Sharp Pointy Objects - the podcast - makes it's world premiere tonight!
If you're interested in actually hearing me, in hearing my brilliant friends...
Click Here.
WOO HOO!
Finally.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
World Premiere of Scarface Starring Jane
Real quick...
This evening, I went out to supper with some friends.
Most notably, a friend of Devo Was Right who is a trauma plastic surgeon PA at the #1 trauma hospital in the region and who examined my wound and told me how to care for it and reassured me it would hardly be noticeable eventually if I took good care.
But also of note...Acr0nym brought his camera and took pictures of me sans stitches. I think this is a reasonable picture to post so you all know what it is I'm dealing with. After all, this is how my face will look for a long time to come...
No rulers and Exact-O knives were used in the making of this wound. Oddly, I can't draw a straight line to save my life when I'm awake and alert. Who knew I could be so straight and narrow while unconscious using only a jagged wineglass?
So.
There you have it.
My new face.
If you see me out in public and exclaim, "Holy shit! What happened to your face?!" I'm now armed with an arsenal of kickass answers that belie the banality of the truth. Be forewarned.
This evening, I went out to supper with some friends.
Most notably, a friend of Devo Was Right who is a trauma plastic surgeon PA at the #1 trauma hospital in the region and who examined my wound and told me how to care for it and reassured me it would hardly be noticeable eventually if I took good care.
No rulers and Exact-O knives were used in the making of this wound. Oddly, I can't draw a straight line to save my life when I'm awake and alert. Who knew I could be so straight and narrow while unconscious using only a jagged wineglass?
So.
There you have it.
My new face.
If you see me out in public and exclaim, "Holy shit! What happened to your face?!" I'm now armed with an arsenal of kickass answers that belie the banality of the truth. Be forewarned.
Laughter Truly Is the Best Medicine
A day or two after my unfortunate run in with a renegade wine glass, I was bantering back and forth with one of my favorite blog friends, Word Nerd, who is also the leader of the GBE2 (group blogging experience) on Facebook.
Somehow she and I came to the conclusion that we ought to offer up the opportunity to the GBE2 folks to write the tale of how I came by the wound and subsequent scar - considering the blandness of the true story. I was sworn to secrecy until today when the topic was announced to the group at large.
Just after the trauma, before it had really sunk in, the idea seemed like a good one. As the week progressed, my anxiety took over and I questioned the decision. Who was I to think the group would want to write on this topic? It felt presumptuous anyone would care.
So when Word Nerd e-mailed me last night to make sure I was still OK with people making light of the event, I told her I wanted to make light of it but felt as though I were asking people to write about something they wouldn't be interested in and I didn't want the group to resent a dramatic change to the typical prompt format. She assured me it would be just fine. She has a great deal of faith in these people who write for and with each other week after week.
Turns out, she was right.
Several entries have already been linked to the topic post and I have to tell you every one has had me laughing aloud in great gulping guffaws! So far I have danced naked zumba (hee hee), rumbled with a high flautin' society lady with a terrible attitude (YES! Take THAT, snooty snot lady!), gotten tangled up in a fly fishing rod (which is not only possible but probable), attempted to stab a bitchy beauty pageant judge in the eye with her very own pencil (while pregnant with Lex's love quadruplets *snicker*), and attended a rock concert on ill-gotten VIP passes and fallen off the stage (I'm fairly certain I've already done this at one time or another).
This day has been full of coconut bra fun and I've loved every minute of it!
So...I would just like to take a moment tonight to tell all of these phenomenal bloggers who have made me laugh today thank you. You've given me so many opportunities to laugh out loud today and every single story has contributed to my recovery and well-being. You're awesome!
Somehow she and I came to the conclusion that we ought to offer up the opportunity to the GBE2 folks to write the tale of how I came by the wound and subsequent scar - considering the blandness of the true story. I was sworn to secrecy until today when the topic was announced to the group at large.
Just after the trauma, before it had really sunk in, the idea seemed like a good one. As the week progressed, my anxiety took over and I questioned the decision. Who was I to think the group would want to write on this topic? It felt presumptuous anyone would care.
So when Word Nerd e-mailed me last night to make sure I was still OK with people making light of the event, I told her I wanted to make light of it but felt as though I were asking people to write about something they wouldn't be interested in and I didn't want the group to resent a dramatic change to the typical prompt format. She assured me it would be just fine. She has a great deal of faith in these people who write for and with each other week after week.
Turns out, she was right.
Several entries have already been linked to the topic post and I have to tell you every one has had me laughing aloud in great gulping guffaws! So far I have danced naked zumba (hee hee), rumbled with a high flautin' society lady with a terrible attitude (YES! Take THAT, snooty snot lady!), gotten tangled up in a fly fishing rod (which is not only possible but probable), attempted to stab a bitchy beauty pageant judge in the eye with her very own pencil (while pregnant with Lex's love quadruplets *snicker*), and attended a rock concert on ill-gotten VIP passes and fallen off the stage (I'm fairly certain I've already done this at one time or another).
This day has been full of coconut bra fun and I've loved every minute of it!
So...I would just like to take a moment tonight to tell all of these phenomenal bloggers who have made me laugh today thank you. You've given me so many opportunities to laugh out loud today and every single story has contributed to my recovery and well-being. You're awesome!
Saturday, February 18, 2012
It Smells Like Adolescence In Here - You Know, Faintly Goat Like
Back in the last years of elementary school and all of junior high, I was not a cute kid. I hit my awkward stage very early - glasses and braces in the 4th grade - a stage made even more awkward by my early development and painfully-obvious-from-the-start large chest.
I've written about my popularity challenges and limited dating experiences before. At 40, I feel nearly as inexperienced and all elbows and left feet as I did at 14. Luckily, Noodle likes all my elbows and left feet. But that's not why I'm here tonight.
Tonight I'm going to tell you a secret.
My generation - or, at least, the generation I knew growing up in Wyoming - was particularly promiscuous at a very early age. My peers began readily losing their virginity at the age of 12. Kids were coupling up - angsty balls of raging hormones and tween spirit - before we'd graduated to junior high. One of my old elementary school friends - TB - was dating a senior in high school before she became a teenager herself. I remember listening in fascination and horror as she detailed the events surrounding her de-flowering and how humiliated she was...how much she hated it. Thinking back on it, while I understand her thrill of catching the attention of an older "man", her willingness to sacrifice that part of herself in order to keep him, what he did to her borders on pedophilia. I feel sick over it.
But this isn't about her either.
As I said, all the kids, it seemed, were coupling up, attending boy/girl parties - parties to which my invitations have yet to arrive, kissing by the gym, holding hands, dancing awkwardly - doing their best at the hug and shuffle - at every junior high school dance. Rites of passage from which I was, and would continue to be, excluded. I was so very desperate for attention and affection - shyly waiting for it, convinced it would never come.
And then...
I met CP.
CP was the best friend of the older brother of MY best friend. He was older - he had a driver's license and a 1964 electric blue Chevy Impala - he was 16. I was 14. It wasn't exactly squicky. But he had a girlfriend...a girlfriend I not only knew but a girl who counted me as one of her closest friends.
CP and I began our clandestine liaisons soon after we met. It started in the back row of the Beverly Twin movie house as we "watched" Pee Wee's Big Adventure. He would kiss me - my first kisses - a lot. Our make out sessions would continue weekly or as often as we could make them happen and usually before Wednesday night youth group meetings. One afternoon, I arrived at his house and he'd been eating sour cream and onion Pringles. To this day, those chips taste like salty shame to me.
One day, after months of these secret passion-filled afternoons, he pulled me into his parents' laundry room and told me we should "do it" on top of the dryer. I was 14 and terrified. I told him "no". Repeatedly. He would eventually respect my answer - but only after numerous attempts to convince me otherwise.
Soon after, he would break up with his girlfriend and I...I foolishly thought it was because he wanted ME to be his girlfriend...
Until he announced he was seeing someone else and abruptly cut off all contact with me.
And I knew...I was his secret. His dirty, shameful secret. A concept I was familiar with. A concept I would continue to manifest again and again...and again.
At the time though, I didn't understand why he would have taken up with me if he didn't actually like me. I was heartbroken. I was ashamed. I didn't believe I deserved any better.
It wasn't until years later, after I'd had enough distance and experience, I'd recall how CP was first introduced to me, and I would begin to understand. I had spent the night at my best friend's house and was in her room applying my new-to-makeup, inexperienced heavy hand when her older brother, SB, came into her room talking on the phone to CP. SB continued to talk on the phone as he watched me paint my face and, at one point, declared my makeup application the art of a "super slut".
Taken out of context - from CP's end of the conversation - he heard, "super slut". He thought I was easy. The mating call of every over-sexed, hormonally-over driven teenage boy alive. And the rest is (my) history.
A history that was doomed to repeat itself - several times - over many years. A history that continues to haunt me...continues to send chills up my spine when there is even a hint of secrecy to any relationship I engage.
So...
While I would love to say I have no regrets, while I would love to say everything that's happened in my life has brought me to the place I am now - a particularly awesome place to be (and it is), if I could have a do over, it would start there. 14-year-old me would have just a little self-confidence and a little self-esteem. 14-year-old me would have told him, "Hey! You want to fool around with me? You'd better be free to do it AND you'd better act like I'm worth solid gold. Because I am solid gold. Otherwise, you won't come near me without a warrant."
Written in response to the GBE2 (Group Blogging Experience 2) prompt: Do Over.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Coming to Jeebus
Hi.
First things first:
I'm exhausted - a consequence of trauma-induced shock - weepy, and a bit befuddled, but I'm OK. No, really. I am. The wound is healing nicely, it isn't raised or puffed up at all, and the stitches come out tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully, after a few days, it'll just look like Vinny got really mad or incredibly frisky and scratched the hell outta me. That's a whole lot better than having to tell people I decided to use a broken wineglass for a pillow.
Acr0nym stopped by with Spux in tow yesterday evening to take a few pictures and eat my cheese. Both of them were amazed at the skill of the ER staff who stitched me up. I must confess, after having seen Acr0nym's professional pictures, I'm encouraged. I'll post a picture of my face once the stitches come out. I'm confident that will be alright.
Test results and subsequent consults with my doctor have taken place. My doctor is convinced there is nothing wrong with me a lot of water and a good deal of rest can't fix. Verdict: dehydration, exhaustion, and remnants of the upper respiratory infection I've been battling were the culprits. It's still unclear whether or not I fainted or simply fell asleep. Both are possible. Regardless, I've had no additional episodes and should be cleared to drive by the time I have to go back to work at the office on Monday.
As an aside: I kinda feel like a celebrity with that exhaustion diagnosis. Isn't that what all celebrities check into rehab for? Exhaustion? It sounds so glamorous. Although...perhaps it would have been more glamorous if I'd been doing whip-its...which I wasn't.
Fame. You elude me once again.
I want all my blog friends to know I've been slowly but surely catching up with you and all your writings. Several of you have been posting daily - that's what happens when y'all sign up for NaBloPoMo - and I've been reading every single word. I know you'll understand that I haven't had the energy or brain power to comment on every post. I am reading though and I appreciate every single kind word you've left for me in your blogs, on my blog, and in the personal e-mails I've received. If I've inadvertently left an incoherent comment that seems to make absolutely no sense, please know my intentions were good.
I want to mention just how amazing it feels to have an incredible group of friends I've never met to add to the love and support of the people I can recognize on the street. This internet thingy is pretty cool.
I also want all my friends with street recognition to know how much I appreciate all the offers for assistance. While the majority of my needs were met quite handily by one tuckered out Lex, just knowing I have my bases covered if I need it is a humbling experience. Thank you.
I have to confess something. Over the last couple of days, I've attempted to minimize this experience to myself, to others. I've tried to make it seem as though this is No Big Deal and felt as though I should be back at my desk at work, working on the podcast (I swear! It really is coming!), writing every day, reading and commenting on 130+ blogs, falling in major like, running a household, and nurturing everyone around me. But this IS a big deal. Not the scar. That's not a big deal in the larger scheme of things. The message is the big deal - the life-altering event. I had this experience precisely because I have not been taking care of myself. Because I've been burning every candle I own with a blow torch, going full steam ahead even though I knew I was tired, knew I was sick, knew I was practically out of gas, and, most importantly, know I've got chronic fatigue even though I love to deny deny deny.
I am a cautionary tale of what can happen when a person forgets to eat, poo-poos the idea of a full night's sleep, and who, even though she knows way better after having lived at altitude her entire life, thinks water is a last resort for thirst quenching. I've never been quite this girl - this poster child for teetering on the brink of health disaster - at least, not quite in this controllable way.
What happened IS a big deal. And I will not minimize it. I will not turn away sympathy but I want each and every one of you to know I did this to myself. I am both perpetrator and victim. This was every bit my fault. I didn't listen to myself. I didn't listen to Lex. I didn't do what I knew was right because I was too busy putting my energies into everything except my own health.
Don't be like me. Take care of yourself. Even if you have to let something else that seems important go.
PS Here's a very special shout out to my long time friend and former co-worker, Dole: Dude, you've had one hell of a hard year. I can understand and appreciate your desire to minimize what you've been through. But remember, you are important and what you've gone through is HUGE. You have my deepest sympathies for the loss of your dad, for the loss of the life you'd thought you'd built. Hang in there, my friend, and take care. It will get better.
First things first:
I'm exhausted - a consequence of trauma-induced shock - weepy, and a bit befuddled, but I'm OK. No, really. I am. The wound is healing nicely, it isn't raised or puffed up at all, and the stitches come out tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully, after a few days, it'll just look like Vinny got really mad or incredibly frisky and scratched the hell outta me. That's a whole lot better than having to tell people I decided to use a broken wineglass for a pillow.
Acr0nym stopped by with Spux in tow yesterday evening to take a few pictures and eat my cheese. Both of them were amazed at the skill of the ER staff who stitched me up. I must confess, after having seen Acr0nym's professional pictures, I'm encouraged. I'll post a picture of my face once the stitches come out. I'm confident that will be alright.
Test results and subsequent consults with my doctor have taken place. My doctor is convinced there is nothing wrong with me a lot of water and a good deal of rest can't fix. Verdict: dehydration, exhaustion, and remnants of the upper respiratory infection I've been battling were the culprits. It's still unclear whether or not I fainted or simply fell asleep. Both are possible. Regardless, I've had no additional episodes and should be cleared to drive by the time I have to go back to work at the office on Monday.
As an aside: I kinda feel like a celebrity with that exhaustion diagnosis. Isn't that what all celebrities check into rehab for? Exhaustion? It sounds so glamorous. Although...perhaps it would have been more glamorous if I'd been doing whip-its...which I wasn't.
Fame. You elude me once again.
I want all my blog friends to know I've been slowly but surely catching up with you and all your writings. Several of you have been posting daily - that's what happens when y'all sign up for NaBloPoMo - and I've been reading every single word. I know you'll understand that I haven't had the energy or brain power to comment on every post. I am reading though and I appreciate every single kind word you've left for me in your blogs, on my blog, and in the personal e-mails I've received. If I've inadvertently left an incoherent comment that seems to make absolutely no sense, please know my intentions were good.
I want to mention just how amazing it feels to have an incredible group of friends I've never met to add to the love and support of the people I can recognize on the street. This internet thingy is pretty cool.
I also want all my friends with street recognition to know how much I appreciate all the offers for assistance. While the majority of my needs were met quite handily by one tuckered out Lex, just knowing I have my bases covered if I need it is a humbling experience. Thank you.
I have to confess something. Over the last couple of days, I've attempted to minimize this experience to myself, to others. I've tried to make it seem as though this is No Big Deal and felt as though I should be back at my desk at work, working on the podcast (I swear! It really is coming!), writing every day, reading and commenting on 130+ blogs, falling in major like, running a household, and nurturing everyone around me. But this IS a big deal. Not the scar. That's not a big deal in the larger scheme of things. The message is the big deal - the life-altering event. I had this experience precisely because I have not been taking care of myself. Because I've been burning every candle I own with a blow torch, going full steam ahead even though I knew I was tired, knew I was sick, knew I was practically out of gas, and, most importantly, know I've got chronic fatigue even though I love to deny deny deny.
I am a cautionary tale of what can happen when a person forgets to eat, poo-poos the idea of a full night's sleep, and who, even though she knows way better after having lived at altitude her entire life, thinks water is a last resort for thirst quenching. I've never been quite this girl - this poster child for teetering on the brink of health disaster - at least, not quite in this controllable way.
What happened IS a big deal. And I will not minimize it. I will not turn away sympathy but I want each and every one of you to know I did this to myself. I am both perpetrator and victim. This was every bit my fault. I didn't listen to myself. I didn't listen to Lex. I didn't do what I knew was right because I was too busy putting my energies into everything except my own health.
Don't be like me. Take care of yourself. Even if you have to let something else that seems important go.
PS Here's a very special shout out to my long time friend and former co-worker, Dole: Dude, you've had one hell of a hard year. I can understand and appreciate your desire to minimize what you've been through. But remember, you are important and what you've gone through is HUGE. You have my deepest sympathies for the loss of your dad, for the loss of the life you'd thought you'd built. Hang in there, my friend, and take care. It will get better.
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