I swear, Netflix is messing with me. I just went to "My Queue" because it sent us a movie that I wanted to see, but is available for download at any time through the streaming option. Basically it sent me something I already had for months, and still hadn't bothered to watch. The thing it sent me before that would have been more at home on my sister's queue. It was some romantic comedy starring Christina Applegate, and the only possible reason I could conger up for its presence in my home was that I liked "Married With Children" when I was younger. I have been known to watch a romantic comedy here and there, but generally it is when my mom or sister has some control over the remote control, and I do not recall ever adding it to my queue.
And no, I don't think Sis got on there and rearranged my selections. I don't even know the password half the time and when I do get through the tight security, I tend to have trouble accessing the Netflix site.
These last two movies were returned after several days of sitting on the counter in limbo.
So I just checked out my queue and there is not a single movie on there that I would like to watch. I do remember putting these horrible choices on there, and continually moving them to the bottom. Worse, I cannot think of a recent movie I would like to see. I am sure there are things out there that I would enjoy.
I went to the "Suggetions For You" section where, I kid you not, the top choices for me are a cartoon about a boy and his magical dog, a comedy special called "Talking Monkeys in Space", and a Nickelodeon TV show aimed at pre-teenage boys in the mid-nineties. I am seriously considering the magic dog, and a nature video about Cuttlefish. You know, the octopi? Come on people, cuttlefish!
I don't know. I did really like "The Adventures of Scott Pilgrim". Maybe I am a cuttlefish kinda gal.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Me Replacement
OK, I have been watching The Cool TV for hours and apparently it is a channel watched by many many balding men. The "hair replacement" commercial has been on so many times, I just might be tempted to call. Why? You may ask? Well, my hair follicles seem to be in tact, but: I have noticed that the hair replacement tends to be supplemented by weight loss, nose jobs, and changes in eye color. One man in the commercial, and I quote: "After my hair replacement surgery, I felt like a different person."
Go figure.
Go figure.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Cider House Blues
My apologies, Constant Reader(s). I had the next topic all thought up - as you probably guessed, a continuation of my ever more desperate attempts to reconcile my inconclusive sleep disorder - but I got writers block again. So, the sleep story will have to wait until it is ready to be told. I, apparently, am not in control.
*******************************
Last Thursday, I sat at my desk running calculations on a concrete beam, trying to decide how to support an existing structure while this beam is removed and replaced. Truly, I was deep into it, really focused on my work. Or not.
Suddenly, I realized. I forgot the cider that my Dad had brought last Saturday. This, I surmised, was the explanation for the slightly sweet and slightly sour smell that currently emanated from the interior of my vehicle. Bummer.
I immediately emailed my Dad to tell him. Perhaps he would buy more cider and drive two hours to deliver it. Perhaps we would work out an elaborate Cider Scheme, for I cannot go an entire Fall without this cider. He gets it from his neighbors, who press the apples, add nothing to them, and put the results in gallon jugs at the end of their driveway. This is not grocery store cider. Oh lament, and alas! Surely, he would be as distraught as I was!
"Bummer," he writes back. Yeah.
That's what I thought.
I learned some little known facts this week:
Fact #1. We all know that fermenting cider turns to vinegar. But, do most of you know that fermenting cider that is alternately heated during the day, then cooled down at night, in a thin plastic jug, will produce enough gas to break the jug?
Fact #2. We all know that one can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar. But, it turns out one can attract plenty of flies with vinegar. As I emptied the now half empty jug, a swarm of fruit flies was disturbed from its breeding ground. It was at that point that I officially decided the cider was probably better not to drink.
Fact #3. Breathing in a combination of vinegar and fruit flies is surprisingly less unpleasant than breathing in the smell of the decaying squirrel that got caught under my tire a few years back.
Fact #4. The smell of decaying squirrel pretty much goes away when said squirrel is hosed out. The smell of vinegar lingers for much longer.
Fact #5. The results are inconclusive on the effects of flea and tick shampoo on fruit flies. I think I eradicated more of them by driving around with all four windows open.
Fact #6. The smell of vinegar, wafting through the air via open car windows, attracts bees. Bee #1 will come for an extensive search to find the source of the smell, and finding nothing but a timid human swatting carefully at it with an ice scraper, it will send for a second Bee to aid in the search.
I hate bees.
And I will now have to make a special trip to Pennsylvania, just to get my Cider Fix.
Bummer.
*******************************
Last Thursday, I sat at my desk running calculations on a concrete beam, trying to decide how to support an existing structure while this beam is removed and replaced. Truly, I was deep into it, really focused on my work. Or not.
Suddenly, I realized. I forgot the cider that my Dad had brought last Saturday. This, I surmised, was the explanation for the slightly sweet and slightly sour smell that currently emanated from the interior of my vehicle. Bummer.
I immediately emailed my Dad to tell him. Perhaps he would buy more cider and drive two hours to deliver it. Perhaps we would work out an elaborate Cider Scheme, for I cannot go an entire Fall without this cider. He gets it from his neighbors, who press the apples, add nothing to them, and put the results in gallon jugs at the end of their driveway. This is not grocery store cider. Oh lament, and alas! Surely, he would be as distraught as I was!
"Bummer," he writes back. Yeah.
That's what I thought.
I learned some little known facts this week:
Fact #1. We all know that fermenting cider turns to vinegar. But, do most of you know that fermenting cider that is alternately heated during the day, then cooled down at night, in a thin plastic jug, will produce enough gas to break the jug?
Fact #2. We all know that one can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar. But, it turns out one can attract plenty of flies with vinegar. As I emptied the now half empty jug, a swarm of fruit flies was disturbed from its breeding ground. It was at that point that I officially decided the cider was probably better not to drink.
Fact #3. Breathing in a combination of vinegar and fruit flies is surprisingly less unpleasant than breathing in the smell of the decaying squirrel that got caught under my tire a few years back.
Fact #4. The smell of decaying squirrel pretty much goes away when said squirrel is hosed out. The smell of vinegar lingers for much longer.
Fact #5. The results are inconclusive on the effects of flea and tick shampoo on fruit flies. I think I eradicated more of them by driving around with all four windows open.
Fact #6. The smell of vinegar, wafting through the air via open car windows, attracts bees. Bee #1 will come for an extensive search to find the source of the smell, and finding nothing but a timid human swatting carefully at it with an ice scraper, it will send for a second Bee to aid in the search.
I hate bees.
And I will now have to make a special trip to Pennsylvania, just to get my Cider Fix.
Bummer.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Sleep Study
I have posted a few times about how I wake up a lot at night, which makes me sleepy during the day. Some days, it is all I can do to get in the door and collapse in my bed when I get home. I feel like I am missing out on my life, because literally, all I do is work and sleep.
I tried a sleep study to determine what the trouble was. This was before I was blogging, so I will relate this story here:
I arrived at the appointed location at the appointed time, 9 PM, with pillow in hand. The website indicated the experience would be similar to a hotel, and I would be able to watch TV or read until I drifted off, so I had also brought a book. Several other people lined the hallway with their pillows.
The place was locked.
We waited in the hall, not speaking much, until a technician finally arrived, out of breath and with keys jingling as he ran. He let us into a waiting room, which, indeed, had a TV. He went to the reception area and fumbled through papers while we nervously chose seats. No one turned on the TV.
The technician called a name, and the very large woman across from me spoke up. He asked her, across the rooms, why she was there. She looked around and then reluctantly announced that she was there to check for sleep apnea. (By the way, this is why all the people, except me, were there. And luckily, I was the last patient to be called, so I did not have to tell everyone and his brother my reason for seeing a doctor.) I still refused to talk across the room like that and just got up to talk to the guy. I was there for the night, but also into the day, to check for narcolepsy. Apparently, his shift would end at 7am, and the lab would be closed again until 9am. So there was an issue. Great.
I was the last one called but the first one to be prepped. They attached about 20 little doo-dads that would monitor my heart rate, breathing rate, brain waves, and a number of other things. He asked how I normally like to sleep. I told him I usually fall asleep on my side in a fetal position.
"Well, not tonight, you're not," he said. "We need patients to sleep on their backs, and not move too much."
He then told me I was all set and I should just call out if I needed anything, because they have an intercom system and a camera in the room. I asked if I could read my book (no TV in the room), and he said I could for a short bit while he prepped another patient. Not exactly the "hotel" atmosphere advertised.
I carefully laid on the cheapo mattress with the scratchy sheets and thin quilt which was provided. I began reading my book, a novel by Stephen King. The technician left and began talking to the gentleman next door. He was thin, but a heavy smoker, and, of course, was there to check for sleep apnea. I heard every word they were saying through the thin walls.
The man next door was complete, and there was relative silence. Another technician had arrived and prepped the other two people. I was still nervous, trying not to move, and reading my book because I was not sleepy. Suddenly, the room filled with the booming voice of the technician who asked me to stop reading and turn out the lights.
Obediently, I clicked the light and tried to sleep. Outside the room, I heard the technicians arguing about who would stay with me until the day shift got in. They both had obligations after work, and so they called a supervisor. Apparently, one of them would need to re-arrange a schedule, because they continued to argue. My pinky finger, which had a sensor clipped to the end like a clothespin, was beginning to throb. I was afraid to move, and I did not like the idea of calling out to the empty room. I listened to the sounds of snoring, coming from the room next door. Faintly, I could hear snores down the hall as well.
I laid in silence, trying to sleep. My pinky hurt. I couldn't move. The snoring was louder. My pinky hurt. Sleep! I tried to will myself. I wondered what time it was. My pinky hurt. The technician was getting a soda from the machine. I couldn't move.
At one point, boomy voice popped into the room, asking if I needed something. I told him about the pinky, and he came in to adjust the sensor, scolding me for not speaking up. He closed the door and I listened to the snoring some more. Sleep! (but don't move.) Sleep, goddammmit! (but stay on your back.) I wondered again how much time was left.
Eventually, I did fall asleep for about 2 hours. The technician came in at 5am to "wake" me, and remove the sensors. He said that since I couldn't sleep, there was no way I had narcolepsy, so I could go home.
"Now?" I said. "I wasn't supposed to be picked up until noon. I didn't bring my car because I am too cheap to pay for parking for that long."
"Well, we don't need to see you for the day study."
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, and a very sleepy: "Hello?"
"Hi, honey!" I cheerily said. "Can you come pick me up?"
I got home and collapsed into bed, even though I had goo in my hair from some of the doo-dads. I was exhausted after my sleep study, which came back inconclusive due to lack of sleep.
I tried a sleep study to determine what the trouble was. This was before I was blogging, so I will relate this story here:
I arrived at the appointed location at the appointed time, 9 PM, with pillow in hand. The website indicated the experience would be similar to a hotel, and I would be able to watch TV or read until I drifted off, so I had also brought a book. Several other people lined the hallway with their pillows.
The place was locked.
We waited in the hall, not speaking much, until a technician finally arrived, out of breath and with keys jingling as he ran. He let us into a waiting room, which, indeed, had a TV. He went to the reception area and fumbled through papers while we nervously chose seats. No one turned on the TV.
The technician called a name, and the very large woman across from me spoke up. He asked her, across the rooms, why she was there. She looked around and then reluctantly announced that she was there to check for sleep apnea. (By the way, this is why all the people, except me, were there. And luckily, I was the last patient to be called, so I did not have to tell everyone and his brother my reason for seeing a doctor.) I still refused to talk across the room like that and just got up to talk to the guy. I was there for the night, but also into the day, to check for narcolepsy. Apparently, his shift would end at 7am, and the lab would be closed again until 9am. So there was an issue. Great.
I was the last one called but the first one to be prepped. They attached about 20 little doo-dads that would monitor my heart rate, breathing rate, brain waves, and a number of other things. He asked how I normally like to sleep. I told him I usually fall asleep on my side in a fetal position.
"Well, not tonight, you're not," he said. "We need patients to sleep on their backs, and not move too much."
He then told me I was all set and I should just call out if I needed anything, because they have an intercom system and a camera in the room. I asked if I could read my book (no TV in the room), and he said I could for a short bit while he prepped another patient. Not exactly the "hotel" atmosphere advertised.
I carefully laid on the cheapo mattress with the scratchy sheets and thin quilt which was provided. I began reading my book, a novel by Stephen King. The technician left and began talking to the gentleman next door. He was thin, but a heavy smoker, and, of course, was there to check for sleep apnea. I heard every word they were saying through the thin walls.
The man next door was complete, and there was relative silence. Another technician had arrived and prepped the other two people. I was still nervous, trying not to move, and reading my book because I was not sleepy. Suddenly, the room filled with the booming voice of the technician who asked me to stop reading and turn out the lights.
Obediently, I clicked the light and tried to sleep. Outside the room, I heard the technicians arguing about who would stay with me until the day shift got in. They both had obligations after work, and so they called a supervisor. Apparently, one of them would need to re-arrange a schedule, because they continued to argue. My pinky finger, which had a sensor clipped to the end like a clothespin, was beginning to throb. I was afraid to move, and I did not like the idea of calling out to the empty room. I listened to the sounds of snoring, coming from the room next door. Faintly, I could hear snores down the hall as well.
I laid in silence, trying to sleep. My pinky hurt. I couldn't move. The snoring was louder. My pinky hurt. Sleep! I tried to will myself. I wondered what time it was. My pinky hurt. The technician was getting a soda from the machine. I couldn't move.
At one point, boomy voice popped into the room, asking if I needed something. I told him about the pinky, and he came in to adjust the sensor, scolding me for not speaking up. He closed the door and I listened to the snoring some more. Sleep! (but don't move.) Sleep, goddammmit! (but stay on your back.) I wondered again how much time was left.
Eventually, I did fall asleep for about 2 hours. The technician came in at 5am to "wake" me, and remove the sensors. He said that since I couldn't sleep, there was no way I had narcolepsy, so I could go home.
"Now?" I said. "I wasn't supposed to be picked up until noon. I didn't bring my car because I am too cheap to pay for parking for that long."
"Well, we don't need to see you for the day study."
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, and a very sleepy: "Hello?"
"Hi, honey!" I cheerily said. "Can you come pick me up?"
I got home and collapsed into bed, even though I had goo in my hair from some of the doo-dads. I was exhausted after my sleep study, which came back inconclusive due to lack of sleep.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Nature
It's that time of year when yard work is actually enjoyable. The weather is just perfect - perfect temperature, perfect humidity. And the ground is both wet enough and dry enough to be workable. Adam and I planned to head out and enjoy working the land for an hour or two the other day.
Adam opened the door to the front, which leads to a pleasant little walkway from the drive. There, on the concrete, was "Nature". And not the early scene that sets the mood. No. Not the one that focuses in on a zebra running and then pans out to show the high-grassed meadow and the spectacular sunset, and all the other beautiful zebras racing in the wind.
This was the close up shot of the lioness, pouncing on one of the smaller zebras and pulling the poor creature to the ground.
In this case it was a small garter snake with its jaws wide open, trying to devour a toad. It was quite a site. The snake was small, and its head even smaller. I think the toad had warts bigger than that snake's head. The whole scene reminded me of the Flinstones opening credits when Fred orders a dinosaur rib that tips over his stone-wheeled car. For the toad's part, it seemed to be doing very little to resist being eaten. Occasionally, it would hop, with its new snake attachment just clinging onto its rump. There was no flailing of limbs or slaps to the snake's head. Just a hop. On one hand, we figured, nature should take its course. If this toad was meant to be eaten today, then so be it. On the other hand, it was so sad to see this guy get devoured alive.
Before making a definitive decision, of course, I decided to document the event. I took my turn at nature photography and found that apparently one needs to be more discreet. The snake took one look at the large human pointing a black box in its face, and it slithered away. Somewhere in its little brain, it decided eating animals three times its size was good, but that it should run from animals 100 times its size. I wondered where the cutoff would be.
After the snake slithered away, we went online to determine the type. We wanted to check that the thing wouldn't strike out at our ankles if we proceeded to the yard. After determining that it was harmless, we went to examine the toad, which was sitting in the same position, breathing heavily, and bleeding.
Unfortunately, when we opened the door, the cat took her opportunity to rush outside. She looked at Mr. Toad, and suddenly he got a burst of energy and began hopping away. The cat was nearly on top of him before Adam rescued the poor thing. I am willing to let a snake eat a meal to stay alive, but believe me, our cat does not need food. She would probably have tortured the thing, pulling off limbs and whatnot, then let him to die on our walkway.
We took the cat inside, and there was no further sign of Toad or Snake.
Adam opened the door to the front, which leads to a pleasant little walkway from the drive. There, on the concrete, was "Nature". And not the early scene that sets the mood. No. Not the one that focuses in on a zebra running and then pans out to show the high-grassed meadow and the spectacular sunset, and all the other beautiful zebras racing in the wind.
This was the close up shot of the lioness, pouncing on one of the smaller zebras and pulling the poor creature to the ground.
In this case it was a small garter snake with its jaws wide open, trying to devour a toad. It was quite a site. The snake was small, and its head even smaller. I think the toad had warts bigger than that snake's head. The whole scene reminded me of the Flinstones opening credits when Fred orders a dinosaur rib that tips over his stone-wheeled car. For the toad's part, it seemed to be doing very little to resist being eaten. Occasionally, it would hop, with its new snake attachment just clinging onto its rump. There was no flailing of limbs or slaps to the snake's head. Just a hop. On one hand, we figured, nature should take its course. If this toad was meant to be eaten today, then so be it. On the other hand, it was so sad to see this guy get devoured alive.
Before making a definitive decision, of course, I decided to document the event. I took my turn at nature photography and found that apparently one needs to be more discreet. The snake took one look at the large human pointing a black box in its face, and it slithered away. Somewhere in its little brain, it decided eating animals three times its size was good, but that it should run from animals 100 times its size. I wondered where the cutoff would be.
After the snake slithered away, we went online to determine the type. We wanted to check that the thing wouldn't strike out at our ankles if we proceeded to the yard. After determining that it was harmless, we went to examine the toad, which was sitting in the same position, breathing heavily, and bleeding.
Unfortunately, when we opened the door, the cat took her opportunity to rush outside. She looked at Mr. Toad, and suddenly he got a burst of energy and began hopping away. The cat was nearly on top of him before Adam rescued the poor thing. I am willing to let a snake eat a meal to stay alive, but believe me, our cat does not need food. She would probably have tortured the thing, pulling off limbs and whatnot, then let him to die on our walkway.
We took the cat inside, and there was no further sign of Toad or Snake.
Monday, September 19, 2011
A Letter
To the Inventor of Skinny Jeans:I hate you.
Sincerely,
-me (and, presumably, this poor girl.)
Saturday, September 10, 2011
My Graine
I know lots of people who suffer from migraines. Me? I hardly ever get headaches. Though I certainly try to sympathize with my friends, I could only imagine what a very bad headache feels like.
And then Wednesday happened. And kept happening. In fact, I am not sure when it will end.
I woke up thinking I had clenched my jaw all night, because I had tooth pain.
But this was all right. It would just take time to recover.
About 1:30 in the afternoon, a co-worker asked if I had any aspirin, and as I handed him some, I decided to take some myself. The tooth pain was worsening, and I had developed a dull ache above my right eye.
But this was all right. The aspirin would do the trick.
Five o'clock rolled around, and I decided to go to the gym, because that might clear up the sinus blockage or whatever it was. The aspirin didn't seem to do a damn thing, and it was getting a little worse. Also, I began to wonder if there could be a cavity or even an abscess in my lower right wisdom tooth. That would be inconvenient. In the past, going to the gym has either made my headaches go away, or had no effect. I figured it couldn't hurt.
The class at the gym was hard - the power was out all last week due to Hurricane Irene, and all the instructors seemed to assume we all sat on our asses for a week. (Personally, I preferred a completely prone position, complete with fuzzy blanket and teevee.)
I left the gym, felt a bit dizzy. Though the headache was not really a bother during my workout, it had come back. It was about then that I felt like puking. So badly, in fact, that I took the top off my water bottle, because, to paraphrase the infinite wisdom of "Waynes World", Dude, if you're gonna spew, you should have something ready to spew into. The drive home was not good.
As I exited my car, I was hit with smells of the world on a muggy, rainy day. The grass smelled, the air smelled, the garbage can smelled, my body smelled, and my car smelled. I was so sick that ordinarily, I'd have forgotten the throb of my head, but the pain was still there, a piercing myriad of dull pain throughout the right side of my face. I made it inside and turned on a light. Agggh. I had thought the pain couldn't get worse, but I was wrong. I fumbled through the dark house to the bathroom and pretty much laid there until Adam came home, pausing occasionally for unpleasantness.
I told him my theory of the abscessed tooth, and various other far-fetched reasons for my unfortunate predicament. He forced me to take an advil and told me it sounded like a migraine. He dutifully searched the internet and told me the worst thing I could have done when feeling a migraine setting in was go to the gym. As far as triggers, we couldn't think of anything specific, but I had changed my eating habits due to a new diet.
So there you have it folks: eating healthy and working out in moderation are bad for me. I guess I should go back to my beer-slugging pasta fests on the couch.
Also, I apologize to everyone whom I looked down upon, even just a little bit, for missing work or other functions because of a migraine. I had no idea it was more than just a bad headache. Really and truly, this was an all over body ache, focused on the head, but also affecting the stomach, intestines, jaw, upper back and neck, ear, and throat (so far).
And then Wednesday happened. And kept happening. In fact, I am not sure when it will end.
I woke up thinking I had clenched my jaw all night, because I had tooth pain.
But this was all right. It would just take time to recover.
About 1:30 in the afternoon, a co-worker asked if I had any aspirin, and as I handed him some, I decided to take some myself. The tooth pain was worsening, and I had developed a dull ache above my right eye.
But this was all right. The aspirin would do the trick.
Five o'clock rolled around, and I decided to go to the gym, because that might clear up the sinus blockage or whatever it was. The aspirin didn't seem to do a damn thing, and it was getting a little worse. Also, I began to wonder if there could be a cavity or even an abscess in my lower right wisdom tooth. That would be inconvenient. In the past, going to the gym has either made my headaches go away, or had no effect. I figured it couldn't hurt.
The class at the gym was hard - the power was out all last week due to Hurricane Irene, and all the instructors seemed to assume we all sat on our asses for a week. (Personally, I preferred a completely prone position, complete with fuzzy blanket and teevee.)
I left the gym, felt a bit dizzy. Though the headache was not really a bother during my workout, it had come back. It was about then that I felt like puking. So badly, in fact, that I took the top off my water bottle, because, to paraphrase the infinite wisdom of "Waynes World", Dude, if you're gonna spew, you should have something ready to spew into. The drive home was not good.
As I exited my car, I was hit with smells of the world on a muggy, rainy day. The grass smelled, the air smelled, the garbage can smelled, my body smelled, and my car smelled. I was so sick that ordinarily, I'd have forgotten the throb of my head, but the pain was still there, a piercing myriad of dull pain throughout the right side of my face. I made it inside and turned on a light. Agggh. I had thought the pain couldn't get worse, but I was wrong. I fumbled through the dark house to the bathroom and pretty much laid there until Adam came home, pausing occasionally for unpleasantness.
I told him my theory of the abscessed tooth, and various other far-fetched reasons for my unfortunate predicament. He forced me to take an advil and told me it sounded like a migraine. He dutifully searched the internet and told me the worst thing I could have done when feeling a migraine setting in was go to the gym. As far as triggers, we couldn't think of anything specific, but I had changed my eating habits due to a new diet.
So there you have it folks: eating healthy and working out in moderation are bad for me. I guess I should go back to my beer-slugging pasta fests on the couch.
Also, I apologize to everyone whom I looked down upon, even just a little bit, for missing work or other functions because of a migraine. I had no idea it was more than just a bad headache. Really and truly, this was an all over body ache, focused on the head, but also affecting the stomach, intestines, jaw, upper back and neck, ear, and throat (so far).
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