The Aftermath

I spent much of last week in a NyQuil-induced coma. What started as a rough "like I've been screaming at a concert" throat Tuesday morning quickly disintegrated into a burning throat/chest and desire to remove all of my facial bones by Wednesday. You know, that wonderful feeling where all of your teeth just ... ache?

I parked myself in my doctor's parking lot Thursday morning and begged inside once they opened. [Side note: Really ... I'm already sick ... MUST we include the friggin scale moment on top of the pain?] I was told I had a fever of 101 F. Really? Hmmm ... I should probably purchase one of those thermometer thingamajigs one of these days.

Diagnosis? "You have a sinusitis/bronchitis mixture, could be viral or bacterial, but we like to wait a week before starting antibiotics anyway to see if your own immune system can handle it."

...

Now, just pause and let that immense wisdom ... that comfort and knowledge sink in a moment.

...

It left me with a definite feeling of, "Well, no shit Sherlock ... I'm thinking my immune system had a problem handling it since I'M SICK! Give me my $10 copay back."

Remember the days when you'd go in, a culture was completed, and an antibiotic had you feeling better before you could spell its name? These days, don't bother going into your doctor's office until you've been sick at least a week or you'll likely receive the same line I got.

The one thing you can still count on these days as you could way back when? NyQuil. That green elixir of the gods, that cure-all, only slightly alcoholic so it's okay, wonder liquid that somehow left you opening your eyes to a moment of clear breathing in which you were horribly afraid to move. My days and nights blurred together last week in a -Quil haze punctuated only by bathroom breaks, some soup, and the occasional phone call that always had the same 2nd sentence, "You sound horrible!!"

Well, yes, a quick descent into the Exorcist will do that.

I began to come out of my stupor this past weekend with small successful excursions to the outside world and went back to work this morning feeling 90% better. I'm in the remnant stage. That aftermath where you swear you're back to being well ... and for hours on end you are perfectly fine. My reminder to the contrary are the occasional coughing fits that bend me over and leave my eyes watering before they end. The remnants.

I had two especially special remnant moments today:

1. While lying nearly naked in a tanning bed at the gym. Oh yes. After noting several particularly attractive men working out at my gym this evening, I made my way into the tanning bed area, stripped, lotioned up, and settled into what I expected to be 15 minutes of relaxing heat. About 45 seconds into this bliss, I blanched at the first tickle at the back of my throat ... and just knew the bliss was at the end already. I coughed until I was afraid I'd throw up .... eyes watering .... covering my mouth as much as possible to stifle the sounds ... unable to run to the bathroom (that nearly naked part). Ugh.
2. While pumping gas on my way home from the gym. After my fit at the gym, I was again perfectly fine ... in the solitude of my car. As soon as I got out in order to pump gas, the tickle started again ... and I entertained my fellow gas pumpers with a spectacular coughing fit that included that rare but always impressive sneeze DURING a cough.

Now? Oh I'm perfectly fine ... sitting quietly at my computer describing the remnants.

Evil lurking remnants. If only illnesses would leave us as quickly as they come upon us.

For the Love of Delivery!

I look and laugh at my "my baby gets delivered Thursday" talk below. I purchased my precious loveseat in the "bark" brown color on the evil holiday, it is true. And, it was supposed to be delivered the following Thursday. I left work early, rearranged my living room (resulting in a temporary set-back in the back spasm area ... seriously ... have you ever started to pass out from back pain? I can now claim that experience. Not pretty), and sat nervously awaiting my major purchase of the year.

About a half hour after their two-hour delivery window passed, the door buzzer made me jump and I ran downstairs to greet the delivery men. I was pleasantly surprised that these men seemed belted or otherwise "covered" and show one upstairs to the area waiting for a perfect brown suede-y loveseat.

They had the loveseat at the bottom of the stairs when I suspected there was a problem.

I called down to them, "Um ... what color is that?"

"Red"

"Yeeeah ... I'm supposed to have a brown one."

"Brown?"

"Yeah."

*longer pause than you'd expect*

"Well, uh .... do ya want this one?"

*raised eyebrow*

"Noooooo ... I want my brown one."

After talking to the store, checking and rechecking the label ... as if that would suddenly convince me that a red loveseat is actually a brown loveseat ... they took their "Berry" colored piece and left.

The next available delivery time was Saturday morning, which a cancellation on my part of what, I'm sure, would have been a highly entertaining volunteer trip to the Veteran's Home. I was apparently second on the delivery list and the guys showed up soon after 9 a.m. I was SO excited!!

Until I saw the guy carrying this across the parking lot toward my door:

"Um .... what color is that?"

"Red."

"I'm supposed to get a brown one. That's why this was rescheduled from Thursday."

*delivery guy #1 yelling to delivery guy #2* "It's supposed to be brown."

"Brown?"

"Yeah, brown."

"Oh."

It was after this visit, that I made a call to the salesperson at Art Van who sold me the now mythical loveseat in "bark" brown. Tom was shocked, SHOCKED, at what had happened and meekly added that I should be entitled to some sort of compensation for my trouble.

Some sort of compensation?

"Not some sort of compensation, Tom. Let me tell you what I expect ... I should not be paying for delivery. I said nothing after the first failed attempt because I understand that mistakes happen ... but this is the SAME mistake that once again is taking up my time."

To his credit, Tom called me back in 5 minutes with the authorization from his manager to refund my delivery charge, rescheduled delivery for this past Wednesday, and added that someone would be calling the day before to make certain that the piece loaded on the truck is brown.

Loveseat: $479

Delivery: $0

Color: Bark .... and it's perfect.

Evil Holiday 2009

It may come as a surprise to you that I hate Valentine's Day ... of course, it being a surprise means that you don't know me very well. Um ... or at all. Actually, it probably means you've somehow stumbled upon this blog for the first (and perhaps last) time through some misguided google search and am now wondering vaguely whether I'm on medication. And ... welcome.

To recap for newcomers then, just a few reasons why February 14th should be wiped from existence:

1. The years of junior high/high school wondering, trying not to hope too much, that you might ... just might ... be surprised by an actual Valentine. *short pause for laughter*
2. The first time you ever had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day, he took you out for dinner ... and proceeded to explain to you at said dinner why he needed "space" [this reason should probably have been listed first].
3. The red/pink commercial overload that begins in early January pushing hearts, flowers, and chocolate in your face each and every time you enter a retail establishment.
4. After enduring a freezing, dark, depressing winter and hearing yet again that the little fur ball claiming omniscience over the weather has scuttled back into his den for six more weeks of this dismal mess, I do not also need a particular day devoted to reminding me that I'm alone, thank you.
5. The whole asinine concept that we need to have one particular day for people to tell their special someone that they care ... when that should be in practice all year long.

As far as evil holidays go, this one has been endurable. A friend, in the hope that I would refrain from causing harm either to myself or to members of the opposite sex, surprised me Friday with a lovely card and lovelier box of Hershey's Pot O'Gold chocolates.

There are few things in this world that can't be fixed with chocolate and/or ice cream. Granted, it is probably advisable not to indulge in the entire box of said chocolates in one night, but who doesn't need a good sugar buzz and dive once in a while?

I woke this morning with a headache and sense of purpose ... I had a plan. My plan was to spend money on the one person most likely to secure my happiness. Me.

Happy Evil Holiday!

In preparation for said spending, I went to see Confessions of a Shopaholic with my same chocolate bearing friend, and fell in instant like with Hugh Dancy. Of course, I now hate Claire Danes, his [current] fiancee who has an even smaller chest than me ... but I digress. The movie was cute albeit a predictable story about the ditsy girl in debt who just happens to enchant the successful boy making his own way despite having a well-known and wealthy family. You know, 'cause that actually happens. Ever. Pffft.

Happy Evil Holiday!

I wandered no less than four furniture stores today in what had become a yearly search for a piece of furniture that seats two people. I searched Furniture Row Outlet, American Signature, La-Z-Boy, and Art Van Furniture. I hate furniture shopping. Other than a used car lot, where else can you be scouted as soon as you walk in the door and cornered soon thereafter with offers of assistance and business cards? And which is worse? Being cornered like that and having to pull the "I'm just looking" plea ... or being scouted and found apparently not worth a "hello, can I help you?" at all? [La-Z-Boy can suck it for that reason.]

After much pacing and note taking, I finally found my love seat! The color is called "bark" ... I tend to think I was still a bit intoxicated from the Hershey's chocolate when I picked out the dark chocolate colored, microfiber/suede-y love seat. My baby gets delivered Thursday.

Happy Evil Holiday!

Finally, I took my post-purchase-buyer's-remorse self to Barnes and Noble and picked up an appropriate compilation of stories titled, Dates From Hell.

Perfect.

Thus ended Evil Holiday 2009.

Random Thoughts From a Weekend

I saw The Day The Earth Stood Still on Saturday. The movie was entertaining ... about midway between "That was awesome!" and "And then I got up and walked out." I did notice fairly early on that my feeling of warmth toward the cute little boy, played by Jaden Smith, had turned into a vague hope that he wouldn't make it. Why is it believed that 70 minutes of hearing a cocky little smartass talk smack to the woman who had stepped in to care for him after the loss of his parents can be completely wiped out by one whispered, "Mom," inserted at the end?

That tyke needed an alien ass-kicking.

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I saw Underworld 3: The Rise of the Lycans on Sunday. If you liked the first two, then you'll also like this prequel. Don't let the 32% rating on Rotten Tomatoes deter you. The first two films received 29% and 14% respectively. If I were a slightly more bitter or cynical person (I know, right?), I'd start writing reviews for that website. I swear 80% of the reviewers need to take a freakin happy pill.

I enjoyed the movie enough to want to revisit the first two films. Which brings us to ...

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You know how when you rent a DVD, the clerk will pop open the case to check the disk before scanning it out to you? Ever wonder why they do that? I do now. You'd think that it must be to ensure that the disk is the one you wanted to rent ... right?

Apparently not since after watching the first Underworld and readying myself for Underworld: Evolution, I was a, oh, let's say "tad" irritated when August Rush appeared in the case instead. Sadly, I was not in the appropriate sappy mood to watch Felicity follow the magic music to her long lost, now musical genius, son. Actually, I don't think I'll ever be in that particular mood.

[Hey, perhaps I'm nearer to the Rotten Tomatoes reviewer career than I first thought!]

I returned the sap tonight in exchange for the vampire/werewolf blood fest I desired in the first place.

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Finally .. and sadly ... I must also report that the battle of the Christmas tree was lost once again this past weekend. This, of course, means that I am looking at a fully-decorated, 200-light, pre-lit Christmas tree as I type. Yep. A wine-colored ribbon. Ornaments spanning 20 years.

Oh ... and the Christmas cards are still hanging up.

And ... my ceramic table-top Christmas tree, a gift from my Aunt Eula, is still on the table.

I know ... it's sad. I think there's a reason why this is the first time in 5 years that I've had a Christmas tree. I obviously have a Christmas decoration removal issue.

I believe it's called laziness.

SPASM!!!!

I feel about 80 ... no ... about 73 years old. Specifically, I feel like my 73-year-old aunt with chronic back problems.

The past few weeks, I've been taking advantage of our county employee fitness program. Different classes each night Monday through Thursday. It's been wonderful and I sat in glee last night after realizing just how tight my thighs are becoming. GLEE!

You know that glee you feel when something you've been working hard on begins to show progress. That "Oh yeah, that's right, uh huh" feeling.

Yeah.

The progress hasn't been pain free. Obviously, when you're working out and building and rebuilding muscles, there's some soreness involved. My lower back aches now and then ... it bothered me last night and during the day today. Annoying but no biggie. I thought I'd attend kickboxing tonight but perhaps take it easy on any of the moves that might put extra strain on my lower back. Often, if I have a sore muscle, a bit of exercise loosens it up, makes it feel better.

Yeah.

So, at roughly 4:50 p.m., I dutifully changed into my workout clothes in my office. My last step was to raise up my left leg to put on a sock.

How dare I do such a thing!

Such a simple, every day, BASIC movement. I lifted my leg and, for the first time in my life, actually bellowed in pain and nearly dropped to the floor. In that span of 5 seconds, I went from someone gleeful about tighter thighs ... to my 73-year-old aunt with chronic back problems. At least that was my immediate and likely (hopefully) exaggerated reaction to the pain.

Of course, it didn't help that clearing the snow off my car as I left work brought me to tears.

It didn't help that I had to slowly lower myself into my car with my hands behind my back then use my right arm to pull my left leg inside ... kinda like my 73-year-old aunt with chronic back problems.

It also didn't help that 30 minutes later I was flat on my back on the floor of my apartment with frozen peaches under my back ... at the advice of my 73-year-old aunt with chronic back problems.

According to Dr. Peter F. Ullrich ... Jr. ... lower back pain is one of the most common conditions and reasons for office visits ... and four out of five adults will experience it at some point in their lives. Well, okay ... I suppose that makes me feel less pitiful. At least I'm not by any means alone. But ... the estimate that 90% of patients with such pain will no identifiable reason, i.e., "here, let me actually FIX that for you," is just annoying. It reminds me of going to the doctor and having the amazing diagnosis of stress.

If in doubt, stress caused it.

If the words, "it's likely stress," come out of any professional's mouth tomorrow, I will cause physical harm to another.

...

Meanwhile, I have some peaches to eat.

Kickboxing with Cadets

My Tuesday night kickboxing class also takes place at the training room for our local firemen/women and last night's class had an added treat ... one of the firemen poked his head in before class and asked our instructor if it would be okay for seven of the cadets (all male) to participate.

Ooh.

Our answer to this request was a hearty "SURE" ... provided that said cadets take the front rows. *evil grin*

This experience taught me several important things:

1. Never worry about what you look like during a fitness class - believe me - everyone looks like an idiot no matter how hard they attempt to avoid it.
2. A person's ability to keep a beat is in NO WAY related to their attractiveness.
3. At some point, every woman should get to watch manly males attempt aerobic exercise to music .... MAKE IT HAPPEN!

Debut of the Doohickie with the Jingly Bits

Yeah, I should probably learn some belly dancing terminology, eh?

Monday night is belly dancing night in Justacogitating land at the moment. As noted in an earlier entry, the class, taught by Na'imah, takes place at a training room for firemen, which at times leads to awkward wanderers, feelings of silliness, and general sassiness.

I prefer to label myself sassy rather than rude. Anyone disagreeing with that assessment can suck it. *bright grin*

A coworker of mine recently returned from a trip to Egypt with an arm full of belly dancing .... uh ... doohickies with jangly bits ... you know, those wraps with the coins that you ... wrap ... around your bootie before shake shake shaking away. Hmm ... according to the wonderful Wikipedia, the proper term appears to be the ultra-exotic"hip belt" even though it's certainly more of a bootie scarf if you ask me.

My coworker had been determined to haggle the market man down to $5 (quite a bargain) per hip belt and ultimately succeeded by offering to buy everything he had left. The result? I am now the proud owner of two ... TWO doohi ... I mean hip belts ... one a bright light green and one a bright blue.

I tried out the green Monday night, relishing in the jingle/jangle. The belt absolutely adds to the experience and fun. Of course, I also quickly realized you can jingle/jangle the belt right down your derriere, rump, heinie, caboose and/or moneymaker.

I apparently need a sailor to teach me some knots.