Dear Blog,
Do you remember me? Your random author? I know, I used to take much better care of you before I discovered the addiction also known as Facebook. But don't worry, I haven't completely forgotten about you. I will still be a sporadic visitor.
Part of the problem is I never found your focus. Many of the blogs I read have a specific purpose, whether it's cooking, movie reviews, or family updates. I felt like I was doing you a disservice by not having a specific purpose. But then, I realized that maybe that was the reason for this blog. Maybe you are here simply to catch whatever random thoughts are falling out of my mind. Maybe you exist to capture a moment in time.
So here's this moment-the New England Patriots suck. And now it's time for pie.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Goodbye, Erin Drive
Goodbye, Erin Drive.
You were our first house. You were not an easy house to find; we looked at over 30 houses before we found you. We walked in on
You were the site of many firsts, good and bad. The first place where we were able to paint the walls any color we wanted. The first place where we were responsible when the furnace went out. The first place we were able to stand on our front lawn, look at the house, and feel proud that we took that step. You were the place where we learned what happens when two people drink three bottles of wine in one evening (here’s a hint-I did something for the first time in many years. Cleanup was not fun the next day). You were where we were living when we had to make the decision to put our cat Samantha to sleep.
And the projects! You didn’t need a lot, but we wanted to put our stamp on you. Remodeled bathrooms and kitchen, new carpeting-we made you ours. The effort paid off in the end, as someone else has found you special.
So many good times in this house, it’s hard to say goodbye. But it’s time for us to move on, and we’ll take our memories with us. Don’t be surprised if we drive by once or twice, just to see how you’re doing.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
The Removal of the Teeth
At my last dentist's visit, he recommended that I get one of my wisdom teeth removed (yes at 36 years old I still have my wisdom teeth). He doesn't do extractions, but recommended me to an oral surgeon. After putting it off, I made my appointment and went in for a consultation. The surgeon found not one but two teeth (one on each side) that needed removal. He was surprised that I wasn't feeling any pain from either tooth.
Friday was the big day. Dr. Bianco (who was really nice and kind of reminded me of my grandfather) had given me a prescription for valium. I took one pill the night before, and the next pill an hour before my appointment. I remember waking up Friday morning feeling really tired, and I told Mike a couple of times that I didn't understand how people could actually like taking the stuff, much less get hooked.
We got to the clinic, and they took me back to the "operating room" and started getting me hooked to the IV. Now, I really hate needles. I always get woozy whenever I try to give blood, and I was hoping that the valium would help with that. The nurse started to poke my arm, but was having trouble finding the vein. I started getting hot and wanted to jump off the chair and curl up on the floor, but instead I told her I was getting dizzy and needed a cold cloth on my forehead. She hooked me up to oxygen first (which strangely enough was cold), and got me a cloth. Once I started breathing I could feel better, and she moved down to my hand and was able to find a vein there.
Then the doctor came in, and took out what looked like a very large needle. He then had me open my mouth and injected local anesthetic in both sides of my mouth. He told me it would hurt, and I remember it hurt like hell but I didn't much care.
Next thing I know I opened my eyes and Mike was standing over me. Apparently I asked him when they were going to start, and he told me that they were already done. That's actually kind of a creepy feeling, knowing that someone had been able to remove parts of your body without even knowing it. They unhooked my IV (or maybe it was already done at that point, I really don't know), and put me in a wheelchair. They gave us instructions, and Mike had a bag of gauze and other supplies. It's a good thing Mike was there because I promptly forgot the instructions as soon as they gave them. They also had a prescription for penicillin and painkillers already called into the pharmacy, so we stopped by to pick them up.
Then I'm back in the car and on my way home. I told Mike about my IV adventures. Then I told him again. And again. And again. Guess my memory wasn't very good at this point. I also don't remember much about getting home. I had an icepack for my cheek. The tooth on the right side gave them some trouble, and that's the side that's still a little sore. I've never been punched in the jaw before but I have an idea about what it feels like now. So I iced my jaw, and then Mike gave me some applesauce so I could get something in my stomach before taking my pills. I was starting to feel a little better, and told Mike he could go to work and I would be fine. All I planned on doing was napping and/or watching TV.
The painkiller they gave me is hydrocodone, which is related to vicodin. There were also warnings about how addictive it could be. Great. I also was given way more pills than I would ever need as well as a refill. One of the side effects was drowsiness, and not long after Mike went to work I went into the office and stretched out on the recliner. I locked the cats out of the room, so first I heard Bootsie's meek "mew, mew" for about twenty minutes. Then Hershey came over and started crying and jumping against the door. Somehow with all that racket I managed to doze off.
After I woke up I decided I was hungry so I made myself some instant grits. I then settled down to eat and watch March of the Penguins. (I wanted something where it didn't matter if I fell asleep or not). Mike sent me a text message around 4 reminding me to take my pills and recommended that I take a pain pill whether I thought I needed it or not. I was a little sore so I went ahead. That caused me to get drowsy again, but by the time Mike got home I was awake. He had stopped at the store to pick up all kinds of goodies for me, including instant rice and apple juice. I had really been wanting juice because I was sick of water, so I had a glass right away. A little later on I was hungry again and he heated up the instant rice for me. It was chicken flavored and pretty good, but it took me forever to eat since I was being really careful.
We then settled on the couch to watch some TV. At some point, my stomach started feeling a little funky. Next thing I know I'm heading to the bathroom and throwing up. Turns out another side effect of the hydrocodone is nausea/vomiting. The apple juice probably didn't help either, what with the sugar. I came back to finish watching the show, but I had to stop because I was falling asleep. I went into the bedroom to lie down and was probably there about five minutes before I realized I had to throw up again. Luckily I made it just in time.
I fell asleep for about an hour, and when I woke up I was hungry again. Mike scrambled some eggs for me, and I drank water. This time, everything stayed down. I decided at that point that the pain wasn't really that bad and I wasn't going to take any more pain pills. We watched some more TV, and then it was off to bed, since we both had a really long day.
Saturday wasn't too bad. My right side was feeling better, even though it's still swollen. I wanted to go grocery shopping and Mike came with me, which I'm glad he did because I started to lose steam after a while. We didn't do much of anything and I took a nap in the afternoon, which is something I never do. I had been restricted from carbonated beverages for 24 hours, and by the evening I was ready for a diet coke. The caffeine definitely helped, and I was feeling well enough to make some pasta for dinner.
Today I feel so much better. My cheek hurts when I touch it and it still feels puffy, but I am up and around and already cleaned the house. In fact, I think the snow has stopped, so I'm going to run out and start shoveling.
Friday was the big day. Dr. Bianco (who was really nice and kind of reminded me of my grandfather) had given me a prescription for valium. I took one pill the night before, and the next pill an hour before my appointment. I remember waking up Friday morning feeling really tired, and I told Mike a couple of times that I didn't understand how people could actually like taking the stuff, much less get hooked.
We got to the clinic, and they took me back to the "operating room" and started getting me hooked to the IV. Now, I really hate needles. I always get woozy whenever I try to give blood, and I was hoping that the valium would help with that. The nurse started to poke my arm, but was having trouble finding the vein. I started getting hot and wanted to jump off the chair and curl up on the floor, but instead I told her I was getting dizzy and needed a cold cloth on my forehead. She hooked me up to oxygen first (which strangely enough was cold), and got me a cloth. Once I started breathing I could feel better, and she moved down to my hand and was able to find a vein there.
Then the doctor came in, and took out what looked like a very large needle. He then had me open my mouth and injected local anesthetic in both sides of my mouth. He told me it would hurt, and I remember it hurt like hell but I didn't much care.
Next thing I know I opened my eyes and Mike was standing over me. Apparently I asked him when they were going to start, and he told me that they were already done. That's actually kind of a creepy feeling, knowing that someone had been able to remove parts of your body without even knowing it. They unhooked my IV (or maybe it was already done at that point, I really don't know), and put me in a wheelchair. They gave us instructions, and Mike had a bag of gauze and other supplies. It's a good thing Mike was there because I promptly forgot the instructions as soon as they gave them. They also had a prescription for penicillin and painkillers already called into the pharmacy, so we stopped by to pick them up.
Then I'm back in the car and on my way home. I told Mike about my IV adventures. Then I told him again. And again. And again. Guess my memory wasn't very good at this point. I also don't remember much about getting home. I had an icepack for my cheek. The tooth on the right side gave them some trouble, and that's the side that's still a little sore. I've never been punched in the jaw before but I have an idea about what it feels like now. So I iced my jaw, and then Mike gave me some applesauce so I could get something in my stomach before taking my pills. I was starting to feel a little better, and told Mike he could go to work and I would be fine. All I planned on doing was napping and/or watching TV.
The painkiller they gave me is hydrocodone, which is related to vicodin. There were also warnings about how addictive it could be. Great. I also was given way more pills than I would ever need as well as a refill. One of the side effects was drowsiness, and not long after Mike went to work I went into the office and stretched out on the recliner. I locked the cats out of the room, so first I heard Bootsie's meek "mew, mew" for about twenty minutes. Then Hershey came over and started crying and jumping against the door. Somehow with all that racket I managed to doze off.
After I woke up I decided I was hungry so I made myself some instant grits. I then settled down to eat and watch March of the Penguins. (I wanted something where it didn't matter if I fell asleep or not). Mike sent me a text message around 4 reminding me to take my pills and recommended that I take a pain pill whether I thought I needed it or not. I was a little sore so I went ahead. That caused me to get drowsy again, but by the time Mike got home I was awake. He had stopped at the store to pick up all kinds of goodies for me, including instant rice and apple juice. I had really been wanting juice because I was sick of water, so I had a glass right away. A little later on I was hungry again and he heated up the instant rice for me. It was chicken flavored and pretty good, but it took me forever to eat since I was being really careful.
We then settled on the couch to watch some TV. At some point, my stomach started feeling a little funky. Next thing I know I'm heading to the bathroom and throwing up. Turns out another side effect of the hydrocodone is nausea/vomiting. The apple juice probably didn't help either, what with the sugar. I came back to finish watching the show, but I had to stop because I was falling asleep. I went into the bedroom to lie down and was probably there about five minutes before I realized I had to throw up again. Luckily I made it just in time.
I fell asleep for about an hour, and when I woke up I was hungry again. Mike scrambled some eggs for me, and I drank water. This time, everything stayed down. I decided at that point that the pain wasn't really that bad and I wasn't going to take any more pain pills. We watched some more TV, and then it was off to bed, since we both had a really long day.
Saturday wasn't too bad. My right side was feeling better, even though it's still swollen. I wanted to go grocery shopping and Mike came with me, which I'm glad he did because I started to lose steam after a while. We didn't do much of anything and I took a nap in the afternoon, which is something I never do. I had been restricted from carbonated beverages for 24 hours, and by the evening I was ready for a diet coke. The caffeine definitely helped, and I was feeling well enough to make some pasta for dinner.
Today I feel so much better. My cheek hurts when I touch it and it still feels puffy, but I am up and around and already cleaned the house. In fact, I think the snow has stopped, so I'm going to run out and start shoveling.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Rant on Racism
Call me naive, but sometimes it really bothers me that racism is still alive and well. The other day, I went to lunch with some coworkers. The place we were at had big screen tvs, tuned to sports and CNN. One of the stories that came up on CNN was about the Muslim family that was kicked off an airplane. One of my coworkers made a comment about it, kind of a "ha-ha, serves them right" type of comment. I must have made a face or shook my head, and she said, "what you don't think they should have been kicked off?" I told her that I didn't know the full story, and she told me that they had been discussing the safest place to sit if a plane blew up. I said that didn't seem right to be kicked off, and she mentioned that other passengers had been uncomfortable. I asked her if she thought they would have been kicked off if a white person had said that. She was quiet for a minute, but then said that maybe they should have had that conversation before they got on the plane.
Which is true. You don't say "bomb" on an airplane and expect that you won't get funny looks or pulled away for questioning. However, I think this whole situation has once again shown the really ugly side of America. Why do we assume that every Muslim is a terrorist? I hate to break it to you, redneck America, but Timothy McVeigh? The Unabomber? Those were white guys. So should we assume that every white male may also be a terrorist? We don't, so why is it ok to assume that every Muslim is?
And what I really resent is that the people who make these statements assume that I would agree with them. Sorry, but I'm a firm believer in "people are people" and don't dislike/fear someone before you get to know them. Don't assume that because I'm white I am as prejudiced as you are.
Ok, I'm getting off my soapbox. I'm probably on a government list somewhere now.
Which is true. You don't say "bomb" on an airplane and expect that you won't get funny looks or pulled away for questioning. However, I think this whole situation has once again shown the really ugly side of America. Why do we assume that every Muslim is a terrorist? I hate to break it to you, redneck America, but Timothy McVeigh? The Unabomber? Those were white guys. So should we assume that every white male may also be a terrorist? We don't, so why is it ok to assume that every Muslim is?
And what I really resent is that the people who make these statements assume that I would agree with them. Sorry, but I'm a firm believer in "people are people" and don't dislike/fear someone before you get to know them. Don't assume that because I'm white I am as prejudiced as you are.
Ok, I'm getting off my soapbox. I'm probably on a government list somewhere now.
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