I'm Bendin' Spoons.

So the score looks like this: Insurance 482, Emily 1.

They have finally allowed the MRI, Friends. I felt a little bit like Aladdin being granted a wish by the genie. But only if the genie were an evil corporation profiting on my pain and yelling, "dance, monkey girl, dance!" and if I were a little boy from the middle east that had a fondness for wearing hammer pants and vests without a shirt underneath.

Okay. So it's not the same, really.

I totally can't pull off just a vest. Oh, no. Just no.

But I can totally pull off a hat. And I think Aladdin wore a hat.

Anyway, they said yes. I threw out a grand number of expletives and thank yous and the MRI was done on Friday.

Here's how that went:

Technician: You can't move at all.
Me: Not at all?
T: Not unless you want me to do it over again.
M: And this whole process will take...?
T: An hour.
M: Excuse me?
T: ONE. HOUR... Unless you move.
M: Like, can I stretch the parts that aren't in the machine?
T: No, that would change the electric force field.
M:Ohmygod.


So he put some headphones on me and I went in the MRI machine, feet first up to the chest. I was like, "Easy peasy, it's like a tanning bed." He talked to me a couple of times and I nodded and got yelled at so I tried to speak without moving my lips and we got started.

Apparently I looked to him like a girl that liked to get her party on, because he put dance music in my ears the whole freaking time. I didn't want to be all lame and ask the voice in my ears for Simon & Garfunkel or maybe some Carol King, but can I just say? The mash-ups and beats did NOT help me go to my happy place.  I'm not anti-club music but holy crap.

So I practiced breathing techniques and counted the ceiling tiles and told myself that this time will just fly by. Like lightning.

It didn't.

I just sat there, listening to the club mix and the man in my ears as the paper began to rise underneath my legs and every hair follicle on my lower half went crazy. It is the most bizarre sensation. I also started having involuntary muscle twitches. At one point he yelled, "Stop moving!" and my response was a muffled, tight-lipped, "The entire definition of involuntary muscle spasms is that I HAVE NO CONTROL OVER THEM!" and I didn't. It was like, my entire leg, flopping in the force field. Toes bending completely. I started wondering if anyone had spontaneously combusted in the machine. Then I started to count tiles again, because shit, I scared myself. And I was deathly afraid that I would have to do this sitting completely still thing again. You know, if I didn't spontaneously burst into flames first.

When all the flying paper and rising follicles and twitching was done, he came in. It was the second time he had come in, the first time was half way through and he was yelling "Don't move, don't move!" and he had to adjust something before the second MRI. I couldn't even stretch. So that second time, I just sat there. He said I could move and I was all, "Are you sure?"

And I could not sit up. I was so weak from holding still that I could not even move and he had to help me up and I might have flashed him a teeny tiny bit. I couldn't walk, either. So I just sat there. When I left the room, I was SURE that everything metal was going to come flying towards me and I would die a horrible death by utensils and magnets.

I didn't.

When I staggered out to the waiting room, Jeremiah announced that AN HOUR AND A HALF had passed. I told him we had bigger problems because I was now super human. I was an MRI gone wrong.

Then I realized: Those assholes lied to me. They said it would be only an hour.

I think I shall use my powers for evil.

Kelly Clarkson!

Yesterday after work I went to one of my specialists. He is the one that diagnosed me with Snuffy's Disease, even though he is not a podiatrist. I am pretty sure I am his dose of entertainment for the day (Unless it is an emergency flare visit, in which case there is endless crying and sweating. That might not be his favorite.).

Anyway, I have been doing okay with my disease. My main focus right now is the Snuffy's Disease and my three week long sinus infection (I went to the doctor on Saturday. It got pretty bad, Friends.). He asked about S.D. and I informed him that I was still having problems. He suggested the injection again, which I was hesitant about because I don't love the idea of masking the pain. He said that it would bring down the inflammation and allow me to use the foot again. It might even give the foot time to heal.

After a lot of nervous wiggling and clapping (Yes, clapping. I think I was trying to encourage myself.) I decided to go for it.

They wheeled the most ginormous machine into the room and at that point I realized that it was probably too late to turn back and that also this might be something that I regret. It was actually just the ultra-sound machine and he even pointed out my tendons and foot parts. So far, so good.

The next step was a quick cleaning because I had been in sandals all day and feet get filthy in Phoenix. I am so serious. First thing I do when I get home? I wash my feet. Anyway, then I made him promise that he would tell me when he was going to shoot me. He promised. It went like this:


E: Promise me?
Dr: I promise. Right now I am going to put some cold stuff on it.
E: Okay. Wow, yeah, that's chill-HOLY CRAP! HOLY CRAP! HOLY CRAP! The bastard shot me. There was a lot of clapping and weird mouth noises and even some swearing until he was done - which was about a minute. A minute of getting a shot in my freaking heel. Normally I would wiggle a lot, but they were holding down BOTH of my feet.
E: You are a sneaky liar!
Dr: What?
E: You PROMISED me!
Dr: Oh. Did I forget to mention that I was going to stick you? I thought I said it. Huh.
E: You are a sneaky, evil man.

I should still be mad at him, but he ever so gently attached a band-aid to my foot and helped me down from the table because walking at that point had become treacherous.

If you do not mind a lot of swearing - and I mean A LOT of swearing - this is what my visit was like. Except I do not need my chest waxed and I am not a man. The general overall flip out? Practically the same. Except some different swears.

Again - not an appropriate video for watching in a public place or around children. Don't pull this out in church, friends.

In fact, I will just provide the link:
I like your sweater. Does that come in a v-neck?

If you are interested, you can revisit another visit to Dr. Lying Sneaky Pants HERE.

p.s. Also I can't really walk today. I seriously need a walker. Or a cane. Because I am really limping. I look like I am trying to be a gangsta.
p.p.s. In school-related news, do you know how many paper towels it takes to clean up an entire carton of milk when it falls into a desk? I do. That was a great start to the morning. 

Because No One Puts Baby in the Corner

Not to upstage Jeremiah or anything, but late on Friday night I was admitted to the emergency room. As I was not able to drive and Jeremiah is on strict orders not to drive, I am going to say that we flew to the ER. Or rode horseback. Which sounds more realistic?

My joints/muscles were flamed up and I was in excruciating pain. Nothing was helping. Not a bath, not gentle massage, not heat. Nothing. I couldn't lie down, couldn't sit. The only thing I could do was pace. And cry. And there was some screaming mixed with snot-filled sinuses, which I am sure was a treat.

So we went to the ER using our wings/horses. It is really close to our house, and suburbia is quite quiet at one thirty in the morning. So our horses encountered minimal traffic.

I was almost immediately given a bed, even though they were packed. This did not matter because I could not sit down and spent my time standing and pacing the room until they made me lie down to get an IV.

At this point, they told me that I would be getting morphine, something for nausea, and valium. And then I started to cry, because I HATE drugs of any kind and they scare me. Plus, the nurse could not find any veins (typical) and ended up using the inside of my arm, half way up. Very painful, Friends. So I was snot crying about the pain, stress, sleeplessness, and the fear of the morphine.

Then after, I felt a little better. Still in pain, but not crying because my back was touching the bed. Also not pain free enough to be considered okay, so I got my second dose of morphine. At this point, I cared a little less. Also at this point, conversations became a bit more interesting.

Me: Ooh, Roseanne is on! I love this show!
J: Okay...
Me: I love John Goodman.
J: Quizzical look in my direction
Me: He's bringing sexy back, Jeremiah.
J: Really? Should I gain a hundred pounds?
Me: Well, no. But you would look GOOD in that flannel shirt. And with some curly hair. At this point in the conversation, I may have growled a little. This is an argument we have had for years. I think Jeremiah should bring back the cowboy look. I don't know if it's because he grew up on a farm or what, but I think he could rock the boots, hat, and plaid/flannel shirt. I never win this argument. 
Nurse: How are we doing in here?
J: Oh, I think the morphine is kicking in.

And also this, about an hour into the stay:
J: Shit. This chair is really uncomfortable.
Me: Oh, really?
J: Yeah.
Me: Yeah? You let me know when you sleep in one of those chairs for THREE WHOLE DAYS while watching someone you love in the aftermath of a craniotomy, then we will talk.


I am home now and feeling better, but not too psyched about the fact that I have had such a serious episode, because my doctor has helped me manage it so well, it worries me that something like this managed to sneak through the meds.


Diseases suck.

So how was your weekend?

p.s. My nurse looked like Jane Lynch and was almost as funny. That could be the morphine talking, but I really do think she was funny.

p.p.s. I have added a picture of my bruise so you can feel my pain.

This is where they shot the morphine into me. Or, as we now know it, the truth serum. After Roseanne ended, Three's Company came on and I announced to Jeremiah that young John Ritter was hot.

Holy Crap. Old People Swear.

I promised this, and I hate to break promises. More on our mini-vacation later, as time permits.

If you think that I am wonderful and innocent and perfect, stop reading right here because this will ruin your image of me.

No one? Okay. Let's get on with the story.

Setting: Self-Checkout at Lowe's. There is nothing around the self-checkout. No impulse purchases, nothing. Just four registers, two on each side.
Characters: Myself, Old Creeper, Jeremiah, On-Lookers.

I am checking out at the self-checkout closest to the exit. There is another one directly behind me. Jeremiah is checking out across from me. I am all alone. As I hit the "pay" button, I notice that a very tall and very scruffy old man is standing right there with me. He isn't buying anything. He isn't with the people checking out behind me. He is standing right there with me. To an on-looker, it would look as though we are together.  He was almost touching me. It made me super uncomfortable. Enough that I spoke up. And I NEVER speak up.

Me: Um, Sir? Would you mind backing up while I type in my personal information? I would like to point out that I wasn't rude at all.
Creeper: Loudly GEEZ, LADY! I'M NOT EVEN LOOKING AT YOUR INFORMATION. GOD. I'M JUST STANDING HERE!

I'm pretty sure that he was trying to embarrass me and make me feel even more uncomfortable. People are staring. Jeremiah is paying zero attention to me and/or Creeper, as he is talking with the Lowe's guy. Awesome. So Creeper refuses to leave, and the two men (Jer & Lowe's Guy) that could do anything about it are deep in conversation. I finish checking out and race over to Jeremiah, who is wearing shorts and a tee-shirt, all tattoos exposed except one. Guy walks away when he sees me go to Jeremiah. Just disappears. I think he thought I was alone. As we walk out and are getting into the car, I see the old guy. I roll down the window. 

Me: Sir? Have a nice day!
Creeper: F*CK YOU!
Me: Holy crap, Jeremiah. That old guy just gave me the finger, and I'm pretty sure he just told me -
Jeremiah: Yeah, he just said f*ck you.  
Me: Nice.

I can only say this. I did not swear at him. But I did show my general dislike in some way. Now to the finer/scarier parts of this.
  

• I told a friend about this and she had a creeper, too, a few years ago. Her dad told her this, rather simply. Dad: So he could see you were uncomfortable?  Friend: Yes. Dad: And he continued to stand there? Friend: Yes. Dad: Then SOMETHING was not right about this guy.
• And that is SO true. Who, seeing that they are making someone uncomfortable, would remain there, when they are straight out asked to give a little space? Only someone who was doing it purposefully.
• Also, self-checkout lines start before the little registers. So if he were in line, he should have been standing back behind all four registers. He wasn't. And he wasn't buying anything.
• Next, if someone had asked me to give them space, I would have felt awful and backed up immediately, apologizing.
• If he didn't have bad intentions, why did he leave when he saw me with Jeremiah?

So all I can say is this. In all seriousness. Ladies? Speak up for yourself. I was shocked that my friend had had a similar creepy experience. With a creepy older gentleman. I don't normally think of older people as creepy, but some really horrible people grow old without ending up in jail. I would have been terrified if Jeremiah wasn't right there.  I felt stupid asking him to back up, and he tried to make me feel worse by yelling at me, but if I hadn't said anything, no one else would have noticed that I was uncomfortable. And some on-lookers did. But no one said anything. So you really need to speak up for yourself. Make a scene if you need to. If Jeremiah hadn't been there, I would have gone immediately to the Lowe's guy.

P.S. Old People Really Do Swear Bonus: One time years ago, back in Michigan, a tiny old guy in a fancy car called me a bitch at the gas station. I had been waiting in line for a pump and he swerved in, trying to cut me off and a few others. He didn't dig that I didn't back down. He hobbled over and said, "You, young lady, are a bitch." And I said, "You are a VERY mean old man." Then he walked away.

Stay on your toes, Girls.

FtVF - Not Funny, Jeremiah.

Several years ago, before I started this here blog, we were moving into our new house. At one point, either I borrowed Jeremiah's camera to take some pictures, or he borrowed mine. Regardless, I loaded pictures from a camera to my computer.

And I saw this:

I thought it would be cool to have a ghost for a boyfriend. It isn't. He can't lift any of the heavy stuff. 

This picture scared the poo out of me. Not literally. But I really hate it when people are all, "I literally fell apart." No, you didn't.

Anyway. I digress. The picture freaked me out and I was all, "Ohmygod, I see dead people!" I got goosebumps and I was sure that that was the reason why I was so uncomfortable in the house those first few nights - because my boyfriend was haunting me from beyond the grave. And just when I was starting to get used to having a ghost for a boyfriend, Jeremiah came up behind me. "Oh, you found my pictures? I was trying something (insert Charlie Brown's teacher's voice here) with the camera! Cool, huh?"

No, Jeremiah. Not cool. Because then I had to call everyone back and tell them that I had a regular boring old LIVING boyfriend. So lame.

P.S. The house is actually and truly haunted. I still get uncomfortable. I still feel weird drafts in undraftable (made that up) places in certain rooms. The dogs still bark at the walls. Spike will jump at the same place on the wall in the closet, day after day. Occasionally in the mornings all four animals will stare intently into the dark hallway, which scares the poo out of me.

Figuratively speaking.


Happy Friday, Friends!

It's a Bunch of B.S.

Last weekend Jeremiah went to get our basket by himself, as I'd been having some episodes with my muscles/joints lately and was exhausted (basket pick-up is at 7:00 on a SATURDAY).

Now, most of the time I recognize everything, even if it is something I've never eaten before (with the exception of the figs). Like, I recognized pomegranates, even if I had never consumed them in their original form.

Except last weekend after I woke up and came downstairs, there were these things...odd little round things. They were kind of cute, really. A big bag of them. I looked at Jeremiah quizzically and held one up in sort of a silent question.

Do you know what they were?

A big ass bag of...

BRUSSEL SPROUTS.

Yes, the girl who can now eat tofu with a straight face and who will try just about anything (so long as it is not beef, pork, or squash) is terrified of brussel sprouts. Deceptively cute little buggers.

I was determined to try them.

So Jeremiah prepared them like this:

I made the picture extra big so it could be like you were right here with me, trying them and everything.

He used some EVOO and some Johnny's and to be honest...

I could not decide whether I was going to vomit or have seconds. Twenty-nine point two years of fear is a lot to deal with one night at dinner.

If you are like me and have never tried them before, they are meaty. They look like baby heads of lettuce but do not taste anything like lettuce. To me they taste slightly like a mix of peas, cauliflower, and broccoli. Just meaty. And I ended up not eating the outermost leaf and kind of scraping the insides out with my teeth.

Jeremiah loved them and said he would definitely eat them again.

I would probably eat them again, but request another vegetable alongside so as to not be restricted to one veggie that I only like in an okay way.

Thoughts on brussel sprouts? Is there another vegetable you hate? Love? Never tried?

P.S. You have not tried Johnny's, you are crazy and you are missing out. Deliciousness.

P.P.S. Every where I looked I saw brussels sprouts spelled differently. And so if you disagree with my spelling of it, I do not care. I probably disagree with it, too.

I'll See Your Snakes on a Plane and Raise You Bugs in the Hair

Crap.

Without going into too many details (abundance of lice in my classroom), I have now started checking my hair daily for lice. Ick. It does not help that my hair is super long. And sometimes people pet it. I want to shriek "Do NOT pet my hair! It might house tiny disgusting bugs and EGGS!"

Doesn't that make you shudder? Something living off of you. You are host to a parasite. I fear going out in public, shaking my locks, and bugs just falling out all over the place.

So gross. I am not actually hosting anything right now, thank god.

Mostly because bugs on me/in me are my greatest fear in life, but also because I do not think I would be the best hostess. I seem to lack some hostessing skills. I will keep you hydrated but I can't promise anything else.

p.s. And Jeremiah? Contrary to what you seem to believe, it is NOT funny to scream "OHMYGOD, what is THAT?" while you are checking my hair. You KNOW that sometimes there are flannel pillow fuzzies.

First Day Jitters or, Do They Make Coordinating Leashes & Jammies?

Presentation? Done.

Proposal? Done.

First Day of School? Done.

I'm going to go home and collapse now. After I make some copies. I'm freaking exhausted.

p.s. I should mention that I had another night terror last night. I'm pretty sure Jeremiah is the luckiest guy ever. Actually, I'm pretty sure that if HE was ever to have a night terror I'd pee my pants when he started screaming and then I'd sleep somewhere else. Not near him. So maybe he isn't so lucky because the whole thing is a bit terrifying. And confusing. Mostly confusing because I wake up thinking, "Why aren't I lying down?" or "Why aren't I in bed?" or "Why am I standing here pointing at the carpet?" (This was Jeremiah's personal favorite, The Carpet Episode.) or "Spiders on the headboard? We don't have a headboard." And it makes my heart race like crazy. I was apparently ranting about spiders (again) and having to get up because it was early. I was also sitting up and moving around. Because, you know, even while one is sleeping exercise is important. The only thing I actually remember is him turning on his cell phone to see the time (this is actually what woke me up) and I remember saying something about making choices. Spider choices, I guess.

I asked him later today why it doesn't freak him out when this happens and he said it was because I was awake - my eyes were open, I was talking.

Ummm...

I then informed him that I'm not actually awake when this happens and there was a bit of silence. Then he said, "Well, shit. We're going to have to get you a leash.".

Nice, babe.

Something grosser than yesterday's post

I take little breaks during my high stress days. This post is brought to you by one of those breaks. And it's gross, keeping with the theme of things.

So you know how normally when I get stung/bitten by an ant, I swell up? Remember the pictures I've shared? Not being able to walk or use my arm? I mean, depending on the location of the bite. On a regular day I can usually use my arms and legs.

I got another bite this weekend, except it wasn't the same type of ant. This guy was a bit bigger and it hurt like fire. The other bites hurt too, but this was a little different.  Like someone taking a needle, putting a lot of poison on it, setting it on fire, and then poking me. In my elbow pit.

And it immediately swelled and turned red, but only slightly, not like the others.

The next morning though, I was treated to this:

Objects in picture may appear smaller than they actually are.

That's a pus-filled lump, people. How gross is that? My greatest fear in life is bugs living under my skin, so this was horrifying to me. Spiders crawling down my arm, under my skin, down into the thin skin on my hand, stretching it out, ripping the skin...I just scared myself. Just a little.

And while I logically knew that nothing was living in my arm, I couldn't let it be. I washed it thoroughly and popped it. I put some of the stuff in the brown bottle on it. You know the stuff? I'm doing okay. For future reference, I don't care for pus-bumps. Or ants.

Holy Crickets, Batman

I've noticed an abundance of crickets in my classroom. They spray every summer while the kids and staff are gone, but I always get extra crickets. They heart me. And my bulletin board outside my room. And the metal sheet that covers my windows. They live there. They like to visit my students. My students and I? Do not love the crickets.

So today they sprayed after school. And HUNDREDS of crickets came pouring out from behind the board and sheet, covering the sidewalk and wall. Kids were screaming, staff & parents were congregating.

Seriously. Grossest. Thing. Ever.

It was like a horror movie.

I'm now locked in my room because they are trying to get in every time I open the door and even when it is closed they squeeze under it.

Reconfirming My Fear of Clowns

In honor of Halloween, we've been netflixing scary movies. Both Poltergeist and Saw had evil clowns, which just goes to show that nothing good can ever come from having a clown around. So there.

I'm experiencing a surge in productivity with regards to preparing things for our move. We've coated the floor with a glossy sealant. I called and got both puppies into the groomers and reserved a Uhaul truck. This way the dogs will be out of the way when we are loading things up and into the new house. Plus, they should look and smell better than when we dropped them off.

For all those that love a bargain...I got 20 cents knocked off the rate per mile on the truck due to a bad experience that I had last time at Uhaul. I mentioned that we were going out of our way (by a mile) to avoid a different Uhaul store (with the bad service) and he appreciated that we were staying with the company and offering his store our services.