and broccoli. Would you like some <a href="http://youtu.be/ZFW4kgu-V3s" target="_blank">Lindt</a> dark chocolate for dessert? (I thought you'd never ask, you delightful non-vegan vegetarian.)<br />
<br />
Traveling can be tough on the diet, much like it can be tough on the ears. Do I really need to hear <a href="http://youtu.be/RBumgq5yVrA" target="_blank">Let Her Go</a> or <a href="http://youtu.be/-2U0Ivkn2Ds" target="_blank">Say Something</a> one more time? But, traveling with dietary restrictions (no, I dislike that word), traveling with specific dietary requirements (oh sure, that's better) can be tough. Between the lack of choices (it is a fact I ate a doughy piece of pepperoni pizza while driving Alligator Alley in Florida this week because there was nothing else available at the roadside rest stop) and the crazily tempting treats (I did eschew the truffled fries I saw during my travels but I still think about them which means I will likely eat some bad fries as compensation), it's really difficult to stay on track if you're pretending to be vegan(ish).<br />
<br />
[While looking for the Say Something clip, I stumbled across <a href="http://youtu.be/w9JDrf1QBO4" target="_blank">this little nugget of cuteness</a>. Skip to the one minute mark. It's like <a href="http://youtu.be/3U4kDzwZAMk" target="_blank">Muriel entered the X Factor</a>.]<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SgSpTiG2vSI/UvadjfTWFnI/AAAAAAAABck/c7Uk4ZzvuWY/s1600/sushi.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SgSpTiG2vSI/UvadjfTWFnI/AAAAAAAABck/c7Uk4ZzvuWY/s1600/sushi.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I ate what?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I deliberately choose to fly Jetblue through JFK out of PWM when I travel because there are so many healthy alternatives at the Jetblue terminal in New York. But that just adds to my guilt. I did eat a "chef's choice" sushi salad on my way out of town and it wasn't until my stomach gurgled on the plane that I thought, <a href="http://youtu.be/deOsP5ipfr4" target="_blank">"Did I just eat sushi at an airport?"</a><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AFTm_fItY1Y/UvP3gPKW0zI/AAAAAAAABbM/dO9XoizLUCs/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AFTm_fItY1Y/UvP3gPKW0zI/AAAAAAAABbM/dO9XoizLUCs/s1600/photo.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I forgot to mention the<br />
Maker's Mark Mint<br />
Iced Tea. I had that too.<br />
I did. And the wine.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By the time I was headed home through JFK this afternoon--after a week at a conference where I'm supposed to be some sort of expert, but where I felt more like the fat kid at the popular cheerleader's party swinging blindly at a pinata as a bunch of baseball recruiters looked on, and comforting myself with cheesy lasagna, homemade meatballs, bites of delicious steak, and finally a very necessary pool-side Cuban following a night that had wrapped itself into the next morning (Cuban sandwich, not Cuban man)--I had convinced myself that arugula with parmesan cheese and cheesy wild mushroom arancini would pass as healthy. Nothing about that decision was healthy. To make matters worse, I read gossip magazines. And it wasn't even <i>People</i> magazine, which at least highlights real people making a difference in the world.<br />
<br />
I mean, not that I read those articles about the blind man who climbs Everest or the one-armed woman who coaches inner-city youth, but I feel better giving money to a magazine that celebrates those good people. Instead, today, I bought <i>OK</i>, <i>Star</i>, <i>InTouch</i>, and <i>Vanity Fair</i>, but only because it's the issue that was supposed to eviscerate Gwyneth Paltrow but instead sort of talks about how wonderful she is. As editor Graydon Carter wrote, "It's a story I might read. I just don't want to publish it." Bastard. That's $4.99 and an hour of my time I'll never see again.<br />
<br />
I've even reverted back to my habit of "If there's a Mounds bar here, I will buy it. If not, it means the cosmos are telling me I shouldn't get a Mounds bar" method of avoiding bad foods.<br />
<br />
I should have just bought a steak and been done with it. <br />
<br />
It's time to call it. I'm an occasional vegetarian pescatarian who takes cholesterol medication. Except in the summer when I shall be a mostly vegetarian localvore pescatarian who takes cholesterol medication and has a tan.<br />
<br />
We'll talk about sunscreen later.<br />
<br />
[The title to this post is a deliberate nod to my friend <a href="http://youtu.be/uWwJc-kPsRk" target="_blank">Nate</a> who said "let's just call an ace a spade" one night over a decade ago after a couple of beers. I have yet to stop laughing about it.]onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-88680524397552434832014-01-27T23:49:00.001-05:002014-01-27T23:49:05.925-05:00words are importantEven though I'm definitely not <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/12/recovery.html" target="_blank">recovering from surgery</a> anymore--I mean, I have this low hum of very mild pain and I'm careful about what I lift and all, but for the most part, I'm fine--I do still spend a lot of time doing nothing, which leads to a lot of time thinking. I'm sure I do nothing mostly because it's been really cold and windy and I'm not skiing and <a href="http://youtu.be/7o5zipU6r7o" target="_blank">Mr. Magoo</a> the dog doesn't really go for walks anymore, so I don't spend all that much time outside. Instead, I sit and think and try not to become a crazy person. <br />
<br />
This post, I'm realizing, has nothing to do with exercise or food. Unless we're talking about food for thought.<br />
<br />
Annnnnd...<a href="http://youtu.be/8AYImHkCQNU" target="_blank">I owe a dollar</a>.<br />
<br />
Not too long ago, I was reminded of a debate, an argument really, I had in 2006 with a good friend about a certain word and its meaning. I contended that words are words and, although some bite, every word has a reason for its existence. Recently, however, I heard that debated word tossed into a conversation and I had a very different reaction than I did seven years ago.<br />
<br />
I still think words are words and we should celebrate both the history of language and the evolution of language, but I've changed my mind on a few things. I definitely dislike certain innocuous words and always will. For me, it's the same as liking certain colors and disliking others. I like blue. I don't like green.<br />
<br />
I flinch when I hear the words fridge, din din, hubby, veggies, kiddo, and Taylor Swift. But, I don't get really upset when I hear them.<br />
<br />
All right, fine. I just don't like Taylor Swift. I have a feeling if she weren't famous and she were hanging out near me when I was in my 20s, I would have tripped her in the bar. I find her behavior, her posture, her lipsticked mouth objectionable. I'm sure she's a fine woman. No. Scratch that. I'm sure she'll mature into a fine woman. Right now? Objectionable.<br />
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I have a running gag with my sister-in-law's kids that the worst sentence in the English language is Taylor Swift saying, "Eat your veggies, kiddo, or they go back in the fridge."<br />
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To be clear, I don't like that sentence but it doesn't offend me. I'm not going to be up in arms because Taylor Swift wants me to eat my veggies or has the audacity to call a 45-year-old woman "kiddo."<br />
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I used to lurk on a forum to read some comments and threads because the people on the forum were crazy--crazy, like sitting home alone because it's too cold outside and you're living in the echo of having recently recovered from surgery crazy. I won't call the forum out here, but it was a forum for people who enjoy a specialty recreational activity and hobby. A charming yet harmless hobby that would definitely draw people away from the table and into the shed or barn out back to see the fruits of the host's labor--or in one case, into the small room in the city apartment where the end-product of this hobby was hanging from the ceiling. (You're totally curious right now, aren't you?)<br />
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The people hosting the forum eventually had to create an entirely new section called "Miscellaneous--non [hobby] related" where all the crazies would gather to talk about gun control (or not), abortion rights (or not), how much we love our president (or not), religion (my way is best and you are an idiot or not), and all things not suitable for that dinner table we just left to examine the canoe hanging from the ceiling.<br />
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Heh. See what I did there?<br />
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It's where I learned the phrase ad hominem attack. It's where I learned all my LOLs and IMHOs and ROTFLMAOs. (Or as someone I used work with would write it ROTFLMBO. I think she was Mormon.)<br />
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In this Miscellaneous thread (Discovery! I did not know how to spell "miscellaneous" until today. Thank you, auto spell check!), one man prided himself on being some sort of back-to-the-woods intellectual. He envisioned himself as a member of the E.B. White, Thoreau crowd, but he was more of the pedophiliac (not a word, I know) Ted Kacynski variety of person. And, he loved to talk about things that made people uncomfortable, like how he felt sensual with his cat (named Catawampous, can you imagine?) and how the 15-year-old checkout girl at the local grocery store was giving him the eye, because he felt it was his duty to bring these things to light and he felt he was merely commenting on society and the world he lived in. (Ugh. That sounds a little too close to what's happening with this blog. What <i>is</i> happening with this blog?!) <br />
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Actually, I don't really know what was driving him but I loved him. Not because I agreed with him, but because he was so delusional I couldn't stop reading his posts. He would casually toss out the words cunt, nigger, spic, paddy, pussy, faggot, retard, and whatever horrible word pops into your head right now. And, I'm sorry for that. I really am. I'm not writing this to shock.<br />
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He would then get all defensive when someone called him out for using these words. "They're just words!" he'd shriek into his keyboard. "This shows how closed minded, racist, homophobic, and misogynistic you are! <i>You're</i> the one thinking all those bad things, not me!"<br />
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It was brilliant. He would always win his argument. And it brings me to this debate/argument I had almost 10 years ago. Words are important, not just in the PR sense in that nothing is ever less expensive or, god forbid, cheaper. It's always affordable. Words are important because they bring a certain stereotype to mind or a certain emotion to mind. If a word is used to bring someone down, it matters.<br />
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I didn't think this in 2006. I thought words were words. I was at an art opening or something similarly uncomfortable yet smug and a man I knew casually but not closely hissed <i>breeder</i> at me. I was shocked and offended. I have never liked that word. One, because while I am heterosexual, I'm not a breeder and as someone without kids, that word stings. For the record, by the way, I am straight but not narrow, thank you very much. (I just made myself laugh.) And, two, all those babies people adopt? They are squeezed out of lady breeder parts. So, you can't hate breeders and yet adopt their babies. Yes, even the Asian ones.<br />
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Hey now. Sorry. That's a nasty stereotype. But I can't resist a joke, no matter how offensive. And, as my friend D says, "Stereotypes save time."<br />
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Oh, god. Sorry. No.<br />
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How I responded to this man was to say the word "breeder" is as bad a word to me as "faggot" because I weighted all words equally. I stayed away from certain words, such as the ones listed above, because I knew they hurt, but I attributed the same weight to each word. For me, personally, the word that got under my skin was "breeder," but I gave it the same weight as any other word, including the word faggot. This turned into a weeks-long debate with other friends because I would bring it up in conversation whenever I could. God, I got really boring. It had turned into a real thing for me. <br />
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And then, a few years ago, I watched <a href="http://youtu.be/v-55wC5dEnc" target="_blank">Louis C.K. talk about it on his show "Louie."</a><br />
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So I did a little research. In some circles, the word derives from the word "fagot," which meant "contemptible woman" or "ball buster" in the early 20th century. Or it could be derived from late 18th century when "to fag" meant to do tasks for an upperclassman as an underclassman. I haven't found evidence that the word "faggot" is directly linked, when talking about a homosexual male, to the sticks thrown on a fire, but as <a href="http://www.straightdope.com/columns/read/2112/how-did-faggot-get-to-mean-male-homosexual" target="_blank">The Straight Dope</a> says, words happen.<br />
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With all of that behind me, faggot has become the most objectionable word to me. Call me a cunt. Call me a bitch. Call me a ball buster. Say I'm retarded. Tell me I'm emotional because I'm on the rag. Criticize me for being a bad driver. Make fun of me because I can't fix the kitchen sink or change a tire. Allude to my love for romantic comedies or my desire to drink sweet cocktails in fun little glasses while shrieking with my girlfriends. Those words and those stereotypes all carry the same weight and I will choose to fight or not to fight, depending on how Taylor Swifty you are and how much bourbon I've had to drink.<br />
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But, don't ever use a word that however remotely or inaccurately links to the days when human beings may have been used as kindling. I'm not saying what happened to people who were burned at the stake is in any way better than someone used as a faggot, but at least the heretics and witches mostly died of asphyxiation. That poor man being thrown down on the bonfire and held there with sticks and poles by a crazy mob of barbarians to make the fire grow faster and hotter? No. (Lord knows, the Irish would have been a better choice anyway, what with all that whiskey running through the veins. Did the Irish ever actually burn at the stake or did they just get burnt by the English landholders? Sorry. Off-topic.)<br />
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People are not kindling and we should all know what we're saying when we say it because words are very, very important. Dink.<br />
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[I should mention a former colleague of a colleague shared an unpublished rant directed toward an unreasonable and disgruntled customer about a year ago. When he was done with his reasonable yet flippant response, he ended the letter with "Dink." I've stolen it here because it makes me laugh.]onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-88979078325430671472014-01-22T00:23:00.000-05:002014-01-22T00:23:02.325-05:00"You're a fraud."[This post was initially supposed to be about packing food for a weekend-long party when you're trying to watch what you eat. I failed with the eating and I failed with this blog post. Enjoy.]<br />
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Someone called me a fraud the other day. I laughed and heartily agreed. "Yes ma'am, I am!"<br />
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She didn't even crack a smile.<br />
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I have a habit of talking too much and this weekend I talked a lot about being vegan(ish), but I was totally cramming my mouth full of beef chili and macaroni-and-cheese at a party.<br />
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Let me back up. I arrived at a weekend-long party with good intentions. I had healthy snacks in the car. I had some fruit; a container of cooked oatmeal; a snack mix of dates, raisins, seeds, and nuts; some unfrosted vegan cupcakes for emergencies; and <a href="http://youtu.be/6b0ftfKFEJg" target="_blank">a giant bottle of Maker's Mark</a>. <br />
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My first night, I was careful about what I ate. I did sneak some Goldfish, but I ate quinoa for supper. The next morning, I quietly heated up some oatmeal while the host of the party chopped some sirloin for his chili. By Saturday afternoon, I was piling that chili, along with cornbread, mac-and-cheese, chicken and sausage etouffee, and cookies onto one single plate before going back for seconds and thirds. This is when I was called a fraud.<br />
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The comment came from a person who doesn't read my blog (<i>gasp!</i>), so my stupid little jokes about going vegan were completely lost on her. Although I'm serious about taking care of myself, I'm not serious about my diet. But she wouldn't know that. And I justified her comment as a result of her not really understanding me.<br />
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Nothing gets under my skin more than someone making a false assumption about my behavior. Over the years, I have been called passive-aggressive for making plans with one co-worker within earshot of another (it still makes my throat close to think of that); I have been accused of having an affair with someone (I could barely type that through my clenched fists); I have hurt people because they thought my careless actions were intentional (I don't want to give examples because it still makes me weepy); and I have been ignored because people have considered me self-sufficient and stable (I still can't wrap my head around that one). So this woman who viewed me as a hypocritical gasbag? She was killing me. <br />
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The more I tried to explain, the less interested she was. I slowly realized that maybe I am not as charming as I think I am. Since <a href="http://youtu.be/yhDa-s7rrho" target="_blank">I'm an extrovert who talks too much</a>, that realization was heartbreaking. She made several judgmental comments over the course of the weekend, and finally outright told me she is annoyed by people who talk about their dietary restrictions.<br />
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But, I thought. But. I'm self-deprecating and delightful!<br />
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She did not smile at me. She did not want to engage in conversation with me. When I told a story, she would either interrupt or talk over me. <br />
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I made my second realization.<br />
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This woman did not like me. <br />
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Of course, the more someone ignores me, the more I need them to acknowledge me, so I turned into the Looney Tunes<a href="http://youtu.be/023bAm7-AgU" target="_blank"> abominable snowman</a>. A funny thing happened. The more I engaged her in conversation, the more I got to know her. Finally, by the second day, I made my third realization--the most liberating one of all. <br />
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I did not like her either. <br />
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With that weight taken off my back, I went about the business of having a great time, eating what I wanted, and spending time with the people I adore while chatting with the people who know I am comprised of 50% bullshit, 25% bourbon, 15% sarcastic bitch, 10% jackass, 5% smarty pants, and 100% not good at math.<br />
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What's not to love? onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-44286052587597480702014-01-13T22:31:00.001-05:002014-01-22T00:30:39.610-05:00defining disappointmentWell? I'm <a href="http://youtu.be/R97TsVDC1BY" target="_blank">disappointed</a>. <br />
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I dislike this feeling, but who doesn't? I'm the first to admit I was raised in suburbia with very few problems and very few needs or wants, and though I had suffered the same disappointment any suburban kid experiences (didn't get the bike for Christmas, didn't get to go bowling with my friends, didn't get into the soldout movie), I hadn't identified a feeling as disappointment until I was 12.<br />
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When I was in the eighth grade, we were one of only a handful of families with cable. I'm firmly entrenched in the MTV generation and maybe, just maybe I still have weird fantasies about <a href="http://youtu.be/QGalRRX0CXk" target="_blank">Rik Emmett</a>, <a href="http://youtu.be/v010TI4f378" target="_blank">Joe Elliott</a>, and <a href="http://youtu.be/ANiaZvdGO8U" target="_blank">Geddy Lee</a> (and though my love for him came later, <a href="http://youtu.be/9E3a9vaMZc8" target="_blank">James Hetfield</a> remains on my list of five people I'm allowed to sleep with if I ever meet them for real).<br />
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Unrelated: Am I the only person who has a sub-list of five people I feel I should be allowed to sleep with if they <i>become</i> famous? It's a dangerous list. I have some really talented friends and acquaintances.<br />
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Back to the eighth grade where my list of five started with Rik, Joe, and Geddy (with a hint of <a href="http://youtu.be/6UoHkiBRxBo?t=11s" target="_blank">Jane Fonda from Barbarella</a>, but that's another post for another kind of blog). I had a fantasy that Rik Emmett would get throat cancer and would have a concert in Boston but would need emergency care and I would break my arm and we would end up in the same hospital room and he would fall madly in love with me and write a song like <a href="http://youtu.be/Pz26fcmq3S8" target="_blank">Lay it on the Line</a> just for me. <br />
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I would watch MTV for hours, waiting for Def Leppard's video <a href="http://youtu.be/Vt2Y78VgfNQ" target="_blank">Bringin' on the Heartbreak</a> (pre one-armed drummer) while facing away from the television, stretched out on my stomach on the couch, so I could watch the video by looking over my shoulder and arching my back because I thought my ass was my greatest asset. So, to recap, I would pose all sexy for the television. (I was 12. Yeah. Kids these days. Yeesh.)<br />
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Another fantasy involved a gun man coming into the school library and holding everyone hostage. I, of course, would save the day with <a href="http://youtu.be/Va_Rmpd3PZI" target="_blank">a few well timed and perfectly executed karate kicks</a>. My art teacher, upon whom I had an enormous crush, would fall madly in love with me and I would become the new <a href="http://briancarnold.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/helga.jpg" target="_blank">Helga</a>. This was before guns in schools was a reality, but way after the <a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/notorious_murders/mass/whitman/index_1.html" target="_blank">Texas Bell Tower</a> and absolutely after I had viewed those disturbing and iconic <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/6/65/Kent_State_massacre.jpg" target="_blank">Kent State</a> and <a href="http://updatednews.ca/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/Woman-in-iconic-Vietnam-War-photo-to-be-honoured.jpg" target="_blank">nepalm</a> images. And, it was definitely after <a href="http://youtu.be/1P4AyN7zb90" target="_blank">John Hinckley</a> crushed on <a href="http://youtu.be/QKQkAaSEPu8" target="_blank">Jodie Foster</a> and after the assassination attempt on <a href="http://youtu.be/wjxQW9im2vk" target="_blank">Pope John Paul II</a>. As a kid, even without talk of metal detectors in schools, I had no doubt that a gunman could come into my school and start shooting.<br />
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I promise there's a reason I bring all of this up. When it comes to removing meat and cutting the cheese (heh-heh) from my diet, my head isn't in the game. I'm still waking up every morning with "<a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2014/01/this-little-piggy-ate-roast-beef.html" target="_blank">Today is a new day. Today I eat what I'm supposed to eat.</a>" And, at the end of the night, I'm still saying, "There's always tomorrow."<br />
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I've gained so much weight and my eyes are puffy and I have acne and my clothes aren't fitting the way I want them to.<br />
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I'm disappointed in myself for falling off or falling away or whatever you want to call it when you say you're going to do something and then you fail. This is tricky territory. When I hope for something to happen, I hold those hopes in check so I won't be disappointed with my friends and family. Plans get broken. People blow people off. A car breaks down. Someone gets the flu. These things happen and I force myself not to be hurt or angry or upset. It works for the most part. I'm okay with controlling my enthusiasm in order to avoid bitter disappointment. But, what if it's me? What if I thought I could actually do this? What if I'm the disappointment?<br />
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I'm an Irish girl raised Catholic in New England. I always carry a low hum of self-loathing and disappointment. I mean, without feeling major disappointment in oneself on a regular basis, what do you have left? It works along the same reasoning as not wanting to wash my really old car out of fear the entire thing will fall apart. Without the dirt, what is it? And, here I go, piling more disappointment onto myself because I ate Christmas cookies this week. I partook in some homemade nachos with the most delicious chicken while the Pats nailed it in the playoff game this weekend. I ate butter and cream and meat. <a href="http://youtu.be/WRdy4CcRchU?t=9s" target="_blank">I ate a bagel</a>. <br />
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When I was 12, I thought I might be a musician. I wasn't adept at playing any particular musical instrument, but I could read and write music. It made sense to me. I could hum the music in my head just by looking at the paper. I knew what sounded good and what didn't. I recognized the humor and the level of communication that happens between two guitarists. I loved ballads and anthems because they were so completely ridiculous.<br />
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I spent a lot of time alone. My sisters and brothers had all moved out of the house and my mother had very recently moved into assisted living to care for her Multiple Sclerosis. I had very few friends because I was a handful. I was kind of a bigshot know-it-all pain in the ass who felt privileged and special and entitled. And, I was like Teflon when it came to girlfriends. Once anyone got too close, they would just slide right off and walk away. <br />
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I spent hours in my bedroom alone. I would seek out all the LPs I could find in my sister's old room and raid my mom's and dad's stash in our living room and pile albums onto the little turntable in my bedroom. Triumph (<a href="http://youtu.be/VwvikYBN28E" target="_blank">Allied Forces</a>); Peter, Paul, and Mary (<a href="http://youtu.be/yoMSzGgKUDE" target="_blank">Peter, Paul, and Mommy</a>); Conway Twitty & Loretta Lynn (<a href="http://youtu.be/ajVfThKw6Jw" target="_blank">Louisiana Woman/Mississippi Man</a>); The Who (<a href="http://youtu.be/BfuWXRZe9yA" target="_blank">Who's Next</a>); Elvis Presley (<a href="http://youtu.be/2xtfazXu45U" target="_blank">Sun Sessions</a>); The Cars (<a href="http://youtu.be/9hwE0slNd3Y" target="_blank">The Cars</a>); The Muppets (<a href="http://youtu.be/jSFLZ-MzIhM" target="_blank">The Muppet Movie</a>); Carole Bayer Sager (<a href="http://youtu.be/DUNbo7f13w8" target="_blank">Carole Bayer Sager</a>); Rolling Stones (<a href="http://youtu.be/n9w-HjMT2M4" target="_blank">Sticky Fingers</a>, which had that super naughty and bulge-y jacket cover with a real zipper); Cat Stevens (<a href="http://youtu.be/2mn9cEJjJZE" target="_blank">Tea for the Tillerman</a>); Peter Frampton (<a href="http://youtu.be/t8HTWZgd_UM" target="_blank">Frampton Comes Alive</a>); Jeff Beck (<a href="http://youtu.be/n1Mdl-bqGIo" target="_blank">There and Back</a>); Supertramp (<a href="http://youtu.be/RcX1qA1Etc8" target="_blank">Breakfast in America</a>); Dan Fogelberg (<a href="http://youtu.be/5Go6I2_PpBU" target="_blank">Phoenix</a>); Styx (<a href="http://youtu.be/AtzIWPeun7c" target="_blank">The Grand Illusion</a>, before they got all domo domo); Queen (<a href="http://youtu.be/XMLiqEqMQyQ" target="_blank">News of the World</a>); Dolly Parton (<a href="http://youtu.be/1plvBR02wDs?t=31s" target="_blank">Jolene</a>). All piled up, each album dropping onto the turntable one by one until the needle was balanced on top of the heap and it was late at night and I couldn't sleep because the music kept going.<br />
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And, those are just the full LPs. Don't let me get started on the 45s. Plus, my dad would chase me around the house singing <a href="http://youtu.be/iKDORuUk1y0" target="_blank">Ain't She Sweet</a> and <a href="http://youtu.be/gzr2v9yNiEk" target="_blank">If You Happen to See the Most Beautiful Girl</a> and <a href="http://youtu.be/YQBfYZcBSPA" target="_blank">Jeepers Creepers Where'd You Get Those Peepers</a>. For someone with no instrumental talent and no ear for singing, I was a goner. <br />
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Side note: This reminds me all of this was happening around the time backtracking was super popular, after the whole "<a href="http://youtu.be/fgjaSK0DC9Y" target="_blank">Paul is dead</a>" business and right around the "<a href="http://youtu.be/xdMyvxre9hI" target="_blank">Ozzy worships satan</a>" period. I was friends with a kid I knew from band. He had all the markings of an '80s musician. David Bowie shag cut, skinny black tie with a white shirt, awkward body language, skinny little butt. I think he played more than one instrument, but in band he played the keyboard. Think <a href="http://youtu.be/pi_UEj5Nxtw" target="_blank">Alan Hunter</a> without the suspenders meets <a href="http://youtu.be/Qa8kCQQUjHM" target="_blank">Mitch Taylor</a> in a tie.<br />
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This kid would record himself playing music and occasionally hand one of the tapes over to me. It was super sweet. One day, he handed me a tape and said he had been practicing backtracking and he had "you know, basically recorded all my thoughts about life and stuff."<br />
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And this is what kind of an asshole I was. I immediately shared it with a friend who helped me slowly and meticulously take the tape apart, flip it, and play it back. His message?<br />
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"This song is baaaaaaackwards...this song is baaaaaackwards."<br />
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Back to the original post: I'm <a href="http://youtu.be/VMUz2TNMvL0" target="_blank">not claiming I had good taste in music</a> and I definitely <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e69rHRD0uQc&feature=share&list=AL94UKMTqg-9CGm2KjQhbECq9jykJT2d1N&index=4" target="_blank">don't pretend to have good musical taste now</a>, but music was important to me. Popular music was important to me. You can imagine my enthusiasm when I heard MTV would be airing, in its entirety, <a href="http://youtu.be/ePiGVI2Hs-g" target="_blank"><i>Tommy</i></a> when I was in the eighth grade. (Can you guess what I love about the clip I just linked? Pimball. That's awesome.)<br />
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I was blind with excitement. My father had planned a dinner party or some such gathering on the night of the premiere and I told him, <i>in no uncertain terms</i>, nobody, and I meant NOBODY, was to disturb me in the TV room, a converted screened-in porch located just off the dining room, and a mere eight feet from where my father kept his home bar. It was the early '80s. Everyone had a working bar and a recently retired fondue pot in the house. <br />
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I made up a plate of food--probably scrambled hamburg with mashed potatoes--poured myself a ginger ale, and marched myself into the TV room, which we still called "the sun porch." The only thing keeping me from the party noise was an old french glass door, most likely built and installed in the 1930s. I could see everyone and everyone could see me. <br />
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I set up a TV tray and clicked 41 into the heavy metal remote. (We had a remote control for our TV!) Channel 41. The new Music Television station. It started. I saw some scenes from World War II and then TSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH..... Static. Nothing. The movie was gone. <a href="http://youtu.be/ZRrHqBDTziM" target="_blank">No Roger Daltry</a>. No <a href="http://youtu.be/DthtDjhqVOU" target="_blank">Elton John</a>. No <a href="http://youtu.be/awdlhoIc3c8" target="_blank">Ann-Margret</a>. I was devastated. Like the moment I identified <a href="http://youtu.be/P1EKFL9ofMk" target="_blank">Steve Allen</a> doing a poetic read of <a href="http://youtu.be/0z2sgsCVUTU" target="_blank">Donna Summer's Hot Stuff</a> in 1980 as comedy, this was the first moment I could identify, for me, soul-crushing disappointment. The knowledge that just because you want something so badly to happen, that's not enough to make it happen. Nothing ever becomes what you want it to be and wishing for it gets you nowhere, counting on it will get you nowhere. <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/05/lifesaver.html" target="_blank">My mother wasn't coming home</a>. My brothers and sisters had all moved out. I was alone on the floor staring at static and listening to my father's laughter in the other room.onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-56377616768270324452014-01-06T15:49:00.000-05:002014-01-06T15:52:37.870-05:00this little piggy ate roast beef<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-62qzJhi_2ls/UssNw6rVcNI/AAAAAAAABaM/PQM74wEOG3o/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-62qzJhi_2ls/UssNw6rVcNI/AAAAAAAABaM/PQM74wEOG3o/s1600/photo+3.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a>I've hit the skids. It all started when my friend <a href="http://www.facebookportraitproject.com/" target="_blank">Hollander</a> showed up last week and fried some of her Vietnamese spring rolls made with ground chicken. No wait. It all started Christmas Eve when Groom and I went to <a href="http://www.sundayriver.com/Documents/Menus/SR_Camp_Menu_limited.pdf" target="_blank">Camp</a> and ate cheeseburgers, french fries, sweet potato tater tots, and if I recall correctly some kind of yummy chicken. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iwRXPRMiBDA/UssNx9KyXTI/AAAAAAAABaQ/iJzvy57-Yb4/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iwRXPRMiBDA/UssNx9KyXTI/AAAAAAAABaQ/iJzvy57-Yb4/s1600/photo+1.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-exQb07CYkA8/UssN0RIQsFI/AAAAAAAABac/q_RrnIIhi9Y/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-exQb07CYkA8/UssN0RIQsFI/AAAAAAAABac/q_RrnIIhi9Y/s1600/photo+2.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a>What I'm trying to say is there has been nothing vegan-ish about me for about two weeks. I mean, sure, I roasted some brussels sprouts for a snack instead of reaching for Doritos (which I ended up eating later in the week anyway so I don't know who I was trying to fool), and okay I cooked up a soba noodle soup with vegetable broth and broiled tofu triangles. Of course, I made some quinoa with brussels sprouts and cranberries and it was good. And, yeah, I even made a polenta something with tomatoes and a slightly sour tomato sauce that I thought was disgusting but Groom ate with gusto.<br />
<br />
But those moments were fewer and farther between as I snacked on whatever I wanted. I did avoid Christmas cookies (I'm sorry...<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/9/9e/Ennio_Morricone-The_Good%2C_The_Bad_And_The_Ugly.ogg" target="_blank"><i>holiday</i> cookies</a>) of all types but I fell prey to dessert at Camp (more than once) and lobster rolls from the <a href="http://www.biteintomaine.com/" target="_blank">Bite into Maine</a> food truck, located at the top of North Peak at <a href="http://sundayriver.com/" target="_blank">Sunday River</a> where you can also purchase tall boys of Bud Heavy, which I did more than once, and finally on New Year's Eve, I stopped pretending altogether and ate roast beef and cheesecake. That's an understatement. I devoured roast beef and cheesecake and then practically smeared that sweet sweet deliciousness all over my body in some sort of carnal ritual of joy. In return, in some sort of cholesterol ritual of revenge, that roast beef and cheesecake smeared itself all over my innards.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2xmdWMBt3lA/UssN-jWZC_I/AAAAAAAABas/eYhWFdr7o44/s1600/photo.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2xmdWMBt3lA/UssN-jWZC_I/AAAAAAAABas/eYhWFdr7o44/s1600/photo.PNG" height="133" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NYE: my mouth is full of meat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XfL4UCWqbdA/UssN5QaBmcI/AAAAAAAABak/DqpJz-NbF5A/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XfL4UCWqbdA/UssN5QaBmcI/AAAAAAAABak/DqpJz-NbF5A/s1600/photo+4.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">aw. bite me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Like <a href="http://youtu.be/TdUsyXQ8Wrs" target="_blank">Attack of the Blob</a>, I continued to eat my way through through town. Pub cheese and crackers, pieces of cheese by themselves, half a bag of Doritos, and a plate of french fries with a terribly necessary bloody mary on New Year's Day. The day when most people decide they will start eating right.<br />
<br />
Every morning, I would wake up and say to myself, "Today is day one. You're starting over. You can do this."<br />
<br />
At the end of the night, I would say, "Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow is day one. You're starting over. You can do this."<br />
<br />
On January 2, I woke up with something in my eye. Just...something...right at the inside corner of my left eye. I did all the tricks you do when you have something in your eye. I held my eye under the shower. I tried to make myself cry (not a difficult feat since I was suffering from post-alcohol depression, monthly lady time, and the after-effects of too much processed foods). I pulled my upper eyelid down over my lower eyelid. I held my forefinger and middle finger over the corners of my eye and blew out my nose. I squirted Visine.<br />
<br />
Nothing worked. I looked at my eye in the mirror only to discover that the thing that was in my eye? It was the skin from around my eye. My eyes were so puffy, the skin around my eye was pressing into my eye socket.<br />
<br />
I checked my face. I had acne on my chin--something I hadn't seen since I removed all animal and animal-related products from my diet. <br />
<br />
I looked down at my belly. It protruded above my belt like I was entering my second trimester.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://youtu.be/yd8qQrVLfik" target="_blank">I had puffed to a new size</a>. I was a mess. Having one entirely vegan day was proving impossible. And, to make matters worse, I was convincing myself that since french fries are technically vegan, I could eat them.<br />
<br />
All the people, including <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/12/recovery.html" target="_blank">Dr. Nice</a>, who made comments about how I wasn't <i>really</i> a vegetarian because I had only started this past August...all those people I sneered at and got defensive toward...they were all in the right. <br />
<br />
So, I started again. Some oatmeal with ground flaxseed for breakfast. A fruit smoothie for lunch. Vegan enchiladas with black beans and acorn squash for supper. A few almonds for a snack. <br />
And then I would have cheesecake. I don't even like cheesecake.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5XJTRwRwAMQ/UssOBCPRuRI/AAAAAAAABaw/smzJnTYP3fo/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5XJTRwRwAMQ/UssOBCPRuRI/AAAAAAAABaw/smzJnTYP3fo/s1600/photo+5.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">delicious piggy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My most recent <a href="http://youtu.be/f87uNktSKBI" target="_blank">Kryptonite</a> [sorry, that's a weirdly creepy clip]? A visit with Groom's parents. A pork crown roasted with vegetables that stewed in all the yummy meatiness served with a side of sausage stuffing and an almond pound cake for dessert. With creamy cream cream for good measure. I am still drunk from those fatty, delicious foods. <br />
<br />
I once lived with a woman who was so addicted to drugs, she would grind any and everything up, just to shoot it up her nose. I recall seeing aspirin go up her nose and I thought, I'll never be that person.<br />
<br />
But you know what? I am that person. If there were a plate with leftover buttery bread crumbs near me, I would lick it. <br />
<br />
Today is day one. I had oatmeal for breakfast while the family ate scrambled eggs, leftover stuffing, and brioche with butter. For lunch, I quietly skipped the shrimp broiled with panko and oil. I pushed past the baguette that had been broiled with butter and gorgonzola. I was satisfied with a simple salad with pears and avocado.<br />
<br />
Now, I have discovered we have reservations for dinner at <a href="http://deuxave.com/" target="_blank">Deuxave</a>. <a href="http://deuxave.com/wp-content/uploads/downloads/2013/12/Dinner-Menu1.pdf" target="_blank">Here</a>. <a href="http://deuxave.com/" target="_blank">This is where we're having dinner</a>. All the meat and truffles (which aren't vegan because of the pigs or something) and butter. And, oh yes my friends. <i>This</i> little piggy will definitely eat the beef and go weee weee weeeeeee all the way home.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow is day one.onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-72754149183444711182013-12-24T13:03:00.002-05:002013-12-24T13:03:35.430-05:00the priceI've mentioned it before and I'll mention it again: When I get too excited for something, <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2012/06/its-just-number.html" target="_blank">I start to think it probably won't happen</a>. This defense mechanism has been in place for as long as I can remember... sold-out movies, closed restaurants, and no-shows at birthday parties. I'm not complaining about this. I'm certain everyone has seen their fair share of disappointment, and in the grand scheme of things, I'm a bit of an asshole to complain about a canceled bowling trip in 1975 when other people have suffered far, far worse.<br />
<br />
But, that's who I am. When I'm excited about something, and it looks like it might really happen, I get <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2012/08/heart-attack.html" target="_blank">super anxious and have even suffered full panic attacks</a>. Once I've regained my composure and realized that, even with the panic attack, the wonderful thing I want to happen is really, really going to happen, I go into full defense and assume something terrible will happen to me or to someone I love, as a form of payment to stabilize the see-saw between good and bad. I'd say I owe a pound of flesh and all that, but I don't know. I'm not comfortable with that reference. I think that's more of a revenge thing, but Courtney Love distorted it. Am I allowed to allude to a pound of flesh if I am thinking of <a href="http://youtu.be/O3dWBLoU--E" target="_blank">Hole</a> and not <a href="http://youtu.be/gSUuczZcUaU" target="_blank">Merchant of Venice</a>? You know what? I'm not sure I really understand what any of it means in a metaphorical sense, but the following has always made sense to me in its literal meaning, and it relates not one ducat to what I'm talking about here.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Because you bought them: shall I say to you,<br />Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?<br />Why sweat they under burdens? let their beds<br />Be made as soft as yours and let their palates<br />Be season'd with your food? You will answer<br />'The slaves are ours:' so do I answer you:<br />The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,<br />Is dearly bought;</span><span style="font-size: x-small;">'tis mine and I will have it.</span></blockquote>
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10202142169011656&type=1&l=468194540c" target="_blank">Our kitchen is almost complete</a>. Secretly, I've been working with the notion that my back surgery is karmic payment for such a wonderful and gorgeous room in the house where I live. But, our contractor/builder/worker/thinker Nate Schrock is doing such a fantastic job, I am now convinced my back surgery isn't enough payment.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wej1Snm6zQc/UrmuhGmAjfI/AAAAAAAABZY/Iu_4vpFi6Fk/s1600/xray.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wej1Snm6zQc/UrmuhGmAjfI/AAAAAAAABZY/Iu_4vpFi6Fk/s320/xray.jpeg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cadaver bone, mending nicely</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have some super nice internal bling. There's a strong chance I will have some adjacent segment disease. I overcame a wee infection and some swollen weirdness on my neck. It still hurts like a sonofabitch, but the tingling sensation in my left hand is long gone. The scar isn't nearly as badass as I had hoped it would be. And, according to Dr. Nice, I'm on track for normal recovery. He even suggested I might be able to ski in as soon as a month or so, if I promise to be careful. <br />
<br />
In short, I didn't suffer this back surgery. What I mean is, I kept as positive a spin on it as I could. Groom will disagree vehemently. He has definitely suffered my whiny, bitchy, grumpy, and for the love of all that's holy let me out of the house recovery.<br />
<br />
Wait. Is it possible Groom is paying the price for the kitchen?<br />
<br />
And, now that I think about it, do I owe <i>him</i> a pound of flesh? onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-90878670014246873802013-12-23T14:53:00.003-05:002013-12-23T14:53:38.713-05:00Places to find the recipesSorry I haven't posted in a while. I've been trying to get through a pile of freelance work and felt guilty updating this blog when I had other deadlines (or rather...<i>have</i>...other deadlines hanging over my head), but it's Christmas week and who the hell works over Christmas week, except the people in restaurants, retail stores, shopping websites, shipping establishments, resorts, hospitals, and convenience stores. And, of course, the people who don't actually celebrate Christmas, like non-Christians. And me.<br />
<br />
I went shopping with Groom last week as the bagger grabbed another plastic bag (yeah, we forgot our reusable bags so what) for our many, many items, I said, "I can't believe how much food we bought!"<br />
<br />
And he was like, "Well, you must be having a big party!"<br />
<br />
"Nope! We don't celebrate Christmas!"<br />
<br />
This guy--who reminded me of a cross between <a href="http://dailypicksandflicks.com/2013/11/17/snl-weekend-update-jebidiah-atkinson/" target="_blank">Jebidiah Atkinson on SNL</a> and <a href="http://youtu.be/gITqv-VRkoI" target="_blank">Lou Todd on Little Britain</a> (You really have to squint your eyes to get there, but smoosh those two people together and you have a bagger at an IGA in a small town in Maine)--this guy, his face screwed up into such an awesome mixture of confusion, shock, and pity. "Whaaaa...t??"<br />
<br />
As we were leaving, I couldn't help myself and I wished him a Merry Christmas. And he said:<br />
<br />
"Thank you! Merry....uh...have a good...um..."<br />
<br />
And then he looked down at his feet. <br />
<br />
I'm such a jerk. This is the same place where I noticed the cashier's voice was super raspy so I said, "Oh, it sounds like you're getting over a cold!" To which, she replied, "I had throat cancer and needed radiation. My voice always sounds like this."<br />
<br />
And I said, "Con...grat...u...lations...?"<br />
<br />
So, I imagine I'm probably a beloved fixture in this community. And, I can't find it, but I'm certain I've told that story already.<br />
<br />
Back to all the food I bought at the local IGA. My plan was to cook up a storm during the ice storm. Instead, I slid my way to <a href="http://youtu.be/TBbEyFg3NdM" target="_blank">a friend's</a> condo on the mountain and drank way too much wine, stayed way beyond my welcome, and spent the entire next day in the fetal position thinking about the buttercream frosting she makes for her delicious cupcakes and realizing the only thing that might get me out of the fetal position was access to more of that buttercream. (I know buttercream isn't vegan. I had only a little. <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/10/and-it-was-worth-it.html" target="_blank">And it was totally worth it</a>.)<br />
<br />
Now I have a bunch of food that needs cooking. I scan websites and blogs all the time for yummy recipes. I figure it's only fair I share the names of them here. And, I can find maybe 75% of the necessary ingredients at my local IGA, so dinner turns into kind of an educational scavenger hunt. Which is fun. During an ice storm.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://thugkitchen.com/" target="_blank">Thug Kitchen</a><br />
<span id="goog_1344595712"></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1344595713"></span>
This guy cooks up some really yummy, mostly vegan recipes. What I love about this site is that he makes it all seem so easy. He's got this "don't worry about it" approach to cooking and his language is so foul. I love it. Today, I'm making the tamale pie to test drive it before people come over next week. For my guests, I'll have sour cream and cheese available. I'm not mean. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.100daysofrealfood.com/" target="_blank">100 Days of Real Food</a><br />
Although this isn't a vegan site, there are some awesome recipes and ways to cut processed food from your diet. My friend MoMo of <a href="http://www.momunchgranola.com/" target="_blank">Three Daughters Cookie Company</a> is taking the <a href="http://www.100daysofrealfood.com/take-the-10-day-pledge/" target="_blank">10-day pledge</a> after the new year; I'm eager to hear more about it. For what it's worth, MoMo whipped up a batch of raw kelp noodle pad thai for me last week. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. And, while I was visiting with her, she took three catering jobs, pulled together a basket of <a href="http://www.momunchgranola.com/" target="_blank">MoMunch Granola</a> for a client, baked a coffee cake and a bundt cake for the local coffee shop, consoled a relative over the phone, and picked up her daughter from school. She is a machine and she has <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2012/09/not-on-boat.html" target="_blank">the loveliest family ever</a>. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://mywholefoodlife.com/" target="_blank">My Whole Food Life</a><br />
I use recipes out of here all the time. The <a href="http://mywholefoodlife.com/2013/02/18/pecan-pie-larabars/" target="_blank">pecan pie larabars</a> are super easy and an excellent sweet treat.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.eatgood4life.com/" target="_blank">EatGoodFood4Life</a><br />
I lived on the <a href="http://www.eatgood4life.com/almond-butter-and-banana-granola-bars/" target="_blank">almond butter banana granola bars</a> for the entire month of October. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.goop.com/recipes" target="_blank">goop</a><br />
Yeah, I know. I can't stand Gwyneth Paltrow, but this site is worth it. My friend Darcy turned me on to it and even I had to let go of my "Gwyneth is an elitist" mentality. I'm a fan of the <a href="http://www.goop.com/recipes/seafood/broiled-balsamic-salmon" target="_blank">broiled balsamic salmon</a>.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.thespunkycoconut.com/" target="_blank">The Spunky Coconut</a><br />
The fact that this site has the word spunk in its name totally outweighs the fact that they identify themselves as paleo. Paleo is the new macrobiotic, right?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://veganmonologue.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Vegan Monologue</a><br />
Good recipes. Excellent name. And, mama like the drunken noodle.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://markbittman.com/" target="_blank">Mark Bittman</a><br />
Thank you Mark Bittman for the <a href="http://markbittman.com/dinner-with-bittman-warm-chickpea-salad-with/" target="_blank">arugula and chickpea salad</a>. Thank you.<br />
<br />
And for cookbooks, I've been leaning on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Vegan-Cooking-Carnivores-Recipes-Tasty/dp/1609412427" target="_blank">Vegan Cooking for Carnivores</a> (but I'm starting to shy away from trying to fake meat recipes but I am making their tofu spread today), <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Veganomicon-The-Ultimate-Vegan-Cookbook/dp/156924264X" target="_blank">Veganomicon</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Vegan-Vengeance-Delicious-Animal-Free-Recipes/dp/1569243581" target="_blank">Vegan with a Vengeance</a> (like Thug Kitchen's guy, these ladies are just punks), and for special occasions <a href="http://www.ebay.com/itm/like/281219886177?lpid=82" target="_blank">Light and Healthy</a> by <a href="http://www.americastestkitchen.com/" target="_blank">America's Test Kitchen</a>, which is really fatty and yummy, just not <i>as</i> fatty and yummy as their normal stuff.<br />
<br />
I need to drink a glass of bourbon to outweigh this annoyingly earnest post about eating healthy. I'll get on that, right after I take this tablespoon of cod liver oil. You know. For my health. onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-46444021409962620652013-12-17T16:13:00.000-05:002013-12-17T21:12:22.238-05:00end of year listWho doesn't love an end-of-year list? Since my recovery from back surgery feels like it's been taking about a year, I've compiled a list of my top 15 discoveries. <br>
<ul>
</ul>
<ol>
<li>I talk to myself. <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/04/alot-is-better-than-you-at-everything.html" target="_blank">A lot</a>. And, I mean <a href="http://youtu.be/r_tlrt599bM" target="_blank">a lot</a>. </li>
<li>I have an amazingly gracious and generous pile of family and friends.</li>
<li>I am terrible about writing thank you notes. </li>
<li>I am not very good at taking showers every day.</li>
<li>Groom is very good about not mentioning that I'm not very good at taking showers every day. </li>
<li>Reality television is vapid, insipid, and vitriolic. </li>
<li>I love reality television.</li>
<li>I do not have a single female friend resembling any of the <a href="http://youtu.be/0ZIL-t6jPV8">Real Housewives</a>.</li>
<li>I like to spend my spare time thinking of celebrity doppelgangers for my friends. If you are reading this and we are friends, it's very likely I have come up with a doppelganger for you. </li>
<li>My celebrity doppelganger is either <a href="http://www.biography.com/imported/images/Biography/Images/Profiles/C/Jane-Curtin-222399-1-402.jpg">Jane Curtin</a> or <a href="http://www.fanpix.net/picture-gallery/dianne-wiest-picture-14986813.htm">Dianne Wiest</a>.</li>
<li>I have a sit-in-bed shelf life of about seven days before I cannot watch another television show or movie, and I can no longer sit quietly and read a novel.</li>
<li>But, <a href="http://www.adrian-tomine.com/Booksandcomics.html" target="_blank">graphic novels</a> are always awesome. </li>
<li><a href="http://youtu.be/NVQmPmy392Y" target="_blank">I will sit and watch just about anything on YouTube</a>. </li>
<li><a href="http://youtu.be/o7eMH8QoMZk" target="_blank">Parker Posey</a> is excellent in everything she does. </li>
<li><a href="http://youtu.be/8d55I2hSSTM" target="_blank">I love Jennifer Lawrence</a>. </li>
</ol>
<ul>
</ul>
<a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/11/surgical-precision-indecision.html" target="_blank">The scar on my neck</a> is healing up nicely and isn't nearly as badass as I had hoped. I head into my post-op follow-up tomorrow and I'm hoping <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/12/off-drugs-high-on-life.html" target="_blank">Dr. Nice</a> says something like, "Your recovery is miraculous! You can go back to work full-time! I hear <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151829308807876&set=a.10150582338782876.376524.52540077875&type=1&theater" target="_blank">Sunday River has gotten over a foot of new snow</a> this week! Go skiing any time you want! Now get out of here, you scamp!" (And, yes, I now have him messing up my hair by rubbing the top of my head.)<br>
<br>
What he's likely to say is, "Hmmmm....things look pretty good here. You're feeling okay? Okay. Well. Great. Let's stay on this. Give us a call if you experience any new pain or symptoms. NEXT!"<br>
<br>
And I will leave the office, get in my car, pull onto the highway, think about the doctor's appointment, and punch the steering wheel because I forgot to ask when I can start working out again. <br>
<br>
Heh-heh. That's ridiculous. I won't <i>forget</i> to ask.<br>
<br>
Bonus track:<br>
16. I have indicated otherwise, but I am not looking forward to working out again. onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-14993625632305031532013-12-12T11:59:00.000-05:002013-12-12T11:59:09.979-05:00off the drugs, high on life<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PSdyileiInk/UqnXcRvonTI/AAAAAAAABYs/P_JLxDik63I/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PSdyileiInk/UqnXcRvonTI/AAAAAAAABYs/P_JLxDik63I/s200/photo.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite smoothie: <br />juiced apple<br />banana<br />almond butter<br />flax seed<br />one ice cube</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Enough of this lazing about, drinking smoothies, and watching TV. I went back to work this week. Since I work from home, it's not as challenging for me as it would be for someone who has to shower, dress, drive to the office, and sit at the computer all day trying to get some work done while people stop by and ask how they're feeling. Those people, the ones who work in an office, have to wait...I don't know...three weeks before they can return? Something like that.<br />
<br />
Overall, things are going well. I had some weird swelling that made me look like I had a goiter on my neck. I took a picture and sent it to my friend who works at spine doctor's office and, get this, <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/12/recovery.html">Dr. Nice</a> called me <i>himself</i> to talk about it. That's the second time he's called me directly. I've never talked to a doctor on the phone before. Ever. And now I've talked to a doctor twice over the phone and not because I insisted I talk to him but because he called me. #mindblown <br />
<br />
Now I'm taking these giant antibiotic horse pills that smell like...sorry, I have to say it...diarrhea. I'm supposed to take them four times a day, which translates to every six hours, but there's no way in hell I'm getting up at 6am to take a pill, unless that pill is a painkiller (I mean, come on, right?) so I'm taking as many as I can while I am awake, which is sometimes four, sometimes three. But, the lump, which was the size of a small fig is now the size of a pea. It's always food, isn't it? Is that to make the grossness and bad news more relatable and friendly? Is it misdirection, like a magician...I mean <a href="http://youtu.be/xMRA0r92iac">illusionist</a>?<br />
<br />
"Sir, you have a tumor the size of a lemon." I love lemonade!<br />
"Your cyst is the size of a melon." Let's meet for brunch!<br />
"We detected a growth the size of a grape." What do you say to some wine?<br />
<br />
I feel like I may have stolen that riff from <a href="http://www.npr.org/programs/specials/lists/sedaris/">David Sedaris</a>. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xq5oyBEkYb8/UqnXauJl69I/AAAAAAAABYg/HLDQhBtTtI8/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xq5oyBEkYb8/UqnXauJl69I/AAAAAAAABYg/HLDQhBtTtI8/s200/photo+3.JPG" width="149" /></a>I stopped wearing the cervical collar over a week ago, so I no longer try to reenact <a href="http://youtu.be/k3UWT6JzMAQ?t=11s">Joan Cusack's water fountain scene in Sixteen Candles</a>, and I'll admit I snapped a shot of myself for a friend when I realized how difficult it was for me to eat a bowl of nuts and berries I had procured for a snack and had to balance precariously on my lady shelf.<br />
<br />
I still have surgical tape residue stuck to my neck (gross) and <a href="http://youtu.be/B8pOmrRAetk?t=8s">I'm having some difficulty swallowing</a>. I'm assuming it's from the <span class="st">endotracheal</span> they shove down your throat when you have surgery. I, of course, have been referring to it as intubation, only because I watched ER every single Thursday night in the '90s. I used to wait tables at <a href="http://www.thegoodtablerestaurant.net/">The Good Table</a> (speaking of brunch) with a regular Thursday night shift. I would drive home after work before my friend Linnea, who also worked at The Good Table, would drive over in her shitty ass Saab (sorry Linnea) and we would head to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Amigos-Mexican-Restaurant/183457594505?rf=179649202046321">Amigo's</a> for the long haul. She showed up one Thursday night and I ran down to the door and waved at her to come inside. I was watching the episode from the first season where this adorable couple comes into the ER because the very pregnant wife has a UTI but it turns out she has eclampsia--what killed [Downton Abbey SPOILER ALERT] <a href="http://youtu.be/GdXHomva97k">Sybil</a>--and I was visibly sobbing when I opened the door to my building. <br />
<br />
"What's wrong??" she asked from the street.<br />
<br />
"She's dying!" I shouted before leaving the door ajar and running back up the stairs.<br />
<br />
For those of you who are too young to remember when <a href="http://youtu.be/CMpS1NwwyYM">ER was the most exhausting show to watch</a> because so much happened at once--or, for that matter, for those of you who don't remember the show ER at all--it's sort of like Grey's Anatomy with more action and less...<a href="http://youtu.be/Dy3oRrsHQro">mcdreamysteamy</a>. The hottest guy on the show was <a href="http://youtu.be/AYL-WRVHWvI">George Clooney</a> and let's face it. He's funny and all, but he isn't the <a href="http://youtu.be/JS4GC-qL9As?t=25s">be-all and end-all</a>.<br />
<br />
But, <a href="http://youtu.be/lHJTo5lyTV0">this episode</a>...<a href="http://youtu.be/OWdVGXVgKWg">jeez louise</a>.... It's almost 20 years later and I still remember it so vividly. I even remember the husband was played by <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0925966/">Bradley Whitford</a>, but that could be because I remembered him from <a href="http://youtu.be/E6IG3_CXsYc?t=10s">Revenge of the Nerds II</a>.<br />
<br />
Yes, I can see what I wrote there. Yes. Revenge of the Nerds II. The sequel. Yup. And I just realized <a href="http://jenautos.awardspace.com/drama/ww/timothybusfield.jpg">the guy from Thirtysomething</a> who played <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i7nBUrYqDwI&feature=share&list=PLDhV9PIQR1-6hONfLJoV0nQ9jCjUnmS7g&index=1">CJ's boyfriend on West Wing</a>, the show where <a href="http://youtu.be/tbRphrgQH1U">Bradley Whitford played Josh</a>, was one of the <a href="http://youtu.be/ljR3Pf_0Q20">lead nerds</a>. I feel much better after working that out. <br />
<br />
Side note: Why are people still making <a href="http://youtu.be/_rq5Jb932Sg">tribute videos to ER</a>? <br />
<br />
Second side note: <a href="http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/cm/goodhousekeeping/images/GO/ghk-bradley-whitford-0710-s3-medium_new.jpg">What happened to Bradley Whitford's face?</a><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uO_qWInxCec/UqnXbbRl51I/AAAAAAAABYw/bqjuqY1KLZU/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uO_qWInxCec/UqnXbbRl51I/AAAAAAAABYw/bqjuqY1KLZU/s200/photo+1.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sad delicious cake</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What were were talking about? Right. I'm off the Oxy and I'm back to work, part time. I can handle sitting at the computer for about two hours (with breaks). Otherwise, my back gets <a href="http://youtu.be/-VqjfU0R32I">all kinds of angry</a> with me. I took a break from work yesterday and took a walk instead--about 1/4 of a mile, but it was freaking freezing out and most of it was uphill. Both ways.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z69fLxp61nA/UqnXanquNaI/AAAAAAAABYk/sizUARF5l98/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z69fLxp61nA/UqnXanquNaI/AAAAAAAABYk/sizUARF5l98/s200/photo+2.JPG" width="200" /></a>I strayed from the <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-list-post.html">vegan nonsense</a> while I was <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/11/surgical-precision-indecision.html">recovering from surgery</a>--I ate scrambled eggs and my in-laws visited and cooked up some scallops in butter with cake for dessert--but for the most part I'm sticking to the plan. What bums me out is that I had a perfect excuse to eat what I wanted and the Oxy made everything taste like a tin can. Not fair. Now that I can taste things, it's lentils and chickpeas again. Which are admittedly delicious if you add kale that's been sauteed in coconut oil with a giant spoonful of mango chutney plopped next to them. But, I would still choose cake <a href="http://youtu.be/MyyJwRzi1Mc">4 out of 5 times</a>.<br />
<br />
For the record, this post took me three days. I might need more recovery time. I think I'll take Groom's most recent advice. <a href="http://www.videoblocks.com/videos/details/auto-tire-squeal-brakes-automobile-car/">Literally</a>. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-39IVZa198mE/UqnkqAnhvhI/AAAAAAAABZA/PqAOTidkRwk/s1600/brakes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="83" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-39IVZa198mE/UqnkqAnhvhI/AAAAAAAABZA/PqAOTidkRwk/s320/brakes.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com89tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-69204540264550819702013-12-10T14:11:00.002-05:002013-12-10T14:11:37.242-05:00new lookI hope this doesn't disorient people, but I changed the look of the blog. That mountain in the background didn't really apply anymore since I achieved <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2012/06/on-plus-side.html">my goal to build my strength up</a> and the bright blue was starting to bum me out. A former co-worker and, now dare I say it, friend Jimmy asked me to give <a href="http://jimmysteak.wordpress.com/">his super sweet blog</a> a quick review and I remembered how much I prefer white space. His blog is nice and clean. And since he's the catalyst for this change, he deserves a shout.<br />
<br />
I look forward to reading about his adventures this winter. Plus, his girlfriend is named Jorie, which made my friend Tanya of <a href="http://mylovelysentences.wordpress.com/">My Lovely Sentences</a> remark that perhaps Jimmy's girlfriend is named after <a href="http://www.joriegraham.com/">Jorie Graham</a>, a poet I had never heard of so I looked her up and read <a href="http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-way-things-work/">this particular poem</a> first and it made me think of boating and fishing and marriage and pragmatism all at once. And I fell in love.<br />
<br />
Speaking of pragmatism, looking at Jimmy and Tanya's blogs, I'm starting to think I should have gone with Wordpress. I did zero research before starting this blog. I just started typing. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://youtu.be/gBzJGckMYO4">And that's all, folks.</a><br />
<br />
Well, not really. I'm too lazy to look up whether it's supposed to be "Jimmy's and Tanya's blogs" or "Jimmy and Tanya's blogs," and "the blogs by Jimmy and Tanya" is just too much. So, can I get a pass from the grammar police if it's incorrect? Thanks.<br />
<br />
<br />onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-46349213642269980962013-12-04T14:49:00.000-05:002013-12-04T14:49:05.832-05:00I shouldn't be doing thisThis post goes out to all the people who have had <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/12/recovery.html">surgery</a> and need to sit quietly. I'm a huge fan of crawling into bed and watching whatever Netflix has to offer. I typically choose a genre or an actor and run with it for days. I've seen every episode of Weeds, Breaking Bad, Black Adder (including that horrible <a href="http://youtu.be/Ptm8agr5DV0">time travel one</a>), Doctor Who, Charmed (yeah, whatever, shut up--and I tried to look up the funniest Charmed scene, but all clips were, like, 4-6 minutes long, which leads me to believe that Charmed fans are crazy, so double shut up), Touched by an Angel (see Charmed), <a href="http://youtu.be/MDNYLhr4o7w">The Office</a> (and I know that blooper clip I just linked is 18 minutes long, but I could watch Office bloopers all day, which makes me realize just how crazed Charmed and Touched by an Angel fans really are), Mad Men, Rome, The Sopranos, anything with <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/05/i-can-work-ryan-gosling-into-any.html">Ryan Gosling</a> (except The Notebook, can't do it), anything with <a href="http://youtu.be/3hNxemBIz-g">Steve Carell</a> (here's <a href="http://youtu.be/g3Kl46zwsU8">part two</a> of the clip I link to his name), every Mission Impossible, Iron Man 1, 2, & 3, The Avengers, Captain America, every Hulk movie, and a really depressing black comedy called <a href="http://youtu.be/V3xhMOXT1Z8">Visioneers</a> with Zach Galifianakis, who is perfectly cast in that part but seeing him also reminded me with great joy that my brother bought me a <a href="http://youtu.be/70yqithPgcY">dickie</a> as a get well present. <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2012/09/yet-another-excuse.html">My bout with pneumonia</a> has ruined all streaming period dramas I can find on Netflix, but I continue to look for ones I haven't seen, such as the Billie Piper movie version of <a href="http://youtu.be/qZ9y4QUOqRY">Mansfield Park</a> (as opposed to the <a href="http://youtu.be/oW1iLzHeG1s">Frances O'Connor</a> version, which I had already seen, and not to be confused with the <a href="http://youtu.be/KW4_i7KPj4o">BBC series from the early '80s</a>). <a href="http://youtu.be/9847_BEaLlM">Billie Piper</a> also happens to play Doctor Who's companion when the absolutely wonderful <a href="http://youtu.be/bRBQZdBqoOU">Christopher Eccleston</a> was the Doctor. She's carried throughout the series and showed up as The Moment's conscience in the <a href="http://youtu.be/7z6FMCqYrBo">50th anniversary episode</a>, which I had to watch twice because I was so hopped up on pain meds, I couldn't figure out why there were three Doctors and why they were all locked in the Tower of London together.<br />
<br />
Wow. I totally <a href="http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/kerouac-spontaneous.html">Jack Kerouac'ed that intro paragraph</a>.<br />
<br />
And, I just <a href="http://youtu.be/ng6uz8VMC3k">turned a name into a verb</a>.<br />
<br />
I am <a href="http://youtu.be/OXSc5AlEk88">boooooooored</a>. And I'm not supposed to be sitting up, never mind typing on a laptop, so if you know Groom or see him in the halls, don't mention this post to him. I just want to get back to work or go do something. Oxycodone makes me really restless, but my brain gets so goofy, I can't really do anything. I totally tore apart a flower arrangement the other day because I couldn't sit still and I can't leave the house.<br />
<br />
Groom is a saint, dealing with the dog every morning, coming home to make lunch, walking the dog in the afternoon, going grocery shopping, dealing with the laundry, making dinner, walking the dog after supper, and then sitting with me to watch reruns of <a href="http://youtu.be/1TphEh0Qgv0">Arrested Development</a> until he falls asleep--god, he must be so bored with his life right now. Every time I walk up from my basement recovery room, I have flashes of <a href="http://youtu.be/1TphEh0Qgv0">Boo Radley</a> ("Hi Boo!") and <a href="http://youtu.be/WBEiYPZGlwY">Flowers in the Attic</a>. I'm this person secreted away and not talked about. If someone named <a href="http://youtu.be/-pDbjVrwLVg">Jane Eyre</a> ("I must shut up my prize.") shows up, or more appropriately and even worse, if someone named <a href="http://youtu.be/-Ttx6pYQOpU">Mattie Silver</a> shows up, I might lose my mind entirely. Lordy. We have the <a href="http://youtu.be/ky_ZXy4uA90">snow for sledding</a> and Groom has an <a href="http://youtu.be/aFjItH6oV1k?t=29s">Ethan Frome limp</a> already. Hm.<br />
<br />
All right. I have to sign off. I overdid it the other day, which means I walked the dog, I sat up for too long, and I received a visitor. That was too much. Yesterday, I slept until 1:00 in the afternoon and was running a fever by 6:30. I'll admit I was in pain and therefore I was unable to meet my goal to be off the Oxy by yesterday. Today, I'm just taking Tylenol. Yeah. These crazy ramblings are coming from a sober person.<br />
<br />
This is what recovery really looks like. Nobody talks about the boredom.onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-90093281914406448332013-12-01T15:15:00.001-05:002013-12-01T22:48:12.866-05:00recovery<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L7tzLmXZl8o/UpuMwiqo6PI/AAAAAAAABXo/dYlD_efcz14/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L7tzLmXZl8o/UpuMwiqo6PI/AAAAAAAABXo/dYlD_efcz14/s200/photo+1.JPG" width="150"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">after drugs</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cATOrJ5WPX0/UpuNgHfFEBI/AAAAAAAABYE/OHWbM4uYZ7w/s1600/frown.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cATOrJ5WPX0/UpuNgHfFEBI/AAAAAAAABYE/OHWbM4uYZ7w/s200/frown.JPG" width="137"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">before drugs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm slightly <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-other-side.html">more coherent today</a> because I'm <a href="http://youtu.be/Y--KHIey-xo">weening</a> off the pain meds and all. (The song I linked there is more appropriate for what I'm talking about, but I want to share <a href="http://youtu.be/VKQxyygBie0">my favorite Ween song</a> as well. Gets me every time.)<br>
<br>
Let's talk about surgery, shall we? Hmm? I've never been put under and with the exception of a a few (eight, to be exact) pieces of my cervix being removed when I was in my early 30s, I've never had any major procedures done.<br>
<br>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2kj4Jg8jbTs/UpuMxnXDZ5I/AAAAAAAABXw/G0Tl5Is6VDw/s1600/caroline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2kj4Jg8jbTs/UpuMxnXDZ5I/AAAAAAAABXw/G0Tl5Is6VDw/s200/caroline.jpg" width="200"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">out of my league</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Right now, I feel like I've been in a car accident. Actually, I feel the way I did after I was showing off with some friends and skiing at mach 10 (which is like, mach 1 for people like <a href="http://youtu.be/t9Rrxpholrs">Lindsey Vonn</a>). Three of us were racing down the hill, cutting each other off, and jumping into muck on the sides of the trails. I don't generally do that. I'm a huge fan of Safety First--just ask anyone who hung out with me from 1998 to 2003. I believe my "Safety First!" alter ego's name was Pat Sanderson. If you ask me to dust that character off sometime, I promise I will. All I need are some fake teeth and a closely-cropped wig, preferably dirty blonde in color.<br>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dBuIHFmQPSA/UpuMwZmlSHI/AAAAAAAABXk/C1hMDaZvaqA/s1600/devivo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dBuIHFmQPSA/UpuMwZmlSHI/AAAAAAAABXk/C1hMDaZvaqA/s200/devivo.jpg" width="200"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">look at devivo's smile though</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
I digress. I jumped into some muck behind my friend Caroline, a carefree and daring skier. While she bailed immediately because the snow was super cruddy, I carried on like a champ and went <a href="http://youtu.be/y_mze_IhM4A">ass over teakettle</a>. I never dumped any speed, so I did a tumble/cartwheel at the same rate as the person skiing next to me. (<a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-other-side.html">The DeVivo I mention in this post here</a>.) Other than a little smack to the ego, I was fine, but I couldn't walk for days. That's what I feel like now.<br>
<br>
If you're headed into surgery soon and you're looking for some advice about how to act and what to expect, you may or may not have come to the right place.<br>
<br>
Here are some tips I got from other people:<br>
<ul>
<li>Drink plenty of water. (I failed.)</li>
<li>Don't drink any water, and I mean NONE, for at least eight hours before going under the knife. (Success! But then the anesthesiologist nurse couldn't find a vein for my IV and I now have a bruise the size of a sand dollar on my left hand.) </li>
<li>Don't drink alcohol for a few days prior to the procedure. (I failed miserably and instead got so stinking drunk with some friends that I think I may have tried to make out with <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2012/06/making-amends.html">Little Miss Bounce a Quarter</a>. Not entirely sure.)</li>
<li>Eat plenty of fiber prior to the surgery and after the surgery. (Success!) Seriously. Just do it. An apple, raspberry, banana, flaxseed smoothie with a side of dried figs may not appeal to you, but trust me when I tell you it is far more appealing than what will happen if you don't eat a lot of fiber. I heard a horrific story involving a baby spoon--in the interest of privacy, I won't reveal who told me that story, but I am related to that person. <a href="http://youtu.be/92NpzXXpQtg">I have not had those issues. </a></li>
<li>Explain to the anesthesiologist that you suffer from motion sickness if, in fact, you do suffer from motion sickness. There is no room for stoicism in the operating room. (Fail! And I suffered the consequences, as did the nurses, PAs, medical associates, and my fellow patients in the recovery room. It's the only moment I was aware of my surroundings while still dosed and it was very unpleasant.)</li>
<li>Try not to tell your doctor you think he's dreamy while under medication. (I have no idea what my success rate is. I do recall him standing over me after I vomited and I seem to recall he grabbed my shin and gave it a little shake, which could mean "Oh, you're so drugged up, aren't you cute," or it could mean "Oh my god stop talking you lunatic." I fear it was the latter.) </li>
</ul>
That's it, really. Once they put the mask over your face, you just have to let go and let surgeon (because surgeon totally thinks he's god). I'm kidding. <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/11/surgical-precision-indecision.html">I don't think my surgeon had a god complex</a>, but I do know he was distractingly dreamy, and he's nice, which makes it worse. He's a nice guy. I hate that.<br>
<br>
His PA showed up after the surgery and I nearly fell out of the bed though. This PA, whose name was Dr. Valentine (Really? REALLY?!), was <a href="http://youtu.be/ZsrxwmV-h-o">suuuuuper dreamy</a>. He did a few tests to make sure my neurons or whatever were firing correctly. He ran his fingers down my arms and asked, "Do you feel any pain?" I enthusiastically shouted "No! I don't! No! No pain!!" He ran his fingers along my jaw. He tested the strength in my hands and wrists. And then he ran his finger down my inner thigh. "Can you feel that?"<br>
<br>
Here's where it gets dicey. I squeaked out a tiny little...<span style="font-size: x-small;">yes</span>. My friend Liana asked me, "Did you tell him <i>where</i> you felt it?"<br>
<br>
And that's why I want her to be around for the rest of my life.<br>
<br>
I instructed Groom to hand me back my wedding ring at that very moment. A little reminder for us all that looky is fine, but <a href="http://youtu.be/_LEJ6tZI7_k">no touching</a>.<br>
<br>
Next came the patient navigator whose sole purpose is to make sure you're comfortable. She will answer any questions you might have and make you feel special--something I already had going for me after Dr. Valentine (seriously) stopped by. The PN went over my chart and asked me some general questions, including "Have you ever taken Oxycodone?"<br>
<br>
I paused. I looked at my brother who sort of smirked at me. I looked at my hands. I finally told her, "I don't know how to answer that question." Of course I've had Oxycodone. I'm a member of the pill generation. Christ, I was drinking beer when I was 10 and taking speed at the age of 12. I forget what we called those speed pills. I wanna say we called them Valentines, but that might be my drugged brain looking for a sweet little connection.<br>
<br>
To the PN's credit, she shrugged it off and told me since I hadn't had any trouble with Oxycodone in the past (other than giggling myself into a puddle on my brother's couch one night), I probably wouldn't have any trouble with it now. <br>
<br>
Finally, the surgeon with the dreamy eyes came in and checked on me as well. After a quick review, he got a sweet and slightly mischievous look in his eye. I'm thinking...what? I looked down to make sure I had my wedding ring on. What?<br>
<br>
"Wanna go home?"<br>
<br>
F*CK YEAH! So, I didn't have to spend the night at the hospital. Bonus. I felt like I passed some really hard test.<br>
<br>
And then it all hit me. If you've never had surgery, this will be news to you. You're going to feel fine for a few days. I was ready to run a marathon. That's because you are so hopped up on pain meds and numbing agents, you don't know. You just don't know. I had the surgery on Tuesday. By Saturday, I was outside taking a walk. By Saturday night, I thought I was going to die. Just keep that in mind. It's all livable and I do not for one second regret having this procedure done, but the recovery is long, a little painful, and very boring. Part of me thinks they prescribe so many drugs in order to keep you docile and incapable of doing any damage with your bored self. <br>
<br>
This is like a short acknowledgements section here, I suppose. I told everyone to <a href="http://youtu.be/Au9_vfx6t6c">stay away from me</a> when I was headed into this surgery. I thought I was doing everyone a favor--making it so they don't have to deal with me and my weird back situation and grumpy nerves. I purposefully (purposely?) chose my surgery for this week, Thanksgiving week. I knew
people would be busy, and that was my way of letting them off the hook. <br>
<br>
My
brother, of course, bamboozled me and showed up anyway. He's just that guy. I was slightly irritated at first (and I know you'll read this, brother, so keep reading). In the end, I was extremely glad to see him. He was very helpful, especially since Groom was hiding a head cold and some serious tooth pain from me and probably needed the help. I think brother was in cahoots
with my friend Liana who hosted everyone the night before the surgery since
she lives about 30 minutes from Maine Med and her house is extremely dog
friendly so we could keep our Mr Magoo shell of a dog there (Thanks Don!).<br>
<br>
Even though I mentioned to anyone who asked that I didn't want people around me, I also mentioned that I wanted flowers. I love being surrounded by flowers, which is in direct contrast to the person I was when I was a teenager. I hated vases of flowers back then. These days? Bring it.<br>
<br>
I
was so pleased and tickled to see an orchid (with a clever note) from Joan, an
edible arrangement of fruit and kale (which was all turned into
smoothies) from the Brunos, giant flowers that I can never remember what
they're called from Hollander, a crazy pretty arrangement in a bamboo
vase from Liana, and a pile of tulips from the Coens in San Francisco.<br>
<br>
When Groom and I returned to the condo, we found vegan broccoli soup,
hot & sour soup, and tomato soup courtesy of Shelley--who remains in my mind as
that little bowl of chocolates everyone loves to see on a stressful day.
Whiton and Galen had already pulled together a collection of Deadwood
DVDs and a pile of graphic novels, but she had the fortitude to come see
me the day after Thanksgiving as well. Shelley spent an afternoon listening to me ramble on about I don't know what. And, Callie arrived with a handful of
gossip magazines, which were perfect because I can't concentrate on
anything more complicated than the back page puzzle in Highlights magazine. I can't even watch the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary episode,
which aired last week, because my brain can't follow the <a href="http://youtu.be/vY_Ry8J_jdw">wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff</a> at all.<br>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ky2AI4cyFYM/UpuMztu-6xI/AAAAAAAABX8/YxaTPeMkUJc/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ky2AI4cyFYM/UpuMztu-6xI/AAAAAAAABX8/YxaTPeMkUJc/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">recovery room with daniel craig. hello.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
Groom is upstairs pulling dinner together for me and he periodically checks in on me in my recovery room, which is super cozy and inviting. <br>
<br>
I'm
uncomfortable, but all I can think is...there are people who really do go through
this alone. I requested that I be left alone and that's an entirely
different experience. I knew I wouldn't be alone. There are people in this world who have nobody to offend by telling them to stay away. My version of "<a href="http://youtu.be/Sc7DaDYLqvw">I want to be alone</a>" is nothing like the people who take a cab to the hospital and somehow make it back to their apartment where they themselves have stocked the pantry and when they go back to work six weeks later, nobody even notices they were gone. Maybe those people want to be alone, but they don't have the choice. I have the choice and just maybe I told people to stay away because I have such a robust support system, I knew I had to put up some parameters. I don't know. That was a weird way of expressing gratitude and appreciation toward the lovely people in <i>my</i> world.<br>
<br>
Oops. Getting sentimental. Stop.<br>
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onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-32808313992132902852013-12-01T00:55:00.001-05:002013-12-01T00:55:14.567-05:00the other sideI had every intention of writing a "goodbye cruel world" post the night before I went into <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/11/surgical-precision-indecision.html">surgery</a> this week, full of apologies to the various people I have injured over the years--the guy who always got the lion's share of my wrath at Amigo's when I was in my 20s, the old woman who worked at the shop at the North Shore Shopping Center where I stole a tiny Smurfette figurine when I was in the 4th grade, the guy I made cry at the Free Street Taverna after I pulled him aside to offer helpful advice about his personality, the woman who let me move in with her when I was living in a van and I treated her like she was my understudy. As I was thinking about it, I could sort of see it might start funny but turn into cloying treacle. (Cloying treacle. Look it up, DeVivo.) And, I really do dislike too much sentiment.<br />
<br />
Instead, I wandered aimlessly around my friend Liana's house thinking about...nothing.<br />
<br />
Now, here I am, almost a week later, sitting in a <a href="http://youtu.be/k3UWT6JzMAQ">neck brace</a> with a restless, drug-addled mind, staring at <a href="http://youtu.be/6iCjKXirBFo">Blame it on Rio</a> on a giant flatscreen TV on the first floor of a three-story townhouse Groom and I rented for the winter. (It's not a huge luxurious place. It's vertical living with thin walls. I'm not complaining, but I do want to clarify that I'm not bragging either. If I'm ever going to brag, it will be about the remodeled <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2012/06/letting-go.html">kitchen</a> we might have someday. <a href="http://youtu.be/nHgwaw-iY-8">Someday</a>.)<br />
<br />
I should probably point out right about now that I'm on an <a href="http://youtu.be/wHl-hK5jjZk">apothecary</a>'s cocktail of pain relievers, nerve blockers, and muscle relaxants. I don't know where my hands end and the keyboard begins. And, the line between reality and fantasy is very, very thin.<br />
<br />
And I have the worst case of <a href="http://youtu.be/z8X09Nmftos">dry mouth</a>. But, I did get outside and take a little walk today, so the <a href="http://youtu.be/XbbpkjK54W0">baby steps</a> are working out for me. <br />
<br />
More soon, dear lovely people who actually read this silly blog. More soon. I just wanted to check in to let you know I made it to the other side. Not the other side, like, <a href="http://youtu.be/i4Dc-J_mD7c">"stay away from the light Carol Ann"</a> other side. I mean, I woke up from surgery.<br />
<br />
That last paragraph there? That's why I'm not writing a full post--I can feel myself buzzing the sweetness tower. (<a href="http://youtu.be/jGGhLihDmFk">Sorry, Goose</a>.) <a href="http://youtu.be/DRaLpHoZA8E">These drugs are making me sentimental</a>, overly sensitive, and just a little <a href="http://youtu.be/HoIMvOUM3po">clingy</a>. onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-65215089372321284212013-11-23T15:27:00.003-05:002013-11-24T10:56:53.045-05:00hip hipMy scale is a bad fat liar and a bastard. Not the good kind of liar, like when your friend says, "That person who took your old position at, say, that ski resort where you used to work is nowhere near as fun, interesting, or as smart as you." Or, the kind of liar who says, "Your haircut isn't too short. You look just like <a href="http://youtu.be/I_3pKN09DAo">Mary Stuart Masterson</a>!"<br>
<br>
My scale is the kind of liar that, when I ask whether my pants are too tight, it says, "I'm thinking about ham."<br>
<br>
My scale is the kind of bastard that yells across the beach when I feel just fine in my bathing suit, "<a href="http://youtu.be/ngdYGCavAyY">Nice beer gut</a>!"<br>
<br>
Despite my efforts, my scale claims I have lost no weight during the entire month of November. This can't possibly be true. My pants are falling down. My collarbone has emerged from its snug little downy comforter of fat. I can actually see a waistline forming. <br>
<br>
Other than Groom, who is legally obligated to tell me I look like I've lost weight, only one person has commented on my weight loss. And she's 98. And she was heavily medicated at the time. <br>
<br>
I suppose I should be flattered that nobody is noticing. It means my fluctuating poundage remains unseen when I feel like I resemble <a href="http://youtu.be/4xRv9ZQOCPo">the hanker for a hunka cheese guy</a>. But, that's <a href="http://youtu.be/fFu1tm9oWOE">cold comfort</a>.<br>
<br>
So, imagine my surprise when I visited the doctor this past week to <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-doctor-says.html">get my numbers checked</a>. I was certain I would see very little change in my cholesterol. I was so positive my veins were still filled with molasses and butter, I couldn't concentrate--I was wearing only one earring and I know I forgot to put on underwear. <br>
<br>
After a tense "How are you feeling" and an ominous "Have you seen your lab work results yet," my doctor revealed that my cholesterol has dropped an overall 78 points since late September. Those other two numbers? The LDL (bad) and HDL (good) have dropped 73 points and raised 13 points respectively. AND, I am within the "better" and "near ideal" ranges. <br>
<br>
<a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/09/not-really-vegan-more-veganish.html">The vegan nonsense is paying off</a>. The doctor did ask whether I could keep up this lifestyle and I answered with a resounding YES! He was happy for me, but honestly I sort of expected...I don't know...I wanted applause and balloons and show girls and confetti and I really thought a banner would drop from the ceiling reading, "<a href="http://youtu.be/us3dQ0nnlHY">CONGRATULATIONS!</a>!" <br>
<br>
Come on, man. I just took your advice and got the results we were looking for! Shouldn't you be excited?!<br>
<br>
As it turns out, no. What the hell does the doctor care? While it's probably nice for him to have a patient he doesn't have to lecture, it's also not his body or his life. It's not his problem that I am genetically and habitually inclined to have heart disease when he has a building full of hacking smokers' coughs, renal failure, heart attacks, and flu. In the medical community, I'm considered young and mostly healthy. He doesn't have time for young and healthy. <br>
<br>
I'm going to let that sink in for a moment. Young. Healthy.<br>
<br>
Speaking of young and healthy, I've spent most of my day prepping my post-op recovery room for the week after my <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/11/surgical-precision-indecision.html">cervical spine surgery</a> on Tuesday. Groom is <i>insisting</i> we purchase a 50" plasma television with TiVo and streaming Netflix and Hulu even though I have insisted for years that we don't need a TV. The bastard.<br><br><div>But, <i>that's</i> the kind of bastard I can get behind. </div>onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-25575419333327033042013-11-19T15:39:00.000-05:002013-11-19T15:39:34.727-05:00surgical precision indecisionI am the strangest type of extrovert. While it's true I prefer to talk things out...and talk...and talk...and talk, I also tend to curl up like a <a href="http://youtu.be/TChKF_vzXDE">pill bug</a> when something is bothering me all deep down or maybe like a <a href="http://youtu.be/lyFNX1iBXiI">cat behind the couch</a>. I actually don't like either of those comparisons but I'm too lazy to do anything about it.<br />
<br />
I'm headed into surgery next week for an <a href="http://youtu.be/5_9OM19Af_o">anterior cervical disc replacement</a>, which is different from an <a href="http://youtu.be/PsYyVtBph7E">anterior cervical fusion</a>, which is what <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/sports/redskins/peyton-manning-on-his-neck-surgeries-rehab--and-how-he-almost-didnt-make-it-back/2013/10/21/8e3b5ca6-3a55-11e3-b7ba-503fb5822c3e_story.html">Peyton Manning received</a>. Twice.<br />
<br />
Show off. <br />
<br />
I have been chewing on this for weeks. I suppose, if you're struggling with pain and/or tingling and/or numbness in your arms and hands and you're diagnosed with a bulging or herniated disc in the C-section of your spine, this might help you a little. <br />
<br />
First, I had to decide. Do I get the surgery or not? This, I handled through a series of questions:<br />
<br />
Did physical therapy help? No.<br />
Did two treatments with oral steroids help? No.<br />
Did an epidural shot help? Hell no.<br />
Am I able to work at 100% capacity with this injury? No. <br />
Is the pain unbearable? No.<br />
<br />
Ay. And <a href="http://youtu.be/AwUrEfp3_zY">there's the rub</a>. I can totally live with the level of pain I'm experiencing. I mean, when I went in for my surgical consult, I saw people crying in the parking lot because they couldn't stand their pain. There were people who couldn't stand up straight and people who were begging for relief. I am not one of those people. My left hand is numb and I have trouble holding a pen or a fork. But, I can type and, honestly, <a href="http://youtu.be/WH9u2y3BaLs">I could stand to hold a fork a little less</a>. And, I'm fine with chopsticks for some reason. Which isn't the point. I know.<br />
<br />
I realized, the sooner I have this fixed, the sooner I can get back to my life. So, there it is. Surgery decision made. <br />
<br />
Second, I had to decide whether I would get a fusion or a disc replacement. This wasn't as black and white as the decision to have surgery. I consulted with my surgeon again. I went online and read about the differences between the two procedures. I talked with an orthopedic doctor. I talked to <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-thin-blue-line.html">the guy who cut my hair into a mullet</a>. I read insurance reports and clinical trial data. I talked to people who have had similar operations. I watched YouTube videos (no, I'm not linking anything here...too graphic and as my operation date approaches I'm starting to freak out so I don't even want to see them).<br />
<br />
What I learned about fusion vs disc replacement is that they are super similar procedures. For both, the surgeon will make a horizontal incision across my throat (which is so badass I almost can't wait for that scar); he will perform a discectomy (which is a fancy way of saying he'll scrape out the schmootz between my vertebrae); he will insert something between the two vertebrae; he will drill a plate to my vertebrae. And that's where the similarities sort of stop. So I made a pros and cons list.<br />
<br />
<u>Fusion</u><br />
<ul>
<li>The surgeon inserts a piece of cadaver bone between the vertebrae. (PRO!)</li>
<li>The bone fuses everything together. (CON!)</li>
<li>I could be susceptible to adjacent segment disease because of the pressure on the discs within the vertebrae surrounding the fusion. (CON!)</li>
<li>Recovery might be a little longer. (CON!)</li>
<li>Insurance will pay for the entire procedure. (PRO!)</li>
</ul>
<br />
<u>Disc Replacement</u><br />
<ul>
<li>The surgeon places a sort of mechanism between the vertebrae and drills it in place to the outside of the vertebrae...what? (ProooConnnn? I don't care.)</li>
<li>Preliminary studies show that maybe there might be some better range of motion after surgery. (Pro)</li>
<li>Preliminary studies indicate recovery may be faster. (Pro)</li>
<li>Preliminary studies and the marketing department at the places that manufacture artificial discs indicate and promote that disc replacement can help prevent adjacent segment disease. (Though the information gets a pro, the fact that they're shoving it down my throat while it's entirely unproven makes me want to give it a con on principle.)</li>
<li>This is so new that I might have complications later, like how all those <a href="http://www.lieffcabraser.com/Case-Center-Personal-Injury/Hip-Implant-Recall.shtml">artificial hips were recalled</a> because people jumped the gun on new technology. And, ew. (CON!) </li>
<li>In some of the clinical studies and insurance information, I noticed that Cigna (which is not my insurance carrier) will pay for disc replacement but will not pay for disc replacement if a patient has already had a fusion in another section of the spine. This makes me think insurance companies might start writing policy like that. (Pro)</li>
<li>My insurance will not cover the entire procedure. (CON!)</li>
</ul>
So. My gut tells me, disc replacement it is. And it's scheduled for Tuesday. I go under the knife next Tuesday. I'll spend one night in the hospital and then head home for hours and hours of <a href="http://youtu.be/j9cJqK4mnJc">Dexter</a> reruns on Netflix. <br />
<br />
If you're reading this because you googled disc replacement vs fusion and you ended up here, I hope this information helps you. But, don't beat yourself up over it. If my surgeon called tomorrow and said, "Don't get a disc replacement," I'd be like <a href="http://youtu.be/oWC8UFI1XeE">mkay</a>. I don't know that it makes that big of a difference right now, and the one thing that red-flagged it for me was the Cigna information (bullet #6 above). I'm basing all of this on a feeling that things might trend this way. But, I also wore a poncho in the 8th grade because I thought people would start wearing ponchos, so....grain of salt and all that.<br />
<br />
I kind of want to mention one final thing that makes me look like a complete idiot. I knew I had chosen a good surgeon when I called his office to find out more about disc replacements. First of all, he looked up my insurance and contacted the people who make the artificial discs to see if I could get coverage for the procedure. Not his medical associate. Him. Second, he called me himself to talk more about it. He didn't have his medical associate or his nurse call. He called me from his office phone. I've never had that happen before. So, I totally went all Maeby Funke on his ass.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="http://gifrific.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/Maebe-Funke-Marry-Me.gif" class="decoded" src="http://gifrific.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/Maebe-Funke-Marry-Me.gif" /> </div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-62943458896251808462013-10-29T12:12:00.000-04:002013-10-29T12:12:18.897-04:00and it was worth itHoo boy. I screwed up. What started as a 12-hour break from vegan-ish-pescatarian-ism gradually turned into a 24-hour break...36 hours...48...an even three days. Fine. It was four.<br />
<br />
But I had a great weekend. And, I reminded myself that I am now very careful about what I ingest so I can have such a weekend of pure debauchery. It <a href="http://youtu.be/ViTDhlxNCds">all started at Katahdin</a>--the <a href="http://www.katahdinrestaurant.com/navindex.html">restaurant</a>, not the <a href="http://www.mtkatahdin.com/">mountain</a>. <br />
<br />
I met some friends there for cocktails on <a href="http://youtu.be/kfVsfOSbJY0">Friday</a> night. Honestly, that <a href="http://www.katahdinrestaurant.com/staff.html">Winnie serves it up right</a>. I'm a sucker for a pretty woman calling me "lovely," as in "Hello lovely! Would you like a Manhattan?"<br />
<br />
Yes please.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rl6YpVTBvkw/Um_R6fSY8WI/AAAAAAAABWQ/iE3TK4YFaOk/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="139" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rl6YpVTBvkw/Um_R6fSY8WI/AAAAAAAABWQ/iE3TK4YFaOk/s200/photo+1.JPG" width="200" /></a>After delightful conversation and a Manhattan with a sidecar of more Manhattan, we started to walk to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Ruskis-Tavern/115551755131665">Ruski's</a> to see <a href="http://www.cdbaby.com/Artist/DarienBrahms">Darien Brahms</a> (check out Jekyll & Hyde. Perfect.) and <a href="https://soundcloud.com/chicky-stoltz">Chicky Stoltz</a> (listen to Girl Trouble. Brilliant.) with a side of <a href="http://stephentaber.com/host.html">Captain Noah Barnes</a> of the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/605770482813041/?ref_dashboard_filter=upcoming">Dolphin Strikers</a>. Since <a href="http://www.ottoportland.com/">Otto</a> was on the way to the show, I made the executive decision to eat some cheese. It's fine, I told myself. And, you know what? Even if it isn't fine? It would be worth it.<br />
<br />
Cut to Ruski's, some delicious music, several glasses of bourbon, and I found myself wandering back to an apartment where Noah and Chicky were staying. Suddenly, I found an egg, bacon, and cheese sandwich on a bagel sitting in front of me. Well, I didn't want to be rude, right? <br />
<br />
The next morning, I was awoken by the chitter chatter of my buddies who both have small children and are accustomed to getting up far earlier than those of us who live most the time alone and work from home.<br />
<br />
A quick trip to <a href="http://www.local188.com/">Local</a> for some breakfast where I ordered a mushroom, kale, egg scramble with a buttery english muffin and homefries, and two mimosas. The fellas ordered yogurt, fresh fruit, granola, and a salad.<br />
<br />
Assholes.<br />
<br />
And here's where things started to get dicey. On my way back from Portland Saturday afternoon, I started to convince myself that a pile of french fries would make me feel so much better. With a cheeseburger. And a big coke. I kept trying to talk myself out of it but continued driving until I discovered I had pulled into <a href="http://www.fiveguys.com/">Five Guys</a>. I was sitting in the parking lot staring at the door. It was a busy Saturday afternoon and people were coming and going, pulling in and pulling out. I thought, who's going to know? One greasy cheeseburger with a small french fry. Who's it going to hurt?<br />
<br />
Me. That's who will know. That's who it will hurt. I'm not living this vegan/fish lifestyle so I can impulse buy a cheeseburger from some chain restaurant when I'm hungover. Regardless of whether or not it's a locally owned, operated establishment, I started to think about everything I had read about <a href="http://health.yahoo.net/experts/eatthis/americas-worst-french-fries-and-what-you-should-eat-instead/">fat content</a> and more <a href="http://www.policymic.com/articles/50037/7-ingredients-you-probably-didn-t-know-were-in-your-favorite-fast-food-meals">fat content</a>. Would it have been worth it? No.<br />
<br />
I thought that might be the end of my meat and cheese fest, until I decided to meet another friend at...wait for it...Katahdin again Saturday night. This time around, I wasn't even pretending. We shared a ricotta cheese squash pie, a warm crab pot filled with cheese and cream, and a salad for good measure. For dinner, I ordered the salmon, which had been fried in bacon fat. So. Good. And it was worth it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DVh3SFhSumY/Um_R-bRyRWI/AAAAAAAABW0/vG5UJr3Gk3s/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DVh3SFhSumY/Um_R-bRyRWI/AAAAAAAABW0/vG5UJr3Gk3s/s200/photo.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
By the time Sunday morning rolled around, I was feeling the effects of grease and fat and booze and...in the interest of full disclosure, the cigarettes. I came downstairs to discover a box from <a href="http://ontargetliving.com/">On Target Living</a> containing two bags of flaxseed, two bottles of cod liver oil, a jar of coconut baking oil, and a bag of Chlorella & Spirulina tablets (in short, a bag of pond scum tablets). It was like waking up to an angry neighbor who has had enough of your late-night shenanigans or like waking up to a parent as a teenager after stumbling home at two in the morning. The judgment and disappointment coming off that box was soul crushing.<br />
<br />
Did I mention Groom is now the head of HR at his company? Yeah, from this point forward, I believe I shall refer to him as <a href="http://youtu.be/KWrXZzzq1B0">Toby Flenderson</a>. But, my Toby now has a bead on all this wellness information and health habit diet lifestyle live longer nonsense. I'm on board, and my poor <a href="http://youtu.be/IFnDvMNHeos">broken down Sunday morning body</a> was pretty eager to get back on track. Some oatmeal with dates, some water, a spoonful of cod liver oil, a bunch of pond scum tablets throughout the day. All good. And, yes, it was worth it.<br />
<br />
In a nutshell:<br />
<ul>
<li>Cod liver oil has Vitamin D, Omega-3 Fatty Acids, Vitamin E, and it's not as bad as you think, but it totally gives you dog breath</li>
<li>Pond scum tablets aid digestion, support the immune system, and act as a detoxifier, and I think you know which one of those items interested me most on Sunday morning</li>
<li>Flaxseeds decrease inflammation and help lower cholesterol, and I have nothing snarky to say about that</li>
</ul>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5uUZIGAag4/Um_R94xYOlI/AAAAAAAABWs/lyUtAqKAw3c/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5uUZIGAag4/Um_R94xYOlI/AAAAAAAABWs/lyUtAqKAw3c/s200/photo+3.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zGyvxN2_ByA/Um_R9laop9I/AAAAAAAABWo/ftsaqcTyAX8/s1600/donut.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zGyvxN2_ByA/Um_R9laop9I/AAAAAAAABWo/ftsaqcTyAX8/s200/donut.JPG" width="150" /></a>I'm not in tune enough with my body to really notice any difference, but I will say already I can cross my legs with the back of my knee over the front of my opposing knee. I haven't been flexible enough to do that in years. Years. So, whatever I'm doing? I'm going to keep doing it.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uzOCqBAYzpg/Um_R99R4QGI/AAAAAAAABWw/SnvQQsdHzag/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uzOCqBAYzpg/Um_R99R4QGI/AAAAAAAABWw/SnvQQsdHzag/s200/photo+2.JPG" width="150" /></a>Groom...I mean Toby...and I went for a walk Sunday afternoon with dog down by <a href="http://phippsburglandtrust.org/visit-the-land/">Spirit Pond</a> and I was feeling all smug about being back on track even though I had to cut the walk short because <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-i-in-lie.html">my neck was bothering me</a> from looking down at the path (I was trying to avoid the tree stumps and roots but looking down is no bueno).<br />
<br />
Otherwise, still good, still back on track. My brother sent me a picture of his lunch Sunday (bacon donuts) and I smugly sent back a picture of my lunch Sunday (hummus and tomatoes on soy pita with apple slices). <a href="http://youtu.be/iNXhh7D9_cA">I was back, baby.</a><br />
<br />
For the most part, I was feeling better, getting my sanctimonious attitude back, until Toby reminded me we had dinner plans. So, I made the executive decision to stay mum with my hosts about any dietary restrictions and continue with my truce.<br />
<br />
We had delightful conversation with some old friends. And bourbon and wine and <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=chicken+marbella&client=firefox-a&hs=rMC&sa=X&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&ei=us1vUqrkDNa14AORxoHQCQ&ved=0CGcQsAQ&biw=1163&bih=680">chicken marbella</a> and chocolate and cookies. And it was worth it.<br />
<br />
I thought I was done with the meat and cheese weekend again until I got a text from a friend of mine yesterday afternoon while I was enjoying a nice snack of lentils and arugula. Would I be interested in having dinner at <a href="http://www.elcaminomaine.com/">El Camino</a>? I thought I might bail on it until she then mentioned it would include a trip to <a href="http://www.costumesofmaine.com/">Drapeau's Costumes of Maine</a> in Lisbon. A costume shop Halloween week in the creepiest town in Maine. Like I'm going to say no to that.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1jdb9A2nZEo/Um_S74Zz3oI/AAAAAAAABW4/FkgOT-eLuY0/s1600/dalmation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1jdb9A2nZEo/Um_S74Zz3oI/AAAAAAAABW4/FkgOT-eLuY0/s200/dalmation.jpg" width="112" /></a>She, of course, doesn't celebrate Halloween but dresses up like a giant dalmation and wanders around Boothbay because she and her husband own the delightful <a href="http://twosaltydogs.net/">Two Salty Dogs Pet Outfitters</a>. If you're in the area on Halloween, make sure you goose the black and white dog getting accosted by a bunch of children. She'll love that. While you're there, make sure you get all zombie around their dog Coal. He barks at zombies. Best dog ever.<br />
<br />
But I digress (and I can't find a clip of Hans Landa of Inglourious Basterds saying, "But, I digress," so <a href="http://youtu.be/Ugpg8XruhVk">I'm giving you this instead</a>). After picking up her costume, we ended up at <a href="http://www.enotecaathena.com/">Enoteca Athena</a> (sister restaurant to the most awesome ever <a href="http://www.trattoriaathena.com/">Trattoria Athena</a>) because El Camino was closed. We shared (aka, chowed on) cauliflower fritters, vegetable dolmathes, artichokes and prosciutto (yeah, I fell hard) to start. Then she ordered fish tacos and I got some falafel. <br />
<br />
My friend said the last bite was the absolute best bite of each dish and we realized we were eating so fast that the flavors weren't even fully settling in. That's how good it was. And that's how disgusting I am.<br />
<br />
And that last bite was definitely worth it.onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-33028849818145158302013-10-25T15:57:00.001-04:002013-10-25T15:57:05.306-04:00crow<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-13HvAW5mRDE/UmrGFV9rxMI/AAAAAAAABVY/OlGvPFpqsdE/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-13HvAW5mRDE/UmrGFV9rxMI/AAAAAAAABVY/OlGvPFpqsdE/s200/photo+1.JPG" width="150" /></a>Because I can't do much more than walk lately, I am focusing on food. I know. Whatever. Shut up.<br />
<br />
I took a bunch of pictures of dinner the past couple of nights and I hate to delete them from my phone before showing you some deliciousness, and some not so deliciousness. I mean, it's hit or miss as I figure out how to make an all-veggie, some-bean dinner taste like a cheeseburger and fries.<br />
<br />
I cooked up some broccolini and it was delicious. I had never prepared it before and offered it up as a snack while I made some spring rolls. I was so excited, I exclaimed, "This is my first vegan recipe!"<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-woDehtgiCc0/UmrGPtuXC_I/AAAAAAAABVg/8f29n4kZVb4/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-woDehtgiCc0/UmrGPtuXC_I/AAAAAAAABVg/8f29n4kZVb4/s200/photo+2.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Ej0h1qFr14/UmrGPypqJFI/AAAAAAAABVk/HTaMHKo7gcA/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Ej0h1qFr14/UmrGPypqJFI/AAAAAAAABVk/HTaMHKo7gcA/s200/photo+3.JPG" width="150" /></a>I didn't expect any follow-up questions, but I should have known better. Groom the <a href="http://youtu.be/pZiv8vkxMac">Detective</a> pried the truth out of me. The recipe? Throw some olive oil in a pan, scrape in a pantload of garlic, cook at a high temperature until the garlic goes brown, throw in some steamed broccolini, mix it all around, squeeze some lemon on it, and shake a little crushed red pepper over it. I was slightly embarrassed that I had overstated my cooking prowess, but it's always nice to see Groom chuckle.<br />
<br />
Doesn't matter. It was perfect.<br />
<br />
Then, I chopped up some cabbage, cucumber, red bell pepper, green onion, basil, and fresh mint. Grated some carrot. Tossed some tofu in the leftover oil from the broccolini. And, rolled up some <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-satisfying-meal.html">spring rolls with avocado</a>. So good. (The wrappers in that picture above? Not so great. I can't remember what I used last time, but yes there's a difference between rice wrappers. Who knew?)<br />
<br />
Last night, Groom cooked up some quinoa with sauteed shallots, carrots, spinach, and green onion. It was meh, but nothing a little <a href="http://youtu.be/_8bjNkr2vkQ">Sriracha</a> couldn't help. Plus, we ate some roasted asparagus so I could pretend I was eating french fries.<br />
<br />
I realize I'm criticizing a meal that Groom cooked. I should point out right now, he is far more advanced in the kitchen than I am. I'm not afraid to say the quinoa was bland because I know next time it won't be and he isn't easily offended. <br />
<br />
Final item on the menu: seaweed salad from Shaw's.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WPYTMiVUQ0g/UmrG1CRWEMI/AAAAAAAABWA/kNS30qQm6QI/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WPYTMiVUQ0g/UmrG1CRWEMI/AAAAAAAABWA/kNS30qQm6QI/s200/photo+5.JPG" width="200" /></a>When I was at the checkout at Shaw's, the cashier looked at the seaweed salad and asked, "Do you <i>really</i> think this is any good?" Valid question. So I said sure, yeah, it's good. Tastes really fresh, it's kind of a vehicle for soy sauce and mirin. The cashier sneered and said to the woman in line behind me, "Gross. To each their own, I guess."<br />
<br />
I will admit I had unkind thoughts about that cashier at that moment.<br />
<br />
As I relayed the story to Groom while setting the table, I was reminded of a trip we took together to Montana. We had been skiing at <a href="http://www.bigskyresort.com/">Big Sky</a> then took a few extra days to drive around and ended up at a small bar in Livingston, MT. It was one of those bars where everyone was wearing a cowboy hat without a stitch of irony or posturing. The ladies were crowded together separately from the fellas. There wasn't much loud talking except for an occasional burst of laughter from the gals in the corner. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7P7vNOf7__o/UmrGe3AU_oI/AAAAAAAABVw/Ejq_OSsLoQQ/s1600/livingston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7P7vNOf7__o/UmrGe3AU_oI/AAAAAAAABVw/Ejq_OSsLoQQ/s200/livingston.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">too afraid to stop and take a real pic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We got the record-skip stare when we walked in, but for the most part everyone ignored us. The conversations were happening over us--the guy on Groom's left was chatting with the guy on my right. Eventually, one of the fellas asked whether we had been skiing. It was a fair question since I was wearing a ski coat.<br />
<br />
But, I detected an undercurrent of judgement. And, I didn't want that. So, I mentioned that my husband was driving me around Montana to show me the sights because he pops around the state to hunt birds every year.<br />
<br />
Boom. The conversation switched to hunting and fishing and...how much the government sucks (uh oh) and how ladies are bad drivers (what?) and people should live their lives how they want (okay!) except for the gays (awww no).<br />
<br />
Groom has a better <a href="http://youtu.be/bESGLojNYSo">poker face</a> than I do, so I let it be and removed myself from the conversation. I started to watch the ladies at the bar and the lady bartender, who was badass with a capital B. She won me over when she continued to pour more bourbon into my glass without so much as a raised eyebrow, but I almost proposed marriage when she walked out of the kitchen with a plate of hummus.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bZG-VZPJO0M/UmrGmRnX8dI/AAAAAAAABV4/cSfAwql_Vgk/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bZG-VZPJO0M/UmrGmRnX8dI/AAAAAAAABV4/cSfAwql_Vgk/s200/photo+4.JPG" width="150" /></a>"What the hell is <i>that</i>?!" shouted one of the ladies. The bartender explained what it was and said she wanted to make different kinds of foods available to customers and that hummus is really good. Almost in unison, everyone in the bar shouted, "NOPE!"<br />
<br />
I live on hummus. I realized, even with my manipulative "my husband shoots guns" approach to this bar, I'm just not a man of the people. Groom can somehow make himself fit in, but my pickle face gives me away every time.<br />
<br />
As we finished laughing about my irritation with the cashier at Shaw's, I dove into my plate of seaweed salad.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.foodrepublic.com/sites/default/files/imagecache/gallery-large/10-moviecap-big.jpg">It was the most disgusting thing I have ever had in my mouth</a>. I love seaweed salad, but I realize that cashier I had so ungraciously judged had probably eaten whatever it was that Shaw's was selling. And, <a href="http://youtu.be/uWXRNySMW4s?t=2m32s">that was no seaweed salad</a>.<br />
<br />
That seaweed salad tasted a lot like crow.onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-6517248288122285192013-10-24T22:12:00.000-04:002013-10-24T22:12:47.064-04:00in time for the holidays<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rWqBWDJBDsU/UmnDvGZRw_I/AAAAAAAABT8/zymg4qxlCzY/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rWqBWDJBDsU/UmnDvGZRw_I/AAAAAAAABT8/zymg4qxlCzY/s200/photo+2.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
Sometimes eating vegan doesn't need to have a vegan label. What I mean is, sometimes a yummy dish just happens to be vegan at the same time. I've received plenty of advice and recipes and such from friends and readers, for which I wholeheartedly thank each and every one of you. Dinner the other night was courtesy of <a href="http://youtu.be/PU-kK7-TQ5g">Ina Garten</a> by way of my friend with <a href="http://youtu.be/3v98CPXNiSk">bitchy resting face</a>. Butternut squash salad with warm cider vinaigrette.<br />
<br />
I just read that. I should clarify: Most of my friends have bitchy resting face. I mentioned the lovely lady who sent me this recipe <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/09/a-superficial-life.html">here in this post that I am linking here</a>.<br />
<br />
I totally channeled <a href="http://youtu.be/qcszyb5d7nA">Perd Hapley</a> with that last sentence.<br />
<br />
This was not called out as a vegan recipe; it was just a recipe without animal products, except for some parmesan cheese grated over the final meal, which any vegan can simply skip. Wait. Let me think. Were any animals harmed or exploited to make this recipe... I don't think so? But, I didn't know honey isn't vegan until I started researching why vegan recipes call for agave and not honey. So, who knows. <br />
<br />
That fact, that honey isn't vegan, sets Groom into a fit of nearly violent anger. And, Groom is so nonviolent, he makes Gandhi seem like Genghis <a href="http://youtu.be/wRnSnfiUI54?t=17s">Khan</a>. I use honey since my vegan/pesca tendencies aren't philosophical.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X2y5faH2-zI/UmnD2Fxx_GI/AAAAAAAABU0/SQ7Bg9QcP3Q/s1600/photo+5-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X2y5faH2-zI/UmnD2Fxx_GI/AAAAAAAABU0/SQ7Bg9QcP3Q/s320/photo+5-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the water pump culprit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The recipe arrived via text. I was planning to make some spring rolls for supper, with some boiled shrimp for Groom since he shouldn't have to survive on my nuts and berries. (Instead I have to survive on his. Hey oh!) But GF with the BRF sent me this and I was immediately sold. Done and done.<br />
<br />
Let me tell you, this is the simplest recipe ever. I was able to cook it with a broken water pump, which tells you how simple it really was. Yes, our water pump broke this past weekend and we were without water for two days. It was like camping without the weird tree root that shows up under your back at 2 in the morning. And, to answer your question, no, I had not showered <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-activity-post.html">since I hiked Morse Mountain</a>.<br />
<br />
Hiked. It always makes me laugh to say that in regard to Morse Mountain.<br />
<br />
Back to the recipe--man, I get so distracted so easily. My biggest problem in the <a href="http://youtu.be/QzIN3EgBIHg">work place</a> is that I tend to distract people from their work. It's a real problem, which is why I work from home.<br />
<br />
While I'm up and distracted, I'm going to say it, what I don't like about <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-doctor-says.html">this new routine</a> is the look I get from people when I pass on something I can't really eat. It's judgie. People actually say, "A little chicken isn't going to kill you." I <i>know</i> that. I allow things to sneak through all the time, which is why, right now, at this moment, I'm going to pass on the steak or chicken or shrimp (yes, I pass on the shrimp) you're offering me. Then, my meal falls under serious scrutiny. God forbid I eat something that has a <a href="http://youtu.be/U3jgo5ea_zc">flake of cheese</a> on it or a dab of meat juice.<br />
<br />
Meat juice? I don't know where that came from.<br />
<br />
"So, you're not really vegan then," I hear.<br />
<br />
No, I'm not. But, I'm going to pass on that steak for now. Thank you. It's like I have suddenly found religion and everyone else is atheist. I promise you, I will not try to bring you to Jesus and I won't quote scripture at the dinner table.<br />
<br />
One trick is to say nothing about my food habits, which is so hard to do because I am an <a href="http://youtu.be/2_duBu56MqQ">extrovert</a> through and through (and I used to work with an <a href="http://youtu.be/fsEPMB5Usck">introvert</a> to her dismay). Another trick is to never, ever, <i>ever</i>, use the word "vegan" or the highly objectionable and annoying term "<a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/10/salmon-days.html">pescatarian</a>."<br />
<br />
Wow. I distracted myself again.<br />
<br />
With <a href="http://theoatmeal.com/comics/thanksgiving">Thanksgiving</a> around the corner, I present to you a pictorial remembrance of the not vegan but it just happens to be vegan butternut squash:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PrkEzYGUxnc/UmnDujy9VtI/AAAAAAAABUE/CdZFZ_g01sk/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PrkEzYGUxnc/UmnDujy9VtI/AAAAAAAABUE/CdZFZ_g01sk/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have never peeled and cut a squash before</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-txoD2be4Eew/UmnJmlQdY0I/AAAAAAAABVI/VW9LPV0o244/s1600/cookiesheet.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-txoD2be4Eew/UmnJmlQdY0I/AAAAAAAABVI/VW9LPV0o244/s320/cookiesheet.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">toss the cranberries on for the final five minutes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SZaHiTsK_yY/UmnDyJp2BqI/AAAAAAAABUU/4SjVO2npVis/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SZaHiTsK_yY/UmnDyJp2BqI/AAAAAAAABUU/4SjVO2npVis/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grocery store-bought shallot (left) vs organic farm shallot (right)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4rF6GCzn8zg/UmnD834zxdI/AAAAAAAABVA/N5kWqBBdtFE/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4rF6GCzn8zg/UmnD834zxdI/AAAAAAAABVA/N5kWqBBdtFE/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">simmer simmer simmer is it done yet simmer some more </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IjhrbxYJBQY/UmnD2eT3cGI/AAAAAAAABU4/g9RtYHvGyco/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IjhrbxYJBQY/UmnD2eT3cGI/AAAAAAAABU4/g9RtYHvGyco/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">then whisk whisk the dressing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xkq5RsU0DFw/UmnDstjON_I/AAAAAAAABTw/Bv6wINTQiH4/s1600/photo+1-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xkq5RsU0DFw/UmnDstjON_I/AAAAAAAABTw/Bv6wINTQiH4/s320/photo+1-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">moosh it all together in a salad bowl</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sLZqLsN67_c/UmnDuJnPlDI/AAAAAAAABUA/m4u_MBar83I/s1600/photo+2-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sLZqLsN67_c/UmnDuJnPlDI/AAAAAAAABUA/m4u_MBar83I/s320/photo+2-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">add cheese for your loved one who can eat what he wants</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xKQBmZS6RN8/UmnD2Ao1SLI/AAAAAAAABUw/XXOlnzLukf0/s1600/salad-rotate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xKQBmZS6RN8/UmnD2Ao1SLI/AAAAAAAABUw/XXOlnzLukf0/s320/salad-rotate.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cut up a lentil cake for some protein--god this plate looks so sad</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-39746420429804307202013-10-23T11:18:00.002-04:002013-10-23T23:21:34.248-04:00empowerment in a flawed systemI'm obsessed with Miley Cyrus. There. I said it. Don't get me wrong; I am exhausted by the whole VMA conversation, like anyone else, but I have questions. When was the last time you paid attention to the VMAs? Can you name another recent performance? Can you name any other performance from the night of August 23, 2013?<br />
<br />
For my money, <a href="http://youtu.be/Ik1bdoufPt0">she's kind of brilliant</a>. We hear less about Justin Bieber and his status as a role model for children but he's <a href="http://www.tmz.com/2013/07/29/justin-bieber-tour-bus-pulled-over-weed-marijuana/">doing drugs</a> and dragging <a href="http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/04/130402-justin-bieber-capuchin-monkey-pet-germany-zoonotic-diseases/">capuchin monkeys through airports</a> (Seriously. Really?) and walking around <a href="http://perezhilton.com/2013-10-19-justin-bieber-strip-club-party-stripper-ass">shirtless at strip clubs</a> with <a href="http://www.underwearexpert.com/2013/05/ethika-staple-limited-boxer-brief/">his underwear hanging out</a>. Not to be dramatic, but I get kind of a rape-y feeling from him. Somehow that's okay because he's just a boy, but Miley Cyrus at roughly the same age, working within the same parameters of this screwed up system and walking around mostly naked with her tongue hanging out, that's not okay? She's been treated as an object her whole life. Of course she sees herself that way and of course she's going to capitalize on it.<br />
<br />
I heard a story the other day about a high level female executive and her dealings with a female celebrity. I considered dropping names, but I heard this story from someone who heard it from someone who claims to have witnessed it. So, grain of salt and all that. <br />
<br />
The celebrity in this story was asked to sign a wall of celebrity signatures after doing some live, national interview. All celebrities who arrive at the company sign this wall, apparently. The celebrity in question tagged the wall in hip hop graphics.<br />
<br />
The company executive, a woman of the <a href="http://leanin.org/">Lean In</a> school, tried to get the celebrity to change it. She then tried to get her employees to erase it.<br />
<br />
My friend telling me the story said, "Isn't that the point? When you empower women, you empower <i>all</i> women." For this celebrity, this was empowerment. This was her version of being in charge of her life. This was her version of taking <a href="http://youtu.be/LH8xbDGv7oY">control</a>. <br />
<br />
When I was a bartender, I was not above leaning deep into the beer cooler so my skirt would ride up. I was fully aware that certain gentlemen sat close to the sink where I washed glasses to look down my shirt and leer at my version of leaning in. And, though I played dumb when some fellas told me the beer taps were dirty, I knew full well what it looked like when I soaped up a sponge and ran my hands along the pull handles. Those fellas returned every night and spent money in my bar.<br />
<br />
It's objectionable, sure. I should have been able to keep people around with my rapier wit and stimulating conversation--and don't get me wrong, there were some fellas who were in the bar for the chats--but I couldn't keep <i>all</i> of them around by keeping their minds interested. I may have cheapened myself by stooping to that level, but that the end of the day, I went home with my brain and a wad of cash. They went home with a head full of booze and a wad of nothing.<br />
<br />
The way I was raised, I never thought about the difference between men and women. I didn't know a woman running her own company might be considered groundbreaking or that a woman at the conference table could be distracting. My older sister came home from work once--she was probably in her mid-20s, which would have made me a teenager--and she told me about a guy who had pulled her aside after a meeting to tell her he could see the lace from her camisole in her cleavage. She was outraged. I was confused.<br />
<br />
My dad would make jokes about the "weaker sex" or complain he didn't like sharing a bathroom with three daughters, but he never taught me and it never occurred to me that I couldn't do something just because I was a girl. By the time I went to college, this was as the '80s were turning into the '90s, I didn't know there was a difference in definition between the words "feminism" and "feminine." I didn't understand the concept of women <i>not</i> being equal. If you were feminine, you were feminist.<br />
<br />
By the time I left college, I understood. Not because I went to some liberal elitist university that pounded some lefty agenda into my brain--I didn't need that--but because a bunch of frat boys and male professors pounded me with the idea that I was an object and that I was only looking for a husband. I learned the difference after I was shoved into a bedroom at a college party and the door was
locked. Someone much bigger than I was pushed me onto the bed and my
foot got caught in the bottom of the bed frame so I couldn't get up. My
ex-boyfriend came into the bedroom and put an end to things and I was
extremely grateful because I was extremely scared. My ex-boyfriend, however,
accused me of "asking for it" and wouldn't speak to me for the rest of
the night. <br />
<br />
I was drunk and I'm certain I was flirting with the culprit. But I wasn't asking for anything other than self-conscious, late teen attention. I learned that I didn't want to be in that situation again. I learned that even the kindest man can be seriously misguided about a woman's intentions. And, though I remain conflicted about it, I was finally outraged.<br />
<br />
Over the years, I have found myself in compromising situations and I have gotten out of them, but I also pushed the parameters to see where the boundaries really were, to see if all men think that because a woman is alone with a man, she is asking for something. That's the world I lived in. <br />
<br />
I believe now--and this is where my young self gets really angry at my old self--unless you want the attention, you shouldn't walk into a barroom of drunken men in a short skirt and expect nobody to hurt you. They shouldn't hurt you. And it's illegal. And anyone who <i>does</i> hurt you definitely deserves to go to jail, because assault is assault. And, while I don't have empathy for men who are distracted by cleavage or a low neckline or a short skirt, ladies, don't be tootching in some guy's face unless you want him to grab your hips. That's what happens. Once you understand those parameters, though my 40-something brain may disagree with your actions, you have a right to do what you want.<br />
<br />
As a feminist looking at today's idea of feminism, I'm saddened by how
some ladies feel empowered, but I understand it. Well, I still don't
understand how taking off your bra for a day helps cure breast cancer or
how writing the color of your underwear as a Facebook status update
brings awareness to domestic violence, but that's another battle.<br />
<br />
I wish I still believed what my younger self believed, that there is no difference between feminism and what society brands as being feminine or being female. I'd like to think there are young women today who don't know the difference, that our younger generation fully understands that women aren't objects, that men and women are equal, and there doesn't even need to be a debate about it. I'd like to think there are enough strong adults in the personal lives of many young girls so they learn that, while sex sells, brains make more money.<br />
<br />
And this is why I'm obsessed with Miley Cyrus. I think she might be pretty smart and she's making a
helluva lot of money exploiting a seriously flawed system. So, for now, more (em)power to her.<br />
<br />
[I've been reading debates and talking to people about Miley Cyrus and sexual exploitation and feminism. No doubt, you've seen all the highlights, but here's one of <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/10/03/sinead-oconnor-miley-cyrus-music-business-doesnt-give-a_n_4035932.html">Sinead O'Connor's letters</a> to Miley after Ms. Cyrus released her <a href="http://youtu.be/My2FRPA3Gf8">Wrecking Ball</a> video, which <a href="http://www.independent.ie/entertainment/music/miley-cyrus-admits-dubliner-sinead-oconnor-inspired-for-latest-video-29628603.html">she claims was an homage</a> to Sinead O'Connor's <a href="http://youtu.be/iUiTQvT0W_0">Nothing Compares 2 U</a> video. (I have to admit, <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/entertainment/2013/10/sinead-oconnor-demands-apology-from-miley-cyrus/">MC's response</a> to the letters was immature.) And, here's <a href="http://amandapalmer.net/blog/20131003/">Amanda Palmer's response</a> to Sinead O'Connor, which spawned a pile of open letters and blog posts and ridiculous chatter (Yes, I know I'm one of those people now). And, finally, here's <a href="http://youtu.be/SE2L9QYrJH8">Miley Cyrus talking about the VMA awards with Ellen Degeneres</a> and how her album skyrocketed to number one, big surprise.] onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7376061594007951999.post-36178448671822336562013-10-20T09:35:00.001-04:002013-10-20T10:42:23.514-04:00the activity post<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x9g8rH8ZGCI/UmPX1cIqjRI/AAAAAAAABSw/5r1ZP58SKXU/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x9g8rH8ZGCI/UmPX1cIqjRI/AAAAAAAABSw/5r1ZP58SKXU/s200/photo+2.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
I've talked so much about <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/10/salmon-days.html">food</a>. I'm getting bored. Let's talk about activity. As you know, I can't do much with this <a href="http://on-plus-side.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-doctor-says.html">ruptured disc</a>. I suppose I could go to the Y and get on a bike machine and sit straight up on it. Actually, that's a good idea. Next time.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5wT_G0Ptww/UmPX0rpZbZI/AAAAAAAABSg/5GUvTua_6JY/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5wT_G0Ptww/UmPX0rpZbZI/AAAAAAAABSg/5GUvTua_6JY/s200/photo+1.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">maybe he can <br />
smell the history</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yesterday, though. Yesterday was a great outside day. If you live in New England, then you probably enjoyed the weather that makes autumn here so fabulous. Temps in the 60s, bright sun, dry air, a slight breeze. I grabbed our dog Helen Keller and walked him around Bath near the <a href="http://www.mainemaritimemuseum.org/">Maine Maritime Museum</a>. He didn't care so much about the history, but if you ever have a free afternoon and find yourself in the Bath area, you should pop into the museum and wander the grounds. There's a lot to see--the schooner <i>Sherman Zwicker</i> (an old sardine carrier that you can board; the smell alone is worth it, that old wooden boat salty water smell...mmmm), a functioning and educational wooden boat shop, artifacts from when <a href="http://www.mainemaritimemuseum.org/exhibits/shipyard-maine-percy-small-and-great-schooners/">Percy & Small</a> was an active shipbuilding facility, tours of <a href="https://www.gdbiw.com/BathBuiltShips.html">Bath Iron Works</a>, art galleries, a pirate ship...aw hell. <a href="http://www.mainemaritimemuseum.org/">Just check it out</a>. I'm making it sound really dry. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5JXe5Rgqbfo/UmPX2SUO6TI/AAAAAAAABTQ/Js9aSt80Uzk/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5JXe5Rgqbfo/UmPX2SUO6TI/AAAAAAAABTQ/Js9aSt80Uzk/s200/photo+4.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wyoming <br />
Zwicker in background</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I just got distracted when I clicked over to Bath Iron Works. It looks like the christening scheduled for yesterday for the <a href="http://www.pbs.org/newshour/rundown/2013/10/newest-35-billion-navy-ship----actually-commanded-by-captain-kirk----is-floating-data-center-with-gu.html">USS Zumwalt</a> has been postponed due to the government shutdown. Been watching this thing getting final build out all summer and was super pleased to discover the name of the captain of this first-of-its-kind, land-attack, anti-aircraft, guided missile destroyer from the DDX class is James Kirk. I'm not even kidding.<br />
<br />
So, Mr. Magoo and I wandered about a bit, but as I said, he wasn't all that interested in the history. I took him home and cruised over to <a href="http://www.morseriver.com/">Morse Mountain</a>, a short hike/walk over a small hill that opens to the spectacular Seawall Beach, with views of Casco Bay and Seguin Light.<br />
<br />
At my pace, the two-mile trail to the beach took about an hour but for the yoga-pants crowd, it's probably more like 45 minutes. And, for the trail runners, it's probably some embarrassingly short amount of time that I won't even venture a guess. If you head to Morse, expect your walking time to about about 90 minutes to two hours overall, more if you include beach walking, which I did.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QqFhDreT91c/UmPX1v5O8aI/AAAAAAAABTM/_PJglUGuzeU/s1600/photo+1-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QqFhDreT91c/UmPX1v5O8aI/AAAAAAAABTM/_PJglUGuzeU/s200/photo+1-1.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
Pro tip: Late fall means plenty of parking and no bugs. Peak summer means no parking and a prohibitive amount of bugs and tourists. Just keep that in mind if you're planning to visit next summer. And, <a href="http://youtu.be/4vzEgV5qJdc?t=27s">no dogs allowed.</a> Ever. EVER.<br />
<br />
Typically I bring some earbuds to listen to an <a href="http://www.audiofilemagazine.com/gateway/login.cfm?CFID=56364155&CFTOKEN=74178836">audiobook</a> or <a href="http://youtu.be/Z9dT5TdlszA">some music</a>, but yesterday I thought it might be nice to hear the birds and ocean and whatnot. <a href="http://youtu.be/RQQK0VTTXvA">Big mistake. Big. Huge.</a><br />
<br />
I heard very few birds, no crashing water, maybe a few rustling trees. What I did hear was a lot of this: "And did you know he's drinking again? He's ruining his life and I'm not going to help him. Well, my husband just got a new assistant. Did I mention we're going to Hawaii? It's for my husband's birthday. MOM! I don't wanna walk anymore! Stop it! STOP IT!"<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QsWcWsqFLww/UmPX0rJrOkI/AAAAAAAABSk/JWvOnN_jiLc/s1600/photo+2-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QsWcWsqFLww/UmPX0rJrOkI/AAAAAAAABSk/JWvOnN_jiLc/s200/photo+2-1.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
I pulled to the side of the trail and let some yoga-pant ladies ("We're hoping to move there by June but there's so much to do and I need a new car") who were behind me pass and I noted when I glanced at them that they did not acknowledge me or say hello. Hm. As I walked the trail, I noted that <i>nobody</i> passing from the opposite direction seemed to say hello or nod as they passed. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ujrkg6IyazY/UmPX3JRufVI/AAAAAAAABTY/lsteWOiw4Wg/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ujrkg6IyazY/UmPX3JRufVI/AAAAAAAABTY/lsteWOiw4Wg/s200/photo.JPG" width="200" /></a>Don't get me wrong. I'm normally walking with my head down ignoring my fellow travelers as well, so I'm being a total hypocrite, but I got curious. I started saying hello to every single person I passed. Every single one. Here's the<br />
tally:<br />
<br />
No crowd: <br />
<ul><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3_HF-bzx2FA/UmPX1theCjI/AAAAAAAABS4/YGcuIHrVLik/s1600/photo+3-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3_HF-bzx2FA/UmPX1theCjI/AAAAAAAABS4/YGcuIHrVLik/s200/photo+3-1.JPG" width="150" /></a>
<li>Yoga-pant ladies</li>
<li>Blaze orange because he's in Maine and it's hunting season but he's on a private nature preserve so the orange is pointless guy</li>
<li>Super athletic couple in hipster sunglasses </li>
<li>Wife of the guy who looks like <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001556/?ref_=tt_cl_t5">this guy</a>. She looks like the kind of woman who says no because she can.</li>
<li>Skinny ladies in expensive sneakers--I got eye contact, but it was brief and the lady looked down after I said hello </li>
<li>Group of young campers</li>
<li>Older ladies for whom I moved out of the way as I approached the narrow path to the beach</li>
<li>Woman hiking alone with oversized walking stick</li>
<li>Twenty-something girl in aviator sunglasses texting on her phone</li>
<li>Super cutie couple in retro grunge wear, probably taking a walk after brunch at <a href="http://maescafeandbakery.com/">Mae's</a>. </li>
<li>Older gentleman in his vacation plaid with taut shiny skin resulting from too many days on the sailboat without sunscreen</li>
<li>Teenaged girls holding hands and working through their drama</li>
</ul>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G_3chpYOk0M/UmPX3f0zWtI/AAAAAAAABTI/jLReK3ummWc/s1600/seawallsign.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G_3chpYOk0M/UmPX3f0zWtI/AAAAAAAABTI/jLReK3ummWc/s200/seawallsign.JPG" width="200" /></a>Yes crowd:<br />
<ul>
<li>Big girl in gray sweatshirt and tight jeans rolled up past her knees because it was way hotter on the trail than anyone expected</li>
<li>Old duffer with big belly and bad limp </li>
<li>Chick carrying her surfboard back from the beach</li>
<li>Guy who looks like <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001556/?ref_=tt_cl_t5">this guy</a>. In fact, I got a double "hello hello!"</li>
<li>Older couple holding hands <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EK-yrLc5gHY/UmPX2K0Z7xI/AAAAAAAABTA/JlsBJHyP1q8/s1600/photo+4-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EK-yrLc5gHY/UmPX2K0Z7xI/AAAAAAAABTA/JlsBJHyP1q8/s200/photo+4-1.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
</li>
<li>Super heavyset guy with awkwardly buckled backpack and two small girls</li>
<li>Woman in yoga pants walking with her family (I did not expect her to say hello)</li>
<li>Big swarthy guy who looked like a linebacker</li>
<li>Woman with really big hips and bad hair in polyester <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/79088070/vintage-1980s-mccalls-8101-misses-skirts?utm_source=google&utm_medium=product_listing_promoted&utm_campaign=supplies_low&gclid=CLf_x_W5pboCFUyk4Aodhh8AMQ">culottes</a> </li>
<li>Two fat sweaty guys talking loudly in a thick Rhode Island accent about the Sox</li>
<li>Camp counselors</li>
<li>Family with shrieking toddler, but that's because I gave a sympathetic look and made a crack about how long their walk would be. <a href="http://youtu.be/1SK3y1a8TYs">We had a laugh. </a></li>
</ul>
Kids don't say hello--no big surprise. The hipster doofus gangs don't say hello, okay, I get that and am guilty of that too. But, the older retiree crowd with money? Nothing? No love for the middle-aged fat girl in a <a href="http://twosaltydogs.net/">Two Salty Dogs</a> baseball cap and a gray t-shirt she won't discover reveals her muffin top in a truly unfortunate manner until she gets back to her car?<br />
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Oh. I see it now. I belong in that yes crowd. The bad hair, awkward clothing, take the kids for a hike to get them out of the house for christ sake crowd. I'm not a hipster doofus. I'm just a doofus. And the other doofuses recognized me and said hello. The <a href="http://youtu.be/v3yJomUhs0g">hipster doofuses</a> and the wealthy retirees couldn't even see me because I'm the kid who wears brown corduroy pants to school, joins the SCUBA club to get out of having to do a sport, and plays the flute in the school band. <br />
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Whatever. I bet our crowd has way better pie.<br />
<br />onplussidehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17069684447907223562noreply@blogger.com0