Friday, January 23, 2015

The Internet might be trying to break up with me.

Lately the Internet has been so passive aggressive.

Usually I say to the Interwebs, LYLAS.  Or actually LYLAB since the Internet is masculine (naturally because he sucks at honestly expressing his feelings).  But, lately it seems like he's mad at me.  (But, of course, he won't come right out and tell me what I did to piss him off.)

Instead he's all, "Prove you're not a robot."  (In a hateful voice.  In places where it's clear he's mocking me - like my own blog.)  Then when I'm all, "Dude, how long have we known each other?  You know I'm not a robot."  He's still all, "PROVE IT."

Also, lately he's constantly taunting me with, "Leave this page or stay on this page?  You are not finished commenting yet."  Even when I say, "Yes.  Yes, I am done commenting.  Let me leave."  He insists that I'm not.  He's become that friend who tries to know me better than I know myself.  That friend that gives me unsolicited advice.  Whattup?

He's kinda been that friend that ignores my texts, too.  I'm all clicking "log on" and he's clearly all, "Not now," and "I don't think so," and "You really don't want to do this."

It's pissing me off.  I want us to be like we used to be.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

I won a birthday, y'all!

I am editing this post because after you win something (including when I won a fully decorated one foot tall Christmas tree in Mexico in the sixth grade ((true story))) friends and relatives come out of the woodwork to claim they had something to do with your winning and why didn't you thank them and give them some of your birthday.  Edited on 1-21-15 (pre-coffee).

So, it's my birthday.  And, I don't have many friends because I'm socially awkward and an introvert, but when you are on Facebook and it's your birthday it's pretty easy to feel like the head of the cheerleading squad in high school.  And by that I mean "a big deal."  With all this popularity (and on the heels of the Grammys which I was awake to watch this year for the first time in........ever) comes the need to write an acceptance speech. 

If that seems weird to you, I don't care.  It's my birthday and I'll write an acceptance speech if I want to.

So, without further ado, my acceptance speech:

I would like to thank my parents for potty training me.  Well, probably just my mom because I remember one time in first grade I wet my pants on the way home because it was about ten degrees below zero and I think your pee freezes right on to your skin when it's that cold and she yelled out the backdoor, "YOU BETTER NOT BE WETTING YOUR PANTS AGAIN, GIRL OR I WILL SPANK YOUR BUTT!"  So, yes.  I thank my mom for potty training me and sticking with it because apparently I did not like to "go at school" (I vaguely remember there being a curse word written in black Sharpie on the bathroom stall and that scared me).  Potty training was definitely one step along the way to many a successful birthday party!

I would like to also thank my dad for having the decency to make me accept my first job at Baskin Robbins.  It was there that I learned the importance of eating all the profits and the delightful sinfulness of eating all the profits............on your birthday.

I would like to thank my kids.  Without them I would be able to vacation for less than $10,000.  Which would totally degrade the value of a vacation for me.  And if I did not value a vacation then the commercial where they say, "One plane ticket - $650, one ticket to Disney - $400, one princess with a pirate - $8,000, two hotel rooms (one for you and one for your kids) - $2,000.  The shock on your husband's face when he gets the bill - priceless," would mean absolutely nothing to me.  I'm not sure what that has to do with birthdays, but after four kids I rarely make sense.

I would like to thank my entire staff (see above) who encouraged me to work in order to win this birthday "someday."

I would like to thank my older sister, Billy Jean, who I know is reading tonight from home because she couldn't fly down here to see me accept my birthday in person (see above for the cost of a plane ticket).  Billy Jean - I love you.  You taught me about negotiation, bribery, and maybe smuggling also?  Was that you?  Anyway!  I couldn't have done all these flippin' birthdays without you!

I would be remiss (and apparently I was) if I did not mention the rest of my wonderful siblings.  Without them I would be one of those weird people with only one sibling who share and cooperate barely better than only children.

I would like to thank my friends - real and virtual - for encouraging me to keep having birthdays and for feeding me cake and beer over the years.  Particularly one friend who dressed me for the after-parties and who sent me this card which I think explains my life:
Naturally it is Swiss cheese holding mine together so I am screwed
I'd like to thank my ancestors, the Mayans, for inventing the calendar and birthdays. 

And how could I forget my wonderful husband, Mr. DayInTheLife!  If you hadn't discovered me and gone on to be my manager, we wouldn't have made all those movies.............wait............I'm sorry I got confused.  This is my birthday acceptance speech.  Sorry!  Thanks Mr. DayInTheLife for all of my presents you are going to buy me.

And, lastly I'd like to thank God for sending me down here in my birthday suit.  Although, I question why you didn't send me in flannel P.J.'s with matching bunny head slippers since I am much more comfortable in that.

If I forgot anyone else know that this is just like a chain email that says you will die in seven days if you don't get it.  I'm sure I forgot people.  I have a really bad memory.  Forward it to people that you think I left out inadvertently!  Then they will feel good and they won't die!

And, that's all.  Again, this is such an honor and I will cherish this birthday forever!

(Cue the birthday music.)  (Me turning to exit the stage - the wrong way.  Ladies who we don't know, but who all look like Vanna White gently guiding me by the elbow to the other direction.  Why do they not just change the way people exit the stage?  In fact, I am changing that $hit right now.  Exit the way it feels natural after you accept your birthday.)

Happy Birthday, me! 

Saturday, January 17, 2015

If I die, you guys can have my blog.

So, I've been fairly busy playing a doctor the past few weeks.  And a specialist at that.  Put some initials behind my name (and pay me lots of money) because it's exhausting.

With considerable help from Mr. DayInTheLife, I've diagnosed myself with BPPV.  (And "they" named it that to f*ck with people who have trouble pronouncing things - which may or may not be a symptom of the actual condition.  Damn it).  Or I may have had a stroke, or I may have Meniere's disease.  (When you self-diagnose it's a crap shoot.  But, it turns out when you pay lots of money to specialists it's a crap shoot, too.)

Regardless, I've decided to write it all down.  If I am having a stroke this will be the first chapter of my yet untitled novel about my life after stroke.  And if I am not having a stroke, this will just be another gratuitous blog post about nothing.

So, I woke up a few weeks ago and immediately face-planted into my dresser.  This was quite unexpected and kind of unsettling.  It may come as a surprise that I don't usually do this.  I am quite clumsy, but I can normally maintain some semblance of balance (when not totally inebriated - which only happens at Christmas parties and other times when I invariably need to make a good impression). 

If you've never experienced vertigo, it feels a little like being on a treadmill (presumably without the purported health benefits).  I continued to experience dizziness (minus the blonde) and vomited immediately after drinking a cup of coffee (boo, hiss).  I will spare you the medical minute by minute but I ended up at my doctor the next day.

It was determined (after a full check-up during which - thankfully - I did not have to remove my clothes and don one of those attractive gowns that don't fully close) that I had excessive wax build-up in my ears which may or may not be causing a feeling of imbalance.  Sexy, I know.  I had my ears plunged but alas I had wax directly on my ear drum and I was referred to an ENT.

I guess I should have said this may be more information than you will ever want to know about me.  But, since my stats show that I am the only person reading this blog I figure I am quite safe exposing myself to myself.

I went to an ENT this past week.  He vacuumed my ear with the world's tiniest vacuum. 

(Photo courtesty:  No, it didn't look like this dog, "Milly" whose photo came up when I Googled 'world's tiniest vacuum.'  But, I kinda wish it had?
Then he gave me a hearing test.  If you've never had a hearing test at the ENT, here's the thing about it:  It makes you feel totally hard of hearing.  And just a little nuts.

So, you are in a sound proof room with a headset on.  I'm not sure why, but this kind of made me feel like Buzz Lightyear.  Then, you have to raise your hand when you hear a sound. 

What they don't tell you is that the sounds are not going to be like your kid calling you from upstairs.  They are going to be sounds that only dogs (like Milly) can hear.  So, it kind of turns into a Rorschach test for hearing.  First if you're like me, you get incredibly distracted waiting for the test to start.  Then, when it starts you immediately second guess yourself as to whether or not what you heard was a sound.  Then, you begin to think you heard a sound when in fact there was no sound.  Then you begin to think you are going completely mad.  And deaf.  It was almost as disarming as the vertigo itself.

After I convinced myself that I was totally deaf and that was the root of my fact-planting, it was discovered (thankfully) that I have hearing within the normal range.  (Except for hearing hubby and my kids which I rarely do.)

So, approximately one and half weeks after vertigo, I am still unbalanced (mentally and physically) and experiencing dizziness.  The experts have charged me $173, removed the wax covering my ear drum, pronounced me "hearing", and told me they are not sure what caused my vertigo, they are not sure if it will reoccur, they are not sure if it will subside, and to take two aspirins and come back in a week if I do not feel better.

Hubby and Google thankfully have been much more helpful.  It seems I have something called BPPV although without further testing a brain tumor, stroke, and Meniere's Disease cannot be ruled out.  Hubby is working on constructing a homemade MRI machine as I type. 

I'm not worried.  I have four more days to feel better before I need to consult another "specialist." 

And, since I am so good at this, if you need a diagnosis, or hell, a prescription, give me a call.  I'm currently accepting new patients.