A Side of Autoimmune with your Corona

The following post is centered on diabetes and coronavirus. If you’re suffering from either and can’t take the mental trauma right now, please don’t read.  P.S. – I’m considering starting a second blog that either simply looks better than the piece of garbage I have now, or is centered around my chronic illness and my family life, so people know what’s up. Because hey, who doesn’t enjoy serious, soul sucking insight? Am I right?

Right?

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  Bueller? Here we go.

 I know we’re all being bombarded with COVID-19 in our lives, but in this post I want to address the crowd (because you are a crowd, and that’s the problem) who isn’t worried about getting the virus or passing it to others, and has decided not to practice social distancing. Now, I’m not trying to make you care about other people because honestly? That’s just not going to happen.  However, it is evident you care a lot about YOU.

And, because you care so much about you, yourself, and…I? (that didn’t work the way I planned) allow me to give you an important piece of information that could change your nonchalant attitude about your asymptomatic, Typhoid Mary self:

Even if you just get the “sniffles” from the virus, you could still walk away with a permanent AUTOIMMUNE DISEASE.  Welcome to Type 1 diabetes, my friends! (Or lupus, or Sjögren's syndrome, etc.)

Viral infections, even when they aren’t serious, have the rare potential of giving you an autoimmune disease because your body gets confused when fighting a virus and your overzealous cells go rogue and start to attack your body instead. That’s an autoimmune disease – your immune system attacking you, typically a specific organ or type of cell.  You can’t “fix” it, and genetic history doesn’t necessarily matter.  No one in your family has an autoimmune disease? Surprise, you still can.

There’s still a lot of unknowns about coronavirus and which types of viruses trigger autoimmune diseases. Maybe coronavirus can’t trigger this type of response (my belief is that any virus can).  Still, do you really want to take that chance?

I believe this is how I developed diabetes and no, it doesn’t matter how healthy you are or how many reps you do a day, bro. Congrats! 

If you continue being careless and entitled, here are all the things you could be looking forward to the rest of your life, Mr. Florida Spring Breaker:

 --Sticking yourself with needles multiple times a day in various places (fingers, arms, side, back, stomach, hands, butt, anywhere else you can get creative with). Yep, the butt. It’s a grand place to attach an insulin pump.

--Taking medicine forever. Yay.

--Getting some killer bruises, man!

--Waking up in the middle of the night disoriented, confused, shaking, and vomiting

--Being rushed to the hospital for catching the “sniffles” because of how a virus messes with your blood sugars.

--Being at an increased risk for heart attack, neuropathy, blindness, sudden death, skin problems, infections (go figure), a UTI, kidney failure, stroke, high blood pressure, and more wonderful diseases.

--Taking insulin when you eat and when you don’t, then correcting because you didn’t take enough, and finally, correcting your correction because you took too much.

--Leaving important work meetings, family functions, graduations, weddings, funerals, etc. in the most inappropriate moment because your blood sugar suddenly dropped.

--Spending all your paycheck and going into debt just to buy a drug you need to not die

--Counting the carbs in literally every single.thing.you.eat.and.drink.always.

--Getting made fun of by a carbon copy of yourself one year ago. My, how the tables have turned.

Having people accuse you of:

- being a drug user  -  “Gasp, needles!”

- being lazy and fat  - even if you’re skinny

- eating too much sugar - why do people even think this?

- being weak - survival of the fittest , even though there are athletes with diabetes

- being gross  - “Ewww, can you not like, do that here? We’re in a public place.”

-lying - “Type 1 is for kids!” No, and children do grow up. Also, no, it’s not. This isn’t Trix cereal.

-Not trying hard enough - “If you wanted to get rid of your diabetes, you could.” HAHAHAHA. No.

But wait, there’s more!

You’ll also:

- Hear everyone and their dog giving you advice on how you can cure your incurable disease with a fad diet or like, essential oils and stuff.  “Did you know the keto diet can cure you? My grandma drank mushroom water and she doesn’t have diabetes anymore. If you don’t eat meat, your pancreas will come back to life. Stand on your head and hold your breath for ten seconds twice a day for a week. Here’s a magic bean stock. Eat the beans.”

- You don’t understand how annoying this one is. Completely unsolicited advice. You’re never safe from pamphlets, your inbox, a phone call, text messages, in-person meetings, being yelled at from across the hall. They’ll find you, and they’ll tell you their uninformed opinion.

- Be the butt of every outdated, ill-informed, bad joke on the planet.  “Candy Land? More like Diabetes Land!” No. Eating sugar is not how it works. That’s not how ANY OF THIS WORKS, KAREN.

- Get told there will be a cure for diabetes in five years, every year, for the rest of your existence. It’s only been going on since what, 1950?

- Have your “friends” and colleagues actively fight against you in your efforts not to be bankrupt by coming up with ridiculous excuses on behalf of the pharmaceutical companies and why they charge 300% more for insulin than it costs them to make. “Thanks Sally, I’m sure glad I have a friend like you! Wanna have a picnic tomorrow? Oh wait, I’m sorry I can’t. I forgot I GAVE UP EATING BECAUSE I CAN’T PAY FOR MY INSULIN. I subsist on water, air, and dust particles now.”

- Listen to this: “Uhhhhh, are you SURE you should be eating that?” Every time you take a bite of something that isn’t a celery stick.

- Be accused of whining when you could go get “insulin” at Walmart for a couple bucks without insurance. NOOOOOOO. No. No. No. No. No.  I mean, I could also drink Drano, but I DON’T.

- Exist as the occasional doctor’s guinea pig. There are good doctors, and there are bad doctors, just like any other profession in life. Unfortunately, when you have to see doctors as much as you do with a chronic illness, you’re going to be a guinea pig at some point. Buckle up.

Things doctors will misinform you about:

- What type of diabetes you have. If you’re an adult at diagnosis, there’s a good chance they won’t give you the blood test to check for autoantibodies and they’ll say you have Type 2. And if you’re overweight like me? Oh yeah, you don’t stand a chance.  And that’s really, really, really dangerous.  Why? Because Type 2 is not an autoimmune disease, and most don’t need insulin to survive. But as we already established, you sure frickin’ do!

- The different types of diabetes, and how there are more than two. Whaaaat? I’m technically a LADA Type 1.5 (but we say Type 1, because nobody knows what we’re talking about otherwise).  Essentially, it means anyone who gets Type 1 diabetes as an adult instead of when they’re an adolescent. It’s progressive, meaning you don’t always need insulin starting out, but you will eventually progress to it and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Even many nurses will look at you like you’re crazy (you’re a type what, now?). Google it.

- Basic care and how to not accidentally kill yourself. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha………no. I’m serious. They forget to tell you things like what ketones are, and why a high amount of them will kill you. So. Yeah. Cool. Google it.

- Your weight and lifestyle choices, and how it’s your fault that you’re a diabetic even though we’ve already established it’s not. And this is a doctor. A DOCTOR. A DOCTOR! Good grief, for crying out loud. Pro tip: Go to an endocrinologist that specializes in diabetes, not a primary care physician. They’re not all like that, I know, but save yourself the trouble. Type 1 diabetics have to see an endocrinologist anyway.

- How Type 2 diabetics are lucky because they can cure themselves. Whoa. Holy cow, there are doctors going around saying this? You bet. They’re oversimplifying it and telling Type 2’s they can cure themselves with diet and exercise. They don’t think there’s anything inappropriate about using this incorrect terminology. Wrong. You can, if you have enough b cells left to properly coordinate glucose, get off all medication for a while with healthy choices. But you’re still diabetic. Period. In fact, I have my own diabetic joke:

“How can you tell if your doctor is a crackpot? ….They tell you that your diabetes is cured!”

HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAHAAHAHAAHAAHAHA. Good one, crackpot.

Was this an excuse to complain about stupid people? Sure.  Why else do you think I’d be addressing some of the most foolish people on our planet, who are going around blatantly infecting others because they’re selfish and think themselves invincible?

But it’s also true. You CAN get an autoimmune disease like Type 1.5 diabetes from a viral infection. 

So when you walk into a crowded party tonight and ask for some corona, make sure you ask for a side of autoimmune disease to go.

*Photo credit to their creators. Except you, Diabetes Land. You're a jerk.

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My "Literal" Definitions of 2019 Slang

Let me know if I missed any by writing in the comments 😊

Literally: Still being used to describe anything that isn’t literal.

Extra: A contradictory word that calls something or somebody over-the-top, while the use of the word in the first place ends up being extra.

Ignorant: Liberal word for anyone who has a different viewpoint from you.

Snowflake: Republican word for anyone who has a different viewpoint than you.

Spill the tea: An adorably old-fashioned way of telling someone to give you the news or the gossip.

Sus: A word for monks who are only allowed to speak five syllables a year and don’t want to say the full word “suspect”.

Get Educated: A phrase used by people who never finished school, used on PH.D graduates and professionals because they didn’t agree with them on something they read on the internet.

Arrogant: Another word for someone who doesn’t have the same viewpoint as your mom.

Lit: Something exciting or cool, but is definitely not intoxicated, which was the original meaning of the slang word for the past century. See also: A word that already existed but was turned into slang, which became slang that was turned into new slang. Slang slang.

Slang Slang: A word I just made up.

Racial slurs: Evil words used by people who are evidence against the theory of evolution.

Ghosting: When mean people refuse to respond to phone calls and text messages to their last date because they can’t handle confrontation.

Triggered: To explain to people that you can’t handle the realities of life.

All Mood/Big Mood: When people are trying to sound extra so they add additional words to the word “mood” without changing the meaning at all.

Fake News: When Trump supporters don’t like news programs calling out the president for his policies, and when news programs don’t actually report the truth. Also used any time you don’t enjoy what someone says. Like, “It looks like it’s raining outside.” “What? Fake news!”

Femi Nazi: Used to describe pretty much any woman with an opinion.

Feminism: A word that can only be used if you promise to use it incorrectly.

Woke: A word that was once powerful that has now been watered down to drivel.

Thanks Obama: A phrase dating back to when Obama was president and blamed for everything bad that happened to a person throughout their day. Some of us millennials like to use it just to remind ourselves we’re getting old.

Basic: Use this word to insult another person when you want everyone to know how much of a jerk you are without having to show them multiple examples of it.

Shook: Like triggered, but a happy or surprised version.

Girl Boss: When women try to show female empowerment by calling another woman a girl boss, and accidentally end up promoting gender inequality because people don’t say male boss, so why do we need to say girl boss?

Mansplaining: Often misused to describe any man who simply has an opinion about anything. The original definition was used to define a very real problem when men explain things to women that they already know, especially in the workplace. Now used with angry devil emojis to come after anything male.

Anti-vaxxers: Often surrounded by words of befuddlement of why these people still exist in 2019.

Slay: When you want to compliment someone for being strong, so you use a word that means to murder someone.

Keyboard Warriors: Possibly the best slang of the year, it’s used to describe people who fight with everyone on the internet and purposely incite them with controversial opinions, from the safety of their parent’s basement. Statistically proven to be incapable of engaging in confrontation in actual, real-life scenarios.

Keyboard Activists: A slang term I think I just made up to describe someone similar to a keyboard warrior, but is someone who supports every social cause under the sun online. They will come after people with cyber pitchforks, but can never make it to the town council meeting to promote actual change. I am a partial keyboard activist.

Me: Someone who tells it like it is and offends a lot of people.

I literally can’t believe you read this entire post. I’m sure you think I’m basic, but I think this list was pretty lit. Thanks Obama.

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Why Aren't People Polite Anymore?

There’s the old saying “you reap what you sow”. It’s not always true, but more often than not, it’s the answer to most of life’s problems. I’ve found this to be case when I hear someone complaining that young people just aren’t polite anymore.

Now, to a teenager I may be old, but in general, people would call me young, and I can’t tell you whether people were politer in the 50’s, or the 60’s, or even the 80’s. I wasn’t there, so I have to go off what other people tell me, which is…they were, apparently. It’s a challenge for me to imagine adolescences truly being any more respectful then, but we’ll roll with it.

Okay, so what changed?

The more I think about politeness in the context of today’s culture in America, the greater one particular word resonates with me: offense.

This isn’t a blog post about politics, but there does seem to be a correlation between offense and politeness; that is, as people become more mindful of an increasingly diverse culture and want to avoid offending people, traditionally viewed forms of politeness decline.

People do not want to risk offending others for the sake of being traditionally polite.

As an example, I used to call people “sir” and “ma’am”. I stopped, because the response I received was negative. I had some people say, “I’m not ma’am, ma’am is my mother.” They could be five years older than me, or forty. It didn’t matter, but they still took offense.

The other dilemma is trying to guess someone’s gender over the phone, which is always a risk. Especially if that person does not identify as the gender you’re addressing them by.

So no more “sir” and “ma’am”. What about men holding open doors?

There are still plenty of men who hold the door open for women and children, my spouse included, but that courtesy has declined as well. I’ve heard of well-intentioned men being told off by women, claiming “they could open their own door”. On the flip side, some women get angry when a man doesn’t offer to hold the door open for them. What else can one do except attempt to gentrify this traditional form of politeness, so people stop expecting it, and they can stop getting yelled at for it?

No holding open doors. What else?

Standing up when a woman enters the room, pushing her chair in for her, or paying for a woman’s meal on a date all receive the same treatment: madam guillotine.

I can’t tell you the number of people I’ve had conversations with who say they not only dislike getting telephone calls, but it makes them angry. If someone can convey the same information to you through a text message, why would they call, interrupt what you are doing, and take up valuable time? It’s the same with stopping by their house unannounced. This is one of those elements of politeness that doesn’t have to do with offense, and more with an increasingly technological world.

But back to offense. Do you remember thank you notes and Christmas cards? They were thoughtful gestures, but now you must consider those who would feel your cards were distasteful. They prefer e-cards, because they don’t waste paper and hurt the environment, and they never check the mail. Perhaps the joke you made was culturally insensitive to penguins. People don’t want to pour their time into sending out cards if they aren’t appreciated.

Do you remember when people used to have debates, rather than arguments? Individuals could have differentiating opinions about something without recessing to hurling insults or even fists. It was socially acceptable to see another person’s point of view, even if their viewpoint was unpopular. In fact, it was a sign of wisdom and good etiquette. But now seeing someone else’s viewpoint is synonymous with agreeing with them. As an example, if someone goes to jail for hitting another person and it’s in the news, you are not permitted to question their motives for hitting that person, or sympathize with them in any way. You could consider their actions despicable while still seeing their reasoning, but your understanding is no longer viewed as polite. Instead, your willingness to try to understand someone who is considered socially unacceptable is either sexist, racist, perverted, or all of the above. You must agree with the masses and verbally skewer this stranger.

There are other comparisons I could make, but I believe these are the most-widely known as standards of American etiquette.

So, to answer the question that seems to come to many minds of the Baby Boomer generation, people aren’t as polite anymore because they’re afraid to offend someone. And, in this day and age, the fear seems valid. Plus, when your gesture of respect could end up as someone’s scouring Reddit story, is being polite to one person still worth it? I think the answer to that question is different for everyone.

In the end, I believe politeness has a way of falling in and out of trend, and transforms over time. I’m sure society will come up with new and clever ways to convey the same meaning. It may just not include “yes sir”.

Of course, this is merely my opinion. I certainly hope I didn’t offend you 😊

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With Beaded Breath

In my previous blog post, I wrote about scarves and their predilection for choking me.

And since we’re on the topic of things you wear around your neck…

I have a black, beaded necklace that I like to wear. It’s professional but pretty, and the beads are large and wrap together in thick strands up to the clasp. It looked vaguely similar to the necklace in the picture above.

I really should say I HAD a black, beaded necklace that I liked to wear. Recently, that necklace died in a less-than-subtle fashion.

It exploded.

Maybe it didn’t spontaneously combust into flames, but it did burst into a shower of beads as I sat innocently at my work desk.

I didn’t play with it, I wasn’t chewing it or tugging at the threads – I didn’t even touch it. That thing just blew up.

Also, to paint a wonderful mental image for you, the beads went into every nook and crevice on my person. You’re welcome.

 After my initial, “What the heck just happened?” moment passed, I grabbed the broken strands and tried to undo the clasp to contain the continuous spillage, but of course, it wouldn’t budge. For the first time ever, I couldn’t get the necklace off, so I ran to the bathroom down the hall, a trail of black beads behind me.

I felt like Hansel and Gretel.

Into the bathroom I went, where I leaned over the counter and tried to aim for the trash can as the beads continued to pour down my back, my front, onto the countertop, onto the floor…basically, everywhere. There was nothing I could do to stop the dam.  

Naturally, once the beads had finished um, dispersing, I was suddenly able to undo the necklace clasp without any problems. A couple more beads fell down my shirt.

And that’s when I finally noticed there was someone in the middle stall.

Silence. Throughout the entire ordeal, they said nothing to me. Maybe the door was shut by accident? But no, I saw little shoes underneath. They were there, and instead of acknowledging the fiasco from the other side, they pretended not to exist.

Awkward.

Now, I still had a job to do. I needed to loosen my clothes to get the rest of the beads off my person. The problem was, there are only three stalls in my work bathroom, so whether I chose the left or right stall, it made no difference. When I went inside, I was right next to the mystery person. I tried to be quiet, but as I adjusted my clothes, a flood of beads fell onto the tiled floor, bouncing off their shoes and legs.

I froze. I gasped, and then I laughed.

Nothing.

I think I saw a slight wiggle of a shoe, but that was it.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

Maybe it was Casper? But it couldn’t be. Casper was a friendly ghost.

There were beads all over the floor now. I couldn’t clean them up because I didn’t have a broom. I would have to leave it like this for the custodial crew that night.

Not. A. Single. Word.

I nervous chuckled once more before slinking out of the bathroom and escaping to my desk. I never found out who mystery shoes was, but I’ll give them a 10/10 for awkwardness!

For the rest of the day as I moved about the office, a random trail of black beads fell out the bottom of my pant legs, like I was a vending machine with a leak. I pretended not to notice.

I found more beads later that night when I showered.  I’m still finding the beads at work, by the way, even though it’s been more than a month since the “incident”. There’s some in the carpet by my desk, and they’re nicely dispersed around the corners of the bathroom.

And although I’ve been paying a lot closer attention to people’s shoes at work lately, I’ve never found my victim.

Maybe they were a ghost.

*Image to respective owner

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What the Scarf?

There are a lot of things in my life I never thought I would say but have, like:

“Does anyone have a glow stick I can borrow?”

And

“How could someone completely dispose of a body without a trace? Theoretically speaking.”

And even

“No, China’s not a continent.”

But do you know what I’ve never said? “Man, I wish I had a scarf right now.”

Because other than being a fashion accessory, scarves are a useless creation.

I present to you instead: The turtleneck, the high collared jacket, the hoodie. Or nothing around your neck at all, because your neck was fine in the first place.

A scarf really is the equivalent of a turtle neck, except you just spent an extra ten to twenty dollars buying one more article of clothing. If you don’t feel like you’re slowly being strangled to death every time something’s wrapped around your throat, just stick to the turtle neck. Same difference. Plus, it’s easier to wash a shirt than it is a scarf. You don’t have to worry about putting each individual turtleneck you own into its own wash cycle to “preserve the integrity of the garment”. It’s a SCARF.

On the other hand, scarves are adorable and come in a variety of styles and colors. If your main purpose in wearing it is for fashion and not for warmth, then you’re doing it right.

I always worry I’m going to lose the small but awkward piece of clothing someplace, or it’s going to get stuck in a revolving door and I’m going to be the idiot they have to call the fire department for. I have no idea how that’s possible, but as I’ve said before, I’m clumsy. How about the escalators? The bus doors? Your own feet? So many opportunities to face plant or hang yourself.

Yet in my dresser I still have a drawer stuffed to the brim with scarves. All pretty, all colorful, and all begging to be worn. I keep them, so that one day when I decide I’m suddenly fashion forward, I’ll have a hundred thousand scarves to choose from.

And to anyone who has bought me a scarf as a gift before, I love it. Please don’t hate me. In fact, I used scarves for a while to cover up my thyroid scar. There are a lot of creative reasons I could come up with to wear my scarves.

But it sure won’t be because I’m cold.

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Sleep Talking and T-Rex Advocacy

My husband talks in his sleep, but only when he’s dog-tired.

Typically, it’s the kind of unintelligible drabble that dissipates in a minute or two, followed by soft snoring (I’m sorry honey, did I say snoring? I meant “breathing”). I’ve been known to talk in my sleep before, but it hasn’t happened in quite a while (that we know of).

Recently I’ve discovered his subconscious has decided to take this one-way conversation to the next level. The outcome of this hilarious turn of events is my newfound appreciation for my husband’s surprisingly tender-hearted advocacy for fantasy creatures, great and small.

One night when we were out of town, my husband fell asleep while watching a movie. I tried to get some sleep myself, but mere moments after turning out the lights, I heard the quiet, concerned murmurings of my husband lying next to me:

“Humpty Dumpty….”

“Why can’t they put him back together?”

I opened my eyes, wondering if he was awake. I had my back turned to him, so it was hard to tell. He repeated the same question, a slur in his voice:

“Why can’t they fix Humpty Dumpty?”

“Send all the knights and horses…”

I snorted, grabbing the pillow under my head to stifle it. There was no doubt about it, he was sleep talking. There was a long silence after that, and I thought it might be the end of it. But then I heard a sorrowful sigh, and then a voice that dropped an octave to deliver a serious accusation:

“It was the king.”

I sat up a little, intrigued by this turn of events. It was like a soap opera in his sleep.

“I think Humpty forgot to bring something to his party, so that’s why he did it.”

“…the king murdered him.”

I stuffed the entire corner of the pillow into my mouth to prevent myself from laughing, probably more out of amusement than actual consideration, if I’m being honest. My body shook, and even though my husband isn’t a light sleeper, I was surprised it didn’t wake him.

I choked on the pillow Then I laughed again. I choke-laughed.

“Do you think they’ll serve Humpty at his funeral?”

-Pause-

“Because I think that would be inappropriate.”

My whole body wracked with laughter. I began rolling around on the bed in an absolute fit. I only wished my phone was nearby so I could record it. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

“Do you like egg salad?”

“I don’t really like it, but you should eat it soon because he’ll go bad quickly.”

That was it; my poor lungs – not to mention my heart – couldn’t take it anymore. I ran over to the light and turned it on as my laughter rang unabashedly throughout the room. Hopping on the bed, I shook my husband awake. He stared at me with a sleepy expression, probably wondering why I had just interrupted a good sleep.

I had a hard time repeating what he’d said through my fits of giggles, but afterward, he told me I should write it down so I wouldn’t forget. I did just that, transposing his little story of intrigue, espionage, and betrayal on my phone. I told him his conversation reminded me of the Five Stages of Grief, except there was apparently a sixth stage, called “Eating your Loved One” at the end.

If that were the end of it, I’d find it funny enough, but a week and a half later – this time, in our own apartment – he did it again. And as I stated before, I didn’t forget my phone this time and recorded it:

“T-Rex…mwfgsjhfdkl….”

 “T-Rex’s have a bad rap…”

“It’s not fair.”

“Why do they always make them bad guys?”

“Maybe they don’t want to be meat eaters. Maybe they’d be nice if they ate plants.”

“Are they bullies? Are they bullied? I don’t know.”

“Does anyone know?”

“I think long necks are the real bad guys; they’re too peaceful.”

I’m saddened to say that there was more, but I couldn’t make out the words. On the one hand, I hope he continues to talk in his sleep, because who couldn’t use another laugh or two? On the other hand…

I’d like to actually sleep too, and I don’t think laughter is the best medicine for THAT.

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"It's just a Flesh Wound!"

Have you ever had one of those days where everything is going according to plan, nothing is out of the ordinary, and then, out of nowhere, you suddenly have a knife protruding from your leg and you’re bleeding in the parking lot?

Oh, so just me then?

Cool, cool.

My clumsiness knows no bounds. I once slammed my finger in the kitchen cupboard, turned around and tripped over the family dog, stood up, and finally stubbed my toe on the base of the banister. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall down the stairs while I was at it – really go for the gold, you know?

And, despite my predisposition to break in every door and baseboard in the house by running directly into them, I have never broken a bone (not officially, anyway).  Not even as a small child, when I ran circles around my family in the living room, screaming at the top of my lungs, and slipped and ran headfirst into the metal fireplace holder. I did get a very stylish butterfly bandage, though. Nor the time when I fell (twice!) out of the van because I missed a step and bit through my bottom lip.

Let’s not forget the innate toddler curiosity that spurred me to place my hand squarely on the stovetop burner. I still have the scars to show for it.

And so, it’s not terribly surprisingly that I would end up, at some point, with a kitchen knife in my leg – not when you really think about it. I didn’t get the normal injuries other kids had – broken bones and sprained ankles from playing sports. No, I go for the spectacular, the kind that make doctors cock their head to the side and say, “How did you manage to do that?”

I’m kind of exciting to doctors. I’m much more interesting than your standard common cold.

About a year and a half ago, I was dog sitting for my parents while they were out of town. My husband and I brought this spunky, Yorkie-Schnauzer mix named Stuart to our apartment to stay overnight, and we planned to drop him off the next morning at my parents’ so he would be comfortable while we were at work. On this morning, I decided to pack a lunch. I wanted one of the best staples there is for lunch food – a classic tomato sandwich.

However, trying to be clever, I decided instead of slicing the tomatoes at home and risking the mayonnaise on the sandwich turning them into a mushy disaster, I would take the whole tomato with me and pack one of our kitchen knives, so I could slice it fresh at work.

You know where this is going. I decided to pack a razor-sharp kitchen knife in my lunchbox. Which was nylon fabric, by wrapping it in paper towels as “protection”.

Nothing penetrates paper towels! Nothing!

Everything was peachy keen as I brought Stuart down to the car in our parking lot. I pushed his hyper, wriggly body over into the passenger seat and set the lunchbox down on the driver’s seat so I could do so. Momentarily forgetting about the existence of the knife (if I only remembered one thing that morning, it should have been the knife), I leaned over the lunchbox to get the dog settled.

And that’s when it happened.

It felt like a schoolyard bully pinching me as hard as they could. I couldn’t figure out what it was – at first. Did I just kneel on the seatbelt buckle? Was there something on the sea-

Oh.

Yes, there was something on the seat.

Remember my tomato sandwich?

For a few seconds, I didn’t do anything. I thought, “maybe I can just stay here in this position, and never find out what I’ve just done. Maybe if I don’t move, I can rewind time. I’ll just turn to stone, here in the parking lot.”

It’s not that I’m super squeamish about blood, it’s the injury that comes with it. I don’t like gaping wounds, or legs that bend unnaturally, or puke. Wait until I become a mother, won’t that be fun?

I closed my eyes and gently sat up. As I did so, the knife that had gone through layers of paper towels as well as my nylon lunchbox, slid out of my leg.

Now, before I tell you what happened next, let me preface by coming to my own defense. I couldn’t feel any pain, and Hollywood has taught me that if you can’t feel pain when you sustain an injury, you’re basically dead. So, there I was standing in the parking lot, basically dead. I watched in horror as my jeans went from a dark blue to red, blood pooling around me. I was in shock for the first couple of minutes because, you know, I was BLEEDING, so I pressed my hand against the wound.

Meanwhile, the dog panted in the passenger seat, completely oblivious of my imminent demise. He smiled at me. I wished for Lassie, or Old Yeller, or the dog from the Cesar Savory Delights commercial.

Nooo, instead I had Stuart the Wonder Dog, as in, it’s a wonder he can be so clueless.

I saw an older man walking on the other side of the parking lot, and I called to him – once, twice, three times you’re out. I know what you’re thinking – maybe he just didn’t hear you? Well, this was a small parking lot and my yells scared away the birds; he wasn’t THAT old.

It was impossible to tell, as I couldn’t feel any pain (remember, I was on my deathbed) how deep the knife had gone, or where exactly the injury was. I saw a hole in my jeans and plenty of blood, and that’s about it. In my confusion, I even used my jacket to tie a tourniquet just in case it was worse than I thought.

Of course, a tourniquet would have been better if I tied it ABOVE the wound and not BELOW it, but hey, hindsight’s twenty-twenty.

I called my husband to let him know I had been stabbed, and to please come get me.

I know, I know. That came out wrong. Again, hindsight.

A few minutes passed and my neighbor came into view, heading toward her car, which was conveniently parked next to mine.  With a polite, “Excuse me?” She looked up and I watched as her eyes widened to saucers. I asked if she could put Stuart back in the apartment, as I was a little…preoccupied.

Sometimes you meet people under the strangest of circumstances. We became friends. We bring her the family chocolates that we make at Christmas time, and she allows me to pet her temperamental bird. I learned that the strange screaming noise we randomly here when watching t.v. is not, in fact, a dying puppy, but a very vocal Aves. The more you know.  

My husband and my mother-in-law arrived a few minutes after my neighbor had helped Stuart into the house, and we got a good look at the knife wound. It was minor. It was embarrassingly so. I guess I wasn’t dying after all.

While my husband drove Stuart home, my mother-in-law took me to InstaCare. I walked in, in a pair of very oversized shorts (my husband’s), limping up to the front desk.

“Hello, I’m here for InstaCare.”

The lady in glasses reluctantly pried herself from her phone screen and looked up.  “Please fill out the tablet. What are you seeing us for?”

“Oh, right. I stabbed myself.”

There were several other people waiting for InstaCare, but for some reason, I was the next person called.

Remember how I told you I made doctors’ days more exciting? This was no exception. He didn’t try to hide the look of glee as he came into the room to do my stitches. “This breaks up the day, between all the coughs and upset stomachs.” I’m sure it did.

I was glad to be of service.

Maybe next time I can up the ante and come in with an axe in the back of my head?

 *Update: I went axe throwing. I did not get an axe in the back of my head. Poor doctor.

*Image Credit to Respective Owner.

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Dear John

 

 

Dear John,

I am not a stalker, we’ve never met before, and I certainly don’t know what color of socks you’re wearing (although if you have tennis shoes on, I sincerely hope you ARE wearing socks). However, over the course of the last two years, I feel like I’ve come to know you...on a personal level.

Intimately. One could say we’re even best friends.

For example, today the Dominos pizza guy called to tell you that he was ten minutes away from the Air Force base, and to please send someone to let him into the facility.

You are a lover of pizza.

A few realtors have texted, reminding you about open houses and asking for you to contact them for pricing. This has happened for years – you must like to dabble in the great housing adventure. In other words, you live on the wild side.

One of your friends wanted to make sure you were still “down” for game night at his house, because he had the Xbox ready to go.

Another friend sent a verbose inquiry as to your state of mind and physical wellbeing with a “What’s up?” text message. When I informed him I was not John, he tried to initiate the animal mating ritual of flirting, and was disappointed when he discovered someone had already put a ring on it.

Your grandmother would still like you to visit, as she has a permanent place set for you for dinners on Friday. You should really let her know where you live, John. THIS IS YOUR GRANDMOTHER, JOHN.

The salon would like you to confirm your haircut appointment, which I assume you never did. I wonder if you walked around with shaggy hair for the next week because you forgot. It was a cheap place, so you must be a “no mess, no fuss” kind of a guy.

Various – and I do mean various – political campaigns have been trying to reach you to secure their next donation for the cause. I’m actually unclear if this one was you, or if some random mischief maker gave my details out to multiple political parties for the fun of it. Feel free to make the donation directly through me this year instead. I’ll make Sure it gets to someone who really needs it.

You’re a young, politically minded, pizza loving, video gaming, real estate dabbling, forgetful employee of the Air Force who might be a bit of a cheapskate. Yes, you may use this as your blurb for Match.com. All those are nice and well, John, but what my friend really wanted to know when I mentioned you was whether you were single. If you wouldn’t mind getting back to us on that, we would appreciate it.

I think it’s fair to say that given enough time, you can really get to know a person by the type of phone calls and text messages they get. I appreciate that your acquaintances are much less vexing than the person who used to have my last phone number. I was getting awfully tired of the Collections department of various agencies ringing me around the clock. Gina must have been a real shady character.

Nevertheless, I suggest that next time -unless you want a total stranger knowing the inner workings of your life – please remember to update your phone number. Otherwise, I might have to tell the next Dominos employee who calls me that I accidentally messed up the address and I’ll have a nice, cheesy lunch on you.

 *Image credit to their respective owner.

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Response: Gaines Family and USA Today

An Orem, Utah resident named Darryl (I'm excluding his last name for privacy)was featured in a USA Today opinion piece, where he criticized the HGTV “Fixer Upper” stars, Joanna and Chip Gaines. In his comments, he stated that he thought they were not spending enough time with their children and focusing too much on their work.  Later, Chip responded to this article, emphasizing how important his family is to him, and if his job were in any way negatively influencing that, they would quit immediately.

This struck a chord with me for a few reasons. One, I felt it reflected badly on other Utahns (such as myself) and made it seem that, as a very family oriented state, we are quick to judge others in how they raise their own families. Two, I enjoy the Fixer Upper show for the very reason that Chip and Joanna Gaines are, by all appearances, a good and stable family who have their priorities straight. Thirdly, that people in our society feel that they have the right to criticize parents if they parent differently than themselves, and that it’s acceptable to publicly reprimand them. Finally, the idea that someone cannot be successful in their profession unless they are somehow neglecting their children is highly archaic.  See also: Backwards.

 Let’s not forget that these are real people behind their tv personalities, and making a judgment on someone’s parenting without personally knowing them is one of the harshest statements you can make. A good parent can be profoundly hurt by anyone insinuating that they’re a bad parent in some way. It’s further insulting when, as Darryl suggested, he somehow knows the inner workings of the Gaines family – from watching them on television. I would hope that most people can understand that “reality television” is anything but, and what may appear on screen as two people doing all the backbreaking labor to renovate a home is probably due in great part to a huge team behind them. In other words – it’s highly probable that the Gaines have more time to devote to their children than their tv show makes it appear.

 Beyond the television show, Darryl states that they must be too busy to spend time with their children because they run a ranch, have a real estate business, a restaurant, etc. Again, most “celebrities” have their name used as a marketing point, but are not personally running these ventures themselves. And, as I can attest, having a blog does not take up a great deal of time. Appearances and reality are usually two distinctly different things. He states that the Gaines are doing a disservice to all other families by making it seem like you can have such success and still have time for your family. I don’t believe this is a disservice at all. I think adults are intelligent enough and logical enough to understand what their own personal limitations are, and discern fact from fiction. If not, that’s really a personal problem, isn’t it?

I can’t go into every point that Darryl brings up in his opinion piece, because I don’t want my blog response to be as lengthy as the article. However, to view the entire opinion piece, please follow this link: https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/2018/04/27/chip-gaines-joanna-gaines-fixer-upper-family-first-column/554044002/

Why am I defending the Gaines family? Because I think everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, because I have enjoyed watching their show, and because I think it’s not only judgmental but rather callous to make such a serious accusation. As Darryl said that he was a parent himself, I am further flummoxed as to why he would try to degrade another family. I don’t know if he believes himself the crusader of family values or if it’s for a different reason. I’m going to try not to presume. I simply do not know why he feels this way, but I can say, I think the only disservice here is the one Darryl provided to the Gaines family.

Someone’s level of fame should not make it socially acceptable to publicly blast their parenting skills without adequate justification.  There is an important difference between “I personally know the Gaines family and have seen their neglect of their children” and “I have watched the Gaines family on tv and think they must be bad parents.”

First cast out the beam out of thine own eye.

 

 

*Photo Credit to respective owner.

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Immigrants did WHAT?!

As the newest round of insults are being flung between the two major political parties in this country - not unlike monkeys flinging their sh – I mean “poop” at one another, I find myself wanting to stop talking to people altogether. It amazes me when people don’t know that they’re covered in poop themselves, before throwing a handful at somebody else.

But poop aside, I can’t resist commenting on a certain topic that was touched upon by the (currently) most famous politician in our country. The reason why is because of how morally reprehensible it was, but more than that, it wasn’t factual in the least. I can’t in good conscience not acknowledge the cruel and inaccurate message that the leader of our country tried to instill into the hearts of immigrants who came to our country for a better life. Most of them don’t have expectations of grandeur, they simply want to live in a place that has access to clean water, healthcare, and where they don’t have to constantly worry about a violent end to their lives and the lives of their children.

Immigrants are not a blight on this country – in fact, they are quite the opposite. And you don’t even have to take my word for it! After all, who am I? I’m not a scholar, I don’t have a position of power. I’m your friend from across the hall, your cousin that you see every few years, that one coworker addicted to caffeine. I’m an average American with average opinions. So, if you’re looking for facts to support my claim, there are numerous academic articles from college professors, politicians, business owners, research market analysists, and more on the topic. I think that’s the primary problem with our opinions today – a lot of our opinions are just that: they have no facts to back it up with. Your brother’s best friend’s cousin works for ICE and they say immigrants are bad, and they obviously know what they’re talking about.

Just the other day I was reading a book called “The Millionaire Next door”, by Thomas J. Stanley. It was published in the 1990’s, which means that there are more updated resource materials you could look at. However, the reason I bring this particular book up is because it is so well supported by research. Stanley and a group of other well-educated analysists were hired by a corporation to interview millionaires in the United States. They wanted to know what millionaires were actually like, outside of how the media portrays them. They interviewed a wide selection of millionaires and found out some surprising information. For example, did you know that the majority of millionaires are first generation? Most of them come from a background of poverty, and they built themselves up from nothing. They also never spend money on flashy cars, a huge house, a fancy suit. Very, very few millionaires today received their money from inheritance, because most inheritance millionaires are from decades past. Most of those prestigious families already spent all the money they had, because they never had to understand the value of a dollar.

Why am I talking about this? Because another interesting fact is that a high ratio of millionaires in America (at least in the 90’s), are immigrants. That’s right – those “lazy” immigrants the president is referring to started with no money in their pockets and built a future for their children, and their children’s children. And do you know how they did it? Through hard, honest work. By getting up at five am and coming home at seven pm every day. They are entrepreneurs, owning gas stations and sheet metal scrap businesses. When it comes down to the number of people in this country whose ancestors came over on the Mayflower, there’s a lot. But when you calculate how many hundreds of thousands of non-immigrants there are by the percent of those non-immigrants who are millionaires, guess what? The immigrants have it. They are hard-working, they are industrious, they are our future.

So, if you want to prevent immigrants from coming to our country, just remember that a lot of the businesses that are the backbone of our society are a result of their hard work, not yours. Immigration is not a “pick and choose” program. Let’s just see how this plan works out for us, huh?

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Respecting the Flag Verses Respecting Yourself

(big breath) Here it goes:

This is political. I may be unfriended by a few people for this, and that’s alright by me. If someone unfriends another person for expressing a difference of opinion that is not blatantly malicious or hostile, the problem is with themselves, and not with me.

It is someone’s right in this country to express their discontent with a small part or a large part of our government and society. It is also their right to express this without fear or threat against their life, their livelihood (their job), or the lives and well-being of their family. That means that we also have the right to express our disagreement with their form of protest, but our right to express ourselves ends at threatening their lives and their careers. It is also corrupt for someone in public office to use their power to incite anger and violence against other citizens in this country. If it were not this way, it would be stunning to see how quickly we dissolved into an authoritarian society like North Korea. Every day I am so grateful for the freedom that I and everyone else has – even when I don’t agree with them – in the United States to say how I feel even when it is unpopular. These initial statements aren’t my opinion but rather statements, my opinion follows next.

When that freedom is threatened, I must speak up and defend it, or risk one day losing it through complacency. It’s probably clear that I am referencing a specific hot topic today, which is the controversy surrounding some athletes taking a knee during the National Anthem instead of standing with their hand over their heart. Let me be clear: Take my words exactly as they are. I have no hidden meaning or agenda behind them, so please don’t twist them. I mean exactly what I say. No implication necessary.

I believe these athletes – like anyone else in this country – have the right to peacefully protest. This is on the assumption that they themselves consider what they are doing as protesting. We do not get to pick and choose which causes and which people get to have freedom of speech. I have seen far too many people already who are very vocal about their opinions on things, completely shut these athletes down and say they should be fired or worse. No. You have the right to protest in return or in retaliation. You can choose to no longer watch or attend the sporting events that these athletes play in – you can boycott. However, your right ends when you demand that they be fired for it.  Why? Because it is not a law to stand and have one’s hand over their heart. Maybe there are specific state rules that sanction such – I’m not going to pretend to be privy to every law in this country – but it cannot be a legally enforceable law. If it were so, our country would not stand out as a shining beacon. Being forced to show respect and kneel before a symbol of government is what they do in socially repressive societies like North Korea. I don’t believe anyone’s intentions are for the U.S. to become an example for repression.

The point of holding our hand over our heart and standing in front of our flag is beautiful because we choose to do so. Without that conscientious decision, it’s mechanical and it loses all meaning. If someone is forced to respect the flag, then they aren’t really respecting it at all but are motivated by fear to their life, liberty, and personal property. There is nothing beautiful about forcing your will onto someone else.  

Society has already established that other forms of protest are often dangerous, uninspiring, and do not bring about long-term change. Gathering a large group of angry people in a public place has often been catastrophic because anger feeds on anger, and people begin to act irrationally. It has caused thousands of dollars in damages to public and private buildings, physical injury and chaos, and sometimes even death – and that’s just in 2017. Holding protests on social media purportedly promotes the spread of fake news and misinformation because it is so easily shared, edited, and twisted for people’s own uses. People say social media is not the place to be political. Attempts to bring about actual change through our court systems have so far proved rather futile when it comes to race relations and discrimination. And of course, not exercising your freedom of speech and doing nothing is the most guaranteed change of never getting someone changed that your heart and soul believes in.

So how does one protest? It depends. If you’re white and you are already in favor of something that is socially acceptable to our society, you can protest by any means. Your true intentions will generally be seen for exactly what they are. If you are an ethnic or religious minority, things get tricky. Any form of protest will see strong backlash and viewed by white America as an excuse to re-enforce racial stereotypes. For example, an assembly of people of color in a public place that, due to the misguided, malicious intent of a very small few, takes a violent turn. Now America puts blame on the group as a whole and those with racist frames of mind will say that black people are naturally violent, and this is why they are not, and cannot, be treated equally.

So that doesn’t work. So how do you express the pain and agony you feel and try to promote change, if none of these are options?

This brings us back to the subject at hand – black athletes taking a knee at football games. This is silent, peaceful protest. Are they using their “star power” to bring an issue to light? Certainly, but anyone with a brain would use the tools and resources they have at hand to create the biggest impact possible for what they believe in. They are not using intimidation or trying to coerce others to start a riot or get someone fired. They are not burning our flag, giving people and the United States the bird, shouting obscenities and racial slurs, damaging property, or betraying our country by providing top secret information to our enemies. They are kneeling. Their kneeling is a form of objection and protest, but kneeling in itself is also a form of reverence and respect. They are still respecting the flag and our country at the same time as they are objecting to something they do not agree with.

The flag is not something to be worshiped, at least not in my opinion. My own personal religion asks me not to worship any image or symbol, simply to respect what I feel needs to be respected. Being offended is also a choice. We as a society choose to be offended by this. Some people say they might as well be spitting on their family member’s grave, who dedicated their life serving in the armed forces to defend this country. But part of that defense was also defending the right of people that they do not agree with, and that’s exactly what they are doing. They are using the rights that these amazing heroes have defended for them. Most Americans think Nationalism and Patriotism are good things. Many other countries throughout history have shown great nationalism as well, which caused an ethnocentric mindset and led to horrible, unthinkable consequences. I believe Nationalism and Patriotism are a choice – not everyone has to have it, especially if they feel their country is or has failed them in some way. We don’t get to decide how someone else feels, and it serves no good for anyone to disregard their feelings while promoting our own. We cannot pick and choose. Some people say: Well, these people are millionaires, they are not experiencing hardship. No, but I’m sure they have family members, friends, acquaintances, former neighbors that are. Perhaps they feel an obligation to these people Because they are millionaires and have so many opportunities to use that influence to help those who do not.

I support the right of anyone to express their discontent. I support the right of anyone to not salute our flag. It does not mean that I will not respect the flag, but that’s my own choice. We are not the same people, I have not experienced their lives, their hardships, or their pain. I do not share a racial community with them and cannot understand the unique pain of seeing others who share my skin color be hurt and made to feel obsolete. I’ll never understand that – I’ll try, but it won’t be 100 percent.

Please note: I am not here to argue or debate. I am here to share my opinion simply because most of you have already shared yours. I allowed you to share your opinions with complete respect for you, and have not attempted to start a flame war on your wall. I expect the same in return. As I have control over the content on my own Facebook wall, I am letting everyone know beforehand that I will remove any derogatory, inflammatory, and racist comments put here or on my blog.  

Thank you.

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Debate: Chair Reclining Monsters

Everyone has at least one pet peeve. Even if they can’t name it off the top of their heads, as soon as they encounter that “thing”, their blood begins to boil. My biggest pet peeve ever? People reclining their seats into my lap on an airplane.

Airline seats should come with a little warning attached to them:  “Recline At Your Own Peril”.  Because really, you are risking a lot just to get a small extra bit of “comfort”.  If you notice someone small and short behind you, it will probably cause zero harm to recline your seat back a bit, especially on an overnight flight. That is understandable. I’m only five feet tall myself, so a little reclining doesn’t bother me. That being said…

People who recline their seats all the way back into another person’s knees causing pain and injury are the most selfish human beings on the planet.

Yep, I said it. THE MOST SELFISH HUMAN BEINGS ON THE PLANET.

I’ve heard every counter-complaint there is. “Why should I limit my comfort for yours?” Well for one, not being able to recline your seat all the way back does not cause you physical injury. Do you realize that ramming your seat into someone’s knees is assault? Oops.

I am not tall, and I can only imagine how difficult this is for someone who is. My husband has a bad knee that he has had surgery on. The last flight I took, the person in front of him hit his knees while reclining, and thought their chair was stuck. So, they sat forward and then rammed their back into the chair to try and get it to go down further. It took them awhile and a grunt from my pained husband to turn around and realize, with an irritated look on their face, that it was physically impossible for them to recline further because my husband HAS knees. Yes, ladies and gentleman, he has knees.

He was not holding their chair, mind you.

Another counter-complaint I hear is, “well tall people should just pay extra for first class or the seats with extra leg space.”

Really? Then why don’t we just have a little section on the plane for people who want to recline all the way back, that they have to pay extra for? It seems only fair that someone who wants an extra luxury should have to pay more for it, rather than someone who just doesn’t want to be physically assaulted sitting in their chair.

In a perfect world, the logical resolution for both types of passengers would be airlines increasing leg room, or “pitch” between seats. Unfortunately, airlines have no interest in doing this. They also have no interest, according to studies, in removing the reclining feature or limiting it. Apparently, they like their overworked flight attendants having to get involved in disputes between passengers over leg room day in and day out.

So again I say this: “Recline At Your Own Peril.” Because if you’re crushing my knees, you are not just “using the space that you paid for.” In fact, the space you paid for ends the second it comes in contact with the knees of the person behind you. Did you know that? I thought not.

Why don’t we all just try to be a little more courteous? If the person in front of you is reclining and it’s not hurting you, let them be. Maybe you’ll have to adjust the screen on the back of the chair a little bit to see it. Likewise, if the person behind you has long legs, realize that you didn’t luck out on this trip and keep your chair upright.

Otherwise, prepare for the kickiest ride of your life. I promise you, sitting upright would be a lot less uncomfortable.

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