Wednesday, June 27, 2012

A Truth About Glasses

Over on one of my most-frequented websites, Robert Brockway has written a piece about 5 great joys in life that healthy people never experience. I really liked it, so you should go check it out. Check it out and then come back, I'll wait.

Yup, I'll just wait right here.

Wait while you finish that article and then find another link on that page that catches your attention.

Wait until you finish that article and then find yet another link on that new page that catches your attention.

Wait until you realize my blog is still open in your browser tabs and begrudgingly look back it it.

Glad you came back! I swear, I won't keep you long and then you can go right back to Cracked.

The article I linked mentions the moment when you get a pair of new glasses and then you look at things and feel like you are seeing them for the first time. Specifically, you see ALL of the leaves on the trees. Or you see the way a person looks when they smile and you know right away that it's a smile and you don't have to rely on contextual clues to figure out if it's a smile or a grimace or a squirrel on his face.

It really is a joyful feeling that does help to make up for the fact that when I take my glasses off at the end of the day, I'm back to wondering what words on the TV several feet away from me say. Or if there's a bug in my room or if it's just a shadow.

Speaking of bugs in my room, this morning is a great example of why glasses suck more than they are awesome. Like most, if not all, people with glasses, I remove them to take a shower. The problem is, once I remove my glasses, any shadow on the wall could be a bug.

So I circumvent this as best I can by inspecting the bathroom and shower area before I take off my glasses. I'm not even kidding. My routine in the morning is to wake up, put on my glasses, go into the bathroom, and check for bugs. Typically I start with a glance at the ceiling, then the walls, then the floor, and then the shower. I'll pull the shower curtain back and check the walls of the shower. And I'm not stupid - I don't forget to shake the shower curtain to make sure no bugs are hiding behind it, nestled into the relative "hiding" spot between the curtain and the tub wall.

I'd say it's safe to say I find a bug maybe once every other month? Every third month?

You might think that my shower clearing routine is a waste of time, but I beg to differ. If you don't need glasses, or maybe just need them for reading or distances, you might not be able to understand the sheer terror of seeing something that MAY or MAY NOT be a bug but there's no way to tell unless it is about 2 feet in front of you. Especially when you are showering.

That's why this morning, my girlish screams woke my husband up as a sort of back-up snooze button. I woke up, put on my glasses, faithfully did my bathroom bug test, and then took off my glasses.

SOMETHING hit my shoulder and then flew to the ground. This something was big, black and roughly the size of a palmetto bug.

Instantly my brain began to remember a million things, like the fact that palmetto bugs are big, and black and apparently can fly and - OH - apparently this one FLEW into my shoulder. It lay on the floor in wait, and I started shrieking and backing towards the door.

Smiley was sitting up in bed, looking at me as I flung open the door and fled the bathroom.

"Everything, uh, ok?" he asked.

"I think there's a bug; it flew into me," I said slowly, all the while keeping my gaze attached to that black spot. But before I could tell him he had to kill it for me, I noticed something.

You see, in an effort to avoid having to brush out my hair in the mornings, I typically braid my hair before going to bed. The hair tie I had used the night before was a black tie that I had loosely wrapped around the bottom of the braid. And I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that the hair tie was no longer at the bottom on my braid, which had came slightly undone in my frantic terror.

"Oh," I said. "Uh." I have a way with words, as you know.

Again, my brain started to realize things very quickly. Like, how the feeling of a bug hitting my shoulder could have been the hair tie slipping off as I got ready for my shower. And how then it could have appeared to "fly" across the small bathroom. And how from my vantage point of five feet some inches away from the ground and glasses-free, it could have looked like a bug.

I bravely moved towards the hair tie that could still totally be a bug.

I'll save you the suspense - it was my hair tie.

Friday, June 22, 2012

World is Still Against Me

Hereby confirmed as I craved Ben and Jerry's Phish Food flavor ice cream solidly last night. I decided today to grab some on my way home from my monthly OB appointment - at which I learned I don't have the gestational diabetes so ice cream is totally ok - and the Publix didn't have it. Completely wiped out. I shed a single tear.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Maybe Overreacting

Some days just have a way of building up a lot of little disappointments into major annoyance and possibly uncontrollable violence. The idea of a "sneaky hate spiral" is something I read about on another, much better blog: Well, there go all of my page views.

My biggest problem, I suppose, is that I never get to the uncontrollable violence stage because I always wonder if I really ought to be upset or not. And then I figure I might as well be rational and that if those disappointments really were important, I wouldn't have to think about it.

The other day was one of those days. It started out so innocently. I had gotten lab papers at my 22nd week doctor appointment to go take a glucose tolerance test (which tests for gestational diabetes) sometime during my 25th week of pregnancy. I promptly put those lab papers on a table and didn't look at them again until the evening before I planned to get the test done at the nearby lab.

The lab papers included a small set of instructions on what to do to prepare for the test. Don't eat or drink for 3 hours beforehand, don't eat ALL OF THE CARBS in the days leading up to the test - that sort of thing. At the bottom of the paper it said "we suggest calling the lab and making an appointment for both the 1 hour and 3 hour glucose tolerance test."

Well, hm. I definitely didn't get that far in my reading when I first got the paperwork. It was about eight pm, so I tentatively looked up appointment information on the lab's website - according to the online scheduling, they were booked solid until next month. I was worried but then I saw that the lab's website said that an appointment wasn't necessary.

So I pushed the conflicting information out of mind and figured I'd just call in the morning and see how awfully I'd messed up the testing schedule. All night, Wilford Brimley kept popping into my dreams, warning me about the complications of "diabetus." I slept somewhat fitfully.

Upon waking the next morning, I found myself running all sorts of contingency plans in my head. I thought about how I had already gotten time off of work for this morning and wondered if I could switch my time off to Friday if I just went into work today. My supervisor was nice - she'd understand, right? But what if I couldn't test until next week? My monthly doctor's appointment was next Friday and I had no clue how long test results take to arrive.

The lab opened at seven according to the website, so I called them at promptly seven. It turns out the number the lab's website listed no longer connected to the lab and a recorded message instructed me to call an 800 number instead.

I called the 800 number and the woman who answered the phone told me as long as I go in before eleven, it shouldn't be an issue to just walk in. So the phone call was a little roundabout but I got my information. Crisis averted.

Smiley drove me to the lab since I had inadvertently fasted for about 12 hours and was feeling tired and hungry and not at all drive-y. Now that I didn't need to worry about whether I could do the test today, I started worrying about the next item on my list - whether or not the drink would be disgusting and whether or not I would throw up orange drink everywhere.

There was nothing exciting about that part. The orange drink, in fact, was not disgusting and simply tasted like a thick, syrupy version of orange pop (it had 50 grams of glucose, which I believe is about double the sugar). I was able to drink it in the required five minutes and although my stomach toyed briefly with the idea of making me nauseous, it welcomed the glucose and prepared it for my brain. My brain was thankful.

There was nothing exciting about the next part either - I had to sit for an hour before I could get my blood drawn. Oh wait, there was something exciting. At about fifty minutes into the wait, my phone started ringing. I didn't recognize the number and the person left a voicemail that consisted of them hanging up. I shrugged and then my phone started ringing again. Still didn't recognize the number, so I didn't pick up. I don't know who had my phone number before me, but a lot of debt collected called the number regarding that person's supposed debt and I was in no mood to explain to a debt collector that I was not, in fact, the person they wanted and I didn't even know whoever it is and stop calling me.

But the another voice mail was left, so I listened to it - and mentally smacked myself for not answering the call.

On the voicemail, my supervisor's voice came through. She said that she was calling because she had me down to arrive at work at 7:30am that morning and it was now past 8:30am and she was just making sure that everything was alright because this was completely unlike me.

I scowled. Of course it was completely unlike me because I had emailed her to ask for the time off last week. I remembered her return email and wondered if I had asked for the wrong day off.

But, no need to panic. I had a few minutes before they called me to draw my blood. I could call her back and explain the situation and it would all be good.

Except, wait. I called the number back and then remembered that the number displayed on my phone was the generic phone line that showed up on caller ID when anyone in my department dialed out.

Ok, still no need to panic. I'd just look up her number in my contact list.

Except, wait some more. A while back, Smiley had attempted to fix my broken phone screen and had rendered my phone unusable in the process. I had gotten a new phone and had, so I thought, transferred my contact list over. Well, I must have done it wrong, because her number was nowhere to be found.

This darn cell phone age! Leaving me alone in the mercy of not remembering the cell phone number. I tried to picture the list of phone numbers for my work team, but all I could remember was the first five digits that all the phone numbers shared. I couldn't for the life of me remember the last two.

What else could I do? I vaguely recalled the number "20" and started dialing the number, first ending in 25. My coworker didn't pick up. Then 24. Nothing. Then 23. More voicemail. 22 wasn't in commission. I tried 26 and one of my teammates picked up.

Feeling ridiculously stupid, I babbled on for a minute about how I thought I had requested off time but I guess I mixed it up and can you tell our supervisor that I'm fine and that I'll be to work in about an hour and that I'm sorry for calling and interrupting your work but I couldn't remember her number and -

My coworker quickly assured me she'd say something and gave me our supervisor's number.

I got back to the lab lobby just in time to be called to draw my blood. That part took less than a minute. Here's hoping I passed!

Once outside, I called my supervisor to let her know I wasn't dead or anything and that I could have sworn I had emailed her about this and that I was terribly sorry for any confusion. She said it was no big deal and that she was glad I was ok, but I still felt uneasy. I try hard to be a reliable employee and even a miscommunication feels like I'm doing something wrong.

But, there was nothing I could do until I got to work and checked my email to see if I put in the wrong date. Smiley and I decided to stop at McDonalds to grab breakfast on our way home. We were going to pass two McDonalds on the way and I asked him to stop at the one closest to our house because I typically had a better experience with the quality of food there.

If only I knew how much I was setting myself up for failure yet again.

When we got to the McDonalds, I wasn't feel very good because all I had "eaten" in the past 13 hours or so were 50 grams of glucose, so Smiley volunteered to go inside and order. I wanted the same thing I always want when we get McDonalds breakfast - an egg mcmuffin. Confident that there would be food in my near future, I hung out in a half-comatose state in the car for a few minutes.

Smiley returned with a bag and a look on his face.

"There was an issue," he says to me.

I braced myself.

"They were all out of english muffins so they had to put it on a biscuit."

I think I let out a visible sigh of relief. That wasn't a big deal! I could roll with it. I felt so darned proud of myself, not letting the little things get to me, even when I was hungry and stressed out about work. "As long as it has a real egg and not that icky egg foam that they put on some of their breakfast sandwiches! That's all that matters to me," I said.

We got home and sat down for breakfast. I pulled out the first sandwich - Smiley's bagel - and handed it to him. That's when I noticed the hash brown and a "this isn't right" went off in my head.

"Did you get a hash brown?" I asked. I knew Smiley liked them alright but it wasn't something we normally got. Still, I was hungry and I had a quiet thought that maybe they tossed one in for free due to the egg mcmuffin being on a biscuit.

I grabbed my sandwich out of the bag and instantly I knew what had happened.

They didn't give me an egg mcmuffin. There never was an egg. Or Canadian bacon. It was a sausage biscuit - which is one of my least favorite breakfast sandwiches on the menu. I started blankly at the sandwich, feeling my ability to roll with the punches crashing down around me. I was tired, hungry and hormonal.

Smiley looked at the sandwich. "I ordered an egg mcmuffin," he told me, fishing out the receipt. The receipt clearly read "sausage mcmuffin" and I shook my head.

"No, I guess that's what I get for saying that I prefer that McDonalds. That's how my life works." I quickly spun a shell of self-pity. "I hate their sausage patties. They're so greasy and disgusting. All I wanted was the egg to be an egg." I pouted, looking down at the offending sandwich.

It was one of those moments where I wondered if I had a right to be upset and maybe move into "uncontrollable violence" stage.

I sighed. It just didn't seem worth it to be upset, not when I thought about how Smiley had driven me to the lab and back and attempted to obtain a delicious breakfast for the both of us.

So, chances are you can tell for yourself that there was nothing that happened to me that was worth being terribly upset over. But at the time, it seemed awfully horrible.

I might have imagined punching a puppy once or twice, for example, but no puppies were harmed in the making of this blog post.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Today was a long day

"I've got some surprises for you when you come home!"

I received that text at about 11am this morning from Smiley and turned to my coworker.

"My husband just texted me the scariest sentence in the world."

She looked me with a patient, amused look.

"He said that he has a surprise for me!"

As my coworker started laughing, my mind was racing through the possibilities. Was he cutting down EVERY tree in the yard? Ripping up all of the carpeting? Getting a new dog? It was important to think like he thinks.

My day crept by slowly. Sort of like a sloth catching a ride on a tortoise slow.

After several of the longest hours ever, I was able to get into my car and drive home to see what was up. Turns out, Smiley had put in new plants by our front door and cleaned up a ton of tree branches in the yard!

So sure, maybe I would have enjoyed coming home to a sparkling bathroom or to find the laundry done but I know those aren't the surprises I can expect with Smiley. But it's ok, because the surprises he does provide are pretty nice too.

Thanks, loving husband!

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

As it turns out, I didn't win the internet

Well, that's enough about zombies for me.

Instead I'll direct your attention to something referred to as "pregnancy brain" - the idea that being pregnant takes up so much of your brain's time and energy that you begin to forget things at an accelerated rate. This idea is always tossed about on pregnancy websites and forums.

It is always followed by a claim that there is no scientific proof for "pregnancy brain" and then that is always followed by anecdotal evidence.

This is my anecdotal evidence.

I've always thought of myself as having an average memory span. I can remember groups of 7-9 objects as is the norm and I forget things when I walk through doorways - also the norm. However, the other Friday got me thinking that maybe, just maybe, I might be falling onto a spectrum of forgetfulness previously unknown.

Smiley and I were preparing to go to a dinner party at a friend's house. We had been asked to bring some folding chairs and I was planning on making a bean dip. Smiley texted me while I was at work to remind me about the chairs and I texted back, confirming that we would bring chairs.

Then I left work and went home and that's when things went wrong. Well, not at first. First, I made the bean dip (which is delightfully tasty and I need to find a way to make it in smaller batches) and put that on the counter with the bag of chips next to my purse. Then my husband and I made sure the doors were locked and headed out to the car.

We drove to our friend's house and it was only once we pulled into the driveway that Smiley remembered we had completely forgotten the chairs. Well, shoot I thought. Ok, I guess it's not the worst thing in the world, right? People can stand? I can volunteer to stand since we didn't bring any. We'll make it work.

So we go inside and I set down my prized bean dip and then go to open the bag of chips and realize, well, I had forgotten the chips. The chips that had been right next to the dip and my purse on the counter-top. The chips that were a huge variable in the enjoyment of bean dip equation. I made Smiley check the car. Then I checked the car. But it was futile - there were no chips.

Our gracious hosts happened to have some chips on hand (as well as some extra chairs) and so neither event ended up as a crisis of flavor or comfort. However, I did clearly feel the twinge of "how the heck can I forget things, such as chips, that are a vital part of the dish I am bringing to dinner?" and it wasn't pleasant.

Once we returned home for the evening, I saw the bag of chips staring at me from the kitchen counter, a sadness reflected in the defeated wrinkles of its packaging. I turned the light off in the kitchen and hung my head.

Then I made plans to make more bean dip since, why not? I've already got the chips.

Saturday, June 2, 2012

According to, I can win the internet with Zombies

So I guess a guy high on drugs ate another guy's face and somehow this equals the zombie apocalypse. DOB from has broken down the timeline fairly nicely on how I just need to mention zombies to get ALL of the hits.

But truth be told, I'm a little nervous of what this situation means. There are a ton of people who shun prophecies and claims of regular apocalypses. These same people now run the risk of being apocalypse hipsters by basing the potential start of the zombie apocalypse on a crazy psychotic guy. I'm just saying we need to be careful. No one wants to end up in a "the end is near and filled with zombies" sandwich board sign, telling their "truths" to all of those who will listen and shouting extra loud so the people who don't want to listen can get in on the action.

Or maybe the people who end up in those situations really do want to be there. There's no way to be completely sure.

In any case, to the totally millions of people who have now seen my blog due to my mentioning of zombies and the apocalypses they cause, check out my other posts. They have roughly 100% less zombie mentions but they're also about 75% more hilarious. And a lot of the earlier posts have pictures but now my computer is getting old and really slow and drawing things takes forever so I don't.